Gospel Story Finder

My father's friends come from all walks of life. I'd like to tell you about one of my father's friends who would have been considered by others to be "one of the least of these my brethren." His name was Ed Erickson. He was almost twenty years older than my father. Ed was born prematurely and experienced some of the complications that accompanied premature births almost a century ago. Ed couldn't see very well, and he never had the opportunity to study and learn at a university. Yet, my father said Ed always had the scriptures open by his reading chair. He went to work at an early age to help support his widowed mother. He worked for the street department of Salt Lake City doing manual labor his entire working career. He never married, he never drove a car, and even when he was 90 years old, he would walk everywhere he went--usually about eight miles every day. Dad would say to Ed, while referring to himself as the bishop, "Ed, you're one of my counselors."

My father was a loyal friend and actively sought to find ways for Ed to feel valued. Dad frequently hired Ed to help him clean his pigeon coops and do manual chores in our large yard. I must say that I didn't always feel comfortable around Ed. He was a big man, he looked different, and he didn't talk very much. Ed just did his work, ate dinner with us, and then Dad would take him home. This happened several times each year. In later years, when my father would get tickets to take his grandchildren to the circus or to the rodeo, Ed always came, too, sharing our popcorn and drinks.

I was so amazed when Salt Lake City Magazine ran a feature on my father and Ed Erickson was quoted in the article. He stated the highest tribute I've ever read concerning my father. He said:
"If the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ himself had chosen an apostle, he wouldn't have done a better job than Brother McKay did when he chose Tom Monson."

Ed passed away three years ago at the age of 96. If you had attended Ed's funeral, you would have thought it was the funeral for one of the greatest individuals who had ever lived--and actually, it was. It was the funeral for my father's life-long friend, Ed Erickson.

Craig Hannah, 17, has been a pioneer in his own family. “I first got involved with the Church at sports night. I got talking to the missionaries and they persuaded me to come to church on Sunday. It felt good, so I kept coming. They started teaching me the discussions; then they asked me to get baptised. I prayed about it and felt really good about it. So I said yes. And when I got baptised, a few more of my family followed.”

My brother Noah, my nephew Brice, my niece Kaitlin, and I formed the Lost Dog Club to find our neighbors’ lost dogs and return them. We found a dog with no collar and took it around the neighborhood looking for its owner. We were walking up Alhambra Street when a lady saw us and called out the dog’s name in a surprised, joyful voice: “Oh, Peaches!” She ran to her dog and gave it a big hug. I could see tears welling up in her eyes because she was so happy. She said, “God bless you all!” and gave us candy.

