Gospel Story Finder

There was one episode depicted on the records that would nearly bring tears to my eyes as my companion and I would listen to it over and over again. It was the account of Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball leaving their wives, children, and humble homes to journey to Great Britain in response to their mission calls to that faraway land. Heber C. Kimball records the event in these words:
“‘September 14th, … President Brigham Young left his home at Montrose to start on the mission to England. He was so sick that he was unable to go to the Mississippi, a distance of thirty rods, without assistance. After he had crossed the river he rode behind Israel Barlow on his horse to my house, where he continued sick until the 18th. He left his wife sick with a babe only three weeks old, and all of his other children were sick and unable to wait upon each other. Not one soul of them was able to go to the well for a pail of water, and they were without a second suit to their backs, for the mob in Missouri had taken nearly all he had. On the 17th, Sister Mary Ann Young got a boy to carry her up in his wagon to my house, that she might nurse and comfort Brother Brigham to the hour of starting.
“‘September 18th, Charles Hubbard sent his boy with a wagon and span of horses to my house; our trunks were put into the wagon by some brethren; I went to my bed and shook hands with my wife who was then shaking with a chill, having two children lying sick by her side; I embraced her and my children, and bade them farewell. My only well child was little Heber P., and it was with difficulty he could carry a couple of quarts of water at a time to assist in quenching their thirst.
“‘It was with difficulty we got into the wagon, and started down the hill about ten rods; it appeared to me as though my very inmost parts would melt within me at leaving my family in such a condition, as it were almost in the arms of death. I felt as though I could not endure it. I asked the teamster to stop, and said to Brother Brigham, “This is pretty tough, isn’t it; let’s rise up and give them a cheer.” We arose, and swinging our hats three times over our heads, shouted: “Hurrah, hurrah for Israel.” Vilate, hearing the noise, arose from her bed and came to the door. She had a smile on her face. Vilate and Mary Ann Young cried out to us: “Goodbye, God bless you!” We returned the compliment, and then told the driver to go ahead. After this I felt a spirit of joy and gratitude, having had the satisfaction of seeing my wife standing upon her feet, instead of leaving her in bed, knowing well that I should not see them again for two or three years’” (Orson F. Whitney, Life of Heber C. Kimball, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1967, pp. 265–66).
I have often wondered how these brethren, as valiant as they were, could do what they did. Truly they were willing to make any sacrifice asked of them to build the kingdom of God. They were laying up “treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt” (Matt. 6:20).
There is something else about this story, however, that has always intrigued me. As Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball left on their missions to Great Britain, there appeared to be a lot of support from their brethren to help them on their way. Israel Barlow assisted Brigham Young across the Mississippi River. Later, Charles Hubbard sent his son with a wagon to the Kimball home to assist the two missionaries as they began their long journey.
If we look carefully at this story, we catch a glimpse of the unity that must have existed among the Saints in those early days. As husbands and fathers would leave for missionary service, their departure was made easier because they knew that brothers, sisters, priesthood leaders, and friends would step in to help fill the void created by their absence.
These brethren were able to invest in building the kingdom of God in faraway lands because they knew that others would be investing in building the kingdom at home by helping their loved ones whenever assistance was needed. There was a unique bonding, a special faith in the community of Saints, dedicated to a common goal, a common purpose. If we return to Jacob’s counsel to his people, we see the same message communicated as he instructed them to be familiar with all and to share freely of their substance (see Jacob 2:17).

