Gospel Story Finder

We can also content ourselves with inferior standards that initially appear to be acceptable until exposed to the test of time. An example from my own life illustrates what I mean.
Our family home had a lawn at the rear with flower borders and was enclosed with a six - foot high wooden fence which was painted white. Over time the painted surface began to deteriorate, losing its luster and peeling off in some places. A green powdery fungi also appeared in several areas. I decided that the fence needed attention.
Working on three sections initially, I first scraped and sanded the old paint, exposing the bare wood. Then I applied a wood primer, an undercoat of paint, and finally a finishing coat. The result was impressive but the exercise had taken a considerable time to complete, and I still had twelve more sections to work on. I decided the task would take more time than I could dedicate to the project, unless I could find a way to accomplish the work more quickly. So. Rather than scrape all the paint off, as I had on the first three sections, I determined to simply brush away the particles of grime, fungi and flaking paint, then smooth the surface with sandpaper before applying a single coat of paint. Initially, the finished result looked comparable to the first three sections, and I was satisfied with my efforts.
Six weeks later the paint began to flake, and the fungi reappeared on the sections of the fence which had not been given sufficient time and preparation. The first three sections that I had properly prepared, however, retained a pleasing, satiny, finished look.
We may elect to accept the easy option now and then look back in future years regretting that we had not made the extra effort and chosen to take the high road in our endeavors.

The attributes of thoughtfulness and kindness are inseparably linked with President Hinckley. When my father passed away in 1963, President Hinckley was the first person to come to our home. I’ll never forget his kindness. He gave my mother a blessing and, among other things, promised her that she had much to look forward to and that life would be sweet for her. These words have brought comfort to her and to me, and I’ll never forget his kindness.

Johanna trudged beside the wagon train lumbering westward along the dusty trail. “Why do I have to walk all the way?” she grumbled to herself. But she already knew the answer: The wagons were loaded with precious supplies to help the Saints begin a new life in the West. There was no room for riders.
The burlap sack tied to Johanna’s waist dragged on the ground, so she hitched it up. By nightfall she would have loaded the bag with buffalo chips and small sticks to make a warm fire on the cold prairie. The late summer sun shone warm on her back. It soothed her grumbles.
Johanna began to hum a little tune. The same tune echoed from behind her. It’s that Barney Biegland! Why does he always have to copy me! Johanna turned and stuck her tongue out at him. Crosser than ever, she stopped watching where she was stepping and tripped. Her knees and elbows smacked the ground hard, and she began to cry.
Barney bent to help her up.
“Leave me alone!” Johanna yelled, wrenching away.
“I was just trying to help.”
As Johanna picked herself up, she spotted an Indian sandal! Her eyes scanned the area, and she found its mate. She picked them up and fit them over her thin-soled shoes. They probably belonged to a member of a roving band of Indians, she decided. How soft they felt—like walking on air. She turned and looked at the dusty line of oxen and covered wagons as they plodded across the parched prairie. As she watched, the words Captain Rice had spoken ten days before in Council Bluffs, Iowa, came back to her:
“Twenty miles a day to reach Salt Lake by October conference, and that’s none too soon.” Johanna started walking again with her new-found sandals on.
As the sun sank below the horizon, the wagons formed a circle for the night. The younger men were assigned to herd the oxen, and Barney was one of them. The three cows in the company were milked, and the precious milk was distributed to the sick and to the young children. One cow belonged to Johanna’s family.
Johanna dumped her day’s fuel near the fire, where her mother already had the salt pork out. Johanna helped mix flour and water into dough for ashcakes. She patted the dough into thin cakes and laid them on the hot rocks around the fire. When they were baked, she picked the cakes off the rocks and brushed the ashes off. They tasted flat but were warm.
Johanna thought of the comfortable farmhouse her family had left in Denmark. Meals of roast duck, turkey, cheeses, pancakes, and potatoes had filled the family’s big table. Loaves of hot bread had decorated its center, and she could almost taste the warm butter and honey dripping off a big slice of bread—almost, but not quite. She felt sorry for herself as she munched the flavorless ashcake.
Still, Johanna was not sorry that the Latter-day Saint missionaries had taught her family the gospel. And she was not sorry that her parents had decided to join other Latter-day Saints in the valleys of the western mountains. It was an adventure to travel to a new home. But she did hate the dusty trail and the dull food. The thing she hated most, though, was the walking—over a thousand miles, one step at a time, day after day.
Soon it was time for the nightly song and prayer. Captain Rice gave the scripture: “And the Lord went before them by day in a pillar of a cloud, to lead them the way” [Ex. 13:21]. The Israelites at least had a cloud to lead them, Johanna thought. Exhausted, she sank into her bed in the back of the wagon.
Johanna was startled from a deep sleep by the piercing shouts of “Fire! Fire!” She quickly dressed and peeked out the back of the wagon. Smoke blackened the western horizon. “Leave the bedclothes. I’ll take care of them,” her mother said. “Help your father find the oxen and cow.”
The animals had grazed farther out on the plain than usual, and the men were having a hard time getting the fire-frightened animals back to the wagons.
Running to find her father, Johanna saw him in the distance, driving the oxen. As she ran toward him, he called, “Johanna, lead the oxen back to camp. I must look for the cow. She’s too valuable to lose.”
Johanna found a switch and touched it to the flanks of the oxen as she had done many times before. The smoke was becoming more pungent. When a waft of smoky wind passed over them, the frightened oxen stopped, and even though Johanna switched them harder, they wouldn’t move. Johanna looked around desperately for help. She could hear the crackling of fire now.
Barney came up behind Johanna, leading another team. “Pull the rope of the lead ox!” he called.
As she bent to pick up the rope, Johanna was pulled to the dusty earth. The lead ox had stepped on her skirt!
“Don’t move,” Barney commanded as he hurried over to her. “Watch the ox. When I get him to move, pull away.” Johanna waited anxiously while Barney calmed the ox and got it to step forward, off her skirt.
“Hurry,” Barney told her as he got the oxen to move toward camp and went back to his own team.
Soon Father was at Johanna’s side with the cow. His smile comforted her. As they reached the camp, they heard the call to prayer. In the prayer circle, Johanna slipped her hand into her mother’s.
The captain spoke. “There is no chance for the oxen to escape the fast-moving prairie fire. We must ask the Lord for guidance.”
As a fervent amen was said by all, the captain stood on a wagon tongue and pointed at the sky. “Brothers and Sisters, we have not come this far to be destroyed. That tiny cloud will be our deliverance.”
Johanna looked up into the smoke-blackened sky, and the small cloud began to grow in size. Even as the fire roared across the plain and its heat waves reached up to the clouds and distorted the horizon, the cloud became bigger and heavy with rain. Lightning, brighter than the flames of the fire, lit up the sky. The roar of the fire drummed in Johanna’s ears; the thunder answered back.
The single cloud suddenly became many clouds, all spilling rain onto the fire below. The earth hissed, and steam billowed upward. Johanna looked heavenward. The rain washed the tears and dust from her face.
Then, as quickly as the clouds had appeared, they disappeared. But the fire was out! Blue prairie sky surrounded the wagon train. A thankful group of pioneers knelt again in the circle of their wagons to thank their Father in Heaven.
Later that morning Johanna skipped ahead of the wagon train with the other children. She looked down at her muddy feet squishing in the wet prairie soil. I would ordinarily be grumbling about this, she thought. She smiled and started humming a tune.
Barney appeared at her side. “You sound cheerful,” he said.
“Thanks for helping me with the oxen,” Johanna said shyly.
She put the Indian sandals on again, and they felt even lighter than ever on her feet. Johanna, wondering if the Israelite children had had dirty feet like hers, was sure that they were as grateful for their cloud as she was for the one that Father in Heaven had sent today.

