Gospel Story Finder

On the other hand, I remember a student, we'll call her Mary, who came to me to complain about her roommate. Mary pulled out a long list that she had created of everything her roommate had done to offend her. Apparently she had kept an exact record of each offense, the day and the hour and the situation. From loud music, messiness, inviting friends into the bedroom where they sat on Mary's bed, etc.

Surely Mary had reason to be uncomfortable. But she was also a score keeper. Like some married couples we know who are score keepers, Mary saw and recorded only negatives. Two suggestions helped Mary. First, only keeping score on the good things she appreciated about her roommate, and record, looking upon everything else as an opportunity to be patient, merciful, and forgive.

Before I became president of the Church, I was assigned as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles to visit some of the countries of South America for various gatherings with the Saints. We were received well by the countries, by their officials, and by the press.
I was interested in a comment made by a representative of one of the largest papers in Brazil. She had heard my sermon the day before, on Sunday, in which I had spoken rather strongly about the restoration of the gospel. She asked me why Christ was crucified.
I answered: “Because he said, ‘I am the Son of God.’”
And her next remark shocked me: “He should not have said it, should he? He really was not, was he?”
I thought she was joking. I looked into her eyes for a moment and thought she was going to smile. But she did not. And I said firmly: “He said he was the Son of God because he was the Son of God.”
Later I read an article in the Easter paper of one of the largest cities in South America. The author was a minister with letters after his name. I read the entire article and in the half a page given front page notice, he never mentioned the Lord of heaven and earth, the Redeemer, the Savior. He always spoke of “Jesus.” He quoted two or three scriptures which mentioned Jesus of Nazareth as being more than the carpenter’s son, but never in his writing did he ever give any other title to the Christ who shed his precious blood for him.
During the same trip, I asked 400 missionaries gathered in a meeting, “What think ye of Christ and the claims that are made?” And I heard 400 inspiring testimonies from youth—sure testimonies, ringing with conviction.
I am reminded of what Paul said: “And I, brethren, when I came to you, came not with excellency of speech or of wisdom, declaring unto you the testimony of God.
“For I determined not to know anything among you, save Jesus Christ, and him crucified” (1 Cor. 2:1–2).
I could not see how we could really celebrate an Easter without discussing the Lord Jesus Christ. Why even the devils know that Jesus is the Christ. On one occasion the devils came crying out and saying, “Thou art Christ the Son of God. And he rebuking them suffered them not to speak: for they knew that he was Christ” (Luke 4:41). On another occasion “the evil spirit answered and said, Jesus I know, and Paul I know; but who are ye?” (Acts 19:15). And another time, “they cried out saying, What have we to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of God? art thou come hither to torment us before the time?” (Matt. 8:29).
I believe that there was a considerable conviction in the heart of Pilate, who was constrained by his conscience to let the Savior go free, but because of political ambitions and other reasons, in spite of his wife’s importuning, he delivered him to be crucified. But even after that, he wrote on the cross in three languages—Hebrew, Greek, and Latin—this famous statement: “Jesus of Nazareth the King of the Jews.” The Jews, offended, came and said:
“Write not, The King of the Jews; but that he said, I am King of the Jews.
“Pilate answered, What I have written I have written” (see John 19:19–22).
You have read of Nathanael, the man without guile, who said, as he saw the Christ: “Rabbi, thou art the Son of God; thou art the King of Israel” (John 1:49).
Paul had hardly made his transformation, had just barely received back his sight from his unusual experience when he went straightway into the synagogues and preached Christ, “that he is the Son of God.”
Why will the divines of the day purposely avoid the names of the Deity whom they would choose to call only Jesus? There are tens of thousands of Jesuses in the world. In all the Spanish-speaking countries you find them on every hand. They pronounce it Ha-sús, but it is Jesus. But there was only one Jesus who became the Prince of Light, the Author of our salvation.
Joseph Smith said: “I had actually seen a light, and in the midst of that light I saw two Personages, and they did in reality speak to me; and though I was hated and persecuted for saying that I had seen a vision, yet it was true; and while they were persecuting me, reviling me, and speaking all manner of evil against me falsely for so saying, I was led to say in my heart: Why persecute me for telling the truth? I have actually seen a vision; and who am I that I can withstand God, or why does the world think to make me deny what I have actually seen? For I had seen a vision; I knew it, and I knew that God knew it, and I could not deny it, neither dared I do it; at least I knew that by so doing I would offend God, and come under condemnation” (JS—H 1:25).
You remember what Peter said when the disciples were asked, “Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?” They spoke up and said men thought him to be Elias or one of the other prophets, and then the Lord said again, and I can imagine his piercing eyes, wondering and expectant eyes, “But whom say ye that I am?” And the answer was one of the most stirring and glorious of all statements made, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.” And the next statement must never be overlooked: “Flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven” (see Matt. 16:13–17). In other words, man has not told you this, but my Father has revealed it unto thee; a great revelation has come unto thee, and thou knowest it.
I asked 400 missionaries the Lord’s question which faces every man, woman, and child on this earth: “Whom do ye say that I the Son of man am?” And I was gratified at the hundreds of replies saying “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.”
And that is my testimony to you, that Jesus is indeed the Christ, the living Son of the living God.

