Gospel Story Finder

I’m aware of a man who was involved in moral transgressions several years ago. For some time, this man felt too ashamed and too worried to approach his wife and his priesthood leaders. He wanted to fully repent but actually expressed that he was willing to give up his own eternal salvation rather than put his spouse and children through the sorrow, shame, or other consequences that might be caused by his confession.

Finally, this dear man confessed to his faithful wife and his Church leaders, expressing deep remorse. Though it was the most difficult thing he had ever done, feelings of relief, peace, gratitude, love for our Savior, and a knowledge that the Lord was lifting his heavy burden and carrying him caused joy beyond expression, regardless of the outcome and his future.

He had been certain that his wife and children would be devastated—and they were; and that there would be disciplinary action and a release from his calling—and there was. He was certain that his wife would be brokenhearted, hurt, and angry—and she was. And he was convinced that she would leave, taking the children with her—but she didn’t.

Sometimes serious transgression leads to divorce, and depending on circumstances, that might be necessary. But to this man’s amazement, his wife embraced him and dedicated herself to helping him in any way that she could. Over time, she was able to fully forgive him. She had felt the healing power of the Savior’s Atonement for her. Years later, this couple and their three children are strong and faithful. The husband and wife serve in the temple and have a wonderful, loving marriage. The depth of this man’s testimony and his love and gratitude for the Savior are so evident in his life.

One Friday morning in 2013, Ojukwu M. Sesay entered a taxi from Jui to SS Camp in Freetown, Sierra Leone. As is common there, he was joining the taxi with other people already en route. The other two people in the taxi were missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. A discussion of faith and beliefs arose in the taxi. Ojukwu contributed that he believed that in the kinetic energy study of physics, faith is the potential within us, and our expressions and actions make the belief known and moving.
It was immediately after this contribution on the discussion, that one of the missionaries asked for his name, where he lives, and when he can be visited. When he answered their questions, they realized that he was not in their area for teaching. Upon reaching his drop-off point, they requested his phone number and told him that two other people would be calling him since they do not cover where he lives.
As promised, the other missionaries called and visited the following Saturday. They introduced the Church to Ojukwu and his family. He lived with his wife, children, brothers, and sisters. They were interested in the missionaries and wanted to know why they were in their family home. After they left, Ojukwu read the first lesson from the leaflet provided by the missionaries and explained it to his family.
While sharing thoughts with his wife and encouraging her to look at the truth surrounding the quotes, she became interested in the teachings. She asked him to visit the Church, so he attended the Jui Branch. Immediately after his first visit, he held a meeting with his family to explain about the Church he visited. He told them the way of worship was different from the other Pentecostal churches and his spirit found peace with the pattern of worship. The family continued to investigate and attend church services until three members of the family i.e., himself, his wife and his brother were baptized at the Jui Branch. His brother later went on a mission.
After their confirmation and obtaining a series of assignments, his wife, Ramatu Bintu Sesay, was called as the district public affair president and later as branch Primary president. He was called as the Young Men president. In 2018 there was a change in the leadership of the branch, and he was called as the first councilor of the branch presidency. He later served as the branch president of Jui Branch from 2019–2021. The family was sealed in the temple for time and all eternity in 2022.
Since February 2023, he has been the temple facility manager of the Freetown Sierra Leone Temple, which is under construction.

Elaine Jennings, a Laurel in the Worthington Ward, Crawley England Stake, is excited about missionary work. While attending an international student conference in Italy (where this picture was taken) Elaine shared her standards and beliefs with the girls she roomed with at the conference.
Elaine also knows that the temple is a powerful missionary tool. She recently invited five of her school teachers to tour the London Temple prior to its rededication. Of the four who attended, one asked to meet with the missionaries.
Although none of those teachers has joined the Church, Elaine knows that what she did was important.
“I did what I could,” says Elaine. “I invited them to feel the Spirit, but it’s up to them to make the choice and act on it.”

Now I think it is folly for one to compare one President of the Church with another. No one takes the place of another President of the Church. Each President has his own place. I had a lesson taught me some years ago when, in company with one of the brethren, I had reorganized the presidency of the Ensign Stake. We had named the bishop of one of the wards as stake president. It was near the end of the year, and he elected to remain as bishop, along with his first counselor, who was a bishop, until they had closed the books at the end of the year.
Six weeks after they were sustained, the stake president suddenly passed away.
Then I began to receive a barrage of letters. Where in the world was the inspiration for you to call a man whom the Lord was going to let die in six weeks? They invited me to talk at his services, and some seemed to be expecting me to try to explain why I had appointed a man that the Lord was going to take home in six weeks.
President Joseph Fielding Smith sat on the stand and heard my attempt to satisfy these people, and he said to me, “Don’t you let that bother you. If you have called a man to a position in this church and he dies the next day, that position would have a bearing on what he will be called to do when he leaves this earth.”
I believe that. I believe that every President of this church, every apostle of this church, every bishop, every stake president, every presiding position will have a bearing on what one is called to do when he leaves this earth.

