Gospel Story Finder

I snatched my roller skates out of the box marked “Deseret Industries,” where Dad had just tossed them.
“Not these!” I cried. “These are mine!”
“But those skates don’t even fit you anymore,” Dad replied. “By donating them to the Deseret Industries you’ll be—”
“No. They’re mine!” I interrupted.
For a minute Dad didn’t say anything, but I could tell that he was thinking hard. Then he looked at me.
“You’re right,” he said. “They are yours. And you should be the one who decides what happens to them. But,” he continued, “before you decide, I’d like to tell you a true story.”
“What about?” I asked.
“Well, it’s a story about a boy and a broken collarbone and a clarinet,” Dad answered.
“Who was the boy?” I asked. “Was it you?”
“No, it wasn’t me,” Dad said, “but it’s someone you know, someone who has red hair.”
“Uncle Max!” I cried. “But what does Uncle Max and a broken collarbone and a clarinet have to do with my roller skates?”
“But you know,” Dad said, looking straight at me, “that clarinet wouldn’t have been sitting on the shelf, waiting for Uncle Max, if someone hadn’t been generous enough to give it away.” He smiled. “Have to get going,” he said, picking up the box for Deseret Industries and heading toward the door.
For a second I just sat there, holding my skates. Then I jumped up. “Dad!” I called. “Hey, Dad! Don’t forget these!” I tossed my skates into the box and hopped onto the front seat of the car next to him. For a minute I thought that he was going to say something, but he just smiled at me and squeezed my hand.

A recently returned missionary who had just joined the Ricks College 42nd Ward approached me, the bishop at the time, and said that he had just read Elder Dallin H. Oaks' talk, "Bishop Help," where Elder Oaks invites members to help the bishop. "Bishop," he said, "what can I do to help you?" Without hesitation I returned, "Date every sister in the ward." He chuckled and then quit smiling when he saw that I was serious. He hesitated, and then said, "I'll do my best."
Each Sunday, I knew which sister had gone out with him on Saturday because she wore a huge smile and constantly watched the door for his arrival. He was handsome, spiritual, kind, intellectual, and talented. In fact, each week, most of the sisters turned when he walked into the Kirkham Auditorium, where we held Sacrament Meeting.
I had a sister in that ward who was often discouraged. We visited most Sundays and together we would review her week and her frustrations. I was not sure how to help her. She was discouraged that she had been at Ricks College for three years without a single date. I would strive to buoy her up each week, but I couldn't find long-term solutions until one Sunday morning when she walked in with a huge smile on her face. She cornered me after Sacrament Meeting and described how one of the brothers in the ward had asked her on a date for the previous Saturday. They had gone horseback riding down on the Henry's Fork property, leaving early in the morning and not returning until evening. The young man had prepared a wonderful picnic and had treated her like a queen. "Bishop," she said, "I know that he is not pursuing me romantically. In fact, I know that you assigned him to date every sister in the ward, but he treated me like a daughter of God."
At the end of the semester, the young man found me one Sunday after meetings and asked if he could give an accounting of his assignment. We sat down in the bishop's office and he began. "I'm here to ask for forgiveness. I haven't even dated half of the sisters in the ward." I assured him that he had been inspired in his choices. He interrupted and said,
"Bishop, I don't think that I blessed the lives of these sisters; they blessed mine. I was dating the wrong kind of girl. I was looking mostly at their physical bodies and not at who they are spiritually. I now know what kind of woman I want to marry, and physical appearance is hardly a consideration. I learned so much from the sisters in our ward."
His faithful action helped others and taught him much.