Many years ago I had the privilege of meeting a young man by the name of Jay. Jay was in a Sunday School class I had been invited to teach. When the bishop called me to this position, he said I was the fourth teacher in six weeks. He said the class had driven out the other three and that he would not let them drive me out. I told him I would take the class for as long as he wanted me. He referred me then to one of the officers in the ward who relayed the same message about the number of teachers. The officer then said:
“There is a young man in the class named Jay. He is an obnoxious kid and the real ringleader. If he gets out of line, you let me know; I will jerk him out of your class so fast his head will swim.”
I said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get along fine.”
“Well, you just let me know if there is any problem. We won’t have him drive you out of the class, too.”
I’ve always believed that if there is a discipline problem, it is the teacher’s fault and not the student’s. So I prepared well, and when I went to class Sunday morning, I was ready.
Jay was sitting on the end of one of the rows. He had a small radio in his pocket with one wire that went up and plugged in his ear and another wire that went over to the radiator. He sat through the entire lesson, tapped his foot on the floor, and seemed very interested in what was going on on the radio. He did not disturb me, and I felt I got through to the rest of the class that morning.
Each week I would prepare well and then go to the class. Each week something different came up, but Jay wasn’t offensive to me, and he didn’t disturb the rest of the class. So we got along fine.
About six weeks after I had been called to teach the class, the bishop met me as I went downstairs and said, “Would you please ask all of your class to be here 15 minutes early tonight for sacrament meeting as we are presenting individual awards.”
I told him yes. I went downstairs and told the class what the bishop had said, mentioned the fact that individual awards would be given and that all of my class would receive one, and would they please be there 15 minutes early.
Jay jumped up and said, “Do you know what I’m going to do with my individual award when I get it? I’m going to stand up right in front of the congregation and tear it in two.”
The class members gasped. I said, “Jay, why would you do that?”
He said, “Because I don’t need a piece of paper or an individual award or a certificate that tells me that I’m a good guy or a Christian. I come to church because I want to come. The piece of paper doesn’t make me different from what I really am inside.”
Well, I didn’t have an answer for Jay, and so I suggested that we might discuss this the last five minutes of the Sunday School period. I was stalling for time.
Five minutes before the class ended I said, “I believe now we are ready to attend to Jay’s question. Do you know, Jay is right. We should not have to have a piece of paper, a certificate, an individual award to get us to come to Church. An individual award is a crutch if that is the reason we come.
“Jay, individual awards aren’t for guys like you. They’re for guys like Vaughn Featherstone. When I was a deacon growing up, my mother wasn’t a member of the Church. My father was an alcoholic, and the first individual award I got I took home and put above my bed. I’ll never forget it. It made me someone. It seemed like for the first time in my life I really could be someone. I counted because here was a piece of paper that proved it. Now I know it was only a crutch. But tonight when they present individual awards and they pass you yours, would you just simply take it and go back to your seat and say, ‘Individual awards aren’t for guys like me. I don’t need them. They’re for guys like Vaughn Featherstone when he was growing up. He needed the crutch, and if it worked there, it’s all right.’”
Well, that afternoon came, and we all arrived about 15 minutes before sacrament meeting. I sat right behind the class, and they were called up to receive their individual awards one by one. Finally, Jay’s turn came. I believe the whole Sunday School class stopped breathing. He took the individual award, walked across the stand, and then back to his seat. I thought in my heart, “I’m getting through to this kid.”
The next week I found out he had tried out for the sophomore football team, and so I went over to his high school and watched the sophomores practice.
No one watches sophomores. They all go down and watch the varsity. So I stood there all alone watching the sophomores.
Jay went out for a pass; and as he came back in, he saw me and made a wide circle and came over. He said, “What are you doing here?”
I said, “I came to watch you play football, to practice, to find out if you are any good. I played football when I was in high school, and I think I can recognize if you are any good. I came to watch you.”
“Oh, you didn’t come to watch me. What are you here for?”
“No, Jay, I did come to watch you. I don’t know one other guy on the team.”
He went over to the huddle, and several times during the next 45 minutes I saw him look over to see if I was still there. I wanted to see him do something that I could talk about at Sunday School where I could talk about just him. So I went back a couple nights later and watched them practice again, and I had the information I needed.
When Sunday morning came, I stood before the class and said: “I went over to watch the sophomore team practice the other night, and I watched Jay. He’s terrific! He has great hands. If he gets within touching distance of a ball, he catches it. He has some great moves, and he’s fast as a deer. I’m sure if he continues with the talent he has as a sophomore, one day he’ll be all-state.”
Well, I don’t know if anyone else listened, but I want you to know that Jay was sitting on the edge of his chair, listening to every word I said.
I followed him the next year as he tried out for the track team. He hadn’t tried out as a sophomore but was doing so as a junior. When he went to the coach, the coach said, “I’m sorry, Jay. We have some good half-milers. We don’t need any more.” He mentioned one young man who had taken second place in the state the previous year and others who were very good, as well as some sophomores who had come up as juniors now, and he didn’t need Jay.
Jay said, “I guess you don’t own the track, do you?”
“No, but what do you mean by that?”
“Well, I guess I can come and run if I want.”
“I guess you can, but don’t get in our way.”
So Jay came down night after night, sometimes during the track practices, sometimes before, sometimes after—always running, running, and running. One night shortly after, they had a dual track meet, and I guess the track coach, softened by this kid’s terrible drive to be somebody, to accomplish something, came over and said to him:
“Jay, if you would like to run in this half-mile event, you can. If you can place, I’ll put you on the track team.”
Well, there wasn’t much of a chance. They had many good half-milers from both teams, but Jay got in the event.