“Hey, Willard, we’ve got a favor to ask of you,” I mentioned one afternoon as we were changing the oil in Brad’s car. “We’re in charge of a dinner over at the church this weekend.” I shrugged and felt my cheeks turn red. “The kids in the ward are putting on a dinner for some senior citizens. Now I don’t mean that we think you’re a senior citizen or anything like that,” I quickly added, “but we wanted you there. Will you come?”
Willard looked up. His eyes went to each one of us, and then he stared down into the car’s engine. For a long time he didn’t speak. Slowly he pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands. A feeble smile on his lips. “The last time I was in church was when my wife died. That’s been more than three years. And it was a lot longer before that. There have been times when I wanted to go back, but I couldn’t think of a good enough reason. And there’s nobody there I know.”
“You’ve got an excuse now. We’re having good food. And you know us. We’ll be there,” I pointed out.
“Why would you want me to go to a nice, fancy dinner with you?” he asked without looking at us.
For a moment I didn’t answer, pondering the question. “Because you’re our friend,” I answered simply.
He shook his head. “I don’t know if I could. People would stare. They’d wonder why—”
“You’ll be with us,” Brad spoke up. “The whole time. We promise.”
We all waited, holding our breath. Willard thought for a long time. Finally his face softened into a smile and he said, “Well, I’ll think about it.”
The night of the dinner I was nervous. Brad had promised to bring Willard while Chris and I helped get things ready at the church.
“Did you invite anyone tonight?” Brother Loder asked as I was carrying food from the kitchen to the serving table in the cultural hall.
“Willard Watts.”
Brother Loder sighed. “When are you going to get over this Willard Watts idea?” He smiled and shook his head. “The day you get old Willard inside this church I’ll buy you the biggest meal you’ve ever had in your life.”
Just then Chris and Brad came through the doors on the far side of the cultural hall with Willard between them. Brother Loder had his back to them so he didn’t see them approach until they were right behind him. When he turned around, his jaw almost dropped to the floor he was so surprised.
“Brother Loder,” I started out, “I’d like you to meet a good friend of ours, Brother Watts.”
For a moment Brother Loder could hardly speak. Then he held out his hand and greeted Willard. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he stammered. “The boys here have talked about you a lot.” He looked at the three of us and then back to Willard. “I guess I can believe everything they’ve told me.”
Willard nodded his head. “They’re good boys. I think you can believe what they say.”
As Brad and Chris led Willard away, Brother Loder turned to me and muttered, “I would have never believed it. I guess I owe you a big dinner.”
I shook my head and struggled to control my emotions. “Forget it,” I smiled. “Some things you don’t do to win a meal.”

The Wadsworths of Panaca, Nevada
Franklin Don Wadsworth was an enterprising young man from Nevada who met a lovely young woman from Salt Lake City by the name of Sylvia Hinckley. They were soon married, and they were blessed with 11 children: seven sons and four daughters. When the youngest son, David, was seven years of age, his lovely mother died suddenly at age 49. Notwithstanding this tragic and untimely loss, the Wadsworth children rallied around their heartbroken father, providing great comfort to him and to each other. Then, just 17 months later, not long after David was baptized, his father died at age 56, leaving eight unmarried children at home.

The relatives counseled together, and it was decided that one uncle and his wife would take some of the children into their home and another uncle and aunt would care for the rest of the children in their home.

At this point the Wadsworth children met in family council, with the oldest son, Franklin Brent, taking charge. The children unanimously agreed that their deceased parents would not want them to be separated and unable to see each other frequently during their formative years. Their parents had taught them to serve one another and to be responsible for one another, so they declined any outside help. The members of the extended family agreed to stand back and let them give it a try.

Lark was in her third year in high school, and the school allowed her to take all of her classes early in the day so she would be home in time to welcome the younger children when they arrived home from school. Valerie was in the process of graduating from college, and she found a job nearby and helped with the younger children for the first year. Scott was a returned missionary, and he worked the family farm and commuted to Cedar City, where he attended college.

All of the children eventually went to college, and all of the sons served missions. When only two children—David, then 14, and Charlotte, then 17— remained living at home, they were invited by their older sister Terry and her husband, Lorell Bleak, to live with their family.

Though Don and Sylvia Wadsworth were snatched from their mortal existence prematurely, they had taught their children by precept and example that true joy comes from loving and serving others and placing the needs of others above their own. Now in postmortality Don and Sylvia claim a rich posterity of 106 grandchildren and 80 great-grandchildren.

