Gospel Story Finder

During this time I was blessed with so many people who would tell me about what they learned each Sunday at church. One of those people was Stephanie. She’d been living in Italy when my uncle joined the Church, but she had returned to her home in the United States. My uncle thought it would be good for us to write to each other, so I added her as a friend on Facebook.
Even though we’d never met in person, I will always be grateful to her for helping me build my faith and learn more about the gospel of Jesus Christ. She wrote to me almost every Sunday and told me everything she learned in church and then would answer my questions. She was a great friend to me.

1 Joseph Smith’s younger brother Samuel was the third person baptized into the restored Church. Two months after the Church was organized in 1830, he was set apart by the Prophet Joseph as the Church’s first formal missionary.
2 Samuel was anxious to share the gospel and to tell people about the Book of Mormon. But when he tried to sell copies of it to them, only a few wanted to buy it.
3 Many people were unkind to Samuel while he was on his mission. Often he went hungry and had to sleep outside.
4 Samuel did sell a Book of Mormon to Phineas Young. After Phineas read the Book of Mormon, he gave it to his brother Brigham to read.
5 Brigham Young read the Book of Mormon and believed that it was true. After studying the gospel of Jesus Christ, Brigham and Phineas told their friends about the Book of Mormon. Several of their friends read the book and joined the Church along with Brigham and Phineas.
6 Later Brigham Young became a prophet and a great leader. He helped the Saints to move across the prairies and mountains and to colonize the West.
7 Samuel Smith returned home from his first mission discouraged and disappointed. He didn’t know that because of his missionary efforts, Brigham Young and many other valiant people would come into the Church.

One more example. This one really happened.
I remember sitting in my elders quorum meeting several years ago, enjoying a lesson based on “The Family: A Proclamation to the World.” At one point in the lesson a member of the quorum read part of the proclamation. The instructor was about to move forward with the lesson when another quorum member raised his hand. “I have a question,” he said. Quoting a phrase that had just been read, he asked, “How can we teach our children ‘to love and serve one another’?” The expression on his face and the sound of his voice revealed that this was more than just a question—it was a plea for help. I was grateful that he asked because he expressed a plea that was in my heart as well.
This heartfelt question changed the pace of the lesson. Our teacher put his lesson plan aside temporarily. Quorum members paused to think, and some shared ideas and experiences in response to their friend’s question. Then the teacher shared an insight of his own and continued with the lesson, focusing on other truths in the proclamation. The discussion lasted only a few minutes, but it continues to influence my family and me.
Doctrine and Covenants 18:34–36 and 88:122 came together in that quorum meeting. The process began with a teacher who was humble and wise enough to invite us to read the words of the prophets. It continued when a quorum member had the courage to ask a question—to ask for help. Then, as different men with different backgrounds spoke one at a time, “all [were] edified of all.” I testify that by the power of the Holy Ghost, I heard the Lord’s voice that day—first through His prophets and second through my neighbors and friends. And I went home knowing the word of the Lord better than I had the day before.

Shortly before the April 2020 general conference, President Russell M. Nelson invited my wife, Kalleen, and me into his office, where he called me to be the General Young Men President. As our heads were spinning over this totally unexpected turn of events, he stood and said: “This is an important time for the youth of the Church because it’s an important time for the Church. The youth will play a critical role in this wondrous time.” He added, “You know, I have invited them into the Lord’s battalions.”
“Yes, President Nelson,” I said. “I know you have, and I know they are listening.”
“Well, it’s important that they do, because they are needed.”
I am paraphrasing only a little here, but he then went on to talk with great energy about the long-prophesied gathering that is taking place and the important work the Lord has for our youth to do. He spoke with a sense of urgency and great immediacy that they have been specifically sent to prepare for the Savior’s return.

Thomas stood on the banks of the Mississippi River, his bare hands pushed deep inside the pockets of his overcoat. His breath came out in cloudy puffs, and his teeth chattered steadily.

Thomas watched as a chunk of ice bigger than a wagon wheel slowly drifted by. The ferry had been moored for days, and the muddy banks of the river were frozen and hard. The Saints who had hoped to leave Nauvoo ahead of the Canadian storm had been delayed; there was no hope of crossing the icy river before spring.

Thomas had never seen a storm like the one that hit Nauvoo that February 1846. The weather had been mild and warm the first half of the month, and President Brigham Young had exhorted the members of the Church to leave Nauvoo for the camp at Sugar Creek. Many families had followed his admonition. The ferry carried heavy loads of people, animals, and wagons across the river continually until the temperatures dropped. Almost overnight, the storm blew in with a terrible fury. Bitter cold winds pounded Thomas’s wood-frame house from the north, doors and shutters clattering loudly. Great mounds of snow piled up on the streets of Nauvoo. The stinging, harsh blizzard had gone on for days. This morning was the first time Thomas was able to see the ice-choked river.

“Thomas!” called his younger brother, Joseph. “Mama needs those eggs from Sister Patterson right away!”

