Gospel Story Finder

For the past few years I have had the privilege of home teaching with an ordained teacher part of the time and a priest with whom I am teaching at the present time. They make the appointments and take their turn in presenting and leading the discussions. The other day my home teaching companion called me and said that the head of one of the families we visit was in the hospital and suggested that we go to see him. We did and blessed him.

But it’s not only in public ways that the gospel helps the youth in Alice Springs. For Ivan Munn, 18, the gospel has brought the reassurance that he can turn to the Lord for help.
“I’ve learned some things the hard way,” Ivan says. “I fell away from the Church, but now I’m back. I’ve stopped doing the bad things, and I’m working to show my love for the Lord. Repentance is a hard job, but it’s worth it.”
Ivan says Church friends have made a difference. “The youth here, the missionaries, the branch president, the mission president—they’ve all helped me sort things out,” he says. “But faith in the Savior and in Heavenly Father is what keeps you going. In the Book of Mormon it talks about the servant and the master in the fruit fields. [See Jacob 5:3–77.] It talks about cutting out the bad fruit so that good fruit can come forth. I think that symbolizes my life. With the Lord’s help, I’ve cut away the bad fruit. I believe the good fruit is starting to come forth.”

As a different example, I remember one of my children voicing what probably all were thinking, "Dad, why do we always have to help Sister Pearson with her fire wood?" A few weeks ago, my son, the one who had presented this question to me when he was a young man, who is now serving as Young Men President in his branch, hand dug a grave for a deceased member of their branch with the help of his twelve-year-old son and the young men of the branch. I'm so proud of the man, the husband and father, my son has become. His son questioned him why they needed to dig a grave. Every calling, every service, every supposed sacrifice has repaid itself ten times over to our family in the quest for our eternal star.

This story happened in Indonesia.
“Aminah, that’s mine!” Indira shouted. She grabbed the doll away from her little sister.
“Girls, I’m leaving,” Mom called. “Please be good for Dad.”
Indira looked up. “Where are you going?”
“To the market. I’m buying food to cook something special tomorrow.” Mom waved goodbye.
A special meal? But why? Indira went to find Dad. “Why is tomorrow special?” she asked.
Dad smiled. “Tomorrow we get to watch general conference! It’s special because we get to hear the prophet and other Church leaders speak. They’ll tell us what Heavenly Father wants us to hear.”
When Mom got home, she put away the food. Dad swept the floor.
“Indira, can you help Aminah set out her clothes for tomorrow?” Mom asked.
Indira frowned. “Why do I have to help her?”
“Please do what I ask,” Mom said.
Indira groaned. She dragged her feet and went to help Aminah.
The next morning, Indira woke up to a yummy smell. She jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen. Mom had made beef rendang and satay to eat for lunch later! It would taste so good.
Soon general conference began. Indira sat with her family to watch on the TV. She listened to the choir sing. She heard people talk about temples and scriptures and Jesus Christ.
The last speaker was the prophet, President Russell M. Nelson. He talked about how the Church helps people around the world.
“Our greatest joy comes as we help our brothers and sisters,” he said.
Indira thought about that. Did helping make her happy? She kept listening. President Nelson said that living the second great commandment can help us be like Jesus Christ.
When it was over, they ate the lunch Mom made. Indira kept thinking about the prophet’s talk.
“What is the second great commandment?” she asked.
“Love your neighbor as yourself,” Dad said.
Indira thought about the people the Church helped all over the world. “How can I help if my neighbors live far away?”
“Your neighbors are everyone around you,” Mom said. “Like your family members.”
Indira looked down. She was not very nice to her family sometimes.
But maybe helping them could make her happy, like President Nelson said. It was one way she could follow Jesus. She wanted to try!
For the rest of the week, Indira tried to be extra nice to her family. She played with Amirah. She shared her toys. She did what Mom and Dad asked without complaining. When Indira helped her family, they were happy. And that made her happy too.
The prophet was right. Helping others brought her joy!
What did Indira learn from the prophet?
Illustrations by Judi Abbot

A letter and an old ashtray came to the office of the Presiding Bishop in 1991. The letter reads: “Dear Sir, I stole the enclosed ashtray from your hotel in 1965. After these many years, I want to apologize to you and ask for your forgiveness for my wrongdoing. Sincerely, [signature]. P.S. I have enclosed a check that attempts to reimburse you for the ashtray.”

The check was in the amount of $26.00, one dollar for each year he had kept the ashtray. I can imagine that during those 26 years, each time he tapped his cigarette on the rim of that tray he suffered a twinge of conscience. I do not know that the hotel ever missed the ashtray, but the man who took it missed his peace of mind for more than a quarter of a century. Yes, honesty is the best policy.

