Gospel Story Finder

I was in the city of Torreó, Mexico, and was being driven about in a beautiful and expensive automobile. It belonged to a man named David Casteñ. At one time he and his wife and their children lived on a little rundown farm. They owned 30 chickens, two pigs, and one skinny horse. They walked in poverty.

Then one day two missionaries called on them. Sister Casteñ said, “The elders took the blinders from our eyes and brought light into our lives. We knew nothing of Jesus Christ. We knew nothing of God until they came.”

They moved into the little town of Bermejillo. Circumstances led them to the junk business. They bought wrecked automobiles. This led to association with insurance companies. They gradually built a prosperous business in which the father and his five sons worked. With simple faith they paid their tithing. They lived the gospel. They served wherever they were called. Four of their sons and three of their daughters filled missions.

Through their influence some 200 of their family and friends have joined the Church. More than 30 sons and daughters of family and friends have served missions. They donated the land on which a chapel now stands. At the time I met them, the children—now grown to maturity—and the parents were taking turns going to Mexico City each month to work in the temple. They are a shining and inspirational example of the miraculous power of missionary work. Think of the wonderful consequences of their being taught and receiving the teachings of the gospel from two humble missionaries. Such miracles are occurring today all across the world.

In April of 1950, my wife, Frances, and I were in attendance at the Sunday afternoon session of general conference, held in this building. President George Albert Smith was the President of the Church, and in closing the conference, he delivered an inspiring and powerful message concerning the Resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Before he concluded his remarks, however, he sounded a prophetic warning. Said he: “It will not be long until calamities will overtake the human family unless there is speedy repentance. It will not be long before those who are scattered over the face of the earth by millions will die … because of what will come” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1950, 169). These were alarming words, for they came from a prophet of God.
Two and a half months after that general conference, on June 25, 1950, war broke out in Korea—a war which would eventually claim an estimated 2.5 million lives. This event prompted me to reflect on the statement President Smith made as we sat in this building that spring day.
I attended many general conference sessions in the Tabernacle, always being edified and inspired by the words of the Brethren. Then, in October of 1963, President David O. McKay invited me to his office and extended to me a call to serve as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He asked that I keep this sacred call confidential, revealing it to no one except my wife, and that I be present for general conference in the Tabernacle the next day, when my name would be read aloud.
The following morning I came into the Tabernacle not knowing exactly where to sit. Being a member of the Priesthood Home Teaching Committee, I determined that I would be seated among the members of that committee. I noticed a friend of mine by the name of Hugh Smith, who was also a member of the Priesthood Home Teaching Committee. He motioned for me to sit by him. I couldn’t say a thing to him about my call, but I sat down.
During the session, the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles were sustained and, of course, my name was read. I believe the walk from the audience to the stand was the longest walk of my life.
It has been nearly 44 years since that conference. Until the year 2000, when the Conference Center was dedicated, it was my privilege to deliver 101 general conference messages from the pulpit in this building, not including those given at general auxiliary conferences and other meetings held here. My remarks today bring the total to 102. I have had many spiritual experiences over the years as I have stood here.
During the message I delivered at general conference in October 1975, I felt prompted to direct my remarks to a little girl with long blonde hair who was seated in the balcony of this building. I called the attention of the audience to her and felt a freedom of expression which testified to me that this small girl needed the message I had in mind concerning the faith of another young lady.
At the conclusion of the session, I returned to my office and found waiting for me a young child by the name of Misti White, together with her grandparents and an aunt. As I greeted them, I recognized Misti as the one in the balcony to whom I had directed my remarks. I learned that as her eighth birthday approached, she was in a quandary concerning whether or not to be baptized. She felt she would like to be baptized, and her grandparents, with whom she lived, wanted her to be baptized, but her less-active mother suggested she wait until she was 18 years of age to make the decision. Misti had told her grandparents, “If we go to conference in Salt Lake City, maybe Heavenly Father will let me know what I should do.”
Misti and her grandparents and her aunt had traveled from California to Salt Lake City for conference and were able to obtain seats in the Tabernacle for the Saturday afternoon session. This was where they were seated when my attention was drawn to Misti and my decision made to speak to her.
As we continued our visit after the session, Misti’s grandmother said to me, “I think Misti has something she would like to tell you.” This sweet young girl said, “Brother Monson, while you were speaking in conference, you answered my question. I want to be baptized!”
The family returned to California, and Misti was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Through all the years since, Misti has remained true and faithful to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Fourteen years ago, it was my privilege to perform her temple marriage to a fine young man, and together they are rearing five beautiful children, with another one on the way.

