Gospel Story Finder

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Matt, I’ve asked you a thousand times to not play with my tools.
I didn’t Daddy.
My hammer’s gone and you’ve taken it before.
Not this time. I promise!
I’m sorry that you’ve chosen to lie to me, Matt. You’d better go to your room until you’re ready to tell the truth.
But, Daddy!
No “but, Daddies.” Go to your room!
Here’s your hammer back, dear. I just needed to hang a picture.
I’m sorry, Matt. I shouldn’t have accused you unless I was sure. Will you forgive me?
Sure. Can I play now?
I wish I were that good at forgiving.

We were going to hand out pamphlets to find missionary referrals for our stake youth conference activity. I had been reading For the Strength of Youth. When the activity began, I tossed it back on the table where I had found it. But the thought occurred to me that I should take it with me. So I picked it up and put it in my scriptures.
We were all nervous about talking to strangers about the gospel, but when we stopped to talk to a woman hanging laundry in her yard, she was very friendly and took one of our pamphlets. During the conversation she told us about her concerns for her family. One son in particular was struggling with drugs and other problems. We did our best to console her and then moved on.
A few minutes later I opened my scriptures. When I saw my For the Strength of Youth pamphlet, I remembered what the woman had said about her son, and I felt like I should go back. I wasn’t nervous anymore.
We found the woman still outside. I told her I had something she might like. I explained about the standards our youth follow and gave her the pamphlet to read with her son. I could tell it made her happy. She called her son outside, and we were able to set up an appointment for both of them with the missionaries.
I felt like a missionary! It was great to have the opportunity to teach and maybe help this young man. I know it was the Holy Ghost who told me to take that pamphlet with me.

I picked up my husband’s memoirs and read, once again, his account of finding the Church more than half a century ago:
“As a 20-year-old in 1951, I was at the school of sergeants at the Kronborg Castle [in Denmark]. On Christmas night I was on guard duty on the embankment that surrounds the castle. At one point I stopped, looked up to the stars, and felt that there was more between the sky and the earth than I had thus far thought. In other words, I began to believe that there was a God, which I had never really believed before. My parents were absolutely not religious, and they and I came to church only for baptisms, confirmations, weddings, and funerals.
“When months later I became a sergeant, I got my own troop: 44 new recruits—or more exactly, 43 plus 1. This one was very different, and when I asked him what it was that made him different from the others, he said he would tell me in the evening inside my quarters.
“There he told me about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for five evenings in a row. On the sixth day, Sunday, I went to church. And with that my new life began.
“The Church involved me completely. Little by little I became acquainted with the members of the Church. I found out that my recruit was not so much different than the overall membership.
“I became convinced that the Church was true, that it was the Lord’s Church—and I was baptized. A truly magnificent day.”
I am grateful that my husband, Orla, who died in 1998, included these words in his personal history. That long-ago Christmas night, when my husband first sensed that God truly did exist, and his conversations with the new recruit are responsible for our meeting each other, being sealed in the temple, and having five children—who have now brought grandchildren and great-grandchildren into our family. We have had a rich life in the Church and many blessings. I am grateful for that Christmas night and for the new recruit in Denmark those many years ago.

