Gospel Story Finder

Cynthia E. Larsen of the Heritage Ward, Calgary Alberta Stake, discovered the joy of watch-care with a challenging visiting teaching assignment. She says: “I remember being filled with apprehension the first time I visited Deanna. I thought we were complete opposites. She was single, an executive with an oil company, and a recent convert to the Church. Yet with each visit we found that we had much in common.
“After Deanna developed cancer, she put my anxiety to rest as she calmly answered my questions with honesty and courage. From that day on, she began to teach me by example what dignity and endurance are.
“In the following months, she enthusiastically educated herself and others about cancer. She organized a cancer information night for our Relief Society. She joined a local cancer support group.
“Eventually the medication and chemotherapy treatments sapped Deanna of her strength and energy. On her ‘good days,’ she went for walks and encouraged other cancer patients. On her ‘bad days,’ she worked at maintaining her optimism, conserving her strength, and building her testimony.
“As Deanna’s condition worsened, our visits became daily. We laughed, we cried, we were silly, and we were intensely serious. She anticipated death, hesitantly at first, then confidently. She worked to make each day the best she could.
“For months before her death I watched my dear friend and sister in the gospel find opportunities to serve. Yes, I served Deanna as her visiting teacher, but it was she who taught me about the blessings of living the gospel.”

May I take a moment to talk of some cautions taught me by experiences that I have observed regarding the gifts of the Spirit.
Too often people feel that answers to their prayers and their pleading for guidance and direction will be given in dramatic manifestations or through a direct voice giving specific directions from a heavenly host. My personal experience and my observation of the Brethren as they guide and direct the Church and solve problems has taught me that the answers come oftentimes over an extended period of time with almost a natural solution whereby people take actions on the feelings of their hearts—which bring them peace and comfort—rather than through dramatic revelation.
Let me give you an example of how I learned this lesson. As a regional representative, I was traveling with President Romney to a stake conference for the selection of a new stake president. We had been driving in a car for more than an hour discussing the Church and priesthood administration. For some reason, I asked a question that, at the moment I asked it, I realized was inappropriate.
The question I asked President Romney was “What is the most spiritual experience you have had as an apostle of the Lord?” There was a pause. It seemed like an eternity. Then he said, “I believe what Joseph Smith and Brigham Young taught, that if we would keep our spiritual experiences to ourselves, many more spiritual experiences could be shared with us.”
It seemed like there was a long period of silence after that remark, and then he said to me, “I owe you a better answer.” Then he gave me great counsel. He said the greatest spiritual experiences of his life had been when he had been on assignment from the president of the Church or the president of the Quorum of the Twelve, as we were that day. He said, “We will interview twenty-five or thirty priesthood brethren, and there will be more than one who will be qualified to be the stake president. But after we have done all we can do, we will get on our knees and pray to our Heavenly Father. We will tell him of our feelings of who the new stake president ought to be and the reasons why. We will tell him of the needs of the stake at this time. Then he will give us a confirmation.”
It was interesting that he said “us,” because it was true on that occasion that as we knelt and prayed, we both were able to receive a confirmation.
This is one of the best examples that I have had of what the gifts of the Spirit are and how they are manifest in our life’s work. Apply the principles taught by President Romney to understand that you can have discernment and confirmation of the concerns that confront you, such as choosing a companion or choosing a career that is best for you.
Isn’t it interesting that President Romney was sent to interview twenty-five or thirty men to choose one stake president rather than being told directly who it should be before his arrival. This is what the Lord means when he tells us to study it out in our own minds. Too often we want to be given answers to questions and problems that, if they were given in the manner we ask for them, would take away our free agency and the blessings that come from reaching out to the Lord for answers and ­direction.

