Gospel Story Finder

Bill Hoagland watched through the window as the supply plane approached the tiny island that would be his home for 12 months. Just a dot in the water, he thought, lost in mile after mile of waves. He knew the navigation station was vital to the U.S. Coast Guard, and he knew his job as hospital corpsman on the island would be important too. “Maybe I can get so involved in my work that time will pass quickly,” he thought again. “But look at the island. It’s so small … and what about my wife and the baby?”
Tires screeched on packed coral and sand, grabbing for a hold on the runway. Then there was a whirr as the sound of the motor caught up with the braking plane. Soon Bill was talking to new acquaintances, discovering what men do on Tern Island, one of the French Frigate Shoals 500 miles northwest of Hawaii. Mostly they tried to make time pass more quickly. Of course, there were movies, swimming, and hobbies like collecting glass balls that break from fishing fleet nets and drift ashore. There were weekly steak fries and Ping-Pong tournaments, but nothing to remind anyone about home, except letters that arrived once a week on the supply plane.
Bill went to the barracks to unpack. He shook a book out of his seabag, and fresh memories crowded in on his mind. Before leaving San Diego, California, he and his wife had heard a broadcast from one of the wards of the local Mormon church. Both had been impressed, not just by the speakers and their well-delivered talks, but by something else. Bill and his wife had been searching together for a nameless something that would give meaning to their lives. On their way back to Indiana, where she was to stay with relatives, they had visited Salt Lake City and picked up a copy of the Book of Mormon along with some pamphlets. Now the book lay before him.
The desire to go swimming and fishing tempted Bill for the next few days, but he resolved to study and to use his year alone to advantage. Soon he was absorbed in the story and testimonies of Lehi, Nephi, Mosiah, and King Benjamin. He was also deeply impressed with the testimony of Joseph Smith. Intense reading and long hours of study eventually led Bill to Moroni’s promise. He pondered it, then knelt and prayed. He got up with knowledge in his heart that the book from his seabag did indeed contain the truth. Sleep was sweet that night.
In the morning he wrote a letter to President George W. Poulsen, Jr., of the Hawaiian Mission, and asked how he could be baptized. He knew this would be a problem because he could not leave the island and the only contact with the rest of the world was the weekly plane flight and an occasional visit from a ship carrying heavy equipment.
President Poulsen sent Bill a copy of A Marvelous Work and a Wonder and encouraged him to study it while he tried to make arrangements to get two elders out to the island somehow. Bill read the book and then sent it to his wife, as he had done with other books and pamphlets as he finished them. And he waited, studied, and prayed.
Bishop Hal K. Hess of the Kaneohe First Ward smiled as he chatted with President Poulsen on the phone. He had seen enough in his years of Church work to know that sometimes chance meetings are more than coincidental. He hadn’t been unduly surprised to run into an old LDS friend in the Hawaii Temple a few weeks before. After all, Lieutenant Gerald Foster traveled quite a bit in his work for the Coast Guard. But to think that Brother Foster was now assigned as a pilot at Barber’s Point Air Station, the field where the supply flights to Tern Island originated!
“I’d be glad to help,” Brother Foster said, noting that he could probably arrange to make the flight. But he warned that getting permission to fly two missionaries out to the island would have to come from Coast Guard Headquarters in Washington, D.C., and that would mean red tape galore. Wait a minute! There was another LDS pilot at the same base, a friend Brother Foster had introduced to the Church, Lieutenant Anthony Beardsley. Brother Beardsley normally flew to Guam, but perhaps the commanding officer would do them a favor. It was worth a try.
Brother Foster still recalls with amazement: “The Coast Guard is not a large service, and there were certainly not many Mormons in it in 1964. It was fortunate indeed that two pilots, both elders, were stationed at Barber’s Point at that time.”
“Brother Foster and I were classmates at the Coast Guard Academy,” Brother Beardsley remembers. “He helped my wife and me join the Church two years before, and throughout our military careers, we managed to follow each other from one duty station to another. I feel that in Hawaii we were placed in a position to answer someone’s prayer.”
The commander, after hearing the unusual circumstances, granted permission for the pilots to fly together. With instructions and authority from the mission president to interview William Hoagland and, if they found him worthy, to baptize him, the two lieutenants took off on June 4, 1964.
Bill had already been pacing up and down the runway long before the speck appeared in the sky and drew nearer. The plane was only scheduled for a two-hour stop, and there was a lot to accomplish in that short time period. Finally the Grumman Albatross circled in and taxied to a halt.
Brother Foster interviewed Bill in the base’s small library, then the three men went to the sick bay (which was also Bill’s room) and changed into white clothing. They went outside and waded about 20 yards off shore. Fifty yards away, across a narrow lagoon, a reef smothered the fury of 20-foot Pacific waves. Inside, the water pooled, calm, clear, and warm, with gentle breakers lapping at the shore. Sunlight dazzled its reflections across the surface as terns and bosun birds swooped overhead. Everything was silent.
Lieutenant Foster performed the baptism. Bill felt warm inside as the water rushed over him. “I knew it was the greatest day of my life,” Brother Hoagland says. “We were dripping with water and shaking hands as we hurried back to prepare for the confirmation.” Soon Elder Beardsley was inviting Bill to receive the Holy Ghost.
The men had just enough time for lunch, and then the plane flew away. “My new-found brothers were gone,” Brother Hoagland recalls, “but I was not lonely. I had their love and good wishes and the Holy Ghost to comfort me. I felt part of something great and good.” In his two months remaining on the island, he studied a religious correspondence course from BYU and bore his testimony to his wife Kay in his letters. One month after her husband’s baptism, she was baptized in Fort Wayne, Indiana, after receiving the missionary discussions.

