Gospel Story Finder

The Book of Mormon has lots of uses. I hope you use it properly. I gave a speech one night in a home in our ward where there were some inactive people who wanted to ask questions. As we sat in a circle, I said to the lady of the house, “By any chance do you have a Book of Mormon?” She said, “Oh yes, we have a big one.” And she went over to the bookcase and among all the books there was a nice Book of Mormon. She handed it to me. It was brand new and looked to me like it had never been opened. When I opened it (we were sitting in a circle), out of the Book of Mormon fell 20 or 25, $20 bills. Four or five hundred dollars fell on the floor. Her husband almost fainted. He jumped straight up, and she fainted. She didn’t faint, but she got pale. Everybody looked, and there was not a sound. She finally said, “I knew no one would ever read that book so I've been hiding money in it, holding out on my husband.” Well, she had used it as a bank. She had used it because she knew it was never going to be touched in her home. I don’t want any of you to use your Book of Mormon that way, it is not a bank.

In the tearful days after a wildfire devastated entire neighborhoods in California’s Sonoma County in October 2017, Elder Ronald A. Rasband of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles traveled to affected communities to be with the Latter-day Saints.
He was on a mission of ministering. He and Sister Melanie Rasband comforted fire-weary members in their meetinghouses and at the edges of their charred homes.
And wherever he went, members came forward to shake his hand. It was a gesture of appreciation. They thanked the Apostle for his support. But each handshake communicated a common sentiment: “I sustain you.”
This means that just as members deeply impacted by the Santa Rosa fires offered sustaining support to Elder Rasband, members worldwide can be lifted even as they lift each member of the Twelve.

Josie yawned as she slowed her jog to a walk. Today was the big race! She had been looking forward to this day for months. But instead of feeling excited during warm-ups, Josie felt tired.
“How’s it going?” her older sister, Christine, asked. She sat down with Josie on the grass so they could stretch their legs.
“I’m really tired today,” Josie said, reaching for her toes.
She had been sick and had to miss several days of school. So last night she stayed up late catching up on her schoolwork.
“I hope I don’t let our team down,” Josie said.
“Just do the best you can,” Christine said. “Looks like we’re about to start!”
The girls jogged over to join their teammates. As they lined up with the other runners, Josie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew her team was counting on her to run fast, as she usually did. The race time from the top five runners on their team would determine whether their team went on to the finals. She barely had time to get in position when the gun sounded to start the race. Bang! The runners pushed off the starting line and sprinted forward.
Josie pumped her arms and lengthened her steps. She knew she needed to get ahead in the beginning if she wanted to be a top finisher. At first Josie could keep up with the other lead runners. But when she tried to run faster, she couldn’t.
Josie breathed harder. She just couldn’t get her legs to move any faster. The runners behind her started passing her. Usually Josie was the one doing the passing! Maybe I should just give up, she thought.
Josie looked down at the ground as she heard another runner pass her. “Keep going, Josie!” the runner said as she ran by. Josie looked up. Then she smiled. It was one of her teammates.
“You can do it!” another teammate said as she ran past. One by one as Josie’s teammates passed her, they encouraged her to keep running.
Josie felt a surge of determination. Maybe she wouldn’t be in the top five, but she could still finish the race. She focused on her steps and didn’t stop until she finally crossed the finish line.
“I’m sorry if I … didn’t help us … qualify for the next race,” she said between big breaths.
“Our team did qualify!” Josie’s coach said as she ran over to the girls. Everyone on the team cheered, and Christine threw her arms around Josie in a big hug.
That night as Josie knelt to pray, she thought about how her teammates had helped her. Their words gave her strength to keep going when she wanted to quit.
Josie looked up at the picture of Jesus hanging above her bed. Jesus does the same thing for us, she thought. She smiled as she imagined the Savior cheering her on. “Keep going, Josie! I am here to help you.”
Josie thanked Heavenly Father for His help in running the race of life. She felt like she could do anything with Jesus cheering her on!

Massimo and Daniela Lo Monaco
Massimo Lo Monaco confided to his young wife that he had doubts about the existence of God. If there was a God, why didn’t he make himself known to man?
But a recent experience, an answer to prayer, had left Daniela Lo Monaco certain of the existence of God. She had been responsible for a serious error at her place of employment and feared the consequences. She had prayed to God for help, and when she reported the problem to her supervisor, the situation had been resolved surprisingly easily. So she prayed again in gratitude, and asked her Heavenly Father, “What would you have me do?”
Not long afterward, two young missionaries knocked on their door. As the missionaries taught them, the Lo Monacos discovered that the gospel answered both his question and hers, and they were soon baptized. He is first counselor in the presidency of the Pisa Branch and she is the Primary president.

