Gospel Story Finder

On February 16, 1832, 187 years ago, Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon received the remarkable vision of the three kingdoms of glory, a central part of our doctrine and of the plan of salvation. Joseph and Sidney bore testimony of Jesus Christ, “who is the Son, whom we saw and with whom we conversed in the heavenly vision.”[1]
They heard the Savior say:
“I, the Lord, am merciful and gracious unto those who fear me, and delight to honor those who serve me in righteousness and in truth unto the end.
“Great shall be their reward and eternal shall be their glory. …
“And their wisdom shall be great, and their understanding reach to heaven. …
“For by my Spirit will I enlighten them.”[2]
Not long after that glorious vision, in March 1832, a group of men prepared and perpetrated a cruel and most brutal attack on Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon. In the middle of the night, they attacked the Prophet and Sidney in their homes. Joseph was dragged out of the house and into a meadow, beat up, and threatened with a knife. The men tried to pour liquid tar into his mouth. When that was not successful, they ripped off his clothes and poured the tar all over his hair and his beaten body, “covered him with feathers, dumped him to the cold ground, and left the scene.”
After his attackers left, Joseph tore the tar from his lips. He found Sidney not far from him, lying on the ground, and wasn’t sure if Sidney was dead or alive.
When Joseph and Sidney managed to get back home, family and friends tended to them all night. The next morning, Joseph got dressed and preached a sermon from the doorstep of the home where he was staying. In the aftermath of this event, one of Joseph and Emma’s twins died.[3] It was the fourth child he and Emma lost, born during the first four years of their marriage.
That same month, in March 1832, Joseph received several important revelations from the Lord. Among the counsel the Lord gave to Joseph was this profound statement: “Be of good cheer, for I will lead you along.”[4]

Let me give you another example. In my youth I once was negligent in a way that later caused an injury to one of my brothers. It was not major, but required some stitches in his hand. I was embarrassed about it, and did not own up to my stupidity at the time, and no one ever knew about my role in the matter. Many years later, I was praying that God would reveal to me anything in my life that needed correction so that I might be found more acceptable before Him, and this incident came to my mind. Frankly, I had forgotten all about it. The Spirit whispered to me that this was an unresolved transgression that I needed to confess. I called my brother and apologized and asked for his forgiveness which he promptly and generously gave. On reflection I realized that my embarrassment and regret would have been less if I had apologized when the accident happened. Of course, it would have been even better if I had followed the prompting of the Spirit at the time and avoided the injury to my brother altogether. It was interesting and very significant to me that the Lord had not forgotten about that event of the distant past even though I had. It was a comparatively small thing, but it still needed to be handled, or I would be answering for it at the judgment bar when the opportunity for repentance had passed. I realized once again that things do not get "swept under the rug" in the eternal economy of things. Sins do not take care of themselves or simply fade away. They must be dealt with, and the wonderful thing is that because of His atoning grace they can be dealt with in a much happier and less painful manner than directly satisfying offended justice ourselves.

Joseph Smith was a valiant servant of the Lord Jesus Christ. He was brave and courageous in standing for right. One time, the Prophet Joseph and several other brethren had been taken from their families and put into jail. They were chained together and had to sleep on the cold prison floor.

During one of the long, cold nights of their imprisonment, Joseph and his friends were unable to sleep. For hours the guards had been boasting about the horrible things they had done to Latter-day Saints. They bragged about robbing, shooting, and killing. They used loud voices to tell about the horrible things they had done to men, women, and even little children.

Suddenly Joseph, unarmed and in chains, stood up and spoke in a voice like thunder: “SILENCE, ye fiends [devils] of the infernal pit [hell]. In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you, and command you to be still; I will not live another minute and bear such language. Cease [stop] such talk, or you or I die THIS INSTANT!” (Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt, page 180.)

The guards shook, and some dropped their weapons. Some of the guards begged Joseph’s pardon. All of them remained quiet until a change of guards.

