Gospel Story Finder

After we moved our things from the dugout, Ed said, “Now I get to sleep in the barn.”
“Me, too,” I said.
“Nothing doing,” Mama warned. “The barn’s for animals, not children.”
“Papa promised,” Ed told her.
“It’s all right, hon,” Papa told Mama. “The loft’s clean and warm and close enough so that we could hear them call if they needed us.”
“Well, it is pretty crowded in here,” Mama relented a little. “Just one room for the seven of us.”
“Please, mama,” Ed coaxed.
“Please,” I echoed.
“I guess it won’t hurt to try it,” she conceded, and we started out the door.
Frank grabbed my legs and shouted, “I wanna sleep with Dora! I wanna sleep with Dora!”
“Let him come, Mama. I’ll take care of him.” She knew I would too.
“Watch him, then, so he doesn’t fall down the ladder,” she cautioned.
“I don’t fall down ladders.” Frank said indignantly. “I climb down.”
So the three of us moved into the barn.

I know that from my own experience. I remember when I was a boy of 15 and we had been expelled from Mexico in the revolution. My folks went to Los Angeles from El Paso, Texas. I got a job there among a bunch of Mormon-haters, and I didn’t tell them that I was a Mormon. Sometime after that, President Joseph F. Smith came to Los Angeles and had dinner with my parents—a very humble dinner; I can remember that it was very scant. He put his hand on my head and said, “My boy, don’t ever be ashamed that you are a Mormon.”
You know, I have worried all my days that I didn’t have the courage to stand up to those ribald men.

Years ago my great-great-grandfather picked up a copy of the Book of Mormon for the first time. He opened it to the center and read a few pages. He then declared, “That book was either written by God or the devil, and I am going to find out who wrote it.” He read it through twice in the next 10 days and then declared, “The devil could not have written it—it must be from God.”1
An honest, unbiased reading of the Book of Mormon will bring someone to the same conclusion as my great-great-grandfather, namely: “The devil could not have written it—it must be from God.”
I too have read every page of the Book of Mormon, again and again, and I bear my solemn witness, like my great-great-grandfather, it is from God. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I had a sense of this truth a few months ago when I was walking one day and suddenly my sight became blurry, dark, and wavy. I was scared. Then the doctors told me, “If you don’t begin treatment immediately, you may lose your sight even in a matter of weeks.” I was even more scared.
And then they said, “You need intravitreal injections—injections right in the eye, wide-open eye—every four weeks for the rest of your life.”
That was an uncomfortable wake-up call.
Then a reflection came in the form of a question. I asked myself, “OK! My physical sight is not good, but what about my spiritual vision? Do I need any treatment there? And what does it mean to have a clear spiritual vision?”
So is my spiritual sight clear as I get my eye injections? Well, who am I to say? But I am grateful for what I see.
I clearly see the hand of the Lord in this sacred work and in my life.
I see the faith of many wherever I go who strengthen my own faith.
I see angels all around me.
I see the faith of many who don’t see the Lord physically but recognize Him spiritually, because they know Him intimately.
I testify that this gospel is the answer for everything, because Jesus Christ is the answer for everyone. I am grateful for what I can see as I follow my Savior.

They have also performed for special events such as inaugurations and funerals. On September 11, 2001, the choir was scheduled to perform in the Tabernacle on Temple Square for a visiting group of conventioneers. Because of the terrorist attacks on the United States earlier that day, the performance was changed to a memorial concert. As a show of respect, President Gordon B. Hinckley asked the audience to refrain from applauding.

“Midway through the concert we sang ‘America the Beautiful,’” says choir member Stephen Stoker. “Unable to applaud, the audience stood as we began to sing. When we got to the third verse, where we sing, ‘Oh, beautiful for patriot dream that sees beyond the years, thine alabaster cities gleam, undimmed by human tears,’ we were all crying. … It was a powerful experience for all of us.”

I used to watch my father during the time he served as a bishop; he carried that responsibility during the Great Depression, when he had an added welfare burden. How often I remember going out with him, night after night, to deliver a sack of flour, a sack of sugar, or some other commodity to someone in need. We always had difficulty managing an uninterrupted vacation. I remember particularly one time when we had had an exciting day fishing on Lake Yellowstone. As I passed the lodge at Fishing Bridge, I saw a sign in the window: “A telegram for L. Tom Perry.” Without reading it, I knew what that meant. I was right—a widow had passed away, and we had to leave our vacation early and return home so that Dad could conduct the funeral. I saw him also during tithing settlement, interviewing hour after hour, day after day, until he completed his assignment.

Then the time came for his release after serving as bishop for eighteen years. That day I caught a little of the vision of true service and the joy it brings. It had been indicated to him that he was going to be called to the high council, but as stake conference approached no one issued a call to him. As we sat in stake conference that day my father’s heart was heavy; he realized that his great service as a bishop was about over, and he had not received a new call to replace it. Then, without any previous warning, the visiting General Authority, in reorganizing our stake presidency, called my father into that presidency. He served in it as a counselor or as stake president for the next twenty years, all of that time filled with joy at the opportunity of service.

