Gospel Story Finder

Illustration by Nate Gines
Photograph courtesy of Cornell F.
Location: Western Australia
Experience: activation of quorum members
Sets an example through simple acts of service. Makes sure every quorum member is contacted.
Well before sacrament meeting started, the president was already there. He always is. Now, before you assume we’re talking about a stake, district, or branch president, let’s clarify. Cornell F. is a deacons quorum president.
Every Sunday he magnifies his calling. This particular Sunday is ward conference, and Cornell is here early, placing hymnbooks on the benches where the deacons will be seated. He wants his quorum to benefit from the sacred music that should be a significant part of worship.
Another Sunday, he is pleased to report that all of the deacons in his ward are in attendance, six who are active and three who haven’t been coming regularly but are being fellowshipped.
“Every Sunday,” he says, “I give deacons assignments to call or visit less-active quorum members or friends who are investigating the Church.” He also notes that “every Tuesday evening before our youth activities we invite all the deacons to come.”
At the ward conference, the deacons pay special attention to inspiring messages from the stake president and the bishop. Then after the meeting, “the deacons stay to make sure that the chapel is clean and tidy,” Cornell says. They also look after the rest of the meetinghouse. “We take out the bins and sometimes we help to clean the nursery room,” he explains.
“We are ‘can-do’ deacons,” he says, “and each deacon plays a big role in our success.”

The bell rang, and I darted out of the classroom.
“Hey! Andrew! Andrew Hinton, stop right there!”
I was weaving in and out of the crowded hall like an all-star halfback. Normally I wasn’t this talented, but when Helen chased me, it was as if I gained extra speed.
“Andrew Hinton—just wait until I get my hands on you!”
When I turned to see if the towering figure was still chasing me, I tripped over Tommy, who had stooped to pick up a book. “Oof!” I went crashing over the top of him. “Are you OK, Tommy?” I asked.
“Yeah, how about you?”
“I’m all right as long as Helen doesn’t catch me.”
Tommy shivered, and his eyes got wide. “What happened?”
“It’s a long story. I have to go.” I turned to run. “Ahhh!” I was staring at Helen’s throat. She glared down at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Oh, hi, Helen,” I said with a weak grin.
She squinted her eyes as she loomed over me like a storm cloud about to erupt. “Why did you groan and say, ‘Oh, no—not Helen the Giant!’ when Mrs. Haynes assigned us to be partners in the science project?” she demanded, still squinting.
“I didn’t say that, Helen,” I said, even though it wasn’t the truth.
“Yes, you did.” Her stare was like a hot laser beam.
“OK, maybe I said it, but I really didn’t mean it.” I smiled sheepishly.
“Yes you did.”
“Well … but I meant it in a nice way. …”
She shook her head. Her fists were now clenched at her side. “I guess there’s only one thing left to do then,” she said, pushing up her sleeves.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and braced myself for the worst.
To my amazement, she said, “I’ll go tell Mrs. Haynes that you want a different partner.”
It took a second for me to understand what had happened. When I opened my eyes, she was already trudging away. Why didn’t she slug me? I wondered. Then I surprised myself by running after her. “Hey, Helen! Wait up!”
She turned around, her face puffy and red from trying not to cry.
“Why didn’t you hit me or something?” I asked.
“Hit you? Why would I do that? I’ve never hit anyone.”
I scratched my head. “But what about all those stories about you hurting people?”
“Huh?”
“You know, like the one about your scratching up Billy Snead’s face?”
She laughed and shook her head. “He was riding by me on his bike and calling me names. When he finally turned to look where he was going, it was too late—he crashed into a rosebush. I tried to help him, but he ran off screaming.”
“Yeah, that sounds like something Billy would do,” I laughed. “But why don’t you just ignore people when they joke about you and tease you?”
“I try, but it still hurts my feelings. I can’t help it that I’m this tall.”
“I guess you can’t. I never really thought about it that way.”
“Tommy Clark can’t help it because he’s short,” she added, “yet people pick on him too. And what about Tara Phelps? I’m sure she’d rather talk without stuttering.”
I nodded.
“And you can’t help it if your ears are too big,” she said.
“Well, yeah, I mean that’s—Hey! Wait a minute!”
“It doesn’t feel very good, does it?” Helen asked with a half smile.
“No, it doesn’t,” I admitted. I was beginning to understand. Just because someone looks, talks, or acts differently doesn’t mean that they should be avoided or be made fun of. I hesitated. “Uh, Helen, if you’re still interested, I was wondering if you’d like to stay as my science partner. I mean, if you don’t mind having a partner with big ears. …”
“Sure, why not? Maybe you’ll hear something from down there that I can’t see from up here.” She grinned.
I grinned back.

During the pandemic, as one of two people who can read my dad’s cryptic penmanship, I found time to transcribe my father’s journal that he kept during his freshman year at BYU. There was a particular entry that touched me that he wrote just a few weeks after buying the journal at the BYU Bookstore. After dealing with a tough situation that day, he wrote: “I was proud of my actions earlier tonight. It showed me how much I have changed since I came to the Y. I thank God again for the Y.”1

May I share a little background? I have been working on my father’s history since he passed from this mortal life almost twenty years ago. Getting to know my father by collecting his history and transcribing his writings has been inspiring. My dad set a goal when he was young to go to college and to serve a mission—both firsts for his family. Since his family lived under meager circumstances, he worked hard to be at the Y. Through diligence and hard work, by the end of his junior year in high school, he had saved up enough money for a few years at BYU and for his entire twenty-seven-month mission. Shortly thereafter, the local savings and loan in southern Idaho failed, leaving him with next to nothing. He did not give up, and he worked multiple jobs furiously on very few hours of sleep to try to replace what was lost. During that time, with many noted miracles, he was able to earn enough for a year at BYU and for his mission.