Thomas looked back across the river one more time. “All right, Joseph. I’m coming.” He pulled his woolen scarf closer around his neck and met his brother halfway up the hill.

Joseph was a year younger than Thomas, but he was already nearly as tall. Named for the Prophet Joseph Smith, he had been born three days before the Prophet’s thirty-first birthday. Joseph’s cheeks and nose were red from the cold, and he was blowing on his hands to keep them warm.

“You run home, Joseph,” Thomas said. “Tell Mama I’m on my way with the eggs for her custard.”

Joseph nodded and loped off. Thomas could see their house up the road and knew that Joseph would soon be sitting in front of the warm hearth.

Mama rarely made her delicious egg custard anymore, especially since they had sold their best laying hens to the Pattersons. Papa said that the hens would never survive the journey west and that the family needed the money to buy more basic supplies. But this morning Mama had declared that they would have custard for dessert and had sent Thomas for the fresh eggs. He knew that his father and mother had been fasting and praying about the weather and that this special dessert was his mother’s way of expressing gratitude for the slivers of sunshine that had broken through the gray clouds today.

As the family gathered around the table to pray over their simple meal, Thomas could see that his father was discouraged. “There was trouble in town again today,” his father said. “Let us pray that the Lord will provide a way for us to leave Nauvoo before anyone is seriously harmed. We are packed and ready to go. There must be a way!”

Thomas bowed his head along with his parents and brothers and sisters, but in his heart he felt a twinge of fear. He did not want to leave Nauvoo.

Although most of their furniture and farming equipment had been sold to purchase a wagon and food supplies, their home was still cozy and warm, and there was always enough to eat. He had been just a little boy when his family was driven from their home in Missouri by an angry mob and forced to settle in the marshy wetlands of Commerce, Illinois. It had been cold then, too, and he remembered how he had cried for a cup of milk. But over the years, he had seen Commerce become the beautiful city of Nauvoo, a place where the Prophet Joseph Smith would stop and play stickball with Thomas and his friends, then invite them to his home for a glass of cool lemonade. Though it had been a year and a half since the Prophet’s death, he ducked his head to hide his tears.

“Thomas?” his Mama asked softly. “Are you well?”

His older sister, Mary Jane, quietly said, “He doesn’t want to go west, Mama.”

Papa put down his fork and folded his arms across his chest. “Is this true, Son?”

Thomas gulped. “Yes, Papa,” he whispered.

He heard his mother sigh, and he felt ashamed. It had already been decided that Mama would leave her piano and her cherished spinning wheel behind. But she reached across the table and put her hand on top of his. “We all wish we could stay in Nauvoo. Here we have a lovely home, a prosperous farm, good friends and family, even a beautiful new temple. But the Lord has promised us peace, and we will never find that here.”

Thomas nodded and tried to hold back the tears that still pushed against his eyelids. His father saw him struggling and slowly slid back his chair. “Mama, save us some of your custard. Thomas and I are going to check on the horses.”

Thomas put on his overcoat and scarf and followed his father out to the barn. The sky was clear, and the air was as sharp as a knife in his lungs. Inside the barn, his father lit a lantern and stamped his feet. “Mighty cold out tonight,” he said. “We must pray for our brothers and sisters who are spending this night in a tent or a wagon box.”

Thomas plopped down on a bale of hay. “Papa, if we had crossed the river with the others last week, we would be out there in a tent tonight!”

His father sat beside him, reaching out to stroke the mane of his favorite horse. “I know, Son. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

“Then why can’t we wait until spring … or even summer? Why must we leave now?”

“You do not realize the danger that surrounds us. I was a close friend of the Prophet Joseph, and his enemies are my enemies.” Thomas felt his father tremble beside him. He looked up and saw the scar on his father’s cheek that had come from the leather thong of a bullwhip. He still remembered how his mother had cried over the wound, praying that God would forgive her for thinking terrible thoughts about the man who had whipped her husband. “And I think this is a test of our faith, Son. Will we follow the prophet—or not?”

Thomas blinked his eyes hard. Suddenly he remembered a very special occasion in his life.

Thomas felt his father’s arm around him. “Are you thinking about Brother Joseph, Thomas?”

“Yes,” was all he managed to whisper.

His father hugged him tighter. “When you are a grown man, your children and grandchildren will ask if you remember when you were baptized. Your heart will burst with pride when you tell them that you were baptized by the Prophet Joseph Smith. And then you will tell them how you followed another prophet of God through snow and cold and all sorts of trials so that they could live in a land of peace and enjoy all the blessings of the gospel without being afraid. For many generations, your family will honor you and be grateful for your sacrifices. Your life will be blessed, Thomas, in more ways than you will ever know.”

After Thomas finished his evening prayer, he crawled under the warm quilt. He could hear his mother and father talking downstairs. He was still afraid of what might happen on their journey west, but he felt a calm reassurance in his heart that all would be well.

