Gospel Story Finder

Some years ago, long after he had returned from his mission, Bishop J. Richard Yates, now of the Durham Third Ward in the Durham North Carolina Stake, was out on the family farm in Idaho, helping his father milk the cows and do some of the evening chores. Because of limited family circumstances, Richard’s father, Brother Tom Yates, had not been able to go on a mission in his youth. But that disappointment only strengthened Brother Yates’s vow that what he had not been able to afford, his sons would certainly realize—a full-time mission for the Lord—whatever the sacrifice involved.

In those days in rural Idaho it was customary to give a young man a heifer calf as soon as he was old enough to take care of it. The idea was that the young man would raise the animal, keep some of the offspring, and sell others to help pay for the feed. Fathers wisely understood that this was a way to teach their sons responsibility as they earned money for their missions.

Young Richard did well with that gift of a first calf and, over time, expanded the herd to eight. Along the way he invested some of the income from the milk he sold to buy a litter of pigs. He had nearly sixty of those when his call finally arrived. It was the family’s plan that they would sell future litters of the pigs to supplement income from the sale of the dairy milk to cover the costs of Richard’s missionary labors.

That evening out in the barn, long after a wonderful twenty-four months were safely concluded, this young man heard something of which he had known absolutely nothing while on his mission. His father said that sometime within the first month after Richard had left, the local veterinarian, a close family friend and tireless worker in that farming community, had come to vaccinate the pigs against a local threat of cholera. But in an unfortunate professional error, the vet gave the animals the live vaccine but failed to give adequate antiserum. The results were that the entire herd of pigs came down with the disease; within a few weeks most of the animals were dead, and the remaining few had to be destroyed.

With the pigs dead, obviously milk sales would not be enough to keep Richard on his mission, so his father planned to sell one by one the family’s dairy herd to cover the costs. But beginning with the second month and virtually every month for twenty-three thereafter, as his parents prepared to send him the money for his mission, either one of their cows suddenly died or else one of his did. Thus the herd decreased at twice the rate they expected. It seemed an unbelievable stretch of misfortune.

During that difficult time a large note became due at the local bank. With all else that had happened and the inordinate financial problems they were facing, Brother Yates simply did not have the money to repay it. There was every likelihood they would now lose their entire farm. After much prayer and concern, but with never a word to their missionary son, Brother Yates went to face the president of the bank, a man not of our faith who was perceived in the community to be somewhat stern and quite aloof.

After he had heard the explanation of this considerable misfortune, the banker sat for a moment, looking into the face of a man who, in his own quiet and humble way, was standing up to trouble and opposition and fear as faithfully as had Rudger Clawson and Joseph Standing. In that situation I suppose Brother Yates could not say much more to his banker than “Shoot.”

Quietly the bank president leaned forward and asked just one question. “Tom,” he said, “are you paying your tithing?” Not at all certain as to how the answer would be received, Brother Yates answered softly but without hesitation, “Yes, sir, I am.” The banker then said, “You keep paying your tithing, and you keep your son on his mission. I’ll take care of the note. I know you will repay me when you can.”

No paperwork or signatures were exchanged. No threats or warnings were uttered. Two good and honorable men simply stood and shook hands. An agreement had been made, and that agreement was kept.

Bishop Yates says he remembers hearing this heretofore unknown story with considerable emotion that evening, asking his father—the note to the bank long since repaid—if all that worry and fear and sacrifice had been worth it just to try to live the gospel and keep a son on a mission. “Yes, Son,” he said, “it was worth all of that and a lot more if the Lord ever asks it of me,” and he continued with his evening chores.

Physically, Tom Yates was a slight man—under five feet eight inches in height and weighing less than 150 pounds. His body was stunted somewhat from a near-fatal case of polio contracted in his infancy. But Richard says he does not ever remember thinking of his father’s physical stature one way or the other. To this son he was simply a spiritual giant, always larger than life, leaving his children a legacy of devotion and courage longer than all eternity.

