Gospel Story Finder

Once a General Authority visited a ward in Hong Kong where people were struggling to support their families. He told the bishop that the members should pay their tithing.
The bishop was worried. The people barely had enough food and money to meet their needs.
“If they will pay their tithing, the Lord will bless them,” the General Authority said.
The bishop thought for a moment. Then he said, “I will talk to some of the most faithful members of our ward—the Primary children!”
The next Sunday, the bishop visited the Primary. He taught the children about the law of tithing. He asked them to pay tithing on the money they earned. The children promised they would—and they did!
Several months later, the bishop had a meeting with the grown-ups in the ward. He told them that their children had been paying tithing.
“Would you be willing to pay tithing too?” he asked.
The grown-ups were touched by the children’s faithful examples. They said that they would pay their tithing too. Because the children set an example, their families received the blessings they needed (see Malachi 3:8–10). Everyone’s faith and testimonies grew.

A few days ago I was trying to read my scriptures, but I kept getting interrupted. First it was somebody coming to tell me I hadn’t done a job right. Then it was my little sisters fighting. I was about ready to explode. All I wanted was some peace and quiet. Was it asking too much just to be able to concentrate?
Finally, I lowered my head and said a silent prayer. I asked Heavenly Father to bless me that I could understand what he wanted me to learn from the scriptures. I finished my prayer and put the book down. All of a sudden, it was like all of the interruptions shut off.
I had been reading 1 Nephi 8, where it talks about Lehi’s dream about the tree of life and the iron rod. I thought about the people who get distracted and end up wandering in darkness. It occurred to me that I should not let myself get distracted by worries or noise.
Then I thought about the tree of life, and I re-read 1 Ne. 8:11–12: “And it came to pass that I did go forth and partake of the fruit thereof; and I beheld that it was most sweet, above all that I ever before tasted. …
“And as I partook of the fruit thereof it filled my soul with exceedingly great joy.” [1 Ne. 8:11–12]
The Lord had granted me peace, the peace of understanding. I sat thinking, grateful for the quiet in the room, but even more grateful for the newfound inner calm.

Kayden’s family life has also taught him to serve and care for others. During one tournament, a friend of Kayden’s became really upset about the competition. Kayden was in the middle of a match, though, so he couldn’t stop playing to help his friend. As he saw his friend storm away from the tournament with tears in his eyes, Kayden knew that the only thing he could do if he didn’t want to forfeit his game was to pray. So, during the middle of his chess match, Kayden silently prayed that the friend would find Kayden’s mom. Immediately the friend walked right by her, and she was able to help. By serving and praying for the well-being of his friend during a critical moment, Kayden realized that helping others is the true victory. This has helped him prepare to serve and learn that “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (D&C 18:10).

Seven or eight A.M. seemed an early hour for yard work; it would have been much more pleasant just to lounge in bed until 11:00. But by 8:00 A.M. Saturday morning, 25 Scouts, priests, Mia Maids, and Laurels from the San Jose Third Ward were on their way to help two elderly people in the ward.
A caravan of automobiles, with rakes and hoes sprawling out the windows, churned up a cloud of highway dust as the group rushed to the home of J. Winter Smith. Brother Smith is a great-grandson of Samuel Smith, brother of the Prophet Joseph. He was for a time in a rest home but was unhappy there. The ward brought him home and promised to take care of him.
Today, his yard would be spruced up. On other occasions, the young people of the area have prepared meals, cleaned and painted his house, and kept Uncle J, as they call him, company.
Stepping momentarily to the door with the help of Bishop John Minick, white-haired Uncle J gave directions to Keith Peddicord, 19, the project supervisor.
“You may as well make my yard pretty. You can’t do anything to make me pretty,” the grateful 96-year-old said.
When the work was done at Brother Smith’s, kids, hoes, and rakes piled into the cars again, racing to the home of the bishop’s elderly nonmember neighbor, a lady with a broken hip. Soon her yard was clean and her lawn well-manicured.