The next morning, the family was awakened early by a whoop of joy. “It’s a miracle!” their neighbor, Brother Williams, shouted from the front gate. “The Mississippi River is frozen solid! Load up your wagons—we’re crossing over! The Lord has answered our prayers!”

Yes, He has, Thomas thought as he hurriedly dressed in the cold morning air.

I grew up in a small town where most families raised gardens and had farm animals to care for, and our family was no exception. We had cows, horses, chickens, pigs, dogs, cats, and sometimes even sheep and goats, though the goats never worked out very well. They would often get out of their pens and invade our garden. When we tried to catch them, they would climb nimbly up onto the roof of a root cellar behind our house, and it was very difficult to get them back into their pens.
I was interested in all of the animals on our farm, but my favorites were the dogs and horses. One springtime when a mare was about ready to foal, my father said that if the colt were born on my birthday, it would be mine to raise and train and care for. You can imagine how much I hoped that the baby colt would arrive on my birthday!
On the morning of that important day I went with my father to the barn to do the milking. To my absolute delight and wonderment, there in the stall with its mother was a beautiful newborn filly, tottering about on its spindly legs.
My father kept his promise, and the colt became my responsibility. I knew it would be at least two years before she would be big enough to ride, and two years pass slowly when a boy’s head is full of visions about the adventure of having his own horse to ride.
But there was much to do in those two years. I spent many hours just being near the colt so that she would become accustomed to having me around. We were friends from the beginning. We learned to trust each other. She came to understand that I would do nothing to injure her, and she in turn allowed me to pick up her feet and handle her without kicking or biting me.
I named the colt Ginger, and as she grew I occasionally strapped light objects onto her back so that she would get used to the feeling of carrying a load. Finally when she became big and strong enough, I would lead her up to the steps of our granary where I could lean across her back and have her become accustomed to bearing my weight. I believe it was as much an adventure for Ginger as it was for me. There was never any of the contesting and bucking that we so often see portrayed in the “breaking” of a horse to carry a rider. We did everything more or less by mutual consent. If Ginger didn’t seem to understand what I was asking of her or if she became skittish, I would simply slow up the process of training until she accepted what was happening without resisting.
The last step in getting Ginger ready to carry me as a rider was to help her feel comfortable while wearing a saddle and bridle. Then my father led Ginger about while I rode her and taught her the signals for stopping and starting and for turning to the right and to the left. Eventually we accompanied my father who rode Ginger’s mother through the fields adjoining the town.
It was a thrill the day I first took Ginger out alone. We had a great time enjoying new experiences together. No boy could have been prouder than I was, and I don’t suppose any boy ever loved an animal friend more than I loved Ginger.
Later on she even learned to wear a harness and to pull a cultivator through our tomatoes and beans in the summers, in fact, she did anything we ever asked her to do.
Ginger lived for more than twenty years, very old for a horse, and she and I shared many wonderful experiences together. She was a beautiful animal even during her last years spent in a large pasture in the rolling hill country of central California.
As I have grown older, I have remembered the rich experiences enjoyed with Ginger and some of the other animals on our small farm. I have come to appreciate why our Heavenly Father placed animals on the earth to be used by man. He expects us to be kind to them and not to abuse them. They can add much to our lives while we are here on earth.

The prophets teach us that through keeping temple covenants, our families can be eternal. When our daughter Rachel was married, our family was able to participate in a special temple session beforehand. We greeted our children in the temple, hugged them, kissed them, and told them how much we loved them. We felt great happiness in the Lord’s temple with our children, knowing that we have been sealed as a family for time and all eternity.

To be honest about it, the seminary students in the Phoenix Park Ward of the Dublin Ireland Stake were a little worried. More than a little worried. Their stake president and their bishop had approached them about something new. Would they be the first seminary class in all of Ireland to try meeting every day—early every day?
Elaine O’Farrell, 15, put their fears into words. “I thought if we see each other every day, we’ll get on each other’s nerves.” And there was that other obvious worry. Pamela Fagan, 15, said, “No way would they get me out of bed that early.” And Farris Bukhatwa, 17, and Louise Byrne, 17, lived the farthest distance away. It was not going to be easy.
But not everyone was worried about the early-morning class. Jenna Gallagher, 15, was a little bit excited about the idea. Of course, her dad is the stake president. But it went beyond supporting dad. This was going to be her first year of seminary. She said, “I used to hear about early-morning seminary in America. I always dreamed of going to seminary that way. I was really pleased when we were told we were going to do it. I knew if I made a sacrifice, the Lord would bless me.”
Then it happened. Things started to work out. Farris got the car in the mornings and could pick up Louise. Pamela even agreed to getting up extra early to be ready to leave on time with her brother Derek. Elaine changed her mind and said that she liked seeing these people every morning. Jenna was happy just to be in seminary. Brett, 18, and Brandt Crowther, 16, the mission president’s sons, were thrilled to be with other Church members their same ages every day. And best of all, their teacher, Rosemary Richmond, was terrific.