Loading up the bus to take a group of Latter-day Saint youth on a tour of Church history sites seems like it could only happen in the United States. But on one bright Saturday in May, youth from the Cardiff Wales Stake, with lunches stuffed in their backpacks and plenty of enthusiasm for the outing, set off for a special activity to commemorate the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood and to uncover the roots of the gospel in the British Isles.
And the roots run deep, back 160 years, to the time when Wilford Woodruff and Brigham Young walked along the roads in the villages that the bus was now driving through.
With many teenagers in one vehicle, the noise level in the bus is high as they cross the border from Wales into England. Everyone is talking and having a great time. The Welsh youth just love being together any chance they get. They love being around friends who believe the same way they do. Charlotte Forward, 15, of the Cwmbran Ward enjoys being with her friends Kathryn Elliott of the Blackwood Ward and Rachel Griffiths of the Newport-Gwent Ward. They really only get to see each other at stake activities, and spending all day together is a huge treat. Charlotte says, “Wales is a beautiful place to live. Everyone is so great to be with. We all get along in the stake. Everyone seems to be related in some way, especially our family. I’m something like the seventh generation in the Church. Some of my ancestors emigrated to Utah, but some stayed. Now there seem to be Forwards everywhere.”
The bus pulls into the village of Ledbury. It’s a fairly ordinary country town these days except for the charming old covered outdoor market on the main street. Andrew Dearden, the stake Young Men president, tells the youth that the first missionaries in this area were asked to preach in the market square. A few of the young men, who will be serving missions themselves in a few years, get out of the bus and walk under the old roof of the market. Would they have the nerve to stand in that spot and start talking about the gospel to the local townspeople? How would they react if the crowd did not want to listen?
Some of them are astounded that the missionaries 160 years ago had such success spreading the gospel. Clive Wilkinson, 18, is looking forward to his mission. But he is in awe to think that back then, hundreds of people in this area listened to the missionaries and believed. Some of those early converts heard Wilford Woodruff give a single sermon and asked to be baptized.
“It’s amazing that people would be converted listening to just one talk,” says Clive. “I’m a stake missionary, and when we go out with the missionaries now, it’s nothing like that. We’re lucky to get in the door. It’s amazing that the missionaries back then could come over here with this new religion which no one had heard about, and people would have so much faith to just believe them and be converted straightaway like that.”
The next two stops are very different from each other, but both are mentioned often in Church history. The first stop is for lunch at the Malvern Hills. This is the spot where Wilford Woodruff dedicated the area to the teaching of the gospel. After finishing off their sandwiches and crisps (potato chips), the group hikes up a trail, leaving the roads and houses behind, to the grassy slopes at the summit. From there they look one direction and can see Herefordshire spread out at their feet. Then they turn and can see into Wales toward their homes.
The second stop is even more significant. It’s the John Benbow farm. Although the farm itself is privately owned now, the small pond where hundreds of converts were baptized has been purchased and is maintained by the Church. The group relaxes on the freshly cut grass and tries to imagine the impressive scene when Wilford Woodruff was a missionary here.
Although there wasn’t a lot to see except the pond at the Benbow farm, the youth were quiet. The peaceful spirit of the place seemed to penetrate every heart. “It felt really special,” said Suzy Taylor, Blackwood Ward, “to think those people had actually been here. It was nice to see where our leaders were talking about.”
The final stop was at the remains of the Gadfield Elm chapel. Just the rock walls stand. The roof is gone, and the nettles have grown up inside. But the chapel was the first building owned by the Church outside of the United States. It is easy to imagine what it must have been like 160 years ago, as people walked down the winding country road to the chapel. What is hard to imagine is the power and spirit that must have been there when Wilford Woodruff preached. In one evening, they learned the truth, and it changed the course of their lives.
The seeds that were planted then still bloom in the youth that come back to visit the places where such miracles took place. “It’s quite amazing, really,” said Joseph Parry of the Caerphilly Branch. “These places are around us. I’ve always thought of Church history as being in America. It was actually in Britain, too.”

I remember an incident when the Holy Ghost guided me as I was touring last summer to Scandinavia. The International Folk Dance Ensemble was to give a fireside for our last evening in Finland before we left for Saint Petersburg, Russia, the next morning, where we would end the tour. We always appreciate the opportunity to share our testimonies, both in word and song, with the Saints we meet in the many areas we visit. Earlier that day we had been hosted by the American embassy in Finland. It was a pleasant encounter and an opportunity to let those there know about our beliefs and what we stand for. One of our leaders was carrying all of the tour funds because much money had been transferred to other currency. Inadvertently the black case containing the money was left at a bus stop when all of the group jumped on for a quick transfer that would get us back in time for the fireside.

It was when we had reached another transfer that the black case was found missing. While the rest of the group went to the chapel, the leader quickly retraced connections, only to find the bag missing. We were all downhearted and worried because the Russian officials would not allow us to finish the tour without our own funding. We sought out a room in the ward house and knelt while a prayer was offered in our behalf. We were indeed a somber group.

After we left the room, a member of the Church who knew about the loss asked me what we would do. I said without hesitation, “The case will be found and all will be well.” I had such a calm feeling. I knew that our Father in Heaven was watching over us. For me, however, this was not a normal response. Losing that much money anywhere in the world would be disastrous.

We went on to ready ourselves for the fireside as planned, but just as we were about to proceed, a man came to find the leader who had lost the bag. The man reported that a black case had been found and turned into the police, who had seen the USA address and called the American embassy where we had just been hosted. The embassy personnel had called us, knowing where we were expected to be that evening. Two young boys of about 13 or 14 found the bag and turned it in when they saw how much money there was. They might have been afraid that it was gang related. As is customary in Finland, a certain percentage of any money found is due the finders. What a small price the $500 given to the boys was compared to how penniless we would have been. Within a five-hour period, all factors had fallen into place to find and return the money we so badly needed. This truly was a miracle.

As I said, the Holy Ghost confirmed to my mind throughout this ordeal that all would be well. What a blessing to have the Holy Ghost to guide and lead us daily.

