Gospel Story Finder

And, speaking of Christmas, I am reminded of one of my favorite Christmas stories that illustrates the importance of individual acts of charity in the line of service. I heard it years ago, and although I am not sure of the source or even if it is a factual story, the point is clear.
It was just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so. It began because my husband Mike strongly disliked the commercial aspects of Christmas—the frantic running around at the last minute and the focus on gifts instead of people and our Savior. Knowing he felt this way, I reached for something special. The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level. Shortly before Christmas there was a nonleague match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters didn’t have headgear, and they dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, and they were a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.
We took every weight class. Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly. “I wish just one of them could have won,” he said. “They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.”
Mike loved kids—all kids—having coached Little League football, baseball, and lacrosse. That’s when the idea for his present came. That afternoon I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve I placed the envelope on the tree with a note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me.
His smile was the brightest that year, and in succeeding years. For each Christmas I followed the tradition—one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on. The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning, and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure.
The story doesn’t end there. You see, we ost Mike last year due to cancer. When Christmas rolled around I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike’s spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.

Not too long ago I was assigned by the First Presidency to interview a man who had been excommunicated from the Church for adultery. It had required eight years for him to work his way through the long and sometimes painful process of reinstatement in the Church, and now he was sitting before me in an interview to determine his worthiness for a possible restoration of his priesthood and temple blessings. I asked him this simple question: “My dear brother, looking back on this traumatic time in your life, how did it happen?”

Tears began to flow freely down his cheeks as he tried to respond. At last he was able to speak. “Brother Ballard ,” he said, “it all started the day I picked up a pornographic magazine in the barber shop. It was the first time in my life I had ever seen anything like that, and it intrigued me. I wanted to see more and more. And then I wanted to see things that were progressively more explicit. And then it wasn’t enough to just look at pictures—I wanted to actually participate in some of the activities I was looking at. Eventually I was untrue to my wife and my family and unfaithful to covenants I had made with my Heavenly Father in His holy house.”

The man continued through his tears: “I’m not trying to shift blame for the choices I made. I knew better than to do what I did, and I alone am responsible for my sins. But there’s no question in my mind that exposure to pornography played a significant role in my spiritual decline.” And then he asked me: “When you talk to the brethren of the Church, please warn them. Please tell them to be careful about the things they read and watch.”

Retiring from work, I entered a new phase in life to serve and volunteer wherever my skills were needed. My husband felt the same and wanted to use his skills as we embarked on a new journey of the great unknown: retirement and how to spend our time. We wanted to retire to give service, not just retire.
The motto of Brigham Young University in Provo is “Enter to learn; go forth to serve.” This inspired my husband and me to serve a senior mission. We are now serving as YSA specialists in the Sweden Stockholm Mission. We are volunteering in the community, maintaining missionary apartments, meeting weekly with young single adults for home evenings, taking them to the temple, and teaching English (my TESOL certificate is a blessing here).
As we retired, my husband and I wanted to serve and volunteer wherever our skills were needed. We are now serving as YSA specialists in the Sweden Stockholm Mission.

Not far from Peñaflor is the town of Talagante. It seems to be a newer town than Peñaflor, with less time for trees to have grown old and gracious. It has more the feeling of a sun-rich central Mexican pueblo, blessed with sunny plazas, sunny courtyards, and sunny streets down which Mormon elders go each day seeking the pure in heart. Two of the elders are Elder Valenzuela and Elder Arancibia. They are both Chileans, and they are good examples of why the future of missionary work in Chile is bright.

Today they headed for the central plaza to do some street contacting. “I was converted to the Church three years ago,” Elder Valenzuela said. “I have a strong desire to try to imitate the Savior, even though it be in a very small way. I have a strong testimony of the Church. I know that it is really the Church of Jesus Christ and that the authorities are directed by revelation, which comforts me. It is a living Church because it has the priesthood. And now, as the scriptures say, I must learn wisdom in my youth and try to follow from the beginning the steps and precepts that the Church has taught so that someday with much effort, I may achieve exaltation.”

Elder Arancibia said, “Belonging to the Church has meant a very great change in my life, and as I progressed, a desire was born in my heart that all the world should have the satisfaction and joy that comes from living the principles that He taught us and be able to work through his authority, the priesthood. This was basically what gave birth in me to this desire to share the gospel. I feel strongly in my heart that Jesus Christ is our Savior. In truth, I owe to him everything that I am. It is his life and his acts that have given me the opportunity of becoming clean and helping my brothers and sisters so that they can arrive at a knowledge like mine and share my joy.”

Elder Arancibia added. “I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of the Lord. Studying his life and understanding his works and teachings, I have felt in my own person the power of the Spirit of the Lord testifying to me of his divine mission. I could feel it too when the president of the Church came. I know that he too is a prophet of the Lord. The authority is still found on the earth.”

