Gospel Story Finder

Let me tell you about an experience that I had. When I was in law practice, my law firm had a car leasing program in which each person received a very generous allowance for leasing a car. If you chose not to lease an expensive car, you simply forfeited part of the car allowance. So I went out and leased a beautiful sports car.

The car was the nicest toy I ever owned. It was superbly engineered, and it drove like a dream. When the turbo kicked in, the car would flatten your ears back against the headrest. A voice would tell you when the door was open or the fuel level was low. It would say something like, "Left door is ajar, Excellency." The volume control on the stereo went from 1 to 10, and above 10 it had another setting that said: "Liquify Cerebral Cortex." The night I brought the car home, I sat in it until two a.m., trying out all the buttons and gadgets. My wife Nadine refused to drive the car; it was too ostentatious.

One year later I left law practice and went to law school to teach. I gave up the sports car and bought a 14-year-old sedan. It did not have a turbo-charger; instead, it had a wimpo-charger. There was a picture of my car in the dictionary, next to the definition of "breach of warranty." But I have to give credit where credit is due. My car was voted the car of the year--by the American Association of Tow Truck Drivers.

What surprised me is that I did not miss the sports car at all. Oh sure, the car was fun for a few months. However, after the newness wore off, it was simply transportation. We've all had the experience of wanting a certain material thing. We looked forward to getting it, and it was exciting at first. After a while, however, the thrill wore off, and we began looking forward to acquiring some other material thing, something that was really going to satisfy us. To borrow an image from C.S. Lewis, wealth is like an onion; when you peel off one layer, you simply discover another layer underneath. This process continues until you realize that at the center of the onion there is nothing at all. I learned for myself that wealth does not satisfy; it does not bring joy. Living the gospel brings joy. Feeling the Spirit brings joy. Loving and serving others bring joy.

One day in January 2010 my world was flipped upside down. My younger sister was diagnosed with cancer. I could not believe it. How was it possible? My sister was only 14 years old and very active. She was part of the school show choir. She loved softball and basketball. How could she have cancer?
Not too long after that fateful day, I found myself home alone. I felt completely overwhelmed and lost. My comfortable life had been shattered. Cancer is a scary thing, and I had no idea how to deal with it.
As tears coursed down my cheeks, I felt the need to pray for some form of comfort or peace.
Shortly after finishing my prayer I heard a knock on the door. Answering it, I found my Young Women leader standing on our porch. She took one look at my tear-stained face and asked what was wrong. More tears filled my eyes as I told her about Madey’s diagnosis.
When I finished she simply said, “You’re the reason why I’m here.” She then told me to get my shoes on and to come with her.
I spent the next couple of hours with her and her grandson eating ice cream and talking. I told her about all that had been going on and how lost I felt. We talked about cancer and the possible treatments. When she brought me home, I felt lighter and more hopeful than I had since learning that my sister had cancer.
Sadly, my sister eventually lost her battle with cancer. But my Young Women leader’s visit taught me a lot. Since that day I have come to recognize that I am never alone. Friends and family are there to assist, but more importantly, my Heavenly Father is always ready to listen to and help me. I am so grateful that He is there and that He answered my prayer that day, starting with a sensitive Young Women leader.

