Gospel Story Finder

One week after I went through the temple, I moved away from home and started college. Even though I was attending Brigham Young University, a school with lots of members of the Church, I was still pondering how I could make specific efforts to keep feeling the Spirit as much as I had while in the temple.
Adjusting to college was difficult for me. I was trying to balance school, work, a social life, sleep, and spiritual endeavors. At times it seemed like feeling the Spirit consistently was out of reach. I kept remembering those moments when I’d felt the Spirit so strongly, and I kept wondering how I could ever feel that again.
I realized that leaving the temple didn’t have to mean leaving behind the peace and joy I felt there. Instead, worshipping in the temple has helped me invite the Savior into all aspects of my life.

A common symptom people feel when fighting depression and other mental health disorders is a numbness to the Holy Ghost. They often struggle to feel that enlightening, warm feeling inside.
As someone with major depressive disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder, I faced this reality for many years. I didn’t know how the Spirit felt. When my symptoms became bad during college, I ended up in the hospital for a week.
During those dark times inside my mind, I wondered how these illnesses would help me in the long run. How would God use this troubling experience for my good? What purpose did He have for me in giving me this trial?
I asked for priesthood blessings during this time, and there was always one sentence I heard repeatedly: “God has given you the resources to overcome this trial.” Having faith that He would lead me to what I needed in order to heal, I decided to trust my doctors. Little by little, I got the help I needed. Over time, I shared my mental health journey online.
Soon afterward, I began receiving messages from my male friends, asking about my mental health and sharing their similar thoughts and feelings. They asked me for help to know how to fight their numbness. At first I was surprised.
In many cultures, men are expected to always appear strong and never reveal their emotions. That makes it hard for them to admit they need help, and they often suffer in silence.
When this happened for the third time, I realized that my trials had prepared me to help. All those dark moments, all those therapy sessions, all my prayers, and all my efforts to exercise faith as I sought heavenly help taught me to recognize when others are facing similar trials and how to point them toward help.
I have learned the truth of these words from Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “If you had appendicitis, God would expect you to seek a priesthood blessing and get the best medical care available. So too with emotional disorders. Our Father in Heaven expects us to use all of the marvelous gifts He has provided in this glorious dispensation.”1

“I always turn to my dad for good advice. He’s so easy to talk to.”
This remark seemed to be repeated again and again by one child after another during our discussion together.
A recently married daughter said, “I always vowed I wouldn’t marry anyone who wasn’t just like my dad. And I’m so lucky—I found a man just like him.”
“Dad has always been understanding. Once I was driving a borrowed car and became involved in a wreck. I was devastated and in tears when Dad arrived. He patiently helped me through that crisis, and I’ll never forget that experience.”
“When he tries to sing a song and doesn’t know the words, he makes up new ones. It’s really fun to sit next to him when he’s singing—it’s like listening to a foreign language.”
“Dad’s a tease and loves to tickle! When our family was in the mission field, Dad would tease the missionaries a lot.
“Speaking of the mission field, Dad used to tell the elders not to ‘tiptoe through the tulips,’ but to get the job done. At one zone conference during Christmastime, our whole family was on the program. Dad wore an orange hat and we sang and danced to ‘Tiptoe Through the Tulips.’”

CeLisa Wathen of the Virginia Branch, Minnesota Minneapolis Mission, was selected as SnoWeek Princess at her junior high school. This was special to CeLisa since she was nominated just two weeks after moving to Minnesota from American Fork, Utah.

For CeLisa it was interesting to move from a school that had predominately LDS students to one where she is one of two members of the Church in the student body. But after her selection as princess, most of the school knew of her beliefs.

