Gospel Story Finder

On another occasion we were at the visitors’ center on Temple Square with these same grandchildren. Two-year-old Ashley was tired and wanted to leave. Sister Mask asked her if she wanted to see a big Jesus like the one on our wall. She asked, “Is He as big as me?” “Even bigger,” Sister Mask replied. When that tiny, little girl looked up at the majestic Christus, she ran and stood at the feet and gazed up reverently for several minutes. When her father indicated it was time to go, she said, “No, no, Daddy. He loves me and wants to give me hugs!”

Photographs by Clayton Chan
Ark loves spicy food. This is a fairly new discovery for him. Back in the Philippines, where he grew up, things tasted a lot less fiery.
But then his father got a job in Malaysia.
At that point, Ark met friends at church who came from all sorts of backgrounds, including a few from India.
“They eat really spicy food!” Ark C., age 14, says about his new friends. “This food is much spicier than I used to eat back home.”
Funny thing, though—Ark never knew what he was missing. Now he enjoys exploring a whole new culinary world.
Of course that’s not the only way Ark’s Church friends have changed his life for the better. “I was happy to move to Malaysia, but sad at the same time. It was all new friends, and it’s hard to talk to new friends.”
But the youth in his new branch helped him make that transition. As a bonus, he now knows a lot more about many different areas. “I’ve learned about different cultures,” he said. “The food is different, and so are the clothes. Their clothes are colorful, and it’s very interesting how they make them!”
There was one group of friends, however, that kept him going more than any other during and after the move: his family.
Ark loves spending time with his family, especially when they play card games. The game Uno is his particular favorite. The reason? “I always win,” he says with a laugh.
He also loves playing Monopoly with his parents and his younger brother, Leif. (His younger sister isn’t quite old enough to join yet.) There’s more going on in the games, however, than chucking dice and spending pretend money. “My parents teach me business strategies and money principles in the games. It’s really helpful advice for the future.”
His dad is a software developer, and his mom used to run her own business in the Philippines. They have a lot of skills to pass down. For his part, Ark is eager to learn everything he can from them. He’s got big plans for his career.
His favorite school subjects are biotech and engineering. Ark wants to become a biotechnician. With his sights set high, he takes every chance he can to learn something new.
Learning from his parents, though, wasn’t always Ark’s preferred source for education. Like his love of spicy food, this discovery of a valued resource came a bit later in his life.
“I used to be very stubborn,” Ark admits. “I didn’t really care about learning from my parents.”
He’d try to go it alone or to learn from his friends and schoolteachers only. Then he read something in the Book of Mormon that made a big difference in how he viewed things.
In Alma chapters 36 and 37, Alma gives advice to his son Helaman. Alma teaches Helaman about everything, from Alma’s own remarkable conversion story (which included three days of being unconscious after an angel told him he wasn’t exactly making the best life choices [see Alma 36:6–10]) to the dangers of secret combinations.
In the middle of it all, a single verse jumped off the page to Ark: “O, remember, my son, and learn wisdom in thy youth; yea, learn in thy youth to keep the commandments of God” (Alma 37:35).
Something clicked in Ark’s mind at those words. “My parents can teach me wisdom too,” he says. All at once he realized he had a wealth of information right in front of him. “Now I care a lot about their wisdom. They love me and can help me prepare for my future.”
They love me and can help me prepare for my future.
And their wisdom goes a lot further than business tips shared during board games.
One valuable lesson Ark’s parents have taught him is to not allow bad influences around him to trip him up. “Here at my school, a lot of kids want me to try coffee, tea, cigarettes, and so forth.”
This is a regular conversation topic at home. “I’ve had a lot of conversations with my parents about this. They repeat themselves a lot,” he jokes.
Still, all that repetition has paid off. Each time he’s asked to do something against his beliefs, Ark draws strength from what his parents have taught him.
Another lesson he’s taken to heart is how to dress. No, Ark didn’t need fashion advice from his parents in order to fit in better at school. In fact, he was doing a little too well in that department. “I used to dress in all the cool clothes,” Ark said. “I was trying to impress girls.”
His parents helped him see, though, that there were also some unintended consequences to dressing that way. “The clothes we wear can influence how other people think about you,” Ark explains. As he paid closer attention, Ark realized he didn’t like some of the ways people seemed to think of him when he dressed like he did before.
Now he chooses more conservative, modest—or, as he likes to call them, “nerdy”—clothes. He likes his new look and feels better spiritually about how he dresses. (Besides, Ark, nerds are cool! Indisputable fact.)
Ark loves where he lives, he loves his family, and he loves learning from his parents.
He also loves learning the gospel.
“I believe that Jesus Christ lives,” Ark says. “I believe our living prophet is President Russell M. Nelson and that through Joseph Smith, Jesus Christ restored His Church. I believe the gospel can help us through our lives and through any obstacles or trials we experience.”
No matter what incredible things Ark is going to learn in the future, he’s already learned some of the most important of all. Near the top of that list is this: spending time with family adds a lot of spice to life!

Around the time I joined the Church, I lost my job because of the harsh economic conditions in Nigeria. I thought my world had ended, yet I trusted in God—praying and fasting that He would help me find another job.
Within a month I had an interview with one of Nigeria’s fast-growing construction companies. I met with a panel of three interviewers: the managing director, the general manager, and a consultant. I easily answered their routine questions, but then the consultant, a pastor of a local church, unexpectedly threw out a shocking question: “Are you Christian, Muslim, or Traditionalist?” he asked.
Beaming, I replied, “I am a Christian.”
“What is the name of your church?” he continued.
I told him, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“What! That church?” he cried. “You don’t mean to tell me you attend that church, where all activities are shrouded in secrecy?” Looking directly into my eyes, he stated, “Say it is not true.”
“It is true,” I quickly replied. Then I added, “Our meetings are not held or shrouded in secrecy. You can come to our meetings next Sunday and see for yourself.”
“I would not be in such a gathering,” he replied. Having noticed the direction the interview had taken, the managing director called the consultant to order and thanked me for coming.
Three days later I was asked to return for a second interview. The managing director, the general manager, and the consultant were all there. After we had talked about purchasing and supplying, the consultant asked, “Are you a Mormon?”
“Yes, I am,” I replied.
“Do you believe in the Book of Mormon?”
“Absolutely! I believe,” I answered.
“Do you believe that Joseph Smith encountered God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, when he was a young boy of 14 years?”
“Yes,” I responded. “I know it is true.”
At the end of the interview, I was told that scores of applicants had been interviewed. A few weeks later, to my great surprise, I received a phone call from the managing director. She said I had been successful in the two interviews, and she asked me to come in to sign a letter of employment.
Looking back on the experience, I am grateful I did not deny the Church or my faith. God answered my prayers and blessed me with a job. I know if we remain steadfast, He will reward us abundantly.

