Gospel Story Finder

One evening last year, just before Christmas, my husband, Heber, and I made our way through the deep snow of an unshoveled walk and rang the door-bell. We were immediately greeted by Brent, an eight-year-old boy. He invited us in. We exchanged greetings with others while Brent stood by, anxiously waiting for the first opportunity to pose a question. In a most forthright and direct way, he simply asked, “Have you ever shaken hands with the prophet?”
His eagerness gave me reason to believe that he may have rehearsed that question in his mind several times in anticipation of our visit. “Yes, Brent,” I said, “I have shaken the hand of the prophet.”
“Oh,” he said, “if I could just shake the hand of the prophet.”
Sensing the love and respect Brent obviously felt for our prophet-leader, and wanting to somehow provide a tie between the prophet and the young boy, I reached out my hand. “Brent,” I said, “this hand has shaken the hand of the prophet.” To that offer he grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously. Then, letting go, he turned his right hand over from front to back to examine it thoroughly. “I’ll never wash my hand,” he said.
I suggested that he probably should wash his hand and just keep the memory in his mind. This suggestion was not acceptable to Brent. He had a better idea. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll wash my hand, but I’ll save the water.” That seemed like a good suggestion, although I supposed he was only joking.
A few minutes later, he came into the room carrying a plastic bag dripping with water. Before anyone could question him, he proudly announced, “I washed my hand,” holding the bag full of water for all to see. Brent sat on the floor facing the Christmas tree, his knees poking through his faded blue jeans. From the corner of my eye I watched him examine the bag full of water as if he were expecting to see some evidence that it was holy water.
As we continued visiting, Brent got up and, taking his treasure with him, left the room. He returned again, this time without the plastic bag full of water. He had determined a better solution. Brent stood there in the doorway with his faded gray T-shirt wet all the way down the front. Without hesitation he gave a complete explanation. “I drank the water,” he said.
Brent’s creative solution was not to be viewed as a joke or something to make fun of. He was serious. He was carrying something important—not on the outside where he could lay it down, but on the inside. The water from the hand that he had washed that had shaken the hand of someone who had shaken the hand of the prophet was now part of him, on the inside, and he wanted to keep it there. He seemed very pleased with his solution.
Would it really make any difference? I wondered. What did it really mean to Brent? It was much more than water I was sure. It was in sacrament meeting the Sunday before Christmas that I received a deeper understanding of what I felt this young boy, just recently baptized, was feeling and wanting. The sacramental prayer had been offered, and the sacred ordinances were being passed quietly and reverently. It was a time of recommitment and rededication, sorrow for wrongdoings, and resolve and hope with the beginning of a new year to do better.
The sister on my right passed the sacrament tray and held it while I raised the small cup of water to my lips. Into my mind came the thought, “I want to get this water on the inside.” I remembered the baptismal covenant; I thought of the symbolism of the water and the covenants made.

Mob persecution forced the Snow family to move often, leaving homes and friends. On one occasion, during the move to Far West, all the family’s food froze. So they soaked thinly sliced frozen bread in fresh warm milk from the cow for their meals. Eliza met hardships bravely and without complaint, and she helped to shelter and care for her elderly parents, who would later die on the journey to Winter Quarters.

Let me give you some examples. I suppose we have all had someone do something to us that we didn’t like, and that made us angry. We can’t forget it, and we don’t want to be around that person. This is called being unforgiving. Now, the Lord has had some very strong words to say to those who will not forgive one another. Many years ago I had an experience with being unforgiving. I felt I had been taken advantage of, and I did not like that person. I did not want to be around him; I would pass on the other side of the street if he came down it; I wouldn’t talk to him. Long after the issue should have been finished it was still like a canker to my soul. I decided that I was going to pray for a better feeling about this person until I had one. That night I got on my knees, and I prayed and opened up my heart to the Lord. But when I got up off my knees, I still didn’t like that person. The next morning I knelt and prayed and asked to have a feeling of goodness toward him; but when I finished my prayers, I still didn’t like him. The next night I still didn’t like him; a week later I didn’t like him; and a month later I didn’t like him—and I had been praying every night and every morning. But I continued to pray, and I finally started pleading—not just praying, but pleading. After much prayer, the time came when without question or reservation I knew I could stand before the Lord, if I were asked to, and that he would know that at least in this instance my heart was pure. A change had come over me after a period of time. The stone of unforgiveness had been removed.

