Gospel Story Finder

When I was a student at the University of Vienna in Austria, two missionaries came to my door, saying, “We have a message for you from God.” I invited them in, wondering why I did so because I didn’t have any interest in religion. Deeply affected by the Hungarian Revolution of 1956—which sent thousands of refugees streaming into Austria—I had been seeking to know the meaning of life. But I didn’t expect to find the answer in any church.
The message of these missionaries was the message of the Restoration. I think I loved the Prophet Joseph Smith from the first moment I heard about him. I was especially touched by the circumstances of his Martyrdom. Later, as I spent time reading the Book of Mormon and praying, I received through the power of the Holy Ghost a joyful, peaceful assurance that Jesus is the Christ, that Joseph Smith was the Prophet of the Restoration, and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the Lord’s restored Church on the earth, led by living prophets who prepare the world for His Second Coming.

I have great respect for referees because they make many tough decisions which must be made in a split second and which are open to public view. But there are decisions in life that are much more important than those made by referees—decisions made in a slow, deliberate, prayerful, private manner. One such decision is whether or not to go on a mission. While I was growing up I had a desire to serve a mission. But when it finally came time to send in the papers, I was hesitant. The decision became filled with pressures. I didn’t know whether to leave after my freshman year, after my sophomore year, or after I had completed my college education. I fought with a multitude of inward thoughts and feelings. I also wondered if I had enough knowledge to go out there and give what was so precious to me to somebody else. I talked to a lot of people, and most of them willingly shared their opinions with me. Some said that I should go immediately, others said later, and some said I shouldn’t go at all. I wonder, if I had asked you, should I go now or later or not at all, what would you have told me?
Perhaps you would have been like one of our great priesthood leaders. I went to him, and we talked about my situation. He listened with patience and concern. After I expressed my feelings about being able to play basketball when I returned, he said, with words that sank deep into me, “Devin, if you serve a mission and serve faithfully, when you return you will be a better basketball player than you are now.”
I had great confidence in that man, and I felt that he was moved by the Spirit to say what he did. I felt he was talking to me personally and not to all athletes who serve missions, because each case is different. He could advise me, my parents could advise me, my friends could advise me, but they couldn’t serve for me. I was the one who was going, and no one else could make my decision. I had to make that myself.
In April of 1980 I entered the Missionary Training Center and began to learn Spanish to prepare to serve in Madrid, Spain. While in the MTC, I knew that I was doing the right thing. In my heart I wanted to someday return to play basketball. Yet at the same time I decided that even if I never played another game of collegiate ball I wouldn’t regret the decision that I had made.

As long as I can remember, I have had a football at my side and a dream to be a professional player. My parents supported me as I pursued this dream. They also encouraged me to go to church. But as I got older I was at church only when I didn’t have a game. I knew that the gospel, Church activities, and my friends would help me a lot in life, but what I was really looking for was to fulfill my dream of playing football.
As I trained I began to have important friends inside the great football clubs. I had opportunities to play and even train with some of these clubs. I traveled throughout various countries to participate in tournaments, and I was very excited and happy with the possibility of living the life of a professional football player. On one of these trips to Asia, my dream was about to come true. A large club liked what they saw when they watched me play and wanted me to join the team. But my agent found some obstacles during the negotiation, and we ultimately didn’t close the contract.
At home my friends were filling out mission papers; others were returning from missions and telling with enthusiasm what it was like to be a missionary. Their eyes shone with emotion each time they spoke, and the Spirit was very strong. I felt the desire to serve a mission too; I wanted to have these same experiences. But I worried that if I chose to serve a mission, my football dream wouldn’t come true because I would lose physical fitness and agility. My desire to become a professional player was enormous; I had put off college and worked and lived only to fulfill this dream.
On my football trips I always brought a copy of the Book of Mormon. I loved the words of the prophets, their way of life, their determination to obey the commandments, and their good example for their people. I felt ashamed of not being an example for the other players and not putting the things of God first. Sometimes I tried to share my beliefs, but what I always heard was “Let’s enjoy the trip. Forget about this nonsense. Let’s go have fun!” I started to get irritated with the gossip, dishonesty, and other aspects of football life. Many times I felt alone and sad, and I knew there was a place where I always felt happy and had friends who cared about me—friends who were together at activities and dances, in seminary and institute classes—celestial friends. I missed these things very much.
One Sunday when I wasn’t traveling, I went to church in my home ward in Brazil. At the end of the meetings, the bishop called me into his office to talk. I knew that we were going to talk about a mission because everyone my age was returning home. The bishop challenged me to serve a mission, and I tried to change the subject, saying that I wasn’t prepared. I tried to put off the bishop in every possible way, but he persevered and convinced me of the value of a mission. We ended the conversation with a goal for my preparation.
Some months later I turned in my papers, and I also continued with my training. For the moment, I had managed to reconcile football and the Church in my mind. But little did I know that it couldn’t last for long. I would have to choose.
When my call arrived, my family gathered at home. We were all very excited. Then the telephone rang.
On the other end of the line, my football agent told me that he had obtained a good contract with a European club. My imagination soared! I could see the stadium full of people coming to watch the games. I thought of the beautiful house and car and salary I could have. My dream was about to be fulfilled. It was within my grasp—and then I looked at the envelope with the call sitting beside the phone.
My eyes began to fill with tears. For a moment my life passed as if it were a movie. On the phone, my agent asked me what I thought of the news. I was silent. I couldn’t talk, and my legs were shaking. I didn’t want this moment to be real, but it was! I had to make a decision, the most difficult of any decision in my life.
With my voice shaking, I finally told him that I had already obtained a better contract. I would be a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for two years. I thanked the agent for the opportunity and for his work and effort on my behalf. Then I hung up the phone and went to my room, where I cried for a long time. I knew that the opportunity wouldn’t wait for two years, and my football dream would not be realized.
I knelt and prayed to Heavenly Father, asking for comfort. I felt a quiet and sweet voice respond, comforting my heart by saying, “My son, you are already part of the best team in the world.” I reflected on these words and still reflect on them today.
Today, home from serving in the Brazil Fortaleza Mission, I don’t regret my choice in any way. The true Church of Jesus Christ is available to anyone who wants to be happy. And on my mission I learned that the best way to be happy is doing what Heavenly Father wants us to do. My mission was the best choice I have ever made in my life. It taught me that all who seek first the kingdom of God will have a place on the Lord’s team (see Matthew 6:33).

