Gospel Story Finder

Daniel’s panic on the stage at the election convention did not come from shyness. It stems from a fear of microphones and cameras developed when he was interviewed over and over again by television reporters featuring him on TV as an adoptable child. Before the age of 11, he was adopted twice. Both adoptions were terminated. And he lived in many foster homes in between. Then the Larry King family of Bountiful adopted Daniel. He now happily belongs to a loving family of eight children. “I’m an uncle, too!” he proudly exclaims. When it’s mentioned to Daniel that he went through some hard times as a little boy, he says, “Yep,” (his face tenses, then relaxes) “but I got over ’em.”

Sitting on the stand of the St. George (Utah) Tabernacle, waiting for her performance to begin, Sheena Rosander couldn’t help remembering the year before when she had been waiting to perform at a high school talent show.
“It was one of the only times I really had the jitters before a performance,” says Sheena. “I followed a rock group and knew immediately that the classical song I loved to play on the piano wasn’t really what kids wanted to hear. I depend so much on the Spirit to help me play, and that Spirit just wasn’t there.”
But this night, things were different. Thankfully, the Spirit was in abundance as her six functioning fingers flew over the keyboard of the grand piano creating music, the kind that brings a lump to the throat.
Sheena Rosander, 18, from Hurricane, Utah, was born with what some people consider a disability. But to Sheena, having only a partial thumb and no fingers on her left hand is a gift. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have all 10 fingers, like how much easier keyboarding would be,” says Sheena. “But I usually just find a way to go around it. My mom wanted me to peel potatoes, and I was really struggling with that potato peeler. So I decided when I have my own family I’ll just have baked potatoes. There’s always a way to do things.”
And that’s pretty much how Sheena has been able to enjoy her favorite activities, like playing and teaching tennis, playing the violin, teaching piano lessons, and competing at performing-arts festivals.
In fact, she’s used her good attitude as a springboard to propel her into positive social situations. On her first day of kindergarten, when Sheena proudly displayed her hand at “show and tell,” one child told her it looked like a Cabbage Patch doll’s hand. Delighted, she added several Cabbage Patch dolls to her already thriving collection. Her favorite had red hair and blue eyes, just like Sheena.
That kind of confidence comes naturally. Even before she was born, her mother, Toni, decided all her children would learn to play piano. Sheena began lessons at age five.
“She was determined to play the piano,” recalls her teacher, Tammy Drake. “Her hand was never an obstacle. She would compensate with her right hand to achieve a full sound. Then one day, she began playing with her left hand, using her thumb and pinky stub. Sheena has shown all of us a new kind of courage and determination. Some listeners never even know about her hand. She plays beautifully.”

