Gospel Story Finder

As a father I was blessed to see great futures in God’s kingdom for my daughters as well as my sons. When I prayerfully sought guidance, I was shown a way to help my daughters recognize the trust God had placed in them as servants who could build His kingdom.

When my daughters were young, I saw that we could help others feel the love of those beyond the veil, throughout the generations. I knew that love comes from service and inspires hope of life eternal.

So we carved breadboards on which we placed a loaf of homemade bread and went together to deliver our offering to widows, widowers, and families. The legend I carved on each of those breadboards read, “J’aime et J’espere,” French for “I love and I hope.” The evidence of their unique spiritual gifts appeared not just on the boards I carved but more clearly as we distributed them to those who needed, in the midst of pain or loss, reassurance that the love of the Savior and His Atonement could produce a perfect brightness of hope. This is life eternal for my daughters and for each of us.

“Pizza face!”
I winced and sunk down into the bus seat, trying to disappear. The 20-minute ride home from school every day was pure torture for me. Lance and Sean always took the seat right behind me, and thought up as many names for me as they could. My face, full of acne since the fifth grade, provided them with such entertainment that they acted like I should be proud to receive so much verbal creativity.
I would run home from the bus stop, sit in the corner of my room with a blanket over my head, and cry. This experience was detrimental to a young girl’s self-esteem, but after a few months the boys moved on to some other poor soul with a visible affliction.
My self-esteem seemed to recover at the same rate my acne cleared—slowly. By high school a pimple was rare for me. On the other hand, both Lance and Sean, whom I still avoided, had acne problems of their own. They were much more withdrawn and had few friends.
“Serves them right,” I would think. “Now they’ve got exactly what they made fun of me for.” I felt inclined, even entitled, to some revenge of my own.
My chance came one day when Sean and I were alone in a large school hallway. He didn’t see me walking his way, and when I judged he was close enough for maximum damage, I said in a most disgusted way, “Pizza face!”
He winced, hung his head, and quickened his pace. As I watched him fleeing my torment, looking so alone in the huge hallway, I was astonished at what I felt. I had expected to feel triumphant. Instead I felt guilty and small.
Revenge had seemed like the clear answer for me, but standing there in the hall, I realized that revenge was empty. I felt worse than I’d ever felt in my life. I wanted to apologize. I learned my lesson that day: revenge is not the way to heal your inner injuries.

