Gospel Story Finder

I grew up in a small country town in Idaho. Football came to our school later than most. It was 1923. We had neither equipment nor a coach. But the great day arrived when our high school principal was able to buy twelve inexpensive football outfits—but not football shoes with cleats. We used our basketball shoes. Our chemistry teacher was recruited to be our coach because he had once witnessed a real game.

He taught us a few simple plays and how to tackle, and then we were ready to play—or so we thought. We set off for our first game with Twin Falls, the previous year’s Idaho state champions.

We dressed and went out on the field to warm up. Their school band started to play (they had more students in the band than we had in our entire high school), and then through the gates came their team. They kept coming and coming, all thirty-nine of them, fully equipped and shoes with cleats. The twelve of us, a full team of eleven plus one all-round substitute, watched in amazement.

The game was most interesting! To say it was a learning experience is rather mild. After just two plays, we had no desire to have the ball, so we kicked it and they scored. Whenever they got the ball, they would run a baffling play and score. Our goal was to get rid of the ball—it was less punishing.

In the final minutes of the game, they became a little reckless and a wild pass fell into the arms of Clifford Lee, who was playing halfback with me. He was startled, not knowing for sure what to do—that is, until he saw them thundering after him. Then he knew what to do and boy, was he fast! But he wasn’t running for points; he was running for his life! Clifford made a touchdown. Six points went up on the scoreboard. The final score—106 to 6! We really didn’t deserve the six points, but with our bloody shirts and socks and cuts and bruises, we took them anyway.

A learning experience? Of course! An individual or a team must be prepared. Success or achievement depends upon preparation.

My best friend shoved his elbow into my side to keep me from laughing. We were in sacrament meeting, after all, and we were singing the sacrament hymn.
But it was hard not to laugh, and Pat wasn’t doing much better than I at keeping his mouth shut.
We were 15, and we knew everything. We knew that everyone in our ward was supposed to be perfect—but wasn’t. We knew that sacrament meeting talks were supposed to be inspiring—but mostly were boring. And we knew that the worst singer in the world sat among us, mangling hymns that were supposed to send our thoughts heavenward—but usually sent them the other direction.
We could only cover our ears and wince. The occasional laugh seemed to help.
We weren’t sure whether Sister Mabel (her first name, and the only one I remember anyone using for her) knew she was painful to listen to and didn’t care or if she was totally oblivious to the effect her singing had on the rest of us. It’s quite possible no one had ever broached the topic with her. Though elderly, she was a formidable woman. Not in size, but in energy. Everything she did was energetic and loud. Especially her singing.
Her passion for singing found expression not only in our congregational singing but in our ward choir as well. Her enthusiasm there was unrestrained. Though I don’t remember her singing ever being restrained in the congregation, in the choir it had free reign, rising to heights and depths I doubt any diva in the world has ever reached. Or wanted to.
Well, that was a long time ago. In the intervening years, Sister Mabel has passed away. Pat and I have gone our separate ways. And I, at least, have discovered I didn’t know as much at 15 as I thought I did. I believe I’ve learned a few things about life—and singing—over the past 50 years.
I’ve learned that life needs be lived with passion and energy. Each minute is a treasure, and once it passes, it’s gone forever, reflected only weakly in memory. I’ve learned that if you’re going to serve others or worship the Lord, you’re happiest and most effective when you do it with all the joy and energy you have.
I’ve learned that no one this side of the veil is perfect. All that the Lord asks of us is our hearts, might, minds, and strength—to the degree that we can offer them. He accepts our unrestrained offerings, as poor as they may be, as the full measure of our devotion.
It’s ironic, I suppose, that I’ve also discovered I’m no better a singer than Sister Mabel was. I hope my fellow ward members have more charity for me than I had for her. If she were still here, I’d invite her to sing for me. I miss her angelic voice.

