Gospel Story Finder

For a parent-child service project (see guidebook, p. 9), Michael’s family decided to make apple pies that each family member could take to someone. Michael asked if he could take his pie to a family who had been unfriendly. Although his mother was concerned, Michael persisted. Michael’s family delivered the pie. They discovered that the family was having hard times and that the unfriendliness was not directed at them. The two families became great friends because Michael wanted to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I am grateful for President Russell M. Nelson’s powerful prophetic call to missionary service and President M. Russell Ballard’s and Elder Marcos A. Aidukaitis’s inspiring missionary messages today.
A missionary assignment to Great Britain late last year allowed me to reflect on the precious spiritual events that were foundational to my decision to serve as a missionary. When I was 15 years old, my beloved older brother, Joe, was 20—the age of eligibility then to serve a mission. In the United States, because of the Korean conflict, very few were allowed to serve. Only one could be called from each ward per year. It was a surprise when our bishop asked Joe to explore this possibility with our father. Joe had been preparing applications for medical school. Our father, who was not active in the Church, had made financial preparations to help him and was not in favor of Joe going on a mission. Dad suggested that Joe could do more good by going to medical school. This was a huge issue in our family.
In a remarkable discussion with my wise and exemplary older brother, we concluded that his decision on whether to serve a mission and delay his education depended on three questions: (1) Is Jesus Christ divine? (2) Is the Book of Mormon the word of God? and (3) Is Joseph Smith the Prophet of the Restoration? If the answer to these questions was yes, it was clear that Joe could do more good taking the gospel of Jesus Christ to the world than becoming a doctor at an earlier date.
That night I prayed fervently and with real intent. The Spirit, in an undeniably powerful way, confirmed to me that the answer to all three of these questions was yes. This was a seminal event for me. I realized that every decision I would make for the rest of my life would be influenced by these truths. I also knew that I would serve a mission if given the opportunity. Over a lifetime of service and spiritual experiences, I have come to understand that true conversion is the result of the conscious acceptance of the will of God and that we can be guided in our actions by the Holy Ghost.
I already had a testimony of the divinity of Jesus Christ as Savior of the world. That night I received a spiritual testimony of the Book of Mormon and the Prophet Joseph Smith.
Your testimony will be strengthened when you know in your heart through your prayers that the Prophet Joseph Smith was an instrument in the Lord’s hands. During the past eight years, one of my assignments in the Twelve Apostles was to review and read all the remarkable Joseph Smith papers and documents and the research that led to the publication of the Saints volumes. My testimony and admiration of the Prophet Joseph Smith have been greatly strengthened and enhanced after reading the inspiring details of his life and foreordained prophetic ministry.

It was a moment that 42 Eagle Scouts from the Boise Idaho North Stake will remember for a long time. Following a banquet in their honor, each of them stood and made a solemn promise—to go on a mission. What made it even more memorable was that the banquet was part of a trip from Boise to Salt Lake City to honor the Eagles, 26 of whom received their award in 1978. And one other thing made it a special promise as well—they made the promise to their former stake president, Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone of the First Quorum of the Seventy.
“I had already planned on serving a mission,” said Tim Duffy, 14, one of the Eagles. “But this really reinforced the desire.”
While in Salt Lake, the group toured the Church Office Building, Temple Square, the Church Historical Archives, and the Genealogical Library. At the banquet they were also addressed by Neil D. Schaerrer, the Young Men general president, and Paul K. Cropper, member of the Young Men General Board.

I kept getting the feeling that I should try using conference talks for family home evening lessons. At first I resisted. My kids are young, the talks are hard for them to understand, and I wasn’t sure there would be any kid-friendly subjects. But I knew I had to at least try.
Using general conference talks has not only completely transformed our family home evenings for my children, but we’ve had some great gospel discussions. Interspersed within total chaos, there have been small miraculous moments of family bliss.
Jessie Christensen, Utah, USA

I work full time, go to school full time, and have a lengthy work commute. Needless to say, I sit a lot. People are starting to notice because, recently, Brother Kimpel warned me that "sitting is the new smoking," and my husband has made it his personal mission to get me active and back into shape.

A few weeks ago, we were in Sun Valley, and after a big dinner, my husband announced it was time for a hike. When I asked where we would be going, he simply pointed to a mountain and stated, "Just up there for a little ways."

He has a habit of doing that. He knows that if he told me how far we would be hiking, I probably would not go. We made our way to the base of the trail and then headed straight up. He kept telling me that we were going to the top, but when there are mountains upon mountains, I did not know what that meant. My legs and lungs were burning and my heart was racing. My husband kept suggesting that I look back at how far we had come or look around at the beauty of nature, but the only thing I could do was look up and wonder if I could really make it.

We will all have experiences in our lives when no amount of looking back or looking around can provide the relief we need and the peace we desire. That is why the Savior promised, "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you."

Jesus Christ knew that we would all have experiences where looking up to Him, in faith, would be our only source of comfort. He is there. He is our advocate with the Father. He is pleading for us and with us when He cries, "Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."

The very first Sunday I attended church with the full-time missionaries, I recognized people I had grown up with and knew from the community. One of my best friends from middle school, whom I admired and who often invited me to attend dances at her church, was surprised to see me in the chapel. I was equally surprised to find that she was a Mormon.
Each individual that I knew before coming to church that first time had a lasting impact on me. My best friend was a young woman of great integrity. I always admired her values and was invited to follow them with her, though I never felt I was capable of following her good example. She had always been open and inviting to me. Because of her attitude, I chose to continue to investigate the Church.

When I think about light and the many different meanings it has, I reflect on an experience I had last June.

For several years I have had the opportunity to participate in a team race that takes runners through some of the most beautiful scenery in the state. The event starts in Logan and winds through the Wasatch Back to finish in Park City. It is called the Ragnar Relay Series, and each team consists of two vans, with six people packed into each van. Each team spends more than thirty hours together with no sleep, not much food, and few rest spots. Each team member runs three different routes, and the whole team runs a total of more than 180 miles. What an adventure!

Last year I wasn’t quite as prepared as usual after badly spraining my foot a few months before. Just so you know, I was the oldest on the team and by far the slowest runner. Everyone else on my team was really fast. After my first run of nearly six miles, I was okay, but it had been really hard and I had gone pretty slow.