In January 1999 my father had a serious accident and was admitted to intensive care, where he was able to breathe only with the help of a respirator. He suffered hematomas, which caused swelling of the brain.
When the rest of the family learned of his condition, we immediately went to the hospital. As a physician, I knew the outlook was dim. Nevertheless, we fasted, prayed, and trusted in our Heavenly Father to restore my father so that soon, despite any aftereffects or the treatments he might need, he would come home again and be the wonderful guide and protector he had always been. As we fasted and prayed, I felt my faith grow stronger, and I anxiously waited for him to open his eyes and start to recover.
Visits from our inspired bishop were a constant strength during this trial. He gave my father a priesthood blessing, and we waited for a change.
Since my father did not improve, we began to wonder if our pleadings were really in accordance with Heavenly Father’s will. One night the bishop, after giving us blessings, talked to us about the plan of salvation and told us that when someone is blessed to recover, he or she will live if not appointed unto death (see D&C 42:48). He also gave us a copy of “Tragedy or Destiny” (see Improvement Era, Mar. 1966, 178–80, 210–17), a talk by President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985). The bishop urged us to ask God what plans He had. After we said good-bye to the bishop, I decided with much sorrow to follow his counsel. I was able to learn that my father’s time on earth had come to an end.
Complications arose, and my father’s condition deteriorated even more. His natural strength abated before our eyes, and we knew that this was a confirmation of what was going to happen. I worried that my pain at losing him would become so great I would lose my faith and vision and not be able to endure. But that isn’t what happened.
Never before had the wonderful plan of happiness had the meaning it now had in my life. I was able to feel a peace that tempered my emotions. It opened my eyes and mind and enabled me to understand to a limited extent the greatness, glory, and majesty of life and the importance of this brief time on earth.
The time came to tell my father, “Until we meet again.” Nine days after the accident, he died. I was with him as he reached the end of his earthly existence, but now I had a different understanding. I was able to feel how sweetly our Heavenly Father loves us and how He prepares the necessary opportunities for us to become as He is.
My confidence is complete that the day will come, if we endure to the end, when through the Atonement and Resurrection of Jesus Christ, we will rise clothed in glory, immortality, and eternal life. Death is just a new beginning.

As a young boy growing up in the island of Vava’u, I was blessed to have good people around me. At the age of two and half, my mother passed away, and I missed the blessing of being raised by her. I do not remember anything about my mother except what I have seen of her in pictures and what I read from her journal. My Dad was the closest person to me and we have become very close friends. I remember how I wanted to be around him and to do everything that he did. He was a very good father and mother to me. Every day I could not wait for him to come home from work so we can spend time together as father and son especially eating our favorite snacks. I think the most important thing that I remember about him was that he lived the gospel to the best of his ability. The gospel was everything to him after his family. He was not perfect but he tried his very best. That was important for me because I tried to follow in his footsteps and wanted to be just like him. I remember at times when I got into mischief, he did not punish me as most Tongan fathers did. He would talk to me not in an angry tone, but in a loving and peaceful way. Sometime I just wished that he could just hit me and get it over with it; but he did not and I will always remember that. I thank him for being such a great example to me of how he choose to live life like our Savior. Because of his good example, it was easier for me to choose the right. My family will tell you that I am far for being perfect, but I am trying to be a better man today than yesterday.

I was in the ninth grade. A year in which it seemed I was halfway to nowhere. Confidence was not part of my nature. My actions were largely controlled by my feelings of inferiority. Perhaps it was the low light of self-doubt that made the following experience such a bright and guiding star.
Third hour I sat near the back of the classroom. My feet extended as far forward as I could stretch them. By sitting in this manner I was scarcely visible from where the teacher sat at her desk in the front.
Friday was the day for current events. When the roll was called, each student had two choices—he could either answer “Prepared” or “Unprepared.” If his response was “Prepared,” he had to give a talk. If his response was “Unprepared,” he didn’t have to do anything. I quickly grasped the idea that the word unprepared was the word that would get me off the hook.
As the weeks went by, each time my name was called I responded almost with dignity, “Unprepared.” My friends also mastered this word. We all, as a group, made it easier for each of us as individuals.
Once as I was visiting with the teacher, I noticed my name in the performance roll book, and behind my name was a long series of negative signs. This worried me but not enough to make me stand up in front of my friends and give a talk. Speaking to a group seemed like the most frightening of all things.
A girl that I liked very much sat in front of me. I liked her so much that on the way to school I would think of clever things to say to her, but when in her presence, my mind would go blank and I would become almost tongue-tied.
One day when the teacher called the roll and got to my name, I replied, “Unprepared.” It was then that this girl did me a great favor. She turned around, looked back at me, and said, “Why don’t you get prepared?” I was not able to listen to any of the reports that day. I kept thinking of all sorts of wonderful things like, “What does she care, unless she cares.”
I went home, found an article in the newspaper, and read it time and again until I had finally committed it to memory. I cut the article out, folded it, placed it in my wallet, and carried it with me all week.
The next Friday I was there in my usual seat in the back. The teacher started to call the roll without looking up. Finally she got to my name; she said, “George.” And very quietly I gave a great speech—I said, “Prepared.” She stopped calling the roll and looked up at me. I poked my head up as far as I could and nodded. The girl turned around and smiled. My friends looked over at me like, “Traitor.” Then I sat waiting my turn, saying to myself, “What have I done?” I was scared. Then I made a magnificent discovery. It was all right to be afraid if I didn’t let it stop me from doing what I should.
My turn came. I went to the front and started to speak. I remembered every word, and after the last word had crossed my lips, I stood there for just a second, and a priceless thought passed my mind and found its way to my heart. I said to myself, “I like you.”
I returned to my seat and sat down. I didn’t hear any of the reports, but as my heart pounded within me, I kept feeling over and over again, “This is the only way to live.”
I have since learned that the word unprepared really does take you off the hook and lead you away from pressure. By learning to say that word you really don’t have to do anything, but you never know the joy of doing something that causes you to say to yourself, “I like myself.”

