Gospel Story Finder

The sun was going down as Tatsuki rode his bike home. He loved zooming down the small hill by his home, but he needed to be back before it was dark.
When Tatsuki rolled his bike to a stop, he saw his Primary teacher, Sister Yamada, walking up to his apartment building.
“Hi, Tatsuki,” Sister Yamada said with a smile. “I’m here to talk about your baptism.”
Tatsuki’s family had just started going to church again. He liked being with his friends in Primary, and he was especially excited to be baptized! Sister Yamada and Tatsuki rode the elevator together and joined Mom in the apartment.
“Tatsuki, I’m so glad you’ve chosen to follow Jesus Christ by being baptized,” Sister Yamada said. “When we are baptized, we make covenants with Heavenly Father. Do you know what a covenant is?”
Tatsuki didn’t know Sister Yamada was going to ask him questions. He started to feel a little nervous. But Mom smiled encouragingly.
“Promises?” he asked shyly.
“That’s right!” Sister Yamada said. “Heavenly Father promises us we can always have the Holy Ghost with us. Do you know what we promise Heavenly Father?”
Tatsuki shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll give you a hint—the promises are in the prayers we hear before we take the sacrament,” Sister Yamada said. “We promise Heavenly Father that we are willing to take upon us the name of Jesus Christ, to always remember Him, and to keep His commandments. Do you know what it means to take Jesus’s name upon us?”
Tatsuki shook his head again. Mom helped him. “It means we are happy to say we are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” she said. “It means we will do what Jesus would do if He were here.”
“What kinds of things would Jesus do?” Tatsuki asked.
“Jesus would be kind to people. He would help people who are sad or sick,” Sister Yamada said. “And He would teach people how to follow the commandments.”
Tatsuki had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He started to frown and said, “I don’t think I can be baptized.”
“Why?” Mom asked.
“There are so many promises! I don’t think I can be like Jesus every day!”
Mom gave Tatsuki a hug. “Remember when you helped Yuna when she was crying yesterday?”
Tatsuki nodded. His sister had been sad, so he had made funny faces and played with her until she was happy again.
“And remember how you helped your cousins share and be nice to each other last week? When you did that, you were following Jesus.”
Tatsuki didn’t know that’s what it meant to follow Jesus. He started to feel a little bit better. He could do those things!
Sister Yamada said, “And when we do make a mistake, we can repent. That means we can say we’re sorry and try to do better. When we repent, Heavenly Father forgives us. We can always keep trying!”
Tatsuki didn’t feel so worried anymore. He felt happy.
“I want to be baptized!” he said.
Mom and Sister Yamada smiled. Sister Yamada gave Tatsuki a Book of Mormon with his name written on it. Tatsuki felt happy that he could try each day to be like Jesus. Now he couldn’t wait to be baptized!

The bunkbed mattress squeaked as Dinis rolled over. He had tossed and turned all night. But he just couldn’t sleep!
What if the missionaries were wrong? Dinis thought. What if this isn’t the true church after all? What if I’m on the wrong path? The questions kept bothering him.
Dinis’s family joined the Church two years earlier, when he was 10. When the missionaries first taught them, Dinis had felt right away that what they taught was true. Dinis and his family were some of the first people to join the Church in Portugal. Dinis was a pioneer!
But lately he had started worrying. What if getting baptized was not the right choice?
Dinis didn’t tell anyone he was worried. Not his brothers or his sister. Not even his parents. But tonight, it was all he could think about.
Dinis sighed. He looked down over the edge of the bed. His brothers were sound asleep on the bottom bunk. Dinis was alone.
He knew he needed to ask God if the Church was true. He knelt in the middle of his bed. He bowed his head and began to pray.
“Please, God,” Dinis said softly. “Let me know if Joseph Smith really saw you and Jesus.”
Dinis had prayed many times before. But this time was different. Dinis really needed to know. He prayed harder than ever for help.
“I don’t want to be wrong,” he whispered. “I just want to know what’s right.”
Then Dinis felt something. The feeling was strong and warm. It grew until he felt it all over his body. He felt like he might explode with joy!
Dinis knew the feeling was the Holy Ghost. God had answered his prayer! The missionaries were right. Joseph Smith really was a prophet. And getting baptized wasn’t just a good choice. It was the best choice.
Dinis lay on his back and looked at the ceiling. His worries were gone. He pulled his blanket close around him. Before he knew it, he was asleep.
As Dinis got older, he always remembered the night when he prayed in his bunkbed. He knew that he was on the right path as a member of Jesus Christ’s Church. And he knew that Heavenly Father would always hear his prayers.

While I was in medical school preparing to become a physician, I had an advisor or mentor who helped me decide that I wanted to be a teacher as well as a practitioner of medicine. He was helpful with his counsel and opened some doors for me that required extra effort on his part. I recognized what he had done and tried to thank him. I was sincere but said I didn't know of a way to compensate him adequately for the service he had rendered me. He said, "The only way you can really thank me appropriately is to become a good teacher and an excellent doctor yourself." Most of you may not choose to become doctors, but the principle and counsel are the same, whatever career path you follow. The only way we can appropriately thank those who have gone before us is to be the best that we can be and help those who follow us do and be their best also.

Later, when through the missionary effort I joined the Church, I gained as a new member that peaceful feeling of being safely placed in the environment of true gospel living and that Babylon had floated away from me. As it was expressed by an early European balloonist: “I felt as though I had left behind me, all the cares and passions that molest mankind.”
I testify—as one who twenty-three years ago was baptized into the kingdom of God in Toronto, Canada—that my flight since my baptism has been a magnificent one, with breathtaking scenes and spiritual panoramas and with the never-failing knowledge that my day-to-day flight plan is made available to me by an understanding, loving, forgiving Heavenly Father.

