Gospel Story Finder

At the age when most of my peers were preparing to go to college, I was figuring out how I was going to go on a mission. In Chile, everyone must take a test before they go to university. It’s only offered once a year, so if I went on a mission, I would not only be delaying my education for two years but also have to wait an additional year to go to school after that.
My family, especially my mother, was opposed to a mission. It was very important to her that I receive a college education. But I believed that the Lord would help me do what was necessary, so I prayerfully started preparing anyway.
When my bishop came to my house with my finished mission paperwork and asked for my mother’s signature, she was surprised; I hadn’t told her I was moving forward with the process. It took quite a bit of convincing, but the Lord softened her heart and helped her understand that I wanted to serve.
The gospel gave me the assurance that I was doing the right thing, but it was only by going forward, step by step, with faith—even with all my questions and uncertainties—that I kept progressing.

Many years ago, while on vacation with my family, I had an experience that taught me a great lesson. On a Saturday, my wife and I decided to take the children for a drive and to do some shopping. During the drive the children fell asleep, and not wanting to wake them, I volunteered to stay in the car while my wife ran into the store.
While waiting, I glanced at the car parked in front of me. It was full of children, and they were looking at me. My eyes caught the eyes of a small boy, six or seven years old. As our eyes met, he immediately stuck his tongue out at me.
My first reaction was to stick my tongue out at him. I thought, “What have I done to deserve this?” Fortunately, before I reacted, I remembered a principle taught in general conference the week before by Elder Marvin J. Ashton (see Conference Report, Oct. 1970, 36–38; or Improvement Era, Dec. 1970, 59–60). He taught how important it was to act instead of react to the events around us. So I waved at the little boy. He stuck his tongue out at me again. I smiled and waved again. This time he waved back.
Soon he was joined in his enthusiastic waving by a little brother and sister. I responded by waving this way and that until my arm became tired. Then I rested it on the steering wheel and continued with every creative wave I could muster, all the time hoping their parents would quickly return or that my wife would soon come back.
The parents finally did come, and as they pulled away, my newfound friends continued to wave for as long as I could see them.
That was a simple experience, but it demonstrated that in most encounters we can determine the kind of experience we are going to have by how we respond. I was grateful that I chose to act in a friendly way rather than react to my young friend’s childish behavior. In doing so I avoided the negative feelings I would have felt had I followed my natural instinct.

Several of you are guided daily by the Spirit in the academic area in large and small ways, for example, deciding on a major, what to read to prepare for your test, responding to the prompting not to cheat, and so on. Let me tell you about a young man who attended BYU-Hawaii a little while ago, he was a returned missionary who had served in Iceland. The Icelandic language is an incredibly difficult language to learn, but he was able to master it. After his two years were completed he enrolled here and described always having an interest in Japan - its art, language, and culture. He said, “I enrolled in Japanese 101 and thought pridefully that because I learned Icelandic I would be able to learn Japanese easily.”

However after a month the young man described himself as being at the bottom of the class. “Nothing seemed to stick to my mind, and when it finally did I was so far behind the rest of the class, I almost felt like withdrawing and taking the bad mark on my record.” He went on to say he was sitting in the library one day and he felt like he should pray. He spoke to the Lord and asked Him to help him learn Japanese. He uttered this tender plea, “Thou helped me learn Icelandic to bless others in Iceland, if thou would help me learn Japanese I will use it for whatever purposes thou would have me do in thy service.” The impression that came was that he should study the Book of Mormon in Japanese and study it in the same format that he did Icelandic. The words, characters and pronunciation came faster than they did relying on his own abilities. The purpose of the class changed; rather than the reward at the end of the class of a good grade, it was to prepare to serve the Lord and his children.