Sister Batson, our Blazer leader, was preparing us to become deacons. She faithfully took us on monthly hikes. One hike was down a dry desert wash toward Lake Mead. Sister Batson stayed with the stragglers while five or six of us forged ahead. We were quite a distance ahead when we heard something. It was a baby rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike. Rather than giving it plenty of room, we found some sticks and began poking at it. The snake took off across the desert. Naturally we took off after it, running as fast as our legs would carry us, chasing that snake. We cornered it against the side of a gulch where it coiled with its one rattle making as much noise as it could. We formed a semicircle around the snake, and on the count of three, we rushed it.
The first guy in and at the bottom of the pile was Malcolm. Suddenly he exploded out of the pile, throwing us everywhere, and started a panic run across the desert with the snake attached to his hand. We took off after him and succeeded in ankle tackling him. He was screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs, “I’m going to die! I’m going to die!”
We each took a leg and arm to pin him down so we could save his life. We then took out our trusty snakebite kits (which aren’t at all like the ones used today and not to be recommended). They consisted of several suction cups, a shoestring tourniquet, some antibacterial iodine, and a razor blade. The shoestring tourniquet didn’t seem big enough, so we whipped off our Scout belts and placed half a dozen tourniquets up his arm. We then stained his arm brown with the iodine. We decided that the suction cups were not good enough, and we would have to suck the poison out. We were arguing about who got to do the sucking and who got to cut him when Sister Batson arrived. She grabbed Malcolm, threw him over her shoulder, ran back to the van with us right behind her, and got Malcolm to the hospital in time to save his hand.
By the time I got home, my father had found out what happened. He took me to my room, sat me on the end of the bed, and said three words of profound meaning, “Son,” he said, “DON’T CHASE SNAKES!”

“Good morning!” she practically shouted as she pulled my covers off. I gave her my usual cheerful grunt, then proceeded to let out a long, mournful yawn. Yep! It was morning; I wished it were not. I am not what you would, even casually, call a morning person.
Then there’s my mom. How she ever keeps that smile on her face when she goes to bed so late at night is a mystery to me. Maybe she sleeps with a clotheshanger in her mouth. I’d go bananas if I didn’t get my full 7 1/2 hours of peaceful slumber. I guess Mom’s just used to it. She could go to bed early, but she would rather fold clothes, finish up the dishes, or do something where she can have some time to herself. Believe me, she certainly needs it.
I come from a pretty big family—four brothers, four sisters, and one dog—so Mom doesn’t get much time for breathers. Like this morning for instance. Mom was polishing shoes between pouring and flipping pancakes. She was also going through her purse, looking under cushions, and searching Dad’s pockets looking for lunch money. She ended up writing checks. Then while she was busy ironing a shirt for my brother, I got the chance to complain to her. I politely explained that either she and I would have to go shopping after school or I would have to quit school because I didn’t have anything to wear. I calmly told her I was sick and tired of making my older sister’s bed just so I could wear something of hers. Mom wasn’t much help. All she did was suggest a few strange outfits that I wouldn’t be caught going to the moon in.
As soon as I was through, my sister started whining to Mom. She was upset that Mom had fixed pancakes because she was on a diet. Mom said she didn’t have to eat them, and my sister shot back, “Mothers who care about their children on diets, don’t tempt them with pancakes!”
“Oh brother,” Mom said as she looked at the ceiling.
By now the family had to hurry and eat so there would be time for family prayer. I was right in the middle of a perfectly buttered and jammed pancake when the dog came running through the kitchen.
“Stop the dog! Stop the dog!” my youngest brother yelled. My mom told him to hold on so she could find out what was going on.
“The dog just had a new experience!”
“What are you saying?”
“He threw up on the carpet!”
Mom just groaned and told everybody to hurry and come for prayer. It took five to ten minutes for everybody to kneel down. Then as soon as we had prayer, and a lecture from Dad on turning off the lights, chaos hit our humble home. Everyone claimed they hadn’t had their turn in the bathroom. Nobody could find his schoolbooks. Everyone was going to miss the bus. My sister was wailing because she couldn’t find her navy blue socks. I knew where they were—on my feet. I told her she could wear my white ones. My dramatic younger brother said he had to have a note to excuse him for being sick the day before or he’d be accused of sluffing and classified as a delinquent for life. Mom was trying to help everybody as she reminded us all that she only had two hands. Finally, five good-bye Dad’s, and four good-bye Mom’s were said. (My sister was still mad about the pancakes.)
Well, I never got my turn in the bathroom, so I went to school with seeds from the raspberry jam stuck between my molars. I was sitting in seminary trying to get some of them out with my tongue when my teacher asked, “How many of you here honor your father and mother?” My hand went up like everyone else’s, of course. Then the teacher spent the rest of the class explaining what honor really means.
“Honor,” he said, “to show respect, consideration, courtesy, admiration; to pay attention to, think much of, etc.”
We talked about honor until I felt good and guilty, but I also determined to try harder to honor my parents, especially my mom parent. I think I’ll start by telling them how much I love them. Then comes the part that really counts—showing them.