I would like to tell you about an experience that happened to my companion and I while we were reading the Church magazines. We had just come home for lunch and placed some rice on the stove to cook. Then we each grabbed a Church magazine and started reading. We became so involved in the reading that we forgot about lunch. It was still on the stove, burning itself black. The funny part about it was that my companion was sitting about three feet away from the stove in a smoke-filled room that smelled of burnt rice, yet he didn’t realize anything was burning for a long while. (The rice was burnt so badly that we considered throwing the pot away instead of cleaning it.)
This little incident showed us how much we can enjoy the reading of Church magazines. They are filled with choice spiritual articles that help us to grow. We would like to take this opportunity to let you know how much the New Era means to us.
Elders Mit and GoisisiAustralia Brisbane Mission

When I was 18, I asked my father to help me pay for my mission. At first he said, “No way. It’s too much money.” But a couple of days later, he asked me, “Do you really want to go on a mission?” And I said, “Yes. With all my heart.” My father said he would help me.
I didn’t understand why my father would pay such a great price for me. Then I realized it was because he loved me. It made me think of Jesus Christ’s sacrifice for us. He paid the highest price because He loves us.

Mary anxiously shifted back and forth in her seat as she listened to the other children in her Primary class take turns reading from the scriptures. She hoped her turn would never come.
Mary had a learning disability called dyslexia. When she looked at letters on a page, they seemed to run around and switch places. When she read out loud, her words were slow and sometimes out of order. Often she read words that weren’t there at all.
The closer Mary’s turn came, the more scared she was. When it was finally her turn, Mary couldn’t stand it anymore.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said suddenly as she jumped up from her chair, sending her scriptures tumbling to the floor. Mary ran down the hallway to the bathroom. She was glad it was empty. She stood in the corner and began to cry.
A few minutes later, she heard Sister Smith call her name as she came into the bathroom. “Mary, what’s wrong?”
Mary didn’t know what to say. She was so embarrassed. None of the other children had this problem. “I can’t read!” she cried as she tucked her head into her folded arms.
“You can’t read?” Sister Smith asked, puzzled. “I’ve seen you give talks in Primary. I know you can read.”
Mary shook her head. “I memorize my talks. I practice them over and over so I don’t have to try to read them in front of people. When I read out loud, I make lots of mistakes. I don’t want the other kids to laugh at me.”
“Oh, Mary, I’m sorry. I won’t call on you to read out loud until I know you’re ready,” Sister Smith said. “And I don’t believe anyone in our class will laugh at you. They are your friends.”
“Kids at school laugh at me,” Mary whispered.
Sister Smith wiped Mary’s tears away. “Come back to class. You’ll see,” she said.
They walked back to the classroom together. Mary’s friend Betsy sat in the chair next to Mary’s, smoothing the ruffled pages of Mary’s scriptures. Mary sat down, and Betsy handed her scriptures back to her.
“Who would like to read next?” Sister Smith asked.
“It’s Mary’s turn,” a boy in the class said.
Mary hesitated, but she looked around at her classmates and saw their kind faces. Sister Smith nodded and smiled too. Mary was nervous, but she found her place and began to read.
Her words came slowly. She made some mistakes, but when she got stuck, Betsy quietly whispered the right word in Mary’s ear. Mary did not read as well as the other kids in her class, but no one laughed or made fun of her. Then it was someone else’s turn, and the lesson went on.
As they walked to the Primary room after class, Sister Smith whispered to Mary that she was proud of her. Mary was glad she didn’t have to try to hide her trouble reading anymore. “I’ll just keep practicing,” she thought. And she smiled, knowing she had good friends at church to support her along the way.

Seminary student Girly Mbuli explains how her faith and love of the scriptures saved her from a terrible situation.
“One day my friend Tiny Gugu and I had to go to Zondi to take some books to another girl. On our way back we saw a gang of boys. Gangs here rape girls, steal cars, do everything horrible. We started to run, but it was too late.
“The boys faced us. They had weapons. They made us go up on a hill and meant to do awful things to us. On the way up the hill, I was saying a prayer to my Heavenly Father. I don’t remember which scriptures I tried to say, but I kept thinking of them. I asked for help to be calm and not afraid. I felt peace come into my heart.
“When you are on top of that hill, you can see everything. The boys looked down and asked where I was staying. I pointed to Jabulane and something told me to say I was with my grandmother and my friend Lindiwe.
“The leader looked at me and said, ‘You are not afraid. Let them go!’ I later found out the brother of my friend Lindiwe is the boss of this gang, and he stays in the house of my grandmother. That is why they let us go free.
“When I tell this story to people, they refuse to believe we survived. But I know I did and I know why. It was because of my faith in Heavenly Father. I know that Isaiah 1:18 can be true for those guilty gang boys, if they will repent: “Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.” [Isa. 1:18]

First, from President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994): He described an assignment he had received from the President of the Church following World War II. President Benson was to leave his wife and family and go to the devastated members of the Church in Germany and other nations. Through the God-inspired welfare program, he literally fed the hungry, comforted the weeping, and lifted closer to heaven all with whom he met. Years later, at a dedication service at Zwickau, Germany, an elderly member, with moist eyes, said to me, “Please tell President Benson that we love him. He saved our lives: mine, my wife’s, my children’s, and many, many others’. He was as an angel sent by God to literally restore to us hope and confidence in the future. Tell him we love him.”

