Gospel Story Finder

If you’ve ever taken seminary, I’m sure you remember the case studies that are included in the lessons to help us liken the scriptures unto us. And if you remember them, then no doubt you remember the one concerning what you would do if your friends asked you to cheat on an important test or you would be tempted to cheat yourself. If you’re like me, it was all black and white, and you said you would do the noble thing, the right thing.
Probably like many of us, I never really thought of these situations as something that would ever happen. It was too easy. Who wouldn’t do the right thing? Well, just a week ago, I was faced with this problem. It was the week for nine-week exams. Being a senior, I knew these tests were important; not only do they decide who passes and graduates but they are also recorded on our transcripts, the same transcripts that are sent to colleges. The night before the two tests that were going to give me problems—Advanced Chemistry and Economics—a friend called on the phone. She told me that two classmates had stolen copies of both of the tests. She had copies and would give me some early the next morning. Because she was in a hurry, my friend didn’t give me a chance to answer, which was just as well since I didn’t know what to say.
What a dilemma! Even though I was considered the best student in my class, I knew those tests would be tough. Oh, I knew I would pass even if I failed the tests, but I wanted so badly to keep that prestigious 4.0 average. I also knew I was the only LDS student in my school. It had been a worthwhile struggle to let everyone know what Mormons really believe. In fact, whenever a new person questioned me about the Church in front of my friends, it was my friends who hastened to tell my beliefs before I could answer.
All evening I thought about my problem. I tried to concentrate on how important it was for me to do well on these tests, but a thought kept nagging at me. For four years I had taken seminary and answered those case studies of how I would react in a situation exactly like this. Was I going to betray my standards after telling my friends what being a Mormon was all about? Was I now going to be a hypocrite? I decided to resist the temptation. I prayed to my Heavenly Father to make me strong and able to stand by my convictions.
At school the next morning my friend tried to give me a copy of the tests. I refused. She looked at me like I was crazy but said nothing. Later I realized that my friends had expected me to answer the questions on the stolen copies and then let a student who worked in the office run them off on the school copier for the rest of the class. I would like to say that I was looked upon as a hero, but, as it was, some of my classmates were angry with me. My true friends didn’t hold it against me. The students who had stolen the tests had my friend answer the questions and passed copies around to everyone in the class except for me and the local preacher’s son, who had also refused to get involved. I thank him for standing with me. No one ever likes to be alone. I wish I could say that I passed my tests with flying colors, but I only made an 82 on my Advanced Chemistry test. Nevertheless, I am proud of that 82.
The grades are not important when I realize that I passed an even greater test, a test of character, thanks to the gospel and seminary.

