Gospel Story Finder

My family was flying from Buenos Aires, Argentina, to a town in the north of that country called Posadas. I was 15, and although I had been on airplanes before, I was not used to flying in a plane as small as that one was. It held about 50 people and must have been about 50 years old. I got a shiver down my back at the thought of crashing but dismissed the idea. The plane was a little shaky, like me at that moment, but I was not terrified because I was with my family
As we began to cross over a large body of water, the plane started to tremble and shake a lot. The terror I had been keeping at bay suddenly overwhelmed me. I closed my eyes and, almost instinctively, said a prayer. I had learned to always pray when in trouble.
As I was asking my Heavenly Father for protection, I felt a calm assurance that everything would be all right. I opened my eyes and looked out my window. It was early morning, and while I had been saying my prayer the sunlight and the lake had merged to make the sky and water a deep blue—both foaming with puffs of heavenly white. It was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever beheld.
My fear left, and the clouds that once caused the plane to tremble now seemed like Heavenly Father’s loving arms,
Feeling safe, I began to study the water and the sky, imagining the raging storms that must occur in both. I thought about my own life, with all of the daily problems, or storms, that I am constantly getting caught in.
Though I had heen a member of the Church all my life, I had never realized before the great influence Heavenly Father can have. I knew then that he truly has provided an escape from the storms of the world. I realized that by praying and by holding to the iron rod, I could rise above the storms and reach spiritual heights where I could feel his love.
I have prayed every day since I was old enough to know how to without ever knowing my prayers were heard. But that day in the sky over Argentina, a simple prayer opened my eyes. That new awareness was only a starting point, but it helped me understand how much love Heavenly Father has for me. That’s one of the many ways I kow that he lives and that I should always call on him in prayer.

Among many unsigned letters I have received was one of particular interest. It contained a twenty-dollar bill and a brief note which stated that the writer had come to my home many years ago. When there had been no response to the bell, he had tried the door and, finding it unlocked, had entered and walked about. On the dresser he saw a twenty-dollar bill, took it, and left. Through the years his conscience had bothered him, and he was now returning the money.
He did not include anything for interest for the period during which he had used my money. But as I read his pathetic letter, I thought of the usury to which he had subjected himself for a quarter of a century with the unceasing nagging of his conscience. For him there had been no peace until he had made restitution.

I remember the first day I went inside the Salt Lake Temple. A white-haired lady in a white temple dress greeted me. She said, “Welcome to the temple, Brother Eyring.” I thought for a moment she was an angel because she knew my name. I forgot that my name was on a small card pinned to my suit coat.
I looked up at the high white ceiling. The room was so light that it seemed it was open to the sky. I felt that I had been there before. Then I felt that I had been in a sacred place like that before I was born.
The words “Holiness to the Lord” are written on the outside of all our temples. I know that those words are true. The temple is a holy place where revelation comes to us easily if our hearts are open to it.
I pray that you will want to go there, where you can feel close to the Lord. You can help your ancestors be with Him and with you forever.

President Marion G. Romney tells of this incident which happened to him:

I remember years ago when I was a Bishop I had President [Heber J.] Grant talk to our ward. After the meeting I drove him home. . . .Standing by me, he put his arm over my shoulder and said: “My boy, you always keep your eye on the President of the Church, and if he ever tells you to do anything, and it is wrong, and you do it, the Lord will bless you for it.” Then with a twinkle in his eye, he said, “But you don’t need to worry. The Lord will never let his mouthpiece lead the people astray.” [In Conference Report, October 1960, p. 78]

Even as we strive with all our might to fulfill our mission, we will all have experiences we would rather avoid. But these experiences, as unpleasant as they may be, can be most helpful to us. My next area of mission service was made up of sixteen small islands. Because the mission was so short of missionaries, I had no companion. My only instructions were that I should preach the gospel and build up the Church in my area.

Often I took members of the Church on some of those islands, and I often took them with me on preaching trips. We mostly traveled by small sailboat. One day as we were sailing to our home island, the weather became very rough. Suddenly we found ourselves in the middle of a tropical storm which was very dangerous. As two huge waves came toward us, the captain shouted to the six of us on board the boat, “Abandon ship!”

