Gospel Story Finder

After I finished high school in California, I went to the University of Utah. I joined a fraternity, which is a kind of club for college students. Some of my fellow fraternity members kept Heavenly Father’s commandments. Others did not. It was clear to me that the ones who kept the commandments were the ones who were going to have happy lives. I knew that I, too, needed to keep the commandments if I wanted to be happy.
After my first year of college, I went on a mission to Peru. I met lots of wonderful people who were happy even though they had very few things that money can buy. They had great joy in the gospel and in the love of their families.
When I returned to the University of Utah after my mission, I began to date Kathy Kipp. Her father was a good man but not a member of the Church, and her parents were divorced. Kathy and her sister faithfully attended Primary together as young girls. Sometimes Kathy’s father wanted the family to do things on Sunday that were not appropriate on the Sabbath Day. Kathy knew that she needed to obey her father, but she went to church when she could.
When we began dating, I learned how strongly Kathy felt about keeping the Sabbath Day holy. Because of her devotion, our family has always tried hard to make Sunday a special day. We don’t watch TV on Sunday or go to sporting events. We listen to sacred music, write letters, and spend lots of time talking together. Our younger children liked to read stories from the Friend and from scripture readers. As a result, we have enjoyed a spirit of peace in our home on the Sabbath.
Heavenly Father loves all children and wants them to be happy. He designed the gospel to make us happy. One of my pioneer ancestors, William Clayton, wrote the hymn “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30). He wrote it when the Saints had been driven out of their beautiful city of Nauvoo and were looking for safety. The chorus of that song reminds us that when we do what is right, “all is well.” That does not mean we will not have any problems. But when we follow our Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, all will eventually be well.

One Sunday a small child handed the bishop his family’s donation envelope as he entered the chapel before the sacrament meeting. The family had just learned of someone in the ward in need. The boy’s father had said something like this to the child as he placed a generous fast offering in the envelope: “We fasted today and prayed for those in need. Please give this envelope to the bishop for us. I know that he will give it to help those with greater needs than ours.”

I could tell from the boy’s smile and the way he held the envelope so tightly that he felt the great trust of his father to carry the family offering for the poor.

Elder Scott taught and lived by the motto “Do what is right; let the consequence follow.”4 That motto guided him in 1965 when, after receiving a call to serve, he told his boss he would be leaving his job to serve as a mission president in Argentina. His boss, a navy admiral, was angry. He said he would never to talk to him again and that Elder Scott would never again work as a nuclear engineer.
Two months later, Elder Scott gave his boss a Book of Mormon. His boss said he would read it and then surprised Elder Scott when he said, “When you come back … , I want you to call me. There will be a job for you.”5
In his navy uniform.
After his mission, Elder Scott worked as a nuclear engineering consultant until he was called to the First Quorum of the Seventy in 1977. In 1988 he was called as an Apostle. Fulfilling the call was one way he kept a covenant he had made years before: “When I was very young,” he said, “I made a covenant with the Lord that I would devote my best energies to his work. I have repeated that covenant throughout the years.”6
After joining the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1988.
Elder Scott taught how to cope with trials and receive guidance from Heavenly Father. He testified that when we face challenges like doubt, depression, sin, or abuse, we can find strength and relief through faith in Jesus Christ.
He also taught about the importance of making correct choices, that forgiving others heals painful wounds, that sincere prayer opens the door to heavenly guidance, that temple worship and scripture study bring peace and answers, and that marriage and family is central to God’s plan. His faith in Jesus Christ was firm, as was his hope in the blessings that would come in the future.

