Gospel Story Finder

When the area conference plans were announced for Asia in 1975, I became a little concerned and felt that someone should go along as a physician to the General Authorities, their wives, and other members of the group. There were quite a few people traveling together, and it seemed appropriate to have medical help available if needed. A recommendation was made and accepted to have a physician accompany those traveling to the various area conferences. In 1976, I was asked to go to Europe in this capacity.
From the very start of our journey, I was moved by President Kimball and Sister Kimball’s concern for the others traveling with them. When my wife and I boarded the airplane in Salt Lake City we took seats to the side and in back of President Kimball. A few minutes after the plane took off and the seat belt sign was turned off, President Kimball turned around and said to us, “Are you comfortable?” I was there to serve him and the others traveling with him, and yet he showed this concern for us. Throughout the entire trip, this great, kind, friendly man was always interested in the welfare of the people around him. We felt so comfortable traveling with him because of his warmth and graciousness.
After the first area conference in Paris, we traveled to Helsinki, Finland. President Kimball had been actively working now for three days. He was up early every morning, worked a very heavy schedule throughout the day, and then went to bed late at night. His responsibilities were greater than anyone else’s.
His job included not only presiding and conducting, but he spoke for long periods of time using a translator. He had held an exhausting press conference and had interviewed and set apart many local Church authorities. We boarded an airplane late in the evening for Helsinki. It was necessary to change planes in Copenhagen, and as we walked through the hallways of the airport, President Kimball carried a travel bag with his suits in it. I had a free hand and walked up and said, “President Kimball, let me carry that.” He turned and said, “No, thank you, I have to have a reason for being here.” He was almost serious in humbly expressing his desire to carry his own weight; he didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. I was impressed with that same beautiful attitude during the entire trip.
In Dortmund, Germany, during the last area conference on this trip, we stayed in an older, beautiful hotel. The manager was an austere, tall, straight, gray haired Prussian gentleman. He looked as if he could have been an officer in the army. On the second day after arriving at the hotel, the manager commented, speaking of President Kimball, “Every time that man walks through this lobby, I feel goose bumps all over me.” He felt the spirit that radiates from President Kimball. After making that remark, he was introduced to the prophet. President Kimball spoke with him briefly and gave him a family home evening manual. Arrangements were made for him to receive the missionary discussions.
The hotel manager was vividly influenced by that very brief contact with the living prophet. On the day we left, we boarded a bus in front of the hotel and drove around the block, passing the hotel again because of the one-way streets. As we passed the hotel, this handsome, stately gentleman was standing outside on the sidewalk waving good bye to President Kimball with his white handkerchief. It was significant that the hotel manager could feel the Spirit of the Lord just by watching our prophet walk through the hotel lobby. You know, President Kimball looks like any one of the rest of us. Some may not think that there is anything unusual about his appearance—but there is an unusual spirit that he carries with him.
After the Dortmund conference, while most of the group returned to the United States, President Kimball, President Tanner, and their wives, and a few others traveled to Bern, Switzerland. Here the two members of the First Presidency were busy for an additional day and a half in the Swiss Temple. They had been traveling now for 14 days while participating in the five area conferences. They had been going unceasingly when we boarded a bus at Bern to go to Zurich where we were to catch our flight to New York and then on to Salt Lake. I saw President Kimball’s exceptional enthusiasm in action again.
There had been 14 days of going, going, going, and in the 30 hours ahead, there would be no opportunity for the prophet to go to bed or really relax. On the bus, most of us leaned back in our seats and began to nap. I was seated behind President Kimball and expected that he would use the next hour for some well-deserved rest. We had not quite reached the autobahn when President Kimball stood up and made his way up the aisle to a jump seat next to the bus driver. As I sat in my seat feeling almost exhausted, our prophet, who had reason to be more tired than anyone else, couldn’t rest because there was a person on that bus who hadn’t been taught the gospel of Jesus Christ.
As I watched what happened, I had a feeling of guilt—I had been content to sit back and relax, but the prophet, realizing the transcending importance of missionary work, didn’t let weariness dampen his burning desire to share the gospel with others.
I wondered how he was going to talk with the bus driver who seemed to speak little English. President Kimball doesn’t speak German. Initially, there was some difficulty as they tried to speak to one another. After only a few minutes, however, the two of them were obviously quite able to understand each other. Now my worry was transferred from how they would communicate with each other to whether the bus driver, while glancing frequently at President Kimball, would be able to keep the bus on the road. It was clear that he understood and was interested in President Kimball’s sincere message. Their conversation continued until we reached the outskirts of Zurich when President Kimball returned to his seat.
When the bus pulled up at the Zurich airport, President Gary E. O’Brian, president of the Zurich Switzerland Mission, was waiting on the curb. President Kimball went to the door of the bus as it opened. He asked President O’Brian to step on the bus, and while shaking hands with him, said, “President O’Brian, this is Mr. _____. Will you promise me you will teach him the gospel?” President O’Brian said, “Yes, President.” And then President Kimball said, “Mr. _____, this is one of our mission presidents. Will you let him teach you the gospel of Jesus Christ?” The bus driver nodded his head and said he would.
This experience really taught me the importance of sharing the gospel. Our prophet is in close communication with our Heavenly Father and sees beyond the veil much more clearly than I do. He puts this degree of urgency on missionary work. Even when he has every reason to be tired, when sitting back and resting would seem to be a valid excuse for passing up a missionary opportunity, President Kimball continues to be a vigorous missionary. How can you or I do less than share the gospel with our families, our neighbors, our friends, and everyone else we meet?