We dove into the sea as those waves smashed our tiny boat, leaving us struggling for our lives. Exerting all our efforts, we headed for a small island we had passed earlier. After swimming for about one hour, we finally made it to the shore, exhausted but alive. The storm passed rather rapidly, but we were still stranded on the island for several days before we were able to make our way home over much friendlier seas.

How much more I appreciated life and solid ground than I had before. We don’t begin to understand or appreciate life as we should until we sense the closeness of death. This whole experience gave me a new outlook and appreciation for life.

While I would not have chosen that experience in the sea or some other experiences I had, much of my subsequent happiness and joy can be traced back to some of those so-called “unwanted” experiences. We don’t need to seek these experiences. They find us more often than we may desire. All we have to do is try with all our might to live the way we should, remember on our goal, and leave the rest to the Lord.

Through it all, my parents were great. They have always taught me how to make decisions. I remember when I was 14 and I was invited to play on an all-star team made up mostly of 16-year-olds. That was very exciting, but then I found out the team played every day—including Sunday. As soon as my coach said that, it just mortified me inside because I knew there was this great opportunity but there was also the issue of playing on Sunday.

I really didn’t know what to do, only that I had to make a decision before I talked to the coach. So I got down on my knees to pray, and I had this feeling that I should not play on Sunday. When I told the coach about not wanting to play on Sunday, he was totally fine with that idea. He told me he respected my decision, and that I could still play for the team.

Things don’t always go perfectly for everyone. All prayers aren’t always answered in the way we expect. Such was the case for one Laurel who would have given anything to have her non-LDS mother at the encampment with her.
“I prayed all summer long that my mom would share this weekend with me,” she said. “She didn’t. I cried, and I felt pretty down. I saw all the love between the mothers and daughters here, and I wished I could have that too. I have a friend here who was in the same position, so we decided to kneel down, just the two of us, and pray.
“I’ve never felt the Spirit so strong in all my life,” she continued. “I knew that Heavenly Father was right there with me. I knew that I’m his daughter and that I’m loved by him.”
Her mother did not attend the encampment with her, but she was able to learn about the love of another Parent. Knowing of that love and of her own divine nature will sustain her through trials for the rest of her life, and enables her to add a magnificent blue to the rainbow.

At times the performance of duty, the response to a divine call, or the reaction to a spiritual prompting is not overwhelming. On occasion, however, the duty to respond is downright overpowering. I experienced such a situation prior to the general conference of April 1966. That’s 35 years ago, but I remember it vividly.
I had received my assignment to speak at one of the conference sessions and had prepared and committed to memory a message entitled “Meeting Your Goliath.” This was based on the account of the famous battle waged by David and Goliath of olden times.
Then I received a telephone call from President David O. McKay. The conversation went about like this: “Brother Monson, this is President McKay calling. How are you?”
I took a deep breath and answered, “Oh, I’m fine, President, and looking forward to conference.”
“That’s why I’m calling, Brother Monson. The Saturday morning session will be rebroadcast on Sunday as our Easter message to the world. I will be speaking to an Easter theme and would like you to join me and speak during that important session to that type of theme.”
“Of course, President. I will be happy to do so.”
That’s when the extent of this brief conversation really dawned on me. All of a sudden “Meeting Your Goliath” didn’t quite measure up to an Easter message. I knew I must begin to prepare all over again. There was so little time. Indeed, my “Goliath” stood before me.
That night I cleared the kitchen table and placed my typewriter on the tabletop along with a ream of bond paper, with a trusty wastepaper basket by my side to hold all the false starts that accompany such an assignment of preparation. I began at about 7:00 p.m. and had not written a satisfactory line by 1:00 a.m. The wastebasket was filled, but my mind certainly was not. What was I to do? The clock was running—indeed, it was racing. I paused to pray.
Soon thereafter there came to my mind the sadness of my neighbors Mark and Wilma Shumway in the recent loss of their youngest child. I thought to myself, “Perhaps I could speak directly to them and peripherally to all others, for who hasn’t lost a dear one and had occasion to grieve?” My fingers raced over the typewriter keyboard but could barely keep up with my thoughts.
As the first dim light of morning peered through our kitchen window, I had finished the message. The task remained to learn it and then deliver it to the world. Rarely have I struggled so hard to fill a prophetic assignment. However, Heavenly Father had heard my prayer. I shall never forget the experience.