Rebecca liked having family activity night on top of the cinder knoll, but getting there was scary. When Daddy drove the jeep up the steep hillside, the tires dug deeply into the cinders. Yet even so, Rebecca had the feeling they were going to tip over backward. When the family reached the top of the knoll, the smoke and flames shooting up from the campfire near the volcano’s crater seemed to make it come alive.
It’s so pretty up here, Rebecca thought, as she looked out over the countryside. She could see La Verkin and Hurricane snuggled against the hill to the east, their windows reflecting shafts of sunset gold. In the sky, gold-edged clouds turned redder and redder before the sun disappeared.
Eating dutch-oven spuds and burgers on top of a cinder cone was fun, but Rebecca was impatient for the lesson to begin. As she sat with the others, watching the campfire burn low, she asked, “Daddy, when are we going to have our lesson?”
“Tonight is activity night, and I haven’t prepared a lesson,” he replied. “But we can surely have one. What do you think a good subject would be?” he asked Grandma.
“We could talk about repentance,” she suggested.
“What’s repentance?” asked Rebecca.
“It’s when you’ve done something wrong that you’re sorry for,” Leon answered.
Later during the discussion, Rebecca cuddled against Mama, thoughtfully silent. Finally, she sighed and whispered, “Once I did something I’m sorry for. I took some bubble gum that I didn’t pay for.”
“When did you do that?” Mama asked quietly.
“Last winter when I was with you in Graff’s store,” she replied.
“Then you need to do something about it, don’t you?” Mama suggested. Rebecca nodded.
The next day Mama wasn’t feeling well so she let Rebecca do the dishes to earn a little money. Then Rebecca put on her prettiest dress and brushed her hair and ran to Grandma’s house. Slipping inside the kitchen door, she said, “Grandma, will you take me to Hurricane so I can pay for some gum I took?”
“Of course,” Grandma replied. “I’ll be ready in just a minute.”
As they rode to Hurricane, Rebecca said, “When I get to the store can I just run in and put my money on the counter and then come out?”
“No. That wouldn’t be right,” Grandma answered. “No one would know what the money was for”
“That’s what Mama said,” Rebecca told her. Then she added, “She said to tell Sister Graff about it, but I don’t want to. I’m afraid.”
They found the storekeeper in the back of the store when they arrived, going over her books. Grandma spoke first. “Rebecca would like to talk to you.”
“I’m happy to see both of you,” Sister Graff said. “Won’t you sit down?”
Rebecca sat on a chair next to Grandma. In her hand she had been clutching a nickel, but now she nervously turned it over and over in her fingers without speaking. Finally, Grandma said, “Rebecca, tell Sister Graff why we’re here.”
Rebecca’s eyes moistened. “I can’t remember just what I wanted to say,” she hedged.
“What is the nickel for?” Grandma prompted.
Rebecca quickly thrust the nickel into Sister Graff’s hand. “Here,” she said. “I took some bubble gum without paying for it.”
“You did right to come tell me about it,” Sister Graff said kindly.
“I was just this old when I did it,” Rebecca continued, holding up four fingers. “I wouldn’t do it now because I’m five.” Then impulsively she added, “I only took a penny’s worth, but I want you to have the whole nickel.”
“I can only take a penny for a penny’s worth of gum,” Sister Graff replied. “I will give you your change.” Taking one of Rebecca’s hands in hers, she patted it tenderly. “Remembering this day will help you always to do right. Thank you for coming.”
Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief. The telling was over and the gum paid for. She didn’t want to ever feel that bad again. Lighthearted, she skipped as she followed Sister Graff to the checkout counter. Sister Graff rang up a one-cent sale on the cash register and placed four pennies in Rebecca’s hand. “Thank you,” she said, and smiled.
Looking at Grandma, Rebecca declared, “I want to spend two of my pennies.” She picked out two pieces of bubble gum and paid for them. She gave one to Grandma and popped the other into her own mouth. As they drove home, she chattered between chewing and blowing little bubbles that plopped and popped.
“I like the paid-for gum the best, Grandma,” she said happily.

Several years ago we took our grandchildren on an escorted tour of the Church printing facilities. There, all of us saw the missionary edition of the Book of Mormon coming off the delivery line—printed, bound, and trimmed, ready for reading. I told the grandchildren, “The operator says that you can remove one copy of the Book of Mormon to be your very own. You select the copy, and it will then be yours.”

Each removed one finished copy and expressed his or her love for the Book of Mormon.

I really don’t remember other events of that day, but I shall never forget the honest expressions of love for the Book of Mormon—expressions which came from the hearts of those children.

A Relief Society president in Lehi, Utah, using information from reliefsociety.lds.org, proposed six months of meetings to the bishop. She says, “I encouraged my counselor to train our Relief Society meeting coordinator to focus on the purposes of Relief Society as they planned our monthly classes. When they met with the Relief Society committee members, they asked them to pray about how we could use the purposes of Relief Society to help meet the needs in our ward. The committee came back with many ideas. Then with the bishop’s input and approval, we finalized our plans.”

