Gospel Story Finder

But then a very unusual thing happened. Every time I tried to code the job on my computer, I couldn’t get it right. I tried over and over again, but the computer wouldn’t accept the codes—codes I had used a thousand times before.
I felt I had to pray about this odd experience. After I prayed, I picked up the manuscript and suddenly had the strange sensation that my hands were dirty and greasy. I scrubbed my hands, then went back to work on the manuscript. As soon as I touched it, my hands felt filthy again, although it was printed on clean paper.
By this time 1 was so disturbed that I began to cry. Once more I went to my knees and asked the Lord to help me. When my prayer ended, I stayed on my knees for a little while and felt that I should read the manuscript—not from the beginning, but from the very last page.
In my eagerness to get this job done, I had never thought to read it. I found that it was a proposed student manual for state colleges throughout Denmark.
As I began the book from the back page, I was shocked to find on the second-to-last page the worst blasphemy of Jesus Christ I have ever read. And the author had used verses from the Bible to support his libelous claims. I wept to think that thousands of young students throughout the country I love so much would be exposed to this blasphemy.
Suddenly I froze. One voice within me said, “Don’t typeset this, Mette. You’ll forsake Christ if you do.” Another voice said, “The book will be printed whether you typeset it or not. And you will be able to pay your bills for the next month if you do the work.”
Again I had to pray for strength. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so much as I did in those days. Then I called the book printer and told him I was sorry but I could not do this job for him. He was surprised but admitted he hadn’t had time to read the manuscript himself. I asked if I could read the offensive passage to him. After I did, he asked if I was a religious person. I briefly told him of my background as a member of the Church. He respected that and asked me to return the manuscript so that he could find someone else to typeset it. I thought surely I had lost him as a customer forever.
Once more my mother, daughter, and I fasted and prayed. Four days went by with no orders, no work. During these terrible days, I almost regretted sending the job back. I pleaded with the Lord. I even accused him: “How can you forsake me now? I paid all I owed in tithing, I got an offer to carry me over, but returned it because of my faith in you. Where have I failed? Please help me.” Even my children would ask, “Mom, how can we go to church on Sunday if the Lord refuses to help us?”
Then on the fifth day, when even my steadfast mother had begun to doubt, the doorbell rang. The mailman standing outside said, “I’ve got so much stuff for you it will take me two trips.” He had brought me eight big typesetting orders from different customers all over Denmark, orders that would take me six months if I worked night and day.
Truly, we felt the Lord had opened the windows of heaven for us. Never after that time did I want for work. The book printer I had returned the manuscript to became my greatest customer.

I never seemed to quit gossiping. I didn’t think of how it affected other people but instead thought only of what I would gain from it. I thought I could become more popular by knowing everything about others.
One day I received an invitation to a friend’s party. When I arrived at the party, I met a girl I disliked. While she was in another room watching TV, the rest of us formed a circle. We began to talk about how mean the girl was and how we hated her.
One of my nonmember friends stood up, looked at everyone, and said, “We shouldn’t talk behind someone’s back, no matter how mean they are. It’s not right.” She then left the circle.
Everyone disagreed with her but me. I was speechless. I stood up and left the circle too. I thought to myself: “You knew better. Your example hasn’t been the right one.” I began to cry.
I realized that I had been hurting others. My friend had shown great courage; I had been too scared to think of standing for truth and righteousness. That night I repented. I promised Heavenly Father that I would try to do the right thing and be a good example to others no matter what situation I’m in.

When I think of happiness, I think of an experience we had in Tarawa. We were traveling to Tarawa, and as the plane landed and pulled up to the very humble terminal, the door opened, and a man jumped in, saying, “Elder Sonntag, please come quickly.” We did not know what the urgency was, but we came quickly out of the airplane, walked right through Immigration (they knew we weren’t going anywhere else), and then walked over to two vans. There was a tarp spread between the two vans, and sitting on the tarp were nineteen young men and women. We were informed that they were missionaries—young people from the islands that dot the sea, islands that really have not even been given names. They were young people who had come to Tarawa to try and get an education, to learn how to read and write. While they were there they felt the spirit of the gospel and joined the Church. Now they wanted to go on missions. But as they sat there under that equatorial sun, huddled close together looking at that airplane that they never dreamed they’d have the experience of getting on, they were frightened. They asked for a special blessing. And we had the privilege of giving them that blessing—the Lord was good to us that day. We gave them that blessing, and then they arose and climbed the steps to the airplane.

Their feet had never had a pair of shoes on them. They had only one white shirt each and the clothes on their backs with just a little sack of personal belongings as they entered that airplane. They had never eaten with a fork or a spoon or a knife. They’d only eaten with their fingers. They didn’t know what a cup was. They had drunk from a half shell of a coconut all their lives. And yet here they were going to be the very first missionaries in the history of the Church to leave the island of Tarawa and go to New Zealand to the Missionary Training Center. They were the first of their young people to ever have the privilege of going to the temple to receive their endowments.