For example, on Christmas morning in 1925, three men walked down to the river’s edge in a park in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Most of the city was probably still sleeping late on a holiday. But these men had left their families behind and spent 21 days on a steam ship to get here. Elder Melvin J. Ballard, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, had been sent by President Heber J. Grant to dedicate the entire continent of South America for the preaching of the gospel.
So while the rest of the city still slept, Elder Ballard entered a willow grove with Elder Rulon S. Wells and Elder Rey L. Pratt. They sang hymns and read from the Book of Mormon. Then Elder Ballard offered a prayer and used his apostolic authority to “unlock and open the door for the preaching of the gospel in all these South American nations.” From that time on, like a stone tossed into a pond, the ripples of the gospel message spread outward across a continent.
Since Elder Ballard’s visit to Buenos Aires, Church membership in South America has grown from less than a dozen to over a million. Tens of thousands more are joining every year. There are an increasing number of LDS chapels, and temples have begun to dot the land.
That’s why seminary graduation time in Buenos Aires isn’t just another weekend. When Elder Ballard offered his powerful prayer in that willow grove nearly 70 years ago, he asked the Lord to “remember in mercy … the youth of thy Church who are to bear the responsibilities of the future, that they may keep themselves clean … and come to their glorious destiny.” For the LDS youth in Argentina, seminary has been one of the most direct answers to that prayer.

