Gospel Story Finder

Below the grass and some railroad tracks, the ground fell away into a steep, wooded bank. On that bank three young men were working in the rain—cutting a path through the sumac and serviceberry down to the wide, gray, rain-dimpled Susquehanna.

As the three workers hacked away at the dripping brush under a bonfire of autumn leaves, their minds turned now and then to a bright spring day in May of 1829 when this spot was part of a Pennsylvania township called Harmony.

Last fall when the leaves were turning, the nearby branch of Honesdale scheduled a baptism in the Susquehanna near the restoration site. It had been quite a while since the last baptism there, and underbrush had reclaimed part of the trail down to the river. Rodney, Randy, and Chris volunteered to reopen the path so that the baptismal party wouldn’t have to fight limbs and thorns.

Unfortunately, that Saturday morning dawned rainy and cold. Low clouds brushed the mountaintops. The trees and brush along the river dripped water. The steep path was slick and muddy.

The three young men went ahead with the job anyway. They worked in the rain, getting drenched. Occasionally one of them slipped and went sliding down the hill. But they had a lot of fun too, as young men working together usually do. They even found a little time for skipping rocks on the Susquehanna. The young women of the branch came along to prepare a feast for the workers. Well, one of the young women came—Rodney’s sister. And damp hot dogs can be a feast if you go at it with the right attitude. At any rate, they worked on until they had cut a wide path down to the river.

After the project the young men got together at Rodney’s house in Hallstead, Pennsylvania, to dry out, watch some television, play some computer games, shoot a few baskets (Chris and Randy are on their school teams), and talk a little bit about the gospel and themselves.

In the eastern part of the city, about 20 youth from the Colcapirhua Ward, Cochabamba Bolivia Los Alamos Stake, meet each day at 5:30 a.m. for a simple breakfast before seminary begins at 6:00.

“I get up early because I know that if I come to seminary it’s going to help me have the Spirit and be closer to God all day,” says Jenny Linares, 18.
Breakfast usually consists of bread with sugar and mate, an herbal drink, or api, a drink made with ground purple and white corn. But the youth come to seminary more for spiritual nourishment than for food.
“It’s fun to come to seminary,” says Luly Bravo, 14. “The youth brighten your day in the morning. We come to learn more about our Father in Heaven and His Son.”
“The truth is that the four years of seminary have made me think a lot about a mission,” says Diego Díaz, 18. “That’s why I am graduating from seminary, so I can go on a mission.”
Franz Condori, 20, of the Arocagua Ward, Cochabamba Bolivia Universidad Stake, agrees. He was baptized four years ago and plans to serve a mission soon. “When I became a member of this Church, I had already set the goal to go on a mission, and the four years in seminary have helped me a lot,” he says. “I know the scriptures we always read and study will help me answer the questions I might be asked when I become a missionary.”

Stephen had difficulty sitting. By the time he was 12, he knelt on his chair during class and got callouses on his knees. But he didn’t believe in missing anything that he could take part in. He figured out ways to be part of what the other kids did. The following year his class decided to learn square dancing, and the teacher apparently told Stephen that he could go to the library and read while the others danced.
“But I’d rather take part,” Stephen told her.
“Just how do you propose to do that?” asked his teacher, startled, because by now he walked hanging on to the wall and couldn’t balance himself.
“Well, I’ve thought about it and I’ve decided I could handle the record player, change the record, and watch how the steps are done. That’ll give you more time to be with the other kids on the floor,” he said. So he got to change the records and watch.

For the next appointment I was to meet the elders at their home. I was late and had not read the pamphlet nor the few pages in the Book of Mormon they had asked me to before our meeting. When I got to their home, no one was there. I sat on the porch and waited a few minutes. Then it began to pour down rain. I thought that instead of going home and getting soaked I could wait and see if the elders made it back.
While waiting I decided to read in the Book of Mormon about Christ visiting America. I read of cities being destroyed and of the calamities and suffering. I was captivated with the story and I had to keep reading. Soon I got to the part about God introducing his son. I could not believe what I was reading. The words were so powerful, yet they brought peace to my soul. I believed them. I knew that book contained the word of God. I knew it was true!

