Gospel Story Finder

I was tired of not being able to find a modest prom dress, so with an idea from my cousins, I decided to do something. A Young Women leader, Sue Brown, helped me collect used prom dresses from graduated seniors and rent them out to high school girls for no charge if the dresses were returned clean. Fellow young women and other sisters helped organize things and alter immodest dresses.
Within three months, we had filled not only a closet but a room with 195 dresses. A year later the project continues, now run by my younger sister, Jessica, who has collected an additional 105 dresses.

Jennifer and Melissa Peterson and Shawn Edwards, of the Council Bluffs Iowa Ward, Papillon Nebraska Stake were in the mood to win a contest, so they produced a video called “Glenn Miller: A Master Showperson and Arranger.” It won first place in their division of the International Student Media Festival.
Jennifer, Melissa, and Shawn wrote the narration for the video, mixed the music and narration, recorded still photos and film on video, and combined the video and sound. Glenn Miller might seem like an unusual subject for teenagers to pick, but they explained it this way: “We picked Glenn Miller because he was from Iowa and we like his music.” Their film won them the right to attend the International Student Media Festival Awards Conference in Orlando, Florida.

I learned an interesting little lesson about this one day. It was a number of years ago and four-wheel-drive pickups were just starting to be the thing to have. Before that they had been mostly army vehicles and some heavy construction-type vehicles. But in the mid- to late 70s they started to be sought after, and wanted, and available.

I convinced myself that because I wanted one, I needed one. I went to my sweet wife Estella and said, “I need a four-wheel-drive truck.” And she said, “You don’t either.” And I said, “I do too!” She said, “We’ve lived all this time without one. Why do we need one now?” And I said: “Well, I’ll just explain that to you. What if we had a terrible blizzard and I needed to go down to the store and get milk for our children and the only way I could get through would be with a four-wheel-drive pickup? How about that?” And she said, “Well, then go get you a four-wheel-drive pickup and it won’t matter because we won’t have any money to buy milk for the kids, even if you can get to the grocery store!” Well, being of a cautious nature and wanting to provide for my family, I went and got a four-wheel-drive pickup. And then I couldn’t wait to see where it could go.

I next felt that I needed to get us some firewood stored away. So I went to the mountains; it had already snowed. At the lower end of the mountain road, it was a skiff; but the further I went, the deeper it got. I knew it was becoming risky, but how could I stop? This wonderful piece of equipment had all the power and all the traction—and I could just go and go.

So I went too far. I pulled off where I could get a load of wood; and as soon as I stopped, I was stuck. All the wheels spun. All four of them spun in the snow. I was rather embarrassed. I was a little frightened and worried, and I was very humble. I did not know what to do; but I thought, “As long as I don’t know what to do, I might as well cut some wood and load this truck.” And so I did. I loaded it high and full and heavy. And then because I did not know what else to do, I decided to try it one more time. As I put it in gear and applied power, I could feel it moving out of the snow and back onto the road. I was free to go home.

I have thought so many times it was the load that freed me. It was the load that gave me mobility. It was the load that carried me forward.

