Gospel Story Finder

Toward the end of World War II, my father was drafted into the German army and sent to the western front, leaving my mother alone to care for our family. Though I was only three years old, I can still remember this time of fear and hunger. We lived in Czechoslovakia, and with every passing day the war came nearer and the danger grew greater.
Finally, during the cold winter of 1944, my mother decided to flee to Germany, where her parents were living. She bundled us up and somehow managed to get us on one of the last refugee trains heading west. Traveling during that time was dangerous. Everywhere we went, the sound of explosions, the stressed faces, and ever-present hunger reminded us that we were in a war zone.
Along the way the train stopped occasionally to get supplies. One night during one of these stops, my mother hurried out of the train to search for some food for her four children. When she returned, to her great horror, the train and her children were gone!
She was weighed down with worry; desperate prayers filled her heart. She frantically searched the large and dark train station, urgently crisscrossing the numerous tracks while hoping against hope that the train had not already departed.
Perhaps I will never know all that went through my mother’s heart and mind on that black night as she searched through a grim railroad station for her lost children. That she was terrified, I have no doubt. I am certain it crossed her mind that if she did not find this train, she might never see her children again. I know with certainty: her faith overcame her fear, and her hope overcame her despair. She was not a woman who would sit and bemoan tragedy. She moved. She put her faith and hope into action.
And so she ran from track to track and from train to train until she finally found our train. It had been moved to a remote area of the station. There, at last, she found her children again.
I have often thought about that night and what my mother must have endured. If I could go back in time and sit by her side, I would ask her how she managed to go on in the face of her fears. I would ask about faith and hope and how she overcame despair.
While that is impossible, perhaps today I could sit by your side and by the side of any who might feel discouraged, worried, or lonely. Today I would like to speak with you about the infinite power of hope.

“Families can be together forever through Heavenly Father’s plan,” Jessica and her cousins sang at their grandmother’s funeral. It was a sad day for Jessica because she would miss Grandma Tolley. She enjoyed the time they had spent together working in the garden, going for walks, and having weekend sleepovers. But it was also a joyous day because Jessica knew that Grandma had longed to be reunited with Grandpa, who had passed away 17 years before.
Later that day, Jessica and her mother drove to the cemetery to visit the grave site. “The roses and carnations look so beautiful,” Mom said.
“They smell terrific.” Jessica sniffed a pink rose.
“I’m sure Grandma was pleased with all the family and friends who came today. She enjoyed helping others and loved all people. The beautiful flowers show they loved her, too,” Mom said.
Jessica thought for a moment. Then she said, “At the funeral, Aunt Diane said that ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ was Grandma’s favorite song. Why was a Primary song her favorite?”
Mom smiled. “I’m going to let Grandma answer that question for you.”
“How can Grandma answer my question when she isn’t here anymore?” Jessica asked.
“We’ll stop by her house on the way home, and I’ll show you,” Mom answered.
As Jessica walked into Grandma’s house, it was dark and quiet. Quickly she turned on a light. Everything was still in its usual place. There were pictures of Jessica and her cousins hanging on the walls. A cherished afghan was folded neatly over the back of the couch.
Mom opened a small closet door. After a bit of searching, she pulled out a pile of worn notebooks.
“What are those?” Jessica asked.
“Grandma wrote in these notebooks throughout her life. They were her journals. There is one here that will answer your question.” Mom glanced through a few of the notebooks before she located the one she wanted. She handed it to Jessica. “As you read what Grandma wrote, you’ll find out why ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ was her favorite song.”
The next day was Saturday, and Jessica got right to work doing her chores and practicing her piano lessons. She even skipped watching cartoons so she could have more time for Grandma’s journal. Opening to the first page, she began to read.
Jessica was surprised. She had always thought her grandma and grandpa had been married in the temple. For as long as Jessica could remember, Grandma Tolley had done temple work each week with her friends. Temple work had been very important to her, and she had talked about it often.
All afternoon, Jessica continued to read. She was amazed at how hard Grandma had worked each day. She hung the laundry out on the line to dry. She carried buckets of coal down to the basement to burn in the furnace. She sewed clothes, planted and cared for a large garden, made her own bread, spent time with her daughters, and still did things to help other people. Jessica also enjoyed learning about what her mother was like as a little girl.
Jessica was so absorbed in the journal that she didn’t hear her mother come into the room. “Looks like you’ve been doing some reading.”
“Yes, I have,” Jessica said. “I didn’t know that Grandma wasn’t married in the temple. I think it would be hard to know that after this life you would no longer be together as a family.”
“It was hard for Grandma,” Mom said.
“But that doesn’t explain why ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ was her favorite song,” Jessica said.
“Keep reading.” Mom smiled as she left the room.
Jessica read until late in the afternoon. As she neared the end of the notebook, she was a little discouraged at not finding the answer she had been looking for. When she was about to stop for the day, Jessica decided to read one more entry.
“Have you discovered the answer?” Mom asked that evening at dinner.
“I think so,” Jessica replied. “Grandma loved her family very much. But because she was not married in the temple, her family wouldn’t always be together. Grandma prayed and worked toward the day they could go to the temple. The song must have reminded her of the day she was sealed to her family.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you sing that song when you were in Primary?” Jessica asked.
“No, ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ hadn’t been written yet when I was in Primary. Several years after Grandpa passed away, Grandma heard the Primary children sing it in sacrament meeting. She felt the Spirit so strongly that she was sure Heavenly Father was speaking right to her. Grandma loved the words because they gave her comfort in knowing that her family could be together forever.”
That night as Jessica knelt in prayer, she thanked Heavenly Father for a wonderful grandma. She also promised to live worthily to go to the temple. She wanted the blessing of an eternal family and the opportunity to be with Grandma Tolley again someday.

