Gospel Story Finder

“We ended up living in Yuba City,” says Rachel W., 17, “and so I had to get up an hour earlier just to make it to seminary in the morning. Maybe it’s because of that little sacrifice to get there, but I’ve noticed that since the fire I love seminary even more. My day is always better and I like being with all the Paradise kids again. It’s amazing to see how everyone’s testimony has been strengthened after the fire.”

Emily was having so much fun that she forgot about the other kids. Then, while Uncle Al was telling her about getting his truck stuck in the mud, Brian and three other cousins came over to listen. They were just in time to hear the end of the story: “So I left the truck, walked home, got my sister and our other truck and went back,” said Uncle Al. “And wouldn’t you know, I got the second truck stuck too! My dad finally had to come with the tractor to pull them both out.”

When I was called as a General Authority by President Russell M. Nelson, I was flooded with emotions. It was overwhelming. My wife, Julie, and I anxiously awaited the Saturday afternoon session of general conference. It was humbling to be sustained. I carefully counted the steps to my designated seat so as not to fall in my first assignment.

At the conclusion of that session, something happened that had a profound effect on me. The quorum members formed a line and greeted the new General Authorities one by one. Each one shared their love and support. With a hearty abrazo they said, “Don’t worry—you belong.”

In our relationship with the Savior, He looks on the heart and is “no respecter of persons.” Consider how He chose His Apostles. He didn’t pay attention to status or wealth. He invites us to follow Him, and I believe He reassures us that we belong with Him.

This message especially applies to the youth of the Church. I see in you what President Nelson sees in you. He said that “there is something undeniably special about this generation of youth. Your Heavenly Father must have great confidence in you to send you to earth at this time. You were born for greatness!”

I am grateful for what I learn from the youth. I am grateful for what my children teach me, for what our missionaries teach me, and for what my nieces and nephews teach me.

Not too long ago, I was working on our farm with my nephew Nash. He is six and has a pure heart. He is my favorite nephew named Nash, and I believe I am his favorite uncle speaking in conference today.

As he helped me come up with a solution for our project, I said, “Nash, that is a great idea. How did you get so smart?” He looked at me with an expression in his eyes that said, “Uncle Ryan, how do you not know the answer to this question?”

He simply shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and confidently said, “Jesus.”

Nash reminded me that day of this simple and yet profound teaching. The answer to the simplest questions and to the most complex problems is always the same. The answer is Jesus Christ. Every solution is found in Him.

In the Gospel of John, the Savior said to His disciples that He would prepare a place for them. Thomas was confused and said to the Savior:
“Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way?
“Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.”
The Savior taught His disciples that He is “the way, the truth, and the life.” He is the answer to the question of how to come unto Heavenly Father. Gaining a testimony of His divine role in our lives was something I learned as a young man.

While I was serving as a missionary in Argentina, President Howard W. Hunter invited us to do something that had a profound effect on my life. He said, “We must know Christ better than we know him; we must remember him more often than we remember him; we must serve him more valiantly than we serve him.”

At that time, I had been concerned with how to be a better missionary. This was the answer: to know Christ, to remember Him, and to serve Him. Missionaries throughout the world are united in this purpose: to “invite others to come unto Christ by helping them receive the restored gospel through faith in [Him] and His Atonement” and through “repentance, baptism, receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, and enduring to the end.” To our friends who are listening to the missionaries, I add my invitation to come unto Christ. Together we will strive to know Him, remember Him, and serve Him.

Serving a mission was a sacred time of my life. In my last interview with him as a full-time missionary, President Blair Pincock spoke of the upcoming change in mission leaders, as he and his wife were also nearing the completion of their service. We were both sad to be leaving something we loved so much. He could see that I was troubled by the thought of not being a full-time missionary. He was a man of great faith and lovingly taught me as he had for the previous two years. He pointed to the picture of Jesus Christ above his desk and said, “Elder Olsen, it is all going to be OK because it is His work.” I felt reassured knowing that the Savior will help us, not just while we are serving but always—if we will let Him.

Sister Pincock taught us from the depths of her heart in the simplest Spanish phrases. When she said, “Jesucristo vive,” I knew it was true and that He lived. When she said, “Elderes y hermanas, les amo,” I knew that she loved us and wanted us to follow the Savior always.

My wife and I were recently blessed to serve as mission leaders to labor with the outstanding missionaries in Uruguay. I would say that these were the best missionaries in the world, and I trust that every mission leader feels that way. These disciples taught us every day about following the Savior.

During regular interviews one of our great sister missionaries walked into the office. She was a successful missionary, an excellent trainer, and a dedicated leader. She was looked up to by her companions and loved by the people. She was obedient, humble, and confident. Our previous visits focused on her area and the people she was teaching. This visit was different. As I asked her how she was doing, I could tell she was troubled. She said, “President Olsen, I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I will ever be good enough. I don’t know if I can be the missionary that the Lord needs me to be.”

She was a remarkable missionary. Excellent in every way. A mission president’s dream. I had never worried about her abilities as a missionary.

As I listened to her, I struggled to know what to say. I silently prayed: “Heavenly Father, this is an outstanding missionary. She is Yours. She is doing everything right. I don’t want to mess this up. Please help me know what to say.”

The words came to me. I said, “Hermana, I am so sorry you are feeling this way. Let me ask you a question. If you had a friend you were teaching who felt this way, what would you say?”

She looked at me and smiled. With that unmistakable missionary spirit and conviction, she said, “President, that is easy. I would tell her that the Savior knows her perfectly. I would tell her that He lives. He loves you. You are good enough, and you’ve got this!”

