Gospel Story Finder

“Brady and I didn’t have a bad relationship. The problem was, we didn’t have a relationship at all. Involvement in school and my friends meant everything. I never took the time. When I heard about the experiment, I immediately thought of Brady, and after praying about it I was sure he was the one. At first it was a chore; then it became a little easier; then I realized he is fun! I just had to make the first move. Now he comes to invite me to do things with him.”—Brittany Brammer

Taking a stand wasn’t easy for Sarah Koyle, a Laurel who lives in Rancho Cucamonga, California, but she knew it was the right thing to do. When a teacher at her school showed a movie that Sarah felt was inappropriate, she made her opinion known.
After Sarah’s bold move, there was little room for doubt by her peers as to what Sarah believed was right. Then a local newspaper interviewed Sarah about her stand on R-rated movies. Again, Sarah was able to voice her opinions without reservation.
Was all the attention worth it, especially when Sarah seemed to be the only one who felt that the movies were wrong?
“If I were given the chance, I would definitely do this again,” says Sarah. “Standing for the prophet’s words is something I can’t do enough of. It wasn’t easy, but it was right.”

I started going to church with some friends in our neighborhood. But then we moved and I stopped going.
In my new school I signed up for seminary. I began reading the scriptures daily. One night it hit me just how much my life needed changing. I had been learning about the gospel, but I hadn’t been living it. I was still hanging out with people who made it difficult to live righteously. I knew I had to get serious about changing my life. The next day I went and talked to Brother Porter, my seminary teacher. He told me when and where my ward met.
The next Sunday I went to church but sat down in the back of the chapel. It took a while to make friends because of my reputation, but I kept going each week because I knew that was where I was supposed to be. For my 15th birthday, my other grandma gave me a gift certificate for a haircut and some new clothes. A few days later I was ordained a teacher.

Abraham Lincoln demonstrated his great integrity in his famous house-divided speech. John Wesley Hill, in his book Abraham Lincoln—Man of God, says: “Lincoln showed his independence and tenacity of purpose when he wrote his address accepting the nomination for United States Senator. … This is known as ‘The House Divided Against Itself’ speech. It embodied the historic declaration that the Union could not exist ‘half slave and half free.’ To his friend, Jesse K. Dubois, Lincoln said:
“‘I refused to read the passage about the house divided against itself to you, because I knew you would ask me to change or modify it, and that I was determined not to do. I had willed it so and was willing, if necessary, to perish with it. I would rather be defeated with this expression in the speech … than to be victorious without it.’” (Abraham Lincoln—Man of God, New York and London: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1927, p. 151.)
Now it took real courage for Lincoln to leave that “half slave and half free” sentence in his speech. He was ambitious, and it seemed that through the Senate was the way to the presidency, but the political climate at the time was not ready for the stand he took on that issue. The probability was that the statement would mean defeat in his race for the Senate, and that’s what it turned out to be. All this Lincoln well knew; nevertheless, he had the integrity to act in harmony with his convictions. Although his course did shut the door to the Senate, fortunately for the country, it later opened the door to the presidency.

One of the best inspiration stories I know is a football story about a young man playing fullback for the University of Oklahoma. The University of Oklahoma had gone ten years without losing a conference football game, had gone 47 straight games without losing to anyone: Army, Navy, Notre Dame, Texas, Alabama—you name the team—they played them and beat them. But on this particular day, while playing the University of Nebraska at Norman, Oklahoma, it looked as if they were going to be beaten. It was late in the game, they had the ball deep in their own territory, and they were behind. The winning streak was going to go down the drain, but in a second down and long-yardage situation, the ball was handed off to the tailback, a young man named Billy Vessels, who ran 67 yards for a touchdown that snatched victory from defeat. His run prolonged that great winning streak. The news media said, “That touchdown run was, without a doubt, the best run in the history of Oklahoma football and maybe in the history of football per se.”

On Monday, when the coaches looked at the film, they found that something strange had happened on this particular play. Billy Vessels did make a great run, but the play went differently than they had thought. The quarterback, Claude Arnold, took the snap from center and handed off to Vessels, the tailback, who was going to run around the right end. The fullback was a young man named Leon Heath; he wore number 40 on his jersey. His job on this play was to hook the end, to block him in, so Vessels could run around him. As the ball was snapped, the end came across too far. The average player would have thought, “Get back over there. The coach said you’d be right there. Get over there.” Players move around from time to time, and they are not always located where we coaches draw them on the board. Instead of trying to hook the end, Heath just drove him out of the play, and Vessels cut inside, got around the corner, and eventually was confronted by the cornerback. Vessels made a quick left, cut behind the line of scrimmage, and ran into the offside linebacker. What a hit! Two great athletes going full speed. Vessels was struggling to stay on his feet and eventually to break the tackle. Just when it looked as if he were going down, into the film came number 40, the man who had just blocked the end. Heath got a shoulder pad into the linebacker and knocked him off the tackle. Vessels spun free, balanced on his hand, headed for the sidelines and then for the tall grass of the end zone, which was about 60 yards away. Billy Vessels—six-foot-two, 210 pounds of Heisman-trophy-winning, All-American tailback—could run like the wind. As he was on his way to the end zone, here came the weak side safety, the man who plays on the weak side of the formation. You could see that he was going to get Vessels on about the 15-yard line. When Vessels got to the 25, he had to make up his mind what he was going to do—run over him, stop, call time, say “King’s X,” or something else. Just as he had to make up his mind, into the film came number 40, Leon Heath, moving like a freight train. He hit the safety, put him about eight rows up in the grandstand, and Vessels walked into the end zone for the greatest run in the history of Oklahoma football.

