Gospel Story Finder

A private code would keep their secrets safe! She wanted something the other sixth graders wouldn’t be able to figure out, so 11-year-old Michelle Hansen decided to learn sign language. After memorizing the alphabet, she taught it to her friends, and for the rest of the year they had fun quietly communicating their thoughts, dreams, and plans.
When Michelle and her family later moved to Puyallup, Washington, the old gang was broken up, but Michelle retained her skill in sign language, never suspecting that this talent would someday help unite a class of nine-year-old Targeteers.
Michelle’s mother was called to teach the Targeteer A class in Primary, which included a deaf child named Kim Hunt. Sister Hansen was talking to her family about the situation, wondering what she could do to help Kim feel more a part of the group. Michelle, then 16, told her mother she knew some sign language and volunteered to accompany her to Primary and translate the lesson for Kim.
Beginning the second week, Michelle took five minutes each class period to teach the rest of the girls to say hello and to tell Kim their names. She gave them each a copy of the alphabet and continues to teach them as much as possible. Her younger sister, Hope, is also in the class and helps Michelle teach the signs.
Michelle has since taken two classes in sign language and has volunteered in the Seattle Washington Stake to interpret conferences and other meetings for the deaf. Because of her willingness and desire to share her talent to help others, Michelle has seen a little girl who was once only a silent observer at Primary become an eager, happy listener.

The next example. One of the joys of being a Bishop here at BYU-Hawaii, is the opportunity of getting to know students from all over the world and listen to their individual experiences. Because of this opportunity, I have come to appreciate each student's example and faithfulness in the gospel.

Brother Sung Hoon Lee from Seoul, South Korea, serves as the Elders Quorum President in the BYU-Hawaii 17th Ward. He is one of these students that I have grown to admire particularly because of his conversion to the gospel and example to the ward. One afternoon, Brother Lee was sitting on a bench reading when he noticed two missionaries walking in his direction. He continued to read to avoid any unwanted attention from these missionaries. As he read, several thoughts crossed his mind, "What are these strange and weird young men doing?" "Don't turn, don't turn, keep walking, keep walking." Needless to say, the missionaries did in fact approach Brother Lee and shortly thereafter, he was baptized at the age of 26. Although his parents never supported his decision to be baptized, a year and three months later, he decided to serve a full time mission for the church. At the age of 27 his parents had other things in mind for him, such as, finding a job and getting married. However, Brother Lee's desire to serve a mission led him to the Korea Pusan Mission. Throughout his mission Brother Lee's parents chose not to support him. In fact, he remembers calling his mother on Mother's Day and being told "no longer to call her mom." But, Brother Lee did not lose faith. While on his mission Brother Lee constantly sent missionaries to his parents' home and through his persistence, faith, and prayers, Brother Lee was given special permission to return home from his mission to baptize his father. Till today, his mother remains a non-member but is much more receptive to the church and its beliefs.

The greatest joy of his childhood, Bishop Brown recalled, was his horse. “I always had a horse from the time I was quite small. I was the oldest of three boys in our family, and we had lots of fun together. One day the three of us rode to town bareback on my horse. My father had given each of us some cap pistols, and on the way home the horse stepped on an old wagon rim while crossing a stream. The rim flipped up and hit the horse. He reared up, and we all slid of his back into the water. Our pistol caps were ruined. The horse walked out and waited quietly for us on the bank.”