Snježana Podvinski, one of a small number of Saints in Karlovac, Croatia, leaned on the Savior when her husband and both of her parents died within a six-month period last year. Grief-stricken, but having a testimony that families are forever, she used all of her savings to travel to the temple, where she was sealed to her husband and parents. She shared that those days in the temple were a highlight in her life. Because of her firm testimony of Jesus Christ and His Atonement, she has felt peace and experienced healing that have also been a strength to those around her.

A counselor in a bishopric recently shared an experience that teaches how important each neighbor is. While looking out over the congregation, he saw a child with a large box of crayons filled with a variety of different hues. As he looked at the many members of his ward, he was reminded that, like the crayons, they were very similar but each person was also very unique.
He remarked: “The shade they brought to the ward and the world was all their own. … They had their individual strengths and weaknesses, personal longings, private dreams. But together, they blended into a color wheel of spiritual unity. …
“Unity is a spiritual quality. It’s the sweet feelings of peace and purpose that come from belonging to a family. … It’s wanting the best for others as much as you want it for yourself. … It’s knowing that no one is out to harm you. [It means you will never be lonely.]”6
We build that unity and share our unique colors through benevolence: individual acts of kindness.
Have you ever felt lonely? Do you notice those who are lonely, living in a black-and-white world? Young women, I’ve watched as you bring your unique color into the lives of others with your smiles, your kind words, or a note of encouragement.
President Thomas S. Monson taught us how to interact with our peers and everyone we meet when he told the young women of the Church, “My precious young sisters, I plead with you to have the courage to refrain from judging and criticizing those around you, as well as the courage to make certain everyone is included and feels loved and valued.”7
We can follow the example of the good Samaritan and “change the world” of just one person by being benevolent.8 I would like to invite each of you to do at least one Samaritan-like act this coming week. It may require that you reach beyond your usual friends or overcome your shyness. You may courageously choose to serve someone who doesn’t treat you well. I promise that if you will extend yourself beyond what is easy to do, you will feel so good inside that kindness will start to become a part of your everyday life. You’ll see that benevolence can bring joy and unity to your home, your class, your ward, and your school. “Remember this: kindness begins with me.”
Not only did our Savior love all; He served all. Expand your goodness to many. Old and young can be greatly blessed by your kind service. President Monson, since the time he was a young man, has always had a special place in his heart for the elderly. He recognizes the value of a short visit, a ready smile, or a squeeze of a well-worn, wrinkled hand. Such simple acts of charity bring color into a life that sometimes is made up of long, lonely, gray days. I would invite each of you to be mindful of your grandparents and the elderly. Look around at church tomorrow and identify those who could use your shade of color added to their life. It doesn’t take much: greet them by name, engage them in a short conversation, be available to assist them. Could you open a door or offer to help with their home or garden? What is a simple task to you at your young age can be an overwhelming project for an older person. “Remember this: kindness begins with me.”
Sometimes being benevolent is most difficult in our own families. Strong families require effort. “Be cheerful, helpful, and considerate of others. Many problems in the home are created because family members speak and act selfishly or unkindly. Concern yourself with the needs of other family members. Seek to be a peacemaker rather than to tease, fight, and quarrel.”9 “Remember this: kindness begins with me.”
Jesus loved the children, took them in His arms, and blessed them.10 Like the Savior, you can bless all children with your kindness, not just those in your home.
You may not know the impact your life and example may have on a little child. I recently received a note from a friend who manages a day-care center in a local high school. Attending that high school are several young men and young women who are members of the Church. She shared with me this experience: “As I walk through the halls with the little children, it is nice to see how many lockers have pictures of Jesus or of temples taped to the inside of the doors. One of the children saw a picture of Jesus on the inside of a [young woman’s] opened locker door and said, ‘Look, Jesus is at our school!’ The student was moved to tears as she bent down and gave the child a hug. I thanked the young woman for the good example she was to those around her. It is uplifting to know that there are so many youth that are trying to stand for truth and righteousness and do their part in inviting the Spirit into their lives, even though it is difficult at times with all the noise and harshness in the world around them. We have some wonderful youth in the Church.”
I couldn’t agree more! Young women, you are changing the world by centering your life on Jesus Christ, and you are “becoming what He wants you to be.”11
Thank you for your benevolent lives; for including those who may be different; for your kindness to your peers, the elderly, your family, and little children; for being neighbors to those who are lonely and those who have challenges and heartache. Through your benevolence, you are “pointing others to [the Savior’s] light.”12 Thank you for remembering “kindness begins with me.”
I know that President Thomas S. Monson is a prophet of God whose life has been a model of benevolence from which we can learn. Follow our prophet. Learn from his example and listen to his words. I believe in the gospel of Jesus Christ, and I know that through Joseph Smith the priesthood has been restored to the earth.
I know that our Savior lives and loves each of us. He has given His life for all. I pray that we will center our lives on Jesus Christ and “follow in His ways” by loving and serving one another.13 By so doing, I know that we can make the world a better place, because “we believe in being … benevolent.”14 I so testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I was nervous when I first started serving in the temple because I knew I would have to memorize the words to all the ordinances. I was worried I would mess up, so I spent hours studying the words to make sure I could get them right. And while I’ve heard stories of workers who felt like the Holy Ghost helped them memorize the words faster, that wasn’t my experience.
Sometimes I felt upset that I was struggling to memorize the words. Learning the words to the first ordinance took me almost a month. But looking back, I’ve realized that my struggle was an amazing blessing. I was able to sit in the Lord’s house and study the words of the ordinances for hours. And deepening my understanding of those words brought both peace and power into my life. I was able to recognize the voice of the Lord more clearly and more often when I was both inside and outside the temple.
This experience was a testament to me that Heavenly Father knows us personally and knows what experiences will be the most beneficial to us. The opportunity to contemplate the ordinances gave me a better understanding of what the ordinances say and strengthened my desire to keep the covenants I made in the temple.