Recently I had the opportunity of riding a pleasure boat up Germany’s Rhine River. The three-hour trip only covered a few miles because we had to go against the current. The bus that took us to that boat sped on ahead to our destination, affording the driver a long nap while he waited for our vessel to churn against the river before catching up to him. As we sunned on the deck, looking at the medieval castles jutting out among the vineyard-covered hills paralleling the famous river, we saw many similar boats pass us from the opposite direction traveling at several times our speed.
Perhaps you have experienced such a boat ride or tried to swim or row against the current. You might have wished then that it was your option, like our oncoming craft, to ride easily in the opposite direction—allowing the force of the current to sustain you instead of the exertion of muscles. There is an obvious parallel in our secular society: it is easy, fun, fashionable, acceptable, even legal to move with the sensual current in entertainment, in courtship, in reading materials, but it leads into a secular atmosphere that you do not control. There is, however, another life-style that could be called “swimming upstream.”
For example, there was a young soldier on sentry duty one day. His foul-mouthed sergeant, whom he generally avoided, approached him. The recruit steeled himself for the customary barrage of profanity that he would later have to scour from his mind. Instead his sergeant said, “You’re a Mormon, aren’t you?” The recruit nodded in the affirmative, with some surprise, only to be stunned by the next observation: “I could tell because you don’t swear.” The private gulped inwardly as he took quick inventory. The sergeant continued: “You know what gets me about you guys? You are good when you don’t have to be!”
Another time in the military a whole delegation of LDS college men went through summer training. As they moved from one field demonstration to another, each hour they endured the military instructors who began each session with a dirty joke. One NCO unintentionally prefaced the inevitable lewd story by asking, “Anyone object to a joke?” There was a split second of intense silence while the opportunity ran through the group. Then quickly from the back came a solitary but solid, “Yes.” The cadreman looked up in shocked surprise, immediately becoming defensive. Intending to intimidate such an upstart, he fired back, “Well, leave if you don’t like it.” Again a second of silence—followed by a decision. Then three-fourths of the group voted with their feet.
The military experience is like other forays into secularism that LDS youth are facing today. They are away from home with carnal options on every hand—gambling, profanity, pornography, immorality, and bug-out-ism. Such crass enticements successfully ensnare the uncommitted, but thousands of others choose to swim against the current. One young priest, during his first week away from home, confronted some returned missionaries in his barracks who appeared more sophisticated. Why weren’t they saying their prayers, he queried. His challenge encouraged them all to overcome their smoothly disguised fears of censure. They joined after lights out for a family prayer each night. Soon they discovered that their Mormon compatriots throughout the post were doing the same in small scattered groups; they even included their fellow nonmember squad members. The result was a brotherhood—blessing when sick, counseling when troubled, and bolstering each other during competition—instead of the harassing, cutting, and undermining that are so common in basic training. This higher life occurs without leaders or instructions; it emerges from being “anxiously engaged in a good cause,” from conviction, from feeling the power of God within. All over the globe, many Mormon youth seek out each other. Their spiritual adventures are legion. They often reach out to friends who have followed the carnal path into deprivation. Their example, caring, and persistence have supported many through a transformation that has led them into the Melchizedek Priesthood, the temple, sometimes mission calls—in other words, into their eternal potential.
These modern youth discover the spiritual adventure, not appreciated by many today, that is symbolized by the legendary friendship of David and Jonathan in ancient Israel. Here were two young men who should have been rivals because David was anointed to be the successor to Jonathan’s father, King Saul. Instead, their commitment to virtue bound them, as the scripture says, so “that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.” (1 Sam. 18:1.)
The contemporary Davids and Jonathans in high schools and colleges, in the mission fields or army, on the job or the playing field, experience these rare friendships. They have no need to long for that relationship between David and Jonathan. It is available right now.
How can that be?
It is because there are many young Latter-day Saints, worldwide, who have caught the vision. They have discovered that by adhering to the Word of Wisdom, attending church, paying tithing, and performing other essential requirements, they are prepared to move on to a higher law—one that happens only in the soul, one that causes a burning in the bosom, a resolve in the mind, and a love in the heart. Once this happens, these youth discover a whole new vista about the gospel. They realize that being able to proudly answer to a bishop that they have refrained from sin is an exciting achievement and will help one enter the temple. But there is also a virtue built upon that restraint; it consists of positive acts that one has initiated. These are possible for young men and women who master their natural tendencies and then continue to grow by adding personal initiatives—magnifying the priesthood and radiating virtue.
This is what bound David and Jonathan; it was pure joy to love one who also loved virtue. Jonathan added selflessness and sacrifice to his basic self-mastery; David added total dedication. Their love for one another was magnified because they were committed to common principles. Their lives had purpose well beyond desire to rule an earthly kingdom over which they could easily have parted. Instead theirs was a consecration to build a kingdom of God. This vision throbbed in their beings and gave meaning to their lives.
For them and countless of your generation, it is not only a matter of filling requirements and doing what is expected in the structured environment of the Church. Instead, while holding to that rod, you go beyond to total dedication on your own initiative. It is the adventure of virtue when you are away from observation. That is where you find spiritual excitement—when you are on your own.
The result is electric.
In countless student apartments prayer permeates college life without destroying fun. On campus, as well as on the job, friendships grow beyond the joys of adolescent idealism when Mormon youth out on their own discover the adventure that awaits those who achieve self-mastery. In one apartment, for example, four freshmen lay awake late into the nights discussing the profundities of a universe governed by eternal progression. In another circle several young men regularly drove to the mountainside where they could view the heavens and discuss truths learned. There they extended the evening’s worship, pondering the galaxies. The power of prayer bound two other youthful companions, who were linked by friendship and by assignment as local missionaries. Because of the draft and a war, they were not called as full-time elders, but they did not let that rob them of the power others had to go to distant lands to discover. They found it on their own through mighty prayer, as have many others. There are home evening groups on many campuses that love roommates into the gospel—often guiding them through the substantial trials that conversion can inflict. These examples are not unusual; they are but a selection from a whole vista of LDS youth who are developing their own lifestyle, one not depicted in movies and records but one with a higher adventure.
Among them are some youth with real spiritual courage who contact a bishop to confess. These are the genuine heros who internalize the gospel. Instead of living behind a facade of acceptability, they choose to bare their soul to a judge in Israel. Anyone who has occupied that judgment seat is awed by the courage and integrity of those young Church members who take the scriptural admonition literally: “By this you may know if a man repenteth of his sins—behold, he will confess them and forsake them.” (D&C 58:43.)
In that vista of virtue, there are many who choose to develop their own courtship style instead of adopting the romanticized recreation that is loudly flaunted by the male-conquest approach. One such elder confided: “At first she was afraid, but when she discovered I would not take advantage of her, she developed a trust in me. What scares me is that now she trusts me too much. I could damage that sacred trust, so my challenge is to protect her from me. That is why I have to be the one who is in control instead of depending on her to resist.”
These are only a sample of the youth on several continents. You have undoubtedly felt their spirit too—in different places and with different actions. Not all achieve this level of internal growth, nor do even the best maintain such spirituality at all times. But this possibility of self-mastery plus positive virtue is achievable. It is often found powerfully in those under 18. You can strive for it without apology.
You must realize that such spiritual achievement does not immunize one from difficulties or doubt. Nor will it endow you with unearned talent. But it brings you an eternal perspective for our times. It will help you perceive the essence of the gospel life-style for a new era. Instead of despairing about the norms of society that are deteriorating and the laws that are legalizing what used to be forbidden, you will find a way to utilize the new freedom instead of allowing it to destroy the gospel environment. Whereas many of the youth of certain past centuries were controlled so they would avoid sin, you will know the heady feeling of voluntary choice; you can internalize moral restraints that will emerge more from conviction. This will be harder to sustain than the puritanical system of the past, but it will also bring more adventure to those who catch the vision.
Many will not be able to stand such freedom; they will be enticed by situation ethics, relativism, and even overt temptations. They will jump on the old-fashioned bandwagon that will be dressed in new apparel without recognizing that the arguments are crass. “Everyone is doing it,” “It’s your own life, so live it,” “It’s all right for consenting adults,” “There is a new morality that has outgrown conformity”—these are not new insights, merely new wrappings for sensualism. They will not lead to enduring the sublime joy. They will not qualify as spiritual adventure. Instead, it is positive virtue that leads to the celestial—even to knowing some of its joy right now.
There is more spiritual adventure to come than has yet passed—for those who swim upstream.

As a child, I was not naturally athletic. I remember nearly drowning in the shallow end of a pool more than once. At age 10, my closest friends participated in a summer swim team league. I was not up to their level so every morning while they were warming up for team practices, I took beginner swim lessons with a bunch of younger kids to build my confidence and learn how to bob up & down in the water and eventually swim a bit without pinching my nose with one hand while the other arm spun around wildly. The following summer, I determined to join the swim team with my friends. So at age 11, I showed up for the first day of practice, nervous and hoping I remembered how to not drown.

Coach Bobby Fish (no kidding) was a very stern, imposing figure with short dark hair who honestly terrified me. In my mind, the scene that first day resembled the image of frail Prophet Abinadi facing the wicked King Noah. Coach Fish showed no indication of being merciful. I walked onto the pool deck, she sat with heavy arms folded sizing me up from behind darkly shaded glasses, then pointed at the starting block and said one word, "Dive".So I stepped up to the block which seemed to stand 10-feet above the edge of the pool and somehow put my faith in God and did a feeble flying flop into the pool. Luckily I didn’t hit the bottom and I was able to surface and start swimming as best I could to the other end. The pool seemed to stretch on indefinitely and I quickly grew tired. At last, I reached the other end and in so doing unknowingly passed the required ability test to join the team. This leap of faith turned out to be the beginning of a completely life-changing summer which helped me develop a sense of confidence and self-worth I had never before possessed.I grew stronger and healthier than ever before that summer and created a vital pillar of strength for my life through swimming. It all started with a desire to learn, putting my trust in God, and a giant leap of faith.

These feelings bring a stake president to reach out, and miracles follow. A stake president from South America recounted an example of how this love moved him to seek after one who was lost:
“I had a strong impression that I needed to try to find a brother who had served many years before as my missionary companion. He was married and less active in the Church. His membership record was in a small unit 150 kilometers [93 miles] from the stake center. I traveled there and spoke with the branch president, who told me that my former missionary companion was living far out in the country. The president gave me directions to the small village. After a while the asphalt road turned into a dirt road. After many more kilometers, I realized I was lost. I stopped the car and was about to give up. It was a very hot day, and the car had no air conditioner. The dust from the road was difficult for my wife and children. I knelt on the road and asked for help from the Lord.
“Some hours later, we arrived in the small village and found my missionary companion. I invited him to come back. He became active in the Church and served in many leadership positions. His son served an honorable mission, and today my friend and former companion is a counselor in the bishopric.”

