Gospel Story Finder

Ana Visbicut leans back against the wooden slats outside her home with a smile on her face. Her children sit with her on a bench, each smiling as broadly as she is. It’s a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon. Ana lives in Puerto Francisco de Orellana, a small city in the jungles of eastern Ecuador. Members of the Orellana Branch presidency have just stopped by, unintentionally interrupting Ana’s visit with the sister missionaries, but she doesn’t mind. She welcomes the company. She has much to be thankful for and offers her thanks freely.
It’s not as though Ana hasn’t had her share of struggles. She lives alone with her five young children. Finding daily work is hard. And when she was baptized in August 2009, only one of her children joined with her.
But over the course of the next year, the blessings came as three more of her children followed her example and were baptized and confirmed (one was too young at the time).
Yes, Ana’s eyes sparkle with gratitude. She, like other members of the Orellana Branch, has discovered the pure joy that comes from living the gospel of Jesus Christ.
In December 2008, there was no formal Church organization in Puerto Francisco de Orellana. At the time, a number of members were living there, some of whom had not attended church in years.
But something happened. The Spirit touched hearts and changed lives, prompting four families to begin meeting together to study the scriptures and teach each other. And this feeling permeates the city even now.
“The people here are hungry and thirsty for the gospel,” says branch member Fanny Baren Garcia.
This hunger inspired members in Puerto Francisco de Orellana to contact the Church and ask permission to have the sacrament. “We didn’t come to them,” recalls Timothy Sloan, former president of the Ecuador Quito Mission. “They called me. The desire to act upon those feelings—to follow the invitation of the Savior throughout the Book of Mormon to exercise faith in Him and to repent—was already there. That’s a message to all of us.”
A similar desire existed in the hearts of those moving to Puerto Francisco de Orellana. In early January 2009, Marco Villavicencio—now the branch president—and his wife, Claudia Ramirez, were considering a job opportunity that would require relocating to Puerto Francisco de Orellana from their home in Machala, on the other side of Ecuador.
“My first question,” says President Villavicencio, “was ‘Is the Church there?’ My wife and I talked it over with our family, and we prayed to know if we should move. As soon as the offer came, we learned that the Church was being established in Puerto Francisco de Orellana. We moved here in February 2009, and the branch was formed the following September.”
The desire to come unto Christ leads naturally to a desire to serve. The gospel of Jesus Christ changes both those who give and those who receive. This reciprocal process happens when hearts are humble, minds are open, and service is rendered. Service has played a principal part in the growth of the Church in Puerto Francisco de Orellana and has strengthened those who have served.
“How do I feel about my calling?” asks Clara Luz Farfán, who was called in September 2010 to serve in the Relief Society presidency. “Happy, because I know I’m going to be able to help other sisters come to church and strengthen the new sisters who have been baptized.”
That same feeling has swept through the hearts of the members of the branch. Lourdes Chenche, the Relief Society president, says that strengthening the sisters requires effort, but it is effort she gladly gives: “As a presidency and as members of Relief Society, we visit the sisters. We draw close to them when they have problems. We provide them food when there is a need. We let them know they are not alone, that we have the help of Jesus Christ and the branch. And we teach them that they have to do their part—pray, study the scriptures, and prepare themselves. We pray with them, we console them, and we love them deeply.”
But the sisters do not do the work alone. “We talk with the branch president to see what can be done,” adds Lourdes. “We share their needs with him and the branch council so we can decide what we need to do.”
The sisters’ commitment to do their part is a sentiment common throughout the branch. At one service project to help a family in the branch, “we all participated,” says Lourdes. “The children, the youth, the adults, the Relief Society, the missionaries. The experience was very edifying. I know that when we ‘are in the service of [our] fellow beings [we] are only in the service of [our] God’ [Mosiah 2:17]. When I serve, it is like I am doing it for Jesus Christ. That’s what the kingdom is about.”
There is something undeniably strengthening about unity, that sense of belonging to the community of Saints. Blessings result when we become “fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Ephesians 2:19) and we live like members of a family who “are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:8–9).
Fanny explains, “I believe our strength comes from the fact that we as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints feel like a family. And I think serving each other has done great good. We give whatever is needed, and this has created a sense of unity. We receive every new person who comes to church with open arms. We welcome them. I believe a hug says more than a thousand words.”
Ana’s experiences confirm that. As a single mother of five, she faces a constant economic challenge of trying to provide for her family when work is not easy to come by, and that effort can be emotionally and spiritually draining. The fellowship of branch members has been an important contribution to her family during difficult times. “The members come and read scriptures with me,” says Ana. “They watch over me. When we struggle, they are there. That’s very important for new members.”
This sense of fellowship is part of the reason the branch has grown so quickly. From 28 members on its first Sunday, the branch grew to 83 in attendance just a year later, including a dozen visitors not of our faith.
Branch leaders spent the Saturday before their branch conference visiting with members and those investigating the Church. They shared scriptures with them, encouraging them to be better.
One recently baptized brother was converted by a study of the scriptures—reading both on his own and with the members and missionaries. “The Book of Mormon is the key,” he says. “It is the key for me.” He has found joy in the Church. The pull of the gospel is so strong he started paying tithing even before he was baptized.
But friendship goes beyond sharing the gospel with others. It can change a way of life.
“Before I joined the Church,” says Bernabé Pardo, another recent convert, “the only friends I had were people who would go out to drink. But now that I am a member, I have many friends—real friends. They invite me to read the Book of Mormon with them. They invite me over for family home evening. They serve each other. I have gone on service projects with them. My life is completely different now. I have received many, many blessings. I pay my tithing, and the Lord has blessed me.”
It’s a way of life that is not limited to adults. “We are always teaching the young women about the power of fellowship, of saying hello and engaging others,” says Claudia Ramirez. “When people arrive at church for the first time, what makes an impression on them is how they are received. So we teach the young women how important each soul is to the Lord. This has been a great help. And we set goals with the young women for Personal Progress. This motivates them so they can share their friendship with others.”
President Villavicencio explains that “we try to put in practice President Gordon B. Hinckley’s admonition that every new convert needs to be nurtured by the good word of God, have a friend, and have a responsibility.”1
Ana serves as the second counselor in the Primary presidency. Her son Jorge serves as the first counselor in the teachers quorum.
“We give them a responsibility,” says President Villavicencio, “a chance to learn in leadership positions, to have someone help them along.”
For Claudia, serving in the gospel resulted in a subtle swelling of confidence in her heart. “I was baptized when I was eight years old,” Claudia says. “We always attended church. But as I grew older, I saw many bad marriages. I thought about them a lot, and I worried that I could never marry because it wouldn’t be successful. I was afraid to trust my life to someone, that it would be too hard. But when I returned from my mission, I didn’t think the same. Teaching the doctrine changes you.”
Claudia and Marco Villavicencio were friends before her mission. Not long after she returned, they attended the temple together with some friends. Something special occurred. “I felt as if the Lord was answering my prayers, that this was a man I could marry,” Claudia explains. “I have the greatest blessing to have a good husband.”
“Our happiness doesn’t depend on material things,” says Oscar Reyes, age 15, “but in how we live our lives. That’s why I keep the Sabbath day holy, because it is pleasing to God. And that’s why I will serve a mission and why I like serving others.”
By living the gospel, members of the Orellana Branch have found true joy. “I am very happy,” Lourdes shares. “Even though I am very far away from my family, I have a family here too, a spiritual family. I have a great testimony of this work. I know that Jesus Christ lives and that, if we are obedient, He will bless us.”
It is a joy that permeates their lives no matter the challenges life throws at them. It is the joy that comes from righteous living.

