Gospel Story Finder

I feel victimized by the nanny agency with whom we worked. Though they advertise that they place “helpers with high moral standards” and that they screen for “any negative health or behavioral traits,” the nanny who came to me in September drank, had used cocaine, chain-smoked in bed, and I later learned, had a psychiatric history of many years’ duration which included injury to children. I terminated her employment on the third day when she gave my three-year-old son a plastic garbage bag and when he wandered from the fenced-in yard while in her care.
Nancy Sharts EngelBryn Mawr, Pennsylvania

During my life I have had many experiences of being guided in what I should do and in being protected from injury and also from evil. The Lord’s protecting care has shielded me from the evil acts of others and has also protected me from surrendering to my own worst impulses. I enjoyed that protection one warm summer night on the streets of Chicago.

My wife, June, had attended a ward officers’ meeting. When I came to drive her home, she was accompanied by a sister we would take home on our way. She lived in the nearby Woodlawn area, which was the territory of a gang called the Blackstone Rangers.

I parked at the curb outside this sister’s apartment house and accompanied her into the lobby and up the stairs to her door. June remained in the car on 61st Street. She locked all of the doors, and I left the keys in the ignition in case she needed to drive away. We had lived on the south side of Chicago for quite a few years and were accustomed to such precautions.

Back in the lobby, and before stepping out into the street, I looked carefully in each direction. By the light of a nearby streetlight, I could see that the street was deserted except for three young men walking by. I waited until they were out of sight and then walked quickly toward our car.

As I came to the driver’s side and paused for June to unlock the door, I saw one of these young men running back toward me. He had something in his right hand, and I knew what it would be. There was no time to get into the car and drive away before he came within range.

Fortunately, as June leaned across to open the door, she glanced through the back window and saw this fellow coming around the end of the car with a gun in his hand. Wisely, she did not unlock the door. For the next two or three minutes, which seemed like an eternity, she was a horrified spectator to an event happening at her eye level, just outside the driver’s window.

The young man pushed the gun against my stomach and said, “Give me your money.” I took the wallet out of my pocket and showed him it was empty. I wasn’t even wearing a watch I could offer him because my watchband had broken earlier that day. I offered him some coins I had in my pocket, but he growled a rejection.

“Give me your car keys,” he demanded. “They are in the car,” I told him. “Tell her to open the car,” he replied. For a moment I considered the new possibilities that would present, and then refused. He was furious. He jabbed me in the stomach with his gun and said, “Do it, or I’ll kill you.”

When I refused, the young robber repeated his demands, this time emphasizing them with an angrier tone and more motion with his gun. I remember thinking that he probably wouldn’t shoot me on purpose, but if he wasn’t careful in the way he kept jabbing that gun into my stomach, he might shoot me by mistake.

“Give me your money.” “I don’t have any.” “Give me your car keys.” “They’re in the car.” “Tell her to open the car.” “I won’t do it.” “I’ll kill you if you don’t.” “I won’t do it.”

Inside the car June couldn’t hear the conversation, but she could see the action with the gun. She agonized over what she should do. Should she unlock the door? Should she honk the horn? Should she drive away? Everything she considered seemed to have the possibility of making matters worse, so she just waited and prayed. Then a peaceful feeling came over her. She felt it would be all right.

Then, for the first time, I saw the possibility of help. From behind the robber, a city bus approached. It stopped about 20 feet away. A passenger stepped off and scurried away. The driver looked directly at me, but I could see that he was not going to offer any assistance.

While this was happening behind the young robber, out of his view, he became nervous and distracted. His gun wavered from my stomach until its barrel pointed slightly to my left. My arm was already partly raised, and with a quick motion I could seize the gun and struggle with him without the likelihood of being shot. I was taller and heavier than this young man, and at that time of my life was somewhat athletic. I had no doubt that I could prevail in a quick wrestling match if I could get his gun out of the contest.

Just as I was about to make my move, I had a unique experience. I did not see anything or hear anything, but I knew something. I knew what would happen if I grabbed that gun. We would struggle, and I would turn the gun into that young man’s chest. It would fire, and he would die. I also understood that I must not have the blood of that young man on my conscience for the rest of my life.

I relaxed, and as the bus pulled away I followed an impulse to put my right hand on his shoulder and give him a lecture. June and I had some teenage children at that time, and giving lectures came naturally.

“Look here,” I said. “This isn’t right. What you’re doing just isn’t right. The next car might be a policeman, and you could get killed or sent to jail for this.”

With the gun back in my stomach, the young robber replied to my lecture by going through his demands for the third time. But this time his voice was subdued. When he offered the final threat to kill me, he didn’t sound persuasive. When I refused again, he hesitated for a moment and then stuck the gun in his pocket and ran away. June unlocked the door, and we drove off, uttering a prayer of thanks. We had experienced the kind of miraculous protection illustrated in the Bible stories I had read as a boy.

