Gospel Story Finder

In an effort to create replicas of the golden plates for the Museum of Church History and Art, historians have studied and compiled all the accounts from those who saw or felt the plates and then used that knowledge—and some educated guesses—to create three sets of golden plates for display. Each set varies a little in color, weight, and dimensions. The plates were created as part of the celebration of the 200th anniversary of Joseph Smith’s birth.

With all these descriptions, historians have little more than a general idea of what the plates look like. But they’ve done the best they can with the information they have.

The process to create the replicas of the plates was long and a little complicated. First, thin copper plates were created and coated in black acid-resistant paint. More than 150 volunteers, many of them youth, then used sharp metal tools to scratch characters into the black surface, exposing the copper beneath. The museum provided examples of what the characters might have looked like.

“This isn’t as much work as the ancient prophets did,” said April Rowbury, 15, of the Provo Eighth Ward, Provo Utah East Stake. “It was hard, but it wasn’t as hard as it was for them, because they had to engrave on the actual metal.”

“This is all very speculative,” says Kirk Henrichsen, a senior exhibit designer for the Church museum. “We’ve made them as accurately as we could with the information that we have, but I’m sure if Mormon came to look at them he would just laugh!”

After the volunteers engraved the characters in the black paint, the next step was to soak the plates in a copper etching solution. The solution ate away at the exposed copper, leaving the surfaces beneath the black paint intact. The solution was then rinsed off, and kerosene was used to clean off the remaining black acid-resistant paint. Soapy water cleaned off the kerosene, and then the clean copper plates were electroplated.

Electroplating coats the plates in a thin layer of a golden colored alloy of gold and silver, called electrum. Electrum is not as heavy or as precious as gold. Black ink will then be rubbed into the etched characters to make them more visible.

Keith Chapman, a forward at the University of Utah, is a returned missionary from the Germany Frankfurt Mission. As he was growing up, he had always planned to go on a mission. But when the time came to submit his papers, the game plan became a little more complicated. “The NCAA started having a controversy about whether missionaries would lose eligibility or not. That was the first hesitation I ever felt about my decision to serve a mission. After praying, I decided I was going to go at any rate. The NCAA then decided that we would keep our eligibility.”
On his mission Keith learned to keep an eternal perspective on things. “Before my mission, basketball was my whole life. Now I know there are more important things like staying worthy and looking more into the eternities than just to the next game.”

I wanted to save more tadpoles, so Dad and I went to the creek near General Vallejo’s old historic adobe place. There wasn’t much water left in the creek, just puddles with tadpoles in them. When the water dried up, they would die—unless we rescued them. Dad and I caught hundreds of those tadpoles in our jars and took them to the lake. Dad said that God wouldn’t waste time creating anything He didn’t love. The least we could do was respect His creations and help whenever, wherever, and whatever we could—tadpoles included!
One day while we were taking tadpoles out of the creek, Dad looked troubled. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’m worried about Eddie Porter,” Dad replied. Dad was Brother Porter’s home teacher, and he and his companion could never get Brother Porter to let them into his home. “He doesn’t come to church,” Dad said. “He’s getting old, lives alone, and has a lot of problems. He seems depressed most of the time, and I think he believes that God has given up on him.”
Dad scooped out three tadpoles and dumped them into a pail of water. “He never says much when Brother Phillips and I talk to him at the door. Just nods and says he has things to do. But last month when we stopped by, he had moved. Where, I don’t know.” Dad looked up the creek bed as if he hoped he might spot Brother Porter coming out of the heat rising from the rocks like a thin, wavy wall. “I doubt he moved out of town, because he has lived here all his life,” Dad continued. “I’ve got to find him, Matt.”
“Why, Dad?” I was confused. “If Brother Porter wants to be alone, why worry about it?”
“He’s my responsibility, son,” Dad explained. “And I feel that he’s in real need. Brother Phillips is out of town for a couple of months, so I’ll try to find Brother Porter on my own.” Dad smiled at me. “Unless, of course, you’d like to help.”
“But what about these tadpoles, Dad? If we don’t get them moved, they’ll die. They want to be helped. Brother Porter doesn’t.”
“They have enough water to last a few more weeks. But I don’t know if Eddie Porter has the same amount of willpower,” Dad said. “Besides,” he added in a voice that made me look straight at him, “like you and me, Brother Porter is a child of God. The scriptures teach us that the Savior spent His entire life loving, lifting, and healing others. These little critters are important, but what is more important than all these tadpoles?”
“Brother Porter?” I guessed.
For the next two weeks, Dad and I were like detectives. We searched for clues, asked questions, and talked to people. But most of all we prayed that Heavenly Father would lead us to the right house.
Then one evening Dad and I walked up to a little old place, kind of jammed between two warehouses near the canal. Dad knocked on the rusty screen door, and we waited.
We were about to leave when the door opened. The old man standing behind the screen seemed like a ghost—kind of there and not there at the same time. He had whiskers and wore rumpled, worn-out clothes.
“Brother Porter,” Dad said.
The old man’s eyes looked sad and surprised, maybe even angry. “How did you find me?” he asked.
Dad smiled. “It wasn’t easy, Eddie. It’s taken us two weeks.”
Brother Porter looked at me. I guess I was nervous because my voice was shaky. “Hi, Brother Porter.”
Brother Porter looked back up at Dad. “Why?” he said. “Why did you want to find me? I’ve never—”
“Because you’re important, Brother Porter,” I said. “You’re a child of God. He loves you. And so do we. Yep, we do.” I said it again because he looked so surprised. It was quiet for a little bit, so I said, “Dad and I were saving tadpoles from the creek that’s drying up, but Dad wanted to start looking for you instead. You’re more important than all the tadpoles that ever hatched. Mom thinks so, too.” I held out a lunch bag. “She made some cookies for you.”
Brother Porter turned away from us. I thought he was still mad at us for bothering him, but when he turned back, he was crying. He pushed open the door. “Won’t you come in?” Dad didn’t say anything. He was crying, too.
We went inside, and Dad squeezed my hand. Suddenly I knew how important Eddie Porter—and everyone else—was. Jesus wouldn’t have spent His whole life helping others if it weren’t so.
The tadpoles could wait. They would be all right. Dad and I needed to make sure that Brother Porter would be all right first.