“It’s snowing! It’s snowing!” Heather called to her mother, who looked up from feeding her little sister Beth. When Peter comes home, maybe I can go out and play in the snow with him, Heather thought.
Heather remembered last year when everyone told her she was too little to help build a snowman. But not this year! she decided. Heather eagerly looked out the window, waiting for her brother to come home.
Seeing him coming down the driveway, she opened the door. “Let’s build a snowman,” she shouted as he ran inside.
“Sounds great to me,” said Peter with a smile. “Go get your coat and boots on.”
Peter’s friends Sharon and David came over to help, but they didn’t let Heather join the fun. Even when she tried to stick a piece of coal on the head for the snowman’s eyes, Peter said, “No, Heather, you can’t reach. Let me do it.”
Dad brought Beth outside to see the snowman. “Dad, they won’t let me help,” complained Heather.
“Well, I’m sorry, dear, but it looks like the snowman’s finished.”
After supper Dad tried to explain to Peter that Heather was growing bigger every year and that he needed to include her in doing some things. And he tried to explain to Heather that other people forget sometimes when little brothers or sisters are getting old enough to play with older ones.
Heather went to bed right after supper. She listened to the wind blowing outside and watched the snowflakes swirl through the air wherever the wind took them. Soon she was fast asleep.
The next morning, Heather and Peter went to join their friends outside. They soon discovered that during the night the wind had blown the snowman’s hat away!
“Every snowman needs a hat,” Sharon said. “It’s just not a snowman without a hat.”
The children looked everywhere for the hat, but it was not in sight. “We’ll have to spread out,” said Peter. “Each one take a different direction.”
Heather thought about the snowflakes she had watched last night. Although they had made circles of all sizes as they swirled up and around, they seemed to blow mostly in one direction, toward David’s house. She headed that way. I have to find that hat! she decided. If I do, maybe Peter will see how big I am.
Heather walked for a long time. She even went past David’s house, before she saw Mr. Snowman’s hat hanging high on a limb in the oak tree.
How can I get it down? she wondered. Then she had an idea. A snowball!
Heather made a snowball and threw it at the hat. After four tries the hat fell. Heather picked it up and ran to find Peter.
Peter, Sharon, and David were back at the snowman. They were looking sad. “Maybe we could get another hat or something,” suggested David.
“We don’t have to,” Heather called as she held the hat up for them to see.
Sharon started to take the hat from Heather, but Peter stopped her. “If Heather’s big enough to find the hat, she’s big enough to put it on.”
And that’s exactly what she did!

Joey Reidhead, 17, from the Harris Second Ward, quickly became good friends with his partner, 4-year-old Mikey. “He was very quiet. He didn’t talk very much. But you could tell when he was excited,” Joey said. “He was so excited, he went around to every single game twice. When I was taking Mikey around, he was just like a little brother to me.”
But what Joey remembers most isn’t the excitement of the day but the lesson about gratitude he learned when it was time for Mikey to go home.
“When he left to get on the bus, he said to me, ‘Why do I have to go?’ I wish I could have traded everything that I had, because I had been so ungrateful. I wish I could have just given it to him, because I had taken it for granted so many times. I loved him so much, and it was strange that I had only known this boy for maybe three hours, and I had this overwhelming love for him. It was amazing.”

After graduating from Indiana University, I worked as a tax accountant at PricewaterhouseCoopers, which involved long days and frequent travel for client meetings. Following several years of extensive work-related travel, my wife and I decided it was time for a change. With her family residing in Phoenix, we contemplated relocating to either Arizona or Hawaii. After praying about our decision, we both felt prompted to move to Oahu. Thirteen years later, I am thankful for the Spirit's guidance, and I believe there is no better place to raise our family than in Hawaii.

Delivering airplanes from the factory to clients is an unusual job, and I sometimes land in unusual places. This was the case when I left Recife, Brazil, in a small single-engine airplane bound for Abidjan, Ivory Coast, in Africa. Powerful, unforecast winds pushed my plane off course. Without any navigational aids except a compass, I was grateful when I finally landed safely. To my surprise, I found myself about 1,200 kilometers off course, near Banjul, Gambia.
Tired after my seventeen-hour-long journey, and since I had to leave early the next morning, I decided to spend the night at the airport in a small tent I carry for emergencies.
As soon as I began to set up the tent in the warm darkness of the African night, the duty electrician came out. “You may rest in my shop,” he said.
“No, I don’t want to interrupt your work,” I answered.
“But I am only here in case my services are needed and will probably sleep, too. Besides, there are the snakes.”
“Snakes don’t bother me,” I said. “They probably couldn’t get inside my tent, anyway.”
“Two nights ago,” he stated matter-of-factly, “a cobra spit in a man’s eyes. Now the man may be blind.”
At that, I rolled up my tent and joined him. He was delighted to have me as a guest and showed me a long desk I could sleep on for the night. Satisfied that I was as comfortable as possible, he went off to attend to some duties, and I turned out the light.
After a few minutes, I realized I had forgotten to read my scriptures for the day. I got up, turned on the light, and pulled my Book of Mormon out of my chart bag. I began to read from Third Nephi. I was deep in the story of the visitation of the risen Christ to the Nephites when my friend came through the door. He saw me reading and apologized profusely for interrupting my prayers and meditation.
I was about to assure him that it was no interruption, but instead I suddenly said, “Have you ever seen a Book of Mormon?” He replied that he had not. I found out that he was part of the Christian minority in Gambia and that he had studied the Bible fervently. It was a wonderful experience to share the words of the Savior from the Book of Mormon with him. I explained that the Book of Mormon is another sacred testament of Christ.
For more than half an hour we talked, and I told him briefly about Joseph Smith’s First Vision, a short history of the Church, and the significance of the Doctrine and Covenants and Pearl of Great Price. My friend was fascinated but had to return to his duties. Before he left, he urgently requested a copy of the Book of Mormon and some pamphlets. I copied down his address and promised I would send them to him.
I departed for Abidjan early the next morning without seeing him again. As soon as I arrived home I sent the requested material. Perhaps I will hear back from him, perhaps not. Either way, I have the satisfaction of knowing I have done a small part to help spread the gospel in a remote corner of the earth. Now, though my chart bag is full of flight materials, I have reserved a small bit of space for Church pamphlets and a Book of Mormon. Next time a missionary opportunity arises, I will be ready.

