Gospel Story Finder

The three members of The Pretty Ugly Indie Band, brothers Daniel and Joseph Cottam of Doncaster Ward and James Swift of Sheffield 2nd Ward, chose to leave behind their music and a record deal to serve the Lord.
Elder Daniel Cottam, of the Italy Rome Mission, said, “So I’m serving as one of the older missionaries in my group. I’m 22 right now, 20 when I started the mission. That is due to a few reasons. Number one, the band of course; I couldn’t go leaving them alone and miss out on all the fun. Another reason is that I am extremely shy, so a mission for me wasn’t always a guarantee in my mind. I also had very long hair and a beard and didn’t want to give them up; they were very much part of who I was and made me feel different and look cool. But the decision to serve a mission was largely thanks to my family, their wonderful examples and encouragement. Always being in the Church, I suppose I’ve never had a huge conversion experience. All the lessons at Church, things I’d heard from my parents over the years, my own studies and prayers allowed me to really put my trust in the Lord, put the band on hold, have my hair cut and overcome my social awkwardness. A test of faith, but worth it! The mission experience has been amazing! I have learnt and grown so much and come to a true and firm knowledge of the gospel and of my Saviour, so many blessings. If we had stayed as a band putting off the mission, I don’t think the band would have been quite so successful. Now we have met so many people who already love the music we have made and are excited for when we get back, a nice side blessing of building up the fan base all over the world!”
Elder Joseph Cottam, of the Spain Madrid Mission, commented, “I’ve always been fully into music, ever since listening to my iPod Touch and my headphones when I was seven years old. At that age, I started playing the piano a little bit and the guitar, but I started playing the drums when I was 11 years old and that’s when I started rocking. My brother, Dan, and I started to rock the roof off our living room when we started playing the drums and guitar together. We then gathered the band together and played through all our teenage years pretty much every week until we were headlining shows, playing at festivals, winning competitions, and recording music videos. Then the time came when I had to start considering a mission; it was honestly something I had tried to avoid thinking about up to that point. I had a mindset that if we made the band big and rocked the world, we would be the best missionaries in the world. Obviously, God has different ideas to us. After a lot of prayer and thought, I and my brother decided to start with our mission papers. The reason being that I figured out that God knows what is best for us. He has shown us the path to follow, and we just must follow it without trying to compromise or trying to make our own paths. I also had a trust that God would make sure that everything went okay. He knows what means a lot to us in this life and he will cater for our desires if we always put him first. So that’s what I decided to do. Leaving everything behind we worked for was a blow for a while; it was our dream; it was everything we wanted to do but then the quarantine came, and everything stopped. The world was on pause and then I said to myself, “Wow. God does know best; He knew that if we accepted that record deal and continued, we would have been in a massive pickle.” That was the time when I knew for a fact God was guiding us in this.”
Elder James Swift, of England Leeds, Manchester, Scotland/Ireland Service Mission, remarked, “At the time of the first two band members leaving for their missions we had received lots of interest from record labels, managers and agents wanting to get us on their rosters. But the boys knew that it was their time to go and serve, so we turned down all those amazing offers and trusted in the Lord. Leaving my music aspirations behind and leaving university was a difficult decision to make. I won’t lie but I was very reluctant, even frustrated by the fact that this was the time I felt so impressed to go and serve. However, I have been blessed already beyond measure. I’ve been placed in the most perfect mission, with some of the greatest missionaries the Church has to offer. I’m truly grateful for the chance I have had to show my love for the Saviour by making these sacrifices and ultimately devoting myself to His ministry.”

Dad Knew Mormons—I brought a signed statement from my dad to the elders giving his approval for my baptism. He used to know some Latter-day Saints. He said you have to be a missionary if you join their church.
My Interview—I was interviewed tonight for baptism. It was a relief to find that the elders had only kidded me about taking a written test. I read the pamphlets a few extra times so I wouldn’t be tripped up. I told the district leader that the discussions were like the lifting of a veil, like I had heard the story before. The gospel contains many teachings that I have come to believe over the years, such as a literal, tangible, concerned Heavenly Father. I took the discussions so fast that I have to wait till my assigned baptismal date.
April 27—I was baptized tonight. My family attended the service, as did many of the branch members. This is the cleanest feeling I have known in my entire life. The warm, friendly attitude of the members here is still one of the amazing things about this church.