Because of the personal work and dedication that it took for him to come to BYU, he was so grateful for the opportunities this unique institution afforded him. Like President Russell M. Nelson, my dad recognized that “gratitude . . . provides us with a greater perspective on the very purpose and joy of life.”2 He recognized this early in his life, lived it, and taught it to his family. My father left BYU and became an influencer. Professionally, he touched lives by helping women through pregnancy and health challenges. He delivered babies. He inspired his children and grandchildren. He used his experience to touch lives for good. BYU’s unique, spiritually infused education gave my father and all of us the chance, the space, and the fuel to grow as disciples of Christ and children of God serving in this world. I also thank God for the Y.

“I was not a member of the Church until I was past Primary age. My father was not a member either (although he joined the Church later), but my mother was Primary president, and later Mutual president, in our little branch in Boise, Idaho, which was then in the Northwestern States Mission. Our meetinghouse was a single room. Curtains were hung from cross wires to divide the room into sections. Besides passing the sacrament, it was the deacon’s job to pull the curtains when we separated for classes. Since I wasn’t a member of the Church, I wasn’t able to perform these duties. I did attend meetings, however, and I joined the Scout troop. I became the first Eagle Scout of that troop and the second Eagle Scout in Boise, Idaho.
“When I was thirteen, I decided I didn’t want to be different from the rest of the boys, so I asked my father if I could be baptized. My sister and I were baptized the same day.”

“Traveling without purse or scrip is pretty heavy,” Wilford Woodruff joked to his missionary companion, Henry Brown. Wilford lifted the small suitcase filled with copies of the Book of Mormon to his back and pulled the ropes around his shoulders.
“These valises of books will protect us if Missouri mobbers try to shoot us from behind,” Henry replied.
Crossing Missouri in 1834 was dangerous, but Wilford had faith the Lord would protect them. Besides, it was the quickest way to Tennessee and the other southern states, where Wilford and Henry had been called to serve as missionaries.
“Let’s get on our way,” Wilford said. “So many people in Missouri hate us that it may be a very long walk before we find food or a place to sleep.”
That day Wilford and Henry did not find anyone who would give them food or lodging. They ate what they found at the edges of fields and in the woods and slept on the ground. After several days, they came to a place called Harmony Mission, where a minister and his family lived. “Could you spare food and a bed for fellow ministers?” Henry asked.
“Are you Mormons?” the minister asked.
“Yes,” Wilford said.
“Then there’s nothing,” the minister said.
“Does anyone else live nearby?” Henry asked.
“Jereu the Frenchman keeps a trading post 12 miles down the Osage River,” the minister said. “Maybe he’d feed Mormons. Follow the river.” Then the minister laughed.
Henry and Wilford soon understood why. The river was terribly crooked, and when the sun went down they were left to wallow in muddy water. Late that night they dragged themselves out onto the dry prairie, said their prayers, and lay down on the ground.
Soon they were awakened by someone singing and drumming on a tin pail.
“Someone who sings has food,” Wilford said.
The two men picked up their valises and stumbled toward the singing. Soon they could see the campfires of the Osage Indian village.
Mr. Jereu and his wife gave Henry and Wilford a delicious supper and comfortable beds. Before they fell asleep, the missionaries thanked the Lord for leading them to these kind people.

I can still remember the storm that first Sunday of September 1989. I was living in the Cadiz Ward of the Cadiz Philippines Stake. The skies filled with great, black clouds, and rain poured down.
Sacrament meeting started punctually at 9:00 A.M. I looked around the chapel and saw that most of the benches were empty. In fact, only five people were in attendance. It was hard for the members to get to church in the rain, especially those who lived far away.
A few more people filtered in while we were singing the opening hymn. More continued to arrive while the names of new ward members were being read.
When we began to sing the sacrament hymn, I looked around again. I was surprised to see an unusually large congregation of about 100 people. I looked at the two brethren breaking the bread for the sacrament. Something was troubling them—I could tell by the looks on their faces. The hymn ended, and one man knelt to offer the blessing on the bread.
To my surprise, after the prayer the men at the sacrament table did not proceed immediately. Their heads remained bowed for a moment. Then they started handing the trays to the Aaronic Priesthood holders. The young men also had sober looks on their faces as they accepted the trays. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer too.
After the sacrament had been passed, the bishop gave the members time to bear their testimonies. The first person to come to the pulpit was one of the men who had blessed the sacrament. He spoke of the great love God has for all His children. I felt my bosom burn within me as I listened. I was filled with joy and gratitude for my testimony that God lives and that He does love us.
This speaker was followed by his companion at the sacrament table. In an emotional voice, he told us that we had witnessed a miracle that day. He explained that the bishop had brought only two small rolls of bread for the sacrament. Since the rains were heavy, he probably expected the congregation to be smaller than normal.
Then the members began to flood in. The two men knew that no matter how they broke the bread, there wasn’t going to be enough. So after the sacrament prayer, they said another prayer and told the Lord there were only about 40 pieces of bread to serve 100 people or more. They asked for divine intervention.
Then the bread was passed to the people. The two brethren watched carefully as every person desiring to do so partook of the sacrament. There was enough for all.
As we learned what had happened, the congregation was silent for a few moments. The Spirit could be felt so strongly that nobody wanted to break that silence. Tears filled our eyes.
The silence was finally broken by the voice of our bishop, who stood to tell us how blessed we were to have the priesthood of God. With God, he said, nothing is impossible. Heavenly Father moves in mysterious ways to bestow blessings on His children. If we pray in faith, He hears our prayers and answers them.