Upon returning home, Ellis moved her family into a house near her office. “Thus began the happiest hours of my life,” Ellis wrote. She was now with her sons and daughter. Her boys helped clean the house, tend the baby, and deliver messages. On one occasion, Ellis was on calls for a period of twenty-four hours, during which time she delivered five babies. When she returned home, her two boys were waiting for her; they immediately rushed her off to bed and made sure she was not disturbed while she rested.

Lauren had just finished her nightly prayer and started to get into bed when she noticed the hat. Chuckling, she picked it up from the desk chair where Sarah had left it. It was just like Sarah to forget her hat. She was always forgetting things.
Lauren put Sarah’s hat next to her own on the dresser. The two were identical, except that Lauren’s was slightly larger. They had bought the hats together at the first of the summer and had worn them all summer long. It was hard to believe that school would be starting next week. But there were still a few days left, and they had spent the afternoon planning just how to spend every minute until school started.
Sarah and Lauren had been best friends since before kindergarten. They had been in the same class every year in school. They both had red hair, brown eyes, and freckles. They both loved peppermint ice cream, the color lavender, the same books, the same games, the same music, and the same people. Everywhere one went, the other wanted to go too. They were almost inseparable.
As Lauren turned again to get into bed, Mom came into her room. Lauren’s smile faded when she saw her mom’s face. Something was very wrong.
“Lauren, I have something very hard to tell you,” Mom said, sitting next to Lauren on the bed. “This evening Sarah was out riding her bike with her brother. She was hit by a car.”
“Hit by a car! Was she hurt? Where is she now—in the hospital? I have to go see her right now!”
“Sweetheart, Sarah died instantly. I’m sorry.”
“Died! She can’t have! I was with her all day long. She left her hat here. We’re going swimming tomorrow morning. Then bike riding, then …” Tears streamed down Lauren’s face, and she shook all over. Her mind kept racing on: Sarah can’t be dead! We’re going to be in the same class next week. We’re going to wear look-alike outfits the first day.
Mom held Lauren tightly as she sobbed. When the sobs quieted, Mom said, “I know how sad and hurt you feel right now. It always hurts a lot when you lose someone you love. This is a very hard time for you right now. But remember that Sarah is surely happy in the spirit world. She loved Heavenly Father very much.”
“It’s not fair!” Lauren cried. “It’s not fair at all! Why should Sarah have to die? She’s too good—why couldn’t some bad person die? She’s just eleven years old—why couldn’t Heavenly Father take some old person who was ready to die?”
“I know it doesn’t seem fair, and we may never understand in this life. But we can’t change what has already happened. And we must learn, somehow, to accept it.”
Lauren cried herself to sleep that night. She cried all the next day too. She cried not only for Sarah, but for herself. She didn’t know how she could go on living without her best friend. How could she go to school without Sarah? She wondered if Sarah was missing her as much as she missed Sarah. Where was heaven, anyway? What was it like? Would Sarah have a best friend there too? A thousand more questions kept going around in Lauren’s mind.
The night before Sarah’s funeral, Lauren suddenly became very frightened. She had never been to a funeral before. What was it going to be like? What would happen? Would it be scary? She didn’t want anyone to put her best friend into the ground and just leave her. The tears and sobs started again, even harder than before.
As Lauren sobbed, she felt Mom’s arms around her. “Mom, what is it going to be like tomorrow at the funeral? What will happen? Does it hurt to be buried?”
Mom held her tightly as all Lauren’s questions and fears tumbled out. Mom was quiet at first, looking as though she couldn’t quite put her thoughts into words. Then she smiled through her own misty eyes and said, “You wait here, I’ll be right back.” A minute later she came back carrying a package of photographs. “Lauren, Dad picked these up from the camera shop today.” She handed Lauren a package of photos.
Lauren looked at the one on top, and there gazing back at her was Sarah. Sarah was smiling and waving. Lauren looked back at Mom.
“These are the photos we took of you and Sarah at our picnic last month, remember?”
Of course Lauren did. How could she ever forget such a fun day? She studied each photo. There were Sarah and she splashing in the creek with their pant legs rolled up. There they were climbing like monkeys in an old oak tree. How did Sarah keep her hat on when she was hanging by her knees in the tree? Lauren wondered as she looked at that photo. She started to laugh when she saw Sarah pulling one of her funny faces in the last photo. It felt so good to laugh again. For just a moment she forgot that Sarah had died.
