Gospel Story Finder

I am an ardent sports fan. Long will I remember a TV sportscaster as he lauded the marvelous performance of Y. A. Tittle, one of the all-time great professional football quarterbacks. He said: “This will be the key play of the game. Tittle has the snap from center; he fades to throw, but his line cannot hold. It appears the game is over.
“Wait! Tittle has eluded his tacklers; he has fallen deep behind the line. He cocks his arm to throw, and the pass is away and caught in the end zone for a touchdown.
“That was a great second effort by Y. A. Tittle!”

One of the talks that has had an everlasting impression on me is one given in a Saturday evening session of a stake conference years ago. The talk was given by a young mother. Here’s what she said: “I have been doing the genealogy of my great-grandfather. He and his large family of sons and daughters were members of the Church.
“My great-grandfather,” she said, “left church one Sunday with his family, and they never returned—no indication why.”
She then said, “In my research, I have found that my great-grandfather has over 1,000 descendants.”
And then she said, and this is the part I have not been able to forget, “Of those 1,000 descendants, I am the only one active in the Church today.”
As she said these words, I found myself thinking, “Is it only 1,000, or could it be more?”
The answer is apparent. The spiritual influence that family might have had on their neighbors and friends did not happen. None of his sons nor any of his daughters served as missionaries, and those they would have touched with their testimonies were not baptized, and those who were not baptized did not go on missions. Yes, there are probably many thousands who are not in the Church today, and not in this very meeting, because of that great-grandfather’s decision.
As I heard her talk, I found myself thinking, “What a tragedy! Perhaps if I had been there at that time, I could have said something to the father, to the family, to the priesthood leaders that might have helped to prevent such a calamity to their family and to so many in the future generations that would follow.”
Well, that opportunity of the past is lost. But we can now look to the present and to the future. I would say to those who find themselves in the same position as that great-grandfather: Would you consider what you might be doing to your family and to all those who come after you? Would you ponder the effects of your thoughts and your actions?
If there are any concerns about Church doctrine, consider the counsel given by President Gordon B. Hinckley to a large meeting of over 2,000 members in Paris, France, last year. He said: “I plead with you, my brothers and sisters, that if you have any doubt concerning any doctrine of this Church, that you put it to the test. Try it. Live the principle. Get on your knees and pray about it, and God will bless you with a knowledge of the truth of this work.”
If you feel you have been wronged, be ready to forgive. If there is, for some reason, an unpleasant memory, let it go. Where necessary, talk to your bishop; talk to your stake president.
To all, but especially to those who someday will be great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers, your eternal blessings and those of your posterity are far more important than any prideful reason which would deny you and so many others of such important blessings. In the Book of Mormon, King Benjamin reminds us: “And moreover, I would desire that ye should consider on the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. For behold, they are blessed in all things, both temporal and spiritual; and if they hold out faithful to the end they are received into heaven, that thereby they may dwell with God in a state of never-ending happiness” (Mosiah 2:41).
To you who are children in the homes of future errant great-grandfathers, you can continue to stand faithful; you can be a good example in the home and to those around you. You can do your part to bring peace and harmony in the home and with your associates. You can be the solution, and not the cause, of problems. Remember in the Book of Mormon when Father Lehi began to murmur, it was his righteous son Nephi who gave encouragement and found solutions to problems. So many times it is the righteous children who are able to steady the boat while sailing in turbulent waters.
To you who are bishops and stake presidents, how I wish you could have been part of the meeting I attended with a handful of regional representatives. We heard Elder L. Tom Perry as he compared those who are prospective elders and those who are not active—the future great-grandfathers—to a thermometer. We were reminded that there are many of those individuals who are more than just warm. They would come back if someone would just encourage and show the way.
I would like to tell you of a stake conference I was assigned to attend. It was a reorganization; the stake president and his counselors would be released, and a new presidency would be called. The stake president was young and had served wonderfully for almost 10 years. He was a spiritual giant, but he was also an administrative giant. In my personal interview with him, he told me how he had delegated much of the responsibility for the stake functions to his counselors and to the high council and had thus freed himself to interview those who needed encouragement. Individuals and couples were invited to come to his office. There he got to know them, counseled with them, and invited them to do better, to put their lives in order, and to receive the blessings available to those who follow the Lord. He helped them by putting them in the care of a capable leader, a teacher who helped them to understand the beauties of the doctrine. Then he told me that in these interviews he would often ask if they would like a blessing. “I have placed my hands on the heads of many members of the stake,” he said.
The next day in the general session of the stake conference, I doubt I have ever seen so many tears—not because they felt the president should not be released, but for the deep love of a young stake president who had blessed their lives. I felt prompted to ask, “How many of you have had the hands of the president on your heads?” I was amazed at the number of people who raised their hands. I thought to myself at the time, “How many of these people will bless the name of this great man, not only now but throughout the eternities?” Yes, these will be the great-grandfathers who will, because of this loving leader, leave a legacy of generations of thousands who will call him blessed.
When we see the effect one person can have on the lives of so many, it perhaps is no wonder that the Lord reminded us, “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (D&C 18:10).
I pray we all might consider what we can do individually to assist those who will be the future great-grandparents, whether a little child, a teenager, or an adult, so that each will leave a righteous legacy of those who know and love the Lord. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Mariela came home from school with a frown on her face. “What’s wrong?” Mom asked as she planted flowers in the garden.
“Sonia promised she would play with me, and then she didn’t,” Mariela said. She plopped down in the dirt next to Mom.
“I’m so sorry,” Mom said. “It’s important to keep promises. Next week when you are baptized and confirmed, you will make some very important promises called covenants.”
“Really?” Mariela asked. She was excited to be baptized.
Mom put some yellow flowers in the ground. “You promise to obey the commandments. You also promise to take the name of Jesus Christ upon you. What does Heavenly Father promise if you do these things?”
Mariela thought about what she was learning in Primary. “That I’ll have the Holy Ghost with me.”
“That’s right,” Mom said. “You’ll also become a member of Jesus’s Church. How can you keep your promise to obey the commandments?”
“I can be kind, and I can tell the truth,” Mariela said. “What does it mean to take Jesus’s name upon me?”
“It means that you try to be like Him and do what He would want you to do,” Mom said. “What can you do to be like Jesus?”
Mariela twirled a purple flower between her fingers. “I can sit with the new girl at school. And I can try to be nice to Sonia,” she said.
“Those are great ideas,” Mom said. “And when you take the sacrament, you can remember your promises.”
Mariela smiled. “I know another promise—to water the flowers so we can have a beautiful garden!”