I remember working with my brother and sisters Mary Jayne and Lou-Ann in my father’s wholesale meat store. We went there early every Saturday morning to take the cellophane wrappings off hot dogs. It wasn’t pleasant work, and we didn’t always enjoy it. Sometimes I begrudged the fact that I had to get up early and work while my friends were sleeping in or playing. But I learned how to work, and I soon learned to make work fun.
We all played the piano in my family, and some of our favorite pieces were songs from Broadway musicals. Everyone had the words memorized, and we spent most of our Saturday mornings singing. I can still remember the words to the songs of every musical that Rodgers and Hammerstein ever wrote. We sang the lyrics to Oklahoma, South Pacific, and Carousel as we skinned the hot dogs. And we truly had fun. We still love to sing together. It brings back wonderful memories.

I don’t remember not having a testimony; I’ve always believed the gospel to be true. But I recall a very stormy day in Utica, New York, in 1946 when I was on my mission. It was so bitterly cold and windy that we couldn’t tract.
Utica is in the area of the birthplace of the Church, and many there have heard ugly tales that are sometimes circulated about early Church leaders. My companion and I heard them frequently as we were tracting. Some of them upset me—not that I believed them, but I didn’t know enough to combat them. And so I got a copy of A New Witness for Christ in America, by Francis Kirkham.
I began to study that book with the Book of Mormon with particular respect to the beginnings of the Church in my mission area. As I read, it seemed as if I could almost place myself in those earlier settings, with Joseph and the men who loved him.
One stormy day while I was studying, I began to ponder and worry again about the stories I had heard. The sweetest Spirit came over me, just as though someone had poured warm oil over me. I sat there for several minutes. My companion, an older man, was sitting in the corner of the room, and I secretly prayed that he wouldn’t speak to me while I still felt that wonderful spirit. It lasted for several minutes. There was a deep, wonderful conviction that the Book of Mormon and the things I was teaching were true.
Now, years later, I understand the gospel much better and my love for the Savior is even stronger—but I won’t know any better when I die than I knew at that moment that the gospel is true. I guess I had grown up just assuming that it was, but until then my testimony had never been tested. I’m grateful that the Lord gave me that wonderful experience, which told me that all those things that I had believed and accepted since my youth are true.

Marvin R. VanDam, counselor in the Holladay Twentieth Ward Bishopric, Salt Lake Olympus Stake
The ongoing family remembrance of our little Patrick began at the time I dedicated his grave on a lovely August afternoon in 1972.
Patrick was born in Abington, Pennsylvania, and because of a complication at birth he lived only six days. We lived near a lovely little cemetery, but decided that he should be buried instead in a location near where we would want our eventual home to be—or at least in an area we could easily visit, since corporate assignments might require us to move frequently for many years.
We therefore held the funeral and buried him in Utah, where we grew up and where our parents lived. Since then we have moved to two different European countries on assignment, and then back to Utah. We are grateful for having made that decision.
In the prayer of dedication at the gravesite, I asked fervently that our family might live to be worthy to join Patrick someday in that perfect place where he now is. Six years later, we still pray often for that same blessing and find that it is a significant family encouragement and challenge to work toward that goal.
We not only pray that we might someday meet and again associate with this special son and brother, but we also feel it is appropriate to pray for his current success and welfare. Nevertheless, we know that all is well with him because of the promise of the Lord that little children who die in infancy are perfect and worthy of his kingdom.
Inasmuch as we are now fortunate to live close to the cemetery where Patrick is buried, we go there from time to time to have family prayer. Sometimes one of our children will say, “Can we please stop at Patrick’s grave to have prayer?” Whenever we do, it provides us with a special teaching moment to talk with the children about things important, sacred, and eternal.
Since Patrick is, we feel, as much a part of our family as any living earthly child, we believe there is value to be gained from remembering his birthday and even in sharing a birthday cake baked in his honor. To have the children thus see our total faith as parents that Patrick is real, that his little body will be resurrected, and that we may be joined again eternally as a family is an advantage that we as parents would not want to lose.
Because four of our children have been born since Patrick died, we are grateful for the white leather book of remembrance we compiled to remember him by. In it we have his certificates, photos from the hospital and of the funeral and burial, related correspondence, and other small treasures. As we show the children this book of remembrance, Patrick remains real to those who knew him and becomes real to the children who did not meet him here.
My wife, Sandy, and I are most thankful for the fact that the Lord allowed the birth and death of this little boy to be one of the most beautiful and spiritual family experiences we have been privileged to have since our marriage. The Lord made Patrick’s presence and even his death sweet to us, and we cherish not only the memory of Patrick himself, but also the memory of those few special and sacred days we spent together. At that time we studied as thoroughly as possible the doctrines and writings of the Church regarding little children who die. As parents and as a family we cannot express how grateful we are for those promises and the future they hold. I want to say that we do not as a family constantly think and talk about Patrick, but we make a conscious effort not to forget him, nor to forget the special family challenge and promise he has given us.

