Gospel Story Finder

Follow Your Mother
In my profession as a farmer and a rancher, I’ve had a front-row seat to observe how a mother’s natural affection manifests itself even in nature. Each spring we take a herd of cows and their new calves up along Idaho’s Snake River. …
… On one particularly hot spring day, I was helping with the roundup by riding at the back of the herd as it moved down the dusty road toward the corral. My job was to gather any calves that had wandered from the road. …
… After several hours of gathering up stray calves … , I yelled to the calves in frustration, “Just follow your mothers! They know where they’re going! They’ve been down this road before!” …
As soon as we got the herd into the corral, we noticed that three of the cows were pacing nervously at the gate. They could not find their calves and seemed to sense they were back on the road somewhere. …
… We found our lost calves taking a nap in the shade. Our approach startled them, and they resisted our efforts to round them up. They were frightened because we were not their mothers! The more we tried to push them toward the corral, the more stubborn they became. Finally I said to the cowboys, “I’m sorry. I know better than this. Let’s ride back and let their mothers out of the corral. The cows will come and get their calves, and the calves will follow their mothers.” I was right. The mother cows knew exactly where to go to find their calves, and they led them back to the corral, as I had expected.
Brothers and sisters, in a world where everyone is granted agency, some of our loved ones may stray for a season. But we can never give up. We must always go back for them—we must never stop trying.
Elder Bradley D. Foster of the Seventy

The gospel is an important part of his life. The family travels by car about twenty minutes to attend the Rotterdam Second Ward. His mother, Ineke, is a teacher in Relief Society, and his father, Bert, is the elders quorum president. When Jonathan’s CTR teacher assigns him to give a talk, he eagerly accepts. He enjoys telling the children one of his favorite scripture stories. A while ago, he told the story about Joseph’s brothers selling him to a passing caravan and then about Joseph’s life in Egypt.
Every morning the family reads the Book of Mormon, sings, and has family prayer. In the evening they read Bible stories or Church publications, sing, and have family prayer. Once Jonathan has heard a scripture story, he has the unusual ability of picturing it in his mind like a movie, so he never forgets it. He likes the story of Ammon because it teaches him that “if I trust in the Lord, then I’ll be OK and successful.”
What does Jonathan like to do at family home evening? He especially enjoys watching a Church video or having a lesson on the early pioneers and the sacrifices they made. The best outdoor activity is riding bicycles to the country. He enjoys the fresh air and stopping for french fries.
With a hearty appetite, he eagerly eats his mother’s cooking and looks forward every week to Monday’s menu of curry macaroni. A pannekoeken (crepelike pancake), fondue (small pieces of meat cooked in hot oil), a cheeseburger, and an uitsmyter (a slice of bread topped with a fried egg, ham, roast beef, cheese, tomato, and pickle) are always good, too.
Tidying the living room, organizing books, washing dishes, and hoovering (vacuuming) are a few of his chores. He would like to have a garden someday and grow herbs, tomatoes, carrots, and potatoes so that his mother won’t need to buy them at the store.
School is just a two-minute walk away. A very good student, Jonathan likes class better than recess! He enjoys all his subjects except writing, and he is now beginning to like it, too. His favorite books are a series, called Pietje Bell (Little Peter Bell) about a mischievous boy.
From a very young age, Jonathan has had a testimony of the gospel. At the age of three, he, with his father’s help, bore his testimony in sacrament meeting. Then they sang “Zielslief heeft ‘t hart van de Herder” (“Dear to the Heart of the Shepherd”). Everyone in the congregation was so touched that they cried.
It is important to Jonathan to live Jesus Christ’s teachings. When his father told him that there were many children who did not have toys like he did, he immediately put many of his toys into a box to give them away. They took the toys to a group of refugees, and Jonathan handed them out to the children. Tears filled his eyes as he saw how happy they were to get the toys. Later he told his father, “Now I know what Jesus means when He said to give. I have a warm feeling inside.”
When asked if he wants to serve a mission someday, Jonathan gives a very enthusiastic yes! He is preparing for it now by saving his money and studying the Bible and the Book of Mormon. He also knows that it is important not to do shopping on Sunday. If anyone ever asks him if he wants to go to his favorite hamburger place on Sunday, he tells them, “No thank you.” He knows that obeying the Word of Wisdom is important, too.
What would he tell people about the Church? “I would tell them that they would do well to come to church. Then I’d ask them, what do you prefer, a good time on earth or a wonderful time forever?” He would also share his testimony of the gospel: “I know that Jesus is our Redeemer and that He died for us and took our sins away. Jesus made it possible for us to live with Heavenly Father forever. I am grateful that Jesus Christ ‘built’ the Church. I know it is good to be in a family that has the richness of the gospel, which is better than a home with lots of money. I am grateful for my parents and little brother.”

