Gospel Story Finder

“I’ll never understand why Dad had to accept a teaching position in this town,” muttered eight-year-old Ann angrily to herself. “They certainly must need teachers in places that have grass and trees and paved roads instead of dirt ones that turn into muddy rivers whenever it rains. If we hadn’t moved, I could have been baptized in a pretty place with carpeting on the floor and a white tile font.” Memories of her old stake center and meetinghouse crowded her mind. Angrily she pushed them back. Today of all days she didn’t want to cry.
“Honey, you’ll have to get your own breakfast this morning,” her mother called from behind the old sewing machine. Mother was busy transforming snowy linen into the dress Ann would wear for her baptism later that day.
Mom’s working hard to have something nice for me to wear, Ann thought, but who besides the sagebrush is going to see it? Her cousins had told her all about their baptisms, and Ann knew hers wasn’t going to be anything like theirs.
Ann walked dejectedly across the gravel-filled yard to water the four struggling fruit trees behind the house, then started to pull out some of the tumbleweeds so that the prettier golden orange poppies would have a better chance to grow. A welcome breeze carried the sound of the rustling cottonwoods by the irrigation ditch, reminding her of the rushing streams in the canyons.
“So that’s where you are, Pumpkin,” Ann’s father said when he found her. “We’ve been looking all over for you. It’s time to get ready. If you don’t hurry, we’ll leave without you,” he teased. He looked at her more closely. “You do want to go, don’t you?”
“Of course I do, only …” Ann’s voice faded. That was just it—inside she just wasn’t sure anymore. Ever since she could remember, she had looked forward to being baptized—but not in a pond in the middle of the desert! Her mother had tried to make her feel better by telling her about the people in the Book of Mormon who had been baptized in the wilderness. But it had only helped for a little while. Now the day was here, and she still didn’t have that warm, excited feeling she longed for.
Ann threw her arms around her father’s neck. “Oh, Dad! I wanted it to be so beautiful, and it isn’t going to be. And oh … you just don’t understand.”
Her father held her tight and brushed the hair back from her hot forehead. “Maybe it’s you who doesn’t understand, sweetie.” He swept his arm in a half circle toward the desert. “All this doesn’t matter. Today is a very important day in your life. By getting baptized, you show that you truly want to become a member of the Lord’s church and that you want to keep His commandments. That’s an important step to take, and we are very proud of you. It will be all right, you’ll see. You’d better go inside now and put your baptismal dress on. Your mother must be wondering what’s keeping you.”
From the backseat of the moving car, Ann watched the sagebrush turn into silver gray clumps. It was not long before Dad pulled off the two-lane highway onto a dirt road leading to the pond. The slow-moving waters were fed by a natural spring. Old poplars clustered around the pond as if to protect it from the harsh sun.
Ann’s bare toes sought the cool shadows of the trees as she waited. Finally her name was called.
Dad smiled at her, this time without the usual mischievous twinkle in his eyes. A sob that wouldn’t go away caught in Ann’s throat. She looked around at her family and realized that she’d been so selfishly concerned about her surroundings that her family’s love for her had gone by almost completely unnoticed. She had almost forgotten the real significance of this day. How grateful she was now for a chance to change.
Slowly she stepped toward the edge of the pond. Her father was there, waiting. As he tenderly lowered her into the water, the rays of the sun seemed to turn the water into liquid gold.

Later when Robert was in college, his bishop called him to be the elders quorum president. Robert was willing to serve, but he wasn’t sure what to do. His school classes were very hard. His teachers didn’t want him to do any work outside of school. He knew it would be hard to accept the calling and do well in school. He and his wife, Mary, prayed to know what to do. They listened to the Lord’s answer. Robert accepted the calling and later finished school. He showed the Lord when he was young that he was willing to listen. As an Apostle, Elder Hales listens and tells us what Heavenly Father wants us to hear in general conference.

There was a time when I didn’t want to be around a girl in my Young Women class. Some of her behaviors didn’t seem very appropriate to me. I asked myself, “Why is she like that?”

Then in a conference, someone talked about how we shouldn’t see people as they are but for who they can become. That hit me hard. I decided to try and see the good things about this young woman. She participated in class. She was willing to come to church even though she and her sister were the only active members in their family. She was willing to come to activities, even when her sister wasn’t as willing.

When I started looking for good things about this young woman, I felt like I was no longer seeing her with my earthly eyes. I felt like I was seeing her through the eyes of God, the way He would see her.

Chris loved playing football in grade school and junior high. He started at linebacker all during high school. And, as Chris points out, football in Georgia is serious business. His high school would have 10,000 fans attend its Friday night games. During his junior year, he began getting attention from college scouts. It was exciting, but his mom would remind him not to get too interested because he was going on a mission.
When the scouts showed up, that was the time Chris had to face the possibilities of playing football at the college level. His high school coach told the scouts that he was a hard-working player and was an honor student. Finally concrete offers started to come—full-ride scholarships through four years of college, worth thousands of dollars.
“I asked,” said Chris, “if they would hold a scholarship for two years. One coach was shocked. I told him I was going to go on a mission for my church. He just stared at me and said, ‘You’re going to give up 80 thousand dollars to serve a mission for two years?’ He got mad at me. But I didn’t get offended.” After that, his coach started turning away college recruiters interested in Chris.
Eventually, State University of West Georgia called. The school offered him a scholarship. It turned out that Chris would be able to play a year and a quarter, essentially two seasons, before turning 19 and receiving a mission call. “I knew that all things were possible with the Lord. There were people saying that I couldn’t serve a mission and play ball, yet the Lord provided a way to do both.”
Chris struggled at West Georgia, not on the field where he started as a true freshman but in the permissive atmosphere in the dorms. He didn’t like what was going on around him. He was more determined than ever to go on a mission. And it was on his mission that Chris put football behind him completely. He told his coaches that if they needed to talk to him, to go through his parents. He didn’t keep up on what the team was doing. He says that the only way to serve on a mission is completely and with total focus.
At the conclusion of his mission, Chris decided that he could not return to the atmosphere at his former college. He thought that was also a decision to give up football, and he was willing to do it.
Just as Chris was completing his mission, his mission president contacted BYU about Chris. At first, becoming a BYU football team member didn’t seem like a possibility, but he was invited to try out. He received a full-ride scholarship but was redshirted a year. Once Chris thought sitting out a year would be horrible, but now it was a blessing. He was able to concentrate on his major, a difficult one, in manufacturing engineering and technology. He feels that the Lord has guided his life because at BYU he has had the opportunity to continue missionary work as a ward mission leader. Football will fall by the wayside. That’s fine with Chris. It no longer has his heart.
There is, however, one thing Chris has always wanted—a championship ring. He just missed taking state in high school. And his college team won the conference the year he left on his mission. Knowing this, some friends on his mission got together and bought Chris a ring—a CTR ring that he wears continually. It’s become his championship ring.
Whenever Chris looks at it he is reminded of what he believes deep inside. “Right makes you happy. If you do what is right, everything will fall into place.”

