Gospel Story Finder

Playing basketball has been really good and helped me gain some friends. There is a park next to our house and it makes me feel more motivated to get out and shoot, to get really good at basketball. For school we were playing, and I played really well against a team. Two days later I found out that they offered me a spot on an all-state team, which is a really big deal. We did some research and realized that they play on Sundays, and so it just never really crossed my mind to play there after that.

We don’t have a lot of youth in our ward. As far as the young men it’s me, two other priests, and about five deacons. Our leaders like to take us out each month to visit and see the youth that don’t come and invite them to youth activities. It’s just cool to see how much the leaders think about others.

Our ward has been really focused on goals because of the new Children and Youth program. We had a combined youth activity that involved all four areas! Each area had a different activity attached. I was in charge of focusing on the physical goal activity, so we played volleyball.

We’ve really been working to emphasize those four parts of our lives. It’s helped me also realize how important goal setting is. Without goals, it’s hard to see that you are improving in your life.

I think it’s important for people in the Church to understand how amazing it is to have the knowledge we do, such as the plan of salvation.

Soon after receiving the priesthood and becoming a deacon at the age of twelve, I also became a cadet in the Royal Canadian 52nd Air Cadet Squadron. It was a new and challenging experience adapting to the military method of things. I especially remember how difficult the first summer was. As a new cadet, it was my duty to attend basic training. So while my other friends from school were out-of-doors playing, I was learning how to march and to obey commands.
Unfortunately I wasn’t a very good marcher, and that’s all anyone there ever wanted to do. The sun shone fiercely, and the heat was unbearable in our dark green uniforms. I thought I would faint. The food was cold, and the mess hall avoided all the foods I liked. Military life certainly was different from what I was used to.
On our first Saturday night before bed, all the cadets assembled in the corridor of our barracks. When our flight sergeant came in, everyone snapped to attention.
“In the morning,” he shouted, “we are all going to church. There are only two churches on this base, Catholic and Protestant, so make sure you know where you want to go before tomorrow! Is that clear?”
The corps of young cadets shouted back in strict unison, “Yes, sergeant!” Then he left.
That night I had trouble sleeping. This would be the first time I wouldn’t be able to attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I didn’t know what to do. I climbed out of bed and began to pray again. I was desperate to know what I should do. I told Heavenly Father that I was really confused and scared. Would He please help me? As I crawled into bed the second time, I was still worried, but I began to feel that things would work out.
Bright and early the next morning, we lined up outside our barracks in the drizzling rain. The sergeant in his rain-tarp jacket gave the command I was dreading. “Catholics stand on one side, Protestants on the other!” After everyone had moved, I found myself standing alone between the two lines.
The flight sergeant glared across the square and shouted to me, “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know, sergeant—I’m a Latter-day Saint.”
He looked at me with a frightful glare, shook his head, and ordered, “Follow me.”
I followed him to the chaplain’s barracks. Inside, the ministers were still preparing for their Sunday meetings. The sergeant gave a sharp knock, and a voice within called for us to enter. As we stepped in from the rain, a gentleman dressed in camouflage and wearing a Catholic priest’s collar around his neck met us.
“This one’s a Latter-day Saint,” the sergeant complained, then ducked back out into the rain.
The priest invited me to sit down, and he and another priest began to decide among themselves what to do in such an interesting situation. They finally decided that they didn’t know enough about the Church to make a decision and asked me what we believed. At first I wasn’t sure what to say, and then my mind suddenly cleared and I started quoting the Articles of Faith: “‘We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.’”
They both nodded in agreement.
I continued, “‘We believe that men will be punished for their own sins, and not for Adam’s transgression.’”
At this point, one priest suggested that it might be best if I went with the Protestant minister.
After the Protestant meeting, the minister found me in my barracks. He asked me how I had enjoyed the meeting. I told him that it certainly was different from what I was used to.
“What else do Latter-day Saints believe?” he asked, pulling up a chair. All the other cadets in my room drew closer to listen. It was exciting as I repeated all the Articles of Faith. Everyone seemed very interested when I spoke of the Book of Mormon, of how it was another testament of Jesus Christ.
Later that night I made a long distance call to my mother and told her how my difficult experience had turned into a missionary opportunity. I also requested that she send me a Book of Mormon so that I could give it to my minister friend.
The week went on, and finally the Book of Mormon arrived. On the inside cover I wrote my testimony and slid in the card containing the Articles of Faith that my mother had also sent me. The minister gladly accepted my gift and promised me that he’d read it.
I never was able to find out if that Book of Mormon changed the life of the minister, but as I look back, I can recognize how Heavenly Father taught me the importance of knowing the Articles of Faith.