In this week’s discussion board, Wadzanai described that seeing God’s hand in her life brings her the most happiness. That is true for me as well. A year and a half year ago, my father passed away; then two days later, my youngest sibling—a brother only 32 years old—unexpectedly died. It was a really difficult time. When I returned to work, I found a copy of this painting waiting for me as a gift. That image reminded me of Christ’s love, that He knew my pain and was reaching to lift me up, that because of His sacrifice, my father and brother would one day be resurrected. Having that eternal perspective gave me solace during a time of grief. Five months later, my husband and I were devastated when our 31-year-old son passed away. Once again, trusting the Lord and His promises has given us hope.

In May of 1974, I was with Brother John H. Groberg in the Tongan islands. We had an appointment to visit the king of Tonga, and we met with him in a formal session. We exchanged the normal pleasantries. However, before we left, John Groberg said something that was out of the ordinary. He said, “Your Majesty, you should really become a Mormon and your subjects as well, for then your problems and their problems would largely be solved.”

The king smiled broadly and answered, “John Groberg, perhaps you’re right.”

I thought of the Apostle Paul before Agrippa. I thought of Agrippa’s response to Paul’s testimony: “Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.”4 Brother Groberg had the courage to bear his testimony to a king.

The bombs were going off all around me, and gunfire zinged overhead. But I had to keep crawling, dragging the 40-pound ammunition can with me through the dirt and mud. My basic training in South Carolina was nearly finished. We were in the final ordeal to test our skills, endurance, and obedience. Each day had been challenging, and it seemed that I’d been able to meet each task and accomplish it. But I was really being pushed this time.
When I first arrived, I realized that in order to succeed, I needed to learn from those around me. Watching the people who were excelling, I followed their lead. With each new skill, I looked to see how the best men of our group worked at it, and then followed their example to develop my full potential. It was the same lesson my mother and father had taught me since childhood. They read the scriptures, and they taught me to, so I read them daily. I was shown by them to kneel and pray, morning and night. They taught me to follow the example of my Savior and live my life as He lived His.
When the going would get tough, my mother always said, “Sing a Primary song; it will carry you through.”
So there I was, with my face in the dirt, struggling through the gunfire and explosions, in the final big test of my training, and my mother’s words came to mind. I began singing, softly at first, “I am a child of God, and He has sent me here, has given me …” (Hymns, no. 301).
Suddenly, a drill instructor on the course shouted, “Recruit Letteer! What are you singing?”
I thought I had been singing to myself, but in the pressure of the moment I must have started singing out loud. Now, over the din on the field, one of my drill instructors had heard me. I lifted my face from the mud and called out, “Sir! I’m singing ‘I Am a Child of God,’ sir!”
He looked at me, paused for a moment, then shouted, “Carry on, recruit!”
And I will, I’ll carry on as a United States Marine in the Reserve Corps, and in a few months, as Elder Letteer somewhere in the world as a missionary. And when the going gets tough, I’ll just look to my example, Jesus Christ, and know how to “carry on” again.

Striving to follow the example of the Saviour Jesus Christ in all areas of their lives, especially socially and physically, about 70 youth in Ethiopia, Addis Ababa united in planting 200 fruit trees.
This effort came after the Ethiopia, Addis Ababa Mission president, Robert J. Dudfield, and the president of Meganagna Branch, Birhanu Molla, reached out to the local government for an opportunity to serve.
“We reached out to see if there was a service opportunity in the local area and they came back with the desire [for us] to plant fruit trees,” said President Dudfield.
President Dudfield and President Molla proceeded to organize a youth conference, where the youth of the Church, full-time missionaries, and Church leaders from various branches in Addis Ababa, motivated by the yearning to help their communities, put forward their gardening tools and got their green fingers to work.
About six weeks’ worth of planning and planting under the scorching Ethiopian sun resulted in 200 planted apples, limes, mango, and avocado trees.
“[With] fruit much harder and much more expensive to get in Addis Ababa, the local government met our efforts with delight and gratitude. The fruit trees will feed the homeless in the local community,” President Dudfield said.
Testifying of the fruits of service, Elder Dylan Gilman, a full-time missionary serving in Addis Ababa said that the opportunity had helped unify the youth.
“It was amazing to see the youth come together to help the community. Planting fruit trees was [such] an uplifting experience, particularly seeing the youth have an opportunity to be united while serving others. Ethiopia is truly blessed with an amazing group of youth,” Elder Gilman said.
Hana Debebe Hailu, a youth from the Megenagna Branch, expressed her gratitude on the impact of service during the project.
“I liked how we were in a group during the activities, it was also great to see each of us helping one another. I met a lot of people and saw my friends. I was very happy about the experience and lessons too. The lessons made me feel great because it was about God, serving and loving one another. I will never forget this experience.”
Another youth, Moti Tegegn Lemma from the Summit Branch, opened up about how the fruit tree service helped him grow socially.
“In the service activity I have learned a lot of things, I can’t count how many. I have been able to meet many friends and I am very grateful to God for helping me to be able to spend time doing service and helping others,” Moti said.

