Gospel Story Finder

Many years ago when I received my call to serve a mission, I had an interesting experience. I knew that I needed to serve a mission, but I couldn’t get a type of confirmation. I was still wondering why. It was in the fall months, with about a month before I left on my mission. I was out hiking in the mountains in central Utah. My friends were back in college or on missions. I decided to kneel down and pray about my concerns. I think that I thought that I would have a Joseph Smith experience. I didn’t. In fact, it was about six months later when I was in Brazil that I received an answer. We were teaching a second discussion – it was on the Book of Mormon. My turn came to share my testimony. As I bore my testimony, another feeling or prompting came to me. It was the answer to the prayer. You are here to share with these people the same blessings that you have had in your life. That blessing is the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Want to have a ball? The Mission Viejo California Stake did and decided to recreate Nauvoo of the 1840s as the setting. A likeness of Joseph Smith’s Mansion House was erected, along with the Nauvoo Temple, the Times and Seasons print shop, a gun shop, and various lampposts, street signs, trees, and shrubs. During that time period, the Prophet Joseph Smith owned a half-interest in a riverboat called the Maid of Iowa, which was often used to bring guests to Nauvoo for social affairs, so a stage-size “riverboat” was built for the ball. After some dancing, the ball participants were addressed by a master of ceremonies in his Nauvoo Legion uniform. He announced that the Maid of Iowa was about to dock, bringing the belles for the ball. Then each young woman stepped off the boat, curtsied, received a bouquet of baby carnations, and continued down another ramp to stand on the steps of the “temple,” where the arriving belles sang a song. Their fathers then claimed them for a dance, and they all enjoyed a delightful evening of music and fun in their imaginary Nauvoo.

Recently her grandfather was chosen to represent the Northern Ute tribe in the Salt Lake City 2002 Olympic torch relay. When officials asked Frank, Stephanie’s grandpa, to suggest someone for him to pass the torch on to, Stephanie was the first to come to his mind. “She’s really involved in sports,” her grandpa told them, “and I know she’s in good shape. I know she can do it.”

Stephanie smiles. “He’s always taught me that girls can do anything guys can do.”

Stephanie is a soccer player for her high school, so she was in great shape to run the torch. She credits her grandfather with helping her succeed there too: “My grandpa has the best work ethic of anyone I know. This work ethic has helped me in my commitment to sports, to my religion, and to my personal goals.”

When Stephanie received the Olympic torch from her grandfather under the picturesque Delicate Arch in southern Utah’s Arches National Park, it seemed more symbolic than real. More important than giving her the torch is the legacy of love her grandfather and family have passed on. She wants to continue that legacy in her own family.

Then one day in 1999, full-time missionaries walked into the post office where my brother works—the same post office where my copy of A Liahona always arrives. When my brother saw Elder Patrick Tedjamulia’s name tag, he recognized the name of the Church from my magazines and asked the elder who he was. My brother explained that he had a family member in the same church, and Elder Tedjamulia asked to meet me.
When my brother told me about meeting the missionaries, I was amazed. Could it really be that the Church was here in Mozambique?
I soon learned that it was true. Our government had recognized the Church in 1996.
It was marvelous to meet with the elders again. I remembered the things the missionaries had taught me in Germany, and I felt that same peace come into my heart.
In January 2000 I was finally baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It has been a great blessing to me. I feel the Lord’s Spirit in all the work of the Church.

Today, special circumstances allow me to introduce you to a wonderful woman, who, like all of us, has been blessed with gifts and talents from the Lord. She has not had the privilege of attending BYU, but she personifies what we are about. She has spent a lifetime “anxiously engaged” in good causes and has brought forth “much righteousness.” In addition to being an exemplary member missionary in Norway, her initiatives led to the establishment of the Norwegian and Danish lecture series here in our David M. Kennedy Center. She joined the Church in 1964 when my father was mission president in Norway. She is seated in the audience today. [May I ask Sister Rigmor Heistø to please stand. Thank you.]

Sister Heistø is 78 years old, and she came from Norway two weeks ago to hear Norwegian Supreme Court Justice Georg Fr. Rieber-Mohn give a lecture in the Kennedy Center. She is the person who made the original contact with Justice Rieber-Mohn and put me in touch with him.

Two years ago Sister Heistø read a newspaper article in which Justice Rieber-Mohn, then attorney general for Norway, lamented about the disintegrating family and cultural values in Norway. In the newspaper interview he warned that the continued pursuit of materialism could destroy the country, and he called for a greater emphasis on teaching values.

Sister Heistø thought the attorney general should know that a church was already doing the very things he advocated. So she wrote to him, told him about our church, and sent him some brochures. A week later the attorney general telephoned, thanked Sister Heistø for writing to him, and invited her to meet with him. As a result, she had a two-hour meeting with the attorney general in which she explained the Church’s teachings and programs.

