Gospel Story Finder

Miguel Arrellano looked out the window of the tar-paper shack. Thunderclouds had opened up, pouring forth torrents of rain. Such storms were not unusual in his small village set in the mountains of Colombia.
Normally Miguel did not mind the rain. It watered the crops that the family depended upon for a living. Today, though, he prayed for the rain to stop.
It was a special day—the day he and his parents would be baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
He remembered when the two missionaries had found them. Elder Berger and Elder Santos, dressed in dark pants and white shirts, had appeared at their door. They wore small, black, name badges proclaiming that they represented the Church.
Elder Berger was tall, almost two meters. He came from Utah in the United States of America. In Colombia, men are rarely so tall. Papá was only a few centimeters taller than Miguel. Elder Santos was a native missionary and even shorter than Papá.
Miguel had practiced saying Elder Berger’s name. The syllables sounded strange upon his tongue. They laughed together as the American missionary tried to say Arrellano.
The elders told the family the story of Joseph Smith and the Restoration. When Elder Berger bore his testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, tears streamed down his face. He and Elder Santos both testified that Joseph Smith had been a prophet and that Gordon B. Hinckley was now the prophet. Though Miguel was only eleven, he knew that he was hearing the truth.
Mamá had cried when the elders had spoken of families being together forever. “Always, we search for something,” she had said. “Now I know we have found it.” She’d placed her hand on her heart. “I feel it. Here.”
The rain continued to fall in sheets and showed no signs of letting up.
Miguel looked from Mamá to Papá. “We must go. We told Elder Berger and Elder Santos that we would be there.”
Papá pointed to the flooded road. “There will be no bus today.”
The family had no car and had to rely on the bus. They had to change buses twice to reach the church. Each week, they carefully counted out the coins necessary to buy the bus tokens for Sunday. This week, they had taken money from their small food budget to pay for the extra trip to the church.
Papá worked very hard, but there was never enough money. Mamá had saved a little and made them new clothes. She had sewn Miguel and Papá shirts and herself a blouse. Miguel thought that she looked pretty in the bright yellow color.
He remembered the picture of President Hinckley the two young elders had shown the family. The prophet would not give up. He would find a way to get to the church, Miguel decided, and so will we.
“Señor Tomás,” Miguel said, glancing out the window and seeing their neighbor. “He goes to the city every day. Maybe he will give us a ride.”
Miguel ran across the muddy yard to their neighbor’s humble home. Señor Tomás nodded agreeably as the boy explained the situation. Miguel and Papá climbed into the back of the truck; Mamá rode in the cab with their neighbor.
They held on tightly as the old truck bounced over the rough roads. When they arrived at the small meetinghouse, they were wet and very tired, but happy.
The elders greeted them. Their clothes were wet and wrinkled, too, but the smiles on their faces were the brightest Miguel had ever seen.
“We weren’t sure you could make it,” Elder Berger said. “We’ve had problems here, too.”
They shared stories. Elder Santos explained that the pipes that carried water to the chapel had burst so that the baptismal font could not be filled. After praying, the elders had filled buckets with rain water and carried them inside the church to fill the font.
Miguel and his parents explained how they had found a ride with their neighbor.
“It’s a miracle you made it,” Elder Santos said.
Papá looked at the baptismal font and said, “We have many miracles today.”
“And much to be thankful for,” Mamá added.
Miguel and Papá changed clothes in a small dressing room while Mamá changed clothes in another one. Miguel touched the crisp white shirt and pants the elders had given him. They felt strange against his skin.
The water was so shallow that the elders had to kneel to perform the baptisms.
Miguel waited while his parents were baptized. When the time came for his own baptism, he felt a warmth come over him, even though the water was cold.
After everyone had changed into dry clothes, Elder Berger and Elder Santos confirmed Miguel and his parents members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Miguel hugged his parents, then Elder Berger and Elder Santos. He would never forget this day or the baptism miracles.

One more story - President Isaia wanted to give some of his land to the Church to build a Chapel. The village Matai said he couldn't do that - only Catholics and the LMS were allowed in that village. President Isaia said it was his land and he could give it to the Church. Another long story shortened. The Matai had made it very clear the Chapel could not be built. A fourth and final letter was sent to President Isaia by a special messenger from the village's council of chiefs. The letter contained threats of what would happen if the construction went forward. Brother Isaia said, "I talked with my wife and children. My answer to the threats was that if I die, I die with a testimony of the Church. We prayed. I put on clean garments, I put on long pants instead of a lava lava because I did not want the villagers to see my garments. My brother and some others came with bush knives and said they would protect me. But I told them the Lord was watching." The villagers arrived about 12:00 pm in a pickup truck. They put me in the truck, tied me with ropes, and drove me to the village green. My hands and feet were tied. The young untitled men were instructed to collect wood. I still remember the faces of the two men who lit the fire...I was lying on the ground facing up. The firewood and dry coconut leaves were placed around me and on top of me. I could see through the pieces of wood the faces of those who were there...During this time I felt as if I was being held - as if I was being embraced. The wood was lit on fire and then it began to rain. They tried seven times to light the fire - I was like that about five hours."

I have been privileged to see such courage shown by one of the young men I was honored to teach in Sunday School. It is with his permission that I share his story.

I first met Caden during his senior year of high school. Caden was outgoing and charismatic with a quick sense of humor. Although he had consistent attendance at church, it is fair to say church wasn't his first priority. Caden's time away from church included hanging out with friends, too often participating in activities that were not in keeping with church standards. And yet, Caden still attended church, sometimes bringing one of his friends to Sunday School with him.

As Caden neared the age of nineteen, he began to think about a mission. He knew his life was not in keeping with mission standards and made a commitment to meet with the bishop and make the changes necessary to go on a mission. This was not an easy process. It meant changing behaviors that had become comfortable habits. It also meant changing friends, never an easy task. Changes came slowly, sometimes with one step forward and two steps back. When his mission call came, we rejoiced in Caden's decision and hard work to become a missionary. On a brisk spring afternoon, Caden said good-bye to his family, squared his shoulders, and walked into the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah.