I ask you "Was my testimony complete?" To that my answer is no. I knew that God lived and that Jesus was the Christ, but at that point in time, I did not have a confirmation concerning the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. As a result, I made it my aim to gain that testimony. Over a period of approximately three-months, I carefully read the Book of Mormon until I completed the entire text. During that journey I had many experiences with the Spirit, but due to my lack of keen spiritual sense, I was unable to recognize that what I was feeling at that time was indeed the Spirit. However, as I concluded the Book of Mormon, I followed the familiar direction in the promise written by the prophet Moroni. Once again, I knelt beside my bed and in my evening prayer I asked God if the Book of Mormon was true. I received an answer to that prayer. It was almost identical to the experience I had a few months earlier with the New Testament. As a result, I came to know that the Book of Mormon was also His truth, and I knew that Joseph Smith had to be a true prophet of God because this scripture came to us through him.

Well, since then, I have felt the Spirit on many occasions, but these two experiences were very special and very sacred to me. The Spirit truly confirmed to my entire being that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, that the Book of Mormon and Bible are the Word of God, that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is His Church, and that we have a true and living prophet who leads this Church this day. I know this. I really know it to be true.

The chute burst open and a raging, bucking bronco leaped high into the air. A cowboy sat atop, in perfect form, his spurs above the point of the shoulders, the rhythm of each move matched to the twisting and turning of the wild horse.
But then the crowd rose to its feet and gasped as the massive animal came crashing down on its side, all of its weight crushing the left foot of its rider.
Zane Davis picked himself up and hobbled over to the chute. When he got his boot off, the foot began to swell. The crushed bones eliminated his chances to continue in the competition, but that didn’t keep Zane down.
Less than a month later he was back in the saddle, working his way to the title as top college rodeo rider in the United States.
Now Zane is serving a mission in Brazil and teaching the gospel to people in Portuguese. And he says, “I wouldn’t trade this mission experience for anything—even a national professional rodeo championship.”
It was in June of 1990 that Zane Davis secured the award as the national collegiate all-around cowboy of the year in the College National Finals Rodeo in Bozeman, Montana. Although only a freshman at the College of Southern Idaho, Zane didn’t get to the number one spot by simply riding a few wild horses and winning a few competitions. Zane’s training started before he could walk, when his father, Shawn Davis (a three-time National Finals Rodeo saddle bronc world champion), took him along to rodeos across North America.
At the age of three, Zane insisted that he be allowed to ride in the rodeo against the 8–12-year-old cowboys, but since he was underage, he was only allowed to ride exhibition. Undaunted, he put on his hat, boots, rope, and spurs, and climbed aboard a cranky calf. Zane says that the next thing he knew he was on the ground and a clown was standing over him fanning him with a giant fly swatter. Apparently, he had ridden the calf almost to the whistle before falling off.
He entered his next rodeo when he was only five, and this time a pony bucked him off. But he still walked away with third-place honors. Hundreds of rodeos later, Zane had accumulated an impressive array of saddles, belt buckles, trophies, and cash prizes. The success came as a result of hard work.
Each day at his parents’ ranch in Wyoming, Zane’s exercise routine included 80 sit-ups, 20 pull-ups, and 400 push-ups. In addition, his riding included roping 10 to 20 calves and practicing once a week for each riding event. Also, before each rodeo, Zane asked his father for a father’s blessing. Zane says, “I feel that these blessings kept me from getting injured on many occasions, and when I was injured, I recovered remarkably fast.”
Zane adds that obeying the Word of Wisdom has been a great blessing in his life. “Other cowboys who drink and do drugs may be good for a very short time, but they never last long,” he says.
Another reason Zane has done so well is because he has learned to face challenges. At one rodeo he drew a bull that had thrown all the college kids off who had tried to ride it. But Zane, at only 13, got on the bull and rode him three out of five attempts. “I don’t remember ever being really frightened at a rodeo,” said Zane. “A little fear is always good for you, but too much fear is not good. If you have a little fear you plan a little better. If you have too much fear you may get out of control.”
One of the hardest decisions Zane ever had to face was whether or not to go on a mission. He had colleges all over the nation soliciting him, and although he had always planned on a mission, the final decision was really hard. “But I decided I had to go on a mission to try to pay the Lord back for some of the many blessings I have received,” he said.
Zane recently wrote from his mission and said, “I’ve learned many things. I’ve changed a lot. I thought riding three head of stock at each rodeo all summer long was tough, but it wasn’t anything as tough as serving a mission; nevertheless, it has been good for me.”
In his life, Zane Davis has ridden a thousand wild horses, roped a thousand more calves. Rodeo became easy to him, second nature. But perhaps the best thing about the sport was the chance to be with his father. Shawn was always there, watching him, helping him stay safe.
A mission in Brazil has not been as easy. There have been problems learning the language and culture. But Zane is improving daily. And, best of all, his Father in Heaven is always there, watching him, helping him stay safe.