It’s easy to say, “The time isn’t right.” But there is danger in procrastination. Years ago I worked for a man in California. He hired me, he was kind to me, he seemed to regard me highly. I may have been the only Latter-day Saint he ever knew well. I don’t know all the reasons I found to wait for a better moment to talk with him about the gospel. I just remember my feeling of sorrow when I learned, after he had retired and I lived far away, that he and his wife had been killed in a late night drive to their home in Carmel, California. He loved his wife. He loved his children. He had loved his parents. He loved his grandchildren, and he will love their children and will want to be with them forever.

Now, I don’t know how the crowds will be handled in the world to come. But I suppose that I will meet him, that he will look into my eyes, and that I will see in them the question: “Hal, you knew. Why didn’t you tell me?”

As my parents reached middle age, my mother encountered early-onset Alzheimer’s. My father was determined to faithfully serve as her caretaker, even when her condition required full-time care. Even through these latter years, my father reached out to me through weekly, and, in some periods, daily, phone calls and letters. I had always had a close relationship with both my parents, but during the last 10 years of my father’s life, we became particularly close. I realized then too that he was equally successful in drawing near to my three siblings in the same way—even given the differences in interests and faiths we chose as we all grew older.
Photograph by Del Benson
My parents and my family lived on opposite coasts of the United States during those last years, and they made two cross-country visits, even though my mother’s Alzheimer’s had advanced to the point where assisting her on a long-distance flight was very difficult for Dad.
At this same time, one by one my children all decided to stop attending church. Two eventually had their names removed from Church records. This has certainly been the trial of both my wife’s and my life. And even though he wasn’t a Latter-day Saint, my father was pained and confused by our children’s choices as well. He was a privately religious man, and he joined us through those years in praying for them.
In 2005 my father passed away after being diagnosed with cancer, and my mother passed away three years later. My wife and I rejoiced in acting as their proxies in providing temple ordinances after their deaths.
I’ve long prayed to understand how best to relate to our children now that they’re adults, some with their own spouses and children, none of whom are LDS. We are emotionally close to all four of our children, and we are grateful that they often reach out in love to us.
I eventually received a very clear answer of how I must conduct myself, possibly for the rest of my life, regarding these adult children. I needed to do what my father had done with me. In spite of the different lives we lived and the different religious perspectives we had, my father was determined to draw closer to me as a father and a friend while I experienced the pain of seeing my children choose different lifestyles and beliefs from mine. I realized I must follow the example of my father, who taught me how to treat children of a different faith: love them completely, just as the Savior would.

Early in 2003, just two years into our quinoa research project, I visited traditional quinoa production fields in the Bolivian Altiplano. There, highly diverse quinoa fields were partly infested with the local weedy goosefoot, and the two often cross-pollinated. Impoverished subsistence farmers who lacked mechanization would walk through the fields and separately harvest the black-seeded weedy quinoa, which they often consumed in popped form. Later, in early November 2003, I broke away for a day from a scientific conference in Denver to see what quinoa production looked like in the United States, visiting the main growing region around Alamosa in southern Colorado. The discouraged Colorado grower I met with complained that every three years they had suffered near-total yield losses due to pressure from insect pests and excessive heat. From those two experiences, my colleagues and I started thinking that maybe the solution to failed quinoa production in the United States was to cross it with lowland-adapted strains of goosefoot.

The next year, in 2004, we started collecting seeds from weedy populations, mostly in Utah and Arizona. Since then, our collection has expanded to include samples from hundreds of goosefoot populations growing in environments as diverse as the Sonoran and Mojave Deserts, the coast of the Gulf of Mexico, the Great Plains, California, and even as far east as the coast of New England. We are now crossing elite quinoas with these exotic goosefoot strains and producing breeding populations that we share with quinoa breeders in a dozen countries on four continents.

