Gospel Story Finder

From Ed Kamauoha and Faleoo Itopi and other leaders like them, the young people of Sauniatu learned that despite being poor and often scorned by other men, they are important to the Lord, and he will help them be “Number 1.” Wherever they have gone as they have left Sauniatu, they have established the reputation of working hard and being the best.
Most of the young men who worked on Sauniatu went on missions. Elder Pouono Lameko is now serving a mission in Western Samoa. He spent three years at Sauniatu. He worked on the farm and the waterfall besides going to school. When he talks about his experiences at Sauniatu, his eyes shine and his face looks happy.
“I expanded at Sauniatu,” he said. “Brother Kamauoha encouraged me in school so that I improved and graduated from high school. He was my teacher—now he is my friend.”

It was a cool, overcast morning in 1919. Twelve-year-old Howard Hunter sat in the congregation in an aging frame chapel in Boise, Idaho. He had been a member of the Church only a short time, but he loved the gospel with all his heart.
Most of the members had mixed feelings that morning. There was excitement about the announcement of a plan for a new chapel. But there was concern about the cost. Ward members were asked to pledge what they could afford, but these were hard times and there was not a lot of money to spare.
The young boy rose to his feet. “I’m Howard Hunter, and I pledge $25,” he said in a loud voice. Howard had worked years to save that money, a large amount for anyone in 1919. But he knew the new chapel was worth the sacrifice. Others followed his example. The money was found. The chapel was built.

On May 12, 1846, soon after the first group of Latter-day Saints left Nauvoo, the United States declared war against Mexico. President James K. Polk sent Captain James Allen to recruit five hundred Mormon men to serve in the U.S. Army and march to California to conquer the territory for the United States.
Brigham Young recognized that fulfilling this request would provide some opportunities for the Saints’ trek west. He said that by serving, Mormons could show their loyalty to their country, earn money for their families, and receive free transportation to the West. He also hoped that approval would be given for the Saints to camp on Indian lands. “Let the Mormons be the first [United States soldiers] to set their feet on the soil of California,” President Young said.
After Brigham Young’s reassurance, the men volunteered to serve. They were promised by Church leaders that their families would be cared for, and Brigham Young told them that if they were faithful and kept the commandments, they would not be in any battles.
On July 21, 1846, the 541 men of the Mormon Battalion began their march under the command of newly promoted Lieutenant Colonel James Allen. Thirty-five women and forty-two children, most of whom were families of the soldiers, accompanied the battalion on their journey.
They first marched to Fort Leavenworth (in present-day Kansas), where they were given supplies, guns, and forty-two dollars each for clothing. Every soldier was able to sign his own name on the payroll, which impressed the paymaster—only a third of the previous recruits had been able to do so. Parley P. Pratt collected part of the Mormon soldiers’ pay to help support their families and the poor still in Nauvoo. The money was also used to help Parley P. Pratt, John Taylor, and Orson Hyde on their mission to England.
The Mormon Battalion stayed at Fort Leavenworth for two weeks. The days were extremely hot, and many of the men were ill with fevers. Colonel Allen was gravely ill and did not go with them when they left for Santa Fe. Later, they learned that he had died.
After crossing the Arkansas River on September 16, the new battalion commander, Lieutenant A. J. Smith, sent most of the women and children to the Mexican village of Pueblo (in present-day Colorado) for the winter. The soldiers were upset because they had been promised that their families could travel with them to California. But it was a wise decision because the battalion marched at a rapid pace with little time to rest. Just a month later, a group of sick men and women were also sent to Pueblo.
The weary soldiers trudged into Santa Fe, New Mexico, on October 9, 1846. Colonel Philip St. George Cooke became their new commander, with orders to blaze a wagon trail from Santa Fe to California. The work wore heavily on the battalion, and in November 1846, a third group of fifty-five weakened and tired soldiers turned back for Pueblo.
When the remaining soldiers marched toward Tucson, they were stampeded by a herd of wild bulls. The bulls charged toward them, and the men ran for cover. The stampede was brief, but three soldiers were wounded and several animals were killed, including two battalion mules. The event became known as the Battle of the Bulls—the Mormon Battalion’s only battle!
The soldiers marched peacefully through Tucson, even though a small group of Mexican soldiers was stationed there, then beyond the Colorado River into a hot desert where water could be found only by digging deep wells. They suffered through scorching days and freezing nights. Many had worn out the bottoms of their boots and were walking practically barefoot. Some wrapped rawhide and rags around their feet to protect them from the hot sands.
The end of their 2,030-mile (3266-k) march came on January 29, 1847, when they reached Mission San Diego. Fortunately the Mexicans had already surrendered and the United States had control of California, so the Mormon Battalion helped protect and build up the areas where they served. On July 16, 1847, the men were discharged; eighty-one chose to re-enlist for another six months.
Most of the discharged men planned to join their families in the Salt Lake Valley. But President Brigham Young sent a messenger to them, requesting that the men without families remain in California for the winter. Many of those who stayed behind worked at Sutter’s Fort on the Sacramento River. They were involved in the beginning of the California gold rush. The next summer, however, they left the gold fields to rejoin the Saints.

