Gospel Story Finder

From a missionary I received an unforgettable letter. He wrote: “I still am not certain why it was that I was [afflicted] with [cancer], particularly during the time I was serving the Lord on a mission, but I can say with all honesty and sincerity that I am eternally grateful to our gracious Heavenly Father for allowing me to have that experience. … Not a day goes by,” he continued, “that I don’t think about the days I spent lying in the hospital suffering through chemotherapy or grimacing with the pain from another operation. … Not a day passes when I don’t think of the days I spent studying the scriptures, particularly the Book of Mormon, and remembering the overwhelming feelings of comfort and peace which I felt. I often think of the nights when I would retire to bed and pour out my soul to my Heavenly Father and thank Him for preserving my life.” Then the elder shared this wonderful news: “I returned to the doctor this week … and … he found no evidence of any disease in my body.” I love such faithful missionaries!

It was a hot summer night in August, and my husband, Lynn, and our six children were asleep in the car. I had taken over driving just outside of Rocks Springs, Wyoming, so that my husband might rest. We could be at his parents’ home by midnight, he said, so it was best we go on. We were en route to Idaho from St. Louis, Missouri, where Lynn studied dentistry.

Soon after turning off Highway 30 and taking 30 North toward Bear Lake (on the Utah-Idaho border), I came to a detour sign that sent me to the right on a dirt road. I drove for quite some time, thinking I would soon see a sign to put me back on the main road. But the road got rougher and rougher. Suddenly out of the stillness came a very clear voice which said “Stop!”

I stepped on the brakes, and since I had been driving very slowly was able to stop almost instantly. Seven sleepy heads popped up to inquire: “Where are we? What’s the matter? Why did we stop here?”

All I could say was, “A voice told me to stop. Something must be wrong.” My husband took the flashlight and got out of the car—and found the front wheels on the edge of a canal.

By this time I was shaking, so Lynn took over driving and our older son guided him back. As we retraced our path, we noticed a very small sign that pointed back to the main highway—so small I had missed it in the darkness. Eight heads bowed in grateful thanks.

