Gospel Story Finder

Yes, I look good. I look really great as a matter of fact. I needn’t worry about anything. I look sensational in this red dress. Red looks best on me, and I look sensational. Except for the buttons. I don’t like the buttons mother picked. They’re really crummy buttons. But if I hold my arm up in front like this, no one will see them there. Now I really do look sensational, and no one can see the buttons at all. I feel the music. I’m with it. It’s going to work for me tonight. Positive thinking will work. It will. It will.
There’s Herb Blakely. He’s looking at me. He likes my dress. I can tell. He took a step toward me. I’ll bet he wants to dance with me, but he’s afraid to ask. I’ll smile at him. Come across the room, Herbie, and ask me to dance. Tell me I look sensational. Ask me to dance, Herbie. The power of positive thinking is at work. Ask me, Herbie. Ask me. You jerk! He’ll be back, maybe. I’m sure he looked at me. Herbie likes me. He said “Hi” in Sunday School last week. That’s all he said, but I could tell by the way he said it that he likes me. He said “Hi” and then walked past me. But I could tell it meant something.
If I don’t stand by any other girls, someone will ask me to dance. Oh my gosh, here comes Martha Bluke. Go away Martha. Go away. Don’t stand here by me. Go away Martha. The power of positive thinking. It worked. I can’t believe it. She went over to the corner with Mary Anne Little and Beth Kelly. They’re dancing with each other! Oh, I can’t stand it. Three girls dancing in a corner. Its disgusting. I can’t stand it. I think I’m going to die right on the spot.
Oh, there’s Ralph. I’ll smile a little more. He is so darling. Really. He is really so very cool. He looked at me. My mouth hurts from smiling and my arm hurts too. Crummy buttons. Tell me I’m witty and cute, Ralph. Oh Ralph, you could make my entire adolescence if you’d just ask me to dance. Ask me, Ralph. Ask me. He asked Lila Kirk. Jerk. Look how close they’re dancing. Isn’t anyone going to break them up? I would never dance that close with anyone. Not with anyone.
Except maybe Chuck Stewart. I just adore him. He is so neat. He always stands with his hands in his pockets. I really like that. And his hair touches his ears in a really groovy way, and I think he shaves. I’ll bet he’s the only boy in this entire ward who shaves. There he is. Oh I can’t breathe. Isn’t that neat? Oh, if I could dance with Chuck Stewart I’d never ask for another thing in my entire life. I’m smiling at him, and I’ve got all my buttons covered, and he’s looking at me. I winked at him! How could I wink at him? It was an accident. I winked at Chuck Stewart. I must have a tic. I must. I’ve never in my life done that. He’ll think I’m a flirt. Oh Chuck, I didn’t mean to wink at you like a creep. He asked Martha. Martha! How could he ask her? She was dancing with all those girls and he asked her. It was because I winked, I’ll bet. He’d rather ask a girl who dances with girls than a girl who winks. I must have a tic. Martha thinks she dances so well. She doesn’t.
Roger Humphries! I thought he’d moved out of the ward. Oh wow! Oh neato! Look at the way he chews his gum. I’m going to die. Right now. I’m going to die. He’s walking across the dance floor. Oh, I can’t breathe. My arm is going to sleep. Positive thinking. Positive thinking. Ask me—ask me—ask me. Oh, Roger, you are so numero uno neato!
He’s looking at me. My lips are quivering. They’re quivering. My palms are beginning to perspire. It’s not ladylike. He’s coming right toward me. Oh my mouth hurts. My arm. My crummy buttons. Why didn’t I wear something else? Ask me, Roger. Ask me to dance, Roger. Tell me I’m the best looking thing you’ve seen all night. Tell me I’m beautiful and charming and witty and exciting and that you’ve had your eye on me for years. Tell me you love me, Roger. Or just ask me to dance!
Don’t walk past me. He’s drinking red punch. Red punch! Why not red dress? Me? Oh pooh, who cares? I don’t. I really don’t. To think I came to this duddy dance when I could be home reading the Scarlet Letter.
My father! My father the bishop is walking toward me. No, Daddy; no. No. Please don’t. Please go to the punch bowl. No, Daddy, don’t smile so lovingly at me. Oh please let me be struck dead instantly. He says I’m the most beautiful thing he’s seen all evening. Would I dance just one with him? He says I’m exciting and charming and witty and that I dance like Ginger Rogers, whoever she is. He says he loves me.
Oh, Daddy, I love you too.