I have often pondered the significance of that event in relation to the responsibilities that came later in my life. Less than a year after that August night, I was chosen as president of Brigham Young University. Almost 14 years after that experience, I received my present calling.

It was a hot day, and Audrey and her mom were driving home from the grocery store. Among the bottles and packages was a special treat that Audrey had picked out: a box of rainbow ice pops. They were Audrey’s favorite kind of ice pop, even if they did make her mouth turn blue and red. She could hardly wait to get home, have a rainbow pop, and play in the sprinklers to cool off.
“Oh dear,” Mom said, slowing down the car. “All the traffic is stopped ahead.”
As they slowly moved forward, Audrey saw several people standing in the road wearing hard hats and bright vests. They were holding up signs to stop the cars. They looked hot and sweaty.
“Roadwork,” Mom said. “I forgot they were doing that today. I guess we won’t be getting home soon. We’ll just have to be patient.”
“Mom, we need to get home soon, or all my rainbow pops will melt,” Audrey said.
“I’m sorry, but if we’re stopped a long time they probably will melt,” Mom said.
“Can I have one now?” Audrey asked.
“You know we have rules against eating in the car,” Mom reminded her. “Especially sticky things. Sorry, honey.”
Audrey frowned. She was sad to think her rainbow pops might be puddles by the time they got home.
Just then they pulled up next to a road worker. “I need you to wait right here, ma’am,” he said to Audrey’s mom. Then he pulled out a rag and wiped his forehead. “Sure is a scorcher,” he said.
Then Audrey got an idea. She reached into a shopping bag, pulled out the box of rainbow pops, and handed it to Mom.
Mom smiled at Audrey. “Great idea,” she said. She handed the box through the car window to the road worker. “Maybe this will help,” she said.
The man grinned. “I’ll have no problem sharing these. Thank you, ma’am.”
Mom pointed to Audrey. “It was my daughter’s idea. I bought them for her.”
The man waved to Audrey. “Thank you, miss. You’ve made our day.”
Audrey grinned back. She was glad the rainbow pops wouldn’t be wasted.
“That was very kind of you, Audrey,” Mom said. “Maybe when we get home we can make some juice pops instead.”
“Maybe,” Audrey said. She didn’t like juice pops as much as rainbow pops, but she was still glad she gave away her rainbow pops.
As they drove past more road workers, Audrey saw some of them holding up their rainbow pops to stop traffic, while others were doing their work with red or blue mouths. Audrey was sure they all looked a little cooler and a little happier, and that made her as happy as Christmas in July.

In August of 2024, Samuel and members of his branch made the journey from The Gambia to Accra, Ghana. He was returning to the place where he began his missionary service so many years before, and where there is now a temple, so that he and his family could be sealed in the house of the Lord. They met their son Daniel there, who was returning home from his mission just in time for the sealing.
Besides the unspeakable joy of becoming an eternal family, Samuel experienced the additional sweetness and tender mercies of the Lord in a most special way. The president of the Accra Ghana Temple, who sealed Samuel and his wife and children, was John K. Buah, the very same missionary who had confirmed Samuel a member of the Church. And the incoming temple president, who will replace President Buah, is President Anthony M. Kaku, who baptized Samuel. According to Samuel, “God is the unfailing compass of our lives.”

When I was born, I was given the name of Ronald A. Rasband. My last name honors my father’s ancestral line. The middle initial A was given to me to remind me to honor my mother’s Danish Anderson ancestry.
My great-great-grandfather Jens Anderson was from Denmark. And in 1861 the Lord led two Mormon missionaries to the Jens and Ane Cathrine Anderson home, where the missionaries introduced them and their 16-year-old son, Andrew, to the restored gospel. Thus began a legacy of faith of which my family and I are the beneficiaries. The Andersons read the Book of Mormon and were baptized a short time later. The following year, the Anderson family heeded the call of a prophet to cross the Atlantic to join the Saints in North America.
Sadly, Jens died on the ocean voyage, but his wife and son continued to the Salt Lake Valley, arriving on September 3, 1862. Despite their hardships and their heartaches, their faith never wavered, and neither has the faith of many of their descendants.
In my office hangs a painting that captures so beautifully a symbolic reminder of that first meeting between my ancestors and those dedicated early missionaries. I am determined not to forget my heritage, and because of my name I will forever remember their legacy of faithfulness and sacrifice.