I am indeed grateful that I was given the unique and distinctive opportunity to attend this institution many years ago and for the positive effect it has had on my life. I came to BYU–Hawaii when I was 17, an inexperienced freshman from Apia, Samoa, very timid and shy. I lived in Hale 3 when the apartment spaces consisted of 8 small rooms with a separating curtain in what was then referred to as a “unit.” In our unit were three Samoans, one Japanese, two Canadians, one Mainlander, and one Hawaiian. While school was in session, the school and dorms were packed with students. During the summer and winter holidays, the locals and mainland students went home. Those of us from Samoa, Tonga, New Zealand, Australia, Philippines, Asia and basically from the entire Pacific Rim, remained on campus. Even though there were no classes, we worked full-time to earn money to pay for our student loans. Each payday, we went to the business office to endorse our paychecks and receive money for tithing and personal spending. On one occasion as we stood in line, the lady at the window handed a student his paycheck to sign and return. We were all shocked when he ran off with it. She tried calling him back, but he had disappeared very quickly. It was humorous at the time, but I have since felt empathy for that student. There would have been numerous reasons why he desperately needed that money.

Eating in the cafeteria was a luxury during the summer so in order to reduce spending, we opted to provide our own meals. There was no grocery store in Laie so this developed our talents to become very creative. I remember sharing a pack of hot dogs someone gave us and a roommate showing us how to grill each dog on a hot iron. Sometimes we went into the mountains looking for mangoes, papaya and bananas. One of our roommates found an old electric frying pan to cook with. It was the first time I learned to cut up and fry green papaya to make stir fry with a can of fish. Another roommate worked at the PCC diner. When tourists left uneaten food on their plates, she would bring it home for all of us to enjoy. Our dorm parent was Bella Stokoe. On occasion she would make a large pot of Koko rice and feed us when we arrived home from work. On the weekends, there was no food to eat. We became more creative. We walked down the streets of Laie and began knocking on doors. One of us would stand at the opened doors and say, "We are hungry. Do you have any food to spare?" Sometimes the answer was "sorry we don't."

We were fortunate when people like Sister Valu Ta’ilele, Sister Ta’aloga Stone, Sister Eka Aumua, Sister Ann Rivers and Sister Malia Leiataua would recognize us and hand us food or invite us in. I am grateful and will never forget these mothers who loved us, who had hearts of gold to give and fed us “at such a time as this.” Their acts of kindness have had a great effect on my life forever. It has taught me to do things for people NOT because of who they are or what they do for you in return, but because of who I am. It has taught me to simply reach out and LOVE without expectation.

Becoming Mormon also caused temporary setbacks for the children. “I was in a Catholic High school. When they found out we had been baptized, I was not able to return the next year,” Helga explained. Ruth, who had already registered and made a down payment on her school fees, was told she could not attend, and was not given a refund. “But the ward members helped us and made sure we knew we at least had them for friends. They helped my dad in his work. They talked to us about new schools. They showed us they cared,” Helga says. The other villagers didn’t mean to be cruel, the Kandlers explain; they just didn’t understand. “They thought we’d fallen away from God,” Brother Kandler says. “But now, with a little time to get used to us, they can see we’ve actually grown closer to him.”
Soon the family was back on its feet, and the girls were registered in new schools.

“Lowell, can you stay a few minutes after class? I’d like to talk to you,” Mr. Taylor, my tenth-grade history teacher, asked. He addressed me directly, which drew the attention of the other students, something I didn’t want, but I answered with a reluctant nod that I would stay.
My schoolwork had suffered in the past few weeks. My sense of self-worth had practically disappeared, and I had developed an inferiority complex. I had a bad case of acne and had become self-conscious because of the blemishes on my face. There was no way I could hide them. I imagined everyone was looking at me and saying, “Look at that ugly, pimple-faced kid.” I didn’t feel there was any place for me, in or out of school.
I tried not to associate with anyone. What did it matter if I didn’t get good grades in school or participate in the sports I used to enjoy? Even my church duties became unimportant.
I felt especially bad about letting my grades drop off in history because I liked Mr. Taylor. He wasn’t a trained philosopher or psychologist, just a good teacher who was genuinely concerned about his students.
I stayed in my seat when the others left the classroom. Mr. Taylor came and sat in a desk opposite me.
“Lowell, your schoolwork has fallen off lately. You have gone from a B student to a D. But I don’t care about that as much as I care about what’s happening to you.” He paused, waiting to hear a comment from me, then continued.
“Maybe we could find a solution to get you back on track. Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you,” he said.
“Mr. Taylor, you see this acne on my face. I want to stay away from people. I don’t want anyone to see me. I really want to do as well as I can in school, but I don’t want to draw attention to my looks.” I stopped and waited for Mr. Taylor to speak.
“Do you think Coach Forsberg would say, ‘That kid has pimples, so he can’t play for me.’ No. If you can’t play for Coach Forsberg, it will be because you don’t put forth the effort. Do you think Coach Worthington is not going to let you high jump because your face doesn’t look just right? He doesn’t care if your nose is in the back of your head, as long as you are a good high jumper and can help the team,” said Mr. Taylor.
“Do you think if you work hard in my class and earn an A or a B, I’m going to say, ‘That kid has acne, so I’ll give him a D?’ Absolutely not, nor will any of your other teachers,” Mr. Taylor finished.
I gave what he told me a lot of thought. With my present self-conscious attitude, I wasn’t realizing any of my goals. I left the classroom with a determination to raise my head a little higher and test out his ideas.
I wasn’t a great football hero, but I made the team. I high jumped in track, and my grades improved. I even did my church duties again. I wasn’t a loner anymore. I had friends.
I was still conscious of my appearance, but I wasn’t letting it rule my life.
“Let what’s on the inside outshine what’s on the outside, and you’ll come out a winner,” Mr. Taylor used to say.
Thanks, Mr. Taylor.

