Gospel Story Finder

These books have blessed me. They have touched my life. I have another book with me here which I don’t know that you can see very well. It’s a little tiny Book of Mormon, and it is an interesting book. The only time it’s been worth anything was a few minutes ago when President Bednar asked us to hold up our scriptures. I held it up! As far as I know it is the only Book of Mormon that has ever been in outer space. James Lovell and Buzz Aldren (who have both been on the moon) were the astronauts who flew in Gemini 12, which was launched in November of 1966.

When I was presiding over the Florida Mission, the Elders out on Cape Canaveral and in that area bought this little book. They all signed it, and then they gave it to Dr. Pincock, who was a Latter-day Saint doctor and also the flight surgeon. When Buzz Aldren and James Lovell were put in the space capsule to go out around the world for the next two or three days, they took this Book of Mormon with them. Dr. Pincock asked them to put it in their space suit. He said, "When you splash down out in the middle of the Pacific, I’ll be the one there to open the hatch and see if you’re both alive. Before you get out, you’ll give me that book. Don’t give it to anyone else."

The missionaries got it from Dr. Pincock and then presented it to me as the president of the mission. Now this book sat on our mantelpiece, for about 15 years. People looked at it. Everyone wanted to just pick it up. You know this book is just something to look at, a novelty, but it has never done a bit of good until a few minutes ago. I needed it right then. No one has ever read this book. This book has never touched anyone’s heart. This book has never done a single thing to upgrade or to help an individual. It’s just a book that went around the world, time and time again, several million miles for 94 hours and 33 minutes in outer space. When it came back the astronauts signed it, and then it was given to me. As I said, it hasn’t done a bit of good. These other books have been wonderful; they have blessed my life; they have kept me on the straight and narrow path; they have been with me night and day in airplanes and trains and ships. And wherever I’ve gone, they have been by me as companions.