“Can you see where that smoke is coming from? It seems awfully close. I wonder what’s burning?”
“Could be just a grass fire.”
“It’s not that close. It just seems that way.”
“Yes! Could be somewhere around … our … Oh no!”
It was our 13th wedding anniversary. Because of other commitments that evening, we had decided to celebrate with a nice restaurant lunch and include our five children in the festivities. We had barely ordered our meal when one of the children had spotted the smoke and our spirit of celebration was all but ruined. We tried to tell each other that it just couldn’t be anywhere near our home and thus we somehow got through the lunch. But that was about it. Hurriedly we got into our car and started the drive home.
It was only about 16 kilometers, but what a long distance it seemed to be. The closer to the smoke we came, the more worried we got. It certainly looked like it was coming from our neighborhood. I can still remember the fear and anxiety reflected on each face during that drive.
We lived in southern California, where after a dry summer the terrible grass fires were rather commonplace. Our home was situated near the top of the hill, and the road leading to our home ran higher on top. In back of the house and down the hill were thousands of hectares of grassy undeveloped land with some clusters of trees here and there. The grass that summer had grown high and then, due to a lack of rain, had died and dried standing up. Somehow that grass had caught on fire.
As we arrived home the police and a couple of fire trucks were already positioned on the road up the hill. The wind was toward us, and the fire was advancing with unbelievable speed.
I whispered a quick prayer, “Dear God, save our home.”
It is interesting to see what a person thinks important and valuable when faced with the fact that there is just a small truck in the driveway with which to haul his prized possessions to safety. In our case, sentimentality played a bigger role than monetary value. The family records came first, and the only piece of furniture we even thought of bothering with was my great-grandparents’ untunable piano. The girls, with their selected valuables, were sent off with a ward member, but our 11-year-old twin boys stayed around placing wet blankets on the top of the roof and keeping them wet.
There were only a few houses on that hill, all some distance from one another. We started, as did all our neighbors, to clear away the dry grass and the shrubbery surrounding our property. It seemed like useless work, but we had to do something; we couldn’t just stand there waiting.
“Dear God, save our home.”
The fire was getting closer, and the place was getting hotter. And we were coming to the attention of the news media. The television cameras were aimed at us, and we were being interviewed for the evening news.
“How does it feel to wait for your home to burn down?”
“It might not burn.”
“Well, tell us how you feel right now.”
“Terrible. Scared.”
The police had long since stopped all the traffic to our area. Only the people living there and close relatives were admitted. Suddenly a car full of men from our ward arrived. They were all anxious to help, and we were grateful for their concern. Then other elders started to come. We knew about the roadblock and wondered how these good men had been able to come through.
“Brother Ellett,” I said to one of them, “how did you get past the police?”
“That was easy,” he chuckled. “I just told them that my brother lives here!” That seemed to be the way all the other brethren had come through the roadblock.
A few minutes later, while the elders were still coming through one young policeman came walking down the driveway.
“I came to see the man,” he said, “who has so many brothers.”
I went outside the house and counted all the men from our ward that I could see. I counted 39. Thirty-nine brothers!
Thirty-nine priesthood holders, I thought. There they were fighting the fire with every possible means they could lay their hands on. They fought it with shovels, with hoes, with rakes, and even with sticks. And right then and there I realized that they had even stronger power than those few helpless tools in their possession. Great feelings of peace filled my soul. I knew then as surely as I have ever known anything that no fire could get through that line of fire fighters.
Anybody who has ever seen a group of full-grown trees, or even one of them, explode with fire will know how scary such a thing is, especially when seen at close quarters. There I stood watching the flames that seemed to touch the sky, and still I knew that I and all that was mine were safe from that raging inferno. The peace and calmness that filled my being is something I will never be able to fully describe. I was so grateful, oh, so grateful for my membership in the Church and for the knowledge I had. Tears running down my cheeks, I thanked the Lord, not so much for the material things he would preserve, but for the spiritual things nothing can destroy.
Somebody had bulldozed a big gully between the burnt area and us. The television cameras were busy recording what to them was news. The bulldozed area would not have been wide enough to stop the fire if something else had not suddenly happened. The wind that had all the time blown briskly towards us turned unexpectedly and completely and began to blow now in the direction of the already burnt area. The fight was now easier, and the fire never crossed the bulldozed area to our home.
“My brother lives there,” they had said.
My brother! I felt then stronger than ever before the bond that ties us together in the Church. I felt it loving and caring for my family. We are not alone. We have one another.
Often, when I travel at night and see a light in the distance all by itself, I wonder who might live there. And then I remember, and this thought comes to me like a flash, “My brother lives there!”

But now, years later, I received a tape recording in the mail and learned the story of the Desmurs’ conversion to the Church.
About a month after my last visit to their home in 1964 Mrs. Desmurs was polishing shoes for the family one Sunday morning and talking with her husband about the gospel. He was totally opposed to the Book of Mormon, as he had been from the beginning. She mused, “I don’t know, but we might just find out some day that the book is true.” At that moment, she suddenly heard my voice speaking to her, bearing testimony of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. At first she felt fear, but that was suddenly replaced by a feeling of great peace and joy. During the next weeks she thought often of her experience and felt the witness of the Spirit.
Years passed; the family moved from their home to an apartment in another part of Versailles. In 1970—six years after my contact with them—two elders knocked on their door. The first thing Mrs. Desmurs told them about was the visits of the sister missionaries years before, and about the spiritual experiences she had had since then. The elders explained to her that it had been the witness of the Holy Ghost. She said she knew that was true, and she wanted to join the Church. But her baptism had to wait for a change of heart in her husband.
One day when their daughter was ill with appendicitis, Mr. Desmurs had gone straight to the hospital from work. Surprised that his wife was not there with the girl, he went home to find her talking with the two elders. In anger he told her she had better concern herself with her daughter before she worried about religion. He tore up the Bible of one of the elders and put them out of the house. Then he took his wife back to the hospital to see their daughter.
The next day Mrs. Desmurs chastised him, saying, “Those missionaries aren’t rich, you know. They come over here at their own expense. You ought at least to pay for that Bible.” So Mr. Desmurs went to the missionary’s address, paid them for the book, and told them he never wanted to see them again.
Yet over the next few months his heart softened, and he allowed his wife to resume her studies; she and the three oldest children were baptized in 1971. He began to attend church, stopped some bad habits, and finally in 1972 followed his family into the waters of baptism. He later contacted the missionary whose Bible he had torn, an elder who had gone home from his mission with few baptisms and one ripped Bible among his souvenirs, and who received this unexpected news with tears of joy.

