Gospel Story Finder

After having previously rejected my father’s marriage proposal twice, my mother, during a BYU devotional sixty-five years ago this summer, turned to my father and whispered, “Yes.”
It was all my dad could do to not stand up and shout for joy, but with President Joseph Fielding Smith as the speaker, he quietly stayed seated. If anyone here has anything important to say to the person sitting next to you, consider this your invitation! Needless to say, I am grateful for BYU devotionals!
A few months after their engagement, my parents eloped to the Salt Lake Temple. On their way home, my mom went to her apartment, packed up her things, and announced that she was going to sleep with Al that night. Concerned—and rightfully so—her roommates called the bishop, only to be told: “It’s about time. They have been married for hours!”

Another Colleague of mine told me of this story to help prove this point of understanding to achieve and how it influences the human potential.

A graduate student was working hard in an upper-level math course. On the night before the final, he studied so long that he overslept the morning of the test.

When he ran into the classroom several minutes late, he found three equations written on the blackboard. The first two went rather easily, but the third one seemed impossible. He worked frantically on it until — just ten minutes short of the deadline — he found a method that worked, and he finished the problems just as time was called.

The student turned in his test paper and left. That evening he received a phone call from his professor. "Do you realize what you did on the test today?" he asked the student.

"Oh, no," thought the student. I must have done poorly.

"You were only supposed to do the first two problems," the professor explained. "That last one was an example of a proof that mathematicians since Einstein have been trying to solve without success. I discussed it with the class before starting the test. And you just solved it!"

The student was George Dantzig, later became a math professor and received the National Medal of Science from President Gerald Ford. He is often been termed, "The Father of Linear Programming".

In 1983 his beloved wife, Clara Jeffs Hunter, passed away. She had suffered a devastating stroke several years before that had left her very much diminished. President Hunter tended to her needs, providing loving care with respect and an uncommon devotion for many years, with a complete disregard for his own health. But there was a reward, for as diminished as she was, Claire would smile and respond only to him. The tenderness so evident in their communication was heartrending. We have never seen such an example of devotion of a husband to his wife. Theirs was a many-splendored love affair. Love is service.