“Dear Father,” I begged, “if I could only have my hands, I know I could make it. Please, Father, please,” I thought. “This is the time; here we go; my hands are going to move this time.”
I watched my hands, seeing them move in my mind, concentrating until it hurt, but nothing, not a single movement. Again and again I petitioned my Heavenly Father on that dark somber September night as I lay awake and alone, pleading within the confines of the rehab unit following a crippling diving accident.
Oh, the intensity of my frustration, my anguish, my fear. It didn’t seem too much to ask. Most kids at 15 are worried about what they will wear the following day, but I was fighting something more serious—uncertain whether I would even be alive the next day, uncertain whether I would ever be able to move my limbs again. “I’m only a kid!” my soul would scream. “Keep my legs, Father; I just want the use of my hands.”
Such endless nights, alternating back and forth between pleading with God and trying to move, were not rarities in the early stages of my paralysis. Even now I think often about those nights. As I go through life confined to a wheelchair, I miss my legs, but I am constantly reminded of the absence of the use of my hands. Each time I see someone helping another with groceries, planting a flower, shaking a hand, or teaching a child to throw a ball, I long to be able to use my hands in the service of others.
Feeling especially limited one day, I went to speak at a Primary on overcoming disabilities. The Primary had invited four people with disabilities to teach the children about the different handicaps that people face. Upon entering the cultural hall, I was upset that it had taken me so long to get ready that morning and that I had missed breakfast because no one was around to cook it for me. I was thinking of things that I could do if I only had more access to my physical body.
Three of the guests that the Primary had invited were in wheelchairs, and as I looked closer I noticed that one of the men was a quadriplegic with an injury like mine. I did not understand why the Primary had asked two of us to come with the same limitations. Confused, I continued to watch him, and as I did I noticed that he moved his arms when he spoke. Looking closer, I was amazed. He was using sign language—the man was deaf. He had the same disability that I had, but more than that, he was deaf. He had someone help him get dressed, cook his food, and get into his van. And on top of that, he did it all by communicating in sign language. As if that weren’t enough, the sign language he used employed his arms, for his disability, like mine, had taken from him the ability to use his hands.
His spirit refused to give up. He had limitations, but his spirit was constantly taking him outside of his barriers. In my life since my accident, I had heard people say that it would be impossible to live with such an incredible physical disability and be deaf. People probably told him the same things, but his spirit yearned to live and be functional, and so he was.
My life changed that day as his spirit inspired me to change. I left with a renewed belief in myself and in the things that I could do. He gave me the strength so that when people said I could not do something, I just asked for the chance to try. He had an indomitable spirit, and when my spirit touched his, it was inspired to be indomitable as well. All this came from a man who, unknowingly, taught me that it does not matter what our physical situation is; but what does matter is the thankful spirit with which we receive the blessings the Lord gives us. The greater man is not the one with a hundred blessings which he takes for granted, but the man with one blessing who praises his God for his bounty.
My freshman year at Brigham Young University was lonely, and as the time passed, it did not get any better. My roommate was very popular, especially with the girls, and that just made things worse. One night, I had had enough. I needed to find out if anyone cared. So I left and went to a place where I knew I could find out. I went to a little spot just above the Provo Temple. It was sunset and the lights of the temple and the city were just beginning to come on. I found myself deep in prayer. I fervently asked my Father in Heaven to let me know that he cared, that he loved me, and that I was his son. The answer I received is one that I will never forget. His Spirit touched mine and let me know that he loved me. He encircled me about in his arms of love, and touched me with his spiritual hands.
This also caused me to think about the Savior and the hands with which he truly served. What mattered in his ministry was not that he walked with men or that he was a carpenter. What mattered was the service that he rendered with his spirit. His spirit continues to inspire even unbelievers who, regardless of their religious orientation, are at least motivated to live better by the life that Christ lived and the way that he loved.
So it is with me. I have realized that true service is never done just with our physical hands, but with spiritual hands as well. I know that it is the spiritual service from the individual that can never be replaced. This work will change lives. We must employ our spiritual hands in the service of our fellowmen. And then we will find ourselves in the service of our God.
I still pray for healing and often watch for my hands to move, but regardless of how many of my faculties are restored, it is my prayer that at that last day, my spiritual hands will be those that tell the story of my life—by the calluses they wear from service to others.

