Gospel Story Finder

A reporter from a leading Brazilian magazine studied the Church in preparation for a major news article.1 He examined our doctrine and visited the missionary training and humanitarian centers. He spoke with friends of the Church and with others who were not so friendly. In the interview with me, the reporter seemed honestly puzzled as he asked, “How could someone not consider you Christian?” I knew he was referring to the Church, but my mind somehow framed the question personally, and I found myself silently asking, “Does my life reflect the love and devotion I feel for the Savior?”
Jesus asked the Pharisees, “What think ye of Christ?”2 In the final assessment, our personal discipleship will not be judged by friends or foes. Rather, as Paul said, “We shall all stand before the judgment seat of Christ.”3 At that day the important question for each of us will be, “What thinks Christ of me?”
Even with His love for all mankind, Jesus reprovingly referred to some around Him as hypocrites,4 fools,5 and workers of iniquity.6 He approvingly called others children of the kingdom7 and the light of the world.8 He disapprovingly referred to some as blinded9 and unfruitful.10 He commended others as pure in heart11 and hungering after righteousness.12 He lamented that some were faithless13 and of the world,14 but others He esteemed as chosen,15 disciples,16 friends.17 And so we each ask, “What thinks Christ of me?”
President Thomas S. Monson has described our day as moving away “from that which is spiritual … [with] the winds of change [swirling] around us and the moral fiber of society [continuing] to disintegrate before our very eyes.”18 It is a time of growing disbelief in and disregard for Christ and His teachings.
In this turbulent environment, we rejoice in being disciples of Jesus Christ. We see the Lord’s hand all around us. Our destination is beautifully set before us. “This is life eternal,” Jesus prayed, “that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.”19 Being a disciple in these days of destiny will be a badge of honor throughout the eternities.
The messages we have heard during this conference are guideposts from the Lord on our journey of discipleship. As we have listened during the past two days, praying for spiritual guidance, and as we study and pray about these messages in the days ahead, the Lord blesses us with customized direction through the gift of the Holy Ghost. These feelings turn us even more toward God, repenting, obeying, believing, and trusting. The Savior responds to our acts of faith. “If a man [or woman] love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.”20
Jesus’s call “Come, follow me”21 is not only for those prepared to compete in a spiritual Olympics. In fact, discipleship is not a competition at all but an invitation to all. Our journey of discipleship is not a dash around the track, nor is it fully comparable to a lengthy marathon. In truth, it is a lifelong migration toward a more celestial world.
His invitation is a call to daily duty. Jesus said: “If ye love me, keep my commandments.”22 “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.”23 We may not be at our very best every day, but if we are trying, Jesus’s bidding is full of encouragement and hope: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”24
Wherever you now find yourself on the road of discipleship, you are on the right road, the road toward eternal life. Together we can lift and strengthen one another in the great and important days ahead. Whatever the difficulties confronting us, the weaknesses confining us, or the impossibilities surrounding us, let us have faith in the Son of God, who declared, “All things are possible to him that believeth.”25
Let me share two examples of discipleship in action. The first is from the life of President Thomas S. Monson, demonstrating the power of simple kindness and Jesus’s teaching, “He that is greatest among you shall be your servant.”26
Nearly 20 years ago, President Monson spoke in general conference about a 12-year-old young woman suffering from cancer. He told of her courage and the kindness of her friends to carry her up Mount Timpanogos in central Utah.
A few years ago I met Jami Palmer Brinton and heard the story from a different perspective—the perspective of what President Monson had done for her.
Jami met President Monson in March 1993, a day after being told that a mass above her right knee was a fast-growing bone cancer. With her father assisting, President Monson administered a priesthood blessing, promising, “Jesus will be on your right side and on your left side to buoy you up.”
“Upon leaving his office that day,” Jami said, “I unfastened a balloon tied to my wheelchair and gave it to him. ‘You’re the Best!’ it announced in bright letters.”
Through her chemotherapy treatments and limb-saving surgery, President Monson did not forget her. Jami said, “President Monson exemplified what it means to be a true disciple of Christ. [He] lifted me from sorrow to great and abiding hope.” Three years after their first meeting, Jami again sat in President Monson’s office. At the end of the meeting, he did something that Jami will never forget. So typical of President Monson’s thoughtfulness, he surprised her with the very same balloon that she had given to him three years before. “You’re the Best!” the balloon proclaimed. He had saved it, knowing she would return to his office when she was cured of cancer. Fourteen years after first meeting Jami, President Monson performed her marriage to Jason Brinton in the Salt Lake Temple.27