My grandfather, Fa’alogo Tovia Fa’alogo, was a convert to the Church. Early in life he learnt about God and Jesus Christ while he was a member of the Congregational Christian Church. He passed away in 1960 aged 84, before I was born. I learnt about Grandfather from my father who took care of him, assisted by his siblings and family, until he passed away.
Grandfather learnt about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ from two missionaries. In his search for the truth, he came to know for himself that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the kingdom of God on earth and that Joseph Smith was the Lord’s revelator, the instrument through which the gospel was restored. This he believed with all his heart. In time Grandfather was ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood, office of elder.
In 1959, grandfather gifted to the Church, by way of declaration, part of the land belonging to the Faalogo (paramount chief) family title in the village of Paia, Savai’i. The declaration (pulefaamau) was published as required by law in Samoa’s national newspaper, called ‘Savali,’ in September 1959. The declaration was subsequently approved and registered by the Samoa Lands and Titles Court.
Part of the declaration published was “this piece of land has been set aside for religious matters and an area is made available as an access road to it for use by the congregation of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-days Saints, that they may use it every day as needed by that Church for religious matters.” (“ua tuueseina atu e ia lea fasi fanua mo Mataupu tau Lotu ma le avanoa o se ala e ui i ai ia aoga i le aulotu a le Ekalesia a Iesu Keriso o le Au Paia o Aso e Gata Ai ia faapea ona latou faaaogaina mo aso uma lava . . . e mana’omia pea ai e lena Ekalesia lea fasi fanua mo Mataupu tau lotu.”) Since that time, the Church has used that land for religious matters. It now has a ward worshipping there, using the chapel, teaching areas, a cultural hall and a playing court.
I believe Grandfather knew what The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints stood for and that it added great value to what he already knew about God the Eternal Father and His Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ. His desire, as I learnt later, was not only to please and show his love for God but also for his family, village and community to be blessed, as well as those who may come to live there. He loved God, he loved the Church, he loved his family, and he loved his village and country. He gave up something good for something much, much better. He lived as he believed.
At the time of the declaration there were only three generations of his family in the Church, now there are six; many of them reside in foreign countries with their growing families, who serve the Lord in numerous capacities. They continue the legacy he left behind—to encourage their family to keep the two greatest commandments: love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and to love thy neighbour as thyself (see Matthew 22:37, 39).
Lastly, I learnt that when Grandfather made the declaration, well before a temple was ever dreamed of in Samoa, to my mind he was essentially practicing the law of consecration. That law we have come to know so well in our temple worship and in the scriptures—knowing that the earth and all it contains belongs to God, the Creator of heaven and earth. To return a portion of it for the establishment of His kingdom seems not a sacrifice but an acknowledgment of God’s love and an expression of greater appreciation for the people and the world around us. I know Grandfather saw the hand of God touching him and his family whilst he was still living.
Grandfather reminds me of Father Lehi, when he partook of the fruit and desired for his family to do likewise, to taste of the goodness of it and to hold fast to the iron rod (See 1 Nephi 8). I am eternally grateful for Grandfather’s faith in exercising his agency to choose the right when he heard the restored gospel message and accepted it, and then he did let the consequences follow, as in the words of Choose the Right:
Choose the right when a choice is placed before you.
In the right the Holy Spirit guides;
And its light is forever shining o’er you,
When in the right your heart confides.
Choose the right! Choose the right!
Let wisdom mark the way before.
In its light, choose the right!
And God will bless you evermore.1
Grandfather’s family and village have been abundantly blessed because of his faith and trust in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and because of the righteous choices he made.
I pray that as we celebrate the birth of our Saviour Jesus Christ during this festive season, that we may honour His name in all that we do, just as our forefathers have done, to bless the rising and future generations, that they may come to know Him as the Saviour and Redeemer of the world, and that we all may confess Him to the world, and that He may confess us to the Father.

Some years ago one of our sons asked me why it wasn’t a good idea to try alcohol or tobacco to see what it was like. He knew about the Word of Wisdom and he also knew the health effects of these substances, but he was questioning why he shouldn’t just try them out for himself. I replied that if he wanted to try something he ought to go out in the barnyard and eat a little manure. He recoiled in horror. “Ooh, that’s gross,” he reacted.

“I’m glad you think so,” I said, “but why don’t you just try it out so you will know for yourself? While you’re proposing to try one thing that you know is not good for you, why don’t you apply that principle to some others?” That illustration of the silliness of “trying it out for yourself’ proved persuasive for one sixteen-year-old.