The happiness I feel in seminary is a lot like the happiness I feel when I’m in the temple. Before I turned 11, my siblings and friends had all been to the temple but I hadn’t.
When I was finally old enough to go inside and do baptisms, I felt a great peace. Even though my family and friends had described to me the feeling of being in the temple, I was so excited that I was able to feel that for myself.

All of us need to be intentional about teaching in our families. Recently our daughter had an unexpected occasion to teach with purpose in her home. She and her husband had been planning to talk with their 8-year-old daughter about the “facts of life,” but just had not gotten around to finding a quiet, special time to do so. But the opportunity came one night at the dinner table, while her husband was still at work, and the daughter opened the subject with a specific question. In a split second a hundred thoughts went through our daughter’s mind: “where is Brad when I need him?; should I just stall and tell her I’ll answer her later?; what simple message can I give her in front of the younger children?; and then a silent prayer: “Heavenly Father help me to teach her appropriately with the Spirit, now.” And that is what she did. She used truths and language from the Proclamation on the Family, simple explanations with each ensuing question. The littler ones drifted away as they lost interest, but this daughter felt affirmed, happy, well-taught, and willing to come back for more conversations. This comes from well prepared parents who seek to continually have the spirit, so they can call upon it at the needed moments. This is what purposeful parenting looks like.

Just two weeks into the new school year, my best friend, Scott, and I were driving home discussing our plans for later that evening. As we pulled into the driveway, I saw my dad working on the barbecue. As I stepped out of the car, I told Scott I would be ready for him to pick me up later. My dad, overhearing the conversation, told me that he was having students from his college ward over that evening for a ward social. “I could use your help getting things ready,” he said. I turned to Scott and told him that our plans would have to be postponed.
As Scott left, my dad asked me to take the grill’s propane tank to the store and fill it. After quickly changing my clothes, I loaded the tank into our truck and drove toward the store.
Between my home and the store there is an elementary school. I was well aware of the school as I had gone in that direction many times. But this time I was in a hurry and did not pay attention to the school zone speed limit. I knew school had been out for about an hour, so I ignored it.
After filling the tank, I headed home. As I approached the school, I had the feeling I should slow down. I didn’t heed the prompting and continued on. As I came closer to the school, I saw Bobby Logan,* a young boy from my ward, run onto the road.
He was on his way to the school to play with his sister and some of his friends. As Bobby came to the road, he stopped and looked at me. I started to slow down, again feeling the prompting. As I approached Bobby, he looked directly at me. We had eye contact for a second, and I had the thought that he was going to run in front of me. At that very moment, he did.
I was too close to miss him, and although I hit the brakes, it was too late. Realizing what had just happened, I quickly got out of the truck and ran to Bobby, who was lying on the ground. I ran to his house and told his mother to call an ambulance. Then I went back to Bobby’s side. I offered a silent prayer and pleaded for his life as I knelt beside him.
Bobby’s mother arrived and immediately checked for a pulse. I was crying hysterically and repeatedly said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit him.” Sister Logan looked at me and told me that she forgave me.
The ambulance arrived and took Bobby to the hospital, but he died about 30 minutes later. My bishop came to our home with the tragic news of his death. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I didn’t know what to do or say. I was devastated.
A few days later I saw the Logans. As we visited, Sister Logan told me that the family felt strongly that Bobby was happy. She told me they held no harsh feelings toward me. As I heard these things, I felt the Spirit testifying to me that what she said was true, and their sincerity was very real.
During the next few days I struggled with the realization that I had taken another person’s life. As I battled with my emotions, I withdrew more and more. I didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything.
One day my mom and sister persuaded me to go with them. They were conversing in the front seat of our car, and I was lying on the back seat, pondering the question why and wondering how I could ever move on from that point in my life. Again I offered a silent prayer to Heavenly Father for the strength to overcome this obstacle. In the midst of my crying and praying, I suddenly felt the most overwhelming feeling of joy and peace. It was at that moment that I knew Bobby was fine and that he was happy. I also realized how much love my Heavenly Father has for me. I could truly feel His arms of love and understanding around me.
Since that day I began healing from my emotional pain. It took a long time for me to get to the point where I could accept myself again, but I knew I was on the right track. Because of this experience, I have become even more grateful for the gospel of Jesus Christ. I can’t imagine trying to endure this without the love of my family, the Logans, and countless friends who rallied around me. I saw the gospel in action. I saw my Savior’s healing hands work through those I love. I also know the Spirit is one of the most precious gifts we have.
The Logans are my heroes because they epitomized Jesus Christ from the very beginning of this ordeal. They forgave. For that I am eternally grateful. I know that I will see Bobby again and that hopefully then his family and mine will rest together in the heavens.