Thunk. Erik heard the lacrosse ball land in his teammate Cody’s stick. He instantly turned and raced to the other team’s goal. Catching Cody’s eye, he raised his stick, caught the ball from Cody, and sent it sailing into the goal.
“Score!” Erik’s team began cheering before the goalie even saw the ball in his goal. They had won, 5–2!
His teammates high-fived and shouted congratulations. Erik couldn’t stop grinning. When he’d moved to his new school, Erik had worried he wouldn’t make friends. But his lacrosse teammates had been nice to him from the start, helping him find his classes and saving him a seat at lunch.
After the game, Cody invited everyone over to his house for pizza. Still in their sweaty jerseys and grass-stained pants, the boys gathered in Cody’s basement, going over the game and their best plays. The smell of pepperoni pizza filled the air, and Erik grabbed a large slice and a soda.
After a while, things quieted down, and Erik noticed a group of boys on the couch gathered around Cody’s phone. “What’re you looking at?” Erik asked.
Cody smiled as he pushed his phone in Erik’s face. “You’ll love this. Look.”
Erik flinched, then turned away. It was the kind of photo he knew he shouldn’t look at. This is pornography, Erik thought. “I don’t want to see it.”
“Then how about this one, or this one, or this one?” Cody said, as he scrolled through more pictures.
“I don’t want to see any of them.” Erik backed away.
The rest of the boys joined in with Cody. “C’mon, there aren’t any adults around. Your parents will never know.”
“Don’t be a baby. Everybody looks at this stuff.”
“Aren’t you even a little curious?”
Erik was curious. But he’d been taught that looking at pictures of people without clothes on was wrong. If he was curious, he needed to talk to his parents about it.
“Can’t we do something else?” he pleaded.
The boys agreed to turn on a movie, and Erik moved to the back of the room, trying to become invisible.
Just a few minutes into the movie, Erik felt uncomfortable when more bad images filled the screen. He slowly stood up, mumbling, “I think I’ll go home now.”
None of the other boys seemed to notice as Erik walked up the stairs and slipped out the front door.
Squinting into the afternoon sun, Erik began walking home. He felt tired, sweaty, and lonely, but he also felt peaceful. He felt good about his decision. And when he told his parents about the afternoon, they hugged him and told him they were proud of him.
At school on Monday, Erik thought the boys would have forgotten about the weekend. But when he walked to his usual seat at the lunch table, Cody teased, “Was the movie too scary? Did you have to go home to your mama?”
“You might want to sit somewhere else,” another boy said. “What we’re talking about is too mature for you.”
As the days and weeks went on, the boys kept teasing Erik. They still passed the ball to him and complimented him on good plays. But they didn’t invite him to post-game parties.
After the last game of the season, Cody caught up with Erik. “You could come to the party, but you’d probably have to call your mommy. See ya.”
Once again, Erik rode home with his dad. “I thought things would be different by now. I thought the boys would respect me. I thought they might even change what they watch because of my example. Aren’t we supposed to be blessed for doing what’s right?”
Dad nodded. He was silent for a minute, then said, “We are always blessed when we follow Christ, but sometimes we aren’t blessed in the way we expect. You know Mom and I pay tithing every month, but I still lost my job last year and we had trouble paying our bills. We were blessed, but not with money. You chose the right, and while that doesn’t mean you’ll be blessed with friends, you will be worthy to pass the sacrament when you turn 12 next year. And you’ll be worthy to go to the temple.”
Erik nodded. “I know you’re right. But I’m still really lonely at school.”
“You’ll make good friends, but it might take some time,” Dad said. “And remember, every good person stands alone at times. Christ stood alone. You can turn to Him when you need help.”
Erik bit his lip and stared out the window.
“Do you know why we’re careful about what we read, watch, and listen to?” Dad asked.
“Because we want to have the Holy Ghost with us?”
“Exactly,” Dad said. “Pornography offends the Holy Ghost. Trust me, you want the Holy Ghost as your friend. He will help you with everything you do. You also have your mom and me and your siblings. We love you. We will always want to spend time with you.”
Dad reached over and ruffled Erik’s hair. “It’s not the team party,” Dad said, “but we could stop and get ice cream to share with the family when we get home.”
Erik smiled back at Dad. “That sounds better than the team party.”

I had spent my 16th summer working at a dude ranch and returned home with two hundred dollars, more money than I had ever had before. I entertained so many different ways to spend it that by the Christmas season I still had it all.

I was old enough to understand the worried glances my parents exchanged at comments my brothers and sisters made regarding their Christmas wishes. Dad had recently recovered from a serious illness, and medical costs had made a sizable dent in my parents’ Christmas budget.

I approached Mom with a suggestion that she and Dad use my money, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She explained that they had decided to forego giving anything to each other and would just make sure Santa made his visit.

It wasn’t too many days later that I heard my parents discussing an offer made to Dad. He had been snowmobiling again with his friend Bob. It wasn’t hard to see how much Dad and my brothers enjoyed this winter sport. They returned from their snowmobiling ventures full of enthusiastic stories. Now Bob had offered to sell the snowmobile to Dad for a reasonable price.

Without realizing, I had crept closer to their room where I could hear every word. Mom said, “I know two hundred dollars is a good price. Do you think we could do it?”

After a long pause, I heard a deep sigh that said so very, very much, followed by Dad’s voice, “No, I just don’t think so.” Another long pause, then, “There’ll be other times.”

I stole away to my room while my thoughts ran like wildfire. Two hundred dollars … two hundred dollars. That was every cent I owned. It would close my account entirely.

I got ready for bed, and after turning out the light, I could picture my family riding that snow-mobile. All night we chased snowflakes in my dreams.

With the light of the foggy winter dawn, I felt calm. I found a few moments to myself to call Bob.

“Bob, this is Louise, Ellis’s daughter. … Yeah, he’s had a lot of fun on that machine. Listen, I … uh … understand that you offered to sell it to him for (gulp) two hundred dollars. Is that correct?”