One thing Bill positively was not going to do was lose his cool when he talked to Dad. He was sensing a new power in their discussions when he could smother back his flaring irritations and cover them with a quiet, logical tolerance of Dad’s opinions. Not that he was giving in, mind you, or changing his stand; after all, he was 15 and capable of making his own decisions, but it was important to convince Dad he was right.
Ridiculous, all this hassle about just wanting a Saturday off for the beach. Doug Anders and Tommy Martin went every Saturday without feeling the least bit guilty—and most Sundays, too, for that matter. Why was it always different for him? Bill knew well why it was different. The Church—that was why. Doug didn’t even go to church, and Tommy only went on Easter and Christmas. Their Saturdays weren’t full of building-fund paper drives, work projects for the widows, or setting up chairs for meetings. Not that Bill would trade places with them. No, the church was important in his life, and he valued it, but this Saturday was something else.
“Hope you’re getting right at the lawn, Bill.” Mother’s voice floated down from the upstairs window. “Dad said it was a must as soon as you got home from school. It will only take a minute if you get going.”
A minute, ha! Little did she know about pushing that mower through the thick, tough grass in the heat! Probably more like an hour. Bill kicked a mud clod into the flower bed with his ragged tennis shoe, dropped his books, and slumped on the cool grass to rest. He sank deep—kinda high all right—should have been cut last week, and it was a cinch Dad had been too busy to do it. He plucked a long blade of grass and twisted it slowly between his thumb and finger. Why did Dad have to be so dedicated to the max—always heading a Church project, going to a meeting, or worrying about someone’s problems when he had a little spare time. And expecting Bill’s help with it! Being the oldest wasn’t always what it was cracked up to be.
“I don’t hear much action down there, dear. Would you like a sandwich or something before you start?” Mom’s voice dripped with sweetness and Bill sensed her effort at nonirritation. He sighed, struggled to his feet, and went for the lawn mower.
It wasn’t so bad once he got started, and as the blades whipped around he started rehearsing ways of convincing Dad about Saturday.
“You see, Dad, it’s like this. There’s a problem about my helping Saturday. Now, it isn’t that I don’t understand—I know you’re on the welfare committee and that your kid should be there helping with the clothing drive. And I realize, too, that I’ve promised the bishop he could count on me. But all that was before Tommy told me about the beach and the surfboard.”
Not quite strong enough, Bill thought, and started again.
“Look, Dad. I know it’s going to be a pain for you, but I won’t be there to help Saturday. It’s time I start doing more with my friends. They’re beginning to think I’m always working on a project. Friendship is important, too, and I’m going to the beach with them.”
That should be convincing, he thought, and smothered a twinge of conscience. Using the friendship angle was taking advantage. Dad was a sucker for friendship. But it was true. Lately there was a definite gap in his closeness with his best friends, Doug and Tommy. They had been so alike all through school, and now it was uncomfortable being the different one, the one making excuses for not trying new, experimental things, the one going to church instead of the drags—the one still in the Scout program that they had given up long ago. Well, he didn’t have to be the one giving up his Saturday for a clothing drive!
The mower hit a rock and froze. Furiously Bill spun it loose and calmed his frustrations with giant shoves into the green mat of grass. Not that he hadn’t tried to share the Church with his friends, Bill reminded himself. But Tommy’s parents objected, and although Doug had showed interest for a while, weekends at the beach had won. And the gap between them was getting bigger. Only yesterday at school Doug had made the situation clear. They were leaning against the old elm tree by the cafeteria, trying to figure a way out of dressing for gym when he brought it up.
“Guess there’s no use asking what you’re doing Saturday.”
“What do you mean—no use asking?” Bill questioned.
“Oh, come off it. You know you’re always tied up with some weird thing or another. My cousin is taking me to the beach for some surfing pointers on his new board. Not any of this wimpy stuff like we do. He really knows how. I can bring you and Tommy, he said, but I knew most likely you’d have something to do for your Dad.”
“Who says I have to do anything? I can go if I want.”
“Well, all right, do you want?”
Tommy joined them just then.
“Well, how about it? Are you on for Saturday?”
“I’ll think about it. After all, I’m picky about who I spend my time with.”
“You said a mouthful,” Tommy added, “and it sure doesn’t seem to be us anymore. You’re getting to be a real drag.”
Bill finished the last swatch of grass, pushed the mower into the garage, and picked up the rake. It hadn’t taken as long as he thought. Mom was right after all. Exposing the clipped green carpet as he heaped the grass into piles brought a warm satisfaction that made him uncomfortable. Why should there be any pleasure in such an obnoxious job? Mom appeared at the back door with two frosty glasses of lemonade, and the warm feeling heightened as she sat next to him on the step, sipping and exclaiming about the beauty of the freshly cut lawn. He fought back the satisfaction and revived his misery.
“Mom, don’t you think a guy deserves Saturday off when he goes to school and works all week?”
“Well, I most certainly do,” she agreed. “Every boy needs some time for himself. You know I always let you off if your chores are done.”
“And don’t you think it’s important to keep in with the guys—you know, be one of them—not an outcast?”
“Of course, it’s important, dear. I’ve always encouraged you to have a lot of friends. Do you have a problem?”
He wished she wouldn’t be so confounded agreeable. It wasn’t giving him any practice for Dad. And, yes, he did have a problem. It would be the same old issue with Dad about what should come first. Church responsibility and dependability would end on top with Dad, and Bill would be dangling at the other end about Saturday. He knew the decision would be his own. Dad was fair that way, but it was uncomfortable when they didn’t see eye-to-eye, and past experience had taught him well what Dad’s way would be. He remembered the years through Scouting when football games at school were scheduled on the same Saturday as a merit badge hike. Dad always managed to help him find a way to make them both—even if it meant long drives to catch up with the Scouts. And it had been the same with the talent show and school play. When rehearsals interfered with Church meetings, they always found away to cover them both with a few short cuts and Dad being there with the transportation. Yes, Dad’s way was definitely on the side of participation and dedication to Church responsibility!
“Better get the rest of the grass picked up,” Mom called through the open window above the grinding garbage disposal. Bill was hardly aware she had gone inside. Always that gentle nudge to get going. Didn’t a guy even have thinking time these days? Well, he would hit Dad with Saturday as soon as he came home and get it over with. Still, his sister was always saying it paid to save the gripes until after dinner, and she did seem to have a way with Dad. He heard the car in the driveway and decided in favor of the waiting. It was a mistake. After dinner Jamie grabbed Dad for help with a math problem, then two telephone calls brought home teaching problems, and he was off to a Scout council meeting. Bill was asleep long before he returned.
“So, what’s the score? Are you, or aren’t you?” Doug mumbled between chomps on his hamburger at lunch the next day. “Not that I really care, just curious.”
“Yeah, what are you trying to do—play hard to get?” Tommy added. “Anyone would think you’re something special.”
Bill squirmed. “Give me a break, you guys. I’ve gotta think. Just because you wimps have nothing more to do than lay in the sun getting burned to a crisp, doesn’t mean everyone can. Someone’s gotta run the country, you know.”
“Well, that does it!” Doug smashed his milk carton and sent potato chips flying, “Let us know when you make up your mind!”
There were no two ways about it though. Tonight he would have to talk to Dad first thing. But Dad was late for dinner, and Bill had to leave for a basketball practice, so it still wasn’t settled. Walking home alone in the moonlight after the practice, he churned the situation in his mind and rehearsed again what he would say to Dad when he got home. It was convincing, he decided, but Dad would have a hard time understanding; since his kicks came from heading projects and doing for people. He didn’t have conflicts and things pulling him in a lot of different directions.
As he neared home and approached the driveway, he could see the garage light burning and Dad inside. At last, an opportunity to get him alone! He hurried up the driveway, but slowed as he neared the door and saw Dad standing over in a far corner—just standing there. Odd, his being there alone just standing, as busy as he was. Bill hesitated and then walked quietly to the doorway for a better look. There was something different about Dad. He looked tired and even a little sad.
Bill had never seen him like that before. The cover protecting a weathered terminal apparatus had been folded back, and he was scrutinizing it with wistful eyes. He finally began gently fingering a screw. Dad had started that invention a year ago. He liked building things and even had a special set of expensive tools that none of them were allowed to touch. He always had an idea for a new invention and Mom kidded him about finishing some of them. Strange he didn’t spend more time in the garage if he had such a craze for it. Why didn’t he? What was his problem? Bill stared at his father again, and then, slowly, a penetrating light, a flood of understanding, began to surface. Why, Dad had to make choices, too! All those trips to the mountains to catch him up with the Church group was time he could have been spending on his inventions. All the nights waiting in the car to take him from one meeting to another could have been enjoyed in the garage. And the way he honored his priesthood in accepting calls and helping people! A wave of guilt surged inside Bill making it hard to breathe. He hadn’t even said thanks for all those catch-up trips! Dad glanced up and smiled. “Well, hello there! Sorry I didn’t get home before you left for basketball. Mother said you wanted to see me about something.”
“I … a … well … I … a … was just wondering what I could do to help you get ready for the clothing drive Saturday.”
Dad walked over and put his arm around his shoulder. “You don’t know what that means to me, Bill. I’ve been wondering how I’d ever get all the calls made to remind the boys about coming. If you could take on a few after school tomorrow, it would really help. I appreciate your continual support so much!”
They walked slowly toward the house together, and there it was again—that maddening warm, satisfied feeling!

There’s always been something about islands that draws me in. Maybe it’s having been raised on a dry dusty ranch and makes me want to be surrounded by water, but whatever it is, I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.

For decades, I’ve been fascinated with survival stories – especially sailing adventures gone bad. That seems to be my favorite genre. I’ve always wondered what would happen if I were marooned on an island. Could I survive? Six years ago, Cheryl got tired of hearing me talk about these things and said something like “If this is your mid-life crisis, go ahead and get it over with.”

So in 2009, I looked on Google Earth, found some suitably remote islands among the Marshall chain in the central Pacific, and went about planning to maroon myself. I decided I would just take a few essentials: a machete to open coconuts, a mask, fins, snorkel, a Hawaiian sling to spear fish, a magnifying glass to start a fire, a hammock, and a manual desalinator pump to make fresh water. That was about it. Now, I realize that for many of the Pacific Islanders here today, this doesn’t sound too exotic, but it does to a kid from Snowflake.

After flying from Arizona to Hawaii to Majuro to Kwajalein, I was dropped off on an uninhabited island called Jabonwod, consisting of 25 acres of sand, coral, and coconut trees. I experienced many sensations during my week there. Chief among these were fear – after more than a few close encounters with sharks; hunger – you can only eat so much fish and coconut; thirst – the coconut water craze is so over for me.

But most of all, it was the sensation of loneliness that about did me in. Nothing compares to being and feeling alone, completely alone. I had no volleyball to talk to, so I resorted to numbering hermit crabs that wandered through my camp with a sharpie pen that had been given to me on Kwajalein. By the end of the week, I’d numbered 126 crabs. I still miss #73.

I returned to the Marshall Islands two years ago with our two teenage boys, who are still at home, for a similar survival experience, and last year, I took a Democratic senator and a camera crew from the Discovery Channel to film what they called “Rival Survival.” We proved once and for all, as Steven Colbert described it, that “Republicans and Democrats can get along when death is the only option.”

