Gospel Story Finder

The first time I heard about the restriction on black men holding the priesthood, I was on my mission. I was baptized in 1984, after the restriction had already ended. Two years later I was called to serve in the South Africa Johannesburg Mission.
While assigned to Bulawayo, Zimbabwe, my companion, Elder Francis Jack, and I visited a less-active sister. Her husband was a theological professor from another church. He asked us why the priesthood had been withheld from men of black African descent. He said many things that bothered me—things I had never heard before. When I walked out of that room, I felt very low and very discouraged.
Elder Jack and I rode our bikes back to our apartment without speaking. When we got there, he looked at me and said, “Elder Dube, what is wrong with you? You seem very disturbed.”
“Didn’t you hear what he said?” I responded. “How could this happen?”
“Elder, do you believe that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to the boy Joseph?”
“Yes,” I said. “But what does that have to do with this?”
“It has everything to do with it,” Elder Jack replied. “We believe in revelation, don’t we?”
I thought about his words and what the professor had said. That night I woke up in the middle of the night. I felt happy and at peace.
The answer to every gospel question ties back to what happened in 1820. Knowing that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith means that he was a prophet and that this is the Lord’s Church. If Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to the boy Joseph, then all gospel principles and questions fall into place. This is a church of revelation, and the Lord reveals certain processes at certain times to His servants, the prophets, and that is what brought peace to me.
I started jumping up and down and woke my companion shouting, “Yes, yes! You are right, Elder Jack! Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to the boy Joseph! This is the Lord’s Church!”

My beloved sisters, I think my first awareness or consciousness of the existence and the importance of the Relief Society came very early in my life.
My family left Salt Lake City for Arizona when I was three years old. My mother then had six children, and during the time that she went through five more pregnancies and five more births, she was president of the ward Relief Society.
We went to a new land, where water was drawn out of open wells; where flies were so thick you could hardly see out of the screen door in the evening; where typhoid fever was prevalent, and many other diseases, too; where medical help was extremely limited—there were no hospitals, no nurses, and no trained people except the country doctor who had more than he could ever do.
I read in my mother’s journal not long ago such expressions as these: “I left the children with Ruth or Delbert or with Gordon and went to Sister Smith’s home where the second twin had just died and where there were other children desperately ill with typhoid fever.” Again: “Today I spent the day with other sisters making burial clothes for the two children of Sister Jones.” and on and on and on. That was my introduction to Relief Society, and I am sure that to some degree that kind of work is still going forward, for as I understand your work, it includes not only the spiritual and the moral, but also the physical well-being of the people of the ward.

Our daughter, Lindsey, recently shared an experience she had with our six-year old grandson, Trevor. Trevor is at an age where his parents don't encourage taking toys to church. A few weeks ago on Fast Sunday, however, he took some paper and a crayon to draw with, but instead of pictures he chose to write his testimony. He wrote: "I know this church is true. I know to read the scriptures and say my prayers."

Then on the following Monday night they had their own family testimony meeting so he could read the testimony he had written , followed by three-year old Devin sharing his testimony, then Lindsey, and then her husband, John. She told us, “It was quick and simple, but something we should be doing more often. We also read scriptures. Trevor also took turns with us and did a great job.” His parents were helping him take his first step by writing his testimony, and then continuing forward and upward by sharing his testimony with his family and also hearing his parents’ testimonies.

