Gospel Story Finder

Avard Fairbanks was born into a family of artists in Provo, Utah, on 2 March 1897. As a boy of 12, Avard sculpted a model of his pet rabbit for the state fair and won first prize. When the judge discovered it was the work of a child and refused to award the prize, young Avard resolved to become an accomplished sculptor to prove his work. Of his work on the angel Moroni statue, he said: “I wanted the statue to conform to the spirit and architecture of the temple, that of aspiring upward. I wanted the feeling of that upward reach accomplished by the stress of vertical lines.”8

Swimming, like football, is not a mission activity, yet Mark McGregor knew he must stop swimming for the entire two years of his mission. A freestyle swimmer on the BYU swim team, Mark had every intention of returning to the team, and he kept in good physical condition by following the exercises outlined in the missionary physical fitness program, along with an arm exercise especially for swimmers.
In high school Mark had been selected high school All-American. The year prior to his mission he set the BYU school record and won the Western Athletic Conference championship in the 200- and the 500-meter freestyle. While he was gone, his record for the 200 meter was broken.
“The hard part about being away from swimming,” says Coach Tim Powers, “is that the records get faster while you’re away.” Mark couldn’t just come back and regain his old speed—he had to do better. And he is, doing better much to the inspiration of fellow teammates who are considering going on missions. Since returning, he has rewon the school record for the 200 meter freestyle and broken his old record in the 500 meter (although that school record is now held by teammate John Sorwich). Mark has another year at BYU, and he and his coach are looking forward to what it will bring.
Do these athletes feel that they are better for having served a mission? The answer is unanimous—yes! As Mark McGregor put it, “There are many similarities between the mission field and athletics, especially regarding the mental attitude. A positive mental attitude is imperative in both. I learned a lot about what it takes to gain this positive mental attitude in the mission field, and it has had a beneficial effect on my swimming.”
Although some missionaries do return and do not continue in sports, it is usually due to a change in interests rather than inability. Ed, Mark, and Lance are convinced that any athlete who serves a mission will be able to regain his previous ability upon diligently applying himself.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Betsy shouted, bounding down the stairs two at a time with hair flying and eyes shining.
“How’s my favorite seven-year-old?” boomed Daddy in his jolly voice. “What has you all in a tizzy?”
“Guess what!” said Betsy. “Mrs. Billings, my teacher, put up a great big paper tree trunk on the wall. Every time somebody does something good and receives a compliment, he gets to put a branch with his name on it on the tree.”
“Sounds interesting,” said Daddy. “Did you get a compliment today?”
“No, but Toby did. He washed all the colored chalk off the desks. I sure hope I get a compliment tomorrow.”
At school the next day Patricia got a compliment for erasing all the chalkboards, and Matt got a compliment for doing his best writing. Betsy did not get a compliment.
The following day started out no better. When Betsy leaned back in her chair to stretch, she lost her balance and fell over with a loud crash.
At lunchtime she accidentally knocked over Ronnie’s milk, spilling it into his lap.
“I’ll never get a compliment this way,” she muttered.
At the end of the day Mrs. Billings passed out some math tests the children had done the day before.
“Boys and girls, only one person got a hundred percent on the math test. Congratulations, Betsy! Come up and get a branch to put on the Compliment Tree.”
“Oh, boy!” Betsy squealed.
After school she ran home as fast as she could, her math test clutched tightly in one fist. “Guess what, Mom! Guess what!” Betsy breathlessly poured out her good news.
“That’s great, honey!” said Mom, giving Betsy a hug. “I’m proud of you!”
Later that evening, as Betsy gazed happily at her math test with the gold star on it, her eyes stopped at the answer to one of the problems. “Oh, no!” she gasped. “Look, Daddy! I made a mistake! See?”
“Well, it looks like you have a decision to make, Betsy,” said Daddy.
“But I don’t want to lose my compliment!” Betsy wailed.
“You’re old enough to know what’s right, Betsy,” Daddy said. He put his arm around her and added, “If I know my girl, she’ll make the right choice.”
The next day Betsy walked to school very slowly. “I wish it were Saturday,” she sighed. When she got to school, she looked for a very long time at the Compliment Tree and the branch with her name on it. Sadly, she took the branch down and walked up to the teacher’s desk.
“Mrs. Billings,” she whispered.
“What is it, Betsy?” asked Mrs. Billings.
“Well … I mean … well …” Betsy gulped, took a deep breath, and blurted out the whole story. “Here,” she said, and she placed the branch on Mrs. Billings’s desk.
“Thank you, Betsy,” Mrs. Billings said.
At the end of the day, Mrs. Billings rose from her desk. “I have an announcement to make,” she began.
The children sat up straight in their chairs and waited expectantly—all except Betsy, who was too sad to want to hear who received a branch for the Compliment Tree that day.
But suddenly she realized that Mrs. Billings was talking about her!
“… and Betsy has earned two compliments today: one for finding a mistake that I missed on her math test, and one for having the courage to point it out to me. Betsy, come up and choose two branches. You may place them anywhere you wish on the tree.”
As Betsy went up to choose her two branches, she thought happily, Yesterday morning I had no compliments, and now I have two!

