Gospel Story Finder

Kwan Wah Kam of Hong Kong first decided to plant a garden to supplement her home storage. She had never attempted to grow her own food but assumed she could learn all she needed to know by reading books.
Although the information she found was helpful, Kwan soon discovered that the greatest lessons she learned came through the process of actually planting the garden. With each additional year of experience, she has learned more about the best soil to use for different seeds, how to distinguish between good seeds and bad seeds, different ways to water and fertilize plants, and the best seasons to grow various vegetables.
The lessons Kwan learned were not limited to gardening alone, however. One evening, a terrible storm threatened to destroy her garden. In the morning, she was surprised to discover that the plants were not damaged, but instead, grew stronger from the additional water.
“From that experience, I learned that with faith in God, we can become stronger as we face our trials and difficulties with courage,” Kwan says. “The blessings I have received from gardening are both temporal and spiritual.”

While in Germany, I attended a series of lectures delivered by a prominent professor at the University of Regensburg, one of which was on chiasmus (kiazmus) in Matthew and Mark. Chiasmus is an ancient literary art form, often used in the Bible. A chiastic passage is one that is arranged so that the first element in the passage parallels the last, the second parallels the next to the last, and so forth into the center. In his lectures, the professor made several strong statements about the way in which the presence of chiasmus, especially in Matthew, was evidence of Near Eastern rather than Western thought. Shortly after these lectures, I arranged a conference with the professor in his office. My purpose was to show him four of the intricate chiastic passages I had located in the Book of Mormon. (Mosiah 3:18–19, Mosiah 5:10–12; Alma 36, and the book of 1 Ne., for example.) The meeting was brief since this evidence of ancient Near Eastern thought in the Book of Mormon needed little explanation, and the professor, openly frustrated by the inescapability of the conclusion for which he himself had laid the premises, was convinced and had little to say.

“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word,” Mama sang to baby Charlie. The harsh wind howled and blew red dirt through the cracks of the one-room log cabin. Rachel’s whole family couldn’t fall asleep that night. The clock hands pointed straight up to midnight as Papa got up to start a fire and Mama gazed at the dark sky out the window. Rachel closed her eyes tight and tried to fall asleep. Then she heard her mother whisper to her father.
“Look at all this dirt. I miss the green grass and pretty flowers at our old home,” she said. “Remember when I used to pin flowers to my dress? I miss that.”
Rachel missed the flowers at their old house too. Their new cabin didn’t have any flowers growing nearby. In fact, Rachel had noticed only a few little white flowers in all of southern Utah! Mama said they were called sego lilies. Maybe I can find one of those little white flowers tomorrow for Mama! she thought, just before falling asleep.
When sun shone through the window near Rachel’s bed, she knew it was time to get up. She pulled on her dress and tied a ribbon in her hair. She swept the kitchen floor without being asked.
“Thank you for your help, Rachel,” Mama said. “What would I do without you?”
While she did her chores that morning, Rachel tried to think of places she could find a flower for Mama. There has to be at least one flower out here, she thought. But I may have to look everywhere to find it.
She had just finished hanging clothes on the clothesline when she saw her friend Sarah walking toward her. Rachel told Sarah about her plan. With their bonnets tied under their chins, they searched everywhere for something beautiful.
They looked under the wagon. Nothing. They searched through the sagebrush. Nothing. They looked near the edge of the stream. Still nothing.
“Maybe we can find something over there.” Rachel pointed to the field her father was plowing.
The girls walked toward the field. Rachel ran her eyes along the edge from one sagebrush bush to the next. Suddenly she spotted a small white flower. It had three white petals and a purple center. Rachel gasped. It was a sego lily! “Look, Sarah!” she said. “Isn’t that pretty?”
Rachel gently picked the little flower from the red dirt and showed it to Sarah.
“It’s perfect!” Sarah said.
“Mama!” Rachel shouted as they ran toward the cabin. “Look what we found!”
Mama looked up from washing clothes, and Rachel gave her the flower. “Now you have a beautiful flower to pin on your dress.”
“Oh, Rachel. It is beautiful!” her mother said. As she admired the delicate sego lily, tears came to her eyes. She pulled Rachel in for a tight hug. “Let’s put it in some water to keep it fresh.”
As she finished her chores, Rachel kept glancing up at the sego lily. She felt happy every time she looked at it.
In her prayer that night, Rachel thanked Heavenly Father for creating the beautiful flower to grow in the desert. She told Him how happy she was that she found it. Then she climbed into bed. When Papa kissed her goodnight, he said, “What a wonderful surprise, Rachel. You made your mother very happy.”
Then Mama smiled and kissed Rachel on the cheek. “Thank you for finding me a beautiful flower. It reminded me that you’re the most precious gift of all.”