The fulfillment of the Prophet’s statement came some months later when Dan Jones was called to go to Wales. His wife, Jane, accompanied him. They traveled with Wilford Woodruff and others to the British Isles. Elder Jones was assigned to labor in northern Wales. Though he had the great asset of speaking both Welsh and English, he accomplished relatively little in touching the hearts of the people of that area. On the other hand, William Henshaw, who did not speak the Welsh language, enjoyed considerable success in the south.

When Brother Henshaw was released a year later, Elder Jones was called to preside over all the work in Wales. He made his headquarters in Merthyr Tydfil in southeastern Wales. Working with a handful of missionaries, he witnessed a remarkable harvest. From 1845 to 1848, approximately 3,600 were baptized. It is estimated that in terms of population, one out of every 278 people in Wales at that time was baptized into the LDS Church.

Opponents of the Church had access to newspapers and other publications to attack the Mormon missionaries. But the press would not open its columns to Elder Jones. He therefore determined that he would answer with publications of his own. He enlisted the help of his brother, John Jones, a Protestant minister who owned a printing press. It is said that John printed Dan’s literature during the week and denounced him from the pulpit on Sunday.

Dan Jones’s publication was the first Mormon periodical published in a language other than English.2 Issued in 1846, it carried the title Prophwyd y Jubili (“Prophet of the Jubilee”).

We catch the spirit of his sometimes feisty manner in his opening article:
“Dear Reader,—Behold the beginning of a new era in our age, yea, the most remarkable which has ever been, the most wondrous in its preparations, the most goodly in its deeds, and the most glorious in its effects of every previous age. Once more the golden keys of heaven have been entrusted to men for them to open all treasures, to unlock all mysteries and for the clarification of all errors in the midst of mankind. Already the doors of eternity can be seen opening on their rusty hinges, its hidden pearls and the treasures old and new are once again starting to shine before the eyes of men as in the days of God! Let the inhabitants of the earth rejoice, and let every Welshman give a hearkening ear to the good news of great joy which is sounded through this last trumpet.”3

He had an interesting missionary technique. It was essentially one of controversy, a technique not fit for our time but used well by him then. He feared no one. He moved with great boldness. Of his method it has been written: “He would often advertise in a town for several weeks that he was coming to ‘convert’ the whole town. He would inform the mayor, the city council, the ministers, and the police force of his intentions. He would have the local members of the church distribute thousands of tracts to all the city. When he arrived at the railroad station he was often met by all of the officials of the city and many excited citizens.”4

Ministers of other churches lashed out against him. They used their pulpits and the public press. Of their antagonism, Dan Jones wrote, “Most of the stories that were told on poor Brother Joseph in America, are here fathered on Captain Jones, and I often hear those who don’t know that little man [himself], unhesitatingly denounce him as ‘a curse upon this nation.’”5

Public opinions raged this way and that. But instead of shrinking, Dan Jones capitalized on controversies. He drew such public attention that people had to decide whether the gospel of the Mormons was true or false. An increasing number of converts came into the Church while a veritable storm arose against the Mormons in general and Elder Jones in particular. He was vilified in the press. He was shouted at in the streets. His life was threatened.