The football was improvised from a bunch of socks. The opposing team was the furniture. Young Kalin faked left, then went wide around a wall. He slipped the tackle of a kitchen chair, and made a flying leap into the end-zone couch on the far side of the living room. But the cheers of the crowds were only in his mind. As an only child being raised by a single mother working the swing shift, Kalin Hall spent a lot of time alone.
Growing up in Las Vegas, Nevada, Kalin didn’t foresee a future for himself that included college, a career, or membership in the LDS church. In fact, he didn’t even see football in his future despite his success in his own living room.
In grade school and junior high, Kalin participated in athletics, but by the time he was a sophomore in high school, things began to unravel. He was skipping too much school and his grades were going downhill. He played in four games; then his poor academic record forced him off the team. For two years of high school he watched games from the stands. He started hanging around some guys with gang affiliation. The bond between these guys appealed to Kalin, who was not used to being close with anyone. He became a follower.
Then things hit bottom for Kalin. He got kicked out of school for fighting in defense of a friend. He got caught riding on a scooter someone else had stolen. He wrote a suicide note to his mother. “I don’t know if I was serious,” says Kalin, “but I put it in my mom’s purse, and she found it.”
His mother took him to a hospital for help, and things turned around for Kalin. “I decided I had to change. I saw a lot of guys older than me doing nothing, hanging around selling drugs. I couldn’t see myself that way. I knew I was a fairly bright kid. I knew there was a purpose for me. I always prayed every night before I went to bed. I didn’t know why I did that. Nobody taught me. It was something I felt I had to do.” Only later did Kalin realize that those early feelings that helped him to pray every day prepared him for the changes he would make in his life.
Looking for a new group of friends, Kalin watched the people he admired to see what they were doing. He saw they were going to class, getting good grades, and playing sports. In one semester of school, he raised his grades to As and Bs. He played football and basketball his senior year of high school. As a high school running back, he was all-conference, all-region, and all-state. He was named Nevada’s Gatorade Player of the Year. But he paid a price for messing around for two years of high school. He was not eligible to be recruited by a Division I football school. He was headed to a junior college. He chose Dixie College in St. George, Utah, because it had a good football program and was close to home.
It was at Dixie that Kalin was first introduced to the Church. He became friends with some Polynesian players who were returned missionaries. Kalin says, “They welcomed everybody. They were so friendly and nice. I felt comfortable around them.”
One of his new friends, Jack Damuni, tells what happened. “I was in my room doing some homework. A Catholic friend came in and started asking me questions about the Church. Kalin walked in, sat on my bed, and just listened. We were talking about the Godhead and how the Spirit lets you know if things are true, and about our purpose here on earth. Kalin wasn’t saying anything. I turned and looked at him, and he started crying. I knew what was happening.”
Of course, Kalin remembers everything about that day. “Religion had always interested me. I listened to what both of them were saying. I was really struck by a lot of things Jack said. It was a good feeling that I had.”
They were an hour late for a team meeting. The coach bawled them out for being late until they told him they had been talking about the Church and were too involved to think of anything else.
As they were walking back to the dorms, Kalin started asking more questions. “Hey, Jack, what was that I felt back there? I felt something that really touched me. It made me cry.”
Jack said, “Remember when we were talking about how the Holy Spirit lets you know when things are true? That’s what it was.”
Kalin said, “It’s a good feeling. I felt calm.”
As Kalin began taking the missionary discussions, some strange things started to happen. Jack had warned his friend that once he started reading the scriptures and became interested in the Church, people would try to convince him that the Church was wrong. It happened just as Jack said.
“People started being involved in my life who never had been before,” said Kalin. “They were telling me how racist the religion is. To me, the black and white thing has never been an issue—never has been and never will be. I can’t honestly see anyone entering the celestial kingdom if they are prejudiced. Christ said we are all his children.”
Jack Damuni baptized his friend and watched him grow and progress as he became more and more involved in the Church. Two years later, Jack was Kalin’s teammate on the Brigham Young University football team. They are still very close, like brothers. Jack has seen a big change in Kalin. “He’s focused. Everything he does is focused on the gospel.”
While a lot of good things were happening in his life at Dixie, like joining the Church and being named the National Junior College Player of the Year in 1991, some hard things were happening. Kalin’s father, whom he never knew well, died. Then three months later his mother passed away from cancer. It shook Kalin. “During her worst time, I wasn’t there to comfort her. It helped out an awful lot that I knew I would see her again, but it was still very hard. Both my parents are gone, and I don’t have any blood brothers or sisters. I’m the last of my immediate family.”
During this time, Kalin was adopted by Wendell and Joyce Donahoo. He met the family while playing with their son Kelly in high school. “They have been great to me,” says Kalin. “They are a great family.”
After junior college, Kalin was heavily recruited. He made a recruiting trip to BYU. A couple of hours into the tour, Kalin used the phrase made famous by Brigham Young. “This is the right place.” He did have one condition before he would agree to come to BYU. He told the BYU coaches he wanted the chance to talk at firesides, to share his story with young people who might be helped by what he had to say. They smiled and said there would be no problem. He’d have more chances to speak than he would know what to do with.
Kalin’s interest in the choices young people are making with their lives has decided his major. He’s in social work. He intends to finish his degree and work with children. He’s so determined to make this goal that he is concentrating on finishing his degree and perhaps going on for a master’s.
Here’s the advice he has for kids: “Be your own person. Be a leader. The hardest thing is to stand up for yourself and what you believe in. Don’t get caught up in being a follower. If you have to, move on to another set of friends or be a loner for a while.”
As a running back on the BYU football team, Kalin’s athletic talents are evident. He’s hard to stop. But he has a very healthy attitude about sports in general. “Athletics is not the most important thing in the world. But they can be used as a positive tool in your life. For me, it’s been very positive.”
Football has given Kalin the opportunity to go to college. College led Kalin to the gospel. The gospel directed him to BYU, where he met and married his wife, Holly Hamilton, in the temple. The temple can lead them to an eternal family, a concept that is extremely meaningful to an only child who spent a lot of time alone.
If asked, Kalin will tell you about a favorite scripture. It’s the one in Alma about nourishing a seed (see Alma 32:28–43). Kalin says, “The seed was planted when I first started to turn my life around. Then the gospel came, and that’s when the seed was covered by the soil. When I read the scriptures, that’s when I nourished the seed, and it keeps growing as I gain more insight into the gospel. That’s how you progress.”
Sounds like a ball carrier who is on the ball.

