Gospel Story Finder

The other story was equally interesting and significant to me. This family has a tradition of educational accomplishment and the father was shaken a bit when his wife brought him their high school son’s report card with his first C on it. Dad brooded over the matter and when the son came home invited him into the study, sternly confronted him with the card, and said, “Son, what is this I see on your report card?”
“Well, Dad,” replied the boy, “I hope you see the five As.”
We can all understand that it may be difficult for a boy to realize that his father can be a regular dad and do other important things too. And it may be difficult on occasion for men to see the As on the report card when there is a C there. So let me speak a few words tonight to men who once were boys and to boys who are fast becoming men. Men remember being boys, but boys, I’m sure, have a harder time imagining how it will be to be a man. But you boys will be men, you know—some kind of men—and it is very important to you and all whom your life will touch that you be regular boys in every wonderful sense of the term, so you can be regular men.

During the spring, my husband and I attended our four-year-old grandson’s football game. Excitement was in the air as children ran in every direction chasing the ball. When the final whistle blew, the players didn’t know who won or who lost. They simply had played the game.
The coaches asked the players to shake hands with the other team. Then we saw something quite remarkable. Their coach called for a victory tunnel.
Parents, grandparents, and anybody who came to see the game stood up and formed two lines facing each other. Then they raised their arms and created an arch. The children squealed as they ran under the arms of the cheering adults and down the path.
Soon the children from the other team decided to join in the fun. All of the players were cheered on by the adults as they ran through the victory tunnel.
In my mind I could see another picture. I had the feeling I was seeing these children living the plan Heavenly Father created for every child. They were running on the strait and narrow path, under the arms of the people who loved them. Each child felt the joy of being on the path.
Jesus Christ has “marked the path and led the way” for each of us.1 If we follow His lead, we will all return to our heavenly home and be safe in Heavenly Father’s arms.

Visibility is generally low in Lake Mead in Nevada, and since we were diving shortly after a storm, we knew it would be very difficult to see. The weather, however, was beautiful. So we loaded our equipment on the boat and headed out. We beached the boat on a small island about 150 yards east of where we knew a large boat had sunk years before. After putting on our diving gear, we swam the distance on the surface of the water to the buoy that marked the location of the wreck.
Once we reached the buoy, we descended below the surface along the rope that held the buoy to the boat far below. Visibility was even poorer than we had expected. We held tightly to the rope as we continued our descent, trying in vain to see through the murky darkness which surrounded us. We could not see the wreck until we were within ten feet of it. For the next 40 minutes, we explored in and around the large boat.
When we decided it was time to return to the island, I indicated to my friend that we should return underwater rather than surface swim. Swimming underwater is far less strenuous, and I had no desire to repeat the exhausting surface swim which we endured before the dive began. Suspended a few feet above the lake floor, I looked at my compass and decided to head directly east. I had unwisely not taken a compass bearing before descending, but I had noticed that our boat was generally east.
My friend and I swam for about 20 yards before the lake bed dropped out of sight below us. We needed to maintain our current depth rather than descending with the lake bottom, so we continued east for another 50 yards. At that point my friend and I conferred. As we looked around, we could see no more than ten feet in any direction. The murky darkness around us was eerie, and we knew if our original compass bearing was off by a few degrees, we would miss the island entirely. We decided it would be safest to ascend to the surface and complete our swim to the island from there.
I checked my depth gauge. It said 55 feet. We began our ascent. Looking around, we could see nothing but dark green, murky water around us and our bubbles rising to the surface. We were being careful not to go up too quickly. A good rule is to not rise faster than your smallest bubbles. Our small bubbles were creeping past us, so we felt safe. After about a minute, I knew something was wrong. The light was the same, the temperature had not changed, and there was no easing of the pressure on our bodies. It did not feel like we were rising. I checked the depth gauge again. It said 58 feet.
What?
All that time I thought I was making positive progress, I was, in fact, sinking deeper into the depths below. I began kicking faster toward the surface and kept a close eye on my depth gauge because I now needed to rely on the instrument to guide me to the surface. The needle began to creep slowly upward.
My friend had adopted a similar strategy, and we moved together toward the surface. The murky darkness around us lightened. The water temperature began to rise, and the pressure on our bodies began to ease as we continued our ascent. When we broke the water’s surface, I felt an incredible surge of relief. Looking quickly at my compass, I realized we might have missed the island had we not decided to surface when we did.
As we broke the water’s surface, one thought struck me. I thought of Lehi’s vision of the tree of life where he sees many people pressing forward along the straight and narrow path toward the tree which represents the love of God. As the people progress, a mist of darkness arises to blind the eyes and harden the hearts of the people. Never before had this story hit me with as much force as it did that day at the lake. When I was below the surface, I was blind as to which direction to go and I had difficulty getting my bearings.
My compass and depth gauge helped me that day, but it would have been much easier to follow the same rope to the surface which we had held onto as we had descended to the wreck. I felt what a desperate state we can find ourselves in if we do not hold fast to the iron rod—the word of God—to keep us on the path toward eternal life.

