Gospel Story Finder

My big chance came late one Saturday night. It had been fairly quiet and I had been spending time checking back alleys when suddenly the silence was broken by the breathless voice of an excited officer calling for help. “Fifth West and Second South … gang fight … 9-1.” Nine-one is the code meaning emergency aid is needed, and every officer able to help responded.
I was nearly the first car to arrive. There were hundreds of people completely blocking the street, and many were fighting. The officers quickly identified those who seemed to be the ring leaders of the disturbance and systematically started making arrests. As the first few were isolated and hand-cuffed, most of the crowd seemed to vanish into the alleys and doorways. Soon there were only the police cars, lights flashing in the darkness, a few officers, and those who had been arrested.
As the crowd disbursed, most officers left the scene, and I was also preparing to leave for the jail with the prisoner I had handcuffed and placed in the front seat of my K–9 truck. My dog was still in the back, since I didn’t feel it was wise to use him with such a large crowd. I approached the driver’s door and had just opened it, when suddenly I was engulfed from behind in the tightest, biggest bear hug I had ever felt. I struggled and fought futilely. This big man was trying to rescue his friend whom I had arrested, and it looked like he might make it.
Now was the time to use my dog. His name was Dusty, and I struggled to reach the small release handle on the side of the vehicle. It would free the back door to the cage and allow the dog to get out. With a lunge I jerked the handle, my arms still pinned to my sides, and the door swung open. “Get him, Dusty,” I shouted. Dusty hit the street running, skidded as he turned back toward me and my captor, and then to my amazement he ran right past me and around the truck. I continued to shout for him to “get him,” but without response. Around and around he went, once, twice, then with sudden purpose he turned from his path and ran to the gutter where fresh water was running and paused for a drink. Thank goodness by this time another police officer came to my rescue.
I spent about another year in the K–9 Corps after that incident, but it was spent with a different dog. In spite of his fine performance in training, Dusty had proven that in real life he couldn’t be trusted.

Really loving people hasn’t been tried very often in the world of international relations, and it’s rare even in the world of national affairs. But at least one very notable experience comes to mind. Gandhi was the man who led India to her independence. Many have seen the film recently made of his life.

Remember how he began to realize that turning the other cheek and doing good for hateful deeds would unloose great powers for his people? One distraught Moslem man came to him in his suffering. His son had been killed by the Hindus; in retaliation he took the life of a small Hindu boy. Heavyhearted, he sought relief from Gandhi. And Gandhi told him he could find comfort if he would find an orphaned Hindu boy and raise him as his own . . . only he was to raise him as a Hindu—not as a Moslem. There is a sacrificing in love—a sacrificing that brings immortality. Gandhi suffered a great deal, but ultimately millions of people were granted more freedom. Only the assassin’s bullet cut his life short. One wonders what he might have contributed further to sacrifice and vulnerability in the development of the new nation had he lived.

Sister Sandra Rone of the Hatillo Branch in the San Cristobal Dominican Republic Stake was baptized as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints as a young single adult. After her conversion, she continued to live with her parents and pursue her studies. Sandra shared her beliefs with her parents, but they were not interested. Despite their lack of interest, Sandra continued with unwavering faith and dedication to the gospel. She later started her own family but maintained a close relationship with her parents. She continued to teach them by example, living her life dedicated to the Savior and teaching them principles through family conversations.
Over time, Sandra’s mother died, and her 85-year-old father, Manuel Antonio Rone Puello, was left without his wife, the only love of his life. He was lonely and missed her very much. From that moment on, Sandra taught him that being with his wife again was possible through the sealing ordinances in the temple. Manuel asked, “How is that? Explain more to me.”
Sandra taught him that through the temple ordinances, family and couple relationships do not end when we die. If Manuel was sealed to his wife in the temple, he could be with her after he passes from this life. She went on to explain that to receive these blessings, he must first be baptized. Manuel replied, “I want that. I’d like to be baptized. I want to be with my wife.”
After 20 years of being taught and shown the gospel of Jesus Christ by his daughter’s example, Manuel was baptized.

After the service our Russian guide, a sister, and I walked to the elevator. During the meeting Tanya had sat quietly and perfectly attentive; she was still pensive. I hoped she had not been offended. She asked us if Mormons would dare speak from the heart in larger groups. (She wrongly assumed that our tour group consisted of longtime acquaintances and intimate friends.) Briefly I explained to her the purpose of monthly testimony meetings; I told her of men and women and boys and girls who would stand in front of two and three hundred people and bear their testimonies of the gospel with fervor and love. She marveled and stated with sobriety that her Soviet people were afraid to open their hearts with each other. Most masked their true feelings almost completely when in groups. She warmly thanked us for our sincerity. I believed she wished it for her people.