Greg hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. We all hushed up as if we were waiting for an important news bulletin. “We’re going down the block to do some painting.”
“Huh?” I stared at him. “You mean work?”
“Mark, don’t be a dope.” He held up a can of black spray paint. “I ‘found’ it in the hardware store.”
We laughed. That meant that Greg had stolen the paint. I felt kind of funny in the stomach. I really didn’t like the idea. But I was new here. If I said anything, the other guys wouldn’t be my friends.
Greg led us to a house with a wooden fence around the backyard. He handed the paint to Sam.
“Wait a minute,” I blurted out.
Greg cuffed me on the side of the head. “Are you chicken?”
I snorted. “Me? Of course not.”
When Greg wasn’t looking, I rubbed my head where he’d hit me. It hurt. He’s a year older than I am, and a lot bigger.
After Sam finished, Greg and a couple of other kids did their thing. Then it was my turn. I took a deep breath and pushed the button on the can. Black paint sprayed out.
“Hey!” The shout came from an unseen person.
We took off running. Then I tripped. I jumped up, but someone grabbed my arm. My heart rate speeded up so much that I thought I’d either faint or get sick all over my new sneakers.
I peeked up at a gray-haired man wearing glasses. “What were you doing?” he asked, not loosening his grip any.
“I don’t know,” I said, though it sounded silly.
“Who gave you the right to vandalize my property?”
“Uh, I’m sorry. Are you going to call the police?” I asked. My voice shook like I was going to cry.
“I believe I’d rather keep this between me and your parents.”
I took a shaky breath, then told him my name and phone number. But I’d rather have gone to jail than have my parents know what I’d done.
Dad came over right away. He looked as though he couldn’t decide whether he was more hurt or more angry at what I’d done. I kind of shrunk down inside my shirt.
“Mark will pay for all damages, Mr. Parker,” Dad said.
I gulped hard. My allowance after tithing and savings, doesn’t cover half the stuff I want to buy. I figured that it would take a big part of my childhood years to pay for repainting that fence.
“I believe I have a better idea,” Mr. Parker said. “I’d planned to repaint it, anyway. How about if I buy the paint and Mark does the painting?”
I sagged with relief. I wasn’t looking forward to the work, but painting the fence was a lot better than paying for damages.
I wouldn’t have been so happy if I’d known what was also in store for me at home—Mom and Dad grounded me for six weeks.
“Hurting others is against the word of God,” Mr. Parker said when I went over to his place. He handed me a brush.
I shrugged. “I know.”
“You sure didn’t act like it the way you worked my fence over.”
I turned away and carefully drew the brush out of the paint can. I took my time making my first brush stroke nice and neat. I figured that if Mr. Parker saw that I could do a good job all by myself, he’d leave me alone.
Mr. Parker didn’t take the hint. In fact, he got a brush of his own and started painting too.
My hand shook. I dribbled paint onto my pants leg.
“Careful,” Mr. Parker said.
“I can’t help it—you make me nervous!” I blurted. I dug the toe of my sneaker into the ground.
“I do? Now, why is that?”
“You keep watching me as if I’m bad or something.”
“Is that so? Well, I know you’re not bad or you wouldn’t have stayed and owned up.”
“I never did anything like that before. But Greg said …” I stopped and looked away quickly. I hadn’t meant to mention anyone else.
Mr. Parker chuckled softly. “Greg must be one of the other young fellows I saw running away that day.”
“You saw them?”
“I sure did.”
“You didn’t even ask me to snitch.”
“I was a boy once myself.” Mr. Parker winked at me.
I felt a knot ease out of my shoulders. Mr. Parker was turning out to be a lot nicer than I’d figured.
We started painting again. After a while he said, “Do you ever go to church?”
“We used to.”
“I’m going to ask your folks to come with me on Sunday.”
“They’re pretty busy.”
“We’ll let them decide. I think your parents will welcome the chance for you to meet the right kind of friends.”
My face turned warm. I leaned over and concentrated on my painting. “I have friends,” I mumbled.
“Sure you do, son.”
Mr. Parker didn’t say anything else. I’d expected him to start preaching and tell me how bad my friends were—how they were not only a bad influence but how they ran off and left me. I was all set to get mad and tell him my friends were great.
But all he did was start whistling. I recognized the tune—it was a hymn.
My parents were all eager to take Mr. Parker up on his church offer. I told myself that it didn’t matter—at least I had somewhere else to go for the next six weeks. I couldn’t wait until my grounding was over and I could see Greg and the other guys again.
The only thing was, I got busy with the kids from Primary. By the time the six weeks were up, I was involved in a ward project to get books for a shelter for the homeless. After that, we Blazers all got parts in a play that we were going to put on at the care center.
The next time I saw Greg, he was leading his gang past the park. He stopped suddenly, and everyone piled into the back of him. They reminded me of robots playing follow the leader.
“Mark. I haven’t seen you around.”
“I … uh … I’ve been busy.” I felt a familiar shrinking in my stomach. Funny, I’d never realized it before, but I always felt that way around Greg.
“Yeah, I heard you were busy painting old man Parker’s fence.”
Greg and the robots cracked up. I clenched my fists.
“Come on—we’re doing something fun.” Greg held up a cloth sack.
I knew that they planned to steal oranges from Mr. McKellar’s grove. Six weeks ago I’d have stumbled over my own feet rushing to join them. Now all I felt was sorry for them.
“No thanks.” I turned and marched away. I had new friends now. My kind of friends. The shrinking in my stomach disappeared. It didn’t come back.

