Gospel Story Finder

A few months ago, I visited a city in the Asia Area where the gospel has been preached for many years. We had a devotional with some of the members of the church and had a period of questions and answers. One of the first questions was, “When will we become a stake?” I knew that a member of the Twelve had been in that same city about a year earlier. In response to their question, I responded by asking this question: “When you asked the member of the Twelve the same question a year ago, what was his answer?” The response was immediate –“You will be a stake when you want to be a stake.” They then said that they did not fully understand the response. Of course they wanted to be a stake – they had wanted it for years.

My response was then the same as had been given by the member of the Twelve a year earlier, with one clarification. “You will become a stake when you want to be a stake enough that you are willing to do the work that is needed to become a stake.” As you may know, in order to become a stake, there must be a certain number of members, and they must have a certain level of faithfulness in paying their tithing, and so forth. The things that they were lacking when I visited a few months ago were the very things that they were lacking a year earlier when a member of the Twelve had visited. In the year that had passed, they had lived good lives and had done much good. But they had not focused on the work needed to reactivate a relatively few members, or to invite a relatively few to receive the blessings of being full tithe payers or the work needed to invite a few more of their friends and family to receive the gospel of Jesus Christ. In other words, their desire to become a stake had not been strong enough to motivate them to do the things that they needed to do to become a stake.

Today, we are about 4 months from that visit. During those months, the district leadership, the branch presidents, the missionary force and others went to work to do the things needed to become a stake. I am pleased to report that within a very short period of time – certainly this year – there will be an additional stake in the Asia Area. This is because they came to understand that “desire” in the gospel of Jesus Christ always and must always include the action and work needed to accomplish whatever is desired. Remember, we show our desire to God by what we do, far more than by what we say.

Our obedience and our faith in our leaders is put to the test through callings and releases. I recall an occasion when I was tempted to ask for a release from my calling as branch president. On my way to talk to the district president, I stopped at the post office to pick up my mail. Among the mail was the latest issue of the Liahona. As I looked over it, my eyes fell on a short message by President David O. McKay, in which he told how much the first leaders and missionaries of the Church had to suffer for the gospel. His words touched my heart, and I realized the foolishness of my decision. I kept my appointment with the district president, but never mentioned my original reason for coming. Instead, I took the opportunity to ask for additional counsel concerning my calling.
Years later the brother who had been district president asked me, “Brother Davila, what did you really want to talk to me about many years ago when you came to my house in Bogota?” I told him I had come to ask for a release. Then, with love and a smile, he said, “I knew what you were going to tell me. From the time you called me to make an appointment until you arrived at my house, I was praying that something might happen along the way that would change your mind.”
This experience has helped me to testify that our leaders are inspired, and that we should follow them humbly and willingly accept callings and releases that they extend to us.

On a snowy Friday night, I was driving home from a friend’s house. As I was driving, I was prompted to pull over to the side of the road, and without much thought, I did. But after a moment, I began to wonder why—I didn’t see any danger ahead.
At church I had been taught about recognizing promptings from the Holy Ghost, and I never felt a prompting as strong as this, but I still wasn’t sure if the feeling came from me or from the Spirit.
After sitting in my car for about 10 seconds, I decided to continue home. The streets looked clear. Then, out of nowhere, a group of deer jumped into the road ahead of me—about 10 seconds away at my previous speed. If I had not stopped when prompted, I believe I would have hit the deer, totaled my car, and probably been hurt.
After this experience, I realized what a blessing it is to have the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost. I am grateful that the Holy Ghost not only warns us but also comforts and teaches us.

I know of a returned missionary who thought he could take a peek at some pornography and not be hurt. One peek led to another and another. Pretty soon he was staying late at work and telling his wife he had a project to finish. His thoughts soon turned into actions. Before long, his life was destroyed. He could find no peace. He lost his job. He nearly lost his wife and children. He lost his temple blessings, his priesthood, and his membership in the Church. After nearly seven years of missed blessings, he was rebaptized and a year later had his priesthood blessings and ordinances restored. It was a rugged eight-year road he had to walk – all for a peek. None of us can afford to peek. As disciples of Christ, we must stand firm for the values and virtues of clean living that the Gospel of Jesus Christ teaches.

I learn a lot by watching my older brother. I love video games and soccer, and, honestly, I would probably do those things all the time if it weren’t for him. He likes those things too, and a lot of the time we play them together, but he always makes time to grow and improve. I’ll never forget being invited to do drugs at school. I immediately thought of my brother and knew what he would choose; because I want to be like him, I made the right choice and said no.
Emilio, Tennessee, USA

Ten-year-old Jesse Brewster of Lakeview, Oregon, made a step toward keeping his baptismal covenants by following the commandment, “Thou shalt not steal.” (See Mosiah 13:22; Ex. 20:15.) While Jesse was at the store with his mother, he saw a candy bar he really wanted but did not have any money to buy it with. He knew that his brother had some money saved in his room, and when he got home, he took some of that money, went back to the store, and nearly bought the candy. He realized at the last minute how wrong that would be. He put the candy bar back and bravely confessed to his brother.

By being honest, Jesse showed that he was willing to live by the covenants that he had made when he was baptized. He learned from this experience that “following what I know is right is always better than a candy bar.”