Recently I spoke at the funeral of a twelve-year-old boy. Andrew had recently been ordained a deacon. He was a fine boy, and his friends came from everywhere to attend the funeral. More than half of them were nonmembers who went to school with him, played soccer with him, or worked in community projects with him. Andrew also had an older brother and a younger brother.
When death comes to a young teenager, it is usually unexpected. We may not be even remotely warned of it. Andrew was playing in a cave dug into the side of a sand dune at the beach. The sand walls collapsed and suffocated him. His cousins and other friends had frantically tried to dig him out. It was a horribly tragic experience for all of them, including his older brother, who had also been partially buried under the fallen sand. You can imagine the shock it was for their parents.
As Andrew’s family and close friends gathered beside the casket at the funeral, one particular young friend, Ryan, was having an extremely difficult time saying good-bye to Andrew. I discovered that Ryan and Andrew had been soccer friends for about three years. Ryan was not a member of the Church, but he was from a fine Christian home. At thirteen years of age, he had never before had to face the reality of death that comes when you lose a close friend or loved one.
Ryan cried audibly. He had lost a very close friend. He was comforted by his father, who held him close. Andrew’s father also offered some comfort to Ryan, but he could not be comforted. The loss of a friend was simply more than he could bear.
As I stood at the pulpit at Andrew’s funeral, the Spirit prompted me to tell Ryan that death is not the end of our associations and that our feelings of love and friendship will endure beyond the grave.
I thought Ryan sat up a little straighter on the bench. His eyes became a little drier, and I even thought I saw him nod his head, as if to agree. I thought my spiritual eyes saw Ryan touched by the Spirit.

I thought family history was ancient history that was completely irrelevant to me until I had an experience that helped me gain a new appreciation for it.
During a family home evening lesson on the life of one of my ancestors, I discovered that even though he lived more than 150 years ago, he learned lessons in his lifetime that can help me in my life today.
He kept a detailed journal, which included “11 Rules for Living.” In our family home evening lesson we discussed his rules and looked up scriptures that supported them. They are:
Say secret prayers (Matthew 6:6).
Keep your tongue in check (Proverbs 21:23).
Suppress anger (Proverbs 16:32).
Consider the effect of every action before doing it (Luke 14:28–29).
Cultivate humility and charity (1 Corinthians 16:14).
Let love be the mainstream of all your actions (John 3:16).
Think of Christ upon the cross (1 Corinthians 15:22).
Stop work when tired (Mosiah 4:27).
Do not eat, sleep, or drink more than needed (D&C 88:124).
Consider that others do not look on things as you do, and sometimes they are right (D&C 88:122).
Remember that you are never alone. Therefore, do nothing you wouldn’t do in the presence of angels (D&C 121:9).
My aunt embroidered these rules on a wall-hanging that we keep near our door to remind us to try to live by them. My Great-Grandfather Twede also taught me the importance of keeping a journal. I love writing in my journal and then reading back through what I’ve written. It’s interesting to see how I’ve changed and how much I’ve learned.
I have also learned that the rules my Great-Grandfather Twede lived by in the 1800s still work today. My favorite rule to live by is “Remember you are never alone. Therefore, do nothing you wouldn’t do in the presence of angels.” This has helped me realize that I should always strive to choose the right and live up to my standards. Studying Great-Grandfather Twede’s 11 rules for living has helped me appreciate his example and understand that family history is important to my life today.

My beloved wife, Ethel, and I enjoyed 37 years of a wonderfully happy marriage. At least that’s how I saw it. I hope she did too! Even her previous survival of cancer on two occasions and her significantly declining health over three years did not prepare me for what seemed an awful, sudden separation upon her death in 2021.
After her passing, the feelings of grief were intense and devastating. I was very fortunate. I had married an exceptional woman. We had many great shared memories. We had three daughters who lived nearby. I had a supportive Church community. One or two trusted friends were willing listeners, with whom I could share my innermost thoughts – though I felt awkward doing so. Even then, none of these, not even the sum of them, seemed to ease the immeasurable sorrow I felt.
Initially, the grief came in what seemed like never-ending torrents and, as time passed, later became waves (just as painful) that would crash onto me without warning. Bumping into someone, seeing a dress in a shop, hearing a piece of music, watching a grandchild that Ethel had never lived to see – all of these and more would bring on the tears. Nearly four years after Ethel’s departure, the frequency of intense grief has decreased, but the unpredictable onset of weeping for her continues with similar intensity. I wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Love does that to you.

Members try to share that peace and strength with their neighbors. In San Fernando, Rogelio and Olaya Parra, Jorge’s parents, have been sharing for decades now. Their stake president says more than 100 local members have come into the Church through contacts with this couple.

When they were baptized in 1972, Rogelio recalls, “My father told me I was crazy.” Olaya says her family also was upset, but, “I’m not influenced by what people think if I know it’s right.”

Shortly after their baptism, Olaya recalls with a laugh, “I was president of the Primary, and I had no idea what the Primary was. I was lost.” She learned quickly. She has gone on to teach and hold leadership roles in all the auxiliary organizations, and her husband has held a variety of leadership positions; currently he is stake patriarch and serves as a temple sealer.

Back in those early days in San Fernando, the Parras hosted the missionary discussions for many of the first converts in the area. That is exactly the way it should be, says former mission president Faustino López of the Alcalá de Henares Second Ward, Madrid Spain East Stake. He served as president of the Spain Málaga Mission—the first Spaniard to preside over a mission in his home country. “Members are the only ones who can open some doors,” he says. The Church has a good reputation among those who know of it through friends. Without member help, however, missionaries often have difficulty finding people to teach.