Have you ever had opportunity to do something for which you felt unprepared or inadequate but that you were blessed for trying?
I have. Here’s one example.
Some years ago, Elder Richard G. Scott, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, kindly invited, “Gerrit, would you like to watercolor with me?”
Elder Scott said painting helped him observe and create. He has written: “Attempt to be creative, even if the results are modest. … Creativity can engender a spirit of gratitude for life and for what the Lord has woven into your being. … If you choose wisely, it doesn’t have to absorb a lot of time.”2
President Henry B. Eyring describes his artistic meditations as motivated by “a feeling of love,” including “the love of a Creator who expects His children to become like Him—to create and to build.”3 President Eyring’s creative works provide a “unique, spiritual perspective on testimony and faith.”4
President Boyd K. Packer’s artwork illustrates a fundamental gospel message: “God is the Creator of the heavens and the earth and all things that are in them, that all nature bears testimony of that divinely directed creation, and that there is [a] complete harmony between nature, science, and the gospel of Jesus Christ.”5
Alma testifies, “All things denote there is a God.”6 Our Primary children sing, “Whenever I hear the song of a bird or look at the blue, blue sky, … I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world Heav’nly Father created for me.”7 Author Victor Hugo celebrates the “miraculous relationships between beings and things; in this inexhaustible whole, from sun to aphid. … All the birds that fly hold the thread of eternity in their claws. … A nebula is an anthill of stars.”8
And that brings us back to Elder Scott’s invitation.
“Elder Scott,” I replied, “I would like to become more observant and creative. I thrill to imagine Heavenly Father paints with billowing clouds and every hue of sky and water. But”—here was a long pause—“Elder Scott,” I said, “I have no skill to watercolor. I worry it may frustrate you to try and teach me.”
Elder Scott smiled and arranged for us to meet. On the appointed day, he prepared the paper, paints, and brushes. He sketched some outlines and helped wet the paper for me.
We used as a model his beautiful watercolor titled Campfire at Sunset. As we painted, we talked about faith—how as we face the light and warmth of a campfire, we leave the darkness and uncertainty behind us—how on sometimes long, lonely nights, our campfire of faith can give hope and assurance. And the dawn does come. Our campfire of faith—our memories, experiences, and heritage of faith in God’s goodness and tender mercies in our life—has strengthened us through the night.
My testimony is—for those who seek, allow, and live for it—the dawn of faith, sometimes gradually, will come or can return. The light will come when we desire and seek it, when we are patient and obedient to God’s commandments, when we are open to God’s grace, healing, and covenants.
As we began painting, Elder Scott encouraged, “Gerrit, even with one lesson you will paint something you will want to keep and remember.” Elder Scott was right. I treasure the watercolor of our campfire of faith Elder Scott helped me paint. My artistic ability was and remains limited, but the remembrance of our campfire of faith can encourage us in five ways.
First, our campfire of faith can encourage us to find joy in wholesome creativity.
There is joy in imagining, learning, doing worthwhile new things. This is especially true as we deepen faith and trust in Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. We cannot love ourselves enough to save ourselves. But Heavenly Father loves us more and knows us better than we love or know ourselves. We can trust the Lord and lean not unto our own understanding.9
Have you ever been the only one not invited to someone’s birthday party?
Have you ever been chosen last, or not chosen, when teams were selected?
Have you prepared for a school test, a job interview, an opportunity you really wanted—and you felt you failed?
Have you prayed for a relationship that, for whatever reason, has not worked out?
Have you faced chronic illness, been abandoned by a spouse, agonized for family?
Our Savior knows our circumstances. As we exercise God-given agency and engage all our faculties in humility and faith, our Savior, Jesus Christ, can help us meet life’s challenges and joys. Faith includes a desire and choice to believe. Faith also comes from obeying God’s commandments, given to bless us, as we follow His covenant path.
When we have felt, or feel, uncertain, alone, frustrated, angry, let down, disappointed, or estranged from God and His restored Church, it may take an extra measure of effort and faith to enter again on His covenant path. But it is worth it! Please come, or come again, unto the Lord Jesus Christ! God’s love is stronger than the cords of death—temporal or spiritual.10 Our Savior’s Atonement is infinite and eternal. Each of us strays and falls short. We may, for a time, lose our way. God lovingly assures us, no matter where we are or what we have done, there is no point of no return. He waits ready to embrace us.11
Second, our campfire of faith can encourage us to minister in new, higher, and holier Spirit-filled ways.
Such ministering brings miracles and the blessings of covenant belonging—where we feel God’s love and seek to minister to others in that spirit.
Not long ago, Sister Gong and I became acquainted with a father and family blessed by a faithful priesthood brother who came to their bishop and asked if he (the priesthood brother) could be a home teaching companion with the father. The father was not active and not interested in home teaching. But as the father’s heart changed, he and this loving priesthood brother began visiting “their” families. After one such visit, his wife—herself not then attending church—asked her husband how things had gone. The father admitted, “I may have felt something”—then he went to the kitchen to get a beer.12
But one thing followed another: tender experiences, ministering service, changing hearts, temple preparation class, coming to church, being sealed as a family in the holy temple. Imagine how grateful the children and grandchildren are to their father and mother and to the ministering brother who came as a friend and companion with their father to minister to and love others.
A third campfire of faith encouragement: creative gospel joy and blessings come when we seek to love the Lord and others with all our hearts and souls.
The scriptures invite us to place all we are and are becoming on the altar of love and service. In the Old Testament, Deuteronomy enjoins us to “love the Lord thy God” with all our heart, soul, and might.13 Joshua exhorts, “Love the Lord your God, … walk in all his ways, … keep his commandments, … cleave unto him, and … serve him with all your heart and with all your soul.”14
In the New Testament, our Savior states the two great commandments: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, … and thy neighbour as thyself.”15
In the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ, King Benjamin labored “with all the might of his body and the faculty of his whole soul” and established peace in the land.16 In the Doctrine and Covenants, as every missionary knows, the Lord asks us to serve Him with all our “heart, might, mind and strength.”17 When the Saints entered Jackson County, the Lord commanded them to keep the Sabbath holy by loving “the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy might, mind, and strength; and in the name of Jesus Christ thou shalt serve him.”18
We rejoice in the invitation to devote our whole souls to seeking higher and holier ways to love God and those around us and to strengthen our faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in our hearts and in our homes and at church.
Fourth, our campfire of faith encourages us to establish regular patterns of righteous living that deepen faith and spirituality.
These holy habits, righteous routines, or prayerful patterns may include prayer; scripture study; fasting; remembering our Savior and covenants through the ordinance of the sacrament; sharing gospel blessings through missionary, temple and family history, and other service; keeping a thoughtful personal journal; and so on.
When righteous patterns and spiritual yearnings join, time and eternity come together. Spiritual light and life come when regular religious observance draws us closer to our Heavenly Father and our Savior, Jesus Christ. When we love the spirit and letter of the law, the things of eternity can distill upon our souls like the dews from heaven.19 With daily obedience and refreshing living water, we find answers, faith, and strength to meet everyday challenges and opportunities with gospel patience, perspective, and joy.
Fifth, as we keep the best of familiar patterns while seeking new and holier ways to love God and help us and others prepare to meet Him, our campfire of faith can encourage us to remember perfection is in Christ, not in ourselves or in the perfectionism of the world.
God’s invitations are full of love and possibility because Jesus Christ is “the way, the truth, and the life.”20 To those who feel burdened, He invites, “Come unto me,” and to those who come to Him, He promises, “I will give you rest.”21 “Come unto Christ, and be perfected in him, … love God with all your might, mind and strength, then is his grace sufficient for you, that by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ.”22
In this assurance “by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ” is also the comfort, peace, and promise that we can continue forward with faith and confidence in the Lord even when things do not go as we hope, expect, or perhaps deserve, through no fault of our own, even after we have done our best.
In various times and ways, we all feel inadequate, uncertain, perhaps unworthy. Yet in our faithful efforts to love God and to minister to our neighbor, we may feel God’s love and needed inspiration for their and our lives in new and holier ways.
With compassion, our Savior encourages and promises we can “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men.”23 The doctrine of Christ, our Savior’s Atonement, and our whole-souled following of His covenant path can help us know His truths and make us free.24
I testify the fulness of His gospel and His plan of happiness are restored and taught in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, in holy scripture, and by prophets from the Prophet Joseph Smith to President Russell M. Nelson today. I testify His covenant path leads to the greatest gift our loving Heavenly Father promises: “Ye shall have eternal life.”25
May His blessings and enduring joy be ours as we warm our hearts and hopes and commitment at our campfire of faith, I pray in the sacred and holy name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Another mother was concerned one day that her 16-year-old daughter was not home at the usual hour. When the girl finally arrived, her mother quizzed her with some frustration about where she had been. The 16-year-old almost sheepishly replied that she had taken a flower to a widow who lived nearby. She had noticed the older sister looking lonely and felt prompted to visit her. With her mother’s complete approval, the young woman continued to visit the elderly woman. They became good friends, and their sweet association continued for years.

