Gospel Story Finder

Our son-in-law Jeff recalls that through some of his teenage years, there were times he saw the commandments of God as restrictive, and he was like the kite that would cut its string at every opportunity. At that point in his life, obedience was a challenge. He would obey at times largely out of duty to his family or when motivated by fear of punishment. He says he didn't feel a love for the Savior--that he did not really know Him. Fortunately, through the influence of those around him, including his parents and a Young Men adviser, he was obedient enough that the Spirit could touch him with some understanding and desire to do good. Line upon line, he slowly progressed and became converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Jeff remembers: "Looking back 30 years later, I can see that I have been caught up in a virtuous cycle of obeying and receiving light and knowledge, which causes me to want to obey more. I see in my own life the truth that President Dieter F. Uchtdorf taught: 'We come to see obedience not as a punishment but as a liberating path to our divine destiny. And gradually, the corruption, dust, and limitations of this earth begin to fall away. Eventually, the priceless, eternal spirit of the heavenly being within us is revealed, and a radiance of goodness becomes our nature.'"[18]

The Y on the mountain has its own inauspicious origins. Its roots trace back to a rivalry between two classes of students only three years after Brigham Young Academy became a full-fledged university—a time when both Brigham Young University and Brigham Young High School shared the same space.

It was not unusual in those days for a class to mark its graduation by leaving symbols on the landscape. In the spring of 1906, the junior class at the high school decided to get a jump on the process and at the same time demonstrate its superiority to the senior class by etching a large ’07 on the mountainside, referring to the year in which they would graduate in the future.

Not surprisingly, upon awakening to that sight, the senior class objected. One contemporary account described the reaction with dramatic flair:

The Student Body . . . sprang to its feet in angry ­amazement; the whites of its eyes gleamed like lightning. Its generals . . . ran to the four winds with flaming banners, and crying: “Assemble, ye hosts, prepared to fight!”9

There then ensued “an all-day mountainside altercation,”10 with punches exchanged on both sides.

BYU president George H. Brimhall and BY High principal Edwin S. Hinckley assembled a group, and a decision was made to have all the classes join together to put the letters B, Y, and U on the mountainside.11 The project began with the letter Y to ensure that all the letters would be properly centered on the mountain.12

Measurements and calculations were made both on the mountain and at the old Academy Building (which is now the Provo City Library) to make sure the letter would appear centered and proportioned from the perspective of those in the valley. On an appointed day, the work began to construct the Y with lime, rock, and sand. As one participant described it:

The students stood in a zig zag line about 8 feet apart stretching from the bottom of the hill to the site of the Y. The first [person] took the bag of lime, sand, or rocks and carried it 8 feet and handed it to the second [person]. The second carried it another 8 feet and handed [it] to the third [person], and thus the bag went up the hill.13

The group started in the early morning with the expectation that the job would be completed by 10 a.m.14 But the task proved much bigger than the group had thought. By midafternoon some students had fainted and had to be carried off the hill, and it was 4 p.m. before the Y was finally thinly covered.15 The effort was so exhausting that, in the words of one involved, “no attempt was made to cover the other two letters,”16 and the Y was left standing by itself.

Once there was a man who liked taking evening walks around his neighborhood. He particularly looked forward to walking past his neighbor’s house. This neighbor kept his lawn perfectly mowed, withblooming flowers and healthy, shady trees. It was obvious that the neighbor worked hard to have a beautiful lawn.
But one day as the man was walking past his neighbor’s house, he noticed in the middle of this beautiful lawn one enormous yellow dandelion weed. It looked so out of place that it surprised him. Why didn’t his neighbor pull it out? Couldn’t he see it? This dandelion bothered the man so much that he wanted to do something about it. Should he spray it with weed killer? Perhaps if he went at night, he could remove it secretly.
The man kept thinking about the dandelion as he walked toward his home. He walked into his house without even glancing at his own front yard—which was covered with hundreds of yellow dandelions!
approach: come to
teachable: ready to learn
I’m not sure why we are able to tell people how to fix their problems so well, while we often have difficulty seeing our own. But we need to see ourselves clearly. We must approach our Heavenly Father with teachable minds. We must be willing to learn and change. As we do so, God will lead us by the hand. We will “be made strong, and blessed from on high” (D&C 1:28).
Jesus Christ taught not to judge other people. He asked why we would pay attention to a small speck, or mote, that was in someone else’s eye if we had a large piece of wood, or beam, stuck in our own eye! Read what Jesus said below.
“Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye? … First cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother’s eye” (Matthew 7:3, 5).
Because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, each of us can change for the better! Draw a line between the two pictures of the same child. How did that child choose to change?