I was interested to read recently of a young British girl who learned in school about the characteristics of water along a shoreline that signal the approach of a tsunami. Two weeks later, on vacation with her family in Thailand, she observed those phenomena and insistently warned her parents and the people around her. They escaped to higher ground just in time when the December 26, 2004, tsunami hit south Asia. More than a hundred people owe their lives to that girl’s knowledge of certain truths of the natural world.

Trying to protect himself from the cold, Manco hunched with bent knees and pulled his pointed knit cap tightly over his ears. He was glad his brightly woven poncho hugged his body. A fierce wind swept up the rocky canyon, carrying snow as it came.
Impatiently, Manco shifted his weight. When will Papa come? he wondered. He promised me that it would be today. The boy’s stiff fingers touched the bamboo flute that had been tucked into his belt only this morning.
“My son,” his father had said with just a trace of a smile pulling at the corners of his wide, wind-wrinkled mouth, “here is the flute I have been carving for you. Today, I will teach you to play it.”
Manco felt a flush of pleasure as he remembered his father’s words. His father was Tupac, the finest flute player in the region.
Manco carefully noted the location of each of the family’s llamas and alpacas. When he was certain that the flock was safe, he drew the flute from under his poncho.
Tupac had carved the tiny finger holes and the mouthpiece with the greatest care as he sat by the cooking fire in their home high on the mountainside. He and his family grew corn and potatoes on the steep slopes there, and he and Manco climbed even higher each day to tend their small herd.
Manco put the polished wood to his lips. He wanted to send a shimmer of sound—a sound like the ones his father made—into the crisp air. But he knew he could not. He would wait until Tupac returned and taught him how to do it properly. And, he thought, I will someday be the finest flute player in all Peru. Someday my fingers will fly over the tiny holes, rippling like the birdsong I will play. And someday the women will weep at my songs of mourning, even as they shed tears when Papa played for Sinchi, who was called to the land of spirits.
Manco stood suddenly. He saw a small, dark speck descending the white ridge high above him. As the speck grew larger, the boy could see his father’s bright red cap against the snow, his face bent down to protect it from the icy blasts. He was struggling awkwardly to keep the wind from blowing him off the ridge.
The boy quickly scanned the hillside. One of the young animals was missing! Why had he not noticed it before? He had failed in his task. Now he knew why his father was having such trouble coming down the mountainside; now he could see the young llama gathered securely into his father’s warm poncho.
Suddenly Papa uttered a sharp shout. His legs twisted under him. He was caught in a snowslide!
The snow rolled over Papa’s dark figure, and Manco could see him no more. Manco plunged toward the rocky canyon that split the shoulder of the mountain. It would take a long time to descend to the bottom, then climb upward to where the snow had buried Papa.
Manco thought of going for help, but he knew there wasn’t time. Papa needed someone now, and Manco was the only one there.
When the boy reached the snow line at last, his arms and legs were like stones. His hands were bleeding, and his eyes were blurred with stinging perspiration and with his own tears. If only he could find Papa, he would never again fail to perform his tasks.
Searching the mass of snow and debris before him, Manco couldn’t see Papa anywhere! But wait—above the gasps of his own breathing, Manco heard a low moan. Swiftly he climbed higher and a little to the right. He saw a large, rough mound of snow moving slightly. “Papa?”
The boy tore at the snow with his bare hands. First he uncovered the young llama, which hobbled over to join the flock as soon as it was freed. Then Manco’s rapid digging uncovered an arm, then Papa’s shoulders, then his capped head. Tupac’s face was a strange color. His eyes were closed.
“Papa? Can you hear me?”
Tupac’s eyelids fluttered, then closed again. The look of tenseness and pain never left his face.
Manco pushed the snow from around his father’s limp form. He knew that he would not be able to get Papa home—it was too far.
There’s a shelter just over this ridge, he remembered. It’s only made of fallen tree limbs and branches, but it will be warmer there and out of the wind.
As Manco struggled to lift his father to a sitting position, Tupac came to and cried out with pain. But he struggled to his feet, saying, “I think that with your help, Manco, I can make it to the shelter.”
Evening shadows closed in on them as they made their way over the ridge. A few meters before they reached the shelter, Tupac slumped to the ground, overcome by pain and by his exertion. Manco was forced to drag his father the rest of the way.
Manco laid his father on a hastily made bed of twigs. He took off his own poncho and covered Tupac with it. Then he quickly cleared a space near his father, built a small fire, and set out to get help.
Manco soon found his uncles, who climbed up the mountainside and carried Tupac to his home. The boy’s mother and Cora, his sister, carefully tended to Tupac, cleaning and bandaging his wounds, and giving him soup to eat, and administering medicine. Manco watched anxiously until he saw his father fall into a relaxed sleep. Then the boy went to his own bed, exhausted.
It was late the next morning when he opened his eyes. His father, still in pain but feeling better, spoke his name.
“Yes, Papa?”
“The flock—is it safe?”
“No, Papa. I—I left them on the mountain.”
“You are the man of this house now,” his father told him. “Gather them and care for them. Go. And God be thy friend.”
Manco could not believe his ears. He was “the man of this house now”? But it was his negligence that had caused Papa’s accident. Papa knew why Manco hesitated, yet he called his son, who had erred, a man. The boy’s eyes stung suddenly. He bent over his father to hide tears of gratitude. “Yes, Papa. Thank you,” he whispered.
Manco stood, feeling somehow taller and older. He would not fail Papa this time. He would care for the herd alone.
Manco put on his poncho, pulled his cap over his ears, and went to the rough-hewn door.
“My son?” Tupac lifted himself slightly.
“Yes, Papa?”
“When you return, I shall teach you to be the finest flute player in all Peru.”

