Gospel Story Finder

My dad was what I’d call an urban farmer. No, we didn’t raise crops in a metropolis. We built swimming pools.
The problem with the swimming pool business in Philadelphia is that it’s impossible to build a pool in a Pennsylvania winter. That meant Dad would do all the work he could between April and October, and then hope he had enough money to last us through the winter. Dad would pick up odd jobs to make ends meet.
I think I was about 14 or 15 when I helped Dad deliver salt. During breakfast one snowy day after early-morning seminary, Dad asked me if I would help him after school. Since basketball season hadn’t started yet, I said I would.
That day we put on our coats and boots and climbed into the truck that was normally used only in the summertime. We drove to the docks on the Delaware River in downtown Philadelphia where Dad pulled over and went into the office. Soon he came out and we drove through the gate and into the yard. Before long, we were loading several bags of road salt onto the back of the truck as snow began to fall.
Off we went, with Dad doing the driving and me doing the navigating. With the addresses and a street map, I tried to plot out the most efficient route for us to take.
We began near the historic area of the city. We drove by the Liberty Bell and into the business district. There wasn’t a place to park, so Dad just stopped the truck in the middle of the road and put on the flashers. We jumped out and carried three bags of salt into a small clock shop.
One of our next stops was a men’s clothing store. Dad made the owner laugh with one of his jokes as we carried the salt through the falling snow. After a few more deliveries, we went into a poorer neighborhood and delivered a single bag of salt to a small deli. The man there spoke with an Italian accent. I carried the salt as Dad talked with the man and had him sign the delivery papers.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in the low-income areas of Philadelphia. There were small grocery stores, laundromats, pawn shops, and hardware stores. And at each of the stops, Dad treated each person with dignity and respect—and often made them laugh.
Several weeks went by, and each afternoon delivery brought new insights, new observations, and new talks with Dad. We talked about all kinds of things—world events, Church doctrine, sports. Once Dad tried to talk about what kinds of girls I liked, but I wouldn’t let him. So he changed the subject.
There were lots of things I learned the winter I delivered salt. I learned that Dad was willing to “dig a few ditches,” as he would say, to provide for our family. I learned you can actually talk to your dad about things that really matter—things like testimony, friends, and relationships.
But looking back, one of the most important lessons I learned is that we truly are the “salt of the earth.” Dad made everyone smile despite the weather or their life’s status. It didn’t matter if we were delivering to a woman managing a laundromat in the slums, or a man who owned a tailor shop in uptown Philly. Dad cheered all of them with his jokes, his attitude, and the respect he showed them. At least for that winter, Dad was the salt of Philadelphia in more ways than one.

Now, to a different but related matter.
Last April in our priesthood meeting, I announced a new program. I spoke of the large numbers of our missionaries from South America, Mexico, the Philippines, and other areas. They respond to calls and serve with their North American brothers and sisters. They develop strong testimonies. They learn a new way of life. They are highly effective because they speak their native tongues and know the cultures of their native lands. They enjoy a wonderful season of hard and dedicated work.
Then they are released to go back home. Their families are living in poverty, and many of them fall back into the same situation from which they came, unable to move because of a lack of skills and the consequent difficulty in finding good employment.
I spoke to you of the Perpetual Emigration Fund, which was established in the pioneer era of the Church to assist the poor in coming from England and Europe. A revolving fund was established from which small loans were made, which made it possible for 30,000 to emigrate from their native lands and gather in Zion.
I told you we would apply the same principle and create what would be known as the Perpetual Education Fund. Out of the funds which would be donated by our people, and not from tithing funds, we would create a corpus, the earnings from which would be used to assist our young brethren and sisters in attending school to qualify themselves for better employment. They would develop skills whereby they could earn sufficient to take good care of their families and rise above the poverty level that they and their prior generations had known.
We had nothing in the fund at the time it was planned. But moving forward in faith, we established an organization, modest in its dimensions, to implement that which we felt was necessary. I am pleased to report that the money has come in, tens of thousands of dollars, hundreds of thousands of dollars, even millions. This has come from generous members of the Church who love the Lord and wish to assist the less fortunate of His people in rising in the economic world. We now have a substantial sum. It is not all that we need. We hope that these contributions will continue. The size of the corpus will determine the number who can be helped.
Now, six months later, I wish to give you a report of what has been accomplished. First, we called Elder John K. Carmack, who served so well in the First Quorum of the Seventy and who became an emeritus Seventy with this conference. He is an accomplished attorney, a man of sound judgment in business, a man of great ability. He has been appointed managing director, and though he is retired from the work of the Seventy, he will give his full time to the prosecution of this endeavor.
Elder Richard E. Cook of the Seventy, who likewise has become emeritus, will join him in looking after the finances. Elder Cook was formerly assistant controller of the Ford Motor Company, a man experienced in worldwide finance, a most capable executive, and a man who loves the Lord and the Lord’s children.
We have worn out these brethren on one side, and now have turned them over to wear them out on the other side.
They have associated with them Brother Rex Allen, an expert in organization and training, and Brother Chad Evans, who has vast experience in programs of advanced education.
All contribute their time and expertise without compensation.
The program is up and running. These brethren have been very careful to get it off to a proper start with sound governing principles. We have restricted the area in which it will operate initially, but this area will be expanded as we have the means to do so.
These brethren have gone to work to utilize the existing organization of the Church. The program is priesthood based, and that is why it will succeed. It begins with the bishops and the stake presidents. It involves the Church Educational System, the Employment Services offices, and others who work together in a marvelous spirit of cooperation. It was first implemented in Peru, Chile, and Mexico—areas where the number of returned missionaries is large and the need is great. The local leaders have been enthusiastic and committed. The beneficiaries are learning true principles of self-reliance. Their vision of their potential is greatly broadened. They are selecting good local schools for training and are using, to the extent possible, their personal, family, and other local resources. They are appreciative and willing and deeply grateful for the opportunity afforded them. Let me give you two or three vignettes.
The first is that of a young man who served in the Bolivia Cochabamba Mission. He lives with his faithful mother and nieces in a poor neighborhood. Their little home has a concrete floor, one lightbulb, the roof leaks, and the window is broken. He was a successful missionary. He says:
“My mission was the best thing that I have been able to do in my life. I learned to be obedient to the commandments and to be patient in my afflictions. I also learned some English and to manage my money, my time, and my skills better.
“Then, when I finished my mission, going home was difficult. My American companions went back to a university. But there is a lot of poverty in our country. It is very difficult to get an education. My mother does her best, but she can’t help us. She has suffered so much, and I am her hope.
“When I learned of the Perpetual Education Fund, I felt so happy. The prophet recognized our efforts. I was filled with joy. … There was a possibility I could study, become self-reliant, have a family, help my mother.
“I will study accounting at a local school where I can study and work. It is a short course, just three years long. I have to keep working as a janitor, but that is OK. Once I graduate and get a job in accounting, I will work toward higher education in international business.
“This is our opportunity, and we cannot fail. The Lord trusts us. I have read many times in the Book of Mormon the words the Lord told the prophets, that as we keep the commandments, we would prosper in the land. This is being fulfilled. I am so grateful to God for this great opportunity to receive what my brothers and sisters did not have, to help my family, to accomplish my goals. And I am excited to repay the loan to see others be so blessed. I know the Lord will bless me as I do it.”
Now, isn’t that wonderful? Now another. A young man in Mexico City was approved to receive a loan of approximately $1,000 to make it possible for him to attend school to become a diesel mechanic. He has said: “My promise is to give my best in order to feel satisfied with my efforts. I know this program is valuable and important. Because of this, I am trying to take maximum advantage of this for the future. I will be able to serve and help the poor and help counsel my family members. I thank my Father in Heaven for this beautiful and inspired program.”
A loan was recently approved for another young man from Mexico City, who served in the Nevada Las Vegas Mission. He desires to become a dental technician. His training will require 15 months of dedicated work. He says, “My promise upon finishing my studies at the technical school with the help of the Perpetual Education Fund is to repay the loan so that other returned missionaries can enjoy these blessings.”

