Gospel Story Finder

I like sharing the gospel by joining the missionaries in their lessons, visiting Church members with my branch leaders, and encouraging my friends to come to church. My brother and I went on visits with the branch president once, and we heard yelling.
We ran to see what was happening and found a member’s son-in-law passed out and hurt. We called an ambulance, and the branch president gave him a priesthood blessing. That taught me that even though we don’t always know when hard things will happen, we can always stay faithful.

In March 2024 when the weather was still quite chilly, the Chorley 2nd Ward of the Chorley Stake, led by Elders Quorum President Martin Cook and other members of the ward, completed an outdoor Service Activity in Cuerden Valley Park, Lancashire.
Ms. Laurance McCormick, a neighbour of Brother and Sister Wild, approached them and asked if our Church members would be willing to help clear a totally overgrown area within the park so that wild flowers could be planted. There is a big push around the country to do this as it helps bees and other insects to thrive. Brother Cook contacted Laurance and offered our help, which then led to a meeting with one of the park rangers, Phil. Tools, health and safety equipment, and even hot chocolate were to be provided.
On the day of the service, Saturday 9th March 2024, ward members met with Phil as well as Liam and Andrew, two other park rangers. Instruction was given by the rangers and they split the 24 members, full time missionaries and one non-member into 3 working parties. It was very hard work, but fun nevertheless, with new friendships developing and old friendships strengthened. By 11:30am most of the work was done, and what a difference the concerted efforts had made. Everyone felt rewarded by the work and difference that had been made. All was cleared and made ready for the planting.
Some days later Martin got a message from Phil, thanking him and all the wonderful hardworking members. They said that the day was a fantastic success, with all the goals achieved and the team would be welcome to check back in three or four months when the flowers are blooming.
Service in the community is a blessing to all and a bridge builder for missionary work. Those undertaking this wonderful service included Bishop Shead, the Lewis family, Peter and Luke Fagg, Thomas Warburton and Cassius Rosslee, Lauren Gladwinfield, Bryan and Linda Loynes, Stephen Harrison, James Bradley, David Brown, Dan Dudley, Peter Wilson, Nick Wild, Jo Hughes, Bradley Whitfield, Laurence McCormick, Helen Hughes, Terence Kendell and Martin Cook.

At the beginning of my service, I hesitated to share my ideas in ward council meetings. I felt like I shouldn’t be trusted with stewardship over the Relief Society.
With more time and experience, I learned that I wasn’t just a placeholder in this calling—God called me so I could learn to serve and love my ward members. I possessed unique talents that could benefit others.
As I became more confident in my capacity to receive revelation, I found it easier to help the sisters in my ward. And eventually, I realized that my insights were valuable to ward council meetings. This realization filled my heart with joy and belonging.

When he was just a little boy, Harold B. Lee started to climb over a fence to explore some old buildings in a neighbor’s yard. He heard a voice saying, “Harold, don’t go over there.” Looking around, he could see no one, and he realized that the Spirit was warning him of danger, so he didn’t go. He never learned what the danger might have been, but he always testified that the experience had taught him that the Lord knew who he was and was watching over him.