These, of course, are difficult questions to answer. Sometimes a contrast will offer a perspective that cannot otherwise be gained. Stories of the early Church leaders have always been helpful to me as examples of what it means to place the kingdom of God first. These stories really began to live for me when I was a young missionary. In those days missionaries were not blessed with the many teaching aids that we have today. We had the scriptures and a big, black box that contained a record player and a set of records entitled The Fulness of Times. (I always hoped and prayed for a small companion because we would carry this big black box on a broomstick between us. If I was taller, the weight would always shift to my companion!) These records depicted the historical account of the early history of the Church from the First Vision to the Nauvoo period.
There was one episode depicted on the records that would nearly bring tears to my eyes as my companion and I would listen to it over and over again. It was the account of Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball leaving their wives, children, and humble homes to journey to Great Britain in response to their mission calls to that faraway land. Heber C. Kimball records the event in these words:
“‘September 14th, … President Brigham Young left his home at Montrose to start on the mission to England. He was so sick that he was unable to go to the Mississippi, a distance of thirty rods, without assistance. After he had crossed the river he rode behind Israel Barlow on his horse to my house, where he continued sick until the 18th. He left his wife sick with a babe only three weeks old, and all of his other children were sick and unable to wait upon each other. Not one soul of them was able to go to the well for a pail of water, and they were without a second suit to their backs, for the mob in Missouri had taken nearly all he had. On the 17th, Sister Mary Ann Young got a boy to carry her up in his wagon to my house, that she might nurse and comfort Brother Brigham to the hour of starting.
“‘September 18th, Charles Hubbard sent his boy with a wagon and span of horses to my house; our trunks were put into the wagon by some brethren; I went to my bed and shook hands with my wife who was then shaking with a chill, having two children lying sick by her side; I embraced her and my children, and bade them farewell. My only well child was little Heber P., and it was with difficulty he could carry a couple of quarts of water at a time to assist in quenching their thirst.
“‘It was with difficulty we got into the wagon, and started down the hill about ten rods; it appeared to me as though my very inmost parts would melt within me at leaving my family in such a condition, as it were almost in the arms of death. I felt as though I could not endure it. I asked the teamster to stop, and said to Brother Brigham, “This is pretty tough, isn’t it; let’s rise up and give them a cheer.” We arose, and swinging our hats three times over our heads, shouted: “Hurrah, hurrah for Israel.” Vilate, hearing the noise, arose from her bed and came to the door. She had a smile on her face. Vilate and Mary Ann Young cried out to us: “Goodbye, God bless you!” We returned the compliment, and then told the driver to go ahead. After this I felt a spirit of joy and gratitude, having had the satisfaction of seeing my wife standing upon her feet, instead of leaving her in bed, knowing well that I should not see them again for two or three years’” (Orson F. Whitney, Life of Heber C. Kimball, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1967, pp. 265–66).
I have often wondered how these brethren, as valiant as they were, could do what they did. Truly they were willing to make any sacrifice asked of them to build the kingdom of God. They were laying up “treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt” (Matt. 6:20).
There is something else about this story, however, that has always intrigued me. As Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball left on their missions to Great Britain, there appeared to be a lot of support from their brethren to help them on their way. Israel Barlow assisted Brigham Young across the Mississippi River. Later, Charles Hubbard sent his son with a wagon to the Kimball home to assist the two missionaries as they began their long journey.
If we look carefully at this story, we catch a glimpse of the unity that must have existed among the Saints in those early days. As husbands and fathers would leave for missionary service, their departure was made easier because they knew that brothers, sisters, priesthood leaders, and friends would step in to help fill the void created by their absence.
These brethren were able to invest in building the kingdom of God in faraway lands because they knew that others would be investing in building the kingdom at home by helping their loved ones whenever assistance was needed. There was a unique bonding, a special faith in the community of Saints, dedicated to a common goal, a common purpose. If we return to Jacob’s counsel to his people, we see the same message communicated as he instructed them to be familiar with all and to share freely of their substance (see Jacob 2:17).
What this testifies to me is that we can tell whether or not we put the kingdom of God first by looking at how we treat our brothers and sisters in the Church. Is there a special bond uniting us? Is there an absence of envy and backbiting? Do we rejoice in the success of a brother or sister as much as in our own? Do we share our substance so that all may be rich like unto us? Ultimately, are we our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers?
As I travel throughout the Church I marvel at all the positive things that are occurring. Yet I never feel that we, as a people, are living up to our real potential. My sense is that we do not always work together, that we are still too much interested in aspirations for personal honors and success, and show too little interest in the common goal of building the kingdom of God.
When we look at all the Lord asks of us, it can sometimes seem overwhelming. Of course, where much has been given, much is expected. I believe it is helpful when faced with an enormous challenge to view it as a step-by-step process. We begin by taking the first step, then continue by taking one step at a time. I am certain that the Lord is pleased even with our small beginnings, because in His infinite wisdom He knows that small things often become great things.
The first step always involves a deepening of commitment to the Lord and His glorious work. Again, this is a commitment to consider His work first. Our subsequent steps are guided by this initial commitment, but can, of course, take several directions.
We can help by serving our brothers and sisters in the Church. We can go to those who have not yet received the gospel and convert them to its truths. We can go to the temple and perform this great redeeming work for the dead. As we engage in the work of the Lord, He will increase our capacity as we increase our desire. We will pull closer together as a people engaged in a common effort. Through sacrifices we make one for another and for Him, we will realize our potential as His children and prepare the way for His eventual, glorious return.
May each of us accept the challenge to seek the kingdom of God first, before and above all else, and by so doing draw closer together as a people, until we are all of one heart and one mind, I humbly pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Shadows wrapped the room in darkness as I lay awake listening to my husband breathe, trying to determine whether he was sleeping. It had been only two days since our 12-year-old daughter had passed away from a sudden traumatic accident. I closed my eyes again, but sleep evaded me. My heart yearned for my daughter. All the knowledge of the plan of salvation couldn’t ease the ache of missing her.
As dawn neared, I felt a sudden, intense longing. The sun would be rising soon, and in my mind I saw the sky bathed in soft pink light. Our daughter loved the color pink. A pink sunrise would be just the thing I needed to feel close to her again.
“Let’s go watch the sunrise,” I whispered to my drowsy husband.
We stood in the driveway, faced east, and waited … and waited. Though the sky lightened, the sun did not push through the low-lying clouds.
I leaned my head on my husband’s shoulder and sighed, trying to pretend it didn’t matter. But I wanted more. I needed more. Surely Heavenly Father could have granted me this desire after taking our sweet girl home to Him.
As my husband turned to go inside, looking behind us toward the west, he said, “Look!”
I turned. Behind us the clouds were bathed in a delicate blush, golden light surrounding them. My breath caught, and tears crept to my eyes. It was more beautiful than I could have imagined. It felt like a hug from our daughter. I knew Heavenly Father was aware of my aching heart and was sending a promise of hope for the future—a gentle reminder of eternal families and all the beautiful moments yet to come.
I have thought often on that beautiful moment and the new perspective it gave me. Who looks for a sunrise in the west? And yet that is where my miracle was waiting. How many blessings and miracles do I miss because they come from unexpected places? How many times do I focus on what I think should be and miss the glory of what is?
We had prayed relentlessly for a miracle that was denied, but as I looked around with my new perspective, I saw the miracle of the four lives bettered through our daughter’s organ donations, the miracle of family love and ward unity, and the miracle of service. I have felt deep sorrow, but I have also felt powerful hope fill my soul with each blushing sunrise, each rosy sunset, and each pink flower that crosses my path.
Now as the sun rises, I look east and then turn to look west. I smile with the realization that there are always miracles and blessings to be found—and that the sun will always rise on our sorrows if we let it.