The results were truly remarkable. A young returned missionary unable to find work for eight months, was skeptical when his bishop suggested a certain amount for his contribution. He told the Lord, however, that if he had an income he would willingly pay the assessment—and more if it were required of him. The first employer he approached that day offered him a permanent job and he started work the next day. Two days later he was given a significant increase in pay.

Years later, Sister Nadauld and I were called to preside over the Switzerland Geneva Mission—also a French-speaking area. Many of our missionaries had musical talents, and we soon saw that music training and learning a foreign language, especially one as lyrical as French, were complementary skills. We shared with them my experience of singing before teaching and invited them to learn simple hymn duets that they could sing before beginning their gospel lessons. They reported back that it had the same wonderful impact on teaching with the Spirit that Elder Robertson and I had experienced some 40 years earlier.

My life was eternally blessed by one choice member who reached out more than 50 years ago. Some days after World War II, my grandmother was standing in line for food when an elderly single sister with no family of her own invited her to sacrament meeting in Zwickau, East Germany. My grandmother and my parents accepted the invitation. They went to church, felt the Spirit, were uplifted by the kindness of the members, and were edified by the hymns of the Restoration. My grandmother, my parents, and my three siblings were all baptized. I had to wait two years because I was only six. How grateful I am for a spiritually sensitive grandmother, teachable parents, and a wise, white-haired, elderly single sister who had the sweet boldness to reach out and follow the Savior’s example by inviting us to “come and see” (see John 1:39). Her name was Sister Ewig, which translates in English to “Sister Eternal.” I will be eternally grateful for her love and example.

And the stories the banners tell! Marylynne Aposhina of the Hunter Ninth Ward, Hunter Utah West Stake, designed her banner after an oriental rug her great grandfather, Zadik Moses Aposhina, had made. A wealthy rug designer, her grandfather was forced to flee Armenia because of persecution against Christians. He lost his wealth, and some of his family members were sold as slaves in Mexico, but after overwhelming struggles, they finally reached the Salt Lake Valley.
“Making the banner helped me appreciate my heritage even more,” said Marylynne. “My mother and grandmother and I had fun together doing it, too. I don’t get to do things with both of them very often.”