We can learn so much from the discipleship of President Monson. He often reminds the General Authorities to remember this simple question: “What would Jesus do?”
Jesus told the leader of the synagogue, “Be not afraid, only believe.”28 Discipleship is believing Him in seasons of peace and believing Him in seasons of difficulty, when our pain and fear are calmed only by the conviction that He loves us and keeps His promises.
I recently met a family who is a beautiful example of how we believe Him. Olgan and Soline Saintelus, from Port-au-Prince, Haiti, told me their story.
On January 12, 2010, Olgan was at work and Soline was at the church when a devastating earthquake struck Haiti. Their three children—Gancci, age five, Angie, age three, and Gansly, age one—were at home in their apartment with a friend.
Massive devastation was everywhere. As you will remember, tens of thousands lost their lives that January in Haiti. Olgan and Soline ran as fast as they could to their apartment to find the children. The three-story apartment building where the Saintelus family lived had collapsed.
The children had not escaped. No rescue efforts would be devoted to a building that was so completely destroyed.
Olgan and Soline Saintelus had both served full-time missions and had been married in the temple. They believed in the Savior and in His promises to them. Yet their hearts were broken. They wept uncontrollably.
Olgan told me that in his darkest hour he began to pray. “Heavenly Father, if it be thy will, if there could be just one of my children alive, please, please help us.” Over and over he walked around the building, praying for inspiration. The neighbors tried to comfort him and help him accept the loss of his children. Olgan continued to walk around the rubble of the collapsed building, hoping, praying. Then something quite miraculous happened. Olgan heard the almost inaudible cry of a baby. It was the cry of his baby.
For hours the neighbors frantically dug into the rubble, risking their own lives. In the dark of the night, through the piercing sounds of hammers and chisels, the rescue workers heard another sound. They stopped their pounding and listened. They couldn’t believe what they were hearing. It was the sound of a little child—and he was singing. Five-year-old Gancci later said that he knew his father would hear him if he sang. Under the weight of crushing concrete that would later result in the amputation of his arm, Gancci was singing his favorite song, “I Am a Child of God.”29
As the hours passed amid the darkness, death, and despair of so many other precious sons and daughters of God in Haiti, the Saintelus family had a miracle. Gancci, Angie, and Gansly were discovered alive under the flattened building.30
Miracles are not always so immediate. At times we thoughtfully wonder why the miracle we have so earnestly prayed for does not happen here and now. But as we trust in the Savior, promised miracles will occur. Whether in this life or the next, all will be made right. The Savior declares: “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”31 “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”32
I testify that as you love Him, trust Him, believe Him, and follow Him, you will feel His love and approval. As you ask, “What thinks Christ of me?” you will know that you are His disciple; you are His friend. By His grace He will do for you what you cannot do for yourself.
We eagerly await the concluding remarks of our beloved prophet. President Thomas S. Monson was ordained an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ when I was 12 years old. For more than 48 years we have been blessed to hear him bear witness of Jesus Christ. I testify that he now stands as the Savior’s senior Apostle upon the earth.
With great love and admiration for the many disciples of Jesus Christ who are not members of this Church, we humbly declare that angels have returned to the earth in our day. The Church of Jesus Christ as He established it anciently has been restored, with the power, ordinances, and blessings of heaven. The Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ.
I witness that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. He suffered and died for our sins and rose the third day. He is resurrected. In a future day, every knee will bow and every tongue confess that He is the Christ.33 On that day, our concern will not be, “Do others consider me Christian?” At that time, our eyes will be fixed on Him, and our souls will be riveted on the question, “What thinks Christ of me?” He lives. I so testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Now let me share with you my first attempt in prayer. As a little boy my mother taught me to pray. She would kneel down with me at night and help me say my prayers. It was a consistent every night pattern. I'm so grateful for her and for the habit of praying. It has stayed with me all my life.

