Gospel Story Finder

Now speaking of the Prophet Joseph Smith, I want to give you a little testimony. A few years ago when Brother John A. Widtsoe was alive, he gave a series of lectures on the Doctrine and Covenants in the Barrett Hall, and Sister Richards and I attended those lectures. He had Sister Inez Witbeck there—she could read beautifully—and he would say, “Sister Witbeck, read section so-and-so,” and then request certain verses from another section. Then he would stand up and say: “Now you college students, you college professors, could you write anything like that?” Then he would add: “I wish I could.” And he had been president of two universities and written textbooks that had been used all over the land. This church has produced many great leaders in finance, industry, and education, but none of them have attempted to contribute what the Prophet Joseph gave although he had scarcely seen the inside of a schoolroom.

3. While participating in the dedication of the Kansas City Missouri Temple, Sister Holland and I were hosted by Brother Isaac Freestone, a police officer by profession and a high priest in the Liberty Missouri Stake. In our conversations he told us that late one evening he was called to investigate a complaint in a particularly rough part of the city. Over the roar of loud music and with the smell of marijuana in the air, he found one woman and several men drinking and profaning, all of them apparently totally oblivious to five little children—about two to eight years of age—huddled together in one room, trying to sleep on a filthy floor with no bed, no mattress, no pillows, no anything.

Brother Freestone looked in the kitchen cupboards and in the refrigerator to see if he could find a single can or carton or box of food of any kind—but he could find nothing. He said the dog barking in the backyard had more food than those children had.

In the mother’s bedroom he found a bare mattress, the only one in the house. He hunted until he found some sheets, put them on the mattress, and tucked all five children into the makeshift bed. Then, with tears in his eyes, he knelt, offered a prayer to Heavenly Father for their protection, and said good night.

As he arose and walked toward the door, one of the children jumped out of bed, ran to him, grabbed him by the hand, and pled, “Will you please adopt me?” With more tears in his eyes, Brother Freestone put the child back in bed, found the stoned mother (the men had long since fled), and said to her: “I will be back tomorrow, and heaven help you if some changes are not evident by the time I walk in this door. And there will be more changes after that. You have my word on it.”4

If we don’t take gospel blessings to our communities and our countries, we will never have enough policemen—there will never be enough Isaac Freestones—to enforce moral behavior even if it were enforceable. And it isn’t. Those children in that home without food or clothing are sons and daughters of God. That mother, more culpable because she is older and should be more responsible, is also a daughter of God. Such situations may require tough love in formal, even legal, ways, but we must try to help when and where we can because we are not checking our religion at the door, even as pathetic and irresponsible as some doors are.

Over forty-five years ago, when Dallin H. Oaks was a law professor at the University of Chicago, he had a harrowing encounter that almost ended in bloody tragedy. One evening, after a late church meeting, Elder Oaks and his wife, June, drove another sister to her apartment building. Returning to the car after walking this sister to her door, he was accosted by a young man brandishing a gun. The agitated juvenile jabbed his barrel into Elder Oaks' belly, demanding all his money. When he discovered Elder Oaks didn't have any cash, he demanded access to the car where June was inside watching this terrifying drama through the window. Think for a second, how would you have responded to that threat? Elder Oaks chose to not give in to his demands. A stand-off ensued, and the young man threatened to kill him if he didn't comply. But Elder Oaks stood firm.
At one point during this tense stalemate, the young man became distracted by a bus approaching behind him, out of his view, and he let his gun drift a bit to one side. Elder Oaks saw an opportunity, fully confident he could disarm the young man if he acted quickly to seize the weapon. Now what would you have done? Would you have made a grab for the gun? Elder Oaks almost did. But then something happened. "I did not see anything or hear anything, Elder Oaks said, "but I knew something. I knew what would happen if I grabbed that gun. We would struggle, and I would turn the gun into that young man's chest. It would fire, and he would die. I also understood that I must not have the blood of that young man on my conscience for the rest of my life."[1] It was a surprising thought for Elder Oaks; his life and the life of this stranger, this young man who wanted to harm him, were intertwined. Either they both made it out alive or both of them would be damaged. And that simple thought, that connection, completely changed the situation. "I relaxed," Elder Oaks said, "and as the bus pulled away I followed an impulse to put my right hand on his shoulder and give him a lecture. June and I had some teenage children at that time, and giving lectures came naturally. 'Look here,' I said. 'This isn't right. What you're doing just isn't right. The next car might be a policeman, and you could get killed or sent to jail for this.'"[2] Now it was the young man's turn to be surprised. The man he'd threatened to kill wasn't scared or angry, but was acting like a loving father, placing a warm hand on his shoulder and expressing genuine concern for his safety. This totally threw him off. "With the gun back in my stomach," Elder Oaks noted, "the young robber replied to my lecture by going through his demands for the third time. But this time his voice was subdued. When he offered the final threat to kill me, he didn't sound persuasive. When I refused again, he hesitated for a moment and then stuck the gun in his pocket and ran away."[3]