Harold B. Lee tells the experience of praying very hard for a material blessing he needed badly. He states that one day while he was praying for this blessing, he remembered that he had recently received some income that he had not yet tithed. It was as if, he said, the accusing voice of the Lord was saying: You want a blessing from me but you have not been obedient to the laws upon which such blessings are based. (“Faith,” address delivered at Brigham Young University, 28 Jun 1955, tape in Historical Department Archives.)
He said that he went and paid the tithing on that income, and then he again sought that particular blessing of the Lord.

After my mission, I was blessed with a beautiful, virtuous woman who was full of love for the Lord and for me. At that time, I felt that I needed to have a written plan for my life. As a young father with a young family, I knew that I wanted to be a well-rounded person. I felt that God had taught me what that means.

At the beginning of this devotional, I said that if you would follow the counsel that I give you today, I believe that years from now you will be able to look back to this devotional as the meeting that changed your life forever.

Well, my counsel to you is that you create a written plan for your life. The best way for me to teach you how this can be accomplished by being very personal and sharing my own experience with you.

I would like to open to you a window to my soul. I want to share with you what I did when I was 23-years old and let you into my thought process as I wrote my life plan and then have tried to live that plan. Almost 40 years later, I can say that my life has changed forever because of my life plan.

I wanted to incorporate into my life plan what I considered to be the three most important aspects of a meaningful life. I wanted to be a “whole man.” Each person may have different feelings and ideas about what that means. That is the great blessing of the individuality that God has given each of His children, but for me those, three aspects or supporting legs of my life were God, family, and work.

I realized that in order for my life to be meaningful and everlasting, God had to be at the center of everything that I did. I also realized that there is no lasting happiness without family. And finally, I realized that if I were going to be happy and be a blessing to my family and others, I needed to be self-reliant financially, which translated into work.

As I set out to conquer the world and myself, I thought of a few things that I wanted to always remember, thoughts and quotes that would keep me grounded and on course and that would help me remember where I was headed. I wrote down these axioms and quotes which became an important part of implementing my written life plan. They are as follows:

I wrote my plan based on the personal values that would guide my future decisions. If my values were right, I knew that by setting short- and long-term goals based on and around those values, I would be able to become the person that I aspired to be and that person would be pleasing to my Father in Heaven. That is who I am still striving to be: a son of God who is loved and who is pleasing to my Father. I hope that one day as I return home with my family that Heavenly Father can say, “This is my beloved son in whom I am well pleased.”

I felt empowered as I realized that I could go anywhere I wanted to go, that I could achieve anything that I wanted to achieve. The sky was the limit, and I was in charge.

How did I start this life changing process? In the spirit of prayer and meditation, I read and re-read my patriarchal blessing. I paid attention to the blessings promised and the talents which God said I had been given. Sometimes, I would think, “Is He talking about me?” But I decided that if He said I had such a talent that I had better develop it.

I also paid attention to the warnings and admonitions that I was given. I was grateful that a loving Father in Heaven would warn me of possible pitfalls in my path.

Then I identified eight values that I wanted to develop in my life. Today, chapter six in Preach My Gospel on Christlike attributes would be a great place to study to help you receive the revelation you are seeking. Then fast and pray to know if this is who God wants you to become.

I suggest that you choose between eight and ten values. In my thinking, if you have more than that, the task can appear so overwhelming that your resolve probably won’t last long. With eight to ten life values, you will be able to keep a razor focus and become the person that God and you want you to become.

I then thought about the person that I wanted people to remember when I am dead. This is called seeing the end from the beginning.

I asked myself what are the things that I want my family and friends and business associates to say about me at my funeral. This helped me realize what is really important in this life and what really isn’t.

The next step, which may be the most important of all, was to write down the values that would govern my behavior for the rest of my life. You have heard it said that if it is not written down, it is only a fleeting wish. I was committed, and I had a document to remind me of that commitment for the rest of my life.

I then began to carry a copy of my written life plan with me wherever I would go, and I would review it often. I would set short- and long-term goals in my life based on these values. I carry with me today and review often the very document that I wrote nearly 40 years ago. It still guides my life. It describes the person I want to become.

Now the very personal part. I am going to share with you today my life plan. If you choose to create your own life plan, I don’t expect that your plan will be the same as mine. In fact, it shouldn’t be because we are each unique creations of God. My hope is that you would be able to see an example of my plan, which would help you develop and write down your own unique plan for life.

With each of the eight values that I chose, I wrote down positive affirmations. I wanted to describe the person I wanted to become. As I reviewed on a regular basis those affirmations, I realized that my life was changing and that I was starting to be more like the person I wanted to be. As already mentioned, even today, I have not become the person I hope to become. I am a work in progress. I believe my best days are still ahead of me and that I am slowly but surely becoming the person that God expects me to be and the person that He sent me here to become.

