Gospel Story Finder

“Abrams, Frank.”
“Here.”
“Bellerose, John.”
“Yeah.”
“Brown, Cindy.”
“Yo.”
“Cassady, Michelle.”
“Present.”
“Crandall, Alan.”
“Here.”
Mr. Rodenburg, my sixth-period English teacher, paused, just like all my other teachers had, looked up from his roll book, and stared at me.
“Are you Jim Crandall’s little brother?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to hide my embarrassment.
“He sure was a great football player. What’s he doing now?”
That was the fifth time that day I’d heard the exact same question.
“He’s at BYU.”
“You think he’ll play much this year?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
He eyed me curiously. “Do you play football?” Somebody in the back of the room snickered, and I felt my face redden as it always did when people asked me that.
“I, … ah, used to, but I don’t anymore.”
Mr. Rodenburg looked surprised. “Really? Jim Crandall’s little brother doesn’t play football? I guess he must have hogged up all the football genes in your family, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I muttered.
He finally left me alone and continued calling the roll.
Now don’t get me wrong. I love my big brother, Jim, but I hate being referred to as “Jim Crandall’s little brother.”
I can’t blame people, though, because Jim is pretty great. Before he graduated last year he broke every school football record a linebacker can break. He was all-state and all-America in football, lettered in basketball and track, and had football scholarship offers from everywhere in the universe. He was also in the National Honor Society, the Key Club, and was the senior class vice-president.
Jim was the kind of guy every teacher wants for a student, every coach wants for a player, every bishop wants in his priests quorum, every parent wants for a son, and every little brother doesn’t want for a big brother. Jim was Mr. Perfect, and as Mr. Perfect’s little brother, I was stuck trying to follow his act.
And Jim was a tough act to follow. Where he got A’s, I was lucky to get B’s and C’s. At 6 feet, 4 inches, and 220 pounds, Jim was built like a Greek statue; at 6 feet, 1 inch, and 160 pounds, I was built like a flimsy scarecrow. Before he went to BYU, Jim was the bishop’s Joseph (you know, the kid with the coat of many colors): priests quorum first assistant, seminary president, and Mr. Model Premissionary. He read the scriptures, lived the commandments, and earned his Eagle Scout Award when he was 16. I wanted to follow in his footsteps—who wouldn’t?—but I knew I could never measure up to my big brother.
Not that that bothered Jim.
“Hey look,” he told me after I got cut from the junior varsity football team, “it doesn’t make a bit of difference to me, or anybody else who matters, if you play football or not. You’ve got to be your own man, Alan. There are only two people you really need to worry about pleasing: Alan Crandall and,” he pointed upward, “Him.”
Sometimes, Jim reminded me of our bishop. Can you believe that—an 18-year-old kid who sounds like a bishop? I looked at Jim without smiling. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who got cut.”
“Maybe so, but believe me, Alan, football, basketball, all these high school sports are short-term stuff. You can’t play forever.”
“I still wish I had made the team.”
He stood up and slapped me on the back. “Well, it’s not the end of the world. There’s always next year, and there are other sports too, but life doesn’t revolve around sports. Remember that, Alan.”
I tried to remember that all football season as I watched Jim play the hero’s role in game after game.
I tried to remember that when I was cut from the JV basketball team two months later.
And I tried to remember that in the spring of my sophomore year, Jim’s senior year, when Coach Kerby talked to me after practice.
“Look, Crandall,” he said, “even though you’re Jim Crandall’s little brother, I don’t think you’re going to have much chance at running in any of our meets this season. You’re welcome to stick it out, but I wouldn’t blame you if you hung it up right now.”
He paused, looked at his watch, then at his clipboard, waiting for my answer.
I didn’t know what to say. “Let me think about it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He nodded and headed for the locker room.
“What’d Coach want?” Jim asked on our way home from practice.
“He said he wants to cut me.”
“No way. He’s never cut anybody from the track team.”
“Yeah, but he’s never had me try out either.”
“Knock it off, Alan. You know he won’t cut you if you want to stay on the team. What did he really say?”
I told him.
“So what are you going to tell him tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got to think about it.”
I ended up deciding to stay on the track team, not so much for the competition, but for the exercise. I didn’t participate in a meet all season, but I enjoyed it anyway. I was on the team because I wanted to be on the team, not because I thought people expected me to be.
And that same spring, Jim managed to find time between track meets and awards banquets, to accept a football scholarship from BYU. His choice didn’t surprise anybody. Where else would Mr. Perfect want to go?
“Well, Alan,” he said late one August evening a few days before he left for BYU, “it’s going to be different going to school without my little brother. What’ll you do while I’m gone?”
“I don’t know.”
“You planning on trying out for football again?”
“No, I think Madison High’s football team can survive without me this season. Besides, I don’t want to tarnish your reputation.”
Jim frowned. “I’m not worried about that. You’re one little brother any guy would be proud to have.” He was quiet for a minute. Then he smiled and said, “At least you won’t have to worry about being Jim Crandall’s little brother anymore, will you?”
“It’s not easy being a legend’s brother, but I think I’ll live. It doesn’t bother me anymore, honest, Jim.”
He jumped up, wrapped me in a headlock and messed up my hair. “Well, the school may forget me, but you better not. And I don’t want you getting any ideas about moving into my room. That’s off limits, you know, until I leave for my mission.”
“I know, I know.”
I remember the phone call clearly. Jim had been at BYU for three months, and according to his letters, he had been doing quite well. The coaches told him that if he continued to improve, he’d see some action before the end of the season.
The call came during dinner. “Hello?” said my dad as he answered the kitchen phone. “Yes, this is Mr. Crandall. Yes, Jim’s my son. Oh hello, Coach. This is a surprise. How’s he doing?” Dad’s face grew serious as he listened.
“I see. You say it happened this afternoon? I understand. Thanks for calling.” He carefully hung up the phone and turned to face Mom and me.
“That was Jim’s coach,” he said quietly. “Jim hurt his knee in practice today, and it looks bad. He’s in surgery now, so they won’t know how bad it is until tomorrow morning.”
It was bad. The next morning, a coach from BYU called and said Jim’s knee was so badly damaged that the doctors doubted he would play football again. Jim planned to finish out the last few weeks of classes and come home to prepare for his mission.
When he arrived at home, Jim looked the same, except for the cast and the crutches, of course, but he didn’t act the same. He wasn’t the same old Jim I had known, admired, and envied before he left for BYU.
The injury had changed my brother—almost as if it had knocked his usual rock-hard confidence and steadiness right out of him. He spent most of his time on the family room couch watching TV, reading, or lying on his back staring blankly at the ceiling. He rarely spoke, and when he did, he limited his speech to sighs, moans, and one word sentences like, “Yeah,” “Uh-uh,” and “Maybe.”
For a while, Jim’s friends visited him regularly, but he was so distant, so depressed that their visits became less frequent.
“Alan,” he told me as we sat watching TV one night, “this is crazy. I was second string, on the traveling squad. Everything was going great, and wham—it all fell apart. I just can’t believe it.”
“I don’t even know about a mission anymore,” he said tiredly. “With a bum leg, I doubt if they’d take me anyway. Who wants a handicapped companion to drag around from door to door?”
That surprised me. “What do you mean? You’ve always planned on going on a mission, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, but I always planned on playing college football too. Now that this has happened, I don’t know what I’m going to do, even what I can do. Everything I’ve planned for, worked for, seems like it’s gone to pieces.” He looked at me in misery. “Alan, what should I do?”
I didn’t know how to answer him. Almost all my life, I had been looking up to him, following his example, and now he was lying there, asking me, his little brother, for advice.
Then I had an idea. “Hey look, Big Brother,” I said reaching over to mess up his hair, “it doesn’t make any difference to me, or anybody else who matters, if you play football or not. There are only two people you really need to worry about pleasing: Jim Crandall and,” I pointed upward, “Him.”
When he recognized his speech, Jim grinned, for the first time in a long time. “Why you little smart aleck. That’s my sermon you’re preaching. Haven’t you ever heard about copyrights?”
“Nope.” I tapped his cast lightly. “Jim, I’m really sorry about your knee and everything, but that doesn’t mean you’re any less of a brother to me. Your injury hasn’t changed you or the way I feel about you.”
Jim was quiet for a few minutes, looking at me, his leg, the TV. Finally, his smile faded and he sighed, “I know that, Alan, but still … it’s hard.”
“If it helps any, Jim, I know how you feel. I really do.”
He stared at the plaster cast for a few minutes without speaking. Then he looked back up at me, a faint glimmer of the old warmth in his eyes. “Thanks, Alan. It does help. It helps a lot.”
Jim’s in Ecuador now. In his last letter he wrote, “I give thanks every day for this bum knee. It’s made me a lot faster—at least when it comes to feeling other people’s hurts and seeing their needs.”
On my desk I have a snapshot of Jim in his cast. He’s smiling and pointing to the spot on the plaster where I wrote a little note and signed it in big, proud letters: JIM CRANDALL’S LITTLE BROTHER.

