Gospel Story Finder

On July 24, 2002, my son Steven Jackson and his nephew Taylor Miller were playing in the Pacific Ocean when they were sucked out by a riptide. Both were nine years old. Neither boy could swim, but Steven had strong legs and could dog-paddle. Taylor was having trouble staying above water, so Steven pulled him up and paddled for both of them. They were constantly being pulled under the water, but Steven kept encouraging Taylor not to give up, because help was coming.
In October 2003, the National Court of Honor of the Boy Scouts of America honored Steven for unusual heroism for saving Taylor’s life at considerable risk to himself.

Image from Getty Images
I joined the Church when I was 14 years old. My parents granted me permission to be baptized, but neither of them were interested in joining or even learning about the Church.
For more than 10 years, I yearned for my family to know the happiness I felt in the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I invited the missionaries and members to come over for dinner. My family was taught the missionary lessons multiple times, but nothing changed. During that decade, I attended church, received my endowment, and served a full-time mission without any family support.
When I returned home to Mexico following my mission at Temple Square in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA, I lived with my mother. (My parents had divorced while I was in high school.) I started working at the Mexico Missionary Training Center, so I cleverly invited her to come meet the elders and sisters I was teaching. I subtly (and sometimes not so subtly) invited the missionaries serving in my ward to join my mother and me for dinner. I did everything I could to get her around missionaries, hoping that she might ask more about the gospel, but my efforts all seemed in vain.
I think she met every single set of missionaries I associated with during that three-year period, and still nothing happened.
In 2008, I moved to the United States to pursue a degree in nursing. Toward the end of the year, following extensive renovation, the Mexico City Mexico Temple held an open house. I urged my mother to go see what the temple was all about while she had this opportunity. After much prodding on my part, she agreed to make the 70-mile (113 km) drive to attend the open house.
When I spoke to her next, she gushed about what an amazing experience she had had. She talked about how, in the celestial room, she felt something beautiful but indescribable. She told me that she had plans to return again. In fact, she was able to go many more times during the remaining weeks of the open house. She even attended the cultural celebration prior to the temple’s rededication.*
The next time we talked on the phone, Mom told me she was going to invite the missionaries to teach her. Seemingly out of nowhere, she was asking questions and paying attention in ways that I had so long been hoping for. When I went home at Christmastime during my school break, I noticed that she was different. While she had always been kind and compassionate, there was a deep change in her—a conversion.
I returned to school amazed at what was taking place. A week later, Mom called and said, “Sonia, I just wanted to know when you’re coming back to Mexico, because I’m getting baptized.”
I was so excited, so happy! I flew home in February for her baptism. It was amazing to me to watch her attend church, to see her accept and serve in a calling, and to grow in the gospel. I knew that she knew it was true.
It was also powerful to hear her pray. I was especially touched to hear her pray for me and my safety just before I returned to the United States. There is nothing like a parent’s prayer for a child.
Why didn’t things happen sooner? I don’t know. Maybe my mother needed to have seeds planted in her life before she could accept the gospel. Maybe the temple touched her in a way and at a time that my earlier efforts couldn’t have. Seeing the Lord work in my mother’s life reminds me of times I have seen His hand in my own life, and it gives me great hope for what He can unfold in the lives of my other family members.
My mother is now endowed, and every time we go to the temple together, I can tell she feels inspired in the temple, just as she did when she attended the open house. I know that the Lord is aware of us and that He guides our lives. When I let Him lead my life, I end up in the right places. When I follow my own will, it takes longer and is generally harder. I prefer to let the Lord surprise me and show me what great things He has in store.

It has been a privilege to seal several adopted children to Nan and Dan Barker, now living in Arizona. Some time ago, Nate, their son, then just over three, said: “Mommy, there is another little girl who is supposed to come to our family. She has dark hair and dark eyes and lives a long way from here.”
The wise mother asked, “How do you know this?”
“Jesus told me, upstairs.”
The mother noted, “We don’t have an upstairs,” but quickly sensed the significance of what had been said. After much effort and many prayers, the Barker family was in a sealing room in the Salt Lake Temple in the fall of 1995—where a little girl with dark hair and dark eyes, from Kazakhstan, was sealed to them for time and eternity. Inspired children still tell parents “great and marvelous things” (see 3 Ne. 26:14).