In ninth grade, Tami had a friend who was good at everything. Tami’s friend, Sandy, was popular. She ran track and won. Tami joined the track team just to be like Sandy. But Tami never won a race. Usually she came in last. Sandy could tell a joke. And boys liked Sandy.
Just before Christmas, the school announced a writing contest. Tami decided to enter. She spent her evenings writing her poem instead of talking with Sandy on the phone as she usually did. She worried about entering the contest. It wasn’t the kind of thing Sandy would do. Tami didn’t even tell her friend she was doing it. Sandy might laugh, or maybe even make fun of her. But it was thrilling to find how much she liked writing. When the results were announced, Tami’s poem won second place.
Encouraging herself to try something on her own wasn’t easy. But Tami discovered something—deciding for herself what she wanted made her happier than trying to imitate her friends. It gave her strength to make more decisions on her own.
In the next few years, as some of her friends began making choices that were against Tami’s standards, it was easier to make her own choices, even when they were less popular.

When I was young I was overly dependent on my older sister. For example, I was a fussy eater, and when we went to visit our grandparents I was constantly faced with being offered food I didn’t like. To minimize my embarrassment, when the plate was passed to me, I would turn to my sister and ask, “Collene, do I like this?”
If it was familiar and she knew I didn’t like it, she would say, “No, he doesn’t like that.”
I could then say to Grandma, “She’s right. I don’t like it.”
If it was something we hadn’t eaten before, she would say, “Just a minute,” and taste it, and then tell me if I liked it or not. If she said I didn’t like it, no amount of coaxing could get me to eat it.
I know it is past time for me to rely on my own taste buds and stop denying myself healthy food just because my sister told me I didn’t like it.

Recently I found something I had written about my childhood that brought faith and fear into perspective for me. As a child, I failed to see the symbolism in the experience, but as an adult, standing at the edge of an unknown path, it now holds great meaning.

When I was very young, my family lived in a beautiful little community in New Jersey that surrounded a lake. It was a child’s paradise. In summer we splashed in cool water, climbed lush trees, and picked wild flowers and berries. In winter, snow and ice gave variety to our play as we skated, sledded, and built carrot-nosed snowmen. In any season we rarely tired of the great outdoors and reluctantly ventured inside only when it was dark.

One summer evening was an exception. I had been invited to a friend’s house to watch a favorite television program. When it was time to go, I said good-bye and began walking home along the winding, wooded path between our two houses.

In the darkness, the path I thought I knew became a fearsome jungle. I couldn’t see the occasional gnarled roots and sharp rocks protruding from the packed-down earth, and I tripped and fell. With my face in the dirt, sobs of frustration and fear wracked my seven-year-old body. As my tears subsided, I remained face down and immobile for a few seconds, fearing that I might be eaten by monsters, which were surely lurking behind every tree.

Then I remembered that before leaving home, my brother had tucked his penlight into my pocket, explaining that it would be dark when I returned. Relieved to find it just where he had placed it, I stood up, brushed off the dirt, and turned on the light. Although it produced only a dime-sized circle on the ground where I pointed it, and I couldn’t get the full vision of what was on either side or ahead of me, I could see where to step safely. And so, hesitantly, I headed for home, hoping that I was going in the right direction.

My confidence increased with my new visibility, and, glancing up for a brief moment, I became aware of another light at the end of the path. I was relieved to recognize it as my porch light. Someone who cared about my safe return had turned it on for me. I was still groping step by step along the path, but with my destination in sight my fear diminished.

Then, suddenly, my little circle of light grew broader. At first I questioned the power of my tiny penlight, so I stopped and turned it around to examine its intensity. Despite the small circle of light now shining in my face, the path ahead was flooded with light illuminated by another source. Puzzled, I looked up and could see my older brother standing a few feet away, directing his Boy Scout flashlight on my path. With this added light came a new perspective. I could now see my path more clearly, and with increased vision I was aware of the dangers on either side.

I couldn’t see the details along the entire stretch of my journey, but with my light now strengthened by my brother’s and the porch light marking my goal, I no longer felt afraid. I held my little light tightly, letting it shine where the brilliance of his led the way. That joint effort glowed gloriously. I could see now that each step in the right direction took me closer to my destination. With my tiny circle joining my brother’s larger light, we walked together toward home.