There’s an old English poem that proclaims, “No man is an island.” If my lonely island adventures have taught me anything, it is that this concept is true. We need each other. We rely on each other. Life is worth living because of the interactions we have with one another, and our happiness depends on the lives we lead and the examples we set for each other.

Now I close with two experiences. As a teenage boy I watched my six-week-old sister, Carol, struggle with what seemed to me to be lethal whooping cough at a time when there were no antibiotics. I came home one night from having been a grease monkey at a Greyhound bus depot and saw the light was on. It was about four o’clock in the morning. I knew it meant trouble. As I came in, Carol was laid out on the round dining room table, and Dad was waiting for a neighbor to come to join in blessing her. I thought she was gone. It seemed to me she had quit breathing. Then I watched the power of the priesthood, and I watched her start breathing again. That experience let me know the reality of the priesthood at a very young age. Our prayers for her were answered.

Have I had some prayers that were not answered? Yes, and so have you. Sometimes the reason is that we may ask for something without enough faith, or we may in fact ask for something that isn’t expedient or that isn’t right. For us to get used to the fact that all prayers are not automatically answered is one of life’s growing experiences.

I grew up in Nicaragua. When I was little, I did everything with my older brother. We walked to school together. We went to the store together. We had all sorts of adventures in our backyard. We were happy.
Then, when I was nine, something very sad happened. My brother died in an earthquake. At first it didn’t feel real that he was gone. I used to imagine that he would knock on our front door. He would tell us he had just been away somewhere. I used to stare at the door, wishing for it to happen. I wanted so much to see him again.
Over time, it got a little easier. I still missed my brother, but I was able to feel happy again.
Back then, I wasn’t a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. But when I grew up, I learned about the Church and got baptized. One day I was washing my dishes. It was Easter time. I was thinking of the Resurrection and thought of my brother.
Suddenly a good feeling came over me. I remembered the daydream I had about my brother. I realized that it wasn’t silly at all! It came from the Holy Ghost, to comfort me and guide me. Someday my brother really will be resurrected. And I really will see him again.

And then there entered into my life another angel. Image going to Young Women's without the experience of Primary--my first experiences as a member of the church were not without failure. One of the first mutual activities I attended was a speech night. This particular night, after opening exercises, the Young Men's president announced that tonight was the extemporaneous speech competition. I had no idea what that was, but he asked each of us to take a place on the stand, so I did. The Young Women's president then gave directions that each of us were to come to the podium when it was our turn. We would be handed a picture showing a gospel principle and we were to give a two-minute talk on that picture. A young man or young woman would go to the podium, receive their picture, take a minute to look at it and then out would come this wonderful talk. I thought it must be a miracle.

In my upbringing, attending church meant you went quietly and did not say a word during the service. How these young people were doing this was beyond me. When it was my turn, I walked to the podium; the Young Women's president handed me a picture. I looked at it and nothing came into my head. I looked around and wondered where the miracle was and then the tears began to flow.

In D&C 88:84 the Lord promises, "...I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you to bear you up." If anyone needed an angel, I did. And there she was, Mary Miyasaki, my young women's leader. She stood all of 4 feet 10 inches tall and she came to the podium put her arm around my waist, and just as your mom or dad did when you were in Primary and were too scared to give your talk, she whispered sentences in my ear, and I repeated them. When we came to the end and said "Amen," she gave me a hug and smiled. I returned to my seat wondering what kind of a religion I had gotten myself into-vowing that I would never do that again no matter what. But the Lord had other plans.

In Ether 12:27 you will find my mission scripture, because I have watched this promise become reality in my life. "And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them." Making weak things become strong requires that we are stretched. Stretching is often painful; trials are often needed, but the promise is sure. He will make weak things strong.

High wind warnings for northern Utah were making a lot of people nervous, but not Matt Hansen, 17, and his dad Barry. To them, it sounded like perfect weather. They shared a love of windsurfing, and the news that high winds were coming was like music to their ears.
“When a windsurfer hears that the wind is going to be blowing hard, that’s when you drop everything and go. In Utah, the wind rarely blows over 40 miles per hour. So when we heard the wind would be blowing, we packed up and went.”
Barry called his brother Drew, and they made plans to go to Utah Lake. Barry also took his two daughters, Nicole and Natalie, because they liked to play on the beach.
When they arrived at the lake, it was disappointing. “We got there and the water was almost glassy,” said Matt. “I wasn’t even going to rig up my sail or put on my wetsuit.”
Barry decided to go out because he is not quite as good a windsurfer as his son and his brother. He has fun with the winds blowing between 10 and 15 mph. “It finally started blowing hard enough for Matt. He’s quite a bit better than I am, so he likes to be out in 20 to 40 mile-per-hour winds. I was tired, so I went in and was lifting my board up onto the beach. By then Drew and Matt were about three-quarters of a mile out. In a matter of two or three minutes, the wind shifted, going from 20 mph to what I estimate was about 60 mph. I knew they were in trouble. There was no way they could sail in that kind of wind. The waves went from three-foot swells to so high I couldn’t see over the tops. It was blowing hard and kept building and building. I could occasionally see my brother, but I couldn’t see Matt.”
In the water, Matt felt the wind shift. When the high winds hit, he saw his uncle heading in. “I was in the water waiting for a gust so I could water start. That’s where your sail pulls you up. Then the wind started picking up. I tried to hold on, but it was too strong. I thought it was a microburst, and I could wait a minute for it to pass. Usually the wind won’t blow that hard that long. I looked at the clouds coming from the mountains. I knew it wasn’t a microburst, and it wasn’t going to stop.”
Matt was right. The wind was not going to stop for several hours. In fact, the wind wreaked havoc, blowing down dozens of trees, toppling trucks, shearing power poles, and ripping apart roofs throughout northern Utah. The wind would be clocked as high as 86 mph in places, hurricane velocity.
On the lake, Matt was just a speck on the water. “Quick as I could, I tried to save my boom; that’s what you hold onto on your sail. I got it off and detached my sail from my board and let my sail take off. I went to grab my boom to put it on top of my board to swim it in. The wind caught my board, and it took off. I dropped my boom and went after my board. It’s my best flotation device besides my life jacket. I looked back and my boom and sail were gone, so I started swimming with one hand on my board. I would get glimpses of the shore, but it was blowing so hard that if I tried to look at the shore, the spray off the waves would hit me in the eyes and face.
“I had been swimming for half an hour, and I felt like I wasn’t making any progress at all. I thought to myself, Any decisions I have to make, I have to make them right now before hypothermia kicks in. After a while I won’t be able to make the decisions very well or very wisely. I told myself everything I was going to do, over and over.”
The situation was similar to what Matt had been taught in church. Make your decisions before the moment of crisis. Make your decisions when you can think clearly. Then when faced with the critical moment, the right decision to carry you through will already be made.
“After an hour of swimming, I felt I was a little closer to shore. It never crossed my mind to stop. I had a life jacket and board. I was not stopping. Wherever I ended up, it was not going to be in the water. I was starting to get cold. I knew hypothermia was coming. It was getting harder to think. I had to concentrate and keep swimming. Then I felt ground underneath me. I thanked the Lord and thought, Now all I have to do is walk.”
In the meantime, Drew had gone to a marina to get a boat, but the high waves swamped the boat when they attempted a rescue. They had to turn back. The sheriff’s office could not send a helicopter up because of the high winds. At home, Matt’s mother, Barbara, was trying desperately to stay calm: “I kept saying, ‘Matt, hang onto the board. Hang onto the board. Keep your strength.’” Then she felt the comfort of the Spirit.
There was nothing to do but wait. Barry drove down the beach and stared at the most horrifying sight he had seen, waves crashing and no trace of Matt. “That’s when I felt absolute despair,” said Barry. “I knew Matt was in very good condition. I knew he knew the rules of safety. But it was getting dark. I knew he couldn’t last too much longer in the cold water. I pleaded with the Lord to temper the elements and bring my son back.”
Just when darkness was about to set in, Barry saw a figure walking toward him. It was Matt. He ran to his son, hugging him. Matt, his face purple with cold, said, “Dad, I love you.” Barry was crying on his son’s shoulder.
That evening, after Matt was reunited with his sisters and mother, the Hansens knelt in family prayer. Matt’s father is his bishop in the Parkview Ward, South Jordan Utah Stake, and rarely had the prayers of thanksgiving been so sincere and given with so much joy by the Hansens and other ward members as those that night.
The Hansens still enjoy windsurfing, but needless to say they are very cautious about weather conditions, particularly on Utah Lake. And Matt knows what it means to make decisions ahead of time, then to keep his eye on his goal and never ever stop until he reaches it.