When I turned 18, I wanted to serve a full-time mission and help in the Lord’s work. I eagerly told my parents about my plan and how I wanted to invite people to come unto Jesus Christ by helping them receive and live the principles and ordinances of the gospel. Their response surprised me. They said it broke their hearts to think of me leaving on a mission, and I had to choose: my family or my mission.
I was shocked when I heard those words. Immediately I went to the Church building near our home and entered one of its rooms to kneel and ask Heavenly Father, “What will I do? What will I choose: my family or my mission? Both are important to me.”
While on my knees, the words of the missionaries came to mind: “Whatever God commands, do it.”
I love my family and want to be with them forever. I respect their feelings. Yet the scripture says, “To obey is better than sacrifice” (1 Samuel 15:22). The Spirit of the Lord filled me, and I was strengthened. I decided to serve because I knew Heavenly Father would help my family understand.
I went home only to be sent away by my father’s angry words and told to never return. Not knowing where to go, I packed my things. I was not a bit scared, because I knew the Lord was with me, that He has a plan for every family, and that someday my family would understand this beautiful plan.
I was only a few steps away from home when my mother caught me. She embraced me and said how much she loved me. As I left, I could see her crying with all the love and pain of a mother seeing her child go.
For over a year, I stayed in the house of a returned missionary I had met when I was an investigator. The Lord was true to His promise in 1 Nephi 3:7—He provided the way so I could obey His commandments. He sent this selfless and generous man to provide for me and to create a spiritual environment where I could prepare for my mission. I felt the hand of God sustaining me through my challenges. I felt the love of our Savior Jesus Christ through His atoning sacrifice. This love carried me through my trials until I was set apart as a full-time missionary in the Philippines Cauayan Mission.
A few months later, I received a letter from my family telling me they were waiting for my return. I never lost faith and hope that my whole family would become members of the Church, be sealed in the temple for all eternity, and be with our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, someday.

“My mother was only five feet two inches tall. A very capable individual, she had been a schoolteacher before I was born, and she was an elocutionist (one who excels in public speaking). Before I started school, she taught me all the things that are taught in the first, second, and third grades. When my two brothers and two sisters came along, she didn’t have as much time to spend teaching me, and then I was just ordinary in school.

“During the Depression, my grandfather came to live with us. He had crossed the plains eighteen times, bringing people to Utah from Missouri. He would get an assignment to do this just as you might be assigned to work on the welfare farm. I sat at his feet and listened to his stories about hauling rocks for the temple, crossing the plains, and hunting bears. He was a good hunter—he had to be to survive.

“This grandfather was a stake clerk, and he would go around the stake to audit the books. He would travel in a horse and buggy maybe forty miles to a town where a ward was, audit the books, stay overnight, then go twenty-five miles to another town. One time when he was in Oak City, he had a feeling that he should return home that night. He hitched up his horse and buggy and drove twenty-six miles to his home, getting there just as the sun was coming up. He hurried into the house and asked his wife what was wrong. She told him that their youngest daughter was near death. He blessed the little girl, and she was made well.

“My mother’s mother really made an impression on me. When I was nine, she had a stroke and could no longer speak. I remember her lying on a bed in my aunt’s home. The doctor thought that she should have a stimulant, so he had some coffee prepared to give to her. She had never drunk coffee, and I can still see the fire in her eyes as she let the doctor know that she wasn’t going to drink any then, either! He got the message, and she didn’t get the coffee.