To illustrate, I think I would like to share with you one of my failures. I suppose some people think I have never experienced failure. I have. Let me tell you of one such instance.
Sixty-three years ago, while serving as a missionary in the British Isles, my companion and I taught, and it was my pleasure to baptize, a young man. He was well educated. He was refined. He was studious. I was so proud of this gifted young man who had come into the Church. I felt he had all of the qualifications someday to become a leader among our people.
He was in the course of making the big adjustment from convert to member. For a short period before I was released, mine was the opportunity to be his friend. Then I was released to return home. He was given a small responsibility in the branch in London. He knew nothing of what was expected of him. He made a mistake. The head of the organization where he served was a man I can best describe as being short on love and strong on criticism. In a rather unmerciful way, he went after my friend who had made the simple mistake.
The young man left our rented hall that night smarting and hurt by his superior officer. He said to himself, “If that is the kind of people they are, then I am not going back.”
He drifted into inactivity. The years passed. The war came on, and he served in the British forces. His first wife died. After the war he married a woman whose father was a Protestant minister. That did not help his belief.
When I was in England, I tried desperately to find him. His file contained no record of a current address. I came home and finally, after a long search, was able to track him down.
I wrote to him. He responded but with no mention of the gospel.
When next I was in London, I again searched for him. The day I was to leave, I found him. I called him, and we met in the underground station. He threw his arms around me as I did around him. I had very little time before I had to catch my plane, but we talked briefly and with what I think was a true regard for one another. He gave me another embrace before I left. I determined that I would never lose track of him again. Through the years I wrote to him, letters that I hoped would give encouragement and incentive to return to the Church. He wrote in reply without mentioning the Church.
The years passed. I grew older as did he. He retired from his work and moved to Switzerland. On one occasion when I was in Switzerland, I went out of my way to find the village where he lived. We spent the better part of a day together—he, his wife, my wife, and myself. We had a wonderful time, but it was evident that the fire of faith had long since died. I tried every way I knew, but I could not find a way to rekindle it. I continued my correspondence. I sent him books, magazines, recordings of the Tabernacle Choir, and other things, for which he expressed appreciation.
He died a few months ago. His wife wrote me to inform me of this. She said, “You were the best friend he ever had.”
Tears coursed my cheeks when I read that letter. I knew I had failed. Perhaps if I had been there to pick him up when he was first knocked down, he might have made a different thing of his life. I think I could have helped him then. I think I could have dressed the wound from which he suffered. I have only one comfort: I tried. I have only one sorrow: I failed.

Olá! My name is Alice, and I try to SHINE MY LIGHT by SHOWING GRATITUDE!
I live in Brazil with my parents and sister and brother. My sister Julia and I play the piano for sacrament meeting in our ward.
One Sunday, a man named Brother Stahlke gave us a present. He said it was a gift to thank us for the music we played on Sundays. When we opened the box, we found a special kind of flute inside! I put the flute together and started playing. I was enchanted by the sound.
Soon I started playing hymns on the flute. I wanted to do something to thank Brother Stahlke for the gift. So I practiced the hymn “How Great the Wisdom and the Love” (Hymns, no. 195). I asked my dad to take me to Brother Stahlke’s house so I could show him that his gift helped me discover a new talent.
When I played for Brother Stahlke, he was very happy and emotional. He told me that he had a dream about this hymn the night before! I felt the love of God for him and for me.
When we show gratitude, the Lord blesses us with happy feelings from the Holy Ghost.

On at least one occasion, I gave a spiritual thought with one message in mind, and the Spirit conveyed a totally different message to a student who was listening. Here is one such example from an anonymous student:

Thank you so much for your spiritual thoughts. A few weeks ago you shared a scripture that really changed my life, no exaggeration. I had been on a bit of a downward spiral, and to tell you the truth, during the first month of class it kind of irritated me that we would have “spiritual thought time” in a finance class, when the thought would have nothing to do with what we were talking about. The scripture you shared was in [Doctrine and Covenants] where the Lord tells Joseph that he is chosen, but because of transgression he will fall if he isn’t careful. He tells Joseph to repent and that he is still chosen and called again to the work, but if he does not repent, he will lose his gift and his chosen status (see D&C 3:4–11). That scripture hit me hard and started a chain reaction of introspection with my wife into our lives, so that now I feel like I’m back on a spiritual high akin to that on my mission.

This week I found out that my dad has been [struggling with personal issues that would in the end cause him to leave my mother]. . . . [Y]esterday I was able to talk to him and share everything that has happened to me over the last month (starting with your scripture) to help me find my testimony again and get myself back on track. I felt the Spirit so strong, and I know he did, too.

I’m telling you this story because it is very likely that your scripture not only saved me, but it could save my family and my parents’ temple marriage. If my dad could [move beyond his struggles] to making the right decision, it would be nothing short of a miracle—all because of how you have let the Lord work through you. Don’t ever stop the spiritual thoughts, no matter what anyone else says! Thank you!

A couple weeks later, I received this follow-up from this unknown student in the suggestion box:

I just wanted you to know that over the past two weeks my dad got his act together. My parents are going to stay together! His testimony is starting to return, and he is committed now to working hard on it and his marriage. Thank you! I truly believe this is all because of your spiritual thoughts.

I learned an important lesson about service after the birth of my second son, Derek. I had just come home from the hospital and the Relief Society called to tell me that they would be bringing in dinner for my family. That was a nice thing to do and I was appreciative of their thoughtfulness. That evening the doorbell rang and I was very surprised when I opened the door. There was my visiting teacher, Paula Sonderegger, with soup, bread, and homemade doughnuts.

Now it isn't unusual for a visiting teacher to bring dinner, but Paula's family had been going through a very hard time. Her husband had recently been ill and they had a son that was facing treatment for a brain tumor. Yet here she was with dinner for my family. I responded to her that she shouldn't have done this for me when her need was much more than mine. Her response has stayed with me all these years and has been a great lesson in my life. She said that it was good for her family to reach out and serve others during their challenging time. They could forget their own worries for a little bit as they concentrated on others. Her husband, Ferron, even made the doughnuts for us. I gratefully accepted their gift of dinner, which was wonderful, but even more so I gratefully accepted the lesson on service. Over the years I have remembered this many times when it felt like I had too much on my plate to take the time to give service. But giving when it is a sacrifice is often the time that it means the most.