I went sledding with my family. We had a lot of fun. There were lots of kids on the hill. I noticed that a girl was going too fast and was going to hit the fence. As she hit the fence, I ran down the hill to help her because I knew she must be hurt. She wasn’t hurt badly but she was scared and crying. No one else was around to help her, so I helped her get off her sled and made sure she was all right. Later that night when I went to bed I had a warm feeling in my heart. I knew it was the Holy Ghost telling me I had done something good and that Heavenly Father was happy with me.

My message is to those who are converts to the Church. More than half the members of the Church today chose to be baptized after the age of eight. So you are not the exception in the Church. To you I wish to say how much the Lord loves you and trusts you. And, even more, I wish to tell you how much He depends on you.
You felt His love at least to some degree when you were baptized. Years ago I took a young man, 20 years of age, into the waters of baptism. My companion and I had taught him the gospel. He was the first in his family to hear the message of the restored gospel. He asked to be baptized. The testimony of the Spirit made him want to follow the example of the Savior, who was baptized by John the Baptist even though He was without sin.
As I brought that young man up out of the waters of baptism, he surprised me by throwing his arms around my neck and whispering in my ear, tears streaming down his face, “I’m clean, I’m clean.” That same young man, after we laid our hands on his head with the authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood and conferred on him the Holy Ghost, said to me, “When you spoke those words, I felt something like fire go down from the top of my head through my body, all the way to my feet.”
Your experience will have been unique to you, but to some degree you felt the magnitude of the blessing which came to you. Since then, you have felt the reality of the promises made to you and the promises you made. You have felt the cleansing that came from your baptism, because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. And you have felt the change in your heart as the Holy Ghost has become your companion. Your desires have begun to change.
When someone tells me that he or she is a convert to the Church, I ask, “Has anyone else in your family accepted the gospel?” When the answer is “Yes,” there follows an excited description of the happy miracle in the life of a parent or a brother or sister or a grandparent. There is joy in knowing that someone in his or her family is sharing the blessing and the happiness. When the answer is “No, so far I am the only member,” he or she will almost always speak of parents, saying something like this, “No, not yet. But I am still trying.” And you can tell from the sound in the voice that the convert will never stop trying, not ever.
The Lord knew you would have those feelings when He allowed you to receive the covenants which are blessing your life. He knew you would feel a desire for your family to share the blessings you felt coming into the Church. Even more, He knew how that desire would increase when you came to know the joy of the promises He makes to us in sacred temples. There, for those who qualify, He lets us make covenants with Him. We promise to obey His commandments. And He promises us, if we are faithful, that we may live with Him in glory in families forever in the world to come.
In His loving-kindness, He knew you would have a desire to be bound forever to your parents and their parents. You may have had a grandfather like mine, who always seemed to treasure my visits. I thought I was his favorite grandchild until my cousins told me they felt the same way. He is gone now. All my grandparents and their ancestors have died. Many of your ancestors died never having the chance to accept the gospel and to receive the blessings and promises you have received. The Lord is fair and He is loving. And so He prepared for you and me a way for us to have the desire of our hearts to offer to our ancestors all the blessings He has offered us.
The plan to make that possible has been in place from the beginning. The Lord gave promises to His children long ago. The very last book of the Old Testament is the book of the prophet Malachi. And the last words are a sweet promise and a stern warning:
“Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord:
“And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse.”
Some of those words are crucial to understand. The great and dreadful day of the Lord is the end of the world. Jehovah, the Messiah, will come in glory. The wicked will all be destroyed. We live in the last days. Time could be running out for us to do what we have promised to do.
It is important to know why the Lord promised to send Elijah. Elijah was a great prophet with great power given him by God. He held the greatest power God gives to His children: he held the sealing power, the power to bind on earth and have it bound in heaven. God gave it to the Apostle Peter. And the Lord kept His promise to send Elijah. Elijah came to the Prophet Joseph Smith on April 3, 1836, just after the dedication of the Kirtland Temple, the first temple built after the Restoration of the gospel. Joseph described the sacred moment:
“Another great and glorious vision burst upon us; for Elijah the prophet, who was taken to heaven without tasting death, stood before us, and said:
“Behold, the time has fully come, which was spoken of by the mouth of Malachi—testifying that he [Elijah] should be sent, before the great and dreadful day of the Lord come—
“To turn the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the children to the fathers, lest the whole earth be smitten with a curse—
“Therefore, the keys of this dispensation are committed into your hands; and by this ye may know that the great and dreadful day of the Lord is near, even at the doors.”
As you came into the Church, you have felt your heart being turned toward family, both those who are living and those who are in the spirit world. The Lord provided another vision to help you know what to do with those feelings.
After Joseph Smith, the Lord called other prophets to lead His Church. One was Joseph F. Smith. He saw in vision what happened in the spirit world when the Savior appeared there between the time of His death and His Resurrection. President Smith saw the joy of the spirits when they learned that the Savior had broken the bands of death and because of His Atonement they could be resurrected. And he saw the Savior organize His servants among the spirits to preach His gospel to every spirit and offer the chance to choose the covenants and the blessings which are offered to you and which you want for your ancestors. All are to have that chance.
President Smith also saw the leaders the Savior called to take the gospel to Heavenly Father’s children in the spirit world. He named some of them: Father Adam, Mother Eve, Noah, Abraham, Ezekiel, Elijah, prophets we know from the Book of Mormon, and some from the last days, including Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, John Taylor, and Wilford Woodruff. Think of the power of those missionaries to teach the gospel and to touch the hearts of your ancestors. It is not surprising that Wilford Woodruff said while he lived that he believed few, if any, of the ancestors of the Latter-day Saints in the spirit world would choose to reject the message of salvation when they heard it.
Many of your deceased ancestors will have received a testimony that the message of the missionaries is true. When you received that testimony you could ask the missionaries for baptism. But those who are in the spirit world cannot. The ordinances you so cherish are offered only in this world. Someone in this world must go to a holy temple and accept the covenants on behalf of the person in the spirit world. That is why we are under obligation to find the names of our ancestors and ensure that they are offered by us what they cannot receive there without our help.
For me, knowing that turns my heart not only to my ancestors who wait but to the missionaries who teach them. I will see those missionaries in the spirit world, and so will you. Think of a faithful missionary standing there with those he has loved and taught who are your ancestors. Picture as I do the smile on the face of that missionary as you walk up to him and your ancestors whom he converted but could not baptize or have sealed to family until you came to the rescue. I do not know what the protocol will be in such a place, but I imagine arms thrown around your neck and tears of gratitude.
If you can imagine the smile of the missionary and your ancestor, think of the Savior when you meet Him. You will have that interview. He paid the price of the sins of you and all of Heavenly Father’s spirit children. He is Jehovah. He sent Elijah. He conferred the powers of the priesthood to seal and to bless out of perfect love. And He has trusted you by letting you hear the gospel in your lifetime, giving you the chance to accept the obligation to offer it to those of your ancestors who did not have your priceless opportunity. Think of the gratitude He has for those who pay the price in work and faith to find the names of their ancestors and who love them and Him enough to offer them eternal life in families, the greatest of all the gifts of God. He offered them an infinite sacrifice. He will love and appreciate those who paid whatever price they could to allow their ancestors to choose His offer of eternal life.
Because your heart has already been turned, the price may not seem high. You begin by doing simple things. Write down what you already know about your family. You will need to write down the names of parents and their parents with the dates of birth or death or marriage. When you can, you will want to record the places. Some of that you will know from memory. But you can also ask relatives. They may even have some certificates of births, marriages, or deaths. Make copies and organize them. If you learn stories about their lives, write them down and keep them. You are not just gathering names. Those you never met in life will become friends you love. Your heart will be bound to theirs forever.
You can start searching in the first few generations going back in time. From that you will identify many of your ancestors who need your help. Someone in your own ward or branch of the Church has been called to help you prepare those names for the temple. There they can be offered the covenants which will free them from their spirit prisons and bind them in families—your family—forever.
Your opportunities and the obligations they create are remarkable in the whole history of the world. There are more temples across the earth than there have ever been. More people in all the world have felt the Spirit of Elijah move them to record the identities and facts of their ancestors’ lives. There are more resources to search out your ancestors than there have ever been in the history of the world. The Lord has poured out knowledge about how to make that information available worldwide through technology that a few years ago would have seemed a miracle.
With those opportunities there comes greater obligation to keep our trust with the Lord. Where much is given, much is required. After you find the first few generations, the road will become more difficult. The price will become greater. As you go back in time, the records become less complete. As others of your family search out ancestors, you will discover that the ancestor you find has already been offered the full blessings of the temple. Then you will have a difficult and important choice to make. You will be tempted to stop and leave the hard work of finding to others who are more expert or to another time in your life. But you will also feel a tug on your heart to go on in the work, hard as it will be.
As you decide, remember that the names which will be so difficult to find are of real people to whom you owe your existence in this world and whom you will meet again in the spirit world. When you were baptized, your ancestors looked down on you with hope. Perhaps after centuries, they rejoiced to see one of their descendants make a covenant to find them and to offer them freedom. In your reunion, you will see in their eyes either gratitude or terrible disappointment. Their hearts are bound to you. Their hope is in your hands. You will have more than your own strength as you choose to labor on to find them.
A few nights ago I had a dream. I saw a piece of white paper with a name on it I did not know and a date I could only partially read. I got up and went to the records of my family. The last name on the slip of paper is from a line which came into my mother’s ancestry 300 years ago in a place called Eaton Bray. Someone is anxious for a long wait to end. I have not yet found that person. But I have found again the assurance that a loving God sends help in answer to prayer in this sacred work of redeeming our families, which is His work and His glory and to which we have pledged our hearts. I so testify, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