Nellie screamed and sat up in bed. Her mother quickly climbed in to the wagon bed from underneath the wagon where she had been sleeping.
“Hush, hush,” she soothed as she rocked Nellie in her arms.
“The flames, Mama! The flames and the men were hurting Papa.” Nellie buried her head in Mama’s arms. “It’s dark and I’m afraid!”
Nellie had awakened from her sleep, screaming, almost every night since a mob had pulled her sleeping family from their home near Nauvoo and burned the house and their fields. Papa still limped from the burns he’d received trying to put the fires out.
“It’s just a bad dream, dear,” Mama said as she stroked Nellie’s forehead and tried to quiet her sobs.
The next morning Nellie watched as six Indians, dressed in leather breeches, rode into camp on their horses. She cowered on her bed as one stopped his horse at her wagon. He leaned over, reached into the wagon, and held out one of Nellie’s long, blond braids. Her eyes got big with fear.
“He likes the color of your hair,” Papa said as he worked to yoke the oxen to the wagon. “His name is Flying Eagle.”
“He scares me.” She watched with relief as Flying Eagle rode to the front of the wagon line.
“He and his companions are going to hunt buffalo tomorrow. They have promised that if their hunt is successful, they will trade meat for flour and corn,” Papa told her.
“But won’t they hurt us?”
“Not these Indians. They seem to be friendly toward us Mormons. They have heard that we have been driven from our homes, as many of them were.”
The Indians camped nearby that night. In the morning they were gone and did not return until late in the afternoon. When they did return, meat from two buffalo hung over their tired horses. Everyone in camp came running to see. That night there would be a feast!
Nellie went to sleep that night happy and with a very full stomach. Suddenly her mother was gently shaking her. She had been screaming and crying again. As her mother comforted her, she looked up to see Flying Eagle, looking concerned, standing beside their wagon. After a few moments he turned and walked back to his camp.
As the hunting party was leaving the next morning, Flying Eagle rode up to Nellie’s wagon and pointed to a glass jar sitting on the sideboard of the wagon.
“Let him have it,” Papa said to Mama. “They are helping us find food, and it is a small exchange.” Mama put the lid on the jar and handed it to Flying Eagle.
“He must think it’s pretty. I guess he’s never seen a glass jar before,” Nellie said as he left.
That night the Indian hunting party returned with three bucks and several prairie chickens to trade with the Saints. Everyone felt relieved to have ample meat for a time.
As the stars came out, Flying Eagle approached Nellie’s wagon and handed her mother the glass jar she had given him that morning. Inside were small, darting lights. “Why it’s fireflies!” she exclaimed.
Flying Eagle pointed to Nellie. He shut his eyes, opened them as if terrified, then pointed to the jar and smiled.
“Ah—I see,” Papa said. He told Nellie, “Put them by your bed and look at them when you wake up at night. Then you won’t be afraid.” He turned to Flying Eagle and held out his hand. “Thank you.”
Nellie was fascinated by the little trails of light made as the fireflies flew around inside the bottle. She watched them for a long time before she fell asleep.
The old dream returned again that night, but when her scream awoke her, she saw the little lights in the glass jar and her fear drained away. She watched them gratefully until she fell asleep, peacefully.
Flying Eagle came to Nellie’s wagon the next morning. He pointed to the glass jar again. Motioning for Nellie and Papa to follow him, he led them down by the river where the tamarack bushes grew, and set the fireflies free. Then he showed Nellie how to scrape the jar along the ferny branches to catch more fireflies.
Nellie tried all morning to think of a way to thank Flying Eagle before he left with the other Indians to take the corn and flour they’d traded for back to their village. Finally she knew what she could do. She climbed into the wagon and left it a few minutes later with a small cloth bag in her hand.
She went over to where the Indians were getting ready to leave. Other Saints had gathered to say good-bye too. Nellie held out the little sack to Flying Eagle. “Thank you for the fireflies,” she said softly.
Flying Eagle opened the little cloth sack and pulled out a lock of Nellie’s hair with a pink ribbon tied around it.
He looked down at Nellie and smiled, then stuffed the cloth sack into a leather pouch he wore around his waist. As he got on his horse and rode off, he turned to wave to her. Nellie smiled and waved back.

Illustration by Roger Motzkus
When I was young, my grandma often had get-togethers for my cousins and me. There were about 14 of us, and we were always excited when Grandma invited us over for dinners, sleepovers, game nights, and holidays. Grandma’s house was the place to be!
Every activity at Grandma’s house was fun. But I never thought about all of the time and work that went into each activity. I just thought that was what grandmas did, and I loved it!
After years of fun cousin memories at Grandma’s house, our family moved away. Later my grandma came to spend a special day with us in our new home. My family thought long and hard to find the perfect gift for her. She has more stuff than anyone I know. What could we get the grandma who has everything?
I asked my dad for ideas, and he told me the same thing he says every year: “Why don’t you write her a really nice letter?” I was out of ideas, and so early the next morning, before anyone else was awake, I sat at the kitchen table with my feet on the cold tile and wrote my grandma a special letter.
At first I wondered what I could write besides, “You are so wonderful. Thanks for everything.” As I looked out the kitchen window at the palm trees and the sky, I thought of the many things Grandma had done for us over the years. I remembered that I had never told my grandma how much those times spent together as a family meant to me.
In my letter, I told my grandma that I love her, and I thanked her for all of the special memories. I let her know how important they still were to me, even years later. Then I put the letter in an envelope and went back into my warm, carpeted room.
When the time came to give Grandma her gifts, I slowly pulled out my letter. I didn’t know how to feel about my gift to her.
She looked surprised when I gave her the envelope. I watched closely as she carefully tore off the end of the envelope and pulled out the letter on narrow pink paper. As she read it, she started to smile and tears filled her eyes. I had never seen my grandma cry before. She slowly looked up and turned toward me with warm, brown eyes. She whispered, “Thank you, thank you. I didn’t think anyone remembered.”
Grandma, who had done so much to build strong family relationships, had no idea that I remembered or was grateful for those times together. She wiped her eyes and said, “Kimberly, thank you. That was the best present anyone could ever give me.”
I gave Grandma a big hug, feeling her soft skin against my cheek and smelling her “grandma” smell that was a mix of baby powder and musk. I was so grateful for my dad’s idea to write her a letter. I didn’t know that words of gratitude and love would mean more to my grandma than all of the knickknacks, perfume, and gifts that money could buy.