At the beginning of 2014, Gabin found an article online reporting that Elder David A. Bednar, of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, had a few months earlier been in Libreville. It was just after the Gabonese government had officially recognized the Church and had permitted the beginning of missionary activities. Elder Bednar had dedicated the country of Gabon for the preaching of the gospel and he had organized the Libreville Branch. Gabin was stunned. For more than eight years he had likely been the only endowed member of the Church living in Gabon and suddenly there was a branch organized in his home city.
Using an email address found in the article, Gabin wrote to the Africa Southeast Area office, asking questions about the Church situation in Libreville. Elie Monga, president of the Brazzaville mission in the Republic of Congo, was informed and a few days later, while at work, Gabin received a visit from Elder Michael Moody, the first senior missionary to serve in Gabon.
After their initial greeting, Gabin said to Elder Moody, “I have a few questions. First, where can I pay my tithing?” For more than eight years, Gabin had carefully kept his tithing money in a small box.
“Second,” he asked, “Where can I buy new temple garments? Eight years ago, I brought a few to Libreville, and every night since I have been carefully hand washing them.” Elder Moody went to the car, opened his suitcase, and gave Gabin a brand-new pair of garments that he had been prompted to pack in his travel case that morning.
The next Sunday, Gabin, Fleur, Eve, Gabin’s nephew Yann, plus Annaïck and Pauline, Fleur’s nieces were six of the ten people sitting in the Libreville Branch sacrament meeting. Fleur was taught the missionary lessons and shortly afterward was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. And so were Eve, Yann, Annaïck, and Pauline.
In 2015, Gabin adopted Eve. And later that year the three of them—Gabin, Fleur, and Eve—flew to Johannesburg, South Africa, where this unlikely story concludes with significant eternal consequences. Fleur received her endowment, she and Gabin were sealed together, and Eve was sealed to them both in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple.
In 2016, Elie Monga, president of the Republic of Congo Brazzaville Mission, travelled to Libreville to preside over a division of the Libreville Branch. Gabin Mendene was called to serve as president of the Libreville 2nd Branch. Shortly afterward, while attending district conference, Elder Kevin S. Hamilton—former Brussels Belgium mission president and now a General Authority Seventy and president of the Africa Southeast Area—looked out from his seat on the rostrum. And sitting there in the middle of the congregation was someone he had not seen in ten years—a patient man with an extraordinary conversion story and a church pioneer in Africa—Gabin from Gabon.

As a new employee with LDS Humanitarian Services, Sharon Eubank witnessed misery, sadness, and grief that made it hard for her to function. Through prayer, she came to understand that although she could help the Lord take care of His children, she was not in charge of that sorrow. “Jesus Christ is in charge. He will bear this burden. They are His people, and He hears and answers their prayers.” That answer changed her ability to reach out and serve.

“The rest of my family is Buddhist,” Chung Wen-yi, 17, of the Second Ward, said. “But among the students at my school, there are many who believe in Christ. I became interested in Christians. I saw many churches. But they all seemed to just read the Bible from the pulpit and give some explanations. They didn’t seem to care whether the congregation got the message or not. Then they asked for donations. I felt like I didn’t learn anything from them.
“Then a classmate gave my name to the missionaries. They came to my door. What they said was all so orderly, so logical and right. They helped me understand my Father in Heaven as a loving father, and his son Jesus Christ as my friend and brother. After several discussions, they asked if I would like to be baptized. I prayed about it. Sometimes I felt so happy I couldn’t even sleep at night. I knew it was right. I joined willingly, not being pushed or forced.”

When my son Joseph was 12 years old, he traveled with me to Kenya in east Africa. We flew into Nairobi, which is the capital city, then got into four-wheel-drive vehicles and journeyed out into the area inhabited by the Masai people.
The Masai live in huts encircled by what I call the original barbed wire fence. Actually, they cut down thorn trees and pile them up in a semicircle or an oblong circle. At night they herd their cattle inside and shut the gate by dragging a thorn bush across the opening. The people and the cattle live together.
Health, nutritional, and sanitary conditions being what they are, the average life span for a Masai today is about 38 years. But they are a friendly, happy, beautiful people.
When Joseph arrived in the village, he suddenly found himself surrounded by 30 or 40 Masai children his own age. As is their custom, they wore no clothing. I can guarantee that this was very disconcerting to my son. They were laughing, smiling, and talking to him, trying hard to transcend the enormous cultural and language barrier.
Our guide explained that we were in a pretty remote area, and that although these children had seen white men before, Joseph was probably the first white boy they had ever seen.
I could tell Joseph wanted to be friendly, so I handed him a chocolate bar.
“Give them a piece of candy,” I said.
He opened the package and broke off a square. He tried to hand it to a boy who seemed about 14. I will never forget the reaction of that boy. He looked at the chocolate and shrunk back. He didn’t want to have anything to do with it.
So I said, “Show them that you eat it.”
Joseph put a square of chocolate in his mouth, then handed another square to this same 14-year-old boy. The boy looked at it and held it. He was suspicious as he tried to understand it. Then he took the first, tiniest little nibble, then a larger nibble; then he put the whole piece in his mouth. You could see the joy come over his face as he tasted chocolate candy for the very first time.
Then we handed out squares to all the other children, and they weren’t afraid to try it because they’d seen someone they knew eat it and he had enjoyed it. There was something wonderful about that chocolate.
Later in our trip, we came back to that same village. As soon as we arrived we were mobbed by the same group of 30 or 40 children, and we didn’t need a translator to know what they wanted. They wanted more chocolate, more of something wonderful and sweet.
I would like to compare the taste of that chocolate bar to the taste of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Although the gospel tastes sweet and wonderful and good, sometimes other people don’t understand it, and it’s hard to get them to take just a tiny nibble. But if they’ll take that nibble, and then a larger nibble, they will arrive at a marvelous moment when they place it in their mouths and taste the wonderful sweetness.
I think that we, as members of the Church, are much like my 12-year-old boy was, surrounded by a world of people who want more of something they don’t even understand. I believe that many of the prayers of the people on this earth can only be answered by the members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The Lord has given us the mandate to take the gospel to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. We can’t say, “They might not understand.” We must help them. There is nothing that will be sweeter to them than the gospel, nothing that will bless them more than the knowledge of the truth.
We have something wonderful and sweet, something much more vital than a chocolate bar, something that affects everyone for all eternity. We have tasted the gospel, and we know it is good. We cannot and we must not ignore the opportunity to help others taste it, too.