Jeff: Let us close with one final story. It is a BYU variation on Brother Skidmore’s experience.
For more than twenty-five years Ben E. Lewis was the executive vice-president of Brigham Young University. He is now retired. I recently asked him to do something very important for the university for which I wanted to give him a token of modest compensation. He refused the money. I argued with him and told him I was the president and he had to do what I said. He said he was retired and that he didn’t have to do anything I said. I shoved the money at him and he shoved it back at me. We argued and then he told me this story.
He said that following his undergraduate years at BYU (where he was a student body president, by the way) he had received an Alfred P. Sloan fellowship for graduate work at the University of Denver. As part of the Sloan fellowship, he and a handful of other students were regularly taken out into the Colorado business community to meet leaders and executives, and enjoy rather high-level exchange with them. One particular professor always took the group, and they spent many hours together.
After each day’s work with these business leaders, the professor would always stop some where for a beer with the students. Brother Lewis always ordered a soft drink. That led to a lot of conversation over many weeks, and the professor came to introduce Ben everywhere they went—at every business, at every school, to every leader, and to every executive—this way: “This is Ben Lewis,” he would say. “He’s a Mormon and he doesn’t drink beer.” Every-where and with everyone it was always the same—“This is Ben Lewis. He’s a Mormon and he doesn’t drink beer.” Over the course of many months that phrase was repeated dozens and dozens and dozens of times. “This is Ben Lewis. He’s a Mormon and he doesn’t drink beer.”
One day after a field trip to Fort Collins, the professor wheeled the group, up to a pit stop of some kind where, of course, he and the others ordered their beer. Except this time the professor ordered two beers. Ben asked him why. He said, “Because its my birthday and you are going to have a beer with me.” “No,” Ben said, “I can’t have a beer with you, but I do wish you a happy birthday.”
“You will have a beer with me,” his teacher said. “At least you must have one sip. It is very important to me, and I ask it of you this one time.” And he put a dollar bill on the table. “Drink one sip of beer and that dollar is yours.” Brother Lewis said he didn’t want to give offense but, no, he would not be able to drink the beer, even for the dollar.
That conversation, with some increasing tension, escalated until the man had placed $50 on the counter. He was obviously intent on having Ben participate in this unusual birthday party, and he was in a position to do a student considerable academic harm if he were so inclined.
Like Brother Skidmore, Brother Lewis wondered what to do. He did not want to offend a man who had been particularly kind to him. It was now a very awkward situation, and virtually everyone in the restaurant was aware of some difficulty over at their corner table. One sip would soothe the situation. Surely the Lord would know the integrity of his heart in this matter. Certainly no permanent damage would be done. Furthermore, $50 in 1941 meant a lot to a working student who wasn’t at all sure where his next meal was coming from.
There, a long way from home, as he mulled over this difficult situation and wondered how to handle the problem, words so clear and loud spoken directly to his brain nearly startled him from the table. As audibly as I speak to you, Brother Lewis said he heard the words from an unseen source. “This is Ben Lewis. He’s a Mormon, and he drinks beer.”
Then he said there in my office, “I didn’t drink the beer, and I can’t take the money. I’m a Mormon. This is Brigham Young University. I love it with all my heart. I have given my life to it. I want to give more. I can’t take the money.”

The Lord’s hand is apparent in many other callings. As leaders are needed, they are prepared, and then they are called. José Acedo was living in Lima, Perú, as a young adult. “I wanted to get married and felt the time was right,” he says. “I took time off work to go to the temple and then went out to the countryside to ponder.” Days passed, and toward the end of his vacation, he felt directed to La Paz. He made the long trip and arrived in time to attend a district conference on a Sunday. As he sat in the chapel, his attention was drawn to a certain young woman sitting in the choir. After the meeting, he met Rosaura Sainz, and the two began talking. By the end of three hours, they had begun to consider a serious relationship. Four months later, in October, they became engaged. At Christmas, they were married. “We are so grateful to the Lord for bringing us together,” José says.