The gun sounded to start them off; and when the tape had been broken, Jay had taken first place. I want you to know they had a new sweatsuit for him, and he was on the track team. He had a nice locker, and he became a permanent member of the track team. I don’t believe I missed one track meet during that season. I saw every one. I watched the papers and saw the times of other half-milers in other meets. Jay’s time was pretty good but was not as good as many other times across the state.
Finally came the BYU Invitational Tournament. I remember Saturday morning getting my wife up early, telling her that we were going down to BYU to watch the track meet. She said, “Well, it’s raining. They don’t hold track meets when it rains, do they?” “Yes, they hold the BYU Invitational.”
“What time does Jay run, and we’ll just go down and watch part of it.”
Well, I had deliberately not found out so that we could watch the whole track meet. So we bundled our three little boys up, and we got two or three blankets and drove down to BYU in our old ’37 Plymouth. I remember laying one blanket out across a bench about ten rows above Jay’s team. Then I put another blanket across our shoulders, and we sat there in the rain, knowing that eventually Jay would come over and check in with his track coach, and we would be able to talk to him.
In a few moments Jay came bouncing up and stood there in front of his coach. His coach threw him an orange, and as he peeled the orange, he happened to look up across the stands, and he saw me. Something happened when my eyes met his eyes. I can’t tell you what it was. I just know that something happened. He turned away, and in a few moments he came bouncing up the stairs, and he said, “What are you doing up here?”
“Jay, we came to see one of the greatest kids I know win the half-mile today.”
“Well, I’ll do my best.”
“Yes, and your best is winning. You don’t know anything else. You’re a great guy. You have an unconquerable heart, and you’ll win.”
He got just a little teary-eyed and then went back downstairs. Pretty soon it was first call for the half-milers, and second call, and third call. As they started to get ready, to take off their sweatsuits to prepare to run, I remember thinking about the other half-milers. There was one from Pocatello who was an excellent runner. I thought of another half-miler from Weber who had been running right around two minutes, and in those days that was a good time. So I just offered a little prayer: “Heavenly Father, put Jay in one heat, and put the boy from Pocatello and the boy from Weber in another heat. And then Jay can win. I can talk about him and build him up.”
Well, I watched Jay take off his suit. He was in the first heat. I looked around, and there was the boy from Pocatello taking off his sweatsuit. He was in the first heat. I looked a little farther and spotted the kid from Weber. He was taking off his sweatsuit. He was in the first heat. That’s the way the Lord answers my prayers sometimes.
Pretty soon they lined up, sprinted back and forth. Then I saw Jay look up once more, and he saw me. I was looking, watching. Something passed between us again, and then they were called to their marks.
The gun went off, and they took off around the corner. The boy from Pocatello and the boy from Weber stayed side by side way out ahead of everyone else as they rounded the first corner, and on around to the second corner, and down the straightaway to the 220. They were way out ahead of several—20 or 30 yards ahead of one, then two more, and another one, and then finally about 40 yards back was Jay. As they came around the 220, Jay was still way back there. They came around the far end of the 330 and around the first 440, and again Jay was way back, sixth or seventh in the race. I don’t know how far back.
Then as these two passed me, I was cheering for Jay at the top of my lungs.
“Get up there, Jay! Get up in there!” He couldn’t hear me. There were 10,000 people, it seemed, all around me, cheering and yelling for their runners.
As the boy from Pocatello and the boy from Weber got past the first 440, they were far ahead. Then the others came across the 440, and then Jay.
Then Jay did something I had never seen done before in a half mile. As he crossed the 440, he burst into a full sprint. He sprinted around one, around two more, and around another one, and another one; and then as they finished the 660, he had pulled up right in behind this boy from Pocatello and the boy from Weber. Then he started to slacken his pace; and as he did so, they picked up theirs. I thought, “Well, what a great run this kid has made today! What a great heart he has! He can’t stay in there now.”
But as they started to pick up the pace, he stayed with them; and as they came around the 330 on the second lap around the far end, I remember watching him with tears in my eyes as I thought of the great effort he was making. Then they came around the far corner, and both of these two men burst into a full sprint, straight down the last 100 yards. And as they burst down the straightaway, I thought, “Well, that’s it. Jay can’t possibly win now, but he’ll take third and what a great race.”
I saw them coming down the straightaway, and I thought my heart would stop. Jay began to move up in between these two fellows. The fellow on the right looked over his shoulder and could see Jay coming. With about 10 yards to go he dove for the finish line and slid across the finish line on his chest in the cinders. The fellow on the left looked over his shoulder and could see Jay about a half a stride behind. He threw his chest out and stumbled toward the tape with his chest out as far as he could push it to try to reach the tape before Jay got there. Jay burst between them and took first place. I stood up in the stands and tears streamed down my cheeks. I thought, “What a great kid he is—what a giant heart!”
Well, I had the privilege of graduating each year with that Sunday School class, 14 to 15, 15 to 16, 16 to 17, and then we moved out of the ward. A short time later Jay asked me if I would speak at his missionary farewell. After he was out in the mission field just a little under a year, he sent a letter to me and said:
“Dear Brother Featherstone, I thought I would like to let you be one of the first ones to know. I’ve been called to be an assistant to the president here in France.”
And I thought, “And someone once told me, ‘You let me know, and I’ll put him out of your class so fast his head will swim.’”
Something happened the other day in the temple that I’ll never forget. As I went through the temple with my three sons, I met Jay coming out of one of the rooms. As I talked with him, he said:
“I’ve been back to medical school on the east coast, and I’ve made contact with Russell Nelson. He has given me the privilege of being one of his assistants.”
And I thought, “Who is this Jay? We don’t know who he is yet. Russell Nelson has operated on our prophet and worked a miracle for the Lord, and Jay is going to work with him. Who is Jay?”