In the summer of 1941, when Alexandria Safronova was just seventeen years old, German armies tuned their attention to the east and swiftly invaded her Russian homeland. Even though she had sensed for some time that the growing conflict in Europe would affect her life, the disruption it brought to her and her family was more devastating than she could have imagined.
Born in the Ukrainian Republic in 1924, Alexandria was one of four daughters born to Michael and Hannah Safronova. Michael was a kind neighbor and hard worker who loved horses. Hannah was a woman of great faith who prayed frequently but always in silence, because in the Ukraine it was forbidden to practice or teach religion in the home. Alexandria learned valuable lessons from both parents, but it was from her mother that she learned to trust in God.
One example of her mother’s faith left an indelible impression on nine-year-old Alexandria. Her father, who had been working hard in the field one day, came home early with a burning fever. Hannah immediately gathered the children, asked them to remain quiet, and then knelt beside her husband’s bed and said a silent prayer. When she arose, she smiled at her concerned children. “Your papa will be well soon,” she said. That very day his fever subsided, and he was able to return to work. Alexandria never forgot that experience.
By November 1941, German forces had penetrated as far as Moscow and Leningrad. That month Alexandria married a Russian soldier who had escaped from captivity. With war at their heels, they fled north to live with Alexandria’s husband’s family. But soon the war reached them, and they and many other families were forced to hide in the nearby forest for four months.
Often Alexandria would not see her husband for days. Along with many other young men, he had joined an underground resistance force that attacked enemy convoys. Alexandria feared for his life but was powerless to do anything about it. Further darkening her condition was the resentment her in-laws felt towards her. Because she was from the Ukraine and spoke a different language, they considered her inferior. “It was all very depressing,” she recalls. “I cried all the time.”
One night Alexandria’s husband came home and gave her the shock of her life: not only did he tell her that he had joined the Nazis, but he also demanded that she leave and never return. Alexandria, frightened by her husband’s threatening, hostile behavior, left. She never saw him again.
The journey to her parents’ home some five hundred miles away seemed impossible. The distance was disheartening, and she had no provisions. To make matters worse, it was winter. But those fears were nothing compared to the thought of traveling alone through a war zone. Alexandria remembers sitting alone in the snow, hungry and weak, with cold tears on her cheeks. She was inconsolable until, remembering her mother’s prayers, she decided to offer her first: “Help me. Help me find my way home.” She wasn’t sure her prayer had been heard, but she nevertheless began the dangerous trek.
The winter days passed slowly. As if in answer to her prayer, someone along the way gave her a map. That spark of hope kept her going, from farm to farm and town to town, day after day. At dusk she pleaded with strangers for a place to sleep—floor or barn, it didn’t matter, as long as it was inside, so she wouldn’t get caught—and shot—for breaking curfew. Food was so scarce that she had nothing to eat but the meager scraps of stale bread and potato peelings that she scrounged from scrap buckets after her hosts had retired to bed. At first light she would resume her journey, often with her clothing wet because of the damp, leaking barns in which she had slept.
Late one afternoon, after an unusually long walk in deep snow, Alexandria was exhausted and knew she would not reach the next town on her own before curfew. She was afraid because she had learned that German soldiers were in the area. Suddenly, three horse-drawn hay wagons driven by German soldiers appeared on the narrow road. As Alexandria hid nearby, she got an idea. If she hopped onto one of the wagons without being seen, she could make it to the next town before dark. The last wagon passed, and she put her desperate plan into action. Running with all her strength, she managed to grab a pole attached to the back of the wagon and climb aboard.
Alexandria rode in relative comfort until, a few miles later, the wagons came to an abrupt halt. She froze with fear. At the sound of approaching footsteps, she closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. “Please help me, dear God!” The footsteps came closer, then stopped right next to her. Alexandria lifted her head to look into the compassionate eyes of a young soldier who motioned for her to remain still. Then he turned to rejoin his comrades without making his discovery known. The company moved on, and Alexandria safely reached the next town.
“I know Father in Heaven was watching over me and was helping me,” she says, her eyes misty with emotion.
After weeks of traveling, Alexandria arrived home, thin and weak but overjoyed to see her family again. Before long, however, the Germans rounded up all young, able-bodied people and sent them by train to Germany to work for the war effort. Alexandria was no exception. She didn’t know that the camp where she was housed for three months, Dachau, held unspeakable sorrows for other people. From there Alexandria was moved from farm to farm on various work details until American liberation forces entered Germany in the spring of 1945.
The war over, Alexandria planned to return to her parents. But she became ill, spent two weeks in a hospital, and missed her train. That was a blessing, she now realizes; returning Russians faced great struggles, and living conditions were much better in Germany than in Russia. While living in a displaced-persons camp in 1945, Alexandria met a handsome American soldier on a blind date. After months of courtship, they were married, and two years later Sergeant Ronnie Graybeal brought his young bride to the United States.
When two Latter-day Saint missionaries visited the Graybeal home in 1959, Alexandria knew their message was special. Her husband and two children were touched, too, and the Graybeals progressed toward baptism. When Brother Graybeal learned that the Air Force was transferring him to Germany, he decided to be baptized before he left. Alexandria, however, was struggling to know whether Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. Some time later, after the family had moved to Germany, her husband said, “If you really want to know, go to Heavenly Father and ask him.” That night Alexandria did just that. “I don’t know what happened,” she explains, “but the next morning I knew Joseph Smith was a prophet.” Alexandria and the two children were baptized a short time later in Kerlsrue, West Germany, in June 1960.
“I just felt wonderful,” Sister Graybeal says, remembering her baptism. “My testimony was strengthened after that, and I couldn’t get enough of the gospel. I studied and studied. It was like walking through a door and finding that the light was shining. It was beautiful.”
Alexandria had not seen her homeland for twenty-nine years. During those years, however, she had corresponded with her parents and one sister. Although she wanted to visit them, she was repeatedly denied a travel visa. Finally, in 1972, she was granted permission to visit her family. The reunion was bittersweet: her mother and two of her sisters had passed away, and her aging father was blind. Still, it was good to be home again with her father, her sister Katrina, and her relatives and close friends.
On one occasion the family visited the cemetery where Alexandria’s mother was buried. Overcome with emotion, Katrina fell upon the grave and wept. Alexandria knelt beside her and explained that death was not final, that their mother still lived in spirit, and that in time they would be with her again. Katrina was puzzled, but the look in her eyes expressed hope, so Alexandria explained the plan of salvation as simply as she could. Katrina listened intently, then turned to her father, who had been listening too. “Papa, do you believe what she says?” He nodded yes as he shed tears. Alexandria bore her testimony and saw a glimmer of enlightenment register on their faces. Never had they spoken of such things before. A seed of truth had been planted.
Today, Alexandria’s happiness, spiritual strength, and deep sense of gratitude attest to the remarkable way that commitment to the gospel has shaped her life. The memories of her trials as a youth of seventeen are still tender, but her sadness vanishes as she talks brightly about the recent changes in Europe and the former U.S.S.R. She is certain that like her own family, many Russian people are being prepared for the time when there will be a great harvest of souls in her homeland.
In fact, Sister Graybeal has already thrust in her sickle. For several months the Graybeals, with the help of others, have been sending to Russia an average of one hundred gift packages each month. Each package contains a copy of the Bible, the Book of Mormon, and the book Gospel Principles, as well as a pamphlet on the First Vision, a picture of Jesus Christ, and a personal letter and testimony from Sister Graybeal.
The response has been overwhelming, Sister Graybeal remembers fondly the first thank-you letter she received from Russia and how she felt. “We were so thrilled! No words can express. I cried and cried.”
Today the Graybeals continue to receive numerous requests for literature. One such letter reads, in part: “I have a burning hunger for knowledge of God. I have never had this kind of desire before. I pray that the Lord might inspire you to help me. I would like to know more about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and how they can help me to find peace and contentment in life. Please send whatever you can.”
In her endearing Russian accent, Alexandria quotes a favorite scripture: “Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). She knows that wherever we live, the Lord is near and able to assist us.