I can say as Nephi said, that I was “born of goodly parents” (1 Ne. 1:1). During World War II my father was captured by the Germans when they invaded our country of Belgium. He escaped from them and disappeared into the Underground (a group opposing the invaders). As a young child, I remember seeing my father only once or twice. He made very short visits, then disappeared again into the Underground, where he was a radio operator.
Even when the war was over, he didn’t come home right away but went to Germany with the Belgian Army. Then he was assigned to another city in Belgium. Fortunately my mother was a very strong and faithful person. When my father was away, she was the head and the strength of the family.
We were not Latter-day Saints, but I have always had faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. That has never been in doubt for me. I don’t know where my faith came from. I grew up in a typical European home. We did not go to church, and we never prayed in our home. Yet as a child, I knew. I had faith. It was a spiritual gift that I could never deny.
As a teenager, I lived with my family on a hill in Namur, Belgium. We often noticed missionaries pushing their bicycles slowly uphill or riding swiftly back down. One day they came to our house. Knowing they were Americans, we were curious and invited them in. It was 1951, and I was about sixteen years old.
When the missionaries started talking about religion, we four children were not too interested, but my mother listened and kept inviting them back. As they taught her, she gained a testimony of the Church. Then came the question of baptism. My mother’s parents didn’t want her to be baptized, and my father was in Germany in the occupation forces. He came back only once a month for a two- or three-day visit. My mother got his permission, however, and was baptized. But he insisted that we children wait and make our own decisions when we were older.
In the meantime, we attended church with our mother. I went mostly because I wanted to perfect my English. I participated in the youth activities. It was a very good experience because I learned how to sing, dance, and act in the theater. I became acquainted not only with the Church but with the missionaries. I was getting closer to them in age, and we became good friends. They were in our home at least two or three times a week.
When I turned twenty-one, I attended college in Liege, a city about forty miles from home. The missionaries challenged me to be baptized, and I had to make a choice. It was a matter of testimony. I had questions about the Book of Mormon. I was ninety-five percent converted, but I needed a spiritual confirmation. The missionaries helped me find it by teaching me to pray, praying with me, and helping me recognize the answers I received. I was soon baptized. Since that time in that small branch, I have continued to grow in the gospel.
My faith helped me when I experienced peer pressure. I was the only member of the Church in my high school and college and, later, in Belgium’s Air Force. To resist temptations, I had to turn somewhere. I could not just turn to a magazine or a book. I had to have the internal strength that comes from a testimony of Jesus Christ. Once you have faith and rely on it, you will be strengthened even more. Faith becomes your determining factor in making decisions and moving forward.
My father never did join the Church, but he was a fervent supporter of it because he could see its blessings in the lives of his four children. (My sister and two brothers were also baptized.) Prior to his death, he asked me to give him a priesthood blessing, and I did. We had a very special conversation, and he confided in me for the first time that he had faith. Coming from him, this was a major step.
With age, physical challenges are starting. At the end of last year I suddenly had a serious back problem. I was unable to move or to function normally. Through a priesthood blessing and my faith in the Lord, my back got better.
I think that faith is our “homework” as Latter-day Saints. When you go to school, you have a textbook, but unless you do the homework each night, you don’t progress. The scriptures are our gospel “textbook,” but we have to do our homework. Our faith needs to be practiced. Faith without works is dead.
My message to you children is to listen to your parents and follow their teachings. I had a foundation in my life from the teachings of my mother and my father, who were great examples. They were not perfect, and your parents may not be perfect, either. But if you can separate their problems from the true principles they teach, and follow by faith, you will be blessed for it. If you will turn to your parents and to the Lord, it will make a big difference.

The following week I found myself thinking again and again about what had happened. Everytime I recited the poem to myself I felt renewed strength and happiness. The things I had read about God were more than just words. He really did know each individual on the earth and cared about everyone of us. This experience made my scripture reading alive and meaningful. I knew it would have an effect on the church meetings I attended. It had even more of an effect, however, than I had anticipated.
Sunday arrived, and I sat in our branch sacrament room. The meeting started, and all joined in singing the opening hymn. I carefully followed the words as we sang a piece I had never heard or sung before. It was a strong and pretty melody. Finishing the second verse, the conductor cut us off and gave us the upbeat for the third verse. I started in with the rest of the congregation but suddenly stopped singing. My heart beat faster as I read the words. I looked away from the hymnbook and silently repeated the verse to myself: “Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed …”
Tears welled up in my eyes as I felt God speaking to me once again. Not only was his message poetic, but musical as well—a song of the spirit. I joined in with the rest, praising our Heavenly Father with this meaningful hymn. I knew I would never sing it again without being reminded of God’s concern for me.

