Gospel Story Finder

Eritai says he feels happy and accomplished after overseeing the construction of a solar-powered Church building and missionary housing in Tabonibara, North Tarawa.
“I have never done anything as critical as this,” Eritai explained.
He told of answers to many prayers during the construction. He found it remarkable the way “every detail of the plans came together, and they were able to finish it so quickly despite setbacks with construction and weather.”

I still miss my brother, Sergio. He, my sister, and I were very close. We spent a lot of time together and had a lot of fun. We loved to play and joke around. Before Sergio went on his mission, he baptized me. Sadly, though, he passed away while serving in Peru.
I believe that Sergio is in a better place and that he is an angel. My sister, Ximena, and I feel blessed to have him as a brother, and our parents feel blessed to have him as a son. I know that he is waiting for us. We must put forth our best effort to become an eternal family so that we can all be together forever.
I know our Father in Heaven loves us and wants the best for us. I love my parents and my sister very much. I try to take care of them and help them however I can, including working with my parents in our family store.
Sometimes I still get sad, but I can’t stay that way because I know that Sergio is happy, that he is in a safe place, and that he is all right. He loves us and protects us.
I have faith that we are going to be together again and be an eternal family. This faith helps me to stay strong.
Ruth O.,14, Argentina

For the past three years I have been trying my hardest to make varsity cheerleader in my high school. I thought that I had everything going for me, and I thought that I would make it this time. I was absolutely crushed when I found out that I hadn’t. Then I happened to find a January 1973 New Era on my sister’s desk. It was opened to an article by Margie Christiansen called “Can a Loser Really Be a Winner?” As I read it I felt that it was speaking to me, and I was depressed no longer. That article really helped me to see the light and was the answer to a prayer. I’m a winner now, and always will be.
Kathy PorterSimi Valley, California

Many years ago Elder Marion D. Hanks, while an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, spoke of the power of making the most of our opportunities to learn. Elder Hanks told a story about Louis Agassiz, a distinguished naturalist, who was approached by an obscure spinster woman who insisted that she had never had a chance to learn. In response, Dr. Agassiz asked her to consider the chances for learning that she already had:
“ ‘What do you do?’ he asked.
“ ‘I skin potatoes and chop onions.’
“He said, ‘Madame, where do you sit during these interesting but homely duties?’
“ ‘On the bottom step of the kitchen stairs.’
“ ‘Where do your feet rest?’
“ ‘On the glazed brick.’
“ ‘What is glazed brick?’
“ ‘I don’t know, sir.’
“He said, ‘How long have you been sitting there?’
“She said, ‘Fifteen years.’
“ ‘Madam, here is my personal card,’ said Dr. Agassiz. ‘Would you kindly write me a letter concerning the nature of a glazed brick?’ ”
The woman took the challenge seriously. She read all she could find about brick and tile and then sent Dr. Agassiz a 36-page paper on the subject.
Elder Hanks continued:
“Back came the letter from Dr. Agassiz: ‘Dear Madam, this is the best article I have ever seen on the subject. If you will kindly change the three words marked with asterisks, I will have it published and pay you for it.’
“ ‘A short time later there came a letter that brought $250, and penciled on the bottom of this letter was this query: ‘What was under those bricks?’ She had learned the value of time and answered with a single word: ‘Ants.’ He wrote back and said, ‘Tell me about the ants.’ …
“After wide reading, much microscopic work, and deep study, the spinster sat down and wrote Dr. Agassiz 360 pages on the subject. He published the book and sent her the money, and she went to visit all the lands of her dreams on the proceeds of her work.”6
Now there’s something very fundamental about that, to invite diligent learning and not be content with mediocrity.

