Gospel Story Finder

Amy Jo looked up at the big clock on the living room wall. The short hand was on four, the long hand on twelve. She had waited the whole day for four o’clock to arrive.
She hurried to the front window of her new house and opened it. It was a warm, sunshiny day. Quietly she watched and waited. Soon an older woman holding a polka-dot umbrella rounded the corner. Next to her trotted a shaggy dog named Bert. Amy Jo knew his name because every day the old woman and the dog stopped in front of Amy Jo’s house and the old woman would say, “Well, Bert, where’s our slowpoke today? Where’s ’Lizabeth?”
“There she is,” Amy Jo called when ’Lizabeth finally appeared. But Amy Jo was shy and spoke so softly that no one heard her. All anyone could hear was ’Lizabeth crying loudly as she ran to catch up to the old woman and Bert.
“Meow. Meow,” cried the orange cat with white paws, but Amy Jo knew she was really saying, “Wait for me! Wait for me!”
“Why don’t we go out and say hello?” said Mother as she peeked through the window with Amy Jo. “Miss Gray seems like a nice person. I think she lives just around the corner. And I bet that Bert and ’Lizabeth would like to make a new friend too.”
Amy Jo shook her head. “I don’t want to,” she said, feeling afraid.
Miss Gray carried her polka-dot umbrella opened, even when the sky was full of sunshine. And her white hair was stiff and stuck out every which way. Her thick glasses made her eyes look small and of mean, and her shoes were heavy looking and lumpy. Amy Jo did not want to meet Miss Gray, only Bert and ’Lizabeth.
“Are you sure?” asked Mother.
“Uh, huh,” said Amy Jo shyly.
“Well, maybe tomorrow,” said Mother.
Amy Jo watched as Miss Gray walked on with Bert by her side and ’Lizabeth calling, “Meow. Meow. Wait for me! Wait for me!” She watched until they were tiny specks at the end of the long sidewalk.
Every day they passed Amy Jo’s house, pausing in front to allow ’Lizabeth to catch up. Amy Jo longed to hold the orange cat, pet her fluffy fur, and touch her soft white paws. Mother had said that someday they might also have a pet, “Small, like ’Lizabeth.”
’Lizabeth was special, but Amy Jo liked Bert too. The more she saw the two of them, the more she wanted to make friends. But she was too afraid to talk to Miss Gray, even though Mother had said that it would be all right.
“How about today?” Mother would ask as Amy Jo stared out the window.
“No. Not today.”
“Well, maybe tomorrow,” said Mother.
But then something strange began to happen. Amy Jo still ran to the window each day at four o’clock, but Miss Gray and Bert and ’Lizabeth began to come by later and later.
“Oh my, Bert,” said Miss Gray one afternoon, “where’s our lazybones today? Where’s ’Lizabeth? I declare, she’s getting slower and slower all the time.”
After a few minutes ’Lizabeth would appear crying, “Meow. Meow. Wait for me! Wait for me!” But she didn’t run to catch up to her friends. She just walked along. And each day Amy Jo saw that ’Lizabeth looked bigger and rounder than the day before.
“Oh, Bert,” said Miss Gray one rainy day. “Where’s our ’Lizabeth? Poor ’Lizabeth. She’s just not herself lately.”
Amy Jo began to worry as ’Lizabeth finally turned the corner. She was growing so fat that she had to stop to rest on her way to Miss Gray and Bert. When she reached them, she rubbed her back against Bert’s shaggy legs and meowed loudly as if to say, “Thank you for waiting.” Bert licked her face.