I should like to read portions of one received only a few days ago. I do so with the consent of the writer. I have deleted anything that might lead to disclosure of the parties concerned. I have exercised limited editorial liberty in the interest of clarity and flow of language.
I quote now:
“Dear President Hinckley,
“My husband of 35 years died recently. … He had visited with our good bishop as quickly as he could after his most recent surgery. Then he came to me on that same evening to tell me he had been addicted to pornography. He needed me to forgive him [before he died]. He further said that he had grown tired of living a double life. [He had served in many important] Church callings while knowing [at the same time] that he was in the grips of this ‘other master.’
“I was stunned, hurt, felt betrayed and violated. I could not promise him forgiveness at that moment but pleaded for time. … I was able to review my married life [and how] pornography had … put a stranglehold on our marriage from early on. We had only been married a couple of months when he brought home a [pornographic] magazine. I locked him out of the car because I was so hurt and angry. …
“For many years in our marriage … he was most cruel in many of his demands. I was never good enough for him. … I felt incredibly beaten down at that time to a point of deep depression. … I know now that I was being compared to the latest ‘porn queen.’ …
“We went to counseling one time and … my husband proceeded to rip me apart with his criticism and disdain of me. …
“I could not even get into the car with him after that but walked around the town … for hours, contemplating suicide. [I thought,] ‘Why go on if this is all that my “eternal companion” feels for me?’
“I did go on, but zipped a protective shield around myself. I existed for other reasons than my husband and found joy in my children, in projects and accomplishments that I could do totally on my own. …
“After his ‘deathbed confession’ and [after taking time] to search through my life, I [said] to him, ‘Don’t you know what you have done?’ … I told him I had brought a pure heart into our marriage, kept it pure during that marriage, and intended to keep it pure ever after. Why could he not do the same for me? All I ever wanted was to feel cherished and treated with the smallest of pleasantries … instead of being treated like some kind of chattel. …
“I am now left to grieve not only for his being gone but also for a relationship that could have been [beautiful, but was not]. …
“Please warn the brethren (and sisters). Pornography is not some titillating feast for the eyes that gives a momentary rush of excitement. [Rather] it has the effect of damaging hearts and souls to their very depths, strangling the life out of relationships that should be sacred, hurting to the very core those you should love the most.”
And she signs the letter.
What a pathetic and tragic story. I have omitted some of the detail but have read enough that you can sense her depth of feeling. And what of her husband? He has died a painful death from cancer, his final words a confession of a life laced with sin.

In the spring of 1945, I was on Okinawa as a frightened, barely adequate infantry replacement, concerned with victory to be sure, but very much concerned with selfish survival. Japanese artillery pieces had tried for several days without success to hit the little plateau our mortar squad was on. Then one evening they dropped three shells on us; they had finally found the range and we knew it, and they surely knew it. Since one of those shells fell just several feet from my foxhole, I was stimulated to intense prayer, full of promises. Strangely, no more shells fell near us that evening—at the very time when more shells should have been fired for effect. The Lord that night blessed me and others. But suppose He also told me to be of good cheer, for not only would I live, but one day (just a few ridges away) I would preach the gospel to an LDS chapel full of members! Could I have managed that perspective? Probably not. Yet that is what happened in 1973, 28 years later, as I was privileged to go back to that—for me—sacred spot. Sugar cane has since covered the little plateau but not my poignant memories of Okinawa, that bloodiest battle in the Pacific.

Far off in the middle of the Pacific, near the Equator, you’ll find a group of 33 small islands known as the Republic of Kiribati. Of the 78,000 residents who live there, 400 are students of Church-sponsored Moroni High School on the island of Tarawa.

“The Young Warriors” are the school’s pride and joy. That’s the school’s championship basketball team, made up of sophomores and juniors. They started practicing in March for the national tournament in July. When the time came, not only did they beat all the teams in their own division, but they were challenged by the teams in the upper division, and beat all of them, too. That cinched the national title.

In Kiribati, people seldom use surnames, so here is a list of the winners as you would know them. Back row: (l–r) Tauati, David, Jonathan Shute (an American teacher), Birate, and John. In the front row are (l–r) Maraeru, Pakaa, Temaati, Eddie, and Been. They’re all winners, both on and off the court.

President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency, told about a time when he followed prophetic counsel. During one general conference, President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) urged members to get out of debt—specifically mortgage debt.
President Eyring said: “I turned to my wife after the meeting and asked, ‘Do you think there is any way we could do that?’ At first we couldn’t.” But by that evening he thought of a property they had unsuccessfully tried to sell for years. “We trusted God and … His servant’s message, [so] we placed a phone call. … I heard an answer that to this day strengthens my trust in God and His servants.” That same day a man had placed an offer on the Eyrings’ property for an amount just greater than their mortgage. The Eyrings soon became free of debt (see “Trust in God, Then Go and Do,” Liahona, Nov. 2010, 72–73).