With a little chuckle she said, “I guess if that applies to our friends, then it also applies to me.”

I remember the first day I went inside the Salt Lake Temple. A white-haired lady in a white temple dress greeted me. She said, “Welcome to the temple, Brother Eyring.” I thought for a moment she was an angel because she knew my name. I forgot that my name was on a small card pinned to my suit coat.
I looked up at the high white ceiling. The room was so light that it seemed it was open to the sky. I felt that I had been there before. Then I felt that I had been in a sacred place like that before I was born.
The words “Holiness to the Lord” are written on the outside of all our temples. I know that those words are true. The temple is a holy place where revelation comes to us easily if our hearts are open to it.
I pray that you will want to go there, where you can feel close to the Lord. You can help your ancestors be with Him and with you forever.

Ding-dong! The doorbell rang. Carol and her sister, Jacqui, ran to the door. “Mum!” Carol called. “Dee’s here. We’re going to leave for church!”
“Have fun,” Mum said.
Carol opened the door. “Hi, Dee,” she said. “Let’s go!”
Carol, Jacqui, and Dee walked to the bus stop. They were excited to visit a new church. They had read about it in a magazine. They invited some other friends to come with them too.
The bright red bus pulled up. The girls hopped on. In London, Carol and her friends rode the bus almost everywhere they went.
As the bus stopped along the way, more friends got on. Vanessa, Sheila, and Angela—they were all coming!
The bus stopped in front of a community center. This was where the church’s meetings were held. When Carol walked through the doors, she felt something special.
Carol listened to the songs, the prayers, and the talks. She’d been to other churches before. But this church felt different.
When church was over, the girls rode the bus home. “Want to go again next week?” Dee asked.
Carol smiled. “That’s what I was thinking!”
The girls went to church again and again. The people there were so nice. Someone always asked them to sit by them. And when there were activities during the week, they were always invited. Carol felt like she was part of a big church family.
When Carol met the missionaries, she already wanted to be baptized. Jacqui did too. But Carol’s parents said no. They didn’t think the girls were old enough to decide to be baptized.
Most of Carol’s friends weren’t allowed to be baptized either. But each Sunday, they all took the bus to church. Carol was sad to go without the rest of her family. But she knew it was important to go.
Three years passed. Carol still wished she could be baptized. She wanted to come out of the water, clean and pure. And she knew the gift of the Holy Ghost would help her so much!
“Mum,” Carol said one day, “can I please be baptized?”
Mum was quiet for a minute. “I have seen you change since you’ve been going to church,” she said. “I see how hard you try to make good choices each day. If your dad says yes, then so do I.”
At last Carol and Jacqui were able to get baptized. When the missionaries placed their hands on Carol’s head to confirm her, she felt clean and strong. She was happy she had made promises with God. And now she was an official member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints!
Carol gave Jacqui a hug as they waited for the bus to take them home. They were the first members of the Church in their family. They were pioneers! And that was a blessing Carol would never take for granted.
Dee was later baptized too. Today Carol and Dee are still good friends!
Carol is now serving as a member of the Young Women general advisory council.

Shelly sat on the front steps with her big pink elephant. “Remember when we went to Mr. Bin’s farm?” she asked. “He let us ride the pony, and you were scared. I was a little bit scared, too, but not really.”
“Hello, Shelly,” called her neighbor Mrs. Lee. “Are you talking to your toy elephant? I remember how I used to talk to my doll when I was your age.”
“I’m talking to Jojo,” Shelly replied.
“Jojo’s a nice name for an elephant.”
“He’s not an elephant! He’s a boy,” Shelly explained.
Mrs. Lee smiled and nodded her head. “Whatever you say, dear.”
Shelly watched Mrs. Lee drive away in her car. She giggled. “She thought you were an elephant.”
The mailman came up the walk. “Are you and your elephant having a nice chat on this beautiful day?” he asked.
“He can’t talk,” Shelly said.
“No, but you can talk to him. I remember talking to a teddy bear when I was little.”
“I was talking to Jojo,” Shelly said. “But he doesn’t talk much to me.”
The mailman looked around. “Jojo, eh?” he chuckled. “No, I’d guess he wouldn’t have much more to say than the elephant does. What’s your elephant’s name?”
“Just elephant,” Shelly replied.
The mailman chuckled again. “Well, have a good day.”
“You have a good day too,” Shelly said.
Shelly set the elephant down on the step. “I’ll be back,” she promised, “after I take the mail to Mom.”
When she returned Shelly sat down beside the pink elephant and flipped its trunk up and down. “Mom baked a chocolate cake. Pretty soon we can have cake and milk. Ummm, I can taste it already.”
She got on her knees and watched an ant crawling along the sidewalk. “Wow, that tiny little ant is dragging something bigger than it is. Ants are fun to watch, you know. Hey, look at that. Wow! There’re millions of them I bet.”
Billy Hale skidded to a stop. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Looking at some ants,” Shelly answered.
Billy got off his bike and came to look. “You think those ants understand what you’re saying?”
Shelly snorted. “I wasn’t talking to the ants.”
“Yeah? Who were you talking to then?” Billy slung a leg over his bike.
“Jojo,” Shelly replied.
Billy looked all around. “Jojo? Oh, the toy elephant.”
“No, silly. Jojo is a boy.”
Billy laughed and shook his head. “Oh, Shelly! You’re something else.” He rode away laughing.
“What’s the matter with him?” Shelly sputtered.
“Milk and cake!” Mother called.
Shelly’s cousin Jojo, who had come last night for a visit, crawled out from under the porch. His face and hands were covered with dirt. His hair was full of cobwebs.
“Did you find it?” Shelly asked.
The boy raised his left hand, holding a red ball.
“Oh, thank you, Jojo,” Shelly said. “I thought sure it was lost.”
Jojo smiled and said, “Let’s go get that milk and cake!”