Even as the service projects were continuing, chariot construction was in the polishing stages. In the First Ward, the bishop filled in at the service project in place of Dave Holcomb, who had been working on the chariot since 6:00 A.M. At 1:00 P.M., when the vehicle was finally done, the team rolled it down the street to the high school.
“We put a stereo in it, and Brother Charles McClellan, the priests quorum adviser, helped with the wiring and balanced the weight,” Ron Fowler, a priest in the ward, explained. With the stereo playing the racing theme from the movie Ben Hur, the black chariot with gold trim attracted a lot of attention on its way to the stadium. Some people, when they heard there would be a chariot race, followed along out of curiosity.
One of the chariot builders in another ward gave up his bike for a week so he could use its wheels on the chariot. The 23rd Ward modeled a horse’s head out of aluminum foil to mount on the front of its entry.
Younger brothers and sisters were recruited as riders because of their light weight. In the 13th Ward the chariot construction was a family effort, as Phil Dold and his father designed and built their version of a Roman race car. Throughout the stake, Relief Society sisters sewed capes and fabricated helmets for the riders, including remodeled football helmets.
One ward installed carpeting and a CB radio in its chariot. And the Scouts in another ward spent several activity nights learning to weld as they built their entry.
As the racers, fans, and chariots arrived at the high school, the conversation sounded like one between automotive designers. Amateur engineers extolled the virtues of a low center of gravity, discussed pulling handle alignment, and debated the sturdiness of wheel and axle attachment to the frame.
“I thought nobody would be that interested in building the chariots because it would take a lot of time and effort,” said Dave Davis, 17, of the Second Ward. “But everybody really came through.”
Before the actual chariot race, several hours of games, designed for individual and group participation, offered a chance for recreation following a morning of hard work. To allow all of the young people to participate, adults were asked to be in charge of the different events. Colored tickets were used to limit the number of participants in a given activity at a given time.
The first contest was a balloon toss, with partners facing each other in two long lines down the center of the football field. Water-filled balloons were gently thrown between partners until only one couple remained with an unbroken balloon.
Following the balloon toss, ten other games were offered for individual competition. They included: (1) Duffle bag stuffing. With boxing gloves on, the contestant stuffed foam-rubber strips into a duffle bag, racing against the clock. (2) Spray bottle target practice. With a laundry spray bottle, each participant had to knock off a Ping-Pong ball perched atop a soda bottle. (3) Punch-drinking race. Slurping through a rubber tubing “straw” several feet long, the first person to empty a 32-ounce cup was the winner. (4) A gelatin-eating contest, with hands tied behind the back. (5) Marshmallow munching. Without the use of his hands, each contestant tried to be the one who could get the most marshmallows inside his mouth—and then close his lips. (6) Flying marshmallows. While riding a bicycle, the contestant attempted to catch a marshmallow—hung from the goal post on a piece of string—in his mouth. (7) Tricycle races (limited to those too big to ride a tricycle). (8) Blindfolded cotton-picker. A scarf was tied over the participants’ eyes. The object of the game was to spoon the greatest number of cotton balls into a bowl in 30 seconds. A stiff breeze made this a difficult project. (9) An obstacle course, including old tires, hurdles, and barrels to roll in. (10) Chocolate pudding pals. Teams were composed of three people. Two were blindfolded. One of them fed the other the pudding by following the directions of the third, who was not wearing a blindfold.
Each person was free to compete in as many individual events as he desired. These were followed by group games, which included a tug-of-war; a car-stuffing contest (28 crammed themselves into a Volkswagen); a battle over a huge, canvas ball, which could only be tossed over the goal-post by several people working together; and a contest to see how many people would fit in a four-foot circle.
A final contest before the chariot race also served to clean up the field. Each ward was given a large plastic sack, and the team with the most pieces of garbage in the bag at the end of the day was honored at the dance.
At last, the chariots were wheeled into position at the starting line. Two elimination heats of 220 yards apiece narrowed the field of six down to the three fastest teams.
“On your mark, get set, go!” the starter screamed. The speed was as fast as a 50-yard dash. Noise from the audience was so loud that Little League baseball players and their parents rushed from the other side of the school to see what was going on.
About halfway around the track, the all-girl 23rd Ward team fell behind. The other two teams were in a dead heat coming around the final turn.
On both chariots, the sprinters were nearly exhausted. Some, too tired to continue pulling, released the handles and dropped to the side of the track. The 13th Ward had only two men left, plus the rider, as the low-slung chariot pulled ahead of the First Ward’s team by four feet at the finish line.
A large banner with the number 13 on it was thrown into the air. The winners’ friends and families surrounded them, smiling, shaking hands, hugging each other, and saying, “I knew we could do it!”
Then, through the middle of the throng, President “Caesar” Brockbank pressed forward, bearing the trophy with him. He called for Kendall Hansen and Corian Taylor, who had pulled the winning chariot across the finish line. The crowd parted to let them pass, and the trophy was in their hands.
After the race, the youth of the stake were enthusiastic about the success of the day.
Karen Maury, 16, the 18th Ward Laurel president, said, “I feel the youth of the stake are beginning to gain a testimony of who we are. This whole weekend I’ve spent so much time with the Church that I know it’s going to really build me, to help me to do other things.”
Kathy Ricks, a 16-year-old 13th Warder, said, “I think the best part about it was the closeness everyone felt. I’ve never been to an event like that before, where I’ve made so many friends. You realized how much the youth are able to plan things, that they are capable.”
Mike Standard, 15, of the 13th Ward, added that “a lot of us brought friends who weren’t Mormons, and they really enjoyed it, because they saw what youth, working together, can do. They didn’t know people could just get together and do something and it could work like this did. It was a great missionary tool.”
The Second Ward’s Christan Linebarger, 16, summarized: “I’ve never seen the wards so close before. The spirit that was put across in the enthusiasm was really spectacular. I think that was the most special part of the day. It wasn’t important who won the chariot race or the tug-of-war, but it was important that the whole ward was together in whatever we were doing. That was the most special thing.”
Slowly the stadium emptied. The competitors and the fans went home to clean up and get ready for the dance. On Sunday the lessons learned in the race were emphasized during priesthood and Sunday School. At the fireside, members of the stake presidency drew analogies between pulling together as teams both in church work and in life, as well as stressing the ability of youth to engage in good, clean fun.
The lessons had meaning, because the day had been complete. Service to others was the lesson of the morning, and the need to work with others was evident in the games and in the stampede of chariots Saturday afternoon.
And as for fun, it was a good thing President Brockbank announced the Ben Hur Memorial Traveling Award as a traveling trophy, because it was obvious this would not be the last chariot race in the San Jose California Stake.

Such a woman is Olga Kovarova, of Brno, Czechoslovakia, who was baptized into the Church in 1982. When Olga was introduced to the Book of Mormon, the phrase “Men are, that they might have joy” (2 Ne. 2:25) caught her attention. She felt that the people of her country needed that message in order to rediscover ethical and moral reasons for living. Although she could not reveal her interest in religion to her supervisor at the university where she taught, she found ways to teach this philosophy of gratitude, responsibility, and joy in classes and summer camps. She has become a voice of wisdom and encouragement to her people. (See BYU Today, March 1991, pages 30–34.)

