Gospel Story Finder

When I was in grade four, some of the kids in my class said that every recess they would play a game in the school field, but only a few kids were allowed. A bunch of kids, including me, were left out. For a couple of days I was bored because the friends I usually played with were playing with the kids in the school field. During those days, I played with some of the other kids in my class I didn’t know very well. I got to know them better, and I even became good friends with one of them! One day, one of the kids who played in the school field invited me to play with them. I asked her if my new friend could play too. She said my friend wasn’t allowed. I told her I couldn’t play with them. At recess I played with my new friend. I felt good inside, and I knew I had made the right choice.

It was a beautiful, clear morning in San José Pinula, a small town near Guatemala City. “I can’t wait!” Joshua told his little sister. Today was his baptism day!
After the family arrived at church, Joshua and Papá dressed in white clothes. At first, Joshua felt a little nervous. But Papá held his hand as they walked down the steps into the font, and he didn’t feel so nervous. When Joshua came up out of the water, he had a big smile on his face.
Joshua and Papá changed into dry clothes. Then Papá and Joshua’s uncles and grandpa placed their hands on Joshua’s head. They confirmed him a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Joshua heard Papá say, “Receive the Holy Ghost.”
“I’m so happy!” he said as he gave Papá a big hug.
“Remember the promises you made today,” said Papá. “If you do, the Holy Ghost can always be with you. You’ll never really be alone.”

And all of the Thordersons know that being different because of their values is more than all right—it’s the way to set a good example for others around you. Kurt said, “While we were growing up, Eric and I were the only LDS students in our high school, and we were in a graduating class of about 650. And then when I went to Wayne State, the only other Latter-day Saints out of 30,000 people were Eric and Dad (he works as an administrator there). It was hard, but it also made me stand up for what I believe.”

It was easy to understand why Kefa’s head was filled with ferocious tigers, leopards, mighty buffaloes, and elephants, for he had always lived in Cambodia until a few weeks ago when he moved away with his family.
One day his dreams took him thousands of miles away from his classroom until his friend Randy, who sat next to him, brought him back to class. It had begun to rain, and Randy’s nose wrinkled with disappointment as he moaned, "Oh, no!"
Miss Johnson heard Randy’s remark and smiled. She noticed Kefa’s puzzled eyes and explained, "We do not have Cambodia’s rainy season with all of the rain-filled days from April to October. When it rains here, it often means only a called-off ballgame!"
Kefa’s dark eyes were puzzled. A picture of a fat woolly caterpillar suddenly flashed through his head. He hesitated but finally asked, "What about the caterpillars?"
"Caterpillars!" exclaimed Randy, who thought this was a funny question. Everyone else thought so too, and laughter soon spread throughout the class.
Miss Johnson smiled, but Kefa was glad to see her head nod with understanding. He knew she would explain to him. But the bell rang, and there was no time.
Kefa wished there had been time. He would have liked his classmates to know that in his homeland the caterpillar, the woollier the better, was given as a present to a friend as a sign of real friendship.
The following day Kefa hoped he could tell his story. It seemed to him that everyone would want to know about the caterpillars. But no one seemed to be interested.
"There is much that boys and girls here do not understand about you and Cambodia," his father explained, "and you must not expect them to understand everything."
Kefa listened, and with a sigh decided his father was right. He would try hard to be patient.
But soon there was a big problem. Miss Johnson told the class that she was taking a leave of absence to go on a long journey, and everyone began thinking of giving her a going-away present.
"I do not know what to give my teacher," Kefa said to his father. If I were back home, I would not have a problem, he thought. He remembered the many times when he had taken caterpillars to his teacher in Cambodia—how she had bowed her head in thanks and how he had come away with a heart full of friendship and joy.
"Give what your heart tells you to give," Father wisely suggested.
Kefa’s dark eyes grew large and round. He could hardly believe that his father meant that Kefa would even dare to give his American teacher a caterpillar!
His father told him where to find a fat woolly caterpillar. "The great shade tree on the corner will surely house one or two, and so will the heads of cabbage in the garden."
Kefa decided to look first in the garden. The cabbages housed the woolliest of caterpillars!
"You are going to make a good present," Kefa told a fuzzy caterpillar, carefully setting it on a dark green cabbage leaf. He smiled, knowing the leaf would serve many good purposes—as a temporary home for his fine caterpillar, as food for it, and as a box for the present.
At school the next day, Kefa waited until his classmates placed their presents on Miss Johnson’s desk. After they were all opened, he shyly gave his gift to her.
"It’s a caterpillar," he explained softly.
Miss Johnson eyed the fuzzy caterpillar perched on the green cabbage leaf. Then she reached out for it and bowed, just as his teacher in Cambodia had done.
Miss Johnson held up her present for all to see and asked, "What is this, class?" A voice from the back of the room answered, "It’s a caterpillar, and friendship is a caterpillar!"
Kefa’s eyes sparkled. Everyone has been told about the caterpillar, he thought happily.
There was much that Kefa did not understand about boys and girls and the new country, but it was wonderful finding out!

When I found out I was going to be a part of a Face to Face event, the thing that excited me most was the opportunity to work with an Apostle.
I was nervous before the broadcast because I needed to say some things in Portuguese. I said to Elder Soares, “I’m worried my American accent is going to come through.” He replied with a smile and a wink, saying, “Max, accents are charming!”
I felt the Spirit so strongly when I heard him witness that the Savior lives and loves all of us individually.
Max A.

