Gospel Story Finder

When I was 16, most of my friends at school weren’t members, but they knew that I was a member of the Church. They started to smoke and do other things I wouldn’t do. So things began to change between us; our types of conversation were very different, and our thinking and activities weren’t compatible.

One day my father asked me, “Why aren’t you thinking about your friends’ effect on you?” He counseled me to be careful and think about the necessity of changing my friends.

When I started at the university, I became very busy and didn’t spend a lot of time with my friends, but one time when we were together, they decided to do something bad. We were in a car, and they drove really fast. A policeman pulled us over, and I was scared. I remembered the words of my father about taking care of the future. That experience helped me make a decision about the kinds of friends I wanted to have.

I became very involved in Church activities. Attending Mutual was wonderful because I decided to have those kinds of friends. I learned that my father was right—that I should take care of my relationship with good friends. I needed friends who would help me prepare for a mission.

Through harrowing experiences, he learned that the Lord cares for his Saints even in the midst of calamities. As fourteen-year-old Marion and his family were attempting to escape the perils of the Mexican revolution—taking with them only one trunk of belongings for the entire family—two rebel soldiers stopped them, took all of their money, and aimed their guns at them.
“I offered a prayer to my Heavenly Father to spare my life,” he recalled. “For some reason, these Mexicans did not fire, and we continued on safely to the railroad station. For the preservation of my life on this occasion I have always been very grateful to the Lord, and this experience has given me a desire to live in such a manner as to demonstrate to the Lord my appreciation.” (Instructor, July 1943, p. 401.)

I was still sitting on the porch thinking when Katie and Shauna came running around the house. “Come and play catch with us,” they called.
We threw the ball back and forth to each other, and then Katie threw one that was too high for me. Running backward to catch it, I slipped and fell on my backside in a clump of Mom’s blue irises. Mom came out of the shed just then with a pair of clippers to cut a bouquet. I looked at the smashed flowers and was just starting to speak, when something inside of me seemed to say, “No, Janna Lynn, you’re not going to say Katie made you do it.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “I ran backward and fell.”
“Yes, I know. I saw you,” she replied.
“And you’re not mad at me?”
“Of course not.”
The way she laughed, I almost felt good about sitting on her flowers.
“Just look at all those irises that you didn’t sit on,” she said. “A daughter who tells the truth is more important than a whole yard full of flowers!”
Goodness! That must have been the Holy Ghost prompting me to the the truth, I thought. And He’s helping me to learn what a great feeling you have when you know you’ve done the right thing. I could hardly wait to tell Cindy.

Allow me to share the true story of Alex, a quiet, thoughtful, and bright young priest. One Sunday, Alex’s bishop found him alone in a classroom in a state of great distress. The young man explained how painfully difficult it was for him to attend church without his father, who was not a member. Then he tearfully said it would probably be better for him to leave the Church.
With genuine concern for this young man, the bishop immediately mobilized the ward council to help Alex. His plan was simple: to keep Alex active and help him develop a heartfelt testimony of the gospel, they needed to “surround him with good people and give him important things to do.”
Quickly the priesthood brethren and all the ward members rallied around Alex and expressed their affection and support. The high priests group leader, a man of great faith and love, was chosen to be his home teaching companion. Members of the bishopric took him under their wings and made him their closest associate.
The bishop said: “We kept Alex busy. He ushered at weddings, ushered at funerals, assisted me at graveside dedications, baptized several new members, ordained young men to Aaronic Priesthood offices, taught youth lessons, taught with the missionaries, unlocked the building for conferences, and locked up the building late at night after conferences. He did service projects, accompanied me on visits to elderly members in hospices, gave talks in sacrament meeting, administered the sacrament to the sick in hospitals or in their homes, and became one of only a very small handful of people that I could totally rely on as bishop.”
Little by little, Alex changed. His faith in the Lord increased. He gained confidence in himself and in the power of the priesthood that he held. The bishop concluded: “Alex has been and will always be one of my greatest blessings in my time as bishop. What a privilege it has been to associate with him. I genuinely believe that no young man has ever gone into the mission field more prepared by his priesthood service.”

At a hotel restaurant in Quito, Ecuador, Elder Spencer W. Kimball of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was sitting with a group that included four missionaries. After ordering bread and milk, Elder Kimball asked the waiter if he had children. The waiter replied that he had a son. Elder Kimball then said, “Bread and milk will make him healthy, but he will be even healthier if you will feed him the food these young men have to give.” The waiter appeared unsure what to make of this statement. Then Elder Kimball indicated that the young men he referred to were missionaries and that they taught the gospel of Jesus Christ. The waiter said he would be interested in listening to their teaching.20