I happened to be traveling home from a work related trip the day Caden would fly out to his mission. As I landed in the Salt Lake City airport, I realized I would likely be able to say good-bye to him. I checked the flight boards, found the appropriate destination, and began walking to the gate, eager to say good-bye to Caden as he departed for the mission field. I arrived at the gate to see a large group of smiling missionaries in suits and dresses. I scanned the group, looking for Caden. Not seeing his face, and assuming he was calling home, I asked the missionaries if this dear elder was part of their group. The once smiling faces became silent and sullen. One elder, large in stature, stood and told me he was Caden's companion. I smiled, happy to meet Caden's companion. The now quiet group of missionaries fixed their eyes on this elder as he explained my friend had gone home a few days before. I wished the group well, telling them to have a great two years.

I walked slowly away, pondering the sacrifices Caden had made in preparation for his mission, my heart broken, knowing how difficult this would be for Caden and his family.

The next day, I drove to Caden's home to let him know of my love for him. I chatted with his mother and learned Caden had something that did not get completely taken care of before he left for his mission. A zone leader in the MTC, Caden knew he could not continue without addressing the concern. In an act of courage, Caden met with his priesthood leader. Caden had a desire to return to the mission field and planned accordingly. Time passed and it soon became apparent a return to the mission field would require waiting a substantial amount of time. Caden had good family support. Caden and I would occasionally grab a soda and discuss his plans. During these visits, it became clear Caden was losing hope. He stopped planning to return to his mission and began planning how to move forward with his life.

Caden secured a job and began taking classes from a local university. He had a girlfriend who was not a member. It was their desire to marry, but Caden's girlfriend wanted to join the church before their marriage, something she knew would be difficult for her parents to accept. Eventually they were engaged and married, and, following the marriage, Caden's wife was baptized. Caden and his beautiful wife settled into their new ward. Both of them were working and began taking courses from the same local university. Neither of them had an interest in attending BYU-Idaho, but as they continued to faithfully turn to the Lord, their hearts were softened and they were led to BYU-Idaho.

Moving to Rexburg to attend school was another act of courage. Unsure of where they would live and how to pay for the expenses of being full-time students, Caden and his wife trusted in the Lord. I bumped into Caden and his wife a few times during their first semesters at BYU-Idaho. Caden reported he loved BYU-Idaho! His classes were challenging, but he was working hard and finding success in a difficult major. What I noticed most about my friend was the light, the pure light of Christ, in his eyes. Rather than forsake what he knew, in a difficult situation of his own making, he courageously and humbly turned to the Lord. The light that shone from his eyes was a testament the Lord will succor us when we turn to him in humility and do what we are asked to do with courage. As Caden acts in faith, he is becoming the man the Lord knows he can become; valiant, capable, and courageous. In a powerful postscript to this story, Caden and his wife were sealed in the temple and recently welcomed their first child, a beautiful daughter, into their family.

Mary Hill Peterson, a teacher of at-risk students in an inner-city junior high school, radiated such qualities. Mary, not a member of our faith, was a special colleague and friend. I observed her classroom often. On each occasion I saw patient acts of kindness, genuine words of commendation, and sincere, honest praise expressed to every one of her students. It was obvious to everyone in the school that Mary was having a special effect on difficult students. One experience in particular illustrates this effect and her radiating qualities.

Early in the school year Mary was approached after class by one of her students. He was a ninth-grade boy—unkempt in his appearance, failing in school, frequently disciplined for his inappropriate behavior, and probably involved in a local gang.

He spoke to Mrs. Peterson in a rude, disrespectful manner, saying (in more colorful language than I will use): “You’re a phony. No one goes around praising others. People tell you how bad you are and that you do everything wrong. They don’t praise you.”

Mary paused for only a moment and then simply responded, “I know that not everyone compliments others, but a few years ago I decided that I didn’t care what others did. I want to be the kind of person who looks for the good in others, finds it, and then praises them for it.”

The student muttered some inappropriate remarks as he hurriedly left the room.

The significant part of the experience occurred several months later, in the spring. Again approaching his teacher privately after class, the student, this time very politely, remarked, “Mrs. Peterson, I just wanted to tell you that I have decided that I want to be like you.”

I believe that Mary’s work with those highrisk students has produced thousands of positive marks on her touchstone.

A number of years ago I was a young assistant professor living in Ithaca, New York. I had been asked to be on a committee for the Modern Language Association that was scheduled to meet soon at Pennsylvania State University. The association was going to pay all of the expenses, and I thought I was pretty hot stuff. But the first part of the trip was a disaster. The small commuter plane I took almost hit a herd of deer when it was landing. My luggage was lost. I had to wait an unusually long time for the shuttle to the hotel. A sudden storm caused a power outage in the city, and the hotel had no electricity. Even though my expenses were to be paid, I learned while checking in that I was expected to pay for the hotel and my meals in advance, then be reimbursed later. I had brought very little money.

After checking in I went to my dark room and sat on the bed, feeling sorry for myself. The storm had cleared and the rays of the setting sun came through my window and provided sufficient light for me to see a Gideon Bible lying on a nightstand next to the bed. I opened it up and immediately saw the verse in Matthew 11:28: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” I immediately felt much better, but I also felt ashamed, because I knew that the Savior probably had more serious cases in mind than lost luggage and a power outage. But the message was appreciated. The scriptures can teach and enlighten us, and we should make them a part of our daily lives. We should feast on the words of the Lord frequently.

