Gospel Story Finder

Among the friends I made in the theater business was a fine man who was a great success as the star of his own network television show. He was also an outstanding business man. Through our association over the years, we had many interesting experiences. One special experience stands out in my mind as a personal example to me that what the Lord said to Hyrum really does apply today.

This story began when my friend and I had an occasion to fly to Mexico with two very wealthy friends of his in a private, executive jet that was owned by one of the two men. The arrangements were that I was to fly from Salt Lake City to join the others at the Los Angeles Airport. I boarded their jet, and we began our flight to Mexico. On board I was introduced to a man who is reported to be one of the most wealthy men in the world. His personal net worth was estimated at that time to be in excess of 2 billion dollars! The seating arrangement within the executive jet was such that four seats were grouped in one compartment, and we were invited to sit with this wealthy man. As I look back on this experience, it is somewhat amusing to me that in my humble circumstances I would have been sitting with two millionaires and one billionaire.

As the jet took off from the Los Angeles International Airport, the conversation became most interesting to me. These three wealthy executives spent the first little while talking about the various multi-million dollar business deals in which they had recently been involved. I must admit that I sat in wonderment as I listened to their conversation, but as time went on, it became progressively more apparent to me that the most important thing in the life of the billionaire was his desire to make and accumulate more and more money. I studied very carefully the billionaire’s attitude and philosophy of life as he talked to us. He seemed to me to have found great power with his wealth, and money was certainly the center of everything that was important to him. He discussed his vast, worldwide financial empire and earthly possessions.

By the time we landed at our destination, it had become abundantly clear to me that the billionaire, with all of his wealth, was really a most unhappy and spiritually deprived man. During the conversation I had learned that he had no children of his own. He had no definite faith in God and no positive assurance of hope for a life after death. He seemed to me to epitomize the words of the Savior when He said:
“Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon the earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
“But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:
“For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” (Matt. 6:19–21.)

We completed our business in Mexico and again boarded the jet to return to Los Angeles. Upon our arrival I bade these three men good-bye and boarded a commercial flight to return to my home in Salt Lake City. During the flight I had time to ponder what had taken place during the past two days. When I walked into my home, my wife Barbara greeted me, and her first question to me was, “How did the meetings go?” My response to her question was, “Honey, we may not have very much money, but I do know this—of the four men aboard that plane, I was by far the richest man of them all because I was the only one who knew where I came from, why I am here on this earth, and where I can go in the eternities to come if I am faithful.”

My wife and I discussed this experience, and as we did, again the words of the Lord seemed to ring clearly in my mind. He said:
“No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.
“Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment?
“But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matt. 6:24–25, 33.)

The billionaire, with all of his hundreds of millions of dollars, cannot buy what comes to members of the Church freely when we accept and live the teachings of the gospel. How blessed we are as a people! How rich we are individually because of our knowledge that we, in fact, do possess the eternal truths of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Just imagine—the most valuable treasure a man can have in this life comes freely, without monetary price, to all men everywhere when they embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ and live its teachings.

I am grateful for this unusual experience because I now understand more clearly than ever before that the most important asset one can have in this life is the personal, inner peace and positive assurance that come in knowing that the purpose of this life is for men to learn how to prepare for eternal living in the presence of our Heavenly Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. The billionaire will not take one cent of his wealth with him when he dies, and perhaps only then will he realize that the greatest possession a man can obtain is the knowledge that humble service to our fellowmen, love of family, and knowledge of eternal truths make a man rich. As the Lord said to Hyrum, “Behold, he that hath eternal life is rich.” [D&C 11:7]

Now to Katie, the horse I acquired a few years ago. She has a very prestigious pedigree. Each of her parents was a champion. Katie is a beautiful chestnut. She is intelligent and holds her head high. Her first foal has won many ribbons in competition in harness and in the three-gaited class.
When we first got Katie she was in poor condition. She had been mistreated and not fed properly. But I felt that with proper care she would respond, and she did. She is the best bred and most handsome horse I have ever owned. She would be a real champion except for one thing—she has never learned proper discipline. Her early training was poor. She is fun to ride for a short while. She prances, holds her head high, lifts her feet, and looks wonderful; but the moment she is startled or comes upon an unknown object, she loses her head. One day she was startled by a dog. She reared up on her hind legs, causing her to fall over on her back and on me, injuring my leg. She then struggled to her feet and ran like a frightened deer. With all her beauty and intelligence, she is now out to pasture.