The alarm jangled while I groped through the darkness to shut it off. Even at that early hour, I jumped out of bed with anticipation. I was eager to join my friends on a hike up Timpanogos, a large, snowcapped mountain which overlooks Provo in Utah Valley.
The hike followed steep switchback trails, then a climb up a sloped snowfield near a sheer drop-off and a slide down a glacier. The reward was a well-earned picnic by the crystal waters of the tiny lake fed by the glacier’s runoff.
My mother got up early with me and graciously fixed breakfast, packed my lunch, and fussed around making sure I was properly prepared.
Eager to be off, I was a little impatient when she asked me to come back to the bedroom with her. I think I even rolled my eyes a little when she knelt by the bed and invited me to join her. At 14, that sort of thing can seem sort of sappy. But I truly did love my mother with that prickly heart of mine and was secretly pleased by her concern.
She gave a simple but beautiful prayer asking the Lord for my safety and protection that day. It touched that sometimes rebellious heart of mine. Embarrassed to show my feelings, I ducked my head and wiped at my eyes.
I hiked that day with a glow in my soul. I had been reminded what a special mother I had.
On our way back down the mountain, someone in our group decided it would be much faster to take shortcuts between the switchbacks, even though we had been warned not to do so at the beginning of the day. We all followed like sheep.
Midway between the trails, someone above me started a small rock slide. Pebbles and stones and a few larger rocks showered down around us. Then, as if in slow motion, I saw one fist-sized rock knock sharply against the shoulder of the boy just above me. The rock bounced around me, then catapulted to strike the girl in front of me right in the back of her head. A gash was opened and began bleeding profusely as head wounds do.
Slipping and sliding down to the next trail, my friend was helped by a fellow hiker who donated his handkerchief and first-aid skills. Careful now to abide by the hiking rules, we eventually made it down the mountain and home.
I’ve never forgotten that day my mother knelt with me, and I believe I was spared injury because of her prayer. Deep down I knew she loved me, but since becoming a teenager, I’d lost communication with her. I’d become independent, “prickly sensitive,” and sometimes difficult to get along with. I was finding it harder to feel my mother’s love. But on that clear morning a strong bond was forged between us by prayer. It made all the difference then and later to know my mother was praying for me.

Another faithful missionary was Carl A. Carlquist, born near Vänersborg in 1857. At age 17, he felt a strong desire to preach the gospel and was called to distribute Church tracts around Jönköping. He was poor, so members of his branch, seven widows and their children, obtained a suit coat and boots for him. Carl didn’t own an overcoat when the winter season came, but he was allowed to borrow one a few hours every day from some of the members when they didn’t need theirs.5

Carl later emigrated to Utah and married Hulda Östergren, a Swedish immigrant. He returned to Sweden two more times on missions, including as mission president of the Scandinavian Mission. Much of his last mission was spent correcting false reports published about the Church by Reverend P. E. Åslev, a pastor who had lived in Salt Lake City and was hired to promote anti-Mormon sentiment in Sweden. For instance, in 1912, Åslev wrote an article in the newspaper Svenska Dagbladet in which he claimed that Brother Carlquist was a polygamist.6 Carl’s efforts included meeting with King Gustaf V and refuting Åslev’s claims in public meetings.7

At times the performance of duty, the response to a divine call, or the reaction to a spiritual prompting are not overwhelming. On occasion, however, the duty to respond is downright overpowering. I experienced such a situation prior to the general conference of April 1966. That’s 35 years ago, but I remember it vividly.
I had received my assignment to speak at one of the conference sessions and had prepared and committed to memory a message entitled “Meeting Your Goliath.” This was based on the account of the famous battle waged by David and Goliath of olden times.
Then I received a telephone call from President David O. McKay. The conversation went about like this: “Brother Monson, this is President McKay calling. How are you?”
I took a deep breath and answered, “Oh, I’m fine, President, and looking forward to conference.”
“That’s why I’m calling, Brother Monson. The Saturday morning session will be rebroadcast on Sunday as our Easter message to the world. I will be speaking to an Easter theme and would like you to join me and speak during that important session to that type of theme.”
“Of course, President. I will be happy to do so.”
That’s when the extent of this brief conversation really dawned on me. All of a sudden “Meeting Your Goliath” didn’t quite measure up to an Easter message. I knew I must begin to prepare all over again. There was so little time. Indeed, my “Goliath” stood before me.
That night I cleared the kitchen table and placed my typewriter on the tabletop along with a ream of bond paper, with a trusty wastepaper basket by my side to hold all the false starts that accompany such an assignment of preparation. I began at about 7:00 P.M. and had not written a satisfactory line by 1:00 A.M. The wastebasket was filled, but my mind certainly was not. What was I to do? The clock was running—indeed, it was racing. I paused to pray.
Soon thereafter there came to my mind the sadness of my neighbors Mark and Wilma Shumway in the recent loss of their youngest child. I thought to myself, Perhaps I could speak directly to them and peripherally to all others, for who hasn’t lost a dear one and had occasion to grieve? My fingers raced over the typewriter keyboard but could barely keep up with my thoughts.
As the first dim light of morning peered through our kitchen window, I had finished the message. The task remained to learn it and then deliver it to the world. Rarely have I struggled so hard to fill a prophetic assignment. However, Heavenly Father had heard my prayer. I shall never forget the experience.