At the conclusion of their visit, Sister Heistø suggested that the attorney general visit Utah to learn more about the Mormons personally. She then said she had a friend at BYU who would be happy to invite him to visit Utah and give a lecture at BYU. I was contacted, I extended the invitation, and we had the privilege of hosting Justice Rieber-Mohn and his son just two weeks ago.

It was a wonderful visit, and Justice Rieber-Mohn gave an excellent lecture in the David M. Kennedy Center. He discussed his observations overseeing criminal prosecution in Norway for the past 11 years and placed the primary blame for increased crime on the breaking down of the family and the pursuit of materialism. In a radio interview in Salt Lake City discussing his observations, the interviewer asked if Justice Rieber-Mohn had gained any insight during his visit to Utah that he might take back to Norway to help resolve the problems he had identified. His response was, “Well, I should take the whole Mormon Church with me and the family life you have, and we would see a rapid decline in all the negative signs developing of which I have spoken” (transcription of radio interview provided by Dave Porter, LDS Public Affairs, 5 March 1998). Here is a man who prior to meeting Sister Heistø admitted that the only thing he knew about Mormons was what he learned in high school regarding polygamy—and now he is a good friend to the Church and BYU.

I believe most of us are familiar with the sad account of Thomas B. Marsh and his wife, Elizabeth. Brother Marsh was one of the first modern-day Apostles called after the Church was restored to the earth. He eventually became President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
While the Saints were in Far West, Missouri, Elizabeth Marsh, Thomas’s wife, and her friend Sister Harris decided they would exchange milk in order to make more cheese than they otherwise could. To be certain all was done fairly, they agreed that they should not save what were called the strippings, but that the milk and strippings should all go together. Strippings came at the end of the milking and were richer in cream.
Sister Harris was faithful to the agreement, but Sister Marsh, desiring to make some especially delicious cheese, saved a pint of strippings from each cow and sent Sister Harris the milk without the strippings. This caused the two women to quarrel. When they could not settle their differences, the matter was referred to the home teachers to settle. They found Elizabeth Marsh guilty of failure to keep her agreement. She and her husband were upset with the decision, and the matter was then referred to the bishop for a Church trial. The bishop’s court decided that the strippings were wrongfully saved and that Sister Marsh had violated her covenant with Sister Harris.
Thomas Marsh appealed to the high council, and the men comprising this council confirmed the bishop’s decision. He then appealed to the First Presidency of the Church. Joseph Smith and his counselors considered the case and upheld the decision of the high council.
Elder Thomas B. Marsh, who sided with his wife through all of this, became angrier with each successive decision—so angry, in fact, that he went before a magistrate and swore that the Mormons were hostile toward the state of Missouri. His affidavit led to—or at least was a factor in—Governor Lilburn Boggs’s cruel extermination order, which resulted in over 15,000 Saints being driven from their homes, with all the terrible suffering and consequent death that followed. All of this occurred because of a disagreement over the exchange of milk and cream.5
After 19 years of rancor and loss, Thomas B. Marsh made his way to the Salt Lake Valley and asked President Brigham Young for forgiveness. Brother Marsh also wrote to Heber C. Kimball, First Counselor in the First Presidency, of the lesson he had learned. Said Brother Marsh: “The Lord could get along very well without me and He … lost nothing by my falling out of the ranks; But O what have I lost?! Riches, greater riches than all this world or many planets like this could afford.”6
Apropos are the words of the poet John Greenleaf Whittier: “Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: ‘It might have been!’”7

Good morning, brothers and sisters. In 1897 a young David O. McKay stood at a door with a tract in his hand. As a missionary in Stirling, Scotland, he had done this many times before. But on that day a very haggard woman opened the door and stood before him. She was poorly dressed and had sunken cheeks and unkempt hair.
She took the tract Elder McKay offered to her and spoke six words that he subsequently would never forget: “Will this buy me any bread?”
This encounter left a lasting impression on the young missionary. He later wrote: “From that moment I had a deeper realization that the Church of Christ should be and is interested in the temporal salvation of man. I walked away from the door feeling that that [woman], with … bitterness in [her heart] toward man and God, [was] in no position to receive the message of the gospel. [She was] in need of temporal help, and there was no organization, so far as I could learn, in Stirling that could give it to [her].”1

