Gospel Story Finder

The wind was howling and shaking the palm trees by the time Grandma’s car reached Ana Luisa’s house. “Grab your things, girls, and go inside,” Grandma said. “I’m going to find some rocks to put behind the car’s tires.”
“Why?” Rebecca asked.
“So maybe the car won’t blow away,” Grandma said.
Rebecca and Sarah looked at each other, their eyes wide.
The girls didn’t remember the last hurricane that had come to Puerto Rico eight years ago, when Sarah was two and Rebecca just one. But they knew that the Arecibo River had flooded their neighborhood and that a lot of houses had been destroyed. Now Hurricane Georges was on the way, and newscasters warned that this hurricane might be even worse.
“So, girls, are you ready for Hurricane Georges?” asked Ana Luisa as they stepped through the front door.
“Brother Soto came to our house this morning and nailed boards on all the windows. Grandma says we need to pray that everything will turn out all right,” Sarah said.
“That’s right,” Ana Luisa said. “Heavenly Father will watch over us.”
Ana Luisa was a friend from their new church. Even though the girls were worried, Ana Luisa’s comforting words and the familiar smell of rice and beans inside her cozy house made them feel better.
The sister missionaries, who had taught Grandma and the girls the gospel just three months ago, were spending the night at Ana Luisa’s, too. “It’s going to be fun,” Sister Lewis, one of the missionaries, told them, “like a party, except with really bad weather.”
For a while it was like a party. They ate dinner, then munched on cookies and listened to the radio. Every once in a while they heard a crash outside. Rebecca and Sarah wondered if Grandma’s car had blown away after all, but it was too dark to see.
Later, the lights flickered and went out. As Rebecca made a funny face in the beam of her flashlight, Grandma said, “Now is probably a good time for bed.”
After they put on their pajamas, Grandma called Sarah and Rebecca back to the living room. “We’re going to say a prayer together,” Grandma said. Sister Lewis asked Heavenly Father to keep them all safe during the hurricane and to protect Rebecca and Sarah’s house. Hearing Sister Lewis pray helped the girls feel calmer.
The next morning, when Sarah cranked open the metal window slats, Ana Luisa’s street looked like it belonged on a different planet. Grandma’s car was still there, but some trees had fallen down, and sheets of metal from people’s roofs were on Ana Luisa’s lawn. Pigeons waddled helplessly down the sidewalk, too heavy with rainwater to fly. “If Ana Luisa’s street looks like this,” Sarah asked Rebecca nervously, “what do you think ours looks like?”
Early that morning Grandma had driven over to check on their house. She finally came back around lunchtime. “The neighborhood is flooded,” she said. “I couldn’t even get near our street.”
Rebecca wanted to cry. Sarah asked, “What do we do now, Grandma?”
“If it’s OK with Ana Luisa, we’ll stay here for a few more days. Maybe by then the water will go down, and we can go home.”
Everyone from church wanted to help Grandma, Rebecca, and Sarah. Ana Luisa cooked dinner for them, and the sister missionaries brought clothes that Sister Lewis’s family had sent. Bishop Espinosa even came to give Grandma a blessing when she was feeling sick. But it was hard not to be in their own house and harder still not to know if their house was even there anymore.
After eight days the streets in their neighborhood were finally clear. Buckled into the backseat of Grandma’s car, Sarah and Rebecca felt a twist of excitement and fear in their stomachs. As they rode, they saw houses with walls that had been blown down. Broken tables, waterlogged mattresses, and mud-crusted refrigerators lay abandoned on the side of the road.
“What if our house is gone?” Rebecca asked.
“Then Heavenly Father will help us find a new one,” Grandma replied.
The streets in their neighborhood were still oozing with thick black mud, so they had to drive very slowly. Finally, Grandma turned the corner onto their street.
“I see it!” Rebecca shouted. “Our house is still there!”
“There’s a hole in the roof,” Sarah pointed out.
Inside, everything smelled musty. The girls leaned their mattresses against the wall to air them out and helped Grandma wipe up the water that had come in through the hole in the roof. “Can we stay here tonight, Grandma?” Rebecca asked.
“I don’t think so. We’ll have to wait a few more nights until we can get the roof fixed.”
Rebecca sighed and sank onto the damp couch. “I wish we could stay.”
“I’m just glad our house is still here,” Sarah said.
“Heavenly Father listened to our prayers,” Grandma said. Then, looking through the doorway, she pointed toward the street. “I think He’s still listening.”
Outside, a large truck with a crane was pulling up. Bishop Espinosa and Brother Soto hopped down, along with some other men from their ward.
“Do you need any help?” the bishop called. “Maybe some people to fix your roof?”
Sarah and Rebecca grabbed hands and squealed. “Does this mean we can stay, Grandma? Can we sleep here tonight?”
Grandma smiled and nodded. “Welcome home, girls.”