That’s an inspiring performance. If you and I are going to get where we would like to get eventually, we had better follow Heath’s example and not only complete that first assignment but also go get a linebacker. And if we really want an exalted hereafter, we had better hitch up our belts and go get the safety.

Joseph Banks was also a B-17 crew member whose plane was shot down over Germany. He was taken prisoner and decided along with three of his buddy's that they would escape. They made their break from the prison, but now had to get out of Germany to obtain freedom. Trusting in the Lord, Joseph Banks made his way through a darkened town. The three had split up and were creeping about ten feet apart when to the left of brother Banks, he heard a voice in the darkness. As he instinctively turned to look, a door opened. The light from inside the house shined on him and blinded him temporarily. He stood like a deer caught in headlights unable to move or do anything. Suddenly a German soldier came striding out of the house straight for him. The darkness hid his companions and they were able to take cover.
As the soldier got closer, his shadow shielded Brother Banks eyes so that he could see a large German tank beside the house. He didn't know whether to run, put his hands up or beg for mercy--so he just stood there in his tattered prison clothes. They had bright white letters painted on his shirt and pants making it very obvious that he was a prisoner of war. At this point all he could do was submit to the will of the Lord. When the soldier reached him he shouted something unintelligible to him in German. Before he could think of what to do, Brother Banks heard himself respond with a calm, confident, German phrase that obviously was appropriate to what he'd asked. The German replied to whatever Brother Banks had said with an almost cheerful, "Ya, Ya, Ya." Then he put his arms around the woman and went back in the house. His buddies asked, "What on earth did he say?" "I don't have a clue", he replied, but in his heart he felt a burning that the Holy Ghost had interpreted what the German said and granted him the gift of tongues to reply. The spirit must have also transformed his appearance to prevent his being recognized as a prisoner of war. The Holy Ghost bore witness to Joseph Banks that his life had been spared as he submitted to the will of the Lord. God did more for Joseph Banks than he ever could have done for himself.