When I was 13 years old, my family lived on property in Granger, Utah, and every Saturday morning, my brother and I would get up early to start our chores. On one particular Saturday, my chore was to mow the lawn. We had a pretty big yard, so I had to get up extra early to get everything done before it got too hot.
As I was putting the lawn mower away in the shed after I’d finished, I heard the door to the back of our home close. I looked up and saw my father motion for me to come over and sit with him on the back porch steps of our home. We sat shoulder to shoulder, admiring the beautiful sunrise, as I waited for him to speak to me.
After a while he asked me, “Son, tell me about what you want to do in your life. What are your goals? What are your thoughts about the future?”
I told him my goals and dreams, including things like amazing sporting accomplishments and becoming an attorney. When I finished, he said, “That’s wonderful. You can accomplish anything in this life with our Heavenly Father’s help.”
Then he said, “Son, there is something that I would like to talk to you about, and I want you to know that I have prayed about what I’m going to share with you now. And I have prayed that the message I will give to you will be imprinted on your soul.
“What I am going to say to you will greatly affect how you deal with the challenges and the heartaches you will certainly face in your life. And it will come to influence how you face the successes that you have in your life more than anything else that I know to say to you.”
He paused, and I curiously waited to find out what this amazing piece of advice would be.
“Protect the private times of your life,” he said. “You know those moments of your life when you think, ‘There’s no one else around, nobody else knows what I’m doing, and nothing that I’m going to do during this moment will have any negative effect on anyone else’? You know those times?
“What you do in those moments, during these private times of your life, will determine the level of confidence you will have before God and men. It will determine your ability to concentrate and focus on difficult and complex challenges in your life more than anything else I could teach you. And it will have more to do with how you grow and raise your own family and how you strive to draw near to our Heavenly Father than anything else I could say to you. Son, protect the private times of your life.”
I listened carefully to that advice. And just like he said, that moment became locked in my mind and in my heart. Those words are forever imprinted on my soul.
“You know those moments of your life when you think, ‘There’s no one else around, nobody else knows what I’m doing, and nothing that I’m going to do during this moment will have any negative effect on anyone else’?”
As I reflected on what my dad taught me, I realized that my father was not only referring to the importance of staying away from things like pornography and misconduct. He was advising me to fill those private times with positive things. About a year after that conversation, I finished reading the Book of Mormon on my own for the first time. And I came to receive a witness by the Spirit, in a private moment, that the Book of Mormon is the word of God. And I was able to make the connection between the importance of it being the word of God and this being the Lord’s Church.
In those private moments, I gained a testimony that the prophet of my youth, President Spencer W. Kimball, was a mouthpiece of the Lord. And it is on that foundation that I have continued to know that each prophet after, including President Russell M. Nelson today, is the Lord’s chosen, called, and anointed mouthpiece to the world.
For me, those private moments have been the foundation on which my testimony rests.
Since that morning on the back porch steps of my childhood home, protecting the private times of my life has meant not only doing those things that guarded each moment against error or sin but filling those moments with spiritually and physically uplifting activities. Some of those include listening to good music, praying, reading the scriptures or other wholesome books, and physical exercise. I try and fill those private times with a focus on developing my talents and working on my hobbies. I have found that doing so brings me lasting joy rather than momentary happiness.
Protecting the private times of my life has meant not only doing those things that guarded each moment against error or sin but filling those moments with spiritually and physically uplifting activities.
During my youth, as I worked on protecting the private times of my life, I made personal goals in areas where I wanted to improve, such as setting goals to read the Book of Mormon, improve my race time in the 400-meter run, serve a full-time mission, and attend a university. I strived to use the time I had to progress and develop my skills. Setting and striving to achieve those goals has blessed my life with better physical health, strengthened testimony, inner peace, and lasting joy.
I am so grateful for the advice my father gave me all those years ago to protect the private times of my life. I know his counsel has helped me to confront the challenges of life and feel the confidence of knowing that I have a Father in Heaven who loves me and to whom I can go during sweet hours of prayer, all during the private times of my life (see Doctrine and Covenants 121:45–46). As you protect those moments in your life and fill them with wholesome, uplifting activities you will see and feel our Heavenly Father’s blessings of peace, increased confidence and lasting joy pour into your life.

Quite truthfully, it doesn’t seem that long ago that I too had hair and was at a university studying, working, dating, worrying about finals and my course of study and my future in general. I had served a mission, spent time in the Army and was finally approaching graduation, unfortunately, in a field that no longer held my interest. I was confused and not sure what I should do. A friend at work told me that he had accepted a job with a major Auto Manufacturer in Detroit. I surprised myself by asking him to inquire if they were accepting other applications for employment and if possible to send me an application. He did. I filled it out, sent it in and was called for an interview.

During the interviewing process, I felt an unusual peace and confidence in hoping that my minor in business would be sufficient in place of an unrelated major. I was hired! It seemed they were more interested in personal integrity than educational prowess. This was not a career path that I would have chosen, or even thought of, without divine intervention. The Lord knew what was best for me when I did not. He knew where I could best serve in the Kingdom and where I would learn to rely more on the power of the Holy Ghost .

The story does not end there, however. Some 32 years later after many moves, enjoyable experiences and golden opportunities, I was surprised to be called in for what became my final interview with the company. Rumor was that top management in our Division would be asked to voluntarily retire early, due to reorganization efforts. Apprehensive of what this would mean to my family, with children on missions and some still in college, I decided that I could not end my employment at that time. As the interview approached, I was ready with the reasons why I could not accept their offer of an early out (as it was called). But once again the spirit was very strong and I was filled with a familiar peace that was over whelming—I knew that everything would be okay and I accepted their offer. Doctrine and Covenants 6:23 reads: “Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?”

Only a few weeks later, I was invited to yet another interview by an Apostle of the Lord. This interview resulted in a call to serve as mission president. Truly the Lord knows the end from the beginning.

One day, the sisters brought us uma surpresa—a surprise that would help me and my sister and brother know the Book of Mormon was true. It was a storybook with colored pictures telling the stories of the prophets in the Book of Mormon. “This is my chance to know if it’s true or not,” I thought to myself. I wanted to read it right away.
After the sisters left that night, I got ready for bed and started reading the storybook. Then I remembered that the sisters told me to pray before I read it. I knelt down to say my prayers and I asked Heavenly Father to help me know that the Book of Mormon is true. I said if I could stay awake until I finished reading the book, I would know that it was true. Then I started reading and was excited about the big trip Lehi and his family took across the waters in the barca [ship], and the wars between the people in the land. I liked reading about the 2,000 jovens guerreiros—the young warriors who fought for their families. I wished I was one of them. Before I knew it, I was finished with the book. And I wasn’t even tired.
Then I knew that the Book of Mormon was true and that everything the sisters taught was right. But the greatest thing to know was that Heavenly Father loved me so much he answered my prayer. Now I knew that if I obeyed his commandments he would answer my prayers. I was ready to be baptized.
Mother and I prepared for our baptisms. My brother and sister were too young to be baptized but they couldn’t wait until it was their turn. When the Elder baptized me and I came out of the water, I was proud and excited to be a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—a name I would never forget.

