Gospel Story Finder

Keeping the commandments. Our family’s income dropped considerably during the divorce process, and we struggled financially. I faced the dilemma of whether to pay tithing when there clearly was not enough money to feed and care for my large family and to make the essential house repairs. I sought counsel from my priesthood leaders and knew my answer. I decided I would pay a full tithing. I believe this single act of faith opened the windows of heaven, for many blessings were showered on our family. While I was deeply grateful for help from others, I also found myself struggling to develop humility and graciousness, as my family had never before required help. My first trip to the bishops’ storehouse resulted in tears, but I sought from the Lord what He would have me learn from the experience. Besides struggling with pride, I learned much about love and the purpose for the welfare program. Although we no longer need welfare assistance, I am grateful for that experience.

“Hi, Mom,” Tanner called as he took off his shoes and hung up his backpack.
“Hi, Tanner,” Mom said as she looked up from washing the dishes. “How was school?”
Tanner liked school, so when Mom asked him that question, his answer was usually the same.
“Good. How was your day?”
“It was fine,” Mom said softly.
Tanner wasn’t so sure. Mom didn’t sound very happy. And she wasn’t smiling like she usually did when he came home from school.
“Is something wrong?” Tanner asked.
“No, nothing’s really wrong,” Mom said. “I’ve just had a bad day.”
“I’m sorry,” Tanner said. He gave Mom a big hug, hoping it would help.
Tanner walked to the pantry and began to look for a snack. While he looked, he thought about some bad days he had had—like the time someone stole his scooter, or when he crashed his bike and skinned his knee. “I guess moms can have bad days too,” Tanner thought.
Tanner wondered what he could do to help Mom feel better. He thought of a few things that made him smile—frogs, video games, and spaghetti—but he was pretty sure Mom didn’t care very much about any of those things.
After grabbing a handful of crackers, Tanner had an idea. He walked across the kitchen and stood next to Mom. “Mom,” he said, “what was the best part of your day?”
Mom stopped washing the dishes. Tanner could tell she was thinking hard about his question. A big smile spread across her face. “You are,” she said. “You are the best part of my day.”
Tanner smiled too. Mom seemed happier. He was glad he could help make her bad day better.

One day, my mom needed to take me to urgent care because the blisters had an infection. I was so scared. I didn’t want to get in the car. My mom knew I was scared. She told me about when Joseph Smith was my age. When Joseph Smith was seven years old, he had an illness that required the doctor to do surgery on his leg. He was scared too, but he knew that Heavenly Father was with him and would help him. The doctor took nine pieces of bone out of his leg! I was so surprised. He was brave. If he could do that, I knew that I could get in the car and go to the doctor. I would be brave, and Heavenly Father would help me with the pain I was feeling.

During the next year, however, the Lord was able to teach me how to keep the spirit of Christmas. We served among a humble group of people living in nearly abandoned milling towns scattered along small rivers. And we loved serving among these people immensely.
We decided to share our Christmas with an investigator, Alice, and her family. Alice supported her three teenage boys, a daughter, and a granddaughter all with her income working at a fast food place. Needless to say, her budget was tight. So instead of focusing on ourselves at Christmas, we decided to serve someone else.
My companion at the time, Elder Werner, felt there were basically two things that would bring joy into the world: the gospel and good food. When we showed up on Christmas morning to cook a simple breakfast, we were hailed like Old Saint Nick himself. Her extended family was there, and everyone was laughing, joking around, and wanting to help us cook. Since our families were allowed to call on Christmas, Alice and my mom were able to talk on the phone together. Watching her speak with my family was far more of a gift than the three meals I participated in the year before. It connected someone I was serving to my family and helped my family share my mission with me. The morning was filled with a feeling of familiarity that was almost tangible. I knew I was where I was supposed to be.
During that morning, I came to appreciate the true spirit of Christmas. And it has everything to do with the example of our Savior and the teachings of the gospel. The excitement wasn’t about us as missionaries; it wasn’t even about our gesture of making breakfast. That morning was about sons and daughters of God simply sharing with one another. I wasn’t given a feast of food, but my soul was full of joy.