On the first day of our vacation, we stopped at a park in a small town to eat lunch. As we put a tablecloth and paper plates on one of the picnic tables, Jimmy nudged me and pointed at an old man walking toward the tables. “He looks like the guys you see on TV—the ones who don’t have any place to live.”
“He really does,” I answered.
We watched as he came closer. “Do you suppose he’s going to ask us for something to eat?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
We were disappointed when he sat down at a table far from ours.
“Mom,” I said, “see that old man over there? Do you think he has a home anywhere?”
Mom stopped turning the hamburgers on the grill and looked where I was pointing. “No, Crissie,” she said, “he looks like he’s carrying everything he owns with him.”
“That’s what I thought too. Do you suppose he has anything to eat?”
“I don’t know,” Mom answered, “but he doesn’t look like he eats very often. He surely is thin.”
“Could we ask him to come and eat with us?”
“We have plenty of food,” Mom said. “Why don’t you check with Dad first. He’s over by the swings with Susan and Missy.”
When I asked Dad, he didn’t say yes right away. He said he wanted to get a little closer and see what this man looked like. He didn’t want to put any of us in danger.
As we began walking across the grass, the old man glanced curiously in our direction. It surprised me to think that he might be as curious about us as we were about him.
The closer we got, the harder it was for me not to stare. I had never seen anyone quite like this man before. His hair hung almost to his shoulders. It was the color of dirt and looked like it hadn’t been washed or combed for a long time. His face was tanned and wrinkled. His eyes were a milky blue-green color, and I wondered if he could see through that milky haze. But what really fascinated me was his mouth. There were wrinkles all around it, and when he opened it, I could see why. He had hardly any teeth. There was one on the top in the front, and maybe two or three on the bottom. I couldn’t see any more.
His clothes were old and dirty and just hung on his thin body. Next to him on the ground was an old army duffel bag.
As we drew near, he grew apprehensive. He reached down and pulled his duffel bag closer to him. Once again I was surprised to think that he might be afraid of us. “Hello there,” Dad said.
The man didn’t answer, but he didn’t take his eyes off us, either.
“My name is Mike Lambert,” Dad went on, just as if the man had greeted him warmly. “We’re fixing our lunch just over there, and we wondered if you’d like to join us.”
The old man looked up as if he hadn’t understood, so Dad said it again. “Would you like to join us for lunch? We’re just going to have hamburgers.”
Smiling his almost toothless smile, the old man said, “Nobody’s asked me to eat with them for a long time. That’s right nice of you.”
I ran ahead to tell Mom. She set another place at the table, and a few minutes later we all sat down. Our guest was getting ready to dig right in, when he noticed that we were all sitting with our arms folded. He quietly dropped his hands in his lap, and we all bowed our heads as Missy said a blessing on the food. She also thanked Heavenly Father for our guest and asked a blessing on him. When I looked up, I noticed tears in the old man’s eyes. I wondered if anyone had ever prayed for him before.
“No preacher could have said it any better,” he whispered.
Smiling through teary eyes of her own, Mom began to pass out the food. Jimmy and I were so fascinated at how our guest managed to chew his food with so few teeth that we forgot to eat our own. Mom nudged us and, without saying a word, let us know that we shouldn’t stare.
During the meal, we learned that our guest’s name was Joe. He was from Chicago but had traveled all over the United States. He didn’t know where his family was anymore. He’d lost track of them several years before. When Susan asked him if he had any children, he said, “Yes, I had two little girls. The last time I saw them, they were about the same size as you and your little sister. I guess they’re grown-ups now.”
Before we could ask any more questions, Mom asked if anyone would like another hamburger. Joe said that he would. He said he was going to save it for his supper. Mom promptly put several other things in some paper dishes and covered them and gave them to him too. “You might as well take some of this other food to go along with it,” she said.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.
As we packed our things in the car, Joe carefully packed his food in his duffel bag. We waved to him as we drove away. He waved back for as long as we could see him.
“What will happen to Joe when it gets cold outside?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Mom said. “Maybe he’ll have gone to a warmer climate by then. Or maybe he’ll find a shelter to stay in.”
“I’m sure thankful we have a house,” I said.
“I am, too,” Mom replied, “and I’m also thankful for children who have caring hearts.”
We had a wonderful vacation that summer, but the thing I remember best was our lunch with Joe.

In 1979, Art Hansen was wrestling with the decision to give up his personal pursuits in competitive skiing to go on a full-time mission. Back then he went to a sacrament meeting that helped him make up his mind.
Art listened to a talk given by a friend who had accepted a mission call. “I thought, hey, I’m going to go too,” he remembers. Guided by his initial excitement, he penned a letter to another friend, Elder Matthew Balkman, who at the time was serving in the Philippines. He told his missionary friend about his decision to serve. Only one problem—Elder Balkman never received that letter or the two that followed. “We didn’t communicate regularly back then,” Art says. “I didn’t know he never received my letters.”
Almost 30 years later, Elder Balkman’s son Blake was called to serve in the same location in the Philippines where his father had served. When Elder Balkman junior arrived at the mission home, he was presented with three faded letters from “Elder Hansen” addressed to an Elder Balkman. He noticed the postmarks were dated 30 years ago and sent the letters home to his father, assuming they had something to do with him. Elder Balkman senior then forwarded them on to his old friend Art Hansen, not knowing that this time the letter would arrive just at the right moment—for someone else.