Last year when I was called to be the Young Women general president, as I was leaving President Monson’s office, he reached over to a bouquet of white roses, took one from the vase, and handed it to me. The moment he handed me that beautiful white rose, I knew why. I went back to the time when, as a young woman, I chose the white rose as my symbol of purity—my personal banner. How did President Monson know? I took that precious rose home, put it in a beautiful crystal vase, and placed it on a table where I could see it every day. Every day that rose reminded me of the importance of my own personal purity and virtue, and it reminded me of you. As you grow and blossom, your personal purity will enable you to become a force for good and an influence for righteousness in the world. I truly believe that one virtuous young woman, led by the Spirit, can change the world.

At the age of 16, Judy Potter’s hobby, letters to pen pals throughout the world, brought something quite unique to her home in Coventry, England.

“I had pen friends in many faraway places, like Trinidad, Australia, and Hong Kong,” says Judy, “but the country which fascinated me most was America. When the International Friendship Association sent me the name of Tammi Fawcett (now Gilson) from Utah, I was thrilled.”

Judy soon found out Tammi was a Latter-day Saint. “My curiosity was roused,” Judy admits, “and I asked plenty of questions. She always had plenty of answers.”

But the most exciting event for Judy was a gift Tammi sent—a one year’s subscription to the New Era.

“I was absorbed from the first copy,” Judy says. “In fact, I’ve never stopped renewing that subscription. I was having all sorts of problems in my life, and every story, or article, seemed just for me.”

She smiled, adding, “Like adjustment into the adult world after leaving school that year. I felt so small and helpless. The New Era helped me realise each person is unique, with a definite purpose in life.”

One day she was reading about an activity called Mutual. “I immediately wrote asking Tammi what it meant,” Judy continues. “As soon as her reply came, I telephoned the Coventry Chapel to ask more. The custodian invited me down that night. Much to my own surprise (for I was terribly shy then), I agreed to go.”

Judy describes her introduction to the Church with peaceful satisfaction. “It was such a special feeling,” she says, “like fitting exactly. I’d been brought up to believe that the Church of England was a good place to go, but was never encouraged to attend, so my desire for religion always hovered below the surface.”

Judy was so touched by the welcome and love received from Coventry Ward members, young and old alike, that her confidence rose and progress flourished.

After three months of lessons from sister missionaries, she was baptised. One month later, her parents too entered the waters of baptism.

When Judy wrote to Utah, telling Tammi of her new happiness, rejoicing spread from one side of the Atlantic to the other.