“Who does he think he is?”
That question seared through my mind like a hot coal and overshadowed everything else. I had just knelt down by my bed to say my nightly prayers when my new stepfather passed by my bedroom door and saw me kneeling there. He must have been deeply touched by the sight, because he felt impelled to come into my room, kneel down beside me, put his arm around me, and join me in prayer.
I wanted to rip his arm from my shoulders and shove him out the door. I didn’t consider the fact that he was just trying to be nice—making an effort to grow closer to me. At the time I felt like he was intruding on something very private. I’d thought before that he was trying to nose into my real dad’s rightful spot, and that he was coming between my Mom and me. Now it seemed he wanted to horn his way into my relationship with Heavenly Father. “Get out of here!” my mind silently shouted. I knelt there, seething in silence, unable to finish my prayer.
My feelings, although not charitable, were natural and typical of a teenager trying to adjust to a new parent. You would probably be surprised at the number of teenagers who have to make that adjustment. More than a third of the kids in the Church will likely grow up without both their natural parents in the home. They will either live in single-parent families, or will have a stepparent. And when that stepparent moves in, there are major adjustments to be made.
The New Era talked with teenagers in various parts of the United States to find out what helped them adapt to a new parent, and we’re passing that information along to you. Stepbrothers and stepsisters enter in, but for now, we’re focusing on the parent. Chances are that if you’re not currently dealing with this kind of situation, one of your friends is, and maybe this will help you help them.
“You’ve got to have a positive attitude about stepparents and not have this preconceived notion that they’re going to be mean,” says Nathan Black, 16, of Salt Lake City. “The story of Cinderella really didn’t do much for the stepparent image.”
Nancy Taylor, 15, of Richardson, Texas, agrees. “Trust in your natural parent’s judgment. If they thought their new husband or wife would be a bad influence in your home, they wouldn’t have married them. They love you. They don’t want to hurt you.”
As you can probably figure out from Nathan and Nancy’s statements, the first, and probably hardest thing to deal with when a stepparent moves in is the initial adjustment. They’re new to your family. They come from different backgrounds. They have different values, different personal styles, and they even eat different things from what you’re used to. “You don’t have a common past,” says Karis Wold, 17, of Gaithersburg, Maryland. “You don’t have the same experiences to laugh about.”
Then there’s the intrusion factor, and a little jealousy thrown in as well. Almost everyone who has a new parent move into their home feels these things to some degree. “A stepparent takes the place of the real parent in the home, and sometimes you feel resentful of that,” says Teri Black, 17, of Salt Lake City. “When one parent leaves, you become more dependent and closer to the one you’re living with. Then someone else comes along and gets most of their attention, and you feel like your stepparent is taking your real parent away from you.”
Karis and Teri both agree that patience is one of the most important factors in dealing with these initial problems. “You’ve just got to realize that everything is not going to be perfect from the very beginning,” says Karis. “Sometimes you have to put what you want aside and just wait. Perspective is important. You may have troubles now, but you have to realize that they won’t necessarily last forever. Sometimes you have to go with the flow and humor them.”
“You’ve also got to remember,” says Molly Parker, 12, of Beaverton, Oregon, “that your first impression of them is going to be different from your impression once you get to know them. You’re both trying to adjust at first. You’ve got to try to understand them, and then they’ll probably try to understand you.”
“And it’s important to watch the way you treat them,” adds Amy Rooney, 17, of Mesa, Arizona. “There’s a good chance that they’ll treat you the way you treat them. For example, one thing that a lot of stepkids say is, ‘I don’t have to do what you say—you’re not my real father!’ How would you feel if they said to you, ‘I don’t have to help you—you’re not my real kid’?”
That brings us to discipline, which is also a major cause of contention between stepparent and stepchild. You’re used to receiving a certain punishment for disobedience, and the stepparent dishes out another. You feel resentment because “that’s not the way my real dad did it.”
“Don’t compare your stepparents to your real parents, because, out of a sense of loyalty to your natural parents, the stepparent will always come up short,” says Chris Smith, 13, of Pasadena, California. He also offers this advice: “Just try to look at things from your new parent’s point of view. When they tell you to take out the trash, it’s not because they’re riding you. They just want the house to be clean.”
“At first I resented my stepdad when he disciplined my little sister,” says Nancy Taylor. “I felt he had no right to do that. But then my mom explained to me that Lindsey needs to learn what’s right and wrong—he wasn’t doing it to be mean, but to help her. That kind of applies to me, too. I had to accept the fact that he is the man of the house now, and what he says goes.”
Some of the people we talked to said their new parent was stricter than the parent they’d been living with, and others said the new parent was more lenient. But surprisingly enough, the general consensus was that kids were grateful to have set rules and set punishments for breaking them. Many times, when one parent is absent from the home, discipline breaks down, maybe because a single parent doesn’t have the support of a partner in administering it, or because single parents feel a need to ingratiate themselves with their children. Or perhaps, with a mom working again, she just doesn’t have the time. And then there’s the urge, with so many adjustments to be made, to just avoid any sort of conflict altogether. Whatever the case, most of the kids interviewed said they appreciated the discipline, and, although it took some time to get used to, it was better than having total freedom with no guidance.
Now, once the ground rules are set, there are all sorts of ways to become closer to your new parent. They’re not necessarily trying to take the place of your natural parent, but most will try to be your friend. How do you get closer to a friend? You do things together. You share things.
Joey Rossi, 16, of Dallas, Texas, shares his hobbies, like working on a computer, with his stepdad. Nathan Black likes to go to football and basketball games with his stepdad, who also goes to movies with Nathan’s sister Teri. Amy Rooney says her relationship with her stepfather grows when he helps her with softball or powderpuff football. Nathaniel Smith, 12, of Pasadena, California, got closer to his stepmother by letting her help him with his piano lessons and by listening to her etiquette tips, while his stepbrother Allen Doezie, 17, became better friends with his stepfather by going on Scouting trips with him.
In fact, the Church offers a lot of programs that can bring you closer to your stepparent. Aimee Crowther, 13, of Richardson, Texas, got a lot closer to her stepdad by going to a Daddy-Daughter party with him. Karis Wold says she really became close to her stepmother when they shared the experience of getting her patriarchal blessing.
And you know, asking a stepparent for help doesn’t hurt either. “At first it was hard for me to ask him to do things for me, like take me to the store and things like that,” says Nancy Taylor. “I didn’t want to impose on him, or make him think I was too dependent or anything. But the more I reached out to him, the better it got. The little things built up. Now I feel like I can share my problems with him, and he helps me.”
Another help that almost every person interviewed mentioned for bringing a new family close is showing physical affection. You’re not being disloyal to a natural parent by giving a stepparent a hug. You hug your friends, don’t you? “I remember one thing that really made me feel closer to my stepmom,” says Chris Smith. “I’d just gotten home from a trip, and she gave me a big hug—that made me realize she was really happy to see me. That was good.”
Being open with your stepparent, and rationally talking out your problems with them, will also held to break down barriers. Some people find it helpful to go to the natural parent, discuss the problem with them, and have them explain why your stepparent is acting the way he or she is. Many times your natural parent can help you understand.
Probably the biggest help for your family situation will come from your Heavenly Father. “I prayed a lot about it, and Heavenly Father really helped me understand what I had to do,” says Molly Parker. “He really helped me get close.”
Family problems are best kept within the walls your house, but there may come a time when it’s necessary to get outside help. In rare cases, sins like sexual or physical abuse may occur. While such matters may seem too grave for anyone to want to admit to, you don’t have to be subjected to that. In fact, it is your right not to suffer in that way. Seek help from your other parent, your bishop, your school counselor, or another family member outside of your home. You don’t have to shoulder that burden alone. You need help, and so does the person afflicting you.
In most cases, however, there are great advantages to having two parents in the home, even if one is a stepparent. “It’s great to have a Melchizedek Priesthood holder in your house,” says Allen Doezie. “Dad’s happier when he’s married,” adds Karis Wold.
And a lot can be learned from the adjustment process. Most people agree that getting used to a new person in the home helps you get used to new people outside the home better. It can also be a great aid in helping you get along with new missionary companions or a spouse, who will also have come from a different background.
Karis sums up most stepparent experiences with the following advice. “Just try to remember that they want everything to work just as much as you do. They don’t have all the answers either, but you can both try.”