I was a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood when World War II exploded upon the world. I was ordained an elder when we were all marched away to war.
I had dreams of following an older brother, Leon, who at that time was flying B-24 bombers in the Battle of Britain. I volunteered for air force pilot training.
I failed the written test by one point. Then the sergeant remembered that there were several two-point questions, and if I got half right on two of them, I could pass.
Part of the test was multiple choice. One question was “What is ethylene glycol used for?” If I had not worked in my dad’s service station, I would not have known that it is used for automobile antifreeze. And so I passed, barely.
I prayed about the physical. It turned out to be fairly routine.
You young men should not complain about schooling. Do not immerse yourself so much in the technical that you fail to learn things that are practical. Everything you can learn that is practical—in the house, in the kitchen cooking, in the yard—will be of benefit to you. Never complain about schooling. Study well, and attend always.
“The glory of God is intelligence, or, in other words, light and truth.”
“Whatever principle of intelligence we attain unto in this life, it will rise with us in the resurrection.”
We are to learn about “things that are above, and things that are beneath, things that are in the earth, and upon the earth, and in heaven.”
You can learn about fixing things and painting things and even sewing things and whatever else is practical. That is worth doing. If it is not of particular benefit to you, it will help you when you are serving other people.
I ended up in the Orient, flying the same kind of bombers that my brother flew in England. My mission, as it turned out, was in teaching the gospel in Japan as a serviceman.
Perhaps the hardest challenge of war is living with uncertainties, not knowing how it will end or if we can go ahead with our lives.
I was issued a small serviceman’s Book of Mormon that would fit into my pocket. I carried it everywhere; I read it; and it became part of me. Things that had been a question became certain to me.
The certainties of the gospel, the truth, once you understand it, will see you through these difficult times.
It was four years before we could return to our lives. But I had learned and had a sure testimony that God is our Father, that we are His children, and that the restored gospel of Jesus Christ is true.

I probably spent more time as an undergraduate student than I needed to. My wife was very patient with my academic endeavors. I changed my major at least twice before I found something I truly excelled at. I remember that as I was closing in on graduation I was informed that if I wanted to graduate that coming April, I needed to complete a basic math class that was worth zero credits. I had avoided math as much as possible and had thought I was done with it. But I signed up for the class my final semester as an undergraduate at BYU.

I knew I was in trouble as soon as I picked up the textbook at the Bookstore. This class turned out to be one of the most academically challenging experiences I have ever had. I spent many hours in the math lab trying to learn algebra. I wore out one poor tutor. She must have thought there was something seriously wrong with my memory. I faithfully worked with her every week up until the final exam. She was very kind and patient.

I remember leaving the math lab for the last time and heading to the testing center before I lost the knowledge I had gained that day. Amazingly, I did pass the final test and the class. I had such a feeling of relief and jubilation erupt in me that I could hardly stand it. I was going to graduate! I was so grateful I did not have to go home and disappoint my wife. Instead we got to celebrate this achievement together. My grade in the class was not good, but I am probably as proud of that grade as I am of any I have ever earned because I truly earned it.