It was a Sunday afternoon near the end of my mission, and I was washing the dinner dishes in Recife, Brazil. For some reason, I began to think about the Saints in Nauvoo. I remembered that after all their sacrifices and work to construct their temple, they had to flee Nauvoo, leaving the temple and their homes behind. I marveled at the great faith of these people. In the midst of their trials, they continued to have confidence in Heavenly Father and to do all He asked of them.
Then the thought came to my mind: If Father in Heaven someday took something precious away, something for which you had sacrificed, would you rebel?
I was surprised at the question, not knowing why I had asked it. I tried to imagine myself among the Saints in Nauvoo, feeling what they felt. I concluded that I did not know what my reaction would be, but I sincerely desired to have sufficient faith to always accept God’s will. I had no idea that just such a test would confront me that very night.
A few days before, while pondering what I would do after my mission, I had decided to pursue a career in music. Before my mission, I had practiced as much as six hours each day on the piano and had completed course work at a music academy. Just recently, my teacher had sent me a letter, promising to help me launch a career as a pianist.
We had three baptisms arranged for that night. Our meetinghouse did not have a baptismal font, making it necessary for us to go to the center of Recife to hold the baptismal services. It rained much that night, and as the city was experiencing a shortage of gasoline, it was difficult to find a taxi. It was getting late, and I began to worry. Suddenly I saw a taxi a block away and ran in its direction. The rain moistened my glasses, and I did not see a popcorn vendor crossing my path. When I finally saw his cart, I could not stop and I crashed into it. I suffered a very deep cut on my left wrist and was taken to the emergency room at the hospital.
There I discovered that the tendons had been cut. Two fingers on my left hand were paralyzed. Because a surgery room wasn’t available, I was not able to have an operation immediately. Since I would be returning to my home in a few days, the doctors just sutured the wound and instructed me to seek a specialist in São Paulo.
On my return home, I received a priesthood blessing from my father and was attended by the best hand surgeon in São Paulo. My recuperation was excellent, and after much physical therapy I was able to return to playing the piano. But I had no illusions about a professional career. My life followed another path instead. Today I am a neurologist with the training and opportunity to help many people.
I believe God had a plan for my life different from what I had anticipated. When we “trust in the Lord with all [our] heart,” I know “he shall direct [our] paths” for our good (Prov. 3:5–6).