I was running the last quarter mile to the high school when a bit of gravel worked its way into my left shoe, bringing me limping to a halt at the curb. I yanked off my shoe and dumped the pea-size rock on the pavement. I glanced down the street and saw my cross-country teammates approaching a block away. We were finishing up the last leg of our afternoon workout.
“You run like the wind, man.” A slightly slurred voice startled me.
I turned to see a slovenly dressed man grinning at me from under the elm tree at the corner. I noticed immediately his missing front tooth, his vacant, bloodshot blue eyes and his long, straight blond hair hanging out from under a dirty, faded baseball cap. Catching the faint trace of alcohol in the air, I pushed myself to my feet to hurry on.
“Like the wind,” he repeated. His grin widened. “Or maybe,” he added, “you run more like a breeze.”
I brushed him off, figuring the guy was probably too wasted to walk the 200 yards to the track, much less try to run.
“For your information, man, I was the cross-country state champion here in Snowflake,” he said. “No one could beat me. I was a wind nobody messed with. I wasn’t just a little breeze.”
His comment rankled me even though I knew the alcohol was speaking more loudly than the man.
Several days later I saw the man on the same corner. He flashed a grin and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. “Hey, man. You’re still at it,” he called out, waving at me as I passed. “I’ve had too much to drink or I’d pace you.”
The next Saturday morning Dad and I were in the yard raking the leaves out of the garden and trimming the bushes when a beat-up ‘74 Ford pickup rattled to the curb. A woman with stringy brown hair was driving. On the passenger side a man sat slumped with his baseball cap pulled down over his face. The woman climbed from the truck. “Are you interested in us hauling your clippings away?”
Dad set his rake down and considered the offer.
I returned to my work when someone called out, “Hey, if it ain’t the breeze!” I looked up. I recognized the man inside the truck as the guy by the school.
“The breeze is raking leaves today.” He smiled. “We’ll haul you and your old man’s trash to the dump for $25. My rock-bottom deal to a fellow runner.”
He turned to the woman and was about to speak when he saw Dad. For a moment he stared, his mouth hanging open. He looked from me to Dad and then back to Dad. “Sam Davidson!” he said in obvious amazement. “This kid’s your son?”
Taken back, I glanced toward Dad, who stood surprised and a bit embarrassed. “You remember me, Sam?” he asked Dad.
“Rex?” Dad questioned. “Rex Manning?”
He laughed, stepping to Dad and pumping his hand warmly. “Summer,” he announced, turning to his wife, “we’ll haul their stuff for $15. This is Sam Davidson, the skinny kid that chased me to the state championship. And this is his son. What’s your name, kid?”
“Joseph.”
“He looks like you, Sam.”
Dad agreed to Rex’s deal, and Rex and his wife drove off.
“You know him?” I asked Dad.
Dad stared after them. “I knew him. We ran cross-country together. Rex Manning.” He said his name with respect. “What a guy!” he whispered. “I hate to see him like that.”
“Could he really run?” I questioned, my doubt obvious.
Dad chuckled, remembering. “Twenty-three years ago he was cold sober, trim, and as gutsy as they come. He could run forever and hardly break a sweat. I would have had two gold medals had Rex not beaten me when I was a junior.”
“That’s the guy who beat you your junior year? What happened to him?”
Dad looked away and heaved a sigh. “What happens to a lot of guys?”
The following Wednesday I had a meet in Holbrook. My top challenger in the state was Dennis LaDuke, a kid from Holbrook. I led LaDuke over the entire course. Maybe that was my mistake. With the finish line less than 200 yards ahead of me, LaDuke made his move and beat me by three seconds.
“You’re barely at midseason, Joseph,” Dad said, trying to console me that evening. “All you have to do is shave three and a half seconds off your time.”
“You know how hard that can be, Dad?” I grumbled.
“You need a Rex Manning to push you,” Dad remarked.
“What do you mean I need a Rex Manning?”
Dad smiled and explained how he and Rex had worked out together on the same team, both shooting for the gold medal at state. Rex was a year older and had been running since he was a boy. He shared every running secret he had with Dad. He wanted Dad to be good too. Days before state, Dad spoke bluntly to Rex. “I appreciate your helping me, Rex, but aren’t you afraid you’ve made me too fast?”
Rex had laughed. “Sam, I want you fast—faster than anybody. The faster you are, the harder I run. When we race, you’ll push me and make me a champion.”
“You might figure wrong,” Dad pointed out.
“Sam, I know how fast you run.” He grinned. “I’ll run a little faster.”
Dad looked at me. “When I ran that last race, I broke the old state record. But Rex was two strides ahead of me.”
A couple of days later I was warming up when I spotted Rex leaning against the elm tree. All during my workout I had thought of LaDuke and those three-and-a-half seconds. I’m not sure I was actually serious when I first panted over to Rex.
“Hey, man, you still pounding the pavement?” he greeted me in his jovial way.
“Dad said you were the best runner he ever knew,” I said.
Rex’s smile faded. “That was a long time ago, kid. I’ve had a whole lot of booze since then.” There was genuine sadness and regret in his simple confession.
“Dad said you helped him run faster than everybody.”
“Sam was fast. He beat everybody—but me.”
“Help me run.” I didn’t smile. “Only one guy, Dennis LaDuke, is faster than me.”