Despite the rain on an October day, 1,601 Latter-day Saints from five stakes in Córdoba, Argentina, donated a combined 10,234 hours of service at a nursing home. Members delivered previously collected clothing, food, and hygiene kits. They also gardened, painted walls and benches, and performed talent shows. A number of sisters also volunteered hair, foot, and hand care services.
“I know that project was a help not only for them but for me too,” said 14-year-old Rocío B. after the project. “I knew I was doing the right thing and that Heavenly Father was pleased with me.”

My uncle agreed but on the condition that I return to the university. Soon, however, our relationship deteriorated because he did not want me to go to church or to help the missionaries. Finally, he prohibited me from leaving the house for the district conference where I was to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood.
Once more I had to choose between a tranquil life and the gospel. For me there was no question. That Saturday I arose early, packed my clothes, and left.
It was not easy being a member of the Church, but the Lord blessed me as I made my own way without the support of my family. One of my greatest blessings came when I went to visit the home of a newly baptized couple on an assignment from the elders quorum. There I met their daughter Giovanna.
After a time Giovanna was also baptized, and we planned to be married. But on the day of our wedding a legal notice arrived stating that the marriage could not take place. My mother had found a way to prevent it. After several difficult months we resolved the matter and were married. We now have four beautiful children.
As a family we have had difficult experiences, but these experiences have strengthened our testimonies. The Lord has blessed us greatly, and He has used our trials and difficulties to guide and bless our lives. Of this there is no question.

The Mia Maids had a problem.
“Two of the most popular girls (in Mia Maids) decided that ‘having fun’ was more important than living the gospel,” explains Sarah Tunnell of the Snohomish (Washington) Second Ward. “They stopped coming to church.”
Sarah, first counselor in the Mia Maid presidency, and Tresa Brown, the president, felt they needed to do something to help keep others from making the same mistake.
“I had just finished reading the Book of Mormon for the first time,” Sarah says. “And I said, ‘If everyone would just read the Book of Mormon, they’d have a testimony, and the possibility of their going inactive would be a lot smaller.’”
Sarah and Tresa looked through a clip art book, found a calendar, and worked out a schedule for reading the Book of Mormon. They also outlined a system for calling all the Mia Maids and reminding them of their reading goals.
“We had a presidency meeting that night,” Sarah continues. “The Laurel president happened to come by, and she said, ‘Hey, we want to do that!’ So we said, ‘Okay, but we can’t leave out the Beehives.’ So we called the Beehive president, and she said, ‘Us too!’ We started the next week.”
The idea was simple. “You can’t really bribe them. They can buy their own candy or ice cream. We decided the best thing was to provide a calendar and then just remind them and encourage them. Anyway, that was the limit of what we could do with our teenage income, which is nonexistent.”
Since then, the program has gone through some fine tuning, tailoring daily goals to individual abilities, incorporating “catch-up” days for those who get behind, coordinating with seminary reading schedules to avoid duplication, etc. And some have read more than others.
“I haven’t read as much as I’m supposed to,” one Beehive admitted. “But thanks to Sarah, I have read something.”
And the major goal, “Just to have them open the book, to have some kind of daily contact with it,” as Sarah says, has been met by just about everyone. In fact, last Sunday in ward council meeting, they were discussing a Book of Mormon reading program for the entire ward.

Finally, the scriptures saved my life and renewed my own hope and joy in the truth that my Redeemer lives.

In the fall of 2015, on the first day of the semester, I woke up with a searing pain through my chest to my back. After teaching my classes, the pain intensified. A battery of tests determined I had experienced a spontaneous pneumothorax, or a partial lung collapse.

After some consultation, my doctor and the pulmonary specialist decided not to operate to inflate my lung. They were hopeful--as was I--that it would heal with rest and deep breathing. Wow. Rest. That turned out to be a challenge.

My lung eventually began to improve, but I was not prepared for the emotional turmoil that followed. I had a sudden onset of fear. In addition to the collapsed lung, there were other events in my family which I began to focus on, and this misguided focus threw me into a pit of discouragement and deep despair. My faith was tested, and my hope was fading.

I felt broken. It was more than just being anxious or downhearted. I lost my appetite. I no longer wanted to participate in daily activities. The depression finally became so debilitating I had to take medical leave from work. Sleep escaped me and magnified the intensity of the darkness. I began to worry for my life as I lost almost 30 pounds in one month.