Several years ago, in this same setting, I shared the example of a family who lived close to a large amusement park. They would drive by the park often, and each time their young son would ask, “Daddy, can we go there? I really want to go there and play on all the rides.”

The father would try to deflect the question by simply saying, “Maybe tomorrow we can go.”

This little interchange repeated itself week after week until finally, early one Saturday morning, the boy came running into his parents’ bedroom. He jumped on the bed, startling both of them, and exclaimed with great enthusiasm, “Daddy, tomorrow is today!”

This interesting play on words—­tomorrow is today—illustrates a valuable point. Commence­ment ceremonies naturally point to the future, to the exciting opportunities ahead, and to everything you hope to accomplish. But to a great extent, your success in life and how you prepare for the responsibilities that will ultimately be yours depend on the accumulation of small and simple things you do each and every day. No matter what your ambitions for the future are, you achieve them step by step, one day at a time. In this sense, tomorrow truly is today.

One former general authority was an amazing example to me by the name of Sterling W. Sill. He was a Carnegie Hero for saving a drowning boy in 1959, while nearly drowning himself. Sill had devoted every spare moment in his life, to meeting the great heroes of the past through what he called the majesty of books. He said, "I imagine this shelf in my library to contain a great collection of human beings were I may have the better of each one as his service is needed. The contribution of each may be brief in itself, but whatever may have been possessed of inspiration, dedication, and righteousness now belongs to me. How else but in a book can one go back into the past for a visit in ancient Rome or Gethsemane or Gettysburg? How else can we share in the wealth of the great thinkers who bring about the progress of the world? Books may contain the distilled essence of the greatest lives. They abound in inspiration and provide a motivation for the most magnificent accomplishment."
I've read everything he wrote, all 30 books, which were the experiences that were most profitable to him after reading 987 of the greatest books about the greatest lives. I've been to the University of Utah and looked through many of the 34 boxes of letters and notes that were complimentary to Sterling W. Sill in his work and Church callings. And I have gone through many of the 7500 pages he left in his "idea banks," including 25 three-ring-bound books with 300 pages apiece, about what he would consider his great ideas. In addition to a marvelous speaking career he was the voice for over 17 years on 370 stations every Sunday night. When it came to picking a career he thought life insurance would be a good way to go, yet he was turned down in his first interview. Then he was given a chance by New York Life and became, according to some, the most influential agent in that 40-year span.

For Kip Twitchell, a book of remembrance and a journal are a natural part of his life. In fact, for a group of seminary students attending Bonneville High School in Ogden, Utah, the whole concept of family histories has become an exciting project that they think about and work on often.
It all started when the seminary students invited a guest speaker to address an assembly of the seminary classes at Bonneville High School. While chauffeuring their speaker to and from the meeting, they began relating stories about their ancestors. The students became interested in doing something about their family histories when their guest challenged them to consider how the experiences of their ancestors have affected them individually. They reread copies of family histories, interviewed members of their families, sorted through and identified old photographs, and updated their own journals. They found that learning about their families helped them understand their own talents and attitudes.

My great-grandmother was a Scottish lass named Margaret McNeil, who came to Utah with her parents at the age of 13. She walked across the plains and drove a cow, carrying her younger brother James much of the way on her back. She and her family camped on the outskirts of Ogden, and she later recorded this in her autobiography:

“Across the field from where we were was a little house, and out in the yard was a big pile of squash. We were all nearly starved to death. My mother sent me over to this place to beg a squash, for we did not have a cent of money, and some of the children were very weak for the want of food. I knocked at the door, and an old lady came and said, ‘Come in, come in, I knew you were coming and have been told to give you food.’ She gave me a large loaf of fresh bread and said to tell my mother that she would come over soon. It was not long until she came and brought us a nice cooked dinner, something we had not had for a long time.”8

For instance, I was speaking to the missionaries at the Language Training Mission, when I suddenly felt impressed to testify of the intrinsic worth of each person there. There was no need to compare oneself with another, that the Lord knew and loved each one as a separate person and had special guidance and power to give in helping each one move on to the next step, etc., etc. Afterwards, several asked me to bear that exact testimony again and to give more explanation, almost as if they desperately wanted to believe it. One was almost overcome with a feeling of relief and joy.

