Gospel Story Finder

At age 17, after being hit in the eye with a baseball, he promised the Lord that if he didn’t lose his eyesight, he would read the Book of Mormon. He regained the use of his eye and read 10 pages every day for nearly three months.
“It was the most powerful spiritual experience I’ve ever had, when the Holy Ghost witnessed to me that the Book of Mormon was true,” Elder Echo Hawk said. “That experience has empowered me throughout my life to help me improve.”

The girls in the Salt Lake East Millcreek Fourth Ward kept track of their acts of charity in a candy jar. Each week the girls put a piece of candy into the jar for each act of service they had been involved in that week. As the jar filled with the sweets, the girls were reminded of the sweetness of service. When the jar was full, the girls selected a special family and presented the jar to them, explaining what the filled jar meant—each candy represented a charitable act.

I’m 18 years old and waiting in the Carson City (Nevada) Jail to go to court. I’m being tried for three counts of possession of marijuana. My parents came to visit me in jail, and I asked them to bring me some comic books to read. The next day I received a few books and the July issue of the New Era. I quickly put it under my mattress. The next day I went to court. The judge said I would probably get anywhere up to five years in the state prison. I came back very depressed. I picked up your magazine and began reading. I became interested in your articles. They made me feel relaxed and comfortable, a feeling I’ve never felt before. Keep on publishing—you never know what you might accomplish.
Feeling Better in Carson JailCarson City, Nevada

I’m also still in contact with my father. One day, we had an argument. I was really struggling with it, but suddenly there was a chance to go on a youth temple trip. While I was in the temple, I felt peace. I did not think about the problems at home. I did not think about the anger I had for my father. I thought of things that I could do to help him. I thought about being a good example. I thought about eternal things, about getting sealed with my parents in the temple someday. I decided to say sorry to my father for fighting with him.

Savior with Children, by Michael Malm

I’ve learned to always focus on Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father. I get my strength from Them, and I remember that They have my back.

Understanding the plan of salvation, especially the Savior’s Atonement, helped me overcome my thoughts of suicide. It helps me feel peace in living. It gives me hope that I can meet my grandmother on the other side of the veil again someday.

Jesus Christ is the hope to continue my life even though I have a lot of challenges. His love for me is never-ending. He’s the sunlight in my life. When it’s stormy or raining, He is there. He is my Savior. He is my home. He is my life. He keeps me going. He’s one of the reasons I love living.

The author lives in Iloilo, Philippines.

If you are experiencing thoughts of suicide, get help from a trusted adult now. Also check out resources, including crisis help lines, at suicide.ChurchofJesusChrist.org.

Julie could see her grandmother sitting in bed. Mom and Dad said that Grandma had to live with them. She was sick and needed their help to get better. But Julie didn’t like seeing Grandma sick.
She remembered that her grandmother used to be a happy person. Every time Julie would visit, Grandma would make a treat. They would take long walks, dance and sing, and play together. Now, Julie’s house smelled funny and Grandma didn’t walk or sing. She hardly ate. She was sad. It scared Julie. She didn’t know what to do. Mom and Dad helped Grandma a lot, but Julie just watched. Sometimes she even felt sad because nobody seemed to have time for her anymore.
Julie had been talking to Heavenly Father every day in her prayers. She told Him how scared and sad she felt. She asked Him to bless Grandma. She asked Him to bless her too. Julie wanted to help Grandma, but she didn’t know how.
One day while she and Mother were shopping, Julie saw something. It was high on the shelf, but she had a feeling that she should take a closer look. She asked her mother if she could see the toy dish set. When it was handed to her, Julie felt a warm peace.
The dishes were beautiful. They were shiny and pink. Julie was excited to share them with Grandma. Pink was Grandma’s favorite color!
It took Julie two weeks to earn the money to buy the dish set. On the day she brought it home, she started her plan.
First, she went to her room to make an invitation for Grandma. She drew flowers and birds and hearts all over the paper. Then she asked Mother to write the words “You’re Invited” on the outside. Inside Mother wrote, “To a party in your room at one o’clock today.”
Julie took the note to her grandmother. It felt good to see Grandma smile when she read it.
At one o’clock Julie carried a tray into Grandma’s room. She set it over her lap. Then she climbed onto the bed and sat beside Grandma. Julie poured Grandma some juice. She offered Grandma toast and jam, apple slices, cubes of cheese, and cookies. Together, they had a party.
Grandma talked and smiled. She ate the food Julie served her on little pink plates and sipped juice from a shiny pink cup. When it was over, Grandma thanked her. She patted Julie’s hand and said, “Let’s have a party again soon!” Julie hugged her and promised that they would.
The feeling of happiness and peace stayed with Julie all afternoon. She had made Grandma happy. And Julie felt happy too. Heavenly Father had listened to her prayers and helped her find just the right thing to do.