A gray shadow dimmed Rex’s features. “I’m a loser, kid. I don’t run no more. I drink too much. Sometimes I can’t even walk.”
“Just help me cut a few seconds off my time.”
Rex didn’t answer. He just stood there solemnly, ignoring me as though I had never spoken. After a moment I jogged away from him, leaving him to his memories and his hurt.
The following Monday I trotted out to the track to warm up. Rex Manning was sitting in the bleachers. He stood and waved as I ambled over to him. The first thing I noticed was that he was sober. “You going to help me shave those three-and-a-half seconds from my time?”
Rex snorted. “We’re taking off ten seconds so you can beat everybody—including this LaDuke.”
At first Coach Spaulding was a bit hesitant having Rex around. But one day at the track changed that impression. Rex ceased being an old, out-of-shape drunk. He became an expert.
Rex worked at one of the mills outside of town and was usually off by 3:30. In the past it had been his practice to stop at the bar on the edge of town after work. But once he started coming to workouts, he postponed his stop at the bar and headed directly to the track. A week later, Rex took me to a wash that cut along the west side of town. Sinking into the soft sandy wash bottom up to my ankles, I waited for Rex to tell me what to do. He sat in the shade of a cedar and ordered me to do wind sprints in the sand. It didn’t take long before my tongue was hanging out and sweat was pouring down my face.
But seeing my exhaustion only increased Rex’s intensity. Soon he had me racing through the cedars toward a steep knoll a mile away. He gave me instructions: On the west side of the knoll I would find a narrow path that zig-zagged to the top of the knoll. I was to take that path and race up and down the knoll five times. From a distance it didn’t look very steep, but once I reached it and started challenging that knoll, I discovered that my efforts in the sandy wash bottom had been a mere warm-up for the rest of the afternoon.
By the end of that first day, exhaustion took on a whole new meaning. That night at dinner I whined to Dad about what had happened.
Dad looked across the table at me. “Sounds like Rex still has his old drive.” He smiled.
“I’ll bet he never worked like he made me work today.”
Dad set his fork down. “Who do you think made those trails you jogged on this afternoon, Joseph? Nobody worked out like Rex. I know. I tried to keep up with him.”
The next afternoon Rex was at the track. He became my personal coach. He was as regular as the three-thirty bell. He still stopped occasionally at the bars after practice, but he was always cold sober at three-thirty. I worked out with Rex every day right up to the state meet.
Several days before the meet, Dad knocked on my door and I invited him in. He studied me for a moment. “Joseph, I want you to know something before the race Friday.”
“I’ve always wanted you to win this race.” He took a deep breath. “But, Joseph, during these past few weeks I’ve come to see something that means more to me than your winning Friday.” He paused. There was a mist in his eyes. “I appreciate what you’ve done for Rex. I used to see him stumbling down the street. I tried to ignore him. I wanted to remember him another way. But yesterday I ran into Rex at the store. We talked.” Dad smiled. “He’s proud of you, Joseph. I could see some of the old Rex. I saw hope instead of despair. If you win Friday, that will be wonderful. But the real victory, the one that means the very most, is the one you’ve already won with Rex. I want you to know that.”
Rex showed up late for the next day’s practice, but when he arrived he came with his blond hair cut short, his face clean shaven, and wearing a fresh pair of jeans and white T-shirt. “I almost didn’t recognize you,” I joked when he strolled up.
“Well, kid, I figured you deserved to have somebody with a little class coach you.”
At the end of practice as I told Rex good-bye he shook my hand. “Good luck, kid.” There was excitement in his eyes. “The boss gave me the day off to see the race.”
“You’re going to Payson tomorrow to watch me run?” I asked, grinning.
He looked away. “If I can get there. My truck broke down this afternoon.”
“Davidson,” Coach Spaulding interrupted, “remember the van’s pulling out at six o’clock in the morning. We want to get to Payson early.”
An idea struck me. “Coach,” I spoke, stepping away from Rex, “hey do you think we could take Rex with us? There will be plenty of room in the van.”
Coach Spaulding looked at me, hesitating. “I don’t know, Davidson. I don’t know if I can count on Rex to be sober.”
“Coach, Rex has been cold sober for over a week. He was planning to go, but his truck broke down. I’d like to have him there, Coach. I promise he’ll be sober. I need him there.”
Coach Spaulding glanced in Rex’s direction. “All right,” he finally conceded. “He’s been helping you out. I suppose I can take him as a volunteer coach. But,” he added, “if I smell just the faintest trace of …”
“You won’t smell anything,” I cut him off. “Thanks, Coach.”
“Rex, you’re going with us in the van,” I announced excitedly. “You’ll be an assistant coach.”
For a moment my announcement didn’t register, and then suddenly his face crinkled into a grateful grin. “Thanks, kid. I’ll be here before six,” he committed. “And tomorrow LaDuke can have that silver medal all to himself,” he added with confidence. “Tomorrow nobody beats Sam Davidson’s kid. Not while I’m around.”
As I stood there witnessing Rex’s excitement and confidence, I knew that regardless of the outcome of the race the next day, Rex and I had already secured a gold medal victory.