A long line of cars and large trucks sped along the freeway through the steady rain, tires hissing on the wet pavement. Water squirting from under the wheels of the trucks formed a curtain behind each speeding colossus. Every time we passed one of those road giants, a streaming shower blocked our view.
Often, when a long line of cars was in front of us, we had to drive for minutes beside one of those enormous vehicles. Shivering with fear, my wife would look up at the monster that thundered along only a couple of meters away from us.
I grumbled to myself because we had left so late that I had to hurry in these dangerous weather conditions to arrive on time for our appointment.
Suddenly we heard a mysterious sound against the side of the car. It went “klack-klack-klack-klack,” sounding like the first four beats of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, of which the composer said, “That’s the way fate knocks at the door.” The sound repeated itself every so often.
I stopped the car in the emergency lane and inspected the tires and the body of the car. I could find nothing that could have caused this knocking sound, so we continued our trip. After several kilometers, we heard the same knocking sound. I stopped and inspected the car again. Nothing was to be found. But when I stopped a third time, I did discover something—a bump on one of the tires that slowly grew to the size of a coconut!
When the mechanic who came to change the tire inspected the inside of the tire, he whistled fearfully. Even though the tire had been new, it had a big tear in the canvas—a factory defect. “You couldn’t have driven another kilometer with this,” the man said. “The tire would have had a blowout.”
I shivered with the thought of what could have happened if we had had a blowout when we were driving next to one of those huge trucks. That day, I clearly felt the protecting power that we so often plead for in our daily prayers.
Years later, one stormy night. I felt that protection again. We were a little older and little bit more forgetful. The wind roared around the house and gusted at doors and windows. However, inside it was quiet and safe, and we slept warm and comfortable.
The next morning, we awoke, said our morning prayers, and went downstairs. In the kitchen, we had the scare of our lives! There was a strong gas smell, and the kitchen door, which we normally locked tight, was wide open in the wind. Without realizing it, we had left the gas knob of the stove wide open and the door unlocked. Somehow the storm wind had blown the door open. Had the door not been open, the gas would surely have been ignited by the flame in the water heater, causing a potentially serious explosion.
We are not wise people, just a simple couple striving to keep the covenants we made with Heavenly Father when we were married in the temple. We feel protected. Perhaps we are protected many more times than we even realize. Certainly, we believe that it was the hand of our Heavenly Father who saved us twice from misfortune.

Please don’t go, Papa, Maria pleaded silently as she watched her father walk out the schoolroom door. She slid as far down in her desk seat as she could, hoping that no one would see the tears filling her large, brown eyes.
“Maria, will you please come to the front of the room?” asked Mrs. Wilson, the third grade teacher.
When Maria heard her name, she looked up, but she couldn’t understand anything else that was said. When she didn’t get up, Mrs. Wilson motioned to her with her hand.
Have I done something wrong? she wondered as she slowly stood up, but the teacher was smiling.
When Maria got to the front of the room, Mrs. Wilson put her arm around Maria’s shoulder. “Class, I want you to meet a new third grader. This is Maria Nevarez. She and her family have moved here from Mexico so that her father can work in the hospital. Maria speaks very little English, so we will all have to be her friends and help her feel comfortable and happy in our class. Can everyone do that?”
All heads nodded.
What are they saying about me? Maria wondered as she walked back to her seat. Oh, I wish I were back in my schoolroom in Mexico with Señora (Mrs.) Ramas and all my friends!
That evening when Maria’s father came home from the hospital, he sat Maria on his lap and asked her in their native language, “Mariacita, how was your first day at your new school?”
Tears welled up in Maria’s dark eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “It is so good to talk to you and Mama in Spanish. I was afraid today, Papa. I do not like school here. I want to go back to Mexico where I can understand what is being said and be with my friends.”
Maria’s father hugged her and gently brushed her long, black hair out of her eyes. “Maria, remember when we talked as a family about what it would be like to move to the United States? We knew that it would not be easy for any of us, but we also knew that it would be a great opportunity for me to learn new ways to help make sick people well. When we return to Mexico, I will be better prepared to help our people.”
“I know, Papa,” said Maria. “I don’t mean to complain. I just didn’t know that I would feel so afraid.”
“I feel afraid sometimes, too,” Papa said.
Surprised, Maria looked up into her father’s eyes. “I didn’t think papas ever felt afraid.”
“Yes, we do. Today I felt afraid when the other doctors at the hospital were explaining some very technical procedures and I did not understand all their words.”
Maria asked, “What did you do?”
“I talked to my special friend,” Papa said.
“I didn’t know you had a friend here, Papa.”
“He was my special friend in Mexico, too,” her father replied.
Maria was puzzled.
Papa smiled and said, “My special friend, Maria, is Padre Celestial (Heavenly Father).”
“You knelt at the hospital and prayed to Heavenly Father?”
“We cannot always kneel when we need Heavenly Father’s help, but He hears prayers offered from our hearts too.”
“How did Heavenly Father help you today?” Maria asked.
“He sent peace to my heart so that there was no room left for fear. Then I could concentrate on what was being said instead of my fear. That helped me to understand what the doctors were saying.”
That night when Maria was tucked snuggly into bed, she thought about what Papa had said. She had never thought of Heavenly Father as a friend before, but thinking about it made her feel warm and happy inside.
The next day Mrs. Wilson had the students go, two at a time, to the chalkboard and write answers to columns of multiplication problems. Maria saw that they were to answer as many as they could in just one minute.
Maria knew that soon it would be her turn, and her stomach began to feel queasy. She closed her eyes and prayed from her heart, “Dear Padre Celestial, please help me to not be afraid.”
“Brien and Maria,” called Mrs. Wilson.
Maria stood up, took a deep breath, and walked to the chalkboard.
Her hand flew as she wrote the answers.
“When Mrs. Wilson stopped her and Brien, Maria had almost completed both columns, more than anyone else.
“Wow!” said the class. “Maria is good.”
Maria could not hide her pleased smile. I wasn’t even afraid, she thought as she walked back to her seat.
After lunch Mrs. Wilson came to Maria’s desk. She smiled and asked slowly and clearly, “Maria, will you sit by Brien and help her with her math?” She pointed to Brien and then to the papers she held in her hand.
Maria understood. “Sí (yes),” she said. “I will help Brien.”
For a time Maria and Brien just looked at each other, not knowing quite what to do; then they both giggled quietly. After that, everything was easy.
“What’s this?” asked Maria’s father that evening when he saw the big smile on her face. “Something is different today.”
“I liked school today. I didn’t feel so afraid. And Papa, I made a friend! Her name is Brien, and she invited me to her house after school to play.”
“How did you talk to her?”
“Oh, we didn’t talk very much. We just laughed and played.”
“Why was today different from yesterday, Mariacita?” Papa asked, bending down and looking into her eyes.
Maria gave her father a big hug. “Because today I remembered my Special Friend. I prayed to Him in my heart that school would go better, and He answered my prayer.”