In those circumstances he wrote, “I delight in the trophies of war. I came here to fight for the spiritual freedom of my brethren, and I thank heaven … that He is knocking off their shackles by hundreds! Who that has tasted of the sweets of liberty would say, ‘hold!’”6

“My father ran a grain elevator, and as a young boy, I used to have to shovel wheat. Dad taught us to work for our own money. He paid us three cents a sack to stack and load wheat, and I thought that that was pretty generous of him. We could load a thousand bushels into a boxcar in about three or four hours. My two brothers and I could make as high as nine dollars a day loading wheat. And that was back in the days when earning two dollars a day was good wages. My father encouraged us to be frugal and to put the money away for our education.
“Mother was a great lady. I remember sitting by her and having her read to me from a little white Bible. She loved the scriptures. She also loved poetry and prose and history; she was a deep reader and a deep thinker. She helped instill in her children an appreciation for good books.
“When I was about thirteen years old, my mother had prepared a delicious Thanksgiving dinner. Before she could get the table set, an emergency call came, and my mother and father had to go to be with my brother, who was very ill. After my parents left, I went to a friend who didn’t have a mother and whose father wasn’t well. I knew that he wouldn’t have a Thanksgiving dinner, so I invited him to our home for dinner. I got out Mother’s best linen, crystal, and silverware, and I set a table that was fit for a king. After our dinner together, I sent some food home for my friend’s father. I was trying to follow my parents’ example to serve others.
“I have a great respect for nature, and I have always loved animals and birds and have tried to protect them. Once when we were youngsters, a friend of mine and I were riding double on a horse along the railroad track. Suddenly I spied an owl that had a broken wing and couldn’t do anything but run along the ground. I slid off the horse, caught the owl, and got back on the horse behind my friend. I remember that it was a beautiful white horse with a long mane. We started galloping along the railroad track, and the owl started to wiggle. It stuck its claws into that horse, causing it to jump straight into the air and make a big kick. I rolled off backward, but somehow I kept my hold on the owl, and it never got away. We took the owl home, put splints on its broken wing, and turned it loose.
“My wife and I have had a wonderful experience in the Pacific Islands. One day we went to a little Tahitian island on a boat, and as the boat pulled up to the dock, twenty-seven children were standing on it, singing, ‘I Am A Child of God.’ I thought, What a beautiful, beautiful thing to know that children all over the world are singing the hymns of the Church and beautiful Primary songs.
“Heavenly Father loves all children. Jesus loves them, too—children of all countries, colors, and creeds.
“Live the principles of the gospel so that you can live again with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Listen to the counsel of the prophets. Stay pure and clean after your baptism. Your parents and Primary teachers will teach you the things that you should do. Listen to them and do what they tell you.”

Not long ago, I glanced out the window of the mission home kitchen in Santiago, Chile. There behind the house I could see a large English walnut tree with a big pile of dirt under it. Playing in the dirt pile, I spied two little boys. It had rained recently and both boys were covered with mud. I could barely tell who they were. When they saw me looking out the window, smiles broke out on their faces, and then I could tell it was my son Chris and his friend David. Chris’s face was so covered with mud that when he smiled, his teeth showed through like six small marshmallows on top of a chocolate cake.
Later when it was time to come in and David had gone home, I sent Chris upstairs to bathe. We joked about how it would take three tubs full of water to get him clean. The first would have to be shoveled out just like pure dirt; the second, dipped out with a bucket like runny mud, and maybe we would be able to wash the third down the drain.
After Chris had soaked for a few minutes, I went in to help him get really clean and we had a serious talk that I hope he will never forget.
We worked together to get one hand scrubbed clean and then he compared it with the other that was still dirty. “Boy, Dad,” he said, “it’s sure great to have clean hands.” I explained how true that is, and said, “I want you to know that it is not the dirt of the earth that makes people’s hands really dirty. If a boy steals, if he is mean to his friends and hits them on purpose, if he tells his parents he will do something and then doesn’t, or if he is naughty or disobedient in other ways, this causes real “dirt”—the kind that you can’t wash off with soap and water. It’s the kind of dirt that you have to wear all the time and, even though others can’t always see it on you, you know yourself that inside you are not clean.”
I want all my dear, young friends to know there are different kinds of dirt; one you get on your hands from working and playing. This you can wash off. The other kind of “dirt” comes from doing bad things, sometimes called sin, that seem to stain your heart but can be “washed” away when you repent.
First you must do all you can to correct the wrong you have done. Then ask your Father in heaven and others to forgive you, so your hands and heart will be “scrubbed clean” from the dirt of wrongdoing.
The Savior said, “… entangle not yourselves in sin, but let your hands be clean, until the Lord comes.” (D&C 88:86.) He also said to those who had repented and were living pure lives: “Behold, your sins are forgiven you; you are clean before me; therefore, lift up your heads and rejoice.” (D&C 110:5.)
I hope that you will often get your hands dirty with hard work and play, but I hope that throughout your lives, this is the only dirt you will have to get rid of and not the kind that stains your heart through sin or disobedience. I want Chris and all other children to remember that should you slip and fall into sin, you can be washed clean by true repentance.
What joy it is to have clean hands and a pure heart!