I once visited a mission in southern Europe. I arrived on the day a new missionary was preparing to return home at his own insistence. He had his ticket to leave the next day.

We sat together in the mission president’s home. The missionary told me about his challenging childhood, of learning disorders, of moving from one family to another. He spoke sincerely of his inability to learn a new language and adapt to a new culture. Then he added, “Brother Andersen, I don’t even know if God loves me.” As he said those words, I felt a sure and forceful feeling come into my spirit: “He does know I love him. He knows it.”

I let him continue for a few more minutes, and then I said, “Elder, I’m sympathetic to much of what you’ve said, but I must correct you on one thing: you do know God loves you. You know He does.”

As I said those words to him, the same Spirit that had spoken to me spoke to him. He bowed his head and began to cry. He apologized. “Brother Andersen,” he said, “I do know God loves me; I do know it.” He didn’t know everything, but he knew enough. He knew God loved him. That priceless piece of spiritual knowledge was sufficient for his doubt to be replaced with faith. He found the strength to stay on his mission.

Years ago our young family moved into a home on what was then the edge of development in our community, which afforded a view of the mountains to the east. One Monday morning, just as I finished dressing and was ready to rush out the door to work, our six-year-old son, Craig, came bringing his four-year-old brother, Andrew, into the room by the hand. With determination Craig looked up at me and said, “Dad, yesterday in Primary my teacher told us that if you hold the priesthood, you can move mountains. I told Andy this, and he doesn’t believe me. You hold the priesthood, right, Dad?” Then turning his little body and pointing out the window, he looked back at me and said, “See those mountains over there? Show him, Dad!”
What followed was a sweet experience. How grateful I was for young sons who were beginning a lifetime of learning about the priesthood.

Now listen to Salina’s letter:
“Last year in seminary we were taught about Joseph Smith. Towards the end of the year, we had a spiritual lesson that has impacted the rest of my life. Through all of his experiences, he never once failed to stand as a witness.
“As I sat listening, I asked myself over and over if I could be that strong. My testimony was strengthened that day as the Spirit manifested to me that the Church was true and Joseph Smith was a true prophet. If I was faced with trials as he was, with the Lord’s help I could be just as strong. So I made a commitment that day that I would always stand as a witness. If Joseph Smith could do it, so can I!”

Joy and Jeff Young learned the importance of having adequate resources when they endured 14 months of unemployment. “Throughout the years of our marriage,” Joy explains, “we had tried to follow the prophets’ counsel to be prepared for the unexpected. We had built a basic food supply. … I was also grateful that I had developed my homemaking skills.”

Joy and Jeff supported each other and relied heavily on the Lord. “I found that it is impossible to stockpile spiritual strength,” Joy says. “Even though I had a strong foundation in the gospel, I had to pray and read the scriptures daily to maintain my faith” (“Surviving Unemployment,” Ensign, February 1991, 42, 44).

I remember loading up our children in a station wagon and driving to Los Angeles. There were at least nine of us in the car, and we would invariably get lost. Instead of getting angry, we laughed. Every time we made a wrong turn, we laughed harder.
Getting lost was not an unusual occurrence for us. Once while heading south to Cedar City, Utah, we took a wrong turn and didn’t realize it until two hours later when we saw the “Welcome to Nevada” signs. We didn’t get angry. We laughed, and as a result, anger and resentment rarely resulted. Our laughter created cherished memories for us.

On the island of Sardinia, Antonio Mura turned the missionaries away twice, refusing to come to the door. The third time the missionaries came, they told the person who answered the door that there was a man in the house who needed to hear the message they brought. They knew this, they said, because the Spirit of the Lord had guided them to his door three times. Antonio Mura finally listened to the gospel—and found “it was like a window opening on a beautiful landscape I hadn’t known was there.” He “devoured” the Book of Mormon, he recalls. Since his baptism in 1973, he has served in a number of leadership positions including district president.