Illustrations by Roger Motzkus; photographs courtesy of Keaton Allen
Time machines have been dreamed up in all shapes and sizes. Such fantastical devices have been represented on screen and in books as everything from hyped-up supercars to phone booths.
For a large group of youth from Arizona, USA, their blast to the past took place inside their local stake center.
This particular journey began after President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, told youth, “You may wonder, at my age what I can contribute to your lives. I have been where you are and know where you are going. But you have not yet been where I am” (“Counsel to Youth,” Ensign, Nov. 2011, 16). These words prompted leaders in one stake to start thinking about ways to help youth connect with elderly people in their area.
As youth and leaders began planning, they decided to put together a program in the spirit of The Lawrence Welk Show, a popular American TV show featuring music and dancing that ran from the 1950s through the 1970s. This was a show many of the seniors in the stake knew and loved well.
Most of the youth, however, had never heard of it, and at first some of them didn’t know quite what to think of the idea.
“I was unsure,” says Lisette L., a Laurel from the stake. Adds Slade C., 15, “Honestly, I thought it was going to be kind of weird.”
After all, we’re talking about barbershop quartet music, dance styles from decades past, and the hope to form close friendships across wide generation gaps. Still, the youth jumped in with both feet and started preparing.
“We wanted the youth and the elderly citizens to get to know each other,” says Pam Nielson, one of the leaders. “We wanted them to realize they have a lot in common.”
This wasn’t an activity that could be thrown together in a few days. Preparation involved weeks of rehearsals. There was an all-youth orchestra, an all-youth barbershop chorus, an all-youth band, and all-youth dance teams who learned songs and routines from the 1920s through the 1960s. That takes time to create. “These kids were amazing,” says Pam.
For their part, Slade and Lisette were both chosen as part of an advanced dancing team. “There were lots of rehearsals,” Slade says. “After Mutual, we went down to the stake center and practiced.”
As the show began coming together, the excitement grew. “It was really fun,” says Lisette. “For most of us, it was our first time hearing any of this kind of music.”
When the big day arrived, the surprise highlight—for many—took place before the first note of music even rang in the air.
The activity was scheduled in two segments. For the first part, the 200 youth from the stake were divided into groups of four, and then each group was assigned to visit an elderly man or woman in his or her home for an hour and a half.
“That was definitely one of my favorite parts,” says Slade. He wasn’t alone, either. For many of the young men and young women, these get-to-know-you sessions were fascinating as well as inspiring.
Slade’s group was assigned to visit Hazel Cameron, a widow in their stake who lived through the Great Depression. “I never guessed at all the things she’s been through,” Slade explains. “She told us a few stories that I thought were pretty exciting.”
Slade and the others in his group spent 90 minutes getting to know Hazel, asking her questions about her life. They all enjoyed one another’s company—and none of them minded a bit when Hazel shared a few treats she’d made. It turns out baking cookies and making candy is one of her favorite hobbies!
Another of Hazel’s favorite hobbies is dancing, including the fox-trot. “She taught me a few moves,” Slade says.
At the end of their time together, the elderly members in each group shared a few words of advice with the youth. These messages were recorded and later compiled and handed out as treasured DVDs.
When visiting time was over, the youth said good-bye to their new friends and got ready for the performance later that night. They could hardly wait to put on the performance.
After all the hard work, The Lawrence Wright Show was ready to begin. The event was named for the stake president, Lawrence Wright, who played the role of host Lawrence Welk, complete with a flurry of bubbles like they had in the original show.
The youth went all-out in performing for their new friends. All night long, the stake center became a time machine as song after song turned back the years for the guests of honor. “I loved seeing how happy they were as we performed for them and brought back memories,” says Lisette.
After the grand finale—a song and dance routine to the traditional closing song from The Lawrence Welk Show—music continued, and the youth invited their friends from the audience to join them for more dancing. “It was super exciting,” says Slade, who shared a dance with Hazel.
The friendships formed that day have lasted well past the show’s closing curtain. The youth enjoy seeing their new friends at church and around town. Slade, for example, drops by Hazel’s house now and again just to say hello. He often thinks of ways to brighten her day. “I didn’t think this activity was going to be amazing, but it was,” Slade explains.
Pam hears all the time from senior members in the stake who tell her how the youth will come up and talk with them at church. “They truly made friends,” she says.
This activity ended up providing much more than entertainment. By getting to know those they served, the youth formed friendships they never knew they were missing. “No matter what age we are,” says Lisette, “we’re all part of the same family.”

As a professional counselor, I learned that I could use my own personal experiences to not only feel empathy for my clients but also to provide perspective (different lenses through which to view the world) in order to help my clients see beyond failure, anger, or fear to the possibility of hope and resolution. Let me illustrate by sharing one useful experience.