In the northern provinces of Canada there is a version of an old fable about two geese and a tortoise. They had a strong friendship. The story goes something like this: When fall arrived, the geese planned to migrate south for the winter. One evening the geese worried about the situation of their friend, the tortoise.

“It’s too bad that you can’t fly,” said one of the geese. “You will certainly miss us. How will you survive?”

“I have an idea,” responded the tortoise. “Why not find a good stick that you can hold in your beaks? I will hold onto it with my teeth. Thus, when you fly south, I will fly with you.”

“Do you think you are strong enough to hold on for such a long time?” asked the other goose.

“Certainly. I am very strong,” said the tortoise.

A few days later, somewhere over Montana, a farmer raised his eyes and saw something unbelievable: two geese flying over his head with a stick in their beaks and a tortoise holding onto the stick.

He cried out, “That’s incredible! Who had such a great idea?”

Knowing that it was his idea, the tortoise couldn’t resist and cried out, “It was I!”

And the tortoise fell.

May I share with you a story given by Elder Jeffrey Holland in the October 1980 New Era which clearly demonstrates what can happen to a person when life's focus turns to increasing in wisdom and stature and finding favor with God and man. This is the story of one Eli Peirce. Elder Holland says, "If there is one lament I cannot abide, it is the poor, pitiful, withered cry, "Well, that's just the way I am." I have heard that from too many people who wanted to sin and call it psychology. You can change anything you want to change, and you can do it very fast. It takes exactly as long to repent as it takes you to say "I'll change"--and mean it. As you know, the Brethren used to announce in general conference the names of those who had been called on missions. Not only was this the way friends and neighbors learned of the call, more often than not it was the way the missionary learned of it as well.

One such prospect was Eli H. Peirce. A railroad man by trade, he had not been very faithful in Church meetings, "even had my inclinations led in that direction, which I frankly confess they did not," he admitted. His mind had been given totally to what he demurely calls "temporalities." He said he had never read more than a few pages of scripture in his life, that he had spoken to only one public gathering (an effort which he says "was no credit to himself' or those who heard him), and he used the vernacular of the railroad and bar room with a finesse born of long practice. He bought cigars wholesale--a thousand at a time-and he regularly lost his paycheck playing pool. Then this classic understatement: "Nature never endowed me with a superabundance of religious sentiment or veneration; my region of spirituality was not high, but below the average." Well, the Lord knew what Eli Peirce was, and he knew something else. He knew what Eli Peirce could become. When the call came that October 5, 1875, Eli wasn't even in the Tabernacle. He was out working on one of the railroad lines. A fellow employee, once he recovered from the shock of it all, ran out to telegraph the startling news. Brother Peirce writes, "At the very moment this intelligence was being flashed over the wires, I was sitting lazily thrown back in an office rocking chair, my feet on the desk, reading a novel and simultaneously sucking an old Dutch pipe, just to vary the monotony of cigar smoking. As soon as I had been informed of what had taken place, I threw the novel in the waste basket, the pipe in the corner and started up town to buy scriptures. Have never read a novel nor smoked a pipe from that hour. Sent in my resignation...to take effect at once, in order that I might have time for study and preparation." Then these stirring words: "Remarkable as it may seem, and has since appeared to me, a thought of disregarding the call, or of refusing to comply with the requirement, never once entered my mind. The only question I asked myself a thousand times ... was: "How can I accomplish this mission? How can I, who am so shamefully ignorant and untaught in doctrine, do honor to God and justice to the souls of men, and merit the trust reposed in me by the Priesthood?" With such genuine humility fostering resolution rather than defeating it, Eli Peirce fulfilled a remarkable mission. His journal could appropriately close on a completely renovated life with this one line: "Throughout our entire mission we were greatly blessed."