The meaning of church to most people is a little different from what it means to me. Where I live, on a remote island of Alaska, church consists of only two LDS families. We meet together for an hour each week to partake of the sacrament and participate in talks, prayers, and questions. My dad is the branch president, and my family and the other family take turns hosting the Sunday meeting in our homes.
At first I didn’t like church. Maybe it was because I was the only teenage girl on the island who attended. Or maybe it was because I really didn’t understand the Church and had doubts about it. Was the Church true? Did God care? And most of all, What would happen to me when I died?
For a while, I read the Book of Mormon and never seemed to get anywhere. Satan seemed to be doing all he could to keep me from gaining a testimony.
One day I came home from school very upset. I had forgotten my lunch, and my best friend and I had had an argument. I ran to my room, flopped onto my bed, and started crying.
As my tears ceased, I noticed I had left my triple combination of the scriptures on my desk. As I picked it up to put it away, my eye caught a verse I had underlined. I read in Doctrine and Covenants 18:10–11: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God;
“For, behold, the Lord your Redeemer suffered death in the flesh; wherefore he suffered the pain of all men, that all men might repent and come unto him.” [D&C 18:10–11]
Suddenly I realized that Christ loved me and that I wanted to know him better. I had expected my testimony to be given to me. I know now that I’m not going to get my testimony from my parents or grandparents, or from my brothers and sisters. I have to search, ponder, and pray. But if I have faith, the Savior will help me, and together we will find my testimony.

When I was 11 years old, my father died, and at his funeral I was very touched as I heard the people speaking about what a kind man he had been. At the cemetery as they were lowering the casket down in the grave and starting to throw those shovels full of dirt and rocks down on the casket, I stood watching, thinking he was my hero, and I wondered what would ever happen to me having lost my father. I saw good men exercising the priesthood and doing what was right—the men who had helped in digging the grave and taking care of things—and I saw a good man push a five-dollar bill back into the hands of my mother, who had offered him some money for helping to dig the grave. He pushed that money back toward my mother and said, “No, you keep it because you will need this later on.” And so I would like to declare to all of you in these assemblies tonight, in the Aaronic Priesthood and the Melchizedek Priesthood, isn’t it interesting to see the wisdom of our Heavenly Father and His Son in putting all of these things together, how in the lesser priesthood we learn to do the temporal chores? We’ll have temporal duties, learning in a humble, simple way those things that need to be done. This will teach us of service and of living the commandments of the Lord, preparing us so that we someday will be advanced to the Melchizedek Priesthood, with all of the majesty and the eternal glory that that entails.

Leroy Alip listened intently as he was set apart to serve on a stake high council on the Big Island of Hawaii. In the blessing Brother Alip was told he would be on the island when a temple was built there and that he would serve in that temple. This was in 1984, and the only temple in Hawaii was on the island of Oahu, many miles away by boat or plane.
The priesthood blessing energized Brother Alip. “I believe that when you are given a blessing, you have a responsibility to do whatever you can to bring that blessing to you,” he says. So he and his wife, Rose, decided to attend the temple on Oahu once a month.
Doing so was not easy. Traveling there cost U.S. $300, a lot of money for a couple barely getting by on Brother Alip’s paycheck from the government office where he worked. The only way they could make the trip was to dip into their savings. They did so gladly.
Within a year, however, they were out of money. “But our hearts were in the temple,” Brother Alip says. “We wanted to continue attending. So we prayed for help.”
Not long afterwards, Brother Alip unexpectedly received an offer to supplement his income by delivering papers for a local business. For these early morning deliveries, he was paid nearly $700 per month. With more than enough money to continue going to the temple, Brother and Sister Alip were prompted to put the surplus in their own special temple fund.
By June 1986 the reason for that prompting became clear: now living in the Kona Hawaii Stake, they could take to the temple a number of women from the stake who were worthy but had not been able to receive their endowments. So each month, the Alips took one sister with them to Oahu. Each time, the sister returned to bear testimony of the spiritual power and joy she felt in doing her own and others’ temple work. Soon, the spirit of temple work spread throughout the stake, and more members began looking for ways to attend the temple.
Through contacts Brother Alip had in the travel industry, he was able to arrange for discounted airfare, ground transportation, and lodging for all in the stake who wanted to go. By 1994 more than 100 members of the Kona stake were making the monthly trip to the Laie Hawaii Temple. Brother Alip laughs. He recalls, “The temple president joked that the Saints from Kona were wearing out the carpets because so many of them were in the temple.”
In 1997 President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) announced a new direction for temple construction. Building smaller temples would enable more temples to be built. The faithfulness of the Saints on the Big Island was rewarded six months later when President Hinckley announced a temple for Kona. After the temple was dedicated in 2000, Brother Alip was called as second counselor in the temple presidency. Today, fully retired from his career but fully engaged in the work of the Lord, he supervises the workers who keep the grounds of the Kona Hawaii Temple beautiful.
Brother and Sister Alip are grateful for the ways Heavenly Father has blessed them to have what they need to continue serving others. When they first came to Kona, Brother Alip says, “We had no place to stay except for a small shack in the hills built for a worker in the coffee fields.” They lived there for months until they were able to rent a small cottage.
A number of years later, they had enough savings and income to consider a nicer home, but nothing they looked at felt right to them. One day while Brother Alip was working on the Kona temple grounds, an elderly sister came by. She was crying. Brother Alip shakes his head. “She was being evicted from her home and had no place to go. For some reason, I told her to go visit her grandchildren, and when she returned, she could move in with us.” The problem was, the Alips’ home was big enough for only Brother and Sister Alip. So they started praying—and looking earnestly for ways to obtain the blessing they sought.
Shortly, a real-estate agent invited them to consider a two-story home with six bedrooms. They loved it, but they assumed the house would cost more than they could afford. Reluctantly, they turned the offer down.
But a way opened up. Within a few weeks, the price of the home dropped, and the Alips learned they had sufficient credit to buy the house. As a result, the sister in need had a place with Brother and Sister Alip when she returned to Kona, and three of the Alips’ children, in need themselves, found a home for their families at the house.
“The Lord has taken good care of us,” Brother Alip says. “When we show that we are willing to sacrifice our time, talents, and means for Him, He showers us with His tender mercies.”