I was young and inexperienced, so the impressions made by this unusual incident were especially deep. I was assigned as a missionary to a little-known island in the South Pacific in 1955. Coming from America, my first impressions were two—the natural beauty of these islands and the apparent poverty of the people.
Slowly I began to learn the native language, adjust to the native food, and fit into the unhurried pace of living. The heat seemed at times unbearable and the mosquitoes vicious, as though they preferred the taste of hinehina (white) blood.
As I became more acquainted with the islanders and their language, food, and customs, I became more fully aware of the real poverty (in relative terms) in which they lived. It seemed irreconcilable. Why should we have so much in America and they have so little here? I could not at that time perceive the great spiritual blessings they had.
One day gave way to another with little change in the village routine. It would rain fiercely and then the sun would shine just as intensely. The diet of fish and breadfruit was almost unchanged from day to day. The oneness and the unity of the sun and the sea, the lagoon, and the soft laughter of those beautiful brown-skinned people seemed to melt into a covering of quiet and peace.
Then one day excitement and change arrived! A strange boat was working its way into the harbor. Hurrah for something different! The whole island was soon down on the seashore looking at one of the most beautiful sailing yachts I have ever seen.
Quietly, as if in slow motion, a crewman threw an anchor into the waiting lagoon. It did not appear even to make a splash, as though to refrain from disturbing the beauty of the setting. It was nearly dusk. The light from the setting sun silhouetted that sleek shape, its sails furled against the backdrop of deep blue waters and emerald green islands. Golden shafts of color painted all around in unbelievably vivid hues, as though framing the whole picture for eternity.
Silently the crew rolled out deep red carpets on the freshly scrubbed deck, and then the master emerged in his crisp white “tropics” to survey the situation. By now there were canoes all around as curious islanders naturally wanted to be a part of this experience, this change.
My assignment was to a little flock of about 50 Church members, most of whom were caught up in the excitement. They soon brought back reports, and even though I was young and inexperienced, it did not take very long to realize what was happening.
The man was a millionaire from overseas, cruising the world. He wanted to trade for food and water, and he wanted girls. There was liquor on board and a real swinging time for those who would accept his invitation.
I counseled my little flock to stay away. Most did, but some did not. The wealthy adventurer stayed for a few days until he filled his wants. Then he announced he would leave before noon the following day. Some of the faithful members pleaded, “Could we not go out just before he leaves, just to see the boat?” I agreed that at 10:00 the next morning we would briefly look at the yacht.
When we got there, it was even more magnificent than I had pictured. Evidence of the previous night’s activities was still being cleared away, and preparations were being made to raise anchor and take sail. We spent a few moments in wonder and awe, astonished at the beauty of the deep mahogany paneling, the rich bronze fittings, the lustre of the freshly painted surfaces, and the gleaming white of the hull as it lapped quietly at the deep blue lagoon.
The owner, nearly sober, waved good-bye, and we returned to shore. As we pulled the dugout canoe onto the sandy beach, I turned again to see the white form move toward the horizon. I thought of the millionaire in his white “tropics,” having had his fill, comfortable with his well-stocked cupboards and expert crew, with his money and his power. He seemed to have everything he wanted.
Then I looked at the men who had brought me to shore: no shoes, shirts of rags, tattered valas tied with coconut sennit around their waists. I looked past them to the village. I saw the smoke from the morning’s cooking twisting lazily into the air, heard the monotonous sound of tapa being beaten, and felt the heaviness of the overhead sun as it filtered through the palm trees. I watched the men slowly walk to their gardens and heard the laughter of naked children as they chased the scrawny dogs.
Suddenly the oppressiveness of island life with so little opportunity for change struck me as being grossly unfair. I turned again to gaze at the yacht, now receding into the distance. The contrast was so great as to be almost unbelievable. My heart cried out, “Unfair! Unfair! These poor people—look at them—and you—look at you!”
I returned to the group, and we trudged up the shore to the village. Then one of the older men turned to me and said softly in his native tongue, “I am very sad. I feel very sorry.”
“Well,” I interrupted, “I am very sad, and I feel very sorry too. It just isn’t fair, is it?”
“No,” he continued, “it really isn’t fair. I feel so sorry for him, for he will never be happy.”
I stopped dead in my tracks.
“You, you feel sorry for him? He won’t be happy? What are you talking about?”
My mind was groping to come to a sense of reality of what was being said. This man with nothing saying he was sorry for that man with everything! My immature mind was spinning, trying to interpret words, feelings, and relationships.
But he continued: “I feel so sorry for him. He will never be happy for he seeks only for his own pleasure, not to help others. Yet we know that happiness comes from helping others. All he will do is sail around the world seeking happiness, hoping others will bring happiness to him. But they cannot. He will never find it for he has not learned to help others. He has too much money, too many luxuries. Oh, I feel so sorry for him.”
I looked at the wrinkled brown body of the old man. His teeth were gone, his hair was white, and his skin was leather; but his eyes were soft, his voice quiet, and his countenance immaculate.
I can never forget his powerful words: “I feel sorry for him. He will never be happy. He hasn’t learned to help others.”
Years have passed, but occasionally, as I see proud people closed up in their sleek new cars or sense my own temporary unwillingness to help others, I close my eyes and see a beautiful yacht moving toward the horizon and turn and see an old man with a wrinkled brown body, white hair, and skin of leather and listen as his soft eyes penetrate mine and his toothless mouth moves and his spirit explains: “I feel very sorry. He will never be happy. He hasn’t learned to help others.”