I think one of the beautiful pictures that I remember back in the early days of the program was when we looked up and saw a beautiful field, white with cotton bolls, and then saw the Relief Society sisters, the Primary children, the men and women and children in the rows of cotton with their long bags trailing behind them. They were learning to pick cotton. When they went to weigh, they always were disappointed. They thought they had 150 pounds dragging behind them, and it turned out to be only eight or ten. I remember they were happy; they were doing something that was constructive. They were helping others. I remember sometimes in their happiness they would sing songs like “Way Down Upon the Swanee River.”
I have seen them picking fruit, cherries, apples and peaches, and it seems to me there was a new dimension that had been added when they felt they were doing something constructive, something they did not have to do, something they wanted to do for their own people.

I really like participating in Children and Youth because I get to set my own goals to accomplish.
For one of my goals, I chose to find family names and perform baptisms for the dead for them. It took a lot of work to learn how to do family history, but I felt so happy every time I found a new name to take to the temple.
Once I got the hang of it, I just kept going and going because it was so fun. Soon I had too many names to do by myself. So a whole bunch of my cousins and I all went to the temple with the names I found, and together we did baptisms and confirmations for 172 people.
My parents are working on finishing the rest of the temple ordinances for those people, which is cool because I feel like my whole family is on a team! Our goal is to help as many of our ancestors as we can.
Doing family history has helped me become closer to both my living family and my ancestors. I’m happy that I completed my goal, and now I hope to make an even more challenging goal so I can keep accomplishing more.
Eldon M., age 13, Ohio, USA

Andy straightened his neckerchief and grabbed his Webelos manual.
“Hurry, Andy! You’re going to be late,” his mother called from downstairs. He rushed down and out the front door.
“Bye, Mom!” he yelled as he hopped on his bike. In his last ward, his mom had driven him to the church every week for Scouts. It seemed so cool that now he could ride his bike just around the block to Sister Snow’s house for den meeting.
Sister Snow’s son, B.J., answered the door. Andy liked B.J., but B.J. always seemed to be looking over Andy’s shoulder, like he was hoping someone else would show up. B.J. led Andy to the family room where David, Tanner, Bryce, and Jemison were busy painting a poster. David looked up and smiled when Andy said hi.
All during the meeting Andy tried to be friendly to everyone, but especially to B.J. He wanted to have some friends in his new ward before school started. It would be easier to go to a new school if he already had friends.
When den meeting was over, Sister Snow said that the boys could stay and play together a little longer if they wanted to.
“Great!” B.J. said. “Let’s play a video game. You have to see this new one I got.”
Andy looked to see what game B.J. was putting on. With a sinking feeling, he realized it was not one his parents would let him play.
“What’s wrong?” David asked. All the boys turned to look at Andy.
“I was just wondering what other games you have,” Andy said to B.J.
“Why? Don’t you like this one?”
“It’s just—it’s just that …” Andy stammered, trying to make his voice work. “It’s just that my parents won’t let me play that game.”
B.J. laughed. “Oh. Well, that’s OK. We won’t tell them.”
Andy felt the other boys watching him. He said in a small voice, “I think maybe I’ll go home.”
Nobody said anything for a second. Then David said, “Hey, guys, let’s pick another game.”
“You could always stay and just watch, you know,” B.J. said.
Watching wasn’t the same as playing, was it? But, no, that didn’t feel right to Andy either. He felt all tight inside and wanted to cry. “No, I think I’d better not.”
“Better not what?” Sister Snow asked as she passed through the room. “What’s wrong, Andy?”
“Andy thinks his parents won’t let him play this game,” B.J. said.
“Wow, Andy. That’s really responsible of you to obey your parents even when they aren’t around.” Sister Snow smiled. Then she left. Andy had hoped she would make B.J. change the game. Now what would he do?
Finally B.J. said, “All right. Let’s just pick another one.” He put in a different game. Even though Andy was allowed to play it, he still felt lonely.
When he got home, Andy ran straight to his room. A few minutes later his father knocked on the door. “Andy? Can I come in?”
Andy rolled over and looked at the wall. “I guess,” he answered softly.
Andy’s dad came in and sat on the edge of the bed. “Sister Snow called,” he said. “She told me you followed our family rules and didn’t play the game the other boys chose.”
Andy shrugged. Then he looked up into his father’s face. He was smiling. “Andy, I am so proud of you.”
Hearing the love in his father’s voice made tears come into Andy’s eyes. “I thought about calling you or Mom. I thought maybe if I asked on the phone, you might let me play it.”
“So why didn’t you call us?”
“Because I knew what you would say. Then the other boys said I should just play it, because you would never know.”
“But you didn’t do that,” Dad said.
“No, but I almost did. The game looked really cool, and I felt like a baby not playing it. I can’t wait until I’m a teenager and can play those games.”
“Wait a minute,” Dad said. “Are you sure you’ll be playing them when you are a teenager?”
“But the rating was—”
“I know. But some things are still not good for us even when we are older. Your mother and I are both old enough to see any kind of movie, but we don’t because the Holy Ghost has told us that some movies aren’t good for us. We have rules for you now, but as you get older you’ll have to make rules for yourself—rules that will help you keep the Holy Ghost with you.”
“But it’s so hard to be left out,” Andy said.
“Let me tell you something that has helped me,” Dad said. “I have a best friend who helps me choose the right: Mom. We can always do good things together. Do you have any friends who might feel the same as you about video games?”
Andy thought about that. “Well, I think David might have been glad when they switched to another game.”
“It sounds like David is the kind of boy you might want to spend some more time with.”
“Yeah, maybe so. Dad, can I invite David over tomorrow?”
“OK,” Dad said. “I love you, buddy.” Dad rubbed Andy’s hair and left the room.
Andy sat on his bed for a few more minutes and thought about David. It would be nice to have a friend who didn’t want Andy to do what felt wrong.
Andy looked at the bare walls around his room and the moving boxes on the floor. He would call David right now. David was probably the right person to help Andy hang his posters up tomorrow.