When I had just turned deacon age, my family moved from our home in Wyoming to a new home in Great Falls, Montana. My father, older brother, and younger sister climbed into our pickup truck and led the way. They were towing a large red trailer we had borrowed for the move. The rest of the family, with Mom at the wheel, climbed into the family van.
We had crossed the state line into Montana when the driver of a car in front of the truck suddenly stepped on his brakes. My father braked to avoid hitting the car and the trailer jackknifed. The weight of the trailer then caused the pickup truck to whip back and forth across the road. The force of the motion caused everything to shift, and the trailer’s back doors flew off. The trailer’s contents then spilled out onto the highway.
Luckily my father was able to bring the pickup under control without further incident. A crowd of at least 20 people, including my family, climbed out of their cars to help clear our things off the highway.
Suddenly, in the middle of the mess and confusion, I heard my father shout. A large truck was going too fast to stop. There was no room for him to go around and no time to slam on the brakes. The truck barreled through the debris and into the small crowd of people. Nearly everyone moved when they heard my dad’s cry, but seven-year-old Charlie hadn’t heard. Steven, who was about to turn ten, had started to move out of the way. But when he saw Charlie in the truck’s path, he turned back to save his brother’s life.
Charlie was killed instantly. Steven was hit by the truck and thrown to the side of the road. He died two hours later in a Billings, Montana, hospital. Steven literally gave his own life trying to save his brother’s. His example made me think how lucky I was to have a brother who loved others so much that he was willing to give his life to save them.

Learning the ropes of steer riding as an Aaronic Priesthood MIA activity? Youths of the Spanish Fork and Palmyra (Utah) Stakes herded their horses and enthusiasm into a rodeo that included goat tying, calf roping, barrel races, and wild cow milking.

Originating with the youth committees of the two stakes, the rodeo attracted more than 80 participants. Organizing and planning the event, along with the publicity and selection of advisers, were all projects of the youth committees.

Among the ropers, riders, and milkers interest ran high. Randy Young, who entered the steer riding event, said the rodeo provided “excitement, action, and lots of fun.” At 14 he’s a seven-year veteran of the arena.

Dean Sorenson started three years ago when he was nine and says the best way to learn the basics is from an older brother, a father, or a friend.

Many of the local young people frequently ride in the weekly rodeo at nearby Birdseye, which provides stiff competition and good training, according to Dean.

Years ago, while at the beach with my family, I noticed signs and flags warning us of a strong current flowing away from the shore into deep, turbulent water. Invisible to my untrained eyes but easily detected by lifeguards on a nearby watchtower, the powerful current posed a danger to all who left the safety of the shore and entered the water. I remember rationalizing, “I’m a strong swimmer. Swimming will be great exercise. I’ll be safe in the shallow water.”
Ignoring the warnings and feeling confident in my own judgment, I entered the water to enjoy a “refreshing” swim. After a few minutes I looked up to locate my family on the nearby beach, but the beach was no longer nearby! The deceptive current I had been warned of had captured me and was quickly pulling me away from my family.
Confidently at first and then desperately, I tried to swim toward shore, but the unforgiving current dragged me farther and farther into deeper, rougher water. I became exhausted and began choking on inhaled water. Drowning became a real possibility. My energy gone, I frantically and finally called out for help.
Miraculously, it seemed, a lifeguard was immediately at my side. I wasn’t aware that he had watched me go into the water. He knew the current would capture me, and he knew where it would take me. Avoiding the current, he swam around and just beyond where I was struggling; then he patiently waited for me to call for help. Too weak to swim to shore alone, I was and still am grateful for his rescue. Without his help I never could have made it back to my family.

Another family invited their eighteen-year-old son’s friend who needed a home to stay with them for a year while he prepared for a mission. They provided an environment of emotional support and spiritual example and enabled him to earn his own money for his mission. On his mission he grew in maturity, self-esteem, and confidence. Since his mission, with self-reliance, he has gone forward to strengthen others.