My wife, Alice Mae, and I were serving as senior missionaries in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA. We were in the next-to-last month of our mission when the degradation of my motor skills became too much to ignore. Following the advice of the mission doctor and nurse, I went to a local hospital.
I had an EKG and a CT scan. Then a neurologist met with me. She asked more questions and did more tests. Finally, to my surprise, she said, “Mr. Lemon, you have Parkinson’s disease.” It was not a diagnosis I expected, and it was certainly not a diagnosis that I wanted. But what could I do?
That was two years ago, and it started a process I have since grouped into four phases. I share them here hoping they may be helpful to others who are dealing with an unwelcome diagnosis. Here are some of the things I have learned.
I searched online. I bought some books. I met with another neurologist. I wanted to know what impact Parkinson’s disease (PD) might have on my life span and ability to function. As I gathered information, I also prayed for guidance. I knew that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ would help me to get the information and medical help I needed. I learned that PD doesn’t typically affect how long you live, but it does affect what you can do. It progresses differently from individual to individual. It gets worse over time. It is not curable.
Once the shock of the initial diagnosis passed, I gradually began to realize the disease was not going to go away. My wife and I talked about our future and what it would mean if I were to lose some of my mobility. What would happen if I couldn’t drive or walk? In one tender moment when I posed those questions to my dear wife, she answered simply and without hesitation, “Then I will take care of you.”
We were grateful we hadn’t waited to serve the Lord as full-time missionaries and that we had been able to serve while our health was still good. We were also grateful that we had moved into a smaller home with no stairs on the main floor, mostly hard floors rather than carpet, and grab bars near all the toilets and showers. We felt that the Lord had known we would need such a home someday and had prepared a way so that when we needed it, it was ready.
During the next few months, I spent a lot of time at home and had plenty of time to think. I grieved for the loss of the person I thought I would be in my later years. I grieved for the future that my wife and I had previously envisioned. I endured days of discouragement. I prayed a lot as my symptoms grew worse. My need to find positive ways of coping increased.
Then the Lord provided an unexpected source of support. My wife and I were called to be our ward’s welfare and self-reliance specialists. As part of our calling, we facilitated a group meeting on emotional resilience. I had not thought about needing the class personally. However, by the end of the first meeting, I thought, “Wow! This is for me!” We talked about avoiding negative thought patterns, being positive, controlling our feelings. It gave me some practical tools that, over time, helped me—and my wife as well—to develop a healthy attitude toward my disease.
I remember thinking one day, “If I was going to pick a disease for me, this would be the one.” Because at this point it doesn’t shorten my life, but it forces me to submit to the will of God. It’s given me no choice but to accept that, and that’s been a blessing. I am calmer, more at peace. I had always lived too much in the future, concerned about what the next chapter of my life would be. Parkinson’s disease has helped me to be content to live in the present, to do the good that I can do now. Gradually, I have learned to submit myself and my future to the Lord more completely and without reservation.
I studied scriptures that talk about growing from trials.1 I re-read talks and articles by Elder Neal A. Maxwell (1926–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.2 I remembered an address in which Elder Richard G. Scott (1928–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles counseled us in times of trial not to ask, “Why do I have to suffer this?” but rather “What am I to learn from this experience?”3
Throughout this process, I have found a level of peace, joy, and contentment that had previously eluded me. I’ve come to see that death and passing through the veil is just another “transfer” on my journey along the covenant path. It is part of God’s plan of happiness.
I made a small sign on my computer and put it on the wall of my home office where I see it every day. It says, “Be Good. Do Good. Be Content. Relax and Trust the Lord.”
Today, at this point in the progression of the disease, I carry on a fairly normal life. I can still drive a car. We were recently called as temple workers. There are things I can do and things that I can’t. I walk with a cane when I leave the house. I get emotional over small things but also have become more sensitive to the needs of others. I’m not sure how my future will unfold, but I have the reassurance that whatever happens, the Lord will help me to endure it well and to find joy. It’s been a good tutoring for me, and I don’t want to miss the lesson.4

by Lynn Radnedge
Having just landed a part in one of the London West End theatres’ newest and most lavish productions, “Bugsy Malone,” 15-year-old Amy Wilkins knows she is on the threshold of something really exciting. She was selected out of 10,000 who auditioned for one of the three parts. But she is emphatic about one thing: nothing is going to endanger her church life.
Declares talented Amy, a member of the Wandsworth Ward in the London England Wandsworth Stake, “If my participation in the play threatens my church activity, I’ll give it all up.”
She has enormous confidence in the faith that has kept her and her family of five brothers and sisters firmly rooted in gospel principles all of their lives.
Already she has refused to participate in certain forms of dancing at the world-famous Italia Conti Stage School in London, where she studies. “Surprisingly, my teacher didn’t mind,” said Amy, whose father Reg is a former bishop at the Wandsworth Ward and is an international photographer. “I told her my reasons, and she just accepted my decision.”
Amy is convinced that the path she is treading towards success in show business is the right one because she and her family discussed it at great length and prayed about it before she set out to audition for the stage two years ago. Two thousand young hopefuls auditioned for the school and only 20, including Amy, were accepted.
“Most of my friends are members, and those at school know I am a Mormon and know what I stand for,” she continued. “I hope it’s always going to stay this way, and I’ll certainly do my best to see that it does.”