President James E. Faust (1920–2007), Second Counselor in the First Presidency, once told of applying for Officer’s Candidate School in the United States Army. He said:
“I was summoned before the board of inquiry. My qualifications were few, but I had had two years of college and had finished a mission for the Church in South America.
“The questions asked of me at the officers’ board of inquiry took a very surprising turn. Nearly all of them centered upon my beliefs. ‘Do you smoke?’ ‘Do you drink?’ ‘What do you think of others who smoke and drink?’ I had no trouble answering these questions.
“‘Do you pray?’ ‘Do you believe that an officer should pray?’ The officer asking these questions was a hard-bitten career soldier. He did not look like he prayed very often. … I wanted to be an officer very much. …
“I decided not to equivocate. I admitted that I did pray and that I felt that officers might seek divine guidance as some truly great generals had done. …
“More interesting questions came. ‘In times of war, should not the moral code be relaxed? Does not the stress of battle justify men in doing things that they would not do when at home under normal situations?’
“… I suspected that the men who were asking me this question did not live by the standards that I had been taught. The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I could say that I had my own beliefs, but I did not wish to impose them on others. But there seemed to flash before my mind the faces of the many people to whom I had taught the law of chastity as a missionary. In the end I simply said, ‘I do not believe there is a double standard of morality.’
“I left the hearing resigned to the fact that these hard-bitten officers would … surely score me very low. A few days later when the scores were posted, to my astonishment I had passed. I was in the first group taken for Officer’s Candidate School!”
And then President Faust, realizing how small decisions can have large consequences, said, “This was one of the critical crossroads of my life.”4

When I was a young boy, I received a loving gift from my Father in Heaven that has helped me throughout my life. One summer morning I was with my parents and my two little brothers and sister at our ranch trying to round up our horses.
I remember watching my dad and my little brothers as I walked in the pasture by myself. The sky was blue, the sun was bright, the grass was green and lush, and there was a little breeze in the air. As I stood there, I looked up to the sky and the mountains. Then an overwhelming feeling came upon me that Heavenly Father had created all of this—everything I could see—and that He loved me.
At that age, I had not yet read the Book of Mormon. My understanding of the gospel was limited. And yet I felt something very real that went deep into my heart. It was a warm, gentle feeling of truth.
That experience caused me to be sensitive to spiritual things and to listen to the counsel from the Lord. Each of us has the privilege to have spiritual experiences if we seek them and pay attention to them.
For me, ever since that moment in the pasture as a boy, whenever I’ve faced difficult times or temptations, I’ve remembered what I felt at that moment—the Holy Ghost teaching me truth. That feeling has sustained me. I knew God would help me, and even when I’d struggle, I knew the Lord loved me and I could turn to Him.

When I was a young lawyer in the San Francisco Bay Area, our firm did some legal work for the company that produced the Charlie Brown holiday TV specials. I became a fan of Charles Schulz and his creation—Peanuts, with Charlie Brown, Lucy, Snoopy, and other wonderful characters.
One of my favorite comic strips involved Lucy. As I remember it, Charlie Brown’s baseball team was in an important game—Lucy was playing right field, and a high fly ball was hit to her. The bases were loaded, and it was the last of the ninth inning. If Lucy caught the ball, her team would win. If Lucy dropped the ball, the other team would win.
As could happen only in a comic strip, the entire team surrounded Lucy as the ball came down. Lucy was thinking, “If I catch the ball, I will be the hero; if I don’t, I will be the goat.”
The ball came down, and as her teammates eagerly looked on, Lucy dropped the ball. Charlie Brown threw his glove to the ground in disgust. Lucy then looked at her teammates, put her hands on her hips, and said, “How do you expect me to catch the ball when I am worried about our country’s foreign policy?”
This was one of many fly balls Lucy dropped through the years, and she had a new excuse each time. While always humorous, Lucy’s excuses were rationalizations; they were untrue reasons for her failure to catch the ball.