Kiyoko hurried as fast as she could. The wind was strong today and the feel of a storm was everywhere. But she didn’t think about the storm. Winds like this meant spring and spring meant the kite contest and the contest meant Otosan (Father) and Kenji would be busy building a kite. And this year Kiyoko was determined to be part of the kite making and kite flying. Then she ran into the house.
“What is the hurry?” Okaason (Mother) asked.
“There is a wind today!” Kiyoko called back.
“And you are making it all yourself.” Okaasan laughed. “Slow down or you will start a typhoon!”
Kiyoko went into her bedroom and opened her book. Homework must be done, everything done, so there would be no excuse for her not to help. After dinner she helped Okaasan with the dishes, then she went to the table where Kenji and Otosan had started working.
“Don’t bother us!” Kenji said half-seriously. “We are busy.”
“I came to help,” Kiyoko said, undaunted.
“Girls do not help with the kites. This is for otosans and sons,” Kenji laughed. “Go arrange your flowers.”
Kiyoko felt a sting inside her throat. “I can help! I even have a good idea for a fine kite.”
Kenji laughed even harder. “Girls do not build kites!”
“Why not?” his sister asked.
“Because only the boys and their otosans make kites,” Kenji insisted.
“It is no rule,” Kiyoko said as nicely as she could.
“Kiyoko is right and so are you,” Otosan said to Kenji. “For many years it has been the otosan and his son who made and flew kites, but it is no rule.”
Kenji started to protest, but Otosan gave him a quick look that Kenji knew meant, “It is enough!”
He said no more, but Kiyoko could tell that her brother was upset.
Father and Kiyoko worked all evening, drawing plans and deciding which materials and colors would make the best kite for the contest. And while they worked they laughed and talked, but Kenji only listened and watched. Then, even before they were finished he left and went to his room.
“What is wrong with Kenji?” Okaasan asked. “He is not sick is he? He did not act well tonight.”
“He does not think a girl should help with the kite,” Kiyoko said. “But he will see. I can build and fly a kite as well as any boy.”
The next week was filled with work on the kite, but every time Kiyoko and Otosan started working, Kenji would find an excuse not to help.
Soon the kite was finished and Kenji had not helped on it at all. It was a beautiful catfish kite with a huge mouth and scary teeth and big eyes painted on its sides. Kiyoko was sure it was the most beautiful kite in the whole world, but Kenji said that it was just ordinary and that it probably wouldn’t even fly.
“You will see!” Kiyoko almost shouted. “It will win the prize for the best design and for the most beautiful and the highest-flying kite in the contest.”
Kenji only laughed and Kiyoko felt hurt. She hadn’t meant to make her brother so resentful. She had only wanted to help, not to take over, but Kenji would have nothing to do with the project.
It’s not my fault, Kiyoko decided as Kenji left the room. He could have helped make the kite. But her thoughts made no difference. Inside she was not happy. She knew how important the annual kite making was to Kenji.
The next day a gentle wind came so Kiyoko and Otosan took the kite out for its first flight. The park was crowded with boys and otosans and kites.
“Where is Kenji?” Makoto asked as they passed him.
“I don’t know,” Kiyoko answered.
“He said he would rather work in the garden,” Otosan added.
“But he hates to work in the garden!” Makoto exclaimed in surprise.
“I only know what he said,” Otosan replied.
Makoto laughed. “Hiroshi, did you hear?” he shouted. “Kenji has been replaced by his sister! A girl flying a kite!” Many boys laughed and even a few otosans.
Kiyoko’s face grew hot as the anger rose inside of her. “This is my kite. There is no rule that says a girl cannot enter the contest!” she defended.
“No rule, but poor Kenji!” Makoto laughed again.
“Poor Kenji,” Hiroshi repeated.
The boys walked on, leaving Otosan and Kiyoko alone.
“What do they mean, ‘Poor Kenji’?” Kiyoko asked.
“You do not know?” Otosan asked, looking at her closely.
“No,” Kiyoko answered. Otosan shook his head but made no reply.
Kiyoko was more determined now than ever that their kite would be the best. “I will be the first girl to win the kite contest. I’ll show them,” she declared.
“There are more important things than just showing others,” Otosan said quietly.
Kiyoko was startled. “What?”
“For many, many years otosans and sons have built kites and flown them in the contest. I did so with my otosan and he with his.”
“But I thought you said it was all right and you let me help!” Kiyoko exclaimed.
“It was not for me to say yes or no. As you say, ‘it is no rule.’ If flying in the kite contest is that important to you, then you should do it. It is your decision, not mine. But tell me, Kiyoko, what is more important to you—the contest or your brother’s happiness?”
Kiyoko was sad. “I guess you did not want me to help you either.”
“No, that is not so. I have enjoyed your help, but just as you and Okaasan look forward each year to the flower-arranging contest, Kenji and I look forward to the kite contest.”
Kiyoko felt a little heartsick. She had never considered that part of it. I would feel terrible if Kenji tried to help with the flowers. And it would not be because he was a boy, but because that’s a special time for me and Okaasan to be together.
“I think I understand now,” Kiyoko said softly.
“There are many things we do together as a family,” Otosan said, “but there are also times when not everyone of us is included.”
Kiyoko had only wanted to fly her kite, but she had hurt Kenji. What should I do now? she wondered. It was a hard decision, but finally she knew what she must do.
“I have some homework,” she said. “I’d better go do it.”
“You can stay if you really want to, Kiyoko,” Otosan said.
“I thank you, but I must go.” Quickly she ran home, making lots of noise as she walked through the garden.
Kenji looked up and laughed. “You couldn’t get it up? See, a girl cannot fly a kite.”
For a moment Kiyoko was hurt by his words, but now she understood why he spoke as he did.
“It is up,” she said.
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m tired of kites,” Kiyoko said, trying to sound convincing. Then she turned and ran into the house so Kenji would not see her tears.
Kiyoko watched out the window as her brother ran to join Otosan. “It is a good kite.” she said. “Kenji and Otosan will win many prizes. I know now that it does not matter if a boy or a girl flies it. Otosan and I will do other things together—now it is their time.”