Once there was a man who dreamed that he was in a great hall where all the religions of the world were gathered. He realized that each religion had much that seemed desirable and worthy.
He met a nice couple who represented The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and asked, “What do you require of your members?”
“We do not require anything,” they replied. “But the Lord asks that we consecrate all.”
The couple went on to explain about Church callings, home and visiting teaching, full-time missions, weekly family home evenings, temple work, welfare and humanitarian service, and assignments to teach.
“Do you pay your people for all the work they do?” the man asked.
“Oh, no,” the couple explained. “They offer their time freely.”
“Also,” the couple continued, “every six months our Church members spend a weekend attending or watching 10 hours of general conference.”
“Ten hours of people giving talks?” the man wondered.
“What about your weekly church services? How long are they?”
“Three hours, every Sunday!”
“Oh, my,” the man said. “Do members of your church actually do what you have said?”
“That and more. We haven’t even mentioned family history, youth camps, devotionals, scripture study, leadership training, youth activities, early-morning seminary, maintaining Church buildings, and of course there is the Lord’s law of health, the monthly fast to help the poor, and tithing.”
The man said, “Now I’m confused. Why would anyone want to join such a church?”
The couple smiled and said, “We thought you would never ask.”

I grew up in a small village on the island of Anglesey in north Wales. As a teenager I faced a problem that affects most LDS young people in Britain. Almost all social life revolves around the pubs.
There is no straightforward solution to whether LDS youth should go to pubs. A pub, unlike the bars of most other countries, attracts people of all ages and all walks of life. It is a social gathering place. I remember feeling torn when close friends would invite me to parties at the local pub. I wanted them to know that I valued their friendship and appreciated them for wanting to involve me in their plans. However, the fact remained that I didn’t feel comfortable in pubs. On the few occasions that I went I always had the scriptures about shunning the appearance of evil or standing in holy places spinning around in my head. At the risk of ostracising my friends, I usually stayed at home.
This issue came to a head when my best friend, Elizabeth, turned 18 and invited me to her birthday party. It was to be held at a nearby pub. My friends were anxious that I go, although they knew that I would not join them in drinking alcohol. I decided that the only way that I could know what I should do was through prayer. It took me some time on my knees before I received a positive confirmation. I told Elizabeth that I would go for a short while and arranged with my father to take me and to pick me up half an hour later. That way I could show Elizabeth that her friendship and her birthday were important to me, but then I would not feel obliged to stay long in an environment where I felt so out of place.
Once the decision was made, the week sped by and before I knew it my father was dropping me off outside the heavy doors of “The Gazelle.” The lights glowed and reflected off the sparkling glasses along the length of the bar. A fire roared in the large grate, and scattered around the room were small round tables with their accompanying chairs. Paintings of fox hunts hung on the walls. The air was heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol.
As I hesitated in the doorway, I heard a familiar voice. “Sian, you came!”
I turned to see my friends Nia and David. “Come on,” Nia encouraged me, “Elizabeth is over here. I know she’ll want to see you.” She led the way across the room towards a small group of people.