In early 1991 I was involved in a car accident that left most of my body paralyzed. Since then, I have had a lot of time to compare my life before that incident with my life now. In some ways it is similar. Yet there are numerous differences.
Before my accident I had the attitude that I should try to perfect the four basic aspects of my life. Ranked in order of importance at that time, they were (1) physical ability, (2) mental ability, (3) spirituality, and (4) emotional stability.
Now the order of importance of these four vital cornerstones of my life has changed.
Before the accident, my perspective was that of an 18-year-old athlete who thought he knew everything. Although I grew up in a religious family and felt good about my beliefs, spirituality was not my top priority. Instead, physical strength, speed, and quickness were more important to me than either religion or school. I felt that going to school was a necessity simply to remain eligible for sports.
Although I did fairly well academically, I often found myself practicing for the football team or the baseball team rather than studying for a test or completing a class assignment. I had academic goals and important religious goals, but these came after my athletic aspirations. The experiences I’ve had as a result of the accident have helped me better understand what is really important.
Since 16 February 1991, the day I fell asleep driving my truck, I have had the opportunity to look at life from a completely different viewpoint. I have had a lot of time to think about and adjust my priorities. I still love athletics and believe they have the potential to build character. But they are not the most important thing in my life anymore. I recognize now that my religion, my family, and my friends are the foundation for my happiness, not winning at sports.
My mind is the most precious asset I have, and I realize that it must be exercised even as my legs or my lungs were exercised in athletics. I am grateful for the opportunity I have to attend college and gain knowledge. While I have slowed down physically, I have accelerated spiritually and mentally.
Realizing that obtaining knowledge and increasing spirituality are ongoing processes, I believe that my new priorities are helping me achieve those elusive goals.
Not many people have the chance to live life from two very different points of view. I am grateful I have had this opportunity. It has helped me place my spirituality, mental capacity, emotional stability, and physical ability in order of their importance.

“What do you want to play next?” Tyler asked Jonathan. “I don’t know. What other toys do you have?” Even though they were best friends in the second grade, this was the first time Jonathan had come over to play at Tyler’s house.
“Let’s see,” Tyler said. “We already jumped on the trampoline. We played digging for dinosaurs. We put the space shuttle set together three times. Those are all my favorites.”
“Do you have any new games?” Jonathan asked.
“No, but I just had an idea. I have something to show you that I bet you’ve never seen.” Jonathan followed Tyler into the family room. Tyler got out an envelope and a big square board covered with fuzzy flannel.
“Look at this,” Tyler said. He turned the envelope upside down and a bunch of pictures fell out onto the floor. “I’ve been practicing my lesson for family home evening tonight. I’m going to tell the story of Joseph Smith just like the missionaries do. Want to hear it?”
“Hold on,” Jonathan said. “What’s family home evening, and who’s Joseph Smith?”
“Family home evening is when our family gets together every Monday night. We do lessons, play games, sing songs, and stuff like that. And we always have treats at the end. Anyway, it’s my turn to give the lesson. It’s all about Joseph Smith. Want to hear it?”
Jonathan shrugged. “OK.”
“Good. It starts off when Joseph was a teenager.” Tyler put a picture on the flannel board of a boy dressed in old-fashioned clothes. “He wanted to know which church was true. He was reading in the Bible where it says that if you have a question, you should ask God. Joseph Smith decided to pray and ask God which church he should join.”
“Is this a Bible story?” Jonathan asked.
“Well, not really.” Tyler took the boy’s picture off the flannel board and put on a picture of some trees. Then he got out another picture of the boy, only this time the boy was kneeling. “This is the good part. Joseph Smith went into the woods where he could be alone to pray. When he prayed, he asked God his question about which church was true.”
Tyler put another picture above the Joseph picture on the flannel board. This one showed Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, all dressed in white. “God and Jesus came down and told Joseph Smith not to join any of the churches. They told him that the true church was not on the earth. Later, when Joseph Smith was older, he was able to help bring the true Church back to the earth. He was a true prophet.”
Tyler stopped and looked at Jonathan. Jonathan was staring at the pictures but not saying much. Finally Tyler asked, “What do you think?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Jonathan said. “The only prophets I’ve ever heard about are from Bible stories. Are you sure Joseph Smith was a prophet?”
“Sure, I’m sure.”
“But how do you know? I mean, if it’s not in the Bible, how do you know?”
Tyler hesitated. He knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet, but how could he explain it to Jonathan? “I just know,” he said.
Jonathan still had a frown on his face, and Tyler had a feeling that there was something else he should say. Then he knew what it was. “I know because I have a testimony.”
“Oh,” was all Jonathan said.
Tyler began putting the pictures back into the envelope.
Just then, Tyler’s mom poked her head around the corner. “How about a snack?” she said. “There are cookies in the kitchen.”
Tyler and Jonathan told each other jokes while they licked the frosting from the middle of their cookies. By the time they munched down the chocolate outside parts of the cookies, Jonathan’s mom had come to pick him up. He went outside to look for his shoes next to the trampoline. Tyler went with him.
While Jonathan was tying his shoes, he looked up at Tyler. “You know that story you told me? It was good. I mean, it’s good about your testimony and all.”
Before Tyler could answer, Jonathan had jumped up and was running through the gate out to the car. “See you tomorrow!” he called over his shoulder.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Tyler called back.