One day when my companion and I went to visit a recent convert in Colombo, Brazil, the house was full of family members. It was crowded, but they still invited us to share a message. We were about to start when the convert’s brother came in. He was not a member of our Church and was not happy about our visit. He seemed to find any way he could to contradict us.
He had a notebook of all the members of his congregation and their sicknesses. He asked us if we believed in the gift of healing. “Of course we do,” we replied. “Well then,” he continued, “I’ve healed all the people in this notebook. How many people have you healed?”
We tried to explain the priesthood, faith, and how things happen according to God’s will, but after a few moments, we felt like we had been cornered and attacked.
Then “in the very moment” (D&C 100:6) we needed it, the Spirit whispered what to say. I explained that while we do believe in healing, our work as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was to bring spiritual healing to those we taught, which healing is available only through accepting the Atonement of Jesus Christ through faith, repentance, baptism by immersion, receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, and enduring to the end.
So while we believe in physical healing, we explained, the most important healing is spiritual healing. And that kind of healing was the kind we saw every day. It really didn’t matter if people were healed physically if they didn’t repent and change their lives to follow Christ.
As the Spirit guided us to respond in a calm manner, the tension in the room dispersed, the brother stopped trying to fight, and we were able to share our message.
How grateful I am that the Spirit prompted two somewhat trapped missionaries to remember our purpose was the saving of souls.

Thanks to modern technology, family members can keep in touch with each other, even across long distances. Cole R., 16, says, “My dad still gives me advice, congratulations, and sometimes a rebuke. When my younger brother and I were advancing in the priesthood, our extended family gathered at our home. My dad was on the computer, watching via video chat. He asked family members to say the prayers. It was a powerful witness that even though we are thousands of miles apart, he is still the patriarch of our home and we are still a family.”

The elected president of Edinburgh Napier Students Association, Edinburgh Napier University, hosted a discussion event for students and staff members. The topic for the webinar was, “Faith plays a role for good mental health.” The point was to make students learn to use their faith for hope, peaceful minds, and other aspects of life. I enjoyed participating in the event and invited two of our full-time missionaries to share their testimonies and to perform a dance as part of our contribution.
Below is my presentation:
“Thank you for the opportunity to both hear and participate this evening. One distinct principle that I believe as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is that God speaks to us today, as we individually connect with Him through prayer and collectively as His children on earth through living prophets.
“The Old Testament tells us how God spoke to His children through living prophets such as Abraham, Isaiah, Noah, Daniel, and others. I believe that the doctrine of prophetic leadership has been restored.
“Every six months, there is a worldwide conference where our prophet and apostles address the world in my faith tradition. In the most recent conference, they taught and counselled on themes such as love your enemies, embrace the future with faith, finding joy in Christ, I believe in angels, let God prevail, and a new normal. All these addresses can be found on YouTube as well as the official Church website.
“Listening to this counsel helps me anchor my faith in Jesus Christ. I know that His sacrifice on my behalf can lift me from the darkest times. He is the Light of the World and calms my troubled soul.”
I was delighted to be asked to participate in this event along with members of many other faiths from across our country.
You can view the broadcast event at https://www.youtube.com/user/napierstudents.

Several years ago I had prayed for specific help but the answer didn't come. So one day, I decided to go to the temple to seek the Lord's help. I cried my heart out to our Heavenly Father for help. I remember complaining as I asked, "Why hast thou turned away from me when I need thy help? After all, I'm a Bishop, I paid a full tithing, I'm worthy, and I'm here at Thy holy temple. And Thou hast promised that if we ask, it shall be given."

I got my answer. It was more than an answer. It was a spiritual experience. To my mind came the still, small voice. It seemed to say, 'What are you talking about? When have I forsaken you? Was I not there when you received your testimony? Was I not there when you made the best decision in your life to marry your wife? What about when your son was critically ill? What about when your daughter had her surgery. I was there and I carried you.' Then I remembered the many, many times in my life when I had received the Lord's help and felt of His great love for me. I felt so bad. So I asked for forgiveness. Then I realized that it was I who had not always remembered the Lord; it was me. I was the problem. I do not always remember our Heavenly Father.