“These photos aren’t actually Sarah, are they?” Mom asked. “They’re just likenesses. Even after a photo is taken of a person, that person goes on living. The likeness is left for others to see. Well, sort of like these photos, Sarah’s earthly body is left, but the real Sarah is living still. Unlike a photograph, her body will be buried, so you won’t be able to see it after tomorrow, but Sarah has gone on without her earthly body for a while. I want you to remember that tomorrow and always, Lauren.”
Mom went on to explain what the funeral would be like the next day. It helped Lauren to know what to expect. Although there wouldn’t be anything spooky or scary, she was still a little afraid. It helped to know that her parents would be with her.
Beautiful music was playing softly as Lauren and her parents entered the meetinghouse the next day. Lauren’s stomach felt empty and strange as they walked into the chapel. There were lots of people. Everyone looked sad. Lauren fought back the tears as they walked to the front of the chapel, where Sarah’s family was. Lauren held Mom’s hand tightly as she went up to Sarah’s mother, who had always seemed almost like Mom. When Sarah’s mother saw Lauren, she bent down and hugged Lauren close for a long while. When she stood up, Lauren saw tears and pain in her eyes.
“I thought you might like to have this photo of Sarah,” Lauren said, handing her one of the new photos.
Sarah’s mother’s face lit up with a smile as she studied the photo. “Thank you, Lauren. Thank you so much.”
Lauren and her parents sat down then. All through the funeral, Lauren saw Sarah’s mother looking down at her photo. As she looked at it, a small smile would cross her face. Lauren knew that the photo was helping Sarah’s mother remember that she and Sarah would be together again someday.
Lauren knew that Sarah was still her best friend. She would miss Sarah, but she was sure that Sarah was happy in the spirit world.

My wife, Elizabeth, and I know the power of such feelings firsthand. Nearly 40 years ago, a good friend and colleague, a member of the Church, started bringing up the gospel with us in casual conversation. On several occasions, he sent the missionaries to visit us. We liked the missionaries and agreed to take the discussions, but we were not truly interested in what they had to teach.
That changed in October 1978, when my colleague invited several friends, including us, to the São Paulo Brazil Temple open house. He rented several buses at his own expense so that his friends could join him at the temple, about 50 miles (80 km) away.
When Elizabeth entered the baptistry, she felt something she had never experienced before, something she later recognized as the Holy Ghost. The feeling was a great joy in her heart. She knew in that moment that the Church was true and that it was the Church she wanted to join.
A similar feeling came to me at the end of the open house, when we were escorted to the sealing room and taught the doctrine of eternal families. That doctrine touched me. I was successful in my profession, but I had long felt an emptiness in my soul. I did not know what could fill that void, but I sensed that it had something to do with family. There, in the sealing room, things started to fall into place in my mind and heart.
Within a few days, missionaries contacted us again. This time we were very interested in hearing their message.
The elders encouraged us to pray fervently about the truth. I decided this was the only way I could pray. I knew that I couldn’t make a commitment to join the Church without having a real testimony. I was anxious about approaching Heavenly Father to ask for a confirmation from Him, but at the same time, I was sure He would answer me. I shared with Him the deep desires of my heart and asked Him to give me an answer that would assure me that joining the Church was the correct path.
The following week in Sunday School, our friend who had invited us to the temple open house was sitting behind me. He leaned forward and began talking to me. The words he said answered exactly what I had prayed to know. I had no doubt that Heavenly Father was speaking to me through him. At the time, I was a stern, hardened man, but my heart melted and I began to weep. When my friend had finished, he invited my wife and me to be baptized. We accepted.
On October 31, 1978, less than a month after our experience at the São Paulo Temple, we were baptized and confirmed. The next day we participated in the second dedicatory session of the São Paulo Brazil Temple. A year later we returned to the temple with our two sons to be sealed as a family. All three occasions were beautiful, memorable experiences. We have continued to perpetuate those feelings with regular temple worship over the years.