Priscilla Sampson-Davis was given a Book of Mormon while she was visiting Holland in 1963, but the Church was not organized in her homeland of Ghana until 1979. For sixteen years, she met regularly with other converts in Africa, awaiting baptism.
One of the sisters whom she visit-taught could not read. So, to give this sister the opportunity to drink deeply of gospel truths, Sister Sampson-Davis read the scriptures to her often and explained their meaning. She lived the counsel Paul gave to Timothy: “Be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity” (1 Tim. 4:12).
Naaman’s nameless servant and Sister Sampson-Davis each took time to teach someone important lessons. They exemplify the counsel given us in Doctrine and Covenants 88:77–78: “And I give unto you a commandment that you shall teach one another the doctrine of the kingdom.
“Teach ye diligently and my grace shall attend you.” [D&C 88:77–78]

On March 22, 2016, just before eight o’clock in the morning, two terrorist bombs exploded in the Brussels Airport. Elder Richard Norby, Elder Mason Wells, and Elder Joseph Empey had taken Sister Fanny Clain to the airport for a flight to her mission in Cleveland, Ohio. Thirty-two people lost their lives, and all of the missionaries were wounded.
The most seriously wounded was Elder Richard Norby, age 66, serving with his wife, Sister Pam Norby.
Elder Norby reflected on that moment:
“Instantly, I knew what had happened.
“I tried to run for safety, but I immediately fell down. … I could see that my left leg was badly injured. I [noticed] black, almost spiderweb-type, soot drooping from both hands. I gently pulled at it, but realized it was not soot but my skin that had been burned. My white shirt was turning red from an injury on my back.
“As the consciousness of what had just happened filled my mind, I [had] this very strong thought: … the Savior knew where I was, what had just transpired, and [what] I was experiencing at that moment.”
There were difficult days ahead for Richard Norby and for his wife, Pam. He was placed in an induced coma, followed by surgeries, infections, and great uncertainty.
Richard Norby lived, but his life would never be the same. Two and a half years later, his wounds are still healing; a brace replaces the missing part of his leg; each step is different than before that moment at the Brussels Airport.
Why would this happen to Richard and Pam Norby? They had been true to their covenants, served a previous mission in the Ivory Coast, and raised a wonderful family. Someone could understandably say, “It isn’t fair! It just isn’t right! They were giving their lives for the gospel of Jesus Christ; how could this happen?”
The Norbys told me, “Disappointment comes to visit on occasion but is never allowed to stay.” The Apostle Paul said, “We are troubled … yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed.” You may be exhausted, but don’t ever give up.

Over and over, I have been reminded that people play important roles in our lives. One cold January day when I was in high school, I stayed after school for wrestling practice. My home was ten miles from the high school, so I usually caught a ride home after practice.
On this particular night, I didn’t feel very well. The only ride I could get was in the back of a pickup, and when the driver dropped me off, I was still at least a mile from home. I felt frozen, and I remember not being able to think straight. There were no cars in sight as I stumbled down the road toward home.
Before long, a car appeared in the distance. As it grew closer, I weakly waved my arm, hoping the driver would stop. He did. It was my brother-in-law, who had felt a strong prompting to come looking for me. The next day, I was diagnosed with pneumonia. I was very sick for several weeks. I’m not sure what would have happened to me if my brother-in-law hadn’t showed up, but I’m certain that he was following the Spirit when he went out looking for me that night.