As I headed back to Provo that Sunday night, I thought about Kelly, the young man that Elder Neal A. Maxwell had talked about that morning in stake conference. I had gone home from BYU for the weekend to attend the conference with my family. I needed a spiritual boost, and the conference was no disappointment. Elder Maxwell had talked about facing and overcoming challenges, and he had told us about a young man named Kelly.
Kelly had fought through many physical difficulties. He had been born without a jaw, chin or ear on the left side, and was operated on 11 times before graduating from high school. A jaw bone was made with bone from his hip, and an ear was also made for him.
For Kelly to serve a mission he had to have special permission to wear his hair over his ears. They were uneven because of the effect of gravity on his left ear, so they needed to be covered. He received permission to wear his hair longer, and he served a mission. He was now attending BYU. I hoped that I would get the chance to meet him. I was so impressed by his story that I wondered over and over if I had passed him on campus.
For weeks I thought about him and hoped I would meet him, but with 26,000 students and the semester nearing the end, it didn’t seem likely. I had mostly forgotten about it until one afternoon in my history class.
I was late that day. I hated being late, especially for my history class. Uncle Joe, as everyone called the professor, was the kind of teacher who could make just about anything interesting.
Every person in the class had to do an oral report on one of the presidents of the United States. Each class period we discussed the life of one of the presidents, and the student who had chosen to study that president started off the class discussion with his report.
As I slipped into the classroom and into a chair, I noticed who was up at the front of the class. It was that boy with the long hair. He had already given his oral report, so I couldn’t imagine what he was doing up in front of the class again. He didn’t look like the type that would have done another report for extra credit. “It doesn’t even matter that I’m late,” I thought as I arranged my books, “if it’s just him up there talking.”
I got settled and sat back to listen. “Why does he wear his hair so long?” I self-righteously wondered. “Doesn’t he know about the dress and grooming standards here?”
He was telling us his own story. “I was born without a jaw and had to have extensive surgery to have one made from bone from my hip. I had 11 major operations before …”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. An uncomfortable feeling was growing inside of me. It couldn’t be him!
I listened to much of the story that I had heard Elder Maxwell tell in stake conference. He spoke of gratitude and appreciation for health and the sweet, simple things of life. When he finished and sat down, Uncle Joe stood up and said, “Thank you, Kelly, for sharing your story with us.”
I don’t remember anything else we talked about that day. I sat there thinking about how much I had wanted to meet Kelly, and all semester long he’d been in my class. But from the first moment I saw him, I had counted him out as anyone I’d like to get to know because he looked a little bit different.
As I nervously waited after class to finally get to meet Kelly, the words came into my mind: “for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Sam. 16:7). I realized I had almost missed meeting Kelly because I was looking in the wrong places.

As young married students, Holly and I were approaching graduation. We planned to move to Chicago for graduate school. We had traveled there twice and had put in deposits for my program and for an apartment. When we were back in Provo, one morning I awoke with what I can only describe as a revelation to pursue a completely different path and to take a job for which I wasn’t even being considered. I had no offer; I hadn’t even sent in a résumé. Talk about quixotic! All of this might seem irrational or unreasonable to the uninitiated, but reason itself demanded that I acknowledge the reality of this revelation.

Reason, then, together with revelation—the head and the heart—allowed Holly and me to jointly pursue this new path with faith. And although I was frequently tempted to waffle in the weeks that followed, in hindsight, Holly and I are immensely grateful that we did not fall prey to the false dichotomy of choosing either reason or revelation alone. It wasn’t until years—and a few jobs—later that Holly and I connected the dots to see the Lord’s hand guiding us to experiences and opportunities that have helped us serve more effectively. “Dispute not because ye see not,” the Book of Mormon teaches, “for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.”

Two weeks ago at the Annual University Conference I shared a story with the faculty and staff concerning the mission of BYU. Since the students were not there, let me repeat it for their benefit. The incident took place in 1885, 10 years after the founding of Brigham Young Academy. In those days the school was funded by local donations with little support from Church headquarters, and the college had fallen on hard times. There was not enough money to pay teachers or provide supplies. The situation was desperate, and it appeared that the academy’s doors would close. Zina Young Williams, dean of women and a daughter of Brigham Young, initiated a meeting with President John Taylor in the hope of obtaining Church help. The story unfolds as follows:
After listening to Sister Williams’s plea for help, President Taylor took her hand “in a fatherly way” and said:

’My dear child, I have something of importance to tell you that I know will make you happy. I have been visited by your father. He came to me in the silence of the night clothed in brightness and with a face beaming with love and confidence told me things of great importance and among others that the school being taught by Brother [Karl G.] Maeser was accepted in the heavens and was a part of the great plan of life and salvation; . . . and there was a bright future in store for . . . preparing . . . the children of the covenant for future usefulness in the Kingdom of God, and that Christ himself was directing, and had a care over this school.” [Leonard J. Arrington, ed., The Presidents of the Church (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1986), pp. 108–9]

In spite of the dark hour overshadowing the academy in 1885, one can say with hindsight that it had a “bright future.”