We are counseled to seek learning and gain education for several purposes, but one of them is to involve ourselves in a love for and a knowledge of great books. And we ought to be born again a great many times as a consequence. You are involved with a large number of great teachers and important philosophies that will also help you to be born again.

One of the most pleasant and productive experiences in my life happened in 1943 as the Japanese war was taking place. I heard Dr. Adam S. Bennion give a lecture on the value of great literature. You can sell the idea of the value of great ideas to anyone. That is, we all believe that we should be acquainted with great human thought. But almost everyone gets away from its benefit by saying that he doesn’t have time to read. To get away from this objection of not having time, Dr. Bennion said, “Suppose that you were going to be a prisoner in a Japanese concentration camp for the next four years and you could take with you the works of any ten authors. Which would you take, and what would you expect to get out of them?” That is, what are the values of great ideas, of great literature? His idea was to take the ten authors you would most like to resemble and then exhaust each one in turn. That is, you would read every thought and consider every idea that a particular author had ever recorded; you would rethink his every idea. The psychologists say that when you run an idea through your brain, it makes a little groove or engram. If you run through your mind the kind of ideas that went through the mind of Shakespeare or Emerson or the apostle Paul or Moses or Jesus of Nazareth, then your brain will tend to respond as their brains did.

From someplace I got the courage to make the start. I guess Shakespeare comes fairly close to the top of most people’s lists of great authors. So I got out Shakespeare’s 37 plays, his sonnets, and his poems and went to work. Reading them was pretty difficult at first. I read very slowly and perhaps not very comprehendingly. Shakespeare wrote a long time ago, and there were many things that I did not understand. I had to reread some things several times, look up their meanings, and ask people about them. But finally the clouds began to part, a little bit of the sunlight began to come through, and I had a tremendous experience with Shakespeare. Shakespeare looked with clearer insight into human life than do most men. He said his purpose in writing was to hold the mirror up to life, to show virtue her own image and scorn her own likeness. He said, “I your looking-glass will be and will modestly discover to yourself qualities which you yourself know not of.” I had a great uplift as I read his speeches and his arguments for success. And as he pictured life in miniature with his great characters acting and reacting upon each other, I was intellectually born again—a great many times. Each time we discover some inspiring thought, we can be changed, and changed for the better.

Who would have known that a decision I made when I was 11 would influence the rest of my life?
At that time, my family seldom attended church. But my brother and I attended Primary. My teacher, in a lesson on temple marriage, said, “You have to decide now that you’re going to be married in the temple. It can’t wait. Decide today.” That was the first time I remember feeling touched by the Spirit, and I did decide, right then, that my goal was to marry in the temple.
For a few years, nothing changed. I seldom attended church, but I thought differently. I believed someday I would go to the temple.
Eventually that one decision began to affect other decisions. When I was 14, I decided that a person planning to go to the temple needed to take seminary. I saw myself as a seminary-going kind of person.
My friends from seminary attended Young Women activities, so I started going, too. I decided someone who planned to receive temple blessings would be helped by earning her Young Womanhood Recognition award. It wasn’t easy because of my late start in Church activity, but a great leader helped me set extra goals to catch up.
One of my goals was 100 percent attendance at Church meetings for one month. It was hard to have my parents drop me off each week. Sometimes I coaxed my little sister into going with me so I wouldn’t have to sit alone. Achieving that goal helped me see that I was a church-going kind of person.
I made mistakes, lots of them. Sometimes I became discouraged and thought my temple dream would never come true. A loving bishop guided me, taught me about repentance, and helped me find the determination to endure. He helped me remember that no matter how difficult, reaching the temple would be worth every effort, every sacrifice I made.
Turning 16 brought more decisions. One of my Sunday School teachers warned, “You will marry someone you date. Make sure you date the kind of person you can marry in the temple.” I took his advice seriously and asked myself about each friendship, “Is this the kind of person I could go to the temple with?” Sometimes my judgment was off. Still I kept to my plan until I found the right person to marry in the right place.
My parents supported me in all my decisions. Mom and Dad stood with me on the stand in sacrament meeting the day I received my Young Womanhood medallion. They were there when I graduated from seminary. They were with me when I received my patriarchal blessing, and they supported me as I attended Ricks College.
They were both with me the day I walked to the doors of the temple. I had finally reached the point when I would enter the temple and receive the blessings I had learned about and looked forward to. The statue of the angel Moroni, reflecting in the early morning sun on the temple spire, seemed to proclaim my joy to the world. I kissed my parents good-bye as I entered.
If I had waited to decide where to marry, it would have been too difficult to leave my parents outside and be married inside the temple. I wouldn’t have had a strong enough testimony of the gospel, of the importance of the temple, and of the necessity of making eternal covenants. I may not even have had the opportunity to decide. Leaders, bishops, and friends had helped me. My family had supported me. But I never would have made it if I hadn’t first decided I was going to be married in the temple.
In the temple I learned more about Heavenly Father’s plan for me. I learned I hadn’t completed my goal at all. I had only made one more step. So I decided right then to keep my temple covenants, no matter how difficult. I decided I will someday return to live with my Heavenly Father.