Growing up in a devout LDS family in Utah, USA, Brian felt like the Church wasn’t for him. “I enjoyed fantasy games, movies, and rock music,” he says, “not Scouts, scriptures, seminary, and sports.” As soon as he could leave home, he moved into an apartment and “opened myself to the world, including sex and drugs.” After an extended period of what Brian calls “riotous living and experimentation,” he ran into financial troubles and his parents took him in again, although he did not return to church.
The birth of a baby sister caused Brian to reevaluate his views. When he held her for the first time, he recalls, “I knew she was not just another kind of animal.” Somewhat apprehensively, he attended her baby blessing, and when the sacrament came to him, “I passed it on without partaking, but part of me felt spiritually hungry for it.”
Trying to sort out his conflicted feelings, Brian started keeping a journal. “I stayed up writing about my spiritual dilemma late one night,” he says, “and I had my first spiritual experience, though not with the good side.” He felt an evil, hateful, angry force trying to take over his soul. “After that,” he explains, “I knew I needed the Lord.” But having strayed so far, Brian wondered, “Could I be worthy of His help and protection?” He also questioned whether he could ever partake of the sacrament again.
The road back was hard. Giving up cigarettes wasn’t easy, confessing to the bishop took courage, and turning from old friends and activities was difficult. His family, girlfriend, and bishop all supported him, but Brian discovered his main source of strength in Jesus Christ.
“I found the Lord eager to help me,” he remembers. “New opportunities opened to replace my old pursuits. The more effort I put into living the gospel, the clearer my pathway became.” As Brian trusted the Lord and discovered His willingness to forgive and heal, the sacrament took on a greater meaning for him and helped bring him closer to the Savior. “While I’d eaten the bread and water at church as a child hundreds of times, I was finally able to partake of the sacrament for what felt like the first time.”

Sister Kirts, a professional hairdresser, met a family who had come to her salon for haircuts. They were donating their hair as their family’s Christmas project. From them she got the information about donating hair and did a little research. A minimum of 10 inches of hair was needed, bound in a ponytail. Especially needed was fine, light colored hair that would be more appropriate for children’s wigs.
With some hesitation, Sister Kirts presented the idea to the girls in her ward. It wouldn’t help Jessica directly, but the donation of their hair would help other girls and boys. At first, the thought was stunning. Ten inches! That was so much. “They were petrified at first,” said Sister Kirts. “I didn’t want to pressure them. But later that day, the phone just started ringing. And, one at a time, the girls called and said, ‘I’m in.’ I couldn’t believe that they would do it.”
The word spread through the ward. Even two little girls from Primary joined the Young Women in donating their hair. The local newspaper and a television station covered the event because so many girls were donating their hair at the same time. And at Christmastime, people could not help but compare this event to O. Henry’s story “Gift of the Magi,” about a young couple who each gives up the thing they value most to buy a gift for the other. In the story, the young wife sells her long hair to buy a chain for her husband’s heirloom watch. He, in turn, sells the watch to buy combs for his wife’s beautiful hair.
After the young women’s story aired on the news and was printed in the newspaper, the salon offered to cut the hair of anyone who wanted to donate it. Dozens of people responded. “Teenagers have so much power for good or for bad,” said Sister Kirts. “For these people who came to donate their hair, their biggest reason was that if an 18-year-old girl can do this, I can too.”
Rachael Ward, another of the Young Women in the Redondo First Ward, was a little frightened to go back to school after Christmas vacation with her new short hair. “It was awful waiting for that day. Everyone noticed my hair, even people I didn’t know before. A lot of people looked at me differently. They said it made them realize that people really do good deeds for each other. It’s not just a story on television. That made me feel good.”
Rachael’s friend Brittanie Streetmaker also donated her hair. “I was nervous, but now whenever I look in the mirror, I think of a little girl who will be so happy to have a cute styled wig. My friends ask me if I miss my hair, and I say I do, but I don’t regret it for a second.”
Editor’s note: Jessica is home from the hospital. She still suffers from partial paralysis and is continuing treatment for aplastic anemia. She loves the way the girls sacrificed to help others.