While riding the bus on a school field trip, I was sitting in front of a girl who kept making rude comments and jokes that made me feel uncomfortable. My teachers and other students told her to stop, but she kept going. I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to pull out my MP3 player and listen to some of my favorite music.
I turned it on shuffle and one of the first songs that came on was a song from youth.lds.org/music. I was about to skip over it when something inside told me that I should just listen to the music. I kept listening to inspirational music for the next 20 minutes. The lyrics encouraged me to hold on, and they reminded me that I was a beloved daughter of Heavenly Father.
I know that music can have a profound influence in our lives. I know that listening to the inspirational music on my MP3 player a couple days before had helped give me the courage I needed to leave the dance. These experiences helped me get much closer to my Heavenly Father.

I have a six-year-old daughter named Cierra. She is the youngest of our seven children. Her favorite thing to do is play dress-up with her friends. When I walk into the house, I never know what my role is to be. She, with her friends Madison and Bethany, may be Snow White or Ariel or Jasmine or Sleeping Beauty—otherwise known as Princess Aurora—and I may instantly be called on to be Prince Eric or King Triton or Gaston or the wicked Jafar. I must always be on my toes because these girls take their game seriously. They don’t like it when an amateur messes up his lines.

I went into Cierra’s room at the end of a recent hard day of playing dress-up. It looked like a Disney Store had exploded. There were outfits everywhere, with props all over the place. I went in search of the princess because someone was going to clean up this mess, and that someone was not going to be me. I found Cierra and calmly explained to her the situation and my concern. She immediately understood and headed to her room to take care of the problem. After five minutes I went to her room—her still messy room—to find her playing with her Barbies. I asked what she was doing, and she said, as though I was a bit slow, “I’m playing Barbies.”

”But, Cierra,” I said, “I thought you were going to clean up this room.”

She said to me, “But, Daddy, there is too much stuff out. Besides, I didn’t make this whole mess by myself.”

I then explained to her that she should have thought of that when she and her friends were making the mess. “Now clean up this mess,” I sternly declared.

I went back every five minutes or so to make sure she was staying on task, and, bless her heart, she kept trying. But the mess was too big for her. After all, three little girls together make a much bigger mess than three little girls individually. There is some synergy there.

After a half-hour of periodically checking on her and verbally poking her to keep her working, I again went into her room only to find her lying on her bed with her back to the door. I marched over to the bed thinking she had gone to sleep. How dare she do that! Just as I reached down to turn her over, she rolled back and, with big, tear-filled brown eyes, said, “Daddy, it’s too hard.”

The weight of a six-year-old’s world can get very heavy—to a six-year-old. She did not want to hear me say, “I could clean this room up in five minutes” or “When I was your age . . .” At that moment the weight was too much, and she needed relief. So Prince Eric picked her up, and he, together with Princess Ariel, cleaned up the castle. It didn’t take much effort on my part to lighten a load that to her had become too heavy.

“You think you’re better than everyone else because you don’t swear,” Jared said at recess.
“That’s not true,” said Brock.
“Then why won’t you say one swear word? Just one? It’s not going to kill you. Everybody else swears.”
Brock shrugged. “I just don’t want to.”
Brock knew swearing is wrong and makes the Holy Ghost leave. Brock wanted the Holy Ghost with him. So he didn’t swear.
Brock was new at school, and so far, Jared was the only one in his class who wanted to be his friend. But Jared bugged him about swearing every single day. And every day Brock got a little more tired of saying no. Besides, Brock was afraid that Jared would stop being his friend, and then he’d really be lonely.
“Just say one swear word,” Jared said after school. “Then I’ll leave you alone.”
Finally Brock was so tired of being bothered that he said one swear word—one that wasn’t too bad.
Jared nodded. “Good. Now you’re one of us.”
After that, Jared’s other friends talked to Brock too. They ate lunch with him and played football with him at recess. But being in Jared’s group of friends was like walking into quicksand. The more Brock hung out with them, the more he talked and acted like them. And they all swore. A lot. They laughed at and insulted each other. They said rude things about their teachers. They got mad and acted mean a lot. Slowly Brock started feeling angry more often and found more and more reasons to swear.
One night when Mom and Dad were gone, Brock and his sister Katie got into an argument about what show to watch. Before Brock even thought about it, a swear word jumped out of his mouth.
Katie looked shocked. “I’m telling Mom.”
Brock ran to his bedroom and slammed the door. What was wrong with everyone? Why were they making him mad all the time? When his parents came home, Brock cracked open his door and heard Katie say, “Mom, Brock swore at me.”
“What?” Mom sounded surprised. “Brock would never swear.”
Brock closed the door and slumped down on his bed. He thought about how different he’d become since he started swearing. It had been a long time since he had felt the Holy Ghost.
Brock knelt down by his bed and prayed. “Dear Heavenly Father, I’m so sorry I’ve been mean and angry. I’m sorry I started swearing. Please help me do better.”
As Brock prayed, a warm feeling filled his heart. For the first time since he started swearing, he felt really happy. He knew God loved him, and he could feel the Holy Ghost. He felt forgiven and knew he could change. Heavenly Father would help him.
After his prayer, he told Mom the truth and apologized to Katie. Brock felt better after that. It felt good to repent.
The next day at school, Brock didn’t eat lunch with Jared’s group. Instead he sat next to some kids he didn’t know. It would take time, but Brock knew he would find friends who were kind and happy and didn’t swear. Just like him.

I attended a touching and very heartwarming event recently on a trip to Tonga. We held a birthday celebration honoring the first anniversary of the dedication of that temple. I was so impressed with the people who gathered that morning as we sang a hymn and offered a prayer of thanksgiving to the Lord for having a temple in their land. I asked the temple president how the membership had responded to this new blessing in their midst. The statistics he furnished were shocking. Each temple recommend holder in Tonga had attended an average of twenty temple sessions during the first year of its operation.

As you know, Tonga is made up of a group of small islands. Some Saints had literally paddled over from their island to come and stay two and even three weeks, sleeping on straw mats on a cement floor and cooking over an open fire to provide their nourishment while they fulfilled their obligation in the temple.