In 1946, I was six years old. I had been given a nice rubber ball and I had been out in the pasture behind our home, throwing the ball 50 feet or so and then running to pick it up and throwing it again. After many throws, I went to find the ball but could not find it. I looked for over 30 minutes. I could not find it. I didn't want to lose that ball. I decided to pray and ask Heavenly Father to help me find my ball. I stood in that pasture, folded my arms, bowed my head and talked heart to heart with Heavenly Father. Something like this, "Heavenly Father, I've lost my ball. I really need to find it. Will you please help me find my ball?" I closed in the name of Jesus Christ. As I opened my eyes and looked up, I was shocked. There, not 6 feet away, was my ball, in clear sight. It may not sound like a lot to you, but to me, as a little boy, I came to know first hand, that there is a real Heavenly Father, that he hears and answers prayers. It was so amazing. I never forgot that experience. It was the beginning of my everlasting faith and trust in Heavenly Father. What a blessing that became as I continued to say my prayers through grade school, junior high, high school, college, a mission, courtship, and now marriage and family.

But are we not to bring a certain proper reverence to prayer? And if we are not in that mode should we not repent and wait? Listen to Heber C. Kimball. He is praying with his family and in the midst of the prayer says, “Father, bless Brother So-and-so.” And then begins a loud laugh. I can imagine the heads of his children popping up and their eyes opening. After a slight pause he said, “Lord, it makes me laugh to pray about some people,” and went on with his prayer (see, Whitney, Kimball, p. 427). I leave it to you, was that light-mindedness or profound intimacy with the Lord who knows we have a funny bone? He gave it to us.

“Do you know where I met Martin?” she asked them, coming to the kitchen entrance to talk. “At the five and ten store in Missoula. I was only 18 then. He was home from the army on a 30-day leave. It was a couple of days before Valentine Day, and I was working at the jewelry counter. After about a half an hour, he finally picked out something. He thrust it into my hand, paid for it, and asked if I’d gift wrap it. Well I did, but when I gave it to him, he just looked down, shook his head, gave it back, and mumbled, ‘It’s for you.’ And that was the beginning. Since he was going overseas in just a few weeks, we ended up getting married before he left.”
They listened to the records while they ate their snack.
“When Martin came back from the war, he worked at various jobs for a few years, and then we got a chance to get this place. It had belonged to his father. We’ve been here ever since.”
After the last record on the stack had played, she showed them the necklace. It was a tiny chain with a small silver heart in the middle. “I think it cost all of two dollars. Oh, there’s an inscription on the back. Can you still read it?”
“It says, ‘Love is forever.’” Cathy slowly read the worn inscription.
“I haven’t thought about that necklace for years.”

On the night of September 21, 1989, Hurricane Hugo passed with all its fury over the beautiful city of Charleston, South Carolina. My good friend Alvie Evans lived in a low-lying area near the water, where the maximum strength of the storm was headed. He gathered his family together and moved to higher ground, to the home of his mother.
Late in the night, 150-mile-per-hour winds raged around them, uprooting trees and ripping away parts of the house. The storm became so severe they began to fear they would experience physical harm. Alvie, with his wife and children, his mother, and his brothers and sister and their families, knelt together in the entrance hall of the home and prayed humbly to the Lord, asking for protection and for safety.
The next morning they viewed the devastation. Of the fifty or more large, strong oak trees that had been growing in his mother’s yard, only eight remained standing. There was damage to the house, the cars, the entire city, but the family was safe. The Lord had heard their prayers and had protected them through the storm. Alvie said, “I didn’t know then if we would have a house to return to, but I knew we would always have a home, because our family was intact and secure.”