Indio High School’s water polo team was surprising everybody. The Southern California 3-A championship game was half over, and they were thrashing the El Dorado Hawks, 7–3. Indio’s Rajahs were considered a Cinderella club, strong on teamwork but lacking the polish and size necessary to pull off an upset. Yet somehow they were winning the game!
Calvin Lowell, 17, braced himself at the edge of the pool, ready to sprint to the center. (In water polo each quarter begins when the referee tosses the ball to the middle of the water, and players swim toward it in a scramble for possession.) He knew El Dorado would come out fighting.
Cal looked up at his father, Dr. John Lowell, who was standing near one of the diving boards, ready to shout encouragement. It wasn’t just another case of a proud spectator cheering on his boy. Cal’s father is the Indio coach.
The whistle shrieked. Waves foamed and churned. One blazing shot after another skittered into the net, despite flailing arms and lunging defensive maneuvers. Two of Indio’s top players fouled out. The lead narrowed to 8–7. Each team scored again quickly. Then with two minutes and 36 seconds remaining in the fourth quarter, an El Dorado forward slapped the ball from the goalie’s hand and it floated into the net to knot the score at 9–9.
Coach Lowell bowed his head. Ignoring thousands of screaming fans, he said a silent prayer. He knew the Lord couldn’t promise a victory, but he hoped that each player would perform to the best of his ability. A new strategy came into his head, and he called a time out.
He gathered the players around him and counseled them to avoid the congested area just in front of the goals, concentrating on outside shots. Play resumed. The tactic worked perfectly, but the man who wound up free with the ball was the team’s poorest marksman. “Not him,” Coach Lowell wanted to shout. “Anybody but …”
The ball slammed into the goal’s canvas backing. Indio led again, 10–9. The same play worked twice more with other Indio shooters, while the Hawks tallied only one more point. The seconds timer read zero. The championship game was over, and the Rajahs had won, 12–10!

My sister and I felt an emptiness because we had no idea who our Laurunen forebears were. All we knew is that they had come from Finland to America in 1901. So in August 2004, my sister Janice and cousin Sandy joined my husband, Charlie, and me on a trip to discover our ancestors.

In the process of researching for our trip, Sandy discovered a two-page report on the Laurunen Homestead, built in 1605. The earliest mention of our family was in 1569 in the town of Kauhajoki.

Once in Finland, we rented a car and left early the next morning for the long drive to Kauhajoki. We had a hard time finding it and were about to give up when Charlie caught sight of a small airport. We drove there to ask for help. Sandy showed a young man our report, and he kindly offered to take us to the town library. I am sure we would never have found Kauhajoki by ourselves since it is well hidden down a forested highway. It seemed the Lord was leading us in our journey.

At the library a young woman gave us a map, circling the Lutheran church and cemetery. We found the church easily. After two hours of research, with the help of the pastor and several clerks, one of them called our Laurunen relatives and told them they had visitors from America. They came immediately with family genealogies dating back to the year 1550.

With the church bookkeeper as our interpreter, we walked through the beautifully manicured cemetery. Sandy stood at her grandfather’s grave for the first time. Later, she saw a picture of him and held his violin. We were all deeply touched as the void we had felt before was being filled.

Then our Finnish cousins drove us to the family homestead, which was pictured on our two-page report. They told us that our family had owned as much land as the eye could see. The house on the family homestead was enormous and had housed Laurunen families as far back as 1550. When the Russian military came into Kauhajoki, they used the homestead for military headquarters. They burned down the church and all other homes in the area. Everyone, including our family, fled to the woods for safety. After the Russians left, our grandfather led the building of the new church that we had seen earlier. Eventually the land around the homestead was divided and sold.

In 2005 Janice, Sandy, and I returned to Kauhajoki for another visit with our newly found cousins and more research. In 2006 we had our first Laurunen family reunion in America, and 15 of our Finnish cousins joined us. Eighty-nine family members celebrated the lives of our grandparents.

What a joy it has been to discover such a rich, fascinating family history and know more about who I am and where I came from. Family history is the work of the Lord.