“That means they’re friends,” Amy Jo told her mother. “I want to be their friend too.”
“Really?” asked Mother, smiling. “Is today the day we say hello?”
“No. Not today.”
“Well, maybe tomorrow,” said Mother.
But the next day when Miss Gray and Bert walked by Amy Jo’s house, they didn’t stop to wait for ’Lizabeth. Amy Jo watched closely for the orange cat, but there was no ’Lizabeth that day. No “Meow. Meow. Wait for me! Wait for me!” Amy Jo felt sad.
There was no ’Lizabeth the next day, either. Or the next. Amy Jo was very worried.
“Where’s ’Lizabeth?” she asked Mother.
“I don’t know,” said Mother. “Why don’t we go ask Miss Gray.”
“No,” said Amy Jo.
But many days passed, and still there was no sign of the orange cat with the white paws.
Where can she be? Amy Jo wondered. What has happened to ’Lizabeth?
One hot afternoon Miss Gray and Bert stopped in front of Amy Jo’s house, but again just to rest for a moment. “I do miss our ’Lizabeth,” Miss Gray said, patting Bert’s head. “Things are just not the same without her.”
“Where’s ’Lizabeth?” Amy Jo called, but not loud enough to be heard.
“Where’s ’Lizabeth?” she called the next day, but again no one could hear her soft words.
Amy Jo was sure that something terrible had happened to the orange cat.
“Where’s ’Lizabeth?” she wailed that night as Mother tucked her into bed.
“Tomorrow I’ll ask,” said Mother.
“Me, too,” said Amy Jo bravely. “I want to ask too.”
But at four o’clock the next day the telephone rang. Mother was still talking when Miss Gray and Bert turned the corner. Amy Jo grabbed Mother’s hand, but Mother said, “I’m sorry, Amy Jo, but this call is important.”
Amy Jo watched anxiously as the polka-dot umbrella passed by the front gate. “Where’s ’Lizabeth?” she called in her loudest, bravest voice.
Miss Gray stopped. Bert stopped beside her. “Did you hear something, Bert?” she asked.
“Where’s ’Lizabeth?” Amy Jo called again.
“Who wants to know?” asked Miss Gray, looking around.
“Me,” said Amy Jo, running out to her front porch.
“Me who?”
“Me, Amy Jo.” She hurried out to the sidewalk.
“How nice to meet you, Amy Jo,” said Miss Gray.
She smiled, and Amy Jo saw that her eyes did not look mean, after all. And it was very shady under the pretty polka-dot umbrella. Amy Jo patted Bert’s shaggy head and decided that she liked Miss Gray very much.
“ ’Lizabeth should be along any minute now,” said Miss Gray.
Amy Jo turned and watched as ’Lizabeth rounded the corner. “Meow. Meow,” she called. “Wait for me! Wait for me!” Then she ran to catch up, just as she did before. Amy Jo felt happy to see ’Lizabeth again and gently touched her soft orange fur.
Suddenly, Amy Jo heard lots of meows, and around the corner came one, two, three, four black kittens with white paws. Far behind them ran a tiny orange kitten with white paws that looked just like ’Lizabeth.
“Meow. Meow,” the tiny kitten cried. “Wait for me! Wait for me!”
“Oh, how sweet,” said Mother, coming out of the house. “No wonder we haven’t seen ’Lizabeth for a while.”
“We’re very proud of her,” said Miss Gray. “Aren’t we, Bert? But I’m afraid we’re going to need someone else to walk with us, to be sure that everyone stays together.”
“I will!” said Amy Jo. She wasn’t afraid of Miss Gray anymore. They were friends already. Maybe Mother would buy her a polka-dot umbrella too. And maybe, just maybe, she would ask Miss Gray for the little orange kitten that looked just like ’Lizabeth.