After high school graduation, I worked with a young man who was a recently returned missionary. One day we began talking about religion, and I was amazed by how much he knew about the Savior. “Where did you learn all that?” I asked. A few days later, he presented me with a copy of Jesus the Christ by Elder James E. Talmage of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Not long after that, he changed jobs and I didn’t see him again.
I was almost finished reading the book when I heard that an LDS friend of mine was going on a mission. I called him and told him what I was reading. He was the one who had invited me to church on that Sunday when I showed up in a T-shirt.
So, there I was at the meeting, feeling out of place in my casual clothing. As I looked around, I noticed families sitting together. I had not seen many children in other churches. I also noticed that everyone, not just the choir, sang the hymns. Young men passed the sacrament. Regular members spoke instead of a pastor. I liked what I saw.
I began to feel a greater desire than ever to learn about Jesus. I enjoyed my friend’s talk and his excitement about serving as a missionary. Later I told my friend how jealous I was of him because he was going to be a missionary like Paul in the New Testament. I told him how much I would like to do something like that.
He said, “I have a book that will help you prepare, and I want you to have my copy.” It was a book by another Apostle in the Church called A Marvelous Work and a Wonder.
I studied that book along with the Bible. Through this study, I got answers to many questions, as well as a desire to pray. Based on what I’d read about Joseph Smith (see Joseph Smith—History 1:5–19), I felt sure that God would also answer my prayer.
I knelt by my bedside and called out to God with all my heart and soul. I told Him that I was seeking the truth, and then I waited for my heavenly messenger. Nothing happened. I tried again. Still nothing. Finally, I simply asked God if the things I was reading and studying were true.
After my prayer, I began thinking of all I had learned. While reading the two books my LDS friends had given me, I had discovered answers. That felt good. Ever since I went to Israel, I’d wanted to know more about Jesus. Now I did. That felt good, too. Suddenly I realized God was answering my prayer. He loved me enough to send friends and books to tell me about the Restoration of the gospel, and I felt good. How would I feel if the Lord had literally told me the same thing? I would feel the same way. That was my answer.
Full of excitement, I wanted to call my friend, but he was on his mission, so I called his mom instead. I awkwardly explained that I had read the book her son had given me and that I would like to find out how I could join their Church. She was silent for a long time, and then she started to cry. Through her joyful tears she told me how to contact the missionaries.
A few weeks later I called my friend’s mom again. This time it was to invite her and her family to my baptism. Along with the other books I’d read, I had now read the Book of Mormon and gained a testimony of its truthfulness. I invited my own family to attend my baptism as well. My twin brother came into town the night before. He didn’t understand why I wanted to get baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He asked a lot of questions, especially about the Book of Mormon. The only things he’d ever read about the book were false and negative. I stayed up most the night attempting to answer his questions.
The baptism was beautiful. This time I didn’t show up in a T-shirt and cargo pants. This time I was in a white shirt and tie, and I felt totally comfortable and at home. Four months later my twin was still asking questions. I told him that I was happy to talk to him about it but that ultimately he would have to ask God for himself. A few weeks later he came to me and said: “I asked, and now I know the Book of Mormon is true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. How do I get in touch with the missionaries?”
Imagine my joy a month later when I had the opportunity of baptizing my twin brother. We both served missions; I was called to Chile and my brother to Mexico. Like Paul of old, we are trying to give back a little of what we received.

Painting by Tesla S.; illustration by Tracy Bishop
Every Sunday night my dad and I sit down together and work on my goals in my Faith in God booklet. One of the goals I wanted to complete for developing talents was to paint a picture of Christ.
After I made the goal, a friend of mine from school invited me to her first communion. The first communion is a very special occasion in the Catholic Church. It is the first time someone can partake of the sacrament. My friend had done a lot to prepare for her first communion, and I knew it was very important to her.
I decided to paint the picture of Christ to give to her as a present. I worked very hard on my painting. After I finished it, I bought a nice frame to put it in and gave it to my friend. She was very grateful for it. It made me feel good inside to give it to her and to be part of her special day.