The sister standing with us asked Tanya if she would like a copy of the Book of Mormon. She quickly replied she would, but noted that a mailed copy would never reach her. Oh how I wished I had brought one with me! The sister’s eyes gleamed as she revealed that she had one packed in her suitcase for just such an occasion. We were all three delighted. Tanya only requested that we not give it to her where anyone might see her accept it. A couple of days later the sister deftly slipped the book, wrapped in a newspaper and signed by the members of the tour, into Tanya’s purse. Our guide acknowledged the gift with a quick smile and a knowing nod of the head.

Soon afterwards we left the USSR for Afghanistan, but we also left someone touched because we shared something dear to us with her. At best we planted a seed that will someday burgeon to bring one, or even many, into the Lord’s kingdom; at least we did not hide our light under a bushel simply because we were confronted on many sides by spiritual darkness.

When I was called to serve a mission back before the dawn of time, there was no equalization of missionary costs. Each had to bear the full expense of the mission to which he or she was sent. Some missions were very expensive, and as it turned out, mine was one of those.
As we encourage missionaries to do, I had saved money and sold personal belongings to pay my own way as best I could. I thought I had enough money, but I wasn’t sure how it would be in the final months of my mission. With that question on my mind, I nevertheless blissfully left my family for the greatest experience anyone could hope to have. I loved my mission as I am sure no young man has ever loved one before or since.
Then I returned home just as my parents were called to serve a mission of their own. What would I do now? How in the world could I pay for a college education? How could I possibly pay for board and room? And how could I realize the great dream of my heart, to marry the breathtakingly perfect Patricia Terry? I don’t mind admitting that I was discouraged and frightened.
Hesitantly I went to the local bank and asked the manager, a family friend, how much was in my account. He looked surprised and said, “Why, Jeff, it’s all in your account. Didn’t they tell you? Your parents wanted to do what little they could to help you get started when you got home. They didn’t withdraw a cent during your mission. I supposed that you knew.”
Well, I didn’t know. What I do know is that my dad, a self-educated accountant, a “bookkeeper” as they were called in our little town, with very few clients, probably never wore a new suit or a new shirt or a new pair of shoes for two years so his son could have all of those for his mission. Furthermore, what I did not know but then came to know was that my mother, who had never worked out of the home in her married life, took a job at a local department store so that my mission expenses could be met. And not one word of that was ever conveyed to me on my mission. Not a single word was said regarding any of it. How many fathers in this Church have done exactly what my father did? And how many mothers, in these difficult economic times, are still doing what my mother did?
My father has been gone for 34 years, so like President Faust, I will have to wait to fully thank him on the other side. But my sweet mother, who turns 95 next week, is happily watching this broadcast today at her home in St. George, so it’s not too late to thank her. To you, Mom and Dad, and to all the moms and dads and families and faithful people everywhere, I thank you for sacrificing for your children (and for other people’s children!), for wanting so much to give them advantages you never had, for wanting so much to give them the happiest life you could provide.

I remember the story of one of our LDS chaplains, a man of great faith, devotion, and courage. For a year or more he had been in the central highlands of South Vietnam during the war there some 30 years ago. He had been where the fighting was bitter and the losses as tragic as in any area of Vietnam. On two occasions he was wounded. He saw a tragically large percentage of his brigade become casualties, many of them killed in action. The men of his unit loved and respected him. His superior officers honored him.

He was not always a member of this Church. As a boy in the southern United States he grew up in a religious home where the Bible was read and where the family attended the little church of the community. He desired the gift of the Holy Ghost of which he had read in the scriptures but was told that it was not available. The desire never left him. He grew to manhood. He served in the U.S. Army. He searched but never found the thing he most wanted. Between military enlistments, he became a prison guard. While sitting in the gun tower of a California prison, he meditated on his own deficiencies and prayed to the Lord that he might receive the Holy Ghost and satisfy the hunger which he felt in his soul. That hunger had not been fully satisfied with sermons to which he had listened.