Those positive statements over the years have become to me just like the scriptures and my patriarchal blessing. I believe my life plan is an inspired document that God revealed to me many years ago. Writing my plan was a spiritual experience for me.

I can’t number the times that I have been faced with business situations, personal relationships, or temptations where lines from my life plan have come quickly to my mind and helped me to make the right choice. We really are the product of our choices. My life plan has been and still is a great blessing and a protection to me on a daily basis.

It’s a gray, drizzly Saturday morning, but the children of the Danbury Connecticut Ward aren’t in their pajamas watching cartoons or playing video games. They’re busy making videos of their own. And their videos will help thousands of people learn about the Book of Mormon!
It all started when their bishop had a great idea. Bishop Summerhays is a media expert who teaches children from many countries how to use technology to create positive messages. Why not teach the children in his ward the same thing?
Now the children, joined by children from the Newtown Ward, are sitting at five long tables in the Primary room. Stacks of construction paper and poster board, pens, and scissors are on the tables. Each group will be making an animated video of a different Book of Mormon story:
Lehi’s Dream
The Journey to the Promised Land
Jesus Visits the Nephites
Korihor
Moroni Buries the Gold Plates
Step 1: First the children think about how they will tell their story. They draw scenes on special paper called “storyboards.” Close-up scenes show people’s emotions. Long-distance scenes show background and setting. In-between ones show action.
Step 2: Now everyone draws figures on construction paper. They draw arms and legs separately so the figures will be able to move. They also draw eyes open and shut and mouths in different shapes. Then they cut out the figures, which are called “puppets.”
Step 3: Finally the animation begins. A digital camera on a tripod is focused on a piece of poster board—the background for a scene. The camera is attached to a computer.
One group is shooting a battle scene between the Nephites and the Lamanites. Each child is in charge of two or three puppets. The children arrange their puppets on the poster board. Then someone hits the space bar on the computer. Flash! The first frame of the video is shot.
Now everyone moves their puppets a fraction of an inch. Flash! “This is fun!” says Brooke B.
It takes 900 shots to make one minute of animated video. After 30 shots, the children have made two seconds of film. They stop to watch their work on the computer screen. “That was awesome!” says Noah C. as they watch their paper warriors come to life.
Later at another activity, the children will tell the stories, and their voices will be recorded. Then Bishop Summerhays will put the video pictures and the recorded voices together to make a movie.
Now the children can’t wait for this year’s premiere. They hope even more people will learn about the Book of Mormon by watching their new videos online.
And they are more enthusiastic about the scriptures because they brought them to life through their own creations.

When I was a child, a neighbor brought us food during a celebration. When our family receives such a gift, it is customary in my home for my father to decide when the family eats the food. This time, my father was not home. I desired so much to eat the food that I cried and begged my mother to give me some. My mother didn’t want to disrespect my father’s traditional role, but she also didn’t want me to be unhappy. She cut some of the food and gave me a little to eat.
Later, when my father came home, he was unhappy about what I had done. He invited me into his room and told me he was disappointed that I had not shown contentment for what I already had. He taught me that peace of mind and a good life are only for those who are content with what they have.

The Lowell family came to the community under unusual circumstances. Brother Lowell had just finished his doctorate degree at BYU and was searching for a job. “I knew I wanted to coach swimming because Cal was in swimming. He showed talent as a youngster, and all I really wanted to do was help him develop it. I wanted to find a job that would allow me to spend time with my son.”
But after graduation Brother Lowell was 50 and unemployed. He’d been fasting and praying about finding a job and worrying particularly about his older son Ron who was still on a mission. As he sat at the kitchen table reading a swimming magazine, a small classified ad caught Brother Lowell’s attention. It described a coaching position available in a desert town 150 miles southeast of Los Angeles. Every detail seemed to be describing him. “It was like a hand came down on my shoulder, and I had to get up and call the number. I figured that an ad in a national magazine would already be filled, but I knew I had to call just the same. I told the man who answered the phone, ‘You may think I’m crazy, but I think the Lord wants me to come to Indio and coach swimming. I’m a Mormon, and I think that I’m being told that that’s what I should be doing.’ The man said, ‘I don’t think you’re crazy; I’m a Mormon, too!’” Brother Joe Rile, the man Brother Lowell had phoned, was on the board of directors for a private swim club in Indio. Soon the whole Lowell family was relocated.