Elder David Rawls and his companion, Elder Rahrick, stood at the door of the small LDS meetinghouse in Tokyo, Japan, and waited.
“What if he doesn’t come?” Elder Rahrick asked.
“He’ll come.”
“But what if he doesn’t?”
“Then he won’t.”
“You’re not much help, you know.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll come,” David said.
“I already wrote my folks and told them we were going to have a baptism, so if he doesn’t come, what’ll I do?”
“Tell them he didn’t come.”
“You don’t know my dad. He wants results.”
“Go see how close to being full the font is, okay? That’ll give you something to do.”
Elder Rahrick started off and then stopped and turned around. “He’d better come, that’s all I can say. I wrote my girlfriend about the baptism too.”
“Go check the font, will you?”
“All right, but if he doesn’t come, it won’t matter if the font is full or not, will it?”
David watched as Elder Rahrick went down the hall of the church to the baptismal font. They were about as different as two people could be. David couldn’t understand how some guy just off the plane thought he knew more about missionary work than he did.
It was a tough mission with long hours, a difficult language to learn, and few converts, and no California beach boy was going to change it in a day. Don’t let him get to you, he thought. This is a day of celebration, because today the hurt will go away.
Ever since he was a little boy, he had in his mind the image of being on his mission, standing in the water, baptizing someone. But somehow the reality had been that, even though he’d worked hard, he’d had no baptisms. Of course there had been people he’d taught who eventually were baptized, but always just after he was transferred.
His parents had always told him not to worry, that he should just do his best. And he had. He worked hard and lived mission rules and prayed, but still no baptisms came.
As time slipped by, he thought about what it would be like, after his mission, talking with his friends from high school, guys he’d played basketball with, guys who thrived on competition. He knew they’d ask how many baptisms he’d had on his mission. From letters they’d written, he already knew one of his friends had 30 baptisms.
And he had none.
“Don’t let it get you down,” his father had written. “The important thing is that you are serving with all your heart, mind, and strength. We couldn’t be more proud of you than we are.”
David knew his father was right, but still, he wanted at least once on his mission, to stand in the baptismal font with someone he’d taught, and raise his right arm to the square, and actually perform the baptismal ordinance. If for no other reason, just to make his boyhood dream come true.
Just when it seemed that it would never happen, four weeks before his release from the mission field, they met Katsutoshi Tanaka, a white-haired retired gardener, a gentle man, a widower, who lived in a small apartment in the city. He seemed to have been waiting for them. Each time they came to give him a missionary lesson, he was there, well prepared, having read the pamphlets they’d given him. When he attended church, the members seemed drawn to him and they welcomed him openly.
Of course Elder Rahrick, David’s companion, with the confidence that comes from not knowing very much, had attributed their success to his having come into the mission field. “You see what happens when you plan your work and work your plan?” he told David once after an especially good discussion with Brother Tanaka. That really grated on David’s nerves. You have so much to learn, Elder, he thought.
When it became apparent that Brother Tanaka was actually going to be baptized, Elder Rahrick asked, “How about if I baptize him?”
“We’ll talk about it later,” he had said. In David’s mind though there wasn’t much to talk about. He was the senior companion, about to go home, having gone his mission never having fulfilled his dream of baptizing someone in the mission field. Elder Rahrick would have plenty of chances later on.
Elder Rahrick returned from down the hall. “The font’s almost full, but I don’t know where to turn off the water, and the custodian’s gone. Would you do it for me?”
David nodded his head and went back to the baptismal font. He looked at the font now full of water. It looked so beautiful. He was so grateful that Brother Tanaka had accepted the gospel. It had been so hard to go on without any apparent success, with mission newsletters telling of the baptisms of others when he was always two weeks too late or one week too early.
At first he had thought it was punishment from God, that for some reason he wasn’t good enough to have baptisms. He talked to his mission president about it, who said, “Elder, you’re one of the best missionaries I’ve got. We’re not out here to have a contest with numbers. I’m sorry that transfers have caused you to miss out on some baptisms, but wherever you’ve served, people’s lives have been blessed. Do you know how many converts sing your praises for having contacted them?”
Even so, it had been difficult to take. Sometimes at night, when he couldn’t sleep, he knelt beside his bed and poured out his heart in prayer, and from those silent vigils strength and commitment had come—but no baptisms.
David knew he was stronger than he would have been if it had been easy. He had learned not to give up and had mastered the ability to work hard even when he was discouraged.
Eventually there came a time in his mission, when he knew he could take whatever happened and it wouldn’t affect how hard he worked, or how committed he was, or how much faith he had in Father in Heaven.
Shortly after that, they found Brother Tanaka.
He sat down to gaze at the now nearly full font. It was beautiful to see. My mission is just about over, he thought with a rush of sadness. I’ve come to the end of things.
He’d been reading the book of John in the New Testament, and this morning he’d read the words of the Savior to his Apostles given his last few days upon the earth. David sensed a reluctance on the part of the Savior to leave these men to themselves, a concern that they may have not learned enough to carry on, and a genuine affection for those who had stood by him during those past three years of his ministry.
The Savior knew their weaknesses, David thought, and yet he still loved them. And he encouraged them to have love for each other. “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another” (John 13:35).
And now I go and leave Elder Rahrick here to carry on. Have I shown him the same kind of love the Savior did his Apostles? It hasn’t been easy for me with Elder Rahrick. Maybe because I’m about to leave and he’s just come. We seem worlds apart at times. He’s so caught up with himself; whatever good he does, he does it with the idea in mind of how impressed the people back home will be when they hear about it.
If I can show love to Elder Rahrick, he thought, I can show love to anybody. Getting along with a wife will be a breeze compared to this.
David got up and turned off the water, and suddenly it struck him that in one week he would be back home in Arizona, getting ready to start college again, concerned mainly about himself again. For an instant, more than anything in the world, he wanted to stay where he was and not go home. It had taken so long to get where he was now, willing and able to devote his entire self to the work, and now they were going to tell him they didn’t need him anymore. It didn’t make sense.
Oh, Father in Heaven, he thought, please help me get through these changes in my life.
Elder Rahrick came back to see him. “No sign of Brother Tanaka yet. He’d better come, that’s all I can say.”
David stared at Elder Rahrick, who looked to be about 17 years old. “Elder,” David said, “we haven’t always gotten along, have we?”
“Oh, it hasn’t been that bad.”
“I just want you to know I love you.”
Elder Rahrick got red in the face. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“I know we’re supposed to say that, but still, it really seems weird to me.”
“I know, but you’ll get used to it. Jesus loved the men who served with him. We should do the same.”
“I suppose. I’ll go back and see if Brother Tanaka is coming.”
David watched him go. He’s so young, David thought, so inexperienced. What if he goes his mission without any baptisms? Will he be able to stand it?
David suddenly realized he really did love Elder Rahrick. Beyond his bluster was a scared young man, as he himself had once been, in a strange country with a strange language and customs. Have I taught him enough? Is he ready to carry on as a senior companion after I leave?
What was it like for the Savior, he thought, to leave the men he loved, his beloved Apostles? Impetuous Peter, always quick to act. John, gentle, sensitive. Each one with their flaws and strengths.
My gift to this mission is Elder Rahrick, he thought. I’ve got to do all I can to help him.
Elder Rahrick, he thought, you’ve complained about the way we live as if it’s my fault we sleep on floor mats and eat raw fish. You’ve told me that if I were only closer to the Spirit, people would come to us and ask to be baptized. But none of that matters. I think I thought the same things too.
I love you, Elder Rahrick. Carry on the work when I’m gone. You will carry a part of me with you always, like it or not. I am a part of you, and you of me. And after our missions we will someday meet and shake hands and introduce our families and talk about the good times.
David returned to where Elder Rahrick was waiting at the door. “Elder Rahrick, I’ve been thinking. How would you like to baptize Brother Tanaka?”
Elder Rahrick got a big grin on his face. “That’d be great! Do you suppose we could get some pictures of me and Brother Tanaka in our baptismal clothes? I want to send them back home to my parents and my girlfriend.”
“We can take pictures before, but not during the service itself.”
“Great. This is going to be terrific! How about if I go find some baptismal clothes that’ll fit me?”
“Sure, fine.”
David watched him go. He was a little disappointed in Elder Rahrick for not realizing what a sacrifice it was for him to give up his last chance to fulfill his boyhood dream of performing a baptism in the mission field. Sometime, Elder, he thought, when you come to the end of your mission, you’ll understand how much I cared for you.
Just then the thought flashed into his mind, as if the Savior were saying that perhaps someday David would understand how much the Savior loved him.
This is a gospel of love, David thought.
Just then Brother Tanaka turned up the walk to the chapel.
Thank you, Father in Heaven, David thought. This will be a day I will always remember.
And it was.