On this occasion I would like to speak especially to the young people the world over. Somehow, I believe that they have a special ability to understand important things. May I illustrate with this little story?
Many years ago we sat as a family in our weekly home evening discussing the principle of the Resurrection. Attempting to explain in simple terms what is involved, I noticed our small children looking at me with puzzled expressions on their tiny faces. Apologetically, I mumbled something about it being very difficult to understand such things. Whereupon, Lezlee, our then five-year-old, with a look of loving concern for my discomfort, said, “Don’t feel badly, Daddy; I understand you.” And then she proceeded to demonstrate her new gospel knowledge. Lying down on the floor, straight and stiff, with her arms outstretched, she slowly raised herself and said, “It’s simple; you just sink up.”
So I want to talk to you about the resurrection of our Savior, Jesus Christ, because on Easter Sunday we will celebrate His rising from the dead and all of us should know the wonderful story of that remarkable event.
It was early on Sunday morning. Deep darkness still hung over the holy city, Jerusalem. Mary of Magdala entered the garden and approached the tomb where the body of Jesus of Nazareth recently had been laid.
Just two days before, the humble Christ, hanging from a wooden cross, had given up the ghost, and mortality had ended for the Only Begotten Son of God in the flesh.
Joseph of Arimathea, a member of the Sanhedrin but a loving disciple of Jesus, had gone to the Roman procurator, Pontius Pilate, and had asked that he be allowed to remove the body from the cross. Permission was granted. The body was taken from the cross, and Joseph, with the assistance of Nicodemus, who earlier had come to question Jesus by night, gently prepared the body for burial after the manner of the Jews. The kind, loving men placed the body of the deceased in a newly hewn tomb belonging to Joseph. Then a great stone was rolled across the entrance, and a Roman seal was placed upon it, “lest his disciples come by night, and steal him away, and say unto the people, He is risen from the dead” (Matt. 27:64).
Now Mary Magdalene approached the tomb, but to her utter amazement the huge stone had been rolled away. The body of her beloved Jesus was gone. Quickly she ran to advise the Apostles of this new tragedy, saying, “They have taken away the Lord out of the sepulchre, and we know not where they have laid him” (John 20:2).
Peter, the chief Apostle, and John, the beloved Apostle, hurried to the place of burial. The account of Mary was confirmed. The tomb was indeed empty, except for the linens which had been used to wrap the body. Saddened, the two Apostles went away to their own homes.
“But Mary,” who had followed Peter and John back to the garden, “stood without at the sepulchre weeping: and as she wept, she stooped down, and looked into the sepulchre” (v. 11). Two angels dressed in white sat within the tomb. Seeing her great grief they asked, “Woman, why weepest thou?” Sorrowfully, she answered them, “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him” (v. 13).
Still weeping, Mary turned from the tomb, and through her misty eyes she noticed someone standing close by. The person spoke to her, “Woman, why weepest thou? whom seekest thou?” Thinking that perhaps it was the gardener who addressed her, she replied, “Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away” (v. 15).
In a voice tinctured with pure love and the sweetest tenderness, he simply uttered one word, “Mary.” There was no mistaking the voice; it was Jesus Christ. And thrilled beyond any comprehension, the dear woman could only say, “Rabboni,” which means Master (see John 20:16).
There He stood—alive! Raised from the dead! Never to die again! His perfect body forever united with the spirit. The eternal Christ!
To the credit of gentle, loving women everywhere, our Redeemer chose as the first mortal witness of His resurrection from the dead a woman, Mary Magdalene.
As we contemplate the events leading to the death of Jesus Christ, we tend to grieve for the awful sufferings which He experienced at the hands of wicked men—the terrible rending by the lash, the dreadful nails placed in His hands and feet, the prolonged agony of the cross, and finally His tender heart breaking for the sins of all men.
But stop! He is not dead! He is risen! He is the first fruit of the resurrection. Without Him, life for all men would end at death. All would be consigned to the grave, their bodies to molder in the dust forever. But because of Him, our Savior, even Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God, we, every one of us, will live again—freed from the everlasting chains of death.
To you sweet parents who have placed the mortal body of a dear son or a beautiful daughter in the grave, or to all who have lost a mother or father, husband or wife, to the relentless hand of death, I say, have hope. For if we ourselves are faithful to the end, they will not be lost to us save for a moment. And then, oh, the sweetness of that joyous reunion, for the tender mercy of the Lord will bring them forth triumphant from the grave.
And so, my wonderful young people everywhere, as we come to celebrate Easter, will you remember the story of Jesus coming out of the grave a perfect, glorified being? Will you remember that He made it possible for all of us to someday be resurrected and to come back and live with Him in the celestial kingdom of God throughout all eternity? Then if you will remember, you will understand His love for all of us, and your love for Him will grow deeper and deeper forever.
Such is my humble testimony of the glorious resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ, which I proclaim to you along with my profound love for Him and each one of you. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

An acquaintance of mine became seriously ill not long ago. I hurried up to the Veterans Hospital in Salt Lake City to see if I could attend to some of his needs. He’s got some problems. He’s not the most active member in the world. I’m sure you are familiar with such a member who may live near you.
He was surprised when I walked into the room. “Well, how did you know I was here?”
“Oh, the Lord has ways of sharing this kind of information.”
He had a blood condition that had caused his body great distress. It was very serious because of his age. He had tremendous pain in his ankles. He was eating dinner at the time I entered the hospital, so I sat on the edge of his bed and said, “Would it help if I massaged your legs for a minute?” So I massaged him. And I said, “Can I ask you a personal question? Did this sudden illness scare you a little? Does the bishop know you’re up here? Would you be offended if I told him? Would you like a special blessing?” He nodded yes. “Do you have faith?”
“No,” he responded.
“Do you have faith in me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what faith is?”
“No.”
So I sat on the bed and taught him. You know, I find that most people don’t know these things because they haven’t been taught; they don’t understand. I gave him a little 2-1/2-minute talk on faith. The first principles of the gospel are what? Faith, repentance, baptism, and the gift of the Holy Ghost. Now, if you back up and look at faith, it says what? In the Lord Jesus Christ. Sometimes we leave that out. So I taught him the principles. He hadn’t ever heard that before, and he was 62 and had been born and raised in the Church.
I had noticed, of course, when I first went in that there were four other men in the room. It was a ward shared by several men without any privacy. I noticed while I was teaching (although I didn’t make it a pronounced sermon as such; it was just between the two of us) that others were straining to hear. So as I stood up in preparation for going around to place my hands upon my friend’s head. I turned, as the Spirit prompted me to do so, and I said to the other men lying in their beds, “Gentlemen, may I have your attention please?” They all sat up in bed. I said, “Perhaps you have noticed I am here to visit my friend, who is ill like you. I’m his home teacher. We’re members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—Mormons. I haven’t had a chance to get acquainted with you; I don’t know what your particular faith is, but we believe in assisting each other spiritually. I am here to attempt to do that tonight. I’m going to give this man a special blessing.” Then I taught briefly just what that was. I said, “I wouldn’t expect you to endorse it or reject it particularly, but would you mind being reverent for a moment as I perform this ordinance for my friend?” And they all just sat there. So I placed my hands upon his head, and blessed him. The Spirit touched both of us, and the tears came without shame from a man who, I guess, hadn’t been in church in 22 years. When I got all through, we embraced each other, and I said, “Now, can I ask you a personal question? Did I offend you?”
“Oh no, Brother Dunn,” he said, “this is one of the most sacred moments in my life. Thank you.” Then I turned to go out, and four other men wanted blessings, two of whom weren’t even members of the Church. Now, Latter-day Saints, you don’t have to be embarrassed at who you are or what you are. There’s a teaching moment awaiting every one of us as we share this most priceless gift which is ours. I pray God that we might catch something of that great vision and the importance of it.