A few weeks ago, joy and nostalgia dominated our conversation as Sister Haight and I drove to the airport to see our eleventh grandchild leave for his mission. During our brief visit—with warm greetings and emotional embraces—we recalled some of the historical accounts of how the message of the restoration of the gospel had influenced our family, of how our missionary grandson’s great-great-grandfather, Joseph Toronto, heard and believed the message of the gospel from missionaries in Boston in 1843, 150 years ago.
Joseph Toronto assisted with the building of the Nauvoo Temple. Brigham Young had made a strong appeal on Sunday, July 6, 1845, for the Saints to “remember [and pray for] the temple” and to “pay your tithing.” The Saints were anxious that the temple be finished sufficiently that ordinance work might begin before the exodus westward. More workers and tithing were desperately needed. Joseph Toronto, the new convert, visited Brigham Young after the meeting and declared that “he wanted to give himself and all he had to the kingdom of God.” He handed Brigham Young $2,600 in gold coins (see “Italian Pioneer,” Church News, 20 June 1981, p. 16). Brigham Young blessed the Italian convert, proclaiming that “he should stand at the head of his race and that neither he nor his family should ever want for bread” (Joseph Toronto: Italian Pioneer and Patriarch, comp. Toronto Family Organization [1983], p. 10). Later, in 1849, he was called to accompany the new Apostle Lorenzo Snow to his native Italy to open that land for the preaching of the gospel (see Church News, 20 June 1981, p. 16).

One of the most challenging times in my graduate studies was writing my dissertation. Having successfully completed all my coursework, I was told that I was now qualified to pursue independently my original research. To some, such freedom was exhilarating. To an extrovert like myself, it was debilitating. It was a good friend who made all the difference in my ability to persist in the research, analysis, writing and rewriting that allowed me to complete my dissertation.

At one point, I would regularly share a great deal of my research with a longtime colleague who was also finishing his graduate work. The two of us had been through so much together. He knew the substance of my research and he also knew many of the faculty members on my dissertation committee. He seemed a natural ally in my cause. But I actually found that at that particular time and season of my life, that I needed to limit my interactions with him. Why? Because rather than edifying one another to do good work, our conversation almost always devolved into self-pity and critique. We were brilliantly skilled at identifying and cursing the outside forces that seemed to be conspiring against us but pretty inept at taking concrete steps toward success.

What made all the difference for me was when I made a new friend, John. Although we didn't know the substance of one another's arcane research, we shared a common sense of humor, a common outlook on life and a common aspiration for excellence and accomplishment. We would meet a few times each week, usually over cheap ethnic food, or a cup of hot chocolate. We would to listen to each other, commiserate with one another, but mostly we would celebrate our small successes and then challenge one another to keep at the mundane tasks of scholarship—the way jogging buddies egg one another on to pick up the pace. With a ready smile and an easy laugh, John's friendship helped me bear the burden of seeing my dissertation to completion.

Ever since he was a boy, Wilford Woodruff wanted to know which church was true. When he was 26 years old, he still had not joined any church. He lived with his brother Azmon on his farm.
Wilford: Heavenly Father, help me to know how to live my life.
On December 29, 1833, two Mormon missionaries stopped at Azmon’s house. He and Wilford were both away working, but Azmon’s wife was home.
Missionary: God has restored His Church upon the earth, and we would like to tell you more about it.
Woman: My husband and brother-in-law are not home right now, but we would definitely be interested in hearing more.
The missionaries rented the local schoolhouse that afternoon. They passed out notices inviting anybody who wanted to learn more about the gospel to come to a meeting that evening.
When Wilford got home from working, his sister-in-law told him about the meeting. He immediately turned his horses around and started to the schoolhouse, praying the whole way to know whether or not the missionaries were true followers of Christ.
Woman: But, Wilford, what about supper?
Wilford: These men could be the answer to my prayers! I must go.
Wilford arrived at the schoolhouse, which was packed with people. His brother Azmon was already there. Wilford couldn’t find an empty chair, so he sat on one of the writing desks where he could see and hear everything.
Missionary: I bear strong testimony of the divine authenticity of the Book of Mormon. I also know that Joseph Smith is a prophet who has come to fulfill a great mission here on earth.
Wilford: I can feel the Spirit telling me that these are men of God.
After the missionaries were finished speaking, they asked members of the congregation if they would like to stand and say anything. Immediately, Wilford stood up and told everyone that he knew the missionaries were speaking the truth.
Wilford: The Lord urges me to bear testimony of the truth of this message. Do not oppose these men, for they are true servants of God. They have preached to us the pure gospel of Jesus Christ.
Two days later Wilford and his brother Azmon were baptized.

Gene has learned a lot about aiming high by following the example of his mother.
“When she was 16 she contracted polio. Doctors said she’d never walk again, or that if she did walk, she’d never have children. But she worked her way from braces to crutches to a cane. And she went ahead and had four sons. I’m the youngest.”
Even though his mom is currently confined to a wheelchair, the doctors are now saying she should be able to walk again.