The youth I saw confined to a wheelchair was a startling contrast to the boy I remembered from the year before. I remembered him as a happy, 18-year-old Indian boy whose swift, strong legs had carried him up and down the basketball courts. But that was yesteryear. Today he was in a wheelchair. Today his dark eyes and handsome smile caused me to be amazed at his youthful courage.
I first met Don a couple of years ago and learned that he was a convert to the Church. His widowed mother lived in a remote section of the Navajo Indian reservation, and he was a participant in the Indian student placement program, a program that places Indian children and teenagers in foster homes during the school year so that they may get a better education. His school work was excellent; he played the piano skillfully; and with the same slim brown fingers he could paint beautiful pictures or strum the guitar in accompaniment to his clear soft voice. Don’s personality was pleasant, his standards were high, his testimony strong. He was soon to graduate from high school, and his plans were to spend a short time with his people on the reservation before returning to live with his foster parents, where he would work preparatory to receiving his expected call to the mission field.
Life seems to have a way of changing the most carefully made plans, but no one would have expected the traumatic experience that awaited Don. His fun on the reservation was cut short by painful events, and his mission began in a much different way than one would have imagined.
While riding in the back of a small truck with some of his friends, Don accidentally fell out onto the hard, black pavement and skidded painfully along its rough surface. That was the last thing he remembered until he awoke in a hospital bed, his body in physical torment.
An excruciating pain in his back persisted through the long night, and as the new day began, Don found himself unable to move his arms, hands, or legs. He was paralyzed from his neck down!
Following an emergency operation, he awoke in a recovery room conscious that the pain in his mended back was subsiding; but he was also painfully aware of his helpless limbs that refused to respond to his efforts to move them.
Don’s concerned doctors had little hope that this condition would ever change. As he lay helpless in his hospital bed, fighting back the tears of discouragement, he expressed the feelings of his heart to his Heavenly Father, asking for strength to endure and for a recovery from his affliction if it were His will.
Night after night while others slept, Don struggled through the long, dark hours attempting to move his helpless hands that lay inertly by his side. He would pray and try, pray and try, repeating over and over in his mind, “I can do it, I can do it, I can do it!” Then, as the early morning light filtered softly through the blinds of his window, he would surrender himself wearily to a merciful sleep.
On one such interminable night, Don’s heart suddenly pounded with excitement as an almost imperceptible movement was made by one of his fingers! Holding his breath in suspense, he moved his finger again!
There was no sleep for Don that night. A wonderful, elated feeling of hope buoyed his troubled spirit and gave him renewed determination to regain the use of his hands.
Each night became a new adventure as gradually, with great effort and perseverance, the use of his hands and arms slowly returned to him.
In the meantime, Don’s doctor had procrastinated the unwelcome task of informing him that he must mentally prepare himself to accept his paralysis as an unalterable fact of his young life.
With great difficulty, the doctor told this news to Don. It was a poignant moment for the good doctor who turned quickly to leave the room to conceal his emotion. As he left the room he stole a last glance at Don lying quietly in his bed. Just at this moment, Don reached his arm up to the head rail of his bed and pulled himself into a more comfortable position. The startled doctor could not contain himself. “Do that again, Don! Do that again!” he shouted with excitement. Soon the room was filled with nurses and doctors who came running to learn the cause of the great commotion. It was a moment to be remembered.
Although Don was happy to feel the strength gradually return to his arms and hands, he had to fight back the tears when he looked down at his helpless legs.
In these trying circumstances he began to fulfill his desire to be a missionary. He told his roommate about the Book of Mormon and gave him a copy to read. Charles, a Hopi Indian boy, immediately became engrossed in the book, and when darkness came at the close of the day, he continued reading. He eagerly read the words of this book for three days and two nights, resentful of the time it took to eat or rest. Finally, when he had turned the last page, he rose from his bed and walked over near Don’s side and asked, “Don, where did you get this book? I have shared in the traditions of my people that we hold to be sacred. Many of our traditions are written in this book. Where did you get it?”
Don happily shared his testimony with his new friend as he told him of the restoration of the gospel and of its special meaning to them as Lamanites, a covenant race and descendants of the Book of Mormon people.
Soon after this Charles was released to go home, anxious to share this new message with family and friends. Don was moved to a rehabilitation center in Denver, Colorado. He was quite unprepared for what he encountered at his new residence in the paralytic ward. Everyone seemed depressed, discouraged, and despondent. Patients could not understand how Don, who was in an equally distressing condition, could seem so happy. Some of them asked, “Why are you always so happy and smiling?” Don replied, “My smile keeps the tears from my eyes, and my laughter keeps away the feeling of unhappiness.”
With courageous determination Don took advantage of the special care he now received. Long after others would tire and leave the gymnasium, he would remain—trying, trying, trying. Through his valiant effort, accompanied by humble prayers to his Heavenly Father, he was finally strong enough to go up and down the parallel bars alone; and then he was able to walk with braces and crutches. His new mobility permitted him to attend church services. This spiritual comfort brought him great joy, but he was totally surprised by the reception he was given upon his return to the hospital. Everyone teased him for going to church! In his characteristic way, Don’s smile merely broadened at their taunting. He resolved to do something about the gloomy atmosphere in this, his new home, so he happily embarked upon the next chapter of his mission.
In the days that followed, he could be seen wheeling himself down hallways and into every room where patients would receive him, preaching the gospel to all who would listen. He became known cheerfully as “the prophet,” a title that he accepted graciously.
In the evenings he often sang as he accompanied himself with his guitar. Others began to join in, and the spirit spread. Friday nights soon became known as the time for singing and entertainment and patients joined together with singing and laughter. Patients began to smile and call each other by name.
All was not happiness for Don, however, for he longed to see his home, his family, and his friends. In spite of his high resolve, his vision clouded when he looked down at his crippled legs. Wonderful Church members tried to fill his hour of need, and Don said, “Through their kindness they put a smile on my face and laughter in my mouth.”
As time drew near for him to be released, he began to worry about his acceptance by friends and family upon his return.
The day finally came when his foster parents arrived. It was an ordeal for Don to get enough courage to ask the question that had filled his mind completely. “Do you want me to come back?” he asked apprehensively. They softly replied, “Of course, Don. We have a bed waiting for you.” The kind response was too much for him! This time his tears flowed freely and mixed with theirs in a demonstration of joy and love.
On the night of Don’s departure, a special program was held in his behalf. His many new friends shook the rafters with a song sung in his honor: “Too Many Chiefs and Not Enough Indians Around This Place.”
The courage and spirit of this young man had affected the lives of others and left an indelible impression.
Two of the residing patients and two members of the nursing staff who waved good-bye to Don had accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ as a result of his influence. Many looked to the future with new hope, and each felt a personal loss at his departure.
Upon his return home, Don’s numerous friends were out to greet him and welcome him back into their circle of friendship. Don soon found a job at an LDS mailbox bookstore that enabled him to meet the payments on his car, a vehicle equipped with special controls that would carry him to his work and to the Mesa Community College where he was enrolled for classes.
As I concluded my visit with him, he handed me a letter. “What is this?” I asked. “It’s a letter from my physical therapist in Denver,” he smiled in reply.
I unfolded the pages and began to read. “Dear Don,” the letter began, “I don’t know how to thank you. Yesterday was the happiest day of my life. It was the day I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
I hope I will remember the example of Don. I hope I will remember his parting words when I asked about his future. He looked directly at me and spoke with conviction: “I’ll wipe away my tears and let the wind of discouragement blow. I cannot fail, for God is with me.”

Fifth: "I was sick, and ye visited me." I'm sure we have all been sick at some point in our lives. And when you're feeling under the weather, who doesn't appreciate a reassuring visit from family or friends? I think of loneliness in this same category of need.

When I was in graduate school in Illinois, I was home teacher to a dear elderly sister in our ward, Zada Purrington. She lived alone in an assisted living center but made great efforts to come to church. We lived far from our own families and grandparents, so Zada became a kind of adopted grandparent for our young children. We loved to visit and spend time with her, even though she could barely hear us.