Emma jumped over the cracks in the stone sidewalk. It was a bright, sunny day. She and Mama were walking to the grocery store.
“Mama, how far away is the sun?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” Mama said.
Emma squinted up at the sky. “Do you think a rocket will ever go to the sun? Do you think it’s hotter than lightning? Do you think …”
Mama laughed. “Your questions are getting harder and harder!”
Emma laughed too. She had lots of questions. Mama always did her best to answer them. That was one reason why Emma liked going on walks with Mama.
Emma looked around her neighborhood. Taxis drove down the stone street. People rode by on bikes. Lots of people were out walking too.
Then Emma looked across the street. A little girl was sitting on the steps outside an apartment building. It looked like she was crying.
Emma slowed down. Should she stop to help? Maybe the girl wanted to be left alone. Sometimes Emma wanted to be left alone when she was sad.
Emma stopped walking. Most of the time Emma wanted someone to talk to when she needed help. And maybe she could help!
She grabbed Mama’s hand. “Look, Mama. I think that girl needs some help.”
Mama looked across the street. “I think you’re right.”
Emma held Mama’s hand as they crossed the street. She walked up the steps to where the girl was sitting.
“Hi,” Emma said. “Do you need help?”
The little girl sniffed and looked up at them. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, and her eyes were red and puffy.
“I … I’m locked out of my apartment.” She took a deep breath. Her voice was shaky and quiet. Emma knelt down next to her to hear her better.
“I can’t read,” the girl said. “I don’t know what button to push to get back in.”
Emma looked at the wall outside the apartment building. There were lots of little buttons. Each button had a name on it. Next to the buttons was a speaker.
“What’s your last name?” Emma asked.
“Schneider,” the little girl said.
Mama read through all the buttons until she found one that said “Schneider.” She pushed it.
Buzz!
The button made a loud sound. Then a voice crackled through the speaker.
“This is the Schneiders. How may I help you?”
Mama spoke into the speaker. “Hi! My daughter and I are outside with a little girl who says she got locked out.”
The girl stood up fast and ran over to the speaker. “Mama,” she said, “I couldn’t read the button to get back in, and these people helped me!”
The voice on the speaker sounded surprised. “Leni! I thought you were in your room! Don’t worry. I’m coming down there right now.”
After a few seconds, a lady came running outside. The girl ran up and gave her a hug.
The lady turned to Emma. “Thank you for helping my little Leni!”
Emma smiled. “It was easy to help.”
They waved goodbye and walked back down the stairs. Emma’s whole body felt warm. She thought of one more question for Mama.
“Helping that girl was easy. Why do I feel so happy about it?”
Mama squeezed Emma’s hand. “That’s the Holy Ghost telling you that you made a good choice.”
Emma smiled. She was glad she stopped to help.

President Hinckley tells of a time he learned about having the courage to make his own decisions.
The year we enrolled in junior high school, the building could not accommodate all the students, and so our class was sent back to the elementary school. We were furious. We’d spent six years in that building, and we felt we deserved something better. The boys of the class all met after school. We decided we’d go on strike.
The next day we did not show up. But we had no place to go. We couldn’t stay home, because our mothers would ask questions. We didn’t think of going downtown to a show. We had no money for that. We didn’t think of going to the park. We were afraid we might be seen. We just wandered about and wasted the day.
The next morning, the principal, Mr. Stearns, was at the front door of the school to greet us. He told us that we could not come back to school until we brought a note from our parents. Striking, he said, was not the way to settle a problem. If we had a complaint, we could come to the principal’s office and discuss it.
I remember walking sheepishly into the house. My mother asked what was wrong. I told her. She wrote a note. It was very brief. It was the most stinging rebuke she ever gave me. It read:
“Dear Mr. Stearns,
“Please excuse Gordon’s absence yesterday. His action was simply an impulse to follow the crowd.”
I have never forgotten my mother’s note. I resolved then and there that I would never do anything on the basis of simply following the crowd. I determined then and there that I would make my own decisions on the basis of my standards and not be pushed in one direction or another by those around me. That decision has blessed my life many times.