“No!” I shouted, staring at my father in disbelief. My dad had just announced that he had been called as a mission president and we would be moving to the South American country of Chile for three years. The world felt as if it were falling in around me. Hot tears ran down my cheeks. Three years. Chile. Moving. The thoughts swirled in my head until I felt dizzy.
I looked at my younger brother, David, who had previously been grinning broadly, as he promptly burst into tears upon seeing my display. I felt guilty to be putting on such a show, but I couldn’t help it. Three years away from everything I loved.
Suddenly another thought entered my mind: Russell! Russell, my 18-year-old brother whom I absolutely idolized, had just graduated from high school and would not be coming with us. “I won’t go!” I told myself. “I’ll stay here and live with my friends.” But even as I thought it, I knew that it wouldn’t work.
I was still upset when we drove to the airport four months later. On the plane, the flight attendant frequently handed me warm towels to dab away my tears. My dad put his arm around me and leaned in close to my ear. “A turtle doesn’t get anywhere by staying in its shell,” he whispered. “It has to stick its neck out.” At the time I didn’t realize how much wisdom was in those words or how many wonderful experiences awaited me.
We reached Chile, and I began sticking my neck out by meeting new people, making new friends, and attending a new school. I stuck my neck out as I learned Spanish, shared my beliefs with others, and learned about another culture by being a part of it. The adjustments weren’t easy, but each experience helped me improve. I slowly began to adapt and form a deep love for a country that I initially had wanted nothing to do with.
Before I knew it, three years had passed, and it was time for our family to leave. I remember sitting on the back porch of our home in Santiago, watching the sun casting the beautiful orange glow so typical of a Chilean sunset. “It’s incredible,” I thought. I had fought so hard against coming, and now I didn’t want to leave. I couldn’t imagine leaving the people with their friendly greetings and kisses on the cheek. I couldn’t imagine leaving the majestic snow-capped mountains and beautiful Pacific Ocean. I even loved the crazy buses that zipped through the streets of Santiago, the noisy street vendors, and the stray dogs.
“Okay, Whitney,” my dad called from inside the house. “It’s time to go.”
I got up and looked around for the last time. “Goodbye Chile,” I murmured quietly. “I’ll miss you.”
While I was excited to see my friends again, and I couldn’t wait to hug Russell, who had returned from his own mission a few days earlier, my heart felt like it was breaking. Living in Chile had changed me so much. My views, opinions, personality, dreams and hopes had all been shaped by my experience there. I didn’t fully realize how much I loved it and how wonderful and unique my time there had been.
As our plane touched down 10 hours later, my dad came and put his arm around me. “So, what did you learn?” he asked.
I smiled at him. “I learned that a turtle doesn’t get anywhere by staying in its shell. It has to stick its neck out.”

Tyler worked hard on his lessons for most of the afternoon. Afterward, he and Mom sat on the floor, talking.
“Mom, I need to earn forty cents so I can get my CTR ring next Sunday,” Tyler said. “Do you have any ideas on what I can do?”
“I tell you what Tyler, if you help me with the laundry and the dishes this week, I’ll pay you the forty cents you need. Deal?”
“Deal!” Tyler said, crawling to the kitchen.
Later in the evening, everyone in Tyler’s family, except Gena, who was away at college, gathered in the living room.
“Whose turn is it to read from the Book of Mormon tonight?” asked Dad.
Mom said, “We left off with Cherie reading from Mosiah last night. How about if Tyler starts tonight?”
Everyone took a turn reading, with Jason reading last. “The scriptures show what can be accomplished when you have the Lord’s help,” he said. “I mean, look at Tyler. He’s come a long way toward learning to walk, and he couldn’t have done it all by himself.”
Tyler smiled at Jason. “I’m glad I have the help of so many others.”
After Teri (9), one of Tyler’s other sisters, had said the prayer, Tyler hugged everyone, then Jason carried him to their room. “You’re doing great, little brother. And don’t worry—you’ll be playing ball before you know it.”
“Thanks. I just hope it’s soon.” Mom came, helped Tyler change into his pajamas, and kissed him good night. He soon drifted off to sleep.
It’s the start of the second half, BYU leads by two, and Tyler Young has the ball …