In the plaza they introduced themselves to passersby and set up appointments for later. The work was a little dusty, so they took time out for a shoeshine. Naturally they set up a visit with the shoeshine man.

Their shoes gleaming, the elders left the plaza to knock on some doors. Afterwards they went to the branch president’s house to discuss member-missionary work.

Then they had to go to the meetinghouse because the baptismal font needed cleaning out. With brooms in hand they got it ready for the next day’s baptismal service.

“When a person joins the Church a chain of consequences begins,” Elder Valenzuela explained. “His manner of living changes. His neighbors sense it. The whole neighborhood is influenced. The same thing happens throughout the whole community. Thus, the whole of Chile is going to become more righteous and the standard of living is going to rise because the gospel influences every aspect of life including the social, emotional, intellectual, physical, and spiritual. Everybody asks: ‘Where will inflation end?’ ‘How can war be abolished?’ But the thing that must happen before these problems can be solved isn’t a human thing. The only solution is to apply the gospel of Jesus Christ, to repent and live the principles of the gospel.”

Is it an advantage for a missionary in Chile to be Chilean? Both elders agreed that it is, because of greater cultural understanding and language facility. “But it isn’t really a large advantage,” Elder Arancibia said. “The power that really converts people is the power of the Spirit. If a missionary is true to his calling, he can communicate by the Spirit regardless of his language or nationality. We have found that when everything is right with us, when our part is done right, an investigator can feel the Spirit. There is a communication that is not only the words that come from our lips. God speaks with our voices, and his Spirit testifies to the truth of our words. When we rely on the power of the flesh, things often don’t work out as we would like.”

The font was soon ready for the service. Elder Valenzuela whisked off one last speck of dirt and looked at his handiwork with pride. “Many Chilean missionaries will soon be returning to their homes,” he said. “They are going to establish new Latter-day Saint homes, and the gospel will become even more deeply and firmly rooted in Chilean soil. And as this happens, the number of missionaries will keep growing. There’s no reason why the majority of Chile shouldn’t someday be LDS.”

A month ago, a personal friend of mine from the People's Republic of China sent me an email regarding his only daughter. Mr. Wang Fei, the former head coach of the Chinese Men's National Basketball Team, and I spend a great deal of time in China together training and instructing young Chinese athletes. Coach Wang Fei currently coaches a professional team in the Chinese Basketball Association and hopes to represent his country as the Head Coach for the Men's National Basketball Team in the 2008 Olympics in Beijing, China. I met Coach Wang Fei several years ago when he brought his National Team to train in Dallas, Texas. Through my conduct he learned at the onset of our relationship that I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You see, Coach Wang Fei is not a member of the church and prior to our meeting had no previous knowledge of our religious beliefs. Coach Wang Fei once asked me why I didn't smoke or drink as it is customary for his coaching staff to smoke and drink during meals. At that time a brief discussion of the word of wisdom ensued and interestingly enough, he now shelters me from inappropriate offers by other individuals and immediately steps in to introduce me to others as a "mormon" and explains to them our beliefs in the word of wisdom. He also out of the utmost respect for me and my beliefs no longer personally smokes and drinks.

For the purpose of this presentation, I would now like to share parts of Coach Wang Fei's email to me with you:

"My daughter graduates from high school this spring. My wife and I are looking at different universities in Europe and America for her to attend. Many of these universities are very well-known and interested in her attending. Being that she is my only child, I really want the best situation for her. I know BYU-Hawaii is a special university in a special place. I respect BYU-Hawaii, the people, your religion, and university rules and guidelines. BYU-Hawaii is a great environment for students from all over the world who wish to learn and be educated. My wife and I want her to be surrounded by good people. I feel that BYU-Hawaii will be the perfect fit for my daughter."

Isn't it interesting brothers and sisters, that through our conduct a person like Wang Fei, who has never stepped foot onto our campus and knows very little about the gospel, has a desire to send his only daughter to be apart of our special university?
Brothers and sisters, "go out and teach the gospel, when necessary use words."

Some bore tender testimonies. Let me share just two. Sister Guadalupe, a nonmember, lost everything. Then in the shelter of a little room in our chapel, she gave birth to a baby boy. She stated that the Lord had helped her escape. She learned that everything of the world is temporary and can be lost. She thanked the branch and the Church for opening its doors to her and for the assistance she received.