While watching a documentary on the Amazon jungle, I learned that missionaries from various religions had taught the Native Americans about Jesus Christ. I began to wonder about the salvation of the millions of their ancestors who had never heard about Jesus, the gospel, or saving ordinances like baptism. If the Savior came for the salvation of all humankind, why had so many throughout history been excluded from His glorious message?
I searched for answers in the Bible, but I couldn’t find anything suggesting that the Old World was even aware of the civilizations in the Americas. No pastor, priest, or Bible student could answer my questions.
One day I was moved by a hymn I heard. I learned the hymn in my own language, Portuguese, and as I struggled to translate it into English, I remembered that my Latter-day Saint neighbor, Jesuina, often received American missionaries in her home. I asked her if the missionaries could translate it for me. The next day they left a translation with a short note that read, “It was a pleasure to be able to help you. One day we would like to meet you.”
When I met the missionaries a week later, they invited me to visit their church. But I did not like Mormons. Members of my family and leaders of other churches I had investigated criticized them, calling them a dangerous sect. They made many absurd criticisms that I believed to be true. One rainy Sunday shortly thereafter, however, I awoke with a great desire to visit their church—to repay them for their kindness but also out of curiosity. During the first meeting, people went to the pulpit and testified they knew that the Church and the Book of Mormon were true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. Somewhat disturbed, I left the meeting and went to Sunday School.
When the teacher mentioned scriptures or stories from the Bible, I was eager to participate. But when she spoke about the Book of Mormon, I remained quiet and pensive. Why another book if we already had the Bible? Before I left, the teacher thanked me for my participation and then surprised me by giving me her copy of the Book of Mormon.
When I returned home, I went to my room, knelt on the floor, and began a sincere conversation with Heavenly Father. I told Him that I felt something special about the Mormon Church but that I didn’t want the adversary to delude me. I prayed that He would help resolve my confusion and show me which church was true.
Afterward I felt a great desire to read the Book of Mormon. I prayed again for strength and direction. During my prayer, I felt a strong and good feeling—an interior warmth. I knew I was not alone at that moment. A thought came instantly into my head: “Read the book!”
I opened it and began reading. Before I had finished the introduction, tears began running down my face as the Lord revealed to me the mystery of the Native Americans. The Book of Mormon seemed prepared especially to respond to my concerns. I felt great joy to have my questions answered. It was as though the ancient Americans had spoken from their graves to tell me about their lives and to testify that they also knew Jesus and that He had suffered for them as well.
Amazed with my discovery, I sought out the missionaries and listened to their lessons. On Easter Sunday, March 31, 1991, I descended into the waters of baptism—the best decision I had ever made.
I feel immensely grateful to Heavenly Father for His mercy and great wisdom. I know that He is just, that He has not forgotten any of His children, and that He is eager to reveal His plan to all humankind. I know that the Book of Mormon is a sacred book. It is true.

An opportunity arose once to teach my son Hank how to make more empowered choices. One evening I pulled an audible and told him I was replacing our usual Little Caesars pizza with a healthier option of an English muffin topped with tomato sauce and fresh mozzarella.

He responded, “Well, I can choose for myself, and I decide not to taste your pizza.”

With some motherly teaching—or, as some would say, motherly persuasion—I said he could make that choice only after he took a bite of my alternate selection. And yes, he did end up liking my pizza.

While other boys were out playing little league baseball, Greg spent a lot of time working on the family farm, milking and feeding cows, cleaning out the milk tank, you name it. He doesn’t regret the time spent—it taught him to work hard. But he won’t tell you he loved it either, although he did have a number of ways to make the long, tedious hours go by faster. He took great pride in trying to do the best job he possibly could. If he was working with others, he would talk to them, laugh with them, joke with them, and get to know them better. And then, when he had a spare second, he would dream about what he would try to accomplish in the future.

“I wasn’t the most athletic kid in the school, I wasn’t the most intelligent, and I certainly wasn’t the best looking, so I decided I’d try to be the friendliest,” he said. “One way to feel good about yourself is to make other people feel good about themselves.”

Included in his dreams was a desire to be a student body president. He got over his miserable junior high defeat and decided that he would run when he got to high school. But just a short time before he was to announce his candidacy, his best friend told him he’d decided to run and asked Greg to be his campaign manager. Greg complied and helped him win, deciding that he could run for the office when he got to Ricks College.

But when Greg got to Ricks, he decided to sacrifice his political ambitions in favor of serving a mission in Indonesia. “I had a lot of misconceptions about the mission field,” he admits. “When you hear missionaries come back and say those were the best two years of their lives, you think it’s going to be all roses, but it’s not. It’s the hardest thing you could possibly do, and that’s what makes it great. I really learned to appreciate things I had to work for and sacrifice for. I learned to accept, appreciate, and love people who were different from me.”