Excited voices rise and fall in a jumbled cadence that resembles a symphony tuning up. There’s a vibrant current flowing, and the ground almost rumbles underfoot. Everyone waits with nervous anticipation as another Texas well is about to burst forth.
All who are involved with the well will immediately strike it rich, but not in a monetary sense. Instead of the black gold Texas is so famous for, this well is spewing talent—talent in all shapes and forms, drilled from the young women of the Richardson Stake in Dallas Texas.
Nearly 100 girls are waiting for the concert portion of the day-long Young Women conference to begin. And this is no ordinary Young Women conference. It’s one that advisers and girls have been working on for two years.
The theme of the conference is “Follow Your Dreams … and Pay the Price,” and the advisers have come up with an interesting way to develop that topic. The conference is divided into two parts. One part is educational—the adults in the stake teach the girls just what price they’ll have to pay to realize their dreams.
Mothers, of course, are invited to share the day, so they can better help their daughters reach their goals.
During the other half of the conference, the girls give something back to the adults of the stake by putting on a talent “concert,” in which each girl has the chance to demonstrate some of the skills she’s working on.
Right now, just as the concert is about to begin, the young women are anxiously tying white ribbons and straightening white skirts. Everyone is decked out in sparkling white, but the color of their clothes is where the similarity ends. The styles, lengths, and details of the dresses are as individual as the girls who wear them. The symbolism is obvious; the whiteness stands for the purity that they all possess, and although they share the same virtues, they are anything but carbon copies of each other.
They’re a lively group. The same energy that pulses through downtown Dallas sparks from these girls. They’re quick with their laughter, yet quicker with concern for each other. Some speak with heavy Texan drawls, and others sound like they just came from Ohio. Dallas, after all, is a city that draws people from all over the country.
At last the cue is given, and they explode on stage singing the lyrics “Someday just began.” They sing with conviction because they know that someday is now. Instead of waiting to “someday” refine their talents, when they have the time; and to “someday” share them with others, when they’re good enough; or to “someday” use their talents to help those in need, when they have the inclination—the young women of the Richardson Stake are using their talents now.
The talent concert gave them the perfect opportunity to prove that. Take Amy Ravsten, a 17-year-old from Garland Third Ward, for example. When she heard that the young women in her stake would be performing, she offered to teach the girls in her ward a jazz routine she’d learned at cheerleading camp. A real sense of camaraderie developed as six girls of varying aptitudes worked together to perfect the dance.
For gymnast Kim McCauley, a 14-year-old from the Rockwall Ward, “someday” began when she was a toddler. She was walking at six months, running at eight months, and by the time she hit three, her parents decided they’d better find a way to channel her energy, or they’d be exhausted in the chase. They enrolled her in gymnastics classes, and today, she not only is a top competitor on her high school team, but she also uses her talent in her spare time to teach gymnastics classes for small children.
Instead of waiting for “someday” to take time to really get to know and enjoy the rest of her family, 12-year-old Stephanie Smith of the Dallas Fourth Ward learned a family talent that would send them touring the state and the country. The family took up clogging, a misleading term for a high-energy form of tap dance. Through it, she learned all about keeping in step with the rest of the family. “It’s really helped us with our unity,” she says. “Although it’s sometimes hard to get everyone together to practice, we feel a real closeness when we perform.”
“Someday I’ll be a great piano player … when I have time to practice,” is a foreign phrase to Susanna Olsen, who proved that she already has mastered the instrument. She dashed off a Rachmaninoff opus as if she’d written it herself. Members of the Richardson First Ward know that they can come to Susanna whenever they need an accompanist. She’s more than willing to oblige them.
Sherry Blanpied, a 13-year-old from the Richardson Second Ward, had no intention of waiting for “someday, when I’m good enough,” to display her dramatic talents. She performed a monologue right after winning first place with the same piece in a school competition held earlier that day.
These girls and many more were able to shower the stake with their talents. And for those who had talents that were not easily displayed on stage, such as soccer finesse or computer programming, their “someday” in the limelight came when they performed in one of three song and dance routines choreographed to include every girl who wanted to join in.
The conference theme came to life as the girls prepared for the concert. The price they paid to realize their dream of a successful show was a lot of time and effort. They passed up parties and various other school activities to meet a grueling rehearsal schedule, and some even missed going to their high school football games. That’s practically unheard of in Texas, where school spirit is as high as a lone star in the sky.
The girls in Dallas are just like most young women everywhere. In their spare time, they like to get together to talk and watch video movies, they like to go to dances, eat Mexican food, and go horseback riding. They’re especially proud of their new temple, and they go to the visitors’ center frequently. But in preparation for the conference, they put most of their other activities on the back burner and concentrated on “paying the price” to make it a dream come true.
Michelle DeMarco, 13, of the Richardson First Ward, even gave up a part in a school play to participate in the conference. Michelle, who lives and breathes theater, insisted “it was worth missing the school play to come to this. I’ve really enjoyed being together with everyone here.”
Michelle’s mother was right there supporting her from the rehearsals through to the actual production. “My mom has helped me with everything,” said Michelle. “She’s always making me feel good about what I’m doing, and she’s always there to lift me up.” That’s the way it is with many of the mothers in the Richardson Stake.
“We just can’t stand by on the side of the river and watch these young women try to maneuver the rapids by themselves,” said Linda McCauley, who spearheaded the conference. Sister McCauley had three daughters involved in the day and feels that she needs to “jump on the raft with them … to share their experiences so they don’t float so far away and become strangers.”
Some mothers and daughters in the stake are so close it’s even hard to tell them apart. They share jokes, clothes, and friendships. They were more than willing to help with the other parts of the conference by spending long hours decorating for the elaborate luncheon and pulling together the programs, speakers, and handouts for the educational part of the day.
The informative portion’s purpose, according to Sister McCauley, was to “provide the girls with a positive, uplifting experience where they learned about their responsibilities to Heavenly Father, to themselves, and to others.”
These responsibilities were brought home to the girls during a multimedia presentation starring many familiar faces. Advisers had taken the time to interview some of the girls and discuss how they could pump the most from their talents.
A video clip was shown of Rebecca Duehring, a 15-year-old from the Rockwall Ward, gliding across the ice during one of her many intense ice skating competitions. Rebecca’s struggle to be a competitive skater hasn’t been easy. She was born with brain damage that limited her coordination and space perception. She could barely walk, was constantly falling, and had broken nearly every bone in her body. Then she took up ice skating, which, for some reason she can’t explain, helped her gain her coordination.
Although it takes more time and concentration for Rebecca to perfect her routines, she’s right up there with the best in town and dreams of one day going to the Olympics. “Sometimes I can feel that Heavenly Father is behind me, and I go for the top,” says Rebecca.
The girls were also treated to talks, workshops, and presentations by people who had paid the price to reach excellence. “Commitment is more than desire,” stake president Larry Gibbons told them in his speech. “Commitment implies action.” And in other workshops, the girls learned just what kind of actions they’d have to take to be successful in different aspects of their lives.
They were shown the literal prices they’ll have to pay when the time comes to support themselves. They shuddered as they saw just how far an average, 40-hour a week job paying $5 an hour would take them. After paying tithing, taxes, rent, food, gas, transportation, insurance, and utility bills, they’d be in the hole about $2,000 per year.
“This has really started me thinking about what I want to do,” said Ruth Vigil, 16, of the Richardson Third Ward. “I hadn’t really set any goals for my future occupation, but now I realize that I’ll have to.” Ruth is musically talented. She sings and plays the piano and is now thinking about ways to incorporate those talents in a future occupation.
“We wanted to help the girls change their lives and get moving into some sort of direction,” said Connie Riska, stake Young Women president. “They need to make some of their decisions now and not wait until they graduate from high school.”
The girls realize that not all of them will go on to become working women. “My ambition is to have ten kids. six cats, and five gerbils,” jokes 16-year-old Tami McCauley of the Rockwall Ward. Just in case her dream comes true, the conference helped her to realize that the experience she’s gaining now by helping her mother take care of her nine brothers and sisters is invaluable.
Tracy Rico, 17, of the Garland Third Ward, had her feeling reaffirmed that if she’s going to meet her goal of entering into the medical profession, it can’t hurt to start learning now. That’s why she’s working as a “sports medicine trainer” at her high school.
The girls were encouraged to think about their future goals in preparation for a very special fashion show that was also part of the conference. Each young woman either made or coordinated an outfit to wear, and as they were escorted down the runway, their achievements and dreams were capsulized by the emcee.
Amanda Wilson, 15, of the Richardson First Ward, was right in her element during this part of the day. Her mother began teaching her to sew when she was seven years old, and now you might wonder who is teaching whom. Not only did Amanda sew several outfits for the fashion show, but she designed them as well, making her own patterns.
Amanda is refining her talents now so that one day she can major in fashion merchandising and hopefully have her own designing business. But in the meantime, she uses her abilities by sewing for ward members.
Short-term goals were also met via the fashion show. “It was great because my mom and I worked together on my outfit,” said Jennifer Beckham, 15, of the Rockwall Ward. “We took a whole day to go pick out the material, and as we cut it out and worked on it, we just talked about all sorts of things. It was really nice.”
That feeling of unity and understanding seemed to characterize the day. Most people were a bit surprised when Melissa Lane, 13, modeled her outfit as it was announced that one of her major goals was to become a member of the Church.
Melissa later explained, “My aunt is a member of the Church and I live with her now. She lets me go to church, and it really makes me feel good. I’m starting to read the Book of Mormon, and my aunt is letting me subscribe to the New Era. My special friends here have helped me with my testimony, and this conference has too.”
Most of the girls agreed that the friendship they cultivated by sharing their talents with each other was one of the best parts of the conference. Many of the girls go to different schools and don’t have the opportunity to get together often. “I’ve grown so close to the people here,” said Tova Carter, 14, of the Garland Fourth Ward. “We learned that if we put our minds to something, we really can accomplish it.”
An elaborate luncheon, a fashion show presented by a local designer, and minimusical concerts performed by local professionals and local Suzuki violin students all added to the day as the young women struck it rich in Dallas.
The girls might not be able to buy expensive sports cars and luxurious wardrobes with the wealth they gained by tapping the well at their conference, but deep in the hearts of the young women in Texas, they know they struck something far more valuable.