One autumn I was assigned to a stake conference in a rural area of the Western United States. I arrived on Saturday evening and remained with the stake president and his family overnight. In the morning we started our journey of five or six miles to the meetinghouse, and on our way we passed several farms. It was apparent that the Sabbath day was being observed by the people.
We saw beautiful fields of ripened wheat with machinery standing in the fields just as it had been left the evening before. We saw haystacks partly built, with more hay resting in the fields waiting to be brought in. Some of the grain was harvested and some was yet in the field. The very land seemed to be at rest.
We entered the village, and there too we found a scene of peace and serenity. There was no sound of hammer, machinery, or work of any kind. Instead, we saw people gathering to the chapel from all directions in the valley.
I remarked to the stake president about this unusual sight and inquired whether the home teachers had canvassed the stake and warned the people that a visitor was coming from Salt Lake. “No,” he said, “we’re very pleased with the way our people observe the Sabbath day to keep it holy. Nearly every family in the stake is represented at our meetings every Sunday.” The records upheld his word.
It was a beautiful day—quiet, a soft breeze blowing, warm and pleasant. The hills in the distance were turning to their autumn colors. There were beautiful farms and fields, lovely homes, and a sweet spirit of contentment. The meetings and councils of that day were remarkably peaceful, productive, and satisfying.

Several years ago I spoke at a meeting for members and investigators in the Peru Lima South Mission. I don’t know why I started talking about revelation and the importance of having a prophet. But as I did, I noticed two young men on the first row listening attentively and taking notes. After the meeting, those two young men came to me and said, “You talk about prophets and about revelation. We thought that there weren’t any prophets after John the Baptist.” The young men had been sent by the local priest to find out what I said. I had to leave on an airplane soon and didn’t have time to explain more about prophets and revelation. However, I did tell them that if they wanted to have personal revelation, they should read the Book of Mormon and follow the counsel in Moroni 10. I gave them each a Book of Mormon and marked Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5]. Three months later, I received a letter from those young men telling me that they had been baptized. One year later, I received another letter saying that they were both preparing to go on missions. The Book of Mormon was what converted them.