It was 1967, and I was serving as a missionary in Hildesheim, Germany. Christmas was fast approaching, and I was excited because Christmas Eve was a Sunday, and a wonderful meeting and other appropriate and special celebrations were planned.
Two weeks before Christmas, however, I received a transfer to Rendsburg. My companion, Elder Fadel, and I would be new there, and I wondered what the members would be like and how we would celebrate Christmas.
We soon came to know that the Rendsburg Branch had few members and little was being planned for Christmas Eve other than a special sacrament meeting. Our landlady, a Church member, invited us to join her for dinner on Christmas Day. I thought that would be the extent of my Christmas. But things soon changed.
The preceding missionaries had left us a tracting book including the names of several people who said they would like the missionaries to call back. Because people were so busy, finding new contacts at Christmastime was not very successful, so we thought these names might be a good place to start. We began visiting people on the list. When we visited the home of Frau Lübbert, we were greeted by a wonderful, cheery lady. She invited us in, and we learned that she was the widow of a Lutheran minister, who had passed away earlier that year. Her son was also a minister. He would be home for Christmas, and it would be just the two of them sharing their first Christmas without their husband and father. Then, with a sparkle in her eyes, she asked if we would join them for Christmas Eve. Having no other plans, we consented.
Christmas Eve arrived, and we had a lovely sacrament meeting in which we talked about the Savior and listened to the Christmas story. As my companion and I helped administer the sacrament, we pondered on the life the Savior had given for us.
After the meeting we were to meet the Lübberts at the Lutheran church. As we walked through the park, the snow was just beginning to fall, and we stopped to watch children and parents skating on a frozen pond. We saw Christmas lights here and there and heard church bells announcing the Christmas Eve service.
The Lübberts were waiting for us at their church. We enjoyed a wonderful spirit as we listened to the minister and as we sang Christmas carols in a church older than some of the carols. Singing “Silent Night” in its original language made the occasion even more special.
After the service, we got into Reverend Lübbert’s car and drove to their home. Frau Lübbert had prepared a goose for dinner, and as she put the finishing touches on the meal, my companion and I sat with Reverend Lübbert and asked him about his ministry. He talked of how he was active in a movement trying to bring Christian churches together. Many shared that dream, but others were antagonistic and fought the movement.
We then talked about our ministry. We told him of the Book of Mormon and how the Church had been restored. We told him of living prophets, and we talked about Jesus Christ and bore witness of Him as our Savior. No animosity existed among us. There was no belittling of one another’s beliefs. As I think upon it now, the words of 2 Nephi 25:26 come to mind. We literally “talk[ed] of Christ, we rejoice[d] in Christ” on that Christmas Eve. He was the center of our attention. He was the purpose of our being together.
As we bowed our heads for a prayer on the food, Reverend Lübbert asked a blessing on his fellow servants in Christ, that we would be led to those who sought Jesus. The meal was wonderful—roasted goose with all the trimmings and special German desserts.
German tradition is for parents to retire to a separate room where the tree has been newly decorated and to light the candles on the tree. The children are then allowed to enter and see the tree and their presents. So Frau Lübbert retired to the living room and closed the large sliding doors. In a moment she opened the doors and invited her “sons” to come in.
As we entered the room, where the only light was the soft light coming from the candles on the Christmas tree, Frau Lübbert handed my companion and me our gifts: some candies and a souvenir book about Rendsburg. She then gave her son his presents, and they paused a moment to remember their husband and father. We then opened the Bible to Luke and read the Christmas story. The Spirit touched each of us and witnessed again of the divine message in those verses. As we sang Christmas carols, the words bore testimony to each of us of the love we shared for Jesus Christ, His life, His teachings, and the most precious of gifts—His atoning sacrifice.
I don’t believe my feet touched the ground that night as we made our way to the bus stop. Santa Claus hadn’t come. I hadn’t been rushing around buying presents. I hadn’t attended any concerts or seen the traditional Christmas movies. My family was far away, and my packages from home were delayed because of the transfer. But I was the happiest I had ever been on Christmas Eve. For the first time in my life, Christmas had been totally focused on Christ. And the only gift I had given was my witness of Him.

