Gospel Story Finder

In a talk entitled “Freedom, A Terrible Risk,” by Harvey Jacobs, he related the following:
“In a Japanese novel of several years ago, the main character, wandering in a strange village, becomes trapped in the bottom of a sand pit. Food and water are lowered to him but no ladder. He wants out desperately. He begs his captors to let him go. He tries to bargain with them but nothing works. Months pass. The begging, the scheming becomes a way of life. After a long time he is granted what he wants, what he has been striving for with all his will, day and night—the freedom to come out of his pit and go on his way in complete freedom.
“Suddenly he is afraid, he is alarmed by the prospect of facing the world without protection. He could get lost, he thinks. In his little pit he was at least sheltered from unknown harm. Now he understands that freedom is not a reward but a terrible risk.”

The sun was just going down behind the mountains when Annie and her two brothers set out for the sheep pasture. Since the sheep hadn’t been in for water that day, Dad was worried that something had happened and they were lost. Annie and her brothers were often asked to follow the fence along the pasture and check for any holes that would allow the sheep to escape. This time was the same as any other time, except that night would soon be upon them.

“I wonder if the sheep went through the same hole in the fence as last time,” Annie said.

“I doubt it,” Karl told her. “Dad fixed it really good. I know because I helped him.”

“Then did they make another hole?” Lewis asked.

“Probably,” Karl said. “Maybe they were chased through the fence by that pack of stray dogs that has been running loose.”

The threesome said nothing more as they hurried around the fence. Annie was sure that her two brothers were thinking the same thing she was: It would be dark soon, and if the sheep hadn’t gone through the familiar hole, it could take a long time to find where they had gone. Stray dogs could have chased them far away by now.

At the old hole in the fence, their fears were realized. It was patched well, and there were no tracks showing that the sheep had escaped that way.

“We won’t have time to find them tonight,” Lewis said. “We better go tell Daddy.”

“If we go back without having any idea where they are, it could take Dad a long time to find them. We better finish walking by the fence and see if we can find where they escaped,” Karl said.

As Annie walked near the fence behind her brother, a Primary lesson she once had came to her mind. It was about Jesus and His sheep. Her teacher said that Jesus would look for even one of His lost sheep. Maybe He would help them with theirs.

“Hey!” Annie exclaimed. Her two brothers jumped at her sudden outburst. “Why don’t we pray and ask Heavenly Father to help us find our lost sheep like Jesus finds His lost sheep?”

“Why would He want to find our sheep?” Karl asked.

“He looks for lost sheep all the time,” Annie told him. “He can help us find our sheep.”

“He looks for sheep?” Lewis asked with a confused look on his face.

Annie nodded. “My Primary teacher told me that He does. And if we pray, He will help us find our lost sheep.”

The two boys agreed, and the children made a tiny circle and bowed their heads in prayer. As soon as the prayer ended, the children heard the sound of a bleating sheep.

“It worked!” Annie cried happily. “Heavenly Father answered our prayer!” The children rushed toward the sound, barely finding their way in the growing darkness. Karl began calling for them, and soon the sheep crossed through a hole in the fence and hurried back to the water trough.

“How did you find the sheep?” Dad asked the children when they arrived home. Annie explained how she remembered her Primary lesson on Jesus being the Good Shepherd and that Heavenly Father helped them find their sheep, just like Jesus looks for His sheep.

“And do you know who His sheep are?” Dad asked.

Annie shrugged her shoulders.

Dad chuckled, but his eyes filled with tears. “All of Heavenly Father’s children are Jesus’s sheep,” he explained. “If there are any that are lost or hurt, He does all He can to bring them back to the flock where it’s safe.”

“You mean Jesus’s sheep aren’t really sheep?” Annie asked in surprise.

Dad nodded and a tear slid down his cheek. He sat in a chair and lifted Annie onto his lap. “Jesus used this parable about sheep to teach us about caring for others. You had great faith that Heavenly Father would help you find your sheep. And now you might know a little bit about how Jesus feels when one of His sheep is lost.”

Annie sat on Dad’s lap thinking about what she had just learned. After a while, she said, “Daddy, I want to help Jesus find His sheep too.”

“I know you do, sweetie,” Dad said. “We all want to.”

“How can I?” she asked.

Smiling, Dad explained, “Pretty much the same way you found our sheep today. You have to look for them and lead them to water.” At her questioning look, he continued, “Jesus is the Good Shepherd, but He is also called the Living Water because He feeds us spiritually. By sharing your testimony with your friends, and living as a good example, you can lead them to the Savior.”

Annie clapped her hands. “I get it now. That’s what my Primary teacher meant when she talked about the sheep following Jesus to green pastures and pure water.”