My road to BYU–Hawaii began with my conversion to the gospel. After reading the Book of Mormon and attending church regularly with my mom, I experienced a profound conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ at the age of 16. Although my mom was quite active in the church, my parents were divorced when I was young, and I mostly stayed at my dad’s house.

I grew up in a Hawaiian community outside of Hilo on the Big Island, called Keaukaha. I was raised by the ocean there. In my youth, the water and waves served as a kind of pu‘uhonua or sanctuary for me, a buffer from life’s stresses on land.

So, I surfed a lot. And I got pretty good at it. By the time I was 15, I was ranked as a top amateur in Hawaii and the United States. But right about that same time, I found myself turning to my mom with some serious life and death kinds of questions. She, in turn, gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon, and I started attending church. Through my experiences reading the Book of Mormon and praying, my belief and confidence in God and myself began to rise.

I'll never forget the first time I read the Book of Mormon. It was a cool, sunny, and very green Saturday in Keaukaha. I was in my room, it was quiet, and I had just finished the first 30 pages of the book of Mormon. Although I had already been accustomed to prayer, I remember feeling closer to Heavenly Father after praying that day.

After completing the book of Mormon and investigating the church rather thoroughly, I was baptized in the ocean by my Bishop, Alley Auna. It was a cold early misty morning. The service was held at James Kealoha or 4-miles Beach Park near my home. Sanford Okura confirmed me a member of the church just afterward. In that blessing, he said that I would do great things for the Lord. As the blessing progressed, I noticed that it had a familiar ring to it. You see, a couple of years earlier, my grandfather, Mal Helekunihi Duke, gave me a similar blessing: saying that I would go on a mission, and eventually be an influential leader. At that time, however, all that was going through my mind was, "Yeah right grandpa, I am not going to join your church." Years later, as I sat, wet, in a white jumper getting confirmed a member of the church, my grandfather's voice returned to me, and I realized that I had received this blessing before. But this time, I believed it.

After my baptism, my focus in life shifted from a religious-like devotion to competitive surfing to a deep desire to understand God and his will for me. This quest led me to a pursuit of knowledge: first through spiritual education in the form of personal study and seminary classes, to a desire to pursue higher education.

A Laurel from Arizona writes: “It was October and our high school homecoming was fast approaching, but I was only 15 and a half when a guy asked me to the dance. I thought about saying yes and meeting him at the dance. My parents wouldn’t know. But then I realized it didn’t matter that my parents didn’t know—Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ always know, and they are the ones who really count. I didn’t go to the dance. Instead I had my girlfriends over. I felt so happy and free and full of life” (letter in possession of Young Women office).

The gospel should break down all such divisions of language. And great men generally tend toward simplicity. I remember a lecture by Bertrand Russell to the Philosophical Society in Lund, Sweden, in 1934. It was beautifully lucid. It was a kind of dance of simple language, but something very subtle was conveyed by it. Afterwards the chairman of the society told me that he had been disappointed in the lecture; it was far too obvious, he said. I suggested to him that that simplicity had cost Bertrand Russell most of a lifetime. But the chairman didn’t understand.

I would like to share a story, however, though quite personal, that demonstrates what happens when we choose to serve another other than the Lord.

I did not intend on being a professor at a university. Before I had started my "real" career in business, I had an opportunity to teach at the University of Wisconsin, Eau Claire campus. It was there that I observed from my senior teaching colleagues that success in my field would come by earning a PhD., writing books, doing research and doing lucrative consulting. It was at that time that I began to choose to serve mammon, unknowingly. My goals began to be centered on obtaining the riches and the admiration of man. During the next ten years I did get a PhD, I did write books, I did travel and I did consulting, often-billing $100-200 per hour. "A man is literally what he thinks. His character is the sum of all his thoughts." (White Bible).

At this time in life, Laurel and I had four children and I was ready to quit having children. My goal then was to be wealthy enough at 40 years of age that I could retire and serve the Lord for the rest of my life. Though I believed I was choosing to serve the Lord, I was leaving out an important component. I had not consulted with the Lord to determine what he would have Laurel and I do during this time of our lives. Looking back, I am convinced that we could have been enlarging our family and eternal treasures instead of treasures here on earth.

Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:
For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. (Matthew 6:19-21) I am also convinced that much of the great material gains I made during this time were wiped away a few years ago when the technology stock market crashed.

Also during this period of great success in the business world, I had become less regular in attending the temple, not completely fulfilling my church responsibilities, and not spending quality time with my family. I was on the road earning money, gaining prestige, and making a name for myself. I learned from this brief experience that a person can convince themselves that they are moving in the right direction while they are slowly drifting away from God's plan.

Early one morning while visiting Quito, Ecuador, tour guide and naturalist André Degel was taking a Sunday walk by a Latter-day Saint meetinghouse. The year was 1997, and though he was a member of the Church, he had been less active for years after moving to the Galápagos Islands. André remembered the comforting feelings of being in church and would often intentionally walk by a meetinghouse when he was in Ecuador. He didn’t usually go inside. He just wanted to be near the building. “It made me feel better,” he says, “like I was home.”
On this day sacrament meeting was just beginning. After a moment’s hesitation, André decided to enter. It was a decision that ultimately would alter the destiny of hundreds of lives.
After the meeting the missionaries and members greeted André. He remembers the conversation fondly, especially about how surprised—and excited—they were to discover he was from the Galápagos.
At the time, there was no formal Church organization on the islands. In fact, priesthood leaders in Ecuador weren’t even aware members lived there.
The missionaries didn’t waste any time. They introduced André to the Quito Ecuador Mission president and made sure they had André’s contact information.
Shortly thereafter André returned home to Puerto Ayora, the largest town in the Galápagos, on the island of Santa Cruz. Soon the mission sent him two boxes of Church materials, including manuals for study. But perhaps most important, the mission president had acquired a list of members living on the islands, which André could use to help gather the Saints. A quick review of the list surprised André.
“There were people on the list I knew, but I didn’t know they were members of the Church,” he explains.
Once André had gathered a core group, they began meeting together regularly. At first, there were only four families and friends.
“We would meet often, sometimes daily, mostly at my house,” André says. “We studied the books the mission had sent us and the Bible and the Book of Mormon.”
“It was a beautiful time,” says Araceli Duran. “We were very united. We would gather each week to study.”
“It is something that I will never forget,” says Jeanneth, “because there was such a sense of unity, such a feeling that our Heavenly Father loved us and knew that it was now that we needed to get together.”
They depended on each other, taught each other, and built their faith together. Soon their efforts were recognized, and an official branch was organized in early 1998.