“Nobel laureate Elie Wiesel was in the hospital recovering from open-heart surgery when he was visited by his five-year-old grandson. As the little boy looked into his grandfather’s eyes, he saw his pain. ‘Grandpa,’ he asked, ‘if I loved you more, would you [hurt less]?’ [in Elie Wiesel, Open Heart, trans. Marion Wiesel (2012), 70]. Today I ask a similar question of each of us: ‘If we love the Savior more, will we suffer less?’ …
“As the Savior’s latter-day disciples, we come unto Him by loving and serving God’s children. As we do, we may not be able to avoid tribulation, affliction, and suffering in the flesh, but we will suffer less spiritually. Even in our trials we can experience joy and peace.
“Our Christian love and service naturally begin in the home. …
“As we follow Jesus Christ, His love motivates us to support each other on our mortal journey. We cannot do it alone. …
“‘Teach[ing] one another the doctrine of the kingdom’ [D&C 88:77] is a way to love and serve each other. …
“I testify that the Savior’s true posture toward us is the one posed by the outstretched arms of Thorvaldsen’s statue Christus. He continues to stretch forth His hands, beckoning, ‘Come, follow me.’ We follow Him by loving and serving one another and keeping His commandments.”
Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles

Desiree tried to be glad as she remembered Mom waking her up in the middle of the night and carrying her outside while Dad had called the fire department. They had quickly crossed the street to safety.
Later, Desiree learned how they had been awakened when the fire started—Dad had heard someone calling him. He woke up to see the house filling with smoke. Because they woke up and quickly got help, their home hadn’t burned down, but there was still a lot of smoke damage and a big mess to clean up.