I know she was lonely and was often sick, but she was always happy to see us. I'm sure (I hope!) she appreciated our visits with three young girls in tow, and I know we certainly were greatly blessed by our association with her. This kind of service brings blessings in abundance to all involved.

Church magazines: Sister Hinckley, you have said that “you don’t teach a child not to hit by hitting.”5
Sister Hinckley: When my daughter Jane was a young girl, she said to me one day that she had a friend who was grounded. I said, “Grounded? What does that mean?” We let our children figure things out for themselves. They knew when they were doing wrong, and they would fix it themselves. One of our daughters decided to stay home from church one Sunday. So she stayed home. She got very lonely. Everybody was in church but her, and she just sat on the lawn. She didn’t try that again. She figured it wasn’t any fun. It was lonely.

The world looked as fine, Nathan Gunnerson thought, as God Himself might have imagined it when He began His glorious work of creation. On the sprawling valley floor below Nathan, a sea of yellow wildflowers washed up the shores of the redrock hills like gilded ocean waves. And above him, in the topless blue sky, wings on winds were softly blown. Then why, Nathan wondered, do I feel so miserable?
He plopped his twelve-year-old body down beside his dog, Biscuit, on a rocky ledge and gazed across the valley through his father’s old Civil War spyglass. The dusky red buttes loomed in the distance as formidable in appearance, Nathan decided, as his present problems.
His father’s challenge had come about as a result of a family conversation at the supper table some three weeks before. Nathan’s parents had been discussing the importance of, and ways of coping with, life’s everyday challenges, and his father had asked him what he thought his greatest possible challenge might be.
Nathan had promptly responded, “Cory Atwood!”
Cory seemed to take great pleasure in making Nathan’s life difficult. Ever since Nathan and his family had moved to the small town of Red Rock Springs in the summer of ’76, Cory had resented him. Name calling, pushing and shoving, then a bloody nose came as a result of Nathan’s declining a dare. Cory had said, “You’re a new kid, and every new kid has to prove himself around here if he expects to get along.”
Nathan had replied that he didn’t have to prove anything to anyone except maybe his Heavenly Father, and he most likely had to be alive to do that. Walking the trestle across Devil’s Gorge didn’t seem to Nathan the best way of insuring a long and fruitful life. Besides, his father had taught him that a real coward is one who abandons or compromises his principles for the sake of “getting along” with others. “Being true to the Lord and yourself,” his father said after Nathan had confided in him concerning Cory’s dare, “is of far greater importance and consequence than appeasing the whims of a town bully.”
Now Nathan stood, brushed red rock dust off his trousers, and started down the hill, still despairing of meeting the challenge his father had issued at the end of that suppertime conversation. “Find something good about Cory Atwood,” his father had counseled, “to replace all those negative feelings you have toward him. Carrying bad feelings around only serves to drown out positive ones. It profits no one. Sweep some of that emotional refuse out of your heart, and you’ll have more room for happiness.”
“You’re asking me to love my enemy?”
“I’m not asking you to do anything the Lord wouldn’t do.” Nathan’s father had smiled and continued. “I’m not saying that you should love what Cory does to you. I’m just saying that we shouldn’t spend what little time we have on this earth in finding fault or living with negatives but in looking for the good in others. I want you to find something good about Cory.”
His mother had added softly, “If rain can make the flowers grow, honey, why not the rest of us too?”
Nathan kicked at a pebble and watched it roll down the hill in front of him and disappear into a clump of scrub oak. What did Mother mean, he wondered. And how can I find something I like about a kid who calls me names and gives me bloody noses? “Besides,” he added aloud to Biscuit ambling along at his side, “I’ve tried for over two weeks to find something good about him, and I’m getting tired of trying!”
Nathan kicked at another rock, hardly noticing the sky filling with dark, ominous clouds that began to barge their way in front of the sun. He’d much rather plow the field at home with a three-legged horse, he thought as he neared a large wash that preceded the valley floor, than try to find something good about someone he was sure there wasn’t anything good about! He’d even rather help his mother on wash day, and that was an all-day chore!
Thunder was booming like cannon fire, and rain was beginning to pour down fast and hard, when Nathan spotted someone hunched over what appeared to be a struggling animal near the center of the wash. He stepped beneath a rocky overhang to escape the downpour, took out his spyglass, and strained to get a closer look through the rain. It was a struggling animal, a raccoon caught in a steel jaw trap. And was that Cory Atwood trying to set it free?
Nathan wiped the rain from his disbelieving eyes. It was Cory! He was trying to save the helpless raccoon from a slow, painful death. But his efforts seemed to be in vain—his strength wasn’t sufficient to pry open the steel jaws and release the small creature’s leg.
Right in the middle of Nathan’s disbelief, he heard what sounded like distant thunder up above him in the high gorges. But the sound was continuous and began to grow louder and nearer. “It’s a flash flood, Biscuit!” Nathan gasped. “It’s coming down the wash!”
He screamed a warning to Cory, but his voice was lost in the noise of pounding rain and flood water. And Cory was so busy trying to free the animal that he wasn’t aware of his danger.
Nathan bolted away from the overhang and down along the edge of the wash as the thunderous sound grew nearer still. He dropped beside a surprised Cory, pointing with alarm up the hill. “Cory! A flash flood’s coming down the wash!”
Cory’s face registered equal alarm, but his rain-blurred eyes also flashed concern for the raccoon. “I can’t leave this animal here to die,” he yelled above the din.
“I’ll help, but let’s hurry!” Nathan yelled back.
Working together, the two boys were able to open the jaws of the trap. The raccoon pulled itself free and started to hobble up the embankment. The youths followed quickly, helping each other up the red mud and loose shale, glancing worriedly over their shoulders at the grimly awesome sight of a wall of reddish brown water raging down the wash toward them at an incredible speed.
They took refuge under the rocky ledge where Nathan had seen Cory through his spyglass. For a long moment they sat shaking at their near encounter with the deadly wall of water. Then for an equally long moment they stared at one another. Suddenly Nathan understood his mother’s words—good things often blossom and grow out of difficulty, out of effort. Like understanding. Like faith in a father’s counsel. Like the flowers after a rain. And if one looks past his dislikes, looks beyond the rain, he’ll find much good.
Cory’s eyes fell; then they lifted again and settled on Nathan’s, beseeching forgiveness. They found it in Nathan’s smile. No words were spoken. None were needed.