In addition to seeking medical help, I started searching the scriptures and general conference talks for answers. I had to know if I was going to make it through this.

Where was my Heavenly Father? I felt alone and hopeless. I thought I had faith. Did I? As I kept searching and pleading for guidance, I found Elder Richard G. Scott's talk "Make the Exercise of Faith Your First Priority."[6]

Elder Scott and his sweet Jeanene had lost two young children early in their marriage. Later in life, Sister Scott's untimely death left him to serve alone. If anyone knew about faith, he would. In his talk he encouraged me to make the exercise of faith a priority. He described exactly what this looks like. He invited me to study the scriptures every day, go to the Lord in heartfelt prayer, attend the temple, and hold family home evening. These were four things I could do. They were not out of reach. In fact, they were so simple I had been looking past them.

In Matthew 14:26-31 the Lord teaches us what happens when we lose focus on Him.
And when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out for fear.
But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.
And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water.
And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus.
But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me.
And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?
I had become like Peter and taken my focus off the Lord. I too had started to sink. I had let daily demands of life become more important than my daily scripture study, and I had allowed the focus of my family's turmoil to take my eyes off of Christ. I needed a realignment. It was time to refocus and use this time to find my Savior.

In addition to general conference talks, I found comfort in the Book of Mormon. One morning while home alone and struggling to start my day, I received a phone call from a dear friend. She had been studying the scriptures and found one she was prompted to share with me. It was in 1 Nephi 21:16: "Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands: thy walls are continually before me." Wow. That was a good one. To know that He had already graven me upon the palms of His hands helped me see that I was not forgotten. He knew me. Christ had already carried this burden for me. This truth seared deep into my soul.

Then I found Mormon 5:23: "Know ye not that ye are in the hands of God?" Yes, I was in God's hands. My very life depended on Him every day. He was in charge. I could let it go. He had this. What a great place to put our lives--in His able and loving hands. "
I posted Elder Jeffrey R. Holland's words on our family white board: "Don't you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead.... You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come."[7]

The scriptures became my friends. I started to text my favorite ones to myself. I put them on notifications to arrive later in the day. I posted them around my home. I started memorizing them. Because I had committed a few to memory, I could call them up whenever I needed a friend to encourage me or a friend to comfort me. They became my lifelines.

Finally, Psalms 46:10 spoke to me: "Be still and know that I am God." We need a time each day to be still and remember. My medical leave turned out to be an unplanned blessing for me to refocus and remember what is truly important. The Lord needed to get my attention. As difficult as it was, I learned to be still--like the Sea of Galilee after a storm. Now that I am back into life, with deadlines and competing demands, it takes commitment and prioritizing every day to spend time in prayer and in the scriptures. We all have 24 hours. What we do with that 24 hours shows Heavenly Father and ourselves what is truly important to us.

A few weeks ago, Ruby and I were up in Oakley, Idaho, for a couple of days, restoring our old family home. I had a phone call from Lenore Romney in Detroit, Michigan. Lenore is the wife of George Romney. She said, “George died this morning.” She wanted to know if I could arrange to attend the funeral. I told her I would be honored to come but that I would need to arrange it with those who are my superiors in the Church.
After I hung up the phone, I walked up the street from our old family home. I walked across the canal over to the area where the Romneys used to live. George’s father’s name was Gaskell Romney. My father was their bishop. I looked at the area. The house wasn’t there anymore. Then I walked along the old irrigation canal bank. I looked at the area where my father baptized me. I looked at where George and I used to swim. Swimming suits in those days were a pair of bib overalls, not the high-fashioned kind you see today but the real denim, old-fashioned bib overalls. We cut the legs off and cut the pockets out so we wouldn’t drown. That’s all we had for swimming suits. We used to sit on the canal bank in a little bit of sunshine and shiver because it was so cold. But swimming was our main recreation. George and I were about the same age. He was my friend. He was my pal.
As I walked along the canal bank, thinking about George, I thought of a poem by Rosemary and Stephen Vincent Benét that they had written about Nancy Hanks, the mother of Abraham Lincoln. Abraham Lincoln was only seven when Nancy Hanks died, and they loved each other very much. But in that tender poem, the Benéts reflected that if Nancy Hanks came back today, she might ask, Whatever happened to my boy, Abe? Did he get to town? Did he learn to read? Did he ever amount to anything? (See “Nancy Hanks,” in Edwin Markham, comp., The Book of American Poetry [New York: Wm. H. Wise and Co., 1936], pp. 791–92).
George’s mother had died while he was a teenager. She didn’t get to see what he became. At the funeral, I was honored to be there with the governor of the state of Michigan—a state of some nine million people, where George had been elected governor three times. The governor said George Romney was a great man who never allowed service to man to obscure service to God. The Detroit News said George Romney used his religion as a compass to chart his public life.

Last year, I attended a play at Brigham Young University in Provo called “Handing Down the Names” by Steven Dietz. While the characters were fictional, the play was a family story, based on historical facts. The play begins with a woman named Irina living in Colorado in the 1940s. She introduces the play by saying that each family has a history but the beginning is difficult to find. She takes off her wedding ring and places it on the table.

The play then steps back in time almost 200 years as we see a young widow named Ruth Dorn in Germany. She picks up the wedding ring, saying that it belonged to her husband, Henry. He had just been killed in a war. His brother then arrives for the funeral. Ruth is expecting her first child, and the brother offers to marry her so the child can have a name and family. The young family decides to travel to Russia to colonize an area along the Volga River. The mother dies during the journey, and the father cares for the child, eking out an existence in the harsh land. Even though that baby daughter is not his biological child, she gives his life a purpose.

The play then shifts to the early 1900s, showing descendants of the Dorn family leaving their home along the Volga River to come to America. Unfortunately, the mother dies on board ship, but the father carries on with his three adult children. Upon arriving at Ellis Island, one of the daughters, Katie, is found to have an eye infection. She is sent back to Russia, while the rest of the family helplessly watch her go. They move to Colorado where they work hard to raise enough money for Katie and her husband to join them. They pray constantly that their family can be reunited. One year follows the next and they cannot understand why Katie’s family does not come. We find out later that Katie never received the money or the letters due to political interference.

Katie eventually has a son named Adam. Before she dies, she tells him to do whatever he can to go to America and join her family. Just as World War II is starting in Europe, Adam finds someone who offers to help him leave Russia and go to America. However, as he enters Hamburg, Germany, preparing to board the ship for his journey across the Atlantic, he is seized and conscripted into the German Army.