Years ago, while at the beach with my family, I noticed signs and flags warning us of a strong current flowing away from the shore into deep, turbulent water. Invisible to my untrained eyes but easily detected by lifeguards on a nearby watchtower, the powerful current posed a danger to all who left the safety of the shore and entered the water. I remember rationalizing, “I’m a strong swimmer. Swimming will be great exercise. I’ll be safe in the shallow water.”

Ignoring the warnings and feeling confident in my own judgment, I entered the water to enjoy a “refreshing” swim. After a few minutes I looked up to locate my family on the nearby beach, but the beach was no longer nearby! The deceptive current I had been warned of had captured me and was quickly pulling me away from my family.

Confidently at first and then desperately, I tried to swim toward shore, but the unforgiving current dragged me farther and farther into deeper, rougher water. I became exhausted and began choking on inhaled water. Drowning became a real possibility. My energy gone, I frantically and finally called out for help.

Miraculously, it seemed, a lifeguard was immediately at my side. I wasn’t aware that he had watched me go into the water. He knew the current would capture me, and he knew where it would take me. Avoiding the current, he swam around and just beyond where I was struggling; then he patiently waited for me to call for help. Too weak to swim to shore alone, I was and still am grateful for his rescue. Without his help I never could have made it back to my family.

That day I made a poor choice that produced potentially serious consequences for me and for my family. As we now consider together the gift of choice, I pray that the Holy Ghost will help each of us individually evaluate the choices we are making.

The Primary children of the Ardmore Ward in the Norman Oklahoma Stake love to serve others. Their leaders challenged them to find ways to serve in secret. When they read about the invitation to help someone in need for President Thomas S. Monson’s birthday, they were excited to have a service activity. They decided to make hygiene kits and children’s kits. But no one knew how much the kits would soon be needed.
For a few weeks, ward members donated soap, shampoo, toothpaste, crayons, soft toys, and other items for the kits. At their activity, the children packaged 15 hygiene kits and 15 children’s kits. In each kit, they included a big paper heart with the scripture, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16).
Then a terrible tornado swept through their community. Many people lost their homes and belongings. The Primary gave the hygiene kits and children’s kits to people in their community who needed them right away. Giving service helped the children feel thankful and peaceful during a hard time. They learned that serving is a blessing to both the receiver and the giver.

Now I haven’t taken it just on the basis of one testimony, because my mind won’t permit me that luxury, and I don’t think most minds will. I came back from that war and used my GI bill and went to college. First of all, what a struggle that was because of the void I’d created in high school. I happened to have married out of the Church, and while I was fortunate to convert my wife and see her come in and be one of the strongest Latter-day Saints you’ll ever know, what a risk I took, as I reflect back. Anyway, she came from a very strong Protestant family, and in order to handle myself effectively, or at least as effectively as I thought I should, I attended a Protestant theological school of their faith and graduated with their ministers, because I wanted to know, scripturally speaking, whether the Mormon Church could stand the test of the world. And how happy I am to report that not only did I get a testimony when I asked as Moroni indicates, but I put it to the test for years in one of the best theological schools on the west coast. And the gospel is true, brothers and sisters. Are you willing to invest the time and energy and the commitment in prayer to see if I’m right?

One of their memorable lessons occurred during a torrential downpour one Sunday. My parents knew they had a commitment to keep with the Lord—they had to go to church. Our umbrellas were broken, so we only had jackets and boots to shelter us from the storm. My mother got the idea to cover us with plastic garbage bags. We weren’t embarrassed to be the only people walking down the street in the rain. We knew we were doing what the Lord would have us do.
When we arrived at the house we used for a chapel, we realized that we would be the only ones attending that day. Many Sundays were like that. My father served as the branch president and often conducted meetings attended only by children and a few Relief Society sisters. He would also bless and pass the sacrament.
I miss those days we attended church as a family. Singing hymns together and learning about our Father in Heaven and His Son, Jesus Christ, remains a treasured memory. My heart is still on Robinson Crusoe Island. All my childhood memories, including gospel teachings I received from my parents, occurred there.
With few members of the Church on the island, we didn’t have the programs or resources many members enjoy. But my parents taught us to attend church, pray, and read the scriptures. I found strength and direction as I read the scriptures and had moments of personal revelation. I remember one Sunday in particular when I received confirmation to serve a mission.
When I was a college student in Viña del Mar, Chile, I remembered my parents walking to church with me in the sun, rain, hail, and wind. Each Sunday, this memory prompted me to get out of bed, get ready, and go to church—regardless of what was happening outside.
The gospel of Jesus Christ has been the center of my life as a child, missionary, and now as a wife and mother. Now that I have my own family, my husband and I will pass down to our children the faithful example of my parents.