The four-wheel-drive pickup bumped carefully along the twisted mountain road leading into Chulac, a plantation built among the mountains of the Central Highlands in Guatemala. Rain suddenly spilled from the dark clouds and lashed the windshield as the truck arrived at the central house of the 23,000-acre plantation.
At the wheel was Cordell Andersen, president of the Guatemala Cobàn District. Seated next to him were two missionaries to the Kekchi Indians, Elder Bringhurst of California and Elder Rios-Lazo of Costa Rica. Riding under the canopy were President Andersen’s oldest daughter, Julie, 17, and her two Provo (Utah) High School friends, Leslie Ann Knight and Ann Gardner. The fourth occupant was Gustavo Ramirez, a 73-year-old convert to the Church. Brother Gustavo was an itinerant dentist.
The full-time and member missionaries had come because the cooperative manager, who lived five hours away in San Cristobal, had met the missionaries and become interested in their message about the book of his ancestors and the religion of his forefathers.
The missionaries in San Cristobal then met with the plantation’s board of directors, each of whom purchased a copy of the Book of Mormon, and invited the missionaries to visit the plantation. President Andersen arranged to take a set of missionaries on an overnight visit to Chulac.
It was at the end of a workday on Friday when they finally pulled into the large courtyard of the central house and sought shelter from the drenching rain. Several workers, holding torn pieces of plastic over their heads, raced across the courtyard to meet the visitors. They took President Andersen and the two missionaries to the plantation office where arrangements were made for meals and lodging.
Meanwhile Brother Gustavo, who’d been let off under an overhang by the plantation store, was telling a number of workers that he would be willing to pull any infected teeth. He also gave an introduction to the Book of Mormon and said there would be a meeting after dark for those interested.
By the time arrangements for lodging were made, the rain had let up. Two workers brought over a box and set it on edge for Brother Gustavo. The itinerant dentist pulled out his bag and arranged his tools along the hood of the truck as his first patient took a seat on the box. He took out a bottle of novocaine and filled a syringe.
After the tooth had been pulled, the visitors unloaded a portable generator and a slide projector. They carried the equipment and an extension cord with a light bulb into the warehouse where the meeting was to be held. Later, along with President Andersen, they visited several families nearby.
President Andersen explained that wages at the cooperative averaged $1.25 a day, with a two-week bonus at Christmas. From surplus profits the workers had purchased a marimba and several other musical instruments the previous year.
Many of the Indians lived in improved dwellings. Although these homes had no floors, they were larger than the unimproved dwelling and were usually sheeted with galvanized roofing rather than thatched.
“Under the cooperative rules no one who drinks can be a member,” President Andersen explained. “This was their own decision.”
That night 175 people assembled for the meeting. One of the cooperative leaders, who was also a lay leader in his own church, apologized for the lack of a crowd. “It is too bad you can’t stay tomorrow night,” he said. “There would be a much larger crowd.”
President Andersen started the generator. By the light of the single light bulb Julie, Leslie, Ann, and the other visitors sang an opening song.
Brother Gustavo followed the song with a prayer in the Indian dialect, and President Andersen, speaking in Spanish, explained the origin of the Book of Mormon. Brother Gustavo translated. Elder Bringhurst then talked in Kekchi to the 175 people. After he concluded, he and Elder Rios-Lazo sang “I Am a Child of God” in Kekchi.
When the meeting was concluded, few got up to go. Instead, they gathered into small groups. Those who spoke only Kekchi talked with Elder Bringhurst and Brother Ramirez. Those who understood Spanish asked Elder Rios-Lazo and President Andersen several questions.
The district president then explained that although they had to leave in the morning, Brother Gustavo was remaining for the rest of the day to extract teeth and to answer gospel questions. This member-missionary had only a one quetzal note (equivalent to $1) in his pocket from pulling the tooth earlier, but he was not worried about getting back home.
“Perhaps I’ll pull enough infected teeth to get a bus ticket and to buy some food,” he said with the confidence of the recently converted.
After breakfast the next morning, the visitors said good-bye and started home. As they drove along ridges and cliffs, past cattle, scattered Indian homes, and a mine, President Andersen explained that the secret in the Central Highlands, as in the rest of the world, is member-missionary work.
“It’s people like Brother Gustavo who really help the work go forth. There just aren’t enough full-time missionaries to go around,” he said, “especially here where the people live in a scattered condition.”
During the following weeks and months the missionaries and President Andersen continued visiting the people at the Chulac Plantation, telling them more about the book of their ancestors. This missionary work bore fruit when one Saturday 20 people entered the waters of baptism. Among them were seven couples, the ten-year-old daughter of one of the couples, and five teenage boys. One hundred and fifteen of their neighbors were on hand to witness the sacred event.
The next day the converts and 12 other adults bore testimony in their native Kekchi dialect to the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and the benefits of living gospel principles.
President Andersen later wrote, “Add to the adults their children who have been blessed and it comes to 37 new members of the Church.”
Less than a year after the people of Chulac first heard the gospel, serious plans were being made to organize a branch in that remote area of the Central Highlands of Guatemala.
For those people, the missionary adventure has just begun.