When Elder Neal A. Maxwell of the Quorum of the Twelve was growing up, more than anything he wanted to be a basketball star. When he was young, he was the best basketball player among his friends. In fact, he taught one of his friends how to play. But as time went on, his friend grew very tall and he did not. One of the hardest experiences of his life was being cut from the school basketball team while his friend made it.

Let his life be an example to you. Not all of your prayers will be answered the way you’d like. But if you trust Heavenly Father, he will not betray that trust.

When the current edition of the LDS hymnbook was printed, the author of “There Is Beauty All Around” was unknown—neither composer nor author is listed. President David O. McKay, a great admirer of this hymn, asked J. Spencer Cornwall, who was then a member of the Church Music Committee, to find the name of its author.
Soon afterwards while Brother Cornwall was traveling on assignment to Montana, he heard on the car radio a male chorus singing “There Is Beauty All Around.” Reaching his destination he called the station to ask the name of the author and was referred to a station in New Jersey where the program had originated. He wrote that station and was promptly sent a pamphlet stating that John Hugh McNaughton was both the author and composer of “There Is Beauty All Around.”
This information was conveyed to President McKay who remarked that he was sorry it had not been written by a member of the Church but that he was very pleased to know, however, that those lovely words had been written by a Scotsman. (Personal reminiscence of J. Spencer Cornwall.)
SONG: “There Is Beauty All Around.” (Hymns, p. 169; male chorus and tenor solo.)

What if you didn’t even have a room to meet in for Sunday classes? That’s the situation some young women from Iceland found themselves in a few years ago. The Church rents rooms in a building there, and at first the young women had to meet in the foyer. That wasn’t the best environment for a class, so after some renovations they turned a closet into a classroom.
Still, “the room was tiny and empty. It was impersonal,” recalls Karolina G., 18. “We decided as a class that we wanted to make the room our room. We wanted to feel the Spirit just by being there, to make it a holy place. So we did. We picked pictures and made our own poster with the Young Women theme on it.”
The result? The room may be small—the five youth and their two leaders barely fit—and it may be cold in the winter and very hot in the summer, but “the room is now a place where you can feel the Spirit,” Karolina says. “I’ve had many spiritual experiences in there. We’re squeezed in, but we’ve become closer. We’ve become a little family. I love this room!”

Wayne Bennett, a junior high instructor in Ventura, California, noted that he has been turned down for house insurance because of his deafness. The former deaf missionary also told about a deaf friend who worked in a supermarket. “When the boss needed his attention, he would throw an orange at him. Finally, one day my friend, with a watermelon in his hand, went up to the man and said, ‘The next time you throw an orange at me, you get a watermelon in the head.’ The young man, who was six feet tall and weighed 200 pounds, had no further trouble.”

Several years ago, donations were made to create a fund for an endowed chair at the University of Utah. The chair was named the “Dr. Russell M. Nelson and Dantzel W. Nelson Presidential Chair in Cardiothoracic Surgery at the University of Utah.” It honors the pioneering contributions of President Nelson and the support he received from his late wife. The appointed faculty member holds the title of “the Nelson chair.”

The investiture ceremony happened in 2018. The ceremony included President Nelson, his current wife, Sister Wendy W. Nelson, the president of the University of Utah, and other dignitaries. The first person selected and appointed to this endowed chair and who thus carried the title “the Nelson chair,” was Dr. Craig H. Selzman. Dr. Selzman is a wonderfully accomplished cardiothoracic surgeon who is not of our faith.

The ceremony honored both President Nelson and Dr. Selzman. Both spoke about what this meant to them. President Nelson spoke modestly of a surgical career that had spanned decades and included pioneering work developing what is commonly known as a heart-lung bypass machine. When Dr. Selzman spoke, he surprised me. I had expected him to say nice things about President Nelson. He did so briefly, stating that what President Nelson had done in performing the first open-heart surgery in the state of Utah in 1955 using a heart-lung machine that he himself had built from scratch was “so bold, so ambitious, [and] so crazy.” Dr. Selzman added, “I think it said a lot about his character.” [2]

But then Dr. Selzman spoke about what it meant to him personally to be appointed to the endowed chair named after President Nelson. He said it gave him pause and planted in him a desire to change his attitudes and behaviors and become more like President Nelson. The two never practiced medicine together, separated by a generation or so, but President Nelson’s reputation and character clearly impacted Dr. Selzman.