Recently I visited the Missionary Training Center at Provo, Utah, where missionaries who have been called to serve throughout the world are devotedly learning the fundamentals of the languages spoken by the people to whom they shall teach and testify.
Vaguely familiar to me were the conversations in Spanish, French, German, and Swedish. Totally foreign to me and perhaps to most of the missionaries were the sounds of Japanese, Chinese, and Finnish. One marvels at the devotion and total concentration of these young men and women as they grapple with the unfamiliar and learn the difficult.
I am told that on occasion when a missionary in training feels that the Spanish he is called upon to master appears overwhelming or just too hard to learn, he is placed during the luncheon break next to missionaries studying the complex languages of the Orient. He listens. Suddenly Spanish becomes not too overpowering, and he eagerly returns to his study.
There is one language, however, that is understood by each missionary: the language of the Spirit. It is not learned from textbooks written by men of letters, nor is it acquired through reading and memorization. The language of the Spirit comes to him who seeks with all his heart to know God and to keep His divine commandments. Proficiency in this language permits one to breach barriers, overcome obstacles, and touch the human heart.
The Apostle Paul, in his second epistle to the Corinthians, urges that we turn from the narrow confinement of the letter of the law and seek the open vista of opportunity which the Spirit provides. I love and cherish Paul’s statement: “The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life.” (2 Cor. 3:6.)
In a day of danger or a time of trial, such knowledge, such hope, such understanding bring comfort to the troubled mind and grieving heart. The entire message of the New Testament breathes a spirit of awakening to the human soul. Shadows of despair are dispelled by rays of hope, sorrow yields to joy, and the feeling of being lost in the crowd of life vanishes with the certain knowledge that our Heavenly Father is mindful of each of us.
The Savior provided assurance of this truth when He taught that even a sparrow shall not fall to the ground unnoticed by our Father. He then concluded the beautiful thought by saying, “Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.” (Matt. 10:29–31.)
We live in a complex world with daily challenges. There is a tendency to feel detached—even isolated—from the Giver of every good gift. We worry that we walk alone.
From the bed of pain, from the pillow wet with the tears of loneliness, we are lifted heavenward by that divine assurance and precious promise, “I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.” (Josh. 1:5.)
Such comfort is priceless as we journey along the pathway of mortality, with its many forks and turnings. Rarely is the assurance communicated by a flashing sign or a loud voice. Rather, the language of the Spirit is gentle, quiet, uplifting to the heart and soothing to the soul.
At times, the answers to our questions and the responses to our daily prayers come to us through silent promptings of the Spirit. As William Cowper wrote:
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm. …
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
(Hymns, no. 48.)
We watch. We wait. We listen for that still, small voice. When it speaks, wise men and women obey. We do not postpone following promptings of the Spirit.
To address such a sacred subject, may I refer not to the writings of others, but to the actual experiences of my life. I testify to their truth, for I lived them. I share with you today three cherished examples of what President David O. McKay identified as “heart petals”—the language of the Spirit, the promptings from a heavenly source.
First, the inspiration which attends a call to serve.
Second, the gratitude of God for a life well lived.
Third, the knowledge that we do not walk alone.
Every bishop can testify to the promptings which attend calls to serve in the Church. Frequently the call seems to be not so much for the benefit of those to be taught or led as for the person who is to teach or lead.
As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily lived. They were older—even in the twilight period of life. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association.
I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on the way to a meeting. It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. Emily answered. When she recognized me, her bishop, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped that the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today was my birthday?”
I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”
In the quiet of the living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I don’t know why I was directed here today, but our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. Emily was asked to sing in the choir—even to provide a solo for the forthcoming ward conference. Ben was asked to speak to the Aaronic Priesthood young men and recount a special experience in his life when his safety was assured by responding to the promptings of the Spirit. She sang. He spoke. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day to the time each was called home. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and lives saved.
For my second example I turn to the release of a stake president in Star Valley, Wyoming—even the late E. Francis Winters. He had served faithfully for the lengthy term of twenty-three years. Though modest by nature and circumstance, he had been a perpetual pillar of strength to everyone in the valley. On the day of the stake conference, the building was filled to overflowing. Each heart seemed to be saying a silent thank-you to this noble leader who had given so unselfishly of his life for the benefit of others.
As I stood to speak following the reorganization of the stake presidency, I was prompted to do something I had not done before, nor have I done so since. I stated how long Francis Winters had presided in the stake; then I asked all whom he had blessed or confirmed as children to stand and remain standing. Then I asked all those persons whom President Winters had ordained, set apart, personally counseled, or blessed to please stand. The outcome was electrifying. Every person in the audience rose to his feet. Tears flowed freely—tears which communicated better than could words the gratitude of tender hearts. I turned to President and Sister Winters and said, “We are witnesses today of the prompting of the Spirit. This vast throng reflects not only individual feelings but also the gratitude of God for a life well lived.” No person who was in the congregation that day will forget how he felt when he witnessed the language of the Spirit of the Lord.
Finally, I testify that we do not walk alone.
Stan, a dear friend of mine, was taken seriously ill and rendered partially paralyzed. He had been robust in health, athletic in build, and active in many pursuits. Now he was unable to walk or to stand. His wheelchair was his home. The finest of physicians had cared for him, and the prayers of family and friends had been offered in a spirit of hope and trust. Yet Stan continued to lie in the confinement of his bed at the university hospital. He despaired.
Late one afternoon I was swimming at the Deseret Gym, gazing at the ceiling while backstroking width after width. Silently, but ever so clearly, there came to my mind the thought: “Here you swim almost effortlessly, while your friend Stan languishes in his hospital bed, unable to move.” I felt the prompting: “Get to the hospital and give him a blessing.”
I ceased my swimming, dressed, and hurried to Stan’s room at the hospital. His bed was empty. A nurse said he was in his wheelchair at the swimming pool, preparing for therapy. I hurried to the area, and there was Stan, all alone, at the edge of the deeper portion of the pool. We greeted one another and returned to his room, where a priesthood blessing was provided.
Slowly but surely, strength and movement returned to Stan’s legs. First he could stand on faltering feet. Then he learned once again to walk—step by step. Today one would not know that Stan had lain so close to death and with no hope of recovery.
Frequently Stan speaks in Church meetings and tells of the goodness of the Lord to him. To some he reveals the dark thoughts of depression which engulfed him that afternoon as he sat in his wheelchair at the edge of the pool, sentenced, it seemed, to a life of despair. He tells how he pondered the alternative. It would be so easy to propel the hated wheelchair into the silent water of the deep pool. Life would then be over. But at that precise moment he saw me, his friend. That day Stan learned literally that we do not walk alone. I, too, learned a lesson that day: Never, never, never postpone following a prompting.
As we pursue the journey of life, let us learn the language of the Spirit. May we remember and respond to the Master’s gentle invitation: “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him.” (Rev. 3:20.) This is the language of the Spirit. He spoke it. He taught it. He lived it. May each of us do likewise, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