Soon after, our van was starting to get ready for our second leg of runs when my friend Greg mentioned that maybe I should run a shorter leg that was half the length of what I was supposed to run. At first I thought, “Oh, that’s thoughtful of him—he’s concerned about my foot.” But I soon realized that he just didn’t want me to slow down the team.

So I took the shorter run. However, it put me on an unfamiliar course. It was one of the few runs that took place on a trail in the middle of nowhere at 2:00 a.m. There was no lighted path, and there were no signs or obvious markers. I wore a headlamp and a blinking red reflector. My headlamp was the only source of light through the two and a half miles of switchback trails. As you can imagine, it was a bit disconcerting, and it was very challenging to stay on the path. I had to stop a few times to shine my headlamp around for fear that I was off of the course. During the entire run I was scanning for any sign of a light, a marker, or even a blinking reflector from someone. Occasionally I would see in the distance a small red light with an arrow and run in that direction. Once I had passed the arrow, I would scan again, trying to find another red light.

Finally, toward the end of my run, I saw a few runners ahead and followed their lights to the finish. Soon after, a couple of runners came in behind me and thanked me for leading them to the end. Evidently they had been following my light all the way in.

Lexi ran outside with the rest of Mrs. Crandall’s third-grade class for recess. What should she play today? Sometimes she jumped rope with Tara and Isabella. Sometimes she played foursquare with David and Kristina and Callie. But Lexi wanted to do something different today. Maybe she should join the soccer game.
Then Lexi noticed something very different.
A new girl sat near the edge of the playground. She had brown skin and long, shiny hair that reminded Lexi of her piano teacher’s glossy black piano. Lexi thought the new girl looked like a princess from another country.
Why wasn’t anyone playing with the new girl? Lexi decided to ask a teacher.
“Her name is Nasimah,” the teacher said. “She’s from Pakistan. She doesn’t speak English, but I’m sure she’d like to play with you.”
“I don’t know,” Lexi said. She wondered how she could play with the new girl if they couldn’t talk to each other. How would she say, “What do you want to play?” or, “It’s your turn,” or even, “Hello”?
Lexi decided to jump rope with Isabella after all. But she watched Nasimah whenever she could.
At home, Lexi couldn’t stop thinking of Nasimah and how lonely she must be. There had to be a way to talk to her. Maybe Mom could think of something.
Lexi found her mother in the laundry room. She was sewing patches on Lexi’s brother’s Scout shirt. “Do you know any words from Pakistan?” Lexi asked.
“No,” Mom said. “Why?”
Lexi explained about Nasimah.
“If you want to play with her, I think you should,” Mom said, “even if you can’t understand her words.”
“I don’t know,” Lexi said. She hung her head and played with the spools of thread in Mom’s sewing box. A ball of black yarn reminded Lexi of Nasimah’s shiny hair.
An idea was coming together in Lexi’s brain. “Mom,” she said, “do you have an old sock I can use?”
“An old sock? I suppose so.”
“And can I use some of this yarn?” Lexi dug through the box and found the button jar. “And a couple of buttons?”
“Sure,” Mom said.
With a little help from Mom, Lexi made the perfect sock puppet. Its hair was black, just like Nasimah’s hair. Its button eyes were blue, just like Lexi’s eyes. Mom helped Lexi make a red dress for the puppet.
The next day, Lexi thought recess would never come. Concentrating on her spelling test was hard. She kept thinking of the sock puppet in her backpack. Finally recess came and Lexi raced outside with the puppet.
Where was Nasimah? Lexi looked all over the playground. At last, Nasimah came out with her class and stood by the wall.
Lexi took a deep breath. Would the puppet work? It had seemed like such a wonderful idea yesterday.
“I have to try,” Lexi thought.
She walked slowly over to Nasimah. Lexi held up the puppet and slipped it over her hand. Moving her hand, she made the puppet talk.
“Hi!” the puppet said in Lexi’s voice. “Do you want to play with me?”
Lexi took the puppet off her hand. She gave it to Nasimah and helped her put it on her hand.
Nasimah moved the sock puppet. It began to speak strange words that danced in Lexi’s ears. They took turns with the puppet for the rest of recess. When Lexi held the puppet, it spoke English. When Nasimah held the puppet, it spoke her language. Lexi thought she was starting to understand a couple of words.
When the bell rang, Lexi handed the puppet to her new friend. “You keep it,” Lexi said. “It’s a present.”
Nasimah seemed to understand. She kept the puppet and smiled.
“Smiles are the same in all languages,” Lexi thought. And she smiled back.

I didn’t realize that everyone didn’t know that when I first left home. I was in Georgia and a girl asked me to tell her about the Mormon church and what I liked about it and what I believed. I told her the obvious things about the Word of Wisdom, tithing, and going to church on Sunday. She threw her hands in the air and exclaimed, “Merciful heavens! I want to be religious and hear a good sermon on Sunday, but I’m certainly not going to let it interfere with my life.”

She didn’t know about the plan of salvation—that life is a part of eternity, as much as any part before we came or after we leave. It is all one round whole of the plan of salvation.

In 1870 my mother’s brother, Mons Andersen, came over there to our home as a Mormon missionary. He brought local elders there, and they held meetings in our home. By that means Mother and Father were converted to the Church. Soon after, they decided to move to Utah. But it was not so with me. I was going to the parson’s school, and there we had tests to see what we knew about the Bible. The elders found fault with the explanation of the passages of scripture which I was quoting, so instead of me being converted, it made me rather bitter against Mormonism.
Then the time came when my parents sold our home and were going to Utah. But I had gotten bitter and did not want to go with them. So when they saw I did not want to go, they offered lots of inducement. Then I wanted to stay more than ever. I did not realize our home was sold and that there was no home for me to fall back on. The people who bought our home had moved in, and we had to stay with our neighbor the last night. I finally consented to go with them as far as Christiania (now called Oslo), the capital of Norway, a distance of about 90 miles. So on June 18, 1872, we left our home and started to go to Utah.
Now I must tell a little of what happened there. You remember that was as far as I had promised to go with them. From the station there we were taken to the headquarters of the Mormon mission in Norway, at Osterhausgaten No. 27. While we were there, they held a meeting in that hall, and my parents wanted me to go into the meeting. But I wouldn’t go in. You remember I said before that I was bitter. There was a lady there who saw that I did not go in. She said, “If it was my boy, I would whip him till the blood ran down into the heels of his shoes.” I heard her say it, but I thought she would have to be a good runner to catch me because I was a fast runner.
Now this is how they got me to go farther. They knew what I had said before I left home in Ringsaker, and my sister Agnete had said that if I didn’t go, she wouldn’t go any farther either. Father went out to a hat store and bought my brother Mathias and myself each a nice brown hat and gave them to us. He said nothing but looked sorrowful. When I saw my parents looked sorrowful, I remembered what I had read in the Bible: “Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God gavest thee.” I consented to go with them. Then they cheered up, and I have never regretted it.