Besides shallow prayers, there are other impediments to our doing unto "the least of them, my brethren." One is a subtle cynicism and mockery of those who do try to do good the best way they know how. I remember the heartbreak of a story about a new convert who was so full of the joy and light of his own conversion that he wanted to express his love and appreciation to everybody. He would come early to sacrament meetings and go about shaking hands with everyone, old and young. Perhaps he was a little too effervescent, but I think his enthusiasm for greeting people did the ward good, until one poor irritated soul said to him, "Oh, go sit down, George, people will think you’re running for Bishop." A few people around him laughed at the joke. George, however, was absolutely crushed that his genuinely loving behavior was held up to public ridicule. He sank within himself and was never the same again.

Renee and I were married in August 1976, and on August 17, 1978, our son, and only child, was born. This picture was taken literally minutes after his birth.

You will notice that I did not put a name for our son on that slide. We had talked about several names, but when he was born, we had not made a final decision. After he was born, I changed my mind about all of the names we had discussed and suggested that he be named after my father. Renee agreed, and so he was named David Parry Wilson.

To help you understand why we decided this, you need to know something about my father. I was blessed to be born into a wonderful family and had a great relationship with my mother and father.

My first recollections of my father outside the home were of Coach Wilson, the basketball and baseball coach at Logan High School, the only high school in the small town in northern Utah where I was raised. I subsequently learned that he had been an All-Conference basketball player at the University of Utah. While teaching and coaching at the high school, he continued his studies to earn a Ph.D. and became Principal Wilson, my junior high and then high school principal. At the same time, during my teenage years, he was Bishop Wilson, the bishop of my ward. He then became Professor Wilson, the head of the secondary education department at Weber State College. I even took a class from him, earning an A, I might add. He eventually retired as a vice-president at Weber State. As President Wilson, he served in a stake presidency, and then was Elder Wilson as he and my mother served as senior couple missionaries. For the past twenty years he has been Patriarch Wilson and has given well over 1000 patriarchal blessings. He is also Brother Wilson, a sealer in the Ogden Utah Temple. As a sealer, he has had the opportunity of performing the temple marriages of 10 of his grandchildren, including sealing my son and his namesake, David, to his eternal companion, Maile, a year ago. Most important of all, over the years he has been my loving and caring father.

I didn't know what type of legacy I might provide for my son and I still don't. However, I had no doubts about my father's legacy. My father has spent 87 years developing the David Parry Wilson brand. I wanted my son to have the responsibility of maintaining that brand image. I wanted to impose on him the discipline required to maintain the brand, the good name of my father, his grandfather. To paraphrase the definition of branding that I quoted earlier, by identifying him with my father's name, I wanted my son to have the responsibility of delivering the expected quality.

In May of 2020, just as the world was grappling with the spread of a global pandemic, members of the New York City Commission of Religious Leaders met virtually in an abruptly called meeting. There was no agenda. No special guests. Just a request to come together and discuss the challenges we were all facing as faith leaders. The Centers for Disease Control had just reported that our city was the epicenter of the COVID-19 pandemic in the United States. This meant no more gathering. No more coming together.

For these religious leaders, removing the personal ministry, the congregational gathering, and the weekly worship was a devastating blow. Our small group—which included a cardinal, reverend, rabbi, imam, pastor, monsignor, and an elder—listened to, consoled, and supported one another. Instead of focusing on our differences, we saw what we had in common. We spoke of possibilities and then probabilities. We rallied and responded to questions about faith and the future. And then we prayed. Oh, how we prayed.