It was my senior year at Greenwich (Connecticut) High School when I had the chance to take college recruiting trips. Deep in my heart I wanted to play for BYU, but when I made my official visit, Coach Edwards called me in and said, “Steve, we hear you’re a pretty good athlete, but we’re sorry, we don’t have a scholarship for you right now. If one opens up, we’ll let you know.”
Obviously, I was very disappointed when I went home.
But somehow a scholarship did open up. All summer I worked like a crazy man trying to get in shape for football. I ran miles and miles. My dad had an old ’65 Oldsmobile. It was a huge car—the kind that holds five people in one seat. And I used to push that around the neighborhood because I once saw Dick Butkus do it to get in shape. All it did was mess up my back, but I worked as hard as I could to be ready.
As I worked, I tried to figure out which quarterbacks would be in front of me. I thought there were about four ahead of me, and that wasn’t too bad for a freshman. But you never knew. Maybe the coach would really be impressed and make me third team. And then maybe he’d want me to get some playing experience and make me second string. And then, maybe he would think I was great and make me first team as a freshman. That was my frame of mind when I got to BYU that fall.
I remember the day I arrived at school. I went to the fieldhouse and looked at the depth chart, which everyone’s name by position and order. I saw all the names I figured I’d see in front of mine, but there were more. Not until I got to the end of the list did the name Young appear. Eighth-string quarterback—in parentheses. That’s like letting you be in the school choir but putting you off in another room to sing by yourself.
And the parentheses. What did that mean? Maybe waterboy? What?
I soon found out. In practices, I was to play the opposing team’s quarterback. Unfortunately, the defensive players never figured out that I wasn’t really the opposing team’s quarterback. They creamed me all week long.
I remember so many times when the opposing team, with me at quarterback, would run the dumbest plays. They’d have ten guys go one way so the quarterback would be left alone. Then their defense would smash me. I’d be at the bottom of the pile; my helmet would be turned sideways, and I’d be peering out through the ear hole, trying to see where I was.
After about five weeks of that, I became very discouraged. The coach didn’t even know my name. It seemed that nobody cared.
I called my dad and said, “I’ve had it with this whole thing. I’m not having fun; I’m not enjoying myself. I think I’m going to quit and come home.”
Luckily, because he truly cared for me, my dad said, “Son, you can quit, but you can’t come home. I don’t live with quitters.” So there it was. I kept on playing, no matter how discouraging it got.
One of my toughest tests came at the first home game. It was a crisp fall afternoon, the band was playing, the balloons were up, and there were people everywhere. There was excitement in the air, but not in my heart as I walked over to the stadium with that huge crowd. Eighth-string quarterbacks don’t suit up, so I was going to sit in the stands with the rest of the spectators. I was deeply disappointed and discouraged that I wasn’t playing. I wondered how in the world I would ever make it onto that field. It seemed almost impossible.
That very day, right there in the stadium, I decided I would do two things. First, I was going to be the first player on the field every day and the last one off. Second, I was going to give 100 percent to every play I ran, no matter how stupid it was. I was going to execute every play like it was the last one of my life.
Now I was asked to run a lot of dumb plays that season, and I got a lot of mud in my face. There were a lot of days when the varsity players thought I was crazy because I didn’t leave the field until after they did. It was embarrassing, but I hoped it would make a difference.
And it did make a difference. I don’t know exactly what happened. Maybe Coach Edwards glanced over during one of those dumb plays when I was working extra hard, and he said to the coach next to him, “Hey, who’s that scrub quarterback over there? Let’s check him out.” What matters is that I didn’t quit, things got better as the season went on, and I finally got the opportunities I had always hoped and worked for.
The key was learning to develop good habits and self-discipline so when the coach just happened to look, I was doing my best. When I was the eighth-string quarterback in parentheses, becoming the starting quarterback at BYU often seemed impossible. It was the little things I did every day, the habits I developed, that eventually put me on that field in front of 65,000 people. It’s the same way with the gospel and life. Our ultimate goal of returning to live with Heavenly Father may seem an unreachable goal at times, but the daily habits we develop in life are the ones that will help us get there. We need to develop habits of hard work, self-discipline, honesty, consideration, and finding ways to serve those around us. We need to develop the habits of scripture reading, meditation, and starting and ending each day with prayer—good, sincere communication between us and our Heavenly Father.

On a December night in 1982, my wife, Terry, and I were awakened by a phone call to our home in Pocatello, Idaho. As I answered the phone, I heard only sobbing. Finally, my sister’s struggling voice said, “Tommy is dead.”

A 20-year-old drunk driver, speeding at more than 85 miles (135 km) per hour, recklessly ran a stoplight in a suburb of Denver, Colorado. He crashed violently into the car driven by my youngest brother, Tommy, instantly killing him and his wife, Joan. They were returning home to a young daughter after a Christmas party.

My wife and I immediately flew to Denver and made our way to the mortuary. We gathered with my parents and siblings and grieved the loss of our beloved Tommy and Joan. We had lost them to a senseless criminal act. Our hearts were broken, and anger toward the young offender began to well up inside me.

Tommy had served as a lawyer in the United States Department of Justice and was on a course to be a strong advocate for protection of Native American lands and natural resources for years to come.

After some time had passed, a court sentencing hearing was held for the young man found responsible for vehicular manslaughter. In their ongoing grief and sorrow, my parents and oldest sister, Katy, attended the hearing. The drunk driver’s parents were also there, and after the hearing concluded, they sat on a bench and wept. My parents and sister were sitting nearby as they sought to gain control of their own emotions. After a moment, my parents and sister stood up and walked to the driver’s parents and offered them words of comfort and forgiveness. The men shook hands; the women held hands; there was deep sorrow and tears for all and a recognition that both families had suffered immensely. Mom, Dad, and Katy led the way with their quiet strength and courage and showed our family what forgiveness looks like.