I remember when I was a returned missionary, and having searched the scriptures diligently, I thought I knew it all. During our courtship, Blanquy and I would study the scriptures together. I used many of my notes and references to share my knowledge of the gospel with her. After we married I came to a serious realization as I learned a great lesson from her: I may have tried to teach her the gospel, but she taught me how to live it.

It was years after I was a deacon when I learned what that means practically. For instance, as a high priest, I was assigned to visit a care center sacrament meeting. I was asked to pass the sacrament. Instead of thinking about the process or precision in the way I passed the sacrament, I instead looked in the faces of each elderly person. I saw many of them weeping. One lady grabbed my sleeve, looked up, and said aloud, “Oh, thank you, thank you.”
The Lord had blessed my service given in His name. That day I had prayed for such a miracle to come instead of praying for how well I might do my part. I prayed that the people would feel the Lord’s love through my loving service. I have learned this is the key to serving and blessing others in His name.

If you don't mind hearing a personal story, I'd like to share with you my BYU-Idaho experience. I do so not because I think my story is noteworthy but because it might help those of you who are looking at your next 40 years--or even your next semester--with trepidation.
Canada Trip, 1976
The day after I graduated from high school in 1976, I left with a friend for a weeklong road trip from Utah to Canada. We borrowed my grandma's car and packed it with the essentials: two sleeping bags, several cans of fruit cocktail, and a couple dozen frozen burritos.
The trip was great until the last few days, when we ran out of food and most of our money. Then, somewhere near Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, we noticed that we were almost out of gas. We found a gas station, but the price of gas was 20 percent higher than we had paid in a previous town. Thoroughly offended by this literal example of highway robbery, we kept right on driving, thinking to ourselves, "We'll show them who's smart." Well, 15 miles down the road, in the middle of nowhere, we ran out of gas. We hitched a ride back to the town and humbly begged for the use of a gas can. Two hours later we were back on the road, a little humbler, a little poorer, and hopefully a little wiser.
First Semester at Ricks College
I had planned to attend the University of Utah, but in August I had a strong impression that I should go to Ricks--an impression that may have been amplified by the fact that Jane Stringham was also planning to go to Ricks. I called the football coach, and he said he could offer a scholarship. Before I knew it, I was on the football field during the first day of practice. Coach Tiny Grant shook my hand, assigned two players to be my roommates, and told me to get a haircut--my hair did not quite meet the dress and grooming standards. Now, at about 6-foot-5, 300 pounds, Tiny Grant was not so tiny, so I obeyed!
I made the first team as a running back, but soon I faced a dilemma. My sister was getting sealed in the Salt Lake Temple the next weekend, so I asked Coach Grant if I could go home for her wedding. He said it was my choice, but I might not retain my starting spot when I returned. I chose to go. I got tickets for an 8 a.m. flight from Idaho Falls to Salt Lake.
This would be my first time flying alone, but I wasn't worried. I had everything planned out: I woke up that morning at 7, got ready, and made the 30-minute drive to Idaho Falls. I arrived at the airport at 7:55 feeling pretty good--I had a good five minutes to spare! On my way from the parking lot to the terminal, however, I learned that my plane was about to leave. "You'll never make it," the airport personnel told me. In a panic, I ran onto the tarmac--you could do that in a small airport in those days--and waved my hands in front of the plane, yelling, "Don't leave! I need to get on the plane! It's my sister's wedding!" The next thing I remember was two security men hauling me off the tarmac, saying, "You're not getting on that plane!"
Needless to say, I missed my sister's wedding. But I did manage to convince security that I was not a serious threat, and I caught a later flight in time for her reception. When I returned to Rexburg on Monday, I also learned that I had lost my starting spot on the team for the next week's game.
As you can see, I had plenty of growing up to do during my first few months at Ricks College.
Spiritual Milestones
But I don't want you to think that all of my learning experiences were misadventures with planes and automobiles. I also made some wise decisions. For example, it was during my first semester at Ricks that I decided to read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover. Somehow, I had never done that before. I'd read from the Book of Mormon--I had even taught lessons from it. I could tell you why we have the Book of Mormon and why it's important, and I could bear testimony that it is the word of God. But now a full-time mission was approaching, and I sensed that my conviction about the Book of Mormon was more in my head than in my heart. I knew that as a missionary, I needed more than just a working knowledge of the Book of Mormon--I wanted to teach from the heart!
So I set a goal to finish the Book of Mormon before the Thanksgiving break. I read every day after football practice. This was a life-changing experience. For the first time, the stories I had heard in pieces started flowing together. I could almost see Nephi, Alma, and Captain Moroni; visions of their experiences formed in my mind, and I can still see those images to this day. It was my first real experience "feasting upon the word of Christ,"[1] and it was "delicious to me."[2]
On the day before Thanksgiving, I was in Ether, so I stayed up all night and accomplished my goal. When I finished, I prayed, as Moroni suggests, to "ask God ... if these things are not true."[3] Did I receive a dramatic revelation? No. But I did receive a feeling of peace, consistent with the feelings I had while reading the book. I now had the ingredient that was missing, not just in my mission preparation but in my conversion to the Savior.
At the end of the semester came a rapid succession of spiritual milestones--I received the Melchizedek Priesthood, my patriarchal blessing, my endowment in the temple, and a call to serve in the Texas San Antonio Mission. By March 17, 1977, the young man who ran out of gas in the middle of Idaho and ran out onto the tarmac at the Idaho Falls airport was serving the Lord in the mission field.