I can be like Jesus by being nice to my friends. One of my friends has a lot of video games. While I was at his house one day, he kept playing games without giving me a turn. I wanted to play, too, and I felt like whining and complaining. But I remembered that my mom had told me complaining wasn’t nice. So I let him play and waited my turn. I try to be like Jesus so I can live with Him and Heavenly Father again.

Let me share with you a few of my own experiences.

In 1978, shortly after returning from my mission, I had the opportunity to take the first of several trips to Italy to work with my father and grandfather carving statues from the crystalline-white marble quarried in the mountains above Carrara. On weekends we visited the great cathedrals and museums in Italy. One of the first cathedrals we visited was Santa Maria Novella, a quiet cathedral near the train station in Florence. As we entered the cathedral, the morning sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, projecting colored light along the walls and pews. I was drawn to a large fresco painting of the Trinity by the early Italian Renaissance painter Masaccio. The painting depicts the three members of the Godhead: God the Father at the highest point, His hands supporting the cross that bears His Son, and the Holy Ghost in the form of a dove immediately above Christ’s head. As I gazed on the painting, a strong spirit of reverence came over me. I remained there quietly admiring it, pondering the concept of the Godhead.

In the years that have passed since that time, the image of this painting has often come to mind, and each time I feel the same warm reverence that I felt that day. At the time I was 21 years of age and knew very little about the history of art. I later learned as part of my studies that this painting was among the most important in art history because it was the first use of scientific perspective in Western art. I also learned that Masaccio was only 21 years old when he painted the work. This masterpiece was one of only a few works that he completed before his untimely death at the age of 27. As I learned more about the technical details and historical significance of this work, my admiration for the painting, and its spiritual message, grew.

Another painting had a profound spiritual influence on me. As I child I lived in the Sugarhouse area of Salt Lake City. Our ward met in a lovely old meetinghouse built in an English Tudor style. The chapel had a long vaulted ceiling with dark oak woodwork and a wonderful pipe organ. At the front of the chapel behind the pulpit was a large mural of the Sacred Grove painted by the Latter-day Saint artist Lee Greene Richards. Every week as we met in sacrament meeting, I gazed at that painting. I don’t remember any of the words I heard over the pulpit, but the sweet promptings of the Spirit that I felt as a child in that chapel will always remain in my heart and are forever associated in my mind with that beautiful image of the Sacred Grove.

Just as important as these “mighty miracles” are the smaller “private miracles” that teach each of us to have faith in the Lord. These come as we recognize and heed the promptings of the Spirit in our lives.
I am grateful for a teacher who encouraged his students to keep a journal of the whisperings or promptings of the Spirit in their lives. He directed us to note what we felt and what resulted. Little things became evident. One day I was frantically trying to complete some assignments and prepare for a trip. I had just been down to the laundry area of the dorm to move my clothes from the washer to the dryer. Unfortunately, all the dryers were in use, and they all had many minutes to go. I went back upstairs discouraged, knowing by the time those dryers finished, I had to be on the road. I had barely returned to my room when I felt prompted to go back downstairs and check the laundry again. Foolishness, I thought—I had just been there, and I didn’t have time. But because I was trying to listen, I went. Two of the dryers were empty—and I was able to meet all my commitments. Could the Lord possibly have been concerned about smoothing my way in such a small but, to me, important matter? I have learned since through many such experiences that the Lord will help us in every aspect of our lives when we are trying to serve Him and do His will. [5]

Close isn’t good enough—especially in horseshoes—for Kelly Jean O’Brien.
Kelly is the new junior girls Horseshoes Pitching World Champion. The Mia Maid president from Spokane, Washington, won her title in LaFayette, Indiana, by defeating seven other girls in the final competition.
Kelly won her state title twice, at ages 12 and 13. She took third place in the world competition in Eureka, California, two years ago. This year, at 15, she worked her way up through all the intermediate contests and qualified for the world pitching at LaFayette. To win she had to pitch against each of the other finalists once. She plans to defend her title this year in the junior girls’ division at Bristol, Pennsylvania, and then compete in the women’s world title bracket in 1977.
Kelly started pitching horseshoes when she was 11 years old after watching a neighbor pitching in his backyard. Kelly is a self-taught student of the game and practices every day during the summer. Now she plays three or four matches a week in club competition.
A convert to the Church of two years, Kelly throws 60 percent ringers, often pitching five or six in a row. Her best string is 16 straight.