My father never did join the Church, but he was a fervent supporter of it because he could see its blessings in the lives of his wife and four children. (My sister and two brothers were also baptized.) Prior to his death, he asked me to give him a priesthood blessing, and I did. We had a very special conversation, and he confided in me for the first time that he had faith. Coming from him, this was a major step.

Ivan speaks with great conviction of an experience he had as an 11-year-old. “I had just joined the Church. We were celebrating someone’s birthday at the chapel when all the lights went out. Someone whispered to me, ‘Why don’t you say a prayer, Ivan?’ I knelt down and said, ‘Heavenly Father, please let the lights come back on so we can continue.’ And the lights came back on.
“Children have incredible faith. Now I’m trying to have that same childlike faith. My life went dark. But I have prayed and believed with everything I have, and the lights are back on.”

One stormy winter night, Harold was traveling home. By the time he and his horse reached the stream, it was getting late.
As they crossed the stream, his horse tripped. Harold flew over its head and landed in a freezing, muddy pond.
He lay in the cold slush.
Harold: Please, Heavenly Father, send help. I’m hurt and can’t move. It’s so dark and cold.
Soon he heard his father.
Father: Harold? Is that you?
Harold: I’m over here!
His father helped him out of the water and wrapped a warm blanket around him.
Harold: I’m so glad you came. How did you know that I needed help?
Father: The Spirit whispered to your mother that something was wrong, and I knew that she was right.
Harold: Thank you for coming.
Harold and his father remembered to thank Heavenly Father that night, too.
Harold: I thank thee, Heavenly Father, for telling my mother that I needed help, and for sending my father to rescue me.
Harold B. Lee’s testimony that Heavenly Father answers prayers helped him throughout his life. He prayed for divine help many times as he served in stake callings, as an Apostle, and as President of the Church.

One such experience occurred when my older brother, Adrian, needed surgery. Medical facilities here are limited, and it was necessary for him to leave his wife and children to fly to the mainland. He resisted the trip, fearing a problem with the small plane he would be taking. But in the end, he had to go. Boarding with him were the pilot and two television reporters.
As I heard the plane fly overhead, I sent my thoughts with my brother: Have no fear, Adrian. Heavenly Father will watch over you. Yet I felt prompted to go to my room and pray for his protection.
I was still on my knees when my husband came in. “I don’t know how to tell you this,” he began.
“Tell me what?”
“Adrian’s plane has crashed into the sea. We don’t know yet if there are any survivors.”
Thankfully, all four men lived. They were rescued by some people in a fishing boat and were soon back safe on the island. The entire population was waiting for them when they returned to the dock. We applauded with relief and joy and shed many tears of gratitude.
The next day the two reporters came to my place of work and gave me their version of what had happened. When the plane began to go down, the pilot ordered them to break the windows and throw out anything they could. Suitcases, cameras, shoes—everything was sacrificed to help the plane stay afloat as long as possible after crashing. The pilot gave some final instructions, and they buckled their seat belts.
Then Adrian began to pray aloud. He told the Lord that all of them felt they had a lot of living left to do. They were heads of families. They all had small children. He pleaded for another chance.
When he finished the prayer, he began to sing one of our hymns, “The Lord is my light; then why should I fear? …” (Hymns, 1985, number 89). The reporters said that without knowing the hymn, they began to sing with him. The music and his prayer gave them hope that they might be saved.
Within a few seconds of impact, the plane sank. But those few seconds were enough. They got the door open and inflated a raft. After the fishing boat picked them up, someone spotted a suitcase floating. It was Adrian’s. Inside was the tithing from our branch, which he was to deliver to Church leaders on the mainland. Other than the four men, the suitcase was the only thing that was saved.
Although we live in one of the most remote places of the earth, we know our Father in Heaven is mindful of us. We have felt his almighty hand, and he has answered our prayers.