The hardwood shook to the happy stomping as the boys’ wall swept the girls’ wall into the dance, ending all thought of wallflowers and wallweeds in a magical flash of music.
Cold February moonlight sparkled between pine shadows on the snow outside the rustic dance hall, but inside Hot August reigned as the Mormon dance band by that name made people’s feet itch. The pine trees outside seemed to sway with the rhythm, as happy, well-groomed young men and women all over the floor told a story with their smiles. They had lived the kind of lives that allowed them to meet life with joy, never looking over their shoulders. They were savoring a sweet present unmarred by the past.
The air in Denver, Colorado, is clean and almost telescopic in its clarity, a fitting home for an outstanding group of young Latter-day Saints who, thanks to the gospel, can literally “see forever.” Scattered two or three to a high school, these young men and women are very much in the world, and in order to avoid being of it, they must constantly and steadfastly say no to many things. But they get together often, because whenever they can find a wholesome activity, they lead the world in giving an exuberant, roof-rattling yes! Last February their yes took them into the Rocky Mountains on what they called a winter retreat.
The activity was well named, because winter had retreated deep into the Rockies, pursued by one of the driest years on record. Where snow drifts were normally overhead, they were now underfoot, but the group overtook the elusive white stuff at Snow Mountain Ranch, a YMCA camp about 90 miles out of and up from Denver, and gave it a pounding it will never forget.
The youth of the Denver Colorado Stake met in the afternoon at their stake center, and after a prayer, boarded Greyhound buses. The buses rolled quietly along the freeway for a while through old mining towns, but then they suddenly dropped their tails and soared like eagles on a thermal, back and forth up the face of the solemn old Rockies. At the end of every switchback it was hard to believe how high they were above where they had been seconds before. The night was fueled on song—everything from “Who Are These Children?” to “Granny’s in the Cellar.” There was time for pondering some profound questions too. These young gospel scholars may not know, like their Medieval counterparts, how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, but they can tell you with some authority how many young Latter-day Saints can fit on one Greyhound bus seat.
They could tell you some more important things too. One of the young men spoke of President Kimball’s visit to Denver to preside over a solemn assembly in the stake center. This young man had gone early to the center just to see a living prophet as he entered the building.
“I was amazed,” he said. “When President Kimball walked from his car to the building, people just kept driving on by and walking down the sidewalk without even a second glance. They didn’t know who was among them.”
The young Latter-day Saints knew, however, even if most people in Denver didn’t. These young men and women have a great love for their leaders, including the bishoprics and other officers in their own wards.
A sky-high experience was waiting for them at the 10,000-foot camp. They had been scheduled to stay in some dormitories resembling cut-rate bomb shelters, but on arrival they discovered that the camp manager had made special arrangements for them to stay in the nicest accommodations, a lodge that boasted a huge lounge with a fireplace, and comfortable, carpeted rooms. He explained that he had been so impressed with the last group of Mormons to stay at the camp that he knew he could trust LDS youth with the best. The nameless Mormon group who paved the way for this happy surprise will never know the impression they made, but these young people from the Denver area were grateful for their example.
Example is something they know a lot about, because examples are what they have to be at all times. “People expect so much more of you when they know you’re Mormon,” one girl said. “We have to be really strong to live up to our reputation.”
Another young lady said, “I know a lot of guys at school, and you can always tell the active Mormons. They look different. They talk differently. They act differently. They are a lot more concerned and caring about people. They are so much more friendly. They not only don’t do things to hurt people, but they go out of their way not to. They’re not thinking of themselves all the time. Their standards are so much higher. They still have fun, but you can tell that they’re doing what they know is right.”
One young man added, “Once a friend asked me, ‘You can’t drink, you can’t smoke, and you can’t do all those other things. What do you do for fun?’ and I told him, ‘I live! I’m alive and healthy, and I don’t need all that stuff.’”
By constantly living their religion in spite of numerous temptations, they have interested many of their friends in the Church, and as a result some of them have joined.
After checking into their rooms that night (the young men on one floor, the young women on another), the group walked through the moonlight and stillness to the dance hall where Hot August led them in wearing off some shoe leather. When the last dance had ended, the group met in the lounge to sing songs, watch the fire flicker, and eat popcorn. As they sat singing, they could see the snowy hill slanting past their picture window, the cold night washed in moonlight. The scene shimmered like a decanter of distilled Christmas.
Sleep was scheduled next, but it turned out to be a whole new style of sleep, consisting of a lot of radio music, laughing, and visiting with friends. If some of these young people had been around when the English language was being formed, the word sleep might never have been invented.
The next day dawned very cold, and the group began early by standing in line in the snow for what seemed like hours waiting their turn in the cafeteria line, an experience they enjoyed twice more during the day. Fortunately, getting up early was second nature to these young yes-sayers. Every weekday morning most of them start letting their lights shine about 4:30, when the rest of their neighborhoods are dark and silent. At 6:00 they attend early-morning seminary, their favorite class of the day. One of them said: “You’ve got to have a balance. All day long you’re bucking temptation; you’re bucking the world, and if you can start your day with the spiritual uplift of seminary, you feel that you can make it through the day. It gives you the extra momentum you need to get through. Whenever you get down during the day, you can remember what you learned in seminary that morning.”
Between meals the day was spent in several forms of Mormon madness. One was the Wonderful One-Man Plus Team Freestyle Two-Tube Ice-Eating Relays. Theoretically, one man on each team was inserted into the holes of two inflated innertubes, which were then rolled by the team to the end of the skating ice and back again. In reality, once inside the tubes, the man was often grasped by a glove or a boot and dragged unceremoniously over the course in a pretzel-puzzle of man, tube, and flying ice.
While the teams were busy pushing and pulling their hapless tube-jockeys toward the finish line, the spectators took part in a spontaneous Alice in Wonderland sort of ritual that consisted of standing on the sidelines heaving huge snowballs at the contestants as they passed. In between heats the genteel crowd threw snowballs at each other. When the races were over, this pastime degenerated slightly into a general free-for-all snowball fight. Interspersed among these rather formal events, volunteers from the group did freestyle slides on the slippery ice, a hair-raising and bump-raising crowd pleaser.
For a rest there was roller skating at the camp rink and tubing on a kamikaze run about the width of a yawn and a stretch. Hewn out of the thick timber, this chute of packed snow resembled a pinball machine as the riders caromed off mattress-and-haybale-protected trees. They came snaking down in chains of people-heaped tubes, spraying snow and sometimes exploding into tumbles of human snowbanks.
After drying out and warming up that evening, the group listened quietly as three of their bishops and a member of the stake presidency spoke to them of the joy that comes from wholehearted devotion to the gospel. Afterwards, young men and women stood to bear their own testimonies, sometimes speaking frankly of the wrestle they had had with life, and of how the gospel helped them to conquer—sometimes simply of the joy that comes from knowing something so important so surely. They all spoke of their love for one another.
“I have a lot of nonmember friends at school,” one of them said, “and their lives are so different from mine because they don’t know where they’re going, because they haven’t been taught. They’re not aiming for anything. They have no goals. I know what want to do with my life. I know where I’m going.”
As the buses glided down the mountains, back to the mile-high city of Denver, the young people knew they were going back to a world of very real conflicts where they would still have to say no many times to preserve their standards. But they also knew, and everyone with them knew, that whenever the Lord needed someone to vote yes, their voices would be among the happiest and the loudest.