That outreach of forgiveness in those moments caused my own heart to soften and opened a pathway to healing. Over time I learned how to have a forgiving heart. Only with the help of the Prince of Peace was my painful burden lifted. My heart will always miss Tommy and Joan, but forgiveness now allows me to remember them with unfettered joy. And I know we will be together again as a family.

My mother was also a Relief Society teacher, and when I was in the fifth grade, she taught lessons about the United States Constitution. Mother made a chart that she took to Relief Society every time she taught. It explained the different parts of the Constitution and what it meant. I found the chart interesting and asked her all kinds of questions. In school that year, we were learning about United States history, and I asked my teacher if I could bring the chart to school and explain to the class how a bill became a law. Learning about history fascinated me. I began reading Mother’s books about government and history. Her commitment to fulfilling her Church calling blessed me in many ways. Later, when I went to college, I decided to major in history. Certainly that decision was at least partly influenced by these experiences.

Tanner usually watched the weather forecast on TV to find out if it would be warm enough to wear shorts the next day. One night he was surprised when the weatherman mentioned something besides the weather.
“A meteor shower will light up the sky tomorrow night,” the weatherman said. “The forecast calls for clear skies, but the best view for stargazers will be away from the lights of the city.”
“Awesome!” Tanner exclaimed. He liked looking at the stars, but he had never seen a meteor shower before. “Dad, will we be able to see it from our house?”
“I think we might be able to spot a meteor or two, if you can stay awake that late,” Dad said with a smile.
“I can,” Tanner insisted.
All the next day Tanner looked forward to watching the meteor shower. He felt like it would never get dark enough. It was pretty late when he and Dad finally stepped outside into the warm night. Even though it was past his bedtime, Tanner was too excited to be tired. Dad found the perfect spot in the backyard. They lay down on their backs and stared up at the millions of flickering lights.
“Look at all the stars,” Tanner said. “Does the universe ever end?”
Dad shook his head. “We see just a tiny part. No one really knows how many stars and planets there are,” he said. “Did you know that some of the stars you see are suns for distant planets?”
“That’s cool!” Tanner said.
While they waited, they talked about space and stars. Dad pointed out a satellite as it moved across the sky.
After a while, Dad and Tanner started seeing meteors. Some were bright points of light with long tails. Others blazed by in exploding flashes that quickly disappeared. One followed another, a little like fireworks in the night sky.
“Did you see that?” Tanner asked, pointing to a fading streak of light.
“That was a good one,” Dad said.
“There’s another one,” Tanner said as a brilliant light burst into view.
They watched the sky for a long time and saw many meteors before Dad said it was time to go inside and get some sleep.
Tanner was having so much fun he wished he could stay up until morning. “Let’s do this again sometime,” he said as he stood and reluctantly walked to the back steps of their home.
“We will,” Dad said.
“Thanks,” Tanner said with a smile. Even though he didn’t want to go inside, things had turned out even better than he’d expected. He got to stay up late, gaze at the stars, and see so many meteors that he lost count. But the best part of the whole night wasn’t any of those things—it was the memories he had made with Dad.

Where Evan lives, because the youth in the Church are spread far and wide, they do a lot of virtual meetings. For one thing, they meet in seminary online.
“Weekly seminary is so good,” Evan says. “Not only do we get to learn about Christ and the gospel while we’re doing seminary, but afterwards the teacher leaves the Zoom call open for us.”
In that open call, they get to hang out, joke, play games, and just be friends with others who share their same values. For Evan, some of his closest friendships have formed through these Church contacts.
One of those connections is his good friend Rob. “We find loads of things funny that are similar,” Evan says. “Rob will find something funny on social media that he knows I’ll like, and he’ll send it to me. Then we’ll text back and forth a bit. A few hours later, I’ll find something funny and send it to him.”
Pretty normal stuff, right? But these small interactions are a big help throughout the week. “It’s good because we can share each other’s laughs, but there doesn’t have to be any swearing or anything else involved.” They can also text each other anytime they just need a little extra strength in the gospel.