I learned years ago a very important lesson. I think it was the second time I’d ever met President Harold B. Lee; I had been introduced to him once before. I was serving as a member of a stake high council, and on one occasion the stake president presented in our meeting the name of a man to be called to a position of leadership in the stake. I was teaching seminary at the time, and Brother Leon Strong, also a seminary teacher, had talked to me a time or two about this man. We’d commented on what an able man he was and how sad it was that he couldn’t do more than he did because of a handicap relating to his wife. She had one personality trait that I think could be characterized by the term malicious; I think that identifies what it was.

When the stake president presented the name of this man for a presiding office in the stake and called for a vote, the two of us cast negative votes. That’s rather unusual. The president talked it over for a few minutes, and then said that he felt he’d like to proceed anyway, and asked if we would sustain him in issuing this call. Immediately the issue changed. In my mind, then, it was a vote to sustain the stake president, not necessarily a vote for this man to office, and when he called for a vote, Brother Strong and I joined the other ten members of the stake high council affirmatively, approving the call of this man to office.

When our stake conference was held, a month or two later, when the ordinations were to take place, Elder Harold B. Lee, of the Council of the Twelve was the visitor. After the conference we’d assembled in the stake center for the ordinations. Elder Lee had ordained a bishop and his counselors and some others, and then this man was called forth to be ordained by the member of the Council of the Twelve. Brother Strong nudged me—we were sitting together—and with a smile on his face he leaned over and said, “Well, Brother Packer, now we’ll see whether this Church is run by revelation.”

Elder Lee put his hands on the head of this man, began the usual introductory words to an ordination, then hesitated. Then he said words to this effect: “The other blessings relating to your activities and life and occupation that you’ve heard pronounced upon the others here apply to you as well, but there is a special blessing.” And then that man received the longest blessing, the most pointed of them all; and in reality, it was not a blessing for him but a blessing for his wife. It was a very interesting thing to see.

Immediately, when the meeting was over, I went to Brother Lee and said, “Did you know this brother before you ordained him?”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t know him. I think I hadn’t seen him till I came into this room.”
I said, “He received a very unusual blessing.”
And Elder Lee said, “Yes, I felt that.”
Later the president of the stake explained: “I meant to talk to Elder Lee about that and tell him that here was a man that had need of a special blessing, but in the press of business, we just didn’t have time.” And so Brother Strong was right. That day we did see whether this Church is run by revelation or not.

I testify that I know victims of serious abuse who have successfully made the difficult journey to full healing through the power of the Atonement. After her own concerns were resolved by her faith in the healing power of the Atonement, one young woman who had been severely abused by her father requested another interview with me. She returned with an older couple. I could sense that she loved the two very deeply. Her face radiated happiness. She began, “Elder Scott, this is my father. I love him. He’s concerned about some things that happened in my early childhood. They are no longer a problem for me. Could you help him?” What a powerful confirmation of the Savior’s capacity to heal! She no longer suffered from the consequences of abuse, because she had adequate understanding of His Atonement, exercised sufficient faith, and was obedient to His law. As you conscientiously study the Atonement and exercise your faith that Jesus Christ has the power to heal, you can receive the same blessed relief. During your journey of recovery, accept His invitation to let Him share your burden until you have sufficient time and strength to be healed.