Tim Burton trudged slowly alongside the dusty covered wagon. The company had been on the trail only two hours, but his legs were sore already.
Tim knew the others must be tired too. There was little of the laughter and high spirits Tim had known during the first weeks on the trail when everything was new and everyone was eager. Now there was just the constant push westward.
Tim was surprised by the sudden stop of the wagon and the mutter of dismay from Grandpa. He turned to see the wagon tipped toward its right side.
Grandpa pulled off his hat and ran a calloused hand through his thick white hair as a crowd quickly began to gather around the wagon.
“Hit a rock and something must have broken,” the old man explained. “The rest of you had best go on.”
“Go on?” someone echoed. “But you and the boy—”
The words broke off as Grandpa said quickly, “I thought maybe one of you might take Timothy.”
Tim was too startled to do more than stare at his grandfather in disbelief, but at last he found his voice. “I wouldn’t think of going on without you. Why, we haven’t been separated since Pa and Ma died. No, Grandpa! If you stay, I stay—same as always.”
Grandpa smiled proudly and turned to the others. “Timothy’s near thirteen now, and he’s a great help. We’ll fix the wagon and catch up in a few hours.”
Some of the company protested, but Grandpa stood firm. He looked around thoughtfully. “My oxteam is in better condition than most of the others. We’ll catch up before long.”
Tim and his grandfather watched the company move up the slope amid the squeal and creak of dried-out wooden wagons and worn leather. There was an empty feeling inside Tim, and he didn’t move until he felt the old man place a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Come along, Timothy. There’s work to be done.”
Tim swallowed hard. “Are you sure we’ll be all right, Grandpa? Do you really think we can catch up with the train soon?”
Grandpa’s expression was grave. “We have a good chance if we stop looking and get working.” He moved toward the wagon, and after a moment Tim turned to follow.
“You see to the oxteam,” Grandpa instructed. “Move them to new grazing now and again. And keep a sharp lookout, lad.”
Restlessly Tim moved from one spot to another around their lonely little wagon. The morning seemed to stretch out endlessly. It was far past noon before the old man straightened. “Best we take time for a quick bite to eat,” he announced.
Grandpa ate hurriedly and turned back to his work.
“I wish I could help,” Tim said.
“You are helping,” the old man assured Tim. “More than you know.”
It was late afternoon before Grandpa straightened again, a satisfied smile replacing the worry in his face. “I’ll be finished by the time you’ve taken the oxteam to water at the stream, Timothy,” he said, stretching hard to ease cramped muscles. “With the good rest and feed the oxen have had, they should be ready for a long steady push. There’s going to be a moon the early part of the night. We can catch up with the others before daybreak.”
Tim moved quickly to bring the oxen from grazing near a small stream. But suddenly his heart began to jump. He stared in terror at an Indian who was crouched back in the willows.
With his throat closed up with fear, all Tim could do was stare. Then he gulped. He’d been too frightened before to notice, but the Indian was just a frightened boy too. His buckskin clothes were torn in many places, and there was a clumsy makeshift bandage across his left shoulder.
“Me Running Elk,” the boy said shyly. “Son of Long Bow.”
“You speak English?” Tim asked in surprise.
“Little bits,” Running Elk answered.
“Where did you come from?” Tim asked. “Are you alone?” He stepped back cautiously as the boy moved from his crouching position in the willows.
“Alone,” Running Elk answered.
Tim learned the boy had received a deep wound in his shoulder three days ago. Now he was feeling better, but was still quite weak. When he heard Tim and the oxen he crouched in the willows to hide.
Just then Grandpa shouted, “Timothy? What’s keeping you, lad?”
“I’m coming, Grandpa,” Tim answered. He turned back to the Indian boy. “I guess you’d better come with me.”
Quickly Tim told Grandpa what Running Elk had said. Grandpa nodded thoughtfully. When Tim finished, Grandpa’s first question was, “How long since you had something to eat, boy?”
“Three days. Few berries only.” Running Elk swallowed hard and turned away.
“No time for a fire,” Grandpa said. “But there’s still a bit of corn bread from breakfast and some jerked buffalo.”
The boy swallowed painfully again at the sight of the food, but he made no move toward it until Grandpa said, “Go ahead, boy. It’s for you.”
While the boy ate, Grandpa and Tim reloaded the wagon. “There’s just nothing else we can do but take you with us,” Grandpa finally announced.
Grandpa bandaged Running Elk’s wound before putting the boy in the back of the wagon. The sun was setting by the time they pulled away. It seemed a long time ago since the wagon train had left them alone.
Into the growing dusk Grandpa urged the oxen on as fast as they could go. Darkness came, and still they pushed on with only brief stops to rest the animals. The moon Grandpa had promised came nudging its way up from behind the hills, making their travel easier.
They walked much of the way to keep the load as light as possible. Even Running Elk left the wagon and walked with them.
Finally the wagon came to an abrupt halt. “Time we stopped for the night,” Grandpa said kindly. “We’re all dead on our feet.”
Tim was sure he had barely fallen asleep when he felt a sharp tug at his blanket.
“Come on, Tim,” Grandpa whispered. “It’s time to get going. It’s nearly light already.”
In spite of his eagerness to catch up with the other wagons, Tim wasn’t sure it was wise when his grandpa agreed to take a shortcut the Indian boy suggested.
“Running Elk says this way will save several miles,” Grandpa explained. “Maybe we’ll find the others before dark.”
An hour later Grandpa called a short stop. Restlessly Tim glanced around as he had done so often.
“Grandpa!” he cried in alarm.
Indians had appeared from behind all the boulders and trees. The wagon was surrounded!
Tim felt a strong knot of fear. Ahead of him, Grandpa was standing still and watchful. Tim jumped in surprise when Running Elk stepped away from the wagon and began shouting in a strange language.
The circle of Indians stood impassive for a moment, and then one of the tallest warriors stepped forward.
In a moment Running Elk turned and came back to the wagon. “This Swift Eagle, brother of my mother,” he explained. “Many hours they watch. Wonder when wagon turn from big trail. Few white men know this way through mountains.”
There was a lot of talk and laughter as the Indians expressed their thanks to Tim and Grandpa. “I tell of wound, big hunger, and how you help,” Running Elk told Grandpa. “Now my people wish to travel with you. Make sure no trouble comes for lone wagon.”
As they traveled together, the Indians made many jokes about the plodding oxen. They called the wagon a “mighty rolling tepee,” and each one came near to peer inside or to watch the wheels turn.
It was late afternoon when the wagon pulled back onto the main trail. It was dusk when the welcome sight of the circled wagon train lay just ahead.
Tim couldn’t help grinning at the flurry of excitement and alarm in the wagon camp at first sight of so many Indians approaching. A short distance from the camp, the Indians stopped.
“We turn back now,” Running Elk said.
“We sure do appreciate your help,” Grandpa said warmly.
The Indian boy smiled. “Running Elk also glad for you.” He grew more serious. “A message goes ahead through our country. Say friends travel this camp. No trouble.”
Before Tim went with Grandpa to join the other wagons, he stopped to say goodbye to Running Elk. He hoped he would see him again some day, but if he didn’t, Tim knew that even brief friendships can last for a lifetime.