Tony landed the balloon near a busy expressway one afternoon and got out so that a friend who was learning to fly could solo. The pilot was no sooner aloft than he decided it was time to land. Being inexperienced, he pulled the rip panel too soon and came streaming down into the corner of someone’s backyard, draping the canopy over telephone wires. The “someone” turned out to be the local stake president whose neighbors all came over to take pictures and admire the pilot and the just-arrived young men of the chase crew. The president’s wife made lemonade for the pilot, crew, neighbors, Tony—who had enlisted the help of a stranger on the expressway—and the power company linemen who had turned up in a basket truck to get the envelope off the wires. One of the guests came up to the balloonists and said, “Thanks. This is the first time the neighborhood has been together in weeks.”

Nathan ate his breakfast and smiled. Mother kept thanking Heavenly Father. She thanked Him for morning, for sunshine, for a blue sky.
“Mother, you thanked Heavenly Father three times!” he giggled.
“Three times? No wonder I’m happy. Thanking Heavenly Father for His gifts makes me very happy!”
Nathan stared at Mother. Her eyes sparkled; her lips curved up. She was happy! “I want to be happy, too!” he cried.
“Thank Heavenly Father, and you will be happy!” Mother told him.
“OK.” Nathan thanked Heavenly Father for the birds he heard chirping in the bush near the kitchen window. He smiled. Mother was right! Thanking Heavenly Father did make him happy!
The rest of the morning he thanked Heavenly Father for many things: the backyard with the swing in it; the apple tree that had pretty white blossoms now, and later would have good apples; Grandma’s dog, Lady; kittens and fish; the moon and stars; his playmates, Tom and Chris; and his new bike. Nathan was very, very happy!
At noon Mother said, “Lunchtime, happy Nathan!”
Nathan laughed. He was happy! He was hungry, too. And when he bowed his head to thank Heavenly Father for the good food, Nathan also said, “And I thank Thee for making me happy!”

We also served for three years in the Pacific Islands. It is significant that almost 25 percent of all the Polynesians in the world are members of the Church. Their faith and spirituality are legendary. Sister Cook and I were in Vava‘u in the Tongan islands on one occasion. I had just spoken about following the prophet in the general session of stake conference. At the luncheon following the conference, I sat next to a distinguished elderly patriarch. He indicated how grateful he was to hear what the prophet was teaching. He gave me the following account. Vava‘u, which is a relatively small island, usually has sufficient rain, but periodically there are severe droughts. The island has long inlets or bays, almost like sounds, which curl into the island below steep hills. When drought conditions left the village without water, there was only one way they could obtain fresh water and stay alive. Over the centuries they had found that fresh water traveled down through rock formations inside the mountains and came up in a few spots in the sea.
The Tongan men would set off in their small boats with a wise elder standing at one end of the boat looking for just the right spot. The strong young men in the boat stood ready with containers to dive deep into the seawater. When they reached the appropriate spot, the wise man would raise both arms to heaven. That was the signal. The strong young men would dive off the boat as deep as they could and fill the containers with fresh springwater. This old patriarch likened this lifesaving tradition to the living waters of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the wise man to God’s prophet here on earth. He noted that the water was pure, fresh, and, in their drought condition, lifesaving. But it was not easy to find. It was not visible to the untrained eye. This patriarch wanted to know everything the prophet was teaching.

At a hotel restaurant in Quito, Ecuador, Elder Spencer W. Kimball of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was sitting with a group that included four missionaries. After ordering bread and milk, Elder Kimball asked the waiter if he had children. The waiter replied that he had a son. Elder Kimball then said, “Bread and milk will make him healthy, but he will be even healthier if you will feed him the food these young men have to give.” The waiter appeared unsure what to make of this statement. Then Elder Kimball indicated that the young men he referred to were missionaries and that they taught the gospel of Jesus Christ. The waiter said he would be interested in listening to their teaching.20

A young medical student in Italy, a friend of mine who is now a cardiovascular surgeon, expressed his feelings about the temple this way:
“Doing temple work, especially for your loved ones, is an edifying and spiritual thing. You feel the gospel in action; you feel the love of God and the sense of the wonderful plan He made just for us, His children.
“Two days ago, I was at the hospital working when an eighteen-year-old boy came to me, asking for news of his father, who was undergoing coronary bypass surgery. At 5:00 p.m. came the news: his father’s heart ceased to beat. I’ll remember for the rest of my life how miserable and void of hope is a life without the comfort of the certainty of resurrection, of being eternally sealed as a family, of having the opportunity again to be with Heavenly Father.”

Luke looked out his bedroom window and thought about Dad. Dad was in the army and had been gone for months. Luke missed him every day. He wondered when Dad would be able to come home.
Then he remembered the talk he was supposed to give in Primary on Sunday. His stomach did a gigantic flip-flop, and it felt like he had swallowed a bag of rocks. He didn’t want to be nervous, but he was. If Dad were here, he could help.
At bedtime, Mom came in his room to say good night. “Love you forever,” she said.
“Mom,” Luke said, “I wish Dad could help me with my talk, but he’s too far away. I wish I could be brave like him.”
Mom sat next to Luke and pulled the covers around him. “I know,” she said. “I wish he could be here with us too, but he has a really important job to do right now, and when he’s done, he’ll come home. He loves us very much. Do you remember what he always tells us?”
“‘With a prayer, Heavenly Father is always there,’” Luke said.
“That’s right,” Mom said.
“Can we say a prayer?” Luke asked.
“Sure,” Mom said. “Would you like to say it?”
Luke got out of bed and knelt down. He thanked Heavenly Father for prayer and asked Him to protect Dad. Then he asked Heavenly Father to help him with his Primary talk and to help him be brave enough to give it.
When he got back in bed, Luke felt better. He knew he didn’t have to be nervous anymore. He was glad he knew how to pray to Heavenly Father. He gave Mom a big hug.
“I know Heavenly Father will help me be brave when I give my talk on Sunday,” Luke said.
“Brave like Dad?” Mom asked.
“Brave enough.” Luke smiled, and Mom smiled back.