Even now as grandparents, Sister Wheelwright and I find these guidelines invaluable as we seek to develop strong family bonds with each of our nineteen grandchildren who live in New York, Ohio, Kentucky, Texas, Washington, Utah, and Concepcion, Chile. Certainly letters, emails, phone calls and text messages help but even more important is spending time together. For example, a few years ago we felt we needed to strengthen our relationship with our five oldest grandchildren, who at that time were teenagers. We arranged to take them to Southern Utah for some mountain biking, river rafting, sightseeing, swimming and game playing. Just before we left Salt Lake on our drive to Moab, we collected all the cell phones, iPads and computers and left them at our daughter’s home. Everything we did for the next four days we did together and it was wonderful. Through respect, love, service, compassion and wholesome recreational activities, we strengthened family bonds that due to time, age and distance had started to weaken.

But in trying for balance, Scott has discovered he needs to set priorities. A year or so ago, he was playing several sports, going to school and seminary, taking music lessons, spending time with friends. “I was thinking of quitting hockey,” he says. “I wasn’t happy, and it took up so much of my time. I realized if I wanted to play hockey I had to give up some of the other stuff.” He decided to put aside other sports and his guitar for a while. The NHL, the crowds, the excitement—it’s a hard dream to let die.

Many years back I had been assigned to name a patriarch for a stake in Logan, Utah. I found such a man, wrote his name on a slip of paper, and placed the note inside my scriptures. My further review revealed that another worthy patriarch had moved to this same area, making unnecessary the naming of a new patriarch. None was named.

Nine years later I was again assigned a stake conference in Logan. Once more a patriarch was needed for the stake I was to visit. I had been using a new set of scriptures for several years and had them in my briefcase. However, as I prepared to leave my home for the drive to Logan, I took from the bookcase shelf an older set of scriptures, leaving the new ones at home. During the conference I began my search for a patriarch: a worthy man, a blameless servant of God, one filled with faith, characterized by kindness. Pondering these requirements, I opened my scriptures and there discovered the slip of paper placed there long years before. I read the name written on the paper: Cecil B. Kenner. I asked the stake presidency if by chance Brother Kenner lived in this particular stake. I found he did. Cecil B. Kenner was that day ordained a patriarch.

Robert Wood. Robby frowned as he read his name. All his friends called him Robby. His whole name looked strange and uncomfortable on the bright yellow Primary birthday calendar. It didn’t seem to belong with the names of the other kids. He wasn’t like them. He had been to church only about three times in his whole life. He wouldn’t have come today except his new teacher, Sister Jensen, had sent him a special invitation and offered him a ride.
Robby liked singing the songs. Sharing time was interesting, too. When his class was excused, he followed the other children to their classroom. They were ahead of Sister Jensen. She seems old to be a Primary teacher, Robby thought as she stopped to talk briefly to someone in the hallway.
Robby chose a seat at the very back of the room, but when he started to sit down, a boy kicked his chair out from under him. An ugly word popped out of Robby’s mouth. He was immediately sorry, and he blushed a deep red when he saw Sister Jensen standing in the doorway. She must have seen the whole thing.
The girls raised their hands and pointed at Robby. The boys snickered. Robby wanted to run home. But Sister Jensen closed the door and smiled at him. Then, turning to the girls, she said, “I just love to see so many volunteers for the prayer.” The girls put their hands down quickly, but Sister Jensen still assigned two of them to give prayers.
During class, Robby watched Sister Jensen. She smiled a lot. She made Robby feel he was just as important as the other children.
After class, Sister Jensen hugged the children as they left. When it was Robby’s turn, she quietly shut the door. Robby was alone with Sister Jensen, and he knew why. She was going to scold him for saying that angry word. Well, at least she hadn’t embarrassed him by doing it in front of everybody.
“I’m so glad you came today, Robert,” Sister Jensen said with a smile.
Robby looked down and traced on the floor with his shoe.
When he didn’t answer, Sister Jensen continued, “I know you’re embarrassed about what you said. If someone kicked a chair and made me fall, I would be pretty upset, too.”
“They wouldn’t do it to you,” Robby said. “They just do it to me because I’m not a church kid.”
Sister Jensen looked thoughtful as she bent to gather some of her things. When she straightened up, she was wearing her big smile again. “Sit down a minute, Robert,” she said, pointing to a chair.
Robby sat quietly while Sister Jensen pulled up a chair beside him.
“Do you like our bishop?” she asked.
Robby thought for a minute. He remembered the time the bishop came to his house when his mother was sick and couldn’t care for the family. After that, some ladies came by to help take care of his mother and his family. The bishop seemed really nice. “Yeah, I think he’s nice,” Robby said.
“Well, believe it or not, I used to be his Primary teacher,” Sister Jensen explained.
“Oh.” Robby nodded. “I guess you could have been; you are old.” Robby blushed when he realized what he’d said.
Sister Jensen laughed heartily. “That’s true! He was a sweet little boy, just like you. You and he have a lot in common—his parents never brought him to church, either. I used to pick him up all the time. He even sat with me in sacrament meeting.
“When he was about your age,” Sister Jensen continued, “he decided to make choices that would help him the rest of his life. He had a little problem with angry words, and he decided that when he became upset, he’d say ‘How exasperating!’ I told him that was a good start but he also needed to fill his mind with good things. That way only good things would come out of his mouth.”
Robby traced on the floor with his other shoe. “Well, maybe when I’m a grown-up, I can do that, too,” he told her.
“But now’s the time to make important choices that will bless you throughout your life, including your choice of words.”
“How can words bless me?”
“When you are careful with the words you choose to say, you show others you care enough about them not to offend them. Choosing good words helps you gain more friends, and you’re also not offending your Heavenly Father. Besides, when you have good words inside, good actions often follow.”
Robby nodded that he understood, and he helped Sister Jensen gather up the rest of her teaching materials.
The next Sunday, Sister Jensen picked Robby up in time for sacrament meeting. The bishop was conducting, and he seemed to be having a difficult time with some of the announcements. Finally he put down the paper he was reading, smiled at the ward members, and exclaimed, “How exasperating!”
Robby giggled as Sister Jensen nudged his arm. He leaned over and whispered, “That’s what I’m going to say when I’m mad, too.”
“Good for you, Robby,” Sister Jensen said with a wink.
Later, in the Primary room, Robby again noticed his name on the yellow birthday board. “That’s funny,” he said.
“What’s that?” Sister Jensen asked.
“Last week my name seemed different.”
Sister Jensen looked puzzled. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, last week my name looked out of place up there by the names of the church kids. But today it looks like it belongs.”
Sister Jensen put her arm around Robby, and he noticed tears in her eyes. “That’s because you do belong here,” she said.