If you suffer from worry, from grief or shame or jealousy or disappointment or envy, from self-recrimination or self-justification, consider this lesson taught to me many years ago by a patriarch. He was as saintly a man as I have ever known. He was steady and serene, with a deep spiritual strength that many drew upon.
He knew just how to minister to others who were suffering. On a number of occasions I was present when he gave blessings to those who were sick or who were otherwise afflicted. His was a life of service, both to the Church and to his community.
He had presided over one of the missions of the Church and always looked forward to the missionary reunions. When he was older, he was not able to drive at night, and I offered to take him to the reunions. That modest gesture was repaid a thousandfold.
On one occasion, when the Spirit was right, he gave me a lesson for my life from an experience in his own. Although I thought I had known him, he told me things about his life I would not have supposed.
He grew up in a little community with a desire to make something of himself. He struggled to get an education.
He married his sweetheart, and presently everything was just right. He was well employed, with a bright future. They were deeply in love, and she was expecting their first child.
The night the baby was to be born, there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside tending to the sick.
After many hours of labor, the condition of the mother-to-be became desperate.
Finally the doctor was located. In the emergency, he acted quickly and soon had things in order. The baby was born and the crisis, it appeared, was over.
Some days later, the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at another home that night.
John’s world was shattered. Everything was not right now; everything was all wrong. He had lost his wife. He had no way to tend both the baby and his work.
As the weeks wore on, his grief festered. “That doctor should not be allowed to practice,” he would say. “He brought that infection to my wife. If he had been careful, she would be alive today.”
He thought of little else, and in his bitterness, he became threatening. Today, no doubt, he would have been pressed by many others to file a malpractice suit. And there are lawyers who would see in his pitiable condition only one ingredient—money!
But that was another day, and one night a knock came at his door. A little girl said simply, “Daddy wants you to come over. He wants to talk to you.”
“Daddy” was the stake president. A grieving, heartbroken young man went to see his spiritual leader.
This spiritual shepherd had been watching his flock and had something to say to him.
The counsel from that wise servant was simply, “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.”
My friend told me then that this had been his trial—his Gethsemane. How could he leave it alone? Right was right! A terrible wrong had been committed and somebody must pay for it. It was a clear case.
But he struggled in agony to get hold of himself. And finally, he determined that whatever else the issues were, he should be obedient.
Obedience is powerful spiritual medicine. It comes close to being a cure-all.
He determined to follow the counsel of that wise spiritual leader. He would leave it alone.
Then he told me, “I was an old man before I understood! It was not until I was an old man that I could finally see a poor country doctor—overworked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little medicine, no hospital, few instruments, struggling to save lives, and succeeding for the most part.
“He had come in a moment of crisis, when two lives hung in the balance, and had acted without delay.
“I was an old man,” he repeated, “before I finally understood! I would have ruined my life,” he said, “and the lives of others.”
Many times he had thanked the Lord on his knees for a wise spiritual leader who counseled simply, “John, leave it alone.”

Now I come to the FIFTH and last principle, that of BEING TRUE TO YOUR COVENANTS. Last week I received a phone call from a sweet young Latter-day Saint wife and mother. She was distraught. Her husband had just informed her that for the past several months he has been unfaithful to her.
As I was finishing this talk last Friday, she called again. She said that he had just told her that he was going to divorce her, also leaving behind his young son and daughter.
She was devastated. How could this be happening to her? She had been so careful in her selection of a husband. He had been a faithful Latter-day Saint. He had been an outstanding missionary. They were sealed in the temple. She had been faithful to her covenants. What went wrong?
As I listened to this young woman, I was heartsick. I felt so sorry for her. I felt even more sorry for him. This young man had been one of my missionaries when I served as mission president. I loved him as my own son. I took great joy in his successes. Now I feel overwhelming sorrow at his failure.
How could he throw away everything that he had believed in and lived for his entire life? I wept because of the tragedy of it all. I feel distraught and sick at heart as I think of it now.
How could this happen? We must first understand that there is opposition in all things and that God has given us our agency. God promises us eternal happiness as we keep the covenants that we have made with him. In contrast, Satan desires that "all men might be miserable like unto himself." Satan hates you and will do everything within his power to destroy you. Your safety lies in following the counsel of the prophets and in keeping your covenants.
When a young couple kneels across the alter in the sealing room, first and foremost, they enter into a covenant with God; and, secondarily, they enter into a covenant with each other. As you are sealed for time and all eternity, Heavenly Father promises you exaltation and eternal life if you live faithful to your covenants.
Inherent in that temple sealing is the covenant that you will be faithful to your spouse, both mentally and physically.

A broad education is a crucial part of the Olive Leaf. So, in light of the revealed importance of general education, I want to tell you a funny family story that illustrates how passionate John is about general education. It happened when he spoke with our daughter who was preparing to start college. She casually mentioned that she wanted to “get her GEs out of the way.”

John just about went through the roof. He said, “What do you mean ‘get your GEs out of the way’?! You shouldn’t think of college as something you just ‘go through’ for a degree; college needs to go through you.” He went on to say that too often students think of general education as something someone else requires them to do, like soldiers in World War II who were told to pass down a line of people giving them medical shots. They didn’t know why. The shots were just something to be endured, something someone else said was good for them. And that’s how people often experience general education—as something imposed by others, something to get out of the way.

John: That story is a bit embarrassing. My response may have been a little over the top.36 But I actually still feel the same way about that principle, which in fact applies not just to education but to exaltation.37

Over the years we have enjoyed some very exciting and fun family vacations. In an effort to add value and excitement to the vacation, we have often made the actual announcement of the vacation an event itself. For example, when we traveled to Florida to visit Disney World, we cut out magazine pictures of things like palm trees, the Everglades, and alligators. Each week during family home evening we would present one of these pictures, and the children would try to guess where we were going. Prior to a family vacation to New York we gave the children “I Love New York” T-shirts and had them put them on while in the dark. Then, on the count of three we turned on the lights to reveal the summer vacation plans. It was a thrill to see the excitement in the faces of our children when they discovered where we were headed.