Kathy Hart, fifteen-year-old Latter-day Saint from Albuquerque, New Mexico, has a fabulous goal for the future, and she could very well reach it. Kathy wants to represent the United States in the 1976 Olympics—her skill, track and field. Kathy first began to excel in track and field in the sixth grade. She now takes part in many meets each year, participating in relays, hurdles, the 220 yard dash, the high jump and long jump, and the pentathlon. Kathy has a long list of accomplishments to her credit by now, including the third best long jump-high jump combination in women’s track and field history in 1971 and ninth over all in the national high jump finals where she equaled the winning jump of five feet, four inches.
In 1972 Kathy participated in the Girl’s National and Women’s National track meets in Canton, Ohio, jumping five feet, five inches in both meets. This qualified her to compete in the Olympic trials in the women’s high jump in Frederick, Maryland. At the trials she once again jumped five feet, five inches and placed seventh among the women high jumpers. Kathy was the youngest woman high jumper at the Olympic trials and one of three fifteen-year-old girls participating in the whole women’s division of the trials. Since that time Kathy has jumped five feet, six inches in a regional track meet held in El Paso, Texas. She has jumped higher than any other woman in track and field from the state of New Mexico and has held the thirteen-, fourteen-, and fifteen-year-old state high jump records.

They were the last two on the bus, and with luck there were two seats left. One was by a middle-aged Latin. His suit suggested a businessman. But Elder O’Neal stared at the man’s obvious mismatch of green pants and a blue striped jacket. The other seat, much farther back, was by a teenage girl in her school uniform, a wrinkled, white blouse and a green and red plaid skirt.
“I’ll take that one,” Elder Everritt said, pointing to the seat by the businessman. “You take the other one, elder. And remember, arm’s length.” Elder O’Neal stared at him for a moment and then started down the aisle, wending his way through the obstacle course of sacks, boxes, and chickens.
Kevin sat down beside the girl who watched him until their eyes met. Then blushing, she quickly turned away to stare out the window. The seat in front of them was so close that it didn’t leave room for Kevin’s legs. So he sat with his feet out in the aisle.
“What is your name?” The girl next to him had touched him on the shoulder.
“What?” he asked, not sure if he should look at her.
“What is your name?” she asked again.
She spoke with a strong Spanish accent. He smiled.
“No,” he said in English, “you have to accent the next to last word. Like this. What is your name?”
“A-lane,” she said answering him. He didn’t understand until she wrote Helen with her finger on the back of the seat in front of them. “What is your name?” she asked once again.
“Kevin O’Neal, Elder Kevin O’Neal,” he said correcting himself. “How’d you get an English name like Helen?” he asked her.
She stared back at him with the same look he’d given the man at the bus station. He realized that, like the shoeshine boy, she only knew one phrase in English.
“Speak to the Latins in their own language,” his Missionary Training Center teacher had said. “You can’t imagine how much they love it when a North American takes the time and effort to learn their language.”
“Okay,” Kevin thought. “I’ll try speaking to her in Spanish.” The girl had already turned to look out the window when he tapped on her shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he said in Spanish. “I speak a little bit of Spanish.” The girl turned back to him with a smile. Kevin quickly turned to see if Elder Everritt was watching. But Elder Everritt was busy talking to two women in front of him. One was a middle-aged woman who could be the businessman’s wife. The other was much older, with steel-gray hair and deep wrinkles in her dark brown face. If Elder Everritt was talking to those women, it should be okay to talk to the girl. “How did you get an English name like Helen?” he asked in his best Spanish.
“Oh, my name isn’t Helen,” she said pronouncing Helen wrong again. “It’s Elena. That’s Spanish for Helen, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said. Her Spanish was spoken at a normal rate, which seemed rapid to him, hard to understand.
“What’s your name again?” Elena asked. “I didn’t understand you when you spoke in English.” Seeing his difficulty in understanding, she had slowed down, pronouncing each word more clearly.
“Elder Kevin O’Neal,” he said answering her question.
“Aldare, that’s a funny name.”
“It’s not a name. It’s a …” He couldn’t think of the word so he said, “My name is Kevin, really.”
“Kaybeen. I like your name. Do you like mine?”
He wasn’t sure if he should answer that. “Yes,” he said out of habit.
“What are you doing in my country?”
“I don’t know,” he said, amazed at his inability to say anything intelligent. Elena looked at him puzzled.
“Why don’t you know? I don’t understand.”
“Really, I’m a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he said, repeating the line he’d memorized at the Missionary Training Center. “He is my companion,” he said pointing at Elder Everritt who was busy talking to the businessman again.
“That’s neat,” she said. “What do missionaries do?”
He didn’t know how to answer that.
Seeing that he wasn’t going to answer, she asked, “Do you like my country?”
“No,” he said and was sorry.
“Why not?” Elena asked with a frown.
“It is so … it is very …” How do you say strange in Spanish? he asked himself. “It is very different,” he said at last.
“What’s so different about it?” Elena asked.
Kevin knew he’d never be able to explain that. “I don’t know,” he said staring down the aisle. Elder Everritt turned around and waved. He was mouthing something, but O’Neal didn’t understand. Elder Everritt pointed at the businessman and then at Kevin. Kevin shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t know what Elder Everritt wanted. Elder Everritt gave up and turned back to the businessman.
“I’ll bet your father sent you,” Elena said staring at the businessman. “To get rid of you. All fathers are alike. Mine doesn’t like me.”
“That’s not true,” Kevin said.
“How do you know? You don’t know my father.”
“I know my father.”
“What’s your father like?” Elena asked.
“He saved my life once.”
“How? Did he do a brave thing?”
“Yes,” Kevin said. “He did a brave thing. He told me I couldn’t go to a party.”
Elena was confused. “But that’s mean,” she said. “Tell me how he saved your life.”
“Let me tell you something else first,” Kevin said. “He asked me not to have certain friends, not to say profane words, not to rebel, not to do this or that. Is that like your father?”
“Yes,” Elena said. “He’s very mean to me.”
“He told me not to go to a party with my friends. He said he loved me, but I didn’t believe him. And I hated him.”
“You were right to hate him,” Elena said. “That was very mean.”
“No, I was wrong. Very wrong,” Kevin said strongly. “He really did love me.”
“I don’t understand,” Elena said. “He didn’t let you go to a party. How is that love?”
“At the party somebody put … put something in the drink. What do you call it?”
“¿Alcohol?” she asked.
“No, that was the drink,” he said feeling ashamed.
“¿Veneno?” she asked.
He didn’t understand that word, so he said, “No, it makes you crazy.” Then in English he said, “Drugs.”
“Oh, drogas,” Elena said starting to understand.
“Three of my friends died in a car,” he told her. “If my father had let me go, I would be dead also. Now do you understand how I know he loves me?”
“Yes,” Elena said. “He let you hate him in order to save you.”
“If my father asks me not to do certain things because he loves me, then why do you think your father asks you not to do them?” Kevin was amazed; the words were coming much more easily now. It was as if he were speaking in his own language.
“Maybe because he loves me,” Elena said answering his question. “Are you really sure?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Kevin said. “And at the same time, tell him you love him.”
The bus stopped. It had reached its destination and was backing into its stall. The passengers began to stand up and get off the bus. Elena stood up and slid past him.
“I don’t know if what you say will work,” she said, “but I’ll try it anyway.” She smiled at him. “You know? Now I know what you missionaries are doing in my country.” Then she was gone.
As Elena left, Kevin said to himself, “So do I now. So do I.”