Early in 1957, two missionaries knocked on his mother’s door and she invited them in. This was the start of John Douglas Jeffrey’s learning about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As he and his mother spent time with the missionaries, the Holy Ghost bore witness to him that the Church was true because the missionaries were able to answer all of his questions.
Later, John moved to Townsville, Queensland, where he met more missionaries who continued to teach him, and also his new wife, Lois. In September 1957 they became the first people to join the Church in Townsville. He was baptised in Bluewater Creek just north of Townsville. (Baptisms in creeks or swimming pools were common in the early days of the Church.)
“Learning about the true Church changed my life,” John reflects. “I have wondered what I would have done if my mother said ‘no’ when those missionaries knocked on her door!” With a new gospel perspective, John and Lois saved up to visit the Hamilton New Zealand Temple, where their family was sealed for time and all eternity. “It took us a good while because we had four children and of course we had to take them to be sealed to us!”
John taught at the Townsville Grammar School and witnessed the struggles of a growing small branch. In those days there were few chapels in Australia and members met in homes or in rented halls. After 15 years in Townsville, he received an invitation to teach at the relatively new police academy in Oxley, Brisbane. He had only been at the police academy two years when he was invited to join the Church Educational System as a coordinator in Brisbane.
The first stake in Queensland was organized in 1960 with William E Waters called as the stake president. He was followed by a man from Scotland called William E Proctor. It was during this time that John was called to be the bishop of the Inala Ward. His time as bishop was short because after two years he was called to serve on the high council.
In those days, the geographic area of the stake was huge, covering much of the southeast of Queensland around Brisbane — north to Nambour, south to the Gold Coast, and west to Toowoomba. In 1975, John was called as president of the Brisbane Australia Stake.
President Jeffrey noticed how far some members had to travel to get to church each week, so he took a map and drew an 8 km radius around each congregation. He then worked with Church physical facility authorities in Sydney to create branches in the areas lying within those circles. Those branches met in school halls until they were strong enough to qualify for a chapel. This meant that members didn’t have to drive as far to attend Church meetings. This direction paved the way for the future growth of membership in Queensland.
In 1978, just three years after his call as the Brisbane Stake president, John recommended the stake be divided. He then became the president of the new Brisbane Australia South Stake. Only three years after that, in 1981, another stake was created and called the Brisbane Australia West Stake.
Today there are 12 stakes in the greater Brisbane area.