During the course of his mission, Brother Peirce was called in to administer to the infant of a branch president whom he knew and loved. Unfortunately the wife had become embittered and seriously objected to any blessing being given. With the mother refusing to leave the bedside and the child too ill to move, the two brethren retired to a small upper room in the house to pray for the baby. Suspecting just such an act, the mother sent one of the older children to observe and report back. In the upper room the two men knelt and prayed until they felt the child would live. Arising from their knees, they saw the young girl standing in the doorway gazing into the room. She stood entranced for some seconds, and then she said, "Papa, who was that man in there?" "Brother Peirce" was the answer. "No," she said, "I mean that other man." "There was no other," said her father. "Oh yes there was," the child insisted, "I saw him standing above you and Brother Peirce, and he was all dressed in white." Now if God in his heavens will do that for a repentant, old cigar-smoking, inactive, stern swearing pool player, don't you think he'll do it for you? He will if your resolve is as deep and permanent as Eli Peirce's. In this church we ask for faith, not infallibility."

Thirty years ago, as a branch president, I was interviewing a man and his wife. The wife was tearing down her husband: he had not been the provider she had expected; he had not been the companion she had dreamed about before her marriage; they could not communicate together without arguing and attacking one another.
Her husband loved her, and yet she hurt him. There were tears in his eyes as he absorbed the verbal abuse. I couldn’t take any more as a twenty-one-year-old branch president, and asked, “Why do you hurt this person who loves you the most? Why do you hurt a husband who would do anything to help you?”
Her answer startled me. “Oh, I guess we argue and injure those we love because we can hurt them the most.”
I have never forgotten that incident. There is truth in that example. We can’t hurt a stranger as much as we can a loved one. We know just what to do to hurt our companions, parents, or brothers and sisters. We know where they are vulnerable. We know how they can be hurt the most by our actions. To many it seems to be a test of faith in life to be wounded by those closest to us. Of Jesus it is said in Zechariah that when asked where he had received the wounds in his hands, he would say that he “was wounded in the house of [his] friends.” (Zech. 13:6.) Isn’t it true that God, our Father, and his Son grieve when we sin? When we fail to be obedient and accept the atoning sacrifice of our Lord, aren’t we hurting Him who loves us most?

One-hundred-and-fifty youth from the New Orleans and Baton Rouge stakes in Louisiana volunteered for three days at a youth program for a national spina bifida conference in New Orleans. While their parents were in classes, the children and teens with spina bifida were entertained by the Louisiana youth. They played games, read, did puppet shows, danced, and just chatted. Spending one-on-one time with the children and teenagers was challenging for the LDS youth at first, but by the end of their youth conference the youth realized that although they were setting a good example by serving, those they served were the real shining examples.

Russ—Like our missionary who was so quiet. I remember in our first interview I asked if there was something I should know about him that would help me serve him better as a mission president. He responded, “Well, before now, I’ve never spoken to anyone except my own family.” Trying not to look surprised, I asked, “What about in school? What about friends?” He responded, “I don’t have any friends, and teachers never called on me, because they knew I wouldn’t say anything.” His response touched me. I wondered silently how he could muster the courage to serve a mission having never spoken to anyone outside his own home.

Lolly—He reminded me of a young woman I once had in my class who had this same challenge. I had it explained to me that every time someone spoke to her, it was as if a pit bull was ready to attack her. I could only imagine the fear she felt constantly.

Russ—My thought about our missionary was how could he possibly succeed as a missionary, since all missionaries do is talk to strangers all day every day? Should we tell them now what happened to this missionary?

Lolly—Not yet. They still need to wait a little longer. But when I think of this missionary I think about how much love he had for the Lord to come on a mission in the first place. If we look at the diagram again, we can see that love is the pure motive, and that missionary definitely had love in his heart.

Lolly—Now let’s tell them what happened to our missionary who grew up not speaking to anyone outside his own family. Just thinking about him now reminds me how eager the Lord is to bless us if we simply invest ourselves in His work.
Our missionary did not need to be redeemed from past sin. He needed to be strengthened by the Lord so that he could talk to others. After he had been serving for one year with companions who were committed to help him, he began opening up. In fact, in one zone conference he gave a training that was as effective as any we had ever seen. His fear of speaking to others was no longer visible.

Russ—I like the way you put that. Because he would still not be considered the most outgoing missionary in the mission—he still had a tendency to be quiet. But the Lord helped him move beyond his weakness.