“Mother and Father packed our clothes, quilts, pots and pans, dishes, food, and everything else they could into the wagon. I put in my doll and helped with some of the smaller things. Father hitched the oxen to the wagon and we started on our long journey. I’d never seen oxen before. They looked like big brown cows to me.”
“When we first came to Utah, I helped Father and Mother plant the seeds in the ground. It took Father two days to break the hard ground before we could plant the seeds. All day we worked and dropped a seed at a time on the ground.”
“You wouldn’t remember because you were only a baby then and had just learned to walk,” Louisa answered quietly. “Anyway, when the new plants were just coming up, about this high,” Louisa measured with her fingers, “some crickets came and began eating them. More and more crickets came.”
Louisa continued her story. “Everyone got sticks and shovels and whatever they could find and began beating the crickets. But more crickets came. Finally, the people gave up. They couldn’t kill all the crickets. They were going to eat up all the food we planted.”
“Father and Mother and the rest of the people prayed to our Heavenly Father that the crops would be saved from the hungry crickets. And it wasn’t long until we were surprised to hear a noise in the sky. I looked up and saw sea gulls. At first they looked like more crickets. I hadn’t seen any sea gulls here before, although I used to watch them on the ocean before we came west in the wagon.”
“The sea gulls came to the ground and ate up the crickets,” Louisa continued. “No one had really noticed them in the valley before. Some people say they were here all the time. But I think Heavenly Father sent them to us when the people prayed. What do you think, Thomas?”

Let me explain how this change can happen with an example involving a man who changed his attitude and behavior because his name became linked with that of Russell M. Nelson. Not too long ago, Elder Renlund and I had an opportunity to attend a special meeting that was hosted by the president of the University of Utah. A special position was being created in the department of surgery that was being funded by significant financial donations from many individuals. Such an academic position is called an endowed chair. This endowed chair was designated for the division of Cardiothoracic Surgery and was being named for Russell M. Nelson and his late wife, Dantzel W. Nelson. The large financial endowment of the position, or chair, ensures that whoever is chosen to hold the chair will have funding for his or her research efforts in perpetuity. It is a great honor and benefit for the one who is appointed to the chair and an honor for the one after whom it is named.

On the evening of this official creation of this endowed chair in cardiothoracic surgery, the first person appointed to the special position, Dr. Craig H. Selzman, addressed the assembled group. Dr. Selzman is a renowned professor of surgery at the University of Utah and the chairman of the division of Cardiothoracic Surgery. He is a wise, mature man who is not of our faith. His remarks were enlightening and demonstrated both a profound respect for Dr. Russell M. Nelson as well as Dr. Selzman’s own humility.

Dr. Selzman explained that a few days earlier he had operated all day. In the evening, before going home, he returned to the intensive care unit to check on the patients on whom he had operated earlier in the day. After examining one of the patients, Dr. Selzman realized that this patient needed to go back to the operating room. He was frustrated. He was displeased with the situation. He was disappointed that he was going to spend another long night in the hospital.

Dr. Selzman explained that when he is frustrated and unhappy, his surgical team sometimes knows it, and it affects them too. At that point, instead of yielding to his emotions and frustrated attitude, he reflected on the fact that he was going to be appointed to the Russell M. Nelson Chair in Cardiothoracic Surgery later that week. He contemplated that Dr. Nelson had been known as a surgeon who was always a gentleman. He was always in control of his emotions, always in control of his operating room, and always professional and kind and caring with his operating team. Dr. Selzman thought that since he would be holding a position named after Dr. Nelson, he should try to follow Dr. Nelson’s example. Dr. Selzman decided to change his attitude. He calmed himself and notified the operating team in a caring manner. Then he went into the operating room in control of his emotions, and the interactions and outcome were better as a result.

As Dr. Selzman spoke, I was struck by how just the very thought of linking his name to Russell M. Nelson’s name caused him to change both his attitude and behavior. Going forward, Dr. Selzman said he would try to be more like Dr. Nelson.

I witnessed commitment when I visited with a sister in her home in the Philippines. She had nothing by the standards of the world. Her family of eight children lived clustered in a two-room nipa hut that stood on stilts. After climbing the ladder to the door, I was taken immediately to a corner where on a small table sat a portable sewing machine. This was not a new model with 320 stitches, bells, whistles, and a serger. It was a machine older than my mother’s! But she was not showing off a possession; she was sharing her commitment. For two years, she had sewn for others on that simple machine to earn the money to take her family to the temple so that they would be sealed together. The last child, she said with a smile, was born under the covenant.