That’s when the young missionaries found me. I have always had a soft spot for those who evangelize, knowing the rejection they often face, so I welcomed them. If they came while I was eating, I put my food aside. If I was napping, I got up. But I was a skeptical audience. When they declared, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only true church on earth,” I almost asked them to leave. How could that be, when I had witnessed God’s work in so many other places?
Their patience was my gateway. They never dismissed my questions. When I challenged them, they often said, “That’s a good question. We need to study and come back with an answer.” Their intellectual honesty was refreshing; they weren’t selling a simple product. They encouraged me to pray about it myself. I took this challenge to the Lord in earnest prayer. “I have served You in another church,” I pleaded. “You have worked with me there. Do You mean to say all those deliverances and miracles were not from You?” The answer I felt was not a denial of my past experiences but an invitation: You’ve been here, and you’ve been there—why not be here too and find out the truth for yourself?
I began reading the Book of Mormon. I compared what I was learning with what I knew. I saw a stark contrast in missionary work. In my former church, “evangelism” often meant convincing members of other congregations to join ours. It was about numbers. But these young men had left their homes and families for two years, dedicating themselves entirely to teaching anyone who would listen. Their commitment was a testament to their belief.
The most profound shift came when I learned about the Restoration of the priesthood authority. In my charismatic background, the laying on of hands was a tense moment; we believed a person’s spiritual character could be transferred, for good or ill. The concept of authority restored by heavenly messengers, not just claimed through personal revelation, resonated with a deep need for order and divine sanction I didn’t know I had. This understanding became the keystone of my budding testimony.
As my baptismal interview approached, I wrestled intensely. The enemy of my soul whispered doubts. What if you are making a mistake? Think of the backlash from your community. The night before the interview, I prayed for a sign, a specific confirmation that I was on the right path. The next evening, while running an errand, my eye was caught by something fluttering in the middle of a busy highway. It was a 100-cedi note. As I waited for traffic to clear, a second note appeared, tumbling to meet the first. In that moment, a thought, clear and penetrating as a voice, entered my mind: Are you not the one who asked for a sign pertaining to your decision? I knew it was the Lord. He had provided both a spiritual answer and, in my time of need, temporal sustenance.
The interview itself was anti-climactic. The young elder began his questions, and I immediately stated, “Yes, of course. I believe this is the only true Church.” It was no longer a statement of theory but of settled fact in my soul.
My baptism day was the most spiritually significant of my life. Dressing in white, I felt like a king. The members of the ward had stayed after their own services to support me, a gesture of love that moved me deeply. As I stepped into the water, the symbolism of burial and resurrection with Christ, which I had taught so many times before, finally felt completely real and personal. It was a covenant, not just a ritual.

President Oaks also is blessed with the spiritual gift of discernment and the ability to recognize the long-term consequences of proposals, decisions, and actions. This capacity is manifested in a question he often asks himself and others: “Where will it lead?”2 A person simply cannot talk or counsel in council with President Oaks and not recognize immediately how this ability has benefitted countless individuals and families and the entire Church during his lifetime of service to the Lord.

On a summer night in 1970, President Oaks had a frightening encounter with an armed robber on Chicago’s South Side as he returned to his parked car. His wife, June, was waiting for him in the vehicle.
“Give me your money,” the young mugger demanded.
“I don’t have any,” Brother Oaks replied, showing him his empty wallet.
“Give me your car keys,” he ordered. The keys were locked in the car with Sister Oaks. “Tell her to open the car,” the robber insisted. Brother Oaks said no.
The robber threatened,“Do it, or I’ll kill you.”
Brother Oaks said firmly, “I won’t do it.”
While the robber repeated his demands and threats, Brother Oaks saw an opportunity to wrestle the gun away from the young man. As President Oaks described in a 1992 general conference message, “Just as I was about to make my move, I had a unique experience. I did not see anything or hear anything, but I knew something. I knew what would happen if I grabbed that gun. We would struggle, and I would turn the gun into that young man’s chest. It would fire, and he would die. I also understood that I must not have the blood of that young man on my conscience for the rest of my life.”3
This miraculous manifestation of the gift of discernment enabled President Oaks to resolve the confrontation and ultimately saved his own life and the life of the young robber.
More recently, in a meeting of the Missionary Executive Council, which Elder Oaks chaired at the time, we counseled together about a proposal related to the missionaries serving in a particular area of the world. After all council members had expressed their views on the matter, Elder Oaks asked several questions and summarized what had been learned. He then stated, “I do not feel we are yet settled on this matter. We should wait upon the Lord and not make a final decision now.”
Events a few months later dramatically highlighted the inspiration that attended that decision to wait. The council, acting under the inspired leadership of Elder Oaks, had been blessed to make the right decision, at the right time, and in the Lord’s way to protect the missionaries and prosper the work.

