Gospel Story Finder

What would you say about the conduct of a Church member of my acquaintance who once bragged to me about the following incident? His Church responsibilities required him to attend a stake auxiliary meeting that was held during a time when he was required to be present for shift work at his place of employment. He asked his employer for permission to attend the meeting, but permission was denied. “But I fooled him,” this brother told me; “I had my wife call me in sick so I could attend my meeting.”

I’ve loved to dance since I was three. So when I was in middle school, I was excited when tryouts for the dance team came around. I had no doubt that with my talent and experience, I would easily make the team.
A few days after the tryouts, the names of the dance team were posted. To my dismay, I couldn’t find my name anywhere on the list. I was devastated. I went home and cried on my bed. I was mad at the dance teacher and disappointed that I had not been good enough to make the team. My mom quietly walked into my room and suggested that I ask Heavenly Father for the strength to make it through this “bump” in my life. I reluctantly agreed and said a short prayer. After the prayer I didn’t feel any better, so I continued moping around and being miserable. I slept terribly that night.
The next morning I pulled myself out of bed. The memory of my failure was fresh in my mind, and I wanted to just slip right back under the covers. But before I did, I remembered a promise my bishop had made. He said that if I would read my scriptures every day, even if only for 15 minutes, then I would be blessed. If I ever needed a blessing, it was now.
As I read, I discovered this verse in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“I say unto you my friends, fear not, let your hearts be comforted; yea, rejoice evermore, and in everything give thanks;
“Waiting patiently on the Lord, for your prayers have entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth, and are recorded with this seal and testament—the Lord hath sworn and decreed that they shall be granted.
“Therefore, he giveth this promise unto you, with an immutable covenant that they shall be fulfilled; and all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good, and to my name’s glory, saith the Lord” (Doctrine and Covenants 98:1–3).
I was shocked. I sat in my pajamas with my messy bed-hair and marveled at how much I had needed these scriptures. All the feelings of anger and sadness washed away in those three verses. I felt the love of my Heavenly Father and knew that He knew what I was going through. With this new perspective, I could see that not being chosen for the dance team really was just a small bump in the road of my life. I fell to my knees in gratitude and thanked Heavenly Father.
For the rest of the day, I was able to keep the Spirit with me and look at my trials as opportunities for growth. I will always hold these verses close to my heart. And I will remember my bishop’s promise about the blessings of turning to the scriptures. I am very grateful I can be a part of this Church and have a knowledge of the gospel. I know that Heavenly Father’s plan for us is truly a plan of happiness.