“Yes,” Dad agreed. “The scriptures say, “‘He shall feed his flock like a shepherd.’”*

“He who sees all things, whose love is endless, … knows what the sheep need at every moment. By the power of the Holy Ghost, He can tell us and send us to them.”Elder Henry B. Eyring of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “‘Watch with Me,’” Ensign, May 2001, 39.

The train threaded its way through the mountains that walled Feather River Canyon, carrying its load of passengers eastward from San Francisco. Although snow lay deep in some of the higher passes, a bright March sun had caused streams to cascade over the rocks and a soft green to begin to color the oak brush and grass.
Some of those on the train pressed their faces against the windows to see the beauty of the canyon; others slept. A man in one of the cars did neither. His thoughts were of a talk he had been asked to give the following week at Primary General Conference. He wondered what he might say to express his love for children.
This man was Marion G. Romney. He picked up his Bible and turned to the New Testament, to the tenth chapter of Mark, which tells how the Savior took the children in his arms and blessed them. As Elder Romney read, he leaned forward in front of the window of the train, the New Testament in his hands, his elbows on his knees. He read and reread the words until it almost seemed as if he could see the Savior with the children in his arms. The picture was so beautiful that Elder Romney closed the book, leaned back as far as he could, and pressed his body hard against the seat as he shut his eyes in prayerful thought.
Just then a great boulder, crashing down the mountainside, burst through the window of the train where he sat. It grazed his face and bruised his right side but did not seriously hurt him.
A week later as Elder Romney stood in the Salt Lake Tabernacle, he said, “Had I been leaning forward, I am sure I would not be here today.”