One day two young men knocked at his door. His wife invited them to return when her husband would be at home. These two young men taught that family by the Holy Spirit. In two and a half weeks they were baptized. I have heard this man testify to the effect that as he was taught by the power of the Holy Spirit, he was edified and rejoiced with those who taught him. Out of that marvelous beginning, with the gift of the Holy Ghost, came a shedding forth of light and truth that gave peace to the dying, comfort to the bereaved, blessings to the wounded, courage to the timid, and faith to those who had scoffed. Sweet are the fruits of teaching done under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. They feed the spirit and nourish the soul.

When you really believe in something, when you know with all your heart that it’s right and that you will defend it and live by it, how do you express that feeling? If you live in Trinidad and feel that way about your culture, they say you are “Trini to de bone.”
A similar expression could apply to young Latter-day Saints in Trinidad. Because they know the Church is true and that they will stand up for it and live by its standards no matter what, you could say that they are Latter-day Saints “to the bone.” They don’t just live the gospel on the surface; it’s in every thought and action.
Here are some of the things youth in the Arima Branch, Port of Spain Trinidad District, recommend that you should do to build your own spiritual “bones.”
Stay morally clean. On billboards and TV, in videos and magazines, even in conversations with some friends, unclean thoughts seem to jump in anywhere you’ll permit them. The best way to beat them is to fill your mind with worthy thoughts instead. “My favorite scripture is D&C 121:45,” says Curfew Sherazade Ali, 17. “If we learn now to have clean thoughts, then we will want to be around others who think the same way. And at the last day, when we meet the Savior, we won’t be ashamed. We will have the confidence to face Him because we will be worthy to stand in His presence.”
Choose good music. “Music is an issue here,” says Curfew. “Dancing, too.” Every weekend in Trinidad, clubs blast loud beats into the streets, and people waiting to dance mill around outside in less-than-modest clothing. On the other hand, Curfew says, “Good music doesn’t degrade you or anyone else. It doesn’t use foul language or drive the Spirit away. Good music can help you feel calm, cheer you up, or help you get closer to your Heavenly Father.” So if you want to feel better, club hopping isn’t the answer. Instead, surround yourself with songs that are uplifting and inspirational, and go to—or organize—dances where standards are observed.
Make good friends. Peer pressure is another challenge for youth in Trinidad, according to Mark Christian Mangray, 17. “No matter what wrong things some of your peers might try to influence you to do, you need to choose the right. Good friends with high standards make that a lot easier. Be a good example yourself, and look for friends who will be a good example to you.” Peaches Clarke, 16, says that once you establish a reputation for being good, it gets easier and easier. “People know me, and they know I won’t do things that are wrong,” Peaches says. Though some will tease or make fun, most will respect your beliefs if you stand strong.
Get an education, but also become wise. Curfew dreams of working as a marine biologist, and Mark talks about becoming an environmentalist, surveyor, or maybe even a pilot. But they both agree that there is a difference between learning and wisdom. “We can study many things,” Mark explains. “But unless we also learn the gospel, we may have knowledge without understanding.”
Build strength daily. One of the best ways to build spiritual bones is through scripture study. “The stories in the scriptures help me know I’m not the only one who faces challenges and trials,” Mark says. “I love the story of Alma. He was one of the high priests of wicked King Noah, but he listened to Abinadi and knew he must repent. The scriptures show me that it’s happened before and these people found a way to learn from their mistakes.” In Trinidad such scripture study takes place daily through home-study seminary. Then on Saturdays, all of the students get together and discuss what they have learned.
“What helps me be strong every day,” Curfew says, “is thinking about the promises the Lord made to the prophets of old, like Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. I have faith in those promises. Each day, I think about what the Lord would have me do in each circumstance I am facing. I try to act as if He is right beside me, and I try to be a good example to those around me, because they may want to come unto Christ, too.”
Two other Arima Branch members who were influenced by that kind of example are Jenelle and Kimberly Phillip, who were recently baptized and confirmed along with their mother.
“I saw all the good things they are doing in the Church, and I wanted to be a part of it too,” says Jenelle, 12. The other youth, she adds, have really made her feel welcome.
Kimberly, 17, says a turning point came when their mother heard them talking about baptism. “She said that she liked the Church and that she wanted to be baptized, too! I really like it that she was baptized and confirmed at the same time and place that we were.”
All of the youth came for the baptismal service, and Kimberly says that means a lot to her, too. “It feels nice being a part of the Church and learning about Heavenly Father and how He wants us to live,” she says. “We know that in the Church the living prophets teach everyone the word of God. When I learned about that I said, ‘This is right for me.’”
With belief like that, both Kimberly and Jenelle are well on their way to becoming Latter-day Saints to the bone. It’s a feeling well known to all of the LDS youth in Trinidad, a feeling Peaches sums up when she says, “I feel blessed. Before I understood the gospel, I didn’t really have any idea of who I am. But now, I feel like I have purpose. I am a child of God, and He put me here for a reason, so I had better fulfill it.” And she feels it, all the way to her bones.