Not long ago I received a note from a daughter who was leaving home to attend college. After a sweet message of thanks and appreciation, came an expression of concern about the responsibilities she would now encounter being on her own. Up until now she felt she had lived a sheltered life and had relied on her family to give her direction and strength. She was beginning to realize life is hard!
My daughter’s note made me think of the encounters I’ve had during the past several months with many people of the Church who seem to be asking, “How do I deal with the difficult challenges of life?”
Life is hard. It is a challenge. At every age life presents trials to bear and difficulties to overcome. Growing up is hard. There are often the heartaches of feeling wronged or rejected. Pursuing an education can press us to our financial, emotional, and intellectual limits. Serving a mission is not easy. It requires total dedication, spiritually and physically. The problems accompanying marriage, rearing a family, earning a living, or coping with illness, old age, and death are realities of life which we are required to meet, but with which we may be unprepared or unwilling to deal.
We will be able to face and solve these challenges more willingly and courageously when we understand that such obstacles are encountered as a natural part of living.
C. S. Lewis wrote: “The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one’s ‘own,’ or ‘real’ life. The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life—the life God is sending one day by day.” (They Stand Together: The Letters of C. S. Lewis to Arthur Greeves, ed. Walter Hooper, London: Collins, 1979, p. 499.)
An old Asian tale describes a prince who was reared in a castle and kept sheltered from the hardships of life. He never saw anyone who was ill. He never saw anyone who was aged. He never saw anyone die.
When the prince grew to be a young man, he desired to go out into the kingdom he ruled. As he was being carried along on a litter, he saw for the first time an old man, toothless, wrinkled, and bent with age.
The prince said to his bearers, “Stop! Wait! What is this?”
The chief bearer replied, “This is a man who is bent with age. Though you are young and strong, the time will come when you too must be bent with age.”
This disheartened the prince. His confrontation with aging was more than he could bear. He asked to be taken back to the castle.
After a few days in familiar surroundings he felt rejuvenated. He decided to venture forth again. This time as he passed by a group of men he noticed that one of them was on the ground, overcome with fever and convulsing in pain.
“What is this?” the prince asked.
“This is a man who is ill,” said the porter. “Though you are now young and strong, you too will have to suffer the problems of sickness.”
The prince was again saddened and returned immediately to the palace. But again in a few days, he wanted to visit his kingdom once more.
They hadn’t gone far from the castle when the prince saw a coffin being carried to its place of burial.
“What is this?” he asked.
When the meaning of death was explained to the inquiring young prince, he became depressed by the inevitable vision of the future. As he returned to the immediate comfort of his palace, he vowed he would never come out again.
The prince interpreted life to be an evil trick because no matter what a man did or what a man was, he had to suffer sickness, aging, and death.
Perhaps some of us feel about life the way the young prince in this fable did. We may feel that life is cruel and unfair to us, that we would like to retreat into our own shelter and never have to venture forth into the world. To do so, however, would be to deny ourselves the opportunities for growth which life and its experiences are designed to bring to us.
The Lord has made available to us a power which will turn these challenges into opportunities, a power which will enable us to understand the Apostle Peter’s declaration that such trials of our faith are indeed more precious than gold. (See 1 Pet. 1:7.)
When I was teaching an early-morning seminary class a number of years ago, we paused at the end of the year to review some principles we had learned from our study of the Book of Mormon. One young lady held up an illustration in her Book of Mormon, painted by Arnold Friberg. It depicted the two thousand sons of Helaman known as the “stripling soldiers.” (See Alma 53:22.) Then in all seriousness she asked, “Tell me, Brother Pinegar, why aren’t our young men built like this today?”
Now, I don’t know that the young men in the days of the Book of Mormon were built the way Arnold Friberg depicts them, but her question gave me the opportunity to ask, “Where did the strength of these young men come from?”
Those of you who have read the Book of Mormon are familiar with the story of the sons of Helaman. (See Alma 53; 56–58.) When their fathers were converted to the gospel, the fathers covenanted with the Lord that they would never again take up arms. But eventually their homes were threatened by hostile armies to the extent that the fathers would have to choose to fight or die. It was then that the two thousand young men, not bound by the same covenant, volunteered to defend their parents and their homes.
A prophet-general described these young men by saying, “They were exceedingly valiant for courage, and also for strength and activity; but behold, this was not all—they were men who were true at all times in whatsoever thing they were entrusted. …
“Yea, they had been taught by their mothers, that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them. …
“And they … fought as if with the strength of God; yea, never were men known to have fought with such miraculous strength; and with such mighty power.” (Alma 53:20; 56:47, 56; italics added.)
What gave the sons of Helaman their strength? Their faith in God was their “miraculous strength” and “mighty power.”
Leo Tolstoy, the famous Russian writer, declared, “Faith is the force of life.” Tolstoy had spent the major portion of his life seeking to understand life’s purpose. He found fame, position, fortune. He married well and had a family. He had experienced success by nearly every measure the world uses.
He sought answers to the meaning of life from his studies of science, philosophy, and other fields of knowledge. However, all the knowledge he acquired, honors he received, and personal accomplishments he achieved brought no lasting satisfaction. Life still seemed to him meaningless. At this point of deepest despair, Tolstoy asked the question, “How am I to live?” The answer came, “By the Law of God.”
Tolstoy was then compelled to admit that “besides the reasoning knowledge” there is “in every living man another kind of knowledge, an unreasoning one, but which gives a possibility of living—faith. … Faith is the force of life.” (How I Came to Believe, Christchurch, New Zealand: The Free Age Press, 1901, p. 40.)
Tolstoy found that one can possess about all one could desire of worldly pleasure and acclaim; but without faith in God, life will burden the heart, the mind, and even the soul.
It sometimes seems that the problems others face are not quite as hard as our own. Some of us may feel that life would not be so hard if we only had more wealth, or if we had a higher social station or better acceptance among our peers. Some may feel that if only they were married they could be truly happy. Others are seeking to be free from the responsibilities of marriage, thinking that would ease their challenges of life.
Not all challenges are related to the presence of a physical or material need. Yet the source of strength to meet all challenges remains the same: faith in God and remaining true at all times. Believing in God and seeking to live His law provides the power to successfully overcome the testing such challenges bring.
A friend of mine from South Carolina has demonstrated that even multiple problems can be overcome when one is true to his faith in God.
Laurie Polk is a dwarf. From the time of his birth, life has been a challenge. When he became old enough to go to school, he pedaled himself on a tricycle in order to move about and keep up with the other children. When his short legs kept him from playing games and participating in athletics, he busied himself in preparing for a vocation in the business world. To obtain employment, he found it necessary to persist and to prove himself. When a job opportunity finally came to him, he found joy in life through his love for his work.
Then another challenge arose. Laurie Polk, already extremely limited in his physical mobility, lost the sight in one eye. Nearly complete loss of the use of his crippled, dwarfed legs followed shortly thereafter. Then, as if that were not enough of a trial for any man, the retina of Laurie’s other eye became detached and complete blindness encompassed him.
Where did Laurie Polk gain his strength to overcome such darkness and despair? Through the power of faith in God, Laurie Polk has learned the meaning of life. In his thirty-four inch frame, he possesses a strength not unlike the sons of Helaman, through which he not only overcomes the personal challenges he encounters—he actually finds joy in living. He knows he can solve any problem by putting his life in harmony with God and serving his fellowman. He says, “With the help of the Lord there are no problems, only challenges.” Laurie Polk is now a high priest group leader in the Charleston South Carolina Stake.
From my own experience with life’s hardships I have learned that faith in God develops a personal love for Him which is reciprocated through his blessings to us in times of need. To my daughter and to all others who are meeting new or challenging times, I say: Do not fear the challenges of life, but approach them patiently, with faith in God. He will reward your faith with power not only to endure, but also to overcome hardships, disappointments, trials, and struggles of daily living. Through diligently striving to live the law of God and with faith in Him, we will not be diverted from our eternal course either by the ways or the praise of the world.
May each of us develop faith in God sufficient to fight the battles of life victoriously “with the strength of God; yea, … with [His] miraculous strength; and … mighty power.” (Alma 56:56.) We will then find the happiness we so much desire in our lives. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Latter-day Saints in Memphis, Tennessee, are working with the NAACP to help mothers and babies and reduce infant mortality rates.