After my wife, Anne, and I received a call to serve as full-time mission leaders, our family determined to learn each missionary’s name before arriving in the field. We obtained photos, created flash cards, and began studying faces and memorizing names.
Once we arrived, we held introductory conferences with the missionaries. As we mingled, I overheard our nine-year-old son:
“Nice to meet you, Sam!”
“Rachel, where are you from?”
“Wow, David, you’re tall!”
Alarmed, I went to our son and whispered, “Hey, let’s remember to refer to the missionaries as Elder or Sister.”
He gave me a puzzled look and said, “Dad, I thought we were supposed to memorize their names.” Our son did what he thought was right based on his understanding.
So, what is our understanding of truth in today’s world? We are constantly bombarded with strong opinions, biased reporting, and incomplete data. At the same time, the volume and sources of this information are proliferating. Our need to recognize truth has never been more important!
Truth is critical for us to establish and strengthen our relationship with God, find peace and joy, and reach our divine potential. Today, let us consider the following questions:
What is truth, and why is it important?
How do we find truth?
When we find truth, how can we share it?
The Lord has taught us in scripture that “truth is knowledge of things as they are, and as they were, and as they are to come” (Doctrine and Covenants 93:24). It “was not created or made” (Doctrine and Covenants 93:29) and has “no end” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:66). Truth is absolute, fixed, and immutable. In other words, truth is eternal.
Truth helps us avoid deception, discern good from evil, receive protection, and find comfort and healing. Truth can also guide our actions, make us free, sanctify us, and lead us to eternal life.
God reveals eternal truth to us through a network of revelatory relationships involving Himself, Jesus Christ, the Holy Ghost, prophets, and us. Let us discuss the distinct yet interconnected roles each participant plays in this process.
First, God is the source of eternal truth. He and His Son, Jesus Christ, have a perfect understanding of truth and always act in harmony with true principles and laws. This power allows Them to create and govern worlds as well as to love, guide, and nurture each one of us perfectly. They want us to understand and apply truth so we can enjoy the blessings They do. They may impart truth in person or, more typically, through messengers such as the Holy Ghost, angels, or living prophets.
Second, the Holy Ghost testifies of all truth. He reveals truths to us directly and witnesses of truth taught by others. Impressions from the Spirit typically come as thoughts to our minds and feelings to our hearts.
Third, prophets receive truth from God and share that truth with us. We learn the truth from past prophets in the scriptures and from living prophets at general conference and through other official channels.
Finally, you and I play a crucial role in this process. God expects us to seek, recognize, and act on truth. Our ability to receive and apply truth is dependent on the strength of our relationship with the Father and the Son, our responsiveness to the influence of the Holy Ghost, and our alignment with latter-day prophets.
We need to remember that Satan works to keep us from truth. He knows that without truth, we cannot gain eternal life. He weaves strands of truth with worldly philosophies to confuse us and distract us from what is communicated by God.
As we seek eternal truth, the following two questions can help us recognize whether a concept comes from God or from another source:
Is the concept taught consistently in the scriptures and by living prophets?
Is the concept confirmed by the witness of the Holy Ghost?
God reveals doctrinal truths through prophets, and the Holy Ghost confirms those truths to us and helps us apply them. We must seek and be prepared to receive these spiritual impressions when they come. We are most receptive to the witness of the Spirit when we are humble, pray sincerely and study God’s words, and keep His commandments.
Once the Holy Ghost confirms a specific truth to us, our understanding deepens as we put that principle into practice. Over time, as we consistently live the principle, we gain a sure knowledge of that truth.
For example, I have made mistakes and felt remorse for poor choices. But through prayer, study, and faith in Jesus Christ, I received a witness of the principle of repentance. As I continued to repent, my understanding of repentance grew stronger. I felt closer to God and His Son. I now know that sin can be forgiven through Jesus Christ, because I experience the blessings of repentance each day.
So, what should we do when we sincerely seek for truth not yet revealed? I have empathy for those of us who yearn for answers that do not seem to come.
To Joseph Smith, the Lord counseled, “Hold your peace until I shall see fit to make all things known … concerning the matter” (Doctrine and Covenants 10:37).
And to Emma Smith, He explained, “Murmur not because of the things which thou hast not seen, for they are withheld from thee and from the world, which is wisdom in me in a time to come” (Doctrine and Covenants 25:4).
I too have sought answers to heartfelt questions. Many answers have come; some have not. As we hold on—trusting God’s wisdom and love, keeping His commandments, and relying on what we do know—He helps us find peace until He reveals the truth of all things.
When seeking truth, it helps to understand the difference between doctrine and policy. Doctrine refers to eternal truths, such as the nature of the Godhead, the plan of salvation, and Jesus Christ’s atoning sacrifice. Policy is the application of doctrine based on current circumstances. Policy helps us administer the Church in an orderly way.
While doctrine never changes, policy adjusts from time to time. The Lord works through His prophets to uphold His doctrine and to modify Church policies according to the needs of His children.
Unfortunately, we sometimes confuse policy with doctrine. If we do not understand the difference, we risk becoming disillusioned when policies change and may even begin to question God’s wisdom or the revelatory role of prophets.
When we obtain truth from God, He encourages us to share that knowledge with others. We do this when we teach a class, guide a child, or discuss gospel truths with a friend.
Our aim is to teach truth in a way that invites the converting power of the Holy Ghost. Let me share some simple invitations from the Lord and His prophets that can help.
Center on Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and Their fundamental doctrine.
Stay grounded in the scriptures and the teachings of latter-day prophets.
Rely on doctrine established through multiple authoritative witnesses.
Avoid speculation, personal opinions, or worldly ideas.
Teach a point of doctrine within the context of related gospel truths.
Use teaching methods that invite the influence of the Spirit.
Communicate clearly to avoid misunderstanding.
How we teach truth really matters. Paul encouraged us to speak “the truth in love” (see Ephesians 4:14–15). Truth has the best chance of blessing another when conveyed with Christlike love.
Truth taught without love can cause feelings of judgment, discouragement, and loneliness. It often leads to resentment and division—even conflict. On the other hand, love without truth is hollow and lacks the promise of growth.
Both truth and love are essential for our spiritual development. Truth provides the doctrine, principles, and laws necessary to gain eternal life, while love engenders the motivation needed to embrace and act upon what is true.
I am forever grateful for others who patiently taught me eternal truth with love.
In conclusion, let me share eternal truths that have become an anchor to my soul. I have come to know these truths by following the principles discussed today.
I know that God is our Heavenly Father. He is all knowing, all powerful, and perfectly loving. He created a plan for us to gain eternal life and become like Him.
As part of that plan, He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to help us. Jesus taught us to do the Father’s will and to love one another. He atoned for our sins and gave up His life on the cross. He arose from the dead after three days. Through Christ and His grace, we will be resurrected, we can be forgiven, and we can find strength in affliction.
During His earthly ministry, Jesus established His Church. Over time, that Church was changed, and truths were lost. Jesus Christ restored His Church and the truths of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith. And today, Christ continues to lead His Church through living prophets and apostles.
I know that as we come unto Christ, we can eventually “be perfected in him” (Moroni 10:32), obtain “a fulness of joy” (Doctrine and Covenants 93:33), and receive “all that [the] Father hath” (Doctrine and Covenants 84:38). To these eternal truths I bear witness in the holy name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When I was set apart as one of two Sunday School teachers for our Young Adult class in Taipei, Taiwan, my bishop promised that the Holy Spirit would help me whenever I needed it. I didn’t realize then how important that promise would be.
I was among the younger members in the class, so I was nervous. It helped having a teaching partner. She would give the lesson one week, and I the next. I diligently prepared my lessons, and people told me how much they enjoyed them. I felt that everything was under control.
Then one Sunday I went to class and found that my teaching partner, who was to teach the lesson that day, wasn’t there. My face was pale as I ran to telephone her.
“I’m sorry,” she said sleepily. “What time is it? I guess I overslept.” She was still in bed, and the class should have already started!
As I crossed the hallway to the classroom, my stake president greeted me with a smile. “My wife and I would like to join your class today,” he said brightly. Too surprised to say anything, I weakly nodded my head and smiled feebly. My only thought was on the lesson, which, if I remembered correctly, was based on 3 Nephi, chapters 15 through 19. [3 Ne. 15–19]
Seven minutes of class time had passed when I walked into the crowded room. The class president offered a prayer. Then, with trembling hand, I opened the Book of Mormon. I had planned to invite class members to share their testimonies, because I didn’t know what else to do. But as I began reading the scriptures, I felt some power greater than myself helping me select appropriate verses for discussion. My tongue was loosed, in the same way the Lord had promised Oliver Cowdery: “And at all times, and in all places, he shall open his mouth and declare my gospel as with the voice of a trump, both day and night. And I will give unto him strength such as is not known among men” (D&C 24:12).
Never in my life had I felt such humility. I knew that it wasn’t me, but the Spirit, that was teaching. I felt as though I was the Lord’s musical instrument, and he was filling the classroom with beautiful harmony through me. I was so overwhelmed that I felt physically weak.
Joyfully I read with the class the profoundly touching scene when the Savior said to the Nephites: “Blessed are ye because of your faith. And now behold, my joy is full. And when he had said these words, he wept” (3 Ne. 17:20–21).
There wasn’t a sound in the room. Everyone had tears in their eyes. To me, the account we had read was more than just words. In my mind I could vividly see the Savior and those faithful disciples around him. I could sense that the Savior was close to us, and we to him.
Finally, I shared the prayer of the Savior for the Nephites when he asked that, “because of their faith, … they may be purified in me, that I may be in them as thou, Father, art in me, that we may be one, that I may be glorified in them” (3 Ne. 19:29). “Think about that,” I said to the class. “Our Savior may be glorified in us, if we purify ourselves and become one with our Lord. What bliss, and what a blessing!”
Then I wept.
This wonderful experience was a fulfillment of my bishop’s promise. It taught me that the Lord has great love for us and that the Spirit is always there to help us if we live worthily and abide by the counsel of those who preside in righteousness over us.