This summer we decided our vacation would be different. Rather than just take a vacation, we wanted to have an experience. We applied to be in the Hill Cumorah Pageant in Palmyra, New York. As parents, we knew that this would be a wonderful experience for our family and an opportunity for them to feel of the Spirit as they portrayed the sacred stories of the Book of Mormon on the very hill where the gold plates had been buried. We also knew that it might not sound as exciting as Disney World or New York City, so we intentionally decided to just let these vacation plans slip out in casual conversation.

My conversation with my fourteen-year-old son went something like this: “Hey, by the way, your Mom and I are so excited that our family has been accepted to be part of the Hill Cumorah Pageant this summer. We will be spending seventeen days in Palmyra, New York. Isn’t that great?”

I curiously awaited his response. As expected, the plans did not elicit the normal outburst of excitement. All I got was a blank stare.

After a long pause he gave me a thoughtful and respectful response. “Dad, no offense,” he said, “but this kind of reminds me of being in second grade, when the teacher comes into class all excited about a field trip to a museum and we just have to slap a smile on our faces and pretend we’re excited as well.” He finished up the conversation by saying, “Are you sure that you and Mom aren’t just wanting to relive your performing glory days?”

I assured him that was not our intent. Quite the opposite, our hope was that our participation in the pageant would place our children in an environment in which they would have an opportunity to have their very own personal and meaningful spiritual experiences. It would be a way for them to build their own testimony and place a stone in their own monument that they would always remember.

The day we arrived at the pageant was particularly hot and humid. We gathered for instructions on how the event would unfold. Within moments we were alive with the idea of portraying the stories of the Book of Mormon on the Hill Cumorah. The children were excited as they received their roles, tried on costumes, and began rehearsals. Those seventeen days were filled with opportunities to feel of the Spirit as we reenacted scenes from the Book of Mormon, visited the Sacred Grove, and relived details of the restored gospel.

A week ago today we returned from the pageant. My once-skeptical son is now earnestly asking if we could please do this again. As we traveled home we all exchanged our favorite quotes from the now-memorized script and spoke of the memories that we would carry with us. We all felt a renewed commitment to nurture future spiritual experiences. In an effort to follow Moroni’s exhortation “to remember these things,” we took time together as a family to write down in our journals what we had experienced and how we felt. These delicate, precious memories deserved all our efforts to preserve them. After all, it is possible that the very recollection of these moments at a yet undetermined time in the future might provide much-needed strength. This experience certainly served as a very large stone in each of our monuments to remember.

Peni and Jieni Naivaluvou doubled the size of their family when they took in four girls from Vanuatu who were attending the Fiji LDS Church College. But the Naivaluvous do not see this as a sacrifice. They feel they have been amply blessed for doing it. One of those blessings, they believe, is the addition to their family of baby Hagoth, born in January 2009.
In early 2008 Bishop and Sister Naivaluvou of the Tamavua Ward, Suva Fiji North Stake, heard that two young students from Vanuatu needed a place to board, so the Naivaluvous took stock of their own situation. Their sons, Soane, 18, and Ross, 16, were away from home attending a Church school in Tonga, the land of their father’s ancestry. The two girls from Vanuatu were boarding, at high cost to their parents, with a non-LDS family in Suva. The two girls would be good company for then 13-year-old Andrea Naivaluvou; Andrea also attends the Church College and was arriving home in the afternoon before her parents were off work. So Brother and Sister Naivaluvou decided they would invite the two girls from Vanuatu to live in their home at no charge.
The girls insisted on helping with costs, but still their expenses were less than half of what they had been paying earlier—a blessing for their families.
In April two other Vanuatuan girls came for a visit and enjoyed the atmosphere of the Naivaluvou home. A short time later these two girls asked if they too might come there to live. The Naivaluvous gladly took them in.
How did it work to have four extra young people in the home? “We’ve built up such a bond it’s more like they are our daughters,” Bishop Naivaluvou says. The Naivaluvous made it clear from the beginning that the girls were to be considered part of the family. The four girls from Vanuatu actually are related to each other, but in the Naivaluvou home they treated each other like sisters born of the same parents. Andrea Naivaluvou also came to accept them “like my sisters,” she says; the older girls watched out for her and even helped her with homework when there was a need. The four girls began to call Bishop and Sister Naivaluvou Ta and Na—“Dad” and “Mom” in Fijian.
This may be the first time, Sister Naivaluvou says, that girls from Vanuatu who are attending the Church College have been able to board with member families. The father of one of the girls, when he came to visit, expressed his deep gratitude to the Naivaluvous for the love they have shown his daughter.
Sister Naivaluvou points out that one of the girls, the daughter of a district president on Vanuatu, was a great example to their family through her faith; Bishop Naivaluvou says her example helped his family be more consistent about scripture study and family prayer.
Both of the Naivaluvous say they have been blessed temporally because they have shared with others. Their resources have gone farther. And Sister Naivaluvou believes the blessing of being able to become pregnant again after 13 years is connected with their willingness to share love with others.
When the Naivaluvous’ two sons returned home at the end of their school year in Tonga, they too accepted the young women as part of the family. But perhaps Soane can be excused for not seeing the girls exactly as sisters. He found himself drafted as a prom date for one of the young women. He played his role like a gentleman.
When the four girls finished their school year and returned home to Vanuatu late in 2008, the farewells were heart tugging, Bishop Naivaluvou recalls. It was as though he and his wife were saying good-bye to four daughters. And when a new school year began in 2009, the Naivaluvous were glad to welcome their four “daughters” back—plus two more.
With only four sleeping rooms in their home, some would wonder how they could make room for six young women in addition to their own daughter and new baby. But the Naivaluvou family quickly worked it out without difficulty.
After all, it was not a matter of personal space. It was simply a matter of expanding their circle of love.