In very beautiful paper, I wrapped a Bible; a copy of the Book of Mormon; the pamphlets “Why Families,” “What of the Mormons,” and “The Prophet Joseph Smith’s Testimony”; plus a card showing where we have the local branches of our church here in Ibadan. I gave it as a Christmas present to the principal investigating officer in the general post office here.
I felt good giving this gift because this man was very kind and I felt he deserved to come to a knowledge of the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I can say that my Christmas gift affected not only him but his entire family because of the card his wife sent me which included his handwritten note saying, “Your wonderful Christmas gift has been received. I am appreciative of your very kind gesture. Thank you.”
—Amuzie NwachukwuIbadan, Nigeria

I share with you a treasured family experience which had its beginning back in 1959 when I was called to preside over the Canadian Mission, headquartered in Toronto.

Our daughter, Ann, who is in the audience today, turned five shortly after we arrived in Canada. She saw the missionaries going about their work and she, too, wanted to be a missionary. My wife demonstrated understanding by permitting Ann to take to class a few copies of the Children’s Friend. That wasn’t sufficient for Ann. She also wanted to take with her a copy of the Book of Mormon so that she might talk to her teacher, Miss Pepper, about the Church. I think it rather thrilling that just a few years ago, long years after our return from Toronto, we came home from a vacation and found in our mailbox a note from Miss Pepper which read:

Dear Ann:
Think back many years ago. I was your schoolteacher in Toronto, Canada. I was impressed by the copies of the Children’s Friend which you brought to school. I was impressed by your dedication to a book called the Book of Mormon.
I made a commitment that one day I would come to Salt Lake City and see why you talked as you did and why you believed in the manner you believed. Today I had the privilege of going through your visitors’ center on Temple Square. Thanks to a five-year-old girl who had an understanding of that which she believed, I now have a better understanding of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Miss Pepper died not too long after that visit. How happy our daughter Ann was when she attended the Jordan River Temple and performed the temple work for her beloved teacher to whom she had reached out so many years ago.

When I was a teenager, my six-week-old sister, Carol, had whooping cough. Those were the days before antibiotics. I was working then as a mechanic at a bus station. I can remember coming home one night after my shift, seeing the lights on in my home, and knowing that it was a bad sign.
As I walked into the house, I saw Carol lying on the dining room table. She was having difficulty breathing and was turning blue from lack of air. We quickly summoned a neighbor, who joined Dad in giving her a blessing. I thought she was going to die, but I watched her stay alive by the power of the priesthood as they got her to the hospital. She stayed there for two or three weeks, and I continued to see the Lord bless her and help her get well. That experience of seeing the priesthood in action impressed itself forever upon my mind.