For the year-end program at my school, we were putting on a musical. I was so excited, especially when I got a part. I went to all the rehearsals even though no one could drive me there. But when my teacher showed us the costume we were to wear, I was disappointed. It was immodest.
I told my teacher that I would not wear the costume, and she was upset with me. She told me that none of the other girls had a problem with the costume and if I didn’t want to wear it, I couldn’t perform. She even tried to get my mom to pressure me to wear it. But I knew I had to keep the commandments, so I said I wouldn’t perform.
Then, just a few days before the program, the teacher got new costumes that were modest. I’m happy that I didn’t think that “just this one time” it would be OK to be immodest.

Five Beehive girls had a surprise introduction into the Young Women program in the Twin Falls 11th Ward, Kimberly Idaho Stake.

The girls of the ward were worried that five of their friends were only partially active, so they planned a surprise breakfast.

But instead of inviting their friends, they decided (with the permission of the girls’ parents) to “kidnap” them. Each of the five girls was pulled out of bed and taken to their leader’s house for a big breakfast of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. While waiting for breakfast to cook, the girls played games. They vowed that this was one morning they would remember.

In 1856, at age 13, Mary joined the Church with her family in England, traveled to America, and joined the Martin handcart company. In her personal history she recounts the difficulty of the journey—the loss of her baby brother and older brother, the freezing of her own feet, and finally the death of an infant sister and her mother. When she arrived in the Salt Lake Valley, the doctor amputated her toes, but she was promised by the prophet, Brigham Young, that she would not have to have any more of her feet cut off. She recounts: “One day I sat … crying. My feet were hurting me so—when a little old woman knocked at the door. She said she had felt someone needed her there for a number of days. … I showed her my feet. … She said, ‘Yes, and with the help of the Lord we will save them yet.’ She made a poultice and put on my feet and every day after the doctor had gone she would come and change the poultice. At the end of three months my feet were well.”

But Mary had sat in her chair so long that the cords of her legs had become stiff and she could not straighten them. When her father saw her condition, he cried. He rubbed her legs with oil and tried to straighten them, but it was of no use. One day he said, “Mary I have thought of a plan to help you. I will nail a shelf on the wall and while I am away to work you try to reach it.” She said that she tried all day for several days and at last she could reach the shelf. Then her father put the shelf a little higher. This went on for another three months, and through her daily diligence her legs were straightened and she learned to walk again.

I believe that you are learning, like Mary Goble, to reach just a little higher to the shelf our leaders have raised for us, and that if you will reach higher as those ideals are raised, you will become able to walk into the future with confidence.

DeAnne Winkel composed most of the songs. She recalls Sister Anderson meeting her at school and telling her she needed another song by that evening with the only instructions being the range and that it should be “a questioning song.” She knelt by the piano bench and pleaded with the Lord for his help. One-half hour later she was knocking on Sister Anderson’s door with the song recorded on the tape in her hand. They both wept as they listened.

Now, please indulge me by allowing me to share one last story - my own.

My father was born and raised in Kahuku. At that time, Kahuku was mainly a plantation town with an operating sugar mill. My father's grandparents were amongst the first laborers to work in the cane fields. They had several children, and my grandfather was the first to be born in Hawaii. They raised their children as devout Catholics. My grandfather had limited education and after marrying at a young age, he also went to work on the plantation to support their seven kids. Sending their kids (my father amongst them) off to go to college was an expensive proposition, which was left up to them to pursue.

My dad's plan after High School was to enlist in the military. He and 6 of his friends, mostly plantation kids, went down to Fort Derussy less than one month after graduation to enlist. This was during the time of the Vietnam war, and they felt the need to volunteer and fulfill their civic responsibility instead of being drafted. My father wanted to go into the Air Force and have a career as an Aircraft Mechanic. However, after taking the hearing and vision tests, he was told to go to the processing window for reclassification instead of going with his friends to get physicals. He was processed out as a 4F - exempt from military service and selection. His friends considered him lucky, but he didn't think so at the time. But that perspective would change!

Somewhat unsure about what to do next, he decided to check out that Church school down the road – the Church College of Hawaii. He knew of some members in High School with last names that we still find here in the community, like Goo, Enos, and Owan. But it was the Huston family from Alaska that made a particularly positive impact upon my father. They had befriended him, and it was with their good influence in mind that he enrolled. He took some challenging classes and excelled, but his most challenging course would be in the subject called "The Book of Mormon." He sought out help with this class (as struggling students should). He approached Kimo Poai, who had just returned home from his mission. It wasn't long before the help extended not only in the subject matter but into the waters of baptism. My father was baptized in December of 1967, and Dennis Mau confirmed him.

After the school year ended, my dad was invited to stay with the Huston family for the summer break in the Seattle area. He was fortuitously hired by Boeing to work with aircraft attachment points and earned an excellent wage for the time - $4 an hour. This job was a reassuring blessing to my father since he hadn't been able to join the military to be an aircraft mechanic as previously planned. That earlier disappointment was pivotal in the opening of the door for my father to join the Church. Although it would be a year later, he was still blessed with the opportunity to work on aircraft. He ended up working for Boeing through the year and returned to school with good savings. As a point of reference, tuition was only $125 a semester at the time.