Let me share a personal story with a principle that, if you allow it, will bless your life.

Before coming to Rexburg in 2006, Sister Riggins and I lived in San Diego, California. That had been our home for most of our lives. Our families lived there, we served in our ward and stake, I had a great job as the institute director at San Diego State University, we had great friends, it didn’t snow, it was rarely cold, and we were 12 minutes from the beach. We had no reason to come to BYU-Idaho except for the fact that the Spirit led us here.

When we were invited to join the religion faculty, we had to use our agency to say “yes” or “no.” Once we decided to accept the position, we again had to choose to use our agency. We sat down and said something like this: “No one is forcing us to move to Rexburg. We are doing it of our own free will. If we are moving there, we must decide once and for all that we will love everything about it. We will love the city, the people, their customs, the university, the students, our colleagues, and yes, even the weather!”

That decision paved the way for the joy, peace, happiness, friendships, service opportunities, and community connections of the last 18 years. We love this place! We love you! I invite you to consider how such a decision would mark your experience as disciples, students, roommates, ward members, and members of the community, and then make it. I promise you that making such a decision will bless not only your life here at BYU-Idaho but your entire life.

About ten years ago, when I was a Mission President in the Dominican Republic, I received a call from the second newspaper in importance in that country, named Hoy (meaning Today). They wondered whether I would agree to be interviewed about the Church and our mission, and I agreed.

The newspaper sent a reporter and a photographer to our mission office. The photographer took some pictures of the office and the missionaries, and then he left. The reporter came into my office for the interview. She was young, attractive, intelligent, aggressive and hostile. Her first question was: "Mr. Stone, you are building a great big building, a temple, in downtown Santo Domingo, how many millions of dollars does it cost?

I answered: "Senorita, I really don't know." "Well, it must cost many millions", she said. "I agree with you", I said; "I just don't happen to know the amount."

And then she came to the point. "What are you doing for the poor people in this country", she said. The Dominican Republic, as many of you know, is a very poor country, and there are many people living at a subsistence level.

It is at times like that that I am grateful for the inspiration of the Spirit.

"Senorita," I said; "The people who come to our Church are taught certain things. They are taught to be truthful and honest. They are taught to be dependable and trustworthy. They are taught to be reliable and punctual. They are taught to establish goals and objectives, and work to achieve them. They are taught to work cooperatively one with another. Now, Senorita, if you had a company ... "

She interrupted me and said: "If I had a company, I'd want someone like that working in my company." I said to her: "That's what we do for the poor people in your country."

From that moment on, the interview went like a dream. She wrote a full page article that appeared in the newspaper, with not a single negative comment about the Church. They told me it was the most positive thing that had ever been written about the Church in the Dominican Republic; above the full page article, about the Church and the missionaries, the headline read: "Preaching The Truth."