When we were almost there I asked, “How did you know I needed help, that I couldn’t find my way alone?”

“I just knew,” was his only reply. And he took my hand and led me safely inside.

Not only does Grant play the piano, but he also plays the trumpet and the flügelhorn, and, of course, he sings. Such a wide variety of talent was great to have when Grant, Guy, and Michael started to record their first CD. The three brothers had dreamed of making a CD but waited until Michael returned from his mission in Geneva, Switzerland, to start.
Michael says that before he served a mission there was never a temptation to stay home and record music. “I received assurance through prayer that my mission call was going to be right for me,” Michael says. “When I got my call, I knew it was what the Lord wanted for me.”
When he got home two years later, the three boys worked together, using their vocal and instrumental talents to produce a CD. Their goal in releasing it, Michael says, was to give youth and young adults “safe, appropriate, and upbeat music to listen to.”

At stake conference I heard a General Authority speak about being committed to making the right decisions. Afterward, I remember getting on my knees and saying to Heavenly Father, “This is what I plan to do. Wouldst thou help me?” I vowed that I would keep the Word of Wisdom throughout my life, that some day I would tell my grandchildren truthfully that I had never touched tobacco, tea, coffee, or a drop of liquor. I decided then how I was going to act so that decision never had to be made again.
When I was about sixteen years old, some friends asked me if I would go with them to drink beer. Although they pressured me to do so, I carried through with the decision I had already made. I simply told them, “No, thank you.” They are still my friends.

I remember a touching testimony by a mother with three little children. Speaking at the pulpit, she carried her new baby. Another was tugging at her skirt. She said:

When I see on TV little children and mothers suffering, when I see their emaciated and starved little bodies, it’s like a knife in my heart and I cry out ‘what can I do, I am poor, far away, with three needy children of my own. I am helpless.’ But then it dawns on me that there are two things I can do. I can pray and I can cry and the Lord will consecrate my tears in their behalf.

Several years ago, Brother Brothers and I were tight on funds and had to make a decision between paying our tithing or putting the money towards the adoption of our second child. Both were righteous and worthy uses for the money. We could not do both so we decided to prove the Lord, pay our tithing, and trust that everything would work out. A few days after paying our tithing, we received an unexpected refund check in the mail. We had been overcharged for something and the money was being returned to us. The amount was slightly more than the sum we had given in tithing. God keeps his promises when we obey.

Marie-Frédérique Carter, 15, is a member of the French-speaking Lemoyne Ward. She lives in a nice, suburban part of town, where she attends a large écolesecondaire (high school) named in honor of a Catholic monsignor. Her friends know her as an aspiring violinist. They also know her as a Latter-day Saint who keeps her standards.
“I got into quite a discussion with one of my friends concerning the law of chastity,” Marie-Frédérique explains. “She thought I was really old-fashioned. She didn’t agree with my standards at all. But she finally saw I was going to stick to my principles no matter what. I want to be a good member of the Church, and I know that obedience now will bring blessings later on.”
Just the same, it isn’t always easy. “It’s hard when you get to a certain age, and you see your friends who aren’t LDS start dating and having boyfriends, and your desire is to remain faithful to the Church and to the standards that have been given to us by a living prophet. At first, I found that difficult. But not anymore. I find that I am happy doing what’s right and knowing that I’m blessed by my Heavenly Father.”

“My story is very short. I settled on Mrs. Canfield. She’s an old friend of our family. She baby-sat us when we were little, and now she’s teaching me embroidery. She’s so warm and happy! I’d love to have her join the Church.
“It was tough deciding how to approach her. She’s very old and wise, and I didn’t want to sound like a smart-aleck.
“I stewed and fretted and finally just came right out and asked her. ‘Mrs. Canfield,’ I said, ‘would you like to learn about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?’
“She smiled kindly. ‘No, Michaelene. Churches—any church—aren’t important to me. But thank you for asking.’
“And that was that.”
“We can’t force the gospel on people,” Sister Searle said. “But you’ve given her the opportunity to choose.”
“She knows where I am, if she changes her mind,” Michaelene mused.

I grew up in a faithful Mormon family in the mission field, in the southern Bible belt, where there was a good deal of misinformation about Mormons, requiring strong defense. Family activities revolved around church service and driving west to visit the relatives. Serving in the church was a major commitment. Our branch stretched 60 to 80 miles in diameter, and district meetings were 100 miles away. Picking up people for church took hours. But the Lord brought us there to build His kingdom. That branch area has now become a stake of Zion.
But back to my story. Racial unrest in my high school caused me to leave for college a year early. During my first year of university I met challenges that made me want to know for myself, absolutely, the truth of the things I believed. My religion teachers encouraged the quest by assuring us that the revelations and gifts of the gospel are for all of us, not just special, privileged people. They also quoted Joseph Smith saying, "Make yourselves acquainted with men who, like Daniel, pray three times a day toward the temple."[1]
So, I began fasting frequently, and praying formally an extra time, at midday, while my roommate was in class. One midday several months into the experiment, I was again being very honest with the Lord about my need to know, and there came upon me an exceedingly sweet, powerful, full-of-love influence that seemed to enter into every molecule of my body and record indelibly there that Jesus is the Christ, that Joseph Smith and our current prophet are truly prophets of God, and that the gospel which I had been taught from youth up was true—priesthood authority, the Atonement, the Book of Mormon, the temple, the great plan of happiness—they are all true and right.
That sweet influence of light and love stayed with me for about 24 hours. Under its influence, I was filled with love and saw the world and even my fellow men differently. I was amazed that, although I felt very different, I did not appear different to others. I felt changed. Though there have been other experiences since then, that experience has remained a touchstone in my life. It did not come easily, but I know that I know. No knowledge you gain here will be of more importance than the knowledge of the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and His church. Do whatever it takes to gain this knowledge.