Dr. Selzman related that earlier that week, on Monday evening, he went through the surgical intensive care unit after a long day in the operating room. He noticed that one of the patients he had operated on earlier was doing poorly and needed to go back to surgery. Dr. Selzman was disappointed. He was irritated because he would have to spend another long night in the hospital. In the past, he would have showered his frustrations on his surgical team. Everyone around him would have been aware that Dr. Selzman was unhappy because he let it show in his tone of voice, the sharpness in his manner, and in his general grumpiness.

This Monday evening, however, he had a quick but life-changing conversation with himself. In the moment, he thought, “On Friday, I will be appointed to the endowed chair named after Dr. Russell M. Nelson. During his surgical career, Dr. Nelson was known as a gentleman, someone who always kept his emotions in check, treated everyone with dignity and respect, and never lost his temper. He was kind and thoughtful of his team. Now that my name will be linked with Dr. Nelson’s, I need to be more like him.”

Dr. Selzman said he composed himself and intentionally changed his attitude. He went into that late-night surgery more complimentary of his staff and more understanding of their frustrations. His efforts to be more like Dr. Nelson created a different atmosphere in the operating room. His surgical team undoubtedly wondered what had happened to their old boss. Notably, Dr. Selzman liked who he was in the operating room that night.

My appreciation for Dr. Selzman’s remarkable experience was made even more profound five years later. In 2023, I attended another ceremony in which President Nelson’s professional papers were donated to the University of Utah. The donation included more than 7,000 operative reports, along with research papers and other professional writings that were compiled during President Nelson’s extraordinary medical career.

In attendance at this second ceremony were President Nelson, Sister Nelson, the President of the University of Utah, the Vice-President of Health Sciences, the Vice-Chair of the Board of Trustees, the Dean of the School of Medicine, the head of the Health Sciences Library, the Chairman of Surgery, and Dr. Selzman, the Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery.

Several people spoke about the importance of the donation of President Nelson’s papers. The president of the University of Utah referred to President Nelson as its most distinguished alumnus. The last speaker was Dr. Selzman. Again, he surprised me.

Dr. Selzman began by mentioning that “Whenever you start talking about health care with [President Nelson], he gets a little twinkle in his eye.… It’s just amazing to see how energized he [gets] talking about all that stuff.” [3] But then, Dr. Selzman provided a follow-up on the effect of being “the Nelson chair,” not just on him, but also on members of his Division of Cardiothoracic Surgery. Referring to President Nelson’s initials, RMN, Dr. Selzman said, “There is an ‘RMN’ ethos that now pervades the Division of Cardiothoracic Surgery at the University of Utah. We know that we can’t live up to it, but it is aspirational.”

For those not familiar with the word ethos, it is used to describe the guiding beliefs or ideals that characterize a group. Dr. Selzman mentioned that in frustrating situations, when some choice words come into his mind, he remembers the RMN ethos. He continued, “I do what we now teach our trainees to do—focus, get over it, and do the best you can. This ethos lives in us every day.”

Dr. Selzman observed, “One of the most important things in my office is the medallion I received for the Nelson endowed chair. I remind myself every day of this ethos. We give lapel pins to every member of the division and new trainee. The pin has the University of Utah logo at its center with the words Cardiothoracic Surgery underneath the logo. Around the pin’s exterior are four things, three words ‘Teach,’ ‘Heal,’ and ‘Discover,’ and at the very bottom, the letters, RMN." The ethos that is characteristic of President Nelson’s life, Dr. Selzman said, “is foundational to our approach; we teach it to everyone.”

My wife and I are impressed by the effect President Nelson’s name had on Dr. Selzman. Not only has he tried to emulate President Nelson’s attributes, but he has also encouraged others to do the same. Dr. Selzman is striving to take on President Nelson’s characteristics because his name, Selzman, is now linked to President Nelson’s.

My first attempt at doing recreational activities with my siblings was rough, to say the least. But a turning point for me was a trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains. The leaves were every color, and the amusement park was fun, but moments of curt words, selfish actions, and teasing gone wrong often dampened the mood. Before we left, my sister and I hiked up a small hill and sat quietly as we listened to the nature around us. It was the first time in a while that we had sat without quarreling, quietly discussing the days ahead and our current struggles. The Spirit was present, bringing peace I had forgotten.
I started to try to go out of my way to talk to my siblings, ask them about their day, give them a hug—just be involved in their life. I helped my youngest, autistic brother with his homework. I helped my youngest sister make grammar flash cards and create silly rhymes to memorize the different parts of speech. On her next test she had improved by more than 20 points and received her highest test grade. The joy I felt from those moments was different and more profound than I had expected.
Being in a family can be hard, but in times likes those it is all worth it. Those little moments lead to ones of fun, games, and laughter; and I have felt a new unity in my family.
Emily C., age 17, North Carolina, USA