I can still see the home in my mind’s eye that cold, gray December day in Illinois, USA. Its roof was above the ground, but most of the house was below the ground. “Probably, no one lives there,” my companion and I concluded.
We knocked. After a few moments, a lady opened the door a crack. We told her we were missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that we had an important message for her. She hesitated but let us in.
She motioned us to sit on two wobbly wooden chairs. The room was dimly lit. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I noticed that the home had a dirt floor. No pictures hung on the walls. Suddenly, four sad children dressed in colorless clothing appeared.
Christmas was two weeks away. Where was baby Jesus in a manger? Where were the colorful decorations and Christmas tree?
After we delivered our message about the Restoration, the mother invited us back to talk to her husband. Before we left, we asked about Christmas. She said times were tough and that they would not have anything for Christmas that year.
After we left, my companion and I appealed for help from local ward members. A great act of love followed. Members donated food, clothes, toys, and a Christmas tree with ornaments.
We returned to the home a few days later. We knocked, and again the door opened a crack. “Merry Christmas,” we said as we greeted the father, mother, and four wide-eyed children.
We carried the tree, the gifts, and the food into the home. The family looked stunned. We set up the tree, placed gifts under it, put food on the table, and enjoyed a short visit. As we prepared to leave, I looked at the children. They all had big smiles on their faces.
We continued to teach the family, and eventually they joined the Church. As the light of the gospel brightened their home, the father developed faith and received a new vision for his family. He found a better job. The family grew closer. Soon they moved into a new home.
More than 60 years later, I still thank the Lord for allowing us to bless six of His precious children, reminding me that “inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).

While waiting for the teleprompter to come back on, he ad-libbed this story about former Stanford business school Dean Robert Jaedicke:
Just a month or so ago, I was on assignment and I was in an airport in San Francisco, waiting between planes. I saw a man that I thought I recognized, and I realized that he probably was having trouble recognizing me, too. It had been a number of years. He was the dean of the graduate school at Stanford University when I left that faculty to come here to become the president many, many years ago. I remember being surprised that he came to my inauguration, knowing how busy he was. I recall that somehow in the moments of the inaugural party, moving about, I saw him. I encountered him that day, and he was crying. He expressed gratitude for having been here.
When I met him in the lounge in San Francisco recently, his first words were: “I’ve retired now. I’m living in Montana.” Then he wanted to tell me about a bishop of the Church that he had met. So of all the things that he would remember about me, he remembered the feelings of the Gospel of Jesus Christ that he’d felt. He has not joined the Church yet, but he felt something here that you’ve felt. And I wanted you to know that as much as we thank the singers and those who prepared the music, what happened here today has been happening here for generations. That is, the Spirit of the Lord comes and touches people; and you’ve been in such a place and in such a moment today. You will years later, just like the dean of the Stanford Graduate School of Business, remember that there was a spirit here today.