“Sanford, what happened to you?” my little sister, Nadine, gasped as I slipped in the back door with my friend Chris. “You look sick! Your face is all bloody, and it’s on your shirt, too!” she jabbered. “Did you fall off your bike?”
“No,” I growled quickly. “Just keep quiet.” Usually I’m not so gruff with her. Even though I’m ten and she’s only six, we’re great friends. I even let her hang around when my other friends come by. There isn’t anything she wouldn’t do for me. And if I ever need someone to talk to, Nadine is there for me.
She hung her head, poked out her lower lip, and hunched her shoulders. She looked like she was about to bawl, so I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Nadine. I just don’t want Mom seeing me like this. Will you do me a favor?” She looked up, her face brightening. “I need a wet washcloth. Bring it out back. Please.”
Nadine bounced away and got it, then met Chris and me on the back lawn. While I cleaned up, she demanded, “Now tell me what happened.”
“Ronny started a fight!” Chris burst out.
“A fight? Mom and Dad don’t like you fighting, Sanford. You know that. And in Primary—”
“Shhhh,” I hissed, glaring at Chris for spilling the beans. “It wasn’t my fault,” I explained. “Ronny started it. We were playing football, and he rode in on his bike and said we had to let him play.”
“Why didn’t you let him play?”
“Because we’d already picked teams. It was too late to let him in.”
“So he started pushing Sanford around,” Chris took over. “But Sanford didn’t take any of his garbage!” he added smugly. “If Ronny hadn’t landed that one lucky punch on your nose,” he said to me, “that fight wouldn’t have even been close.”
“You were fighting, Sanford?” Nadine asked again. Even without looking at her, I could feel her disappointment. She was always crushed if I did anything wrong.
“Sometimes you just have to fight, Nadine.”
“I don’t like you fighting,” Nadine muttered sadly. She took the washcloth to the laundry room.
I didn’t think much more about my fight with Ronny. But for the next few days Nadine kept asking about my nose and wondering if I’d had any more trouble with him.
“I haven’t even seen him since that day,” I told her. “Just forget the whole thing.”
A few days later, Nadine and I were sitting on the front steps after dinner, eating ice-cream bars, when the bishop dropped by to see Dad. When he saw us, he smiled and shook our hands. Then he said, “Well, Sanford, I need to see you too. I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Sure, Bishop,” I said, pleased.
“A new family has moved into our ward. They have a child about your age who needs a good, friendly welcome. Their son, Ronny, should be going to Webelos. I thought you could invite him to go with you.”
“Ronny? He isn’t new. He’s been in town a couple of years.”
“But his family just recently moved into our ward,” the bishop explained, “and he says that he won’t go to Webelos because he doesn’t have any friends in this ward.”
“Sure he’ll do it,” Nadine spoke up unexpectedly. “Just last week in home evening, we learned that we should do whatever the bishop asks us to do.”
I was so surprised that I didn’t even have a chance to protest. And Dad came out right then and invited the bishop into the house.
“Why’d you tell him I’d invite Ronny to Webelos?” I growled at Nadine. “Ronny can’t stand me. And I don’t particularly like him, either.”
Nadine got that sad, droopy-eyed look. “I was just trying to help.”
“How’s that helping? Now the bishop thinks I’m going to be Ronny’s friend.”
“I guess that’s what you’ll have to do, then.”
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t know Ronny. If I went over to his house to invite him anyplace, he’d punch me in the nose again.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to be his friend first.”
“I’m not going to do it!” I burst out, standing up. “And you shouldn’t have told the bishop that I would.”
But that evening when we kneeled for family prayer, Nadine asked Dad if she could say it. “And please, Heavenly Father, help Sanford be friends with Ronny so he can invite him to Webelos,” she prayed sincerely.
That night before going to bed, when she said her own prayer, she prayed for the same thing, she told me. In fact, every time she said a prayer, even if it was the blessing on the food, she asked Heavenly Father to help me be friends with Ronny.
“You’ve got to stop praying for me,” I grumbled to Nadine a few days later. “I’m not going to invite Ronny anyplace. No one at Webelos even likes him. No one wants him there.”
“No one?” she asked, surprised.
“Name someone, besides the bishop, who wants Ronny to go to Webelos.”
Nadine didn’t even wait to think about it. “Jesus wants him to go. And Jesus wants you to invite him. That’s why I pray for you.”
“Jesus doesn’t count,” I said, suddenly feeling guilty.
“Of course, He counts. He’s the one who counts most of all.”
It was no use arguing with Nadine. I saw Ronny a few times as he rode his bike down the street. Twice he watched from a distance as we played football in the park, but he didn’t come around again. Every time I saw him, I thought of the bishop and Nadine and Jesus Christ. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. “All right, I’m going to invite Ronny,” I told Nadine one afternoon.
A huge grin crinkled her eyes and scrunched up her nose. “I just knew you would!”
“I’ll walk over there and say, ‘Ronny, you’re invited to Webelos.’ Then I’m going to turn around and leave. I hope I don’t get in a fight doing it.”
Nadine’s happy smile sagged. “Well, that won’t do any good,” she pointed out. “Just because you invite him doesn’t mean he’ll go. Maybe he will get in a fight with you, if you invite him like that.”
“What do you expect me to do?” I asked. “The bishop just said to invite him.”
Nadine hung her head. “I want you to do what Jesus would do,” she answered sadly. “Is that how Jesus would invite him?”
“I’m not like Jesus,” I said. “Do you think He would have gotten in a fight with Ronny in the first place?”
Slowly she shook her head. “But if He had,” she said, looking up, “He’d have said He was sorry. And after Jesus had said He was sorry and become friends with Ronny, He’d invite him to Webelos. Jesus did lots of things that were hard—harder than saying ‘I’m sorry’ to Ronny.”
I could never win with Nadine. I was older and thought I was lots smarter than she was, but when it came to things like this, she won the argument every time. “I’m not talking to you anymore,” I grumbled. “You just don’t understand.”
“I’m going to keep praying for you, Sanford,” she said sadly.
“I’ve already told you, I don’t want you to pray for me.”
“Maybe if you’d pray for yourself, I wouldn’t have to.”
I didn’t let her know it, but those words hurt. She was right. I didn’t want to pray for help. If I did, it would show that I’d made up my mind to go. And I was too afraid to go! At least I was until that night, when I knelt down to pray. I wasn’t planning to pray about Ronny, but as soon as my knees hit the floor, I thought about him, and I knew that if I was going to say a prayer that meant something, I’d have to pray for Ronny and me.
The next morning after breakfast I told Nadine, “Well, I’m going over to Ronny’s place. I hope he doesn’t punch me in the nose.”
“I’ll go with you.”
I shook my head, smiling. “You don’t have to. I won’t chicken out.”
“Well, you don’t think I’m going to let Ronny hit you again, do you? Jesus wouldn’t want that, either. Besides, I got you into this, so I’m coming. We can both be friends with him.”
We walked the three blocks to Ronny’s place. He was in the front yard, putting decals on his bike when we went up his driveway. He stiffened when he saw me. Nadine whispered, “You can do it, Sanford, just like Jesus wants you to.”
“I’m sorry about the other day,” I burst out, holding my hand out to him. “Ever since we fought, I haven’t felt right.” I fidgeted uneasily. “It was my fault.”
Ronny stared at me. I think he was trying to figure out if I was really serious.
“Sanford doesn’t usually fight,” Nadine spoke up. “And he wishes he hadn’t fought you. And so do I.”
Ronny just kept staring at us like we’d stepped out of a spaceship or something.
“We’re going to be playing over at the park this afternoon.” I told him. “I’d sure like you to be there. You can play on my team. There’s no sense in us not being friends.” I licked my lips. “You want some help putting on your decals?”
Ronny didn’t really answer. He just sort of shrugged his shoulders. Nadine took that for a yes, and before we knew it, the three of us were kneeling around Ronny’s bike, putting on decals and talking.
“You didn’t invite him to Webelos,” Nadine pointed out later as we went home.
I laughed. “Don’t worry—I will. That’s the easy part. I can do that now. Thanks to you.”