I found Ginky yesterday. Boy, was I surprised! “Mom!” I shouted. “I found Ginky!”
Mom wasn’t surprised at all, and she told me a story: “When you were a tiny baby and round all over, your daddy brought you this blanket. He held you and the blanket in one arm and said, ‘Blanket, blanket,’ lots of times. You said, ‘Ginky.’ Dad smiled and said, ‘Blanket.’ Both of you were talking about the same thing.”
I had to laugh at that.
“Pretty soon,” Mom went on, “we all got used to calling your blanket Ginky, the way you did. ‘Here’s Ginky,’ your daddy or I would say, or ‘Won’t you let us wash Ginky just once, real quick?’ But you never wanted Ginky to be washed.”
“I didn’t want Ginky swooshing around in all that soap,” I told her.
Now Ginky smells kind of stuffy and dusty from being in the drawer so long. Ginky used to be soft. I remember stroking my cheek with Ginky and wrapping it around my arm (the one with the good-tasting thumb) before I went to sleep.
At first Ginky had a satin edging that I could curl around my fingers. I could make a scratchy noise on it, too, with my fingernail. But the satin is almost all worn off now.
Lots of babies have blankets. But there isn’t another Ginky.
You know, I took Ginky to bed with me last night—just for remembering. I didn’t really need to. I tried wrapping Ginky around my arm. I tried scratching the worn-out satin. I even tried sucking my thumb.
But my thumb just doesn’t taste good anymore. After a while, I got all tangled up in Ginky. I wanted to go to sleep, so I folded Ginky carefully beside me. “Good night,” I said.
This morning Ginky was still there, looking kind of raggedy on my pillow. I packed Ginky away in my special box. Mom says that when I’m a big person, we’ll open my box and look at all the things I saved as I was growing up.
My picture album and my doll without any hair and a drawing I made of a fire engine were in my box already. I think Ginky belongs there with those other things.

That evening, Holly went to the LDS dance, which is one of the highlights of social life for young Latter-day Saints in Calgary. After the dance, she brought home many of her friends to meet her grandfather, who received them with graciousness and humor. He made them all feel like old and valued friends, and they also felt the powerful witness of the Spirit that they were in the presence of a beloved servant of God.

Quinn Kesler of Holden, Utah, is rarely seen without a rope in hand—and not just any rope. It’s a lariat, or lasso, that Quinn uses when participating in the roping events at rodeos and competitions. He first got roped into roping when he was around six and went to his first championship when he was nine.
Now 17, Quinn is off to a right smart start in rodeo. His favorite event to participate in is team roping, in which a team of two works together to rope a steer. One is the “header,” who ropes the calf’s head, usually around its horns; Quinn prefers to be the “heeler,” who ropes the steer’s hind feet.
While he needs to have a good header to count on when team roping, he has an even more important teammate: his horse, Hickory. Quinn spends hours practicing roping, chasing after steers on horseback. The ranch dog, Roxy, chases after him, looking distinctly out of place on her short Dachshund legs.
The blue sky and golden grasses of rural Utah feel straight out of a Western movie, and it’s hardly a wonder that Quinn loves to be outside. He spends the better part of his day roping, training horses, or doing odds-and-ends chores around the ranch. Quinn started with a talent for handling horses, but he has worked hard and invested countless hours to achieve his high level of skill in roping.
But Quinn still makes time to fit in daily scripture study, prayer, and seminary class. “I love seminary a lot. It’s a big help in understanding the scriptures.”
Quinn knows that the same principles of time and hard work that he has applied to roping have also helped him build up his faith. “If you study the gospel, put everything you have into it, and be all you can, you’re going to get the best results,” says Quinn. “You’re going to have success, as well as a strong testimony.”
Quinn has seen firsthand how trusting the Lord leads to success. His first big roping win came during the National Finals Rodeo in December 2005. Going into the competition, Quinn, then 12, decided that if he won, he would donate all of his winnings to the Church’s general missionary and perpetual education funds.
The day of the event arrived, and conditions were poor. It was windy, making it challenging to throw a lariat with accuracy. But Quinn remembered his decision and trusted that he’d be blessed. He roped well, and though he was by the far the youngest one there, he placed first and third against tough competition.
Even though there were a few things that Quinn might have wanted to buy, such as a new saddle, he put his money where his mouth was and donated the money.
“It opened my eyes—if you’re going to do something good for the Lord, He is sure to help you,” Quinn says.
As his success has continued, Quinn has also continued to need that divine help. “The rodeo crowd can be kind of rough sometimes, with Word of Wisdom problems and swearing,” says Quinn. “It can be hard for some people to avoid getting caught in that sometimes.”
For many, alcohol and tobacco are a part of the culture at rodeo events, and companies that sell these products are some of rodeo’s biggest sponsors. But Quinn steers clear of those kinds of sponsors. “If I have committed to avoid it and it’s against my beliefs, why would I endorse it?” Quinn says.
Quinn has been offered a drink a few times by his roping buddies during a rodeo event. They joked around about his standards and told him that just one wouldn’t hurt. But Quinn refused.
When Quinn was younger, his father, Greg, told him that he would support Quinn in pursuing roping—if he did three things: kept his language clean, kept the Word of Wisdom, and stayed morally clean. Quinn also decided that he would keep the Sabbath day holy by not competing on Sundays. Knowing that he made those commitments early on helps Quinn stay on track. He knows where he stands, and for him doing what’s right is a simpler choice.
People have started noticing Quinn, and not just because he can rope a steer faster than you can say “Boy, howdy!”
“I want you to know that Quinn’s on the cover not just because he’s a great roper, but because he’s a good kid,” Greg remembers an editor of a roping magazine telling him a few years ago. Outside of competition, it’s Quinn’s standards that people really notice. He is “an example of the believers” (1 Timothy 4:12), of the Light of Christ, and of the joy His gospel brings.
“There aren’t a lot of guys in rodeo that are LDS. People watch me, and I know that I have to be a good example and live well,” Quinn says. “If you’re living right, people are going to notice.”
Quinn plans to leave the lariat behind for two years to serve a mission. He will be quitting less than a year after turning 18, the age of eligibility for participating in professional rodeo competitions.
“I’ll probably compete some and then have to put it down to go on my mission. That will be a little tough,” Quinn says.
Some people might think Quinn’s crazy for leaving rodeo behind for two years almost as soon as he can go pro. Anyone can see that he has a promising future ahead of him, and to some, Quinn’s decision to leave behind such an opportunity seems baffling. But he knows why he’s going.
“I’ve had everyone tell me a mission’s going to be great, and I want to serve the Lord. It will be a good experience.”