My dear brothers and sisters, as October general conference approached last year, I prepared my conference talk to highlight the 100th anniversary of the vision of the spirit world given to President Joseph F. Smith on October 3, 1918.
A few days after I had submitted my talk for translation, my beloved eternal companion, Barbara, completed her mortal probation and passed into the spirit world.
As the days have turned into weeks, then months, and now a year since Barbara’s passing, I find myself more fully appreciating this scripture: “Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die.”1 Barbara and I were blessed to “live together in love” for 67 years. But I have learned in a very real way what it means to “weep for the loss” of those we love. Oh, how I love and miss her!
I suppose most of us fail to fully appreciate what others do for us until they are gone. I knew Barbara was always busy, but I did not fully understand the constant family, Church, and community demands upon her time. There were daily consecrated efforts repeated thousands of times through the years that kept our family functioning. And through it all, no one in our family ever heard her raise her voice or say an unkind word.
Floods of memories have washed over me this past year. I have thought about the physically demanding choice she made to be the mother of seven children. Being a homemaker was the only career she ever wanted, and she was in every aspect a consummate professional.
Often I have wondered how she kept track of our children and me. Meal preparation alone was a truly daunting task, not to mention activities such as doing the mountains of laundry our family generated every week and keeping shoes and appropriately sized clothing on the children. We all turned to her on a myriad of other issues that were important to us. And because they were important to us, they were also important to her. She was, in a word, magnificent—as a wife, as a mother, as a friend, as a neighbor, and as a daughter of God.
Now that she has moved on, I am happy that I chose to sit next to her when I came home from the office during the last few months of her life, to hold her hand as we watched the endings of some of her favorite musicals—over and over again because Alzheimer’s would not allow her to remember that she had seen them just the afternoon before. Memories of those special hand-holding sessions are now very, very precious to me.
Brothers and sisters, please do not miss an opportunity to look into the eyes of your family members with love. Children and parents, reach out to each other and express your love and appreciation. Like me, some of you may wake up one day to discover that the time for such important communication has passed. Live each day together with hearts filled with gratitude, good memories, service, and much love.
During this past year, I have pondered more intently than ever before about our Heavenly Father’s plan. In teaching his son Corianton, Alma referred to it as “the great plan of happiness.”2
The word that keeps coming to my mind now when I consider the plan is “reunion.” It is a plan, designed by our loving Father in Heaven, that has at its center the grand and glorious possibilities of family reunion—of eternally reuniting husbands and wives, parents and children, generation upon generation in the household of God.
That thought brings me comfort and the assurance that I will be with Barbara again. Although she physically suffered toward the end of her life, her spirit was strong, noble, and pure. She had prepared herself in all things so that when the day comes, she can stand before “the pleasing bar of God,”3 full of confidence and peaceful assurance. But here I am, in two days 91 years old, and I’m still wondering, “Am I ready? Am I doing everything I need to do to be able to hold her hand once again?”
The most simple, basic certainty of life is this: We are all going to die. Whether we die old or young, easy or hard, wealthy or indigent, beloved or lonely, nobody escapes death.
A few years ago, President Gordon B. Hinckley said something that is particularly meaningful about this: “How sweet is the assurance, how comforting is the peace that come from the knowledge that if we marry right and live right, our relationship will continue, notwithstanding the certainty of death and the passage of time.”4
I certainly married right. Of that there can be no doubt. But that isn’t enough, according to President Hinckley. I also have to live right.5
Today, “living right” can be a pretty confusing concept, especially if you spend much time on social media, where any voice can declare real truths or false concepts about God and His plan for His children. Thankfully, members of the Church have eternally true gospel principles to know how to live so that we might be better prepared when we must die.
Just a few months before I was born, my Apostle grandfather, Elder Melvin J. Ballard, gave a talk that, for some people, captured the essence of what it means to live right. Titled “Struggle for the Soul,” his talk focused on the ongoing battle between our physical bodies and our eternal spirits.
He said, “The greatest conflict that any man or woman will ever have … will be the battle that is had with self,” explaining that Satan, “the enemy of our souls,” attacks us through “the lusts, the appetites, the ambitions of the flesh.”6 So the primary battle is between our divine and spiritual nature and the carnal natural man. Brothers and sisters, remember, we can receive spiritual help through the influence of the Holy Ghost that can “teach you all things.”7 Help can also come through the power and blessings of the priesthood.
Now, I ask, how is this battle going with each one of you?
President David O. McKay said: “Man’s earthly existence is but a test as to whether he will concentrate his efforts, his mind, his soul, upon things which contribute to the comfort and gratification of his physical nature, or whether he will make as his life’s [purpose] the acquisition of spiritual qualities.”8
This battle between our carnal and our spiritual natures isn’t a new thing. In his final sermon to his people, King Benjamin taught that “the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord.”9
The Apostle Paul taught that “they that are after the flesh do mind the things of the flesh; but they that are after the Spirit the things of the Spirit.
“For to be carnally minded is death; but to be spiritually minded is life and peace.”10
It seems clear to me that one of the most important things we can learn in this life is how to emphasize our eternal spiritual nature and control our evil desires. This should not be that difficult. After all, our spirit, which has been around a lot longer than our physical body, has already been successful in choosing righteousness over evil in the premortal realm. Before this earth was formed, we lived in the spirit world as sons and daughters of Heavenly Parents, who loved us and continue to love us now.
And yes, we did have to make life-changing decisions and choices in that premortal realm. Every person who has ever lived or ever will live on this planet made an essential decision to choose to accept Heavenly Father’s plan for our salvation. So we all came to earth with a proven track record of a successful spiritual nature and eternal destiny.
Think about that for a moment. This is who you and I really are and who you have always been: a son or daughter of God, with spiritual roots in eternity and a future overflowing with infinite possibilities. You are—first, foremost, and always—a spiritual being. And so when we choose to put our carnal nature ahead of our spiritual nature, we are choosing something that is contrary to our real, true, authentic spiritual selves.
Still, there’s no question that flesh and earthly impulses complicate the decision-making. With a veil of forgetfulness drawn between the premortal spirit world and this mortal world, we can lose sight of our relationship to God and our spiritual nature, and our carnal nature can give priority to what we want right now. Learning to choose the things of the Spirit over the things of the flesh is one of the primary reasons why this earthly experience is part of Heavenly Father’s plan. It’s also why the plan is built upon the solid, sure foundation of the Atonement of the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ so that our sins, including the errors we make when we yield to the flesh, can be overcome through constant repentance and we can live spiritually focused. Now is the time to control our bodily appetites to comply with the spiritual doctrine of Christ. That is why we must not procrastinate the day of our repentance.11
Repentance, therefore, becomes an indispensable weapon in our battle over self. Just last general conference, President Russell M. Nelson referred to this battle and reminded us that “when we choose to repent, we choose to change! We allow the Savior to transform us into the best version of ourselves. We choose to grow spiritually and receive joy—the joy of redemption in Him. When we choose to repent, we choose to become more like Jesus Christ!”12
Every night as I review my day in prayer with my Father in Heaven, I ask to be forgiven if I did anything wrong and promise to try to be better tomorrow. I believe this regular daily repentance helps my spirit remind my body who is in charge of me.
Another resource is the weekly opportunity we all have to refresh ourselves spiritually by partaking of the sacrament in remembrance of the Atonement and the perfect love that our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, has for us.
Brothers and sisters, I encourage you to slow down a bit and think about where you are now in subjugating your carnal nature and empowering your divine, spiritual nature so when the time comes, you may pass into the spirit world to a joyful reunion with your loved ones—for which I testify and humbly pray in the sacred name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