I remember one time Elder Charles A. Callis in a Council of the Twelve meeting. There was a rather spirited discussion on some questions. One of the Brethren said, “You had better listen to Brother George Albert Smith, the President of the Twelve, because he may be the next President of the Church.”
Brother Callis smiled and said, “Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure. Three times in my life I have chosen the next President of the Church, and all three of them died before they came to the presidency.” The Lord only knows, and for us to speculate or to presume is not pleasing in the sight of the Lord.

Twins Vince and Wayne Watson of Anchorage, Alaska, saw the wheels of big government really roll on a recent visit to “Washington Workshops.” The brothers’ trip, sponsored by four area banks and the local Teamsters Union, gave them the opportunity to spend two weeks touring historic landmarks, sitting in on legislative sessions, and enjoying the spectacular beauty of the nation’s capital. While in Washington the two also visited the temple and did baptisms for the dead.
Vince and Wayne have long been interested in government and leadership. For four years they alternated as class president and vice president; this past year Vince served as senior class president and Wayne as student body head at Bartlett High School in Anchorage. Both attended the .American Legion Boy’s State, earned Duty to God Awards, hold the rank of Eagle, and have participated in Church and school dramas and musicals, including Saturday’s Warrior.
Vince and Wayne have also completed four years of seminary, which in Alaska means getting up at 4:30 A.M., while holding down 20-hour-a-week jobs.

The summer wind rustled the long grass as it gusted across the vast, rolling plains of northern Montana, whistling by the gray, unpainted, weather-worn boards of the small house. The house sat almost alone out there in that great expanse of land with the mighty Missouri River gliding by in the middle of its journey to its rendezvous with the Mississippi. Occasionally one of the loose boards on the house would rattle a bit as a particularly strong gust would hit it, and the flapping could be heard inside.
It was Sunday, but except for a few rather puny creations of man, the great, sweeping plains and grass looked much as they had for many hundreds of Sundays, and other days of the week as well. There was a certain feeling of changelessness to this immense land.
Inside the lone, sparsely furnished house, propped up on the old chipped and rusted hospital bed to which he was confined, was old Pointing Iron, once a great warrior of the proud and magnificent Sioux nation. Now he was confined by age and frailty to this small, one-room wooden shack.
His eyes wandered around the walls of the room, not noticing the pasteboard that served not only as a covering for the walls but as the wallpaper as well. It was the same in most of the Indian homes on the reservation. Instead, he would let his gaze roam around the walls, stopping to gaze upon some old, faded picture or memento out of his past, and memories of long ago events would flood back into his alert mind. Pointing Iron didn’t know how old he was, nor did anyone else who knew him, but his memory went back to many of the happy times of his people. He had seen many snows in his lifetime.
Brother Pointing Iron hadn’t forgotten what day it was, and he looked forward with anticipation to the time when the sun would approach midday. As midday drew near, he reached out his once powerful arms and attempted to straighten the blanket and the worn quilt that covered his weakened body. Then his gnarled hands went up to the two straight braids of beautiful gray hair that hung well below his shoulders. It was important that they fall neatly in place and that his head be held proud and erect, however hard it might be to hold it there.
He waited now for what he knew was to come. Shortly there was a sharp knocking, and as the door creaked open, two young men in dark suits entered, glad to be sheltered from the wind.
Brother Pointing Iron anxiously reached out his hand and warmly shook the hands of the two missionaries who had come on a special errand to his humble home. Not many words were exchanged, as Pointing Iron could speak very little English and the elders knew almost nothing of the Sioux tongue, but there was a communion of the spirit that all of them felt.
The elders did, however, have a hymn book in the Sioux language, so while one of them selected some music, the other moved an old, rough, wooden chair, held together mostly by wire, into the center of the room. He then very carefully unfolded two clean, freshly pressed handkerchiefs and laid them on the seat of the chair. A small, clean plate was produced and placed on the handkerchiefs. On the plate he put a small morsel of bread and beside it a small glass of clear well water. Now all was in readiness for the meeting to begin.
The elder had opened the hymn book to page 25, and the three of them sang, as best they could, “Sweet Hour of Prayer,” after which one of the missionaries offered the invocation. Then the senior companion knelt and repeated the blessing on the bread. As the plate was handed to Brother Pointing Iron, his trembling hand reached out and picked up the small piece of bread, which represented to him the sacrificed body of his beloved Savior, and the tears flowed slowly down his wrinkled, weather-beaten cheeks.
After the water had been blessed and given to Pointing Iron, the elders once again opened the hymn book, and they all joined in singing, “Israel, Israel, God Is Calling.” Then the junior companion offered the benediction. The chair was cleared off and put back in its place by the wall, and the meeting was over. Once again Pointing Iron’s covenants had been renewed. The elders lingered, reluctant to leave that special spirit they felt so strongly in that old wooden shack on the Montana plains.
Finally they shook the hand of their loved brother and said their good-byes. They stepped once again out into the brisk prairie wind, but somehow the wind didn’t seem to be so much of a bother to them anymore.
This was a cherished weekly Sabbath day assignment and they gladly carried it out until the brave old warrior, Pointing Iron, left this mortal life and was placed to rest in the great old Indian cemetery at Chicken Hill.