I was made to feel welcome. I gave my gift to Elizabeth, and I knew she realized that I was there because I cared about her. I spoke to most of the people there before finding a quiet chair in the corner where I sat with a glass of orange juice on the table in front of me. I watched those around me. It saddened me to see some of my friends already showing signs of having drunk too much. It seemed so pointless and such an artificial way to have a “good” time.
I was so consumed with my own thoughts, I was not aware of Andrew’s approach until he spoke. “Are you glad you came, Sian?” he asked as he sat beside me.
I hesitated for a second before answering.
“If by coming I have shown my friends that I value their friendship, then yes, I’m glad I came.”
“But you’re not very comfortable here, are you?”
I knew Andrew well enough to be honest with him. “No,” I said, “I guess it’s always hard to be in a situation where you are different from everyone else.”
“But it’s not so hard that you would change your stand on drinking and join us all?” There was sadness in his voice as he spoke.
I felt my heart begin to burn. “No, Andrew, deep down I know that there is a God who loves me and doesn’t want me hurt. Alcohol can hurt.”
“You’re so lucky,” Andrew sighed.
I looked at him, startled and said, “You don’t have to drink either.”
“That’s easy to say,” he replied, “but I don’t have a good excuse not to. It may be hard for you to understand.” He continued to gaze into the frothy pint of beer in his hand. “If I refuse to drink the others will give me a hard time. They’ll heckle me about being chicken or not man enough. I don’t have any excuse to give them other than the fact that I don’t feel like drinking—and that’s not good enough for them. Everyone knows that you don’t drink because you’re a Mormon. They don’t understand it, but they accept it as something you live by. Most people admire you for taking a stand. I don’t have any religious reasons not to drink, so everyone expects me to.” He shrugged his shoulders and grinned. A mask of nonchalance quickly covered the inner feelings he had briefly exposed.
“Maybe I just lack your strength of character,” he teased. Then he stood, raised his glass to me in salute and turned to walk away. Feeling hopeless, I watched him go.
I glanced at my watch and saw that my designated half hour was over. I gathered my coat, signaled my goodbye to Elizabeth who stood a few yards off. I looked for Andrew, but he was lost in the crowd, so I left quietly.
As I opened the pub door, a wave of cold, fresh air swept over me. I breathed deeply, then glanced around. Sure enough, parked not more than ten yards away was my father. I ran to the car and jumped in.
I leaned over and gave my dad a hug. He asked me how the evening had gone. I sat back in my seat and recounted my experience. A heavenly spirit filled the car as I told him what I had learned.
My conversation with Andrew had helped me to see that commandments are blessings, not obstacles. I knew that the Word of Wisdom was given for our own good, but when I went to Elizabeth’s party that night, I was struggling with the idea that it was a barrier between me and my friends. Then I talked to Andrew and discovered that there are others, perhaps many others, who wish they had such commandments to guide them.
Now I know that if I ever struggle to see the reasons for a specific commandment, I will use it as a good excuse to do what is right until my faith and understanding increase.

One day my older brother Wallace and I were on our way to school. It had been raining the previous day and the ground was very muddy, especially along the street on which the building known as Joseph’s brick store was. Wallace and I both got stuck fast in the mud and could not get out. And, childlike, we began to cry. Looking up, I beheld the loving friend of children, the Prophet Joseph, coming to us. He soon had us on higher and drier ground. Then he stooped down and cleaned the mud from our little heavy-laden shoes, took his handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped our tear-stained faces. He spoke kind and cheering words to us and sent us on our way to school rejoicing. You can see why Wallace and I loved him.