As we talk, Tyson Warner tells of when things changed in his life. He had just been ordained to the priesthood and felt it was time, as he put it, to step up. “When I was about 12, I had a hard time reading the scriptures regularly. I made a goal that I would give up sleeping in, and I would wake up 30 minutes earlier every morning and spend the time reading my scriptures. It was difficult. I thought, ‘What’s the point in doing this?’ After a month I started to feel changes in my life. I was more in tune with the Spirit. I started noticing things in the scriptures better than I could before. That’s how I knew the Church is true.”
Now, four years later, Tyson says, “I like the book of Alma because that was what I was reading when I really started to feel the Spirit. That book is special to me. It was a turning point in my life. I gained a strong testimony.”

“Who are you doing your biography on?” my best friend, Jasmine,* asked. We were in the library working on an assignment to read a biography for our literature and composition class. My head started whirling. Jasmine wasn’t a member of the Church. What would she think? Mustering up my courage, I opened my mouth and squeaked, “Joseph Smith Jr.”
“Who’s that?” she asked.
The butterflies in my stomach fluttered about as I spoke. “A prophet of God who lived in these latter days.”
“A prophet?”
“Yeah, like Abraham and Moses,” I explained. She only shrugged.
Not knowing how to continue, I simply returned to reading the biography I had chosen. How do you describe someone who is that incredible? With a troubled heart, I said a sincere, silent prayer that the Holy Ghost would help me know what to say, but the bell rang. It was too late. Disappointed with myself, I left for home.
The next day, Jasmine and I were working in the library again. We both sat down and began reading our books. Then I stopped myself. I was sitting here with a perfect missionary opportunity before me but was unsure how to approach the situation. But my problem was solved when Jasmine asked, “Hey Sierra, where do you think we go after we die?”
With truth in my mind and warmth in my heart, I explained to her why we were here, where we are going, and the importance of getting there.
As the days went on and we had that precious time together in the library, we had wonderful conversations. I told her about the Restoration of the gospel and Joseph Smith. Eventually I bore my testimony of the Prophet. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my testimony was growing as well. I realized that Joseph Smith really was a prophet of God and that God speaks today. I had had my doubts, but the day I finished the book, I finally could say that I knew that Joseph Smith saw Heavenly Father and Jesus in the Sacred Grove, and he really did translate the Book of Mormon. Somehow, I just knew it. No visions, no voices, no angels, just the calm reassurance that Joseph Smith was a prophet.
As I walked back to class that day with the book under my arm, I found myself humming the hymn “Praise to the Man” (Hymns, no. 27). My arm tingled just knowing I was carrying a book about such a marvelous man.
I don’t know that Jasmine believed what I told her, but perhaps I planted a seed that will sprout someday. One thing I do know for certain, though, is that reading a biography on Joseph Smith was definitely one of the most meaningful school assignments I have ever completed.

On June 15, 1987, as a member of the area presidency based in Buenos Aires, Argentina, I flew to Asunción where I met with John J. Whetten, president of the Paraguay Asunción Mission. With a few other brethren, we loaded two small trucks with a pedal sewing machine, cloth to make shirts and dresses, rice, beans, salt, and a few other necessities. We also carried with us a copy of Gospel Principles, newly translated into Nivaclé. (The Nivaclé Indians do not speak Paraguay’s predominant languages of Spanish or Guarani, but their own dialect.)
From Asunción, we traveled about 480 kilometers to the city of Filadelfia, a drive of seven hours on a good road. The next day, we traveled the 250 kilometers to Mistolar going about 15 to 25 kilometers per hour over an extremely rutted, dusty road. Even a sprinkle of rain would have turned the road to mud, preventing us from reaching the settlement. This shorter section of our journey took almost nine hours.
When we arrived at Mistolar, we were warmly welcomed by mostly women and children. I asked where some of the men were and was told they were hunting. When I asked what the men were hunting the sisters said, “Anything.” (Some of the men walk the twenty-kilometer round trip to the river to fish.) The settlement’s surviving livestock included three sheep, a few chickens, a couple of goats and a scrawny dog. With little nourishing food or clothing saved from the floods, these Saints shivered in the 20 (C) degree winter weather of June. At night, their stick-and-reed homes offered little protection from freezing temperatures of 0 to 5 (C) degrees. The other eleven months of the year are extremely hot—often over 48 (C) degrees.
But in spite of all of the hardships they had endured for months, the Mistolar Saints were without one single complaint. There wasn’t one sad face. Not once did they do anything but smile.
They offered to kill one of the sheep for a meal that afternoon and we politely declined. Nevertheless, they insisted. We ate sparingly of the meat, knowing they would use anything we left.
I asked the young president of the Mistolar Branch, “Do you have any sick among your members?” (The people in this land die at an early age. Statistically, of 200 Nivaclé, only eleven will die of old age; the rest will die of disease.) He looked at me, paused, and said, “I don’t think so; let me ask the other brethren.” A few minutes later after conversing with two of the brethren, he said, “My brethren told me, ‘Of course we have no sick.’” He added, by way of simple explanation, “There are thirty-nine of us who hold the Melchizedek Priesthood. We watch over and bless our people.”
I asked, “Do you have any members who are not quite as active as the rest?” He said, “Elder Brewerton, of course not. We have accepted the Lord through baptism. We are all true Saints, totally active in our worship of the Lord.”
For the evening meeting, I asked the branch president to find some members to pray. One sister talked to the Lord in very a personal manner saying, “Father we have lost our beautiful chapel, we have lost our clothing, we no longer have homes, we have no food to eat, we don’t have any materials to build anything, we have to walk ten kilometers to get a drink of dirty river water and we don’t have a bucket. But we desire to express to you our gratitude for our good health, for our happiness, and for our Church membership. Father, we want you to know that under any conditions we will be true, strong and faithful to the covenants we made to thee when we were baptized.”
We visitors were very humbled by their example of faith. During the meeting, we dedicated their land to the Lord. We visited each family site and saw where they would plant their gardens when the rains would come.

