Gospel Story Finder

Later that same evening, I happened to glance at a travel brochure which had arrived at my home several days earlier. It was printed in breathtaking color and written with persuasive skill. The reader was invited to visit the fjords of Norway and the Alps of Switzerland, all in one package tour. Yet another offering beckoned the reader to Bethlehem—even the Holy Land—cradle of Christianity. The closing lines of the brochure’s message contained the simple yet powerful appeal, “Come and walk where Jesus walked.”
My thoughts returned to the counsel God’s prophets—even President Lee and President Kimball—had provided: “Follow the pathway of the Lord. Walk in his footsteps.” I reflected on the words penned by the poet:
I walked today where Jesus walked,
In days of long ago;
I wandered down each path He knew,
With rev’rent step and slow.
Those little lanes, they have not changed—
A sweet peace fills the air.
I walked today where Jesus walked,
And felt His presence there.
My pathway led through Bethlehem,
Ah, mem’ries ever sweet;
The little hills of Galilee,
That knew those childish feet;
The Mount of Olives: hallowed scenes
That Jesus knew before.
I saw the mighty Jordan roll
As in the days of yore.
I knelt today where Jesus knelt,
Where all alone He prayed;
The Garden of Gethsemane—
My heart felt unafraid!
I picked my heavy burden up,
And with Him by my side,
I climbed the Hill of Calvary,
Where on the cross He died!
I walked today where Jesus walked
And felt Him close to me!
—Daniel S. Twohig
We need not visit the Holy Land to feel him close to us. We need not walk by the shores of Galilee or among the Judean hills to walk where Jesus walked.
In a very real sense, all can walk where Jesus walked when, with his words on our lips, his spirit in our hearts, and his teachings in our lives, we journey through mortality.
I would hope that we would walk as he walked—with confidence in the future, with an abiding faith in his Father, and a genuine love for others.
Jesus walked the path of disappointment.
Can one appreciate his lament over the Holy City? “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, which killest the prophets, and stonest them that are sent unto thee; how often would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen doth gather her brood under her wings, and ye would not!” (Luke 13:34.)
Jesus walked the path of temptation.
That evil one, amassing his greatest strength, his most inviting sophistry, tempted him who had fasted for forty days and forty nights and was an hungred. Came the taunt: “… If thou be the Son of God, command that these stones be made bread.” The reply: “Man shall not live by bread alone. …” Again, “… If thou be the Son of God, cast thyself down: for it is written, He shall give his angels charge concerning thee. …” The answer: “… Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.” Still again: “… the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them … will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me. …” The Master replied: “Get thee hence, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.” (Matt. 4:3–4, 6–10.)
Jesus walked the path of pain.
Consider the agony of Gethsemane: “… Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done. … And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.” (Luke 22:42, 44.)
And who among us can forget the cruelty of the cross. His words: “… I thirst. … It is finished. …” (John 19:28, 30.)
Yes, each of us will walk the path of disappointment, perhaps due to an opportunity lost, a power misused, or a loved one not taught. The path of temptation, too, will be the path of each. “And it must needs be that the devil should tempt the children of men, or they could not be agents unto themselves. …” (D&C 29:39.)
Likewise shall we walk the path of pain. We cannot go to heaven in a feather bed. The Savior of the world entered after great pain and suffering. We, as servants, can expect no more than the Master. Before Easter there must be a cross.
While we walk these paths which bring forth bitter sorrow, we can also walk those paths which yield eternal joy.
We, with Jesus, can walk the path of obedience.
It will not be easy. “Though he were a Son, yet learned he obedience by the things which he suffered.” (Heb. 5:8.) Let our watchword be the heritage bequeathed us by Samuel: “… Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams.” (1 Sam. 15:22.) Let us remember that the end result of disobedience is captivity and death, while the reward for obedience is liberty and eternal life.
We, like Jesus, can walk the path of service.
Like a glowing searchlight of goodness is the life of Jesus as he ministered among men. He brought strength to the limbs of the cripple, sight to the eyes of the blind, hearing to the ears of the deaf, and life to the body of the dead.
His parables preach power. With the good Samaritan he taught: “… love … thy neighbour. …” (Luke 10:27.) Through his kindness to the woman taken in adultery, he taught compassionate understanding. In his parable of the talents, he taught each of us to improve himself and to strive for perfection. Well could he have been preparing us for our journey along his pathway. Why else would he counsel: “… Go, and do thou likewise.” (Luke 10:37.)
Finally, he walked the path of prayer.
Three great lessons from three timeless prayers. First, from his ministry: “… When ye pray, say, Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. …” (Luke 11:2.)
Second, from Gethsemane: “… not my will, but thine, be done.” (Luke 22:42.)
Third, from the cross: “… Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do. …” (Luke 23:34.)
It is by walking the path of prayer that we commune with the Father and become partakers of his power.
Shall we have the faith, even the desire, to walk these pathways which Jesus walked? God’s prophet, seer, and revelator has this day invited us to do so. All we need do is follow him, for this is the pathway he walks.
My first acquaintance with this prophet leader was 24 years ago when I served as a young bishop here in Salt Lake City. One morning, upon answering my telephone, a voice said, “This is Elder Spencer W. Kimball. I have a favor to ask of you. In your ward, hidden away behind a large building on Fifth South Street, is a tiny trailer home. Living there is Margaret Bird, a Navajo widow. She feels unwanted, unneeded, and lost. Could you and the Relief Society presidency seek her out, extend to her the hand of fellowship, and provide for her a special welcome?” This we did.
A miracle resulted. Margaret Bird blossomed in her newly found environment. Despair disappeared. The widow in her affliction had been visited. The lost sheep had been found. Each who participated in the simple human drama emerged a better person.
In reality, the true shepherd was the concerned apostle who, leaving the ninety and nine of his ministry, went in search of the precious soul who was lost. Spencer W. Kimball had walked the pathway Jesus walked. He did so then. He does so now.
As you and I walk the pathway Jesus walked, let us listen for the sound of sandaled feet. Let us reach out for the Carpenter’s hand. Then we shall come to know him. He may come to us as one unknown, without a name, as of old, by the lakeside he came to those men who knew him not. He speaks to us the same words, “… follow thou me …” (John 21:22), and sets us to the task which he has to fulfill for our time. He commands, and to those who obey him, whether they be wise or simple, he will reveal himself in the toils, the conflicts, the sufferings which they shall pass through in his fellowship; and they shall learn in their own experience who he is.
We discover he is more than the babe in Bethlehem, more than the carpenter’s son, more than the greatest teacher ever to live. We come to know him as the Son of God. He never fashioned a statue, painted a picture, wrote a poem, or led an army. He never wore a crown or held a scepter or threw around his shoulder a purple robe. His forgiveness was unbounded, his patience inexhaustible, his courage without limit. Jesus changed men. He changed their habits, their opinions, their ambitions. He changed their tempers, their dispositions, their natures. He changed men’s hearts.
One thinks of the fisherman called Simon, better known to you and to me as Peter, chief among the apostles. Doubting, disbelieving, impetuous Peter was to remember the night that Jesus was led away to the high priest. Present were the priests whose greed and selfishness the Master had reproved, the elders whose hypocrisy he had branded, the scribes whose ignorance he had exposed. And then there were the Sadducees, considered the most cruel and dangerous opponents. This was the night that the throng “began to spit on [the Savior], and to cover his face, … to buffet him, … and the servants did strike him with the palms of their hands.” (Mark 14:65.)
Where was Peter, who had promised to die with him and never to deny him? The sacred record reveals, “And Peter followed him afar off, even into the palace of the high priest: and he sat with the servants, and warmed himself at the fire.” (Mark 14:54.) This was the night that Peter, in fulfillment of the Master’s prophecy, indeed did deny him thrice. Amidst the pushing, the jeers, and the blows, the Lord, in the agony of his humiliation, in the majesty of his silence, turned and looked upon Peter.
As one chronologer described the change, “It was enough. Peter knew no more danger, he feared no more death. He rushed into the night to meet the morning dawn. This broken-hearted penitent stood before the tribunal of his own conscience, and there his old life, his old shame, his old weakness, his old self was doomed to that death of godly sorrow which was to issue in a new and a nobler birth.” (Frederic W. Farrar, The Life of Christ, Portland, Oregon: Farrar Publications, 1964, p. 604.)
Then there was Saul of Tarsus, a scholar, familiar with the rabbinical writings in which certain modern scholars find such stores of treasure. For some reason, these writings did not reach Paul’s need, and he kept on crying, “O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?” (Rom. 7:24.) And then one day he met Jesus, and behold, all things became new. From that day to the day of his death, Paul urged men to “put off … the old man …” and to “put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness.” (Eph. 4:22, 24.)
The passage of time has not altered the capacity of the Redeemer to change men’s lives. As he said to the dead Lazarus, so he says to you and me: “… come forth.” (John 11:43.) Come forth from the despair of doubt. Come forth from the sorrow of sin. Come forth from the death of disbelief. Come forth to a newness of life. Come forth.
As we do, and direct our footsteps along the paths which Jesus walked, let us remember the testimony Jesus gave: “Behold, I am Jesus Christ, whom the prophets testified shall come into the world. … I am the light and … life of the world. …” (3 Ne. 11:10–11.) “I am the first and the last; I am he who liveth, I am he who was slain; I am your advocate with the Father.” (D&C 110:4.)
To his testimony I add my witness: He lives. His prophet this day has been sustained—even President Spencer W. Kimball. I so testify, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