Blessed by an institute teacher who helped him learn French and prepare for a mission, Bishop Darmande Legbanon (left) encourages young people in West Africa like Alexis Ahouayito (right), now serving a mission in Zambia, to take advantage of programs like Succeed in School. He says Succeed in School will amplify their opportunities.
When Darmande Legbanon joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, he could not read, write, or even speak French, the official language of Benin. But with help from his stake president, he learned French in institute by reading the Book of Mormon and went on to serve a French-speaking mission. Today, he owns a successful welding business, mentors apprentices, and serves as the bishop of his ward.
Because he gained language and life skills through the Church, Bishop Legbanon now encourages young people in West Africa to follow in his footsteps. A two-tiered educational initiative—“Succeed in School” for youth ages 11 to 18 and “Gathering Places” for young single adults—is helping young people progress academically, spiritually, and socially. Coordinated through Area Presidencies and local leaders, these two efforts are blessing thousands in West Africa and other parts of the world.
The after-school program Succeed in School helps youth progress in school, prepare for higher education, and become self-reliant. So far, it has been implemented in several West African nations, where the majority of the program’s approximately 30,000 students participate. It also operates in Mexico, Haiti, Papua New Guinea, Vanuatu, and the southwest area of the United States.
With Succeed in School, “we’re signaling to … the youth of the Church: ‘Education matters. We care about you, and we care about learning,’” said Elder Clark G. Gilbert, Commissioner of Church Education. He and other leaders say that Succeed in School is a powerful way to help the rising generation increase their academic and spiritual capacity.
Leaders in local seminaries and institutes of religion operate the program, and stake and district leaders decide which resources will work best in their individual areas. Lessons and activities are based on global curriculum standards of education. The lessons supplement regular subjects and help students remain in school. Volunteer teachers from local stakes teach reading, writing, mathematics, and life-skills classes in local church buildings.
Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles attributes the success of Succeed in School to the “spiritual element” combined with academics. “We are seeing in many places in Africa [that student] scores on national exams, really, have soared just with that little extra attention that supplements in a very important way what they are getting in school.”
Another goal is to help young people pursue higher education, such as through BYU–Pathway Worldwide or vocational training.
Succeed in School classes emphasize:
Hope and faith in Jesus Christ and conversion to His restored gospel.
The importance of becoming lifelong learners.
The relevance and importance of the subjects taught.
Belonging and contributing to a collaborative learning experience.
As students improve their academic, work, and life skills, they also increase their hope in the future and develop their potential for higher education and employment.
While attending Succeed in School, Alexis Ahouayito, of the Republic of Benin, West Africa, learned skills that helped him prepare for a mission. He read the Book of Mormon every day, studied, and prayed for the Holy Spirit to be with him. He learned in the program “how to teach with the Spirit and how to teach with authority.” Now he’s Elder Ahouayito, serving as an English-speaking missionary in the Zambia Lusaka Mission.
His mentor, Bishop Legbanon, encouraged him to attend Succeed in School while he apprenticed at the bishop’s welding shop.
Another apprentice, Kodjo Dick Amenyovo, says, “The behavior our leaders show us—how they talk to us and how they teach us—motivates us to learn and to go on missions.”
When some of his apprentices began working for him, Bishop Legbanon says, some lacked the skills in French he once had lacked.
“But now it is easier for them to read and write, do mathematical calculations, and do lots of other things,” including preparing to become successful missionaries. Succeed in School has a lot of “good things in it, and it has helped my apprentices.”

I love to read my own grandfather’s missionary journal. His first entries are classics. He wrote: “Today I married in the Salt Lake Temple the girl of my dreams.” The very next night the journal entry read: “Tonight the bishop called at our house. I have been asked to return to Scandinavia for a two- year mission. Of course I will go, and my sweet wife will remain at home and sustain me.” I am grateful for a missionary heritage.

Thirty years ago, while my wife and I were preparing for our civil marriage and our temple marriage, we received a call informing us that civil marriages were canceled due to a strike. We received the call three days before the scheduled ceremony. After several attempts at other offices and not finding available appointments, we began to feel distressed and doubtful that we really could get married as planned.

My fiancée and I “called,” pouring out our souls to God in prayer. Finally, someone told us about an office in a small town on the outskirts of the city where an acquaintance was the mayor. Without hesitation, we went to visit him and asked him if it would be possible to marry us. To our joy, he agreed. His secretary emphasized to us that we had to obtain a certificate in that city and deliver all the documents before noon the next day.

The next day, we moved to the small town and went to the police station to request the required document. To our surprise, the officer said that he would not give it to us because many young couples had been running away from their families to get married secretly in that town, which of course was not our case. Again, fear and sadness overtook us.

I remember how I silently called out to my Heavenly Father so as not to fall. I received a clear impression in my mind, repeatedly saying, “Temple recommend, temple recommend.” I immediately took out my temple recommend and handed it to the officer, to my fiancée’s bewilderment.

What a surprise we had when we heard the officer say, “Why didn’t you tell me that you are from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints? I know your church well.” He immediately began to prepare the document. We were even more surprised when the officer left the station without saying anything.

Fifty minutes passed, and he did not return. It was already 11:55 in the morning, and we had only until noon to deliver the papers. Suddenly he appeared with a beautiful puppy and told us it was a wedding gift and gave it to us along with the document.