Frequently the need of the widow is not one of food or shelter but of feeling a part of ongoing events. President Bryan Richards of Salt Lake City, now serving as a mission president, brought to my office a sweet widow whose husband had passed away during a full-time mission they were serving. President Richards explained that her financial resources were adequate and that she desired to contribute to the Church’s General Missionary Fund the proceeds of two insurance policies on the life of her departed husband. I could not restrain my tears when she meekly advised me, “This is what I wish to do. It is what my missionary-minded husband would like.”
The gift was received and entered as a most substantial donation to missionary service. I saw the receipt made in her name, but I believe in my heart it was also recorded in heaven. I invited her and President Richards to follow me to the unoccupied First Presidency Council room in the Church Administration Building. The room is beautiful and peaceful. I asked this sweet widow to sit in the chair usually occupied by our church President. I felt he would not mind, for I knew his heart. As she sat ever so humbly in the large leather chair, she gripped each armrest with a hand and declared, “This is one of the happiest days of my life.” It was also such for President Richards and for me.

The young women of the Seatac Ward in Seattle, Washington, set a goal last year for each young woman and leader to share two copies of the Book of Mormon. To help create opportunities to do this, each Sunday in opening exercises there was a new Book of Mormon question for the coming week. Questions like “What did you do on Sunday?” or “How did you spend your summer vacation?” could be used to start a discussion with a nonmember friend. The discussion might lead to a gospel discussion and open the way to give that person a Book of Mormon.
As a result of their goal, miracles happened and the young women were able to place 21 copies of the Book of Mormon. In addition, there were many other missionary opportunities and chances to share their testimonies of the gospel. Each time one of the girls handed out another book, a sticker was added to the young women’s torch display and the successful giver shared the experience with the rest of her class.

The fact that Apii is alive is part of the reason her family joined the Church. When she was eight, she was desperately ill with asthma. Missionaries gave her a blessing, and she was healed literally moments later. “I was really weak,” says Apii. “I hadn’t been able to eat or drink. As soon as the missionaries said amen I was all right. I opened my eyes and asked for something to drink. Everybody sort of laughed they were so relieved.”