Some weeks ago a man holding a high office in the Church asked a special favor of me. “Would you be good enough to take the time to listen while a mother, father, and their teenage daughter, special friends of mine, try to talk to each other?”
As the four of us sat together, it immediately became obvious that all channels of communication were jammed with prejudice, threats, accusations, and resentment. As the verbal storms developed with bitter intensity, I found myself the only listener. Even though they had individually and collectively agreed I would be the counselor, judge, arbiter, or referee, if you please, I found myself waiting patiently for an opportunity to be heard. During the heated and emotional confrontation, the teenager repeatedly expressed her resentment with, “You can’t talk to me like that. I am an adult now. You can’t treat me like that. I am an adult now. You can’t dominate my life anymore. I am an adult now.”
Each time she said “I am an adult now,” I cringed. By definition, an adult is a person who has attained the age of maturity—full grown. While it is true a person may be legally classified as an adult when he or she reaches a certain age, for our purposes today the kind of adult status we are talking about must be earned by actions and attitude.
I am not quite sure who has the right or responsibility to declare someone an adult, but I am quite certain that often the least qualified to make the declaration would be the individual himself. If a person is mature, he or she will not need to announce it. Personal conduct is the only true measurement of maturity. Adult classification, when it pertains to behavior, does not come with age, wrinkles, or gray hair. Perhaps it is not too far off the mark to say adult conduct is a process. Mature conduct is generally developed through self-discipline, resilience, and continuing effort.
In fairness to the teenager, even though her declaration of “I am an adult now” didn’t impress me favorably, there were times during the visit when I thought she showed more maturity than others in the room. When we who are more senior use an expression like “I am older than you” to clinch a point, I am not too sure it is very effective. How much better it is to gain respect and love through worthy parental conduct than to seek it through the means of the age differential.
Young men and young women worldwide, you, as well as your parents, need not announce or proclaim your maturity. By your faith and works you will be known for what you are. By your fruits you will be known and classified. Those among us who use abusive arguments, temper tantrums, demeaning and painful criticism, fruitless counter-complaints, and disrespect will benefit no one. Let us put away petty malice, resentment, and retaliatory practices that are self-destructive and return to a path of safety well marked by the Good Shepherd.
It takes courage to flee from verbal contention. When maturity begins to set in, adult lives set in. “Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice:
“And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you” (Eph. 4:31–32). It is alarming how many older people go through life without ever becoming real adults.
For many years I have had a very vivid picture in my mind of Jesus Christ standing before Pilate. While Jesus stood in front of an angry mob, who sneered and condemned, Pilate tried to get Him to respond and retaliate. He tried to get Him to declare himself a king. Jesus was silent. His life was his sermon. He was perfect in character, a worthy son, the Only Begotten of the Father. His maturity, if you please, would speak for itself.
“And Jesus stood before the governor: and the governor asked him, saying, Art thou the King of the Jews? And Jesus said unto him, Thou sayest.
“And when he was accused of the chief priests and elders, he answered nothing.
“Then said Pilate unto him, Hearest thou not how many things they witness against thee?
“And he answered him to never a word; insomuch that the governor marvelled greatly” (Matt. 27:11–14).
There are many opportunities to acquire mature behavior in the organizations in the Church. The other day a charming teenager paid a deserving tribute to her Young Women’s teacher. She said, “From her example and good lessons, we learned the importance of good grooming. We learned that though each of us is different, each is equally important. She taught us to solve our differences by discussion, not by shouting.”
The success of the Scouting program is that it teaches boys to stay on the trail. Boulders and hills don’t stop the hike to the top of the mountain. Top awards are not given unless the difficult merit badges are earned as well as the easier ones. The boys’ tenacity to continue on the Scouting path, not the honors awarded, is the maturing element of the program.
“A certain man had two sons:
“And the younger … said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me [I am an adult now]. And he divided unto them his living” (Luke 15:11–12).
The prodigal son parable is well known to all of us. He left and wasted his substance with riotous living. “When he came to himself, he said, …
“I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee,
“And am no more worthy to be called thy son: [but I am more of an adult now] …
“And he arose, and came to his father. … His father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him” (vs. 17–20).
I believe it appropriate to say the father, too, had become more mature during the separation. Think, too, of the maturing and the becoming of more of an adult on the part of the elder son when he witnessed and participated in the Christ-like example of his father (see vs. 25–32).
There is no doubt in my mind that one of the primary reasons Laman and Lemuel murmured and spoke harsh words to their brother Nephi and did smite him with a rod was because they were older and more adult than Nephi, so they supposed. Can’t you just hear Laman saying, “Nephi, you can’t treat me like that. I am an adult now.”
Nephi displayed real maturity when he declared, “I, Nephi, said unto my father: I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.
“And it came to pass that when my father had heard these words he was exceedingly glad, for he knew that I had been blessed of the Lord” (1 Ne. 3:7–8). Lehi was adult enough to know which son was the most mature and who would be blessed of the Lord accordingly.
Too many of us fail to realize adult conduct is a process, not a status. To become a disciple of Jesus Christ, we must continue in righteousness and in His word. When someone shares with enthusiasm his joy in now being an active member of the Church, the thought crosses my mind, “Wonderful, but for how long will you stay that way?” Incidentally, some years ago I was contacted by an insurance agent. When he started his sales approach with “I am an active member of the Church,” the first thought that crossed my mind was, “Who said so?”
When someone overcomes the drug habit, and thankfully many have, less time should be spent on announcing the present status and more on staying away from bad habits. Those who are morally clean will conduct themselves in a more adult fashion if they will spend less time declaring it and more time living and teaching others the blessings of chastity. Full tithe payers will receive more joy and reward from being obedient to the principle of tithing than from being so classified or recommended.
Some will chide and belittle leaders and students of higher education for participating in code of conduct guidelines, but those appropriately involved in the wholesome process of mature behavioral discipline welcome the environment. Responsible student conduct on any campus is applauded. A pledge of “on my honor I will do my best,” either in writing or when self-enforced, can make the difference in character development. Making and keeping commitments may seem restrictive and outdated in a today world where “play it loose” is the pattern, but the benefits are clear to the mature.
Those who are immature resent counseling or having to report in. They may feel that such interviews are juvenile. Those who strive for continual growth realize that counselors can help one analyze himself and find solutions to personal problems. In our church, counselors are a source of great strength for the prophet as well as for all of us.
Beware of those seeking excuses for conduct with “I am an adult now. You can’t treat me like that.” Moral maturity and scholastic maturity must be blended to produce a truly adult person. A commitment to improve on a daily basis should be a high priority in the lives of those who would move in the right direction.
There is real purpose and power in the First Presidency’s continuing invitation to all Church members to come back. Strength, growth, and happiness result from analyzing the direction our lives are taking. Those who have been lost, misunderstood, or offended and those totally involved in the Church are invited to come and fellowship together within the framework of the gospel of Jesus Christ. To be a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is not enough. Participation in priesthood, Relief Society, Young Women, Young Men, Primary, and Sunday School opportunities is necessary if we are to move forward anxiously in personal development that is adult, real, and eternal. Perhaps all of us would do well to realize that as we promote personal activity and involvement in the Church, it might be much better to be classified a member of “good coming” instead of a member in good standing. It is our responsibility and privilege to encourage the immature and give them opportunities for growth and development.
Joseph Smith declared to the world he was like a rough stone shaped and polished by the stream of life. Bumps, disappointments, and the unexpected helped him gain the status of being wise beyond his years. Oftentimes maturity can best be measured by our endurance. “If the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.
“The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?” (D&C 122:7–8).
My young friends, in a spirit of love I make the suggestion that we avoid the placing of self-labels. For you to classify yourself as all-state, all-American, or even all-world doesn’t mean anything if you alone determine the winner and present the trophy to yourself. By the same token, who among us has the right to label himself as a loser, no good, a dropout, or a failure? Self-judgment in any direction is a hazardous pastime. It is a fact of life that the direction in which we are moving is more important than where we are. I have never heard the best-educated ever declare, “I am educated now.” Some of the most potentially wise people in the world forfeit that classification when they spend their time advertising their abilities and knowledge rather than using their wisdom to improve themselves and help those with whom they associate.
Mothers, fathers, and family members, maturity does not necessarily come with age. Let us communicate in words and deeds our concern and love for each other. Threats, ears that do not hear, eyes that do not see, and hearts that do not feel will never bring joy, unity, and growth. Patience with others, self, and God brings eternal maturity. Let God and our daily actions determine the authenticity of the statement “I am an adult now.”
God is our Father. Jesus is the Christ. May our knowledge of them on a continuing basis give us Christ-centered adult conduct, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Many years ago two colleagues of mine—a nurse and her doctor husband—asked me why I lived the way I did. I answered, “Because I know the Book of Mormon is true.” I let them borrow my copy of the book, inviting them to read it. A week later they returned my book with a polite “Thanks a lot.”