An active youth committee in Cache Valley made it their project to take care of the aged and shut-ins. Each week the girls would prepare suppers and the boys would prepare lessons or activities to take to the homes of the unfortunate, giving them plenty of tender loving care in a family home evening situation. What do you think it did for those young people to be involved in such a worthy, compassionate service?
Deep desire to be of service and to demonstrate love can even benefit the bishop. In Sacramento, California, while the bishop was away on vacation with his family, the youth committee determined to paint his house. These young people had the time of their lives working together and anticipating the pleasant surprise of the bishop when he returned. A real bond of love was established between the youth and their bishop with such meaningful service.

For Candice, the sheer joy of dancing, moving, stretching, acting, performing, is something that motivates her life. She likes to do things well. “I remember going to a birthday party for one of my friends. They had hula hoops at the party, and the others were really good at it. They could keep the hoop twirling and could do some tricks with it.” Candice tried the hoop and it kept slipping off her hips and clattering around her feet on the ground. Frustrated but determined, she marched home and asked her mother if they could buy a hula hoop. “I was going to learn how to do it. I kept practicing until I was good at it.”

I always remembered his words, especially when I faced a challenge. For example, one time my mother gave me money to go to a store to buy some fruit. For some reason the cashier gave me back more money than I gave her to pay for the fruit. I started walking home, and when I opened my hand, I saw that I had more money than I had started with.
Satan tried to convince me that I could keep the money for myself. I thought, “I have some money to do whatever I want, and then I will give back the correct change to my mother.” But then I thought, “No, that’s not what the bishop told me. To be a missionary, I have to be honest.” I felt the Spirit at that time and went back to the store to give back the money. I felt good in my heart. I thought, “I was honest, I obeyed the commandments, and I am preparing for my mission. I will be a missionary, and I need to be honest.”

Devon, it is time to get ready for prayer.
But I am ready.
No, Devon. You should kneel, fold your arms, and close your eyes when you pray. You should also be still. It shows respect for Heavenly Father.
Devon dropped his toy truck, folded his arms, and knelt next to Mom.
How does Heavenly Father listen to me? Does He have ears?
Yes, He does have ears. He listens when you say your prayers.
Devon said his prayer and stayed on his knees with his head bowed and arms folded for a few seconds after he had finished.
He’s not talking back. Are you sure He is listening?
Heavenly Father usually answers our prayers by talking to our hearts and minds rather than talking to our ears. He does this through the Holy Ghost.
Devon, how do you feel when you share?
Happy.
And how do you feel when you do something wrong—like throw your toys?
I feel bad.
The Holy Ghost helps us have these feelings to let us know right and wrong. He also helps us have ideas about what things we can do to be happier.
There are other ways we can know Heavenly Father is listening. Remember how He helped Grandma feel better after she got a priesthood blessing?
Yes, I’m glad Grandma felt better.
Just because you do not hear Heavenly Father talking to you, that does not mean that He isn’t listening. He sends you warm, good feelings to let you know He is there.
Devon felt happy.
Now I know, Mom. Heavenly Father does listen to me.

My wife, Harriet, and I love riding our bicycles. It is wonderful to get out and enjoy the beauties of nature. We have certain routes we like to bike, but we don’t pay too much attention to how far we go or how fast we travel in comparison with other riders.

However, occasionally I think we should be a bit more competitive. I even think we could get a better time or ride at a higher speed if only we pushed ourselves a little more. And then sometimes I even make the big mistake of mentioning this idea to my wonderful wife.

Her typical reaction to my suggestions of this nature is always very kind, very clear, and very direct. She smiles and says, “Dieter, it’s not a race; it’s a journey. Enjoy the moment.”

How right she is!

Sometimes in life we become so focused on the finish line that we fail to find joy in the journey. I don’t go cycling with my wife because I’m excited about finishing. I go because the experience of being with her is sweet and enjoyable.