Several years ago, just before general conference, President Thomas S. Monson taught a wonderful lesson. This time it was to assembled General Authorities who had traveled to Salt Lake City, Utah, many coming from places around the world where they were serving in Area Presidencies. We had come together to be instructed by the First Presidency and the Twelve Apostles.
As the time for the meeting approached, everyone seemed to be in attendance except President Monson. Several minutes before the meeting was to begin, we stopped visiting with each other and sat reverently listening to the prelude music, expecting the prophet to arrive any moment.
We patiently waited as 9:00 a.m. came and then passed. Someone walked out the side door—obviously to see if some assistance might be needed. Upon returning, he said, “President Monson will join you shortly.”
About 15 minutes later, President Monson entered the room. Out of respect, we stood as he entered. We were happy to see him and pleased that he looked well. There was no obvious reason as to why he would have been late.
President Monson went straight to the pulpit and said, “Brethren, I’m sorry to be late, but my wife needed me this morning.”
I was deeply impressed and humbled, and I couldn’t stop thinking about his words.
This was a very important meeting. The entire senior leadership of the Church was assembled, but President Monson set the example for us all. His wife needed him, and he took the time necessary to care for her. It was a great sermon. I don’t remember anything else said that day, but I remember that sermon: “My wife needed me.”

I remember a few years back my husband and I were going to a trip without our children. They were young probably like between 5-9 years of age. As we were preparing to leave we sat down with the kids to talk about how they were to behave, that they were responsible to take care of each other, that they should get along with one another, “if you act up you’re gonna get it when we get home!” Probably not in those exact words but you get the picture! They were playing and seemed not to be paying attention as young children do. Then I turned to my oldest son and said to him “now when daddy’s away you are the priesthood holder of this house. It is your kuleana to watch over your siblings (even your older sister) and to take care of them.” As I mentioned the word kuleana his whole demeanor changed. I could tell the weight of the situation in his mind and heart had changed. Tears began to drop from his eyes as I knew he was internally taking on this responsibility. I knew he understood what we were asking and that he would follow through. Many of you might be thinking, “wow, how’s those parenting skills?” But it was our way of communicating to him that this was something worth deeper thought and understanding.

At age 30, Eric James of New Mexico, USA, was diagnosed with a kidney disease. As a young father, he was devastated and wondered if he would be able to provide for his family.

He read in the Book of Mormon that Nephi wondered the same thing when he broke his bow made of fine steel. But after making a bow out of wood, Nephi was again able to feed his family. (See 1 Nephi 16:18–23, 30–32.)

“Nephi’s story filled my soul like a brilliant light,” Eric said. “The health I had enjoyed up until that point was like Nephi’s steel bow. When my health failed, it was like my bow had broken. But I realized that the Lord had blessed me with a wooden bow in the form of a kidney transplant. The transplant would give me the strength to care for my family. This gave me hope. Almost 10 years later, I continue to provide for my family and serve the Lord the best I can.”

As a husband and father I have found great peace in following the counsel of the prophet. While I am certainly not perfect in either role, I improve my performance by listening to and applying the counsel given by the prophet. For as long as I can remember, I have loved and revered the prophet. I was certainly taught to do so in my home by my parents. As my wife and I have raised our family, we have always prioritized the words of the prophet. We have not always been perfect in implementation, but we have tried our best. I have listened to their words. I have read their words and I have and do observe them.