We vividly remember our own experience in marrying each other and having our first baby. After we became parents, we began to discover what Lehi had been talking about when he said that if Adam and Eve had remained in the Garden and had had no children, “they would have remained in a state of innocence, having no joy, for they knew no misery” (2 Ne. 2:23).
That scripture seems to say that if they had had no children, they would have known no misery. Only the parents of two-year-olds and teenagers can understand that! But it also says that without children and misery, they would have had no joy. How important is joy? Within two verses, Lehi tells us that “men are, that they might have [that very] joy” (2 Ne. 2:25; emphasis added).
In our case, here is what all that meant in a very down-to-earth sense. During her first pregnancy, Marie was sick—an odd way to be showered with joy. For part of each day for several months, she felt just terrible. It was morning sickness ad nauseum.
Then about four weeks before delivery she threatened to miscarry, which sent her to bed for several days, causing serious complications in the classes she was taking and those she was teaching. But when the big day finally came, even the hours of labor were worth it as she lay there in the hospital bed holding that beautiful baby boy.
Nothing could be more wonderful than this, she thought. Surely the world stops for such a beautiful baby.
The day after the baby was born, she was cuddling him happily in her hospital room when her doctor came in. A plain-spoken man, he looked at them and said cheerily, “How does it feel to have the easiest part over with?”
“Easiest part?”
“Why sure,” he replied. “It’s the next twenty years that are going to be tough.”
Now, more than twenty years later, we have discovered, right there among mortality’s thorns, the sweet fruit of having joy in our posterity. After all the diapers, the bruises, the washing, the cheering, the cleaning up, the pleading, the nail biting, the crying, the laughing, the pacing, and the praying, we understand. We feel about raising children the way Ammon felt about missionary work:
“And this is the account of Ammon and his brethren, their journeyings in the land of Nephi, their sufferings in the land, their sorrows, and their afflictions, and their incomprehensible joy” (Alma 28:8; emphasis added).

Throughout my youth, I attended a lot of firesides. I admit, I don’t recall everything, but one talk has always stuck with me. One of my leaders, who was previously an Air Force pilot, shared his experience with hypoxia—the lack of oxygen to a person’s body, which impacts their brain.
The leader explained that Air Force pilots are at risk of becoming hypoxic, so they undergo training where they are exposed to it. In one training session, he was instructed to take his oxygen mask off and then to put it back on when he felt himself becoming hypoxic. But he never put his mask back on—his friends had to do it for him.
After the training, his friends explained that they watched him suffer all the signs of hypoxia—bad decision-making, incoherent speech, and confusion. He said he hadn’t felt any of those symptoms and thought he had been acting normal, even though his friends could see that he was in danger.

On the far wall is displayed “Mentoring: The Lifeblood of Our Tradition.” The panels remind me that our initiatives in mentoring are not new. BYU has long been blessed by the likes of mentors such as Joseph K. Nicholes, who built a chemistry department of doctorally prepared faculty though he himself was prevented by circumstance from finishing his own PhD at Stanford; and by little Tommy Martin, who began his life as a coal miner in the English midlands and went on to excel as a teacher in the field of soil science. Tommy would select students of high potential and say, “Look here, young man, don’t you know that you have some great intellectual possibilities?”23 and then help them plan their careers and win fellowships. Of his former students, one hundred and fifty earned advanced degrees in agronomy24 and seventy-five were on faculties at universities throughout the United States and Canada.25 His students became known across the country as “the Thomas L. Martin boys.”26 Reading about Joseph Nicholes, Tommy Martin, Harvey Fletcher, Florence J. Madsen, and many others confirms that we are on the right track in pursuing a mentoring model. Mentoring is a part of our patrimony.

As I was growing up, my mother insisted that I read regularly. She would take me down to the public library and check out about a one-foot length of books from the shelves. She typically chose biographies of great men and women. Sometimes it was painful to stay inside and read when I would rather be doing other things. But then each day I would see my mother reading, and I noted that she finished a book almost every day. That habit has stayed with her throughout her life and has blessed not only her children but her grandchildren, extended family, former students, and friends.