Probably the most significant thing I learned while on my mission, other than the gospel, is the importance and power of prayer in missionary work—prayer plus appropriate and timely fasting.
While serving in Edinburgh, Scotland, my companion and I had decided not to proselyte in a certain area of the city because we thought other areas would be more productive. There were only two missionaries in all of Edinburgh, a city of about a half a million people. We went about our work in other areas of the city, but we had a feeling that there may be someone we needed to teach who lived in the area in which we had chosen not to proselyte. We decided to set aside a certain day to fast and pray for that area and to proselyte there. We prayed that we would find someone who was prepared for the gospel.
On that day we knocked on the door of Alex and Lilly Clark, a young couple who invited us in right away. We taught them the first discussion and gave them a copy of the Book of Mormon. We asked them to read it and pray about it. We asked if we could return to share more of our message.
They told us that Alex was leaving the next day for a six-month military assignment. Feeling it inappropriate to meet with Lilly in Alex’s absence, we gave them each a copy of the Book of Mormon and repeated our challenge to read and pray about it. We also gave them the address of our chapel.
My companion and I were impressed by them and hopeful for them, but we were not optimistic, knowing what often happens when investigators go for such a long time without contact with the missionaries.
In the meantime I was transferred from Edinburgh to Nottingham, England. About six months after our visit with the Clarks, the mission president asked me to travel back to Edinburgh to handle some mission business. While there, my companion and I attended Sunday services at the Edinburgh branch. You can imagine my surprise and thrill when I saw Alex and Lilly Clark walk into the chapel.
Alex had just returned from his military assignment, and the two of them were soon on their way to baptism. The Clarks became active members of the Church in Edinburgh. When the Edinburgh Scotland Stake was created, Alex Clark was called to be its first stake president.
Forty-one years later, Lilly told my wife and me and two of our grown children that when my companion and I knocked on their door that day, she and Alex were busy getting him ready for his assignment. They didn’t think they had time for one more thing. But when she opened the door, she was overcome with the thought: “You’ve come! It’s you, and you’ve come.”
Alex and Lilly were not looking for religion that day, but when we knocked on their door, Lilly knew she had to let us in. Because she followed this prompting, her family’s lives were changed forever. And so was mine!
As the Lord states in D&C 31:7: “Yea, I will open the hearts of the people, and they will receive you. And I will establish a church by your hand.”
Truly the Clarks’ hearts were opened that day by the power of prayer in missionary work.

“I’m sorry, but no one is allowed in the garden area.” The tall Franciscan monk spoke with a firm voice in answer to my request to photograph inside the Garden of Gethsemane. Determined to return another day and try again, I walked down the gradual slope of the Mount of Olives and crossed the top end of Kidron Valley on the way to the old city of Jerusalem.
A paved highway runs down this upper end of the valley; it rises and winds around the base of the Mount of Olives on its way to Jericho. Gethsemane sits to one side of the road, next to the hustle of buses and taxis and donkeys braying with heavy loads of goods on the way to markets of the Old City.
Mount of Olives hillside
Gethsemane is just a simple grove of trees in a garden on the side of a rocky hill. It is a quiet place, except for the occasional tourist groups and hawking peddlers, and the nearby traffic.
Yet, in this grove of ancient trees one of the most important events in the history of mankind took place. In this little garden the Savior agonized as he suffered for the sins of all the world. He made it possible for us to return to the presence of God. That means that if we repent and live in sweet obedience to the Father’s will, we will not be required to pay the awful debt for the sins we have committed; Jesus did that in Gethsemane.
An olive tree in the Garden of Gethsemane
Leaving Gethsemane, you can easily see old Jerusalem above terraced hillsides. Next to the wall of the city, Arab shepherd boys often bring their sheep and goats to graze in the grass around the Moslem gravestones. Seeing the sheep silhouetted against the sky, it is easy to imagine what it was like here during the Savior’s lifetime.
Jerusalem seen from the Mount of Olives
Further up the hill, the road branches to one side, going up to Saint Stephen’s Gate and the base of the ancient temple mount. Here you can look back at Gethsemane from above. On this particular afternoon, the garden lay half in shadow with the sun glistening in several light-filled corners. A few Arab buses careened noisily around the serpentine curves of the highway below, but the air seemed somehow quiet. There in the stillness of my thoughts, I wondered about the little procession of disciples meandering across the valley toward Gethsemane, the Savior leading them in calm dignity as he approached the terrors of that incredible night.
Darkness falls swiftly in Jerusalem, and soon the blackness of the night was all around me. There was a slight chill in the evening air as I hurried home.
St. Stephen’s Gate in the wall of Jerusalem
Several days later I arrived after closing time, and the great iron doors to the garden were shut and locked. After much persistent bell ringing, a monk came to the gate and kindly allowed me to enter the empty courtyard. We talked for a minute, and then he surprised me with, “Would you like to go into the garden area?” Taking a handforged key from his belt, he opened the small iron gate that led into the garden.
I wandered along the flower-lined gravel paths, next to the great patriarch olive trees. The color of the red flowers reminded me of the blood that came from every pore of the Savior’s body as he suffered here. The old gnarled and pitted trunks of the olive trees spoke of the struggle and pain of spirit that Jesus felt in this garden. Pondering these things, I didn’t notice the darkness gathering around the garden.
A path in the Garden of Gethsemane
Reverently and privately knelt for a moment, there in Gethsemane, to thank God for the blessing of his Son. The trees were dark and gray as I left them. But looking up toward the city I could see one of its radiant sunsets. Jerusalem, the “City of Gold,” the hope of ages past, present, and future because of the atonement that took place here.