I can remember being taught this lesson many times in my life. Once, when I was in high school and we lived on a family farm in Buhl, Idaho. Our farm had a dairy, lots of row crops, some fruit trees, and three fish ponds. My father loved the fish ponds and he regularly invited Cub Scout groups or youth groups to come fishing. But the ponds took a lot of work. Before someone would come to fish we had to clean the weeds away from the edges of the ponds, make sure the water was clear and that any muddy irrigation water was diverted so that the area was clean and presentable for his fisherman friends. Anytime someone would come to fish, the whole family would join Dad and our guests. We would help them bait the hooks, teach them to use lures or counterfeit worms, how to hide the hook, how to cast the fishing pole or remove the snags, and we would talk to them while we sat and waited for the fish to bite.

On one occasion there were lots of little boys and their parents there fishing, and I was a little impatient. My "It's all about me" attitude showed in how I was treating others, and I started to complain about all the work required for this "foolish fishing" event. Turning to my father, I asked permission to leave because "I wasn't getting anything out of the experience." He looked me straight in the eyes and without even a second's hesitation said, "Maybe it's not about you."

Shortly before the dedication of the Frankfurt Germany Temple, a group of us stood in an unfinished room. Building materials and tools were scattered over the floor and craftsmen were busily engaged in placing finishing touches on the walls and ceiling. Though the room was untidy and a beehive of activity, we were subdued by the emerging beauty of the temple.
I asked Brother Henry Haurand, the construction supervisor, “Do the workers appreciate the significance of this project?”
“No,” he answered, “they are not members of the Church and they don’t understand the sacred nature of temples. To them,” he added, “this is just another job.”
My wife inquired of Henry, “Do you always feel the Spirit of the Lord when you come here?”
“No, I do not,” he responded. “When I enter the temple during the working day, I do so as a building supervisor and I look with a critical eye for flaws in the construction. In this inspective mood, I feel nothing special about the place. But,” Brother Haurand continued, “when I come here in the quiet of the evening and the place is free of noise and confusion, and I am able to reflect upon the holy purposes of the temple, I am overwhelmed by the Spirit of the Lord.”
I have pondered Brother Henry’s words many, many times. I’ve concluded that he taught us two profound truths: (1) sacred things are seen and appreciated only through “the eyes of faith,” and (2) things of the Spirit can only be discerned by “purer eyes” (Alma 5:15; D&C 131:7).

“Personal Progress helped me. Every completed assignment gave me growth; it added knowledge and courage,” Ivana says. “It was especially good for me because most members of my family aren’t active members of the Church.”
The changes Ivana made through Personal Progress helped her be an example to her family. “All this time my parents have seen how I’ve changed. They were very happy that I was going to church,” Ivana says. She attended church and activities alone until one day her mother decided to come with her to sacrament meeting. Now they attend church together.

KAYLENE: When I was younger, I went through some experiences that will affect me the rest of my life. There was a moment in the temple last semester when I was really caught up in my thoughts. I was prompted to turn to a scripture in Matthew 9:22 that states, “Daughter, be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole.” All those feelings of guilt, shame, and heartache faded away and I knew that I had received His mercy and He would remember them no more. That moment helped me to realize how important temples are and it renewed my faith in the future. His mercy is full of love and hope.

The temple is a place that I can truly talk one-on-one with my Savior. A few years ago, my uncle passed away and my dad was diagnosed with cancer. I was angry with God even though I didn't know it. After a few months, I went to the temple and talked with God about my struggles. The Lord whispered sweet words of comfort to me and that he has a plan for me and for all of His children.

In these experiences, I felt God’s mercy and love when I needed Him the most.

As we build our homes, we value spiritual growth more than material possessions. In the Hapi family in Nuhaka, New Zealand, the parents want to teach their five children to be thrifty, make their offerings to the Lord, and live within their means. When the children complain that their friends have more material things than they do, Sister Hapi reminds them, “We are preparing for an eternity, not today, and we cannot take those things with us to the hereafter.”