When I was a young teenager, our family lived in the mission field. My father was branch president in our little town in Wyoming. It was a typical small branch. There were few families and fewer young people. I was one of two Aaronic Priesthood bearers. In addition to preparing and passing the sacrament, one of our assignments was to sweep the cigarettes and empty beer cans out of the rented upstairs room we met in. My father always saw to it that I arrived early in order to have plenty of time to clean the hall before the people came.
It was a friendly little group. Everyone called each other by their first names, as I recall. Reverence and respect were not the chief characteristics of our congregation. But we did things together and loved the Church in our own way.
Father had a great problem. He wanted his children to love the Lord as he did. He wanted to give them a vision of the Church as it could be and indeed as it was in more highly developed parts of Zion. He was concerned about enlarging our perspective. He wanted to insure our understanding of what it meant to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He knew, consciously or otherwise, that it wouldn’t do much good for him just to talk to us about it. He knew that we, as most children, were more impressed by what we did and what we saw.
Shortly after we moved to Wyoming, the Church announced plans to observe the centennial of the pioneers crossing the plains. In the summer of 1947 it was decided that a group of Church dignitaries would retrace the route of the original pioneers, stopping at many of the principal landmarks along the way. Accordingly, a caravan of automobiles and interested persons started in Nauvoo and returned across the original pioneer trail, commemorating various historic encampments. The group was accompanied by Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then of the Council of the Twelve.
At a family meeting one Sunday afternoon after sacrament meeting, my father announced that we were going to go join that caravan. He had plotted the trajectory of the group and determined that the closest point to our home would be at Independence Rock, a landmark on the Mormon trail in central Wyoming. I had mixed feelings at the time about making the trip. I couldn’t see too many reasons for leaving home and traveling several hundred miles in the heat of the Wyoming summer. However, as we discussed it in family council, father’s enthusiasm affected us all. My younger brother and sister became enthused about the project, and I was outvoted. That sometimes happens in family councils. We began to make plans to intercept the caravan. Rather, father made the plans, and we accepted them.
He had known President Kimball years before in Arizona. He told us that it would be a fine thing to join the caravan and see Brother Kimball again. Even I began to get excited. He told us as children that this would be a marvelous experience. We were promised an opportunity to meet one of the apostles of the Lord.
In those days this didn’t happen very often. The chances of a General Authority of the Church wandering into our part of Wyoming in 1947 were almost nonexistent. Our family had had little contact with the Brethren as we moved from place to place. This became something to look forward to.
One bright summer day we left home. We packed a lunch and the family into an old 1939 Studebaker automobile and journeyed to Independence Rock. It was a long, hot trip. When we arrived some hours later, we parked our car. Looking around we could see in the distance a group of men surrounding a large, rocky mound that could be seen for miles in all directions. My brother and I accompanied our father. I remember walking through the sagebrush and grass toward the group of people by the rock. I remember distinctly approaching the man who is now the President of the Church. I remember the recognition accorded to my father, and I remember the words that were spoken.
My father said, “Elder Kimball, do you remember me?”
That was the first time in my life I could remember anyone being called “elder” anything. That was the heritage of our friendly, little branch, I suppose. My father’s words seemed very strange to me.
Elder Kimball turned to my father and said, “Brother Howard, how good to see you again.” Then he asked, “Are these your boys?” Father said, “Yes.” Elder Kimball said, “It is so kind of you to come.”
I stood there waiting for something momentous to happen. Something like “Dr. Livingston, I presume.” But that was all. That was all. I don’t remember anything else being said. I remember that Elder Kimball was busy. Others were making demands upon his time, and there were ceremonial functions to be performed. There may have been other things said to my father, but I don’t remember them. I was disappointed that we had come so far and looked forward with so much anticipation to a conversation that was three sentences long.
We participated in the festivities of the occasion. Afterwards we ate our lunch on the plains, climbed the rock, and noted the inscriptions that had been made by pioneers. It turned out to be not such a bad day after all. Late that evening we returned home. We resumed our routine lives. I remember thinking then that it might have been easier to watch the event on television. I felt let down at the time.
And I don’t believe it made a bit of difference to the Church or to Elder Kimball that we made that trip. But it made a difference to my father. The reward of renewing that association was important enough to him to cause him to make the journey. He let us know that we had been a part of a great event and that we had been privileged to have a glimpse of a great heritage.
I have thought about that excursion many times since. I have come to realize that it was my father’s love for the Lord and the Church and the Lord’s servants that caused him to want to make the trip. I realize that he loved the General Authorities and sustained them. This awareness, which grew in me over the years, meant much more to me than all the telling he could have ever done.
The fact that he would involve us and the fact that by his example he taught us what he thought about the gospel of Jesus Christ have since that time become great lessons for me. He taught me, and I have learned, that you cannot be a passive member of the Church. I learned that association and fellowship with great men are worth whatever price you have to pay to attain them. They are worth enduring heat; they are worth a long trip; they are worth temporary inconvenience. They are the lasting things of life.

That is a view common to believing Latter-day Saints. You may have been blessed by a mother as I was for whom the plan of salvation was reality. More than once I complained about some difficulty in my school days. Her answer, given in a matter-of-fact tone, was, “Hal, what else did you expect? Life is a test.” Then she’d go off to something else and leave me to ponder. She knew that, because I understood the plan, her statement of the obvious would give me hope, not discouragement.

I knew and she knew that to have the blessings of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob we need to face and pass comparable tests. She knew and I knew that the greater the test, the greater the compliment from a loving Heavenly Father.

She died after a decade of suffering with cancer. At her funeral President Kimball said something like this: “Some of you may wonder what great sins Mildred committed to explain her having to endure such suffering. It had nothing to do with sin. It was that her Heavenly Father wanted to polish her a little more.”

I remember as I sat there at the time wondering what trials might lay ahead for me if a woman that good could be blessed by that much hard polishing.