I responded, “What do you mean, ‘Thanks a lot’? That’s a totally inappropriate response for one who has read this book. You didn’t read it, did you! Please take it back and read it; then I would like my book back.”

Admitting that they had only turned its pages, they accepted my invitation. When they returned, they said tearfully, “We have read the Book of Mormon. We know it is true! We want to know more.” They learned more, and it was my privilege to baptize both of them.

I recently gave my first talk in sacrament meeting. I had just read the article “An Example to Nonmember Friends” (Oct. 2010) and knew that I should use that as my topic. I liked that people shared experiences in their lives. It helped me understand more about being an example to those around me. One way I can stand as a witness is by magnifying my priesthood responsibilities. A few weeks ago a few other deacons in my ward and I went to a rest home. We take turns preparing and passing the sacrament with the other wards in our stake. While I was there I felt very peaceful and happy inside. I knew that I was doing what the Savior would have me do and would be doing Himself if He were there. I am thankful for the examples of others I read about in the magazine and hope I can also set a good example to those around me.
Spencer G., Utah

Years ago a friend of mine went to a large university to study under the ranking authority in the field of counseling and guidance. This professor quickly took an interest in this personable, intelligent young Latter-day Saint. He attracted attention as he moved through the course work required for a doctor’s degree.
He chose the Latter-day Saint bishop as the subject for his dissertation. All went well until he described the ordination of a bishop, the power of discernment, and the right of a bishop to spiritual guidance.
His doctoral committee felt that such references had no place in a scholarly paper, and they insisted that he take them out. He thought he might at least say that Latter-day Saints believe the bishop has spiritual insight. But the committee denied him even this, for they would be quite embarrassed to have this spiritual ingredient included in a scholarly dissertation.
He was told that with some little accommodation—specifically, leaving out all the references to revelation—his dissertation would be published and his reputation established.
He did the best he could. His dissertation did not contain enough about the Spirit to satisfy him and too much to be fully accepted by his worldly professors. But he received his degree.
I asked this friend what was the most important thing he had learned in his study of bishops. He answered, “I learned that the mantle is far, far greater than the intellect, that the priesthood is the guiding power.”