Seventeen years ago today, during the Sunday afternoon session of general conference, I responded to President Hinckley’s assignment that I represent the six newly called Seventy in accepting our calls. As I awaited my turn at the midpoint of the session, I stood between two great Apostles: Elders Marvin J. Ashton and Bruce R. McConkie. I felt their love and support as I gazed with no little trepidation at the congregation of Saints gathered in the Tabernacle. Incidentally, we’re four times greater today. Elder Ashton, sensing my feelings, whispered, “I know it’s an awesome sight, but they’re all your friends.” As I stood that first time to speak, I felt the love of the Saints washing over me. Since then, in all the places to which worldwide assignments have taken us, Shirley and I have felt that same love and tried to return it.

On Sunday 26 July the Tunbridge Wells Ward of the Church hosted the civic service for the new mayor of the borough of Tunbridge Wells, Chris Woodward, a member of the ward. The service was conducted by Bishop George Fahey and presided over by Stake President Stephen Baldock, and his first counsellor, Leighton Bascom, also members of the ward.
Besides local members, there was a good mix of visitors. The service was attended by past mayor Mrs Barbara Cobbold; Andrew Backway JP; three borough councillors, Harry Allen, Sarah Hamilton, and Bill Hills; and Sue Hall representing the Tunbridge Wells Quaker Meeting. Also attending was architect Dr Philip Whitbourn OBE. It was a pleasure to meet and chat with them after the service.
Hosting a civic service was a rare occasion for the ward, as most prior mayors of the borough have been of the Anglican faith. The typical programme of past mayors’ services had to be adapted to align with the Church’s practices. The focus of the service became the Melchizedek Priesthood blessing on the mayor by Bishop Fahey with the assistance of Presidents Baldock and Bascom.
In his address, Bishop Fahey drew attention to Doctrine & Covenants (Section 58:27), in which the Lord said: “men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their own free will, and bring to pass much righteousness”. He added, “Civic service and duty are important to members of the Church. We are actively encouraged to participate in civic life, to serve, to vote, and to help effect social change for the better. We believe that democratic government is sanctioned by God and that the betterment of our societies should be achieved by the proper exercising of civic machinery.”
He drew attention to Joseph Smith’s response to being questioned about what the Church adherents believed: “As well as doctrinal beliefs relating to the reality of God, His Son Jesus Christ, and doctrines pertaining to spiritual matters, Joseph’s answer included: ‘We believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, in obeying, honouring, and sustaining the law.
“‘We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men. … If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.’” (Articles of Faith 12 and 13.)
Bishop Fahey continued, “How can we summarise principles of Christlike leadership and service? During His earthly ministry Jesus taught, ‘he that is greatest among you shall be your servant’ (Matthew 23:11) This King of kings, Prince of Peace, and Son of God led a ministry of exhausting work in the service of others. He had no fixed abode, taught, and ministered to others far past mealtimes, and on at least one occasion was so exhausted that He was able to sleep through a storm on the Sea of Galilee. On the evening before his Crucifixion, the same on which He shared the Last Supper, He showed the measure of His leadership by washing the feet of His disciples. Indeed, in this Church we believe that ‘no power or influence can or ought to be maintained … only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, by love unfeigned,
“‘By kindness and pure knowledge … without hypocrisy, and without guile’ (Doctrine & Covenants 121:41–42).
“Such are the leadership methods that the humble follower of Jesus Christ should strive to use — patterned after the methods of the most influential leader to have ever walked the earth.”
After about 35 years of corporate life, Chris had started his own small business in 2003. His family circumstances did not make it possible to serve a full-time mission with his wife. He added, “I decided the time was right to direct effort to serving my community more widely. During those early days of pondering what I should do, someone from the local political establishment came knocking on my door in 2005. The rest is minor history.”
Chris was inspired by Gordon B. Hinckley (1910-2008), who in a conference address in April 2000, when aged 90 (five years after becoming President of the Church), declared of David B. Haight (1906-2004), a member of the Council of Twelve Apostles, who was then 94, “I am an old man trying to catch up with Brother Haight! I’m given to meditation and prayer. I would enjoy sitting in a rocker, swallowing prescriptions, listening to soft music, and contemplating the things of the universe. But such activity offers no challenge and makes no contribution.
“I wish to be up and doing. I wish to face each day with resolution and purpose. I wish to use every waking hour to give encouragement, to bless those whose burdens are heavy, to build faith and strength of testimony [in the Saviour].”1
Chris hopes to echo President Hinckley’s wish to be up and doing while still in his somewhat-young 75+ age group. He adds, “Like all of us, I need purpose—achieving something that is worthwhile. I have found serving as borough councillor to provide some of this.” Chris said of the reading from Matthew 6:1–4 given by young Sister Eliza Brecheisen, that “it always reminds me that when we give our time and resources to help others, that God expects us to do it without broadcasting what we do. He knows what we do. As I serve publicly as mayor, I always try to keep that message uppermost in my mind.” Young Brother Aaron Yoosuf’s scripture reading from 2 Corinthians 9:6–7, reminded Chris to cheerfully do his very best while he has the health, strength and will to do so.
Brother Woodward has chosen as his mayoral theme, The Rising Generation, a phrase well known in the Church. He wants to make sure that the voice of the rising generation of the Tunbridge Wells Borough is heard by local civic and community leaders. He is working to form a forum for young people in the borough, drawing in representatives from year 10–13 students in fourteen local secondary schools.
He has also chosen to do all he can to raise funds for the local charity, Mental Health Resource, which supports both adults and young people with mental health concerns.
The youth of the ward contributed much to the civic service by way of readings and prayers, as well as serving as waiters and waitresses after the service, roving among chatting attendees, offering them finger food and soft drink—something they performed excellently. (For completeness it is to be noted that the food had been prepared by the mayor and mayoress in the early hours of that same morning! A rare thing to behold.)

Pain and concentration contorted Clint Smith’s features as the 17-year-old clung desperately to the cliff face with one hand. A faint clatter of pebbles meeting the earth reached his ears from some 50 feet below. While climbing the massive granite wall, his feet had slipped from beneath him. Gravity tore one hand from its hold and threatened to unglue the other.
The scene would be frightening if you didn’t know that Clint is an experienced climber decked out in safety gear and securely attached to a belay line handled by a man with more than 30 years of climbing experience. After an agonizing moment, Clint got his feet back under him and smoothly ascended the remaining rock to the top.

Many years ago, some of my younger cousins were assigned to do a service project at our Grandpa Crozier Kimball’s farm. As a reward, they were promised Grandma Clara’s1 fabulous homemade cake.
When they had completed their tasks, they headed to the kitchen for their reward. Grandpa, however, blocked the kitchen door. My cousin Kathy Galloway, who was about 14 at the time, recalls that he sat down on a piano bench and invited the cousins to sit on the floor. He thanked them for their hard work and then said he had something important to share before they ate their cake.
“There will come a time in your lives when you will need to know and act on what I am about to share with you,” he said.
He explained that his grandfather Heber C. Kimball (1801–68) and other pioneer ancestors had faced arduous physical challenges. Grandpa said the pioneers quickly learned that to survive, they had to work together and love and serve each other.
“This is one of the great legacies they left to you!” he said as tears began to roll down his cheeks.
“In my calling as a patriarch and as your grandfather, when I look down the corridors of time, … my heart aches for you,” he said. “You will face emotional and spiritual challenges that most of your pioneer ancestors could never have imagined.”
Unless the younger generation honors the pioneers’ great legacy of love and service, he added, “many of you will fail because you will not be able to survive on your own.”
Then, with a spirit-to-spirit connection, Grandpa Kimball concluded: “We need each other. In addition to sharing our testimonies of the gospel with one another, our duty is to love and serve and strengthen and nourish and support and sustain each other, … especially in our family. Please remember that in the last days, your very survival may depend on your willingness to work together and to love and serve each other. Now, let us go eat cake!”

