Gospel Story Finder

There was a period when I was required as an officer in the Ensign Stake to go every Friday to the temple. It was not a burden. as I had thought it would be. It became instead my joy. Slowly, because of that regularity, I was trusted with certain assignments in the temple. This meant that I could walk into the temple annex and they would all say, “Good morning, Brother Madsen”; and I wouldn’t even have to show my recommend. Not only that, but I had the privilege to sit for hours in the chapel of the annex or elsewhere, contemplative, reading occasionally, but trying to absorb, trying to breathe the air that is heavier than air in that place. There I would meditate about my critical problems, which had to do with decisions about my life’s work, decisions about the girl I should marry, and other struggles in how to cope. There were, I testify, times when I learned something about me; there were times when peace came in a decision, and I knew that that peace was of God.

One of our beloved hymns expresses the plea “Thru cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me!”1 I was once on a plane as it approached a large storm. Looking out the window, I could see a dense blanket of clouds below us. The rays of the setting sun reflected off the clouds, causing them to shine with intense brightness. Soon, the plane descended through the heavy clouds, and we were suddenly enveloped in a thick darkness that completely blinded us to the intense light we had witnessed just moments earlier.2
Black clouds may also form in our lives, which can blind us to God’s light and even cause us to question if that light exists for us anymore. Some of those clouds are of depression, anxiety, and other forms of mental and emotional affliction. They can distort the way we perceive ourselves, others, and even God. They affect women and men of all ages in all corners of the world.
Likewise damaging is the desensitizing cloud of skepticism that can affect others who have not experienced these challenges. Like any part of the body, the brain is subject to illnesses, trauma, and chemical imbalances. When our minds are suffering, it is appropriate to seek help from God, from those around us, and from medical and mental health professionals.
“All human beings—male and female—are created in the image of God. Each is a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents, and … each has a divine nature and destiny.”3 Like our Heavenly Parents and our Savior, we have a physical body4 and experience emotions.5
My dear sisters, it is normal to feel sad or worried once in a while. Sadness and anxiety are natural human emotions.6 However, if we are constantly sad and if our pain blocks our ability to feel the love of our Heavenly Father and His Son and the influence of the Holy Ghost, then we may be suffering from depression, anxiety, or another emotional condition.
My daughter once wrote: “There was a time … [when] I was extremely sad all of the time. I always thought that sadness was something to be ashamed of, and that it was a sign of weakness. So I kept my sadness to myself. … I felt completely worthless.”7
A friend described it this way: “Since my early childhood, I have faced a constant battle with feelings of hopelessness, darkness, loneliness, and fear and the sense that I am broken or defective. I did everything to hide my pain and to never give the impression that I was anything but thriving and strong.”8
My dear friends, it can happen to any of us—especially when, as believers in the plan of happiness, we place unnecessary burdens on ourselves by thinking we need to be perfect now. Such thoughts can be overwhelming. Achieving perfection is a process that will take place throughout our mortal life and beyond—and only through the grace of Jesus Christ.9
In contrast, when we open up about our emotional challenges, admitting we are not perfect, we give others permission to share their struggles. Together we realize there is hope and we do not have to suffer alone.10
As disciples of Jesus Christ, we have made a covenant with God that we “are willing to bear one another’s burdens” and “to mourn with those that mourn.”11 This may include becoming informed about emotional illnesses, finding resources that can help address these struggles, and ultimately bringing ourselves and others to Christ, who is the Master Healer.12 Even if we do not know how to relate to what others are going through, validating that their pain is real can be an important first step in finding understanding and healing.13
In some cases, the cause of depression or anxiety can be identified, while other times it may be harder to discern.14 Our brains may suffer because of stress15 or staggering fatigue,16 which can sometimes be improved through adjustments in diet, sleep, and exercise. Other times, therapy or medication under the direction of trained professionals may also be needed.
Untreated mental or emotional illness can lead to increased isolation, misunderstandings, broken relationships, self-harm, and even suicide. I know this firsthand, as my own father died by suicide many years ago. His death was shocking and heartbreaking for my family and me. It has taken me years to work through my grief, and it was only recently that I learned talking about suicide in appropriate ways actually helps to prevent it rather than encourage it.17 I have now openly discussed my father’s death with my children and witnessed the healing that the Savior can give on both sides of the veil.18
Sadly, many who suffer from severe depression distance themselves from their fellow Saints because they feel they do not fit some imaginary mold. We can help them know and feel that they do indeed belong with us. It is important to recognize that depression is not the result of weakness, nor is it usually the result of sin.19 It “thrives in secrecy but shrinks in empathy.”20 Together, we can break through the clouds of isolation and stigma so the burden of shame is lifted and miracles of healing can occur.
During His mortal ministry, Jesus Christ healed the sick and the afflicted, but each person had to exercise faith in Him and act to receive His healing. Some walked for long distances, others extended their hand to touch His garment, and others had to be carried to Him in order to be healed.21 When it comes to healing, don’t we all need Him desperately? “Are we not all beggars?”22
Let us follow the Savior’s path and increase our compassion, diminish our tendency to judge, and stop being the inspectors of the spirituality of others. Listening with love is one of the greatest gifts we can offer, and we may be able to help carry or lift the heavy clouds that suffocate our loved ones and friends23 so that, through our love, they can once again feel the Holy Ghost and perceive the light that emanates from Jesus Christ.
If you are constantly surrounded by a “mist of darkness,”24 turn to Heavenly Father. Nothing that you have experienced can change the eternal truth that you are His child and that He loves you.25 Remember that Christ is your Savior and Redeemer, and God is your Father. They understand. Picture Them close by you, listening and offering support.26 “[They] will console you in your afflictions.”27 Do all you can, and trust in the Lord’s atoning grace.
Your struggles do not define you, but they can refine you.28 Because of a “thorn in the flesh,”29 you may have the ability to feel more compassion toward others. As guided by the Holy Ghost, share your story in order to “succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees.”30
For those of us currently struggling or supporting someone who is struggling, let us be willing to follow God’s commandments so we may always have His Spirit with us.31 Let us do the “small and simple things”32 that will give us spiritual strength. As President Russell M. Nelson said, “Nothing opens the heavens quite like the combination of increased purity, exact obedience, earnest seeking, daily feasting on the words of Christ in the Book of Mormon, and regular time committed to temple and family history work.”33
Let us all remember that our Savior, Jesus Christ, “[has taken] upon him [our] infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know … how to succor [us] according to [our] infirmities.”34 He came “to bind up the brokenhearted, … to comfort all that mourn; … to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.”35
I testify to you that “thru cloud and sunshine” the Lord will abide with us, our “afflictions [can be] swallowed up in the joy of Christ,”36 and “it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do.”37 I testify that Jesus Christ will return to the earth “with healing in his wings.”38 Ultimately, He “shall wipe away all tears from [our] eyes; and there shall be no more … sorrow.”39 For all who will “come unto Christ, and be perfected in him,”40 the “sun shall no more go down; … for the Lord shall be [our] everlasting light, and the days of [our] mourning shall be ended.”41 In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