I want you to know that Sister Beck's observation was true of me when I was your age. I knew I wanted to get married, and I knew I wanted to be a father, but I wasn't necessarily preparing with that role in mind. As a matter of fact, my wife reminded me that the day she approached me with a twinkle in her eye and said, "I feel like it's time to start our family," I took a very long walk--so long that it worried her. It wasn't that I didn't agree or that I doubted her timing or ability to receive revelation. I think I was just overwhelmed with the thought that my life was about to change forever and that I wasn't ready. Now fast-forward 20 or so years. Just the other day, I made this note in my journal: "Sometimes being a dad is exhausting, but I can't think of anything I'd rather do!"

Mark Halladay, 13, learned a lot about the Christmas spirit by organizing hot meals and Christmas baskets for 70 homebound senior citizens. The meal was prepared by a local hospital, and the baskets were delivered by volunteers Mark recruited. A local florist donated cut flowers for the baskets, and a businessman donated a pen for each. Mark was impressed by the willingness of people to help other people and found that he had twice as many volunteers as he’d anticipated. The people who delivered the baskets stayed and talked with the senior citizens for a while, and all the participants made new friends. Mark is a member of the Meridian Fourth Ward, Meridian Idaho Stake, and is deacons quorum president. The Christmas baskets and meals were part of his Eagle project.

In the movie "It's a Wonderful Life" starring Jimmy Stewart as George Bailey, Bailey's Savings and Loan is an A-level bank with a love of their fellowmen and a genuine desire to help families get out of the low quality housing in Potter's Field and into a respectable home of their own.
Potter, on the other hand, was a ruthless and uncaring man who thought nothing of stealing the $8,000 that Uncle Billy misplaced in a rolled- up newspaper while making a deposit.
At one point in the movie, Potter makes George an offer he can't refuse, to come and work for Potter at many times the income George is currently making, including some very attractive benefits. One of those benefits was George's dream --to travel. George is momentarily mesmerized by the offer, and then realizes he is being offered a job with a D-level employer. Upset with himself for even considering the offer, he calls Mr. Potter, "Nothing but a scurvy little spider" (which is a good description for a D-level person) and walks out.

President Hunter taught this lesson to me in a very personal way. The first time I met him was when I was called to his office to be set apart for an assignment on a general board. He greeted me very kindly and discussed with me the opportunities I would have as I served in this new calling. He commended me, smiled at me, and then, in his gentle, kind manner, he humbled me by telling me it was not difficult to find people to serve in that assignment. He said if we were to step outside and stop the next 100 members of the Church who passed in front of the Church Administration Building, almost all of them would be able and willing to serve in that same calling.

Then he asked, “Do you know what we need in the Church, Brother Pinegar?” I just sat there, not knowing how to respond, and he didn’t really wait for my answer. “What we need,” he continued, “are home teachers. That is the great need in the Church today.”

As he placed his hands on my head, I was uncertain what Elder Hunter would say. I thought he might set me apart as a home teacher, but in his pleasant, reassuring manner he set me apart and gave me a blessing that I would be able to fulfill my new calling. I promised myself that I would be a better home teacher.