When I was called to be a young bishop here in Hawaii, I needed a new suit. As many of you may know, there are not many places in Hawaii where you can buy a suit. Anyway, my wife and I traveled to one such department store and I began trying on suits. One suit in particular drew a compliment from my wife when I tried it on. That was all I needed to hear and I was ready to buy it. However, as I looked more closely at the suit, I noticed that it had three buttons down the front. To that day, I did not recall ever seeing a prophet wear a three button suit, so I put the suit back on the rack and we left empty handed. A few weeks later, we received a copy of the Church News and there on the cover was President Hinckley standing in front of a recently dedicated temple. I studied the picture closely and discovered that he was wearing a three button suit. I ran to my wife and said, “Look at this picture!” She commented on the beauty of the new temple. I then focused her attention on President Hinckley’s suit and pointed out that it had three buttons. Well, the rest is history as I returned to the department store and bought a three button suit.

Now, I know that this sounds silly and a bit extreme. However, it was, and still is, important to me that I fix my eyes on prophets in all things. I was a bishop. I was representing the prophet to the beloved youth of my ward. I wanted them to see in me, what they saw in the prophet. I did not want to stand out as being different from him. I wanted them to see consistency and steadiness in their bishop. I don’t know if I succeeded in that quest, but I tried, even down to the suits that I wore.

My dad is not a member of the Church. I love spending time with him, but it was hard to keep the Sabbath day holy when I was with him. I never wanted to hurt his feelings by not going to a movie or shopping with him on Sundays, so for a while I ignored the matter.
When I got a little older, I realized that what I was doing wasn’t right. I finally sat down and told my dad how I felt. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind. He was understanding enough to help me with the problem.
Talking to someone about your beliefs isn’t always easy, but it isn’t as scary as it seems. Let people know how you feel. For me, it worked out in the end.

A few weeks ago, Ruby and I were up in Oakley, Idaho, for a couple of days, restoring our old family home. I had a phone call from Lenore Romney in Detroit, Michigan. Lenore is the wife of George Romney. She said, “George died this morning.” She wanted to know if I could arrange to attend the funeral. I told her I would be honored to come but that I would need to arrange it with those who are my superiors in the Church.
After I hung up the phone, I walked up the street from our old family home. I walked across the canal over to the area where the Romneys used to live. George’s father’s name was Gaskell Romney. My father was their bishop. I looked at the area. The house wasn’t there anymore. Then I walked along the old irrigation canal bank. I looked at the area where my father baptized me. I looked at where George and I used to swim. Swimming suits in those days were a pair of bib overalls, not the high-fashioned kind you see today but the real denim, old-fashioned bib overalls. We cut the legs off and cut the pockets out so we wouldn’t drown. That’s all we had for swimming suits. We used to sit on the canal bank in a little bit of sunshine and shiver because it was so cold. But swimming was our main recreation. George and I were about the same age. He was my friend. He was my pal.
As I walked along the canal bank, thinking about George, I thought of a poem by Rosemary and Stephen Vincent Benét that they had written about Nancy Hanks, the mother of Abraham Lincoln. Abraham Lincoln was only seven when Nancy Hanks died, and they loved each other very much. But in that tender poem, the Benéts reflected that if Nancy Hanks came back today, she might ask, Whatever happened to my boy, Abe? Did he get to town? Did he learn to read? Did he ever amount to anything? (See “Nancy Hanks,” in Edwin Markham, comp., The Book of American Poetry [New York: Wm. H. Wise and Co., 1936], pp. 791–92).
George’s mother had died while he was a teenager. She didn’t get to see what he became. At the funeral, I was honored to be there with the governor of the state of Michigan—a state of some nine million people, where George had been elected governor three times. The governor said George Romney was a great man who never allowed service to man to obscure service to God. The Detroit News said George Romney used his religion as a compass to chart his public life.

