Gospel Story Finder

“Get your coat. He’ll be waiting for us.” That’s all Dad said. I’d seen him mad and sad and disappointed and a whole bunch of other things, but not all at the same time.

“I’ll take it back to Brother Gordon’s store,” I said, pushing the shaving cream across the table. “I’ll pay for it too. It only costs a dollar and thirty-nine cents.” I swallowed hard. “I’ve got that much in my drawer.”

Dad didn’t say anything more. He just looked at me. He looked at me so hard that I felt real funny inside, and finally I had to stare at the floor or start bawling.

“I can pay for it,” I said again. “You can have the money right now.”

“Get your coat.” He almost whispered it. “And while you’re at it, bring the dollar and thirty-nine cents.”

There was nothing more to say. I guess no kid can win in a fight against his dad. There’s something about being a dad that gives him a head start. When your dad says that David killed Goliath or that Joseph was sold into Egypt, then that’s what happened. When he says that you need to go to church every Sunday, then a guy knows where he’d better be on Sunday. And when a dad says, “Get your coat and bring your dollar and thirty-nine cents with you,” then there isn’t much a person can do but get his coat and money.

I went to my room and counted out three dollars. I figured that paying more than double would make things easier on me when I got to the sheriff’s.

On the way over to Brother Gordon’s store, I got to thinking about Harry and Carl. This was all their fault, not mine. I hadn’t even wanted to take the shaving cream, but they’d said I wouldn’t be stealing. All I was supposed to do was talk to Brother Gordon while they did the stealing.

I explained all that to Dad, but he said that helping someone else to steal is still stealing and that this was even more my fault because I’d taken advantage of Brother Gordon’s trust in me. I guess he was right, but I sure didn’t think it was fair that I was getting blamed for everything. I only brought the shaving cream home with me because Harry and Carl didn’t want it after they got out of the store.

The more I thought about Harry and Carl, the madder I got. Before I knew it, I could feel tears in my eyes, and I started to sniffle. By then we were in front of Brother Gordon’s store, so I hurried and dried my eyes with my coat sleeve and got out of the car.

As soon as we walked into the store, Brother Gordon saw Dad and came over. Dad had called the sheriff already, but Brother Gordon still didn’t know anything about my stealing. Dad said I would have to tell him.

“Hello, Dick,” Dad said. “Robert has some business with you to take care of.”

“What can I do for you, Bobby?” Brother Gordon asked.

I looked at his belt buckle and held out the shaving cream. “I stole it.” That was all I could say. Brother Gordon didn’t say anything, and Dad wouldn’t help me either.

“I stole it,” I said louder. “I stole it and I’m sorry. You always said you could trust me, but I guess you couldn’t, because I’m just an old robber. But I won’t ever do it again.”

I was bawling real good by then, and I just wished I had never seen that shaving cream. I set it on the counter and dug into my pocket for my money. “The shaving cream only costs a dollar and thirty-nine cents, but I’ll pay three dollars.”

Brother Gordon didn’t know what to do. He told me to keep the money, but Dad said no. I didn’t care because I didn’t want the money, and most of all I didn’t want that old shaving cream.

I figured that since I’d bawled good and paid the money and told Brother Gordon I was sorry that Dad wouldn’t take me to the sheriff, but I was wrong.

When we walked into the sheriff’s office, the first thing I saw was his gun. He wore it down on his leg like cowboys in the movies do. Dad had told me once that the sheriff could shoot a gun better than anyone around and that he had ribbons and trophies to prove it.

The sheriff showed me into another room and told me to wait for him while he talked to Dad. I wasn’t too scared until I noticed four rifles chained to a rack on one of the walls. There was a desk in one corner with two chairs in front of it. I sat down on one of the chairs and looked at the guns on the wall and wondered if those rifles were still used to shoot robbers.

The sheriff came into the room without Dad and shut the door. Then he walked over to the desk and straightened some papers. After a second he sat down and leaned back in his chair.

“I hear you got into a little trouble. Is that so?”

I just nodded.

“I guess you know that stealing’s wrong?”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“I guess you know that it doesn’t matter how many people do it. It’s still wrong.”

