Gospel Story Finder

“Oh no! Here comes Pedro!”
Everyone at school knew that Pedro was a bully. He was big, and he was mean! He called other kids names, took their lunches, and chased them around the school yard. No one wanted to be around him.
Pedro walked by Lucas and his friend, Arthur. He called them “losers” and pushed Arthur.
Lucas was tired of Pedro being so mean. Without even thinking, he shouted, “Stop it, Pedro!”
Lucas couldn’t believe it. He’d just stood up to the biggest bully in school!
Pedro stormed up to Lucas and grabbed his shirt. “What did you say?” Lucas’s heart beat so fast it felt like it would jump out of his chest! “I’ll give you one warning,” Pedro said. “But you’d better watch out!” He shoved Lucas and walked away.
After that, Lucas did his best to avoid Pedro, but Pedro always found him. He kept Lucas off the swings, pushed him during dodgeball, tripped him in the cafeteria, and always said mean things.
One day Lucas and Arthur were playing with Arthur’s football. Pedro jumped out from behind a tree and grabbed it.
“Please give it back,” said Arthur.
“Who’s going to make me?” Pedro pushed Lucas into a tree and laughed.
Lucas could feel his stomach twist in knots. He was so angry! “You know what, Pedro?” Lucas said. “You’re the meanest kid I know! Nobody likes you. Everyone wishes you’d go away forever!”
Pedro stopped laughing. Lucas felt great about what he said … until he saw the look on Pedro’s face. Was he about to cry? Pedro quickly looked down and walked away.
Lucas instantly felt terrible. For the rest of the day, no matter how hard he tried, Lucas couldn’t get rid of the terrible feeling. That night, he tossed and turned in bed. He kept thinking about how sad Pedro had looked.
“How could Pedro feel bad?” Lucas thought. “He doesn’t care if he’s mean to other kids. I had to say something, right?” The more Lucas thought about it, the more he realized he was right to stand up for himself and his friend. But he was wrong to say those mean things.
Lucas knelt by his bed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive him. He told Heavenly Father that he never wanted to hurt anyone’s feelings ever again. He wanted to be kind. When Lucas said “amen,” he knew what he had to do.
After lunch the next day, Lucas found Pedro standing against a wall by himself. Lucas was nervous. What would Pedro do? Lucas took a deep breath and walked over.
“Um, I’m sorry about yesterday.”
Pedro looked surprised. “You’re sorry?”
“Yes. I said some really mean things to you, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
Pedro stared down at his shoes. “It’s OK.”
The bell rang. Lucas started walking back to class. He felt so much better. But there was one more thing he wanted to say. He turned back around. “We could play football at recess tomorrow if you want.”
A small smile crossed Pedro’s face. “That sounds good.”
After that, things got better with Pedro. He was still a bully sometimes, but he wasn’t as mean. He even played with Lucas a few times at recess. And it was actually fun! At the end of the school year, Pedro told Lucas that he was moving away. Then he said something that really surprised Lucas.
“Thanks for being my friend,” Pedro said. “Even when I wasn’t nice.”
The warm feeling in Lucas’s heart let him know that being kind is always the right choice.

My grandmother, Vera Allen, created such a mark on her celestial touchstone. During the Great Depression she lived in a rural area outside of Dallas, Texas. Homeless and unemployed men looking for work (referred to as “hoboes” in those days) frequently stopped at her home, asking if she had a job they could do or if she could give them a bite to eat. She always managed to find something for them.

On one occasion she asked one such destitute man why so many stopped at her home and not others. The man replied with a question: “You really don’t know?”

After she convinced him she did not know, he led her to the corner of her property and showed her a mark on a tree, put there many months before by a weary traveler. The mark signaled travelers who followed that this was the home of a kind, good-hearted woman who would provide assistance. I know Grandmother had many yellow marks on her touchstone, but to our family the mark on the tree was a special, well-earned honor.