“Wash your hands for supper,” Mother called from the kitchen. “Our home teachers are coming tonight. They’ll be here at seven o’clock.”
Ryan liked their home teachers to come. One—Brother Toft—was a real jet fighter pilot and told awesome stories. Ryan lived near the Air Force base. Every time an airplane zoomed overhead, he and his sister, Becky, rushed outside to wave, just in case Brother Toft was in it.
Ryan had a lot on his mind these days. Soon he was to have open-heart surgery. He wasn’t really sure what that meant, but he had been in several hospitals and had seen many doctors. Looking at his soapy hands in the running water, he remembered a doctor’s hands in see-through gloves. “This won’t hurt you,” the doctor had promised. “The gloves just keep my hands clean so that I don’t give you any germs.” Ryan thought now, Maybe if I got see-through gloves, I wouldn’t have to wash up so much!
Dessert was the best part of supper. Mother served scoops of ice cream; then Becky stuck a chocolate sandwich cookie into the top of Ryan’s treat and teased, “Here’s your favorite.”
He did enjoy cookies! The last time he stayed in the hospital, a nurse had asked, “What would you like?” Ryan didn’t know that she was offering him a drink, and when he’d answered, “I like cookies,” she smiled. “We’ll see what we can do about that.” She came back with two cookies in a plastic bag. Ryan had been too ill to eat them, but he’d held onto them until his stomach felt better.
“Bring your dishes over, Ryan,” Mother said, interrupting his thoughts. “Hurry—let’s get the kitchen cleaned up before the home teachers come.”
Ryan carried his dishes to the sink, then skipped to the front window and looked down the hillside. “I’ll watch for their car!”
“I hope they come in Brother Odahlan’s cute pumpkin beetle car,” Becky said.
Ryan hoped so too. He wondered what it would be like to ride in the little orange car all the way to Primary Children’s Medical Center. It would take all the next day to make that trip in Daddy’s big car, he knew. “Here they come! I see the pumpkin car.”
Becky and Ryan met the home teachers at the door. Entering in Sunday suits, Brother Toft and young Brother Odahlan looked like missionaries. Ryan’s brother, Rick, was on a mission to Greece. Ryan didn’t know where Greece was, but he had watched Rick climb onto a huge airplane to fly to the “other side of the world.” I hope I live to be a missionary, Ryan thought.
Brother Toft carried a brown paper bag. It looked heavy. “We have a special message for Ryan tonight,” he began. “Would you sit here between us?”
Ryan eagerly climbed up on the sofa between his home teachers.
“Now, Ryan, tonight’s lesson is for you, but is it all right if the rest of your family listens too?” Ryan having grinned permission, Brother Toft opened his scriptures. “The Book of Mormon tells us about a time when Jesus Christ came to our continent.”
Brother Odahlan said, “While he was here, he did many good things. For example, he taught the people to pray always and that anytime anyone needed help, he could ask Heavenly Father for it. Do you know how to pray?”
Ryan nodded.
“Jesus called the sick to him and blessed each of them,” Brother Toft added. “He also called all the children to him and blessed them. Ryan, did you know that the same priesthood power Jesus used is in this room tonight?” Brother Toft pointed to Ryan’s father. “Your dad holds this priesthood power.”
Ryan smiled at Dad. He wanted to be just like Dad. He hoped that he would grow up and hold the priesthood, too, someday.
Brother Toft assisted as Dad gave Ryan a blessing. In it, Heavenly Father promised that Ryan would have a good heart surgery and would get better. Ryan knew that it was true. He felt happy.
After a family prayer, the home teachers had a surprise. Ryan watched Brother Odahlan open the large brown paper bag and take out gifts. “These are for you, Ryan. Do you want to open them in the car on your way to Utah, in the hospital, or right now?”
That wasn’t a hard decision! Everyone watched as Ryan opened gift after gift. There were toys and games and books and crayons—even a bucket of animal cookies to eat on the way to the hospital in Salt Lake City.
Finally there was one present left. Brother Toft held it up high. “This one is different,” he said. “This one is for you to give to Becky.”
Willingly Ryan handed it over and watched Becky unwrap it. Thirty colorful candy sticks were tied with a pretty ribbon.
“That is a candy calendar, Becky.” Brother Odahlan explained. “You can eat one candy stick each day that your mother and Ryan are gone.”
“Our home teachers think of everything,” Mother said.
“My young companion helps me,” Brother Toft admitted. “He came up with the idea for this lesson.”
That night Ryan packed his treasures for the trip. “I’m glad that Jesus sends us home teachers,” he whispered when Mother tucked him into bed that night. “I think that, in a way, they’re going with me, and I’m glad.”