During my freshman year of college, my eyes were opened to the fact that my life as a student would not be as sheltered as before. Nor would what I held dear be accepted.
I found that I stuck out like a sore thumb when I refused to engage in activities that I knew would harm me physically or harm my relationship with Heavenly Father. However, I feared criticism for being a member of the Church and therefore avoided the topic.
One day in an afternoon class, the professor was leading a discussion on how youth develop amid constant discrimination. A girl behind me replied that the discussion made her think of Mormons. I cringed because when the Church was brought up in a class, inappropriate comments usually followed.
As I braced myself for derogatory statements, the teacher asked if any Latter-day Saints were in the class. Stunned at the inquiry, I scanned the room only to find everyone else doing the same. Before I could think twice, my hand was rising from its comfortable position on the desk. I heard an eruption of whispers from across the room.
“One,” the teacher said. The word rang in my ears. After a long silence, I was asked to respond to the debate regarding whether Latter-day Saints are Christians. I was no stranger to the question and was prepared to answer.
“‘We talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, [and] we preach of Christ’” (2 Nephi 25:26), I confidently replied. “We are indeed Christian.”
The whispering ceased, but I felt everyone staring at me. I thought I would feel alone. Instead, I felt as if the Savior had sat down next to me and put His hand in mine. Nothing else mattered, for I was filled with joy that strengthened my testimony of Him. I had defended my faith.
I shared more with the class about why Latter-day Saints are Christians. Then I thought of the time President Thomas S. Monson shared the gospel on a bus ride. From this experience he encouraged members to “be courageous and prepared to stand for what we believe.”1 As I thought of his words, I realized I had done the thing I was most afraid to do.
I do not know whether the things I said changed anybody’s opinion of the Church, but we need not fear to stand up and share the gospel—wherever we are. Even if we do not bless anybody else, we will always strengthen our testimony and our relationship with Heavenly Father.

On the morning of June 28, the bodies of Joseph and Hyrum were gently placed on two different wagons, covered with branches to shade them from the hot summer sun. William Hamilton and his father Artois accompanied Samuel Smith and Willard Richards to Nauvoo with the bodies of the slain Church leaders.

They left Carthage about 8:00 A.M. and arrived in Nauvoo about 3:00 P.M., where they were met by a great assemblage. When the bodies were returned to Nauvoo, they were washed and dressed. Then family and friends were ushered in to see them.

When young Joseph Smith III entered the room, he dropped upon his knees, laid his cheek against his father’s, and kissed him. He was heard saying, “Oh, my father, my father!” Other children of the Prophet and the patriarch crowded around to see their slain fathers. It was an almost unbearable scene.6

On the following day, June 29, the bodies lay in state in the Mansion House while thousands of Saints silently filed past the coffins, grateful but sobered to see their beloved leaders one last time. Mary Ann Phelps’s father took her to the Mansion House early in the morning, before the bodies were prepared for the public viewing.

“I went down, saw them, and laid my hand on Joseph’s forehead,” she said. “The sheet that was around him was stained with blood. Still he looked very natural.”7

Slowly, life in Nauvoo got back to normal. Missionaries left to serve missions; new converts arrived. Work continued on homes, shops, and most importantly, the temple. Young people fell in love and were married. Parties and sporting contests were held.

Yet the memory of Joseph and Hyrum did not fade. For example, one young woman made a sampler, a common activity at the time. She embroidered:
“Sacred to the Memory of Joseph and Hyrum Smith, Who fell as Martyrs for the Gospel of Jesus Christ, June 27th, 1844. Aged 38, and 44, years.
“Zion’s noblest sons are weeping,
See her daughters bathed in tears,
Where the prophets now are sleeping,
Nature’s sleep—sleep of years.
When the earth shall be restored,
They will come with Christ the Lord.”
She signed it: “Mary Ann Broomhead’s work, 1844, Age 13 years.”8

Following a short period of peace, dark clouds cast their long shadow on Nauvoo again. Eventually the Saints were driven out, leaving their beautiful temple and the graves of their Prophet and his brother behind. Yet these young people who lived in the days of Joseph and Hyrum remembered them throughout their lives. They passed on their personal stories and experiences to a new generation. By doing so they kept alive their own faith and the testimony of two great witnesses of the Restoration.

On several occasions President Boyd K. Packer, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, has described an experience he had during a leadership training meeting in which a bishop indicated he couldn’t get anyone to serve as the ward Primary president. The frustrated bishop said he had talked to nine different sisters in the ward, and not one of them had agreed to accept the call.

President Packer told the bishop he knew why none of the sisters had agreed to serve: “You asked them—you didn’t call them.” President Packer said that if the call had been extended properly, it would not have taken nine attempts to get someone to accept the call.

I was living away from home for the first time when my parents separated. It was only my first month of college, and as my family life shifted, I struggled to understand the meaning of the word home. When my parents divorced and my family moved out of the home I had lived in for the last 18 years, I was especially confused. I knew I wasn’t homeless, but I certainly felt that way.
I have often heard the Church described as a “refuge from the storm” (D&C 115:6). Institute became that refuge for me as I battled this new storm in my life. I enrolled in institute, and while I don’t recall the exact words spoken in the lessons, I will never forget the feelings of peace and comfort that came to me as I listened. I began to discover the love my Heavenly Father has for me, and I became much more closely acquainted with the best counselor I have ever found: Jesus Christ.
I have to pay for my college education, yet I learn the most valuable lessons from institute classes, which are available to me for free. I see now that the definition of home isn’t necessarily the house in which you grow up but a place where life’s lessons are taught and love abounds. Because of what I learned and the Spirit I felt, institute has become a new home for me. It is wonderful having a place where I feel loved and welcome.