In Tennessee, USA, some Latter-day Saints have joined with brothers and sisters of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) to help mothers and their babies thrive in an area that has one of the United States’ highest infant mortality rates. This effort is helping carry out the vision President Russell M. Nelson outlined in 2021 of the two organizations coming together in community service.8

In November 2022, four members of the Dudley family from the Memphis Tennessee Stake gathered with several dozen people at the NAACP Memphis Branch to pass out fliers about a program of classes designed to help new and expectant mothers better care for their children.

“We had the opportunity to knock on the door of a woman that is pregnant right now,” said Marc Allan Dudley, who distributed fliers with his wife, Sonya, and two of their daughters. “Her eyes kind of lit up, and she was thankful for the program. … People are happy that somebody notices that there’s an issue and that there’s somebody doing something about it.”

“This partnership is God ordained and God inspired,” added NAACP Memphis Branch president Van Turner. “I’m just so happy that it’s happening at such a critical time in our city. We’re dealing with public safety, we’re dealing with homelessness, we’re dealing with poverty. [It’s critical to address] the origin of humanity, when these young people are in the womb, and try to make sure they get the proper care while in the womb [and then] come out and survive and be healthy. Once that happens, they have a great start in life.”9

Luana was 11 years old when I visited her family in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Because of a traumatic event in her childhood, Luana could not speak. She had not spoken for years. She sat silently as we all conversed. I kept hoping for even a whisper from her. She looked at me intently as if uttering words were not necessary for me to know her heart. After a prayer, we stood up to leave, and Luana handed me a drawing. She had drawn Jesus Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane. I then recognized her witness loud and clear. Luana had made a covenant at baptism to stand as a witness of God “at all times and in all things, and in all places.”4 She understood the Atonement of Jesus Christ, as witnessed through her drawing. Had she come to know that, through the strengthening and enabling power of the Atonement, she could be healed and speak again? Since that day three years ago, Luana has progressed in her effort to speak. She is now participating in Young Women with her friends. Faithful to the covenant she made at baptism, she continues to share her witness of the Savior.