Five years ago I was asked to be the managing director of the Welfare Services Department of the Church. Within a few days I received a phone call from President Marion G. Romney. He said, “Brother Pace, do you know anything about welfare?”
Under the circumstances, this was a sobering question, and I responded, “President, I’m sure I have much to learn.”
He asked me to set aside 3:00 p.m. each Friday for a meeting with him in which we could discuss welfare principles.
When I arrived at his office on the first Friday, President Romney’s secretary went into his office and announced, “Glenn Pace is here, President.”
He replied, “Oh yes, I’d like to see him, if he doesn’t stay too long.”
On my second visit, with “if he doesn’t stay too long” still ringing in my ears, I covered two items and then started shuffling my feet and papers, subtly signaling I was ready to leave. President Romney leaned across his desk with that twinkle in his eye and with a chuckle in his voice said, “Brother Pace, am I getting the impression you think you have something better to do?”
How I cherish those precious sessions spent with a man who has dedicated fifty years of service to the kingdom, especially in the area of welfare. He helped me to know President Harold B. Lee, President J. Reuben Clark, and other great leaders who emphasized the principles of welfare. I was counseled to measure all recommendations by the stated purpose of the welfare program as given by President Heber J. Grant in 1936.

I had an earlier experience of learning from someone else’s adversity. Many years ago a tragic accident impaired a boy in our ward. As a freshman in a faraway college, this mischievous boy made a bomb in a chemistry lab, and it exploded and blew off his hand. As I sought to compose a letter of comfort to him, the words of a hymn came into my mind. I remember clearly how I was overcome with emotion and stained the letter with tears as I wrote the words:

In the furnace God may prove thee, Thence to bring thee forth more bright, But can never cease to love thee; Thou art precious in his sight.
God is with thee, God is with thee; Thou shalt triumph in his might. [“Zion Stands with Hills Surrounded,” Hymns, no. 43, verse 3]

The young man was blessed in his adversity, and so was I. The words of that hymn have been among my comforting companions for almost thirty years. Since that time I have discovered the source of that vivid metaphor. It is the words the Lord spoke to the children of Israel through the prophet Isaiah: “Behold, I have refined thee . . . ; I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction” (Isaiah 48:10; 1 Nephi 20:10).

Craig didn’t know what he was going to do or where he would end up. That afternoon after church his mother had informed him that his parents were getting a divorce. His father would be moving back to Iowa. He could live with whichever parent he chose.

He had listened to her news and then asked, “Is that it then?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

Craig had gone outside and ridden his ten-speed all afternoon, his feelings churning up inside him. He loved both his parents. How could he choose between them? What was he going to do? He never would have thought that his parents would get a divorce. They had even been married in the temple. Why would they want to break up after all these years?

He had never felt so alone in his whole life. It was like his entire world was coming unglued.