During my professional life as a pilot, I relied greatly on the precision and reliability of computer systems but rarely had to work my own personal computer. In my office work as an executive, I had assistants and secretaries who kindly helped me with the tasks.
All this changed in 1994, when I was called as a General Authority. My calling consisted of many wonderful opportunities to minister, but it also included a great deal of Church office work—more than I ever thought possible.
To my shock, the main tool to stay on top of my work was a personal computer.
For the first time in my life, I had to delve into this strange, mystifying, incomprehensible world.
From the start, the computer and I were not on the friendliest of terms.
Able tech people tried to teach me how to use the computer. They literally stood behind me, reaching over my shoulder, their fingers moving quickly and tapping a percussive symphony against the keyboard.
“See?” they would say proudly. “That’s how you do it.”
I did not see. It was a rocky transition.
My learning curve was more like a brick wall.
It took a great deal of time, repetition, patience; no small amount of hope and faith; lots of reassurance from my wife; and many liters of a diet soda that shall remain nameless.
Now, 22 years later, I am surrounded by computer technology. I have an email address, a Twitter account, and a Facebook page. I own a smartphone, a tablet, a laptop, and a digital camera. And, while my tech skills may not quite measure up to those of a typical seven-year-old, for a septuagenarian, I do all right.
But I have noticed something interesting. The more adept I get at technology, the more I take it for granted.
For a large part of human history, communication happened at the speed of a horse. Sending a message and getting a reply could take days or even months. Today our messages travel thousands of miles into the sky or thousands of meters beneath the oceans to reach someone on the other side of the world, and if there is a delay of even a few seconds, we get frustrated and impatient.
It seems to be human nature: as we become more familiar with something, even something miraculous and awe-inspiring, we lose our sense of awe and treat it as commonplace.
Taking for granted our modern technologies and conveniences may be a relatively small matter. But, sadly, we sometimes take a similar attitude toward the eternal and soul-expanding doctrine of the gospel of Jesus Christ. In the Church of Jesus Christ, we have been given so much. We are surrounded by such an astonishing wealth of light and truth that I wonder if we truly appreciate what we have.
Think of those early disciples who walked and talked with the Savior during His earthly ministry. Imagine the thanksgiving and reverence that must have flooded their hearts and filled their minds when they saw Him risen from the tomb, when they felt the wounds in His hands. Their lives would never be the same!
Think of the early Saints of this dispensation who knew the Prophet Joseph Smith and heard him preach the restored gospel. Imagine how they must have felt to know that the veil between heaven and earth had parted again, shedding light and knowledge upon the world from our celestial home above.
But most of all, think of how you felt when for the first time you believed and understood that you are truly a child of God; that Jesus Christ willingly suffered for your sins so that you may be clean again; that priesthood power is real and can bind you to your loved ones for time and for all eternity; that there is a living prophet on the earth today. Isn’t that wonderful and amazing?
Considering all of this, how could it ever be possible that we of all people would not be excited about attending our Church worship services? Or get tired of reading the holy scriptures? I suppose this could be possible only if our hearts were past feeling to experience gratitude and awe for the sacred and sublime gifts God has granted us. Life-changing truths are before our eyes and at our fingertips, but sometimes we sleepwalk on the path of discipleship. Too often we let ourselves be distracted by the imperfections of our fellow members instead of following the example of our Master. We tread a path covered with diamonds, but we can scarcely distinguish them from ordinary pebbles.
When I was a young man, my friends would ask me about my religion. Often I would start to explain the differences, like the Word of Wisdom. Other times I would emphasize the similarities with other Christian religions. None of this would impress them very much. But when I talked about the great plan of happiness our Father in Heaven has for us as His children, I had their attention.
I remember trying to draw the plan of salvation on a blackboard in a classroom of our chapel in Frankfurt, Germany. I made circles that represented premortal life, mortality, and the return to our Heavenly Parents after this life.
As a teenager, how I loved to share this exciting message. When I explained these principles in my own simple words, my heart would overflow with gratitude for a God who loves His children and a Savior who redeemed all of us from death and hell. I was so proud of this message of love, joy, and hope.
Some of my friends would say that this message felt familiar, even though such things were never taught in their religious upbringing. It was as if they had always known these things to be true, as if I was simply casting light on something that was always and deeply rooted in their hearts.
I believe every human being carries in his or her heart some form of fundamental questions regarding life itself. Where did I come from? Why am I here? What will happen after I die?
These kinds of questions have been asked by mortals since the dawn of time. Philosophers, scholars, and pundits have spent their lives and fortunes seeking for answers.
I am grateful that the restored gospel of Jesus Christ has answers to the most complex questions in life. These answers are taught in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They are true, plain, straightforward, and easy to understand. They are inspired, and we teach them to our three-year-olds in the Sunbeam class.
Brothers and sisters, we are eternal beings, without beginning and without end. We have always existed. We are the literal spirit children of divine, immortal, and omnipotent Heavenly Parents!
We come from the heavenly courts of the Lord our God. We are of the royal house of Elohim, the Most High God. We walked with Him in our premortal life. We heard Him speak, witnessed His majesty, learned His ways.
You and I participated in a Grand Council where our beloved Father presented His plan for us—that we would come to earth, receive mortal bodies, learn to choose between good and evil, and progress in ways that would not otherwise be possible.
When we passed through the veil and entered this mortal life, we knew that we would no longer remember the life before. There would be opposition and adversity and temptation. But we also knew that gaining a physical body was of paramount importance for us. Oh, how we hoped that we would quickly learn to make the correct choices, withstand the temptations of Satan, and eventually return to our beloved Parents in Heaven.
We knew we would sin and make mistakes—perhaps even serious ones. But we also knew that our Savior, Jesus Christ, had pledged to come to earth, live a sinless life, and voluntarily lay down His life in an eternal sacrifice. We knew that if we gave our heart to Him, trusted Him, and strived with all the energy of our soul to walk in the path of discipleship, we could be washed clean and once again enter the presence of our beloved Father in Heaven.
So, with faith in the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, you and I accepted, by our free will, Heavenly Father’s plan.
That is why we are here on this beautiful planet earth—because God offered us the opportunity, and we chose to accept it. Our mortal life, however, is only temporary and will end with the death of our physical body. But the essence of who you and I are will not be destroyed. Our spirits will continue living and await the Resurrection—a free gift to all by our loving Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. At the Resurrection, our spirits and bodies will be reunited, free from pain and physical imperfections.
After the Resurrection, there will be a Day of Judgment. While all will eventually be saved and inherit a kingdom of glory, those who trust in God and seek to follow His laws and ordinances will inherit lives in the eternities that are unimaginable in glory and overwhelming in majesty.
That Day of Judgment will be a day of mercy and love—a day when broken hearts are healed, when tears of grief are replaced with tears of gratitude, when all will be made right.
Yes, there will be deep sorrow because of sin. Yes, there will be regrets and even anguish because of our mistakes, our foolishness, and our stubbornness that caused us to miss opportunities for a much greater future.
But I have confidence that we will not only be satisfied with the judgment of God; we will also be astonished and overwhelmed by His infinite grace, mercy, generosity, and love for us, His children. If our desires and works are good, if we have faith in a living God, then we can look forward to what Moroni called “the pleasing bar of the great Jehovah, the Eternal Judge.”
My beloved brothers and sisters, my dear friends, does it not fill our hearts and minds with wonder and awe to contemplate the great plan of happiness our Heavenly Father has prepared for us? Does it not fill us with unspeakable joy to know of the glorious future that is prepared for all who wait upon the Lord?
If you have never felt such wonder and joy, I invite you to seek, study, and ponder the simple yet profound truths of the restored gospel. “Let the solemnities of eternity rest upon your minds.” Let them bear testimony unto you of the divine plan of salvation.
If you have felt these things before, I ask you today, “Can [you] feel so now?”
Recently I had the opportunity to travel to Belfast, Northern Ireland. While there, I noticed the Belfast Coat of Arms, which includes the motto “Pro tanto quid retribuamus,” or “What shall we give in return for so much?”
I invite each of us to consider this question. What shall we give in return for the flood of light and truth God has poured out upon us?
Our beloved Father simply asks that we live by the truth we have received and that we follow the path He has provided. Therefore, let us take courage and trust in the guidance of the Spirit. Let us in word and in deed share with our fellowmen the amazing and awe-inspiring message of God’s plan of happiness. May our motive be our love for God and for His children, for they are our brothers and sisters. This is the beginning of what we can do in return for so much.
Someday “every knee shall bow, and every tongue confess” that God’s ways are just and His plan is perfect. For you and me, let that day be today. Let us proclaim, with Jacob of old, “O how great the plan of our God!”
Of this I testify in deep gratitude to our Heavenly Father, as I leave you my blessing, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Over the last five to ten years, Vickie and I have had the opportunity of living close to and serving loved ones as they wrestled their way through the twilight years of their lives. My wife and those of her family spent many, many evenings visiting her maternal grandparents, first in their home and then in care facilities prior to their passing.