Tyler Olsen was especially unaffected by the bad weather. This would be the culmination of his Eagle Scout service project. He’d already been to sporting goods stores in the valley, distributing free backcountry safety literature for their customers. He’d helped at a special prep seminar for the Scouts, where they watched an avalanche video and received special instruction from Dan Davis, their Young Men secretary and owner of Hoover, a search and rescue dog.
So about 25 of us, including Scouts, their leaders, and a few news people, piled into four-wheel drive vehicles and headed for the hills—make that mountains. We’re talking Rockies.
Once we got up out of the Salt Lake Valley and up to Guardsman Pass where the drill was to be held, the weather wasn’t half as bad, and the scenery was incredible. Snow was everywhere, generously frosting the trees and covering the ground in a great, thick blanket. It looked soft and inviting—harmless, even. That’s probably what a lot of people think just before they put themselves in avalanche danger.
“A lot of people don’t realize that avalanches can happen so easily,” said Clark Whisenant, 13. “This project made me want to do a special research project on them for school. Avalanches are really dangerous.”
The search and rescue people had already arrived at the site. They’d brought dogs, snowmobiles, and an intimidating snow cat that moved like a tank, made strange noises, and seemed to be able to transport a number of people just about anywhere.
Before I could pull on my gloves, the Scouts were out running around with the dogs, leaping into huge snow piles and throwing snowballs at each other. “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all,” I thought, as I took a big juicy snowball right in the back of the head.
It was about a half-mile hike from the area where we left our cars into the site where the search and rescue people decided to stage the drill. Some of the Scouts walked, carrying the shovels and other equipment they’d brought along. Some went ahead on snowmobiles to prepare the site. As for me, I decided to ride the snow cat in. The dogs were riding in on it, and I wanted them to get acquainted with my scent so it wouldn’t take them long to find me when it came time for the rescue.
Once we got to the site, everyone went to work. The area was large and flat, with snow piled deep. They had been careful to select an area that really would be free of avalanche danger. The first order of the day was testing the snow, cutting a big, vertical block of it and looking at the layers for instability. If the boys were just out for a normal day of cross-country skiing, this would have determined where or if they would go in that area.
Next, they had to make the area look as if an avalanche had just occurred. That meant smearing injury makeup all over some faces, partially burying some people, and digging snow caves in which to bury others.
“It’s kind of fun to have injury makeup on your face and then be buried in the snow up to your shoulders,” said Andy Brinton. Now that’s an attitude for you! Since I was one of the lucky others who would be buried completely, I’d have to see if I could start thinking like Andy.
I’ll say this for the Scouts. All that snow camping they do every winter pays off. They dug me a snow cave about six-feet deep that was actually rather comfortable—just big enough for me to lie in. I crawled in, and then they handed me a walkie-talkie “just in case.” “Just in case of WHAT?” I wanted to ask. But they had already started filling in the entrance with snow blocks, followed by loose snow.
Now, it’s really not that bad in a snow cave. The natural insulation keeps you pretty warm. And since the snow usually has a density of 40–60 percent, there’s plenty of air. Still, I was depending on Dan to keep his promise that Hoover would have me out of there in 20 minutes at the most.
Dan O’Conner of American Search Dogs, Inc., whose dog Anderl would sniff out some of the other boys, explained to us that a dog could pick up a scent after a person has been buried only a few minutes. “The dog thinks, ‘I can smell the person, but I can’t see him, so I’d better go find him.’ That’s the name of the game.”
It wasn’t long before I heard feet crunching in the snow above me, and muffled voices talking in an excited tone. Soon I could hear frenzied digging, and then I saw the welcome sight of a pair of brown paws, then a black nose, breaking through the ceiling of my snow cave. In no time Hoover was all over me, licking my face and playing tug-of-war with my glove. He was just as happy to see me as I was to see him. He’d won the game. He scooted back up to the surface where the others were waiting, my glove in his mouth, proving that he’d found me. The others congratulated him, then helped me up and out.
What I saw when I got to the surface fascinated me. With remarkable precision, the Scouts and rescue people had organized themselves so that almost every inch of the avalanche area was being covered. The scenario was that a group of Scouts had been in the area when an avalanche occurred.
In one area, the avalanche “witnesses” were being interviewed, and the “injured” victims were being treated nearby. Another part of the area was being swept by people bearing electronic devices that would pick up signals from the transceivers that the Scouts might have been wearing at the a time of the disaster. In still another area, they’d organized a probe pole line, in which the members sank long, thin metal poles into the deep snow every foot or so, waiting for someone to sound the ominous cry, “I’ve got a hit,” if they struck something.
“I’d never been in a probe line, or anything like that, and it was really interesting,” said Joseph Mecham. “If there really was an avalanche, like at a ski resort, and you were a bystander, chances are they’d recruit you to help in the probe line if you knew what you were doing.”
When all the “victims” had been found, we gathered back at the snow cat to go over what we’d learned that day. The Scouts had been shown how to avoid avalanche-prone areas, how to be safer in winter sports, and how to assist search and rescue units if they need help when an avalanche occurs. The dogs had learned a lot too—it always helps them to sharpen their tracking skills and to be around groups of people in a rescue situation.
I’d learned all of the above, plus I’d gained a little confidence, knowing that I could handle some rather severe winter conditions.
But even with our newfound knowledge and skill, we agreed with Hoover when Dan asked him what it’s like to be caught in an avalanche.
“Rough!” Hoover responded. Or maybe that was “Ruff.”