I can’t wait to be a deacon. Ever since I was little, I’ve watched with envy as the older boys passed the sacrament. It’s an important job, and they always seem to know just where to go when they pass the sacrament. Now it’s my turn. My twelfth birthday is this week, and I’ve been learning about the priesthood in Blazer class. I’ve been dreaming about passing the sacrament myself. I wonder if I’ll get to pass it to the bishop.
My Blazer teacher told us that we would be interviewed by the bishop before we could be ordained. This would be my second interview—he had already interviewed me when I was going to get baptized. But I’ve lived half my life again since then!
I like my bishop. I see him every Sunday, and he knows my name. Sometimes he says hello. But I still worried about that interview. Did I know enough to be a deacon? Would he ask me about things I keep secret? Could I share my secrets with him? If I did, would he keep them secret?
Friday after dinner the bishop’s secretary called and said the bishop wanted to see me after my Blazer class on Sunday. I said OK, but I was nervous. In my mind I went over everything I thought that he might ask me. I began to remember all the things that happened this year. Some of them I wished hadn’t happened.
Sunday after class I headed for the bishop’s office. What a busy place! I thought. Everybody wants to see him. I think I’ll go home and come another day.
But he saw me. “Hello there, Bobby,” he called. “Come in and sit down, please. Excuse me just one moment.” He stepped out into the hall to talk to someone about something. I wondered what they were talking about. I looked around his office. He had a big chair and a desk, a picture of the Savior, and a picture of President Benson. I saw the scriptures on his desk. They sure were well worn. I wondered what it would be like to be a bishop.
The door opened, and the bishop came back in and sat next to me. He shook my hand. “Thank you for coming to see me,” he said. “You’re almost twelve, the age when we normally confer the Aaronic Priesthood and ordain boys as deacons. I’ve talked with your father, and he also felt that you and I should have this interview. Tell me what you know and how you feel about the priesthood.”
Oh no, I thought. What shall I tell him? He probably knows everything about the priesthood. I started by telling him some things from Blazer class and some things my mother had taught me. He didn’t interrupt, and once I got started, my nervousness went away.
When I finished, he said, “Very good. I can see that you’ve been paying attention and that you understand some important principles. There are some scriptures about the priesthood that I’d like to share with you. They’re some of my favorites.”
He turned first to section 20 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 20]. We read from it and talked about the duties of a deacon. Then we read from section 84 [D&C 84] and talked about the covenant of the Aaronic Priesthood. After that, he turned to what he said was his favorite scripture—section 121. We read from verse 34 to the end of the section [D&C 121:34–46]. He helped me understand what the promise in verses 45 and 46 meant. [D&C 121:45–46]
Then he looked me right in the eyes and asked if I was paying tithing. I thought about how hard it had been to start. I was sure happy that I could say I was a full-tithe payer. I told him how good I felt when I paid my tithing.
Next he asked me if I ever smoked or drank alcoholic beverages or took drugs. I remembered the time my friends and I had tried a cigarette, and I didn’t want to say anything. I hadn’t even told my parents. I knew it was wrong when I’d done it, and I still felt bad about it. Something inside me said, “Speak up,” but I just couldn’t. My silence must have told the bishop I was wrestling with something, because he talked to me about keeping secrets. He called it “confidentiality.” He said that he would keep anything I told him a secret unless I gave him permission to share it with my parents. Then he waited.
It seemed like a long time while I figured out what words to use. I told him about smoking and how ashamed it made me feel. We talked about how it had happened and what I should do to repent. I didn’t tell him who I’d done it with, and he didn’t ask me to. He said that his knowing their names had nothing to do with my worthiness to receive the priesthood. We discussed the help my parents could give me, and I decided to tell them. A calm feeling came over me. I guess that’s what happens when you do something that you know is right.
When the bishop asked me if I was morally clean, I didn’t know what he meant, so I asked him. He explained about keeping my mind and body clean. We talked about how to do that. He explained that if I lived righteously, the power of the priesthood would always be with me.
He asked me to kneel with him and say a prayer, so I did. It was a short one. Then he prayed. He asked Heavenly Father to bless me, and that made me feel good. I knew that my bishop liked me.
I can hardly wait to tell Mom and Dad about my interview. They’ll be happy for me and will help me be a good, worthy bearer of the priesthood. Just think—next Sunday I’ll be presented in sacrament meeting by the bishop to be sustained to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and to be ordained a deacon. And the week after that, I’ll pass the sacrament. I’m going to be reverent when I do and try to set a good example. Maybe some younger boys will be looking up to me.

There, as everywhere, you can find the sort of faith that makes people whole. I wish each of you could enjoy with Bishop Carter and his family, as I’ve done, a meal of dumplings, mashed potatoes, wurst, and homemade sauerkraut. Bishop Carter was branch president and bishop in Huntingdon, Pennsylvania, for more than 17 years. He once told me a story that reflects their kind of faith—about their chapel, built years ago on choice donated property in a beautiful, wooded, idyllic setting that looks almost too perfect to be accidental. After the building plans were drawn up and the contracts negotiated, the city council, resistant to Mormons building in their town, declared an ancient, gigantic oak tree in the middle of the property to be a historic landmark, a move to prevent construction. Members gathered in prayer, and that very night something the town couldn’t legislate happened: a terrific storm swept through the valley, and lightning struck the tree, splitting it right to the ground and turning that historic oak into humble kindling. Construction began the next week.