After I was baptized, the Church became my world. I loved being at church with the other members. I remember many times being there on Saturdays with the deacons, cleaning the chapel and preparing it for Sunday. I also participated in Mutual activities. From seeing the missionaries in Primary and at home, I decided early in my life to go on a mission. When I served my mission, I was very happy. I served two years in the west of Mexico.

Children, obey the Lord’s commandments. Decide now to go on a mission and to marry in the temple. If you decide in your minds and hearts now, while you are young, to do these things, you will be good missionaries, good spouses, and good parents. I believe that what the world needs most is good mothers and good fathers guiding their families.

Children, keep away from those things that would separate you from Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ—things like lying, stealing, using drugs, violating the Word of Wisdom, doing whatever the prophets have taught us are wrong.

Be careful in choosing your friends. Good friends help us to do good things; bad friends influence us to do bad things.

Prepare now for a mission. Keep yourself morally clean. If you keep yourself clean and worthy in every way, if you take the sacrament worthily every Sunday, you will be very powerful missionaries and later you will be leaders in the Church.

I love the children of the earth. With the power and authority that I have as a General Authority, I bless you that you can gain all the blessings that your parents want for you. Where you live is not important, nor the color of your skin or your eyes or your hair. Everyone on earth is a son or daughter of God, and He wants us to return to Him as clean and innocent and worthy as we were when we were born.

Walking down the steps that led to the basement of our meetinghouse, I caught sight of my mother, hunched over a strange-looking machine, peering at illuminated pages in a darkened room and straining to read old documents. Still a young child, I didn’t understand what my mother did every Tuesday night for two hours in this quiet room. I had been sent to retrieve her from the church’s depths because Mutual had ended and my family wanted to go home.
My mother’s dedication to family history confused me for years. I often heard Church leaders stress the importance of participating in family history, but it seemed like an overwhelming task to me. Besides, it looked so boring.
“What satisfaction could she possibly receive from poring over lists of dead people’s names,” I wondered one afternoon as a teenager after dropping her off at the family history center. I continued in this vein of skepticism until, little by little, I began to wade into the waters of my ancestry.
The first time I felt the appeal of family history occurred during the Christmas break of my freshman year at BYU. One evening, as the rest of the family boisterously played a board game in the living room, I found myself seated at the kitchen table with my mom and older sister. The conversation soon turned to relatives, particularly my mother’s dad and his parents.
My great-grandparents, Orla and Roger, died in their 20s, leaving my grandfather and his brother in the care of Roger’s family. After Orla’s death, her father, Robert, died of appendicitis. A short time later, her mother fell, cracked her skull, and suffered several strokes, becoming bedridden. Orla’s oldest sisters, Thelma and Ena, then carried the full burden of supporting the family—a difficult task for two young, unmarried women in the late 1920s.
It was all so fascinating to learn about people I felt connected to but had never met. I was amazed by the trials my family had faced. Hearing it all made my own problems seem so small in comparison.
Several months later, with my mother’s story crowded into the recesses of my mind by school and work, I received an assignment in one of my classes at Brigham Young University to find 8 to 10 primary documents containing the name of one of my ancestors.
My genealogical training to that point consisted of singing the Primary song “Family History—I Am Doing It,” but grades weren’t negotiable in my mind, so I began at the only place I could think to start—Orla’s family. I looked her up on a pedigree chart and traced her line back until I found her grandfather, Joseph Argyle Jr.
One afternoon, I made the trek across the BYU campus to the library and into the family history library. I explained to a worker who Joseph Argyle was and the little information I knew about him.
For the next two hours, that worker guided me through a treasure hunt, which took us all over the library. We searched records of Mormon passengers on emigrant vessels, discovering that Joseph and his family crossed the Atlantic on a ship. Later that year, he traveled to Salt Lake Valley with the Ellsworth handcart company, which we found in a record book of handcart companies. We looked through the Endowment House records (found where he received his temple ordinances), the Utah death index (he lived to 84), and old Church membership records (there he was).
In an online database of Utah newspaper archives, I found a front-page obituary for my great-great-great grandfather. Published in the Davis County Clipper in February 1927, every sentence contained an interesting fact, such as Joseph’s contribution to the building of the Salt Lake Temple.
“He has the credit of having hauled the largest stone put in that building which weighed 13,000 pounds,” the article read.
I began to get a glimpse of the impact we can have on future generations when I discovered he had 88 descendants at the time of his death, a number which increased exponentially in the past 79 years.
Every time I found another document with my ancestors’ names on it, I felt a little tingle of excitement run through my body. It was like a mystery novel, putting all the pieces together, little by little beginning to understand who this man was. I became so immersed in learning about my ancestor, I didn’t leave until late in the afternoon, almost missing work!
I completed the assignment and received an A, but even more importantly, I created a tangible connection with one of my relatives. Joseph Argyle left his home, sailed across the ocean, traveled to Utah and helped build the temple, all because he believed in the gospel of Jesus Christ, a legacy which I inherited and which gives me the strength to fight my own battles in the 21st century.
I am a link in the chain of Joseph Argyle, and I can pass on his example to strengthen my children and their children. There are others I can help as well. The temple work for the vast majority of my ancestors has yet to be completed, and hundreds, even thousands, of my ancestors are waiting for me to do my part.
For more information on how to get started on your family history, visit your local family history center or go to www.familysearch.org.