Another profound incident occurred when my hosts told me that a picture had been requested by the local newspaper. They wanted to take my picture with a gifted child. “Fine,” I said. “This should be easy, for probably any child will do for the picture.”

“Not so,” they said. “We need a gifted child; wait and see what happens.” I told them to locate the child, and I would cooperate as requested. Later they called and told me that they had a gifted five-year-old boy scheduled, and he would be there in the morning for a photo session. As I was thinking of this meeting, I wondered what I might give this small boy as a gift from America. As a general practice I take a few things with me that can be used as thank-you or friendship gifts. I had brought with me three small jars of Bear Lake raspberry jam and a couple of beautiful calendars. I did not think any of these items would necessarily appeal to a five-year-old boy. Then I reflected back to my hurried departure from home when I had cleaned out my purse and replaced only those items that I felt were needed on the trip. At the last minute I had included an item that could serve as a gift for this little boy.

In the morning the little boy came with his mother. There were also two people from the newspaper. One interviewed the mother while the other one came with me across the street with the small boy. We sat down on a bench by a beautiful river with black swans nearby. While the photographer took pictures, this small boy told me about the orbiting procedures of spaceships as he showed me the book he was reading. At a quiet time I told this little boy that I had brought him a magic ring from America.

“Magic? Is it really magic?” he asked.

I told him that it was not magic as most people think of magic, but that it could do magical things for him. We put the ring on his finger, and I asked him to identify the letters on the ring. He did so, and I told him what the letters represented. “Whenever you have an important decision to make, look down at your ring, and it will remind you to “Choose the Right” and to base your decisions on important principles.”

He was entranced with his ring and could not take his eyes off it. When we returned to meet with his mother, he ran up and told her about his ring. “Oh, my,” I thought, “his mother could be quite upset over this.”

But the mother listened intently to her son and then turned to me and, with gratitude showing in her eyes, simply said, “Thank you.” Somewhere in Perth, Australia, is a small and very gifted little boy with a Primary CTR ring.

Melody scratched her puppy behind the ears. He wagged his tail. “Just wait, Buddy,” Melody said. “Soon you’re going to know how to do tricks!”
“Time to go,” Mom said. Melody gave Buddy a quick hug goodbye and ran to their family’s van. With her favorite outfit on, Melody was ready for her second 4-H meeting. She couldn’t wait to learn all about growing a garden, painting ceramics, and sewing. But most of all, she was excited about the dog-training project.
For as long as she could remember, Melody had loved animals. She imagined for the hundredth time how great it would be to take Buddy on the dog course and teach him all sorts of tricks.
They arrived at the fire station where the meeting would be held. Melody listened closely to the announcements.
“Sewing will be this Saturday at my house,” the group leader explained. “Ceramics will be next Monday after school, and the dog project is this Sunday at 2:00 at my house.”
Melody’s heart sank. Sunday! Sundays were special days for church and family. It wasn’t a day for shopping or going to the movies. But what about dog training?
All the way home she stared silently out the window. At home she went straight to the backyard and began brushing Buddy’s fur. She didn’t want to talk with anybody.
Later that night Melody sat on the couch with tears filling her eyes. Why did the dog project have to be on Sunday? It wasn’t fair!
Mom sat down next to Melody on the couch and held her hand. “What do you want to do about the dog project?” Mom asked. Her parents had talked it over and decided to let Melody make her own choice.
Melody didn’t answer at first. She’d thought about the problem all day long. She kept trying to tell herself it would be OK to do the dog project. After all, it was scheduled after church. But every time she thought this, she felt kind of squirmy inside.
“I don’t know,” Melody said. “I know I want to train Buddy. But I also want to do what’s right.”
“Keep praying,” Mom said. “You’ll know what to decide.”
Mom gave her a kiss on the forehead and left the room.
Melody went to the backyard to brush Buddy’s fur some more. She said a silent prayer for help.
She looked into Buddy’s eyes. He would be so good at learning tricks—she just knew it! But she also knew that she didn’t feel happy inside about attending the project on Sunday. She knew how peaceful the Holy Ghost felt, and that wasn’t how she felt when she thought of doing the project.
Melody realized that was her answer. If she didn’t feel good about it, she wouldn’t do the dog project.
A warm feeling grew in Melody’s heart as she made her decision. Then she had an idea. She could probably find a book about dog training at the library! Probably a couple of books. Maybe they could even learn together as a family.
“Guess what, Buddy? You’re going to learn tricks after all!” Melody tossed a stick for him to fetch. He just looked at her with a goofy grin. He didn’t run after the stick even a little bit.
She grinned. “Don’t worry, Buddy. We’ll learn together.”