After college, I taught at Brigham Young University for a few years. Then I started my own business. In my business, it was important for me to know what was going on in the world, so I got in the habit of reading several newspapers. And I always started my day by reading them. Of course, I read my scriptures during the day too.
Recently, however, I began to read the scriptures before I read anything else. What joy and satisfaction has come from reading the scriptures first! It not only begins the day right, but throughout the day I’ll find myself using a scripture or scripture story I read that morning, especially as I talk about the gospel.

“Hello, Sheri! Are you there?” a friendly voice crackled from the shortwave radio. Australia’s School of the Air classes were ready to begin.
Sheri North sat up straight, arranged her school books a little, and adjusted the radio dial labeled squelch.
“I’m here, Mr. Walker,” she told her teacher.
Mr. Walker sat in an almost empty classroom a hundred miles away at Broken Hill in New South Wales, Australia.
Sheri listened attentively while Mr. Walker finished calling the roll. Then she heard a horse whinny and her mind wandered outside to where Jumper, her pinto pony, pawed the parched earth of his pen. She glanced at the calendar above her desk—December 22—two more days and she’d be free for Christmas vacation. Though it was only nine o’clock, the hot, dry air told her the day would be another scorcher.
It’s funny, she thought, how my cousin in the United States always sends Christmas cards showing ice and snow. She’d probably be surprised to know that south of the equator we have summer in December and winter in July.
“Sheri! Sheri North! Come in!” an anxious voice shouted.
Sheri’s daydreams were shattered by Mr. Walker’s call over the radio.
“Oh! I’m sorry, Mr. Walker,” Sheri said as she pressed the microphone switch. “I guess my mind wandered.”
“Thank heavens you’re still there! I thought for a minute that you had disappeared too.”
“What do you mean too?” Sheri asked.
“Do you know Donny Fisher? He lives about ten miles north of you.”
“Sure, he’s a little red-haired boy my cousin sometimes plays with. He’s the only other eight-year-old in the whole neighborhood.”
“Well, he doesn’t answer his radio this morning; and he hasn’t missed a single day of class since we started this term. Do you think your father could drive over and see if the family is having some kind of trouble?”
Sheri tried to stifle her fears for a moment as thoughts of danger flashed through her mind. She knew families living in Australia’s outback (isolated rural countryside) had to be self-sufficient—modern-day pioneers, her father always called them. They were so isolated from each other, they even held church services over the shortwave radio.
Sheri’s father insisted that all his children learn to use a fire extinguisher, for there were no fire engines available. He taught them to shoot a rifle to drive off the dingos (wild dogs) that sometimes frightened the cattle with their wolf-like howling. Even her two-year-old brother was beginning to ride a horse, for horses were the only sure transportation across the parched, dry desert where cars and trucks habitually broke down.
“My father is out with the sheep,” Sheri explained. “He’s been gone three days and we don’t expect him home until tomorrow.”
“What about your mother?” Mr. Walker asked. “Could she go see if they need help?”
“I’ll ask, but I don’t think so. The baby is feverish and my mother can’t leave her when she’s so sick.”
“Then you’ll have to go,” Mr. Walker said in a firm voice. “It’s quite a responsibility, Sheri, but you’re the oldest in your family. People must grow up fast out here if they expect to survive.”
Sheri gulped hard. It wasn’t the ten miles that bothered her so much—she could ride that far in less than two hours—what worried her most was how she could help when she arrived. What if their house has burned down and they’re all dead? What if they’ve been attacked by outlaw aborigines or by a pack of dingos? What could I possibly do to help?
“All right . … I’ll go if my mother says it’s OK,” she hesitantly agreed. “But I want you to know I’m plenty scared! I don’t know what I’ll do when I get there.”
“Look. You just radio me, and if they’re sick or hurt, I’ll send a flying doctor over in a plane to help out. You won’t be alone for long,” Mr. Walker consoled.
“Just one more thing,” Sheri added. “You won’t mark me absent from school, will you?”
“No, I’ll give you full credit,” Mr. Walker chuckled. “Now skedaddle and get moving. Don’t forget to take a canteen, and don’t ride too fast. You can wear out a horse in no time at all in this heat.”
“I’ll be careful,” Sheri assured him.
Within minutes Sheri had saddled and mounted Jumper. Her mother slung a pair of heavy saddlebags behind Jumper’s saddle. Then she smiled and patted Sheri’s knee.
“There’s a first-aid kit in this side,” Mother explained, pointing to one bag. “I’ve packed a lunch in the other one and also a pistol. Don’t use it unless you have to!”
“Don’t worry, Mother, I won’t. I hate the loud bang and the way it kicks,” Sheri said, nudging her horse and trotting away.
“Radio me when you get there so I can stop worrying,” her mother called.
Sheri waved, but didn’t look back. Her mind was on the problems ahead. She rode past scattered dwarf acacia trees, saltbush shrubs, and tough spinifex grass growing in large clumps in the sandy areas.
Suddenly, Jumper pulled up short, rearing on his hind legs so quickly he almost threw Sheri from the saddle.
A large red kangaroo leaped from a bush in front of them. He was followed by another and then two more.
Sheri sighed, then called after them, “G’wan home you crazy wallaroos!”
The sun was high when the Fisher Sheep Station (ranch) appeared on the horizon. Sheri spotted a man on horseback and Jumper broke into a gallop.
Approaching the jackaroo (apprentice sheepherder) and his dog, Sheri was puzzled to see everything appearing pretty much as normal.
“Hold up there, young lady!” the man called. “What’s the big rush?”
“I rode over to help save the Fisher family,” Sheri said.
“Save ’em?” The man looked confused. “Save ’em from what? The ants or the lizards?”
“No! You don’t understand.” Sheri didn’t appreciate his dry sense of humor. “Mr. Walker, my teacher, sent me over to save them when Donny didn’t answer the radio at roll call this morning. I’ve got to help!”
The man burst out laughing, but stopped when he saw a tear run down Sheri’s cheek. “Hey, look, miss, if you really want to help and you don’t mind getting your hands greasy, you can ride over there to the tool repair shop and help Mr. Fisher fix the electric generator. He’s been working on it since late last night, and I’m sure he’d be happy to have all the help he can get.”
“You mean Donny didn’t answer the radio because there’s no electricity?”
“Kind of seems that way, doesn’t it?” the man said, his eyes twinkling. “And you’ve had an unexpected day off from school.”