We ran toward the mayor’s office with our document and our new dog. Then we saw an official vehicle coming toward us. I stopped in front of it. The vehicle stopped, and we saw the secretary inside. Seeing us, she said, “I’m sorry; I told you noon. I must go on another errand.”

I humbled myself in silence, calling with all my heart to my Heavenly Father, asking for help once again to “not fall.” Suddenly, the miracle happened. The secretary said to us, “What a beautiful dog you have. Where could I find one like that for my son?”

“It is for you,” we immediately replied.

The secretary looked at us with surprise and said, “OK, let’s go to the office and make the arrangements.”

Two days later, Carol and I were married civilly, as planned, and then we were sealed in the Lima Peru Temple.

I hated being the new kid in school, yet there I was, new for the third time in less than a year.
I dreaded going to my seventh-grade class that first day. Who would talk to me? Would I be able to find my locker, and if I could, would I remember the combination? Would the other kids in P.E. make fun of my skinny white legs? What subjects were they studying? Who would I eat lunch with? Who would I walk home with?
I was scared to death.
That morning, I invented all kinds of excuses to get Mom to let me stay home from school for one more day.
“C’mon, Mom, I don’t even know where the school is. What if I get lost on the way and you never see me again?”
That didn’t faze her.
“Besides, I think I might have the flu. You don’t want to embarrass me by making me go to school sick, do you? I’ll probably throw up right in the middle of English class, and for the rest of my life, all the kids at school will remember me as the kid who threw up in Miss Van Horn’s class.”
That got a smile out of her, but she still didn’t give in. She handed me my lunch, wished me a good day, and pushed me out the door.
The first day wasn’t so bad. I found the school, I didn’t throw up, and my teachers didn’t ask me any questions I couldn’t answer. And I even made a friend. At least, I thought I had.
Craig, a popular kid in my homeroom, befriended me. He helped me find my classes, ate lunch with me, introduced me to some of his friends, and even asked me to stick around after school to shoot some baskets.
I figured Craig and I were going to be great friends, so I hung around him all the time. But one day in the second week at my new school, some of his friends pulled me aside at lunch and said, “Hey, why do you keep hanging around Craig?”
“Cause we’re friends,” I answered.
They laughed. “Friends?” smirked one. “He hates you hanging around him all the time at school. Why don’t you just leave him alone?”
Their words stunned me, and I struggled to keep a smile on my face as they walked away laughing. I decided, then and there, I’d stay away from Craig. If he wanted to be my friend, I’d welcome him, but I wasn’t going to be pushy.
Everyone wants to be liked and to have friends, but some people are so desperate to make friends that they’ll do almost anything. My shadowing Craig, for example, was out of character for me, but at the time I really needed a friend and I didn’t have the confidence that I would make friends by being my normal self.
As a high school teacher, I’ve seen students completely change themselves in hopes of winning friends.
Lora, a sophomore, was new in my school, and she had everything going for her. She was pretty, smart, athletic, and personable. Unfortunately, it was her first experience in a new school, and she had difficulty adjusting. She had never known what it was like to be new, to be a stranger, to be without friends.
In her desperation to make friends, Lora latched onto the first kids who showed an interest in her. Those kids were, in my estimation, less than desirable. They lived for the weekends when they could “party hardy.”
They welcomed Lora with open arms, and so she was sharing the shallow existence of those whose only happiness is found in alcohol, drugs, or immorality. Lora continued to be pleasant and active in my class, but she had changed. Her sparkling countenance was gone, and her academic motivation was fading.
It’s important to have friends, but friends and popularity aren’t worth self-destruction. One Church leader said it well when he advised youth to, “Seek not to be well known; seek, instead, to be worth knowing.”
It’s not difficult to get to know people if you involve yourself in school activities, talk to people, and act friendly. But sometimes the hard part comes in making real friends out of people you get to know. If, however, you’re “worth knowing,” you’ll have little trouble turning acquaintances into friends.
So then, how can you be worth knowing?
First, be interested in others. Martin H. Durrant, my former bishop and stake president, lifts my spirit every time I meet him. He always asks me about myself, my family, my job, or my hobby. His questions are sincere, and I know, without a doubt, that he’s genuinely interested.
But it’s not always easy to talk about other people’s interests. For example, a friend and I were finishing graduate school at about the same time. Every time we met he’d tell me in great detail about his research project and how it was going. In all the time we were working together, he never once asked me about my work and study. He didn’t seem like a real friend because he didn’t seem interested in what I was doing.
Once you learn to talk to others about their interests, practice being cheerful. Having a smile on your face forces you to be in a good mood. No one enjoys being around a grump or someone who looks like they’re carrying the world’s problems on their shoulders.
In addition to being cheerful, it’s also important to be a good listener. Sometimes when my wife has a problem or is struggling with a decision, she’ll talk to me about it. My first impulse is to stop listening, tell her what I would do, and advise her to do likewise.
It took me a while to learn that she didn’t want my advice; she wanted my willing ear. The next time a friend tells you about a problem, bite your tongue the minute you’re tempted to dispense advice. Let them say all they have to say; then give advice only if they ask for it.
And, finally, be a good influence on others. When I was a sophomore in high school, some of my friends started drinking and smoking. They knew I didn’t drink or smoke, but they began to pressure me to join their parties anyway. The more they pressured me, the more uncomfortable I felt, until finally I stopped hanging around them. I figured that if they were really my friends, they wouldn’t push me to do things I didn’t want to do. Real friends would never ask you to do something you shouldn’t.
Really, this friendly advice is basically what you’d do if you followed the Savior’s advice to “love one another.” If you really work at loving those around you, and show that love, you’ll be the kind of friend everybody wants.
It’s never easy being the new kid on the block, and making friends and breaking into social groups can be tough. Here are a few ideas you might want to consider.
Give yourself some time. If you’ve just moved to a new town, or changed to a new school, it will take a while to establish friendships. Don’t worry if you have to spend some time alone for the first few months. Take advantage of this time by participating in family activities, developing your talents, and learning about your new surroundings.
Don’t be afraid to make the first move. You can’t always wait for people to introduce themselves to you. Remember, they might be as apprehensive approaching the “new” person as you are talking to them.
Stay away from people who drag you down. If your friends force you to choose between them and doing what you know is right, it’s time to look for new friends. Pray for guidance when you are making new friends, and make a commitment to yourself to maintain your integrity.
Get involved. In addition to getting to know the kids in your ward or branch through Mutual activities, try joining a club at school, going out for a sports team, volunteering to decorate for a dance, or trying out for a play. These types of activities often involve teamwork, so it’s a good way to really get to know people who share your interests.
Be worth knowing. Think about the kind of person you would like to be friends with. Write down some of the qualities that person would have, and then work to cultivate those traits in yourself.