I know this sounds a little odd just to blurt out, but I got a new father about six months ago. His name is Raymond. Everyone calls him Ray.
“ ’Bye Christy.” My mom stuck her head through the doorway. “I’m off to run some errands. Then I have one more visiting teaching appointment. Don’t forget tomorrow is Father’s Day.”
“Yeah, I know. Hey! Eileen and I are going to the dance tonight. Okay?”
“I see you’re getting your room cleaned. Okay, bye.”
It was just Mom and me until Ray came along. My parents divorced four years ago. I used to see my dad on weekends until after the wedding, when we moved here. Now we live too far for weekend visits. I miss not seeing him as often.
Ray wasn’t the only new member of my family. I now have two little brothers—Jim and Kirt. Jim’s twelve, and Kirt is ten. Believe me, I nearly died when I found out I’d have two brothers. Sometimes they drive me nuts, but usually we have a pretty good time together.
Anyway, I have to think about my problem. It’s Ray. I decided tomorrow is going to be the time when I let him know I think it’s going to be okay between us. I mean, I hated the thought of having somebody take Dad’s place, but it’s okay now. Dad was Dad, but Ray is Ray, and I like him too. I just don’t know how to let him know that.
Ray came to the door. “Christy, how’s the room coming?”
“I’m working on it,” I said with a shrug.
Ray came in and settled on the bed. He never came in here much, so I was surprised. He looked at the shelf above my bed.
“You know, I never had a daughter before you, Christy. Do all girls collect as much stuff as you?”
I giggled. “Sure, I guess. Everything means something special. That’s the glass unicorn I got for my 12th birthday,” I said pointing it out. “And that’s an Indian bead necklace I made at girls’ camp.” I picked it up and showed him the intricate design I had invented.
“Hmmm, nice. You did this yourself?” he said, taking it from me.
“Yeah. The beads are very tiny and scatter everywhere. It’s a lot harder to make one of those than you think.”
“I bet it is.” His eye traveled along the shelf. “A rock? What’s so special about an old rock?”
“It’s not an old rock,” I said, grabbing the rock and suddenly clamming up. I suddenly felt my eyes start to sting like when I’m going to cry.
Ray was quiet for a minute, but he didn’t leave. “I’m sorry. I didn’t say that to upset you.”
“It’s okay,” I said taking a deep breath. “The rock just means a lot to me, that’s all.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’ll understand.”
I hesitated, then I said, “Four years ago, my dad and I took a trip to the beach. We played all day in the sand and waves. When it was almost time to go, he took my hand and we walked along the shoreline. He told me to look for the prettiest rock I could find. After looking and looking, I picked this one. It was round and smooth and had this sort of green spot that reminded me of a heart. See it?”
I pointed it out to Ray. He nodded.
“Dad asked me if the rock would change much if I kept it a hundred years. ‘Of course not,’ I said. He said, ‘Love is like that. It lasts forever.’ Then he told me he was going away and wouldn’t be living with us anymore. He said I should always keep this rock and remember that”—I couldn’t keep the tremor from my voice—“he loves me.”
“I’m glad you have this rock, Christy. Of course he loves you.” He paused. “So do I, you know. I wish …”
“What?” I asked.
“Oh, never mind. Guess I’d better check up on your brothers. When Mom gets home we’d all better have our work done, right?”
“Right.” I watched him leave. He wished … What did he wish? Suddenly I knew. But how could I tell him? Tomorrow had to be the perfect time.
But how? Not a card. He’d think I gave it to him because Mom made me. He’d expect that much. I needed something else, some special gift, to let him really know how I felt.
I thought about my Father’s Day gift all day. While I was getting ready for the dance I decided to kneel down and ask Heavenly Father if He had any ideas for me. When I finished, I glanced up at my shelf, and it hit me. Of course! I closed my eyes and whispered, “Thank you, thank you.” Then I got busy. I had some things to find and a poem to write.
When Mom came in to see if I was ready, she asked me how I felt about tomorrow being Father’s Day and all. I just smiled and told her it would be nice to celebrate it again with her. She looked relieved as she left.
Sunday morning we all got up early and fixed breakfast to take in to Ray. He pretended to be asleep, and we all shouted and woke him up and put the tray in front of him. My mom and the boys all gave him presents.
After they were opened, I pulled out a little leftover Christmas box and handed it to Ray.
He took off the lid. A smile lit his face. He reached in and took out the small flat rock inside, one with a heart lightly smudged with green colored pencil. He glanced down into the box again and pulled out the crumpled paper that contained my poem and read:
Love is like a rock,
Because it lasts forever.
But on the shore are many stones
With which to build a treasure.
“It’s not much,” I faltered, suddenly embarrassed over how dumb it looked beside the other gifts. Mom and the boys were trying to figure out why an ordinary rock was such a neat present.
“But it’s the best present you could have given me!” His eyes met mine in understanding.
He reached over and suddenly pulled me into his arms and gave me a bear hug. “Thank you, Christy, thank you,” he whispered.

Some months after my baptism I was called to serve in the nursery and then as a Primary teacher. A year later I received my endowment. I also met a great man at church. In September 1994 we were sealed in the Toronto Canada Temple. Three years later we were blessed with a beautiful son.
I continue to serve in Church callings, and I share my testimony of the gospel with all my loved ones. I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ comes from the heavens in all its glory and that through this gospel we can be transformed if we are obedient to the Lord’s commandments.