Just last week I got a very personal reminder of this truth. Besides my wife and children, my father was my very best friend on this earth. You can see that from childhood to adulthood, he has been my greatest hero—and, apparently, my most important stance and wardrobe advisor. [Two pictures of Matthew Holland with his father, Jeffrey Holland, were shown—one when Matthew was young, the two standing in the same pose, and the other when Matthew was grown, both wearing similar suits.] Losing him leaves an enormous hole for me. For as long as I can remember, he has brought laughter, confidence, and wisdom into my life like no other.

So I wasn’t really prepared the other day when I turned on my phone and realized that I needed to remove his contact from my favorites list. After two weeks of stoic resolve, it all hit me, and I broke. Never again would I get a call and hear that cheery, upbeat voice. Never again would I get a little text-based love note or inside joke or gentle correction about how to be a better man. Never again could I pick up the phone and get that nugget of needed counsel. Raw emotions tumbled out. I was grief-stricken and more than a little unsure of myself and of the world that I would now live in for the rest of my life.

That evening, as I sat brooding in a chair, I felt a repeated impulse: Go and read your Book of Mormon. Finally I retrieved the book and picked up where I had last left off: Alma 58.

As I began to read, I quickly realized that certain passages were speaking directly to me. Though the page was new and unmarked, the following words seemed highlighted to me, as if in bold relief:

We were grieved and also filled with fear. . . .
Therefore we did pour out our souls in prayer to God, that he would strengthen us and deliver us. . . .
Yea, and it came to pass that the Lord our God did visit us with assurances that he would deliver us; yea, insomuch that he did speak peace to our souls, and did grant unto us great faith, and did cause us that we should hope for our deliverance in him.41

Every word was seared into my soul. I dropped to my knees and called upon the Lord. And in Him I found—and continue to find—the strength, peace, and deliverance I was missing that bewildering afternoon. The Book of Mormon was the conduit, but the power was in Christ. We cling to His book to cling to Him!

I cannot promise you that every time you turn to the Book of Mormon you will have an experience exactly like that. Nor can I say that experience has wiped away every tear or sense of loss I may have. But I know this: Whatever you are facing, Jesus Christ is the way. And the Book of Mormon reveals this better than any book on earth.

Years ago, I worked as a senior managing partner at one of the world’s leading private equity firms when my wife and I were interviewed by a senior member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He called us to serve as mission leaders for the Church in Africa. We had many things going on in our life at that time. We were involved in some very challenging family dynamics. We were heavily engaged in large humanitarian efforts across the world while also managing a large and rapidly growing global investment business. As we sat there that day with this beloved Apostle and reflected on our personal situation, we both politely said that this was probably not the best time for us to serve a mission.

Without hesitation, this member of the Twelve turned to my wife and said, “Lynette, you are going to make a great missionary and companion to your husband.” He then turned to me and said, “You really don’t get it. The Lord is calling you to save your life. You are either going to live your life by covenant or convenience. There is never a convenient time to serve. This is a matter of faith. You either believe that the Lord will bless your life with the blessings you need, as you do His priorities, or you don’t.”

Those words changed my life. I left my company, went to Africa, and later found all that we had worried about was answered and resolved.

“My older brother, Ron, has always been an inspiration to me. I recall one evening when he came home from a Church youth meeting and announced to the family that his teacher had told him that he had to gain his own testimony and receive his own witness and to not rely on that of others. He said—almost prophetically—‘I’m going to gain that personal witness and testimony, no matter how long it takes or what the cost.’
“Ron began reading and studying the scriptures and fasting and praying. One morning a short time later, he was suddenly stricken by a paralysis. He could not move his body and his right side was in terrible pain. He was barely able to whisper to Dad that he wanted a blessing. No sooner had Dad finished blessing his son than Ron was miraculously cured! My brother uncoiled his tense body, straightened up, and was free of pain.
“When he was later examined by a doctor, the diagnosis was that he had had what appeared to be a ruptured appendix but that no trace of damaged tissue was found in his body. Later, my brother told me that during this experience he received his special witness that the Book of Mormon and the gospel were true. He wanted me to know, however, that he had received this knowledge before Dad had blessed him before his healing. He truly had shown faith before the miracle.