When the Acedos moved to La Paz, José was called as bishop of the Norte Ward, La Paz Bolivia Constitución Stake. As bishop, he faces the ongoing challenge of helping ward members learn what it means to sustain others in callings and to give of themselves in service. “Love is the key that opens hearts,” he says. He began visiting families to help them catch the vision of Church service. “When I visit a family, I love them and teach them to love others. I pray with them. I ask for greater harmony to bless their homes. As love increases in the homes, it also increases in our ward.”

With love as a foundation, Bishop Acedo extends callings to ward members. “We work with people. We talk of accepting callings and learning to fill the callings. And we talk about what it means to support others in leadership positions,” he explains. With that basis, ward members grow and develop leadership skills.

My father never did join the Church, but he was a fervent supporter of it because he could see its blessings in the lives of his four children. (My sister and two brothers were also baptized.) Prior to his death, he asked me to give him a priesthood blessing, and I did. We had a very special conversation, and he confided in me for the first time that he had faith. Coming from him, this was a major step.

Desiree listened to her Primary teacher, Sister Ruiz, in wonder. She couldn’t believe what Sister Ruiz was saying. It seemed too good to be true. Desiree looked at the other children in her class. They didn’t seem to be as amazed as she was. Finally Desiree raised her hand. “Do you really mean it, Sister Ruiz? Would you really do anything for us?” she asked.
“Yes, Desiree.” The kind look in her teacher’s eyes, even more than her words, showed Desiree that she really meant it. But Desiree continued to wonder if it was really true. Maybe someday she would find out.
It wasn’t even a week later that Desiree was able to test her Primary teacher’s promise. One day when she came home from school, Desiree found a note taped to the front door and grabbed it. When she entered the house, no one answered her calls. The house was empty. A strange, spooky stillness surrounded her, making the hair on her neck prickle.
“Where are you, Mommy?” Desiree whispered as tears trickled down her face. She dropped her backpack on the couch and sat down next to it. Remembering the note in her hand, Desiree opened it. She recognized her mother’s handwriting, but the letters were joined together by slants. Her mother had forgotten that she couldn’t read cursive writing.
“I’ll do anything I can for you, because I love you.” The memory of her Primary teacher’s words came to Desiree’s mind. Maybe she couldn’t read cursive, but she could read typing and she could read numbers. She could find Sister Ruiz’s phone number and call her to ask for help.
When Sister Ruiz heard Desiree’s dilemma, she told her that she would be right over. To Desiree it seemed like a long time before she arrived, but even though Sister Ruiz lived in another town, she made the trip in just 10 minutes.
Desiree flung open the front door and ran down the sidewalk when she saw Sister Ruiz get out of her car. Through her tears, she handed her Primary teacher the note left by her mother.
Sister Ruiz read the note and smiled. “This says that your mommy is at your grandma’s house working on a quilt.”
Desiree suddenly remembered that her mother had told her to go to Grandma’s house, just down the street, after school. She had left the note to remind Desiree but had forgotten to print it in letters Desiree could read.
“Do you want me to walk you to your grandma’s?” Sister Ruiz asked.
Desiree shook her head. She looked up at Sister Ruiz. “You drove all this way just to read a note. Thank you.”
Sister Ruiz smiled, and Desiree noticed that her eyes were glistening with tears. “This wasn’t much, Desiree. I’ll do anything I can for you.”
“It was a lot to me,” Desiree said.
Sister Ruiz hugged Desiree. “I’m glad you think so.”
Desiree carefully looked both ways before crossing the street and walking down to Grandma’s house. Sister Ruiz watched to make sure she arrived safely. Then she drove away.
“Where have you been?” Desiree’s mother asked when she walked in. “I was starting to get worried.”
“I just learned that my Primary teacher will come all the way to my house to read me a note.”
“Why didn’t you read it yourself?” Desiree’s mom asked.
“Because I can’t read cursive.”
Desiree’s mother’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “I didn’t even think about it, Desiree. I’m sorry you had to call your teacher to help you.”
“That’s OK.” Desiree grinned. “My teacher said she was glad to do it, because she loves me.”