When I was assigned to home teach a sister whom I shall call Ruth Elliott, she was new in the ward. I wanted to learn a little about her before I first called at her home, so I talked with her former bishop, with her daughter who lived in another ward, and with others who knew her.
Sister Elliott lived alone in a small apartment that was furnished with a broken-down upholstered chair. She spent most of her time in that chair—or in bed. She seldom left the apartment and had no outside interests.
Sister Elliott smoked and depended heavily on medications. Through the years her doctors had prescribed a number of medicines, and she continued to take many of them. Her appearance, manner, and conversation reflected a bitter attitude toward her life and circumstances. She harbored deep resentment toward her father and others, and an unfortunate incident with a Church member had wounded her deeply. I prayed fervently to know how best to serve this troubled woman.
Shortly after I had been called as her home teacher, an opportunity came. Her landlady was having the apartment painted, and she had asked Sister Elliott to move her furniture outside before the work could be done. Our ward’s high priest group leader and I moved the furniture out and then back in after the paint had dried.
Once, when Sister Elliott was out of town, my wife, Virginia, and I decided to repair the broken-down chair. It had a good frame but needed new padding and fabric. Virginia did an excellent upholstering job on the chair, and we had it back in the apartment before Sister Elliott returned from her trip.
My junior companion and I visited sister Elliott regularly, and Virginia and I also went often to visit, talk about the gospel, and offer a prayer. Gradually, she began to accept and return our friendship, and we became closely involved in each other’s lives.
One spring, when Sister Elliott had to undergo surgery, Virginia and I spent many hours with her. We kept in touch daily, taking her to church, to the doctor’s office, and to the store, and she would telephone us each night before going to bed. She was lonely and needed someone to listen to her.
We were out of town when Sister Elliott had the surgery, but we telephoned her at the hospital and offered words of encouragement. She had received a priesthood blessing and felt that the Lord would watch over her. After her operation, she determined to stop smoking. Before her grandson had left for his mission, he had asked her to give up this habit—and she was able to accomplish the task through the Lord’s help and through her own strong desire to please her grandson.
As the months passed, Sister Elliott made new friends and found outside interests. Her church attendance improved, and she began to pay tithing. At first she did not want to go to tithing settlement, but I asked her to be ready when I stopped to give her a ride to the meetinghouse. Afterward, she radiated happiness. She had paid a full tithing for the first time in her life.
By now, her attitude toward life had changed dramatically. The bitterness was gone, replaced by a humble and contrite spirit. She forgave those who had offended her. And as she increased her tolerance and love for her children, they gradually changed their attitude and behavior toward her.
Sister Elliott eventually moved to a new apartment, furnished it attractively, and made more friends. A new physician helped her overcome her dependency on medication. She learned to rely on the Lord and on her own strength to cope with problems.
The blessings that have come to the “new” Sister Elliott have been many, including participation in the sacred temple ceremonies with her family and friends. I am deeply grateful for my opportunity to serve as her home teacher. Indeed, I loved the “old” Sister Elliott as much as the “new” Sister Elliott—but now I don’t need to feel sad because of her dreary life. Today her life is full and pleasant, enriched by the blessings of gospel living.