Two Brisbane youth recently completed a unique double. As members of the 11th Regional Army Cadet Unit, Michelle Park and Rebecca Hollis received awards as cadets of the year at their annual ceremonial parade. Michelle and Rebecca are the only Church members in the cadet unit, which covers the 16 high schools in the Logan City area.
“I’ve been told the other cadets really respect us for the standards we keep,” Rebecca says. “They know we don’t smoke or drink or swear.”
“Just the same,” Michelle says, “it’s nice to have Rebecca around to help me maintain my standards.”

When it was time for me to go on a mission, I was very excited to serve the Lord. Just before I was to leave, however, I found out that I had bone cancer. The chance of living long enough to serve a mission wasn’t very high. I had faith that the Lord would provide a way if He wanted me to go. My father gave me a blessing in which I was told that I would serve my mission in Mexico, serve in the Church all my life, and have a family. My right arm had to be amputated above the elbow, but my life was spared, and the promises I was given have all been fulfilled.

Around my 14th birthday, I learned about some of these blessings. I noticed different behavior on the part of my parents. Considering what I observed, I asked, “Are we going on a mission?” The shock on my mother’s face confirmed my suspicion. Later, in a family council, my siblings and I learned that our parents had been called to preside over a mission.
We lived on a beautiful ranch in Wyoming. From my perspective, life was perfect. I could come home from school, complete my chores, and be off hunting, fishing, or exploring with my dog.
Shortly after learning of the calling, I realized that I would have to give up my dog, Blue. I confronted my father, asking what I should do with Blue. I wanted to emphasize the unfairness of what God was requiring. I will never forget this response. He said, “I’m not sure. He probably cannot go with us, so you had better ask Heavenly Father.” That was not the response I had anticipated.
I began reading the Book of Mormon. I earnestly prayed to know if I had to give my dog away. My answer did not come in a moment; rather, a specific thought kept penetrating my mind: “Don’t be a burden to your parents. Don’t be a burden. I have called your parents.”
I knew what Heavenly Father required. That knowledge did not reduce the pain of giving my dog away. However, through that small sacrifice, my heart softened and I found peace in seeking Heavenly Father’s will.
I thank my Heavenly Father for the blessings and happiness I found through the scriptures, prayer, the Holy Ghost, and a worthy earthly father who embraced his role as the principal gospel teacher of his children. They were leading me, guiding me, and even walking beside me to help me find the way—especially when I had to do something difficult.

Brother and Sister Willes Cheney were called as missionaries to the Canada Halifax Mission and assigned to the far north, to Canbrook, Newfoundland. The instructions from their mission president were: “Go up there and strengthen the branch. Find some housing so the people will have their own place to meet in. And be ambassadors of good will.”

This faithful couple touched many lives. Brother Cheney reported of their numerous successes with people and concluded with this tribute to his lovely companion:

“Aside from the many examples, the major contribution to our success was Sister Cheney. Her whole mission was a labor of love—teaching how to make a garden, can, sew, quilt, and give compassionate service. She was loved by all because of her excellent example as a wife, a mother, and as a friend.”