When I was 17 years old, I knew my bishop was going to approach me in the near future and ask me about serving a mission.
While I grew up in a home with devout and active parents, I wasn’t yet fully committed to serving a mission. I went to church and prayed when asked, and sometimes I prayed on my own. I believed in the Church, but I didn’t yet know that it was true. I didn’t yet have my own testimony, and I didn’t feel that I could go and tell others to join the Church unless I could look into their eyes and say, “I know.”
So I decided to find out for myself whether the Church is true. I started with reading the Book of Mormon. However, when I finished reading the Book of Mormon, I didn’t feel any different from when I’d started reading.
One evening, I sat in my bedroom thinking, “How do I come to know?” To my mind came the impression that I should read the Joseph Smith story in the Pearl of Great Price. As I read Joseph’s story, I began to see that his story was the same as mine. Here was a young man who wanted to know which church was true and which he should join. There were many different voices and opinions on the subject of religion swirling around Joseph Smith.
That was how I felt.
As I read how Joseph Smith determined to ask God what was true and what he should do—and what happened to him as a result—I realized I needed to do the same. I needed to pray and ask God. Unlike Joseph Smith, I didn’t have a grove of trees to visit. I was living in a big city, in Long Beach, California, USA. The only quiet place I could go to was the quiet of my own bedroom.
So I closed the door, knelt at my bed, and put my face in my pillow. I offered what, for me, was my first real vocal prayer on this subject. I addressed Heavenly Father and humbly asked Him if He was really there, if Jesus Christ was really His Son, and if Joseph Smith had really seen the two of Them.
As I did so, I had an experience that just overwhelmed me. A feeling of love and peace fell upon me and completely consumed me. I was filled with deep spiritual knowledge. In that moment, I knew—and have known ever since—that there is a God in heaven and that He is my Father. I knew that Jesus Christ is His Son, who atoned for me and all mankind, and that Joseph Smith saw both of Them.
I also got something more that I hadn’t actually asked for: a knowledge that out of all the people on the earth, God knew and loved me.
Knowing that God was answering my prayer, and knowing that He loved me, caused me to weep.
This experience fundamentally changed my life. While I haven’t been perfect since this experience, I’ve tried very hard to live up to the knowledge I gained that day—that I was a son of God and that He loved me enough to speak to me in prayer. I moved forward with conviction to serve a full-time mission and did so. Afterward, I was married in the temple to a wonderful, worthy young woman, my wife now of 30 years. And I have tried to serve faithfully in all that God has asked me to do and to keep the covenants I have made with Him.
My whole life has been based on that revelatory experience and the knowledge that came to me as a 17-year-old young man.
Sometimes people will ask me, “You’re now a General Authority. What have you come to know about the Lord since becoming a General Authority?” I say that while I’ve come to know more, the spiritual knowledge I gained at age 17 remains among the most significant of my life.
The scriptures describe the Seventies as “especial witnesses” (D&C 107:25). I’ve had many revelatory experiences in my life, and all of them have added to what I know to be true. But if there’s one thing that qualifies me to be today an especial witness of the Savior, it is that witness which I received at age 17.
From this I say that youth can receive as much witness as a General Authority has. The reason I say this is because, for me, I received that witness in my youth. It has been the foundation of everything I’ve done since.

Following the final session of general conference, we left the Conference Center, still basking in the after glory. While on the train home, a Latter-day Saint family approached us, whose soulful beauty uniquely touched our lives.

The mother, with her children, asked if they could learn more about the Jewish head covering that I was wearing. Her 14-year-old son, named Taylor, had his interest piqued by his wonderful seminary teacher. His teacher’s name, we were told, was Brother Russell, and he appears to have taught quite well on Jewish practices.

Taylor, a truly extraordinary young man, clearly had a talent for humility and soul, and the time we spent together in discussion was remarkable. The deep light of his heart was clearly nourished by his family and by his Latter-day Saint faith in Jesus Christ. That a youth of today had such humble grace and a genuine interest in the sacred of another truly leaves me with bright hope for our future.

My daughter, Yael, was also greatly taken by the beauty of Taylor’s soul. That “the eyes are the window to the soul’’ is a favorite quote of hers, and she loved Taylor for the potential she saw he could become.

For me, the encounter with Taylor and his family was a most beautiful conclusion to the glory of general conference. Two families of God were having honoring sacred dialogue, and each of us left with more reverence and belief. This is what general conference inspires. This was, for me, a general conference after-glory moment I am grateful and humbled and blessed to have received.