I would like to thank you for printing “Name Them One by One” in the January 1986 issue. It made me think about all of my blessings. I am blessed a lot, just as Kim is. Last summer I was in a competition in which I did my best, but I still placed third out of three competitors at the state level. What I learned from the loss was that I, like Kim, needed to keep things in perspective. Now I am trying to get back to state level to try again. Thanks again for printing the story. You’ve made my day.

I serve as a Church-service missionary with the PathwayConnect program in the Kyiv Ukraine Stake. The leaders of the program decided to train all of us who lead in-person gatherings so that we could conduct them virtually. The very next day, the government announced quarantine measures in Kyiv.
I love the opportunity to gather together for PathwayConnect. And I love the opportunity to gather together to worship and sing together at home on Sundays. I am grateful for the assurance that where two or three gather in His name, He is there. No one knows how long we will be in quarantine in Kyiv, but we know that the Savior will hear our singing.
Kateryna Serdyuk, Kyiv, Ukraine

Recently, on a family holiday at a game park north of our home in South Africa, my family decided we would spend a few nights in Johannesburg and visit the temple.
The hotel in Johannesburg was incredible. I mean, it was the kind of hotel you see in the movies. My bedroom suite was bigger than the kitchen and family room at home combined, the tiles in the bathroom were heated, and the television came out of a box when we pressed a button. The staff was there to take care of our every whim.
I was impressed. This, I thought, was how my life was meant to be: swanning around, acting like royalty. In fact, I was so caught up in the luxury of the hotel that I forgot why we were there in the first place.
The only opportunity my brother, sister, and I would have to attend the temple to do baptisms for the dead was Saturday morning. But instead of thinking about the temple, all I was thinking about was how nice it would be to sleep late on Saturday, spend the day in this beautiful hotel, and then leave for home.
Still, we decided to go to the temple. As I walked through the temple doors and saw and felt the holiness and beauty of that place, my perspective changed, and I realized what was really important. The hotel may have been beautiful, but it couldn’t compare to the temple. The feelings I had as I did baptisms for the dead brought such peace and joy to me, greater than any worldly pleasure.
I am so grateful for this lesson. It is easy to become caught up in the things of the world. These things are attractive, but the pleasure they bring doesn’t last. Now I more clearly understand that real joy and peace can be found only through obeying and honoring Heavenly Father’s commandments.

Third, we should give service to others. Service helps us to forget about ourselves and to think more about others. I remember one occasion when I participated in a service project to help a family in our ward. After the service project, I walked home in the dark. As I walked, I thought, “I have no problems.” Of course I had problems, but seeing some of the challenges that this family faced helped me to put my problems in perspective. When we serve others, we focus less on ourselves and experience more joy. The Savior said, “For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.”