“Congratulations, Marcus,” Mom said as we walked to the car. “You sure played a great game!”
“When you played your first game, did you think you’d be your team’s starting pitcher in the regional finals?” Dad asked as we started home.
“I guess I dreamed about it some,” I answered honestly, “but I didn’t really think it’d happen. I thought the Pirates would end up going again.”
Dad, Mom, and I relived the game, especially the ending with the Pirates close behind and their star player, Gary, up to bat. Everybody on his team was counting on Gary to win the game and send them to the regional finals. But Gary swung and missed each of my three best pitches, and we won the game.
“Oh, before I forget, Marcus,” Mom told me, “Sister Anderson wants you to give a talk in Primary a week from Sunday.”
Usually talking in Primary wasn’t my favorite thing to do, but this time I knew immediately what I was going to talk about. “I think I’ll talk about baseball,” I said.
“This is Primary, you know,” Mom pointed out, “not another baseball game.”
I grinned. “I know, Mom. I’m not going to talk about the game of baseball.” I explained, “I’m going to talk about how Heavenly Father has helped me this season. It hasn’t been easy to be the only member of the Church on the team. But I’ve tried really hard to do what’s right, and He’s helped me.” I paused. “I could feel Him helping me this afternoon. I wasn’t nervous, even when it was Gary’s turn to bat. I just said a little prayer, asking Him to help me do my best, and I knew everything was going to be all right. That’s what I want to talk about—how the Lord can bless us when we work hard and choose the right.”
During the next week and a half, our team worked hard to get ready for the regional games. The games were scheduled for Friday and Saturday.
Friday I woke up to a gray, overcast sky. “You don’t think it will rain, do you?” I asked Dad as we drove to the field.
“The clouds will just make it nice and cool,” Dad said, trying to be optimistic.
But Dad was wrong. Throughout Friday and Saturday it rained off and on. Games were postponed, schedules were changed, and by late Saturday we were finishing the semifinal championship game. Our team was tied with the Tigers. We didn’t give up, though. The game went into extra innings, neither team able to get the advantage over the other. Then, with Bobby Simms on second base, I hit the ball to right field. Bobby raced around the bases, scoring the winning run.
After our team celebrated the victory, the coach gathered us around him. “Well, guys, one more game and we’re regional champs!”
“When do we play?” Chad asked.
“Tomorrow afternoon. The weather’s supposed to be good all day.”
“Tomorrow?” I asked. “Tomorrow’s Sunday.”
Coach Decker shrugged. “It’s too late to play tonight, so everybody decided to play Sunday afternoon.”
I felt sick. Nobody else seemed to care that we were going to be playing on Sunday.
“The game starts at 2:00 P.M.,” Coach Decker told us. “I’d like you here no later than noon. That will give us time to get ready for the game. Any questions?” He looked around the circle of eager faces. I felt worried inside.
As the group broke up, Coach Decker slapped me on the back. “Don’t look so glum, Marcus. We’re one game from the championship. You’re not nervous, are you? You’re going to pitch us to the championship.”
I tried to smile. “Do we have to play on Sunday?”
Coach Decker laughed. “No, Marcus, we get to play on Sunday.”
“I have church tomorrow,” I said quietly.
The smile on Coach Decker’s face began to fade. “Marcus, this is the championship. You can go to church any Sunday. But this is the only time you’re ever going to play this game. Now you head home and get a good night’s sleep.”
I slowly walked to where Mom and Dad were waiting for me. Looking at their faces, I knew they had heard about the Sunday game. They waited for me to speak. I was quiet until we got in the car.