He went on to say, “We helped the branch acquire a chapel and saw twenty-seven new members come into the Church, and many who were inactive return.”

This lovely couple had shown their love for the Lord and for their newly found neighbors, though they were far away from home.

Every June my parents go rafting on the Snake River near Jackson Hole, Wyoming. In 1991 my dad let me float the river for the first time. I had waited a long time to be able to go. I felt very excited as I dressed, first in my swimsuit, then in my wet suit. I put on my life jacket and climbed into the raft with my mom and dad, and the other adults with us.
The river was muddy and running very high due to a heavy spring snow melt. The color of the water was like hot chocolate. I rode in the very front of the raft with my feet tucked under the thwart (rower’s seat), and held tightly to the front rope. I laughed and screamed as we rode through the rapids. The water was very cold, so I ducked my head as the big waves crashed over me. To keep the boat straight, the adults paddled through the rapids. During the calm parts, we would talk and laugh.
My dad thought that we had already passed a dangerous rapid called Three Ordeal. He doesn’t like going through it because it’s a hydraulic wave, which means that it’s like a big washing machine with one strong wave. He says that it’s like riding over a spillway, then getting caught on the powerful wave at the bottom.
The adults were talking during a calm stretch in the river, and the raft was floating kind of sideways. My dad looked up and realized that we were heading right for Three Ordeal. He had just enough time to get the boat straight. The grownups started paddling as hard as they could to pick up enough speed to pull us over the wave.
I ducked my head as we hit the first big wave, and when I looked up, I saw Uncle Jerry being thrown from the raft. Clinging to the rope, I looked around. The raft was empty except for me! The force of the wave had knocked all the adults into the churning river. I learned later that the force of the collision folded the raft in half, with the back almost touching the front.
While the adults were being swept downriver, the wave trapped the raft and me in the middle of the river. The raft twisted and turned and rocked up and down like a teeter-totter. I was very scared, but I clung to the rope, keeping my feet wedged under the thwart. I looked for my mom and dad—where were they? Should I jump into the river with everyone else? What should I do?
Then I felt something in the middle of my heart tell me, “Stay in the raft.” Suddenly I felt calm instead of panicky. I felt I was being helped and protected. I believe it was the Holy Ghost. I obeyed the prompting and stayed in the raft. Soon it broke free of the roaring wave and started floating down the river. Oh, what a feeling to be safe and protected by the Holy Ghost!
Once I didn’t have waves crashing around me, I saw my aunt and uncle on the bank. Again I wondered if I should jump in the river and swim to the shore. Again I had a strong feeling to stay in the raft. I kept still, and the raft floated to the bank by itself. I grabbed some branches and held on to them until a friend came and tied the raft to a bush.
I learned many things from that experience. I learned that as soon as the adults reached shore, they prayed that Heavenly Father would protect me. Twice I had felt the promptings of the Holy Ghost. Twice I obeyed the promptings and was kept safe from the dangers of the river. I learned that maybe the raft didn’t float to the bank by itself after all. I learned that Heavenly Father can accomplish things when people can’t. He can accomplish all things.