“Vperiod!” Brother Brigham shouts. “Forward!” He raises his hand high and points straight ahead. The pioneers grab their handcart, grimace at the effort of pulling it, and continue past a row of apartment buildings.
Wait a minute! That’s not how the Saints got to Utah!
Not to worry. This is Vyborg, Russia. The man playing the role of President Brigham Young is actually Aleksandr B. Tomak, a district president. And the pioneers, who have only a single handcart among them, are Russians from the St. Petersburg area, gathered at a youth conference to celebrate their heritage.
That’s why, as the handcart they are now pulling has journeyed from Siberia on the east to Vyborg on Russia’s western border, the “Mormons” in each location have not only pulled it through forests and mountains but also through the streets and parks of the cities where they live. They are celebrating, not only the pioneers that were, but also the pioneers they are—young people eager to live the truth and to share it with anyone willing to listen.
As the youth walk and walk and walk, they sing. Someone strums a guitar, and everyone joins in folk songs. At other moments, silence reigns. And every once in a while, it just seems right to sing a hymn. “Come, Come, Ye Saints” is most popular, and those who sing it sometimes cry.
The Vyborg-St. Petersburg handcart company reaches the end of the trail at the shore of a lake in the forest. Here, workshops will be held and lunch served for those who have “safely completed the journey to Zion,” as President Tomak proclaims.
“Vot eto mesto!” he says, in his best Brother Brigham voice. “This is the place!”
It’s a phrase that was true 150 years ago in the valley of the Great Salt Lake. It is now a phrase that is equally true from Siberia to Vyborg, all across a vast country where modern pioneers are embracing the restored gospel today.

In August 2005, President Gordon B. Hinckley issued a challenge to the members of the Church to read or reread the Book of Mormon before the end of the year.23 Since I was reading from the Book of Mormon daily anyway, I was already reading in Ether or Moroni when the prophet issued this invitation. Consequently, upon finishing the Book of Mormon a week or two later, I concluded that I had completed President Hinckley’s challenge.

But then a faithful home teacher came to visit our family. He asked how I was doing with President Hinckley’s invitation.

I told him that I had the good fortune of having started the Book of Mormon before President Hinckley’s challenge and finishing it after he had issued it. Then, with some self-righteousness, I announced that I had completed the task.

Fortunately my home teacher saw things differently. As he gently corrected me, the Spirit whispered to me that he was right.

Because I was still reading at least one chapter a day in the Book of Mormon, I had already restarted it. However, I realized that I was going to have to read two chapters a day to finish the Book of Mormon again by the end of the year—in addition to any other studying that I was doing. As I increased how much I read in the Book of Mormon, I noticed that even more power came into my life. I had more joy. I saw things more clearly. I repented even more frequently. I wanted to minister to and rescue others. I was less susceptible to Satan’s deceptions and temptations. I loved the Savior more.

That November I was called to be the bishop of our ward. Completing President Hinckley’s challenge prepared me for that calling. Since then I have noticed that the busier I have become either at work or at church, the more I need to be in the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon.

I learned to swim in the swift currents of Utah’s beautiful Provo River. The “old swimming hole” was in a deep portion of the river, dangerous with its depth of 16 feet, its current, which moved swiftly against a large rock, and the sucking action of the whirlpools below the rock. It was not a place for an inexperienced swimmer.
One warm summer afternoon when I was about 12, I took a large, inflated inner tube from a tractor tire, slung it over my shoulder, and walked barefoot up the railroad track which followed the course of the river. I entered the water about a mile above the swimming hole and enjoyed a leisurely float down the river. The river held no fear for me, for I knew its secrets.
That day the Greek-speaking people in Utah held a reunion at Vivian Park in Provo Canyon, as they did every year. Native food, games, and dances were the order of the day. But some left the party to try swimming in the river. When they arrived at the swimming hole, it was deserted, for afternoon shadows were beginning to envelop it.
I was about to enter the swiftest portion of the river, just at the head of the swimming hole, when I heard frantic cries, “Save her! Save her!” A young lady swimmer, accustomed to the still waters of a gymnasium swimming pool, had fallen from the rock into the treacherous whirlpools. None of the party could swim to save her. I saw the top of her head disappearing under the water for the third time, there to descend to a watery grave. I stretched forth my hand, grasped her hair, and lifted her over the side of the tube and into my arms. At the pool’s lower end, the water was slower as I paddled the tube, with my precious cargo, to her waiting relatives and friends.
They threw their arms around her and kissed her, crying, “Thank God! Thank God you are safe!” Then they hugged and kissed me. I was embarrassed and quickly returned to the tube and continued my float down to the Vivian Park bridge. The water was frigid, but I was not cold, for I was filled with a warm feeling. I realized that I had participated in the saving of a life. Heavenly Father had heard the cries, “Save her! Save her,” and permitted me, a deacon, to float by at precisely the time I was needed. That day I learned that the sweetest feeling in mortality is to realize that God, our Heavenly Father, knows each one of us and generously permits us to see and to share His divine power to save.