On a Sunday in the middle of July 1959, at the Opihaile Branch, we had an unexpected visit from the mission president. This was truly a surprise since Opihaile was in the most rural part of Hawaii and this was his first time to the area. On a good Sunday we had seven adult members attend church. We relied on young missionary elders each week for assistance with the sacrament.

After those Sunday meetings, President Brooks called me by my full name and asked for my address and telephone number. On August 26, 1959, he phoned and asked me to fly over to Oahu to meet with him. He met me at the airport and lovingly put his arm around my shoulder and asked, “Do you know why you are here?” He went on to say, “You are going to be interviewed by Elder Spencer W. Kimball for a mission.” I had always wanted to serve a mission but knew because of my speech and appearance it was impossible.

How I wish I could remember all the specifics of this spiritual interview with Elder Kimball. First, he shared personal feelings and events from his life. Then I recall he asked, if the Brethren were to call me, would I be willing to stay in the Islands to serve a mission? I responded, “Yes.” After this, multiple questions followed:

“Would you be willing to serve back on the mainland?”
“Would you be willing to serve a mission immediately without going back to Salt Lake to the Mission Home for training?”
“Would your parents financially support you wherever you were called?”

I answered yes to every question. He then asked, “Would you be willing to go anywhere in the world – Australia, or the Far East?”
I responded, “Yes.”
His last question was spoken slowly and was most penetrating. He asked: “How would you react if the Brethren felt that you should not be called?” I responded by saying there was still much I could do in the Church.

Elder Kimball then said that he could not speak for the Missionary Selection Committee; however, he would be my “Spokesman.” With that, tears began to flow. An apostle of the Lord would be my “Spokesman.” Within ten days, I received my official call to the Northern Far East Mission (Japan).

My missionary letter from President David O. McKay stated: “The Lord will award the goodness of your life, and greater blessings and more happiness than you have yet experienced await you as you serve Him humbly and prayerfully in this labor of love among His children.”

On October 14, 1959, I bid a tearful goodbye to my beloved Church members and friends on the Big Island and flew to Oahu. Later that day I received my endowment in the Hawaii Temple. To be in the beautiful Hawaii Temple was a wonderful, choice experience and blessing in my life.

The following day I shared these thoughts in a letter to my parents: “Oh, how grateful I am to become a missionary! It still seems unreal, too wonderful to really be true. I am afraid, and yet I am calm…” I knew exactly ten words in Japanese – I could count to ten. That night the mission president set me apart as a missionary in the Northern Far East Mission and gave me a beautiful blessing. Since I would not be attending an MTC or have any language training, his words were most meaningful. After this blessing we left for the airport and the 15-hour flight to Japan.

My first day in Japan I received my books and supplies. I realized learning Japanese would take a lot of help from powers greater than my own. On the inside leaf of my language book, I wrote: “Don’t waste time wondering ‘Can I ever do it?’ You can! You have God on your side.” And He was on my side. I found that Japanese was less difficult for me to pronounce than English!

I could share hours about my two-year proselyting mission, but I shall be brief. At that time, the Northern Far East Mission covered Japan, Okinawa, and Korea. I served one year in Osaka, six months in Hiroshima, and six months in Tokyo.

We are surrounded by many who have taught us by example the principles of faith, obedience, and sacrifice. In the Lectures on Faith we are taught, “The faith necessary unto the enjoyment of life and salvation never could be obtained without the sacrifice of all earthly things.”12

My grandfather J. Leo Seely received a mission call in 1914 to serve the Lord in Ireland. He left his wife and little children for two years. The depth of his sacrifice has become clear to us as we have read their letters. Upon his return he grabbed my grandmother in an embrace, and his little daughter Ina, who hadn’t seen her father for years, raced out to chastise this unfamiliar man, shouting, “You naughty man, leave my mother alone!”