When President N. Eldon Tanner presided over the West European Mission some years ago, his slogan was “Have a good time.” One day he said to a group of missionaries in Germany, “I would like you all to have a good time.” After the meeting, one of the missionaries came up to him and said: “President Tanner, I don’t think that it is quite fair for you to tell the missionaries to have a good time. You know, the only way they can have a good time is to do their work.” President Tanner said, “Well, go have a good time.”

Before I became president of the Church, I was assigned as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles to visit some of the countries of South America for various gatherings with the Saints. We were received well by the countries, by their officials, and by the press.
I was interested in a comment made by a representative of one of the largest papers in Brazil. She had heard my sermon the day before, on Sunday, in which I had spoken rather strongly about the restoration of the gospel. She asked me why Christ was crucified.
I answered: “Because he said, ‘I am the Son of God.’”
And her next remark shocked me: “He should not have said it, should he? He really was not, was he?”
I thought she was joking. I looked into her eyes for a moment and thought she was going to smile. But she did not. And I said firmly: “He said he was the Son of God because he was the Son of God.”
Later I read an article in the Easter paper of one of the largest cities in South America. The author was a minister with letters after his name. I read the entire article and in the half a page given front page notice, he never mentioned the Lord of heaven and earth, the Redeemer, the Savior. He always spoke of “Jesus.” He quoted two or three scriptures which mentioned Jesus of Nazareth as being more than the carpenter’s son, but never in his writing did he ever give any other title to the Christ who shed his precious blood for him.
During the same trip, I asked 400 missionaries gathered in a meeting, “What think ye of Christ and the claims that are made?” And I heard 400 inspiring testimonies from youth—sure testimonies, ringing with conviction.
I am reminded of what Paul said: “And I, brethren, when I came to you, came not with excellency of speech or of wisdom, declaring unto you the testimony of God.
“For I determined not to know anything among you, save Jesus Christ, and him crucified” (1 Cor. 2:1–2).
I could not see how we could really celebrate an Easter without discussing the Lord Jesus Christ. Why even the devils know that Jesus is the Christ. On one occasion the devils came crying out and saying, “Thou art Christ the Son of God. And he rebuking them suffered them not to speak: for they knew that he was Christ” (Luke 4:41). On another occasion “the evil spirit answered and said, Jesus I know, and Paul I know; but who are ye?” (Acts 19:15). And another time, “they cried out saying, What have we to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of God? art thou come hither to torment us before the time?” (Matt. 8:29).
I believe that there was a considerable conviction in the heart of Pilate, who was constrained by his conscience to let the Savior go free, but because of political ambitions and other reasons, in spite of his wife’s importuning, he delivered him to be crucified. But even after that, he wrote on the cross in three languages—Hebrew, Greek, and Latin—this famous statement: “Jesus of Nazareth the King of the Jews.” The Jews, offended, came and said:
“Write not, The King of the Jews; but that he said, I am King of the Jews.
“Pilate answered, What I have written I have written” (see John 19:19–22).
You have read of Nathanael, the man without guile, who said, as he saw the Christ: “Rabbi, thou art the Son of God; thou art the King of Israel” (John 1:49).
Paul had hardly made his transformation, had just barely received back his sight from his unusual experience when he went straightway into the synagogues and preached Christ, “that he is the Son of God.”
Why will the divines of the day purposely avoid the names of the Deity whom they would choose to call only Jesus? There are tens of thousands of Jesuses in the world. In all the Spanish-speaking countries you find them on every hand. They pronounce it Ha-sús, but it is Jesus. But there was only one Jesus who became the Prince of Light, the Author of our salvation.
Joseph Smith said: “I had actually seen a light, and in the midst of that light I saw two Personages, and they did in reality speak to me; and though I was hated and persecuted for saying that I had seen a vision, yet it was true; and while they were persecuting me, reviling me, and speaking all manner of evil against me falsely for so saying, I was led to say in my heart: Why persecute me for telling the truth? I have actually seen a vision; and who am I that I can withstand God, or why does the world think to make me deny what I have actually seen? For I had seen a vision; I knew it, and I knew that God knew it, and I could not deny it, neither dared I do it; at least I knew that by so doing I would offend God, and come under condemnation” (JS—H 1:25).
You remember what Peter said when the disciples were asked, “Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?” They spoke up and said men thought him to be Elias or one of the other prophets, and then the Lord said again, and I can imagine his piercing eyes, wondering and expectant eyes, “But whom say ye that I am?” And the answer was one of the most stirring and glorious of all statements made, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.” And the next statement must never be overlooked: “Flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven” (see Matt. 16:13–17). In other words, man has not told you this, but my Father has revealed it unto thee; a great revelation has come unto thee, and thou knowest it.
I asked 400 missionaries the Lord’s question which faces every man, woman, and child on this earth: “Whom do ye say that I the Son of man am?” And I was gratified at the hundreds of replies saying “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.”
And that is my testimony to you, that Jesus is indeed the Christ, the living Son of the living God.