Julia has often served as a liaison between her community and the South African government in safeguarding her neighbors’ rights. Recently, she became concerned about pensioners who failed to receive their pension checks, sometimes for many months. Taking the subject on the air during a radio talk show she was invited to, Julia rallied community support and brought the issue to the attention of the new government.

Years ago when I was serving as a bishop, a recently converted family moved into our rural Utah community. These good people had joined the Church in the eastern United States and had been warmly fellowshipped and put to work in a small branch there. When they came to our larger, more-established ward, they somehow slipped through the cracks. Some of the family members, particularly the father, became disenchanted with the Church and its members.

One Sunday morning when I noticed the father was missing from priesthood meeting, I left the meetinghouse and drove to his home. He invited me in, and we had a very honest conversation about the struggle he was having with his new faith and neighbors. After exploring various possibilities for responding to his concerns, none of which seemed to appeal to him very much, I asked him with a tone of frustration in my voice just what we could do to help him. I’ve never forgotten his reply:

“Well, bishop,” he said (and I will need to paraphrase here slightly), “for heaven’s sake, whatever you do, please don’t assign me a friend.”

I learned a great lesson that day. No one wants to become a “project”; we all want spontaneously to be loved. And, if we are to have friends, we want them to be genuine and sincere, not “assigned.”