Important and timeless counsel about moral purity was given by a father to his son right here in Rexburg, Idaho. From 1917 until 1931, George S. Romney served as the president of Ricks Academy. His son Marion, a student at the academy, excelled in athletics. Later in his life Marion G. Romney served as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and as a counselor in the First Presidency of the Church. In a 1979 general conference address, President Marion G. Romney recalled this important lesson about the law of chastity he learned from his father as he departed Rexburg to serve as a missionary in Australia. Please note President Romney's teachings about the law of chastity and his description of the supernal blessings associated with that law:
And now, the third specific commandment to which I direct your attention is, "Thou shalt not commit adultery."[17]
You will recall, of course, Alma's teaching his son Corianton that unchastity is the most serious offense there is in the sight of God, save murder only.[18] You will remember, too, these words from Paul's epistle to the Corinthians:
"Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?
"If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy."[19]
. . . I remember how my father impressed the seriousness of unchastity upon my mind. He and I were standing in the railroad station in Rexburg, Idaho, in the early morning of November 12, 1920. We heard the train whistle and knew that in three minutes I would be on my way to Australia to fill a mission. In that short interval my father said to me, among other things, "My son, you are going a long way from home. But your mother and I, your brother and sisters, will be with you constantly in our thoughts and prayers, we shall rejoice with you in your successes, and we shall sorrow with you in your disappointments. When you are released and return, we shall be glad to greet you and welcome you back into the family circle. But remember this, my son, we would rather come to this station and take your body off the train in a casket than to have you come home unclean, having lost your virtue."
I pondered that statement at the time. I did not then have the full understanding of it that my father had, but I have never forgotten it.
I can think of no blessings to be more fervently desired than those promised to the pure and the virtuous. Jesus spoke of specific rewards for different virtues but reserved the greatest, so it seems to me, for the pure in heart, "for they," said he, "shall see God."[20] And not only shall they see the Lord, but they shall feel at home in his presence.
Here is his promise--the Savior's promise: "Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God."[21][22]

An old fable, and one of my favorites over the years, tells this story:
A Japanese scholar each evening talked with workmen from a factory. One night he told the men that he would bring them something of beauty on the morrow. One man asked the scholar to bring him a rose, another asked for a branch, and the third requested a lily. The next evening he handed out the rose, the branch, and the lily.
“There is a thorn on my rose,” said the first man. The second complained, “There is a dead leaf on my branch.” “There is a clump of dirt on my lily,” cried the third.
The scholar took all his gifts back and said, “You had a beautiful rose and saw only the thorn; you had a lovely green branch and saw only the dead leaf; and on the glorious lily you saw only the clump of dirt.”