Many years ago, when I was a little thinner and more physically fit, I completed a 30-day wilderness survival course. During the third week of that extraordinarily rigorous experience, we were left in groups of four or five students (without an instructor) and expected to find our way from one point on a topographical map to another point– a distance of 40 or 50 miles through some of Utah's roughest terrain. After two days of trudging through the snow in the tops of the Henry Mountains in Southern Utah and getting lost on several occasions as we made our way down into the valley, my companions and I were extremely grateful on the third day to be able to identify our location on the map with certainty. We arrived at a stream in the middle of a beautiful meadow. All we had to do was follow this river to our rendezvous point. It would be impossible for us to get lost again. We gleefully walked along the riverbank, stopping occasionally to enjoy the scenery. The river was wide, slow, and shallow. When we chose to switch to the other side, it was easy to cross the stream by jumping from rock to rock. There came a time, however, when there was no bank. What started out as a grassy meadow had become something of a canyon. As I kept jumping from rock to rock, I remember thinking, "If only I can keep my boots dry. I hate wet boots!"

The stream was still slow, wide, and shallow, and when there wasn't a rock to jump to, it was a relief to find out that I could walk on flat sandstone with the water only a few inches deep. The water still would not get inside my boots. But, after an hour or so of this kind of careful walking, the canyon had become narrower, and there was no place to walk without getting my boots wet-inside and out. We were not interested in turning around and finding another route to the rendezvous point; we had spent too much time and energy getting this far, so we bravely continued with water just above our knees. I remember thinking "If only I can keep my pack dry. It would really be a disaster if all my clothes and my blanket got wet." Fortunately, the water was quite clear, and I was able to see where to walk in order to stay in the shallower parts of the river.

After an hour or two of this kind of progress, I noticed that the canyon was becoming disturbingly narrow, and the inevitable happened– there was no shallow spot. We still were determined to press forward rather than backtrack, even though the bottom half of my pack was now drenched. Then, after another hour or so of carefully making my way in chest-high water, I took a step and felt nothing beneath my feet. My thoughts had evolved from "If only I can keep my boots dry," to "if only I can keep my pack dry," to "if only I can stay alive!" I paddled desperately for about 50 feet or so. And, finally, there was a welcome sight– a break in the canyon wall and a sandy bank. We climbed out of the water and examined our packs. Everything was soaked! We made a fire, and as I sat there drying myself, my clothes, and everything in my pack, I felt only gratitude. I was alive and well! I remember reflecting on what a waste of time it had been to worry about getting my boots wet.

Now, having had that experience and other similar experiences, I can respond to a client with empathy. I can say or think, metaphorically, "I can see that you don't like to get your boots wet," or, "You're worried about getting your pack wet," or, "You must be afraid you are about to drown." I know what it feels like to be afraid you are going to drown. But even though I have empathy for my client's feelings, I won't share my client's anxiety because I also have a vision of that client sitting on the bank by a fire (metaphorically speaking) and feeling only gratitude.

But today there were no mysteries to solve. Danny sat down next to Dad at the computer desk and played with his magnifying glass.
“Is Detective Danny solving another mystery?” Dad asked, looking up from the computer.
“No,” Danny said. “Nobody lost anything. Nobody is missing. And I can’t find anything suspicious.” (The detectives in Danny’s books said words like suspicious a lot.)
“I have a mystery for you,” Dad said as he clicked the computer mouse.
Danny perked up. Another mystery? He looked at the computer screen, but all he saw were a bunch of names and dates.
“Aw, Dad!” Danny said. “That’s not detective work. That’s just family history.”
“Just family history?” Dad pretended to be shocked. “This is some of the most important detective work you can do! You have to hunt for clues, find missing people, and solve the mystery of where you came from!”
Danny crinkled his nose. He would rather be following footprints with his magnifying glass.
“I’ll tell you what,” Dad said. “I need to make a few calls. Why don’t you look at the family tree while I’m gone? You might be surprised by what you find.”
Danny sighed and sat down at the computer. He found his name. His parents’ names. And his grandparents’ names. Then he clicked an arrow and even more names appeared! The names kept going on and on. Some of his ancestors were from California like him. But some were from countries far away.
Whoa! They lived hundreds of years ago, he thought. I wonder what they were like.
Then Danny saw some blank spots on his family tree. Maybe there was some detective work to be done.
From that day on, Detective Danny was on the case—the Family History Mystery!
He looked for clues in family journals.
He called his grandma and asked her lots of questions.
He searched online and found old records and pictures of his ancestors.
Danny loved helping fill in the blanks on his family tree. Soon he had helped Dad find 12 people who needed temple ordinances.
Dad was really excited when Danny found a record for Herbert Henry Jonte, Danny’s great-great grandfather.
“Your great-grandpa used to talk about his father all the time,” Dad said. “And now I can do his temple work for him. Thanks, Detective Danny! Case closed?”
Danny shook his head and smiled. He wasn’t just solving a mystery. He was helping his family members get closer to Heavenly Father. And he wanted to keep helping.
“Case not closed,” he said. “We have a lot more work to do!”