In line with the Africa West Area vision for 2024, the Port Harcourt/Uyo communication council jointly organized a training program on 25 February 2024 in the just completed Port Harcourt Choba Stake center. The purpose of the meeting was to train members to keep the facility clean and conducive for worship and for the positive portrayal of the Church.
In his opening remark, Chukwu Sacho Nwobuisi, stake president, expressed gratitude for the meetinghouse and implored all to do their best to maintain the facility. He reminded all that cleanliness is next to godliness and that God does not dwell in an unclean place and that keeping the meetinghouse clean should be the responsibility of all.
In his training, the facility manager, Brother Enyiesor Otikor, thanked the stake members for being found worthy to have a Church building and requested their steadfastness in doing all that is required of them to keep and maintain it for the purpose for which it is built. He warned that members shouldn’t litter, touch the walls, leave the lights on when leaving the facility, and should always stack the chairs after use, clean the floor, and maintain the grounds.
A video training presentation was shown highlighting the care and maintenance of a meetinghouse. In her remarks, Sister Winifred Pratt Wonodi, the Port Harcourt/Uyo communication council director, pointed out that it is part of the Africa West Area vision for 2024 that “leaders and members, including youth, have a responsibility to help keep each building clean and in good condition.”
She said, “therefore let’s heed the call to serve the Lord by serving ourselves.”
Members were happy to have the building and promised to do their best to keep the building and environment clean. To make the occasion memorable, a baptismal service was held and the first baptism in the meetinghouse was recorded. The first Primary activity was also held.

It would be an interesting experience for some of you to walk through a few days of our relationships with youth as we visit with them in person, by telephone, in interviews, by mail. It is just a few days ago that I deplaned at a major airport, met some of you leaders there, and a beautiful young college-age lady who was waiting for me. She had left her home against the wishes of her parents and others and had hitchhiked to a rock festival. On her way home from that adventure, hitchhiking now with a male companion, she was picked up by officers of the law, arrested for possession of drugs, tried, and sentenced to five years in prison. Through the intervention of our local brethren, who were reached by a distraught mother through the bishop, she was given parole freedom, but the record has been made and her life is hanging in the balance. She has some decisions to make.
On my desk is a current letter, one of many, from an anguished girl crying for help. Three times the words are repeated, “Please help me.” Within hours there has been a call, another call, from a disturbed young man seeking guidance for his friend who questions a Church position which he feels he cannot accept, which he thinks makes his position in the Church tenuous or untenable.
In my hand I hold a letter received two days ago from a faithful, brokenhearted father whose son, about the same age as the others, took his own life, notwithstanding the efforts of loving parents and a fine, wholesome family. I wish there were time to read a description of how hard these marvelous parents have tried. This is a missionary family, a committed family, a stay-together family; yet this boy, convinced of his own worthlessness, that he was a failure and that the mistakes he had made were disqualifying, took his own life. His father sent a copy of the note he left, and asked me to make such use of his letter and this letter as judgment and my feelings suggested.
What can we do? How can we help this great young generation meet the challenges of their time? I am certain that we must thoughtfully examine not only their needs and their problems, and what we have to give them, but how we undertake to give it, and what we appear to them to be as they observe it. I have been rethinking my own experience and will give you just an example or two quickly. May I do it in the spirit of a statement that to me for a long time has been very choice: “Neither laugh nor weep, nor loathe, but understand.”
What are some of their problems? These basic observations have come from experience with youth and from their own lips and lives. I can sum them up in four or five needs.
First, they need faith. They need to believe. They need to know the doctrines, the commandments, the principles of the gospel. They need to grow in understanding and conviction. They need to worship and to pray, but they live in a time when all of this is so seriously questioned, when doubt is encouraged.
Two, they need to be accepted as they are, and to be included. They need a family, the most important social unit in this world; and even if they have a good family, they need the supportive influence outside their home of others, of neighbors, of friends, of bishops, of brothers, of human beings.
Three, they need to be actively involved, to participate, to give service, to give of themselves.
Four, they have to learn somehow that they are more important than their mistakes; that they are worthwhile, valuable, useful; that they are loved unconditionally.
I knelt with my own family, at the conclusion of a great family home evening, the night before our lovely daughter was to be married in the temple. I think she wouldn’t mind my telling you that after we had laughed and wept and remembered, she was asked to pray. I don’t recall much of her prayer, the tears and the joy and the sweetness, but I remember one thought: she thanked God for the unconditional love she had received. This life doesn’t give one very many chances to feel exultant and a little successful, but I felt wonderful that night, and thank God that she really believes and understands what she said. We cannot, my dear brethren, condition our love by a beard or beads or habits or strange viewpoints. There have to be standards and they must be enforced, but our love must be unconditional.
I read you just a sentence from the letter left by the boy who ended his own life: “I have no hope, only dreams that have died. I was never able to obtain satisfactory interpersonal relationships. I feared the future and a lot of other things. I felt inferior. I have almost no will to achieve, perseverance, or sense of worth, so goodbye. I should have listened to you but I didn’t. I started using acid last summer. It’s purgatory.” What a tragic story!
We need to understand their needs. They need to learn the gospel. They need to be accepted, to be involved, to be loved; and they need, my brethren—my fifth and final point—the example of good men, good parents, good people, who really care.
I went to the funeral of my cousin a few weeks ago, and I pass on to you something that touched me deeply there. Maybe it is the message I can share with those of us who can do something, if we will, for our great young generation. A man who served as his counselor, now himself the bishop, said of my cousin: “Every boy in his lifetime has the right to know a man like Ivan Frame.”