Two hours after our fifth child, Angelique, was born, she began crying with every breath and started to turn purple. We realized something terrible was happening.
Medical tests indicated that Angelique had group B streptococcus, a serious illness for newborn babies. She was immediately transferred to a hospital that specialized in such problems. I was weighed down by worry as my new baby was taken away in an ambulance.
After I was released from the hospital two days later, I went directly to see Angelique. As I walked into the neonatal intensive care unit, I was gripped with fear. Two doctors and many nurses were surrounding my daughter. She was hooked up to so much machinery that I could hardly see her little body.
I pulled one doctor aside and asked, “Will she live?” He looked at me grimly and said, “We aren’t sure at this point, but we will do everything we can for her.” He asked me to go home and rest.
As my husband drove me home, we did not speak. We were both too worried. My husband went back to the hospital to give our daughter a blessing and to spend the night outside the intensive care unit.
That night as I tucked our other four children into bed, my oldest, who was seven, cried because she couldn’t hold Angelique. We had told the children that Angelique might not live, but they didn’t really understand.
I went to my room and offered the most sincere prayer of my life. I told Heavenly Father how much I loved Angelique but that He could take her if that was His will. I explained that I knew we were an eternal family and expressed gratitude for my temple marriage. In that instant a feeling of peace, love, and even happiness came over me—a feeling I’ll never forget.
I then had a distinct feeling that Angelique needed to hear our voices. My children had often “talked” to Angelique before she was born. She had been with us when we said family prayers, when we ate dinner together, and when I was singing. Now she was hearing only strangers in the hospital.
I woke the children, and they eagerly took turns sharing messages with Angelique using a tape recorder. We sang familiar Primary songs and told her how much we loved her. We told her that we would care for her and do things with her if she would get better. The next morning I took the tape recorder to the hospital and asked the nurses to lay it at the end of Angelique’s bassinet and play the tape for her continuously.
When I returned to the hospital later in the day, an excited nurse greeted me and told me the most amazing thing had happened.
Angelique was on a respirator that recorded when she was breathing on her own and when the machine was doing the work. When our tape was playing, she started to breathe on her own half the time. When the tape stopped, the machine would do all of her breathing for her again. It was amazing to watch her little body perk up when the tape played. The nurses played the tape around the clock. Angelique slowly recovered and was able to come home two weeks later.
I believe strongly in the power of prayer and a family’s love. I have a testimony that Heavenly Father does hear our prayers and that if we seek His will, He will inspire us through the Holy Ghost.

Speaking of a marriage meant to last, let me just share some tender remarks made by President Hinckley about Sister Hinckley near the end of their lives. He said:

"May I be personal for a moment? I sat at dinner across the table from my wife the other evening. It was fifty-five years ago that we were married in the Salt Lake Temple. The wondrous aura of young womanhood was upon her. She was beautiful, and I was bewitched. Now, for more than half a century, we have walked together through much of storm as well as sunshine. Today neither of us stands as tall as we once did. As I looked at her across the table, I noted a few wrinkles in her face and hands. But are they less beautiful than before? No, in fact, they are more so. Those wrinkles have a beauty of their own, and inherent in their very presence is something that speaks reassuringly of strength and integrity and a love that runs more deeply and quietly than ever before."[14]

Now this is an example of lasting love! When you marry, don’t marry for looks, wealth, or any other fading quality. Look for someone who will “wear well” as we like to say in my family. Look for a marriage that will last.

Marianne pulled her sweater around her as she walked home from church. She loved autumn. The air was cool and crisp, the trees had turned a beautiful orange and yellow, and the layer of snow on the top of the mountains reflected the sunlight.
Her older brother walked ahead; her mom was still in the meetinghouse library. Marianne knew that when she got home, her dad would be sitting in the family room, reading the newspaper, as he had every Sunday for as long as she could remember.
She sighed and looked down at the paper cup in her hand. Jesus often taught the gospel by talking about seeds. Today her CTR teacher had helped her and her classmates plant seeds and told them about Alma’s teachings about faith. Marianne knew that every time she looked at her little plant, she would remember that Jesus wanted her to plant His words in her heart and to always choose the right.
Right now, though, she was thinking about some different seeds—missionary seeds she had learned about a couple of weeks ago at the Primary activity. The Primary president had talked about the ones we plant when we talk to people who are not members of the Church.
Her father was not a member of the Church, and she wanted to help him gain a testimony. She thought about the things she did and said when she was with him. Sometimes she forgot to obey quickly, and sometimes she and her big brother fought. But she was trying her best to be a good example, and she prayed for her father all the time. Today she wondered if maybe there was something more she could be doing. She decided to ask her mom about it.
Right after school the next day, Marianne put on her warmest sweatshirt and went out in the front yard to help her mom plant tulip bulbs. The sun warmed her back, but her face and hands felt the bite of fall. Her mom hummed as she dug the holes, and Marianne put in the bulbs and covered them with the dark, cool dirt.
“I’m glad you came out to help me,” Mom said, smiling. “When these come up in the spring, they will be twice as beautiful because we planted them together.”
Marianne smiled back, then cleared her throat. “Mom, remember our Primary activity a few weeks ago?”
“The missionary activity?”
“Yes. We talked about setting a good example for our nonmember friends and about sharing our testimonies.”
“Those are good things to do.”
“Well, I wondered if there is something else I should be doing … you know, with Dad, so he can be a member too.”
Mom thought for a minute. “I think we’re doing all we can.”
“Well, then, when is he going to get baptized?”
“We just have to be patient, Marianne. Sometimes it takes a little time.”
Marianne felt confused. She had a strong testimony that the Church was true. If she could tell him and show him, why didn’t her dad see how right it was? She wrinkled her nose and looked at her mother for an explanation.
Mom smiled at her. “Marianne, go in my room and get my scriptures. We’ll see if we can find an answer there.”
It only took a minute to get the scriptures. Marianne sat on the porch step and handed the worn brown books to her mother.
Brushing the dirt off her hands, Mom carefully turned the pages. She handed the book to Marianne and said, “Read aloud from Matthew 13:3–8 [Matt. 13:3–8].”
“‘And he spake many things unto them in parables, saying, Behold, a sower went forth to sow;
“‘And when he sowed, some seeds fell by the way side, and the fowls came and devoured them up:
“‘Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth: and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth:
“‘And when the sun was up, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they withered away.
“‘And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprung up, and choked them:
“‘But other fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit. …’”
“What do you think this parable is saying?” Mom asked.
“Well, it says that not all the seeds that were planted grew. Some didn’t have good soil, weeds choked some, and some were eaten by birds.” She paused a second, then, with a troubled look, asked, “Do you mean that you don’t think our seeds will grow? You don’t think that Dad will ever join the Church?” Tears started to gather in her eyes.
“No, Marianne. I do believe that your dad will join the Church. I just don’t know when. You see, the seeds we plant are very important, but so is the soil. The heart has to be ready to receive. Your dad has to do that for himself; no one can do it for him or force him.”
“But Dad is the best!”
“Yes, he is. He’s a great man.” Mom thought a minute as she returned to the flower bed, dug in the ground, and placed a tulip bulb in the hole. “Look at these bulbs we’re planting. They aren’t going to grow now. No matter how we care for them, these tulip bulbs have to lie in the soil all winter long if they are to be ready to grow in the spring. Do you understand?”
Marianne was silent for a moment. “I guess so. We have to set a good example, share our testimonies, and love Dad. Then we have to wait until the seeds are ready to grow, right?”
“Yes, that is right. And while we’re waiting, we continue to support him as the head of our home.”
“And we can still pray.”
“Yes, sweetheart, we always pray. Does that help you?”
“Yes. I feel much better.”
“Good. It looks like we’re just about done here. Let’s finish up and go fix a nice dinner to welcome Dad home from work.”
As Marianne was putting the last things on the table, Dad drove in the driveway. She ran to give him a hug. “Hi, Dad!”
“Hi, sweet pea. What have my two best girls been doing?”
The “two best girls” shared a look of understanding before Marianne took Dad’s hand, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and said, “Oh, just planting some seeds.”