The boys in the back of the bus chanted mean words as Amanda and her brother Hyrum stood to leave. The chanting wasn’t loud enough for the bus driver to hear, but the other kids heard and started to laugh and point.
Amanda’s face reddened. She could feel the anger rise within her. Those older boys were always making trouble. She turned around and told them to stop it, but they laughed and continued saying mean things. Hyrum nudged her to keep moving toward the exit.
When Amanda and her brother finally got off the bus, Amanda thought the teasing would stop. Instead the older boys kept yelling through the windows. Amanda wanted to yell mean things back, but Hyrum whispered, “Just keep walking.”
When the bus was finally out of sight, Amanda turned to her brother and exploded. “Didn’t those boys make you mad?”
“Of course they made me mad,” Hyrum said. “But they act worse if we show how much it bugs us.”
“It does bug me. We should tell Mom and Dad,” Amanda said.
“We will as soon as we get home,” promised her brother. “Did you know this sort of thing happened to me last year? When I was in middle school and you were still in fourth grade, some boys at school were saying rude things to me. Mom told me to hear the hidden message.”
Amanda wrinkled her face. “What hidden message?”
“Those boys are saying one thing with their mouths and hands, but Mom says the real message they’re sending is they don’t feel good about themselves. So they try to feel more powerful by being mean to others. My teacher said the same thing. She said people who bully others are really insecure.”
“I guess those guys are really, really insecure then!”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Hyrum said. “They announced it to the whole bus!”
Amanda thought about Hyrum’s words as they turned onto their street. Hearing the hidden message may not have changed the situation, but it helped her not feel so angry about it. “Come on, I’ll race you to the house!” she challenged her brother, and she sprinted down the sidewalk. She wasn’t going to let the boys ruin the rest of her day.

Many years after that experience, when I was approaching age nineteen, my bishop, A. Palmer Holt, asked me to serve a mission. I told him that I couldn’t go. When he asked me why, I said, “I can’t go out and teach the gospel because my testimony isn’t strong enough. I like what I hear at church, but I don’t think that I could tell people to join if I don’t know for myself that it’s true.”
Bishop Holt did not criticize my lack of faith. He simply asked, “How long are you going to stay in this condition? Are you just going to continue because of your parents’ or your friends’ testimonies, or are you going to find out for yourself? You have to pay the price. I suggest that you pray about it and spend time seriously studying the scriptures.
The bishop’s counsel gave me much to think about. I had been attending the University of Utah at the time, but I didn’t register for the next quarter of school. Instead, I stayed home and for the first time made an honest attempt to truly study the Bible, the Book of Mormon, the Pearl of Great Price, and the Doctrine and Covenants. I prayed to Heavenly Father often, asking Him to bless me with a testimony.
About two months went by, and nothing happened. Then one Sunday I came late to testimony meeting and slipped quietly into the chapel to sit on the back row. As I listened to the ward members bearing their testimonies, I remember one sister in particular saying she knew that the Book of Mormon was true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I thought, I wish I could say that.
Suddenly I found myself on my feet, expressing my feelings about the gospel and saying that I knew it was true. I felt as though I were on fire. There was no doubt in my mind about the gospel’s truthfulness.
That testimony meeting was a turning point for me. It was an overwhelming experience, and ever since that day, I have known that Jesus is the Christ and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is His Church upon the earth today.
I know that the promise given in Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5] is true, that if you pay the price by spending time studying the scriptures and praying sincerely to Heavenly Father, you can receive a witness of the Holy Ghost. It happened to me, and my testimony has remained firm ever since.
Soon after that meeting, I was in Denmark, preaching the gospel as a missionary. It was wonderful to be able to promise people that if they would read the Book of Mormon and pray with sincere hearts, the Holy Ghost would witness to them of the truthfulness of the gospel. For me, that witness has returned again and again. I have learned that the Spirit comes in different ways. I had felt the Spirit before my experience in testimony meeting, but I simply hadn’t recognized it.

When President George Albert Smith was a boy, he had an experience that changed his life. He wrote:
“As a child, thirteen years of age, I went to school at the Brigham Young Academy. … I cannot remember much of what was said during the year that I was there, but there is one thing that I will probably never forget. … Dr. Karl G. Maeser one day stood up and said, ‘Not only will you be held accountable for the things you do, but you will be held responsible for the very thoughts you think.’
“Being a boy, not in the habit of controlling my thoughts very much, it was quite a puzzle to me what I was to do, and it worried me. About a week or ten days after that I suddenly understood what he meant: You will be held accountable for your thoughts, because when your life is completed in mortality, it will be the sum of your thoughts. That one suggestion has been a great blessing to me all my life, and it has helped me on many occasions to avoid improper thoughts, because I realize that when my life is over I will be the product of my thoughts.” (Sharing the Gospel with Others [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1948], pages 62–63).

On a wonderful Sunday morning, my 12-year-old son King Benjamin Chukwu-Sancho joined us to the chapel.
This particular Sunday was different. He had been looking forward to this day for months, the day he would receive the Aaronic Priesthood. I had often shared stories of how the priesthood had blessed our family. One experience in particular stood out: When young King Benjamin had been gravely ill, the stake president and I had united in faith to administer a priesthood blessing. Miraculously, he recovered.
Ben felt the weight of the responsibility and privilege he was about to receive, a responsibility tied to the restored priesthood authority of God.
Returning to young King Ben’s story, as he sat to receive the Aaronic Priesthood, he felt a deep sense of peace and purpose. His journey as a priesthood holder would involve growth, faith, and opportunities to serve. Ben’s experience mirrors the invitation extended to all members of the Church to honor and uphold the priesthood in their lives.