They aren’t great basketball players, but they are determined, I thought as I watched the opposing team run up and down the court.
They were younger, less experienced, and shorter than our basketball team, but they kept on trying, even when it was clear that they didn’t have a chance of winning.
Randy, a boy with sandy-blond hair, played like he didn’t know what the score was. Although he rarely had possession of the ball, he chased it up and down the court like the whole game depended on him.
When his teammates did pass him the ball, he would carry it four steps, stop, bounce it, and pass it to another player. But the referees didn’t call traveling, and no one complained. Randy, who is mentally handicapped, was doing his best.
With seconds left on the clock, he got the ball and his teammates yelled for him to shoot. Concentrating so hard that his tongue hung out of his mouth, he shot—and missed. One of our players rebounded the ball, hesitated, and then tossed the ball to Randy.
“Shoot the ball!” our player yelled, and members of both teams joined in the cheer.
The ball went up, hit the rim, and bounced off. Again, Randy was given the ball, and again he missed. Time had run out, but the buzzer didn’t sound, and the referees stayed at half court. Everyone yelled for him to try again. This time the ball arched and swished the net, and the last two points of the game belonged to Randy.
The crowd went wild and the members of both teams surrounded Randy to congratulate him. He jumped up and down like he’d won the game. And I realized that he had.
And so had every player in that game. They had been true sportsmen: fair and generous. That night no one went home feeling angry or disappointed. There was no bragging or teasing—only fun, good feelings, and winners.

“I grew up on a farm in Salt Lake Valley and learned to appreciate work. I developed a tremendous love for the outdoors, for crops and animals, and for all nature.

“We had a gentle horse that I could put the bridle on by climbing onto a wagon wheel. I was riding that horse the day I was to be baptized, and it slipped and fell in a muddy spot in the orchard. I sprained my leg when it fell, and I couldn’t be baptized until the following month.

“Our summertime baptisms were performed in the irrigation ditch across the street from our chapel; the water wasn’t sparkling clean. My father was the bishop, but he didn’t baptize me. He felt that he should pass the privilege around, so he called a priest in the ward and asked him to baptize me.”