George hurried through the woods, munching absentmindedly on a corn dodger stuffed with strips of home-cured meat. He glanced about at the bright ferns and wild flowers poking up through the forest floor as he went, but his thoughts were not on them. Ordinarily he would have stopped now and then to study a beetle crawling over a stem or to wonder why certain tiny flowers flourished in shade while others wilted without sunshine, but not today. He had someplace special to go on this Indian summer day in 1871.
George was heading toward the school in Diamond Grove, Missouri, about a mile away from where he lived with Aunt Susan and Uncle Moses. They were the white folks who had taken him in after he was orphaned. George recalled Aunt Sue talking to the neighbors about their children’s schooling, and now he was going to find out what it was all about. Though he was ten years old he had never been in a school.
George was slight for his age, and his voice was permanently damaged as the result of a babyhood illness that never quite left him. But he made up for it with his sharp, hungry mind. He wondered about everything he saw, even small things that everyone else ignored. Perhaps the boy felt that their small size, like his own, didn’t make them unimportant.
When George reached a clearing and spotted the small, dingy cabin that was used for a schoolhouse, he paused a moment. It doesn’t look like much, he thought. Then he crept quietly to the doorstep of the little building and crouched there, listening.
What George heard made his heart thump—the droning of children’s voices, interrupted now and then by the sharp voice of the teacher. The students were reading and reciting their lessons!
George sat spellbound for several more minutes; then he stole away as silently as he had come.
I want to read! George thought to himself as he slipped quietly back through the woods. Suddenly, he flopped down in the spongy moss under an oak tree and pondered a while longer. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.
Back at the farm, George hurried to find Uncle Moses. The hardworking farmer was in the barn, currying one of his fine horses.
“Uncle Moses!” chirped George shrilly.
Moses Carver whirled around to face the barefooted boy.
“You startled me, boy!” he exclaimed. Then he said, “What is it?”
“Uncle M-Moses,” piped George like a little bird. Then he remembered to speak slowly so that he wouldn’t stammer so much. “When can I go to s-school, Uncle Moses? I’m big enough now! C-can I go tomorrow?”
Moses turned away for a moment, rubbing his stubbly chin. “George,” he began, “that school in Diamond Grove …” He paused painfully. “It’s for white children. You can’t go there, son.”
George stared, the shining hope in his eyes dimmed. He wanted so much to learn! He stumbled out of the barn into the bright sunlight. The bloodhounds that Uncle Moses raised for hunting yelped and bayed, but he didn’t hear them. Aunt Sue spied him from the house and called, “George! Could you help me with the jelly this afternoon?” George kept on walking. “George?” she called again.
George broke into a run. He needed to be alone—in his secret garden in the woods. This was a place where he kept many kinds of plants and flowers. He tended them carefully, seeing to their special needs. If a plant wilted in the pure, rich loam of the forest floor, he mixed in sand. If a rosebush were ailing, he tracked down the tiny insects that were nibbling its leaves and made it well. Even the neighbors had taken to calling him the plant doctor, and they brought him their plants and flowers to mend. He hardly ever lost a patient.
“That George has a way with wild things,” they’d say to one another.
Today George scarcely noticed his garden. He just sat silently, hardly aware of the woodsy sounds of twittering birds and scampering squirrels.
There in the quiet of the woods, George tried to sort things out in his mind. There were so many things he did not know, and he wanted to learn everything! I will learn to read and write! he decided. Perhaps Aunt Sue and Uncle Moses will help. There must be some reason why I’m darker than other folks. Up to now it hasn’t made any difference. But if I have to work extra hard for what I want, then that’s what I’ll do.
George started for home, skipping pebbles as he went. That very evening, he and Aunt Sue sat down and looked over an old blue-back speller she had used as a girl. By the light of a tallow dip they practiced words and letters from the book. Then Uncle Moses helped George do simple sums and write his name.
George learned quickly. The neighbors heard about his thirst for knowledge and loaned him books to read.
Uncle Moses nodded knowingly. “That boy’s going to make something of himself,” he told Aunt Sue.
George did indeed make something of himself. He went to school, although he had to leave the home of his family to do it. He wandered the country throughout the West and South, taking jobs wherever a school was located nearby. He finally managed to attend college in Iowa. After graduation and work at the agricultural experiment station there, he was asked by Booker T. Washington to teach at the Tuskegee Institute in Alabama. The folks back home and the friends he had made everywhere he went were very proud of him.
George never stopped learning. He lived to be more than eighty years old and became known throughout the world as Dr. George Washington Carver, distinguished professor, scientist, artist, musician, and inventor. As a chemurgist (one who uses farm products for industrial purposes) he devised more than 300 different uses for peanuts, 118 for sweet potatoes, and 75 for pecans. Perhaps more importantly, he spent a lifetime working to help his people—all people, regardless of race or religious faith.
Although many had been unkind to him along the way, there always seemed to be at least one friendly face encouraging George to go on. He wanted to be that friendly face to as many others as possible. He got his wish. He was an inspiration to thousands in his own country—and to the whole world.

Not long ago, I listened to a man and woman who spoke in my home ward. This man had served in many capacities in the Church, including that of bishop. Their most recent assignment was to fellowship a single mother and her children. He stated that it was the most joyful of all his Church experiences.
This young woman was full of questions. She was filled with fear and anxiety. She did not wish to make a mistake, to say anything that was out of line that might embarrass her or cause others to laugh. Patiently this man and his wife brought the family to church, sat with them, put a shield around them, as it were, against anything that might happen to embarrass them. They spent one evening a week with them at their home, teaching them further concerning the gospel and answering their many questions. They led that little family along as a shepherd leads his sheep. Eventually, circumstances dictated that they move to another city. “But,” he stated, “we still correspond with that woman. We feel a great appreciation for her. She is now firmly grounded in the Church, and we have no fear concerning her. What a joy it has been to work with her.”

I’ve been blessed to live near several temples, and I’ve always been pretty good about going weekly. Many General Authorities have taught that worship in the temple can help us be more in tune with the Spirit,3 so I figured I was already doing enough. But answers still weren’t coming. As I looked at my habits, I realized I had a pretty obvious area for improvement: I often get drowsy in the temple. I’ve told my friends, “If Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf said that ‘church sleep is among the healthiest of all sleeps,’4 then temple sleep must be even better!” and I’ve rationalized my sleepiness by thinking that the temple is just so peaceful that I can’t help it. But the temple isn’t a day spa. I go to the temple to work—to perform proxy ordinances that give my deceased family members the opportunity to have eternal life.5
I realized it was time for me to “awake” (Alma 32:27) and be more intentional in my temple worship. I try to prepare myself spiritually and mentally before I go to the temple instead of treating it as just another part of my routine.

On another occasion the Spirit came to my assistance as I was editing a casebook on a legal subject. A casebook consists of several hundred court opinions, together with explanatory material and text written by the editor. My assistant and I had finished almost all of the work on the book, including the necessary research to assure that these court opinions had not been reversed or overruled. Just before sending it to the publisher, I was leafing through the manuscript and a particular court opinion caught my attention. As I looked at it, I had a profoundly uneasy feeling. I asked my assistant to check that opinion again to see if everything was in order. He reported that it was. In a subsequent check of the completed manuscript, I was again stopped at that case, again with great feelings of uneasiness. This time I went to the law library myself. There, in some newly received publications, I discovered that this case had just been reversed on appeal. If that opinion had been published in my casebook, it would have been a serious professional embarrassment. I was saved by the restraining power of revelation.