He would later decide to transfer to BYU in Provo to pursue engineering. By this time, his membership in the Church was nearly two years, and his friends who were serving missions were returning to school. One RM who was in the right place at the right time was Pete Kindara, who specifically asked my father if he thought about going on a mission himself. That rattled around within my father for a while. And before finishing the semester, my father withdrew to prepare to serve the Lord.

In the summer of 1971, he found himself on a mission to the land of his heritage in the Philippines. This call to serve in the Philippines would give increased appreciation to my father's parents in his decision to join the Church. His mission was the right thing to do and it put him in the right place at the right time as my father was very fortunate to meet old friends and relatives that would have otherwise remained strangers to him and lost to his parents. Another blessing that would come to my father was the offer of financial support by the Huston family. They were very gracious and angels to him.

In my father's first area, He would serve with a newly called leader, Bishop Selfaison. Little did he know at that time that this experience would pay dividends in his future as that Bishop's daughter was attending school at the Church College of Hawaii. After his mission, he would later meet and date her. They married in 1974 and had two children; Sonya and I.

I am a product of BYU–Hawaii. I am a result of the faith-filled decisions of my parents. Both my mother and father were pioneers in their own respect. Both were converts to the church and first-generation college students. Like many of the students we have here today, they come from very humble beginnings. Some of the turns they took in life were unexpected, but they allowed for the very blessings that I have received in my own life.

One of those blessings that illustrates how things are divinely orchestrated is the detail that the Hustons were baptized into the Church upon the invitation of a neighbor in Alaska named June Oberg - a recent convert herself. Her invitation came at the right time. The Hustons, who later moved to Hawaii, in turn, were instrumental in introducing the Church to my father and also later supported him on his mission. As you all became acquainted with my wife at the beginning of this devotional, what she didn't share about herself is that she was born and raised in Alaska. Her grandmother is the June Oberg, who introduced the gospel to the Hustons, who then shared it with my dad. All these events happened at their own respective right times and in the right places. And these sequences allowed my wife and I to meet and have an eternal marriage and family.

My family has been blessed by the legacy of faith of those who followed their faith and persevered - despite uncertainty and unknown twists in the road. Our lives have also been blessed by this place, this institution, and, more importantly, the Gospel. Because we have been so tremendously blessed, we, in turn, strive to live by our family motto, which is to "Be a blessing."

In 1980 my wife, daughter, and I moved to Baltimore, Maryland. Soon after our arrival we were invited to a ward party at the home of a member. We were told it was to be a crab feast. We were excited, but we really didn’t know what to expect. Our experience with seafood consisted of trout, canned salmon, and pickled herring. As we came to the member’s backyard, we saw that newspapers had been spread on picnic tables and steaming bushels filled with red creatures the size of my fist had been dumped out on them.
My wife, Ruth, asked, “What are these?” referring to the red creatures.
We were informed that these were Maryland blue crabs, which turn bright red when they are steamed.
Ruth asked, “How do you catch them?”
We were told that early that morning, two of the brethren had gone to a butcher shop and purchased a bucket of chicken necks. As you know, chicken necks look like chicken and smell like chicken when cooked, but if that is what you are given for dinner, you will go hungry. The chicken neck consists of bone, tendon, and skin.
The assigned men had gone out in a skiff on the shallow Chesapeake Bay. In water about eight feet deep, they began the process of catching a crab. They tied a chicken neck to a string, dropped it into the water, and allowed it to settle on the sandy ocean floor. Sensing a potential feast, a crab scurried along the bottom and grabbed the chicken neck with its big claw. The men then slowly and steadily began pulling on the string. The crab held on to the chicken neck, and just as it was about to breach the surface of the bay, the crab became agitated and let go. But by that time the men had placed a small net under the crab. They took it out of the water and flung it into the boat. And, voilà: ward dinner!
Ruth said, “So, that’s it? There’s no hook? There’s no rod? There’s no reel?”
“That’s right,” they replied.
She said, “The crab could let go at any time?”
“Right.”
“But they don’t?”
“No,” was the reply.
Ruth summed up this newfound knowledge by saying, “Boy, are those crab stupid!”
If you were writing a pamphlet called For the Strength of Young Crabs, it would be pretty short, wouldn’t it? It would say, “Lay off the chicken necks! They are a trap. Don’t be fooled.”
There are many chicken necks in the world: things that look enticing, things that look like a veritable feast, and things that seem worth a minor detour. But if we take that detour, we will, like the prodigal in the parable, experience a fleeting paroxysm of enjoyment followed by degradation ranging from slight to abysmal and misery ranging from small to unutterable before coming to ourselves and recognizing the mistake. The mistake is that these detours are traps.

Last year, while on vacation with our two youngest children, Julie suggested we do proxy baptisms in both the St. George and San Diego Temples. I murmured—to myself—thinking, “We attend the temple at home, and now we’re on vacation. Why not do something more vacation-like?” After the baptisms, Julie wanted to take pictures outside the temple. I silently murmured—again. You can guess what happened next: we took pictures.

Julie wants our children to have memories of how we helped our ancestors, and so do I. We didn’t need a formal lesson on the importance of temples. We were living it—thanks to a mother who loves the temple and wants her children to share that love.

My parents continued their education here at BYU, and within their first year of marriage, my mom gave birth to a daughter. Some may remember a story of then Elder Spencer W. Kimball helping a stranded pregnant woman in an airport who was pushing along her young toddler. Because of a threatening miscarriage, she was under doctor’s orders not to pick up the child. Elder Kimball comforted the woman—whom he had never met before and knew nothing about—gave the little girl a piece of gum, and got the young, pregnant, exhausted mother and her wet and hungry two-year-old daughter on the next flight out of Chicago O’Hare International Airport.
That pregnant young woman was my mother. Following this experience with Elder Kimball, my parents were blessed to have ten more naturally born children, adopt another, and also raise my dad’s nephew, who is now my brother. Their ability to rear thirteen children was clearly a miracle. I am the twelfth of these thirteen children. My parents were true leaders.