When Camille Erickson was born, no one knew quite what to do.
Don’t misunderstand. Her parents already had five other children, so they were getting to be pros at parenting. Her five siblings had excitedly awaited her arrival. It was just that, well, she was a … girl.
Being the younger sister of five older brothers, and then the older sister of one younger brother, Camille knows a lot about “being one of the guys.” When the family splits up into teams for sports, Camille plays right along. As the only girl, Camille was the only person to have her own room—a fact she didn’t get used to for a long time.
“When I was little, I used to sneak into their rooms at night and go to sleep. My mom would find me the next morning, curled up on the floor,” she says.
But Camille, now a Mia Maid in Battle Ground, Washington, hasn’t slept on the floor for a long time. She still likes to play sports and to roughhouse with her brothers, but Camille’s life is more focused on school, Young Women, and friends than in those days when she was little. Also, her older brothers have grown up, and many of them don’t live at home anymore. In fact, since the age difference between her oldest brother and her youngest brother is 22 years, having the family all together is a rare experience.
“My brothers and I try to do things together, one-on-one, so that we have time to talk,” says Camille
Activities Camille enjoys with her brothers include things that are pretty unstructured, like watching videos, going out for treats, and taking walks together. But, occasionally, there is something more planned, like the time she took ballroom dance lessons with her 23-year-old brother, Travis.
“I think the average age in that class was 60,” says Travis with a grin. “But we had a good time.”
There are traditions that keep them close, too. The night Camille was born, Brad, her oldest brother, stayed up late to make her a birthday cake. Now her brothers send roses to her at school on her birthday.
“When my friends see that I get flowers from my brothers, they’re shocked. They can’t believe we’re all friends.”

It was Thanksgiving Day. My mother’s kitchen was comfortably warm from the cooking and was filled with the fragrance of apples, cinnamon, sage dressing, and roasting turkey.
“Smells good,” I said. “When will it be ready?”
“About an hour.” My mother was slicing bananas for a fruit salad.
I reached over and took a piece of banana.
“You can wait.” She looked up and smiled and then handed me a bowl filled with potatoes.
“Peel these and cut them up.”
I sat at the table and started peeling. The potatoes were from our garden and had a sweet, earthy smell.
“Who’s coming?”
“Eric and Tammy.” She took a roll pan from beneath the stove. My mother is famous for her rolls. They are lighter and better tasting than anything you could ever imagine.
“Carol and June.” She hesitated. “Grandma’s coming.”
I looked out the window. It had been raining, but now it had stopped, and the sky was clearing up. There were patches of blue, and the shadows of clouds were drifting silently over the soft brown and gray colors of early winter. A few leaves were still clinging to trees, as if they couldn’t accept the coming winter.
“It’s stopped raining. I didn’t think Grandma was well enough.”
“She’s been a lot better lately, it’s good for her to get out. She doesn’t like being there.”
With a spoon she dropped sticky dough into the pan. When it was filled, she covered it with a cloth.
“It’s been a long time since you’ve seen her, hasn’t it?”
I nodded. It had been a long time, almost two years. They’d put her in the rest home while I was away from home for my first year of college.
“You should have gone to visit her.”
“Why? She wouldn’t even know who I am.”
“She knows,” she said, washing flour from her hands. “She forgets names sometimes, but she still knows who comes to visit her and who doesn’t. And even if she can’t remember anything, you should still go to see her.”
It was an old conversation, and I had known my mother was right the first time we’d had it. I should have gone, but I hadn’t. I had even avoided it. The stories I’d heard—my grandmother fighting with nurses, not recognizing her own children. Somehow the words senile and old didn’t fit my grandmother. She had always been so strong and self-reliant. She never forgot anything. She sent birthday cards to her children and her grandchildren, all 42 of them. She never forgot. I didn’t want to see her changed. I’d always looked up to her.
During the summers, when I was young, I would work with her in her garden. It was one of the largest and best kept in the area. The furrows were all neat and even, and it was filled with almost every vegetable that would grow in our climate and even a few that weren’t supposed to. The outside edge of the garden was surrounded by flowers and berry bushes. I can still see her moving along the furrows, the hoe coming down fast and hard, her head covered with a wide-brimmed straw hat tied down with a red scarf.
That is how I wanted to remember her. I didn’t want to see her any other way.
My mother was taking the turkey from the oven when they arrived. My aunt Carol set pies on the table and then helped my grandmother into the room. Grandma was thinner and paler than I remembered. My mother put her arms around her. Grandma smiled. I thought about leaving the room, but I didn’t. My mother, my aunt, and my sister started setting the table. Grandma was standing near the table. She was looking at me. I tried to look away. My mother was putting the turkey on a platter. They were all talking and laughing. I looked back at grandma. She was still looking at me. I tried to smile. She raised her hand, motioning for me to come to her. The hand was shaking. She reached up and put her hand on my shoulder. She smiled and looked into my eyes. She put her arms around me and hugged me.
“It will be all right,” she said, comforting and counseling me like she’d done a hundred times before.
Her eyes still held the fire they’d always had. They were still strong and full of love. I knew then that what she was inside would never change. The body might grow old and weak, the mind might fail, but the spirit never stops existing.