This story took place in Guatemala.
“I’m so excited to go to church at the chapel!” Anahí said at breakfast.
Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, Anahí and her family hadn’t been able to go to church in person for almost two years. But today they would finally be able to! Anahí was glad she could see her friends and have the sacrament with their ward again.
Anahí and her family sat down in the chapel. Anahí waved to her friends.
Soon it was time for the sacrament. After the hymn, Anahí folded her arms and bowed her head. She listened to the sacrament prayer. Then she looked at a little picture of Jesus. It helped her remember to be reverent.
A young man brought the tray to their row. But when the tray reached Anahí, it was empty!
Then Anahí looked closer. In the corner of the tray, there was one crumb left. She picked it up and put it in her mouth.
For the rest of the day, Anahí worried. She kept thinking about the tiny piece of bread. All through dinner she worried. She didn’t even eat her ice cream for dessert. She just sat at the table while Mami washed dishes.
Did the sacrament count if I only took a crumb? she thought.
Mami dried her hands on a towel. “Is something wrong, love?”
Anahí shook her head no.
“Well, your melted ice cream makes me think something is bothering you.” Mami smiled and sat down next to Anahí. “What is it?”
Tears filled Anahí’s eyes. “I was excited to take the sacrament today. But when the tray got to me, there was only a crumb of bread left.” She took a big breath. “Did I take the sacrament wrong?”
“No,” Mami said. She hugged Anahí close. “I saw you looking at the little picture of Jesus you carry in your scriptures. What were you thinking about?”
“I was thinking about how Jesus loves me. And about the nail prints in His hands and feet. And all He did for us.”
“Don’t you see?” Mami asked. “That’s why we take the bread and water. To remember the sacrifice Jesus made for us.”
“So the size of the bread doesn’t matter?”
“No. What matters is how you felt as you remembered the Savior,” Mami said. “And even though you just had a tiny piece of bread, Jesus’s love for you is not tiny. He loves you so, so much.”
Anahí smiled. She knew Mami was right. The sacrament could always be a special time to remember Jesus—even with just a tiny piece of bread.