When Greg returned from his mission, he finished up at Ricks, then went on to BYU. He never had satisfied his dream of becoming a student body president, but the thought of presiding over BYU’s 27,000 students seemed overly ambitious to him. His sister Kristie was convinced he could do it though. She helped him find a running mate, served as his campaign manager, and after a lot of hard work, Greg was elected by one of the biggest margins in BYU history.

“That really helped prepare me for where I am now,” Greg says. And actually, he is quite surprised to be in this position at Harvard. He’d already satisfied his goal of serving as a student body president, and knowing how many hours he’d put into the position at BYU, he didn’t think he could handle it at graduate school. After much prayer and a lot of requests from fellow students, however, Greg decided to give it a try. A lot of hard work went into that election too, and it paid off.

Even though Greg has won a multitude of other awards and titles, he feels that some of his greatest satisfaction comes when his accomplishments put him in a position to answer questions about the Church. “I’m constantly being questioned about our beliefs,” he says with a smile. “And I’m always happy to talk with anyone.”

And they’re usually happy to listen. Fellow students scrutinize Greg a little closer than they do other classmates. Not only is he their president, but he’s also one of a handful of LDS people they might know.

Tomorrow he’ll probably be walking Wall Street, but today, on the brisk Monday afternoon, his class discussions are finished and he walks over to one of the numerous meetings he has each week. Many students call out to him, greeting him by name. Some glance at him with a mischievous look in their eyes and call out, “Hi, LARRY!” That’s Greg’s first name, but he hates to be called that and they know it. On the first day of class this year, the student body gave him a standing ovation and shouted out, “Larry! Larry! Larry!” It’s impossible to take yourself too seriously with classmates like that.

Still, many of them ask him how he’s accomplished what he has. “My theory of success,” he tells them, “requires two things—that you work hard, and that you pray hard.” Greg slides into his seat at the head of a large conference table, and the other student body officers begin to file in. He is prepared. He should be. He was up until 2 A.M. making use of his theory of success.

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

Let me take an example to illustrate the point of these prisons. The prophet Job counseled us not to “dig a pit for your friend” (Job 6:27). I understand that could mean a business associate, a neighbor, a member of the Church. How could this happen?
Several years ago, a great young man had a thriving business. He had worked long, hard hours for many years to develop the skills, reputation, and expertise necessary to build his business and provide for the needs of his young family. He loved his work, and every morning he anxiously began each new project with creativity and opportunity. His was a great life, filled with much hope and many projects. Then one major project was completed and finalized. Rather large payments were anticipated, but a shrewd businessman found that oral approvals, given to my friend to make many necessary alterations in the project, could easily be broken and not honored. After all, there was no written record of the changes requested. It was just “good business” to get it as cheap as possible, even after commitments were made. And so verbal commitments were not honored. The money due, which was considerable, was not paid.
At this point we have several prisons that are in place: the prison of deceit of the “shrewd” businessman, and the prison of the deceived, who could not now honor his own commitments. To this day the one deceived, through further industry and much hardship, is still trying to get out of the prison created by another. And he has lost confidence in others, and he and his family have lost opportunities and his business because of another.
Did not the Savior teach through the prophet Moses, “If a man shall cause a field or vineyard to be eaten, and shall put in his beast, and shall feed in another man’s field; of the best of his own field, and of the best of his own vineyard, shall he make restitution”? (Ex. 22:5).
These types of prisons often cause the offended to lose faith, hope, and even the ability to care for their own, as was the case with my young friend. But these prisons should not happen. They often cause years of anguish. They cause those involved to wonder about justice and mercy. Sometimes these people find it impossible to resolve their own personal affairs honorably.

My life is a witness to God’s guiding hand, even amidst profound challenges. My father and mother divorced just days before my birth, leaving me to be raised by my maternal grandparents. When I was two years old, my mother remarried, and I was left struggling to understand my place in the world. Diagnosed with a speech condition, I faced additional challenges in communication.
One of the most defining moments of my life occurred during a severe illness in my early years. I was pronounced dead, and my family wept over me. Yet my grandfather arrived from the farm and declared with unshakable faith, “Michel is not dead. He is the one who will build this house, even great story buildings.”
His words were a powerful reminder of God’s foresight and purpose for my life.