At the fireside now, still in shock, he wiped a tear from his eye. Julie noticed, and reached over and touched his arm.

He wanted to tell how much her concern had meant to him. Right now he felt like his friends in the Church were the only thing he could count on. He loved them all so much. He knew some of them had had problems, and they had seemed to get through okay. Maybe if they all stuck together, he’d be able to get through this crisis.

He knew he couldn’t stand up and say anything to the group, but he wished everyone in that room knew how much he loved them.

Eta’s mom owns a dessert bakery on their island. Eta and her older sister, Talai, love to share with their teachers and leaders and with people who might be having a hard time. Sometimes they go for a drive with their mom and give cookies and other treats to people they see on the street. It makes people so happy, and it makes Eta and Talai happy to share. They get more joy from sharing food from the bakery than from eating it themselves! They are both learning to bake as one of their Children and Youth goals this year, so they always have treats to share.
Eta says, “I love sharing with others because it makes them glad, and it makes me glad. I know that’s what Heavenly Father wants us to do.“
Eta followed Jesus by sharing with others. Turn the page to read a story about how Jesus helped others.

Christmas as a family. Before I joined the Church, I thought that Christmas was just a time when people wore new clothes and shoes and when there were colored, blinking lights. But one December after I joined the Church, I received a letter and a card from the missionary who baptized me. Among his many words, the following stood out to me: “Christmas is a day when we can be with our families to have a beautiful dinner and to eat together.” It was a short sentence, but it had great significance to me.
That day I called everyone in my family to see if they could all come to a great Christmas dinner. Many were surprised because we had never celebrated Christmas as a family before, but they all accepted the invitation. My sisters and I worked hard so that everything would turn out right for our first family dinner. Everything was simple, but my mother was very happy, and everyone was excited to be together.
That Christmas was the happiest one I had ever had, and it was made possible by a simple card and letter reminding me that Christmas is a time to celebrate the birth of the Savior with my family. We have celebrated Christmas as a family ever since.Gedalva S., Brazil

On a Saturday in April, Sam stopped at my house with his old wrestling shoes hanging by their laces around his neck. Dad cranked the Ford, and it fired on the second turn and sputtered to life. We all climbed in for the ride to Sparwood.
“Who you boys wrestling tonight?” asked Dad as we drove by the coke ovens on the way out of town. Cold air was rushing through the floorboards and swimming around my feet.
“Ed said he’s bringing a truckload of kids from the coast,” said Sam, turning sideways in the front passenger seat. I noticed then that he had a pack of cigarettes stuffed in his shirt pocket. Dad noticed too.
“Good,” said Dad half-heartedly. “That’ll be … er, a change.”
We nodded, waiting to see if Dad was going to talk religion. He was.
“Sam,” he said, “were you ever baptized in your church?”
“Don’t know that I ever had a church,” Sam replied. “We went to the United once, when my mom’s family was in town, but …”
Dad interrupted, “I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just our Church believes in baptism, but a lot of religions do it differently. I was just wondering how you were baptized.”
I rolled my eyes. Dad was so obvious.
“I …” Sam didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sure Jed told you all this, but when Mormons are baptized and confirmed they take upon them the name of Jesus Christ. And we believe a person must be completely immersed in water, not just a sprinkling over the head.”
Sam looked back at me. I hadn’t told him anything about baptism. I couldn’t read his face, but I guessed he was wondering where this conversation was going.
“Hmmm, interesting,” was what he picked to say.
We reached the bottom of the border pass, and Dad revved the engine to get the Ford up the facing hill. It was a steep climb, and the old car slowed to a crawl. Dad talked to it all the way up, patting it on the dashboard like a horse, and promising it a sugar cube if it made it up without quitting. We laughed. Dad was usually full of jokes, except when he talked religion.
The mountain pass got steeper just as we reached the snow line. Suddenly, a burst of steam blew from under the hood. The car shook and thumped, and Dad pulled it over to the side only a few hundred yards from the top. He shut it off and pulled the park brake. We all climbed out while Dad found his water jug in the trunk.
“Jed,” Dad said to me as he grabbed a rag and pushed down on the radiator cap, “What does it mean to take upon you the name of Jesus Christ?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Pray. Read the scriptures.” It was the answer we gave in Sunday School every week to every question. It was also the answer I gave Dad every time he asked a religious question in front of Sam.
Sam chuckled.
“Thanks for the effort,” said Dad, and he twisted the cap. We all jumped back to let the steam hiss out of the brass radiator. While we waited for it to cool, Dad asked, “Could you give it a bit more thought?”
I sighed. “It means being good. Doing stuff that you’d do in front of the Savior, if he was here with us.”
“That’s better. It also means we are representatives of the Savior on earth, which is a pretty big responsibility.”
“Why are we talking about this?” I asked, upset that Dad was distracting us from wrestling and fixing the car.
“Because I want to ask Sam something.” He poured water into the radiator slowly and then tossed the water jug back in the trunk. On his way back, he reached into the front seat and pulled a copy of the Book of Mormon from a paper sack.
“You’ve come to church with us a lot, Sam,” said Dad. “And I think it’s time that you found out if what we are doing is true.” He handed the book to Sam.
“This was my first copy,” Dad said. “My dad gave it to me when I was a bit younger than you.”
We all stared at the battered book. I felt an ache of jealousy that Dad was giving my friend something that should have gone to me. I didn’t even have my own copy. I couldn’t help being resentful.
“Would you read it?” asked Dad.
Sam shrugged and stuffed the book into his pocket. Then we stood awkwardly for a few minutes until Dad decided the radiator was cool enough to continue.
“I’m going to try going over alone,” he said. “I’ve seen Sam thrown to the mat enough to know his head is full of rocks. I think the dead weight is slowing us down. I’ll see you at the top.”
He cranked the car, and it fired. He drove back down the hill and up for the far rise. A minute later we turned to see the Ford racing up the hill toward us, revving with an increasingly deafening roar. It passed us but slowly. We ran to catch up and put our shoulders to give a good push.
At the top, Dad stopped the car and let it idle. Then we all stood in front and stared down at the green and white Elk Valley, the far side climbing peak after peak into the golden horizon. Sam and I were anxious to get to the competition, but we stood there with Dad, looking at the view for a minute.
Dad finally broke the silence. “Thanks for the push, rock head,” he said to Sam.
“No problem.”
“Sometimes you need a little help in life.” Dad reached over and patted the book in Sam’s shirt pocket. “There’s help in there. In fact, just about all the answers to life’s questions are in those pages. And I know you’ve got questions.”
Sam nodded but didn’t say anything.
That night Sam won on points over a tough red-haired kid from the coast and then had an easy time pinning a local guy he’d beaten many times. I was almost pinned in my first match by a little kid who was quick as a gunshot. But the second match, I got paired with a Crowsnest kid from our Consolidated High School whom I’d beaten before. He was a good wrestler but had dislocated his shoulder once and couldn’t go left. We were in a clinch late in the second when I shot at his strong leg and was able to lift him off balance and trip him to the mat. His back was exposed, but before I could finish him off, he spun free. Still, the move gave me enough points to win the match.
Dad didn’t say much, but he patted Sam on the shoulder and said something funny as we left the gym.