I was raised on a large grain farm in Kansas, and on a farm you learn to drive as soon as you can see over the steering wheel and touch the pedals–preferably at the same time. For me, that was in the fourth grade. So, by the time I got my driver’s license at fourteen, I was a seasoned veteran behind the wheel. Or so I thought.

That first June after getting my driver’s license, I was expected to help with harvest. My job was to drive a grain truck from the field to the elevators, ten miles away via country road. The trip to the elevator was a straight shot, except for one stop sign to cross a highway.

Now, it takes hundreds of yards to grind down through the gears and bring a fully loaded grain truck to a complete stop. It was a pain for a young girl. Each time I came to that stop sign, I couldn’t help but think how much easier it would be if I didn’t have to completely stop. It’s not as though I needed to stop. There was rarely any traffic on that remote highway. And besides, Kansas is flat. You can stand on a tuna fish can and see forever. So from the cab of the truck, I could see for miles. After indulging in these thoughts for a few days, I managed to rationalize that it was actually a good idea if I just slowed down but didn’t completely stop.

Which I began to do. And it did make dealing with the stop sign so much easier. But then something curious began to happen; and before I knew it, not only was I not stopping, but I wasn’t doing much more than taking my foot off the pedal briefly, glancing both ways, and barreling across the highway. I did this day after day, including one afternoon when I again disregarded the stop sign, sped across the highway, and proceeded down the dirt country road.

Now, I should point out that a heavy truck on a dirt road kicks up a lost of dust. That afternoon, after going five miles, I looked in the rear-view mirror as I slowed to turn a corner and to my fourteen-year-old horror saw a white car with a rotating red light on top following me. I had never even seen a policeman out in the country. And after eating my dust for five miles, he was not all that cheerful. Then, when he saw how young I was, he demanded to talk with my parents. So with his red lights still gyrating, he followed me to our farm a mile away. And let’s just say that it was a painful experience.

I learned three things that day: First, that with lightening speed, I went from complete observance to complete disregard of the law. Second, my demise started with a small crack in my integrity. The instant I talked myself into taking a small liberty, I was on a slippery slide into full-scale disobedience. And third, there is no such thing as slightly breaking a law–whether a law of the land or a law of God–because even a slight breach of integrity opens the door for Satan.