In a richly diverse city filled with complexity and colliding cultures, we saw our differences dissipate as we came together as friends with one voice, one purpose, and one prayer.

No longer were we looking across the table at each other but heavenward with each other. We left each subsequent meeting more united and ready to pick up our “shovels” and go to work. The collaboration that resulted and the service rendered to thousands of New Yorkers taught me that in a world calling for division, distance, and disengagement, there is always much more that unites us than divides us. The Savior pled, “Be one; and if ye are not one ye are not mine.”

Five years later, Edward was still quite small, and often mistaken for a younger child. Although his body had not grown very much, his faith had grown enormously. Edward was not afraid to risk his life for the Church. And since this was a time of intense persecution, he often volunteered for dangerous assignments. One October night, he stood guard near the encampment at Far West, Missouri. His job was to watch for enemies and not allow them to enter the camp.
It was a beautiful, clear night full of stars. As dawn approached, the moon set and the sky became darker. Mist began to form. Then in the distance he heard horses slowly approaching. As the horses came closer, he heard faint, muffled voices. “Enemies trying to sneak into camp,” Edward thought. He reached for his rifle, cocked it, and held it steadily in the direction of the sound. It was so misty and dark that Edward knew the approaching strangers were not aware of him. When they were just a few feet away, Edward called out, “Who comes there?”
“Friends,” was the reply.
“Halt and give the secret password.”
“God and liberty.”
That was correct, and Edward let the strangers advance. As the first rays of sunlight appeared, Edward recognized the first rider. He was a church leader named Lyman Wight. He rode right up to Edward, the horse’s breath forming a cloud in the chilly air over Edward’s head. Brother Wight looked down from his horse at the short lad. He showed Edward that he was carrying both a gun and a sword. “So just what would you have done if I had been a real enemy?” he asked the youthful-looking guard.
Without flinching, Edward said that he would have defended his post.
A friendly chuckle came from behind Brother Wight. “That’s right, Bub!”
Bub! To Edward’s shock and embarrassment, the Prophet Joseph Smith was the second rider! Edward couldn’t believe that he had actually drawn a rifle upon the Prophet of God. But the Prophet’s steady gaze spoke of love, friendship, and appreciation. To Edward’s great relief he knew there were no hard feelings.
Edward later wrote about the incident in his journal and concluded that “the prophet always had a good word for all and was universally loved by the true in heart.”

About eight months into my mission in Brazil, I felt like the worst missionary ever. Nobody we were teaching was coming to church. It was difficult to find people who actually wanted to hear our message. We were striving to work hard and be obedient, but it didn’t seem to be paying off.
There was one day when I felt particularly down. We were searching for someone to teach, without luck, when a severe rainstorm rolled over us. The rain beat hard against our faces, and the sun faded behind huge black clouds. The streets quickly began to flood.
I couldn’t believe this was happening! Here we were, trying to be diligent, and not a soul was opening their door. Now, on top of that, we had a torrent of heavy rains to trudge through. It would be hard to find someone to teach in this awful weather. I just wanted to go back to the apartment, where it was dry and quiet. The storm got worse, so I suggested we go home.
But that didn’t feel right. The water was already to our calves, but a feeling came into my heart that we needed to keep walking. When I tried to ignore it, I remembered a line from our Missionary Handbook: “As you obey with a willing heart (see Doctrine and Covenants 64:34), you will show the Lord your love for Him” ([2010], 4).
Suddenly the warmth of God’s love filled my heart and made the cold, uncomfortable rain a little more bearable. I knew we needed to obey the prompting to show our love for Him, even if it was hard. So we kept walking.
The rain continued to pound as we knocked on dozens of doors. Most stayed closed. Some cracked open, only to shut seconds after. But we were determined to keep going. We even laughed as we splashed through the streets, realizing we were probably the only ones in the city crazy enough to be outside.
It was getting late when we came to a small, tin-roofed house. It was totally dark and appeared empty, but we knocked anyway. To our surprise, a woman answered and quickly invited us in to get shelter from the rain. We were so excited that someone had finally let us in!
The woman’s husband and two kids were there, and they smiled at us—apparently unbothered by the fact that we were dripping all over their floor. We introduced ourselves and asked if we could share a message about Jesus Christ, and they accepted.
The Spirit was present as we prayed with them and for them. They talked about the many struggles they’d had and how they felt a need to reconnect with God. There was a still, peaceful feeling that completely contradicted the violent tempest outside. It was the calm after the literal storm for us and, in many ways, the calm after a figurative storm for this family who had been through so much.
Throughout the next few days, I reflected on how silly it now seemed that I had thought my success as a missionary depended only on how many investigators came to church. What really mattered was helping people build relationships with God and find peace in Jesus Christ, even when they faced turbulent times. Doing this strengthened my own relationship with God.
I was transferred shortly after, and although I couldn’t keep teaching that family, I knew I’d always be grateful for the lesson I learned that night. The rainstorm had made me a better missionary and a better person.