On the day the Church was organized, the Lord declared, “Behold . . . a record [shall be] kept among you.” [3] As Latter-day Saints, we have always been commanded to keep records documenting our own lives and the life of the Church. Soon after the Church’s organization, Joseph Smith also received divine guidance that he should appoint a Church historian, and he asked Oliver Cowdery to take on the role. When John Whitmer was asked to replace Oliver as the Church historian in March 1831, he initially hesitated. “I would rather not do it,” he said, “but observed that the will of the Lord be done, and if he desires it, I desire that he would manifest it through Joseph the Seer.” [4] Have any of you ever felt this way about a calling: “I would rather not do it, but if I know it is coming from inspiration, then I will.” Joseph received two revelations for John Whitmer that described some of the duties of the Church historian. He was asked to “write and keep a regular history [and] keep the church record and history continually.” His duties also included “obtaining all things which shall be for the good of the church, and for the rising generations that shall grow up on the land of Zion."[5]

At Young Women camp in the mountains of California, girls and leaders waited for dinner in an A-frame lodge. As we waited, some girls noticed something under a table. A hummingbird had somehow flown into the lodge, couldn’t find its way out, and finally collapsed on the floor. They asked me to help.
The bird looked near death, its beak wrapped with cobwebs and its feathers askew. I gently put it into a cup and carried it outside. I hoped it would recover on its own but realistically expected it to go the way of all nature. However, as I tipped the cup to gently deposit the hummingbird onto the ground, in mid-slide the hummingbird grasped the rim of the cup with its tiny talons. I held the cup upright, the bird perched on the rim, its eyes closed. Now what?
One leader, seeing the bird, mixed a solution of sugar and water and brought it to me. First I gently brushed the cobwebs from the needle-sharp beak. The bird didn’t flinch. Then I dipped a finger in the sugar water and held a drop to the tip of the beak. The drop disappeared, even though the bird didn’t move. Perhaps the liquid seeped into the beak? I dipped my finger again and held it to the bird’s beak. This time a tiny tongue, thinner than a hair, licked my fingertip.
For 10 or 15 minutes, the hummingbird drank one drop after another. By then, several other leaders had gathered around me, and I offered them a try at feeding it.
Suddenly the bird opened its eyes, and its ruffled feathers fell instantly into place. After drinking a couple more drops, it started its wings, warmed them for a second, and flew straight up. It hesitated a moment above us, and then shot away.
We stood there, stunned. And then, as suddenly as the bird had flown away, the spiritual lessons came:
Often, as we reach out to the less active, our efforts don’t seem to make a difference. But the love we offer does slip into the cracks—like the nectar into the unmoving beak of the hummingbird—providing spiritual nutrition that one day may produce results.
At times we can’t go further on our own; we need a kind, caring hand up.
Sometimes people get tangled in the cobwebs of sin or addiction and need the help of a friend or priesthood leader and the Savior’s assistance to get free.
We need regular spiritual nutrition in order to endure, else we run out of spiritual strength and fall victim to evil influences.
The hummingbird kept hanging on. Literally. Hanging on made all the difference. At times, we must simply endure in faith as we deal with the painful and sometimes horrible challenges of life.
The New Testament says that the Master is aware of even the sparrow’s fall (see Matthew 10:29–31). I now know He is also aware of a hummingbird’s fall. And He is aware of you.