We could hardly wait until we got home so we could call President Palmer at the New Zealand MTC and find out how our Tarawan missionaries were—they were just like little scared mice.

When we talked with President Palmer on the phone, he said, “Oh, President, what a great experience it was. When they came in they saw their first neon sign. They saw their first big bus. They saw their first high rise. They looked at the boats in the harbor at Auckland and were just amazed at the types of ships they saw. Everything they did was a new experience. We hardly had enough water supply because every time we went by a tap they’d turn it on to see running water. They would flush every toilet they went by. They couldn’t believe what was taking place.”

“But,” he continued, “when they came into the classes they again huddled into the corners.”

And then he said, “On the fourth day we took them to the temple. They walked in petrified and unknowing. We had prepared them as best we could. But, President, when they left the temple of the Lord they came out as giants of the Lord. And you cannot believe the difference that took place. And I want you to know that we have nineteen young people who are now worthy to represent the Savior.”

President Eyring gave a devotional talk here at Brigham Young University that had a powerful effect on me. He told of a young man who needed to repent and had come to him when President Eyring was a bishop. After a lengthy time, Bishop Eyring interviewed him and found him worthy to hold a temple recommend. But the young man was going to be married in the temple to a young lady who was sweet and clean, and he needed to know if his sins had been remitted—if he had forgiveness from the Lord. How could he get that revelation?
Bishop Eyring said it was a good question and that he needed some time, so the young man gave him a deadline—less than two weeks.
During those two weeks Bishop Eyring went to a social function that then Elder Spencer W. Kimball also attended. Elder Kimball found Bishop Eyring and said, “Hal, I understand that you are now a bishop. Do you have anything you would like to ask me?”
President Eyring continued:
I said that I did, but I didn’t think that was the place to talk about it. He thought it was. It was an outdoor party. My memory is that we went behind a shrub and there had our interview. Without breaking confidences . . . , I outlined the concerns and the question of this young man. . . . Then I asked Elder Kimball, “How can he get that revelation? How can he know whether his sins are remitted?”
I thought Elder Kimball would talk to me about fasting or prayer or listening for the still small voice. But he surprised me. Instead he said, “Tell me something about the young man.”
I said, “What would you like to know?”
And then he began a series of the most simple questions. Some of the ones I remember were:
“Does he come to his priesthood meetings?”
I said, after a moment of thought, “Yes.”
“Does he come early?”
“Yes.”
“Does he sit down front?”
I thought for a moment and then realized, to my amazement, that he did.
“Does he home teach?”
“Yes.”
“Does he go early in the month?”
“Yes, he does.”
“Does he go more than once?”
“Yes.”
I can’t remember the other questions. But they were all like that—little things, simple acts of obedience, of submission. And for each question I was surprised that my answer was always yes. Yes, he wasn’t just at all his meetings: he was early; he was smiling; he was there not only with his whole heart, but with the broken heart of a little child, as he was every time the Lord asked anything of him. And after I had said yes to each of his questions, Elder Kimball looked at me, paused, and then very quietly said, “There is your revelation.”

Another thing his uncle had told him that he believed was that by studying and doing the good things taught in the Book of Mormon, a person could get closer to God than by any other means, short of personal prayer or dying. Elias had given the boy a copy of the book, one that Elias had been presented as a young missionary while living in Nauvoo. The book had helped to ease Simon’s lingering sorrow over his parents’ deaths, and he had read it faithfully, pondered its contents, and prayed about its truthfulness.
One day when Simon had emerged from his secret place of prayer, he told his uncle that he experienced “a feeling that was as warm as the down comforter Mother used to wrap around me on cold winter nights.” He said that he knew the Book of Mormon was true and that he would one day be reunited with his parents in the world to come.
“Now that you know the truth,” Elias had counseled him, “you have a duty to Heavenly Father and to yourself to live it. It won’t always be easy to stand firm against the opposition that may come. But let the winds of adversity blow you forward, never down.”

A lovely young lady told the following story at a stake conference. She said, “I am a convert from upstate New York. My parents wanted their children to have eternal marriages.
“Our family moved to Utah, and eventually I found myself a husband. He was the president of the local motorcycle club and wore a black leather jacket and motorcycle boots. We rode motorcycles together—perhaps not what my mother had hoped—but by that time I had wandered from the Church.
“We moved into a house. Often our friends would gather there. I’m afraid our neighbors were quite uncomfortable with us. At least one neighbor took her children into her house when we were roaming about.
“But do you know what our neighbors did? They mowed our lawn because we didn’t have a mower. They brought flowers when one of us was sick, and quite often they brought food and fixed things around the house. Our little daughter was included in the neighborhood children’s activities and was even given a party on her birthday. When we tried to thank our neighbors, they just said, ‘Well, we all like to help each other.’ They made us feel welcome there.
“About 10 months later, we traded our black leather jackets and motorcycle boots for the white clothing of the temple. As we knelt across the altar from each other and looked around that room, there were our neighbors, those who had been mowing our lawn and making things better for us.”