Senior Year, High School—While investigating several churches to learn more about Christianity, I have discovered that some churches do not require extremely long periods of schooling to qualify as a minister. I have just visited a Bible college and learned that I can be ordained a minister after four years. After two years I could be assigned as a minister to a church of my own. I decided that I will go to the Bible college next year when I graduate from high school even though it will mean giving up a scholarship to another college. The classes appear interesting, but I sense something is missing from the college. Something seems to be missing in my personal life, too. How long will it take to find peace of mind?
Approaching Graduation—Religion is becoming less important in my life. I’m no longer sure of what I want to do. Deep inside me I feel guilty about something. I get upset at myself when I do wrong. But I still take a drink or smoke a cigarette now and again. After my first drink, my friends in high school were more worried about how it would affect my football playing than how it would affect my religious goals.
Change of Plans—I just received a scholarship to play football at Dodge City College only a few kilometers from my home. I don’t want to go to a college so close to home, but the scholarship will help pay for my studies. I gave up a scholarship offer before when I was planning to become a minister. Those plans will wait.
Summer—I’m working at the Dodge City Recreation Center and playing on a local baseball team. It’s not unusual for me to work all day, travel with the baseball team for a game, return home at 2 A.M. and get up at 7 A.M. to go to work.
What’s Wrong—This summer has been unusual. I haven’t gone to church very much. I read a lot and write a great deal. But religion seems to lack something. But maybe I lack something, too.
The Bible—I still consider the idea of Bible college education because I can have a ministry of my own very quickly. I commented once in Sunday School that we need to return to preaching the Bible. But one man argued that ministers should turn to more modern concerns and use up-to-date interpretations of the Bible. His remarks add to my confusion—religious leaders I know have different opinions about the meaning of the Bible and its place in modern times.
College Begins—I still pray sometimes. A few times I have said, “Show me the way, Lord, if there is one for me.”
Semester Ends—I have to wait till my assigned baptismal date. My first semester of college has ended and I’m on the honor roll as a top student. Last night I lay in my bed thinking how little time I really devoted to my studies. I laughed to myself and thought, “I did this and all without God.”
A Mormon Girl—I met a Mormon girl, Janet, the other night. I thought to myself, “What’s a Mormon?” I’ve investigated many religions but have never heard of this one.
Book of Mormon—I spent the weekend with my family. I asked Mom if she knew anything about Mormons. She said she thought there was a pamphlet in the bookcase. She found it and an old hardback book. I’m reading it now—the Book of Mormon. Mother said it was a Mormon Bible.
After the Date—Janet is the first girl I’ve dated with any regularity in at least six months. Tonight, after our date, we were talking and the subject of religion came up. I told her about my indefinite plans for the ministry and added, “There’s something wrong with every church.”
With confidence she replied, “Not mine.”
“Oh, sure, you tell me about it,” I answered. She isn’t the first girl that has wanted me to be interested in a particular church. But she definitely has a sparkle of purity, a twinkle in her eye.
I told her that I had been studying the Book of Mormon, and she suggested that I talk to the elders. I told her I’d like to sometime.
Following Monday—The strangest thing happened this evening. I work every night at the recreation center, but today when I called in, Mr. Braddock told me they didn’t need me tonight. I didn’t feel like studying, so I telephoned Janet about a date and she told me to come over to her house. The elders were coming. The meeting was arranged before I telephoned her, but on any other Monday night I would definitely have had to work.
The Meeting—While waiting for the elders at Janet’s home, I expected two old men in gray beards and maybe black hats to knock at the door. I was surprised when the elders turned out to be two young men close to my own age. Learning from them was a spiritual experience for me.
My Interview—I was interviewed tonight for baptism. I brought a signed statement from my dad to the elders giving his approval for my baptism. He used to know some Latter-day Saints. He said you have to be a missionary if you join their church. I told the district leader that the discussions were like the lifting of a veil, like I had heard the story before. The gospel contains many teachings that I have come to believe over the years, such as a literal, tangible, Heavenly Father concerned about us. I took the missionary discussions so fast that I have to wait till my assigned baptismal date.
April 27—I was baptized tonight. My family attended the service, as did many of the branch members. This is the cleanest feeling I have known in my entire life. The warm, friendly attitude of the members here is still one of the amazing things about this church.
Few Will Listen—I thought of dozens of my friends who would surely join the Church now. They just needed to learn about it as I had. It’s not like that. I know that most of my friends respect me very much for my high standards, but with others I wonder, as did the Apostle Paul, “Am I therefore become your enemy, because I tell you the truth?” (Gal. 4:16).
Sacrament Meeting—My family attended the branch’s sacrament meeting today. After the meeting, I went with the elders to my parents’ home for a missionary lesson. After the first discussion Elder Johnson tried to make an appointment to come again and teach my family.
“How about right now?” Mom asked.
So the second lesson was given. Dad had to leave then to do the farm chores. Mom quickly prepared a meal, and about an hour later Dad came back in and ate, and the third lesson was given. Three in one night!
July 27—Tonight I baptized my family. It is three months to the day since I joined the Church. Our family is finally united. As I brought Mom up out of the water, she embraced me and shed tears of joy. We have received life’s greatest blessings.
A Mission Call—I’m so excited! I came home from classes today to find a letter from the First Presidency. Quickly opening it I discovered that I would be going to California. I wept joyously. Feeling so insignificant in the Lord’s sight, I asked, “Why me?” The blessings of God seem so unbelievable. Now, in a week, I will leave on a mission to serve the Lord. I will be a minister.
Temple Sealing—Today I was sealed for time and all eternity to my Mom and Dad.
Temple Marriage—Janet and I were married this morning in the Salt Lake Temple. I thank God that a young woman lived the gospel so completely that I found a noticeable, attracting difference between her and other young people, thus leading me to the gospel. I encouraged my other young brothers and sisters to do the same. The gospel works.