You are not too young to gain a testimony and bear it. In a stake conference we called on a young lady to speak. She had just returned from the Hill Cumorah pageant. She bore a fervent testimony. After she finished we called on 17-year-old Gary. He looked surprised when his name was called. He unwound his full six feet and came to the pulpit. His first words were, “I don’t know why the president called on me; I don’t even have a testimony” (referring, evidently, to the testimony borne by the young lady). For several minutes he spoke about seminary, he expressed gratitude for his family, then said: “I know the gospel is true, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”

Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, is a most interesting place. In company with Elders Richard G. Scott, Rex D. Pinegar, and Larry W. Gibbons, I presided at a regional conference there just a short time ago. The facility in which we met was packed with members of the Church and other interested persons. The singing by the choir was heavenly, the spoken word inspiring, and the sweet spirit which prevailed during the conference will long be remembered.
I reflected on my previous visits to this location, the beauty of the state song—“Oklahoma,” from the musical production of Rodgers and Hammerstein—and the wonderful hospitality of the people there.
This community’s spirit of compassionate help was tested in the extreme, however, on April 19, 1995, when a terrorist-planted bomb destroyed the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City, taking 168 persons to their deaths and injuring countless others.
Following the regional conference in Oklahoma City, I was driven to the entrance of a beautiful and symbolic memorial which graces the area where the Murrah building once stood. It was a dreary, rainy day, which tended to underscore the pain and suffering which had occurred there. The memorial features a 400-foot reflecting pool. On one side of the pool are 168 empty glass and granite chairs in honor of each of the people killed. These are placed, as far as can be determined, where the fallen bodies were found.
On the opposite side of the pool there stands, on a gentle rise of ground, a mature American elm tree—the only nearby tree to survive the destruction. It is appropriately and affectionately named “The Survivor Tree.” In regal splendor it honors those who survived the horrific blast.
My host directed my attention to the inscription above the gate of the memorial:
We come here to remember those who were killed, those who survived and those changed forever.
May all who leave here know the impact of violence.
May this memorial offer comfort, strength, peace, hope and serenity.
He then, with tears in his eyes and with a faltering voice, declared, “This community, and all the churches and citizens in it, have been galvanized together. In our grief we have become strong. In our spirit we have become united.”
We concluded that the best word to describe what had taken place was compassion.

I recall an event described by a man I met at a stake conference in the Midwest more than a decade ago. The setting was a beautiful campus in central Illinois. My informant, a participant in a summer workshop, saw a crowd of young students seated on the grass in a large semicircle about 20 feet from one of the large hardwood trees that are so common and so beautiful there. They were watching something at the base of the tree. He turned aside from his walk to see what it was.
There was a handsome tree squirrel with a large, bushy tail playing around the base of the tree—now on the ground, now up and down and around the trunk. But why would that beautiful but familiar sight attract a crowd of students?
Stretched out prone on the grass nearby was an Irish setter. He was the object of the students’ interest, and, though he pretended otherwise, the squirrel was the object of his. Each time the squirrel was momentarily out of sight circling the tree or looking in another direction, the setter would quickly creep forward a few inches and then resume his apparent indifferent posture. Each minute or two he crept closer to the squirrel, and the squirrel apparently did not notice. This was the scene that held the students’ interest. They were silent and immobile, attention riveted on the drama—the probable outcome of which was becoming increasingly obvious.
Finally the setter was close enough to bound at the squirrel and catch it in his mouth. A gasp of horror arose, and the crowd of students surged forward and wrested the beautiful little animal away from the hound, but it was too late. The squirrel was dead.
Anyone in that crowd of students could have warned the squirrel at any time by waving their arms or crying out, but none had done so. They just watched while the inevitable consequence got closer and closer. No one asked “Where will this lead?” and no one wished to interfere. When the predictable outcome occurred, they rushed to the defense, but it was too late. Tearful and regretful expressions were all they could offer.

In verse 16 of Ephesians, Paul states that we should take up the shield of faith, wherewith we may be able to quench the fiery darts of the wicked. I learned another valuable lesson on faith as a young missionary in Valencia, Spain. My companion and I were proselyting on the streets of the city of Valencia when a taxi sped up alongside of us and the driver exited the vehicle in an absolute panic. We were not sure what we had done, we were frozen with fear for just a moment. The Taxi driver asked if we were Elders in the Mormon Church; now we were really concerned, but having faith, we responded in the affirmative. The taxi driver said that he had frantically been driving the city looking for us and then he quickly explained that he had a daughter in the intensive care unit at the hospital. He said the baby was two months premature and wasn’t expected to live. He further explained that he had once been a Mormon and he knew that if Elders of the church blessed this baby, surely she would live.

I had just recently been made a senior companion and knowing that I had never given a lifesaving blessing, I hesitated for a moment surmising, that this was too serious of a blessing for a senior companion to perform. He saw the concern on my face and reassured me that I could do it. We climbed into his cab and he sped to the hospital on the other side of the city. Upon entering the room, we were met with suspicious looks from the doctors and nurses. The church was relatively new in Spain and at the time, Mormons were not held in high regard. His wife was there, as well, and she looked weak from childbirth and what appeared to be a continuous flow of tears for the small infant who was lying in the incubator with tubes in her chest and throat. We approached the little glass case where the baby lay. She was no bigger than my hand and her breaths were long and inconsistent. Not knowing for sure what I was supposed to do, I asked the doctor if we could put oil on the baby’s head. In disgust, he exclaimed that I must be crazy as there was nothing that was supposed to touch the baby’s skin. The doctor then tried to convince the father that the blessing was useless, as the baby would not last the night. He told the father that his time would be better spent by summoning a catholic priest to come to the hospital to administer the last rights for the baby.