The room is charged with competitive energy. Dancers in sparkling dresses and sharp tuxedoes swirl and spin on an open dance floor under brightly colored lights. The Brigham Young University DanceSport Ballroom Competition is in full swing, and the music and tension mount as more and more competitors fill the floor.
Then suddenly the din of the crowd quiets, and the competitive edge of the atmosphere dissipates as a new group of couples takes the floor.
Who are they? Special Olympics athletes and their volunteer partners are competing in their first-ever ballroom dance event. The music begins, and the crowd, with supportive enthusiasm, erupts into cheers as the couples begin to gracefully waltz across the floor.
From the sidelines, college sophomore Allie Edgington watches as her goal to create a Special Olympics dance event unfolds. It was a dream that was sparked, in part, by her love for her sisters. And now it is a reality blessing many lives and helping Allie and others understand how Heavenly Father loves His children.
Support and encouragement are second nature among Allie and her siblings. Their trials bring them closer, and their triumphs take them all higher. Allie’s brother and twin sisters were all diagnosed with Fragile X Syndrome, a genetic condition resulting in mental impairment and autistic behaviors.
Allie, an avid dancer, is a dance education major and a member of BYU’s touring ballroom team. In 2008 she was named Miss Provo, going on to become the first runner-up to Miss Utah 2009. As the title holder, Allie needed a platform or specific cause to promote. She showed her support for her siblings by promoting Special Olympics. For the past seven years Allie’s brother, Tanner, has competed in Special Olympics, a program providing Olympic-style athletic events for disabled children and adults.
However, Allie noticed that her younger sisters, 17-year-old twins Courtney and Cassidy, were reluctant to participate. “Our brother has done well in Special Olympics, and he likes it a lot, but we’re just not so into it,” Courtney explains.
Wanting her sisters to succeed, Allie started looking for ideas. “I got to thinking that maybe there was some way to get them involved, some way to help them be comfortable enough to participate,” Allie says.
When a friend mentioned that the state of Indiana had held the first Special Olympics dance event, Allie knew she had found her solution. Combining her dance education major with her Special Olympics platform and her desire to help her sisters, Allie hatched a plan to create a Special Olympics ballroom dance event in Provo.
The waltz music finishes, and the Special Olympics couples spin out and take deep bows for the enthusiastic crowd. Then they exit the floor and file into a row of chairs on the sidelines or go backstage to wait for their next event, the cha-cha.
Backstage, Courtney sits with her sister Cassidy and cradles a pair of high-heeled ballroom shoes in her lap. They are scuffed and very flexible. “They’re comfortable because Allie wore them out,” Courtney explains, “and now I get to use them.”
While lively music blares from the speakers, Courtney quietly talks about her sister. “I want to be like Allie. She dances a lot, and I want to do a lot of dance at my school.” Cassidy chimes in, “I’ve learned a lot from just watching her.”
More than just learning steps and routines, these sisters know that they’ve learned a lot about life by dancing with their sister. “I can have fun, even though some things are still a little scary. I can be comfortable,” Courtney says. When asked about what advice she would give to other teens, she adds, “Just get involved and do things that you don’t usually do. Get out and have fun!”
Allie’s idea helped her sisters to get out and have fun and, in the end, it was also a great way for the other athletes and volunteers to try something new.
Out by the dance floor, Emily Chai, one of the volunteers, sits with Connor Morris, her cha-cha partner. Like other athletes and volunteers, they’ve become good friends while learning to dance together. “After practices we all would stay and get involved in an impromptu dance party. I think we all just loved the interaction,” Emily says.
Interaction was one of Allie’s biggest goals for the athletes. Over the course of a few months, she taught six weekly workshops where the athletes were matched with a volunteer partner and learned to dance. “I hoped that the experience would give the athletes a chance to interact with people they really look up to and admire,” Allie explains.
For Emily, these workshops were one of the best parts of the experience. “It has been fun to watch the participants get really excited. I think that excitement became the whole reason I wanted to do this.”
The other competitors soon take their final bow, and it’s time for the Special Olympics athletes to perform the cha-cha. While everyone lines up and gets ready to go back onto the floor, Keilani Stolk, another volunteer, excitedly describes the feeling of dancing with the Special Olympics athletes. “It’s not about how good you are; it’s about having fun and being friends.” In Special Olympics, there are no winners and losers, only athletes trying their best and having fun.
Richard, a past member of the BYU ballroom touring team, adds, “It is so rare to have an event where you just care how everyone else is doing. I just want everyone to have fun and to do well.”
Under the bright lights these special dancers spin, twirl, and cha-cha to a chorus of cheers and claps from the crowd. It is clear from the smiles on their faces and the enthusiasm they show in their dance that, for these dancers, having fun and supporting each other is the goal.
“The athletes just have the most wonderful spirit about them,” Allie says, watching from the sidelines as her students perform. “Instead of focusing on those things they can’t do, they come and have so much happiness in the things they can do.”
Looking back on her experience, Allie knows that she has been blessed. Beginning a Special Olympics ballroom event allowed her to help her sisters, helped her move forward on her own goals, and strengthened her understanding of God’s love. Watching her students take their final bow, Allie says, “The athletes’ love for life is such a testimony to me of the purity and goodness that can exist in the world. They give so freely of their own love to everyone. I know that Heavenly Father loves them.”