I recall clearly my first profound experience of personal revelation. I was 17 years old. It happened in my parents’ home in Suva, Fiji. I was in my bedroom alone, reading from the Book of Mormon with a determined desire to know for myself if the book was true. This was the challenge that full-time missionaries Elder Rian Nelson and Elder Randy Price had given me after their lesson on the Prophet Joseph Smith and how he had received gold plates from an angel, and then translated the text into English.
Those missionaries read passages from the Book of Mormon during our discussion and they shared strong and enlightening testimonies. I was touched deeply, and I wanted to know for myself if what they had shared was truly of God . . . and I wanted to say what they said with the same conviction and confidence.
I read 3 Nephi chapter 11. Almost immediately I began to understand and become enlightened. I visualized the Savior, Jesus Christ, descending out of heaven and standing amidst the multitude with outstretched hands, inviting them to come unto Him, to feel the prints of the nails in His hands and in His feet. This they did one by one, and afterwards, they fell to the earth and worshipped Him as the promised Messiah2.
Feelings of warmth, comfort and peace overcame my whole person and I cried tears of love, gratitude, and appreciation for the Lord and for His mission of love and mercy. Instantly I recognized this was a spiritual witness from heaven . . . that what I was reading and feeling was true and of God.
The wonderful feelings I had experienced with the missionaries the day before returned, but this time I was alone. The influence of the Holy Ghost was personal and powerful. I did not want this precious moment to end. I knew then what personal revelation was. Whenever I have shared that experience over the past 40 years, that sweet reassuring witness of the Holy Ghost fills my heart.

Budgeting and financial management need not be overly complicated or time-consuming. The story is told of an immigrant father who kept his accounts payable in a shoe box, his accounts receivable on a spindle, and his cash in the cash register.
“I don’t see how you can run your business this way,” said his son. “How do you know what your profit is?”
“Son,” replied the businessman, “when I got off the boat, I had only the pants I was wearing. Today your sister is an art teacher, your brother is a doctor, and you’re an accountant. I have a car, a home, and a good business. Everything is paid for. So you add it all up, subtract the pants, and there’s my profit.”