I was always active in the Church, but I didn’t realize that I didn’t yet have a true testimony of the gospel. I guess my beliefs were based on the testimony of my parents and my priesthood leaders and everyone else who helped me in the Church. They knew I participated in everything. I memorized the Articles of Faith when I was in Primary. I participated in the Young Men program. But something was missing.
My search for a testimony was triggered when I was a teenager and my peers started asking questions about our beliefs and practices. Latter-day Saints are a minority in the Philippines, so most of my friends and peers were not Church members. I started wondering why I was required to do things or why I couldn’t do some of the things they did.
I also had a question about going on a mission. When I was in Primary, my bishop asked me, “Are you going on a mission?” and my response was, “Of course.” When I grew to be a young man and started enjoying life and high school, “Of course” became “Yes,” still with some excitement. And then in the later years of high school, with more peer pressure, I said, “I think I’m going on a mission,” and I started to waver. And then finally, I actually didn’t know. My response became “Maybe.”
So I had these questions and went to my bishop and my parents. They challenged me to read the Book of Mormon. That is when I came to understand that it was time for me to get my own testimony. I’d been reading the Book of Mormon for seminary, but I decided to take the challenge and really read the Book of Mormon.
I made it a point to pray before and sometimes during my reading—just to have a prayer in my heart and afterwards plead with my Father to let me know the truth about the Book of Mormon and what people had been telling me about gaining a testimony.
The first few times, of course, it was the same—they were just words on the page. But later on the scriptures began to be more understandable to me. And then I started to have particular feelings about some principles that were taught.
The next stage was that I was really getting into it. I was looking for opportunities to read, because I was finding myself in there, and it was having a wonderful effect on me. The Holy Ghost was constantly helping me to feel good about the things I was reading, causing a sensation to come over me—a warm feeling in my heart.
Finally, in one of those prayers, I just knew—I just knew that it was true. It was that overwhelming feeling that, no doubt about it, the Book of Mormon is true, the Church is true. When that testimony came, all the questions went away, and I knew that this is the true Church and that I needed to serve a mission.

On the day the Church was organized, the Lord declared, “Behold . . . a record [shall be] kept among you.” [3] As Latter-day Saints, we have always been commanded to keep records documenting our own lives and the life of the Church. Soon after the Church’s organization, Joseph Smith also received divine guidance that he should appoint a Church historian, and he asked Oliver Cowdery to take on the role. When John Whitmer was asked to replace Oliver as the Church historian in March 1831, he initially hesitated. “I would rather not do it,” he said, “but observed that the will of the Lord be done, and if he desires it, I desire that he would manifest it through Joseph the Seer.” [4] Have any of you ever felt this way about a calling: “I would rather not do it, but if I know it is coming from inspiration, then I will.” Joseph received two revelations for John Whitmer that described some of the duties of the Church historian. He was asked to “write and keep a regular history [and] keep the church record and history continually.” His duties also included “obtaining all things which shall be for the good of the church, and for the rising generations that shall grow up on the land of Zion."[5]

The second springtime after we had begun the project was especially memorable for us. The mechanical work was nearly completed. The family just had to hear, see, and feel the Auburn in action. After carefully oiling each cylinder and bearing, we rolled the car out into the beautiful, warm, Saturday-morning sun. Because of the tightness of the newly poured lead bearings, rods, and piston rings, the starter couldn’t turn the engine over; so we had to tow the car a few blocks to get it started. It was like Christmas to a five-year-old. The family celebrated the halfway goal we had set for ourselves and each took a turn driving the Auburn around the yard. None of us (and probably none of the neighbors) will ever forget that thrilling morning when the King again roared to life.