One of the trials of living in this fallen world came to our family when our nine-year old son Tanner came home sick one day with what turned out to be a very difficult childhood cancer, which he fought for three long years.

Tanner was a great kid. He was full of life, like he had always known his would be short, so he had to squeeze everything into it. But we didn’t know that. All we saw was him, always full speed ahead, impatient, fun, funny—1000 miles per hour. We used to say of him that he would probably grow up to either become the prophet or a bank robber. We didn’t know which.

One of the Sunday mornings right before he passed away, he was experiencing a lot of pain. He had tumors in his bones and in his head, and he was taking a lot of pain medicine and still hurt. That morning, his mom came into his room to see if he had been able to sleep. She was amazed to find him fumbling to get his Sunday clothes on. “Tanner, I don’t think you should you be going to church. Why don’t you stay home and rest today?”

He hung his head for a moment, thinking about it. “I think I should go.”

His mom answered, “Nobody is going to expect you to come to church when you need pain medicine just to sit up in bed… when you feel this bad.“

“Yes, but I think it matters when I go. I see how people look at me when I pass the sacrament. I think it helps them.”

So, he dressed, went to church, and for the last time of his earthly life, he passed the sacrament. I saw he was right: people were looking at him. Everyone seemed to be looking at him. I saw that it mattered to them. They saw a little boy in a body, spent of all energy, making heroic exertions to present them with those symbols of the Atonement, carrying the tray from the priest’s table, then steadying himself with one hand on the end of the pew, his little bald head glistening with perspiration at the effort and his sacrifice quietly pointing to the Atonement, to Gethsemene, to Galgotha, places where exhaustion and pain and love and commitment had also inspired sacrifice. And, I noticed he had been right: it helped people. It helped me. It helps us still. Members of our ward still sometimes refer to the time Tanner passed the sacrament.

When I was 12 years old, my father took me along to look for a new car. Nothing is more exciting for a boy than to shop for a new car with his father. Our car was old and well worn. On the outdoor lot of a car dealer was a brand-new 1953 Plymouth. It was just the ticket, my father thought. A four-door sedan at a reasonable price. After some rather intense negotiating, my father said, “Would you take $1,600 cash?” I was stunned. I didn’t think anyone in the world had that much money, let alone my father! The offer was accepted, and that car served us well until I returned from my mission over nine years later. When I turned 16, I learned to drive in that car.

A few years ago, my father reminisced about that car over lunch.

“That old Plymouth was a great car,” he said.

I reminded him that one of my friend’s fathers bought two cars in 1957, just four years after we had acquired the ’53 Plymouth—one was a Plymouth Fury, the other a Studebaker Golden Hawk. You’re too young to remember those speedsters. Both had big V-8 engines and were built to be fast! My friends and I took measure of a car in those days by just how fast it would go over Parley’s Summit, a long climb to a high point on the four-lane highway east of Salt Lake City.

“Both of my friend’s cars could do 100 miles an hour over that summit,” I said, making sure my father understood that my friend had reported that to me and that I was not present to witness it.

Curiosity finally got the best of him. “What about the old Plymouth?” he said.

“Thirty-seven,” I reported, “in second gear.”

“Still, it was a wonderful car,” he said.

“It was a flathead six,” I complained. “It had no radio, no air-conditioning, no power windows, no power brakes, no power steering, no power seats, no power.”

“It never broke,” he said.

“It couldn’t,” I said. “It had no moving parts!”

“You didn’t suffer a bit,” he said. “And it was paid for.”

He had me. I hadn’t suffered, and I knew it was paid for because I had been there when he bought it and had watched him write out the check for $1,684, including taxes and license.