Jenny isn’t the only Flinn up early. By 6:15, her 17-year-old brother Peter is already off, pumping his bicycle down the lane to do his paper round, which covers most of the homes in Broadway. Peter isn’t particularly keen about getting up at dawn, at least not until he gets going. But by the time he’s halfway into town, he knows the joy of the morning too—the feeling that the day is his to conquer, his own marvelous opportunity to see things through.
Peter’s mind is on work this day, too. As he folds each Daily Telegraph and slips it into a door slot, he’s thinking of all the jobs he’s done, from egg selling to fruit picking, to put money away for his mission. He’s thinking how that mission is getting closer all the time. Peter might not say it out loud, either, but he’s glad he’s learned to work. It’s a skill that will help him as a missionary. And it feels good to start the day by getting something done.
Jenny and Peter are the oldest of Bruce and Margaret Flinn’s children. The others are Lindsey, 14; Neal, 12; Elizabeth (“Lizzy”), 9; and Rachel, 5. To visit the Flinns on their six-acre smallholding (family farm) is to see not two, but eight people who know a lot about working. To visit them is also to see much of what can make a family succeed.
“We moved here as much for the children’s sake as because of our own feelings,” explains Brother Flinn, who works full-time as a seminary teacher supervisor in addition to maintaining the smallholding. “Because of my work, I travel a lot. It would probably be easier to live in town.”
“But if we moved,” Sister Flinn says, “our quality of life would drop. We couldn’t keep all the livestock. We wouldn’t learn all the skills about being self-reliant. We might not know as much about how to love work.”
How to love work?
“We believe in the principle of work,” Brother Flinn explains. “We believe it’s a spiritual principle. It’s not just obtaining the end result; it’s the actual doing of the work. It’s good for you.”
And how does that fly with the children?
“When we complain about having to do things,” Lindsey says, “Mum will say, ‘Fine. Shall we move to the town?’ None of us has ever said yes.”
“There are pros and cons to everything,” Peter says. “But I’d say I’m fine here.”
Now all this talk about willingness to work may have you thinking the Flinns are ready to be translated. Far from it. They’re a typical family with teasing and quarrels and sometimes tears, just like any family. But they’ve learned to work at being a family, too.
“What do we gain from being together?” Jenny asks. “Patience, mainly.”
Does she ever think about being with her family forever?
“When they’re not annoying me,” she teases.
Her ability to laugh is typical of the entire family. They enjoy jousting verbally, but also know they have to do it with love so that feelings aren’t hurt.
“Everybody’s got their own personality,” Lindsey says. “We’ve learned to adjust for that. Besides, if you say anything negative, Dad makes you say two things positive on top of that.”
Other challenges? “One of the biggest ones is juggling time,” Jenny says. “I have to care for the animals twice a day, so that’s an hour each morning and evening, and in between I’ve got school. And there’s homework, two hours every night, and seminary is home study, so I have to find time for that, too.”
Church activity can be a struggle because of isolation. “We’re 50 miles from the stake center,” Peter explains. “There’s lots of traveling involved, and not everyone has a car. There’s only two of us in my quorum, and the other one lives 40 miles away. We make an effort to see if he wants to come out, but there are various problems, like parents who don’t want to bring him in because it’s out of the way. Distance is the major drawback.”
And in school, being a Latter-day Saint doesn’t mean that there isn’t temptation all around. Twelve-year-old Neal says a survey showed there were only two people in his entire class who hadn’t used alcohol. Jenny says there are “quite a few” girls in her year that have become pregnant.
What’s the counterbalance?
“We have good lessons at church,” Jenny says. “We have good lessons at seminary. And good home evenings at home. We live for Fridays (Mutual night) and Sundays to be with Church kids and strengthen each other.” And, of course, there are scriptures, and prayer, and family support.
“If I have a really major problem, I know I can turn to my family,” Lindsey says. “I suppose I’d call them my best friends. If I didn’t have them to turn to, where would I go?”
That’s an attitude Jenny exemplified when, even though she was sitting exams (taking finals) and needed to study, she walked down to the school to help Rachel. “Mum and Dad were late getting home,” Jenny said matter-of-factly. “I knew Rachael would panic if no one showed up.”
That’s part of being a family, part of what the Flinns learn every day.
Step into the Flinns’ family room, and you’ll notice one wall is adorned with corn dollies, the kind actually made from wheat.
“You have to braid the stalk while it’s flexible,” Sister Flinn explains. “When it gets old, it’s brittle and won’t bend.” It’s an analogy that isn’t lost on her.
“That’s what we’re doing as a family,” she says. “We live the gospel. We learn about family love. And the children braid them both into their lives.”

Many years ago, I felt I needed to talk with my grandfather about our family history. When I visited Grandpa, he was weak and frail. My aunt asked me not to disturb him, so I didn’t ask him about our family history. A few months later, I married and moved from Taiwan to the United States. I regretted not having another opportunity to speak with Grandpa before he passed away. I asked other family members about our genealogy, but no one could help me. I was sad and disappointed in myself for waiting so long to learn about Grandpa and for dismissing the promptings from the Spirit to talk with him about his history.
One day as I read my patriarchal blessing, I was impressed by a passage that described how I could help perform a marvelous work for my departed ancestors and others who were living. I thought, “How can this happen if I don’t know where to start?” Later I read in Doctrine and Covenants 82:8, 10:
“I give unto you a new commandment, that you may understand my will concerning you; …
“I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise.”
I felt the Lord encouraging me, and I prayed for a path forward to find my family history records.
A few months later while in Shanghai, China, I met Shirley Wu, who was visiting from Taiwan. We soon became good friends. When she found out I was looking for my family’s genealogy, she encouraged me not to give up. She suggested that as a starting place, I should go to the local household records department in Taiwan to request old addresses. “Maybe something will come up,” she said.
I flew to Taiwan, hoping to find the record of my great-grandfather’s home, but unfortunately, it no longer existed. I also didn’t know his birthplace or the name of my ancestor who first came to Taiwan. Despite this setback, Shirley told me not to worry. “Just have faith,” she said. “God will help us, and your ancestors on the other side of the veil will help too.” A few days later, I returned to Shanghai, hoping and praying for a miracle.
One Sunday afternoon, Shirley sent me a picture of some genealogy records. She asked me if any of the names looked familiar.
I was astonished. The names of my ancestors were on the page! When I asked how she found them, she told me the following miraculous story:
I had been thinking about your genealogy for several weeks, and I felt that I should go to the address of your great-grandfather’s home to check the area.
After two hours on the high-speed train, I bussed to the city of Chi Kan, a place I had never been before. I fell asleep, and at the final stop the driver woke me up. I got off, looked around, and saw I was in a fishing village. I asked a young shop owner across the street for directions. He called a taxi for me and directed the driver to a place where an old man lived. When I arrived and asked that man where I could find the town’s genealogy record, he told me to walk a few blocks to a temple by the seashore.
At the temple, I saw a group of men having tea and chatting. They said that they were just starting an annual meeting of the Liu Shi family genealogy to prepare for a big conference in October. I explained that I was there to find family names for my friend.
“Usually no one is at this temple,” they said. “The door is locked except for the two to three hours when we hold the annual meeting. You are very lucky to meet us here.”
When I told the men I was looking for the name Liu Bei, they told me they had been collecting the Liu family genealogy for years and didn’t recall that name. One of the men kindly offered his genealogy records for me to take a look. They continued their meeting while I searched the records. After about 10–15 minutes, I shouted, “I found it!”
Shocked, they stopped talking and grabbed the book. I showed them the name, and they told me that it came from the family line of Mr. Liu Qiu Shan, who was attending their meeting that day. I purchased a copy of the genealogy book, which contained records going back 26 generations and 2,460 years of ancestors’ names on extended family lines.
Mr. Liu Qiu Shan later gave me a ride to the train station. He told me if I had come an hour earlier or the next day, I wouldn’t have found anyone or anything there. He said, “This place is always locked. It must be the ancestors’ blessing. It is truly a miracle.”
Shirley is my angel. She is full of Christ’s love and is always eager to help do God’s work. She is a great example of ministering to others. Her willingness to serve has brought great blessings and a miracle to hundreds of souls. I testify there are angels among us, but we need to have the desire to do the Lord’s errand in order to receive their help. President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) said: “Believe in yourself. Believe in your capacity to do great and good things. Believe that no mountain is so high that you cannot climb it. Believe that no storm is so great that you cannot weather it.”1 When we seek the Lord’s guidance, we will see His hand and the angels in our lives, and we will be able to accomplish what He has asked us to do.