Mike is now 20. Last summer, he was home from his freshman year at BYU. His family, which had moved to Germantown, Tennessee, was planning a trip back to Virginia and North Carolina to visit friends.
One night the phone rang. It was Ira Spencer.
“We hear ya’ll are headed this way,” he told Mike. “Me and the boys are going to take the boat out as a family. Would you like to tag along and make a little money for your mission? Bring your dad, too, and we’ll show him what life’s like out on the water.”
And that’s how Mike and his father ended up on the War Cry, this time sailing out of Newport, Rhode Island. “The fishing’s better up north right now,” Duke explained. Dave Spencer, 18, (Ira’s son and Duke’s brother) and Duke’s nine-year-old son, Sam (nicknamed “Hambone”), rounded out the crew.
After walking along the same Newport streets that George Washington traveled, past clapboard cottages and governor’s mansions as old as the American colonies, and stopping for five grocery carts full of food, the crew made its way to the wharf, climbed over a neighboring ship’s deck, and finally set foot on the War Cry.
Mike started remembering. “First I noticed the smells—the salt water, the fish. Then I saw the hooks on all the doors, even on the refrigerator, to keep them closed when the ship rocks, then the iron rods you use to clamp pots and pans in place. Then I looked in the sleeping quarters and remembered the narrow, hard bunks that seemed like heaven when you got a chance to use them. Then Ira and my dad fired up the engines and I remembered the noise. You have to run the engines to run the generators, and you have to run the generators to operate the rest of the equipment, the radios, the fridge. After a while you get numb to it. But at first it seems like everyone’s deaf. You have to shout to be heard.”
Noise or no noise, everyone slept aboard ship that night. And they were up early the next morning, winding miles of iron cable onto the winches, inspecting and mending nets, pouring oil by the drum into oil tanks. Seventy-five dollar filters were removed and replaced. Weather reports and market prices were checked. Eighteen tons of ice, used to keep the fish fresh, were pumped into the hold.
By late afternoon, the War Cry was underway. Sam sat on the bow and waved at a lighthouse. With David and Mike he read names of other boats as the trawler passed them on its way to harvest the sea. The Captain Ralph, the Iron Horse, the Mikentodd, the Harry Glen. The Ramona, the Skylight, the Venus, and the Chief Wanchese. Soon the city was far behind, then the shore; then there was nothing but a flat horizon. The three young men were called inside for dinner, followed by stories, jokes, and laughter, followed by sleep.
The first “haulback” came in the dark of the night. A haulback means the net is full and it’s being pulled out of the water to be dumped on deck. When the captain calls, you’ve got about five minutes until the fish come in. Like zombies from some old horror movie, fathers and sons together rose from sleep, pulled on heavy boots and overalls, pulled on yellow sea bonnets, and stumbled outside into the mist.
“Sometimes the salt air revives you,” Dave said. “Sometimes all it does is give you a chill.” This time it did a little of both. Yawns were universal. But the work went on. With Ira in the wheelhouse keeping the War Cry on course, David, Mike, and Sam positioned 16-foot, two-by-ten deck boards to hold the catch in place. Duke pulled hydraulic levers to raise the dripping bundle out of the depths and position it over the deck. Brother Lee tugged a rope that opened the bottom of the net, spilling the squirming contents out into a flat, flapping pile.
Instantly the sorting began. It takes quite an eye to be able to pick out and size the different types of flounder, and the talent of a Dr. J. to consistently flip them into the right basket. For Mike and Dave, it was an old routine. Like a power forward, Dave worked with both hands, flinging fish over his shoulders without looking up, shoveling trash fish between his legs. Like a center fighting for rebounds, Mike preferred to work close to the basket, loading it with one type of fish, then pulling up another basket to start all over again. For Sam, the sorting time was an adventure. He would waddle nearly knee-deep in fish, mud, and seaweed, picking out lobsters, crabs, and scallops, isolating them in special pails of their own. He was the guard on the team, carefully selecting his shots, working from the outside, calling for help when he needed it like an open man calls for a pass.
Brother Lee was amazed at the entire operation. “I felt totally outclassed. These guys were real pros, and I felt like a rookie in his first training camp.” But like any eager player would, he made up for inexperience with hustle.
To make the analogy complete, Duke would have been a player-coach, offering advice and assistance, jumping in to do some sorting himself as necessary. And Ira would, of course, have been the team owner, reassuring others with his presence, keeping the entire operation in order. (It was his boat, after all.)
Soon another net had been hauled back and sorted. Then another, then another, then another, then another. At what point today blurred into tomorrow blurred into the next day and the next, nobody was quite sure. The sun went down; the sun came up. Meals, at first looked forward to as a break in the monotony, finally became part of the routine.
“We ate snacks instead of lunch and took cat naps instead of sleeping,” Mike said. “You know, I really loved this when I was 16, but I’d forgotten how dead-bone tired you get. My back is starting to kill me.”
Then he looked over at his father. “We don’t get to spend a lot of time together,” Mike said. “I’m sure this is difficult work for him. He’s more the type who would rather teach or be in an office. But it’s helped him understand what I went through. He’s already told me that.”
And Brother Lee, an oral pathologist and dental educator, agreed. “I’ve never worked so hard in all of my life. Even the two-a-day workouts when I played college football are pale by comparison. But if it helps me understand my son, it’s worth it. This time on the boat is something we’ll always share.”
Later that day, Mike and his father were seated on an old plank next to each other, opening scallops, tossing the shells overboard. The shells would skip as they hit the water, then sink, spinning shiny white loops as they drifted out of sight. The conversation was pleasant, intimate. They talked of school. They talked of the other Lees back home. They talked about Mike becoming an elder soon, about his going on a mission. They talked about another fisherman, from Galilee, of how he called Peter, Andrew, James, and John to leave their nets and cast for the souls of men.
All around Mike and his father were the sounds, the smells, and the ocean. In this realm of rust and motion, of motors and commotion, they had found a moment of peace.
The first fistful of ice hit Sam softly on the shoulder.
“Hey,” he shouted, but he could see Dave coming. Soon Sam had a handful of his own, and the great ice fight was on, with both uncle and nephew flinging pieces of frozen water at each other. It was a short-lived battle. Sam ended up with ice down his chest, but he got a hug from Dave in return.