“Yes, sir.”

“A person can get thrown into jail for stealing.” He didn’t smile. He just stared at me. Now when Dad’s upset, his eyes can make you feel funny and kind of twitchy inside, but when the sheriff looked at me, it hurt. I looked at the floor a couple of times and dusted off my pants, even though they didn’t need it.

All of a sudden the sheriff stood up and took off his gun holster. “There’s no sense in my telling you that you’ve done something wrong,” he growled. “You know that. You broke the law, and your dad wants me to do something about it.”

He stopped talking while he slowly pulled his gun out of the holster. I had thought he might throw me in jail, but I hadn’t figured he’d shoot me, not for a stolen tube of shaving cream. My spit dried up, and I grabbed the chair real tight, then held my breath, closed my eyes, and waited for the BANG! There was just a quiet thud, though, when the sheriff put his gun into his desk drawer.

Well, my spit came back, and I started to breathe again. It was pretty jumpy breathing for a while, but it was real good to know I could still do it.

The sheriff coughed and sat down. “Most dads don’t bring their boys to the sheriff. But your dad isn’t like most dads.” He leaned forward. “You’re going to grow up to be a good man, Bobby, but you won’t grow up that way because you came in here and talked to me. You’ll be a good man because you have a good dad. Right now it might seem that you’re getting all the blame for what Harry and Carl did. But some day you’ll realize that your dad isn’t being hard on you. It’s Carl’s and Harry’s dads who are being hard on them.”

The sheriff leaned back in his chair and just stared at me for a while. Finally he opened his desk drawer and pulled out five paper cups. He carried the other chair across the room and set the cups on it. Then he pulled a long black horsewhip from his desk.

All of a sudden he jerked the fat end of that whip, and the skinny end shot out of his hand with a loud bang and hit one of those paper cups and tore it to pieces. It happened so fast that I jumped out of my chair. My eyes bulged, and I felt my heart beating so hard up in my throat that I thought I’d choke. He snapped that whip three more times, and then there was just one cup left on the chair.

The sheriff started talking again. “It used to be that when someone stole something, he was given a good thrashing with a whip like this.” He looked straight at me. He didn’t smile, and I knew he wasn’t playing a game. Before I could blink my eyes, that horsewhip shot out and ripped the last cup off the chair.

“I don’t whip people for stealing.” He cleared his throat and added, “But there is one thing I might whip a boy for.”

The sheriff began to roll up his whip while he talked. “You know, Bobby, dads are pretty good fellows. They take you on camp-outs, teach you how to play ball, fix your bike tires when they’re flat, tell you stories, and somehow are always around when you need a friend. Most of all, they’re there to set you straight when you get off the right track. If the world’s a good place to live in, it’s because there are lots of good dads.”

The sheriff stopped talking, and I figured he was done. But he wasn’t. He took a deep breath and started tapping his fingers on the desk. “Do you know why your dad and I are such good friends?”

I shook my head.

“My dad died before I was even born. When I was growing up, your dad was the one who fixed my bike, showed me how to play ball, and was around when I needed a friend. He was a dad to me.”

I looked up at the sheriff, and I could see that his eyes were moist and shining. He wasn’t bawling or anything, but shoot, the sheriff’s about the toughest guy around!

He was real quiet for a long time. Then he looked at me, picked up his coiled whip, pointed it at me, and said quietly, “Now, I’m going to tell you how you can get a horsewhipping. I won’t give it to you for stealing things from Mr. Gordon’s store or for fighting or breaking windows or anything like that. Those things are bad, but they won’t get you a horsewhipping. There’s something worse than doing those things. If you hurt your dad … if you ever do anything that makes him feel real bad, or if I hear you calling him ‘old man’ like some of the other boys call their dads, I’ll come looking for you. And believe you me, I’ll horsewhip you, because you have the best dad in the world, and any boy who would do those things to a dad like yours needs a good horsewhipping. Do you understand me?”

I nodded my head. I sure did understand.

Finally he smiled. I was glad to see that he remembered how.