“But, Shawn, I don’t think Tyrell will let me play,” my friend Richie protested as I grabbed the basketball from the box in the garage and started for the door. “He hasn’t ever had much to do with me.”
“He didn’t have much use for me a few weeks ago,” I replied, “until he found out that I’m a pretty good basketball player. I ran into him down at the park, and we started shooting a few baskets. Since then he’s invited me to play with him and some of his friends. We get along just fine.”
“But I’m not one of his friends.”
“But you’re my friend. Frankie isn’t going to be there this afternoon, so we’ll be short a guy. We need six players to have a good game. You’ll be the sixth man.”
Tyrell was the most popular guy in sixth grade. He wore the nicest clothes and hung around the other popular kids like Nick, Frankie, Logan, and Blake.
I had never tried to be Tyrell’s friend, not because I didn’t like him, but because I didn’t think I’d stand a chance. That’s the reason that I felt pretty special now that I was playing ball with him. I’d even gone to his house a couple of times.
When Richie and I reached the park, we strolled over to the basketball court where Tyrell, Nick, Logan, and Blake were talking. “Let’s use Shawn’s ball,” Logan called out when he saw me. “He has the newest one.”
I tossed Tyrell my ball. “I brought Richie along,” I explained, “because I knew Frankie wasn’t going to be here. This way we can have three to a team.”
Tyrell looked Richie up and down, and I heard Nick mutter, “I don’t think he even knows how to play ball.”
I swallowed and spoke up. “He plays all right. He can be on my team.”
Everybody was quiet because Tyrell was still thinking. I knew that whatever he decided was the last word. After a pause, he tossed the ball at Richie. The ball came hard and fast, but Richie caught it. “All right,” he finally said slowly, still eyeing Richie, “I’ll play with Shawn and this new kid.”
Richie was nervous, but I knew that if the others just gave him a chance, he’d show them that he could play. He missed a few baskets and threw the ball away a couple of times. Then he settled down and played really well.
We had a tough time keeping up with Blake, Nick, and Logan, but we didn’t ever fall behind more than six points. Then, right at the end, we finally pulled away from them when Richie hit a long shot and followed it up a few seconds later with a quick layup. We ended up beating them by two baskets.
“I guess old Richie here can play ball,” Tyrell panted as we all walked off the court and lay on the grass under a big pine tree. “He can be on my team next time, too.”
We all horsed around at the park for a while longer. While we were goofing around under a big sycamore tree, where a group of people had been picnicking earlier, Richie stopped dead in his tracks, bent over, and picked up a small red and orange package.
“What’d you find?” Tyrell asked, walking over to him.
“It’s a pack of cigarettes,” Richie rasped, “and it’s almost full.”
All of us crowded around to get a closer look. “We’d better crush them up and throw them away,” Richie suggested.
“Hold on,” Tyrell called out, taking the package. “We don’t have to do anything right this second. Let’s see what we have here.”
For a minute we all studied the cigarettes. Tyrell and his buddies joked about them and pulled one out and tried it between their fingers. Richie nervously held one when Nick demanded that he take it. “It won’t hurt you to touch it,” he growled. “What are you, some kind of baby?”
“Why don’t we just chuck them,” I said, trying to smile. I held up my basketball. “Let’s play another quick game.”
“I have a lighter,” Blake suddenly volunteered, digging in his pants pocket and pulling out a small yellow disposable lighter. “It was on my brother’s dresser,” he explained, smiling. “I just picked it up this morning.”
Tyrell looked around the park. “Hey,” he suggested, “let’s go over behind the baseball bleachers and light one.”
“Light one of the cigarettes?” Richie questioned, his voice shaking a little.
“We’re not going to inhale,” Tyrell laughed, shaking his head and giving Richie a shove. “We’re just going to light it and see what it’s like. Come on.” He started moving away. Richie, Nick, Blake, and Logan followed.
Something in my head kept telling me to return to the basketball court and start shooting baskets or to take my ball and go home, but I didn’t. I told myself that I was just going to watch.