Service has been a part of gospel teachings from the very beginning. From Adam to the present, we have been encouraged to serve our fellowmen. I had the privilege of witnessing a real fulfillment of Paul’s counsel to the Galatians when he instructed them, “by love serve one another.”
When our family was living in Massachusetts, we had our home in the little country town of Weston, about 13 miles west of Boston. It was a very quaint, sophisticated community with a population then of about 11,000 people. Weston had many picturesque, winding country roads lined with hand-fashioned rock walls. The small business section was completely deserted by 9:00 P.M. each evening. Yet for all its quaintness, Weston had its problems, especially with many of the high school and junior high students who used drugs and brought liquor into the dry town.
However, I would like to tell you about one Weston High School student who was too busily engaged in other pursuits to become involved with drugs or alcohol. This young man spent a lot of time on the ski slopes. Being an avid skier in New England is not unusual, but what this boy did with his talent is unusual. He was an expert skier and loved the sport. In fact, he was an instructor and spent even his spare time teaching others to ski. You could regularly see him coming down the mountainside very close to one of his pupils, who was oftentimes years older than he. They would start slowly but gather speed as they made graceful turns down the slope, all the time carrying on a conversation, laughing, enjoying the invigorating air and the sparkling sunshine. Observers would take note and follow the pair with their eyes until they reached the bottom, regarding them as just two more skiers having a great time.
What the onlookers did not realize was that one of the skiers was blind. This young Weston High School student was teaching the blind to ski. He did it free of charge. When he first had the idea, he discussed it with others and was advised by all to forget it. He was told over and over that it would simply be impossible.
But this young man had witnessed the hopelessness of some of the blind people and wanted to share with them one of the pleasures of his life. He wanted them to have a feeling of accomplishment and success. He wished to give them a new dimension to their lives. He wanted them to feel that they were real, whole individuals. He really cared. He cared enough to devote the time necessary to develop a rapport of love, encouragement, and understanding with these people to help them build faith in themselves and in their own abilities. Gradually mutual friendships blossomed.
These blind people placed their trust in this young man. He was their friend. He was the only one they would permit to put on their boots and snap them into their bindings. In their training, he said that helping them develop an attitude of trust and faith in themselves was the important thing. After that, the technique would come easily.
The last I heard, he had been successful in teaching 13 blind people to ski and was in the process of teaching more. He had even been requested to write a manual on teaching the blind to ski. He possessed then, and I am sure he still does, the confidence which comes with success. But more importantly, he has developed lasting friendships and has learned how to love and share through worthwhile service.
It is an eternal truth that the greatest satisfaction we find in this life is not that which is done for self but that which is given for the benefit of another. As this young man from Weston found fulfillment in his service to the blind, so each of us can find the rewarding satisfaction which comes when we “by love serve one another.”

Weeks went by, and in our history class, with the same teacher, we began to study the ancient civilizations of America.
One night while doing my homework I felt the strongest desire to speak in class again about the Book of Mormon. I knelt in prayer and asked Heavenly Father to grant me an opportunity to do so. After praying, I felt I should again prepare a discourse on the Book of Mormon.
The next day as Mrs. Protschka began class I raised my hand. But before I could say anything, she looked at me and said, “Yes, Robert. Last night when I was preparing my lesson for today, I suddenly thought of you, and wondered if you wouldn’t have anything else to tell us about the Book of Mormon?”
This time I focused mainly in Christ’s visit to the ancient Americas. I quoted from a book which related the legend of the Great White God Quetzalcoatl. The similarity between Christ and this Indian God was obvious. Again, I told my friends and teacher that Christ had indeed visited the people in the Americas; he had indeed taught them the gospel.
At the conclusion of my speech, Mrs. Protschka wrote on the blackboard: “The Book of Mormon is the best theory of how the ancient civilizations of America came to be,” and asked us to write it down in our notebooks. What a triumph! I felt like jumping for joy. God hears and answers prayers. He is indeed a God of miracles. And he knows how to soften the hearts of men for his purposes.

Roger had lost his construction business a few years earlier and was working as a taxi driver in Antananarivo, Madagascar.
From a temporal perspective, Roger credits Heavenly Father with helping him rebuild his business. After two years of driving a taxi and doing whatever he could to provide for his family, he started receiving construction contracts. “I believe that God always blesses me when I decide to follow Him,” he said.

When I was around the age of five, my dad lost faith and decided to leave the Church. It was really hard, especially when I turned eight. I was so excited to get baptized, but then my dad said no. He wanted me to wait until I was older so that I really knew that I wanted to commit. And so I watched as my friends were baptized.
I remember being confused—if the Church was true, why was I being stopped from getting baptized? As a teenager, it was so hard seeing all the youth go to the temple because I wanted to go so badly. It was hard not being able to take part, but I always knew I would get my chance!
In May 2019, I was finally baptized at age 16. I remembered the many experiences I’ve had feeling the pure joy of the gospel and gaining a testimony. It was a very special experience, and through all the troubles I had getting to that day, I knew with all my heart that the gospel is true and always has been.
Trinity C., Colorado, USA

We were recently in a stake conference in Nauvoo, Illinois. The choir music was exceptional. The director, who is a professional musician and teaches at a local university, was a master at captivating the choir and congregation. Every movement of his body was intrinsically linked to the music. We wanted to sing exactly as he was leading. All eyes were on him. I thought of the Savior. He has challenged us to be as He is. If we would give Him the rapt attention we were giving Brother Nelson, we would quickly be transformed into the Savior’s image.

The transformation as we were singing was momentary. We were where we needed to be, and all had a great desire to follow. If we find ourselves in the places we should be, with the fervent desire to follow the Lord, He will touch our lives and cleanse us that we may live in His presence permanently. There was no coercion by the director to get us to sing, just connection. Real repentance comes with that connection to the Savior. Let us consider our personal prayers and everyday thoughts. We all have work to do to make the connection the Lord requires.