José Mesaville told what it was like to be the first convert in Granada. The rest of his family was not at all interested in anything two young North Americans might have to say about religion, but José accepted a strange book called the Book of Mormon and read it. To his amazement he found that he believed what he read. “When I read the part in Third Nephi about the visit of the Savior to America, I knew with a special surety that it had really happened. I decided to be baptized, but I was only 18, and at that time I was still legally a minor. My parents wouldn’t give me permission, so I couldn’t become a member. Shortly after my conversion, the missionaries left Granada. They later came back for a month or two, but for the greater part of three years I lived without the Church. But although I did not have the Church or the gift of the Holy Ghost, I did have the gospel to guide me, and I tried to live as the elders had taught me. When my father found out about the law of tithing, he tore up all my Church books because he thought the principle was a form of thievery. So I had only the Bible and the knowledge I carried in my heart until a returned missionary later sent me more books from the United States. These I had to leave in a hotel where I worked or at the home of a family I had interested in the Church. Finally my father softened his attitude, and I was able to read them at home. I quit smoking and drinking, lived the law of the fast, and did my best to comply with all that I had been taught.
“Before long I came to wonder if I had any friends. Those who had been my best friends made fun of me. I refused to take offense, however, but kept treating them as friends no matter how they treated me. Little by little they began to grow accustomed to my beliefs. Now when we are out together, they ask for beer for themselves and a soft drink for me without my saying anything.”
In 1976 the missionaries returned to Granada to stay. José was now legally an adult, but out of deep respect for his parents, he still asked for their permission to be baptized. “My mother said that I was now an adult and must make my own decisions. She said she thought that this was all youthful foolishness, but that if it wasn’t true, I would grow tired of it with time. I suppose she was right because I certainly haven’t grown tired of it.”
José was baptized in a nearby lake. There was no chapel in those days, and Church meetings were held in the elders’ living quarters. “At first the meetings consisted of two elders and me. The services didn’t last long because we only had one speaker. Later we moved to our present location, and more members began to join the Church. It causes me pain to say that some of them have left the Church already. They didn’t give enough of themselves, and the only way to stay strong is to give of ourselves.”

When I was 10 years old, my family moved from Denmark to Canada. We had lived there only a little while when two sisters who lived across the street from our new home invited me and my 12-year-old brother, Poul, to take a bus ride with them to see the city.
Poul and I were excited to go. My mother wasn’t sure about the idea, but she finally gave in. Mother gave the two girls the money for our bus ride. She asked them to look after us because my brother and I didn’t speak English yet. The girls promised they would take good care of us.
We all got on the bus and started the ride. After a while the bus stopped, and the girls motioned for us to get off. We followed them as we all started walking around the city.
Then suddenly the two girls started running in different directions! We tried to follow them, but they disappeared around unfamiliar corners. At first we thought they were just playing a trick on us and would soon come back. But after a while we knew we were lost and on our own.
“Should we ask someone for directions?” I asked Poul.
“We can’t speak English, and we don’t know our address,” he answered.
“Let’s call Mother,” I suggested, pointing to a nearby phone booth.
“We have no money, and we don’t know our phone number,” Poul said.
I started to cry. Poul put his arm around me. “Stay calm, Anne-Mette. Let’s say a prayer.”
We huddled together and asked Heavenly Father to help us find our way back home.
After the prayer Poul pointed down a street. “I feel we need to go this way,” he said.
I started to cry again. How could he know which way to go?
Poul comforted me again. “You need to have faith that we will be guided,” he said.
When he said that, a feeling of peace came over me. I had the thought that I needed to have faith and let my brother guide me.
After walking a long time, we came to a pond. “Do you remember this pond?” Poul asked. “We drove past it on our way from the airport to our new home!”
I felt better hearing the excitement in his voice. We sat down by the pond and said another prayer.
Suddenly Poul looked into the distance. “Do you see that?” he shouted. He got up and started running, and I jumped up to follow him.
“What do you see?” I called.
“It’s the Laundromat sign near our house!”
We followed the sign to our street, and soon we could see our mother standing outside the house. We ran to her and hugged her.
When we went inside, Mother said, “When I saw the two girls come home, I went over to ask where you were. Their mother was not very nice. She said we are foreigners and we should go back where we came from.”
Mother put her arms around us both. “I want you to know that not everyone here feels that way. We will meet many people who will welcome us and be our friends. Those girls left you alone today, but I’m glad you remembered that Heavenly Father will never leave you alone.”
Then we knelt down and thanked Heavenly Father for guiding us safely home.