Pooja Prabhakar, 18, says she has received many blessings because of the gospel. “I have been brought into the light of truth, and I am happy that I can prepare myself to go back and live with my Heavenly Father.” She says that becoming a member of the Church has changed her life in many ways: “I begin each day with scripture study. I dress modestly. I use good language. I used to have a habit of making fun of others, but because of the Church I learned that I shouldn’t be doing that, so I stopped.”

She says she was 14 years old when she first attended Young Women. “I loved it,” she says. “I was very much reserved, but as I went on, I became jolly happy. I learned how to be a good daughter to my parents, a loving sister to my siblings, and a peacemaker at home. It’s been jolly nice, especially when I received my Personal Progress medallion.”

Now as she transitions into Relief Society, she has many pleasant memories—of singing songs at a residence for the elderly “to show our love;” of gaining a testimony that the Book of Mormon is true, that Joseph Smith was a prophet, and that President Thomas S. Monson is a living prophet; and of “learning more about the gospel every time I come to church.”

She tells of an experience she and her friends had one day on their way to school. “We saw an older woman who was trying to find her way to the chemist [pharmacy] to get a prescription filled, so we stopped and helped her.” They not only walked with her to her destination, but they went inside and made sure she was able to get what she needed.

“I’m glad to know God would let us help her,” Pooja says.

There is one last scene I would call up for you from my journal. The sobering realities of our present Middle East involvement, where many of our people are in threatening conditions, make this memory particularly pertinent and particularly appreciated. I read it as I wrote it in Nha Trang, Vietnam, in May 1967:
“There was a memorable meeting this morning, which began with a senior military chaplain of another church addressing us warmly as ‘My brothers in Christ.’ This touched me deeply, and the meeting that went along was consistent with his gentle beginning.
“It was a very special, tender meeting; the Spirit was strong.
“It was uncomfortably warm in the room where we met. There were two ancient air conditioners, but they were ineffective. In fact, we discovered when we finally opened the door that it was cooler outside than in. Notwithstanding this, a great spirit was felt and a sweet experience enjoyed.
“Outside the room after the meeting, I walked quietly down the passageway alongside the large room where we had met. As I passed the back door, I looked in and saw a kind of human barrier that had been set up to separate the many young men who were lingering in the front part of the room from a few who were in the back. Three men had their hands on the head of another who sat on a chair. All four were dressed in battle gear; two had returned from air strikes to the north just in time for the meeting, and one was shortly to go. The three members of the district presidency were giving a blessing to an officer senior to them all, setting him apart as a district missionary.”
For some reason this sweet scene affected me more deeply than any priesthood sermon I have heard. Priesthood to them meant the right and the power to serve, to act in the name of the Lord as his agents and in his interests with their fellowmen. This scene I hope I will never forget.

As our youngest son, Clark, was approaching his 12th birthday, he and I were leaving the Church Administration Building when President Harold B. Lee approached and greeted us. I mentioned that Clark would soon be 12, whereupon President Lee turned to him and asked, “What happens to you when you turn 12?”

This was one of those times when a father prays that a son will be inspired to give a proper response. Clark, without hesitation, said to President Lee, “I will be ordained a deacon!”

The answer was the one President Lee had sought. He then counseled our son, “Remember, it is a great blessing to hold the priesthood.”