I asked Brother Nelson how he could draw so much out of us. He humbly replied, “Because their hearts are pure.”

“What else?” I asked.

He answered, “It is through the Spirit. That is the only way we can communicate at that level.”

One night during this time, I was awakened from a deep sleep by a voice which came into my mind. As I listened to what was being said, I realized that my great-great-grandfather was speaking to me. I lay there for a moment, listening and thinking. My great-great-grandfather was telling me to have his family sealed to him. He had lived in the United States in the mid-1800s. Due to the American Civil War and the economic conditions prior to the war, my great-great-grandfather George Wilkie had been away from his beloved wife and four sons a great deal. Eventually he died while serving his country in the Civil War.
I had read copies of letters George Wilkie had written home to his family and letters his family had sent to him during his many absences. I had also read his journals. These letters and journals reflected the love family members had for one another, as well as their desires to be reunited.
My ancestors were not Latter-day Saints and did not have the blessings of the gospel. Now, in the middle of the night, here was my great-great-grandfather Wilkie saying to me, “Terry Lynn, please have my family sealed to me. I want to be with them through eternity. Please have our temple work done! You are now away from your husband—imagine that for eternity. It is awful! I want to be sealed to my wife.” Then, as suddenly as it had come, the voice was gone. At first, I thought I must be imagining things, and I lay there and thought about my great-great-grandparents. I decided I should do their genealogy and would start the work when I had the time. Then I began to fall asleep again. I was startled when the voice returned and said much the same thing, only this time urging me to have the work done soon. I decided to do something about it the next day. Apparently, however, my grandfather knew I would probably be distracted the next day, because he spoke to me yet a third time, and told me to do something NOW!
I could not quite believe what was happening, but in the middle of the night I got up and began working on genealogy. I sorted through miscellaneous papers and records and found the information I needed to begin. I then wrote letters requesting birth, marriage, and death certificates. When I had done all that I could do at that time, I finally went back to bed.
I worked on genealogy a lot during the six months my husband was gone. Eventually, I was able to go to the temple with my cousin and have my great-great grandparents sealed. I can testify that I felt their presence there in the temple and knew that, at last, they could be truly happy and together eternally.
Throughout the next four years my husband was required to be away from home much of the time. I was often comforted and strengthened reading the journals of my great-great-grandparents. Knowing that they had experienced similar situations somehow helped me to put my life in the proper perspective. I felt very close to them, and even though I had never met them, I felt I knew them. The example my great-great-grandparents unknowingly set for me has been, and continues to be, an inspiration.