When he told me I could go, Dad was waiting for me. I was sure glad to see him. When we walked out to the car, he put his arm around me like he does lots of times. He told me he loved me and just wanted me to be a good boy. I knew he meant what he said, and I remembered what the sheriff had said about him.

It’s been a while since I went with Dad to see the sheriff. I haven’t stolen anything else from Brother Gordon, and he still trusts me and says I’m a good boy.

The sheriff always waves to me when he passes in his truck, and whenever he talks to me, he asks me about my dad. I haven’t ever asked him if he still has his whip. He probably does, but I’m not afraid of it—or him—because there’s no reason for him to come looking for me. You see, I’ve got the best dad in the whole world, and I know it.

Dear brothers and sisters, today is a special day for me as once again God proved that He listens and answers our sincere prayers.
When my family moved from Chennai to Vijayawada in 2014, we were starving for spiritual food, as no branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was available in Vijayawada and we were not interested in attending other churches, despite their being available aplenty around our house. Monthly we used to travel about 200 km to attend church meetings in Rajahmundry, but for rest of the month we had no spiritual nourishment. As a family we used to pray for a branch in Vijayawada, and God has answered our prayers. In November 2015, the mission president agreed to have a home group in Vijayawada at our house with seven members. We as a home group sincerely prayed for a branch in Vijayawada. Today is a great day for us, as we have a branch in Vijayawada with about 50 members.
God not only answered my prayers but also gave me an opportunity to serve Him as branch president. I’m very much grateful to Heavenly Father for listening and answering my prayers. I’m once again surrendering myself to Almighty God to utilize me as a useful vessel. What I shared is true, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Elder Dean L. Larsen formerly one of the Seven Presidents of the Seventy and my mission president from many years ago taught this in General Conference, "Not long ago I interviewed a young man who desired to fill a mission, but he had been guilty of some very serious transgressions during his teen years. He was a member of an active Latter-day Saint family, and he himself had been an actively participating member of the Church, even during the time of his transgressions. Ultimately he had gone to his bishop and confessed his wrongdoings. Now, for more than a year, his life had been free of the earlier difficulties, and he was anxious to serve a mission.

"As we talked about his situation and the decisions he had made earlier in his life that led to his questionable standing in the Church, he said, Oh, I knew that what I was doing was wrong, and I was sure that one day I would put things back in order and go on a mission.

"While I was pleased with this young man's desire to reorder his life and serve the Lord as a missionary, I was troubled by the apparent premeditated, calculated way in which he had allowed himself to move off the proper course to engage in some destructive, immoral behavior, and then, almost as if he were following a timetable set by himself, he had begun to reconstruct his resolve to be obedient.

"If my experience with this young man had been an isolated one, it would not be worthy of note here; unfortunately, however, it is not unique. There appears to be an increasing tendency and temptation for young people to sample the forbidden things of the world, not with the intent to embrace them permanently, but with the knowing decision to indulge in them momentarily as though they held a value of some kind too important or exciting to pass by. It is one of the great tests of our time.

"While many recover from these excursions into forbidden territory, an increasing number of tragedies are occurring that reach out to bring a blight and a despair to many lives and that have long-lasting consequences. There is no such thing as private sin. Although its commission can be calculated, its effects cannot be regulated by the person guilty of the misbehavior. To believe otherwise is to become gullible to one of the most insidious lies ever perpetrated by the father of lies."

Wilford Woodruff wrote in March 1840 about climbing the Malvern Hills. “In my walk to Colwell on the 9th, I had a great survey of nature and of the power of the Creator; this was while standing upon the summit of Malvern Hill, elevated from twelve hundred to fifteen hundred feet above the level. The surrounding country was before my view, stretched out many miles. Worcester town lies in the north, clearly seen in the prospect, Gloucester on the south, with several large villages between, Ledbury and other villages on the west, and a fine, beautifully cultivated vale upon every hand. While upon this noted hill, beholding the grand and charming prospect before me, the thunder began to roll, and the lightning flashed in the vale below, on which the rain descended in torrents. The solemnity and grandeur of the scene was impressive as I stood upon the hill above the clouds, surveying the beautiful works of the Creator, and His majesty in the storm” (Cowley, 148–49).