Trevor Sims turned the volume up on the radio as he turned down Cherry Drive and accelerated for home. Now that Brad was gone and he was alone, he needed a distraction to ward off his nagging conscience. Earlier, while Brad had been with him, everything had been so funny. They had laughed and made light of their evening, but how as Trevor drove home there were mirthless regrets. The humor had long since dissipated; only the bitter realization remained.
He pulled into the driveway and parked the family car. He saw a lamp burning in the living room. He squirmed uneasily in his seat and suddenly felt a queasy reluctance to go inside. Did his parents know, he wondered. Several excuses flashed through his mind, excuses which had seemed so valid earlier and now seemed empty and trite.
Whistling quietly in an attempt to allay his own anxiety and appear casual, he strode across the lawn, leaped up the steps, and pushed open the front door. His father sat in his easy chair reading his scriptures, something he did early every morning—or when he was troubled. Trevor glanced at his watch and then at his father, who peered over the top of his reading glasses.
“You’re up late,” Trevor remarked with a forced smile. “Checking up on me?”
His father closed his scriptures and pulled the glasses from his nose and smiled. “How did it go?” he inquired cheerfully. “Did you have a good time?”
Trevor avoided his father’s eyes, sank onto the sofa, and grabbed a magazine. “Oh, it was all right,” he remarked, thumbing through the magazine. He could feel his father’s gaze upon him, and he sensed a warm guilt redden his cheeks. That was what happened when a boy’s father was the bishop, he thought. Bishops seemed to have that uncanny ability to look right inside you and know what secret thoughts you harbored there. Of course, Trevor’s father had been like that even before he was made bishop, but Trevor felt it more nowadays, especially tonight.
“How did you like Michelle?”
Trevor shrugged indifferently, trying to avoid an untruth. The thought of telling a lie to his father had always been repugnant to him, and yet right now he didn’t feel capable of telling the truth. The truth shamed him. He groped for a noncommittal answer, one that would not plunge him into a lie but which would circumvent the truth just enough. “Oh, Michelle’s all right—for a sophomore. She’s not the greatest girl in the world, but she’s—well, I don’t know how to describe her. I’m not planning to go out with her again if that’s what you mean.”
“She called tonight,” his father said simply. It was a mere statement, and yet the words hit Trevor like a powerful hammer. His stomach knotted, and he felt the blood creep up his neck and flood his cheeks.
“What’d she want?” Trevor asked, attempting to sound disinterested.
His father set his scriptures to one side and sat up, his forearms on his knees and his head and shoulders leaning forward. “She called about an hour after you left. She was wondering where you were.” The room was silent. Trevor suddenly wished that the evening had been different. “I told her that there was no need to worry, that I was sure you would be there soon. I said you might have had car trouble or that Brad might have been late.” He chuckled. “I think she was worried you might stand her up. I told her not to worry though. I told her you weren’t that kind of a boy.”
“I guess we did have a little trouble,” Trevor explained, fidgeting and thumbing rapidly through the magazine and then closing it without having read a single word. “Well, I better get to bed. That welfare project at the stake farm is tomorrow morning, isn’t it?”
“Six o’clock.”
Trevor stood and started down the hall to his bedroom.
“Trevor,” his father called after him. Trevor stopped without turning around. “Did Michelle have a good time?”
“How should I know? I didn’t ask her.” There was a sharp edge in his voice, one he rarely used with his father, and he had not meant to use it then. It just slipped out.
“I was just wondering,” his father replied, no rebuke in his voice. “These girls’ choice dances are always hard on a girl. They take them so seriously. It would be a shame if they worked and waited for weeks and then didn’t have a good time. I always worry about the girls.”
“Well, I didn’t ask her,” Trevor mumbled. “I guess I’m going to bed.”
Inside his bedroom, Trevor sat on the edge of his bed without getting undressed. He grabbed his pillow and flung it angrily across the room. If his father had accused him, he wouldn’t feel so bad now, but he had merely asked, not out of suspicion but out of concern. Trevor slammed his fist hard into the mattress. If he had not just listened to Brad’s proddings, Trevor thought. If he had just said no rather than having toyed with the idea as he had done and finally succumbed to Brad’s coaxing.
For almost 15 minutes he sat on the edge of his bed, his conscience refusing him any peace. Finally he stood, opened his door, and returned to the living room, where his father still sat reading.
“You might as well know it. I didn’t pick her up,” Trevor blurted out, as though he were challenging his father to chastize him, ground him, anything to appease his conscience. His father looked up but didn’t answer. “I didn’t want to go,” Trevor argued. “Brad didn’t want to go either, so we stood them up. They shouldn’t have asked us. I hate these girls’ choice dances. You’re always stuck with someone you’d never pick in a thousand years.”
“Like the girls are most of the time?” his father asked with a wan smile.
“That’s different. It’s the boy’s job to ask. If the girl doesn’t want to go she doesn’t have to.”
His father took a deep breath and stared down at his opened scriptures. “All she has to do is stand the guy up. Is that what you mean?” he asked softly.
Trevor licked his lips. “No, she can, well, she can tell him when he calls.”
His father set his scriptures aside. “Couldn’t you have done the same thing with Michelle?” he asked in the same quiet tone.
“She had no business asking me,” he retorted, searching for some justification. “Nobody told her I wanted to go. She hardly knows me. And she’s as homely as a mud fence—glasses, braces, and she’s only a sophomore.”
“Does any of that give you the right to hurt another person, to break a promise?”
“I didn’t promise.”
“Didn’t you accept the date?”
“But I didn’t promise. I didn’t promise I would go.”
His father took a deep breath. “Trevor, a person does not have to preface everything with ‘I promise’ to make a promise. When a person says he will be at a certain place at a certain time, he has made a promise. If he fails to appear, unless there is a very good reason, he has broken his promise. Maybe not in a court of law, but he’s broken a promise in the Lord’s court—in the long run that’s the only one that counts.”
Trevor looked at his father and then at the floor. He pushed his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He knew his father was right. His own argument was just a front, a hasty attempt to clothe a wrong in respectability. “Okay, I should have gone,” Trevor admitted begrudgingly. “I’m sorry.”
“I told Michelle I was sure you would come. I told her that you weren’t the kind of young man to let a person down, that you were true to your word.”
“Look, dad, I said I was sorry.”
His father nodded his head. “I know you’re sorry, Trevor, but I don’t deserve the apology. I wasn’t stood up. I guess I’m a little disappointed, but I’ll get over that because I know you. I know that you probably didn’t do this maliciously. I accept that. I doubt you’ll ever do anything like this again. But, Trevor, someone has been wronged. Someone has been hurt.”
“Oh, it’s no big deal. It was just a dumb dance. There will be another one sometime. She can ask someone then—someone that wants to go.”
His father shook his head ruefully. “It’s more than a dumb dance, Trevor. It’s your word and Michelle’s feelings, her entire evening and probably more than that.”
“Come on, you’re making a big deal out of it. If I got stood up, I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.”
“You’re not a girl. It’s different with a boy.” He paused. “When did Michelle ask you?”
“Two or three weeks ago.”
“Do you ask girls out that much in advance?”
Trevor shook his head. “No, because it’s no big deal, as you said. But with a girl like Michelle it is a big deal. She’s planned this. Maybe it’s her first date. She probably made a dress just for tonight. She’s probably planned this thing for weeks, even before she asked you. She probably fixed her hair special. She has probably talked this over with her friends. She’s proud and honored that you accepted, and all her friends will know that. They will also know you didn’t show up.
“With a boy it’s different. He takes a shower, combs his hair wet, puts on the same suit, walks out the door, and doesn’t really think about the evening until it’s started. If he’s ever stood up, he might let off a little steam, his friends might kid him in the locker room, and then he forgets the whole thing, unless it’s to joke about it later.”