In the end, to our friend and dear brother Taylor, to the friend whom we met only and sadly once, please always know that our lives were deeply enhanced by our chance encounter on the train that evening. Yael and I wish you only shalom, a Hebrew word meaning “peace and wholeness.” We wish you shalom in the broadest sense of the word, as you continue on your mission to bless our world with light.

And to you, Brother Russell, my long-lost friend and seminary teacher extraordinaire, though we have never yet met, it was wonderful getting to know you through the beauty of Taylor and his holy family. And I have an extra head covering, should you ever be in need! Thank you for teaching about my faith tradition in such an honoring and lovely way. You must have done so to inspire our young friend Taylor to inquire and seek to know more about my faith. Bless you, and shalom to you always.

Haruki, it is time for bed. Did you say your prayer yet?
No, not yet.
We will kneel with you.
Haruki knelt down and started to pray.
Thank Thee for my family, my house, my friends, and my toys. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Haruki, that was a good prayer, but you forgot to start by saying, “Heavenly Father.”
Why do I have to say that?
When we pray, we are talking to Heavenly Father. He loves us.
When we pray to Him, we can thank Him for everything He gives us. We can also ask Him for things we need.
Heavenly Father loves me?
Yes, He does. How does that make you feel?
I want to say my prayer again!
Heavenly Father, thank Thee …

When I was 17, my grandmother said something that completely changed the way I viewed marriage.
We were chatting and making dinner for a large family gathering while my grandfather was out getting last-minute supplies. At one point, Grandfather called to discuss something errand related. Their exchange was quick and ordinary, and I didn’t think much of it. But after Grandmother ended the call, she turned to me and said in her matter-of-fact way, “He’s a wonderful man. I really like him.” Then she turned back around to keep working on dinner.
Rarely have words struck me that deeply, and I still think of them often.

A few months ago, I was invited to go up to a cabin with a few other girls. One of the girls brought about 10 gorgeous dresses for us to model so she could photograph them and rent them out. There was only one problem: all but one of the dresses were immodest, and the only modest one didn’t fit me. Dread washed over me. I started thinking, “Oh it’s only once. It’s only for her Instagram. No one will know.” I soon realized that wasn’t true.
When we were preparing to model the dresses, I started making up reasons to not wear one. Everyone kept finding solutions to all of my excuses. At last I decided to take the photographer aside and explain, “I just don’t feel comfortable wearing something immodest.”
All the other girls put on a dress and went outside to start modeling. I stood watching them, feeling stronger spiritually than I had in a long time. Even though I was alone, I never felt alone; I felt the Spirit surrounding me, encouraging me, and building me up. I knew without a doubt I had done the right thing.
Sarah C., Idaho, USA

Story number 2
When President Nelson was young, he attended church without his parents. His biographer writes that "it became a source of increasing concern ... to be reared in a family where the daily application of the gospel was not a high priority." Young President Nelson worried that perhaps they would never be sealed as a family in the temple.
He "remembers the day he was looking through the home's storage room and found some bottles of alcoholic beverage. In righteous indignation, and perhaps as an indicator of his growing testimony, he smashed the bottles on the cement floor of the laundry room, pouring their contents down the drain."[25] He clearly understood the blessings we receive when we live the Word of Wisdom and recognized early that the body is a temple.
But his career as an internationally renowned heart surgeon and medical researcher did not come easily. Because of advanced training and military service, the time between President Nelson getting his doctor's degree and going into practice was 12½ years. During those long and lean years, the Nelsons welcomed their first five children.
Of his financial struggles as a newlywed, he remembers: "Finances eventually became so straitened that [my wife] Dantzel took a second job, working evenings as a clerk in a music store downtown. Once, when there was too much month at the end of [our] money, [we] found [our]selves in the hole by about forty-three dollars. On this occasion, [I] picked up Dantzel after school and took her to the LDS Hospital, where [we] each sold a pint of blood for twenty-five dollars. This gave [us] enough cash to retire [our] bills. As the needle was withdrawn from Dantzel's arm, she said, ... 'Don't forget to pay tithing on my blood money!'"[26]

May I share with you brethren my personal experience as a teachers quorum president? The member of the bishopric who had responsibility for us invited the new presidency and secretary to come to his home for leadership training. He wanted our ideas concerning how we should go about our newly given duties. We obliged—on condition that he would invite his wife, Nettie, to serve us some of the meat pies for which she was famous. This he agreed to do. Brethren, isn’t it remarkable how we men will obligate our wives to do things—often without notice? The resulting meeting was one of the best I have ever attended. We were taught to the level of our understanding and inspired to look after our quorum members.
After a delicious meat pie smothered with gravy, we asked the bishop’s counselor and his wife to join in a game of Monopoly®. I am certain they had other things to do, but they willingly complied with our request.
I don’t remember who won the Monopoly game, but I have never forgotten the lessons learned that night in Church government and in the administration of a priesthood quorum.