Today at the age of 87, my mother has grown blind, but she still “reads” constantly. She now reads by listening to audiotapes of books. Just a few days ago I asked her what books she had read recently. The list she gave me was impressive. She told me that she was rereading several of the classics, including The Iliad, The Odyssey, Dante’s Divine Comedy, Moby Dick, Walden, etc., all intermingled with scripture and gospel study. She has made the quest for knowledge a lifelong pursuit.

To illustrate my point, I would like to go back in thought to my native Holland where six generations of my father’s ancestors lived in the little village of Scheveningen at the seashore. They were fishermen or had other related vocations, like fishing-boat builders, sailmakers, or fishing-net repairmen. Many of them were also involved in the voluntary but hazardous task of lifesaving. They were stouthearted, experienced men who always were ready to man the rowing lifeboats to go on a rescue mission. With every westerly gale that blew, some fishing boats ran into difficulties, and many times the sailors had to cling to the rigging of their stricken ships in a desperate fight to escape inevitable drowning. Year after year the sea claimed its victims.

On one occasion during a severe storm, a ship was in distress, and a rowboat went out to rescue the crew of the fishing boat. The waves were enormous, and each of the men at the oars had to give all his strength and energy to reach the unfortunate sailors in the grim darkness of the night and the heavy rainstorm.

The trip to the wrecked ship was successful, but the rowboat was too small to take the whole crew in one rescue operation. One man had to stay behind on board because there simply was no room for him; the risk that the rescue boat would capsize was too great. When the rescuers made it back to the beach, hundreds of people were waiting for them with torches to guide them in the dreary night. But the same crew could not make the second trip because they were exhausted from their fight with the stormwinds, the waves, and the sweeping rains.

So the local captain of the coast guard asked for volunteers to make a second trip. Among those who stepped forward without hesitation was a nineteen-year-old youth by the name of Hans. With his mother he had come to the beach in his oilskin clothes to watch the rescue operation.

When Hans stepped forward his mother panicked and said, “Hans, please don’t go. Your father died at sea when you were four years old and your older brother Pete has been reported missing at sea for more than three months now. You are the only son left to me!”

But Hans said, “Mom, I feel I have to do it. It is my duty.” And the mother wept and restlessly started pacing the beach when Hans boarded the rowing boat, took the oars, and disappeared into the night.

After a struggle with the high-going seas that lasted for more than an hour (and to Hans’s mother it seemed an eternity), the rowboat came into sight again. When the rescuers had approached the beach close enough so that the captain of the coast guard could reach them by shouting, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called vigorously against the storm, “Did you save him?”

And then the people lighting the sea with their torches saw Hans rise from his rowing bench, and he shouted with all his might, “Yes! And tell Mother it is my brother Pete!”

Down in the South, when I was president of the mission down there, I went to one of the beautiful new chapels there—not of our Church—and the minister showed us through. The ground had broken away so that the basement was above the ground level, and I said to the minister: “Do you know what we would do with this if we had it?”
And he said: “What?”
I said: “We’d improve it and use it to entertain our young people.”
“Well, Mr. Richards,” he said, “you can do it. You have trained leaders, you don’t have to pay them. But we haven’t got them, and we can’t afford to pay them.” Now I knew he could not because one of our members sang in his choir each week and was paid by the minister for singing in the choir.
What if we had to pay all of these folks here, and then all of our ward choirs, and all of the auxiliary organizations. And, just think!—on Friday we had a gathering of the Regional Representatives of the Twelve. I don’t remember just how many were there, but I think about 190. They are businessmen, executives, and professional men, and go all over the country without any compensation for their work in order to help build the kingdom. Thank God for the gift of the Holy Ghost! No wonder the Prophet said that included all things.

Then one day in the spring, we found Bimbo stretched out in the backyard as though he were dead. Does he have scarlet fever? I wondered. On the way to see the veterinarian, I remember praying as hard as I could that Bimbo wouldn’t die. The veterinarian told us our dog had been poisoned and would have to stay in the hospital for several days. Later when we took Bimbo home, we gave him love and attention and continued to pray for him. Our prayers were answered and he did recover.