“Nettie,” I hollered, picking up a pair of socks that were draped over my fishbowl like a lampshade.
“Oops,” giggled Nettie as she charged into our bedroom. She knocked over the stack of books on my nightstand as she tried to stop.
“That’ll be ten cents,” I ordered as I dropped the socks in her hand. Every time Nettie left her stuff on my side of our bedroom, I made her put ten cents in the big jar on my shelf. Mom told me I could do that if I thought it would help. Nettie was really sloppy, and I was the lucky one who had to share a room with her.
Nettie dropped a dime in the jar and jammed her socks into her jumbled-up drawer. She turned to run out, and I pointed to the books she’d scattered all over the floor.
“Good thing I don’t have to pay ten cents apiece for these,” she joked. “I’d owe you my allowance for two years.”
“Funny,” I said. “You wouldn’t have to pay anything if you kept your messes on your own side of the room.”
“I know,” Nettie sighed, trying to stack up my books. She knocked them over again with her elbow before she’d finished.
“Slow down a little,” I grumbled, grabbing my Birds of North America book before she ripped the pictures.
“Taylor is waiting for me to play baseball,” Nettie said. “I’m going to show her how to hit a home run.”
“Oh, just go,” I finally told her.
“Thanks,” she said. She dropped the books on my bed and raced off. Of course, the books bounced back onto the floor. Somehow everything Nettie touched seemed to end up on the floor.
That week, Nettie’s luck didn’t improve. She tossed her soccer uniform and shin pads on my bed, and that added up to sixty cents including the socks. Then she flooded Mom’s pot of violets when she watered them, and the water made puddles on the shelf and streaks down the wall. Next, she broke a plate when she tried to help dry the dishes, knocked her bike over and bent the pedal, and lost one orange tennis shoe.
“If you slowed down you wouldn’t be such a disaster,” I told Nettie. “And you would be able to find your stuff if you were neater.”
Nettie didn’t say anything. She knew I was right.
For one moment, Nettie’s luck changed—Taylor’s family invited her to go camping with them that Friday. But her luck didn’t last long. Friday morning, Nettie came down with the flu.
I went in our room to talk to her. She gave me the same look she’d made the day her pet worm Wiggles died.
“I’m sorry you can’t go camping,” I told her. I was sorry for me too. I had been looking forward to a break from sharing a room.
“That’s OK,” she said. “It’s probably good that I can’t go. I would have wrecked everything!”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She sniffled, and not from the flu. “What if I knocked down the tent or broke the lantern or fell in the lake? I do everything wrong. I’m a big disaster. You said so yourself.”
I didn’t know what to do or say as the tears slipped down Nettie’s cheeks. I felt horrible. My heart thumped in my chest. What had I done? I’d never thought about how everything I said made Nettie feel bad about herself. I always told her how she messed up, but I never told her what she did right.
“Nettie, you are a good friend,” I said. “I’m sure Taylor wishes you were there right now. You try to help her. In fact, you try to help everyone.”
“Really?” Nettie asked, wiping her nose.
I nodded. “Yep. You’re always helping Mom with the chores. She appreciates that.”
“She does?”
“Of course,” I told her. “You’re the nicest helper I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”
“Thanks,” Nettie said. She was smiling and looking a little better.
When Nettie dozed off to sleep, I quietly took the big jar off my shelf and took it to Mom. I had an idea.
Later that day, Dad took me to the store. I returned with a brightly wrapped box just for Nettie.
“A present?” she asked. “Because I’m sick?”
I shook my head. “No. Because I love you.” I showed her the empty jar. “I never should have made you pay me. The present rightly belongs to you.”
Nettie squealed and hugged me so hard I almost dropped the jar. “You’re the greatest sister,” she said.
“You’re pretty great yourself,” I said.
I looked at the empty jar in my hands and thought about it. Then I opened my closet and put the jar on the top shelf. I didn’t want it anymore. Instead of filling the jar with dimes, I planned on filling Nettie up with good feelings about herself. I knew I could do it because Nettie had shown me how much power my words had. From now on, I would be much more careful about how I used them. I wasn’t the greatest sister yet, but maybe I could be a good one if I tried.

When I was a young boy, my father owned a hardware store in our small town. Later he formed a partnership with two other men, and together they expanded the business.
One day I decided I needed a pocketknife. I went to the store and found the case where the knives were kept. I picked out the knife I wanted and put it in my pocket. While I was still standing by the knife cabinet, my father came up to me and asked what I was doing.
I explained to him that I needed a knife and had selected one from the store case. He very kindly and patiently explained to me that the knife did not belong just to him. Two-thirds of the knife belonged to his partners. Therefore he told me that I must put it back, because it was not his to give nor mine to take.
This lesson in honesty made a real impression on me. I have always appreciated my father’s taking the time to teach me right from wrong. Because he respected the rights of others and was honest in his dealings, his life was a constant example to me.