Several months ago, Sister Osborn and I were traveling a narrow road in central Luzon in the Philippines, where I was serving as a full-time Regional Representative. We passed a farmer on his way to market. He was trotting along, carrying an enormous load of vegetables and produce hanging from both ends of a wooden yoke carried across his shoulders. I stopped the car to take his picture. After I snapped the camera, he lowered his burden in order to visit. I asked my friend if his load wasn’t really too heavy to carry a great distance. He replied, “No, it isn’t, because it’s balanced.”
“Doesn’t that yoke hurt?” I asked.
“At first it did, but I carved and sanded it with a rough stone, and now it fits and is comfortable.”
I noticed, also, that he had a small cloth pad that spanned his neck—I suppose to cushion the shocks of a rough road.
It wasn’t until we drove away that I thought of the Savior’s invitation found in Matthew 11:
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
“For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matt. 11:28–30.)

I was born in England in 1942 into a loving family of mother, father, and sister. When I was seven, we were blessed with another addition to our family—a baby boy. My mother loved the Savior but was not a member of any particular church. She would attend the nearest church and encourage my sister and me to attend with her. Consequently, I learned a great deal about Jesus Christ and hoped to find a church to strengthen my faith in Him.
One day there came into our house a large picture book called Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Annual. I do not know where it came from. At the time I thought that perhaps one of my friends had brought it over and forgotten to take it home. It had picture stories of Buffalo Bill and Billy the Kid, just the kind of information that was important to a boy who wanted to be a cowboy. It also told the story in pictures of a persecuted people who were expelled from a beautiful city by a lawless mob and forced to trek hundreds of miles and endure endless torment before they established a new home in a western wilderness. Each little picture told a dramatic story of suffering and faith, and the story included a few pictures of a miracle involving crickets eating crops and seagulls eating crickets.
I read the story several times before I realized that the poor, persecuted people were members of a church. Then it slowly dawned on me that this church was the one that I was looking for. I wanted to join that church. Unfortunately, I was presented with a problem. The last picture in the story described Salt Lake City, Utah. From another source I was able to learn that Utah was in the United States of America. Since I had no hope of traveling from England to Utah, I would have to give up my plan of joining the Church. It never occurred to me that the Church might be located anywhere other than the United States.