Before me sat a handsomely graying sixty-year-old man of slight yet dignified physique who had been making important editorial decisions for nearly forty years. Surely I was in the right place for an answer. As a twenty-one-year-old missionary, he had been associate editor of Great Britain’s respected mission publication, the Millennial Star. While walking down a Salt Lake City street after returning home, he decided on the moment to seek employment at KSL radio station. They hired him, and four years later he was named one of America’s best radio announcers.
At twenty-four years of age he began his great career as Tabernacle Choir commentator and author of his own “Spoken Word.” Six years later, the call came to be managing editor of the Improvement Era. Since that time he continued to grow in editorial stature. He authored numerous books, became a world-famous personality, was called at age thirty-two to the First Council of the Seventy and then at age forty-seven to the Council of the Twelve (in both quorums he was their youngest member when appointed). Wherever he went and whatever he did, his name only continued to rise higher and higher. Certainly this man could solve our little problem.
After he finished the letter he was dictating, he turned and said, “Please sit down and tell me what’s come up.” I did, and then as he leaned back in his chair he concurred about the seriousness of the problem. After talking about it for a few minutes, he came around from behind his desk, sat down beside me, and started to ask questions: “What do you think would happen if we did such-and-such?” I would respond, and then he’d ask, “What do you think if we did something else?” And so it went, until half a dozen possible courses were discussed.
Then he stood up and said, “I’m glad you came over because, no fooling, this is a serious matter, and it has some delicate overtones. The Lord bless you in your decision.”
Stunned by his decision to not make a decision, or was it confidence in a new staff member’s ability to handle the matter, I walked in silence to the door, his arm on my shoulder. He opened the door and took my hand to say good-bye and slowly said, “This is a very delicate and serious matter. You’ll make a good decision.”
As I left, thinking about what to do, I couldn’t help but recall the Prophet Joseph Smith’s great statement that he taught correct principles and then left the Saints to govern themselves.
It was so also with Elder Richard L. Evans. For forty-one years he taught the world correct principles through his beloved and widely quoted “Spoken Word.” Many great broadcasting executives and evangelical leaders of several nations have said that Elder Evans addressed the largest pulpit in the world. In fact, a statement issued by the Council of the Twelve at Elder Evans’ death said: “Numerous people, the world over, have happily boasted that ‘Richard Evans is my Church.’”
What kept listeners returning to hear his “message of depth and faith and freshness and inspiration” week after week? It was the correct principles that he so well articulated. He effused his great messages with hope—and confidence, as I discovered. Clothing the principles he discussed was his unmistakable spirit of optimism and conviction that mankind—every one of us—can really make the right decisions if we think seriously enough about what matters most in life. Then, like the Prophet Joseph Smith, Elder Evans left his listeners to govern themselves, to seek out alone the good in life and in religion.
No one need take space to say all the things that Elder Evans stood for—it would probably be an impossible task. Every listener and reader of the “Spoken Word” knows for himself the great themes of Richard L. Evans. Each of us has felt his own spirit move and revel in agreement as he read or heard the beautifully and succinctly phrased sentences. Each of us has sensed the remarkable breadth of this man’s outlook, his depth of understanding, his tolerance of others and their ways of life, his urbanity and cosmopolitanism (a term appropriately chosen by the First Presidency in a statement they issued about Elder Evans), his endless store of common-sense wisdom, and his probing perceptiveness.
But unknown to New Era readers is the great founding role that Elder Evans played in seeing that these same qualities were part of the New Era. About a year and a half ago when the First Presidency decided that there would be three new magazines, Elder Evans chairmaned the youth correlation committee, as one of his many assignments as a member of the Council of the Twelve. So, under the direction of the First Presidency, he was in charge of the new youth magazine.
His immediate concern was for a name. He asked for suggestions, wrote friends for lists of suggested titles, and composed a list himself. But that was not good enough: “The thing we must remember is that if this magazine is for youth then it must carry a name that they will respond to,” he said.
He whittled all proposed names down to about twenty-five and asked that a survey be taken at several large youth conferences. Their selection pleased him greatly—the New Era—because coincidentally, the First Presidency had also voiced their preference—the New Era.
After the name came the content. He called groups together in his search for ideas. The roster of those attending read like a Who’s Who in Church stature and contribution. He wrote letters far and wide asking for opinions, and he talked personally with many young people. It was so typical of him: calling in the experts, seeking the best wisdom available, not wanting to overlook any potential good idea from any source. When he was ready, he gave his counsel: “We must face up to the issues in the minds of our students. We must grapple with the anxious concerns of youth.” He personally directed the present “Q&A” format. “Take up the many interests and chief needs of youth—from dating to careers, and don’t neglect the arts.”
His counsel was far-ranging and varied. If you’re one of the many who have come to love the New Era, you should know that much of the basic direction was motivated by Elder Evans. He really did understand youth.
But more than understanding people, this greatly gifted man understood life, all facets of it. As a result, his sparkling intellect and endless interests carried him successfully into many fields. Can you imagine a man already enormously busy with heavy General Authority assignments and weekly conference trips, plus his weekly pressure for more than forty years to create a new and moving “Spoken Word,” also taking time to become so deeply involved in civic, educational, service, business, and other activities that he would achieve the following: (1) 1966–67 president of Rotary International (during that year he traveled worldwide speaking to service clubs); (2) president, University of Utah alumni, and three-term member of the University’s Board of Regents; (3) a member of the Utah State Board of Higher Education; (4) recipient at thirty-three of a Distinguished Service Award from the Salt Lake City Junior Chamber of Commerce, in 1961 of the George Washington Medal of the Freedom Foundation, and—in between and after—of literally dozens of honorary degrees and special honors; (5) two-term member of the Committee on Medicine and Religion for the American Medical Association; (6) member of the advisory council of the Civil War Centennial Commission; (7) weekly columnist for a New York newspaper syndicate, King Features; (8) at his death a director in about a dozen businesses, banks, and financial enterprises; and (9) of course, much more than space permits mentioning. His active and successful involvement in so many facets of life is staggering.
Elder Evans was not one to sit on the side and let life go by. In a day when people are being called to show their religious convictions by their actions, Elder Evans is a monument, an enduring example for all of us.
But now some remarkable facts. His father was killed in an accident when young Richard was only ten weeks old (he was born March 23, 1906 in Salt Lake City, the last of nine children). All his early life he missed a father’s counsel and arm. Then, even though he won scholastic, debating, and his high school’s distinguished service awards, and had been editor of the school paper, he put himself through college by “working all the time” in every job imaginable: raising and selling flowers, selling magazines and newspapers, having a paper route, dispensing sodas, driving trucks, surveying for the railroad, making syrup, collecting bad debts, selling woolens, working in printing shops, advertising, and writing! After his mission he received his degree in English, and a year later a masters degree in economics. At twenty-seven, after having established his course in life, he married Alice Thornley, and together they raised their four sons, whom he called “the joys of my life.”
But can you imagine a man so widely involved, so deeply committed—a writer, an editor, an announcer, a reader of countless thousands of pages of reports, compendiums, and books—denied the use of an eye? It was a handicap that he shouldered throughout his career. Few of us will know his extra difficulties in reading, in studying, in meeting all his deadlines—all the pressures were there! And still he accomplished, still he worked relentlessly onward, with knowledge that all of us have handicaps of one sort or another, all of us have difficulties. But it is not the excuses we give that count, but what we do that counts.
Long live the memory of Elder Richard L. Evans. May readers seek elsewhere the full and beautiful story of his life. But most of all, may we follow those same correct principles he lived and taught as a special witness and apostolic ambassador for the Lord Jesus Christ.
And then, “May peace be with you, this day and always.”