“How many of you would like to have a ‘perfect day’?” the bishop asked the congregation. Many members raised their hands—some high, some low. A few kept their hands in their laps.
“That’s fine,” the bishop nodded. “Larry,” he asked one of the ward members, “would you like to have a ‘perfect day’? Would you please come up here to the stand? George and Ruth? Paul? Matthew and Joan? John and Helen? Ben and Carol?”
He called their names slowly, pausing briefly between each one. Many hands fell back into their owners’ laps; only a few remained held high.
“Is there a widow who would like to live a ‘perfect day’?” the bishop asked. There was a moment of silence as he looked over the congregation. “Grace, how about you?”
When those whose names he had called had reached the stand, he turned to them. “Which day would you like to be your perfect day? Tuesday? … Thursday?”
The disbelief and the embarrassed smiles on their faces showed that none of them had really expected to have to make a real commitment. Some nodded their heads yes. Others stood motionless. After several seconds, someone suggested Thursday because it would give them more time to prepare.
Smiling, the bishop said, “That’s fine. Thursday you will have a ‘perfect day.’ And since we do not have any speakers planned for sacrament meeting next Sunday, we’d like you to report your ‘perfect day’ to us.”
He turned back to the congregation. “Is there anyone else who would like to have a ‘perfect day’?” James, a teachers quorum member with a happy smile, raised his hand. He was included.
The bishop then told the congregation, “Your responsibility as ward members is to pray that they accomplish their assignment.”
How does one live to make a day perfect? That question passed through the minds of those who had accepted the bishop’s challenge. Throughout the week, whenever ward members got together, the subject of the bishop’s “perfect day” challenge came up. We were eager to hear the reports.
Sunday finally came.
Grace, a widow with short brown hair and shining eyes, was first. Her day hadn’t gone exactly as planned, she told us. She awoke with a terrible head cold—the first time in more than three years she had been ill. In revising her plans for the day, she decided to put together a scrapbook about her mother’s life, something she had been thinking of doing for a long time. Grace asked her sister to help, and they worked together to reconstruct their mother’s life story in pictures and words. It took most of the day, but the end result was a cherished scrapbook.
Grace found that her activities on that day opened up a new avenue to her. Her patriarchal blessing had said that she would work on her family history. “Because I didn’t understand family history, I just couldn’t get really interested in it,” she confessed. “But after doing my mother’s book, I decided to do one about my husband who died recently.”
She has since compiled histories of her husband, her son, and her daughter. “By cleaning out all the boxes of treasures and mementos I had been storing for years, I’ve found enough information to do the temple work for many of my ancestors,” she says. “I can see my work is just beginning. And I’m happy to do it.”
James’s goal for the day was much different. He planned to be obedient to his parents—to immediately and cheerfully do what he was asked. “It seems as if your mother always wants you to do something when your friends come over to play or when you in the most exciting part of a book,” he said. “Sometimes I stopped and told myself to do it now. At the end of the day, I was able to do it as soon as she asked. It gave me a good feeling,” he concluded.
Paul, a fifteen-year-old with a delightful sense of humor, also took the bishop’s challenge seriously. Though scripture study was not a part of his daily routine, he decided to begin the day by reading the scriptures. “I didn’t know why it was so important to me to read the scriptures that day, but it was,” he explained. “Several times Wednesday night I woke up, feeling sure that I had overslept. Finally, when my alarm went off, I reached for my Book of Mormon.”
He read for about forty-five minutes. “Reading the scriptures seemed to set the tone for the entire day,” he said. “It’s not always easy to get along with school friends, teachers, and your family, and my ‘perfect day’ was not different. I made some mistakes, but I did a lot better than I do most days.
“It also helped me to be much more aware of my blessings, of the things I should be doing, and of my mistakes,” he added. “Often during the day I wondered what I could do to be better.”
That question—What can I do to be better?”—was asked by others who had accepted the bishop’s challenge. Many of them found the answer in serving others.
George found attempting to live a “perfect day” a great challenge. “Even though I didn’t have exactly the kind of day I would have liked to have,” he said, “it made an impact on my life. I’d never even thought of trying to live a ‘perfect day’ before.”
Ruth, George’s wife, experienced an improvement in their relationship as a result of her “perfect day.” “By trying to keep my day perfect,” she said, “I realized some of the habits I had gotten into. For instance, I would suddenly get angry at George for some silly, insignificant reason. Now I’m working on correcting that.”
Recognizing faults and taking steps to overcome them was something each of those who accepted the bishop’s challenge experienced. Larry said, “Like many returned missionaries, I had fallen down in my study habits. There always seemed to be so many other things to do. So when I received this assignment from the bishop, I decided that I needed to regain that closeness to the Lord I had felt on my mission.”
Things didn’t work out quite as Larry had planned; a painful tooth ache spoiled his “perfect day.” “Still,” he says, “I don’t feel my day was a failure. I tried hard to live perfectly—in spite of my circumstances.”
For John, “Every day is a perfect day for me because of my wife Helen. To share my life with her is one of my greatest blessings. For me, a ‘perfect day’ is being together with her. We enjoy each other’s company, and we’re the best of friends.
“We start the day together in prayer and scripture study, and although we go our separate ways to work, we are spiritually together throughout the day. We like to surprise each other by putting a note expressing our love for one another in our lunch sacks.
“After work, we get home, have our evening meal, share in the chores, and then visit with each other and discuss our day’s activity, and plan for the coming day. A special activity for us each week is attending the temple, and this past week we went on our ‘perfect day.’ It’s wonderful to kneel together at the altar, holdings hands, and reliving our marriage covenants as we perform sealing work for others.”
Temple work featured in the “perfect day” for Ben and Carol. When Ben retired a couple of years ago, he and Carol accepted callings as temple workers. “The bishop’s assigned ‘perfect day’ happened to be one of the two days in the week that we serve in the temple.
“I serve as a supervisor at the temple, and I was really touched when, in a prayer meeting, the brother offering the prayer asked that the Lord watch over me, as supervisor, and bless me with a special day. He didn’t know about our ‘perfect day’ assignment, but his prayer was very meaningful to me.
“What a special place to be for a ‘perfect day.’ We were there in the Lord’s house, doing the Lord’s work, side by side with wonderful brothers and sisters, helping others on the road to the celestial kingdom.”
Matthew told the congregation that in his family’s discussion of a “perfect day,” “we came to understand the need to perfect ourselves a little each and every day. For some months, my wife Joan has been very ill, and her illness has affected the entire family. We have come to rely upon the Lord more and to daily seek his guidance, and we have come to better recognize and understand the power of the priesthood. For our ‘perfect day,’ we agreed that we continually need to be supportive of each other, and to live worthy of the blessings we receive.”
After hearing the reports of those who had accepted the “perfect day” assignment, I asked the bishop why he had issued the challenge.
“I’ve always thought about living a ‘perfect day,’” he said. “But we have so many outside influences and pressures in a regular day that we can seldom focus on the spiritual and idealistic. And we often speak about the impossibility of living a ‘perfect day’ or a perfect life. But I had a strong feeling that the time was right for the ward members to try.
“I think we discovered that we can make things a little more perfect regardless of our circumstances. None of the ward members involved in this assignment had to make an investment in money, but they did have to make an investment in time, and give of themselves.
“Many of us in the ward, not just those who had committed themselves to the challenge, also tried to live a ‘perfect day.’ As a result, we became more aware of the challenges involved in perfecting ourselves and tried harder to live worthy to have the Lord’s Spirit be with us.”
Though the bishop’s “perfect day” challenge did not cause instant changes in our lives, it helped us along the road to perfection—something we all hope to achieve.