I left the hospital and found myself thinking about the moments spent with my grandparents. For the first time in my life, I realized how unobtrusively and quickly time does pass. During the years, my beloved grandparents had grown old. Grandma had already passed away, and now I wouldn’t have Grandpa much longer. They would always live on in my heart, but I wanted them to be a part of my children’s and grandchildren’s lives as well. I decided that I would write on paper my memories of the times we had spent together; in that way I would be able to share my grandparents with my own children in the future.
When I returned home, I sat down and started to recall memories. I slipped paper after paper into the typewriter, typing as quickly as my thoughts would come. I knew I was making spelling and grammatical errors but decided to concentrate on meaning while I wrote my first draft and make corrections when I did the final copy. After typing up the stories on heavy white paper the size of book of remembrance pages, I covered them with plastic protector sheets and bound the pages together in a black binder. For a title page I used three pictures of Grandpa, and on the last two pages of the book I put more pictures. For my cover I enlarged a color picture of Grandpa’s sheep camp in the mountains, framed it, and glued it on the front of the binder.
My book was completed after only two weeks; writing the memories had taken only a couple of afternoons. As I relived the weeks spent in the mountains in the old log cabin where my mother had been born, I found myself typing through tears. It was there I grew to love the earth with her wild flowers and sagebrush. Grandfather was a mountain of a man as he worked with his sheep—mighty, yet ever so gentle with the little, newborn lambs. As Grandmother cooked over the old black coal stove, she shared her philosophies of life with me. Her lemon pies became her trademark. Her ideas became my beliefs.
I wrote of the afternoons they came to visit my family. Grandpa always had a brown sack full of groceries, and as he placed it on the counter, Grandma pulled out fresh fruit and vegetables and nuts. She told us children to always eat plenty of nuts and peanuts because they were good brain foods and she wanted to have smart grandchildren. Grandpa always went straight to the couch and invited us all to get on his lap. He pulled out his gold watch and chain and let us listen to the ticking sound. He then proceeded to tell us stories.
I wrote about the many weekends I spent at their home. Grandpa usually fell asleep about 11:00 P.M., while Grandma and I were just getting ready to go on our midnight walk to the corner grocery store several blocks away. Upon returning, we finally got to bed about 2:00 A.M. By 5:30 the next morning, Grandma was up and preparing breakfast. How I tried to keep up with her!
Recalling the memories made me love and appreciate my grandparents even more. Having the shared moments in black and white made me realize all they had given me. I wanted to do something special for my grandfather while he was still alive. Then a new idea came to me: why not dedicate the book to him? It was a perfect way to express my love for him. I ended the book with the following:
So, Grandpa, I have not been able to share much with you these last few years, but I will always love you and Grandma very deeply. You have given me some of my very happiest childhood memories. I thank you for them all.
I thank you for all the pretty clothes you let Grandma buy for me …
Thank you for letting me stay with you on weekends and especially for taking me to the mountains with you …
Thank you for the use of your piano and the sheet music and songs you bought for me …
Thank you for all the hamburgers and malts and root beer floats we had at “Myrts” …
Thank you for letting me take your new Buick and letting me use a whole tank of gas …
Thank you for being my Grandpa!
I love you very much!
Your granddaughter
I went to the hospital carrying my special gift for my grandfather. As I read the pages of the book to him, some of the incidents were so humorous that he struggled to laugh. When I recalled the sorrow we had shared, tears filled his eyes and he and I cried together. The most difficult part for me was to read the closing paragraph, thanking him for all he had given me. I closed the book and laid it by his side, grateful that I had given him a precious gift.
When Grandfather died, I took the book and, heartbroken, put it away on a shelf. Now, only six years later, as I read it to my little children, they talk about my grandpa and grandma as though they really know them. The book is priceless to me, but even more priceless to my children’s children as they read it and hand it down through generations of time as part of my life story. Now I know that my grandparents will be alive in the hearts of many for years and years to come.

Seminary helped Melissa envision the kind of young woman she wanted to become. She was not a member of our Church, but she enrolled in seminary with her friends. When she turned 18, she was taught by the missionaries. She knew the things they taught her were true! The spirit was so sweet at her baptism. It felt as if not only all her friends and family were present but also her future family. The bishop remarked that he could almost hear her future family saying, “Thanks, Mom!”

My dad is not a member of the Church, so when I decided to be baptized I talked with him and told him why I wanted very much to be baptized and become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Eventually he talked to the missionaries and gave his consent, and I was baptized on 8 June 1997.
I am glad I was able to talk to my dad about why I wanted to be baptized. I am glad my mom talked to me about going to church and encouraged me to attend.

I watched, confused, as my family and I watered the concrete foundation of our house. I felt ridiculous. Who has ever heard of watering a house? When we moved to Texas, USA, our neighbor explained that in that particular area we needed to water our house’s foundation so that the weather wouldn’t cause the house to settle and crack. So I watered the house, even though I felt crazy doing it.
The watering helped for a time, but eventually, our house started to crack. We soon discovered that our house wasn’t built on solid ground. It had been built on a landfill, which caused our house to sink as buried trash below decomposed over time. We watered the foundation, but our house would still crack. So we eventually moved away.