Craig Symes was just another locker-room attendant at the health spa I went to when my wife Sue and I lived in St. Petersburg, Florida. He looked like your average 16-year-old—average height, average brown hair. He had the typical teenager’s souped-up car and a nice girlfriend. But while he seemed like an average teenager in many respects, as I got to know him, I found that he was anything but average. And my relationship with him didn’t turn out to be quite what I expected.

There was something about Craig’s eyes and his smile that attracted people. I noticed how friendly and polite he was to everyone and that he never cursed. He always seemed to go out of his way to help people. I was attracted by his genuineness. We talked in the locker room about cars, his girlfriend, sports, our families, and religion. Here was an area where Craig wasn’t average. He wasn’t afraid to talk about religion as many people are.

One day we were discussing the importance of families, and I told him about the death of my father when I was 21. Craig told me a little about eternal life, which made sense to me because I had always hoped to be able to see my father again. I was surprised by Craig’s knowledge of religion and his willingness to talk about it.

I wanted my wife to get to know Craig, so I invited him to dinner. “If I go to your house for dinner will you come to church with me?” he asked. My wife and I were devout members of another faith, but I thought I’d accept his friendly gesture.

Two weeks later on a rainy Sunday morning, I attended church with Craig. I didn’t know anything about the LDS church at that time. Craig introduced me to a lot of “brothers” and to two missionaries who sat next to me during the meeting. The friendliness and warmth of those at the meeting made me feel comfortable. Many introduced themselves and welcomed me there. The lesson was on eternal life. I was impressed that the lesson was taught on a basic principle that I could follow.

Afterward we went to my house and had breakfast with Sue. We visited awhile and then Craig left. The rest of the day was a pretty average Sunday—the last one we’d have for quite a while. That evening the missionaries called and wanted to know when they could come by and share a special message about the Church with Sue and me. I asked them to come by on Tuesday evening.

When I hung up, Sue wanted to know what was going on. I told her that the missionaries were going to come visit us, and she was not very excited. But Tuesday, when she answered the door and let Elders Zaugg and Lewis in, along with Craig and his friend Steve, a good feeling came over her and she wanted to listen to what they had to say.

The missionaries taught us about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. We asked so many questions that the first discussion lasted four hours. We were interested in hearing more and set a date for another discussion. Craig and his friend Steve always came with the missionaries and joined in our discussions.

I still wanted to get to know Craig better, so a few days later as I was getting ready to leave the spa, I asked him to play tennis with me one morning. He said he couldn’t play in the mornings because he had seminary meetings at 5 A.M. I asked him what seminary was and he explained. I said, “Oh, you have to go.” He said, “No, I want to go.”

I wanted to know what made a class so interesting that a 16-year-old would get up at 4:30 in the morning to get there on time. It intrigued me that Craig would make such an effort to learn about the gospel of Jesus Christ. So I started going to seminary with him.

The seminary teacher wasn’t afraid to let a 28-year-old man get involved with the class right from the beginning. The first day I joined in the scripture chase, although I didn’t have any idea where the book of Alma was. By my second visit I knew most of the students by name. I started attending seminary with Craig every day. More than just learning, I was receiving of their great spirit. I couldn’t believe that youth were so excited about church. I caught their enthusiasm.