Jason Smyth, a member of the Londonderry Branch, Belfast Northern Ireland Stake, never dreamed of becoming a star athlete. In fact, the Northern Ireland teen always considered himself an average sportsman, perhaps even more so because he suffers from Stargardt’s disease, a hereditary condition that has destroyed all but his peripheral vision.
However, at 16, Jason’s hidden talent emerged and a PE teacher encouraged him to attend a sprinting training day. Eighteen months later Jason qualified for the Junior Commonwealth Games in Australia. The competition would be a turning point in his life.
“It was there I began to understand and realize what this was all about. For training so little and to qualify already, I just kind of thought I would like to make a career out of this,” says Jason.
Now, three years later, Jason has made quite the career. He has won the 100m and 200m races at both the 2006 Paralympic Games in Holland and the 2005 European Paralympic Championships in Finland, setting record times for both races in each competition. He also holds the Junior Irish record times for the 60m (6.91 seconds) and the 100m (10.61 seconds) races.
Despite such success, as a 19-year-old, Jason heeded the prophet’s counsel and applied to serve a mission. But, because of his visual impairment, his application was denied. Jason graciously accepted the decision and also accepted a new challenge: to find other ways to serve.
Jason’s success as a sprinter has opened less conventional forms of missionary work.
“I now have an opportunity to be a missionary in a different way—through sprinting,” says Jason.
He has found that rather than knocking on doors, he can bring the Church out of obscurity by sprinting past finish lines and setting new records, all the while setting a good example.
Already, Jason’s success has created a buzz as others find out about the Mormon sprinter who doesn’t train on Sundays and also abstains from tea, coffee, alcohol, and drugs.
His success has made him the subject of several media-related publications—including Ireland’s biggest newspaper. Many mention his Mormon lifestyle.
“When they get to know me, they know the way I live my life is different,” Jason says.
Jason competes in both outdoor and indoor competitions, so he trains virtually all year. His practices usually last up to two hours and are twice a day.
Then there’s the travel. In the last three years, Jason has visited countries such as China, Finland, Portugal, Sweden, Holland, and Hungary. Last spring he spent time training at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah.
With increased success, doors continue to open for Jason. Last year he received an Irish Sport Grant, which enabled him to employ a full-time coach and secure sponsorships.
With each success, Jason has to give more time and energy. He understands what is expected of him. “It is my career,” he says.
Though training and racing keep him busy, Jason makes sure that his free time is reserved for his family, which Jason says is the root of his success.
“My family had a big part to play in the start. They encouraged me to keep up sprinting and see how I do. They take me to training and watch me race,” he says.
In addition, Jason also finds strength in the Church.
Although the Church is relatively small in Northern Ireland, Jason has inherited Irish pioneer heritage. His grandparents were baptized in Ireland in 1957, and his parents have remained strong in their membership.
Jason continues to build on this heritage. Even though he was the only member in his school, he graduated from seminary through independent study. He also finds time to serve as a branch missionary.
He credits his strong testimony of the gospel to his family, especially his parents.
“My parents taught us by example the way to live our lives,” he says.
Jason also mentioned that attending Church activities and socializing with friends who lived the same principles are another source of strength for him. “People at my branch are very supportive of me,” Jason says. “They like seeing me do well.”
As for his future, Jason’s long-term goal is to qualify for the London Olympics in 2012. But for now, Jason just wants to secure a second consecutive championship at the 2008 Paralympics in Beijing and to qualify for the Under-23 Championships in Hungary this July.
Jason says that one of his greatest achievements so far is making a life out of something he enjoys. He has learned to be self-sufficient and feels he has matured through his experiences.
“Being able to travel the world and getting paid to run—for me, nothing is better,” he says.
For Jason, the experience has been a powerful lesson that with a lot of hard work and dedication, anyone can achieve their dreams. “You just have to work hard if you really want it—and enjoy it as well,” he says.
For more on serving despite challenges, read “Determined to Serve,” New Era, Mar. 2007, p. 48.

When I was growing up, my parents were farmers and they worked away from the home. When I was about six years old, I came home one day, thinking that my parents would be there, but they were not. The house was locked.
I sat outside on the swing set. I knew that my parents were probably at work, but as the time went by I became very frightened. I started to cry and knew that I had to pray, so I prayed to Heavenly Father and told Him I was scared. After my prayer I received great comfort, a peaceful feeling, and the fear left. I knew that I could sit on the swing and my parents would come home. They didn’t come home immediately after I prayed, but I knew from that feeling of peace and calm that everything would be OK.