I’m a new member of the Church, and I honestly know that my journal was one of the factors that helped me finally take the challenging step of baptism.
Joining the Church was very difficult for me. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. I’m the kind of person who has to be 100 percent sure about decisions. I always fully investigate a situation before I make a decision.
I first heard the gospel while I was in Quebec City, Canada, on a French language study program. I was placed with a French-speaking family together with two beautiful Latter-day Saint girls. At the time I was quite upset about the situation, for I was a very active Catholic and had been warned against Latter-day Saints. Being brought up the way I was, I was also taught to make the best of every situation and to try to accept everyone. So I did just that, and before I knew it I was investigating the Church. The two girls knew that the Spirit was working in me, and they strongly urged me to write down my feelings no matter how crazy they were or whether they were contrary to what I believed. At the time I didn’t understand why, but I did so because I admired and trusted them. I found myself eagerly writing:
I took the first discussion today. I don’t know what came over me. The things the missionaries told me I know are not what I’ve believed for 18 years of my life, but somehow I felt myself believing them. I was excited about the things they told me. I felt strange all over while they were talking. At times I felt shivers up my spine. Dear Lord, something is happening to me, and I can’t understand what it is—HELP!
The Lord did help, and the further along we got in the discussions the more I knew that the gospel was true. I felt I should have been rejecting what I was being taught, but deep down inside I knew of its truth and I kept writing those inner feelings down on paper. Before I knew it, I had a testimony of the Church. I was so excited, I phoned home and told my parents that I was getting baptized. They pleaded with me to wait until I came home. So reluctantly I did. That night I wept bitterly because of my disappointment, and I wrote in my journal:
I feel so sad and depressed. I’ve prayed so hard about my decision. I know in my heart the gospel is true. I know Joseph Smith was a prophet and that we have a living prophet today. I believe in everything that I’ve been taught, and with my whole heart I desperately want to be baptized. I know my soul won’t be at rest until I am. I know I’m being called, and I won’t be completely happy until I take that step.
I was sincere when I wrote that, and I feel God was inspiring me for the future. I did want to be baptized, but when I got home my parents thought I had been forcefully indoctrinated by the Latter-day Saints and they did everything in their power to dissuade me. The awful thing about it was that I let them. I lost contact with all my LDS friends, and I let my testimony die. At one point in my life, I had wanted nothing to do with the Latter-day Saints, and I no longer believed in the doctrine. But that still, small voice in me kept telling me to write in my journal. On one occasion I wrote:
I feel empty, I don’t feel complete, there is something missing. Why do I feel like I’m searching for something to grab on to? I’m lost; I desperately need direction. My testimony has been shattered. I feel I should hold on to my Catholic beliefs, but I don’t know what to do.
Well, even though it wasn’t a complete prayer, the Lord heard my plea. My friend from Quebec phoned to see how things were going. I tried to hide my feelings, but she realized what was wrong. She pleaded with me to go to church. I finally told her I no longer believed and wanted nothing to do with the Church. She penetrated that defense also. She told me she knew I had a testimony; it just needed to be revived. She told me that she loved me so much and wanted so badly for me to do the things that were right. We talked a little longer, and the last thing she told me was to go back to my journal and read what I had written. Well, that night I turned to my journal and read what I had written. Something came over me. I felt such a strong urge to pray. As I prayed and read, I felt that sweet, reassuring comfort of the Spirit. The Lord knew that I so very badly wanted to believe but that there were many obstacles in my way.
The next day I went to church contrary to my parents liking. I was so very scared, but right away some girls in the ward recognized that I was new and welcomed me. After many sleepless nights and long discussions, I was finally baptized. What really helped me when I needed it most was my journal. I said to myself, “I must have felt these things or I wouldn’t have written them.” Even at the time when I didn’t believe, I knew the Lord prompted me to write the things which I felt at the time. My journal saved me. It was a way the Lord was communicating with me, and it was something I knew I had to trust because it was coming from within.
I’m so very grateful for the counsel of the Church and for advising us to keep a record of our experiences. I have a testimony of its importance, and I have been blessed with peace and strength from doing so. I can measure my progress and growth and see how the Lord has been working in my life just by listening to that small voice inside me. I know the Church is true and when I doubt, I have a firsthand source I can turn to, to reassure me of its truthfulness.

Can you grasp the meaning of the tremendous work of this Church? Let me paint you a scenario. A pair of missionaries knock on the door of a little home somewhere in Peru. A woman answers. She does not quite understand what the missionaries want. But she invites them in. They arrange to come when her husband and other members of the family are there.
The missionaries teach them. Touched by the power of the Spirit, they respond to the message of eternal truth. They are baptized.
The family is active in the Church. They pay an honest but very meager tithing. They have a son or daughter in that family who is in his or her late teens. At the right time, the son or the daughter is called to serve a mission. The family does all it can to support him or her, and the remainder is made up from the missionary fund, which comes of the contributions of the Saints.
The son or daughter works with a companion from the United States or Canada. He or she learns English, while the companion’s Spanish is greatly improved. They work together with love and appreciation and respect, one for another, representatives of two great divergent cultures.
Upon completion of their missions, the North American returns home and goes back to school. The Peruvian returns home and is hopeful only of finding work of a menial nature. The pay is ever so small. The future is dismal. He or she does not have the needed skills to rise above such employment. And then comes this bright ray of hope. Well, brethren, you know the picture. I need not labor it further. The way before us is clear, the need is tremendous, and the Lord has pointed the way.

A few years ago, I was one of a few Church members in my grade. People thought I was weird because I was dedicated to living all of the standards of the Church. So one day I decided that I could compromise my standards a little bit. When I did, I noticed that I had more attention from others. But after just a few weeks, I felt guilty and turned to the Lord for repentance. He did help me, and I had to make a lot of sacrifices, but it was worth it! I truly got to see the blessings of living the gospel at school. I did lose friends and attention, but I gained respect and happiness.
Sutton K., 15, Texas, USA