It’s easy to get along with Grandpa. But my big sister, Stacy, gives me problems. Ever since she came home the other day with braces on her teeth, she won’t smile. And you can’t understand anything that she says because she won’t open her mouth enough to sound out the words.

Stacy is being especially mean to Grandpa. Mom told her that she had to have her teeth straightened because she takes after Grandpa’s side of the family. He does have crooked teeth that stick out a little, but I never noticed it until Mom mentioned it to Stacy.

“I don’t like wearing these awful things,” Stacy mumbled protestingly to Mom. “I’d rather have crooked teeth.”

“It’ll take a while,” Mom tried to console her, “but eventually your teeth will be beautiful, and then you’ll think it was worth it.”

“But they’re so ugly now!” Stacy wailed. She glared at Grandpa. He smiled back at her, but Stacy started to cry and ran from the room. Grandpa lowered his gaze, and he looked as sad as I’ve ever seen him.

I raced up to Stacy’s bedroom. “You stop being mean to Grandpa!” I yelled at her. “It isn’t his fault that you have to wear braces.”

“It is too. You heard Mom. Grandpa’s crooked teeth got passed right on down to me. I just hate them!”

Stacy’s bad temper went on for several days, and finally Mom told Stacy to keep her feelings to herself and to quit making Grandpa feel bad.

“Right,” I said. “He feels bad enough already.”

Mom told me to keep out of it, but how can a guy keep still when his best friend is being hurt?

One evening Grandpa stood out on the porch with his thumbs in his braces, leaning against the porch post. He didn’t joke with me as he usually does. I didn’t see how all that thinking could do any good. After all, how can you change what has already been passed down to your grandchildren?

“Don’t fret about it, Grandpa. Stacy’s just a big baby,” I said to him. “She doesn’t mean what she says.”

“It does seem unfair, I guess, to a girl Stacy’s age,” Grandpa said.

“But you can’t do anything, Grandpa. Why worry over it?”

“A body can always do something, Son.”

Well, I put the whole bunch of nonsense out of my head for a while. Then one day the telephone rang. It was Grandpa, and he told me to gather everybody into the living room. He was coming home in a few minutes, and he had a surprise for us.

I bet he bought us all ice cream, I thought. What with Stacy being told not to eat gum and candy on account of her braces, ice cream was about the only thing she really loved that she could still eat.

Anyway, I did what Grandpa said, and told everyone to sit down and wait. Naturally Stacy started grumbling, but a couple of warning looks from Mom settled her down.

I watched out the window, and when I saw Grandpa coming, he seemed a lot happier than he’d been in a long time. But he wasn’t carrying anything—not a package or a grocery bag or anything!

It seemed forever before he came through the front door. When he did, he just stood there and looked at each one of us. I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Come on, Grandpa! What’s your surprise? We’ve been waiting and waiting!”

Finally Grandpa looked straight at Stacy. I looked at Stacy, too, and suddenly her mouth dropped open and her eyes got big and round. I looked back at Grandpa. He was smiling wide—and his smile was all covered with metal! Grandpa was wearing braces! Not just his trousers braces, but braces on his teeth, just like Stacy’s!

Now, what happened next I will never figure out. Stacy’s face kind of crumpled, and she started to cry. She ran to Grandpa and threw her arms around him, and Mom and Dad laughed and wiped their eyes. Me, I was glad to see Grandpa smiling again, and I couldn’t help it if I got something in my eyes, too, could I?

Grandpa explained that he’d always wanted to get his teeth straightened and that if Stacy was brave enough to do it, so was he.

The best part is that I think that Stacy finally knows that Grandpa is her best friend too!

I have a friend that I met in the seventh grade. His name is George Suvall. He has been a very successful basketball coach and trainer. He is also a homespun philosopher. Periodically I see him out walking near where we live. We stop to chat. George reported his family had come from Greece when he was very young. At first, because they didn’t speak English in the home, George did not know how to read or write English very well. He was able to keep most of it a secret. An insightful teacher, because she cared and noticed that he was always trying to do his best, rescued him. One day his father was attempting to explain the importance of doing the best you can to George and said, “Hey, George, if you gonna be anything, you be the best anything you can be.” His father knew that in America if you do the best you can, you will succeed.
Then his father said, “Georgie, there are two-a-things you cannot-a buy. It’s a your-a-name and your-a-health. Take-a-care of them both.” Those few words provided a personal philosophy George still follows.

First: Do the best you can.
Second: Protect your name.
Third: Guard your health.

When we understand this phrase, it is helpful to know that several years ago, in 1957, before Spencer W. Kimball became President of the Church he was visiting a conference in California, and the Primary children sang the song, “I Am a Child of God.” Later he said to a visiting Primary board member, “I love the children’s song, but there’s one word that bothers me. Would Sister Randall mind if the word know were changed to do?” The change was made, for President Kimball had pointed out the very important truth that, while it is important to know what is right, it is more important to do what is right. Only in this way can we be sure of returning someday back into the presence of our Heavenly Father, to our heavenly home, to live always with our Father and his Son Jesus Christ and our loved ones. What joy comes when we understand the full meaning of being a child of God!