Two years ago, while revisiting the Colorado quinoa region, this time during the growing season, we noticed that the production fields had native goosefoot plants growing around their margins. In addition, the quinoa fields contained many plants showing intermediate characteristics between quinoa and the weedy form—just like we were accustomed to seeing in Andean quinoa fields in Bolivia and Peru. The next year we sampled fifteen plants showing varying degrees of goosefoot characteristics, and after DNA sequence analysis by one of my students, Jake Taylor, and Drs. Maughan and Jarvis, we confirmed the extensive introgression of goosefoot genes into this population. Interestingly, many years after the quinoa disaster of 2003, the problem was no longer failure to set seed; it was now a problem of heterogeneity due to the natural outcrossing process, which was converting quinoa into an adapted crop through genetic mixing with its weedy but native cousin. In other words, weedy goosefoot genes had literally saved the Colorado quinoa industry.

Answer/Brother Malcolm S. Jeppsen
“The temple has always been mysterious to me,” said Mary, as she and Phil visited with me, her bishop, that Sunday afternoon. They were planning a marriage in the temple in June, and already it was the end of March. “I have always wondered what goes on inside and can hardly believe that I have become old enough to be married there for time and eternity.”
“First let me congratulate you for your wisdom in coming to me early and letting me help you with your temple plans,” I said. “You know, many young people wait until late in their plans to visit with their bishop, and occasionally this causes real problems. Especially can this be true if announcements have already been sent out telling of a planned temple marriage. But most important, let me talk to you about some of the things required of you and Phil to enter the temple and be married there. I congratulate you two for your desire to go to this sacred place and there begin your married life together. Those who do so have an eternity of possibilities before them, you know.”
Mary asked what the requirements were to enter the temple. “You know, it’s really not mysterious,” I said, “but rather something that is too sacred to discuss except within the walls of the Lord’s holy house. There are several basic requirements for a temple recommend that you and Phil have already accomplished. Let me tell you what they are. You have both been baptized by the authority of the priesthood and confirmed members of the Church. Phil, you’re already an elder and hold the Melchizedek Priesthood, and that’s a requirement. Next, you both need a testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. President Joseph Fielding Smith said in his book The Way to Perfection that no man or woman should ever enter the holy temples of our Father in heaven before having a testimony of the truthfulness of the restored gospel. And you’ll need to each have your own endowments before you can be married for time and eternity.”
At this point Phil interrupted. “What is having one’s own endowment?”
“The endowment,” I continued, “is instruction coupled with covenants that prepare us to enter into the highest order of eternal marriage and jointly be candidates for godhood. Brigham Young said of it, ‘Let me give you a definition in brief. Your endowment is to receive all those ordinances in the House of the Lord which are necessary for you, after you have departed this life, to enable you to walk back to the presence of the Father, passing the angels who stand as sentinels, being enabled to give them the key words, the signs and tokens, pertaining to the Holy Priesthood, and gain your eternal exaltation in spite of earth and hell.’” (Journal of Discourses, 2:31.)
“What other requirements are there,” asked Mary. I then told her how important it was to be personally worthy.
“Probably more young couples fail to meet the requirements relating to this than any other,” I continued. “There must have been no unrepented moral uncleanliness prior to marriage, including heavy petting, fornication, homosexuality, or similar transgression, because the powers of procreation are most sacred. Only the simplest forms of affection should be expressed between those who date, and when passions become unrestrained during that time, it is most offensive to the Lord. Even immoral thoughts are displeasing to him. If transgressions have occurred, repentance must be complete, including sufficient time elapse before one can be admitted to the temple.”
At this point I read to them from the Doctrine and Covenants 97:15–17: “And inasmuch as my people build a house unto me in the name of the Lord, and do not suffer any unclean thing to come into it, that it be not defiled, my glory shall rest upon it;
“Yea, and my presence shall be there, for I will come into it, and all the pure in heart that shall come into it shall see God.
“But if it be defiled I will not come into it, and my glory shall not be there; for I will not come into unholy temples.” [D&C 97:15–17]
“Can you see how important it is to be morally clean before entering the Lord’s holy place?” I said.
President Marion G. Romney said in the Improvement Era (February 1965, p. 120), “God grant that we may be worthy to stand in His presence when we come here. To come unworthily into this temple and receive our endowments will not prove to be a blessing to us.”
“I can see that one must be really morally worthy to enter His house,” said Mary.
Then I outlined several other requirements. “One must live the Word of Wisdom, including abstaining from coffee, tea, alcohol, and tobacco. Abusive use of drugs should also be avoided. And one must live the law of tithing and receive the blessings that come from this expression of unselfishness.”
“These things aren’t difficult for us,” said Phil. “Are there others?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s a requirement that you be willing to sustain the local leaders and the General Authorities of the Church. Only as we stand in obedience to the teachings and commandments of the Lord, including those he gives through his living prophet and those who preside with him, can the atonement of Jesus Christ apply to us, and we be worthy to enter the temple. It’s important that we be honest in everything we do, really honest in dealing with our fellowman. We have to live righteous lives in all that we do, striving to keep all the rules, laws, and commandments of the gospel, and to attend sacrament, priesthood, and other meetings designed for our spiritual improvement. And one other thing. You can’t have any sympathetic feelings toward any of the apostate groups whose teachings are counter to the accepted doctrines of the Church.
“In summary,” I said, “it’s required of all who would enter into the temple for the purpose of celestial marriage that they be prepared, worthy, and valiant in the kingdom of God on earth. Then their blessings will abound and the Spirit of the Lord will be felt.
“There is another requirement I’d like to mention,” I said. “Because of the sacred nature of celestial or eternal marriage, it becomes doubly important that those who enter into it would be prepared to do so. I would almost think that it was a requirement that there be an intellectual preparation, if you see what I mean. Those who would so marry should be mature and in full control of their emotions. They should have, it seems to me, a distinct willingness to share and a commitment to live by principles. Someone getting married in the temple should have the ability to control his life and himself and be willing and able to sacrifice for the future.”
Mary and Phil sat thoughtfully for a moment and reflected on the discussion that they had been involved in. “Let me read you two sentences from President Harold B. Lee’s article in the Improvement Era for June 1967 (p. 144),” I said. “‘When you enter a holy temple, you are by that course gaining fellowship with the saints in God’s eternal kingdom, where time is no more. In the temples of your God you are endowed not with a rich legacy of worldly treasure, but with a wealth of eternal riches that are above price. The temple ceremonies are designed by a wise Heavenly Father who has revealed them to us in these last days as a guide and a protection throughout our lives, that you and I might not fail to merit exaltation in the celestial kingdom where God and Christ dwell.’”
“That’s quite a list of requirements and lots to ponder,” said Mary.
“I agree,” I said. “But when you kneel across the altar with your chosen companion and you know you are worthy to be in the house of the Lord, you will personally know that every effort was really worth it.”