“Well, I heard them talking about it last night and they decided they couldn’t buy it. So what I’m wondering is … uh … if they decide they can’t for sure, could I buy it from you for that price? I could? Thanks! Thanks so much! … Yes, it would be a surprise, so don’t let on, okay? Thanks.”

I hung up the phone and tried not to think about it for the rest of the day. It was not a spontaneous act of selflessness. I had to wean myself from my money, avoiding thoughts of how long it had taken to earn it and all the other ways I had planned to spend it.

The days crawled by. Christmas Eve finally came. After midnight Bob’s sons would sneak over with the snowmobile and park it on the lawn where we would be sure to see it. Anticipation made sleep difficult.

Christmas morning brought shouts as the younger ones raced downstairs to see if Santa had come.

The drapes were drawn in the living room. I sneaked a peek and caught my breath. There it was! A huge red bow adorned it, and Bob’s sons had shined it till it sparkled.

I can’t remember what I received that year. Mom gave me a quizzical look once. I guess my excitement for what I knew was about to happen overrode what my enthusiasm should have been.

I kept waiting for someone to open the drapes, but no one thought of it. Finally my brother David glanced outside to check the weather.

I’ll always cherish the look on his face. He’s the family’s mechanic, and to him that machine represented tinkering at its best.

David approached Dad and asked in a low voice, “What’s that out on the lawn?” Dad’s questioning took was authentic, so David knew Dad didn’t know either.

They walked back to the window and Dad looked out. I almost laughed aloud at their sharp, surprised looks at one another. In unison, they looked at Mom, who was still helping the youngest ones open and assemble toys.

Dad bent down and gave her a big kiss. He started to thank her and ask how she managed it. Her look of surprise was also authentic. Now all three went to the window. I ducked my head. One look at my foolish grin would give it away.

After a few moments of murmured exclamations, Dad and David threw on coats and went outside to investigate. David revved the machine and spun it around the yard. He was in his glory. They searched it for a card.

The noise of the snowmobile drew the rest of the family to the window, and I oohed and aahed with them. I could see Mom studying me carefully, and I knew the game was over.

It was at that moment, on that frosty Christmas morning when I had helped fill a Christmas wish, that I knew the real meaning of the old cliché about it being better to give than to receive.

I want to acknowledge a wonderful group of new accounting majors that it was my privilege to teach this last winter semester. Those who major in Marriott School programs know of the intensity of the junior core year in the School of Accountancy. My course forms part of this core curriculum. My students were all deeply involved in wrapping up the most intense academic year of their lives. They had worked hard, but they had stayed engaged. These were terrific colleagues in the classroom, and I was blessed to be a part of their semester. One e-mail sent to me shortly after the close of the semester resonated strongly with me as I prepared these remarks for you. With the permission of a good student, I share with you part of his e-mail.

A few days ago I thought of the junior core when I was reading Press On, a book by Elder Wirthlin. He shared a story of a psychology professor at the University of Chicago who spent 25 years studying what makes people happy. The professor concluded, “The best moments [in our lives] usually occur when a person’s body or mind is stretched to its limits in a voluntary effort to accomplish something difficult and worthwhile.” . . . The junior core is similar to serving a mission. Sometimes the days never seem to end; sometimes you wonder what you got yourself into; sometimes you question if all the work is worthwhile if you cannot see the results of your efforts. Then, all of a sudden, it does end. Ironically, you wish it wasn’t ending because you look back and see how you’ve grown, you see the experiences that have pushed and stretched you, and you see the friendships that have developed through months of hard work.27