A big forward with biceps the size of pot roasts skates over the blue line and fades away from us. Without slowing he lets rip a 20-foot wrist shot at the goal, or more precisely at Scott Tollestrup, the poor guy in net.
The puck meets Scott’s face mask with a slap, and he sits down hard on the ice, shaking his head.
“That happens when you play goal,” says Scott’s dad, Barry.
Scott takes a break from practice and skates over. He pushes up his helmet. Behind him the rink resounds with the heavy echo of voices. All around figures are moving, sticks and skates zigzagging on the ice. “You get hit; you shake it off,” Scott says, and grins.
His mother folds her arms and rolls her eyes. “People say hockey goalies have rocks in their heads,” she says. I like this family already. They are real people.
The fact that Scott, 14, would allow burly hockey players to fire 90-mile-an-hour pucks at him may be beyond comprehension for most of us. But to Scott, hockey is part of him. The shots he faces in a game are like the challenges of life. He realizes he can’t be perfect, get a handle on everything, but he’s getting better all the time.
Almost every boy in Canada has batted around a hockey puck at least once, and most have dreamed of playing professional hockey. Scott is no exception. Growing up in this hockey-crazed town of Lethbridge, Alberta, Scott longed to be the last defense on the ice, 15,000 fans watching as he shut out the Edmonton Oilers, taking MVP honors in the Stanley Cup finals.
Still, the odds are against him ever making it to the pros, so he’s enjoying the experiences along the way. He’s especially proud of representing Southern Alberta at a tournament in Vancouver last year. He played well enough to be selected a Canadian All-Star.
But being an all-star can go to your head. Every now and then Scott has to remind himself what’s really important.
“Once you put the hockey jacket on it’s instant popularity,” he says after practice. Scott’s with his older brother, Troy. They sit cross-legged in their basement, trading hockey cards and playing video hockey. “Some of the guys think they’re pretty hot. Once in a while I might join them and put somebody down—let it go to my head. When I put somebody down I always end up thinking about my brother, Troy.”
Troy, 17, has had a slight motor-skills problem and learning disorder since birth. It’s not serious enough to affect his life much, but it does make him a little different from the other kids. “When he was in elementary school he got picked on a lot,” adds Scott. “I think about that and stop. I try to get the others to stop, too.”
Not to be outdone, Troy starts talking about something he intends to do for Scott. He’s planning on a mission. One of the main reasons is to be an example to his younger brother.
“It’s very important I go on a mission,” says Troy. “Scott probably feels if I don’t go, he won’t have to.” I notice a sideways glance he gives his brother. It’s obvious they’ve had this conversation before.
“I see a mission,” Scott counters. “I hope to go. I want to keep the Holy Ghost with me and that’s a good way. If you’re fooling around with your friends you lose the Spirit, but if you pray and think about it hard, it’ll come back.”
Barry and Mary wander down to join their boys in the basement. Dad picks a black Pittsburgh Pirates cap off the floor.
“We have to pry this hat off Scott’s head,” Barry tells me. Scott grabs the hat and pulls it on. His blond hair disappears and his ears look bigger—I decide not to mention that. “He’s listed as 163 pounds on the team roster, but he’s really only 162. The hat.” Barry points to his head. Scott ignores him.
A son in the National Hockey League—that’s a dream a dad can get excited about. Barry goes to all of Scott’s practices, every game. He admits he had to control his enthusiasm.
“The first few years I pushed him,” Barry says, “but I’ve learned you can’t be too critical or push too hard.”
It took some time for Scott and his dad to find a good mix, but the relationship they have now seems to help them both. For Barry, the payoff is in the time with his son. While Scott, Troy, and their mom are very active in the Church, Barry is not. So he counts on the hockey tie to bring them close.
According to Mary, the boys’ mom, “When Scott’s in a game, he’ll look up into the stands at his dad. They have a silent message system. When Scott makes a good play he’ll look up and know his dad’s happy, and not too happy if he makes a mistake.”
And Dad has good things to say about Scott. He tells about the time Scott tried out for Bantam hockey. One of the other goalies was cut. “Some of the kids started giving him a hard time,” adds Barry. The coach was moments away from having a bad situation on his hands when Scott stood up for the goalie and got the players to settle down. “Scott knows what it’s like to be cut. But I think it’s more than that, something you can’t teach. He tries to care about other people’s feelings.”
Perhaps Scott has learned there is always somebody watching. On the rink it may be a scout or a future coach. In life it could be anybody.
“When Scott played on the Southern Alberta Select Team,” says Mary, “the coach told the team they needed to drink coffee to get going for the games. Scott and another LDS player wouldn’t.”
Scott smiles. “The funny thing was all the other kids ordered coffee, but they ordered caffeine free.”
Scott starts pulling out the odd collection of pads and equipment he needs for an afternoon game in Red Bluff. It’s a typical Saturday with typical commitments to hockey. But while the game does take up a good part of Scott’s life, he wants to be a balanced person.
He stops organizing his hockey gear to show me the saxophone and guitar he likes to play. He says he’d take me for a ride on his motorbike but it’s seized up. And he talks about seminary as if it’s the greatest invention since face masks for goalies. The gospel, he’s discovered, is important in being a well-rounded young man.
“Seminary has opened a lot of doors for me. There’s so much to know,” says Scott. “My seminary teacher is really good. With him it’s easy to understand the scriptures. The Millennium and the Second Coming are really interesting. Reading the scriptures is like reading a story—not a fairy tale, but about a different time. It could be a perfect movie, if you shorten it up a bit.”
But in trying for balance, Scott has discovered he needs to set priorities. A year or so ago, he was playing several sports, going to school and seminary, taking music lessons, spending time with friends. “I was thinking of quitting hockey,” he says. “I wasn’t happy, and it took up so much of my time. I realized if I wanted to play hockey I had to give up some of the other stuff.” He decided to put aside other sports and his guitar for a while. The NHL, the crowds, the excitement—it’s a hard dream to let die.
But other goals are approaching fast. A mission, marriage, and all the decisions in living the gospel are almost here. Just talking to Scott you get the feeling he’ll make the right choices when he needs to. You hope hockey will help him get where he wants to go, but that it will be a part and not the whole.
The last word on Scott is saved for his coach, Kirby Nishikawa. Something Kirby said at practice—something you may have already guessed about Scott. “He’s an all-around great guy to work with. He has a great work ethic and is a good example to the other players. What he does with his talent is all up to him.”
But before I can start wondering where they will put the statue of “Scott Tollestrup—The Perfect Young Man,” Coach Nishikawa sees our hero goofing off at the other end of the ice and bellows, “Tollestrup! Get over here!”
It’s a command that has echoed through this arena more than once, Scott’s mom admits.
Scott takes his place in goal. In front of him a line of players stands waiting to challenge. By now Scott knows he can’t be perfect or get a handle on everything. But remember, this is one goalie who is getting better all the time.