My grandmother left Lithuania after the First World War. Her husband had died fighting in the First World War. So, alone, she gathered her resources and travelled with her four children to Brazil to start a new life. It must have seemed to her that she was leaving her heritage behind, along with family, friends, and culture. She was traveling alone across the world to a country that did not speak her language. She knew she would never see her homeland again, but she couldn’t have imagined the importance that place would have for her grandchildren.
Twenty years ago, 60 years after that brave woman left her home, my brother Nelson and I travelled back to Lithuania together. We were on a journey to discover our long-lost family connection. We found more than we expected.
I believe we were moved by the spirit of Elijah to begin that search. We hoped, at least, to find the records of our ancestors so that we could give them the opportunity of receiving the covenants of God in the Lord’s House.
We only had scraps and pieces of clues to help us begin the search. We had a picture of a cousin named Marcelle who was a child when my grandmother left the country. We also had two postcards sent by Marcelle to our family in Brazil. They had been sent without a return address, but they had a post-office stamp naming the city from which it had been mailed. One postcard was mailed in 1935, and the other in 1945. They had been mailed from two different cities.
We would only be able to look for our family in Lithuania for four days before having to return home. Time was short. On our first day, we asked our guide to take us to the city the more recent postcard had been mailed from. We figured we should start there. We hoped the people in the most recent place she had lived might remember her.
After a two-hour drive, we noticed a mistake. Our guide had not followed our instructions. He had taken us to the city where the first postcard had come from. Disappointed, we asked the guide to take us to a Catholic Church, hoping we could find some information about the whereabouts of our cousin Marcelle or her family.
I can still picture in my mind the small Catholic Church we were taken to. As we arrived, I saw a priest locking the gate leading to the entrance of the church. He appeared to just be leaving.
We parked our car quickly and hurried to stop the priest to ask him if he had ever heard of a Marcelle Aidukaitis. To our surprise, he told us that he had known a woman by that name. She was a nun who had passed away 10 years earlier. He did not know if this was the Marcelle we were looking for, but he said he knew where her family’s home was and would be willing to take us there.
The family we met was indeed the family we were looking for. We had found our family in Lithuania. We had found a needle in the haystack on our very first try. A real miracle.
I still think of how God guided us that day. First, contrary to our instructions, our guide took us to a different city than the one we were expecting to go to. Next, we arrived at the Catholic Church at the precise moment the priest who remembered Marcelle was leaving the premises. If we had been delayed by only 30 seconds on that two-hour drive, we would have missed the priest. If the priest had not needed to take the time to lock up, we would have missed him. If anything had gone differently, I have no idea if we would have been able to find our family during that trip—if ever.
But God knew our intent, and He guided us exactly to where we needed to be.
Three days later, we had a family reunion with the relatives we found in Lithuania. There were over 60 family members present. An incredible thing.
God is so interested that we take the names of our own relatives to the temple, and to perform saving ordinances for them, that He will intervene in our plans to help us find them. When we show the least interest in looking for them, He will do miracles.
I invite all to experiment with the hand of God in this work by doing what we can to bring our own deceased relatives to the temple. May God bless us in this great cause.

Name has been changed.
I began to drink at a young age. In the country where I lived, that was socially accepted, and I felt pressure to drink to be accepted.
After I got married, my husband and I became submerged in alcoholism. This truly worried my parents. Even after my husband and I had our first child, our addiction to alcohol did not stop.
Soon after the birth of our child, I became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and I stopped drinking and started making progress to overcome my addiction. These changes irritated my husband, and he was upset that I would not drink and party with him.
After much prayer and fasting, seeking to determine the will of the Lord, I left my husband and moved to the United States. As I strived to live the gospel of Jesus Christ, I was able to overcome my alcoholism, but I still struggled to manage my anxiety and feelings of desperation. I eventually got remarried to a fellow Church member, but I continued to struggle.
I was invited to an addiction recovery program group by a sister at church. I have no doubt that Heavenly Father is mindful of me because what I learned there was specifically for me. We discussed how the feeling of isolation is a common element for those who have experienced addiction. This isolation was something that I had imposed on myself and struggled with.
Through the addiction recovery program, I realized that I do not have to live isolated from God and others. I have the strength and the faith to face challenges and overcome them.
Now I know that I am not alone. I still attend the group meetings, and sometimes my husband attends the group meetings with me. There are people from everywhere at the online meetings, and we learn from each other’s experiences and offer support to each other. My bishop, my husband, and my children also know that I need their support.
Most of all, I know that it is through the Atonement of Christ that I can overcome my addiction.