“Mom! Watch this.” Grace shuffled her feet, tapping her dance shoes on the kitchen floor.
“Wow!” Mom said. “You’re getting good.”
Grace did a spin. She loved to dance.
Her older brother Nate came down the stairs. It was time for him to ride his bike to school.
“Bye, Mom! Bye, Grace,” he said, running out the door.
“Can I run to the end of the street with him and then run back?” Grace asked Mom.
Mom glanced at the clock. “Sure,” she said. “You still have time before you have to leave for school.”
Grace kicked off her tap shoes and quickly put on her sneakers. She burst out the door. Nate was climbing onto his bike. Grace ran beside him until he got to the end of the street. She waved as he turned the corner. Then she turned and skipped back home.
“I’m back!” Grace called to Mom. She plopped down on the couch.
“That was so fast!” Mom said. She sat down next to Grace. “Look at all these amazing things you can do. Dance. Run. Your body is a wonderful gift.”
Grace thought about that. She didn’t think her body was that wonderful. Especially when she compared herself to the other kids at school. Sometimes she even complained about her body.
But she did love running. And she felt so happy when she danced. And that was all thanks to her body. She swung her legs and grinned. Maybe her body was wonderful.
A few days later, Mom picked Grace up from school. “How was your day?” Mom asked.
“Good.” Grace climbed into the car and buckled her seatbelt. “Well, mostly good. At lunch a boy said something mean about my body.”
Mom glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry.”
Grace shrugged. “I told him what he said wasn’t kind. And then I left and talked to other kids.”
“I’m proud of you,” Mom said. “How did you stay so calm?”
Grace bounced her feet. “Well, I remembered what you told me. About how my body is a gift from Heavenly Father. I know that if I take care of my body, He will bless me to be able to do what I need to do.”
Mom parked in front of their house. “You are absolutely right! Are you OK?”
“I’m fine. I’m going to go for a bike ride before I do my homework, OK?” Grace bounced out of the car. Soon she was on her bike, pedaling fast down the sidewalk.
She loved her body, no matter what anyone else said. Her body was a gift.
Grace whooped and pedaled even faster.
This story took place in the USA.

When I hear someone say they can’t serve because they don’t feel well, I remember a stake I once visited in Mexico. The stake president spoke about a lesson he learned from his wife. He said that a week before the conference, he had scheduled some home teaching visits but came home from work and didn’t feel well. He told his wife that he guessed he wouldn’t go home teaching because he was sick. Her reply to him was, “Go sick!” And he went.