Awhile back, I got into very deep trouble with a guy. After reading the special issue I finally got up enough courage to go to my bishop and tell him my problem. Then I also went to the Lord for repentance. Then I felt so much better. I am almost a junior in high school. I am active in sports and love singing and dancing. I am a counselor in my Young Women class. Thank you so much for bringing out this wonderful magazine.

My first experience as a missionary came while in high school. I had met a girl that I liked very much. She got to know me and my family very well and had no choice but to learn about the Church. I remember trying to teach her about the Book of Mormon and the Prophet Joseph Smith's First Vision. It was the first time in my life that I ever really thought about how cool is would be to help someone become a member of the Church. She started to attend Church regularly and soon took the missionary lessons. I was fortunate enough to baptize her a few months later and then I went off to Utah for school and Canada for two years as a missionary. We got married soon after I returned from my mission. The gospel has greatly blessed our lives. My wife's parents were converted to the Church only a couple of years ago. My first missionary experience and subsequent missionary service has laid the groundwork in my life for the tremendous task that is ours to share the gospel message and help our friends, family members, and other acquaintances to be taught by the full-time missionaries. Whenever I attend baptisms or attend the temple with new patrons, I naturally get a strong feeling that I want to share the gospel more with others. Great joy comes into our lives as we share his gospel.

I actually go to a religious school, and we wear uniforms—purple blazers and black pants with a shirt and tie. Even though it’s a religious school, there’s not a lot of people who believe, and the people that are religious never really show it. I like all the missionary opportunities I get because I am the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in my school.
My phone wallpaper is a picture of Jesus because a lot of times people will see you open your phone and they’ll see it and ask about it. It’s a great gateway to a conversation about the gospel! I also have a wristband that says, “I Am a Child of God.” I wear it so much that I have a tan line because of it, but I just decided to keep wearing it because people are always asking me about it. A lot of times they ask if they can be a child of God. I just tell them that they are!

When I was young, I attended a specialized preschool for children with autism. It changed the course of my life, so I wanted to give back. I decided to create interactive storybooks to help the children learn how to read.
I’d had multiple ideas for my project and prayed to know which one was right for me. The director of the school helped me know what they needed. I did the planning and organizing, but my family, friends, and quorum members helped a lot with the project. I was able to learn good leadership and planning skills.
Doing this project gave me a greater sense of gratitude for what they do at the school. It made me feel really good to help the school that had helped me so much. They were so appreciative, and they let me read one of the books to the class. I felt so good inside.
Christopher A., Utah, USA