“I know why they’re going to tear the old Bently place down,” Troy announced late one afternoon as night was starting to creep around us. “It’s because it’s haunted!” he said in a whisper.
“Everybody knows that,” Shane muttered, swallowing hard and glancing down the street toward the Bently house.
As long as I could remember, we had all been afraid of the old Bently house. Nobody had lived in it for years. Most of the windows were boarded up, the paint had peeled off, and the doors that were left sagged and squeaked on their hinges.
Dad said that he could remember when there had been tall oak trees, green lawn, and trimmed bushes all around the house. The oak trees were still there, standing like big bushy giants around the old house to guard it and keep snoopers away. But the lawn had been taken over by weeds, and the bushes were nothing but tangles. Every time I had to pass the Bently house, I shuddered and tried not to look as I sprinted past it.
“Do you figure any ghosts live there?” I asked, glancing first at Troy and Shane and then at Justin, who was sitting beside me.
“The place is packed with them,” Shane answered.
“Once, I walked up on the front porch and peeked in the window,” I bragged.
Troy, Shane, and Justin looked at me. I could tell that they didn’t believe me. “It was afternoon, though,” I explained, shrugging my shoulders, “and I was with my Uncle Dan. But it was still kind of scary.”
“What did you see, Jimmy?” Shane wanted to know.
“Nothing. It was too dark, and something started banging on the side of the house. I was halfway home in about three steps. I didn’t want to go back, even with Uncle Dan.”
“I wouldn’t just go up on the Bently porch,” Troy said in his cocky way. “I’d go right inside!”
We stared at Troy. He was the biggest kid in the neighborhood, the strongest and the bravest too. If anybody would dare go into the Bently house, Troy would.
“I would too,” Shane boasted.
I licked my lips and added, “Me too.”
We looked at Justin, waiting for him to make his brag. He just sat there, his eyes wide and his face looking a little white. He swallowed and rasped uneasily, “Mom and Dad told me to stay away from the Bently house.”
“Don’t blame your mom and dad,” Troy scoffed. “You’re just chicken.”
Justin shook his head. “I don’t believe in ghosts. My dad said that I could get hurt in there because it’s falling apart. And that’s why they’re going to tear it down—not because of ghosts.”
Troy jumped to his feet, stuck out his chest, and put on his toughest look. “Jimmy and Shane and I are going in there right now,” he said. “If you don’t come, you’re just chicken.”
I felt my heart flip-flop in my chest, and it felt like someone had sucked all my breath away. Mom and Dad had told me to stay away from the house too. I just didn’t know how to tell Troy and Shane that. I slowly got to my feet and stood next to Troy, and Shane followed me.
We looked at Justin, who was looking at the ground. For a long time he didn’t say anything. Finally he looked up and said, “I’m not afraid—well, maybe a little—but the main reason I’m not going is that Mom and Dad told me not to.”
Right then I was wishing that I could tell Troy and Shane that I couldn’t go either, for the same reason, but I didn’t have the nerve.
“You’re just a chicken!” Troy sneered at Justin. “But if you want to hang around with us any more, you’d better come with us.”
“You could get hurt in that old house,” Justin insisted.
Troy laughed, and Shane and I joined in. “What a chicken!” Shane gave Justin a little shove. “Go on home to your mommy so that nothing will get you.”
“Yeah,” I said, wishing that my mouth wasn’t so dry and my heart wasn’t beating so fast. “Go home and let your mom tuck you into bed.”
Leaving Justin standing there, the three of us started toward the Bently house. We laughed and bragged all the way, telling each other that we weren’t afraid of anything. But every time I laughed, I got a sick, sinking feeling in my stomach.
Outside the Bently house we stopped. Shadows were lurking everywhere, making strange, scary shapes.
“Do you think we ought to get a flashlight?” Shane asked. His voice cracked, and he coughed to cover it up.
“We don’t need a flashlight,” Troy muttered. “Flashlights are for sissies like Justin.”
I wanted a flashlight. I wanted one bad! But I didn’t want to be called a chicken, so I just looked over at Troy and asked, “How are we going to get in?”
“In back. Just to the side of the big oak tree, there’s a window that we can squeeze through. The boards have fallen off.”
We found the window that Troy had told us about, and we had to pull off two more boards to make a hole big enough to climb through. Shane and I helped Troy through first; then he helped pull us up into the house.