Caroline is a holder of a PathwayConnect certificate and has had to pause her studies to allow for the birth of their second baby a few months ago. “I will pick up again this coming September; I have already enrolled,” she said. Looking back on her journey through PathwayConnect, Caroline says, “The journey was not easy because we have many things that we need to accomplish as mothers. However, with faith and lessons from BYU–PathwayConnect, I forged ahead and finished PathwayConnect. Weekly devotionals were the daily drive to keep me moving on. Meeting my fellow students during weekly gatherings and getting to hear their experiences built me and encouraged me. I pleaded with my Heavenly Father for help and strength so that I could accomplish my studies.”

I’m so grateful for this opportunity to be in this great priesthood meeting, to have heard such wonderful teaching and testimony. It made me think of my own experience. Almost everything that I’ve been able to accomplish as a priesthood bearer is because individuals who knew me saw things in me that I couldn’t see.
As a young father I prayed to know what contributions my children might make in the Lord’s kingdom. For the boys, I knew they could have priesthood opportunities. For the girls, I knew they would give service representing the Lord. All would be doing His work. I knew each was an individual, and therefore the Lord would have given them specific gifts for each to use in His service.
Now, I cannot tell every father and every leader of youth the details of what is best for you to do. But I can promise you that you will bless them to help them recognize the spiritual gifts with which they were born. Every person is different and has a different contribution to make. No one is destined to fail. As you seek revelation to see gifts God sees in those you lead in the priesthood—particularly the young—you will be blessed to lift their sights to the service they can perform. With your guidance, those you lead will be able to see, want, and believe they can achieve their full potential for service in God’s kingdom.
With my own children, I prayed for revelation to know how I could help each of them individually prepare for specific opportunities to serve God. And then I tried to help them visualize, hope, and work for this future. I carved a board for each son with a quotation from scripture that described his special gifts and an image that represented this gift. Beneath the picture and the legend, I carved the dates of each boy’s baptism and ordination into priesthood offices, with his height marked at the date of each milestone.
I will describe the boards I carved for each son to help him see his spiritual gifts and what he might contribute in the Lord’s work. You can be inspired to recognize, as I did, specific gifts and unique opportunities for each of the youth you love and lead.
When my oldest son became a deacon and an Eagle Scout, a picture of an eagle came to my mind as I thought of him and his future. We were living in Idaho near the base of the South Teton mountain, where we hiked together and watched the eagles soar. That picture in my mind gave me the feeling of Isaiah’s words:
“He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.
“Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall:
“But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; they shall walk, and not faint.”
In fact, with that oldest son, we had stopped hiking below the peak of the South Teton because my son grew weary. He wanted to stop. He said, “Will I always be sorry that we didn’t make it to the top? Dad, you go on—I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
I replied, “I’ll never be disappointed, and you’ll never be sorry. We’ll always remember that we climbed here together.” At the top of his height board, I carved an eagle and the inscription “On Eagles’ Wings.”
Over the years, my son soared higher as a missionary than I had imagined in my fondest hopes. In the challenges of the mission field, some of what he faced seemed to be above his reach. For the boy you lift, it may be, as it was for my son, that the Lord lifted him higher in preaching the gospel in a difficult language than I had thought possible. If you will try with any young man to sense his priesthood possibilities, I promise you the Lord will tell you as much as you need. The boy may have potential even beyond what the Lord will reveal to you. Help him aim high.
The boy you are encouraging may seem too timid to be a powerful priesthood servant. Another one of my sons was so shy as a little boy that he wouldn’t walk into a store and talk to a clerk. He was too afraid. I worried as I prayed over his priesthood future. I thought of him in the mission field—that didn’t sound promising. I was led to a scripture in Proverbs: “The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are bold as a lion.”
I carved “Bold as a Lion” on his board, beneath an image of a large lion’s head roaring. On his mission and in the years that followed, he fulfilled the hope in my carving. My once-shy son preached the gospel with great conviction and faced dangers with bravery. He was magnified in his responsibilities to represent the Lord.
That can happen for the young man you are leading. You need to build his faith that the Lord can transform him into a servant braver than the timid boy you now see.
We know the Lord makes His servants bold. The young boy Joseph who saw God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, in a grove of trees was transformed into a spiritual giant. Parley P. Pratt saw that when the Prophet Joseph Smith rebuked the vile guards who held them captive. Elder Pratt recorded:
“On a sudden he arose to his feet, and spoke in a voice of thunder, or as the roaring lion, uttering, as near as I can recollect, the following words:
“‘SILENCE, ye fiends of the infernal pit. In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you, and command you to be still; I will not live another minute and hear such language. Cease such talk, or you or I die THIS INSTANT!’”
Of that experience, Elder Pratt wrote, “Dignity and majesty have I seen but once, as it stood in chains, at midnight, in a dungeon in an obscure village of Missouri.”
The Lord will give His righteous servants opportunities to be bold as lions when they speak in His name and as witnesses in His priesthood.
Another son, even as a boy, had a large circle of friends who often sought his company. He forged bonds easily among people. As I prayed and tried to foresee his contribution in God’s kingdom, I felt that he would have the power to draw people together in love and unity.
That led me to the account in the Doctrine and Covenants that describes the efforts of priesthood elders to build Zion in Missouri to the acclaim of angels who saw their efforts and their contributions. That required great sacrifice. The revelation in the Doctrine and Covenants says, “Nevertheless, ye are blessed, for the testimony which ye have borne is recorded in heaven for the angels to look upon; and they rejoice over you, and your sins are forgiven you.”
On my son’s height board, I carved “Angels Rejoice over You.”
This son’s great ability to gather and influence people extended well beyond his school years. With fellow priesthood holders, he organized stake activities that gave the youth in his area faith to endure and even triumph in difficult situations. As he built faith in these young men and women, he helped build outposts of Zion in the urban centers of America. In the carving, I had the angels blowing trumpets, which may not be exactly how they do it, but it was easier to carve a trumpet than a shout.
Angels rejoice as priesthood leaders across the world build Zion in their wards, stakes, and missions. And they will rejoice over the young men and women you help to build Zion wherever they are and in whatever circumstances they may be. Zion is the result of people bound by covenant and love. I invite you to help your youth to join.
For one of my sons, I was prompted to carve a sun—that is, the sun in the sky—and the words from the Savior’s Intercessory Prayer: “This Is Life Eternal.” Near the end of His mortal ministry, the Savior prayed to His Father:
“And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.
“I have glorified thee on the earth: I have finished the work which thou gavest me to do.”
My son has given priesthood service across three continents but most importantly in his home and within his family. He has built his life around them. He works close to home, and he often returns to join his wife and younger children at the lunch hour. His family lives very near Sister Eyring and me. They care for our yard as though it were their own. This son is living not only to qualify for eternal life but also to live surrounded eternally by grateful family members whom he is gathering around him.
Life eternal is to live in unity, in families, with the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Eternal life is only possible through the keys of the priesthood of God, which were restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith. Holding that eternal goal before the youth you lead is as great a gift as you could give them. You will do it primarily by example in your own family. Those you lead may not have a family in the Church, but I challenge you to help them feel and want the love of family on both sides of the veil.
The height boards I have described are only one way to help young people glimpse the grandeur God sees in them and their futures and the unique service He has prepared them to give. He will help you see how to do it for your children or for other youth you lead. But as you prayerfully seek to glimpse this future for yourself and to communicate it to the young person one on one, you will come to know that God loves each of His children as individuals and sees great and unique gifts in each of them.
As a father I was blessed to see great futures in God’s kingdom for my daughters as well as my sons. When I prayerfully sought guidance, I was shown a way to help my daughters recognize the trust God had placed in them as servants who could build His kingdom.
When my daughters were young, I saw that we could help others feel the love of those beyond the veil, throughout the generations. I knew that love comes from service and inspires hope of life eternal.
So we carved breadboards on which we placed a loaf of homemade bread and went together to deliver our offering to widows, widowers, and families. The legend I carved on each of those breadboards read, “J’aime et J’espere,” French for “I love and I hope.” The evidence of their unique spiritual gifts appeared not just on the boards I carved but more clearly as we distributed them to those who needed, in the midst of pain or loss, reassurance that the love of the Savior and His Atonement could produce a perfect brightness of hope. This is life eternal for my daughters and for each of us.
Now, you may be thinking, “Brother Eyring, are you saying that I have to learn how to carve?” The answer is no. I learned to carve only with the help of a kind and gifted mentor, then-Elder Boyd K. Packer. What little skill I achieved can be attributed to his great gift as a carver and his patience as a teacher. Only heaven can provide such a mentor as President Packer. But there are many ways you can shape children’s hearts without carving wooden boards or height boards for them.