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.”

President Russell M. Nelson is a wonderful example of spiritual poise. One time, while then-Dr. Nelson was performing a quadruple coronary artery bypass, the patient’s blood pressure dropped suddenly. Dr. Nelson calmly assessed the situation and identified that a clamp was accidentally removed by one of the team members. It was replaced immediately, and Dr. Nelson comforted the team member, saying, “I still love you,” and then added jokingly, “Sometimes I love you more than other times!” He showed how an emergency should be handled—with poise, focused only on what matters most—addressing the emergency. President Nelson said: “It’s a matter of extreme self-discipline. Your natural reaction is, ‘Take me out, coach! I want to go home.’ But of course you can’t. A life is totally dependent on the whole surgical team. So you’ve got to stay just as calm and relaxed and sharp as you ever were.”

The river is spread with wisps of morning mist, and a girl with golden hair lies in her sleeping bag, her head propped in her hands. She looks for a long time as the tide flows out. Dragonflies dart in and out of the mist and a light breeze mumbles in the tules across the river. The smell of rich earth, wet reeds, and slow water hangs over her like a summer incense. Above the drowsy hum of insects, a fish now and then makes an indolent plop somewhere, and the water is brown and silver in the morning.
After a while the girl lays her head down and dozes with the others.
With no alarm clocks to make the sun an enemy, the girls slept late that morning on the Sacramento River Delta, and when they awoke, they still felt like the inhabitants of a dream.
The dream began in Danville, California, where the Mia Maids and Laurels of the Danville Ward, along with their adult leaders, met one morning under cloudy skies to load suitcases, sleeping bags, water skis, and supplies into their cars. Later, as they rolled through the lion-colored hills of a California summer, the sun seared away the clouds and burned its seal of approval onto their horizon.
There was magic in that solar endorsement because from that moment the world’s rotation appeared to slow. The three-day adventure seemed to last weeks, and contrary to all previous experience, the more fun the girls had, the longer the days lasted. It was as if time were being poured from a cruse of sunshine that could never run dry.
When they arrived at Bethel Island, the girls poured out of the cars to inspect the small summerhouse that was to be their vacation home. Behind the house was a high levee, and they poured over that also to discover a stream whiskered with docks, the warm, brown tide flowing out. They were happy to learn that this stream was just part of an 1,100 mile spiderweb of interconnecting tidal waterways that they proceeded to christen collectively “The River.” During the next three days the river became the setting for a thousand watery adventures.
The most prevalent adventure was waterskiing. Some girls performed as if they were born on skis, others as if they were likely to die on them. Some cut graceful furrows with slalom skis. Others gouged furrows with their faces; but they kept trying, and eventually everyone got up. They skied and skied under the opulent sun till everyone was bright pink and then bright red. And even then they kept on skiing.
One day they took a trip to the Meadows, a gentle backwater slough where tall, shady trees line a sandy beach. The sky there was blue enough to swim in, and the trees stood out against the sun like negatives of themselves. They nosed the boat into shore alongside tall houseboats and jumped out for a lunch of submarine sandwiches. Afterwards they lazed and floated under the sun and went exploring in the boats through green corridors of smooth water.
They glided under a high railroad bridge where unknown urchins in cut-offs clung like spiders, leaping off now and then as if on filaments of silk.
They nosed up to tangled blackberry thickets that hung over the water, picking and eating the huge berries by the handfuls.
They played king of the hill atop a giant inner tube, splashing like dying stunt men into the white cushion of reflected clouds.
They frolicked like otters among patches of water lilies.