Brothers and Sisters, would you be willing to go looking for lost donkeys? God might want to intervene and put you on the most important path of your life. The Lord knows each and every one of us and our capacities. We need to remember this. I was reminded of this by my son when he was only four years old.
Louis had a love for dinosaurs and animals. He knew the names and sounds of dozens of animals, and naturally, a favorite place to take our young children was the zoo. Given our frequent visits to that zoo, he would often run ahead as he knew where the animals' enclosures were located. On one visit, Louis ran so quickly that I lost sight of him. I figured he probably made his way over to the bears. It was near dusk and getting chilly, so I picked up my pace to see if I could catch up to him. When I got closer, I saw him standing in front of the glass at the bear den display, and he was talking with someone I didn't recognize. As I started to get closer, I picked up on his conversation with this stranger. I heard her ask. Hello little one, are you lost? I then saw my son look up at her with a bewildered look and respond, "I'm not lost, I'm Louis!" She then saw me and realized that he was not alone after all.
I didn't realize the significance of this story and how I was at the right place and the right time to hear it until many years later. It was ‘out of the mouth of a babe’ that greater perspective and strength was given to me in how we should live our lives. When asked, "Are you lost?" The response was, "no, I'm not lost, I'm Louis!" It was a confident answer exclaiming who he is. And fears were also allayed when my presence, as his Father, was known. Louis was not alone.
I pray, that we too, can always have the same confidence to know who we are and who we belong to. Then with this surety, we would seldom or never feel lost. When we were baptized, we all took upon ourselves His name. We've become like family, called by the same name - Jesus Christ - who in turn will call us His. It is only through Him that we can be saved.