I have never regretted getting close to someone to more genuinely serve him or her. I do, however, regret the times I have failed to do so. Many years ago I was practicing law at a firm in Salt Lake City. Every morning I would drive to the light-rail station near my house, park my car, and take the train into downtown Salt Lake. One morning I was running very late. I parked my car just as a train pulled into the station, and I rushed toward it. Ordinarily I had more time to evaluate the cars and select the car that appeared to have the most open seating. This time, though, I rushed onto the closest car. To my surprise and delight, I found the car completely empty. But as soon as I sat down, I understood why.
An elderly man in worn and heavily soiled clothes sat slumped and crumpled on the floor at the opposite end of the car. His fingernails were long and jagged, his hair was dirty, and it was clear from the smell in the car that he had not bathed in some time. My heart ached for him. Some part of me wanted to help him, but I didn’t know how. I worried about embarrassing him or embarrassing myself by trying to help. I worried about being late for work and about getting my clothes dirty.
I wavered too long. A couple of stations down the track, a man, dressed as if he too had a job downtown, entered the car near where the old man sat. Instead of turning around and finding a different car, as many others had done, he reached down, pulled the man up toward him, wrapped his arms around him, and gently helped him off the train.
I don’t know what happened after that. But the rescuer did not get back on the train. He likely didn’t make it to work that morning. He probably got his clothes dirty. He got physically close and gave of himself. I wish I had had the courage to do that. But I am also grateful for that lesson. I am working on better recognizing and seizing opportunities to love my neighbor—el prójimo.

“I Want to Come Back”
Not long ago I was in South Africa visiting a home with Thabiso, the first assistant in the priests quorum in the Kagiso Ward. Thabiso and his bishop, who presides and holds the keys for the quorum, had been praying for quorum members who were less active, seeking inspiration about whom to visit and how to help them. They felt prompted to visit the home of Tebello, and they invited me to go with them.
Once we made it past the ferocious guard dog, we found ourselves in the living room with Tebello, a calm-spirited young man who had stopped attending church because he had become busy doing other things on Sundays. …
… The words of Thabiso … made the difference in the visit. … “I enjoyed so much talking to you all the time at church,” he said. “You always have kind words for me. And you know, our soccer team has basically disappeared now that we don’t have you. You are so good at it.”
“I am sorry,” Tebello answered. “I will come back with you guys.”
“That will be awesome,” said Thabiso. “And do you remember how we used to prepare to serve as missionaries? Can we start doing that again?”
“Yes,” repeated Tebello, “I want to come back.”
Adrián Ochoa, second counselor in the Young Men general presidency

I witnessed a simple example of this kind of prayer when Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and I were assigned to conduct a videoconference interview of a couple in another country. Shortly before going into the studio, I reviewed once again the information we had collected about the couple and felt I was prepared for the interview. A few minutes before the appointed time, I saw Elder Oaks sitting alone with head bowed. In a moment he raised his head and said, “I was just finishing my prayer in preparation for this interview. We will need the gift of discernment.” He had not neglected the most important preparation, a prayer to consecrate our performance for our good and the Lord’s glory.

I was shy and a bit of a bookworm. I’d pick reading and arithmetic over recess and soccer any day. I always did well in school, and I earned good grades. But my mother knew that I needed more than straight A’s in school. She always encouraged me to do active things and to get involved in other activities. Most of the time I would have stayed home, but her influence helped me gain other leadership abilities, and I developed a willingness to meet challenges and try new things. By the time I left high school, I was “into” varsity basketball and many outside clubs and other activities.