My stomach was twisting and turning, though, as I walked around the bleachers with the others. Tyrell took the cigarette and handed the pack to Blake. “Take one,” he ordered, “and pass them to Nick.” He looked around at all of us. “We can each try one. It’s no big deal.”
“I’ve never smoked before,” Richie rasped when Logan held the pack of cigarettes out in front of him.
“One cigarette isn’t going to kill you,” Tyrell said with a grin. “After all, they’re yours. You found them.”
I could see the battle inside Richie. He knew he wasn’t supposed to smoke. He’d been taught that all his life, just as I had. But this afternoon he had a chance to be part of Tyrell’s popular group. Not only that, but Tyrell and his buddies had treated him all right. He had been one of them. Just like I had. Now we realized that to still be one of them might mean smoking a cigarette. I knew that Richie was trying to decide whether it was all worth it.
“Go ahead and take one,” Tyrell growled. “Don’t be such a baby. The rest of us are going to—even your buddy Shawn,” he added without looking at me.
Richie stared down at the pack of cigarettes. Even before he did it, I knew he was going to look at me. And he did. His eyes were scared, but more than that, they were asking me what to do.
I just stared back at him, worried about what I was going to do. Ashamed, I looked away without saying anything.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Richie slowly reach out and take one of the cigarettes. “Will one cigarette be that bad, Shawn?” he asked me.
I looked up. More than anything, I wished that I had gone home right after our basketball game. I wished that I had walked away as soon as Tyrell took the cigarettes from Richie and started playing with them. I wished a lot of things.
I was the only one without a cigarette. Logan was holding the pack out to me. I had been excited and happy to be Tyrell’s friend. It had been nice to feel popular. I could still be popular—if I took that cigarette.
“My mom and dad don’t want me smoking,” I stammered, trying to smile while I said it.
“Your mom and dad aren’t here,” Tyrell came back. “They’ll never know. Do you think we’re going to tell them? This is our secret.”
“Should we do it, just this once?” I heard Richie ask me.
I looked at him. He wouldn’t be here right now if I hadn’t invited him. And then I made another frightening discovery. I realized that whatever I told Tyrell, I was making the same decision for Richie. I knew that Richie would do whatever I decided to do.
“Come on, Shawn, take one,” Tyrell ordered. “We’re waiting.”
I felt a sick, ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach. I started to speak, but the words didn’t come. I stopped, swallowed hard, then announced strongly, “I’m not going to smoke, Tyrell.”
“Are you afraid that somebody’s going to rat on you?”
I shook my head. “No. I just don’t want to do it. It’s something I decided a long time ago.” I thought of the promise I’d made when I was baptized to always keep myself clean. “If I smoked and didn’t get caught, that wouldn’t matter, because I’d always know. I’d always know that I’d broken promises I had made. I’m not going to do it, Tyrell. Not today, not ever.”
I started to push past him. He reached out and grabbed my arm. “Friends hang together, Shawn. I thought you were one of our friends.”
I coughed nervously. “I thought I was, too. Is this what I have to do to be your friend?”
“We’re a team. We do things together.”
“Then I guess I won’t be part of your team.” I pulled my arm free and started walking.
“Wait up, Shawn,” Richie called, dropping his cigarette on the ground and crushing it under his heel. “I’m going with you.”
Richie and I walked from behind the bleachers and started across the park. The sick, ugly feeling I had felt just seconds before was gone. It was as though a hard, heavy rock had been lifted off my shoulders.
“I was waiting for you to tell them no,” Richie whispered beside me. “I was praying you would. I just knew you would, Shawn. You had to, for both of us.”
“Run off like a couple of babies,” Tyrell taunted. “We’ll find somebody else to play ball with us. And if you’re not part of our team, don’t figure on being our friends. You sorry guys probably don’t even have any friends.”
I smiled over at Richie. He was still my friend. I thought of Jesus and the promises I had made to Him. He was still my friend. I knew then that I didn’t have to worry about being popular. I could choose the right and still have the very best kind of friends.