Let me share an experience about responding to prophetic words from the life of President Russell M. Nelson:
In 1979, five years before his call as a General Authority, Brother Nelson attended a meeting just prior to general conference. “President Spencer W. Kimball challenged all present to lengthen their stride in taking the gospel to the entire world. Among the countries President Kimball specifically mentioned was China, declaring, ‘We should be of service to the Chinese. We should learn their language. We should pray for them and help them.’”18
At age 54, Brother Nelson had a feeling during the meeting that he should study the Mandarin language. Although a busy heart surgeon, he immediately secured the services of a tutor.
Not long after beginning his studies, Dr. Nelson, attending a convention, unexpectedly found himself sitting next to “a distinguished Chinese surgeon, Dr. Wu Yingkai. … Because [Brother Nelson] had been studying Mandarin, he began [a] conversation [with Dr. Wu].”19
Dr. Nelson’s desire to follow the prophet led to Dr. Wu visiting Salt Lake City and Dr. Nelson traveling to China to give lectures and perform surgical operations.
His love for the Chinese people, and their love and respect for him, grew.
In February 1985, ten months after his call to the Quorum of the Twelve, Elder Nelson received a surprise phone call from China pleading for Dr. Nelson to come to Beijing to operate on the failing heart of China’s most famous opera singer. With the encouragement of President Gordon B. Hinckley, Elder Nelson returned to China. The last surgical operation he ever performed was in the People’s Republic of China.
Just two years ago, in October 2015, President Russell M. Nelson was once again honored with an official declaration, naming him an “old friend of China.”

In my early childhood, we had a stove in the kitchen and a stove in the dining room. A furnace was later installed, and what a wonderful thing that was. But it had a voracious appetite for coal, and there was no automatic stoker. The coal had to be shoveled into the furnace and carefully banked each night.

I learned a great lesson from that monster of a furnace: if you wanted to keep warm, you had to work the shovel.