I used to home teach a couple in our ward that was not very active in the Church. But they did ask if I would give their son (we will call him Adam) a priesthood blessing to help enable him to stop smoking. Adam is a baptized member of the Church who is about 38 years old but has not been active most of his life. I gave him a priesthood blessing, and afterward I talked to him about his interaction with the gospel, and he told me that he didn't believe The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the only true church and that I wasn't going to convince him otherwise.

Although it was not my job to convince him, I did tell him I had prayed and asked God if this is His Church, and I had received an answer that it is true. I have felt that confirming witness many times. I also told him that God answers specific questions. Adam told me that he didn't feel like God answered his questions. He explained that he prays but does not get specific direction. He went on to say that a long time ago, he prayed about the Church but didn't feel like he received an answer. I testified of God's love and that He does answer prayers. I went on to explain that it is according to God's timing because He knows what is best for us. I told Adam that we have to be ready to accept the answer that God will give us. I also told Adam I have had many experiences when I prayed desperately for direction and answers but didn't always or even often feel an immediate answer. Adam said, "That's unfortunate, and I won't believe if I can't get my answers when I ask." I challenged him to pray about the Church again, asking a specific question; but, if he was to do so, that he needed to be ready and willing to follow the answer he was given.

I came home from that experience to find my wife, Bethany, putting our kids down to sleep. If any of you have ever tried to put kids down to bed, you know the struggle is real, especially when they don't think they are tired. We were having a tough time convincing our two-year-old, Madelyn, to go to sleep. She was obviously very tired, but she wasn't quite ready to give up the fight. As I tried to get her to sleep, Madelyn began to ask for things: first milk, then Mommy. I told her no, but that wasn't what she wanted to hear. Eventually, she got more frustrated and desperate in her pleas: she wanted Grandpa, next Grandma. The more I told her no, the more stubborn she became. Madelyn was not listening. She begged to go for a ride in the car, then she wanted a treat--one thing after another, she cried and begged.

As her father, I knew that what she needed was sleep, and that would be the best thing for her, not any of the other things she was asking for. As she got more frustrated, I stopped answering her; she was not listening and only got more upset when I spoke. I lay next to her and stroked her hair until she fell asleep. It didn't take very long. I learned a powerful lesson about prayer that night, and I took away two main points:
1. God loves us and hears us.I love Madelyn so much. As I think about that experience, I realize that I had stroked her hair to show her love and stayed by her. I also heard everything she asked for. 2. God knows when and how to answer our prayers.He won't answer if we won't listen. I stopped talking to Madelyn; she wasn't rational, and she wasn't listening.

I wonder how often I am like Madelyn in my prayers. God will always show love, but I have to be willing to listen and change what I want to what He wants. He only wants what is best for me.

Lee went into the army the summer after he graduated. He soon found out what homesickness is all about. He wrote home every day, and Mom cried when she read his letters. She asked him to find out if there was an LDS ward he could attend. We prayed for him and encouraged him to pray too. My grandmother had given Lee a Bible as a graduation present, and for some reason he had packed it when he left. It turned out that religious books were the only reading material allowed on base. When Lee told my mother that, she sent him a copy of the Book of Mormon. Shortly after that, we started getting letters from Lee saying how much he enjoyed the scriptures and that he was reading them aloud to other soldiers. Of course my mother cried some more. Mom asked Lee if he wanted to take the missionary discussions. But Lee wrote and told us he had already asked the bishop to set up the discussions. He was baptized when he came home on leave. Mom cried then too.