What were fifty pioneer children, handcarts, covered wagons, rag dolls, pets, and stick horses doing on the streets of St. George, Utah, in mid-April? Although they didn’t look out-of-place in front of the historic Brigham Young Winter Home that day, something very eventful was taking place. It was the shooting of photographs for the July 1993 Friend cover. Preparations started months in advance. City officials were contacted for permission to block off the busy street, a local sign company donated and set-up traffic signs, props were built or borrowed, and costumes were made, especially lots of pioneer bonnets. When the big day came, the weather was beautiful, the trees already leafy and green. The Primary children, from a number of St. George wards, were cheered on by dozens of wonderful moms. Thanks to a local merchant’s donation, a snack break was provided, and that was all the kids needed to make it through the three-hour session with the photographer and the Friend designer. All the children who participated were happy to have taken part in this exciting day!

Now if you could hear from each one of these men! For instance, I had a business with ten men and two girls working for me, and the President of the Church sent my father over to see how I would like to go to California and preside over the Hollywood Stake. I won’t take time to tell you all the details. In sixty days I’d sold my business, I’d sold my beautiful home, and moved my family down to California with no allowance to live on. I had to start all over again.
Then when I was in business here in Salt Lake and President Heber J. Grant called for a thousand short-term missionaries, he said: “Bishops and stake presidents are not exempt.” I was then a bishop. I landed back in New England—left my wife and seven kiddies and my business in the hands of my brother-in-law. You don’t do things like that with normal men! It takes men inspired by the Holy Spirit.