On August 23, 2008, my family was sealed in the Salt Lake Temple in Utah. It was a dream come true for us. We traveled across the world—it was a long, tiring trip, but it was worth it. When we got to Utah, it was night, and the first thing we did was go to see the temple. It was so beautiful in the night with all the lights shining on it. Two days later we were sealed. The sisters who take care of the children in the temple helped my sister and me dress in white clothing. Then we went to be with our parents. I felt like I was going to meet Jesus. We were so happy to be sealed! Now I know that I can live with my family forever.
Dean F., age 5, Sri Lanka

Elder Richards had grown up with a piano. In fact, he could never remember his home without one. It had been as permanent a fixture as the kitchen sink; and yet, the piano had always been Terry Richards’s curse. Even though the rest of the family had musical inclinations, he had rebelled against everything musical—especially the piano. However, his mother had insisted and he had been forced to practice the piano one hour each day. Until that daily payment was made, he was in his mother’s debt. There was no football, no movies, no TV, nothing until the piano received its due. His heart was seldom in the practices, but he put in his required time, banging out his version of music, which was often nothing more than a cacophony of reckless pounding.
When he turned 16, even his tenacious mother relented and relinquished her dream of making him a great pianist. The lessons were abandoned, and with some money he had saved, Terry celebrated his freedom by buying a portable stereo, declaring that any music he made from then on would come from the stereo and not the piano.
Now in Guaymas, lonely and somewhat dejected, he gently ran his fingers along the chipped and broken keyboard. A wan smile touched his lips. “It would take more than a pianist to get music out of you,” he whispered. He began to walk his fingers across the keys, listening to the sharp ping of the falling notes.
A worn hymnbook lay on one of the folding chairs. He reached for it and turned to “Ere You Left Your Room This Morning.” It was the first hymn he had ever learned to play. He studied the notes for a moment. When he was convinced he could, he sat down and began to play. His fingers were terribly awkward. The piano needed tuning, and several keys were broken. At times it was difficult to determine whether he or the piano was making the mistakes. But he labored through the hymn, once, twice. He played until the music, if not entirely melodious, was at least recognizable.
It was late when Elder Becket, Elder Richards’s new companion, and Elder Cole found him upstairs lying on their cot asleep.
The next morning as Elder Cole was preparing the sacrament and Elder Becket filled out a mission report, Elder Richards strolled to the old piano. “Who plays this old box?” he asked with a grin.
Elder Becket looked up and laughed. “That, Elder, isn’t just an old box. To the members here, it’s the most precious thing in Guaymas.”
“This?” Elder Richards asked with surprise. Elder Becket nodded. “Why? Did Cortez bring it over from Spain or something?”
“It’s a piano. There are a few of them in town, but you certainly don’t find them in every house for the kids to climb on and kick around. Some of the newer members haven’t even heard this one played, and none of the members have heard it played very well. An Elder Fisher, who could play a few hymns with one hand, was here about a year ago, a few months after they bought it. The members almost made him a saint. They made him play his hymns every Sunday. Finally he jokingly told the mission president he was going home if he had to play those hymns another time.”
“It’s seen better days,” Elder Richards commented. “It could sure use a tuning job.”
“You play?” Elder Becket asked.
Elder Richards laughed and shook his head. “I can make noise, pretty bad noise at that, but I don’t play. My mother thought I had musical talents, but after five years of lessons and no noticeable improvement, even she gave up.”
“If you had lessons for five years …”
“I didn’t learn anything.”
“If you played that long, you can play as well as Elder Fisher.”
Just then President Perales and his family arrived and the piano was temporarily forgotten, but just before sacrament meeting, President Perales approached Elder Richards with a hymnbook and spoke, pointing to the piano. Grinning and shaking his head, Elder Richards said shyly, “No, no puedo … tocar.”
President Perales motioned for Elder Becket to come over. “Hermano Marcos said he heard you playing yesterday,” Elder Becket said.
“Yesterday?” he gasped. “I was just fooling around. I can’t play.”
“You sure impressed Hermano Marcos.”
“Elder, I haven’t played for over three years. Yesterday was the first time—I mean the very first time—I’ve even sat down to a piano for over three years. I was just …”
“Play what you were playing yesterday.”
“I can’t,” he insisted, but the protest was to no avail. With his face burning with embarrassment, Elder Richards retreated to the piano. Never had he played in front of a group. At home when the bishop had asked him to play in priesthood, he had adamantly refused.
When it came time for the first hymn, he huddled morosely on the piano chair and braced himself for the shame. Even had the piano been a good one, he would have battled to coax music from it. With his fingers trembling and his eyes frantically searching the keyboard, he began to grope through “Ere You Left Your Room This Morning.” He managed to get through all three verses, but it was torture for him. Later he played the sacrament hymn, and at the conclusion of the meeting he played “I Know That My Redeemer Lives.”
Sensing that all eyes were on him, he couldn’t bring himself to raise his head. He wanted to race from the building and hide himself, and the thing that was so utterly frustrating was that he was forced to endure his shame in silence. There was absolutely no way he could explain in Spanish that it had been years since he had last played, that he had never learned properly in the first place, that this whole thing was a terrible mistake.
As soon as the benediction was said, he stood, planning to sneak from the room and hide from the members’ questioning stares, but before he took three steps a sister had him by the arm and was speaking to him, tears glistening in her eyes. The only words that had any meaning for him were her often repeated, “Muchisimas gracias!” Two more sisters approached and then a brother. Soon it seemed as though the entire branch crowded around him, many with tears in their eyes, each trying to shake his hand.
He saw Elder Becket and searched his face for an explanation. Elder Becket smiled and called, “They loved it. If the Church sainted people, you would be the first Mormon saint in Guaymas.”
“For what?” he asked, completely bewildered.
“For playing their piano.”
“That wasn’t playing. That wasn’t music.”
“You’ll have a hard time convincing them. They want you to play again.”
“Now?”
“But I can’t. It’s been …”
“That might have worked back home, but not here. Look at them, Elder. They’re all but begging.”
Elder Richards was touched. He felt a twinge of shame, a gnawing guilt. Suddenly he wished he could play like his mother had always dreamed of him playing. He offered a silent prayer, pleading for help, not to shelter him from shame and embarrassment but to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands so that through his neglected talent he might give these special people the joy and satisfaction they sought.
It was almost an hour later before the last of the members left the building and Elder Richards made his way with his companions up to their room. “I can’t believe they could even listen to that, let alone enjoy it,” Elder Richards commented.
For a long while Elder Becket didn’t reply; then he shook his head and asked, “Where are you from, Elder?”
“Logan, Utah.”
“Have you ever been to a chapel that didn’t have a piano?” Elder Richards shook his head. “Well, most of these people have never heard the hymns played on a piano. The elders have taught them the melodies. Before today, when they sang “Ere You Left Your Room This Morning,” it was the way the elders had taught it. Not more than a handful of them have ever sung that hymn accompanied by a piano. “I Know That My Redeemer Lives” is a hymn that many of them have wanted to sing accompanied by a piano, but they’ve hardly dared hope that it was really possible.”
“I’m no musician,” Elder Richards said, “but I can hear the difference between noise and music.”
“Maybe two years ago I would have felt the same, but this morning that sounded pretty good, even to me.”
“Where did they get the old box anyway?”
“In Logan,” Elder Becket chided, “that’s an old box. Here it’s a treasure. They bought it from the Baptists. They had a special dinner to raise the money. Everybody donated food and then paid outlandish prices to eat it. All the money went for the piano. Someday, when the chapel’s built, they’ll have a new one, but right now they have to make do with that. The members are proud of their piano. Even though no one can play it and even though it might be out of tune, that’s one of the most important things in this whole building.”
“If it’s so important to them, why don’t they tune it?”
“No money. Right now they’re trying to raise money so they can start building their chapel. Every extra peso goes for that.”
The rest of the day, as Elder Richards followed his two companions, he couldn’t forget the old piano. When they returned to the building that night, it was late and Elder Richards was tired, but before going to bed he went down to the old piano and played “I Know That My Redeemer Lives.” The timing was off, and the notes didn’t come through as smoothly as they did when his sisters or mother played, but for the first time in his life he really tried to make music and not merely put in time.
The next day he wrote a short note to his mother: “Mom, I would appreciate it if you would sell my stereo and send me the money. Ted Roberts said he’d buy it if I ever wanted to sell. There’s this piano here that needs tuning, and the members don’t have the money to get the job done. I’d like to help them out. I figure I owe them something after wasting all those piano lessons. And, mom, thanks for making me practice the piano.”
When the letter was addressed and sealed, Elder Richards stood and started down the stairs to the chapel below. “Where are you going?” Elder Becket asked.
“Oh, I think I’ll go down and beat on that old box. I mean, I figure that as long as I’m going to be the new branch pianist, I should give the members something they can be proud of, not just a lot of noise.”