Thanks for a wonderful magazine. While I was still learning about the gospel, a close friend of mine lent me some of her favorite issues to read. I wasn’t terribly interested at first but soon found myself reading them from cover to cover. In them I found answers to my many questions. Reading the New Era brightened my day. My friend found out I enjoyed the New Era and gave me a subscription. I was 16 then. Now I am 19 and have been a member of the Church for almost three years. I’m still reading this great magazine from cover to cover.
Laurie ZamoraOgden, Utah

In 1980 my wife, daughter, and I moved to Baltimore, Maryland. Soon after our arrival we were invited to a ward party at the home of a member. We were told it was to be a crab feast. We were excited, but we really didn’t know what to expect. Our experience with seafood consisted of trout, canned salmon, and pickled herring. As we came to the member’s backyard, we saw that newspapers had been spread on picnic tables and steaming bushels filled with red creatures the size of my fist had been dumped out on them.
My wife, Ruth, asked, “What are these?” referring to the red creatures.
We were informed that these were Maryland blue crabs, which turn bright red when they are steamed.
Ruth asked, “How do you catch them?”
We were told that early that morning, two of the brethren had gone to a butcher shop and purchased a bucket of chicken necks. As you know, chicken necks look like chicken and smell like chicken when cooked, but if that is what you are given for dinner, you will go hungry. The chicken neck consists of bone, tendon, and skin.
The assigned men had gone out in a skiff on the shallow Chesapeake Bay. In water about eight feet deep, they began the process of catching a crab. They tied a chicken neck to a string, dropped it into the water, and allowed it to settle on the sandy ocean floor. Sensing a potential feast, a crab scurried along the bottom and grabbed the chicken neck with its big claw. The men then slowly and steadily began pulling on the string. The crab held on to the chicken neck, and just as it was about to breach the surface of the bay, the crab became agitated and let go. But by that time the men had placed a small net under the crab. They took it out of the water and flung it into the boat. And, voilà: ward dinner!
Ruth said, “So, that’s it? There’s no hook? There’s no rod? There’s no reel?”
“That’s right,” they replied.
She said, “The crab could let go at any time?”
“Right.”
“But they don’t?”
“No,” was the reply.
Ruth summed up this newfound knowledge by saying, “Boy, are those crab stupid!”
If you were writing a pamphlet called For the Strength of Young Crabs, it would be pretty short, wouldn’t it? It would say, “Lay off the chicken necks! They are a trap. Don’t be fooled.”
There are many chicken necks in the world: things that look enticing, things that look like a veritable feast, and things that seem worth a minor detour. But if we take that detour, we will, like the prodigal in the parable, experience a fleeting paroxysm of enjoyment followed by degradation ranging from slight to abysmal and misery ranging from small to unutterable before coming to ourselves and recognizing the mistake. The mistake is that these detours are traps.

One of my favorite inspiring learning opportunities this past year involved a group of students—most of whom were born outside of the United States—who visited historic sites of the Restoration. While in the Sacred Grove—the hallowed ground where Joseph Smith’s First Vision took place—they video chatted with family members in their home countries, sharing this singular opportunity with loved ones who might not have the chance to visit that sacred space themselves.

Our leadership is determined to offer those kinds of experiences to more students. Inspiring, experiential learning can happen right here on this campus—sometimes in classrooms, sometimes in labs, and yes, in uniquely designed campus work on campus and off campus.

Here is an example of caring for those in need. One day a stake president in the Cúcuta stake in Colombia accompanied the stake Young Women president to visit two young women—and their older teenage brother—who were going through some terrible struggles. Recently their father had passed away, and their mother had passed away a year before. The three siblings were now left all alone in their small, humble shelter. The walls were made of crude wood lined with plastic bags, and the corrugated tin roof covered only the area where they slept.