In a recent gathering of friends who served missions in Scotland in our youth, I heard the following story from one of my former companions, Joseph McConkie. While serving as a chaplain in Viet Nam during that conflict and war, Brother McConkie was responsible for helping meet the spiritual needs of LDS servicemen. He said that at military headquarters, there was an assembly hall where religious services were held. At that time the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was not viewed as a major religious denomination so the time for religious services given them was 4:00 P.M. on Sunday afternoon. One day, following their meetings, a soldier who was responsible for the upkeep of the assembly hall said: "I want to join your Church." Joseph asked: "What has prompted this desire?" The soldier replied: "I watch your people come to Church each week in the late afternoons--and they come happy. When they leave, they are even happier!" No doubt this soldier could see the light of the gospel emanating from the faces of those soldiers who rejoiced every week in the great privilege of worship and fellowship--even in the difficult circumstances in which they found themselves. These soldiers knew their identity and it blessed others.

I wrote my dissertation at the University of California at Berkeley on pion-nucleon interactions. I have never seen a pion and I have never seen a nucleon, and yet I published an article on them, and I expect the scientific community to take that article seriously. I never touched anything I worked with. It wasn’t tangible; I couldn’t get hold of it.
I wrote my dissertation on pions without ever seeing any pions. I don’t know whether they are green or round or square or fuzzy, but when we turned on the cyclotron beam in the meson cave (a room made out of 12-foot-thick lead-impregnated concrete blocks), the beam struck a hydrogen target and splattered particles in all directions. Certain detectors that I had designed and had placed in appropriate spots in the cave registered these particles by sending out electrical impulses. All I actually observed was a series of two-volt jumps in the voltage on some coaxial cables. By fitting the pattern of these blips together, I published what I claim is a scientifically accurate explanation of certain pion-nucleon interactions.

“She has only 24 hours to live, and even if she makes it, she will be paralyzed from the eyes down with no chance of recovery.” This was the bleak verdict doctors presented to my family in March 2004. At only 30 years of age, I had suffered a stroke that left me unable to speak or move. Yet in those dark, lonely hours, experiences from my previous calling as a Primary music leader gave me hope.
I have always loved music and felt strength in the words of the hymns. Yet prior to my stroke, when I was called to be the ward’s Primary music leader, I was very apprehensive. How was I supposed to make a difference in the children’s lives? My music education background had taught me to set goals in my teaching, so I decided to try to help the children feel the Spirit as we sang. When we sang songs such as “I Lived in Heaven,” I was astonished by the strong presence of the Holy Ghost in the room and by the children’s deep, thoughtful questions about the lyrics.
One of my favorite teaching methods was using American Sign Language (ASL). I found that the children understood the songs better when we discussed how the signs offered a visual representation of the words. I really enjoyed hearing the children sing and watching them sign “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.” The message rang true in my heart, and I often felt that I was the benefactor of the Spirit that the children invited. I could sense my testimony growing, and I truly felt blessed by the Lord.
The blessings of my calling as Primary music leader were not limited to the Primary room, though. With the calling came the need to practice and play the music at home so I would be prepared each Sunday. As a result, my own children’s love for Primary music increased. The words of these songs brought a peaceful, calm spirit, comforting our children when they were hurt and lulling them to sleep each night. They insisted on listening to the Children’s Songbook CDs in the car—even if the ride was just a short one—and consequently began to memorize many of the songs.
However, it was not until after my stroke that I was aware of the far-reaching effects of this music in my life. With so much recent experience singing Primary songs, I found they were what kept me going during my trials. During my darkest hours I would pray and sing “A Child’s Prayer” in my head. As I cried out like the child of the first verse, “Heavenly Father, are you really there?” He would mercifully answer by reassuring me that I was not alone and that He was there, as stated in the second verse of the song. What a strength and reassurance!
During the recovery process, my husband and children came to my hospital room to hold family home evenings and frequently sang “Love Is Spoken Here.” That was the last song I had taught in Primary, and it was wonderful to hear my children sing it, knowing that I had planted those seeds. As they sang, I could relate to the mother in the song, praying on her knees (how I wished that I too could kneel!). Her pleas to Heavenly Father were also mine. I also shared the same gratitude for priesthood authority in my home. While I could not voice these thoughts to my family, the Primary song voiced these feelings for me.
It has been nearly four years since I suffered my stroke, and I have been able to regain far more abilities than the doctors expected I ever would. I have a small amount of movement in my right arm, which allows me to type on my computer and operate a powered wheelchair. I use a modified form of ASL—which I first learned in my Primary calling—to communicate. Because of this, I can still “sing” Primary songs with my children and express my feelings to family and friends.
Before my stroke I had always planned on singing at my children’s baptisms. In August 2005 my oldest child, Zach, was baptized. I was able to use my right hand to plunk out “When I Am Baptized” while my husband supported me at the piano bench. It felt good to express my deepest feelings about baptism through music and in a way that Zach would understand.
When I began serving as a Primary music leader, I did not think the calling would benefit me. Yet it plainly has! The Primary songs have blessed me with a better understanding of gospel principles, a strengthened testimony, the ability to communicate with my family, and the strength to persevere. The words and melody of Primary songs may be simple, but the message and the power of each one are clear.
We may not always understand why the Lord has given us a particular assignment. Even so, we must trust the Lord and put our faith in Him and His promptings. I am so grateful I was a Primary music leader before my stroke! The songs I can no longer sing can still communicate my feelings of the gospel to others. Every time I hear my children sing Primary songs, I know that their testimonies are being strengthened and that they share my love for the Lord and His gospel.