“Breathe deeply and exhale slowly,” his mother had said on their way to church. That’s what he did now. Then he breathed in again and tried letting the air out in short spurts.
“Why am I so scared? I’m not. I can’t be. I’ve got to get it together.”
He fingered his Book of Mormon and then pulled out the worn paper. He unfolded it carefully because the creases looked ready to tear.
“Brothers and Sisters, I’m happy to have this opportunity to speak” wasn’t a very original way to begin. He folded the talk, stuck it in his pocket, then took it out of his pocket and put it back into the front of his Book of Mormon. What was that joke about seeing a Nephite? Maybe he should begin with that instead.
“Brothers and Sisters, have you ever seen a Nephite? Well, if you could see behind the pulpit, you’d really see a good one. My knees are really trying to knock each other down!” No, his father would never tell a joke like that. He’d just stick to the words on the paper. It would be better not to take any chances.
He took out his hanky and wiped his hands. Why wouldn’t they stop trembling? He just had to stop his body from shaking or his voice would shake too.
“Brothers and Sisters, I’m happy to be here today. I’m happy to have this opportunity. When the bishop, my dad, asked me to speak, I …” Dumb! Why hadn’t he thought of a better introduction?
It’d been three years since he’d spoken in front of people. Three whole years! Since that time he had always avoided it somehow. But the memory of his last experience had dimmed with time, and he wanted to learn to get up in front of people, so he’d said yes. Now the memory of that former talk seemed painfully fresh again. There he was, struggling and stuttering. He could remember that talk even now. But back then, when he’d seen all those faces, the talk he’d memorized had vanished. It had simply evaporated. “But I didn’t have my notes with me that day,” he thought. “That was my downfall. I hadn’t taken my notes because I wanted to look super-intelligent. Besides, Dad never uses any. But now I’ve got notes, so there won’t be any problem.” If there would be no problem, he wondered, why was he so scared?
Announcements over, his dad sat down a few seats from Jack and cleared his throat. Jack looked at his dad’s profile so much like his own. “But that’s where the similarity ends,” Jack thought. “Dad’s such a powerful speaker.” His father’s talks were always rich with experiences and stories. “I don’t have one story in this talk,” Jack thought. “Everyone will fall asleep. Well, better if they do.”
His father, sensing Jack’s gaze, looked over, smiled, and nodded. Jack smiled back, tried to swallow the frog in his throat, and took out his notes again. “If I were more of a ‘chip off the old block,’ I wouldn’t be worrying like this.” But then he made a tight fist. “I don’t need to be just like Dad. I don’t need to be outgoing and dynamic. I can be just as good as myself.”
He lowered his head and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. It wouldn’t do to have the wetness fog up his glasses. Then a thought came to Jack that made him shudder. He pushed his toes hard against the soles of his shoes. “What if I break down? What if I break down and cry or something? Cry, out of pure fright. No, I wouldn’t do that. I know I wouldn’t. Brothers and Sisters, I’m happy. …” It would just take eight and a half minutes. For eight and a half minutes he could surely control himself. “Maybe my voice will crack a time or two in those eight and a half minutes, but I don’t think I’ll really break down, at least I hope …”
Sister Carlson was leading the sacrament hymn now, and Jack opened the hymn book and thumbed through it for the hymn. He hadn’t heard the page number. When he had finally looked in the index and found “Come, Follow Me,” he joined in on the last verse. But something was wrong with his voice. It wasn’t clear and deep. It was hoarse and timid. “I don’t have a voice. How can I give a talk without a voice?” He cleared his throat, coughed, and then tried to sing again. This time he was relieved to hear his voice clearing up a little.
“The Word of Wisdom is important for us to follow because …” The words to his talk were flowing through his mind now, but not in order. They were all jumbled. He sang a few more words and then breathed deeply in and out again.
After the sacrament Jack saw his father shuffle a few papers, smile over at him, and walk to the podium. “This is it,” Jack thought. “Dad’s going to introduce the speakers now and I’m first. At least it’ll be over within eight and a half minutes from now.”
His father’s rich, bass voice echoed through the chapel. Dynamic, a powerful speaker. The congregation was staring up at the podium. In a moment he, Jack Miller, would be up there with everyone staring at him, expecting so much. There was a thickness in his chest and a slight pain. A heart attack. Maybe he’d have a heart attack.
“I can’t get up there! I can’t do it! I don’t even think my legs will hold me when I stand up. I think I’m going to be very sick any minute. I’ve got to tell Dad I can’t. I … no, I’ve got to do it. I’ve just got to.” It didn’t make any sense. Where was his great self-image? This morning in front of the mirror, he’d read his talk without a single error. He’d even used his hands, and he’d been in perfect control.
“We have a little problem tonight, Brothers and Sisters,” his father was saying. “It seems we were unwise in calling as our main speakers Brother and Sister Emery. We hope our asking them to speak didn’t start Sister Emery’s labor, but whatever the cause, a little spirit seems very anxious to join our ward family. I just received a note that the Emerys are at the hospital right now.” Everyone chuckled. Everyone except Jack. “Therefore, his father turned and smiled at him. “We’ll tell our youth speaker, my son Jack, that he can have all the time he wants. I’m sure he’s happy about that.” The congregation chuckled again as Jack felt the heat rushing to his head. He had been so concerned about his own talk that he hadn’t even noticed that the Emerys were missing. “There goes the eight and a half minutes,” he thought.
“Then maybe we’ll ask a few members of the ward here tonight to say a few words,” his dad continued. “But before my son speaks, I’d like to say a few words about something I’ve been thinking about quite a bit lately—the priesthood.” His father confidently placed one hand on the pulpit and put the other in his pocket.
Jack put his head in his hands. Oh no, this couldn’t be. He’d have to follow his dad. This was even worse than he’d thought. “Now I know I can’t do it,” he cried to himself. But what was his father saying?
“In our family we have someone who has used his power of the priesthood and magnified it. But then, even when he was small he believed in the power of the priesthood.” The warmth rushed to Jack’s head again as he realized his father was talking about him. “I have a special story about Jack that’s important to our family, and I’d like to share it with you. It’s special because …”
Jack looked up to see why his dad was pausing so long. He saw that his dad had taken his hand out of his pocket and was grasping the podium.
“It’s special because …”
“Not that story, Dad. Please. You can’t ever get through it.” Jack was writhing in his seat now, but not for himself. He knew the story well. His dad had blessed him after the automobile accident, and it had saved his life. But his dad had never tried telling it in public. Why now?
“My boy was only three, but he asked for a blessing …” Bishop Miller’s voice was coming out in spurts and his fingers were turning white. This time the pause was longer. “You’ll … you’ll have to excuse me. I shouldn’t try to tell this story. I …” Two more times he began the story, but emotion overcame him. Two more times he stopped, each time pausing longer than before. “I’m sorry … I … The doctors had said …” His father stood at the podium silently now, unable to control his voice. Jack sat behind him on the edge of his seat, grasping the arm rests. He had only one thought: “I’ve got to help Dad.”
As if all emotion had transferred itself, Jack felt curiously calm as he stood up straight and walked the few steps to the pulpit. There he put his arm around his father. “Bishop, I mean, Dad, let me finish the story for you.” His father turned to him in surprise, the tears still trickling from underneath his glasses. Then he nodded with relief and sat down.
It was strange how courageous he felt as he told the story that was so important to their family. Some of the members of the congregation wiped their eyes at its finish. But, now, it was Jack’s turn to pause. What would he say now? Speaking on the Word of Wisdom just didn’t seem appropriate anymore. He opened his Book of Mormon to his notes and stared at them. Then he looked above them to a scripture he’d underlined on that page of his Book of Mormon: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents.” (1 Ne. 1:1.) Immediately he read the scripture aloud for he knew now what he would talk about. He looked down into their faces. There was Sister Jackson, the Wade family, and good old Brother Price, their home teacher. There were the Smiths and the Jacksons, and there was his own family, with his mother beaming at him. He became excited to tell them all. He wanted to tell them his feelings.
“Sometimes, to tell you the truth, I’ve been a bit rebellious about having a father who is bishop,” Jack said. “Everyone expects so much. But now I, Jack Miller, having been born of goodly parents, would like to tell you what it means to have a dad like mine who honors his priesthood and loves others.” He looked back at his father who was smiling widely. “This is my chance to get even with him for all the stories he’s told about me and others in his talks.” The congregation laughed, and Jack heard his father’s deep chuckle behind him.
He confidently placed one hand on the podium and the other in his pocket as he continued. His voice echoed through the microphone with a mellow, subtle power. The Spirit warmed within him and he, Jack Miller, became a speaker.