“Church starts at 8:30,” I remarked. “It’ll be over at 11:30.” I hesitated. “I’d be a little late getting here for practice, but we could still go to church. I’d be able to give my talk in Primary.”
Mom and Dad were quiet for a moment. Then Dad said, “Do you feel good about that?”
“Dad, I didn’t want this game to be on Sunday. That’s just the way things turned out. If it hadn’t rained so much, we would have played the championship game tonight. I have to pitch in that game. The whole team’s depending on me. We’ll lose if I don’t. Tony’s the backup pitcher, and he can’t do it on his own. I have to play.”
“It’s a tough decision,” Mom commented. “You have to make sure you do what is right.”
“I’ll be going to church,” I said defensively. “Isn’t that what Sundays are for?”
“Is that the only thing Sundays are for?” Dad questioned gently.
“That’s the main thing.”
Dad took a deep breath. “The Lord has asked us to keep His day holy. We are to worship Him. Not just when we’re at church, but all day.”
“Sunday has always been a special day for us,” Mom added. “That’s the way the Lord intended it to be. That’s why we don’t go to movies or shop on Sundays. We’re careful not to do some things that we do on other days of the week.”
“But I can’t play this game any other day of the week,” I argued. “Do you think it’s fair for me to let Coach Decker and the team down? I owe them something.”
“Do you owe the Lord anything?” Dad asked. “You made a commitment when you were baptized to obey His commandments. That was long before you ever agreed to pitch for the Chiefs.”
“It’s going to be just one time, Dad. One time can’t hurt anything. Besides, the Lord has helped me this season. I know He has. That’s what I was going to say in my Primary talk. Did He help me all this time just so I could sit home and not play in the biggest game of the season?”
“Marcus,” Dad spoke again, “do you know what a covenant is?”
“Isn’t it like a promise?”
“That’s right. But it’s a special promise, a promise between you and the Lord. When you were baptized, you made a covenant to keep the commandments, including honoring the Sabbath. And the Lord has made a covenant to bless us if we keep His Sabbath holy.”
“But I’ve kept the Sabbath holy,” I argued. “This is just one time.”
“Maybe this is a chance for you to show the Lord that you will keep your covenant. Was it easy to keep the Sabbath holy last week?”
“Yes. It was just like any other Sunday.”
“So if you really wanted to show the Lord that you are obedient, which Sunday would show Him that—last week or tomorrow?
“Marcus,” Dad continued. “We’re not going to tell you not to play tomorrow. This is a decision you have to make.”
We didn’t say anything the rest of the way home. I did a lot of thinking, though. I thought about the team. I thought about Coach Decker. I thought about the championship trophy.
Then I started thinking about the Lord, my family, and everyone else who was depending on me to make the right decision. I thought of all the things the Lord had given me. I thought of what I could offer Him. Deep inside I knew the only thing I could really give the Lord was the way I lived my life—to show Him He can count on me, no matter what.
I offered a silent prayer, asking Him to help me know what to do and to have the courage to do it. After the prayer, there was no question in my mind.
“I need to call Coach Decker,” I said quietly as we pulled into our driveway.
“Do you want me to talk to him?” Dad asked.
In a way I did, yet I knew that wouldn’t be right. “No,” I answered softly, “I want him to know this is my decision.” Looking at Mom, I added, “And I think I’m going to change my talk for Primary tomorrow. I’m going to talk about keeping the Sabbath holy.”