I was quite young when World War II started, but I was old enough to be frightened by what was happening. My father assured me that the Lord was in control and that all would be well. As he told me not to worry, he put his arms around me, enveloping me in security and love. I had the same feeling of safety as we knelt in family prayer and I listened to my father, a bishop, pray for the servicemen who were from our ward. I knew that Heavenly Father lived and that He was listening.

When I was the president of Ricks College years ago, I remember having a man who was my priesthood leader come to my house each month to interview me about my home teaching. He brought with him a gray notebook in which he wrote notes. He recorded not only my report as a home teacher, but my observations about the gospel and life as well.

I remember at first being very flattered. Then one Sunday he and I were visiting what was then called junior Sunday School. He was a few rows in front of me. The speaker was a little girl, no more than six or seven, probably not yet old enough to have the gift of the Holy Ghost. I glanced over at the man and noticed with surprise that he had that same gray notebook open. As the little girl spoke, he was writing with as much speed and intensity as he had in the study of my home. I learned a lesson from him that I haven’t forgotten. He had faith that God could speak to him as clearly through a child as through the president of a college.

I watched that man in later months and years deal with great difficulties and with important assignments. I saw miracles—at least to me they seemed to be miracles—in his wisdom and in his ability to lead and to direct. Those miracles came, I believe in large part, because he could hear the voice of God confirmed by the Holy Spirit in words of the weak and the simple.

I want to acknowledge a wonderful group of new accounting majors that it was my privilege to teach this last winter semester. Those who major in Marriott School programs know of the intensity of the junior core year in the School of Accountancy. My course forms part of this core curriculum. My students were all deeply involved in wrapping up the most intense academic year of their lives. They had worked hard, but they had stayed engaged. These were terrific colleagues in the classroom, and I was blessed to be a part of their semester. One e-mail sent to me shortly after the close of the semester resonated strongly with me as I prepared these remarks for you. With the permission of a good student, I share with you part of his e-mail.