Avery pressed her yellow crayon onto the paper. It was art time in class, and Avery was drawing a picture of herself with little flowers on her shirt. She drew six petals on each flower because six was her favorite number.
Avery put down her crayon and smiled at her drawing. It was perfect! Then she noticed that Jeremy, the boy who sat next to her, was frowning. He was hunched over in his seat. Avery smiled at him, but he didn’t look at her.
“What did you draw?” she asked. “Can I see?”
Jeremy didn’t say anything. He covered up his paper with his red-and-white striped sleeve.
Later Avery and her class went to lunch. Avery sat down with a group of friends. She saw Jeremy sitting alone at another table. His eyes were big, looking around at everyone. He looked sad. Avery thought about how Jeremy usually played alone at recess. What could she do to help him feel better?
That night Avery prayed and told Heavenly Father about Jeremy. She asked Heavenly Father to help her know what to do. She stayed still even after she said “amen,” just thinking.
Then she had an idea! Avery grabbed some crayons and paper. She drew a picture of herself and Jeremy playing with a basketball. They had big smiles on their faces! Avery carefully colored four red stripes on Jeremy’s shirt. Then she wrote Jeremy’s name at the top of the picture.
When she was done, she ran to the kitchen. “Look, Mom!” She held up the picture so Mom could see.
“That’s a happy picture,” Mom said.
Avery smiled. “It’s for Jeremy. He’s in my class. I hope he likes it.”
Avery looked at her drawing again. “Can I have a piece of candy?” she asked. “I want to tape it to the picture.”
Mom smiled and pulled out a box from the cupboard. It was filled with little candies of all colors. Avery picked a red-and-white peppermint and taped it to the corner of the picture.
When Avery got to school the next day, she gave the picture to Jeremy.
“This is for you,” she said. “I hope we can be friends.”
Jeremy took the picture and looked at it. Then he grinned.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ve never gotten a present from a friend before.”
Avery’s heart felt happy. “Do you want to play with me at recess?” she asked.
Jeremy held up the picture. His smile was as big as the one in the drawing. “We can play basketball!”

A true story from Australia.
Jared walked into Sunday School and sat down with his classmates. He noticed a boy he didn’t recognize come in and sit down a couple chairs away.
Jared’s teacher, Brother Trudgen, smiled at the class. “This is Emmanuel,” he said. “He and his family just moved to Australia. This is their first Sunday in our ward!”
Jared thought it might be hard to go to a new ward. He would try to be Emmanuel’s friend.
Brother Trudgen got out his scriptures. “Let’s all turn to 3 Nephi,” he said.
Jared opened his scriptures and looked over at Emmanuel. He didn’t have any scriptures.
Jared gave him a big smile and leaned over. “Hi, I’m Jared,” he said. “Would you like to share scriptures with me?”
Emmanuel smiled back. “Um, I don’t know much English,” he said. “Sorry.”
“What language do you speak?”
“Swahili.”
Jared didn’t know any Swahili. He and Emmanuel didn’t say much for the rest of the class.
That evening at dinner, Jared told his family about Emmanuel.
“He seems really nice,” Jared said. “But we can’t understand each other very well.”
Mum nodded. “Emmanuel and his family are going through a lot right now,” she said. “They had to leave their country very suddenly because bad things were happening there. They left everything behind.”
Jared frowned. What would it be like to have to leave home tomorrow and move to a whole new country? That would be so hard!
I wish there was something I could do to help Emmanuel, he thought. But what?
Jared couldn’t stop thinking about Emmanuel as he got ready for bed. He sat down at his desk with his Book of Mormon and read a few verses. Reading the scriptures always made him feel better. Tonight, they also reminded him that Emmanuel hadn’t had any scriptures to read. Jared shut his scriptures and stared at the cover. Then he jumped up from his chair and hurried out into the hallway.
“Mum!” he called. “I think I know how to help Emmanuel!”
The next Sunday, Jared couldn’t wait to see Emmanuel. He sat with the other deacons at the front of the chapel and waited with a new Book of Mormon in his lap. The missionaries had helped him get this special copy just for Emmanuel.
When Emmanuel entered the chapel with his family, Jared smiled and waved him over. Emmanuel looked confused as he sat down next to Jared. But his eyes widened when Jared handed him the Book of Mormon.
“For me?” Emmanuel asked.
Jared nodded.
Emmanuel’s eyes lit up. He flipped through the pages of his new Book of Mormon. “Swahili!” he said. He smiled at Jared and hugged the book to his chest. “Thank you!”
Jared’s heart felt warm as he smiled back. He knew he couldn’t make everything better for Emmanuel, and they still couldn’t talk to each other very well yet. But that was OK. They didn’t have to speak the same language to be friends!