Sofía woke up early. Today was very special. She was going to sell lemonade at her aunt and uncle’s garage sale! Mamá made a huge jug of lemonade for her.
Sofía made a sign. She wrote “Lemonade!” in orange and yellow letters. She taped it to a little table. Then she sat down to wait.
Soon a man came by. “May I have a cup?” he asked. He put some pesos in her jar.
“Sure!” Sofía said. She poured him a cup of lemonade
Little by little, people came to look at the garage sale. And little by little they bought the yummy lemonade. The morning passed happily. Soon all of the lemonade was gone.
Sofía shook her jar. The pesos jingled. She had so many!
“Good job!” Papá said.
Sofía had never had so much money before. “I’m going to buy a yo-yo!”
Papá smiled. “Do you know what Mamá and I do when we earn money?”
Sofía shook her head.
“We pay tithing,” Papá said. “Heavenly Father gave us everything. He asks that we give Him a little part back. We pay tithing because we love Him.”
Sofía smiled. She wanted to show Heavenly Father that she loved Him too.
Papá helped Sofía count her pesos. Whenever she counted to 10, she put one peso in an envelope. Papá helped her write numbers on a little white paper. They put the paper in the envelope with the pesos. Then they sealed it shut. Sofía was going to give it to the bishop tomorrow at church.
“How do you feel?” Papá asked Sofia.
“So happy! And I still have money for a yo-yo.” She felt Heavenly Father was happy with her choice.