I smile a little now when I remember my second attempt. I had discovered that righteousness had something to do with getting rid of all those sins I was treasuring, and so I decided to simply stop sinning. Now, getting rid of one’s sins is not funny or easy but the methods I used seem almost embarrassing. I was, however, sincere.
In order to get rid of my sins, I found that I first had to discover what they were. I began by comparing myself with others. It didn’t take too long before I began thinking that maybe I wasn’t so bad, after all. In fact, I really began to enjoy this step. And while I concentrated on other people’s faults, my guilt and frustrations really seemed to ebb. So it was not effective. For awhile I had been able to pretend that I didn’t really need to change, but I couldn’t keep that illusion forever. My conscience wouldn’t let me smother my own sins completely.
I was a little more wary when I tried a second time to identify my sins. I reflected on what sin was and what it wasn’t. I found I was actually just postponing any real action; but I found that I really was able to become more objective about who I was and what I needed to change.
I could see that I had been trying to rationalize my sins away, thinking that many warnings in the scriptures and by modern-day prophets simply didn’t apply to me. By thinking that way, I had effectively put myself above most everyone else. But as soon as I was able to honestly acknowledge my sins, I was less fearful—even almost eager—to get rid of them.
I promptly designed a program to get rid of my sins. My program was just to tell myself I would not sin—I would not think impure thoughts; I would never lie; I would not procrastinate; I would not lose my temper. It took several failures, trying again and again, to discover two more important things: first, when I tried to avoid sin, and was successful, I would consistently receive a confirming, warm feeling from the Holy Ghost. Second, I discovered that some of the things I told myself over and over not to think about actually came into my mind more often as a result.
A big part of my problem at this point, I can now see, was that I saw my sins as a kind of contest—them against me. I thought I had to struggle, to fight against them, that righteousness was obtained by willpower. That perspective just perpetuated the situation. My problem in this stage was my perspective. I was trying to not do things instead of trying to do things. Instead of defining my sins, I should have been defining those attributes I wanted to have.
The outcome of this attempt at righteousness, then, was that most of my sins with a view of myself as essentially a failure.
My next reaction was as ineffective as the others. I lost hope. I decided that I needed to accept reality—accept the fact that I could not change—and then just try to be as honorable a person as I could under the circumstances. I had assumed that I could not change enough to be a celestial person. The real problem was that I had not learned how to change at all.
This was probably the most unhappy time of my life. The habits of Church activity were so ingrained in me that I did not withdraw from participation. Instead, I found that fulfilling church assignments in a mediocre way is remarkably easy. I did my home teaching, for example, quite regularly, but usually at the end of the month and carelessly. My mind wandered regularly during worship services. I was still doing all the right things outwardly, but inside I was feeling sorry for myself, sure that God could not and did not love me, and despairing of any kind of reward after mortality.
Most of us go through these feelings in some degree at some time in our lives. We shy away from the disapproval that will come if we withdraw totally from Church activity, yet we find ways to resist full and honest commitment. We become an in-between person. For example, we may teach Sunday School—but never really think seriously about or understand the lesson. We may accept some welfare assignments because we can’t find a good excuse not to. We may find some fault with speakers, leaders, or those who appear to be a bit hypocritical. Our prayers may be stilted and routine. We may see the Church as something that’s trying to control us—a large, complex institution dispensing pressure and guilt-causing messages. And we pull away from others and keep most of our guilt and frustration to ourselves.
I can’t recall telling anyone that I felt this way. I do know that my life had little direction.
But I couldn’t tolerate this melancholy and loneliness indefinitely; I had always been a happy person. My loneliness had made me realize that I and no one else was responsible for improving my spiritual life.
When I realized that self-esteem was more important to me than others’ opinions, I was suddenly free to make a whole new set of choices. As long as my self-esteem had been dependent on others’ opinions, I had not been free to decide for myself what I should and should not do. I had not been free to choose—or even understand—righteousness, because I had already decided that righteousness was a complicated set of external criteria that I had to meet.
But true freedom of choice, I discovered, came only when I could see myself as a unique child of God, responsible to promote my own eternal welfare. I discovered, too, that this kind of concern for self is not selfishness. We are only selfish when we neglect to give equal concern to others.
There may be more than one reason for the things we do or say. A compassionate act may be motivated both by selfishness and by a desire for the satisfaction or happiness that comes through giving. This does not mean that the giver is selfish. Wanting to do something righteous because it makes you feel good is not a bad reason.
Armed with these experiences and insights—the memory of my desolation and the feeling that I could change—I pondered again what was righteousness. The recollection of the Lord’s message to me as a student in a Brigham Young University Book of Mormon class came back with great force. I had learned then that the Book of Mormon was divine, but far more significant to me now was the simple realization that God was there. I had asked and he had revealed his existence to me.
And why was this discovery so important? Because knowing God is the basis of righteousness (see John 17:3). God reveals himself to us because he loves us, but also so we can become like him.
I had not realized that my nature was of the same stuff as his nature and that I thus had the power within me to refine myself (see D&C 58:28). The Savior said, “The kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21). And he also said, “Seek ye first the kingdom of God” (Matt. 6:33). I learned that I have to work until I create those righteous conditions within.
And it seemed to me that the most exquisite, joyful thing I found as I approached the Lord was the peace of mind, the overwhelming love that comes from communion with him. Before, desire for this communion had seldom been a reason for anything I had done. But now, at last, I had found an unfailing guage for righteousness.
My worth and my progress, then, would not be measured by how famous, wealthy, powerful, or even well-liked I could become, nor by many other unsatisfactory standards, regardless of how popular or accepted they might be. My worth would be determined by how often the Holy Ghost revealed to me that I had succeeded in becoming more like the Father. True righteousness, I had discovered, was learning about and becoming like God.
After identifying, through study, some of the characteristics of our Heavenly Father, then I found three steps in trying to adopt those characteristics, in trying to become more like the Lord.
First, I found I needed to exercise, without any external pressure, my free agency to choose to do or think what Heavenly Father would want me to do or think. This was a conscious choice, an effort—but one I wanted to make, not a struggle or a fight. Next, I had to follow that choice with action. And the third part was communion with the Holy Ghost, a witness that my choice was good, evidence that I was making progress and reconfirmation that my Heavenly Father loves me.
Let me give an example. My first attempt at becoming like Heavenly Father was to try to control my moods. I had noticed that occasionally I came home from work tired and unhappy. When I brought those feelings into the home, I was not being a good husband and father. I decided that I would be growing more like the Lord if I could come home daily to my wife and children cheerful and pleasant. I freely chose—and wanted—to try to do that. I acted on that choice and discovered, through experimentation, that I could change my mood. One little device I used to help me was to pick a building five minutes away from my home. On my way home from work, that building was a signal for me to turn my thoughts to my family and how anxious I was to see them. I consciously remembered fun times playing with my children or being with my wife. Or I would review in my mind the rewarding things about being a husband and a father. These things were effective for me. I can now come home cheerful most of the time. And I have felt the approval of the Lord for my effort, a tremendous motivation in itself for making and acting on other decisions to be more like God.
As my desires to be more like God grew, these three steps toward righteousness caused a radical change in my perspective toward my church responsibilities, my family, and myself. Instead of doing my home teaching just to get it done, I now find myself wanting to go because I know it will help me create a godlike characteristic. The motivation is strong—I grow, and the people I teach also benefit. Instead of thinking that fulfilling all church responsibilities equals righteousness, I realize that Church programs are simply one of the best places to practice desired character traits—one trait obviously being learning to love and serve others. Instead of attending sacrament meeting out of habit or from fear of disapproval, I can go knowing that there I can develop my ability to communicate with the Lord’s spirit.
The family is probably the most important setting for helping us create godlike personalities. I have sensed an attitude change here, too, from a tendency to see children as objects of loving obligation to an awareness that a family is the finest source of growth and joy I can possibly have and the finest place to help others discover joy and identity. I feel a need to savor each moment of teaching, laughing, loving, working, and growing together.
My perspective has also changed about my sins and my struggle with them. I have experienced just enough of this process toward righteousness to know that my sins disappear as I replace them with a trait like my Heavenly Father’s. The energy I once gave to contain anger, for example can now be directed into choosing to be gentle, and then following that choice. The anger simply goes away because there is no time for it. I am more concerned with teaching and loving.
Those who know me best—myself, especially—could not stretch their imaginations enough to say that I have achieved any remarkable state of righteousness. I feel frustration when I discover a choice that would bring joy but I cannot fully act on it. I’m sure others have made that same discovery. But I have experienced the joy and strength that comes with the blessing of at last having the right goal.
At the final day, I suspect God will ask me two questions. The first, “What have you done?” will be the more easily answered. To the second, “Whom have you become?” I earnestly hope I can reply, “Like thee.”