There is a picture of another girl in that yearbook. She was not particularly beautiful. But she had a wholesome look about her, a sparkle in her eyes, and a smile on her face. She knew why she was in school. She was there to learn. She dreamed of the kind of woman she wanted to be and patterned her life accordingly. She also knew how to have fun but knew when to stop and put her mind on other things.
There was a boy in school at the time. He had come from a small rural town. He had very little money. There was nothing especially handsome or dashing about him. He was a good student. He had set a goal for himself. It was lofty and, at times, appeared almost impossible of attainment.
These two fell in love. People said, “What does he see in her?” Or, “What does she see in him?” They each saw something wonderful which no one else saw.
Upon graduating from the university, they married. Money was hard to come by. He went on to graduate school. She continued to work for a time, and then their children came. She gave her attention to them.
A few years ago, I was riding a plane home from the East. It was late at night. I walked down the aisle in the semidarkness. I saw a woman asleep with her head on the shoulder of her husband. She awakened as I approached. I immediately recognized the girl I had known in high school so long before. I recognized the boy I had also known. They were now approaching old age. As we talked, she explained that their children were grown, that they were grandparents. She proudly told me that they were returning from the East, where he had gone to deliver a paper. There at a great convention he had been honored by his peers from across the nation.
I learned that they had been active in the Church, serving in whatever capacity they were asked to serve. By every measure, they were successful. They had accomplished the goals which they had set for themselves. They had been honored and respected and had made a tremendous contribution to the society of which they were a part. She had become the woman of whom she had dreamed.
The life of the other had been difficult. It had meant working and struggling. It had meant simple food and plain clothing and a very modest apartment in the years of her husband’s initial effort to get started in his profession. But out of that seemingly sterile soil there had grown two plants, side by side, that blossomed and bloomed in a beautiful and wonderful way. Those beautiful blossoms spoke of service to fellowmen, of unselfishness one to another, of love and respect and faith in one’s companion, of happiness as they met the needs of others in the various activities which they pursued.

Let me close with my testimony, which takes us back to my first year at BYU. You see, while I changed quite a bit while there, some things I did not change like my study habits or my commitment to the gospel. So, in addition to having the most fun ever during that first year, I also received higher grades than I had in high school. I attribute that largely to my becoming competent in obeying the Honor Code and in keeping the Sabbath day holy. In fact, those were the best grades of my entire college career.

Of greater impact, President Spencer W. Kimball gave the first devotional that year. Before he even entered the Marriott Center, before I heard him speak, I received my own witness that this Church is led by prophets of God. Starting there, I've been able to receive a witness of every Church president since, as well as my current stake president, bishop, and even the current president of this university. It was also while a student at BYU in a simple prayer while I was preparing for my mission in my dorm room that I came to know for myself that Jesus Christ is indeed the Savior of the world and atoned for my sins.