Jeff Coffey couldn’t believe his good luck. Crab Island was “his” until next summer! He’d always lived on the mainland during the winter, but this year his mom was going to teach him at home on the island. He swung his ax over his head, determined to have the wood chopped and piled before his dad returned with the last load of supplies. Once the channel iced over, it would be almost impossible to get any more supplies before spring. He looked anxiously at the leaden skies. Already the wind was picking up.
As soon as his dad’s boat landed, Jeff wouldn’t care what the weather did. He was glad to be having school and Primary at home. The wind pushed his straight brown hair across his blue eyes. He lowered the ax to brush his hair back with a muscular hand.
Thinking about his Primary teacher, Sister Bartlett, made his lips tighten as he remembered how she had made a big deal out of reminding the class to pray every day to Heavenly Father. She must have seen the smirk on his face, because she had looked him directly in the eye and said, “There’ll come a time, Jeff, when praying is all that you’re going to have to pull you through a tough spot.”
While Jeff looked again at the sky, the strong wind picked up gravel and slapped it against his legs. He’d better get the sheep. As for Sister Bartlett’s advice, Jeff knew that he could handle anything that came up—and handle it all by himself, just as he always had.
He ran to the park in the middle of the little island town, where he saw Mr. Gordon herding the sheep with his white cane. The reclusive, cranky old man had been dubbed the Off-Islander because he always stayed behind when the summer vacationers left. “Mr. Gordon! It’s me—Jeff Coffey.”
Mr. Gordon turned his head toward the sound of Jeff’s voice. “Your sheep are scared in this wind,” he rasped. “Take them home and pen them up.”
Jeff nodded, forgetting for a moment that the old man was blind. The wind pried a board off a shuttered cabin window and sailed it over the backs of the sheep. It thudded against a tree.
“You’d better follow me home,” Jeff yelled above the now-howling wind. “It’s cranking up to be a bad storm.”
Mr. Gordon swatted the air with his hand. “It makes no difference to me if the weather’s fair or stormy,” he growled. “I can’t see it.”
“It isn’t safe for you to be out alone in this storm,” Jeff persisted. “It’s bad enough that my dad’s not home yet.”
“What’s that? Your father went to the mainland?”
“He went for the last of our supplies, and he isn’t back yet. He should be here anytime, though,” Jeff said.
Mr. Gordon was silent; then he spoke sharply. “Get on home, boy! Take care of your animals!”
“Yes, sir.” Jeff turned to the milling sheep, and the old man tapped his way down the street.
By the time that Jeff gathered the sheep safely in the barn, the sky was dark with thick snow. When he got to the house, he found his mother knotting one end of a rope to the iron ring bolted to the back door. Jeff knew the story of how his grandmother had once saved his grandfather by tying a rope to her waist and then fighting her way through a storm to the bell tower to ring his boat safely home.
“You’ll have to ring the bell for your dad, Jeff,” was all that his mother said now.
Jeff knotted the rope’s loose end around his waist, took the flaring black pot that his mother handed him to light his way to the tower, and started out. Then he looked back at his mother. She was holding her lantern high to given him his bearings. The snow was already piling up, making walking slow and arduous. Jeff had looped the coil of rope loosely over one arm so that he could pay it out as he walked. He could hear the sea thundering against the rocks below.
Ocean spray told Jeff that he was near the bell. After he had located it, he set the kettle of light in the bell cradle’s saucerlike top. When he grabbed the frayed and weathered rope, the coat of ice on it made it slide right through his hands. Twisting the rope around his fist to keep it from slipping, Jeff pulled hard on the rope again and again. The bell’s clang hurt his ears, cold seeped into his bones, and his arms ached. He switched arms, then switched again—first one, then the other. His father had to hear the bell! Jeff couldn’t give up.
Despite his efforts, the rope slipped out of Jeff’s cold hands frequently. And each time it did, the bell went unrung and unheard! Jeff’s shoulders ached; his fingers cramped with cold. He pulled again.
The rope spun away, caught by the wind. Jeff scrambled to catch hold of the rope and lost his footing. He slammed down, face first, against the icy rock. As he struggled to his feet, he felt something warm and wet on his face. His nose was bleeding. He wiped away the blood with a stiff hand.
Grabbing the rope in both hands, Jeff pulled hard. The sound of the bell just had to carry across the thrashing waves to his dad! Jeff’s fingers were numb, and his arms felt as though they had been yanked out of their sockets. He wasn’t sure that he could endure much longer.
The rope snapped out of his hands once more, its icy surface tearing at his already raw palms. Jeff caught a glimpse of his mom’s lantern through the swirling snow. With the baby coming, she depended on Jeff’s endurance.
Suddenly Jeff knew that he’d done all that he could do. He needed help! For once he wasn’t the tough, do-it-himself guy that he’d always been. He’d never been in such a tough spot in his life. Tough spot! That’s what Sister Bartlett said that I’d find myself in one day, Jeff thought. And she said that praying is all that I’d have to pull me through. Well, I’m in the toughest spot that I’ve ever been in, and I sure do need His help!
Humbly Jeff asked Heavenly Father to help him toll the bell for his dad. He asked it in Jesus’ name, then said amen. Knowing that he still had to do his part, too, Jeff kept on struggling to pull the rope.
Almost at once he felt a tug at his waist as if someone were advancing along on the rope still tied there. But his mom’s light still shone from the doorway. …
“Who’s there?” Jeff called.
“Gordon!” came the unexpected answer.
As the Off-Islander loomed into view, Jeff asked, “How did you get here?”
Mr. Gordon gave a short laugh. “I don’t need a light to find my way, boy.”
“B-but why did you come?” Jeff continued pulling the bell rope.
Mr. Gordon shook his head. “I don’t know why. I was warm and dry at home when I got this feeling that you needed help, and I just had to come.”
Jeff smiled as wide as his cracked lips and frozen face allowed. “I know why, Mr. Gordon. Heavenly Father sent you to help me.”
“It’s been a long time since I let myself think about anyone but myself,” said Mr. Gordon, a sense of wonder in his voice. He reached up. “If we pull together, the bell will ring louder.”
Together the old man and Jeff pulled on the rope. The bell clanged above the breaking waves again and again and again. And finally they heard the answering bells on Jeff’s dad’s boat!
Jeff forgot his cracked and blistered hands, his bloody nose, his sore arms. Sister Bartlett was right: Sometimes the only way out of a tough spot is by praying to Heavenly Father for help.