Trevor’s father bowed his head and was silent for a moment, and then he continued, his voice soft: “This wasn’t just a dumb dance for Michelle. I know. You have two older sisters. I’ve watched them get ready. I’ve watched them wait and fret, and I’ve seen them when they were brokenhearted.” He looked up at Trevor and asked, “How would you feel if someone did to your sister Susan what you have done to Michelle?”
“She doesn’t even date.”
“She will.” He paused. “How would you feel?” he persisted. “Would it be no big deal? It would be a big deal to me.”
Trevor knew he was wrong. He had known it all during the movie he and Brad had decided to see. “All right,” he conceded, “I’ll apologize Monday. Will that make you happy?”
His father leaned back in his chair. “Trevor, you didn’t stand me up. Michelle is the one you need to consider, her and Brother and Sister Stewart. They’ve all been anxious. Are you going to make them wait and wonder until Monday?”
“You don’t expect me to go there tonight?”
“You told her you would be there.”
“But, dad, it’s almost midnight. They’ll all be in bed.”
“I doubt it. With her hair fixed, her new dress ready, her parents and family expectant, excited to greet this young man their daughter and sister has asked out. No, she won’t be in bed. She won’t be ready to go to a dance, but sleep won’t come easy tonight, not for any of them. Do you think it’s fair for you to go to bed and sleep and leave them hanging, not knowing why?”
“But, Dad, not tonight,” Trevor pleaded.
His father took a deep breath and began to speak: “I knew a boy once who stood up a girl. He was a senior, like you. She was a junior. It was a hayride for a girls’ glee club. She asked him to go, and he accepted—reluctantly.
“First of all he felt quite superior to the girl. He was an athlete and rather popular. She was shy and a little homely. Her complexion wasn’t good. She wore braces and glasses. For two weeks he thought of how he might get out of his commitment. Well, the night of the hayride he had a bit of a cold. Nothing serious. He had gone to school, but he rationalized that he was too sick to go on a hayride.
“Half an hour before the date he called her and cancelled. He tried to sound sick, but she wasn’t fooled, even though she did accept his excuse graciously. He went to bed to at least give his excuse a semblance of truth. But he didn’t sleep. He had lied, and he knew it; he knew that there were some girls who could have asked him and he would have made the date regardless.
“At 11 o’clock that evening he got out of bed and went over and apologized to her. I know for a fact that it was the most difficult thing he had ever done up to that point. I also know for a fact that he never regretted doing it.”
The room was silent. Trevor stared at the floor and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He wished he could relive the evening. He was trapped. He could go to his room and climb into bed, but sleep would elude him. His father was right, and yet he hesitated, his cowardice standing obstinately in his way. “So you think I should go tonight, is that it?”
“Trevor, I’ve always had a lot of faith in you. I still do. I can’t make decisions for you. You have to decide. But whatever you do, make sure that you’re the one who decides. Don’t go because you think I want you to, because when you look back on this moment, you’ll want to look back on something that you decided and did.”
The minutes ticked away. Trevor stood before his father, not debating his course of action. That was settled, even though he had not yet verbalized his resolve. The pause was an attempt to build his courage. It had taken no courage to leave Michelle waiting. It would require a great deal of courage to face her now.
“Can I take the car?” he asked in a whisper. His father nodded. Slowly he turned and walked to the front door, his stomach churning, his mouth dry and his hands slightly shaking.
On the way over to the Stewarts’ home Trevor hoped that the house would be dark, everyone in bed, giving him an excuse to postpone the confrontation. He groped for an apology, something that would lessen the ignominy of his tardiness, but his nervousness prevented him from organizing anything coherent.
Finally he was there. One light burned in an upstairs window. He knew if he lingered in the car for just a moment he would lose courage and never go through with it. He stepped from the car, and before he fully realized it he was at the door ringing the bell. His heart was pounding, and his breathing was deep and almost painful. All the while he hoped that no one would come, that the upstairs light would flick off and leave him in the black stillness.
Soon he heard footsteps; then the porch light flipped on and the front door opened a few inches. Mr. Stewart stood there, still dressed, no sign that he had been in bed that evening. There was no smile or greeting, just a curt “Yes?” which came out more as a challenge than a question.
“Is Michelle up?” Trevor ventured, his voice cracking slightly. Mr. Stewart stared at him for a moment without answering and then nodded his head. “Can I speak with her?”
Mr. Stewart looked at his watch and glanced back into the house. “It’s a little late,” he answered shortly.
“I know, but I think I need to talk to her—if I could.”
Mr. Stewart took a deep breath and said gruffly, “I’ll go check.” He was about to leave Trevor standing on the porch, but he reconsidered and invited him in by opening the door a little wider and motioning with his head.
For almost five minutes Trevor waited, and then Mrs. Stewart stepped in and said, “She’ll be here in just a second.”
“Oh, Mrs. Stewart,” Trevor called out, “could you and your husband come in too.”
The three of them were soon standing there. The two parents entered somberly and Michelle followed timidly, avoiding his eyes, but even in the shadows of the dimly lighted room Trevor could see she had been crying. She wore her dress, and although her hair was a little messed up, it was apparent that it had been fixed earlier.
“I want you to know,” Trevor began shakily, licking his lips and shuffling his feet, “that I have no excuse for tonight. I’m sorry. I’m not here to tell you why I didn’t come, because that doesn’t make any difference now.” He paused and sucked in a breath of air. “I’m here to tell you that … well, that I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t fix things up, but about all I can do tonight is tell you that I realize how wrong and cruel I was. I guess I didn’t think about that earlier, or I wouldn’t have done it.”
“It’s all right,” Michelle mumbled, looking at the floor.
There was a long awkward silence, and then Trevor continued: “There is something I would like to do though. I know you think I’m a real—well, I don’t know what—and I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to avoid me and never see me again, but I would like to show you that tonight isn’t a good example of what I’m like. I think I’m better than that, and I’d like to prove it to you. I would like to take you someplace, someplace nice, and show you that I’m a lot better than what you probably think I am. I know I don’t have any right to ask you to go, but I’d like you to give me another chance. I won’t blame you if you don’t want to. I’ll understand if you say no.”
Trevor couldn’t remember the rest. He didn’t know how he finally ended up in the car, but he was there and he felt good. He was even looking forward to the next weekend, and he was determined that it would be a memorable one.
When he arrived home, the light in the living room was still on, and as he came in the door he found his father still reading. At least the scriptures were still on his lap, but Trevor guessed that his father had not read much. The misty blur in his father’s eyes was evidence of that. His father looked up as he came in.
“Well,” Trevor announced humbly, “I did it.” His father smiled. “I knew you would. I’m proud of you. It took a lot of courage, but you’ll be a better person for having gone.”
They were both pensively silent for several minutes, each content to be alone with his own thoughts. Finally his father sighed. “You know that boy I told you about earlier?” he asked. Trevor nodded. “Well, he forgot about that girl—for a little while anyway.” He smiled. “After his mission and two years of college, he saw her again. She had changed.” He chuckled, leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling. “She had shed her braces and glasses, and her complexion had improved. She wasn’t the same girl. In fact, he didn’t even recognize her at first. He wanted to ask her out, but he didn’t dare. He was afraid she would remember. She was in demand then. Finally he built up his courage and asked her out, hoping all along that she wouldn’t remember that night five years earlier. She did though, but she accepted anyway. She told him later—after they were engaged to be married—that it was because he had gone to her home that evening and apologized that she accepted his date later. She said she knew how much courage it must have taken and she always respected him for that.”
Trevor smiled and glanced slyly at his father. “I think I know that boy.”
“Which boy?” his father asked with mock surprise.
“The boy you’re talking about.”
His father smiled, pushed himself to his feet, stepped up to his son, and put his arm over his shoulders. “Yes,” he said with a smile, “I think you do know him. I believe he married your mother.”