“Mama, look at this one!” Joshua pointed to the Christmas tree. It was tall and skinny, with perfect green needles.
Mama paused and looked at the price tag. She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Joshua sighed and kept walking. The market was crowded with stalls of food and Christmas trees. It was crowded with families buying trees and ingredients to make delicious treats, like bûche de Noël (Yule log dessert). Mama had brought Joshua with her to buy some food, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the Christmas trees. Some of the trees were tall and thin. Others were short and round. Joshua even saw one that was just his height!
Mama said they didn’t have a lot of money this year. They probably wouldn’t be able to buy a tree. That made Joshua a little sad. Whenever he went to the marketplace with Mama, he kept looking for the perfect Christmas tree. Maybe, just maybe, they could find a tree to take home.
Joshua held Mama’s hand as they walked to the next row of trees. Joshua gasped. There it was—the perfect tree!
He ran ahead and put a hand on the tree. It wasn’t very green. It was missing clumps of needles. It wasn’t too tall. In fact, it was bent far over, like an old man leaning on a cane.
“Mama, it’s perfect!” Joshua said. “Can we take it home? Please?”
Mama glanced at the price tag. “Well, it’s not too many euros. And I think we can fit it in the car.”
Joshua could hardly wait. He kept playing with the sleeves of his coat as he waited for Mama to pay for the tree. Then a nice man helped them place the tree in the car. When they were finally home, his stepbrother, Matthieu, and Papa helped take the tree from the car. They carried the tree inside and set it in the corner of their front room.
“First, we need to do the lights,” Matthieu said.
It was hard to hang the lights up since the tree was so bent over. Matthieu put the lights on the top. Joshua put them on the bottom. Next they hung the ornaments. Finally Papa helped Joshua place the star on the top.
Papa plugged in the lights and put an arm around Mama. Joshua smiled at the tree. The tree’s lights made the whole room feel warm and cozy. He sat underneath the tree and looked up at the brightly colored ornaments. The tree didn’t look as bent over and sad now. It was beautiful. It was perfect.
“It’s a perfect Jesus tree,” Joshua said.
“What do you mean?” Mama asked.
“Our tree is just like Jesus,” Joshua said. “Jesus was born in a poor, dirty manger. Our tree was poor and sad in the marketplace. But now the tree is beautiful and grand, just like how Jesus became a beautiful king.”
“Our perfect Jesus tree,” Papa said. “I love that.”
Joshua smiled. This was going to be a very special Christmas.