Young Thad, Orderville’s rope maker, decides to make a strong and beautiful horsehair rope for the town fair. He obtains the raw materials by secretly cutting the manes and tails off Orderville’s horses. The young men of nearby towns are blamed for the act, and there is talk of revenge.
“People sure are upset about the horses’ manes and tails being clipped,” Theo, my twin brother, said one night. “The other towns laugh at us already for our Order clothes that are all alike. Now they’ll probably call our horses broomtails (an untrained horse of inferior quality) because we grow broom straw, and our horses got clipped. We’ll have to get even.”
The next day Brother Spencer asked me, “Was your Uncle Claude over from Kanab last Saturday when the horses got clipped?”
“No,” I told him truthfully. “He was out on Buckskin Mountain moving cattle.” But I could see that innocent people would suffer for my actions unless I did something soon.
That night I asked father, “When does the bishop hold his weekly council meeting?”
“Every Thursday night about seven o’clock,” Dad replied.
Thursday night after dinner, I walked slowly over to the bishop’s home. Extra horses, all with clipped manes and tails, were out front.
I walked quietly up onto the porch. I could hear voices inside but couldn’t understand what they were saying. Fear came over me, and I turned to leave. But I knew that I couldn’t. I had to clear up the wrong I had done in cutting the hair without asking. I knocked on the door. As I waited for someone to answer my knock, the little speech I had practiced for the last two days went through my mind. The bishop’s clerk opened the door. “Come in, Thad.”
The bishop and his counselors and several priesthood leaders and clerks were all sitting around the table in the dining room. The bishop got up and came over to me. “Come in,” he said, shaking my hand. “What can we do for you?”
Without waiting, I gave my prepared explanation. “Brothers, I am the one who cut the manes and tails of the horses at the Saturday dance. I needed the hair to make a special rope to show in the town fair. Since the horses belong to the Order, so does the rope. I didn’t know that everyone would get so upset. I should have asked. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, Thad, for coming and telling us,” the bishop said. “Is the rope finished?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I finished it tonight.”
“Brother Thad,” the bishop said, “please wait on the porch while we discuss this.”
They talked for a long time. At first I wished I could hear what they were saying. Then I was glad I couldn’t. I was praying silently when they opened the door and asked me to come back in.
I stood first on one foot and then on the other as they seemed to look right through me. Then the bishop spoke. “Thad, what do you think you should do to make amends?”
I had thought about that a lot. “I should confess to the people I wronged and then groom their horses and clean their stables.”
The bishop nodded. “Thad, please bring the rope to sacrament meeting on Sunday and put it on display by the door on a small table so that all the people can see it as they come in. During the business part of the meeting, I will call on you to explain what took place and tell everyone that you are sorry you didn’t ask permission to cut the hair. Then you can ask them to forgive you, Will you do that?”
My heart started beating again. I took a big breath and answered in a squeaky voice, “Yes, bishop.”
“Good night, Thad,” the bishop said. “See you Sunday.”
I felt better about the rope as I walked home. I told my parents what I had done and what the bishop had required. They said, “We will support you, Thad, and we’re proud of you for owning up about this. It shows that you’re growing up.”
On Sunday evening I followed the bishop’s instructions and got to church early. I got a small table and placed it beside the big front doors and put the rope on it. Everyone would see it as they came in.
I was glad when my family came and I could sit between Mom and Dad. Mom held my hand, and Dad put his arm around me. Oh, how I needed their support and love!
People started filling up the rows. There was going to be a big crowd today. I didn’t dare turn to see how people reacted to my rope, but I could hear them talking about it. “Why, it looks just like twisted taffy, except that it changes color!” someone exclaimed.
“Look how neatly the ends are finished,” someone else said. My hard work had paid off. If they only knew how many times I had walked up and down that plank, twisting each strand of hair into twine, and how long it had taken to fill the spools! Now if they would only forgive me.
I watched Sister Chamberlain working hard at the pump organ as she played the prelude music. The bishop and his counselors came to the stand. With them were two men I didn’t know. They looked very official.
As they sat down, they had a whispered discussion with the bishop, who then passed some message on to his counselors. The counselor conducting got up, welcomed everyone, then announced, “Brothers and Sisters, we are honored to have with us Brother Miles Romney, general superintendent for the building of the St. George Temple, and Brother Robert Gardner, who is in charge of obtaining lumber for the temple. They have been sent here on assignment by President Brigham Young. We will hear from them later.”
After the opening song and prayer, the bishop got up to conduct business. I felt sure that I would now be asked to come to the stand, but he only announced the sacrament song and sat down. I looked at the hymnbook but could not sing because of the huge lump in my throat. I wondered if I was worthy to take the sacrament, since I had not yet made my confession. But I had been willing to, so I did take it when it was passed to me.
The counselor then announced that our regular program would be postponed and the meeting turned over to Brother Romney. Brother Romney got up and said, “Dear Saints of the United Order of Orderville. The work on the temple goes forward. The walls have been finished, and the end of our long labors is in sight. Now we ask you to commit men, teams, and wagons to help us transport timber from the mountains so that the interior can be completed.”
I forgot my problem as he went on to tell of the wonderful things they were doing to build the temple. I was glad to be at church to hear them.
Then he said, “Throughout the construction of the temple we have had trouble finding enough strong rope. Now, more than ever, we need it to lift timber and bind heavy logs to the wagons that will carry them from the mountains to the sawmill. We have been praying for a way to make better rope. Today, as we came into the building, our prayers were answered. Would the person responsible for the rope on the table by the door please get it and bring it up here?”
Father helped me up, and Mother gave my hand a squeeze. As I slipped past my brother, his mouth was open and his eyes were big. I got the rope and took it to Brother Romney. He put his arm around me and continued, “I have never seen such a big, smooth, uniform horsehair rope. I understand your name is Thad. Tell me—how long is this rope?”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. They liked my rope! They needed my rope! I swallowed hard. “One hundred and eight feet,” I replied.
Brother Romney smiled. “That is exactly the length we need. Thad, will you please come over to the bishop’s house early in the morning before we leave and cut the manes and tails off our horses and start on the second rope. We will send out a request to all the communities of southern Utah to collect their horses’ hair and send it to you. This first rope will be sent to Mr. Trumball so that the work of transporting lumber can be hastened. Now, bishop, would you ask the people if they can support the donation of the rope to the building of the temple.”
The bishop stood up and said, “All in favor, please raise your right hand.”
Everyone raised his right arm to the square. I joined them. The bishop said, “The voting is unanimous. The rope is for the temple.” Putting his arm around me, he added, “And now I believe Thad has something to tell you.”
It wasn’t hard at all, because I could see nothing but smiling faces. I explained what I had done and asked for their forgiveness, adding that I would be coming around to groom their horses and clean their stables. The bishop called for a vote on my request, and again every hand went up. With a light heart, I walked back down to sit between Mom and Dad. Tomorrow I’d start on the second rope, and it would be even better. A rope for the town fair could wait till next year. Meanwhile, I’d do my very best to make rope for the temple.

I grew up in a home where my father was not a member of the Church and my mother was less active. That all changed later, and they spent much of their life as temple workers. With that background I didn’t know much about the Church, even though I thought I did. When I was about to graduate from the university, the Lord dropped an atomic bomb in my life. Her name was Jeanene Watkins. She was a beautiful girl. It took me a long time to date her because so many others recognized her wonderful qualities. As we began to date, I discovered that she was all I had ever dreamed of finding. I fell completely in love with her. I could tell she had deep feelings for me also. One night, when we were talking about the future, she carefully wove into the conversation an important comment. She said, “When I marry, it will be to a returned missionary in the temple.” I don’t remember anything else she said. I hadn’t thought much about a mission and didn’t understand much about temple marriage. I went home and couldn’t think of anything else. I was awake all night. I couldn’t do anything at the university the next day. Soon I was at the bishop’s office, having prayed about the importance of a mission. We both went on missions, and when we returned were sealed in the temple. Much later I came to realize that she would have left me had I not made the right choices. Jeanene’s courage in standing up for her dream of a temple marriage to a returned missionary, regardless of her love for me, has made all of the difference in our lives together. I will never be able to thank her adequately for not compromising her righteous dreams.