On the recent errand to Ethiopia, the Spirit prompted Bishop Pace and me. We knew what to do. We knew what to say. We knew where to go. In many ways, boys, I relived some of my missionary experiences of thirty-four years ago. For example, we needed a permit from the government to travel to Makale to visit the food stations and the distribution centers where tens of thousands of homeless refugees were gathered. When the permit was delayed, desiring to fill our mission, we knelt in prayer and asked the Lord for help. The next morning the permits were issued. Then we needed to get from Addis Ababa to Makale. We again prayed for help and then found passage with a British Royal Air Force mercy flight in a C-130 Hercules transport plane. From Makale, we had no way to travel to Asmara. The Lord knew of our need. Late in the afternoon we hitched a ride with a Swedish Air Force mercy flight. Hitchhiking is not a good idea, and especially not by air, but being on the Lord’s errand, it was all right.
I have deep affection for the goodness of people, many of whom I met in far-off Ethiopia, who are not members of the Church but who are giving unselfish Christian service. Brethren, I was so grateful that the Church made a significant contribution to help meet a desperate need. I believe if we had more missionaries in the world, rendering meaningful Christian service and helping people come to the knowledge of the glorious message of the Restoration, we would find favor with the Lord.
I say to you young men tonight, get ready; every one of you, get ready. This world needs your service. Repent if you need to. Study from the standard works every day. Say your prayers morning and night. Develop in your heart a desire to know the mysteries of God. To lead the Church tomorrow, you must prepare today. Train hard, boys, and I promise you that you will live to be grateful that you made the effort to prepare.

I think one of the sweetest lessons taught by the Prophet Joseph, and yet one of the saddest, occurred close to the time of his death. He had seen in vision the Saints leaving Nauvoo and going to the Rocky Mountains. He was anxious that his people be led away from their tormentors and into this promised land which the Lord had shown him. He no doubt longed to be with them. However, he had been issued an arrest warrant on trumped up charges. Despite many appeals to Governor Ford, the charges were not dismissed. Joseph left his home, his wife, his family, and his people and gave himself up to the civil authorities, knowing he would probably never return.
These are the words he spoke as he journeyed to Carthage: “I am going like a lamb to the slaughter; but I am calm as a summer’s morning; I have a conscience void of offense towards God, and towards all men.”
In Carthage Jail he was incarcerated with his brother Hyrum and others. On June 27, 1844, Joseph, Hyrum, John Taylor, and Willard Richards were together there when an angry mob stormed the jail, ran up the stairway, and began firing through the door of the room they occupied. Hyrum was killed, and John Taylor was wounded. Joseph Smith’s last great act here upon the earth was one of selflessness. He crossed the room, most likely “thinking that it would save the lives of his brethren in the room if he could get out, … and sprang into the window when two balls pierced him from the door, and one entered his right breast from without.” He gave his life; Willard Richards and John Taylor were spared. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” The Prophet Joseph Smith taught us love—by example.

The first book I ever owned came to me on the heels of near tragedy. It was at a community Christmas tree party in our little country town of Clifton in Idaho. The huge tree lighted with hundreds of burning candles … set an ideal stage for that which followed. Before our horrified gaze Santa caught fire and as he ran frantically out through a rear exit he swept along with him trimmings, candles, presents, and even a part of the tree itself. …
I returned home … disconsolate and dejected because no gift was on the tree for me. The next day from out of the ruins of the fire a book, half burned, was found with my name in it. That book was Tom, the Bootblack, by Horatio Alger, Jr.

