Gospel Story Finder

Serving a mission can be a financial burden to any missionary and his family, but what do you do when you have three sons all wanting to leave at the same time? The Rozsa family has foreseen this, and the boys have been working since the age of 13 toward their missions. In addition to those icy Boston paper routes, they’ve sold avocados, worked in construction, and held other odd jobs. Last summer all three worked at the same taco stand at the same time, guaranteeing considerable confusion among unsuspecting customers. They report their bank accounts are in good shape for the missions to come.

At the age of 15, after the death of my father, one of my brothers, Toribio Castaños, took me to live in his house and took me in like a son. At that time, he had already been a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for several years. He made sure I went to church and received lessons of salvation through the missionaries. This has been the greatest and most significant service I have received in this life. I love my brother Toribio and I will be eternally grateful to him for putting all his effort into helping me to embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ and thus changing the course of my life.

My boyhood home in California was located relatively close to large orchards of apricots, cherries, peaches, pears, and other delicious fruits. We also lived near fields of cucumbers, tomatoes, and a variety of vegetables.
As a boy I always looked forward to canning season. I did not like scrubbing the canning jars or working in our hot kitchen. But I did like working with my mom and dad. And I loved eating my work! I am sure I ate more fruit than ever made it into any of our canning jars.
My memories of time spent in the kitchen with Mom and Dad are stirred every time I see a bottle of home-canned cherries or peaches. The basic lessons I learned about temporal self-reliance and provident living while picking and canning produce have blessed me throughout my life. Interestingly, simple and ordinary experiences often provide the most important learning opportunities we ever have.
A pickle is a cucumber that has been transformed according to a specific recipe and series of steps. The first steps in the process of changing a cucumber into a pickle are preparing and cleaning. I remember many hours spent on the back porch of my home removing stems from and scrubbing dirt off of the cucumbers we had picked. My mom was very particular about the preparing and cleaning of the cucumbers. She had high standards of cleanliness and always inspected my work to make sure this important task was properly completed.
The next steps in this process of change are immersing and saturating the cucumbers in salt brine for an extended period of time. To prepare the brine, my mom always used a recipe she learned from her mother—a recipe with special ingredients and precise procedures. Cucumbers can only become pickles if they are totally and completely immersed in the brine for the prescribed time period. The curing process gradually alters the composition of the cucumber and produces the transparent appearance and distinctive taste of a pickle. An occasional sprinkle of or dip in the brine cannot produce the necessary transformation. Rather, steady, sustained, and complete immersion is required for the desired change to occur.
The final step in the process requires the sealing of the cured pickles in jars that have been sterilized and purified. The pickles are packed in canning jars, covered with boiling hot brine, and processed in a boiling-water-bath canner. All impurities must be removed from both the pickles and the bottles so the finished product can be protected and preserved. As this procedure is properly followed, the pickles can be stored and enjoyed for a long period of time.

In 1977 I graduated from BYU and headed out to Madison, Wisconsin, where I had been accepted into the graduate program in geology. My major professor was a wonderful man by the name of Dr. Campbell Craddock. Cam had the reputation of almost never having seen the summer because he spent summers working in Antarctica, Alaska, or in the islands of the Arctic. Students who followed in his footsteps were sure to be cold and wet during most of their graduate fieldwork. I signed on to work in Svalbard, a group of islands about 500 miles north of Norway. It was a spectacular and wonderful place to work. Four of us from Wisconsin, including Dr. Craddock, were deposited on the shore of an island called Spitsbergen in mid-July of 1978. I was thrilled to be on shore, because for the three days of our voyage on the North Sea in the refitted fishing boat called the Polarstar, I had lain in bed, only rolling over occasionally to vomit into the bag I kept by my bunk. The retching continued even long after there was nothing left in my stomach but a bit of saliva.