A few weeks ago I learned an important lesson from a Laurel who was the youth speaker in my ward. I was touched as she confidently taught and testified of Jesus Christ. She concluded her remarks with this statement: “When I make Jesus Christ the center of my life, my day goes better, I’m kinder to my loved ones, and I am filled with joy.”
I have observed this young woman from a distance over the past few months. She greets everyone with sparkling eyes and a quick smile. I’ve watched her rejoice in the success of other youth. Two Mia Maids recently reported to me of this young woman’s decision to forfeit her ticket to a movie when she realized that it was not going to be an experience that was “virtuous and lovely.” She’s loving, kind, and obedient. She comes from a single-parent home, and her life has not been without challenges, so I’ve wondered how she maintains her happy, kind spirit. When this young woman testified, “I center my life on Jesus Christ,” I had the answer.

In the early days of the Church, an elder found himself with the responsibility of giving a sermon to a large group of people gathered to hear a “Mormon” preacher. The situation wouldn’t have been that bad, but as Brigham Young explained, “[The elder] had never been able to say he knew that Joseph Smith was a Prophet.” The elder wanted to just say a prayer and conclude the meeting. But the building was so full, people were hanging through the open windows from outside to listen. There was no graceful way out for the elder except to speak.
He braved his way to the podium, and “as soon as he got ‘Joseph’ out, ‘is a Prophet’ was the next; and from that, his tongue was loosened, and he continued talking until near sundown,” Brigham Young reported. “The Lord pours out his Spirit upon a man when he testifies that which the Lord gives him to testify of” (Joseph Fielding McConkie, Seeking the Spirit, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1978, pp. 4–5).

We should all realize that great works of righteousness can be and are performed by the Aaronic Priesthood. President Wilford Woodruff relates an experience that he had. He said:
“I was strongly impressed three times to go up and warn Father Hakeman [an early apostate]. At last I did so, according to the commandment of God to me. The third time I met with him, his house seemed to be full of evil spirits, and I was troubled in spirit at the manifestation. When I finished my warning, I left him. He followed me from his house with the intention of killing me. I have no doubt about his intention, for it was shown to me in vision. When he came to where I was, he fell dead at my feet, as if he had been struck with a thunderbolt from heaven. I was then a Priest, but God defended me and preserved my life. I speak of this because it is a principle that has been manifest in the Church of God in this generation as well as in others. I had the administration of angels while holding the office of a Priest. I had visions and revelations. I traveled thousands of miles. I baptized men, though I could not confirm them because I had not the authority to do it.” (Millennial Star, 1891, 53:641–42.)
He also said: “I desire to impress upon you the fact that it does not make any difference whether a man is a Priest or an Apostle, if he magnifies his calling. A Priest holds the keys of the ministering of angels. Never in my life, as an Apostle, as a Seventy, or as an Elder, have I ever had more of the protection of the Lord than while holding the office of a Priest. The Lord revealed to me by visions, by revelations, and by the Holy Spirit, many things that lay before me.” (Millennial Star, 1891, 53:629.)

“This happened to me, and I was the one without any talent. I wanted to be a great artist just like my sister. I asked her how I was doing, and at first she just said, “Yeah, good.” Later she realized that this wasn’t what I wanted or needed. So she tactfully told me my work wasn’t really super, and she showed me how to improve.
“With my sister’s encouragement, patience, care, and great knowledge, she showed me how to draw much better. She also helped me to realize that drawing isn’t my greatest talent, and she did it because she really cares about my future. Even though it hurt a little to realize I’m not a great artist, I’m glad she told me, and I love her for it.”
Florence E. GardnerIrvine, California

From the day that I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at age 13, I desired to serve the Lord as a full-time missionary.
I was doing all I could to make sure that I would be ready when the time came. I served in my quorums and callings, and I never stopped looking forward to the day that I would be called on a mission.
In a visit to the temple, I prayed to Heavenly Father and told Him that I wanted to serve a mission. I received an answer that I needed to be ready to serve Him soon. However, I still had two years before I would be old enough. I prayed again and got the same confirmation, but this time I felt that the time was closer than I thought.
One year later, the same month I turned 18, President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) announced that all worthy 18-year-old young men could go on missions. That very moment, I realized that President Monson was a living prophet of God.
I testify that prayers are answered. Our faith in God will grow when we pray and do as He directs us.
Promise O., Abia, Nigeria

I remembered an experience I had three years earlier while I was at a university. I had finished my classes for the day at the medical school and was rushing down the street to arrive at my father’s office so we could go home. I was about to run across a street when the Spirit told me, “Stop!”

With my view of the street obstructed by a wall, I had been unable to check for traffic. I stopped immediately, just at the side of the road, as a car came speeding past me. Shaken, I sat down on the side of the road and thanked the Lord for watching over me.

Lately our family had been praying to strengthen the family bond. The answer to our prayer really came in a shocking way. Can you imagine this? Three teenagers and a nine-year-old down with the chicken pox the last week of summer vacation. We had to live together 24 hours a day in the same house for a week and a half straight. That was a trial! We all learned to get along. Each day we compared our skin to see whose was worse. My oldest brother won. We made this awful experience fun. We talked about walking down the beach looking like this in our swimsuits and other crazy ideas that made the situation seem funny. Unfortunately it did not ease the itch. We decided to be more specific when we prayed. We are all involved with each others’ lives and feelings. We are now closer than ever.