Because of the power of this man’s example and that of my noble grandmother, my father served a mission, and then over fifty of his grandchildren and now his great-grandchildren have gone forth to serve the Lord in missions that cover the world. Great-Great-Grandfather Bramall crossed the plains seven times and served five missions to England. And Great-Grandmother Sumsion began a great tradition of sister missionary service followed by her daughter, her granddaughters, and now her great-granddaughters. As we watch our children—and as you watch your friends and families—open mission calls, we see the image of God in a person who is willing to follow in the footsteps of the Savior to sacrifice for the salvation of His children. They have the faith and the courage to go wherever the Lord calls them.

My family took a special boat ride on the river in December 1993. With other members of the Church, we made the long journey south to the temple in São Paulo. Mom and Dad were going for their own temple work and to be sealed together in marriage for time and eternity. Then we were to be sealed together as an eternal family—Mom, Dad, my younger sister Joyce, and me.
My family made plans for the trip many months ahead. It costs a lot of money to get to the temple. We saved by not buying many of the things we liked, even our favorite soda pop.
As the time came closer to leave, we became very excited.
And then I had to make a big decision.
At the time, I was in grade school and would soon graduate. But first, I had to take the final exams of the school year—and the exams were scheduled for the same time we were planning to go to the temple.
Mom went to the school and told my teacher I would be absent for 10 days because our family was going to São Paulo. The teacher said I couldn’t leave school then. If I did, she warned, I wouldn’t be able to take the exams and graduate.
I didn’t like the thoughts of that.
I began praying in my mind for Heavenly Father to help me do what was right so that everything would work out well for all of us.
That night before dinner we had a family council. Mom explained what had happened and then said, “Chris, you need to make a decision. Either you take the exams and graduate, or we all go to the temple.”
I felt tears running down my cheeks as I said, “Let’s go to the temple.”
At that moment I felt the warmth of the Spirit, and I knew things would work out.
And they did!
For some reason, the final exams were held earlier than expected, and I was able to take them and graduate before we left for the temple.
We were on the boat for three days, then had to travel by bus for another three days. We had meals on the boat and at special bus stops along the way. In São Paulo, we stayed at the Missionary Training Center, where we cooked our own meals. We spent a few days in São Paulo, in the temple and visiting the city, and then made the long journey back home.
This wonderful experience helped me understand that Heavenly Father answers prayers when we try to do what is right. I’m grateful I was able to graduate. But I’m even more grateful that we can be a family together forever.

A wedge of young people climbed the last hill looking upward to the first rays of the morning sun. For college students they seemed strangely quiet as they approached the little clearing. It was a time for spiritual rejuvenation and the culmination of the Utah State University student ward reunion, according to Don Thorpe, photographer. First the sacrament was passed to all present. Then the sweet feelings inside became vocal in the testimony meeting as someone said:

“I attended the Palmyra Pageant and a testimony meeting in the Sacred Grove; now I have the same feeling here as I did at that holy place.” Others voiced similar feelings. Tears came gently to the surface. “Somehow now I feel my life hasn’t been all that it should have been. … I want to do better.” Warming smiles were shared, and strangers became close friends in an instant. There was an aura of love all around; no one feared saying what was felt inside; understanding sank deep into full hearts.

Nearly all of the forty students present had stood on their feet to voice their love and dedication when the meeting finished almost two and a half hours later. Again there was a reverent stillness as the group filed down the hill. They were leaving this spot of sacred experience, but the moment would stay in their memories.

I am an eyewitness of that truth. Over a lifetime, my wife has spoken for the Lord and served people for Him. As I’ve mentioned before, one of our bishops once said to me: “I’m amazed. Every time I hear of a person in the ward who is in trouble, I hurry to help. Yet by the time I arrive, it seems that your wife has always already been there.” That has been true in all the places we have lived for 56 years.

Now she can speak only a few words a day. She is visited by people she loved for the Lord. Every night and morning I sing hymns with her and we pray. I have to be voice in the prayers and in the songs. Sometimes I can see her mouthing the words of the hymns. She prefers children’s songs. The sentiment she seems to like best is summarized in the song “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.”11

The other day, after singing the words of the chorus: “Love one another as Jesus loves you. Try to show kindness in all that you do,” she said softly, but clearly, “Try, try, try.” I think that she will find, when she sees Him, that our Savior has put His name into her heart and that she has become like Him. He is carrying her through her troubles now, as He will carry you through yours.

The role of bishop holds special significance for Elder Stevenson. “When I was 12, my father was called as bishop,” he recalls. “The ward had many widows, and Dad would often take me along when he ministered to them. He would have me take care of the garbage cans, clean up something in the house, or get my friends to join me in raking leaves or shoveling snow. When we left, I always felt good inside. Visiting the widows helped me realize that part of what bishops do is minister to people one on one. The bishops of the Church are my heroes.”
On the Tuesday prior to the October 2015 general conference, then-Bishop Stevenson received a call requesting that he meet with President Thomas S. Monson and his counselors.
“President Monson [extended] a call to the Quorum of the Twelve to me. He asked me if I would accept. … I responded affirmatively. And then … President Monson kindly reached out to me, describing how [when] he was called many years ago as an Apostle, … he too felt inadequate. He calmly instructed me, ‘Bishop Stevenson, the Lord will qualify those whom He calls.’ These soothing words of a prophet have been a source of peace [ever since].”4
Elder Gary E. Stevenson is truly a man without guile. As an Apostle, as he did as Presiding Bishop and as a Seventy and as he has done throughout his life, he will continue to reach out to the poor and needy. He will follow the scriptural charge to “succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees” (D&C 81:5). It is a challenging calling, but one to which he is well suited because of his understanding heart.