Elder Bednar also explained that a disciple’s faith is a spiritual gift and that it dispels fear. Can I tell you how I know that faith can dispel fear? To do so I want to tell you about Agim Shehu. Agim’s wife, Aisha, joined the church a few years ago. Her husband was a very spiritual man, but a stroke had left him partially paralyzed and he had been unable to leave his little fifth floor apartment for the past 6 ½ years. I first heard of Agim from Sister Shehu when I met her one day coming into the mission office to enlarge some pages of the Book of Mormon for Agim to read. Following up on an invitation to visit Agim, Sister Kinghorn and a couple of elders were able to officially meet him at their apartment a few days later. Brothers and Sisters, I wish I could adequately describe their humble little apartment. Maybe I can’t do that, but I can tell you about the tremendous spirit that exists in his home.

It didn’t take long for me to determine that Agim had a beautiful testimony of the gospel. I told him so and I told him that he needed to be baptized. I remember his response. How he would love to, he said, but he just couldn’t leave his apartment. With the stroke, his steps were reduced to slow, difficult shuffle of only an inch or so per step and they lived on the 5th floor. I think Sister Kinghorn wondered about my sanity at the time, but I told Agim to look at those two big, strong elders–I said, they can carry you down. (They probably wondered about me, too.) Anyway, to make a long story, short, the next week, Agim was out of his apartment for the first time in over 6 years–and in church. And he had done it on his own.

With faith in the Lord and in himself and in a great desire to be baptized he had got up very early that next Sunday morning and 1" at a time, 1 step at a time, he had gotten out of his apartment and down the five flights of stairs on his own. The elders had been by his side and had a taxi waiting for him. Two weeks of teaching the discussions to him and he was baptized. Brothers and sisters, Agim has since received the Melchizedek Priesthood and he and Aisha have been sealed together in the Frankfurt, Germany Temple. I want you to know that a disciple of Christ must have faith to “step” into the unknown.

A few months ago I got stuck in the elevator of my apartment building without my mom or brother. I was very afraid. The man who cleans the building found me and helped me get back to my mom. Later, Mom told me that while I was lost she said a prayer to Heavenly Father asking that I would get back safely to her. I am still nervous when I get in the elevator, but I’m more careful, and I know I can ask Heavenly Father for help.

At one time I worked on the immediate staff of a very hardworking, demanding, misunderstood man who became the father of the nuclear navy that provided great protection for the United States at a critical time in world conditions. His name is Hyman Rickover. I have great respect for him. After 11 years in that service, I received a call from the First Presidency to preside over a mission. I knew I would have to tell Admiral Rickover immediately. As I explained the call and that it would mean I would have to quit my job, he became rather excited. He said some unrepeatable things, broke the paper tray on his desk, and in the comments that followed, clearly established two points: “Scott, what you are doing in this defense program is so vital that it will take a year to replace you, so you can’t go. Second, if you do go, you are a traitor to your country.”
I said, “I can train my replacement in the two remaining months, and there won’t be any risk to the country.”
There was more conversation, and he finally said, “I never will talk to you again. I don’t want to see you again. You are finished, not only here, but don’t ever plan to work in the nuclear field again.”
I responded, “Admiral, you can bar me from the office, but unless you prevent me, I am going to turn this assignment over to another individual.”
He asked, “What’s the name of the man who wants you?”
I told him, “President David O. McKay.”
He added, “If that’s the way Mormons act, I don’t want any of them working for me.”
I knew he would try to call President McKay (1873–1970), who was ill, and that conversation would benefit no one. I also knew that in the Idaho Falls area there were many members of the Church whose families depended upon their working in our program. I didn’t want to cause them harm. I also knew that I had been called by the Lord. I didn’t know what to do. Then, the words of the song we sang tonight began to run through my mind: “Do what is right; let the consequence follow” (Hymns, number 237). While I had never contacted a General Authority in my life, I had been interviewed by Elder Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, so I had a feeling to call him. I explained that the admiral would try to call President McKay and would make some negative comments, but everything was all right and I would be able to accept my call. While doing that, my heart kept saying, “Is this going to turn out all right or will somebody be innocently hurt who depends on our program for livelihood?” The song would come back: “Do what is right; let the consequence follow.” True to his word, the admiral ceased to speak to me. When critical decisions had to be made, he would send a messenger or I would communicate through a third party. We accomplished the changeover.
On my last day in the office I asked for an appointment with him, and his secretary gasped. I went with a copy of the Book of Mormon in my hand. He looked at me and said, “Sit down, Scott. What do you have? I have tried every way I can to force you to change. What is it you have?”
There followed a very interesting, quiet conversation. There was more listening this time. He said he would read the Book of Mormon. Then something I never thought would occur happened. He added, “When you come back from the mission, I want you to call me. There will be a job for you.”