Here is another example of the effect on the future of decisions made in the present. This example concerns the choice to make a present sacrifice to achieve an important future goal.
At a stake conference in Cali, Colombia, a sister told how she and her fiancé desired to be married in the temple, but at that time the closest temple was in faraway Peru. For a long time, they saved their money for the bus fares. Finally they boarded the bus to Bogotá, but when they arrived there, they learned that all seats on the bus to Lima, Peru, were taken. They could go home without being married or be married out of the temple. Fortunately, there was one other alternative. They could ride on the bus to Lima if they were willing to sit on the floor of the bus for the entire five-day and five-night ride. They chose to do this. She said it was difficult, even though some riders sometimes let them sit in their seats so they could stretch out on the floor.
What impressed me in her talk was this sister’s statement that she was grateful she and her husband had been able to go to the temple in this way, because it changed the way they felt about the gospel and the way they felt about marriage in the temple. The Lord had rewarded them with the growth that comes from sacrifice. She also observed that their five-day trip to the temple accomplished a great deal more in building their spirituality than many visits to the temple that were sacrifice-free.
In the years since I heard that testimony, I have wondered how different that young couple’s life would have been if they had made another choice—forgoing the sacrifice necessary to be married in the temple.

On one occasion I was organizing a new stake on Upolu Island in Samoa. As is customary, we were conducting interviews with local priesthood leaders, asking each to suggest a few names of brethren of stature to be considered for a call.
One dignified branch president had walked from the other side of the island. He stood before us in a white shirt and tie, with a lavalava, or skirt, tied about his waist. He wore no shoes; he had never owned shoes.
I asked for names. He gave but one: “Bishop Iono will be our stake president.” He was right, for that had already been revealed to me. But I did not feel he should make the announcement.
So I asked for other names, for we had counselors and others to call as well. He replied, holding up his finger, “Just one name.” “But,” I said, “suppose he could not serve, would you not like to name others?” This humble priesthood president then asked me a question, “Brother Packer, are you asking me to go against the witness of the Spirit?”
How marvelous! This wonderful man had reminded me that each member of the Church, in prayer, can receive confirmation that the fifth article of faith has been honored.
“We believe that a man [and this applies to sisters as well] must be called of God, by prophecy, and by the laying on of hands by those who are in authority, to preach the Gospel and administer in the ordinances thereof.”

Note how carefully we have been instructed on how to confer priesthood authority. When I turned 12 years old, my father, Charles Oaks, and my bishop, George Collard, laid their hands on my head and conferred upon me the Aaronic Priesthood and ordained me a deacon.

Several years later, then Elder Gordon B. Hinckley used this same heavenly directed procedure to ordain me a Seventy. Each ordination reflects additional divine trust and a new opportunity to serve on the Lord’s side.

I was preparing for my first assignment to preside at a stake conference as a new Area Seventy when President Packer called me. He asked if it would be convenient if he attended the conference with me, and I readily accepted. When we arrived for the meetings, President Packer said to the stake president, “You are probably wondering why I am here.” He then pointed to me and said, “I am here to whip him into shape.” It wasn’t long before I realized that he meant what he said.
Following our planning meeting with the stake presidency, President Packer suggested we take our seats on the stand. It was 20 minutes before the leadership meeting was to begin. Nearly everyone was in their seats, and I leaned over to compliment the stake president. Suddenly I received an elbow in my side, and President Packer said firmly, “No talking.”
I was shocked to receive a reprimand from an Apostle, and it took me a moment to recover. As I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that he was writing some notes on a fresh notepad, including a few scriptures that he planned to share. I was filled with the Spirit as I realized that President Packer was receiving revelation for what the Lord would have him teach. President Packer’s previous general conference address came to mind, “Reverence Invites Revelation” (Ensign, Nov. 1991). It was imperative that I keep quiet so as not to interrupt the whisperings of the Spirit.
A few moments later, President Packer leaned over and asked me to have the stake president request that the organist play the prelude more reverently. She had been playing energetically and perhaps with some added fanfare. I prayed in my heart that she would not be hurt by the request, and I passed the word on. The stake president somewhat hesitatingly spoke to the sister and almost immediately the volume, tempo, and spirit of the music changed. As I listened to the prelude, I was reminded that reverent, worshipful music adds immeasurably to the spirit of a meeting.
As the congregation began singing the opening hymn, President Packer whispered to me, “Not everyone is singing. Please have the stake president stop the hymn and invite everyone to sing the hymn ‘thoughtfully’ as suggested in the hymn book. This hymn communicates an important message that we will be learning about today.” Once again I passed the message on to the stake president. The spirit of the meeting changed as the entire congregation participated in singing.
Our meetings that weekend were reverent. There was a spirit of worship. Many of us received personal revelation and communed with God. I learned that reverence truly does invite revelation. I also learned that sometimes the difference between a mediocre meeting and a powerful meeting is in the planning and in the details.