The second story which, as I said, may or may not be related to the first, is told by President Spencer W. Kimball, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, in his October 1969 General Conference address:

"When I was a youngster, a stirring challenge came to me that moved me not a little I cannot remember who issued the challenge nor under what circumstances it came. I remember only that it struck me like a 'bolt out of the blue heavens.' The unknown voice postulated:
'The ‘Mormon Church’ has stood its ground for the first two generations—but wait till the third and fourth and succeeding generations come along! The first generation fired with a new religion developed a great enthusiasm for it. Surrounded with bitterness, calumnee of a hostile world, persecuted ‘from pillar to post,’ they were forced to huddle together for survival. There was good reason to expect they would live and die faithful to their espoused cause.
The second generation came along born to enthusiasts, zealots, devotees. They were born to men and women who had developed great faith, were inured to hardships and sacrifices for their faith. They inherited from their parents and soaked up from religious homes the stuff of which the faithful are made. They had full reservoirs of strength and faith upon which to draw.
But wait till the third and fourth generations come along,' said the cynical voice. 'The fire will have gone out—the devotion will have been diluted—the sacrifice will have been nullified—the world will have hovered over them and surrounded them and eroded them—the faith will have been expended and the religious fervor leaked out.'"
Then President Kimball declared.
"That day I realized that I was a member of the third generation. That day I clenched my growing fists. I gritted my teeth and made a firm commitment to myself that here was one 'third generation' who would not fulfill that dire prediction."
Young Spencer Kimball " could not be shaken."

As a Mormon missionary goes out into the world he seeks to be honest in heart. Let me tell you about a new missionary down in Hawke’s Bay, New Zealand. It was his first week in the mission field; he was trembling and unsure—not of his testimony, but of his ability. His companion took him out to teach a couple who were having their fifth discussion. He did not have anything to say during the discussion. He was very timid. But as they were ready to leave, he went up to this man and, offering a pamphlet with a trembling hand, he said in a quivering voice, “Sir, if you will read this pamphlet, I testify to you that you will know it’s the truth because I know it’s true.” And with that trembling hand he gave that pamphlet.

This man testifies to me today, now living in faraway England—not as an elders quorum president, although he has been; not as a bishop in the Church, although he has been; not as a stake president; but now as a Regional Representative—that that young man, on his very first week in the mission field, offered him a trembling pamphlet from this Church, saying, “Sir, if you will read this I know you will know that it’s true.” Now that is the spirit of a Mormon missionary who is honest in heart; and what an effect he can have on the heart of someone else who recognizes that sincerity and is willing to let the gift of the Holy Ghost act upon him!