If anyone asked Belinda where she was going to live when she grew up, she’d tell them on the moon. She’d explain how she was going to build her house in a big crater and watch the stars all night long. But nobody ever asked her, so she never told anyone.
And if anyone ever asked Belinda what her favorite food in the whole world was, she would tell them raspberries. But no one ever asked her that, either. Instead, they asked her where she got her red hair, or if she was a good girl—simple questions that they already knew the answers to.
No one ever asked her the kind of questions they asked her father, like which team would win the world series. And they didn’t ask her questions like they asked her mother. No, no one ever asked Belinda how to spell encyclopedia.
Belinda was tired of answering simple questions. She wanted people to know that she could guess which team would win the world series as well as anyone else. And maybe she couldn’t spell encyclopedia, but there were lots of other words she could spell.
When Saturday arrived, her mother told her that they were going to Aunt Martha’s for supper. Grandfather and Grandmother would be there, along with Mr. Nibb, a special guest. Mr. Nibb was her aunt’s neighbor. He was an older man who lived by himself. Belinda had never met him before.
When they arrived, Aunt Martha was in the kitchen, rolling out dough for the pie she was making. “What a big girl you’re getting to be,” she said to Belinda. “Are you eating your vegetables?”
“Yes, Aunt Martha,” Belinda answered politely.
Grandfather was standing by the sink. “Are you remembering to brush your teeth after each meal?” Grandfather used to be a dentist.
Just then Grandma came into the kitchen. After everyone said hello, she walked over to Belinda and pinched her cheek. “Are you being a good girl, Belinda?”
Before Belinda had a chance to answer, Mr. Nibb came into the kitchen. He was older than her grandparents, and he had white hair and wore glasses. He walked a little more slowly than Belinda’s grandparents did.
“Are you warm enough?” Grandmother asked as he took off his coat.
“Yes, thank you,” Mr. Nibb answered.
“Did you remember to take your medicine?” Grandfather asked.
“Yes,” Mr. Nibb answered.
Then Aunt Martha took Mr. Nibb into the living room. “Do you like the view?” she asked, once he was seated on the couch in front of the large bay window.
“Yes,” he answered.
Belinda went in and sat beside Mr. Nibb. “What does a young girl like you plan to be when you get older?” Mr. Nibb asked her.
“I want to be an astronaut,” Belinda told him. Mr. Nibb was the first person who had asked her that in a long time.
“Well, that is a fine profession,” Mr. Nibb told her. “I bet you like the stars then.”
Belinda nodded. “Do you?”
“Do I?” Mr. Nibb repeated. “Why, every clear night I sit on my back porch and look at the stars through my telescope!”
Belinda couldn’t believe her ears. “You have a telescope?”
“I sure do. If you want, I’ll let you look through it tonight.”
“Great! Why do you like the stars so much, Mr. Nibb?”
Mr. Nibb smiled. “When I was your age, I looked at the stars every night. I wondered what it was that made them so bright and shiny.”
Belinda was smiling now. Mr. Nibb asked her questions that were special, questions that most grown-ups thought that she was too young to answer. “Do people ask you silly questions just because you’re old?”
“Sometimes,” Mr. Nibb answered slowly. “But they mean well. They think that because I’m old, I can only answer simple questions. And I suspect they do the same thing to you because you’re young. But we both know that that isn’t true, don’t we?” he said, winking at Belinda.
Belinda smiled. “You ask great questions, Mr. Nibb.”
Mr. Nibb smiled back. “So do you, Belinda.”
That night Belinda went over to look at the stars through Mr. Nibb’s telescope. She asked Mr. Nibb all kinds of questions, and Mr. Nibb knew the answers to almost all of them. Then Mr. Nibb asked Belinda where she’d like to live when she grew up, and they looked through books that had pictures of the moon in them, to find a crater that would be perfect for Belinda’s house.

My friend Arnaldo and I both served missions for the Church, but after our missions, I was less active in the Church for almost 10 years. Arnaldo paid for my subscription to the Liahona (Spanish) year after year. His faith has been rewarded. I am again active, have a calling, and have had the blessing of returning to the temple, thanks to Arnaldo and the Liahona.
Alberto Tejada ChacónHunter Ward, Arequipa Peru Central Stake

Two missionary couples recently shouldered much of the responsibility for sending and receiving the microfilm files. Manfred Hechtle, a native of Mannheim, Germany, and his wife, Karin, born in Königsberg, German East Prussia, moved to the United States more than 40 years ago. They returned to Germany as missionaries because “we knew it would be wonderfully rewarding to help people all over Europe discover more about their family history,” explains Sister Hechtle.
The Hechtles also spent quite a bit of their mission time traveling to various family history centers to offer assistance. “When they asked us, we taught the family history center directors and their staffs how to use Church computer programs,” says Elder Hechtle. “These visits also gave us a chance to repair and maintain the microfilm and microfiche equipment.”
The couple also helped present family history seminars.” We piled our equipment into a station wagon and headed out,” says Elder Hechtle. “We then taught members and others interested in learning about the Church’s family history programs.”

The LeGault family joined the Church after they were tracted out by missionaries ten years ago. Although Nathalie was only eight years old when the missionaries came, she searched to find out for herself if the Church was true. “When I was nine years old, I knew it was true,” she says. “My relatives said the girls were joining the Church because their parents had joined. But I said no, I know it’s true. It was my decision to join. I always tell young people you have to have your own testimony, not just the testimony of your friends or family.”

San Jose, Costa Rica: “Please,” he told a friend, “I want to come back to the Church. I need you to send somebody.”
Daniel Frankston had heard the missionary discussions in his homeland of Canada with his mother when he was fourteen. Then when he was seventeen years old, his sister living in Costa Rica invited him to stay with her family and go to college in San Jose. His first day there, he looked out her window and saw the missionaries walking by. He listened to the discussions again and was baptized.
But the idea of receiving the priesthood scared him. And his Costa Rican girlfriend, whom he later married, was deeply committed to her own church; she made it clear that she wasn’t interested in his religion. For the next five years, he wasn’t active.
Then one day, Daniel saw a friend. And feelings that had been building up in his heart came in a rush: “Please,” he said, “I want to come back to the Church. I need you to send somebody.” He didn’t know his friend was now branch president—and in a very good position to send somebody! “I felt my life needed some order. Something had told me, ‘You need the priesthood now!’ When I saw my friend, I felt he was there for a reason.”
Soon his new home teachers were at his door. “They said they would come for me every Sunday, and they did. I couldn’t miss! It was beautiful. Somebody was there to just say ‘We’re with you.’”
Daniel received the Aaronic Priesthood and then brought the missionaries home to teach his wife, Ana. “She really made it difficult for them,” he smiles. “One elder would be looking through his books for an answer while the other would be testifying. She received the lessons from lots of missionaries. Finally, she just said, ‘I believe it’s true!’”
Daniel baptized her, and a year later they and their two little girls were sealed in the Guatemala City Temple. Back home in Costa Rica, as they were studying the Book of Mormon one evening, Ana’s deceased grandfather appeared to her. Three times he forcefully said, “Ana, I need the gospel!”
“That really strengthened her,” Daniel says. “We’re going back to the temple soon to do his work.”
Ana teaches a Primary class, and Daniel is a high councilor. He gets excited as he talks about his assignment with missionary work. “We invite nonmembers into our home every week to introduce them to the missionaries or to have discussions with them. And we’ve seen baptisms come of it. You can’t preach what you don’t do.” (See: “Keeping Track.”)