As our mission in Brazil came to a close, we felt a similar desire to help our missionaries commit to lifelong obedience. In our last zone conference, we talked about our potential as children of our Heavenly Father. We read Doctrine & Covenants 132:19-20, which talks about the moment when we will enter into the celestial kingdom:

"They shall pass by the angels, and the gods, which are set there, to their exaltation and glory in all things, as hath been sealed upon their heads, which glory shall be a fulness and a continuation of the seeds forever and ever.
"Then shall they be gods, because they have no end; therefore shall they be from everlasting to everlasting, because they continue; then shall they be above all, because all things are subject unto them. Then shall they be gods, because they have all power, and the angels are subject unto them."

In that conference we all made a commitment to each other. By a raise of hands, we promised to live our lives worthy to always be able to enter the temple, and to be able to join together again in the celestial kingdom. We then gave each missionary a silver ring with our mission name and this scripture reference on it. 2006 was the summer of one of the "Lord of the Rings" movies. We became the Missionaries of the Rings. When we see our missionaries at reunions or other occasions, we speak of our rings and are reminded of the promises we made.

Sometime ago I was assigned to a stake conference in San Diego, California. When I arrived in the air terminal lounge my eyes scanned the waiting crowd to find the stake president. Finally I spied a man whom I thought must be him. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie on a hot Saturday afternoon. He was smiling and his eyes met mine with a knowing look. As I reached out my hand to his I asked, "How are you, President?" His response was a quick and pleasant, "I'm happy!" At the time I thought how appropriate his reply had been. We walked to his car and headed for the stake center and the Saturday meetings of the conference. All day I noticed that he gave the same response to every one who inquired about 'how he was,' "I'm happy!" That evening as he and I were traveling to his home, he interrupted the silence with this statement: "Elder Pinegar, you want to ask me a question." I asked what he had in mind. He responded by stating that I wanted to know why he said, "I'm happy" to every inquiry about how he was doing. I admitted that the question had been on my mind and invited him to explain. He told me the following experience from his life as a young missionary. When the stake president had entered the mission field he informed his mission president that he didn't want to be on a mission and asked to be released and sent home. The mission president replied that he could not release the young missionary because he was not the one who had called him; he had been called by the Lord. The missionary would need to stay until the Lord released him. The young man decided to stay, but each time he met or wrote to the mission president he included a request to be released, to be able to return home. Several months had passed and still the request persisted.

One afternoon following a Zone Conference and interview the missionary was surprised to hear the mission president say, "Okay, Elder, today you are going home. Pack your bags. You can go with me when I leave today." The young Elder was very happy. He went to his apartment, gathered his things, bid his companion and one of the Assistants goodbye and rode away with the mission president. He repeatedly told the president how happy this was making him to be able to go home. The mission president then said something like this: "Elder you are going home, I'm taking you to my home. I'm turning you over to my wife!." The missionary quickly responded that he did not want to go to the mission home, he wanted to go to his own home. The mission president did not give in, he merely drove to the mission home where his wife was waiting for them. As the dejected missionary got out of the car and approached the door of the mission home, the mission president's wife came out. She had a warm smile on her face and reached for his hand with a kind word and asked, "How are you Elder?" He quickly responded that he was not happy and wanted to go to his own home. This wonderfully sweet lady said, "Wrong answer Elder. Now look at me. Smile, and say, 'I'm happy!'" With a half hearted smile, and head bowed he said, "I'm happy." She smiled even more warmly and said she was glad to know he was happy. The young Elder quickly followed with the reply that he was not happy and wanted to go home, to which she responded, "Wrong answer. Now look at me, smile and say, 'I'm happy.'" He obeyed but not with any enthusiasm. They went inside the mission home where she had a nice meal awaiting them after which the missionary retired to a bedroom for the night.

For the next four days and nights the "I'm happy" conversation took place every time the president's wife and the young missionary met. On the fourth night as the Elder walked down the hall of the mission home he saw the president's wife approaching and he knew what was certain to happen. He decided to surprise her. When she reached out her hand in greeting, he smiled and responded with, "I'm happy!" He couldn't help giving a genuine smile. She was so pleased that she said, "Right answer, Elder. Now you are ready to go back to work." He quickly stated that he didn't want to go back to work, he was not really happy and only wanted to go back to his home. The mission president's wife then invited the young missionary to listen to her counsel. She knew he thought by going home, by getting away from the hard work and responsibility of his mission, he would be happy. She reminded him that he had every blessing that would lead to happiness because he had been taught the Gospe Happiness. There is no other way to find happiness than through Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice. He has prepared the way for all mankind to become happy through obedience to the truth; through the promise of forgiveness upon the conditions of repentance and obedience to the commandments of the Savior. She also reminded the missionary that the Holy Priesthood of God has been restored to the earth and that the keys of its power rests in living prophets and apostles who lead and guide us and serve as His witnesses in the earth. Through these keys of the priesthood, power has been given to bind husband and wife, children and ancestors together on earth and they would be bound in heaven. This plan of happiness was the very message the young missionary was called to teach.