Many years ago, I was first counselor to a district president in the eastern United States. More than once, as we were driving to our little branches, he said to me, “Hal, when you meet someone, treat them as if they were in serious trouble, and you will be right more than half the time.” Not only was he right, but I have learned over the years that he was too low in his estimate. Today I wish to encourage you in the troubles you face.
Our mortal life is designed by a loving God to be a test and source of growth for each of us. You remember God’s words regarding His children at the Creation of the world: “And we will prove them herewith, to see if they will do all things whatsoever the Lord their God shall command them.”
Since the beginning, the tests have not been easy. We face trials that come from having mortal bodies. All of us live in a world where Satan’s war against truth and against our personal happiness is becoming more intense. The world and your life can seem to you to be in increasing commotion.
My reassurance is this: the loving God who allowed these tests for you also designed a sure way to pass through them. Heavenly Father so loved the world that He sent His Beloved Son to help us. His Son, Jesus Christ, gave His life for us. Jesus Christ bore in Gethsemane and on the cross the weight of all our sins. He experienced all the sorrows, the pains, and the effects of our sins so that He could comfort and strengthen us through every test in life.
You remember that the Lord said to His servants:
“The Father and I are one. I am in the Father and the Father in me; and inasmuch as ye have received me, ye are in me and I in you.
“Wherefore, I am in your midst, and I am the good shepherd, and the stone of Israel. He that buildeth upon this rock shall never fall.”
Our prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, has also given that same assurance. Moreover, he described a way we might build upon that rock and put the Lord’s name upon our hearts to guide us through our trials.
He said: “You who may be momentarily disheartened, remember, life is not meant to be easy. Trials must be borne and grief endured along the way. As you remember that ‘with God nothing shall be impossible’ (Luke 1:37), know that He is your Father. You are a son or daughter created in His image, entitled through your worthiness to receive revelation to help with your righteous endeavors. You may take upon you the holy name of the Lord. You can qualify to speak in the sacred name of God (see D&C 1:20).”
President Nelson’s words remind us of the promise found in the sacramental prayer, a promise our Heavenly Father fulfills as we do what we in turn promise.
Listen to the words: “O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it, that they may eat in remembrance of the body of thy Son, and witness unto thee, O God, the Eternal Father, that they are willing to take upon them the name of thy Son, and always remember him and keep his commandments which he has given them; that they may always have his Spirit to be with them. Amen.”
Each time we say the word amen when that prayer is offered on our behalf, we pledge that by partaking of the bread, we are willing to take upon us the holy name of Jesus Christ, always remember Him, and keep His commandments. In turn, we are promised that we may always have His Spirit to be with us. Because of these promises, the Savior is the rock upon which we can stand safely and without fear in every storm we face.
As I have pondered the covenant words and corresponding blessings promised, I have wondered what it means to be willing to take upon us the name of Jesus Christ.
President Dallin H. Oaks explains: “It is significant that when we partake of the sacrament we do not witness that we take upon us the name of Jesus Christ. We witness that we are willing to do so. (See D&C 20:77.) The fact that we only witness to our willingness suggests that something else must happen before we actually take that sacred name upon us in the most important sense.”
The statement that we are “willing to take upon [us]” His name tells us that while we first took the Savior’s name when we were baptized, taking His name is not finished at baptism. We must work continually to take His name throughout our lives, including when we renew covenants at the sacrament table and make covenants in the Lord’s holy temples.
So two crucial questions for each of us become “What must I be doing to take His name upon me?” and “How will I know when I am making progress?”
The statement of President Nelson suggests one helpful answer. He said that we could take the name of the Savior upon us and that we could speak for Him. When we speak for Him, we serve Him. “For how knoweth a man the master whom he has not served, and who is a stranger unto him, and is far from the thoughts and intents of his heart?”
Speaking for Him requires a prayer of faith. It takes a fervent prayer to Heavenly Father to learn what words we could speak to help the Savior in His work. We must qualify for the promise: “Whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same.”
Yet it takes more than speaking for Him to take His name upon us. There are feelings in our hearts we must have to qualify as His servants.
The prophet Mormon described the feelings that qualify us and enable us to take His name upon us. These feelings include faith, hope, and charity, which is the pure love of Christ.
Mormon explained:
“For I judge that ye have faith in Christ because of your meekness; for if ye have not faith in him then ye are not fit to be numbered among the people of his church.
“And again, my beloved brethren, I would speak unto you concerning hope. How is it that ye can attain unto faith, save ye shall have hope?
“And what is it that ye shall hope for? Behold I say unto you that ye shall have hope through the atonement of Christ and the power of his resurrection, to be raised unto life eternal, and this because of your faith in him according to the promise.
“Wherefore, if a man have faith he must needs have hope; for without faith there cannot be any hope.
“And again, behold I say unto you that he cannot have faith and hope, save he shall be meek, and lowly of heart.
“If so, his faith and hope is vain, for none is acceptable before God, save the meek and lowly in heart; and if a man be meek and lowly in heart, and confesses by the power of the Holy Ghost that Jesus is the Christ, he must needs have charity; for if he have not charity he is nothing; wherefore he must needs have charity.”
After describing charity, Mormon goes on to say:
“But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.
“Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ; that ye may become the sons of God; that when he shall appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is; that we may have this hope; that we may be purified even as he is pure. Amen.”
My testimony is that the Savior is putting His name in your hearts. For many of you, your faith in Him is increasing. You are feeling more hope and optimism. And you are feeling the pure love of Christ for others and for yourself.
I see it in missionaries serving all over the world. I see it in members who are speaking to their friends and family members about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Men, women, young people, and even children are ministering out of love for the Savior and for their neighbors.
At the first report of disasters across the world, members make plans to go to the rescue, sometimes across oceans, without being asked. They sometimes find it hard to wait until the devastated areas can receive them.
I realize that some of you listening today may feel that your faith and hope are being overcome by your troubles. And you may yearn to feel love.
Brothers and sisters, the Lord has opportunities near you to feel and to share His love. You can pray with confidence for the Lord to lead you to love someone for Him. He answers the prayers of meek volunteers like you. You will feel the love of God for you and for the person you serve for Him. As you help children of God in their troubles, your own troubles will seem lighter. Your faith and your hope will be strengthened.
I am an eyewitness of that truth. Over a lifetime, my wife has spoken for the Lord and served people for Him. As I’ve mentioned before, one of our bishops once said to me: “I’m amazed. Every time I hear of a person in the ward who is in trouble, I hurry to help. Yet by the time I arrive, it seems that your wife has always already been there.” That has been true in all the places we have lived for 56 years.
Now she can speak only a few words a day. She is visited by people she loved for the Lord. Every night and morning I sing hymns with her and we pray. I have to be voice in the prayers and in the songs. Sometimes I can see her mouthing the words of the hymns. She prefers children’s songs. The sentiment she seems to like best is summarized in the song “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.”
The other day, after singing the words of the chorus: “Love one another as Jesus loves you. Try to show kindness in all that you do,” she said softly, but clearly, “Try, try, try.” I think that she will find, when she sees Him, that our Savior has put His name into her heart and that she has become like Him. He is carrying her through her troubles now, as He will carry you through yours.
I bear you my witness that the Savior knows and loves you. He knows your name as you know His. He knows your troubles. He has experienced them. By His Atonement, He has overcome the world. By your being willing to take His name upon you, you will lift the burdens of countless others. And you will find in time that you know the Savior better and that you love Him more. His name will be in your heart and fixed in your memory. It is the name by which you will be called. I so witness, with gratitude for His loving-kindness to me, to my loved ones, and to you, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I very much enjoyed your story titled “Opposite Reaction” (October 1991) about being honest. It reminded me of when I took some baseballs from the ballpark that didn’t belong to me. My best friend found out and encouraged me to return them, which I did. From that day on I never did it again. Thank you for helping me remember the great example my friend set.
Elder Homer John Howard IIPhilippines Quezon City Mission