In spite of this pressure, the father insisted that my companion and I were Disciples of Jesus Christ and we had come to save the child. Nervously, we approached this small incubator and with each of us standing on opposite sides of the glass, we reached into the rubber gloves that extended into the incubator and put one finger each on the tiny head of the infant. We bypassed the anointing, as we were forbidden to put the oil on the head. Then, mustering all of the courage I had, I began to utter a blessing.

Brothers and sisters, I have prayed many times in my life and have given many blessings, but in this instance it was different. For one of the few times in my life up to that point, I began to speak to God. I pronounced our priesthood and I began to bless the baby. These were not my words and as they flowed from my mouth; I remember being shocked at what I was saying. I blessed the baby that she would live, not for the night, but that she would live a full life; that she would be a testimony to her father and mother of the healing power of the priesthood. I realized that I was crying as I spoke and could not control the emotions that filled my soul. I blessed the baby that because of the great faith that her father had, she would be whole. There were many things that were said in that blessing, most of which I have forgotten over time. I will never forget, however, the way that I felt.

When we were finished with the blessing, I opened my eyes. There were six of us in that room, and the tears flowed from the eyes of every one of us. Even the skeptical doctor walked over and put his hand on my shoulder. He didn’t say a word, just squeezed my shoulder and walked out of the room for his emotions had also overcome him. That experience has stayed with me from that moment until this day. The baby did live. When I last saw her, years ago, she was about 13 years old; she was full of life; a beautiful and miraculous example of the healing power of faith, faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and faith in his healing power through the Priesthood.

Fourth, give your children the opportunity of having a joyful, happy childhood. The priesthood manual a few years ago quoted a story written in 1955 by Bryant S. Hinckley. It is as follows:
“‘Three hundred twenty-six school children of a district near Indianapolis were asked to write anonymously just what each thought of his father.
“‘The teacher hoped that the reading of the essays might attract the fathers to attend at least one meeting of the Parent-Teacher’s Association.
“‘It did.
“‘They came in $400 cars and $4,000 cars. Bank president, laborer, professional man, clerk, salesman, meter reader, farmer, utility magnate, merchant, baker, tailor, manufacturer, and contractor, every man with a definite estimate of himself in terms of money, skill, and righteousness. …
“‘The president picked at random from another stack of papers. “I like my daddy,” she read from each. The reasons were many: He built my doll house, took me coasting, taught me to shoot, helps me with my schoolwork, takes me to the park, gave me a pig to fatten and sell. Scores of essays could be reduced to “I like my daddy. He plays with me.”’
“Not one child mentioned his family house, car, neighborhood, food or clothing.
“The fathers went into the meeting from many walks of life. They came out in two classes: companions to their children or strangers to their children.
“No man is too rich or too poor to play with his children.” (The Savior the Priesthood and You, Melchizedek Priesthood Manual, 1973–74, p. 226.)