Let me give you two or three vignettes.
The first is that of a young man who served in the Bolivia Cochabamba Mission. He lives with his faithful mother and nieces in a poor neighborhood. Their little home has a concrete floor, one lightbulb, the roof leaks, and the window is broken. He was a successful missionary. He says:
“My mission was the best thing that I have been able to do in my life. I learned to be obedient to the commandments and to be patient in my afflictions. I also learned some English and to manage my money, my time, and my skills better.
“Then, when I finished my mission, going home was difficult. My American companions went back to a university. But there is a lot of poverty in our country. It is very difficult to get an education. My mother does her best, but she can’t help us. She has suffered so much, and I am her hope.
“When I learned of the Perpetual Education Fund, I felt so happy. The prophet recognized our efforts. I was filled with joy. … There was a possibility I could study, become self-reliant, have a family, help my mother.
“I will study accounting at a local school where I can study and work. It is a short course, just three years long. I have to keep working as a janitor, but that is OK. Once I graduate and get a job in accounting, I will work toward higher education in international business.
“This is our opportunity, and we cannot fail. The Lord trusts us. I have read many times in the Book of Mormon the words the Lord told the prophets, that as we keep the commandments, we would prosper in the land. This is being fulfilled. I am so grateful to God for this great opportunity to receive what my brothers and sisters did not have, to help my family, to accomplish my goals. And I am excited to repay the loan to see others be so blessed. I know the Lord will bless me as I do it.”
Now, isn’t that wonderful?

Some books tell us things we should know; others just entertain us. This 1968 Newbery Award book does both—and more. It is one of the most unusual and delightful books you could find to read.
Claudia decides that her family takes her too much for granted. She plans to leave home so they will miss her. She invites her brother Jamie to go with her because he is the miser of the family and can be depended upon to have money. They run away to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, where they become involved in mystery, adventure, and excitement. Their story and the unexpected things Claudia and Jamie find out about themselves are recorded by the wealthy Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler in a long letter to her lawyer.
This book is a must for older readers of the Friend.

Arthur Parker walked and walked and walked. Even though he was only six years old, he sometimes helped his mother and father pull their loaded handcart. When everybody stopped to rest, he liked to explore. He wandered around to see other people, the prairie grass, a stream, or a grove of trees.
Arthur had one brother and two sisters: Max, 12; Martha Ann, 10; and Ada, 1. The Parkers had sailed from England to America that spring. Now they were traveling west with the McArthur Handcart Company. As Max helped his parents pull the handcart, Martha Ann walked behind, taking care of Arthur and Ada.
But one day Arthur’s father became ill. Martha Ann took his place helping to pull the handcart and sent Arthur to walk with a group of other children in the company. When Arthur sat down to rest beside the trail and fell asleep, the other children didn’t notice. The company moved on without him.
By the time Arthur’s family discovered that he was missing, it was too late and too dark to go looking for him. That night, the cloudy sky burst open. Thunder and lightning raged, and many tents blew over. Water ran across the ground in streams as people huddled in wet clothes. All night long, the Parkers worried about Arthur, lost out in the stormy darkness. They hoped somebody would bring him to their tent, but no one did.
The next morning, search parties went back along the trail to look for Arthur. The handcarts stayed camped all day so the searchers could continue looking. Where was the little boy? Was he hurt in the thunderstorm?
After searching for two days, the company could not wait any longer. They had more than a thousand miles left to go.
Arthur’s parents didn’t give up hope. They decided that Brother Parker would go farther back along the trail to look for Arthur, while Sister Parker and the other children would stay with the company and pull the handcart.
Before Brother Parker left, his wife pinned a bright red shawl around his shoulders. If he found Arthur dead, he would wrap him in the shawl. But if he found Arthur alive, he would wear the shawl on his shoulders or hold it in his hand to signal that Arthur was all right.
The worried father retraced the trail—calling Arthur’s name, searching everywhere he could, and praying. He walked and searched for 10 miles, determined not to leave without finding his son.
Meanwhile, the handcart company moved ahead. Two days went by. Sister Parker kept looking back anxiously, hoping to see her husband and son catching up with them.
At last, Brother Parker came to a mail-and-trading station. He asked if anyone had seen a lost six-year-old boy. Someone said that a boy had been found! He was being cared for by a farmer and his wife. Arthur’s father went to the farmhouse and found his son. How glad they were to see each other!
Arthur told his father that he had spent the first night under some trees, which protected him from the rainstorm. Then he had wandered until he came to the farmhouse. Brother Parker figured out that Arthur had walked about nine miles!
The handcart company was now 60 miles past where Arthur had disappeared. Arthur had been missing for four days, and his mother had hardly slept at all since then. She kept watching the trail behind her, looking for her husband, hoping he would be waving the red shawl.
A few days later, as the sun was setting, she suddenly spotted the red shawl waving in the distance. Arthur was alive! Captain McArthur sent a wagon back to meet the father and son. Everyone in the company rejoiced to see Arthur, but no one felt as happy as his mother. Completely exhausted, she slept soundly for the first time in days.
The Parkers continued on their journey. Arthur kept walking, singing, and exploring—but he stayed a little closer to his parents. Each night, they hugged him a little tighter.