When an LDS member is the host and needs to offer a toast, the problem is more conspicuous. I solved the problem successfully for the first time in Paraguay, and used that formula from then on. At a major banquet in which I had to offer a toast to the president of the country, to his cabinet ministers, and to Paraguay as our host country, I decided to use water. In Paraguay one of the bank’s clients was the new municipal water system, which for the first time in that country’s history produced a pure, fine-tasting uncontaminated water. At the appropriate time, I lifted my champagne glass full of water and announced to the assembled important people, “I don’t know what you have in your glasses, but in mine I have the purest of liquids—water from the municipal water system of Asuncion—and I lift my glass in a cordial toast to his Excellency, the President,” etc., etc. The compliment was sincere, and it worked very well. They laughed, and no one ever forgot that “Mormon Toast.”

While recently reading the Book of Mormon, I came upon the following admonition: “Why do ye … suffer the hungry, and the needy, and the naked, and the sick and the afflicted to pass by you, and notice them not?” (Mormon 8:39).
Instead of feeling the peace and comfort I usually find in the scriptures, I was overcome by a lingering feeling of sadness. I had long recognized that I am not a particularly observant person. I had allowed myself to get so involved in my life, my callings, and my family that I just didn’t notice the challenges other people were having.
I knew I wasn’t doing all I could “to bear one another’s burdens, that they [might] be light; … to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:8–9). I wanted to change; I wanted to be better. I simply didn’t know how. I prayed that the Lord would help me.
My answer came in an unexpected and unwanted way when I contracted a chronic illness. It slowly took away all my cumbersome busyness. As the disease progressed, I had to give up my outside activities, my callings, and my Church attendance. I’m housebound, I’m lonely, and I feel unnoticed.
I pray that someday the Lord will heal me. When He does, I promise myself that I will never be so blind again. When I arrive at church, I will look to see who is sitting alone and who is not attending that day. I will take time each week to overcome my shyness and visit somebody who is sick or afflicted or just in need of a friend. I will love my brothers and sisters every day—not just on Sunday or during Church activities.
I will remember and, I hope, be worthy to hear the Lord’s approbation: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).

“Get off there, boy!” A soldier grabbed André and pulled him off the bridge railing where he had climbed to get a better view.

André struggled out of the man’s grip. Pushing his brother, Philippe, ahead of him, he darted into the crowd, out of the soldier’s reach.

Ba-room! They heard the distant sound of a mortar being fired.

“That’s the signal!” a woman cried. “They’re beginning to fill it with heated air!”

The boys excitedly made their way to the other end of the bridge that stretched across the Seine River. They found a spot near a lamppost and leaned against it to rest.

André looked down at his brother. Philippe was only nine, and André knew that he must be tired after their journey from the family farm near Sarcelles. Ten miles is a long way to walk, even for strong farm boys like André and Philippe. Their feet were hot and sore from wearing the rough woolen stockings their mother had made them wear because of the November chill.

“André, I’m hungry!”

André got out the bread and cheese Grandpapa had packed for their lunch in a cloth sack. Since he was two years older than Philippe, André had been put in charge of their adventure.

They were enjoying their meal when an old man near them shouted, “Someone’s coming!”