My wife and I had taught our children to pray to Heavenly Father, but we did not attend any church regularly—we believed we could love God just as well in our home. Our lives began to change when two young missionaries came to my office in early March 1997.
They told me they would like to give me a special gift. I asked them to come to my home that evening when all my family would be there. That night they brought us not only a spiritual message, but the gift of the Book of Mormon.
During the subsequent weeks, the missionaries returned to our house many times. We learned to pray sincerely, we learned new commandments from the Lord, and finally we were invited to become members of the true Church of Jesus Christ. Baptism would be the first step in becoming associated with the Church.
My wife and I were baptized on March 26, 1997. Three months after our baptism, our bishop called me to be Sunday School president. I resisted, saying that I could not fulfill this calling because I wasn’t prepared for it. The bishop, however, persuaded me to accept this challenge and gave me the Sunday School manual to study.
Two months later the Gospel Doctrine teacher called me during the week to tell me she could not be at church on Sunday to give her lesson on section 98 of the Doctrine and Covenants. She named three other people who could substitute for her. I contacted them, but they all had previous engagements. As I hung up the phone after the last conversation, I felt that Heavenly Father wanted me to teach this class.
I was not familiar with the Doctrine and Covenants, but with the help of the bishop’s first counselor, the ward library, and the lesson manual, I was able to prepare the lesson.
I was nervous to teach ward members who knew more about the gospel than I did. But during my short time in the Church, I had learned that if we pray to Heavenly Father, He will help us. On Sunday before the class began, I asked for peace and strength. As I entered the classroom, the brothers and sisters were smiling and receptive, and they helped me. All participated attentively, and I felt that the Spirit of the Lord had blessed me to impart that important lesson.
Afterward I had the assurance that Heavenly Father only gives us tasks that we are able to fulfill—with His assistance and help from other members.
After eight months I received the Melchizedek Priesthood. My son, Anderson, who was not a member of the Church, had a skin problem on his neck and had already been examined by three doctors. But even after taking antibiotics he saw no improvement.
I believed the priesthood could help him, and I explained priesthood blessings to him, but he did not accept my offer of one. He thought the medications would soon heal the infection. Finally, after several months he asked me for a blessing.
This was the first time I had exercised my priesthood in this way. Five days later Anderson entered my room very happy. His neck was completely healed.
As the one-year anniversary of our baptism approached, I was called to serve as the ward mission leader. This time I had no hesitation in accepting my calling. My wife was called to serve as the second counselor in the Relief Society.
In April 1998 we were sealed in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. We will never forget that day, as we made new covenants with our Heavenly Father.
A month after our sealing, we attended a stake conference where a new stake presidency was called and sustained. Our bishop was called into the stake presidency. Much to my surprise, I was called to serve as the new bishop of our ward. I was astonished and insecure, but I never questioned the calling. In fact, as I accepted the calling, I had the assurance that God was blessing me and that He would help me to fulfill the calling of bishop.
As a bishop I learned that we are building the Church of Jesus Christ all across the earth and that through a prophet, seer, and revelator, He has commissioned us to take the gospel to all nations, peoples, and tongues.
Our lives have changed because my wife and I allowed the gospel to enter our hearts. Now we understand that if we are faithful to the covenants made in the temple with Heavenly Father, He will bless us in this life, strengthen us in our callings, and eventually receive us into His presence.