When I was baptized at 18 years old, I knew that living the gospel of Jesus Christ would become a way of life. I felt the importance and seriousness of living gospel standards, and doing so has blessed my life in many ways.
One gospel principle that is really important to me is honoring the Sabbath day. It allows me to stop my daily routine and to focus my thoughts on my Heavenly Father.
I work in a tourism business in Costa Rica. In this industry, it is typical for people to work on Sundays. When I started my job, I identified myself as a member of the Church. I requested—and was granted—Sundays off.
Because of my unusual request, my colleagues and my boss were curious. They asked me a lot of questions about my beliefs. Over time I had opportunities to explain to them some of the things that Latter-day Saints believe. In many cases my explanations of gospel doctrines earned their respect.
One day my boss gathered our staff for an announcement. “I need you all to come to work for the next two weekends,” he said. My heart sank. I knew this meant I would need to work on Sunday.
But then my boss continued: “That is, everyone except Juan Carlos. We know that nothing is going to make him come to work on Sunday.”
I was relieved. My boss had honored my request! Because of my behavior and the standards I exhibited at work, I had gained his respect. As a result he was willing to honor my beliefs.
I know that as we make gospel standards a priority in our lives, the Lord will bless us.

Several years ago a group of men, leaders of Scouts, assembled in the mountains near Sacramento for Wood Badge training. This experience, where men camp out and live as do the Scouts they teach, is a most interesting one. They cook and then eat—burned eggs! They hike the rugged trails which age invariably makes more steep. They sleep on rocky ground. They gaze again at heaven’s galaxies.
This group provided its own reward. After days of being deprived, they feasted on a delicious meal prepared by a professional chef who joined them at the end of their endurance trail. Tired, hungry, a bit bruised after their renewal experience, one asked the chef why he was always smiling and why each year he returned at his own expense to cook the traditional meal for Scouting’s leaders in that area. He placed aside the skillet, wiped his hands on the white apron which graced his rotund figure, and told the men this experience. Dimitrious began:
“I was born and grew to boyhood in a small village in Greece. My life was a happy one until World War II. Then came the invasion and occupation of my country by the Nazis. The freedom-loving men of the village resented the invaders and engaged in acts of sabotage to show their resentment.
“One night, after the men had destroyed a hydroelectric dam, the villagers celebrated the achievement and then retired to their homes.”
Dimitrious continued: “Very early in the morning, as I lay upon my bed, I was awakened by the noise of many trucks entering the village. I heard the sound of soldiers’ boots, the rap at the door, and the command for every boy and man to assemble at once on the village square. I had time only to slip into my trousers, buckle my belt, and join the others. There, under the glaring lights of a dozen trucks, and before the muzzles of a hundred guns, we stood. The Nazis vented their wrath, told of the destruction of the dam, and announced a drastic penalty: every fifth man or boy was to be summarily shot. A sergeant made the fateful count, and the first group was designated and executed.”
Dimitrious spoke more deliberately to the Scouters as he said: “Then came the row in which I was standing. To my horror, I could see that I would be the final person designated for execution. The soldier stood before me, the angry headlights dimming my vision. He gazed intently at the buckle of my belt. It carried on it the Scout insignia. I had earned the belt buckle as a Boy Scout for knowing the Oath and the Law of Scouting. The tall soldier pointed at the belt buckle, then raised his right hand in the Scout sign. I shall never forget the words he spoke to me: ‘Run, boy, run!’ I ran. I lived. Today I serve Scouting, that boys may still dream dreams and live to fulfill them.” (As told by Peter W. Hummel.)
Dimitrious reached into his pocket and produced that same belt buckle. The emblem of Scouting still shone brightly. Not a word was spoken. Every man wept. A commitment to Scouting was renewed.