An example of stepping up to serve is found in the life of our own prophet, President Ezra Taft Benson, and the family of which he is a member. President Benson has described to the General Authorities how his father was called to fill a mission. He left behind his wife, who was expecting another child, his seven children, the farm, and all that he had. Did he lose anything? President Benson tells how his mother would gather the family around the kitchen table and there, by the flickering light of an oil-fueled lamp, read the letters from her husband. Several times during the reading there would be a pause to wipe away the tears which flowed freely. The result? Each of the children later served a mission. Each stepped up to serve.

Commissioner Eyring, who was also an Apostle at the time, spent much of the summer of 2001 writing and rewriting the talk President Hinckley had assigned him to give. By early September, he had the Prophet’s approval of his text.
But then the unthinkable happened. On Tuesday, September 11, terrorists destroyed the Twin Towers of New York’s World Trade Center and damaged the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. Nearly 3,000 people were killed, and more than 6,000 were injured.
Like so many others, I will never forget where I was when the awful news came. I lived in Utah at the time and was driving to Church headquarters for a meeting with the seven members of the Presidency of the Seventy. Upon entering their conference room in the Church Administration Building, I felt great gratitude for the peace that prevailed there, notwithstanding our limited knowledge of what was going on in New York and Washington. I will never forget the comfort of Elder Christofferson’s prayer to begin our meeting, which was blessed by the Spirit even in that hour of terrible uncertainty.
Upon returning home, I learned more about the devastation in New York, Washington, and a field in Pennsylvania, as well as the cessation of all air traffic in the United States. My first thought was to call my father. By coincidence, we were both scheduled to give talks to college students the next Tuesday. I expected him to confirm my feeling that we should both cancel our addresses. My talk, on the subject of succeeding in college, seemed trivial and inappropriate under the tragic circumstances of 9/11.
But my father’s reaction was entirely different. He felt that the remarks he had prepared at President Hinckley’s direction would be perfectly appropriate at BYU-Idaho, perhaps even providentially so.
In hindsight, Commissioner Eyring couldn’t have been more right. But, to his credit, he made things work out, in several ways. First, he recognized the connection between the sweeping changes occurring at BYU-Idaho and the great uncertainty that hung over the world in consequence of the apocalyptic terrorist attacks, which seemed repeatable and even unpreventable. He optimistically decided to make the theme of change central to the address that had been in the works for months.
Though there wasn’t time to get President Hinckley’s approval of a new draft, Commissioner Eyring significantly expanded his emphasis on responding productively to change. You can hear that emphasis in this clip from his talk:
Now the other thing I was impressed with is that you were asked to raise your scriptures. I felt as you did that to make a promise to you that I know will be fulfilled because it has been fulfilled for me in the last few days. We live in a time of increasing difficulty and change. Many of us have felt some things that led us to the scriptures. In the last few days, I have found things I had never seen there before because, in my extremity, the Lord showed me things that He had prepared long ago to help me. I’ll make you a promise: If you will, in the next few hours and days, go to the scriptures, you will, as you read them (pick them anywhere that you’re led to read) see scriptures speaking to you as if it was the voice of God, as if He knew your needs and your concerns; and He will tailor that to you, and it will be a witness to you that He knows you and that in that set of scriptures that you lifted above your head is a means by which He can guide you and comfort you. I promise you, you’ll have that experience—and it will be very personal—in the next few days.
In fact, the talk “A Steady, Upward Course” uses some form of the word “change” 44 times. Ironically, not all of those references to change were planned. As if it were a dose of his own medicine, Commissioner Eyring started his talk with a change in his expectations. In those days, teleprompters were still rare. But, in an effort to be on the cutting edge of technology, BYU-Idaho audio/visual specialists Jim Croasmun, Arlen Wilcock, and Alan Young had rigged up a system using laptop computers and cables, the first-ever use of a teleprompter on this campus.
Jim, Arlen, and Alan knew that their prototype system might not work perfectly. But they had spent many days rigging and testing it. And, in the hour leading up to the devotional address, it was working well.
You can guess what happened. Minutes before the talk was to begin, the teleprompter screens went blank. Jim, Arlen, and Alan’s professional lives flashed before their eyes. Yet Commissioner Eyring didn’t miss a beat. In fact, he seemed to feel liberated by the blank teleprompter screens.
President Eyring’s teleprompter never came back on—until a few minutes after he finished speaking. To this day, Brothers Croasmun, Wilcock, and Young can’t explain why. Yet, in hindsight, it was meant to be. President Eyring ended up speaking—mostly off the cuff—for nearly an hour. And the things he said, in the spirit of prophecy, have proven invaluable to generations of BYU-Idaho students and employees.

My older brother and sister, David and Shannon, also had their challenges. When David was one year old, he was severely burned. Scars covered his hands, arms, stomach, and legs. Shannon had a walking disability and was born with a slower mental capacity that often made her act younger than she was. Almost daily children at school made fun of them.
Despite their trials, my brother and sister looked to Christ in everything they did. Both of them served honorable missions. Their humility, constant faith, and perseverance provided wonderful examples. They are everything I want to become.
In this life we may be criticized and persecuted. That’s part of why we came here—to rise above the persecution and become stronger because of it. David, Shannon, and I are better people today for having been faithful in difficult experiences. I often say that everything given to us in life can be either a blessing or a curse. The strength of one’s heart determines which it is.