When I was 17, my oldest brother, John, passed away. He was only 27 and left behind a wife and young son. I could not have endured through this tragedy without the scriptures to lead and guide my life.
If you have ever had anyone close to you pass away, then you know the pain that strikes in every part of your being. It hurts for a long time. Even though we learn to be happy again and move on, no matter how much time passes, there’s still a pain.
When my brother passed away, I learned that it was OK to let myself hurt. It was OK to be sad. I didn’t need to be so strong all of the time. Sometimes there are challenges where we have to rely on others. And I learned I had to rely on the Lord.
About nine months before my brother passed away, I had prayed to my Heavenly Father to find a scripture I could use as a theme in my life that year. I was reading my scriptures and came across Proverbs 3:5: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”
This scripture struck me with such force that I knew this was supposed to be my theme scripture for that year. For the next nine months, I tried to “trust in the Lord.” In every experience I went through, those words would echo in my mind.
About a week after John’s death, the words in Proverbs echoed in my mind again, and I realized why the Lord wanted me to practice trusting in Him. When my brother passed away, I could have asked my Heavenly Father, “Why? Why did this have to happen to us?” But that question never crossed my mind, because for nine months the Lord had been preparing me to trust in Him. Instead, I was ready to bring comfort to other family members around me who needed it. I felt the peace that comes from the knowledge that family is eternal, and I knew that I hadn’t seen John for the last time. Although at times I feel that pain that comes from losing someone you love, I know that my family can be together again after this life. This scripture in Proverbs brought me hope, peace, and guidance in a time of great need.

Several years ago I taught a beautiful dance education student named Michelle. Michelle had a difficult home life. Her parents had divorced, her father had not maintained contact, and she and her mother had a tenuous relationship. Sometimes Michelle confided in me, expressing deep yearning to feel her parents’ love. As if these challenges were not enough, Michelle was diagnosed with a relentless form of cancer, and the crucible of illness took command of her body. The cancer treatments robbed Michelle of her beautiful, white-blond hair, and, in spite of aggressive treatments, she grew steadily weaker.

But even as her physical body weakened, a transformation of another kind was taking place: Michelle’s very countenance began to change. Although she had previously been reserved and shy, Michelle began to radiate joy and goodness. It was not uncommon to see her somewhere within the halls of the Richards Building, her shiny bald head tied with a big pink bow and her smile the size of Texas! Rather than succumbing to self-pity and fear, Michelle chose to fill her days with joy and laughter, surrounded by those she loved most.

Not long before her death, she told me that, to her amazement and joy, the circumstances of her illness had initiated a healing process for her fractured family. Michelle had placed her trust in the hands of God and was rewarded with the ability to live out her remaining days with a heightened sense of happiness and love. Though she did not find physical healing, Michelle found the spiritual healing and profound joy that come only through Jesus Christ’s healing Atonement.