Sue and I continued our discussions with the missionaries, and six weeks later we decided to be baptized. Our families were against the decision. We received a letter from my brother trying to dissuade us. The local officials of the church we had attended called us, and my mother also called 15 minutes before we left for our baptism. But we were committed to our decision. We knew it was the right thing for us to do. Craig baptized us.

I am grateful that a 16-year-old member of the Church caught the vision of “every member a missionary.” Craig brought happiness and joy into our lives, mostly by setting a proper example among both his friends and those that came in contact with him. He wasn’t afraid to let others know that he is a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. He wasn’t afraid to be more than average and just a little out of the ordinary.

When I returned home from the audition tour we had less than a year to financially prepare for our German adventure. We had moved in with my parents in Denver to save every penny possible. There were five plane tickets to purchase and, after our arrival in Europe, a car to buy and an entire house to furnish. How in the world could we earn that kind of money in such a short period of time?

Our middle son, Ethan, was in the second grade when he learned of our impending move. He and his older brother, Todd, had seen old paintings of snowy German towns with mosaic cobblestone streets upon which horse-drawn carriages were pulled. One afternoon as they asked a few questions about our upcoming move, it became touchingly apparent to us that they thought we would be moving to a place with no electricity and that our only means of transportation would be horse and carriage. Ethan excitedly came home from school one day. He had mentioned to his teacher that his Dad was an opera singer and that we would soon be moving to Germany. That evening his teacher called and asked me if I would visit his class and introduce the children to opera.

I thought, “No problem. I’ll just sing a couple of arias and answer a few questions.”

Several days later, however, the principal called and asked if I would present the program to the entire student body.

“Well,” I thought, “I guess Jeannie and I will really have to prepare something now.” That “something” evolved into an elementary school assembly program that we called “What Is Opera Anyway?” Its popularity increased as it was promoted by newspaper and word of mouth until nearly every school district in the greater Denver area requested our services. We tallied our earnings just before leaving for Europe, and—gratefully, miraculously—we had more than enough to finance our move and necessary purchases.

“I’m the oldest child in our family. I have a sister who is two years younger and a brother who is eight years younger than I am. Mother was on the General Board of the YWMIA for thirty-four years. They met in board meeting every Wednesday, and Mother would leave dinner for us. She always took good care of us, even though she couldn’t be with us. When she traveled, she sent us postcards. We always knew that she loved us, and we always knew that we, too, could serve in the Church and still be good parents because she had done it.
“Dad was my hero when I was growing up and my best friend when I became an adult. He was the ward clerk and the deacons quorum adviser. He taught us that we don’t need to receive credit from other people for what we do. To provide examples to us children, Dad would often talk about how businessmen were handling their affairs. He and Mother both taught us to be honest. And they both supported us by attending any athletic contest or event at school that we were in.
“My favorite babysitter was my grandaunt Bertha Irvine, my grandmother’s older sister. She was a personal secretary to Wilford Woodruff, Lorenzo Snow, Joseph F. Smith, Heber J. Grant, and George Albert Smith. Sometimes I went to her office in the Church Administration Building and sat at her feet while she worked. Or I would play outside and climb on the building and around its big pillars. We’ve had twelve prophets, and I’ve known and shaken hands with six of them. I never even dreamed that I would ever have an office in that very building, but I serve today with a number of men who knew Aunt Bertha well: President Kimball, President Benson, and President Hinckley. She worked with Elder Joseph Anderson for years in the office of our wonderful prophets.
“My experiences with Sunday School and Primary teachers were important to me as I was growing up. I remember the little red chairs we used to sit in and how church was always an exciting and pleasant place to go. I looked forward to summer Primary, when we would make things out of wood and out of paper. I loved that. As I think back and remember Sister Condie and Sister Anderson and Sister Barnes and some of the other lovely teachers I had, I can remember them more clearly than I can my school teachers. I won a copy of Huckleberry Finn because I had the best attendance record. I still have that book. I appreciate the teacher who gave it to me.
“I had a great experience when I graduated from Primary. Back in those days we each had a green bandalo. I had lost mine. I looked everywhere, including under my bed and through everything in the closet. Finally my mother said, ‘Why don’t you pray about it. Ask Heavenly Father to help you find it.’ So I went to my room and prayed. Even as I was praying, a voice seemed to say, ‘In the dresser, caught underneath the drawer.’ The dresser was in the hall because there wasn’t enough room in my tiny bedroom. When I pulled out the drawer and reached up inside, there it was, caught on a silver! That was the first direct answer to prayer that I can remember receiving. I was proud that I could wear my bandalo when I stood next to Bishop Rulon Sperry as he nominated me to graduate from Primary and to be ordained to the office of a deacon.
“Many summers my family went to Cedar City and stayed on my uncle’s farm. There was no electricity or water in the house, so we carried buckets of water into the house from outside. I experienced farm life as it really was in those days. Now my assignment is with the people in that very same area. It is special to go there—it’s like going home. Some of the people there remember my uncle and aunt and other families I knew.
“A special message that I give to all the children in the world is this: First, love Jesus. He especially loves children, and if children can learn to love Him, then when they are older, they will continue to love Him and understand Him. I think that little children sometimes understand Jesus better than older people do because children forgive so quickly and love so easily.
“Second, live the commandments. The people I know who are truly happy are those who live the commandments. Whatever Heavenly Father wants us to do—such as paying our tithing and going to church and being nice to our brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers—that’s what we should do.
“Third, obey Church leaders. When I was a Primary boy, my parents would always talk about our wonderful bishop, Bishop Sperry. When I was a deacon, my bishop was Rex C. Reeve, Sr., a man with whom I serve today. I have always loved those men. When I don’t have a Church assignment on Sunday, which isn’t very often, I attend my own ward. My bishop there is Ole Johnson, and I love him today just as I loved Bishop Sperry and Bishop Reeve when I was young. If we love our Church leaders and obey what they tell us to do, then we’ll never make serious mistakes.”