Then there was that night in early autumn. I was lying in my bed thinking when I heard a dull thud from the direction of the bathroom. As I slid off the top bunk bed and headed toward the bathroom, I heard a quiet moan. Straining my eyes to see in the late night hours, I turned on the bathroom light. My grandma was lying on the floor.
“Grandma!” I said startled. “What happened?”
“Shh,” she answered quietly. “Turn off the light. I don’t want to wake up the whole household! I’m all right. Just give me a hand.”
As I put my arm around her thin weak body, I could feel her trembling. I guided her back into the bedroom and tried to help her back onto the bed.
As I pulled the quilts up around her face, she said, “I’m sorry I woke you up. Now you go on back to bed.”
“You didn’t wake me up, grandma,” I answered. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”
The dim moonlight shining in through a crack in the bedroom curtains illuminated my grandma’s face. Her fine gray hair was straight and limp from her having to stay in bed. I suddenly noticed how thin she’d become. I remembered hugging her in her big black fur coat when I was small. She was much heavier then, almost plump.
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone about this,” grandma said.
“Next time you might really hurt yourself. Mom would be so mad if I didn’t tell her.”
“Never mind your mom. I’m her mom, so that makes me the boss. As long as I’m alive, I’m going to go to the bathroom by myself. She’ll torment me about using the bedpan if you tell her.”
“All right, grandma,” I answered.
“What are you doing awake at this time of night anyway?” grandma interrupted, trying to change the subject.
“Oh, just thinking, I guess,” I answered.
“What do you have to think about that can’t wait till morning?”
I sat down on the bed next to her.
“It’s nothing important really. Just that old dance I went to tonight. I didn’t really want to go anyway.”
“Your older sisters sure had you dolled up,” grandma said as she took my hand.
“Oh, they thought I looked good, but I just looked like them. I felt awful. Nylons make my legs itch. The music was too loud, and it was too hot, and I can’t stand my hair fixed up with sticky hair spray. The whole time I was wishing I was someplace else.”
“Where else would you want to be?”
“Oh, it’s a place not far from here,” I answered. “But don’t tell my older sisters. They already think I’m a lost cause because I won’t sit out in the sun cooking in baby oil for hours to get a suntan and listen to the radio and try their makeup and perfume. They’re always trying to fix my hair for me too. But I like it this way. I’m sorry,” I said starting to stand up. “I better let you go to sleep.”
Grandma smiled. “I don’t sleep much at night anymore anyway.”
“Well, up in the field at the end of our street, there’s an old irrigation ditch with a big old knotty tree hugging the banks. I go up there and climb just as high as the tree will let me before it dips its top. I sit there for hours sometimes and when the wind starts up, the branches will sway and bow almost like a cradle rocking me to sleep. I love it there, grandma. I feel like I’m part of it; the trees and sweet-smelling weed grass and soaring birds, even the insects chirping in the grass seem my friends.”
I stopped. Grandma’s warm palm felt good around my hand.
“I’ve never told anybody about it before,” I said, looking into her eyes. “Sometimes I think something’s wrong with me. I’m supposed to like parties and dances and boys now. My sisters think I’m hopeless. I don’t know if I’m scared or what. I feel funny inside sometimes. I’m just not ready yet, I guess. I don’t know if I ever will be or want to be.”
“You know, I’m a tree climber from way back,” grandma said.
“Really, grandma?”
“You’re not the only one who feels scared sometimes,” grandma answered. “I’m not sure I ever told anybody this either, but, I’m not sure if it’s the worry of keeping on living or dying that scares me the most,” she answered. “I want you to do something for me. I want you to tell your mom and all your aunts and uncles to quit praying for me to die. They don’t think I know that they’re praying that way, but I do. Tell them I’m not ready to die yet.”
“Why are they praying for you to die, grandma?”
“They don’t want me to suffer anymore.”
“Are you suffering, grandma?”
“I’ve suffered worse pain than a sick body,” grandma said. “I just don’t want to die before I’m good and ready. I like living too much. Seems like life’s always pushing at a person before he’s ready to jump. So don’t you give up your tree climbing till you’re good and ready. I’m not about to die yet, so don’t you worry.”
Next thing I knew, it was morning. Grandma was sleeping next to me, breathing heavily. I tiptoed out of the room and hurried to get ready for school.

The first experience I share with you came in the spring and summer of 1972 when I was a young father.

At Easter in 1972, the Vietnam war was ending when it suddenly exploded in renewed violence by the devastating attack of North Vietnam against the South. At the time I was a Marine 1st Lieutenant stationed in California at Camp Pendelton, and was suddenly and unexpectedly sent to Vietnam to help direct heavy weapons for the South Vietnamese defense. Sister Biddulph and I had less than an hour to see each other before I left. She was at the time 6-months pregnant with our third child, and we had two little boys: one and three in age. I remember how our eyes locked one last time as the truck drove away to the airport. We did not know if we would see each other again in this life.

My first night in Saigon- now Ho Chi Minh City- was a troubling experience. I was beset upon by a dark spirit that pressed upon me with such power as to prevent me from sleep and fill me with remorse, fear, and despair. In that dark state, I searched my Patriarchal Blessing, which I had fortunately thought to bring with me, pleading with the Lord to give me comfort and courage to face what lay ahead. After a long period of struggling in the spirit, the Holy Ghost suddenly descended upon me, soothing me from head to toe. Despair fled into the night and I was left with a deep calmness, as if the Lord said to me: "Be still and know that I am God." (Ps. 46:10, D&C 101:16)

I was assigned to a Battalion of South Vietnamese Marines. For several weeks we made suicide attacks behind North Vietnamese front lines to break their line of defense and disrupt their ability to prosecute the war. The evening before our first mission, the Battalion Commander invited me and another US officer to dine with him and his staff. They served tall, cool glasses of Vietnamese beer at the meal. It was very hot and humid; I yearned for a cool drink instead of the hot canteen water. Yet, I knew that I could not drink the beer because I had made a promise, called the Word of Wisdom, to avoid such substances.