The children of the Calderón family started a great transition for their family. Jared, age 15, was the first to join the Church, followed a year later by his sister, Angie, 13. Their parents joined the Church three years after Angie’s baptism.
At first this family from Costa Rica had no idea how much the gospel of Jesus Christ would change their lives. They were introduced to the Church by a family member in 2002, and for many months afterward the Calderóns regularly invited the missionaries to their home so they could learn more. As they did so, the family experienced a transformation—a true conversion.
Before the family joined the Church, the Calderóns were concerned that Jared and Angie were having a hard time getting a moral and spiritual education in a world that downplays religion.
The gospel, the Calderóns found, had answers to the problems they were facing. “When we came to understand the gospel and started applying its teachings, that knowledge changed the way we lived,” says Brother Calderón. “We learned who we are and how we can return to our Heavenly Father. Because of what we found, we have lived a richer spiritual life.”
It wasn’t always easy to accept readily what they were learning from the missionaries, but as they tested gospel principles, they gained a testimony of them. “As we learned about gospel standards,” says Sister Calderón, “we tried to stay within the boundaries of worthiness. I gave up drinking coffee. (And I drank plenty of coffee before then!) We made goals as a family to not swear, to speak kindly to each other, and to keep other good principles.
“The main sacrifice we made was our pride,” she continues. “We had to learn to be humble, but as we’ve tried to learn and live with humility, we’ve received many blessings and experienced great progress as individuals, as a couple, and as a family.”

“Hurry faster!” Mary Jane’s friends cried as they ran down the street.
“I’m coming. I’m coming,” Mary Jane yelled back, bending to put one more rock into the bulging pocket of her light blue apron.
For a nine-year-old girl in Wales in 1846, Latter-day Saint missionaries coming to town meant excitement. She and her friends had heard many terrible stories about the “Mormons.” Surely such people deserved to be pelted with stones.
As the three girls rounded a corner, they heard music. A small crowd was singing a familiar hymn. Mary Jane was a good singer, so she joined in after she caught her breath. She didn’t know all the words, but she enjoyed humming the melodies.
As the singing ended, Mary Jane followed the elders’ example and knelt to pray. One by one, the rocks fell from the pocket of her apron. When the prayer ended, Mary Jane’s friend picked up the rocks. “Let’s get them!” she said.
“No,” Mary Jane said quietly. “I want to listen to what they’re saying.”
She turned her eyes toward the missionaries and listened carefully. One of the elders said that a prophet named Joseph Smith had seen Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, in a grove of trees. Another explained why we are born on this earth. As Mary Jane listened, her friends slipped through the crowd and ran off to play. When the elders finished preaching, Mary Jane walked slowly home, thinking about all she had heard.
As the days passed, Mary Jane kept listening to the elders. She loved what she was learning about Heavenly Father. Her mother did not. She was so opposed to what the missionaries taught that she sometimes hid Mary Jane’s clothes or denied her food so she would stop going to church.
But Mary Jane loved the gospel more than ever. She had learned to pray, and her prayers for a testimony were answered. She wanted to be baptized. Finally on a cold December night, she was baptized in a frozen river. The elders had to use an ax to cut a hole in the ice. Even though Mary Jane’s body was very cold that night, her heart was warm. She knew that she had made the right decision.

As I matured and grew out of my tomboy stage I realized that instead of wanting to be a stripling warrior, I was going to marry one. And thanks to the word, at an early age I set a standard for my self, and with consistent nourishment of the word I was constantly reminded of and held true to my standard. And the wait has truly been worth it because I have found my beloved stripling warrior and on the 5th of August I will marry him, the love of my life in the SLC temple (picture). That's what the word does for me. It sets standards for me to live by.

Several years ago, Amy Stohl didn’t know exactly why she accepted a position as an au pair (similar to a nanny) with an LDS military family living in Belgium. She just felt right about it. She enjoyed her time with the Robert McBride family, and they became close friends.
Soon, however, Amy was back at BYU, where she continued work on her pre-med requirements. But she became convinced that medical school just wouldn’t be right for her, and she switched to a humanities major.
A couple of years later, the McBrides, now assigned to the U.S. Military Academy, called to tell Amy about a cadet named Shaun Greene. He’d been a student at BYU before, but was now at West Point. He was going to be at BYU for a couple of days in the fall to watch a football game, and they’d like her to meet him. Shaun and Amy got acquainted and began writing to each other.
By January, Amy was close to graduation, but was planning to stay at BYU for one more semester. “But I became restless,” she says. “I prayed for guidance, and I felt something important was coming up.”
She talked to the McBrides and decided to move to Manhattan. “I found a place to live, had a job lined up, even arranged to finish my degree by correspondence,” Amy says. “Everything seemed to be working out.

“But when I visited West Point, I had a strong impression that I had to stay, isolated as it was, so that I could understand Shaun and what he had been through. I don’t know that anyone can fully understand a cadet’s thinking without spending time at West Point.”
The understanding grew. In fact, now Shaun and Amy see each other every evening.
It’s graduation day at West Point. Time for the final parade. And even though rain will soak cadets and spectators alike, it won’t matter. Tomorrow the sun will shine, bright and hot, and the graduates, dressed in white because their gray uniforms were ruined by the storm, will receive their diplomas and commissions from the President of the United States.
A few days later, Shaun and Amy will enter the Washington D.C. Temple to be married for time and eternity. Oh, sure, by July Shaun has to report for additional training. But before that, there’s a honeymoon to attend to. It’s a matter of putting first things first.