Vacations are usually for relaxing and enjoying a few days off, but I did not find that solace on my vacation. Every day I felt sad, and it continued after returning home. I felt lost, became lazy, felt a lack of self-esteem, and there was an emotional wear and tear constantly weighing on me. I was drifting away from Heavenly Father and sinking into my own doubts. I am Yonal. I am sixteen years old, and I live in Verón in the Dominican Republic.
Life can be difficult, but when people go through depression, they often have no idea why or what event caused these feelings in their life. I fall in this category.
I love music, and the words from the hymn, “Where can I Turn for Peace”1 felt very familiar to me. However, it is important to sing that entire song, for in it we receive direction. I was blessed with the knowledge of the gospel, and I did indeed find “love without end” that came from the Lord through my bishop’s guidance. I shared my feelings with him, and he led me to many scriptures that helped me understand my situation. In those scriptures, I was able to see my life through the Savior’s perspective.
One night, I slipped again into discouraging thoughts, but then I remembered this verse in Doctrine and Covenants 25:12, “The song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads.”
Through this scripture, I felt that developing my singing talent would be my song of righteousness unto Him. I felt building that talent would be a blessing to myself and to others. Many artists write songs about how they feel, so I found a notebook and started writing my feelings and after several days I felt peace in my soul. I had my dear friend, Enoch Mirabal, assist with the final touches to my song. I am not sure where that song will go but it allowed me to release my frustration and to move forward.
I am now more aware of songs that lift my spirit and I thank Heavenly Father for opening my eyes to the talents I have. If I improve my musical talents, they will continue to set me, and possibly others, free from their own challenges.
I learned we will be challenged in this life, we are not alone, we are to grow and share the talents that we have to help all of God’s children, and as we do, we will receive blessings upon our head.

While on a class outing near Kualoa Beach Park, Leandra Arlyn K. Data of the Waipahu Ward, Waipahu Hawaii Stake, helped save the lives of several of her fellow classmates. The large group was following a reef to a nearby island when several got out of line and fell off into deeper water. Leandra was one in this group. She resisted panic and helped her friend who couldn’t swim to relax and float. Then after being picked up by a rescue boat, she helped pull others to safety. Even though her friend was carried away by a current, Leandra’s quick instructions saved her life. Her friend was found in good condition still floating like Leandra had taught her.

Not long after I had completed the Book of Mormon for the second time, my husband left our family. The seemingly impossible tasks of my new job became extremely stressful, and my son’s chronic health condition left me feeling like I was drowning.
But then I remembered reading in the Book of Mormon about how Amulon had placed great burdens upon Alma and his people. When the people prayed for help, the Lord told them He was mindful of their situation and would deliver them. Until then, He said, “I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs” (Mosiah 24:14).
I had studied that chapter in Mosiah many times before, and I had taught it many times to others in gospel classes. I believed the truth of those verses. Because I had become familiar with the teachings in the Book of Mormon, I knew that personal truth appears when I liken the scriptures to my personal circumstances.
So I began reading that chapter every day for strength and to remind myself that the Lord cared about me too. I still had to experience trials, but He did lighten my burdens.
Those verses in the Book of Mormon carried me through a time of great personal adversity, providing me with peace and a comforting knowledge that the Lord is mindful of all His children.