A sobering and poignant scene appears on our screen as we switch channels. A grieving young father and his two children sit before a television set in their home after a makeshift dinner. The children have been staying with Grandmother while their mother has slowly slipped away in a lingering illness; now they and their father are home again after her funeral. The little girl drops off to sleep and is carried to her bed. The little boy fights off sleepiness until he finally asks his father if tonight, just tonight, he can sleep with him in his bed. As the two lie silently in the dark, the lad speaks: “Daddy, are you looking at me?” “Yes, son,” the father replies, “I am looking at you.”
The boy sighs and, exhausted, sleeps. The father waits a time and then, weeping, cries out in the dark, in anxious anguish: “God, are you looking at me? If you are, maybe I can make it. Without you, I know I can’t.”

Not long ago a young mother wrote to me: “Sometimes I wonder if I make a difference in my children’s lives. Especially as a single mother working two jobs to make ends meet, I sometimes come home to confusion, but I never give up hope.
“My children and I were watching a television broadcast of general conference, and you were speaking about prayer. My son made the statement, ‘Mother, you’ve already taught us that.’ I said, ‘What do you mean?’ And he replied: ‘Well, you’ve taught us to pray and showed us how, but the other night I came to your room to ask something and found you on your knees praying to Heavenly Father. If He’s important to you, He’ll be important to me.’” The letter concluded, “I guess you never know what kind of influence you’ll be until a child observes you doing yourself what you have tried to teach him to do.” What a magnificent lesson a child learned from his mother.

The last week home was sad. I wasn’t having second thoughts or anything, but I sure was scared, and I realized how homesick I was going to be.
A couple of days before I left home to enter the MTC, I decided to walk from our house to Gus’s station, about two miles away, just to visit him at work one last time.
As I walked, I thought about Gus and myself. We’re the only kids in our home. We’ve always been close, even though we’re so different and he’s five years older.
Gus used to be active in the Church. He had become a deacon. Then about the time he entered junior high school he started to rebel. My parents were patient but heartbroken.
Gus was tough and mean and popular. I was never Paul—I was Gus’s little brother. But that was okay, because the big guys left me alone.
People marveled we were brothers.
When I was a senior in high school I had already decided to serve a mission, so my hair was always cut short—missionary style. That school year Gus and I would always go to lunch together.
He’d lock up his station and pick me up in front of the high school on his mean Harley-Davidson. We sure must have looked funny riding down the street—Gus with his beard and long hair, something out of a motorcycle gang, and me, “Mr. Clean,” your basic prospective missionary.
I approached Gus’s station that day from a trail in back of it and was rounding the corner to go into the office when I overheard Gus talking to someone about me. I stopped to listen. They didn’t know I was there.
“Did I tell you Paul is going on a mission?” Gus asked.
“Yer kiddin?” It was the voice of Rod, Gus’s best friend, my worst enemy.
“Nope, I’m real proud of the kid.”
“He’s a ‘boot licker,’” Rod cynically responded. “You don’t believe all that stuff about Joseph Smith do ya?”
I doubled my fist in instant anxiety.
How would Gus answer the question? Would he say what he really felt to Rod? His influence had always persuaded Gus to do wrong, which was why I disliked him so much.
Gus thought before he answered.
I can’t explain what his words did to me when he finally spoke. There are things in life you’ll never forget.
“Well, Rod buddy,” he said, “let me tell you. I don’t know everything; neither do you. It could be true. All I know is it sure makes a difference in Paul. He loves it.”
Rod continued to attack me.
“He idolizes you, Gus. He’d do anything you told him to, even if he thought it was wrong.”
“No he wouldn’t,” Gus defended. “He’s never been anything like me. If more Mormons were like him, I could maybe stand being around them. Nothing’s worse than a self-righteous Mormon. He’s never judged me. And he hasn’t given my parents nearly the heartache I have.”
Then Gus said something that really made me think.
“Anyway, if I ever caught him doing something wrong, if he ever let me down, so help me, I’d punch him out.”
I left them talking and started back home without them ever knowing I had been there. A lump formed in my throat as I realized why Gus had seemed so excited about my mission. Now I knew why he had always supported me.
You see, he needed me to be strong where he had been weak. I vowed that very day I would be strong for him. I’d resist my temptations. I would not let him down. He needed to know someone could be good. I would be.

I’ll never forget an experience I had at a mission conference in Australia a few years ago. One young man had such a special glow upon his face that my wife said to me, “I’ve never seen anyone sparkle with the truth as he does.”

When the meeting finished, before I could even leave the stand, this young man came up to me and said, “Elder Asay, may I speak with you?” I said to the young man, “Go down to the bishop’s office and wait; I’ll be there shortly.” He turned and walked down the aisle.

When I arrived at the office, he looked at me and said, “Elder Asay, you have forgotten me, haven’t you?” That made me feel terrible. I said, “Yes, I guess I have; please forgive me.”