Many years ago, I received an assignment from the First Presidency to incorporate the Church in all of the countries of the western hemisphere. In the spring of one year I flew to El Salvador. At my own expense I took Sister Howard with me. We were looking for a lawyer to draft articles of incorporation and to help us register the Church in that land. We went to the U.S. Embassy hoping they would recommend someone but instead were given a long list of almost one hundred attorneys with international corporate experience and no recommendation.
Leaving the embassy, we went out and stood on the sidewalk and read through the three-page list. About halfway through the second page we saw the name Jose Enrique Rivera. We could pronounce it. He seemed to be as good a candidate as any. We found a taxi and gave the driver the address of his office in the Pan American Building.
It was a time of civil unrest in El Salvador. When we arrived at the address we found the building in ruins. It was bombed, blackened, and empty. There was no forwarding address. I was disappointed and began to leaf through the list looking for another lawyer.My wife asked me what I was doing. When I told her she said, "but what if you were inspired to pick his name the first time?" I didn't want to admit that I wasn't so we went to a neighboring store and asked what had happened to the Pan American building and it's tenants. We were met with suspicion. "How should I know?" the proprietor said. After several inquiries in several places, we finally found someone who thought Mr. Rivera had moved into a building in a distant part of the city.
It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. I grumbled that a lawyer was a lawyer and that anyone on the list could do the job equally as well. My wife ignored me. It took us the better part of the day to locate Jose Enrique Rivera. We finally did. We walked into his office unannounced in the early evening and asked for an appointment. I explained to a secretary what we wanted. She asked us to have a seat. We did.
Latin lawyers are not noted for receiving their clients promptly and I expected that it would be midnight before he would see us. However, within five minutes we were ushered into his office. I introduced myself and explained what we needed. He reached into the lower right hand drawer of his desk and pulled out a complete ready to record set of Articles of Incorporation for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We were stunned!
Mr. Rivera explained that a few years before he met a missionary on a plane who told him that eventually the Church would come to El Salvador. He had felt impressed to draft some articles. When they were finished he kept them in his drawer feeling that someday someone would want them.
And any time I am discouraged or wonder if God is in his heaven or if he is aware of his children or their needs, I look back on that afternoon and know that all is well and that He is in charge. If He wants me to know more He will tell me. If he wants to endure more, I pray that I may in some small measure rise to his expectations.

Ellen’s friend Lara broke her leg, and it hurt. Ellen and her mom went to the store and bought a coloring book for Lara. Thinking that Jesus Christ would do something more to cheer up her friend, Ellen asked if they could buy some fingernail polish for Lara, too. Ellen was sure that if she painted Lara’s toenails, it would cheer her up while she had to wear the clunky cast. It did. Lara said it tickled when her toenails were painted, and she thinks that Ellen is the best friend she could have.

Several years ago as I began my career with a large corporation, I heard rumors here and there about the padded expense accounts and white collar pilfering, but had no concrete evidence to make accusations. Corporate headquarters had their own suspicions and called for an audit unbeknownst to the managers and sales staff. For the next few months, they carefully perused our reports, files, expense accounts, hotel receipts and even restaurant tabs, verifying with customers and other establishments each and every detail of their employee's expenditures. Pursuant to their findings, a meeting was called for managers and sales representatives from all over the nation. The meeting convened, individuals were interviewed, evidence was presented and the punishments given. Some were fined large sums of money while others lost their bonuses or were demoted. I remember sitting there in a numbed state of disbelief for my colleagues and friends, but felt an inner peace. Toward the end of this "Corporate Courtroom," very few were found to be in total compliance with company accounting practices. One was me! Those who were aware of my religion even presented me with the "Donny Osmond Good Guy Award" to bring a lighter moment to the austere occasion. In the elevator as we were leaving, one man who had been found guilty, looked at me somberly and said: "What I wouldn't give to be in your shoes." I don't know when I have been more grateful for the teachings of the gospel and the courage to live them.