Scott sat slumped over in the backseat of the car.
“Are you feeling OK?” Mom asked.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he moaned.
But Scott wasn’t feeling well. In fact, he felt like he’d just been hit in the stomach. And it was all because of what Sister Thomas, the Primary president, had said during Primary that morning:
“Children, next week is the beginning of a new year in Primary. That means you will all advance to the next class and have a new teacher. Isn’t that exciting?”
Scott didn’t think so. He didn’t want a new teacher. He liked his old one just fine. She told the best stories, and she always smelled good. “Mom,” he said now, “I’m not going to Primary next week.”
His parents looked at each other in surprise.
“I thought you loved Primary, Son,” Dad said, keeping his eyes on the road.
“I do! I—I mean, I did,” Scott said sadly.
For family home evening, Dad gave a lesson about how changes are a part of life and how we should welcome them as opportunities for growth. Scott knew that his parents were trying to help, but he didn’t feel much like growing at the moment.
It was easy not to think about Primary during school. And on Tuesday, Scott had violin lessons that kept him so busy practicing that he almost forgot about Primary completely—until Wednesday. That’s when he found a note taped to his front door. It was a small piece of white paper folded in half and with his name written carefully on the front. Scott unfolded it and read:
Dear Scott,
Welcome to our Primary class! I have been watching you each Sunday, and I know that you are a boy who is trying to live the gospel.
I will send you a few clues about myself. Can you figure out who I am before Sunday?
Your Mystery Primary Teacher
P.S. I have black hair.
Puzzled, Scott folded the note and stuffed it into his backpack.
On Thursday, this note was on his door:
Hi Scott!
I saw you playing outside with your friends yesterday. I like the way you get along so well with them. That’s a good quality to have. Do you know who I am yet?
Your Mystery Teacher
P.S. I like to ride bikes, too!
Who could it be? Scott wondered. He thought about the sisters in his ward. He couldn’t think of any black-haired, bike-riding ladies.
Scott raced home from the bus stop on Friday. He was disappointed to not see a note taped to the front door. He dumped his backpack in the hallway and went into the kitchen for a snack.
“It must have blown off the door,” Mom said as she handed him a familiar-looking piece of white paper. She smiled as Scott read it aloud:
Dear Scott,
I’ve heard that you are an excellent reader. That’s great because we will be reading the scriptures all year in class. Would you come prepared to read 2 Timothy 3:14–15 on Sunday?
Thanks!
Y. M. T.
P.S. Sometimes I wear glasses when I read.
When Scott took out the trash on Saturday, he found another note:
Dear Scott,
Tomorrow is the big day! I’m looking forward to having you in my class. Do you know me? I know you!
Love,
Your (Favorite) Mystery Teacher
P.S. I will be wearing something with flowers on it.
On Sunday, Scott was up and dressed before everyone else. “I thought you weren’t going to Primary anymore,” his mom teased.
“Well, I’m only going today.”
The chapel was nearly full when Scott and his family found their seats. Quickly he scanned each row. He couldn’t believe that so many women in the ward had black hair. He noticed Sister Veatch with little glasses perched on her nose, but she wasn’t wearing anything flowered. And Scott tried not to giggle as he imagined Sister Cousins riding a bicycle.
The Primary room buzzed with excitement as the children located their new seats. Scott and his friends settled into the two rows marked for their class. They were surprised to find the teacher’s chair still empty.
Emily leaned over and whispered, “It has to be Sister Hernandez. She has black hair, and when she comes to visit teach my mom, she always wears those funny little glasses.”
“But what about bike riding?” asked Stasha.
“I’ve seen her riding bikes with her kids!” Tyler offered. It was then they heard the sound of chair legs scraping the floor behind them. The children stiffened and held their breaths as “the mystery teacher” slipped quietly into her seat. Together they turned and peeked over their shoulders.
“Dad!” shouted Scott.
“Hey, Brother Weatherford! Nice tie!”
The mystery teacher put a finger to his lips and winked at the class. “Welcome to Primary,” he whispered.
Scott grinned and turned back in his chair. I think I’ll keep coming to Primary, he decided as Sister Thomas stood to welcome the children to the first day in their new Primary classes.