At 6:30 the alarm goes off. You groan, fling back the covers before you can change your mind, listen for your companion stirring in the next bunk, and head for the bathroom to splash some cold water on your face. You’re still tired from the day before, and as you think about what lies ahead of you today, you stare at your mirrored reflection and ask, “Can I do this?”
Before you begin your daily gospel study, you wander out to the door, open it, check the weather, and glance at the woods that cover the nearby hill. Awake now, you remember the satisfaction of yesterday’s hard work, of discovering just how much you really are capable of, and you say to yourself, “Yeah, I can do this!”
Turning back you say good morning to Brother Smith … and Brother Heinrich … and Brother Ray … and …
If you hadn’t already seen the photos on this page—you’d have thought this was a standard story about life in the mission field. Right? Wrong. It’s about another group of remarkable young men who are simply called “the work crew.”
They don’t have a very glamorous name—“the work crew.” But it is descriptive. That wooded hill? It’s the Hill Cumorah. And the 22 young men of the work crew volunteer six weeks of their summer to set up stages, lights, and props for the annual Hill Cumorah Pageant, “America’s Witness for Christ.” During the seven performances they handle the lighting and special effects. Then, they take everything down again and restore the hill to its prepageant condition.
In the few short weeks before rehearsals and the actual pageant, the work crew puts together the large, seven-level outdoor stage, erects the light towers, sets up special effects machines, and strings thousands of feet of cable. By the time they are through, they have emptied nine large semitrailers of aluminum I-beams, fiberglass grating, pipes and tubing, lights, countless thousands of nuts and bolts, brackets and braces, connections and fittings of all descriptions.
A few of the crew members have been here before, but most are new. They’ve never read a blueprint before, never worked with I-beams. Training is on-the-job, and they hit the ground running. It’s learn as you go, and they learn a lot, especially about themselves.
“There’s a lot of potential that came out in us that we didn’t think we had,” says one. “Like getting the stages up,” another chimes in. “Sometimes you found yourself lifting something you didn’t think you could lift,” says a third. They tend to interrupt and finish each other’s sentences like brothers in a big family that has shared a lot.
Right now the whole crew is gathered at one end of the glorified barn that serves as their dormitory. They call it the “wind tunnel” because of the breeze that blows through when the doors are open at both ends. Actually, it only looks like a barn from the outside. Inside, it looks like an average teenage boy’s room multiplied by 22.
The crew not only rooms together and takes meals together, but they are divided into two-man companionships and call each other brother—Brother Shoesmith, Brother Sherwood, etc.
One obvious challenge is simply getting along together. They have different backgrounds, personalities, experience, abilities. If they all went to the same school, chances are they would not all end up as close friends. Yet, here they are, faced with an enormous task that requires great teamwork and cooperation. So differences have to be put aside.
“This is the best preparation for a mission. I’ve learned how to live with people,” comes a voice from the back of the crowd.
Still another crew member chimes in: “You feel the Spirit here because you’re working together with 21 other guys, building friendships. You learn each other’s weaknesses quickly, and you help each other become better people. That’s where the spiritual experience comes from—learning with other people.”
And depending on each other. Ask how much they depend on one another and the answer comes back in a literal chorus: “A lot!” The heavy work requires a team effort. But because the work is hard, and new to them, they rely on each other for emotional support, too. “Not everyone has a good day every day, and when someone has a bad day, everyone else has to try to help him through it.”
There is a lot riding on how well the crew does its work. The success of the pageant literally hinges on how they do their tasks.
The crew is divided into two teams—the light crew and the ground crew. Members of the light crew man the light towers, making sure that spotlights are correctly aimed at the right places. It gets a little lonely up on a tower in the dark, knowing that the success of a scene will depend on your doing just the right thing at just the right time. But it helps to know that your fellow crew members know just how you feel and that they are pulling for you. “We can all feel the joy of everyone else.”
For example, probably the key scene in the whole pageant is when an actor portraying the resurrected Christ is suddenly illuminated in the darkness above the stage and slowly descends. Having the spotlights in just the right place is crucial. As one of the tower crew tells it, “Towers seven and eight ‘pick up’ the Christ figure. And as a light tower person, I can feel their excitement.” Another finishes for him: “We all just heave a sigh of relief when they do a good job.”
“There’s nothing any of us wants more than for all of us to do a good job.”
When they do their job right, the performance goes well, and the audience doesn’t even notice they are there. But at least they get to watch the performances. Members of the ground team, on the other hand, spend much of their time under the stages. They scuttle from one special effects machine to another, trying not to crash into one of the I-beams or other supports that fill the low spaces beneath the sets. Timing is critical for them, too. They provide the flames during the Abinadi scene, the lightning arcs and fires and explosions of debris during the destruction scenes.
The space is limited, the hill is steep, and being in the right place at the right time demands concentration. In other words, it’s hard work—which leads to another discovery the work crew has made: “Hard work doesn’t kill you,” says Brother Malcarne with a grin. “In fact, the best thing about the whole experience is pride in your work.” He speaks from experience because, as the son of the technical director, he has spent several years on the work crew, both before and after his mission.
There’s that word again—mission. You can’t help but make the comparison. The crew members talk about it all the time themselves. Some already have mission calls; some are expecting them to arrive any day. Yet others come to the crew wondering about whether they can succeed on a mission.
“But,” Brother Malcarne points out, “afterwards they come away saying, ‘I’ve served for six weeks here, and worked very hard. I’ve done my own wash for the first time—I’ve got blue underwear now, but I did my own wash.’ And they say, ‘Maybe a mission isn’t going to be that difficult after all.’”
Maybe? After the six weeks at the hill, one crew member even exclaims enthusiastically, “We can fly!” So when another says, with quiet confidence, that his motto has become “I can do this,” you believe him. He can.

There was a time when I didn’t want to be around a girl in my Young Women class. Some of her behaviors didn’t seem very appropriate to me. I asked myself, “Why is she like that?”

Then in a conference, someone talked about how we shouldn’t see people as they are but for who they can become. That hit me hard. I decided to try and see the good things about this young woman. She participated in class. She was willing to come to church even though she and her sister were the only active members in their family. She was willing to come to activities, even when her sister wasn’t as willing.

When I started looking for good things about this young woman, I felt like I was no longer seeing her with my earthly eyes. I felt like I was seeing her through the eyes of God, the way He would see her.

As an example, when I applied this process to my coaching, I was amazed by the dramatic increase in performance from the athletes I worked with. One was a U.S. Olympic mogul skier who was not ranked very high.
As I worked with her, she worked hard on training her thoughts to be positive and on using positive phrases to purify her thought patterns. As her thoughts improved, so did her performance. Eventually she was selected to join the World Cup touring team.
After the prequalifying races, this athlete was in fourth place. She told me after the event that when she had gotten on the chairlift to go up for her finals run, doubt had gotten into her mind. She began to accept her doubt, thinking, “It’s OK. No one expected me to do this well. My family will still love me.”
But then she caught herself and said: “No! Today is my day! I am making it happen today!”
And guess what? She ended up skiing faster than she had ever skied before and finished tied for first place.