This young missionary was humbled as he realized how very blessed he was to know of our Father's Plan of Salvation. He made a promise at that time that he would never complain again but would pursue the prepared path to happiness with renewed faith and determination. He went back to his labors and completed a successful, happy missionary service. From that time to the present, a period of over 37 years, he had always responded with "I'm happy!" to those who ask how he is doing. I know something of this man. Life for him has not been easy. Many challenges have come his way, but happiness has accompanied him throughout his life because he has come to understand and pursue the Lord's plan of happiness, the path He has prepared for us.

Fifty-two years ago, in July 1964, I had an assignment in New York City during the time the World’s Fair was hosted there. Early one morning I visited the Mormon Pavilion at the fair. I arrived just prior to a showing of the Church’s film Man’s Search for Happiness, a portrayal of the plan of salvation which has since become a Church classic. I sat next to a young man who was perhaps 35 years of age. We spoke briefly. He was not a member of our Church. Then the lights dimmed, and the show commenced.
We listened to the voice of the narrator as he posed the poignant and universal questions: Where did I come from? Why am I here? Where do I go when I leave this life? All ears strained to hear the answers, and all eyes were fixed on the images portrayed. A description of our premortal life was given, along with an explanation of our purpose on earth. We witnessed a touching depiction of the passing from this life of an elderly grandfather and of his glorious reunion with loved ones who had preceded him to the spirit world.
At the conclusion of this beautiful portrayal of our Heavenly Father’s plan for us, the crowd silently filed out, many visibly touched by the message of the film. The young visitor next to me did not arise. I asked if he had enjoyed the presentation. His emphatic response: “This is the truth!”
Our Father’s plan for our happiness and our salvation is shared by our missionaries throughout the world. Not all who hear this divine message accept and embrace it. However, men and women everywhere, just like my young friend at the New York World’s Fair, recognize its truths, and they plant their feet on the path that will lead them safely home. Their lives are forever changed.

The day I played tennis for the first time was also the day I vowed never to set foot on a tennis court again.
My friend had offered to teach me how to play, and I thought it sounded like fun. I’d seen him and some other friends play before, and it didn’t look that hard.
I was right: tennis wasn’t hard—it was impossible. From the get-go, my hold on the racket felt awkward, I didn’t know how to stand, and I kept hitting the ball either too hard or too soft—that is, on the rare occasions when I actually hit the ball.
My friend tried teaching me some techniques, but no matter what I did, I wasn’t improving. On top of that, the sun was scorching hot, and I was sweating in my poor outfit choice of a gray shirt and thick black pants. An hour into it, I couldn’t handle it anymore.
“I can’t do this.” I told my friend as I sunk down onto the court. “I am the least athletic person in the world!”
He came and sat by me. “It’s OK,” he said. “We don’t have to keep going. But you can hardly beat yourself up because you aren’t Serena Williams your first day on the court. You’re just learning.”
We went home, but I thought about that day a lot after that. My friend was right—I was just learning. He had been patient with me, so why couldn’t I be patient with myself? Eventually, I broke my vow and decided to try tennis again. Guess what? I even hit a few balls over the net! So I kept at it. Now it’s one of my favorite hobbies!
We aren’t perfect. We sometimes feel scared, embarrassed, or unsure. Conditions around us can make things harder, like the hot sun did when I tried to learn tennis. In fact, with everything going on in life, it can sometimes seem impossible to just get along with ourselves.