“My other grandmother, my dad’s mother, was a visiting teacher to a family during a flu epidemic after World War I. The whole family was sick with the flu; three of them had already died. My grandmother went into their home and took care of them and even dressed the bodies of the dead members in preparation for their funeral. I have always been impressed with what a faithful visiting teacher she was.

“I myself came down with smallpox, a deadly disease in those days. I was isolated in the granary, which had a stove. Pillows were tied on my hands so that I couldn’t scratch the big pox that covered my body. The Lord blessed me so that today I don’t have any pockmarks. I also had diphtheria, another deadly disease, and the Lord spared my life then too.

“I loved school and had some wonderful teachers. One of them was ElRay L. Christiansen, who later became a General Authority. He would tell us about different pieces of music and make them live for us. I still have a great love for opera and classical music.”

Number 50 Rock Street, Lowell, Massachusetts, could be the home of any one of thousands of southeast Asian families that have settled in this city of 100,000. But 50 Rock Street is the home of Chea Touch (pronounced Cheea Tooch), a 15-year-old Cambodian boy who was baptized three years ago. A member of the Lowell Branch, this remarkable young man has been directly responsible for the baptisms of many other Asian friends.
“It has not been easy for my family and me to come to a new country. There are many things we don’t understand, and we have many struggles. The elders have shown us that they care about us and they want us to be happy,” says Chea. He adds, “I’ve always known I have a Heavenly Father who loves me. It’s been wonderful to learn more about him and know what I must do to return to him. I want my friends to know the truth so they can have the happiness I do.”
Chea’s story begins in 1987 when two elders, Paul Gooch and Garrett Black, were assigned to the Massachusetts Boston Mission. Since there had not been elders in Lowell for a number of years, they felt it was appropriate to seek special help from Heavenly Father on the missionary effort. At the time there were only two Cambodian families who were members of the Church in that area.
Elder Gooch’s journal entry of April 11, 1987, reads: “On this beautiful, clear, spring day, Elder Black and I went upon the top of Fort Hill overlooking the city. We asked that Lowell be blessed as a place of refuge for the Asian people where they could rest in peace and safety, where the Spirit could dwell amidst them in their homes.” Both elders felt inspired. The entry continues. “We asked that Lowell be blessed as a place where the Asians might come to know Jesus as their Savior.”
The elders’ first meeting with Chea was quite accidental. Looking for another family, they happened to knock on his door. Chea was the only family member who spoke English. In the course of their conversation, he told them that he loved Jesus, wanted to find a church, and made them promise to take him to church the next Sunday. Elder Gooch recalls, “I was very impressed with Chea. He was extremely mature and seemed like a 25-year-old in a 12-year-old body.” Chea’s parents told the elders that their son had visited several Christian churches on his own, but “didn’t feel right in any of them.”
Chea’s maturity is no doubt a result of many of the things he has experienced in his young life. Like many Cambodians who have found refuge in the United States, Chea and his family are survivors. He was four and his sister Soph was ten in 1979 when they escaped with their parents from Cambodia and made their way to the Kavidan refugee camp in Thailand.
They lived in the refugee camp until 1984, when relief organizations sponsored their relocation to the United States. They’ve been in Lowell, Massachusetts, since then. Chea now has two younger sisters: Lundi, who is eight, and Dani, age six.
After hearing the discussions and attending sacrament meeting, Chea knew he had found what he was looking for. “The people are so nice. I feel I belong. As I learn the scriptures and read the Book of Mormon, I can feel Heavenly Father’s love for me.” Chea loves to sing and adds, “The music makes me very happy.” Although his parents have taken the missionary lessons, attended church often, and fully support Chea, they have not joined the Church. (As a Buddhist monk, Chea’s father made certain commitments that he feels would be violated should he join another religion.)
After his baptism, Chea and the elders became very good friends. “Almost every day Chea would come to our apartment,” recalls Elder Gooch. “He would tell us about friends and relatives he wanted us to visit. Sometimes we had a hard time keeping up!”