“I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at the age of 26. Even though I had a soothing feeling in my heart as I followed the desire to be blessed by God by making a covenant with Him, I know that my understanding of that covenant was just like a small seed at that time.
“As the years have passed by and as I have been making an effort to keep that baptismal covenant and other covenants I have made with Heavenly Father, I feel that He has blessed me with a deeper understanding about Him, about my Savior, and about my role as a covenant daughter of Heavenly Parents.”
—Sister Reyna I. Aburto, Second Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency

One summer we visited my Grandpa Joe, who is not a member of the Church. When we were beginning to eat breakfast, I said: “Wait, Grandpa Joe! We forgot to thank Heavenly Father for the food.” He looked surprised but closed his eyes while I blessed the food. I always try to be a good example for Grandpa Joe, and now when I go to his house, he waits for me to say the prayer. I know that others watch what I do, and I hope to always make Heavenly Father happy as I teach by my example.

Recently I took my three-year-old granddaughter to a sacrament meeting where a young man was speaking prior to leaving for a mission. I had brought the usual books and things to encourage her to be reverent, but she’s a bright and energetic little girl, so at one point I stood her beside me on the bench so she could see the missionary who was speaking. Then I whispered in her ear, “This young man is going on a mission, and that means he is going to live far away from home and go around telling people all about Jesus.” She looked all around the chapel filled with people and said, “Well, where is Jesus anyway?” She had seen His picture in Primary, but she could not find Him in the audience.
I cannot tell you how glad I was that I could tell her where Jesus is. As she can understand, I will tell her who He is, what He has done for her and for me, and what He can mean in her life. I was reminded on that occasion what a great opportunity we as women have to influence the lives of those around us. I love my children and my grandchildren, and I desire to keep them safe. Sometimes this world is a frightening place to be. I believe, however, that women have unique opportunities and special gifts and talents to protect, nurture, and influence others. We can create places of security where marriages, children, and families can thrive and avoid the evil of the world.

I entered BYU as a freshman in the fall of 1976. I remember vividly the first devotional of that semester, held on September 7, 1976. I cannot remember if I skipped my class before the devotional that morning, but I did arrive very early to make sure I had a good seat. The speaker was the prophet, President Spencer W. Kimball. I was excited to hear from him. I was beginning my first year at BYU, with a mission coming up for me sometime in 1977. I was anxious for the message that would bless me personally. I am positive that I prayed that his talk would touch me and provide needed guidance.
The university president was President Dallin H. Oaks. After he introduced the student body to President Kimball, he lowered the two microphones that were on the pulpit at that time, and President Kimball stood where—or very close to where—I am standing this morning. He had an additional microphone attached to his glasses because of the very soft voice he had after surgery on his vocal cords. President Kimball began speaking about marriage and divorce—not the topic I was expecting. His message was a landmark message at the time and was later published as a pamphlet for use throughout the Church.1 I still have my copy of that talk. I must admit, ­however, that, at the time, it was not the talk I wanted to hear. Marriage seemed so far into the future for me—and it was, by the way.
Looking back, I wish I had processed and reacted differently than I did. I should have been willing to receive whatever the prophet of God felt directed to teach me and applied that teaching in my life. This was the prophet of God, after all, and he was speaking to the world through the audience of BYU students.

Elder Monte J. Brough, formerly of the Seventy, tells of a summer at his childhood home in Randolph, Utah, when he and his younger brother, Max, decided to build a tree house in a large tree in the backyard. They made plans for the most wonderful creation of their lives. They gathered building materials from all over the neighborhood and carried them up to a part of the tree where two branches provided an ideal location for the house. It was difficult, and they were anxious to complete their work. The vision of the finished tree house provided tremendous motivation for them to complete the project.
They worked all summer, and finally in the fall just before school began, their house was completed. Elder Brough said he will never forget the feelings of joy and satisfaction which were theirs when they finally were able to enjoy the fruit of their work. They sat in the tree house, looked around for a few minutes, climbed down from the tree—and never returned. The completed project, as wonderful as it was, could not hold their interest for even one day. In other words, the process of planning, gathering, building, and working—not the completed project—provided the enduring satisfaction and pleasure they had experienced.