The words God, Heavenly Father, and Jesus Christ were almost never mentioned in my home when I was growing up. My father didn’t really believe in God, and my mother didn’t attend the Christian church in which she had been baptized. When I was six, I wanted to go to church, but my parents decided not to allow me. To remedy my disappointment, I decided to hold my own church services on Sundays.
My knowledge of church and prayer was limited to what I knew from television and stories my friends had told me. The first thing I thought I needed was a Bible. I knew the Bible was a large book with a lot of important words and stories in it. We didn’t have a Bible, so I used the thing we had that fit the description best—the Encyclopaedia Britannica Junior. My congregation consisted of my stuffed animals and dolls. However, my church eventually dissolved, as reading from an encyclopedia can be very frustrating for a six-year-old. Though my church was over, my prayers to God continued.
When I was 13, my mother decided to return to her church. I went with her every Sunday for several months and soon joined the church’s youth group. I loved many things about this church, but I always felt like there was something missing. I continued to go until one day at a youth activity the other youth found out I was not a member of the church. The teenagers in the group began shunning me, and I eventually stopped going to church altogether.
Later, in high school, I took a comparative religions course. I learned a lot about many religions and realized there are a lot of good people with the best of intentions. But no religion ever seemed quite right.
I had convinced myself that no church was right and decided to live by my conscience, read the Bible (by this time I had bought my own), and do my best to live in accordance with the teachings of Jesus Christ. After all, no one in my family went to church, and they were all honest, good people.
In May of 2000, after seeing a movie about the life of Jesus Christ, I was so deeply touched that I earnestly prayed to God. I knew if I was patient, while continuing to do my best to follow Christ, I would receive answers to my prayers. I faced many tests in the months that followed. Through these tests, I became better at receiving the Spirit’s promptings.
Later that year I felt I should go to the visitors’ center at the Washington D.C. Temple to see the Christmas lights. I had been to the visitors’ center to see the lights before but had never inquired about the Church or its beliefs.
As I strolled through the visitors’ center, looking at the many displays, I thought of my cousin and another friend who were planning to serve missions for this church. I had studied about many religions but never this one. I was a little curious.
In my head I asked, expecting no answer, “Why in the world would those two men, or anyone for that matter, give up two years to serve missions—and at their own expense?” Much to my surprise, I received a humbling response. The soft whispers of the Spirit pierced my heart as my eyes fell upon a replica of gold plates. I was drawn to them. As I looked at them, I felt a powerful feeling of love, safety, and comfort, and in my mind I heard the words, “These are important. Learn about them.”
Immediately, I found a missionary and asked her about the plates. She told me about Joseph Smith translating the Book of Mormon. She also suggested I meet with the missionaries, but I declined.
The next day I went to the library to read all I could about the plates and the Church. I bought a copy of the Book of Mormon from a used-book store and began reading. I also read about the Church, but I wanted to learn more, so I decided to attend a church meeting.
I knew if I studied and prayed, God would confirm to me that this is the right church. So that’s what I did. I watched and waited patiently. And sure enough, my prayers were answered. On March 25, 2001, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
This is the Church of Jesus Christ. There are many good churches with many good people, but The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the church of our Lord and Savior, and it is the church with which our Heavenly Father is well pleased (see D&C 1:30). Our Heavenly Father loves us, has a plan for us, and will guide us back to Him if we earnestly seek Him.