Now you might not think a church youth dance is something to be afraid of, but for my friends and me, this one was different. It was our first.

Unfortunately, the bulk of our adolescent training to this point was in camp-outs and knot tying. Girls had scarcely begun to crack our vocabulary. We tried to look excited, but secretly we were scared stiff.

So when the music finally started, we found ourselves standing at the edge of the dance floor, staring straight ahead like timid zookeepers looking into an alligator pit. Just one false move and …

“Do you want to dance?”

Yipes! A girl I had known since first grade was standing in front of me in a new role: potential dance partner. What do I say? What do I do? I wanted to say yes, but I choked.

“Uh … thanks, but I’m just going to watch for a while.”

Rats! I couldn’t believe what I had just said. But while I was busy feeling sorry for myself, she turned to Rob, a friend of mine, and asked him. Incredibly, he said yes.

What courage! The rest of us watched in awe as the couple moved to the middle of the room. Though Rob wasn’t winning any awards for grace or style, it looked like he was actually having fun. And when the music changed, he asked someone else to dance.

Wow! He made it look easy, but my remaining friends and I would definitely need more experience before trying something that risky. Until then we would stick to safer jobs, like supporting the cultural hall walls.

After hours of indecision, the night finally ended. I had kept my position along the wall, but by holding out I had forfeited any chance of having a good time.

When I was 17, I worked at an inn in Kailua-Kona, Hawaii, USA. Working as a bellhop, I saw many famous people as guests of the hotel, including John Wayne, Dorothy L’Amour, and Esther Williams.
One evening, after most of the guests had arrived, I was taking a break at the front of the hotel when a black limousine stopped at the curb and seven men got out, dressed in black pants, white shirts, and ties. Another man in a black suit accompanied them. After the driver parked their car, all of them went into the dining room for dinner. I thought they looked like FBI agents as I went back inside to continue my duties answering room-service calls.
About an hour later, I was outside the hotel smoking a cigarette while the group I had seen earlier came back out to return to their limo, which was waiting at the curb. They went down the walkway to the car and opened the rear door to allow the black-suited man to get in. But instead of entering the car, the black-suited man stopped, turned around to look at me leaning against the building, and walked up to me.
He was tall and thin, with wire-rimmed glasses and a small white goatee. He extended his hand to shake mine and put his other hand on my shoulder. I was struck that such a distinguished-looking man would come and talk to me, a young man he didn’t even know.
I cannot recall all the words he spoke to me other than to say that “those things are bad for you,” referring to my cigarette. His kindness and demeanor made quite an impression on me.
Over a year later I took discussions from the missionaries and was baptized.
While looking through pictures of leaders of the Church, I noticed a picture of President George Albert Smith (1870–1951) and recognized him immediately as the kind and distinguished man I’d met in front of the inn. I was even more impressed that the President of the Church would do such a thing to someone like me, a boy who wasn’t even a member of the Church and of no particular importance.
What a great man he was to show such love and concern for a young boy working in an unnoticed position and having no understanding of the gospel or our Heavenly Father’s love for us.
Sixty-five years later, I have a great understanding of that care and love, and I strive to see those around me as President Smith saw me.