When I was 19 I was called up to the Swedish army. As an artillery signalist, I served in the Eighth Company’s staff and leading platoon.

At 4:00 one January morning, our officers ordered us to get dressed with full equipment and gather outside in 20 minutes. Tired and hungry from the previous day’s activities, I felt like I had barely closed my eyes, and here I was again preparing to confront a new test. I still remember how it felt, stepping from the warmth of the barracks into an indescribable cold.

A huge military bus arrived to pick us up, and we were told we were going to Stockholm for a big test to see if we were qualified to continue our training. Arriving in the city, we were divided into three groups, with different maps and separate destinations.

We walked the streets of Stockholm, fully equipped with weapons, ammunition, and other gear. At each checkpoint we were required to perform a physical test, such as hostage confrontation, street battle, running through tunnels and buildings, and first aid treatment. After every test we barely had time to rest before moving on to the next checkpoint.

The freezing asphalt made my feet numb, and my shoulders ached from the heavy equipment. But I kept going and tried not to complain. Our group experienced bitter weather and difficult trials, but we were still marching as brothers. Along the route, we encountered shocked civilians who laughed, pointed fingers, and shouted at us.

I was tired, cold, dirty, and in pain when we reached our final destination and the bus picked us up. During the trip back to the base, I reflected on the trials my platoon and I had endured and asked myself if this training was worth anything besides the medals awarded at the conclusion. I asked myself if anyone else besides us had gone through trials as we had that day.

Suddenly, I thought of the hardships and sacrifice of the pioneers of the early days of the Church. I recalled the stories of their hunger, cold, and pain; of being mocked; and of walking endless miles—the same things I had experienced that day. The big difference is that I had to endure this for only one day. The pioneers traveled in cold and snow, rain and heat, walking through mud and dust. They walked with little material security, having only faith that the Lord would protect them. The pioneers walked to find Zion because the Lord had a marvelous work for these members to perform.

Suddenly, without thinking, I started to sing “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30), and right there on the bus I started to feel a difference within me. A great warmth and happiness flowed through my body. I was not active in the Church at that time and I had thought I would never come back, but suddenly a feeling came over me saying, “Come back to church.”

When I got to the base, I called my parents and told them I loved them and wanted to go back to church. The following Sunday was a huge test for me to see if I had the courage to return because I had been away for so long. Going back wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. My family and the other members helped me feel welcome.

I began to prepare to serve a mission and two years later received a mission call to serve in the Cape Verde Praia Mission. When I arrived in Salt Lake City on my way to the Missionary Training Center, I saw the marvelous work performed by the pioneers in building a magnificent temple and planning a beautiful city. I said softly, “Thank you.”

Today, when I ask myself if that military test was worth anything, I answer that it was, in every way, because in that moment of great insight on a bus with a platoon of fellow soldiers, I realized how important the work of the Lord is. It was worth it because I came back to the Lord and am now doing His work and His will.