One day a friend and I noticed a young mother standing by her stalled truck looking very frustrated and unhappy. She had several children with her. We were prompted to stop and offer help. She explained that the truck had run out of gasoline. We said we’d go get some for her so that she could stay with the children. She seemed grateful for the help but reluctant to be the one receiving it. When we returned with a container of gasoline, the woman was thankful but still a little uncomfortable about accepting our help.

Then I had an idea. I said to her, “You would offer the same help to us if we needed it!” She thought about that for a moment or two, then smiled. “You’re right.” she said. “I would!”

I no longer remember where my friend and I were going that day, but I do remember the sweet experience of helping. I’m convinced that most of us would like to stop and help, but we’re unsure of what to do, or we’re too busy or even frightened. Often, we are not properly prepared to help. And there is no handbook of instructions you can refer to in those critical moments when an individual needs you.

Like millions of Latter-day Saints all over the world, LDS youth in Russia joined in last year’s sesquicentennial commemoration of the 1847 arrival of the pioneers in the Salt Lake Valley. Like the others, they relived the trek of those who traveled by wagon and handcart to Zion. But perhaps as much or more than any other group, they truly understood what it means to be a pioneer.
“Vperiod!” Brother Brigham shouts. “Forward!” He raises his hand high and points straight ahead. The pioneers grab their handcart, grimace at the effort of pulling it, and continue past a row of apartment buildings.
Wait a minute! That’s not how the Saints got to Utah!
Not to worry. This is Vyborg, Russia. The man playing the role of President Brigham Young is actually Aleksandr B. Tomak, a district president. And the pioneers, who have only a single handcart among them, are Russians from the St. Petersburg area, gathered at a youth conference to celebrate their heritage.
Yes, these are young members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That means that not only is the journey of the pioneers part of their history; so is the visit of God the Father and his Son Jesus Christ to the Prophet Joseph Smith. So is the translation of the Book of Mormon. And so is the Restoration of the gospel in the latter days, with living prophets, temple work, and missionaries all over the world.
That’s why, as the handcart they are now pulling has journeyed from Siberia on the east to Vyborg on Russia’s western border, the “Mormons” in each location have not only pulled it through forests and mountains but also through the streets and parks of the cities where they live. They are celebrating, not only the pioneers that were, but also the pioneers they are—young people eager to live the truth and to share it with anyone willing to listen.
“I love Russia,” says Katya Medvedeva, 16, of the Nevsky Branch. “I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. And at the same time, I love being a Latter-day Saint. I know The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. It is a worldwide church. You see the members here? They are strong and happy. They believe in Heavenly Father and in Jesus Christ. They believe the gospel has been restored to the earth.”
As she walks the pioneer trail, Katya can’t help thinking about the trials faced by Church members of an earlier era. “They were driven from their homes. They faced storms, starvation, and a journey of more than a thousand miles,” she says. “Here we are on paved roads in the sunshine, when many times they had to push through the mud and shiver from cold!”
Not that today is free from challenges. “We have different tasks before us,” Katya continues. “We’re blazing trails in new ways. Sometimes it’s as simple as telling people about the Word of Wisdom. When people drink tea or coffee or alcohol, or when they smoke or use drugs, they think that if they stop they won’t have freedom anymore. But if you stop you don’t lose freedom; you gain freedom because you’re not dependent on those things anymore.”
Blazing trails. Preparing the way for others. That’s what pioneers do.
Vitaly Yakushev, 18, says that, thanks to the youth conference, he has a deeper understanding of why early pioneers went through so much to gather to Utah. Local Church leaders gave him permission to take the train from his home in Kaliningrad, located in a small slice of Russia on the Baltic Sea, across Lithuania and Latvia, then back into Russia and on to St. Petersburg and Vyborg. The distance isn’t that far, but since the train stops in nearly every town, it took 21 hours.
That might seem like a lot to go through for a youth conference, Vitaly explains. “But I believe Jesus Christ lives and that he restored his Church through Joseph Smith. To be with so many others who believe the same things brings me happiness and joy. My soul wanted to be here.”
Vitaly’s physical journey parallels the spiritual journey of another young man, Dema Nicholayev, 18, of the Tosno Branch. A year and a half ago, “I was rebellious,” he says. “I listened to heavy metal music, I had brightly colored hair, I was looking for some kind of direction, and I thought I had found it.”