One came in the October 1856 general conference as President Brigham Young announced to the congregation that handcart pioneers were still on the trail and late in the season. He declared: “Your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the celestial kingdom of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains, and attend strictly to those things which we call temporal, … otherwise your faith will be in vain.”
We remember with grateful admiration the men who headed off to rescue those suffering Saints. But what did the sisters do?
“Sister [Lucy Meserve] Smith recorded … that after President Young’s exhortation, those in attendance took action. … Women ‘[removed] their petticoats [large underskirts that were part of the fashion of the day and that also provided warmth], stockings, and every thing they could spare, right there in the [old] Tabernacle, and piled [them] into the wagons to send to the Saints in the mountains.’”
Several weeks later, President Brigham Young gathered the Saints again in the old Tabernacle as the rescuers and the handcart companies got closer to Salt Lake City. With great urgency, he pleaded with the Saints—especially the sisters—to nurse the sufferers and feed them and receive them, saying: “Some you will find with their feet frozen to their ankles; some are frozen to their knees and some have their hands frosted. … We want you to receive them as your own children, and to have the same feeling for them.”
Lucy Meserve Smith also recorded:
“We did all we could, with the aid of the good brethren and sisters, to comfort the needy. … They got their hands and feet badly frosted. … We did not cease our exertions [un]til all were made comfortable. …
“I never took more satisfaction and, I might say, pleasure in any labor I ever performed in my life, such a unanimity of feeling prevailed. …
“What comes next for willing hands to do?”

Jennifer Hayman, 15, of the Lafayette (Indiana) Ward has been rewarded for her hard work and for keeping the Sabbath day holy.
Jennifer and her four-year-old quarter horse, “Something Savvy,” won the overall grand champion gelding prize at the Indiana State Fair. Interested in training, Jennifer has shown horses since she was seven. She was once told by a trainer that she needed to show on Sundays; otherwise she would never have enough experience to make it to the top. Jennifer and her family chose not to participate in Sunday horse shows. “I guess we showed them it can be done,” said Jennifer.

A few years after I had finished college, I found myself sitting in family home evening with other young single adults in my ward. We had been invited to the home of a counselor in our stake presidency, and his wife was giving the lesson.
We were reading the account of Nephi and his brothers going to get the brass plates from Laban (see 1 Nephi 3–5). Our teacher talked about the courage and persistence Nephi exhibited. Then she looked up at our small group. Her gaze was penetrating.
“Nephi and his brothers had been given a difficult task,” she pointed out. “It took several tries, none of which was easy. But it was worth persistent effort. As a result of having the scriptures, Nephi would prevent his family from ‘dwindl[ing] and perish[ing] in unbelief’ (1 Nephi 4:13).
“There will be ‘plates’ in your own lives,” she continued. “Maybe you will have to demonstrate persistence in obtaining your education. Perhaps you will be called on to exhibit courage when you’re dating. Whatever the sacrifices, the roadblocks, the setbacks, the heartbreaks—whatever it takes to preserve your future family and keep them from dwindling in unbelief—go back and get the plates.”
It was a nice parallel, I thought. I filed it away in my memory for later recollection. At that moment I didn’t feel that my life had many roadblocks. I had finished school, I was enjoying my job, and I had been dating a great guy—a longtime friend with whom things had turned more serious—for about four months. I couldn’t have been happier with how things were going.
Several months later my relationship with Jake (name has been changed) had progressed a great deal. But Jake’s parents had divorced years earlier, and their separation still affected him deeply. He was afraid that if we got married, things would end for us as they had for his parents.
I told him I was willing to give him time—lots if he needed it—to sort things out in his mind and his heart. We talked about making decisions based on faith instead of fear. We discussed the role of agency and the fact that he didn’t need to assume that his parents’ path would automatically be his fate too. And we talked about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the Savior’s ability to heal our hearts.
Our conversations seemed to help relieve his anxiety some, and our relationship continued as usual. So when he called me one Saturday afternoon to break up, it more than surprised me. He told me that he couldn’t see himself being married to me—or to anyone. He just didn’t believe in marriage anymore.
For the next hour we rehearsed what we had already discussed, but I couldn’t persuade him. He whispered, “I’m so sorry,” and he hung up the phone. I sat silently on my bed, tears running down my face, absolutely stunned.
A while later my roommate knocked on the bedroom door. “Are you coming to stake conference?” she asked. I didn’t feel much like going anywhere or doing anything, but I put on a dress and got in her car.
When we arrived the first person I saw was the woman who had given that family home evening lesson months earlier. Neither of us said anything, but our eyes met, and in my mind, I heard a voice call my name and say, “Go back and get the plates.”
Somehow I knew all that the prompting implied. It wasn’t just about an ancient prophet returning to get a sacred record. It was also about me. It meant that even though Jake didn’t believe in marriage, I still could. I could hope for it and pray for it and work for it—not in a wishful, wistful way but in a believing, active, prepare-myself-daily-because-this-is-God’s-plan-for-His-children kind of way. It didn’t mean that I had to go back to Jake and be with him until I “wore him down” on the idea of marriage, and it also didn’t mean I had to start dating someone new right away. It was OK for me to have a time to grieve and heal.
But during that time I could avoid wallowing in self-pity. I could resist the temptation to be snide about Jake—or men in general. I could seek friends who believed in marriage and looked forward to it. And I could, like Nephi, trust in a loving Heavenly Father who gives no commandment—whether it’s obtaining ancient scriptural records or marrying and creating families—without preparing a way for us to accomplish it.
I’m still in the “accomplishing”—not the “accomplished”—stage. I’m not yet married, but I feel grateful for the good dating experiences I’ve had—experiences made richer by an improved understanding of the role persistence plays in righteous goals.
I also feel comforted by and confident in knowing what Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught about Nephi’s pattern of perseverance. He said:
“After two unsuccessful attempts, Nephi remained confident. He crept into the city toward the house of Laban without all the answers. He observed, ‘I was led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do,’ significantly adding, ‘Nevertheless I went forth.’ (1 Ne. 4:6–7; italics added.)
“Nephi was willing to try time and again, using his best efforts. He expressed faith that he would be helped. He refused to be discouraged. But because he acted, had confidence in the Lord, was obedient, and properly used his agency, he received guidance. He was inspired step after step to success, and in his mother’s words was ‘given … power [to] accomplish the thing which the Lord hath commanded.’ (1 Ne. 5:8; italics added.)”1
This principle of persistence is not limited to the dating realm, of course. It also applies to those who are chronically ill and aren’t sure they can cheerfully face another pain-filled day; to a couple who are striving to work through challenges in their marriage; to parents who pray for years for a child who has gone astray; to a teenager who faces antagonism at school because of her beliefs; to missionaries who have worked for days without teaching a lesson. In some way all of us have been commanded to go back and get the plates.
And like Nephi, we can. With courage, persistence, and faith, we can accomplish all things that the Lord has commanded us.