It was 11:00 at night and Megan had a research paper due the next day which she hadn’t started yet because after supper she’d gone to school to help decorate for a dance she didn’t even have a date for. On top of that she was having a biology test the next day and she hadn’t studied at all since her last test. Part of the test was going to be about the insides of a frog, which she would have known if she’d gone to lab when they dissected a frog, but she had missed that day because she was first-chair violin in orchestra and had been gone playing in a string quartet competition. She could have made up the lab after school, but she was on the high school gymnastics team and that’s when they practiced. Finally, today, the day before the exam, she had gone to Mr. Draper, the biology teacher, and begged him to let her do the frog at home.
And that’s why she now had a dead frog in a jar of formaldehyde on her desk.
Also she was supposed to give the devotional at early-morning seminary the next day.
Megan sat on her bed and looked around. Her room was a mess, and she didn’t have any clean clothes to wear because her mother had a new policy and now refused to wash anything unless it was put in the hamper. Megan never took the time to do that, so there were little piles of clothes on the floor, a pile for what she’d worn on Monday, a pile for what she’d worn on Tuesday. Her mother claimed you could tell what day of the week it was by counting piles, which her mother said was not only disgusting but unhealthy, complaining that the city Health and Sanitation Department would shut down the home if they ever saw her room.
She didn’t know what she was going to wear tomorrow. She thought about rummaging through the piles and finding something that seemed fairly clean, or else she could wash up some clothes after she finished the term paper and cut up the frog.
Half an hour earlier, at 10:30, when she had come home from decorating at school, her mother asked her if she knew what time it was. She had learned to be careful with that kind of question. One time she had said, “Of course I know what time it is,” to which her mother said, “Don’t get smart with me, young lady.” That’s when she learned that sometimes it was better to listen than to talk.
“You’re not getting enough sleep,” her mother said. “Your body needs eight hours. You should be going to bed at least by 10:00 every night.”
I’m listening, Megan thought. But you’re not understanding. How can you talk about how much sleep I need when I have so much to do?
“Did anyone call?” she asked.
“The bishop called.”
“And?”
“He wants to have a birthday interview with you. He asked about tomorrow night.”
Megan wondered if the bishop knew she had no chance of going to the dance and that’s why he suggested then. “I might have a date then.”
“Who with?”
“Someone might ask me to the dance at the last minute.” She was hoping Craig would ask her at seminary in the morning. He was always putting off things like that anyway.
“It won’t be Craig,” her mother said.
“How do you know that?”
“I was talking to his mother today. He asked a nonmember girl to the dance.”
“Who?”
“Krissie I think. I can’t remember the last name.”
“Krissie Peterson?”
“I think so.”
“He asked Krissie Peterson?” Megan raged. “How can he do that to me? I’m the one who told him to get contacts. I’m the one who told him to quit staring at the floor when he talks to people. I’m the one who taught him how to dance. So I finally get him halfway acceptable, and what does he do? He asks Krissie Peterson out. Thanks a lot, Craig. That does it! What would he think if I dated every nonmember guy who asks me out?”
“You know that wouldn’t be right.”
“Yeah, but is it right for Craig to ask a nonmember girl out?”
“I’m not Craig’s mother, but I am yours.”
She couldn’t argue with that. “I’ve got to go study now.”
“The bishop wanted me to find out if you can see him tomorrow after supper. He says he won’t keep you long if you have plans.”
“Spend Friday night talking to the bishop? I’ll go to the movies or something.”
“You can go to the movies and still see him. He’s a busy man, Megan. He says he can see you at 6:15. You’ll be done by 6:30.”
“Okay,” she said. “I surrender!”
“Good. Now can you go right to bed?” her mother asked.
“No. I’ve got to write a term paper and dissect a stupid frog.”
“For tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re just starting it now, at 10:43 at night?”
“I couldn’t do it any earlier.”
“You didn’t have to decorate for that dance.”
“I was on the decorating committee.”
“Your studies are more important than decorating for a dance.”
Why was it so hard to make her mother understand?
As Megan was about to leave, her mother said, “Oh, I did laundry today. You didn’t have anything in your hamper so I didn’t wash anything of yours.”
Megan thought about saying that was the last straw. Instead she said, “Fine. No problem. I’ll do a wash while I finish my homework.”
“Sorry, you can’t. The noise of the washer and dryer keeps your father awake. If you want to do a wash, you’ll have to do it when people are not trying to sleep. You’ll just have to wear some of your other clothes. You have plenty in your closet. What about those things Aunt Alberta gave you.”
“I wouldn’t even wear them for Halloween.”
“Then I don’t know what you’re going to wear.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m going to my room now.”
“Don’t forget to say your prayers.”
She got to her room and shut the door. She went to Monday’s pile of dirty laundry and started looking for something clean. Monday was the day the girl next to her in orchestra had challenged her for first chair. Megan had done okay and kept her first-chair position but it had been tense and sweaty, so Monday’s clothes were not candidates for what she could wear for tomorrow.
She decided that after she wrote her term paper and dissected the frog she’d wash some clothes in the bathtub. Or else maybe she could get by with using the washing machine. It would be okay if the noise didn’t wake her parents.
She pushed some clothes off the chair of her desk and sat down. She had decided to write her paper on the history of women’s gymnastics in America. She had taken the time last Saturday to go to the library and check out three books on gymnastics, but she hadn’t yet had time to read any of them.
The research paper was due at 8:00 in the morning. Maybe I can just fake it, she thought. She began to write. “Women’s gymnastics in America started small but has grown large. Many more girls are involved in gymnastics than ever before.” She counted the words. Twenty words. Only 2,980 words left to go. She tried again. “Women’s gymnastics in the United States of America started very small and tiny but now has grown much larger than it began. Many more girls from ages six years old to college age are now involved in the sport than ever before.” She counted again. Forty-two words. Now only 2,958 words left to write.
It was a long night. She ended up having to race through the books she’d checked out to get enough material, and the paper was still a little shorter than it should have been. She finished at two in the morning.
Now for the frog. She unscrewed the lid of the jar containing the frog. Just the smell of the formaldehyde was enough to make her nauseated. She was supposed to have a special knife to cut up the frog, but she’d left it at school, so she went down to the kitchen and got a plate, a fork, a bunch of paper towels, and her mother’s sharpest paring knife. She returned to her room, slid the frog out onto the plate, and sat down with the knife and fork. She touched the frog with the knife. Its skin was hard and rubbery. She looked at herself in the mirror. The way she was holding the knife and fork reminded her of suppertime for horrible creatures of the night. She knew she would throw up if she cut the frog. She slid it back into the jar.
She spent an hour reading about the insides of a frog, memorizing the words.
At 3:30, she took a load of clothes to the washing machine and started a wash, went back to her room, and set the alarm clock for 4:30 so she could get up and put her clothes in the dryer.
She slept through her alarm. The next thing she remembered was her mother telling her she’d better get going or she’d be late for seminary. She jumped out of bed and started the clothes dryer.
“Those things won’t be ready by the time you have to leave,” her mother said.
“I’ll wear them damp then.”
“You’ll catch cold if you do that.”
“No problem, I can handle it.”
“You’ll just have to wear some of Aunt Alberta’s things. I’m not having you leave here wearing damp clothes. Aren’t you supposed to give the devotional for seminary today? Don’t be late.”
While she was taking a shower, her dad knocked on the door and told her to save some hot water for the rest of the family.
Megan felt a knot, like a hot iron, growing in her stomach, but she knew she couldn’t get sick because she had a big gymnastics meet coming up in a few days.
After her shower she went to the dryer to see how her clothes were coming along. They had just ten minutes and they’d be dry. The only problem was that she should leave for seminary in five minutes. I’ll just have to be late then. She did her hair while she was waiting.