Darkness covered the city of Nauvoo, but there was a restlessness in the air. Here and there, windows were bright with lamp light. Chickens were stirring. Somewhere a dog howled.

Eleven-year-old Mary Ann raised up on her elbow in bed when she heard a horse gallop up to the door of their house.

“Sister Pratt!” called a voice. “Joseph and Hyrum are dead! Murdered by a mob at the Carthage jail!”

Mary Ann gasped. Barely breathing, she strained to listen as her mother went to the door and talked to the messenger in low, anxious tones. Suddenly she felt alone and frightened.

As her feet touched the wooden floor, she heard the door close and lock behind the messenger. All at once she was in her mother’s arms and both of them began to cry.

Mary Ann wished “Father” were there to tell them everything would be all right. Her real father had died suddenly when she was just a baby, but when Mother married Parley P. Pratt, Mary Ann had learned to love him and call him “Father.” Now he was away on a mission.

Mary Ann’s thoughts were interrupted when little Susan began to whimper. Her mother lifted the baby out of the cradle and rocked her. Even through her tears, Mama’s voice was sweet and clear, as if she were still singing with the choir.

“Do you think he knew it was coming, Mama?”

“Everyone was concerned for his safety. His life was constantly threatened.”

“I think he knew,” Mary Ann insisted. “Do you remember three weeks ago in the grove on Mulholland Street when the Prophet asked all the children to meet the next Sabbath for a Sunday School? Then he said, ‘I don’t know if I can be here. I will if I can, but Brother Stephen Goddard will be here to take charge.’ Don’t you think he knew, Mama?”

Mary Ann’s mother held her close, next to little Susan, who was sleeping peacefully on her mother’s lap. They both knew it was a question to which there was no answer. Together they watched the sun brighten the sky and smelled the perfume of roses and sweetbriar, brought in on the early morning breeze.

“I remember that, Mama.”

“Someday you can tell Susan all about it.”

“Oh, yes, I will!”

Mary Ann slid to the floor and knelt at her mother’s knees so she could look into the sleepy-eyed face of her little sister.

“I’ll tell her how I knew Joseph Smith was a Prophet of God the first time I saw him—and how I still know it! And some day, in heaven, Susan and I will be able to see the Prophet together.”

As members of His church, one of the things we can do to live by faith and not by fear is to magnify our efforts to share the gospel. I am fortunate enough to have wonderful parents who were great examples of living their faith and who had absolutely no fear when it came to sharing the gospel. I admit that I didn’t think their boldness was anything to admire at first. When I was younger, I remember my mother always talking to people she didn’t even know about the gospel. Every time we’d take a taxi to go somewhere in the Philippines she would sit in the front seat of the cab, even if there was enough room for her in the back seat, just so she could talk to the cab driver. She wouldn’t start with small talk because she knew our ride wouldn’t take that long. Her usual approach started with a question: “Do you have a family?” And when they would say “yes,” she would continue to say “well, next time you see those two young men in white shirts with a black nametag on their chest walking on the street, you should talk to them and listen to what they have to say!” She would go on to ask if they’d heard about the Mormons and the conversation would continue that way until we reached our destination. During this time, I am ashamed to admit that I sat in the back seat, completely embarrassed, and wishing I could disappear. She would always end by saying “You will find real happiness when you listen and accept what our missionaries have to offer your family.” She had such love for her fellowmen that she had no fear of what their response would be – she just wanted them to find the happiness she had.

Her example gave me strength later on when I found myself having opportunities to share the gospel with my nonmember friends at school. I attended an all-girls Catholic school during my elementary and high school years. At the beginning of my junior year, I decided to borrow my father’s seminary filmstrip projector - the old style where you have to bring a separate cassette player to play the sounds and manually turn the filmstrips. I showed my favorite seminary filmstrips to my friends and they laughed and cried. They asked questions here and there when certain Mormon phrases came up like “baptisms for the dead,” “Personal progress,” and “temple marriage.” After the first showing, they kept begging for more. It was such a hit that watching seminary filmstrips became our lunch- break ritual until our family moved when my parents got called as mission presidents in the middle of my Junior year. Little did I know then that one of my good friends in that group would end up joining the church.

Donna was excited. She and her cousin Judy were on their way to Aunt Pat’s house. Donna and Judy always had fun playing together.
It was dark outside, but there was enough moonlight to see by. Donna and Judy walked along the country road, laughing and joking with each other. Suddenly, they realized they were in front of Mr. Cook’s apple orchard.
The apples on Mr. Cook’s trees were big and red, and they looked delicious. Donna looked at Judy and realized they both had the same idea.
“Mr. Cook wouldn’t miss a couple of apples,” Donna said. But as she looked at the sharp pieces of the barbed-wire fence surrounding the orchard, it seemed they were prodding her already. A thought came to her: “He is your neighbor, Donna. Are you going to steal from him?”
Donna pushed the feeling aside. It would be fun. And besides, Mr. Cook had hundreds of apples.
She carefully climbed between the wires of the fence and helped Judy through. They crept into the orchard and picked a few of the shiny apples.
“OK, let’s go,” Judy said, motioning for Donna to follow her.
Suddenly, Mr. Cook’s dogs began barking. Someone turned on the porch light, and the girls heard quick footsteps.
“Run!” Donna hissed, clutching the apples in her arms.
When they reached the fence, Judy slipped through easily. But Donna was still holding the fruit and couldn’t get through the tight wires.
As she looked behind her and saw Mr. Cook’s dogs, Donna dropped the apples and squeezed through the fence. She heard a loud ripping noise and felt a sharp pain in her leg. Donna heard Judy gasp as she reached to pull her out of the wires. Donna had ripped her pants, and blood was running from a deep gash in her leg.
As Donna looked at the wound, she felt ashamed. She knew she shouldn’t have tried to steal Mr. Cook’s apples. She also knew she would have to tell Mom what had happened, as well as Mr. Cook.
When Donna got home she told Mom the whole story. Mom was silent as she washed Donna’s leg and put on a bandage.
“Donna, you know it is wrong to take something that isn’t yours,” Mom finally said. “It would have been wrong even if you hadn’t gotten caught stealing.”
Donna nodded as tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she said. “I won’t do it again. I’m going to go apologize to Mr. Cook.”
Mom gave Donna a hug. Donna thought about the feelings she had before she and Judy went into the orchard. “That was the Holy Ghost,” she realized.
As Donna said her prayers that night, she thanked Heavenly Father that she had felt the promptings of the Holy Ghost.
“Next time,” she thought, “I’ll listen.”