Becky edged closer to her father on the hard seat of the buckboard, trying to convince herself she was not afraid. As they rounded a bend in the road, the trees hid even the tall church spire. It was as though Jacksonville no longer existed.
Pa seemed unaware of her fears. His tanned face creased into familiar lines as he smiled down at her. “Sure is nice having company,” he said.
“Do you think Mrs. Arnold will be all right?”
“With your Ma watching her?” Pa laughed. “Isn’t a better nurse this side of the Cascades.”
Silence fell between them. The only sounds were those made by the rumbling wheels and the clanking harness chains.
If only Ma hadn’t gone to nurse Mrs. Arnold, Becky thought. Then I would be home now, safe behind the walls of our log cabin, instead of going with Pa on his daily trip to pan for gold.
It was early in the day, but Becky pulled at the brim of her calico sunbonnet. The summer sun was hot in southern Oregon, and Ma had warned her not to get sunburned. She stared ahead at the road that became rough as they left the town behind. Trees lined one side, their branches stretching like hungry arms toward the shallow creek that glittered to her right.
Becky jumped as a shadow passed overhead, then shielded her eyes to watch a hawk swoop low over the trees. She wished she could be as brave and proud as the hawk. There was nothing to be afraid of, she assured herself once more. After all, there hadn’t been any trouble with Indians for almost two years now, and she was foolish to fear anything else with her father beside her. Still, she felt uneasy.
They had traveled for nearly two hours when Pa pulled the buckboard to the side of the road. He jumped to the ground, and his strong arms swung her down beside him. He pulled a pick and shovel from the back of the wagon and handed Becky the battered pan he used for gold panning. “Will you carry the pan?” he asked.
Becky nodded, pleased to be helpful, then followed close behind as her father pushed through the bushes that lined the creek bed. Loose stones rolled beneath Becky’s feet, but she fought to keep up with him. She didn’t want to be left behind. They walked a few yards upstream until they reached a point where the rushing water curved in its course, creating a tiny cove. “Why don’t you sit over there on that big rock?” Pa suggested. “Can’t have you falling in. Your mother would skin us both alive if I brought you home soaking wet.”
Obediently Becky perched on the flat gray rock. She touched the velvety texture of the moss growing in the crevices of the stone—how soft it felt!
Pa crouched beside the stream and patiently swirled the pan, letting water spill over its side. He poked at the sand in the bottom of the pan before he scooped up another shovelful of gravel and began the process again.
Becky stretched her cramped muscles and wiggled her toes. The rock was hard, and she wished she had brought a book to read. Occasionally her father turned to smile at her, and once he showed her a tiny glimmer of color he found in the bottom of the pan.
At last he glanced at the sky and rose from his crouched position. “Why don’t you run back to the wagon,” he suggested, “and fetch the lunch pails? It’s time we had something to eat.”
Becky hesitated. Surely he doesn’t expect me to go back to the wagon all by myself, she worried.
A slight frown of irritation wrinkled Pa’s forehead. “Well, go on,” he urged. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
She took a deep breath and slid off her rock. She couldn’t admit how frightened she felt. He would never understand. She moved downstream, picking her way carefully, her skirt held up to the top of her sturdy boots. Her father waved once and turned back to his work.
When Becky rounded a bend, she knew she had almost reached the wagon. She quickened her steps and tried not to think of anything except getting back to Pa.
A rustle in the bushes made her stop, and a flicker of movement caught her eye. A snake! Is it a rattlesnake coiled there, ready to spring? she wondered. Becky’s heart seemed to stop beating and she was unable to move. Then she saw a patch of brown fur and forced herself to edge closer. Cautiously she pushed the bushes aside. A small brown and black animal crouched on the ground, its foot caught in a snare. Its dark eyes were wide with fear as it stared at the girl.
Becky knew it was a river otter. She had seen their hides stretched to dry behind Parker’s Store and knew a lot of the townspeople trapped them for their pelts. But she had never seen a live one before. “Poor thing,” she crooned, and crouched down and extended her hand carefully.
The animal backed away as far as the snare would allow, and its lip quivered in a weak snarl.
“I won’t hurt you,” Becky said quietly as she reached for the vine that held the otter’s foot. Perhaps she should get Pa to set it free. But she knew he would tell her this was someone else’s trap and that they had no right to release the animal. Yet she couldn’t bear to leave it here like this.
As Becky grasped the snare, she worried that the otter would try to sink its teeth into her hand. Instead, the animal cringed against the rocky ground, shivering with fear. Her fingers trembled as she fought to loosen the loop from the otter’s foot. At last she pulled it free and waited for the animal to run away, but it continued to cower in the bushes.
A rock shifted behind her and Becky whirled around. She looked up into the black eyes of an Indian. Maybe it’s one of his traps, she thought. The man’s scowling face made her catch her breath, but she rose to her feet and stood between him and the injured otter. Run, little otter! she thought fiercely. Run, before he catches you again.
The man’s gaze fell on the snare Becky held in her hands, then moved to the animal she attempted to shield. “You set him free.” It was a statement, rather than a question, but Becky nodded, unable to speak.
Slowly the scowl faded from the man’s face. He took the snare from Becky’s lifeless fingers and studied it for a moment. Then he hurled it into the stream where the current quickly carried it out of sight.
“It is good,” the Indian said abruptly. “The otter is my brother. I am named for him—Swift Otter.”
Becky watched him, uncertain what he would do next. She heard the rustle of leaves behind her and saw the otter disappear into the bushes.
“You have saved his life,” Swift Otter said. “He will be wiser now.” He studied her for a moment in silence, then said, “You are brave for so small a girl.”
The Indian turned and walked away from Becky. She stared after him. She wanted to call out, to ask him where he came from, but he was gone.
At last Becky moved toward the wagon. Swift Otter had called her brave. All her fears were still there, but he hadn’t seen them. She suddenly realized that in her concern for the trapped animal she had forgotten to be afraid. Perhaps in time she could learn to be brave—as brave as Swift Otter thought she was.
A shadow passed overhead, and this time Becky didn’t jump. She raised her face and watched the hawk swoop across the clear blue sky.

by Barbara Steffensen
They filtered into the room as they always had on Sunday mornings—greeting friends and gathering together to visit and laugh a little before the meeting began. But this particular Sunday was different. On the Sunday of their ward conference, each of the young men and young women in the Blackfoot Idaho South Stake had brought an item to church—pictures, basketballs, scriptures. All the youth had been asked to bring one item related to their Church activity and to stand before the group and explain what kept them active in the Church.
To introduce the activity, the first to stand in each ward was stake Young Men president, Joe Dayle. Many snickered when he held up an empty beer can, but they listened to his words. “As I watched my friends get involved in these kinds of things, and the problems that came along with them, I gained a testimony of the Word of Wisdom. I knew it was true.”
Many aspects of Church activity were evident as each stood and shared feelings. A young woman holding a Personal Progress book told of her testimony of goal setting. Another, holding a basketball, shared her love for the sports program. A Scouting manual showed the importance the program held to a young deacon. Many brought their scriptures and told of their gratitude for them and for the seminary program which helped them learn and better understand God’s word. The power of family influences was represented by the many pictures brought of parents, grandparents, and brothers and sisters.
As each meeting in each ward progressed, the Spirit grew stronger. Testimonies were borne of the love felt for the Savior and the sacrifice he made.
In the fall, after all ward conferences were completed, a stake activation night was held as a culmination of the year’s program. Each young man and woman in the stake—active and inactive—was contacted and asked to write his or her testimony on a card. The theme for the night was “Let Your Testimony Soar.” That evening, hundreds of helium balloons with the testimony cards inside were filled and released.