I am indebted to Elder Dallin Oaks for an account, a modern-day parable which I refer to as the parable of the bushy-tailed squirrel, the tree, and the dog, which illustrates my concern:
As two men walked across an eastern university campus, they were attracted by a crowd of people surrounding a large maple tree. As they approached, they noticed that the crowd was being amused by the antics of a fox-tailed squirrel circling the tree, climbing it, and running back down again. A red Irish setter dog crouched nearby, intently watching the squirrel. Each time the squirrel ran up the tree out of sight, the dog would slowly creep towards the tree. The squirrel paid little attention as the dog crept closer and closer, patiently biding its time. People watching this entertaining drama unfold knew what could happen, but they did nothing until in a flash the dog—catching the squirrel unaware—had it in the grip of his sharp teeth.
The people then rushed forward in horror, forcing the dog’s mouth open to rescue the squirrel. It was too late. The squirrel was dead. Anyone could have warned the squirrel or held back the dog. But they had been momentarily amused and had watched silently while evil slowly crept up on good. When they rushed to the defense, it was too late.

The years since my mission have provided opportunities for the fulfillment of those missionary promises. I returned home to marry my high school sweetheart, Christine Swensen. She is a wonderful companion, and I love her dearly. As a registered nurse, she worked helping us to get through dental school. As school was drawing to a close and our sixth wedding anniversary was upon us, we were still without children. Then a door opened and an opportunity presented itself, and Ashley came into our lives. Our dear, precious Ashley.
A year later we traveled to Bolivia to bring Joshua home from an orphanage. He was two years old. I can still see that beautiful little boy walking to me with outstretched arms, saying, “Papa, Papa.”
Megan then joined us, not even twenty-four hours old when we brought her home. Then back to Bolivia for Daniel, five months old when we held him for the first time.
Several years later, while I was presiding over the Mexico Merida Mission, Jennifer joined our family—a beautiful two-week-old Guatemalan baby girl born in Mexico. She opened the hearts of our missionaries and members in southern Mexico. Natalie Joy came into our family three weeks before our mission ended. Her middle name, Joy, is an eternal reminder of the witness we received that she should be included in our family.
After sixteen years of marriage and six adoptions, Anne and Andrew naturally joined our family, to the joy and happiness of their brothers and sisters. As a family, we are forever grateful for the binding and sealing effect the temple provides for the members of Jesus Christ’s church.
With special promises made to the Lord under the stars in Bolivia at Easter time 1968, there is not a day goes by but that Chris and I embrace our children and feel of God’s love for all of His children. And now, as with Easter 1968, for me Easter season 1995 will be one never to be forgotten.