I have in mind today a blessing given to someone precious and close to me who was told by her physicians that the child she was to bear would unquestionably have Down’s syndrome; an abortion was recommended. She refused, and in the next few weeks calls from the hospital and others came encouraging that the little fetus be aborted. Finally, in desperation, she called her doctor and said, “Get those people off my back. This little child will have a right to life regardless of its condition.” She had been given a priesthood blessing by her father and had been promised that the little child would be normal and healthy. When the little child involved was born, so it was. Today she is an unusually beautiful, bright, charming child.
I have thought, how many times in her life she would have had cause to reflect had she followed that counsel which was contrary to that given her by her father.

While cargo was delivered and provisions replenished in Honolulu, Brooklyn passengers were free to explore the island. Hundreds of natives were waiting for us to land. They greeted us with wide smiles and twinkling black eyes.
Some of the Hawaiians came on board and were delighted when they saw the nine-month-old Kittleman twins, Hannah and Sarah, and asked to take them ashore to show them to their queen. After they had been gone for more than two hours, Sister Kittleman became alarmed, and the ship’s crew organized a posse. Just as the sailors were ready to start a search, two young girls came running toward the ship with the babies. Queen Kalama had sent many gifts for their mother.

Matthew P., 18, from Utah, USA, recalls a formal dance when he and the other guys didn’t have a lot of money to spend on fancy restaurants, but they still wanted to give their dates a three-course meal for dinner.

Their solution was to have the first course, French fries, at a local fast-food place. Course two? Chicken nuggets at a different fast-food location. And the third course? Milkshakes at a third location. “Nobody had to spend a bunch of money,” Matthew says. “The way we did it, everybody enjoyed the dinner.”

Recently a young man was called to his Nineveh. The president of the Salt Lake mission home, President Rawson, told Sister Maxwell and me that not too long ago a young man came in on a Saturday to the Salt Lake mission home and said, “President, may I see you?”

The president said, “Surely, son, come into my office.”

He came in and said, “I need a blessing.”

“Why do you need a blessing?”

“I need a blessing because I am the only member of my family who is a member of the Church. Yesterday, when I went to leave home, one parent told me never to come back again, the other wouldn’t speak to me, and the only person who said goodbye was my little brother, who came to the front gate to say goodbye to me. I’m on my way overseas and I need a blessing.”

Now, brothers and sisters, that is the kind of devotion we must have in preparation for the Ninevehs of life to which we are called. However rigorous the circumstances are, we must, as this young man did, be willing to go, to trust and to surrender ourselves to our Father in heaven, who knows why in his divine plans it must be so.