In the large ward in which I grew up, there were five quorums of deacons. Each was presided over by a presidency of three boys. My first responsibility in the Church, the first office I ever held, was counselor to the boy who presided over our deacons quorum. Our good bishop called me in and talked with me about this calling. I was tremendously impressed. I was worried and concerned. I was by nature, believe it or not, a rather shy and backward boy, and I think this call to serve as a counselor in a deacons quorum was of as much concern to me, in terms of my age and experience, as is my present responsibility in terms of my age and experience.
I subsequently served in the presidencies of other priesthood quorums. I served as a counselor in the stake Sunday School superintendency, as it was then called, before I became the stake superintendent. I served as a counselor in the stake presidency before I was named stake president. And, as all of you know, I have served as a counselor to two Presidents of the Church, two wonderful and dedicated and inspiring leaders.
There are several cardinal principles with reference to counselors. In the first place, the presiding officer selects his own counselors. They are not chosen by others and forced upon him. However, it is necessary in most circumstances that his selections be approved by higher authority. For instance, in the organization of a stake, which occurs under direction of a General Authority, a president is carefully and prayerfully chosen. He is then asked to nominate men to serve as his counselors, and it is expected that the General Authority will approve the selection before the men are interviewed.
It is imperative that the president himself select his counselors because theirs must be a compatible relationship. He must have absolute confidence in them. They must have confidence in him. They must work together in a spirit of mutual trust and respect. The counselors are not the president. In certain circumstances, they may act in his behalf, but this is a delegated authority. What, then, are some of the duties of a counselor?
He is an assistant to his president. Regardless of the organization, the assignment of president is a heavy and burdensome one. Even for the deacons quorum president, if he performs his duty well, there is much of responsibility, for he is accountable for the activity and well-being of the boys of his quorum.
As an assistant, the counselor is not the president. He does not assume responsibility and move out ahead of his president.
In presidency meetings, each counselor is free to speak his mind on all issues that come before the presidency. However, it is the prerogative of the president to make the decision, and it is the duty of the counselors to back him in that decision. His decision then becomes their decision, regardless of their previous ideas.
The president, if he is wise, will assign to these chosen assistants particular duties and then leave them free to perform, requiring from them accountability for what happens.
A counselor is a partner. A presidency can be a wonderful relationship, a friendship where three brethren, working unitedly, have a close and satisfying fellowship. With delegation of responsibility, they move independently only to a limited degree. All three, unitedly, have responsibility for the work of the ward, the quorum, the stake, the auxiliary organization, or whatever.
Such a partnership provides a safety valve. The wise writer of Proverbs tells us that “in … counsellors there is safety” (Prov. 11:14). When problems arise, when difficult decisions face us, it is wonderful to have those with whom we can talk with confidence and trust.
I recall that as a boy we had our presidency meetings. Our president would present whatever business was before him. We would talk about it. And then we would go forward, having had our discussion, to work to bring about the desired result.
No president in any organization in the Church is likely to go ahead without the assurance that his counselors feel good about the proposed program. A man or woman thinking alone, working alone, arriving at his or her own conclusions, can take action which might prove to be wrong. But when three kneel together in prayer, discuss every aspect of the problem which is before them, and under the impressions of the Spirit reach a united conclusion, then we may have the assurance that the decision is in harmony with the will of the Lord.
I can assure all members of this church that in the First Presidency we follow such a procedure. Even the President of the Church, who is prophet, seer, and revelator, and whose right and responsibility it is to make judgment and direct the course of the Church, invariably consults with his counselors to determine their feelings. If there is a lack of unity, there follows an absence of action. Two counselors, working with a president, preserve a wonderful system of checks and balances. They become a safeguard that is seldom, if ever, in error and affords great strength of leadership.
A counselor is a friend. Presidencies should do more than counsel together. Occasionally, but not to excess, they and their spouses should socialize together. They should be good friends, trusted friends, in a very real sense. The counselors should be concerned for the health and well-being of their president. He should feel free to discuss with them his personal problems, if he has any, with the full assurance that they will hold in the strictest confidence all that is told them.
A counselor is a judge. He is a lesser judge than the president, but he is nonetheless a judge.
In times of disciplinary councils, the three brethren of the bishopric, or the three brethren of the stake presidency, or the three brethren of the presidency of the Church, sit together, discuss matters together, pray together, in the process of reaching a decision. I wish to assure you, my brethren, that I think there is never a judgment rendered until after prayer has been had. Action against a member is too serious a matter to result from the judgment of men alone, and particularly of one man alone. There must be the guidance of the Spirit, earnestly sought for and then followed, if there is to be justice.
In some circumstances, a counselor may serve as a proxy for his president. The power of proxy must be granted by the president, and it must never be abused by the counselor. The work must go forward notwithstanding absences of the president for reasons of illness, employment, or other factors beyond his control. In these circumstances, and in the interest of the work, the president should give his counselors authority to act with full confidence, he having trained them as they have served together as a bishopric or presidency.
It may not be easy to be a counselor. President J. Reuben Clark, Jr., who, as a counselor, had responsibility for the operation of the Church while President Heber J. Grant was ill, said to me on one occasion, “It is difficult to have responsibility without authority.”
He was saying, in effect, that he had to move forward in handling those duties which ordinarily devolve upon the President, but while doing so, he did not have the authority of the President.
I came to understand that situation in a very real way. If I may share with you some personal feelings: During the time that President Kimball was ill, President Tanner’s health failed and he passed away. President Romney was called as First Counselor, and I as Second Counselor to President Kimball. Then President Romney became ill, thus leaving to me an almost overwhelming burden of responsibility. I counseled frequently with my Brethren of the Twelve, and I cannot say enough of appreciation to them for their understanding and for the wisdom of their judgment. In matters where there was a well-established policy, we moved forward. But no new policy was announced or implemented, and no significant practice was altered without sitting down with President Kimball and laying the matter before him and receiving his full consent and full approval.
In such circumstances when I would go to visit him, I always took a secretary who kept a detailed record of the conversation. I can assure you, my beloved brethren, that I never knowingly moved ahead of my file leader, that I never had any desire to move out ahead of him in Church policy or instruction. I knew that he was the appointed prophet of the Lord in that day. Even though I, too, had been sustained as a prophet, seer, and revelator, along with my Brethren of the Twelve, I knew also that none of us was the President of the Church. I knew that the Lord prolonged the life of President Kimball for purposes known to the Lord, and I had perfect faith that this prolonging of life was for a reason under the wisdom of Him who has greater wisdom than any man.
In November 1985, President Kimball passed away, and President Ezra Taft Benson, then President of the Council of the Twelve, was unanimously sustained as the President of the Church and prophet, seer, and revelator. He chose his counselors, and I give you the assurance that we have worked together harmoniously and well, and it has been a great and wonderfully rewarding experience.
President Benson is now ninety-one years of age and does not have the strength or vitality he once possessed in abundance. Brother Monson and I, as his counselors, do as has been done before, and that is to move forward the work of the Church, while being very careful not to get ahead of the President nor to undertake any departure of any kind from long-established policy without his knowledge and full approval.
I am grateful for President Monson. We have known one another for a long time and have worked together in many responsibilities. We counsel together. We deliberate together. We pray together. We postpone action when we are not fully certain of our course and do not move forward until we have the blessing of our President and that assurance which comes from the Spirit of the Lord.
We pray for our President. We pray often and with great earnestness. We love him and know our proper relationship to him, as well as our responsibility to the entire Church. We counsel with the Twelve and partake of their judgment, which is a greater resource than I am able to describe.
Do not fear, brethren: there is a Presidency over this Church. I hope it will not sound egotistical when I say that it has been put in place by the Lord. We are not here of our own choosing. We are grateful for your sustaining support. We know that you pray for us and want you to know that we pray for you. We hope that we are following the will of the Lord. We earnestly believe that we are. We hope that you feel that we are. We have no other desire than the desire to do His will concerning His kingdom and His people.
We serve by His sufferance, knowing that at any time He chooses to do so, He can easily remove us. We are answerable to Him in this life, and will be held accountable when we are called before Him to make our report. I hope that we shall not be found wanting. I hope that when that time comes, I may have the opportunity of standing before my Beloved Savior to give an accounting of my stewardship, and that I may be able to do so without embarrassment, or apology, or excuse. I have so tried to conduct my life. I know that I am not a perfect man, that I have many weaknesses. But I can say that I have tried to do that which the Lord would have me do as His servant, and as the servant of every member of this Church throughout the world, and most particularly as the servant of my beloved President, our prophet, seer, and revelator.
I serve as a counselor, just as so many of you present tonight do, you in your responsibility and I in mine. I pray, my beloved brethren, that we may be faithful and true in these holy callings, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