About four months ago, I received the assignment to serve in Bogotá, Colombia, and moved there. One day, as I was trying to find the way to my new ward’s meetinghouse, I stopped at a park to ask for directions.
I could see many families enjoying a pleasant sunny morning. I stood there for a while watching the children as they cheerfully played in the park. They had a special glow in their countenances; their cheeks were flushed from the sun and from the effort they made to run and play together. They were all very friendly with each other.
I could tell they were really having fun. As I watched them closely, I realized that, more than having a fun time, those pure little children were truly happy.
Later, as I was driving to the chapel, my thoughts went back to the time I was baptized in the Church. An old friend of mine came to me and asked what I had found so different there. I answered, “I have found true happiness.” To which he replied, “There is no such thing as true happiness—only happy moments.”
I understand that my good friend did not know the difference between fun and happiness. What he called “happy moments” were in fact the moments when he had fun. What he did not know then was that happiness is much more than just fun. Fun is just a fleeting moment, but happiness is a lasting thing.
Many people in this world do not understand the difference between fun and happiness. Many try to find happiness having fun, but the two words have different meanings.
I looked them up in the dictionary to find out what each of them meant. Fun is play, pleasure, gaiety, merriment, source of enjoyment, amusement, to behave playfully, playful, often a noisy activity, and teasing. Happiness is contentedness, joy, delight, and satisfaction.
I was taught, after becoming a member of the Church, that there is indeed a big difference between fun and happiness. I learned, even before my baptism, that the Lord has a plan of salvation for all His children (see 2 Ne. 2:9). Through this plan, depending upon what we accomplish here on earth, we shall return to our Heavenly Father’s presence and live with Him forever in a state of eternal happiness.
Both fun and happiness are fine, but certainly happiness is the most worth seeking. Happiness can encompass fun as well, but fun alone will not assure us true happiness.
In Luke, chapter 15, we find the parable of the prodigal son. In this parable, the younger son asks the father to give him his share of the inheritance. The father does so, and this young man goes out into the world, seeking what he believes to be true happiness. He starts to have fun, and for as long as he has money, he lives surrounded by many people who claim to be his friends. When his fortune is totally wasted with all the fun he has had with his so-called friends, all of them turn their backs on him, and he is left without a penny. He then goes through much suffering and disappointment. He starts working for a man feeding swine, and, starving, he tries to eat even the husks that the swine would eat. He thinks of his father’s servants, who have enough bread to eat and to spare, and he does not have anything to eat.
He decides to return home to his father and ask him for a job as one of his hired servants. He returns, repentant from all he has done, and his father, a righteous man, greets him as a special son. He finally understands that true happiness is there, in that simple life with his family.
All who seek full happiness can find it in the gospel of Jesus Christ, taught in His Church. Through Christ’s doctrine, we are taught that we can be part of the great plan of happiness that He has prepared for all of us, His sons and daughters. As we keep His commandments, we are blessed and come to know true happiness. We learn that happiness lies in doing small things that build us up, that increase our faith and testimony. Small things we do in our everyday lives, such as:
We are happy as we pray every morning and every night, when we can feel that the Lord hears us and is always willing to bless, forgive, and help us. We are happy as we feel the promptings of the Holy Ghost in our lives—as we feel the Spirit when we have to make important life decisions. We are happy as we go home after a stressful and tiresome day at work to the arms of our families, as they express love and appreciation for us. We are happy to talk to our children, to enjoy the family, to get together on family night. In short, we can feel happiness every day in our lives through little things we do, and we are fully happy as we keep the commandments of a loving God who cares about us.
True happiness comes from keeping the commandments of God. We are taught in 2 Nephi 2:25 that “Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy,” or, in other words, that they might be happy.
I have witnessed this happiness in the lives of many members of the Church. Several weeks ago I had the assignment to preside over a stake conference in Cali, Colombia. I met a very special young man there who is a member of the Church and can well illustrate the meaning of true happiness.
His name is Fabián. His family belongs to the Church, and he learned of the plan of happiness when he was just a little boy. In 1984, when he was three years old, Fabián and his family lived in a house close to a large and busy avenue. That avenue was a route for many city bus lines.
One day, seeing the gate open, little Fabián tried to cross the avenue and got hit by a bus. Thanks to Heavenly Father’s goodness, Fabián survived the accident. His parents took him to three different hospitals that indicated they could not treat him. They continued looking for help, and upon finding the proper medical assistance, they learned the prognosis was not very good. After undergoing multiple surgeries, the doctors informed the family that the damage to his feet and legs was so extensive that to save him, they had to amputate his right leg.
Little Fabián started a different life then, without one of his legs. He slowly learned to control his body balance and to walk with the help of crutches. He went to school and had the support of his teachers and friends. Some people used to mock him, but he soon learned not to care about the jokes they played on him.
He wanted to participate in all physical activities, and did so frequently. Even though winning was very hard to come by, he was always brave and ready to participate.
Fabián currently serves as a counselor in the Young Men organization of his stake. He attends institute of religion classes and is active in the student body organization. He plays basketball and soccer. He also plays Ping-Pong with his friends from the institute. He rides a bike and does everything a young man can do. He works as a volunteer teaching English at a foundation that cares for poor children.
Fabián wants to serve his fellowmen and God with all his strength. He has a smiling face and is always there to help someone in need. Fabián is truly a happy young man. With an overwhelming strength which comes from his faith and trust in God, Fabián is a great example to the citizens of his hometown.
His happiness comes from striving to live worthily every day and to obey God’s commandments. He reminds me of a scripture found in Mosiah 2:41: “And moreover, I would desire that ye should consider on the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. For behold, they are blessed in all things, both temporal and spiritual; and if they hold out faithful to the end they are received into heaven, that thereby they may dwell with God in a state of never-ending happiness. O remember, remember that these things are true; for the Lord God hath spoken it.”
Being obedient to God’s commandments, we will live happily for all eternity. The Lord said in Alma 41:10 that “wickedness never was happiness.”
As a servant of God and as a member of His Church, I invite you to be truly happy by giving heed to His counsels, by living His commandments, and by obeying the words of His living prophets.
I know that one of the factors that greatly influences our happiness is listening to the counsel of the living prophets who teach us in this Church.
I have a testimony that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, our Savior and Redeemer. He gave His precious life for each one of us. I know that Joseph Smith is a prophet of God. This I know with all my heart. I know that the Book of Mormon is the word of God and that it can lead us to the pathways of happiness.
I know that President Gordon B. Hinckley is the prophet of God today and that he teaches with love and patience how we can be happy in this life and in the life to come.
These things are part of my testimony of the truth, and I share them with you, my brothers and sisters, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Howard Swainston, a friend, age 87
“Ezra Taft was a little above the ordinary person. I always pictured him that way. He was one swell fellow. I’m a month older than he is. We grew up together. We thinned beets. We worked together. He loved to ride horses. We just grew up as almost brothers.
“He was a hardworking, clean-living young man. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for him to go out and thin an acre of beets a day. He was a hard guy to follow. We used to go to the canyon and get wood together. We used to put up our hay with hay derricks. I remember going into Cottonwood, 20 miles north. He and I went and got us a derrick apiece. We had to camp overnight. I never liked olives, and he made me eat some olives he had, and from then on I loved them.
“Someone interviewed me and asked if I had any idea he would be President of the Church. I said, ‘Good heavens no!’ We never thought of such things in those days. We knew he was a good guy, but we had no idea that he would be President of the Church.
“He was quite a joker. He was popular among everybody. He could make friends with anybody. He was just that type of a guy. He knew how to meet people. He had that personality. He seemed to like everybody. He didn’t have any enemies. He was just a good person. Everybody respected him.
“I can just see us out playing, having fun together, riding horses, playing ball. Every 24th of July we’d put on a celebration, and he was right with us. We’d have a rodeo and race horses and wrestle. That’s the kind of guy he was. He was always right at the head of everything. He was a leader right from the start.
“I can just see him as a big, husky, robust boy. He always had a smile on his face. I can just see him to this day that way. He was always ready to meet you and speak to you or go riding with you. That was the way he was—a lot of fun.
“Ezra T. was pretty good at basketball. He was a good athlete—a strong fellow. He was hard to handle.
“I think if I remember him in church he was just a little bit more spiritual than the rest of us. I think he was born to be a President of the Church, but we didn’t realize it.”