Let's explore one last principle. We live in a world that glorifies idols and champions. We appreciate those who are striving to be stronger, higher, and faster. But the strongest girl I ever saw was actually pretty frail and would have been no match in an athletic contest. No one would covet her young life, which was full of fear, confusion, and a deep self-loathing. It was during this time that she was being abused by her stepfather.

Millie was physically and sexually abused by her mother's second husband. He was not a nice guy, but we will leave his punishment to the powers that be. Millie wasn't interested in punishing anybody. She knew what pain is like and didn't want to be involved in giving or receiving any more of it.

When I met Millie, she was a young woman trying to understand what she had done to deserve such treatment. In her confused and painful thinking, she was certain that he wouldn't have done it without some provocation or enticement. He had told her that it was her fault. And grown-ups are always right, aren't they?

But Millie was strong even with that misplaced sense of responsibility for her traumatic circumstances. She was trying to fight her way out. She was trying to figure out how to live with the memory of the abuse and not be consumed by it. For some time, the best she was able to do was to label herself a victim. This was an important first step, realizing that she had been victimized and that it wasn't her fault, but for Millie it wasn't enough. She wanted freedom from the on-going victimization of the terrible experience. She wanted to somehow let go of it completely.

One day Millie was stunned by a thought-provoking passage from Victor Hugo's Les Miserables. It reads, "The soul helps the body and at certain moments uplifts it. It is the only bird that sustains its cage." This came as a revelation to Millie. She could see that her body is sort of like a cage that surrounds the real Millie. If that is so, she wondered, then could it be that he was hurting the cage, but that the bird was not damaged at all?

Of course! He could beat the cage, he could abuse the cage, he could even break the cage, but he couldn't get at the beautiful bird inside. Even if he destroyed the cage, the bird would just fly free beyond his ability to afflict any more harm. He might frighten the little bird out of singing for a while, but he could not take away her song forever. With this insight Millie was liberated.

Millie stopped calling herself a victim. She ceased defining herself by what he had done to her. The abuse is something that happened to her it is not her. Millie is one of the strongest people I have ever met. The principle: Bad things may happen to me, but they are not me.

First, when my wife Dantzel unexpectedly passed away, I could not reach any of our children. There I was, alone, devastated, and crying out for help. Gratefully, through His Spirit, the Lord taught me why my dear Dantzel had been taken home. With that understanding, I was comforted. Over time, I was better able to cope with my grief. Later, I married my beloved wife Wendy. She was a central part of my second example.
When Wendy and I were on assignment in a distant land, armed robbers put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger. But the gun did not fire. Throughout that experience, both of our lives were threatened. Yet Wendy and I felt an undeniable peace. It was the peace “which passeth all understanding.”
Brothers and sisters, the Lord will comfort you too! He will strengthen you. He will bless you with peace, even amidst chaos.

Here is an example. I know of a young man, a refugee here in Utah, who was teased for being different, including sometimes speaking his native language. He was persecuted by a gang of privileged youth until he retaliated in a way that caused him to be jailed for over 70 days while being considered for deportation. I don’t know what provoked this group of youth, many of them Latter-day Saints like you, but I can see the effect of their meanness, a tragic experience and expense to one of the children of God. Small actions of unkindness can have devastating consequences.