Seven-year-old Adam wanted to be a superhero. He’d seen superheroes on TV, and he’d read a lot of superhero adventures. He thought that he was qualified for the job. He knew exactly how to stop the bad guys and prevent wrongdoings.
One morning when Adam woke up, he decided that his time to be a superhero had come. He was going to save the day.
“Hurry up,” Mother called. “Breakfast is ready.”
Adam jumped out of bed, dressed in an instant, then ran into the kitchen.
“That was fast,” Mother noticed. “You must have big plans for the day.”
“Sort of,” he replied. He didn’t want to say too much. Every seven-year-old knows that superheroes don’t brag.
Adam gulped down his breakfast, thinking of the possible adventures ahead.
Mother’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Oh, my,” she sighed. “I almost forgot that I promised to pick a basket of raspberries for Mrs. Evans this morning. Adam, could you clear and wash these breakfast dishes so I can get started?”
At first, Adam was a little annoyed. After all, he had more important things to do. He had to save the day. Oh, well, he thought. It’s still early, and the day hasn’t needed saving yet. Besides, if Mrs. Evans was going to make jam with the raspberries, maybe she’d save a jar for him. He liked Mrs. Evans, and Mrs. Evans knew that he liked raspberry jam.
After the dishes were done, Adam practically flew out the front door. He stopped at the end of the driveway and surveyed the neighborhood with his eagle-like vision. It seemed pretty quiet, but every superhero knows well that quiet can be deceiving.
Suddenly the quiet was broken! His little brother, Aaron, was yelling from the front porch. “Adam, Mom wants you to tie my shoes.” Aaron was four and was just learning to tie his shoes.
Adam trudged up the stairs to the front porch and began to tie his younger brother’s shoes. Then a super idea came to him: If I teach Aaron how to tie his own shoes, I won’t have to do it anymore, and I’ll have more time to save the day! He sat patiently with his brother. It was frustrating at first, but pretty soon Aaron’s fingers did just what they were supposed to do. Now Aaron could tie his own shoes. Helping Aaron tie his shoes had taken longer than Adam had expected. He hoped that he hadn’t been needed for an emergency. He decided to take a walk around the neighborhood, keeping his eyes and ears open for any signs of trouble.
Except for two dogs chasing a cat up a tree, he didn’t see anything. He chased the dogs away and coaxed the cat out of the tree. It wasn’t his idea of a superhero’s job, even if the cat seemed happy. Discouraged, he went home.
“Hi,” Mother said. “I was just coming to find you. We need to go to the grocery store and buy a few things for dinner. Go jump in the car.”
Adam brightened a little. Maybe he could save the day at the store. Eager to get there, he helped Aaron and their younger sister, Jenna, put on their seat belts before he buckled his own. Once inside the store, he scanned the aisles in search of anything amiss.
Adam pushed the cart while Mother loaded it with groceries. With Jenna sitting in it, it was getting harder and harder to push. By the time they got to the checkout stand, he was very tired, but he was sure that all the pushing had made his muscles stronger. A superhero needed to be really strong. But he was disappointed that he hadn’t been needed to save the day.
Once they were home, he helped carry in the groceries and put them away. And while Mother fixed dinner, he set the table. After dinner, he decided he might as well clear the table, too.
The day was almost over. In just a couple more hours it would be time for bed, and he hadn’t saved the day yet. He decided to go out on the porch and take one last look around the neighborhood.
Just as he was going out the door, he heard Jenna crying. She was ready for bed and wanted to hear a story. Adam could hear Mother in the other room, helping Aaron get ready for bed. Adam was a good reader, and he figured that reading one story wouldn’t take too long. He settled Jenna in her bed and read her favorite story to her—then another and another. By the time she fell asleep, it was almost time for Adam to get ready for bed. I haven’t done one thing to save the day, he thought. Not one sinister plan has been stopped. No one has needed rescuing. I haven’t saved the day at all.
As he lay in bed, thinking about his wasted day, Mother came to find him. “Adam, you got ready for bed awfully early. Are you feeling all right?”
“Yeah—I guess I’m just tired.” Mother smiled. “I bet you are—you really saved the day for me today. Thank you.”
“What?” Adam sat upright in his bed. “What did you say?”
“I said that you saved the day for me today. I never could have finished all the things that needed to be done if it weren’t for your help.” And with a quick kiss on his forehead, Mother was gone.
“I saved the day!” Adam whispered excitedly. “I really did it!”
That night Adam the superhero fell asleep thinking of ways he could save the day tomorrow.