At first, Bernard Lefrandt refused to listen to the two American missionaries who came to his home in The Hague, Netherlands, in 1950. It was an uncharacteristic response for a man whose hospitality was well-known throughout his native Indonesia. But Bernard—or Bert, as friends in several countries came to know him—believed he already had a God who had preserved his life innumerable times. Bert had been saved from the wild animals he hunted in island forests, from enemy soldiers when he was dropped behind enemy lines in World War II, and most recently from assassins’ bullets when he was blacklisted in Indonesia. Bert’s God had even spared the lives of his wife and children in a refugee camp. How, then, could he turn to a new one?
The missionaries first came to the Lefrandt’s home in the Netherlands at the end of 1950; the family had moved there in 1948. Nora, a deeply spiritual woman, felt impressed by their message of God’s goodness and a restored gospel. God’s mercy had helped Nora and her family through almost insurmountable difficulties. She accepted the Book of Mormon as well as the challenge to read it. But when Bert learned of the missionaries’ visit, he stubbornly refused to have anything to do with either the elders or the book Nora read so intently.
Were it only a matter of courage for him to face up to these Mormon messengers and their book, then no one came better equipped than Bernard Willem Lefrandt. A descendant of Dutch, Indonesian, and French ancestry, Bert was an expert at courageously confronting challenges in Indonesia. His immense physical strength earned Bert a reputation among the villagers of having almost supernatural power. He was unanimously declared throughout the islands the national champion of wild-pig catching, a sport he accomplished with his bare hands.
Neither could his hesitancy be attributed to ignorance. Bernard Lefrandt’s intelligence, education, and natural generosity gave him a fair-minded, loving attitude toward everyone. Bert worked as a customs officer for the Dutch government when he met and married his boss’s daughter—an intelligent Dutch-Indonesian school teacher named Nora. Eventually he went on to become a naval officer in the Royal Dutch Navy. Bert and Nora were both gifted linguists, speaking French, German, Dutch, and English, as well as several Indonesian island languages. Together, they raised their young children to believe in God’s goodness and in the value of Christian principles.
The major obstacle for Bert was the definite ideas he held about right and wrong religions. In Indonesia, he had felt uncomfortable with local superstitious beliefs and spiritualism. He searched for higher truths, and once considered becoming a Buddhist priest—a consideration he abandoned because it would mean leaving his wife and children. His wife’s strong beliefs in Jesus Christ became his own, and he learned the Bible well from constant study.
Nora finished the Book of Mormon on her own. At the close of another solitary lesson with the missionaries, she felt the Spirit so overwhelmingly that she wanted to be baptized. But she also wanted to wait for her husband, whom she had noticed reading the Book of Mormon when he thought she was asleep. Late at night, he would turn on the dim light and read until two or three in the morning, pretending to have slept well the next day. Nora patiently waited for him.
She had learned about waiting during World War II when she thought her husband had died. The same bravery that led Bert to earn decorations from the Allied High Command and from the Dutch government for valor in the face of grave danger also led him to be parachuted behind Japanese lines with the English. He had been borrowed by the British forces, and Nora knew nothing about his whereabouts. Left alone with two small children, she survived in a post-war refugee camp in Bombay, India, assuming she would never see her husband again after receiving no word from him for four years.
But one day in 1946 as she was teaching a class to some children, a man stood at the back of the room. It was Bert. On an assignment with the British, he had been stationed in Singapore, where he searched the lists of refugee camps in the country. After a joyful reunion with his family, Bert went on another assignment to Ceylon (Sri Lanka), this time with his family, before returning to Indonesia.
Bert continued to read the Book of Mormon in secret, and even started covertly listening from the next room to the missionary discussions. When he finally consented to talk to the elders in person, he became known as a “very hard” investigator, constantly demanding biblical proof of every doctrinal point and requiring a year of discussions.
Meanwhile, Nora and her daughter, Bertie, were baptized. Wanting to share her joy with those nearest her, Nora wrote to friends in New Guinea, telling them of her new Church. Only a few days later, she received a letter from them—the letters had crossed in the mail. Her friend told of a fisherman in New Guinea who had discovered a strange book in the sea, a Book of Mormon. Did the Lefrandts know anything about this book or about Joseph Smith? Surely, the book was a book of God, their friends wrote. They encouraged the Lefrandts to find out what they could about the Mormons.
Their appeal had a good effect upon Bert, who had learned to listen to friends. When he had returned to Indonesia from Singapore in 1946, he had returned to a country in political turmoil. Indonesian nationalists were fighting for independence from the Netherlands, a sentiment Bert understood and even sympathized with. But he was still a Dutch officer and had even received an assignment to hunt down and kill nationalist snipers. He hunted them down, then saved their lives by letting them work in his garden at home. When the nationalists took over, a former “gardener” for Bernard became a government official and relayed a message to the Lefrandts: Bert was on a list of people to be shot for his affiliation with the Dutch. Ten days later the Lefrandts and their three children were on a boat to the Netherlands.
It was there that Bert finally gave up his resistance to the higher truths of the gospel. One day during a discussion with the elders, Bert set his Bible on the table and rested his hand on it. “I don’t know what else to ask you,” he said. Within a year of Bert’s baptism in March 1952, he was called to be the president of The Hague Branch.
The tenacity and determination that took Bernard Lefrandt through jungles and enemy territory now found a purpose in the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Bert and Nora became faithful servants and pioneers not only in the Netherlands, but in New Guinea, where Bert was later transferred by the Dutch government from 1954 to 1956. There the Lefrandts held Sunday School and sacrament meeting in their home for their family and the two other members stationed in New Guinea. Bert introduced the gospel to other naval officers and held monthly meetings with local priests and church ministers to teach them about the Restoration and the Book of Mormon.
Always mindful of God’s goodness to their family, Bert and Nora exemplified His love and generosity, earning a reputation of fairness, generosity, and open-mindedness wherever they went. Bert spoke enthusiastically about the gospel whenever the opportunity arose, and he left New Guinea having given away a large supply of Church books and pamphlets in an effort to build the kingdom.
The Lefrandts returned to the Netherlands in 1956, this time to Amsterdam, where Bert was again called to be a branch president. After they moved again to The Hague in 1960, Bert was called to be a counselor to the president of the first stake in Europe: The Hague Netherlands Stake. He brought to these callings an enthusiasm that his children—Frank Cornelius, Bertie Louise, Eric Gerard, and Robert—always sensed. “My parents were true builders, true pioneers,” recalls Bertie (Mrs. Jack P. Van Oudheusden), “Both of them were always working; you could just feel their love for the gospel.”
When Nora died in August 1971, people came by busloads to the funeral. Bernard’s funeral in January 1985 occurred in the midst of a blizzard so harsh that a burial was impossible that day. Still, many traveled through freezing temperatures to pay tribute to their friend.
In the Netherlands, as in the other countries through which Bernard Willem Lefrandt traveled and lived, many seeds that he planted have come to fruition, and honor his efforts as an international pioneer and servant of the Lord.