Following their visit, these leaders knew they needed to help. Through the ward council, a plan to help them began to emerge. Ward and stake leaders—Relief Society, elders quorum, Young Men, Young Women—and many families all set themselves to the task of blessing this family.

The ward organizations contacted several ward members who work in construction. Some helped with design, others donated time and labor, others made meals, and still others donated needed materials.

When the little house was finished, it was a joyful day for those who helped and for the three young ward members. These orphaned children felt warm and reassuring bonds of their ward family to know that they are not alone and that God is always there for them. Those who reached out felt the love of the Savior for this family and acted as His hands in serving them.

Eight young men in the Hamilton Ward, Stevensville Montana Stake, resolved a dilemma through their own initiative. The weight room at the high school was only open from 7:00 to 8:00 A.M., the time they were in seminary each morning. The bishop of their ward, Robert W. Wischmeier, offered the priests of his quorum the use of an old barn if they wanted to renovate it. “It was a mess back there,” the bishop reported.
The young men jumped at the chance. With volunteer labor and materials from people and businesses in the area, the barn was eventually converted into a weight room and opened for use to other high school students. And the young men can still attend seminary without missing their workouts.

Let me conclude with a story about the BYU-Idaho Center and miracles.

In 2007, I took to the Board of Education a proposal to build an athletic facility that could also double as an auditorium. It used collapsable bleachers and chairs and could handle about 10-12 thousand people. It was about half the size of this building. It would not start until the new Manwaring Center was complete. The Board approved it. A couple of days later, I got a call from President Gordon B. Hinckley. He said, “Brother Clark, I have been thinking about your building.” He then talked with me for a few minutes about the possibility of making it bigger and building it sooner. And then something quite extraordinary happened. All of a sudden, his voice got much louder and much stronger as he said, “Brother Clark, I am here to tell you today to build it bigger and build it now.” He was emphatic!
And so, we did. It was not easy to get it approved, and not easy to build it. This beautiful and sacred place was built on time and under budget only with the help of legions of angels. I am so grateful that President Hinckley, a prophet, seer and revelator, foresaw that we had to build it much bigger and much faster. However, I have come to understand that his urgency about what he saw was not only about this building, but also about building up the kingdom of God and establishing Zion on this campus, and in the world.

The first day on my mission, all the new missionaries and their companions were taken to the town center and told to go and talk to someone. I was completely terrified. How did I ever think that I could serve a mission? I do not go out of my way to talk to people in general. I have always been shy, so to go talk to a complete stranger was very hard. It took a lot of faith to start talking and the more I exercised my faith, the less fear I had. I have a saying written in my scriptures: when fear is up, faith is down, and when faith is up, fear is down.

One day, Justina met two young missionaries in crisp white shirts and ties. Intrigued by their appearance and message, she invited them into her home and listened to their teachings. The message resonated with her, and in 2006, she was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Shortly afterward, her husband and daughters followed her example, embracing the gospel with open hearts.

The Auckland New Zealand Harbour Stake recently stepped back 50 years and once again made the twenties roar.
The stake held a Gold and Green Ball to celebrate its first birthday, and 750 Church members showed up dressed for the occasion—complete with flapper dresses, boas, and skimmers.
The Charleston and Black Bottom were revived, and everyone joined in chorus to wish the stake a happy birthday. The hall was turned into a makeshift garden for the event, and everyone had a roaring time.

At about age 10, I experienced that warm feeling again when I went to stake conference with my parents. An Apostle, Elder Matthew Cowley, was the visiting speaker. He was well known for being a man of faith and miracles—he served a five-year mission to New Zealand starting when he was only 17! As he spoke, I knew for myself that he was a servant of our Heavenly Father. After the meeting, I asked my parents if I could shake his hand. We stood in line for a long time because many other people felt as I did, that Elder Cowley was a very special man. When I finally had the opportunity to shake his hand, I began to cry. I cried all the way home. As a young lad, I was very self-conscious about crying for no apparent reason. My mother explained to me that the feelings I had were a sign of the Spirit confirming that Elder Cowley was a special witness of the Savior. I often experience those same feelings when I shake hands with the Brethren whom we sustain as prophets, seers, and revelators today.