Matt Free, 17, stared at the campfire. His mind was full of Flaming Gorge, of a morning spent drifting on the river, of red cliffs blazing in their color, of water fights, of talks with his father, of a testimony meeting held in a grove of trees.
He watched the flames, twirling and yellow. He heard the pop of a pine log sizzling.
Matt realized that there was a fire growing in him.
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true” (Moro. 10:4).
Just this afternoon he’d read the promise—again. Each time, the words seemed to burn inside him.
Matt wasn’t alone at the fire. All of the youth and youth leaders of the Orem (Utah) Fourth Ward were there, each alone with his or her thoughts on the last night of the river trip.
Joseph Free, the Young Men president, was glad for the calming effect of the flames. He tugged at his jacket, amazed at how quickly mountain air can turn cool, and he breathed in deeply.
“It’s been a great week. But somehow, on a youth trip, there’s always one more last-minute thing. Have we all got life preservers? Check. Make sure the ranger knows we’re here to do the service project. Check. Prepare a talk for the fireside. Check. Remember to delegate. Check.”
Now the only checking left to do was to make sure everybody got home safely.
“I think the kids have had fun,” Joe Free thought, looking at the group. “But have they learned anything? Has it been worth it?”
Some sparks shot up.
At the far side of the circle he saw his son.
“I think he’s making some important decisions,” Brother Free thought. He looked at his son again and was proud.
“It’s been worth it,” he said.
Mariam Conarroe, 12, yawned. She was tired and had a right to be. “Only three days,” she said to herself. “And we’ve done everything.”
Even before the trip began, the schedule had been full. Six months ago, as part of the preparations, everyone had been challenged to read the Book of Mormon. There had been regular reminders and repeated encouragement. Everybody had at least read some of it. Then there was the planning, and the preparation—how many times had they talked in Young Women classes about coming here, about how fun this would be?
Then—was it just a few days ago?—Mariam remembered getting up early, piling into trucks and cars, getting teased and teasing back, and suddenly being in Vernal, at a service station where Tyrannosaurus rex waves at motorists, urging them to buy gasoline.
From there the next three days rushed by in a blur. A visit to the bone quarry at Dinosaur National Monument. Two hours at a water slide. Pitching tents for camp. Skits and talks and firesides. Washing your hair with the help of a bucket. Floating the Green River—not once, but twice. A morning spent alone, reading the Book of Mormon and praying. Testimony meeting. A service project clearing aspen seedlings at the base of a fire lookout tower. Biting into juicy, sweet fruit at a watermelon feast.
Mariam yawned again, tired but happy.
“It’s been busy.”
She felt something comfortable, but it was more than the glow from the campfire. There was a wonderful feeling inside of her, a knowledge that here among leaders and friends she could do good things and be accepted.
She wrapped her quilt around her. It sure felt nice to be warm.
Brian Little, 18, found himself staring at a red-hot coal, fascinated at the way that, once it was burning, it seemed to generate its own heat.
“Funny,” he thought. “It didn’t start on fire all by itself.”
Brian kept thinking of someone who wasn’t even at the camp, a ranger, a young man not that much older than himself. The ranger lives in the fire tower, alone. He spends all summer up there, just watching the hills. Today, after they had cleared the brush away around his tower, the Orem Fourth Ward youth had presented him with a copy of the Book of Mormon.
“At least he’ll have a lot of time to read it,” Brian chuckled.
It had felt good to sign his name in the front of the book, along with all his friends, to give it to this ranger, to tell him he knew it was true, and to ask him to read it. Could this be what he would feel in the mission field? If he could feel like this constantly, for two whole years, wouldn’t it be terrific?
“It takes a fire to start a fire,” he thought.
He looked at the burning coal again.
It was still giving off heat.
Valerie Bean, 14, picked up a piece of wood, a twig really, and tossed it to the flames. She kept reviewing what another ranger—this one a Latter-day Saint named Lee Skabelund—had said the night before at the fireside.
He had quoted from the scriptures.
“All things which come of the earth … are made for the benefit and the use of man, both to please the eye and to gladden the heart;
“Yea, for food and for raiment, for taste and for smell, to strengthen the body and to enliven the soul.