After church, Kirill’s mother welcomed their new American friends to their home. She played the piano and sang some Ukrainian songs. The adults ate breads, drank herbal tea, and chatted. Sister Wein from East Germany and Sister Norton translated for them. The two children ate bread and played.
Tanya’s and Kirill’s mothers were thrilled to be able to invite Americans into their homes and allow them to take photos without worrying about getting in trouble with the police. Under Communism, friendly visits with foreigners were not allowed.

1961. The horizon wasn’t even softened yet by the coming dawn when a train stopped at a siding in southern Mexico to take on water. There was no town in sight, nothing but the dim outlines of mountains and jungle. Before the train could chug out its first puff of steam to get underway again, a Mexican youth in a suit and tie suddenly dug an elbow into his “gringo” companion as they sat on a bench in the passenger section.
“Grab your bag,” he said. “We’re getting off.”
Overriding his sleepy friend’s inarticulate protests, he soon had them both standing by the tracks in the 4:00 A.M. chill as the train snorted, huffed, gathered speed, and pulled away. Finally awake, the companion said in disbelief, “But it’s the middle of the night, and we’re in the middle of nowhere, and there won’t be another train until tomorrow morning!”
“I know,” the young Mexican replied, “but the Spirit told me to get off; so we got off.” His companion shrugged. No arguing with that sort of thing. Elder Parra, district president of the Puebla District of the mission was no fool, and everybody knew he lived close to the Lord.
“So here we are,” the American said stoically. “So what next?” Elder Parra pointed into the darkness. “We start walking,” he said.
So they walked, stumbling up one side of a mountain and down the other. Dawn showed them another mountain beyond that, and another beyond that, and they climbed them. At last, about 17 miles later, they came to a village of very small, poor houses. They climbed a little hill nearby, took out their hymnbooks, and sang a hymn. When they had finished that hymn, they sang another, and then another, until all the people from the village came out of their houses and climbed the hill to see what was going on.
When everyone had gathered around the two missionaries, they started to preach. They preached for half a day, and when they had finished preaching, they dammed up a small stream nearby and baptized every person there who was eight years of age or older. They then ordained an elder to be president of the new little branch and hiked back to catch the next day’s train.
Today Elder Parra is back in southern Mexico, this time as president of the Mexico Vera Cruz Mission. The mission leads the Church in baptisms, has a high rate of member activity, and boasts a strong youth missionary program.
The little village in the mountains is a thriving branch of some 200 members. They have a full-time missionary in the field and hope to build a chapel.
To them it makes a lot of difference that one Mormon elder had enough faith to suddenly get off a train at 4:00 A.M. in the middle of nowhere.

It was while he was studying medicine at the University of Utah that he met his wife-to-be, Dantzel White.
He vividly remembers the feeling that came over him. “I thought she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen and sensed that she was the one I would marry,” he said. Dantzel felt the same way. When she went home to Perry, Utah, she announced to her parents that she had met the man she wanted to marry. Three years later they were married in the Salt Lake Temple.