Life was going to start at 16. No more having Mom drop me off at dance practice or chauffeur me on my nights out. No more watching older sophomores jingle their key chains as I stepped off a sputtering bus. I was going to get my driver’s permit!
Sure, I would have to drive with an adult in the car, but it was the first step toward freedom. Since age 12 I had been bugging my father to let me practice, but Dad always refused. I still remember the lecture he gave me on the eve of receiving my permit.
“The car is not a toy. Blah, blah, blah. Driving is a serious thing. Blah, blah, blah. People get in car wrecks. Blah, blah, blah.”
I sat in the living room, arms folded, listening quietly. But there was a gleam in my eye. I was ready to hit the road. When Dad put the keys in my hands, I felt a surge of power. Life had begun!
So think of my surprise when driving turned out to be infinitely more difficult than I’d imagined. The road looked so small from the driver’s seat. I could never shake the feeling I was overlapping into the next lane. Every time an oncoming car neared me, I swerved to get away. What’s more, I had lived in the same town all my life and never paid attention to how to get anywhere.
Now, if these had been the only crises of my driving career, I would have probably reached 17 unscarred. But I had to face another obstacle on a daily basis—our driveway.
Our driveway was five times as long as a normal one and had an uphill curve right at the end. It might have been manageable going forward, but Dad insisted we back in. He said he liked to pull out onto the road and see what was coming at him.
It was nearly impossible to negotiate the thing in reverse. To make matters worse, Dad always parked his truck right on the other side of the driveway. It was a big truck that left little room for error. And the truck was Dad’s pride and joy, a sitting duck in a bad location.
One fateful day, after I’d finished trying to find my way through town, I failed the driveway obstacle course. Dad was sitting in the passenger seat yelling his usual directions at me, “Okay, take it slowly. To the right. To the RIGHT! You need more gas. Turn it left now. LEFT! Straighten it out. Straighten it! Straightenstraightenstraighten! STOP!!!” Crunch.
My father leaped from the car and surveyed the damage. The truck had an ugly, ugly dent. He was furious.
“Why didn’t you straighten the car out? Why didn’t you stop?”
I had tried to stop, but I had pressed the gas instead of the brake. I didn’t tell him though. I went in my bedroom, and cried. Life had ended.
A while later, a knock came on the door. I opened it, and Dad stepped in.
“I owe you an apology,” he said. “I’ve always believed people are more important than things, but that’s not how I acted just now. I’m sorry.”
I was too amazed to say much. I had just smashed his truck and he was apologizing to me. He was really sorry. It was a lesson I would remember long after the other driving sessions had faded from recall.
Three days later, my younger brother noticed the dent. We were about to get in the car to leave for his soccer game.
“Wow!” my brother gasped. “What happened to the truck?”
“It was a hit and run,” Dad said calmly. Which in the broadest sense was true. I had hit the truck and run to my room. My brother didn’t notice the half smile Dad slid to me. I smiled and got in on the driver’s side.
“Okay,” I said cheerfully. “How do we get to the soccer field?”

As a young man, I developed the idea that if I took care of the Lord’s business, he would take care of me. I’m not sure where I learned such an unsubstantiated idea, but it appealed to me, so I followed it faithfully for a number of years. It provided the comfortable insulation I wanted to shield me from the necessity of being cautious and careful. It allowed me to make excuses for minor business mishaps, problems at home, and even major catastrophes. “Surely the Lord is testing me,” I remarked when a business venture failed. “Satan is really after us,” I observed when contention threatened my family.

Because I felt the Lord would always take care of me, I felt no need to “study it out in [my] mind” (D&C 9:8) before asking God. I felt a quick little prayer would do. I often said, “Father, I’ve done my best to serve you, now I ask that you bless me in this endeavor.” I felt that if I magnified my Church calling, God wouldn’t let me lose my family—that if I put God first, I’d never want financially. I did not understand that by following such a procedure, I was yielding to the spirit of the temptation given to the Savior by Satan: “If thou be the Son of God, cast thyself down: for it is written, He shall give his angels charge concerning thee: and in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone.” (Matt. 4:6.)

Finally, as more “tests” came my way, complete with frustration and disappointment, I began to examine my careless attitude. I began to study the scriptures and to prayerfully examine my responsibility for my affairs. The evidence overwhelmingly suggested that God wants us to work out our own plans and actions, always seeking his confirmation that our course is right. A relationship with God is not an alternative to personal effort. It is, rather, a guide along the stairway of growth and understanding, a stairway which we must climb through our own personal exertion. As I adopted this new approach, I ordered and took responsibility for my life.

Equipped with wheelbarrows, gloves, shovels, trash bags, and plenty of energy, youth from the Salt Lake Holladay South Stake joined with young members of the Hindu, Jewish, Muslim, Greek Orthodox, and Catholic faiths to share similarities and offer service in the community. Braving a light spring drizzle, the group of about 200 teens filled the banks of a nearby river, clearing out weeds, laying fresh soil, and planting new shrubs. Eli Fullmer, a priest from the Holladay 18th Ward, explained how meeting youth of other faiths increased his desire to reach out. “I’m more ready to serve because I feel like I’m friends with everybody.”
By starting the project out with an interfaith worship service, the youth were able to focus on their common beliefs and devotion to God. After rendering service together, the teens participated in a memorial tree planting. They were reminded that they are all children of God. “We’re all similar,” reflected Danielle Chard, a Mia Maid from the Holladay 14th Ward. “We have similar standards. We’re all good people.”

I share with you today a personal experience with priesthood power.

Sue and I met about two months after I returned from my mission and were married several months later in June of 1971. At the time of this story, we had been married for six years. I was in graduate school and we had three children--a little boy almost four, a little girl almost two, and a brand new baby boy, about two weeks old.

One day I came home from graduate school to find our home in total chaos. The baby was crying; the two little kids were running around wreaking havoc; there were toys all over our little apartment; and Sue was exhausted and in tears.