One of the challenges I have been blessed with (ah, perspective) are chronic migraines. One morning I woke up with one and I knew that day I had to go to work, because I had signed up for a workshop in which tithing funds had been used for me to attend. So I took some medicine, said a prayer, and went. That day we learned about strengths and how we all have been anointed with strengths by our Heavenly Father. We learned that those strengths we have are unique to us. When we use our strengths for good, we can be better used as a tool by which we were designed.

Perceptions of others in my eyes were also changed. One of the things that had the biggest impact on me that day was when she talked to us about toxic conversations. She taught us that when we are frustrated with someone it's because they have strengths that are not connecting with our strength. When this happens we need to stop and look out (see it through their lens), and then look up. Turn to your Heavenly Father realizing that those same strengths that seem to be frustrating us are the same strengths that our Heavenly Father possesses. Perspective.

Now, can we see them and the conversation in a different way? When we look at those experiences in that way can we put our own perceptions away and listen, observe, and learn from them? Can we just try to see them through our Heavenly Fathers eyes?

When I think of what I could have missed that day if I would have let my challenge get in my way. I would be different, even this talk written today would be different. That day I gained knowledge, understanding, and learning through my observations and being actively engaged. I have been able to use those things I learned in just that one day in all areas of my life.

Heavenly Father has sent us all here to be His tools and His hands. It is up to us to do our part to be allowed to be molded to become and reach our full potential. Sometimes our part is just having the courage to say or do something when moved upon by the Spirit without knowing why. By having trust in the Lord and the Holy Ghost, knowing there is a greater plan (and that His plan is a better one) we can help others succeed and get closer to our Heavenly Father's eternal perspective and our potential. That day my life was molded in a way I was not expecting and with that touch in my life I have been able to take what I learned to help others see maybe what they had not seen before.

Another important quality to emulate is humor in the face of challenge. Hannah Cornaby, another member of the 1853 migration, wrote:
“It was three years, to a day, from that memorable first of June … , when our oxen having arrived, we left Keokuk. I wish I could afford a page to a description of our starting. The oxen were wild, and getting them yoked was the most laughable sight I had ever witnessed; everybody giving orders, and nobody knowing how to carry them out. If the men had not been saints, there would doubtless have been much profane language used; but the oxen, not understanding ‘English,’ did just as well without it. But it did seem so truly comical to witness the bewildered look of some innocent brother, who, after having labored an hour or more to get [an ox] secured to one end of the yoke, would hold the other end aloft, trying to persuade [the other ox] to come under, only to see [the first] careering across the country, the yoke lashing the air, and he not even giving a hint as to when he intended to stop.”

This past month, one of the missionaries who served with Sister Ballard and me in Canada shared the details of how small things can compound into near destruction unless the course is corrected. He wrote:
“When I returned from my mission, I married and went to work in the construction industry. Over the next few years we had three children, and during this time I remained active in the Church. The demands of my business became much greater, and I became more determined to do whatever it would take to succeed financially. The effects of this were felt immediately at home; but with the support of an understanding wife, we felt we could endure until things ‘picked up.’”
He went on to say that because of financial strains, his wife began working. He began working long hours and neglected his family and Church duties. His demanding work schedule left him emotionally drained and physically exhausted. He became critical of others, including his family members and Church leaders.
His letter continues:
“As my debt continued to mount, the destruction of my peace and happiness increased. The love and tenderness we once knew as husband and wife had diminished to only memories. We found character flaws in each other and began to focus on them, wounding each other over the smallest incident. I began to blame everyone but myself, taking no responsibility for failures. A great feeling of hopelessness began to fill my heart, and I felt a cloud of darkness envelop me in my desperation.
“We knew our marriage could not endure under such conditions and began to talk in terms of divorce. I decided to get some financial counseling; and after reviewing my finances, it became the joke that I was worth more dead than alive, which seemed funny and rather innocent at the time. After continuing for a few more weeks, the threat of divorce as well as the very real threat of complete financial collapse seemed only a matter of time. The innocent joke of being worth more dead than alive developed into the appearance of a very real solution. I found myself alone at home, facing the crossroads of my decision. The thought came to me to reach out to the Lord one last time. Kneeling, I wept uncontrollably as I cried to the Lord for his mercy and help in my desperate hour.
“A few minutes later, word came that my mission president was in town and wanted to see me in an hour. As I sat with you, I wanted to hide my problems as I had done from everyone else. But your questions came, asking:
“‘How are you?’
“‘Fine.’
“‘How is your wife?’
“‘Doing good.’
“‘How are the children?’
“‘Great.’
“Then came the pause, and you looked into my eyes and asked, ‘How is your business?’ I began to weep as I told you my story.
“During the course of our meeting, you asked me to make you a promise: that I would read the Book of Mormon. After committing to you that I would, you blessed me, telling me to rivet myself to the gospel and to keep the commandments. I left you knowing the Lord had heard my plea for help.”
I am grateful that the Lord answered the prayers of this young man by prompting me to do the seemingly small thing of asking to see him. I did not know of any of his problems at the time but was able to help him to once again take hold of the iron rod of the gospel to guide his life. We must never ignore or pass by the prompting of the Spirit to render service to one another.