Several years ago Sister Packer and I determined that we should get our records in order. However, under the pressure of Church responsibilities with my travels about the world, and the obligations with our large family and a home to keep up both indoors and outdoors, there just was not enough time. But we were restless about this family history responsibility, and finally we determined that somehow we would have to make more time in the day.
During the Christmas holidays when we had a little extra time, we started. Then as we moved back to a regular schedule after the holidays, we adopted the practice of getting up an hour or two earlier each day.
We gathered together everything we had, and in the course of a few weeks we were amazed at what we were able to accomplish. The thing that was most impressive, however, was the fact that we began to have experiences that told us somehow that we were being guided, that there were those beyond the veil who were interested in what we were doing. Things began to fall into place.
As I have traveled about the Church and paid particular attention to this subject, many testimonies have come to light. Others who assemble their records together are likewise having similar experiences. It was as though the Lord was waiting for us to begin.
We found things we had wondered about for a long time. It seemed as though they came to us almost too easily. More than this, things that we never dreamed existed began to show up. We began to learn by personal experience that this research into our families is an inspired work. We came to know that an inspiration will follow those who move into it. It is just a matter of getting started.
Once we started, we found the time. Somehow we were able to carry on all of the other responsibilities. There seemed to be an increased inspiration in our lives because of this work.
The Lord will bless you once you begin this work. This has been very evident to my family. Since the time we decided that we would start where we were, with what we had, many things have opened to us.

When Wilhelm Michael Dithmer was a boy, a serious case of the measles left him blind. Soon after that he was orphaned. The only thing he owned was his father’s clarinet. He sat on street corners in Copenhagen, Denmark, and played the clarinet, hoping to stay alive from the money that people would give him. One generous person decided to send Wilhelm to school, and after that, Wilhelm converted to the gospel and immigrated to America. He settled in Utah and gave free music lessons to generations of boys. Wilhelm died in 1916, and at his funeral it was said of him, “There was neither father, mother, sister, brother, wife, nor child to mourn Wilhelm’s passing. However, no man ever had more friends.”