“If you say you’re going to do the devotional, then I think you should make an effort to be on time,” her mother said.
The buzzer for the dryer sounded. Megan raced to the dryer and got dressed.
Two minutes later she jumped in the car and drove to seminary. By the time she got there, they’d already begun. It was too late for her to give the devotional.
After seminary, Craig came up to her. “I was wondering if I could talk to you.”
“What about?”
“I’m taking Krissie Peterson to the dance tonight, and I need some suggestions of where to take her to eat.”
“Leave me out of this, Craig, okay?” She walked off and left him standing there.
By the time she got home after school she had a pounding headache. She lay down and slept until it was time for supper.
During supper her mother reminded her about her interview with the bishop.
“I don’t want to talk to him tonight.”
She noticed her parents looked worried, as if the reason she didn’t want to talk to the bishop was because there was some awful secret in her life they didn’t know about.
“Why not?” her father quietly asked.
“I just don’t feel like it.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“Why doesn’t everybody just get off my back!” She stood up and ran to her room and slammed the door.
She looked around her room. Everything she saw made her feel guilty about not doing something. There was her violin that she hadn’t practiced for four days and she had a lesson on Monday. There was the stupid frog she still hadn’t dissected. There was her seminary material she needed to catch up on. And there were still piles of clothes on the floor because she’d only washed enough for one day.
The phone rang. She answered it, hoping it would be one of her friends who didn’t have a date for the dance. Instead it was the bishop.
“Megan, we’ve had a hard time setting up a time for an interview, haven’t we? How is tonight for you?”
She decided she might as well get it over with. “Okay.”
She drove to the bishop’s house, talked with his wife while he got off the phone, and then went with him to his small office in the basement.
She dreaded the interview, dreaded the thought of being reminded of yet another area she wasn’t doing a good job in.
She wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. “Bishop, I haven’t done anything wrong since the last time I talked to you. That’s mainly what you want to find out, isn’t it?”
“Are you happy?” he asked.
She was surprised at the question. “Happy?”
“Yes, we’re supposed to be happy.”
“I thought we were supposed to be perfect. You can’t be perfect and happy too, can you?”
The bishop looked carefully at her. She felt as if he could see into her soul. “Megan, is something wrong?” he asked.
“Not really. It’s just that nothing I do is ever good enough. Sometimes I feel like giving up. I just can’t take it anymore.”
“You can’t take what?”
“All the pressure to do well in school and church and in gymnastics and orchestra. I try to get all A’s in school, but everything’s getting harder for me and I can’t seem to do anything right anymore. Everyone’s always mad at me for not doing better. I never have any time for myself. I have to take the ACT exam next week and I know if I don’t do well, I won’t get a scholarship, and I’ve got to have some help or I don’t see how I’ll be able to make it. Today I was supposed to give the devotional for seminary but I was late for it.”
“How have you been doing in school?”
“Not very well. I think I’m only getting a B in math. If I did more of the homework, I could do better, but there’s never enough time for everything.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a B or even a C,” the bishop said.
“No, you don’t understand, I have to get all A’s.”
“You have to? Do your mom and dad tell you that you have to get all A’s?”
“No, it’s just understood. Bishop, you know the Church says we’re supposed to be perfect, so why are you telling me it’s okay to get a C?”
“You say the Church teaches we’re supposed to be perfect. Where does it say that?”
With no hesitation, Megan answered. “Matthew 5:48.” [Matt. 5:48]
“You know that well, don’t you?”
“I only hear it about ten times a day, that’s all.”
He picked up his scriptures and turned to Matthew, chapter 5. “Who was the one speaking in Matthew 5:48?”
“Jesus.”
“What was he talking about just before he said ‘Be ye therefore perfect’?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, guess then. Was he saying how important it is to get good grades in school?”
“No.”
“Was he saying how important it is to win gymnastics meets?”
“No.”
“Was he saying how important it is to be first-chair violin in an orchestra?”
“No.”
“What was he saying then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look here, Megan, in verse 44, [Matt 5:44] the Savior is telling us to love our enemies, and bless the ones that curse you, and be good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you. In verse 45 [Matt. 5:45] he tells us we should do this so we can be the children of our Father in Heaven, and in verse 48 [Matt 5:48] he tells us to be perfect, even as our Father in Heaven is perfect.”
She didn’t understand what he was getting at.
He turned to Luke, chapter 6, verse 36. “Here’s the way Luke reported it. ‘Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful.’ Megan, Jesus was talking about how we should treat each other, with love and affection and kindness, the same way Heavenly Father treats us.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He didn’t say, ‘Be ye therefore a perfectionist,’ did he?”
“No, but we’re supposed to always try to do better …”
“Let me ask you a question. Do you think Father in Heaven cares whether you get an A or a B in mathematics?”
“He wants me to do my best.”
“What if your best is a B?”
“My best can’t be a B.”
“Why can’t it?”
“Because it just can’t.”
“Can you picture yourself at the Judgment and Heavenly Father is looking over your life and he says, ‘So, I see you got a B in math in high school. Why only a B?’ Can you picture your loving Father in Heaven saying that to you?”
“No.”
“Then maybe it’s not very important to him, right?”
“It’s important to do well in school.”
“I agree. It’s important to do your best.”
She wouldn’t budge. “My best is an A.”
“In every subject?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I can get an A in any subject if I work hard enough.”
“But you have other things you need to do, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe a B is the best you can do and still do all the other things you want to do. Did you watch the Olympics last year?”
“Yes.”
“Did you watch the decathlon?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know that it’s possible for a person to win a decathlon and not win in any one of the events? All you have to do is place well in each event, and if you can do that, you can win. I think that’s true for you. I’m sure there are students in your math class who do nothing but math at night. And I’m sure there are people in the violin section that do nothing but practice violin at night. You, with your gymnastics and Church activities and music activities and everything else you do, maybe you’re being too hard on yourself to try to be the best in everything. What do you think Heavenly Father is most interested in, how well you do in your next gymnastics meet or how well you live the Ten Commandments?”
“But my mom and dad expect me to always do my best.”
“Sure, they want you to do your best within the constraints on your time. Besides, most of all they want you to be happy. Are you happy the way things are going now?”
“No.”
“Then I think you ought to make some changes in your life. Either cut down on your activities, or accept the fact that you can’t excel in everything you do. Heavenly Father doesn’t require you to be perfect in gymnastics or violin or math or even seminary attendance. He wants you to be merciful and loving. He doesn’t want you to run faster than you have strength. He doesn’t care if you get a B or a C as long as you’re making a good effort and, more importantly, that you’re really trying to be more like the Savior in the way you treat other people and in being virtuous.”
Megan felt a burden being lifted off her shoulders. Tears welled up in her eyes. She was a little embarrassed to have the bishop see her cry, but he didn’t make a big deal out of it. Pretty soon she was shaking his hand and thanking him. Then she drove home.
“How did your interview go?” her mother asked.
“It was great, Mom.” She saw a look of relief come over her mother. “He gave me some good advice.”
She went to her room and sat on the bed and thought. On the surface everything was the same—her room was still a mess, the undissected frog still sat in the jar of formaldehyde, her math homework for Monday was yet to be done, her violin still lay untouched with a lesson only three days away. And yet there was a difference in the way she felt.
A few minutes later she got up and began to clean her room. This time it’s for me, she thought with a smile.