I was born in Armenia when it was part of the Soviet Union. My parents taught me and my two siblings to be honest, good, and morally clean, and they did everything to give us a good education. But one of the first things I learned in kindergarten was a philosophy that religion is the opium of the people. And until I was 12 years old, I never knew there was a God.
When I was 12, a terrible earthquake destroyed 90 percent of my hometown, killing more than 50,000 people. I was in school when the noise became louder and louder, and everything around us began to shake. I was pulled into the crowd, trying to escape the building. Amid all the confusion, I suddenly realized I might never see my family again. In that moment, I saw a red knit scarf my mother had made for me hanging in a large hallway to the right of the stairwell. Following an impression, I broke from the crowd and went to retrieve the scarf. In that instant the ground shook for the third and last time, and I witnessed the stairwell collapse with all my friends in its ruins. Upon regaining my senses, I found that the whole school was a huge mass of rubble—with the exception of that tiny area housing me and my red knit scarf.
My entire family of five survived. When my father saw my mom, my eight-month-old sister, my seven-year-old brother, and me sitting in the middle of the street after seven hours of searching for us, the only thing he said was, “Blessed be Thy name, God.” I had lost my home, but for the first time I heard the name of God.
Eleven years passed. I had just graduated from the medical university in Yerevan, the capital of Armenia, where I was a medical resident in ophthalmology. While doing some volunteer work, I met two Latter-day Saint missionaries and we became good friends. They were welcomed in our home just as anyone else, but as soon as they started to talk about God, the whole atmosphere became tense. My parents told me that missionaries “teaching their religion” were not welcome in our home. Personally, I was not interested in religion, but I had not stopped them because there was something different in the eyes of those missionaries—something so innocent, pure, and magnificent. I was very interested in finding the source of the light I noticed in their eyes.
After my parents expressed their disapproval, I avoided meeting with the missionaries and finally arranged to meet them at their church building but just to say I was too busy to proceed with our discussions. Arriving at our appointment one hour early, I entered a room with lots of chairs and about 15 people in it. As I sat quietly, trying not to disturb anyone, I was astonished by the unusual but unbelievably familiar feelings. I felt just like I had when I was five years old and could run home, hug my mom, and tell her all that I had done—certain that she loved me, that she would always be there for me, and that everything was all right. After the long years of wandering in spirit, I knew I was home.
That night for the first time in my life, I knelt and prayed to God. If there was a Heavenly Father, I wanted Him to answer me, to tell me if the things the missionaries taught were true, to show me why I felt so different. It is hard to describe what happened next. I had never before felt the presence of my Heavenly Father so tangibly. I knew He loved me. He knew me. He had always been there. I slept that night knowing with all the strength of my heart that I had found my way home.
I started studying the gospel very carefully. After four months of intense investigation, I decided to be baptized.
My life soon turned upside down. I lost my job and had to end my medical residency. As my interests and values started to change, my old friends started to disappear. But hardest of all for me to accept was that my parents were against my baptism.
I loved my parents dearly. They had given everything they had to provide me with the best education and environment. They were proud of my accomplishments. But when they heard my decision, they were shocked. It was the first time I had wanted to do something they did not agree with, and it was very difficult for all of us. But I knew that God wanted me to be baptized. So even if my family would deny me, I couldn’t deny my Heavenly Father.
My family did not accept the invitation to my baptism, so on my baptism day I went alone to the church. There were many people at the baptism, but I felt my only “family members” were the two missionaries. Then as I turned to go to the baptismal font, I saw my mother and brother. It was the happiest day of my life. The presence of my family was like a beam of sunshine that brought me the hope of a brighter tomorrow.
The following year was full of blessings. In addition to responsibilities in my branch and much volunteer work, I found work in a private hospital and was able to continue my education. My mother came to Church meetings several times after my baptism, and she joined the Church five months later. But most important, I had my Heavenly Father’s love as part of my life, and I had the assurance that I was finally on my way home.