“And it pleaseth God that he hath given all these things unto man; for unto this end were they made to be used, with judgment, not to excess, neither by extortion” (D&C 59:18–20).
Valerie thought of a campground she’d seen, littered with trash.
“It made me mad,” she thought. “I mean, if you ruin it, who’s going to fix it?”
Now, thinking about the scripture Brother Skabelund had quoted, she realized something important.
“I bet the Lord is disappointed when we don’t take care of the earth,” she thought.
She picked up another twig and fed it to the flames.
Allyson Kitchen, 17, could see the stars now, overhead, their sparkle unchallenged by city haze or street lamps. She liked the way the fire created a haven of light in the vast darkness of the woods. And she noticed that although the campfire made shadows prance in the forest, here where it burned brightly there was no fear.
Like the others, Allyson found her mind filled with three days of memories. The time she’d spent with her friends had been important.
“They’re goofy and I love them and I’ll be going away to college soon.”
The service project had made her feel good. “We worked hard and we helped somebody,” she said to herself.
And she even felt closer to her leaders, just because she’d been around them.
“It’s fun to see the bishop in something besides a suit.”
But the memory that Allyson was really thinking about was the morning she had spent, alone on a hillside covered with wildflowers, reading the Book of Mormon and pleading with God to know of its truth.
She looked at the stars again, scattered across the sky, and remembered reading: “The scriptures are laid before thee, yea, and all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator” (Alma 30:44).
Allyson felt close to her Father in Heaven and to her Savior. And she took great comfort in the reassurance that they are near.
This is Flaming Gorge. It is natural to think of fire here. But the fire the youth of the Orem Fourth Ward will remember means more than rocks in a canyon or wood that’s been kindled.
They have known the warmth of the Spirit; they have felt the flame that burns in the soul.
Without spending a lot of money or traveling far from home, your ward or branch can have a great summer activity, too. The single most important key to success is planning.
“If you’ll be visiting a U.S. Forest Service area,” says Lee Skabelund, a ranger at Flaming Gorge, “make sure to contact the Forest Service before you visit. We can offer a lot of advice.”
For example: “Make reservations early. A group that wants to use facilities in the summer should be contacting us in January, February, or March, so that we can make sure you’ll get the facilities you need.”
The Orem Fourth Ward wanted a secluded location where the youth could read the Book of Mormon, pray, and hold a testimony meeting. Because they contacted the Forest Service in advance, they were able to get just the right spot.
“It really helps us if you know what kind of an experience you want to have,” Brother Skabelund says. He suggests that the Bishopric Youth Committee should take time to ask some questions:
What kind of activities do you plan on doing? If you’re running the river, you’ll want to camp at a different location than if you’re waterskiing by the beach.
Wouldn’t a service project add to your experience? The Forest Service is glad to make arrangements for volunteers.
How many people will be in your group? Be accurate—having 85 people trying to use a camp designed for 50 could result in a fine!
In addition to such basic questions, here are some other ideas to consider while you’re making plans:
Use a checklist for equipment and food. Review it periodically, and you may think of things you’ve overlooked.
Do you have appropriate fire containers or portable stoves? Do you need to bring firewood?
Plan for disposal of garbage and human waste.
Make sure there will be enough adult supervision.
Do you need facilities for the handicapped?
Like any good ranger, Brother Skabelund is full of other suggestions—be courteous, don’t tack paper signs to wooden signs (it damages paint), have a pair of pliers for lifting things out of the fire, let the Forest Service send you maps and provide a short course on water safety or “leave-no-trace camping”—and on and on.
Remember, even though these tips are based on experience with the U.S. Forest Service, similar help is available in other countries, and from other state and national agencies in the U.S.
The point is, plan ahead. Figure out what you’d like to do. Then contact the agency that controls the area you’d like to visit. They’re eager to help you.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, both Matt Free and Brian Little have entered the mission field. Elder Free is serving in the Osaka Japan Mission, and Elder Little is in the Norway Oslo Mission. Allyson Kitchen is now a student at Brigham Young University.