It was a pleasant August evening in Wyoming’s Wind River Range mountains. My family and I were hours away from civilization and six miles from our car. It was the last night of our three-day backpacking excursion, and none of us felt ready to hike the six long miles back to our car the next morning. As the cool of the night settled on our camp, my mom placed a pot of water on the stove to boil for hot chocolate. While waiting for the cocoa, my toddler sister dragged me into the woods for a game of hide-and-seek. When it grew dark, we decided to head back to camp.
As soon as we set foot in our campsite, a loud clang broke the silence of the night. Screams erupted in front of me. I looked up and saw my six-year-old sister, Hannah, standing near the pot that had held the boiling water. The water had fallen onto her leg, causing a gruesome second-degree burn that began to blister. Immediately, my parents dumped bottle after bottle of cold water on her leg. Whimpering, she was carried by my parents to the tent.
My siblings and I separated and each prayed for our sister. As I prayed, I felt comfort that Hannah would be OK. When we met back in camp, our family gathered in prayer and my dad gave Hannah a priesthood blessing. In it, he promised her that she would have the ability to hike the trail to the car with only minimal pain or discomfort. I looked at the red blister on her leg. It would take a miracle for his promise to be fulfilled, but I trusted in Heavenly Father to heal her.
Morning came bright and early. We took down camp except the tent where Hannah still slept. Then after gently waking her, our anxious family stood by to see whether or not she would be able to walk. We watched her take a first step and then a second. With only a slight limp, she walked out the tent door. We knew our prayers had been answered. True to the promise given in her blessing, Hannah hiked almost the full six miles to the car “with only minimal pain or discomfort.”
In Doctrine and Covenants 42:48, the Lord promises us, “He that hath faith in me to be healed … shall be healed.” I have seen the fulfillment of this promise. I know that through faith, Hannah was able to hike through the mountains without pain. My testimony of the power of the priesthood has grown tremendously from this experience. I will be eternally grateful to my Father in Heaven for the mercy he showed to a six-year-old girl in the wilderness.