Finally, in March 2006, they came. Oksana and her friend Sasha Kubatov were the first two people baptized in Khmel’nyts’kyy.
Sasha was only 14 when he received a Book of Mormon from his older sisters, who had joined the Church in another city.
“They emphasized the fact that I was 14, just as Joseph Smith was when he had his First Vision. He was greatly blessed at a young age, and I could be too,” he says.
So he started reading. He read until he got to the Isaiah chapters in 2 Nephi, and then he stopped. He read the Book of Mormon again a year later, but as a historical document, not with a desire to know if it was true.
But when he read the Book of Mormon the third time, Sasha focused less on its history and more on the work of God it recorded.
“As I read it, I thought it was true, but I didn’t have a firm testimony yet,” he admits. “I wanted to talk to the missionaries.”
When the elders arrived a few years later, they answered all of his questions and helped him prepare to be baptized and confirmed.
“As I walked into the waters of baptism, all my doubts were gone, and I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet and the gospel is true,” he says. “I was not afraid, even though I knew the rest of my life would be different.”
His life is different now. As a home teacher Sasha is learning how to magnify the priesthood he holds and serve in the Lord’s kingdom.
Within a year of his baptism Sasha baptized his mother and his grandfather. His entire family has now joined the Church, and Sasha is excited to bring the gospel to others.
“I am preparing to serve a mission so that I can preach the gospel and bring someone else to God,” he says. “His work must go forward.”

Some years ago, while visiting the members and missionaries in Australia, I witnessed a sublime example depicting how a treasury of testimony can bless and sanctify a home. The mission president, Horace D. Ensign, and I were traveling the long distance from Sydney to Darwin, where I was to break ground for our first chapel in that city. En route we had a scheduled stop at a mining community named Mount Isa. As we entered the small airport at Mount Isa, a woman and her two children approached. She said, “I am Judith Louden, a member of the Church, and these are my two children. We thought you might be on this flight, so we have come to visit with you during your brief stopover.” She explained that her husband was not a member of the Church and that she and the children were indeed the only members in the entire area. We shared lessons and bore testimony.

Time passed. As we prepared to reboard, Sister Louden looked so forlorn, so alone. She pleaded, “You can’t go yet; I have so missed the Church.” Suddenly the loudspeaker announced a 30-minute mechanical delay of our flight. Sister Louden whispered, “My prayer has just been answered.” She then asked how she might influence her husband to show an interest in the gospel. We counseled her to include him in their home Primary lesson each week and be to him a living testimony of the gospel. I mentioned we would send to her a subscription to the Children’s Friend and additional helps for her family teaching. We urged that she never give up on her husband.

We departed Mount Isa, a city to which I have never returned. I shall, however, always hold dear in memory that sweet mother and those precious children extending a tear-filled expression and a fond wave of gratitude and good-bye.

Several years later, while speaking at a priesthood leadership meeting in Brisbane, Australia, I emphasized the significance of gospel scholarship in the home and the importance of living the gospel and being examples of the truth. I shared with the men assembled the account of Sister Louden and the impact her faith and determination had made on me. As I concluded, I said, “I suppose I’ll never know if Sister Louden’s husband ever joined the Church, but he couldn’t have found a better model to follow.”

One of the leaders raised his hand, then stood and declared, “Brother Monson, I am Richard Louden. The woman of whom you speak is my wife. The children [his voice quavered] are our children. We are a forever family now, thanks in part to the persistence and the patience of my dear wife. She did it all.” Not a word was spoken. The silence was broken only by sniffles and marked by many tears.