Photo illustration by Ilda Masa/iStock/Thinkstock
On the first morning of our vacation, my family and I went snowboarding. After several runs and then lunch, my father, my older brother, and I decided to try a new trail. We snowboarded for quite some time through unfamiliar territory, encountering strange obstacles that you wouldn’t normally find on a regular ski trail. We weaved through trees and pushed through the endless snow until we discovered we’d taken a wrong turn at the top of the mountain. Now near the bottom of the canyon, we realized we were lost.
We were standing in three feet of snow, and aside from the few pine trees that dotted the canyon, everything was white. We had no idea where to go. It was three o’clock in the afternoon; in a few hours, the sun would set and temperatures would drop dramatically. Plus, the ski patrol went home at four o’clock. If we didn’t get help soon, we’d have to spend the night in the freezing cold, stranded in a snowy canyon without food, water, or clothes that would keep us warm enough through the night. I didn’t even want to think about what might happen to us.
We knew that contacting Mom was the only way we’d get out of the canyon that night. So we got out our phone, but we didn’t have any reception and the battery was almost dead. We adjusted the settings on the phone so an alarm would go off if we got to a place with service, and then we wandered anxiously as the sun sank lower behind the mountain.
As it got darker and colder, our chances for survival seemed to decrease. I began to worry. “What if we don’t make it out tonight?” I thought. Feeling overwhelmed and scared, the three of us offered a prayer to Heavenly Father asking for safety and for the comfort of the Holy Ghost. We asked Heavenly Father to help us find our way out of the canyon, to meet our physical needs, and to allow us to contact help.
As we opened our eyes, we saw a small trail, and the Holy Ghost prompted us to follow it south. Hiking through three feet of snow in winter gear is not an easy task, but we felt God’s merciful hand pushing us forward.
We reached the top of a small hill, and the phone beeped. We didn’t dare move from where we stood. Carefully, I pulled out the phone and sent Mom a message explaining our dire situation and asking her to contact the ski patrol.
By this point, the sun had almost disappeared behind the mountain. Temperatures averaged -25º Fahrenheit (-32º C) and were dropping fast. We were wet, cold, and tired, and we still had no idea where to go. “We could die out here,” I thought.
Then we heard voices—people were yelling for us! We yelled back and waved our arms around to try to get their attention. The ski patrol followed the sound of our voices until they saw us. They led us safely out of the canyon, and we were reunited with Mom, who waited just outside the mouth of the canyon. We had been saved.
As soon as I sat down, my tired body collapsed, the setting sun disappeared behind distant mountains, and my cell phone’s battery died. Heavenly Father had given us just enough energy and time to safely make it out of the canyon. He had heard our prayers and granted them to the fullest.
I am so grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who hears our prayers and watches over us.

On the trail a loving attachment frequently developed between a pioneer and his ox team. Joseph F. Smith related: “My team leaders’ names were Thom and Joe—we raised them from calves, and they were both white. Thom was trim built, active, young, and more intelligent than many a man. Many times while traveling sandy or rough roads, on long, thirsty drives, my oxen were lowing with the heat and fatigue. I would put my arms around Thom’s neck and cry bitter tears! That was all I could do. Thom was my favorite and best and most willing and obedient servant and friend.”

I knew a wonderful gentleman not too many years ago who helps to illustrate this universal principle of cultural myopia. I first met him in Singapore when I was assigned to be his family’s home teacher. A distinguished professor of Sanskrit and Tamil, he hailed from the south of India. His wonderful wife and two sons were members of the Church, but he had never joined nor listened much to the teachings of the gospel. He was happy with the way his wife and sons were developing and supported them fully in their undertakings and Church responsibilities.

When I offered to teach him the principles of the gospel and share our beliefs with him, he initially balked. It took me a while to figure out why: he felt that by so doing, he would become a traitor to his past, his people, and his history! To his way of thinking, he would be denying everything he was, everything his family had taught him to be, his very Indian heritage. Over the next few months, we were able to talk about these issues. I was awed (though not surprised!) by how the gospel of Jesus Christ was able to open his eyes to a different viewpoint.

So what happened to my friend? Well, he was taught the lessons and joined the Church. His family has since been sealed for time and all eternity in the Sydney Australia Temple. He has given up little—and gained the potential for everything. He discovered that he can still celebrate his history, still be proud of his ancestry, his music and dance and literature, his food, his land and its people. He has found that there is no problem incorporating the best of his local culture into the greatest of all cultures. He discovered that bringing that which is consistent with truth and righteousness from his old life into his new one serves only to enhance his fellowship with the Saints and to assist in uniting all as one in the society of heaven.

Inspiring is the missionary service rendered by Walter Krause, who lives in Prenzlau, Germany. Brother Krause, whose dedication to the Lord is legendary, is now 92 years of age. As a patriarch, he has given more than a thousand patriarchal blessings to members living throughout many parts of Europe.
Homeless following World War II, like so many others at that time, Brother Krause and his family lived in a refugee camp in Cottbus and began to attend church there. He was immediately called to lead the Cottbus branch. Four months later, in November of 1945, the country still in ruins, district president Richard Ranglack came to Brother Krause and asked him what he would think about going on a mission. Brother Krause’s answer reflects his commitment to the Church. Said he: “I don’t have to think about it at all. If the Lord needs me, I’ll go.”
He set out on December 1, 1945, with 20 German marks in his pocket and a piece of dry bread. One of the branch members had given him a winter coat left over from a son who had fallen in the war. Another member, who was a shoemaker, gave him a pair of shoes. With these and with two shirts, two handkerchiefs, and two pairs of stockings, he left on his mission.
Once, in the middle of winter, he walked from Prenzlau to Kammin, a little village in Mecklenburg, where 46 attended the meetings which were held. He arrived long after dark that night after a six-hour march over roads, paths, and finally across plowed fields. Just before he reached the village, he came to a large, white, flat area which made for easy walking, and he soon arrived at a member’s home to stay the night.
The next morning the game warden knocked on the door of the member’s house, asking, “Do you have a guest?”
“Yes,” came the reply.
The game warden continued, “Then come and take a look at his tracks.” The large, flat area on which Brother Krause had walked was actually a frozen lake, and some time earlier the warden had chopped a large hole in the middle of the lake for fishing. The wind had driven snow over the hole and covered it so that Brother Krause could not have seen his danger. His tracks went right next to the edge of the hole and straight to the house of the member, without his knowing anything about it. Weighed down by his backpack and his rubber boots, he would certainly have drowned had he gone one step further toward the hole he couldn’t see. He commented later that this event caused quite a stir in the village at the time.
Brother Krause’s entire life has been to pray and then to go.

More than 120 youths from the Monticello Utah Stake undertook clean-up operations at their stake farm that will one day include a recreation-park area for Scouts and a girls’ camp. A stake committee is working on a master plan for the campground, and the project will involve several years’ work.
Some of the day’s work included cleaning out the old spring, tearing off old roofs, cleaning out the solidly built root cellar, and hauling trash to the ravine for burial.
The farm, complete with log cabins still very much intact, will someday serve recreational needs for generations.
After the work was done the young people organized games, and a delicious Dutch-oven supper was served.