I spent hours playing computer games every day for years. I found friends, and I felt important. But after playing, I would feel empty, like something was missing. I wasn’t fully happy.

I wanted to focus on things that would actually make me happy and help me improve. I started praying often. When I expressed what was in my heart to Heavenly Father, I felt a strong feeling of love.

I wanted to do things that would keep me coming closer to Christ, so I focused on simple things like daily scripture study and prayer, spending time with people who had the Spirit, and trying not to get distracted by things that would make the Holy Ghost leave. My life changed. It’s more joyful for me.

When I come closer to Christ, I know that there are more important things than computer games if I want to be truly happy. There are things that are eternal.
Alina U., 18, Lithuania

Another time when my guardian angels were frantically working hard to keep me safe from harm was on a trip to Maui. I would like to share with you this experience in the hopes that it will hopefully save someone from future pain and sorrow. The moral of the lesson is to stay away from dangerous things, even if you feel the danger is unwarranted. On this particular trip, we had completely surrounded a nice school of akule fish with our nets. Unbeknownst to us, we had surrounded the wrong school of fish, and we had to retract our nets as quickly as possible. In haste, we quickly pulled our nets back into the boat, and in doing so, a small shark about two feet long was pulled up with the net right into the waiting arms of myself and another curious coworker of mine. Thinking it was dead, we grabbed it by the tail and pulled the limp form out of the water to inspect it. The skin was scratchy and gray. The underside was white. It had yellow eyes. It was one of the most curious things I had ever seen. I really wanted to see the teeth up close. However, the captain saw us goofing around and sent a barking command to throw it back in the water just as I went to open its mouth with my bare hands. When the captain speaks, you quickly obey. My friend did a double swing and threw that shark about 30 feet into the water away from us. As we stood there watching it sink into the ocean, our “dead” shark amazingly wiggled for a second and swam away! I always think about what might have happened that day if I had stuck my fingers into its mouth. The moral of the lesson is to stay away from dangerous things, even if you feel the danger is unwarranted.

While a missionary, Elder Gordon B. Hinckley was assigned to serve as an assistant to Elder Jospeh F. Merrill, who presided over the European missions. One day Elder Merrill gave the young elder a tough assignment.
Elder Merrill: These newspapers have all printed reviews of a very unflattering book about the Church. I want you to go to the publisher and protest the publication of the book.
Elder Hinckley agreed to go, but he wondered if he was the right man for the job.
Elder Hinckley: Why are you sending me? I’m just a boy, and you are a distinguished man. Why don’t you go yourself?
Feeling a little frightened, he went to his room and prayed for strength. Then he set out.
Elder Hinckley: I wonder if this is how Moses felt when the Lord told him to go and see Pharaoh?
At the publishing house, Elder Hinckley received a cold welcome, but he was not discouraged.
Receptionist: Mr. Skeffington is too busy to see you.
Elder Hinckley: I have come five thousand miles, and I will be happy to wait.
When he was allowed to see Mr. Skeffington an hour later, Elder Hinckley did not complain loudly. Instead, he calmly pointed out the book’s errors and appealed to the publisher’s sense of fairness.
Elder Hinckley: I am sure that a high-principled man such as yourself would not wish to do injury to a people who have already suffered so much for their religion.
Mr. Skeffington: I will recall every copy of that book from the bookstores and add a statement that the Mormons have a respected and courageous history and that the book is fiction with no basis in fact.
Elder Merrill had sent the right man. Elder Hinckley later recalled, “I came to know that if we put our faith in the Lord and go forward in trust, He will open the way.”

Hard work brought the young couple a fine brick home and prospering meat business in Salt Lake, enabling them to pay for the immigration of Elizabeth’s family in 1867. But the next year the Woods gave up home and career to fill a difficult colonizing mission to Arizona. They returned destitute four years later and took up residence in a poor smelter dug in the side of a hill within sight of their former home.