My great-great-grandmother’s name was Mary Goble Pay. She was twelve years old and living in Brighton, England, when the missionaries taught her family the gospel. The year was 1855, and all Mary’s mother could think of was to join the other Saints in Utah. And so the following spring Mary’s mother, father, and four younger brothers and sisters boarded the ship Horizon for America.

By the time they could get outfitted and started on the trail, it was the middle of July. Winter storms came early that year, and the Gobles spent five terrible months on the trail between St. Louis and Salt Lake City. Mary wrote: “We had to keep close to [the handcart companies] to help them if we could. We began to get short of food and our cattle gave out” (A Believing People, ed. Richard H. Cracroft and Neal E. Lambert, Provo: Brigham Young University Press, 1974, p. 144). Many died—among them Mary’s two-year-old sister, her five-year-old brother, and Edith, a baby sister born on the trail and buried in Wyoming.

And then when all seemed lost, the stranded Saints were miraculously rescued by men and teams sent by Brigham Young. But even as the handcart companies crossed the final mountain into the valley, Mary’s mother died.

Mary describes the scene: “We arrived in Salt Lake City nine o’clock at night the 11th of December 1856. Three out of four who were living were frozen. My mother was dead in the wagon. …
“[We were] taken to a home … and the sisters brought us plenty of food. …
“Early next morning Bro. Brigham Young and a doctor came. … When Bro. Young came in he shook hands with us all. When he saw our condition—our feet frozen and our mother dead—tears rolled down his cheeks” (ibid., p. 145).

Well, Mary grew up. She married a good man. They had thirteen children whom they taught to love the gospel. She said it made her sad to talk about that trip across the plains, but she always remembered her mother’s words: “I want to go to Zion while my children are small, so they can be raised in the Gospel of Christ. For I know this is the true Church.” Mary concludes, “I think my mother had her wish” (ibid., pp. 149–50).

Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ live, and they are in charge of this world.
They knew Mary Goble Pay.
They loved her.
They had a plan for her future.
She obeyed the commandments, worked hard, and trusted in their plan. And sooner or later, everything was okay.