When residents of Bear Creek called for help, over 175 youth and leaders from the Dallas Texas Stake answered. They helped with the restoration and cleanup of the historic, 150-year-old area, the oldest black community in Dallas County.
The youth worked hard to help restore and preserve some of the historic homes in the area. They also prepared some of the historical buildings that will be moved nearer to a recreation center site.
The residents of Bear Creek expressed their gratitude for the “wonderful job” the LDS youth did in helping them clean up their homes and neighborhoods. They were amazed that so many could be brought together from such distant places in such a short time.

When Christian was 19, he decided to go to America, to Zion. He had saved enough money over the years working in the Hotvedtvien Cabinet Shop for the passage. In the spring of 1887, a tall, handsome Christian Mortson said goodbye to his foster parents, the two people who several years before had saved him from a lonely death.
“How can I thank you?” he said, standing on the Oslo dock, holding a large canvas bag full of sturdy new clothes and gifts they had given him for the journey.
“Love is its own reward, Christian,” Sister Hotvedtvien said. A tear fell and hung on her smile, then fell again. Christian turned to hide his own tears and walked up the ramp to the ship.
“Write to us,” he heard her shout. He turned, looked one more time, and saw her standing tall, strong, and noble next to her husband. He felt as if he were leaving an important part of himself standing there. He loved them as much as he loved his own parents, but he knew the step he was taking was right and he took it.

My husband and I joined the Church in Russia in 1995 and were sealed the next year in the Stockholm Sweden Temple. Our two young daughters were also sealed to us. Two years later we were blessed to have another daughter, Lizochka, born to us. Our lives were going well. We were all happy. But two days after her birth, our little one began to have trouble eating. In a month she gained only two-thirds of a pound (300 g).
The staff at the children’s medical center told us to feed her more often. I saw that she wanted to eat but could not. Finally, my husband took her to the city hospital. The doctor immediately gave us a diagnosis—a birth defect in the heart. One heart valve did not work, and the poor blood flow to her lungs made it hard for her to breathe or eat.
She needed an operation, but in Russia the youngest children to receive this operation were two years old. Our daughter was only one month old. The doctor prescribed a treatment for her and said that later, when she was older, they would perform the operation.
One month later, Lizochka’s health worsened dramatically, and we rushed her to the hospital. I held her as we drove. She looked at me as if pleading for help. If I had not been a member of the Church, I don’t know what I would have done. But my husband and I trusted the Lord and firmly believed that all would be well. I tried to calm her, saying, “Don’t be scared of anything, my little one. God loves us. He will help us, and everything will be OK.”
Finally we arrived. Holding her close to me, I ran to the admitting division. Lizochka’s eyes began to close. She was barely breathing. Almost unable to speak, I told a doctor about my child, and the medical staff took her to the intensive care unit. The doctor said her lungs were beginning to swell, and they hooked her up to an artificial-respiration machine.
The next day we talked with the director of the cardio surgery division. He said, “I have done such operations but only on older children. How old is she now?”
“Two months,” we told him.
“She already hurts a lot. She is so small, and the swelling of her lungs is complicating things, but we must not drag this on any longer. I have never done such an operation to a small child. I will try to do all I can. You will have to buy an artificial double valve, but it is very expensive—about $2,100. The operation will be in four days.”
What were we to do? Neither we nor anyone we knew had such money. However, our situation came to the attention of others, and through their generosity and the Lord’s mercy we were able to secure the funds. My husband bought the valve we needed to save the life of our child.
Not only did all the brothers and sisters of our branch pray and fast for our little daughter but so did the missionaries and many Latter-day Saints throughout the city. We felt their support. Sitting in the hall on the day of the operation, we felt the presence of the Holy Ghost and sensed the prayers of our brothers and sisters. We knew they were near us! And God was with us, guiding the surgeons. He would not leave us, and everything would work out.
When the surgeon came out after the operation, he, somewhat bewildered, told us, “Everything worked out. We put in the valve. I do not know how, but it succeeded.” But we knew how it succeeded. Heavenly Father blessed him.
Lizochka stayed in the hospital three more days while the swelling of her heart and lungs went down. She had been cut open and sealed closed by only a thin membrane, and a few days later they operated again to close her chest and organs. Almost none of the doctors expected her to survive. But we believed in Heavenly Father and in His power, and we believed that if it was His will, she would recover.
Only God could have given us back our Lizochka. With each day, she got better. She stayed in the hospital another month, and now she is home with us.
God is a God of miracles. He hears our prayers, and during our hard times, He carries us. Trials strengthen our faith and teach us to believe, hope, and love.