It was a beautiful spring day, and the bell hadn’t yet rung for my French class to begin. With great animation I was explaining to my friend the details of my upcoming trip to Brigham Young University during spring break. My mother, Trudy* (my good friend from church), and I were taking a road trip to check out BYU.
It was a 12-hour drive from my home in Washington State to Provo, Utah, but that was also part of the fun. We would take our time and see the sights along the way and have lots of girl fun. I had never been on a trip without my dad and the rest of my brothers and sisters, so this was a real treat.
Finally I was free to leave. As I began gathering my books and papers, a voice from behind me timidly asked, “Hey, Cathy, can I talk to you for a minute?”
It was Jane Stevens.* I didn’t know Jane very well because she didn’t hang out with my usual friends. She wasn’t LDS and seemed a little shy.
“Uh, sure Jane,” I replied. “What’s up?”
“Well.” She cleared her throat. “I heard you talking about your trip to Brigham Young University, and I wanted to know …” She stopped, and when she said the next sentence it was strung together without a pause: “It sounds like fun and I want to know if it’s OK if I come along too.”
Had I heard her right? Did she really just ask if she could come along on this once-in-a-life-time adventure with me and my mom and my best friend? How could anyone just barge in and ask if they could come on a trip with someone they hardly knew? Finally, I said the only thing that came to mind that made any sense: “I’ll have to ask my mom.”
Jane looked up at me. “Yeah, you should ask your mom. Thanks. Do you … think you could ask her tonight and then tell me tomorrow?” Now I was committed.
As I walked the three blocks to my job I kept thinking, “What have I done? I don’t want Jane to mess up our plans. This was supposed to be an adventure for just the three of us.” Then, the perfect answer came to me with a jolt: I’ll tell her my mom said no. We didn’t have enough room or something equally plausible. Mom would go along with this story, I just knew she would.
Suddenly I felt better, if somewhat deceitful. At least I had a plan.
I hurried straight home and raced into the house. “Mom! Mom!” I called.
“I’m in the kitchen,” she answered. “What in the world are you in such a rush for?” She was drying the last of the dinner dishes.
“Mom, there’s this girl at school, and she wants to come with us on our trip. I don’t want her to come, and I want you to tell her she can’t come for some reason.”
“Whew!” My mom said laughing. “Slow down and tell me that again.”
“OK, there is this girl Jane at school …”
“Jane Stevens?” my mom interrupted. “I know her parents. They are nice. I think it would be lovely if she came along,” said my mother.
“Noooo, Mom! We have all these plans made. I hardly know her and, and … and we don’t have any room in the car!”
“Let’s see.” Why was my mother so calm? “One: plans can be changed. Two: this would be a good way to get to know Jane. And three, we actually do have room in the car.”
“But Mom, it just won’t be as much fun if Jane comes with us.”
My mother, still calm, said, “Cathy, I can see how this upsets you. So I am going to leave the decision up to you. I just want you to know, Jane is welcome to come with us, but if you aren’t comfortable with that, you will be the one to explain to her that she can’t come.”
“OK. Thanks, Mom.” That made it easy. All I had to do was tell Jane there wasn’t enough room in the car, and she would understand. She’d have to.
I didn’t see Jane until the next day just before French. Why was my heart beating so fast?
“Did you ask your mom, Cathy?” she asked. She was looking at me and smiling.
Say it. “The car is too full. So sorry.” “The car is too full.” Say it!
“My mom said it would be fine if you come with us, and … I think it will be fun if you do.”
Where did that come from? I couldn’t believe I had said that.
Jane gave me a quick hug. “This is so wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I can’t wait!”
To this day I don’t know what came over me. But whatever it was, I am so very thankful it did. Jane went with us, and we had a great time. We had a marvelous tour of BYU and visited with other students from our hometown. We bowled, went out to dinner, visited family, and got to know one another better.
I learned to love Jane on that trip, and she began to love the gospel of Jesus Christ. When we returned home to Washington, Jane took the missionary lessons and soon became the first member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in her family. She returned to BYU with me that fall as my roommate. She eventually married in the temple and raised her family in the gospel.
What led me to change my mind that spring day so long ago? I have had a lot of years to think about that question. I now believe it was the Holy Ghost. He knew Jane’s heart was ready for the gospel. And He knew my heart needed a good gospel wake-up lesson.
Since that day, I have learned to be more accepting of those who are not in my circle and to open my mouth about the gospel of Jesus Christ. I try to follow Paul’s lead when he said, “For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth” (Romans 1:16).
I also learned that you never know how many lives you will touch when you simply say, “You can come with us.”

Joseph Smith was a valiant servant of the Lord Jesus Christ. He was brave and courageous in standing for right. One time, the Prophet Joseph and several other brethren were taken from their families and put in jail. They were chained together and had to sleep on the cold prison floor.

During one of the long, cold nights of their imprisonment, Joseph and his friends were unable to sleep. For hours the guards had been boasting loudly about the horrible things they had done to Latter-day Saints. They bragged about robbing, shooting, and killing men, women, and even little children.

Suddenly Joseph, unarmed and in chains, stood up and spoke in a voice like thunder: “SILENCE, ye fiends [devils] of the infernal pit. In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you, and command you to be still; I will not live another minute and bear such language. Cease [stop] such talk, or you or I die THIS INSTANT!” (Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt [1938], 180).

The guards shook, and some dropped their weapons. Some of the guards begged Joseph’s pardon. All of them remained quiet until a change of guards.

Understanding the Atonement. Sister Bayelita Carmen Ituza Casa of Perú, attending the Perú MTC: “In our class, we had an assignment to sketch an outline explaining the Atonement. But I had never clearly understood the Atonement, so I couldn’t do it—and I wasn’t the only one. When our outlines were due, our teachers helped us. I could tell we were more important than the assignment. We studied D&C 19:16–19, and I was able to understand the great love Jesus Christ has for us.”

Brothers and sisters, when we met in general conference six months ago, none of us anticipated the coming changes that would tug at the heartstrings of the entire Church. Elder L. Tom Perry delivered a powerful message about the irreplaceable role that marriage and family occupy in the Lord’s plan. We were stunned when just a few days later, we learned of the cancer that would soon take him from us.

Though President Boyd K. Packer’s health had been declining, he continued to “soldier on” in the work of the Lord. He was frail last April, yet he was determined to declare his witness as long as he had breath. Then, just 34 days after Elder Perry’s passing, President Packer also stepped across the veil.

We missed Elder Richard G. Scott at our last general conference, but we’ve reflected upon the powerful witness of the Savior he had borne in many previous conferences. And just 12 days ago, Elder Scott was called home and reunited with his beloved Jeanene.

I had the privilege of being with all of these Brethren during their final days, including joining members of President Packer’s and Elder Scott’s immediate families just before their passing. It has been difficult for me to believe that these three treasured friends, these magnificent servants of the Lord, are gone. I miss them more than I can say.