Shortly after World War II, I was visiting in Washington, D.C., and happened to pick up a New York newspaper. On the front page in a small box was reported an interview with a Russian historian who for a year had been visiting the United States and was about to return to his native land. I have forgotten the name of this historian, but I have not forgotten one of the questions reported to have been asked of him. The reporter said, “You have been in America for a year, studying our history and our people. Tell me, which of all the Americans do you consider the greatest?”
The Russian historian answered, “You have had only one great American—Joseph Smith, the Mormon Prophet.”
Giving a reason for his statement he said, “There is only one American who has advocated a way of life and has brought forth ideas, which, if followed, would change the whole society of the world.”
Delving into the life and teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith reveals a wealth of ideas so revolutionary that they could, if adopted, change the course of human history.
We don’t recognize how different from his times Joseph Smith was in his views:
He gave a new perspective of God, a restoration if you will, but a perspective at variance with that which prevailed. He proclaimed our Father to be a personal god, with a body—an individual who could speak and would speak to man—a person who would hear and answer prayers.
He brought forth new evidence that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, a resurrected being who had not only appeared in our day but had reestablished his church and was directing it.
He elevated man to a new position as the literal son of God and a god in embryo, who not only lived before appearing in the flesh but will live again after death and can, as a possibility, become a god.
He stated man to be the same species as God.
He declared that the whole purpose for the creation of this earth is for the benefit and eternal life of man—that our purpose in living is that we might have joy.
He taught that salvation will be universal, that all mankind will rise from the grave and can be forgiven of their sins upon repentance.
He announced that all the billions who have died might yet hear the gospel of Jesus Christ and, accepting it, have performed for them upon the earth all those necessary ordinances that lead to salvation.
These and countless other ideas are revolutionary. They are ideas that we still proclaim to the world and that, if accepted, could change the faith of all men.
Joseph Smith had some qualities that enabled God to use him and that would enable God to use you and me if we possessed them. For greatness is not handed to man upon a platter, and no individual can be an instrument in God’s hands except he possess the qualities that are inherent in leadership.
Intelligence
First is the quality of intelligence. Without opportunity for formal schooling, the Prophet was interested in almost every subject. In 1836 he was instrumental in bringing to the city of Kirtland, Ohio, where the Church was quartered, a Professor Seixas, a Hebrew scholar. The Prophet believed that the Church leaders should be familiar with the language. But how much Hebrew could you learn in 14 weeks, attending two or three nights a week? Only two students could read Hebrew with any degree of fluency afterward—Joseph Smith and Orson Pratt. The Prophet also appears to be the only one who publicly discussed various passages in the Bible from the Hebrew text.
Frequently we determine the intelligence of an individual by whether or not the views expressed in his lifetime withstand criticism in the years that follow. Some of the political views of the Prophet Joseph are interesting to review today:
He advocated a federal banking system—a type of reserve system that was not established in this country until 1917.
He urged Congress to place locks in the Mississippi River for the benefit of navigation. He didn’t live to see his hope fulfilled, but today the Keokuk Dam and locks, which permit large vessels to move on the river, have been built at the very spot advocated by the Prophet.
He proposed a prison reform system that is just beginning to be realized. Joseph contended that our prisons should become seminaries of learning if we expect to rehabilitate those who have violated the laws of our society.
It is not because Joseph Smith advocated these things that they have finally been adopted. But it does indicate that his views in many fields, in addition to religion, have proven to be realistic and farsighted.
Zeal for Learning
There is a second quality of the Prophet Joseph, a quality that you and I must have if we want to become leaders. It is a zeal for learning.
You may recall in the New Testament the story of a young student. He journeyed with his parents, Joseph and Mary, down to the feast of the Passover. We don’t know why the party with whom he traveled to Jerusalem left before the feast was over, but it appears as if they did; they were some distance on their way when Joseph and Mary discovered that their son was not with them. They went back and found him sitting at the feet—or standing before—some of the great Jewish teachers. At 12 years of age Jesus Christ had a zeal for learning.
Joseph Smith was of like nature. At the age of 14 he sought the true church. He would not give up until he found the answer. Throughout his life a zeal for learning was one of his great qualities.
This quality of mind is exemplified in the many languages he studied. He had a working knowledge of Hebrew and often studied the Bible in German. He also learned to decipher Egyptian. In an address to the Saints he made a list of some dozen languages and said, “If I live long enough, I’m going to master them all.”
Faith in a Living God
This zeal for learning might not seem so vital and might not have brought him to greatness save for a third qualification, for we have indeed had intelligent men and women in this world who have also had a great desire to know and whom we admire, but who have often lacked the third quality—faith in a living God.