In February 2013, I met a young man named Kurt at a dinner party. He was scruffy, unshaven, and hungover. I didn’t give him much thought. Four months later, I saw a handsome young man who instantly took my breath away. Our paths crossed for all of five minutes, but in that time, I realized that it was Kurt—the same scruffy guy I had met before. I wondered about the change in his appearance.
Two weeks later, I was surprised to receive a text message from Kurt to join his friends to watch a movie. I debated in my head whether I should go. How did he even get my number? I barely knew this guy, my first impressions of him were not the greatest, and it didn’t seem like we didn’t have much in common. Reluctantly I made my mind up to go anyway.
After the movie, Kurt invited me to dinner, and I only said yes because I was starving, but that dinner changed everything. My first impression of him changed as I found out he was someone who genuinely made me smile and laugh. He was so easy to talk with, and we became instant friends.
As time passed, our friendship grew and so did our feelings. Before a romantic relationship could develop, I had this internal battle; he wasn’t a member of the Church. I knew that I wanted to be married in the temple and raise my children in the gospel. I wanted an eternal family. So what was I doing developing a relationship with him?
I knew I needed to do something. One evening we were driving back to my house, and I asked, “What are we doing?” I told him that we needed to take a step back and not let our friendship develop into something more. I said that I didn’t want to break my heart or his heart if we got into a relationship only to have to part ways because I wanted a temple marriage. I told him that life isn’t just about me, or us, but about our futures and future children. I admitted that I knew this was crazy and that I was jumping ahead but that I was just trying to be realistic and spare us future heartache.
He listened and then, to my surprise, replied, “I will take you to the temple.” I doubted him—how could he promise that? He reassured me by promising to take me and asking me to trust him.
I didn’t really know what to do, but it was probably the first time in my life that I had been praying with so much real intent. As I was fasting and praying throughout the whole journey, I always had a reassuring feeling that it was right and to keep going along this path. My previous relationships had felt good, but being with Kurt, for the first time in my life, things felt right—not just good but right, and I felt at home.
With that reassurance from the Spirit, I agreed to trust Kurt and continue our relationship. I knew that things still might not work out, but I also knew that I would stick to my commitment to a temple marriage.
Kurt started meeting with the missionaries. During the lessons, I found out that he had been investigating the Church for over a year before we met. I also discovered that he had purposely not been asking me any religious questions because he wanted to find out the truth for himself and not allow his feelings for me to sway him.
He was baptized, and we were married and sealed in the Hamilton New Zealand Temple a year later. He kept his promise to me to take me to the temple, and he still holds his covenants close to his heart. Six and a half years of marriage later, and we still have an amazing thing going. We have a son whom we cherish, and we strive every day to teach him the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I’m glad that I didn’t let my first impressions of Kurt become my last. He’s not the same person I first met. I’m glad that I trusted him and the Spirit’s guidance in our relationship. And I’m grateful that I stood up for what I believed in, for myself and my future family. I knew I wanted to be sealed in the temple, not just because it’s the “right thing to do,” but because the covenants we make, especially in the temple, put us on a path that allows our family to grow, progress, and become eternal. As President Russell M. Nelson stated so eloquently, “Salvation is an individual matter; exaltation is a family matter” (“Salvation and Exaltation,” Liahona, May 2008, 10).

Then there was the talent show where, for the first time, the students who could play the piano, sing, dance or act were recognized. “The best thing,” said Sue, “was that we have these very talented people and they never get recognized like the athletes do. That was our point. People you never hear about were excited to be in the show. We held a performance for the students and another for the parents.”

After his throat operation, President Kimball had no voice. During a testimony meeting in the temple, President David O. McKay asked him to bear his testimony. He could not speak a word. He could only utter inaudible, breathy sounds. He wrote a note to President McKay afterwards and asked, “Why would you do that to me?” The President answered, “Spencer, you must get your voice back, for you still have a great mission to perform.” (What a moving example of the love of one prophet for another.) President Kimball was obedient. He learned how to control air in his throat and to use the scar tissue that developed in his larynx and his remaining vocal cord. He regained his voice and carried on his great work. The accomplishment of President Kimball’s prophetic mission will stand equal to any in this or any other dispensation.

But Rigmor does not see her willingness to speak up as especially courageous. “I don’t really need courage,” says Sister Heistø. “I just think, ‘Oh, here is something I can do.’” One day, for example, she picked up the newspaper and read an interesting article in which Georg Fredrik Rieber-Mohn, the attorney general of Norway, lamented the state of family life and cultural values in Norway. He warned that the pursuit of materialism could destroy the country and called for the state church to teach values with authority.
Sister Heistø thought the attorney general needed to know that a church is already doing the very things he advocated and that its name is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. So she wrote a letter to him.
A week later, the attorney general himself called, asking Sister Heistø to meet with him. As a result, she spent several hours explaining the Church to Mr. Rieber-Mohn. “I think the Lord knows two things about me,” says Sister Heistø. “He knows I am not afraid of other people. Why should I be? … And,” she adds, smiling, “he knows I can talk.”