Georgie began his life as a little black egg in a crystal-clear ball of jelly and grew very, very slowly.
He was slow to grow his tail and slow to nibble at the jelly for his meals.
He was slow to grow his front legs and even slower to grow his back legs.
Everyone called him So-Slow, but he didn’t mind—at least not while he was a tadpole.
But he was sad the day he lost his tail and became a real frog, because real frogs can jump and So-Slow didn’t know how to jump. Everyone in Green Pond laughed at him.
So-Slow went to his mother. “Mother, I can’t jump,” he cried.
“Just try,” his mother croaked.
So-Slow went to his father. “Father, I can’t jump,” he sobbed.
“Well, try,” his father croaked.
“I have tried,” groaned So-Slow.
“Try harder,” advised his father.
So-Slow swam across the weedy pond. He was quite a good swimmer. “If only I could jump,” he said to himself.
After scrambling onto a shiny green lily pad, So-Slow decided he was going to jump. So he perched himself right on the edge of the leaf and pushed and pushed, but he only fell head first into the cold still water.
Shrieks of laughter came from the frogs all around. “Did you see that mighty jump!” they roared.
So-Slow climbed back onto the swaying lily pad. He smiled at the other frogs, although he felt like crying. A moment later he tried again. This time So-Slow managed to go in feet first. Again and again he kept trying to jump—climbing out and then trying again.
The other frogs soon grew tired of watching and laughing. Since So-Slow did not seem to notice them anyway, it was not much fun laughing at him.
By sundown that evening, So-Slow could make a tiny jump instead of a slither. He could tell by the noise in the water that he was doing better. His jump was more splashy.
The next morning So-Slow was up before anyone else. He had practiced jumping a long time when the first frog appeared. Now So-Slow could spring from one green lily pad right over a little water and onto another lily pad.
“Pooh!” said the other frogs. “All that practice and you still can’t jump as far as we can!”
So-Slow said nothing. I won’t stop practicing, he thought, until I can jump right over the pond. No one else can do that.
His mother and father watched So-Slow every day. They were very proud of him because he was trying so hard.
One wet day when raindrops were spattering spotted patterns onto the pond, a loud voice was heard above the rain. It was Jamie the Jumper. “The cat,” Jamie shouted. “The cat’s after us. Help!”
So-Slow trembled. He was afraid of the cat, but he knew someone should do something. Should I? he wondered.
“I will,” he decided.
Climbing quickly onto the bank, he put his feet down firmly in the grass and took a deep breath. Then jump! So-Slow soared right over the pond and landed almost on the cat’s nose. The cat was so frightened that it took off over the field.
The cheering of the frogs was so loud that the noise was heard at Farmer Miller’s duck pond miles away.
After that Georgie was never called So-Slow again.
And as for the cat—it stayed on the farm with the mice!

For nine years Professor Marvin Hill and I had worked on the book Carthage Conspiracy, which concerns the 1845 court trial of the murderers of Joseph Smith. We had several different sources of minutes on the trial, some bearing their author’s name and others unsigned. The fullest set of minutes was unsigned, but because we had located them in the Church Historian’s Office, we were sure they were the minutes kept by George Watt, the Church’s official scribe who was sent to record the proceedings of the trial. We so stated in seven drafts of our manuscript and analyzed all of our sources on that assumption.

Finally, the book was completed, and within a few weeks the final manuscript would be sent to the publisher. As I sat in my office at BYU one Saturday afternoon, I felt impelled to go through the pile of unexamined books and pamphlets accumulated on the table behind my desk. At the very bottom of a pile of 50 or 60 publications, I found a printed catalog of the contents of the Wilford C. Wood Museum, which Professor LaMar Berrett, the author, had sent to me a year and a half earlier. As I quickly flipped through the pages of this catalog of Church history manuscripts, my eyes fell on a page describing the manuscript of the trial minutes we had attributed to George Watt. This catalog page told how Wilford Wood had purchased the original of that set of minutes in Illinois and had given the Church the typewritten version we had obtained from the Church Historian.

We immediately visited the Wilford Wood Museum in Woods Cross, Utah, and obtained additional information which enabled us to determine that the minutes we had thought were the official Church source had been prepared by one of the lawyers for the defense. With this knowledge we returned to the Church Historian’s Office and were able to locate for the first time George Watt’s official and highly authentic set of minutes on the trial. This discovery saved us from a grievous error in the identification of one of our major sources and also permitted us to enrich the contents of our book significantly. The impression I received that day in my office is a cherished example of the way the Lord will help us in our righteous professional pursuits when we qualify for the impressions of his Spirit.

Speaking personally, this reality has helped impel me at different times either to repentance or to avoid sin altogether. On one occasion in connection with a home sale, there was an error in the documentation, and I found myself in a position where I was legally entitled to get more money from the buyer. My real estate agent asked if I wanted to keep the money, a significant amount, since it was my right to do so. I thought about facing the Lord, the personification of justice, and trying to explain that I had a legal right to take advantage of the buyer and his mistake. I couldn't see myself being very convincing, especially since I would probably be asking for mercy for myself at the same time. And I knew I could not live with myself if I were so dishonorable as to keep the money. I replied to the agent that we would stick with the deal as we all understood it originally. It is worth a great deal more to me than any sum of money to know that I have nothing to repent of in that transaction and that I have nothing to answer for regarding it when I appear before the Great Judge.