Two men on horseback came riding over the bridge, headed toward Paris. The crowd milled around them, shouting questions.

“What’s happened?”

“Has it gone up yet?”

“Why can’t we see it?”

“I thought it was supposed to start up at noon!”

The questions were coming so quickly and loudly that it was hard to hear the riders’ answers.

After they passed by, André turned to the old man. “Pardon, sir, but what did those men say?”

“There was a delay as they were preparing to send the flying machine up for a test. It seems that some rips and holes have to be mended.”

André’s heart sank. They had traveled so far and for nothing! They would never get to see the flying machine! He remembered when he had first heard about the marvelous new invention. Uncle Gaston, who lived near Paris, came often to visit them on the farm. He had told them wonderful stories about experiments being done by men who thought it possible for humans to fly!

The Montgolfier brothers had discovered that if they lighted a fire beneath a paper or cloth bag, the bag would fill with hot air and rise into the atmosphere. They had already sent up several large flying machines, which were said to look like giant balls. Straw and wool burned in a container covered with a grate, and this was hung below the bag’s opening. In this way, the air inside the machine was kept hot.

In September Uncle Gaston had seen a Montgolfier machine sent up at the palace in Versailles. The king and queen had watched, along with Benjamin Franklin from the United States. That machine had even had three passengers—a duck, a rooster, and a sheep.

But today’s flight was to be the most exciting yet! Two men were going to fly in a basket attached to the machine! When he had heard about it, Grandpapa had insisted that his two grandsons go to Paris to witness the great event. “I’ll stay and tend to your chores,” he told them. “I am old, but you are young and have a whole lifetime to remember such a wonderful thing.”

Grandpapa had awakened André and Philippe early in the morning and sent them on their way down the road toward Paris. But now there would be no flying machine to see! All their plans and dreams with Grandpapa were for nothing!

The crowd along the bridge had grown so thick that it was impossible to keep from moving with it. They were inching toward the road that followed along the north bank of the river. André held tightly to Philippe’s hand as they were jostled along. He couldn’t understand why everyone was heading away from Paris. They seemed to be moving toward the chateau where the flying machine was to have begun its flight. Why did they want to go there now? The machine’s fabric was torn, and André knew it couldn’t fly with holes in it because the hot air would escape through the openings and the machine couldn’t leave the ground.

Suddenly an excited roar went up from the crowd. “Look! It’s been fixed! It’s going up!”

André watched in wonder as the enormous flying machine rose into view! Its slightly pointed top appeared first, pushing up from behind some rows of trees. The machine was much taller than their farmhouse and as big across. It looked like an oval blue and gold ornament painted against the clouds dotting the sky. Gold cloth was draped around the basket hanging from the balloon.

Most amazing of all, two men rode in the basket! They took off their hats and waved to the crowd. Another cheer went up.

The beautiful balloon floated higher and higher in the sky and made its way toward the crowded road. A gentle breeze lifted the machine higher. It passed directly over the boys’ heads and crossed the river behind them. They watched, hypnotized by the sight, as the two men flew toward Paris. Nearly half an hour later they could see the balloon slowly descend to the earth.

The crowd began to thin out. The boys headed toward the road that would take them home. André knew that he and Philippe had witnessed a miracle. Two men had flown into the heavens for the first time, and he and his brother had seen it!

He put his arm around the younger boy’s shoulder.

“Come on, Philippe. If we hurry, we can be home before the frost comes tonight. Grandpapa is waiting to hear about the new flying machine!”

At the time, my 21-year-old daughter, KennaDee, was working in a Veterans Affairs (VA) nursing home. KennaDee loves to sing, and she did it often at work. She sang showtunes as the residents ate lunch. She also sang the official songs of the military branches they had served in and took requests during lunch (including a Christian hymn she didn’t know at first but learned for one resident).
One female resident had lived a life full of abuse. She was combative and would not let the caregivers feed, bathe, or dress her. She would fight against taking her medications and any kind of physical exam. One day, acting upon inspiration, my daughter sang her Primary songs from the Children’s Songbook. The woman calmed immediately. She showed a light of recognition in her eyes. The employees discovered that this woman would cooperate as long as KennaDee sang Primary songs. They could dress, bathe, and feed her and give her medications with little struggle or resistance. KennaDee even taught some Primary songs to the other staff members so they could help this woman when KennaDee wasn’t working.