September 23, 1995, was a life-changing day for me. My calling on the stake high council required that I attend the broadcast of the general Relief Society meeting. President Gordon B. Hinckley spoke, and for the first time I heard the words of “The Family: A Proclamation to the World.”
Immediately a growing brightness illuminated my mind and heart. I listened with rapt attention. I had just completed a PhD in family studies, but now I heard in five minutes more pure truth about the family than I had gleaned in nearly five years of graduate study. I wanted to stand up and applaud. As President Hinckley concluded, I felt a great desire to apply these principles in my family and share them with the world.
In the days that followed, I thought constantly about the proclamation. When the conference magazine finally came, I read the proclamation over and over again. I pondered and prayed. I wanted to so thoroughly digest its words that they would become an indelible part of my being. That’s when I felt impressed to memorize the proclamation. It would not be easy. I was in my mid-40s, and memorizing was not nearly as easy as it once had been. But again and again I felt the prompting: “Memorize the proclamation. Memorize the proclamation! MEMORIZE THE PROCLAMATION!”
I took a copy of the proclamation with me wherever I went. I memorized while shaving. I memorized while walking to the university. I memorized while exercising. The last words on my mind before retiring and the first words in my mind upon arising were the words of the proclamation. No miracle aided my memorizing, and my progress was painstakingly slow. But after about a month I could repeat the whole proclamation.
Now that I had it, I wanted to keep it. So I would recite the proclamation several times each day during morning exercise and stretching. As I did, it seemed as if the Spirit highlighted certain words or sentences. I would linger on these passages, and they, in turn, would prompt impressions that would bless my family and me.
For example, the next summer I was concerned about the friends my teenage daughter was spending so much time with. But when I tried to talk to her about the situation, she discounted what I said and became more distant. While I was jogging and thinking about the proclamation one morning, the Spirit highlighted in my thoughts the last sentence in paragraph seven: “Extended families should lend support when needed.” I slowed the pace of my jog, and an image of my younger sister came into my mind. This sister had experienced many trials in her life and was now nearly full term with her seventh pregnancy. The impression I had was that we, as extended family, should lend her support right now. So I bought a plane ticket for my daughter and asked her to spend a week serving in my sister’s home.
In this distant place an interesting thing happened. During the day my daughter found joy serving my sister’s family. And after the children were asleep, she and my sister had many long talks. My sister was able to talk to my daughter in a way that I had been unable to. She told her how decisions she had made as a teenager had produced a lifetime of challenges. When my daughter returned home, something had changed in her. She began making choices that blessed her life. My sister, her family, my daughter, and I were all blessed by this trip, which was prompted by the words of the proclamation.
Another time the words “Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness, to provide for their physical and spiritual needs” weighed heavily on my mind. Our family members loved and had a good time with each other, but I felt that we were far from our spiritual potential. The words of the proclamation inspired my wife, Juanita, and me to begin having a family testimony meeting on fast Sunday after church. Unfortunately, our first attempt did little to provide for our children’s spiritual needs. None of them really wanted to be there. Several children complained about how hungry they were, and our youngest asked several times, “When is this going to be over?” Still, we persevered, and after a few months the complaining stopped and we started feeling the Spirit more. This family testimony meeting became a precious time to share sacred truths and to help us “rear [our] children in love and righteousness.”
A pattern was emerging. As I frequently reviewed the words of the proclamation, they formed a conduit through which the Spirit could give my wife and me inspiration to move our family forward. True, most of the inspiration was not as grand as these examples. Most of it came as ideas like “Take Hannah on a daddy-daughter date,” or “Fix dinner for Juanita tonight,” or “Listen more to Emily,” or “Put Seth to bed more often.” But the hundreds of little bits of direction added up to a much better family life.
In 2001 Juanita was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer and was given a 50 percent chance for five-year survival. Our best option was to pursue an aggressive but very taxing course of chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation. We were discouraged when after eight weeks of nauseating chemo the large tumor had not shrunk at all. During this trial I went jogging and recited the proclamation as loud as I could to relieve the stress I was feeling. It comforted me.
On one jog when I got to “Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer,” I stopped. I felt a sense of peace as an impression formed in my mind. It was the Saturday morning before fast Sunday, and I felt inspired to send an e-mail to everyone I knew, inviting them to fast and pray and exercise their faith for Juanita so that the chemotherapy would be effective. We received a great outpouring of support. Even friends of other faiths described powerful experiences with fasting and prayer. Without our asking them to do so, friends in Australia, Japan, Hawaii, Salt Lake, Boston, Belgium, and South Africa put Juanita’s name on the prayer roll in their temples. The results were miraculous. Immediately our mood and our faith improved. And during the next four weeks of treatments, the tumor almost totally disappeared. Juanita finished the treatment, and no measurable cancer remained. We were so grateful! But this wasn’t the end of our trials or of the continued comfort the proclamation brought us.
In early 2004 we were devastated to learn that Juanita’s cancer had returned, this time in her lungs. In somber tones our doctor told us he would try to keep the cancer under control as long as possible, but there was now no possible cure. At first I felt betrayed and hopeless. Juanita and I had righteous desires and plans. What about the missions we were going to serve together? What about the grandchildren we were going to strengthen spiritually? How could this happen to us?
As I went through the proclamation again, this time it was as if someone turned a flashlight on to highlight the words “Children are entitled to birth within the bonds of matrimony, and to be reared by a father and a mother.” I recognized my children were entitled to be raised by a father and a mother. This statement filled me with hope that in the face of very large medical odds Juanita would be blessed with a miracle and be healed.
We lived a fairly normal and hopeful life for about six months, but then the cancer began to take its unmistakable toll. Juanita lost weight rapidly and acquired a nearly constant and uncomfortable cough. Even the smallest exertion left her struggling for breath. Things seemed always to get worse and never better. Soon it became apparent that it was not God’s will for Juanita to live very much longer. I was at a complete loss to explain why God had not stepped forward with the miracle we so badly needed and so sincerely hoped for. But then again the words of the proclamation provided inspiration and comfort: “Sacred ordinances and covenants available in holy temples make it possible for individuals to return to the presence of God and for families to be united eternally.” Through many tears my understanding was enlarged to see that Juanita would indeed receive a miraculous healing. Because of the plan of salvation, Juanita would pass from this life into a beautiful place to be greeted by her father, our daughter who had passed away, and the Savior. Because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, Juanita would be healed and at the Resurrection receive a perfect body, free from cancer and any other illness. I could also see that through all eternity our children would have access to her influence as their mother—another miracle.
I also felt impressed that there was much we could yet do in this life to give the children continued access to her wisdom. I received a clear impression that it was time for us to stop focusing our faith on a physical miracle that was not in keeping with God’s will and focus instead on learning as much as we could from Juanita in the short time we had left. We needed to be better prepared “to return to the presence of God and for [our family] to be united eternally.” In our family testimony meeting we expressed these feelings poignantly, and their truth washed over us all. Then we went to work.
Juanita wrote her testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, and I wrote mine as well. We printed and laminated them along with our pictures in a size that would fit in the children’s scriptures. Juanita then wrote long letters in her own hand to each of the children, expressing appreciation and offering words of encouragement and advice. We recorded Juanita’s sweet voice singing hymns, Primary songs, and childhood lullabies and made CDs for each of the children and for future grandchildren. We also recorded messages to be listened to on special occasions such as going to the temple, leaving on a mission, getting married, giving birth to a child. Juanita crocheted baby blankets and bibs for future grandchildren. Our lives now became focused, full of activity, and we received great comfort from the Spirit. All this came as a result of inspiration from the proclamation.
All of our children were at Juanita’s side when she died, and each had the opportunity to share tender communication with her. She was alert and talked to us until about 10 minutes before she passed away. That’s when I told her, “I love you,” and she responded in Spanish, “Lo mismo,” which means “Same to you.” Those were her last words. Her passing was sweet.
I have marveled at the numerous specific and personal ways the proclamation has blessed me and my family since that Saturday night more than a decade ago when I first heard it. It has changed our lives forever. It is the word of God, and it can be the basis for great joy and happiness in family life, even in the midst of unfathomable trials. I know by the Spirit that “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” is an inspired document for families today, and if seriously studied, it will open the windows of divine assistance for our families.