All my life I had been taught that the Church was true. When I decided to gain a testimony of my own, I thought that I needed to approach things from a different angle than that of my teachers and friends. So I asked: What if the gospel is not true? What if my well-meaning friends and parents are misled? What if the Book of Mormon is a work of fiction? What if there is no living prophet today and families aren’t forever?
As such questions filled my mind, darkness clouded my thoughts. I felt as if doors were closing inside me and for a whole day I wandered around in a depressed stupor of thought, thinking and acting unkindly towards others.
The next morning I came to myself and realized that I was obviously getting nowhere. Then I remembered a seminary lesson I’d had on prayer. I knew that in Doctrine and Covenants 9:7–9 there were some guidelines on getting answers. [D&C 9:7–9] As I read these verses, I could see that I had asked the wrong question. When I studied my questions out in my mind and in my heart, I sincerely believed the things I had been taught were true. So I prayed again, this time asking if my beliefs were right: Was I really a child of God? Was there a celestial kingdom? Was the priesthood the power of God?
Light poured into my soul replacing darkness. The Spirit confirmed that my belief was not in vain. I felt as if doors were being flung open and I could see things more clearly.
I gained a desire to serve and share my testimony. The Lord had heard and answered my sincere prayer. Now I knew for myself that what I had believed all along was really true.

“Not now, Son, but let me tell you about an experience I had when I was around your age. My friends and I brought our dolls to school every day and played with them at recess. There was one girl, Ellen, who always made fun of us and called us babies. She said she hated dolls. One day there was a school activity at recess, so we couldn’t play with our dolls. When we went to get them after school, all their hair had been cut off and their clothes were torn. We were pretty sure Ellen had done it, because nobody remembered seeing her at the activity. We were ready to cut off her hair and tear her clothes to pieces.”
“Did you do it?”
“She’d gone home already, so we couldn’t do anything that day. My friends walked home with me, and all the way we planned how we’d get even with her the next day. We told my parents what had happened and what we were going to do.” She paused. “I’ll never forget how they looked at me.”
“Kind of like you looked at me?”
“Yes, I suppose so, Josh. Anyhow, Daddy told us the story of Jesus Christ wanting us to forgive seventy times seven, and Mother told us she knew that Ellen didn’t have a doll of her own—or much of anything else—because her dad had been out of work for a long time. She told us that we should take one of our nicest dolls and give it to Ellen and ask her to play with us.
“I didn’t want to do it, and neither did my friends, but after Mother talked to us some more about being an example, we decided to do it. We chose the nicest doll I had left, dressed it in pretty clothes, and took it to school the next morning. Ellen came in looking a little scared, but she came over to us and asked why we babies weren’t playing with our dolls.”
Mom wiped her eyes at the memory before continuing. “She backed away from us when we held out the doll.
“At first, she was suspicious and thought that we were trying to trick her. But when she saw that we meant it, she burst out crying. She told us that she’d never had a doll and that she was very sorry for what she’d done.
“We told her that we forgave her for what she’d done and that we wanted her to play with us from then on. And do you know what, Son?”
“What, Mom?”
“She became one of our very best friends.”

And guess what! There’s a new girl named Debbie in our class at school. She has a funny accent and bright red hair. The boys call her “Carrot Top.”
One day while the three of us are walking into the cafeteria, Shiela says, “Look, there’s that new girl, Debbie.”
Laura and I glance across the crowded cafeteria to where the redhead sits eating alone. “She’s always by herself,” Shiela informs us. “It’s hard to be new. Let’s go eat lunch with her.”
“Good idea!” Laura and I say at the same time.
“Maybe we should make her some cookies after school,” Laura suggests with a smile. We all agree.
I smile too. It looks as though we are going to be secret pals to every new classmate. But that’s OK with me. I like doing it. You can never have enough friends.