“I beat you,” Ed said triumphantly as he pulled the last head of broomcorn on his row with a quick snap of his wrist. Then he set it upright on the ground, leaning it against the stalk.
“Just barely,” I replied. “I only have three more to do.”
“I can see Frank and Georgie coming too. We’re getting pretty fast. That’s eight rows apiece this morning. Jake’s the fastest boy I know, and he can only do nine.”
“He hires out, too, doesn’t he?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“Why don’t we? We do good work and could use some money.”
“You’re right about that, but who’d hire us?”
“Lots of people.”
“I’m not so sure. We don’t stack the same as everyone else, so some people might not hire us.”
“Our way is best, though. Papa says if the brooms are piled standing up like we do it, any rain will run off without hurting them. But if they’re lying flat on the ground, the moisture doesn’t dry between them and they get moldy and rot.”
“Papa is right about lots of things that other folks don’t like to believe. They’ve been stacking corn the wrong way for a hundred years and wouldn’t change for anything.”
“Do you remember the time we had the late frost and Papa knew it was coming, so he didn’t plant early like everyone else did?” I asked.
“Yeah, I remember. Their crops froze and ours didn’t.”
“He tried to warn them, but they wouldn’t listen.”
“How does he know when it’s going to freeze?”
“I wish I knew. Maybe Heavenly Father tells him,” I suggested.
“Maybe so,” Ed agreed thoughtfully. “I can’t figure it out any other way.”
Frank and Georgie finished their rows, and we all started back to the house for lunch.
“How’d you guys like to earn some money?” Ed asked the boys.
“How?” Frank wanted to know.
“Pulling corn. We’re all getting pretty fast now.”
“I would,” Georgie said. “Then we could go to the circus.”
The circus! I hadn’t thought about that. I couldn’t believe it might be possible to go to the circus. My heart began pounding.
“Who could we work for?” Frank asked.
“How about Mr. Clarke?” Georgie suggested. “He’s always been real nice to us.”
“You’re right!” Ed exclaimed. “He’s just the one.”
“Let’s ask Papa when we get home,” I suggested.
“No, let’s see if we can get the job first and surprise him. Tomorrow, while Papa’s in town getting his wagon fixed, we can go over and see Mr. Clarke.”
“I want to see the lion tamer most,” Frank said.
“Not me,” Georgie countered. “I’m going to watch the clowns.”
I wanted to see the beautiful lady in the fancy dress, standing pointy-toed on the back of a running horse with her long hair flying behind her. I’d seen a circus poster at the Piggly Wiggly Market.
“C’mon, let’s hurry,” Ed said, and we ran the last few steps to the house.
The next day after Papa had left for town, five of us started out in the direction of our field. Helen had coaxed to come along too.
“Break her in easy,” Mama said. “When she gets tired send her home.”
At the end of the lane we turned off toward Clarke’s and arrived just as he was coming out from breakfast. When he saw us he said, “Well, now, what can I do for you folks?”
“We wondered if you needed someone to pull your corn,” Ed said.
“Think you could do it? None of you is very big.”
“But we can work hard,” Frank insisted.
“And fast,” Georgie added.
“And we pile it the good way,” I said.
“How’s that?” Mr. Clarke wanted to know.
“Standing up,” Ed said and explained why that was best.
Mr. Clarke nodded. “Makes sense, all right.”
“Try us out,” Ed bargained. “We’ll work till noon, and if you’re not satisfied, you don’t have to pay us. We don’t charge for Helen. She’s just learning.”
“Fair enough,” Mr. Clarke said and led us to the field he wanted us to start on.
When Papa came home that night, Ed pulled our wages from his pocket and put them on the table.
“Where’d you get that money?” Papa asked.
“Working for Mr. Clarke,” Ed replied.
“Pulling corn?” asked Papa.
“Yep. He wants us back tomorrow. He’s paying us twenty cents a row.”
“How many of you went?” Papa wanted to know.
“Me, Dora, Georgie, Frank, and Helen,” Ed replied.
“Helen, too?”
“She helped some.”
“But my arms got tired and Ed let me come home,” Helen explained.
Papa reached down to give her a hug. “Good girl,” he said. “I’m proud of all of you. Go ahead and help Mr. Clarke. I can finish our crop. We’ll all have to work fast to get done before the storm gets here.”
“What storm?” Ed asked.
“The one that’s coming before too long.”
“How can you tell?” I wanted to know.
“I can just feel it,” Papa answered.
The golden harvest weather held all week, and we worked from dawn until dark every day. By Friday night the flat corn heads were all pulled and stacked in the fields. Mama had been cooking all day for a picnic, and we could hardly wait for morning to come.
Before daylight, Papa climbed the ladder to our barn loft. “You’d all better get up,” he said. “I need lots of help today.”
“But you promised we could have a picnic, Papa.”
“Can’t help it,” Papa said. “We’ve got to get the corn in. A humdinger of a storm is on the way. Dora, I want you to come with me to warn the neighbors. Ed, you go hitch up the wagon and take Frank and George over to Clarke’s. Use his wagon, too, and after his crop is in come back and start on ours.”
There was a tone in Papa’s voice I’d never heard before. It sent shivers down my back. I dressed as fast as I could and hurried the boys along. We gulped down the breakfast Mama had waiting and flew out the door just as the sun peeked over the sand hills.
“There’re no clouds, Papa,” Ed said.
“They’re coming,” Papa declared. “Now get going!”
The boys ran toward the barn. I jumped on the horse that was waiting for me, and Papa and I rode off to warn the neighbors that a big storm was on the way.
“You’re crazy,” Mr. Cooper told Papa. “There’s not a cloud in the sky.”
“Not yet,” Papa said, “but there will be.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Mr. Cooper said and closed the door. We jumped on our horses and rode to Mr. Younger’s store. He could help us spread the word.
“Doesn’t look to me like any storm is coming,” he drawled as he gazed up at the cloudless sky.
“You’re right,” Papa agreed. “But mark my word, it’ll be here before nightfall, and it’s a big one.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
And this was the answer everywhere we went. Papa finally decided that it wasn’t any use to warn the people, so we went on home to help the boys. “The price of corn will be sky-high this year,” he said, “and we can’t afford to leave it in the field.”
We worked like demons and were piling on the last wagonload when the wind came up and nearly tipped it over.
“Head for home!” Papa shouted.
We all jumped on the wagon and by the time we pulled into the barn, hail was peppering the ground and beating everything flat. It was the worst storm I can remember. Some of the hailstones were the size of eggs. What the hail didn’t flatten the wind did. The broomcorn crop was a total loss that year except for the few fields that were brought in as a result of our warning.
Papa was right about the price. We made a big profit that year, and the other farmers were sorry they hadn’t listened to him.