William again left his prospering business and a growing family in 1880 to a mission to his home country. Near the end of that otherwise successful mission he reported:
“I preached the Gospel to my dear ones, my father, mother, brother, and sister, and although none of my own kindred have obeyed, they had to acknowledge they could not confute the doctrine, and they feel today that I am not what they judged me to be twenty-seven years ago. When a boy … All my dear relations have treated me with marked kindness, as they have any of the Elders that called upon them at the time. I know God will bless them for that.”
Six years after he returned from his mission, his beloved Elizabeth gave birth in her 42nd year to their 13th baby, but within days both mother and baby died. William later remarried, and he and his families went on to gain prominence in Canada where the Wood name became linked with extensive ranching and meat-packing interests. William’s son Edward J. served for many years as a stake president and temple president in Alberta.
The year before William died, he wrote his impressive life story, hoping his example as convert, sailor, pioneer, and missionary might teach young people in the Church that “should they have to leave the place where they have been taught the gospel … never to yield to any invitation that leads to intemperance or immorality. Always pray to the Lord, whether you are called by the servant of God to preach the Gospel or surrounded by the horrors of war—never forget to offer a silent prayer to your Eternal Father. He will not forget you.”

Several months later my relationship with Jake (name has been changed) had progressed a great deal. But Jake’s parents had divorced years earlier, and their separation still affected him deeply. He was afraid that if we got married, things would end for us as they had for his parents.
I told him I was willing to give him time—lots if he needed it—to sort things out in his mind and his heart. We talked about making decisions based on faith instead of fear. We discussed the role of agency and the fact that he didn’t need to assume that his parents’ path would automatically be his fate too. And we talked about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the Savior’s ability to heal our hearts.
Our conversations seemed to help relieve his anxiety some, and our relationship continued as usual. So when he called me one Saturday afternoon to break up, it more than surprised me. He told me that he couldn’t see himself being married to me—or to anyone. He just didn’t believe in marriage anymore.
For the next hour we rehearsed what we had already discussed, but I couldn’t persuade him. He whispered, “I’m so sorry,” and he hung up the phone. I sat silently on my bed, tears running down my face, absolutely stunned.
A while later my roommate knocked on the bedroom door. “Are you coming to stake conference?” she asked. I didn’t feel much like going anywhere or doing anything, but I put on a dress and got in her car.
When we arrived the first person I saw was the woman who had given that family home evening lesson months earlier. Neither of us said anything, but our eyes met, and in my mind, I heard a voice call my name and say, “Go back and get the plates.”
Somehow I knew all that the prompting implied. It wasn’t just about an ancient prophet returning to get a sacred record. It was also about me. It meant that even though Jake didn’t believe in marriage, I still could. I could hope for it and pray for it and work for it—not in a wishful, wistful way but in a believing, active, prepare-myself-daily-because-this-is-God’s-plan-for-His-children kind of way. It didn’t mean that I had to go back to Jake and be with him until I “wore him down” on the idea of marriage, and it also didn’t mean I had to start dating someone new right away. It was OK for me to have a time to grieve and heal.
But during that time I could avoid wallowing in self-pity. I could resist the temptation to be snide about Jake—or men in general. I could seek friends who believed in marriage and looked forward to it. And I could, like Nephi, trust in a loving Heavenly Father who gives no commandment—whether it’s obtaining ancient scriptural records or marrying and creating families—without preparing a way for us to accomplish it.
I’m still in the “accomplishing”—not the “accomplished”—stage. I’m not yet married, but I feel grateful for the good dating experiences I’ve had—experiences made richer by an improved understanding of the role persistence plays in righteous goals.

“With the knowledge we have, we may mourn, but we need never despair. We have a little loved one in Seattle. There the daily rain keeps the sun and stars alike hidden much of the time, so she hasn’t really seen stars. We think there is magic in stargazing and lessons to learn from them; they are brighter in winter’s night, you know. I explained this to this little girl when we stood on a clear night looking into heaven. I smiled at her wonderment at first seeing stars crowd the nighttime.
“‘Are they there every time it gets dark, even if I can’t see them?’ she asked. I assured her they were, even behind the clouds.
“‘Then darkness isn’t so bad, is it? If you know the stars are there.’
“It has application to life, doesn’t it?”