Then he met the missionaries. “At first, I didn’t believe them,” Dema continues. “I didn’t believe another lifestyle could be better than mine.”
Then the missionaries introduced him to a teenage member who bore his testimony. “That touched my heart, and slowly I started to believe what they were telling me. It changed my life.” As he grew in gospel knowledge, he wanted to share what he knew.
“Now,” he says, “I’m here at the conference with two of my friends that I baptized.”
As the youth walk and walk and walk, they sing. Someone strums a guitar, and everyone joins in folk songs. At other moments, silence reigns. And every once in a while, it just seems right to sing a hymn. “Come, Come, Ye Saints” is most popular, and those who sing it sometimes cry.
“Maybe I’m a little tired from walking so much,” says Natasha Kulenech, 16, of the Kolpino Branch. “But I feel the Spirit so strong that I know I can keep going. Life is like that. Sometimes I get tired, but then I think about the gospel. Before I became a member, my life was like a black-and-white film. Now it’s living color!”
“I think I’m just a normal member of the Church,” says Genia Slepukhina, 17, of Vyborg. “I can maybe go on a hike like this, in good weather with all of my friends. But I don’t really know what it would be like in the winter without food and fuel and shoes. I don’t know if I could do what they had to do.”
But Genia has already proven she can do some things they had to do, like endure persecution. When she first joined the Church, former friends at school scorned her.
“They said, ‘You are not like we are so we won’t speak with you,’” Genia explains. “One teacher said, ‘I will quiz you every day on my subject. Every day. And I know Mormons must be truthful, so don’t lie to me if you’re not prepared.’ That was hard, because I have six or seven subjects each day, and I must prepare for every one.”
Sometimes classmates would even hit her. “But my family, Church friends, and the missionaries really helped me,” Genia says. “They gave me great examples to follow. One of the missionaries showed me Matthew 5:10–12 [Matt. 5:10–12], where the Savior says if you are persecuted because of your faith, you will be blessed. So I kept after it. I always tried to testify of the truth. I think a lot of people thought my belief was just a temporary thing, and in time it would go away. Now they know it’s here to stay.”
“For us the LDS Church is new,” says Katya Pyshnyak, 13, of the Avtovo Branch. “Nobody in our branch has been a member for more than six or seven years. So we are the first, and that makes us like pioneers. We’re trying to be examples to others, like the pioneers who crossed the plains are examples to us. They had love and believed they would reach the right place and everything would be all right when they got there. They knew that God would help them.”
She and her friend Tanya Kuznezova, 16, also from Avtovo, foresee the day when The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints will be a major influence in Russia.
“The true church must have its beginning in some country,” Katya says. “It isn’t important where it began. What is important is that it is true.”
“I think the LDS Church will be very big in Russia, that many people will want to be members,” Tanya says. “Right now people don’t understand that this is the only way we can live once again with our Heavenly Father. But some day they will understand how important it is and that they can know, as I know, that it is true.”
What do pioneers do? They go where others have not gone before, discover new things, mark a path, and prepare the way.
The Vyborg-St. Petersburg handcart company reaches the end of the trail at the shore of a lake in the forest. Here, workshops will be held and lunch served for those who have “safely completed the journey to Zion,” as President Tomak proclaims.
“Vot eto mesto!” he says, in his best Brother Brigham voice. “This is the place!”
It’s a phrase that was true 150 years ago in the valley of the Great Salt Lake. It is now a phrase that is equally true from Siberia to Vyborg, all across a vast country where modern pioneers are embracing the restored gospel today.
Two handcarts were actually used in various cities across Russia, one as a backup in case of trouble or in case activities were planned in two places on the same day. When the celebrations were through, one cart remained in Russia. The other was shipped to Church headquarters, where it was presented to President Gordon B. Hinckley, then displayed at the Church Museum of History and Art.
Members filled the handcart bound for Salt Lake City with souvenirs. The youth of St. Petersburg were eager to be part of the sharing, but what could they add to such a collection?
A perfect answer: each youth conference participant was given a sheet or two of paper. They were instructed to write their testimony, addressed to President Hinckley. Then all the testimonies were bound together in a blue velvet book trimmed with gold braid and bearing the Russian coat of arms.
Though there were many items in the cart, from teddy bears to dolls dressed in native costumes, none were more precious than the book of testimonies, a true gift from the heart.