I know of a young widow who invested part of the proceeds of her husband’s life-insurance settlement with a close friend with the promise of a guaranteed high interest rate. Though the investment paid out for several years, one day the checks stopped coming. Soon thereafter, the company filed for bankruptcy, and the widow lost many tens of thousands of dollars. She felt betrayed that the sacred funds her late husband had provided were lost in this way.

They remind me of the characters in a parable written a few years ago by Dr. Hugh Nibley. And I would like to quote part of his parable:
A young man once long ago claimed he had found a large diamond in his field as he was ploughing. He put the stone on display to the public free of charge, and everyone took sides. A psychologist showed, by citing some famous case studies, that the young man was suffering from a well-known form of delusion. An historian showed that other men have also claimed to have found diamonds in fields and have been deceived. A geologist proved that there were no diamonds in the area but only quartz: The young man had been fooled by a quartz.
“When asked to inspect the stone itself, the geologist declined with a weary, tolerant smile, and a kindly shake of the head. An English professor showed that the young man in describing his stone used the very same language that others had used in describing uncut diamonds: He was, therefore, simply speaking the common language of his time.
“A sociologist showed that only three out of 177 florists= assistants in four major cities believed the stone was genuine. A clergyman wrote a book to show that it was not the young man but someone else who had found the stone.
Finally an indigent jeweler Y pointed out that since the stone was still available for examination the answer to the question of whether it was a diamond or not had absolutely nothing to do with who found it, or whether the finder was honest or sane, or who believed him, or whether he would know a diamond from a brick, or whether diamonds had ever been found in fields, or whether people had ever been fooled by quartz or glass, but was to be answered simply and solely by putting the stone to certain well-known tests for diamonds.
“Experts on diamonds were called in. Some of them declared it genuine. The others made nervous jokes about it and declared that they could not very well jeopardize their dignity and reputations by appearing to take the thing too seriously. To hide the bad impression thus made, someone came out with the theory that the stone was really a synthetic diamond, very skillfully made, but a fake just the same. The objection to this is that the production of a good synthetic diamond, for the farm boy, would have been an even more remarkable feat than the finding of a real one."[4]