May I offer a personal counsel to students on a concluding subject that might be rather tender and touching, but one in which I feel very strongly? That is the matter of studying on the Sabbath.
I know what you experience and the challenges you face in trying to be good students. I have attended three universities, spent three years in law school, and acquired an advanced master’s degree in corporate law. While acquiring the latter degree, I served as a bishop of a ward of a thousand people in New York City, and I was working full-time for a Wall Street law firm. I had every temptation and opportunity to study on the Sabbath day to be prepared for class and to acquire good grades.
I made it a simple matter of principle that I would take the Lord at his word and avoid, at all cost, studying on Sunday. I have felt that the Lord honored my commitment, and I completed all that I attempted and, in my humble opinion, excelled where I needed to. I found that by observing the Sabbath day, particularly as it relates to studying, I commenced Monday morning with an invigorated body and an enlightened mind to perform the labors of the week with ease and pleasure. And I always felt that I was prepared for school if I planned ahead and kept the Sabbath day.

As a young man, David O. McKay took a summer job delivering newspapers to a mining town. He made friends with the miners, and they were always glad to see him.
Miner: Here comes David with our newspapers!
David: Good afternoon, gentlemen.
The trip took five hours each way. This gave David plenty of time to read books, memorize quotations, and learn from the scriptures. He loved learning! Sometimes he stopped to pray about gaining a testimony.
David never stopped learning. When he was President of the Church, some of his sermons included quotes he had memorized long before while riding his horse.

I received a most interesting letter from a mother a few months ago reporting to me her service hours to her community as a Bicentennial commitment. A portion of her letter read as follows: “I went to a P.T.A. meeting at the beginning of the school year and learned that my sixth-grade daughter was assigned to read a certain book in school. I felt impressed that I should read it to see if it was desirable for children. As I read it, I found it highly undesirable for sixth-graders. It contained profanity, violence, disrespect for adults, especially parents, and was generally gloomy and depressing, with nothing of love and beauty and goodness. I discussed the book with the principal of the school and told him of my concerns. He suggested that I read the whole series of books before condemning them, and if I still felt the same way I could write my objections in a letter and give them to him, giving specific examples of objectionable materials.
“I complied with his suggestion and continued to read the other books and found them also unfit for our children. I felt compelled to write my letter even before I had finished the last in the series.
“I was gratified to receive a call later from the assistant superintendent of this school district, asking me to come to his office. He told me it was not their policy to have books in their basic reading curriculum with profanity in them and that they would immediately remove those books from their school district. He said they were highly embarrassed that someone should have to point out to them the objectionable nature of the books, and that they would see that those persons responsible for reviewing the books in the future did a more thorough job.”

I would like to share a story and a comment from Elder M. Russell Ballard.

Elder Ballard knew a young man who had been guilty of past moral transgressions. At times in his life, he had repented and had been victorious over temptations. Other times he had not. He had worked with a number of priesthood leaders over the years and seemed to have conquered his past temptations. This was a young man who had served in the Church. He had married in the temple and had a wife that loved him and was devoted to him and their family. Intellectually, he had a great understanding of the gospel and of Heavenly Father's plan. Yet he continued to struggle.

In a conversation the young man had with Elder Ballard, the young man said to him, "I knew that I was a child of God," he said. "But, to be honest that thought didn't give me much comfort. I figured that I was one of Heavenly Father's bad children and that all I had succeeded in proving during this life is that I wasn't one of the 'noble and great ones' Abraham saw."

Elder Ballard continued, "This young man served in significant Church callings. People praised him for his effectiveness as a priesthood leader, but he was unmoved by their praise. He assumed that he had simply fooled them, that if people knew the truth about him and who he really was, they would know he wasn't what he appeared to be.