When I was a boy, we lived in a home surrounded by an orchard. There never seemed to be enough water for the trees. The ditches, always freshly plowed in the spring, would soon fill with weeds. One day, in charge of the irrigation turn, I found myself in trouble. As the water moved down the rows choked with weeds, it would flood in every direction. I worked in the puddles trying to build up the bank. As soon as I had one break patched up, there would be another. A neighbor came through the orchard. He watched for a moment, and then with a few vigorous strokes of the shovel, he cleared the ditch and allowed the water to course through the channel he had made. He said, “If you want the water to stay in its course, you’ll have to make a place for it to go.”
I have come to know that thoughts, like water, will stay on course if we make a place for them to go. Otherwise, our thoughts follow the course of least resistance, always seeking the lower levels. Probably the greatest challenge and the most difficult thing you will face in mortal life is to learn to control your thoughts. In the Bible it says, as a man “thinketh in his heart, so is he” (Proverbs 23:7). Those who can control their thoughts have conquered themselves.
As you learn to control your thoughts, you can overcome habits, even degrading personal habits. You can gain courage, conquer fear, and have a happy life. I had been told a hundred times or more as I grew up that thoughts must be controlled, but no one told me how. I’ve thought about this over the years and have decided that the mind is like a stage. During every waking moment the curtain is up. There is always some act being performed on that stage. It may be a comedy, a tragedy, interesting or dull, good or bad; but always there is some act playing on the stage of your mind.
Have you noticed that shady little thoughts may creep in from the wings and attract your attention in the middle of almost any performance and without any real intent on your part? These delinquent thoughts will try to upstage everybody. If you permit them to go on, all thoughts of any virtue will leave the stage. You will be left, because you consented to it, to the influence of unrighteous thoughts. If you yield to them, they will enact for you on the stage of your mind anything to the limits of your toleration. They may enact themes of bitterness, jealousy, or hatred. They may be vulgar, immoral, even depraved. When they have the stage, if you let them, they will devise the most clever persuasions to hold your attention. They can make it interesting all right, even convince you that they are innocent, for they are but thoughts. What do you do at a time like that, when the stage of your mind is commandeered by the imps of unclean thinking, whether they be the gray ones that seem almost clean or the filthy ones that leave no room for doubt? If you can fill your mind with clean and constructive thoughts, then there will be no room for these persistent imps, and they will leave.
I realize that in today’s world it’s often difficult to keep your mind filled with worthy thoughts. This takes careful control. However, it can be done when you make a safe place for your thoughts to go. I’ve found a way to make such a place, and I’d like to share it with you. It has to do with music—worthy music. A wise man once said, “Music is one of the most forceful instruments for governing the mind.” Whether it governs in a positive way or a negative way is determined by what it brings onto the stage of your mind. If you can say that a song is spiritually inspiring or that it urges you to see yourself in a more noble perspective, the music is worthwhile. If it merely entertains or lifts your spirits, then it also has a useful place. But if it makes you want to respond in a carnal, sensual way or to consider unrighteous desires, then that music should be avoided. It is not worthy.
There have always been those who take the beautiful things and corrupt them. It’s happened with nature; it’s happened with literature, drama, art; and it certainly has happened with music. For centuries it has been obvious that when the wrong kind of words are set to appealing music, songs can lead men astray. And music itself, by the way it is played, by its beat, by its intensity, can dull the spiritual sensitivity.
We are living at a time when society is undergoing a subtle, but powerful, change. It is becoming more and more permissive in what it will accept in its entertainment. As a result, much of the music being performed by popular entertainers today seems to be more intended to agitate than to pacify, more to excite than to calm. Some musicians appear to openly promote unrighteous thoughts and action.
Young people, you cannot afford to fill your minds with the unworthy music of our day. It is not harmless. It can welcome onto the stage of your mind unworthy thoughts and set a tempo to which they dance and to which you may act. You degrade yourself when you identify with those things that at times surround extremes in music—the shabbiness, the irreverence, the immorality, the addictions. Such music is not worthy of you.
Be selective in what you listen to and produce. It becomes part of you. It controls your thoughts and influences the lives of others as well. I would recommend that you go through your music and throw away that which promotes degrading thoughts. Such music ought not to belong to young people concerned with spiritual development.
I don’t mean by this that all of today’s music produces unworthy thoughts. There is music today that builds understanding of people; music that inspires courage; music that awakens feelings of spirituality, reverence, happiness, and awareness of beauty.
The Lord has said, “For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads” (D&C 25:12). The First Presidency of the Church, commenting on the influence of music in our lives, has said: “Through music, man’s ability to express himself extends beyond the limits of the spoken language in both subtlety and power. Music can be used to exalt and inspire or to carry messages of degradation and destruction. It is therefore important that as Latter-day Saints we at all times apply the principles of the gospel and seek the guidance of the Spirit in selecting the music with which we surround ourselves.”
Let me say to you young leaders, pay careful attention to the music you plan for your activities. Consult with your advisers as selections are made. You need the benefit of their wisdom, for the breach between the Church and the world, with the extremes of its music, is wider in our day than ever in generations past.
President J. Reuben Clark Jr. (1871–1961), one of our great Church leaders, explained it this way: “We may not, under our duty, provide or tolerate an unwholesome amusement on the theory that if we do not provide it the youth will go elsewhere to get it. We could hardly set up a roulette table in the Church amusement hall for gambling purposes, with the excuse that if we do not provide it the youth would go to a gambling hall to gamble. We can never really hold our youth thus.”
Nor is it proper to provide the kind of music and atmosphere that attracts youth in the world. You must stand firm and not compromise with what you know is right and good; you must have the courage to turn the lights up and the music down when they don’t contribute to the kind of atmosphere that produces worthy thoughts; and you must insist on high standards of dress and performance from those who entertain as well as those who attend.
I would counsel you to develop your talents, and if you have musical talent, think of this: There is much music yet to be created, much to be performed. Yours can be the worthy music that will be uplifting, that will spread the gospel, touch hearts, give comfort and strength to troubled minds.
There are many examples, both ancient and modern, that attest to the influence of righteous music. Discouragement disappeared and minds were filled with peace as the words to “Come, Come, Ye Saints” gave the pioneers courage to face their trials. This same song has been an inspiration to many over the years. At one time I was talking to a pilot who had just returned from a hazardous flight. We spoke of courage and of fear, and I asked how he had held himself together in the face of what he had endured. He said, “I have a favorite hymn, and when it was desperate, when there was little hope that we would return, I would keep it on my mind, and it was as though the engines of the aircraft would sing back to me.”
Come, come, ye Saints,
No toil nor labor fear;
But with joy wend your way.
Though hard to you
This journey may appear,
Grace shall be as your day.
From this he clung to faith, the one essential ingredient to courage.
The Lord Himself was prepared for His greatest test through the influence of music, for the scripture records, “And when they had sung an hymn, they went out into the mount of Olives” (Mark 14:26).
Remember, young people, I want each of you to remember that this is your Church, and He is your Lord and your Savior who stands at the helm. His constant guidance and inspiration are available to you when you keep your mind filled to overflowing with the good, the beautiful, the inspiring. And this is one way to do it. Choose a favorite hymn or song, just as my pilot friend did, one with words that are uplifting and music that is reverent, one that makes you feel something akin to inspiration. There are many beautiful songs to choose from. Seek the guidance of the Spirit in making your selection. Go over the song in your mind carefully. Memorize it. Even though you have had no musical training, you can think through a simple song. Now use this as the course for your thoughts to follow. Make it your emergency channel.
Whenever you find shady actors slipping from the sidelines of your thinking onto the stage of your mind, put on this CD, as it were. It will change your whole mood.
Because the music is uplifting and clean, the baser thoughts will slip shamefully away. For while virtue, by choice, will not associate with filth, evil cannot tolerate the presence of light. In due time you will find yourself humming the music inwardly, almost automatically, to drive out unworthy thoughts. As you young people involve yourselves with righteous and worthwhile things, keep your minds filled with worthy thoughts, for as a man thinketh so is he, and you will have the ability to accomplish those things that will bring fulfillment to your lives.
You are a son or a daughter of Almighty God. I bear witness that God is our Father, that we are His children, that He loves us and has provided great and glorious things in this life. I know this, and I thank Him for the uplifting influence of good music, which has influenced my thoughts and uplifted my soul.