During the meal, the US officer challenged me to drink the beer so that the Vietnamese would know that I was a "real Marine." Real Marines could hold their beer. It was not an easy or flippant decision for me to make because I valued my reputation as a Marine, and I wanted the confidence of the Vietnamese. I knew that we would need to depend upon each other in the days to come. Respect was paramount.

But I knew that tomorrow and days in the future I would need the help of the Lord, and how could I ask for His help if I had ignored His counsel in better times? "I the Lord am bound when ye do what I say, but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise." (D&C 82:10) My need for trust in the Lord was greater than my need for trust in the arm of flesh.

The next morning we made our heliborne assault and for 9 days were in heavy combat against North Vietnamese forces. After a few days, I became very ill with a high fever, headache and dizziness. I lost my appetite and became weak in the intense heat and humidity.

One night, the captain came to our foxhole and told us that we were leaving early in the morning for an all-day forced march back to a bivouac site to prepare for another mission. I could hardly stand, let alone hike in full combat gear. I went to sleep that night in my foxhole knowing that I needed a miracle from the Lord to be able to make that forced march in the morning.

I awoke at 4 a.m. drenched in sweat. My fever had broken during the night and the pain and dizziness were gone. Despite my weakness, I was able to make the 12 hour forced march. I knew without a doubt that the Lord had kept his promises to me because I had kept my promise: "All those who keep these saying... shall receive health in their navel and marrow to their bones; and shall find wisdom and treasures of knowledge; and shall run and not be weary, and shall walk and not faint. And I the Lord give unto them a promise that the destroying angel shall pass by them, as the children of Israel, and not slay them" (D&C 89:18-21).

Two days later, we made another suicide attack. This one was worse than the first. We landed in the midst of a large enemy force out numbering us 5:1. We took heavy casualties during the assault and were surrounded for 3 days behind enemy lines desperately holding out for friendly forces to fight their way to our rescue.

Within the first five minutes of our landing, I was shot through both legs, and many others were killed or seriously wounded. Our medical officer was killed and medical supplies destroyed in the crash of one of the helicopters. Our situation was precarious and getting worse by the day. Rescue had to come soon if we were to survive.

The afternoon of the third day, an enemy tank suddenly fired upon the grass hut in which I was resting. The first round exploded short of the hut throwing shrapnel into the rafters and thatched roof. Everyone in the vicinity fled or took cover. I struggled to a small sandbag wall about 2 feet high and lay down behind it, pulling my helmet down over my face and wrapping my flack jacket tight around my body.

The second round just missed the roof and struck the haystack on the far side of the hut. At that moment, two truths were manifest to me with spiritual power: The next round would hit the hut and I would not survive a direct hit. It was the Spirit's way of saying, "Okay, the next round is coming and it's going to kill you. What are you going to do about it? And you had better hurry." I felt completely helpless. There was nothing I could do... except pray.

And that is exactly what I did. I spoke with Heavenly Father as if He were lying right next to me. In those moments of prayer, I felt no fear of death, not even violent, painful death. I had a perfect faith that if my body were destroyed, my spirit would yet live. In fact, I saw it happening in my mind, and I felt no terror. But I was filled with a yearning to live. More than anything I have ever desired, I wanted to live. I wasn't ready to leave mortality yet. I told Heavenly Father that I wanted to live to be a father to those boys and a husband to my wife. I promised Heavenly Father that if life was granted to me, I would be the best father and husband I could be.

I waited breathless for the answer. The third round did not come... not for a couple of hours and by then, I had been miraculously rescued by helicopters out of harm's way. According to a friend who witnessed the fulfillment of my spiritual premonition, when the third round came, it came suddenly and turned the house into an inferno.