I relate two experiences to demonstrate what I mean. A man in one of our organizations was transferred to New York City to direct the work of one of our radio stations. He had never been to New York before, but he located one of our chapels and attended church the first Sunday he was there. He was welcomed into the priesthood quorum as a brother, and his wife and children were similarly welcomed and were soon right at home.
In contrast, at the same time another young man whom he knew was sent by his company to operate another station. Though he was a member of a church with many times the membership of the LDS church, he found it most difficult to feel at home and soon asked for a transfer back to his original station. It might have been his fault, or it might have been the fault of his church. However, in our Church if the individual and the quorum are functioning as they should, all Church members should feel happy, wanted, and accepted wherever they go.

Some time ago I had the privilege of attending a stake conference in the company of President Spencer W. Kimball. He was not the president of the Church at that time. Elder Kimball worked tirelessly holding one meeting after another until late Saturday night. On Sunday we held a meeting with bishoprics and high councilors at 8:00 A.M. This was followed by the general session, a meeting with the seventies quorum, an interview with the patriarch, the dedication of a chapel, and a talk to the seminary students in the evening. We went to the stake president’s home about 9:00 P.M. to wait for our plane that did not leave until nearly 11:00 P.M. The kindly stake president’s wife wanted to fix us dinner. Elder Kimball said, “Please, all I need is a bowl of milk and some of your homemade bread to break up in it.” These are not men to be conquered.