I have been persuaded, almost against my better judgment, to tell a story. I ask for your indulgence and forgiveness because it involves my experience. Hopefully, the lesson I learned from it might be of some help to you.
In the fateful war year of 1942, I was inducted into the United States Air Force as a private soldier. One cold night at Chanute Field, Illinois, I was given all-night guard duty. As I walked around my post, shivering, and at the same time trying to stay awake, I meditated and pondered the whole miserable long night through. By morning I had come to some firm conclusions.
I was engaged to be married, and knew that I could not support a wife on a private’s pay of $50 per month. I felt I needed to become an officer. In a day or two, following my all-night vigil, I filed my application for officer’s school. Shortly thereafter, on the appointed day, I was summoned, along with some others, before the Board of Inquiry looking into my qualifications and aptitude. My qualifications were sparse, but I had had two years of College and had finished a mission for the Church in South America. I was twenty-two years of age and in good physical health. Possessing only these few qualifications, I was grateful to be able to put on my application that I had been a missionary for the Church.
The questions asked of me at the officers’ Board of Inquiry took a very surprising turn. Practically all of the questions centered upon my missionary service and my beliefs. “Do you smoke?” “Do you drink?” “What do you think of others who smoke and drink?” I had no trouble answering these questions.
“Do you pray?” “Do you believe that an officer should pray?” The officer propounding these last questions was a hard-bitten career soldier. He did not look like he had prayed very often. I pondered, “Would I give him offense if I answered how I truly believed? Should I give a non-controversial answer and simply say that prayer is a personal matter?” I wanted to be an officer very much so that I would not have to do all-night guard duty and k.p., but mostly so my sweetheart and I could afford to be married.
I decided not to equivocate, and responded that I did pray and that I felt officers might seek divine guidance as some truly great generals had done. I added that officers at appropriate times should be prepared to lead their men in all appropriate activities, if the occasion requires, including prayer.
More interesting questions came from my examiners. “In time of war should not the moral code be relaxed?” one high-ranking officer asked. “Does not the stress of battle justify men in doing things that they would not do when at home under normal situations?”
Here was a chance to equivocate, to make some points and be really broad-minded. I knew perfectly well that the men who were asking me this question did not live by the standards that I tried to live by, had been taught, and myself had taught. I thought to myself, “Here go my chances to become an officer.” The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I could still be faithful to my beliefs and respond by saying that I had my own beliefs on the subject of morality but did not wish to impose my views on others. But there seemed to flash before my mind the faces of the many people to whom I had taught the law of chastity as a missionary. I knew perfectly well what the scriptures say about fornication and adultery.
I could not delay my answer any longer, and responded to the question about the double standard of morality simply by saying, “I do not believe there is a double standard of morality.”
There were a few more questions, I think about whether or not I was trying to live and behave as we of our faith represent to the world. I left the hearing resigned to the fact that these hard-bitten officers who had asked these questions concerning our beliefs would not like the answers I had given, and surely they would score me very low. A few days later when the scores were posted, to my complete astonishment the score opposite my name read “95 percent.” I was amazed. I was in the first group taken for officers’ school, and had to be promoted to corporal to get into the school. I graduated, became a second lieutenant, married my sweetheart, and we lived happily ever after.
This was one of the most critical crossroads of my life, one of very many times when I have had to stand up, search my soul, and like all of you, be identified. Not all of the experiences in my life when I have had to stand up and be counted turned out the way I wanted them to, but they have always strengthened my faith and helped me adjust to the other occasions when the result was different.
From that and many other experiences, I learned that even though others do not share your beliefs, in fact may be hostile to them, they will respect you if you are willing to stand up and be counted.

I am not a great letter writer, but I enjoy receiving letters and keeping them so that I can reread them from time to time. As a matter of fact, I have a pen pal. Her name is Liv. Liv is a young woman from Harrisburg, North Carolina. She was eleven years old when we met. Shortly after we met, she wrote me a letter, and we have been exchanging letters ever since. Liv is now sixteen. Recently I received a thick envelope from her. Inside was a letter and a stack of different-sized cutout paper hearts. On each paper heart was a quote, scripture, or inspirational message that Liv said had helped her through this difficult pandemic period.

Liv wrote:
Back when everything was initially shut down because of the virus, I went through a hard time. I felt a lot of despair and sadness, and I worried that the world, which is already pretty evil and dark, was going somewhere even worse. I felt hopeless. But I tried to submit to Heavenly Father. I pleaded with Him to give me hope and light in the darkness. And as a result, I had multiple unforgettable spiritual experiences that filled me with empowerment, courage, and faith. My well of hope, which had been emptied, was filled back up by the love of God. . . . I [am] so grateful to God for giving me this brightness of hope.

Liv’s “heart-filled” messages could not have come at a better time for me. It was a very charitable act of service.