I’d never been very committed to indexing. I love temple work and have used FamilySearch.org to find family members’ names to take to the temple. I believe the Lord has inspired technological advancements to further and hasten His work. And I understand that indexing performs a critical function of making searchable records accessible. But my efforts at indexing had still been intermittent and weak.
Enter COVID-19 and temple closures. In the April 2020 general conference, President Russell M. Nelson said: “While worshipping in the temple is presently not possible, I invite you to increase your participation in family history, including family history research and indexing. I promise that as you increase your time in temple and family history work, you will increase and improve your ability to hear Him.”1 Right after this invitation was given, I was quarantined because of exposure to someone with COVID-19. I decided to use that time to try indexing again.
At first my experience was the same as before—slow and frustrating. I don’t easily understand other people’s handwriting or the formats of different forms. Then I remembered what I learned in Saints, volume 1, when Joseph Smith was translating the Book of Mormon: “He had to be humble and exercise faith as he studied the characters.”2 At that same time, Oliver Cowdery was unable to translate, in part because he “took no thought save it [were] to ask” (Doctrine and Covenants 9:7). I didn’t want to find myself making the same mistake as Oliver, so I applied myself with a little more enthusiasm and commitment.
Ever since that moment, instead of wincing or shying away from difficult indexing projects, I relish the opportunity to work hand in hand with the Lord in indexing names so that those who have passed can become one step closer to receiving ordinances in the temple. As I study out in my mind the details of the records before me, I feel greater patience in my persistence to understand the records, and I recognize the Lord’s hand in my understanding when it comes. I have felt the fulfillment of President Nelson’s promise—I am increasing in my ability to hear the Lord.
I am thankful for the opportunity to participate in the work of salvation and exaltation! Indexing is an amazing opportunity to emulate the Prophet Joseph Smith in laboring to comprehend what would otherwise be incomprehensible to us but can become clear through the gift and power of God.