The story is told there of the grandfather who took his five-year-old grandson for a walk around town. Ultimately, they found themselves at a small grocery store on Main Street where they stopped for a cold soda pop. A car from out of state pulled up and the driver approached the old-timer. Pointing to a small cloud in the sky, the stranger asked, “Do you think it’s going to rain?”
“I certainly hope so,” replied the old man, “if not for my sake, for the boy’s. I’ve seen it rain.”
Hope is an emotion which brings richness to our everyday lives. It is defined as “the feeling that … events will turn out for the best.” When we exercise hope, we “look forward … with desire and reasonable confidence” (dictionary.reference.com/browse/hope). As such, hope brings a certain calming influence to our lives as we confidently look forward to future events.

My wife and I have just celebrated a remarkable thirtieth anniversary. Thirty years ago, young missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on our door in Nottingham, England.
How did their message appeal to two active members of another church? We, and generations before us, had held membership in the established church of the land. Furthermore, we were very happy with our way of life. Two precious children had graced our home, and a new job in a large industrial company was giving challenge and enjoyment.
What more could we hope for? What could add to our happiness? As the missionaries taught us and prayed with us, we began to realize that there were gaps in our life, that we had unfulfilled needs. For a few minutes may I share with you ten ways in which our lives became even more purposeful and happy as these needs were fulfilled. I am sure you will be able to identify some of these needs in your life, in your home, in your family.
First, we realized that our communication with God was not often enough or strong enough. True, we had always said our individual prayers, but when, because of the missionaries, we also started to pray together regularly as husband and wife and with our children, we experienced a tremendous feeling of closeness, not only with each other but with the Almighty God.
The missionaries had taught us that he is a personal being, that he is literally our Father, and prayers began to flow from the heart and were no longer repetitious. We came to know him as a loving Father, just and kind, reliable and true. What great need there is in the world today to commune with the Infinite, to talk and walk with God, to know that he speaks to us today and that we are in reality his children.
Second, we came to know Jesus Christ, not just as a historical figure, but as the living Son of God. In high school and the years that followed I had made a special study of the New Testament. However, the Savior’s life and mortal ministry had no great impact on my life until the missionaries testified, as did Job of old, that our Redeemer lives (see Job 19:25).
I came to know him as my personal Savior, who gave his life for me and for each of us. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). Everyone needs a friend and everyone has a friend beyond compare—Jesus Christ and him crucified and resurrected for us.
Third, as a young married couple, we were seeking security in an insecure world. We had grown from youth through teenage years during World War II. I had been a member of the Home Guard at sixteen, trained to defend my country, and at seventeen had volunteered for the Royal Air Force. Now, more than five years after the war had finished, there was still rubble in the streets and rationing in the shops.
We grasped at the secure message that the missionaries gave us, that God speaks today as he did anciently, through prophets. Yes, he is mindful of us, he does love us, he has restored his church and the fulness of his gospel as he promised. Oh, how the world needs a prophet to lead us and guide us in these troubled times. I testify that we have such a prophet. He sits behind me as I speak in this tabernacle. He presides over The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the Lord’s church and kingdom here on earth.
Fourth, we began attending the Church at the missionaries’ invitation—and what a friendly reception! We soon learned what true sociality is, and sincere brotherhood and sisterhood which bind together people of all nations and tongues. “Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). What a wonderful feeling of belonging, of being needed and appreciated, beyond anything we had previously experienced.
Soon we were singing in choirs; visiting other Church members in their homes, just as they visited us; and giving service to others in some of the many service projects the Church provides. We were able to choose from a wide range of activities—drama, dancing, sport—to supplement the spiritual progress that came rapidly by worshiping and learning with other Latter-day Saints. Everyone needs to experience the warmth of friendship and happy social activity on a continuing basis.
Fifth, my family and family life became even more meaningful and precious to me as we commenced having wonderful family home evenings together. We learned that all over the world, members of the Church spend at least one evening a week together in a balanced evening of spiritual instruction, fun, and talent sharing. We love our children, and we were glad to learn from the missionaries that although baptism is essential for the remission of sins, infant baptism is not necessary since “all children who die before … accountability are saved in the celestial kingdom” (D&C 137:10). We have known a number of parents who have been distressed at the death of a small child because of the un-Christian doctrine of infant baptism.
Again, we also became concerned about our wider family: our grandparents, our great-grandparents, and all of our ancestors. This is also a universal need, as Alex Haley expressed, “a hunger, marrow-deep, to know our heritage” (“What Roots Means to Me,” Reader’s Digest, May 1977, p. 73). Everyone has some family, sometimes near, sometimes far, sometimes living in mortality, sometimes passed on and awaiting the Resurrection. The strength that comes from family in all its aspects is a vital need, one that can be fulfilled by the principles and programs learned from the missionaries.
Sixth, everyone appreciates good health, and there is a basic need to have our spirit housed in a well-functioning body if at all possible. Personally, I had suffered internal discomfort for some years, but the health code, or Word of Wisdom, taught by the missionaries helped me to overcome this. I can testify that the exclusion of the habit-forming stimulants of alcohol, tobacco, tea, and coffee has been a great blessing in my life and the lives of my wife and my children. I am glad the Lord gave this revelation through Joseph Smith, the Prophet, almost 150 years ago, bringing increased health and vitality to millions of people.
Seventh, as provider for our young family, I was not only concerned about physical and spiritual well-being, but indeed with personal progress generally. I soon found that in the Lord’s Church all kinds of resources are provided to fulfill this need. Before long I was involved in educational activities and leadership training and cultural pursuits of various kinds. Progress within my company organization was a natural outgrowth of progression in the Church. This was not surprising, for early in our discussions with the missionaries we had learned of God’s plan of eternal progression for his children. Does not everyone deep down have this yearning, this need to progress and improve, to develop and refine?
Eighth, I think along with these needs there is also a spirit of adventure in most of us in varying degrees, a need to discover, a need to explore. For many this need is met by reading adventure stories or traveling to new places. For myself, I had always been fascinated by the study of Middle Eastern archaeology, particularly of the great Egyptian civilization.
The message of my missionary friends even fulfilled this need, for they told us of an ancient record on gold plates, inscribed by people from the Middle East in the pre-Christian era. Imagine my excitement to learn that these ancient people with their prophets and culture had left the Old World and traveled to the New, to become a mighty people on what is now the American continent. Their records were hidden and preserved and a little over 150 years ago were discovered, not by archaeologists, but by a teenage youth. The faith and worthiness of this young man, Joseph Smith, enabled him not only to find the gold plates, but later to translate the hieroglyphic record by the power of God.
What a thrill it was to see some of the reformed Egyptian characters as copied by the hand of Joseph Smith. I knew by the feeling I had that they were true characters. Then, to hold this book of scripture, this Book of Mormon, in my hands and read it eagerly, sincerely, prayerfully, was a powerful spiritual experience. The need I had for the adventure of discovery was fulfilled through the Book of Mormon. This was not merely discovery of ancient peoples, but a complete discovery of the divinity of Jesus Christ. I testify that the Book of Mormon is a witness, a modern-day witness, of the Savior of the world, who visited this continent after his resurrection.
Ninth, as one who had lived less than perfectly, and yet had no serious matters to disturb my conscience, I felt the need to make some changes in my life. I was overjoyed to learn the pure teaching of Jesus Christ concerning faith, repentance, baptism by immersion for the remission of sins, and the laying on of hands to receive the Holy Ghost. What joy to start afresh with a clean sheet, having turned away from unsound doctrines, vain traditions, and perverted ordinances.
Again, this would seem to be a universal need, all men having been born into this earth life innocent and pure, and having been tainted by the things of the world. The marvelous thing is that Jesus gave his life for everyone. His resurrection was for everyone, “for as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Cor. 15:22).
Tenth, and finally, since being baptized into this wonderful restored Church of Jesus Christ, I have felt an inner peace, “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding” (Philip. 4:7). I have heard many people say their greatest need and desire is to obtain peace of mind. How does this come? It comes by knowing the truth, for “the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). I testify that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true Church of Jesus Christ, and teaches true principles and true ordinances.
How grateful I am that my ten most fervent needs have been fulfilled through listening to the missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then, by study and prayer and obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel, I have found happiness not only here but for eternities to come.
May all within the sound of my voice, and all God’s children everywhere, have the same fulfillment, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I will never forget walking the grounds at Winter Quarters, Nebraska, USA, where pioneers had lived years before. The ground felt sacred, almost as if I were visiting an outdoor temple.
My eyes filled with tears, blurring my vision. I saw a statue but could not make out the figures. When I wiped away my tears, I saw a man and a woman whose faces were full of grief. As I looked closer, I saw the figure of an infant lying in a grave at their feet.
This sight filled me with so many emotions: sadness, anger, gratitude, and joy. I wanted to take away the pain those Saints felt, but I was grateful at the same time for what they had sacrificed for the gospel.
My experience at Winter Quarters helped me realize that Heavenly Father gives the gospel to His children and allows them the agency to do with it as they will. The parents of that baby could have chosen to take an easier course. Following the prophet and living the gospel required these pioneers to press forward even when it meant burying their child. But they chose to take the gospel into their lives and accepted their challenges. I learned that the Saints’ dedication to the gospel and their determination to press forward were driven by faith and hope—hope for a bright future and faith that the Lord knew them and could ease their pain.