The recent e-mail subject line brought me sad news: “Funeral for Wendy Knaupp.” As I brushed away the tears, I thought of the day more than 40 years ago when my missionary companion and I met Wendy and Paul Knaupp near a flower shop inside the Frankfurt train station. A young American couple in Germany on military duty, they were far from home, expecting their first baby. Because our mission president had just urged us to be “every moment a missionary,” we struck up a conversation with them.
As we taught them the missionary discussions, I was impressed with the light in Wendy’s soul. She was cheerful and bright and spiritually very alive. She sensed the meaning of the Restoration with sure instincts. It was a privilege to be close enough to watch her testimony grow and watch that light in her face increase.
More than 30 years later, Wendy recalled her first visit with us: “I will always remember the feeling I had when I first heard the Joseph Smith story! I can picture our tiny upstairs German apartment that was probably as big as our bedroom today, with us sitting on the edge of the bed/couch [facing the missionaries]. I remember feeling marvel and relief. I had always felt that there must be something like that out there somewhere. It didn’t make sense that God would leave us to blindly stumble around as we were so obviously doing. … It seemed so right and I believed it.”
Soon after deciding to be baptized, however, Wendy and Paul heard from a family member who criticized the Church’s policy about who could receive the priesthood. They became confused and discouraged. They said we shouldn’t visit them again—except once more to say good-bye. We didn’t know how to answer their questions but knew we had one last chance. As we talked I felt prompted to read with them a scripture I had recently noticed in my personal study, the story of Peter and Cornelius in Acts 10–11. That night I realized a fulfillment of the Lord’s promise to missionaries: “It shall be given you in the very hour, yea, in the very moment, what ye shall say … [and] the Holy Ghost shall [bear] record unto all things whatsoever ye shall say” (D&C 100:6, 8). We all felt a spirit of peace as we prayed together.
Years later Wendy said of this same experience: “I don’t remember what they told us or what we talked about, but that light … the Spirit … was back and I knew that it was true, and that even though I didn’t understand everything completely, the message was still true and we needed to accept it, and that at some future time we would come to understand.”
Paul and Wendy were baptized. Soon they were sealed in the temple. Amid the normal trials of family life, they raised five children who eventually all became active in the Church. Some served missions. Paul was a schoolteacher. Paul and Wendy sang beautiful duets in church together. Wendy led her ward choir for years. They loved the temple and came to know for themselves “the joy of the saints” (Enos 1:3).