“Hey, wake up,” someone says, poking you. Groggily, you look at the clock next to your bed. It’s 6:30 a.m.? What’s going on? Wait, that’s not your clock. And this isn’t your bed. Where are you?
“Hey,” the voice says, “you’re the one who wanted to follow us around. It’s time to get the day started.”
As you peer up at the missionary standing over your bed, you finally remember what’s going on. Church magazines offered you the opportunity to follow a missionary companionship around for a day, and you jumped at the chance to see what missionary life is really like.
You just didn’t realize it would start this early.
“Hi, I’m Elder Jesse Ward, from Utah,” the tall missionary says as you sit up. “Welcome to Spain. This is my companion, Elder Pierrick Triplet.”
Elder Triplet is from France, and he isn’t learning just Spanish but English too. Despite the challenge of having to learn two languages at once, Elder Triplet is grateful to be on a mission.
“I’m a convert,” he says. “I’ve had a great change in my life, and I’d like others to have it too. A mission can be hard work, but seeing someone change his or her life is worth it.”
They’ve got your attention. You’ve always heard that a mission can be the best two years of your life. Today you get a chance to find out why.
6:41 a.m.After taking time to pray, the missionaries spend some time working out. Push-ups, sit-ups, even a little light weight lifting are the usual for Elder Ward. Breakfast follows a shower and shave. Cold cereal is a favorite.
8:07 a.m.Missionaries spend a good deal of time studying individually and as a companionship so they can obtain the word before declaring it (see D&C 11:21). After language study and personal scripture study, it’s time for companionship study using Preach My Gospel.
9:55 a.m.Missionaries dedicate a lot of time to planning, at the beginning of the day, throughout the day, and at the end of the day. They talk not just about what they’re going to do but about what each investigator needs.
Today the elders are talking about a man from France, an investigator they’re going to invite to be baptized.
“He’s worried,” Elder Triplet says. “He doesn’t feel worthy.”
“Let’s talk about repentance and how God remembers sins no more,” Elder Ward suggests after the companions think it over. “Why don’t you teach it in French to make sure he understands?”
The last thing the elders do before leaving is pray—again. This is one of many prayers they’ll offer today. Missionary work requires a lot of heavenly help. Then it’s out the door and off to the bus stop in a hurry.
11:09 a.m. Missionaries talk to anyone anywhere anytime about the gospel, because they never know who is going to be interested. While waiting for the bus, the missionaries chat with a young man and give him a pamphlet with their phone number on it.
11:21 a.m. A 10-minute bus ride and a short walk later, the missionaries arrive at a rented meetinghouse at the same time as their investigator. The meeting begins well, but the investigator’s concerns push the 45-minute lesson they had planned on to more than an hour.
“That was the most frustrating lesson I’ve ever been in,” Elder Triplet says afterward. “He likes the Church. He thinks it’s true. He wants to pay tithing. But he doesn’t believe he needs to be baptized again. He was a little argumentative.”
“He’s a great guy,” Elder Ward says, shaking his head. “Maybe he’ll be ready to talk about baptism next time.”
2:06 p.m. The missionaries jump on another bus, this time to El Casco, the historic quarter of Toledo, Spain. They stop by an investigator’s business to invite him to an activity that night.
“You can get lost in here really quick if you aren’t paying attention,” Elder Ward says of the maze of narrow streets lined with buildings that seem to lean over those walking below.
2:24 p.m. While navigating the tight streets, the missionaries stop to offer help to a woman carrying a heavy load. They spend a moment explaining who they are and what they do, but the woman isn’t interested.
2:47 p.m. It’s siesta time in Spain, so the missionaries catch a bus back to their apartment, or piso, for lunch. “Everything shuts down between 2:00 and 4:00 p.m.,” Elder Ward explains. “Some people get mad if you knock on their doors.”
“This is chorizo, or sausage,” Elder Triplet says poking at lunch. “It’s typical food. We eat a lot of noodles and chorizo because it’s cheap and easy to make.”
“The mission is great preparation for marriage,” Elder Ward laughs as he mixes his Kool-Aid. “You have to learn to get along, cook, clean, do laundry, budget, and take care of yourself.”
4:24 p.m. Back in El Casco, the missionaries meet with a member of the mission presidency about current activation efforts.
“This is a great area,” says Elder Ward, who explains that Church attendance has gone from about 15 to 80 members each week because one family set the example of fellowshipping.
4:59 p.m. The elders end up with a little unexpected free time on their hands, but missionaries are used to doing some planning on the fly. Their backup plan was to do some tracting.
5:42 p.m. In El Casco, where so many people live above street level, knocking on doors often means carrying on conversations with people on their balconies. And even in historic tourist towns, a missionary has to look out for dogs.
The elders have some success: “We found some great people,” Elder Ward says. “There were some youth from Paraguay. They invited us back tomorrow.” And some failure: “We had a half-hour conversation with one man,” Elder Triplet says. “It was like talking to a wall.”
7:45 p.m. Two buses later the elders make it to the activity they had planned with the sister missionaries who work in the same city, Sister Kathleen Bonifay and Sister Brittany Hofman.
The people they were expecting to come didn’t. “That’s the way it goes sometimes,” Elder Ward says. But after a little footwork, the missionaries are able to gather a handful of other investigators living nearby. After a hymn and a video, you can feel the influence of the Holy Ghost as the missionaries bear testimony of the Book of Mormon as another witness of Jesus Christ. The activity is a success.
“The Lord takes care of you when you put forth your best planning and best effort,” says Sister Bonifay.
9:13 p.m. After a hike to the bus stop, the elders and sisters have made it back to their respective apartments, where they’ll call their leaders, review the day and their long-range plans, and make plans for the next day.
“Well, this is what we do,” Elder Ward tells you. “It doesn’t change much.”
Elder Triplet laughs. “We are the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow.”
Things didn’t go exactly as the elders had planned, but the day went well anyway. They made some good contacts, pulled off a powerful activity, bore testimony of Christ, and did their best to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost.
“I’ve heard people say these are the best two years of their lives,” Elder Triplet says. “The two years are great, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re the best 730 days of my life. There are some days I thought would never end. But I have loved being a missionary.”
Elder Ward agrees. He has mixed emotions about leaving. “I always thought I’d be excited to go home,” he says. “But I see life differently now. I love my life. I’m a missionary. I’m speaking to people about Christ every day. Leaving will be bittersweet.”
You’ve enjoyed getting a taste of missionary work as well. As exciting as it is, missionary work can be exhausting. Now it’s time to get some rest and prepare yourself for your day as a missionary. It has a way of coming faster than you think.