Hi, I’m Maryssa. And I have a question. About the gospel.
But it’s not the kind that can be answered with a quick appeal to the Topical Guide or even a chat with my institute teacher. It’s complex—beyond my spiritual understanding. This question has kept me up at night. It has made me ache inside. Really, it’s more a spiritual concern than an actual question. And it’s about my role as a woman in the Church.
As a woman, I’m always trying to better understand my place in God’s kingdom. For most of my life, I didn’t think about it much. But as I got older, I began to wonder about the differing roles of men and women in the Church. The more I thought about it, the more concerned I became about the imbalance I perceived. I knew that God is perfectly just and fair. But I couldn’t find a way to reconcile the differences I saw with my existing knowledge of His plan. It was like a puzzle piece that didn’t seem to fit.
So I began to search for answers. I studied the Creation and the Fall and pondered Eve’s choice in the garden. I contemplated my relationship with priesthood power and my future position in the family as a wife and mother. I attended the temple often, paying close attention and yearning for additional insight. But I often came away from these things with even more questions. I pleaded with God over and over for understanding. But my questions didn’t go away.
For months, they ate away at me. I knew that Satan wanted me to doubt my place as a daughter of God. And I knew I could find peace through Jesus Christ. So I continued to search for answers and pray for understanding.
One day, I was reading the Book of Mormon in the temple. I came across 1 Nephi 11:17: “I know that [God] loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things.”
It was such a simple verse, but it struck a chord in me. In my time of confusion, it was extremely validating to hear Nephi, one of my Book of Mormon heroes, admit that he didn’t know everything. I finally felt that it was OK if I didn’t understand everything about the gospel.
Nephi’s first declaration hit me even harder: “I know that [God] loveth his children.” To me, Nephi was saying, “I don’t know everything. But here’s what I do know: God loves us. And that’s enough for me.” I was reminded of what I knew all along: God loves all His children—His sons and His daughters alike. And the truth of His love is absolute. It’s the truth upon which everything else is founded. The truth that holds the universe together.
For the first time in a while, I felt peace. My questions still hadn’t been answered, but I didn’t feel lost anymore. I realized that God is in control. He doesn’t expect me to put my questions on the shelf and forget about them. But He does expect me to trust Him. In all of my truth-seeking, I have to remember who the source of all truth is. And I have to recognize that while I’m deliberating over a single piece of the puzzle, He holds the pieces I can’t see. He sees the big picture—the biggest picture. And someday I’ll see it too.
Since then I’ve kept searching for more insight into my questions. And answers come. In bits and fragments—but they come. I gain glimmers of understanding as I search the scriptures, as I “seek … out of the best books words of wisdom” (D&C 88:118), as I talk with people I trust, as I attend the temple, as I study the words of prophets and apostles, as I ponder and pray. Sometimes I still get discouraged. I still have bad days when I get overwhelmed by everything I don’t know. But when those doubts arise, I take a deep breath and a step back and remember what I do know. And that makes all the difference. Even the Savior “received not of the fulness at the first, but received grace for grace.” So, like Him, I will “continu[e] from grace to grace, until [I] receiv[e] a fulness” (D&C 93:12–13).
Maybe some of my questions won’t be answered for a long time. But Heavenly Father has promised that someday “the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea” (Isaiah 11:9). Someday “all things shall be revealed unto the children of men” (2 Nephi 27:11) and “nothing shall be withheld” (D&C 121:28). Someday I will have all the pieces to the puzzle, and it will all make sense.
Until then, I choose to trust in God, no matter how big or how numerous my questions are. I choose to say, “There is goodness here, and I will not abandon it. I will stand by the truth I have, because truth is worth protecting.”
Sometimes the answer is simple. But sometimes, finding answers takes a journey. I won’t give up on my quest to learn and follow God’s truth. I have a long way to go, but I know that Heavenly Father is with me every step of the way.

In February 2021, Texas faced record low temperatures. The freeze impacted millions of people, resulting in broken pipes, power outages, and loss of heat. My daughter’s family, like so many others, experienced a complete loss of electrical power. She bundled up her little children in coats and blankets so they could stay warm.
After several days surviving arctic-like conditions, my daughter noticed lights on in a neighboring apartment. She was grateful to learn that power had been restored. But she was shocked to discover that it had actually been restored days before. She had failed to notice that a circuit breaker had been tripped. The power was already there. She simply needed to flip the breaker back on!

Aaron’s mother came through the door, a bag of groceries in her arms.
“Mom!” Aaron jumped up and gave her a hug. He took the groceries and set them on the kitchen counter.
Aaron was home alone in their apartment after school while his mother worked. It was only for a couple of hours, but it was the loneliest time of the day.
“Hey, Buddy,” she said, “got your homework done?”
“Yep. What’s for supper?” he asked as he showed her his notebook.
Aaron’s mother sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just sit down for a few minutes before I get us something to eat.” She sat down in her “resting chair.”
Aaron’s mom was usually tired after work. His dad didn’t live there anymore, so it was just the two of them.
Aaron hid a small disappointed sigh. His mom put her head back on the chair and closed her eyes.
A few minutes later the phone rang. “Hello,” Aaron answered politely, “Jackson residence.”
“Hi, sugar. How’s my boy?” a familiar voice asked.
“Grandma! I’m just fine. What’s up?”
“I just called to wish your mom a happy birthday. Is she home yet?”
“Yes,” he answered, “but she’s asleep. I didn’t know it was Mom’s birthday. I’ll go wake her up.”
“No, child,” his grandma said quickly. “Don’t bother her while she’s resting. I’ll call back later tonight. Take care, sweetie!” And she hung up.
Aaron put the receiver back down. Hmmm, Mom’s birthday. …
He remembered his own birthday a few months ago. The cake and ice cream were great, and so was his present—a blue remote-control race car! Oh, how he had wanted one! His mom had said that it was too expensive, but somehow she’d managed to get one for him.
“I’ll have a party for Mom!” he said out loud. Oops! I’ll have to be quiet—and hurry! But what can I do? I don’t have any money, and I can’t go out alone, anyway. I’ll have to make something, instead—I know!
He went to his mother’s jewelry box. She had broken her favorite necklace a few weeks ago. It was made of beads from Africa and had belonged to Aaron’s great-grandmother. Aaron had helped his mom pick up all the beads when it broke, but she hadn’t had time to string them back together. He found some new string and carefully threaded it through the beads one by one. He couldn’t remember the exact pattern but came as close to it as he could.
The new string was a little shorter than the first one, but it would still fit over her head. There were a few beads left over, so he put them back into the jewelry box.
He tiptoed past his mother into the kitchen, wrapped the necklace in a blue paper napkin from the table, and found a piece of yarn for a bow. It made a nice present. But it looked kind of small all alone on the table.
I need a cake, he thought. He looked through the kitchen cabinets and spotted the peanut butter.
I know—I’ll make a peanut-butter-and-jelly cake! I hope we have some jelly.
Aaron got out bread, peanut butter, and jelly, put a slice of bread on a plate, and covered the top with peanut butter, then jelly. He put a second slice of bread on top of that and spread it with peanut butter and jelly too. A third piece of bread went on top of that. For the frosting he just spread a third layer of peanut butter. Carefully he wrote Happy Birthday in the peanut butter with a knife. It looked a little plain, so he put dots of jelly here and there for decoration. Perfect! He found two of the candles from his own birthday cake and put them on top. He wasn’t allowed to use matches, so his mom would have to light them.
Aaron heard her stirring in the next room. Please don’t wake up now—I’m not ready! he thought.
Finding a large yellow envelope in the trash, he cut off all the writing until he had a small piece of plain yellow paper. With a colored pen he wrote, “You’re the best, Mom!” After folding the card and putting it next to the present and cake, he hurried to put away the groceries that she had brought home. Then he even swept the kitchen floor.
Everything looked great! Aaron felt good about his hard work. Now he could hardly wait for his mother to wake up. He crouched down behind the table and fidgeted.
Finally he heard Mom get up and say, “Goodness! I’d better get supper on. I wonder what Aaron’s doing.” She walked into the kitchen. “Well, what’s all this?”
Aaron jumped up. “Surprise! Happy Birthday, Mom!” he shouted.
“Why, Aaron, did you do all this?”
“I sure did!”
Aaron couldn’t remember seeing his mom smile so much. She grabbed him up for a big hug. “This is the best kind of birthday!” she exclaimed happily. They laughed and danced around the kitchen.
“Here,” Aaron said. “Open your present!”
She opened the blue paper napkin. “Oh, honey, you fixed Grandmother’s necklace for me. It’s so beautiful. Strong too. And a card!”
She read the card. She looked at everything for a long time. “Buddy,” she said with tears in her eyes, “you’ve made today the most special day for me.” She held Aaron close. “I love you so much.”
“Aw, Mom,” he said, pulling away. But he did feel pretty special.
After a supper of soup and salad, they cut into Aaron’s cake and ate every bite!
Later, as Aaron’s mom was tucking him into bed, the phone rang. “That’s Grandma,” he said. “She called while you were asleep.”
Mom kissed him on the forehead. “Thanks for a wonderful birthday, Aaron. Sweet dreams.”
Aaron listened as Mom told Grandma all about the special birthday. She laughed as she talked, and sounded happy.
Aaron felt happy too. Yes, this was the best kind of birthday.