Jon Fuller is watching the horseshoeing demonstration when we catch up with him. He first heard about his Mormon Battalion ancestor in a general priesthood meeting talk. Jon was impressed with the story of a John Barnet Cole, who helped rescue a stranded handcart company and who had seen in a dream the woman he would marry. When he repeated the story to his mother, she told him that John Cole was his ancestor. Now, he is learning that his forefather was even more impressive than he had imagined. Jon sums it up: “He was pretty brave!”

It was a calm day at my job as a volunteer firefighter, so I decided to read the Book of Mormon. When one of my co-workers saw me reading, he asked if I knew how we could put on the armor of God in modern times. As we were talking, the alarm sounded. There was a fire in a nearby store.
We quickly put on our firefighting gear and went straight there. The flames were huge, and as we approached the store, something exploded in our direction. The flames engulfed us. The explosion disoriented my co-worker and me for a few seconds. But thanks to our equipment and protective clothing, we suffered no injury.
When we returned to the station after fighting the fire, I asked my co-worker if he remembered his question about the armor of God. He said he did, and I explained that the armor of God is like our protective firefighting gear. We must always wear it so we can withstand the powerful attacks of the adversary. If we keep the commandments, we will be blessed with the protective power of the armor of God, and the Holy Ghost will be our guide.

But one time, I found out that the scriptures really can be a lot like my life! It all happened when we went on a family reunion backpack trip.
I carried my own big backpack and sleeping bag, and I didn’t complain. After all, it was only supposed to be four miles (6.5 km) to the lake. I could make it, no problem.
The hike wasn’t too hard, but I was glad to stop for a rest after two miles (3 km). Then we saw the first trailhead sign. It said that the lake was still six miles (9.5 km) away. My dad didn’t have to tell me that the trail was really twice as long as we first thought. I already figured that out. He did need to remind us to make our water last longer.
My dad’s advice was important but hard to follow. The afternoon sun felt hot, and we hardly had any shade on the trail. It seemed like we were never going to reach the lake.
The grown-ups stayed in the back with the youngest kids, and the older cousins went on ahead. I stayed with three cousins my age, and we ended up somewhere in between.
When we couldn’t see anyone ahead or behind us anymore, we started to get nervous. Our backpacks felt heavy, and our water bottles were empty. How much farther did we have to go?
Finally, we got so worried and tired that we decided to stop and pray.
After the prayer, we picked up our backpacks and trudged on.
Just a little while later we heard hoofbeats coming up the trail. We waited and saw a man on a horse riding toward us.
He stopped and gave us some water. He explained that our older cousins had hurried to the lake with a water filter to start pumping water to bring back to us. The man heard about how we needed water and had agreed to help. “Do any of you need help with your backpacks?” he asked.
I looked at my cousins, and they smiled back at me. We actually felt pretty good!
“You better go on and help the others,” we said to the man. “We’re fine.”
And it was true! The rest of the way to the lake it felt like angels were lifting our packs and pushing us along. When I told my parents about it later, Dad beamed and Mom got tears in her eyes.

As members of the Church, we are invited often to sustain people in callings to serve. Years ago an 18-year-old student showed me what it means to sustain the Lord’s servants. I am still blessed by his humble example.
He had just begun his first year in college. He was baptized less than a year before he left home to begin his studies at a large university. There I served as his bishop.
As the school year began, I had a brief interview with him in the bishop’s office. I remember little of that first conversation except that he spoke of his challenges in a new place, but I will never forget our second conversation.
He asked to see me in my office. I was surprised when he said, “Could we pray together, and may I be voice?” I was about to say that I had already prayed and expected that he had as well. Instead I agreed.
He began his prayer with a testimony that he knew the bishop was called of God. He asked God to tell me what he should do in a matter of great spiritual consequence. The young man told God he was sure the bishop already knew his needs and would be given the counsel he needed to hear.
As he spoke, the specific dangers he would face came to my mind. The counsel was simple but given in great clarity: pray always, obey the commandments, and have no fear.
That young man, one year in the Church, taught by example what God can do with a leader as he is sustained by the faith and prayers of those he is called to lead. That young man demonstrated for me the power of the law of common consent in the Church (see D&C 26:2). Even though the Lord calls His servants by revelation, they can function only after being sustained by those they are called to serve.