Although I was baptized as an infant in one church and attended another on and off during my childhood, religion was never a huge part of my life. As I grew older, my family moved a lot, and we stopped attending worship services. I believed in God, but I did not think about Him or religion very often.
That all changed in 2006, when I was 14. My uncle Billy died; he was only in his mid-30s. His premature death made me realize how much I loved him and caused me to start asking questions internally. Where did he go when he died? Did he continue to live and have a future? What would become of his children and other family members left behind? What did his life mean? What did my life mean?
These thoughts ran through my mind for the next several months. One evening in September 2007, my mother, my three younger siblings, and I were leaving a deli in my hometown of Haverhill, Massachusetts, USA, and stopped to sit on a bench. Two young men in black suits, white shirts, and ties approached us. One of them said, “I know it may seem a little bit awkward to talk to two people you don’t know, but could we share a message with you?”
We agreed. I knew they were going to talk to us about religion, and I was impressed that they didn’t just thrust a card or pamphlet at us and walk off. Rather, these young men genuinely seemed interested in us and excited about their message. At the conclusion of their message, they asked if they could visit our family. My mother agreed and set up a time, so I have her to thank for what became a great change for good in my life.
We started learning the gospel. After a while Mom became busy with different things and didn’t continue to meet with the missionaries, but I did.
I connected easily with Elder Kelsey and Elder Hancock. Perhaps part of the reason was that they weren’t that much older than I was. I felt great love from them and for them. Soon I felt that same love from ward members and from other youth in my stake.
The missionaries taught me the plan of salvation, which answered the questions I had about my uncle and about my own purpose in life. The elders also introduced me to the Book of Mormon. I remember reading in Alma 32 about the seed of faith developing and tasting good (see verse 28). That description was exactly how the Book of Mormon seemed to me. What I was reading and what the missionaries were teaching me rang true, felt right, and tasted good.
My mom teased me about what she called my “hermit crab stage” because I would retreat to my bedroom and spend several hours reading the Book of Mormon. Although I didn’t recognize my feelings as the Holy Ghost at that time, I felt that this path was right.
When the missionaries asked me to be baptized, they encouraged me to pray about the decision. When I prayed to know if joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was what I was supposed to do, I received a very direct answer, to the point that it shocked me. The direction was clear: go forward with baptism.
I remember vividly the day I was baptized—December 15, 2007. As I stood in the cold water with Elder Kelsey and he raised his hand to the square, the Spirit just filled me up; it seemed to take over my whole frame. I could say that I was also grinning from ear to ear, but that description doesn’t even come close to describing what I felt.
After my baptism I continued to feel the Spirit. I felt sanctified. I knew that my sins had been remitted. I felt the approval of Heavenly Father that this was, indeed, the path I was supposed to take.
Occasionally, when little doubts pop up, I go back to that experience and remember how I felt that day. Remembering what I felt then helps me dispel any doubt I may encounter.
Even though we don’t reenter the waters of baptism to have those powerful feelings again, we can remember that feeling when we renew our covenants through repentance and the sacrament. Each time I repent, I can find that feeling again—one of being cleansed and of being loved.
Feeling that love helps me identify with what Joseph Smith taught: “A man filled with the love of God, is not content with blessing his family alone, but ranges through the whole world, anxious to bless the whole human race.”1 Knowing the worth of a soul helps me be excited about opportunities to go teaching with the missionaries in my area. I also look forward to the day when I can serve a full-time mission and share how happy the gospel of Jesus Christ has made me.

The New Era is really an instrument for answering prayers. After hearing an inspirational talk on missionary work and how to prepare young men to serve, I desired to know how I could help my own two brothers develop the desire to serve. My thoughts of them were restless, so I decided to take my mind off the subject and flip through the pages of the August New Era. My eyes fell on the article “Tree Houses for Birds and Humans,” and there I saw my own “unknown tree house” with my younger brother waving at the window (my sister Kjirstin took the picture). I knew then the Lord’s comforting assurance that all was well—that although I was on my mission many miles away, all was fine at home. Thank you so much. The New Era is always a grateful surprise each zone conference.
Sister Jill RasmussenAlabama Birmingham Mission

A great burden to me during my growing-up years was the fact that my folks were not active in the Church. I sensed that I was missing out on many of the things that others were enjoying. The depression was on. Jobs were hard to get. Because of this, our family moved frequently. Though we had to do without many material things, that never seemed a hardship to me. But always there was the longing that my parents would feel the importance of church activity. I loved them dearly and it hurt to see what was happening in our home. The Word of Wisdom was not observed. There was not the closeness and solidarity that appeared to be in the homes of my friends. I craved that peaceful atmosphere that was lacking. Fortunately, each place we moved there were good people who would encourage me and welcome me. I came to know the importance of the Church and the gospel. It hurt so much on the day of my wedding when my parents were not able to enter the temple but remained outside while that special ceremony took place. I am happy to report that later, through the help of caring friends and my loving husband, my parents did become active and were able to enjoy those blessing they had missed for so many years.

Just recently my mother and I returned to the neighborhood where we had lived when I was baptized. The area is shabby and forlorn. The house where we lived looked so tiny and run down. A great feeling of sadness came over me, not because of the humble circumstances, but because I vividly remembered how I felt as a child, knowing I was missing blessings that could have been mine.