“Abrams, Frank.”
“Here.”
“Bellerose, John.”
“Yeah.”
“Brown, Cindy.”
“Yo.”
“Cassady, Michelle.”
“Present.”
“Crandall, Alan.”
“Here.”
Mr. Rodenburg, my sixth-period English teacher, paused, just like all my other teachers had, looked up from his roll book, and stared at me.
“Are you Jim Crandall’s little brother?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to hide my embarrassment.
“He sure was a great football player. What’s he doing now?”
That was the fifth time that day I’d heard the exact same question.
“He’s at BYU.”
“You think he’ll play much this year?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
He eyed me curiously. “Do you play football?” Somebody in the back of the room snickered, and I felt my face redden as it always did when people asked me that.
“I, … ah, used to, but I don’t anymore.”
Mr. Rodenburg looked surprised. “Really? Jim Crandall’s little brother doesn’t play football? I guess he must have hogged up all the football genes in your family, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I muttered.
He finally left me alone and continued calling the roll.
Now don’t get me wrong. I love my big brother, Jim, but I hate being referred to as “Jim Crandall’s little brother.”
I can’t blame people, though, because Jim is pretty great. Before he graduated last year he broke every school football record a linebacker can break. He was all-state and all-America in football, lettered in basketball and track, and had football scholarship offers from everywhere in the universe. He was also in the National Honor Society, the Key Club, and was the senior class vice-president.
Jim was the kind of guy every teacher wants for a student, every coach wants for a player, every bishop wants in his priests quorum, every parent wants for a son, and every little brother doesn’t want for a big brother. Jim was Mr. Perfect, and as Mr. Perfect’s little brother, I was stuck trying to follow his act.
And Jim was a tough act to follow. Where he got A’s, I was lucky to get B’s and C’s. At 6 feet, 4 inches, and 220 pounds, Jim was built like a Greek statue; at 6 feet, 1 inch, and 160 pounds, I was built like a flimsy scarecrow. Before he went to BYU, Jim was the bishop’s Joseph (you know, the kid with the coat of many colors): priests quorum first assistant, seminary president, and Mr. Model Premissionary. He read the scriptures, lived the commandments, and earned his Eagle Scout Award when he was 16. I wanted to follow in his footsteps—who wouldn’t?—but I knew I could never measure up to my big brother.
Not that that bothered Jim.
“Hey look,” he told me after I got cut from the junior varsity football team, “it doesn’t make a bit of difference to me, or anybody else who matters, if you play football or not. You’ve got to be your own man, Alan. There are only two people you really need to worry about pleasing: Alan Crandall and,” he pointed upward, “Him.”
Sometimes, Jim reminded me of our bishop. Can you believe that—an 18-year-old kid who sounds like a bishop? I looked at Jim without smiling. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who got cut.”
“Maybe so, but believe me, Alan, football, basketball, all these high school sports are short-term stuff. You can’t play forever.”
“I still wish I had made the team.”
He stood up and slapped me on the back. “Well, it’s not the end of the world. There’s always next year, and there are other sports too, but life doesn’t revolve around sports. Remember that, Alan.”
I tried to remember that all football season as I watched Jim play the hero’s role in game after game.
I tried to remember that when I was cut from the JV basketball team two months later.
And I tried to remember that in the spring of my sophomore year, Jim’s senior year, when Coach Kerby talked to me after practice.
“Look, Crandall,” he said, “even though you’re Jim Crandall’s little brother, I don’t think you’re going to have much chance at running in any of our meets this season. You’re welcome to stick it out, but I wouldn’t blame you if you hung it up right now.”
He paused, looked at his watch, then at his clipboard, waiting for my answer.
I didn’t know what to say. “Let me think about it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He nodded and headed for the locker room.
“What’d Coach want?” Jim asked on our way home from practice.
“He said he wants to cut me.”
“No way. He’s never cut anybody from the track team.”
“Yeah, but he’s never had me try out either.”
“Knock it off, Alan. You know he won’t cut you if you want to stay on the team. What did he really say?”
I told him.
“So what are you going to tell him tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got to think about it.”
I ended up deciding to stay on the track team, not so much for the competition, but for the exercise. I didn’t participate in a meet all season, but I enjoyed it anyway. I was on the team because I wanted to be on the team, not because I thought people expected me to be.
And that same spring, Jim managed to find time between track meets and awards banquets, to accept a football scholarship from BYU. His choice didn’t surprise anybody. Where else would Mr. Perfect want to go?
“Well, Alan,” he said late one August evening a few days before he left for BYU, “it’s going to be different going to school without my little brother. What’ll you do while I’m gone?”
“I don’t know.”
“You planning on trying out for football again?”
“No, I think Madison High’s football team can survive without me this season. Besides, I don’t want to tarnish your reputation.”
Jim frowned. “I’m not worried about that. You’re one little brother any guy would be proud to have.” He was quiet for a minute. Then he smiled and said, “At least you won’t have to worry about being Jim Crandall’s little brother anymore, will you?”
“It’s not easy being a legend’s brother, but I think I’ll live. It doesn’t bother me anymore, honest, Jim.”
He jumped up, wrapped me in a headlock and messed up my hair. “Well, the school may forget me, but you better not. And I don’t want you getting any ideas about moving into my room. That’s off limits, you know, until I leave for my mission.”
“I know, I know.”
I remember the phone call clearly. Jim had been at BYU for three months, and according to his letters, he had been doing quite well. The coaches told him that if he continued to improve, he’d see some action before the end of the season.
The call came during dinner. “Hello?” said my dad as he answered the kitchen phone. “Yes, this is Mr. Crandall. Yes, Jim’s my son. Oh hello, Coach. This is a surprise. How’s he doing?” Dad’s face grew serious as he listened.
“I see. You say it happened this afternoon? I understand. Thanks for calling.” He carefully hung up the phone and turned to face Mom and me.
“That was Jim’s coach,” he said quietly. “Jim hurt his knee in practice today, and it looks bad. He’s in surgery now, so they won’t know how bad it is until tomorrow morning.”
It was bad. The next morning, a coach from BYU called and said Jim’s knee was so badly damaged that the doctors doubted he would play football again. Jim planned to finish out the last few weeks of classes and come home to prepare for his mission.
When he arrived at home, Jim looked the same, except for the cast and the crutches, of course, but he didn’t act the same. He wasn’t the same old Jim I had known, admired, and envied before he left for BYU.
The injury had changed my brother—almost as if it had knocked his usual rock-hard confidence and steadiness right out of him. He spent most of his time on the family room couch watching TV, reading, or lying on his back staring blankly at the ceiling. He rarely spoke, and when he did, he limited his speech to sighs, moans, and one word sentences like, “Yeah,” “Uh-uh,” and “Maybe.”
For a while, Jim’s friends visited him regularly, but he was so distant, so depressed that their visits became less frequent.
“Alan,” he told me as we sat watching TV one night, “this is crazy. I was second string, on the traveling squad. Everything was going great, and wham—it all fell apart. I just can’t believe it.”
“I don’t even know about a mission anymore,” he said tiredly. “With a bum leg, I doubt if they’d take me anyway. Who wants a handicapped companion to drag around from door to door?”
That surprised me. “What do you mean? You’ve always planned on going on a mission, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, but I always planned on playing college football too. Now that this has happened, I don’t know what I’m going to do, even what I can do. Everything I’ve planned for, worked for, seems like it’s gone to pieces.” He looked at me in misery. “Alan, what should I do?”
I didn’t know how to answer him. Almost all my life, I had been looking up to him, following his example, and now he was lying there, asking me, his little brother, for advice.
Then I had an idea. “Hey look, Big Brother,” I said reaching over to mess up his hair, “it doesn’t make any difference to me, or anybody else who matters, if you play football or not. There are only two people you really need to worry about pleasing: Jim Crandall and,” I pointed upward, “Him.”
When he recognized his speech, Jim grinned, for the first time in a long time. “Why you little smart aleck. That’s my sermon you’re preaching. Haven’t you ever heard about copyrights?”
“Nope.” I tapped his cast lightly. “Jim, I’m really sorry about your knee and everything, but that doesn’t mean you’re any less of a brother to me. Your injury hasn’t changed you or the way I feel about you.”
Jim was quiet for a few minutes, looking at me, his leg, the TV. Finally, his smile faded and he sighed, “I know that, Alan, but still … it’s hard.”
“If it helps any, Jim, I know how you feel. I really do.”
He stared at the plaster cast for a few minutes without speaking. Then he looked back up at me, a faint glimmer of the old warmth in his eyes. “Thanks, Alan. It does help. It helps a lot.”
Jim’s in Ecuador now. In his last letter he wrote, “I give thanks every day for this bum knee. It’s made me a lot faster—at least when it comes to feeling other people’s hurts and seeing their needs.”
On my desk I have a snapshot of Jim in his cast. He’s smiling and pointing to the spot on the plaster where I wrote a little note and signed it in big, proud letters: JIM CRANDALL’S LITTLE BROTHER.