Then he said, “Several years ago, I came to your office with my bishop and stake president. I came because I had done foolish things in high school; I had made myself unworthy of my priesthood, and I required some special cleanup and a special clearance before I could serve. In fact, you may recall that when I gave you a listing of my transgressions, you said, ‘I will never allow you to serve.’”

Then I remembered. He was the only one I had ever said those words to. But he cried, and his bishop cried, and his stake president cried, and they pleaded and they pleaded; and finally I weakened. I said, “Yes, you may, on two conditions: first, that you go and live every commandment strictly; you will cut no corners; and second, that you will seek to become the best missionary in your assigned mission.”

Well, after he had recalled all of that to my memory, he said, “Elder Asay, it thrilled me to know that you were coming. You see, next week I go home, and I just wanted to tell you that for two years now I haven’t stretched or bent or broken a single rule or commandment.” Then he added, “I may not be the best missionary in this mission, but I’m awfully close.”

I loved that. I embraced him and thanked him, and then after a tear or two, he turned to leave. As he stood there, he looked at me again and said, “Elder Asay, for the first time in many, many years I feel perfectly clean morally.” “You are,” I said. “You have been sanctified by your service. Now, please go home and stay clean.”

He has since been married in the temple; he is now a father, and is completing a professional degree.

In October 1879, a group of 237 Latter-day Saints from several small southwestern Utah settlements was called to blaze a new route and colonize what is today known as San Juan County in southeastern Utah. The journey was to have taken six weeks but instead took nearly six months. Their struggles and heroics are well documented, particularly their seemingly impossible task of crossing the Colorado River at a place called Hole-in-the-Rock. Those who have visited this place marvel that wagons and teams could have been lowered through this narrow crack in the red-rock canyon walls to reach the Colorado River far below. Once the Colorado was crossed, however, many other severe tests awaited them on the trail to San Juan County. Tired and worn out, early in April 1880 they faced their final obstacle, Comb Ridge. The Comb is a ridge of solid sandstone forming a steep wall nearly 1,000 feet high.
One hundred and twenty years later, our family climbed Comb Ridge on a bright spring day. The ridge is steep and treacherous. It was difficult to imagine that wagons, teams, men, women, and children could make such an ascent. But beneath our feet were the scars from the wagon wheels, left as evidence of their struggles so long ago. How did they feel after enduring so much? Were they bitter after the many months of toil and privation? Did they criticize their leaders for sending them on such an arduous journey, asking them to give up so much? Our questions were answered as we reached the top of Comb Ridge. There inscribed in the red sandstone so long ago were the words, “We thank Thee, O God.”

Sister Lusanne Libretto, a member of the group traveling to Brazil, had an unforgettable experience at the temple. She recalls, “This was my most profound moment since I joined the Church.”
Early in the morning on September 13, 2024, the group attended the temple to do baptisms for their ancestors. Lusanne was given five names to be baptized for. She sat quietly in the chapel, waiting for her husband to change his clothes while the rest of the group entered the baptistry. As she waited, she felt strangely restless, as if she was being urged to go inside and start the baptisms immediately. She said, “I literally felt that I was being pushed forward. I passed the entire group, and to the surprise of my fellow brothers and sisters, I was helped first. They wondered why I was in such a rush to pass them to the first row, and rightly so. Once I started the baptisms, the first name I was given was that of Eva Doorson [Imro Wehl’s great-aunt].”
Later that evening, when Lusanne returned for another ordinance session, she received Eva Doorson’s name again. She was amazed and felt a strong bond with the deceased woman as if Eva had chosen Lusanne to help her.
At the end of another ordinance session, Lusanne said, “I was tired, but a temple worker handed me one more name to complete in addition to the five I had already done. To my surprise, it was Eva Doorson again. With tears in my eyes, I knew with certainty that she wanted and had chosen me to do all her work at the temple. I never asked for her name, but I kept getting it pressed into my hands. Even though I was exhausted, I felt grateful that I had listened to the gentle promptings of the Spirit.”

After his throat operation, President Kimball had no voice. During a testimony meeting in the temple, President David O. McKay asked him to bear his testimony. He could not speak a word. He could only utter inaudible, breathy sounds. He wrote a note to President McKay afterwards and asked, “Why would you do that to me?” The President answered, “Spencer, you must get your voice back, for you still have a great mission to perform.” (What a moving example of the love of one prophet for another.) President Kimball was obedient. He learned how to control air in his throat and to use the scar tissue that developed in his larynx and his remaining vocal cord. He regained his voice and carried on his great work. The accomplishment of President Kimball’s prophetic mission will stand equal to any in this or any other dispensation.