He is captured and sent to America as a prisoner of war. Ironically, or maybe providentially, his imprisonment is in the same area of northern Colorado where his now deceased grandfather and uncle had lived. The prisoners are forced to work for farmers in the area, and that is where he meets Irina, a young woman whose father was also from the German colonies along the Volga River. He recognizes that she is one of his own people. After the war, he is sent back to Germany, but later manages to return to Irina in Colorado, bringing the wedding ring that had been handed down for many generations. Ruth Dorn, from 200 years earlier, then enters the stage, saying, “He farms now, on land where he’d been held prisoner. She wears a ring that I wore, nearly two hundred years ago. And their son, Henry, wears a name that belonged to my husband. A name seven generations in the making.”[3]

This family story touched me because it showed how the individuals who lived in the twentieth century were profoundly influenced by their family members from previous generations. You may not realize it, but your life and situation have come about in part because of the decisions made by your ancestors. The playwright Steven Dietz stated, “We can look back . . . because they chose to look forward.”[4]

“Often I had the privilege of driving Grandfather to one of his conference assignments. During this time he would talk about his life. He especially remembered Christmastime when he was a boy. His parents were poor and often there was nothing for Christmas.
“Once his gift at Christmas was having his ice skates sharpened. Two of his friends received nothing so Grandpa let them borrow his newly sharpened skates.”

I reflected on the time that our law firm was representing a client in 1977. I was negotiating to sell or merge my client’s hard drive with Apple Computer, which had been founded one year earlier in 1976 by Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak. Jobs was 22 years old, and Wozniak was 27.9 I was only in my mid-30s, but both Jobs and Wozniak seemed very young to me.

Our client had informed me that the computer Wozniak had developed was exceptional. With my lack of knowledge about that kind of information technology, I had no idea how successful this new company would be. However, even some who were experienced in technology could not foresee Apple’s ultimate success.

Jobs and Wozniak had been employed by Atari, a pioneer in video-game technology that had released Pong in 1972.10 The founder of Atari, Nolan Bushnell, later acknowledged that Jobs and Wozniak had offered him a 33 percent stake in Apple for a $50,000 investment in 1976. An article in Fortune last August estimated that this investment would now be worth nearly $1 trillion.11 Despite Atari’s employer experience, Bushnell declined the offer.

My client made the same decision, even though he thought the Apple computer was a good product. He did not think it was a good long-term alignment for him.

In the 1980s President Faust worked closely with President Howard W. Hunter (1907–95), then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, then president of Brigham Young University, to turn their vision of BYU’s Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies into reality. President Faust and President Hunter waded through intense negotiations and prolonged opposition in leasing land and overseeing construction of the center.
One eyewitness to the process said, “Elder Faust was truly a man of peace, always looking for ways to calm our often agitated Jewish friends who sought an end to our presence in Jerusalem, or to calm the troubled waters among the Latter-day Saints in Jerusalem who were sometimes offended by the opposition.”

A true story from the USA.
“Can I have the last cookie?” Jack asked.
“Let’s save it for tomorrow,” Mom said. “It’s time for bed.”
Jack’s shoulders slumped. He brushed his teeth. He put on his pajamas. And he kept thinking about the cookie.
He went to the kitchen for a drink of water. The cookie was in a bag by the sink. No one was looking.
Jack snatched it and dashed to his room. He pulled the cookie from the bag and took a bite. Yummy.
Then he heard footsteps. It was his brother! Jack dove under his blanket.
“What are you doing?” Trevor asked.
Jack found a book under the blanket. “Um … reading.”
Trevor pulled the blanket off Jack. “With a cookie?”
“I … I’m using it as a bookmark,” Jack said.
Mom walked in too. “A cookie for a bookmark?”
Jack pulled the blanket back over himself. He hoped Mom and Trevor would go away. They didn’t.
Jack’s face felt hot. He peeked out from the blanket. “I took the cookie so I could eat it.”
“Thanks for being honest,” Mom said.
Jack frowned. “But I don’t feel better.”
Mom sat on the bed. “Praying for forgiveness can help. Jesus Christ can help you feel peace again.”
Mom and Trevor knelt and prayed with Jack. He said sorry for taking the cookie and lying.
When he finished, Jack smiled. “Hey, I do feel better!” He handed the cookie to Mom. “And I bet this will taste even better tomorrow!”
Watch a video of this story at friend.ChurchofJesusChrist.org.

I have always learned in Primary and at home that we should be honest. We should not keep what does not belong to us. We should return change when we receive too much at a store, and we should always tell the truth, even though we may be punished.
When I was nine, I was waiting at the school for my mother when I saw a wallet on a bench. The wallet had money in it.
I thought about what I should do. My mother works very hard to care for my two sisters and me, but things weren’t going very well at home. I thought about what I could buy.
Then I started to worry about the person who had lost the wallet. I sat down and waited, knowing that she would come to look for it. After a while, a very upset woman came by. She asked me if I had found a wallet.
I answered, “Is this it?”
Her joy was so great that she hugged me. She thanked me again and again.
At the time, I did not even think about why I had decided to be honest. But when I told my mother about it later, she said that the Holy Ghost had whispered to me and that I had listened to the still, small voice.
I am grateful for having learned to be honest.
Rudinei Antonio Fernandes Filho, age 11São Paulo, Brazil