Guy remembers all too well his first year at the academy. Six torturous weeks of basic training come first—physical tests of fitness, obstacle courses, marching, climbing, running; psychological tests of loss of personal identity and of following orders no matter what. Cody Carr, a sophomore from Mantua, Utah, also remembers. “You feel like dirt for a while, but each little hassle has a purpose. You all start from zero, and any success you have depends on what you do at the academy.”
The fourthclassmen, or freshmen, are always required to be at attention except when in class, their own rooms, or the latrine. In most places they are not allowed to speak. To cross campus, they must walk only on the white marble borders crisscrossing the terrazzo, the terrace between the academic buildings and the dorms. Freshmen are assigned most of the details and are constantly critiqued by upperclassmen.
“They were always correcting us, and everything was exaggerated,” Cody said. “If there’s a tiny string sticking out from your uniform, they call it a cable. If your arm comes away from your side a quarter of an inch, they say it’s flying in the breeze. You had to run everywhere and could never go fast enough to satisfy them. They expected perfection.” Even at meals, freshmen, also called “doolies” (from the Greek word for slave), are required to sit at attention and to pass food to upperclassmen before they can eat.
Cadets learn that no privilege is to be taken for granted, from breathing on up. It is a big day when they are first allowed to wear civilian clothing or listen to music. Distractions are kept to a minimum because each cadet carries an academic load of 18–21 or more semester hours and is also required to participate in intramural sports. Academic failures soon find themselves back in civilian life.
“There’s a lot of strain,” Guy said, “but the Church is a real relief valve. It provides a way to get out and away from it all on Sundays. When you’re going through pressure, it’s either going to make you or break you. In my case it’s really strengthened my testimony. But there are a lot of things competing for your time—academics, extra-curricular activities, teams, squadron leadership—so it’s easy just to stay here on Sunday and not go to church. You’ll find that the active cadets have to have strong testimonies.”
LDS cadets, even doolies, are allowed to attend a weekly institute class. Guy remembers his first time at institute: “It’s great to see an upperclassman and not have him yell at you. The first time at institute I called an upperclassman sir, and he said, ‘My mamma named me Bill, not sir.’ That sort of put me at ease.
“The amount of contact you have with the Church during the week is limited. Until the academic year starts, doolies aren’t even allowed to go off base to meetings. So the institute is some of the first contact we have with the Church. It’s good to get away from the academic rigors for an evening, and an hour and a half isn’t much to sacrifice. Even now it’s one of the highlights of my week.”
LDS upperclassmen are friendly to LDS doolies, but they let them know they won’t receive any special treatment. Cody explained, “If your eyes wander a little as you’re walking along the terrazzo, one of the LDS upperclassmen might say, ‘What are you staring at mister? Planning on buying the place?’ Then he would add, quietly, ‘By the way, there’s a dance at the ward this Saturday, and you’re invited.’ They want you to know it’s nothing personal, that they respect you because they’ve been through the same thing.”
Both Guy and Cody agreed that being LDS is no disadvantage. Latter-day Saints are held in high repute because of the performance of past LDS cadets. For example, in 1978 both the number one and number two graduates were members of the Church.
“You’re respected if you uphold your standards,” Guy said. “Some nights, for example, I’ll come home late and jump into bed, and my roommate will ask me why I didn’t say my prayers. The other cadets will always order soft drinks for you instead of beer. Once you’ve established yourself, there’s no real friction. The ones who have problems are those who don’t live their own standards. They lose self-respect and the respect of their peers.”
On a typical day, Guy gets up at 4:30 or 5:00 A.M. to finish homework from the night before. Then he gets his room in inspection order, because inspections can come at any time. Breakfast is optional but must be eaten before 7:00. Cadets must be in full uniform and ready for the day by 7:05, and often there’s a squadron meeting until 7:45. Classes begin at 7:55 and last until evening, with some athletic events interspersed in the schedule. There is also a noon formation for lunch and daily marching so tourists can see the cadets. Academic call to quarters starts at 7:30 P.M. and lasts until 11:15. “That’s study time to spend as you need to,” Guy explained. “As you can see, the rest of the day is pretty well scheduled for you.”
“We have a saying here, ‘Sleep is optional,’” Guy continued. “Everything else takes precedence. If you want to get more done, sleep less. Sunday meetings and the weekly institute class really provide a break from that type of pressure, a chance to think about the other side of things.” And Guy does find time to study the scriptures and write in his journal. “I usually stay up until 11:30 or 11:45 and do it then,” he said. Like most of those who go from the academy to the Mission Training Center, he’s likely to discover that his military background will make missionary training seem easy by comparison.

As you've heard from my introduction, I grew up in Samoa and life as a youngster was heaven. Our family didn't own a television set until I was about 8 or 9. We had only one large bedroom in our house and our whole family of 7 fit in there quite comfortably for many years. We found our sweets in the yard--in the guava tree, mango tree, vi tree, papaya tree and banana trees. We looked forward to our dad returning from his trips to America because it meant a suitcase full of clothes from D.I.-- our favorite store. One of my favorite toys was a homemade car that us children would build from wild hibiscus wood. We'd use the ends of empty mackerel cans for wheels and if we really wanted it be spectacular, we'd attach an empty can to the handle of the car, and light a small piece of dried coconut husk to put in it to create a smoking exhaust. Now those were extremely happy times for me.
Then things began to change. As I got older, I noticed those clothes from D.I. were all used and not brand new. I preferred to have ready-made dresses that I saw in the Sears catalog rather than sewing my own. One pair of jeans was no longer good enough for me. One of my favorite childhood activities was getting together with my brothers and sisters to slowly go through pages and pages of the Sears Christmas catalog to dream of actually owning all those things. I became increasingly aware of what I didn't have and it was emphasized even more as school teachers from America would come to Samoa on 3 year contracts and their children graciously shared their skateboards, brand new bikes and mini-hondas with us. It just wasn't the same as owning those things myself. I began comparing their perceived bushels of plenty to my cup of meager blessings.
Unfortunately, I started resenting the simple life in Samoa because my choices of material belongings was so limited and I thought it also limited my happiness. Because of my expectation that I deserved more than what I had, it blinded me to the many treasures that already surrounded me. This type of ingratitude, if not curbed, can lead to selfish behavior for anyone.

When the current edition of the LDS hymnbook was printed, the author of “There Is Beauty All Around” was unknown—neither composer nor author is listed. President David O. McKay, a great admirer of this hymn, asked J. Spencer Cornwall, who was then a member of the Church Music Committee, to find the name of its author.
Soon afterwards while Brother Cornwall was traveling on assignment to Montana, he heard on the car radio a male chorus singing “There Is Beauty All Around.” Reaching his destination he called the station to ask the name of the author and was referred to a station in New Jersey where the program had originated. He wrote that station and was promptly sent a pamphlet stating that John Hugh McNaughton was both the author and composer of “There Is Beauty All Around.”
This information was conveyed to President McKay who remarked that he was sorry it had not been written by a member of the Church but that he was very pleased to know, however, that those lovely words had been written by a Scotsman. (Personal reminiscence of J. Spencer Cornwall.)
SONG: “There Is Beauty All Around.” (Hymns, p. 169; male chorus and tenor solo.)

Katy Mangus was crowned Miss Legend at Oconee County High School’s annual pageant in January 2005. A Laurel in the Athens Second Ward, Athens Georgia Stake, Katy stood out from the other contestants in many ways—but one distinction was the most obvious. Of the 30 contestants who each took the stage in a formal evening gown, Katy was the only one whose dress was modest. When she stood at the microphone to introduce herself and her platform, she explained, “Something that influences our everyday lives—how we feel about ourselves and how we interact with others—is my platform: ‘Making a Difference with Modesty.’”