In a notable talk on administering to the sick, President Spencer W. Kimball said: “The need of faith is often underestimated. The ill one and the family often seem to depend wholly on the power of the priesthood and the gift of healing that they hope the administering brethren may have, whereas the greater responsibility is with him who is blessed. … The major element is the faith of the individual when that person is conscious and accountable. ‘Thy faith hath made thee whole’ [Matthew 9:22] was repeated so often by the Master that it almost became a chorus.”11

President Kimball even suggested that “too frequent administrations may be an indication of lack of faith or of the ill one trying to pass the responsibility for faith development to the elders rather than self.” He told about a faithful sister who received a priesthood blessing. When asked the next day if she wished to be administered to again, she replied: “No, I have been anointed and administered to. The ordinance has been performed. It is up to me now to claim my blessing through my faith.”12

Our circumstances improved, and at last we were able to buy a mobile home. And it was our good fortune to move into a mobile home park next door to a Latter-day Saint family. They were very friendly and often urged us to go to church with them. I felt that I needed God for my child, so I was glad they kept asking until we gave in.
It happened that our first meeting was a fast and testimony meeting. I was a little bewildered by this new experience, but not Ben; he was converted on the spot. We received two missionary discussions in the next two weeks. Then on Saturday, 28 February 1970, we had three more discussions and were interviewed and baptized that same night.

Utilizing this principle greatly blessed our family. In 2006, the United States was experiencing a strong economy, especially in real estate investing. We had successfully made some smaller investments before being given the opportunity to invest in a large business opportunity. It appeared to be without risk, but it would require that we go into debt by mortgaging our home.

As the father in the home, I knew it was my duty to provide for my family. I prayed and felt that I should be willing to use what the Lord had given me to profitably sustain us. I also consulted the scriptures and found that honest business investing was encouraged and acceptable to the Lord. As I moved forward in my decision, however, I pondered what the living prophets had warned about going into debt, particularly to invest in business speculation.

We decided to apply the “checks and balances” principle to my decision, and even though scriptural truths supported my personal revelation, the teachings of the living prophets did not. We decided not to invest. The following year, the housing market crashed, and a very long recession began. Had we borrowed the money, we may have lost not only our money but our home also.

I would like to share a spiritual experience. I was at someone’s house who had a steep hill. My little sister was at the edge of the hill, playing. I felt impressed that I should go over and watch her so she wouldn’t get hurt. When I got there, she was just about ready to fall down the hill. I felt that because I was there, I saved her from getting hurt. I feel that the Spirit helped me save my little sister.
Jessica Jones, age 7Copley, Ohio

While in Hawaii, Joseph experienced hardship after hardship. At one point in his mission, his apartment and all his belongings were consumed in a fire. The only thing he had left was his missionary certificate, which had been miraculously preserved. Because of the fire, Joseph and his companion only had one suit between the two of them. This situation called for a creative solution. Since both elders couldn’t proselyte at the same time, one would go out proselyting in the suit, while the other one stayed home. Then they would switch clothes and the other would begin his turn proselyting.

Joseph once said that “experience is better possessed than to be gained. It is like a bruise, it feels better after it quits hurting” (Life of Joseph F. Smith, 188). After his mission, Joseph must have felt like he had a lot of “bruises.” But because of his faith, he was able to turn his trials into learning experiences that forced him to rely on the Lord for strength. And it was because of his reliance on the Lord that he could stand fearless when asked at gunpoint, “Are you a Mormon?”