So we looked him up when he was in Salt Lake on a visit and asked him a few questions. Here’s what happened.
Q: If there’s been a highlight in your basketball career, what was it?
Kresimir: I played on three championship teams in Zadar, and it was always a highlight, because when we win something over there, the whole town celebrates. Everyone dances; there is no work; everything closes. You can go outside, and you can see it’s a completely different place for a week. Those are maybe the most impressive things. In the United States there is not so much celebration. In Zadar we have happiness. We have a good time winning the game.
Q: You were drafted by two pro teams. Weren’t you interested in the money?
Kresimir: Money is not the main thing. You try to live happily. If you can do it, you do. I try to live so that I feel good, and if I feel good, then I am living well.
Q: Do you have any suggestions for young basketball players?
Kresimir: First, every person who wants to play basketball has to have temperament.
Q: Temperament?
Kresimir: You’ve got to be alive. You’ve got to like to play. That really helps.
Q: Anything else?
Kresimir: I always try to be a complete player. A player should learn as many things as he can, but he has to decide what is best for his own position and work hardest on that. I try to learn everything. I know a thousand things that I never use because I just play center. But I think that even if you play a specific position, you should learn everything else so you can help the other players. But you need to learn specific things especially well.
Q: What kind of a training program did you use when you were a young player in Yugoslavia?
Kresimir: When I started to play I used to shoot by myself every morning, and that’s the best thing you can do when you are young—just play with the ball, and play on one basket, three against three, two against two, one against one. That’s the way I developed; then I just played. When you are 15 or 16 years old you may begin to work a bit harder and start to work on certain things. I never had any specialty. I just tried to do what everyone else was doing. I usually played at guard, because no one else in my hometown was tall, and I was doing whatever they were doing, so I developed pretty good ball handling.
Q: If some tall, young reader wants to play center, what are some of the things he should be working on?
Kresimir: He should try to work like a forward—move out and in, run every time there’s a fast break, work on those things that really give trouble to big men, and always be as quick as possible. Faking is one of the most important things for a center to learn. If a center can fake, it’s really hard to stop him. If he can fake, then go left or right, he can shoot all kinds of shots from inside 15 feet. You can shoot any way you want to from that close. You’ve got to have fast legs and hands. You’ve got to have coordination. That’s why I think tall men need coordination drills like dancing or rhythmic exercises. It’s really necessary, because when you’re tall your leg may go off in some direction, and you don’t know where it is, and you don’t have any idea of how you’re going to get it back. It really takes coordination.
Q: You’re an excellent outside shooter, something many centers can’t claim. How did you develop this?
Kresimir: When I used to play at center, I wouldn’t get the ball for five minutes, so I’d step out and play next to the guards. Then when it was my turn, I’d shoot it.
Q: Would you advise centers to get outside occasionally?
Kresimir: I think it’s good to stay in the center. Try to get all the tip-ins you can, and whenever you get a good shot, take it, of course. I like to get the ball and then see the situation. Whatever my opponents do, I do the opposite. You kind of let them commit themselves.
Q: You’re famous for your unbelievable passes. Can you tell young players how to develop that kind of passing?
Kresimir: I don’t know. In my hometown everybody does it. We just play that kind of playground ball. It’s kind of a feeling. You play by the feeling. You hit a man before he comes in there. That’s why I sometimes make really bad passes; the man starts to go, I throw the ball, and then he stops.
Q: It’s obvious to anyone who has seen you play that you enjoy yourself. What do you enjoy doing most on the basketball court?
Kresimir: Basketball is a beautiful game. I don’t think there are many games where you can really have fun like in basketball. It’s fun when you pass, block shots, jump—you know. That’s why I think it’s important how you feel when the crowd is up. In Zadar when the crowd gets up, it’s a crazy house. I have played all over the world, but I wouldn’t change that crowd for any other. We’ve got 2,700 seats, and our place is just too small. Six thousand people try to squeeze in, so it’s loud, and you can hear it. If 7:30 is game time, at 5:30 the house is full. It’s so full that if you don’t get there early, it’s all over.
Q: Do you think the crowd can really make a difference in the way a player performs?
Kresimir: Yes. You play much better if the crowd is up. Sometimes you don’t feel good, or you have to study, or you have pain or are sick or something; then the crowd can wake you up.
Q: You surprised a lot of people when you joined the Church. Could you tell us something about your conversion?
Kresimir: I had never heard about the Church before I came here. In Yugoslavia most of the young people are completely atheistic, and that’s the way I lived. When I came to Provo I didn’t change. I was an atheist for two years while I was in Provo. Nobody was farther from becoming a Mormon than I was. I just lived my way, and people lived their way. I obeyed all the rules of BYU, tried to be as good as I could, and tried to play ball and do my studying and other things. When I was a junior, I decided to figure out a few things. I had things I wanted to know.
I didn’t decide to join the Church because of any one thing. There were some things that I wanted to know. I had a few questions that no one could answer. It just happened. We as Mormons believe in personal things everyone can know by himself. It all depends on how bad you want to know something. That’s the whole point. If we have a desire in the Church to know something, we will know it; there’s no question about that. If something is really bothering you, you probably go to somebody for advice. If it’s football you want to know about—what kind of a play you are going to play—you can ask me, and I don’t have any idea. I just can’t help. It’s the same if you’re going to the wrong church. They can’t give you an answer. So you ask, and find out, and you join the true church. So I just decided to join the Church.
Q: I’ve heard that the Book of Mormon impressed you very much when you were studying the Church. Is this true?
Kresimir: Of course. You just read the book and want to get baptized—and that’s it.
Q: Who gave you the book?
Kresimir: You can buy those books for 50 cents.
Q: What impressed you about the Book of Mormon?
Kresimir: Well, it’s certainly the best book I have ever read. There’s no question about that. The book applies to today’s people much more than in the days when Joseph Smith translated it, because it speaks about the way it is now. I was traveling all over the world, and I saw many places, and I saw most of the prophecies being fulfilled; it’s amazing. That really is a good book. There are many things in it that are coming true now.
Q: Were your friends in Yugoslavia surprised when they learned you had joined the Church?
Kresimir: You bet they were surprised. That’s the last thing they thought was going to happen.
Q: You are a national hero. Has your popularity suffered since you joined the Church? Do people think you are strange or weird?
Kresimir: Almost everyone thinks I’m crazy anyway, so that’s nothing new. As far as popularity goes, I just live my life normally and play because I have fun. Now people know I’m a Mormon; some of them don’t think becoming a Mormon was too smart a thing to do—most of them don’t—but they just have to take me that way, and that’s it.
Q: Did joining the Church change your goals in life?
Kresimir: Of course. We talk all the time about being born again. Especially if you have lived the way I did, you better be born completely. You don’t just get in the middle. You’ve got to change all things.
Q: Have you been happier since becoming a member of the Church?
Kresimir: Of course. And if I hadn’t known I would be, I wouldn’t have been baptized.
Q: I’ve heard that while you were at the Y you spent quite a bit of time speaking to firesides and other youth groups.
Kresimir: When I was baptized I changed completely. It’s a completely different story to be a Mormon and a non-Mormon. I didn’t like to speak in public, but I got to thinking later on, “I have to.” There are some things we’ve got to help others with; it doesn’t make any difference if we like it or not. I like to live and I like to have fun. It was kind of uncomfortable to have to speak all the time. But it was okay, if people wanted to hear me. I told them what I thought, not what they wanted to hear.
Q: Speaking of fun, have you found that joining the Church has interfered with your having fun?
Kresimir: I think that’s really the best part, because you can really have much bigger fun. I mean like when we talk about sin; sin does not seem so bad the day you do it. Of course you have fun when you go to parties and that, but you have so many troubles afterwards. It’s not worth it at all. And this gospel is really nice now and afterwards also.
I really believe that living the gospel is fun, but it is hard. It’s hard to really live it. It’s not hard if you don’t. You can be a member on paper with everyone and do some of the same things. It’s not hard to play with the team if you can just sit on the bench, if you don’t have to practice or anything. But if you’ve got to go all the time, then it’s kind of difficult.
But I don’t think it’s worthwhile to ask if there is any sacrifice. There’s no sacrifice at all. You don’t sacrifice anything when you invest five cents and receive a thousand dollars in return.
Q: I’ve heard that you’re quite a student of the scriptures. Is this true?
Kresimir: No, I just read normally. I believe that the scriptures are the best part of literature, so why not read them? I used to spend hours reading magazines—just to pass the time. Or I’ve played cards for days and days and nights and nights, and I’ve smoked and drunk and all those things—just to pass the time! I still like to read magazines or the funnies sometimes or do things just to pass the time, but most of the time, when you’re able to get the time, it’s stupid to just let it pass. Of course, I’m not telling anybody else how to spend his time.
Q: What have you learned from your world travels?
Kresimir: I got a chance to talk to people. That’s why we are all here. The gospel really teaches you to try. You have to meet the people. You really can get acquainted; you can get inside and enjoy the way different people live.