It all begins with the best of friends. One friend invites two friends to find out about something different, and then those two friends go about telling their friends and families about it. These friends and families in turn tell their friends and relatives, and soon it becomes one big chain reaction with a lot of wonderful twists and turns. And how did it really start? With a simple invitation.
Yes, that’s what 17-year-old Christine Siton of the Santa Mesa Ward, Manila Philippines Stake, always does. She invites people to know more about the Church. With the encouragement of her Latter-day Saint family (they are some of the first Filipino pioneers in the Church), Christine is always willing to let others feel the kind of happiness she feels as a member, while she tries to set a good example for her barkada, or group of friends. “The gospel and my family are the two greatest priorities in life,” she says.
And because of her example, 25 different people—seven families and four individuals—all became members of the Church. This remarkable harvest of souls came after she simply invited her two friends to seminary. It’s a story that seems too good to be true.
“A friend in high school, Bernard Vergano, asked about my beliefs,” Christine relates. Bernard was apparently impressed with Christine’s standards. “When our other friends decided to watch an obscene movie,” Bernard recalls, “she immediately separated from them, and that made me find out more about her.”
Bernard’s best friend, Richard Becerro, also noticed that Christine always carried and read some religious books. “I was curious that someone so young as her knew a lot of Bible verses,” says Richard, “and that she would even quote them to us when we got together after classes.” Bernard and Richard then found out that Christine was an active member of the Church.
One day Bernard asked Christine if it was okay for a Mormon to go out with someone who is not LDS. “Sure, it’s okay,” Christine replied, “but it’s better if the person is a Latter-day Saint.” A few days later, Bernard was sitting with Richard on a school stairway when Christine happened to pass by. Still mystified about Christine’s beliefs, Bernard asked her about the unusual classes she attended after school. Christine invited both of them to attend those unusual classes—seminary.
They didn’t think twice about attending. Soon the two friends became super-active seminary students, and that started a remarkable chain of conversions. Christine referred Bernard and Richard to the missionaries, and both agreed to be baptized. However, it wasn’t an easy decision.
“A Catholic school was offering us a college scholarship as long as we didn’t change our religion,” says Richard. And not only that, Bernard’s parents were reluctant to give their consent.
But so great was their desire to join the Church that they gave up the scholarships. And when she saw the positive changes in her son, Bernard’s mother gave her consent. The two friends were baptized, and with encouragement from Christine and other ward youth, they set good examples to everybody. And look what happened.
Bernard’s younger brother, Roger, saw the changes in his older brother, and he agreed to be visited by the missionaries. He was eventually baptized. Then, “my classmate, Mario Baniaga, got interested in the Church also,” Roger relates. Mario was baptized, and that, in turn, aroused the curiosity of Vicky, Mario’s sister. She was baptized too.
In between basketball games, Bernard introduced the gospel to another friend, Larry Rodelas. “I was wondering what got him to change his beliefs,” says Larry, who also agreed to listen to the missionaries. Soon Larry, his mother, Linda, and sister Eunice all joined the Church. But Bernard did not stop there—his other best friend and basketball chum Richard Virrey also joined the Church.
Richard Becerro, on the other hand, was such a good example to his family that his mother, Carmelita, and sisters Arlene, Irene, Crismilita, and Grace were all converted. “I became happier when I joined the Church,” Irene adds, “and I wanted my best friend to feel that kind of happiness, too.” That best friend, Flor Antido, was baptized, along with Naty Cruz, a friend of Richard’s mother whom she referred. And although Richard’s father did not become a Latter-day Saint, his good friend George Alegado did.
Doing things together has helped make this amazing link longer. As stake missionaries, Bernard and Richard visited with Brother and Sister Bangkong, a less-active couple. “We did a lot of fellowshipping with them,” says Bernard, “and we never stopped inviting them back to Church,” adds Richard. The couple came back to the Church and had their children Isaiah, Althea, and Desiree baptized.
The link also created new twists. Two of Christine’s cousins, Sharon and Shailani Realigue, noticed the special kind of friendship between their cousin and her two friends. Christine introduced the Church to them, they were baptized, and the two cousins started to help reactivate less-active young women. They visited with Margie Paragoso, and that led the way for the baptism of Margie’s mother, sister-in-law, and cousin. “I really think this wouldn’t be possible were it not for my cousin’s example,” Sharon says.
Many of these converts hold callings where they serve faithfully. Some are working with the youth also; Roger Vergano and Richard Virrey serve in the Young Men presidency, while Irene Becerro serves in the Young Women presidency. Many of them are also referring other friends and relatives to the missionaries.
The chain’s links are still expanding, this time in an even more interesting way. Bernard and Richard are now serving missions and in fact entered the mission field on the same month and are serving in the Philippines Cagayan de Oro and Philippines Davao Missions.
“When I share how it is to feel the Spirit to a family we’re now teaching,” shares Elder Vergano, “I can’t help but think of how I felt when Christine introduced the missionaries to us.” And, says Elder Becerro, “I always relate to our investigators how our family became closer after we joined the Church, because I know it can help them make the right decision.”
Right now Christine is serving in the ward Young Women presidency, and she continues to inspire other youth in setting good examples. “Before he died,” Christine recalls of her father, who served as a stake patriarch, “my dad would always encourage us to live the gospel in such a way that we could be a light to others.”
All of the Siton siblings are trying to do just that, with Christine leading the way. Looking at all the people who were baptized, she simply smiles. “Nothing can compare with the happiness I feel in knowing that I have become a part of somebody else’s life for good,” she says, “and I know that it all starts with living the gospel.”

Fabian is also helping with an elder’s quorum project. There is a sister in their branch whose husband died five years ago. Later she joined the Church. Her family disowned her and refused to help her and her two daughters. The branch is building them a home. Fabian helps work on the house with the elders. Sometimes the full-time missionaries and the young people in the branch also help. Fabian shovels sand to make cement, and under the direction of the elders, he helps with the building and cleaning up. He is happy when he is helping others.

“It’s my life! I’m not hurting anybody else.”
What most amazed everyone was that John* seemed so sincere when he said it. He really didn’t seem to realize that he was hurting people all around him. He obviously loved his family. He was, in fact, remarkably sensitive and thoughtful. He saved his money to buy his mother a figurine she admired. He cleaned the garage for his dad when he hurt his back. He was consistently kind to his brothers and sisters, especially Becky, who was two years younger.
John had walked Becky to school when she started kindergarten, let her wear his baseball caps, and listened to her talk about which boys were really cute. The day she registered for junior high school, he showed her how to open her locker.
John’s problems had started in the seventh grade when he had tried marijuana. He soon moved on to a variety of drugs. Despite prayers and counseling from both the bishop and professional therapists, he continued his drug use. He also began a life of flamboyant immorality. “Hey, I’m not hurting you. And I’m not hurting them. Every one of those girls knows what she’s doing. What we do doesn’t hurt anybody else. Besides, we’re careful.”
His whole family continued to love John and looked for ways to help him. Becky especially stuck by him, and he stuck by her. When Becky married Hal, John immediately put his arm around his new brother-in-law and said he’d always be available if they needed help. And he always was. He drove out into the rain to help pull a stalled car off the freeway. He helped clean the house when Becky was pregnant. He brought wonderful little surprises to his nephews as they came along. Sometimes he simply showed up with a bag of groceries and offered to fix dinner.
Then, suddenly, Becky needed a lot of help. When Becky became sick that summer, the doctors found that her constant cough stemmed, not from flu or pneumonia, but from cancer. Chemotherapy had very little effect; radiation helped but did not stop the tumor.
The cancer continued to spread so rapidly that the doctors said Becky’s only chance would be to have massive radiation. The problem was that radiation strong enough to kill all the malignant cells would also kill the healthy cells in her blood. They could be replaced by a bone marrow transplant, but the donor needed to be a person genetically similar to the patient, usually a brother or sister. When Becky explained the need, each of her brothers and sisters hurried to the hospital to give tissue samples.
A few days later, the entire family went with Becky to the hospital to learn the results. They sat together in the waiting room, watching anxiously as the doctor came toward them carrying a file folder and one of the little blue cards the lab technician had made for each of them.
When Hal asked if there was a match, the doctor said, “Possibly.” Then he asked which one of them was John. John stood, and the doctor asked if he would come with him for a moment. They disappeared into a small office. When they returned, John sat down dejectedly at the end of a long couch. The doctor explained that John was the only member of the family whose genetic pattern was a close match to Becky’s. He was, in fact, an excellent match, but he couldn’t be a donor, at least not for six months.
John’s blood test showed no infections, but his history of sexual activity and IV drug use put him at high risk for AIDS. If he were infected, he could pass that infection along to his sister. The doctor explained that there is no test for the AIDS virus itself. All that can be detected are the antibodies produced to fight the disease, and those take six months to develop. The hospital continued to look for a good match.
It turned out that Becky didn’t have much time, certainly not six months. Within a few weeks the cancer was so widespread that even massive radiation couldn’t stop it, and Becky was gasping for every breath she took. A friend, watching her labor to breathe, expressed his anger with John, but Becky simply said, “I knew when the doctor first told me about the tests that John’s lifestyle would make it impossible for him to help me. I forgave him then.”
Hal made arrangements for a burial plot and tried to explain to their children why Mommy couldn’t play with them anymore. Becky’s parents cared for their daughter and their grieving son.
And John? In some ways, his life changed. Yet his addictions and patterns of behavior are so strong that he has been unable to change them right away. But it’s been a long time since anyone has heard him say, “I’m not hurting anybody.”