The young women of the Pleasant Ridge and Grove Park Wards from Knoxville, Tennessee, got together recently to make personalized “military dolls” for the children of parents who are stationed overseas. The young women took pictures of the child’s parent who is away, transferred the image onto material, and sewed stuffed dolls for the children to have. Then the girls hand delivered the dolls along with thank-you cards to the families.

As newlyweds, our first home was across the street from the Mesa Arizona Temple. By virtue of its proximity, we were blessed by its heavenly power. As daylight turned to darkness, the light of the temple filled our tiny apartment, creating a glorious night-light. When our first baby would waken during the night, I cared for her needs by the glow of that sacred light. For me it became symbolic of the peace, the power, and the protection that fills our hearts and our homes when we seek to establish a house worthy of the glory of the Lord.

“A spiritual experience that had a positive influence on my life, but one that I really don’t remember, happened when I was a baby. I played the part of the Christ Child in a pageant in the Tabernacle, and my mother played Mary. Since then I have often been reminded that I had had that honor. When I was called as a General Authority, I mentioned in my first conference address that my initial appearance in the Tabernacle was as a baby.
“I had a happy childhood. During the summers I would spend time at my grandmother’s in Goshen, Utah. A city boy, I had a delightful time riding horses and swimming in the hot springs. One morning when the raw milk just obtained from the morning’s milking was served for breakfast, I said, ‘Oh, no thank you. I want bottled milk, not cow’s milk!’ My cousins had a good laugh over that.”