I pitched in and tried to corral the older children and clean up the apartment. As I went to work, the Spirit whispered to me. "Give your wife a blessing." So, right there in the middle of chaos, Sue sat on a chair and I gave her a blessing. In that moment it was as if a spiritual cocoon settled in around us. Heavenly Father had prepared a blessing for His beloved daughter, my wife, and I was privileged to deliver His blessing to her by the power of the holy priesthood and in the name of Jesus Christ. The blessing was full of words of astonishing breadth and power. Sue received promises of strength and capacity and sweet blessings about our children and our family here on earth and in the eternities. When I finished, I hugged her for a long time. It was a powerful, spiritual, priesthood experience.

After that blessing we still had to pick up the toys and establish order and get the kids fed and to bed. But I am grateful that my husband heard the whisperings of the Spirit and was prepared in that moment to use the holy priesthood to give me a blessing.

When I was eight years old, my Primary teacher gave a lesson that confused me. She said that after we die, we will be able to remember all the things we did while on the earth.
After class when I was going to sacrament meeting, I saw a little girl who was sad. Her parents were not around, so I knew she was lost. I played with her for a minute, but sacrament meeting was starting and I knew I should go in. I started to go into the chapel, but then I remembered what my teacher said. Her lesson started to make sense. Heavenly Father and Jesus would know what I did. I knew that I should help that little girl.
I went back to get her. And soon her dad came back and found her. I’m grateful for Jesus’ example. And I’m grateful to my teacher for the lesson that helped me so much.

Let me tell you about a young friend I met while serving as president of a stake that included West Point Academy in the state of New York. He was a bright 4.0 student at the academy. He had been given a leave of absence from West Point to serve a mission and was readmitted on completion of his mission—not a common occurrence. On one of my visits to the West Point Branch he requested some time to talk.

As we talked he told me of how he had deepened his conversion to the gospel as he served his mission. He remembered the feelings and strength of his testimony when he returned to West Point following his mission. Then he said: “In the two years since my mission I have gradually felt the Spirit slipping away from me. Every day I am associating with other cadets with different values. Their whole focus in life is successfully graduating from the academy. Periodically the honor code is compromised. Nearly every weekend is party time—alcohol and young women. I am hazed and ridiculed when I refuse to join with them.

“President Staheli, I need help. I feel like I am being tossed to and fro on the seas of life, and I have lost my mooring. My gospel anchor of the past seems to be giving way to the life of fun and pleasures enjoyed by my colleagues at the academy.”

As we talked it became clear that the magnet of the adversary was gradually but surely drawing him into Satan’s grasp. My young friend had lost his mooring—not because Satan had become stronger but because my friend had not been nurturing and tending to his testimony. He was in the process of losing what he had previously so deeply cherished.

I realize you are in a very different environment here at BYU, yet I relate this experience because even here at BYU you are not immune to the adversary’s many wiles that look attractive on the surface and may appear harmless only because you feel you can resist.

Just claiming to know the gospel is true is not always enough. My young friend at West Point knew. He had developed a testimony, but it had slipped away from him because he failed to nourish it. As he had begun to respond to and engage in the activities of his peers, he gradually lost the promptings of the Spirit.

I cannot think of a greater loss to anyone than the loss of the promptings of the Spirit.

As an Aaronic Priesthood young man, I can remember the excitement I felt as a newly ordained deacon. I looked forward to being able to fulfill my priesthood assignments. As a young Primary boy, I watched the deacons in my ward very closely in anticipation of the day I would be 12 years old, receive the priesthood, and be able to pass the sacrament. That day finally arrived, and soon after being ordained by my father, who was the bishop of the ward, I felt ready, but nervous, to begin my duties as a new deacon.
I now belonged to a quorum of the Aaronic Priesthood. The members of my quorum became very best friends. That friendship and quorum brotherhood continued to grow through my youth as we learned and served together in our priesthood duties. We were all good friends and experienced a fun and enjoyable time being together in our quorum activities.
One Sunday following one of those warm and long sacrament meetings, the first counselor in our bishopric called me aside to talk to me. This unscheduled priesthood interview became a blessing in my life as I have pondered the question he asked during our brief but significant visit. Brother Bateman looked me in the eye and asked, “Dean, do you know who you are?” There was complete silence, and then he gave me a quick and powerful reminder, “You are the son of Reid Burgess.”
The meaning and significance of that question has burned in my heart for a long time, and I often reflected on it throughout my teenage years. This good brother’s question—“Do you know who you are?”—has given me inspired direction throughout my life and a commitment to bring respect and honor to my family and to the priesthood.