Soon after that experience, my father suffered a series of strokes. For several years, we watched as my mother would faithfully drive the 20 or so miles from home to Rexburg each day where she would sit with my dad; read to him, show him pictures of their family, or just sit and hold his hand. Dad eventually lost the ability to express his love to mother in words, but his eyes spoke volumes as he would gaze upon her face and smile. We also saw him communicate his sorrows as he would look at mother at the end of the day and the tears would begin to flow, knowing she needed to go home.

Their faith in God and in the plan of salvation allowed them to live a life of service to one another and those around them, allowing them to face the debilitating effects of worn out bodies and eventually physical death, knowing that their Savior, our Savior, even the Lord Jesus Christ lived upon the earth, suffered for the sins and weaknesses of mankind and fulfilled the eternal demands of justice through His atoning sacrifice, preparing a way for you and I to be resurrected and reunited as eternal families.

A loud, whirring noise broke into the game Debbie and her little sister, Becca, were playing with their dolls. The sound was coming from the backyard. Debbie and Becca looked wide-eyed at each other and left the dolls, clothes, and furniture made from shoe boxes to run outside.
When they came to the backyard, they stopped and stared at the curious sight. Daddy was there with a strange machine the size of a lawn mower. It was ripping up the beautiful green grass of the backyard and leaving only ugly brown dirt behind.
“What is he doing?” Becca asked. Debbie didn’t answer. She could only shake her head and run to the kitchen to find Mommy.
Mommy had just finished peeling potatoes and was cleaning the peelings out of the kitchen sink. When Debbie stood beside her quietly sobbing, she stopped and asked, “What on earth is the matter? Are you hurt?”
Debbie swallowed her sobs and pointed to the backyard. “Why is Daddy ruining the grass?”
Mommy sighed with relief. “Oh, is that what’s bothering you?” She placed her hands on Debbie’s shoulders. “Honey, the prophet said that we need to plant a garden. He told us at the last general conference. So Daddy borrowed that tiller, and we’re going to obey the prophet and plant a garden.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why the prophet wants us to. I guess he wants everyone to be self-sufficient.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means to be able to take care of ourselves. If we’re hungry, we can feed ourselves.”
Debbie sighed loudly as she went to the counter and sat on a stool. “Can’t we just go to the store?”
“No, we need to learn to follow the prophet—like the Saints that came across the plains. When they did what the prophet told them, they were blessed and they were able to bless others, too.”
Debbie looked at her mother but didn’t say anything. She knew that Daddy and Mommy had made up their minds.
Their backyard would no longer be a wonderful place to play. Now over half of it would be a big brown spot with garden plants, weeds, and bugs. She slid off the stool and went to her bedroom.
“Don’t worry, Debbie,” Mommy called after her. “I’m sure that we’ll have lots of blessings for following the prophet, too.”
In her room, Debbie just sat on her bed. Her dolls didn’t even look fun to play with anymore. Everything was ruined. She would never have fun at home again.
“Daddy says we’re going to plant carrots and corn, and I get to help with the weeding,” Becca chirped happily when she came into the bedroom.
Debbie frowned at her.
“It’s going to be a lot of fun,” Becca told her. “Daddy says there’s nothing better for growing bodies than fresh vegetables from the garden. He said he always had plenty of them when he was a little boy.”
“I’ll bet it’s the worst stuff we’ve ever eaten.” Debbie got off the bed and began putting away her dolls.
Becca quietly watched her for a minute, then asked, “Don’t you want to play anymore?”
“I never want to play anything again!” Debbie stuffed the last doll into a box and pushed it under the bed. She lay down and buried her face under her pillow, hoping anything Becca had to say wouldn’t come through the soft down.
“I’ll bet one day you’ll be glad we have a garden.”
Debbie pretended that she hadn’t heard and held as still as if she were sound asleep. She hoped that Becca wasn’t right. She hoped that she would always hate the garden and what it had done to the beautiful grass.
But as the weeks went by, Debbie began to change her mind. Tiny carrot plants with feathery leaves were beginning to grow in a straight row, and beside them grew beans with dark green leaves shaped like hearts. She had to admit to herself that she did like to see the plants grow bigger and bigger. It was even fun to pull the weeds and pretend that they were terrible beasts trying to steal all the water and food from the tender little plants.
Daddy showed her how to carefully water each row with the hose turned low so that the ground could soak up plenty of moisture and not be washed away.
Once, while she was supposed to be weeding, she pulled a pea pod from the vine and carefully opened it. Tiny round peas were inside. She tasted one. It was the best-tasting pea she had ever had.
“I saw that!” Becca ran up behind her.
Debbie whirled around. Seeing that she was caught, she held out the pod for her sister to try a pea.
Becca tasted one, and her eyes lit up. “Wow! Those are good!”
Debbie nodded. “I never thought peas could taste good enough to eat,” she admitted.
“So are you glad we have a garden?”
Debbie looked down and smiled. “I guess so.”
Several weeks later, Debbie learned to be really grateful for the garden. Daddy’s company had some trouble, and many of its employees lost their jobs. Daddy was one of them. He didn’t know how long it would be before he could find another job.
“It sure is a good thing we planted that garden,” Mommy remarked at the dinner table one evening. “Without it, we wouldn’t have any food to bottle and save for winter.”
“You mean we would be hungry?” Debbie asked in surprise.
“No.” Her mother shook her head. “We would just not be eating as well. Thanks to the garden, we haven’t had to buy as much food, and I’ve been saving some money. Now that we’re not sure when we’ll be getting any more, it’s a good thing we saved extra.”
“We have more food and extra money, all because of the garden,” Daddy explained. “This is a testimony to me that the Lord certainly does bless us when we follow the counsel He gives us through His prophet.”
“Yes,” Mommy added, “I knew He would bless us—I just didn’t think it would be this soon.”
Debbie quietly nibbled at an ear of corn. She was glad that her parents had decided to follow the prophet. She knew that if they hadn’t, their family wouldn’t have been blessed with the things they needed. She went to bed that night with a full stomach and a happy heart, knowing that the Lord had watched over her family and He was blessing them because they listened to the prophet.