When the missionaries showed me the filmstrip of the Prophet Joseph Smith’s First Vision, it was difficult for me to contain my tears. The story of his search for truth was in some ways similar to my own.
At that time, I was 20 years old and living in Italy, the land of my birth. For five years I had been looking for answers my parents’ religion had not been able to give me. I had sought these answers in other religions and philosophies, but something seemed lacking in all of them. During the year before I met the missionaries, that search had become the most important thing in my life. I distanced myself from some of my friends and even left the university where I had been studying. My relatives could not understand me.
At the end of 1984, I met the missionaries on the street and gave them my address. I knew very little about the Church, but for some reason I wanted to speak to them.
Some days later I was in my room. I opened my heart to God, asking Him to show me what He wanted me to do. As I prayed I felt a great peace surround me. At that exact moment, the doorbell rang. When the missionaries came in, I knew they had the answers I sought.

Television production was not a path I had ever considered during my earlier education or even in my college years. Following graduation, my husband, Steve, and I moved to Los Angeles.

I still remember many of the difficulties of that first year. We were newlyweds with uncertain and unstable career paths living in a huge city far away from our families and friends. After a year of working uninspiring jobs to pay the bills, I felt stagnant. I prayed, pondered, and questioned often—and not without discouragement—whether we would ever “figure it out.”

Around this time I had a strong prompting to quit my job. We were barely scraping by in that big, expensive city. To quit without having something else lined up was terrifying to me. But the spiritual nudge was unmistakable. So I quit, not knowing what was next or how we would have enough money to pay our rent.

In the days and weeks that followed, I prayed often and searched for direction—and jobs—until one day a relative offered to introduce me to their childhood friend who was an executive at a television production company. So many beautiful blessings have come into my life because of that first meeting with Debby. She continues to be an incredible mentor and dear friend. She is a woman of faith who has blessed me and my family. Debby and I have reminisced often about the perfect and inspired timing of that first meeting. The window in which I could have been hired was so small! Debby took me under her wing and taught me so much. I know that it was through the Spirit that we were put into each other’s lives. That leap of faith to quit my job was the catalyst for years of experiences, friendships, joys, and lifelong learning. I am so grateful that I chose to listen.

For Dima Ivanov of Vladivostok, Russia, the invitation to participate in the “discipleship experiment” came at a hectic time. Brother Ivanov had recently left his job to begin his own business, and because he had so many work-related responsibilities to consider, he wondered if he would have difficulty keeping discipleship at the forefront of his thoughts.
Still, he agreed to participate, and since discipleship meant to him “obeying and following the direction or advice of a teacher,” he delved into the Sermon on the Mount, found in Matthew 5 and 3 Nephi 12.
What Brother Ivanov found as he studied the characteristics of that sermon, he said, were his own weaknesses. But knowing that the Savior had promised that those who humble themselves would have weak things made strong (see Ether 12:27), Brother Ivanov turned to Him, seeking opportunities to grow.
“I felt the Savior closer to me,” reported Brother Ivanov. “I learned that He is the greatest Teacher, and I learned ways I could become more like Him. As I studied about the nature of discipleship, I learned that we can find some new way to be like the Savior every time we study His life. And then we continue to learn it by following His example. We have to practice what we learn.”
He said his understanding of discipleship changed over the week. “Following the Savior is not just studying gospel principles or obeying His commandments,” he explained. Wherever we are or whatever we are doing, we can have the “real desire to follow His example and to have the intention to become like Him.”