The sun was just appearing above the edge of the mesa as Grandmother arose and began stirring up the banked coals in her cookstove. Hannah reluctantly rolled out of her warm quilts and hurriedly dressed. She knew that Grandmother expected her help. Grandmother was anxious to finish breakfast early this morning so the old fire could be put out before the day’s activities began, for today was the final day of the Wuwuchim ceremony—the Hopi New Year. Grandmother put a shawl over her shoulders, picked up her coal bucket, and stepped out into the cold winter morning. When Hannah ran out to help, the only signs of life she could see in the entire village were an old woman carrying two pails of water up the steep trail from the spring below the mesa and a young boy listlessly chopping wood. In the background she could hear the chanting from the kiva (round ceremonial structure).
For the past several days the mornings had been alive with the sounds of corn being ground, wood being chopped, and women busy with their children. Hannah had spent a full day with Grandmother preparing the blue cornmeal on the grinding stones, gradually making it finer and finer. Another full day had been spent on their knees in the peekee house bending over the hot peekee stone to make the blue cornmeal paper-bread. Then just yesterday Grandfather had brought fresh mutton. Hannah and Grandmother had prepared a stew with it. Water had been carried and wood had been chopped so that everything would be in readiness. Soon now everyone would put out their old fires.
When Hannah and her grandmother stepped back inside the house with the coal, Grandfather was sitting by the dwindling fire weaving a ceremonial sash. Although he had once been a kiva priest, he had not been inside a kiva for two years. Hannah knew he was not making the sash for himself. He would sell it to the trading post at Oraibi. Grandfather never seemed to miss the old ways. He kept asking Grandmother why she bothered to make all the preparations for Wuwuchim. Her reply was always, “Perhaps this year it will be different.”
As soon as breakfast was cleared up and the old fire put out, the family settled back to wait, listening to the chanting from the kivas. The priests had been inside them for days, chanting prayers that the Six-point-cloud People would look with favor on the village during the coming year.
About noontime two lady missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints walked over from their house in the center of the mesa. Hannah knew they had been unable to hold meetings with anyone for two or three days, for everyone had been too busy with their celebration preparations. The sisters had visited them the day they made peekee, and Grandmother had tried to teach them how, but their hands were not toughened and they soon had blisters from the hot stone.
Suddenly the chanting stopped! Runners began emerging from the kiva of the Masuaa (Fire) Clan, bearing torches lighted from the New Fire in the kiva. The new year began with the lighting of the New Fire in all the homes.
Hannah stood expectantly in the doorway with Grandmother, watching the progression of the runners from house to house. The two lady missionaries stood curiously beside them, but Grandfather did not lift his head from his weaving. The runners passed in front of their door. One hesitated a moment as though he wanted to go in, but went on instead to the next house. Tears welled up in Hannah’s eyes. “It isn’t different,” she said bitterly.
It had been this way ever since they had become Momonas (Mormons). When the missionaries first came to the mesas, nobody listened to them except Grandfather, Grandmother, and Hannah. They looked forward to the visits of the missionaries and their stories from the Book of Mormon. From the beginning the family had believed that the Book of Mormon was their book, but the decision to be baptized was not an easy one.
All of the neighbors had criticized them for entertaining the bahawnas (white people). But when they began seriously to think of baptism, the villagers accused them of deserting the Hopi way—a way of life that had served the Peaceful People well for centuries. Men from Grandfather’s kiva came to warn against displeasing the Six-point-cloud People and disrupting the harmony of nature, but he would not give in. He was truly converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Without his strength Hannah knew that she and Grandmother might have weakened, but after Grandfather made his decision he never looked back.
Hannah couldn’t help feeling that it had been easier for him than for her and Grandmother. Every morning from planting time on, he rode his burro down off the mesa to his dry farm. He also took his turn herding the village sheep. Always the men of the village treated him with respect. She and Grandmother usually received no such treatment. Each day when they went to the waffle gardens perched on the side of the mesa to water their little plot of chili peppers and beans, they met the women and girls of the village carrying water to their vegetables. The girls giggled and called out, “Momona!” and the women made derisive remarks.
That summer Hannah had not been asked to participate in the butterfly dance with the other girls of her clan. And at the first Wuwuchim after their baptism, the fire runners ignored them and passed by their home.
However, there had been a few changes for the better during the two years since their baptism. Now many people listened to the missionaries and came to Sunday School. The lady missionaries held Primary for the children and many of Hannah’s friends attended. They also had been teaching the women how to make quilts. Although no one else had been baptized, Hannah, like Grandmother, believed that this Wuwuchim would be different. But it isn’t going to be, she decided, and that still hurts.
Dancers were coming now from each of the kivas to dance on the plaza. Hannah and the missionaries walked down to watch. Visitors from other mesas were there, and people who had left the mesas to work had returned to celebrate with their own people. It was a joyous time of reunion, a time to laugh and mingle with friends and relatives.
Gifts of food were exchanged between clans. Women carried baskets heaped with rolls of peekee and white biscuits. Grandmother had left her gifts of food at home on the kitchen table. Everyone in the village would know that their home had been passed by again and that their gifts would not be acceptable. Hannah was sure Grandmother would send the food home with the lady missionaries.
When the dancing was over, everyone went to his own home or the home of a fellow clan member to enjoy the mutton stew, warmed over the New Fire and served with peekee and biscuits. Hannah and her grandparents walked home with their guests to partake of the feast that had been in the making during the past few days.
Going to the stove, Grandmother struck an ordinary kitchen match to light the New Fire. She laughed as she looked at the small flame. “Hannah,” she said, “the kiva fire means no more than this kitchen match I hold in my hand!”
Then Hannah watched as Grandmother put the match to the tinder, the small flame taking hold and growing into a roaring fire. She looked across the table at Grandfather. The two old people had given up many of the habits and practices of a lifetime and willingly chosen a better way. Deep inside, Grandmother’s words glowed again and grew stronger. The kiva fire means no more than the kitchen match!
A new understanding like a spark took hold, and her whole being seemed to burn. I was wrong, she thought. This year is different.
No runner came from the kiva bearing a lighted torch, but a new fire seemed to flame within Hannah, a fire that would light her whole life. The Lord has promised that someday everyone will understand, she thought. What a bright and happy time that will be!

The husband of a Relief Society sister was killed in a disastrous automobile accident, leaving his wife and three young children without means of support or much security. Upon taking stock of her circumstances, personal resources, and talents, the courageous wife worked out a plan whereby she could complete her education and provide financial sustenance for the family during the hours the children were in school. Through the application of thrift, discipline, and reliance on the Lord, the needs of the family were met. Kind, loving care was given to the sister’s aged parents as well.