Around the age of 12, I developed into a “klutz.” I’m not sure what brought it on, but the symptoms were horrible. I fell, I stubbed my toes, and I stumbled over things. Boy, was I in trouble when my mom moved the furniture. We’re talking serious bruises here!
People who didn’t know me would say, “You’re so tall. You’ll be great at basketball.” Well, I tried. I really tried. But I missed so many balls and flubbed up so many games that I began to wonder if my P.E. grade could keep me out of college.
The beginning of my junior year in high school, we started another semester of basketball. I was not looking forward to another semester of failure.
Just as we were choosing teams, the teacher asked, “Would anyone here be willing to teach a freshman boy how to swim? Of course, you won’t be able to play basketball.” Oh, what a sacrifice. I volunteered immediately.
Tuesday I met Henry. This is going to be easy, I thought. I’m not even going to have to get wet. I’ll just sit on the side and tell Henry what to do.
Wednesday I was in the water with Henry.
Thursday I was ready to drown Henry.
By Friday, basketball was looking good.
Henry was short, plump, and although I didn’t know it at the time, mentally handicapped. At first he just thought it was a game, and he wouldn’t even try. I got so frustrated. I was very standoffish with him, very upperclassman. The more he goofed off, the less friendly I became. I started feeling kind of desperate about it. Weeks had gone by. He was still messing around, and I was yelling.
One night I asked Heavenly Father if he would soften Henry’s heart. “Make him teachable,” I prayed. “Please help him to listen to me and cooperate.”
Henry was no different the next day or the next. However, when I saw Henry, I noticed what a sweet smile he had. Then I laughed at something silly he did. I stopped yelling. I didn’t feel like it anymore. And, finally, we began talking. I actually liked Henry. I sat on the edge of the pool with him and told him how dangerous it was not to know how to swim. I told him he had to learn how because I wanted him to be safe. I told him, “I care what happens to you,” and I meant it.
Henry started trying. He put his face in the water. He kicked. He practiced his arms. He floated when I held him. Swimming did not come easily to Henry. But by the last day, he made it across the short end of the pool. He looked really rough, but he was afloat, and he passed it off for his coach.
When Henry came out of the water, you could see his smile clear across the pool. I’ve never seen anyone look so proud.
The next semester, whenever I passed him in the halls, he gave me his big smile. He often came and talked to me at lunch and after school.
I did such a small thing for Henry, and yet I reaped great benefits. His learning how to swim even got me an A in P.E. that semester. And I learned a very important lesson from Henry. I thought Heavenly Father had ignored my prayer because Henry didn’t change. Yet he didn’t have to. I was the one who needed a softened heart, and I got it. I began to see Henry as a person with value. He was more than just another aggravation in my life. As soon as I changed my attitude, Henry responded eagerly.
I also learned that Heavenly Father cares about each of us. And he wants us to care about each other—a lesson that has stayed with me, helping me to grow in the gospel. All because Henry needed to learn to swim.