During this time I was almost hoping the ship would sink and my pain would be over. I prayed and asked God for relief. Again my prayer was answered. The test worked, although not in the way I wanted—for into my mind came the following words: “My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; . . . endure it well [and] all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good” (D&C 121:7 and 122:7). I don’t suppose that Joseph Smith was looking for this as the answer to his prayer either. I know that often I tend to push aside or ignore the answers that I don’t want, hoping that the Lord will change His mind. But this does not often happen. Nonetheless, I was glad when the small moment of affliction had passed and we were able to step onto the solid earth. I was even able to smile again and realize that the experience was one that had been for my good. It had humbled me, brought me a better understanding of how much I needed my Father in Heaven, and, later in life, helped me to empathize more fully with my wife as she suffered through months of similar conditions during pregnancy.

Saturday was finally here. It was time for our surprise adventure!
“I hope we’re going to the trampoline park,” I shouted from the backseat. Mom wouldn’t tell us where we were going, but the street we were on looked familiar. …
Then it hit me. We were going to the care center. Our school class had gone there a few times. We each had a “grandparent buddy” to talk to and play games with. My buddy was named Bill, and he was pretty cool.
But not as cool as a trampoline park, I thought as Mom pulled into the parking lot. When my brother saw the red and tan building, he groaned.
“This is going to be the worst day ever!” he grumbled. “This isn’t a fun adventure at all.”
Mom looked at us from the rear-view mirror. “Oh come on, give it a shot. By the time we’re through, you just might change your mind.”
I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t so sure. I helped Mom carry bags of small quilts into the lobby. It felt calm and peaceful inside.
“Do you know why I like coming here?” Mom asked. I shook my head.
“I feel the same way here as when I see new babies at the hospital,” she said. “Like I’m close to heaven.”
Close to heaven. I liked that.
We showed the receptionist at the front desk the quilts we wanted to hand out, and he led us to a room where we could visit.
“Is Bill still here?” I asked. “The one who’s married to Ruth and likes baseball?”
One of the workers nodded. “Oh, yes! Bill is still here. We sure love him.”
We started talking with some of the people, and it was actually pretty interesting hearing about their lives. And after a while, I saw Bill sitting in his wheelchair.
“Hi, Bill!”
He didn’t look like he remembered me, but that was OK. I picked out a small quilt with a baseball pattern and laid it on his lap.
“He gets cold a lot, and that will really help him,” said one of the workers standing nearby. “His wife will be happy to see it. She comes to visit him every day.”
Our visit wasn’t long, but it was long enough to see Bill smile. On our way out, we read a piece of paper posted on Bill’s door that told some fun things about his life. We learned that he grew up on a farm and learned to play baseball from his stepmother.
“Hey, Mom, look!” I pointed to a line on the paper. “He was so good at baseball that he was going to sign on with a professional team! But then he served in the military instead.” It was neat to learn a bit more about Bill.
Soon we were back in the van, buckling our seatbelts.
“So?” Mom asked us. “What did you think?”
I smiled. “I actually had fun. And I feel really happy. I think it’s because we helped Bill.”
As Mom drove home, we talked about different ways we can show people love and how the Spirit tells us when we are making good choices. We were all feeling so great that we decided to go back and visit another day.
What a great day! I thought as we pulled into our driveway. It was a fun adventure after all.

Scott Balloch of Bristol, England, was 18 years old when his parents ended their marriage. As a result, he feared the possibility of a divorce of his own someday—but he also learned important lessons from his parents’ experience.
“I was much less blasé about dating because of my parents’ divorce,” Brother Balloch says. “I took the commitment of marriage very seriously.”
Before he and his wife married, they talked about his concerns and they consistently prayed and read the scriptures.
“That had a massive impact,” Brother Balloch says. “It lessened contention, and a lot of our fears were taken away.
“Nephi taught us a good principle: ‘I will go and do’” (1 Ne. 3:7), he continues. “When we’re fearful, it can make us more reliant on Heavenly Father. He’s provided a way.” The Ballochs explain that they have been blessed for seeking to follow Heavenly Father’s commandments in their marriage.