One cold day years ago, two missionaries spent hours contacting people on the streets of Nagano, Japan. They talked to a few people, made even fewer teaching appointments, and saw all those appointments fall through.
At the end of this tough day, the missionaries met a young man, only 15 years old, who was interested in learning about the Church.
That young man was me.
I met one of the missionaries that day on my way home from school. He taught me about the First Vision and testified that it was true. I did not understand everything at the time, but I wanted to learn more.
Two weeks later, the missionaries invited me to a Christmas party at the church. When I arrived, everyone was so friendly! They greeted me with smiles and handshakes and called me Brother Wada. I wondered how they knew my name and why they called me brother. Come to find out, the missionaries told everyone I was coming. I felt very welcomed and needed.
When everyone started singing Christmas hymns, they asked me to join them. As we sang “Joy to the World” (Hymns, no. 201)—a new hymn for me—the members of the Nagano Branch made me feel like I belonged. They soon became my good friends.

Elder Pierre Sewell and Elder Keown Dyson, whose mothers are sisters, received their calls in March 2020 just as the country was going into lockdown. Elder Dyson was excited to receive his call to serve in the Jamaica Kingston Mission, which is where he had always wanted to go. Elder Sewell had also wanted to serve somewhere far away but thought there was little chance of that, now that his cousin was going to Jamaica! However, just a few days later, he was thrilled to see he would serve in the Philippines Legazpi Mission, Tagalog speaking.
Having started his mission 21 July 2020, Elder Sewell’s day now consists of getting up early, personal study and language study with a long wait before companion study because his companion is in Wyoming! Two three-hour Zoom lessons follow, finishing at 10 p.m. Elder Dyson’s day also starts early but with teachers based in their homes near the Preston MTC, the lessons do not finish so late. His companion is from Poole, UK and the other members of the district are in seven other European countries. Elder Dyson has already had the opportunity to teach remotely.
Many mission experiences now are using technology to teach, and the physical distance does not seem to matter.
Elder Sewell says this is the generation of technology and the Church has been prepared for this time. Due to current restrictions and visa hold-ups, the two cousins are to be temporarily assigned to missions in the UK, Elder Dyson to London and Elder Sewell to Manchester. Both are happy to serve and work on the Lord’s timetable.
Both elders received their temple endowments on 25 August 2020, saying it was a very special experience and they really felt the spirit. They felt blessed to attend the London England Temple, which had just reopened for live endowments. The only patrons in attendance were the two of them and their respective parents.
Despite the pandemic, missionary work is progressing. We can see the Lord’s hand not only in providing well-prepared missionaries but also in providing tools to reach more of our Heavenly Father’s children than ever before.

I thought about Dean Smoot’s comments, and how we as humans constantly try to push the laws of nature as well as the laws of God, when I read in the newspaper about a young man celebrating his birthday at a hotel. He and his friends had been drinking and were probably not thinking clearly when he decided to jump from one tenth-floor balcony to the next. Being successful the first time, he attempted a second leap and fell to his death. “We were just out having a good time,” said his friend, “but now] I realize how quickly life can be taken away.”

I think I am safe in saying that all of us look to our living prophet as one who is fully committed to following the Savior. As we look at the life of President Hinckley, we see abundant evidence of him deciding at an early age that he would do all that was asked of him by the Lord. He tells the story about a time during his mission in England when three or four of the London papers carried some negative reviews of a reprint of an old book purporting to be a history of the Mormons.

His mission president said to then Elder Hinckley, “I want you to go down to the publisher and protest this.”

Elder Hinckley was about to say, “Surely not me,” but instead meekly said, “Yes, sir.”

President Hinckley talked about the fear that he felt, but he offered a prayer and then, with stomach churning, went down to meet with the president of the publishing company. He presented his card to the receptionist, who took it into the inner office and then returned to indicate that the president was too busy to meet with him. Elder Hinckley replied that he had come five thousand miles and would wait. Over the next hour the receptionist went into the office several times and then finally invited Elder Hinckley in. As he entered, he noticed that the president was smoking a long cigar and had a look that seemed to say, “Don’t bother me.”

President Hinckley doesn’t recall what he said, but another power seemed to speak through him. At first the company president was defensive and belligerent. Then he began to soften. By the end of their conversation he promised to do something, and he sent word out to every book dealer in England to return the books to the publisher. At great expense he printed in the front of each volume a statement to the effect that the book was not to be considered as history but only as fiction. President Hinckley concluded his telling of this story by saying, “I came to know that when we try in faith to walk in obedience to the requests of the priesthood, the Lord opens the way, even when there appears to be no way” (Gordon B. Hinckley, “If Ye Be Willing and Obedient,” Ensign, July 1995, 5).