Many youth in the Church have had the opportunity to do baptisms for the dead, but for the priests and Laurels of the Adelaide Australia Modbury Stake, this great blessing has come only in recent times with the completion of the Sydney Australia Temple.
Even so, the trip to Sydney was a long one. As a fund-raising project, the young people committed to deliver 50,000 telephone directories. With many ward members helping, the youth spent Saturdays and many evenings making the deliveries.
The 26 enthusiastic youth attended two baptismal sessions. Many were baptized for their own ancestors or those of other members of the stake.
What may have seemed like a trial to some when they had spent several Saturdays delivering heavy directories turned out to be one of the most wonderful experiences of their lives.

Let me tell you a little about my childhood and the way I was raised. My parents were second-generation owners of a grocery and general merchandise store in Teton Valley, Idaho. In addition to the grocery store, my father also farmed and we raised sheep. So, as you can guess, there was no shortage of work for me and my siblings when I was growing up as a kid. It seemed like I was always either in school or at work, and I never knew what it was like to have a day off. At the age of ten, I also worked for my uncles on their farm in the summer time, usually driving either a tractor or truck as they loaded hay bales in the field. I started working for $1.00 per day, and by the end of the first summer, I had made some money. My parents set me up a savings account, and then at the age of twelve, they helped me set up a checking account so that I had control of my own money. That was long before the day of credit and debit cards. They did require that I put at least half of my earning into savings for a future mission and college. One of my earliest jobs in the grocery store was stocking shelves on freight day, and I was paid 5 cents for each case of product that I could mark with the correct price and put neatly on the shelf. If I worked hard, I could earn $1.00 from the time I got to the store after school and until it closed. Now, I am telling you all of this to help you understand why being organized is so important to me. I had to be organized to go to school, hold a part time job from about the age of eight, and keep up with my homework in school. As I got into high school, I was involved in football and wrestling after school, and then I still went to the grocery store until closing and then home to do my homework. From time to time, I would also have to be at the grocery store early in the morning before school to help out in the meat department, and I became a meat cutter in the process. I had to organize every aspect of my life so that I could do well in school, participate in scouting, and have a little time to go with my friends and have a date for the Saturday night dance. Since this was all back in the '60s, there were no computers, and until I could take a typing class in high school, my mother had to type all of my term papers and book reports.

They’ll tell you about the many years when the Saints met in a dilapidated old building high on a hillside. It was held to the mountain by a metal cable running right through the chapel. The members called it their iron rod. Once the roof caved in during Mutual, narrowly missing several people. Snakes sometimes found their way into one of the classrooms, and were gently carried out, giving rise to neighborhood rumors about strange LDS forms of worship. In the wintertime the members sat huddled in blankets listening to blanket-wrapped speakers and teachers. Each gospel truth came out in a puff of white mist. When it came time to move to a nicer building, the youth of the ward did their part with several fund-raising hot dog sales.

In 1946, the young researcher Arthur Hasler was hiking along a mountain stream near his boyhood home when he had an experience that led to an important discovery about how fish find their way back to their birth streams.
Hiking up a mountain, yet out of sight of his favorite childhood waterfall, Hasler was suddenly brought back to a forgotten memory. He said, “As a cool breeze, bearing the fragrance of mosses and columbine, swept around the rocky abutment, the details of this waterfall and its setting on the face of the mountain suddenly leapt into my mind’s eye.”
These smells rekindled his childhood memories and reminded him of home.
If smells could trigger such memories for him, he reasoned that perhaps smells could be as evocative for salmon who, after years of being in the open ocean, return to the exact stream of their birth to spawn.
Based on this experience, Hasler, together with other researchers, went on to demonstrate that salmon remember the very scents that would help them navigate thousands of miles to find their way back home from the sea.