A few gray bars of light streaked across the room from cracks in the windows. It smelled musty, and when we moved, the boards under our feet creaked and groaned. And when we just stood still, the house made creaking, groaning noises all by itself.
“Well, we’re inside,” I squeaked. “Now we can say that we’ve been in the—”
“We’re not going to just stop here!” Troy broke off my sentence with contempt. “Just coming in the window’s nothing. We need to explore.”
“Shouldn’t we have a light, though?” I asked.
“Are you chicken like Justin?”
“Yeah,” Shane joined in, “are you chicken too?”
I shook my head—not that they could see it—and wished that I was with Justin.
“Let’s go,” Troy ordered.
We started shuffling forward. I could barely see Troy and Shane as we left the first room and tiptoed down a long, dark hall. Cobwebs brushed against my face, and dust filled my nose. Suddenly the flooring beneath our feet began to shudder. We all froze, not knowing which way to go. Then the floorboards buckled. Before we knew it, we were falling into a deep, dark hole with dust and boards tumbling about us. I heard somebody scream. It seemed like we were going to fall forever. Then my feet jarred against something solid, and I sprawled forward on my face.
I lay still, wondering if I was still alive. My arms felt like they’d been scraped half off, and my side burned like it had the time I fell off my skateboard onto the pavement. I was just getting ready to try to move, when I heard a groan.
“Oh, my arm!” someone whimpered. “My arm’s killing me. I can’t even move it.”
“Is that you, Troy?” I heard Shane ask.
The only answer from Troy was more moaning and groaning.
“Where are we?” I called out. “I can’t see anything.”
“Probably in the cellar,” Shane answered. “We shouldn’t have come into this creepy old house,” he sobbed. “I didn’t really want to come here. It’s all your fault, Troy. It was your great idea!”
Troy’s only answer was, “Oh, my arm. I think I broke my arm.”
“What are we going to do?” I asked, sitting up. I was sore, but I didn’t have any broken bones.
“I hope somebody finds us,” Shane whimpered.
“Who’s going to find us?” I snapped. “Nobody even knows we’re here.”
“Justin knows,” Shane said hopefully.
“But we sent him away,” I reminded him. “He won’t know we’re missing until tomorrow. Besides, after calling him a chicken, he won’t want to help us, anyway.”
Shane and I managed to get to our feet, and we started yelling, hoping that someone would hear us. But the sound seemed to stay down in the hole with us.
Finally we sat down quietly, breathing hard and staring into the blackness. Then we heard footsteps. They were faint at first, and I wondered if I was just hearing the creaky sounds of the house. Then they got louder and louder and closer and closer.
“What’s that?” Shane rasped.
“Can you hear it too?” I whispered.
Even Troy stopped his moaning as the footsteps came closer. Then a dim, yellowish light shone above us, and Justin called out, “Jimmy! Is that you?”
“Justin!” I started to breathe again. “How’d you find us?”
“I waited. When you didn’t come out, I ran home and got a flashlight.”
“Get us out of here,” Shane whimpered. “We’re stuck.”
“And Troy’s hurt,” I added. “He thinks that his arm’s broken.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get help.”
It seemed like Justin was gone forever. But finally we heard voices. Justin’s dad was there, and so were Shane’s dad and Brother Richards and Rusty Hammond and my dad and Troy’s dad. They had ropes and a ladder and had us out of there almost before we knew it. Everybody was pretty sure that Troy’s arm was broken, so his dad hurried him off to the hospital.
That very night our dads boarded up the Bently house tighter than ever. Shane, Justin, and I just stood out by the curb and watched them work.
“I’m sorry for calling you a chicken,” Shane mumbled to Justin.
“Me, too,” I said.
Justin shrugged. “It’s OK.”
“No it isn’t,” I added. “We were wrong. We said that you were afraid because you wouldn’t go into the house with us, but we were the ones who were really afraid. At least I was. I was the real chicken.”
Justin stared at me, not quite understanding.
“I was afraid to say no. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to go into that old house, but I was afraid to tell Shane and Troy no. I was afraid that they would call me a chicken too. I was afraid to do what was right.”
Shane nodded his agreement.
I thought a moment. “I guess a lot of times it takes more courage not to do something than it takes to do it.” I smiled over at Justin. “Thanks for saving us. I don’t know what Troy or Shane think, but you can be my friend anytime.”