While our family was in Argentina on assignment from the Church, our son and I often visited sites of interest in our free time. Among them was a zoo unlike any zoo we had seen before.
Rather than wander past cages of sleepy animals, visitors were invited to enter the pens and pet the animals. Following the trainer, we made our way into the enclosure prepared for the large lions and petted them while they seemed to ignore us.
I asked the trainers how they had convinced those giant beasts to not eat us. They called my attention to several little dogs that likewise inhabited the pens. When the lions were small, those yappy dogs chased the lions mercilessly and nipped at their heels. The lion cubs became accustomed to cowering in the corner, afraid of the dogs.
When the lions grew, they continued to cower in fear. With the flick of a paw, they could easily have sent those dogs flying, but the lions didn’t see themselves as they really were. They were unaware of their regal identity and potential.
We all face pesky little dogs that steal our confidence and keep us cowering in figurative corners. I name three.
Many of us characterize our performance more by our failures than by our successes. If we get 80 questions right out of 100, we sadly admit that we missed 20 questions rather than proudly note that we got 80 correct. Lack of confidence in our potential and in ourselves can blind us to our true worth and capacity.
Nephi saw a vision of the mother of the Savior, but when asked if he understood the condescension of God, he admitted he didn’t know the meaning of all things. But first he asserted what he did know: “[God] loveth his children” (see 1 Nephi 11:12–17). That’s the most essential thing to know. It keeps us from allowing pesky dogs of incomplete knowledge to compromise our certainty of the truthfulness of the Church and of our relationship with God and His unfailing and empowering love for us.
Bad choices or the neglect of good ones cloud our vision of reality. There was a symbolic reason the children of Israel needed to gather manna daily (see Exodus 16:4). The daily obligation to gather food helped them to remember God. Today, scripture reading, praying, attending church, and serving each other are our daily manna as children of God to help us remember the Lord.
We have God’s spiritual DNA coursing through our veins. We are His sons and daughters and His heirs. Swat away any deceiving messages, beliefs, or habits that cause you to cower in the corners of your life. Don’t let them nip at your heels and make you feel fearful or hurt. Rise to the level of your eternal stature. You are royalty.

One day I attended a conference with our one-year-old daughter. In the conference, an Area Seventy talked about the responsibility of parents to teach the gospel to their children. He then made a promise that left a huge impression on me. He said: “If, after everything you can do to teach the gospel, one of your children leaves the Church, they will still be blessed because of the memory of the things they experienced at home.”

The words of that Area Seventy filled me with hope because I had nieces and nephews who had left the Church. Years later my daughter, the same one-year-old I held in my arms during that conference, left the Church when she turned 17. She had met someone who was not rooted in the gospel, and they got married. She never went to church after that.

This was painful for me. I asked myself over and over what we did wrong. Her father and I always tried to keep the commandments and serve in the Church. We love our children and want the best for them. After many tears and questions, we finally concluded that children grow, exercise their agency, and don’t always believe the things they’re taught at home.

Unfortunately, my daughter’s marriage fell apart, and she still doesn’t want to come back to the Church. All I can do is remember the promise that she will remember and be blessed because of the things she was taught at home.

I continue to pray for my daughter. I love her with all my heart, and it hurts me to see her distanced from the Church. But I know that, despite my imperfections, the things I taught her are right and true. I know that Heavenly Father is just and loving and that He listens to our prayers. Without any doubt in my heart, I know that if I do my part, He will answer them in the moment He sees right.

I learned this lesson from my father. My father was smarter than I was when I was seven years old. Of course, I was smarter than he was when I was seventeen. And then he was smarter than I was when I was twenty-one. We went back and forth for years, my dad and I.

One time my father said to me, “You are not big enough to milk the cows.” And I knew that I was. I was seven years old; of course I was big enough to milk. So I proved to my dad that I could milk. If you are going to milk, you have to get up early in the morning, like four o’clock. Now, that is early. You have to get your bucket, go out and clean and feed the cows, then you have to sit under them, and you have to pull and tug and squeeze. I did that until I could get the milk. I can make the foam stand up three inches in the bucket. I still have a milkin’ muscle. Can you see that? There are no city boys with one of those.

My dad said, “You know, I believe you can milk. You’ve got the job.” For the next ten years I milked from eight to twelve cows morning and night. You may rest assured that I got to the place where I did not want to milk. I said, “Dad, I don’t want to milk.” He said, “That’s okay, you don’t have to want to—as long as you do it.”