Let me share with you a personal experience. After the turmoil of the Second World War, my family ended up in Russian-occupied East Germany. We had fled from Czechoslovakia before the Russian front and lost everything during this terrible war. In the town of Zwickau, East Germany, my family learned about the restored gospel and joined the Church. At that time I was only six years old and the youngest of four children. The Church made an indescribable difference in our then very difficult lives. Even in these trying times, with extreme financial hardship, we were a happy family because of the Church.
Later, as a 10-year-old boy, I attended fourth grade and had to learn Russian as my first foreign language. Initially it was quite difficult, but as time went on I seemed to manage all right.
When I turned 11, we had to leave East Germany overnight because of the political beliefs of my father. He was seen as a dissenter by the Communist government, and his life was endangered. We were refugees again and had lost everything for the second time.
Now I was going to school in West Germany, and the Russian language was not appreciated there at all. We were in the American-occupied part of Germany, and in school I had to learn English. Somehow I could not learn it. To learn Russian was difficult, but English was impossible. I even thought my mouth was not made for speaking English. My teachers had a hard time with me. My parents were desperate. And I knew English was not my language.
I agonized through those school years, helped and encouraged by kind and understanding English teachers, but I just couldn’t do it. It wasn’t my thing!
At this time, my dream in life was to become a pilot. Almost daily I rode my bicycle to the airport. I could picture myself in the cockpit of an airliner or even in a military jet fighter. This was definitely my thing!
I eventually learned that to become a pilot, I needed to speak English. Suddenly, the resisting condition of my mouth changed. I was able to learn the language. Why? Because of a strong motive!
Our motives and thoughts ultimately influence our actions. Jesus repeatedly emphasized the power of good thoughts and proper motives: “Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not” (D&C 6:36).
In Proverbs we read, “For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he” (Prov. 23:7).
From young Joseph Smith we can also learn that the right motive was crucial for the success of his mission. When the angel Moroni appeared to Joseph and instructed him about the coming forth of the gold plates, Moroni repeated over and over again that Joseph’s motives must be true.
Joseph said Moroni taught that “Satan would try to tempt me. … I must have no other object in view in getting the plates but to glorify God, and must not be influenced by any other motive than that of building his kingdom; otherwise I could not get them” (JS—H 1:46).
What a great lesson in doing things for the right reason.

One of our daughters graduated from this school. She received a minor in childhood education, and afterwards she, with the wife of one of the students down at Stanford, in order to help their husbands, obtained a license to conduct a small nursery. They were getting along very well, until both of them began to prepare for new motherhood. So the public nursery had to give way to their own private nurseries.

When I was a young boy growing up in a little port town in Normandy, France, I remember reading a book about “Le Far West” that told of the settling of the United States. It described the faith and courage of the Mormon pioneers who had pulled all their belongings across the plains in handcarts. I had seen men on the docks pulling handcarts full of fish, and sometimes it took four or five of them to move the wooden cart. I felt an admiration for the Mormon settlers from that time on.
Little did I know that one day two young Mormons would actually knock on my family’s door. It happened after we had moved to southern France, while I was in high school. These Mormons didn’t look like pioneers at all. They had short hair. They shaved. They even wore suits and ties! They invited me to the English class at their meetinghouse. My parents gave me permission to attend.
I soon found out that these, too, were men to be admired, not necessarily for physical stamina, but for spiritual strength. They would occasionally visit our home, and though my parents made it clear from the start that they were interested only in “social” visits, I quizzed the elders more and more about their church, and I devoured every word of their answers.
My mother was Catholic, my father Jewish. They had always encouraged me to live a good life, to call upon God, and to believe in him. But these young men seemed to know him. I gleaned many ideas from their conversations with my parents, understanding more and more as time went on. If any of my friends laughed at the missionaries or criticized the Church, I sprang to its defense. I don’t think I fully realized it at the time, but I knew in my heart that the missionaries were telling the truth.
Many sets of missionaries visited our home during my high school years, but my parents, though always polite, were not interested in the Church. And I felt too young to take the discussions on my own. I drifted through periods of varying faith. We moved from Nice to Cannes, and I finally lost track of the elders.
Some time later, during a period of intense personal struggle, I found myself once again calling on the Lord. This time I understood that I had to rely on him totally. I felt a warm glow, a real confirmation that there was an Eternal Father watching over me who knew me personally and loved me. Not long after this experience, I was taking a letter to the post office when I saw two missionaries and rushed up to them. “You’re the elders, aren’t you?” I exclaimed, and then I told them about this marvelous feeling I had about my Father in Heaven. They understood completely. “It’s the Holy Ghost bearing testimony to you of the truth,” one of them said.
Then it hit me. I could talk to others about what had happened, I could tell them about my intellectual ideas and spiritual testimonies, and they wouldn’t understand. But the missionaries knew exactly what I was describing, experience by experience. We talked for a long time.
I was soon to leave for my military service. Nevertheless, my desire to be around the missionaries and members grew powerfully. As soon as I learned a new principle of the gospel, I put it into practice. Just before I left, one of the elders said, “You know, you live like a Mormon, but you’re trying to become perfect before you will join the Church. That’s the wrong way. It’s the Church that will help you achieve perfection.” They told me I had a testimony, but I still wasn’t sure.
In the military I had time to let my feelings grow and develop. There was lots of time to think, and I reflected deeply on my impressions of the Church. I was stationed with the mountain troops in Briançon, with no LDS branch nearby. But I guarded the things I had learned in my heart and let the seed of faith grow.
When I was released from the service, I faced a critical decision. My best friend from Normandy and I had planned for a long time to visit the United States, and I had saved my money so I could go. But his plans fell through. I had to decide whether or not to go by myself. I returned to Normandy, to walk the beaches and to think.
Anyone who could have eavesdropped on my mental conversation at that time would have known I already had a testimony. “I am well off here—I have my family and friends, I feel sure of myself, and this is the most beautiful spot on earth,” I told myself. “But what if I don’t go? I could miss an opportunity to learn even more about the gospel, to really gain a testimony of it. I could give up the trip, the dream of my young years. But to give up a chance to know more about the Lord’s church?”
In the U.S. I had the opportunity to develop many close relationships with Church members. I finally began to believe I did have a testimony—I can’t forget the wonderful feelings when, each time I’d ask myself a question, I would feel the Holy Ghost enlightening my soul, clearing away the doubt. I had had difficulty understanding why polygamy had been practiced. On a bus somewhere between Colorado and Utah, I glimpsed the vision, not a visual sight, but a spiritual insight, of the men who practiced it. And I saw how it was possible for such a thing to be pure, that it had come from God. That sort of clarification continued throughout my trip in the States.
I eventually ended up visiting some islands near Seattle, Washington. There, in a small apartment, I studied the Book of Mormon for ten days. My testimony continued to grow. The time had come to return to France, and in my heart I knew I would be baptized.
Several days after I returned home, the missionaries asked me to help them teach a lesson. The investigator was a science student, and he was struggling with some of the same questions I had confronted when I was studying the same subjects. I explained to him how I had found answers to the questions, and when we left he seemed satisfied and happy.
A few days later, the missionaries called to tell me he was joining the Church. “How about that,” I told myself. “Here I am, able to help someone else accept baptism, and not myself. This has lasted long enough!” I felt I had a testimony, but I fasted and prayed. I stayed up the whole night pleading with the Lord to seal this testimony in me. Finally, early in the morning, a sweet, peaceful calm filled my soul. I knew I had to tell the elders I was ready to be baptized.
As I rounded the last corner on my way to see the missionaries, I felt a strong force trying to keep me from going. It was like walking against a 70-mile-per-hour wind, which I had done before, only it was stronger. But this was spiritual. I was just about to give up and turn around. I knew this force wanted me to doubt everything, but I finally said, “No, no. I know there’s a God.” I felt that truth deep in the roots of my soul. I knew He would battle this force for me.
I reached the chapel door, just a normal chapel door, but I had to pull with all my might to force it open. When I entered I saw some members and felt their spirit, and the opposing force was gone, broken. I felt the sweet peace in my heart again, and felt it even more strongly several days later as I was baptized and confirmed. I still feel it to this day.