We had barely arrived in our motel room when the phone rang. I knew it would be bad news about Jodi, my nine-month-old sister. She had been in a coma since birth and required round-the-clock monitoring and special tubal feedings. We had left Jodi temporarily at a care center so our family could take a much-needed vacation.
I answered the phone. My grandpa was on the line. His voice was firm: “Get your dad.”
Their conversation ended quickly. My fears were confirmed. Jodi had died.
The next day, after we had arrived home, I breathed a sigh of relief. The school bus was at the top of the street. My friends would be coming. At last I would have somebody my own age to share my pain.
However, as I stood in my driveway waiting for my friends, something strange happened. It was almost as if I had become invisible. I watched as my friends crossed to the other side of the street and continued talking with one another. They didn’t even look at me.
The next morning my friends didn’t pick me up as they usually did. “That’s understandable,” I thought. They probably knew I wasn’t going to school because of funeral planning. But they didn’t come the next day or the next or the next. They didn’t wait for me after school either.
During this time my family received lots of support from the Relief Society and other ward members. However, chicken casserole did little to soothe my 13-year-old aching heart. When I returned to Mutual, my adviser gave a lesson on life after death. I started crying. My adviser looked down and continued reading. My classmates stared ahead. I sobbed. How I wished somebody would have cried with me or put her arms around me.
Looking back on these events, I realize that my friends were not cruel and uncaring. They just didn’t know how to respond to my pain. They assumed that I wanted to be left alone to grieve and, since I was in mourning, I would not want to do anything fun.

During my life I have found that it is very important for children to listen carefully to their parents. They can learn much from them. My father was a music student in Boston. He sat at a rented piano and played the music of Edvard Grieg, Frederic Chopin, Ludwig van Beethoven, and Robert Schumann. I can still hear that music and over the years I have learned to play most of it myself. It has added greatly to my appreciation of the world into which I was born. Those beautiful sounds have made a great contribution to my life, crowding out many of the uglier sounds we occasionally hear.

Lucy was curled up in a corner of her bedroom when her mom came in to say good night.
“What are you doing over there, Lucy?” Mom asked.
“I just wanted to be alone to think,” Lucy said, burying her face in her favorite blanket—the yellow one with flowers that had belonged to Mom when she was a little girl.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Mom asked, sitting down in the rocking chair.
Lucy nodded and climbed up on Mom’s lap. “I was thinking about Grandma Eliza,” she said quietly, rubbing her blanket across her eyes.
“Oh,” Mom said, rocking her gently. “You know, Grandma Eliza is in heaven now. I think she must be very happy there.”
Lucy sniffed. “I know,” she said. “But I miss her, and I’m not happy that she’s gone.”
“I miss her too,” Mom said as she stroked Lucy’s hair. “Why don’t we pray about this?”
“OK,” Lucy agreed. With Mom’s help, Lucy prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, I feel sad that Grandma Eliza died, and I miss her. But I know Grandma is in heaven and she’s happy, and I know that I’ll see her again when she’s resurrected. Please help me not to feel so sad. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
After she said “amen,” Lucy sat quietly for a moment. Then she had an idea. “I know what to do! Aunt Emma told me that singing Primary songs helps her feel happy. Maybe we should do that!”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Mom said.
Together, Lucy and Mom sang “I Am a Child of God,” “I Love to See the Temple,” and “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.” When they finished, Lucy said, “I feel happy now, Mom.”
“The Holy Ghost helped you know what to do so you would feel better,” Mom said.
Lucy smiled. “I know. Heavenly Father answered my prayer.” Now as she thought about Grandma Eliza, she felt like her favorite blanket was wrapped around her heart. She was comforted.
“I love you, Mom,” Lucy whispered before she fell asleep. “And I love Grandma Eliza too.”

Many years ago my family and I visited Arches National Park in Utah, USA. One of the most beautiful and famous arches in the park is Delicate Arch, and we decided to climb the mountain to reach it.
We started enthusiastically, but soon the others wanted to rest. I wanted to get there sooner, so I went on alone. Without paying attention to the path I should take, I began following a man who seemed to know where he was going.
The path became harder to climb. I was sure my family could not have made it. Suddenly I saw Delicate Arch, but to my surprise, I couldn’t reach it. The path I had taken didn’t lead to the arch.
I was frustrated and turned back. I waited impatiently until I met my group again. They told me they had followed the signs showing the right way and, with care and effort, had reached Delicate Arch. Unfortunately, I had taken the wrong way. What a lesson I learned!