Early in my life, I began to notice a feeling of emptiness. It felt like something was missing. I found momentary escape in things like rock climbing and music. And as a teenager, I found relief using mind-altering substances. My troubles didn’t seem to exist while under their influence. As with many other things, my use of these substances began slowly as they worked their way deeper and deeper into my life. I spent countless nights free of inhibitions, traveling all over the world and searching for relief.
In an inebriated flash, 15 years went by, and my addictions completely took over my life. I felt empty inside, stripped of any passion. I couldn’t physically get enough substances into my body at one time to satisfy my cravings, and that momentary relief found within the numbness was long gone.
One day I remember thinking, “How long have I lived like this?” I sought happiness in relationships, fame, achievements, and substances that could give me a bigger rush.
There was a night where I drunkenly sneaked my way to the top of a skyscraper and rappelled downward to paint graffiti on the side of the building. Grandiose and desperate acts like this were completely normal to me in seeking fulfillment. And every time I felt on top of the world, deeper despair would inevitably follow. I was digging myself further and further down. Eventually I completely checked out on life. I no longer cared what happened to me.

I still had a long way to go to gain a better understanding of Heavenly Father’s concern for His children, but from time to time in my life I had other spiritual experiences. I tried to read all the books about God that I could find. I went to many different churches. But not until about eighteen years later, when the elders of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on my door, did I begin to really understand. I came to know our Heavenly Father, how to make a covenant with Him, and how to receive the right to speak with Him always. I learned to feel accepted and welcomed by Him.

For some members, financial difficulties turn tithing into a test of faith. Yet members who have overcome that test share their experiences with others, offering encouragement and hope. “When I joined the Church,” says a Santo Domingo leader, “I lived all the commandments except for tithing, but one day realized that I obey commandments because I want to obey and because I know the Lord will help us.” Since that realization, he has paid a full tithe. “I’ve received so many blessings I hadn’t planned on. Now I’m the one telling tithing stories!”

When Jason Olson was a teenager, he was warned repeatedly by family members and others against becoming a Christian. He had two good friends, however, who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and they often discussed religion. His friends, Shea and Dave, respectfully countered arguments that others had given Jason against faith in Jesus Christ. Finally, they gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon, saying, “This book will answer your questions. Please read it.” He reluctantly accepted the book and put it in his backpack, where it stayed for several months. He didn’t want to leave it at home where his family might see it, and he didn’t want to disappoint Shea and Dave by returning it. Finally, he settled on the solution of burning the book.

One night, with a lighter in one hand and the Book of Mormon in the other, he was about to set fire to the book when he heard a voice in his mind that said, “Do not burn my book.” Startled, he paused. Then, thinking he had imagined the voice, he attempted again to ignite the lighter. Again, the voice came to his mind: “Go to your room and read my book.” Jason put the lighter away, walked back to his bedroom, opened the Book of Mormon, and began to read. He continued day after day, often into the early hours of the morning. As Jason came to the end and prayed, he recorded, “I was filled from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet with the Spirit. … I felt full of light. … It was the most joyous experience I had ever had in my life.” He sought baptism and later became a missionary himself.

When we moved to the United States, great trials began for me. We attended a small branch and I had great leaders who wanted to help me, but my school friends tried to pull me off the gospel path. Unfortunately, I began to speak to my mother in an unkind way and rarely listened to her counsel.
I would go to church every Sunday, but I really didn’t have the desire to go, and I didn’t know if I wanted to go on a mission anymore.
One morning I opened the Book of Mormon, and it opened exactly to the page of my favorite scripture, 3 Nephi 12:14–16:
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, I give unto you to be the light of this people. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid.
“Behold, do men light a candle and put it under a bushel? Nay, but on a candlestick, and it giveth light to all that are in the house;
“Therefore let your light so shine before this people, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven.”
It gave me great joy to read this because it helped me remember what I learned in seminary and how marvelous the plan of our Father is. So I decided to try to be a light to the world.
I invited two cousins to come to church. One was less active, and he became active. The other was not a member, and I was able to baptize him.