“I went a little farther that time!” Lewis exclaimed, marking where he had landed with a stick. A new house was being built next door, and six-year-old Lewis loved playing in the big piles of dirt. He especially liked to jump off the top of a pile with his brother and see who could go the farthest. Jumping was the next best thing to flying, and Lewis wanted more than anything to be able to fly. Not just to ride in a plane—he’d done that lots of times with his dad in a little four-seat airplane—he wanted to fly like a bird. He thought about it all the time.
Last Sunday, Lewis had been given a lesson in Primary about faith. Sister Jones had said that if you have enough faith, you can do anything—even move mountains! Lewis didn’t want to move a mountain—he wanted to fly over one. He believed that Heavenly Father could help him do that just as easily. Lewis didn’t hear the rest of the lesson that day because he was dreaming about his first flight. He knew exactly how it would be. He would jump off something very high and dive to the earth. Just before he hit the ground, he would pull out of the fall with his arms spread out and glide above the earth, rising higher and higher. He could almost feel the wind in his hair and see the look of surprise on his brother’s face as he flew effortlessly over his head. Yes, it was going to be truly wonderful!
“Lewis,” Mom called from the house.
“Yes, Mom?” he replied from the top of the dirt pile.
“Grandma is here and wants to see you.”
Lewis jumped one more time, marked the spot where he landed, and rushed to the house. “Hi, Grandma. How was your trip?”
“Oh, it was great fun, Lewis. I brought you something.” She held up a small pair of flight attendant wings that she had received on her flight home.
“Wow! Thanks, Grandma!” He had wings! Now he knew he could fly. He pinned them to his shirt and ran outside to the dirt pile. Sure enough, he seemed to jump a little farther and a little higher. The problem, he thought, is that this hill is too small. If I could find something higher, I’m sure I could pull out before I hit the ground.
The next day, Dad took Lewis with him to a construction show. One of the companies there was producing new playground equipment, and Lewis saw the biggest jungle gym he’d ever seen. He grinned. Today was the day he was going to fly!
While his dad was busy talking to some other builders, Lewis pulled the flight attendant wings out of his pocket and pinned them to his shirt, then raced over to the jungle gym. He climbed to the very top bar—about fifteen feet high—and yelled, “Watch this, Dad!” He jumped off, completely unafraid. On the way down, his leg caught on a bar and he crashed to the ground.
Lewis’s leg was broken, and his body was bruised and scratched.
“Are you feeling better now?” Dad asked on the way home from the hospital.
“Dad,” Lewis sobbed, “I don’t understand. In Primary, my teacher said that if I had enough faith, I could do anything.”
“I see. Lewis, you need to understand something about faith. The scriptures say that faith is things which are hoped for which are true. If I believed with all my heart that the oceans are filled with spaghetti, it still wouldn’t be true. Faith in Jesus Christ is true because He really did come and die for us and He really does love you. Faith in the scriptures is true because the Lord really commanded the prophets to write them so we could read them and learn about Jesus Christ. Heavenly Father obeys natural laws, like gravity. Can you see the difference?”
“I guess so.”
Dad continued, “You will be able to fly, Lewis, but on this earth the way you have to do it is by following the natural laws. When you get a little older, you can take flying lessons and get a pilot’s license of your own. Now let’s go home and let that leg heal.”
Today Lewis is grown-up and flies high in the sky as an airline pilot. But he still dreams that the day will come when he will be able to fly through the clouds on his own.

Several years ago I was working in my garden and was delighted to see a family of quail. I watched the father sitting on top of the wall standing guard. The mother was busy keeping her 10 precious babies together and seemed to be demonstrating how to peck in the earth for food. I was fascinated. I carefully and quietly walked closer. All too soon I was detected by the watchful father, and he let out a warning call. The mother tried to guide the children around the wall to safety, but I—the danger—was too near, and she became frustrated and confused and flew up on the wall by the father. I didn’t want to harm this family, so I quickly retreated out of sight.
Unlike my experience with the quail family, the dangers threatening the lives of our families do not retreat. Satan rejoices in our confusion and frustration, and his influences surround us. We turn on the television—is this a family show? We hear something coming out of our child’s room—is this music? We try to pick a movie—did this one really have an acceptable rating?
Sometimes Satan’s influences are more subtle. I have asked myself these questions: Do I leave my children exposed to danger when I don’t teach them the truths of the gospel? Do I neglect their souls when I don’t help them recognize the promptings of the Spirit and the guidance they can receive? Do I leave my children exposed to danger when my example is not the same as my words or when I don’t share my love in such a way that each child feels it deeply?

“I liked getting my hands dirty and working alongside all the other girls,” said Brooke Matsen of the Farmington Ninth Ward. She was pitching in with the other young men and women of the ward as they helped clear, plow, cultivate, and plant a large neighborhood garden. The garden provides not only fresh produce but also opportunities for learning and service.
The youth cleared branches and pulled stumps from the area prior to plowing. Then they worked together in planting 160 tomato plants, cutting and planting seed potatoes, corn, beans, and peppers. Unfortunately, as the plants flourished, so did the weeds. Families and youth were assigned to keep rows weeded. In the end everyone helped with the harvest and learned how to bottle and preserve the food.
“It was fun to work with everyone,” said Kambria Johnson. “We got closer and there were good bonding experiences. It’s good to know the garden would benefit some in the ward.”

The first time Alan had come hunting was when he was 11. Before then he was forced to stay behind “with the women” while the men and the older boys in the family went up to the mountains for three or four days.
Uncle Ed had taken a special interest in him. His uncle, now dead, had been a weather-beaten rancher, a widower at 25. His ranch, snuggled against the mountains near Bozeman, had been one of Alan’s favorite places as a boy. Being alone had produced a simplicity in his uncle’s life that Alan envied. When they were there, Alan didn’t have to wash much.
The first day that they hunted, Alan went out with his father. They didn’t see anything. The second day Uncle Ed talked Alan’s father into letting Alan go with him so, as his uncle said, “He’ll learn that hunting is more than sitting around watching the robins.”
His uncle and Alan left early in the morning and hiked along a ridge for two hours before they sat down away from the trail, waiting for the hunters below to scare some deer their way.
As Alan had waited with his uncle that morning, nervous and excited, it was as if he was recording each sensory impression to the smallest detail so that years later he could still remember: his body smelling like a work horse after the long hike; the decaying beauty of a forest preparing for the snows of winter; the smooth reassuring feel of the stock of his 30-30 rifle; and the anticipation that turned every wind into the sound of an approaching deer.
Then the deer came. Alan’s heart pounded inside him until it seemed that the noise would scare away the deer.
It was a six-point buck. His uncle motioned for Alan to make the shot. As he took the gun off safety, a shift in his weight caused a twig to snap. The deer heard the sound and looked over at him the same instant Alan squeezed the trigger. The sound of the shot roared in Alan’s ears.
It had been a good shot, and the deer had not gone very far before he fell down. When they reached him, his uncle reached down and, taking a knife, slit the deer’s throat so the blood would be pumped out, leaving the meat good.
His uncle stood up and, walking over to Alan, placed both of his large hands on Alan’s shoulders. Like some ancient ritual, he said, “You’re a man now.”
That night over a large campfire, the others told Alan stories about hunting. They seemed strangely happy as if they were welcoming him into some ancient brotherhood.
Each year after that Alan went hunting. He became a good hunter and enjoyed the challenge of pitting himself against the mountains.
But one day several years later as he methodically sighted in on his scope an eight-point buck 100 yards away, he thought to himself, “I’m just grocery shopping. That’s all it amounts to anymore.” He squeezed the trigger, and the deer recoiled backwards.
He still hunted after that because they needed the meat. But although he still enjoyed the chance to be outdoors, the sense of excitement was gone for him.