One of the most important times I had a prayer answered was with my whole family. A few months after my cousin Christian finished his mission, he was driving late at night on a mountain canyon road. He and another car crashed into each other. The other driver was fine, but my cousin was taken to the hospital by helicopter.
Christian had serious injuries all over his whole body. He went into a coma, and the doctors didn’t think he would wake up. Our family decided to fast. My parents, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all my cousins took turns fasting for Christian. I fasted on a school day. I had to explain to my teacher and classmates why I wasn’t eating lunch that day. I really didn’t mind going without food for a day because I was fasting for my cousin.
Heavenly Father answered our prayers, and Christian eventually woke up from his coma. He still doesn’t have his full abilities back, but he has made some progress. I know Christian has a long recovery ahead of him. We still pray for him. Anything is possible with Heavenly Father’s help.

President Smith had learned early in life that great men always make time for those in need. When only five years of age, his mother had dressed him up in his little black velvet suit and sent him to see Brigham Young. He carried a letter asking some assistance from President Young in getting some railroad tickets to go to Ogden. Sister Smith’s husband was in the mission field in Great Britain and she was too poor to acquire the tickets herself.
Little George walked the two blocks to President Young’s office and pushed open the huge timber gate in the wall that then surrounded the headquarters of the Church. As the massive gate swung back on its heavy iron hinges, the little boy found himself face to face with a rather large Scot, named John Smith, who demanded of the boy, “What do you want?” Frightened to death George answered, “I want to see President Young,” to which the Scot bellowed back, “President Young has no time for the likes of ye.” According to President Smith’s own account he was by now nearly ready to faint, but just then the door of the office opened and President Young walked out and asked:
“‘What’s wanted, John?’
“John replied, ‘Here is a little fellow wants to see President Young,’ and then he roared with laughter. He thought it was a good joke. But with all the dignity in the world, President Young said to him, ‘John, show him in.’
“There was nothing else the guard could do then but to let me in and he took me up to the porch where President Young was standing, …
“President Young took me by the hand and led me into his office, sat down at his desk and lifted me up on his knee and put his arm around me. In the kindest way one could imagine, he said, ‘What do you want of President Young?’
“Just think of it! He was President of a great Church and Governor of a Territory, and with all the duties he had to perform, yet I as a little boy was received with as much dignity, and kindness as if I had come as a governor from an adjoining state.”