By choosing to stand for modesty, Katy hoped to set an example for other young people, both in and out of the Church, and to encourage them to take a stand and make a difference through modesty in dress and behavior. She said, “We can influence others for the better by being an example of modesty and setting a higher standard for ourselves.”

While I am embarrassed by this example, it remains as one of the greatest lessons I have ever learned about discipleship. By the time I was 33 years old, I had my doctorate, I was teaching in the Institute of Religion program, I had been an elders' quorum president for a couple of years and as I looked about me, to see if I was doing o.k. in the Church and in my profession, I felt that I was o.k.

I was surprised, but pleased to be called by the stake president to serve on the high council. I was living in Fullerton, California. Our stake took in three cities and had 12 units. At the first high council meeting, I sat in the 20th chair. We had 12 high councilors and 8 alternate high councilors. I was intimated as I observed the group of men—most had some grey hair, some had silver hair and a few had no hair. During the meeting the stake presidency was discussing the need to call a person to be the stake mission president, who would also be the president of the Stake Seventies quorum. I was too uncomfortable to say a word out loud, but I said to my friend on my right: “I think Brother Smith would make a great Stake Mission President—he served as my counselor for a year, then became ward Seventy group leader, and the first year our baptisms doubled; the next year the baptisms doubled again. Brother Smith was a convert and he really works well with people.” The person on my right said nothing to the group, so I determined I had a bad idea.

The next evening after work was over, I dropped by the stake center to pick up my mail. The stake president was there and asked me to visit with him. He told me that a colleague of mine on the high council had reported to him about my remarks to him. The Stake President had interpreted my colleague’s remarks to him—“Brother Cole said if he were the high councilor over missionary work, and Brother Smith was Stake Mission President, that Brother Cole knew that Brother Smith would do just as Brother Cole told him.” As I started to speak and say, that is not what I said—the spirit of the Lord said firmly to me, “Sit down and don’t say anything.” I was shocked that I had such a strong message come to me. Then for the next 20 or so minutes my stake president reproved me for my pride, told me that of all people he knew, I should be the last person to have pride in my heart because I stood in front of the youth of the Church teaching religion to them daily. About half way through, I thought to myself, “this is not fair, I didn’t even say those things” and the Holy Ghost again firmly instructed that I should say nothing. I was devastated. I was hurt. I felt misunderstood and mistaken. Finally, I left.

As I drove home, I was in tears. I wondered “Why was I told to say nothing? I didn’t even say those things.”

When I arrived at home, my wife took one look at me and said, “What is wrong?” I said, “Charlene, I need you to come with me for a moment”—I took her into the bedroom and said, “I want you to answer my question with either a yes or no.” I still remember her looking into my eyes, when I asked her, “Do you think I am proud?” She sweetly said: “yes.” It was like a dagger to my heart.

I began that night at 10:00 after our couple prayer to study the Doctrine and Covenants Commentary. I knew there were examples in Church History where some men were rejected for their pride. I thought, “I better learn what pride is; I also better learn what the principles of meekness, humility and submissiveness are.” For the next 13 months I missed only a few nights, as I studied sometimes until 2:00 a.m. trying to fully understand the underlying motives of pride and the way it was manifested in people’s lives, and how the Lord taught the brethren how to overcome pride. I truly did not understand the nature of pride. In those quiet hours for 13 months with a great hunger on my part and tender experiences in reading and studying verse upon verse, personality flaw upon personality flaw, I finally began to comprehend the pervasiveness of pride, and how Satan’s attacks to our hearts are often discovered in the motives for which we do things. During this time I fasted nearly each Sunday to hasten my divine tutorial. I learned that discipleship is the opposite of pride and selfishness. I learned of many motives in my heart that I hadn’t recognized that needed to be refined and repented of.

I have ever been grateful to a wonderful, loving stake president who took the opportunity to teach a young man about discipleship. It has been my experience throughout my life that most often when I have been corrected or reproved by a priesthood leader—or whenever I have been the one offering reproof or correction—that the focus is usually on the purifying of the motives of our hearts so we can be greater disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Some months later in another vineyard a mother and father were in my office accompanied by a 265-pound BYU sophomore All-WAC tackle. They had asked for an appointment to help resolve a confusing family situation. After we greeted the mother and the father and their son, Lance Reynolds, we had a few words of friendly conversation. I knew why they had come. The trying decision was Does Lance go on a mission or does he stay and play football?

I looked at the mother and said, “What do you think your son should do?” She said, “I think he can render a special service and example to the Church if he maintains his standards and continues to play football and hopefully help in bringing football fame to BYU and the Church. I think his football playing can be his mission.”

I looked at the father, and I said, “What do you think Lance should do?” He was smart enough not to disagree in that setting with his wife, so he merely said, “I’m not quite certain.” I looked at Lance and I said. “Lance, what do you want to do?” He said, “I want to go on a mission.” I responded with, “Why don’t you?” He said, “I will.” Our interview was over. Lance went on his mission, was an outstanding missionary, came back and reaped all-conference honors, and is now on BYU’s football coaching staff. He is a special friend of mine today.

Well, 180 youth of the Redmond Washington Stake decided to offer their help on a big project—constructing the basic shell of a new home for a Latter-day Saint family, and building a storage barn for a non-member family. Both families paid for the cost of construction or provided the necessary materials. For example, the Latter-day Saint family, Brother and Sister Warren and Jaydene Dazey and their six children, had used a portable sawmill to cut tree logs into the lumber needed for their house.
The project was planned as a youth conference and the youth were divided into two well-supervised teams so that both the house and the barn were under construction at the same time. There were a lot of details and a number of challenges to be met before the conference got underway—for example, the concrete foundations for the two buildings were poured in advance—but the result was worth the effort involved. In addition to the goodwill and friendships that the project generated, the youth had the opportunity to experience the joy and satisfaction that comes in serving others. Building the house and the barn helped build testimonies, and those testimonies were shared at a special sacrament meeting held on the Sunday following three days of hard work.