When I was 14, I began working for a neighbor who raised bees as a hobby. My job was to take care of his horses, paint fences, mow the lawn, and weed the garden.
The beehives were located in the field behind the garden, and it seemed like every time I was there I’d end up getting stung or chased by some angry bee. I was beginning to wonder if the bees were trying to avenge the death of their long-lost ancestor.
I told my neighbor I was going to need combat pay if he wanted his garden weeded. He told me what I really needed was the right equipment. We went into his basement and he got out his bee suit: thick gloves with sleeves that went all the way up my arms, white pants and shirt because white tends to pacify bees, boots, a hat, and a screen mask that covered my face and head.
Feeling protected, I journeyed outside. Unfortunately it didn’t take long before I felt something crawling around on my head. There was a hole on the top of the mask. I’m not sure who panicked first, the bee or me. I took off running for the house, but before I got very far it was too late.
I guess you could say I got the point that day. But I really got it later when I was reading in Doctrine and Covenants 27:15 [D&C 27:15] where it says, “Wherefore, lift up your hearts and rejoice, and gird up your loins, and take upon you my whole armor, that ye may be able to withstand the evil day, having done all, that ye may be able to stand.”

My parents adopted three children--not all at once, mind you; over a period of four or five years. Thus, I have precious memories of my first three temple trips; I was 4 when Shanna was sealed to our family, 6 when Lisa was sealed, and 10 when Darren was sealed. In fact, to attend Darren's sealing, since I was over age 8, I actually had to obtain a temple recommend I remember being interviewed by the Bishop the week before we went. I can also remember many little details about the temple: the games in the children's waiting area, the beautiful white clothing we put on, the labyrinth of halls, and, of course, the sealing room. Like all sealing rooms, it was lovely--with a stone altar, velvet cushions, a breathtaking chandelier, and those incredible eternity mirrors. The room was filled with people dressed in white: relatives, friends, the sealer, and, of course, our parents. After some brief instructions, the entire family knelt around the altar and joined hands. I remember the feelings I had as my parents and the six children encircled that altar. I felt safe. Whole. Complete. Encircled by the arms of love.

In 1884 a small group of courageous Latter-day Saints had ventured forth from the comparatively mild, hospitable, and civilized climate of the Territory of Utah to settle the bleak sagebrush plains of the Upper Snake River Valley in the territory of Idaho. It was a daunting and formidable task. Throughout the course of the nineteenth century, a variety of adventurous explorers, rough-hewn mountain men and thousands of intrepid pioneers traveling to the Oregon Country had traversed the Snake River plain, but very few had elected to stay. The reasons for their disdain for this country were abundantly clear to any observer: the land was treeless, characterized mostly by sagebrush and lava rock and suffered from unrelenting wind, persistent cold, and little rainfall. In sum, it was your basic barren, high mountain desert. Early explorers, like Captain Bonneville, described it as a “vast uninhabited solitude that must forever defy cultivation.”
These hardy Mormon pioneers had created homesteads in the Iona area, a small village located just north of Idaho Falls. However, the pioneers quickly became discouraged as their crops were wiped out by numerous killing frosts during the all too short growing season.

It was into the midst of these discouraged members that Wilford Woodruff and Heber J. Grant came to address the first formal Church meeting held in the Iona area on 17 June 1884. This meeting was only attended by some nine to ten adults and a few children. Significantly, one of the adults in attendance was Thomas Ricks, whose name would figure prominently not only in the history of the area, but also in the establishment of a small, Church academy at “Mosquito Bend,” now known as Rexburg. This institution, while bearing his name, would become the largest private junior college in the United States and is now a four year university—Brigham Young University-Idaho. As these Saints had no chapel, the meeting was held outside and the tailgate of a wagonbox served as the pulpit. Pulling himself onto the wagon and looking down on this small fellowship of Saints struggling to survive in a harsh and unforgiving environment, Apostle Woodruff was blessed with a remarkable vision of the future of the valley and announced the following marvelous prophecy:

The Spirit of the Lord rests mightily upon me and I feel to bless you in the name of Jesus Christ. I promise you that the climate will be moderated for your good. I can see these great sagebrush prairies, as far as the eye can reach, turned into fertile fields. I bless the land that it shall yield forth in its strength. Flowers and trees and fine homes shall grace this great valley from one end to the other. Schools and colleges of higher learning shall be built to serve you that you may learn the mysteries of God’s great universe. I see churches and meetinghouses dotting the landscape, where the God of Israel may be worshiped in spirit and in truth. Yes, and as I look into the future of this great valley I can see temples—I can see beautiful temples erected to the name of the living God where holy labors may be carried on in his name through generations to come.