When knights wore shining armor and fair damsels waved from castle walls, there lived in the tiny village of Bristol a boy named Darby. His mother tatted lace and his father carved spoons and bowls. Then he went about the countryside selling their wares. To help out, Darby also ran errands from sunrise to sunset.
Other boys grumbled and growled as they cleaned stables or fetched wood, but Darby did not complain. His pay might be a piece of fruit or a crust of bread—but no matter—he took it home and placed it on the table to be shared. His mother would hug him, and his father would smile proudly.
At night, the small family sat before the hearth and sang until sleep called them to their cots. Darby was a plain boy who did nothing great or famous, but he had a kind heart. And a kind heart, as everyone knows, is well worth having. Except sometimes people do not understand, and that is how it was with Darby.
One sunny day as he ran an errand, two knaves were raking outside a stable. As Darby approached, one poked the other in the ribs and murmured, “Watch!” Without a second thought, the cruel knave tripped Darby as he passed. The boys pointed and jeered as Darby sprawled in the dust-covered straw.
Darby’s anger began to rise. But he thought, it is better to see them laughing rather than scowling as they usually do. So he shrugged and brushed the dust from his clothes.
“Oh, look!” cried the other knave. “Darby’s stockings don’t match! One is purple and the other yellow. Darby should be in a circus!”
Darby blushed, for it was true. His only concern was that his feet and legs were covered, whatever the color.
As the day wore on, Darby stood outside the cobbler’s, waiting to run an errand. On the sill a window box of dainty flowers bloomed. He stood on tiptoe to smell their fragrance. As he did, a bucket of water was carelessly thrown from the window above and Darby stood dripping wet. A small crowd gathered to laugh as Darby pressed the water from his shirt and trousers.
“Oh, Darby!” Molly, the flower girl said with a frown. “You are a sight!”
The crowd moved on while Darby sat down to empty the water from his shoes.
“Don’t you care that everyone laughs at you, Darby?” Molly scolded.
Darby shrugged good-naturedly. “I like to see them happy.”
“There’s no use talking to you! Box a few ears!” Molly scolded. “That’ll stop their laughing.”
Darby looked up and smiled. “I am a sight, Molly, and it’s enough to make me laugh too!”
Molly shook her head and left Darby to himself.
The following day a proclamation was posted, and all the villagers gathered to read it. Darby strained his neck with the rest. “What does it say?” he asked.
“The duke is coming for the tournament at the end of the summer.” Thomas the butcher read. “And not only will he judge the jousts, he will also judge the beauty of our village.”
Darby made his way through the crowd and sat down on the green. What can I do to make the village more beautiful? he wondered.
Suddenly he leaped to his feet and ran off to find Molly. “Molly!” he shouted, as he ran to catch up with her. “Have you some flower seeds I can have?”
“I have a lot of seeds in these withered flowers, Darby, if you’d care to pick them out.” Molly smiled and handed him the wilted blooms. “I guess you’ve heard of the judging, but where will you plant the seeds? You’ve no plot of ground.”
“Aye, Molly, I’ve no plot to call my own, but the roadway belongs to everyone. Surely no one will care if I plant flowers there.”
“You’ve gone daft, Darby! The horses and carts will trample them into the dust, and the whole village will have another good laugh at your folly!”
“Better that than have them frown, Molly!” Darby shouted as he ran toward the open road.
Time passed and the village bustled with activity. New straw was laid upon the floors, and pennants were hung from the gables. Water was carefully drained into troughs, yards were tidied, and flowers waved from every window and garden.
Meanwhile Darby planted his seeds, and each day he went to tend them. He watered and weeded, and if a plant were trampled, he planted another in its place. Then when his flowers began to bloom, the knaves came to poke fun at Darby’s efforts. “The duke is going to judge the village, not the open road, Darby!” one of them shouted.
“We’ll pick them to decorate the lists,” another knave laughed and reached for a handful.
“Please don’t!” Darby cried. Then as the rascal knelt to pick the flowers, a tall shadow fell over him. With fearful eyes, the boy looked up. Gleaming in the sunlight, a knight in armor sat upon his horse. In his hand a long shiny lance pointed its sharp “finger” toward the sky. The boys trembled as he spoke.
“Who plants flowers here?” the knight asked.
“Not us! We would not be so foolish!” the boys exclaimed and pointed at Darby. “He planted them! He’s known for his witless behavior.”
“Then why are you knaves here?”
“To teach him a lesson,” one of them replied quickly.
“What lesson would you have him learn?” questioned the knight. “Kindness and compassion? Good cheer and hope?”
“No,” the knaves shook their heads. “We would teach him that no one plants flowers along the open road where they will be trampled.”
“They are not trampled,” the knight challenged, pointing to the nodding blooms.
“But … but, it’s just not done!” the knaves stammered.
The knight nodded. “But he has done it … hasn’t he? I have been sent to judge the beauty of the village, but I need look no further. This display before us is the most beautiful.”
“But you must see the village!” the knaves bleated. “These common flowers cannot compare with what grows there.”
“A whole garden of flowers could not compare with blooms planted in faith—planted where nothing grew before. What dreary spot have you knaves brightened?” the knight asked sharply.
The knaves hung their heads, but Darby looked up in surprise. He had not thought of it like that before. Yet, below the linden trees that lined the open road, flowers now waved in the bright sunlight, splashing the way with color.
There was no prize for Darby’s efforts, but when the tournaments were over and all the nobles were returning to their manors, the knight came to see Darby. “Darby of Bristol,” the knight said. “You are a fine, cheerful lad, but unappreciated here. You must come to court and join the jesters.”
“Are there many?” Darby asked.
“Oh, yes indeed,” the knight replied, nodding his head. “But you would be right at home among them.”
“Then your court has enough laughter already. I am not needed there, but here where my home is,” Darby declared with a smile. “And it would pain me to leave the ones I love.”
The knight understood. He saluted Darby then turned and left.
Darby stayed in Bristol. He planted more flowers and watered them. And the seeds of the flowers blew in the wind until the countryside all about was covered with blooms. Darby continued to run errands, and the villagers continued to laugh, but Darby took no offense. He knew that just as his thirsty flowers needed water, his village needed laughter, and in that way Darby felt very much appreciated.