San Salvador: A bishop and an earthquake turned them around.
Earthquake! “I saw the walls of my house coming down!” says Sister Salinas. “The debris blocked the doorways, so we couldn’t get out until the strongest part of the quake was over. Then we scrambled over the rubble and ran out into the street.” Later, the entire roof caved in.
In his nearby office, Brother Salinas was hit in the head by flying debris. “But I didn’t worry about the pain, because I was so concerned about my family,” he says. “I ran home, praying, ‘Father, help us! We are thy children. Help us!’”
Even though his wife and all six children had been inside the house, miraculously no one was killed. Terrified, the family fled. “But we knew our brothers and sisters in the ward would be looking for us,” he says, “so we returned.”
Church members were indeed looking for them. A construction project on the meetinghouse was halted so members could help the quake victims. The meetinghouse was converted into an emergency center—a place to find shelter, food, clothing, pure water, medicine, and other necessities. The Salinas family decided to stay on their own property in a tent the bishop gave them, and the members helped clean things up and provided building materials for their new house. “They were always there for us,” says Brother Salinas. “They helped us materially, emotionally, spiritually. But even more, we saw how much the Lord loved us. He was always with us, protecting us. I don’t have a way to pay Him back, except to obey and be humble.”
Although the family had not been active in the Church since their baptism six years earlier, a friend—Bishop Rafael Luna—had kept the Church in their lives. “He didn’t lose faith that we would return,” says Brother Salinas.
His wife nods. “The bishop came to visit often, as did his wife and children. He was always sending members and home teachers and visiting teachers.” She smiles. “They wouldn’t leave us alone!”
In June 1986, Bishop Luna and a group of ward leaders had come to visit the Salinas family and urged them once again to return to Church. And the bishop had felt inspired to send the missionaries back to teach them the discussions again. The family started coming back to Church sporadically. Then, four months later, on 10 October 1986, the earthquake struck. The subsequent overwhelming demonstration of love by the members determined their reconversion.
“Our house was destroyed,” says Sister Salinas, “but we had everything we needed: the love of the members and the protection of the Lord.” Now she is first counselor in the Relief Society presidency, and her husband is progressing in the priesthood. Their children are busy and active in the Church. “We have prospered,” she says.
“We have a goal with the Lord and with the bishop to go to the temple and be sealed,” says her husband. “It’s a marvelous feeling to be back again in the true Church. We feel very happy here.” (See: “We Go As a Group.”)

This morning I wish to speak of an even more personal aspect of ministering that isn’t by assignment, does not involve a calendared interview, and has no reporting line except to heaven. Let me share just one homespun example of that kind of ministering.
Grant Morrell Bowen was a hardworking, devoted husband and father who, like many who made their living on the land, had an economic downturn when the local potato crop was poor. He and his wife, Norma, took other employment, eventually moved to another city, and started their climb back to economic stability. However, in a terribly unfortunate incident, Brother Bowen was deeply hurt when, in a temple recommend interview, the bishop was a little skeptical regarding Morrell’s declaration that he was a full-tithe payer.
I don’t know which of these men had the more accurate facts that day, but I do know Sister Bowen walked out of that interview with her temple recommend renewed, while Brother Bowen walked out with an anger that would take him away from the Church for 15 years.
Regardless of who was right about the tithing, evidently both Morrell and the bishop forgot the Savior’s injunction to “agree with thine adversary quickly” and Paul’s counsel to “let not the sun go down upon your wrath.” The fact is they didn’t agree and the sun did go down on Brother Bowen’s wrath for days, then weeks, then years, proving the point made by one of the wisest of the ancient Romans, who said, “Anger, if not restrained, is frequently more [destructive] than the injury that provokes it.” But the miracle of reconciliation is always available to us, and out of love for his family and the Church he knew to be true, Morrell Bowen came back into full Church activity. Let me tell you briefly how that happened.
Brother Bowen’s son Brad is a good friend of ours and a devoted Area Seventy serving in southern Idaho. Brad was 11 years old at the time of this incident, and for 15 years he watched his father’s religious devotion decline, a witness to the terrible harvest being reaped where anger and misunderstanding had been sown. Something needed to be done. So as the Thanksgiving holiday approached in 1977, Brad, a 26-year-old student at Brigham Young University; his wife, Valerie; and new baby son, Mic, loaded into their student version of an automobile and, bad weather notwithstanding, drove to Billings, Montana. Not even a crash into a snowbank near West Yellowstone could keep this threesome from making their ministering contact with Brother Bowen Sr.
Upon arrival, Brad and his sister Pam asked for a private moment with their father. “You have been a wonderful dad,” Brad began with some emotion, “and we have always known how much you loved us. But something is wrong, and it has been for a long time. Because you were hurt once, this whole family has been hurting for years. We are broken, and you are the only one who can fix us. Please, please, after all this time, can you find it in your heart to lay aside that unfortunate incident with that bishop and again lead this family in the gospel as you once did?”
There was dead silence. Then Brother Bowen looked up at these two, his children, bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh, and said very quietly, “Yes. Yes, I will.”
Thrilled but stunned by the unexpected answer, Brad Bowen and his family watched their husband and father go to his current bishop in a spirit of reconciliation to set things right in his life. In a perfect response to this courageous but totally unexpected visit, the bishop, who had extended repeated invitations to Brother Bowen to come back, threw his arms around Morrell and just held him—held him in a long, long, long embrace.
In a matter of only a few weeks—doesn’t take long—Brother Bowen was fully engaged in Church activity and had made himself worthy to return to the temple. Soon enough he accepted the call to preside over a struggling little branch of 25 and grew it into a thriving congregation of well over 100. All of this took place nearly half a century ago, but the consequence of a son and a daughter’s ministering plea to their own father and that father’s willingness to forgive and move forward in spite of the imperfections of others has brought blessings that are still coming—and will come forever—to the Bowen family.