It was 1963, and I was serving as a full-time missionary in the Argentina North Mission. Ten elders and my companion and I served in three small branches in Mendoza.
December arrived and with it Christmas! It was my first Christmas in the mission field. We had great hopes as we all made our plans for Christmas Eve. The elders hired a man to drive us around in his four-wheeled cart, pulled by two horses. We planned to stop on street corners where lots of people would be rushing by to make their last-minute purchases.
When it was time to leave, the 12 of us climbed into the cart and sat with our feet hanging over the sides and back. The driver slowly guided the cart. We stopped every four or five blocks at the corners we had chosen. Our group then got out and formed a semicircle, sisters in front and elders behind. We opened our hymnbooks and let our voices fill the night air, time and again, with Christmas carols.
“Joy to the world, the Lord is come!” Men and women, teenagers and children, stopped to listen, caught up in the spirit of Christmas. Many of them looked surprised, as if they were remembering the real event they were getting ready to celebrate.
When the cart started to head for another stop, we noticed that many of the listeners were following us. Each time there were more and more. Through my tears, I could see their smiling faces. What joy we felt! We received many referrals and contacts, as we had hoped we would.
The crowd asked us to sing “Joy to the World” (Hymns, no. 201) again. As we sang they cried, touched by the Spirit on that unforgettable Christmas Eve.
After more than 40 years, my heart still overflows with gratitude as I remember my first Christmas as a missionary. I thank my Heavenly Father for the gift of His Son. And I thank Him for the knowledge that there is indeed “joy to the world,” for “the Lord is come!”

Lynn and Jim wiggled their toes as the oozing, sucking sand completely buried their feet in the middle of a galloping white wave. As the wave slid back into the sea, the two laughed at the sight of their feetless legs. They looked like two pairs of skinny straws drinking up sea foam.
“It sure doesn’t seem like Christmas, does it?” said Jim.
“No, it sure doesn’t,” his sister agreed. “California isn’t at all like Michigan.”
Lynn and Jim had lived in Michigan all their lives until one day Dad had announced that they were going to move to California. The whole family had been excited at first because they had never been to California. But now Lynn and Jim missed their old friends and the woods where they used to play. It was Christmastime, but there was no snow to play in, no frost to nip their noses when they went caroling, not even any icicles hanging from the rooftops to look at. They missed the proud pheasants and redbirds that came to feed in their backyard, and the frisky squirrels that played tag in the sugar maples. Here at the sunny beach it was hard to remember that it was Christmastime.
Lynn stooped to pick up a shiny white shell. “These shells are awfully pretty, though. Let’s see how many we can collect.”
Soon they had collected so many shells that they could hardly carry them all.
“You need a bag,” said a voice behind them. Turning around, Lynn and Jim saw the oddest-looking couple that they had ever seen. Both had sunburned faces with more wrinkles than a hound dog. The woman’s hair was a scraggly gray mass tucked underneath a patched straw hat; she was carrying a plastic bag. Her dress was shapeless and worn. His clothes were even scragglier, and he was carrying two fishing poles and a small, battered creel. The woman removed a couple of old books from her bag and handed it empty to the children.
“Thanks,” said Jim, dumping the shells into the bag. “But don’t you need it?”
“Oh no,” the elderly woman assured him. “I have plenty more at home.”
“Do you live near here?” Lynn asked.
“Our home is only about a half mile that way,” the elderly man said, pointing up the beach. “We like to come down and read and fish once in a while. We don’t ever catch much. But today we got lucky and founded something special.” He carefully pulled a small, star-shaped object out of his creel.
“It’s a starfish!” Jim exclaimed, reaching out to touch the dead creature.
Lynn gently took the starfish from the man, admiring it. “There are all kinds of beautiful things to collect on this beach,” she declared. “You know, we’ve never collected shells at Christmastime before. We just moved here from Michigan.”
“Well, Christmas is the very best time for collecting shells,” the woman told them.
“I’d rather have snow at Christmas,” Jim complained. “It’s not Christmas without snow.”
“Now, there’s where you’re wrong,” the man responded. “Do you have any pails and shovels?”
“They’re back there.”
“Well, if you’ll get them, there should be enough time before it gets too dark for you to help with one of our favorite Christmas traditions.”
Lynn and Jim ran over to a sagging sandcastle and grabbed up the spoons and cans that they’d been using to build it.
“Now,” began the man as they returned, “have you ever seen a sand tree?”
“Noooo.”
“Well, we’ll show you how to build one.”
Soon the foursome had scooped up piles and piles of wet sand into a mound as high as their arms could reach. Then they began shaping it, first into an upside-down ice-cream cone, then into a fir tree with tiers of branches.
Lynn and Jim were delighted. “Let’s decorate it with our shells,” Lynn said.
The elderly man smiled. “Now you have the idea.”
Carefully, Lynn and Jim placed their shells on the tree. Some were pearl-colored with orange around the edges. Others were dark blue and lavender. They were shaped like fans, teardrops, icicles, and buttons.
“Oh, wait till Mom and Dad see it!” cried Lynn.
“Why don’t you bring them here later, and we’ll have a bonfire, too,” suggested the woman.
Lynn and Jim rushed home to tell their parents all about the sand tree and their new friends.
By the time the family returned with blankets, a huge thermos of hot cocoa, and a plastic container filled with sandwiches, darkness had set in. The elderly couple had already started the bonfire near the sand tree. In the firelight, the shells gleamed like tiny moons. And there was a surprise—on top of the tree shone the little starfish.
“Ohhhh!” they all gasped. The sand tree was too splendid for words. Lynn and Jim quietly sat on a blanket close to the fire and gazed up at the Christmas starfish. Then Lynn nudged Jim and nodded slightly toward the elderly couple. The woman had on a raggedy shawl; the man, a threadbare jacket. They were both shivering.
Jim and Lynn got up; then Jim took their blanket and placed it around the couple while Lynn and their parents poured the cocoa and passed around the sandwiches. After he’d eaten, the elderly man began to sing in a deep voice:
“O holy night,
The stars are brightly shining;
It is the night of the dear
Savior’s birth. …”
The woman’s clear voice joined in on the second line, and Lynn, Jim, and their parents began singing also. Before long, other people who lived along the beach were gathering around the sand tree, singing. Before they knew it, Lynn and Jim had almost forgotten about snow and sleigh rides.
“You can have the Christmas spirit any place,” whispered Lynn.