I once spoke in a sacrament meeting that I will long remember. The conducting officer, a member of the bishopric who introduced me as the speaker that evening, gave an unusual, rather lengthy introduction that went something like this:
“Brothers and sisters, Elder Ashton will undoubtedly be disappointed when he hears what I am going to say about him and about myself. I heard him say to a group of prisoners once, ‘When you fellows leave this prison and go back into a regular environment, don’t apologize or brag about being ex-convicts. Just go on from where you are.’ Well, many of you in the congregation don’t know it, but I am an ex-convict of the Utah State Prison. About six years ago, when I met Elder Ashton, he was in charge of the Church prison program under the Social Services Department. A few weeks later when I became better acquainted with him, I told him I was a pretty fair distance runner. I asked him if there was any chance for me to run in the Deseret News 24th of July marathon race. Elder Ashton encouraged me and said he would talk to the warden about my getting out for the day to participate in the race. He told me later that the warden agreed if Elder Ashton would take the responsibility for me. He assumed that responsibility and later told me he trusted me and expected me to make a good showing in the contest.
“I’ll never forget that marathon race in July 1971. It was hot, the course was challenging, and I wasn’t in the best of shape. My only preparation had been running around the prison grounds when I had free time. Halfway through the race I felt completely exhausted; my legs were sore, and blisters covered the bottoms of both my feet. I wanted to quit. I felt I couldn’t continue. Just as I was about to drop out, the thought flashed through my mind, ‘You can’t let Elder Ashton down. He’s counting on you.’ I finally made it into the city for the final laps around Liberty Park. Again I had the urge to stop. And again the impression came: ‘You can’t quit. You want Elder Ashton to be proud of you, don’t you?’
“Well, I finished the race. Not among the first 25, but I finished. I went right back to the prison after the race, according to my agreement. Elder Ashton told me he was proud of me for finishing the race and proud to have me for his friend. I don’t mind telling you that I was a little pleased with myself for one of the first times in my whole life.
“It wasn’t too long after the marathon race that I was released from prison. About a year later I met a lovely young lady; we had a good courtship, and some months after that Elder Ashton accompanied us to the temple and performed our marriage and sealed us for time and all eternity. Tonight, six years later, I am proud to be serving in your bishopric.”

Many years ago when I was practicing law in California, a friend and client who was not a member of our faith came in to see me and with great enthusiasm showed me a letter he had received from an LDS bishop of a nearby ward. The bishop wrote that a member of his congregation, a former employee of my client, had taken materials from my client’s work site and had rationalized that they were surplus. But after becoming a committed Latter-day Saint and attempting to follow Jesus Christ, this employee recognized that what he had done was dishonest. Enclosed in the letter was a sum of money from the man to cover not only the cost of the materials but also interest. My client was impressed that the Church through lay leadership would assist this man in his effort to be reconciled to God.
Think about the light and truth that the shared value of honesty has in the Judeo-Christian world. Think about the impact on society if youth didn’t cheat in school, if adults were honest in the workplace and were faithful to their marriage vows. For us the concept of basic honesty is grounded in the life and teachings of the Savior. Honesty is also a valued attribute in many other faiths and in historic literature. The poet Robert Burns said, “An honest man’s the noblest work of God.”21 In almost every instance, people of faith feel accountable to God for being honest. This was the reason the man in California was repenting from his earlier act of dishonesty.

Natalie thinks that it’s great to be sixteen and to go on dates. But I’m only seven, and I went on a date! Your girl-friend Melissa took me to a movie. She said that you wouldn’t mind. When we got home, Kelly’s car was at our house. I saw her outside with Mom, but Melissa didn’t. I told Melissa that I’d buy her an ice-cream cone, and we walked to the ice-cream store. That was a close call! I think that having girl-friends is hard work!

Isn’t it too bad that it usually takes trials for us to learn to really appreciate others? I have always loved my family very much, but not until I became totally dependent on them did I realize how completely lost I would be without them.
In the fall of 1981 it was discovered that I have a disease called neurofibromatosis. This is the same disease that afflicted the Elephant Man. It causes benign tumors to grow, and it was found on my spinal cord and in my brain. Since the first tumors were discovered I have had three major operations, lost a great deal of my balance and coordination, had my lungs collapse three times, and had increased difficulties with digestion. Worst of all, the right side of my face and my vocal cords have become paralyzed, and I have become deaf.
How have I survived? Through the love and support of my family. I am 17 and the youngest of three children. I have a brother who is 21 and a sister who is 24.
Without my family I would never have survived, for they are my most faithful teachers, dearest friends, and treasured loved ones. When God placed me on this earth, he must have said, “That girl’s going to need a special family,” because he made sure to put me in the best one.

The best experience of my life was the day I was baptized. My mom taught me that once I was baptized, I would be responsible for all my actions. The day arrived, and my dad and I were both dressed in white. I was nervous, but when I took my dad’s hand to get into the font, I knew everything would be fine. When my dad said the baptism prayer and put me under the water, I felt beautiful things in my heart that are hard to explain. Then I was confirmed and given the gift of the Holy Ghost. I am so happy that I was baptized. Just as Jesus Christ set an example for me, I am setting an example for my little brother. I know Jesus Christ lives and loves us.