Think about the neighborhood you live in. Okay, now think of it 30 or 40 years from now. How will it look? Who will live there? Will it still hold special memories for you?
Neighborhoods age over time. As a housing specialist for Salt Lake City’s Community Outreach program, Mary Allen knows that. And she knows that sometimes the aging isn’t kind.
But what Mary wanted to do right now was convince more than 250 young people from the East Millcreek North Stake that even when a neighborhood gets run down, it’s still home to the people who live there.
As she spoke, Mary, a member of the Liberty Stake Eighth Ward, raised her hands and stretched them out, as if to embrace the east central city streets surrounding the community center where the youth volunteers were gathered.
“This used to be one of the main parts of town,” she said. “Anything south of here was pasture. The old-timers—and I am one of them—remember this as the heart of the city.”
But people moved to the suburbs, private homes became apartments, and the combination of limited-income senior citizens and low-income renters left the area neglected.
“Landscaping isn’t critical when you’re struggling just to survive,” Mary explained.
“I grew up in the Church,” she continued. “I used to go on Saturday morning service projects, just like you. I used to wonder if it meant much to cut some weeds or help paint a house. But I can see it from the other side now. This is my neighborhood, and what you’re doing means a lot. It brings a spark of life to people who wonder if anybody cares.”
It was almost as though Mary were a coach, giving a pep talk before a big game. When she finished, a team rushed out the doors, determined to make a difference in a day. They fanned out over a one-block area, mowing lawns, planting sod, cleaning up debris, scraping old paint, slapping on new paint, and generally sprucing and tidying up.
The stake’s program, called Adopt-a-Block, was developed over a period of months as they consulted with Mary and with the city council volunteer program. To lend support, the city donated 2,000 gallons of paint, plus rollers and brushes, and convinced a waste management company to donate the use of a dumpster, a land fill company to donate space at a dump site, and a grocery chain to donate trash bags.
“The point of the program was to expose the youth to a different environment and life-style, within 20 minutes of where they live,” said David Garrett, East Millcreek North Stake Young Men president. “We need to provide service for those in our own community. These are our brothers and sisters, and they need our help.”
Sarah Heaton, 12, told of watching one older lady react to the cleanup. “She was watching as we worked on her yard and house. You could see her looking happier and happier as the work went on.
“I took a break and walked around the block a couple of times, just to see what everybody was doing,” Sarah continued. “It was amazing to see how many kids were involved, and especially great to see the before and after on some of the houses.”
Micha Smith, 16, spent the day mowing knee-high grass at the home of a Vietnamese refugee family. “They didn’t talk much; in fact I don’t think the parents spoke English at all,” Micha said. “But I came over to find a tool, and while I was picking it up, one of the children said ‘thank you’ in broken English. I had a good feeling about it. In fact, I still have a good feeling.”
“We re-did a flower garden for one woman,” said Jackie Wilde, 17. “At first she was a bit nervous. I think she wondered if we knew what we were doing. But she kept saying, ‘God bless you all.’ It made me feel something that I’ve never felt before, the joy was so deep. I felt like coming back the next day to ask her if I could do more.”
The stories went on and on. A man brought out an old chain saw, eventually got it working, and joined the youth in cutting dead branches from a tree. A woman who initially refused to let the youth on her property changed her mind when she saw what was being done for her neighbors. Stephanie Poulsen, 18, and Marci Fuelling, 17, made “best friends” with a couple of young boys playing in one of the backyards. Todd Edwards, 18, worked side by side with high councilor Craig Beck, laying sod and forging a friendship.
In addition to the one-block clean-up, some of the youth also traveled to the west side of town to paint over gang slogans and graffiti.
“I’m sure people who live there don’t like having that stuff all over their neighborhood,” said Andy Peterson, 12. “I wonder if people who do it realize how much work it takes to cover it up.”
By the end of the day, the dumpster was full, several houses had fresh coats of paint and new lawns, and grass, trees, and bushes looked neat and trimmed. But far more important, the youth of East Millcreek had learned about serving others.
“I felt like Mary’s block was my block, too,” said Andrea Ence, 12.
Adopt-a-Block wasn’t an earth-shattering event. It didn’t even last the entire day. But ask Mary Allen if it helped, and her smile will tell you immediately.
“It may not have changed the world,” she said. “But I think it changed some hearts. And that’s the beginning of changing the world.”

When President Gordon B. Hinckley announced the construction of the Nauvoo Temple, everyone was excited. He said that members could give money to help build the temple, and I wanted to help. I had been saving my money for a long time to buy a new pet that I wanted, but I decided to give that money for the temple, just like the children did when the first temple was built there. When I gave the envelope to the bishop, I felt great, knowing that someday I will visit the Nauvoo Temple with my family.Eric Smith, age 9Provo, Utah