A few years ago I was having a rough time in my life. One of my brothers was on a mission, another was at college, and, among other things, we found out my dad had terminal cancer and wasn’t going to live very long.
That summer I went to Especially for Youth at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. While I was there I had a really bad attitude. I didn’t care about the gospel or the Church anymore. And I didn’t care about Heavenly Father, because in my eyes He had abandoned my family and me. During one of the talks at EFY, the speaker mentioned that Heavenly Father loved and cared for us very much.
I was laughing inside, thinking, “Yeah, right, that’s what you think.” Yet something inside me really wanted to know if Heavenly Father did love me and did care for me. The speaker challenged us to ask Heavenly Father to see if the Church was true.
That night I decided to give prayer a try. I knelt, and I just asked. I was on my knees for a few minutes and nothing happened. I wanted to know so much that it seemed like something deep inside me was just begging for some love from Heavenly Father. At that moment I felt like someone was cradling me. My heart felt so warm and so peaceful. I felt this huge weight being lifted from my shoulders, and then I heard a quiet whisper: “I love you so much.”
I started to bawl. I knew my Father in Heaven cared for me. I knew He loved me!
I didn’t ask Him if the Church was true. I didn’t ask Him if the Book of Mormon was true. All I asked for was love, and He gave it to me. As soon as He did, everything seemed to fall into place. I knew who I was. I knew the Book of Mormon was true. I knew the gospel was true.
Today I am so happy! My Father in Heaven loves me! He loves me so much that He gave His Son to save me and everybody else. He loves all of us. Christ loves us too, or He wouldn’t have suffered and died for us. I’m grateful for Their love for all of us.

I too would like to give a special thanks to Jamie Glenn and Rayna Jones for being “in tune” with the Spirit when they composed the beautiful “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God,” which was published in the April 1979 New Era. This song contributed much happiness, serenity, and peace of mind to my dear friend Lorna Smith during the last year of her life.
In May of 1981 Lorna had her first operation for cancer. The family was told that life expectancy for this type of cancer was about four months. However, she was given chemotherapy and her health improved. One year later, in May 1982, she became very ill again. One Sunday morning before she was taken back to the hospital, I was visiting her when she told me about hearing this song at a Relief Society function. It had so touched her heart that she had asked Kris Taylor, the sister who had sung it, to record it for her so that she might listen to it at home. This had been done, and that Sunday the two of us listened to it and shed tears as we heard the words, “He’s closer than you know—reach up, He’ll take your hand.” Lorna sent a copy of the tape to Nebraska to be played to her 92-year-old mother and aged aunt who are not members of the Church. She also shared the song with her daughters whom she wanted to realize that they are truly daughters of God.
She had another operation that May 1982, and the new growth was found to be inoperable. She was again given about four months to live. Her treatment was changed and she lived another 13 months, during which she had the privilege of enjoying the arrival of two new grandchildren. Throughout this last year of her life she often listened to “her song.” The words gave her strength, hope, and courage. Her display of these qualities touched the lives of many.
In May of 1983 she again became so ill that her digestive system could not tolerate even water. Another operation disclosed several cancerous blockages in her intestines. During this lengthy stay at the hospital I took a tape to her on which the Gunderson sisters had recorded some special songs for her. One of them was “Walk Tall.” As it was playing there in the hospital room, a nurse came in singing the words. She told us that this song was also special to her. She had heard it and sung it on her mission. This seemed to create an understanding between her and Lorna.
The cancer spread to Lorna’s liver, and she died at home on June 28, 1983. As I stood there by her, in my mind I could hear and feel the impact of the words, “He’s closer than you know—reach up, He’ll take your hand.”
Her special song was sung beautifully at her funeral by the Gunderson sisters, and on her headstone, as a reminder to her children and grandchildren, is engraved “WALK TALL, YOU‘RE A DAUGHTER OF GOD.”
Dorothy M. BolinderGrantsville, Utah

Implication #2: you'll be asked to do hard things, and that is okay.

Each of us has probably heard the sentiment that this world is just so wicked now that for someone to get married and start a family during this time may not be wise. Can't we just wait for the millennium to start so that all the wickedness will be taken away and our children can "grow up without sin unto salvation."[20] Other difficulties in the latter-days can cause us to shrink and wonder if we are equal to the task. Brothers and sisters, it isn't a mistake that you were born when you were. God, who knows all, knows you and the state of the world you are living in. The timing and place of your birth was not a mistake. Those determinations were made by one who "doeth not anything save it be for the benefit of the world; for he loveth the world."[21] You can press forward with faith and courage that He knows that you are equal to the task. He knows you. He knows the children He is going to send to your family. He has measured you and measured them and matched you up perfectly.

The Old Testament king, Hezekiah, was asked to do something difficult too. The Assyrian army had marched toward Jerusalem, leaving destruction in its wake. None of the cities were able to withstand the siege of the Assyrians, and smoke from their destruction would have been visible from Jerusalem at that time.[22] Hezekiah knew from a prophet, Isaiah, that they would be put under siege and had already had workers tunnel over 1700 feet through stone to bring water within the walls of Jerusalem, but this wasn't enough to deliver the people. In those dire circumstances, Hezekiah received a letter from the Assyrian king that said, "Let not thy God, in whom thou trustest, deceive thee, saying, Jerusalem shall not be given into the hand of the king of Assyria. Behold, thou hast heard what the kings of Assyria have done to all lands by destroying them utterly; and shalt thou be delivered?"[23]

Hezekiah turned to the Lord, took that letter into the temple, and spread it out before the Lord. Please listen to the Holy Ghost as you hear the words of Hezekiah's prayer:

O Lord of hosts, God of Israel, that dwellest between the cherubims, thou are the God even thou alone, of all the kingdoms of the earth: thou hast made heaven and earth. Incline thine ear, O Lord, and hear; open thine eyes, O Lord and see: and hear all the words of Sennacherib, which hath sent to reproach the Living God. Of a truth, Lord, the kings of Assyria have laid waste all the nations, and their countries, And have cast their gods into the fire: for they were no gods, but the work of men's hands, wood and stone: therefore they have destroyed them. Now therefore, O Lord our God, save us from his hand, that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that thou art the Lord even thou only. [24]

The same omniscient God who hears and answers our prayers answered this humble plea. Isaiah prophesied that they wouldn't even shoot an arrow into Jerusalem[25] and indeed, an angel smote the Assyrian army before they could destroy Jerusalem.[26]

Brothers and sisters, not only does God know what situations we will find ourselves in, He can do something about it. Though there will be bumps in the road, you are equal to those bumps and can overcome them, which leads us to our final implication: difficulties will come, but the Savior knows perfectly how to see us through them.