I was in Arizona a few years ago, and the president of a stake told me about one of his boys having been called to go on a mission. The boy went to the patriarch before he left, and the patriarch gave him a blessing. He told the boy that he should be satisfied with the assignment he would receive. And he said, “You shall see floods to the right of you and floods to the left of you, and your life will be protected and preserved.” He was assigned to the East Central States Mission, and while he was serving there, there was a major flood. This missionary was marooned in Louisville, Kentucky, in a house from which he had to be rescued in a boat, and he lived to see floods to the right of him and floods to the left of him. I ask you, how could the patriarch have known that when he gave that blessing, except by the inspiration of the Almighty?

May I tell you about an experience another young man faced in school? He was eighteen years of age and I’ll call him Raymond also. This young man found himself in a speech class at a university. He received a scholarship from high school and was anxious to maintain a good grade point average. This somewhat directed him to this supposedly easy class. It wasn’t until the last day had passed for being able to transfer to some other class that the teacher said, “Students, you will be pleased to know that in the last twenty-five years of my teaching I’ve only given five A’s.”

Raymond’s heart sank. He tried transferring from the class but was unable to do so. Through the months he received B’s, B-’s, and once in awhile, a B+, but never an A. He was disheartened. Thirty days from the conclusion of the term the teacher stood up and said to the class, “You each have one last talk to give. It will determine half of your grade. You must (1) select an extremely controversial subject, (2) talk for twenty-five minutes, (3) make an actual defense of the subject the best you can, (4) be prepared to receive a purposeful attack upon you and your subject after you have finished, (5) receive a written critique afterwards from each student in the class.”

A great hush came over the class, mostly from self-doubt and fear. Some thought of talking on communism versus democracy, racial issues, birth control—anything that would be controversial.

Numbers were drawn to determine who would speak first. Raymond drew number nine. As the days went by and he saw the grueling experience each speaker went through, great fear mounted in his heart about what he should do.

He prayed about a topic, as I’m sure you all do concerning your school assignments. He could not seem to settle on anything. He was now two days away from the day he was to give his speech and had nothing in writing. The impression seemed to be constantly the same, “If you’re looking for a controversial subject, choose the Book of Mormon. That’s controversial enough.”

Raymond was fearful, however, because he knew he was the only member of the Church in the class. He also knew that the teacher was an active member of a protestant church. She had clearly made it known, throughout the entire semester as she taught passages from the Bible, that the Bible was the only revelation from God to man.

Raymond struggled with himself. He feared that the whole idea might backfire on him. But he finally decided to do it anyway. As a priest he had served a stake mission the previous summer and knew the old missionary lesson depicting the Bible and Book of Mormon as scripture to the Old and New worlds.

The day of his presentation he announced his subject as the Book of Mormon. A hush fell over the class. He began teaching semi-historically and semi-academically, with the thought to not offend. However, about halfway through, the Spirit of the Lord came upon him and he thought, “I can’t just tell them historically about this book. I don’t care what they think of me, or what happens to my grade. These folks are going to get it. The Book of Mormon is true. They ought to all know it.”

He ended up teaching the lesson pretty much as it was written to be given to investigators, bearing his testimony frequently, and even concluding in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

He then waited for the attack. To his astonishment, not a word was spoken by the students. The teacher tried prompting and persuading them to attack. They would not. No one would. Not one word was spoken. Finally, in frustration, the teacher said, “Be seated, Raymond.”