All morning the low black clouds hovered over the valley, and the air was hot and still. Up in the hayloft Sarah pitched the sweet-smelling hay over the oak beam and down to the barn floor, where her sister, Amy, scattered it around for fresh bedding when the cows came in for their evening milking. Sarah was twelve, and she and Amy, who was two years younger, did most of the barn chores. They also helped their father with the cows’ care and milking.
Each time Sarah pitched a forkful of hay she’d call, “Look out below!” Then she’d catch a glimpse of Amy’s freckled face grinning up at her.
And Amy would always shout back, “If I had a penny for every time I’ve heard you say that, I’d be rich by now!”
Sarah laughed and brushed at a trickle of sweat that ran down her cheek, then stopped to scoop up her long blond hair and tie it back with a piece of baling twine. She felt uneasy as she glanced out the open loft door and saw lightning flash on the distant horizon in the direction of the city where her parents had gone that morning to shop.
She leaned out the door, her gray eyes searching for her father’s familiar green truck. A dark mass of low-moving clouds was gathering over the valley, and a new sound filled the air. Sarah looked out at the heavy rain that had begun to fall. The once-quiet river had become a gushing torrent of muddy water. She busied herself by stacking the smaller bales of hay to save her father any extra work. As she stacked, she could hear the thunder overhead and the rain pounding on the tin roof. She pushed the last bale into place and sat down to wipe her sweaty face.
A sudden cry from Amy sent her scurrying down the ladder. There was a look of alarm on her sister’s face as she pointed at the river. The churning water was rapidly overrunning the riverbank. Sarah’s heart pounded with fear as she remembered another time when a flash flood had swamped the entire valley.
Sarah tried to be calm as she turned to Amy and said, “We’d better hurry to the house. Mom and Dad should be coming back soon.”
The sudden sharp ring of the telephone startled the girls a few minutes later. Sarah ran to answer it. Against the crackling sound of static, a faint voice asked, “Sarah, are you and Amy all right?”
Sarah clutched the receiver tightly and replied, “Dad! Where are you? We’re having a terrible storm!”
The calm, controlled voice of their father gave the frightened girl some assurance as he replied, “Sarah, we can’t make it home tonight. Everyone in town is moving to higher ground, and all the roads are underwater. In another hour it will hit the valley. You should have enough time to get over the bridge to open the lower pasture gate and herd the cows up to the barn. But hurry!” Another burst of static followed, and she barely heard the last fading words before the line went dead, “Sarah, don’t go near Sam. He’ll be wild and dangerous with fright. …”
For a moment Sarah stood still with fear as she uttered one word, “Sam!” She had forgotten about her father’s prize bull and how much she feared the huge animal. Only that morning her father had led Sam down to the edge of the river and had chained him to an iron stake.
Amy tugged at Sarah’s arm and looked at her sister’s frightened face. “What’s wrong, Sarah?”
The older girl tried to keep her voice from trembling. “Amy, we have to work fast. Mom and Dad can’t make it home tonight. The roads are underwater. We have to bring the cows up from the lower pasture before the bridge is washed away. I’ll run down to open the gate and herd them across. You stay ahead to lead them into the barn.”
Sarah had barely finished her instructions before Amy was running toward the barn to unlatch the big sliding doors. Sarah braced herself against the sharp wind and cutting rain as she ran across the bridge and opened the gate where the restless cows were jammed together. The animals pushed excitedly over the stone bridge as floating debris began to wash over the top. Sarah shooed and waved her arms wildly as the last drenched animal crossed over. She caught a glimpse of Amy running ahead, her little figure dwarfed by the frightened herd that followed her into the barn.
The breathless girls sank down onto a bale of hay, water rolling down their faces and their wet clothes clinging to them. The barn was filled with the sounds of the animals’ heavy breathing and the crunching of hay beneath their hooves as they began to settle down.
Amy brushed the hair off her forehead and said, “We made it! We got them all back safely.”
Sarah stood up and walked to the open door, shaking her head sadly. “No, Amy, not all of them.” She saw Sam’s huge black form struggling against the wild current of the river. And he was unable to free himself from the chain that kept him staked to the ground.
Amy walked over to her sister, and for a long moment she watched the river rising up to the frightened animal’s chest. As though reading Sarah’s thoughts, she protested, “You know Dad said not to go near him.”
The girls watched Sam finally stop struggling, bowing his great head as though he had resigned himself to his fate. Amy’s eyes filled with tears. “Poor Sam!” she whispered.
Desperate thoughts and her father’s warning combined in Sarah’s mind. Suddenly a glimmer of hope lit up her eyes. She cried out, “Look Amy! A big log has washed up against the bridge, and it goes clear over next to Sam! I could crawl along the top of it and open the lock on Sam’s chain. I know I can do it!”
Sarah turned toward Amy, took her gently by the shoulders, and looked into her tear-streaked face. “I have to try to free him, Amy, or at least give him a chance to save himself!”
Amy’s trembling lips uttered one word, “Yes.”
Sarah reached for the key that hung on a chain over Sam’s pen, put it around her neck, and ran out into the howling storm. “Open his pen, Amy!” she shouted. “Then go up to the loft and stay there till I get back!”
Sarah raced down the path toward the log and started to shinny across it, clinging desperately with both hands and feet. As the water pounded against her, Sarah was barely able to stay on the log. Slowly she inched across it until she reached Sam. The animal seemed numb with fear as she tried to turn the key in the lock. Each time she reached out, the fierce current almost swept her away. But at last, with a final tug, the lock sprung open and the chain dropped into the water.
Above the roar of the river she shouted, “Swim, Sam! Swim!”
Slowly the waterlogged animal turned his shaggy head and looked at the girl through half-closed eyes.
Sarah was making her way back across the bobbing log when suddenly something whammed into it and whirled it around until one end lodged on the shore not far from the gravel path. Sarah was pitched ashore, where she lay stunned. Then slowly she raised her head and looked around for Sam.
He was still standing in the same place, not realizing that he was free. “Sam! Come on, boy!” she shouted, scrambling to her feet. “Swim!”
Slowly the dazed animal turned his head and realized the restraining chain was gone. With a ponderous movement he swung his heavy body around and began making his way across the river. Floating debris slammed into his sides, and the waves lashed at him. But at each onslaught, he reared his powerful neck to meet the river’s torrent. Sam’s massive strength kept him plowing straight toward Sarah who was still gasping for breath.
She trembled anew at the sight of the huge animal rising up out of the water, his wild black eyes fixed on her. And when a loud clap of thunder struck close by, he let out a bellow that swelled his sides and shook the ground.
The frightened girl was surprised at her own calm voice as she called, “Steady, boy! We’ll make it now.”
The bull, unbelievably docile now, lowered his head and kept a steady pace beside her as she made a beeline for the barn. Quickly she swung the pen gate shut and pushed the bolt safely into place. Then she sank down weakly on the dry hay, every muscle and bone in her body aching. From the loft she heard Amy whisper, “Is it safe to come down, now?”
Sarah looked up at her sister and managed a smile. “Yes, Amy. We made it. We saved Sam.”
They watched the bull toss the hay around, picking out the tender stems. When he raised his head, a pile of hay was perched on top with some of it sticking out of his ears. He looked so comical that both girls burst out laughing.
With the busy sound of the munching animals settling around them, the girls slipped out of the barn and trudged up to the house.
Sarah lit the kerosene lamp, and a cheery glow filled the room. Silently, the girls struggled out of their wet clothes and wrapped themselves in warm robes. Curled up in the comforting armchairs, they were soon sound asleep.
Bright sunlight streamed through the window, and the sound of a blaring horn brought Sarah to her feet as Amy rubbed her sleepy eyes. The girls rushed to the window to see their father’s truck splashing across the bridge over the ebbing river. The storm had ended.
Their worried parents called out, “Sarah! Amy!”
Both girls rushed into their parents’ open arms. Sarah then noticed her father’s anxious look in the direction of where Sam had been tethered.
With a suppressed smile, she said, “Come out to the barn, Dad. We want to show you something.”
Amy danced ahead. “Yes, we have a surprise for you.”
When they slid the barn door open, their father stood speechless at the sight that greeted him. Sam was contentedly pacing back and forth in his pen. And the impatient cows, waiting to be milked, seemed relieved that their owner was here to look after them.
The look on her father’s face filled Sarah’s heart with an unequaled joy. “We’ll tell you the whole story,” she promised. “But we’re too hungry right now.”
Father put his arms around both of his daughters. And as they walked back to the house, he said, with a twinkle in his eye, “I’ll bet your mom is making a special breakfast for two hungry and very brave girls right now. I’ll race you to the kitchen!”