Steven (8) and Douglas (11) Brown, and Kevin (8) and Kimball (11) Galbraith were neighbors in Sugar City, Idaho. On Saturday, June 5, 1976, they were planning to go fishing at their secret spot on the Teton River after Steven and Douglas had finished mowing their lawn.
Ordinarily the boys used a power mower but for some reason that day they used the hand mower even though it took longer. Word about the dam breaking came before they finished the lawn.
Doug said, “If we had used the power mower we’d have been at the Teton River and Dad doesn’t think that he could have gotten us out and we probably would have drowned.”
One month later Steven, Douglas, Kevin, Kimball, and Paul went back to see their homes. (see photographs)—

I had an experience at the dedication of the Los Angeles Temple in 1957. I was in the solemn assembly room with the prophets. President Harold B. Lee touched my heart as he was speaking, and said the single most important lesson about discipleship I had learned in my life up until that time. He said, (as best I can remember): “If you want to show your love for God you must first learn to love and serve the people. That is how you show your love to God.”

I had been raised in an inactive LDS home. The real reason why I was at the temple dedication was because I could get out of school for the day. I was not much of a disciple of the Lord then. But that simple lesson about showing our love to God by first loving and serving the people was my guide to all I did in my family, and later, as I became more active in the church, it was the guiding principle in all I did. That one lesson motivated me to make the effort to serve, to be the first one to put down chairs after meetings, or to set up tables, or to clean the church, or to take people to meetings in my car, do my ward or home teaching, etc. I wanted to show my love for God, so I tried to love and serve His people.

A friend of mine once told me about his experience in coming to know and understand the gift of the Holy Ghost. He had prayed often and longed to know the truth of the gospel.

Although he felt at peace with his beliefs, he had never received the certain knowledge for which he hungered. He had reconciled himself to the fact that he might be one of those who would have to walk through this life relying upon the faith of others.

One morning, while pondering the scriptures, he felt something surge through his body from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. “I was immersed in a feeling of such intense love and pure joy,” he explained. “I cannot describe the measure of what I felt at that time other than to say I was enveloped in joy so profound there was no room in me for any other sensation.”

Even as he felt this outpouring of the Holy Ghost, he wondered if possibly he was just imagining what was happening. “The more I wondered,” he said, “the more intense the feelings became until it was all I could do to tearfully say, ‘It is enough.’”

Although I was baptized as an infant in one church and attended another on and off during my childhood, religion was never a huge part of my life. As I grew older, my family moved a lot, and we stopped attending worship services. I believed in God, but I did not think about Him or religion very often.
That all changed in 2006, when I was 14. My uncle Billy died; he was only in his mid-30s. His premature death made me realize how much I loved him and caused me to start asking questions internally. Where did he go when he died? Did he continue to live and have a future? What would become of his children and other family members left behind? What did his life mean? What did my life mean?
These thoughts ran through my mind for the next several months. One evening in September 2007, my mother, my three younger siblings, and I were leaving a deli in my hometown of Haverhill, Massachusetts, USA, and stopped to sit on a bench. Two young men in black suits, white shirts, and ties approached us. One of them said, “I know it may seem a little bit awkward to talk to two people you don’t know, but could we share a message with you?”
We agreed. I knew they were going to talk to us about religion, and I was impressed that they didn’t just thrust a card or pamphlet at us and walk off. Rather, these young men genuinely seemed interested in us and excited about their message. At the conclusion of their message, they asked if they could visit our family. My mother agreed and set up a time, so I have her to thank for what became a great change for good in my life.
We started learning the gospel. After a while Mom became busy with different things and didn’t continue to meet with the missionaries, but I did.
I connected easily with Elder Kelsey and Elder Hancock. Perhaps part of the reason was that they weren’t that much older than I was. I felt great love from them and for them. Soon I felt that same love from ward members and from other youth in my stake.
The missionaries taught me the plan of salvation, which answered the questions I had about my uncle and about my own purpose in life. The elders also introduced me to the Book of Mormon. I remember reading in Alma 32 about the seed of faith developing and tasting good (see verse 28). That description was exactly how the Book of Mormon seemed to me. What I was reading and what the missionaries were teaching me rang true, felt right, and tasted good.
My mom teased me about what she called my “hermit crab stage” because I would retreat to my bedroom and spend several hours reading the Book of Mormon. Although I didn’t recognize my feelings as the Holy Ghost at that time, I felt that this path was right.
When the missionaries asked me to be baptized, they encouraged me to pray about the decision. When I prayed to know if joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was what I was supposed to do, I received a very direct answer, to the point that it shocked me. The direction was clear: go forward with baptism.
I remember vividly the day I was baptized—December 15, 2007. As I stood in the cold water with Elder Kelsey and he raised his hand to the square, the Spirit just filled me up; it seemed to take over my whole frame. I could say that I was also grinning from ear to ear, but that description doesn’t even come close to describing what I felt.
After my baptism I continued to feel the Spirit. I felt sanctified. I knew that my sins had been remitted. I felt the approval of Heavenly Father that this was, indeed, the path I was supposed to take.
Occasionally, when little doubts pop up, I go back to that experience and remember how I felt that day. Remembering what I felt then helps me dispel any doubt I may encounter.
Even though we don’t reenter the waters of baptism to have those powerful feelings again, we can remember that feeling when we renew our covenants through repentance and the sacrament. Each time I repent, I can find that feeling again—one of being cleansed and of being loved.
Feeling that love helps me identify with what Joseph Smith taught: “A man filled with the love of God, is not content with blessing his family alone, but ranges through the whole world, anxious to bless the whole human race.”1 Knowing the worth of a soul helps me be excited about opportunities to go teaching with the missionaries in my area. I also look forward to the day when I can serve a full-time mission and share how happy the gospel of Jesus Christ has made me.