I will tell you of an experience I had before I was a General Authority that affected me profoundly. I sat on a plane next to a professed atheist who pressed his disbelief in God so urgently that I bore my testimony to him. “You are wrong,” I said. “There is a God. I know He lives!”
He protested, “You don’t know. Nobody knows that! You can’t know it!” When I would not yield, the atheist, who was an attorney, asked perhaps the ultimate question on the subject of testimony. “All right,” he said in a sneering, condescending way, “you say you know. Tell me how you know.”
When I attempted to answer, even though I held advanced academic degrees, I was helpless to communicate.
When I used the words Spirit and witness, the atheist responded, “I don’t know what you are talking about.” The words prayer, discernment, and faith were equally meaningless to him. “You see,” he said, “you don’t really know. If you did, you would be able to tell me how you know.”
I felt, perhaps, that I had borne my testimony to him unwisely and was at a loss as to what to do. Then came the experience! Something came into my mind. And I mention here a statement of the Prophet Joseph Smith: “A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation; for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas … and thus by learning the Spirit of God and understanding it, you may grow into the principle of revelation, until you become perfect in Christ Jesus.”
Such an idea came into my mind, and I said to the atheist, “Let me ask if you know what salt tastes like.”
“Of course I do,” was his reply.
“Then,” I said, “assuming that I have never tasted salt, explain to me just what it tastes like.”
After some thought, he said, “Well, I, uh, it is not sweet and it is not sour.”
“You’ve told me what it isn’t, not what it is.”
After several attempts, of course, he could not do it. He could not convey, in words alone, so ordinary an experience as tasting salt. I bore testimony to him once again and said, “I know there is a God. You ridiculed that testimony and said that if I did know, I would be able to tell you exactly how I know. My friend, spiritually speaking, I have tasted salt. I am no more able to convey to you in words how this knowledge has come than you are to tell me what salt tastes like. But I say to you again, there is a God! He does live! And just because you don’t know, don’t try to tell me that I don’t know, for I do!”
As we parted, I heard him mutter, “I don’t need your religion for a crutch! I don’t need it.”
From that experience forward, I have never been embarrassed or ashamed that I could not explain in words alone everything I know spiritually. The Apostle Paul said it this way:
“We speak, not in the words which man’s wisdom teacheth, but which the Holy Ghost teacheth; comparing spiritual things with spiritual.
“But the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned” (1 Corinthians 2:13–14).
The voice of the Spirit is described in the scriptures as being neither “loud” nor “harsh” (3 Nephi 11:3). It is “not a voice of thunder, neither … a voice of a great tumultuous noise,” but rather, “a still voice of perfect mildness, as if it had been a whisper,” and it can “pierce even to the very soul” (Helaman 5:30) and “cause [the heart] to burn” (3 Nephi 11:3). Remember, Elijah found the voice of the Lord was not in the wind, nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but was a “still small voice” (1 Kings 19:12).
The Spirit does not get our attention by shouting or shaking us with a heavy hand. Rather it whispers. It caresses so gently that if we are preoccupied we may not feel it at all.
Occasionally, it will press just firmly enough for us to pay heed. But most of the time, if we do not heed the gentle feeling, the Spirit will withdraw and wait until we come seeking and listening and say in our manner and expression, like Samuel of ancient times, “Speak [Lord], for thy servant heareth” (1 Samuel 3:10).
There is something else to learn. A testimony is not thrust upon you; a testimony grows. We become taller in testimony like we grow taller in physical stature; we hardly know it happens because it comes by growth.
You cannot force spiritual things. Such words as compel, coerce, constrain, pressure, and demand do not describe our privileges with the Spirit. You can no more force the Spirit to respond than you can force a bean to sprout or an egg to hatch before its time. You can create a climate to foster growth, nourish, and protect; but you cannot force or compel: you must await the growth.
Do not be impatient to gain great spiritual knowledge. Let it grow, help it grow, but do not force it or you will open the way to be misled.
We are expected to use the light and knowledge we already possess to work out our lives. We should not need a revelation to instruct us to be up and about our duty, for we have been told to do that already in the scriptures; nor should we expect revelation to replace the spiritual or temporal intelligence that we have already received—only to extend it. We must go about our life in an ordinary, workaday way, following the routines and rules and regulations that govern life.
Rules and regulations and commandments are valuable protection. If we need revealed instruction to alter our course, it will be waiting along the way as we arrive at the point of need. The counsel to be “anxiously engaged” is wise counsel indeed (see D&C 58:27).
Now, do not feel hesitant or ashamed if you do not know everything. Nephi said, “I know that he loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things” (1 Nephi 11:17).
There may be more power in your testimony than even you realize. The Lord said to the Nephites:
“Whoso cometh unto me with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, him will I baptize with fire and with the Holy Ghost, even as the Lamanites, because of their faith in me at the time of their conversion, were baptized with fire and with the Holy Ghost, and they knew it not” (3 Nephi 9:20; emphasis added).
Several years ago I met one of our sons in the mission field in a distant part of the world. He had been there for a year. His first question was this: “Dad, what can I do to grow spiritually? I have tried so hard to grow spiritually, and I just haven’t made any progress.”
That was his perception: to me it was otherwise. I could hardly believe the maturity, the spiritual growth that he had gained in just one year. He “knew it not,” for it had come as growth, not as a startling spiritual experience.
It is not unusual to have a missionary say, “How can I bear testimony until I get one? How can I testify that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, and that the gospel is true? If I do not have such a testimony, would that not be dishonest?”
Oh, if I could teach you this one principle: a testimony is to be found in the bearing of it! Somewhere in your quest for spiritual knowledge, there is that “leap of faith,” as the philosophers call it. It is the moment when you have gone to the edge of the light and stepped into the darkness to discover that the way is lighted ahead for just a footstep or two. “The spirit of man is,” as the scripture says, indeed “the candle of the Lord” (Proverbs 20:27).
It is one thing to receive a witness from what you have read or what another has said; and that is a necessary beginning. It is quite another to have the Spirit confirm to you in your bosom that what you have testified is true. Can you not see that it will be supplied as you share it? As you give that which you have, there is a replacement, with increase!
To speak out is the test of your faith.
Bear testimony of the things that you hope are true, as an act of faith. It is something of an experiment, like the experiment that the prophet Alma proposed to his followers. We begin with faith—not with a perfect knowledge of things. That sermon in the 32nd chapter of Alma is one of the greatest messages in holy writ, for it is addressed to the beginner, to the humble seeker. And it holds a key to a witness of the truth.
The Spirit and testimony of Christ will come to you for the most part when, and remain with you only if, you share it. In that process is the very essence of the gospel.
Is not this a perfect demonstration of Christianity? You cannot find it, nor keep it, nor enlarge it unless and until you are willing to share it. It is by giving it away freely that it becomes yours.
There is great power in this work, spiritual power. The ordinary member of the Church, like you, having received the gift of the Holy Ghost by confirmation, can do the work of the Lord.
Years ago a friend told this experience. He was 17 years old and with his companion stopped at a cottage in the southern states. It was his first day in the mission field and was his first door. A gray-haired woman stood inside the screen and asked what they wanted. His companion nudged him to proceed. Frightened and somewhat tongue-tied, he finally blurted out, “As man is God once was, and as God is man may become.”
Strangely enough, she was interested and asked where he got that. He answered, “It’s in the Bible.” She left the door for a moment, returned with her Bible. Commenting that she was a minister of a congregation, she handed it to him and said, “Here, show me.”
He took the Bible and nervously thumbed back and forth through it. Finally he handed it back saying, “Here, I can’t find it. I’m not even sure that it’s in there, and even if it is, I couldn’t find it. I’m just a poor farm boy from out in Cache Valley in Utah. I haven’t had much training. But I come from a family where we live the gospel of Jesus Christ. And it’s done so much for our family that I’ve accepted a call to come on a mission for two years, at my own expense, to tell people how I feel about it.”
After half a century, he could not hold back the tears as he told me how she pushed open the door and said, “Come in, my boy. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”
There is so much more to say. I could speak of prayer, of fasting, of priesthood and authority, of worthiness—all essential to revelation. When they are understood, it all fits together—perfectly. But some things one must learn individually, and alone, taught by the Spirit.
I know by experience too sacred to touch upon that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, that the gift of the Holy Ghost conferred upon us at our confirmation is a divine gift. The Book of Mormon is true! This is the Lord’s Church! Jesus is the Christ! There presides over us a prophet of God! The day of miracles has not ceased, neither have angels ceased to appear and minister unto man! The spiritual gifts are with the Church. Choice among them is the gift of the Holy Ghost!