One ward tackles slow roasting a turkey. It is done to juicy perfection after being hung from a tripod between columns of hot coals held erect by chicken wire, the whole contraption being wrapped with aluminum foil to keep the heat in. It is an all-day project, with girls taking turns monitoring the fire. And after being assigned to watch and replenish the coals as they cool, no one will ever take a conventional oven for granted again.

In my young adult years, I spent a lot of time wondering about my future. Mission, marriage, education, career—all of these were open questions, and I didn’t have many answers. I was willing to fulfill whatever mission the Lord had in mind for me, if I could only find out what it was.

My patriarchal blessing gave me the big picture of my life’s purpose. But in some ways I felt like I was trying to find my way to the grocery store using a map of the solar system. What if I made a wrong turn somewhere? Would I still be able to find and fulfill the mission the Lord had for me?

Years beyond my 20s now, I can finally recognize that my life has unfolded in the very way described in my patriarchal blessing many years ago. That certainly wasn’t because I knew exactly what I was doing and where the future would take me. I most definitely didn’t.

My life had some twists and turns and disappointments that made me wonder if it was going off track. But as it turns out, I didn’t need to worry. The Lord always knew where I was and where He wanted me to go. I kept trying my best to follow His commandments, serve Him, and listen to the Spirit. Even though I often couldn’t discern it at the time, I now recognize that His hand was always guiding my life.

He served two missions. The first was in behalf of the Young Men’s/Young Women’s Mutual Improvement Association (YMMIA), working with the youth in southern Utah settlements. The second call came a week after his May 1892 marriage to Lucy Emily Woodruff. His new wife joined him in the Southern States Mission where they both served in the mission office.
In those days, persecution against Mormons was still rampant in the Southern United States. Elder Smith was once with a group of fellow missionaries in a log cabin that was under seige by a mob. While the missionaries huddled against the floor, a barrage of bullets poured into the room. Yet, through all this experience, there was no bitterness on Elder Smith’s part, just a determination to work harder to “share the gospel with the rest of God’s children.”

With those two extremes in mind, I would now like to give some examples which might help us attain that elusive balance between the spiritual and intellectual faculties. About seven years ago I was working as the new managing director of the Welfare Services Department of the Church. We were at a critical stage in the history of welfare. It was time to go through an agonizing reappraisal of the program in light of current world conditions. I was greatly worried and concerned.
After praying for a solution, I had a terrific thought. I decided I would ask to meet with some of the General Authorities. When I met with them, I poured out my concerns and added my feeling that we were at a stage where further revelation on the subject was necessary. Then I sat back with my note pad and waited for their inspired answers.
None of them just gave me the answers. Instead, each gave me the same counsel: “Brother Pace, you are absolutely right, we do need revelation. Now, go get it!” I had to study and research and meditate to formulate some recommendations that I could then take back to the Brethren.
Although study and thought are essential in discerning the Lord’s will for us, there is an avenue to truth greater than intellect and more certain than the five senses. The most glorious of all avenues to truth is direct revelation from heaven.

You will remember a tender story told by President James E. Faust. “As a small boy on the farm … , I remember my grandmother … cooking our delicious meals on a hot woodstove. When the wood box next to the stove became empty, Grandmother would silently pick up the box, go out to refill it from the pile of cedar wood outside, and bring the heavily laden box back into the house.”
President Faust’s voice then filled with emotion as he continued: “I was so insensitive … I sat there and let my beloved grandmother refill the kitchen wood box. I feel ashamed of myself and have regretted my [sin of] omission for all of my life. I hope someday to ask for her forgiveness.”25
More than 65 years had passed. If President Faust still remembered and regretted not helping his grandmother after all those years, should we be surprised with some of the things we still remember and regret?

This past summer a brief article I had written appeared in the Liahona and Ensign. My son emailed me saying, “Dad, maybe you could tell us when you have an article coming out.” I responded, “I just wanted to see if you were reading the Church magazines.” He wrote back explaining that his 10-year-old daughter had “passed the test. She got the Ensign from the mailbox, came into the house, and read it. Then she came up to our room and showed us your article.”
My granddaughter read the Ensign because she wanted to learn. She acted on her own by exercising her agency. The First Presidency recently approved new learning resources for youth that will support the innate desire of young people to learn, live, and share the gospel. These new resources are now available for review online. In January we will begin using them in classrooms. (Learn more about the new learning resources for youth at lds.org/youth/learn.)