I think of a little girl in England who dared to do right. The little girl’s name is Lisa. She is an eleven-year-old girl in Primary and has been a member of the Church for three years. Lisa came home from school feeling very excited. She had been asked if she would read in the school assembly the following morning. She said, “Mum, I’ve been asked to read this tomorrow, but some of the words are wrong.” The mother read the paper, and one paragraph referred to God and the Holy Ghost being one and the same person. The rest of it was correct, but just this paragraph was incorrect. They talked it over and decided that they would send a letter to Lisa’s teacher, explaining that this paragraph was contrary to Lisa’s beliefs and that she would feel much happier leaving this part out.

They waited rather anxiously for Lisa to return home from school to see what had happened. She came home with a big smile. Yes, the teacher had let her read the part, and, yes, she had let her leave that statement out. Also the teacher had thanked them for the letter, saying that she could understand her feelings, and then she said, “Could you please send some material to me and tell me more about what Mormons believe?”

The next day Lisa took a Book of Mormon, Meet The Mormons, and A Marvelous Work and a Wonder and gave them to the teacher. She found the books so interesting that she asked Lisa and three other Mormon girls in the school to present an assembly on the Mormons.

All of this came about because Lisa dared to be different and do right. Would you have the courage Lisa had?

We were coming down a hill, feeling tired and frustrated. It was our 16th day in Sogod, Philippines. We had opened this area to missionary work and had spoken to a host of people as we climbed up and down the hills of the city. But we had yet to find anyone who cared enough to listen to our message. Rejection filled our days with sorrow.
Sogod—a small paradise, really—faced a beautiful, tranquil bay, and Elder Archer, my American companion, and I were knocking on doors that day. “Let’s stop and plan for a few minutes,” Elder Archer suggested, wiping his forehead. His neck and arms were sunburned, and my shoulders were aching from the weight of 30 copies of the Book of Mormon inside my backpack. We sat under a tree and looked at our weekly planner.
“Our next appointment is at 6:30 tonight. It’s only 3:30. What do you want to do?” Elder Archer asked.
“Let’s continue tracting. See that street going to the river? I think it’s a good area. And besides, it’s got plenty of shade with all the coconut trees,” I said.
As we made our way down the hill, I prayed in my heart that we would not be rejected again. As we reached an unfamiliar junction, we met an old couple carrying bamboo poles, bundles of wood, shingles, and tools.
They seemed a little embarrassed when we offered to help carry their load. After we insisted, they finally gave in—and off we went, not sure how far we had to go. We must have been quite a sight because as we entered the neighborhood, many people gathered on the street to see two strangers in white shirts and ties carrying this old couple’s bundles.
We were surprised to find out that the materials we were carrying were to be used to build a temporary home to replace one toppled by a typhoon. As we talked with them, a curious crowd gathered around us trying to find out who we were. There were smiles of gratitude on the faces of the old couple as we left, and we were happy about what had happened.
Carrying some bundles for an elderly couple was such a simple task, but it opened the doors to missionary work in the area. People didn’t forget what we had done, and they became more interested in hearing the gospel. Elder Archer and I witnessed how this simple act of service blessed Sogod. I labored there for almost four months and witnessed wonderful growth of the Church.
I now understand the promise the Lord makes to those who give true service to others—there is lasting joy in giving, in helping, and in bringing souls to the truth. We learned this for ourselves that day in Sogod.

Craig Symes was just another locker-room attendant at the health spa I went to when my wife Sue and I lived in St. Petersburg, Florida. He looked like your average 16-year-old—average height, average brown hair. He had the typical teenager’s souped-up car and a nice girlfriend. But while he seemed like an average teenager in many respects, as I got to know him, I found that he was anything but average. And my relationship with him didn’t turn out to be quite what I expected.