My dear brothers and sisters, I still remember the seminar for Regional Representatives that I attended in 1972. At the end of that seminar President Marion G. Romney, on his way out of the auditorium, walked through the aisle where I was standing with two big binders under one arm and a stack of printed materials under the other arm. President Romney stopped and said, “Now, Brother de Jager, how are you going to teach all these inspired materials?”
I paused, thinking of an answer that would satisfy a member of the First Presidency of the Church. I replied, “President Romney, I shall teach in such a way that everyone will understand.”
President Romney, a twinkle in his eye, said, “That’s not enough; you shall teach in such a way that no one will misunderstand these divine materials.” Then he walked on.
Now, many years later, I begin to see more and more the wisdom of his counsel. People do easily misunderstand, like the sweet old sister I met in the ZCMI shopping mall the other day.
“Aren’t you that Dutchman who spoke in general conference a while ago?” I said, “Yes, ma’am.” Then she continued, “Oh, I loved your Holland story about the boy with his finger in the dike.” I remarked, “Well, sister, that was not exactly the subject of my talk; I was talking about saving souls.” But she went on to say, “You know, I heard that story for the first time when I was still in school, and I am so pleased you told it again.”
Brothers and sisters, I have learned not to argue, especially with sisters. So I left this sister with a smile and went on my way, a sadder but wiser man. I had apparently failed to teach so that no one misunderstood.
Therefore, my challenge today is to do better. I would like to dedicate a few words of appreciation to the modern-day pioneers who are laboring in the smallest of branches in newly opened missions of the Church.
Especially in places where the membership is still too small to make the many programs of the Church work as the Lord intended, for the edifying of the Saints and for the establishing of Zion.
I also would like to pay tribute to the couples who labor in faraway places as representatives of the International Mission. Some of them are in their seventies and are now serving their third mission!
I am also full of praise for the dedication and endurance I have witnessed in Asia, shown by the deacon in Tien Mu, Taiwan, the newly ordained elder in Bacolod in the Philippines, the Relief Society sister in Solo, Indonesia, the Primary president in Khorat, Thailand; and let there be no misunderstanding: I honor all those who labor in similar places and callings all over the world. May the richest blessings of our Heavenly Father always be with these modern-day pioneers.
What a tremendous work still lies ahead of us, for I have observed that in the merry-go-round world of daily living there is a growing need for the peace and tranquillity of the gospel of Jesus Christ. This church, which bears his name and which was restored to the earth by the Prophet Joseph Smith, can provide people of every nation and tongue with that peace.
I testify that the priesthood of God has been restored to the earth and that a daily growing number of priesthood holders are willing to serve as coservants of the Lord. With this Priesthood we serve best when we serve those who need us most!
There is a deliberate purpose for every soul to be here on the earth, and our Father in Heaven has sent his word to reveal that expressed purpose and to guide all mankind in joyously fulfilling that conscious design. But, alas, there are many who reject the instructions, the revelations, and the guidance and prefer to stumble on in the darkness of their own reasonings.
And there are also many who have the feeling that the whole world is against them. Sometimes this is indeed true; and they had better find out why, because they will then discover their own shortcomings and what ways there are to improve themselves. The Lord does not ask whether a person comes to his church from prison or from a successful and respectable background. He accepts a soul, not his history! And then a door opens and that person starts to progress, learning line upon line, precept upon precept, through example and through the scriptures like the beautiful parables of Jesus Christ.
Let us read them often, these traditional classroom illustrations, of which the British poet Thomas T. Lynch said:
He spoke of grass and wind and rain,
Of fig trees and fair weather;
And made it his delight, to bring
Heaven and earth together.
He spoke of lilies, corn and vines,
The sparrow and the raven;
And words so natural, yet so wise,
Were on men’s hearts engraven.
He spoke of yeast and bread, of flax and cloth,
Of eggs and fish and candles—
See, how the whole familiar world
He most divinely handles.
The social background of the life of Jesus Christ is wonderfully reflected in the parables. They take us back to the first century a.d. In my vivid imagination, when reading the parables I enter that home and watch the housewife making the bread or patching the old garment or looking for the lost coin. I see the bustle of the marketplace and watch the travelers on the road. I work the fields with the sower, I climb the hills with the shepherd, or stand by the lakeside and help the fishermen to pull the net ashore.
I become acquainted with the local merchant, his large house, his vineyard, and his barns. I learn how he deals with his steward and his laborers, and I am fascinated by it. Nothing of the life in the busy province of Galilee seems to escape the Master. His greatest interest was always in the common people.
Brothers and sisters, I want you to know that I have a desire to be the Lord’s humble servant in this dispensation. He lives. The same Jesus is the head of this church.
I am a convert to this church. I received the light through the missionaries, and I know there are two important forces that can carry light to all corners of the world—the sun in the heavens and the mission organization of this church. I see this miracle happen every day while traveling in the missions of the area to which I have been assigned. What is required is organized teamwork. Let us remember this when we, as a team, build branches and districts, wards and stakes, priesthood quorums, and auxiliary organizations in our Father’s kingdom here on earth, and always keep in mind the words often quoted by President Harold B. Lee: “There is no limit to the good that you can do, if you don’t care who gets the credit” (see Antoine R. Ivins, in Conference Report, Apr. 1946, p. 42). The need of the hour is true discipleship in the Lord’s restored church.
The gospel of Jesus Christ is on the move worldwide, and the missionary program is the inspired blueprint for progress.
Therefore, let us go forward with great determination, in a spirit of love and unity. That is our best source of motivation—to do the work with all our might, mind, and strength, and make people really happy.
In the book of Proverbs in the Old Testament we read: “Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keepeth the law, happy is he” (Prov. 29:18).
I know with all my heart that this is true. I testify that the purpose of the restored gospel is to create happy families in this life and in the life to come.
That we all may come to a perfect understanding of this divine purpose is my humble prayer in the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