“She’s just a better version of me.”
Months after coming home from my mission in California, this thought was still tormenting my mind. There hadn’t been a day that went by without me thinking about my mission and who I was while I was serving. “Mission-me,” as I called this past version of myself, was better than my current self. Mission-me prioritized the gospel over everything else. She was kind, selfless, and acted on what she knew was right.
The current me?
She was different.
My scripture study habits had all but gone out the window. My prayers were sporadic at best, and though I was still attending the temple and church weekly, I knew I could be doing better at inviting the Spirit into my life.
But no matter how many times I tried, it seemed I could only keep up my spiritual habits for a couple of days—a week at most—before failing. I knew how much I loved the gospel and my Savior, but for some reason, I just couldn’t grow into the person I wanted to be.
I finally felt relief after nine months of being home. I was attending an institute class, trying desperately to learn from The Divine Gift of Forgiveness, a book by Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
Just then, a paragraph jumped out at me.
It reads, “If we find ourselves temporarily facing setbacks, we don’t become discouraged. We focus on our love of the Savior and His love for us, and we move forward. Week by week, year by year, our repentance and resolve draw us closer to Him.”
I froze—his words felt like they were meant specifically for me.
I knew that through His Atonement, Jesus Christ could help me. I had faith that He was cheering me on, but I’d been missing one key detail: timing.
See, God wasn’t expecting me to be perfect right then. That’s the whole reason Christ atoned for us. God knows that we will never be perfect in this life, and He loves us so much that He sent His Only Begotten Son to save us.
Instead of trying to become perfect right then, the Savior’s enabling power could help me continue to grow over the course of a lifetime. Week by week, year by year. The best version of myself was going to take my whole life to develop—that’s how it’s supposed to be, as we learn to walk with Him.
I started looking at life with this new perspective and tried again to build spiritual habits. I set goals to pray twice a day and to read my scriptures for 15 minutes at least once a day. These goals seemed small to me, but I told myself I was growing—and that’s what mattered.
One morning, I realized that I had missed my scripture study the day before. I initially felt disappointed in myself, but upon remembering Elder Andersen’s words, I was filled with assurance that I still had time to open the scriptures that day and try again.
I could feel my relationship with Heavenly Father growing. I had a stronger desire to put the gospel above other enticing things. There were days I forgot to pray before going to bed or I didn’t get a full 15-minute study. But there were also days that I prayed more, chose to spend extra time studying the scriptures, and created new goals, like journaling.
I’m continuing to grow, keeping in mind the perspective that every day I’m slowly growing into the woman God knows I can become. As our beloved prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, has said, “perfection is pending.”
As a returned missionary, I’m grateful for the shift in my perspective and for the knowledge that I can grow over time. Even though I slipped from my mission habits before, I know the Lord is pleased with my efforts today—however small they may be. I know that one day I’ll look back as a completely changed person and be grateful for the days that I chose to try again, read a little more, pray with more sincerity, and focus on Jesus Christ.
I hope you’ll do the same.

I came to BYU after working in the technology industry for seventeen years. I applied for a job at BYU because I felt that this was where I needed to be. At the time it didn’t make a lot of sense for my career since I would be starting over in many aspects. I hadn’t worked in the higher education industry. My studies had been at another university, and I wasn’t sure why I was pulled in this direction. I came from the corporate world, where religious discussions were not encouraged and were even frowned upon. My home is where most of my spiritual growth came from.

After being hired at BYU, I recall coming in on a Monday morning and sitting in a meeting that was full of employees. To begin the meeting, one person stood up and prayed. After they were seated, another person shared a spiritual thought with everyone. I sat there looking around the room in total amazement. I left that day knowing that I had joined a different world of business that was completely foreign to me. I continued to observe that in meeting after meeting: prayers were frequently offered before business was conducted. This was a place where the Spirit was invited every day and sometimes every hour. Was it unusual? From a business perspective, yes. Was it uncomfortable? At first, yes. Was it wonderful? Yes!

As wonderful as it was, the question that came to my mind was did I belong? Did I fit in? Did I measure up to the high standards and expectations that existed here? BYU is a place of high expectations. However, the gospel of Jesus Christ also has high expectations, and there may be times in your life when you question if you belong.

I finally transformed my question to “Why would I not belong?” I love my Savior and His gospel. I am determined enough to grow, humble enough to learn, and eager enough to make a difference, so why would I not belong? Changing the question changed my perspective and let me move forward.

While traveling alone to visit friends on a holiday weekend, I decided to follow a rural highway instead of taking a long detour to a major interstate highway. It was dusk, and I wanted to arrive at my friends’ home before midnight.
Mine was the only car on the road for long stretches of the highway, and in order to relieve boredom I turned on a radio station. As I sang along to a favorite tune, I received a distinct spiritual prompting to turn off the radio—and listen. At first I ignored the prompting, reasoning that it would be absurd to drive alone in silence on a deserted road. The prompting became more insistent, however. I reluctantly turned off the radio, sat back, and quietly told the Lord that now I was listening.
In short order I received three additional promptings to slow down immediately. These impressions seemed to be much stronger, and they reached a much more receptive and focused mind. I obediently braked three times, slowing the car substantially.
Shortly I encountered a 90-degree unmarked curve. I had no time to react in the darkness and went through the curve, stopping at the edge of a ridge overlooking a deep ditch. Shaken, I got out to inspect the damage and found my car wholly intact but with its front bumper protruding over the precipice. Had I been going any faster, I would certainly have plunged into the ditch and been injured or killed. I offered a prayer of gratitude.
I made the rest of the trip in silence as I reflected on the need to eliminate “radios” from my life. I wondered how many times I had allowed the frivolous things of the world to take priority over spiritual matters. Although I have not given up listening to the radio at home or on the road, I do take time on a regular basis to turn off the music—and listen.