The young men, 16 and older, in the Duchesne Utah Stake have had a tantalizing taste of what it feels like to be a missionary. They held a stake missionary conference, planned by their leaders and two youth cochairs, that attempted to include some aspects of a two-year mission experience into two days. Of course, the young men only got a sampling of what it will really be like to be on a mission, but the experience is one they won’t soon forget.
Nearly 50 would-be missionaries arrived on a Friday afternoon at the Duchesne missionary training center—a.k.a. the Duchesne stake center—in their suits, toting their luggage, with their parents in tow. After a short devotional the young men went through one door into the cultural hall and their parents exited another to head back home (a la MTC fashion).
In the cultural hall, the young men were greeted with dinner, missionary packets, and an assigned companion. Outfitted with name tags that read “Brother_______,” the companionships headed to their first training classes. The classes covered a whole range of topics from learning the first missionary discussion and mission rules, to how to sort laundry and pack a suitcase.
Their Saturday classes were not only preparing the young men for their missions but also for their teaching appointments later in the day. The companionships were assigned to teach the first discussion to families in their stake, some of which were part-member and less-active families.
Besides teaching the first discussion, the young men also did what every missionary spends a good deal of time doing: service. They spent all morning landscaping around a chapel, cleaning a section of highway, and beautifying the Duchesne River boardwalk. It was so hot many of the young men were tempted to jump into the river, but a quick check of their missionary handbooks told them swimming was against the rules.
They chose to obey mission rules, just as they are choosing to prepare themselves to go on full-time missions when they turn 19. They are working on their faith and obedience to the gospel. As future missionaries, they know that’s a top priority. Delaney Mecham of the First ward says, “We should all go on missions to bring people to the gospel and to help ourselves. When we’re on our missions our testimonies will grow even more than they have at this conference.”

Angie Miller is on the volleyball and softball teams. She can encourage the younger students to keep trying even though it can get discouraging. “When I started playing volleyball, I wasn’t very good. I sat on the bench a lot. Then things started clicking. I wouldn’t have the good friends I have now if I had quit. I used to be so shy. People in church helped me a lot. I’m not so self-conscious about what everyone thinks of me now.”

For example, in a casual conversation I had recently with the president of one of the full-time missions of the Church, he told me that when he received his mission call from the First Presidency, he asked his employers for a leave of absence. Within three years his financial interest in the company in which he was employed would be large enough to support him and his family for the remainder of their lives.

His employers, being non-church members and unfavorable toward his going on a mission, refused to give him a leave of absence. Also, they informed him that he would lose all of his financial benefits in the company if he accepted the mission call. In spite of this terrific financial sacrifice and the loss of his job, he accepted the mission call and is now faithfully serving his church and his God.

I asked the mission president, “Why didn’t you tell the First Presidency of the financial loss you would suffer if you went on a mission at that time and ask them to postpone your call for three years?”

He replied, “The Lord didn’t call me on a mission for three years from now. He called me to serve now. My wife and I decided to obey the call of the Lord and trust that our financial affairs would be taken care of later.”

Such a sacrifice to render Christian service is certainly astounding. It is a modern missionary miracle.

Brigham Young was still feeling sick in late August when he and the return company left the Salt Lake Valley for their trip back to Winter Quarters. Over the next three days, the small company traveled rapidly through dusty canyons and over steep Rocky Mountain passes.24 When they arrived on the other side, Brigham was glad to learn that Parley Pratt and John Taylor’s large caravan of Saints was only a few hundred miles away.
Brigham’s joy vanished a short time later, however, when he learned that the caravan was four hundred wagons larger than he had anticipated. The Twelve had spent all winter organizing Saints into companies according to the revealed will of the Lord. Now it appeared that Parley and John had disregarded that revelation and acted of their own accord.25
A few days later, Brigham and the return company met up with the caravan. Parley was in one of the lead companies, so Brigham quickly called a council with Church leaders to ask him why he and John had disobeyed the quorum’s instructions.26
“If I’ve done anything wrong, I am willing to right it,” Parley told the council. But he insisted that he and John had acted within their authority as apostles. Hundreds of Saints had died that year in Winter Quarters and other settlements along the Missouri River. And many families had been desperate to leave the area before another deadly season set in. Since some Saints in the companies the Twelve had organized were not yet prepared to leave, he and John had chosen to form new companies to accommodate those who were ready.27
“Our companies were perfectly organized,” Brigham countered, “and if they could not get through, we were responsible to them.” The Word and Will of the Lord had clearly directed each company to “bear an equal proportion” of the poor and the families of the men serving in the Mormon Battalion. Yet Parley and John had left many of these people behind.28
Brigham also disagreed that two apostles could overturn the decision of the quorum. “If the Quorum of the Twelve do a thing, it is not in the power of two of them to rip it up,” he said. “When we got the machine moving, it was not your business to stick your hands among the cogs to stop the wheel.”29
“I’ve done the best I could,” Parley said. “You say I could have done better, and if I am to take blame in it, and say I’ve done wrong—I’ve done wrong. I am guilty of an error and am sorry for it.”
“I forgive you,” Brigham replied. “And if I don’t do right,” he added, “I want every man so to live in the sunshine of glory to correct me when I’m wrong. I feel bowed down to the grave with the burden of this great people.”30
Brigham’s weariness was evident in his face and gaunt frame. “I look upon myself as a weak, poor little man. I was called by the providence of God to preside,” he said. “I want you to go right into the celestial kingdom with me.”
“I want to know if the brethren are satisfied with me,” Parley said.
“God bless you forever and ever,” Brigham said. “Don’t think any more about it.”31

I recall a situation that came to my attention while I was practicing law some years ago. It involved a very well-educated and initially successful physician. He had spent years gaining the education and training required for a very coveted and much sought after specialty in medicine.

Just when it seemed that he “had everything,” he attended a party where drugs were available and tampered with by many in attendance. With an air of abandonment—an attitude of “What will it hurt to give it a try”—he consented to an injection of a substance that his tempter said he would really enjoy.

Little did he realize that this would be the beginning of a nightmare that ultimately cost him his family, his practice, and his ability to function. He later admitted that when he took that first dare, so to speak, he knew that he was hopelessly addicted.

What a price to pay for such a moment of abandonment, a moment of thoughtlessness. Of course, not every case of addiction or promiscuity or a wasted lifestyle results from just one experiment or just one drink or just one immoral encounter, but unfortunately we are not able to determine just how strong we will be in a given situation or what effect harmful substances will have on us.