I remember a few seasons ago we invited a photographer to come into our home to take our Christmas picture. He looked like a Latter-day Saint, and we didn’t discuss religion with him. He came and took several poses in our home and outside. As I went a week or so later to pick up the proofs. I looked around his home and began to conclude that he wasn’t a member of the Church. I then began to ask him questions that I hadn’t before. I asked him if he had lived in Salt Lake City all of his life. He said, “No, I’ve been here about seven years.” I said, “How do you enjoy living among the Mormons?’” And he said, “Well, they don’t bother me, and I don’t bother them. The home teachers haven’t even come by to see me.” And then he said, “In fact, no one has ever spoken to me about the Church.” And here he had been in our midst for seven years! Somewhere in our neighborhoods there may be someone living this Christmas season whom we could select as our gift for the Savior. There might be something we could do with that person that would bring him closer and better prepare him to hear the gospel taught by the missionaries.

Star tugged at her clothes. It still felt strange to wear a dress to church. In her old church the girls wore pants or shorts on Sunday. But not in her new church. She and her mom had just been baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Star sighed as she looked in the mirror. She was excited to go to church for the first time as an official member, but she was also nervous. Before, she stayed with Mom the whole time at church. But this time she was going to Primary.
Star blinked at her reflection. What if she didn’t fit in? What if the other kids didn’t like her?
“Star? Are you ready?” Mom called.
Star walked downstairs. “Do I look OK?” she asked.
Mom smiled. “You look beautiful.”
Star made a face. “You have to say that. You’re my mom.”
“You’re right. I do have to say that. Because it’s true.”
Star gave a small smile. Mom always had a way of making her feel better. But there were still butterflies in her stomach. What if none of the other kids wanted to talk to her? She had friends at school, but they weren’t members of her new church. She wished she had even one friend going to church with her.
“I just remembered something I have to do,” she told Mom.
She ran back upstairs and knelt by her bed. “Dear Heavenly Father, please help me make friends. I believe what the missionaries taught is true, but I’m scared.”
Star stayed on her knees and listened. After a moment she felt a sweet, peaceful feeling, and she wasn’t so nervous anymore.
At church Star and Mom sat by a family with three little girls. The parents introduced themselves and started talking with Mom before the meeting started. Star helped the girls color a picture of Jesus.
Bishop Andrews made his way toward them. “Sister Cunningham! Star! It’s good to see you today.” He gave them each a warm smile and a handshake. Star had forgotten how nice everyone at church was. Maybe she would make a friend after all.
After sacrament meeting Star went to Primary. She glanced at the other kids nervously as she sat down. They were talking to each other and didn’t seem to notice her. Star’s heart sank. She’d be on her own after all.
Just then a girl Star’s age walked into the room. “She looks nervous too,” Star thought. “I could go talk to her.”
Star took a deep breath, then walked over to the girl. “Hi, my name is Star. I’m new. Would you like to sit by me?” Star held her breath. Would the girl want to be her friend?
The girl’s mouth turned up in a half-smile. “I’m Sarah. I’m new too. My family just moved here from Ontario.”
“My mom and I were baptized two weeks ago,” Star said. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”
Sarah’s smile grew wider. “We’ll figure it out together.”
Star and Sarah sat with their class. Sometimes Star caught Sarah’s eye and smiled. Sarah smiled back. Star felt calm and happy. She knew that Heavenly Father had answered her prayer and helped her find a friend.
In class the teacher asked Star and Sarah to introduce themselves.
Star stood up. “My name is Star Cunningham. My mom and I were baptized two weeks ago.” She paused, and a smile grew on her face as she looked at her new friend. “And this is my friend Sarah.”