A recently returned missionary who had just joined the Ricks College 42nd Ward approached me, the bishop at the time, and said that he had just read Elder Dallin H. Oaks' talk, "Bishop Help," where Elder Oaks invites members to help the bishop. "Bishop," he said, "what can I do to help you?" Without hesitation I returned, "Date every sister in the ward." He chuckled and then quit smiling when he saw that I was serious. He hesitated, and then said, "I'll do my best."
Each Sunday, I knew which sister had gone out with him on Saturday because she wore a huge smile and constantly watched the door for his arrival. He was handsome, spiritual, kind, intellectual, and talented. In fact, each week, most of the sisters turned when he walked into the Kirkham Auditorium, where we held Sacrament Meeting.
I had a sister in that ward who was often discouraged. We visited most Sundays and together we would review her week and her frustrations. I was not sure how to help her. She was discouraged that she had been at Ricks College for three years without a single date. I would strive to buoy her up each week, but I couldn't find long-term solutions until one Sunday morning when she walked in with a huge smile on her face. She cornered me after Sacrament Meeting and described how one of the brothers in the ward had asked her on a date for the previous Saturday. They had gone horseback riding down on the Henry's Fork property, leaving early in the morning and not returning until evening. The young man had prepared a wonderful picnic and had treated her like a queen. "Bishop," she said, "I know that he is not pursuing me romantically. In fact, I know that you assigned him to date every sister in the ward, but he treated me like a daughter of God."
At the end of the semester, the young man found me one Sunday after meetings and asked if he could give an accounting of his assignment. We sat down in the bishop's office and he began. "I'm here to ask for forgiveness. I haven't even dated half of the sisters in the ward." I assured him that he had been inspired in his choices. He interrupted and said,
"Bishop, I don't think that I blessed the lives of these sisters; they blessed mine. I was dating the wrong kind of girl. I was looking mostly at their physical bodies and not at who they are spiritually. I now know what kind of woman I want to marry, and physical appearance is hardly a consideration. I learned so much from the sisters in our ward."
His faithful action helped others and taught him much.

Although Christ consistently denounced violence, some people who claim to be Christians justify using violence in imposing their will on a spouse. I recall one man who justified hitting his wife by saying, “I never hit her unless she deserves it.” Once we established an understanding that he would not use violence with his wife whether he felt she deserved it or not, we were able to work on some of the other problems in their relationship.

The week after Brian’s sister Kathy went off to BYU to begin her freshman year, he was summoned to Dad’s study.
“I want you to write to Kathy once a month,” Dad said in his no-nonsense voice.
Brian, who never wrote anything to anybody if he could help it, was horrified. “Why?”
“For three very good reasons,” Dad said. “First, if you write to your sister now, she just might communicate with you when you’re on your mission, and letters are very welcome to missionaries. Second, I would like you children to keep in touch with each other after you leave home. And third, writing letters might improve your English skills.”
“But, Dad—”
“No buts. You can start now.” Dad handed Brian a pen, a sheet of paper, and an envelope. “I assume it won’t be necessary to check the letter before you mail it to make sure that you’ve actually written something?”
Brian, realizing he had no choice in the matter, shook his head. “But what can I write about?”
“School.”
Brian walked down the hall to his bedroom, grumbling inwardly all the way, and sat down at his desk. He had never enjoyed writing. Mom had to bribe him to write thank-you notes for birthday and Christmas presents. And now to have to write to Kathy, of all people! Brian didn’t think it possible that Kathy would be at all interested in anything he had to say. But when Dad made up his mind that something would be done, there was no getting around it. Brian sighed and thought about school.
“Dear Kathy,
“I don’t know how they worked homerooms when you were in high school, but this year homeroom period is between 1st and 2nd periods for ten minutes. I guess they figure that the tardy kids will be at school by then and the attendance will look good. Last Thursday I went from algebra (1st period) to English (2nd period) without thinking of homeroom at all. Suddenly I noticed that the halls were really quiet, and when I looked into my English room I saw all these strangers. “Homeroom!” I yelled and ran all the way to mine—on the other side of the building, of course. I got there just after the bell rang. Miss Holik said “Tardy,” and everyone snickered. I had to bring an excuse from Mom. How stupid can you get?”
Brian stopped writing and wondered how to end the letter. “Love, Brian” was too sissy. “Sincerely yours” was too formal. Finally he just wrote “Brian.” Brian folded the letter and put it into the envelope, which Dad had already addressed and stamped. He took it back to the study.
“Well, now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” said Dad.
Brian said nothing. He was calculating the number of months left before Kathy graduated from college and wondering how he could possibly think of things to fill up that many letters.
In October Brian conveniently forgot about Kathy’s letter until Dad reminded him by handing him paper and an envelope. “But Kathy never wrote back!” he protested.
“That makes no difference,” said Dad.
“But what can I write about?” groaned Brian.
“Neighbors.”
“Dear Kathy,
“The Miners next door went to Hawaii two weeks ago. Paul said the weather was gorgeous. He got a neat tan. It rained here all the time they were gone, and he’s really rubbing it in. For the last week all everyone has heard on the school bus is Hawaii, Hawaii, Hawaii and how wonderful it was and how great Paul’s father is for making so much money that he can take his family places like that. It’s enough to make you sick.”
In November Brian thought that he might as well get the letter writing over as soon as possible and went to the study to get his supplies early in the month. Dad was pleasantly surprised.
“You seem to be taking to this,” he commented.
“I just want to get it out of the way,” said Brian.
“What can I write about this month?”
“Church.”
“Dear Kathy,
“We had the road shows last week. I wasn’t going to be in ours, but Sister Fiedler talked to Mom and she made me. We did the story of David and Goliath set in the Wild West. Howard Brighty was Goliath, and you know how tall he is, and Keith Wertz was David, and you know how short he is. Keith had all these fake guns hanging on his belt, and in the middle of the road show they fell off. It looked good, even though it wasn’t supposed to happen. I was an Israelite cowboy. I had to square dance with Debbie Vandercook. We didn’t win any awards, but it was OK.”
In December Brian was excused from letter writing since Kathy was home for most of the month on vacation. She said nothing to him about his letters and Brian felt that the whole project was worthless. In January, though, it began again.
“What can I write about now?” moaned Brian.
“The weather.”
“Dear Kathy,
“If someone took a movie of what it looks like outside and showed it to someone else and said, ‘What month is this?’ they would probably say March. It’s been rainy and warm and slushy, just like March. The Scout skiing trip and the Ski Club trip (high school) had to be canceled. In March it will probably be cold and snowy like January is supposed to be. It’s disgusting.”
Two weeks later when Brian came home from school, Mom met him at the door.
“You got a letter,” she said.
“A letter?” said Brian. It wasn’t his birthday, and that was the only time he got letters. “Who from?”
“Kathy,” said Mom, handing it to him.
Brian took the letter into his bedroom to read. It felt very strange to get a letter from Kathy. Probably telling me she thinks my letters stink, he thought. He somewhat reluctantly opened it.
“Dear Brian,
“I must admit I was surprised when you started writing me letters, but I want you to know that I really enjoy getting them. They’re always fun to read, and they often bring back happy memories. In addition, they always seem to come at a time when I’m feeling a little homesick or depressed, and they really cheer me up. Keep up the good work!
“Love, Kathy”
Brian sat back in his chair with a feeling of total amazement. I guess I am doing something worthwhile after all, he thought. Kathy likes my letters! She likes my letters!
Brian carefully put Kathy’s letter back into its envelope and then rummaged around in his closet until he found an old shoe box. After dusting it off, he wrote “LETTERS” on the top and put Kathy’s letter inside. Then Brian headed down the hall to the study for his writing supplies. There was no harm in getting Kathy’s February letter done a little early. Perhaps, if he didn’t run out of things to say, he could even write to Grandma.