Near the turn of the century two missionaries approached a mountain village in one of the Hawaiian Islands. A man standing near his hut saw them coming and said to his children who stood nearby, “Run down the hill and tell those men to go back. We are not interested in what they are preaching.” The children obeyed their father.
The missionaries, however, continued up the hill. Upon reaching the crest, they walked to the father and said, “We do not mean to be rude. But we have traveled many miles to tell you that there is a living prophet on the earth today.”
A look of excitement swept over the man’s face. “What did you say?” he asked.
The missionaries repeated their testimony: “There is a living prophet on the earth today, and we want to share with you his message.”
Turning to his children, the man exclaimed, “Quickly, run and get mother, and call together your brothers and sisters. Tell them that there is a living prophet.” A short time later this family accepted the gospel and was baptized. (Related to Elder Asay by Tom Kaleo of Hawaii, about his own father.)

I got my first real job when I was about 13 years old. I was a newspaper delivery boy. I still remember riding my bike around my neighborhood in Salt Lake City every evening, throwing papers onto my neighbors’ front steps. I didn’t make a whole lot of money at it, but each month when I received my wages, there was no question that I would pay tithing. My parents had set the example of paying tithing, and I knew it was a commandment from the Lord (see D&C 119:3–4).
I remember attending tithing settlement as a youngster with my mother and father. It was such a natural thing to me to visit with the bishop and to declare myself a full-tithe payer. Even as I got older and started earning more money, I always paid tithing first.

Some years ago I was on a board of directors with a fine man who had been extremely successful in life. I was impressed with his integrity and his loyalty to the Church. I learned that he had gained a testimony and had joined the Church because of seminary. When he married, his wife had been a lifelong member of the Church. He belonged to no church. Through the years and despite her efforts, he showed no interest in attending church with his wife and children. And then he began driving two of his daughters to early-morning seminary. He would remain in the car while they had their class, and then he would drive them to school. One day it was raining, and one of his daughters said, “Come in, Dad. You can sit in the hall.” He accepted the invitation. The door to the classroom was open, and he began to listen. His heart was touched. For the rest of that school year, he attended seminary with his daughters, which led eventually to his membership and a lifetime of activity in the Church. Let seminary help build and strengthen your testimony.

Bro. Tew: Brothers and Sisters, Aloha. We are humbled and grateful for the opportunity to share some time with you this morning. As I finished my mission and my degree at BYU, I moved into an apartment complex in Murray, Utah and started working as an accountant.
Sis. Tew: As I finished my mission and my degree at Southern Utah University, I moved into that same apartment complex and started teaching first grade. I was assigned a wonderful home teacher. He came very faithfully every month, then he started coming every week, then he came over every day. So I decided to keep him.
Bro. Tew: We were married and began anticipating having a family. After a year we started seeing doctors and after two and a half years we filled out our adoption paperwork with LDS Family Services.
Sis. Tew: After five years, we were given a wonderful gift, our first daughter Jessica. I finally got to be a Mom. Now we have four adopted children, ranging from ages two to twelve.

One caution: Don’t ever use humor at the expense of someone else! I learned that lesson early in life, to my constant remorse. To tell the story quickly: My growing-up years were in Southern California. My parents socially traveled with the then “elite” of Hollywood. Although I had “goodly parents,” they took on the social customs of the world for a time. When I was about seven years of age, my father planned a birthday celebration for my mother. He invited the important people of Hollywood, particularly a number of the leading actors of that day. My older brother and I came into the kitchen during preparations. We saw champagne poured into glasses to toast my mother. I said to my brother, “This is not right!” When no one was looking, we poured the champagne down the sink and refilled the glasses with vinegar. In my moment of self-righteousness, I thought we needed to teach an object lesson. Besides, we thought it would be funny to watch everyone swallowing vinegar at the same time. Big mistake. I hadn’t considered that my older brother could run faster than I could!

For over twenty years we lived next door to Jan, a sister who is filled with the love of God and others. She not only blessed her doctor husband and nine children, but went about blessing everyone around her. One day when I backed out of our driveway and started driving down the street, I hit and killed our family dog right in front of her house. I don't know how she knew I needed an angel of mercy right then, but there she was to comfort and console me. She told me to go on my way and continue to take our two daughters to their piano lessons. When I returned home she had cleaned up the mess and had prepared our dog for burial. She always seemed to know when I or someone in our family needed her help. Most recently, in May of this year, she attended the funeral of President Peterson's father, which we were unable to attend. While there, she comforted his mother and siblings and our children and took many pictures to send to us so that we could feel like we had been a part of the celebration of his father's life. Over the years, our family has been on the receiving end of one charitable act after another from this remarkable friend.

Another instance of his self-mastery was his determination to have readable handwriting:
His penmanship was so poor that when two of his [friends] were looking at it one said to the other, “That writing looks like hen tracks.” “No,” said the other, “it looks as if lightning had struck an ink bottle.”3
Heber realized at that point that he could not be much good to an employer or society if he did not improve his penmanship. He practiced and worked at it persistently. Over the next few years he was offered lucrative jobs because of his superior penmanship, won first prize in a contest against professional penmen, and taught penmanship and bookkeeping at the University of Utah.