One inactive member was jolted into the realization that she was not converted to the Church when her son went on a mission. Comparing herself to others whose impressive conversion stories she had heard, she asked herself, “Why are these people converted so powerfully, and I, with my pioneer heritage, remain unconverted?” She began to read the Book of Mormon even though she doubted its worth and found it boring. Then a friend challenged her. She said, “You say you believe in prayer. Well, why don’t you pray about it?”

This she did, and after she prayed, she began to read the Book of Mormon again. It was no longer boring. The more she read, the more fascinated she became with it and thought, “Joseph Smith couldn’t have written that—these words were from God!” She finished reading it and wondered how God would tell her that it was true. She said: “A power strong, beautiful, and joyful moved completely through my body. … I knew that Jesus Christ was resurrected, … that Joseph Smith was a prophet who saw God and Jesus Christ. I knew that he miraculously translated ancient records with God’s guidance. I knew that Joseph Smith received revelations from God.” It changed her life because now she too was a convert!

One dramatic incident gives us the essence of their experience. David Whitmer was one of the Three Witnesses who disagreed with the way the Church was going, and he settled down permanently in Missouri, letting the Saints go their way to Nauvoo and then on to Utah. He once became deeply annoyed by persistent rumors that he had recanted his witness. Desperate for a means of quelling these false rumors, he purchased advertising space and published a proclamation in numerous newspapers, even as far away as Chicago. In this proclamation, he reaffirmed the original experience of seeing the plates as shown to him by an angel and of hearing the voice of God commanding him to bear public witness of the same. In spite of every incentive to recant this witness, neither Whitmer nor any of the other 10 witnesses ever did modify their original story. They rather chose to maintain their testimonies firmly to the end of their lives.

I would like to share with you the story of one professor who left an indelible impression on me—one that lingers with me today years after my college days. This professor’s name was Christen Jensen. He was the son of Danish immigrants who had struggled to give their son an education. As a history major I had the privilege of taking a constitutional history class from this man. Nearing the end of a long and service-filled career, he was a legend on campus. He had been acting president of the university twice and dean of two colleges, one of which was the graduate school. He served faithfully in the Church. He was a kind husband and father.

Dr. Jensen would come to class and sit down at the head of the table in the dean’s conference room in the old Joseph Smith Building. As students in the class, we were expected to be prepared and to participate. He would talk, ask questions, discuss, and develop thought processes for an hour without benefit of book or notes. His face radiated a joy in teaching and sharing that was easily apparent. Time in that class passed so quickly that it was hard to realize the class time was over.

One faculty member said of Dr. Jensen, “I think we have never had a more loyal and devoted supporter of great music and important lectures than the beloved Christen Jensen.” His obituary in the Deseret News said, “The natural kindness of Christen Jensen, his love for young people, his ready sympathy and devotion to learning are characteristics for which this good man will long be remembered” (“Dr. Christen Jensen,” Deseret News, 18 August 1961, 18A). Does this description bring to mind the Savior’s admonition to love one another and to serve each other?

Dr. Jensen gave me a love of learning for which I will be eternally grateful. To this day I hope I thanked him appropriately, and I acknowledge today by my words all of those men and women who opened my mind and soul to the joys of learning, including those with whom I have worked and do work.

Here's an example you may relate to. Years ago I was called away from my home ward to serve on this campus. A week or so after being set apart, a sister came in for an interview and expressed some concern about a calling she had received at the beginning of the semester. As I recall, she said something like this: "I came here to Ricks College and was excited to participate and serve. When the bishop called me into his office, I knew he had a calling for me, and I secretly hoped that it would be something that stretched me and helped me to get to know people. As it turned out, my calling was to be the centerpiece coordinator in Relief Society. I've been doing it, but I know it's not important and no one really cares. What do I do?" First of all, I had no idea what a centerpiece coordinator did. It wasn't in the handbook, and there was no manual I could give her. She explained that she was to call the teacher each week, find out what the lesson topic for that Sunday was, and then create a centerpiece befitting the lesson. We don't do this in priesthood meeting because if it's on the table and it's not edible, the brethren don't care. (Although I did Google "LDS centerpieces" the other day, just for fun, and saw an orange Powerade bottle that said, "Orange you blessed to have the priesthood "Power" to "Ade" you in your life?")

Anyway, regardless of how you feel about the need for centerpieces in our meetings, this good sister felt underwhelmed, and questioned how much she was worth to the Lord. I can't remember exactly what I said to her then, but I have some counsel for any of you, students and faculty alike, who may be struggling with similar feelings now.