Smiling, Chea recalls the first person he told the elders about. “Sothom Chea was in my class at school. At first I was afraid of him. I thought he didn’t like me. I asked him if he would like to meet my friends, Elder Black and Elder Gooch. When Sothom said yes I was surprised but very, very happy.” Chea accompanied the elders to all of Sothom’s discussions. He says, “I enjoyed translating the lessons. I learned so much. I could feel the Holy Spirit. Besides, it was fun.”
Old as well as young have benefited from Chea’s desire to share his new-found knowledge. His neighbor, Sophon Heng, a mother of four, and her elderly mother Hong Heng were baptized as a result of Chea’s efforts. Sophon recalls, “Chea was so kind to us. He asked us if we would like to meet two men who would teach us and make us happy. When we said yes, Chea and the elders came to our home each week and taught us the gospel.”
For Chea it is not a sacrifice but a real joy to share Heavenly Father’s message. “Each time I go with the elders I seem to learn something new. I enjoy learning about how to return to Heavenly Father—what I must do and what I must avoid.”
Irene Danjou, Chea’s former Primary president, remembers, “Each Sunday he would bring a different friend to church. He’d introduce them to me, spell their names, tell me their ages, and sit with them until they felt comfortable. Then he would go to his own class. He did this every week for a whole year!”
One example of Chea’s diligence and enthusiasm as a young missionary is recorded in Elder Gooch’s journal: “I was home for lunch, trying to prepare a talk for zone conference. Somehow I just couldn’t get my thoughts together. The telephone rang. It was Chea. He told me that he wanted Elder Black and me to visit the Vongs, a Cambodian family that had been in Lowell for a year. They were praying and fasting to find a church they could attend.”
Saveth Vong and her three children, Chetena, Chendra, and Tola, had narrowly escaped execution. Her husband, a pilot in the Cambodian Army, had been captured. Saveth and her children managed to get out of prison three days before they were scheduled to be shot.
Chea smiles as he recalls his and the elder’s first visit to the Vong home. “Everyone seemed so eager to learn. There were many questions. The Spirit was very strong.” Although the Vongs used a Book of Mormon printed in Cambodian, they needed help with gospel principles. Chea played an important role, assisting the elders as he translated discussions and shared his own experiences in the Church. Elder Gooch’s journal entry continues, “Day after day, Chea sat quietly by Saveth helping her understand the things we taught. He never seemed to tire of the message of the gospel.”
Indeed, as Chea taught the gospel his testimony grew. He recalls, “I remember reading 3 Nephi 27:7: ‘Therefore, whatsoever ye shall do, ye shall do it in my name; therefore ye shall call the church in my name; and ye shall call upon the Father in my name that he will bless the church for my sake.’ I thought, how could it be that I’ve never seen this scripture before? It makes so much sense. Heavenly Father’s true church must be named after his Son!”
This scripture also confirmed for Chea what he knew in his heart was true—that if he prayed to Heavenly Father in the name of Jesus and asked for help to share the gospel message, Heavenly Father would bless his efforts.
When the Vongs made the decision to be baptized, Chea was delighted. Elder Gooch recalls that evening, “While we were driving home, Chea asked Elder Black and me to stop by a grove of trees in a nearby park so that we could thank Heavenly Father. We took turns giving thanks and expressing our joy. When we were finished, Chea climbed on my shoulders. After a few quiet moments Chea lovingly looked down, flashed his big smile and said, “The Holy Ghost is with us, Gooch, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Chea, it sure is.”
“I know—I felt it!”
The Vongs were baptized a week later.
Chea loves to fish and play basketball and enjoys video games. Like other Cambodian youth in America, he plays an important role in helping his parents learn their new language and culture. The adults spend long hours working to make ends meet and don’t have much free time to learn English. The youth, on the other hand, pick up the language quickly and bring it home. Chea’s been particularly fortunate. Along with his regular public school classes, he’s in a special program at a private learning center. Director of the center Joan O’Brien sees Chea as a unique child. “I think he’s a youngster who will be a real leader in the Cambodian culture. He’s like a water pitcher that cannot be filled.”