There is an antidote for times [of testing and trial]: learn to laugh. …
… I remember when one of our daughters went on a blind date. She was all dressed up and waiting for her date to arrive when the doorbell rang. In walked a man who seemed a little old, but she tried to be polite. She introduced him to me and my wife and the other children; then she put on her coat and went out the door. We watched as she got into the car, but the car didn’t move. Eventually our daughter got out of the car and, red faced, ran back into the house. The man that she thought was her blind date had actually come to pick up another of our daughters who had agreed to be a babysitter for him and his wife.
We all had a good laugh over that. In fact, we couldn’t stop laughing. Later, when our daughter’s real blind date showed up, I couldn’t come out to meet him because I was still in the kitchen laughing. Now, I realize that our daughter could have felt humiliated and embarrassed. But she laughed with us, and as a result, we still laugh about it today.
The next time you’re tempted to groan, you might try to laugh instead. It will extend your life and make the lives of all those around you more enjoyable.

Benjamin Juarez, 12, faces different challenges in Brooklyn. He was born in California, lived briefly in Mexico, and now, while his father is studying to be a doctor, Benjamin and his three younger brothers do what every successful Brooklyn child does: adapt.
“You can’t live here the same as you do other places,” Benjamin says. “For your own safety, you have to keep your eyes wide open.” Once, at school, some bigger boys jumped him. He’s never let that happen again. “You have to be a little tough, just for safety.”
That’s another lesson of city life: everyone takes care of himself, and that extends to the gospel. “My friends in the ward live a long way from me,” Benjamin says. “We only see each other on Mutual nights, Sundays, and for Scout activities. So everybody has to have his own testimony. He just can’t depend on anyone else for it.”

Once you learn to spell the name of your home town, “Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysyliogogogoch,” you’d think the rest would be easy. Still, it was a major accomplishment for 13-year-old James Roberts, a member of the Reading Stake and resident of the long-named village on the island of Anglesey, North Wales, to be accepted into the Indefatigable School.
The Duke of Edinburgh is the patron of the Indefatigable School, which trains young men for leadership careers, especially within the armed forces. Although James learns all the normal school subjects there, he also has lessons in navigation, canoeing, seamanship, mountaineering, orienteering, archery, and as many other sports as he can manage.
“In our spare time we have to do our own laundry, clean the school, and prepare and serve the food,” says James. “It’s a good training for my mission.”

About 50 years ago, my missionary companion and I were tracting near the University of Córdoba in Argentina when a young man invited us into his apartment. Immediately it became apparent that he and his roommates had invited us in only to argue about the existence of God.
We didn’t want to argue, so instead we agreed to meet later to discuss our message in an environment conducive to learning. When we returned, the young man explained why he believed there was no God. He said man had invented God because of his need to believe in something greater, something supernatural.
When it was our turn, I asked, “How do you know the United States exists?” I testified of its reality and asked if there was other evidence that proved its existence. He said he had read about it in books and newspapers. I then asked if he believed my testimony and what he had read. He emphatically said he did.
“So we cannot deny the testimonies of those, such as I, from the United States,” I said. “Nor can we deny the testimony of those who have written about it.” The young man agreed.
I then asked, “Based on this premise, can we deny the testimonies of those who have seen God and written of their experience?” I showed him the Bible, telling him that it contained testimonies of men and women who had seen and talked with God and Jesus Christ. I asked if we can deny the testimonies contained in the Bible, and he reluctantly said no.
I then asked, “What would you think of a book written by a people other than those in the Bible who saw the same God as the writers of Bible?” He responded that no such book existed.
We showed him the Book of Mormon and taught him of its purpose. We testified that it was true and that God still communicates through living prophets today.
Surprised, the young man said, “I’ve been able to confound all the preachers from other churches. You have something I’ve never heard of before. May I read that book?” We gave him the book and testified of the love God has for His children.
Because the semester was ending, we weren’t able to visit this young man again before he returned to his home in Bolivia. However, I prayed he would read the book and receive a testimony.
In 2002 I was called to serve as a Spanish branch president in the Provo Missionary Training Center. One Sunday I related the above story to the missionaries. Afterward a missionary from Bolivia told me he had heard an older man in his stake tell the story of his conversion—the same story I relate here.
Tears filled my eyes. After 40 years, I had received an answer to my prayers about the young man from Bolivia. He had come to know of the existence of God and His great plan of happiness. I know that one day we will meet again, and I will rejoice with him in the gospel.