In 1938 Hitler had his armies invade western Czechoslovakia, and he soon ruled it. All Americans were warned to leave the country. Before the mission president, Wallace Toronto, left, he set apart Josef Roubícek, a Czech and a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, as the acting mission president. For the next five and a half years, Church headquarters received no word from the Saints in Czechoslovakia.

During that time President Roubícek held regular meetings. For a few months the government outlawed public meetings. When that happened, President Roubícek kept in touch with members by mail. In his letters, he encouraged them to study the Book of Mormon with their families.

When the war ended in 1945, an American soldier took a letter from President Roubícek and mailed it to President Toronto. “I wish to inform you,” President Roubícek wrote in the letter, “that after six years of war all members of the Church have remained well and alive. It has been a terrible time. … The [Saints’] … testimonies of the truthfulness of the gospel have not wavered even in the worst moments of this great conflict.”*

A mother and father were blessed with a beautiful baby girl. They named her Karen. The mother and father loved Karen very much. They believed that the most important thing they could do to teach Karen to be happy was help her gain a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Every morning and evening Karen’s mother and father helped her pray, and after a few years Karen was able to pray all by herself.
They taught her about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and Their love for her. Her parents told her scripture stories, and even though Karen couldn’t understand everything they said, she felt warm and happy inside as she listened. They taught her to love and be kind to others, to be honest, to take care of her body, and to live the law of tithing.
Her parents also took Karen to church. She liked Primary and listened closely to her teachers as they, too, taught her about the gospel and about how important it was to obey the commandments. All these things helped her testimony grow.
When Karen turned eight years old, she was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She received the gift of the Holy Ghost—a sweet, comforting spirit that also testified that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ lived and that the Church was true. The Holy Ghost also helped her to know what was right.
Karen loved family home evening. Her family often bore their testimonies to each other and told one another how much they loved each other and the gospel. As her parents listened to Karen, they were happy to know that her testimony was growing. And Karen was grateful for all the people who had helped her gain her testimony.

My mother tried to teach me when a small child to sing but failed because of my inability to carry a tune. When I joined a singing class taught by Professor Charles J. Thomas, he tried and tried in vain to teach me when 10 years of age to run the scale or carry a simple tune, and finally gave up in despair. He said that I could never, in this world, learn to sing. Perhaps he thought I might learn the divine art in another world. Ever since this attempt, I have frequently tried to sing when riding alone many miles from anyone who might hear me, but on such occasions could never succeed in carrying the tune of one of our familiar hymns for a single verse, and quite frequently not for a single line. …
While listening to Brother Horace S. Ensign sing, I remarked that I would gladly give two or three months of my spare time if by so doing it would result in my being able to sing one or two hymns. He answered that any person could learn to sing who had a reasonably good voice and who possessed perseverance and was willing to do plenty of practicing. My response was that I had an abundance of voice and considerable perseverance. … I would take my first music lesson of two hours upon the hymn, “O My Father.” Much to my surprise, at the end of four or five days, I was able to sing this hymn with Brother Ensign without any mistakes. At the end of two weeks, I could sing it alone, with the exception of being a little flat on some of the high notes. …
One Sunday, at the close of a meeting, upon telling Professor Charles J. Thomas that Brother Ensign informed me that I could sing, he said: “Didn’t you tell him I said no?” I answered, “Yes.” He said, “Why, you can’t even run the scale.” I said, “I am aware of that fact, having tried for half an hour this morning and failed.” My voice at 10 years of age must have made a deep impression upon Brother Thomas, seeing that he had remembered it for 33 years. Noticing that he seemed quite skeptical, I asked him to walk over with me into the corner of the building, so as not to disturb the people who had not yet left the meetinghouse when I sang to him in a low voice, “God Moves in a Mysterious Way.” At the close he said, “That’s all right.”
At the end of two or three months, I was able to sing not only “O My Father” but “God Moves in a Mysterious Way,” “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” and two or three other hymns … (Hymns, nos. 292, 285, 30).
It required a vast amount of practice to learn, and my first hymn was sung many hundreds of times before I succeeded in getting it right.
Today, my musical deafness is disappearing, and by sitting down to a piano and playing the lead notes, I can learn a song in less than one-tenth the time required when I first commenced to practice. …

During World War II, a friend of mine was serving in the South Pacific when his plane was shot down over the ocean. He and the other crew members successfully parachuted from the burning plane, inflated their life rafts, and clung to those rafts for three days.

On the third day they spotted what they knew to be a rescue vessel. It passed them by. The next morning it passed them by again. They began to despair as they realized that this was the last day the rescue vessel would be in the area.

Then the Holy Spirit spoke to my friend: “You have the priesthood. Command the rescuers to pick you up.”

He did as prompted: “In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood, turn about and pick us up.”

Within a few minutes the vessel was beside them, helping them on deck. A faithful and worthy bearer of the priesthood, in his extremity, had exercised that priesthood, blessing his life and the lives of others.