The lady from Waukegan elbowed her way through the crowd up to the booth by the Kodak display.
“Can I buy film here?” she asked.
“No, ma’am, but we do have a film shop just across from the Mormon pavilion.”
It was July 24, Pioneer Festival Day at Expo ’74 in Spokane, Washington, and not only was the Book of Mormon Pavilion useful as a convenient focal point when giving directions, but the Church-sponsored activities and programs were the center of a week’s worth of excellent entertainment and testimony-inspiring experiences.
That week at the world’s fair there were jugglers and a carver of totem poles from Alberta, a metal-drum band from Latin America performing on the platform over the river, a comedy show starring Jack Benny, and many more professional acts and entertainers. But the real stars of “Mormon Week” were the 2,000-plus colorfully clad young dancers, singers, and performers from more than 21 stakes of the Church in the West and the Northwest.
They were stars not only as they whirled about in the spotlight or sang in chorus on stage, but their faces also shone with the happy light within them as they rehearsed for long, hot hours in the Spokane Coliseum, sat in friendly groups talking and resting, visited the international displays at the fair, and soaked weary feet in the river that runs through the fairgrounds. They sensed themselves being watched 24 hours a day and had long ago resolved to be the kind of representatives the Church would be proud of. They succeeded.
“We’re always being watched,” said a young man from the Lewiston Idaho Stake, “especially if we make it a point to tell people we’re Mormons. And we do. So we learn to always remember that to our friends, not only do we represent the Church, we are the Church.”
Representing the Church well is a habit they’ve formed over all the years of their lives, and it was superbly demonstrated during the months of preparation that went into the program they presented at Expo. Active young people—they hold jobs, serve the community, and are busy and well-liked at their high schools—they found that practices had to be scheduled at 6:30 in the morning or 9:30 at night in order not to conflict with their other responsibilities. Many cut down on their summer earnings because of their active support of the dance festival. But that didn’t seem to be too important to them.
Denise Crump of the Spokane Washington Stake summed up their feelings when she said, “Just get involved. Some kids say they don’t have time to do it. But they should just take the time. It’s worth it.” And a chorus of her friends voiced their agreement.
Some had to drive for hours to attend rehearsals, but when you agree with Pat Ream of the Coeur D’Alene Idaho Stake (“The Church is great! It’s just great!”), any sacrifice seems worth it. And Pat’s story is a special one.
“The dance festival had a lot to do with my conversion,” she said. “I was a dancer before I was a member. I was able to get a lot closer to the kids than I ever had before, and it really helped in my decision to join the Church. I’ve been a member for one year, four months, and 24 days!”
Practices went on for months in the individual stakes, with leaders traveling from one group to the other to make sure that all of them were doing the dances the same way. Months and months of man-hours were involved. And it all came together on Tuesday morning, July 23.
The 2,000 young people met with Johnny Whitaker, the D’s, the Grandland Singers, and the leaders, and they took a million pieces of puzzle and created a beautiful, finished product. They rehearsed all day.
“And it worked,” said Bruce Nelson of the Spokane Stake. “One of the greatest experiences happened when we performed for the first time on Tuesday evening. Everything came off like it was planned. It was really fantastic! The theme of the whole thing was ‘Catch a Happy Feeling!’ And we caught it!” And so did those who came to observe. Favorable comments were heard on every side, and the young performers’ enthusiasm grew as the 24th and their second performance approached.
They were jubilant over their success, but the next morning their cups ran over. President Spencer W. Kimball was attending the fair, and he called a special devotional for their benefit. They gathered in the coliseum as early as their dance-weary bodies allowed them. They sat on the floor, in the bleachers, and anywhere they could find a space, all straining to see the prophet. They listened. He counseled.
“Today make up your minds,” he said. “You don’t wait until next Sunday and say, shall I go to priesthood meeting? You decide today. You don’t wait until you get a call from the Brethren to go on a mission. You start to save money now; you start today. You don’t wait until marriage is facing you, and you have made your proposal and decided the date, to decide where you are going to be married. That is all present in your minds from the time you are little. … Wouldn’t it be a great loss of time if every Sunday you had to say, shall I or shall I not go to sacrament meeting today? Shall we or shall we not have home evening today? What a lot of wasted effort! Settle it once and for all. I am going to go on a mission; I am going to be worthy to go on a mission. I am going to get the degree that I desire. I am going to live the commandments of the Lord and live for the glorious light.”
“I think my greatest thrill in being here,” responded Brenda Barrus of the Coeur D’Alene Idaho Stake, “was being around President Kimball. He portrays the spirit of it all.” And Pat Ream chimed in: “I love him.”
After the devotional some of the young people had more rehearsing to do because they had been asked to present a special number at a program honoring the Mormons that was held in the amphitheatre on the fairgrounds. And then the afternoon was theirs to use for relaxing, visiting the fair, making friends, and talking to people about the Church.
And at some point in the day they all came, in small groups and large groups, singly or in couples, to the golden structure built out over the Spokane River. Here they met another group of young Mormons who were taking part in the activities at the fair. They were not there to dance or sing; as a matter of fact, they came when the fair was opened in May and will serve there until it concludes this month. They are the 24 elders of the Washington Mission who teach and testify two-by-two in four-hour shifts at the Book of Mormon Pavilion. Theirs is a more serious assignment, but it is carried out with all the joy that comes from serving the Lord full-time.
“There are three groups of elders, eight in each group,” explained Elder John Barlow of Visalia, California. “The morning shift goes from 10:00 to 2:00. Then another group of elders will work from 2:00 to 6:00, and then another from 6:00 to 10:00. After we’re through with our shift here at the pavilion, we go out and do regular missionary work. We all have areas and wards we are assigned to, but for part of each day we have been called by the Lord through our mission president to labor here.”
All of the people who go through the pavilion are given cards to fill out. On those cards is a place for questions and a box to check if they are interested in hearing more about the Church. The missionaries have been able to contact many interested people in the area this way and also send some referrals to other missions.
Some weeks the ratio of members to nonmembers who visit the pavilion is very high, and some weeks there are very few members in the lines of interested fair-goers. On July 24, Pioneer Festival Day, the elder waiting in front of the pavilion asked the crowd, “How many of you are Mormons? Raise your hands.” Many hands went up.
One of the members from North Dakota who was waiting at the front of the line said, “Elder, you should be asking who the non-Mormons are.”
“Okay,” said the agreeable young missionary. “How many of you are not Mormons?”
Again many hands were seen waving in the air.
“Go to it, elder,” encouraged the man who had made the suggestion.
And that’s exactly what the elders do. Many visitors are touched by the impressive Book of Mormon display and by what they hear. One of the elders told of an older man who visited the pavilion. Suffering from an ailment that was causing him to slowly lose his sight, he asked, after seeing the presentation, if he could buy a copy of the Book of Mormon so he could read it while he was still able.
Another day two young children bought a copy of the book to give to their parents because they felt that what they had heard was true.
One of the participants in the dance festival who went through the pavilion remarked, “I especially liked the way they handled the introduction to the Book of Mormon. Because they spoke about other records on metal plates that have been found by archaeologists, people in my group had much less difficulty accepting the truth of the Book of Mormon story.
“At the end, instead of asking the elders if they really believed all that, several wanted to know where the plates are now and if copies of the translation are available to nonmembers. The elders sure answered those questions, especially the second one, in a hurry!”
And then there are those who are less profoundly affected, but who are affected favorably nevertheless. Many people who visit the pavilion, say the missionaries, are surprised and pleased to learn that Mormons are Christians and that they believe in the Bible. “One of the important things we have accomplished here,” said Elder Barlow, “is to change people’s attitudes toward the Church. They leave here with a good feeling.
“The theme of the fair,” he added, “is more or less environmental cleanup (‘Progress without Pollution’), and you can’t clean up the environment unless you also clean up your people. I usually tell visitors that one of the interesting things about this fair is that after it’s over everything is going to be recycled. What we are trying to do at this pavilion is to recycle people.”
Later that evening many of the people who were impressed with the Book of Mormon presentation, and many who just wanted to be delightfully entertained for an evening, gathered in the Spokane Coliseum to see the young Mormons who had performed to such acclaim the night before. They started arriving early. The Grandland Singers were there, Johnny Whitaker was there, the D’s were there, and so were the dancers. “Catch a Happy Feeling” they encouraged, and smiles of pleasure and enjoyment certainly seemed to be a contagious virus throughout the audience as the young people danced, and sang, and joked, and cheered.
All too soon the finale arrived. All of the performers rushed out onto the floor of the coliseum. A rainbow of talented youth whirled, and waved small green and gold flags, and danced their hearts out. They were answered with an ovation from those in attendance, but they were not quite through with the evening’s program. There was one more thing they wanted to do.
And there, standing before the capacity audience, the 2,000 colorfully costumed young dancers stood and sang from their hearts, “We thank thee, O God, for a prophet To guide us in these latter days.” As the hymn continued, the lights in the house were lowered, and a single spot shone on an elderly, white-haired gentleman in the audience. He rose to his feet and smiled his acknowledgment.
Then, with whoops and cheers, the dancers ran from the floor. The evening was over, and after several minutes of applause, the appreciative audience stood and started filing out. One nonmember remarked to his wife as they stepped out into the cool evening air, “I wonder who that gentleman in the spotlight was? Those young kids certainly seem to love him.” A festival participant who had hurried into the departing crowd to listen for comments and answer questions heard the statement and replied with quiet conviction, “He’s a prophet of God, sir.”
That’s what Mormon youth participation at the fair was all about—testimony building and testimony sharing, remembering the past and building for the future.