One of the wealthiest men in the Church today is Jon Huntsman. Many years ago, just after Jon and Karen were married and living in a small apartment in Los Angeles, they decided to donate to charity a certain amount of money every month. That amount of money represented a sizeable percentage of their meager monthly income. Brother Huntsman indicated in an interview that it was this decision, early in their marriage, that prepared them to be able to give when they had great wealth. They continue today to be major philanthropists, often in quiet and confidential ways.

One such came to mind last January when I attended a prayer breakfast at the White House, in Washington, D.C., hosted by President Bill Clinton. During an informal reception that preceded the breakfast, I was chatting with a distinguished and scholarly Jewish rabbi from New York. Our conversation was interrupted by another rabbi, who asked his colleague from New York if he could recall the scriptural reference to the stick of Judah and the stick of Joseph that would come together one day. My friend paused for a moment, stroked his chin pensively, and then replied, “I think you will find that in the book of Ezekiel.”

With that, I could not restrain myself. “You might look in chapter 37 of Ezekiel,” I interjected. “There you will find the scriptures that you seek.”

My rabbi friend expressed surprise: “How did you know that?”

“This doctrine,” I concluded, “is very important in our theology.”

Indeed it is. You know it, and I know it. I would like to read it:

Moreover, thou son of man, take thee one stick, and write upon it, For Judah, and for the children of Israel his companions: then take another stick, and write upon it, For Joseph, the stick of Ephraim, and for all the house of Israel his companions:
And join them one to another into one stick; and they shall become one in thine hand. [Ezekiel 37:16–17]

Angel Daniel Gatica of the Villa Elvira Ward, La Plata Argentina Villa Elvira Stake, tells of a time the Spirit guided him to find the records he needed:
“While visiting my family in central Argentina, my wife and I decided to visit one of my mother’s aunts. I knew that several of her now deceased brothers and sisters had lived in her home during the previous five years. I prayed that the Lord would prepare the way for me in my family history research.
“When we arrived, everything seemed frozen in time. Not one trunk or suitcase had been removed from where her brothers and sisters had left them. All morning I tried to convince my aunt to permit me to go through them, but she was reluctant. After lunch she told me I could search through one. I prayed silently, seeking inspiration. I chose one. Then I opened it very carefully and began to take out one yellowed paper after another.
“Within a few minutes I found an old booklet with all the data of my great-uncle. I kept searching and found other papers with data about my aunt’s other siblings. It looked like the rest of the suitcase was filled with old magazines and newspaper clippings. I put everything back inside and closed it, but the Spirit prompted me to look again. Once again I opened the suitcase. I carefully turned it upside down and let the papers fall out in a stack.
“There, now on top of the pile of magazines and newspaper clippings, was an old but well-preserved document. I carefully opened it and read, ‘Birth certificate belonging to Guadalupe Sepúlveda.’ This was my maternal great-grandfather, who was born a century before my birth.
“I ran to my aunt and showed it to her. Having never seen it before, she took it and caressed it tenderly.
“‘My father held this in his hands,’ she whispered. Then she pressed it against her heart and wept. When she gave it back to me, she promised I could have it after she passed away.
“Now all I lacked was the birth date of one of my great-uncles. I wondered if this large family would remain incomplete.
“My wife and I started to leave, thanking my aunt for her help. As we walked through the long hallway, I realized that I had forgotten something. I ran back and quickly opened the door. The force of the air that rushed in dislodged a small, old basket containing documents that were just as they had been left years ago. I paused to look. ‘What is this paper?’ I wondered. Through the dust, I could see a date.
“With great care, I blew the dust off and unfolded the document. On this fragile and forgotten manuscript, there was, still legible, the birth date that I needed. At that moment, the Spirit penetrated so unmistakably into my heart that I could not contain my tears.
“‘Thanks, my son, for visiting me,’ said my elderly aunt.
“‘Thank you, Aunt, for letting me come into your home,’ I responded.
“I kissed her good-bye. It was the last opportunity I had to kiss her in this life. Now thanks to my aunt’s help and the Lord’s inspiration, all of my maternal great-grandfather’s family have been sealed for eternity.”