It had almost been five months since the accident, and I had been away from my children all that time, never seeing them once. In all that time, I hadn't even seen my own reflection either. I had been putting it off, so frightened to see my new face. I knew I looked different, but I was so terrified to actually see and deal with it.

One December evening, Christian walked through my door like he always did. This time he had a mirror in his hands.

"I know you can do it, Stephanie. Let's do it together," he said, sitting on the edge of my bed.

We sat there for hours, and he gently nudged me the whole time. "Okay, okay, I'll do it," I would say, then chicken out right before.

Then I decided I needed to do this myself--and alone. Christian kissed my forehead and quietly walked out of my room. After the door shut, I quietly said a prayer: "Please, Heavenly Father, help me. Help me like what I see. Help me be brave. Please bless me to find the old me somewhere." That prayer went straight to heaven, because almost immediately I felt calm and peaceful.

I took a deep breath and turned the mirror over. I started at my bandaged chest and worked my way up. My neck looked a lot like the skin on my arms--scarred and blotchy. I kept going. I looked at my chin, then my lips. Could those be my lips? They were huge and looked the way they felt: painful.

When I got to my nose, I cried out and put the mirror down. My nose was completely different, smaller and misshapen. I was unrecognizable to myself. My cheeks were blotched with bloody scabs and raised scars, and half of my ear was burned off.

My face scared me, and I knew it would scare anyone. I felt like I was wearing a Halloween mask. Panic took me over. How on earth could my children see me like this? I actually considered having my sisters, who were taking care of my children, put me somewhere where my children would never have to see me and deal with my inadequacies.

Being a mother was my purpose in life, the source of my fulfillment, and I knew my children would be afraid of me once they saw me. They would reject me. That fact leveled me. I was inconsolable. I wanted to die. "There is no reason to be here. My children won't even love me," I said to myself over and over again.