Sometimes I get upset about my disabilities, but I try not to show this. Usually I’m a happy person, and I just don’t show my frustrations to others.
When I was a teenager, however, there was a time when I was depressed.
I didn’t want to go to church. I asked God, “Why am I this way? Why can’t you make me better? Why don’t I have good relationships with others?” These questions discouraged me and made me feel really sad, and I didn’t know how I could change my situation, so I thought that maybe ending my life was the answer.
But then I thought about my mother and how she would react. I thought that she would probably feel really sorry and feel that she did something wrong or did not do enough to help me. That’s when I decided that I was going to live and keep going.
In the end, I feel that I’m a pretty happy person.

At Church activities I would ask myself, “Why don’t I have friends?” I felt sad and alone and went to God in prayer. I asked my Heavenly Father to send me good friends. It hasn’t been easy, but over time I’ve made many great friends. I’m not afraid to talk anymore and to get involved with groups of girls. I realize that Heavenly Father answered my prayers and that I was never alone.
Daiana I., age 16, Corrientes, Argentina

I’m a convert to the Church, and I remember well the New Eras the elders brought to our house for my daughters to read when we were investigating the Church. I’m now serving as a full-time missionary in Michigan. I enjoy transfers because each new apartment has back issues of the Church publications. I’m in a position now to share the New Era with families that we teach.

I need to tell you how much I enjoyed “The Swing” in the February 1986 New Era. Stories like that are encouraging and uplifting. I’ve lived in the hospital off and on for two and a half years. I’ve been out one year this month. Depression about overcame me. My family would come and sit with me by the hour and read the Church publications to me. My health had gotten to the point that I needed to give some of what someone took time to give to me—the gospel.

My mission is about to come to an end. My health won’t let me finish at this time. But when I’m strong I’ll come back out and work again. Thank you, Sharon Bradley, for “The Swing.”