There was something about Craig’s eyes and his smile that attracted people. I noticed how friendly and polite he was to everyone and that he never cursed. He always seemed to go out of his way to help people. I was attracted by his genuineness. We talked in the locker room about cars, his girlfriend, sports, our families, and religion. Here was an area where Craig wasn’t average. He wasn’t afraid to talk about religion as many people are.

One day we were discussing the importance of families, and I told him about the death of my father when I was 21. Craig told me a little about eternal life, which made sense to me because I had always hoped to be able to see my father again. I was surprised by Craig’s knowledge of religion and his willingness to talk about it.

I wanted my wife to get to know Craig, so I invited him to dinner. “If I go to your house for dinner will you come to church with me?” he asked. My wife and I were devout members of another faith, but I thought I’d accept his friendly gesture.

Two weeks later on a rainy Sunday morning, I attended church with Craig. I didn’t know anything about the LDS church at that time. Craig introduced me to a lot of “brothers” and to two missionaries who sat next to me during the meeting. The friendliness and warmth of those at the meeting made me feel comfortable. Many introduced themselves and welcomed me there. The lesson was on eternal life. I was impressed that the lesson was taught on a basic principle that I could follow.

Afterward we went to my house and had breakfast with Sue. We visited awhile and then Craig left. The rest of the day was a pretty average Sunday—the last one we’d have for quite a while. That evening the missionaries called and wanted to know when they could come by and share a special message about the Church with Sue and me. I asked them to come by on Tuesday evening.

When I hung up, Sue wanted to know what was going on. I told her that the missionaries were going to come visit us, and she was not very excited. But Tuesday, when she answered the door and let Elders Zaugg and Lewis in, along with Craig and his friend Steve, a good feeling came over her and she wanted to listen to what they had to say.

The missionaries taught us about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. We asked so many questions that the first discussion lasted four hours. We were interested in hearing more and set a date for another discussion. Craig and his friend Steve always came with the missionaries and joined in our discussions.

I still wanted to get to know Craig better, so a few days later as I was getting ready to leave the spa, I asked him to play tennis with me one morning. He said he couldn’t play in the mornings because he had seminary meetings at 5 A.M. I asked him what seminary was and he explained. I said, “Oh, you have to go.” He said, “No, I want to go.”

I wanted to know what made a class so interesting that a 16-year-old would get up at 4:30 in the morning to get there on time. It intrigued me that Craig would make such an effort to learn about the gospel of Jesus Christ. So I started going to seminary with him.

The seminary teacher wasn’t afraid to let a 28-year-old man get involved with the class right from the beginning. The first day I joined in the scripture chase, although I didn’t have any idea where the book of Alma was. By my second visit I knew most of the students by name. I started attending seminary with Craig every day. More than just learning, I was receiving of their great spirit. I couldn’t believe that youth were so excited about church. I caught their enthusiasm.

Sue and I continued our discussions with the missionaries, and six weeks later we decided to be baptized. Our families were against the decision. We received a letter from my brother trying to dissuade us. The local officials of the church we had attended called us, and my mother also called 15 minutes before we left for our baptism. But we were committed to our decision. We knew it was the right thing for us to do. Craig baptized us.

I am grateful that a 16-year-old member of the Church caught the vision of “every member a missionary.” Craig brought happiness and joy into our lives, mostly by setting a proper example among both his friends and those that came in contact with him. He wasn’t afraid to let others know that he is a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. He wasn’t afraid to be more than average and just a little out of the ordinary.

Several law enforcement officers were returning home after attending a special school in marksmanship. As they drove through the countryside, they noticed a large barn covered with painted bullseye targets.

It aroused their curiosity to the point that they pulled off the freeway and found the lane that led to the farm where the barn was located. They drove over to the barn and were greatly surprised to see a bullet hole precisely in the center of each bullseye.

The farmer came out to see what the men wanted.

They told him they had never seen such excellent marksmanship. “Who is this person with such outstanding ability? Is it you?” they inquired of the farmer.

He said, “No. It’s my son.”

“Is he here? May we see him?”

“Well, yes, he is around somewhere.”

“Could he show us how he is able to shoot in such a superior way?”

The farmer said, “Well, my son isn’t quite bright. He has a learning difficulty, but if you would like to see how he has done this, let me see if I can find him.”

Soon the farmer returned with his son. He said, “Son, show these men how you shoot your rifle.” The young man walked some distance from the barn, turned, pointed his rifle, and shot. Then he walked over to the barn, found where the bullet passed through the siding, picked up a can of paint, and promptly painted the bullseye around the hole.

The Lord speaks of offerings in the plural. He expects us, as a condition of faithfulness, to pay our tithing and our fast offerings to help the poor and the needy. But we are privileged to make other offerings, not by way of assignment, assessment, or ecclesiastical direction. Among these are donations to the General Missionary Fund, Humanitarian Aid Fund, and the Book of Mormon Fund. We are also privileged to voluntarily contribute to building the new temples President Hinckley has announced.