Noting the unwavering, absolute position of the North Star, one writer told the contrasting story of a young boy who became lost on a camping trip. When his father finally found him, his father asked if he had remembered to pick out something in the landscape that he could always see. This, his father said, would have helped him to fix a steady position. The boy said, “I did.”
“What was it?” the father asked.
“That rabbit over there,” the boy said.

I, like Nephi, was truly born of goodly parents. They taught me to be happy. But I think one of the happiest moments of my life was to finally graduate from high school. Because of a promotion for my father, our family moved from San Diego to Los Angeles. I ended up going to three different high schools in my senior year. In my last high school, the school officials weren’t even sure I was going to graduate because of the differences in requirements. All I knew is that I had purchased my cap and gown and I was walking in that graduation, with or without their approval! I did get their approval and I did graduate. And I was so happy!

The reason why I was so happy was because now I could go on my mission! I couldn’t wait to serve the Lord on a mission. I went to South America, the Kentucky-Tennessee Mission. That’s south in America . . . Deep South. I even learned a new language! I loved serving the Lord and those good people there. I never knew a happier time in my entire life than teaching the gospel all the time! I knew that the mission was to last two years, and then I would graduate that part of my life and return home to be with my family. Again, although sad to leave those good people of my mission, I was very happy to hop on that plane and arrive at the Los Angeles International Airport. The plane arrived nearly a half an hour ahead of schedule. My heart could hardly contain itself as I waited for my turn to walk off the airplane and have that joyous reunion with my loved ones! When I walked into the terminal, there was no one there to greet me!!! I was too early! When I finally saw my family running into the terminal and being able to hug them all, I felt as Alma, the younger, meeting up with the sons of Mosiah after their wonderful mission experience. This had to be true JOY!!

In the early 1950s the United States was at war on the Korean peninsula. Because of the draft policy of the government at that time, young men were not allowed to serve missions but instead required to join the military. Knowing this, I enrolled in the Army Reserve Officers’ Training Corps when I went to college. My goal was to become an officer like my oldest brother. However, during a visit home for the Christmas holiday, my home-ward bishop, Vern Freeman, invited me into his office. He advised me that a young Church leader by the name of Brother Gordon B. Hinckley had negotiated an agreement with the U.S. government permitting each ward in the Church in the United States to call one young man to serve a mission. This young man would receive an automatic deferment from the military during his mission.
Bishop Freeman said he had been praying about it and felt he should recommend me to serve as a full-time missionary representing our ward. I explained to him that I had already made other plans—I had enrolled in the Army ROTC and expected to become an officer! My bishop gently reminded me that he had been prompted to recommend me to serve a mission at that particular time. He said, “Go home and talk to your parents and come back this evening with your answer.”
I went home and told my father and mother what had happened. They said the bishop was inspired, and I should happily accept the Lord’s invitation to serve. My mother could see how disappointed I was at the prospect of not becoming an army officer right away. She quoted:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”
That night I went back to the bishop’s office and accepted his invitation. He told me to go to the Selective Service Office and advise them of my decision.
When I did so, to my surprise the lady who was chairman of the Selective Service Office told me: “If you accept a mission call, you will receive your draft notice before you can reenter Army ROTC. You will serve as an enlisted man, not as an officer.”
Despite this unexpected change, my mission was wonderful. It changed the course of my life as it does for those who serve. But, true to their word, the government sent an induction letter drafting me into the U.S. Army about one month before my mission release.

I was one of 12 high school students selected from Fairfield College in Hamilton, New Zealand, to participate in a program called Project K. The first part involved a three-week wilderness adventure, including canoeing, exploring caves, rock climbing, mountain biking, and sleeping and cooking our meals in all sorts of conditions. We spent most of our days in torrential rain and cold.
Sometimes spirits were low, and there were tears of frustration. We learned about teamwork and endurance. We encouraged each other through the challenges that came to us every day. One person chose to go home—it was just too much.
Halfway through the adventure, we got to write a letter home. As I wrote my letter, the tears welled up as I expressed my love and appreciation to my family. I realized just how much I missed the simple things in life like family prayers, scripture reading, family home evening, seminary, and attending church. I was saddened because I couldn’t picture my baby sister’s face in my mind.
I was thankful that I’d brought my pocket-sized Book of Mormon with me. I would sit inside my bivouac and read by flashlight. Everyone was pretty tired after each day, and they’d just go to sleep. After a day or so, more of my companions became curious about what I was reading. They became interested when I told them about the stripling warriors, Nephi and Laban, Ammon, and especially Nephi and his broken bow. Everyone could relate to the challenges of the wilderness.
By the end of our adventure, every night before sleeping, all 12 of us would huddle under my bivouac and listen as I read from the Book of Mormon. I know that the prophets of old were able to speak to us all on those cold, dark, rainy nights. I know that I gained strength to endure the difficult challenges during that time. I never felt the need to cry or to quit. I owe that to prayer and my pocket-sized Book of Mormon.