I came to understand that situation in a very real way. If I may share with you some personal feelings: During the time that President Kimball was ill, President Tanner’s health failed and he passed away. President Romney was called as First Counselor, and I as Second Counselor to President Kimball. Then President Romney became ill, thus leaving to me an almost overwhelming burden of responsibility. I counseled frequently with my Brethren of the Twelve, and I cannot say enough of appreciation to them for their understanding and for the wisdom of their judgment. In matters where there was a well-established policy, we moved forward. But no new policy was announced or implemented, and no significant practice was altered without sitting down with President Kimball and laying the matter before him and receiving his full consent and full approval.
In such circumstances when I would go to visit him, I always took a secretary who kept a detailed record of the conversation. I can assure you, my beloved brethren, that I never knowingly moved ahead of my file leader, that I never had any desire to move out ahead of him in Church policy or instruction. I knew that he was the appointed prophet of the Lord in that day. Even though I, too, had been sustained as a prophet, seer, and revelator, along with my Brethren of the Twelve, I knew also that none of us was the President of the Church. I knew that the Lord prolonged the life of President Kimball for purposes known to the Lord, and I had perfect faith that this prolonging of life was for a reason under the wisdom of Him who has greater wisdom than any man.

When I served as a member of the Europe Area Presidency, I was in Ireland for a mission tour and district conference. At the conference President John O’Farrell, the first counselor in the Ireland Dublin Mission presidency, spoke and posed a most interesting question: “Where would I be without the Church?”