Divorce was never a part of my vocabulary until it actually happened to me. For a long time I felt the embarrassing downside of the word every time I was asked about my marital status. “I’m divorced.” It was as if I could hardly say the words out loud—as if I were saying bad words.
Nevertheless, it was where I was in life, and I had a hard time fitting in. “You’ll find someone,” my friends would say. But I was not interested and had no desire to remarry. My four children kept me busy enough.
Until one day, without expectations or plans for the future, I met Arnfinn, and to my surprise we communicated so well that I enjoyed his company more and more. He was smart, good-looking, and playful. When he proposed, I did not know what the future would hold, but I knew I wanted that future with him. We took our time to “iron out the wrinkles,” as Arnfinn called it, and were married in the Stockholm Sweden Temple in the fall of 1997.
Being newlyweds at almost 40 was not the same as the first time. Falling in love was the same wonderful thrill, and the excitement of a new relationship was similar, but now we had two ex-spouses, a disobedient dog, a loud bird, and nine children, ages 3 to 17. Luckily, the newness of our romance was enough to get us through challenging days ahead.
“It seems like we don’t always have the same opinions about things,” Arnfinn said one day. Forty years of habits and doing things your own way will do that. I was 19 the first time I married, and routines and traditions were formed along the way. Arnfinn and I found out that it was all right and even healthy to have more than one opinion. It did not necessarily mean that one was right and the other was wrong. Opinions are shaped by many things in life, and respect and listening became the key words to understanding the other person.
We also tried to come to an understanding of how to blend our lives together—where to live, how to deal with the family economy, and which holiday traditions to uphold. There were a few more wrinkles to iron out along the way, but looking back, some seem trivial today. Harmony and love at home were the targets we were aiming for.
Having another mother involved in our family was especially hard for me. Arnfinn’s ex-wife is a wonderful mother and concerned with her children’s welfare. Vacations and weekends were planned with her, and at times I felt I did not have a say in my own life.
But the transition was probably more of a challenge for Arnfinn, who moved into a home with four children, two of them in their teens—children whose personalities were more boisterous than what he was used to and who had been brought up slightly different from what he would prefer.
Then one evening, so late that my thinker had stopped working for the day, Arnfinn challenged me to an IQ test. He sat down on one side of the dining room table and started making up equations and mathematical formulas in order to answer the questions. I was on the opposite side of the table drawing pictures to solve the problems presented. We finished and compared our test answers, only to find that we had achieved the same answers. That’s when I realized that the test was similar to our lives together.
Let me explain: He does things one way, and I do them another. But we have the same goal, even though the way there may vary. Reaching that goal is like the IQ test: while he makes equations and I draw pictures, we still get to the same answers.
I know I could never do his job as a lawyer, and I am pretty sure he would find my line of work as a writer and water-color artist difficult. The trick has been to find him cute when he does things differently from me instead of being annoyed. Difference can be an exciting learning experience if we let it. I told Arnfinn one day, “If you can teach me some things and maybe I can teach you some, we will turn out OK one day.” We both have to be teachable, and it’s an ongoing process. Admiration has become a key word.
If Mom and Dad are two diverse species, you can be sure that two sets of children will be poles apart as well. We rolled up our sleeves and faced the everyday problems of varying eating habits, clothing styles, bedtime, and chores, to mention a few. For a long time the children were titled “mine” and “yours” and did not always think that being thrown together was all that wonderful.
The oldest one let me know that she would soon be out of the house anyway and that she wanted me to be happy; the next two girls did not even seem to like each other; and one of the boys gave up his bedroom every other weekend and slept on the couch whenever his step-brothers came. He has never complained about that, bless his heart.
There’s always room for those you love. We rearranged the parlor next to the living room as a parent refuge and had the children in the upstairs bedrooms. Two television sets and two bathrooms became a necessity instead of a luxury. A few days alone once a year for the newlywed parents was also an essential investment for our future as a family.
Weekends and other events were planned ahead; meals, games, and activities had to suit most of the children. Arnfinn’s five children lived with their mother on weekdays, and I wanted to respect her wishes as well as make sure the children enjoyed their visit with their dad. That meant I sometimes had to keep quiet about minor annoyances and instead focus on what was more important in order for them to have an enjoyable stay. I applied patience and love—then more patience, in addition to a bucket of humor.
Chaotic Sunday mornings were a major trial. We tried to set the atmosphere with beautiful classical music while guiding one child after another in and out of the two bathrooms before the cowbell rang for a scrumptious breakfast. Still, getting everyone out the door and into the minivan to get to church on time was a trial of keeping the spirit of the Sabbath every Sunday. By the time we came home and enjoyed a nice dinner, we had calmed down enough to enjoy playing games together.
There is much wisdom in the programs and lessons we are taught in church. Family prayer, family home evening, and discussing gospel principles are worth the time and effort. The gospel has brought us joy and helped us understand even more how important and valuable families are.
We have made many new traditions but also kept some from our previous lives. Every summer we bring as many children as possible to the Stockholm Sweden Temple. We stay at a campground south of the temple. It has become a tradition that we enjoy and one that even the kids who are married have adopted for their families.
When our children now come to ask for advice about dating and marriage, I tell them that it does not matter if one likes jogging and the other is partial to ballet. The most important thing is to have the same enthusiasm for serving our Savior and the determination to strive toward the goal to be an eternal family.
Blowing bubbles with three of our grandchildren. Our children have grown up and moved out, but they know they are always welcome to visit.
When I meet couples who find each other for a second opportunity for marriage, I am delighted for them, glad that they have a partner and best friend to spend time with. But I also remember that the first few years of putting together two families were not all bliss and glee. It comes at a cost, and some days we wonder why it needs to be so challenging.
Today, our daughters who did not really like each other as teenagers are both mothers and enjoy comparing notes at family dinners and even spending vacation time together at the family cabin. Encouraging letters have been mailed to the boys serving missions, and some of our children have visited each other as they have lived abroad. They always have fun getting together for large holiday dinners and rejoice when the arrival of a new niece or nephew is announced.
There’s only Arnfinn and myself at the house now. We have a fun-loving dog and a new little bird. The kids have frequented their bedrooms in between studies and establishing new homes. They know they are always welcome and will be fed and loved when they come by.
Putting two families together requires twice as much love and twice the patience. There has been a lot of cooking and many loads of laundry to wash, but it’s worth it. We love our large family. The blessings of having twice as many people to love are twice as great.
And our family is still growing. There’s a new generation of beautiful babies, and they are all our grandchildren!

Joseph Smith and William W. Phelps, by Robert Anderson McKay
In the early years of the Church, William W. Phelps was a strong supporter of Joseph Smith. He was one of the first Latter-day Saints sent to Jackson County, Missouri, where the Lord called him as a counselor in the presidency there.
But as Brother Phelps began to stray, his behavior became so serious that the Lord revealed to Joseph Smith that if Brother Phelps did not repent, he would be “removed out of” his place.4 He did not repent and was excommunicated on March 10, 1838.
Although William was rebaptized, his difficulties with the Church and Church leaders continued. In October 1838, he testified against the Prophet and other leaders of the Church. This led to Joseph Smith’s incarceration in November 1838.
For the next five months, the Prophet was imprisoned in two Missouri jails, including Liberty Jail.
By 1840, William W. Phelps had experienced a profound change of heart and wrote to the Prophet pleading for forgiveness. The letter Joseph wrote in response concluded with the couplet:
“‘Come on, dear brother, since the war is past,
“‘For friends at first, are friends again at last.’”5
Joseph freely forgave Brother Phelps and welcomed him back into full fellowship.
Four years later, when Brother Phelps learned that Joseph and Hyrum had been killed by a mob, he was devastated. Joseph’s forgiveness of Brother Phelps may have inspired him as he penned the beautiful and moving words to the hymn “Praise to the Man.”6