Steve, with his mission experience, began to teach Mr. and Mrs. Gibson the gospel.
At 10:00 Mrs. Gibson invited them into the kitchen for a piece of cake she’d baked especially for Steve and Cathy. While they were eating, the electric power went out. They lit a candle and finished.
“Martin, it’s going to get cold tonight without our electric heater.”
“We can all stay by the fire and keep warm,” he said.
Huddled around the fire, with the wind howling outside, they continued to talk. At 2:00 A.M., Mrs. Gibson turned to her husband and asked, “Martin, what do you think?”
“It’s the first thing I’ve heard that makes any sense. We better learn more about it, though, before we join.”
Cathy burst out excitedly, “You and your wife and your son can be sealed together as a family forever! Steve and I want to go with you through the temple when you go!”
Mr. Gibson cleared his throat nervously and reached a little awkwardly for his wife’s hand. “Ella and me have been through a lot together. It’d be nice to be together forever.”
Finally they agreed that it was time for sleep. While Mr. and Mrs. Gibson went to get some blankets, Steve reached over and kissed Cathy. “You are a terrific missionary.”
“Wasn’t it special?” she asked happily. “I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.”
They sat and watched the fire. The embers that had been in the fire the longest glowed the deepest red.
“Cathy, are you still afraid of the future? We can’t guarantee that we won’t have the same unhappiness in our lives that they’ve had.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
“If you knew now that I’d die in a few years, or that a baby would suffer sickness, would you walk away from our marriage?”
“I used to think that Heavenly Father would spare me that kind of trial,” she said.
“And now what do you think?”
“I think that a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ can help us live through whatever comes.”
“You’re not scared anymore?”
She shook her head thoughtfully. “Not anymore.”
Mr. and Mrs. Gibson returned to the fire, carrying some blankets. They pulled the couch and two chairs close to the fireplace. Mr. Gibson piled two large logs on the fire. Then he placed a small gift in Cathy’s hand. It was wrapped in tissue paper.
All he said was, “Don’t open it until you’re on your way tomorrow.”
A few minutes later Cathy whispered something to Steve. He nodded his head and then spoke to Mr. Gibson. “I promised my wife something about tonight. Would it be all right if we had family prayer?”
By the next morning the storm had let up, and by 11:00 they had managed to pull the car back on the highway. Shortly after that, Steve and Cathy were on their way.
Not until they were unloading their suitcases from the car into the cabin did Cathy remember the small package on the back seat. Unwrapping it, she found the old necklace with the words inscribed on the back—“Love is forever.”

Let me conclude with one final account from Hyrum's ministry. It illustrates not only Hyrum's willingness and determination to endure, but his ability to inspire such attributes in others.

In April 1841, as Joseph supervised placement of the Nauvoo Temple cornerstones, Hyrum presided over a conference in Philadelphia. A new, faith-filled convert named Edward Hunter attended the conference. He donated $200 to the construction of the temple and provided Hyrum lodging before and after the conference.

Despite all of his other responsibilities, Hyrum took time to minister personally to Brother Hunter. Edward confided to Hyrum about the deep sorrow he had experienced with the recent death of his three-year-old son, George Washington Hunter. Hyrum brimmed with empathy. His own three-year-old daughter had died in his arms in 1832. He counseled with Brother Hunter as they walked the banks of the Brandywine River.

"It is pretty strong doctrine," Hyrum explained, "but I believe I will tell it." As they walked, Hyrum continued, "[George] will act as an angel to you ... to assist you in extreme trials" (240-241).

About a year later, Brother Hunter told Hyrum that George had indeed come to strengthen him and to assure him that he had "many friends in heaven" (255). Edward remained faithful to the end. He died at age 90, after serving more than 32 years as presiding bishop of the Church.