Just a few months before I turned 14, I broke my leg. I was in a full-leg cast for two weeks and a shorter cast that came to my knee for four more. Because of my injury, I went to the last two weeks of school on crutches, and I couldn’t go on the girls’ camp backpacking trip or our family boating trip. I needed help getting in and out of the car, and my siblings weren’t very happy that I always needed the front seat so I would have room for my cast. Overall, I was miserable. I couldn’t walk, run, or play with my friends, and I was tired and in pain much of the time.
One day I was in the car with my mom and my brother. We were on the way home from running several errands. We stopped at one more store so my mom could quickly pick something up. She and my brother went into the store, and I opted to stay in the car. It wasn’t worth it to get out my crutches for such a quick trip. I had felt dejected all that day. I felt like I couldn’t do anything for myself except sit around. I couldn’t have any fun, and I felt like a burden to everybody around me.
At the peak of feeling sorry for myself, I noticed a copy of the Book of Mormon in a pocket of the car door. The missionaries had asked us to keep this copy in the car so we would have it handy to give away if the opportunity came. I pulled the book out and opened it to a random page. As I looked down, my eyes focused on the first few verses of 2 Nephi 2. As I read, I felt like these words in the second verse were written for me, for this very moment: “Thou knowest the greatness of God; and he shall consecrate thine afflictions for thy gain” (2 Nephi 2:2). In a moment when I felt afflicted and miserable, Heavenly Father spoke to me through the Book of Mormon and told me that He cared about me and that everything was going to be OK.
When my mom and brother returned to the car, I was smiling. They probably noticed the change, but I felt too quiet and peaceful inside to explain everything to them. I put the Book of Mormon back in its place, but I kept looking at it and remembering the words of Lehi that had brought me so much comfort. I also kept smiling. I couldn’t help but think that the missionaries’ request for our family to keep a copy of the Book of Mormon in our car wasn’t just for investigators.
At home, I pulled out my personal scriptures. I turned to 2 Nephi 2:2 and marked in red the words that had comforted me. A couple of months later I could walk and run just fine because my leg was healed. Of course, other trials came into my life later on. Many times when I feel alone and miserable, I remember how I felt that day waiting in the car. I still often turn to the passage marked in red in my scriptures, and I always find comfort there.

One of my fondest memories as a small boy was the annual visit to our home on Butler Avenue in Salt Lake City of my Grandfather and Grandmother Ballard on Christmas morning. Melvin J. Ballard died when I was ten years old. I knew that my Grandfather Ballard was a very important man in the Church, but I did not understand what it meant to be an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ. To me he was Grandpa Ballard, and that was enough to make me always very eager for his visit to our home, and especially on Christmas morning.
I particularly remember one Christmas morning, just a year or two before Grandfather Ballard died. My father and mother gave to Grandfather and Grandmother a new set of luggage. This seemed so appropriate to me then, because it seemed like Grandfather was always traveling.
Reflecting back on those special Christmas mornings with Grandfather and Grandmother Ballard brings special fond memories since today I find myself as a member of the Council of the Twelve and I have a new and deeper appreciation for those special Christmas mornings with my grandparents. I hope now as my grandchildren come to visit me and I go to visit them, I can create memories for them that will live on long after I am gone.