Harry was fighting in a torrent of rain and blood one night on New Guinea during World War II. Shrapnel from enemy mortar shells ripped his stomach apart, and he lay dying in a muddy foxhole. As he pled with God to send a rescue crew, he closed his eyes and a dreamlike picture of his sweetheart flooded his mind’s eye. The image of returning to her and raising a family together gave him the will to live until a British officer named Abel scooped him onto a stretcher. Harry returned home to marry the girl of his dream, and soon they joined the Church. Fifty years later, their posterity is among the strength of the Australia Devonport Stake. Harry was kept alive—physically and spiritually—by his dream of family love.

Cari shares this experience:
“I have always known what was right, but I thought I could choose my own path. After being on that path, I started to feel lost and confused. Finally I prayed with a humble heart and asked Heavenly Father what I should do. The first step was to change friends. That wasn’t easy, being in the “popular” group. But I took the challenge and did just that.
“We liked to hang out on the weekend and watch R-rated movies. I had made up my mind never to watch R movies again. It was the beginning of a new school year, and a guy asked me to watch a movie. I told him that I didn’t watch rated R movies. He said, “That’s cool, we can watch a different one.” This has happened more than once. I have left parties, sat home on weekends, and turned down [dates] because I don’t watch R-rated movies. This has been the greatest blessing in my life. Now it’s easier for me to stand up for what I believe in many other ways.”

My daughter had an exciting gospel discussion with a girl recently. At that time the girl was working with a little boy who was afflicted with a brain disease and had been given six months to live. My daughter’s friend was becoming very attached to this little boy. My daughter posed personal questions such as: “Do you believe in life after death?” “Why do you think this little boy is suffering with this?” “Do you think he will be blessed for his struggles?” “What have you learned from this?” This type of question demonstrates your sincere interest in your friend rather than just pushing doctrine at him. It’s love—and a very important ingredient in teaching of Christ in His way.

One day my father, who was bishop of our ward, left my brother and me to do some work. We thought he would be gone for a long time doing his church work. But he returned sooner than we had expected and found us riding calves.
When he called us over, I will never forget how he looked at me and said, “My boy, I thought I could depend on you!”
That was a great lesson, a severe punishment, to me. I decided then that neither he nor anyone else would ever have reason to say that again to me as long as I lived.