They stood rooted in air, earth, and water, groping with their toes for freshwater clams in the luxurious mud, water to their chests. They skittered frisbees along the shallows, swam with slow, lazy strokes in the deep, and napped on the cool sand of the shore, and when they had done everything once, they started all over again. After all, they had forever. They were Californians, and the sun was their birthright. It stood still for them as if they were so many Joshuas, as if the day, the summer, and their youth would never end.
Once, in the quiet shade of the bank, Bishop Alan P. Johnson could be seen in earnest conversation with a new girl in the ward, as intent as if she were the whole Church.
Late that afternoon they returned home, towing skiers all the way. It was a fitting exit, but by no means to be compared with their entrance that morning, when they had walked on the water—thanks to a sandbar right smack in the middle of the broad Sacramento River the girls had splashed along apparently on the surface of the waves.
They spent another day on a small sandy island in the middle of a channel, boating and sunning. Some of the beginners tried their hand at skiing and hit the water like naval artillery, kicking up fountains of water and flying skis.
“I know what you did wrong,” a helpful friend on the bank called to a casualty. “You forgot to close your eyes!”
She watched as her friend tried again, this time performing a beautiful belly flop and skipping on the water like a lopsided stone. “That was better!” the coach on the shore said. “She remembered to close her eyes that time.”
Another sadistic onlooker chimed in with a word of shouted advice: “Whatever happens, don’t let go!”
When they weren’t skiing or boating, some of the girls became artists, creating lofty-towered sand castles on the beach and then watching the tide lay seige to and finally overwhelm their ramparts.
On the way home that day the girls jumped out of the boat several hundred yards from their home dock and let the tide carry them in.
One day on the river the girls visited the town of Locke, constructed originally by the Chinese laborers who built the levees and now occupied by their descendants. Here the girls explored the streets of two-story, tic-tac-toe wooden houses and mysterious passageways that were neither streets nor alleys.
Meanwhile, back at the house, there was both work and resting to do in between the playing. Three times a day the girls cooked delicious meals and then handled the cleanup efficiently. One night when a Mia Maid was called to help with the dishes, she said quietly to a friend, “Actually, it’s not my turn, but I’ve got to get over the habit of complaining,” and she went to wash the dishes. When she was gone her friend sat in silence for a moment. Then she sighed and said, “I haven’t helped wash the dishes yet. I guess I should go help even though they didn’t assign me,” and she went. Soon an assembly-line sudsfest was underway, accompanied by a spirited medley of folk songs and so much all-purpose hilarity that several more unassigned girls joined in just for the fun of it.
One evening the group dined on mouth-watering fried catfish donated by a neighbor lady. Later that night they visited the good woman and sang her a song of appreciation. Not content to leave it at that, the girls used their talented toes the next day to find her a sackful of clams for fishbait.
At night the girls filled the bedrooms, the sun room, the sun deck, the combination kitchen-dining-living room, and spilled out over the levee onto the dock, where they slept with the gentle rocking of the waves and the murmur of the moving water. A few girls even slept in the boats that were moored to the dock. These outdoor dwellers were treated to a huge moon that rode above the tules and made the river into a highway of gold, not to mention the sun that rose each morning on a tide of cricket and bird songs to burn away the mist.
“Wow! Did you see that sunrise?” one ecstatic girl asked her sleepy companion after the sleeping bags had been put away.
“Yeah,” her more prosaic friend replied. “I woke up and took a look and said, ‘Well what do you know, there’s the sunrise,’ and then I went back to sleep.”