In October 1980 I was riding my bicycle when I suddenly realized my foot brake was not working. I panicked, not knowing when or how I would be able to stop. When my wild ride ended and I finally coasted safely to a stop, I ended up next to Rodico Flores, a good friend and high school classmate. I explained what had happened, and then we chatted for a little while. During our conversation, he asked if I had time to come to his church. Since I knew he was a good person and I admired the other Latter-day Saints I knew, I decided to go the next Sunday.
On Sunday I noticed that the building his church met in was clean and beautiful. I felt something different there. I was met by a person who shook my hand and even put his arm around me, telling me he was happy to see me. I felt good, even though I was a bit shy and nervous. This brother took me to a class for investigators.
After the lesson two young women introduced themselves as full-time missionaries. They asked if they could visit me at my home. I quickly told them I was busy and started giving them excuses. But they still asked me to tell them when I was available, and I responded that I was available early Monday morning. I said they could come but only if they wanted to come at 4:00 A.M.
To my surprise, they looked at each other and said, “Brother Solomon, we will be there.” Then I insisted that it was hard to reach my family’s house, that it was located in the middle of a fishpond, that we had a lot of dogs. I told them they would have a hard time getting there. But they said again, “Brother Solomon, we will be there.” After I left, I forgot all about our appointment because I didn’t believe they would be coming.
Early Monday morning I was surprised to hear the dogs barking and a voice calling, “Brother Solomon! Brother Solomon!” I looked out the window, and I started to feel differently about the missionaries. I felt a confirmation that they were true servants of God. I invited them in and listened to their message. After a while I told them to come every day with a lesson, which they did. They taught me until I was prepared for baptism.
Just after my baptism on 31 October 1980, a friend invited me to a ward party. I said to myself, This Church is nice; they even throw a party for me. I later realized I wasn’t really the guest of honor. But at the party my friend introduced me to a young woman and told her to take good care of me. Annie Ortiz was indeed a good fellowshipper. At this time, she is still taking good care of me. We were married in 1985 and sealed in the Manila Philippines Temple.
Since my baptism, I have grown in the gospel as I have been given opportunities to serve. In 1983 I was called to serve full time in the Philippines Davao Mission, and four months after my marriage I was called as a bishop. I also served as a stake president and in a mission presidency. My wife and I are happily married and have two children, Ezra and Brigham, and we are looking forward to a lifetime of service.
I am grateful for the happiness I have found in the Church, for the dedicated missionaries who persevered, and for the broken bicycle brake that actually helped send me on my way.

Let me share two examples:

First, when my wife Dantzel unexpectedly passed away, I could not reach any of our children. There I was, alone, devastated, and crying out for help. Gratefully, through His Spirit, the Lord taught me why my dear Dantzel had been taken home. With that understanding, I was comforted. Over time, I was better able to cope with my grief. Later, I married my beloved wife Wendy. She was a central part of my second example.
When Wendy and I were on assignment in a distant land, armed robbers put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger. But the gun did not fire. Throughout that experience, both of our lives were threatened. Yet Wendy and I felt an undeniable peace. It was the peace “which passeth all understanding.”
Brothers and sisters, the Lord will comfort you too! He will strengthen you. He will bless you with peace, even amidst chaos.

Another Colleague of mine told me of this story to help prove this point of understanding to achieve and how it influences the human potential.

A graduate student was working hard in an upper-level math course. On the night before the final, he studied so long that he overslept the morning of the test.

When he ran into the classroom several minutes late, he found three equations written on the blackboard. The first two went rather easily, but the third one seemed impossible. He worked frantically on it until — just ten minutes short of the deadline — he found a method that worked, and he finished the problems just as time was called.

The student turned in his test paper and left. That evening he received a phone call from his professor. "Do you realize what you did on the test today?" he asked the student.

"Oh, no," thought the student. I must have done poorly.

"You were only supposed to do the first two problems," the professor explained. "That last one was an example of a proof that mathematicians since Einstein have been trying to solve without success. I discussed it with the class before starting the test. And you just solved it!"

The student was George Dantzig, later became a math professor and received the National Medal of Science from President Gerald Ford. He is often been termed, "The Father of Linear Programming".

I grew up as a cowboy working on my family’s cattle ranch. One of my jobs was to gather hay from the fields with a dump rake, which is a giant rake pulled by a team of two horses. Driving the team, I raked up hay and dumped it into large piles. One day when I was 11, I thought I heard something broken in the rake. I pulled on the reins to stop the horses. When they stopped, I let go of the reins and jumped off to see what the problem was.
As soon as I got off, the horses turned around and looked at me. When they saw that I had let go of the reins, they bolted away, racing for the barn with the big rake bouncing along behind them. I was left far behind, alone and afraid.
When the horses got to the barn they ran through the door, but the dump rake was too big and it crashed into the barn. The doors were badly damaged and so was the rake. I knew I was in trouble.
This experience taught me to never let go of the reins, not even for a moment. Lehi’s dream in the Book of Mormon also teaches about never letting go of something—the iron rod, which is the word of God. We should never let go of the iron rod, not even for a moment. If we hold onto the gospel principles tightly, we will get where we want to go, which is back to live with Heavenly Father. If we let go of the gospel principles, bad things can happen very quickly. We must always try to choose the right and never let go of the iron rod.

Another example of his self-mastery was his determination to become a good penman. His penmanship was so bad that when two of his friends looked at it, one said, “That writing looks like hen tracks.” “No,” said the other, “it looks as if lightning has struck an ink bottle.” This, of course, touched young Heber Grant’s pride. While he was still in his teens as a policy clerk in the office of H. R. Mann and Co., “he was offered three times his salary to go to San Francisco as a penman. He later became a teacher of penmanship and bookkeeping at the University of [Utah]. In fact, with a specimen he had written before he turned seventeen, he took first prize in a territorial fair against four professional penmen.”