Consider this letter from one lovely young woman:
“I’m writing this,” she said, “from the depths of a broken heart, in the hope that it may be a warning to other girls never to partake of the bitterness that has come to me. I would give all that I have or ever hope to have if I could go back to those happy, carefree days before the first little taint of sin came upon my heart. I scarcely realized I was slipping into something that could bring such sorrow and ruin into a person’s life.
“I wish I could reveal to you the anguish and regret that fill my heart today, the loss of self-respect and the realization that life’s most priceless gift has slipped away from me. I reached out too eagerly for the excitements and thrills of life, and they have turned to ashes in my hands.”
This young woman, unfortunately, discovered that the heaviest burden one may have to bear in this life is “the burden of sin.” (Harold B. Lee, “Stand Ye in Holy Places,” Ensign, July 1973, p. 122.)

There was a need in the early days of the flood cleanup for heavy equipment. A request was made for tractors and front-end loaders from stakes both near and far. We thought in terms of 5 or 6 outfits. Soon after the request was made, the area welfare leader from Soda Springs, approximately 165 miles away, called and said, “President, I understand that you need some tractors and front-end loaders. We are ready and prepared to bring 150.” I told him that 20 would be marvelous.
There was a need for electricians to restore power to the homes that lost it because of the flood. We estimated that 150 would be a great response. The call went out. We didn’t get just 150. More than 450 licensed electricians and helpers responded to that call. This same type of devotion and dedication was shown many, many times over as a variety of needs was fulfilled.

I remember some time back we had a beautiful Irish setter. Joe owned the dog, and we lived in Boise at the time. The dog was running around up on one of the hills behind the house. Two teenagers had brought .22 rifles to do some practice shooting. They saw our dog, Stroker, and one of the boys decided to shoot at it as it ran back and forth. He shot Stroker, and the dog immediately dropped. Lawrence, watching the whole affair, ran and got his older brother, and they both ran to the dog. Joe picked the large dog up in his arms and carried it home. Then he and his mother drove it out to a veterinarian who administered care to the dog. Joe, his younger brother Lawrence, and his mother fasted through the next 24 hours. Then during the school lunch hour Joe went over to the vet’s to see how his dog was doing. The vet said the dog would live, that everything would be all right. Joe climbed in his car, drove over to the grade school, and went to Lawrence’s room to tell him Stroker would be okay, that the vet said he would live and no serious damage had been done.

Again, this kind of training is invaluable in a home. In addition to all these many great qualities Merlene has, there is one that I suppose is built in every woman. She is absolutely tenacious in the defense of her sons and daughter. When they need to be punished, appropriate discipline is administered and they are punished, but when someone accuses them unjustly or with only part of the facts, she becomes a tenacious defender and will not tolerate unjust criticism of her family members. She is the kind of person you would want to take tiger hunting in the night—you could always turn around and know that she was there.

Merlene has a compassionate heart and a gentle spirit. She loves people and things—she enjoys life to the fullest. She feels a great mission in her home and has eased the burdens and responsibilities of the family by being there so that her husband could be elsewhere in the Lord’s service. She loves family activity and loves the family being together. Her greatest moments are when we, as a family, all of the family, including those married with their companions and children, are with us. Then she feels secure and life reaches its fullest degree for her.

The greatest tribute I could pay to her would be to quote, as I have many times, from Camelot. King Arthur went to a lonely room, locked the door, and said, “Proposition: If I could choose, from every woman who breathes on this earth, the face I would most love, the smile, the touch, the voice, the heart, the laugh, the soul itself, every detail and feature to the smallest strand of hair—they would all be Jenny’s.” Such is my wife. I would choose no one else. Merlene is the miracle maker in our home.

All too well do I know how difficult it is being in a home where everyone is going in different directions at once. I also remember running from that environment. All of that changed when our family started to separate. The oldest went to college, and even though she was only an hour away, we learned how much she meant to us. We started to communicate with each other. We started to say, “I love you.” With those simple realizations and with a little effort, we ended up with a quiet, relaxing home that my friends loved to come to.
Elder Christiansen, 20Missouri Independence Mission