One August I went to the Salt Lake Temple with my father and stepmother after spending a long summer in Oregon. I had been looking forward to the visit because I had been feeling overwhelmed about going back to school. I wasn’t sure if I could meet all of the requirements of my upcoming junior year.
While my parents went in to participate in an endowment session, I went to do baptisms. Going to the temple had always been a spiritual experience for me, but that day I didn’t feel the Spirit, which increased my lonely feelings. I decided to say a prayer.
In my prayer, I admitted I didn’t know how to feel better but asked for a chance to help someone else. When I opened my eyes, there was a girl my age by herself who appeared to be confused. When I asked if she needed some help, she said it was her first time in the Salt Lake Temple and didn’t know where to go. As I helped her find her way around the temple, we enjoyed our time together doing baptisms. I know helping her was the answer to my prayer.

The spiritual roots of my family tree have been strengthened for three generations because of the unwavering faith of my great-grandfather.

Another example in my family history reminds me not to doubt. In 1913 in Mexico, Elder Ernest Young and his companions preached the gospel to my great-great-grandmother Maria de Jesus de Monroy, a widow; her three daughters, Natalia, Jovita, and Guadalupe; and her only son, Rafael—my great-grandfather. They were baptized on June 10. Two months later, citizens of the United States left the country because of the Mexican Revolution.

On August 29, 1913, the day President Rey L. Pratt and all American missionaries were to depart, Rafael Monroy, a 34-year-old convert of two months, went to the mission home to express his concern. “What is going to become of us?” he asked. “There is no organized branch in San Marcos, and we don’t have the priesthood.” Listening to Rafael’s concerns, President Pratt asked him to sit down. He placed his hands on Rafael’s head, conferred on him the Melchizedek Priesthood, ordained him an elder, and set him apart as president of the San Marcos Branch.

Rafael, who understood that his baptismal covenant was sacred and eternal, also understood that he should share the gospel. For 23 months he and his counselor, Vicente Morales, helped in the conversion and baptism of more than 50 people. They preached to dozens more.

Then, on July 17, 1915, the revolution arrived in San Marcos. Revolutionary soldiers accused Rafael and Vicente of belonging to and supporting the opposing army, hiding weapons, and belonging to a strange religion. They took them prisoner, tortured them, and hanged them until they fainted. Then the soldiers gave them one last chance to save their lives. They would be spared if they would renounce their religion. Rafael answered, “I cannot do it, for I know that what I have received is true.”

Rafael and Vicente did not doubt. They acted consistent with their knowledge and testimony. At the end of that day, they were executed by the Liberation Army of the South, giving their lives for what they believed.1

In my various Church assignments, I have been humbled by the love and concern bishops and Relief Society leaders demonstrate for their flocks. While I was serving as a stake Relief Society president in Chile during the early 1980s, the country was experiencing a deep recession and the rate of unemployment was 30 percent. I witnessed how heroic Relief Society presidents and faithful visiting teachers went about “doing good”8 under such grim circumstances. They portrayed the scripture in Proverbs 31:20: “She stretcheth out her hand to the poor; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy.”
Sisters whose families had very little themselves were constantly helping those who they thought were in greater need. I then more clearly understood what the Savior saw when He declared in Luke 21:3–4:
“Of a truth I say unto you, that this poor widow hath cast in more than they all:
“For all these have of their abundance cast in unto the offerings of God: but she of her penury hath cast in all the living that she had.”

A woman wondered how a friend living in a foreign country had helped her young children adjust so well to a different culture. She commented that she and her husband had been trying to teach their children to be tolerant and to value differences in others by inviting children from the community to play in their home. But their children were still judgmental and critical of the other children. “What more can we do to teach our children tolerance?” she asked her friend. The friend answered that she and her husband invited not only children into their home but also the parents of the children.

We can encourage our children to play with a variety of children, hoping the experience will enlarge their circles of friendships. But if in our own socialization we friendship only those similar to ourselves, all the encouraging and teaching we do will fall on deaf ears. The children will hear what is being said but will not be sure of what it means.

When I was just two years old, my older brother and I were walking near a large irrigation ditch on our farm. My father was keeping an eye on us as he fed the cattle. The next thing he knew, my brother was running up to him, crying out, “Rolfe’s in!”
Dad raced to the irrigation ditch. From my footprints, he could see that I had gone as close to the edge as I possibly could, and then my feet had slipped and I had fallen in. He ran along the ditch until he glimpsed my red sweater in the water. He was able to pull me out, apply first aid, and save my life. I had gotten as close to danger as I possibly could, and the results were almost tragic.