Another part of Elder Taylor’s prophecy likewise was quickly fulfilled. The Olympus had just entered the terrible Irish Sea when harsh headwinds whipped huge waves against the wooden vessel day and night. For three weeks many of the passengers were tossed-about and seasick, “suffering intensely from the distressing affliction.” Finally, when a calm day brought relief, the passengers felt the worst part of their voyage was behind them. But Captain Wilson’s trained eyes, making a careful survey of the horizon, spotted a rapidly approaching cloud. At first it was no bigger than a man’s hat, but it swelled and spread at an alarming rate.

Quickly the captain gathered both shifts of the crew on deck and ordered all sails immediately shortened. He allowed Brother Nowers and a 20-year-old carpenter from Dover, England, Edmund Fuller, to stay on deck and help the crew. (Later in the voyage Mr. Fuller fell in love with a Mormon girl, Adelaide Jelley, and he joined the Church and married her in St. Louis, Missouri.)

The sails were just hauled in and secured, and passengers gathered below deck, when the new storm struck the ship full force. The Olympus trembled and reeled “like a drunkard.” The violent wind snapped the foremast off and carried it overboard. Several men nearly went overboard with the broken mast, which hanging, by the ship’s side, had to be cut loose from its stays with axes. Torrents of wind and water cracked the mainmast at the deck.

Thrown on her side the Olympus became unmanageable. Into a fearfully dark night the ship struggled, battered by hurricane winds. Seams of the vessel cracked, letting water seep into the bottom of the ship.

Two hours after the storm began, about 8:00 P.M., four feet of water had poured into the hold and the ship’s pumps were started. Above, knee-deep waters rushed over the decks, causing Brother Nowers and Mr. Fuller to lash themselves to the pumps they were operating to keep from being washed overboard. Hour after hour the storm raged. And the Olympus took on more and more water.

By midnight the captain, crew, and men on deck were despondent because the storm showed no signs of abating. Brother Nowers heard the captain order Second Mate Hamilton to go below deck and tell the Mormon’s president, Elder Howell, that “if the God of the Mormons can do anything to save the ship and the people, they had better be calling on him to do so.” The captain confessed that despite the crew’s best efforts the Olympus was sinking at the rate of 30 centimeters per hour and that by daylight it would be on the bottom of the sea unless the storm ceased

The second mate asked Brother Nowers to accompany him below to deliver the message to the Mormons. As soon as the crashing waves allowed the two messengers unbarred the companionway and went below. They found Elder Howell in his bed and told him the captain’s appeal.

The Mormon leader answered calmly. “You may tell Captain Wilson that we are not going to the bottom of the ocean for we embarked from Liverpool on a voyage for New Orleans, Louisiana, and we will arrive safely in that port. Our God will protect us.” Mr. Hamilton returned to the deck and gave Captain Wilson the Mormons’ answer.

Brother Nowers, dripping wet, could not help noticing the absolute chaos below deck. Everywhere unsecured trunks and packages rolled and skidded from one side to the other as the ship swayed and rolled. Some passengers were crying. Others prayed. Others simply waited.

President Howell quickly arose, dressed, and called about a dozen brethren, including new convert Wilson Nowers, to his side. The leader instructed that each man in the circle take a turn to pray vocally that the Lord would spare the vessel. Elder Howell prayed last.

“While he was still engaged in prayer,” Brother Nowers said, “I noticed a significant change in the motion of the ship.” Instead of rolling and tossing, the Olympus “seemed to tremble as one suffering from the effects of a severe cold.” He could not believe the ship was sinking. But he also could not believe that the storm had so suddenly ceased.

After the final hearty “amen” President Howell sent the prayer circle members back to bed. Brother Nowers, however, returned to his pumping duties on deck. There, astonished, he found that “the storm had miraculously ceased; the wind had gone down, and the waves were stilled close around the ship, while in the distance the billows were still raging.” The Olympus trembled at so sudden a change.