My primary teacher, LaNae Poulter did the same thing. She told me after putting her arm around me, “You can do this because I’ll help you”. She did this while helping me give a talk in primary. I did it! She gave me confidence. She didn't just help me give a talk—she helped me believe I could. She is now retired from BYU-Idaho, but she did the same things when she was serving here on this campus in the scheduling office and in many other areas on campus. I see this same principle being done by my co-workers, faculty, administration, staff and students all over campus.

“On two different occasions I have tried to approach friends about the missionary discussions but was rejected!” said 16-year-old Mari. “I was embarrassed when they let me know that they weren’t interested in finding out about our church.”
Mari is an attractive, intelligent high school student. She attends seminary and comes from a devout, missionary-minded family. And I can understand her frustration at wanting to do what the prophet has asked us to do, yet seeming to alienate good friends in her attempts to do so.
There is no question but what a successful missionary experience is rewarding, but how can we avoid the unpleasant ones? Perhaps we can’t experience 100 percent success, but let’s try a few other approaches.
Robin was just 19 years old when she enlisted in the navy and was assigned to the East Coast of the United States. Her roommate was an LDS girl whom she quickly grew to love.
“I admired my roommate’s way of life, her high ideals and standards. She stood for everything that I wanted to have in my life. I wanted to be in her company and those who shared her standards. I wished and longed for an invitation to join in the activities of her youth group but was never given an opportunity to join them.”
A few months later Robin was transferred to the West Coast in another navy installation. Unusual as it seemed, her new roommate also proved to be an LDS girl. As they talked together on their first night it became apparent that this Church group was just as busy as the other group had been. The difference was that Robin was immediately invited to accompany her new roommate to all of these functions.
Within a few weeks Robin began the missionary discussions and was baptized. She became the best member missionary in the area and was constantly bringing fellow workers to Church functions so that they could investigate the Church. As soon as she was discharged from the navy, Robin was called as a full-time missionary.
A second experience concerns an elder serving in our mission, who gave this account of his conversion:
“During my first year in high school I became aware of a small group of fellow students who seemed to have a tightly knit bond of fellowship between them. They acted differently from the rest of the students. Their language was clean, their standards were high, even their appearance was different. They were not on drugs, and they did not smoke or drink. I admired them and tried to become acquainted with them.
“They were always having such a good time together, holding their own parties, dances, and other socials. I was told by someone that they belonged to the LDS church, but that did not matter to me. I still wanted to belong to their group.
“I hinted as much as I dared that I would like to attend some of their socials, but they didn’t take the hint. Finally in my senior year, I summoned the courage to ask them outright if I could possibly attend some of their socials, even though I was not a member of their church.
“Within a few weeks I was baptized into their church, and here I am now, about a year and a half later, on a mission for our church. When I see how difficult it is to find converts in the mission field, I wonder why these fellow students of mine found it so difficult to invite me to go with them.”
As I was interviewing the young people in our ward as their bishop. I asked each of them: “Are you going out with anyone who is not a member of our church?”
Susan said, “I go out with Bill. We know each other very well. We’re good friends.”
“Do you know him well enough to invite him to our student ward party?” I asked.
Susan brought Bill to our party and our ward missionaries did the rest. Bill is now in the bishopric in Houston, Texas, after having served a mission for the Church. And Bill and Susan’s experience has been duplicated all over the Church.
Does this give you any ideas? How many of your friends would like to attend your socials, your dances, your outings? How many would like to join you in all the fun times you have? Is this not an easy and inoffensive way to introduce them to the gospel of Jesus Christ? In most cases you can let the missionaries invite them to take the discussions and to teach them.
I recall when my wife and I invited our teenage sons and daughters to take a challenge, one which they accepted. They were to pray earnestly that the Lord would help them identify a person they were to help come into the Church. There would be no time limit. They were to pray and search and wait until the Spirit spoke to them, until they found that special person who would accept the invitation to either participate with them in a Church activity or to listen to the message of our missionaries.
We promised them that they would know for sure because it would be just as though the Lord were pointing his finger at that person. They were also to pray that they would know what to say to that person at the time.
One son returned in about two weeks with the story that he definitely had been impressed to approach a young man who sat by him at the university. He approached him about the Church and was rejected. Naturally he felt discouraged and questioned the validity of our project.
“Did you truly love him?” I asked. “Or were you just trying to compile a statistic? Did you have love in your heart and in your eyes when you approached him? Were you listening to the Spirit to help you as you approached him?”
“Let me try again,” our son asked. “Let me fast and pray about it. Then I`ll try again.”
After fasting and praying about it, he still felt impressed that this was the young man he should introduce to the Church. He approached him once more, this time with great love in his heart, in his eyes, and in his soul. The young man agreed to meet with our son and the missionaries to learn about the Church.
Not only was the young man baptized but his inactive wife was reactivated and their three children will now have the blessings of being reared in an LDS home.
Even a young man who was going out with one of our daughters (later became her husband) accepted the challenge to pray and search for someone who would accept the missionary message. He was directed to a friend whom he had known all his life but had never approached about our Church. Within a month this young man was baptized into the Church.
Everyone has a different approach, one that seems in keeping with that individual’s personality and that he feels comfortable with. Although the person we talk to may not join the Church now, he may accept the message later. We are convinced that some of these individuals will come into the fold sometime in their lives.
Whether we accept the fact or not, we are different from the world if we are living what we believe. Let me tell you about two of our missionaries.
It was the dinner hour, and it was raining without any sign of stopping. In spite of the rain, these two missionaries continued tracting. But let the father in one of these homes tell what happened that night:
“I had come home from work tired and hungry and wanted nothing more than to be left alone. I might also add that I dislike ‘door knockers’ and salesmen.
“I had just sat down to my dinner when the knock on the door came. I don’t know what I expected to find at the door, but I didn’t intend to be very pleasant about the disturbances at this particular hour.
“Perhaps I was too stunned at first to be angry, but for some reason or other I did not slam the door in their faces. There in the doorway stood two young men, smiling from ear to ear and literally beaming as they told me that they had a special message for me and my family. I still don’t know what prompted me to invite them to come in, except that there was something very special about them. There was a certain quality about them that I had never experienced before.
“I can tell you that when I invited them to come into our home. I also invited the greatest blessings that have ever come into my life and the life of my family. Yes, we were all baptized into the LDS church.”
In Doctrine and Covenants 88:67 [D&C 88:67], we are told: “And if your eye be single to my glory, your whole bodies shall be filled with light.” We are different when we are living the way the Savior taught us to live. Our bodies will be filled with light, and people will become aware of this.
A man came into the mission home one day asking to know more about our church. “I sat on an airplane next to one of your members,” he said, “and I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again. He told me about his family and the love they had between them. His face almost glowed as he talked.”
This man was far more worldly than the average man on the street. “I know I will have to make some drastic changes in my life, but I want what that man has. My family means a lot to me,” he said.
If we live what we believe, our example may serve as an effective missionary for us and for the Church, especially for those who are searching for the “more excellent way” (Ether 12:11). There are many people who admire our way of life and our standards of conduct. They want this way of life for themselves and for their families.
Doctrine and Covenants 123:12 [D&C 123:12] tells us that “there are many yet on the earth among all sects … who are only kept from the truth because they know not where to find it.” So how can we help them find it? How can we be effective member missionaries?
It just might be that your best method is to be your best self. Be friendly and be sharing. Invite those around you who are not members of our church to share with you the fun and the joy that they may be secretly wishing they could also have.
Instead of losing friends, you may develop friendships that will endure through this life and the life to come.