Just five years ago last month, our family got involved in a situation that was quite unexpected at the time, but that has changed our entire family. We took a foster child into our home.
I remember that day very well. It was one of those pressure situations in which they couldn’t find anybody else and the child was coming the next day. After our great volunteer effort, as a couple we started having all kinds of misgivings about the commitment we had made. We even became a little upset. We felt like we had almost more children of our own than we could handle at the time. We had five children, and it seemed like all of them were at some special age where they make big messes but are not quite responsible enough to see that things get picked up. Now, here we had another child coming who wasn’t even one of our own.
With all of these doubts, we sat down with our children to make some preparations. With the faith that can come only from a child, our children, in just a short period of time, were ready to accept their big sister.
Jean arrived, and we found a child much more frightened than we were. She was a seventeen-year-old high school sophomore. We were a family that had not seen a child have a ninth birthday yet, so we knew we were in for some quick learning. That was probably the only right assumption we made about the whole situation.
Right off, we found that we had a new problem. It concerned bathing. She was there just a few days when we realized that something had to be done. Finally, it was decided by the matriarch that the patriarch needed to do his duty—so a daddy-daughter talk was the order of the day. I must say that it went exceptionally well. Starting the next day, we didn’t have any hot water for three months.
We look back now on the short time that we had Jean—just a few months—and we realize that we learned many things. Let me take just a minute and review some of them with you.
Both my wife and I had to struggle a little at first to let ourselves accept another child on the same level as our own children. Those first few days were a real struggle as we had to try very hard not to put our own children first. That was an invaluable lesson for us. We can accept anybody now almost immediately. We could have gone a lifetime and not learned how to do that. Our children learned that, too, and we will be eternally grateful for that.
The second thing we learned from Jean was that we can certainly learn many things from others. Jean taught our children many things. She loved to work, and she’d always take a job and do it right. And then she’d pitch in and help the other children with their jobs. She helped our children internalize many of the principles that we were trying to teach them. One of the biggest challenges we were having with them at that time was trying to get them to take a job and do it completely. They seemed to do the minimum—either that or a little less. Jean taught them differently. They would struggle with us, as most children do with their parents, but they would accept it from her.
As an example, Jean liked the satisfaction of doing dishes by hand. She wouldn’t use the dishwasher. And to this day we have a daughter that enjoys doing dishes that way.
The third thing Jean helped us with was learning how to communicate with our children. As an older child, if she understood a situation, she basically felt the same way about it as we did. We found that the goal became one of understanding. At first there was a language problem between us; she nodded her head “yes” all the time, but we soon found out that she had learned to do that when sentences ended, even if she hadn’t understood what was being said. We came to realize that we needed to extend the same courtesies to our other children that we were giving to Jean. In the process of raising children every day, we start expecting too much from them, and we think they should automatically understand all the things that are going on in the family. Sometimes some of us treat the neighbor children better than we treat our own. It was a great lesson that we are thankful we were able to learn.
The fourth thing was that this was the first real fast-moving missionary experience we’d had as a family. We used to call Jean our “sponge”—she wanted to learn it all. She would ask us questions about everything. She wanted to know why we had to sit down as a group to eat, why we knelt when we prayed, why a person needs to go to church every Sunday, why we have to have different foods for every meal. When it came to gospel living, she felt a special kinship and wanted to know all that she could find out.
I recall one experience that we had with Jean when we went camping. Immediately after I stopped the car, Jean got out and began sweeping the camping area. Our children just couldn’t believe it, but she continued until she had swept over all the area, until all the loose dirt and pine needles were in a neat pile. But she didn’t stop there: she came over and knelt down by the children and spent the next few minutes talking to them about the principle of cleanliness—that when you are camping or living outdoors cleanliness becomes a very important thing, and that by taking a few steps you can make life livable. And the amazing thing was that they listened. We were just grateful that we were in the Rockies of Colorado and not the sands of New Mexico. I always wondered how deep she would have gone to find solid ground.
Just three weeks ago, Jean returned to our home for a few days with her two children. She was quietly asking questions about ways she could be influencing her family and her children.
Now, I’m sure that as you listen to this, it sounds like the whole experience was joyful and always a good time. But I can promise you that it wasn’t. It’s like any service done for others; you have to sacrifice something in order to make it happen. The deep feelings of satisfaction that come from service can be gained in no other way. It changes people and prepares them for something very important.
We are eternally grateful to Jean, and not just because we consider her our eldest daughter, or because of the joy that she brings into our home. But we are grateful for the opportunity that she gave us to be of service to another. We have learned as parents that we can spend an awful lot of time teaching gospel principles and applying them in our family and working toward perfection. Sometimes it feels like a great deal of effort is being put forth with very little impact on our children. But as soon as we started living gospel principles through service to another, a great thing began to happen. Our children began to understand the principles of the gospel that we had been trying to teach them.
As we attempted as a family to be of service to another, we found that we received the most. What a marvelous thing that is! By helping someone with something that she couldn’t do alone, we received blessings we weren’t able to obtain by ourselves. That’s the gospel of Jesus Christ in its truest sense. As the family and the individual are strengthened through service to others, they are blessed, and a Zion people is prepared.
I know that Jesus Christ lives, that this Church contains his complete gospel plan, that welfare principles are the gospel in action. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Recently I received a letter from a friend of over 50 years who is not a member of our church. I had sent him some gospel-related reading, to which he responded: “Initially it was hard for me to follow the meaning of typical Mormon jargon, such as agency. Possibly a short vocabulary page would be helpful.”
I was surprised he did not understand what we mean by the word agency. I went to an online dictionary. Of the 10 definitions and usages of the word agency, none expressed the idea of making choices to act. We teach that agency is the ability and privilege God gives us to choose and “to act for [ourselves] and not to be acted upon.”1 Agency is to act with accountability and responsibility for our actions. Our agency is essential to the plan of salvation. With it we are “free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil.”2
The words of a familiar hymn teach us this principle very clearly:
Know this, that ev’ry soul is free
To choose his life and what he’ll be;
For this eternal truth is giv’n:
That God will force no man to heav’n.3
To answer my friend’s question and the questions of good men and women everywhere, let me share with you more of what we know about this meaning of agency.
Before we came to this earth, Heavenly Father presented His plan of salvation—a plan to come to earth and receive a body, choose to act between good and evil, and progress to become like Him and live with Him forever.
Our agency—our ability to choose and act for ourselves—was an essential element of this plan. Without agency we would be unable to make right choices and progress. Yet with agency we could make wrong choices, commit sin, and lose the opportunity to be with Heavenly Father again. For this reason a Savior would be provided to suffer for our sins and redeem us if we would repent. By His infinite Atonement, He brought about “the plan of mercy, to appease the demands of justice.”4