"But it was my friend who had been fooled. Satan had convinced him that he was fighting a losing battle, so when temptations came his way, it was easy to give in. He was after all, one of God's bad children; therefore, it was understandable if he occasionally did bad things."

There is no truth in Satan's deception. We are good. All men and women born into this world come here good. We are good because we are Spirit children of our Father in Heaven. We kept our first estate. At some point in the premortal world we stood and said, "I will." I will accept my Father in Heaven's plan and come to earth in order that He might "prove us herewith" as to our devotion, our love, and our willingness to obey Him.

The young man who Elder Ballard described in the story had been deceived. Even though he had forsaken his sins, he yielded to Satan's deception that he was bad and would probably always be bad. As a consequence, he refused to let go of the pain; the pain of past sins; pain that the Savior Himself desires to lift from us. The refusal to let go of the pain not only blocked his path forward, but started again a cycle of returning to his past ways.

It was on a summer day early in the morning. I was standing near the window. The curtains obstructed me from two little creatures out on the lawn. One was a large bird and the other a little bird, obviously just out of the nest. I saw the larger bird hop out on the lawn, then thump his feet and cock his head. He drew a big fat worm out of the lawn and came hopping back. The little bird opened its bill wide, but the big bird swallowed the worm.

Then I saw the big bird fly up into a tree. He pecked at the bark for a little while and came back with a big bug in his mouth. The little bird opened his beak wide, but the big bird swallowed the bug. There was squawking in protest.

The big bird flew away, and I didn’t see it again, but I watched the little bird. After a while, the little bird hopped out on the lawn, thumped its feet, cocked its head, and pulled a big worm out of the lawn.

God bless the good people who teach our children and our youth, I humbly pray, in Jesus’ name. Amen.Elder Howard W. HunterOf the Council of the Twelve

God’s People of Talent and Goodness
I thought I would focus my talk on two experiences that have had enduring impacts on my life. These happened when I was a recent convert to the Church.
The second experience occurred some weeks or months after I had joined the Church. My father was an accomplished musician, a cellist in the Los Angeles Philharmonic. He could also play a half dozen other musical instruments and was a very talented painter. One day we were talking, and my agnostic father posed a question that went something like this: “The Jews claim to be God’s chosen people, and when I look at their tremendous historical influence in the arts, philosophy, science, and business—disproportionately large, relative to their small numbers—I have to acknowledge that it is not an outrageous claim. If the members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are also God’s chosen people, how come I don’t see similar accomplishments and influence from members of your church?”
My father’s assumption—a common ­expectation—is that God’s true religion should have the power to transform its believers into people who are not only loving, ­compassionate, industrious, and generous—in other words, good—but also people who are capable of extra­ordinary achievements in the arts, sciences, sports, business, government, and religion. For example, the Jewish people can count more than two hundred Nobel Prize winners—around 20 percent of the total laureates. I believe that President Spencer W. Kimball also believed this, as he issued a bold declaration and challenge in his 1975 landmark address titled “The Second Century of Brigham Young University”:
I am both hopeful and expectant that out of this ­university and the Church Educational System there will rise brilliant stars in drama, literature, music, sculpture, painting, science, and in all the scholarly graces. This university can be the refining host for many such individuals who will touch men and women the world over long after they have left this campus.1
The Love of a Father
Putting these two experiences together, I believe that our loving Heavenly Father has afforded us additional grace through the covenants we have made. One potential purpose of those covenants is to empower us to become “brilliant stars” and “refining” agents, should we elect to do so. The gospel should also engender in us a heightened awareness of and empathy for the suffering of our neighbor. I have noticed this in my own almost forty-three years of discipleship as I have sought to know God through studying the scriptures, serving in Church callings, and serving mankind in other ways. I am a father of four sons and now also a grandfather of three adorable little boys. I naturally hope that they will emulate the kinds of life choices that have brought me great happiness. If God is also my Father, shouldn’t He logically have the same hope and expectations for all of His children?
In his general conference talk entitled “The Grandeur of God,” Elder Jeffrey R. Holland taught us one key truth about how we can come to know God:
Of the many magnificent purposes served in the life and ministry of the Lord Jesus Christ, one great aspect of that mission often goes uncelebrated. His followers did not understand it fully at the time, and many in modern Christianity do not grasp it now, but the Savior Himself spoke of it repeatedly and emphatically. It is the grand truth that in all that Jesus came to say and do, including and especially in His atoning suffering and sacrifice, He was showing us who and what God our Eternal Father is like. . . . In word and in deed Jesus was trying to reveal and make personal to us the true nature of His Father, our Father in Heaven.
He did this at least in part because then and now all of us need to know God more fully in order to love Him more deeply and obey Him more completely.2
Incidentally, I did a word count and found that Jesus referred to God by the title of “Father” 180 times in 3 Nephi and 113 times in the Gospel of John—far more frequently than any other title for Deity.