I love the story I have heard Ann Madsen tell of her husband, Truman G. Madsen. While studying philosophy at Harvard University as a PhD student, he would spend his days deep in the arcane philosophic discourses of the world’s great minds, coming to understand their attempts to describe the way things are. From the field of ethics—what is right and wrong, all the way to epistemology—how, and even whether we can actually come to know things, the “philosophies of man” would swirl in his head. Then, she said, he would come home in the late afternoon, absorbed in thought about an issue of the day and take a book to the front porch and ask the question aloud, “Well, let’s see what Brother Joseph had to say about this.” He sensed that he could not fully come to understand the ideas of men without exposing them to the light of the gospel.

Eli, get your shoes on! We’re going to the store.
OK!
I need you to be a big helper at the store today.
Heavenly Father, please bless Mom. She’s having a really hard time.
Would you like to go ahead of me?
Oh, thank you! That’s so kind.
No problem. I remember what it’s like to have kids at the store.
Why did that lady let us go ahead?
She saw that we were having a hard time and wanted to help.
My prayer was answered. Awesome!
But she’s not the only one who helped me. You helped most of all!

Ian paced the room like a caged lion. He took a book from the shelf and leafed through it quickly, then replaced it and stood in front of the fireplace. He went to look anxiously out one window after another.
His mother watched his pacing. She saw the lines of concern on his brow. Finally she looked up from her embroidery and smiled. “There is nothing to see outside but the moonlit frozen ground and snow,” she said as the wind whistled around the corners of the house.
Ian clasped his hands behind his back and continued to stare out at the bleak landscape. “I know,” he replied thoughtfully. “But many out there may be in need of much.”
“Then do what your heart tells you to do, Ian,” she suggested with a knowing smile.
Instantly, his pensive mood lifted. “You always understand,” he said, smiling back at her. He kissed her pale cheek quickly and hurried to his chambers, where he pulled a cord and reached for his thick felt boots, long warm coat, and snug fur hat. Soon his servant appeared. “Load the sleigh, Oleg,” Ian said with a broad smile. “We ride into this night.” Oleg’s smile matched Ian’s as he hurried away to prepare.
Soon the smooth runners of the sleigh glided over the snow and ice while the gentle tinkling of bells announced Ian’s passing to the wolves that roamed the forest. At the crossroad the sleigh was halted, and the horses snorted and tugged in their traces. Then Ian pointed north, for he was sure that he would find what he was seeking there. With a crack of the whip, Oleg sent the sleigh on against the howling wind.
Across the frozen wasteland, Ian saw the dim glow of a light in a peasant’s hut. When they reached the rustic dwelling, Oleg stopped the sleigh. “Here?” he asked.
Ian clapped his back. “Come, and we will soon know.” Quickly he pulled the bearskin rug from their laps, jumped down from the sleigh, and knocked loudly on the door, which was finally opened by a scowling peasant holding a lantern high. As soon as he saw the fine clothes and horses, he bowed and motioned Ian and his servant indoors. “Enter Stefan’s humble hut, fine sir—you and your servant both. Come in and be warmed.”
When a hot cup had been set before Ian by the fire and Oleg by the pantry, Ian glanced around. “You have wood enough for your fire?” he asked as he nodded at the dancing flames.
“I have wood stacked to the roof of my shed!” Stefan replied proudly.
“And food?” Ian wondered aloud. “Is there enough food for your family and livestock?”
The man thumped the table with his fist. “Four children sleep snugly in the loft above, and let me tell you that last summer’s fine weather and good growing season were not wasted on me and mine. We worked hard to stock our larder and bin with fine vegetables and grains. The autumn hunt was just as bounteous. Tonight’s rabbit stew is still on the fire, and you’re welcome to a bite,” Stefan offered.
Ian smiled. “Thank you. This broth is quite enough. So you have provided for you and yours. I am happy that you do so well.”
“To be sure,” Stefan added, “with winter hardly begun, we must use what we have very carefully.” He looked smugly at Ian and boasted, “But I am a prudent man. I am not to be compared to stupid Dorcas!”
Ian leaned forward with sudden interest. “Who is Dorcas?”
Stefan laughed. “He is the biggest fool of all! He and his family worked hard all season. He stocked his larder and provided well for his family and animals too. But with the first sign of winter, beggars, widows, and orphans travel the roads, as you must know. They come morning and night, pleading for food—and stupid Dorcas feeds them all!”
Ian nodded. “Do they knock on your door, too, goodman?”
Stefan rubbed his beard and shook his head. “No. They learned long ago that I have nothing for beggars and the like! Why should I work hard just to give so much of what I have away!”
“But beggars, orphans, and widows have no plot of land to call their own,” Ian countered. “What do you tell them to do?”
“I just send them on their way,” Stefan declared. “It is not my problem! I’ve told Dorcas many times to do as I do. But, as I say, he’s a stupid man!”
“If he gives much of what he has to others, how will he get through the winter?”
Stefan threw back his head and laughed. “Not by begging from me! That’s his problem.”
“But you must know Dorcas well—how can you turn him away?”
“I know him well all right. His hut is just beyond the next crossroad,” Stefan said, waving his hand in that direction. “And that’s where he’ll stay, for he knows well how I feel.”
“Thank you, goodman,” Ian said as he nodded to his servant and pulled his greatcoat around his shoulders. “We must be off.”
Stefan looked at Ian anxiously. “But you have not said why you came,” he objected with a puzzled frown. “Is there no business that I can do with you? Why else are you out on such a fierce night as this?”
Ian shrugged. “I had come to see if there was something that I could do for you. I have a sleigh filled with provisions, which I was thinking to give you. But you are well stocked without my help, so I shall continue on my way.”
Stefan stood abruptly and helped Ian with his coat. “I have room for more, fine sir. Who can tell how long and hard the winter will be?” he whined.
Ian slowly pulled on his gloves. “True, but it is very difficult to give to someone who keeps his hands clenched so tightly around what he already has. If you have need, I will hear of it and return,” he promised.
Stefan began to stammer. “Clearly I am a good steward,” he argued. “I waste nothing that is given to me and mine.”
Ian fastened his coat. “That may be, but a good steward also shares what he is given, and though you take good care of your household, there are others who have no household at all. The one who shares with them will get my provisions. Thank you for your hospitality on this cold night.”
Stefan’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. “Where will you take your provisions?”
Ian lifted the door latch. “Dorcas is the one I seek,” he answered.
Oleg climbed onto the seat beside Ian, and they wrapped the bearskin rug snugly around their legs. “I am sorry that you did not find the one you were seeking here,” Oleg said.
“But I did,” Ian said with a smile from deep in the folds of his collar. “We know now where to go—just beyond the next crossroad to the hut of Dorcas.”