He asked the congregation, “Where would you be without the gospel in your life?” He proposed that, “Here in Ireland, without the gospel we would likely be down at the pub with a pint in our hands, telling shady stories.”
Each of us might well ask that question: “Where would I be without the Church?”
What a blessing it is to have the gospel in our lives and to enjoy its saving power.
My dear young friends, may I share with you from the fire of experience and from personal testimony my conviction that the gospel has a dramatic power to change lives. The scriptures are full of stories of men and women whose lives were changed by its influence.
Think of Matthew, a despised tax collector who followed the Savior. Where would he have been had he not met the Master and had continued to seek earthly rather than heavenly wealth? (See Matt. 9:9.)
Think of Saul, the tent maker of Tarsus, and his dramatic confrontation with God on that fateful day near Damascus. He held the coats of those who martyred Stephen, and he went “breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord” (Acts 9:1.) Where would Saul have been—what would he have become—had not the Lord taken charge and turned anger and antagonism into desire and dedication?
Peter and Andrew, James and John heeded the call to leave their nets and become “fishers of men” (see Matt. 4:18–22). I dare say the call was not convenient—it seldom is, in purely worldly terms—but the call was heeded, and they were never the same again.
But what of today? Are there still such stories? Most assuredly, yes!
Let me take you to Huddlesfield, England, for a personal testimony of a sweet sister named Mina Kreslins. She was born in Amsterdam, Holland, into the Jewish faith. She had lost her parents and brothers and sisters during the wartime German occupation of that country.
She recounts in the testimony of her conversion, “I was bitter, and although I prayed, I just could not forgive.”
Then in early October 1983, her daughter Karla came into contact with the missionaries. Karla became interested in the gospel and was converted. She invited her mother, Mina Kreslins, to attend her baptism.
“It was at Karla’s baptism I felt the Spirit. It was so strong. I had never felt anything so beautiful in my whole life. I felt so elated and so wonderful, and I wanted to become part of it.”
The missionaries began teaching Sister Kreslins, and the Spirit bore witness to her of what they said. “During the third discussion—about Joseph Smith and the Restoration—the Spirit was so strong, from my head to my feet. I knew then, with all my heart, that the Church was true and that I had to be part of it.”
On January 22, 1984, she was baptized.
“My baptism was beautiful. No words can describe the feeling I had as I came out of the water. I felt so clean—almost holy. When I received the Holy Ghost, I felt wonderful. I wanted to shout for joy. Finally, there was rest and relief from the horrors and the hating of those war-torn years.
“Now, since I have become a member of this beautiful Church, I have forgiven and I have no bitterness in my heart.”
Where would Mina Kreslins be today without the gospel?
Such is the saving power of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Without its refining influence, each of us, in our individual way, would be lost and lingering in the backwaters and byways of life. The plan of salvation puts true purpose in living. It gives us an eternal perspective on our past, present, and future. Of all the people on the earth, we should be the most happy, for the Lord has given us knowledge of who we are and why we are here.
My young brothers and sisters, seek to be a good example to those around you. In your homes, your schools, your workplaces, and your community, seek to represent well your church and your faith.
When the call came, those apostolic fishermen of old did not procrastinate. They did not ask if it could be deferred until the close of the fishing season. They came “immediately” and left their nets “straightway” (see Matt. 4:20, 22).
The demands of Deity deserve to be met without delay.
I have asked that serious question of myself: “Where would I be without the gospel?”
It was that gospel testimony that persuaded me to say no to my Navy friends when our first “liberty” came to leave boot camp training in Farragut, Idaho, in early 1944. On the train from Farragut to Spokane, Washington, the invitations were presented in a most appealing way to go with them to get a “manly” tattoo and then be off to find the real pleasures that men seek.
I was the only Mormon in that group, and, yes, I felt a little lonely as I broke off to go by myself to the USO facility and then to a movie. The following day I found church services and church friends who strengthened and reinforced a lonely Mormon boy from Provo, Utah.
To have come home from the service in World War II with virtue intact has held for me eternal rewards.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell has wisely observed that “in the economy of heaven, God will not send a prophet when a priest will do.”
Remember that it was through the instrumentality of a young boy in his 15th year that the gospel light was given back to the world.
Age confers no inherent advantages in the kingdom; only righteousness does. You, in your youth, have the selfsame blessings therefrom. There is much you can do to build the kingdom—much, indeed, that a priest or a Laurel, a teacher or a Mia Maid, or a deacon or a Beehive can do.
Only Satan would have you underestimate your worth. Those who truly follow God know well the worth of souls (see D&C 18:10).
The power of Satan is increasing. You see it all about you in books, in magazines, in movies, and on television. You can resist that evil only by putting on the whole armor of God (see Eph. 6:13–17). Put on God’s spiritual armor, for it will protect all who wear it against the deadly weapons of evil and wickedness.
Without the gospel, we would not have available to us the whole armor of God, which is a shield of faith and truly a breastplate of righteousness.
Seeking then serving, and learning then living is the process. Let us learn our lessons well so that we might be profitable servants. Make full use of your educational opportunities, but temper them with the “steel” of seminary.
I testify to you that the gospel can change lives and that we have a loving and caring Heavenly Father who knows each of us and our aspirations and attitudes, our strengths and weaknesses.
Think deeply: “Where would I be without the Church?”
Thank the Lord every day that you have membership in his Church and that you can go to a loving Father in daily prayer and obtain direction and inspiration for the decisions of life.
Give thanks daily that the mission and atonement of Jesus Christ is for you personally and individually and that you can obtain the fullness of his mission. This fullness, however, is predicated upon your personal righteousness.
Don’t compromise. Don’t rationalize your weaknesses. Really go for the improvements and righteousness available to every member of the Church.
May we ever be mindful of him and of his love.