As a young BYU student I learned a little something about staying on course when heading home. One Christmas Eve my brother and I left to drive home to Kansas. But early in our journey we learned that a huge snowstorm was heading our way, so we pulled out a map, identified a detour that would skirt the edge of the storm, and headed into parts unknown. Our creative navigating proved dangerous. Our new route was unfamiliar, and we still ran right into the blizzard. To make matters worse, late that night as we were creeping along in blinding snow on an obscure highway, our old Ford quit. We were stranded. And we had absolutely no idea where we were.

Eventually we caught a ride to the nearest town, where we found that we were still hours from home and marooned in Last Chance, Colorado. At that point there was only one thing to do. We called home for help. In the middle of the night our father left to come and rescue us. By the next afternoon we were all safely home.

I’ll never forget Christmas Eve in Last Chance, where we were immobilized by a problem largely of our own making and one we were unequipped to solve. That day our father did for us what we could not do for ourselves.

Having recently completed basic flying instruction in Phoenix, Arizona, I had certified after a few hours of solo flying to take my first solo flight across the state. This would entail a two-hour route from Phoenix to Tucson and back to Phoenix.
Excited by the anticipation of flying by myself 10,000 feet (3,000 m) above the earth and viewing the beauty of the clouds, mountains, valleys, and desert, I thought little of my inexperience and any possible dangers that might await me.
I checked the weather, filed my flight plan, and gathered a radio, compass, and basic flight instruments. As is common at this stage of flight instruction, I still lacked training in the use of advanced instruments. But the older plane I would be flying had none of the sophisticated instruments that would allow a pilot to fly without visual cues.
I was a little nervous taking off by myself in my small yellow single-engine monoplane, but the flight from Phoenix to Tucson went well. I was thrilled with my new aerial skills.
Elated and confident and with only 120 miles (190 km) to go, I took off from Tucson for Phoenix late in the afternoon. However, after I was barely airborne, I unexpectedly experienced strong wind currents that made it difficult to control the altitude of my plane. A dust storm suddenly engulfed me, and I could no longer see. Tossed side to side, I lost control and became frantically disoriented and afraid, realizing that I was dangerously close to the Catalina mountain range.
In a panic I thought of my life. I was engaged to be married the following month in the Mesa Arizona Temple. I had served an honorable full-time mission. I had always tried to obey the commandments and listen to the promptings of the Holy Ghost. If I ever needed divine guidance, it was now. Almost despairing, I uttered a silent prayer. The Spirit immediately whispered to me, “Rely on your radio, your compass, and your instrument panel, and drop your altitude.”
I quickly descended several hundred feet. Visibility was still poor, but below me I could make out a highway and railroad tracks. By using my instruments and following visual landmarks, I was able to finally land at the airport in Phoenix after a harrowing two-hour experience.
I will always be grateful for the promptings of the Holy Ghost and the promise in Psalms: “In the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge” (Psalm 57:1).

After World War II, our prophet President George Albert Smith, had a goal. He wanted to send food, clothing and bedding to the war-torn Latter-day Saints in Europe. He also had a plan on how to get those supplies to their destination. He went to Washington D.C. and met with Harry S. Truman, President of the United States, and asked if the U.S. Government would provide railroad cars to transport the supplies. As a result, The Church was able to ship 133 railroad cars of food, clothing, and bedding to our brothers and sisters in Europe.

The troubles predicted by Elder Taylor suddenly struck during one of the first nights out. Below deck nearly 400 souls were asleep in the tightly stacked berths along each side of the “extensive bedroom”—about 27 meters long and 7 meters wide. “In the middle of the night” a 13-year-old boy excitedly leaped from his bunk and at the top of his voice screamed over and over again the name of a fellow passenger. The boy’s parents and a brother and sister could not silence or subdue him. “It soon became apparent,” noted passenger Wilson Nowers, “that he was possessed of an evil spirit.” Through the administrations of the priesthood, the evil spirit was dispelled.