During World War II, many cities in the United States enforced nightly blackouts to conserve fuel. In Salt Lake City the floodlights on the Salt Lake Temple were turned off. The temple stood dark in a dark city for years. When the ceasefire was declared in Europe, President Heber J. Grant ordered the floodlights of the temple turned back on.
For Christmas 1945, President George Albert Smith planned an inspiring and meaningful Christmas card. On the front was a photograph of the three eastern spires of the Salt Lake Temple beautifully lit against a dark blue background with the angel Moroni figure standing above. Across the bottom were the words “Christmas—1945” and the message “The lights are on again.”10 Nothing could have better reflected the joy felt by everyone after so many long years of death and destruction.
But this beautiful Christmas card was also President Smith’s way of bearing his testimony of Jesus Christ and the Restoration of the gospel. Just as the end of the war brought peace and light in dark places, the Restoration of the gospel following the centuries-long Apostasy turned the bright lights of truth “on again” for all the people of the world.

The Savior has given us many ways to focus on Him intentionally, including the daily opportunity to repent. Sometimes we undervalue how great this offered blessing is. When I was eight years old, I was baptized by my father. Afterward, I held his hand as we were going to cross a busy street. I was not paying attention and stepped from the curb just as a big truck came rumbling by. My father jerked me back, out of the street and onto the curb. Had he not done so, I would have been hit by the truck. Knowing my own mischievous nature, I thought, “Maybe it would have been better for me to be killed by the truck because I’ll never be as clean as I am now right after my baptism.”
As an eight-year-old, I had mistakenly presumed that the water of baptism washed away sins. Not so. In the years since my baptism, I have learned that sins are cleansed by the power of Jesus Christ through His atoning sacrifice as we make and keep the baptismal covenant. Then, through the gift of repentance, we can remain clean. I have also learned that the sacrament brings a powerful virtuous cycle into our lives, enabling us to retain a remission of our sins.

The day after I was called to serve as a stake mission president, my mother, who was unaware of my new calling, told me that she had dreamed about me. She said that in this dream I had received a new position of responsibility in my church and that an older man put his hands on my head as if he were anointing me while a roomful of people watched. Then I told her about my new calling and explained the process of being set apart. I said that I would probably be set apart by an older man. I was electrified when my mother said, “I would recognize him if I saw him.”
I invited my parents to attend the meeting. After Elder S. Dilworth Young set me apart, my mother wept as she said, “That was the man in my dream!” I took this opportunity to bear my testimony to my parents and to assure them that they need not worry about me. For the first time, my dad asked me several questions about the Church. My mom just cried tears of joy as we all enjoyed the Spirit of the Lord.

I would now like to share with you an exciting adventure story of great personal interest to me that was brought to my attention a few years ago. I want to relate it to the theme of my talk today. I was shown an article in a Shropshire magazine (published in England) written by a man who found an old trunk in the attic of a house in the town of Shrewsbury. In the trunk was a handwritten manuscript. The manuscript represented part of the diary of an old clock-mender (Mr. James Hanny) who had lived near the England/ Wales border and whose hobby was to walk the hills of Wales. This manuscript related how in 1874 this elderly man, then age 73, had visited an old friend of his who had a farm in Wales. The story went on to say how his friend’s daughter (aged 18) agreed to take him to see the waterfalls near a small village called Llanrhaeadr-ym-Mochnant. Apparently Mr. Hanny had sustained an ambition to visit the falls (called locally Pistill Rhaeadr) for approximately forty years. Now this area is close to where I was brought up, and I have some knowledge of the country and the terrain. The distance they walked would have been approximately eighteen miles round-trip over some quite rugged hills. Here I quote from the manuscript:

My host, Mr. Humphreys, was the very embodiment of Welsh hospitality, nothing was too much for him and his household to make my stay as comfortable as possible; his charming daughter Rosamond was a most beautiful and talented young lady, and she and I became great friends. She had a deep love for Wales in her heart, which became obvious as she described her lonely walks among the wild and legendary hills, amid the wind-swept heather. . . . Rosamond was very keen to be my guide to the falls, and she promised me a wonderful walk back over the mountains; a walk, she said, I would always remember. They were, indeed, prophetic words.

As you can see, the old clock-mender had quite a graphic turn of phrase! Now, back to the narrative:

On the following day, after an early lunch, we started out. It was a long but interesting walk, and at last we arrived at the beautiful falls. I stood there for some time assimilating a sight that had been denied me for so many years. My companion stood by my side, a smile on her lovely face. She understood and appreciated this happy moment of mine. . . .

Amid the soothing influence of the tumbling waters, we ate the refreshments that Rosamond had thoughtfully brought, until she said that we had stayed longer than we should, and our walk back over the mountains must not be delayed any longer.