Maybe it was his height—six feet, five inches from his toes to the top of his flyaway hair. Perhaps it was the way he walked—a jerky, foot-flapping gait that gave him the look of a crane. Or it could have been his glasses—canning jar thick, perched halfway down his nose, held together at the bridge with (no kidding) masking tape.
And there was one thing more: the expression on his face. It’s difficult to describe, but it reminded me of a puppy begging for a pat on the head.
I’d been told there was a new boy in the ward. But when I saw Crawford amble into the chapel during sacrament meeting, my first reaction was, “He’s too big to be a teenager.” He didn’t sit next to anyone.
After the closing hymn, I walked over and extended my hand.
“Hi. I’m Jon North. And something tells me you’re a teacher, right?”
“Uh, yes. You’re quite right.”
His voice was crisp and deep. He looked surprised but pleased that someone would speak to him.
“My name is Crawford,” he said. “Crawford P. Jones. Most people mistake me for someone older because of my size. You’re very astute.”
“Thanks, Crawford. I try to be astute. Are you going to be in the ward for a while?”
“We just moved here to Oregon from Arizona. We’ll be staying some time, I think. Sorry I missed the earlier meetings. The change of time zones left me perplexed.”
“Perplexed we can deal with,” I said, wondering about his vocabulary. “Meetings start at nine, priesthood meeting first. I’m the teachers quorum adviser. I’ll come around with the president and visit you this week.”
The Jones’s small home sat by itself on a couple of acres a mile or two from town. Crawford and the quorum president, Dan Quayle, were chattering outside. I was in the kitchen, talking with Sister Jones. I found out she was a widow who had moved here to take a teaching job at the community college.
“Crawford’s a good son,” she said softly. “Kind to his sisters. A good student. The last couple of years, he’s taken on a lot of responsibility. When his father died, he started a paper route and washed cars for a dealer. He’s already looking into a part-time job at the grocery store here. The extra money helps, but I worry that he’s missing out on other things he needs. Sports. Church dances. His dad taught him a lot about photography, but he hasn’t done much lately. It would be nice if he could make some friends here …”
Her voice trailed off.
“It was his father who chose the name Crawford,” she continued. “He wanted him to have a distinctive first name because he thought Jones was so common. Sometimes it’s seemed like a big name for him, but I guess he’s growing into it.”
I could hear the back door open and the shoe-flapping sound of Crawford and Dan coming back to the living room.
“Listen,” I said before the boys could hear. “We’ll make him feel at home.”

I went to my bishop to make things right, and we met regularly to prepare me to serve a mission. My papers were almost finished when I was prompted to make sure that he understood some of the choices I had made. That conversation wasn’t easy, but even more than I wanted to go on a mission, I wanted to be right before God. I was willing to own what I had done wrong and lay it all out before Him so I could be clean.

Soon after, I came before a disciplinary council. It was scary in some ways to admit what I had done in front of people who had been my leaders and mentors for years, but as I looked around the room, I felt peace. I could see that they were there to understand and help me. As I left, I felt the Spirit assure me that no matter what the decision was, I was doing my part and I was going to be OK. God and leaders who loved me would work with me to get me where I needed to be. I walked away feeling the love of the Savior and knowing that I wasn’t beyond His redemption.

Despite the peace I had felt, it was hard to face the questions from people about why I wasn’t on a mission. As I continued working through the repentance process with the help of my bishop, it became less and less likely that serving a mission was in my future. I had to figure out how to move forward with my life. At 21, because I didn’t fall into the pre-missionary, returned missionary, or married groups of young adults, it was hard to feel like I belonged anywhere.

Dating was tough. Sometimes girls would treat me differently after I would tell them I didn’t serve a mission and that I was inactive for a period of time. For one reason or another, most interactions never made it past the first date.

I was happy that I eventually did get married in the temple, but sometimes I still felt like I didn’t fit in. I had a testimony, but I couldn’t figure out how to share it, and church classrooms felt like tests where my peers would see me fail. I thought that because most of them had the lives I wanted, they hadn’t stumbled as much as I had.

One day the bishop called me in and extended the call to teach elders quorum. I was surprised, since I had only been to elders quorum twice in the last year. Despite feeling incredibly anxious, I accepted the calling. On my first Sunday teaching, I found myself starting out with probably the strangest introduction they had ever heard:
“Hi, brothers, I’m Richard Monson. I never served a mission and I’ve been inactive most of my adult life. I haven’t attended elders quorum pretty much ever because I don’t feel like I belong or fit in. I won’t be able to answer all your questions, but I’m hoping that you will participate so we can learn together. If you’re OK with where I’m coming from, then we’ll get started.”
I realized that day that I could admit to others—and to myself—that even though I didn’t consider myself a “straight arrow” (someone who served a mission, was active all their lives, and hadn’t made serious mistakes), I was pointed in the same direction as they were, and that was what mattered. To my amazement, I found that more than one of these men whom I thought led perfect lives had made mistakes too. I think it reinforced the idea to all of us that perfection isn’t a requirement to bring value to the class or the Church as a whole.
Unfortunately, my activity in the Church didn’t last. My marriage was difficult, and I turned to old vices to escape my pain. Hobbies began to replace church attendance.