As we moved along the line exchanging handshakes and greetings, one slight young woman shyly extended her arm. As I took it, I realized that she had no hand on it or on her other arm. We exchanged smiles and moved along.
I next encountered this young sister after she and her husband were invited to speak as a young couple married within the last eighteen months in the Manila Temple. When she arose to speak, I noticed that in addition to being born without hands, this young woman had an artificial leg. As first she and then her husband spoke, there unfolded a most remarkable story about their lives.
The stake president was her father. Despite what to others may have been a handicap, but what to her must have been only a difficulty, this young sister had completed a full-term proselyting mission. She described in beautiful terms her feelings about going to the Manila Temple to be married. Hers was a talk of such maturity in gospel understanding and humility that it would have been difficult to equal anywhere in the Church. Then her husband stood and told of how he had written to his girlfriend after being in the mission field two months and later toward the end, of how he wanted to marry her in the Manila Temple when he returned home. There were no second thoughts, no change of heart when far removed, but instead, a growing understanding of the meaning and blessing of temple marriage for them both.
As they proudly showed us their baby after conference, and when we considered the splendid achievements of this young husband and wife, we recalled the Savior’s words, “Blessed are they that hear the word of God, and keep it” (Luke 11:28).

“Graduation—the lights on the stage dimmed; the time that we had all looked forward to was finally here. The ceremony had been grand; all the pomp and circumstance to fit the occasion had been unfurled. Boy, I sure hoped my rubber nose wouldn’t fall off.” Tim Holst was graduating magna cum laude from the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus clown school. He had even been offered a job with the circus, the Greatest Show on Earth.
“How did all this happen?” he wondered. Tim had been a student at Utah State University studying to get a teaching degree so that he could teach seminary. During the summers he would work in Yellowstone Park in a little summer theater company called the Playmill Theater. Tim was playing, directing, and acting as master of ceremonies for the show when he was spotted by one of the circus promoters for Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus. The promoter liked Tim, thought he was funny, and invited him to go to the circus clown school in Florida.
Now Tim had completed the eight-week course in clowning. He had learned the fundamentals of juggling, clowning, acrobatics, gymnastics, make-up, and costuming. The offer of a one-year contract to clown for the circus was appealing. Should he accept? Tim decided not to. He was very close to graduation from college, and he felt that he should finish his schooling. He left Florida after graduating from the clown school and drove back to Utah State University to begin his winter quarter classes.
“Still, I just didn’t feel right,” Tim said. “I felt as though I should get right back to Florida and accept the offer to be a clown for the circus. After much prayer and consideration, and after talking with my parents back in Illinois, I decided to head back to Florida and begin rehearsal as a clown for the upcoming circus season. As I was settling into my new room, there came a knock on my door. I opened the door, and there stood a member of my graduating class, another Tim—Tim Torkildson. He had observed what he thought was something special about me, and Tork (that was his circus nickname) wanted to know about the Church.”
Tork said, “Tim’s life-style was different from anybody else’s, and I wanted to know more about him.”
Tim introduced his friend to the Church, and soon Tork was taking the missionary lessons. After about six weeks Tim baptized Tork in Florida, just a few days before they left on their circus tour of some forty-five cities throughout the United States and Canada. Tim now knew why he had needed to return to Florida. He was to be a “missionary clown.”

As a young child, I remember my mother reading to me the story “The Ugly Duckling,” by Hans Christian Andersen. Maybe it was because I was shy and felt like I didn’t fit in, but the memory and the moral of that story have always remained with me.
In the version that I remember, a mother duck waits patiently for her eggs to hatch into little ducklings. Before long, the fuzzy, yellow ducklings emerge to the delight of the mother duck. However, there is one slightly larger egg that still has not hatched. The mother and her ducklings wait and watch. When the egg finally cracks open, the yellow ducklings notice that this new member of the family looks different. They gather around him and declare to their mother and father, “He’s not like us. He’s ugly.” They leave him alone in the nest and swim away. The ugly duckling wanders away from the nest and tries to hide. Every encounter he has is negative and discouraging. He would often think to himself, “Everyone hates me because I’m ugly.”
Then a miracle takes place in his life. He sees others who look and act just like he does! He becomes friends with them, and they take him to their mother and ask, “Mother, Mother, we’ve found a little brother! Can he stay with us forever?” The beautiful, graceful swan mother folds her white wing around the ugly duckling and says to him in a gentle voice, “You’re not a duckling at all! You are a little swan, and someday you will be the king of the pond.”
I loved hearing this story as a child. I didn’t realize that the lessons I learned from it would help me through my difficult teenage years. I was baptized a member of the Church when I was eight, but gradually my family became less active.
In the small town in Idaho where I grew up, there was a movie theater that featured an afternoon matinee every Saturday. I would always go with two or three of my friends. The theater would show a short movie about sports and another about current events. The main feature was usually a cowboy movie with lots of action.
One Saturday during intermission, the staff wheeled out a 10-speed bicycle. It was red, it was beautiful, and they were going to give it away to the person in the audience who had the winning ticket stub! Oh, how I wanted that bicycle!
The announcer reached into the container and pulled out a ticket. As he read the number on the ticket, I discovered that I had the winning ticket. Yet I didn’t move or say anything. I was too shy and embarrassed. I did not have enough confidence in myself to stand and let everyone know that I had the winning ticket. He announced the winning number two more times, and each time I held the ticket down so that no one could see it. Finally, the announcer read another number. One of the friends I came to the movie with happened to have the new number. He jumped up, screamed, and ran to the stage to claim his bicycle. That bicycle could have been mine!
As I walked home alone from the movies that Saturday, I thought of the story of the ugly duckling. I was feeling a lot like that little swan. I felt like I was wandering around in the woods trying to hide and that no one liked me. I didn’t realize who I was or what I could become. By the time I arrived home, I knew something had to change. I remember thinking, “It’s time to grow up. That will never happen to me again.”
I began to discover that there were others around me who loved and cared about me. My ward bishopric took an interest in me, as did my stake president, who lived just down the street from me. They taught me the gospel. They bore their testimonies to me of the reality of the Savior and His precious Atonement and what it could do for me. They read to me repeatedly the story of Joseph Smith and his vision in the Sacred Grove. From that experience I have developed the wonderful habit of reading Joseph Smith—History every week. By doing so, I know that I can have the strength to overcome anything placed before me that week.
At that time in my life, when I needed someone so badly, my Heavenly Father blessed me. He knew who I was, and He sent His servants to help me discover that for myself. They wrapped their arms around me and told me by their actions that I wasn’t an ugly duckling at all and that if I was worthy and kept the commandments of God, I could become “the king of the pond.” The blessing and understanding of the Atonement began to give me added strength and confidence.
When I reached the age of 16, these good men encouraged me to receive a patriarchal blessing. After I received my recommend, I got on my old bike and rode several miles to the patriarch’s home. He explained once again what a patriarchal blessing is and how it would bless my life. He laid his hands on my head. After that experience, my life was never the same.
I accepted a mission call to Scotland and had a wonderful experience. A few weeks after I returned home, I met my future wife at a Church meeting. We dated, and I proposed marriage. We were married in the Salt Lake Temple.
One sentence in my patriarchal blessing indicates that I would be permitted to live in mortality with an angel. At the time the patriarch gave me that blessing, I didn’t know what an angel was, let alone the meaning of the phrase. As I left the temple the day my wife and I were sealed, I knew what it meant. She has been the light of my life. Thanks to her, I have been permitted to live in an environment of light. She has brought joy and happiness to our 8 children, 25 grandchildren, and 2 great-grandchildren. My children have all come to call her blessed. I give thanks to God for the blessings of the gospel and the eternal blessings of the covenants and ordinances of the holy temple.
Satan would have us believe that we are ugly ducklings with no chance of becoming like our Heavenly Father and His holy Son. I bear witness that God loves each of us in special ways. As Elder Neal A. Maxwell (1926–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said so often, “God’s personal shaping influence is felt in the details of our lives.”1 We are His children. I have come to know that we can rise above our current environment and become “kings and queens of the pond” by following the gospel commandments.
I know something else. I know who you are and where you came from. The revelations remind us of our faithfulness in the premortal life (see Revelation 12:7–11; D&C 138:56; Abraham 3:22–23). As we tie our testimonies to that great truth, each day becomes a wonderful blessing for each of us.
Stay on the Lord’s side of the line. If He can take care of a bashful, shy boy like me, He will take care of you now and in the future. You are a chosen son or daughter of God. Choose to live up to the divine potential that lies within you.