March 20 of this year was a beautiful day. It was warm and the sun was shining. Some of the trees had started to bud, and early blooms were visible. I had been anticipating this day with great excitement and a good deal of apprehension from the time I received a phone call three months earlier asking if I would play the organ at one of the Provo City Center Temple dedication sessions. I had never dreamed I would have a chance to serve in this capacity, for I knew there were scores of talented and accomplished organists in our temple district, and I was also keenly aware of my own inadequacies.
Surprise and shock were some of the feelings I had when I got the call, but in the few seconds it took me to stammer out an acceptance of this assignment, I felt my Heavenly Father’s love. And even though I was very nervous, I sensed that this was one of His tender mercies.
I was to have an experience similar to one that my beautiful paternal grandmother, Ethel Taylor Robinson, had had, and this created a sense of connection to her that I had not felt before. I never met her, as she died in her early thirties, but I knew of her and of her many talents. My home teacher made sure of that. He repeatedly told me what a wonderful musician she was and how much she was loved and missed by our community.
In October 1927 my grandmother directed a stake choir that sang at the dedication of the Mesa Arizona Temple. Although four of the songs she performed with her choir in that dedication were different from the ones I played at the Provo City Center Temple dedication, we both performed the “Hosanna Anthem.” Realizing that we would both perform the same song in a temple of the Lord almost ninety years apart was a very sweet experience.
I had other sweet experiences while our choir prepared and rehearsed. Choir members shared their testimonies and tender feelings about the temple, the gospel, and our Savior both in words and song. Everyone was focused on offering his or her very best to the Lord.
In my personal practices I often felt inadequate and worried when I thought about performing in the celestial room, only a few feet away from the Lord’s apostles and in front of millions of viewers. I tried to calm myself with the feeling that if I put the time into my practice, the Lord would help me. I therefore practiced every day. The footwork with the organ pedals was my biggest challenge. I drilled the arpeggios and foot crossings over and over and over and over—slowly at first, and then I would attempt to speed them up to the performance tempo. Some repetitions went well, and I thought, “I can do this!” But on the very next repetition I would land on a note just adjacent to the one I was aiming for. So I would try again.
One day as I was going through this process, I remembered something I had learned in an acoustics class many years ago when I thought I wanted to be a music teacher. The thought that came into my mind as I was practicing is the subject I would like to speak about today.
Preparing for the temple dedication gave me the chance to work and practice so that I could offer the Lord my best, and even though my best wasn’t perfect, it was a beautiful experience. The gift I was given of being part of a wonderful choir, performing at the temple dedication, and having a special connection with my grandmother has increased my desire to be in tune with my Heavenly Father and Savior.

Once Elder Von G. Keetch visited a beach in Australia. He saw a group of surfers who had traveled there to surf. They were mad because a big net in the water kept them from getting to the biggest waves. After hearing them complain, another surfer showed them why the net was there—it kept the sharks out! God’s standards, like the barrier, protect us from spiritual dangers and help us feel peace and happiness.

As a boy, Lorenzo loved to read. He later became a teacher and a community builder. He was chosen by President Brigham Young to lead fifty families to an area later known as Brigham City, Utah. His work was interrupted when he was called on a mission to the Hawaiian Islands.
After the ship’s arrival there, Lorenzo and his companions were going ashore in a smaller boat when suddenly their tiny craft capsized and washed them overboard. Lorenzo’s lifeless body was found and he was administered to. Lorenzo miraculously recovered from this terrifying experience, for the Lord had other important work for him to accomplish.