I believe as baptized members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints you know what matters most. I had a memorable experience as a mother of young children that helped me remember where I wanted to go and what was most important to me.

I was at one of those stages in life when I was feeling discouraged and wondering if changing diapers, fixing meals, vacuuming up the Cheerio and graham cracker crumbs was really what life was all about.

One late afternoon I was vacuuming the family room before my sweetheart came home from work. I liked him to think I had everything under control. That day he arrived home early. He walked into the family room and put his arms around me; I quickly turned off the vacuum. He kissed me and told me that he loved me. It was wonderful to feel his love. He whispered in my ear, "I think I know what you're going to be in the hereafter." I needed a spiritual insight. He continued, "You are going to be the chief vacuumer." I can laugh about it now but it wasn't funny then. I may have cried; I don't remember.

That evening I called a babysitter; and the next morning, with stacks of paper, a pencil and in the spirit of fasting, I went to a small cabin my parents owned. I prayed and I wrote. I made a list of all the things I needed to do and wanted to do. I wrote them as they came to me in no special order, page after page. I went for a walk and then wrote more--mend the clothes my children are growing out of, read the scriptures, clean out the moldy vegetables in the bottom of the refrigerator, go to the temple more frequently, clean the drawers in the bathroom where the toothpaste was stuck in the comb, live with Heavenly Father with Ed and our children in a forever family, be more patient when putting the children to bed, and on and on. When I couldn't think of another thing I had to do or wanted to do, I went for another walk. When I got back I read through my list and put the number one by what mattered most--to live with Heavenly Father with Ed and our children as a forever family. Then I wrote number two and three and four and on down the list. I didn't ever put a number on the bathroom drawer with tooth paste in it.

I knew what I wanted to have happen in my life. I knew before I had this experience what mattered most to me. I had that eternal vision, but it was buried under everything else I needed to do. I needed to clearly identify it again, to have it in my heart and mind, to see that post at the end of the field.

Covenants include promises, “even of life eternal.” All things will work together for our good if we remember our covenants. They must be made and kept to fully receive the promises they provide. Love for the Savior and remembering our covenants will help us keep them. Partaking of the sacrament is one way to remember them. Another way is to attend the temple often. I remember a young married couple in South America who wanted to separate because they could not get along. A priesthood leader counseled them to attend the temple and pay specific attention to the words and promises of the covenants made there. They did so and their marriage was saved. The power of our covenants is greater than any challenge we face or we may face.