Here was a clear, prophetic and very audacious vision of the future. We do not know what the immediate reaction of this small congregation was to this unusual declaration. However, I doubt that they thought that this vision would happen automatically without their active involvement. Rather, I suspect that the people hearing this prophetic utterance realized that it would take both the ardent faith and the hard, sustained work of a righteous and devoted people over an extended period of time to bring the vision to reality. We do know, however, that the people of Iona were persuaded to stay in Idaho and within a relatively short time established a prosperous settlement with a school, a meetinghouse, and other facilities like those they had left behind in Utah.

On their return to Mendon, Brigham and Heber continued with local preaching journeys that fall, and then in late December Brigham went on what could be called his first real mission. He traveled with his brother to Canada, where Joseph Young had before preached Methodism and was quite well known. Apparently the two brothers had been given a specific commission to convert a man by the name of Artemus Millett, whom Joseph Young had known during his earlier work in Canada and whom they had recommended in September when Joseph Smith had talked with them in Kirtland about the need for a mason to help build the proposed temple there. The Prophet had said to the brothers, “I give you a mission to go and baptize him into the church and tell him to bring $1,000 with him.”6 They traveled over 500 miles on foot, “most of the way through snow and mud from one to two feet deep,” and finally crossed six miles of thin ice (that bent so much that water filled their shoes) at the eastern end of Lake Ontario (where the St. Lawrence River begins) to get to Kingston. Brigham later reported in his Manuscript History: “We commenced preaching and bearing our testimony to the people. Proceeding [north] to West Loboro, we remained about one month preaching the Gospel there and in the regions round about. We baptized about 45 souls, and organized the West Loboro and other Branches. In the month of February 1833, we started for home, crossing from Kingston on the ice, just before it broke up.”7 Artemus Millett had been baptized by Brigham on February 18 in Loboro and that summer sold his property and moved to Kirtland with more than the requested $1,000 to help with the temple.

I was always active in the Church, but I didn’t realize that I didn’t yet have a true testimony of the gospel. I guess my beliefs were based on the testimony of my parents and my priesthood leaders and everyone else who helped me in the Church. They knew I participated in everything. I memorized the Articles of Faith when I was in Primary. I participated in the Young Men program. But something was missing.
My search for a testimony was triggered when I was a teenager and my peers started asking questions about our beliefs and practices. Latter-day Saints are a minority in the Philippines, so most of my friends and peers were not Church members. I started wondering why I was required to do things or why I couldn’t do some of the things they did.
I also had a question about going on a mission. When I was in Primary, my bishop asked me, “Are you going on a mission?” and my response was, “Of course.” When I grew to be a young man and started enjoying life and high school, “Of course” became “Yes,” still with some excitement. And then in the later years of high school, with more peer pressure, I said, “I think I’m going on a mission,” and I started to waver. And then finally, I actually didn’t know. My response became “Maybe.”
So I had these questions and went to my bishop and my parents. They challenged me to read the Book of Mormon. That is when I came to understand that it was time for me to get my own testimony. I’d been reading the Book of Mormon for seminary, but I decided to take the challenge and really read the Book of Mormon.
I made it a point to pray before and sometimes during my reading—just to have a prayer in my heart and afterwards plead with my Father to let me know the truth about the Book of Mormon and what people had been telling me about gaining a testimony.
The first few times, of course, it was the same—they were just words on the page. But later on the scriptures began to be more understandable to me. And then I started to have particular feelings about some principles that were taught.
The next stage was that I was really getting into it. I was looking for opportunities to read, because I was finding myself in there, and it was having a wonderful effect on me. The Holy Ghost was constantly helping me to feel good about the things I was reading, causing a sensation to come over me—a warm feeling in my heart.
Finally, in one of those prayers, I just knew—I just knew that it was true. It was that overwhelming feeling that, no doubt about it, the Book of Mormon is true, the Church is true. When that testimony came, all the questions went away, and I knew that this is the true Church and that I needed to serve a mission.