As I’ve reflected on this unexpected turn of events, one of the impressions that has lingered with me is that which I observed in these surviving wives. Etched in my mind are the serene images of Sister Donna Smith Packer and Sister Barbara Dayton Perry at their husbands’ bedsides, both women filled with love, truth, and pure faith.

As Sister Packer sat next to her husband in his final hours, she radiated that peace that passes all understanding.1 Though she realized that her beloved companion of almost 70 years would soon depart, she showed the tranquility of a faith-filled woman. She seemed angelic, just as she was in this photo of them at the dedication of the Brigham City Utah Temple.

I saw that same kind of love and faith emanating from Sister Perry. Her devotion to both her husband and the Lord was obvious, and it moved me deeply.

Through their husbands’ final hours and continuing to the present day, these stalwart women have shown the strength and courage that covenant-keeping women always demonstrate.2 It would be impossible to measure the influence that such women have, not only on families but also on the Lord’s Church, as wives, mothers, and grandmothers; as sisters and aunts; as teachers and leaders; and especially as exemplars and devout defenders of the faith.3

This has been true in every gospel dispensation since the days of Adam and Eve. Yet the women of this dispensation are distinct from the women of any other because this dispensation is distinct from any other.4 This distinction brings both privileges and responsibilities.

Thirty-six years ago, in 1979, President Spencer W. Kimball made a profound prophecy about the impact that covenant-keeping women would have on the future of the Lord’s Church. He prophesied: “Much of the major growth that is coming to the Church in the last days will come because many of the good women of the world … will be drawn to the Church in large numbers. This will happen to the degree that the women of the Church reflect righteousness and articulateness in their lives and to the degree that the women of the Church are seen as distinct and different—in happy ways—from the women of the world.”5

My dear sisters, you who are our vital associates during this winding-up scene, the day that President Kimball foresaw is today. You are the women he foresaw! Your virtue, light, love, knowledge, courage, character, faith, and righteous lives will draw good women of the world, along with their families, to the Church in unprecedented numbers!6

We, your brethren, need your strength, your conversion, your conviction, your ability to lead, your wisdom, and your voices. The kingdom of God is not and cannot be complete without women who make sacred covenants and then keep them, women who can speak with the power and authority of God!7

President Packer declared:

“We need women who are organized and women who can organize. We need women with executive ability who can plan and direct and administer; women who can teach, women who can speak out. …

“We need women with the gift of discernment who can view the trends in the world and detect those that, however popular, are shallow or dangerous.”8

Today, let me add that we need women who know how to make important things happen by their faith and who are courageous defenders of morality and families in a sin-sick world. We need women who are devoted to shepherding God’s children along the covenant path toward exaltation; women who know how to receive personal revelation, who understand the power and peace of the temple endowment; women who know how to call upon the powers of heaven to protect and strengthen children and families; women who teach fearlessly.

Throughout my life, I have been blessed by such women. My departed wife, Dantzel, was such a woman. I will always be grateful for the life-changing influence she had on me in all aspects of my life, including my pioneering efforts in open-heart surgery.

Fifty-eight years ago I was asked to operate upon a little girl, gravely ill from congenital heart disease. Her older brother had previously died of a similar condition. Her parents pleaded for help. I was not optimistic about the outcome but vowed to do all in my power to save her life. Despite my best efforts, the child died. Later, the same parents brought another daughter to me, then just 16 months old, also born with a malformed heart. Again, at their request, I performed an operation. This child also died. This third heartbreaking loss in one family literally undid me.

I went home grief stricken. I threw myself upon our living room floor and cried all night long. Dantzel stayed by my side, listening as I repeatedly declared that I would never perform another heart operation. Then, around 5:00 in the morning, Dantzel looked at me and lovingly asked, “Are you finished crying? Then get dressed. Go back to the lab. Go to work! You need to learn more. If you quit now, others will have to painfully learn what you already know.”

Oh, how I needed my wife’s vision, grit, and love! I went back to work and learned more. If it weren’t for Dantzel’s inspired prodding, I would not have pursued open-heart surgery and would not have been prepared to do the operation in 1972 that saved the life of President Spencer W. Kimball.9

Sisters, do you realize the breadth and scope of your influence when you speak those things that come to your heart and mind as directed by the Spirit? A superb stake president told me of a stake council meeting in which they were wrestling with a difficult challenge. At one point, he realized that the stake Primary president had not spoken, so he asked if she had any impressions. “Well, actually I have,” she said and then proceeded to share a thought that changed the entire direction of the meeting. The stake president continued, “As she spoke, the Spirit testified to me that she had given voice to the revelation we had been seeking as a council.”

My dear sisters, whatever your calling, whatever your circumstances, we need your impressions, your insights, and your inspiration. We need you to speak up and speak out in ward and stake councils. We need each married sister to speak as “a contributing and full partner”10 as you unite with your husband in governing your family. Married or single, you sisters possess distinctive capabilities and special intuition you have received as gifts from God. We brethren cannot duplicate your unique influence.