We were on our way to Mammoth Mountain, California, where we planned to enjoy a wonderful week of ski racing and fun in the snow. Just as we were entering Tonapah, Nevada, the driver of the car asked me to take the wheel for a minute. Three of us were in the car. The third member in the back seat grabbed the wheel in a joking manner, turning it almost completely around. The car spun from side to side on the road, finally going off a 10- or 15-foot ledge. I was thrown from the car after it left the road; seconds later the big Travelall rolled over me.
As I hit the ground I turned my head. I don’t know why I did, but I just did. This saved my face from being crushed into the ground. Then I blacked out, but not for long. I remember getting to my feet and standing a few seconds until my friends laid me back on the ground. The only thing I was really worried about was having a broken back because it hurt. It was hard to breathe. I remember thinking that when people die they usually say, “Well, this is it.” I didn’t think “this is it,” but I was sure that dirt and gravel were in my lungs because it was so hard for me to breathe.
I was taken to the tiny Nye Valley hospital where the only patient they had that day was me. Luckily there was a doctor on call. He and the staff cleaned me off, sewed up my cuts, and told me I had a broken back. I was glad it was nothing more serious but felt terrible about not going on to Mammoth Mountain.
Shortly after, two elders who were passing the hospital came in and gave me a blessing. No one had told them to come. They were just going by the hospital and decided to come in and see if they were needed. The two just came up to me and asked me if I wanted a blessing. They didn’t know then, and neither did I, but I had a ruptured spleen that immediately repaired itself or I would have bled to death. The internist who cared for me later said, “This is a very unusual occurrence—a spleen healing itself. In fact, it is almost unheard of.”
The next morning a doctor from my hometown, Provo, Utah, flew in to see me. As soon as he looked at me, he started to give orders, and I was out of that hospital and into a plane in a hurry.
I don’t remember much about the plane ride, but the doctor told me it was a nightmare. He said I blacked out completely two times. The pilot wanted to fly above the storm, but the doctor told him to stay at a lower altitude to keep me alive—the plane did not have a supply of oxygen. An ambulance, oxygen, and my dad were waiting at the Provo airport.
After three weeks of pain, discomfort, discouragement, no food—it wouldn’t stay down—continuous intravenous feeding, being rushed to intensive care and onto an ice bed several times to reduce an extremely high fever, several blood transfusions, and having my back and side punctured to remove the fluid from my lungs, the doctors decided that the only thing left to do was to operate and remove one of my kidneys to try to stop the infection and bleeding.
Members of our ward and many of our friends and relatives fasted and prayed for my recovery. I had many wonderful blessings from my father and the bishop. We all had faith that everything would be all right. I made it through the operation, but my heart was weakened. We also wondered if the remaining kidney, which was also diseased, would take over.
The next week was spent in the intensive care unit with a heart monitor registering every beat. At one time the monitor stopped. I told the nurses to call my mother and tell her that the machine said I had just died and ask if she wanted to come and see me.
I can’t tell you how often and how sincerely I prayed for little things—that the nurse would find a vein that wouldn’t collapse, that I could swallow something that would stay in my stomach, or that my fever would go down without my having to be packed in ice again. These prayers and many others were always answered.
The doctors, three specialists, told me later what was wrong. Besides a broken back, I had three broken ribs that had punctured my lungs. The pressure, the fluid in my lungs, and infection, as well as drugs they had to give me, had injured my heart. I also had had a ruptured spleen, which was healed after my blessing from the elders. One badly diseased kidney was removed, and the other one had infection in it. When my folks asked the operating physician if I would make it, he just shook his head and said, “We can hope. His insides were a mess.” He and the other specialists told us later that by all medical standards I should have died soon after the accident and many times since.
I stayed in the hospital about two months. I lost 50 pounds and was so dizzy that I couldn’t walk without help. I was to have stayed at home and been taught by a tutor. However, I was determined to go to school. With the help of a good friend I was able to do it.
Within a few months the doctors said I was completely well. In fact, after a final examination by the internist, he brought out a large assortment of charts and papers, held them up in the air, and said, “What can I say? You are okay. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. Be careful about contact sports—you have only one kidney—but many, many people live to a very old age with only one kidney. In fact, some people are born with only one. Come back and see me in a year.”
I am grateful to be alive and well. I can do anything I ever did before—ski, play tennis, play basketball, exercise. I am so thankful for dedicated doctors (I hope to be one some day), wonderful, patient nurses, and for well-equipped hospitals; but most of all I thank my Father in heaven for his many blessings to us. I’m especially grateful to be serving the Lord in the Canada Calgary Mission. I know our Father loves and guides us and that he has a mission for each of his children. He does preserve lives for a purpose greater than we realize.