A few days ago I thought of the junior core when I was reading Press On, a book by Elder Wirthlin. He shared a story of a psychology professor at the University of Chicago who spent 25 years studying what makes people happy. The professor concluded, “The best moments [in our lives] usually occur when a person’s body or mind is stretched to its limits in a voluntary effort to accomplish something difficult and worthwhile.” . . . The junior core is similar to serving a mission. Sometimes the days never seem to end; sometimes you wonder what you got yourself into; sometimes you question if all the work is worthwhile if you cannot see the results of your efforts. Then, all of a sudden, it does end. Ironically, you wish it wasn’t ending because you look back and see how you’ve grown, you see the experiences that have pushed and stretched you, and you see the friendships that have developed through months of hard work.27

As a very little boy, Tam Hoi Hoon loved to climb. He would climb streetlamps and even palm trees with his bare hands! His favorite class in preschool was gymnastics. At the time, the Tam family lived in Hawaii, where Brother Tam was studying at the university.
When his family moved back to Hong Kong, Hoi Hoon joined the Hong Kong Amateur Gymnastic Association. After joining the team, he won the 2001 Hong Kong Gymnastics Competition. Now age 10 and a member of the Aberdeen Ward, Hong Kong Island Stake, Hoi Hoon is setting an example through his gymnastics and his beliefs.

My family visited a ranch where I got to ride a white horse. Another horse spooked him, and all of a sudden he was running away with me. I was bouncing about and holding on for dear life. Finally I fell off! The only parts of me that got hurt were my right foot and the top part of my leg. Everyone said that I held on for a long time and landed well. I know that Heavenly Father helped me so I wouldn’t get hurt badly. I know that He protects us all, and that we should thank Him.Audrey M., age 10, Washington

“Wake up, girls. The neighbor just came with a message that we need to go to the ranch right away.”
Mom’s voice was quiet but filled with urgency. We were in the process of moving to a ranch several miles away, and Dad was living there by himself until we could join him.
“Why do we have to go to the ranch?” I thought. But the reason for going didn’t really matter as I pulled my nine-year-old body into the pickup truck and went back to sleep.
As Mom pulled the truck up to the house I woke up and saw Dad coming out. He went to Mom and in a low voice told her something that made her gasp, then cry. What was it? There was a stillness in the air that seemed to shout at me, a deathly stillness. My heart began to beat a little faster though I couldn’t understand why.
We walked into the house to find Grandpa seated on the couch. Why was he here, and where was Grandma? Suddenly I knew, without being told, why the stillness was so empty and why my grandfather was sitting there without my grandmother. I found myself hoping against hope that I was wrong.
The next few minutes were spent in listening to my father call the mortuary (a foreign word to me) and trying to get rid of the big lump in my throat. I wasn’t going to cry; I was simply scared. Soon Dad took us upstairs to put us to bed. I silently waited for what was coming, still hoping I was wrong.
“Girls, something happened to your grandma today. She was in a car accident, and she was killed. We won’t see her anymore.”
Simple, quiet, direct, and powerful. Oh, how powerful! I started crying but not just for the loss of my grandmother. Something more consuming had entered my mind. The lump returned to my throat and my heart began to beat even faster.
Was she really dead? Of course she was. But was she really? What was death? Could she feel anything now? Could she see me thinking about her? Was she just floating in space? I couldn’t imagine her life just ending and nothing more. Something inside me told me it wasn’t right for death to be so permanent. I imagined myself dying, and panic seized me. It didn’t seem possible that when I died I wouldn’t feel, hear, think, smell, see, or anything. The thought was unbearable to me, and I slammed a door against my fear, locking it away.
Six years later as I lay in bed, my thoughts wandered aimlessly back to that quiet June night. I could almost hear my father’s voice telling us Grandma was dead. Grandma! Like lightning the door of the mind opened, and my fear was released. “No!” I screamed silently, turning over in bed and closing my eyes. Tears welled up in my eyes as I tried to imagine what death was like. There were no pictures to imagine, only darkness and emptiness. And again something inside me told me that darkness wasn’t right.
I arose, went to my window, and gazed into the night, concentrating on the shadowy forms of trees and distant sounds of crickets and cattle. Soon the fear was behind its door again. But for how long?
Summer passed, school started, and before I knew how it happened, my best friend had introduced me to the missionaries, I had no prior religious affiliation, and I was not really aware of who they were, but they were friendly and I couldn’t help but like them.
One day, late in the fall one of the elders approached me. “We have a movie we’d like you and your family to see,” he said. “Could we set up a time when we could come to your home and show it?”
“Well,” I hesitated, “I don’t know if my dad would like that or not.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” continued the missionary. “We’ll only come if he wants us to. We’d like to show it next Monday night if we can.”
“Okay,” I said, inwardly eager for my parents to meet these two young men. I was sure they would like them if they met them. But would they want to meet them? I approached my father cautiously that night, expecting a negative reply to my request, but to my surprise and delight, he consented to have the missionaries come the following Monday evening. The next day I contacted them and told them the good news. I then began to look forward to their visit wondering what kind of movie they were going to show, having no idea of the effect it would have on my life.
Monday evening came, and at the appointed time there was a knock on our door, I let our guests in and introduced them to my parents. The two young men talked easily with them while setting up their equipment. I was disappointed as I watched them prepare a filmstrip projector instead of a movie projector. “This looks like something we’d see in history class,” I thought.
“Where did I come from? Why am I here? Where am I going?” The words rang through my mind. As I watched the movie and my fears were let loose again, there were answers to greet the fears. I imagined death, and this time there were pictures in my mind—pictures of people, waiting together. There was no more darkness, and the something that had been telling me all along that darkness wasn’t right was now telling me that the pictures in my mind were right. I felt a burden lifting.
“What did you think?” asked one of the elders at the conclusion of the filmstrip.
“Very nice,” my parents commented politely. I had no comment. I was still thinking of all I had just heard. I felt a peacefulness I had never felt before, and I wanted to know more.
The missionaries returned to our home with the discussions, and within a few weeks I was baptized. A whole new life began for me. No longer was I living from one day to the next, wondering when my fear of death would overtake me. No more did I feel terror at the thought of death.
Now I knew that end was only another beginning.