Manuel lifted the clean white cloth and counted the fresh tortillas in the woven basket he carried in his hand. There were still two dozen left. Grandma had told him if he didn’t sell all of them, there wouldn’t be enough money for cornmeal and beans next week.
Manuel had been to all of the houses in the village except that of the pretty young señorita who had just moved into the house across the street from where he now stood. He’d gone there on his rounds the day before, but she had told him she was busy.
“Should I try to sell her some tortillas again today?” Manuel asked himself. “Or should I just go back and tell Grandma no one else would buy the rest of her tortillas?”
He stood undecided, shuffling his bare feet in the soft dirt and staring soberly at the house across the street. Finally Manuel turned and started slowly toward the small adobe hut where he lived with his grandmother and little sister, Lupe.
As Manuel walked, he thought about how disappointed his grandmother would be when he returned without selling all her tortillas. Suddenly he stopped. I’ll go backto the new señorita’s home, he decided. Perhaps today she’ll buy some.
Quickly Manuel retraced his steps and went up the flagstone pathway that led to the little house.
He rapped lightly on the door and waited a few minutes until the young señorita opened it. She was even prettier than he remembered, and somehow she looked kinder too.
She smiled at Manuel and asked, “What do you want, little boy?”
“I sell tortillas,” Manuel replied, holding the basket out toward her. “Would you like some?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she answered.
“They are very good,” Manuel said quickly. “They’re fresh today.”
Seeing the small boy’s expression of disappointment, the young woman hesitated.
Manuel became very conscious that she was looking at his ragged shirt and pants and his bare feet. He bowed his head and started to turn away without another word.
“Wait!” she said. “What is your name?”
“Manuel,” he replied.
“I think I’ll try some of your tortillas, after all,” she smiled. “Come in while I get a pan to put them in.”
She held the door open for Manuel and then left him alone as she went into another room.
In a few moments she returned. Manuel was surprised when she uncovered his basket and put all the tortillas in a shiny pan. His smile was broad as he thought how pleased Grandma would be, for now she could buy food the family needed.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed the señorita as she looked in her purse. “I can’t buy these from you today. I only have fifty pesos, and no change—unless you have some.”
Manuel reached into his pocket and pulled out the ten pesos he carried. “This is all I have, Señorita.”
“I can’t buy them today then,” she said as she began to put the tortillas back in his basket.
Manuel’s face fell. “Wait, please!” he said. “I’ll take your money to the market and get it changed.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” said the señorita, shaking her head and looking doubtful.
“Please,” Manuel said quickly. “I’ll bring it right back.”
The señorita looked down at the boy and slowly shook her head again.
Manuel blinked to hide the tears that filled his eyes, but one escaped and rolled down his cheek. He turned and wiped it away with his sleeve as he started to walk away.
The señorita suddenly felt uncomfortable and ashamed.
“Come back, please,” she called. “I know I can trust you. Go get the change for me, and I’ll keep your tortillas here until you come back.”
“Gracias, Señorita!” cried Manuel as he ran from the house.
Manuel’s bare feet slapped in the soft dirt as he hurried toward the village market. But gradually he slowed to a walk and examined the bill he held tightly in his hand. As he looked, he thought of Lupe’s big brown eyes when she stood in front of the jars of candy in the market. He knew how much she wanted some. He also remembered how hard Grandma worked to make the tortillas to sell.
Suddenly Manuel began to wonder if he should keep the money. It was enough to pay for the tortillas he had left behind. There would be enough left over to buy food for many days and even some sweets for Lupe at the market.
Then he remembered the señorita’s words, “I know I can trust you.” Besides, he had given her his word, and Grandma had often told him no person is good unless his word is good too. Suddenly he wanted very much for the señorita to like him and trust him just as Grandma and Lupe trusted him.
He quickly changed the fifty pesos and then ran back to the señorita’s home.
“Come in, Manuel,” she said as she opened the door. “I knew you’d come back.”
“Here is your money,” he said, giving her a handful of bills.
She counted out the money she owed for the tortillas and then gave him an extra peso. “This is yours for going to the market for me.”
“Gracias, Señorita,” said Manuel, his eyes lighting with pleasure. “You are very good to me.”
She ruffled his hair. “How would you like to work for me? I need someone I can trust to run errands and help me around my yard.”
A broad grin spread over Manuel’s face as he picked up the basket. “Si, Señorita. I’d be happy to work for you. I will work very hard too!”
“I’m sure you will,” replied the woman. “Come back tomorrow, and there’ll be many things you can help me do.”
“I’ll come back,” he promised.
As Manuel ran home, his heart sang and he whistled a happy tune. He could hardly wait to tell Grandma about his wonderful new job!