After a small accident, I have to use a cane, and I walk slowly. Stairs are very hard for me. At church I always felt scared of falling down the steps—until that Sunday when I heard a soft voice and felt a little hand holding mine: “Come on. I’ll go with you.”
I looked down and saw nine-year-old Gabriel’s confident smile.
“Very well!” I said. “From now on, you are my helper. Let’s go!”
No one sent Gabriel. He just saw a grandma needing help and presented himself.
Now each Sunday, Gabriel and I go down the stairs without fear.
I later told Gabriel’s parents: “It is not physical strength that makes me unafraid. It is the bucketful of love that he gives me each Sunday. Gabriel is a giant of kindness!”

I used to have nightmares about volcanoes. The nightmares were really awful.
They started after I watched a television special with pictures of different volcanoes erupting and spitting lava all over the place. I thought it was really neat—until the middle of the night! That’s when I had this horrible dream that a volcano was shooting off in my bedroom. I let out a yell, and Mom rushed in and turned on the light. Even though she was very tired, she patiently listened to me tell about my dream, then assured me that there aren’t any volcanoes in upstate New York.
After that I had nightmares every few nights. I’m much too old to wake up in the middle of the night screaming, but by the time I was awake enough to remember that, Mom would be in my room, telling me that everything was OK.
I haven’t had those nightmares for a while now. I’ll tell you why they stopped, but it’s sort of complicated. It started with the Barretts down the street. They have a bunch of kids, and the whole family’s really nice. One day they called Mom and asked if we’d like to go with them to a big show their church puts on every year, called the Hill Cumorah Pageant. Mom had read in the newspaper that it was supposed to be really spectacular, so she said we’d love to go.
The play is held outside, on a hill. Randi Barrett, who is my age, tried to fill me in on what was going to happen, but mostly all I remembered was that there were good guys and bad guys. When we got there, some of the actors were walking around in their costumes and we got to meet them, which was fun. There were even kids in it. I asked one kid if he was in movies, too, but he said no, he just lived in New Jersey the rest of the year.
When it began to get dark, the show started. I liked this guy called Nephi and how he built a ship. I also liked how he had these things called visions, where he saw Jesus Christ even before He was born. I got a little confused after that, but it was still fun to watch.
When they started telling about when Jesus died, we heard rumbling, like thunder, and my mom started to open her umbrella. Suddenly there was all this noise. It was so loud that it felt like the ground was shaking. And then, right in front of us, a volcano appeared out of the darkness and started to erupt. That was it! I yelped and put my jacket over my head so that I wouldn’t have to see it.
Randi told me that it was just part of the show, and Mr. Barrett tried to explain how they made it look like a real volcano. Mom told Mrs. Barrett about my nightmares, and Mrs. Barrett began apologizing for not warning me. Then everything stopped. It just stopped—all the noise, the lightning flashes, even the talking around me. It was suddenly very dark and very quiet.
I thought that maybe the world had ended, and I took my jacket off my head just to check. Then I looked up and saw a light, and in the light was a man. I thought for a minute that maybe I was having a vision, but all the people on the stage could see him, too, and they were looking up and waiting for him.
He came down out of the sky until he was right down among the people. He told them that He was Jesus Christ and that He had been killed but that it was all right now—more than all right, because He was alive again, and they would also live again after they died. He taught them lots more things, and then He blessed all the little children before He went back up into heaven.
I was really quiet all the way home, and Mom was worried because she was sure I would have nightmares that night. But I didn’t. I thought about Jesus coming and blessing all the little kids, and I figured that He would bless me too. I went a whole week without any nightmares. When I did have another one, I asked Mom to tell me about Jesus coming down from Heaven. She told me what she could remember, and I went right back to sleep.
Mom hadn’t remembered the story very well, so the next day I asked Randi about it. She said that the pageant was based on a book called the Book of Mormon, and she offered to let me borrow her copy, if I would return it by Sunday. She helped me find the right part, and I read it every night. The story was more complicated in the book, but there was also lots of good stuff that they’d left out—like when Jesus promised the people that if they’d listen to Him, He’d gather them the way a hen gathers her chickens under her wing.* I liked that, and from then on, when I went to bed, I imagined that I was a little chick snuggled under Jesus’ wing, and I stopped having nightmares.
When I took Randi’s book back, Mrs. Barrett asked if I wanted a copy for myself. She arranged for two people called missionaries to bring it to the house. They wanted to start by telling about somebody named Joseph Smith, but I told them I wanted the part about Jesus coming out of heaven. My mother gave me one of those “be polite” looks, but the missionaries said that it was their favorite part, too, so they didn’t mind talking about it first.
They left a Book of Mormon, and I started reading a little bit every night. Mom got in the habit of coming in my room after I fell asleep and borrowing it so that she could read it. Elder Sutherland, one of the missionaries, gave us another copy, so now I keep mine under my pillow. If I do have a bad dream, I know I have it right there.
But I don’t have nightmares anymore—after all, we don’t have volcanoes in upstate New York, except in the pageant. Besides, I have other stuff to think about. I just found out that the people in the pageant aren’t movie stars at all. They’re just ordinary people. I’m already planning that after Mom and I are baptized, I’ll be in next year’s pageant. Then, when Jesus comes down out of heaven, I’ll be waiting there to meet Him.

The Prophet’s promise was fulfilled in 1845, when Dan and his wife, Jane, were called to serve in Wales. Dan used his talent for speaking to teach the gospel with great conviction. He was fluent in Welsh and English, and witnesses recorded that he spoke so captivatingly that he could hold his audience’s attention in either language for hours.
While in Wales, Dan published Latter-day Saint periodicals, tracts, and books in Welsh. Under Dan Jones’s direction, missionaries in Wales established 29 branches and baptized nearly 1,000 people each year of his first mission. He was called on a second mission to Wales in 1852, and despite growing persecution of the Church, some 2,000 people were baptized in four years.

Mosiah 3:19 is one of my favorite scriptures. In the summer of 1968 I was sitting with my Grandmother Payne at the Manti Pageant. I was fourteen, and it was the day that she would ruin my life. We had arrived early, so we had time to visit.

Grandma Payne was always interested in our lives, and she asked me, “David Rolph, what are you planning to do with your life?”

Being a child of the sixties, I thought long and hard before revealing my well-thought-out plans to a grown-up—a member of the Establishment. But I took the risk, and I carefully began to explain how I planned to leave our warlike and corrupt and materialistic society and retire to the woods to study the outdoors and to learn to play the guitar and to write poetry. I concluded my short sermon, declaring somewhat innocently, “I am going to be the natural man.”