Richard, 13, loves to get an open shot and seems to have a knack for eluding defenders and being in the right place when a decisive pass is made. Of course, part of the knack comes from practice. Lots of practice.
Go to the elementary school behind his house in Simi Valley, California, and chances are you’ll find Richard playing in a game or dribbling the ball through the grass with his older brother John, 15. That is, unless he’s busy with a Church project. Richard is the deacons quorum president, and his conviction of his calling keeps him constantly on the phone dialing reminders of activities and responsibilities to his friends and fellow priesthood holders. (He’s in the Simi Valley Third Ward, Simi Valley California Stake.) With Church duties, as with sports, Richard knows it’s necessary to spend time to do a good job.
Richard isn’t the only family member involved with soccer. Besides John, Susan, 10, and David, 7, will rush to the fireplace mantel to show their trophies when the sport is mentioned. And when any of the children play in a game, the whole family goes to watch. That means nine passengers in the station wagon, but it also provides a private cheering section on the sidelines.
The Penrods’ interest in soccer is increasingly typical of American families, including those in the Church. Soccer, long a favorite sport throughout the rest of the world, is finally storming into popularity in the U.S., with youth leagues organized in every state. Many stake athletic programs now include ward soccer teams.
Richard’s father, a junior college professor, says, “We were looking for a game we could get the whole family involved in, without risk of a lot of injuries and without having to buy lots of equipment. This seemed ideal.”
Brother Penrod was right. Soccer is a relatively safe sport, with emphasis on ball handling and finesse, not on body contact. A small player can often outmaneuver and outshoot larger opponents. Rules are uncomplicated, and soccer can be played almost anywhere, just by marking boundaries on the ground. Modified versions of the game can even be played indoors.
Out on the field, Richard makes the game look simple. He feints, counterfeints, and passes. He sees an opening and sprints for it, waving his hand to let fellow players know he’s in the clear. On defense he shouts instructions and directs traffic as though he’s been playing all his life—which is just about the truth. His expertise, along with his scholarship in school, have qualified him for two trips abroad with soccer teams—one to Glenrothes, Scotland, another to Den Haag, Holland. While there, Richard lived with families and attended school, as well as playing exhibition soccer.
Of course, there have been embarrassing times, too. Like slipping and falling in the mud, or getting clobbered with a lopsided score, or losing every game during the season when Dad was the head coach. But some of that has to be expected.
How Richard plays in a particular match is determined by two things: which position he’s playing (he plays three), and which team he’s playing for at the time (he plays on four). On the ward team the ages vary significantly. So do the skill levels. But there, playing is mostly for fun. On the all-star team or in league competition, games are closely contested, and each move makes a difference.
Richard and John will talk for hours about their favorite sport. John plays forward, an offensive position that puts him on the front line of attack. Richard usually plays halfback, the midfield position, which challenges him by requiring both offensive and defensive skills. However, Richard has also played forward, as well as fullback (the last defender between the ball and the goalie).
They disagree about which is the ideal position to play. John says forwards have the most enjoyable job on the field because they go where they want. “It’s kind of like playing hide-and-seek with the defense,” he says. But he also notes that forwards often take the blame for missed goals. Richard counters that halfbacks have the fun of playing at both ends of the field, which, though it demands endurance, allows them power to control the tempo of the game.
John says fullbacks get the most rest, that their main task is to steal the ball and relay it to the opposite end of the field. Richard notes, however, that the defense is often outnumbered, and the fullback’s role is vital in preventing goals. Both agree, however, that the goalie may have the roughest assignment. He’s expected to analyze each shot-on-goal correctly and position himself properly to block or deflect it, often diving face down on the turf in the effort.
The two young men also discuss dreams, like playing on a professional or Olympic team, or even more immediate wishes, like attending a soccer clinic at BYU.
At a home evening recently, Richard brought out a scrapbook he keeps; it’s full of his souvenirs. He passed it around the family circle, describing photos he took himself and clippings from newspapers. The rest of the family joined in with other stories, laughter, and warmth. It was clear that they were all involved in learning lessons through their Church activity and through sports. They were learning about brotherhood by working together; they were learning to plan their time to be able to do things they enjoy and still meet school, Church, and household responsibilities; they were learning about family love, caring, and sharing; and they were learning about fixing goals for themselves. It was clear that they’re involved with soccer—and with each other—for more than just the kicks.

You know what to expect at girls’ camp—tents, outdoor cooking, dirt.

During a week spent in the high mountains of southern Utah, girls and leaders from the Las Vegas East Stake found something more, something magic. They discovered in each of their fellow campers something special to love.