When Heber J. Grant was nearly 24, he was called as a stake president. He had never spoken to a large group before, so when he gave his first talk, it was only seven minutes long.
The next two Sundays, Heber traveled to different wards. Again he ran out of ideas after speaking for six or seven minutes. So the Sunday after that, he brought two speakers with him.
Heber: Bishop Sharp, it looks like no one is coming to the meeting. Where is everyone? It’s almost time to start.
Bishop Sharp: I’ve encouraged the members to be in their seats on time, President Grant. We’re the last ones to arrive—you’ll see.
Inside the log meetinghouse, every seat was full! Heber thought he would speak for a few minutes, as usual. Instead, he spoke easily for nearly an hour. He felt the Spirit guiding him.
That night Heber prayed with gratitude.
Heber: I thank Thee, Heavenly Father, for blessing me with the Spirit as I spoke today.
The following Sunday he expected to speak just as well, and he did little to prepare. How embarrassed he was when no words came to his mouth! He spoke for only five minutes.
He tearfully left the meeting and went into a field to pray. After that he always remembered to rely on the Spirit whenever he taught.
Heber: Forgive me for not praying or preparing. I know that I can preach only if I first seek Thy Spirit.

When I was a mission president in South Africa in 2005, I felt a very strong prompting by the Spirit to move our Norwegian missionary, Elder Joseph Henriksen, all the way across the mission—in between normal transfer dates—to replace a missionary who needed to have surgery. I had just interviewed Elder Henriksen in Queenstown, a two-hour flight plus a two-hour drive away from Cape Town, and on the flight home the Spirit kept telling me that he was the one who needed to move into the Strand Branch and replace the elder needing surgery.
As soon as we returned to the mission home, I called Elder Henriksen and asked him to pack his bags. . . . We picked him up [the next day] and talked to him about his new area, where they hadn’t had a baptism for 18 months. I explained to Elder Henriksen that he was the one the Lord had selected to be there and to make a difference in that branch. We introduced him to his new companion, who drove him another hour to Strand, a beautiful beach area on the Atlantic Ocean, about 50 miles south of Cape Town.
The first week in his new area, Elder Henriksen was thumbing through the area book and found a referral that hadn’t been contacted in the seaside town of Hermanus, another hour south of Strand, but in their assigned area. There was a small branch in Hermanus with about twenty active members, but he and his companion were the closest missionaries. Not wanting to waste time, but feeling prompted to contact the referral, he and his companion looked up the addresses of all the members in Hermanus so they could visit them as well as contacting the referral. Then they set aside a day to visit Hermanus.
When that day came, Elder Henriksen and his companion taught a first lesson in the home they were referred to, then began visiting the members. They knocked on the door of a member lady who expressed great surprise at seeing elders at her door. “I didn’t think we had missionaries in Hermanus anymore!” she exclaimed. Then she told them it was the greatest day of her life. She had just received in the mail a 300-year history of her ancestors. She was excited to be able to do temple work for hundreds of family members who had gone on before. Then she told them that her only problem was that she couldn’t understand any of it because it was written in Norwegian.
Elder Henriksen looked at her, smiled and said, “I’m Norwegian!” What a tender mercy for the Lord to inspire a mission president to suddenly transfer the only Norwegian missionary on the African continent to the area where this dear sister lived and needed a Norwegian translator. While he served there, he was able to visit her once a week and complete the translation. This experience strengthened the faith of everyone involved.

As hosts, the Israeli people are marvelous. After every concert we were given a reception so we could meet the people. There were apples, apricots, bananas, cake, milk, peanuts, and pretzels. We sang songs with them and learned many of their dances. It was at this time of friendship and association that the spirit of missionary work would really take hold. One evening I was talking with a man and his wife on a kibbutz when all of a sudden she said, “Now, tell us about the Mormons.”

I was a little taken back.

I’m a returned missionary and I thought, “What ever happened to the old, ‘What do you know about the Mormon Church, and would you like to know more’ bit?” This was like walking into a room full of golden investigators.

At first there were only the man and his wife, but in a few minutes about seven people were listening. I talked about Joseph Smith, the plan of salvation, the Book of Mormon, genealogy, the tribes of Israel and our connection through Joseph. I soon found that explaining the gospel to a Jew is a most challenging and rewarding experience. I had to search the very limits of my testimony to help them understand not only what the gospel is but why I believe it.

I was not alone. Charles Cranney and Marsha Paulson had an experience that was representative of many that occurred on the tour. Following a concert, two Israeli youth walked up to them and said, “You’re so peaceful and happy. You’re Mormons, aren’t you? What is it that makes you this way?” In the discussion that followed they were both given copies of the Book of Mormon. Reflecting on the experience, Marsha told Charles, “You know, that’s exactly what I saw before I joined the Church.” Charles summed up his experiences in Israel by saying, “The people came like children who were hungry.”

Dr. Woodward has often told the choir that the impact of the music we sing is multiplied by our physical appearance. For someone who has not had the gospel in his life to see 63 happy and clean young people, dressed in white evening dresses and black tuxedos, singing with the Spirit of the Lord, is an experience he can never forget.

Paula Bunting put it best when she addressed the choir one morning: “We’ve had a lot of fun bartering to try to get the best prices for the souvenirs we buy, but all of a sudden it has helped me realize even more the priceless blessing we have of knowing Jesus is the Christ and that he lives.

“You’ve helped confirm in my mind what the idea of purity is. When we’re singing and I look at some of you and see tears streaming down your faces, I wonder what kind of spiritual experience you’re having.”