So why did the Lord honor my promise and not others? There are no answers for such a question. Questions of why are not the right ones to ask. Better questions are how and what: How can I use this experience to become a better person? What can I learn from this experience to help me and others? Since that promise made 36 years ago, I have tried-imperfectly-to honor the covenant made behind a sandbag wall in Quang Tri, Vietnam.

I always remembered his words, especially when I faced a challenge. For example, one time my mother gave me money to go to a store to buy some fruit. For some reason the cashier gave me back more money than I gave her to pay for the fruit. I started walking home, and when I opened my hand, I saw that I had more money than I had started with.
Satan tried to convince me that I could keep the money for myself. I thought, “I have some money to do whatever I want, and then I will give back the correct change to my mother.” But then I thought, “No, that’s not what the bishop told me. To be a missionary, I have to be honest.” I felt the Spirit at that time and went back to the store to give back the money. I felt good in my heart. I thought, “I was honest, I obeyed the commandments, and I am preparing for my mission. I will be a missionary, and I need to be honest.”

The waves and foam reflected the faint blue-white of the sky as yellow lights began to shine through the windows of the ocean liner cruising majestically through the water. It had been a peaceful afternoon in the Caribbean, but now day was giving way to dusk. On board, a mother and father and five daughters were arguing unsuccessfully with the waiters in the dining cabin.
“I’m sorry. That’s very nice, but we don’t drink,” dark-haired Shelley insisted for the third time, joined in agreement by Sheila, Stacy, Cynthia, and Melissa.
“It’s special tonight; you must have some, compliments of the ship,” stressed the smiling steward as he uncorked the champagne bottle.
“This is my gift to you for all the fine entertainment you have given us on this cruise,” continued the ship’s agent seated at a table behind the Phelps family, pounding his fist for emphasis.
The steward smiled broadly as he began pouring the liquid into each glass. Frothy white bubbles floated to the top; the girls and their parents watched in amazement as it became apparent that the champagne bottle contained milk!
“As soon as we realized what it was, we all started laughing,” Sheila later related. “The agents and others around us raised their glasses and declared ‘a toast to the all-American family!’ We were surprised, and impressed with how important it is to live the standards of the Church wherever you are and in whatever you’re doing.”

Matthew Rancie of Eaglehawk, Victoria, Australia, has a rich LDS heritage, and he is setting an example for his eight younger brothers.
At school, Matthew has been taunted and teased to try to get him to swear, but he refuses to do so. His classmates also tried to bribe him with money to try a cigarette saying, “I suppose you won’t even do it now.” They were right.
Matthew’s father, uncles, and grandfathers have served as bishops, in high councils, in stake presidencies, and in mission presidencies. He has 32 cousins, all active in the Church. As the oldest, he plans to set an example by being the first to serve a mission. In his ward, he serves as pianist for the priesthood.

The Granja Viana Ward in the São Paulo Brazil Cotia Stake had a high activity rate among its young men. But their leaders noticed that some of them were facing personal challenges and having difficulty fulfilling their priesthood duties.
After the bishopric and Young Men leaders counseled together, they decided to focus more of their activities on service and not as many on entertainment or amusement. This included visiting less-active quorum members, participating in proselyting with the full-time missionaries, and administering the sacrament to homebound ward members. These activities gave the young men an opportunity to act on the principles they were learning in seminary and on Sundays (see 2 Nephi 2:26).
Over time, “these spiritual activities made all the difference,” reports one priesthood leader.
“We were amazed when on a particular fast Sunday, all of our young men bore their testimonies,” he says. “As they did so, many of them recalled in tears the good spirit they had felt on those occasions. One young man shared the experience of administering the sacrament to an older member of our ward who has been bedridden for three years. His wife, a faithful sister, received our young men with joy and hope. After the ordinance, she shared with them the happiness she feels in her life because of the gospel despite the huge problems and challenges she faces. They felt the Spirit and realized the difference the gospel makes in people’s lives. This experience was so powerful that they will recall it for years to come—perhaps for their entire lives.”
He notes that he had never seen that kind of response from any “football game or funny Mutual night.” Rather, he says, the experience taught him the importance of promoting the kinds of experiences in which youth can feel the Spirit.
“Social activities are important,” he continues. “But spiritual experiences are critical in helping youth build their own testimonies.”