Early in my life, I began to notice a feeling of emptiness. It felt like something was missing. I found momentary escape in things like rock climbing and music. And as a teenager, I found relief using mind-altering substances. My troubles didn’t seem to exist while under their influence. As with many other things, my use of these substances began slowly as they worked their way deeper and deeper into my life. I spent countless nights free of inhibitions, traveling all over the world and searching for relief.
In an inebriated flash, 15 years went by, and my addictions completely took over my life. I felt empty inside, stripped of any passion. I couldn’t physically get enough substances into my body at one time to satisfy my cravings, and that momentary relief found within the numbness was long gone.
One day I remember thinking, “How long have I lived like this?” I sought happiness in relationships, fame, achievements, and substances that could give me a bigger rush.
There was a night where I drunkenly sneaked my way to the top of a skyscraper and rappelled downward to paint graffiti on the side of the building. Grandiose and desperate acts like this were completely normal to me in seeking fulfillment. And every time I felt on top of the world, deeper despair would inevitably follow. I was digging myself further and further down. Eventually I completely checked out on life. I no longer cared what happened to me.

Our relationship changed after that incident. As we grew older I tormented him less, and when I did, he fought back. We basically ignored each other until our family moved to California one summer.
When school started, Eric and I were the only people we knew at school, and we had to rely on each other. Instead of eating lunch by myself, I met Eric and we sat on the stone steps together. As we dug through our brown bags and munched ham sandwiches, I was surprised at the growing number of people who waved at, talked to, and sat down beside Eric. His cheery grin, relaxed attitude, and silly jokes soon had us in the middle of a noisy group of friends. Others saw in Eric what I had kept myself from seeing, and they showed me his strength, his dedication, his strange but hilarious sense of humor, and his amazing ability to shrug off pain.
One lunchtime Eric was a couple of minutes late. He spotted our group and sprinted across the sloping lawn, gripping his brown sack in his good left hand. His backpack bumped against him, his shirttail billowed, and his shoelaces straggled behind him. His weak right ankle tangled with his charging left foot, and he went down in a heap. He tried to catch himself, but his right arm crumpled and he plowed the grass with his face.
A couple of guys and I jumped up and ran to him. By the time we reached him, he was sitting up in the middle of his spilled backpack and smashed lunch. Dirt and grass smeared his nose and forehead, and he had a bloody scrape on his chin. He grinned up at us and said, “I hate it when that happens!”
One of the guys asked him incredulously, “Did you do that on purpose?”
Another example of his determination was when he joined the swim team. I had swum the year before and lettered in water polo. Eric decided he’d like to take a crack at competitive sports. He never missed a practice, even though he never placed higher than last in any meet. Sometimes he ended up in the wrong lane because his left side was so much stronger than his right, and he often worked up such momentum that he crashed into the concrete pool sides. But by the end of the season, he had halved his personal best time for the 50-meter freestyle.
Eric has been an example to me, even when I wouldn’t admit it. He taught me how to be tolerant of other people’s differences, how to overcome and overlook weakness, and how to find strength. He taught me to use what I have and to never give up. He showed me the value of being myself and how to love without condition.

In 1952 the majority of the families in the Rose Park Third Ward were members whose fathers or husbands held only the Aaronic Priesthood, rather than the Melchizedek Priesthood. Brother L. Brent Goates was called to serve as the bishop. He invited a less-active brother in the ward, Ernest Skinner, to assist in activating the 29 adult brethren in the ward who held the office of teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood and to help these men and their families get to the temple. As a less-active member himself, Brother Skinner was reluctant at first but finally indicated he would do what he could. He began personally visiting with the less-active adult teachers, trying to help them see their role as priesthood leaders in their homes and as husbands and fathers to their families. He soon enlisted some of the less-active brethren to assist him in his assignment. One by one they became fully active again and took their families to the temple.
One day the ward clerk came out of a grocery checking line to greet the last of the group to go to the temple. Commenting on his position as the last, the man said: “I stood by and watched as all of that group became active in our ward and went to the temple. If only I had been able to imagine how beautiful it was in the temple, and how it would change my life forever, I never would have been the last of 29 to be sealed in the temple.”