I had a friend in my branch of the Church in Russia with whom I socialized at all Church activities. We had a lot in common, I had a lot of fun with him, and I was glad to have such a good friend.
But then something strange happened. For no reason that I could determine, he offended me badly. He did not ask for forgiveness, and I stopped associating with him. I did not even greet him on Sundays. That went on for two months. I was hurt and unhappy, but he said nothing.
Then I found out he was leaving our city. I didn’t think our relationship should stay the way it was; I thought we should reconcile. About then I remembered a scripture from the Book of Mormon: “Go thy way unto thy brother, and first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come unto me with full purpose of heart, and I will receive you” (3 Nephi 12:24).
It was difficult for me to humble myself and take the first step, but I prayed and then called him. I didn’t know what his reaction would be, and I was ready for the worst. What I heard shocked me.
He sincerely asked me for forgiveness, and I could tell by his voice that he had suffered a lot because of his action—just as I had. Most of all, I remember one sentence that he repeated three times: “Natal’ya, thanks for calling!”
I was so happy! He moved a short time later, but we separated the best of friends.
Learning to love and forgive each other is one of our most difficult tasks. Forgiveness—especially when we are not at fault—requires that we be humble and overcome our pride. I learned that taking the first step to forgive and reconcile is worth it.

That night, Chase’s parents gathered the family together for family home evening. After the opening prayer, Chase’s father said, “Tonight we’re going to talk about two of your ancestors—your great-great-grandparents, Joshua and Elizabeth McGowan.
“I think you older children have heard about them already, but Chase and Emily probably haven’t. I just felt impressed that I should tell you their story. As a young man, Joshua joined the Church in England and soon afterward came to America and settled in Kirtland, Ohio. There he met a lovely young woman named Elizabeth Sanders, who was also a member of the Church. They married and bought a farm with money Joshua had saved in England.
“One night,” Chase’s father continued, “an angry mob came and burned all their crops. They burned the barn and their farmhouse. Everything was destroyed. Elizabeth and Joshua had to start all over. Joshua became a blacksmith, and he did that for the rest of his life. They moved to Nauvoo and then later went to Utah with the Saints.”
“But wait—I don’t understand why those people burned their farm,” Chase interrupted.
“Simply because Joshua and Elizabeth were members of the Church,” Dad explained.
“But they must have done something to make those people so mad,” Chase insisted.
“No, Son, they didn’t do anything. It’s just that back then, being a member of the Church was often dangerous. Many people didn’t like members of the Church.”
“Why not?”
“Because they were different. They belonged to a new religion. Most folks didn’t know what the Church was really about. It’s just human nature, I guess, for some people to resent anything that’s new or different.”
“Well, it doesn’t make sense, Dad.” Chase frowned.
“No, Son, it doesn’t.”
That night Chase lay awake thinking about Joshua and Elizabeth and Derek and Gishi.
Tuesday morning was cold and cloudy. It wasn’t hard for Chase to go to school on such a dreary day. As he parked his bike at the rack, Chase heard Derek’s voice coming from the playground.
As he walked over, Chase saw Derek pointing his finger and making fun of Gishi. Gishi bowed his head and looked nervously at the crowd forming around him. Some of the boys and girls snickered.
Chase ran up to Derek. “Knock it off!”
“What?”
“You heard me, Derek. Leave him alone.” Chase looked Derek right in the eye so he would know he was serious. Derek stared back at Chase. Finally, Derek shrugged.
“I was just fooling around,” Derek muttered as he walked away.
“Are you OK?” Chase asked Gishi.
“Yes. OK.”
“Believe it or not, Derek’s really not so bad. I think he just needs time to get to know you.”
Gishi said nothing, but nodded.
Then Chase asked, “Do you want to come to my house after school and play video games?”
Gishi smiled shyly. “Yes. Fine. You live where?” Chase wrote down his address and gave it to Gishi.
That afternoon, the two boys played video games for a while, then talked about some of the differences between English and Chinese. They took turns pantomiming various actions and having the other say the word for the action in his language.
Gishi wrote something on a paper and showed it to Chase. “This is you in Chinese.”
Chase looked at the pencil strokes shooting out at different angles. “You mean that’s the word for ‘Chase’ in Chinese?”
“No,” Gishi said. “Friend.”
“Love one another. Be kind to one another despite our … differences.”Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Doctrine of Inclusion,” Ensign, Nov. 2001, 38.