1. “Watch out! The allosaurus is going to get you!” roared Teddy as he chased Cole’s dinosaur around the couch with his allosaurus.
“No one can stop me. I’m a tyrannosaurus rex,” Cole said, bouncing his dinosaur along the walls.
2. The boys stomped through the house like loud, hungry dinosaurs until Mom brought out a snack.
3. “Who’s that on your wall?” Teddy asked, eating his string cheese.
“Jesus, of course,” Cole said.
“Who is Jesus?” Teddy asked.
Cole didn’t know what to say. He thought everyone knew about Jesus.
“He lives in heaven. And He loves all the people,” was all he could think to answer.
“OK,” Teddy said. “Do you want to go outside?”
4. Cole was kneeling by his bed that night getting ready to say his prayers when Dad came in.
“Did you have a good time with Teddy today?” Dad asked.
“Yes. We played in the sandbox and with dinosaurs. Dad, Teddy asked me who Jesus was, and I didn’t know what to tell him.”
5. Dad pointed to a picture on the wall above Cole’s bed. It was of Jesus surrounded by children. “What do you think about when you look at this painting?” Dad asked.
6. “I think about how I want to live with Jesus and Heavenly Father someday. And how Jesus treated people nicely when He was on the earth,” Cole said.
7. “It sounds like you could tell Teddy both of those things,” Dad said.
“Maybe Teddy would like to come to church with me sometime,” Cole said. “Then he could learn lots of things about Jesus. And it is fun too.”
8. Dad kissed Cole on the top of his head.
“You’re a good boy, Cole. Heavenly Father and Jesus are both proud of you. And Teddy is lucky to have you for a friend.”

In 1978, Elder Marvin J. Ashton of the Quorum of the Twelve published a valuable book for young and old entitled What Is Your Destination? He expressed concern that many become confused in their journey through life. Some may be lost, on the other hand, because they think they have arrived! Elder Ashton mentioned examples of fundamental guidelines such as temple marriage, mission calls, education, and opportunities for service, pointing out that progress “is a continuing process, not a state of arrival.”
Decisions determine and regulate our progress. We make them every day. To make wise ones, it is important to have goals, objectives, purposes, a sense of direction, constant reevaluation and reckoning. Following missionary service in the British Isles, I wrote some goals for the next 20 years of my life on a yellow pad of paper. I still have that pad. Nearly all of the goals I set have been exceeded. I was blessed to be guided by the principle Elder Ashton outlined, namely that “it is a continuing process, not a state of arrival.” One objective outlined was not achieved, but that was something beyond my control. The Lord saw fit not to grant that particular blessing. However, it was compensated for in many, many other ways.
The teachings and practices of the Church provide very significant guidelines: clean living, that we may have health and strength, joy and happiness on earth; baptism, reminding us of our status and accountability; the gift of the Holy Ghost, our striving to really receive and benefit from this personage whose mission is to guide us into all truth; missionary service; temple marriage; a useful and productive life of service through work; family and children; constant self-improvement to equip us for better service to our fellowmen. The gospel principles of faith and repentance are the keys to (1) achievement, (2) correction of mistakes, and (3) reevaluation of where we are going.
To make decisions, the best formula I have found is prayer, study, work, seeking wise counsel, and then doing something about it. May I offer a few examples.
Entering Roosevelt Junior High School in Salt Lake City required some important decisions for me. One September day I was confronted with new choices! What subjects to take? Thus far my schooling had been prescribed. We had gone at 9:00 A.M. and followed through the day with what was presented in our homeroom. Now we were to change classes each period, going from room to room. Should I take Algebra A and B, or a course called Mathematics? Or, something called General Science? English, physical education, and some selections were prescribed. But there was remarkable latitude in other choices. I could take U.S. History, or something called Civics. I could elect to study Spanish, Latin, or French. Some of us had the benefit of prior consultation with our parents. In line with their counsel, I was left with the choices I have indicated.
I also discussed my choices with two classmates. One was the son of a University of Utah professor of history. The other was a future doctor of medicine, whose older brothers had already attended the University of Utah and had gone through “the mill.” Both were wise young men. I benefited by discussion with them. After a few hours, I made my choices: Algebra A with Miss Cora D. Patterson, continuing the second semester with Algebra B, the binomial theorem, factoring, and other algebraic systems. I elected Spanish, a modern language, with Miss Grace Hogan as teacher. Assignments to stake conferences in Mexico and Latin-America have been assisted by that choice. Third period found me in U.S. History, a subject I dearly loved, with Miss M. Hulbert. Then came the luncheon break. Period four was physical education, under E. V. Howell. Period five in English brought Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar with Mrs. Jessie Hutchinson. Sixth period I elected music. I found my way to the room where Mrs. Matilda W. Cahoon presided.
This challenge of choices continued throughout high school and the university years following. The same process of consultation with parents and fellow students, prayer, study, and working it out in my own mind, produced the selections. In later years it was a great blessing to have elected in the ninth grade to study geometry, under Miss Snyder, and especially Ancient History under an excellent teacher, Miss Welthea M. Learned. I learned much of the history of the classical Middle East, Greece, and Rome and became acquainted with architectural and art forms that have enriched my life.
The decision to go on a mission had been made long before the call was received. Prayerful effort and study had helped me to qualify. That decision, blessed with the support of my parents and family, has brought the greatest blessings and some of the greatest experiences of my life.
A big decision following my mission was a career. What should I do? A new position opened with the Union Pacific Railroad Company as a passenger representative. After two months, other choices confronted me. An opportunity came to return to ZCMI in its finance division, plus part-time work as an early morning seminary teacher serving Salt Lake East High School; or to work as a mathematics teacher in Tucson, Arizona, High School, or as director of music at the Box Elder High School in Brigham City. I made it a matter of study and prayer. On an eventful afternoon I walked over to Temple Square during my lunch hour for a special, quiet prayer. The decision followed. The formula—prayer, study, work, consultation with parents and trusted friends—produced results.
The decision for graduate school came next. Harvard? The University of Chicago? London School of Economics? University of California at Berkeley? UCLA? I wrote to them all and was guided in the final decision by financial considerations and some sound counsel from a revered loved one. UCLA at that time had all of the advantages of the great prestige of the University of California, plus a new vital campus with extraordinarily high standards. I applied and was admitted and during the next three years was blessed with a loving wife, two children, part-time work, fellowships and assistantships, and a PhD.
So it has gone through life. I have faced decisions of whether or not to return to Utah State University in Logan, Utah, from Swarthmore College in Pennsylvania; accept an overseas appointment in Greece and Turkey; become the cultural attaché at the embassy in India; or serve in several university presidencies. In each case I was guided by the careful process indicated. These occupational choices often represented something expressed in Robert Frost’s poem.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood. …
I took the one …
And that has made all the difference.
(“The Road Not Taken” in The Poetry of Robert Frost, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1969, p. 105)
I have learned that if we follow the guidelines afforded by the gospel, we will always be on solid ground.
You, too, may be guided in your choice of subjects to study, in what you should major in at college, in your choice of occupation, in the choice of friends and your eternal companion. As Elder Ashton wrote in his book, “You can get there from here!”