Ron calls his mission a “fantastic” experience. “The Lord blessed me with many miraculous, faith-promoting experiences,” he says. “My mission was huge for my spiritual life.”
Ron spent part of his mission in the Bermuda islands. His mission president, Harold Nephi Wilkinson, sent only “straight-arrow missionaries” there because he could visit them only occasionally.
“We were totally on our own, but the president didn’t have to worry about us,” Ron recalls. “We got the job done.”
After completing his mission in 1972, Ron found a job, enrolled at the University of Utah that fall, and joined Delta Phi Kappa, a fraternity for returned missionaries. At the fraternity’s social activities, he couldn’t help but notice an attractive young woman named Melanie Twitchell. Melanie was one of Delta Phi’s elected “dream girls,” who helped with the fraternity’s service activities.
Like Ron, Melanie came from an active Latter-day Saint family. Her father, a career military officer, and her mother never let the family’s frequent moves become an excuse for missing church.
Melanie was impressed by Ron’s kindness, courtesy, and gospel knowledge. “I said to myself, ‘He is such an amazing man that it doesn’t matter if I never get to date him. I just want to be his best friend.’”
As their relationship grew, the Spirit confirmed her impressions of Ron and of his commitment to the Lord. Soon their friendship blossomed into what Melanie calls a “storybook, fairytale romance.”
Elder Rasband says she was a perfect match. “Melanie was every bit my equal in gospel devotion and heritage. We became best friends, and that’s when I asked her to marry me.”
They married on September 4, 1973, in the Salt Lake Temple. Since then, he says, his “selfless eternal companion … has helped mold me like potter’s clay into a more polished disciple of Jesus Christ. Her love and support, and that of our 5 children, their spouses, and our 24 grandchildren, sustain me.”3

One night when I was reading my scriptures, I felt overwhelmed with the idea of becoming perfect. I sank back onto my bed and thought, How can I ever become the person I want so much to be?
As I pondered, I glanced around my room reviewing the daily reminders that decorated every shelf. My eyes settled on a small abacus my mother had purchased from a local boutique as a gift for me when I became a Beehive. Seven small wooden beads, each painted a different color representing the Young Women values, were strung on a thin wire arched on top of a small block of wood. On the side was hand painted, “Count on the Values.”
My question was answered. Count on the values to improve each day. How? I asked. More answers poured into my mind. Seven values, seven days—a value a day. I grabbed the nearest pencil to organize my thoughts.
Sunday—Divine Nature I would study the scriptures, listen in church, ponder the things I learned there, and prepare for the coming week by increasing my spirituality.
Monday—Faith I would have the faith to meet the challenges of a new week. I remembered a quotation, “If you believe you can, you can. If you think you can’t, you’re right.” I would have faith that with the Lord’s help I would be able to do all the things that were needful.
Tuesday—Knowledge I would focus on knowledge by scheduling time throughout the week for homework and additional study for upcoming tests.
Wednesday—Choice and Accountability I would hold a midweek evaluation on how I was going. Were the choices I’d made so far in the week helping me become a better person? Were they reflecting my belief in Christ? If I was falling short, there would still be time to renew a commitment to improve. If I was doing all I could, it could be a time of grateful prayer.
Thursday—Good Works I would look for someone in need of my service. It might be a fellow student who needed a study partner or perhaps a cheerful hello in the halls. Maybe it’s my neighbor in need of a ride, a quick errand done, or help with her small children.
Friday—Integrity When I went with my friends, I would remember who I was and what my beliefs are. I would encourage others to make good decisions, particularly when we were together as friends.
Saturday—Individual Worth This was a time to know I had grown in the gospel and come a little closer to the Savior. It was a time to prepare for Sunday and the upcoming week, feeling just a little closer to my eternal goals.
This weekly plan strengthened me as I tried to live one value each day to the fullest extent possible. At first I could only do one or two things to live that particular value, but it became easier. After a while I didn’t even have to plan out each act as I’d had to at first. Soon one day blended into another. I didn’t just serve others on Thursdays, but I thought of things to help others almost without realizing I was even doing it. I discovered myself being accountable daily for the choices I made. Study time became easier because I had taken the time to make a plan to learn new things.
The Lord helped me see that perfection isn’t an immediate accomplishment but an eternal quest as I learned line upon line, precept on precept, each new day.

While President Faust has spent so much of his life serving others in group situations, yet he has also known what it is like to be alone. His loyalty and integrity were operative then, too. Though the only Church member on a transport ship in the South Pacific in World War II (which for 83 long days towed a larger vessel to port), he nevertheless worshipped alone on Sundays. Searching out places where he could sing alone from a pocket-sized hymnal, he would read the scriptures, meditate, and pray in private. Often this meant going up to the front of the ship, where the waves would drown out his singing. Such steady, spiritual discipline reflects, of course, special training by his parents, George A. and Amy Finlinson Faust.