Those precious, beautiful children didn't deserve a disfigured, incapable mother. They needed someone strong who could take care of them no matter what. I was lacking in every way.

Each morning I would wake up with a deep ache in my heart. I wanted to wipe away the accident and everything that went with it. The nurses knew and had anticipated the big moment when I finally looked at myself in the mirror. They wanted to hear how it went, but I couldn't talk about it. "It was awful. Please don't ask me," I said. "Tell the other nurses too. It was awful."

Then I turned to God in prayer. Please help me through this. Please help our children. Then my favorite Primary song popped into my head.

"Heavenly Father, are you really there? / And do you hear and answer every child's prayer? / Some say that heaven is far away, / But I feel it close around me as I pray."

In that dark hospital room, I sang the first lines over and over out loud to myself: "Heavenly Father, are you really there? / And do you hear and answer every child's prayer?" I needed Him so desperately. But the next verse, a parent's answer to the child's questions, comforted me too.

"Pray, He is there / Speak, He is listening. / You are His child. / His love now surrounds you."

I prayed for hours that morning, pleading with God for understanding and assistance. I had prayed on my own every day, with Christian and with my siblings when they would come to visit or spend the night with me. I was certain our prayers were being heard by our loving Heavenly Father. At times, I distinctly felt embraced by God's love, and the sweet assurance washed over me that everything would be all right. And I realized something. This broken, sad woman was still me, and underneath all these bandages and medicines, I still had all my toes, fingers, ears, a nose, eyes; and I could see, smell, hear; and, best of all, I had my children, and I had my husband who stood strong and immovable by my side defending me and encouraging me on.

I have a Young Women leader named Jennifer. She is my inspiration. When I was in seventh grade, she showed up at my doorstep every Wednesday and Sunday, wondering if I was going to go to Mutual or church. I always came up with the excuse of being “busy,” so I said no. Then I noticed her visits were a repetition. She was showing up every week, so one Wednesday I decided to try going to Mutual.
When I went, I felt so loved. I just loved being there with the other young women and leaders. I went home and cried myself to sleep, I was so happy. On Sunday, Jennifer was at my door again. I said no, so she made me a deal. She said if I went to just Young Women and liked it, she would continue to take me; if not, she would keep bugging me. So I went, and I loved it.
I started getting back into the Church, and I remembered how much I loved the gospel. Jennifer has been there for me through everything. I am so glad that Heavenly Father has blessed me with my leaders, especially Jennifer. She has made such a great impact on my life. I haven’t always made the right choices, but I am glad and so grateful that I have her on my side. She has motivated me to become active again. I don’t know how I could ever repay her. I thank Heavenly Father that I have her in my life.
I now know how to appreciate my leaders more. I know that they are here for us and they can help us become better young women and men. That’s why God blessed us with them.

Blendina Muca spent the early years of her life struggling with a medical condition known as strabismus, or crossed eyes. After many years of unsuccessful treatment in her native Albania, she found help from an American physician who visited her homeland on a humanitarian excursion.
“Since I was little I had crossed eyes,” Ms. Muca reported. “My father sent me for a visit to the doctor, who gave me some drops and glasses. … They didn’t correct my eyes—they became worse—but I always walked with hope they would be better.”
Despite her visual limitations, the young Albanian was able through her diligence to become a professional tailor, a career in which she excelled.
When Ms. Muca’s sister joined the Church, a door opened for the visually impaired young woman. Church humanitarian service missionaries, present at her sister’s baptism, invited Ms. Muca to visit an LDS-sponsored clinic staffed with member ophthalmologists from the United States.
Dr. Rick Olson, a pediatric ophthalmologist on staff at the University of Iowa, performed the surgery on Ms. Muca’s eyes. Prior to the surgery, the young patient, her sister, and friends united in prayer with Dr. Olson.
“The doctor asked God to make his hands as gold to fix my eyes,” Ms. Muca reported, “and He did. I knew God had made a miracle.”
Ms. Muca sees life much differently following her successful surgery. She explained: “My wish now is to go to university and help those who are in need—to help people the same way God helped me. Miracles do happen.”