First and foremost, we must recognize we have become natural in some facet of our lives. It is easier said than done as the natural man himself is a self-deception, meaning we feel justified being in our natural man state. Our complaints appear legitimate to us. Let me introduce a recently married couple, Chuck and Savannah, to you. This couple does not exist, but is a composite of dozens of young people who seek help with their relationships. Savannah is often angry at her husband and holds him responsible for hurting her feelings. From her vantage point, it seems completely reasonable to blame him for her unhappiness. In response, she typically shuts him out. Then, Chuck too gets annoyed and openly puts the blame back on Savannah for making his life difficult. "Could this be the dark side of marriage no one warned us about?" They both wondered. In a sense, yes, because at that point, their marriage was dominated by two young and strong egos jousting, colliding and colluding with each other. A pattern of relationship defeat constitutes blatant signals that the natural man is in charge, and charging onto the battlefield. With help and humble prayer, Chuck and Savannah began looking inside themselves, something that is unnatural to the reactionary natural man. To their surprise, they each realized their animosity and hostility were only reflections of their own unresolved issues, unmet needs, and personal buried insecurities. They immediately began working on what was amiss in them and needed healing. Eventually, realizing their own and each other's humanness, their blaming stopped all together. Forgiveness budded, then blossomed and so did their love for one another.

In school the fifth graders were going to have a talent show. I really wanted to do something, but I couldn’t think of anything. Then one day I thought, Why not do the Primary song “When I Am Baptized”? I asked my friend Rachel if she would sing it with me, and I would play the piano. She said yes, and at the talent show we got the biggest applause.
Abigail P., age 10, with Rachel M., age 11, Oregon, USA

This became clear to me some years ago when, as a young father, I needed to purchase some temple clothing. Upon entering the store, my attention was drawn to a sign on the counter that read “For Latter-day Saints Only.” The message jolted me. In my mind, an argument ensued. Why does it say “For Latter-day Saints Only”? I asked myself. Why doesn’t it say something like “For Endowed Church Members”? Why does it raise this issue of being a “Latter-day Saint”?

The years since have tempered my impetuous nature. That argumentative encounter of long ago has become a treasured, defining moment. The experience taught me that just being a member of this Church is not enough. Nor is merely going through the motions of membership sufficient in this day of cynicism and unbelief. The spirituality and vigilance of a saint are required.

I would like to illustrate the fulfillment of President Packer’s promise in the life of a Relief Society sister in Fredericksburg, Virginia. This sister was faithful. She joined the Church 18 years ago and believed with all of her heart that she could have a family united in the gospel of Jesus Christ. However, her husband was not prepared to make the necessary lifestyle changes. He supported her decision but would not join. She had two sons who were being influenced by the decisions of her husband. In the course of her struggle, a dear sister gave her a tape of a talk by Elder M. Russell Ballard. From that tape she learned that faith and doubt cannot be in the mind at the same time. She firmly grasped onto this hope that the Lord would support her in her righteous desires if she would be faithful. She told no one but set a goal for her husband’s baptism and the reactivation of her two sons. New ideas kept coming into her mind as to what she could do to bring about this great promise. Slowly but surely she began to see progress. Her husband accepted the challenge to take the discussions again, and her sons felt a new spirit in their home and started reacting positively.
First, both sons became active in the Church again. And finally, her husband was baptized and received the priesthood. Not coincidentally, her husband’s baptism was within three weeks of the date which this faithful sister set as her goal to unite her family in the gospel of Jesus Christ.