Everyone loves Christmas caroling! The missionaries at the Ghana Missionary Training Center were completing their classes on a Monday night before Christmas when they heard music coming from the courtyard. They went outside on that warm December night and saw the Africa West Area senior missionaries singing Christmas carols. It didn’t take long for them to join in and enthusiastically add their voices to those of the senior missionaries. The spirit of Christmas was strong as they sang well-loved Christmas carols such as Joy to the World, Hark the Herald Angels Sing and Silent Night. The final song was Called to Serve, which embodied the reason that both the young and senior missionaries were there! Singing could be heard in English, French, Portuguese and Swahili.

I spoke one day to a friend who escaped from his native land. With the fall of his nation, he was arrested and confined. His wife and children were able to get away, but for three years and more he was a prisoner without means of communication with those he loved. The food was wretched, the living conditions oppressive, with no prospects for improvement.
“What sustained you through all those dark days?” I asked.
He responded: “My faith; my faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. I put my burdens on him, and then they seemed so much the lighter.”

To make matters worse, in July 1866, a serious cholera epidemic reached England from the continent of Europe. London was hardest hit. Fifty-six hundred people died there in a matter of days.
The sight of hundreds of abandoned children roaming the streets, their parents having been victims of the epidemic, helped Thomas John Barnardo decide to establish homes for children who had no one to care for them and no place to live.

A hailstorm had flattened Richard Ballantyne’s first wheat crop in the Salt Lake Valley, leaving just a few precious stalks to be gathered in the fall. He and his wife Huldah and their baby had come too late in the season the year before to plant any crops, so they were counting on this year’s wheat harvest to help them through the winter.
In the midst of his discouragement, Richard had an unusual impression. His mind drifted back to his homeland in Scotland where he was converted to the Church. He thought of the sooty ragamuffins who played on Sunday in the streets of the little village of Fawns. Richard had organized a small Sunday School there for these boys and girls and had taught them about Jesus.
Now, in this new land and in this desert country that had been so hard to tame, Richard thought of the pioneer children. He loved the gospel and he loved to teach boys and girls. In his own words Richard Ballantyne expressed his feelings this way:
“I felt that the gospel was too precious to myself to be withheld from the children; they ought to have the privileges of gospel teaching, and that was the main purpose: to teach them the gospel.”
Richard told his bishop that he would like to start a Sunday School. The bishop and the General Authorities of the Church all encouraged him in his plans. Loading everything they owned into two wagons, Richard and his family moved out of the Old Fort to a building lot one block west and three blocks south of the proposed Salt Lake Temple site. They built a single room to be used as a “summer kitchen” and lived in one covered wagon. Their other wagon was used for storage.
Any time that wasn’t needed to provide food and clothing for his family, Richard spent working on the addition to his little one-room home that was to be used for a meetinghouse. He went to Millcreek Canyon, cut down trees, and hauled the logs to a mill to be sawed into lumber. From a quarry in Red Butte Canyon, he brought sandstone for the foundation and sills. Adobe bricks for the walls were obtained from a brickyard west of the city.
The Sunday School room was twenty feet long and eighteen feet wide and had plastered walls inside and adobe walls outside, plank flooring, and a roof of logs and boards covered with several inches of dirt. The room was lighted by two windows in front and a window and half-glass door on the south side. Heat came from a large fireplace, and the benches were made of slabbed timber.
Sister Ballantyne chose the music for the Sunday School, made suggestions on the lessons, and helped give the room a cozy and welcome atmosphere.
Outside, Richard planted cottonwood trees for shade and attractive shrubs and vines. He also built a pole fence around the house. By the time winter came, the building was completed and the bearded Scotsman invited the children in the neighborhood to his new home for Sunday School.
At eight o’clock Sunday morning, December 9, 1849, about thirty children between the ages of eight and thirteen stamped the snow off their shoes and trooped into Sunday School where a warm fire and Richard Ballantyne greeted them. With shining eyes he called the class to order. After a song, he gave a sincere prayer and dedicated the room to teaching children the gospel of Jesus Christ.