A ward member told me that one day she saw a car driving by and, thinking I was the driver, she waved. A moment later, she thought, “How silly! Laurie’s blind; she can’t see me wave.” Her mind didn’t find it at all odd that I could be driving the car. “I felt so silly when I thought of it later,” she told me. “But then, I always forget you are blind.” Perhaps that is the greatest compliment I am ever paid—when people think of me as they would any other individual. “I forget you’re blind”—that’s one of the nicest things I could hear.

The sacrament is an ordinance that helps us stay on the path, and worthily partaking is evidence that we are keeping the covenants associated with all the other ordinances. A few years ago, while my wife, Anita, and I were serving in the Arkansas Little Rock Mission, I went out to teach with two young missionaries. During the lesson, the good brother we were teaching said, “I have been to your church; why do you have to eat bread and drink water every Sunday? In our church, we do it twice a year, on Easter and Christmas, and that is very meaningful.”

We shared with him that we are commanded to “meet together oft to partake of bread and wine” (Moroni 6:6; see also D&C 20:75). We read out loud Matthew 26 and 3 Nephi 18. He responded that he still did not see the necessity.

We then shared the following comparison: “Imagine you are involved in a very serious car accident. You have been injured and are unconscious. Someone runs by, seeing that you are unconscious, and dials the emergency number, 911. You are attended to and regain consciousness.”

We asked this brother, “When you are able to recognize your surroundings, what questions will you have?”

He said, “I will want to know how I got there and who found me. I will want to thank him every day because he saved my life.”

We shared with this good brother how the Savior saved our lives and how we need to thank Him every day, every day, every day!

We then asked, “Knowing that He gave His life for you and us, how often do you want to eat the bread and drink the water as emblems of His body and blood?”

He said, “I get it, I get it. But one more thing. Your church is not lively like ours.”

To that we responded, “What would you do if the Savior Jesus Christ walked through your door?”

He said, “Immediately, I would go down to my knees.”

We asked, “Isn’t that what you feel when you walk into Latter-day Saint chapels—reverence for the Savior?”

He said, “I get it, I get it, I get it!”

He showed up at church that Easter Sunday and kept returning.

One night when I was reading my scriptures, I felt overwhelmed with the idea of becoming perfect. I sank back onto my bed and thought, How can I ever become the person I want so much to be?
As I pondered, I glanced around my room reviewing the daily reminders that decorated every shelf. My eyes settled on a small abacus my mother had purchased from a local boutique as a gift for me when I became a Beehive. Seven small wooden beads, each painted a different color representing the Young Women values, were strung on a thin wire arched on top of a small block of wood. On the side was hand painted, “Count on the Values.”
My question was answered. Count on the values to improve each day. How? I asked. More answers poured into my mind. Seven values, seven days—a value a day. I grabbed the nearest pencil to organize my thoughts.
Sunday—Divine Nature I would study the scriptures, listen in church, ponder the things I learned there, and prepare for the coming week by increasing my spirituality.
Monday—Faith I would have the faith to meet the challenges of a new week. I remembered a quotation, “If you believe you can, you can. If you think you can’t, you’re right.” I would have faith that with the Lord’s help I would be able to do all the things that were needful.
Tuesday—Knowledge I would focus on knowledge by scheduling time throughout the week for homework and additional study for upcoming tests.
Wednesday—Choice and Accountability I would hold a midweek evaluation on how I was going. Were the choices I’d made so far in the week helping me become a better person? Were they reflecting my belief in Christ? If I was falling short, there would still be time to renew a commitment to improve. If I was doing all I could, it could be a time of grateful prayer.
Thursday—Good Works I would look for someone in need of my service. It might be a fellow student who needed a study partner or perhaps a cheerful hello in the halls. Maybe it’s my neighbor in need of a ride, a quick errand done, or help with her small children.
Friday—Integrity When I went with my friends, I would remember who I was and what my beliefs are. I would encourage others to make good decisions, particularly when we were together as friends.
Saturday—Individual Worth This was a time to know I had grown in the gospel and come a little closer to the Savior. It was a time to prepare for Sunday and the upcoming week, feeling just a little closer to my eternal goals.
This weekly plan strengthened me as I tried to live one value each day to the fullest extent possible. At first I could only do one or two things to live that particular value, but it became easier. After a while I didn’t even have to plan out each act as I’d had to at first. Soon one day blended into another. I didn’t just serve others on Thursdays, but I thought of things to help others almost without realizing I was even doing it. I discovered myself being accountable daily for the choices I made. Study time became easier because I had taken the time to make a plan to learn new things.
The Lord helped me see that perfection isn’t an immediate accomplishment but an eternal quest as I learned line upon line, precept on precept, each new day.

Think of ancestors of yours who were never prominent in the world but who were instrumental in blessing many lives. My mother’s parents were Swiss converts who had immigrated to the United States. My grandmother, Amalie, had bone tuberculosis as a young woman about your age and was very grateful to be healed after several years of suffering. Even after she had been cured of the disease, she had misshapen feet that caused a pronounced limp and also had scars from the sores on her arms, legs, and neck.

When she received the healing blessing, she was told she could fulfill her life’s mission. She said, “What it was I don’t know, but I always wanted to get married and was fond of children and wanted children of my own so bad.”8

Amalie was able to meet a fellow convert who was also committed to the Lord, and they were sealed.