My best friend last year had a back injury that was creating severe pain. She had surgery scheduled but it was four weeks away and she was almost incoherent from the pain. Her faithful home teacher Ron Barney came and gave her a beautiful blessing that she would be pain free. But as days and then weeks went by, I believed the blessing was not coming to pass. "Nothing" happened between the blessing and her already scheduled appointment on December 31. I wanted relief for her that very night. I wanted a doctor to have a cancelation in his schedule and operate immediately. However a month from that blessing, after the surgery had been performed at its scheduled time, she called me up to say she had sat through ward council that day pain free and feeling great. She returned to her regular work and her back continues to heal from the very competent surgery that was performed by a very fine surgeon.
She also tells me that this was the best Christmas she has had in a very long time. She had time to really ponder the life of Jesus and also to think about other people who are dealing with physical and emotional pain. So I see that I am a spiritual panicker and yet how tenderly the Lord says, "Sharon, give me a month or two, or give me a year, or give me 10, or give me until your next life. I see the long view and I will never leave you comfortless."

One such experience occurred when my older brother, Adrian, needed surgery. Medical facilities here are limited, and it was necessary for him to leave his wife and children to fly to the mainland. He resisted the trip, fearing a problem with the small plane he would be taking. But in the end, he had to go. Boarding with him were the pilot and two television reporters.
As I heard the plane fly overhead, I sent my thoughts with my brother: Have no fear, Adrian. Heavenly Father will watch over you. Yet I felt prompted to go to my room and pray for his protection.
I was still on my knees when my husband came in. “I don’t know how to tell you this,” he began.
“Tell me what?”
“Adrian’s plane has crashed into the sea. We don’t know yet if there are any survivors.”
Thankfully, all four men lived. They were rescued by some people in a fishing boat and were soon back safe on the island. The entire population was waiting for them when they returned to the dock. We applauded with relief and joy and shed many tears of gratitude.
The next day the two reporters came to my place of work and gave me their version of what had happened. When the plane began to go down, the pilot ordered them to break the windows and throw out anything they could. Suitcases, cameras, shoes—everything was sacrificed to help the plane stay afloat as long as possible after crashing. The pilot gave some final instructions, and they buckled their seat belts.
Then Adrian began to pray aloud. He told the Lord that all of them felt they had a lot of living left to do. They were heads of families. They all had small children. He pleaded for another chance.
When he finished the prayer, he began to sing one of our hymns, “The Lord is my light; then why should I fear? …” (Hymns, 1985, number 89). The reporters said that without knowing the hymn, they began to sing with him. The music and his prayer gave them hope that they might be saved.
Within a few seconds of impact, the plane sank. But those few seconds were enough. They got the door open and inflated a raft. After the fishing boat picked them up, someone spotted a suitcase floating. It was Adrian’s. Inside was the tithing from our branch, which he was to deliver to Church leaders on the mainland. Other than the four men, the suitcase was the only thing that was saved.
Although we live in one of the most remote places of the earth, we know our Father in Heaven is mindful of us. We have felt his almighty hand, and he has answered our prayers.

In the priesthood we share the sacred duty to labor for the souls of men. We must do more than learn that this is our duty. It must go down into our hearts so deeply that neither the many demands on our efforts in the bloom of life nor the trials that come with age can turn us from that purpose.

Not long ago I visited a high priest in his home. He is no longer able to come to our quorum meetings. He lives alone. His beautiful wife died, and his children live far away from him. Time and illness limit his ability to serve. He still lifts weights to keep what he can of his once-powerful strength.

When I walked into his home, he stood up from his walker to greet me. He invited me to sit in a chair near him. We talked of our happy associations in the priesthood.

Then with great intensity he said to me, “Why am I still living? Why am I still here? I can’t do anything.”