Years ago, when we were landscaping the yard of our new home, my father, who owned a hardware store, asked me if I would like some rose bushes that he had for sale at a very discounted price. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. I thought that roses would look very nice next to the white rail fence that bordered our front yard. I bought more than twenty rose bushes.
We live close to the base of Rock Canyon, which means that there is very little soil and a lot of rocks. Kevin took on the arduous task of digging the holes for the roses. Due to the difficulty of digging, we decided to dig the holes just big enough to pour in enough soil to surround the roots of the roses—not really the ideal amount of soil, but, given the situation, we hoped it would be adequate. As it turns out, it was.
Our roses thrived. We really didn’t do too much to them. They were watered whenever the lawn was watered, they received plenty of sunshine, and, happily, they did well in our yard, rocks and all.
Normally I would prune the roses as soon as it looked like they needed it. One year, however, I waited longer than usual to prune them—about a month longer. The roses already had quite a bit of new growth on them, but I decided to prune them anyway. When I was finished, there wasn’t much left. I had cut them back drastically—much more than I usually did. But I was pleased with the results.
Who knew that pruning roses a month later than usual—and drastically at that—would have unexpected consequences? Immediately after I had pruned the roses, I had several people tell me that it was too late in the season for cutting roses and that I had cut them back too much. Initially it didn’t bother me, but pretty soon I began to believe them. I started to feel like I had done something I shouldn’t have. I started to doubt my decision. I was sorry I had cut my roses.
I remember one man asking me incredulously, “What have you done? Do you realize that you won’t have roses this year?”
And a woman in our neighborhood who had a lovely garden quipped, “You shouldn’t have cut them so late and so much!” And then she added, “Oh well, we live and we learn.”
I felt terrible. I believed I had ruined my roses! At that point I did the only thing I could think of doing. I called my mother! I knew she would help me feel better. She was a gardener. She had roses.
I told her about the terrible thing I had done. And, to my pleasant surprise, she assured me that I hadn’t done anything wrong. She advised me to go to a nursery and buy a book on roses. I would find that I hadn’t ruined them.
I did as she suggested. I bought a book on roses and was relieved to find out that I hadn’t ruined them. In fact, I read that when pruning roses, you should cut them back “severely.” I definitely had cut my roses back severely. The book was very helpful. It taught me that the only way I could ruin the roses was to pull them out of the ground, stop watering them, or prevent them from getting sunlight.
Now I had two sources of assurance: my mother and my rose book. Even though I had some reassurances that my rose bushes would be fine, I was still a little sensitive and skeptical. I really hoped the roses would grow back, but there remained some doubt in my mind—doubt that was reinforced by continued negative assessments from my neighbors.
I anxiously checked on my roses every day, looking for any kind of growth. Finally I saw growth and was thrilled that I hadn’t ruined my roses after all. I don’t know why I worried so much. I hadn’t pulled them out by the roots, I hadn’t stopped watering them, and they were receiving plenty of sunshine. Eventually there were fully bloomed roses in my yard again—a month later than normal, but there were roses!

As my wife and I talked about her feeling of inadequacy and her feeling that she couldn’t do it and that she couldn’t make it, I had a hard time reaching her until finally I hit upon something that had happened in our family just a couple of months earlier. In our home it is now called the parable of the bicycle.

After I had come home from school one day, I was sitting in a chair reading the newspaper. My daughter Sarah, who was seven years old, came in and said, “Dad, can I have a bike? I’m the only kid on the block who doesn’t have a bike.”