My Grandma Jeri and I have been making fudge since I was a little girl. Because my grandparents live in Utah and we reside in Colorado, we didn’t visit them as often as we liked. When we did, my grandma always made time for us to cook up some delicious fudge.
When my grandparents got their mission call to Cambodia, I was so excited for them to be able to share the gospel, but I was also sad, because it meant that I wouldn’t see them for two years. Their farewell was a bittersweet moment, not only because they were leaving but also because I was munching on bittersweet chocolate fudge.
My grandparents had been gone about a year when my uncle, their youngest son, got engaged. My grandma got special permission to attend the wedding. Excitement ran through my body as I gave her a hug. It was so good to see her and the rest of my family.
After the wedding my grandma and I were talking. My eyes lit up with excitement, and I asked if she wanted to make fudge. The batch was small, but it tasted just as good as I remembered.
It was hard to say goodbye before we left for the airport, but I knew that soon she’d be back. In grandma-fashion, she wanted to make sure we had something to eat on the plane, so I took the rest of our fudge. Needless to say, with a hungry dad and daughter, the fudge was gone before we got off the plane.
I will never forget how lucky I was to have that special time to talk with my grandma. I can’t wait until she gets home from her mission so that we can continue our tradition.

The night before Christmas had always been filled with wonder for my sister Phyllis and me. We spent hours guessing what surprises would await us in the morning. There were always two Christmas surprises that were the same—one for me and one for Phyllis.
“Ellie, do you remember how excited we were the year we found the baby dolls sitting in twin high chairs?” Phyllis asked. We were sitting in the bedroom we shared, too excited to sleep.
“Yours was wearing the blue outfit, mine was in pink,” I said.
“And wasn’t it fun the year we got those matching doll beds?” she asked.
What would our surprises be this year? Roller skates? Play dishes? Fancy dresses? We giggled with excitement.
“Listen!” Phyllis suddenly exclaimed. “I hear Dad’s car pulling into the driveway!”
We dashed to the window, pressed our faces against the cold glass, and peeked out into the darkness of Christmas Eve. From our second-story window we looked down onto the driveway and saw something in the back of Dad’s car. Something pink.
“Is it something for us?” Phyllis whispered.
“Well, something pink wouldn’t be for any of our brothers!” I said. We covered our mouths, trying to quiet our laughter.
“Then the something in the car has to be for us!” Phyllis said. “Our two somethings!”
We scurried back to bed and snuggled beneath our blankets, wrapped in warmth and anticipation. We scarcely slept all night.
When morning finally arrived, Phyllis and I, our three brothers, and our older sister lined up to go into the living room. When Mother gave the signal, we rushed in, then stood dazzled by the glowing tree. It sparkled with its colored lights, shimmering icicles, our homemade paper chains, and loved ornaments.
Phyllis and I stood entranced, ready to burst with excitement. At the same time, our eyes fell on the Something Pink. It was a dresser, about four feet high. We gazed at the piece of furniture, with its mirror and still smelling of pine and fresh paint. We loved it!
Then, slowly, our awe turned to puzzlement. We whispered to each other, “Where’s the other dresser? Which one of us is this for?”
Mother took us aside and gently told us, “Girls, there were two—one for each of you. But last night your father thought of a widow and her family. They don’t have much, and she has two daughters. Your father wondered what kind of Christmas they would have. He took the other dresser to their home last night. This one is for you girls to share.”* * *
That Christmas was long ago. Phyllis and I shared and loved that pink dresser through childhood until each of us married. The dresser went from holding mittens and pretty rocks to holding dance programs and our marriage announcements.
Now, with daughters, granddaughters, and great-granddaughters of our own, our Christmas surprise has been lovingly moved from one home to another and shared by many girls. Mothers have told their daughters the story of the pink dresser, and they have told their daughters.
If our little, worn pink treasure could speak, it might say that many girls have grown closer together because of a present two sisters shared, and a present they never received.

One day Woody poked a hole in my pocket and Mom was cross.
“How did you get this hole in your pocket?” she asked.
“It just grew like that,” I said. I didn’t want to tell her Woody did it. “Did you have that stick in your pocket again?”
I just stared at my shoelaces. They were loose.
“You and that stick!” Mom exclaimed. “Why do you keep it?”
“He’s my friend, Mom.”
Then Mom smiled and told me it was good to have a friend.
I like Mom a lot and don’t want to upset her, so I had a talk with Woody. I told him not to make holes in my pocket again. He didn’t cry or anything. He just listened. Then I felt sorry for him, so I sailed him through the air. Woody liked to fly.
There is a field beside our house and we went for a walk. I saw a plant with pretty flowers. A butterfly was sitting on it. I held Woody very still and the butterfly landed on him. Then the butterfly landed on my hand. Its feet felt funny. When the butterfly flew away Woody and I dug the plant up. We took it home and planted it beside the garage. Morn was glad when she saw how pretty it was.
“I’m sorry about the hole in my pocket, Mom, it was my fault,” I admitted.
Mom hugged me and messed up my hair with her hand. I love my mom!

I learned this lesson of meeting standards as a teenager.
As a teenager I spent my summers working on my grandfather's ranch in Wyoming. It was a sheep and cattle ranch of more than two thousand acres plus additional rangeland. The ranch operation required a lot of equipment. Since the closest repair center was a long way away through part of the Wyoming Bad Lands my grandfather taught us to carefully maintain the equipment and inspect everything before we left the ranch house. If we had a breakdown, it was usually miles from the ranch house and that meant a long walk. It didn't take long for me to learn the law of consequences. It was always better to avoid the problems than have a long walk. The same is true with the commandments of our Heavenly Father. He can tell the difference between someone who is striving to become like Him[7] and an individual who is pushing the edges but trying to stay just inside the acceptable limits.