I was attending a track meet, and there were about a dozen fellows who had qualified to represent their schools in the mile run at this invitational. As the gun was fired, those young men, who had trained hard for this vigorous race, took off. Four of them were running in a bunch so close together that it looked to us as if they might trip each other. Suddenly one fellow spiked the shoe of the boy running in front of him. As the spiked runner went to take his next step, his shoe flew off.
I wondered what this boy who had been leading the race would do. He had several choices: He could have grabbed the boy who had spiked him and done something to get even. He could have run over to the coach and yelled, “So this is what you get. I’ve trained half my life for this, and now on the big day, look what happens!” He could have said to his mom and dad, “Look what that guy did to me!” Or he could have sat down and cried.
But he didn’t do any of these things; he just kept running. This happened on the first lap, and I thought he would quit after that lap. But he kept running every step of the way. The cinders came up through his sock into his foot, but he said nothing. He just kept running. He finished the race, and I thought, “What a boy!” He said nothing. He simply finished the job he had to do.

We believe in you because we recognize your strength and capacity. As a boy working on a farm, I learned that all kinds of devices can give you power to do things you cannot accomplish with your own strength. In those days we had to move big boulders by hand. We would get a long pole and put the strong end of the pole under the rock we wanted to move. Then, resting the pole on a smaller rock close by the big rock, we would pull down on the small end of the pole, which would cause the big rock to move. The longer the pole, the more leverage and the easier it was to move the big rock.

We have progressed from poles to power machinery. Today you have computers with the Internet and e-mail to increase and expand your capacity. But you will need to gain certain skills to keep up with modern technology. For example, when I was in college we wrote papers by hand, but now they are expected to be typed, usually on a computer. Computers even have a spell checker! With the development of power machinery, the rise in technology, and better health habits, the world is getting more competitive. A 3.5 grade point average used to be worth an academic scholarship, but a higher GPA is needed today. Records in sports are now higher; this pushes achievement levels higher as well. So to achieve your potential, you will not only have to work hard, but you will also have to work smart to employ all the leverage you can.

The greatest leverage for good, however, is on the spiritual level. This will come as you use your spiritual gifts to enhance your natural gifts and abilities. This spiritual leverage can be diminished or even destroyed if you get too close to the Devil’s Throat. For example, I warn you against the dangers that lurk in the Internet, movies, and books, which lead away from your destiny. Daily study of the scriptures is an excellent way to keep your spirituality safe from the Devil’s Throat.

We believe in you because of your integrity. We not only know of your integrity, but people around the world are taking notice. A businesswoman based in Salt Lake City called a company in Virginia. After completing the business transaction, the owner asked her where she was from. On learning that it was Utah, he said, “What part of Utah?” I quote her account of what happened next:

“‘Salt Lake City,’ I responded.

“‘Salt Lake City? Well, you must be a Mormon,’ he stated matter-of-factly.

“‘Yes, I am,’ I said.

“‘I have two girls who work for me who are Mormons,’ he continued. ‘They’re the best employees I’ve ever had. Those two girls are only seniors in high school, but they keep my store cleaner than any of my other employees, and they treat my customers great. They’re really polite and pretty… you know, the “all-American” type.’

“He said, ‘Those two girls are amazing. Would you believe that they get up at 5:00 a.m. every morning and…’

“‘Go to seminary!’ I inserted.

“‘Well, I don’t know what it’s called,’ he continued. ‘But it’s some type of religious training. Then they go to school all day, and come work for me until 8:00 p.m. I don’t know how they do all of the things they do, but I’m sure impressed.’

“‘Would you believe that Mormon youth all over the world are going to early-morning seminary, five days a week?’ I asked.

“‘Well, that’s one thing I have to say for your church,’ he said. ‘You’re sure raising your children right. They’re the best.’”4

And you are the best. That is why we believe in you! As President Gordon B. Hinckley frequently says: “It all comes down to personal integrity.” Integrity is the value we set on ourselves. It is the fulfillment of the duty we owe ourselves. Complete and constant integrity is a great law of human conduct. Self-respect and dignity as sons and daughters of God should both advance your gifts and talents and act as a restraining influence.