“Michael, I’m not going to tell you again. Get into the living room and practice.”
“Why?”
“Because practice makes perfect, because you’ll thank me later, and because I say so!”
The last reason carried the most weight. Michael sighed as he dumped his baseball glove on the hall table and went into the torture chamber.
There it stood—eighty-eight keys’ worth of misery. Michael thought he knew how knights of old had felt when advancing to certain doom. “We who are about to die salute you,” he muttered under his breath.
“I don’t hear anything,” his mother called from the kitchen.
There was no way out. Michael placed his fingers on what he hoped were the correct keys and began to play. It sounded like the time the high school drum major had tripped in a parade and knocked down a drummer and half the woodwinds.
“That’s better,” his mother called over the cacophony.
“If only it were,” Michael muttered wearily.
Half an hour later he knew he had reached his breaking point. “Kitten on the Keys” sounded like the cat had just had an unfortunate run-in with a train. Resolutely he headed to the kitchen.
Mom was at the table, gluing together rocks that she painted with cute faces and sold at the craft store in town. The house was littered with the things. They paid for Michael’s piano lessons.
“Uh, Mom,” Michael said gently. “I think you should stop painting those.”
“Why?” she asked, putting a base coat of paint on something that vaguely resembled a frog.
“Because I’m quitting piano.”
The rock frog quivered, then fell stickily apart in Mom’s hands. She turned to face him. “Oh no you’re not.”
“Look, Mom,” he reasoned, “you’re throwing money down a well here. A deep well. I have no talent. I’ve learned to face it, why can’t you?”
“Nonsense,” she replied briskly. “You just need to practice more. Anyone can learn to play the piano. How hard can it be?”
At that, Michael snapped. “If you think it’s so all-fired easy, why don’t you take the lessons?”
“Me?” Mom asked, taken aback. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Don’t think you can do it, huh?” Michael replied triumphantly.
His mother looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled. “All right, you’re on! I’ll take lessons too.”
“Too? No, no, no. Instead. You’re going to take them instead of me, right?”
“No—too. Here’s the deal.” Mom looked him in the eye. “We both take lessons. If, at the next recital, I play better than you do, you keep taking lessons. If, however, you play better than I do, then it’s your choice.”
Michael saw that this was the best chance he’d get. “OK.” Now, at least, there was a possibility of escape. The next recital was in two months. Mom couldn’t possibly catch up and pass him by then. After all, he’d been taking lessons for almost a year. It was a sure thing. He could relax.
He stopped relaxing after two weeks. To his horror, he discovered that his mother was swiftly progressing from one-hand to two-hand pieces, from scales to chords.
“It’s not fair!” he announced, coming home from school to hear “Kitten on the Keys” played as if the cat had almost completely recovered from the train accident. “You can practice all day, and I have to go to school.”
Mom just smiled and launched into “Elephant Antics,” finishing with a flourish before presenting him with the piano bench.
Michael began to panic. He got up early to practice. He zipped home after school and flung himself at the keyboard with the desperation of a drowning man learning to swim. Mom had lined up a critical audience of stone creatures along the top of the piano that seemed to eye him as he played, daring him to improve.
To his amazement, he started playing better. To his horror, so did his mother.
The piano was practiced from dawn until bedtime. Michael’s father took to inserting earplugs as he walked through the front door every evening. The dog decided to spend its time in the backyard. The neighbors kept their windows shut.
Finally the day of the recital arrived. Michael sat on the stage with the other piano students—a line of kids, with Mom sticking out like a basketball player at a jockey convention.
Sweat trickled down his back; Mom looked cool and collected in pink organdy.
“She’s just trying to psych me out,” he told himself as he ran a finger inside his sweaty collar, trying to loosen it. But she hadn’t let him hear her practice in a week. How good is she? he wondered.
Pretty good, he groaned to himself, when he heard her play. Her fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, and he counted only three mistakes. The applause when she finished sounded like the final nails being pounded into his coffin.
He was next. Nervously he approached the piano, sat down, raised his hands to the keys, and played.
To his amazement he sounded good. No, he sounded great! He’d been so busy the last few weeks worrying about his mother that he hadn’t really been listening to himself. Well, I’ll be! Mom was right—practice does make perfect!
The applause, when he finished, seemed to rock the room. He was surprised to see Mom clapping the hardest. At least she was a good loser.
“You won fair and square,” she said as they walked home. “So what are you going to do, Michael? Are you quitting piano lessons?”
“I guess not.” He shrugged. “After these last two months, a half hour of practice a day will seem like a vacation. Besides,” he added, pretending to buff his nails, “I’m getting pretty good at it.” He paused. “What about you, Mom?”
“I’d like to keep taking lessons, too,” she said, “but I don’t know if my painting can support two lessons—it takes time to find good rocks, you know.”
Michael stooped down, picked up a couple of likely rocks, and handed them to her. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll help you.”

It was early morning when Joey and his brother and sister stumbled into the living room for scripture study. His older sister, Candice, collapsed on the sofa with a moan. His baby brother, Keith, curled up in the middle of the floor and pulled his blanket over his face.
“Good morning!” Mother chirped, and Father joined in with a cheery “Rise and shine!”
A groan arose from the sofa; a soft snore from the living room floor.
“Hi,” Joey yawned. He opened his Book of Mormon to Second Nephi, where they had left off the day before. He tried to follow along as Father read something about Lehi, but his eyes kept closing. They opened wide, though, when he heard his own name.
“What?” he asked groggily. “Was Lehi talking about me?” He sat up and tried to look more alert. After all, if he was in the scriptures, he must be pretty important.
His mother smiled. “Not Joey, dear—Joy. ‘Men are, that they might have joy.’ It means that we’re all supposed to be happy.” [2 Ne. 2:25]
Joey frowned thoughtfully. His mother might be right, but he knew deep down inside that this was still his scripture. He was thinking about it later that morning when a new idea popped into his head. His eyes widened. If this is my scripture, maybe it’s my job to do something about it—to help people have joy.
The next morning he put his plan into action. “Candice is that she might have joy,” he whispered softly to himself as he gave his sister a big smile during scripture study.
“What’s your problem?” she growled, scooting away. “Nobody should be that happy this early in the morning.”
This set Joey’s plan back a bit, but he was determined to succeed. He smiled at Candice all during breakfast and gave her a good-bye hug as she left for school. She looked puzzled at him and said to a friend that she was glad to be going to school to get away from her funny little brother. But he thought he saw a smile on her face as she hurried out the door.
Half an hour later, he went to school himself. He smiled at Mother as he left. (Moms are that they might have joy, after all.)
At school, he smiled at his teacher and his friends. “What do you think you are, a jack-o’-lantern?” his best friend, Tony, asked.
“I’m just happy today, I guess,” Joey replied, grinning.
He smiled at the lunchroom ladies, the playground monitors, and the crosswalk guards. They all smiled back at him and then at the next person they met as well.
By lunchtime, his jaw ached from smiling so much. He had never realized how much work it was to follow the scriptures. Still, he stuck to his plan. He smiled when he opened his lunch and realized that he had a tuna fish sandwich. He didn’t like tuna fish.
He smiled during music, even though he didn’t get to use one of the tambourines. He smiled especially hard when Tracy Gilbreath pushed in front of him at the drinking fountain. She stared at him in amazement, then stepped to the back of the line, looking guilty.
By the end of school, Joey was exhausted. It was a relief to go home.
Mom is that she might have joy, he thought as he helped set the table for dinner.
Dad is that he might have joy, Joey thought as he carried his father’s briefcase into the house for him.
Baby brother is that he might have joy—and strained peas, Joey thought as he spooned green glop into Keith’s mouth at dinner.
That night Joey lay in bed, thinking about his day. Mom is that she might have joy. Dad is that he might have joy. Candice is that she might have joy. Keith is that he might have joy. Teachers, librarians, friends, crossing guards, and everyone in the whole world—all are that they might have joy. It was a big idea, and he thought about it a long time.
Joey was tired after a hard day of smiling. But, remembering all the smiles he had received in return, he couldn’t keep a new smile from growing on his face. He yawned and snuggled into bed.
He had one last thought before falling asleep: Joey is that he might have joy.