This story took place in Guam.
Johne watched his foster mom set the table. She taped a photo of Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf to an extra chair, along with a cartoon picture of an airplane.
“Time for dinner!” Mom called.
Johne’s foster sister, Lydia, jumped up from the couch. “I’m so hungry!”
“Me too,” Johne said.
Mom pushed Johne’s wheelchair up to the table and sat next to him. Dad and Lydia sat down at the table too. Johne loved it when they were all home for dinner.
Dad said the prayer on the food, and Mom passed around the chicken and rice. “We’re going to learn about one of the Apostles tonight,” she said. She pointed to the photo on the chair. “Does anyone know who he is?”
“That’s Elder Uchtdorf,” Johne said.
Dad nodded. “I chose him to be tonight’s guest.”
“Can I choose tomorrow?” Lydia asked.
“Sure,” Mom said.
Johne was excited to learn about Elder Uchtdorf. General conference was in two weeks, and Johne’s foster family had a great tradition to prepare for it. Each night, they chose an Apostle to learn about. Mom taped a picture of the Apostle to a chair. Then she told the family facts about him and stories about his childhood.
“What do you know about Elder Uchtdorf?” Dad asked.
“Oh, I know!” Lydia said. “He flew airplanes!” She pointed to the airplane picture on the chair.
“That’s right,” Mom said. “Before he was called as an Apostle, he was an airplane pilot in Germany.”
Johne made a flying motion with his hand and made an airplane noise. “Fwoosh!”
“Elder Uchtdorf joined the Church when he was a child,” Dad said. “Just like you did, Johne.”
Johne looked at the photo. It was hard to imagine Elder Uchtdorf as a kid just like him!
“And he had a special job at church on Sundays,” Mom said. “The organ needed to have air pumped into it so it could work. During the songs, he helped pump the air for the organ to play the hymns.”
“I bet it was hard work,” Dad said. “But he loved the music. His favorite song was ‘Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam.’”
Lydia grinned. “That’s my favorite song too!”
“Elder Uchtdorf is a lot like us,” Mom said. “And in just a few weeks, we’ll get to listen to him speak to the whole Church. He’ll share a message that Jesus Christ wants us all to hear!”
After dinner, Mom took the photo off the chair. She taped it onto the wall next to the photos of the other Apostles. They would leave the photos up until general conference to help them recognize the speakers.
Johne helped Dad with the dishes. Dad washed them, and Johne dried them. As he worked, he smiled at the pictures on the wall.
Johne loved learning about the Apostles! He couldn’t wait to hear from them at conference.

Whitman wrote: “The ice storm [that winter] wasn’t generally destructive. True, a few wires came down, and there was a sudden jump in accidents along the highway. … Normally, the big walnut tree could easily have borne the weight that formed on its spreading limbs. It was the iron wedge in its heart that caused the damage.

“The story of the iron wedge began years ago when the white-haired farmer [who now inhabited the property on which it stood] was a lad on his father’s homestead. The sawmill had then only recently been moved from the valley, and the settlers were still finding tools and odd pieces of equipment scattered about. …

“On this particular day, it was a faller’s wedge—wide, flat, and heavy, a foot or more long, and splayed from mighty poundings [—which the lad found] … in the south pasture. [A faller’s wedge, used to help fell a tree, is inserted in a cut made by a saw and then struck with a sledge hammer to widen the cut.] … Because he was already late for dinner, the lad laid the wedge … between the limbs of the young walnut tree his father had planted near the front gate. He would take the wedge to the shed right after dinner, or sometime when he was going that way.

“He truly meant to, but he never did. [The wedge] was there between the limbs, a little tight, when he attained his manhood. It was there, now firmly gripped, when he married and took over his father’s farm. It was half grown over on the day the threshing crew ate dinner under the tree. … Grown in and healed over, the wedge was still in the tree the winter the ice storm came.

“In the chill silence of that wintry night … one of the three major limbs split away from the trunk and crashed to the ground. This so unbalanced the remainder of the top that it, too, split apart and went down. When the storm was over, not a twig of the once-proud tree remained.

“Early the next morning, the farmer went out to mourn his loss. …

“Then, his eyes caught sight of something in the splintered ruin. ‘The wedge,’ he muttered reproachfully. ‘The wedge I found in the south pasture.’ A glance told him why the tree had fallen. Growing, edge-up in the trunk, the wedge had prevented the limb fibers from knitting together as they should.”

I had often wondered if the long hours I spent struggling to get my children to be reverent in church would ever be worth it. It did not take much for David, my seven-year-old, to get four-year-old Jeff and one-year-old Wade giggling, whispering, or fighting. Although each week I came with a new idea for helping my sons to be more reverent, I usually went home from church tired and discouraged. Many times I became angry and had to take one of the children out of the chapel so that others would not be disturbed.
But I was concerned about my approach to the problem. Did my continual disciplining make them feel unacceptable to our Heavenly Father? I decided that the next fast Sunday I would make my sons’ problem with reverence the object of my thoughts and prayer.
That Sunday, five minutes hadn’t passed before I felt that I should take David out of the chapel. But because I had been fasting and praying about this problem, I offered a quick prayer instead. “Father,” I asked, “he needs correction, but I want to do it in the right way. What should I do?”
The impression I felt was, “Be patient. Help him settle down as best you can.”
I tried to obey that impression and was able to keep things more under control than before. Then, toward the end of the meeting, I watched as David stood to bear his testimony.
At that moment I realized that, if I had acted on my first feelings, he probably would not have felt the Spirit which prompted him to bear his testimony.
That experience was given to me by our Heavenly Father to show me that, in raising my children, if I follow the Spirit I can help them to grow in the gospel and help them develop their own testimonies.
I have remembered that experience whenever I have been tempted to speak out with criticism or to doubt my children’s actions. It has tempered the punishments I have meted out and has helped me to remember love in times of anger.

Following is an incident that illustrates what could happen if we do not use this preparatory time wisely.
I had a dear friend, an all-American football player. His team earned the opportunity to play in a New Year’s Day bowl game. Before 100,000 spectators and a large TV audience, his team lost by a huge score. It turned out that he and the other members of his team had not kept the training rules that their coach had tried to teach them. They paid a dear price. They had to live with the consequences of knowing they were not prepared to play the big game; they had to live with the final, very embarrassing score.
Years passed. Two members of this same football team were in my flight-training unit. One was an exemplary, well-disciplined student—a model pilot who had learned his lesson well from the failure in the bowl game.
However, the other friend had not learned to listen to those with more knowledge and more experience. When it came time for him to go to the trainer to learn emergency procedures and to precondition his mental and physical responses so that they would be automatic, even instantaneous, this all-American would put his arm around the instructor and say, “Check me off for three hours of emergency procedure.” Then, instead of training, he would go to the swimming pool, pistol range, or golf course. Later in the training the instructor said to him, “What are you going to do when there is an emergency and you are not prepared?” His answer, “I am never going to bail out; I am never going to have an emergency.” He never learned the emergency procedures which he should have mastered in preparatory training.
A few months later, on an evening mission, fire erupted in the quiet sky over Texas. The fire-warning light lit up. When the plane dropped to 5,000 feet in flames, the young pilot who was with him said, “Let’s get out of here.” And, with centrifugal force pulling against him, the young man who took his training seriously struggled to get out of the airplane and bailed out. His parachute opened at once. And he slammed to the ground. He received serious injuries but survived.
My friend who had not felt the need to train stayed with the airplane and died in the crash. He paid the price for not having learned the lessons that could have saved his life.