The same principle applies to children. There is an old and true proverb which says, “As the twig is bent, so the tree is inclined.” May I repeat a story I have told in general conference. Not long after we were married, we built our first home. We had little money, and I did a lot of the work. The landscaping was entirely my responsibility. The first of many trees that I planted was a thornless honey locust, and I envisioned the day when its shade would assist in cooling the house in the summer. I put it in a place at the corner where the wind from the canyon to the east blew the hardest. I dug a hole, put in the bare root, put soil around it, poured on water, and largely forgot it. It was only a wisp of a tree, perhaps three-quarters of an inch in diameter. It was so supple that I could bend it with ease in any direction. I paid little attention to it as the years passed. Then one winter day when the tree was barren of leaves, I chanced to look out the window at it. I noted that it was leaning to the west, misshapen and out of balance. I could scarcely believe it. I went out and braced myself against it as if to push it upright. But the trunk was now nearly a foot in diameter. My strength was as nothing against it. I took from my toolshed a block and tackle, attaching one end to the tree and the other to a well-set post. I pulled the rope. The pulleys moved just a little, and the trunk of the tree trembled slightly. But that was all. It seemed to say to me, “You can’t straighten me. It’s too late. I’ve grown this way because of your neglect, and I will not bend.”

Finally in desperation I took my saw and cut off the great heavy branch on the west side. I stepped back and surveyed what I had done. I had cut off a major part of the tree, leaving a huge scar about eight inches across and only one small branch growing skyward.

More than half a century has passed since I planted that tree. My daughter and her family now live there. I recently looked again at the tree. It is large, its shape is better, and it is a great asset to the home. But how serious was the trauma of its youth and how painful the treatment I had used to straighten it. When the tree was first planted, a piece of string would have held it against the forces of the wind. I could have and should have supplied that string with ever so little effort, but I did not. And it bent to the forces that came against it.