Before Aryn C. from Arkansas was born, her father, Steve, seriously injured his back and shoulder in an accident while serving in the U.S. Navy. He endured many surgeries while she was growing up, and he still is in nearly constant pain. Aryn became his “little nurse” as she held his hand while his bandages were being changed. When she was little, she walked on his back to help ease his pain.
As Aryn grew up, her dad was concerned she would be embarrassed when he was in a wheelchair or used crutches or a cane. Steve comments, “Aryn always said, ‘Dad, you’re not embarrassing me. I’d rather have you here.’ She definitely helps me cope with my disabilities. I’m lucky to have a strong family; all six of our children have helped me get through the hard times.”
Although it’s hard to see her dad in pain, Aryn loves being able to help. She says she’s learned compassion and respect, especially for those who are disabled. “The gospel helps me keep a bigger perspective on life. Everyone is different, and everyone has challenges, but we can overcome them with faith in Jesus Christ,” she observes. “It’s nice to know that.”
Her mother, Sonja, says, “Her father had to miss a lot of Aryn’s activities while she was growing up because of his surgeries and health problems. She played the flute in her high school’s marching band, so he tried his best to go to as many games as he could and enjoyed watching Aryn march in the band.”
Aryn understands that there are some things her father can’t do. “We find ways to work around the disability, such as video recording programs and events that he can’t go to.”
One of the challenges their family faces comes from the emotional ups and downs that are part of her father’s disability. Aryn says they learned to be patient with one another, and when a problem comes up, they talk it out. She advises, “Don’t argue. If something is just a little irritating, think about whether it needs to be addressed or not. If it isn’t important, don’t cause unnecessary upset by bringing it up.” Her dad adds, “Forgiveness is an important part of working together. I have also found that humor helps big-time.”
Both Aryn and her dad agree that attending church, praying, and reading the scriptures help them through hard times.
“I have discovered that the gospel helps me see more clearly how to handle challenges,” Aryn says. “I admire how my dad keeps going, even through the pain. He keeps his testimony strong by going to church and doing his callings, even when it’s hard for him. He reads his scriptures and gains strength from them.”
In return, her dad admires Aryn’s devotion to the gospel. “Watching her choose good friends and seeing her testimony develop helps me gain a stronger testimony,” he says. “She sets the example for me.”
Through the years, Aryn has been there as her father has had many priesthood blessings. He says the counsel given in blessings helps him keep a positive attitude. “The priesthood blessings I have received and reading the scriptures help me keep the faith. I have also learned that when people want to help you, let them. At first I didn’t want others’ help, but then I discovered that it makes a difference to me, and it’s good for them too. We all benefit.”
Aryn appreciates her parents’ examples and love. “They have their hard times, but they work it out. And I like how they stay strong with their testimonies.”
For her senior writing project, Aryn wrote about why her father is her hero. Here’s part of what she wrote: “I am so proud of my dad. He helps me when I need it. He is humorous, knowledgeable, and easy to talk to.” Aryn adds, “When I was about four years old, I made up a word for love that just my dad and I say to each other. We still use it.”

On October 6, in the year 1536, a pitiful figure was led from a dungeon in Vilvorde Castle near Brussels, Belgium. For nearly a year and a half, the man had suffered isolation in a dark, damp cell. Now outside the castle wall, the prisoner was fastened to a post. He had time to utter aloud his final prayer, “Lord! open the king of England’s eyes,” and then he was strangled. Immediately, his body was burned at the stake. Who was this man, and what was the offense for which both political and ecclesiastical authorities had condemned him? His name was William Tyndale, and his crime was to have translated and published the Bible in English.
Tyndale, born in England about the time Columbus sailed to the New World, was educated at Oxford and Cambridge and then became a member of the Catholic clergy. He was fluent in eight languages, including Greek, Hebrew, and Latin. Tyndale was a devoted student of the Bible, and the pervasive ignorance of the scriptures that he observed in both priests and lay people troubled him deeply. In a heated exchange with a cleric who argued against putting scripture in the hands of the common man, Tyndale vowed, “If God spare my life ere many years, I will cause a boy that driveth the plough, shall know more of the Scripture than thou dost!”
He sought the approval of church authorities to prepare a translation of the Bible in English so that all could read and apply the word of God. It was denied—the prevailing view being that direct access to the scriptures by any but the clergy threatened the authority of the church and was tantamount to casting “pearls before swine” (Matthew 7:6).
Tyndale nevertheless undertook the challenging work of translation. In 1524 he traveled to Germany, under an assumed name, where he lived much of the time in hiding, under constant threat of arrest. With the help of committed friends, Tyndale was able to publish English translations of the New Testament and later the Old Testament. The Bibles were smuggled into England, where they were in great demand and much prized by those who could get them. They were shared widely but in secret. The authorities burned all the copies they could find. Nevertheless, within three years of Tyndale’s death, God did indeed open King Henry VIII’s eyes, and with publication of what was called the “Great Bible,” the scriptures in English began to be publicly available. Tyndale’s work became the foundation for almost all future English translations of the Bible, most notably the King James Version.

At this time Peter was going though a series of 28 operations to reconstruct his features and correct injuries suffered in his accident. He was approached by his bishop, who asked what he would be doing if he could do anything he wanted.
Quickly it slipped out because it was a great desire of mine, but it seemed so totally impossible. I said, “I’d love to serve a mission.” And without even thinking twice he said, “Well, let’s get you ready.” I said, “Oh, bishop, I can’t do that.” I started to go over my finances and how much I owed and how my leg hadn’t mended yet and all the operations I faced and the way people reacted to me. But he just said, “Let’s get you ready.”
With his confidence in himself established on a spiritual basis, Peter was ready to work toward going on a mission. After submitting his papers and undergoing a special interview with Elder Thomas S. Monson, Peter received his call to the Northern California Mission.
Up until then Peter had always worn dark glasses in an attempt to cover the slits that had been sewn closed over his eyes to compensate for his lack of eyelids. He had been so self-conscious of his appearance that he never went anywhere without his glasses. On the way to his mission interview, he took his dark glasses off and never wore them again. Surgery later corrected the problem with his eyelids.
His new attitude about himself helped him serve a successful mission. He was able to influence people and encourage them to become members of the Church.