Later, my wife gave birth to our first child, a son. This was a major turning point for us. How lonely I felt as I watched my son being blessed, unable to speak or participate in that special ordinance. I also felt that his birth added a big financial burden and that this angered me. I became bitter, accusing God of adding more trials to my life than I could bear. I withdrew totally from the Church and the light of the gospel.
The next several years were total misery. As more children came, they were blessed by their grandfather. Refusing to let this hurt so much any longer, I became numb inside. Gone were the yearnings to rejoin the Church—or so I said. Gradually I slipped into more sin, each time in effect crying louder to the Lord and to my family, “See! I don’t need the Church!” The louder I yelled, the more I knew inside that I was wrong. In public I gloried in the disgrace and the hurt I was inflicting on my family, hoping this would justify me and stop my feelings of guilt. Throughout the entire experience I knew in my heart the truth. Perhaps that’s why I fought so hard. The more guilty I felt, the more deeply involved I became in sinful acts. Always I was trying to show the world that I was in charge of my life. I didn’t need anyone else.
Eventually, completely worn down from the internal conflicts, my wife had no choice but to leave me. This made me happy, I thought—freedom at last! The next two weeks were the loneliest of my life. I had no other true friends, and I would not seek comfort at my parents’ home.
Finally I was able to acknowledge that my family meant more to me than anything else. I yearned for my wife to come back. Though many problems remained, we agreed to reunite. I began removing myself from sinful associations and situations. But I still had no real desire to rejoin the Church—this desire came only gradually.
When my first daughter was born, I realized that I must make a decision. With three children I knew that I could no longer go on living for just today; I had to make a choice and live by it. For months my soul was in conflict. I wanted to choose the right, but I also wanted to be sure that my choice was not based on ulterior motives. I felt I couldn’t return just to make my wife, children, and parents happy. I knew that real happiness for all of us would come only if I actually regained a testimony of my own.
After much prayer and study and struggle, I began to feel a small spark inside me that brought with it memories of earlier spiritual experiences that I could no longer deny. The feeling slowly grew. And finally I felt that the Lord still loved me, even though I had been excommunicated. There was hope! I felt I was moving again!
However, knowing I was on the right path didn’t make anything easier. In fact, for a while, the harder I worked the worse things got. I struggled with great tests and hardships. It seemed that when a blessing was near, my life would start to come apart again and I would start to feel despair once more.
But I held on, and, true to his promise, Heavenly Father poured out a blessing. After much effort and great help and support from friends and leaders in the Church, I was able to reenter the waters of baptism. What joy I felt!
But the tests did not stop there. For the next year and a half I worked hard to prepare myself to receive the priesthood. My desire for restitution had returned in full. I was glad to be a member once again, but I longed for full fellowship. My struggle finally ended when I received a call from a General Authority asking me to bring my family and meet with him. With great anticipation, fears, and joy, my family and I drove to that memorable meeting. The children were excited because they were going to see an apostle of the Lord. I was thrilled at the thought of being able to bless the child my wife was expecting.
After a thorough and loving interview, this kind man of God asked my wife to join us, and then he placed his hands on my head and made me a whole man. He “restored me wholly as I was before with all the rights and powers of the priesthood.” My wife and I wept.
Then the Apostle turned to my wife and asked her if she would like a blessing. After she said yes, he turned to me and told me that the only way I would know that my priesthood was restored would be for me to use it. He asked me to bless my wife and offered to stand with me. During the next few minutes, I learned more about the priesthood than I could ever have learned from reading volumes of books.
The battle is not over. Some of my most severe challenges have raised their heads since that day, and many more will come, but I now can call upon the Holy Ghost to guide me.
I have been able to bless my second daughter and have exercised my priesthood in many other ways. My wife and I are now preparing for one of the most important days of our lives—the day we take our children dressed in white into the holy room of the temple to be sealed for time and all eternity.
My greatest regret is that I rejected these blessings years ago; the price I have paid to regain them has been a terrible one. I am so grateful to be back, but oh! how much wiser I would have been never to have strayed.

Elder Morris’s grandmother (his nan) was dealing with some serious health challenges. “She was so unwell that she said she reached a point where she was ready to die. She didn’t feel she had anything left to live for.”
Before his mission, Elder Morris had a chance to start teaching the gospel to his nan. But now, he was a full-time missionary assigned to the very area where his nan lived.
“I love my nan very much,” Elder Morris says. “And I’ve seen the gospel absolutely transform her.”
His nan chose to be baptized and become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She’s the first member of Elder Morris’s direct family (besides himself) to join the Church.
Her life, Elder Morris says, is very different now. “When my nan found the gospel, she realized why she was still alive. Now she wants to live! Every morning she wakes up at 4 a.m. or 5 a.m. and sings hymns. She prays and reads her scriptures every single day. She does it because the gospel has blessed her with purpose.”
Time and time again, Elder Morris has seen the light that the gospel brings into the lives of those he teaches. He’s had the chance to teach other friends and family members. He’s seen firsthand how they improve. “The gospel of Jesus Christ gives us purpose,” Elder Morris says. “I feel so sorry for those who don’t have the gospel in their lives. They don’t know their true identity.”
On a related note, even his parents have begun to notice the changes in Elder Morris’s nan. They can now see that the gospel has blessed her life in many ways.
Elder Morris with his nan (grandmother).