Julius Caesar himself would have been proud of the costume.
A brass breastplate, red cape, centurion’s helmet, and pleated warrior’s toga made President A. Brent Brockbank, second counselor in the San Jose California Stake presidency, look like one of Rome’s conquering legionnaires. President Brockbank was participating in a weekend of games and service projects planned by the youth of the stake. The activities included a multi-stake dance and a fireside.
His outfit was in complete harmony with the final Saturday afternoon event—a chariot race pitting homemade vehicles from each ward in the stake against each other.
The stake’s teenagers, divided into six groups by wards, had labored on service projects since early Saturday morning. No wonder they were happy now to relish a well-earned lunch (organized by the Laurels), served from food-laden tables in the Del Mar High School stadium. Let the second counselor steal the spotlight—momentarily.
President Brockbank’s biceps bulged under the weight of a gold-painted plaster-of-paris statue of a charioteer cracking his whip over the heads of six galloping stallions. He explained to the crowd that the Ben Hur Memorial Traveling Award was destined for the ward whose team was fastest in a 440-yard dash around the track. One person was to ride in the chariot, six would pull. Turning first to those still heaping their plates with food, then to those in the stands basking in the west coast sunshine, President Brockbank raised the trophy in the air.
“Those who are about to die, we salute you!” he shouted to rivals in another ward, making fun of ancient Coliseum rites. Stake members, young and old alike, cheered the “emperor” on. The tone for the afternoon—a mood of happy excitement—was set.