She smiled at me, almost incredulously, and said, “Boy, are you in trouble! Don’t you know that the Book of Mormon teaches that the natural man is an enemy to God?”

I have never forgotten that day. It changed my life. I always read this passage with a smile—and I learned that it is risky to tell your plans to an adult.

I know a brother in Brazil who joined the Church as a 16-year-old, the only member in his family. When it was time for his mission, his parents objected. He heard nothing from them during his mission and returned home to his bishop’s house. The story, however, has a happy ending, as he now has a beautiful family and works as a dental surgeon, and his parents wish he could interest his brothers in the Church.

Brigham Young’s natural ability pushed him to the forefront. He was chosen one of the Camp’s captains. Frequently he preached. At times he was delegated to procure provisions. Always he closely observed Joseph Smith’s leadership and acquired experience. However, not all of the men yielded to Joseph’s leadership without murmuring. The difficulty of the march made weak-spirited men complain. “We had to be troubled with uneasy, unruly and discontented spirits,” Brigham Young recollected. “This was the first time we had ever travelled in the capacity of a large company … Brother Joseph led, counselled and guided the company, and contended against those unruly, evil disposed persons.” (Journal of Discourses 10:20.)

Another story about my mother had an even greater impact on me. It shaped how I resolved to live my life.
When I was a priest, my assignment one Sunday was to bless the sacrament in Sunday School. In those days, we took the sacrament during Sunday School in the morning, and then returned for sacrament meeting in the evening.
I had a 1946 Chevy coupe that I had made into a hot rod, and I wanted to compete in some races that were being held that Sunday. I knew that my parents would not approve, so I said nothing. I am ashamed to say it, but I left church and went to the drag races. I raced one time and lost.
When I returned home, my mother was standing at the kitchen sink, finishing up the dinner dishes. I could see tears on her cheeks. I asked, “Mom, what’s the matter?”
She turned and asked, “Son, where have we failed as parents that you feel you can violate the Lord’s holy day?”
I couldn’t bear it! My dear mother was taking the blame and burden for my wrongdoing.
That moment helped me understand more about the Atonement of Jesus Christ, that someone else was willing to bear the burden of my wrong choice. I began to understand how the Savior could do that for me because I saw my mother do it in this instance.

After bouncing down a dirt road in a packed bus for four hours, I finally arrived in Concepción del Uruguay, Argentina, and was met by two other missionaries. I was to play a piano recital that night in the auditorium of the Colegio del Uruguay.
After checking the auditorium’s piano and making sure everything was in order for the recital, we returned to the apartment for a short siesta.
That evening as we left for the concert we heard noise and shouting down the street. One of my companions told me he had heard that an “anti-Yankee” demonstration was scheduled, stemming from the death of Chile’s President Allende that had occurred that very morning. The elder said we did not have to worry because the demonstration was taking place in a plaza on the other side of town. We avoided the crowds by walking an extra block out of the way.
Soon after we arrived at the auditorium we heard a noise through the backstage window. A mob carrying torches, communist flags, and banners was coming toward the auditorium. We barely had time to bolt the backdoor to keep the mob out.
Ten demonstrators managed to get in the half-filled auditorium before the management could lock all the doors. The other half of our audience was unable to enter.
We later learned that the mob had read in the newspapers that a U.S. pianist was presenting a concert. They had planned to drag the yanqui from the auditorium and make him—me—the climax of the demonstration.
Outside the auditorium’s locked doors the mob began to shout and chant, “Fuera yanqui, fuera yanqui!” (Yankee go home!) and “Hallar, hallar, en la lucha popular!” (Become part of the common fight!) They strung up an effigy and set fire to it, and the demonstration continued for an hour and a half before the police could break it up.
The sponsor of the concert came backstage and asked me if I wanted to go ahead and perform, even though half the audience was still outside.
At the end of the evening, after I had finished performing, three of the demonstrators who had come into the hall came up to talk to me and my companions. In our conversation I asked them why they had come.
“We seriously came to kill you,” one answered bluntly. He then asked us who we were.
“We’re Mormon missionaries.”
“I’ve never heard of the Mormons before.”
We asked him the Golden Questions. Later this 18-year-old youth invited us to his house to explain the gospel. A month later he was baptized. His family was converted also. The last I heard, our demonstrator-convert was preparing for a mission.