I too would like to give a special thanks to Jamie Glenn and Rayna Jones for being “in tune” with the Spirit when they composed the beautiful “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God,” which was published in the April 1979 New Era. This song contributed much happiness, serenity, and peace of mind to my dear friend Lorna Smith during the last year of her life.
In May of 1981 Lorna had her first operation for cancer. The family was told that life expectancy for this type of cancer was about four months. However, she was given chemotherapy and her health improved. One year later, in May 1982, she became very ill again. One Sunday morning before she was taken back to the hospital, I was visiting her when she told me about hearing this song at a Relief Society function. It had so touched her heart that she had asked Kris Taylor, the sister who had sung it, to record it for her so that she might listen to it at home. This had been done, and that Sunday the two of us listened to it and shed tears as we heard the words, “He’s closer than you know—reach up, He’ll take your hand.” Lorna sent a copy of the tape to Nebraska to be played to her 92-year-old mother and aged aunt who are not members of the Church. She also shared the song with her daughters whom she wanted to realize that they are truly daughters of God.
She had another operation that May 1982, and the new growth was found to be inoperable. She was again given about four months to live. Her treatment was changed and she lived another 13 months, during which she had the privilege of enjoying the arrival of two new grandchildren. Throughout this last year of her life she often listened to “her song.” The words gave her strength, hope, and courage. Her display of these qualities touched the lives of many.
In May of 1983 she again became so ill that her digestive system could not tolerate even water. Another operation disclosed several cancerous blockages in her intestines. During this lengthy stay at the hospital I took a tape to her on which the Gunderson sisters had recorded some special songs for her. One of them was “Walk Tall.” As it was playing there in the hospital room, a nurse came in singing the words. She told us that this song was also special to her. She had heard it and sung it on her mission. This seemed to create an understanding between her and Lorna.
The cancer spread to Lorna’s liver, and she died at home on June 28, 1983. As I stood there by her, in my mind I could hear and feel the impact of the words, “He’s closer than you know—reach up, He’ll take your hand.”
Her special song was sung beautifully at her funeral by the Gunderson sisters, and on her headstone, as a reminder to her children and grandchildren, is engraved “WALK TALL, YOU‘RE A DAUGHTER OF GOD.”
Dorothy M. BolinderGrantsville, Utah

There are scores of others, each one a lesson to all in the principle of obedience and sacrifice. A young lady with a great desire to fill a mission was counseled to buy ingredients, make cookies, and sell them at school during lunchtime. She did so. Then she bought more flour, baked more cookies, and continued this process for weeks, making a small amount of money each day to help toward her mission.

“In the early fall of 1920 Ezra spent a weekend in Logan preparatory to enrolling for winter quarter. He and a cousin were standing on a curb on Main Street when an attractive young woman drove by in a Ford convertible and waved to a friend. A few minutes later she drove by a second time and waved again. ‘Who is that?’ Ezra asked. ‘Flora Amussen,’ his cousin replied. There was something about the girl that impressed Ezra, and he responded enthusiastically, ‘When I come down here this winter, I’m going to [court] her.’ ‘Like heck you will,’ the cousin answered, adding, ‘she’s too popular for a farm boy like you.’ ‘That makes it all the more interesting,’ Ezra countered. He received the distinct impression that he would marry her.” (Ezra Taft Benson, pp. 46–47).
In the summer of 1921, at age twenty-one, Ezra received a letter from President Heber J. Grant calling him on a mission to Great Britain. July 14, 1921, he went through the Logan Temple with his parents, and two days later, he said good-bye to his parents and girlfriend and started on his way to England (see Ezra Taft Benson, p. 50). Elder Benson studied and worked hard but didn’t feel like he was doing too well and wrote in his journal that he was disgusted with his “‘frail attempt at speaking.’” But as he matured spiritually, he was invited to speak at the South Shields Branch. He was assigned to speak on the Apostasy, but instead he “‘gave a strong and impressive discourse of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.’” He later said, “‘I spoke with a freedom I had never experienced. Afterwards, I couldn’t recall what I had said, but several nonmembers surrounded me and said, “Tonight, we received a witness that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and we are ready for baptism.” It was the experience of a lifetime. … It was the first experience of that kind I’d had, where I knew that the Lord was with me’” (Ezra Taft Benson, p. 55).
President Benson married his sweetheart September 10, 1926, in the Salt Lake Temple, after they had both served missions. He has said that Sister Benson had more faith in him than he had in himself. After sixty-four years of marriage, they are an example of love and devotion to us all.