Kaden was riding in the van with his mom. Mom had just bought some things at the department store. “I also got some bug tattoos,” she told him. She knew that he and his brothers liked to wear these stick-on tattoos.
“Why did you waste your money on them?” he asked.
“I didn’t,” she replied. “The store was giving them away free with anything that was bought.”
“But, Mom, the prophet said we are not supposed to have tattoos, so why would you take them?” He thought for a minute, then said, “May I use them as stickers on the front drawers of my dresser?”
And that is what he did with them. There was no question in his mind about tattoos of any kind! It was a good reminder for Mom.

My mom can tell when I am in a bad mood, and she’ll text me to tell me that she loves me. One time my mom was dropping me off for early-morning seminary, and I was not talking much. That morning she sent a text saying, “I love you and am proud of you. I hope you have a really good day because you deserve it.” She’s taught me how to serve others and be more selfless. From her I have learned that no matter the situation you are in, you can always help others.

Skye MacMillan leaned over the top rail of the bucking chute and watched the feisty 300-pound young steer rear up and try to climb over the steel gate. Her right knee quivered, and her mouth was dry. She was on chute number three, and the announcer was calling out the names of the riders. His voice echoed inside the hard helmet that fit snugly over her ears. The nose guard and chin strap felt alien and uncomfortable on her head. Her two brown pigtails were cupped against the back of her neck by the helmet. She dry swallowed.
This was the third and toughest event she had entered today. While she waited for the bareback steer-riding to start, she had time to think about the other two events she had won.
The first event, barrel racing, she hadn’t won easily. Her trusty pony, Apache, was quick and fast, but she had hit one of the barrels with her knee. Fortunately, it hadn’t tipped over—all the hours of practice in the south corral at home had paid off. Then Apache had bellied flat-out over the finish line, and they had won by six-tenths of a second over the nearest competitor.
The second event, goat-tying, had been even harder. Again, Apache had given her the edge. He wasn’t spooked by goats, and they had practiced and practiced until she could dismount as close to the goat as possible. Apache had learned to slow down at the last minute so that Skye could leap off over his shoulder and maintain her run toward the goat without falling. In fact, Apache was so savvy that he would pace himself right beside her. Skye could keep her right hand on his shoulder, and he helped her maintain her balance as her feet hit the ground. At the last second he would veer off and let her finish her run to catch the goat.
Skye’s dad had let her practice at home on some of the smaller calves. She was good at kneeing them over on their sides and fast-tying three legs together with tight, fast wraps and slipknots. The goat had been tougher. Its legs were skinny in comparison, and Skye had been afraid it would kick free after she made her last wrap and slipknot. As she had leaped up and thrown her hands in the air to indicate that she was finished, she had held her breath. The goat had kicked and wriggled to get free of the ropes, but the ropes had held, and her time of 15.09 seconds had beaten the nearest competitor easily.
This was her second year competing in the PeeWee Rodeo Association county meet. Last year she had done well, but she had won no firsts. This year she already had two firsts. If she could win the bareback steer-riding event, she would have three firsts and a trophy as all-around cowgirl to take home. She would also qualify to go to state finals.
Skye’s thoughts jerked back to the ornery critter rearing and jumping in the chute. Her dad and one of the chute helpers were attaching the cowbell and getting the belly strap cinched up on the young steer. Her dad looked at her and gave her a thumbs-up sign.
She grinned back at him nervously. She slapped her leather-gloved hands against her thighs. Then she rubbed the palms of her gloves together to work in the resin so that she wouldn’t lose her grip on the ropes.
The announcer called for the first chute to open, and Skye watched as Billy Marten, who was in her 4-H horse handlers’ group, rode out on the back of a Hereford steer. His steer jumped out of the shute sideways and ran in a straight line for about ten paces. Billy tried to get the animal to buck, but it wouldn’t. Then the steer came to a complete stop. When Billy kicked it in the shoulders, the steer made a quick half-turn and pitched him off.
Billy sat up and yanked off his helmet. He spit dust disgustedly as he got up and walked away. A rodeo clown ran over and lured the steer away as it headed back toward Billy.
Ginny Helms was waiting her turn in chute number two. But when her gate opened, she fared no better than Billy had.
The announcer called Skye’s name, and she climbed over the rail to get onto the back of the pawing, snorting black steer. Her dad was beside her, helping her to get astride the steer and to wrap the rope around her left hand. He looked her square in the eye and said, "You don’t have to ride this year, honey. You have plenty of years ahead of you."
Skye shook her head, "No. I’m going to do it!"
Her dad gave her a quick hug and said, "Now, remember, if you start to fall, let go of the ropes—first right hand, then left hand, and you’ll be free and not get dragged."
She nodded at him and then at the chute helpers, who were shouting all kinds of instructions at her:
"Lean way back."
"Keep jabbing his shoulders."
"Jump wide when you hear the time whistle."
"Stay flat after you fall."
"Let the clown lead the steer away from you."
"Hang tight."
Skye’s head was buzzing with all the directions when the gate flew open.
The steer jumped sideways out into the arena. It jumped straight up. When it hit the ground on all four feet, Skye landed on its back with a teeth-rattling jolt. She recovered instantly, though, and leaned far back and kicked the steer’s shoulders with her heels. It spun to the left. It spun to the right. Skye’s only thoughts were to hang on and to pray that the time whistle would blow so she could let go and jump off. The steer kicked out with its hind legs, then tucked its head between its front legs. Then it stood on its hind legs and whirled around with its front legs pawing the air.
When the whistle blew, Skye instantly let go and flew over the steer’s right shoulder. She hit the dirt flat on her back, and the wind gushed out of her lungs.
Her dad came to help Skye. He loosened her belt and unbuckled her helmet as she struggled to breathe again. He kept asking her if she was hurt. All she could do was shake her head, because she hadn’t caught her breath yet. When Skye finally managed to gulp down enough fresh, clean air, she grinned broadly. Her dad helped her up, and as they walked out of the arena together, he lovingly put his arm around her shoulders.
Later, as they watched the remaining contestants try their skills, Skye looked at her dad and asked, "Dad, would you have been awfully disappointed with me if I’d chickened out?"
"Of course not. As a matter of fact, I’ve been wondering if you really want to go on with this rodeo business. I’m not sure I like seeing you get tossed around like that!"
Skye hugged him tightly and said, "Yeah, I’m going to go on with this rodeo business. After all, they say the first time out of the bucking chute is the worst. Besides, that trophy’s going to look awfully good on the mantel over the fireplace."
Skye leaned against her dad, put her head back and let out a long "Whoooopeeee!"