In 1994, President Howard W. Hunter invited all members of the Church to “establish the temple … as the great symbol of [our] membership.” Later that same year, construction on the Bountiful Utah Temple was completed. Like many, we were anxious to take our young family to the open house prior to the dedication. We labored diligently to prepare our children to enter the temple, praying earnestly that they would have a spiritual experience so that the temple would become a focal point in their lives.
As we reverently walked through the temple, I found myself admiring the magnificent architecture, the elegant finishes, the light shining through towering windows, and many of the inspiring paintings. Every aspect of this sacred building was truly exquisite.
Stepping into the celestial room, I suddenly realized that our youngest son, six-year-old Ben, was clinging to my leg. He appeared anxious—perhaps even a little troubled.
“What’s wrong, Son?” I whispered.
“Daddy,” he replied, “what’s happening here? I’ve never felt this way before.”
Recognizing that this was likely the first time our young son had felt the influence of the Holy Ghost in such a powerful way, I knelt down on the floor next to him. While other visitors stepped around us, Ben and I spent several minutes, side by side, learning about the Holy Ghost together. I was amazed at the ease with which we were able to discuss his sacred feelings. As we talked, it became clear that what was most inspiring to Ben was not what he saw but what he felt—not the physical beauty around us but the still, small voice of the Spirit of God within his heart. I shared with him what I had learned from my own experiences, even as his childlike wonder reawakened in me a deep sense of gratitude for this unspeakable gift from God—the gift of the Holy Ghost.
In teaching our six-year-old son, Ben, I thought it important to differentiate between what he was feeling, which was the influence of the Holy Ghost, and the gift of the Holy Ghost, which he would receive after baptism. Before baptism, all honest and sincere seekers of truth can feel the influence of the Holy Ghost from time to time. However, the opportunity to receive the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost and the fulness of all the associated blessings is available only to worthy, baptized members who receive the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands through those holding the priesthood authority of God.
As I reflect back on my experience with Ben in the Bountiful Utah Temple, I have many sweet feelings and impressions. One clear recollection is that while I was absorbed in the grandeur of what I could see, a small child near my side was recognizing the powerful feelings in his heart. With a gentle reminder, I was invited not only to pause and kneel down but also to heed the Savior’s call to become as a little child—humble, meek, and ready to hear the still, small voice of His Spirit.

In 1956, after returning home from several years in Washington, D.C., and having declined several attractive offers there, I received an offer to work at the University of Utah. My wife said I should take it. She said presciently, “I feel if you go there, maybe you will have some influence on students.” I replied impatiently, “I’ll be typing news releases, not working with students.” The subsequent opportunities included being a bishop of a student ward, dean of students, and teaching hundreds of fine students in political science. It wasn’t status that mattered, of course, but being stretched and being given opportunities to serve.

Tom and Joan (names have been changed) had both lost their spouses. Tom’s wife had passed away from cancer, and Joan’s husband, because of addiction, had left for other relationships. Tom and Joan met at a singles conference and were looking forward to marriage.
Each of them had children, age 15 and under. Their families had been on several outings together, and both Tom and Joan could see potential problems in blending the families. They came to counseling for some ideas on how to communicate in healthy ways to navigate this new chapter of their lives.
I suggested they review the message on family councils by President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “Children desperately need parents willing to listen to them,” he taught, “and the family council can provide a time during which family members can learn to understand and love one another.”1
For their family councils, they decided on the following agenda:
Define the problem.
Brainstorm solutions.
Choose a plan.
Put it into action.
Evaluate the success of the plan the next week and renegotiate the plan if necessary.
In addition to counseling together as a family, Tom and Joan learned that when relationship stress is high, there can be a need to learn how to improve one-on-one communication as well.
Tom and Joan learned several techniques that helped them improve their communication and their relationships with their children.
The parents stood together in finding solutions to problems with the children.
If a child had difficulty completing their daily tasks, one of the parents would spend time with them, discussing the day while they worked to complete the tasks.
They spent time each week deepening their relationship with every child.
They established ahead of time that they would take time-outs when the “emotional” brain (yelling) took over from the “rational,” solution-focused brain (discussion).
Whenever there was a power struggle between parent and child, the parent, when impressed to do so, withdrew and came back later to brainstorm a new solution.
As the family did their best to approach challenging relationship issues in faithful, healthy ways—communicating about their challenges and working through them together—Tom and Joan recognized important growth in their children as well as themselves.

A friend of mine once told me about his experience in coming to know and understand the gift of the Holy Ghost. He had prayed often and longed to know the truth of the gospel.
Although he felt at peace with his beliefs, he had never received the certain knowledge for which he hungered. He had reconciled himself to the fact that he might be one of those who would have to walk through this life relying upon the faith of others.
One morning, while pondering the scriptures, he felt something surge through his body from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. “I was immersed in a feeling of such intense love and pure joy,” he explained. “I cannot describe the measure of what I felt at that time other than to say I was enveloped in joy so profound there was no room in me for any other sensation.”
Even as he felt this outpouring of the Holy Ghost, he wondered if possibly he was just imagining what was happening. “The more I wondered,” he said, “the more intense the feelings became until it was all I could do to tearfully say, ‘It is enough.’”