A second incident happened when I was twenty-nine. My companions and I had climbed Longs Peak in Colorado on a bright September day. Longs Peak is 14,256 feet high. At that altitude one can climb three or four steps before his legs go numb and he has to wait three or four minutes to get his strength back to take three or four more steps.
It was late afternoon when we reached the top. From there I saw a ridge that seemed to begin a thousand feet below and would cut my descent time in half. Unheeding of the warnings of my companions, I started down the north side of the mountain. I had gone down about 500 feet when I suddenly found myself on a field of clear ice that had resulted from a storm the previous night.
I skirted to the left and came to a cliff with a sheer drop of several thousand feet. My only way out of the predicament was back to the top. I shall not tell the dangers of that climb back, but what had taken me two hours on a fairly easy trail earlier in the day I then did in thirty minutes without stopping for breath and without having my legs go numb. Where did the strength come from? Adrenalin? Some may think so, but this was an entirely different strength, one that did not come from me.
That afternoon I learned another lesson. As I climbed, I could hear the whistle of one of my fellows. As I reached the top, there stood Golden Kilburn. The other climbers had gone down the trail, but he had—at some risk to himself—waited for me, feeling that he could not leave until I was accounted for.
Together we descended, reaching the safe portions of the trail at dusk. Had we been delayed much longer, we both would have been caught at night at the 13,500–14,000-feet level without coats. I have wondered many times which would have been the least pleasant, freezing or falling 3,000 feet down over the cliff. I have also wondered about the force that reached out, unknown to me, and made me equal to the altitude for thirty brief minutes.

I have permission from one of my daughters, Kristine Bicker, to share with you today an extract from some of her writings on this subject. Perhaps the spirit of it will convey a feeling to you that will be more meaningful than my own expressions would be. I quote from her writing:
The top drawer of my mother’s desk is always untidy. It is filled with unimportant odds and ends that, by nature, accompany a busy life. As I sorted through the clutter I smiled to myself at the treasures this drawer has absorbed through the years. There were old sales slips from Auerbach’s, yellow no.2 pencils—some without lead or erasers—a couple of bobby pins, a plastic straw with one end chewed flat, and a little red spiral notebook. The notebook fell open in my hand. The writing, tiny and crimped, looked unfamiliar, and I wondered who had filled these pages with such an unsure hand.

After reading a line or two I knew the mystery of the ledger. It had belonged to my late Grandmother Johnson. She had written in crisp, incomplete sentences about visiting some friends in Rexburg. There were a number of paragraphs about a trip to Europe with Uncle Harold. As I skimmed the pages I found some sketchy gardening tips copied from an old issue of Better Homes and Gardens and a recipe for zucchini-oatmeal bread—useless because there were several words I couldn’t quite decipher. There was also a shopping list that read, “Two pairs of stockings, one good blouse, five pounds of flour, stamps at post office, twine to tie up roses.”

Across from each entry was a corresponding price notation, and then subtractions and additions. The noting disclosed obviously that this particular list maker had been mindful of her expenditures and prudent.

I had not known this woman, my grandmother, very well. She brought ten spirits into the world—my mother being next to the youngest. It followed then that by the time I was old enough to be aware of Grandma Johnson she was almost too old to be aware of me. I remembered only bits and pieces of experiences shared with her. Riding through the inky blackness of Yellowstone Park at night to get to Grandma’s house and then being carried half-asleep up the steep sidewalk, past the profusion of rose bushes, to be put in bed with my sisters in the blue bedroom is one of my recollections.

My grandmother fed us peaches, homemade bread with preserves, and lots of soup. Kool-aid was a staple, sodas a luxury. She baked lots of spicy cookies, but hid them very carefully on the top shelf in one of her big china bowls lest we ruin our suppers. Her kitchen door had a very tight spring and always, always banged shut with a resonating smack, after which my grandmother always, always said, “Don’t slam the kitchen door.” (As if we could have prevented it from closing that way.)