When our three children were small, my husband and I experienced an economic crisis. We had done all we could, but we had run out of money—and there seemed to be no help available anywhere. One morning, I fed the children the last of the food in the house for breakfast. There was not even a drop of oil to cook them something for lunch. My husband left for work, hoping to get at least enough money to buy food for that day.
I began to ask myself why I was being given this trial. What was I doing wrong? Then I realized that even if I were guilty of something, my children certainly were not! Where was my faith? If Heavenly Father’s eye was on the sparrow, would He not take care of us? I offered a prayer that He would help us find some food. Then, exercising my faith, I went on about my work.
At mid-morning, a neighbor lady knocked on the door and began to tell me about the approaching visit of her mother-in-law. She mentioned that she had prepared a big noon meal of chicken, rice, and many other delicious things. Then she left in order to be home when her mother-in-law arrived.
A short while later she returned and said that her plans had changed. Her guest would not be coming after all. Instead, their family would be accompanying the mother-in-law on a two-week vacation. But now she had a problem. What could she do with all the food she had prepared? A bit embarrassed, she asked me if I would be offended if she gave it to me.
I had told her nothing of my situation. Now I told her not to worry, that I appreciated her offer very much. I knew that this was the answer to my prayer. My neighbor was pleased that I would take the food and then asked, “Can I leave you the food in the refrigerator, too? We’ll be gone so long that everything will go bad.”
When my husband arrived that day, he had had no success in getting money. Nevertheless, we ate well, and the refrigerator was filled to capacity.

I am one who likes to know of happy ironies and happy intersectings. There are many intersectings, of course, that are not happy. I will mention an episode to you now of which you probably do not know, nor did I until recently.

In 1855 Abraham Lincoln, then a lawyer in Illinois, was asked to participate in a patent infringement case involving McCormick, of reaper fame. Lincoln had been given a $400 retainer and was told he might actually argue the case, so he studied and went to Cincinnati for the trial. A lead lawyer in the case was a man named Edwin M. Stanton—a brilliant Pittsburgh lawyer—who said when Lincoln arrived, “Why did you bring that . . . long armed Ape here . . . ; he does not know any thing and can do you no good” (David Herbert Donald, Lincoln [New York: Simon and Schuster, 1995], pp. 185–187). Lincoln stayed at the same hotel as Stanton and the other attorneys, but he was never even asked to eat or to confer with them. Lincoln went home feeling insulted and “roughly handled by that man Stanton” (Donald, Lincoln, p. 187).

The years tumbled on, and later Stanton was to join the cabinet of the newly elected president, Abraham Lincoln. There were differences of views, of course, but Stanton came to deeply admire Abraham Lincoln. After the shooting of Lincoln, a few, including Stanton, stood mournfully by his bed as Lincoln was in the process of dying. When Lincoln died, Stanton, who had once described Lincoln as “an Ape,” paid tribute to his fallen chief:
With a slow and measured movement, [Stanton’s] right arm fully extended as if in a salute, he raised his hat and placed it for an instant on his head and then in the same deliberate manner removed it. “Now,” he said, “he belongs to the ages.” [Donald, Lincoln, p. 599]
Would that all rough relationships could have that kind of resolution and generous ending.

My wife and I have tried to teach the values of work and service to our children. All seven sons—one was a foster child who came to live with us when he was a teenager—and our daughter worked at my lumber company as they were growing up. And one of the Christmas traditions that we started many years ago is still carried out each year by the entire family, including grandchildren: On the Monday before each Christmas, we take homebaked gifts and visit old friends and the widows in the neighborhood where I grew up.

At one time, Ben, Jr., and Brad, my two oldest boys, belonged to a Japanese Scout troop because our ward didn’t have a Scout troop. One day the Scoutmaster took the boys on a hike in the Zion Narrows in southern Utah. Their progress was slower than anticipated. Concerned that the park officials whom they had checked in with would be worried about them, the Scoutmaster asked my sons and a couple of other boys to hike ahead by themselves and let the park officials know that everyone was OK. The boys took a wrong turn into a dead-end canyon and didn’t know what to do. The other boys were not Latter-day Saints, but they turned to Ben and said, “Maybe you’re the one who ought to pray for us to help us get out of here.” After he offered a prayer, Ben said, “Let’s go,” and they turned and walked out without any problem. How grateful I was that my children had learned to pray, that they had faith in that prayer, and that our Father in Heaven would help them find their way safely out of the canyon.

My message to children is: Follow the counsel of your parents, and know how much they love you. Know the value of having good friends. Choose good friends with the same high standards and values that you have.

One day, shortly after the first Barnardo Home was opened, a pale and ragged boy asked Dr. Barnardo to take him in. Regretfully, Barnardo had to refuse, for the house was already full. He gave the lad, known as Carrots, some money and asked him to come back later. Carrots never returned, for during that week he died from cold and hunger.
Barnardo vowed that he would never let such a thing happen again. Without delay he had erected over the door of the home a signboard that read, “No Destitute Child Ever Refused Admission.” From that day to this, no matter what the hour of day or night, that pledge has been honored.
Barnardo’s doors are always open and no deserving child is ever turned away.