While we were at lunch, we sat with a man who is now a grandfather who said that his little four-year-old grandson came to him the other day and said, “Grandpa, why do the hummingbirds hum?” Grandpa said, “I don’t know. Why?” The little boy said, “Because they don’t know the words.”
It is unlikely that we will remember very many of the words that we’ve heard during the meetings of this conference. But I hope that we shall be able to “hum” the spirit of this conference and that we shall carry with us a great feeling of uplift because of our participation together. It has been a glorious time. The Spirit of the Lord has been with us. We have every reason to be grateful. We have been refreshed in our testimonies and strengthened in our faith.

Our leaders have demonstrated that one can enjoy both faith and humor. It was said of President Heber C. Kimball (1801–68) that he prayed and conversed with God “as one man talketh with another” (Abr. 3:11). However, “on one occasion, while offering up an earnest appeal in behalf of certain of his fellow creatures, he startled the kneeling circle by bursting into a loud laugh in the very midst of his prayer. Quickly regaining his composure and solemn address, he remarked, apologetically: ‘Lord, it makes me laugh to pray about some people.’”5 This sense of humor was not lost on his grandson, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985).

Another man who had a great sense of humor and enthusiasm was Elder LeGrand Richards (1886–1983) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. One day a stake president came to my office to see me. On the way out, he stopped to see Elder Richards, who would be coming to his stake in a week or two. He asked, “Brother Richards, how are you?” That great Apostle said: “Well, President, I will tell you. My body, the house I live in, is getting old and creaky.” Then he added, with all 95 years of his life testifying, “But the real LeGrand Richards is on fire.”

A good sense of humor will help us hone our talents. One of the talents that needs to be greatly magnified is sensitivity to others, and this involves reaching out and touching another heart. By learning not to be afraid ourselves, we are able to stir up kindred feelings for others. Under the cultivation of the Holy Ghost, our talents become greatly magnified.

Balance in large measure is knowing the things that can be changed, putting them in proper perspective, and recognizing the things that will not change. And balance also lies in attitude. May our attitude be one of achieving balance and wisdom and understanding in all that we do.

Maintaining a righteous balance in our lives is important for personal well-being.

When we make the right choices, it is much easier to yield “to the enticings of the Holy Spirit” (Mosiah 3:19), which will help us stay balanced.

In large measure, balance is knowing the things that can be changed and putting in proper perspective the things that will not change.

It is easier to ride the bumps of life if we cultivate a sense of humor and learn to laugh at ourselves.

Balance lies in our attitudes, which can be shaped by our righteous desires and by prayers to Heavenly Father.

After I had been in the hospital two and a half weeks, the doctors said I could leave. They suggested, however, that my family take me to a convalescent center. I was quite frightened at the thought of moving. I remember pleading with Cal to ask the Lord what we should do. I had been leaning very heavily on the Lord, and I didn’t want any decision made without consulting him. My family was there, and I had been leaning on them, but I knew that, above all, the Lord was caring for me.
On September 20, I was transferred to a care center. The medication was cut in half, so I became more aware of what was going on around me. For a week, I worked hard at building up my strength and learning how to get around with broken bones. Then I was moved to Cal’s house. I appreciated him and his wife for letting me stay with them. It felt good to be in their home. His children would come to my room after school and tell me what they had done that day. Their visits did much to ease me back into normal life.

This past month the Canada Toronto Mission held a mission-wide seminar. I was asked to sing a song but couldn’t find one that fit our mission program, which we call SOAR (S—sacrifice; O—obedience; A—attitude; R—rededication). I prayed about my problem, and I was directed to the August 1976 New Era, which was buried in a pile of magazines. There I found the song “Let Me Soar.” I sang this for the seminar. It was a definite answer to prayer.

Part of the tragedy you must avoid is to discover too late that you missed an opportunity to prepare for a future only God could see for you. The chance to learn another language is for me a painful example. My father was born in Mexico. He grew up speaking Spanish as his first language. I lived in his home for more than 20 years. Sadly, I never asked him to teach me a word of Spanish. But my Church assignments have caused me to have contacts in Mexico, Central America, Colombia, Venezuela, and Ecuador. It was no accident that I was born into a home with a Spanish-speaking father. My father was a great teacher. He was a chemist. He even kept a blackboard in our basement for his children. He was eager to teach me mathematics. He spent hours trying to help me solve problems for my physics classes. He pled with me to think more often about those things that then seemed so uninteresting and unimportant. Years later I was called by the Lord to the Presiding Bishopric of the Church and given responsibilities for computing and communications systems. What a blessing I might have had if I had followed with my father the counsel I am giving to you now. Your life is carefully watched over, as was mine. The Lord knows both what He will need you to do and what you will need to know to do it. You can with confidence expect that He has prepared opportunities for you to learn. You will not recognize those opportunities perfectly, as I did not. But when you put the spiritual things first in your life, you will be blessed to feel directed toward certain learning, and you will be motivated to work harder. You will recognize later that your power to serve was increased, and you will be grateful. Your service may not be in what the world would recognize as a lofty calling. But remember that when the real value of service becomes clear in the judgment of God, some people who worked in quiet anonymity will be the real heroes.