Honorable men and women will personally commit to certain self-imposed expectations. They need no outside check or control. They are honorable in their inner core. Integrity is the light that shines from a disciplined conscience. It is the strength of duty within us. Moses gave the following counsel: “If a man vow a vow unto the Lord, or swear an oath to bind his soul with a bond; he shall not break his word, he shall do according to all that proceedeth out of his mouth” (Numbers 30:2).

Some things should never be done; some lines should never be crossed; vows should never be broken; some words should never be spoken; some thoughts should never be entertained. Membership in the Church requires that we measure up to certain standards. It isn’t easy. It demands much of us.

We believe in you because you choose to be chaste. The Lord gave us our bodies and along with them our passions. He does not expect us to stifle our passions, but rather to bridle them (see Alma 38:12), which means to channel them so that they can be used for the purposes He intended. As Elder Jeffrey R. Holland stated in the October 1998 general conference:

“Human intimacy is reserved for a married couple because it is the ultimate symbol of total union. …

“… If you persist in pursuing physical satisfaction without the sanction of heaven, you run the terrible risk of such spiritual, psychic damage that you may undermine both your longing for physical intimacy and your ability to give wholehearted devotion to a later, truer love.”5

It is so important to make decisions early about correct dating habits so that you can say, “I don’t know who I’ll marry yet, but I certainly know where.”6

It is also important to keep our minds clean and pure. While Elder Dallin H. Oaks was serving as president of Brigham Young University, he gave some excellent counsel regarding what we take into our minds:

“We are surrounded by the promotional literature of illicit sexual relations, on the printed page and on the screen. For your own good, avoid it. Pornographic or erotic stories and pictures are worse than filthy or polluted food. The body has defenses to rid itself of unwholesome food. With a few fatal exceptions bad food will only make you sick but do no permanent harm. In contrast, a person who feasts upon filthy stories or pornographic or erotic pictures and literature records them in this marvelous retrieval system we call a brain. The brain won’t vomit back filth. Once recorded, it will always remain subject to recall, flashing its perverted images across your mind and drawing you away from the wholesome things in life.”7

Another important fundamental is accountability, as President Hinckley stated in an interview on Larry King Live: “Let me say that I still believe that right is right, and wrong is wrong. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not bear false witness. These aren’t suggestions, these are commandments.”8

It then follows that we are accountable for what we do—first to ourselves, then to our parents, and, most important, to God. We all carry a trust. We must ask ourselves, “What is success?” Is it achievement? Is it fame? Is it position? Is it dominion? The prophet Micah defined it very simply: “He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?” (Micah 6:8).

I am optimistic for you. Life presents great challenges and difficulties, but now is the most exciting time in the history of the world in which to live. There are greater opportunities to build the kingdom of God than ever before. There are more places to serve missions than ever before. You really can’t visualize the great blessings that await you. They are wonderful and exciting. Each of us is endowed with unique gifts, talents, and attributes. You can make a difference. You must make a difference. You are, as the Savior said, the light of the world.

We all face furious winds of evil and tides of the sordid not unlike the situation faced by the Jaredites as they traveled to the promised land. They were tossed upon the waves of the sea and “many times buried in the depths of the sea, because of the mountain waves which broke upon them, and also the great and terrible tempests which were caused by the fierceness of the wind” (Ether 6:6). But they were protected because “when they were buried in the deep there was no water that could hurt them, their vessels being tight like unto a dish” (Ether 6:7). In our time there are vessels that protect against these terrible spiritual tempests, and they are our temples, homes, quorums, wards, and stakes.

You are children of great promise. You have received the covenants of the Lord with His people. Be careful not to get too close to the Devil’s Throat. He would like to devour you. You must use the leverage of both technology and the Spirit of God to reach your potential. You must strive diligently to do this. We want to support you by believing in you rather than fearing for you. Though you may have ordinary ability and intelligence, by perseverance and hard work you can find happiness beyond your dreams and expectations. This will come about as you keep the commandments of the Lord.

I pray that the Lord will watch over you and keep you safe. I pray that the Lord will strengthen you in heart and soul to go forward in faith and courage.