Of Swedish ancestry, Frances, with her native poise and graciousness, was easily integrated into the Monson clan at the Terrace. And at Tom’s first meeting with her parents, he acquired preferred status when it was learned that his great uncle, Elias Monson, had helped convert the Johnson family in Sweden. Tears filled the eyes of Franz and Hildur Johnson as they embraced their future son-in-law. Although the incident was tinged with mild embarrassment for Frances, who hardly anticipated such a reception for her young boyfriend, she and Tom reflected later that the relationship of their Swedish ancestors may have portended more than mere coincidence.

Sunday, July 2, 1972, at the close of testimony meeting, he stood with the congregation of his home ward. Tears filled his eyes as he sang, with them “The Star Spangled Banner.”
In the afternoon there was a visit to family members.
And in the evening, as he sat in the home of a beloved daughter, his head bowed quietly forward, and he died.
There was no suffering. “He was here one minute, and gone the next. It was very peaceful,” the family reported.
So ended the mortal life of a prophet of God.
For President Joseph Fielding Smith it was an appropriate last day on earth: joyful worship with his brothers and sisters in the gospel; nourishing and enjoying the family circle; a quiet, happy acceptance of the Lord’s call to further service.
It had been that way all his life.
That quiet end seems, in fact, like a personal benediction, a final earthly blessing from his Maker in appreciation for a life lived, in every respect, as life should be lived.
Joseph Fielding Smith carried an unmatched heritage, and the responsibility that goes with it, when he entered this life on July 19, 1876. He was of the lineage of prophets. His great-great grandfather had the inspiration to record, “It has been borne in upon my soul that one of my descendants will promulgate a work to revolutionize the world of religious faith.” His great-grandfather, Joseph Smith, Sr., was the first to receive, and accept, the Prophet Joseph’s testimony, was one of the eight witnesses to the Book of Mormon, was ordained first patriarch to the Church, died a martyr’s death from exposure in the expulsion from Missouri. Joseph Fielding Smith’s grandfather, Hyrum, stood constantly beside his brother Joseph; was a counselor in the First Presidency; was second patriarch to the Church; and died at Joseph’s side as together they sealed their testimony. His father, son not only of Hyrum but also of one of history’s most remarkable pioneer women, became sixth president of the Church, the first president to be born in the Church and spend his entire life under its influence. For eighteen years as president he led and built and loved the Church and its people.
This kind of blood flowed in the veins of President Joseph Fielding Smith. But others have had noble blood and have failed to honor it. As he so often said, each man must earn his own testimony; each man at the judgment will stand responsible for his own work.
It was Joseph Fielding Smith’s own testimony, his own devotion, that led to his call to the apostleship at age thirty-three and that sustained him through sixty years as an apostle and two and one-half as president and prophet of the Church.
It was his own gentle kindness and human warmth as well as firmness in the gospel that made him so loved in Europe during the first dark days of World War II and later in the Far East, South Pacific, South America, and wherever else he traveled, blessing the Saints, opening missions, and building the Church.
It was his own scholarship and hard work that produced twenty-four books of gospel interpretation and teaching and that brought him recognition as perhaps the leading gospel scholar of this dispensation.
It was his own profound commitment to genealogy and temple work that led, during his long service as president of the Genealogical Society, to the Church’s accumulation of the world’s greatest collection of genealogical records.
And it was his own receptiveness to the inspiration of the spirit that led him, as newly ordained president and prophet, to choose two great men as counselors through whom and with whom he led the Church in its most astonishing period of profound change and growth. Here was a ninety-three-year-old man ordained president of the Church, the oldest man ever so chosen. The outlook was for a short, quiet ministry without innovation or progress. Instead, the Church literally spurted ahead. Eighty-one stakes were organized during the two and one-half years of his ministry—compared to the ninety-eight years it took to organize the first hundred stakes. Even more impressive during those two and one-half years is the long list of far-reaching organizational and program changes that prepare the Church for more rapid growth in the future.
So Joseph Fielding Smith was his own man—and the Lord’s. But what sort of man was he, really?
The president of the United States, Richard Nixon, found his friendship a “profound experience” and called him a “devoted and inspirational leader.” So did countless others. And so he was. But what else was he, away from the pressure of his high office?
He was a man who loved his family with a depth only possible to one who fully understands the eternal nature of family ties. Because he loved them, he taught them, and because they loved him, they responded. All five of his sons served missions for the Church; all eleven of his children married in the temple.
He was a man who found joy in the company of children. On the last day of his life, a mother asked him to touch her infant; she remembers his happy, loving smile as he caressed the child. Last year as he left general conference, a little girl ducked under the ropes and ran to President Smith. He picked her up and held her close. Reproved later by her parents who feared she might have become lost in the crowd, the child replied, “I wasn’t lost; I was in the arms of the Prophet.”
He was a man of quick, gentle humor, much of it directed at himself; he never took himself too seriously. He referred to his typing as the “biblical system—seek and ye shall find.” He described the duets he so often sang with his late wife, the great contralto Jessie Evans Smith, as “do-its; I have to do it whether I want to or not.” His personal secretary and longtime associate, Brother D. Arthur Haycock, recalls how the students at BYU had seemed to enjoy a recent talk and duet so greatly some had tears in their eyes. To this President Smith quickly responded, “I can understand that. My singing is enough to make anybody cry.”
He was a man who respected—and cared for—the physical body as a tabernacle of the spirit. Because of that care, he spent not a single day in the hospital in all his ninety-six years.
He loved athletics, both as participant and spectator. He still played a respectable game of handball in his seventies and credited regular exercise for his excellent health and longevity. One of the warmest, most human memories of him goes back to a Saturday session of general conference when he slipped away during the closing song to watch his son play football at the University of Utah.
With all the tradition and continuity his longevity brought to the presiding councils of the Church, he was a modern man, attuned to the times. His personal zest for living never let him become old-fashioned—unless strict personal morality and steadfast devotion are old-fashioned. His life spanned the period from the ox cart to the jet plane and lunar landings—and, indeed, in his eighties, he took delight in an occasional ride in a National Guard jet fighter.
More than all else, he was a man of God—not only at the pulpit, but in the circle of his family or the privacy of his room. As President Harold B. Lee said of him, “He sought no honors of men. His purpose in life could well be penned in one sentence—his was an ‘eye single to the glory of God in bringing to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.’”
He was his father’s tenth child; a “tithing child.” He gave his life, as all honest tithes are given, joyfully, without reservation, fully, to the Lord.