Hurrying from her car, Carole gripped her shoulders. The unexpected snowstorm had caught her wearing only a sweater for protection, and she dashed to feel the warmth of the old cottage. She shook the snow from her hair as she stood shivering on the porch, waiting for the door to open.
Carole’s great-aunt Naomi Sweet, nicknamed “Sweetie,” peered out the door into the cold.
“Why, Carole! Oh you dear thing, come now, get yourself out of the storm,” she said.
Carole quickly walked into the warm front room. Boughs of pine and blue spruce curled along the entryway, and a string of gingerbread men dangled from a red ribbon, ready to be cut down and taken home by visitors. Carole smiled and drank in the fragrant smell of cinnamon and ginger, spices that always reminded her of Sweetie’s home.
“My stars, it’s been ages since you’ve been to see me,” said Sweetie. “Oh, and I’ll bet you’re starving! Lucky thing I baked gingersnaps today—I nearly spent the day trimming the tree instead, but today was just the right day to stay in the kitchen and bake.”
Carole sat in the old rocker and snuggled deep into the afghan lying across its back. She felt warm and secure. She had needed to escape, and this was the best cure she could imagine. College had been difficult for her, and although she had originally planned to spend the holidays working to earn more money for school, she decided to come home.
Sweetie set a tall glass of milk and a plate of cookies beside Carole. “You remember we used to always make gingersnaps together?” Sweetie chuckled.
Carole remembered. She had always loved coming to Sweetie’s house, making gingersnaps, drinking lemonade on the porch, planting daffodils, and going on picnics in the meadow. She had missed Sweetie while she was away at college.
“Carole, I didn’t expect you back so soon,” said Sweetie. “I didn’t think you’d get to come home for Christmas this year. Land’s sake, I didn’t get a chance to get your gift yet!”
Carole had been so pressured at school that she decided to come home despite the expense. The very thought of staying away at Christmastime seemed so ridiculous now that she found it difficult to imagine why she had planned to do so in the first place.
Although Carole enjoyed school, there were some disturbing aspects of it. Her courses were intellectually stimulating, but she was required to deal with sacred texts in ways she never had before. Some of her professors discussed the Bible as being nothing more than Hebrew mythology—fairy stories. The professors were so intelligent and knew so much about such vast amounts of information, that Carole could never hold her own in any debate about religion versus history.
Regardless of her strong and intelligent stand in defense of the sacred texts, her professors always ended up winning the discussion, and she would leave class with feelings of confusion. If the Bible was a myth, she reasoned, maybe the Book of Mormon was too. Maybe Joseph Smith was a modern myth. Carole couldn’t be certain about what she felt. But she did know one thing for sure: she no longer felt a closeness with Heavenly Father.
“I just thought of the perfect gift for you, Carole!” said Sweetie, interrupting Carole’s thoughts. “’Course you’ll have to fetch it yourself—my legs not being what they used to be. You just get yourself up to the attic, and you’ll find it in the mahogany trunk. I know you’ll catch on to what it is when you look. Now, it’s not much, but you understand.”
Carole hadn’t come with the intention of getting a gift, but she climbed the stairs to the attic. As she went up, she reflected on her failing testimony. It was as if she felt guilty for being in Sweetie’s home because of her uncertainty about the gospel. She wondered if Sweetie knew of her doubts and questions.
The attic door whistled as she opened it. She felt for the small lamp that she knew was towards the right of the room. An old spinning wheel hung on the north wall, its spindle dull and tarnished. Beneath it stood an oak rolltop desk covered with a sprinkling of dust. Boxes were piled neatly along the south wall. Carole remembered helping Sweetie organize her attic clutter into those boxes.
Carole walked past the old furniture and crates and sat down on a stool beside the old mahogany trunk under the window. Gently, she unlatched the lock and lifted the lid, releasing a musty odor of wood and paper.
She picked up an old straw hat with a large yellow ribbon tied around it. Sweetie used to wear the hat when they picnicked in the sun. Beneath it was a bouquet of paper flowers that Carole had made in grade school on May Day. She laughed remembering how proud she had been of the sorry bunch of flowers. A packet of letters was tied with red string. Carole gently set the bundle aside.
Next she spotted a small navy velvet box. This must have been what Sweetie wanted her to have. Carole opened the box and saw the delicate amethyst and pearl ring that she had so often admired on Sweetie’s finger. Sweetie had worn it every day until it began to hurt her fingers. Carole had always wanted the ring, and she had often asked Sweetie if she could have it, but Sweetie always said she would save it for a special day. Carole closed the box and put it into her pocket.
Though she had found what she was looking for, Carole continued to look through the trunk, finding an old orange scarf. It had been Carole’s first attempt at knitting, and she had surprised Sweetie with it on her birthday. As Carole reached to examine her work more closely, something fell from within the scarf. She withdrew her hand for a moment, then grasped a well-worn Book of Mormon. On the cover was printed, “NAOMI STEWART SWEET.” Carole opened the book to the inside cover and read,
“To Sweetie,
“This is a copy of the book I was telling you about. I hope you’ll read it even though you think it’s all fairy tales and wishes. Daddy says that you should read it and then pray to Heavenly Father and ask him if it’s true.
“I’ve already read it with my family, and even though I don’t understand everything, I know I can understand more each time I read it. I think the stories have good messages, and I love the prophets that wrote them. I also love Jesus, and I want to be like him. I love you, and I want you to know Jesus like I know him.
“With love from Carole.”
Carole clutched the book and looked out the window at fluffy snowflakes falling in glistening crescents along the corners of the windowpanes. How could it be that she had known Jesus so much more when she was only eleven years old? Where had her love of the Savior gone? She again thumbed through the book and looked at its color-streaked pages. Sweetie had read it and read it countless times. It was not age that made the book look like an antique, but its use. Carole had brought Sweetie the gospel message, and now she felt she was letting her down by wavering in her own testimony.
Carole began reading the marked verses and the notes written in the margins. One verse marked in yellow caught her eye, “O … the foolishness of men! When they are learned they think they are wise, and they hearken not unto the counsel of God, … wherefore, their wisdom is foolishness and it profiteth them not” (2 Ne. 9:28).
Images of her professors and their accusations of the irrational nature of religion and of the Church flashed through her mind. Yet she felt triumphant that she had been defending what she knew deep inside was right. She continued to read, “But to be learned is good if they hearken unto the counsels of God” (2 Ne. 9:29).
Carole felt a flicker of hope. She was doing something good by learning at college. She just needed to keep up her study of the gospel. All at once, her guilt fled, and she realized she had a lot of work to do to get her testimony to the height it had been during her Primary days. For the first time in months, she felt happy.
Carole quickly put everything back into the trunk and came down the stairs. Sweetie was waiting with eager anticipation.
“Well, do you like it? Did you find the ring? I was sure you’d want it,” she smiled.
“Oh, Sweetie, thank you. Thank you for the best present anyone has ever given me!”
As Carole hugged Sweetie, she smelled cinnamon and ginger, and she smiled as a new feeling of hope grew inside of her.
“Come on, Sweetie,” she said. “You’ve got a tree that needs trimming.”