When I turned 12, I started to really think about how I could be involved in the gospel.
I was living in my hometown of Taranto, Italy. It had been only a few years since my brother and I had met the missionaries and become members of the Church, but I started feeling eager to participate more. I began to feel a desire to pass the sacrament. I remember walking to church each Sunday with a prayer in my heart that I would be called to pass the sacrament.
One Sunday morning, my branch president called me into his office. He said, “Massimo, the Lord wants you to receive the priesthood and be ordained a deacon.”
When I heard those words—“the Lord wants you”—something struck me. I felt that it wasn’t a human asking me to do something, but that it really was the Lord personally extending a responsibility. When my branch president looked at me, I felt that the Lord was reaching out to me.
As I began to pass the sacrament every Sunday, I could feel the power of godliness in my life. I felt responsible, I felt involved, and I knew that I was doing the Lord’s work. I felt closer to Him by serving Him.
This experience of feeling the Lord’s hand both through my leaders and in my responsibilities helped me develop a deeper personal relationship with Him. I wanted to be more involved in the gospel; as I lived that way, I felt the presence of God in my life. Developing this kind of relationship with Him is one of the most important things you can do in your youth.
As I met with my branch president, it made a deep spiritual impression on me when I felt that it was the Lord, not just my branch president, giving me a responsibility. By recognizing the Lord in my leader, I felt closer to Him, and my relationship with Him deepened.
We can also develop a personal relationship with the Lord by recognizing His presence as we participate in the ordinances of the gospel. When we are involved in the ordinances—like the sacrament—we know that “the power of godliness is manifest” (D&C 84:20). When I passed the sacrament, even at the age of 12 or 13, I really felt that I was an instrument in His hands. I felt the presence and power of God in those ordinances and the power of godliness in my life. Having that sacred experience each week by recognizing the Lord in this ordinance helped me deepen my personal relationship with the Lord.

A related strength that can be corrupted to our downfall is a desire to excel in a Church calling. I remember a graduate student who used his Church service as a means of escape from the rigors of his studies. He went beyond what we call Church-service time and became almost a full-time Church-service worker. He consistently volunteered for every extra assignment, giving help that was greatly appreciated in the various organizations and activities of the Church. As a result of this inordinate allocation of time, he failed in his studies and then mistakenly blamed his failure on the excessive burden of Church service. His strength became his downfall.

I learned this more deeply during a difficult season of my life. Early in my service as a young stake president, as my wife, Busi, and I were raising our family, it felt as though one challenge followed another. We had just buried my mother. Two weeks later, we stood again at a graveside—this time with my counselor, mourning his teenage son. Work pressures felt overwhelming, and I began to wonder if I was measuring up—at home, at work, and before the Lord.
My prayers were best expressed in the Primary song: “Heavenly Father, are you really there? And do you hear and answer ev’ry child’s prayer?”
My answer came in an unexpected way.
One Sunday, while driving to a ward conference, I poured my heart out to the Lord. When I arrived at the meetinghouse, a bright-eyed Primary boy stopped me and said, “We need to talk.” With a very serious look on his face, he asked—almost in a scolding voice—“When are you going to stop being a naughty boy?” I knew I was in some kind of trouble. Before I could respond, he added, “Every morning and every night, my parents ask us to pray for you.”
I will never be able to fully describe what I felt as I stood there. I felt seen. I felt loved. I felt known. I felt that I was not alone. And as I looked into that child’s eyes, I felt the warmth of the Savior’s love.

Our family was very involved in community and political efforts in support of the family, so we talked about these things often and had many robust conversations where opinions were shared and debated. As a result, each of our children grew confident in their own beliefs and their ability to express them.
For example, my youngest son took a biology class from a teacher who had been openly hostile to our beliefs. The teacher challenged him, “Does your mother know you’re in my class?”
“Yes, sir,” he responded.
About a month later I asked my son, “How is your biology class going?”
“Mom, the teacher challenges me every day,” he responded.
I was upset. “We can pull you out of that class immediately!” I said.
“No way, Mom,” he replied. “Every day he challenges my beliefs, and every day I repeat what I believe in,” he explained. “And almost every day someone comes up to me after class and thanks me. They say they believe like I do but are too afraid to say anything.”
I was so proud of him for being strong in the face of such direct challenges and questions.
At the end of the semester, the teacher approached him. “Well, I have to give you credit,” he said. “You have done a great job of standing up for what you believe.”
Having all of those family discussions had prepared him well.