What has this to do with learning? Joseph Smith indicates that often when he struggled with a problem and could not find the answer, he went to the Lord in prayer. If he prayed in faith, “the answer,” he said, “came into my mind, with such clarity and such sequence of thoughts that I knew it was of God and I dictated the answer to my scribe.”
No matter how intelligent we may be or how desirous to learn, without faith in God many areas are closed to us. But these were not closed to Joseph Smith.
I think that a vital example of his faith is found in his experience with the book of Genesis in the Bible. Any reader of that book runs into problems. For example, the biblical record indicates that Adam and Eve had three sons, Cain, Abel, and Seth. Cain killed Abel and that left Cain and Seth to perpetuate the human race. Anyone reading the Bible knows that is impossible.
Joseph Smith exercised great faith when he prayed to the Lord to reveal to him the original context of this book of Moses. The original writings had been lost to the world, but Joseph prayed to the Lord to reveal them to him. That revealed text we have today is the book of Moses in the Pearl of Great Price. It constitutes one of the greatest additions to biblical scholarship that has ever been given to the world.
Power of Introspection
Joseph possessed a fourth quality that is important to all of us. It is the power of introspection—the power to look within ourselves and see what kind of person we are.
Every morning each one of us looks into a mirror to examine our physical appearance—hair styling, makeup, general health. Have you ever thought how fine it would be to look within yourself—to meet yourself on the street and ask yourself what kind of a person you are, to interrogate yourself? Do you know your own faults, your own strengths?
Here is an interesting quality of the Prophet Joseph. He knew his weaknesses and his strengths. He declared, “I was a rough stone until the Lord took me in hand.” (History of the Church, 5:423.)
Most of us hide our weaknesses. When we read in the Doctrine and Covenants, sections 3, 6, 10, and 24, we find that the Lord frequently upbraided the Prophet Joseph for failure to follow fully the directions given him [D&C 3, 6, 10, 24]. A lesser man would not have recorded those reprimands, but the Prophet never spared himself. He acknowledged and corrected his errors.
When he translated the Book of Mormon, Joseph recognized his weakness in regard to the English language, for he had had so little schooling. He studied the language, and when the second edition of the Book of Mormon came from the press, he had personally corrected the grammatical errors of the first edition. If you want to see him at his literary finest, reread sections 121, 122, and 123 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 121, 122, 123]. This beautiful writing stands as a monument to a man’s ability to rise.
The Prophet recognized in himself many weaknesses, but he set about to overcome them. He recorded that on one occasion a man came into his home and in a rage called him almost every name under heaven. The Prophet wrote that he was so incensed he kicked the man out of his house and all the way to the front gate. He then went back to his office and wrote in his journal how unbecoming of a prophet his actions had been. He never lost his temper again.
When he was imprisoned in Liberty Jail during that hard winter of 1838–1839, without a fire or proper food, Joseph heard lurid stories about how his people had been driven and massacred and the women ravaged. He pleaded with the Lord:
“O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?
“How long shall thy hand be stayed … ?” (D&C 121:1–2.)
It was a prayer of complaint. But when the Lord answered him, he said unto him:
“Thou art not yet as Job; thy friends do not contend against thee, neither charge thee with transgression, as they did Job.” (D&C 121:10.)
He reminded him that the Son of Man had descended below them all: “Art thou greater than he?” Joseph Smith did not complain again.
Love of People
Let me refer to a fifth characteristic of the man: love of people. No man can be great in this world without a love for his fellowmen. Emma said of Joseph that he would not even eat a meal alone but would have to invite a stranger from the street to share it with him. (See History of the Church, 6:166.) Written accounts are full of instances in which he stood for the defense of an individual. His own written account is full of situations in which he rebuked the Saints for criticizing one another.
The supreme evidence of his love occurred in June 1844 when, having had it revealed to him by the Lord that his enemies sought his life, he had planned to journey into the West and find a place for the Saints where they might be safe. He had crossed the Mississippi when word came from his wife Emma, “The Saints think you are a coward. They are charging that you are running away.” From Joseph came these famous words: “If my life is of no value to my friends, it is of no value to me. Hyrum, we are going back.” (See Essentials in Church History, p. 374.)
As he rode out of Nauvoo on his way to Carthage to give himself up to the sheriff, he turned in the saddle, and looking back upon the city of Nauvoo, said, “Oh, that I could but speak once more to my beloved people.”
On the highway he met Steven Markham who said to him “Joseph, where are you going?” He answered, “I am going like a lamb to the slaughter, but I am as calm as a summer’s morning. I have a conscience void of offense toward God and toward all men.” (Essentials in Church History, p. 376.)
This is the Prophet Joseph Smith who possessed these five great qualities: intelligence, zeal for learning, faith in a living God, the ability to look within himself and correct his own character, and a love of people. These five qualities, possessed collectively, helped to make Joseph Smith a fit instrument in the hands of God to be a prophet to this dispensation. These same qualities will greatly help us in our callings if we will but recognize and cultivate them.