When an administrator in Africa rode out to inspect land that had been devastated in a storm, he came to a place where giant cedars had been uprooted and destroyed. He said to his official in charge, “You will have to plant some cedars here.” The official replied, “It takes 2,000 years to grow cedars of the size these were. They don’t even bear cones until they’re 50 years old.”
“Then,” said the administrator, “we must plant them at once.” And this is the admonition to you.

Sister Whang taught her girls to help spread the gospel. When President Till arrived in Korea in 1974, he learned from a survey that only 10 percent of the people in Seoul were aware of the name of the Church. During his three years as mission president, he and his missionaries concentrated on changing that. With Sister Whang’s permission, President Till assigned several elders—who formed a singing group known as “New Horizon”—to work directly with the Tender Apples choir to put on a musical show that would introduce the people in Korea to the gospel.
The group became immensely popular. Through it all, President Till remembers, Sister Whang “taught the girls that they shouldn’t be too proud of themselves, because they were just doing what they were supposed to do.” At the end of three years, more than 70 percent of the people in Seoul recognized the Church’s name.

The young single adults in the Benin City Nigeria Ikpokpan Stake decided to take President Dallin H. Oaks’s challenge to heart and make the Easter season more memorable and representative of our Savior’s love.
The YSA stake leaders, Felicia Samuel and Ejodamen Macaulay Jr., kicked off the week with an act of service on Good Friday. The young single adults came together and created bags of rice with spices and other ingredients to provide a delicious meal. They tied these bags with an Easter message of hope in Jesus Christ and an invitation to learn more from the missionaries. Then they prayed to ask our Heavenly Father to guide them to those who most needed His message of love. Many wore The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints vests, identifying themselves as they walked to the market and began to share their message of Jesus Christ with those they met. Everyone was uplifted by the small act of charity that day.
The young single adults demonstrated that as we come together to become one in Christ, we can magnify His gospel in simple ways that strengthen God’s children wherever they are.
See their highlight video created by the talented videographer Emmanuel Otumbari, from the Ugbor First Ward, at youtube.com/shorts/q43c9BayCTg.

Illustration by Dan Burr
Having been raised in a competitive and non-religious Asian country, I have always had a great desire to become a successful person, but I didn’t have any eternal principles or truths to guide me. In my country, “successful” meant being rich and powerful.
My parents always taught me that there was no such thing as God. For them, religion or God was a bunch of nonsense and only for weak people. For a long time I considered myself atheist. They taught me that I shouldn’t trust anyone but myself. So from a young age I have used my high ambitions as motivation to study and work extremely hard.
My parents had high expectations for me. They wanted me to keep my grades high at all times. It made me sad to see their disappointed faces or to hear them argue with each other when I got a bad grade. Along with my regular schoolwork, I would also have to do extra homework on the weekend so I could keep an A average.
Even after accomplishing goals I had set, I still felt that there was something more in store for my life. Deep in my heart, I knew that surely there had to be more to it.
One day I decided I was going to find out for myself if there really was a God. If He did exist, I wanted to know what He wanted for me or if religion was just a bunch of nonsense created by the imagination of human beings. I was not afraid to receive either one of these two answers. I just wanted the truth.
Around that same time, I became close friends with one of my basketball teammates named Taylor. One morning I asked him for a ride to school. He said yes, but I would have to get up an hour earlier to go to seminary with him. I reluctantly said yes, not knowing what it was. I enjoyed seminary, though more because of what I felt than what I learned.
Soon after that, Taylor asked me to go to church with him. At first I thought church was a little boring and weird, but eventually I was moved by the warm and peaceful feeling that I felt at the service.
However, I still wasn’t persuaded that the good feeling had anything to do with God. How did I know that it didn’t come from myself? How did I know that I didn’t make myself feel that way?
After many internal debates, I went to Taylor’s mom in search of answers. She told me that I could receive my answers by reading the scriptures and praying about the answers that I was looking for. I prayed without receiving any answers and struggled to obey the rules and commandments that I was learning about. I became frustrated many times. I expected a marvelous and dramatic appearance of God or some sort of miraculous event to prove that God was real. Basically, I wanted an unshakable testimony all at once. The truth is, the more I prayed, the more clarity I felt in my life. The more I followed the commandments, the happier I became. The more I read the scriptures, the more revelation I received. Gradually, my testimony increased, like the rising sun in the morning.
It took me two years to decide to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Though I lived many good moral standards and principles before, I can now say that I have found the eternal and ultimate truth: God lives. Jesus is the Christ, our Savior and Redeemer. The heavens are open. A prophet of God walks the earth today. The Atonement of Jesus Christ is real. God really does forgive all repentant sinners. I may not be as smart or as gifted as other people, but the knowledge I have is priceless.