In the Philippines, there are science high schools for academically gifted students. Students in these schools take more subjects, spend more hours in class, and devote more effort to schoolwork.
This kind of environment was toxic for me. I gave up so many things upon entering this school. I stopped learning how to play instruments. I almost never attended Church activities, and I would occasionally miss Church services on Sundays for interschool competitions. I struggled attending seminary, although the classes were conveniently offered during weekends.
One Saturday, my seminary teacher told us about how busy she was in high school, and yet she managed to still do her seminary assignments and study the scripture mastery scriptures. She challenged us to do the same.
Challenges enliven me, so I took this one. I carried my scripture mastery cards with me everywhere. I prayed for help to manage it with my school demands. I used every window of time I had. I memorized scriptures while commuting to school. I chatted less and would take the cards out of my pocket. My friends noticed; shuffling the scripture cards became our new activity during breaks and lunchtime. They enjoyed quizzing me. Some started to bring their scriptures—even those who belonged to other denominations. They shared about activities at their own churches. I felt the atmosphere around me change, and school felt lighter and better.
My three younger sisters followed that lead, and now my family reaps the blessings of the scriptures in our relationships at home. It was more than just memorizing words; my seminary teacher taught me the difference the scriptures would make in me and in the people around me. I know that whatever challenge or trial comes to my family and friends, we will always find strength, guidance, and repose in the words of our loving Savior.

It was December first, Christmas was coming, and I felt I should do a service project to make the season complete. My mother had taught me through example that giving selflessly to others made Christmas more enjoyable. As I contemplated what to do, my ward Young Women president suggested that a friend and I do the “Twelve Days of Christmas” for someone.
During the next few days, Camie and I thought about who that person should be. Camie’s mind kept returning to an older man in poor health named Lee Wilde. His wife had died many years earlier, and he had been lonely for a long time. He stayed inside the house mostly, except for the one trip he took each morning to feed his cows in a nearby pasture. Neither Camie nor I knew him, but we both had a strong feeling he should be the person.
That first day was exciting as we named ourselves the Secret Elves and carefully planned both our notes and gifts. Each day we delivered a different gift to Mr. Wilde. As the days went by, we noticed he was catching on, which made it harder to leave the gift without getting caught.
The 12th day came quickly, and we hated to see our project end. As it turned out, it would be up to me to make the final delivery because Camie had gone snowmobiling. As my mother and I drove down the road looking for one last hiding place I had a strong feeling I should allow Mr. Wilde to visit with me. At first, I thought it would be more rewarding for the act to be anonymous. However, the feeling did not go away and continued to prod me to go in and visit.
My mother parked the car, and I told her about my feeling. At first, she counseled me to remain anonymous. But at last, she told me to follow the Spirit. As I reached Mr. Wilde’s doorstep, I was a little nervous. When he answered my knock, I handed him the gift and said, “This is your present for the 12th day.” At first he gave me a puzzled look, then suddenly broke into a smile and invited me in. I explained I was one of the Secret Elves who had hoped to make his Christmas a little brighter.
He told me he had been waiting for us every night and that we had made his Christmas a very happy one. On his table lay all 12 days’ gifts as well as a white sack of peanuts he had put together for us with a little note attached. I took the peanuts and thanked him. As we were returning home, I couldn’t hold back the tears as I told my mother what he had said. I also tried to convey the feelings of the Spirit that had touched me.
The next day was Christmas, and as our family gathered around the Christmas tree to open gifts, a knock came on the door. Standing on our porch was Camie and her mother, who came by to tell me Mr. Lee Wilde had passed away that morning. Although I was sad, I had a strong feeling we had made a difference in this man’s life, and that the experience gave us the best Christmas ever. I also learned the importance of following the Spirit and listening to the still, small voice.