My mother shared one such example, something she had observed while she was a student at BYU many years ago. A man who lived in a community in Utah had a mighty gift of healing. People sought him out for blessings, many coming from outside his ward and stake. In time, he made almost a profession of giving blessings. As part of his travels to various communities, he came to the apartments of BYU students, asking if they wanted blessings. This man had lost sight of the revealed direction on spiritual gifts: “always remembering for what they are given” (D&C 46:8). A spiritual gift is given to benefit the children of God, not to magnify the prominence or gratify the ego of the person who receives it. The professional healer who forgot that lesson gradually lost the companionship of the Spirit and was eventually excommunicated from the Church.

I love to sing and have had that passion for as long as can be remembered. One day when I was much younger than I am now, probably about 15 or 16 years old, a sacred hymn came into my mind. There was only one problem--the way it came from my lips was influenced by the music popular to the youth of the day, rock and roll. As I sang "We Thank Thee Oh God for a Prophet," I snapped my fingers and danced through our home to the beat in my head. About halfway through the first verse, my song was interrupted by the raised voice of my dad who was visibly displeased. He scolded me quite warmly and taught me in terms I could not misunderstand that we never sing sacred hymns in that way. That experience has had a profound affect on my thinking, my behavior and my life ever since. Sacred things are sacred to me and sacrilegious speech and behavior have become offensive. I will forever be grateful to my father for such a penetrating rebuke.

For a long time, my dad was an assistant farm manager. He worked so hard and always dreamed of one day buying his own farm.
His work ethic inspired me, especially after I left to serve a mission in Japan. I found strength and motivation when I thought about his example.
So on one preparation day, when my dad told me he had finally bought his own farmland, I was so excited for him. He invested a lot of money into growing pumpkins and told me they were going to grow large within six weeks. He found so much joy in finally achieving his goal.
But things didn’t go according to plan.
A few weeks after I heard about my dad’s new farm, the COVID-19 pandemic began and I was suddenly released from my mission. However, I couldn’t go home because of lockdowns across Australia. I was required to isolate for two weeks before going home, and it was the loneliest time of my life.
During isolation, my dad called me. I noticed right away that he was sad. Four weeks had passed since he’d planted his pumpkins, but they were frail and tiny—smaller than his hands. He worried about losing the money he’d invested in his new farm.
My dad is a good, honest, and humble man. Seeing him so upset brought me to tears later that night. My heart broke because I couldn’t be home with my family to offer my support. It was so unfair that my dad had worked so hard only for things to fail.
I prayed to Heavenly Father to know what I could do. And that’s when I got a distinct impression:
“You can fast for the pumpkins.”
At first the thought seemed ridiculous. Fast for the pumpkins? I doubted that would make a difference! But I thought about the many times I had fasted throughout my mission and how it had brought so many miracles. Sometimes it was as small as knowing what words to say while teaching or just increasing my love for those I served, but fasting had still made a difference.
So, on a random Wednesday during my isolation, I fasted—for pumpkins.
But I also fasted for my family and me to feel the Savior’s love during a difficult time.
A few weeks later, I finally arrived home. When my dad took me to his pumpkin fields, I saw hundreds of massive pumpkins. They were huge! It was truly a miracle. I couldn’t believe it.
I felt Heavenly Father’s awareness of my family in that moment.
This experience wasn’t just about the miracle of the gigantic pumpkins (and yes, my arms still feel sore when I think about harvesting them). To me, the miracle was realizing how much love Jesus Christ can bring into our homes and into our family relationships when we act in faith.
I know that Heavenly Father sees all that we might be facing within our own families. He is aware of our worries and our struggles, and He helps us express love when we ask for His help. He even saw that something as seemingly insignificant as a pumpkin patch was important to my family and helped me find a way to channel my love for them in a meaningful and miraculous way.

Some of Benjamin’s acquaintances felt the same way. “People wanted me to believe that we were too young, that my soon-to-be wife should complete an education first, and that if we got married, it would mean that we would have children, which we were also too young for,” he says.

Although Ane and Benjamin believed in the gospel’s emphasis on family and marriage, others not of their faith did not generally share this priority—at least not for young adults. “People in my town are strongly focused on education and work,” Ane explains. “This is good, but it does not leave much room for family—or religion.”

Benjamin says, “I had always thought that the right thing to do was to return from my mission, find someone I liked, then loved, and then, after having made a decision to marry and having received a witness from the Holy Ghost, get married. It seemed so simple to me, but suddenly everything had become confusing, dark, and difficult.”

Both Benjamin and Ane were concerned about the advice and opinions given by their friends. For a whole year they struggled to decide on the right time to get married. They knew that ultimately the most important guidance would come from the Lord, so they spent much time searching the scriptures and words of the prophets for talks about family, marriage, and education.

Benjamin never experienced a particular turning point in which he realized that marriage was the right decision at that time for him. Instead, he says, “I realized that I had to go back to the basics. Why was I here? What was my purpose on earth?”