The next time my wife and I saw Charlotte and her husband, Laurent, was in late 1998 in Salt Lake City, Utah, where Charlotte had returned to the University of Utah for a PhD in comparative literature.

Charlotte and Laurent were on the covenant path, but we learned that their finances were tight. Charlotte and Laurent would fill cracks in their apartment to keep out the cold air. They dressed their three children in warm clothes because they could not afford to heat their apartment. Their daughter Valentine had been born at home because they could not afford insurance or the hospital.

Financial challenges continued after they returned to France. Adequate employment was difficult for both Charlotte and Laurent. On one occasion, Charlotte asked a friend what they should do when they did not have enough money to feed the children and pay tithing. Her friend advised, “Pay your tithing first, and if you need food, go see the bishop.”

They faced other challenges too. Charlotte’s mother had opposed her baptism, her marriage, and her spiritual choices after she joined the Church. This opposition continued, but Charlotte trusted the Lord, nurtured her testimony, and kept her covenants.

In 2008, Charlotte was invited to interview for a position at Brigham Young University–Idaho. In the Rexburg Idaho Temple, she felt the Lord’s prompting to bring her family to the United States.

The decision to leave France was very difficult. Coming into a new culture in Rexburg was also challenging. While most people welcomed and helped the Passe family, at times Charlotte felt that some did not understand why she was working at the university rather than being home with her children.

When their daughter Amélie hesitated to attend Church, Charlotte told her: “Amélie, I go to church to take the sacrament and remember my covenants. Those [who do not understand our situation] do not affect my testimony.”

Charlotte taught her children the important distinction between the Church (with a capital C) and the church (with a small c). She said, “The Church is the Lord’s institution with His prophets and apostles. It will never fail us. The church is the members, and none of us is perfect.”

Her family could have chosen to stop attending because of these challenges, but Charlotte knew that being part of a covenant people means being a covenant person—someone who is faithful to the covenants she has made with the Lord.

While doing her best to be a full-time mom, Charlotte helped with homework and homeschooling as Laurent advanced in his English proficiency. In one journal entry, she wrote, “There is too much work, and trying to take care of my house and my family at the same time makes it a great burden.”

But she moved forward, writing that the Spirit had told her in her prayers: “You must continue working. It will not stop right away. Make the most of the good income you receive to prepare yourself and your home … for what is coming.”

In 2016, Charlotte learned that she had breast cancer. With treatment, her cancer went into remission but returned in 2019. She continued to serve and strengthen others until she passed away in April 2021, at age 50.

Charlotte had joined the covenant people at age 20 in Montpellier, France. And while she would quickly say that she was far from perfect, she treasured her covenants and stayed on the covenant path for the remaining 30 years of her life.

During her struggle with cancer, Charlotte wrote in her journal: “I am so thankful, so grateful for the Holy Ghost and the ability … to receive personal revelation. I do not know what I would do in my life without it. I would be lost.”

When I read her words, I thought of President Russell M. Nelson’s counsel to all of us on the covenant path: “In coming days, it will not be possible to survive spiritually without the guiding, directing, comforting, and constant influence of the Holy Ghost.”2

Connie Ruesch Cosman was a sister missionary in France as Charlotte entered the covenant path. They remained friends, and Connie came from Arizona to help care for Charlotte in her final two weeks of mortality. Sister Cosman wrote: “Charlotte never doubted and would do whatever the Lord asked of her. She sought for her own answers and received them. She continues to be an immense example for me and others.”

The day following Charlotte’s passing, her brother, Morgan, wrote to me, “I horribly miss her; we were very close.” He then spoke of a spiritual experience that came to him in the first night following her passing.

“[I know] she is happier than ever,” he said, adding that his spiritual experience “strongly confirmed what I already knew, and it healed my broken heart.”

When we choose to fully embrace the covenants God offers along the covenant path, our life is transformed. Alma referred to our being “spiritually … born of God” (Alma 5:14). The Savior called this transformation being “born again” (John 3:3). And He said we become “children of the covenant” (3 Nephi 20:26). It is the same covenant that He made with Father Abraham: “I will establish my covenant between me and thee and thy seed after thee in their generations for an everlasting covenant, to be a God unto thee, and to thy seed after thee” (Genesis 17:7).

As children of the covenant, we see our life through the perspective of our Heavenly Father’s plan. We work to be obedient and increase our faith in Jesus Christ. We pray constantly. We know our weakness, but we have hope. We seek to let God prevail as we face our challenges, and we continually repent and never give up in our efforts to become more like the Savior.

As the Lord’s servant, I promise that His grace and goodness will redeem us as we keep our faith in Him and do our very best to keep our covenants with Him.