The living room lights were making patterns on the front lawn when I pulled in the driveway. I gathered my books and practice uniform and staggered toward the door, hoping I would find my family about to say the closing prayer for family home evening. Instead the strains of a Primary song greeted me. Home evening was just getting started.
I dropped my armload on the kitchen table and tried to ignore the number of books I’d brought home. Of all nights to have so much homework. Of all nights for Carrie Willard to ask for a ride home and then insist we stop to look at the sweater in the window of Robertson’s Department Store. We’d probably still be there if Paula hadn’t finally said, “Hey, it’s Monday night. Don’t you guys have family home evening or something?”
I hope she caught the grateful look I threw her. Paula, the only nonmember in the group, knows the conditions of the pact I signed with my dad after getting my driver’s license. It states that I agree to drive carefully, treat the car with respect, keep it clean, keep the tank filled, and attend to my family and Church responsibilities. Specifically, that means keep my room clean, do my assigned household chores, and attend Church meetings, seminary, and family home evening.
All this for the privilege of driving the old clunker so I don’t have to beg rides wherever I need to go. I am allowed infractions, but only rarely, or I lose my driving privileges.
“Kathy,” Dad called, “we’re waiting for you.”
I dropped into the nearest chair. “Sorry,” I said. “Practice ran awfully late tonight and I’ve got a ton of homework.”
Dad just smiled and stood up to begin the lesson. “A thought came to me today. It just wouldn’t go away, so I decided it must be inspiration and that I would go with it for tonight’s lesson.”
I swallowed a groan. My sister Gayle rolled her eyes heavenward. Dad’s inspirations usually meant we were in for something unexpected.
“On the way to work this morning,” Dad continued, “I heard a radio program about first aid. It seems too few people know what to do in an emergency.” He paused for effect.
“It just so happens there’s a section on first aid in the Family Home Evening Resource Book. Now who knows what to do in the case of shock?”
For the next half hour we acted out various scenarios. Dad treated Darrell for shock as the result of a traffic accident. My little sister Linda cut her arm on a broken bottle and Mom controlled the bleeding. Then Darrell saved Dad from drowning in the ocean between the bookcase and the couch and revived him. Gayle and I went out to dinner where we each managed to save the other from choking by using the Heimlich maneuver.
It was all rather silly and fun, and as usual we learned something. When we’d finished, Dad announced he’d signed us all up for a CPR class the first Saturday of next month. Gayle and I sighed. One more thing to fit into our busy schedules.
We had strawberry shortcake for refreshments. I took mine to my room to eat while I studied. Mom came in later and found me with my nose resting in the margin of my vocabulary book. I’d finished my math problems and written an essay, and I knew most of my vocabulary words. I’d have to study biology in the morning while I curled my hair.
My hair refused to cooperate in the morning and it got more attention than my biology, but I still had the noon hour. I gathered at a corner table with the usual lunch group and tried to memorize all the bones in the body while everyone else criticized the food and exchanged lunches. I was barely listening to the conversation, so I missed whatever it was Kenny Jamison said that made everyone else shout with laughter, especially Paula. I’ve noticed lately that Paula pays particular attention to anything Kenny says.
Suddenly, through the lunch room sounds, I heard something else—a sound so soft that I shouldn’t have been able to hear it above the noise and laughter, but I did. I glanced up to see Paula with her hand at her throat. There was perspiration on her forehead and she seemed to be turning a bluish color, just as Gayle had pretended to last night. Except this was for real.
Almost without thinking I jumped up and pulled Paula to her feet. I circled my arms around her from behind and tried to find the place to fit my fist. It had all seemed so easy last night with Gayle. But Gayle had been laughing all the while, not actually choking.
I pulled my fist back with my other hand in four sharp thrusts. Nothing. All the noise and laughter at our table stopped, but around us it continued. I closed my eyes and prayed, “Please, Heavenly Father, help me.”
I pulled again, four quick movements a little harder than the last. A bite of Paula’s peanut butter sandwich flew from her mouth like the cork from a bottle, just as the resource book had said it would. I felt her lungs fill with air. Then I began to cry.
Pandemonium broke out at our table. As soon as Paula had enough air to breath she was crying too. Several students patted me on the back. Someone had called the principal and the school nurse, and they took Paula off to the nurse’s office. The bell rang, but I didn’t follow everyone back to class. I dropped my head down on the table and tried to stop crying.
“Aw c’mon now, is that any way for someone who just aced a biology test to act?”
I lifted my head to see Mr. Spencer, my biology teacher, sit down next to me. He patted my hand and smiled. “It’s standing policy in all my classes. Anyone who can successfully demonstrate the Heimlich maneuver can skip their next test. Of course finding a volunteer for the victim is usually the hard part.”
I started to cry again.
He handed me a tissue. “Hey, hey, I’m only teasing. Mr. Williams said you could go home, Kathy. You’ve had enough excitement for the day. Do you need someone to drive you?”
I dabbed at my eyes and shook my head. “I’m okay. Thanks for letting me skip the test.”
The smile slipped from his face, leaving it serious. “Thank you, Kathy. You know you may have saved Paula’s life. How is it you were so quick on the Heimlich maneuver?”
“My Dad … last night … it was inspiration …” I was crying again.
“Go home, Kathy,” Mr. Spencer said. “Tell me about it some other time.”
I stopped by my locker and got the rest of my books. I thought about Dad and home evening as I walked home. And then I thought about Paula. She had moved to our school last year, and from the beginning we’d been good friends. We liked so many of the same things—volleyball, hot Mexican food, track. Neither one of us cared about being up on the very latest styles and fashions. Paula was comfortable just being who she wanted to be.
When she first moved, several of the kids tried to get her interested in the Church, but Paula politely informed them she had her own church. She and I kind of agreed not to talk about religion. She came to an occasional activity with me, and I went places with her family. Once just after I met Paula, Mom had challenged us in a home evening lesson to write our testimony in a Book of Mormon and give it away. The testimony I wrote was for Paula, but I had never given the book to her. That copy of the Book of Mormon still lay in a drawer I rarely opened. It seemed to accuse me every time I saw it. I wanted to give it to her, but I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize our friendship. I loved Paula as much as a sister.
“Kathy!”
I’d been so intent in my thoughts I hadn’t seen my mother’s car pull up.
“Are you all right, honey? The school called and Paula’s mother called. I’m so proud of you.” She gave me a big hug and I started to cry again.
“Mom,” I said when my voice was under control. “Can we go over to Paula’s house later this evening? I didn’t get a chance to tell her that I learned the Heimlich maneuver in home evening last night. And besides, there’s something else I need to give her.”

A few weeks ago I attended the baptism of a man I have known for many years. It was a joyful occasion. Surrounded by his wife of forty-seven years and his children and grandchildren and other loved ones, this good man entered the baptismal covenant. He became a member of the Church he has long sustained and supported.
From the time he brought his Mormon bride to make a home in his beloved Southland, he had respected her beliefs and her desire to teach them to their children. Because there wasn’t a branch of the Church in their small city, their home became the first meeting place for the few Church members his wife could locate and invite to worship with her. Their home was always open to the missionaries, where a good meal and a place to sleep could be counted on. (His wife recalls as many as fourteen missionaries sleeping wall-to-wall in their small home on one particular night.)
As his faithful wife and children labored with the missionaries to build up the Church and the membership outgrew the walls of their home, he gave financial support for the branch, the ward, and finally the stake center as they came to be built.
During these many years, the gospel has been a lifeline that has enabled this woman to maintain her hope and trust in the Lord. It has been the strength that has bound their family together.
However, the full blessings which the Lord has to offer were unattainable by this family until this husband and father became worthy and willing to enter the covenant of baptism and receive the priesthood of God. Now this family can look forward to the exalting temple ordinances and the lifeline to eternal life which they could not provide for themselves.

A couple of weeks ago, I met astake Young Women president in California who told me that her 81-year-old mother had recently been called to be a Mia Maid adviser. I was so intrigued I gave her mother a call. When Sister Val Baker’s bishop asked to meet with her, she was looking forward to being called as a librarian or ward historian. When he asked her to serve as a Mia Maid adviser to the Young Women, her reaction was, “Are you sure?”
Her bishop solemnly replied, “Sister Baker, make no mistake; this call is from the Lord.”
She said she had no other answer to that except, “Of course.”
I love the inspiration this bishop felt that the four Mia Maids in his ward have much to learn from the wisdom, experience, and lifelong example of this mature sister. And guess whom Sister Baker will go to when she needs help setting up her Facebook page?