Passing the Flame
On 7 March, the First Presidency and members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles stood in front of the Church Administration Building to pass the Paralympic flame. Standing on the steps, the First Presidency welcomed the flame from torchbearer Carrie Snoddy of Park City, Utah. She handed her torch to President James E. Faust, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, who handed it to President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency, who then passed it to President Gordon B. Hinckley.
President Hinckley raised the torch for spectators to see. “Welcome, welcome, to the Paralympics, to these great athletes who have excelled!” he said. “Go forward! Win the race! Claim the pennant! Be happy, be happy. We’re all with you. We’re all rooting for you. We want you to succeed, and we hope that this will be a great and marvelous and wonderful occasion for everyone who participates. Let everyone be a winner. Hurray!”
President Hinckley than passed the torch to Margaret Stocks of the Brigham City Second Ward, Brigham City Utah Box Elder Stake, who carried it on its way.

I have seen how the Holy Ghost can touch a softened heart to protect a humble disciple of Jesus Christ with confirming revelation.

The prophet sent me to confer the sacred sealing power on a man in a small city far away. Only the prophet of God has the keys to decide who is to receive the sacred power which was given by the Lord to Peter, the senior Apostle. I had received that same sealing power, but only by direction of the President of the Church could I confer it on another.

So, in a room in a chapel far from Salt Lake, I laid my hands on the head of a man chosen by the prophet to receive the sealing power. His hands showed the signs of a lifetime of tilling the soil for a meager living. His tiny wife sat near him. She also showed signs of years of hard labor alongside her husband.

I spoke the words given by the prophet: “Under delegation of authority and responsibility from,” and then the name of the prophet, “who holds all the keys of the priesthood on earth at this time, I confer the sealing power on,” and I gave the name of the man and then the name of the temple where he would serve as a sealer.

Tears flowed down his cheeks. I saw that his wife was also weeping. I waited for them to compose themselves. She stood up and stepped toward me. She looked up and then said timidly that she was happy but also sad. She said that she had so loved going to the temple with her husband but that now she felt that she should not go with him because God had chosen him for so glorious and sacred a trust. Then she said that her feeling of being inadequate to be his temple companion came because she could neither read nor write.

I assured her that her husband would be honored by her company in the temple because of her great spiritual power. As well as I could with my small grasp of her language, I told her that God had revealed things to her beyond all earthly education.

She knew by the gift of the Spirit that God had given, through His prophet, a supernal trust to the husband she loved. She knew for herself that the keys to give that sealing power were held by a man she had never seen and yet knew for herself was the living prophet of God. She knew, without having to be told by any living witness, that the prophet had prayed over the name of her husband. She knew for herself that God had made the call.

She also knew that the ordinances her husband would perform would bind people for eternity in the celestial kingdom. She had confirmed to her mind and heart that the promise the Lord made to Peter still continued in the Church: “Whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven.” She knew that for herself, by revelation, from God.

Sister Arnold and I started out in about the same financial condition as President and Sister Nelson. I met Sister Arnold at BYU. After dating for a few months, I decided I wanted to ask her to go steady, so I bought some Neil Diamond tickets and asked her to go to the concert with me. On the way from Provo to Salt Lake, I asked how she would feel about not dating other boys for a time. She thought for what I felt was eternity at the time and then replied, "I guess we can try it for a little while." On the way home from the concert, I asked her to marry me.
When we got married a few months later, we had a mere $42 to buy all our furniture. My mother bought us a bed for our wedding present, and the rest of our furniture we purchased from an older woman who was moving into an assisted living center. She gladly sold us all of her very old furniture for the $42.
I must admit that most of it looked like Moses had drug it through the Red Sea. The table and chairs were badly worn. The washer and dryer looked as though they had not been used in years, but, to our surprise, they both worked. The couch had only three legs. This actually turned out to be a blessing because my brother Robert gave us an old TV, and when you turned it on, the picture on the screen was on exactly the same slant as the three-legged couch.
At the age of 37, I was called to be a mission president in Costa Rica and Panama, we had six children under the age of 11.