One Sunday when leaving for church, our car would not start. We lived in Germany, far from our chapel and other members. My wife and I each offered a prayer for help, but still the car wouldn’t start. I suggested that perhaps we should rely on the faith of a child. We asked our three-year old son, David, if he would say a prayer.
“Heavenly Father, please bless the car to start,” he said simply but firmly.
We turned the key, and the engine started right up! We were grateful that day for David’s faith. It was pure, simple, and true.

My friends at school wanted to know what made me stand out from other people. I told them that I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The next day, I brought them each a copy of the For the Strength of Youth guide.
I introduced those who were interested to the missionaries, and one of my friends got baptized! This experience helped me understand that I am a disciple of Jesus Christ, and by my example I can bring souls to Christ.
I am a disciple of Jesus Christ.

The Consequences of Our Actions
Shortly after my sweetheart, Devonna, and I were married, she shared with me a story about how she learned in her youth this important doctrine that we are free to choose but that we are not free to choose the consequences of our actions. With the help of my daughter Shelly, I would like to relate Sister Arnold’s experience:
“When I was 15 years old, I often felt that there were too many rules and commandments. I wasn’t sure that a normal, fun-loving teenager could enjoy life with so many restrictions. Furthermore, the many hours spent working on my father’s ranch were seriously dipping into my time with my friends.
“This particular summer, one of my jobs was to ensure that the cows grazing on the mountain pasture did not break through the fence and get into the wheat field. A cow grazing on the growing wheat can bloat, causing suffocation and death. One cow in particular was always trying to stick her head through the fence. One morning, as I was riding my horse along the fence line checking on the cattle, I found that the cow had broken through the fence and gotten into the wheat field. To my dismay, I realized that she had been eating wheat for quite some time because she was already bloated and looked much like a balloon. I thought, ‘You stupid cow! That fence was there to protect you, yet you broke through it and you have eaten so much wheat that your life is in danger.’
“I raced back to the farmhouse to get my dad. However, when we returned, I found her lying dead on the ground. I was saddened by the loss of that cow. We had provided her with a beautiful mountain pasture to graze in and a fence to keep her away from the dangerous wheat, yet she foolishly broke through the fence and caused her own death.
“As I thought about the role of the fence, I realized that it was a protection, just as the commandments and my parents’ rules were a protection. The commandments and rules were for my own good. I realized that obedience to the commandments could save me from physical and spiritual death. That enlightenment was a pivotal point in my life.”
Elder Mervyn B. Arnold of the Seventy

Early in my service as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, I was attending a conference in the Monument Park West Stake in Salt Lake City. My companion for the conference was a member of the General Church Welfare Committee, Paul C. Child. President Child was a student of the scriptures. He had been my stake president when I was an Aaronic Priesthood youth. Now we were together as conference visitors.
When it was his opportunity to participate, President Child took the Doctrine and Covenants and left the pulpit to stand among the priesthood to whom he was directing his message. He turned to section 18 and began to read: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God … And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!” (D&C 18:10, 15).
President Child then raised his eyes from the scriptures and asked the question of the priesthood brethren: “What is the worth of a human soul?” He avoided calling on a bishop, stake president, or high councilor for a response. Instead, he selected the president of an elders quorum—a brother who had been a bit drowsy and had missed the significance of the question.
The startled man responded: “Brother Child, could you please repeat the question?” The question was repeated: “What is the worth of a human soul?” I knew President Child’s style. I prayed fervently for that quorum president. He remained silent for what seemed like an eternity and then declared, “Brother Child, the worth of a human soul is its capacity to become like God.”
All present pondered that reply. Brother Child returned to the stand, leaned over to me, and said, “A profound reply; a profound reply!” He proceeded with his message, but I continued to reflect on that inspired response.

It is a wonderful blessing to have been raised hearing stories of pioneer ancestors on both sides of my family and from many other families as well. Not all of these stories were of major trials and tribulations. Sometimes they concerned funny little incidents of everyday life. Listen to this entry from the journal of Henrietta Williams as she crossed the plains.

They knew that I was no cook, but left that job for me. I built a fire after gathering buffalo chips, and getting it started, the wind playing with it as it pleased. I put the dutch oven on to heat with the cover by the side of it. I made a pie of dried apples, putting it into the oven, the lid still heating, and turned toward the wagon several yards away from the fire for safety. A nice cow sneaked up and helped herself to the pie and sneaked off, when a girl called to me to look at my rice. I had a hard time cooking the biscuits as I was jumping in and out of the wagon, climbing over the provision box, watching my baby girl and getting what [my husband] wanted as it was his misfortune never to find anything that he was looking for. The fire had its own way of burning. I thought, “Oh, Zion, will we ever reach thee?”