My four-year-old niece Mollie was playing at her grandmother’s house one day when she asked if she could cross the street to visit a favorite aunt. Mollie was cautioned to look carefully both ways before crossing. Always an inquisitive child, she questioned this procedure, so her grandmother replied, “You could easily get hit by a car, and I love you so much I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Before long Mollie was back. “You lied to me! You said I would get hit by a car if I didn’t look both ways. Well, I closed my eyes and ran over and back and a car didn’t hit me!”
Just as a loving grandmother cautioned a four-year-old child to look both ways before crossing a street, a loving Father in Heaven has given us detailed instructions to ensure our happiness and safe arrival at our ultimate destination. Yet we often question the consequences, or think we can get away with taking chances, so we close our eyes to some of God’s commandments and cross the street of life. At such times it appears that we might not get hurt if we obey only some of God’s laws. But the Lord has said, “Keep my commandments.” He didn’t say, “Look this list over and pick out what you think applies,” or “Try to work on part of these some of the time.” His instructions were simple, yet direct and unqualified—“Keep my commandments.”
My four-year-old granddaughter Jordan asks “why” after almost everything I say. I realize her need to understand and I explain as much as possible. But there are occasions when no amount of explaining can penetrate her level of understanding. And so it is with us. Our mortal minds are limited. How tedious it must become when we continue to question what we cannot comprehend. Often the consequences from our actions are not immediately visible and our obedience requires some faith. Elder Neal A. Maxwell has said, “Obedience, among other things, provides us with a grace period. During this period, we go forward out of a sense of duty, doing what we should do before we have all the answers as to why” (Meek and Lowly, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1987, p. 114).
Many of us wish we could counsel with the Lord concerning situations in our lives. What we sometimes fail to realize is that we can! We have been given personalized counsel in the form of a perfect road map detailed specifically for us in ancient scripture and modern-day revelation. Just tune in to general conference, and you will be astounded at the solutions to your own problems that you will hear from the Lord’s chosen leaders.
We have also been given the ultimate model. The Savior’s life is the perfect example for us to follow. And if our footsteps falter, because of the Atonement, and through our own repentance, we are welcomed back to the pathway of righteousness.
Tucked inside our own personal road map, we have been given a promise concerning our willingness to follow the commandments of the Lord. We are told that the Lord is bound when we do what he says. And then, we are given a caution. When we do not what he says, we have no promise. (See D&C 82:8–10.)
It is pretty clear, isn’t it? We cannot afford to be selectively obedient. We must be steadfastly obedient. In the Doctrine and Covenants, we are told, “When we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated” (D&C 130:21).
If we are willing to put our trust in the Lord and keep his commandments, we have been promised that we will be blessed. The blessing might not come in the form of straight A’s, having a date every Friday night, or inheriting a lot of money. But we will grow in capacity, experiencing joy along the way as we keep more and more of the commandments and eventually become prepared for a celestial existence.
The catch in all of this is that our level of obedience determines the outcome. Whether we are studying music or microbiology, we all know that success hinges on how thoroughly we study or how hard we practice. Does it really surprise us that God operates in this same cause-and-effect manner?
Douglas Smoot, Dean of the College of Engineering and Technology at Brigham Young University, once told me, “It is impossible to leap from the top of a building and disobey the law of gravity. Placing one’s finger in an electric outlet will cause an electrical flow through a person’s body irrespective of intent. Fundamental laws of nature cannot be disobeyed.”
I thought about Dean Smoot’s comments, and how we as humans constantly try to push the laws of nature as well as the laws of God, when I read in the newspaper about a young man celebrating his birthday at a hotel. He and his friends had been drinking and were probably not thinking clearly when he decided to jump from one tenth-floor balcony to the next. Being successful the first time, he attempted a second leap and fell to his death. “We were just out having a good time,” said his friend, “but now] I realize how quickly life can be taken away.”
Use this tragic story to illustrate what happens when our judgment is impaired and we refuse to obey the laws God has given us—both physical and spiritual. In this case, the consequence of falling from that high up seems pretty obvious. But there will be times when we will feel physically or spiritually impaired and will not realize what could happen if we choose to disobey, or if we walk too close to the edge of disobedience. If only we could realize that the momentary pleasure we might feel by an act of disobedience can never be equal to the feelings of peace and happiness that result from obedience.
Joseph Smith assured us, “As God has designed our happiness—and the happiness of all His creatures, he never has—he never will institute an ordinance or give a commandment to His people that is not calculated in its nature to promote that happiness which He has designed” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p. 256).
Sometimes we are tempted to test the law, as Mollie did, and even question the wisdom of the lawgiver. We may feel that we find freedom in disobedience as we dash across life’s highway with our eyes closed. But as Elder Boyd K. Packer has said, “Obedience—that which God will never take by force—he will accept when freely given. And he will return to you freedom that you can hardly dream of—the freedom to feel and to know, the freedom to do and the freedom to be, at least a thousandfold more than we offer him. Strangely enough, the key to freedom is obedience” (Obedience, BYU Speeches of the Year, Provo, 7 Dec. 1971, p. 4).

I, like Nephi, was truly born of goodly parents. They taught me to be happy. But I think one of the happiest moments of my life was to finally graduate from high school. Because of a promotion for my father, our family moved from San Diego to Los Angeles. I ended up going to three different high schools in my senior year. In my last high school, the school officials weren’t even sure I was going to graduate because of the differences in requirements. All I knew is that I had purchased my cap and gown and I was walking in that graduation, with or without their approval! I did get their approval and I did graduate. And I was so happy!

The reason why I was so happy was because now I could go on my mission! I couldn’t wait to serve the Lord on a mission. I went to South America, the Kentucky-Tennessee Mission. That’s south in America . . . Deep South. I even learned a new language! I loved serving the Lord and those good people there. I never knew a happier time in my entire life than teaching the gospel all the time! I knew that the mission was to last two years, and then I would graduate that part of my life and return home to be with my family. Again, although sad to leave those good people of my mission, I was very happy to hop on that plane and arrive at the Los Angeles International Airport. The plane arrived nearly a half an hour ahead of schedule. My heart could hardly contain itself as I waited for my turn to walk off the airplane and have that joyous reunion with my loved ones! When I walked into the terminal, there was no one there to greet me!!! I was too early! When I finally saw my family running into the terminal and being able to hug them all, I felt as Alma, the younger, meeting up with the sons of Mosiah after their wonderful mission experience. This had to be true JOY!!