As with any group of Mormons totaling more than one, there were some meetings too. Their first night on the river the girls enjoyed a talent night that included readings, songs, and even some magic. The second night there was a family home evening in which the girls shared ideas on the importance of being a child of God. They expressed their love for the Savior and nodded quietly, as one young lady said, “Whenever you build a wall between yourself and another human being, you build a wall between yourself and Jesus Christ.”
There was plenty to do in spare moments: sleeping, fishing off the dock, writing letters, writing in journals, scripture study, gab sessions, sailing a little two-girl boat with a sail like another white cloud under the sky, and a lot more, including first aid treatments for sunburns. And sometimes they just dived off the dock or sat watching the tide flow in or out, ceaselessly, day and night.
At least as warming as the sun was the love these young women showed toward one another. Whenever a girl was seen standing shyly apart, a kindly arm would appear around her shoulders to draw her in, When there was disagreement, it was settled by discussion rather than argument. There were no cliques, no in-groups or out-groups, no social outcasts, no cruel jests or biting sarcasm. When it was mentioned to one of the girls that they seemed surprisingly free from backbiting, she said, “How can there be backbiting? We know that there shouldn’t be.”
Another girl explained, “I’m trying to learn how to love other people. I’m learning to do things for them, to stop thinking ‘want’ and start thinking ‘give’.”
Two of the girls in the very thick of the action on the three-day adventure were nonmembers, and they appeared to be loving every minute of it. That’s not surprising considering the missionary record of the Danville young people. Half the Laurel class consists of converts introduced to the gospel by the young people of the ward. The previous year there had been ten baptisms attributed to the efforts of the young men and women, and the work was going on. They talk openly to their friends about the Church, knowing what an important gift they have to offer.
“A lot of kids at school say they don’t know who they are,” one girl said. “Well, we know who we are!”
The last evening of their stay on the river, the girls had a testimony meeting. One of the girls brought a roll of tissue and set it in the center of the group in easy reach of anyone with leaky eyes. More than one needed it as they bore testimony of the gospel and their love for the Lord and one another. A nonmember girl stood with tears in her eyes to tell of her love for the Mormon girls and their leaders although she hadn’t yet gained a testimony of the gospel. A girl who had been in the ward only a week and in the Church only a few months told how she had come on the trip homesick for her old ward and fearing loneliness and rejection. But in three days she had come to feel she had known these girls all her life.
The next morning, as four girls debated the best way to get four suitcases, four sleeping bags, four pillows and four overnight bags into the trunk of one Volkswagen, the group took their leave of the river. They said good-bye to each other as if they were not to meet again for a long while, although they were merely taking a short drive back to the same city. But they were saying good-bye not so much to one another as to a wonderful experience that would soon pass from the full color of the present to the black and white of memory.
But the color hasn’t all faded yet. There is still a girl skiing at sundown, golden in the silver wake, flinging curtains of glittering spray as she leans into each turn. There are the girls in bright bathing suits singing Mormon Tabernacle Choir songs as passing boaters look at them and wonder. There are the bright orange life preservers as the girls float with the pull of the tide.
There is the duotone image of a young girl sitting on the sun-deck in a quiet moment, reading the Book of Mormon and thinking.
And above the images, the color, the splashing and laughter and sunshine and delicious river smells is the reality that is the foundation of all the joy these young people find in life. As one young lady said, “In my last interview the bishop asked me what I had learned this year. I think what I’ve learned this year is that without the gospel nothing else in this whole world really matters.”