Tommy turned over on the straw mattress in the bottom of the wagon box and pulled the patchwork quilt close around his ears. Any other morning the bugle would have blown and he would have been up, but the brethren had decided to stay in Garden Grove, and as a result he could stay in bed this one morning.
But the bugle blew crystal clear after all, right into Tommy’s wagon box. Quickly he put on his shoes, grabbed his coat, and jumped out of the wagon. He met Father coming out of the tent.
“What’s the matter?” Tommy asked.
“I don’t know,” replied his father. “Let’s find out.”
Together they went over to the big bonfire where Brigham Young was waiting for the men of the camp to gather. When they had all arrived, he began. “Today is the twenty-fifth of April and the ground is in condition to plow. We can plant grain now, and by fall there will be a good harvest. If we’re not still here, the Saints coming after us will be able to harvest it. Those who are sick can stay here until they are better. Those who do not have enough food and clothing to go further can stay here until they get what they need. The Saints who come after us can use our houses until they are able to go on.”
He paused and the men were quiet, waiting for him to continue. “I have divided our camp into groups. One hundred will cut logs, 48 will build houses, 10 will build fences, 12 are to dig wells, and 10 will build bridges. The rest, numbering 175, will clear the land of brush, make some wooden plows, and then plant grain.”
As soon as President Young had finished speaking, Tommy ran and told his mother about the new plan. “It’s a wonderful way to help each other,” she said. “Many of our friends in Nauvoo would start out west if they knew there was someplace along the way where they could get food and rest if they were sick.”
“Maybe all our friends would come if they knew this,” said Tommy wistfully, as he remembered the good times with the other boys back in Nauvoo.
“How can we let them know that there will be a house here for them?” asked Betsy.
“I think the brethren will let them know,” Mother answered.
Just then Father came into camp, all excited about his assignment. “I’m going to build houses,” he said, “and Tommy, you’re going to help me!”
“Hooray!” said Tommy. And Tommy’s mother smiled as her two men walked off together.
The weeks that followed were busy ones. Every morning the camp was awakened by the bugle. Everyone started to work as soon as breakfast was over and the morning prayers were said. Within two weeks it was as if the little village, with all its houses, fences, bridges, and wells, had been there for a long time. Around it were acres and acres of land that had been plowed and leveled and planted into wheat. Tommy and Betsy liked to imagine the pies and cakes they might have at harvest time. It had been a long time since they had tasted even a piece of bread made out of real flour instead of cornmeal. They were so tired of corn that sometimes they went to bed hungry rather than eat it.
Tommy was proud of the houses he helped build. They were made of logs stacked one on the other. His job was to fill the cracks between the logs with mud and grass. It was a happy day when Tommy and Betsy moved with their father and mother into one of these houses. There was a fireplace at one end of a large room. Father made a table and some benches for the center of the room and a rough bed frame for one corner. Betsy and her mother made a rope spring by weaving a long, thin rope over the bed rails from front to back and from head to foot until the spring was woven into three-inch squares.
“It makes the bed soft and jiggly,” said Betsy when she sat on it.
“It’s better than sleeping on hard boards,” said Tommy, as he thought of his bed in the wagon box.
When everything was in place, Betsy looked around at her new home. A fire was burning in the fireplace, a pot pie was simmering on the hearth, and a clean cloth was on the table, which had been set for supper. “It’s a beautiful home,” she said. “I hope we can live in it for a long time.”
But Tommy and Betsy only lived in their house for three weeks. On June 1 Father told them, “We must leave in the morning for Council Bluffs. President Young wants us to go there to build houses and plant crops as we have done here.”
Tommy and Betsy looked sad. Mother tried to comfort them, saying, “It doesn’t really matter where we live as long as we’re together. It’s the love that people have for each other that makes a home, not the place they live in. The important thing now is that we show our Heavenly Father how much we love him by doing what he wants us to do.”
When everything was packed and the family was ready to leave the next morning, they sat down for their last meal. Suddenly there was the sound of wagons—many of them. “It must be a wagon train coming to join us,” said Father. And instead of eating, the family went out on the road to greet the newcomers.
Tommy saw some friends in one of the wagons. “Eliza, Elija,” he called. The newcomers turned and shouted for joy and, jumping out of the wagon, ran to meet Betsy and Tommy.
Father invited Eliza and Elija’s family to supper. Mother made a bed so their mother could lie down. Betsy was glad that she and her mother had made the rope springs so the bed would be more comfortable.
That night, before settling down in their wagon-box bed, Tommy said, “I’m glad Eliza and Elija are going to live in our house.”
“I am too,” said Betsy. “It is good they have such a nice house to come home to.”

To encourage the teachers in our ward to use better object lessons, I called those who would be attending a teacher development meeting and asked them to recall the most memorable object lesson they had seen. The responses were wonderful and sparked a deeper-than-usual interest in our upcoming meeting. At the beginning of the meeting, my wife, Rosie, and I used the responses to list nearly 30 object lessons on the chalkboard. We spent the rest of the meeting encouraging the teachers to share the object lessons that had the most impact on them.