Mary Beth Long, a first-year camper, came to camp reluctantly, but that soon changed. “Our camp leaders are crazy. You should have seen what they did!” What they did had something to do with a zany sense of humor and red licorice in their ears. Somewhere between flag ceremonies and foil dinners, magic touched Mary Beth’s heart, and she knew her leaders loved her. “I will never be the same person I was before girls’ camp,” she exclaimed.

Sister Evanka Pashinova, who had been an opera singer before she joined the Church, orchestrated the production. She translated unfamiliar songs into Bulgarian and organized the choir. Despite the distances members had to travel to rehearse (as long as two hours’ travel each way), choir members were enthusiastic and committed. They never missed a rehearsal. The musical portion of the program began to come together.
Several individuals blended their talents to create the costumes and scenery. Elena Shtilianova, a fine seamstress, made or found the costumes for all three scenes. An investigator who is an actress with the National Theater arranged for the Father Christmas costume. Another sister who is an artist painted exquisite backdrops. In a country where rolls of paper are often not available, she somehow found the materials needed to create the scenery. The investigator who had provided the Father Christmas costume also borrowed spotlights from the National Theater—as well as the union technicians who came with them.
As the complexity of the production and the number of participants and guests outgrew the meager facilities of the mission office, a banquet room at the Moscow Hotel in Sofia was reserved with funds from the mission office. Although it had only a small stage, an upright piano, and very limited space, it was the best that could be found. The choir members laughed about “standing room only” and offered to stand offstage when they weren’t performing so everyone could squeeze in.
The work took on a rhythm of its own as the weeks of rehearsal went on. The members’ excitement crescendoed into confidence, and everyone began to look forward to the chance to sing of the birth of the Savior and of his place in their hearts.
But as the excitement grew, the group’s harmony was invaded by discord. Newspapers and television spoke against the Church. Missionaries were physically abused. Rocks were thrown through the windows of the mission home and the mission office. One night the whole front of the mission office was painted with obscenities.
As the anti-Church sentiment grew, the manager of the Moscow Hotel began to worry about the possible consequences of allowing the Church to hold a Christmas program in her hotel. Less than 36 hours before the program was to begin, she notified the mission office that the members would not be able to use their reserved room after all.
Some of the members were devastated by the news, believing that the Christmas program would have to be canceled. President Warner was more trusting.
“Heavenly Father knows where we are and how much we need to have this program,” he said. “Let’s leave it in the Lord’s hands.”
The Lord heard their prayers. When the assistants to the mission president, Elder Trent Murray and Elder Hannon Ford, returned to the Moscow Hotel to get the mission’s money back, the manager explained why she was reluctant to allow them to use the reserved room on the main floor and led them to a room on the second floor.
“If you can promise that your people will come in the back door instead of the front door, go up the back stairs, and not use the lobby, you can use this other room,” she said, opening the door to a much larger ballroom. It was two and a half times larger than their reserved room, and it had a wonderful grand piano. It even had a Christmas tree and other holiday decorations.
On a cold Saturday afternoon in Sofia, missionaries met the members and investigators arriving for the program and directed them to the back door, where they entered the hotel inconspicuously. More than 400 guests crowded into the ballroom. Even the dour faces of the spotlight technicians, who were unhappy to be working on a holiday, could not spoil their festive spirit.
The 150 choir members sang beautifully, and the audience joined in for a sing-along. By the time a young couple placed their baby in the manger for the final scene, the room was filled with joy and music. Even the spotlight technicians were singing and clapping along with the others.
The Spirit was so strong that no one wanted to leave. But like every performance, the Christmas program had to conclude. The same child’s a capella solo that had opened the program—her “Silent Night”—ended it. As the audience and the participants returned home, echoes of their experience—their “Joy to the World”—reverberated in their hearts and warmed the chill in the Bulgarian air.