When I was eight years old, our family went on a vacation to the state of New York. I learned that many important events in Church history took place there.
My parents had taught us about Joseph Smith and his prayer to seek wisdom from God. They taught us about Joseph’s experience in the Sacred Grove. They also taught us about the gold plates that were buried in the Hill Cumorah. We had heard these stories many times before in family home evening, in Primary, and in our church meetings.
When we got to New York, we visited the site where Joseph Smith lived with his parents and brothers and sisters. We were reminded that the Smith family loved the Bible and often read from it and prayed together. Then we went down the lane to the grove of trees where Joseph went to ask Heavenly Father which church was His true church.
As our family walked into the Sacred Grove, my heart began to pound. There was a peaceful, wonderful feeling there. I felt something very special as I thought about Joseph Smith and his prayer for wisdom. He actually saw our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. I knew it was true. My parents later explained that the special feeling I felt was the Holy Ghost.
Since that time, my testimony of the truthfulness of this event has grown much stronger. As a missionary in Germany, I had the opportunity to tell many people about Joseph Smith, the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and the coming forth of the Book of Mormon. Each time I testified of the truthfulness of these important events, the Holy Ghost would bear witness to my heart that Joseph Smith really did see God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ.
When we hear something that is true and will be for our benefit, the Holy Ghost will tell us it is true by a special feeling of peace or a voice in our minds or in our hearts. We will have a quiet assurance that what we are hearing or experiencing is true.
From these and many other experiences, I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. I know God lives, and I know He answers our prayers.

During those difficult years, while living in Oakley, Idaho, Marion’s father and uncle pooled their families’ resources. One month they had just 80 dollars to pay for the needs of 17 people in the two families. Would the Lord understand if they didn’t pay tithing right now? They answered the question by sending young Marion on a cold winter day to deliver the tithing to the bishop. After that, he said, it would never be that hard again to pay tithing.

Some years ago a young man I’ll call Raymond was in the seventh grade. He was a little taller than the other boys and was doing quite well in basketball and track. However, as the year progressed, the coach of the team began saying to him, “Raymond, stay seated. You’re no ball player. You’re too clumsy!” The next game, “No, we don’t need you. You stay right there. You can’t run. You can’t shoot the ball. You’re not fast enough.” This process continued for a number of months.

So the inevitable happened, because of that continual negative conditioning, and Raymond finally believed what he was being told about himself. He bought it hook, line, and sinker. He believed it so much that in coming years he did his best to avoid gym altogether. He did not play basketball with the other young men anymore at Church or at school. He set aside running. He avoided sports and went through high school minimizing interaction of any kind in sports. The negative conditioning even followed him into his first year of college. Some athletics were required, but again he minimized his involvement to the smallest degree possible.

A year later he found himself on a mission in a distant land. In this particular country the buses that the missionaries used did not stop to let the people get on or off. One had to learn to do that on the run.

One afternoon, as Raymond and his companion looked down the street, being a block or two from the bus stop, they saw the bus coming. One of them said, “Run, Elder, run, or we’ll miss our next appointment.” To Raymond’s great surprise, he beat his companion to the bus stop. Again, that afternoon, Raymond purposely arranged a few runs for the bus. He beat his companion each time.

He was shocked, amazed, and almost unbelieving, because he knew that his companion had received a number of awards for being the fastest runner in all of northern Arizona. Raymond was overcome. Could it be so? They ran again. He won.

All of a sudden the terrible realization came that he had wasted all those years. He could have excelled in athletics but he had believed what someone else had sown in his mind. He then began questioning himself about every other attitude he had in which he might have been deceived concerning belief in self.

Let me share with you a personal story. My father was in World War II. He was not a member of the Church. Cigarettes were given to soldiers as part of their rations back in those days. As a result he and untold other young men became smokers. Keep in mind that the ills of smoking would not be known by the public for another twenty years. In fact, smoking was promoted as a healthy practice. In short, he did not know better. But here is the key: he smoked, and, as you would expect, natural laws govern smoking. Fortunately, when science determined that smoking was unhealthy, my dad quit. But while he was a smoker, natural laws could not be cheated, and his precious temple was damaged. The Lord blesses those who learn His will and follow His commandments. I testify that He loves us, and we are greatly blessed because we have known for over a century that “tobacco is not for the body.”