My given name has led me to think a lot about this kind of all-encompassing stewardship. It might surprise you to learn how often someone I don't know walks up and asks me whether I'm related to my father, President Henry B. Eyring. (All right, maybe it wouldn't surprise you that much.) Some people actually mistake me for my father.

For example, several years ago on this campus, I passed a young woman who was walking in the opposite direction. She stared at me, and I knew what she was thinking. She passed out of my sight, but then I heard a squeal behind me. Before I could turn around, I felt an arm wrapping around one of mine. The young woman looked up at me with a big smile, and said, "I'll bet I know who yo-ou are!" Caught off-guard by her forwardness, I looked down and said, "I'll bet you do-on't!"

Throughout my life I have been conscious of my name. Henry was not a common name for young Californians in the 1960s. In fact, thanks to Herman's Hermits and their hit song, "I'm Henery the Eighth, I Am," even my friends liked to have fun with my name.

As I grew older, I had mixed feelings about sharing my father's name. Of course I admired him, but I wanted to be my own person. When we moved to Rexburg in 1971, I hoped to be more than just the son of the President of Ricks College. Even as I tried to emulate my father's many outstanding qualities, I was glad for the differences between us. For example, when I learned that the baldness gene is inherited through a boy's mother, I took great comfort in the thought that my maternal grandfather and uncle had thick, full heads of hair.

However, thanks to a relatively rare hair-loss condition called alopecia, I now share both my father's name and his hairstyle. As it happened, my hair fell out in 1995, the year that he was called to serve in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. As his profile in the Church rose, mine seemed to be swallowed up. That was a time of soul-searching for me. After a period of spiritual grumbling and some self-pity, I realized that I had only two choices: I could either resent my name and association with my father or embrace it. Though I might try to ignore the connection to him, those around me wouldn't, and they would continually remind me of it.

I began to see that, like it or not, I was in a position of responsibility. If I behaved in ways that my father wouldn't, I could do great damage, not only to him and the Church, but to those who might observe my behavior and have their faith weakened. On the other hand, to the extent that I carried myself as he does and expressed both my love and his to those who approached me as his son, I could build faith and goodwill toward the Church and its leaders. Once I got over my personal pride, the right choice was clear and relatively easy to make. I do not have all of my father's good attributes, but that is not what people expect. I can perform my duty as his son simply by trying my best. And, in the process, I become a better, happier person. My small sacrifice yields rich personal blessings.

As a 13-year-old boy, Lyman O. Littlefield accompanied the camp of Zion, which went up to Missouri. He later narrated this incident of a small yet personally significant act of service in the life of the Prophet:
“The journey was extremely toilsome for all, and the physical suffering, coupled with the knowledge of the persecutions endured by our brethren whom we were traveling to succor, caused me to lapse one day into a state of melancholy. As the camp was making ready to depart I sat tired and brooding by the roadside. The Prophet was the busiest man of the camp; and yet when he saw me, he turned from the great press of other duties to say a word of comfort to a child. Placing his hand upon my head, he said, ‘Is there no place for you, my boy? If not, we must make one.’ This circumstance made an impression upon my mind which long lapse of time and cares of riper years have not effaced” (in George Q. Cannon, Life of Joseph Smith the Prophet, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1986, p. 344).

In Alvin F. Meredith’s final year of high school in Tennessee, USA, he was selected as his school’s athlete of the year by a group of Christian student athletes.
Shortly afterward, his coach notified him that the state leadership of the group had disqualified him because they didn’t recognize The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as a Christian faith.
His coach, “a really good Christian man,” asked the organization to send someone to the school to meet with the young athlete. The organization’s representative came to the high school and explained 10 points of doctrine that he felt justified their decision to disqualify the Latter-day Saint athlete. Upon seeing a Bible in the man’s bag, Elder Meredith asked if the two of them could review some verses.
“We looked at each of those 10 points and went to Chronicles and James and the book of Revelation and Corinthians,” Elder Meredith said. “My faith was challenged, and through the fire of that challenge, it was strengthened and has never wavered since.”