Day by day the scenery and travel grew increasingly tiresome. Near Chimney Rock (in what is now Wyoming) some of the cattle became diseased and died, forcing the company to make shorter drives each day. William began to think he would never get to Utah and rejoin Elizabeth.
Finally one October Saturday, William’s company descended the hills above Salt Lake City, awed by a beautiful sunset across the Great Salt Lake and by the splendid square-blocked city stretched out below them. As they approached the city, an occupant of a nearby cabin called and waved to William. It was Sister Wardell, the woman with whom Elizabeth had traveled to Utah! William hurried to her, but his anticipation was instantly crushed. She informed him that Elizabeth no longer loved him and planned to marry a local polygamist!
“This was like a bolt of thunder to me,” he recalled. Heartsick, the young man continued with the company to the valley floor, then returned that night to the Wardells. The woman tried to persuade William to marry her daughter, but he was not interested. “I formed a resolution that I was going to have the ‘love of my youth’”, he said.
Friends from Maldon lived in Centerville so early the next week William hiked 19 kilometers to locate them. He arrived at night, and “to my great joy the girl of my heart was found lying asleep on an old home-made lounge and looking free although almost in rags. She awoke, and her joy was unbounded.” Elizabeth then explained that the Wardell woman had tried to marry her to her own son. That failing, the mother sent the girl away and kept all the clothes and bedding until Elizabeth’s 40-dollar fare was paid in full. The woman then had made up the story about Elizabeth’s loss of affection for William, hoping the navy veteran would marry into the Wardell family.
William returned to Salt Lake City and drove his freight team to Springville where he received his three months’ wages. Then he walked back to Salt Lake, paid off the 40-dollar debt, obtained his and Elizabeth’s belongings, and then got a ride back to Centerville. Two weeks later the engaged couple were married.

Recently I talked to a sister who was in the psychiatric unit of a local hospital. She shared with me her sorrowful journey from complete mental and physical health, a wonderful marriage and family, into mental illness, debilitating health, and the breakup of her family—all of which started with the abuse of prescription painkillers.
Two years prior to our conversation, she hurt her back in a car accident. Her doctor prescribed a medication to relieve the almost unbearable pain. She thought she needed something more, so she forged prescriptions and finally resorted to buying heroin. This led to her arrest and incarceration. Her obsession with drugs caused her marriage to fail. Her husband divorced her and retained custody of the children. She told me that besides helping to dull her pain, the drugs also provided a short-term but heightened sense of euphoria and well-being. But each dosage of drugs lasted only a few hours, and with each use the duration of relief seemed to lessen. She began to take more and more of the drugs and got caught up in the vicious cycle of addiction. Drugs became her life. The night before I talked with her, she tried to commit suicide. She said she could no longer deal with the physical, emotional, and spiritual pain. She felt trapped with no way out—with no hope.