After our missions, we both had a feeling that we would meet our eternal companions in Provo, Utah. One Sunday, I met with my Bishop and he pronounced a blessing on my head, that when I met my eternal companion, our children would dance around us. My father had given me a blessing a couple months before I met Jr. He said that the way you will meet your eternal companion would be like none other before. I would like to share with you the story about how we met. The week I met my husband was most likely the toughest week I had ever had while attending school. Things just seemed to be falling apart for me. I felt like a failure. My friend, Opapo Fonoimoana, who had served with my husband in Jamaica, that his mission companion was coming to visit. However, I was not very interested. One morning I was getting ready for work as I put on my make up, I could hear these words loud and clear, “Opapo’s mission companion is so handsome,” “Opapo’s mission companion is very wonderful.” I looked at the mirror, and asked, “who is Opapo’s mission companion?” The voice kept on, “Opapo’s mission companion is so sweet. Opapo’s mission companion is so beautiful!” I didn’t understand what I was hearing but I could not deny what I heard. Later that afternoon, I walked in my home to meet Opapo, on the ground there sat his mission companion. He got up to shake my hand, the moment our hands touched, and there was such an electric shock that raced through my hand to the rest of my body that I took my hand back quickly. I had never felt anything like it before. That week, my husband had a strong prompting to ask me out, I said yes, and the rest is history.

We were blessed with children immediately. One day, when my oldest was about three, he said to me when I was cooking dinner in the kitchen, “Mommy your handsome prince is home! Mommy your wonderful husband is home.” At that moment, my memory recalled the voices I heard that morning when I was putting on my make-up. Our Heavenly Father allowed me, with tender mercy, to identify the voice that had brought my husband and I together. It was our oldest son Sefanaia. Bishop’s blessing came to my mind, “When you meet your eternal companion, your children will dance around you.”

Last May, Sister Davis and I were incredibly touched and inspired by a short video segment we saw at the BYU President's dinner that told the story of a young married student in Provo named Brian Ricks who was challenged to give back to BYU. I must admit that Sister Davis and I both related a lot to his circumstances. We also were poor students, and probably similarly would have wondered if it were even possible to start giving back to BYU while we were still students. However, Brian accepted the challenge, and he and his family made it a matter of prayer. He entered an essay contest and won $675--then promptly gave it back to BYU. He said something very insightful about his experience:
Maybe the reason they asked us as students, even as freshmen, to give to BYU was not because they needed the money, but because they wanted to give us this blessing of giving. They wanted us to have this optimism that comes from giving away.[21]
We are inspired by his faith.