I told him that he was doing something for me. He was lifting me with his faith and his love. Even in our short visit, he made me want to be better. His example of determination to do something that mattered had inspired me to try harder to serve others and the Lord.

But from the sad sound of his voice and the look in his eyes, I could sense that I had not answered his questions. He still wondered why God let him live with such limitations on his ability to serve.

In his usual generous way, he thanked me for coming to see him. As I got up to leave, the nurse who comes to his home a few hours every day walked in from another room. During our private conversation, he had told me a little about her. He said she was wonderful. She had lived among the Latter-day Saints most of her life but was still not a member.

She walked up to show me to the door. He motioned toward her and said with a smile, “See, I can’t seem to do anything. I have been trying to get her baptized into the Church, but it hasn’t worked.” She smiled back at him and at me. I walked outside and turned toward my home nearby.

I realized then that the answers to his questions were planted long ago in his heart. That valiant high priest was trying to do his duty, taught to him through decades in the priesthood.

He knew that the only way that young woman could have the blessing of salvation through the gospel of Jesus Christ was to make a covenant by being baptized. He had been taught according to the covenants by every president of every quorum from the deacons to the high priests.

He remembered and felt his own oath and covenant in the priesthood. He was still keeping it.

He was a witness and a missionary for the Savior wherever life would take him. It was already in his heart. The desire of his heart was that her heart could be changed through the Atonement of Jesus Christ by keeping sacred covenants.

His time in the school of the priesthood in this life will be relatively brief compared to eternity. But even in that short span, he has mastered the eternal curriculum. He will carry with him, wherever the Lord will call, priesthood lessons of eternal worth.

My wife and I have taught our children about the importance of prayer. They learned at a very young age that they could turn to Heavenly Father for help and guidance. I remember one experience when our family had just returned from Korea. I had served as a mission president there for three years. Although the experience was wonderful, our family was exhausted. A friend offered to let us use his cabin for a much-needed vacation.
We were excited! We headed up to the mountain and found the cabin. As we got out of the car, we were attacked by mosquitoes. It felt as if they were thick enough to carry us away.
We ran to the door, only to discover that the key we had been given didn’t fit in the lock! We were desperate. We ran around the cabin, trying to find another way to get in. We even considered trying to break in through a window, but we didn’t want to damage the building.
After only a few minutes, I heard my six-year-old son, Steven, yell out, “I’ve opened the door. Come on in, everybody!”
I couldn’t believe it, but as I rounded the corner of the cabin, I saw Steven standing at the door, waving everyone inside. After we’d escaped the mosquitoes, I asked, “Steven, how did you find the key? What happened?”
His answer was simple: “I closed my eyes and told Heavenly Father that we needed to find another key. I opened my eyes and saw a rock lying nearby. I had the feeling that a key was under the rock. And there was!”

Most of you, if not all, will be familiar with Frank Capra’s film It’s a Wonderful Life (1946). Someone years ago neglected to renew the copyright on this movie, which, in my opinion, was a very fortunate oversight, because without copyright, the movie is much more widely available and viewed than would otherwise be the case.

The Jimmy Stewart character, George Bailey, is a common man whose life and deeds, it is revealed, have been a significant force for good in his hometown of Bedford Falls. Toward the end of the story, George’s future is put in jeopardy by the disappearance of $8,000 in funds belonging to his building and loan company. Although George is unaware, we know that the funds accidentally fell into the hands of the villainous Mr. Potter, played by Lionel Barrymore. Mr. Potter unjustly keeps the funds, and his crime never comes to light. George, however, is rescued financially by gifts of money from the multitude of people he has helped in many different ways throughout his life—a wonderful life.

I find this movie endearing for several reasons, and one of them is the fact that George Bailey’s success and happiness do not depend on retribution for Henry Potter. In contrast to the dominant theme of vengeance in much of today’s movie fare, Mr. Potter is never made to account for the harm and distress he creates. The storyline leaves the ultimate accounting to God, and Mr. Potter is left for now a bit richer but still unhappy and friendless in his pinched and less than wonderful life. George Bailey and his wonderful wife and family can still be happy, enjoying their life of love and service.