“What’s the matter?” Phebe asked.
“Just thinking,” Sadie answered.
“About Christmas?”
“Yes,” Sadie sighed. “This morning I was all excited about the day but now it doesn’t seem like Christmas with Papa plowing, Mama milking, and us working in here just like any other day. Shouldn’t we do a little more than what Mama has planned to celebrate this Christmas?”
“Well, you know what Mama said.”
“I know. There’s too much work, not enough extra anything, so no gifts, and we’ll have a small Christmas dinner. Just an ordinary day,” Sadie repeated mechanically. “But this is our very first Christmas in the Salt Lake Valley—maybe the very first time anyone has celebrated Christmas here! It seems as though it should be special.”
Phebe lifted the black cooking kettle out of the big pot. “Then let’s make it special!”
“Sure, but how?” Sadie asked sadly.
Before Phebe could answer someone walked past the cabin whistling, “Come, Come Ye Saints.” Suddenly Sadie’s face beamed. “I have an idea,” she said and jumped up and ran to the window. “Where’s Abigail?”
“Out getting wood, why?” Phebe asked.
“To make sure this Christmas will be special!”
Phebe laughed. “And how are you going to make it special?”
“Not me, we! Let’s get Abigail!”
“But Mama said to start the bread before she got back from milking.”
“I’ll get it started while you help Abigail. Now hurry!” Sadie grabbed the kettle as Phebe shrugged her shoulders and threw on her shawl.
“This better be good,” Phebe said as she disappeared through the door.
Soon she was back carrying an armload of wood, with Abigail tagging along behind. They dumped the wood by the fireplace and turned to Sadie.
“Now what?” Phebe asked.
“Sit down and I’ll tell you. Do you remember what made the trip across the plains easier?” she asked.
“The oxen,” Phebe laughed.
“Now, be serious,” Sadie said. Then she continued, “Remember those terrible dust storms, and the times when we stumbled through buffalo tracks with the sun burning down on us? Remember how we’d all want to just give up, and then what would always pull us through?”
“Someone would start singing Brother Clayton’s hymn,” answered Abigail, whose puzzled face showed she didn’t understand what these questions had to do with Christmas.
“Right!” said Sadie excitedly. “Through the whole chain of wagons you could hear ‘Come, Come Ye Saints’ ringing out over the empty prairie.”
“What does that have to do with Christmas?” asked Phebe, just as puzzled as her little sister.
“Well if ‘Come, Come Ye Saints’ could make those hard times seem almost good, a song could surely make this Christmas special,” Sadie replied.
“What song?” her sisters asked together.
“Our song!” Sadie could hardly contain her excitement. “We’ll compose our own Christmas song and sing it for Mama and Papa after dinner tonight.” Sadie held her breath as she waited for their response.
Abigail and Phebe looked at each other, then back to their sister, their eyes brightening. “So far this has been just another Saturday, not like other Christmases,” Phebe said. “Let’s try it!”
“All right,” Abigail agreed.
Just then the door opened and Mama lugged the heavy milkpail into the cabin. “Girls, your father wants you to unhitch the oxen for him. He had to go help the Carters.”
“Right now?” Abigail asked.
“Come on,” Sadie whispered. “We can compose out there.”
Hurriedly the three girls put on their shawls and left.
“What should our song be about?” Abigail asked when they were outside.
Sadie’s eyes were far away in thought. “It has to be a song about Christmas and love.”
“Well, like Mama says, all we have this Christmas is love.”
“Then we’ll call it ‘Christmas Love.’”
“I have an idea too,” Abigail almost shouted. “We could sing our song and then tell the story of Jesus.”
Phebe’s eyes sparkled as she said, “I never thought I’d be excited about a song for the first Christmas in our new home, but I am!”
“Come on,” Sadie called as she started running. “Let’s get the oxen unhitched and put in the barn.”
After the oxen were bedded down and fed, the girls worked on their song in the barn. They worked quickly so Mama wouldn’t miss them and Papa wouldn’t find them still there.
That night when the family gathered around the table, the girls were hardly able to sit still as they ate their dinner.
“I told you this wild turkey I shot would make it Christmas,” Papa said with a smile.
“Turkey isn’t all there is to Christmas,” Abigail said laughingly.
“Then what’s causing all the excitement?”
“It’s Christmas!” they all shouted at once.
“You didn’t seem to think it was so exciting when we all had to work today,” Mama said, her eyes twinkling.
“I guess we finally caught the spirit of Christmas,” Sadie answered.
Mama wrinkled her forehead, but she didn’t ask any questions. “Let’s get these dishes —” she began, but before she could finish, Abigail, Phebe, and Sadie were busy clearing off the table.
“What about pudding?” Papa protested.
“Let’s have it later,” Sadie suggested.
“What’s going on?” Mama asked. “All through dinner you girls have been acting like bottled thunder.”
“I think it’s about to be uncorked,” their father answered with a wry smile on his face.
“We have a surprise!” Abigail could no longer keep the secret. “A Christmas surprise just for you!”
A smile replaced the tired lines in their mother’s face. “Well, what is it?” she asked.
“Something to make Christmas special. Please sit down,” Sadie instructed. “We started out with just a song, but now we have a whole program.”
Slowly the three girls began to sing their song, “Christmas Love.” When they finished singing, Abigail and Phebe went on humming while Sadie told the Christmas story.
“Once an angel visited a woman named Mary and told her that she would be the mother of Jesus. The angel also visited Joseph who was to be her husband and told him the wonderful news.
“They had to go to Bethlehem to pay taxes and while they were there the baby was born in a manger. It was such a beautiful and important event that even the angels seemed to sing.
“There were some shepherds who heard the angels and they were so excited they traveled through the night to see the little Christ Child.
“Later a star guided some wise men who went to visit Jesus. All of this was a part of the very first Christmas, a Christmas of love.”
When Sadie finished the story, the girls began to softly sing the song again.
“Christ was born in a lowly stable
But a stable filled with love. …”
Then Phebe said, “And this is a Christmas of love. We have a new, safe home and we have the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
“And a Christmas song from our very own daughters,” Papa said, as he dished up the pudding.
“This is the best Christmas I can remember,” Mama said, her eyes misty.
Mama is pleased, Sadie thought, and a warm, tingly feeling tickled her spine.