On Scott’s 16th birthday, his father entered Scott’s room and, clearing off a stack of oboe music from a chair so he could sit down, said, “Okay, you’ve been asking us to let you date Pam. You’re 16 now. So go ahead and ask her out.”
“I’m not ready to date yet,” Scott said.
“But that’s all you’ve talked about for a solid year,” his father replied.
“I’m sorry, but a guy just can’t rush into something like that. I’ll date Pam when I’m ready.”
His father left, shaking his head, wishing he understood his son.
Scott tried to get ready to date Pam, but he had known her for four years and couldn’t remember when she hadn’t made him nervous. Even when he was 12 at a Scout-Beehive class breakfast, he’d dropped his pancakes when she asked him if he’d show her how to tie a square knot.
He spent hours thinking about how he’d ask her out. Every morning when he delivered a newspaper to her family’s porch, he looked to see if he might discover a fire in the house from which he could rescue her and the whole family. He imagined her saying, “Oh, how can I ever repay you?” and he would say, “Ma’am, if you’d go with me to the stake youth dance, that’d be repayment enough.”
Every night he’d take the hall phone with the long cord into his room and close the door. With great care he’d position the phone exactly in the center of the desk. Then he would stare at it. As a warm-up to phoning Pam, he’d dial the time-of-day number and talk to the recorded voice, concentrating on lowering his voice.
He’d become sensitive about his voice when he realized that most of the other guys in the priests group were singing bass and he was still singing the melody. In the morning when he delivered papers, he sometimes put pebbles in his mouth and yelled to the dogs who chased him along the route. He tried to imitate as much as possible what John Wayne, with pebbles in his mouth, would say to dogs chasing him if he delivered papers on a secondhand, one-speed bike.
Once he dialed Pam’s number completely. When Pam answered, he cleared his throat and hung up, his face covered with perspiration.
In order to earn money for a karate course, complete with illustrated instruction manual and phonograph records (the course was guaranteed to build confidence), he found a summer job at the Dairy Dip Drive-in. He worked from 10:00 in the morning to 5:00 in the afternoon.
He worked with Becky Williams. It was apparent from the first that they would be “just friends” because she was taller than Scott—his eyes came level with her chin—she was older than he—17 compared with 16—she had little interest in the oboe, and she had a hot-tempered steady named Joe Kruglak who had gained local fame as a fighter. Joe worked as a mechanic in a garage. It was rumored that he lifted automobile engine blocks for exercise.
During the first week, Scott learned from Becky the details of working in a drive-in. Becky worked hard. When business was slow, she launched out on a project of cleaning the grill or washing the windows. But even when they were working side by side, she would seem to withdraw from him, her blue eyes reflecting unhappiness. Scott didn’t say anything to her, and in a few minutes she’d return and they could talk again.
“Basically, what’s wrong with me?” Scott asked one morning while they cleaned out the grease trays on the grill.
“Nothing.”
“C’mon, Becky, be honest. I can take it. Is it that my silver braces clash with the gold-rimmed glasses?”
“I’ve never noticed.”
“I’ve got so much metal on my face I’m afraid to get too close to a TV set. I ruin the reception. Is it that I’m only 160 centimeters tall?”
“Centimeters?” she asked.
“I think I sound taller in the metric system. Do people make fun about my playing the oboe in orchestra?”
“No.”
“The oboe hasn’t really made it in the popular market. But someday I’m going to have a group that plays for dances that will have an electronic oboe. I haven’t figured out the details yet.”
Becky never stopped working.
“Why can’t I get a date?” he asked.
“Beats me,” she answered. “Are you going to help me lift out this rack?”
“Sure.” He bent down and slid out the grease-laden rack.
“Do you try to get dates?” she asked.
“I phoned Pam once.”
“What’d she say?”
“Hello.”
“That’s all?” she asked.
“I’d rather not go into it. It’s personal.”
Everyday at noon Joe walked over from the garage to have lunch.
“C’mon out,” he’d order Becky.
While Scott cooked Joe’s hamburger, she’d sit for a few minutes with him. Joe spent his time complaining about his boss, the people who brought their cars into the garage, and her. Before he left, he’d say to Scott, “Put it on my tab,” which meant Becky would pay for it.
During the second week Scott worked there, Joe got angry at Becky for some reason. They began to argue about something. Scott tried to listen but he had a line of little league players waiting for super dips. Finally Joe stood up, banged his fist on the table, and walked off. Becky watched him go, came inside, paid for Joe’s meal, and helped Scott serve super dips. She remained quiet for the rest of the day.
After two days Joe came back. She hurried out to talk to him while he wolfed down a hamburger and fries. When she came back, she seemed happy.
A week later Scott asked her if she’d mind if he called her up at night to help him build his confidence.
“Becky, this is Scott.”
“Hello, Scott.”
“Hello, Becky,” he said confidently. “You don’t mind if I talk on the phone with you?”
“No, I don’t mind. Joe’s out at a party with some guys tonight.”
“I just want to get practice talking. Nothing serious, you understand. Like the weather. How do you like the weather?”
“Fine.”
“Me too. I’ve always liked weather,” Scott added, and then after a long pause asked, “Becky, what do girls look for in a guy?”
“That’s hard to say. It depends on the girl.”
“Well, what do you like? Somebody who treats you rotten?”
There was silence from the other end.
“He even swears in front of you, doesn’t he?” Scott asked.
“You don’t like him, do you?” she asked.
“What do I know? He’s the success, not me. Maybe it’s something I should try. Let’s say you and I were going steady. I’d go to your home after work, sit down in front of the TV, drink Fresca, and watch the baseball game. Say something to me.”
“How’s the game?”
“Don’t bother me when the White Sox are batting!” Scott roared into the phone. “Can’t you let me have five minutes in peace?
“How’d I do?” Scott asked, returning to his normal voice. “I really walked over you, didn’t I? It’s not as hard as I thought it’d be.”
“I don’t like it,” Becky said, her voice straining.
“But that’s what Joe does to you.”
“Is it?” she asked.
“Sure. You’re not very serious about him, are you? I mean, you’d never do a dumb thing like get married to him, would you?”
“I don’t know. He’s asked me.”
“I think he’d probably treat you the same way after you were married. I’d never treat you that way, though, even if we were married.”
“Oh? How would you treat me?”
“Special. Like if we were married and had two cars, I’d trade cars with you once a month and take yours in to have the oil changed. You’d never have to worry. And I’d empty the bag on the vacuum cleaner.”
“I think we’d better hang up now,” she said, her voice melancholy.
“Sure. I didn’t say anything wrong, did I?”
“No. Goodbye.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When he went to work the next day, she worked quietly.
“You’re not mad at me or anything, are you?” he finally asked.
“No. Just thinking.”
“I’m sorry if I said anything that hurt you—about you and Joe.”
“It’s okay. Maybe I needed to hear it.”
“I think you’re a fine person, Becky. Like the time you threw in four cents of your own money so that little kid could have enough for a cone.”
“I think you’re nice too.”
“You, a girl, think that?” Scott asked, wiping off the counter. “I wish I were. I feel like the friendly neighborhood zero.”
“You aren’t.”
“If I lettered in football, then I’d be somebody. I’d have a red R on my jacket. When I walked down the street, people would stop and say, ‘Look, he’s got a letter on his jacket.’ Then I’d be somebody, and Pam would go out with me.”
“You’re somebody now. You just haven’t realized it.”
“If I was just better at talking to people. My dad talks to people all the time. Even gas station attendants. He just walks up and starts talking. By the time the tank’s full, they’re old friends.”
“You can learn,” she said. “Talk to the customers.”
“Why not?” he answered.
A few minutes later a Volkswagen with three college girls from California stopped for burgers and fries and drinks. Becky cooked the burgers and fries while Scott got the drinks ready.
“Nice day, isn’t it?” Scott leaned over the counter to talk to one of the girls.
“Yeah.”
“Tell me, how’re things in California? Are the oranges doing well?”
“What?” the startled girl asked, upset by the intense manner with which Scott spoke to her.
“The oranges in California. How’re they doing?”
“I dunno.”
Scott leaned farther out, straining to catch some threads of sanity in the conversation. “I guess if they weren’t doing well, we’d have heard?”
Now almost shouting, Scott continued. “I mean, since we haven’t heard, we can assume we’ll have a good crop of oranges this year.” Almost as a command, he barked out, “Wouldn’t you say that?”
The girl slowly backed away.
“I see you are driving a Volkswagen. How is the gas mileage?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I think that’s funny!” Scott yelled, his eyes open wide. “You got a small car so you’d get good gas mileage. And yet you don’t even know what gas mileage you’re getting. Don’t you think that’s funny? Well, don’t you?” Scott barked, his voice cracking.
“Please, could we have our food?” one of the girls pleaded.
As soon as the food and money exchanged hands, the girls ran to the car and drove off, missing the driveway and going over the curb.
Scott and Becky watched them speed off. “Now you see what I mean. I never say the right thing. That’s why I’m so afraid to call Pam. I’d mess the whole thing up.”
“Look, if you want, Scott, I’ll help you phone her after work.”
After work they crossed the street to the bowling alley where there was a phone booth. Becky sat Scott down and calmly discussed with him how to make the phone call to Pam.
Then she led him to the phone booth. Halfway there, he stopped and practiced saying hello in lower and lower tones. “Hello, hello, hello, hello.” A departing bowler stole a worried glance at him and then quickly hurried out the door.