My dear brethren, my spirit is subdued and my heart is full tonight as I stand before this great body of priesthood and realize that there are thousands upon thousands in other gatherings throughout the Church, and as I contemplate the responsibilities that have been placed on my shoulders.
After receiving my call the other day, I was asked by President Lee if I was shocked. I had difficulty replying. Being shocked was an understatement. I might say that the aftershocks have been much more severe than the original. Notwithstanding this, I have faith and look forward with great anticipation and enthusiasm to the future.
I do this because I know that God lives. I know that his Son, Jesus Christ, the Savior of mankind, is the head of this Church and that he is actively directing the affairs of this, his Church today, through his prophet, President Joseph Fielding Smith, who has just borne witness in such a powerful way of his calling and also of mine.
I also know I have been called by the Lord through his prophets, as President Smith announced, and that if I will repent of my sins, He will bless me and strengthen me for the tasks ahead. If I did not know these things to be true, I would not have the courage nor the temerity to accept such a call. Even knowing this, it is frightening to contemplate assuming such a sacred trust.
The last ten and one-half years under the direction of a great leader, Bishop John H. Vandenberg, have been wonderful indeed. I have been associated with him as a member of my stake presidency when I served as bishop of the Denver Fourth Ward, as a fellow counselor in the Denver Stake presidency, and now for more than ten years as one of his counselors in the Presiding Bishopric. I want him and you to know that I love and appreciate him. He is a man of great ability. I am deeply grateful for having had the privilege of being his counselor.
Bishop Simpson, as first counselor in the Presiding Bishopric, has made a great contribution to the Church, as evidenced by the love the people everywhere have for him. He is a man without guile.
And now I am deeply grateful to two wonderful high priests for their dedication and total commitment to the Lord, which caused them to respond to the call to complete the Presiding Bishopric as my counselors.
In approaching the task of selecting counselors, I sought the inspiration of the Lord in prayer. I reviewed hundreds of names of worthy brethren, any of whom could have been called. The two who were called were the ones the Lord wanted. You witnessed confirmation of this truth as you listened to their testimonies in the first session of this conference.
We recognize our dependence on our Heavenly Father in assuming the responsibility as your Presiding Bishopric. We have but one desire and that is, to accomplish the work of the Lord in his own way and in his own time, for we recognize that this is his Church. We are his servants called to assist him in accomplishing his purpose, which is “to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.” (Moses 1:39.)
The Presiding Bishopric functions under the supervision and direction of the First Presidency, who constitute the presidency of all the priesthood throughout the world. Under their direction and through their delegation, the Presiding Bishopric presides as the presidency of the Aaronic Priesthood throughout the world.
The Aaronic Priesthood is the lesser priesthood. It is a preparatory priesthood preparing its holders for the greater or Melchizedek Priesthood. Therefore, the Presiding Bishopric’s responsibility is to support and sustain the presidency of the Melchizedek Priesthood by assisting in the preparation and qualifying of young men to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood.
In this regard we sustain the inspired prospective elders program that has just been introduced. There are tens of thousands of wonderful adult male members of the Church who hold the Aaronic Priesthood or who have not been ordained whose spiritual welfare has now been assigned to the elders quorum presidencies of the Church. This program is, and will become even more so, a great blessing to these brethren.
As I now reflect on the responsibility that has come to me as the president of the Aaronic Priesthood, I recall some of my feelings as a boy. I am humbled by the many blessings the Lord has granted me through the Aaronic Priesthood.
I remember with some clarity the thrill of passing the sacrament as a deacon in the Cardston Second Ward, Alberta Stake, in Canada. That same thrill returns each time I am invited to pass the sacrament to the General Authorities in our monthly meeting in the Salt Lake Temple.
I remember how I considered it an honor to participate in such a sacred service. I remember so well how my parents taught me that my hands and heart should be clean and pure so that I would be worthy to participate in this ordinance.
The greatest of all lessons was the example my father and mother set for me. Next was the example of my deacons quorum adviser, who was also my Scoutmaster. Brother Ben Wood was the epitome of what leaders of boys should be. Every boy under his leadership felt his great love. His influence was not limited to Sunday morning or Tuesday evening; it was felt all through the week. I shall ever be grateful to my deacons adviser for the lessons of life he taught me as a twelve-year-old deacon, lessons that have helped me from that day until now.
Many young men throughout the world are having experiences today similar to those I had as a twelve-year-old boy. All of you, whether you are twelve years of age or older, have the opportunity to experience these wonderful things.
The foundation on which each boy begins is recognition that he is in very deed a son of God, with something of the divine in his soul. All men are children of God, but you have something more. You have the authority to act in his name. This sets you apart from the rest of the world. It does not automatically make you better than others, but it gives you the responsibility to live a better life than others.
Because you know you are a child of God and hold his priesthood, more is expected of you than of those who do not have this great blessing.
I have been thrilled as I have met young men of the Aaronic Priesthood throughout the Church who have a comprehension of the great blessing and honor that is theirs by virtue of this priesthood and who have consequently begun to build their lives on a sure foundation.
I was in the Pago Pago Stake in American Samoa. President Peters, the stake president, invited me to accompany him to one of the ward sacrament meetings. We arrived unannounced, so there were no special arrangements made.
It was a hot, humid day. As we approached the humble, one-room chapel with no air-conditioning, I suggested it might be appropriate to leave our jackets off. President Peters was quick to tell me that they wore jackets in sacrament meeting in their stake—no matter what the temperature—as a means of showing the Lord that they not only worshiped him but they also honored and respected him by being dressed in their very best.
As I took my place on the stand, there sat the priests and deacons at the sacrament table. Each had on a shirt, tie, and jacket. It was so hot and humid.
The normal dress of the islands is very casual, as you know, but in the eyes of these wonderful Samoan leaders and their Aaronic Priesthood boys, participating in the sacred sacrament service was not a casual experience. It was a sacred duty. They felt that their appearance helped show the respect and reverence they had for the Lord. I shall never forget their influence of reverence in that meeting. Surely their understanding of their relationship with Heavenly Father is an important step in magnifying their priesthood.
One day several years ago, I attended the finals of an Aaronic Priesthood scripture contest in Sao Paulo, Brazil. These were the finals in a mission-wide contest held under the direction of President Wayne Beck. Sitting on the stand, acting as judges, were the district counselors. Gathered in small groups through the chapel were the contestants. As they were called up before the judges, they were challenged to repeat from memory scriptures selected at random by the judges and then to explain the meaning of each scripture.
I witnessed as much enthusiasm and excitement among these teams of young men of the Aaronic Priesthood as one normally sees at a basketball or soccer game. Because of the location, it was not as vocal, but it was just as intense. It was fun for them to make the scriptures become a part of themselves.
After a meeting with some of our servicemen in Da Nang, South Vietnam, one man in battle dress came up to me and asked if I would write a letter to his parents, who were nonmembers, explaining to them the great honor that had come to him that day. He said they knew nothing about the Church and asked, “Bishop Brown, would you mind telling them what a great honor it was for me to be ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood today?”
Some time ago in New York City a fine-looking young man said to me, “It isn’t easy to be a Jew and a Mormon.” When this young man was baptized, his parents were so displeased they held a formal funeral. As far as they are concerned, their son is dead.
How important it is that all young men of the Aaronic Priesthood recognize their responsibility as priesthood holders and, as President McKay used to say, act accordingly.
And now a word to fathers, bishops, and other Aaronic Priesthood leaders, with emphasis for the fathers. With a feeling of brotherhood and love, we the Presiding Bishopric lock arms with you in the great causes of youth. Never has there been a finer generation of young people.
I have a conviction that the spirits of this generation were held back by the Lord to come forth at this time because they are special spirits. And yet the world into which they have come is filled with evil and temptation. Satan is at work with his legions. We who have been called—in the home and in the Church—to lead the youth have a sacred responsibility to them.
Regarding the home, the Lord has said in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“And again, inasmuch as parents have children in Zion, or in any of her stakes which are organized, that teach them not to understand the doctrine of repentance, faith in Christ the Son of the living God, and of baptism and the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of the hands, when eight years old, the sin be upon the heads of the parents.
“And they shall also teach their children to pray, and to walk uprightly before the Lord.” (D&C 68:25, 28.)
The first responsibility rests with the parents. The position of the Church is to aid the parents and the family, not to replace them.
Bishops, you are the presidents of the priests quorums, and with your counselors you are the presidency of the Aaronic Priesthood in your wards. These young men need your leadership. They need your attention, for you have a special calling with a special blessing. You have the power of discernment. You are common judges in Israel.
If you will take the time to become involved with these young people and see that they become involved with you, you can become saviors on Mount Zion to many. You are the ones, along with the other leaders in the wards and branches, who make the difference.
We want you to know of our love and support for you. We are grateful to the Lord for each of you and pray our Heavenly Father’s blessings upon us all that, through our united and devoted leadership, we may help every young man in this church honor his priesthood so that not one of these precious children of God will be lost. I pray this humbly in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