Just five years ago last month, our family got involved in a situation that was quite unexpected at the time, but that has changed our entire family. We took a foster child into our home.
I remember that day very well. It was one of those pressure situations in which they couldn’t find anybody else and the child was coming the next day. After our great volunteer effort, as a couple we started having all kinds of misgivings about the commitment we had made. We even became a little upset. We felt like we had almost more children of our own than we could handle at the time. We had five children, and it seemed like all of them were at some special age where they make big messes but are not quite responsible enough to see that things get picked up. Now, here we had another child coming who wasn’t even one of our own.
With all of these doubts, we sat down with our children to make some preparations. With the faith that can come only from a child, our children, in just a short period of time, were ready to accept their big sister.
Jean arrived, and we found a child much more frightened than we were. She was a seventeen-year-old high school sophomore. We were a family that had not seen a child have a ninth birthday yet, so we knew we were in for some quick learning. That was probably the only right assumption we made about the whole situation.
Right off, we found that we had a new problem. It concerned bathing. She was there just a few days when we realized that something had to be done. Finally, it was decided by the matriarch that the patriarch needed to do his duty—so a daddy-daughter talk was the order of the day. I must say that it went exceptionally well. Starting the next day, we didn’t have any hot water for three months.
We look back now on the short time that we had Jean—just a few months—and we realize that we learned many things. Let me take just a minute and review some of them with you.
Both my wife and I had to struggle a little at first to let ourselves accept another child on the same level as our own children. Those first few days were a real struggle as we had to try very hard not to put our own children first. That was an invaluable lesson for us. We can accept anybody now almost immediately. We could have gone a lifetime and not learned how to do that. Our children learned that, too, and we will be eternally grateful for that.
The second thing we learned from Jean was that we can certainly learn many things from others. Jean taught our children many things. She loved to work, and she’d always take a job and do it right. And then she’d pitch in and help the other children with their jobs. She helped our children internalize many of the principles that we were trying to teach them. One of the biggest challenges we were having with them at that time was trying to get them to take a job and do it completely. They seemed to do the minimum—either that or a little less. Jean taught them differently. They would struggle with us, as most children do with their parents, but they would accept it from her.
As an example, Jean liked the satisfaction of doing dishes by hand. She wouldn’t use the dishwasher. And to this day we have a daughter that enjoys doing dishes that way.
The third thing Jean helped us with was learning how to communicate with our children. As an older child, if she understood a situation, she basically felt the same way about it as we did. We found that the goal became one of understanding. At first there was a language problem between us; she nodded her head “yes” all the time, but we soon found out that she had learned to do that when sentences ended, even if she hadn’t understood what was being said. We came to realize that we needed to extend the same courtesies to our other children that we were giving to Jean. In the process of raising children every day, we start expecting too much from them, and we think they should automatically understand all the things that are going on in the family. Sometimes some of us treat the neighbor children better than we treat our own. It was a great lesson that we are thankful we were able to learn.
The fourth thing was that this was the first real fast-moving missionary experience we’d had as a family. We used to call Jean our “sponge”—she wanted to learn it all. She would ask us questions about everything. She wanted to know why we had to sit down as a group to eat, why we knelt when we prayed, why a person needs to go to church every Sunday, why we have to have different foods for every meal. When it came to gospel living, she felt a special kinship and wanted to know all that she could find out.
I recall one experience that we had with Jean when we went camping. Immediately after I stopped the car, Jean got out and began sweeping the camping area. Our children just couldn’t believe it, but she continued until she had swept over all the area, until all the loose dirt and pine needles were in a neat pile. But she didn’t stop there: she came over and knelt down by the children and spent the next few minutes talking to them about the principle of cleanliness—that when you are camping or living outdoors cleanliness becomes a very important thing, and that by taking a few steps you can make life livable. And the amazing thing was that they listened. We were just grateful that we were in the Rockies of Colorado and not the sands of New Mexico. I always wondered how deep she would have gone to find solid ground.
Just three weeks ago, Jean returned to our home for a few days with her two children. She was quietly asking questions about ways she could be influencing her family and her children.
Now, I’m sure that as you listen to this, it sounds like the whole experience was joyful and always a good time. But I can promise you that it wasn’t. It’s like any service done for others; you have to sacrifice something in order to make it happen. The deep feelings of satisfaction that come from service can be gained in no other way. It changes people and prepares them for something very important.
We are eternally grateful to Jean, and not just because we consider her our eldest daughter, or because of the joy that she brings into our home. But we are grateful for the opportunity that she gave us to be of service to another. We have learned as parents that we can spend an awful lot of time teaching gospel principles and applying them in our family and working toward perfection. Sometimes it feels like a great deal of effort is being put forth with very little impact on our children. But as soon as we started living gospel principles through service to another, a great thing began to happen. Our children began to understand the principles of the gospel that we had been trying to teach them.
As we attempted as a family to be of service to another, we found that we received the most. What a marvelous thing that is! By helping someone with something that she couldn’t do alone, we received blessings we weren’t able to obtain by ourselves. That’s the gospel of Jesus Christ in its truest sense. As the family and the individual are strengthened through service to others, they are blessed, and a Zion people is prepared.
I know that Jesus Christ lives, that this Church contains his complete gospel plan, that welfare principles are the gospel in action. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Avoid pornography as you would a plague. I recall an assignment some years back to restore the blessings of a man who had been excommunicated from the Church because of his sin. He came to my office with his wife. I spoke with them individually. I asked him how it all began. He held a responsible position in the Church. He was likewise a professional man with high responsibility in the community.

His trouble began, he said, when he picked up a pornographic magazine to read on the plane. It intrigued him. It appealed to him. He found himself buying more of these things. Then he sought out movies which titillated him and excited him. Knowing his wife would be a party to none of this, he went alone. He found occasion to leave town and go to other cities where he could more easily indulge his desires. He then found excuses to stay late at his office and asked his secretary to stay with him. One thing led to another until he succumbed.

With tears rolling down his cheeks, he sat across the desk from me and cursed the day he had read that first magazine. He spoke of his love for the wife who had forgiven him and remained true to him. He spoke of his love for his children, who had been shamed and embarrassed by his actions. He told of the hell through which he had walked from the time of his excommunication. He spoke of his love for the Church and his desire to enjoy again its full blessings.

In the presence of his wife, I placed my hands upon his head and in the authority of the holy priesthood restored his priesthood, his temple endowment, his temple sealing, and all other blessings which he had formerly held. This strong man sobbed like a baby under my hands while his wife, with her hand in his, wept like a child.

At the conclusion of that blessing, they embraced one another and he asked her to forgive him. She said she had forgiven him and that she loved him and always would.

They were happy when they left, happier than they had been in years. And I was happy too. But I thought of the terrible price he had paid and of the price he had exacted of his family through his foolishness and transgression.