The spiritual conviction and testimonies of the choir members are communicated impressively to those who are listening. One Israeli businessman emphatically stated, “I tell you frankly, there is something about this group. Not so much you are good singers, but you reach out to the hearts. It is very good. Very good.” He also received a copy of the Book of Mormon.

It was a testimony in itself to see the great love that developed between the choir and the Jewish people as they discussed the truths of the restored gospel. Testimonies were very strong and the power of conviction was everywhere present. It was interesting to note that the group included 33 returned missionaries.

One of the most unusual and exciting experiences of our tour was our visit with the president of Achzivland. Achzivland was a Phoenecian seaport 3,000 years ago, and many expeditions throughout the Mediterranean Sea area were made from here. Eli Avivi, the president, came to Achzivland 27 years ago when it was but a mound of ruins. He built a museum of all the many artifacts he discovered, and in 1972, he pulled away from Israel and formed his own country.

Achzivland isn’t much bigger than a football field, and President Avivi’s citizens include only himself, his wife, and a few others, but he stamped our passports and made it clear that he was autonomous and that as president he could do anything he chose to. He told us he could even marry us all together if we wanted. He was a fascinating character, and we sang a song for him. He liked it so much, he went and got his wife. We sang for her, after which President Avivi said, “You know, when before I said I would marry you all together, I see now I don’t have to. When you sing, you are one.” That was one of the greatest compliments the choir has ever received.

The Lord directs our lives so that we can achieve our fullest potential. In the midst of these great experiences and spiritual growth, we received a very good lesson in humility.

That night we had another concert, and Dr. Woodward looked a little tired. As we began the first number, perspiration began to bead on his brow, then roll down the sides of his face. He kept directing but his hands soon started to waver and the lines in his face grew taut. The entire choir was straining, ready at any moment to leap forward and catch him if he fell.

Finally, Sister Woodward got him to sit down and drink some water and Gordon Johnston, our assistant conductor, directed the next number. Then Dr. Woodward got up again and directed two more numbers before intermission when they carried him out. (Dr. Woodward later joked, “It was a funny feeling. I couldn’t really hear, but all I could think of was, the show must go on!”)

Many prayers were offered during that intermission, and then we returned to finish the concert. After the reception, as we were going to our rooms, we saw an ambulance take Dr. Woodward to the hospital, where he would remain for the next two days. Here, at the end of our tour, as we were on the eve of entering Jerusalem, our conductor and spiritual guide was gone from us. The challenge was now to go forward and apply all the principles we had been taught, to continue our mission to sing to the Jewish people and help them feel the spirit of the gospel.

In this special spirit of humility, we met with the seminary and institute groups touring Israel and held sacrament meeting with them on the Mount of Olives. What a great opportunity to sing on the mount where Christ used to go so often.

One choir member remarked, “Another choir once sang together not far from here on the Field of the Shepherds. I feel as if we are returning, that centuries ago we were part of the heavenly host that sang ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards men.’”

Reflecting on this and experiences of the past few weeks that were culminating at this spot held sacred by millions of people, we felt we were fulfilling in part a prophecy spoken long ago by the prophet Isaiah:

“How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth!
“Thy watchmen shall lift up the voice; with the voice together shall they sing: for they shall see eye to eye, when the Lord shall bring again Zion.
“Break forth into joy, sing together, ye waste places of Jerusalem: for the Lord hath comforted his people, he hath redeemed Jerusalem.” (Isa. 52:7–9.)

The impact of such an experience was beautifully expressed by Becky Toomey: “We have developed a great love for everyone. God created families and friends. If we didn’t need each other, we would have been put on planets by ourselves. He put order in our lives; he reserved us for this day that we could lift people, to help them take notice and open their eyes to understanding.”

As one Jewish woman said, “I have no words to express how I feel about the choir. It is like a preview into heaven.”

Many of these experiences would not have been as powerful had it not been for the background and history of the people and places provided by our guides, Yosie and Dov. They stayed with us wherever we went, and after three weeks our impact on them seemed to be equally as important. Yosie said, “When you sing, I am at peace.”

Dov became our translator in concerts, and at first, he only repeated what Dr. Woodward said. However, by the end of our tour, he was taking almost 20 minutes telling our audiences about the Mormons. He explained that we don’t drink coffee, tea, or alcohol. He talked about Joseph Smith and the gospel. He was bearing testimony without knowing it! His last words to us were, “I am a Jew and will always be Jewish, but there is a light about you that I don’t quite understand.” As he reads and studies the Book of Mormon, we pray he will come to understand more about that light.

On the eve of our departure, Ivan J. Barrett, president of the Jerusalem district, helped us see our tour in perspective: “Music and singing are designed to cheer the hearts of gods and angels in heaven. With your sweet voices, you have planted the seeds of the gospel in the hearts of these people.

“The other day a lady walked up to me and said, ‘Where are the beautiful young people who sang to us around the pool that night? They made such an impression on us, I want to have them come by and bring some literature.’” What better confirmation could we have that seeds were beginning to grow?

As we boarded the plane to leave Israel, we experienced a sense of confusion. It was as if we were leaving home to go home. It just didn’t make sense. In three short weeks we had grown to love this land and the people in it.

As Israel faded into memory, we struggled to keep the precious moments alive, but our tour was not over. Many rich experiences still awaited us in italy, where we were to spend three days waiting for our charter flight to the States.