There is also a great value that can come to the early riser. Years ago my wife and I were driving with President and Sister Marion G. Romney. Along the way, President Romney shared some of his personal experiences when he was first called to serve as a General Authority in 1941. He felt he needed some advice, so he went to Elder Harold B. Lee, a new member of the Quorum of the Twelve. He asked him how to be a successful General Authority. Elder Lee answered, “Go to bed early and get up early. If you do, your body and mind will become rested, and then, in the quiet of those early morning hours, you will receive more flashes of inspiration and insight than at any other time of the day.”
President Romney said to me, “From that day on, I put that counsel into practice, and I know it works. Whenever I have a serious problem, or some assignment of a creative nature with which I hope to receive the influence of the Spirit, I always receive more assistance in the early morning hours than at any other time of the day.”

I have been blessed to have a mother who has spent her life preparing to meet God. She understands the principles of creating, learning, and serving in this life. Her motto has been “Welcome the task that makes you go beyond yourself, and you will grow.” Let me tell you a few highlights from her adventure-filled life. In her youth she lived in the wild Uinta Mountains, where her father worked. She learned to cut tall trees, fish, and camp in the outdoors. During the winter she attended school in the city, played on a basketball team, and learned to play the trumpet. She went to the university and became a nurse. After she was married, she went on a mission with her husband to Brazil, where she learned to speak Portuguese. She has traveled to many countries and has taught the gospel to thousands. She studies the scriptures daily, has written several family history books, works in the temple, keeps track of 62 grandchildren, and can cook 600 doughnuts in one morning!
My mother has stayed in the Savior’s path with unshaken faith in Him (see 2 Ne. 31:19) all the days of her life. She wakes up every day looking forward to new adventures. For her, life is so interesting, and she still has so much to learn.

I’ll never forget the man on the airplane who seemed very interested as I explained family home evening, the missionary system, etc., until we reached an issue on which he vigorously disagreed with me. Following Joseph Smith’s counsel, I avoided a vain dispute and changed the subject. As the plane began circling to land, I felt his agitation at our “small talk,” and finally he burst out, “Could two of those young men you told me about call on my family?” He smiled at my surprise and added, “I’m sure you thought you’d lost me, but I am impressed with your certainty on this matter. I want that for my family.”

Disagreement is encouraging. Don’t be put off by solid objections. Such objections usually indicate a real interest and that your friend is thinking in stride with you. So just lengthen your stride and hold fast to the truth. It is a firm, sure foundation. Remember the man on the airplane. It was my assurance that interested him.

While serving a mission in Romania, Meg Yost and her companion regularly visited a family who hadn’t attended church in a long time. “The Stanicas were among the earliest members of the Church in Romania,” Meg says, “and we loved them.”

When it came time to plan and organize a branch activity, leaders decided that the branch would have a “Pioneer Night.” This would be an evening to celebrate the courageous pioneers who crossed the United States to get to the Salt Lake Valley. It would also be an opportunity to honor the pioneers of the Church in Romania.

“We thought it would be a great way for some of the members to bear testimony of their conversion and how they have seen the Church grow in Romania,” Meg says. “We immediately thought that the Stanica family should be involved. We invited them to participate, and they were excited!”

On the night of the activity, the Stanicas still hadn’t arrived when it was time to start.

“We were worried that they wouldn’t come,” Meg recalls. “But just in time, they walked through the door. The Stanicas bore a beautiful testimony of the gospel and the Church. They also got to socialize with other members whom they hadn’t seen in a long time.”

The members of the branch opened their arms and welcomed the Stanicas. The next Sunday, Meg was pleasantly surprised to see Sister Stanica at church.

“When I visited the branch a few months later, she was still coming!” Meg says. “I think the chance to bear her testimony and to feel involved and needed in the branch really helped her.”