Becky dialed the number and handed him the phone.
“Hello, hello, hello,” he said, finally reaching the desired pitch. “Pam, this is Scott. I’m your paper boy … Oh, I’m sorry about that. Tell your father I’ll try not to throw it on the roof anymore. Goodbye.
“Maybe I’ll call her a couple of times just to break the ice.” Scott told Becky as they left. “Was my voice low enough?”
Joe had been waiting for Becky, his late model sports car parked at the drive-in. When he saw Becky and Scott coming out of the bowling alley, he hurried over to them.
“What were you two doing?” he asked suspiciously.
“We were making a phone call,” Becky said.
Joe walked over to Scott, and stared at him angrily. Joe jabbed one finger at Scott’s chest.
“Don’t get ideas about spending time with Becky after work,” he said sharply.
Glancing over to Becky, he ordered, “C’mon. I’m in a hurry.”
A few days later Scott received the box containing an instruction book and record teaching karate, and an eight-by-ten glossy photograph of someone who claimed to be the king of karate.
That night Scott began his instruction. Over the next several days he spent hours looking in the full length mirror and shouting “Heaaah!” His parents grew to love and appreciate their backyard, spending much time there, as far away as they could get from the house.
“Becky, how come you sometimes don’t come to church?” he asked one morning while they cleaned up the wrappers left from the night before.
“Some Sundays I’m with Joe at the beach or else at the car races. Why?”
“Your parents don’t make you go?” he asked.
“My real parents are divorced. My stepfather isn’t a member, and my mom doesn’t want to make him mad. About the only time he’s home is on Sunday.”
They finished up outside and went in to make up some hamburger patties. “I thought it was going to be great at first when Mom remarried. The second week he took me and my sister out on Saturday. He took us to a fair and bought us cotton candy and hot dogs, took us on rides, and even bought us both a huge teddy bear. After he got us home, he quit paying any attention to us. It was as if his getting us the teddy bear proved what a loving stepdad he was. Now he doesn’t talk to us except to yell. Sometimes I wish I could leave home.”
“With Joe?”
“I don’t know. Him or somebody else. I seem to attract guys like Joe.”
Scott wiped his eyes and then continued to slice up some onions. “Becky, come with me Wednesday to church. Our Explorer post is having somebody come in to teach dancing. You’d have a good time. And you should see some of those guys. They’re all taller than me, and some of them have their own cars.”
“What about Joe?” she asked. “He gets very mad.”
“You leave Joe to me,” Scott said, looking at his karate-toughened, onion-juice-covered hand.
“What would I wear?” she asked.
“A dress if you have one.”
“I do, but I don’t wear dresses much because Joe never likes me to dress up. He says we’re never going any place where we need to worry about how we look.”
After work Scott and Becky walked over to phone Pam.
“What’re you going to say?” Becky asked.
“Don’t worry. You treat me like such a kid sometimes. I have it all figured out. A little light conversation to put her at ease. Then I just ask her if she’ll go with me to the movies Saturday.”
Becky got in the phone booth first, and he crowded in after her. With the door open they had more room in the booth, but the fan didn’t run.
Becky dialed the number for him.
“Hello, is this Pamela Robertson who lives at 345 Riverside Drive? … Pam, this is Scott McCovick who lives at 349 Riverside Drive.”
Scott cupped his hands over the phone and asked Becky, “Now what?”
“I told you we should’ve practiced,” she whispered. “A little light conversation, remember?”
He stood looking at the phone as if he’d never seen one before.
“Say something!” Becky said.
“Pam,” he continued, “I saw you spraying for dandelions a few days ago. What kind of weed killer do you use?”
Becky grimaced.
“No, that’s okay,” Scott added. “You don’t need to go all the way out to the garage to find out. I’ll ask your dad someday.”
In order to start the fan running so they could get some air, Scott crowded into the booth and closed the door. Becky could just barely breathe.
“You sure did a great job. I bet you killed off every dandelion in your yard. That’s what I like about you, Pam. You’re very thorough.”
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Becky whispered to Scott. He put the phone down, opened the door, and let her out. Then he grabbed the phone, and stepped inside the booth.
“Pam, are you still there? … No, nothing’s wrong. Pam, I’m planning on going on a mission … Yes, in about three years … Well, that’s kind of you to say. I just didn’t want you to think I was out to get married out of high school.”
“What are you doing?” Becky asked impatiently.
“I’m putting her at ease,” Scott defended.
“Pam, what did you say? … Yes, I guess it does sound like I’m talking to somebody else at the same time. Well, keep it up with your lawn. Goodbye.”
“You didn’t ask her out,” Becky said, trying to be kind.
“It didn’t come up in the conversation. Give me time. Pam is a wonderful girl. She pays attention in seminary class. I know because I sit behind her and watch her all the time. What if she says no?”
“Why should she say no?”
“Why? Who wants to go out with an oboe player who is also the oldest paper boy in town?”
“So what if she does say no?”
“Don’t say it. If she says no, it’s all over between me and girls. I’ll become an Olympic swimming champion.”
The next day at work, Scott gave Becky a karate demonstration. Resting a board between two bricks, he brought his hand down swiftly and broke the board neatly in two.
“Scott, that’s great!” Becky said.
“Well, it’s a start,” he said modestly.
“What do you mean? It’s terrific!”
“Actually it’s not as impressive as it looks. I took a board and cut about two-thirds of the way through and then filled it up with plastic wood. I’ve got another board here to show off when those little league players show up.”
During lunch Joe found out that Becky was going to activity night with Scott.
He walked up to the window and said, “Come out here.”
“Your hamburger’s almost ready,” Scott answered.
“Stay away from my girl!” Joe yelled at him.
“I just asked her if she’d like to go to church with me tonight.”
“She’s not going anywhere with you or anybody else!” Turning around to Becky, he asked, “Are you?”
“You don’t own me, Joe. I can go to church if I want to.”
Joe whirled around to talk to Scott.
“You come out here, or I’m going to come in and get you.”
“Yes, sir.” On his way out, Scott spotted the board and the two bricks. He picked them up and carried them out, setting them up on the picnic table.
“Ahhhhmmm,” Scott cleared his voice, “I should warn you,” he said, his voice still too high, “that although I may appear to the casual observer to be harmless, I’ve been trained in the martial arts.”
“Break your date with her,” Joe demanded.
“Why? So you can yell at her and make her feel crummy. She deserves better treatment.”
“I’m gonna break your head.” Joe started walking toward Scott.
“If you hit me in the mouth, you’re going to waste over a thousand dollars in dental care. There may be a law suit.”
“You asked for it, kid.”
“Wait, Joe. Don’t do anything hasty. See this board. Heeaaah!” Scott’s hand broke the board in two.
Joe stepped up to Scott and launched his right fist into Scott’s mid-section, doubling him over. Joe turned and left.
Scott lay down on the ground, gasping for breath, while Becky knelt down and tried to comfort him.
The first words he was able to speak were, “I want my money back.”
That night he met Becky at church. As she walked up to the door, one of the older guys in the post saw her and said, “Wow! Look at that! She’s beautiful! Who’s she gonna dance with?”
“That’s my friend. I invited her tonight. Of course, I had to fight her former boyfriend first. Joe Kruglak.”
“You fought Joe Kruglak?”
“Sure, I’ll tell you about it sometime. But you’ll excuse me now, won’t you?” Scott made a grandiose gesture of opening the door for Becky.
Thursday after work, Scott and Becky again called Pam.
“Pam, this is Scott … You found out what weed killer you were using? … Yes, I’m sure it’s very good. Pam, when do you get your braces off? … You know, we got braces about the same time and we’re going to get them off about the same time. I mean, it’s an experience we’ve shared, isn’t it? When I first got them, I got part of an apple peeling caught in them. Maybe you remember. That was when I spent a couple of days with my hand in front of my mouth.”
Becky closed her eyes and shook her head.
“No, Pam, Becky’s just a friend. Why? … Oh, really? He is? Look, you tell him that Becky is a fine girl … No, I think she broke up with Joe. Look, to give you an idea of what kind of girl Becky is, I hope she won’t mind me saying this. You know I work with her at the Dairy Dip. She is very good about cleaning the grease trays on the grill. Not just once a month, but at least once a week. You know what I mean? … Look, you tell Mike to come around tomorrow and I’ll introduce him to her.”
Scott turned to Becky and gave her a smile.
“Pam, if you come with him, I’ll let you have our 89 cent banana split for only 59 cents.”
Becky tapped him on the shoulder and shook her head, making a round O with her thumb and index finger.
“Pam, I’ll even do better than that. I will buy you a banana split. Just for you, though, not for Mike. Okay? Bye.”
He hung up the phone and grinned at Becky.
“Pam’s cousin is in the Explorer post at church, and he really likes you. He wants to take you to a fireside Sunday evening. You’ll say yes, won’t you? Because if you do, then I can ask Pam, and we can double, and Pam’s cousin can use his dad’s car.”
“Is he the tall one?” Becky said with interest.
“None other.”
He walked Becky home, wheeling his bike.
“Poor girl,” he finally muttered.
“What do you mean?” Becky asked.
“Pam. She’s really fallen for me.”
“How can you tell?”
“Well, maybe I shouldn’t say this, but this morning when I was delivering papers, she was outside spraying for crabgrass.”
“So?” Becky asked.
“So? You don’t see what that means?”
“No.”
“Becky,” Scott said, placing his hand on her arm, “You’d better stick with me for awhile. When it comes to things like this, you’re such a child.”