The Lord has promised, “I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost, which shall come upon you and which shall dwell in your heart.”9 I began to understand this as a young missionary in Scotch Plains, New Jersey. One hot July morning my companion and I felt prompted to look up a Temple Square referral. We knocked on the door of the Elwood Schaffer home. Mrs. Schaffer politely turned us away.

As she began to shut the door, I felt to do something I had never done before and have never done since! I stuck my foot in the door, and I asked, “Is there anyone else who might be interested in our message?” Her 16-year-old daughter, Marti, did have an interest and had fervently prayed for guidance just the day before. Marti met with us, and in time her mother participated in the discussions. Both of them joined the Church.

Resulting from Marti’s baptism, 136 people, including many of her own family, have been baptized and made gospel covenants. How grateful I am that I listened to the Spirit and stuck my foot in the door on that hot July day. Marti and a number of her dear family members are here today.

When I was twelve years old, we had a community fathers-and-sons banquet in Idaho Falls. President George Albert Smith, the President of the Church, was the speaker. After the banquet, we lined up to shake his hand. When my turn came, President Smith took my hand and spoke to me. I don’t remember what he said, but I shall never forget what I felt. From that moment, I wanted to be in the presence of the prophets.

Jennifer handed Mom a piece of paper after church. She listened as her mother read the note: “Jennifer has been asked to give a talk in Primary next Sunday, February 14.”
“Mom, will you please help me?” Jennifer asked.
“Of course I will,” Mom said. “You can think and pray about what you would like to say. This week we can work on your ideas.”
“Thank you, Mom!” Jennifer said. She was a little scared, but she knew she could do it with help from Heavenly Father.
The next day as Jennifer cut out paper hearts to make valentines, an idea popped into her head. She ran to find Mom and handed her the paper heart.
“Do you think I could make some hearts to use in my talk?” Jennifer asked.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Let’s write a list of things that make your heart happy. Then we can find pictures of those things to put on the hearts.”
Jennifer had fun cutting out pictures and gluing them onto the hearts.
On Sunday morning, Jennifer knelt to say a prayer. She had done all she could to get ready for her talk. She asked Heavenly Father to help her remember what to say.
The Primary children sat and listened as Jennifer gave her talk:
My heart is happy because I have a family that loves me. We can be an eternal family.
My heart is happy when I choose the right.
My heart is happy because I know Joseph Smith was a true prophet and that Thomas S. Monson is a prophet today.
My heart is happy when I come to Primary and sing Primary songs.
My heart is happy when I read the scriptures. I know the Book of Mormon is true.
My heart is happy because Jesus Christ is my Savior. I know that He loves me. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