John Bennett Hawkins was in the Old Tabernacle on that day and answered the call to help. He was one of the hundreds of individuals in relief parties that set out from Salt Lake City. On the evening of October 21, the rescuer wagons finally reached the Willie camp. They were greeted with joy and gratitude by the frozen and starving survivors. This was the first meeting of John Bennett Hawkins and Sarah Elizabeth Moulton, who would become my great-grandparents.
The company was greeted by hundreds of Salt Lake citizens anxiously awaiting their coming and ready to help with their care. Gratitude and appreciation toward one of the young heroes who had helped save the Moultons from the grasp of death soon blossomed into romance and love for Sarah Elizabeth.
On December 5, 1856, amidst the happy wishes of her loved ones, Sarah Elizabeth married John Bennett Hawkins, her rescuer. They were sealed for time and eternity the following July in the Endowment House. They made their home in Salt Lake City and were blessed with three sons and seven daughters. One of those daughters, Esther Emily, married my grandfather Charles Rasband in 1891.

Some people called him “Old Man Christiansen”; others called him “Deaf Christiansen.” I usually called him the “Willow-Whistle Man.”

It’s true that Mr. Christiansen was old—he and his wife were both over eighty. And if he could hear anything at all, he never acknowledged it. To make matters worse, he could speak no English. However, enough people in our town understood his Danish so that he got along fine. If he needed anything special, his daughter would get it for him.

Most of us were emigrants from Denmark and hadn’t been in this country very long, so Danish was the language that we spoke at home. But when I tried to talk to Mr. Christiansen in my best Danish, he always said, “I can’t understand English.”

Every spring I’d see him come past our place, going toward the mountains. Later I would see him coming back, carrying a bundle of willow branches. I knew what was coming, and I could hardly control my anticipation. I knew that it would be but a short while before Mr. Christiansen would knock on our door and present me with a willow whistle that he had just made.

Usually I didn’t wait for him to bring it. As fast as I could, I’d run over to his workshop in back of his house. I’d watch him cut the willows to the size that he wanted, then cut a notch marking the place where the sound would come out. He made an angled cut for the mouthpiece. Next, after he’d cut through the bark all the way around, he’d tap the bark gently all over with the knife handle. Then, at the right moment—known only to him—he’d hold the willow branch firmly and twist off the bark. The insides of the whistle had to be shaved a little to allow for air movement. When he finished the whistle, he smiled and handed it to me. I blew hard, and a wonderful sound came out.

I loved watching him, and I loved the special smell of the bark and the slick feel of the wood as he took off the bark and shaved the inside wood. I was always amazed at how quickly he could finish one, and I was especially pleased that the first whistle that he made each spring was mine. I hoped that someday Mr. Christiansen would invite me to go with him to hunt for the willow branches.

He had five grandsons, and, of course, he made a whistle for each of them. You can be sure that the day that they came to get their whistles, there was a lot of whistle blowing and tooting. They would run all over the yard, blowing like fury.

From the sixteen-year-old to the four-year-old, each had powerful lungs, and they really gave it all they had. Then I’d get my whistle and join them, each of us trying to blow the loudest and shrillest blast. It’s a good thing that Mr. Christiansen was so hard of hearing.

And then, wonder of wonders, one spring day Mr. Christiansen asked me to go along with him to search for willow branches. I felt especially honored because, as far as I knew, no one had ever accompanied him on these treks—not even his grandsons.

We walked about a mile toward Cottonwood Canyon, to where several clumps of willows grew along a fork in Cottonwood Creek. Pointing to the left, Mr. Christiansen told me to go look for suitable willow branches. He started up the creek to the right. I began cutting willows and soon had an armful. But when he came back and looked over my pile, he said, “No good—throw them all away.”

I started to protest. In fact, I made quite a long speech in Danish.

“You know I can’t understand English,” he told me with a faint smile.

When we got back to his workshop, I watched him go over the willow branches that he’d gathered, carefully selecting the best ones. And as before, he handed me the first whistle that he made.

I resolved that one day I’d learn to select the proper willow branches and make whistles for myself, and, if I became good enough, I’d make some for my friends too.

The next spring Mr. Christiansen didn’t gather any willow branches. During the winter both he and his wife had become very ill, and their daughter had moved them to her place. Mr. Christiansen passed away in early February. Mrs. Christiansen was alive in the spring, but she was still very ill.

Their house stood vacant. The blinds had been pulled down, and the walks hadn’t been swept. Through the window of Mr. Christiansen’s workshop, I could see his tools all hanging neatly, just as he’d left them. The barn was empty. It was as if the buildings were silently dreaming of the past and wanted no one to interrupt their dreams.

Yes, I did go out to try to find some good willow branches, and I even brought two home and tried to make them into whistles—but it didn’t work. For one thing, my heart wasn’t in it. I kept thinking of Mr. Christiansen standing near the fork in Cottonwood Creek the year before and saying, “You know I can’t understand English.” I missed him a lot!

I was too young then to realize how fortunate I had been. There was a difference of about seventy-five years in our ages, yet we had been good friends. And though few words had ever been spoken between us, I had learned a valuable lesson from him: In anything worthwhile that you attempt to do in this life, you must first prepare yourself mentally. Then you must obtain the correct equipment and materials for the job. Whether you are running a business or finding the correct willow branches for whistles, it still makes good sense.