Truman Madsen tells a story about an experience Brigham Young had with the Prophet Joseph that has been passed down by Brigham Young's descendants.

In a meeting the Prophet Joseph sternly rebuked Brigham Young for something he had done, or something he was supposed to have done but hadn't. The detail is not clear. Perhaps the Prophet was deliberately putting Brigham to a test. When the Prophet Joseph had finished the rebuke, everyone in the room waited for the response. Brigham Young rose to his feet and, in a voice everyone could tell was sincere, said simply, "Joseph, what do you want me to do?" The story says that the Prophet burst into tears, came down from the stand, and threw his arms around Brigham.

Of those originally called to the Quorum of the Twelve, Brigham Young was one of only two who never apostatized. I love Brigham Young for the way he sustained the Prophet Joseph.

When Kieth Merrill accepted the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature of the year for his film, The Great American Cowboy, he expressed thanks to “my mother, who taught me to believe in God; my father, who taught me to believe in myself; and my wife, who helped me do what they taught me.” Though they had never met him, Latter-day Saints throughout the world heard his speech and knew that Kieth Merrill was one of them.
Such a straightforward statement is consistent with Brother Merrill’s philosophy of really putting the gospel at the working center of his everyday life. He knows what he wants, he has decided what he will do in specific situations, and he works and prays very hard to accomplish his purposes. Kieth has confidence in himself, and yet it is a confidence built on a history of individual success.
One of his first industrial films was made for Kaiser Steel Corporation. He told the Kaiser executives that he planned to shoot part of the film in their mines, and they said, “It can’t be done.” Kieth, who claims “he wasn’t smart enough to know it couldn’t be done,” made the film anyway. Kaiser loved it, Kieth won some awards (as he has on most of his subsequent films), and he was on his way in the film business. That was five years ago.
Now he has also won an Oscar, and it is a remarkable achievement for several reasons. Kieth is young (33 when he won the award). The Great American Cowboy was his first feature-length film. And in addition, he directed and edited the entire film, and he also photographed much of the spectacular footage.
The Oscar vindicated to the motion picture industry Kieth’s peculiar way of life and his artistic integrity. When he was criticized about the cowboys in his film seeming extra clean-cut, Kieth responded, “I have every right to be as selective in my interpretation of what is life and reality as the next man does. Some filmmakers feel they have the right to portray the sordid side of life. I have the right to find the heroism in man, and to help reflect his divine origin, and to tell people we are children of God.
“I was told the film couldn’t be done. I was told that a movie with a prayer in it wouldn’t make it. ‘They’ said a movie with a patriotic flavor wouldn’t be popular. But we went into filmmaking with a determination never to compromise our principles. And it paid off, because we have proved that we were right,” Kieth said.
Kieth is very positive and idealistic by nature. He really believed that he was smart enough and resourceful enough to make a good film, and that is the way he sold the cowboy film. The backers said, “How do you know if it is going to be any good?”
“Good is not the question. It will be a good film. The question is whether or not it will make any money,” Kieth answered.
Kieth constantly holds his business life in front of a mirror to make sure that the reflection he sees fits well with his personal feelings about the gospel. Those feelings, of course, include his family. He has offices, studio space, and a small theater in the lower level of his home. When his four children want to talk to Dad or show him their latest finger paintings, he takes a few minutes to renew his friendship with them.
Even on location he is close to his family. In talking about the experience of living with his family during the filming of Cowboy, he said, “We looked like a band of gypsies with everything but the chickens hanging on the side of our truck. We needed mobility, so we modified a motor home to be both production center and living quarters. There is something almost purifying about putting everything of real importance—wife, kids, and cameras (in that order, Honey!)—in a big box with wheels and criss-crossing the heartland of America, pursuing a dream together.
“When I get involved in a project, I become totally consumed with filming, and all my filmmaking equipment and camera gear were right there in the truck. We were totally self-contained, and it was a great feeling of freedom, but only because my family was there. It gave us tremendous perspective of the real values. We have a lovely home in California, and many good friends, and a lot of nice things, but none of them really mattered in comparison.”
Kieth, who appropriately calls himself a slogan hanger, has always collected quotations that succinctly express his own concepts. “It’s amazing how a simple little quotation can change a day that didn’t start as well as it should. It works for the rest of the family too. Sometimes a single quotation can set a beautiful mood for the whole day,” he said. Several of the Merrills’ favorite quotes are permanently displayed in handmade tiles on the kitchen countertop where the children eat every day.
Like his parents before him, Kieth and his wife Dagny (“Downey”) are constantly teaching their children that they are important and that they have a Heavenly Father who loves them. Several of the countertop quotes stress this. “They can’t daily eat and play and spill their milk on the counter without bringing these ideas into their own lives,” Kieth said.
Because he knows he has a destiny here, Kieth has a strong testimony that he was helped in the production of Cowboy, and of course, he wanted it to be good for the Church.
“Being committed to the gospel means that we were praying constantly for guidance and inspiration that we could be creative and able to put this film together and still be able to represent the ideals that are important. There is no question that we were guided, influenced, and helped. I am just committed to that as a way of life,” he said.
“The way things have fallen into place is unbelievable. The exposure the Church has had as a result of the Oscar in circles where it has not otherwise been exposed is inspirational. The award gave me credibility before the world, and with that I have been able to talk very matter-of-factly about the gospel to people who wouldn’t otherwise be interested. People who wouldn’t normally give me an autograph now say, ‘But you’re so young, and you handle yourself so well, and you do all these things. How do you handle it all?’
“‘Well, it is very simple,’ I say, ‘because I was raised in a little Utah town as a Mormon. Every quality or characteristic that I have is a product of my upbringing in the Church.’ And these people really are amazed at the things we take for granted—the fact that we don’t drink, or smoke, or swear, and that we actually believe in God and aren’t afraid to talk about it, and that I would spend 30 months in a foreign country on a mission at my own expense. It is overwhelming to these people. Now remember, these people are not the ones missionaries traditionally reach; they are quite isolated either by their fame or their wealth or both. They are really intrigued and often say, ‘Tell us about yourself.’ I have had many marvelous chances to tell them about the Church.
“Of course, my wife is a great help in telling people about the Church. She has a tender, almost naive ability to be very candid with people. She even told John Wayne’s son Pat that I didn’t like his dad’s movies. She never just says, ‘We wouldn’t care for coffee, thank you.’ With Dagny it’s, ‘We don’t drink coffee; we’re Mormons.’”
Both Kieth and Dagny admit that they think big, and “make plans, and put slogans on the walls,” and that even close friends and family members sometimes humor them, while thinking that one day they will come down to what is called reality. But reality to the Merrills is their own idealistic world of excellence, with the family first and the gospel a basic part of everything they are doing.
Kieth Merrill’s life demonstrates that the gospel will work at the epicenter of your whole existence, if you will give it a chance.
“I am a Latter-day Saint, and I make sure people know this not only by the way I act but also because I am very verbal about it. I have never had anything but totally positive experiences in presenting my beliefs to others; in fact, I have found acceptance and recognition, and the gospel has become a total asset in my work,” he said.
“I confess that at times my spirit has wavered, and I would occasionally get discouraged and feel like I was on a precipice above disaster because I had pursued such a hard line with the gospel and my family, and yet there was no turning back. And when everything seemed like it was going to crumble, new horizons would open up and blossom, and it all makes me resolve more firmly to live by the basic principles I know to be true. The gospel with the family first is what really matters, and everything else you do here is just something to take up the time until we reach the celestial kingdom.”