There’s something different about Chris and Jason Trevino of Huntsville, Alabama. Something different in a positive way, a way that makes you want to understand why they’re so upbeat all the time and why they seem to have life all figured out.
This is made all the more intriguing by the fact that the two 19-year-old brothers are identical twins—twins so much alike that people get confused, yet with something so different about them they stand out among their peers. For example:
—They spend a lot of time helping their neighbors, the Wellmans, take care of their three youngest children, Michael, Jennifer, and Nathan. They play and laugh with and tease them in a good-natured way. They organize parties for them and take them fishing or boating. Sometimes they all camp out as a group in the Wellmans’ backyard. Chris and Jason are more like older brothers than neighbors to them. And what do the twins get in return for their kindness? A squeeze play. The kids smother them with hugs.
—They take care of three horses at a nearby riding club, mostly in return for the privilege of being allowed to exercise them now and then. They do the dirty work without complaining. They show up when they say they will and do all that they’re asked. They help with expenses. They’re totally dependable.
—They love their family. Put Jim and Barbara Trevino and their twin boys together and it’s like you’re with a group of best buddies, friends who treat each other with ultimate respect. Add 15-year-old sister Allison to the mix, and it only gets better.
Bad mood? The twins make it disappear.
Help with homework? No problem.
Want to tag along while we go somewhere? Great. Hop in.
Yes, the twins treat everyone well, most of all mom and dad and sister. But there’s something else—fondness may be the closest description. This family really enjoys being together, in a way that lets you know they’ll always be close.
—Most of all, at a time in life when many young men of their age and athletic ability concentrate on which college they’ll attend, what teams they’ll be on, and what young women they’re dating, the twins are leaving all that behind.
Argentina. That’s what they want to talk about right now, because soon that’s where they’ll be. They’ve both been called to serve as full-time missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Chris in Bahia Blanca. Jason in Resistencia. Two years at their own expense. Two years bearing testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ. Two years focused entirely on the needs of other people.
And maybe that’s the clue to figuring out the Trevino twins. The difference that makes them both the same is their love for other people. It’s a love that comes from following the Savior and living his teachings, from concentrating on what really counts instead of wasting worry on worldly things. It’s a dedication that brings happiness so filling it spills out into everything they do and everyone they meet. Add that to personalities that have always been spontaneous, and you’ll find Chris and Jason telling everyone what they’re up to:
—Getting passport pictures taken, they keep telling the photographer about how they’ll be representing the Church. “That’s why we brought our suits for the pictures,” Chris explains.
—Meeting with the county sheriff, who has to sign letters for their visas, they can’t help explaining how excited they are about spreading the gospel. “I can tell,” chuckles the sheriff, who already knows their father.
—At the county government building, they tell the clerks about going to Argentina to preach the gospel. “Isn’t that great?” Jason beams.
—Their mother’s boss, Victor Howard, is a Church member who works across the street. Dropping in to visit, they soon have him joking along with them. But after a few minutes, they talk seriously about the mission he served and how much he loves the Lord, the gospel, and the Church.
You have to understand. Chris and Jason are the kind of guys who, if you ask about diving and you’re close to the community pool, will show you the dives they do. Never mind that they didn’t bring their suits. They’ve been lifeguards here, and the caretaker, who knows them well, gives permission. They look at each other, accept the challenge, and even though they’re in jeans, jump on the board and plunge in the pool. You get the feeling that’s the same way they’ll plunge into missionary work—follow the rules, be dependable, work hard. But get with it—no wimpy excuses.
It’s sort of like a lesson Chris says he learned at the stables.
“Horses are good,” he explains. “If you work with them you learn to love them. But there’s one named Alvin. I don’t like to ride him a whole bunch because of his attitude. He fights me and tries to get the reins from my hands. He thinks he should do what he wants when he wants. There are a few missionaries who are like that. If their mind’s stuck on somebody back home, or if they go out just because everybody else thinks they should be there, they’ve got to change their attitude. You can’t complain about the reins; you’ve got to concentrate on where you’re going.”
And that’s what Chris and Jason are doing—concentrating on where they’re going. Not just on their missions but in their lives.
Sure there are some things that will be tough to leave behind. Family first of all. Friends a close second. Even the horses they’ve taken care of. And school, and work, and just having a blast. But nothing stands in the way once you gain the perspective of eternity. Even having to work in separate missions.
“Chris opened his call letter first, and I saw Argentina,” Jason says. “Then I opened mine, and for a split second it was like, ‘We’ll be in the same mission!’ Then we read more and found out we’d be in different parts of the country. We’ve been together for 19 years, and now we’ll be apart. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is what we’ll be doing.”
Serving others. Bringing them the truth.
Like the times when they’ve talked with Mrs. Wellman about her oldest son, who died in an accident at age four, and where he is now and what he’s doing. Like the times when they’ve shared Church magazines with her, or watched the video Called to Serve.
“Don’t just let her borrow it,” Chris said then. “Let’s have her over here and we’ll all watch it together.”
These are, after all, brothers who are close in more ways than appearance. “We talk about everything together,” Jason says. “Now we’ll just do it through our letters.” That will make for some pretty great letters. Letters they’ll share with Mom and Dad and Allison. Letters they’ll share with the Wellmans and their kids. Letters they’ll share with close friends. Letters in which they’ll bear testimony and record the adventures of two years spent preaching the gospel.
“In the past we looked at missions like they were something they ask you to do,” Jason says. “Once we got closer to it, we thought, ‘It’s the Lord and the prophet who call you, and their way is the right way to go.’ We’d go to church and come home in such a great mood. We talk to everybody about it.”
That includes the 12- and 13-year-old Sunday School class he and Chris teach together.
“I’m learning more and more about the gospel,” Jason says, “especially when we talk about things like the plan of salvation and patriarchal blessings. It’s a learning experience. And I think a lot about Heavenly Father and how much he loves us. He gave up his son for us. He must have a lot of love for us to do something like that.”
“Being as close as I am to my brother,” Chris continues, “it gives me some understanding of how close I should be to the Savior, who is also my brother. Even though Jason and I will be apart during our missions, we’ll be close to Him. And that will make the bond between us even stronger.”
Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. That’s the something that makes these twins different from a lot of their peers, but exactly the same in what truly counts.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, both Chris and Jason have arrived in Argentina and are faithfully serving their missions.