At the end of his sophomore year, Michael decided to get involved in school government. He ran for junior class council. Yvonne, Michael’s mother, said, “He didn’t even tell us he was running. He just did it.”
The next year, Michael ran for student-body president even though someone else seemed more likely to win. He ran and was elected.
One more clue. Try, you never know what you can do until you try.
Throughout his school years, Michael had friends from different groups and with different interests. But there were certain things that Michael had decided and those decisions never changed. He was determined to never miss seminary. Even when he came back from a track meet late, he was there.
And he never let his friends influence him into breaking the commandments. How did his friends react? Michael said, “They sort of understand. They say, ‘This is Michael, and this is the Church he belongs to. And this is what he does.’”
Another point for our list. Stick to your standards.
After graduation Michael knew he wanted to prepare for his mission. His birthday was in December, so he decided to stay home from college and work to earn money for his mission. His dad helped Michael get a job with him working with a tugboat company. As the rookie, Michael got all the jobs no one else wanted—cleaning up, painting, picking up supplies.
Two more things Michael learned. Sometimes you have to put up with jobs you don’t like to earn the goal you do want—going on a mission. And as a bonus, Michael learned to take righteous pride in the kind of man his father is. Michael said, “Working around tugboats is a rough environment. There’s a lot of bad language. But Dad’s not different at work than he is at home. He always lives what he believes.”
Michael has followed the advice of his parents and his Church leaders and made some good choices. He gets a chance to help his younger sisters, Joleane and Elizabeth, and brother, Daniel, with the choices they are making. “He gives us advice,” said Elizabeth. “He tells us what movies to go to. He’s always been that way, telling us what we should do.”
Now Michael is serving his mission in Ukraine. He’ll be going places where they have never heard of the Church. How will he do? Michael knows how to stick with it, work hard, listen to those who know best, try, and keep his standards, which are now mission rules.
Cal Higgins had one more word of advice for his son before he left home—“Finish the race.”
And that’s the last piece of the puzzle. The scriptures phrase it a little differently, but the meaning is the same: Endure to the end. That’s the key to many of Michael’s accomplishments. After working and trying, listening and learning, then finish the race.

“I am 92. I was born in Germany. I am a Jew.”
So began John Fieldsend BEM at an invitation only meeting held in Manchester Central Library. The theme was ‘Fragility of Freedom’. Three members of Manchester Stake attended along with a mainly Jewish audience.
John Fieldsend and his brother enjoyed their early childhood until local children no longer wanted to play with them because they were ‘dirty jews’, no doubt resulting from the brainwashing of their parents. Later, as things in Germany became worse, his parents decided their children should go to England. They left on the kinder transport and were fostered in the north of England. They were never to see their parents again.
John Fieldsend attended university and then, to the surprise of the audience, told us that years later he had become a Church of England vicar!
At this time of universal strife and fragile freedom, we must ensure that our children learn from us not to judge people because of their colour, creed, or ethnicity, but to value all of our brothers and sisters – for all have something good to contribute if we take the time to get to know them.
Words that John Fieldsend said that made an impression on me were:
“Be honest in your own faith and live together.”
“You need a living faith.”
“History repeats itself. Nobody listens.”
“The best is getting better. The worst is getting worse.”
The evening concluded with kosher refreshments and an opportunity for friendly talks with those of other faiths.

I grew up in Norway. The nearest temple was in Stockholm, Sweden, an 8- to 10-hour drive away. Needless to say, any trip to the temple took careful planning and deliberation. Our stake planned two visits to the temple for the youth each year; several wards would rent a bus and go to the temple for a weekend. It was fun to go with other youth, but my family and I wanted to go to the temple together sometime.
So one year we decided to go to Stockholm during our summer vacation. It was a great experience, and it soon became a pattern for our summers. We would camp at a campground close to the temple. Each morning we would get up early for a baptismal session with other families from Norway who had come to the temple. Afterward we would play football and go swimming at the campground.
These summers are sacred memories for me now. Although we didn’t live close enough to the temple to go there each month, it was always a special occasion when we could go. And even though the car ride was long and tedious, the Lord blessed us for our sacrifice. The spiritual experiences I had at the temple helped me develop my love for the temple and its ordinances. They also brought us closer together as a family.

Lawrence: When I was younger, I set a goal to be the best I could be no matter what subject I studied or what job I had. I always tried to learn and improve to give myself the best chance for success.
I currently work as a manager for a clothing company, but I want to join the police force. In Scotland, you have to live in the country for three consecutive years before applying for the police. Since I was outside the country for two years serving a mission, I have to wait a few more months before joining.
Although this has been a big roadblock, I haven’t given up. I have a good job to provide for my family, and I have worked hard to make sure I get a good reference for future jobs.