One of my favorite childhood stories happened when I was about three years old. I don’t remember the experience, but my mother has often told me about it.
My father had been called to serve a mission in the Southern States Mission. At the time, my parents and I were living in southern Nevada. Although they knew that it would be difficult to be separated, my mother and father were thrilled with the opportunity it gave my father to serve the Lord.
So my father left his wife and only child at home and headed for Salt Lake City for initial training and instruction before he left for the mission field.
The day after he left, my mother was washing clothes. In those days water had to be heated on a stove, after which it was poured into the washing machine. She had just picked up a bucket of boiling water and was carrying it over to the washing machine when I scurried past her. She tripped, and the scalding water poured all over me.
Priesthood holders were called in to administer to me. Before they began, my mother gave them strict instructions: “Bless this child that he will be healed so that his father won’t have to interrupt his mission.”
After the blessing, the pain ceased, and in a short time I was healed. I was promised that I would have no scars, and I have none.
My father was told about the accident, but he was assured that I was well on my way to recovery. In the meantime he had been set apart by a General Authority and was given the promise that his wife and son would be blessed while he served the Lord and that all would go well with them. He took the Lord at His word and went on with his mission.
My father died when I was six, leaving me with almost no memory of him and leaving my mother a young widow with two babies. But my mother never expressed regret for the time that my father had spent on his mission serving the Lord. To this day she still speaks of his mission as a blessing in our lives. She always taught me how important serving a mission is.
I have always insisted that missionary work be part of my life and part of my family’s lives. I have told this story many times to my children and to their children to help them understand the importance of serving the Lord and to teach them that a mission comes first.