As I sat in the motel room anticipating the next day’s state cross-country race, I kept wondering if I was talented at all as an athlete. I was struggling with all the difficult emotions a 16-year-old could have. I felt I was running worse than when I was a freshman. I felt ugly. The fact I’d never had a date or a boyfriend like all of my other friends compounded my feelings of insecurity. And I wanted so badly to feel accepted.
I had gone to bed early, and my teammates thought I was asleep. I heard them giggling, and then they nudged my shoulder and said, “Here, Jenny. Have some water.” I could distinctly smell that it was not water.
I was angry at my supposed “friends” for trying to play a trick on me. Did they think I was stupid? I was scared they might force the liquor down my throat. I wanted to run away to the security of my mother’s arms, yet that seemed so childish for a teenager who yearned for independence.
A thousand questions raced through my mind. By drinking the liquor, would I be part of the “in” crowd? Would the alcohol make me beautiful? Would it give me a boyfriend? Would I be able to run faster, or even win the race?
I knew all the answers to these questions, so I boldly said, “No, that’s not water and I’m not going to drink it.” I believe both of those girls beat me in the race the next day. However, I knew I had won a race in the Lord’s eyes because I had kept the Word of Wisdom.
The bus trip home seemed particularly long. I was anxious to return home to my family and tell my mother what happened. The next night at the dinner table Mom presented me with a gift. I didn’t recall ever receiving a present unless it was Christmas or my birthday. My five brothers and sisters watched me open it. They were all thankful for and proud of my decision.
Around that dinner table is where I felt talented, beautiful, and accepted—an acceptance that I may never find at school or on a cross-country team.

The crowd left slowly. Standing in the parking lot, I looked up at the temple. A voice in the back of my mind told me that some day I would enter that building.
Eighteen months later, my impression that I would one day enter the Oakland Temple came true, as I received my endowments one week before leaving on a mission. When I returned, Nese and I decided to continue the eternal journey we had begun with conversations at a table in a library. We were married in the Provo Temple.
Every time I look at my wife, I thank the Lord that there was a girl in my high school with enough faith to “just want to share her beliefs with someone who wouldn’t laugh at her.” She touched my heart and changed my life.

Even when we think we are doing no harm by our critical remarks, consequences often follow. I am reminded of a boy who handed a donation envelope to his bishop and told him it was for him. The bishop, using this as a teaching moment, explained to the boy that he should mark on the donation slip whether it was for tithing, fast offerings, or for something else. The boy insisted the money was for the bishop himself. When the bishop asked why, the boy replied, “Because my father says you’re one of the poorest bishops we’ve ever had.”

Less than a year from now will mark 20 years since I entered the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, to prepare for my service in the Taiwan Taichung Mission. That 20 year date has stuck in my mind for a reason and that I'll tell you in a second. Those of you who have been through the Missionary Training Center know that when you get there, in the first few weeks, you become so excited about the gospel and can't wait to get out and share it. We're literally on fire with a love of the truth.

One day in a training session, the instructor told us something that I will never forget. There were 250 of us eager and vibrant missionaries there, and he said, "If Church statistics are accurate, half of you in this room will be less active in the Church in 20 years." I was completely stunned. He could not have shocked me more than if he had said the moon really was made of cheese. I looked to my left; I looked to my right and saw these excited missionaries. I said to myself, "There's no way that can be accurate. If it is, it's not going to apply to anybody here." Because as I looked at these missionaries, I knew that coursing through our veins like life blood was a knowledge that the Church was true, that Jesus Christ was our Savior, that the Book of Mormon was the word of God, that Joseph Smith saw God and Jesus Christ, that the priesthood and temple ordinances had been restored to the earth—how could we not always feel that way? Well, sadly, it's been almost 20 years. And although I don't know whether it's half of us exactly, but I do know many mission buddies and acquaintances who since that time have decided to live their lives outside of the blessings of active membership in the Church. I said to myself, "How can that happen?"

Over the years I have thought long and hard about that question—how it is that despite having been illuminated by the light of the gospel, we sometimes do not follow what we know is right and even sometimes fall away. I know that the Church has devoted countless hours and resources into studying that same question, but as I have reviewed the scriptures and the words of the living prophets I have come to understand the need for me and for all of us to strive to live personally righteous.