Jon gazed out the car window, trying to see his new house through the falling snow.
“We’re here,” Dad said, stopping in front of a white house.
Inside, Jon looked around glumly. “I can’t believe we had to move a week before Christmas. Tonight we should be having friends over for our Christmas cookie party!”
“We’ll have a family party this year,” Mom said. “You and Amy help Dad get the living room in holiday shape—I marked the box of Christmas decorations to be put there. I’ll start in the kitchen.”
The movers had put the right things in each room, so in no time the living room furniture was in place. Even the drapes were hung.
Soon four red stockings hung on the fireplace, and the nativity scene was on the mantel, just as it had been every Christmas that Jon could remember.
Mom, stirring a bowl of cookie dough, came from the kitchen to watch him and Amy fasten big red and green bows where the holly chain was caught into loops on the staircase banister. Dad was straightening the tree in its stand.
“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!” Mom sang. She watched as Dad strung tiny red and green lights on the tree, then flipped the switch on. The lights twinkled like red and green fireflies. He stretched to put the star on top.
“It’s tilting left,” Amy said.
“It’s tilting right,” Jon said.
“Make up your minds,” Dad chuckled.
“It’s perfect!” Mom declared.
Jon gazed around the room, “You’d never know that behind every closed door are mountains of unopened boxes.”
“We’ll start on those tomorrow,” Mom said, “but tonight we’ll have our party.” She went back to the kitchen.
Jon anxiously waited for the gingerbread men cookies to be baked. They’d put them into plastic bags, tie the bags with red and green ribbons, and hang them on the tree. It had always been one of his favorite parts of Christmas. … It wouldn’t be the same this year, though, without friends.
Amy went to help Mom, while Dad and Jon hung a big Christmas wreath on the door.
Soon the smell of hot gingerbread cookies set Jon’s mouth to watering. Dad’s nose started to quiver, so they followed the smell to the kitchen.
Dad plopped down on a stool. “Mmmm! Let’s bag the cookies.”
Mom smiled and disappeared into the pantry.
“Oh, no!” she cried. She came back to the kitchen looking stricken. “No plastic bags!”
A Christmas tree without gingerbread men in plastic bags to catch the colors of blinking lights? It was unthinkable!
“We can get some from the store,” Jon said.
Dad shook his head. “The stores here close early.”
Mom looked at Jon. “You’ll just have to go next door and ask if we can borrow some!”
“Ah, Mom, I can’t do that. I’ve never even met the people.”
“It’s a good way to make friends.” Mom handed Jon his coat and shooed him out the door.
The snow had stopped, and night was settling in. Jon wondered where the time had gone.
He went next door and knocked. “Hi, I’m Jon, the new boy in the white house,” he said to the girl who came to the door. “We need to borrow some small plastic bags.”
“Hi, my name’s Teresa,” she said. “Plastic sandwich bags? We don’t have any. Maybe Reggie has some.” She turned to her mother who had come up to welcome Jon. “May I take Jon to Reggie’s house?”
“Si (yes).” Teresa’s mom asked Jon, “Is it OK if Rosita and Manuel go with you?”
“Sure,” Jon said. “May they come home with me afterward for a cookie party?” He smiled at Teresa’s brother and sister as all three, at their mother’s nod, scrambled to get their wraps on.
At Reggie’s house, a pretty African-American woman answered the door. She smiled as Teresa explained what they wanted.
“Reggie,” she called, “please bring the new box of sandwich bags from the cupboard.”
Reggie grinned shyly at Jon. “Hi. Did you just move into the white house?”
“Yes. And we need the bags to put gingerbread cookies in. Do you want to come help?”
“You bet! OK, Mom?”
“Of course. Have a good time. It’s nice to meet you, Jon.”
This is more like it! Jon thought. It feels a lot more like Christmas now.
On the way back to his house, the children met a freckle-faced, red-haired boy. His name was Jim, and he was Reggie’s friend, so Jon invited him to come along. “I think our phone’s working, so you can call home and make sure it’s OK.”
Jon had just opened his front door, when someone called to Teresa.
“It’s Reiko, my friend from Japan,” Teresa said. “May she come too? Her family just moved here. They don’t know about Christmas, so the missionaries are teaching her family about Jesus Christ.”
“Missionaries?” Jon asked. “Mormon missionaries?”
“Sure,” said Teresa. “We’re all Mormons, except Reiko.”
Wow! All right! Jon exulted to himself. Mormons are the same, no matter where you live! Christmas is going to be Christmas after all! Aloud, he said, “You bet she can come—the more the merrier.” Teresa motioned for Reiko to join them, then introduced her to Jon and explained about the party.
Mom and Dad looked startled when seven kids paraded into the house.
Before Jon could close the door, another young face peered in.
“Aleki!” cried Jim. “He’s visiting from Samoa. Is it all right if he comes too?”
“Hurray—friends for our Christmas cookie party!” Amy whooped.
Soon everyone had been introduced, and Mom happily began to stir up more cookie dough. “Jim and Reiko, you’d better call now to let your parents know where you are. Aleki too.”
Laughing and chattering, the kids washed their hands, then started stuffing cookies into plastic bags.
Dad laughed. “Watch it—you’re eating more than you’re bagging!” He played a tape of Christmas carols, and everybody sang along. Soon all the bags were filled.
“Why don’t you kids hang the cookies on the tree,” Dad said. “Mom and I will sit on the couch and supervise.”
“Look at all those young arms,” Mom observed quietly to Dad. “See how they work together. Dark brown, lighter brown, golden brown, creamy ivory, and white. Red and green aren’t the true Christmas colors. The true colors of Christmas are the beautiful colors of the children all over the world.”