Several years ago the former Director of Admissions here at BYUH and I were on a trip to New Zealand, Australia and Fiji, recruiting future students from these areas. It was a particularly lengthy trip conducting interviews with students and parents. Firesides in the evening made for a very long day, eventually going on to three weeks. As we neared the end of our recruiting with Fiji as our last stop, we had planned three days on the island — two days in Suva and one day in Nandi.

By the time we had concluded our interviews in Suva, we just wanted to go home. We missed home, our families, and especially our own beds. When we arrived in Nandi we had only one appointment. Quietly amongst ourselves we were hoping the interview would not happen so we could go directly to the airport. The appointment was set for 11:00 in the morning.

When we arrived at the small little chapel in Nandi the gates were closed and locked. We waited for some fifteen minutes and it appeared no one would arrive. We quickly packed our gear, anxiously running to the car. As we headed towards the main road from the chapel, we noticed a young girl and an elderly woman walking with large handbags at their side. I believe both of us hoped it was not the young lady and we tried to focus more on getting to the airport, as we stopped to merge onto the highway, simultaneously together we looked at each other and said, "do you think she is the young lady, we both said "no it isn't her!"

But, the urgency to inquire was too great, I slowly rolled the window down from the driver's seat and inquired with the young lady, "Excuse me, are you here for the interview with Brigham Young University Hawaii?" She appeared perplexed looking back at the elderly woman, stating, "I am sorry sir I did not hear you!" I again repeated my question. With that she beamed in her reply, "Are you from the BYUH campus?" I replied yes! She said, "Yes sir, I am here for the interview!" We drove back to the small chapel, somewhat disappointed in having delayed our departure.

When we returned to the chapel, to our amazement the gates were unlocked and the chapel doors opened. We walked in, being welcomed by an elderly brother, a custodian of the chapel. He apologized for being late, but hoped it did not create a problem; we assured him it didn't because no one was here to be interviewed.

Well, as we sat down with the young lady, we both indicated we can make this interview go fast, with the simple question of why do you want to come to BYUH? I want you all to know we two were somewhat assured anything she would say would not convince us she could come to BYUH.

She began by apologizing to us for being late to her appointment. Then she started to weep. "My mother and I have been walking for three days and nights to come to this appointment. I am the youngest of my siblings and my mother has always desired for me to attend university, but not just any university, but Brigham Young University Hawaii to be with the Saints of the Church."

She paused, and wept some more, always apologizing. As she paused, my companion asked her why did she and her mother walk. She appeared a little embarrassed by the question, but, quietly replied, "We could not afford to pay for bus fare and my mom did not want me to miss this appointment, so we started walking three days ago, sleeping on the side of the road when we could. She didn't want to miss the appointment like last year when BYUH came to Nandi. We inquired did you walk then? She replied, "Yes. We missed the visit of the two recruiters by half-an-hour, so my mother wanted to start earlier."

We two found ourselves looking down on the floor of the chapel, holding back our tears, because we were complaining about our discomfort and wanting to go home, when we forgot the reason why we were on the Lord's errand.

In our mind we could think of no one more worthy than her to be within the fellowship of this University. I heard a quiet rebuke from an example of the apostle's story returning to Jacob's well with the Samarian woman in John 4:31-34, and I read:
In the mean while his disciples prayed him, saying, Master, eat. But he said unto them, I have meat to eat that ye know not of. Therefore said the disciples one to another, Hath any man brought him ought to eat? Jesus saith unto them, My meat is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his work.

by Carl G. Bechtold
For a while, Scout Troop 258 from Cody, Wyoming, had a seven-foot Eagle Scout. And he didn’t even play basketball! He was, in fact, a bronze statue.
Sculptor Peter Fillerup, who is an assistant Scoutmaster for the troop, was commissioned by the Boy Scouts of America to make a statue for the Philmont (New Mexico) High Adventure Camp. He naturally went to the Scouts in his troop to find models to pose for the statue.
The Scouts also benefited from the occasion by earning their sculpting merit badges, which required them to make clay sculptures of their own.
Kevin Card, 13, served as the main model for the statue, and Shawn Dansie, 14, accompanied Brother Fillerup to the foundry in Lehi, Utah, to see the statue cast.
On June 28, the statue was delivered. So much for the idea of running away with the stake basketball championship with their own seven footer.

When the Rabasto family joined the Church about four years ago, they devoted their whole hearts to it. After moving to the Bahamas from the Philippines, their dad, Adolfo, was called to the branch presidency. They hold regular family home evening. Archie and Roselle, the two high schoolers in the family, both attend seminary every day. They read the scriptures daily as a family. Rinna, the oldest sister in the family, is a student at Brigham Young University.

What the family loves most about the gospel is the Christmas present they received last year. During the holiday break, the family took a trip to the temple in Orlando, Florida, to be sealed.

“I felt really excited to be in the temple,” says Archie. “I remember my sisters crying, and I felt happy and peaceful.”

From Orlando, the family said good-bye to Rinna, since she was leaving for college. They miss her, of course, but they say they feel calm about her being so far away in Utah, since they know they’ll always be a family, no matter where they go.

“Everyone in the temple kept telling us how great we looked with our white clothes and jet-black hair,” says Roselle. “We felt great, too. You could feel the air-conditioning in the temple, but I felt a warmth inside my heart. The feelings I had there were indescribable.”

When I was young I loved playing sports, and I have many fond memories of those days. But not all of them are pleasant. I remember one day after my football team lost a tough game, I came home feeling discouraged. My mother was there. She listened to my sad story. She taught her children to trust in themselves and each other, not blame others for their misfortunes, and give their best effort in everything they attempted.
When we fell down, she expected us to pick ourselves up and get going again. So the advice my mother gave to me then wasn’t altogether unexpected. It has stayed with me all my life.
“Joseph,” she said, “come what may, and love it.”