Pumping continued until daylight. When the Sabbath day finally dawned, clear and bright, Captain Wilson admitted that he had done all he could do before calling on the Mormons and that only God’s hand had saved the sinking ship.

At the beginning of my eighth-grade year, I went with my mom and brother to close and clean a laundromat that was located across the street from my school. There was a girls’ volleyball game going on. We were almost through cleaning when the game was finished, and people were all over the place. A few of the students had discovered some wet cement. They got all excited and wanted to scratch their initials in the cement. My friends wanted me to go with them to put our initials in the cement too. I had to check with my mom.
“Hey, Mom. There’s a new sidewalk out here and everybody’s putting their initials in the wet cement,” I said. “Can I go for a few minutes and do it too?”
“If everyone puts their initials in it, don’t you think it will ruin the sidewalk?”
“I don’t think so. I’ll just go see what’s going on.”
I took off before my mom could say anything more. By the time I got to the wet cement, there was quite a crowd. My friends wrote their names, and I was about to kneel down and put mine in too. Then I noticed a lot of bad words had been scratched in. Actually the whole sidewalk looked like a mess of words and drawings. Suddenly I didn’t feel good about writing my initials in the sidewalk, and I started to back away.
My buddies coaxed me to put my name in. They said it would be fun to look at years from now. They even called me chicken. But I didn’t scratch my name or my initials in that wet cement. And the next day I was glad.
During third period, our principal’s voice came over the intercom. He asked certain students to come to the office. One of my football buddies was in third period with me, and he was one of them. They were calling in students with names and initials from the sidewalk. The sidewalk was ruined. The city crew was going to tear it out and replace it that day. The students involved had to call their parents to come to school. They also had to help pay for the new section of walk—about $60 each.
I was so happy I hadn’t written anything in the wet cement. But I couldn’t believe what happened next. The girls on the volleyball team and the guys on the football team who’d written in the cement were suspended from their teams for the rest of the season. I was sick for them, but as bad as I felt for my friends, I was happy that I had backed away from the cement. I was glad when things got tense that I made the right choice.

I joined the Church when I was 16 years old. My parents gave me permission, but they did not join with me. On the day of my baptism, my mother told me I could still “get out of it” if I wanted to. But I did not want to get out of it; I wanted to get into it and start my new life. I knew the gospel was true.
Not having my family at church with me, I often felt lonely on Sundays. But it helped when people from the ward would take me to church and sit by me. It also helped to have a calling. When I was called to teach the three-year-olds, I felt much more a part of my ward family.
I didn’t want my baptism to affect my family’s unity. Still, things at home were not always as I wished them to be. My family would do heavy work on Sunday and chide me for not participating. They told me I was lazy. I said I was trying to honor the Sabbath. My family liked to eat out on Sunday, and now I would not go. They said I was tearing apart our family, but I was just trying to live the commandments.
What kept me going was the Spirit of the Lord. I really felt it in my life. I felt it when I bore my testimony, when I read my scriptures, and when I prayed. These were all things I learned to do from my teachers at church. I listened very hard and tried to learn the things that would improve my life.
But I often felt out of place at church because I was learning so many new things. I bought some new long skirts to replace my short ones. When I wore them to church, I found out they were still too short to meet Church standards. I didn’t understand what my friends meant when they used Church-related abbreviations. I was too nervous and shy to ask them the meanings of things.
What helped was the teens befriending me and taking time to include me. They seemed to have a natural way of caring for new members. Another thing that helped was visualizing my family in the next life. I never wanted them to be disappointed in me for not living the gospel when I knew it to be true. Even though times were difficult when I was a teenager, I tried to think of the future and my responsibility to my family. If I did not live the gospel, how would my family ever have a chance of accepting it?
Now I am older and married and have teenagers of my own. They are strong in the Church and do not have problems knowing things about the Church that I had to learn from experience. They fit in well and serve in the presidencies in their classes. When I was a teenager I was trying to be a good example for my mom and dad. Unfortunately, they never did join the Church. But I did not realize then that doing what was right was crucial to teenagers I would meet later in my life, who became dearer to me than life itself—my own children.
What you choose today will affect the people who are in your life now. But there are also some special people in your future who are hoping you will do what is right. Their futures may depend on your choosing what is right today. No matter how awkward others may make you feel for making right choices, in the end it will all be worth it.