During this past Christmas season, news correspondent Walter Cronkite participated with the Tabernacle Choir and the Orchestra at Temple Square in their Christmas concert. “He … spent 19 years as the anchorman for the ‘CBS Evening News.’ … [Mr. Cronkite] earned the reputation as ‘the most trusted man in America.’” When asked how he would want to be remembered, his response was, “Oh, as a fellow who did his best.” Over his distinguished career, Mr. Cronkite concluded each news report with the phrase, “And that’s the way it is.” Tonight let’s talk about the way it is.
At a recent stake conference, the stake president shared a story with me. He asked his son what was discussed at a recent Sunday evening fireside. The young man replied, “Raising the bar.” He then informed his father that he was weary of the theme because it was the subject of every recent class and meeting. My first thought was, “That’s great; the prophet’s message is being discussed, heard, and acted upon.” My second thought related to the young man’s feelings concerning repetitive reminders. Repetitive reminders can be an irritant when we are trying hard to do our best.
As a youth I would tune out my mother’s repetitive reminder: “David, remember who you are.” The reminder always brought some interesting comments from my friends. Irritation set in when my father repeatedly pointed out President George Albert Smith’s home as we traveled along 13th East in Salt Lake City and reminded me that a living prophet of God who loved me lived there. Today I am most grateful for those repetitive reminders.
The term “raising the bar” is often used in the world of sports to describe achieving higher levels of performance. The use of a sports metaphor may help describe why it is critical to respond to what President Hinckley asked us to do last conference when he said: “I hope that our young men, and our young women, will rise to the challenge [Elder Ballard] has set forth. We must raise the bar on the worthiness and qualifications of those who go into the world as ambassadors of the Lord Jesus Christ.”
A year ago we experienced a wonderful Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City. For most Olympic events, athletes must attain minimum levels of achievement in order to qualify to compete. Our lives are similar to the Olympic qualification process in that we need to achieve and maintain standards in order to participate in the important spiritual events of life. World-class athletes have a disciplined daily routine. They master the skills demanded by their sport. Only then can they qualify to participate in the contest. And that’s the way it is.
Young men, if you want to be world class and qualified to be participants in the really important events of life like priesthood ordinations, blessings of the temple, and missionary service, you too must develop a disciplined daily routine of honesty, virtue, study, and prayer. And that’s the way it is.
Olympians know and understand the rules that govern their sport. Broken rules can bring severe penalties and even disqualification. At the last Olympics, failure to observe rules associated with performance-enhancing drugs brought medal forfeiture. One of the harshest penalties levied on an athlete occurs in the game of golf. Just signing a scorecard with an incorrect score entered for any one of the 18 holes brings disqualification. There is zero tolerance. It doesn’t matter if the error benefits or hurts the individual; the penalty is the same—disqualification.
After more than 50 years, I can still hear the words of a tournament official: “Sorry, son, we must disqualify you for signing an incorrect scorecard.” My disqualification came as a result of my mentioning to the official that I needed to correct my score. For weeks I said to myself: “Why didn’t I remain silent? Besides, the error was an innocent mistake. The total score was correct.” Though my performance was good enough to find me in the winner’s circle, I left the awards presentation empty-handed. And that’s the way it is.
My young friends, rules are important, even critical. In life there are also penalties, perhaps even disqualification, if rules are broken. Our participation in life’s important events may be jeopardized if we fail to follow the rules contained in our Father in Heaven’s commands. Involvement in sexual sin, illegal drugs, civil disobedience, or abuse could keep us on the sidelines at key times. You would do well to view rules as safety restraints, not as chains that bind. Obedience builds strength. And that’s the way it is.
In 1834 the Prophet Joseph Smith recorded, “No month ever found me more busily engaged than November; but as my life consisted of activity and unyielding exertions, I made this my rule: When the Lord commands, do it.”
For some, sports are a business. The difference between winning and losing can be a substantial amount of money. Athletes hire agents to handle their business affairs. Agents, personal trainers, coaches, and managers assist the athlete to enhance performance.
Our Father in Heaven has provided His precious young sons with a superb support team more than equal to the one used by the athlete. Our parents make superb agents. They look after our interests. They are not only interested in us, but because they love us, they are terrific consultants as well.
The Apostle Paul in teaching the Colossians said, “Children, obey your parents in all things: for this is well pleasing unto the Lord” (Colossians 3:20). In addition to our parents, think about the vast support network that has been provided to enhance our spiritual performance. Our bishops serve as personal trainers and use their sacred priesthood keys to bless our lives. Seminary teachers, quorum advisers, and home teachers round out the support team which has been assembled by the Lord to help us prepare for the big games of life. As you follow and obey, your performance will steadily improve. When the Lord commands, do it. And that’s the way it is.
One of the defining differences between the good and the great is what sports psychologists call focus. Competitors who have the ability to set aside the unimportant and be completely attentive to that which is critical are able to improve their performance. Focus is a critical success factor.
I overheard a conversation between golfing great Arnold Palmer and a young caddie he was using for the first time. The young caddie, while handing Mr. Palmer his club, told him the distance to the flag was 165 yards, there was an unseen stream on the left, and a long and treacherous rough on the right. In a very kind but firm way, Mr. Palmer reminded the young man that the only information he required was the distance to the hole. He further suggested he didn’t want to lose focus by worrying about what was on the right or left.
It is easy to lose sight of the really important objectives of life. There is much to distract us. Some are floundering in the water hazards on the left, and others are finding the long, treacherous rough on the right insurmountable. Safety and success come when focus is maintained on the important opportunities found by driving the ball straight down the middle—priesthood advancement, temple worthiness, and missionary service. And that’s the way it is.
May our Father in Heaven bless each one of you. I testify to one and all that Jesus is the Christ. He lives, and His love for us is perfect. I’m grateful for a great prophet who helps us understand that when the Lord commands, do it, because that’s the way it is. In the name of our Savior and Redeemer, Jesus Christ, amen.

In Germany, football is the most popular sport. My dad signed me up for a football club when I was five. We practiced three or four times a week. Games were mostly on Saturdays and Sundays. When I wasn’t playing football for the club team, I played football with my friends. We played football almost every day until the sun went down.
When I was 15, I started playing for a team in a bigger city. Football became more serious. We practiced more often. We traveled to more places. We played against more teams. Football was my life.
Then, when I was almost 18, I was at a concert. I saw a boy about my age. He stuck out. He wasn’t drinking, smoking, or swearing. I wanted to know why. I found out he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His example made me want to learn more. Later I joined the Church.
After I was baptized, I learned two things. First, I shouldn’t be playing football on the Sabbath. I should go to church. Second, Heavenly Father expected me to serve a mission. But I was pretty good at football. I had a friend I had played football with when we were younger. We each got an offer to play on a professional team. My friend took the offer. I chose to leave football behind and go on a mission instead. It was not a hard choice because I knew the Church was true.
But my choice was difficult for my family and friends. They didn’t understand what I was doing. My parents sent me newspaper clippings of my friend playing football. That was not easy for me. But I never ever regretted serving a mission.
Heavenly Father has blessed me every day because I chose to serve a mission. He has blessed me with peace. I felt the good feeling that comes from making the right choice.

As a 16-year-old priest, I was just beginning a part-time job as a radio announcer at a local station. After I offered a prayer at the sacrament table in our ward, a girl who was present told me I sounded like I was reading a commercial. Can you imagine the shame I felt? After 50 years that rebuke still stings. Brethren, remember the significance of those sacred prayers. You are praying as a servant of the Lord in behalf of the entire congregation.