Another example of dedication is found in the life of Julia Smith Ballard. Julia made a burial suit for one of her little nephews when she was sixteen and another the next year for one of her sisters. She found satisfaction in this occupation and took it up as a lifetime call. For the next thirty-five years she made temple and burial clothing for more than 400 persons, nearly all without special remuneration.22 At one time one of her daughters—she had twelve children—had been promised a new dress for a special occasion. She rushed home from school full of anticipation only to find her mother sewing on burial clothes. Her disappointment was so great that she burst into tears and said, “I wish folks would quit dying so us kids could have something to wear.”23 Thus did Julia show her love for the gospel.

Eleven-year-old Eduardo Dourado knows what he would do—nothing. Although some of his schoolmates make fun of him for keeping the standards of the Church, he chooses the right and refuses to fight. “I could beat them,” he says, “but I don’t want to hurt anyone. Sometimes I’ve had to protect myself, but I try other things first to keep from fighting.”
As Jesus taught, Eduardo ignores insults. But it isn’t always easy. Because he won’t swear and do other bad things, kids make fun of him. Sometimes he feels lonely. But he knows what Jesus wants him to do, and that is what he chooses to do.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf: I was assigned to accompany then-Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf to reorganize a stake and select a new stake president in Texas. After our interviews, we both had good feelings about a certain man. He asked me if I felt this was the right man. I answered that I thought he was the right man, but that I did not feel that I had received a firm spiritual confirmation. We continued to discuss and pray and still I did not feel that I had the solid confirmation I wanted, so he simply asked me, "Well, do you have a better idea?" It was time to make the decision. We went ahead and called the man and as we went forward, it became clear that he was certainly the Lord's choice. Brigham Young said it this way:
"If I do not know the will of my Father, and what he requires of me in a certain transaction, if I ask Him to give me wisdom concerning any requirement in life, or in regard to my own course, ...or those I preside over, and get no answer from Him, and then do the very best that judgment will teach me, He is bound to...honor that transaction, and He will do so to all intents and purposes."[8]
If you do your homework, study it out, and earnestly plead with the Lord for an answer and do not feel you have received it--go ahead with your best judgment and the Lord will either back up your decision or He will soon warn you that you are going down the wrong path.

You should know that at the outset of the invitation to speak here, I questioned my ability to provide meaningful material for students and faculty such as you. I don't consider myself a great scholar or scriptorian, although I have great admiration for academics and gospel scholars. Throughout my life, I have wondered why the opportunities and callings I have enjoyed have come to me. I am truly an ordinary man-one who, at the stage of life you are now in, would never have dreamed of having any of the callings that have become such a significant part of what I now represent. I grew up in small communities, working on farms and raising animals. My parents were faithful members of the Church, my father having served a full-time mission. They didn't live close enough to attend a branch regularly and were, for years, the only members in their entire community. They taught me and my siblings the principles of the gospel in our home by word and by example. Perhaps that is where we learned that the Lord uses ordinary people to do His work and build His kingdom.

As I received my patriarchal blessing, I had no idea of the import it would ultimately have in my life. A few words from that blessing have taken on a rich and deep meaning as my life has unfolded: "You will be called upon to lift up your voice in defense of the everlasting gospel and to bear testimony to the people of the world of its divinity and its truthfulness."