One mother was puzzled by the unruly behavior of her young son, Nathan. As she struggled to turn his negative talk and actions to positive ones, she watched how other families directed their children. She also confided in a friend who knew how to listen. Her friend asked helpful questions, such as, “When Nathan comes home from school, what do you do?” As the mother described her daily response, she realized she was reinforcing Nathan’s negative behavior and that she needed to change her own attitudes and actions. She tried a different approach, and her son changed, too. Lives were blessed by the careful listening and questioning of a caring friend.

I was married, I had three kids, and I was unemployed. A work drought left me feeling hopeless. I worried about the safety of my family, and I stopped believing in myself.
My wife, Carla, encouraged me to attend a self-reliance group. It was embarrassing for me to admit that I didn’t have work, but she encouraged me to attend the group so I could take care of our family.
I reluctantly gave it a try. While attending the group, I realized that my English skills could be a valuable asset in the job world. I had studied English on my mission, but I only knew how to speak about religion. I enrolled in English classes offered by the Church to improve my vocabulary. When I returned home from English class one day, Carla handed me the phone.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “They’re speaking in English.”
It was a human resources representative from one of the biggest companies in Costa Rica asking to interview me. I was stunned, but the interview went remarkably well. I later learned that Carla had set up the interview.
I got the job, and I remembered how my self-reliance group had helped me. Then I thought about how I could better apply what I learned. I started looking for an even better job and got one. Then I worked toward starting my own construction business.
I can’t imagine where my family and I would be without the start we received from the self-reliance initiative. I learned to be humble and to ask the Lord for help. I also learned to allow those who wanted to help me to bless my life. We have so many blessings. I now have self-respect, and I can bless my family with the money I earn. I know the Spirit blesses us when we are humble.

In 1980 my wife, daughter, and I moved to Baltimore, Maryland. Soon after our arrival we were invited to a ward party at the home of a member. We were told it was to be a crab feast. We were excited, but we really didn’t know what to expect. Our experience with seafood consisted of trout, canned salmon, and pickled herring. As we came to the member’s backyard, we saw that newspapers had been spread on picnic tables and steaming bushels filled with red creatures the size of my fist had been dumped out on them.
My wife, Ruth, asked, “What are these?” referring to the red creatures.
We were informed that these were Maryland blue crabs, which turn bright red when they are steamed.
Ruth asked, “How do you catch them?”
We were told that early that morning, two of the brethren had gone to a butcher shop and purchased a bucket of chicken necks. As you know, chicken necks look like chicken and smell like chicken when cooked, but if that is what you are given for dinner, you will go hungry. The chicken neck consists of bone, tendon, and skin.
The assigned men had gone out in a skiff on the shallow Chesapeake Bay. In water about eight feet deep, they began the process of catching a crab. They tied a chicken neck to a string, dropped it into the water, and allowed it to settle on the sandy ocean floor. Sensing a potential feast, a crab scurried along the bottom and grabbed the chicken neck with its big claw. The men then slowly and steadily began pulling on the string. The crab held on to the chicken neck, and just as it was about to breach the surface of the bay, the crab became agitated and let go. But by that time the men had placed a small net under the crab. They took it out of the water and flung it into the boat. And, voilà: ward dinner!
Ruth said, “So, that’s it? There’s no hook? There’s no rod? There’s no reel?”
“That’s right,” they replied.
She said, “The crab could let go at any time?”
“Right.”
“But they don’t?”
“No,” was the reply.
Ruth summed up this newfound knowledge by saying, “Boy, are those crab stupid!”
If you were writing a pamphlet called For the Strength of Young Crabs, it would be pretty short, wouldn’t it? It would say, “Lay off the chicken necks! They are a trap. Don’t be fooled.”
There are many chicken necks in the world: things that look enticing, things that look like a veritable feast, and things that seem worth a minor detour. But if we take that detour, we will, like the prodigal in the parable, experience a fleeting paroxysm of enjoyment followed by degradation ranging from slight to abysmal and misery ranging from small to unutterable before coming to ourselves and recognizing the mistake. The mistake is that these detours are traps.

The Young Men and Young Women of the Grants Ward, Grants New Mexico Stake, really went the extra mile when they volunteered to wire signs to fences denoting the newly created national monument and conservation area known as “El Malpais.”

There were ten miles of fences surrounding the lava-filled valley with geological and archaeological sites. The youth were required to wire signs every tenth of a mile. The Bureau of Land Management representative expected the project to take all day. He was surprised and pleased to find that the youth completed it in a mere two hours, and he commented on their enthusiasm and efficiency.

The young men and women not only enjoyed the work, but felt good about the example they’d set. They were also proud to have a hand in helping their area’s new national monument.