Rebecca Rosanne couldn’t stop following things. She followed the big brown garbage truck as it crawled like a giant beetle from dumpster to dumpster in the apartment complex where she lived.
She followed the gardener on his riding lawn mower. And she followed the letter carrier in his little white jeep with the red and blue stripes. But every time Rebecca Rosanne followed something, she followed it so far that she got lost.
“Rebecca Rosanne,” her mother would say, “when will you stop following everything that moves!”
Rebecca Rosanne would hang her head. She never meant to get lost by following things. But she was curious about trucks and jeeps and lawn mowers. She was curious about the letter carrier’s bag of mail.
One day Rebecca Rosanne was digging in the sandbox when a strange bus drove into her neighborhood. It wasn’t orange like the bus the older children rode to school. It was green and black.
Rebecca Rosanne was curious. She ran to the parking lot, where the bus had stopped. People lined up to climb the three tall steps into the bus. So did Rebecca Rosanne. When she looked inside, she was surprised. Instead of seats on this bus, there were shelves of books. She followed a boy to the back, where there were some picture books on a rack.
Rebecca Rosanne pulled out a book and sat down on the steps that led to the back door of the bus. She smiled when she turned to the first page. There was a picture of a letter carrier beside a white jeep with red and blue stripes. A picture on another page showed where the letter carrier got the mail.
Then Rebecca Rosanne found a bigger book about trucks. She was so busy looking at this book that she didn’t notice the other people leave the bus. She didn’t hear the driver close the front door and start the engine. Before Rebecca Rosanne knew what was happening, the bus full of books was gently swaying as it drove out of the parking lot.
When it stops at the next apartment building, I’ll get off, thought Rebecca Rosanne.
But the bus didn’t stop at the next apartment building. Instead, it drove onto the main highway and headed downtown. Rebecca Rosanne was scared. She had never followed anything that far before. Her stomach felt as if she’d swallowed a bowlful of cold, wiggly worms.
Finally the bus pulled into a driveway behind a red brick building and stopped. Rebecca Rosanne heard the driver walking toward the back of the bus. When the driver saw her, he said in a kind voice, “Well, it looks like somebody hitched a ride on the bookmobile.” He bent down and asked, “What’s your name?”
Rebecca Rosanne was still scared, but she told the driver her name.
“Well, Rebecca Rosanne, climb off the bookmobile while I lock up. Then we’ll go into the library and call your mother.”
While she waited, Rebecca Rosanne said to herself several times the word bookmobile. She thought that a bus full of books was even better than a garbage truck.
And when Rebecca Rosanne saw what was inside the red brick building the driver had called the library, she was even more pleased. Books were everywhere!
A woman behind a high counter smiled kindly, then said softly, “This must be Rebecca Rosanne. Your mother just called. A neighbor told her that she’d seen you climbing into the bookmobile. I’ll call your mother and tell her that you’re here.”
The driver led Rebecca Rosanne to a room with tables and chairs just her size. “You can wait for your mother here,” he said.
Rebecca Rosanne looked at a book about trains until her mother came. “Hey, Mom,” she shouted, “a book on the bookmobile showed me where letter carriers get their mail. And this one is about trains!”
When Rebecca Rosanne’s mother saw how excited her daughter was about the books, she helped Rebecca Rosanne borrow some from the library.
One day when they were looking at a book, Rebecca Rosanne said, “I haven’t gotten lost for a long time, have I, Mom?”
“No, not since you stopped following everything that moves and started following books,” she said, giving Rebecca Rosanne a big hug.

I learned an important lesson on giving and receiving mercy one winter when my son Rob was taking care of the neighbors’ rabbits. One night he forgot to empty the watering bottles—and the bottles were frozen solid the next morning. When he discovered his mistake, I had no mercy and became upset at his forgetfulness. I unjustly reproved him for forgetting and for making us both late that morning.
After I arrived at work, my conscience wouldn’t leave me alone. In a moment of truth I admitted to myself that Rob had made a simple human error similar to ones I frequently make. I admitted to myself that I had no justification in taking offense at his mistake, given my own weaknesses. The truth is, Rob is a conscientious boy who does many things well.
My sorrow for my own wrongdoing motivated me to find him at school and apologize. I found that he had taken the whole thing compassionately; even though I had been wrong, he had seen it from my point of view and had taken no offense.
The experience greatly humbled me. If my heart had been right in the first place, I never would have become upset by Rob’s simple mistake. If Rob hadn’t been merciful, he could have taken my behavior personally, which could have harmed his own self-esteem as well as our relationship. After I had apologized (part of my repentance), a peace of conscience came like that which came to King Benjamin’s people as they admitted their wrongdoing and called upon the Lord for forgiveness. (See Mosiah 4:3.)

A young woman had almost left the Church. While I visited the distant city where she lived, she asked if we could talk for a few minutes, and I agreed. She had heard many of the misconceptions that our detractors have used to discredit the Church for decades. We read from the scriptures for about an hour together. With relief reflected in her eyes, she finally said, “I have been misled, haven’t I?”

I said, “Yes, you have.”

She was disappointed with what those erring enemies of the Church were teaching, but was excited to find herself back thinking clearly again. All we had done was read from the scriptures together. Confusion and mistakes come when we forget the importance of God’s word as our unwavering guide.

Elsa Jacobsen had a problem. After years of working hard in school and excelling in the classroom, on the student council, and in the ballet studio, she had created a situation for herself that she didn’t quite know how to handle. Several top universities, including Stanford University located near Palo Alto, California, were vying to have Elsa as a student. All were great schools, some were offering attractive scholarship packages, and any of them would provide lots of great learning opportunities.
“I finally narrowed it down,” says 18-year-old Elsa, “and after a lot of fasting and prayer I received a peaceful confirmation about coming to Stanford. From the time I arrived here, I knew why. I love it here.”

When I think of the phrase, “I live it,” I am reminded of a young woman I met named Karigan. She wrote: “I’ve been a member of the Church for a little over a year. … For me, when investigating, one sign that this was the true Church came because I felt I’d finally found a church that taught modesty and standards. I’ve seen with my own eyes what happens to people when they disregard commandments and choose the wrong path. I made up my mind, long ago, to live high moral standards. … I feel so blessed to have found the truth and to have been baptized. I am so happy.”