“Oh, Grandpa, isn’t it the neatest thing you’ve ever seen?” Jeff peered through the noseprint-smudged store window at a shiny red wagon. Sleek white letters on the side spelled Starlight Flyer.
“It’s a dandy, right enough.” Grandpa leaned closer to the glass. “It should be, for $49.95.”
“That much?”
“That much—plus tax.”
The corners of Jeff’s mouth drooped as he turned away from the window and headed home, followed by Grandpa. When they reached their driveway, Grandpa put a hand on Jeff’s shoulder. “I think your mother’s old wagon is still in the garage. Shall we take a look?”
Jeff followed Grandpa into the dark garage. Grandpa reached for the light switch, and piles of dusty toys appeared on shelves along the back wall. Grandpa rummaged through them. “I know it’s here somewhere. Let’s see—doll house, baseball mitts, pogo stick … wagon!” Grandpa pulled a shabby-looking wagon off the middle shelf and set it on the floor.
Jeff eyed it doubtfully. “It’s pretty beat-up, Grandpa.”
“Well-used, I’d say. Your mother loved this wagon. Your Uncle Matt would pull her in it around the yard for hours.”
“It doesn’t look nearly as nice as the one in the window. I sure would like to have that one.”
“It was a beauty, but $49.95 is a heap of money.”
“I could earn it, Grandpa. I know I could.”
“How?”
Jeff pondered silently a moment, then snapped his fingers. “I could use Mom’s wagon to run errands for people!”
Grandpa nodded slowly. “I reckon you could.”
Jeff scurried around the garage until he found a can of red paint. “I’ll give it a new coat of paint to impress my customers. Will you help me?”
Grandpa slapped Jeff on the back. “What are we waiting for?” They oiled the wheels until they rolled without a squeak, then carefully cleaned and painted the whole wagon. They were sitting on the back porch steps, admiring their handiwork, when Jeff’s mother came out of the house.
“My red wagon!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, ma’am! Jeffy’s going to use it to earn money for a brand new one.”
She walked around the wagon admiring the paint job. “Very nice! Tomorrow when the red paint’s dry I’ll repaint the white letters on the side, and it will look like new.” Jeff had noticed that there were raised letters on the side of the wagon, but he couldn’t read them under the red paint.
The next morning when Jeff went out to the garage, his mother was making one last stroke with her paintbrush. Jeff stared at the white letters. They leaned forward as if with speed and spelled Starlight Flyer. “Mom!” he said. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that you had a Starlight Flyer?”
She laughed. “I guess I’d just about forgotten. It’s fun seeing it again, though. A lot of wonderful memories are riding in that red wagon.” She sat down on the porch and started telling stories about her childhood and the old Starlight Flyer. Jeff tried to imagine her little enough to ride in the wagon while her brother pulled her around the yard. She smiled as she remembered, and Jeff smiled with her.
“You love this old wagon, don’t you, Mom?”
“Yes, Jeffy, I truly do. I didn’t realize how much until I saw it in the driveway yesterday.”
“I promise I’ll take real good care of it, Mom.”
“I know you will, Jeffy. And now I’d better go get some breakfast for my businessman son.”
Jeff hardly tasted his pancakes. He was too busy planning how he would earn $49.95. I’ll ask Mrs. Gallagher if I can help her bring her groceries home on Thursday. She always walks to the market.And maybe Mr. Corbett could use some help hauling his trash out to the street. Jeff’s thoughts raced faster than Dad’s computer. He would earn that brand-new, shiny, red Starlight Flyer.
Day after day Jeff pulled his mother’s old wagon through the neighborhood helping neighbor after neighbor, saving every cent he earned until one day he finally had enough.
“Grandpa! Grandpa!” he shouted. “I’ve earned $59.95—enough to pay tithing and still buy the Starlight Flyer. Can we go to the store and get it right now?”
Grandpa looked at the money in Jeff’s outstretched hands. “Well, if that don’t beat all.”
“I told you I could do it.”
“You did at that. Let’s head down to the toy store and see about getting you that wagon.”
At the store, Jeff pressed his nose against the window again, staring at the bright red wagon. Grandpa’s head was right next to his. “Sure is a dandy, right enough,” Grandpa said. “And it’s only $39.99. You’re in luck, Jeffy—it’s on sale!”
Jeff let out a whoop and ran inside the store. He stood by the wagon display, running his hand over the smooth red paint and the white, slightly raised letters. He examined the wheels and the axles, the tongue, and the bed of the wagon. His hand moved more and more slowly.
Grandpa came in and stood beside Jeff. He watched as his grandson took a step back and frowned at the wagon. “What’s wrong, Jeffy? Don’t you like it anymore?”
“Yeah, Grandpa, I like it. But … it just doesn’t look as good as I remembered.”
“It looks pretty good to me. Clean and shiny, no dents anywhere.”
“I know, but Mom’s wagon just feels better to me. And besides, I took really good care of it, and I think it’s built better than this one. Look at these wheels—they don’t look nearly as strong as the ones on Mom’s wagon. And see how the tongue is hooked to the front axle—that isn’t as good either.”
Grandpa examined each part of the wagon, rubbed his chin, and smiled. “I think you’re right, Jeffy. Your mother’s wagon is better than this one, and not only because it’s built better. It’s better because you fixed it up with your own hands and because you took such good care of it, and because your mother’s childhood memories are still being pulled around every time you take it out of the garage. Your mother loves that old wagon, Jeffy, and I think you do too.”
“Yeah, I guess I do.” Jeff looked down at the new wagon one last time and turned toward the door. “Let’s go home, Grandpa. I want to take my sister for a ride in my Starlight Flyer.”