Another great lesson was learned when as a young man of eighteen I took a summer job with the U.S. Forest Service. One of our duties was to be part of a twenty-man fire crew that could be called out from time to time to fight wildfires. Earlier, a wildfire had claimed the lives of four firefighters when in a panic they failed to follow the direction of their crew boss and tried to outrun an unexpected and fierce advance of a fire. The shockwaves of that incident were felt all around the region, and rigorous training ensued. Following the command of the crew boss without question or hesitation was given particular emphasis.
We fought several fires that season, and then, late in August, our crew was called out to fight a wildfire in Southern California. This was a large fire that had many crews dispatched to fight it. Our crew, along with two other crews, was assigned a sector of the fire. It was a chaparral brush fire that had a tremendously fine fuel load of dried grasses and weeds in the understory. We were obliged to make a two-mile hike from the nearest road through the brush to where the fire was burning.
It was not a particularly intense blaze, and we were to build black line—a fire line right against the burning edge of the fire. As our three twenty-man crews, marching single file through the brush, approached the fire, the sector boss suddenly appeared on a nearby ridgeline. His urgent command was to become indelibly impressed upon my mind. His voice screamed through our radios, “She’s blowing up, she’s blowing up! Into the burn!”
My pulse raced and my heart sank as I watched the small campfire-type flames, fanned on by an intense wind shift, transform into a raging inferno racing directly toward us. The command “Into the burn!” meant that we would charge through the fire and into the area where the fire had consumed the fuel. My instinctive impulse was to turn and run, and I could see others considering that option. Our crew boss, without hesitation, reiterated the command “Into the burn!” and though it did not seem the intuitive thing to do, my training and my memory of the tragic earlier deaths compelled me to follow my leader through that wall of fire. On the other side we found a blackened moonscape where the fire could not return. With eyes and lungs burning from the heat in the whirling smoke and ash, we resorted to dancing on the top of hot rocks to protect our feet from the searing deep ash. We had made the right decision and were preserved.
After about thirty minutes the wind died down, and we were able to cross back out of the burn and begin our black line. That was an intense lesson that helped me to understand the importance of knowing in advance who you should trust and follow without hesitation, especially when the correct choice may be obscured by our own limited experience or instinctive bias.
That lesson was reinforced in my life just a few years ago when I was invited to participate in a grizzly bear study in Alaska, where we were to observe the response of grizzlies to the influences of smells, sounds, and colors that humans bring into the backcountry. Part of that experience was a safety training session that included instruction of what to do if approached or charged by a bear. If we were charged by a grizzly, the instruction we received was to turn and face the bear (do not run and invoke the predator/prey killing response), make yourself as big in posture as possible, and yell at the bear to go away. Well, I had been in Alaska before and had searched to see a bear with no such luck, so I wasn’t too concerned and took the training somewhat lightly.
Shortly after the training, the bear biologist who had trained us asked if I wanted to go with him to wade the river and count bears. Of course I couldn’t wait. We donned our chest waders and were off for a two-kilometer walk in a river. I couldn’t believe all the bears and how close we were and how much they didn’t seem to care. In that walk we counted over forty grizzly bears.
On our way back we got behind a mother bear and her three little cubs. She was going painfully slow, and I suggested we pass her. The biologist said that was only a good idea if I was tired of breathing. So we followed patiently behind the bears until we reached a place where the river made a great horseshoe bend and we had our chance to cut through on a brushy trail to get ahead of her. In our haste we apparently intruded on another bear that we hadn’t seen, and as I waddled down the path behind my guide, I heard the huff and paw pounding of a bear coming up behind us. I spun and saw a large bear coming upon us fast. The biologist, true to his training, faced the attack, taking up a firm stand—right behind me! As I turned to face the bear, armed only with my small can of bear mace, it dawned on me why they had invited this great big, juicy botanist to join the party. I mean, what bear in their right mind would choose a tofu–diet-burger biologist when they could have the super–double-deluxe meal of a tender and juicy botanist—and, yes, fries with that!
While turning to run seemed the prudent thing to do, I trusted and followed the instruction I had received. Facing the bear, in my deepest, most menacing voice I yelled repeatedly, “Go away, bear! Go away!” The bear pulled up just short of me, paused for an eternal moment, twisted her head back and forth, and finally turned and slipped away into the underbrush. As I regained my faculties, I realized that I had begun to breathe again. After checking to be sure that I still had all of my body parts and functions, I trundled off back to camp, following my biologist friend who was explaining that this charge “wasn’t really so bad!”