Elder Perkins also shared a tender and beautiful example of this strengthening power when he was in severe pain in his battle with cancer: “I sat with my wife, intending to offer a routine blessing on our lunch. Instead, all I could do was simply weep, ‘Heavenly Father, please help me. I am so sick.’ For the next 20 to 30 seconds, I was encircled in His love. I was given no reason for my illness, no indication of the ultimate outcome, and no relief from the pain. I just felt of His pure love, and that was and is enough.”8

Tavita started learning patience when he was a young boy. He needed a direction in his life, and when he was 13 a good friend got him into weight lifting. By the age of 14 Tavita could bench press 315 pounds and squat 500 pounds.
“People thought that I was 20 when I was only 14 because of the way I acted and the way I looked. I had the body of an adult. Even so, I still loved to play and watch cartoons.”
In the following years Tavita continued to grow in both strength and size. He entered and won weight lifting competitions around the country. At the age of 15 Tavita traveled to Little Rock, Arkansas, where he was recognized as the strongest 14–17-year-old in the United States, bench pressing 402 pounds and squatting 650 pounds. For five years he won national titles. By 18 he could bench press 525 pounds and squat 908 pounds.
In high school Tavita excelled at weight lifting and football. In his first season on the football field he made all-state and all-American. His list of awards goes on and on. “I excelled in football and weight lifting because they are the two sports I love the most,” he says.
But Tavita excelled not only because of his love for the sports, but because he taught himself strict discipline. That discipline helped him learn Cantonese while still preparing to enter the Hong Kong Mission. “When I got my call to Hong Kong, my next thought was, ‘What is a 265 pound Samoan going to do there?’ But I knew that was where Heavenly Father wanted me to serve.”
At the beginning, Tavita had a tough time with the language. It was frustrating to not be able to communicate his strong feelings about the gospel. “Through patience and prayer I learned to endure. The relationship between my Heavenly Father and me grew closer, more than I ever thought it could. My knees literally had calluses on them.”
Patience and long suffering helped him succeed on his mission. These attributes have continued to help him succeed in his college studies and football career. Unlike high school, where he thought he had to prove something, all he has to prove now is his worthiness to his Heavenly Father.
Tavita continues to work out six days a week. “I take a lot of pride in building the body Heavenly Father gave to me—to keep it clean and to keep it physically as well as spiritually fit.”
Tavita also strives to be a good example to both his LDS and non-LDS friends. He wants to have a positive influence on those around him.
But first and foremost is his relationship with the Lord. “The relationship I have with my Heavenly Father is a little like the one I have with my own dad and mom. I try to do the best of my ability and serve Him and do what He wants me to do.”
Tavita’s father recently passed away and his mother is living in California, but every opportunity they have, the family gets together to have fun. Tavita especially enjoys working on cars with his brothers and cousins. “I love to fix cars. I love anything to do with hands and tools. I have a strong talent for being able to fix and repair things. In fact, my father was a mechanic, and my brothers are also mechanics.”
Tavita has enthusiastic advice for the young people of the Church. “Serve a mission. Especially the young men when they turn 19. Go now. It might not be the easiest, but it will be the best two years of your life.”
He also advises youth to learn the importance of the gospel in their lives.
“Stay close to the Church,” Tavita adds. “Have a close relationship with your Heavenly Father. It has helped me.”
And that’s the kind of attitude which, whether he’s standing or kneeling, makes Tavita Sagapolu a true spiritual giant.