When Carl Hendricks, who’d been home from the California Fresno Mission for two days, realized the problems people were having with cleanup, he called a local radio station and offered his services. Soon after, he got so many phone calls that it kept him busy cleaning up from early morning till late at night for over a week. He recruited his brother Gary, 16 (and newly elected student-body president of his high school), and another friend, Skip Behar, to help.
“It was dirty, but I really enjoyed it,” said Carl. “We were having a good time.”
The trio came to be known as “The Mormon Boys” in a trailer court of retired people where they spent much of the week cleaning up. And while they cleaned roofs, patios, and walkways, they talked to people about the Church.
“We were just out to help people,” said Gary Hendricks, “but we got a good chance to talk to people about the gospel. Our main goal, however, was to help get the ash off the roofs. People were worried about their roofs caving in from the weight if it rained.”
One of the elderly people they helped, Charles Royce, said those three changed his attitude about young people today. “I don’t know what we would have done without their help. These young people are tops and really know how to work. They don’t fool around any. They gave me a good impression of the younger generation, that they’re not all bums. You Mormons do a nice job.”

In the final semester of my senior year in high school, Ms. Keller replaced Mr. Potter as our American government teacher. She was full of new ideas, one of which she explained on her first day of class. “People are more important than books and tests.” She interrupted our applause to add, “That doesn’t mean we won’t use books and have tests, but it does mean that I want everyone to get to know each other as individual human beings right from the beginning.”
For our first assignment we had to present ourselves to the class in a creative way. “Open yourselves up to us,” she said sitting atop her desk. “Let us know what’s really important to you and your life.”
Great, I thought. One of the important things in my life had just dumped me—said she couldn’t date me anymore—and she was the last thing I wanted to talk about right then. She was a Mormon, and for reasons I didn’t yet understand, she let her religion come between us to end what I thought was a beautiful relationship.
Anyway, after racking my brains for several days, I finally decided on a presentation I was sure would impress Ms. Keller.
On the day our presentations were due, I showed up to class carrying a large grocery sack. In it was one shoe of every kind that I owned. When it was my turn, I set my unpaired shoes on the table in front of the class and, ignoring the odor jokes from my buddies in the front row, began to explain how my various shoes represented, not only me, but also what was important to me.
Lined up across the table like a row of used cars were one of my football shoes, a basketball shoe, a track shoe, a running shoe, a shoe I played racquetball in, a house slipper, a shoe I wore to school and when I hung out with friends, and, last of all, a shiny but slightly dusty wingtip, a shoe that I wore to church—when I went. I talked about sports, home and family, friends, school, and church and explained why they were important parts of my life.
The next student, Jimmy, set two books on the table, a long rectangular one and a paperback. “This is my Book of Remembrance,” he said holding up the long one. “It’s a record of me and the important events in my life.” He flipped it open and showed us photos, charts, and certificates, stopping every once in a while to explain one and why it was significant.
Finally he set it down and picked up the paperback. “This is the Book of Mormon,” he said. “The way I live my life, the things I believe, and the things I hope for—they’re all based on this book.”
“Oh no,” I thought as I slid down in my chair, “a goody-goody Mormon. These guys are so corny.”
Jimmy spoke for a few more minutes, finally ending with a catch in his voice, “… and I know it’s true. I know it’s true.” He paused for a moment to gulp down his emotion. “And I’m glad I know.” As I watched him walk back to his desk, I noticed that a few students around me were teary eyed.
I didn’t know for sure, but I guessed they were Mormons too. The few times my old girlfriend had dragged me to her church, I noticed that Mormons liked to say they knew this and knew that and that they often got teary eyed when they talked religion. Normally I would have shrugged off a presentation like Jimmy’s as cornball religious stuff, but that day, for some reason, it didn’t seem so corny. Instead, it made me curious. Why could they say they knew their church was true when at best all I could say about mine was that I believed in it?
I watched them after class talking quietly together on their way out the door. How can they know? I wondered. How can they?
A month or two later, I was up in my bedroom, alone, not particularly troubled or unhappy, but thoughtful. In the top drawer of my desk lay a paperback copy of A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, a parting gift from my former Mormon girlfriend.
Thinking of her, and recalling Jimmy’s presentation and other conversations I’d had with LDS kids, I pulled the book out and began reading. Maybe it would help me understand why they could talk about knowing their church was true.
The opening pages contained Joseph Smith’s story of his first vision, and as I read it, it struck me that this man, or boy, or whoever he was, was telling the truth. While I experienced no blaring trumpets or burning bosoms or bright lights or heavenly messengers, his story was quite simple and plain and logical to me. I set the book down on my desk and felt a surge of quiet confidence, a feeling I now recognize as the Holy Ghost, confirm what I had just read.
Such sudden and sure knowledge startled me because I realized that if Joseph Smith’s story was true, the church he founded must also be true. As I pondered my newly discovered testimony, I knew that I’d have to do something about it, though I wasn’t sure what. I decided that tomorrow I’d give my former girlfriend a call and tell her I knew what she and her friends knew and ask her if she had any ideas what I should do next.
Well, she had plenty of ideas, and the busy weeks of missionary discussions, fasting, and prayer that followed only served to confirm what I had first realized after reading Joseph Smith’s story one spring afternoon in my bedroom: It’s true. I know it!