They started their return journey, but the day had been too strenuous for the seventy-three-year-old man. Again I quote:

I had completely underestimated my supply of strength for the arduous task ahead. My companion, bursting with the vitality of the young, and with a supply of seemingly inexhaustible energy, was well equipped for the journey, and like myself, had no conception of my limitations. The young do not understand the meaning of weakness in the old; they have never experienced it themselves and cannot conceive it in others.

His story then relates in some detail the path they took, the magnificent scenery, and the frequent stops for rest. Quoting again:

My companion called to say we must hurry on. I must admit I had been glad of the rest. Again we started off, Rose leading the way. My legs were now beginning to ache and I could feel a tightness in my chest. Once, seeing I was having difficulty in catching up with her, she ran back to me.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” I lied as cheerfully as I could. “But a little rest would do me good.”

A slight troubled frown appeared on her face for a fleeting moment. She smiled. “Of course,” she said, “But . . .” She looked up anxiously at the sky where a few black-looking clouds were looming up. “We still have a long way to go. We must not stay long.”

Once again we started off, and the going became even more rough and arduous. If I had been a young man, supple of limb and muscle, I would have enjoyed the climb to the full, but the acute pain in my legs betokened the opposite. . . . The darkness deepened rapidly, and all around took on a hue of deep purple. The heavens appeared to be closing down on us. Black clouds began to obliterate the remaining light, until it was difficult to see the ground beneath our feet. . . . In a short time we were soaked to the skin. We dare not stop long; we could never hope to survive a night exposed as we were to the elements. We were already soaked to saturation point. With the helping hand of my companion we practically felt our way in the darkness. After what seemed an interminable time, Rose suddenly stopped, and pulled me back a pace or so. In the gloom I peered closely into her rain-streaked face.

“Is there anything wrong?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” Rose replied, hesitatingly. “But I have a strange feeling we are on the wrong track. Stay here a moment.”

Carefully she lay on the ground, and as I looked on wonderingly, she crawled forward very slowly. Presently I heard her give a little cry, and following her example, I too, crawled forward until I reached her side. She put out a restraining hand to stop me venturing further. Picking up a stone she gently threw it forward. There was silence for a few moments, and then I heard the stone falling on rocks far below. I could hear it bounding from crag to crag getting fainter and fainter. We were on the edge of a dangerous cliff! We crawled back to comparative safety; I was now shivering as much with shock as with the cold. I found my companion’s hand and pressed it with a gesture of despair. Words failed me. Only one thought ran through my fevered mind. Lost! Lost on a mountain with the night in front of us. Soaked with rain; cold, and already weary to the point of complete exhaustion. What hope was there for us?

Rose’s voice broke through my bitter thoughts, and with it, renewed hope. “I think I know where we are,” she said. “In the darkness we have strayed from the right road. We must go back to find our bearings.”

She led me like a child, and amidst the howling of the wind we carefully retreated from that awful abyss. From that moment I seemed to have lost all sense of direction and time. Numbed with the cold, all my actions were those of an automaton. But for the supporting hand of Rose, I would gladly have been content to lay my weary body on the rocky ground. But somehow that frail figure kept me going. Somehow she managed to support me and we stumbled through the darkness of the night. For what seemed an eternity our passage continued until I fancied I could see little sparks of light that danced in front of my eyes like so many fireflies. My befuddled mind could not comprehend that safety was near at hand. Above the wind I heard Rosamond’s voice. “Here,” she cried. “We are here. We are coming.” The little spots of light came nearer and nearer, and it was with intense relief that at last I realized they were the lights of lanterns. For the rest of the journey we were half-carried to the blessed haven of Brynteg—the home of my friend.

The article then went on to say that as well as the manuscript, there was found in the old trunk a newspaper cutting describing the wedding at a town called Llanfyllin (in 1883), nine years later, of Rosamond Humphreys, youngest daughter of Mr. Humphreys (Brynteg) to Lewis Owen.

Rosamond Humphreys was my grandmother, whom I never met. She died before I was born, and I suspect my mother never heard about this particular exploit in the hills of Wales, because neither my brother nor I was told anything at all about it!

Courage counts. This truth came to me in a most vivid and dramatic manner many years ago. I was serving as a bishop at the time. The general session of our stake conference was being held in the Assembly Hall on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. Our stake presidency was to be reorganized. The Aaronic Priesthood, including members of bishoprics, were providing the music for the conference. As we concluded singing our first selection, President Joseph Fielding Smith, our conference visitor, stepped to the pulpit and read for sustaining approval the names of the new stake presidency. He then mentioned that Percy Fetzer, who became our new stake president, and John Burt, who became the first counselor—each of whom had been counselors in the previous presidency—had been made aware of their new callings before the conference began. However, he indicated that I, who had been called to be second counselor in the new presidency, had no previous knowledge of the calling and was hearing of it for the first time as my name was read for sustaining vote. He then announced, “If Brother Monson is willing to respond to this call, we will be pleased to hear from him now.”
As I stood at the pulpit and gazed out on that sea of faces, I remembered the song we had just sung. It pertained to the Word of Wisdom and was titled “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say No.” That day I selected as my acceptance theme “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say Yes.” The call for courage comes constantly to each of us—the courage to stand firm for our convictions, the courage to fulfill our responsibilities, the courage to honor our priesthood.