Suddenly it dawned on me. What about a mission. Oh sure, I always told my friends and family that I would go. I even told my employer I was planning on a mission. But all of that seemed unimportant now. All I could see was personal satisfaction, and I didn’t care what kind of spiritual development I’d surely miss. The voice of the prophet still echoed in my mind, “Every young man is to fulfill a mission.” But the thought always came back, “In two years’ time, look how far you could be as a paramedic.”
I didn’t know what to do! I knew deep down in my heart that a mission was the right thing, but I was so terribly blinded by worldly greed. The decision to go or not to go was constantly on my mind. I thought about it from the time I got up until the time I went to bed at night. Because we worked 24-hour shifts, I had lots of time to think.
One night right after I had gone to bed, I was awakened by the ring of the telephone. The highway patrol was calling for an ambulance to respond to a car-truck accident on the freeway, and soon I was at the scene of a two-car accident. A small car had run into the back of a semitrailer loaded with wooden fence posts. The badly mangled car had two occupants—a young couple that had recently been married. The husband, who was driving, had been killed instantly. His wife was critically injured. We worked desperately to save the slowly fading life of that beautiful nineteen-year-old woman. I thought to myself, How could something so terrible happen to this fine couple and totally destroy their future plans and happiness?
We rushed her to the hospital, where a team of highly trained doctors and nurses were waiting. Soon a helicopter arrived to transport her to a hospital in Salt Lake City, where she could receive special treatment for a severe head injury.
After I calmed down from the shock of such a terrible accident, I remembered talking to the highway patrolman who would be responsible for notifying the next of kin. I’ll never forget the solemn look on his face, and the glaze of tears in his eyes as he drove away. I thought to myself, What a horrible assignment! What if they were my parents being notified? Then another thought came to my mind: What will be the look on my face when I give an accounting to the Savior of the time I spent here in mortality?
The night air was chilled with a late frost. As I gazed up into the night, I noticed how clear and calm the sky looked. Tears ran freely down my cheeks, and I found myself pleading with the Lord for that young woman’s life. At that moment, when my heart actually seemed to swell painfully with love and compassion, I finally began to understand. Doctors and nurses and paramedics were wonderful, but they could only treat the body. They couldn’t heal the deeper wounds, the ones that would keep us from going home to our Father. Only one Physician could do that, and I was denying myself the chance to be his helper. I made a decision. I would do all I could to further the work of the Master Healer. I would serve a mission!

Let me share another example: A young couple had a decision to make concerning a financial matter. Together they researched all the options. They investigated the matter inside out. The husband was well educated in financial and business matters and put his best thinking and analyzing to work. The final decision had to be made when the business opened on Tuesday. On Monday night, as the couple knelt together in prayer, they presented their decision to the Lord. They explained that they had used all their own data-gathering, analysis, and logic resources. They had done all they could think of, and this seemed to be the course to take. But they recognized that Heavenly Father knows all things, and so they pleaded that if there was some piece of information that would affect the decision, would the Lord please bring it to their attention. They retired for the night, feeling fine about their decision and also about what they had asked of the Lord.

Early the next morning they were awakened by the phone ringing. The person on the other end gave them information regarding their decision that they would have had no way of knowing. This information clearly changed the decision that they would make. By opening of business that day, they knew what to do. It proved to be correct as the years passed and time confirmed their choice. The Lord did help them after they had done all they could do themselves.

Howard R. Driggs tells of an incident in the life of the poet Longfellow that illustrates the concept I would like to stress:
“It happened that, while the poet, at over eighty years of age, was still teaching at Harvard, one of his appreciative students asked him, ‘How do you keep so perennially young, Professor Longfellow? We never get tired of your classes. You always have something new and interesting to give.’
“‘I’ve never had that question put to me before,’ returned the poet. Then, looking out of the window, he said, ‘Do you see those two apple trees in the yard?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘Do you observe any difference between the blossoms on the older tree and those on the younger one?’
“‘No,’ replied the student, ‘they look just alike to me.’
“‘How do you account for the fact that the old apple tree flowers out as beautifully as does the young one?’ persisted the teacher.
“‘I can’t explain it.’
“‘Let me tell you the secret. That old tree managed last year to grow enough wood to put forth its new blossoms. Blossoms, you know, always come on the new wood.’
“‘Oh, I see,’ said the young man, ‘to keep young one must keep growing.’
“‘Yes,’ came the quiet response” (in Especially for Mormons, comp. Stan and Sharon Miller, Provo, Utah: Kellirae Arts, 1978, 4:2–3).