The written student reviews were all positive. Four or five wrote, “You have almost convinced me of the truth of what you have spoken.” One individual who was particularly critical of the other students’ presentations wrote, “I really would like to know more about your church.”

What great faith it took for this young man to proceed and to teach what he knew was right in the face of almost sure ridicule. You might be interested to know that to his delight, Raymond received an A in that class.

I sat one day some fifty years ago, as a young missionary, in the Montevideo, Uruguay mission home, being taught by our mission President, J. Thomas Fyans. He spoke of failure and of success, of Babe Ruth and baseball. I recorded the account as best I remembered it.
It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Thirty-five-thousand fans packed Shibe Park. Lefty (Bob) Grove, one of the greatest left-handed pitchers of all times, had just struck out Babe Ruth on three consecutive pitched balls for the second successive time. Babe went back to the dugout, tipped his hat politely, drank some water, smiled, and sat down.
Now, the situation was critical. It was near the end of the game, the bottom of the ninth. The Yankees were up to bat and the bases were loaded. Two men were out for the Yankees and the score was three to one in favor of the Athletics, the opposing team.
The excitement was tremendous.
"Strike 'im out again," pleaded the fans, as Babe Ruth approached home plate for one final turn at bat. Grove strutted around the pitcher's mound. It was clear that he intended to do just that. He threw the first ball. It was a foul.
"Striiiiirike one!" roared the umpire.
Babe got ready for the second pitch. It was too fast. He swung and missed. He swung so hard that he fell to the ground. The crowd was going mad. They loved it. Ruth finally regained his feet, brushed off his trousers, dried his hands, and got set for the next pitch.
Grove delivered the pitch so fast that not a single fan could see it.
Babe swung.
It took the crowd a minute to realize what had happened. The ball was never coming back. Ruth had just knocked the longest home run of his career and one, which of course, won the game for the Yankees.
Following the game, a reporter asked Ruth, "How did you feel after you had missed the ball twice?" Babe replied, "I began to feel sorry for the pitcher, because the law of averages was against him." The reporter persisted, "Didn't you think you were going to fail after those first and second strikes?"
Babe stopped, looked the reporter squarely in the eye--and said: "Those strikes were not a failure--they were effort toward success!"

Thirteen-year-old Sherrie underwent a 14-hour operation for a tumor on her spinal cord. As she regained consciousness in the intensive care unit, she said: “Daddy, Aunt Cheryl is here, … and … Grandpa Norman … and Grandma Brown … are here. And Daddy, who is that standing beside you? … He looks like you, only taller. … He says he’s your brother, Jimmy.” Her uncle Jimmy had died at age 13 of cystic fibrosis.

“For nearly an hour, Sherrie … described her visitors, all deceased family members. Exhausted, she then fell asleep.”

Later she told her father, “Daddy, all of the children here in the intensive care unit have angels helping them.”20

Such a family was Oskar and Albertina Andersson, who became members of the Church in 1915. After World War II, Oskar, Albertina, and seven of their children who had married members made the heart-rending decision to sell all they owned and “travel to Zion.” From 1949 to 1950, 29 members of the Andersson family left Sweden. Oskar and Albertina left their home, three children, and four grandchildren, whom they would never see again. They arrived in a desert and a city where the people spoke a language they did not understand. But for these faithful members, being close to the temple was more important than anything else.
Members of the Andersson family have since served as missionaries and Church leaders in all parts of the world, including as an Area President in Africa and a temple president in Sweden.

(Bill) Six months after we were married, we moved to Virginia where I enrolled in graduate school. Our progress in the gospel grew after several steps over a period of the next four years.
The first step in our journey was that we resolved to find a church together. Up to that time, we attended several different denominations.
(Dianna) The second step was meeting our first LDS members, another graduate student and his wife from Utah. Through their friendship and examples, several misconceptions about the LDS church were dispelled. We appreciated their strong values, religious involvement, commitment to family, and their deeper understanding of life. They were not only member missionaries, but also patient friends.
(Bill) Which led to the next step. It was during one of our visits in their home that they shared a copy of the “Book of Mormon” with us which had their testimony written inside.
(Dianna) They also introduced us to the missionaries. In fact, for the next two years we met most of the missionaries assigned to that community. After my husband accepted a position at Utah State University, we invited the missionaries to share the discussions. Needless to say, this was a big jump—even a giant leap of several steps.
(Bill) Another significant step occurred before our baptism when I received my first priesthood blessing, following a car accident which broke some bones in my hand. When the doctor learned I played the piano, he scheduled surgery to make the repairs. I received a priesthood blessing that all would heal well. During one of my final checkups, he commented that he was amazed that I was already playing the piano when another of his patients with a similar injury that occurred about the same time was still in a cast.
(Dianna) There were a series of other steps as well, including conversations with some of Bill’s curious and missionary-minded students at Utah State. As a nonmember, I was often asked by my second-graders about my membership in the church and I was invited to their baptisms. We were blessed with supportive friends and neighbors. But when we learned we were expecting our first child, we knew we needed to make a decision—four years after meeting our first LDS friends. We had procrastinated our spiritual progress long enough.
(Bill) These final steps included going to Heavenly Father in prayer and fasting, meeting with the bishop in the ward we had been attending, and then, with faith, setting a baptism date. Soon after that huge step, I received the Aaronic priesthood. Six months later, Lindsey, the oldest of our four daughters, was born and I received the Melchizedek priesthood and was ordained an elder so I could give her a name and a blessing.
(Dianna) Then we both received our patriarchal blessings, outlining some of the plans the Lord had in store for us in this life and the next.
(Bill) One year after our baptism, we prepared to go to the temple, received our endowments and were sealed to each other for time and all eternity. And Lindsey was sealed to us.
You can see there were a series of many steps —some small ones, some giant leaps—that we needed to take and each occurred. . . line upon line. . . and we progressed in our journey with faith in our relationship with Heavenly Father and his Son, Jesus Christ.