Chris loved playing football in grade school and junior high. He started at linebacker all during high school. And, as Chris points out, football in Georgia is serious business. His high school would have 10,000 fans attend its Friday night games. During his junior year, he began getting attention from college scouts. It was exciting, but his mom would remind him not to get too interested because he was going on a mission.
When the scouts showed up, that was the time Chris had to face the possibilities of playing football at the college level. His high school coach told the scouts that he was a hard-working player and was an honor student. Finally concrete offers started to come—full-ride scholarships through four years of college, worth thousands of dollars.
“I asked,” said Chris, “if they would hold a scholarship for two years. One coach was shocked. I told him I was going to go on a mission for my church. He just stared at me and said, ‘You’re going to give up 80 thousand dollars to serve a mission for two years?’ He got mad at me. But I didn’t get offended.” After that, his coach started turning away college recruiters interested in Chris.
Eventually, State University of West Georgia called. The school offered him a scholarship. It turned out that Chris would be able to play a year and a quarter, essentially two seasons, before turning 19 and receiving a mission call. “I knew that all things were possible with the Lord. There were people saying that I couldn’t serve a mission and play ball, yet the Lord provided a way to do both.”
Chris struggled at West Georgia, not on the field where he started as a true freshman but in the permissive atmosphere in the dorms. He didn’t like what was going on around him. He was more determined than ever to go on a mission. And it was on his mission that Chris put football behind him completely. He told his coaches that if they needed to talk to him, to go through his parents. He didn’t keep up on what the team was doing. He says that the only way to serve on a mission is completely and with total focus.
At the conclusion of his mission, Chris decided that he could not return to the atmosphere at his former college. He thought that was also a decision to give up football, and he was willing to do it.
Just as Chris was completing his mission, his mission president contacted BYU about Chris. At first, becoming a BYU football team member didn’t seem like a possibility, but he was invited to try out. He received a full-ride scholarship but was redshirted a year. Once Chris thought sitting out a year would be horrible, but now it was a blessing. He was able to concentrate on his major, a difficult one, in manufacturing engineering and technology. He feels that the Lord has guided his life because at BYU he has had the opportunity to continue missionary work as a ward mission leader. Football will fall by the wayside. That’s fine with Chris. It no longer has his heart.
There is, however, one thing Chris has always wanted—a championship ring. He just missed taking state in high school. And his college team won the conference the year he left on his mission. Knowing this, some friends on his mission got together and bought Chris a ring—a CTR ring that he wears continually. It’s become his championship ring.
Whenever Chris looks at it he is reminded of what he believes deep inside. “Right makes you happy. If you do what is right, everything will fall into place.”

Susan Wolf, now of the Vashon Branch, Seattle Washington Stake, remembers when she received inspiration for a special family home evening. “We had just moved, and I was expecting a new baby,” says Sister Wolf. “With two preschoolers, I wanted to find a family home evening on the topic of preparing children for a new sibling. Nothing I read seemed quite right. So I prayed. My great desire was for our children to realize that having more children in our family did not equate to less love for them. And I wanted to emphasize that Jesus Christ is the source of all love. As I got up from my knees, an idea occurred to me.
“That Monday evening after singing and having an opening prayer, I handed each child a paper cup. I poured water into each cup and asked, ‘What happens if I run out of water?’ My son answered, ‘You go to the sink and fill up the pitcher, Mommy.’
“I explained, ‘We are going to have a new baby, and Mommy will be much busier. I won’t have as much time to play with you. But Mommy won’t run out of love for you. Do you know why?’
“This time my son and his three-year-old sister looked thoughtful but didn’t have an answer. I said, ‘I’ll just pray to Heavenly Father, and Jesus will fill up my heart with more love. So everyone in the family will have all the love they need.’ My children broke into happy smiles, as did my husband. The feelings in our hearts confirmed the presence of the Holy Ghost bearing testimony of the truth that God is love.
“My daughter, now 23, recently repeated word for word this family home evening lesson of years ago. That was a testimony to me that even a very small child can be spiritually taught when love is the subject and Jesus Christ is the source.”