Christmas was coming, and the first grade class of Mrs. Blackhurst and Mrs. Saunders at Barratt Elementary in American Fork, Utah, had really looked forward to making gingerbread houses. Best friends Jessica and Brooke were in the class together. When the long-awaited day arrived, each carefully and lovingly decorated her gingerbread house with candies and icing. They were really pleased with their finished creations.
After school, they could hardly wait to take their treasured gingerbread houses home to show their families. As they walked down the hall, Brooke’s gingerbread house slipped off its plate and fell to the ground. It splattered all over the floor of the school. Heartbroken, she and Jessica picked up the pieces and continued their walk home.
At home, Jessica cried and cried because she didn’t know how to help her friend feel better. Then Mom suggested, “Why don’t you give her your gingerbread house?” Jessica thought about it and decided that even though she loved her gingerbread house, that’s what she would do.
She took it to Brooke’s house and gave it to her. Brooke stopped crying and asked Jessica if she wanted to stay and play. The girls shared the broken gingerbread house, and they both felt happy. Brooke felt good inside to know that she had a true friend.
Later, Brooke’s dad told Jessica that her sacrifice was the most Christlike thing he had seen all season. Jessica said that she felt good and that she learned that if you do Christlike things, you will feel happy too.

Some years ago I was teaching a graduate-level required course to a group of students who were in their final semester of a master's program. As I read the major papers that had been submitted just two weeks before the planned graduation, I discovered that two different students had submitted essentially the same paper. At the time, I did not know if only one of them had cheated or if both had cheated. However, given the reputation of the university for having a strong and long-standing honor code, I knew that I needed to fail any student who had cheated on this significant portion of their course work. I also knew that failing a student meant that they would not qualify for graduation with their classmates.

Having gotten to know both students, I remember well how sad I was to contemplate the possibility that one or both of them had cheated. As I met with the first student, it was clear that he felt great remorse and self-disappointment about having cheated. He readily confessed that he had copied the paper of a third student who had taken the course a year earlier and chosen to research and write on the same topic. As painful as the situation was, he understood and accepted that he would need to retake the class and not receive his diploma for another six months.

While I would have much preferred that he had not cheated, his willingness to learn from his mistake, accept responsibility for his actions, and accept the consequences that would follow allowed the two of us to continue to be good friends and have mutual respect for one another.

In sharp contrast, when I met with the second student and pointed out that I was aware that her paper was almost identical to one that had been submitted a year earlier and to one submitted that semester by one of her fellow students, she denied any wrongdoing. Furthermore, she angrily said that she would appeal to the president of the university if I persisted in disciplining her and refused to give her a passing grade so she could receive credit for the course and graduate as planned. But having confided with other faculty members, all of whom agreed that the honor code required the consequences that I had outlined for each student, I stuck with my original determination.

This second student did indeed go to the president of the university but my decision to have her retake the course and graduate at a later time was upheld. She then tried to convince the dean to let her walk at graduation and receive an empty diploma cover, so no one would know she had not graduated. In essence she wanted to extend the deception.

Fortunately, the dean refused her request, and she chose to tell her friends and family that she was sick and would miss graduation. I've often wondered what happened to that second student and what her life has been like as a result of her failing to learn such an important lesson about integrity at that point in her life.

As I have reflected on my experiences with these two students, and many other personal experiences I have had, I've been struck by the need for some practical guidelines if we are to avoid the pitfalls and traps with which Satan and his followers would seek to ensnare us.

When I think back on my many years of Church administration, some of my most profound memories are the times I joined with ward members to help someone.
For example, I remember as a bishop working alongside several active members of my ward as we cleaned out the silage pit at the stake welfare farm. This was not a pleasant assignment! A less-active brother who had not been to church for many years was invited to join with us. Because of the love and fellowship he felt with us as we worked and talked in that smelly silage pit, he came back to church and was later sealed in the temple to his wife and his children. Our fellowship through service has blessed his children, grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren. Many of them have served missions, have married in the temple, and are raising an eternal family—a great work wrought by a simple act, a small fleck of gold.