Practices went on for months in the individual stakes, with leaders traveling from one group to the other to make sure that all of them were doing the dances the same way. Months and months of man-hours were involved. And it all came together on Tuesday morning, July 23.
The 2,000 young people met with Johnny Whitaker, the D’s, the Grandland Singers, and the leaders, and they took a million pieces of puzzle and created a beautiful, finished product. They rehearsed all day.
“And it worked,” said Bruce Nelson of the Spokane Stake. “One of the greatest experiences happened when we performed for the first time on Tuesday evening. Everything came off like it was planned. It was really fantastic! The theme of the whole thing was ‘Catch a Happy Feeling!’ And we caught it!” And so did those who came to observe. Favorable comments were heard on every side, and the young performers’ enthusiasm grew as the 24th and their second performance approached.

I had always planned to be a missionary, but I’d figured on waiting till I was older so I could get sent to Mexico, Africa, Russia, or some other far-off place. Turning me into a nine-year-old missionary was Sister Munn’s fault. She started talking in Primary opening exercises about the sons of Mosiah, the Apostle Paul, and Heber C. Kimball. Then, after church, we bumped into each other in the hall and she said, “You look like you’re eager to be a missionary, Benjamin. Are you?”
Well, my oldest brother, Matt, was a missionary in Spain, and I planned to be like him, so I grinned and nodded. “I wouldn’t mind going to Spain in about ten years. Matt thinks it’s pretty nice there.”
Sister Munns smiled. “Benjamin,” she said, getting real serious, “you don’t have to wait ten years. You can be a missionary now. You have some new neighbors moving in next door, and I don’t believe they’re members of the Church. Would you be willing to share the gospel with your new neighbors, just as your brother is sharing it in Spain?”
“I’m a little young,” I mumbled. “I don’t know what to say or how to say it.”
“The Lord says we’re a peculiar people,” Sister Munns explained. “That means that we’re different. People want to know why we’re different. Part of being a missionary is telling people why we’re different. Will you do that, Benjamin?”
“Sure,” I said. “I can do that.”
“Who are our new neighbors, and when do they move in?” I asked Mom as I ate Sunday dinner.
“They’re a young couple,” Mom answered. “His name is Conrad, and his wife’s name is Tricia. He just finished law school.”
“I told Sister Munns that I’d be a missionary and share the gospel with them,” I said. My whole family stopped eating. “How can I do it?” I asked.
My big brother James smiled. “Well, if you were like Ammon in the Book of Mormon, you could be their servant.”
“Huh?” I grunted. “Sister Munns didn’t say anything about being a servant. Isn’t that kind of like being a slave?”
Mom laughed. “James means that you can make friends with them by helping them. After they know that you care about them, you’ll be able to share the gospel with them.”
When the moving van showed up, I was a little afraid to make my first move as a missionary, but since I’d promised Sister Munns, I had to try. “Hello,” I said a little shakily, holding out my hand to Tricia, who was trying to decide which box to haul into the house next. “My name is Benjamin Tripp. I live next door.”
Tricia smiled and shook my hand. “Conrad,” she called, “come meet our next-door neighbor, Benjamin Tripp.”
“Well, Benjamin Tripp, it’s great to know you,” Conrad said, shaking my hand. He was a big, tall man with lots of thick brown hair and a huge, friendly smile. I liked him right away.
“Most people just call me Ben,” I mumbled. “I came over to … well, you know, to be your … servant.”
Conrad and Tricia grinned. “That sounds great,” Conrad said. “I could use a good servant right about now. Why don’t you start hauling some of these boxes into the house?”
I grabbed a big box off the lawn and started for the house. The box was heavy, and I couldn’t exactly see where I was going. I was thinking that there were four steps up to the front door, but there were five. I hit that fifth step and fell flat on my face, dropping the box and hearing a crash.
“We won’t worry about a few dishes,” Tricia said, smiling and patting me on the back. “Conrad breaks them all the time.”
“I do?” Conrad asked, giving her a funny look.
I tried to be more careful after that, and I did pretty well until I carried a chair to the dining room. I had to squeeze between stacks of boxes. One of the chair legs bumped a box, and it fell with a thud and a bunch of books fell out of it. I had them all put back by the time Conrad and Tricia came charging into the dining room.
Conrad took a deep breath. “I tell you what, Ben,” he said slowly, putting his hand on my shoulder. “I appreciate your being our servant and all, but maybe you could serve someplace else this afternoon.” He smiled. “Like over at your house.”
I thought a minute and then asked, “Are you hungry? If you’re hungry, I can bake some really good chocolate chip oatmeal cookies.”
“Have you ever made cookies?” Conrad asked suspiciously.
“I don’t have to make them. Mom already made the dough. All I have to do is put the blobs of dough on the pan and bake them.”
“I could use a cookie,” Conrad said. “You will bake them at your house, won’t you?”
It didn’t take me long to plop gobs of dough onto a cookie sheet and put them into the oven. They were supposed to bake twelve minutes, so I went into the family room and played on the computer.
“What’s burning?” I heard Mom exclaim.
I charged into the kitchen. The tops of the cookies were fine. I discovered that if I put the cookies on a plate just right, you hardly noticed that they were black on the bottom.
“Those are fine looking cookies,” Tricia said happily as I handed her the plate.
Conrad grabbed a cookie and bit down on it. Nothing happened. At least nothing happened to the cookie. It might have hurt Conrad’s teeth a little, though. He studied the cookie, turning it over.
“They got a little burnt,” I explained, fidgeting. “But if you just chew the tops off, they’re pretty good. Do you want me to make you a different batch? Mom has dough for sugar cookies.”
Conrad held up the cookie in his hand and pointed to the plate of cookies with the other hand. “No, Ben, I think this will keep us for a while. Thanks for thinking about us, though.”
I was about to leave when I spotted Conrad’s truck all covered with mud. “Your truck’s dirty.”