Now I want to tell you about Samantha. Samantha had just started work in the administrative offices of a local university. She was excited to work in a stimulating environment full of diverse thoughts, ideas, and backgrounds. One day at work a co-worker approached Samantha, said she had heard that Samantha was a Mormon, and asked if that was true. Samantha cheerfully responded that it was, but the question that followed surprised her.

“So why do you hate gays?” her co-worker asked. Samantha was surprised by the question but tried to explain her belief in God and God’s plan for His children, which she said includes guidelines on moral and sexual behavior. Her co-worker countered by telling her that the rest of society had progressed beyond those beliefs. “And besides,” she said, “history is full of people using religious teachings to wage wars and marginalize vulnerable groups.”

Samantha restated her convictions and her understanding of God’s love for all people and then asked her co-worker to respect her right to believe. The co-worker felt compelled to tell other employees about their conversation, and over the next few weeks, Samantha felt increasingly isolated as more and more co-workers confronted her with questions and attacks.

Samantha’s boss, seeing the increase in religious conversations in the workplace, cautioned Samantha that proselytizing in their work environment would put her job in jeopardy. Her work, like Ethan’s, began to suffer. Rather than risk being fired, Samantha started to look for another job.

Now, these are hypothetical stories, and yet they are not. There are many Samanthas and Ethans. However we choose to live and whatever choices we make, we all share a common humanity and desire for fairness and kindness. Ethan should not have been fired for being gay, and Samantha should not have been intimidated for being religious. Both were wrongly criticized, judged, and retaliated against.

President Gordon B. Hinckley started off his 96th birthday celebration with a shovel and some dirt.
Hundreds of Brigham Young University alumni, faculty, and students, plus family members and friends looked on as President Hinckley took his shovel in hand and scooped dirt to kick off the construction of an 80,000-square-foot (7.432-square-meter) building that will bear his name at the school in Provo.
“You do me a great honor and a great kindness in what you do today,” President Hinckley told guests at the groundbreaking celebration for the new Gordon B. Hinckley Alumni and Visitors’ Center on June 23, 2006.
President Hinckley thanked guests and commented about how his wife, Marjorie Pay Hinckley, who died in 2004, had also been honored at BYU when a social work and social sciences chair was named in her honor in 2003.
“Maybe we could move her chair into my building, and we’d be together again,” he said.
President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency, President James E. Faust, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, and President Hinckley’s son Clark also spoke at the groundbreaking. Family members, President Hinckley’s counselors in the First Presidency, members of the BYU Board of Trustees, friends of the university, and donors joined President Hinckley in ceremoniously turning the first dirt for the building.
After the ceremony, President Hinckley donated the shovel he used, which came from his own tool collection. Construction commenced immediately after the ceremony.
After the groundbreaking, family, invited guests, and university leaders hosted President Hinckley at a private luncheon. President Hinckley’s children paid tribute to their father, and President Samuelson presented him with a brick with his name on it to represent the new center that bears his name.

As I have traveled far and wide throughout the world fulfilling the responsibilities of my calling, I have come to know many things—not the least of which is that sadness and suffering are universal. I cannot begin to measure all of the heartache and sorrow I have witnessed as I have visited with those who are dealing with grief, experiencing illness, facing divorce, struggling with a wayward son or daughter, or suffering the consequences of sin. The list could go on and on, for there are countless problems which can befall us. To single out one example is difficult, and yet whenever I think of challenges, my thoughts turn to Brother Brems, one of my boyhood Sunday School teachers. He was a faithful member of the Church, a man with a heart of gold. He and his wife, Sadie, had eight children, many of whom were the same ages as those in our family.

After Frances and I were married and moved from the ward, we saw Brother and Sister Brems and members of their family at weddings and funerals, as well as at ward reunions.

In 1968, Brother Brems lost his wife, Sadie. Two of his eight children also passed away as the years went by.