As he searched the scriptures and the words of prophets and apostles, Benjamin turned to Heavenly Father in prayer. He also received priesthood blessings. “It became clear to me that I was sent to earth to return to God with my family,” he says. “There was no greater work or other task to supersede that. It’s in ‘The Family: A Proclamation to the World.’ If I knowingly disregarded this and did something else, I would be disobeying God’s commandments.

“Once it was revealed to me that what I had been taught all my life was so true that it had priority over others’ opinions, I felt enlightened. I decided to follow what I had been taught.”

Ane and Benjamin were married on July 16, 2009, in the Stockholm Sweden Temple. “When the day of our temple sealing arrived, I felt such peace,” Ane says. “It was all very simple. Beautiful. No worldly trappings. It felt so good to be with my parents and siblings in the temple—and with Benjamin. It was a time filled with true love.”

Benjamin agrees. “God has guided my life in such a way that I have been taught to put Him first,” he says. “For me, it wasn’t a choice between family or education; it was family first and education at the same time. Other decisions are the same. It isn’t God or nothing. It is God first; then everything else follows.”

A few years ago I was drafted to serve in Taiwan’s naval forces. I served as a chief petty officer and squad leader on a harbor support craft, assisting all incoming and outgoing ships.
One morning in early spring my colleagues and I received the routine instruction to assist a ship approaching the harbor. Initially, the weather was clear. But after leaving the harbor, we ran into heavy fog. Visibility was less than three meters. Because we had never seen such a heavy spring fog, we were tense and disoriented. We were quickly lost. We did not know where we were or where we should go.
Because I was the most experienced hand on board and the most familiar with the area, the skipper ordered me to use the boat’s compass to find our bearing, lead everyone back to the mouth of the harbor, and suspend mission operations. Otherwise, we might at any moment enter an area of submerged reefs or sail too close to mainland China.
I had never experienced fog that required a compass, and I had neglected the work of periodic compass inspection, maintenance, and repair. So when we desperately needed the compass to find our direction, it did not work at all. With rebuke in his voice, the captain said, “You’ve put us in danger. We could run into a reef at any moment!”
I realized he was right. I sadly bowed my head and silently prayed, asking Heavenly Father to forgive my negligence and help me find a way to escape the fog and return to the pier. After my prayer, a sudden thought came into my mind. I recommended to the skipper that we turn in a certain direction, travel very slowly, and find the coast. He agreed, and not long after taking this action, we arrived at the granite cliffs south of the harbor mouth and slowly followed the cliff wall into the harbor. Soon we were safely home.
Because of this experience, I know that Heavenly Father listens to my prayers. I am grateful that in spite of my neglecting proper preventative measures, the compass of spiritual guidance started to work, and it led us home.