When I was preparing for a mission, there was a quota in the United States on religious deferrals granted to the Church, affecting how many could serve because of the Vietnam conflict. Only two young men per ward were allowed to serve missions, and there were 17 eligible priests in our ward. The quota was filled by chronological age, and I was number 14 of 17. I learned about pondering and praying when I wondered how I was going to fit into this quota. I thought I would go on a mission within the next couple of years, or wait until either the Vietnam conflict was over, or go when I was 25 years old and no longer subject to the draft or the quota system.
I received some wise advice from my bishop, who advised me to “pursue a mission now.” The only way I could do that was to enlist in the military and receive a change of status, but I pondered and prayed about it because I knew that conflict was imminent, and I wasn’t sure that would really be the best direction. I had to ask myself some hard questions. I had been accepted into a master’s program in architecture at the University of Utah for a five-year course that I did not want to interrupt. But it didn’t feel right to postpone my mission, so I had gone to the bishop and asked for his suggestion. He said, “Prepare and go now.”
Deciding to serve a mission was an expansion of faith driven by two possible options: “Do I do it now?” or “Do I do it later?” I had worked through the decision to go on a mission now, and a good bishop advised me to persevere toward a solution that would allow it to happen.
That solution came when I enlisted in the Air Force Reserves. After serving for one year, I was able to reclassify my status and thereby avoid being part of the mission quota. This change allowed me to go on a mission when I was almost 20. My mission was a wonderful experience that would not have happened had I not pondered, prayed, performed by seeking good guidance, and persevered.
Most of the group who went into the Air Force Reserves that year were a little older than I was, and I learned a lot from them. I remained worthy, and it was a wonderful thing to know that those who were with me recognized and appreciated my standards. Associating with those good people helped me to be a better missionary.

Brett was getting ready for bed when Dad knocked on his door.
“Is everything all right?” Dad asked. “You seemed a little sad at dinner.”
Brett plopped down on his bed. “I guess I’m just nervous about all the tests I have at school this week. We didn’t have this many in elementary school.”
“Middle school is a change, isn’t it?” Dad asked, sitting down by Brett. “I guess they want to challenge you more.”
Brett sighed and fell back on his pillow. “It’s definitely a challenge.”
Dad smiled. “Just do your best. Mom and I are here for you. And Heavenly Father is always ready to help. Why don’t we pray about it?”
After the prayer, Dad left and Brett crawled into bed. He felt peaceful. He knew Heavenly Father would help him do his best.
A couple weeks later, Brett’s little sister, Julie, came into the kitchen with the mail—including two envelopes. Report cards! Brett gulped.
“Here’s yours,” she said, holding it out to Brett.
“Thanks.” Brett took the envelope and stared at it. His heart beat a little faster. Slowly he opened the envelope. He unfolded the paper. Then his heart sank.
His grades could have been worse. But they definitely could’ve been better. He had tried hard and done his best. But he still felt pretty lousy.
“I got all As!” Julie told Mom and Dad, waving her report card. “I’ll be on the honor roll!”
Brett felt like crying. He knew he wouldn’t be on the honor roll.
“Way to go!” Mom gave Julie a high five. Julie turned to Brett, hand up.
Brett tried to smile. “Good job, Julie. That’s awesome,” he said, giving her a high five.
“Thanks,” said Julie. She grabbed her backpack and ran upstairs.
“How about you, Brett?” Dad asked. “How are your grades?”
Brett handed over the report card without looking up.
Dad was quiet for a second as he and Mom looked at it. “Not what you were hoping for, huh?” Dad said.
Brett shook his head.
“That’s OK,” Mom said, putting her arm around his shoulders and giving him a squeeze. “We know how hard you worked. And there’s always next time. Middle school is harder, but you’ll get the hang of it.”
“But Julie gets As every time!” Brett blurted out.
“Well, it’s not a competition,” Dad said. “Plus school grades aren’t the most important grades in life.”
“What do you mean?”
Dad smiled. “You said ‘good job’ to Julie and gave her a high five, even when you were feeling sad about your own grades. I think that was an A+ choice.”
Brett smiled. He couldn’t always control his grades. But he could control how hard he tried. And how he treated his sister. He’d keep working on his grades. And he’d keep making good choices. He wanted to be an A+ kid!

I close with a parable.
Once a man received as his inheritance two keys. The first key, he was told, would open a vault which he must protect at all cost. The second key was to a safe within the vault which contained a priceless treasure. He was to open this safe and freely use the precious things which were stored therein. He was warned that many would seek to rob him of his inheritance. He was promised that if he used the treasure worthily, it would be replenished and never be diminished, not in all eternity. He would be tested. If he used it to benefit others, his own blessings and joy would increase.
The man went alone to the vault. His first key opened the door. He tried to unlock the treasure with the other key, but he could not, for there were two locks on the safe. His key alone would not open it. No matter how he tried, he could not open it. He was puzzled. He had been given the keys. He knew the treasure was rightfully his. He had obeyed instructions, but he could not open the safe.
In due time, there came a woman into the vault. She, too, held a key. It was noticeably different from the key he held. Her key fit the other lock. It humbled him to learn that he could not obtain his rightful inheritance without her.
They made a covenant that together they would open the treasure and, as instructed, he would watch over the vault and protect it; she would watch over the treasure. She was not concerned that, as guardian of the vault, he held two keys, for his full purpose was to see that she was safe as she watched over that which was most precious to them both. Together they opened the safe and partook of their inheritance. They rejoiced, for, as promised, it replenished itself.
With great joy they found that they could pass the treasure on to their children; each could receive a full measure, undiminished to the last generation.
Perhaps some few of their posterity would not find a companion who possessed the complementary key, or one worthy and willing to keep the covenants relating to the treasure. Nevertheless, if they kept the commandments, they would not be denied even the smallest blessing.
Because some tempted them to misuse their treasure, they were careful to teach their children about keys and covenants.
There came, in due time, among their posterity some few who were deceived or jealous or selfish because one was given two keys and another only one. “Why,” the selfish ones reasoned, “cannot the treasure be mine alone to use as I desire?”
Some tried to reshape the key they had been given to resemble the other key. Perhaps, they thought, it would then fit both locks. And so it was that the safe was closed to them. Their reshaped keys were useless, and their inheritance was lost.
Those who received the treasure with gratitude and obeyed the laws concerning it knew joy without bounds through time and all eternity.