I am a convert and the only Church member in my family. I’ve learned that one of the sacred ordinances is baptism for the dead. I went to the temple on a tour, and while listening to the host talk about the ordinances, I felt a still, small voice tell me to go to the family history center to submit a temple ordinance request for my mother, who had passed away. I was so happy when the FamilySearch account later confirmed that her temple work was done. It strengthened my testimony, and I know that one of the reasons why we are here on this earth is to help our ancestors receive the true gospel of Jesus Christ.
Marvin S., Philippines

For more than a century, the national bicycle racing teams of Great Britain had been the laughingstock of the cycling world. Mired in mediocrity, British riders had managed only a handful of gold medals in 100 years of Olympic competitions and had been even more underwhelming in cycling’s marquee event, the three-week long Tour de France—where no British rider had prevailed in 110 years. So sorry was the plight of British riders that some bike manufacturers refused to even sell bikes to the Brits, fearing it would forever sully their hard-won reputations. And despite devoting enormous resources into cutting-edge technology and every newfangled training regimen, nothing worked.
Nothing, that is, until 2003, when a small, largely unnoticed change occurred that would forever alter the trajectory of British cycling. That new approach would also reveal an eternal principle—with a promise—regarding our ofttimes perplexing mortal quest to improve ourselves. So what happened in British cycling that has great relevance to our personal pursuit to be better daughters and sons of God?
In 2003, Sir Dave Brailsford was hired. Unlike previous coaches who attempted dramatic, overnight turnarounds, Sir Brailsford instead committed to a strategy he referred to as “the aggregation of marginal gains.” This entailed implementing small improvements in everything. That meant constantly measuring key statistics and targeting specific weaknesses.
It’s somewhat akin to the prophet Samuel the Lamanite’s notion of “walk[ing] circumspectly.” This broader, more holistic view avoids the trap of being myopically fixated on just the obvious problem or sin at hand. Said Brailsford, “The whole principle came from the idea that if you broke down everything you could think of that goes into riding a bike, and then improved it by 1 percent, you will get a significant increase when you put them all together.”
Brailsford’s small gains began with the obvious, such as equipment, kit fabrics, and training patterns. But his team didn’t stop there. They continued to find 1 percent improvements in overlooked and unexpected areas such as nutrition and even maintenance nuances. Over time, these myriads of micro-betterments aggregated into stunning results, which came faster than anyone could have imagined. Truly, they were onto the eternal principle of “line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little.”
So, does this pocket-sized approach to repentance and real change really work? Is the proof in the pedaling, so to speak? Consider what’s happened to British cycling in the past two decades since implementing this philosophy. British cyclists have now won the storied Tour de France an astonishing six times. During the past four Olympic Games, Great Britain has been the most successful country across all cycling disciplines. And in the recently concluded Tokyo Olympics, the UK won more gold medals in cycling than any other country.

One young man changed forever my feelings about the value of that gift, and what it means to be a child of promise. Bob Allen was an undergraduate at Stanford University when I was his bishop. He left his schooling to serve a mission in Japan. He came back to school, took up his studies, and lived in a world of too many demands and too little time.
One day I was sitting at my desk in the graduate school of business at Stanford. I looked up and saw two people. I remember that their faces seemed to shine. Suddenly, Bob Allen stepped between them and, smiling as broadly as they were, said, “These are two new bishops from Japan.” They could speak little English, but I could tell they loved Bob Allen and, because of something he must have told them, they loved me. I thought then, as I have many times since, how remarkable it was that he had found time to spend days with those young men from Japan.
I spoke in a sacrament meeting in Tokyo ten years later. The person who had introduced me mentioned that I had been at Stanford. Two young people, a couple, rushed to me after the meeting and said, “Did you know Bob Allen? We love him.”
Later I was in Tokyo again. Of all the excellent presentations made to me, one seemed most remarkable. I asked to see the man who had made it. He was introduced and then said, “We have met before, at Stanford University.” He was the young man, now older, who had stood with his fellow bishop in my office door. He told me about his life, and the life of the other man, now a great leader in Japan. In that moment, I learned again, in my heart as well as my head, what it means to have a royal inheritance of time, and how a child of promise, who believes the promises, can invest it to produce returns for eternity.