A true story from the USA in 1844.
“Higher, Father!” Mary squealed.
Father laughed and gave the swing another big push. The swing was tied to a large tree that leaned out over the Mississippi River. Mary loved the breeze in her face and the tickle in her tummy as she swung out over the water and back.
“Me next!” Elizabeth said.
Mary hopped off the swing to let her sister have a turn.
Mary’s family lived in Nauvoo. Her parents had joined the Church a few years ago, and they sold all they had to move there to join the other Saints.
Nauvoo was a very busy place. New people arrived every day. Building a new city took hard work, and even the children helped. Helping made Mary feel grown up and important. Sometimes she helped by bringing Father his lunch while he worked on the new temple.
On Sunday, Mary put on her best dress and helped her brothers and sisters get ready for church. Everyone gathered under the trees to listen to the Prophet Joseph Smith teach about Jesus Christ. Mary liked to learn about how they could live with Heavenly Father again someday. The Prophet had seen and heard so many wonderful things.
Other people didn’t like the Prophet, though. Mary had heard stories about people who wanted to hurt him.
One summer night, Mary was helping Mother clean up after supper. Then Father came home. He had tears in his eyes.
“What happened?” Mother asked.
“The Prophet Joseph has been killed,” Father said.
Mother began to cry too. “How can the Church go on without him?” she asked.
Mary felt so sad and scared. She knew the Prophet was God’s chosen servant. How could Heavenly Father let this happen?
She started to cry and ran out of the house to the garden. After falling on her knees near some bushes, Mary started to pray. “Oh, Heavenly Father, what will we do? Our prophet has been killed.” Tears rolled down her face.
Then a gentle voice came to Mary’s mind. I will raise up another prophet to lead my people.
A peaceful, joyful feeling filled her heart. She wiped her eyes and ran back to the house as fast as she could.
“Mother! Father!” Mary said. “I said a prayer, and Heavenly Father answered me.” She told them about the voice and the peaceful feeling she felt.
As Mother and Father hugged her, Mary knew things would be all right. She was still sad, and she knew there would be hard times ahead. But Heavenly Father would continue to guide them and help them.

Sarah: It’s time for an Official Children’s Conference. Let’s decide what to do while Mom is running errands.
Laura: We should play pioneers! We can pretend our pillows are bags of flour and drive “wagons” to Utah.
Chris: Let’s make cookies instead!
Alicia: I think we should go outside and ride our bikes.
Robert: I want to look for insects.
Sarah: Those are all great ideas, and I think we should try them. But what if we did something nice for Mom? She looked like she could use some cheering up.
Laura: Well, Mom likes it when we play pioneers.
Chris: She likes cookies.
Robert: And looking at bugs.
Alicia: She loves it when we go outside.
Sarah: Hmm … Maybe we could find something extra special to do, though. Something to help her out.
[Everyone taps their chins while they think.]
Laura: [Laura jumps up and down.] I know! We could clean up The Desk. It’s covered in all sorts of stuff, like crayons, pencils, schoolwork, toys, and mail.
Chris: That would be a really big job.
Alicia: How will we do it?
Robert: It will take forever!
Laura: But we can try.
Sarah: Let’s do it! Everyone pick just one thing to do.
Chris: I’ll stack up the mail.
Alicia: I can put the toys away!
Robert: I’ll organize everyone’s schoolwork.
Laura: I’ll line up the crayons and pencils by color!
Sarah: There are a few things I don’t know what to do with. I’ll put them in a box.
[Everyone steps back to admire how clean The Desk is.]
Chris: Wow!
Robert: That went by really fast.
Alicia: And Mom will love it.
Sarah: Now let’s do something fun!
Laura: That was fun. Maybe even better than playing pioneers!