As a young man, newly called to serve in the Northern Mexican Mission, I felt that this blessing was surely being fulfilled. Of course, being of pure Danish/Scandinavian descent from both my father and mother, I had always desired to serve my mission in Denmark. Little did I know, at that time, that the Lord was preparing me for future callings, many of which were dependent upon my becoming fluent in teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ in the Spanish language. For instance, how many Danish-speaking mission presidents do you think are needed in the Church at any given time compared to the number of Spanish-speaking mission presidents? Our service in the Argentina Buenos Aires South Mission helped me see that this promise in my blessing had a greater far-reaching effect than I had previously imagined. In the October 1999 general conference, as I stood at the pulpit of the Tabernacle in Salt Lake City and addressed the membership of the Church all over the world, as you might suppose, the promise took on even greater significance.

Half of the time that I served in the Second Quorum of the Seventy was spent in the Chile area, where Spanish was essential to the members of the area presidency in fulfilling our responsibilities and interacting with the members. Even the call that Sister Oveson and I received in 2005, to serve as president and matron of the newly dedicated Newport Beach Temple, involved using our Spanish-language skills in helping with the temple ordinances for many of the Spanish-speaking members of our temple district.

In retrospect, at this time of our lives, during this, my seventy-fifth year and after having recently celebrated our fiftieth wedding anniversary, we can see the hand of the Lord in our lives more clearly when we look back on the ways He prepared us to become worthy instruments in His hands to help build the kingdom in the places He called us to serve.

I have related before my experience with a friend who took me to his ranch. He unlocked the door of a large new automobile, slid behind the wheel, and said proudly, “How do you like my new car?” We rode in luxurious comfort to a beautiful new landscaped home, and he said with no little pride, “This is my home.”

He drove to a grassy knoll. The sun was setting behind the distant hills. Pointing to the north, he asked, “Do you see that clump of trees yonder?”

With a wide sweeping gesture, he boasted, “From the clump of trees to the lake, to the bluff, and to the ranch buildings and all between—all this is mine. And the dark specks in the meadow—those cattle are also mine.”

And then I asked from whom he obtained it. The chain of title of his abstract went back to land grants from governments. His attorney had assured him he had an unencumbered title.

“From whom did the government get it?” I asked. “What was paid for it?” There came into my mind the declaration of the Psalmist, boldly restated by Paul: “The earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof” (1 Cor. 10:26).

And then I asked, “Did title come from God, Creator of the earth and the owner thereof? Did He get paid? Was it sold or leased or given to you? If a gift, from whom? If a sale, with what exchange or currency? If a lease, do you make proper accounting?”

And then I asked, “What was the price? With what treasures did you buy this farm?”

“Money!”

“Where did you get the money?”

“From my toil, my sweat, my labor, and my strength.”

And then I asked, “Where did you get your strength to toil, your power to labor, your glands to sweat?”

He spoke of food.

“Where did the food originate?”

“From sun and atmosphere and soil and water.”

“And who brought those elements here?”

I quoted the Psalmist: “Thou, O God, didst send a plentiful rain, whereby thou didst confirm thine inheritance, when it was weary” (Ps. 68:9).

“If the land is not yours, then what accounting do you make to your landlord for his bounties? The scripture says: ‘Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s’ (Matt. 22:21). What percentage of your increase do you pay Caesar? And what percent to God?”

I said again: “I seem to find no place in holy writ where God has said, ‘I give you title to this land unconditionally.’

“I cannot find such scripture, but I do find this from Psalms: ‘Those that wait upon the Lord, … shall inherit the earth’ (Ps. 37:9).

“It seems more of a lease on which a rental is exacted than of a simple title. This does not seem to convey the earth but only the use and contents which are given to men on condition that they live all of the commandments of God.”

But my friend continued to mumble, “Mine—mine,” as if to convince himself against the surer knowledge that he was at best a recreant renter.

That was long years ago. I later saw him lying in his death among luxurious furnishings in a palatial home. And I folded his arms upon his breast, and drew down the little curtains over his eyes. I spoke at his funeral, and I followed the cortege from the good piece of earth he had claimed to be his grave.

Later I saw that same estate, yellow in grain, green in lucerne, white in cotton, seemingly unmindful of him who had claimed it.

In the private sanctuary of one’s own conscience lies that spirit, that determination, to press onward and to measure up to the stature of true potential. But the way is rugged, and the course is strenuous. So discovered John Helander from Göteborg, Sweden. John was a young adult. He had the same yearnings for the blessings of success as do all. But John is handicapped, in that it is difficult for him to coordinate his motions.

At an activity of young people in Kungsbacka, Sweden, John took part in an 800-meter running race. He had no chance to win. Rather, his was the possibility of being humiliated, mocked, derided, scorned. Perhaps John remembered another who lived long ago and far away. Wasn’t He mocked? Wasn’t He derided? Wasn’t He scorned? But He prevailed. He won His race. Maybe John could win his.