The plaintive strains of “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” floated out of the jail on the warm June air. The three prisoners listened intently as John Taylor, the singer, again sang the prophetic words, “In prison I saw him next, condemned to meet a traitor’s doom.”
Two evenings before, on June 25, 1844, Joseph and Hyrum Smith, falsely accused of treason and inciting a riot, had been taken to the Carthage Jail. A number of friends went with them to give help and comfort; four of the group remained. These four were John Taylor, Dr. Willard Richards, Dan Jones, and Stephen Markham.
All the next day the men had read and prayed together. They had written letters to their loved ones back home in Nauvoo and to government officials, pleading for their safety and for a fair trial.
Now it was the second afternoon of their imprisonment. As John Taylor finished singing, he saw a number of armed men with painted faces rush around the jail. They were followed by a mob who pushed up the stairs, firing shots to break the lock of the door, then shooting bullets into the room. Hyrum was struck in the face and fell to the floor, mortally wounded.
John tried to ward off the attackers with a heavy walking stick, but could not. He turned and ran to a window, but before he could leap out, a shot struck him in the thigh and another came through the window, headed for his chest. It was stopped by a gold watch in his vest pocket. According to Dr. Richards, who later wrote of the tragic afternoon, it “smashed into ‘pie,’ leaving the hands standing at 5 o’clock, 16 minutes, and 26 seconds, the force of which ball threw him back on the floor, and he rolled under the bed which stood by his side, where he lay motionless.” Meanwhile, the Prophet Joseph had been murdered by the angry mob.
Dr. Richards dragged the injured John into an inner cell and covered him with an old mattress for protection.
Because of the gold watch and the care of Dr. Richards, John Taylor lived to become the third president of the Church. He was born at Milnthorpe, Westmoreland County, England, on November 1, 1808. While still a young man, he immigrated to Toronto, Ontario, Canada, where he first heard the gospel.

July 1990: I had come home. I was back in Prague, in my native country of Czechoslovakia—a country I had left twenty-two years before. I left because I couldn’t tolerate the political climate of the time. Now, within a few months, an overwhelming change had been wrought in the country, and I was free to return.
I suppose I expected to feel the same as I had so many years before. But I felt like a tourist. Everything seemed smaller and shabbier, and I felt as though I had lost my family and childhood roots.
But a few days after I had arrived, as I was walking along a crowded street, I suddenly felt a kinship with the people around me. I was among my own people. A great feeling of love and belonging came over me, and I felt the joy of the freedoms that they had gained after forty-five years of strict control.

Sunday, March 27 [1836].—The congregation began to assemble at the Temple, at about seven o’clock … to witness the dedication of the Lord’s House. …
Presidents Rigdon, Cowdery and myself seated the congregation as they came in. …
At nine o’clock a. m. President Sidney Rigdon commenced the services. … He admitted there were many houses … built for the worship of God, but not one except this … that was built by divine revelation. …
I then made a short address. …
[The dedicatory prayer was offered next—see D&C 109.]
The assembly dispersed a little past four o’clock. …
I met the quorums in the evening. …
Brother George A. Smith arose and began to prophesy, when a noise was heard like the sound of a rushing mighty wind, which filled the Temple, and all the congregation simultaneously arose, being moved upon by an invisible power; many began to speak in tongues and prophesy; others saw glorious visions; and I beheld the Temple was filled with angels. … The people of the neighborhood came running together (hearing an unusual sound within, and seeing a bright light like a pillar of fire resting upon the Temple), and were astonished at what was taking place. This continued until the meeting closed at eleven p. m.