In Grandma Johnson’s house there was a painting of a forest fire that hung on a shadowy wall of the upstairs landing. The picture was dark and ominous, with brilliant, orange flames licking hungrily at the skeletons of black trees. It terrified all of us children. To keep from becoming too frightened, we ran past it without looking.

My grandmother liked to dress in pretty suits with soft, crepe blouses. She loved to wear hats. My sisters and I played with reckless abandon in the bandboxes full of hats on the floor of the closet in the blue bedroom. We would pose in pretty cameos in front of the vanity that had been my mother’s when she was a little girl. After an hour or so, Grandma Johnson would call up the stairs: “You girls aren’t in my hats, are you?” And we would call back down: “No, Grandma, we aren’t in your hats.” We knew she was too unsteady to climb up all those steep stairs to find us out.

One afternoon, however, without any warning, she appeared in righteous indignation at the bedroom door, catching us in a profusion of organza net and straw flowers. We didn’t know how she climbed those stairs so quietly or gotten past that fire painting, but the joy went out of playing dress-up, and we didn’t bother her hats again.

Grandmother Johnson had a passion for giving and getting pretty cards. She especially like the ones with cutout borders, artfully covered with sketches of flowers. We read and reread the verses inside that intimated thoughts about love and friendship. She kept those cards with messages special to her displayed for months on top of the desk and buffet in her dining room.

I caught myself smiling at these fragments of memories, and turned again to the page of the shopping list. In one corner I could make out faintly a date, and realized, after a moment or so, that she had composed a little budget during the semester for which she had paid the money owed for my tuition at college. She had also secured my student housing. I felt a twinge of uneasiness as I remembered how cavalier I had been about her generosity. I had experienced a degree of gratitude, but being young, I suppose, expected good things as a matter of course.

I wondered now, studying her ciphering, if perhaps my grandmother had passed up a special little hat, or neglected to put in a new rose hybrid because her spare dollars had been used to purchase my books. I regretted not telling her I was sorry about playing in her Sunday hats and for not catching the kitchen door fast enough. I hope I told her that I loved her because I just discovered how much she must have loved me.

I am grateful for that feeling deep inside that she isn’t gone forever. I think there are many discoveries we will want to share. Perhaps she will remember the missing words in the zucchini-oatmeal bread recipe, and she can tell me how she got past so quietly that forest fire painting on the landing of her stairs to find us in her hats. [Kristine L. Bicker, Memories of My Grandmother, used by author’s permission]

Can you give thanks when physical limitations are constant and trying? I am thinking of a close friend of mine who died recently. He spent the majority of his life in a wheelchair. Shortly before he passed away, we had an intimate conversation. He said, among other things, “Looking back now, I am glad for the pluses of wheelchair life. It brought special experiences, people, opportunities, and tender relationships I would have never experienced if my mobility had not been restricted.”

In the course of our daily activities, we have many opportunities to teach others about the gospel. For six years, I have worked as an electrician on seagoing oil drilling rigs around the world. It is shift work—one month on and one month off. Relationships are temporary; if you want to make friends, you must concentrate your efforts because you may never see your fellow crew members again.
While working for an oil company in the North Sea off the coast of Great Yarmouth, England, I made a wonderful friend—a crane operator from Norwich, England, named James MacDonald.
One day as I entered the dining area for lunch, I saw James sitting at the table with his head bowed, asking a blessing on his meal. I was surprised to see someone so unafraid of being religious in the rough environment of the drilling business. Here was a man who truly desired the friendship of our Father in Heaven and who thanked him for his goodness. From that first day, I hoped I would have the opportunity to teach this man the gospel.
As I got to know James, we spent many hours discussing points of religious doctrine and comparing them with what the Savior taught. James had an excellent knowledge of the Bible. As our four-week tour of duty drew to a close, we both felt a sense of urgency. I wanted James to gain a conviction of the truth of the things I had taught him before we parted.
But there was one complication in our success: he was not sure that the Book of Mormon was really necessary. He had read it, and he said that it was a beautiful book. But he said, “Isn’t the Bible enough? We don’t need any more Bible. We have the teachings of Jesus to his people in our Bible.”
I then explained the principle of fasting and prayer and asked James if he would fast the next day. I told him that he should pray and ponder the questions he had in his heart until he felt he had received an answer.
As James retired to his room at the end of the day, he knelt in prayer to ask his Father in Heaven whether or not the Book of Mormon was necessary. He told our Heavenly Father that when he arose from prayer, he would open the Book of Mormon to find his answer. He knew that if it were true and necessary as holy scripture, the answer would come from it.
When he arose from praying, he opened the Book of Mormon and placed his finger upon a passage. It read:
“Thou fool, that shall say: A Bible, we have got a Bible, and we need no more Bible. Have ye obtained a Bible save it were by the Jews?
“Know ye not that there are more nations than one? Know ye not that I, the Lord your God, have created all men, and that I remember those who are upon the isles of the sea; and that I rule in the heavens above and in the earth beneath; and I bring forth my word unto the children of men, yea, even upon all the nations of the earth?
“Wherefore murmur ye, because that ye shall receive more of my word? Know ye not that the testimony of two nations is a witness unto you that I am God, that I remember one nation like unto another? Wherefore, I speak the same words unto one nation like unto another. And when two nations shall run together the testimony of the two nations shall run together also.” (2 Ne. 29:6–8.)
As he read these words, he felt the thrilling warmth of the Holy Ghost. He fell again to his knees to give humble thanks to his Father in Heaven. He then made his way to my room and knocked on the door.
His countenance was bright, and his handshake was confident and strong. He told me: “I have received an answer to my prayers. I know the Book of Mormon is a true and necessary book and that you have taught me the truth.” He then said, “I want you to teach me, and I will listen and believe it all.” Far into the night we discussed gospel principles and prayed together, that we might both be enlightened, strengthened, and filled with knowledge.
The next day we left the oil rig to begin our respective journeys home. I told James that he could look up the Church in the telephone directory in order to set up a meeting with the missionaries. I didn’t know what would happen, but I trusted in the Lord that James would be able to find the elders without difficulty.
A week or so later I received a letter from a missionary in Norwich, England—a missionary who was originally from my own stake in El Paso, Texas. It read:
I am writing to thank you for giving us the opportunity of teaching and baptizing one of your friends. He is truly one of the Lord’s “valiant.” I wish you could have been there when James and I walked down into the font and I had the great honor of baptizing him into the Church of Jesus Christ. Brother MacDonald has been an answer to many people’s prayers. My companion and I had been fasting and praying forever a month to be led to someone to teach. When James called us and asked us to come and teach him, we knew that our prayers had been answered. May the Lord bless you.
Elder Barton
Within a few days, another letter came. This one, from James, read:
How grateful I am to our Heavenly Father for answering my prayers for guidance, wisdom, and knowledge! How thankful I am for the many blessings he has bestowed on me and my family! How great is the joy I have through the knowledge of the truth, for I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the Lord’s true church restored to the earth in these last days. I know that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, the Creator of all things, in whose image I am made. I know that he died as an atoning sacrifice for the sins of the world and that he could and did overcome death that all men could return to our Heavenly Father—to eternal life. I know that our Heavenly Father and our Lord Jesus Christ are two personages with flesh and bones and that they visited Joseph Smith and reestablished the Kingdom of God upon the earth. I have been and continue to be blessed with all manner of knowledge and wisdom in answer to my prayers. How great is my desire to serve the Lord faithfully to the glory of the Father and the Son.
With love in Christ,James P. MacDonald
These letters brought me great joy. I had obeyed the Lord’s commandments to every member: “Be a missionary,” and “Feed my sheep.” And through that obedience, I had not only gained a great friend, but I had also shared the joy of the gospel with him. As the Lord has said, “And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!” (D&C 18:15.) I have tasted of that joy. It is great! And I hope to continue to bring souls unto him.