I first heard about the BYU-Pathway Worldwide program when I was in India. Most Church members were enrolled in this program. I was surprised that the Church offered the program in other countries but not my home country of DR Congo. But I could not join BYU-Pathway at that time due to my intense graduate studies, but my prayer was that the program could one day be offered in my home country and that I could join and learn more about it.
In 2019, the program was approved, and I was among the first generation of students in Kinshasa to be enrolled. The beginning was difficult for me, because I had a full-time job and lived in a different area from the meeting location. But I had the support of my family and my friend Patrick Kalambayi. We both walked a long distance to attend the meetings and returned home late. Sometimes we didn’t have electricity. We were looking for places with electricity to charge our computer.
At one point, the government authorities shut down internet due to some political issues. My friend and I went to the local UN agency for help, telling them we had to send our school assignments and we needed connection to the internet to do our homework. I have a testimony that Heavenly Father puts people in our path to support and help us in times of adversity, such as electricity and internet access shortages.
After completing PathwayConnect, I decided to enroll in the public health program at Brigham Young University-Idaho. I completed a certification in public health planning and implementation, health method evaluation and epidemiology. I have learned to support the world in disease prevention and developed a pandemic health program. I was very happy to support my country during the COVID-19 breakout in Kinshasa. People were amazing. I learned more skills about how to control this disease in my community.
The BYU-Pathway Worldwide program helped me to understand that we must be faithful and improve our skills to establish the kingdom of our Savior on the earth. This program increased my knowledge of the Savior and motivated me to gain more skills and to become more faithful.
Instead of dwelling on difficulties and struggle, I have learned to trust the Lord and to pursue my education at famous universities across the world. Today I am proud to say that I earned three university degrees: one from my country, one from India, and one from the United States. As a result, I have increased my income, my faith in Jesus Christ, and my skills in the field of public health.
The skills that I learned during my journey have helped me to build a health nongovernmental organization and work in mental health awareness in the DRC. My recent experience, when I was applying for a new job as a public health specialist at the Center for Disease Control in DRC, the human resources team was surprised that I have an American degree and I live in Congo, and it was easy for them to verify this from my diploma.
The hiring process was interesting and each step I went through, I learned to be ready due to the PathwayConnect program, preparing my CV and cover letter, enjoying the interview, and showing people my unique qualifications. I am grateful to my Heavenly Father for the opportunity He gave me to join the team of the Center for Disease Control in DRC to prevent, detect and control disease in my country.
As an African, we are blessed to have an American degree, serve our community, and strengthen the Church in our local area. BYU-Pathway Worldwide blesses my life, my family, and my country in this specific time. The program helped me to understand the principle of working hard quietly and to let your success be your noise.
Whatever level you are in life and whether you have a degree or not, please join the program and work hard, the Lord knows your effort and will assist you to gain a new degree and develop more skills and the world will pay you based on your education and skills.