Conrad nodded, gnawing on the top of a cookie. “I’ll have to spray it off one of these days.”
Right then I got an idea. If I was going to be Conrad’s servant, I’d serve even when he didn’t ask.
Early the next morning I sprayed the mud and dirt off the truck. I was hiding in the bushes when Conrad hurried out the front door, dressed in his suit and carrying a briefcase. He stopped in front of the truck and smiled. “Well, I’ll bet Ben’s been here. It comes in right handy having a servant.”
Conrad opened the truck door, tossed his briefcase inside and sat down. Immediately he let out a yelp and shot out of the truck, banging his head on the door. “The seat’s soaked!”
I caught my breath. The windows had been rolled up last night … ! I hunkered down in the bushes. Tricia came out of the house with a towel and helped dry Conrad off. He was fuming and sputtering, but Tricia calmed him down. “Everything will dry out fine,” she assured him. “Ben was just trying to help.”
“Maybe he shouldn’t try so hard.”
It was late that evening before I dared go over to apologize. “I’m sorry about the truck seat,” I said when Conrad answered the door. “I was sure the windows were all up when I went home last night.”
“They were,” Conrad replied, smiling slightly. “I guess I left mine open after we went out for ice cream. It’s OK—I think everything dried out.”
For a little while I stayed and talked to him and Tricia. I decided to ask my first missionary question. “Do you know what makes me different?” I asked slowly.
Conrad and Tricia looked at each other and smiled. “I have some ideas,” Conrad answered.
“I’m a Latter-day Saint. Some people call us Mormons,” I said excitedly. “And Mormons are different. Do you know any Mormons?”
“I had a friend in college who was a Mormon.”
“Was he like me?”
“He didn’t go around knocking over boxes, burning cookies, and flooding my truck.” Conrad winked at me and grinned. “Maybe he just wasn’t a very good Mormon.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” I said, feeling my cheeks and neck burn with embarrassment. “That’s just me. Mom says I’m growing faster than my brain can operate.” I swallowed. “If you want to know more about Mormons, you just let me know.”
Tricia smiled and took Conrad’s hand. “We’ll do that, Ben.”
The rest of the week I was pretty careful about not being a disaster around Tricia and Conrad. I mainly just talked to them without touching anything. I talked about our family, about Matt serving his mission in Spain, about family home evening and reading the scriptures, and other things.
Saturday afternoon as Conrad was fixing his lawn mower, I asked, “Do you and Tricia go to church much?”
Conrad thought a moment, then shook his head. “I get pretty busy on Sunday.” He grinned. “That’s when the fish bite.”
“I like going to church,” I said. “We sing and tell stories.”
“I’m afraid the singing and storytelling would scare the fish away.” Conrad laughed, slapping me on the back. “Right now I need to get some big fat night crawlers so that I’ll be ready for tomorrow.”
I didn’t want Conrad going fishing on Sunday, but if he needed night crawlers, I knew where to get him some. I went out in our garden and pretty soon I had a dozen of the biggest, fattest worms a guy could find. “Here are your night crawlers,” I said as he put his lawn mower away. “Dad says our night crawlers are the best around.”
He took my tin can filled with dirt and worms. “Well, thanks, Ben. You’re a real pal.” He winked at me. “And you didn’t even burn them.”
I missed having Conrad and Tricia in church Sunday. I thought about him out on the lake, fishing with my worms. We got home from church just as he pulled up in his truck.
“You were right, Ben. Those were great night crawlers. I pulled in half a dozen of the best fish I’ve seen in a long time.”
I kept visiting Conrad and Tricia, but not because I was a missionary—Conrad finally had told me that he didn’t think he’d ever have time for church. I kept visiting them because I was their friend.
I helped them out when I could, and I was getting better about not being a disaster as soon as I walked through their door. I still had a few accidents—like the time I knocked Conrad’s grape juice all over his white shirt. There were good times, though, like when I helped Tricia plant her flowers, and when I helped Conrad dig postholes for a back fence.
The Saturday afternoon before our Primary put on the sacrament meeting presentation, I took Conrad his can of worms. He and Tricia were in the backyard, sipping lemonade. “I guess you’re going fishing tomorrow, aren’t you?” I asked as I set the can down.
Conrad peered into my can. “If you have some of your famous night crawlers, I should come home with a real trophy tomorrow. Do you want to come with me?” He grinned.
“We’re putting on a special presentation tomorrow in sacrament meeting,” I said softly, ducking my head. “I’m going to be Joseph Smith. That’s kind of like the main part. You could give the fish a rest,” I said hopefully. “They’d have a week to grow even bigger.” I looked up at him and then over at Tricia. She was looking at Conrad, too. “Then you could come to church with me.”
Conrad took my can of worms and turned it around in his hand, thinking but not saying anything for a while. “Ben, what difference does it make if I go to church with you?”
I thought about that. “You’re my friend,” I finally said. “I care about you. And going to church is better than going fishing on Sunday.”
“I’m not much of a church man, Ben. I’ve just never done it.”
“But you need it. Lots more than you need those fish. After a while, the fish will be gone. But if you have Jesus and His church, you’ll have them forever.”
“It means a lot to you, doesn’t it, Ben?”
I nodded and looked down at the ground. For a long time we were all really quiet. Then he handed me the can of worms. “Just one Sunday,” he said, trying to sound real stern. “And I’ll go just because you’re going to be Joseph Smith.” He smiled. “Now, if you put those back in your garden, do you think you can find them again for next Sunday?”
I hesitated and looked at Tricia. She winked at me and then said to Conrad, “Maybe after you go to church with Ben tomorrow, you won’t want those worms next Sunday.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” I said with a huge smile. “Who knows, maybe the fish bite even better on Saturday. That way I could go with you.”
Conrad laughed as Tricia reached over and took his hand. “I think everybody needs a servant like our Benjamin Tripp.”