Riches were not a part of my childhood. We were a family of five: my father and four siblings. My mother had passed away when I was five years old. My father’s meager income was used to buy our food; the purchase of clothing was put off as long as possible.
One day, somewhat bothered, I came up to my father and said, “Daddy, why don’t you buy me some shoes? Look at these; they’re worn out, and you can see my big toe through the hole in the shoe.”
“We’ll fix that up,” he replied and, with some black polish, gave a shine to my shoes. Later on he told me, “Son, it’s fixed up.”
“No,” I answered, “you can still see my big toe.”
“That can also be fixed,” he told me. He again took the polish and put some on my toe, and before long it shined like my shoes. So it was early on in life I learned that happiness does not depend on money.

There was Ted, for instance, who had been the great guilt-inflicter during those Halloween nights when we used to smash pumpkins just because we didn’t have anything better to do. “Sure, go ahead and destroy some kid’s pride and joy,” he’d object, as my braver friends and I left to tromp through the dark neighborhoods, hot on the trail of Mr. Jack-o’lantern. Ted’s unusual sensibility had always puzzled me. After all, I was nearly four months his senior, and I thought that kind of judgment belonged to older people who were married and had children of their own.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Bryce, the bold one, let out a scream and jumped off the cliff. It wasn’t a graceful takeoff, but it got the job done. I watched him flip like a fish as he fell through the sky, and I heard the distant splash when he hit the water. “You’ve got to try it!” he yelled as he pulled himself into the boat. It was a direct challenge.
I looked around and found my three buddies smiling at me. My stomach went sour. It was then I realized that jumping from a 90-foot cliff wasn’t such a hot idea. But how could I pull out now? They’d never let me live it down.
Just when I was about to jump, I was interrupted by Kelly, who barked out an obscenity and took off. We never saw him hit the water, but heard him crying as the others pulled him into the boat.’ His knees had slammed together upon impact, and he would be in a cast for the rest of the summer, following surgery on both knees.
The three of us who remained were now scared to death, but we wouldn’t admit it. I remember thinking about my acceptance to BYU, and about my plans to serve a mission after my freshman year. For the first time that day, I began to think of the consequences of making the jump. What if I became seriously injured? Was impressing my friends really that important?
“Fifty percent chance you make it and fifty percent chance you get hurt,” Bryce impatiently yelled at me from below. That was comforting.
I slowly walked back from the edge, then raced toward it, lifting my body off the ground as I soared into the warm sky. I looked immediately down and found the water racing toward me. I waved my arms to maintain balance.
My entry into the water was like an explosion, and I heard my back snap. As I sank through the water, I became aware that I couldn’t move my body. I felt as though my lungs would explode as I slowly floated to the surface, only to hear my friends laughing at the expression on my face.
Ted was the first to realize I was in pain, and he told the others to stop laughing as I was pulled into the boat. I mentioned something about the pain in my back as they laid me down next to the already-injured Kelly, and I was soon whimpering right along with him.
Kelly and I watched in bewilderment as the remaining two contemplated their own jumps. Despite unfavorable odds, each of them made the leap—successfully.
Since no doctors were within 100 miles of us, I decided to finish the trip with my friends. I lay in a tent for two days, shocked at my stupidity. I was only 18, yet I had risked my life for the sake of “entertainment.”
The doctor who examined my back said I had a compression-fracture which would cause arthritis throughout my life, but I still considered myself very lucky.
For nearly four years I had wandered carelessly through a world of smashed pumpkins and crazy dives. I hadn’t stopped to consider what effect my actions were having on other people, or on myself. I had been a thrill seeker who never had to face the consequences until that fateful day when I’d almost given my life just to impress my friends. It took a crash through Lake Powell’s waters to plunge me from my fantasy world into a world of reality and responsibility.