During this past Christmas season, news correspondent Walter Cronkite participated with the Tabernacle Choir and the Orchestra at Temple Square in their Christmas concert. “He … spent 19 years as the anchorman for the ‘CBS Evening News.’ … [Mr. Cronkite] earned the reputation as ‘the most trusted man in America.’” When asked how he would want to be remembered, his response was, “Oh, as a fellow who did his best.” Over his distinguished career, Mr. Cronkite concluded each news report with the phrase, “And that’s the way it is.” Tonight let’s talk about the way it is.
At a recent stake conference, the stake president shared a story with me. He asked his son what was discussed at a recent Sunday evening fireside. The young man replied, “Raising the bar.” He then informed his father that he was weary of the theme because it was the subject of every recent class and meeting. My first thought was, “That’s great; the prophet’s message is being discussed, heard, and acted upon.” My second thought related to the young man’s feelings concerning repetitive reminders. Repetitive reminders can be an irritant when we are trying hard to do our best.
As a youth I would tune out my mother’s repetitive reminder: “David, remember who you are.” The reminder always brought some interesting comments from my friends. Irritation set in when my father repeatedly pointed out President George Albert Smith’s home as we traveled along 13th East in Salt Lake City and reminded me that a living prophet of God who loved me lived there. Today I am most grateful for those repetitive reminders.
The term “raising the bar” is often used in the world of sports to describe achieving higher levels of performance. The use of a sports metaphor may help describe why it is critical to respond to what President Hinckley asked us to do last conference when he said: “I hope that our young men, and our young women, will rise to the challenge [Elder Ballard] has set forth. We must raise the bar on the worthiness and qualifications of those who go into the world as ambassadors of the Lord Jesus Christ.”
A year ago we experienced a wonderful Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City. For most Olympic events, athletes must attain minimum levels of achievement in order to qualify to compete. Our lives are similar to the Olympic qualification process in that we need to achieve and maintain standards in order to participate in the important spiritual events of life. World-class athletes have a disciplined daily routine. They master the skills demanded by their sport. Only then can they qualify to participate in the contest. And that’s the way it is.
Young men, if you want to be world class and qualified to be participants in the really important events of life like priesthood ordinations, blessings of the temple, and missionary service, you too must develop a disciplined daily routine of honesty, virtue, study, and prayer. And that’s the way it is.
Olympians know and understand the rules that govern their sport. Broken rules can bring severe penalties and even disqualification. At the last Olympics, failure to observe rules associated with performance-enhancing drugs brought medal forfeiture. One of the harshest penalties levied on an athlete occurs in the game of golf. Just signing a scorecard with an incorrect score entered for any one of the 18 holes brings disqualification. There is zero tolerance. It doesn’t matter if the error benefits or hurts the individual; the penalty is the same—disqualification.
After more than 50 years, I can still hear the words of a tournament official: “Sorry, son, we must disqualify you for signing an incorrect scorecard.” My disqualification came as a result of my mentioning to the official that I needed to correct my score. For weeks I said to myself: “Why didn’t I remain silent? Besides, the error was an innocent mistake. The total score was correct.” Though my performance was good enough to find me in the winner’s circle, I left the awards presentation empty-handed. And that’s the way it is.
My young friends, rules are important, even critical. In life there are also penalties, perhaps even disqualification, if rules are broken. Our participation in life’s important events may be jeopardized if we fail to follow the rules contained in our Father in Heaven’s commands. Involvement in sexual sin, illegal drugs, civil disobedience, or abuse could keep us on the sidelines at key times. You would do well to view rules as safety restraints, not as chains that bind. Obedience builds strength. And that’s the way it is.
In 1834 the Prophet Joseph Smith recorded, “No month ever found me more busily engaged than November; but as my life consisted of activity and unyielding exertions, I made this my rule: When the Lord commands, do it.”
For some, sports are a business. The difference between winning and losing can be a substantial amount of money. Athletes hire agents to handle their business affairs. Agents, personal trainers, coaches, and managers assist the athlete to enhance performance.
Our Father in Heaven has provided His precious young sons with a superb support team more than equal to the one used by the athlete. Our parents make superb agents. They look after our interests. They are not only interested in us, but because they love us, they are terrific consultants as well.
The Apostle Paul in teaching the Colossians said, “Children, obey your parents in all things: for this is well pleasing unto the Lord” (Colossians 3:20). In addition to our parents, think about the vast support network that has been provided to enhance our spiritual performance. Our bishops serve as personal trainers and use their sacred priesthood keys to bless our lives. Seminary teachers, quorum advisers, and home teachers round out the support team which has been assembled by the Lord to help us prepare for the big games of life. As you follow and obey, your performance will steadily improve. When the Lord commands, do it. And that’s the way it is.
One of the defining differences between the good and the great is what sports psychologists call focus. Competitors who have the ability to set aside the unimportant and be completely attentive to that which is critical are able to improve their performance. Focus is a critical success factor.
I overheard a conversation between golfing great Arnold Palmer and a young caddie he was using for the first time. The young caddie, while handing Mr. Palmer his club, told him the distance to the flag was 165 yards, there was an unseen stream on the left, and a long and treacherous rough on the right. In a very kind but firm way, Mr. Palmer reminded the young man that the only information he required was the distance to the hole. He further suggested he didn’t want to lose focus by worrying about what was on the right or left.
It is easy to lose sight of the really important objectives of life. There is much to distract us. Some are floundering in the water hazards on the left, and others are finding the long, treacherous rough on the right insurmountable. Safety and success come when focus is maintained on the important opportunities found by driving the ball straight down the middle—priesthood advancement, temple worthiness, and missionary service. And that’s the way it is.
May our Father in Heaven bless each one of you. I testify to one and all that Jesus is the Christ. He lives, and His love for us is perfect. I’m grateful for a great prophet who helps us understand that when the Lord commands, do it, because that’s the way it is. In the name of our Savior and Redeemer, Jesus Christ, amen.