I was going on my Silver Duke of Edinburgh’s qualifier in the Brecon Beacons, during yellow thunder and lightning warnings. We were about 5 hours in when we started climbing the peak of Twmpa, one of the Black Mountains. About halfway up I was absolutely shattered and I didn’t think I could get any further. I decided to pray for strength to carry on and reach the top. After I prayed, I felt stronger and could feel God helping me up to the top.
After we reached the top, we continued walking for about 3 hours until we came to the end of the mountain. One of the girls in my group didn’t want to go down the mountain and started crying, which is when the thunder and lightning began. We frantically started getting to lower ground, as we were at the highest point – closest to the lighting. However, we got stuck just off the peak.
We tried to call the leader, but there was no signal. The girls in my group were terrified, and I prayed again that we could get a hold of our leader, and we tried again. He finally answered for just long enough to tell him where we were and where we should go.
After 4 hours, the lightning stopped and we started to go down as it was starting to get dark. However, we took a wrong turn and ended up lost and stuck in a river. We climbed back up with rocks and rain sliding down. We eventually got off the mountain at 9pm, when we were meant to get to camp at 4pm. Our leaders left us on the side of the mountain and didn’t come to look for us and we managed to make it to a minor road. I prayed one more time, absolutely exhausted, and out of nowhere a random lady drove past in a car. She had decided to pick up a chicken at 9pm at night instead of the next morning, and found us wet, cold and upset and drove us to the camp.
I believe in prayer, and the fact that God can help us through any trials we face, both big and small. I am so grateful for the gift of prayer.

Now, in closing, I want to share with you an important experience in my life that demonstrated to me what happens when we seek to understand a part of the doctrine of Christ and take action with that understanding.
On a later trip to Moscow, Russia, with another group of college students, we were scheduled to attend sacrament meeting in a branch just outside of the main city. It would take about forty-five minutes on the metro, and then a 15 minute walk. The metro was empty at 7:30 a.m. Interestingly enough, the nearly 40 of us all crammed into one car, so I decided to stand and hold on to a pole.When I travel short or long distances, I make it a habit to pray, to check in with Heavenly Father. As I prayed, I told him how thankful I was for a Savior who loves me. Soon, I had a distinct impression that I could do better. In fact, I felt quite chastised and ashamed to the point of a few tears. I knew that I wasn't guilty of any grievous sin, but the Holy Ghost taught me about sins of omission. I was a bit embarrassed by the tears and the tears made some of the students nervous, but I saw it as an opportunity to repent, so I asked Heavenly Father's forgiveness and promised that I would do better.
On the walk to the chapel, I kept behind the others, feeling a bit hurt that I wasn't who the Lord needed at the time. I resolved to do much better. We arrived at the chapel. There was a flurry of activity as the six missionaries from America realized that there were nearly 40 Americans who had just walked in. I sought a seat in the back. I watched carefully, as I am prone to do. As I watched and heard the details, I became a bit indignant. I had always wanted to serve a mission in Russia, but there were no Russian missions when I served in 1981. I had adored my mission to France and Belgium, but I was upset that some of the missionaries were complaining about food and culture. I reminded myself that I needed to prepare for the sacrament. We still had 20 minutes before the meeting would start.
I noticed a woman quietly going about her business. I assumed she was Russian and not a missionary. She was seated behind the piano, so I could not see her fully. I noticed that the Branch President and others spoke with her. She played the opening hymn. For some reason, the Holy Ghost whispered that she was a powerful woman, and that I needed to relay that message to her. After the sacrament and a testimony by the Branch President, she moved to the podium. I thought that she was going to bear her testimony. She sat down by the microphone, and then I realized that she was a sister missionary moving to translate for any of the Americans who wanted to bear testimony, and several did.
She had been unaffected when we arrived. She had gone about her duties as a missionary and branch member in powerful ways. The Spirit whispered, "Tell her that she is a powerful missionary, the kind you wanted to be in France and Belgium, and the kind you would have wanted to have been in Russia." This prompting occurred several times before the meeting ended.
After the meeting, I watched her speak with several of the Branch members. I positioned myself so that I could speak with her. "Sister," I started, "Are you staying for all three meetings?" She said yes. "Could I speak with you at the end of the block?" She affirmed that I could. Then she asked me if I would write down the names of the students who had participated as she had promised the ward clerk that she would get them so that he could have an accurate record. She moved on to Sunday School where she powerfully interacted with the members and helped with the lesson. I was overwhelmed at her goodness and how much the Spirit wanted her to know that she was an awesome missionary.
At the end of the block of meetings, she came to me. I did not have to find her. She asked for the list of students. Then, she said, "You wanted to talk to me?"
I replied,
"Sister, I have been overwhelmed by the Spirit wanting me to tell you what a great missionary you are. I know that some of the other Elders and Sisters have not caught on to the blessing of serving these people, but the Holy Ghost wants you to know that you are a great missionary."
Quietly she sobbed into her hands, trying to regain control of her emotions. I wasn't nervous; the Holy Ghost was present and He had carefully guided me in what I was to say. After many seconds, she looked me in the face. My tears started. She said,
"Brother, I leave for home in three days. All I ever wanted to do was serve an acceptable mission for the Savior. I have been praying for weeks for an answer; I have been fasting to know. I now know that I have."
It wasn't appropriate to hug; she never would have. She was too respectful of the Savior, of her mission, of the mission rules. We grasped hands and arms. We looked into each other's eyes and parted ways. I assume that we will never meet again.

Another provider of brilliant sunshine is the Howard Family. Carol and Lee have established a remarkable legacy in their neighborhood. Each month, they host a wonderful dinner for all of the widows and newcomers in their ward and related neighborhood. A carefully crafted invitation is sent to each individual, inviting him or her to come to dinner. When these sisters and others come to their home, they enjoy a wonderful social and a scrumptious meal--gifts cheerfully given by Lee and Carol and gifts gladly received by the sweet widowed sisters and newcomers.

My mother, Marcia Egan, now 91, loves attending this social each month in the company of her contemporaries and newcomers. She believes Carol and Lee are well on their way to sainthood now. They have been doing this for 10 years. They do this out of the best kind of motivation, love. They, like the Savior, are going about doing good. In doing so, they are becoming like Him.