Recently I received an anonymous letter from a person who made a substantial sacrifice for the General Temple Fund of the Church. She said: “I decided when I wanted to spend any money on myself I would forgo it and put the money into the temple fund. This meant no new clothes or shoes, books, hair appointments, necklaces, or anything of a personal nature until I reached my goal. I thought this would be a sacrifice, but instead I have found joy in it. It has been a rewarding and fulfilling experience.”

I had a similar experience as a young boy on my grandparents’ farm. They taught me about tithing with examples of one egg or one bushel of peaches out of ten. Years later I used those same kinds of examples to try to teach the principles of tithing to our own children.

Parents are always looking for better ways to teach, and the results of their efforts are sometimes unexpected. Attempting to teach tithing to our young son, I explained the principle of a tenth and how it would apply to the eggs gathered in a chicken farm and the young calves or horses born in a breeding herd. When I finished what I was sure was a clear explanation, I wanted to test whether our seven-year-old had understood. I asked him to imagine that he was a farmer with a harvest of eggs and young animals. I supplied the figures and then asked our little boy what he would give to the bishop as tithing. He thought deeply for a moment and then said, “I would give him a very old horse.”

We obviously had some further conversations on the principle of tithing, and I am proud of the way he and his brother and sisters learned and practiced that principle. But I have often thought of that little boy’s words as I have observed how some adult Church members relate to the law of tithing. I think we still have some whose attitude and performance consist of giving the bishop something like “a very old horse.”

In 1900, Thomas Yates, a Mormon student attending Cornell University in Ithaca, New York, had an interesting conversation with the cofounder of that institution, Andrew Dixon White. Dr. White had served as United States foreign minister in Russia several years earlier. He told Brother Yates of a visit he had had with the famous Count Leo Tolstoy.

Tolstoy, as you may know, is considered by many to be the greatest Russian philosopher, social critic, and novelist of all time. His best-known work, the very long classic, War and Peace. It has been read and viewed in movie form by millions the world over. The Russian movie version of it is six-and-a-half hours long. The film was so long, I’m told, they charged three different admission prices: one for those under twelve, one for those over twelve, and one for those who turned twelve during the movie! (I don’t know if that’s really true or not.)

According to Brother Yates’ recollection of what Dr. White told him concerning the exchange with Tolstoy, the renowned Russian scholar asked Dr. White to tell him about the American religion. Puzzled, Dr. White explained that we don’t have an American religion, “that each person is free to belong to the particular church in which he is interested.” Tolstoy is reported to have shown a little impatience in replying:

"I know all of this. . . . But the Church to which I refer originated in America, and is commonly known as the Mormon Church. What can you tell me of the teachings of the Mormons?"
"Well," said Dr. White, “I know very little concerning them”
"Then Count Leo Tolstoi . . . rebuked the ambassador. 'Dr. White, I am greatly surprised and disappointed that a man of your great learning and position should be so ignorant on this important subject. . . . If the people follow the teachings of this Church, nothing can stop their progress—it will be limitless. There have been great movements started in the past but they have died or been modified before they reached maturity.'
And then, according to Yates via White, Tolstoy made this remarkable prediction:
“If Mormonism is able to endure, unmodified, until it reaches the third and fourth generation, it is destined to become the greatest power the world has ever known.” (Thomas J. Yates, “Count Tolstoi and the ‘American Religion.’” Improvement Era, February 1939, as quoted by David B. Haight: "He is Not Here, He Is Risen", General Conference April 1980)

While some have questioned the accuracy of both White’s and Yates’ memories of this exchange, it is clear that Tolstoy had an interest in Mormonism and referred to it in his journal, in print, and in conversation. One of Brigham Young’s daughters, Susa Young Gates, corresponded with the count and sent him several books and pamphlets, including the Book of Mormon and The Life of Joseph Smith by George Q. Cannon. It is also clear that this bold prediction attributed to Tolstoy found its way into the speaking and writing of the Church in the early part of the 20th century.

After graduating from Cornell University in 1902, Brother Yates returned to Utah, where he apparently shared the Tolstoy prophecy with various interested members of the Church, possibly including the President of the Church, Joseph F. Smith.