I took a poetry class where a poem was due every Friday. Several times I was so busy, or I procrastinated, and I didn’t even think about the poem all week. So come Thursday night I sat down at my desk and waited—nothing came. There was no burst of inspiration, no sudden enlightenment, and the poem had to be written! The ideas couldn’t mull around in my head for days. In frantic desperation I got out the dictionary and began to work. I scribbled, crossed out, scribbled some more, and searched the dictionary and thesaurus for the exact word. The lines didn’t come easily; every word came from tediously toiling and sweating and worrying. My pencil was half-chewed and rejects lay scattered over the floor a foot high. Yet, those poems were some of the best poems I’ve ever written. If you don’t feel inspired—write anyway.

But the most important change for the future, agree Dominican members, has taken place in the home. After Rafael and Miledy Dilone’s family of five joined the Church “even the neighbors congratulated us because of the new closeness they saw in our family,” says Rafael, a high councilor who works as a shoemaker at home and enjoys spending the days near his family. For Miledy, her family’s baptism and a noticeable improvement in her marriage strengthened their family life: “We were such a crazy family before. Now we know how to love each other.”

Some of my favorite entries are about my friends. When my brother was on his mission I wrote to him every week. I wrote a lot of the same things in my journal. I’ve written about my own baptism, about Young Women activities, and just recently I’ve written about sharing the gospel with a friend I’ve known for six years, who finally took the missionary discussions and decided to be baptized. If she can’t remember who was there and how we all felt, I have all that recorded so I can share it with her. I’m trying to convince her to keep a journal of her own.

Try to feel the heart of a young man, Nkosiyabo Eddie Lupahla, in Africa, writing about his friend.
“Two and a half years prior to my joining the Church in 1999, my good friend, Mbuti Yona, looked me up. We had been friends through grades 5 to 12, then [were] separated when we attended different [schools].
“Mbuti was baptized in April 1999, and four weeks later he visited me at home and introduced the gospel to me. Regardless of the rumors about the Church, I was impressed by the ‘fellow Saints’ who gave me a warm welcome on my first visit. It was this same Sunday that my friend introduced me to the missionaries. Arrangements were made to be taught. My friend was there for every discussion, and he kept inviting me to the activities. I really enjoyed being around people with the same values, interests, standards, and goals. It was during this same time period that I began attending institute [of religion]. It all seemed very natural: Thursday nights [5:30]—missionary discussion, followed by institute.
“I learned a lot in institute and especially enjoyed our class about how to achieve a celestial marriage. The first semester ended in May, shortly after I began attending, and I felt cheated. But I was fortunate enough to catch the second-semester class, Teachings of the Living Prophets. While in institute, I bought myself the four standard works and I continued to learn and grow in the Church line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little. I was baptized September 17, 1999, by another friend I had made while attending institute.
“I am thankful for the institute program. It has not only shaped me, but it has also helped me qualify to become a missionary, which mission I started preparing for five months after my baptism. I have been blessed with many opportunities to serve and to teach prior to my mission.
“I am thankful for my friend. I hope he realizes what he has done for me. We have both served missions, I to South Africa Durban, he to South Africa Cape Town. All it takes is a friend to bring such a mighty change in one’s life.”