One other perspective. Some years ago I knew a young woman whose life kind of wandered off the fairway and into the rough. She made some serious mistakes, but repentance and the Savior could have helped her come back. However, in utter frustration, her mother once said to her, "You are damaged goods! No worthy priesthood holder will ever want you!" The girl burst into tears. I'm sorry to say that she believed her mother, and she went on living as if she really were damaged beyond repair. If anyone today feels even a little as she did, or if you have a friend who does, please know that no matter what damage you have known, your condition need not be permanent. You are God's literal son or daughter. He loves you and He can completely heal any damage. If you need to repent or you need to forgive, you will discover that because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, you can learn from your mistakes without being condemned by them.

Need an idea for a Super Saturday activity? How about trying what the seminary students in the Thatcher Arizona Stake did? They had notified stake members that they would be coming. Then they spent the morning collecting donations of food and clothing for the homeless and needy.
All in all, the 300 young people who participated collected, sorted, and delivered several tons of usable clothing and bedding, and a ton and a half of food—enough to provide 4,000 meals.
“It made us feel so good inside to know we were doing something to help so many people!” said one of the participants. “It was really neat to see such well-organized chaos,” added another.

Captain Simpson, who is also a flight paramedic, knows from his own experience how effective the bears can be with children. Twelve-year-old Nicole Wallace had to be flown by helicopter from one hospital to another. She was bleeding internally from a lacerated kidney and liver suffered in an automobile accident. She refused to let go of her bear at any time during the transfer from hospital to helicopter to hospital. She finally gave up the bear just before undergoing surgery.
Speaking about the accident, Nicole says, “The car was badly smashed, and the paramedics had to take out the back seat before they could lift me out of the rear window. When they put me in the ambulance, they gave me this cute little bear,” Nicole said. “It kept me from getting scared. I would hold on to it, so I wouldn’t hurt so bad. In the hospital it stayed right by me in my bed.”

It was our first Christmas away from home. Elders Heemeyer, Bright, Kehoe, Schulze, Westover, and I had all gathered in one apartment to share Christmas Eve. We hoped that spending the evening together as a missionary district might make it easier to be away from home.
It was about 5:30 in the afternoon, and we were all a little discouraged. Setting up appointments with investigators and finding new people to teach had been difficult recently. “Come back after Christmas,” everyone said.
After talking for a few minutes, Elder Schulze suggested we go caroling to the homes of our investigators and some of the members. We all thought it was a great idea, and we planned a short program. We would start with two hymns and a spiritual thought. Then we would conclude with another hymn and a prayer. The whole program would be only 20 minutes long, but we all felt pleased with it.
Before we left, we knelt to pray. Then we set out into the cold night on the south side of Chicago, Illinois, in the United States.
Our first stop was the apartment of a member whose daughter and two grandchildren were investigating the Church. We certainly weren’t the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, but for six elders we sounded pretty good. After we shared our program, the family told us our “gift” was the best they had ever received.
Soon we were at a different apartment presenting our program to another family. At every stop, our enthusiasm and joy grew. We kept hearing the same response: “This is the best gift ever. You really brought the Christmas spirit.”
That night I came to better understand the true meaning of Christmas—that sharing and serving others are what Jesus Christ’s ministry is all about. And while we were busy in the service of others and of the Savior, home didn’t really seem so far away.