I guess that is what the Lord says to us at times.

SHAWN: In elementary school I was diagnosed with learning disabilities, and I had a real hard time with the kids teasing me about it. In the sixth grade I started smoking cigarettes because there was a group of people there I could relate to. They let me into their crowd, and all I had to do was smoke cigarettes.

SHAWN: I remember my parents saying to me: If you use drugs, you’re going to be a freak. You aren’t going to be normal. I used drugs. I felt pretty normal. I decided they had been lying to me.

SHAWN: In the seventh grade I started using alcohol, and in the ninth grade I added marijuana and speed. Before I started using drugs, and for a while afterward, I danced, I sang, I played baseball, I wrestled. As the drug use progressed, I stopped dancing. I quit baseball. I backed out of everything. In the ninth grade I started backing away from the Church, even though I was the teachers quorum president. I slipped right off the deep end into devil worship. It was a frightening experience, but I was too numb to realize it at the time. I didn’t feel anything. I got more and more depressed. I had my first suicide attempt about the middle of my ninth grade year. At the end of that year I was arrested for possession.

I really started fighting hard with my parents. Every single day when I woke up it was a fight. Lying became a way of life. I lied so that I could keep using.

I went on to LSD. On a bad trip I beat myself up and stabbed holes in the wall. I remember seeing the walls in the house literally eating the flesh off my friends.

I started needing drugs many times each day just to survive. I still looked like a straight, clean-cut kid, but I was taking anything I could get my hands on, just to see if it would get me high. Once I overdosed and almost died.

In tenth grade I quit school and started looking really different. I wasn’t Shawn anymore. I was drugs. If I talked it was drugs. If I walked it was with drugs. Everything I did was drugs.

When I finally was forced into treatment I weighed 97 pounds. After being hospitalized for three weeks I weighed 130. That’s what drugs do to your body, and they injure your mind and spirit even more.

I wasted five years of my life that I’ll never have back. It’s gone, just gone.

SHAWN: I had totally lost control of my own life, but I still didn’t think I had a problem. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing wrong with me. I just blamed it all on my parents for being so strict.

When you’re using, there’s a gut feeling, a pain like someone’s just drilled a hole right through you, and you want to fill it up. It seems as if the only way you can do that is by denying everything to yourself and using more and more.

SHAWN: The hardest part of my treatment was when they said, “You’ve got to find God.” They called it “a higher power,” because not everybody has a religious background. I thought, There’s no way; He’ll never forgive me after what I’ve done. I can’t even forgive myself. I had been in the program two or three months before I finally understood that he forgives everyone who repents. You’ve just got to give him the chance and be willing to change. Changing is hard, but you don’t have to do it alone.

SHAWN: Even after treatment, staying sober is a day-to-day struggle. You wake up every morning and the first thing you say is, “God, help me make it through the day.” And for the rest of the day you’re working on it. It gets easier, but you never forget that you’re an addict.

I’ve been sober for a year and a half, and I still wake up in the morning and think, “Go get some speed; you need something to pump you up.” It almost breaks me in two sometimes.

I am the product of a similar kind of intentional parenting. When I was a young boy, maybe 11 or 12 years old, my mother asked me, “Mark, do you know for yourself, by the Holy Ghost, that the gospel is true?”

Her question surprised me. I had always tried to be a “good boy,” and I thought that was enough. But my mother, like Lehi, knew that something more was needed. I needed to act and know for myself.

I replied that I had not yet had that experience. And she didn’t seem surprised at all by my answer.

She then said something I have never forgotten. I remember her words to this day: “Heavenly Father wants you to know for yourself. But you must put in the effort. You need to read the Book of Mormon and pray to know by the Holy Ghost. Heavenly Father will answer your prayers.”

Well, I had never read the Book of Mormon before. I didn’t think I was old enough to do that. But my mother knew better.

Her question ignited in me a desire to know for myself.

So, each night, in the bedroom I shared with two of my brothers, I turned on the light above my bed and read a chapter in the Book of Mormon. Then, turning off the light, I slipped out of my bed onto my knees and prayed. I prayed more sincerely and with greater desire than I ever had before. I asked Heavenly Father to please let me know of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.