I was in a leadership meeting with one of our Apostles when a sincere question was asked by someone in the congregation. He wanted to know how to distinguish between counsel from our prophet and contrary information he thought might be more correct given scientific or scholarly findings. On this particular issue, he earnestly wanted to reconcile his feelings of confusion.
The answer from the attending Apostle was simple and tender. I will not quote what he said, but I will share the message my heart received. We each have our agency, which will never be taken from us or minimized. The world is laden with noise and alternate messages. It is precisely during these times of doubt or confusion that we should most carefully align ourselves with the prophet. There we will find needed peace and safety.
I will always remember how I felt during that meeting. I knew what was spoken was truth. Prophets see around corners. We can, brothers and sisters, step out of the muddle and uncertainty of the world into a place of safety and assurance as we follow prophetic counsel.

When Doug Padilla was a high school freshman in Oakland, California, he decided to join a basketball team. Unfortunately, he was only four feet eleven inches tall. Fortunately, there was a special lightweight league for short people. “They took your age, weight, and height and rated you. If you scored low enough, they let you compete. If you scored really low, they put you in the D division. They put me in the D division.” But even in the D division there were challenges. “I had to play against some tall guys—some as tall as five feet four. And even the guys my size were better than I was, so I sat on the bench.”
But that was just for the first four quarters. “After every game they’d have a fifth quarter, where everyone would get to play. So I played in the fifth quarter.” Game after game, Doug rode the bench for the first four quarters, and then went out on the floor to do battle against the other fifth quarterites, fighting valiantly for rebounds against five-feet-four-inch giants. Although the rest of his body didn’t know it yet, the heart of a champion was beating in the thin little chest of Doug Padilla.

The second example also comes from my first mission. One December, which is one of the warmest months in Tonga, I was serving with a local companion. As Christmas time approached, we visited many member and nonmember families reminding them of the important role of Jesus in our lives and leaving our testimony of Him with them. One of these visits was to a grandmother who was tending to her young granddaughter while her husband and the girl’s parents were away. The grandmother was fairly old, but seemed to be doing fine, and really appreciated our visit.

A few days later, on Christmas Eve, we visited several more families and left blessings, testimonies, and messages about Jesus with them. As we left the last house and headed for home I said, “I feel we should visit one more family, any ideas?” My companion responded, “I’ve heard that the granddaughter we recently visited is quite ill and her grandmother is very tired from the constant worry and care. Why don’t we see if we can help them in some way?”

When we arrived, we found that the granddaughter, of about seven, was indeed very ill with a high fever. Her grandmother had been keeping a wet cloth on her forehead and fanning the air to keep her cool. She was exhausted and asked if we would give her granddaughter a blessing, which we did. As we finished, my companion said, “I can tell you are very tired and need some rest. Why don’t you go lie down and my companion and I will fan your granddaughter and keep a damp towel on her forehead.”

I have seldom seen more grateful eyes or felt deeper appreciation. She hesitated but my companion said, “You need the rest, so you don’t get sick also. Go and rest. Trust us and trust the Lord, for we are His servants.” After a brief pause, she went and laid down behind the curtain. I’m sure she was asleep as soon as she hit her mat.

We started fanning her granddaughter and cooling her forehead with a wet cloth. Her breathing was fitful, her eyes were closed, and her moans were distressing. One of us dipped the cloth in water, wrung it out, and held it on her forehead while the other fanned to help keep her cool. That doesn’t sound like much work, but the anxiety, the humid evening, the late hour, and the constant fanning and dipping of the cloth caused us to tire quickly. I wondered how the grandmother had done this for so long by herself.

At about 11 pm my companion said, “We’re both tired. To get through the night, why don’t we take turns? You sleep for one hour while I fan and rinse. Then I’ll wake you and you care for her for an hour, then you wake me, and so on.” “Fine,” I said. We used an old wind-up clock to tell time. I laid down while my companion fanned. In an hour he woke me, and I fanned with one hand and kept the cloth on her forehead with the other until 1 am. I then woke my companion who took his turn, then he woke me at 2 am. I woke him at 3 am and laid down knowing that 4 am would come very soon.

The next thing I remember was sunlight streaming into my eyes. I jumped up and asked, “What time is it?” “It’s 7 am.” “7! You were supposed to wake me at 4. Why didn’t you?” “Oh, you looked so tired, I decided to let you sleep. Merry Christmas.” As I looked at him and felt his joy, I sensed an aura of light around him and said to myself, “He is a great man. God loves him and so do I. I wish I were stronger and would spontaneously do more good things like he does.”

I thought of the Savior in the Garden of Gethsemane, asking His disciples to watch and pray for Him as he commenced the greatest and most painful act of love and heartfelt helping ever known on earth. He returned and found them sleeping and asked them to please stay awake and watch and pray for Him. A little later He returned and found them sleeping again. Instead of getting upset He just looked at them with deep love and compassion and simply said, “...Sleep on.” [3] I felt great love for Him and for my companion.

The grandmother soon awoke and asked how we and her granddaughter were doing. We told her everything was about the same. We continued fanning her granddaughter while she fixed us a little breakfast. As we were eating, her granddaughter’s moaning ceased and before long her fever broke. She soon opened her eyes and started searching for her grandmother and said she wanted to get up and have some breakfast also. We had a heartfelt prayer together where we thanked God for all His blessings, including the recovery of this young granddaughter, and for our Savior Jesus Christ and all He has done and continues to do to help us in heartfelt ways. We departed feeling it was one of the best Christmases we had ever had. A few months later I was released from my mission, returned home, married, had a family, and became involved in a variety of activities, but never forgot this experience (and many others) of heartfelt helping.