We know that the culminating act of all creation was the creation of woman!11 We need your strength!

Attacks against the Church, its doctrine, and our way of life are going to increase. Because of this, we need women who have a bedrock understanding of the doctrine of Christ and who will use that understanding to teach and help raise a sin-resistant generation.12 We need women who can detect deception in all of its forms. We need women who know how to access the power that God makes available to covenant keepers and who express their beliefs with confidence and charity. We need women who have the courage and vision of our Mother Eve.

My dear sisters, nothing is more crucial to your eternal life than your own conversion. It is converted, covenant-keeping women—women like my dear wife Wendy—whose righteous lives will increasingly stand out in a deteriorating world and who will thus be seen as different and distinct in the happiest of ways.

So today I plead with my sisters of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to step forward! Take your rightful and needful place in your home, in your community, and in the kingdom of God—more than you ever have before. I plead with you to fulfill President Kimball’s prophecy. And I promise you in the name of Jesus Christ that as you do so, the Holy Ghost will magnify your influence in an unprecedented way!

I bear witness of the reality of the Lord Jesus Christ and of His redeeming, atoning, and sanctifying power. And as one of His Apostles, I thank you, my dear sisters, and bless you to rise to your full stature, to fulfill the measure of your creation, as we walk arm in arm in this sacred work. Together we will help prepare the world for the Second Coming of the Lord. Of this I testify, as your brother, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

For a long time I thought that enthusiasm for the gospel was for new converts and recently returned missionaries. The gospel was true but not alive to me. It took me several years to learn that making the gospel live involves second mile service—reaching out to others and losing myself.
For five years I was inactive in the Church. When I decided to become active again, I plunged wholeheartedly into living the gospel.
But as time passed, I became disillusioned. Some Church members I knew were not ideal models of Christian life. Others were slothful in their work. I began to feel that pure, Christlike living was an unrealistic goal.
After I went to college, I was still active in the Church, but my thoughts began to be centered on my career. Going to church seemed more and more like a ritual. The gospel was not the source of my deepest fulfillment.
One day the thought occurred to me: I was not living up to what I knew was true!
I began to put more effort into keeping the Sabbath Day holy. I tried to magnify my calling, read conference talks in the Church magazines, and attended ward choir practice. As a home teacher, I helped out my families where I could between visits. But even with all my efforts, I didn’t feel any more spiritual. I wondered if I ever would.
Then I did something else.
An announcement was made in priesthood meeting that a couple needed help moving their possessions from one house to another. I usually ignored such announcements, thinking that I didn’t know the people and that their close friends and relatives would be there to help them. I also had a very difficult school schedule that required a lot of studying. But this time I decided to help.
On the appointed day, I rode my bicycle over to their house. I felt awkward, not wanting them to think I was trying to show what a “good guy” I was. As I walked inside their house and saw all the stacks of boxes that needed to be carried out to the truck, I almost lost my enthusiasm. “I’ll stay for an hour,” I told myself. “That’s doing my duty.”
Still feeling silly about helping people who were practically strangers, I started carrying boxes out to the truck.
Then a small miracle happened. I began to enjoy the work. I “lost myself” in giving and stayed the whole afternoon—until the entire truck was packed.
I rode home feeling sweaty but wonderful.
At four o’clock the next morning, I awoke feeling very excited. Why? Because I had done something I didn’t have to do. And it felt good!
“I wish I could feel that way all the time,” I thought. I had once heard a General Authority say that he had “ups and downs” like everyone else—only he had learned to take advantage of his “ups.” I decided to take advantage of mine. I got up, knelt, and poured out my heart to my Heavenly Father. I felt a warmth come over me, and my tears flowed freely. At last I was tasting the fruits of my efforts to better live the gospel.
The world’s rewards seemed shallow in comparison with the peace and happiness I felt, knowing I was living in harmony with the Lord’s will. I had learned what the gospel is all about: loving and serving others. Nothing fills us with such lasting satisfaction as the living water of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

A few months ago I received a package from one of the state prisons in Utah. I thought it was unusual, but I opened the package. Inside was a beautiful hand-knitted blanket with the full BYU Cougar logo in the middle. There was a handwritten note on top, and part of it read:

I am an inmate of the Utah State Prison. I am fifty-four years old, and in all my life I never was interested in watching any sports on TV. That was until 2009, when I was running channels and came across a BYU women’s soccer game just as someone did a flip throw. I stopped to watch to see what was going on, and I was hooked. To this day, the only sport I really watch is BYU women’s soccer.

There is something about the way they play. It is very hard to describe. They play with heart, for the love of the game, and just for fun and enjoyment. It is something that you cannot put into words.

I will never get to see a game in person. So please accept this blanket as a token of my appreciation. It is for the entire team.

This was such a kind gift and note that touched our team and reminded us that we are capable of reaching individuals who we would never have thought of. Our reach goes so far, whether in sports, music, dance, research, science, or education. In whatever we are involved with here at BYU, we can make a difference.