“Hurry and finish breakfast, Tom,” David cried impatiently. “If the farm trucks go by, we won’t have a ride out to the strawberry fields and we’ll miss work today.”
Tom moaned as he stood up and reached for his straw hat. He was so stiff and sore from squatting and crawling along the rows that he only wished the delicious berries grew on trees instead of slithering along so low on the ground. At first Tom had been enthusiastic about his job, but he hadn’t realized what hard work it would be. He was from the city and was visiting his aunt and uncle. His cousin, David, was used to farm work, but Tom certainly wasn’t.
Tom thought about his friend, Mike, whom he had met yesterday while picking berries. Mike had to work hard every day. His whole family were migrant farm workers who traveled all over the country to harvest crops when they were ripe. Even their small children helped in the fields. They were very poor and lived in tents or whatever shelter was provided by the people they were working for. The family moved from job to job in an old pickup truck. The children were seldom in one place long enough to go to school, and that was the only thing he had heard Mike complain about.
Tom and David climbed onto the back of a big truck that stopped for them. It was already crammed with pickers so they sat on the tailgate. Most of the workers were boys but there were also a few women and girls, all eager to earn extra money during the short picking season.
The area around the packing shed was crowded but Tom searched until he found Mike. He wanted to work beside him again today. Each worker was given a flat carrier with eight empty strawberry boxes. Tom envied Mike’s speed. His nimble fingers finished a tray of boxes while Tom was still filling his third box. Mike’s younger sisters were fast workers too. They often laughed and teased each other, but they never stopped working.
Tom stood up and groaned as he straightened his aching back. Mike had gone for more empty boxes when Tom heard a strange sound and glanced down at his feet. He froze. A large rattlesnake was coiled between the rows, head raised, only a few inches from his tray! Afraid to move, Tom stood still, his heart pounding with fear.
“What’s wrong, Tom? What is it?” Mike shouted. He had started back from the end of the row when he noticed Tom’s white face.
“A rattler! A big one!” Tom called back tensely, still standing perfectly still. Perspiration was trickling down his forehead and stinging his eyes but he was afraid to move and wipe it away.
Mike dropped the boxes and grabbed a heavy stick, then raced toward his frightened friend. He leaped into the next row and warily approached the snake. After Mike had killed the snake, he lifted it with the stick and carried it to the edge of the berry patch. Tom sagged down and wiped his face with his sleeve. His breath came in ragged sighs and he was ashamed of his trembling. He had never been so afraid.
When Mike returned, he could see that Tom was embarrassed about being so frightened. To put him at ease, Mike said, “You did just right, not making any sudden moves, Tom. That snake was in striking position. I’m used to them and I wouldn’t want to kill a ‘good’ one because they eat grain-stealing mice and other pests, but I’m deathly afraid of rattlers and any other poisonous snakes.”
Tom appreciated his new friend’s tactfulness. Someone else might have laughed and made jokes about his fear. I owe Mike my life! he thought, shuddering.
He and Mike worked side by side for two weeks. After work they sometimes went to the large fenced area where the big geese were kept. Tom had been surprised when Mike told him that the big birds saved the growers a lot of work. They ate the weeds but would not bother the berry plants.
Tom’s muscles gradually adjusted to all the stooping and duck-walking between the long rows. He also became much better and faster at the work. His sunburn had peeled and now his face, arms, and legs were nearly as tanned as Mike’s.
Besides the physical benefits gained from his first job, Tom had learned a lot about people, not only about Mike and his family but about the other migrant workers as well. He had learned respect for the hardworking, nomadic people and had gained a new appreciation for his permanent home and the opportunity he had of going to school regularly. He had never really thought of these blessings before meeting Mike.
“I have enough money for my new bicycle, for the county fair, and some for my savings account,” David said on payday, proud that he had earned it himself. “How much do you have, Tom?”
“None,” Tom said softly. He had been staring out their bedroom window. He knew Mike and the other pickers had moved on north during the night. He would never see his friend again.
David was surprised. “How could you work for two whole weeks without getting paid?”
“I didn’t collect any pay,” Tom mumbled awkwardly.
“Why not?” David persisted. “You earned it and it was hard work. We’d better go over to see Mr. Grant and collect while he still has your work record.”
“He doesn’t owe me any money,” Tom said. “I didn’t want to tell anyone, but I gave it all to Mike. You see, his family is trying to buy a house where his grandmother lives so he and his sisters can stay in school. They hope to have enough money by this fall. Mike saved my life and I wanted to help them. I told Mr. Grant to give his parents all my pay.”
David looked down at the bills and change scattered across his bed. He was silent for a minute, thinking of all the hard work Tom’s money represented. Then he said thoughtfully, “I guess I could have given them some of mine too. I hope you won’t be sorry.”
“Don’t worry,” Tom said cheerfully. “I’ve never felt so happy about anything in my whole life. It’s the first time I’ve ever helped anyone all by myself and that’s a good feeling.”

The kids in Capri’s class talked a lot. They liked to tell each other about their week. They liked to answer questions in the lesson.
But not Capri. She couldn’t talk. She had a disability that made it hard to speak.
One Sunday, Sister Fox had exciting news. “The Primary program is coming up,” she said. “Each of you will have a part.”
Sister Fox gave slips of paper to the other children. Each paper had a line for them to say. But Capri could not say the words. How could she have a part in the program?
“I have a special part for you,” Sister Fox told Capri. She held up a small box. It had a little handle sticking out on one side. “Watch this.” Sister Fox turned the handle around and around. Soft music played from the box.
Capri clapped her hands. She knew that song!
Sister Fox smiled. “Here, you try.” She helped Capri turn the little handle. Music played. It was like magic!
“Will you play this song for us in the Primary program?” Sister Fox asked. Capri nodded. She was happy to have a part.
Soon it was the day of the program. One by one, each child walked up to the front to say their part.
“God loves us,” said Allie.
“God is our Heavenly Father,” said Zac.
Then it was Capri’s turn. She stepped up to the front. Then she turned the little handle on the box. The soft music played. Capri thought of the words of the song in her mind as she played.
I am a child of God,
And He has sent me here,
Has given me an earthly home
With parents kind and dear.
Capri looked out at all the people. They were smiling up at her.
At the end of the program, the bishop spoke. “Each child shared their testimony today,” he said. “What they shared is true. We are all children of God.”
Capri felt something warm in her heart. She knew the bishop was right. She was a child of God. And she had an important part to play.