I was 18 then, a newly ordained elder and busy preparing myself to enter medical school. Besides that, my parents had been inactive for a long time and had never properly trained me to accept such a call if it ever came. I felt these were sufficient reasons for me to say no but decided to ask for some time to think about it. I approached my father and, as I expected, he emphatically refused to let me accept the mission call.
I thought I had been smart enough to fool everybody, but in fact I was the only one being fooled. About a year later, just before I was to take the long-awaited entrance test to medical school, the Lord called me again. This time I resolved to pray about it. I told the Lord that the result of the test would be the answer to my doubts. If I passed, I would understand that my mission would be medical school; if I failed, a proselyting mission would be what he wanted from me.
I passed the entrance exam. Blessings were poured upon me in an avalanche. My father changed to a better-paying job, which he needed to pay for my expensive studies. The lessons in medical school entered my mind with incredible ease, and I became an outstanding student. I became engaged to a wonderful LDS girl, even though she lived 360 miles away and we met just a few times a year. Good health, so seldom enjoyed before, became steady in my family. I was called to be a counselor in the Campinas Stake Sunday School presidency. Through the efforts of the home teachers, my younger sister became active again in seminary. The Lord was blessing us abundantly.
But two years later, I was sitting right there before my bishop once again, being reminded of my obligation to the Lord’s work on the earth. I felt different about it this time, but I was still reluctant to accept. I wanted the Lord himself to tell me what to do. Scriptures that promised marvelous blessings, shown to me by returned missionaries and the bishopric, did not seem to help.
Praying was not enough either. I fasted also, asking the Lord to give me an unmistakable answer so that I would not be left in doubt. It seemed like a fierce battle inside me, my spirit contending against my mortal reasoning. I was nearly exhausted from it when I felt the “burning in my bosom” and knew the Lord had revealed that accepting a mission call was what he wanted from me.
The first round had been won. Now the scriptures would give me strength to support an unshakable faith in God. I knew that other trials would come but not so soon.
When I phoned my fiancée to wish her a happy birthday, she asked about my decision. I told her I had decided to go on a mission, but that I would like to talk with her when she came to see me in a few weeks. She insisted that we talk about it right then. Her sweet voice became choked as if something bitter were being swallowed against her will. We said good-bye.
I went to my room to pray to my Heavenly Father so she could understand and accept my decision. A little later the phone rang and that same sweet voice said with firmness, “Thank you for the birthday gift.” At first I thought she was being ironic, but then I realized she was sincere.
Little by little the Lord was showing that he had prepared the way for me. However, I felt that I would need his help a lot more when I talked to my father. My father is a good man, but his hard life had made him tough and materialistic. Such an outlook would prevent him from accepting my decision.
On a Sunday afternoon, when we were alone in our backyard, I decided to tell my father. He listened until I finished and then asked very dryly, “Is this your will?” I nodded. “Very well, now listen! When you took this course you destroyed the love that existed within me for you. I am not going to drive you out of the house but from my heart. Those medical school stickers that I proudly exhibit on the windshield of my car will be removed, and you will have to do much to put them back on. You tore down a great dream of my life, and as far as I am concerned you fell down with it.”
I tried to answer him and express my great love for him, but my words stopped in my throat. I wished that the whole world would fall upon me for bringing such great suffering to my father, whom I loved so much.
Time went by. My father went to stake leaders to try to stop me. In a last and desperate attempt he went to the stake president. When he returned home that night, he had only harsh words for me.
While I prayed to the Lord to give my father understanding, the Spirit dictated to me that I should listen to him without saying a word. The night before he was to talk to the stake president again, he was sitting alone in the backyard. He said the moonlight made the night clear. He took the opportunity to pray to the Lord in the way he knows and said, “Father, I know that you have given me everything, but do you need to collect all at once? You know I cannot bear it.” In that very moment the backyard became filled with shadows that started to move towards him. My father became stricken with fear and ran to his room like a frightened child. He spent the whole night talking to my strong and sweet mother. That long talk with my mother and his interview with the stake president, when both cried, were enough to change his thinking.
And then came the night that I will never forget. I was in the kitchen peeling a pineapple for our dessert when my father came home. He stopped behind me, placed his briefcase on the floor, and said, “May I talk to you?”
I was already getting used to his aggressive talking. I answered yes and continued to peel the pineapple. “Listen, young man, when I talk to someone I like him to look into my eyes.” I stopped, turned to him, and heard him say with a calm and tender voice, “My son, go and do what you have decided to do because the Lord has told me that it is right. You can count on me for help because I love you very much.” We embraced each other, and the Lord bound the heart of the father to the son and of the son to the father. Tears of joy rolled down our cheeks.
And now my longing for my fiancée and my parents, my desire to attend medical school, and even my disappointment at having to turn down a long-awaited job—all of this is overshadowed by the joy of having received a letter from President Kimball saying, “Dear Elder Areas. You are being called by the Lord to work in the Brazil, Rio de Janeiro Mission. …”

I grew up in India, where I met the missionaries and first attended church. That Sunday happened to be Easter Sunday. Because of my work schedule, I came to church late and attended a youth Sunday School class, where one of the missionaries taught the lesson. He quoted some scriptures from a blue book that I had never seen before but that sounded like the Bible. As he was teaching, I felt a strong feeling in my heart and knew that I too should possess this book.
I went directly to him after class and told him, “I need that book.” Since the book was his own set of scriptures, he could not give it to me, but he let me look at and feel it. I could see golden words embossed on the front: “The Book of Mormon.” I got the same feeling again that I needed the book for myself. The missionary got my address and promised to bring me one. Sure enough, the missionaries came to my house soon after and presented me with my own copy of the Book of Mormon. They then started teaching me the discussions.
That year, Easter brought an unbelievable blessing into my life: the Book of Mormon. That small blue book has brought a spirit of life into my life, and I am so thankful that I had the privilege to learn from it.
Venu Bhaskar Nakka, California, USA

One day I talked back to my mother. Each of us yelled at the other. Our words were hurtful. Later, I opened my scriptures and read about love. I decided to ask my mother to forgive me. She had left, and when she returned, she put a note on my pillow. She said she was sorry. She just expected me to help her more with household chores. After reading her message, I hurried to tell my mother how sorry I was and how much I loved her, while giving her a big hug. It was a wonderful moment. Since that time, the message of love revealed to me in the scriptures has stayed with me, and I have tried to avoid quarreling by speaking to her with kindness. Tell your mother you love her, and she will do the same. Control yourself when something she does irritates you, and instead think about all of her good qualities. Seek to know what she expects of you. I am certain that by your doing this, the situation will resolve itself.
Raquel L., 21, Bourgogne, France

When I returned from my mission, I met a beautiful young woman with long black hair down to her waist. She had beautiful, big honey eyes and a contagious smile. She captivated me from the first moment I saw her.
My wife had set the goal to get married in the temple, although back then the nearest temple required a trip of over 4,000 miles (6,400 km).
Our civil marriage ceremony was both happy and sad, for we were married with an expiration date. The officer pronounced the words “And now I declare you husband and wife,” but immediately after, he said, “until death do you part.”
So with sacrifice we set out to purchase a one-way ticket to the Mesa Arizona Temple.
In the temple, as we were kneeling down at the altar, an authorized servant pronounced the words I longed for, which declared us husband and wife for time and for all eternity.