Of course there are many different kinds of traps that wear out the lives, wipe out the courage, exhaust the hope, and destroy the happiness of men and women. I recently attended a funeral for a friend of mine who died at age 58 with lung cancer. He had been trapped by nicotine. This man had once been a faithful member of the Church. And then he had been attracted by some cigarette bait, the danger of which did not seem to him very serious at first. But once established, the nicotine habit kept calling for the amount to be increased. After a few years he had become a chain smoker. As the amount of nicotine grew larger, my friend’s taste bud became impaired. As his appetite deteriorated, his work load had to be cut to correspond to his decreased vigor. Soon he wasn’t feeling very well. Over a period of months his family physician didn’t seem to be able to help much, and he was finally sent to a specialized medical clinic in San Diego. They told him that he must quit smoking immediately and get back to regular vigorous work in an attempt to recover his appetite and normal body functions. But he couldn’t get rid of nicotine’s trap that had fastened itself to him.
If we could look into the lives of many of the people living in this great free land of America, of which the eagle is the emblem, we would find that many are dragging toward their graves the galling, wearisome traps of alcohol, immorality, ignorance, and disobedience to God. These dangerous traps are usually concealed under some attractive bait to draw the attention of the intended victim. But when they are touched off by being stepped on, they snap shut on whoever puts himself in their range.
One good way to catch a mouse is to put a little cheese on the tongue of the trap. The mouse will be very anxious to get the cheese, but if he gets the cheese he must also take the trap.
The dictionary says that a trap is a device set to capture, defeat, confound, or ensnare. Think how many people are caught in this trap of mediocrity. In earlier days every man was his own master. The philosophy of going the second mile, of doing more than we were paid for, was popular. Now a well-meaning government sets out the snares of unemployment insurance, minimum wages, and paid vacations. We have a certain kind of tenure where we cannot be fired, either for our sloth or disloyalty. The prizes for excellence have been done away with and the government puts the cheese on the trap labeled maximum pay for minimum effort. In some cases it also gives out a near maximum pay for no effort at all.
Human activities of which we formerly would have been ashamed are now perfectly honorable, and we satisfy our consciences by merely saying, “Everyone’s doing it.” Different groups are trying to outdo each other in getting the most from the government while giving the least. So many people have lost the spirit of old-time excellence, and instead of maintaining the vigorous, enthusiastic superiority, we settle down to the low level of average.
Most people accept average as being a respectable objective. However, the dictionary says that average is halfway between something and nothing. When one is average he is mediocre, which means to be in the middle. When he is average he is as close to the bottom as he is to the top. He may have in his program as much of failure as he does of success. If one who is average desires to give himself a compliment, he might either say that he is the best of the worst or he is the worst of the best.
No matter what failure or sin he may want to participate in, he may find ample grounds for saying, “Everybody’s doing it.” Our great crime waves are setting millions of traps. We might say to ourselves that everybody steals from his employer, so why shouldn’t we? Millions of people break the Ten Commandments, so why shouldn’t we? There are millions who lie and steal and cheat. In marriages there are about as many miserable failures as there are outstanding successes. So we pick out our favorite sin and then justify ourselves by saying, “I’m no worse than the average.”
Recently a man was discussing his problems with a marriage counselor. He had about every problem of immorality, alcoholism, nicotine addiction, self-induced mental illness, and unemployment. But he justified himself by saying, “Everyone has his little problems.” But this man had traps, not only on his feet, but on his heart, his personality, and his ambition.
We sometimes think that it is just too difficult to live the religion of Christ and be honest, faithful, and hardworking with lives filled with excellence. We sometimes delude ourselves into thinking that it is more fun to be immoral, lazy, and live on some kind of government or community handout. Everyone ought to be a taxpayer and pay his own share of the nation’s upkeep, but we have our foot in the trap of our own government support. We also carry the additional burden of a large government organization, hired at our expense, to pay us back our own money. Think what would happen if we all took our feet out of the traps and gave ourselves the great power and ambition of free, industrious, self-supporting, and self-sustaining citizenship.
The great American eagle is a symbol of power, courage, intelligence, and responsibility. With these qualities of freedom and opportunity he becomes an inspiring symbol for us to follow. But with a heavy steel trap snapped onto his festering, broken foot, he soon has the heart taken out of him and may become a vegetable likely to die of discouragement.
I would like to paint for consideration three word pictures that may be suitable to hang on the walls of our minds. The first is the picture of a beautiful American eagle, the symbol of power and courage, the emblem of freedom, with a vicious steel trap dangling from his broken, swollen, festering leg.
The second is a picture of a great human being who has allowed himself to be trapped by sin, one who has been pitted and pocked by the evil which he himself has initiated. The picture may show him to be unfaithful, disobedient to God, and poisoned in his principles. He is tortured by guilt, worn out by discouragement and despair, and he drags himself toward eternity with an accumulation of Satan’s traps still punishing his fretful, fearful soul.
The third picture is one of ourselves. Each of us is a child of God, formed in God’s image and endowed with his attributes, heir to his kingdom, with an understanding of our own eternal potentialities. There is everything in knowing our origin and destiny and in constantly reaffirming them in our lives. We are the offspring of divinity. We have inherited the creator’s wisdom and power. We should cling to our inheritance. We should think of ourselves as children of omnipotence. We should never let the thought escape us, even for a moment. We should keep our feet out of the traps, and we should never let evil destroy this inspiring picture of ourselves.