That was certainly true in my case. I received a phone call one day asking if I would meet President Hinckley in his office. After greeting me, President Hinckley basically asked one question: “How would you like a change of scenery?” We members of the Seventy are used to moving to different assignments. I had been at Salt Lake headquarters for a few years. So I thought, “Afghanistan, here I come.” What I said was, “President, whatever you would like is what I would like.”

With great kindness but also with considerable brevity, President Hinckley indicated that President Merrill J. Bateman, who had served wonderfully well as BYU’s 11th president, was being reassigned to full-time Church service. President Hinckley said he would like me to serve as BYU’s 12th president. I was, of course, surprised but pleased. At first Sharon thought I was spoofing her, as I sometimes do. However, she soon realized I was serious. She was as honored and humbled as was I with this unexpected but exhilarating opportunity.

Was there a charge? “You’ll do what is right,” President Hinckley said. Subsequent to that time, President Hinckley has called to see how our Provo housing is coming but has not given further new or specific direction. Elder Eyring, as Church commissioner, and the board arranged for us to have a nice university residence here in Provo. Sharon’s one request was a double oven. We are now in the process of moving in and are anxious to be here full-time physically, as we are already emotionally.

Shane (name has been changed) knows what it’s like to be a slave to drugs. He was experiencing major amounts of stress and depression in his life and wanted relief. He smoked his first marijuana joint when he was 16, only a week after he took his first drink of alcohol with some friends on New Year’s Eve.

“We thought it would be fun. And we wanted to be cool with each other and feel important and stuff,” he says. “I really didn’t know what I wanted. I should have stuck to my standards.”

His first experience with marijuana led him to other drugs like prescription pain killers and cocaine. In less than a year, Shane went from being an active Church member and a good student and worker to being a heroin addict, alienated from the Church and failing in school and at work. “In the end I was doing heroin seven or eight times a day. It went pretty fast.”

“I had a job, but I was stealing money, robbing houses, trying to rip off kids. I started selling drugs to make more money.” His health started to go downhill, too. “I got skinny, and I just really didn’t care about myself. I damaged my heart and lungs and other organs.”

His life was falling apart physically and spiritually. His family was suffering as well. “Watching Shane suffer emotionally, physically, and spiritually was very painful,” says his mother. “When one person struggles, the entire family is affected. It can also have devastating repercussions, even outside the immediate family. It was a very sad thing for all who knew Shane to experience.”

He was caught abusing prescription drugs and attended a treatment program. “I came back, and I got right back into it,” he says. He was suspended from school for a year and court-ordered to another treatment program. For Shane, getting caught and forced into treatment saved him.

His family stood with him through the treatment program, and they continue to support him as he struggles to get his life back. As they do this, they rely on the gospel and on the Savior’s Atonement.

“Without our Savior and His Atoning sacrifice, what hope would there be for somebody like Shane who has completely stripped themselves of all the survival keys the gospel gives?” Shane’s mother says.

“It’s hard to repent,” says Shane. “You go through a lot.”

Confessing to his priesthood leaders and others he had wronged was difficult. But Shane learned a new level of honesty as he worked through the process that will serve as a foundation for recovery throughout his life. He feels good about where he is now and is hopeful about the future.

For others, Shane has a warning: “Those kids that try to get you into drugs don’t really care about you. They just care about the drugs. You have to realize where drugs are going to lead you. Just never get yourself in that situation.”

“It definitely has changed my life,” Shane says. “I will always struggle with it.” But he is quick to point out that recovery and healing is possible for anybody caught up in drugs and that it’s never too late to stop.

Shane and his mother say they feel that not many people understood what their family went through. Many people ignored them and only a few talked directly about their struggles. Shane’s mother says, “The most wonderful thing anyone can do is to be open and honest. Ask how they are doing. Honest concern will help.”

When my wife and I were serving in the Europe East Area Presidency living in Moscow, Russia during the COVID-19 period, we had more time to ourselves than before. Not knowing what more could happen during this crazy time, we made sure we had some extra food in our home that would last us for several months. Part of this modest storage was chocolate, and especially these Merci boxes with small sticks of many different flavors. They were often on sale in the supermarket close to our home, so we stocked up!
At the end of each day, that usually would be filled with Zoom meetings, we would play a few games of Skip-Bo and eat some of the chocolate. We quickly learned that we needed to bridle our passions and restrict ourselves to just a few sticks of chocolate instead of eating the whole box.