One cold winter morning in Wisconsin, as I was running late to early morning seminary, I came across a car that was stopped in the middle of the road. In a rush, I waited impatiently for the car to move. With the car only a few yards from the stop sign, I assumed that the driver had stopped prematurely. When the car continued not to move I passed the car and went on to the church building a few blocks away.
As I drove I wondered why the car stopped in such a strange place. I thought that perhaps the person was lost, but that didn’t feel right. It occurred to me that maybe they were having car troubles. I was running late and rationalized that someone else would surely help them. To this day I could not tell you why I was so anxious not to be late, but I can tell you, that in the moment I felt so rushed, I failed to recognize the promptings of the Spirit to stop and help that driver. It was small, nothing more than a brief thought. Seminary was a good place to be going. However, there was a choice that would have been better.
On my way home from seminary I once again was confronted by the same car sitting exactly where I had left it. This time I stopped. I got out of my car, and I looked at the driver. I was shocked and disappointed in myself for not listening to inspiration. In the driver’s seat of that car was an elderly woman. My heart ached like it never had before as I realized the severity of that one missed moment. I could have offered to help her push her car to the side, helped her find a tow truck, or offered to let her sit in the warmth of the church building while we figured our what to do with her car. In the end someone else had already helped her find a tow truck that was due to be there any moment.
There are often times I reflect on the moment that I was too rushed to recognize that opportunity to help one of my fellow sisters. The lesson was clear and as vivid today as it was on that early winter morning.

Jonathan Remengesau also is grateful for the blessing of a new wheelchair. Diabetes had caused his leg to be amputated in 2002. When his old wheelchair finally stopped functioning, he looked around for a new one. He was dismayed at the high cost of a new wheelchair—usually more than U.S. $700—a cost he knew he could not afford on his limited income. The plywood seat on his old chair was chafing his legs and causing painful sores. He finally gave up hope and decided to avoid leaving home. He rejoiced when he heard that he was qualified to receive a free wheelchair.

“This is the first time that anyone has really helped me like this,” he said as he sat in his new chair.

I remember a story about Joseph Smith, who found himself in a more severe situation. It was 1838 when he was visiting his mother, Lucy Mack Smith, in Far West. A group of armed militiamen came to him, enraged, believing Joseph to have committed a crime they felt was worthy of death.

When they came upon him, Joseph reached out and shook each one of their hands, giving them a friendly smile. Then he sat down and explained to them the beliefs of the Church and the members’ mistreatment. The militiamen were so shocked by his unusual behavior that not one of them wanted to harm Joseph.1

They had come to falsely accuse and then kill Joseph, but he treated them as friends rather than foes.

On William’s 21st birthday, May 1, 1858, he and the crew received shore leave in Honolulu, Hawaii. William heard prior to leaving Britain that President Brigham Young had sent missionaries to the Pacific islands, so the young convert tried to locate some Saints “but could find no record of them.” Unknown to him the Church had called home its Pacific missionaries to help defend Zion, if necessary, against a United States army then marching towards Utah. Ironically, the last elders working in Hawaii left the islands the same day that William landed in Honolulu.
The seaman, an isolated Mormon cut off from contact with the Church, continued to nourish his faith by himself. He read and reread the “works of the Church” that he had brought along. A priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, he was “informed about the authority of the priest to administer the sacrament,” so he felt justified in holding his own private sacrament service in his “beef house” aboard ship. “I prayed often, to the Lord,” he said, “and asked Him to acknowledge me in the administration.” On Sundays, after the ship’s religions service, William returned to his room where “I would place the hardtack (ship’s bread) and water upon a table and then offer prayer, after which I would ask the blessing upon the bread and water and partake of it. In this way I received much spiritual strength.”

Of my parents’ three daughters, I am the middle one. It wasn’t until the dawn of a January morning that a fourth child, a son, was born. David seemed just like any other newborn to me—tiny, chubby, and fun. By virtue of my being merely a first-grader when he was born, my parents found no reason for telling me then that my baby brother was “different.” Hindsight tells me that it would only have compounded their already-numbed feelings to explain to me what they could hardly believe themselves. Besides, I was too young, and the word mongoloid would not have meant a thing to me. All I knew, or cared about then, was that my little brother was beautiful!