During my first year in the management training program our banks' branch decided to celebrate Christmas by going to a dinner, which also included a show. After the dinner we were entertained with a floor show. As the show unraveled, it soon became obvious that the show was burlesque in nature. My wife turned to me and to this day I remember her words, "I want to go home to our children, I will wait in the car." To you young students, there are moments of truth that you will face and management training programs do not prepare you for these moments. Do I stand up and leave with my wife under the gaze of my fellow employees or do I shrink back and wait for a more convenient and less conspicuous time? The prophets Lehi and Nephi knew about this moment and I am so thankful that Debbie and I knew about Lehi and Nephi.

".... .behold, he saw other multitudes pressing forward; and they came and caught hold of the end of the rod of Iron; and they did press their way forward, continually holding fast to the rod of iron, until they came forth and fell down and partook of the fruit of the tree.... .And great was the multitude that did enter into that strange building. And after they did enter into that building they did point the finger of scorn at me and those that were partaking of the fruit also; but we heeded them not" (1 Nephi 8:30, 33).
We left that floorshow together, and I knew that the person in whose embrace I had placed my faith for the upbringing of our children, though tenuous and full of challenges, was in safe hands.

I was born in the Dominican Republic and was raised in the Church. I grew up surrounded by great leaders who tried to help me follow the right path. I dreamed of serving a mission and helping people.
Because my father moved to the United States to try to find a better life for us, my mother raised my sisters and me alone. Sometimes I felt alone, but I never was because I could talk about any difficulties in my life with my Church leaders.
When we moved to the United States, great trials began for me. We attended a small branch and I had great leaders who wanted to help me, but my school friends tried to pull me off the gospel path. Unfortunately, I began to speak to my mother in an unkind way and rarely listened to her counsel.
I would go to church every Sunday, but I really didn’t have the desire to go, and I didn’t know if I wanted to go on a mission anymore.
One morning I opened the Book of Mormon, and it opened exactly to the page of my favorite scripture, 3 Nephi 12:14–16:
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, I give unto you to be the light of this people. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid.
“Behold, do men light a candle and put it under a bushel? Nay, but on a candlestick, and it giveth light to all that is in the house;
“Therefore let your light so shine before this people, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven.”
It gave me great joy to read this because it helped me remember what I learned in seminary and how marvelous the plan of our Father is. So I decided to try to be a light to the world.
I invited two cousins to come to church. One was less active, and he became active. The other was not a member, and I was able to baptize him.
A year later I received my mission call to serve in California, USA. As I served, I saw without a doubt that this is the true gospel of Jesus Christ. As I helped people, my testimony grew more and more, and every time I read my scriptures, I always recited the passage in 3 Nephi to be a light unto the world.

He’d never forget her first football game. She’d been so excited that she could hardly sit still, dressed in a new red sweater, a matching ribbon on her ponytail. His friends had fought to sit next to her, buying her candy from the concession stand. They’d asked her how old she was and where she went to school. Tessie had loved every minute of it, laughing at his friend Hank’s dumb jokes and cheering more loudly than anyone else when the game got exciting. He’d set her on his shoulders so that she could watch the final few minutes, then held her hand tightly so that she didn’t get lost in the crowd.

That had been the first of many games he and his friends had taken her to, and pretty soon she’d known everybody. She’d loved the football games best, but basketball had been fun, and she could cheer for Hank during the baseball season. David had occasionally taken her to the movies or the beach, and she’d baked him chocolate chip cookies with cereal in them, her own special recipe.

When we returned to Utah in 2000 after our mission in Chile, we found our oldest daughter dating a young man named McKell, a lively returned missionary who was also involved in theater programs at Brigham Young University. He was a frequent visitor in our home, and we came to like him.

That fall our daughter was awakened one Sunday morning to hear some terrible news. Her friend McKell had been visiting a cousin along the Oregon coast, and the two of them were far out on a pier when a storm came up suddenly and swept them off into the water. His cousin was battered among some rocks and was rushed off to a hospital, where he struggled for his life. McKell was apparently swept away by the undertow, and his body was not recovered. Eight days later, the very day of a memorial service for him, his body washed up onto the shore and could finally have a proper burial.

McKell was a good young man, just twenty-five years old. I don’t believe he knew that he would be leaving the earth that day.