Class was starting, and I felt as nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm.
After roll call we’d be starting with Kenny’s speech. That would give me about 15 to 20 minutes. Why do I have to give my speech today? I thought. Why did I choose Joseph Smith as my “famous American”?
The majority of the class were Baptist, including the teacher. I was the only Mormon in the whole group. Boy, I had nerve the day I chose this topic.
Kenny was almost finished. No one had any questions about Kenny’s speech on Eisenhower.
It was my turn.
“My ‘famous American’ is Joseph Smith,” I began. ‘He was born in …” My speech lasted about ten minutes—not bad.
“Any questions?” the teacher asked.
It was so silent you could have heard a pin drop.
“Well, I have one,” my teacher replied. “What is the name of the church that Joseph started?”
I knew I had left out something and it would be the most important part. I answered, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, more commonly known as the Mormons.”
That started the questions: Where did the plates come from? Who was Moroni? How did he get the plates? And oh, yes, the usual question—What about polygamy? By this time I was feeling pretty good. I answered all of the questions that I could, and then one guy, who I’ll always be thankful to, asked, “How do you know it’s true?”
This question touched me. I truly felt the Spirit in my heart and in the room.
I looked at my questioner and said, “Billy, have you ever felt so right about something that no matter what anybody else says, you know it’s true? You know in your heart, and no one can persuade you otherwise?”
A hush came over the class. Even the teacher didn’t have a reply.
I’ll always be thankful to Billy for helping me realize that I do have a testimony and that I shouldn’t keep it inside.
I had been in front of the class answering questions for over 30 minutes. We even missed part of our break. And I felt radiant the rest of the day.
This experience helped me realize that people want to know about the gospel. I also realized that I have a duty to share my knowledge with others.

As time went by, a pair of missionaries taught us the riches of the restored gospel, of the doctrine of the plan of salvation, and of eternal families. We were baptized, and when my father began his calling as district president, his first objective was to journey to the temple and receive the blessings which would come because of that sacrifice. It was a 15-day journey covering 4,800 miles (7,725 km)—a journey filled with difficulties and setbacks, highways in poor condition, uncomfortable buses, not even knowing the route, but with great hope in the ordinances we would participate in.
Upon arriving in the city of Mesa, Arizona, we headed down an avenue at the end of which we could see the house of the Lord, gleaming and beautiful. I remember the joy which filled our hearts; we all broke out in songs and praising, and tears ran down the cheeks of many Saints.
Later in the temple, we knelt as a family to hear the beautiful promises about an eternal family, with the certainty that our mother, though absent, was now our mother forever, and we felt the peace which comes from knowing that we are an eternal family.
The promise of life eternal thus gave us the riches of eternity! “Behold, he that hath eternal life is rich” (D&C 6:7).

At first glance, Jo Lynn Potter comes across as a pert, sun-bronzed, 16-year-old LDS girl, full of the wonders and woes common to her age. She is. But she’s something more too, Jo Lynn’s a rodeo rider, and last August at the National High School Rodeo Jo Lynn was named the All-Around Cowgirl, a title she’s working to defend in this year’s competition.
The rodeo was a time of achievement in her life. Besides winning the “all-around” title with a total of 960 points (almost double the score of the runner-up), Jo Lynn saw her Arizona team capture the team trophy with 1,900 points. During the course of the Ogden, Utah, competition she also clocked 16.86 seconds in barrel racing (her favorite event) to win the event’s championship for the United States and Canada. The awards day was a big one for Jo Lynn and her family. It came as the climax to a lot of hard work and overcoming some hard luck several weeks before.
Jo Lynn’s parents are both professional athletes. Her mother is a barrel racer and her father is a calf and team roper. For Jo Lynn’s 15th birthday several weeks before the Ogden finals, they presented her with a horse, Auto Dial, that had won over $40,000 in his career.
On the way from their home in Tucson to the Ogden finals, the Potters made a side trip to several professional rodeos in Idaho. One night Auto Dial “got down in his pen” and somehow completely severed the ligaments and arteries in his leg. After nearly six hours of work, a veterinarian recommended that Jo Lynn’s horse be put to sleep. Her hope of winning in the finals was badly shaken.
But there was still a chance. The Potters had brought along a young, newly trained horse called Moon. He was a fairly inexperienced five-year-old, but Jo Lynn had faith in him, and for good cause. Together, Jo Lynn and Moon went on to the championship.
Jo Lynn has been involved in rodeo activities since about the age of ten. “I’m looking forward to college rodeo in a few years,” she says, “but beyond that, it’s too soon to tell about professional rodeo.”
Would it be hard for her as a woman to get anywhere in the professional rodeo world?
“Anyone can do well as long as they’ve got a good horse and know what they’re doing,” says Jo Lynn emphatically. “A good horse is very important.”
The Potters enjoy their role as Church members in the rodeo world. They often discuss the Church with the people they meet on the circuits and have been responsible for the conversion of at least one family.
The family attends Church meetings no matter where they may be in the country, and believe they have “probably attended more different wards than any other LDS family, except the General Authorities.”
For Jo Lynn the rodeo has been a chance for growth.