These two virtues, love and service, are required of us if we are to be good neighbors and find peace in our lives. Surely they were in the heart of Elder Willard Richards. While in Carthage Jail on the afternoon of the martyrdom of Joseph and Hyrum, the jailer suggested that they would be safer in the cells. Joseph turned to Elder Richards and asked, “If we go into the cell will you go with us?”

Elder Richards’ reply was one of love: “Brother Joseph, you did not ask me to cross the river with you—you did not ask me to come to Carthage—you did not ask me to come to jail with you—and do you think I would forsake you now? But I will tell you what I will do; if you are condemned to be hung for ‘treason,’ I will be hung in your stead, and you shall go free.”

It must have been with considerable emotion and feeling that Joseph replied, “But you cannot.”

To which Elder Richards firmly answered, “I will” (see B. H. Roberts, A Comprehensive History of the Church, 2:283).

Elder Richards’ test was perhaps greater than most of us will face: the test of fire rather than of the touchstone. But if we were asked to do so, could we lay down our lives for our families? our friends? our neighbors?

Near my family’s home in St. George, Utah, was a big hill where I loved to play. One day as I was playing there with my older brother, Dennis, I slipped and tumbled onto a huge, prickly cactus plant. I had cactus spines everywhere—in my shoes, my trousers, my shirt. Frightened and in pain, and scarcely able to move because of all those sharp spines, I started to wail at the top of my voice. Dennis tried to help by pulling out the spines, but that seemed to hurt even worse and caused my skin to bleed. Finally, to my surprise, Dennis turned without a word and ran down the hill. I thought, Oh boy, that’s great. Right when I need him, he runs away. I was afraid that I was going to be left alone with that cactus in me forever.
Soon, however, I looked up, sniffling, to see him struggling up the hill with his small red wagon. He had run home to get it, and he pulled it all the way up the hill, tugging and pulling and huffing and puffing, so that he could take me home in it.

As parental influences diminish, Latter-day Saints still have a God-given responsibility to teach their children to prepare for our family destiny in eternity (see Doctrine and Covenants 68:25). Many of us must do this when not all of our families are traditional. Divorce, death, and separation are realities. I experienced that in the family in which I was raised.

My father died when I was seven years old, so my younger brother and sister and I were raised by a widowed mother. In the most difficult of situations, she pressed on. She was alone and broken, but with the Lord’s help, her powerful teaching of the doctrine of the restored Church guided us. How she prayed for heavenly assistance in raising her children, and she was blessed! We were raised in a happy home in which our deceased father was always a reality. She taught us that we had a father and she had a husband and we would always be a family because of their temple marriage. Our father was just away temporarily because the Lord had called him to a different work.

So far, there have not been many opportunities to share her testimony at school. While friends respect her beliefs, they do not discuss religion very much. Joselén is quiet but never afraid to speak up for what is right. That happened once when a student told others in class that Latter-day Saints are forced to pay tithing. No, it’s not that way, she corrected. “We give willingly,” she said, explaining that tithing is a voluntary offering to God.