President Howard William Hunter was born November 14, 1907, in Boise, Idaho. He was not baptized at age eight. His father was not a member and felt that Howard should wait until he was older to decide about getting baptized.
President Hunter said, “I did have a testimony though. My mother had taught me to pray and to thank Heavenly Father for the beauty of the earth and for the wonderful times that I had at the ranch and by the river and with the Scouts. I also learned to ask Him for the things that I wanted or needed.” When he was twelve years old, he pleaded with his father to let him be baptized and was overjoyed when his father gave him permission.
Howard and his sister, Dorothy, who was two years younger, were good friends. Each evening they walked to a nearby dairy and carried home bottled milk, delivering some to their neighbors too. They enjoyed swimming together in the Boise River in the summer, and ice-skating on frozen canals in the winter. Sometimes they and their friends went “hookybobbing”—tieing their sleds onto a wagon or buggy that pulled them along snowpacked roads.
During his boyhood, Howard had a number of jobs, including feeding their chickens morning and night, cutting lawns, delivering telegrams, selling newspapers, picking fruit, and working in a department store.
Young Howard collected things: stamps, coins, and, especially, the eggs of birds—pheasants, meadowlarks, bluebirds, robins, and wrens—which he found while exploring the swamps and woods near his home. He loved animals. His dog, Daisy, a fox terrier, followed him wherever he went. His two favorite pet rabbits were Bunny Boo and Mary Jane. One of his very favorite things to do was spend the summer at his aunt and uncle’s ranch, where he rode horses, herded cows, and even slept in a haystack at night with his cousins.
He and a friend challenged each other to get their Eagle Scout awards. He worked hard and was the first boy in his troop—and the second boy in Boise, Idaho—to earn the rank of Eagle Scout.
Blessed with perfect pitch, Howard learned to play the piano, violin, saxophone, clarinet, trumpet, drums, and marimba. In high school, he formed a band, Hunter’s Croonaders, which played at many dances in Boise. One winter his band played on a cruise ship, the SS President Jackson, and traveled to Japan, China, and the Philippines. He was thrilled to learn that his father was baptized while he was on this trip.

When I was only four years old, I had pneumonia. Although I don’t remember much about that illness, two things are as vivid to me now as they were when they happened all those years ago.
I remember my mother holding me close, bundled up in a blanket, as we drove to the hospital on a very cold, snowy day. I remember the warmth and love that I felt from her.
And I remember my father giving me a priesthood blessing. I don’t remember the words, but I remember the feeling of strength and of assurance that all would be well. That’s where my testimony really started.
I had no idea how sick I was, but later my parents told me how very worried and concerned they had been, for I almost died. After spending two weeks under an oxygen tent in the hospital, however, I got better.
That illness helped me develop a strong faith in the gospel of Jesus Christ. I learned to have faith that there is a loving Father in Heaven Who cares about us, and faith that through the strength and belief of others, such as our parents, we can come through those kinds of scary times.

More than 100 years ago, President Wilford Woodruff, then 91 years of age, delivered what may have been his last sermon from this pulpit. In the audience was 12-year-old LeGrand Richards. His father, George F. Richards (later ordained an Apostle), brought his boys to the Tabernacle to hear the Brethren. LeGrand never forgot that experience.
For more than 20 years, I was very close to Elder LeGrand Richards. When he was 96 years old, that message still lingered in his heart. He could not remember the words President Woodruff said, but he could never forget how he felt when they were said.

My parents often attended meetings after church, and I would watch my three younger brothers and help them make lunch—though they were often short-tempered and hungry. Usually if they started fighting, I could solve the small problem quickly. But sometimes it was hard to make peace once a fight had started because I’d get agitated.
One afternoon, my brothers were having an especially hard time getting along. I found that my efforts to make peace only made things worse because I was upset. So I just made my own lunch and stopped talking. Finally, I announced, “I’m going to pray. Can we please be quiet for a minute?” Once they settled down, I asked for a blessing on the food. Before I closed the prayer, I added, “And please help us to be peacemakers.”
At first, they seemed not to hear and began fighting again. I was annoyed but knew I needed to be as loving and calm as I could be because I’d just prayed for peace. After a minute, I felt very calm. I ate without saying anything, and the boys eventually stopped fighting. I realized the peace I felt was an answer to a simple prayer. I had prayed to be a peacemaker, and my Heavenly Father had helped me stay calm when it was so tempting to yell. I know that He can truly give us peace.

When I was getting ready to graduate from high school, my friend and I wanted to go to the senior all-night party. It seemed like everybody else was going, so we asked his father, who was our stake president, if we could go.

He said, “Absolutely not. The Holy Ghost goes to bed at midnight.” Now, he knows the Holy Ghost doesn’t go to bed at midnight, but he also knows what tends to happen after midnight. Then he said something I will never forget: “Find something positive to do that you’ll be able to think of in years to come.”

We put our heads together and organized a progressive dinner. We went from one house to the next and had a wonderful evening. With planning and a well-placed suggestion from a caring priesthood leader, we were able to stay in holy places while our friends were in jeopardy of being subject to temptations.