I stayed out of the race for popularity for the first half of high school—not because I wanted to, but because I knew I wasn’t cool enough to compete. I would watch from the sidelines and tell myself, “Oh, popularity is such a waste of time,” but deep down I wished the “cool kids” would see me.
As time went on, I got tired of having a small circle of friends. So I decided to change the way I looked and acted, hoping to catch the attention of the “cooler” kids I wanted to be friends with. I significantly moved up the social food chain, but it came at a price—I made a lot of bad decisions to finally get noticed.
For a little while, it felt good to be popular! But it honestly didn’t take long for me to see that popularity was an illusion—the people I was surrounding myself with didn’t actually care about me. They were all just trying to win the social race for themselves.
I felt lonely even among my “friends,” and when I finally took a break from this pointless race, I realized how thin my connection to God had become.
I’m not the first person to fall into the popularity trap, and I know popularity is not the only trap Satan sets to distract us from building and maintaining our relationship with God. Money, possessions, and worldly obsessions are all things I’ve seen Satan try to lure us with. His goal is to slowly lead us away until we’re so far that we feel unforgivable and undeserving of even being children of God (see 2 Nephi 28:21).
But even when we can’t see it ourselves, Jesus Christ sees who we truly are. He says to us, “Thou wast precious in my sight” (Isaiah 43:4) and “Thou art mine” (Isaiah 43:1).
Sister Amy A. Wright, First Counselor in the Primary General Presidency, says, “Often the scriptures give only a small portion of someone’s life, and based on that portion, we sometimes tend to exalt or condemn. No one’s life can be understood by one magnificent moment or one regrettable public disappointment. The purpose of these scriptural accounts is to help us see that Jesus Christ was the answer then, and He is the answer now. He knows our complete story and exactly what we suffer, as well as our capabilities and vulnerabilities.”1
This message was a huge reminder for me that although I’d made big mistakes and had wandered from the path, Jesus Christ saw me where I was, loved me still, and had a way back for me.
I believe Heavenly Father saw me heading in the wrong direction during high school and reached out to me by inspiring my parents. They noticed that I wasn’t myself anymore and that a lot of the light I used to have inside was missing. So, my mom asked if we could start having one-on-one scripture study together every night. I agreed, even though I hadn’t personally studied the scriptures for a while.
At first it felt like reading a chapter each night wasn’t making much of a difference; however, after a few months, I looked back and realized how far I’d come in strengthening my connection with God. I noticed an increase in my baseline level of happiness, and it became easier to let go of those friends who weren’t good influences.
Refamiliarizing myself with the scriptures has been a great blessing. I especially love the story of Alma the Younger and his incredible change of heart (see Alma 36:6–24). In my scripture journal I wrote this about his story: “God freely forgives anyone who repents. All we have to do is reach out. Those who leave the path are welcome back as soon as they make an effort to return.”
I know now that changing ourselves for the popular things of the world can be tempting but can also take us away from the path that leads to true happiness. The only changes that will give us the sense of belonging and fulfillment we seek are the ones that strengthen our connection to Heavenly Father. Like Brother Bradley R. Wilcox, Second Counselor in the Young Men General Presidency, recently taught, Heavenly Father wants us to change in righteous ways because “God loves us as we are, but He also loves us too much to leave us this way.”2 I still have a long way to go to be the person Heavenly Father wants me to be, but I’m choosing to change because I love Him.

One of the great blessings I enjoyed while serving as a mission president in Mexico many years ago was the privilege of interviewing the missionaries. I interviewed missionaries when they arrived from the MTC. I had regular interviews with each missionary on a monthly basis during his or her mission, and then I had the great privilege of interviewing missionaries at the end of their mission just prior to their departure.

I learned an interesting lesson when I first started giving these exit interviews to the sister missionaries. On many occasions, before the interview concluded, the sister missionaries would ask me this question: "President, how will I know when I meet the young man I should marry?" Wow, that question caught me off guard. How would you answer that?

I wanted to be able to give some counsel on the subject, but I knew that I needed to be very careful. At first, I responded by saying that the decision of whom you will marry is very personal, and it will ultimately be decided between you and the Lord. You will need to make it a matter of prayer. I felt that was an appropriate answer, but I also wanted to add some practical advice that might be of some additional assistance. After much thought and prayer, I felt I had received inspiration on what I might add to my answer. The direction the answer took was a little bit surprising to me. This is how I finally answered the question: "Sister, the decision of whom you will ultimately marry will be one of the most important decisions of your entire life. It is very personal, and you will need to make it with the help of the Lord. You will need to make it a matter of earnest prayer. There is one additional idea I might share with you that could be of some help. When you start to date a young man, you might consider observing his attitude regarding the principle of tithing. If he doesn't pay an honest tithing, run the other way. If he pays his tithing but complains about doing it, run the other way. However, if he pays an honest and full tithing and he does it with a smile, knowing he is being faithful to his covenants and helping to build the kingdom, you might consider giving him a fair chance. I'm not saying you should marry him. I'm just saying this: if he is willing to be honest with the Lord and sacrifice a bit for Him, there is the probability he will ultimately be honest with his future wife and be willing to sacrifice for her and his future family." Paying a full tithing is a matter of honesty, honesty to the Lord. "Will a man rob God?"