As I participated on the sidelines during the first harrowing landing on the moon, the thought came to me that in a very real way Neil Armstrong was all alone. There were thousands in the communication net, probably the biggest assemblage of talent available working together in the world, yet there was only one man in the whole system who had his hands on the controls. He would either do well or he would crash, depending on his own ability. What he had learned and trained himself to do was going to count right now. He did very well, but in doing it, he probably felt terribly alone. Many times during our lives we find ourself in situations that can be compared to this, where we feel terribly alone.
Now in another way, Neil would be the very first one to admit—and indeed, he would insist—that he was simply the apex of a tremendous team. A lot of people were behind him who could help, who had helped, and who would help if required, plus a great many people were wishing him well.
In the last 60 seconds before touchdown, the computer sent 12 messages to the crew. Twelve times in that last 60 seconds it wrote out the number 1202. Neil had memorized what 1202 meant years before, because of the significance of the message. It means, in essence: “The computer has failed. You are on your own. Good luck.”
Now, we had built a radar altimeter so incredibly accurate that every time we flew over a rock that was more than one meter in height, it would change the altitude, call up the computer, and tell it, “Hey, you have a new altitude.” If the computer got more than 1/1000th of a second behind in its calculations, the 1202 light went on. With the altitude in error by only a few meters because of the size of rocks they were flying over, the correction would be changed imperceptibly, so it was totally safe to ignore that particular problem. Neil had even been told ahead of time that if any caution warning lights came on during descent, he was to ignore them. If anything of real importance came up, ground control would call him and let him know.
On the ground was a man whose job was to ascertain when the 1202 lights could be ignored. If they could be, he would say nothing, but if anything was wrong, he would speak up. Neil had to decide whether this man was really telling him that everything was all right, or if the man was confused and didn’t know what to say, or perhaps he had gone out to the water cooler. The people who were giving him advice were giving the advice by simply being silent in this particular moment.
Sometimes we find ourselves in situations where in one sense we are desperately and tragically alone, and in another sense we have a lot of people supporting us who can help us if we listen. These kinds of situations are what I call “the Neil Armstrong situation”—when we are faced with decisions, challenges, or temptations where what we do is as critical for a period of our life as what Neil did was critical for that particular flight.

I remember talking to a missionary in Korea who said, “When I came here it was winter, and I had a terrible time. I felt no love for the land and could feel no love for the people. One day I was walking down the street through a storm, and I saw a woman trying to seek a little shelter next to a building. She was thin, emaciated, and hungry, and she held in her arms an emaciated and hungry baby. I heard that child cry, and I knew that these were my people.”

As a young stake president, I met many of the General Authorities when they came to speak at our stake conference. What a wonderful experience! President Hugh B. Brown came to one of our stake conferences just a week before he was called and sustained as a member of the Council of the Twelve. We enjoyed his warm spirit and his good humor. As I helped him put his coat on and walked out to his car with him, I said, “Elder Brown, do you have any personal advice for me?”
His answer was, “Yes. Follow the Brethren.” He did not choose to elaborate or explain, but he left that powerful message: Have the simple faith to follow the Brethren.

Here is experience by another bishop. This story was reported in the LDS Church News in February of this year. The topic is forgiveness.
I’m quoting the report:
Before the dust settled from the wreck that took the lives of his pregnant wife and two of his children on February 9th, Bishop Chris Williams knew that the first thing he had to do was forgive the driver who had crashed his vehicle into the Williams family’s sedan.
“As a disciple of Christ, I had no other choice,” said the bishop of the Crystal Heights Ward, Salt Lake Highland Stake. Referring to the scripture: “Of you it is required to forgive all men,” Bishop Williams said, “As I understand that statement, it is not an option whether or not I forgive somebody. It is commandment.”
He said that in the moments after the accident, he looked around inside the car and he knew that his wife, Michelle, and two of their children, Ben, 11, and Anna, 9, had died in the crash.
He remembered the sealing ordinances of the temple and said, “I wanted to make sure that I would live in such a way that I’ll have the right to be with my family for eternity…The last thing that I wanted to do in that moment when I realized that my wife and children had passed was to break a commandment. Really, as a disciple of Christ, I had no other choice but to forgive.”
At that moment he decided to unconditionally forgive the driver of the other vehicle.
Isn’t that a beautiful experience of someone who understands the very real, eternal, and practical application of gospel principles?
He knew the doctrine and applied correct principles.