My third counsel relates to some of the goals you should consider. At approximately the same time that Elder Perry was in Japan with the marines, President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, served in Japan with the air force at the end of World War II.
In 2004, I accompanied President Packer and others to Japan. He had an opportunity to retrace some of his steps and reflect on some of the experiences and decisions he made at that time. With his permission, I share some of his thoughts and feelings.
President Packer described experiences that occurred on an island off the coast of Okinawa. He considers this as his mount in the wilderness. His personal preparation and meeting with other members had deepened his belief in gospel teachings. What he yet lacked was confirmation—sure knowledge of that which he had already come to feel was true.
President Packer’s biographer captures what happened: “Counter to the peace of confirmation he sought, he came face to face with the hell of war against the innocent. Seeking solitude and time to think, he climbed, one day, to a rise above the ocean. There he found the gutted remains of a peasant cottage, its neglected sweet potato field nearby. And lying amid the dying plants he saw the corpses of a slaughtered mother and her two children. The sight filled him with a deep sadness mingled with the feelings of love for his own family and for all families.”6
He subsequently went inside a makeshift bunker, where he contemplated, pondered, and prayed. President Packer, in looking back on this event, described what I would call a confirming spiritual experience. He felt inspired as to what he should do with his life. He, of course, had no idea that he would be called to the high and holy calling he now holds. His vision was that he wanted to be a teacher, emphasizing the teachings of the Savior. He made up his mind that he would live a righteous life.
It came to him in a rather profound way that he would have to find a righteous wife and that together they would raise a large family. This young soldier recognized that his career choice would provide modest compensation and that his sweet companion would need to share the same priorities and be willing to live without some material things. Sister Donna Packer was, and is, for President Packer, the perfect companion. They never had enough excess money, but they did not feel deprived in any way. They raised 10 children, and they sacrificed. They now have 60 grandchildren and more than 80 great-grandchildren.

Hung Hseng Chr (pronounced Hung Sheng Chur) sat on the grass by the edge of the river and watched the water lapping on the rocks. The sun felt hot against his skin, and the air was thick and humid. A tear ran down his cheek, and he brushed it quickly away with the back of his hand.
Hseng Chr’s ancestors had lived in Taiwan long before the Chinese people had come from the mainland to settle the island. He was proud of his people, for they had once been great warriors, and he wanted to be strong and brave, as they had been.
But it was hard to be brave when his sister, Hung Mei Lin (pronounced Hung May Leen), was so sick. She was in the hospital in Tai Tung, and the doctors didn’t know what was wrong with her except that she had a terrible fever. They had said that there was nothing more that they could do. The last time Hseng Chr had seen her, she had looked as still and frail as a bundle of old rice straw.
“Hello,” said a voice.
Hseng Chr looked up and saw the dark eyes and smiling face of Aunt Hung. She was his father’s sister, and she had recently joined a new church. Hseng Chr remembered that she had been taught by two young men from America who were called Mormon missionaries. Since that time, his aunt hadn’t visited them so often; every time she did, she and his father got into an argument about religion.
“Hello,” Hseng Chr answered her now in a dull voice.
His aunt sat on the grass beside him and gave him a long, hard hug. He suddenly felt better, as he always did when she came to visit. “I was thinking about Mei Lin,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “So was I.”
“I don’t want her to die.”
His aunt gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m going to ask your father to let my friends give Mei Lin a blessing.”
Hseng Chr stared at his aunt in surprise. “A blessing?” he asked. “What is a blessing?”
“Well,” said his aunt slowly, as if she was trying to explain something very difficult. “A blessing is a special prayer given by men who hold the priesthood.”
Hseng Chr was even more confused. “What is the priesthood?”
“It is the power and authority to act in the name of God. These men—these friends of mine—will pray for Mei Lin, and if God wants her to live and if we believe that God can save her, she will live.”
A strange feeling came over the boy. It was as though something frightened him and exhilarated him at the same time. He knew that he wanted Mei Lin to have a priesthood blessing so that she would get well.
He waited on the grass as Aunt Hung rose and walked toward the house. He watched as she opened the door and called Father’s name. He saw the stern face and stooped shoulders of his father as the door swung open, but he was too far away to hear the words that his aunt spoke. Father shook his head and turned away. Aunt Hung talked some more, her hand on Father’s arm, her face turned up to his. Father shrugged his shoulders and went back inside the house.
Aunt Hung came partway back and waved for Hseng Chr to follow. “He gave his permission,” she called. “Let’s hurry!”
A little while later he stood at his sister’s bedside while two young men from America laid their hands on her head. Their fingers looked long and white against her black hair. They spoke in a language that he couldn’t understand, but as they spoke, a warm feeling came into his chest. When the blessing was over, he and his aunt walked home silently, the hot sun beating down upon their backs.
At suppertime Hseng Chr’s whole family went to visit Mei Lin, as they had at every suppertime for the past week. The boy had grown used to his stomach growling at him all the way to the hospital and back. He didn’t mind the hunger anymore, for lately when he ate, the food seemed to get stuck partway down.
Hseng Chr couldn’t keep from hurrying. The closer his family got to the hospital, the faster his feet moved. Finally he just couldn’t hold them back. He left Father and Mother behind with the younger children and ran the last block by himself. He dashed up the steps and into the hospital. He tore down the hallway and burst into Mei Lin’s room. He stopped. The bed was empty.
He stood for a long moment and stared, not believing his eyes: Mei Lin was sitting in a chair beside her bed, looking at pictures in a book. Her dark eyes were clear, her skin was back to its normal healthy color, and her arms no longer hung limply at her sides. Suddenly he realized that Aunt Hung had been right. There really was such a thing as power from God. He would see his aunt again soon and ask her to explain more about the priesthood.
Mei Lin looked up at him and smiled. Hseng Chr ran forward, his hands reaching for hers.