After the missionaries taught my family about the gospel, my mother, sister, and I were baptized. But my father, my brother, and my other sister didn’t join the Church. I really wanted my father to be a member of the Church. I fasted, and every day I prayed for my father to accept the gospel and be baptized.
I knew that I needed to pray for my father, but I also knew I needed to wait for God’s answer. Sometimes He says, “No, not yet.” Eventually my father did listen and understand, and he was baptized.

For nearly 40 years a man I know and respect greatly operated a store in the coal-mining community of Price, Utah. The store was somewhat akin to a general store, stocking everything from hardware and hunting equipment to furniture and fishing poles and plenty of toys at Christmas. When the store closed on Christmas Eve, there were sometimes toys, bikes, and other goods that had earlier been placed on layaway that had still not been retrieved, often because those who, a month or two earlier, had hoped to give these items as gifts had discovered there was simply no money to pay for them. On numerous occasions this man made a detour or two on his way home on Christmas Eve to anonymously drop off items that would never be paid for but that would also never be forgotten. Such acts and such an attitude are critical components of charity and, I suggest, of true knowledge.

When I was eight, my two cousins and I were sent on horseback to a nearby town to get groceries. Looking back, I am amazed how much confidence my grandmother and my aunt and uncle had in us. The morning skies were bright and clear as we left on our three horses.
In the middle of the prairie, we decided to get off our horses and play marbles. We were so interested in our game that we did not look up to see the dark clouds covering the sky. By the time we realized that a storm was coming, we didn’t even have time to get on our horses. Heavy rain and hail hit us so hard that all we could do was unsaddle the horses and take cover under the saddle blankets. Then our horses ran away.
Horseless, wet, and cold, we started walking as fast as we could toward a nearby town. It was late when we found a home and knocked on the door. The family there dried us off, fed us delicious bean burritos, and then put us to bed in a room with a dirt floor.
My cousins and I woke up in the morning to a bright sun and beautiful sky. A man knocked on the door looking for three lost boys. I will never forget what we saw on our way home—a crowd of people who had been looking for us all night. In front of them all were my loving grandmother and my uncle and aunt. They hugged us and cried, happy they had found their lost children.

Two days before the reception Grandpa and I were sitting in my bedroom drinking apple juice and club soda. Grandpa told me again about the day he married Great-grandma Marie, the civil ceremony in Fremont, and then, the train ride to Salt Lake City.
“Ted and Katie can fly to Salt Lake and get married tomorrow. But it took us three days by train,” Grandpa explained. “So we were married before, to make the trip respectable. It was an expensive marriage for me, but it was worth it.” He smiled at me. “The right things are difficult sometimes, but they’re always worth it.”