Now, my dear older sisters, I see God’s image in your noble countenances. How your wisdom, patience, and experience have touched so many lives! My amazing mother-in-law, Mary, in her 90s used to say, “People think because I’m old I don’t know anything.” Let me tell you what she knew and what she did. While living in a senior residence, Mary asked the manager if they could use a room for church services. He told her no because the center was nondenominational. She refused to accept his answer! With some other senior sisters, Mary persisted until the company provided a room. Soon a branch was organized, and members were meeting each Sunday to partake of the sacrament and renew their covenants. Age is not a barrier to becoming an instrument in the hands of God.

Rick Boggess of Richfield, Utah, has used his part-time job as a stepping stone to his chosen field. Rick worked part-time as a dishwasher in a restaurant, advanced to a cook, and, after a mission, is now working as a cook to help cover his educational expenses. According to Rick, “Counselors can be a big help in aiding you to take an honest look at yourself and in helping you to decide what you really want to do.” He plans to become a restaurant manager and owner.

Rrriiinnnggg! Rriiinnnggg! The recess bell rang. Monroe and her friends put on their coats. They hurried outside to play.
It was winter. It was cold. Monroe put on her fuzzy pink gloves. She was glad she had gloves to keep her hands warm.
Monroe and her friends had fun on the swings and the slippery slide. But Monroe saw that some of her friends weren’t wearing gloves. Their hands were red and cold. She wished she had gloves for their hands too.
After school Monroe had an idea. She asked Mom, “Can I take extra gloves to school tomorrow?”
“Why?” Mom asked.
“Some of my friends didn’t have gloves today,” Monroe said. “They can borrow mine to keep their hands warm.”
“That’s a nice thing to do,” Mom said. They found all the gloves they could. They put them in Monroe’s backpack.
The next day at recess, Monroe shared the gloves with her friends. It was still cold outside, but the gloves kept their hands warm. Monroe was happy to share her gloves. As she played, her hands felt warm. And now, her heart did too.

I once met a man who was just a few months old when he lost sight in both eyes. He could have let his disability ruin his life, but instead he empowered his hearing and became a concert pianist. He developed the ability to re-create on the piano the music he hears. Since he can’t read the scriptures, he could have become spiritually dormant. But instead, he developed a spiritual sensitivity by listening daily to recordings of the scriptures.

Our family lived in Hamburg, Germany, during World War I when food was rationed. City-dwellers often tried to purchase food from farmers, who sometimes had a little surplus. When I was fourteen years old, my mother gave me money for a railroad ticket and sent me to the country to try to buy food.
After a two-hour train ride, I arrived at a village where I began walking door to door. Though I visited more than forty houses, no one would sell me anything.
I was determined not to return home empty-handed and decided to walk the 4.5 kilometers to the next village where the train did not go. After walking about forty-five minutes and visiting all the houses along the way, I found a farmer who sold me forty-five kilos of potatoes. I could not believe my luck! The most I had hoped for was some butter or a few kilos of bacon.
The farmer lifted the sack of potatoes crosswise onto my shoulders, and I started back the way I had come. Before long, I realized the difficulty of my task—the potatoes weighed at least as much as I did. If I dropped my load onto the roadside and rested, I feared that I might not be able to lift it back onto my shoulders.
In the midst of this dilemma, I recalled my mother, who had taught me the scriptures and the power of prayer. I remembered an episode in the Book of Mormon where the Nephites, who were in bondage to the Lamanites, asked the Lord to lighten their burdens. The Lord had answered their prayers, and it occurred to me that the Lord might also lighten the weight of my burden. (See Mosiah 24:15.)
I began to pray. Instantly, I felt as if the load had been taken off my shoulders. I was able to walk with ease all of the way to the train station without resting.
At the station, another miracle occurred. Village police had the authority to confiscate any food found on passengers. Many people tried to hide their food, but there was no way I could hide the forty-five kilo sack of potatoes. However, as I boarded the train, nothing was said and I was allowed to take the potatoes home to my mother.
My search for food brought my family the physical nourishment we needed during a difficult time and developed in me an unshakable testimony that the Lord hears and answers prayers.

“I grew up in the city, but each summer I stayed with a farmer in our branch for two or three weeks, and I learned to enjoy farming. One day while we were working in a field and the cows needed to be brought up the hill to pasture, the farmer said, ‘I’ll take the wagon down to get the cows.’ I asked, ‘Can I do that?’ He replied, ‘Do you think that you can do it?’ I was small for my age, but I was happy that he thought that I could do the job.”

“Hans, Mein sohn, was machst du da?”
“Vater, Ich studiere.”
“Hans, Mein Sohn, das kannst du nicht.”
“Vater, Ich probiere.”
“Hans, my son, what are you doing?”
“Father, I’m studying.”
“Hans, my son, that you cannot.”
“Father, I am trying.”