When a sister in our ward started coming to church again after six years, my mother told my brothers and sisters and me that we should be friends with the sister’s two children. Their dad had died just a year before, and they were still very sad. One of the children, Evelyn, was a little younger than I am.
Mama asked me, “Monahra, will you be Evelyn’s friend? Heavenly Father has asked you to be a member missionary. Be loving and friendly, and be sure that she is not left alone.”
I told Mama that I would, and since that day, I have tried to be a member missionary for Evelyn. Because I want to be a full-time missionary when I grow up, I am trying my best to be a missionary now.
Evelyn is a great friend, and she smiles a lot now. We play, go to Primary, and sing hymns together. Sometimes we have family home evening together at her house. I know that Heavenly Father is happy because I have tried to be a member missionary and a friend. I am grateful to have Evelyn as a friend.

In 2003, the USS HONOLULU (SSN 718) left Pearl Harbor and headed north. We transited right through the Pacific into the Arctic Ocean, participating in another “crossing a line” naval tradition to become a Blue Nose before driving directly through the North Pole. Pretty cool! A day or so later, we surfaced through a polynya, a body of water surrounded by sea ice not far from the North Pole. After settling into a stable ice shelf, we were able to get off the ship and go play on the ice. For as far as the eye could see, from horizon to horizon, 360 degrees around, there was nothing but snow and ice. At that time of year and at that latitude, the sun did not pass overhead; it sat a few degrees below the horizon and went around us. The scene was beautiful and lifeless at the same time. It was bitter cold, and not having enough extreme weather gear to wear made it worse. We had a satellite phone on board, and the captain allowed each of us to make a phone call home. As I made my way up to the bridge and took in the view from that elevated position where I would make my phone call, it felt cold and lonely. We were far from home, literally at the top of the world, where the scientists on board were doing some neat things, but nothing was more important in that moment than to connect with my wife. The chill in the air melted away with the warmth of family when she answered the phone, and for that brief moment when we were able to talk, I was no longer cold or lonely.

Our school was pretty small. It had only about twenty kids in each class, so everybody got to know everybody else pretty well. From kindergarten on, I always had plenty of friends. But a few kids in each class were a little shy, and the rest of us didn’t always try to bring them into our activities.
I remember Randolph especially. He was really quiet and never said anything in class. The teacher sometimes asked, “What do you think, Randolph?” just to get him to talk. I never played much with Randolph, but it wasn’t because I didn’t like him. He was just too quiet. At recess he would usually to off to play by himself or sometimes with one other boy.
That was the way it was until the fourth grade. Then Jon moved to town. Jon was a great guy, and everybody liked him, including me. But he was so good at sports that all the guys made him their hero. I had been the leader, and I was still everybody’s friend, but Jon was their hero!
One day I was a little late getting outside for recess. When I did get outside, the kids had already started a soccer game, and it didn’t look like there was any room for me. So I went over to the tetherball and started hitting it around the pole. Then I saw Randolph. He was standing to the side just watching the soccer game. I guess that’s what he usually did, just watched. I called, “Hey, Randolph, want to play tetherball with me?”
He looked kind of funny for a minute. I guess he wasn’t used to being asked, because he said, “Me?”
I said, “Yeah, sure, you.”
We had a good time, and that afternoon at recess we played tetherball some more. We laughed a lot, and Randolph even talked a little. It made me feel good to see him open up like that.
The next day at morning recess, Randolph and I headed for the tetherball pole again. We’d just started, when Jon came over to me and said, “Hey, don’t you want to play soccer with us?”
I felt pretty good that Jon had asked me, since he usually had all his friends around him, so I said, “Sure,” and ran to get in place.
Then I looked back. There was Randolph, just standing alone by the tetherball, bopping it a little bit. I hollered, “Hey, Randolph, come on over. We need you to play too.”
He looked that funny way again, like he did the first time I asked him to play tetherball. I said, “Randolph, I’m not playing unless you do.”
Then the greatest thing happened. Jon spoke up and said, “Right, Randolph. We need you too. Come on.”
And Randolph came running over, grinning the biggest grin I ever saw.

When one of our granddaughters was 3 years old, she attended a “joy” pre-school. One morning they were talking about the delights of their bodies. Among other activities, they outlined their own image on newsprint paper and they weighed themselves. When our granddaughter was measured and weighed, she was the tallest and the heaviest. Everyone cheered. It was as if she had won the prize for being the biggest. On the sidelines, her mother ruefully wondered how that scene might change in the next dozen or more years. Would she appreciate her body then, if she were the biggest?