When the Montreal Quebec Temple was rededicated after major renovations in 2015, open houses were organized by our local leaders. It was the ideal time to invite friends to come and see the temple.
I immediately thought of two good college friends who had already asked me about the Church and my beliefs. In the past, both of them had agreed to attend sacrament meeting at Christmastime. I had also invited them to my wedding two years earlier. That had been an opportunity to explain to them why they could come to the reception but not to the sealing ceremony in the temple.1
Still, even though I had talked with them about the Church before, I hesitated to invite them. I feared being in an uncomfortable situation if they refused. Finally, I got the courage and asked them over the phone: “Would you like to see the place where I was married? The temple is open to the public for guided tours. If that’s of interest to you, we could go together.”
The answer in both cases was a swift “Yes! I would like that.”
One of my friends came with her two children, and the other came with her spouse. It was an unforgettable experience for me. I felt immense joy in being able to share my love for the temple with them.

Well, I look about you and you look like a convention of the teenagers that have graced our home while we have been raising our eight children, sharing with us hundreds of gallons of ice cream and great barrels of carmel popcorn. On one occasion, when I was downtown, I called home and a young man answered the phone. I asked for each of my children in turn and he said, “None of them are here right now.”

I said, “Oh? Who is this?”

He said, “This is Brent.”

“What are you doing, Brent?”

“Oh, Bill and I are just sitting here having some chocolate ice cream and watching television.”

It is always open house at our place, and they know it. I thanked him kindly and told him to keep taking messages, and if anyone needed me I would be home soon.