Mrs. Higgins never missed a piano lesson. Every Tuesday afternoon at precisely 3:30 P.M. her big, white sedan would round the corner and come to a halt in front of our house.
She’d march up the driveway in her grandma shoes with that leather clasp purse hanging from her arm and her hair pulled neatly into a bun. I’d hear her firm knock, the front door opening and footsteps in the hallway. Then my mother’s sweet voice would summon me to my doom.
Mrs. Higgins was convinced I was one of her most talented students. Of course, she never knew how little effort I put into my practices because I always performed to her satisfaction.
Each lesson began with a recital of the pieces I had practiced that week. I’d play; and if the music had words, she’d sing in her loud, clear opera voice. If there were no words, she’d count out loud. Occasionally she was silent as I performed a piece particularly well.
I wasn’t the only child in the neighborhood whose parents employed Mrs. Higgins. There were Lisa and Brian Baccus and Charlie, Beverly, and Jenny Bradley. I felt especially sorry for the Bradleys because Mrs. Higgins was at their house for almost two hours each week.
The older I got the more intensely I begged my mother to let me quit. After seven years of complaining, I finally convinced her to cancel the lessons. I was free.
Several years later my mother asked if I would accompany her to a piano concert at an art gallery in Sacramento where Jenny Bradley would be performing. I remembered her as the funny little girl who always forgot her piano pieces at the yearly recitals. She never was very good.
When Jenny came out on stage, I was surprised to see that the little freckle-faced girl was all grown-up. She seated herself at the grand piano and began to play. The piano sang out and sounded like the work of three pianists. I’d never witnessed such energy, such concentration.
As I listened, I glanced around the room at the small crowd of people. Then I saw her—Mrs. Higgins—leaning against a marble pillar near the back of the room. She looked older, but her eyes sparkled and she glowed with true happiness.
“Behold, we count them happy which endure. Ye have heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord” (James 5:11).
Suddenly, my eyes filled with tears. Though I should have been happy to see someone perform to the best of her ability, I wasn’t. I was jealous. Why wasn’t I sitting at that piano? After all, I had been more talented than Jenny. Deep down inside, I knew I’d failed because I’d given up.
“Behold, I am the law, and the light. Look unto me, and endure to the end, and ye shall live; for unto him that endureth to the end will I give eternal life” (3 Ne. 15:9).
Two people who had paid the price were getting their reward. Jenny was playing brilliantly and Mrs. Higgins, who never missed a lesson, glowed with the knowledge that she had made a pianist.

Carrying our brooms, buckets, rakes, and gloves, and sporting bright yellow “Helping Hands” T-shirts to identify us as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we walked through the neighborhoods of my hometown as part of youth conference. Two by two, we went to assigned homes, knocked on doors, introduced ourselves as members of the Church, and asked if there was any service we could perform.
It was scary at first to simply walk up to a house and knock on a door, not knowing whether we would be greeted with an invitation to rake the yard or a door slammed in our faces. With nervous anticipation, I approached the first house and knocked on the front door, only to find no one home. Persevering, my companion and I canvassed the neighborhood in search of a service opportunity. Knock, knock. No answer. Try again. Knock, knock. “No thanks.” Try again. I was beginning to feel discouraged as knock after knock, door after door, our offers to provide service were met with surprise, dismay, and ultimately, rejection.
As my companion and I made our way down the quiet street, we noticed a home in need of some attention. The grass had been mowed, but piles of trimmings and yard waste were everywhere. The flower beds were overgrown with weeds, moss had crept up the sidewalk and front steps, and the porch was thickly covered with dust. If there were ever a house in need of “helping hands,” this was it. With a silent prayer in my heart that we could be of service, I summoned courage and headed toward the house with my companion.
An older woman in a wheelchair was wheeling up the porch and into the home, but seeing us come closer, she turned and came toward us. As we approached her, I could sense her apprehension and reluctance to allow us to speak with her. My companion and I both smiled, introduced ourselves, and explained to her that we were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and were looking for opportunities to serve in the neighborhood. We asked her if there was anything we could do to help her. Instantly, the woman’s face lit up, and she began listing things we could do to help: weeding, raking grass, sweeping the porch, stacking wood, scraping moss, and washing the driveway. As her list of tasks grew longer and longer, I flagged the other members of our youth group to come join. Members from our group arrived, assignments were made, and we quickly set to work.
Performing this service put a smile on my face and made me want to do my very best. While we worked, we enjoyed getting to know this woman and listening to her stories. We learned that our offer to help came as a timely answer to prayer. She explained that she was not the homeowner but was caring for the house for her brother, who was scheduled to have open-heart surgery the next day. The woman knew how much her brother cared for his yard and enjoyed working in his garden, but because he was ill and she was unable to bend down and work, the yard was neglected and had become overgrown. Together, the brother and sister had prayed for someone to help with the upkeep of the yard. I felt the warmth of the Spirit fill my heart as I realized that through our service we were able to be the answer to another’s prayer.
Her brother called on the phone and, with tender emotion in his voice, thanked us for our labors. I was overcome with love for the man whom we had served and also for my Heavenly Father, who is ever mindful of the needs and prayers of His children.
When I set out that morning to perform service, I expected to use my rake, broom, and shovel to serve others, but I had no idea that the Lord would use me as His instrument to fill the needs of another. I am grateful for this experience that taught me the truth of the scripture, “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).