My wife and I have just celebrated a remarkable thirtieth anniversary. Thirty years ago, young missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on our door in Nottingham, England.
How did their message appeal to two active members of another church? We, and generations before us, had held membership in the established church of the land. Furthermore, we were very happy with our way of life. Two precious children had graced our home, and a new job in a large industrial company was giving challenge and enjoyment.
What more could we hope for? What could add to our happiness? As the missionaries taught us and prayed with us, we began to realize that there were gaps in our life, that we had unfulfilled needs. For a few minutes may I share with you ten ways in which our lives became even more purposeful and happy as these needs were fulfilled. I am sure you will be able to identify some of these needs in your life, in your home, in your family.
First, we realized that our communication with God was not often enough or strong enough. True, we had always said our individual prayers, but when, because of the missionaries, we also started to pray together regularly as husband and wife and with our children, we experienced a tremendous feeling of closeness, not only with each other but with the Almighty God.
The missionaries had taught us that he is a personal being, that he is literally our Father, and prayers began to flow from the heart and were no longer repetitious. We came to know him as a loving Father, just and kind, reliable and true. What great need there is in the world today to commune with the Infinite, to talk and walk with God, to know that he speaks to us today and that we are in reality his children.
Second, we came to know Jesus Christ, not just as a historical figure, but as the living Son of God. In high school and the years that followed I had made a special study of the New Testament. However, the Savior’s life and mortal ministry had no great impact on my life until the missionaries testified, as did Job of old, that our Redeemer lives (see Job 19:25).
I came to know him as my personal Savior, who gave his life for me and for each of us. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). Everyone needs a friend and everyone has a friend beyond compare—Jesus Christ and him crucified and resurrected for us.
Third, as a young married couple, we were seeking security in an insecure world. We had grown from youth through teenage years during World War II. I had been a member of the Home Guard at sixteen, trained to defend my country, and at seventeen had volunteered for the Royal Air Force. Now, more than five years after the war had finished, there was still rubble in the streets and rationing in the shops.
We grasped at the secure message that the missionaries gave us, that God speaks today as he did anciently, through prophets. Yes, he is mindful of us, he does love us, he has restored his church and the fulness of his gospel as he promised. Oh, how the world needs a prophet to lead us and guide us in these troubled times. I testify that we have such a prophet. He sits behind me as I speak in this tabernacle. He presides over The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the Lord’s church and kingdom here on earth.
Fourth, we began attending the Church at the missionaries’ invitation—and what a friendly reception! We soon learned what true sociality is, and sincere brotherhood and sisterhood which bind together people of all nations and tongues. “Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). What a wonderful feeling of belonging, of being needed and appreciated, beyond anything we had previously experienced.
Soon we were singing in choirs; visiting other Church members in their homes, just as they visited us; and giving service to others in some of the many service projects the Church provides. We were able to choose from a wide range of activities—drama, dancing, sport—to supplement the spiritual progress that came rapidly by worshiping and learning with other Latter-day Saints. Everyone needs to experience the warmth of friendship and happy social activity on a continuing basis.
Fifth, my family and family life became even more meaningful and precious to me as we commenced having wonderful family home evenings together. We learned that all over the world, members of the Church spend at least one evening a week together in a balanced evening of spiritual instruction, fun, and talent sharing. We love our children, and we were glad to learn from the missionaries that although baptism is essential for the remission of sins, infant baptism is not necessary since “all children who die before … accountability are saved in the celestial kingdom” (D&C 137:10). We have known a number of parents who have been distressed at the death of a small child because of the un-Christian doctrine of infant baptism.
Again, we also became concerned about our wider family: our grandparents, our great-grandparents, and all of our ancestors. This is also a universal need, as Alex Haley expressed, “a hunger, marrow-deep, to know our heritage” (“What Roots Means to Me,” Reader’s Digest, May 1977, p. 73). Everyone has some family, sometimes near, sometimes far, sometimes living in mortality, sometimes passed on and awaiting the Resurrection. The strength that comes from family in all its aspects is a vital need, one that can be fulfilled by the principles and programs learned from the missionaries.
Sixth, everyone appreciates good health, and there is a basic need to have our spirit housed in a well-functioning body if at all possible. Personally, I had suffered internal discomfort for some years, but the health code, or Word of Wisdom, taught by the missionaries helped me to overcome this. I can testify that the exclusion of the habit-forming stimulants of alcohol, tobacco, tea, and coffee has been a great blessing in my life and the lives of my wife and my children. I am glad the Lord gave this revelation through Joseph Smith, the Prophet, almost 150 years ago, bringing increased health and vitality to millions of people.
Seventh, as provider for our young family, I was not only concerned about physical and spiritual well-being, but indeed with personal progress generally. I soon found that in the Lord’s Church all kinds of resources are provided to fulfill this need. Before long I was involved in educational activities and leadership training and cultural pursuits of various kinds. Progress within my company organization was a natural outgrowth of progression in the Church. This was not surprising, for early in our discussions with the missionaries we had learned of God’s plan of eternal progression for his children. Does not everyone deep down have this yearning, this need to progress and improve, to develop and refine?
Eighth, I think along with these needs there is also a spirit of adventure in most of us in varying degrees, a need to discover, a need to explore. For many this need is met by reading adventure stories or traveling to new places. For myself, I had always been fascinated by the study of Middle Eastern archaeology, particularly of the great Egyptian civilization.
The message of my missionary friends even fulfilled this need, for they told us of an ancient record on gold plates, inscribed by people from the Middle East in the pre-Christian era. Imagine my excitement to learn that these ancient people with their prophets and culture had left the Old World and traveled to the New, to become a mighty people on what is now the American continent. Their records were hidden and preserved and a little over 150 years ago were discovered, not by archaeologists, but by a teenage youth. The faith and worthiness of this young man, Joseph Smith, enabled him not only to find the gold plates, but later to translate the hieroglyphic record by the power of God.
What a thrill it was to see some of the reformed Egyptian characters as copied by the hand of Joseph Smith. I knew by the feeling I had that they were true characters. Then, to hold this book of scripture, this Book of Mormon, in my hands and read it eagerly, sincerely, prayerfully, was a powerful spiritual experience. The need I had for the adventure of discovery was fulfilled through the Book of Mormon. This was not merely discovery of ancient peoples, but a complete discovery of the divinity of Jesus Christ. I testify that the Book of Mormon is a witness, a modern-day witness, of the Savior of the world, who visited this continent after his resurrection.
Ninth, as one who had lived less than perfectly, and yet had no serious matters to disturb my conscience, I felt the need to make some changes in my life. I was overjoyed to learn the pure teaching of Jesus Christ concerning faith, repentance, baptism by immersion for the remission of sins, and the laying on of hands to receive the Holy Ghost. What joy to start afresh with a clean sheet, having turned away from unsound doctrines, vain traditions, and perverted ordinances.
Again, this would seem to be a universal need, all men having been born into this earth life innocent and pure, and having been tainted by the things of the world. The marvelous thing is that Jesus gave his life for everyone. His resurrection was for everyone, “for as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Cor. 15:22).
Tenth, and finally, since being baptized into this wonderful restored Church of Jesus Christ, I have felt an inner peace, “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding” (Philip. 4:7). I have heard many people say their greatest need and desire is to obtain peace of mind. How does this come? It comes by knowing the truth, for “the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). I testify that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true Church of Jesus Christ, and teaches true principles and true ordinances.
How grateful I am that my ten most fervent needs have been fulfilled through listening to the missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then, by study and prayer and obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel, I have found happiness not only here but for eternities to come.
May all within the sound of my voice, and all God’s children everywhere, have the same fulfillment, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.