“I’ve been known to spit when I speak,” he began. “So those of you in the front row are like the people at Sea World who sit in the splash zone!” I smiled at this clever attention getter given by the last speaker of the day in the “Introduction to Persuasion” speech class that I teach at Oregon State University. What I didn’t know was that the real attention getter was yet to come.
Teaching college students the art of persuasive speech is always a challenge for me. Although arguing comes easily for most students, constructing reasoned arguments is another matter. Analytical skills must be drilled and re-drilled. This, their final speech, was to be a polished culmination of the skills they had rigorously studied during the quarter. The assignment was to persuade their classmates to perform some action.
It had been a good day. The arguments had been strong and the issues relevant, and now one of the most promising persuaders in the class, Phil Sanchez, had just engaged our interest with his good humor. Phil was a newly returned missionary from my ward, and I looked forward to what he had to say.
But I was momentarily stunned by his bold delivery as he said, “One of my heroes is a man named Joseph Smith. Shortly before his death he said: ‘I have a conscience void of offense toward God and toward all men. I shall die innocent.’”
The attention of the class was abruptly captured, as was mine. I was seized with a sense of panic. I now felt powerfully protective of the things Phil was about to cast before this crowd of self-proclaimed nonbelievers.
In an attempt to give credence to critical thinking, I often goaded the students into frank discussions about a variety of controversial topics to allow them to test the waters of opposition. Conflict was no stranger to this group. As a result, everyone’s personal values, beliefs, and attitudes had been hung out for all to see. We had a snowboarder who pushed the limits of authority, admitted to drug use, and approached life as a party he was hosting. We had our so-called punk with spiked orange hair and body piercings. We had several students who openly opposed religion and any belief in God. We had a born-again Christian, and, of course, Phil and I were both members of the Church. It was a wonderful and diverse group of students who had developed a remarkable affection for each other, despite their vast differences.
Involuntarily, I stole a glance around the room, fully expecting to see a smirk or a hint of hostility. I wondered briefly if Phil had listened to my lecture on audience analysis. I was certain he had opened a gate through which a flood of cheap shots could flow.
Just then he dipped his long arms into a big box and announced that he had a gift for everyone. He called each student in the class by name and presented each one with a copy of the Book of Mormon. On the inside cover, he had written personalized messages to each of his classmates. To one he wrote, “Check out Helaman, chapter seven. You remind me of Samuel the Lamanite because of your individualism and courage. I think you will enjoy getting to know him.”
After all of the 19 students had their books, Phil asked them to read with him about Lehi and his family. They then turned to successive scriptural passages that were already neatly marked and followed along as Phil moved them through the key components of his message. I continued my surveillance of the youthful faces and noticed a visible transformation taking place. As I watched this class reverently turn to Alma, then 3rd Nephi, then Moroni, and eagerly and respectfully read along, I felt their willing collaboration as their spirits were touched. Phil gave his personal witness to this precious gift and glowed as he told of his joy in being a missionary. He closed by having them read Moroni’s promise that they could also know the truth. He then issued a stirring and sincere challenge for them to read the book.
Our routine was for each speech to be immediately critiqued by pre-assigned peers. On this day, the two assigned to give verbal criticisms had been particularly brutal with their comments in the past. As I called for the first critique, I warily wondered what words Ty, our wise-cracking “skater dude” would choose to describe his experience. He simply said, “This is the first time in my whole life I found myself believing something just because the person who was saying it believed it so much.”
The second student, Josh, had previously told the class on several occasions about his run-ins with religion in general and with various clergymen. I nearly shuddered as I asked for his response. Without a trace of defiance, Josh offered a lopsided grin and said how great he thought it was that Phil had taken the time to personalize the books and give them as gifts. He then vowed to read his book, openly admitting that this was the first time he had ever received a religious message without any feelings of malice or disdain and without wanting to argue back.
Then the time was up. The class was over. Nineteen students stowed their new copies of the Book of Mormon in their backpacks and quietly—almost reverently—filed out of the room.
The courage, testimony, sincerity, and good will of a young returned missionary had invited the Spirit, the best kind of persuasion there is.