I’d like to share a personal experience:

15 miles southeast of Rexburg is a town called Ririe. On this day, March 6th 1990, 17 years ago, the Ririe High School boys basketball team won the A-3 State title. This little town of about 550 people was on top of the world. When the team came home from the tournament, hundreds of people met the bus to cheer them as they rolled into town. They were heroes. They really were a ‘Cinderella Story’….they were so unknown at the tournament that the announcers kept talking about the team from ‘Rearie’ instead of Ririe. This small group of boys had worked together with dogged determination through their whole season and had captured the first State title in the school’s history. The whole community was a-buzz with joy and pride. Four days later, on March 10th, one of the team’s star players, Cory Radford and his teammate and close friend Bruce Hill had gone fishing near Salmon, Idaho. They fished all day and then decided to stay up and fish all night because there was a full moon. They left the next morning with very little sleep.
On the drive home, both boys fell asleep and their car veered head-on into a motor-home RV, killing them both instantly. The news of the accident stunned the whole Snake River Valley. And the community that had been celebrating their highest of highs only days before, was now grieving and hurting in their lowest of lows. All the people were asking in disbelief “How could this happen? Why would the Lord allow this to happen? These were good boys. Why?”
I might add that I was the President of the Ririe Stake at the time and I can tell you this tragedy nearly shattered the faith of a whole community. In counseling and talking with people, and frankly on the days that I tried to make sense of it myself, I wondered “Why hadn’t the Lord nudged them awake? Or miraculously guided the car out of harm’s way? These were good boys from good families. Future missionaries. Surely they qualified for such divine intervention.”
After much prayer and fasting to know how to counsel people, this truth was confirmed to me. I came to know that the Lord knew of this situation, that He did indeed have the power to stop it, but He didn’t. Therefore it was His will….and it would be ok.
I tell you this story to pay tribute to Cory, but I tell it today to also pay tribute to his parents, Lynn and Cindy Radford. They are here today seated on the stand next to my wife Sharol. All their friends and neighbors came to them and said “This is so sad. So unfair. This is your oldest son – what will you ever do?” I pay tribute to them because they, at that moment of deep tragedy, helped us all understand an important lesson. Their strength in the face of a desperately painful situation showed all of us that they didn’t determine that it was bad or good, but they knew it was the Lord’s will and that eventually everything would be alright. Their trust in the Lord helped sustain everyone else’s trust in the Lord’s plan.

When I was serving as a missionary in northern Mexico, a few days after the baptismal service of the Valdez family we received a telephone call from Brother Valdez asking us to come to his house. He had an important question for us. Now that he knew the will of the Lord regarding the Word of Wisdom, and even though it would be difficult to find a new job, he wondered if he should continue to work for the cigarette company where he had worked for many years. Only a few days later Brother Valdez again asked us to come by and visit him. He had decided to quit his job because he was not willing to go against his convictions. Then with a smile and emotion in his voice, he told us that the very day he quit his old job, another company had called to offer him a much better position.

Once my friend Mac* got into a fight with another friend, George. All the other kids decided to not be Mac’s friend anymore. I said that I wouldn’t be his friend, either.
I felt rotten. My mom and dad told me that we were going over to Mac’s to talk. I groaned but nodded.
I prayed for a plan to help me. I had a very good one. When we went to talk to Mac, I told him, “Mac, I’m going to give you as many chances as you need to be a little nicer.” We shook hands on it.
The next day at the bus stop, when Mac came, all the other kids backed away from him. I went right up next to him and started talking to him.
I felt happy for myself that I did the right thing.