As the branch grew, the rented facilities became too small for them. So President Castañeda obtained permission for the use of this plot of land [slide shown], upon which to build a chapel. Other branches in the mission had met with extreme difficulty in obtaining such permission, but the village officials in Bermejillo were aware of the accomplishments of the branch and were pleased at the prospect of having a chapel built here.

A small, temporary, adobe chapel has been erected on the property and is now serving while the Saints raise their share of the funds for their new meeting place, which they have been authorized to build.

Much of their portion of the money is being earned through branch projects. Every Tuesday and Thursday the Relief Society sisters divide into small groups to make doughnuts and tamales. They then sell them in the parks or door-to-door. One of the sisters reported how difficult it was to sell door-to-door, but she said, “We want our chapel, and we are willing to do whatever it takes to earn enough money.”

To date they have met all their commitments, and the construction of a chapel on this site is scheduled to begin before the end of this year.

As I have visited stake conferences and other meetings in recent years, I have carried President Thomas S. Monson’s call to rescue the less-active members of the Church. At one stake conference I told a story of a less-active member who returned to full activity after his bishop and other leaders visited him in his home, told him he was needed, and called him to serve in the ward. The man in the story not only accepted the call but also changed his life and habits and became fully active in the Church.

A friend of mine was in the congregation to which I told that story. His countenance visibly changed as the story was told. He sent me an e-mail the next day telling me that his emotional reaction to the story was because his father-in-law’s story of returning to activity in the Church was very similar to the one that I had told. He told me that as a result of a similar visit by a bishop and an invitation to serve in the Church, his father-in-law reevaluated his life and his testimony, made major changes in his life, and accepted the call. That reactivated man now has 88 descendants who are active members of the Church.

At a meeting a few days later, I told both stories. The next day I received another e-mail which began, “That’s my father’s story too.” That e-mail, from a stake president, told how his father was invited to serve in the Church even though he had not been active and had some habits that needed changing. He accepted the invitation and, in the process, repented, eventually served as a stake president and then a mission president, and laid the foundation for his posterity to be faithful members of the Church.

A few weeks later I told all three stories in another stake conference. After the meeting a man came to me and told me that that was not his father’s story. It was his story. He told me of the events that led him to repent and come back to full involvement in the Church. And so it went. As I carried the call to rescue the less active, I saw and heard story after story of people who responded to invitations to come back and change their lives. I heard story after story of redemption.

I had just started a new job and was trying to save money to serve a mission. As time went on, new employees were hired, and I was assigned to train a young woman about my age.
Maria (name has been changed), my new co-worker, was obviously concerned with her appearance. She conformed to the popular trend of wearing short skirts, dark makeup, and bold hairstyles, and she also had developed some bad habits, such as smoking. Despite our differences, Maria and I worked well together. She was pleasant to talk with, and time passed quickly when we were together.
One day at work she asked, “Raquel, do you ever go dancing?” I told her I attended dances at my church. She asked which church it was, and I explained that it is called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that its members are often called Mormons. Maria told me she had heard of the Mormons, but she didn’t know any of our beliefs. I was excited to share more about the Church with her, and I offered her a copy of the Book of Mormon, which she was happy to accept.
In time I invited her to attend the branch closest to her home. I was quite surprised when she accepted my invitation. We decided to meet at the train station the following Sunday so we could go to the meetings together.
Sunday arrived, and as my train approached the station where we were to meet, I peered out the window, looking for the Maria I knew from work. To my surprise, I saw instead a young lady whose skirt was modest and whose hair and makeup were all that could be asked of a Latter-day Saint young woman. But it was Maria!
I confess that I had doubted she would be there waiting for me, and I also doubted that the gospel would produce any changes in her life—inside or out.
We greeted each other and walked the 15 minutes to church. We went to Relief Society first, where Maria wanted to answer the questions and participate in everything the teacher asked us to do. She also enjoyed Sunday School and sacrament meeting. I introduced her to the sister missionaries, who invited her to hear the lessons, and Maria readily agreed.
A short time later we lost contact because she didn’t continue with her job. But it wasn’t long before I received an invitation to her baptism. I was disappointed I couldn’t attend, and again we lost contact.
After serving for nine months in the Argentina Mendoza Mission, I read in the local pages of the Liahona that Maria was serving in the Argentina Resistencia Mission. I started jumping for joy and immediately wrote to her.
In her reply she told me about her mission preparation. Her parents had not supported her desire to join the Church. Yet she had attended church and institute classes and had sacrificed much in order to serve a mission.
Many years have now passed, and Maria and I have seen each other again. She is a temple worker in the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple and is enjoying the love of her husband and children. She lives the gospel and radiates its light. Today her appearance reflects all that is in her heart, and although she does not know it, she has not only given me a special memory but has taught me a great principle—the gospel is for everyone. As members of the Church, we should not refrain from sharing our testimonies just because, in our judgment, a person’s appearance indicates he or she might reject our message.
Now, whenever I think about Maria, 1 Samuel 16:7 comes to mind: “Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; … for the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.” Heavenly Father knows the hearts of His children, and to Him the heart is what matters.