In the private sanctuary of one’s own conscience lies that spirit, that determination to cast off the old person and to measure up to the stature of true potential. But the way is rugged, and the course is strenuous. So discovered John Helander from Goteborg, Sweden. John is handicapped, and it is difficult for him to coordinate his motions.
At a youth conference in Kungsbacka, Sweden, John took part in a 1,500-meter running race. He had no chance to win. Rather, his was the opportunity to be humiliated, mocked, derided, scorned. Perhaps John remembered another who lived long ago and far away. Wasn’t He mocked? Wasn’t He derided? Wasn’t He scorned? But He prevailed. He won His race. Maybe John could win his.
What a race it was. Struggling, surging, pressing, the runners bolted far beyond John. There was wonderment among the spectators. Who is this runner who lags so far behind? The participants on their second lap of this two-lap race passed John while he was but halfway through the first lap. Tension mounted as the runners pressed toward the tape. Who would win? Who would place second? Then came the final burst of speed; the tape was broken. The crowd cheered; the winner was proclaimed.
The race was over—or was it? Who is this contestant who continues to run when the race is ended? He crosses the finish line on but his first lap. Doesn’t the foolish lad know he has lost? Ever onward he struggles, the only participant now on the track. This is his race. This must be his victory. No one among the vast throng of spectators leaves. Every eye is on this valiant runner. He makes the final turn and moves toward the finish line. There is awe; there is admiration. Every spectator sees himself running his own race of life. As John approaches the finish line, the audience, as one, rises to its feet. There is a loud applause of acclaim. Stumbling, falling, exhausted but victorious, John Helander breaks the newly tightened tape. (Officials are human beings, too.) The cheering echoes for miles. And just maybe, if the ear is carefully attuned, the Lord can be heard to say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant” (Matt. 25:21).

Sister Sharlene Aland of Sacramento, California, divides her time between a demanding job, church callings, and caring for a chronically ill sister. “I never seemed to find time to read Church magazines and do other things I wanted to do,” she recalls. Then her stake president challenged each member of the stake to hold family home evening every Monday. “I realized that even though I live alone, I need to provide for myself the same opportunities for spiritual growth that I would provide for a family.” Since then, Sister Aland has spent at least an hour every Monday night nurturing her spiritual growth. “I’ve held that time sacred. Sometimes I’ve read the Church magazines and Church books. Other times I’ve worked on food storage or watched Church videos. Doing this has given me the time I was always looking for.”

When I was a little girl, my father sat at the foot of my bed at night and taught my sister and me that we had lived with our Heavenly Father before the world was, that we had made a choice to obey God’s commandments and to reject Satan. He taught us that Satan rejoices when we disobey Father. I made a determination then as a very young child that I wanted my Heavenly Father to rejoice over me, not Satan. That commitment has had a very powerful effect on my life.

“As I watched the tray come down my row, I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. This Sunday would be the first time in my life I hadn’t been worthy to partake of the sacrament. The tray was quickly coming closer to me, and I was drowning in feelings. What would my parents think when I didn’t take the sacrament? My little brother and sister? I was supposed to be their example.
“When the tray came to me, I quickly passed it on, bowing my head. I felt as if everyone in the chapel was looking at me.
“The week before, I had talked to my bishop. I entered his office and started crying in shame before I even sat down. As I told him everything I had done, I thought he would be angry with me or say I had no hope of being forgiven. Instead, I noticed he was crying too. He let me know he was very pleased I had come to him. It felt good to know that he had been called by the Lord to help me with my problems. It felt good to know that I had someone to talk to while trying to apply the principles of the Atonement in my life. I knew I could trust the bishop and I could share my feelings with him.
“When I finished talking with my bishop, he told me he loved me. ‘I am going to help you as much as I can to get through your problems,’ he said. At that moment I knew everything would eventually be all right.
“My first time not taking the sacrament was hard, and I have to relive that experience every Sunday until the bishop tells me I can once again partake. But I am grateful to have the blessing of repentance in my life. I know I can be clean again through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Because of this experience and the struggles I am going through, I never want to be unworthy again. Not partaking of the sacrament is hard. But it has helped me more fully appreciate my Savior’s sacrifice for me.”

About ten years ago, I was on a long flight from New York to Seattle. It was a half-empty flight, and I had nobody sitting next to me...so I saw it as a great chance to catch up on my Book of Mormon reading. I settled in to read the entire book of 3 Nephi.
I had a powerful experience on that long airplane flight. I was totally immersed and involved in the events that occurred. I imagined I was the prophet Nephi, and as a result, gained a whole new appreciation of the Love of God. I began to understand more fully the pattern we must follow to partake of the healing power of the atonement.