Heavenly Father has given us all talents and gifts that can help us provide for ourselves and our families. Learning to recognize our talents and gifts—and interests—is an important first step in career preparation. President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency, learned from his father, Henry Eyring, to choose a career that complemented his interests.

Because of his love for science, Professor Henry Eyring encouraged his sons to major in physics as preparation for a career in science. While President Eyring was studying physics at the University of Utah, he had an exchange with his father that changed his career direction. He asked his father for help with a complex mathematical problem. “My father was at a blackboard we kept in the basement,” President Eyring recalls. “Suddenly he stopped. ‘Hal,’ he said, ‘we were working this same kind of problem a week ago. You don’t seem to understand it any better now than you did then. Haven’t you been working on it?’”

A little chagrined, President Eyring admitted he had not. President Eyring recalls his father’s response: “When I told him no, my father paused. It was really a very tender and poignant moment, because I knew how much he loved me and how much he wanted me to be a scientist. Then he said, ‘Hal, I think you’d better get out of physics. You ought to find something that you love so much that when you don’t have to think about anything, that’s what you think about.’”2

President Wilford Woodruff tells of an interesting incident that occurred in the days of the Prophet Joseph Smith:

I will refer to a certain meeting I attended in the town of Kirtland in my early days. At that meeting some remarks were made that have been made here today, with regard to the living oracles and with regard to the written word of God. The same principle was presented, although not as extensively as it has been here, when a leading man in the Church got up and talked upon the subject, and said: “You have got the word of God before you here in the Bible, Book of Mormon, and Doctrine and Covenants; you have the written word of God, and you who give revelations should give revelations according to those books, as what is written in those books is the word of God. We should confine ourselves to them.”

When he concluded, Brother Joseph turned to Brother Brigham Young and said, “Brother Brigham, I want you to take the stand and tell us your views with regard to the living oracles and the written word of God.” Brother Brigham took the stand, and he took the Bible, and laid it down; and he took the Book of Mormon, and laid it down; and he took the Book of Doctrine and Covenants, and laid it down before him, and he said: “There is the written word of God to us, concerning the work of God from the beginning of the world, almost, to our day. And now,” said he, “when compared with the living oracles those books are nothing to me; those books do not convey the word of God direct to us now, as do the words of a Prophet or a man bearing the Holy Priesthood in our day and generation. I would rather have the living oracles than all the writing in the books.” That was the course he pursued. When he was through, Brother Joseph said to the congregation: “Brother Brigham has told you the word of the Lord, and he has told you the truth.” [In Conference Report, October 1897, pp. 18–19]

One day during a deacons quorum meeting our adviser decided that we would have a testimony meeting. It wasn’t that I hadn’t shared my testimony before. In fact, I was one of those kids who thought that bearing testimony was what one was supposed to do at every testimony meeting. But it wasn’t the cool thing to do at age 12.

I suppose that we had about 8 or 10 deacons in our quorum, and slowly (although not slow enough, it seemed to me) one boy after another stood to share his testimony. I was almost panicky because I just didn’t know what I would say. I hoped that maybe the time would run out, and I wouldn’t feel obligated to stand, but it did not. A small group of 10 deacons sharing their testimonies doesn’t take long, so plenty of time still remained when all of the other boys had finished standing and sharing their testimonies. I stood awkwardly and recited the same basic things most of the others had said: “I love my mom and dad. I know the Church is true. I know Joseph Smith was a prophet. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

The thing was done, but for the first time in my life I realized that it was a lie. The only thing I had said that I knew to be true was that I loved my mom and dad. I really did not know if the Church was true or if Joseph Smith was a prophet, but I knew then that I had to find out. I had to know for myself.

I don’t remember exactly when I finally asked, but I do remember that one night I knelt by my bed and pleaded with my Father in Heaven to forgive me for my weaknesses and to let me know if this church I belonged to was truly His Church. I had never prayed with such intent before, and I am not sure I have ever prayed with more fervor since. I was only about 12 or 13 years old, and yet I can still feel to this day the power of the spiritual witness that came to me that night confirming that this was indeed the Church of Jesus Christ and that my Father in Heaven knew me and loved me. The test had worked, just as the scriptures promised.