My grandmother talked about the births of their first three children. She said, “On June 27, 1916, our first son, Enoch, was born, which made me very, very happy.”9 But Enoch died when he was six years old. About the next two children, my grandmother wrote, “Our second son was born 8 October 1919. He was very strong and healthy. We named him Aaron George. In 1922 on January 2, Winifred was born. It was a terrible blow to us.”10

Winifred is my mother. My grandmother did go on to explain why they were disappointed. She continued, “It was a terrible blow to us because we wanted to raise at least six boys for missionaries to pay back what the missionaries had done for us.”11

Unlike today, at that time there were very few sister missionaries. My grandparents’ focus was on blessing others the way they had been blessed with the gospel. They did go on to have one more daughter, Leah.

Now of course my grandparents loved my mother. When she was born, my grandparents were just unable to see into the future and know that my mother would have eight children of her own (six of them boys), fifty-five grandchildren, and, at last count, 190 great-grandchildren. My grandparents wanted missionaries and ended up with many through my mother, who also served a mission with my father. Seven of her children, thirty-five of her grandchildren, and twelve in the first wave of the oldest great-grandchildren have served or are currently serving as missionaries. My mother was one of those beautiful babies who God sent to help bless the world.

Another inspired teacher in my life was Erma Bollwinkel, a member of our stake Primary board. She constantly stressed the importance of learning the Articles of Faith. In fact, we could not graduate from Primary until we successfully recited each article of faith to her—something of a challenge for rambunctious young boys, but we persevered and succeeded. I have, throughout my life, as a result, been able to recite the Articles of Faith.

For many years as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, I had responsibility for East Germany, also known as the German Democratic Republic. In this assignment, my knowledge of the Articles of Faith was most helpful. On each of my visits throughout the 20 years I supervised this area, I always reminded our members in that area of the twelfth article of faith: “We believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, in obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law.”

Our meetings behind what was known as the Iron Curtain were always monitored by the communist government there. In the early 1980s, when we sought approval from the government officials to build a temple there, and later when we asked permission for young men and women from that area to serve missions throughout the world and for others to come into their country to serve missions, they listened and then said, “Elder Monson, we’ve watched you for 20 years, and we’ve learned we can trust you and your Church because you and your Church teach your members to obey the laws of the land.”

In 1970, a few days after Barbara, our children, and I had arrived in Mexico City where I was to serve as mission president, Presidents Joseph Fielding Smith, Nathan Eldon Tanner, and Spencer W. Kimball and their wives visited us at our first missionary conference. Afterwards, as I drove President and Sister Kimball to their downtown hotel, we stopped at a service station for gasoline. While the car was being serviced, a barefoot Indian lady with her baby in her “reboso,” or blue shawl, came up to our car offering for sale some small packs of chewing gum. I purchased some, she expressed appreciation, then went to the car behind us. At that point, President Kimball taught me a powerful lesson in his quiet, kind way. “President,” he said, “might it not be well to let that sister know who we are?”

Well, with that encouragement I did think it “might be well” to let her know that we were representatives of Jesus Christ. So I rolled down my window and invited the woman back. I bought some more gum from her and then introduced her to President and Sister Kimball, explaining that he was one of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I asked her if she had ever heard of the “Mormon” church; she said she had. She lived in a suburb of Mexico City and had seen the missionaries—the “young men dressed in white shirts.” I invited her to be sure to listen at the next opportunity to the message they had to share with her. She said she would.

Although I am not sure she has ever taken the opportunity to learn more about the gospel, I learned that we who are Latter-day Saints should let other people know who we are—and especially whom we represent.

President J. Scott Dorius of the Peru Lima West Mission told me their story. He said:
“Becky and I were married for 25 years without being able to have [or adopt] children. We moved several times. Introducing ourselves in each new setting was awkward and sometimes painful. Ward members wondered why we [didn’t have] children. They weren’t the only ones wondering.
“When I was called as a bishop, ward members [expressed] concern that I did not have any experience with children and teenagers. I thanked them for their sustaining vote and asked them to allow me to practice my child-raising skills on their children. They lovingly obliged.
“We waited, gained perspective, and learned patience. After 25 years of marriage, a miracle baby came into our lives. We adopted two-year-old Nicole and then newborn Nikolai. Strangers now compliment us on our beautiful grandchildren. We laugh and say, ‘They are our children. We have lived our lives backwards.’”

On the recent errand to Ethiopia, the Spirit prompted Bishop Pace and me. We knew what to do. We knew what to say. We knew where to go. In many ways, boys, I relived some of my missionary experiences of thirty-four years ago. For example, we needed a permit from the government to travel to Makale to visit the food stations and the distribution centers where tens of thousands of homeless refugees were gathered. When the permit was delayed, desiring to fill our mission, we knelt in prayer and asked the Lord for help. The next morning the permits were issued. Then we needed to get from Addis Ababa to Makale. We again prayed for help and then found passage with a British Royal Air Force mercy flight in a C-130 Hercules transport plane. From Makale, we had no way to travel to Asmara. The Lord knew of our need. Late in the afternoon we hitched a ride with a Swedish Air Force mercy flight. Hitchhiking is not a good idea, and especially not by air, but being on the Lord’s errand, it was all right.
I have deep affection for the goodness of people, many of whom I met in far-off Ethiopia, who are not members of the Church but who are giving unselfish Christian service. Brethren, I was so grateful that the Church made a significant contribution to help meet a desperate need. I believe if we had more missionaries in the world, rendering meaningful Christian service and helping people come to the knowledge of the glorious message of the Restoration, we would find favor with the Lord.
I say to you young men tonight, get ready; every one of you, get ready. This world needs your service. Repent if you need to. Study from the standard works every day. Say your prayers morning and night. Develop in your heart a desire to know the mysteries of God. To lead the Church tomorrow, you must prepare today. Train hard, boys, and I promise you that you will live to be grateful that you made the effort to prepare.