Dear brothers and sisters, it has been many decades since a general conference has been convened that President Boyd K. Packer and Elders L. Tom Perry and Richard G. Scott were not seated immediately behind the podium and speaking at one of these sessions. Our memories of them are poignant, and I add my tribute to honor them, each so uniquely different yet so harmonized in their witness and testimony of Jesus Christ and His Atonement.
Furthermore, I, like you, find strength in and sustain President Thomas S. Monson as prophet, seer, and revelator, and I marvel at his faithful and dutiful apostolic service spanning over 50 remarkable years.
And so it was on Tuesday morning of this week, just after 9:00 a.m. as the Bishopric was beginning a meeting with the Asia Area Presidency, who are here for conference, that I was called to meet with President Monson, along with his counselors. Moments later, as I walked into the boardroom adjacent to his office, I must have looked nervous sitting across the table, as he kindly spoke to calm my nerves. He commented, noting my age, that I seemed quite young and even looked younger than my age.
Then, within a few moments, President Monson described that acting on the will of the Lord, he was extending a call to the Quorum of the Twelve to me. He asked me if I would accept this call, to which, following what I am sure was a very undignified audible gasp, in complete shock, I responded affirmatively. And then, before I could even verbalize a tsunami of indescribable emotion, most of which were feelings of inadequacy, President Monson kindly reached out to me, describing how he was called many years ago as an Apostle by President David O. McKay, at which time he too felt inadequate. He calmly instructed me, “Bishop Stevenson, the Lord will qualify those whom He calls.” These soothing words of a prophet have been a source of peace, a calm in a storm of painful self-examination and tender feelings in the ensuing agonizing hours which have passed day and night since then.
I rehearsed what I have just described to you to my sweet companion, Lesa, later that day, seated in a quiet corner on Temple Square, with a serene view of the temple and the historic Tabernacle lying before us. As we tried to comprehend and process the events of the day, we found our anchor to be our faith in Jesus Christ and our knowledge of the great plan of happiness. This leads to an expression of my deepest love for Lesa. She is the sunshine in and of my life and a remarkable daughter of God. Hers is a life punctuated by selfless service and unconditional love of all. I will strive to remain worthy of the blessing of our eternal union.
I express my deepest love to our four sons and their families, three of whom are here with their beautiful wives, the mothers of our six grandchildren; the fourth, a missionary, has special permission to stay up past missionary curfew and is viewing these proceedings live with his mission president and the mission president’s wife from their mission home in Taiwan. I love each of them and love how they love the Savior and the gospel.
I express my love to each member of my family: to my dear mother and to my father, who passed away last year, who instilled in me a testimony which seemed to dwell in me from my earliest memories. I further extend this gratitude to my brother, sisters, and their faithful spouses, as well as Lesa’s family, many of whom are actually here today. I cast this net of gratitude to numerous extended family, friends, missionaries, leaders, and teachers along the way.
I have been blessed with a close association with the members of the First Presidency, the Twelve, the Seventy, and the general auxiliary presidencies. I express my love and esteem to each of you sisters and brothers and will strive to be worthy of our continued association. The Presiding Bishopric enjoys an almost heavenly unity. I will miss my association each day with Bishop Gérald Caussé, Bishop Dean M. Davies, and the staff.
I stand before you as evidence of the words of the Lord recorded in the first section of the Doctrine and Covenants: “That the fulness of [the] gospel might be proclaimed by the weak and the simple unto the ends of the [earth], and before kings and rulers.” These words are preceded by the Lord’s declaration which demonstrates the love of a Father for His children: “Wherefore, I the Lord, knowing the calamity which should come upon the inhabitants of the earth, called upon my servant Joseph Smith, Jun., and spake unto him from heaven, and gave him commandments.”
Our loving Heavenly Father and His Son, Jehovah, with a knowledge of the end from the beginning, opened the heavens and a new dispensation to offset the calamities that They knew would come. The Apostle Paul described the forthcoming calamities as “perilous times.” For me, this suggests that Heavenly Father’s generous compensation for living in perilous times is that we also live in the fulness of times.
As I agonized over my inadequacies this week, I received a distinct impression which both chastened and comforted me: to focus not on what I can’t do but rather on what I can do. I can testify of the plain and precious truths of the gospel.
These are the words which I have shared hundreds of times with both those who belong to the Church and many who are not members: “God is our [loving] Heavenly Father. We are His children. … He weeps with us when we suffer and rejoices when we do what is right. He wants to communicate with us, and we can communicate with Him through sincere prayer. …
“Heavenly Father has provided us, His children, with a way to … return to live in His presence. … Central to our [Heavenly] Father’s plan is Jesus Christ’s Atonement.”
Heavenly Father sent His Son to the earth to atone for the sins of all mankind. Of these plain and precious truths I bear my testimony, and I do so in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.