With a day in Rome we wanted to devour all of the great works of art that we could possibly see. We began at Vatican City. So much beauty is in that place, it was impossible to digest it all. As we left the Sistine Chapel, our guide asked us if we had noticed the floor. Only a few had done so. The awesome beauty of Michelangelo’s artwork on the ceiling was so tremendous that many of us never looked down.

Then a once in a lifetime experience. We walked into St. Peter’s Basilica and sang. It is the first time any BYU choir has done so.

Tour groups walking through stopped; even their guides, who are usually caught up in the tape recorder-style recitation of facts and history, stopped and listened. In this cathedral, the very center of the Catholic church, the message of the restored gospel was sung to many people. What an experience to sing in such a building!

Our final concert was held in the beautiful city of Florence at the Duomo, the third largest cathedral in the world. But this cathedral is different. The beauty is on the outside, where the entire surface is tiled with different colored marble. Inside it is very plain, and we were told it was done this way so that people would not be distracted when they were worshipping.

One priest was so moved by the concert we gave there that he asked us to sing for the mass which followed. It was thrilling to sing to our brothers and sisters as they worshipped the Lord in their manner.

We poured all of our love we had learned in Israel into the songs we sang. Singing from behind the congregation, we created a spirit not felt by these people before. The mass ended, and we sang, “Come, Come, Ye Saints!” Never before have I heard it sung with more power and conviction. The spirit created was indescribable.

One small, frail woman worked her way, cane in hand, through the crowd and in broken English synthesized the feelings of our entire tour: “You sing. You love.”

This story took place in Guatemala.
“I’m so excited to go to church at the chapel!” Anahí said at breakfast.
Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, Anahí and her family hadn’t been able to go to church in person for almost two years. But today they would finally be able to! Anahí was glad she could see her friends and have the sacrament with their ward again.
Anahí and her family sat down in the chapel. Anahí waved to her friends.
Soon it was time for the sacrament. After the hymn, Anahí folded her arms and bowed her head. She listened to the sacrament prayer. Then she looked at a little picture of Jesus. It helped her remember to be reverent.
A young man brought the tray to their row. But when the tray reached Anahí, it was empty!
Then Anahí looked closer. In the corner of the tray, there was one crumb left. She picked it up and put it in her mouth.
For the rest of the day, Anahí worried. She kept thinking about the tiny piece of bread. All through dinner she worried. She didn’t even eat her ice cream for dessert. She just sat at the table while Mami washed dishes.
Did the sacrament count if I only took a crumb? she thought.
Mami dried her hands on a towel. “Is something wrong, love?”
Anahí shook her head no.
“Well, your melted ice cream makes me think something is bothering you.” Mami smiled and sat down next to Anahí. “What is it?”
Tears filled Anahí’s eyes. “I was excited to take the sacrament today. But when the tray got to me, there was only a crumb of bread left.” She took a big breath. “Did I take the sacrament wrong?”
“No,” Mami said. She hugged Anahí close. “I saw you looking at the little picture of Jesus you carry in your scriptures. What were you thinking about?”
“I was thinking about how Jesus loves me. And about the nail prints in His hands and feet. And all He did for us.”
“Don’t you see?” Mami asked. “That’s why we take the bread and water. To remember the sacrifice Jesus made for us.”
“So the size of the bread doesn’t matter?”
“No. What matters is how you felt as you remembered the Savior,” Mami said. “And even though you just had a tiny piece of bread, Jesus’s love for you is not tiny. He loves you so, so much.”
Anahí smiled. She knew Mami was right. The sacrament could always be a special time to remember Jesus—even with just a tiny piece of bread.

Our leaders have demonstrated that one can enjoy both faith and humor. It was said of President Heber C. Kimball (1801–68) that he prayed and conversed with God “as one man talketh with another” (Abr. 3:11). However, “on one occasion, while offering up an earnest appeal in behalf of certain of his fellow creatures, he startled the kneeling circle by bursting into a loud laugh in the very midst of his prayer. Quickly regaining his composure and solemn address, he remarked, apologetically: ‘Lord, it makes me laugh to pray about some people.’”5 This sense of humor was not lost on his grandson, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985).

Another man who had a great sense of humor and enthusiasm was Elder LeGrand Richards (1886–1983) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. One day a stake president came to my office to see me. On the way out, he stopped to see Elder Richards, who would be coming to his stake in a week or two. He asked, “Brother Richards, how are you?” That great Apostle said: “Well, President, I will tell you. My body, the house I live in, is getting old and creaky.” Then he added, with all 95 years of his life testifying, “But the real LeGrand Richards is on fire.”

A good sense of humor will help us hone our talents. One of the talents that needs to be greatly magnified is sensitivity to others, and this involves reaching out and touching another heart. By learning not to be afraid ourselves, we are able to stir up kindred feelings for others. Under the cultivation of the Holy Ghost, our talents become greatly magnified.

Balance in large measure is knowing the things that can be changed, putting them in proper perspective, and recognizing the things that will not change. And balance also lies in attitude. May our attitude be one of achieving balance and wisdom and understanding in all that we do.

Maintaining a righteous balance in our lives is important for personal well-being.

When we make the right choices, it is much easier to yield “to the enticings of the Holy Spirit” (Mosiah 3:19), which will help us stay balanced.

In large measure, balance is knowing the things that can be changed and putting in proper perspective the things that will not change.

It is easier to ride the bumps of life if we cultivate a sense of humor and learn to laugh at ourselves.

Balance lies in our attitudes, which can be shaped by our righteous desires and by prayers to Heavenly Father.