“Being adopted means having a family that loves you,” says nine-year-old Kimberly who was adopted and sealed to our family five years ago. Often adoptive parents think they will teach and guide the adopted child, but in our family Kimberly is the one who often does the teaching.
Kim recently entered two events in a track-and-field competition. She had never raced before but wanted to give it a try. She positioned herself on the track to compete with the 20 or so other girls her age in the 100-meter race. A shot rang out to begin the race and, with hundreds of spectators looking on, Kim started running. I was waiting near the finish line with camera poised to capture her coming down the lane, when I realized that she was in last place. I expected to see a disappointed little girl, but Kim had a huge smile on her face! When I retrieved her from the group of girls, she blurted out, “Mom, that was so much fun! When’s my next race?” She then rushed off to sit with her new friends.
Feeling shocked, but extremely proud of my daughter’s positive attitude, I took my place once again at the finish line to see her race in the 50-meter dash. The starter’s gun fired again, and I caught sight of Kim’s beaming smile as she ran with all her might toward me. As I watched my beautiful daughter cross the finish line, parents around me were jumping up and down, congratulating their own daughters. I stood calmly as a warm, peaceful feeling of gratitude filled my heart. Only I knew how far Kim had come in the years since she came to our home. She was once a frail, malnourished, and withdrawn child, and now her strength and confidence couldn’t be contained. She cried out, “I came in third, Mom!”
I gently replied, “No, Kimmie, you didn’t come in third. The winners are over there receiving their awards.”
“I meant I came in third to last, and I want to race again!” I hugged her tightly, and we both giggled out loud as we walked off the dusty track. I knew that Kim was the real winner and had been blessed with gifts and talents far greater than speed and agility. How blessed I felt at that moment to be her mother. I can only hope that I will face my challenges and trials in life with a smile on my face and the same positive outlook that Kim showed me that day. I thank Heavenly Father for bringing us together and pray that I can continue to learn from her example.

I guess it was about ten years ago,
but I remember it so clearly.
I was sitting in front of my mom’s
makeup mirror at the kitchen table.
Curiously, I pulled my stringy brown hair
away from my face.
A plain reflection stared back at me.
I didn’t notice
that my dad had been watching the whole time.
He grinned and said,
“Are you trying to see the face
your Heavenly Father sees?”
At the time, I couldn’t figure out how to answer
or why he even asked me that.
But now, I don’t think he really wanted an answer.
Fathers are just like that.

Just a few months ago, Kent Crookston, our dean of the College of Biology and Agriculture, attended a conference with many officers of the Church and leaders of various businesses in which the Church has invested. President Hinckley was in attendance, and Kent happened to bump into him at a break. President Hinckley was very kind and jovial as they began to talk, but when he found out what Kent’s current assignment is, he went on the offensive. Pointing his finger at Kent, he asked, almost accusingly, “Why do we have agriculture at BYU?”
Kent and his colleagues had been discussing just that question, and he began to say that they had concluded that we shouldn’t have agriculture at BYU unless . . . , but President Hinckley completed his sentence, “Unless it is unique in a way that blesses the Church.”
Interestingly, those are precisely the words Kent and his colleagues have been using to help them focus and choose where to put their emphasis as they consider curricular offerings, faculty hiring, and research focus for the future. They have added the idea that their changes must bless students, especially undergraduate students.

Scripture study has helped Stephen Odhiambo Mayembe to find answers that he says we can’t find by ourselves. “By studying the scriptures, we can find the answers to some of the problems we have in our day-to-day lives,” he says. “And also by studying the scriptures, it gives us that courage to endure to the end because the scriptures will always be there to teach us and tell us what to do.”

Studying the Book of Mormon helped Stephen gain a testimony of the Church. During a visit to his aunt who was a member, she invited him to go to church. After he started reading the Book of Mormon, he prayed to know if it is true and received an answer.

He says that reading the scriptures regularly helps him keep Church standards even when those around him question his beliefs. “By being a member of the Church, my faith has been strengthened, and through that I can say that I cannot be shaken [see Jacob 7:5],” he says.

In all likelihood, he was going to finish dead last.
Michael Edwards was the first person in history to represent Great Britain as an Olympic ski jumper. He was taller and heavier than his competitors (a disadvantage in ski jumping). He had such bad eyesight that he needed to wear thick glasses while jumping—glasses that fogged up at high altitude. He was entirely self-funded and as a result used mostly borrowed ski gear as opposed to the top-notch equipment provided to other skiers by their sponsors.
The odds were stacked against him. And yet, during the 1988 Winter Olympics in Calgary, Alberta, Canada, Michael Edwards had a perpetual smile on his face. He was already achieving the goal he’d had for many years: to compete as an Olympic athlete. He didn’t care when people told him he’d never win. He didn’t mind that other competitors would be better than him. And he never expected to take home the gold. His goal was to make it to the Olympics, and that’s just what he did.
He had wanted to inspire people, and inspire them he did. The crowds quickly started cheering him on. They loved rooting for a guy who did his very best and chased his goals, even though Michael’s prospects of winning seemed slim to none. As the games continued and he indeed placed last in every event, his popularity only grew. Nicknamed “Eddie the Eagle,” Michael Edwards had people across the globe rooting for him.
His Olympic story shows that there’s a lot to be said for setting goals, doing your personal best, and not worrying so much about those around you.

On one occasion when I had arrived early at Deseret Industries prior to our monthly meeting of the local operating committee, I made a tour of the well-organized displays and racks of commodities. My eyes were drawn to the area of overcoats. One particularly appealed to me. It was a fine, all-wool, English-tailored coat. I thought, “If it fits, I’ll buy it.” I looked at the price: four dollars and seventy-five cents! At that price, I knew it fit. I bought it and I paid cash for it. I took it home and, when I modeled it for my wife, I put my hands in the pockets, and there were a number of rare, one-cent postage stamps. I guess the stamps themselves were worth probably about as much as I had paid for the coat. And I suspect that I was probably the only person who made a purchase at Deseret Industries who not only made an excellent buy but also received stamps!