Joselén grew up in the Church, but she found her own testimony when she was about 12 and came to understand that she could not always rely on her parents’ knowledge. She says gaining a testimony “was not one ‘Wow!’ moment.But I knew the gospel brought me joy.”

She goes out with the sister missionaries often during her summer vacations. Occasionally, there are opportunities to bear testimony to people she knows. One day the missionary lesson turned out to be with her best friend from school. “I told her truly what I feel,” Joselén says. Joselén is glad that she was able to share her testimony with her friend.

“I like the story of Joseph Smith, when he was facing a difficult time in the Sacred Grove and still went ahead with his prayer,” she says (see Joseph Smith—History 1:15–17). “I’m fascinated by his courage.” She admires the way the young prophet stayed true to what he knew, even when others made fun of him.

Nephi is another of her heroes. “I am impressed by the valiance of Nephi when he did not let himself be held back by his brothers,” she says (see 1 Nephi 3:14–21; 4:1–4).

There is another dream she’s working on now, and it involves another of her favorite pastimes: music. Joselén and her sister, Ileana, recently completed their certifications as organ teachers. Joselén loves to play music—from Primary songs to movie music—and she loves to listen to music, especially to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

“When I have a problem, a hymn will come to my mind,” she says. “Hymns help me find answers.” She attends seminary every school day in the branch meetinghouse not far from her home. “Sometimes I go early and just sit at the piano and play hymns,” she says.

When there is a general conference broadcast, she goes early so she can sit and listen to the prelude music by the Tabernacle Choir.

Now that Joselén has been to Antarctica—a place few people on earth will ever see in person—is there another special place she would like to visit?

“I’d like to go to general conference and hear the choir sing,” she says.

Who knows? If Joselén can make it to the bottom of the world, what’s to keep her from coming out on top in whatever she wants to do.

When I was in the National Football League, I looked up to Gifford Nielsen, who had also played for BYU before going on to the NFL, eventually becoming a sportscaster and later a General Authority Seventy. I ran into him one day on a golf course, and he gave me advice that changed the course of my professional career.
We were sitting in a golf cart, just me and him, and after I told him about my plan to go into television like he had after I finished playing football, he gave me advice to not continue pursuing a career that would require me to be at the games on Sundays. That way, I’d always be able to have a calling on Sundays and serve in the Church.
It was that simple, but it was advice that I hadn’t thought about. And that changed the course of my life.

The article in the April 1990 issue, “I’m Sorry, Bertha,” was very meaningful to me. I suppose it is because I’ve been rather like Bertha all my life. The teenagers in the ward I attended in a small town were full of “exclusive” groups and I was never a part of them. I was rarely invited to a party or other activities. Even throughout my high school years I was still left out.
I am a young adult now and am still much the same type of person—shy, self-conscious, vulnerable. I have been hurt deeply. I only hope the article can help youth see the need to reach out to other people and include them in their activities. Please look to see who you may be hurting by your attitude.
Name Withheld

The Fort Union cemetery is one of the oldest in the Salt Lake Valley. For literally decades, various youth groups have sponsored cleanup efforts, but after a year or so the weeds would grow back and the cemetery would again fall into disrepair.
The Union 14th Ward, Sandy Utah Cottonwood Creek Stake, wanted to change that trend. They wanted to beautify the cemetery permanently. The Young Women and the Young Men of the ward volunteered to take on the project for the summer. They needed to raise money and obtain donations to add a sprinkling system, a black-topped driveway, electrical wiring for lighting, and grass sod. The youth rolled up their sleeves and went to work. They baked hundreds of strawberry pies for sale and staged other fund raisers. They contacted local businesses for donations of labor and materials and solicited contributions from those interested in the project.
Under the direction of some construction professionals, the youth added the muscle as the physical cleanup began. The cemetery was completed with lawn, landscaping, display area, and benches. Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Council of the Twelve presided at the outdoor dedication services. He said, “Joseph Smith said the measure and test of a people is the way in which they care for their dead.” Indicating the newly redone cemetery, Elder Packer concluded, “Through your work here, you have paid a fitting tribute to your pioneer past.”