Mi Sook tossed her long black braid across her shoulder. Slipping out of her shoes, she yanked open the front door to her apartment. “Mama, I’m home!”
The stifling Korean summer heat followed her into the apartment. A battered fan purred in a corner. Grandmama sat in front of it, her eyes closed as she nodded in the heat.
“I’m glad you’re home,” Mi Sook’s mother said as she came from behind the paper screen that divided their one room from the nook that was the kitchen. “Grandmama isn’t feeling well in this heat, so you must help me with dinner. Please go to the roof and bring down some kimchi (spiced, pickled vegetables).”
Mi Sook sighed. It’s so hot on the roof! she thought, wiping her brow. But heat makes the kimchi ripe. She licked her lips, anxious for dinner.
The hall was deserted as she climbed the stairs to the roof. Waves of heat rippled the moist air. Mi Sook loved Seoul, especially the way it looked from the roof. Encircled by mountains, its buildings and markets created an ocean of color.
She found her family’s kimchi pot sweltering with others in a corner. Prying open the lid, she breathed in the tangy scent.
“Hello, Mi Sook. It looks like you’re getting ready for dinner.”
Mi Sook started, looking up. A pair of wide blue eyes smiled down at her. “Sister Miller! I didn’t see you there!”
Sister Miller stepped forward toward the kimchi pot. Her nose wrinkled as she bent down and took a sniff, then her blue eyes turned watery. Mi Sook smiled. She wasn’t sure the missionary liked what she smelled.
“It is hot on the roof!” Mi Sook scooped kimchi into the pot her mother had sent with her. “Why do you stand up here?”
“I’m waiting for a friend,” Sister Miller said, running a hand through her damp hair. Drops of sweat beaded her brow. “I have to wave at her when she gets off the bus so that she can see where we live. We’re teaching her about our church, and she’s coming to dinner and for family home evening tonight.”
Mi Sook watched the sun inch toward the western horizon. “Family home evening? What’s that?”
Sister Miller’s eyes brightened. “Family home evening is a wonderful thing, Mi Sook. Heavenly Father knows how important families are, so He has told us to put aside one night each week for our families to be together. It’s a time to learn about the gospel, play games, laugh, and even have refreshments!”
Mi Sook smiled. She didn’t know much about the gospel Sister Miller always talked about, or about the church she loved, but Mi Sook thought the idea of spending time like that with her family was great. “Family home evening sounds nice, Sister Miller.”
Sister Miller nodded. “It is, Mi Sook.” Then she grinned. “How would you like to join us tonight for family home evening?”
A city bus rattled to a stop below them. People poured out as Sister Miller craned her neck, then waved at a young woman who looked up from the crowd.
“I’ll ask my mother,” Mi Sook said as she headed toward the stairway with her kimchi. “I’d like to learn more about this family home evening!”
That night, Mi Sook could hardly finish her dinner. She gulped down her rice and kimchi, then hurried to help her mother clean up the dishes.
Grandmama smiled when Mother told her that Mi Sook was going to the missionaries’ apartment for a party. “How nice,” Grandmama whispered, nodding her head. “Those missionaries are happy girls.”
Mi Sook enjoyed family home evening that night. Sister Miller and Sister Chadwick sang songs, showing Mi Sook and their friend how to read the music in an English hymnbook. The missionaries told a flannel-board story about a young man named Joseph who became a prophet. Mi Sook was excited, she’d never heard such a story before.
Sister Miller told them how important families were. “Heavenly Father wants all families to be together forever,” she said. Then the sisters sang another song, one about families being together. Mi Sook didn’t understand all the English words, but her heart was happy.
“Here, Mi Sook,” Sister Chadwick said after the closing prayer, “have a brownie. I made them this afternoon with the chocolate my mother sent me from home!”
Mi Sook smiled as the dark, sugary brownie flooded her mouth. Its sweetness overwhelmed her. She couldn’t take another bite.
“It’s a little sweet isn’t it?” Sister Chadwick looked at her and laughed. “I guess you’re not used to sugar, as we are. Why don’t you wrap it up in this napkin and take the rest home.”
Mi Sook smiled. “I may not be used to your brownies,” she said, “but I like your family home evening very much. It makes me feel good inside. And happy, like you. Thank you for inviting me tonight.”
As Mi Sook walked toward the door, she noticed pictures of the missionaries’ families sitting on a small table. She looked at a picture of Sister Miller with her family. “Will my family be together forever?” Mi Sook asked.
“They certainly can be, Mi Sook,” Sister Miller replied, wrapping her arm around Mi Sook’s shoulder.
“And the story you told tonight, about the boy Joseph—that’s an important story isn’t it?”
Sister Miller nodded.
Mi Sook smiled as she opened the door and slipped into her shoes. “I thought so. And family home evening is important too. May I bring Mother and Grandmama to family home evening next week?”
“We’d love to have all of you come,” Sister Miller and Sister Chadwick both told her.
Mi Sook smiled as she walked down the hall. She was sure that Mother and Grandmama would enjoy family home evening and learning about being a forever family.

After saving all our extra income and preparing ourselves spiritually, Mark and I traveled with our branch to the temple in May 2009. As we prepared for the trip, we saw firsthand the destructive hand of the adversary as well as the strengthening and uplifting love of our Heavenly Father. I got extremely sick the day before we were scheduled to leave for the temple. Some members had unexpected immigration problems, while others had trouble obtaining passports. Our friends who introduced my family to the gospel, the Espinosas, lost their jobs the week we were scheduled to attend the temple. Even worse, a member of our branch presidency who was scheduled to attend the temple for the first time lost his father to a sudden illness three days before our trip. But in the end the Lord strengthened each of us and made it possible for 42 members of the branch to attend the temple. Sixteen of us attended for the first time.