The landscape was dry, barren, and ugly. Beauty, admittedly, is in the eye of the beholder. That holds true for scenery as well as works of art. Yet the expanse of desert in front of me did so little to inspire my imagination that I felt sure plenty of other people might share my sentiment. The only thing growing out there was sage brush and weeds, and even those were spread thin.
I’d spent six hours in a car to reach this?
With my backpacking pack loaded with three days of food, water, and supplies, I trudged across the hot sand and hoped things would get better. Soon the dry sand deepened, which made every step feel like two or three. Things went on like that for several miles: hot, dry, dusty, and nothing at all like I’d hoped this adventure would be.
And then Coyote Gulch, one of the great slot canyons of the western United States, swallowed me whole.
It’s hard to describe the drastic change in scenery that engulfs you as you drop into this desert canyon. Hot, dry sand gives way to cool, packed earth. Sage brush is replaced with an oasis of towering trees, ferns, and other vibrant plants.
Barren flatland becomes a deep, shadowed canyon with towering walls on either side. A cool and refreshing stream courses through the bottom, whereas you can’t see water anywhere from above.
I was blown away at every step. I took pictures by the hundred. Yet for those first few dusty miles, literally none of this staggering beauty was visible, even if you looked for it.
Life is often like that.
The respective worlds of junior high and high school can loom larger than life while traveling through them. If your group of friends turns on you suddenly, for example, it can honestly feel like you’ll be friendless and lonely forever.
Getting a C+ on your report card when you’ve worked hard all year can seem like something that will derail your academic train forever. Not making the team, not getting a part in the school play, or not being invited to prom can feel in all honesty like life-altering events that forever taint your future.
The adversary tries to make us think that way, at least. But it’s simply not true. Life continues on. Life can improve beyond whatever challenges you’re grappling with at the moment.
Most likely you have no idea what wonders lie ahead, nor how Heavenly Father might be using your experiences now to prepare you for them (see D&C 58:3–4).
President Dieter F. Uchtdorf shared a story in general conference about a challenge from his own life that became a massive blessing for him. During the challenge, however, it was hard for President Uchtdorf to see much value in the struggle. He was 11 years old at the time and had to pedal a heavy bicycle and cart to deliver laundry for his family’s laundry business.
“Most of the time, I was not overly excited about the bike, the cart, or my job,” he said. “Sometimes the cart seemed so heavy and the work so tiring that I thought my lungs would burst, and I often had to stop to catch my breath.”
There was a reason the work was so hard for him. He was battling a lung disease he didn’t even know he had. But here’s the miracle: all that strenuous exercise proved to be exactly what he needed to heal his lungs. Not until many years later, when he took a physical exam to enter the military, did President Uchtdorf learn there had ever been anything wrong.
“It became clear to me that my regular exercise in fresh air as a laundry boy had been a key factor in my healing from this illness,” he said. “Without the extra effort of pedaling that heavy bicycle day in and day out, pulling the laundry cart up and down the streets of our town, I might never have become a jet fighter pilot and later a 747 airline captain.”1
Life takes time to unfold. We can’t hit the gym one time only and expect to get in shape. We don’t plant an apple seed a few months before we want to pluck fruit for an apple pie. Some of the most stunning vistas in your own life may not even be visible on the horizon yet. But they’re coming! Keep your eyes set for them even if they’re some distance away.
Elder Richard G. Scott (1928–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Think of the long view of life, not just what’s going to happen today or tomorrow. Don’t give up what you most want in life for something you think you want now.”2
Part of thinking of the long view of life includes recognizing that there’s life beyond high school! That sounds obvious enough. But sometimes, in practice, it’s not easy to convince your own brain to recognize that truth. If your life falls to pieces here and now, the adversary always heaps on discouragement. And one of the most tried and true forms of discouragement seems to be this: the idea that things are never going to be any different. But, of course, they will. You will change and grow too. With God’s help, you can learn to see that brighter future even when things are dark in your life.
President Uchtdorf has taught: “If you trust the Lord and obey Him, His hand shall be over you, He will help you achieve the great potential He sees in you, and He will help you to see the end from the beginning.”3
I’ve been able to look back over my own life and see many parallels to my hike into Coyote Gulch. For instance, I was a lousy student in high school. But with a mission and a few more years’ experience behind me, I sailed through college.
Various challenges that felt permanent then proved to be fleeting at best. And don’t even get me started on all the high school drama at every turn (which seemed like such a big deal at the time) that I haven’t thought about since graduation.
So don’t worry if life feels rough-and-tumble right now. Hang in there. As Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “Stay the course and see the beauty of life unfold for you.”4
And what a beautiful life it will be.