Consider, for example, the parable of the two mirrors: The King of the land sent one of his sons and one of his daughters off on an important journey to establish peace in the land.
The brother and sister set off and followed the King's directions carefully. Then, unexpectedly, there arose a great storm. The wind blew, the rain was heavy, and swirling debris obscured the path. The son and daughter took refuge in a small hut. In the hut were two mirrors beckoning for their attention and focus. Each mirror showed them a vision of the future with them in the picture. The first mirror was full of darkness and swirling fog. The son and daughter saw themselves in despair, lost, hungry and cold, unable to complete the journey. The mirror seemed to whisper, "Turn back; it's hopeless; give up."
The second mirror was bright and clear. They could see the storm, but they saw themselves making their way through it, completing their journey and establishing peace.
The second mirror seemed to whisper, "Carry on; walk in the light; the way is sure; you can do it." They chose the second mirror, left the hut with confidence, fought their way through the storm, and completed their journey.

With permission, may I read a letter from our new daughter-in-law, Elizabeth, whom I mentioned before. This was written in the Salt Lake Tabernacle just four months ago, following the beginning of their priesthood courtship. It reads:
Dear Judd,
We are now just two minutes to broadcast time. There are a few more people here than usual because of Easter. This morning is so beautiful. I think that the morning is the most beautiful time of the whole day because it is new and full of hope—like a little resurrection every twenty-four hours.
Sitting here listening to this glorious music and thought-provoking words is a wonderful blessing, but there is another gift not everyone is aware of. This is the gift of atonement and resurrection. They are singing a chorale from the St. Matthew Passion. If only the whole world could hear it and understand its significance! We are like the rest of the world if we do not sink our roots deep into the earth. A tree without roots is called a prop. Its leaves exist without purpose or growth. This kind of tree can look exactly like a growing tree, but its purpose is not for growing and producing. What I am saying is that, even though we laugh or joke or hold hands and smile, it is meaningless if we are without roots. Our roots have got to be so completely anchored that nothing can blow us over. These roots must be firmly anchored in Jesus Christ. We must receive that gift without pause and steadfastly. This relationship cannot exist or function unless we anchor it in this good earth of the gospel.
I love you for all I am when I am with you and for all you are even when I’m not around. Let’s keep building as dynamically and enthusiastically as we can.
Remember that, even though you have a scar in the middle of your eyebrow, I love you a lot.
E.C.
That is a beautiful love letter within the bonds of a priesthood courtship.

My dad is 6?8? (203 cm) and is a great basketball player! His interest in sports started when he was young. Every chance he got he was out playing with neighborhood and school friends. There was always a ball in his hands or a ball at his feet.
In high school, he made the basketball team all three years, always working super hard. Because of his efforts, he was offered basketball scholarships to several colleges. He accepted one from a junior college and played for two years.
He was then offered basketball scholarships to some major colleges. That’s when he had to make one of the hardest decisions of his life—either to accept one of the scholarships or to go on a mission. He tells us he decided that he could always play basketball, but if he didn’t go on a mission then, he would probably never go. So he turned in his mission papers and was called to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He worked hard for the Lord and loved it.
When he returned he played for BYU–Hawaii for one year, then decided that he wanted to move back home. He met and married my mother, Caroline, and our family now consists of four children. He loves us dearly and is happy about the choice he made. He still loves to play basketball with his children.
My dad is my hero. If it weren’t for the choices he made, our family might not be the same. He had the chance of a lifetime but chose the route that would lead to eternal happiness. I love my dad, and I am so happy he went on a mission and got married in the temple. He will always be an all-star in my eyes.

Many years ago I had the opportunity of witnessing a state championship high school track meet at Brigham Young University. The lesson I learned as I watched the mile run was most impressive. I know I shall never forget it. About a dozen young men had qualified to represent their schools. The starting gun was fired, and these young men who had trained so long and so hard took off. Four fellows, closely bunched together, took the early lead. Suddenly the runner in second place spiked the first runner’s foot with his shoe. As the leader was about to make the next stride forward, he found that he was without a shoe.
As I noticed this, I wondered what the leader would do because of what his competitor had unintentionally done to him. It seemed to me he had a number of choices. He could take a few extra quick sprints and catch up to the fellow who had put him out of first position, double up his fist, and hit him to get even. He could run over to the coach and say, “This is what you get—I have trained all my life for this big day, and now look what’s happened!” He could run off into the stands and say to his mother, father, or girlfriend, “Isn’t this horrible?” Or he could sit down on the track and cry. But to my pleasure, he did none of these things. He just kept running.
This was halfway around the first lap, and I thought to myself, “Good for him; he’ll finish this first lap of the four and retire gracefully.” But after he had completed the first lap, he just kept running. He completed the second lap, then the third lap—and every time he took a stride, cinders were coming up through his stocking, hurting his foot. They ran on cinder tracks in those days. But he didn’t quit. He just kept running.
I thought, “What an outstanding display of courage and self-discipline! What parents! What a coach! What leaders who have affected his life enough so that in a situation like this he would not stop running!” He finished the job he had to do. He did not place first, but he was a real winner. When I walked over to him at the completion of the race and congratulated him on his courageous performance, he was composed and in complete control. He was able to carry on when it would have been much easier to quit.

At an encampment in Finland, the Scouts decided I should know how to sauna. Finns heat their saunas to 170 or 180 degrees. President Olli Roto, the stake president who was teaching me, along with the Scouts, who were experts, made a small bundle of birch branches. When we really began to perspire, he took the bundle of birch leaves and swatted me all over my back, chest, and legs, and said, “That brings the blood to the surface.” I said, “It works.” Then we ran down and dove into the Baltic Sea, then went back into the sauna. It’s amazing what we learn when we’re working with youth.