At the bottom of a blue, topless sky an angry prairie wind slashed at the flanks of a big red-rock mesa and leapt over its rim like a giant ocean wave.
A twelve-year-old Navajo boy was seated against an ancient, gnarled tree that grew out of the split stone at the top of the mesa. He squinted as he carved a figure from a piece of wood. Suddenly a voice called out of the dirt-laden wind, “Billy Walking Horse.”
The boy looked up and saw his grandfather, White Cloud, approaching. “I’m here, Grandfather,” he answered.
White Cloud, his long white hair streaming in the wind, stopped beside the youth. He was Billy’s father’s father. Billy had enjoyed the company of the old man with the claylike face ever since he had come the week before. What Billy had especially enjoyed was the long drive to town with his grandfather in the old pickup truck. White Cloud had sung tribal songs, told stories, and laughed. Billy had missed the sound of laughter in his own home. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever hearing it. What intrigued the boy most, though, was the glow in Grandfather’s eyes. Billy wondered why his father’s eyes didn’t shine like that—or his mother’s.
“What is this you carve, Billy Walking Horse?” the old Indian inquired as he sat down cross-legged beside the boy. Billy held up a carving of a rearing wild stallion. White Cloud took it carefully and regarded it closely. “It looks alive! Who taught you this great skill?”
“No one, Grandfather,” the youth responded. “It’s like something is inside the wood, just waiting for me to let it out. Sometimes it’s a bird or a rabbit or a horse. I just have to whittle it free of the wood around it.”
Grandfather studied the boy and the horse, then said thoughtfully, “This talent you have is a gift from another of your fathers, perhaps a great-great-great-grandfather. It is a gift of love to you.”
Billy looked from the horse to his grandfather and said slowly, “I wish one of them had a gift to give to my father, one that would take away his pain.”
White Cloud sighed. “I, too, have noticed this pain. Such is the lot of many of our people. They are not alone in their suffering. Our forefathers suffered also.”
“But why is life so hard for my father, Grandfather? He’s a good man. It isn’t fair. I don’t understand.”
The old man stood and rested a weathered hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Always remember that heaven is up. It is steeper for some of us than for others. Maybe this is good. It means that some of us will try harder. Then others can take courage from our example, as we must from our fathers.”
White Cloud pointed to the old, gnarled tree that they had been leaning against. “Look. This old tree has not grown without effort. It has cleft that large stone and has become strong. It will stand for a long time—not like a tree that grows in soft earth without struggle and falls in the first little wind. This tree’s roots must be as deep as ours.”
Billy looked into Grandfather’s eyes. “You keep talking about our forefathers. Why? And why is the light I see in your eyes brighter whenever you speak of them?”
White Cloud smiled. “The wish you spoke of, a gift to your father from his fathers? There is such a gift. That is why I came to visit you and your family.”
“What is this gift, Grandfather?” Billy asked excitedly. “Where did you get it?”
The smile in Grandfather’s eye’s grew even brighter.
“The gift is a book, a record written by our forefathers. It was given to me by two young men from far away. I came to share this wonderful book with my family.”
“What book, Grandfather?”
“It is called the Book of Mormon. Its knowledge, its light, is the gift of our fathers to us. It says that they labored diligently to write it for us [2 Ne. 25:23]. It is our book!”
Billy’s eyes widened. “It was really written for us?”
“Yes, Billy Walking Horse—for me, for you, for your mother, for your father,” the old man affirmed. “It is for all our people, whether they be called Bolivians, Indians, Polynesians, or some other name.”
The wind whipped up the side of the mesa again, moaning as it swirled dust across an outcropping of jagged rocks. White Cloud motioned toward the sight. “The Book of Mormon speaks to us as a voice ‘crying … out of the dust’ [Moro. 10:27] to give us strength and courage, hope and confidence.”
“What does it say, this written voice?” Billy asked.
“It speaks of great promises and an even greater destiny that is our sacred birthright if we, like this old tree, master the storm. Great destinies, Billy Walking Horse, require great effort and bring great reward, in this life and the life to come. Our worldwide seed, being one family, shall blossom as the rose. Such is the promise, and so it shall be.”
Billy Walking Horse asked eagerly, “When will you talk to my father about these things, Grandfather? About this voice that cries out of the dust? I want to see the light I see in your eyes and hear the laughter I hear in your heart in his eyes and heart also.”
“You will, Billy Walking Horse. We shall all read this great record, this gift from our fathers—the Book of Mormon—together.”

Let me tell you a story of one of our sons.

Our third son is Tyler. Of our six children, I wouldn’t rank Tyler as the smartest or maybe not even near the top of our kids’ smart chart. In high school, he never got quite as good of grades as most of our other children. When he got to college, because of his less-than-superior high school academic experience, he realized that he was behind. In some ways, he hit a brick wall. Tyler could have done two things. He could have given up, or he could try to climb the wall and get over it. Fortunately, he did the latter. He decided that he needed to work extra hard to make up for lost time. He did and, while his grades weren’t all straight A’s, his GPA rose considerably. When it was time to take the Dental Aptitude Test (he wanted to be a dentist), he studied 12-15 hours a day for three months and ended up scoring in the 99th percentile in the country. He has now finished dental school and this summer will start a pediatric dental residency at one of the most prestigious hospitals in the country.