One other particular challenge of our trek was very endearing to me. It involved the women's pull. For those of you who have never been to Martin's Cove, they have one steep, sandy stretch of a hill where only the women pull the handcarts. This was to simulate when the men were called to help in the war and left the women and children to continue the trek westward. This pull is difficult for the women. They have to steer and pull the loaded handcarts in the sand, up the hill, without the men's strength. This is a powerful experience, held in silence in respect for this sacred place. The men line up at the top and observe as the women pull. Once the handcart is pulled to the top, the young women run to help the next in line.
When the pioneers crossed the plains, several sustained injuries or illnesses, making them unable to pull the handcarts. Their traveling companions had to help during these trying times. Our added challenge for this activity was to assign four of the strongest women to be assigned an affliction—such as a broken leg or fever—which would cause them to be pulled inside the handcart instead of helping to pull. One of those assigned to be "afflicted" was the Young Women's leader Sister Angie Kivett.
Angie was the backbone of all these young women; they looked to her for her incredible strength and direction, which she had gained from enduring hard things in her life. She was their cheerleader. She would have been the leader running from handcart to handcart helping to get them to the top.
One of the other "afflicted" was my daughter Rachel. Rachel is very athletic and very strong. I envision her as what I think the Nephite women were like. She knew about and had looked forward to the women's pull, knowing that her strength would help get many of the handcarts to the top. During the trek, she was always found on the front of the handcart where the hardest work was.
When she read her assignment, with tears welling up in her eyes, she looked towards her dad, who also had tears welling up in his eyes. He had chosen her specifically for this assignment. Rachel mouthed, shaking her head, "No, Dad...Don't make me do this...Don't make me do this." Rachel knew she needed to help pull her handcart as the other young women assigned to her handcart were Beehives, small and not as muscularly developed. One of them was actually trekking in an orthopedic walking boot. The thought of them having to pull her in the cart, up the steep hill, was almost more than Rachel could bear.
Obediently, Rachel, Sister Kivett, and a few others climbed into their handcarts and allowed the others to pull them up the steep and sandy hill.
Even after four and a half years, this lesson of doing hard things is still very tender to Rachel. Not being able to help was harder for her than if she would have had to pull the carts by herself.
As I reflect on this experience, I wonder how many times we all shake our heads and plead with our Heavenly Father to "not make me do this" in regards to the hard things we are challenged with.

All this talk caused a great curiosity about the Church and the Book of Mormon. Twelve-year-old Mary Elizabeth Rollins, a recently baptized member, wanted to see the Book of Mormon, but at that time there were very few copies of it available. When she heard that a neighbor, Isaac Morley, had one, she went to his home to see it. When she first glimpsed at the book, an overwhelming desire came over her to read it. Gathering her courage, she asked if she could take the book home and read it while Brother Morley attended a missionary meeting that evening. Brother Morley hesitated but finally said, “Child, if you will bring this book back before breakfast tomorrow morning, you may take it.” Mary hurried home with the book, threw open the door, and exclaimed to her uncle and aunt, “Here is the ‘Golden Bible!’” Immediately her aunt and uncle sat down with her and began taking turns reading until late at night. Mary got up the next morning as soon as it was light enough to see and memorized the first verse. Then she hurried to Brother Morley’s house to return the book. Upon greeting her, Brother Morley said, “I guess you did not read much in it.” When Mary showed him how far they had read, he was surprised. “I don’t believe you can tell me one word of it,” he said. Mary repeated the verse she had memorized and told him the story of Nephi. At that, Brother Morley gazed at her and said, “Child, take this book home and finish it. I can wait.”