I am so grateful that I was born to a family that knows about the true gospel of Jesus Christ. My eighth birthday fell on Easter Sunday, and I felt great joy to be baptized on the day we celebrate the Resurrection of the Savior. I was a little nervous, but my father was there, and I knew that I could trust him. During the baptism I had a warm, happy feeling in my heart, and then I knew that I could trust Heavenly Father the same way I trust my father.
I am 11 now, and I am looking forward to going to the temple to be baptized for the dead. I know that only through baptism can we return to our Heavenly Father.
Mirjam S., age 11, Switzerland

When I was a young boy, I loved to watch a television show called The Lone Ranger. It was about a cowboy hero and his friends. The Lone Ranger always stood for right choices. At times, there would be individuals who did not want to choose the right. They would cause problems for others. When the Lone Ranger tried to help, he often would be chased by those who wanted to hurt him. In his escape, the Lone Ranger would get on his horse, Silver, and try to outrun them. Sometimes he would ride under a low-hanging branch of a tree and reach up and take hold of the limb. Silver would continue on as the Lone Ranger pulled himself up into the tree to hide.
I tried that once when I was riding my horse. I grabbed the limb of a tree, and my horse kept going. But then the limb broke and I fell to the ground. I suffered the consequence of that decision with a broken arm. It was very painful.
I gained a little wisdom from that experience. Even though we see other people do something, especially if it is wrong, it doesn’t mean that we should do it. We all have friends, and sometimes they do not always follow the teachings of the gospel.
Despite what our friends are doing, it is important that we always follow the teachings of the gospel. “Follow the prophet; he knows the way” (Children’s Songbook, 110–11). He will always teach us the things we need to do to make right decisions. As we follow those principles, they will become a very important part of us.

The October dawn was cool as I helped load our belongings into the covered wagon. The weight in my 10-year-old heart was heavier than the bundles of clothes and food I carried. It just isn’t fair, I thought. I don’t want to leave our home and my friends and travel to an unknown place.
It was 1877, and our home near St. George, Utah Territory, was already far away from Salt Lake City. Now we were moving even farther away.
Mother called, “Mary Agnes, please make sure everything is cleared from the back porch before we leave.”
As I made my way around the house, I thought back to the day six months before when my father had returned from the dedication of the St. George Temple. Mother and I had stayed home because my baby brother was ill. One look at Father told us something serious had happened.
Mother spoke first. “William, what is the matter?”
Father took her in his arms, and with tears streaming down his face he said, “We must leave our beautiful home.” He could say no more.
Leave? How could we leave? After years of saving we had finally been able to buy farmland and build a comfortable home for the 10 of us. We had horses, cattle, and other farm animals. We lived near my grandmother and my cousins. I was able to attend the school in town. Who would ask us to sacrifice all this?
Later I heard my parents discussing what was happening. Families were needed to extend Church settlements farther south. President Brigham Young had asked our family to move. He counseled my father to sell all we had so we would not be tempted to return to Utah. We were needed in Arizona.
Arizona was a place where there was very little water and nothing to see. The prophet had called people there last year. Many had returned to Utah because they could not endure the hardships. Father said almost no greater sacrifice could be asked of him.
Mother’s voice brought me back to the present. “It is hard to leave, isn’t it, Mary Agnes? Do you know the real reason we are moving?”
I shook my head.
“We are going to Arizona because the prophet called us to go,” Mother explained. “Remember my telling you about when I was your age and my family lived in Nauvoo? After the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, there were contentions with our neighbors. The Brethren told us to leave our homes and move west. There our lives would be spared, and we could worship in peace.
“It was terrible to leave our home, but there was nothing else to do unless we turned away from God, the Brethren, and the Church. We made the long, hard journey to Salt Lake. We sacrificed again when we followed President Young’s direction to leave there and settle here.
“Now we have been asked to go to Arizona. We do not have to go. No one is forcing us. We are not fleeing for our lives. We could find reasons not to go. This time the struggle to obey comes from within.”
Mother hugged me as she continued. “The Lord said that when we receive a commandment ‘whether by [His] own voice or by the voice of [His] servants, it is the same’ (D&C 1:38). Our prophet has spoken to us. I know he speaks for God. Your father and I decided long ago to follow the prophet, no matter what the sacrifice.”
The Spirit warmed me as I listened to Mother’s testimony. I felt strengthened for the uncertainties ahead.
As I climbed into the loaded wagon, I took one last look at our old home, then turned to face the trail to Arizona. I realized that I, too, had a testimony of God’s representative on earth. Like my parents, I decided I would follow the prophet—even to the last frontier.