My family and I were watching President Nelson on TV when he said something that caught my attention. He said that there was going to be a worldwide fast!
I wanted to fast, but I had never done it before. Recently the COVID-19 pandemic had started, and we were stuck at home. I knew that I had to do my part. My mom couldn’t fast because she had a baby a few months ago. My little sister and brothers were too young to fast. It would be just me and my dad.
I decided I was only going to skip breakfast because this was my very first time fasting, and I didn’t know how long I would last. On Saturday night I had a good dinner, and then my family said a prayer for my dad and me to start our fast.
The next day we had home church, which is what we had been doing since the pandemic started. I was trying to distract myself from the fact that my sister was eating and that I was really hungry. After church, I played hymns on the piano. Later I looked at the clock, and it was almost lunchtime! I had no idea how fast time had gone. I had completely forgotten that I was fasting!
I decided to say a prayer to break my fast. During the prayer, I felt the Spirit more strongly than I ever had before. I felt that everything was going to be OK. It was a great experience.
Ever since that first fast, I have done every fast that the prophet has asked us to do, and I have felt the Spirit strongly every time.

As a radio reporter Richard worked under considerable pressure covering a wide variety of topics on short deadlines. He soon learned that social drinking was an important way many reporters obtained information. Work became increasingly difficult because he refused to participate in the drinking.
The thought of finding a new job eased his conscience but not his challenges. His radio job had helped pacify his parents after he joined the Church. So when he left the high-paying, prestigious, full-time job for part-time contract work as a guide, his parents were disappointed for a time.
It was another difficult path to choose, but he doesn’t regret taking it because he knows that to be “exalted on high” (see D&C 121:7–8), we must first experience the lows (see D&C 122:5–7).
“We sometimes limit what God can make of us because we don’t want to experience the bad with the good,” he says.
Following the Lord led him to a job he enjoyed. It led him to serve a mission. It introduced him to his future wife, with whom he now has four beautiful children. Despite the trials, there has been no end to the blessings.

Now, it’s a good teaching practice to have the class get to know each other and become a little better acquainted, so we’re going to do that for a minute with Orin Howell.

Orin, when did you join the Church?
Brother Howell: I joined the Church in June 1996.
Elder Holland: Where did you join the Church, Brother Howell?
Brother Howell: In Bosnia.
Elder Holland: What were you doing in Bosnia, Brother Howell?
Brother Howell: I was in the military at the time.
Elder Holland: Where and in what in Bosnia were you baptized?
Brother Howell: I was baptized in Tuzla, in a Russian bar that had been converted to a chapel. We got a used cover of a tank, turned it upside down, brought it into the chapel, and used that as a font.
Elder Holland: This is a wonderful young man in the military, who is touched by the lives of other Latter-day Saints in the military, and he receives a testimony of the gospel and wants to be baptized. So in the converted chapel in wartime conditions, the engine cover of a tank was tipped upside down to form a basin-like structure and filled with water, and Orin filled the basin. He was baptized. Orin, who confirmed you a member of the Church in that setting?
Brother Howell: You did, Elder Holland.
Elder Holland: I had the wonderful privilege in the summer of 1996 to confirm Orin Howell a member of the Church in Tuzla, Bosnia, under wartime conditions, where we were scrambling for our lives. This wonderful young man is now a high priest serving the Church faithfully here in the Salt Lake Valley. He’s a very distinguished member of our class today. Thank you, Orin, for that little bio. It lets the class get to know each other a little better.