There is a silver-haired Argentine sister who knows the Shepherd. She has given a long life of service to the Lord, his Church, and her fellowmen.
The first time Sister Mellor attended a Mormon church service, she was brought by the missionaries. They felt that she was the most sophisticated, cultured, and best-educated investigator they had ever met. They held a few meetings in her lovely home, and when they invited her to accompany them to a Sunday Church meeting, she readily agreed. The service was being held in an old building. The members attending were of somewhat humble circumstances compared to the new investigator.
The service did not go well by the standards of the two missionaries hoping to impress their guest. The branch leaders had just been recently called, and they were still learning their duties. There was some confusion at the pulpit. There was an interruption at the sacrament table at the most sacred moment. The sermons seemed to be less interesting than those desired by the eager missionaries. The reverence was threatened from time to time by children moving or crying. There was no organ to provide deep, religious sounds. The missionaries agonizingly thought of the negative impressions their elegant investigator must be receiving. They knew she normally worshiped in a very fashionable cathedral where everything would have been highly professional and the congregation would have been of the highest stratum of local society.
On the way home, one of the missionaries began to reflect his embarrassment. He explained: “Please excuse our present building. Some day we will build a lovely new chapel here.” Then he added: “Please excuse our new leaders. We have a lay priesthood, so we take turns conducting, and the new leaders are still learning how to conduct services.” He was just about to give another excuse when Sister Herta Mellor turned to him and said somewhat sternly: “Elder, don’t you apologize! It must have been like this at the time of Christ!”
With her spiritual eyes and her knowledge of the Shepherd acquired through studying the holy scriptures, she saw through centuries of tradition. She saw past cathedrals and organs. She saw back through the corridors of time to the Shepherd meeting with his humble fishermen-Apostles, with some sinners, and even with leper outcasts. She saw the early Saints meeting in a small, rented, upstairs room. She saw children, with the Savior smiling at them lovingly. Because she knew the Shepherd, she could say with profound and deep insight, “It must have been like this at the time of Christ.”
She exemplifies to me the admonition which many have followed: “Fill your mind with thoughts of Christ, your heart with love of Christ, and your life with service to Christ.” Today there stands a lovely chapel, presided over by a well-trained lay bishopric, where Sister Mellor first attended church about thirty years ago.

My husband and I are serving a live-at-home mission in a tiny branch in Tuskegee, Alabama. Another wonderful young family has also been called to serve there. They have two Primary-age children—Matthew (9) and his brother Marcus (4). They travel about an hour every Sunday and Wednesday to help strengthen the branch. The father of the family is a counselor in the branch presidency, and each Sunday they all arrive at 8:00 a.m. so he can attend his presidency meeting. They stay until the tithes and offerings have been counted and recorded around 2:00 p.m. It is a very full day for the children, but they are happy and well-behaved. Before and after meetings they read scriptures with their mom and older sister or talk quietly. Often they are the only two children in Primary, where they say the prayers almost every week. On Wednesday evenings they help clean and vacuum the building or empty garbage while their mom teaches Mutual. They both plan to serve full-time missions when they are old enough.

The children were enjoying their last day before school started. The day was filled with bike riding, baseball games, pizza, and trying to have as much fun as they possibly could. Toward the end of the day, a new boy appeared looking for someone to play with. My son John began playing with him. Soon afterward, John was invited to go swimming, but his new friend was not. Rather than leave the new boy alone, John turned down the offer. I’m thankful for John’s good example.