Not long ago my newly married baby sister, Deborah, and her husband moved from Provo and began their small business in Idaho. They were living in a new mobile home with a new infant daughter. They were as happy as an eager young family of three could be. After a brief time near his parent’s home, my young brother-in-law moved his wife and daughter and their new mobile home to what were literally greener pastures. He was a keeper of bees, and the clover looked tastier on the other side of the fence. The little family relocated some miles away, where the land was to flow, if not with milk, then at least with honey. They spent a long day and much of a night moving their good-sized mobile home onto their new property.

They were eager with anticipation and bursting with pride to be on their own. All that they owned was safely inside that trailer, stacked floor to ceiling with wedding gifts and baby blankets and years of childhood treasures. Early the next morning they arose to savor this new Canaan. They were certain they had crossed over Jordan.

With a bit of breakfast, my young brother-in-law went out into the fields to map out locations for hives and make plans for production. My sister, happy and full of hope, played with her daughter and then started to wash out some things soiled from the move.

First there was a little smoke, then a lot of smoke, and then instantly a flash. During the move, the gas jets to the water heater had been disturbed, and fire now had the trailer engulfed in flames. This little home, for which they had scrimped and saved and borrowed and prayed, was now a tinder box. Deborah grabbed her 10-month-old daughter and stumbled to a safe distance. A neighbor saw the blaze and called the small volunteer fire department. But it was too little, too late, and too lonely. Everything was gone that these two faithful and genuinely good young people had based their dreams upon: baby toys, photographs, remembrance records, quilts from a loving grandmother, mission mementos, beds, books, clothing, and tools. Everything was gone. And there stood this 24-year-old girl, my sister, holding her child and sobbing.

Her husband was busy at work with no way of knowing of this tragedy. Deborah was 400 miles from any member of her family and did not know one living soul in this new rural community where just a dozen hours earlier they had arrived with such hopes and dreams. Their future, for this little family of three, was disintegrating before her very eyes. First smoke, then flame, and now ashes.

So much, we might say, modest as they are, for the youthful dreams of the newly married—for those who are full of faith, constant in prayer, and obedient to every principle. This new wife and mother clutched her baby and wept out of loneliness, I suppose, as much as out of fear.

What would they do now? she thought. How would they pay the loan on a new trailer that was now gone? Where would they sleep? How would they eat? Who could help?

She stood there, overwhelmed at the lightning stroke of misfortune that had consumed their dreams in an instant. At that very moment, a young man stood at her side unnoticed. Neighbors were arriving, and the valiant efforts of firefighters held everyone’s attention—everyone’s but this young man’s. He seemed oblivious to the whole matter. He appeared to be 25 or so, not much older than she or her own husband.

As the others scurried by with buckets and pails and hoses and shovels, he gently reached out and took her arm. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Barry Larsen, and I understand you’ve just moved into our ward. I’m your bishop, and I want you to know that everything is going to be just fine.”

Well, things have been better than fine. After they had spent two or three nights in the home of the Relief Society president, a home was located for rent. A wise young husband had purchased insurance very carefully, and a bank responded with a generous offer for them to build a new home rather than buy another mobile version. Old dreams were forgotten in the rush of new ones, and now, two years later, they are full of hope and happiness, and their land is indeed flowing with honey.

In conclusion I would like to return now to Janet’s fundamental principle, unadorned by corollaries, that we can learn from our mistakes. And, specifically, I would like to recount for you what I learned twenty years ago, almost to the day, from one of my great heroes and role models, Harold B. Lee. On September 11, 1973, following the last devotional address he ever gave at this university and about three months before his untimely death, President Lee gathered together a group of BYU administrators and talked to us for about an hour regarding some of the principles of leadership he had learned over the course of his life. He did this by telling us about a dozen stories. The stories fascinated me, as did the conclusions he drew from them. It wasn’t until a couple of days later that Elder Oaks, then president of the university, pointed out something I had not realized: Everyone of President Lee’s stories revolved around a mistake he had made at some phase of his life. Let me tell you the one example I remember best.
As many of you may know, President Lee was a great admirer of President J. Reuben Clark. Prior to being called as a General Authority, Brother Lee served as managing director of the Church welfare program. On that day in 1973 when he spoke to the BYU administrators, he told us how frustrated he had become while serving in his welfare position because of a lack of cooperation by employees in another Church office. Shortly after his call as a member of the Council of the Twelve, he said to his mentor, President Clark, “Now that I am one of the Twelve, do you suppose I can get some response from those people in such and such an office?”
President Clark’s response, as President Lee reported it that day, was, “Yes, my boy, now that you hold the whip hand, there is a great temptation to use it. But you must never do that.”
For me that story bore a powerful message about respect for the use of power and the mistakes that can be made in its misuse.