Well, I didn’t have enough money to buy her a bike, so I stalled her and said, “Sure, Sarah.”

She said, “How? When?”

I said, “You save all your pennies, and pretty soon you’ll have enough for a bike.” And she went away.

A couple of weeks later as I was sitting in the same chair, I was aware of Sarah doing something for her mother and getting paid. She went into the other room and I heard “clink, clink.” I asked, “Sarah, what are you doing?”

She came out and she had a little jar all cleaned up with a slit cut in the lid and a bunch of pennies in the bottom. She looked at me and said, “You promised me that if I saved all my pennies, pretty soon I’d have enough for a bike. And, Daddy, I’ve saved every single one of them.”

She’s my daughter, and I love her. My heart melted. She was doing everything in her power to follow my instructions. I hadn’t actually lied to her. If she saved all of her pennies she would eventually have enough for a bike, but by then she would want a car. But her needs weren’t being met. Because I love her, I said, “Let’s go downtown and look at bikes.”

We went to every store in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. Finally we found it—the perfect bicycle, the one she knew in the premortal existence. She got up on that bike; she was thrilled. She then saw the price tag, reached down, and turned it over. When she saw how much it cost, her face fell and she started to cry. She said, “Oh Dad, I’ll never have enough for a bicycle.”

So I said, “Sarah, how much do you have?”

She answered, “Sixty-one cents.”

“I’ll tell you what. You give me everything you’ve got and a hug and a kiss, and the bike is yours.” Well, she’s never been stupid. She gave me a hug and a kiss. She gave me the sixty-one cents. Then I had to drive home very slowly because she wouldn’t get off the bike. She rode home on the sidewalk, and as I drove along slowly beside her it occurred to me that this was a parable for the Atonement of Christ.

We all want something desperately—it isn’t a bicycle. We want the celestial kingdom. We want to be with our Father in Heaven. And no matter how hard we try, we come up short. At some point we realize, “I can’t do this!” That was the point my wife had reached. It is at that point that the sweetness of the gospel covenant comes to our taste as the Savior proposes, “I’ll tell you what. All right, you’re not perfect. How much do you have? What can you do? Where are you now? Give me all you’ve got, and I’ll pay the rest. Give me a hug and a kiss; enter into a personal relationship with me, and I will do what remains undone.”

I never used to feel the Spirit in meetings, and I imagined there was something wrong with me. Then I had the opportunity to accompany one of the full-time missionaries serving in our branch. For me, the conditions were far from ideal. After my regular work in a bank, I bicycled in extreme heat to the investigator’s home.

On our first visit, I only listened as the missionary presented the lesson. But on the second visit, I became involved in the message, and I felt the Spirit as I had never felt it before. It was such a wonderful feeling that I had tears in my eyes.

When I got home, I began to analyze why I had felt the Spirit so strongly. I came to the conclusion that it was because I was interested in the lesson and the message taught. I now make the effort to become interested in what speakers have to say in church meetings. When I become involved in their message and concentrate on what they are saying, I have felt the Spirit with me.

Janilson Teixeira de Oliveira, 21Rondonopólis Aurora Branch, Brazil Brasília Mission

As Sister Simpson and I walked along lower Queen Street in Auckland, New Zealand, the other day, we came to a particular place not far from the wharf. There we paused for a few moments as I related to her the incident that took place at that very spot during my first mission.

I could still see in my mind’s eye a very old Maori couple who stood at the curb with thousands of others waving farewell to the Maori Battalion as they marched down to their troop transport and off to war.

The old couple became very excited as one young soldier glanced their way with a big smile. From their Maori conversation, it became apparent that this was their great-grandson going off to war.

His would be an atomic war with sophisticated equipment capable of killing by the thousands—so unlike the Maori wars of the late 1800s that the old Maori had participated in as a young tribal warrior.

Soon the boy was gone from view, and it was then that the old man turned to his wife and said (perhaps a little cynically), “Ka tahi kua pakeha tatou,” which in effect means, “So now we are civilized.”