“That was one of the first readings that I learned in school. Because it included my first name, Hans, it was very meaningful to me then, and it still is. I’m still trying today.”

In Australia just this past Sunday we were told of a doctor, a member of the Church, who had taken seriously the counsel that every member should be a missionary. He didn’t know how, but he was willing to try. He pleaded with the Lord for help. He told his patients, as opportunity presented itself, of the Church. Then he received a call one day from a patient who said that he and his family wished to know more of Mormonism. The doctor sent the missionaries. After being taught, the family asked for baptism and requested that the doctor perform the baptisms. The doctor asked them how their interest had been aroused. They said that they had gone camping. The first day they just enjoyed themselves. The second day they felt a little bored. They walked around the campgrounds and found a copy of a Church magazine. They read it. Their interest had been aroused. Tears came into the eyes of the doctor. He said, “My family and I had been at the same campground a few days before. I had taken that magazine with me to read. I felt impressed to leave it on the table. That was the magazine which led you in the direction of the Church.”

I guess it was about ten years ago,
but I remember it so clearly.
I was sitting in front of my mom’s
makeup mirror at the kitchen table.
Curiously, I pulled my stringy brown hair
away from my face.
A plain reflection stared back at me.
I didn’t notice
that my dad had been watching the whole time.
He grinned and said,
“Are you trying to see the face
your Heavenly Father sees?”
At the time, I couldn’t figure out how to answer
or why he even asked me that.
But now, I don’t think he really wanted an answer.
Fathers are just like that.

Now, once you receive it, be obedient to the promptings you receive. I learned a sobering lesson as a mission president. I was also a General Authority. I had been prompted several times, for the good of the work, to release one of my counselors. Besides praying about it, I had reasoned that it was the right thing to do. But I did not do it. I feared that it would be spiritually harmful to a man who had given long service to the Church.
The Spirit withdrew from me. I could get no promptings on who should be called as a counselor should I release him. It lasted several weeks. My prayers seemed to go no further than the room where I offered them. I tried a number of alternate ways to arrange the work, but to no avail. Finally, I did as I was bidden to do by the Spirit. Immediately, the gift returned! Oh, the exquisite sweetness to have that gift again. You know it, for you have it, the gift of the Holy Ghost. And the brother was not harmed, indeed he was greatly blessed and the work prospered.

Recently at a stake conference a young man was called to the pulpit with only a few moments’ notice. He said he had been away to school and had come home to find a very dear friend in trouble. She had become enmeshed in the drug scene and had been tragically hurt. The young man sought the Lord in prayer, crying out for strength to help his friend. “For the first time in my life I truly forgot myself,” he said. “While I prayed I came to a consciousness I had never before possessed. My concern for her was honest and intense and without self-reference, and I knew as I prayed that the love and concern of Almighty God for me and for my friend were pure and real and very personal.”

When I was 14, I began working for a neighbor who raised bees as a hobby. My job was to take care of his horses, paint fences, mow the lawn, and weed the garden.
The beehives were located in the field behind the garden, and it seemed like every time I was there I’d end up getting stung or chased by some angry bee. I was beginning to wonder if the bees were trying to avenge the death of their long-lost ancestor.
I told my neighbor I was going to need combat pay if he wanted his garden weeded. He told me what I really needed was the right equipment. We went into his basement and he got out his bee suit: thick gloves with sleeves that went all the way up my arms, white pants and shirt because white tends to pacify bees, boots, a hat, and a screen mask that covered my face and head.
Feeling protected, I journeyed outside. Unfortunately it didn’t take long before I felt something crawling around on my head. There was a hole on the top of the mask. I’m not sure who panicked first, the bee or me. I took off running for the house, but before I got very far it was too late.
I guess you could say I got the point that day. But I really got it later when I was reading in Doctrine and Covenants 27:15 [D&C 27:15] where it says, “Wherefore, lift up your hearts and rejoice, and gird up your loins, and take upon you my whole armor, that ye may be able to withstand the evil day, having done all, that ye may be able to stand.”