As a young man in Pocatello, Idaho I have fond memories of elderly Brother Bailey, the custodian of our chapel. He was a humble man with limited education, but he was also a handsome man with a beautiful shock of white hair. It was an honor for Brother Bailey to keep the chapel clean and to associate with righteous members of the Church. As far as I know, he never was called to serve in the bishopric or on the high council, but later in life he was called to serve as a stake missionary. In our training meetings, when President Egbert, our stake mission president, called upon Brother Bailey to bear his testimony, few could hold back the tears as that slender man with a dark tan, gnarled hands and snow white hair would declare with a trembling voice that he knew beyond any doubt that Joseph Smith had truly seen the Father and the Son. One could almost gain the impression Brother Bailey had been in the sacred grove himself and had stood behind one of the trees as Joseph beheld that great vision.

Brother Bailey had acquired no honors of men, certainly no university degrees and no executive leadership positions, but a loving, merciful Heavenly Father had honored him with an unshakeable testimony and the gift of being able to teach by the Spirit. Though he was a bit less organized in his presentation of the restored gospel than other stake missionaries, he trusted in Nephi's promise that "when a man speaketh by the power of the Holy Ghost the power of the Holy Ghost carrieth it into the hearts of the children of men" (2 Nephi 33:1).

Brother Bailey's humility and gentleness, his radiant countenance, his dark flashing eyes often filled with tears and his voice filled with conviction, disarmed his listeners, softened their hearts and opened their ears and their minds to receive the word of the Lord. He was never honored by being called to serve in the stake mission presidency. He didn't need to be. The Lord honored him by listening to his prayers each morning and evening. "Just imagine," he would think to himself, "with billions of people on the earth, Heavenly Father has time to listen to my personal prayers." What an honor!

As we think about eternal values and wise choices, let me share an experience of some who exemplified a righteous standard.

Our son-in-law, who is a bishop in a student ward and also a teacher of English on this campus, was assigned a six-week seminar last summer. After talking it over, he and our daughter, Susan, decided she would stay at home with their five children and see that they all had their summer lessons and also care for their yard in his absence.

One hot summer afternoon she brought the children to Salt Lake City to see us. While visiting with us she mentioned that everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. Then, having shared her problems and having touched base with home, she felt she could go on. About an hour after she left, the phone rang. Susan was calling from her home in Provo. We could barely hear her teary, squeaky voice on the other end, and we thought perhaps there had been an accident. But she simply wanted us to know that the students in their ward, in spite of their busy schedules, had come over while she was in Salt Lake City and weeded their entire yard.

Commitment to righteousness is not just saying—it is doing!

Friends who don’t share your standards could actually weaken and tear your standards down. When I first moved to my new school, I tried to fit in by saying some of the things people around me would say. I almost forgot some of my standards while trying to be like everyone. I know now that in order to build your standards, you need friends who support and share your standards. I’m grateful I eventually found friends like that because they remind me of my standards.
Logan J., 15, Utah, USA

One time I was conducting a conference in Salt Lake City and President George F. Richards of the Council of the Twelve was there. I invited him to speak, and he said, no, he didn’t care to speak but to go ahead. So I began to speak, and I told them that if they ever told a story about anybody, that story would stick to that person no matter how long he lived, and it would be believed by most people, and therefore they must not bear false witness.
While I was speaking, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and there stood President Richards right behind me, and he said, “I’ve changed my mind. I want to speak.”
He said words about like this: “Once upon a time I was a high councilor in a stake, and somebody made a serious accusation against a man. We debated whether to have him in and try him. Finally, the stake president decided he would talk to him privately, and apparently he did, and the man proved to the satisfaction of all of us that not only was he not guilty of the accusation, but he hadn’t even been in the country when it was supposed to have taken place. He was away somewhere, and he couldn’t possibly have done it.”
He said, “Forty years went by, and that man’s name came up for a very high appointment in the Church. In spite of myself, I caught myself wondering if the story told about the man was true, even though it had been proven false.
I had to get hold of myself to keep from voting negatively against that man on a false story told forty years before that was proved false.” Then he sat down, and I continued speaking.