Each night before I go to bed I like to hear a story from the Friend. One night we couldn’t find the Friend anywhere. After searching for a while, my dad suggested we say a prayer. We asked Heavenly Father to help us find the Friend. After the prayer we started looking again. During the search my dad had a thought. He felt that we should look behind my bed. We did, and there it was! I am grateful for my dad. He helped me learn that Heavenly Father listens to all His children no matter how big or small their problems are.Kaylee J., age 4, with help from her mom, Utah

Susan (name has been changed), like many adoptees, had a great curiosity about her birth parents. She was sealed as an infant to her adoptive family and felt the power and confirmation that these were her people—the ones she was meant to be with forever. She felt blessed by doing family history and temple work for this family. However, that didn’t take away her curiosity or her desire to offer the saving ordinances to the people on her birth line. She worried that she was being somehow disloyal to her adoptive family for having that desire. But after a loving conversation with her parents, she was assured that feelings of love and loyalty would not be diminished by pursuing the sacred work for her birth line.

And in another area of the Church the youth from several wards were meeting together; the hour was late; many sweet and moving testimonies had been shared that evening when Bishop Rogers signaled to the capable young priest conducting to bring the meeting to a close, even though the bench was still filled with youth eager to bear their testimonies. But having waited this long for courage to stand, and being next in line, Melany could not pass this opportunity to tell “how it works.” She moved quickly to the pulpit.

“You see,” she said, “I was called to be a class president of 17 girls, and the bishop said I was responsible for them. I was scared to death. I didn’t even know for sure where they were. Then he told me to decide on my counselors and reminded me of the need to pray and ask the Lord. I wondered how it worked—how would I know who the Lord wanted.”

At that moment this young class president stopped shifting from one foot to the other, stood erect, leaned forward, and with a tone of conviction through a choked voice, she related her experience.

“I wrote 17 names on a piece of paper. Then I prayed about those names. Each time I would finish my prayer, I felt right about crossing off one or two names from the list. I kept thinking and praying and trying to decide until the third day. With only two names remaining, I had a strong feeling that I knew who Heavenly Father wanted. That’s how it works.”

Seemingly relieved from an urgent need to bear testimony, she continued in an enthusiastic tone: “I love these girls, and we’re going to try to be good examples and reach every girl in our class so we won’t lose a single one.”

From where I sat I could look into the faces of the youth and I, too, could see who the Lord had desired to be counselors to Melany. Two girls sitting together, with smiles of confidence and eyes brimming with tears, convinced me they “won’t lose a single one.”

Years ago, we had an unexpected visitor to our ward in Tennessee. Her name was Jacque.

Jacque told us that twenty years earlier, she had worked for a newspaper near Nashville, editing the religion section. The paper was preparing an article about the Church. She wanted to interview a member, but she didn’t know any.

So she turned to the phone book. For those under thirty, a phone book was like a paper Google—except it only had names, addresses, and phone numbers.

She called the number listed for the Church. Surprisingly, someone answered. She explained why she was calling. The man told her he was busy at the moment, but if she could come by the church on Wednesday, he would make time for her.

As Jacque described that meeting, her voice softened. She said the man was kind, gracious, and genuinely interested in her. Then she whispered, “I think he’s the most Christlike man I’ve ever met.”

Two decades passed.

One day, Jacque was walking through a business park when she noticed a door that read: “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints – Tennessee Nashville Mission.”

Her memory prompted her. She walked into what was the mission office and told her story to the senior missionary at the receptionist desk. The missionary gave her the address of the church and the time sacrament meeting started.

The very next Sunday, Jacque was sitting in the overflow of our chapel.

I asked if she remembered the man she met years earlier. Without hesitation, she said, “I’ll never forget him. His name was Todd Christofferson.”

Six weeks after her first visit to our ward, Jacque was baptized. At her baptism, the bishop invited her to share a few words. She stood at the pulpit, hair still wet, and thanked everyone for being there and for becoming her new church family.

Then, reflecting on that meeting with President Christofferson, she said: “Brothers and sisters, I hope you’ll remember that your lives may be the only Book of Mormon that someone will ever read.”

That thought has never left me.

Elder Oaks was born in Provo, Utah, 12 August 1932, and grew up a worker. He began working for pay only three or four years after his father died, to help his widowed mother. Dr. Lloyd Oaks’ death (of tuberculosis) left his young widow Stella with three children: Dallin, eight at the time, and the oldest; Merrill, now a Provo, Utah, ophthalmologist; and Evelyn, now Mrs. H. Ross Hammond, of Salt Lake City.
“I was blessed with an extraordinary mother,” Elder Oaks recalls. “She surely was one of the many noble women who have lived in the latter days.” He lauds her as a woman of “great faith,” a “very skilled parent,” and a woman possessed of great natural executive ability. Many outside the family would agree. Before her death in 1980, Stella Oaks was known as a force for good in Provo, in both Church and civic service.
“She gave me a great deal of responsibility and freedom. She encouraged me to have a job,” Elder Oaks explains. From the time he first worked for pay, “at eleven or twelve,” he has been continuously employed.
That first job was sweeping out a radio repair shop. He had to learn to test the radio tubes he found on the floor, to find out which were good, and that led to an interest in radio. He threw himself into study with characteristic intensity. Before he was sixteen, he had obtained a first-class radiotelephone license, which allowed him to operate a commercial radio station’s transmitter, and found a job in radio. Station managers liked to hire a “combination man”—an engineer who could double as an announcer—“but my voice hadn’t changed,” he recalls, laughing. Before long, however, that change took care of itself, and he was working regularly as an announcer.