What a race it is! Struggling, surging, pressing, the runners bolt far beyond John. There is wonderment among the spectators. Who is this runner who lags so far behind? The participants, on their second lap of this two-lap race, pass John while he is but halfway through the first lap. Tension mounts as the runners press toward the tape. Who will win? Who will place second? Then comes the final burst of speed; the tape is broken. The crowd cheers; the winner is proclaimed.

The race is over—or is it? Who is this contestant who continues to run when the race is ended? He crosses the finish line on but his first lap. Doesn’t he know he has lost? Ever onward he struggles, the only participant now on the track. This is his race. This must be his victory. No one among the vast throng of spectators leaves. Every eye is on this valiant runner. He makes the final turn and moves toward the finish line. There is awe; there is admiration. Every spectator sees himself running his own race of life. As John approaches the finish line, the audience, as one, rises to its feet. There is a loud applause of acclaim. Stumbling, falling, exhausted but victorious, John Helander breaks the newly tightened tape. (Officials are human beings, too.) The cheering echoes for miles. And just maybe, if the ear is carefully attuned, that Great Scorekeeper—even the Lord—can be heard to say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”10

I’m no longer a practicing Mormon, but I can tell you in my heart I know the gospel is true. My mom still sends me your magazine. I read it secretly, loving and cherishing each article. I read your April 1992 Q&A and I had to write. I was 13 years old and I heard the same thing, “If you don’t try a cigarette or a little bit of this drink you will never know what it’s like. Besides if you don’t like it, just don’t do it again.” It doesn’t work that way! I’ve been a smoker now for seven years. One cigarette or one drink may not seem like a very big deal, but one thing usually leads to another. I’m 20 years old, married, raising a five-year-old stepson and a three-year-old daughter. Six years ago I never thought this is where it would lead to. Please let your readers know it’s just not worth it.
Name WithheldSalt Lake City, Utah

When I was eleven years old, I worked all summer herding cows along a ditch bank. At the end of the summer, my employer gave me a choice of receiving either twenty dollars or a calf for my work. I chose the calf because I thought it would contribute to the family’s food supply.
On the day of the first frost of that year, I came home from school and saw my summer’s work flat on its back with its four legs sticking up—dead. I learned that the first frost tends to cause bloating in animals. It was a great personal sadness to me, and I was discouraged for a time, but I took it as a lesson of life—that I needed to be more careful.

At the end of a particularly tiring day toward the end of my first week as a General Authority, my briefcase was overloaded and my mind was preoccupied with the question “How can I possibly do this?” I left the office of the Seventy and entered the elevator of the Church Administration Building. As the elevator descended, my head was down and I stared blankly at the floor.
The door opened and someone entered, but I didn’t look up. As the door closed, I heard someone ask, “What are you looking at down there?” I recognized that voice—it was President Thomas S. Monson.
I quickly looked up and responded, “Oh, nothing.” (I’m sure that clever response inspired confidence in my abilities!)
But he had seen my subdued countenance and my heavy briefcase. He smiled and lovingly suggested, while pointing heavenward, “It is better to look up!” As we traveled down one more level, he cheerfully explained that he was on his way to the temple. When he bid me farewell, his parting glance spoke again to my heart, “Now, remember, it is better to look up.”
As we parted, the words of a scripture came to mind: “Believe in God; believe that he is … ; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth.”1 As I thought of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ’s power, my heart found the comfort I had sought in vain from the floor of that descending elevator.

“On a Friday afternoon an opportunity came up to go visit a new girl in our ward,” Emma H., 15, said. “No one wanted to do it, including me. But I think the idea of helping someone else and sacrificing my time was something I was more used to after the Fit Challenge and more used to saying yes to. I said I’d go, and I went and had a super great visit with one of the Beehives. We got her to come watch the general women’s session of conference with us. It was cool because she seemed to have wanted us to come by.”
“When you are asked to do something, whether it’s by a leader in your ward or your stake or a prompting from Heavenly Father, you should act on that,” she continued. “Try something new, work a little harder to be a little better. Those practices can really change your life if you let them.”

I became aware that I was attracted to men as a teenager. I didn’t know what to do with my feelings or how to talk about them, so I just buried them for a long time.
I was too afraid to acknowledge that this was a part of my life. I felt that if I just continued to keep the commandments, pray, read my scriptures, and go to the temple and if I served a mission, God would somehow miraculously take these feelings away from me.
While all those practices did help establish my testimony of the restored gospel and of God and Jesus Christ, my attractions didn’t change. Eventually, through a lot of deep soul-searching, praying, and skilled therapy, I became closer to Them, learned to truly understand and feel Their love and mercy, and learned to work through my attractions while keeping my covenants.