Four years ago, a marvelous young woman who had just graduated with honors from BYU called me, distraught. Through sobs she blurted, "I'm not sure I believe the Church is true anymore, and I'm scared. What if my family isn't going to be together forever?"
I asked, "Do you want a testimony?" "Yes," she said.
"Are you willing to work for it?" Again, "Yes."
And she was. She had a great bishop and an off-the-charts Relief Society president, both of whom worked with her. Friends and family came to her rescue. And she and I began to meet for gospel study sessions. I told her, "Bring your scriptures and every question you have. Questions are good. Let's see what the Lord will teach us."
She took me at my word and brought one thorny question after another. We searched the scriptures and the teachings of prophets for answers. Little by little, she began to realize that just because she had questions didn't mean she didn't have a testimony. The scriptures are filled with accounts of prophets who had questions. And she began to recognize when the Spirit was bearing witness to her-including bearing witness that prophets, seers, and revelators are truly prophets.
Her testimony began to grow, and time passed. Then about a year ago she called again. "I wanted you to be one of the first to know that I am holding in my hand a temple recommend. Will you come when I receive my endowment?" Then she added, "Do you know what you said that helped me the most? You told me that questions are good, and that allowed me to see myself as a seeker rather than a doubter."
I was overjoyed!

I have been thinking of one of our emeritus General Authorities, even Elder Marion D. Hanks, who has excelled in teaching seminary, institute, and the Church generally. He has utilized many different teaching methods.

On one occasion, Elder Hanks toured a mission, interviewing each of the missionaries laboring in that particular area. I had been on an assignment in an adjoining area and was given a ride to the airport with Elder Hanks and the mission president.

Elder Hanks told the mission president what a privilege it had been to visit with and interview each of the missionaries. He said he had felt prompted to ask one sister missionary, “Please tell me about your mission and how you felt about being called as a sister missionary.”

She told him that her humble father, a farmer, had willingly sacrificed much for the Lord and His kingdom. He was already sustaining two sons on missions when he talked with her one day about her unexpressed desires to be a missionary and explained to her how the Lord had helped him to prepare to help her.

He had gone to the fields to talk with the Lord, to tell Him that he had no more material possessions to sell or sacrifice or to use as collateral for borrowing. He needed to know how he could help his daughter go on a mission. He felt the inspiration to plant onions. He thought he had misunderstood. Onions would not likely grow well in this climate; others were not growing onions; he had no experience growing onions.

After wrestling with the Lord for a time, he was again impressed to plant onions. So he borrowed money from the bank, purchased seeds, planted and nurtured, and prayed.

The elements were tempered; the onion crop prospered. He sold the crop; paid his debts to the bank, the government, and the Lord; and put the remainder in an account under his daughter’s name—enough to support her during her mission.

Elder Hanks then told the mission president, “I will not forget the story or the moment or the tears in her eyes or the sound of her voice or the feeling I had as she said, ‘Brother Hanks, I don’t have any trouble believing in a loving Heavenly Father who knows my needs and will help me according to His wisdom if I am humble enough.’”

Elder Hanks was teaching a most important lesson: each child in each classroom, each young man or young woman, each student in seminary or institute, each adult in Gospel Doctrine classes, each missionary—yes, every one of us—has a story waiting to be told. Listening is an essential element as we teach and as we learn.

On a June day in 1976, young Chris Sanders and his family watched anxiously from high ground as swirling waters carried away their home and all their wordly possessions. The relentless torrent, unleashed when the Teton Dam collapsed near Rexburg, Idaho, left Chris, his brother Greg, and his parents with only the clothes they were wearing and the family station wagon.
The Sanders would not get back what they had lost, but they would rebuild their lives. In the years to come, Chris’s father, Lynn, accepted advancements in his employment which required several family moves. At each new location a rental house became their home.

One of Brandon’s best experiences teaching the gospel happened when he was teaching with a full-time missionary. They were teaching a woman who was addicted to drugs and who was reluctant to live the lifestyle of Church members. One night she would not let Brandon and the missionary into her home to teach her, even though she had listened to discussions before and been receptive to their message. They wouldn’t give up on her; so they stood outside her house and sang hymns. Finally, she came out to listen to them. She was baptized a short time later. “I loved seeing the change she made and seeing her baptized,” Brandon says.