From the time I started reading the Book of Mormon, I felt that Heavenly Father was aware of my efforts. And I felt that I mattered to Him. As I read and prayed, comfortable, peaceful feelings rested upon me. Chapter by chapter, the light of faith was growing brighter inside my soul. In time, I realized that these feelings were confirmations of truth from the Holy Ghost. I came to know for myself that the Book of Mormon is true and that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. How grateful I am for my mother’s inspired invitation.

This experience reading the Book of Mormon as a boy started a pattern of scripture study that continues to bless me to this day. I still read the Book of Mormon and kneel in prayer. And the Holy Ghost confirms its truths over and over again.

One other early claim to the presidency came from James J. Strang. A convert of just four months, Strang claimed that Joseph Smith himself, a few weeks before his death, had ordained Strang to become the next president of the Church. Strang possessed a letter, allegedly written by the Prophet, supporting his claim, but the Twelve pronounced the letter a forgery, and historical investigations since that time have confirmed this opinion. Nevertheless, Strang continued in his claim and gathered a small group of followers to his settlement on Beaver Island, in Lake Michigan, where he pronounced himself a king. He ruled the colony until he was killed by one of his own people in 1856. Elder Lyman Wight also led away a group of members into Texas in a direct challenge to Brigham Young’s counsel.

Dr. Heyerdahl—In very large measure that is true. You know, after we broke the huge oars, as big as telephone poles, that we used later on Ra II, I said to myself, There’s no way of making the big oars strong enough to resist the waves as long as the ropes are tied as we have them. We had huge ropes so strong that they would resist the sea; but they allowed the big oars to be broken. Suddenly I got an idea. How stupid! I said to myself. Suppose we were to use a weak rope at the bottom and a strong rope at the top, and then when great force was exerted, the smaller rope would break instead of the oars. We could then throw another rope around the bottom of the oar. It’s much easier to change rope than to mend a broken oar. When I returned and met the leading authority on Egyptian boat design, I said, “Look, this is a mistake. If I were to do it again, I would use a thin rope down below at water level and a thick rope at the top,” and I explained why. Then he said, “Oh, my heavens! Now I understand. On all the drawings of the ancient Egyptians I’ve noticed that they had a thick rope at the top and a thin one below. But I thought it was just the whim of the artist.”

When I spoke on this subject once before, I received a number of letters. I get letters all the time. I read from one that I had on that occasion:
“For more than 20 years I have endured a lack of sensitivity of members of the Church with respect to my single state. As I have pursued my profession, I have moved to various areas of the country. In seeking participation in local Church activities, I have encountered a variety of levels of welcome and acceptance, ranging from a warm, friendly welcome to a very cool indifference and an air of discomfort that seems to stem from their lack of knowing what to do with me. In one ward I felt strongly that the members would prefer that I not attend. This continued for nearly six months, and I finally sensed a passive acceptance, as though I were a nuisance that wouldn’t go away, and so must be tolerated.”
If that be the case, it is a tragedy. It represents a betrayal of the spirit that should be found in all of our congregations. Men and women such as you have great talents and can add immeasurably to the quality of the teaching and leadership in almost any ward in the Church. It is a general Church responsibility to remind bishops and other Church officers to give each member a warm welcome and to make use of his or her talents.
For when all is said and done, we should not be classified as married or single but as members of the Church, each worthy of the same attention, the same care, the same opportunities to be of service.

I was 13 years old when I first saw the full-time missionaries. I was living apart from my family at the time, going to school in another town in the Philippines. One day while riding the bus, I saw two nicely dressed young men sitting near me. I didn’t know who they were, but I was impressed with what I assumed were their uniforms. For some reason, I wanted to wear one, too.

My father’s dying words impressed me so deeply that I did wear the “uniform” of a full-time missionary. I served in the Philippines Quezon City Mission.

Another way we partner with God is by letting our light shine. Eighteen years ago, while I was serving as a bishop, a woman visited our ward for a Sunday worship. After the service, I invited her to meet in my office. During our discussion, a Primary child walked into my office, greeted the visitor, and gave me her tithing envelope, after which I proceeded to shake her hand and thank her. These few seconds with this faithful Primary child touched the visitor, and she began to ask questions about tithing and other doctrines of the Church. She later joined the Church and today serves as a stake Relief Society president—all because a Primary child was living the gospel.