The embarrassment Devon suffered was her own fault. The boy next door invited her to a dance, and though she wasn’t wild about him, she consented to go. A short while later another boy, who she was wild about, asked her to the same dance, so she told her neighbor the second guy had actually asked first. The embarrassing part came when her dear little brother told her neighbor the actual truth.
Devon learned that if you never tell a lie, there’s no danger of embarrassment when the truth actually comes out.

Some time ago I was interviewing a young missionary who had been in the field for about 3 months. He indicated that he wanted to go home. As I made inquiry he explained that things had really gone sour for him. The first challenge was adjusting to the funny food he was having to eat. I asked if that was the only reason why he wanted to go home. He explained that that indignity was followed by jet lag and a cold. I then asked, "Is there anything else?" He said that his companion didn't think the way he did and was hard to get along with and hard to understand.

My response again was, "Is there anything else?" He answered that he was miffed that his language skills didn't come faster and that it was hard to understand the people.

Finally he shared the "coup de grace" -- he got a "Dear John" from his girl friend back home.

I asked him, "Which of these problems that you have had was a surprise to God?" He seemed startled and asked me what I meant.

I said, "Do you believe in an omniscient (all-knowing) God?"

He stammered for a second and replied, "yes."

Then I asked, "So if you believe in an omniscient - all-knowing - God, did He know that you were going to have all of these problems before you came into the mission field?"

He answered, "well, I guess so." I then said something that really caught him off guard. I said, "He must really hate you!"

After he got over the shock, he smiled and said, "No. Father in Heaven loves me."

I then asked him the question that he was now waiting for: "If God knew that you were going to have all this torment before you came into the mission field, and if He doesn't hate you, why would He allow all these things happen to you?"

Again, he smiled and suggested, "maybe I'm supposed to learn something."

His challenge was that he wanted the lesson without paying the price. He wanted faith, but did not want to act or persist or endure. Faith is an "action word."