Well, that’s me! I’m the first to admit my guilt in believing that through “sheer grit, willpower, and discipline” I always think can manage just about anything. Preparing this talk is an example. I searched the scriptures, scanned articles and books, followed links on the Church Web site, and labored over an outline. I felt a tremendous burden as I struggled along working with “sheer grit”. I think this is not an uncommon feeling. We have a tendency to believe that we have to do everything all by ourselves. I know that nothing is further from the truth for I have repeatedly experienced the enabling power promised by the Savior, but I so easily forget and am so slow to remember.
As the deadline approached I experienced increased stress and stress drives away the Spirit. I came to a point where I knew I could not do this alone; I desperately needed His help. I prayed for guidance, understanding, wisdom, and the enabling power of Jesus Christ. “Why is this so difficult?” I prayed.
With force and power these words came streaming into my mind: Because Satan does not want you to teach of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. He knows that when we understand the enabling power of the Atonement, we will be changed; we will have strength beyond our natural abilities, our weakness will be turned to strength, and we will know that “in the strength of the Lord [we] canst do all things.” Christ will heal our feelings of fear, distrust, anger, self-doubt, sorrow, discouragement, and inadequacy. He will help us get through difficult days and trying times … if we but come unto Him, in faith, humility, and with repentance hearts. But if Satan can prevent us from learning the doctrine of and drawing upon the enabling power of Christ’s atonement, he will leave us crippled, weak, and ineffective – basically, “miserable like unto himself.”
My prideful thinking had led me to believe that I could prepare this talk without His help. However, as I sought forgiveness, a feeling of peace flooded over me, I felt great relief, and scriptures and thoughts came into my mind. I began to write, knowing I was being “enabled” by Christ’s promised grace. I determined I would do everything within my power, relying upon the enabling power of Christ to foil Satan’s intent.

When the Gonzales family of the Santa Maria (California) First Ward decided to visit their homeland of Argentina, young women in the ward wanted to do something to strengthen feelings of individual worth in their Argentine sisters. They wrote letters, made scripture bookmarks, and beaded YW value-colored friendship bracelets for young women in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Sister Gonzales delivered the gifts to the young women of the Ramos Mejia Ward, who in turn sent letters and candy to the young women in California. Girls in both countries realized that the gospel and the Young Women values are the same no matter where you go.

Phillip McArthur, a professor in the Faculty of Culture, Language & Performing Arts, recounts a story of the work to follow the Savior in having brotherly love towards all men.
Let me give context to the story: This event took place just after the 2000 Coup in Fiji that was primarily centered in ethnic conflict. The Indo-Fijian president of the country had just been deposed by a pro-indigenous Fijian group and then there was a military take over. The coup occurred a month prior to graduation ceremonies at the end of June. It was customary a handful of student workers and presidency officers would wait for the graduates to come off the stand after receiving their diplomas and shaking the hands of the dignitaries, and then present them each with a lei. This presentation took place to the side by the student chairs so very few people focused on these exchanges while their attention was directed toward the stand.

“On this occasion I witnessed one of our Indo-Fijian graduates, after receiving his diploma, descend the stairs to be greeted by the student worker. I wanted to observe the interaction between the Fijian student worker and this Indo-Fijian graduate. When they met, the student worker placed the lei upon his friend, fellow citizen, and brother, and then they embraced with a most intense hug, burying their faces in each other necks. They held this embrace for some time, and when they raised their heads, I could see tears in both their eyes.

It was one of the most moving moments of genuine brotherhood, love, and affection among fellow saints I have ever witnessed. It was quiet, it was true, and identified what really matters, even in times of great political strain.” [8]

Becky West, 16, Murray 29th Ward, Murray Utah West Stake. Becky got her first job working at a local restaurant part-time busing tables. She wanted to earn money for college and for school clothes. Because she gets tips, Becky brings home cash every time she works. To make saving a little simpler, she decided to put her paychecks directly into savings in the bank. Her tips paid for everything else.

Estimate
Actual
Income
306.80
396.00
Expenses
tithing
30.68
39.60
savings
201.12
233.36
clothes
55.00
58.00
food, makeup, and entertainment
20.00
26.87
total
$306.80
$357.83

Becky did very well with her budget. She even had $36.17 left over that she could add to her savings or spend on other things. Becky learned one trick about not spending too much. “I only take my clothes money with me when I’m going clothes shopping. If I find something another time, then I have to come home, get my money, and go back.”