Four years ago I attended a memorial service for my brother Gary. One of the speakers paid a great tribute to my brother. I have been thinking about it ever since. He said, “Gary was a priesthood man. … He understood the priesthood, honored the priesthood, and fully embraced the priesthood and its principles.”
When my brother died, he was a high priest in the Melchizedek Priesthood, and he had enjoyed 50 years of priesthood service. Gary was a loving husband and father who had served an honorable full-time mission, married in the temple, magnified his priesthood callings, and served diligently as a home teacher.
You are an Aaronic Priesthood holder. Your priesthood service is just beginning. You may not even have 50 days of priesthood experience yet. But you can be worthy of the same tribute Gary received. In fact, you should be worthy of that tribute. The Lord has called you to a wonderful work, and He expects you to be a priesthood man.
Just think about the greatness of the Aaronic Priesthood that you bear:
The Lord sent the resurrected John the Baptist to restore the Aaronic Priesthood. When John conferred this priesthood on Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery, he called them his “fellow servants” (D&C 13:1). President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) pointed out that John “did not place himself above Joseph and Oliver. He put them on his same level when he addressed them as ‘my fellow servants.’” President Hinckley went on to say that a 12-year-old deacon can also be John’s fellow servant.1
The Aaronic Priesthood holds the key of the ministering of angels (see D&C 13:1). As you live righteously and serve diligently, you can receive the ministering of angels to guide and strengthen you. Through your administration of the sacrament, you can help others receive this blessing as well.2
The Aaronic Priesthood “holds the keys of … the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission of sins” (D&C 13:1). Repentance and baptism join to form the gate that people enter to start on the path to eternal life (see 2 Nephi 31:17–18). Acting under the direction of your priesthood leaders, you can help people open this gate.
The Aaronic Priesthood includes the authority to administer the sacrament. When you prepare, bless, or pass the sacrament, you represent Jesus Christ (see 3 Nephi 18:1–12). You help your family members and friends remember Him, renew their covenants, and qualify for the companionship of the Holy Spirit.
Such opportunities require the work of priesthood men—men who are spiritually strong and who fulfill their priesthood duties.
Under the direction of our living prophets, a resource has been prepared to help you be a priesthood man. Although the resource is new, it has a familiar name: Duty to God.
I am excited about the new Duty to God book. It can help you obey the Lord’s command to “learn [your] duty” and “act in the office in which [you are] appointed, in all diligence” (D&C 107:99).
Using the book as a deacon, teacher, and priest, you will participate in activities in two categories: spiritual strength and priesthood duties.
Each activity in the Duty to God book follows a pattern that will help you become the priesthood holder the Lord wants you to become: First, you learn about a gospel principle or a priesthood duty. Then you act on what you have learned. Finally, you share your thoughts and feelings about what you have learned and experienced. Some of these activities are personal. Others may be adapted for your entire quorum to use in Sunday lessons or in activities during the week.
On page 39 the sample from the book shows how this pattern works. The comments are from young men who have already had great experiences with the new book.
Learn: This portion of the activity guides your efforts to learn about a gospel principle or a priesthood duty. It includes instruction for you to make a plan of your own based on what you have learned.
“You get to learn spiritually” about your priesthood duties before you do them.
Aaronic Priesthood holder in the United States
“I liked the idea of trying to come up with things that could really help me as an individual.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in Guatemala
“I liked the sections of studying the scriptures and praying and I did these things and am still doing them. I am preparing to serve a mission.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in the Philippines
Act: In this portion of the activity, you follow your plan and write your thoughts and feelings about your experiences.
“As young men in the branch we decided that we would set a goal to get together and jog. We really liked planning this together and as a group work on becoming more physically fit.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in Guatemala
“The book is … like a diary or a journal where you can be … self-reflective. It’s a good process to go through.”
Priest in the United States
“I have a hard time scheduling my scripture study. … The goals I had to read the scriptures and pray helped me to make time and stay focused. It really made a difference for me, and I felt the Spirit as I did it.”
Priest in the Philippines
Share: After you have followed your plan, you have the opportunity to share your thoughts and feelings with family members, quorum members, and others.
“When you share, you want to keep talking with others about it because [sharing has] helped you to better understand.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in the United States
“It was good to be able to talk with my parents.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in the Philippines
“In our quorum meeting we liked talking with one another about our goals: what we were doing as individuals and how this was helping us.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in Guatemala
When I think of the phrase “priesthood man,” I obviously think of my brother Gary. But I also think of others. I think of President Thomas S. Monson, who, as a deacon, felt that he stood on holy ground when he helped a disabled man partake of the sacrament.3 I think of John the Baptist, the great Aaronic Priesthood holder who prepared the way for the Savior’s mortal ministry by teaching, testifying, and administering the sacred ordinance of baptism. And I think of you. As you grow in spiritual strength and help others come unto Christ through your priesthood service, you are truly a priesthood man.
For more information about Duty to God, read the booklet’s introduction or visit www.DutytoGod.lds.org.

Preparation—temporal as well as spiritual—has been a frequent theme of President Romney’s sermons. For decades he has been an important person in the Church’s welfare program. When, as a young bishop in the mid-1930s, he heard the Brethren urge the Saints to store food and other necessities, he immediately built shelves at home and in the basement of the meetinghouse and filled them with clothing and food. Later, as stake president, he developed a prototype of the new program on a stake and regional basis.

May I share with you some of the defining moments of my life to introduce my subject today? A question that students often ask us is: Where did you meet your wife? Well, I met my dear wife Kay in Mrs. Munk’s first grade class, Plymouth Elementary, in Taylorsville, Utah, over 60 years ago. I was making a sand castle in the back of the room during recess when she and her friend Sheri came up and knock it over. I got mad and I threw sand in their eyes and their face and their hair. And I got to meet her - and I got to meet her mother, and I got to meet the principal, and I got to stand in the corner while she went home and cleaned up. But when she came back and saw me still standing there (awfully embarrassed I might add), she went up and asked Mrs. Munk if I could please sit down, that she was all right now. And so I got to return to my seat. Whew, I knew she was the girl for me. She’s been keeping me out of trouble ever since.