After Heavenly Father presented His plan, Lucifer stepped forward, saying, “Send me, … and I will redeem all mankind, that [not even] one soul shall … be lost … ; wherefore give me thine honor.”5 This plan was rejected by our Father, for it would have denied us our agency. Indeed, it was a plan of rebellion.
Then Jesus Christ, Heavenly Father’s “Beloved and Chosen [Son] from the beginning,” exercised His agency to say, “Father, thy will be done, and the glory be thine forever.”6 He would be our Savior—the Savior of the world.
Because of Lucifer’s rebellion, a great spiritual conflict ensued. Each of Heavenly Father’s children had the opportunity to exercise the agency Heavenly Father had given him or her. We chose to have faith in the Savior Jesus Christ—to come unto Him, follow Him, and accept the plan Heavenly Father presented for our sakes. But a third of Heavenly Father’s children did not have faith to follow the Savior and chose to follow Lucifer, or Satan, instead.7
And God said, “Wherefore, because that Satan rebelled against me, and sought to destroy the agency of man, which I, the Lord God, had given him, … I caused that he should be cast down.”8 Those who followed Satan lost the opportunity to receive a mortal body, live on earth, and progress. Because of the way they used their agency, they lost their agency.
Today the only power Satan and his followers have is the power to tempt and try us. Their only joy is to make us “miserable like unto [themselves].”9 Their only happiness comes when we are disobedient to the Lord’s commandments.
But think of it: in our premortal state we chose to follow the Savior Jesus Christ! And because we did, we were allowed to come to earth. I testify that by making the same choice to follow the Savior now, while we are here on earth, we will obtain an even greater blessing in the eternities. But let it be known: we must continue to choose to follow the Savior. Eternity is at stake, and our wise use of agency and our actions are essential that we might have eternal life.
Throughout His life our Savior showed us how to use our agency. As a boy in Jerusalem, He deliberately chose to “be about [His] Father’s business.”10 In His ministry, He obediently chose “to do the will of [His] Father.”11 In Gethsemane, He chose to suffer all things, saying, “Not my will, but thine, be done. And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him.”12 On the cross, He chose to love His enemies, praying, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”13 And then, so that He could finally demonstrate that He was choosing for Himself, He was left alone. “[Father,] why hast thou forsaken me?” He asked.14 At last, He exercised His agency to act, enduring to the end, until He could say, “It is finished.”15
Though He “was in all points tempted like as we are,”16 with every choice and every action He exercised the agency to be our Savior—to break the chains of sin and death for us. And by His perfect life, He taught us that when we choose to do the will of our Heavenly Father, our agency is preserved, our opportunities increase, and we progress.
Evidence of this truth is found throughout the scriptures. Job lost everything he had yet chose to remain faithful, and he gained the eternal blessings of God. Mary and Joseph chose to follow the warning of an angel to flee into Egypt, and the life of the Savior was preserved. Joseph Smith chose to follow the instructions of Moroni, and the Restoration unfolded as prophesied. Whenever we choose to come unto Christ, take His name upon us, and follow His servants, we progress along the path to eternal life.
In our mortal journey, it is helpful to remember that the opposite is also true: when we don’t keep the commandments or follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost, our opportunities are reduced; our abilities to act and progress are diminished. When Cain took his brother’s life because he loved Satan more than God, his spiritual progress was stopped.
In my youth I learned an important lesson about how our actions may limit our freedom. One day my father assigned me to varnish a wooden floor. I made the choice to begin at the door and work my way into the room. When I was almost finished, I realized I had left myself no way to get out. There was no window or door on the other side. I had literally painted myself into a corner. I had no place to go. I was stuck.
Whenever we disobey, we spiritually paint ourselves into a corner and are captive to our choices. Though we are spiritually stuck, there is always a way back. Like repentance, turning around and walking across a newly varnished floor means more work—a lot of resanding and refinishing! Returning to the Lord isn’t easy, but it is worth it.
As we understand the challenge of repenting, we appreciate the blessings of the Holy Ghost to guide our agency and Heavenly Father, who gives us commandments and strengthens and sustains us in keeping them. We also understand how obedience to the commandments ultimately protects our agency.
For example, when we hearken to the Word of Wisdom, we escape the captivity of poor health and addiction to substances that literally rob us of our ability to act for ourselves.
As we obey the counsel to avoid and get out of debt now, we use our agency and obtain the liberty to use our disposable income for helping and blessing others.
When we follow the prophets’ counsel to hold family home evening, family prayer, and family scripture study, our homes become an incubator for our children’s spiritual growth. There we teach them the gospel, bear our testimonies, express our love, and listen as they share their feelings and experiences. By our righteous choices and actions, we liberate them from darkness by increasing their ability to walk in the light.
The world teaches many falsehoods about agency. Many think we should “eat, drink, and be merry; … and if it so be that we are guilty, God will beat us with a few stripes, and at last we shall be saved.”17 Others embrace secularism and deny God. They convince themselves that there is no “opposition in all things”18 and, therefore, “whatsoever a man [does is] no crime.”19 This “destroy[s] the wisdom of God and his eternal purposes.”20
Contrary to the world’s secular teaching, the scriptures teach us that we do have agency, and our righteous exercise of agency always makes a difference in the opportunities we have and our ability to act upon them and progress eternally.
For example, through the prophet Samuel, the Lord gave a clear commandment to King Saul:
“The Lord sent me to anoint thee to be king … : now therefore hearken thou unto the voice … of the Lord. …
“… Go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have.”21
But Saul did not follow the Lord’s commandment. He practiced what I call “selective obedience.” Relying on his own wisdom, he spared the life of King Agag and brought back the best of the sheep, oxen, and other animals.
The Lord revealed this to the prophet Samuel and sent him to remove Saul from being king. When the prophet arrived, Saul said, “I have performed the commandment of the Lord.”22 But the prophet knew otherwise, saying, “What meaneth then this bleating of the sheep in mine ears, and the lowing of the oxen which I hear?”23
Saul excused himself by blaming others, saying the people had kept the animals in order to make sacrifices to the Lord. The prophet’s answer was clear: “Hath the Lord as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken [to the commandments of the Lord] than the fat of rams.”24
Finally, Saul confessed, saying, “I have sinned: for I have transgressed the commandment of the Lord, and thy words: because I feared the people, and obeyed their voice.”25 Because Saul did not hearken with exactness—because he chose to be selectively obedient—he lost the opportunity and the agency to be king.
My brothers and sisters, are we hearkening with exactness to the voice of the Lord and His prophets? Or, like Saul, are we practicing selective obedience and fearing the judgments of men?
I acknowledge that all of us make mistakes. The scriptures teach us, “All have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.”26 For those who find themselves captive to past unrighteous choices, stuck in a dark corner, without all the blessings available by the righteous exercise of agency, we love you. Come back! Come out of the dark corner and into the light. Even if you have to walk across a newly varnished floor, it is worth it. Trust that “through the Atonement of Christ, all mankind [including you and me] may be saved, by obedience to the laws and ordinances of the Gospel.”27
As the hour of the Atonement was upon Him, the Savior offered His great Intercessory Prayer and spoke of each of us, saying: “Father, I will that they also, whom thou hast given me, be with me where I am; that they may behold my glory, which thou hast given me.”28 “And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.”29
I bear my special witness that They live. When we exercise our agency in righteousness, we come to know Them, become more like Them, and prepare ourselves for that day when “every knee shall bow, and every tongue confess” that Jesus is our Savior.30 May we continue to follow Him and our Eternal Father, as we did in the beginning, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.