On Sunday 26 July the Tunbridge Wells Ward of the Church hosted the civic service for the new mayor of the borough of Tunbridge Wells, Chris Woodward, a member of the ward. The service was conducted by Bishop George Fahey and presided over by Stake President Stephen Baldock, and his first counsellor, Leighton Bascom, also members of the ward.
Besides local members, there was a good mix of visitors. The service was attended by past mayor Mrs Barbara Cobbold; Andrew Backway JP; three borough councillors, Harry Allen, Sarah Hamilton, and Bill Hills; and Sue Hall representing the Tunbridge Wells Quaker Meeting. Also attending was architect Dr Philip Whitbourn OBE. It was a pleasure to meet and chat with them after the service.
Hosting a civic service was a rare occasion for the ward, as most prior mayors of the borough have been of the Anglican faith. The typical programme of past mayors’ services had to be adapted to align with the Church’s practices. The focus of the service became the Melchizedek Priesthood blessing on the mayor by Bishop Fahey with the assistance of Presidents Baldock and Bascom.
In his address, Bishop Fahey drew attention to Doctrine & Covenants (Section 58:27), in which the Lord said: “men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their own free will, and bring to pass much righteousness”. He added, “Civic service and duty are important to members of the Church. We are actively encouraged to participate in civic life, to serve, to vote, and to help effect social change for the better. We believe that democratic government is sanctioned by God and that the betterment of our societies should be achieved by the proper exercising of civic machinery.”
He drew attention to Joseph Smith’s response to being questioned about what the Church adherents believed: “As well as doctrinal beliefs relating to the reality of God, His Son Jesus Christ, and doctrines pertaining to spiritual matters, Joseph’s answer included: ‘We believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, in obeying, honouring, and sustaining the law.
“‘We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men. … If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.’” (Articles of Faith 12 and 13.)
Bishop Fahey continued, “How can we summarise principles of Christlike leadership and service? During His earthly ministry Jesus taught, ‘he that is greatest among you shall be your servant’ (Matthew 23:11) This King of kings, Prince of Peace, and Son of God led a ministry of exhausting work in the service of others. He had no fixed abode, taught, and ministered to others far past mealtimes, and on at least one occasion was so exhausted that He was able to sleep through a storm on the Sea of Galilee. On the evening before his Crucifixion, the same on which He shared the Last Supper, He showed the measure of His leadership by washing the feet of His disciples. Indeed, in this Church we believe that ‘no power or influence can or ought to be maintained … only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, by love unfeigned,
“‘By kindness and pure knowledge … without hypocrisy, and without guile’ (Doctrine & Covenants 121:41–42).
“Such are the leadership methods that the humble follower of Jesus Christ should strive to use — patterned after the methods of the most influential leader to have ever walked the earth.”
After about 35 years of corporate life, Chris had started his own small business in 2003. His family circumstances did not make it possible to serve a full-time mission with his wife. He added, “I decided the time was right to direct effort to serving my community more widely. During those early days of pondering what I should do, someone from the local political establishment came knocking on my door in 2005. The rest is minor history.”
Chris was inspired by Gordon B. Hinckley (1910-2008), who in a conference address in April 2000, when aged 90 (five years after becoming President of the Church), declared of David B. Haight (1906-2004), a member of the Council of Twelve Apostles, who was then 94, “I am an old man trying to catch up with Brother Haight! I’m given to meditation and prayer. I would enjoy sitting in a rocker, swallowing prescriptions, listening to soft music, and contemplating the things of the universe. But such activity offers no challenge and makes no contribution.
“I wish to be up and doing. I wish to face each day with resolution and purpose. I wish to use every waking hour to give encouragement, to bless those whose burdens are heavy, to build faith and strength of testimony [in the Saviour].”1
Chris hopes to echo President Hinckley’s wish to be up and doing while still in his somewhat-young 75+ age group. He adds, “Like all of us, I need purpose—achieving something that is worthwhile. I have found serving as borough councillor to provide some of this.” Chris said of the reading from Matthew 6:1–4 given by young Sister Eliza Brecheisen, that “it always reminds me that when we give our time and resources to help others, that God expects us to do it without broadcasting what we do. He knows what we do. As I serve publicly as mayor, I always try to keep that message uppermost in my mind.” Young Brother Aaron Yoosuf’s scripture reading from 2 Corinthians 9:6–7, reminded Chris to cheerfully do his very best while he has the health, strength and will to do so.
Brother Woodward has chosen as his mayoral theme, The Rising Generation, a phrase well known in the Church. He wants to make sure that the voice of the rising generation of the Tunbridge Wells Borough is heard by local civic and community leaders. He is working to form a forum for young people in the borough, drawing in representatives from year 10–13 students in fourteen local secondary schools.
He has also chosen to do all he can to raise funds for the local charity, Mental Health Resource, which supports both adults and young people with mental health concerns.
The youth of the ward contributed much to the civic service by way of readings and prayers, as well as serving as waiters and waitresses after the service, roving among chatting attendees, offering them finger food and soft drink—something they performed excellently. (For completeness it is to be noted that the food had been prepared by the mayor and mayoress in the early hours of that same morning! A rare thing to behold.)

It was Easter Sunday here in Southern Australia, and I was staying at a friend’s house while my mum was away for the weekend. As it turned out, the people that usually provided the music at church had gone away too.
I am only a beginner at the piano, but when asked to play, I reluctantly accepted as there was no one else. That Sunday I realized what an important part the sacrament hymns play in our meetings. Even though I only played with my right hand and missed many notes, the congregation sounded like angels.
I am grateful for the Saints that provide the music for us in sacrament meeting, and even though I was terrified, I am truly grateful for that Sunday because it helped me develop my talents.