We grew to love him. He was a kind, loving, and cheerful child. It was not until I was in the sixth grade that David’s difference caused any concern to me at all. It was at the end of that school year that my class was visited by the principal. She asked those of us who had brothers or sisters who were or would be five years old next fall to raise our hands. I raised mine, and just as she counted it, I was prompted to ask something. I hesitated a split second, thinking that I should not even bother her with such a question. But, as she counted my hand, I asked, “Does this school allow mongoloids?” When I heard the words, “No, I’m sorry,” I took my hand down, wondering numbly why they would not let my brother come to their school. My naiveté about David had been shattered.

As the years passed, David was continually shunned by the majority of the neighborhood children. They had been warned by fearful parents. More than once our front door was darkened by an irate mother who told my mother to keep David away from her young ones.

It often seemed that if I would look into his eyes, I could see him peering over his inner wall of quietness with the tender, smiling eyes of someone who really knows a great deal more than will ever be credited to him. I wished that I could step inside that wall and talk with him for just one hour.

These past years have seen my family pass through many sorrows because of David’s difference. But to say that his presence with us has been destructive would be false. Rather, his presence has been like a powerful steel cable strongly binding our family together. As a family we are close, and because David is a part of it, we have learned real love, sweet patience, a pure and undefiled faith, and a tender, guileless approach to life. Still a child, even though he has passed into the age of adulthood, he continues in his innocent state. He is my brother. He is my friend. Heaven itself was granted to my family in this one single gift.

I know that in the bright hereafter I will finally be allowed to pass through David’s wall. I hope he will take me by the hand and sit with me, and I will ask him to share his world with me—his bit of heaven.

After completing my degree at BYU-Provo my wife and I moved to Pullman, Washington to pursue a Ph.D. From the first day in my graduate program at WSU, it was obvious that I was the only LDS among both graduate students and faculty. The habits and life style of my colleagues and instructors were not consistent with mine, which led to a confrontation between myself and one of the faculty members. In my graduate program there was a tradition called the "Friday night seminar", where the graduate students and the faculty met in a social setting to visit and "rub shoulders" with each other. It was a time that the students could get to know the faculty more as individuals and visa versa. The seminar would begin on Friday afternoon, after the last class of the week, around 5 p.m. and was held at a local tavern, or bar where alcoholic drinks were served. All graduate students were expected to attend. I didn't. Of course the obvious reason for not attending was my adherence to the word of wisdom. The not so obvious reason was I had been taught by my parents and leaders to "avoid the appearance of sin" in every way.

After the first month or so, one of the professors approached me and after some light conversation he stated, "Steve, I haven't seen you at the Friday night seminars. Why?"

I explained that I was just getting into the program and that I was struggling with the rigor of the graduate courses, which required me to spend a lot of time at school in studies and classes. Each day of the week usually began about 5 a.m. and ended around 10 or 11 p.m. which didn't allow me to see my family very much. On Friday, I would put down my studies at 5 p.m. and go home and be with my family. The faculty member then suggested, "Well, you know that it's real important that you get to know the faculty and that we get to know you. We are here to help you in your studies and we can help you more if we know more about you, and the best place for us to get to know you is at the Friday night seminars."

I expressed my appreciation to this faculty member for his concern and willingness to help me. Then I explained that because of my religion that I didn't drink alcohol and didn't frequent taverns or bars because of the example it might set for my four young children. His response was quick and sharp, ""Well it's just as important that you do attend. If you don't start attending the seminar on Friday night, you can kiss your Ph.D. degree goodbye. I will make sure you do not get your degree here."

I thanked him for his opinion and told him that he had to do what he felt he had to do, but I had to do what I knew was right. I would not be attending the Friday night seminars. To shortened the story, I did not attend the seminars, and through the intervention of the Lord with one miracle after another, I did complete my degree within four years -- almost 1 to 2 years earlier than most of the graduate students. One graduate student that I had become friends with came into my office after the first year and announced that he was going to have to drop out of the program. I asked him why. He stated that he had become an alcoholic, that he had become a slave to alcohol. He said the problem first started with the social drinking of the Friday night seminars, and then the social drinking turned to more frequent drinking until he could not control it. He was not the first to fall to the Goliath of disobedience.