As Brother Nakamura gained experience in the Church, the idea of being sealed in the temple and of serving the Lord in that sacred building grew in his heart. Then, in 1973 (about seven years before the Tokyo Temple was dedicated), the Nakamura family had the opportunity to travel to California to be sealed in the Los Angeles Temple.

While traveling to the temple, they almost missed some airline flights and even wondered whether their airplane would arrive safely. But their prayers for a safe journey were answered. Brother Nakamura says he realizes now how important that trip was. “My main goal after that was to spend time in the temple, especially serving with my wife.”

Like Bishop Caussé, I lived in a small branch of the Church during a good part of my teen years, and I was often asked to fulfill assignments and callings that would normally have been done by adults. For example, those of us in the youth program often took the lead in helping organize and run our activities and special events. We wrote plays, formed a singing group to entertain at branch activities, and were full participants in every meeting. I was called to be the branch music leader and led the singing in sacrament meeting each week. It was a great experience as a 16-year-old to stand in front of everyone in the branch each Sunday and lead them in singing the hymns. I felt needed and knew I had something to contribute. People depended on me to be there, and I loved feeling useful. That experience helped build my testimony of Jesus Christ, and just as it did for Bishop Caussé, it anchored my life in gospel service.

Jake could hear his little brother and sister arguing in the other room.
“Give it back! It’s mine!” Jared shouted.
“No! I had it first!” Lily argued back.
This sounds like a job for Super Jake! thought Jake.
In his superhero cape, Jake ran down the hall. He saw Jared and Lily arguing over a new toy truck. Jake leaped onto the couch. He raised his arms straight into the air.
“Super Jake says no fighting!”
He jumped off the couch, pushed Jared, and grabbed the truck from Lily. He held it up high so they couldn’t reach it. Super Jake had stopped the fight! He had saved the day! He was a hero.
So why were Jared and Lily crying?
“What’s going on?” Dad said as he came into the room.
“Jake pushed me!” Jared said.
“And he took the truck!” Lily said.
Dad frowned. “Jake, is this true?”
“I’m Super Jake,” he said. “I had to stop the fighting.”
“So you were being a hero?”
“Yep! And heroes do whatever it takes to stop the fighting.”
“Hmm,” said Dad. He patted the couch for Jake to sit down. “You know that superheroes on TV and in movies aren’t real,” he said. “They’re just pretend.”
Jake looked at his cape and nodded. “Yeah. But I like to play like I’m a superhero.”
“I know, and nothing is wrong with that,” Dad said. “But let me tell you about a real hero. He is the greatest hero ever. He has saved everyone.”
Jake’s eyes grew wide. “What powers does he have?”
“Well, he could walk on water, stop storms, and heal people who were sick.”
Jake’s mouth fell open. “Really? I bet he beat up a lot of bad guys!”
“Actually, he never hurt people. He taught them to be kind. He showed them how to love and help each other.”
That didn’t sound like any of Jake’s favorite superheroes. But he did sound familiar.
“Dad,” Jake asked, “are you talking about Jesus?”
Dad smiled. “Yes. Jesus Christ is my hero. He saved us all from sin if we repent. He set a perfect example for us to follow. And because of Him, we will all live again after we die.”
“I knew that’s who you were talking about!” Jake said. “I’ve heard some of those stories about Jesus before!”
“And those stories are true,” Dad said. “Jesus Christ is real. He’s not a made-up character. He lives! He is kind to everyone, and He wants us to follow His example.”
“So I can be like Jesus if I’m kind to other people?” Jake asked.
“That’s right! And I know you have what it takes to be a real hero!” Dad said as he ruffled Jake’s hair.
Jake smiled. He knew what he needed to do. He went to Jared and Lily.
“I’m sorry for pushing you,” he told Jared. “And I’m sorry for taking the truck,” he told Lily. “Maybe we can all share it.” They sat in a triangle and pushed the truck back and forth to each other.
Jake couldn’t stop smiling. Super Jake saves the day! he thought. And this time, he felt like a real hero.