Faith. When Elder Richards left his first mission to go home, the ship’s crossing proved to be rough. As they neared the American shore a terrible storm arose. Gigantic waves rolled about, and everything not attached to the deck was thrown around. A sister returning from Scandinavia said, “Brother Richards, you don’t seem a bit worried.”
He answered, “Well, I don’t know what’s going to happen to you and the rest of the passengers, but I feel just as much at ease as if I were sitting in my mother’s parlor. I had a promise that if I filled an honorable mission, I’d return home in safety, and I have had the assurance that my mission was acceptable to the Lord, so I am going home.”

Serving a mission can be a financial burden to any missionary and his family, but what do you do when you have three sons all wanting to leave at the same time? The Rozsa family has foreseen this, and the boys have been working since the age of 13 toward their missions. In addition to those icy Boston paper routes, they’ve sold avocados, worked in construction, and held other odd jobs. Last summer all three worked at the same taco stand at the same time, guaranteeing considerable confusion among unsuspecting customers. They report their bank accounts are in good shape for the missions to come.

I started studying the gospel very carefully. After four months of intense investigation, I decided to be baptized.
My life soon turned upside down. I lost my job and had to end my medical residency. As my interests and values started to change, my old friends started to disappear. But hardest of all for me to accept was that my parents were against my baptism.
I loved my parents dearly. They had given everything they had to provide me with the best education and environment. They were proud of my accomplishments. But when they heard my decision, they were shocked. It was the first time I had wanted to do something they did not agree with, and it was very difficult for all of us. But I knew that God wanted me to be baptized. So even if my family would deny me, I couldn’t deny my Heavenly Father.
My family did not accept the invitation to my baptism, so on my baptism day I went alone to the church. There were many people at the baptism, but I felt my only “family members” were the two missionaries. Then as I turned to go to the baptismal font, I saw my mother and brother. It was the happiest day of my life. The presence of my family was like a beam of sunshine that brought me the hope of a brighter tomorrow.

I want to talk to you young men about this priesthood and tell you a story or two from our family experience. Several years ago our sons would spend their time during the summer on their grandfather’s ranch. Twelve years ago one of our sons had a horse. It had been given to him when it was born. It had been running with a wild herd of horses on the ranch. It was now two years old, time that it could be broken to ride. Early one summer we went to the ranch. It took all day to get the horses into the corral. Finally we had my son’s horse in a chute and put a heavy halter on it. We put a big rope on it and tied it to a big post. “Now the horse must stay there for two or three days,” I told him, “until it quits fighting the rope, until it settles down.” We worked with it during the morning, and then we went in to eat. He hurried with his meal and then went out to his horse. He was 14. He loved that horse.
Just as we finished the meal, I heard a noise, and I heard him shout. I knew what had happened. He had untied the horse. I had told him not to, but he was going to work with it. In order to hold the horse, he had wrapped the rope around his wrist. As I came out the door, I saw that horse run by. My son was running after it with great big steps, pulled by the horse; and then he fell. If the horse had turned right, it would have gone out the gate into the mountains. It turned left and was cornered by two fences. While it was trying to find its way out, I got the rope off my boy’s wrist and the end of the rope around the post. He was bruised but not badly hurt.
In a little while we had the horse tied up again, and we sat down for a father and son lesson. I said to him this: “My boy, if you are ever going to control that horse, you will have to use something besides your muscles. The horse is bigger than you are; it is stronger than you are. Someday you can ride that horse, but it will have to be trained. You cannot train it with your muscles. It is bigger than you are; it is stronger than you are; and it is wild.”
Two years later we went to the ranch in the spring. This horse had been running all winter with the herd. We went to find it. We found the herd of horses down by the river. I knew if we went too close, they would run. So this boy and his sister took a bucket with some oats and walked quietly to the edge of the meadow. The horses began to move away slowly. Then he whistled, and his horse came out of the herd and trotted up to my boy. We had learned a great lesson. Much had happened in those two years. He had used more than his muscles.
After that near accident had happened, he was frightened. He had disobeyed. And he said, “Dad, what should we do?” And I said, “This is the way we will do it. And one day that horse will run up to you.” He had been prepared and had learned a great lesson.