When I first joined the Church, many parts of it were confusing. I knew basic principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ, which were taught to me by wonderful missionaries, but nobody taught me about the organization of the Church. Elders quorum, Relief Society, institute, and many other programs and principles were unknown to me. I only knew that I should come to church on Sundays, study the scriptures, and pray.
I was lucky, though, to have friends who helped me navigate my early uncertainty. Missionaries may have introduced me to the gospel, but it was through Christlike ministering from many members that I was able to continue to strengthen my testimony.
Here are just a few of the people who blessed my life through their ministering efforts.
One of the first families that made an impression on me were longtime members in the branch I attended near my home in Malaysia. When they saw me at church each Sunday, they greeted me with big smiles on their faces. They also guided me through the classes and showed me where to go and even picked me up and drove me to church at times. Eventually they started inviting me to have dinner over at their place too. This family really embraced the gospel in their lives, and they showed their devotion to Jesus Christ through genuine care and love for me. Because of their ministering, we became close friends, and I felt so much more unified with the branch and like we were one big family.
I also received a lot of help and support from other young single adults. I got really close with most of them early on in my conversion because most of us were the only members of the Church in our families. With the circumstances we were in, we relied on each other for understanding and provided a safe haven for each other. We would often meet up for meals and activities. Being in each other’s company, sharing our love for the gospel, and supporting each other helped me deepen my faith and look forward to some of the social aspects of church.
The ministering efforts of one couple also made me feel like I had family members in the Church. I honestly considered them my grandparents in the Church—they treated me the way they would have treated a grandchild.
Of course, they were the young adult advisers in the district and it was their calling to minister to the young adults, but they never treated their responsibilities as a simple calling. They went above and beyond to find opportunities to care for us as young adults. If I or any other young adults in the area needed someone to talk to, someone to give us advice, or just a shoulder to lean on, this couple was there for us.
One particularly helpful exercise that the sister would do with me before my mission was to have us read one general conference talk each day and share our thoughts about it. We did this for months, up until the day before I left for my mission. The days leading up to missionary service can be stressful and hard, but I believe that her patience and willingness to do this exercise with me every day helped me get to where I am now.
Effective ministering can change a person’s life forever—I am proof of that—especially as we are willing to accept help. As it says in Alma 37:6, “By small and simple things are great things brought to pass.” And it’s true. The small acts of service that I received, like being invited to dinner by that loving family in my branch, receiving support from other young adults, and having the opportunity to read conference talks with that sister, made all the difference. Ministering isn’t meant to be difficult; it’s the simple acts of love and kindness that can turn around someone’s life by 180 degrees.
Because of these members’ willingness to see my needs and show me love, I had enough support to build my testimony, and I am serving a mission right now. The words of President Jean B. Bingham, Relief Society General President, are true: “After all is said and done, true ministering is accomplished one by one with love as the motivation.” 1 And I know that as we rely on the Spirit to guide us, we can minister as Christ did and bring others to Him.

Christmas was different that year. We were accustomed to lots of packages under the tree and well-stuffed stockings. Holidays usually brought mounds of divinity candy, mountains of fruitcake, and dozens of cookies. This year, however, we didn’t follow our normal holiday routines. Mama had died in the spring, taking our holiday rituals with her.
And if the emotional drain wasn’t enough, Daddy also had to bear the financial burden of Mama’s prolonged hospital stay. Even though he never said anything to us about how much—or how little—money we had, we sensed that there wouldn’t be much for Christmas that year.
Still, we celebrated Christmas Eve much as we had for the past several years at Aunt Winnie’s house. Gifts were stacked high, around and under the tree. The punch bowl was full and the table was spread with a variety of holiday treats. Aunt Winnie’s “kissing ball” was hung in the archway between the dining room and the living room. Everything was as it should be and everyone was there—aunts, uncles, cousins—everyone but Mama.
The ride home was filled with silence. It was late. Maybe we were tired. Maybe we left our Christmas spirit at Aunt Winnie’s.
Little brother was put to bed. The rest of us stayed up to get ready for Santa. We hung the stockings on the mantel and left some cookies on the hearth. Before turning out the lights, we took one more look at the tree. Daddy said that it was the most beautiful tree we had ever had. He was right; it was beautiful. It was round and fat and perfectly formed. It was just the right height for our living room, and every ornament was where it should be. Daddy said it was a shame Mama wasn’t there to see it. Then he turned out the lights, and we stood in the dark to see the special glow-in-the-dark icicles Mama had bought years before.
All was quiet as we stood there with our own memories and thoughts. The soft light of the icicles warmed my heart, and I finally felt the true Christmas spirit. I realized that life is not gone simply because the lights go out.
I still miss Mama. But I know we can be together again because a baby was born in Bethlehem so many Christmases ago. He lived and died and lived again. So will Mama.

Alma taught that, for the righteous, the spirit world will be a paradise—“a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow” (Alma 40:12). I have often wondered how we can be in a place of rest and yet be busy and deeply involved in intense activity. It reminds me of an account that one of my colleagues shared with me. His aged mother-in-law, who had been widowed for decades, saw into the spirit world shortly before her passing. She told the family that she had seen departed family members, including her beloved husband.
“Well, doesn’t that make you want to go join them?” a daughter asked her.
She responded, “Oh, no. They were so busy. It made me tired watching them.”