Annie sat on the floor of her closet, her arms wrapped around her knees. Every so often she picked up one of her shoes and tossed it into a corner.
She sighed slowly. The last time she’d hidden in her closet was when she had knocked Grandma’s cookie jar off the shelf and it had broken all over the kitchen floor. She had felt real bad then—kind of like now.
“Annie,” Mother called from the hallway, “are you working on your talk?”
Annie groaned and pulled the closet door shut. Almost as soon as she did, the door opened and Mother looked down at her. “Annie, what are you doing in the closet?”
“I’m just thinking. Maybe I should ask Sister Haslam to have somebody else give a talk about fathers.”
Mother sat down next to the closet and smiled at Annie. “Are you embarrassed because Daddy isn’t a member of the Church?”
Annie pressed her hands against her eyes and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “No, I don’t think so. But Sister Haslam talks about us getting baptized by our dads, and when the kids talk about what their families did at the ward party, I feel left out.”
Mother stared out the window for a long time, then said, “Annie, the other kids just don’t know your dad very well. Why don’t you tell them about him in your talk?”
Annie sat up. “Should I talk about where Daddy works or about the games that we play?”
Mother smiled. “Annie, you talk about whatever makes your dad special to you.” Mother stood up and left Annie to think about it.
Annie leaned back against the closet wall. She pulled an old canvas shoe out from under her leg. As she tossed it in the corner, she saw the water stains on it and smiled, remembering that she had worn it the last time she and Dad had gone fishing.
“I know what I’ll talk about!” Annie exclaimed. She went to her desk and printed “My Dad’s Shoes” in big letters at the top of a sheet of paper. Then she hurried to her parents’ bedroom and opened the closet door. She dropped to her knees and studied the shoes scattered there, then picked up a pair of worn suede ones and carried them back to her bedroom.
On Sunday morning, when Annie woke up, she heard the birds chirping outside her window. She carefully dressed in the clothes that she had laid out the night before, then hurried downstairs to breakfast.
Dad was cooking pancakes and telling Mother about a book that he had read.
“Hi, hon,” Dad said when he saw Annie. “Your mom said that you’re going to give a talk today and that I should ask you what it’s about.”
Annie smiled. “My talk is called ‘My Dad’s Shoes.’”
Dad winked at Mother as he plopped a pancake onto Annie’s plate. “‘My Dad’s Shoes,’ huh? That sounds pretty interesting. Do you have time to tell me at least a part of it before you go to church?”
“Nope. I want you to hear it all at once.” Annie took a big bite of pancake covered with blueberry syrup.
“Well,” Dad responded with a smile, “I guess I’d better put on my tie and jacket and come with you then.”
As soon as Annie had finished her breakfast, it was time to go to church. She ran up to her room and carefully tucked her talk notes into a paper sack. Later, when it was her turn to talk in Primary, she carried her paper bag to the pulpit, smiled at Mom and Dad, and took out her notes—and Dad’s old leather shoes.
“This is a pair of my dad’s shoes,” Annie began. “They’re old now, but once they were new.
“My dad first wore these shoes to work at the hardware store. He helps people find the supplies that they need. He likes people, and he works very hard to help them get just the right things.”
Annie could see her mother smiling in the back row.
“As these shoes got older, Dad wore them around home and when he helped Mom and me shop for groceries. He wore them when he took Mom and me out for ice-cream cones on my birthday, and he wore them when he delivered cookies to our new neighbors.
“Then these shoes got even older.” Annie held the shoes up again for everyone to see.
“Now he mostly wears them to do chores. He wears them when he mows the lawn. But he doesn’t mow just our lawn—he mows the lawn of the lady across the street too. She’s an older lady who lives all alone. My dad really takes care of her. He mows her lawn during the summer and shovels her driveway in the winter.
“My dad wears these shoes when we go camping. He helps me toast my marsh-mallows just right. He lays out my sleeping bag. When Dad is around, I’m not afraid of the dark or of anything.”
Annie smiled as she turned the shoes around on the podium.
“My dad wears these shoes to my baseball games. He never misses one of my games. He always cheers when I hit the ball and get to a base. And if I don’t do very well, he pats me on the shoulder and tells me a funny joke on the way home.
“Best of all, Dad gives me hugs and kisses. I love him very much, and I’m thankful that Heavenly Father gave my dad to me.”
As Annie sat down, a glance at her dad’s face told her he felt exactly the same way about her.