When you are away from home and family, prayer can provide the shield of protection you will need. Parting can be hard, particularly when the parent and the child know that they may not see each other for a long time. I had that experience with my father. We parted on a street corner in New York City. He had come there for his work. I was there on my way to another place. We both knew that I probably would never return to live with my parents under the same roof again.
It was a sunny day, around noontime, the streets crowded with cars and pedestrians. On that particular corner there was a traffic light that stopped the cars and the people in all directions for a few minutes. The light changed to red; the cars stopped. The crowd of pedestrians hurried off the curbs, moving every way, including diagonally, across the intersection.
The time had come for parting, and I started across the street. I stopped almost in the center, with people rushing by me. I turned to look back. Instead of moving off in the crowd, my father was still standing on the corner looking at me. To me he seemed lonely and perhaps a little sad. I wanted to go back to him, but I realized the light would change and so I turned and hurried on.
Years later I talked to him about that moment. He told me that I had misread his face. He said he was not sad; he was concerned. He had seen me look back, as if I were a little boy, uncertain and looking for assurance. He told me in those later years that the thought in his mind had been: “Will he be all right? Have I taught him enough? Is he prepared for whatever may lie ahead?”
There were more than thoughts in his mind. I knew from having watched him that he had feelings in his heart. He yearned for me to be protected, to be safe. I had heard and felt that yearning in his prayers, and even more in the prayers of my mother, for all the years I had lived with them. I had learned from that, and I remembered.

I have a simple story I would like to recount. It is something of a parable. I do not have the name of the author. Perhaps it will have special interest for our children. I hope it will be a reminder for all.
“Years ago there was a little one-room schoolhouse in the mountains of Virginia where the boys were so rough that no teacher had been able to handle them.
“A young, inexperienced teacher applied, and the old director scanned him and asked: ‘Young fellow, do you know that you are asking for an awful beating? Every teacher that we have had here for years has had to take one.’
“‘I will risk it,’ he replied.
“The first day of school came, and the teacher appeared for duty. One big fellow named Tom whispered: ‘I won’t need any help with this one. I can lick him myself.’
“The teacher said, ‘Good morning, boys, we have come to conduct school.’ They yelled and made fun at the top of their voices. ‘Now, I want a good school, but I confess that I do not know how unless you help me. Suppose we have a few rules. You tell me, and I will write them on the blackboard.’
“One fellow yelled, ‘No stealing!’ Another yelled, ‘On time.’ Finally, ten rules appeared on the blackboard.
“‘Now,’ said the teacher, ‘a law is not good unless there is a penalty attached. What shall we do with one who breaks the rules?’
“‘Beat him across the back ten times without his coat on,’ came the response from the class.
“‘That is pretty severe, boys. Are you sure that you are ready to stand by it?’ Another yelled, ‘I second the motion,’ and the teacher said, ‘All right, we will live by them! Class, come to order!’
“In a day or so, ‘Big Tom’ found that his lunch had been stolen. The thief was located—a little hungry fellow, about ten years old. ‘We have found the thief and he must be punished according to your rule—ten stripes across the back. Jim, come up here!’ the teacher said.
“The little fellow, trembling, came up slowly with a big coat fastened up to his neck and pleaded, ‘Teacher, you can lick me as hard as you like, but please, don’t take my coat off!’
“‘Take your coat off,’ the teacher said. ‘You helped make the rules!’
“‘Oh, teacher, don’t make me!’ He began to unbutton, and what did the teacher see? The boy had no shirt on, and revealed a bony little crippled body.
“‘How can I whip this child?’ he thought. ‘But I must, I must do something if I am to keep this school.’ Everything was quiet as death.
“‘How come you aren’t wearing a shirt, Jim?’
“He replied, ‘My father died and my mother is very poor. I have only one shirt and she is washing it today, and I wore my brother’s big coat to keep me warm.’
“The teacher, with rod in hand, hesitated. Just then ‘Big Tom’ jumped to his feet and said, ‘Teacher, if you don’t object, I will take Jim’s licking for him.’
“‘Very well, there is a certain law that one can become a substitute for another. Are you all agreed?’
“Off came Tom’s coat, and after five strokes the rod broke! The teacher bowed his head in his hands and thought, ‘How can I finish this awful task?’ Then he heard the class sobbing, and what did he see? Little Jim had reached up and caught Tom with both arms around his neck. ‘Tom, I’m sorry that I stole your lunch, but I was awful hungry. Tom, I will love you till I die for taking my licking for me! Yes, I will love you forever!’”

In Italy there lives a Brother Luigi Pittino, who, with other European Saints, attended the Munich conference. For 17 years Brother Pittino had met on Sunday with one or two other Saints. They would have an opening prayer, read and discuss the scriptures, and partake of the sacrament. In these last few years they were all in their 70s and 80s. There was loneliness and a feeling of isolation. Imagine the thrill for Brother Pittino to sit with 14,000 other Saints at the Munich conference!