Perhaps nowhere is that enjoyment of life better exhibited, however, than in the lives of young Latter-day Saints in Nice. The Church is alive and growing in the area, and the young people play a prominent role in sharing the gospel with their friends and neighbors and with each other.
There are two branches in Nice, one in the neighborhood called Cimiez and one at St. Augustin, and several more in towns and cities nearby, including St. Raphael, Grasse, Cannes, and Antibes. When the young Saints gather for a district activity, they invite the adults and children and investigators to join them, and they fill the cultural hall in the modern chapel on Avenue Thérèse to near capacity. Such was the case last summer when the youth of the district met for a two-day conference, including a talent show and skit, a day full of workshops and games, and a visit to castles and the coastline.
Enormous figures of dancers in native costume adorned the back wall of the hall, while other walls boasted hand-drawn port scenes. Green construction paper chains hung overhead, adding to the spirit of merriment. Work on the decorations had taken nearly all of Friday afternoon, and now the show was ready to begin.
A chorus sang hymns. Dancers performed routines from “West Side Story,” a square dance, and a ballet. Comedians told jokes, guitarists strummed folk ballads, and dramatic passages from Victor Hugo’s writing were recited. The highlight of the evening was a comedy skit about a rich, deaf uncle with an immense fortune and a lot of scheming relatives. First class acting brought rich rounds of applause.
The show ended with another hymn from the chorus. Then an eager crowd of young folks swept the chairs back to their appointed places, hooked up the record player, and swirled across the floor in near-perfect ballroom form.
“We heard that elegant dancing is coming back into style in the U.S.,” one brother said. “So we tried it here. We saw the BYU dancers perform once and admired them. Now we dance like this all the time.”
All too soon, however, the dance music faded, the refreshments were gone, and it was time for a good night’s sleep.
The next morning at 10:00, about ten of the Niçois (as the people from Nice are known) gathered at the gare (train station) and headed for the hills. With them were two 16-year-old sisters from Marseilles. First stop, Mont Alban, an ancient chateau fort (fortified castle) overlooking the bay.
Looking out from the summit, Christiane Beltrutti, 18, mentally traced trails between the red tile roofs of buildings, then gazed at sails drifting on the azure bay. The mood of the moment led her to contemplate her love for her home.
“The most important thing we can do is to build up the Church where we live,” she said. “I love this area. I love these people. I want to share the gospel with them; I want to grow strong here and see my children, later on, grow up in the Church, along with many of their friends.
“People come from all over the world to visit Nice. Those of us who live here should really appreciate the beauty, not just of the coastline, but of the inland towns and villages as well. I think most of us do.”
It’s a quick ride from the top of the hill back to the old part of the city. Here tourists crowded the boutiques and souvenir shops, eager to gather memories of their days in the sun. Everyone seemed excited just to be there. “We call it la joie de vivre,” said Michel Demisse. “That means the joy of being alive.”
The young Latter-day Saints did, indeed, seem excited with life, excited to be exploring the city. On foot they wound their way through narrow cobblestone streets, between houses stacked haphazardly one upon another, past women who still carry home laundry in baskets on their heads. In the marketplace, bright red buckets brimmed with olives and clams and cod for sale. Flower shops peeked in colorful profusion from alley corners. Minstrels serenaded restaurant patrons dining on pan bagnat or socca, specialties of the regional cuisine.
Nice is a melting pot community. The Greek-French singer Georges Moustaki defined the area as a meeting place of continents and civilizations. A glance at the young Saints confirmed his analysis. Philippe Benarous is from a Norman family that has Scandinavian and Germanic ancestry. Chantal Daviot, a member of a year and a half, had ancestors who helped settle the French colonies in Africa. Isabelle Perez’s name reflects the Spanish influence in the area, and Christiane’s last name, Beltrutti, shows the Italian flavor of the sunlit coast.
After a pause at a fountain to eat their sandwiches, the group decided that, despite threatening clouds, it was worth the two-mile hike up hills and stairs to Le Château, site of a castle long-since destroyed. In their decision, they reflected again the philosophy described by Moustaki: “Il y a un bel été qui ne craint pas l’automne en méditerranée.” (There is a beautiful summer that is not afraid of autumn, in the Mediterranean.) Though the rain drizzled down, they knew the sun would eventually break through. They bounded up the steps and paused to catch their breath at the top of the first flight.
Huddled under umbrellas, they again shared their feelings about gospel ideals.
Isabelle, 18, is the only one in the group who was born in the Church. “I like what we are able to learn about ourselves by being active in the gospel,” she said. “It’s important to get together with other members of the Church because in different spiritual, cultural, and recreational activities, we get to appreciate ourselves and our brothers and sisters better. I especially enjoy meetings at which returned missionaries from our hometowns speak because it helps us see that the Church is not small; it’s worldwide and growing. This helps young people to want to go on missions.”
“In fact,” Brigitte Besson added, “one of the problems we face is that we have to change personnel so often—all of our young men keep leaving on missions.”
Jean-Paul Tran, 18, from Grasse, said one of the local goals is to get everyone working together so that soon a stake can be formed in Nice.
“We all have the same ideals, really,” said Chantal. “To progress together, to improve each other by being together, to find increased spirituality.”
The hike continued. The rain lessened, then increased, just as the group passed in front of a waterfall that tumbles from the summit. “Isn’t it nice to be so cool?” someone hollered ahe mist from the falls and flung it in his face.
One more flight of stairs, and the group was on top. Leaning over the railings, they looked at the beach, usually full of sunbathers, now empty and stretching for miles between la Promenade des Anglais (one of Nice’s main streets) and la Baie des Anges (Bay of the Angels).
Several minutes later, after stopping by the beach and listening to roaring waves, the group rejoined the rest of the conference attenders for an afternoon of workshops at the chapel. José Masse, who is studying agriculture, instructed a group of about 35 people on how to plant windowbox gardens.
“The prophet has said to grow gardens,” José said. “So I tried it at home. I know I can raise lettuce and tomatoes.” He continued with a lecture about planting bean seeds properly.
Next it was Brigitte’s turn. She joined with Daniel Jardon to present a workshop on how to lead music and how to follow the person who’s leading. Brigitte relied heavily on her training as a student at the conservatoire, or music school, where she is the first singer. She touched briefly on the topic of how to project the voice, breathing techniques while singing, and the idea that each voice has a distinct sound of its own.
Following the workshops, it was time for some games. First was le beret (drop the hanky). The group sat in a circle on the floor, except for one young man. He walked around the circle on the outside, then dropped a handkerchief behind someone and started running. The object was to circle the ring and take the person’s place before being caught.
The next game, salade, resembled musical chairs. The person called out the name of different types of fruit, then those assigned to that type switched places. One person was always left without a seat and became “it,” yelling out another type of fruit. Occasionally, the person who was it called “salade,” and everyone changed places.
As the afternoon wore on, the group also tried a few rounds of ballon prisonnier (dodge ball), then tire à la corde (tug-o-war) until the rope broke and there was a unanimous declaration that it must be supper time, time for sandwiches once again.
In France, however, it’s hard to tire of sandwiches for two reasons:
For one, there are hundreds of varieties of sandwich toppings, from meats and sausages to carrot salad to Camembert cheese. Peanut butter is rare (and very un-French), but jam, re-christened confiture, is the sweetened essence of fruit fresh from the trees.
For the other, sandwiches are made with bread—not air-whipped, white paste, commercial dough, but hand-fashioned loaves carefully glazed in the neighborhood baker’s wood-fired ovens.
No one complained about eating sandwiches for the second time.
After dinner a new mood prevailed. The young Saints knew there was a serious side to their conference, and the time for it was now. They filed into the Relief Society room where the district president waited with a presentation about living worthily in order to be ready to someday enter the temple.
The conversation covered hair and dress standards, with a special discussion about swimwear; civil disobedience and protest; morality; sustaining of Church leaders; the use of symbols in teaching; and the value of making promises to the Lord. It stressed the importance of making good decisions at good times, building on a foundation of missionary service, and choosing eternal peace rather than momentary pleasure. Questions were sincere, answers based on years of experience. When the discussion stopped, there was a sweet peace in the room, a spirit no one wanted to disturb.
Finally, a young man rose to offer the closing prayer, and then conversations, quiet and reverent, were renewed.

You should also give everyone an opportunity to participate. Someone came to me once and said that he thought it inadvisable to use a certain girl in a dance festival because she was overweight, homely, and lacked coordination. But that girl was one of the most enthusiastic young girls in the show, and she desperately needed to participate in the festival. Needless to say, we left her in. After the festival she came up to talk to me. With tears in her eyes she said, “I just wanted to thank you and let you know how special it was for me to be in that dance festival. It has been the greatest experience in my whole life.” Enough said.

I looked around the chapel for the people whose names had just been read by the bishop as he welcomed a new family into the ward. I resolved to introduce myself and get acquainted right after sacrament meeting.
I thought about Sister Shaw’s parting testimony at an earlier sacrament meeting. “This is my last Sunday here,” she had said. “Before I leave I feel impressed to share an experience with you.”
Sandy Shaw had lived in our ward during the past year while her husband attended school. I’m not sure when I first noticed her, but she seemed to have a special friendship with Neva Gillman, the Spiritual Living teacher in our ward.
I thought about the story Sister Shaw told.
“I felt loved and secure in my home ward,” she had said. “I had lived there all my life. When my husband and I moved here, I was terrified to attend a strange ward, and didn’t want to go for several weeks. But soon I felt a great emptiness in my life and vowed to attend the next meeting.
“I entered the church with great fear. As people went to their classes, I hoped someone would introduce himself or herself and show me the way to go. I knew I should say something to someone, but my tongue wouldn’t work. People walked by, visiting with their friends. Some even smiled at me. It wasn’t long until the doors were closed and the halls were empty. Crying in despair, I turned and left.
“That night I turned to the one person I knew I could count on: Father in Heaven. ‘Dear Father,’ I pleaded. ‘I have always been active, but I’m afraid to go to a strange ward. I can’t do it alone.’
“The next morning I opened my door to a nervous stranger who said, ‘Hello. My name is Neva Gillman. I really don’t know why I’m here, but I had the strongest impression to come by and ask if you would like to come to Relief Society with me.’
“Smiling through my tears, I invited her in.”
Sister Shaw’s testimony had made me take a good look at myself. How many times had I seen new people come to church, and, because I didn’t know what to say, walked by them or smiled and said only “hello”?
Never again!