On vacations, Father would take us to historical sites that were prominent in Church history to build our knowledge and testimonies.
On one occasion, when I was a twelve-year-old deacon, Father asked if I would like to go to the baseball hall of fame in Cooperstown, New York, and to the Hill Cumorah Pageant near Palmyra, New York. This is where Joseph Smith was led to the golden plates which were later translated into the Book of Mormon. Father also took me to the Sacred Grove, where Joseph Smith had prayed to Heavenly Father and was visited in a vision by God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. We prayed together in the grove and expressed our desire to be true and faithful to the priesthood which we held. Father later painted a picture of the place where we had prayed and gave it to me as a reminder of our promises made that day together. It hangs in my office today and serves as a reminder each day of my sacred experience and promises made with my earthly father as well as my Heavenly Father.

Not many years ago, Elder Robert D. Hales gave a powerful illustration of this principle. He said,
When I was a boy, I used to ride my bicycle home from basketball practice at night. I would connect a small pear-shaped generator to my bicycle tire. Then as I pedaled, the tire would turn a tiny rotor, which produced electricity and emitted a single, welcome beam of light. It was a simple but effective mechanism. But I had to pedal to make it work! I learned quickly that if I stopped pedaling my bicycle, the light would go out. I also learned that when I was “anxiously engaged” in pedaling, the light would become brighter and the darkness in front of me would be dispelled.
The generation of spiritual light comes from daily spiritual pedaling. It comes from praying, studying the scriptures, fasting, and serving—from living the gospel and obeying the commandments.
Sometimes people ask, “Why do I have to go to sacrament meeting?” or “Why do I have to live the Word of Wisdom, pay tithing? Why can’t I have one foot in Babylon?” May I tell you why? Because spiritual pedaling takes both feet! Unless you are fully engaged in living the gospel—living it with all of your “heart, might, mind and strength”—you cannot generate enough spiritual light to push back the darkness.

Shortly after the death of Sister LeGrand Richards, I was assigned to be Elder Richards’ junior companion to assist him in creating the Atlanta Georgia Stake. As we were flying toward his beloved Southern States Mission, he said to me, “Brother Ballard, I am not afraid to die; the only thing I worry about is, will I be able to find Mommy over there.”
I was impressed to say to Elder Richards that in his case that could be a real problem. Immediately, I had his full attention. He looked me directly in the eye and said, “What do you mean by that?”
With my emotions near the surface, I answered this great missionary, “Elder Richards, when you die, so many people there will be anxious to greet you because you introduced the gospel to them that you might have difficulty finding Mommy in the crowd.” His response was, “Oh, you don’t mean that.”
We all might ask ourselves the question, Who will be there to greet us?
Oh, that I could have the power to touch your hearts that you would have the faith to take the simple steps that will bring the light of the gospel to many more of our Father’s children. The more I am involved in this work, the more I realize that Satan would have you and me believe that we cannot succeed in sharing the gospel. He lies to us. In fact, he is the father of all lies. Do not listen to him. Listen to the prompting of the Holy Ghost, and then act in faith in sharing the gospel.
I testify to you, my brothers and sisters, that I know the Lord lives. I know that when we are willing to seek his help and guidance, when we trust in him completely, he will bless us to understand what to do and how to proceed in the wonderful work of sharing this glorious message with others.
We do appreciate all you have done in the past. The leaders of the Church have great faith that, united together, the members and the missionaries of this Church can do much more in the future to build the kingdom of God.
May the Lord bless us all with increased faith to move his work forward, I humbly pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I know of a man named Tom who agreed to drive his son Michael and some of Michael’s soccer teammates to their Saturday game. The boys were noisy, and Tom was getting frustrated trying to find a playing field he had never been to before. Unable to concentrate on his driving, Tom ran into another car. The accident was minor, but Tom let his frustration out in profanity.
Later that afternoon, young Michael asked his mother if his dad was a member of the Church. Michael had been taught that good Mormons don’t swear. His mother was surprised and said, “Of course your father is a Church member.”
“Well, Dad may be a Mormon, but I know he is not a Cub Scout!” Michael replied.