The tardy bell rang just as I ran through the front door of the seminary building. Quickly, I slid into my seat, the third desk back on the first row, expecting another ordinary day in fifth period and not the memorable experience I was about to have.
“I’d like to welcome you all here today,” our teacher began. He said that every day, but we all knew he meant what he said. He was affectionately known as Brother C., and it was his genuine concern for each of his students that made this class of impatient ninth graders put aside their important conversations and daydreams to listen to him.
“Today we’re going to do something a little different,” he said. “I’ve prepared a special lesson centered around a concept President Kimball taught, and it starts with a very important question.
This should be a good change, I thought. I wonder what this important question is.
“Okay. Here is the question. What is the most important word?”
I sat up with a start. I knew someone was going to say boys, girls or something else ninth graders think about. I heard Brother C. call on someone.
“Kathy, what do you think is the most important word?” he asked.
“Um … um … boys!” she said, as the entire class became swallowed in laughter. Someone had to say that.
“All right, quiet down,” Brother C. said. “Let’s be serious.” Slowly, Tony raised his hand and said he thought families was an important word.
“That’s a good answer. Any other ideas?” questioned Brother C., as he sat down on the corner of his desk. “Let’s hear some response.”
David said, “I think love is the most important word because if we all love each other, then we’re happy.”
I liked his answer, and I was fascinated by the question. The class hour sped by as people were called on to tell what they thought the most important word was. Each time an answer was given, Brother C.’s kind voice said, “That’s a good answer, but it’s not the word I’m looking for.”
We went through what seemed like a thousand words: love, family, scriptures, prayer, faith, Christ, priesthood, prophet, resurrection, temple, and eternity. I began to wonder if there was really an answer. Finally, Brother C. looked at the clock.
“You’ve all given wonderful answers,” he said. “But the word I was looking for encompasses all of the beautiful words you’ve mentioned. The most important word is remember.”
“If you remember,” he said, “you won’t forget to pray. You won’t forget to serve or love. You will remember to read the scriptures. You will not forget your family and friends. You will remember to obey the prophet. You’ll keep in your heart the knowledge that Jesus Christ sacrificed his life for us, and you will love him as he loves you. You will remember why you came to this earth. And you will remember you are sons and daughters of God. You can return home to him if you remember to keep his commandments and live your lives the way he has asked.”
Then he bore his testimony and told us how much he loved us. We knew he did. I felt his love for me when I saw the twinkling smile in his eyes as he came over and shook my hand. I knew he loved me when he asked, “Will you remember?”
I almost told him yes, but just then the bell rang—but I remembered.
Most of the things I learned in seminary haven’t remained as vivid in my mind and heart as that lesson. But that lesson, and that day, I did not forget.
When temptations came, I remembered to get on my knees and pray. When I was discouraged and felt alone, I remembered that families can be forever. And no matter what crisis came, I remembered. I knew my Father in Heaven was near, and I knew he loved me.
But more important than anything else, I remembered who I was and why I was on earth. It kept me trying when I wanted to give up, and it helped me remember things like giving, learning, scriptures, and love.
Now, when I think of those important gospel truths which have become so precious to me, I also remember that day I ran in late to seminary. I am grateful for a caring, loving seminary teacher, and in my mind I see the twinkling smile in his eye as he shakes my hand. I hear him ask me if I remember, and I do. Will you?