One day nearly 13 years ago, Brother Brems’s oldest granddaughter telephoned me. She explained that her grandfather had reached his 105th birthday. She said, “He lives in a small care center but meets with his entire family each Sunday, where he delivers a gospel lesson.” She continued, “This past Sunday, Grandpa announced to us, ‘My dears, I am going to die this week. Will you please call Tommy Monson. He will know what to do.’”

I visited Brother Brems the very next evening. I had not seen him for a while. I could not speak to him, for he had lost his hearing. I could not write a message for him to read, because he had lost his sight. I was told that the family communicated with him by taking the finger of his right hand and then tracing on the palm of his left hand the name of the person visiting. Any message had to be conveyed in this same way. I followed the procedure by taking his finger and spelling T-O-M-M-Y M-O-N-S-O-N, the name by which he had always known me. Brother Brems became excited and, taking my hands, placed them on his head. I knew his desire was to receive a priesthood blessing. The driver who had taken me to the care center joined me as we placed our hands on the head of Brother Brems and provided the desired blessing. Afterward, tears streamed from his sightless eyes. He grasped our hands in gratitude. Although he had not heard the blessing we had given him, the Spirit was strong, and I believe he was inspired to know we had provided the blessing which he needed. This sweet man could no longer see. He could no longer hear. He was confined night and day to a small room in a care center. And yet the smile on his face and the words he spoke touched my heart. “Thank you,” he said. “My Heavenly Father has been so good to me.”

Within a week, just as Brother Brems had predicted, he passed away. Never did he dwell on what he was lacking; rather, he was always deeply grateful for his many blessings.

For the next couple of months I was able to pay all of my expenses after paying my tithing. Then came another month when there was again not enough money to cover both rent and tithing. I paid my tithing. I knew that Sister Knight did not have any more trees to be cut, and I was concerned that I should pay the rent promptly. On the Friday evening before the rent was required, a local radio station in Provo announced a program called “Movie Merry-Go-Round” in which a prize would be offered to anyone who could answer questions regarding one of the movies then playing in Provo. I listened to the program and thought I might try to win the prize. That evening, the radio announcer offered $18 and two free movie tickets to the first person who could give the license number of a car that had been used in a brief scene in a recent movie. Miraculously, or at least so it seemed to me, I saw clearly in my mind’s eye the scene that the radio announcer referred to. I saw it with such clarity that I could read the license number. Once again I had sufficient funds to pay my rent.

1856–1938
“Sister Nachie always prays [with thankfulness] for … her new-found faith.”
She lived in Japan. She helped care for the first missionaries there.
Soon she asked to be baptized.
She was the first woman from Japan to go to the temple in Laie, Hawaii. She also became the first temple worker from Japan.
She helped teach the gospel to other Japanese people living in Hawaii.
Alma O. Taylor, as quoted by Ardis Parshall in Women of Faith in the Latter Days, vol. 3, 1846–1870 (2014), 122–30.

Bit by bit, and blissfully unaware, I was poisoning myself. OK, I use the term “poisoning” a bit loosely here, but to a teenage guy in high school, the word seemed appropriate. I had turned my skin orange.
Without realizing it.
You see, I was trying to kick a soda habit and did so by rather unconventional means. I started drinking freshly-made carrot juice. My dad had bought a juicer that extracted nothing but juice—which means you cruise through plenty more carrots that way (and consume a lot of beta-carotene).
Fun fact: beta-carotene, at those levels, enters the bloodstream and starts painting you from the inside out. It’s harmless to your overall health but becomes oh-so-visible over time. Somehow, though, I still hadn’t noticed the effects unfolding until a friend squinted at me in the sunlight one afternoon.
“Um, Dave, is your skin … orange?” she asked.
“No!” I laughed. What an absurd question.
Then she held her forearm next to mine for comparison. I glanced down in shock. My skin looked like it was slathered in pumpkin puree compared to hers. From that moment on, I cut way back on the carrot juice.
Back to my beta-carotene fiasco for a moment. In the end, I swapped in some celery sticks and apple slices to replace most of the carrots in my not-quite-as-good-as-soda beverage. And, in time, my skin returned to its normal hue. Whew! Though it was a huge relief at the time, that particular snag was a small one in the grand scheme of eternal matters.

One day I saw my oldest son, Wilford, preparing a tithing envelope. He was probably around five years old at the time. Wilford didn’t earn any money, so I wondered why he was paying tithing. When I asked him, he told me he was actually paying a fast offering.
Wilford didn’t have much money of his own. But he was still excited to pay a fast offering.
I was impressed by this act of kindness. I asked him why he had decided to do this.
Wilford answered, “I don’t have any needs. But I know others do.” He knew his money would help people. He was very happy about that.
This simple experience taught me a good lesson: children are really in tune with the Spirit and have a natural Christlike love. Wilford had something he didn’t need and knew it would be helpful to other people. He was willing to make the sacrifice.
Saving money is good. But my young son taught me another lesson through his example. By listening to the Spirit, we can bless the lives of others when we share what we have.