Three years passed, and I reached rock bottom. I had to make a choice. Could I live the gospel for myself regardless of what was happening in my life? Or would I just give in to the darkness? I knew that committing to the strait and narrow path meant getting rid of negative influences in my life. Also, my desires to go back to church highlighted that my spouse and I were on different paths. With the state of our marriage at that point, we were headed toward divorce already.

I was scared. There was no guarantee that my efforts would grant me the good things I wanted in this life. But my decision came back to what I had learned years before—that I was happiest living the gospel. I decided to commit fully and put myself in God’s hands, come what may. From here on out, it was me and Him.

Once again, I started going back to church and getting my life on track. One of the happiest days of my life was when I received a temple recommend again. I found solace in the temple as my marriage continued to fracture and ultimately came to an end.

As scary as that decision felt, through that experience I learned to appreciate God’s hand in my path. Even though I had stumbled, the race wasn’t lost. I wasn’t competing with anyone else. When I relied on the Savior for my self-worth, I could stop spending all my efforts trying to change others’ perspective of me.

I found myself at church being OK sitting alone or amidst members who were in different stages of life. I made an effort not to hide and made myself available to talk with people in my ward. I was able to enjoy attending my meetings for their intended purpose.

Having that peace also helped as I got back into dating. I still didn’t get a lot of second dates, but I now knew I didn’t have to compromise my standards just because I had slipped up in the past. I was living the gospel to the best of my ability, and I was good enough to date those who were living the gospel to the best of theirs too.

I ultimately found a worthy daughter of God who I married in the temple. Her path was very different than mine, but when it came to a love of the Savior and an understanding of His Atonement, we were on the same page.

Over the years, I have learned not to let my past or other people’s approval define my current self-worth. I’ve let go of the idea that success looks like one set of life experiences. Not everyone has appreciated where I am now because of how I’ve gotten here, and that’s OK. It’s not my goal to convince them. It is my goal to keep repenting and coming closer to the Savior. It’s because of Him that, like Alma the Younger after his repentance, I can be “harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more” (Alma 36:19). I can be at peace knowing that it’s where I’m headed—toward the Savior—that counts.

Another time, we had a pop quiz in school. I hadn’t studied. Nobody had studied—the teacher had surprised us. Everybody started cheating on the quiz. I’m not going to lie—I really wanted to cheat. But something told me, “You have to sit down and do the best with what you know.” It was a soft voice. I was stressed, and the voice soothed my heart. So I didn’t look to the left, and I didn’t look to the right. I answered what I knew. In the end I was the only one who got a high score. I’m glad I listened to the Holy Ghost.

When one of our sons was 11 years old, he woke up with a bad headache. At first I thought he was just delaying going to school, but I quickly realized he had a high fever. I took him to the doctor, and soon we were rushing to the hospital. There he was diagnosed with spinal meningitis, a serious illness.
As his condition became more severe, he began having seizures. The doctor asked me to step out of the room. As I walked into the hall, I was afraid and began to cry. A woman I did not know put her arms around me. I prayed out loud that Heavenly Father would help my son and that all would be well. I remember feeling that all would be well.
My son had surgery and many weeks of recovery. Today he is healthy, married, and a father of two beautiful girls. This experience was such an example to me of the power of prayer.

President Thomas S. Monson told a story about a man from the eastern United States who was traveling by bus to California. In Salt Lake City a Primary girl got on the bus and sat next to the man. They started talking, and he asked if she was a Mormon. She answered yes. He asked her what Mormons believe. It was a big question for such a young girl. What would you have said? Imagine the look on the man’s face as she recited and explained the Articles of Faith. He couldn’t believe it!

After she got off the bus, the man thought about her courage and knowledge. As soon as he arrived in California, he called the local mission president and asked questions about the Church. The missionaries came to see him, and later the man’s entire family was baptized—all because a Primary girl knew the Articles of Faith and had the courage to share them (see Ensign, April 1994, pages 67–68).