One day Morgan pushed a toy truck across the kitchen table. Morgan’s baby brother, Jacksen, sat in his chair and watched. Morgan pushed his truck too hard, and it crashed into a glass of orange juice.
“Mom! Mom!” Morgan cried. “Jacksen knocked the orange juice over!”
Mom soaked up the orange juice with a towel. “Morgan,” she said, “today is your day to be honest.”
“What’s honest?” Morgan asked.
“Honest is when the person who knocked over the orange juice tells me what he did. He does not tell me that someone else did it.”
“OK, I knocked over the orange juice,” Morgan said. “Now am I honest?”
“Yes,” Mom said. “You are honest, Morgan. I am proud of you.”

I stood and watched my sleeping son. His sleep was heavy from the sedatives the doctor had given him. My heart felt just as heavy; indeed, my whole being felt heavy, as if a great burden had been laid on my chest.
What effects would the terrible events of this day have upon my son? I wondered. He was only 20 and had watched his oldest brother and one of our best friends fall down a snow-encrusted Icelandic mountain and die. Both were young men with their whole lives ahead of them. One was our branch president. He left behind a young wife and two children, the youngest only six weeks old.
The three friends had left my home that January morning to hike up a nearby mountain. I had begged them not to go; I knew there would be ice on the mountain, and the weather report forecast poor conditions. But they had not listened. I could still see their smiling faces as they waved and drove away. I would never see two of them alive again. The sorrow was so great that I closed my eyes. Pain pierced my heart like a sharp knife.
How could the Lord allow this to happen? These young men had been almost all we had of priesthood leadership in our very small branch. I could not understand. I felt the Lord had let us down.
I undressed and as usual knelt by my bed to thank my Heavenly Father for the day that had passed. But I could not utter a word. How could I thank Him for this terrible day? What was there to thank Him for? There must be something, I remember thinking. And then I remembered my sleeping son and felt shame flood my heart. How could I have forgotten him? He had been in the same danger as the other two, but he had come back alive. I thanked my Heavenly Father for protecting him and bringing him back to me. I asked Him to help my son get through this ordeal.
And then I thanked my Father in Heaven for those two young men who had died—my oldest son and our friend, our branch president. I thanked Him that I had known them and loved them and enjoyed their friendship. I thanked Him that they had both been converted, that both had believed in Him and in His Son, our Savior, and that both had changed their lives before they died. They had both died in the Lord—oh, how grateful I was for that!
And then I thanked my Heavenly Father for my four other children who were alive and healthy, for my good children-in-law, and for my grandchildren. And I kept on. There was so much to thank the Father for; there seemed to be no end to it.
With each word of thanks, the burden on my chest lightened, and a warm, life-giving feeling started flowing through my body. My mind was filled with peace, and my heart with joy.
How could that be? I thought. How could I feel joy after what had happened? But I did, and I knew it was right. The sorrow was there still, deep and painful, but there was also joy. I had learned that even in deepest sorrow our Father in Heaven can bless us with peace and joy. The key is faith in our Lord and Savior, complete trust in him, and gratitude—gratitude to our Heavenly Father for all that we have and all that we have had.
I finished my prayer and lay down in my bed. I still didn’t know why the deaths had to happen, but it didn’t matter. I had felt my Heavenly Father’s love. We were in His hands, and everything would be all right.

Recently in the mail was a query from friends in California, now retiring from schoolteaching, who indicated a desire to return to Utah and who asked, “What can we do for the Church when we return?”
My answer was, “Don’t come to Utah. Your church experience is needed out in the world. Brush up on your Norwegian that you learned as a missionary years ago.” I understand they will soon be on their way. He is thrilled with this opportunity to serve a second mission, and this time he will have an added blessing of keeping the same companion for his entire mission.

As mentioned earlier, my opportunity to serve in the inner city of Washington DC and Baltimore as a missionary where I tried very hard to follow the spirit every day of my life was a valuable experience for me, and one I wouldn’t trade for anything. I remember coming home distraught one winter evening after attempting to teach a woman about Jesus Christ. Her doubts of His existence shook me. I remember huddling close to the stove that we used for warmth in our tiny apartment and reading the entire Gospel of John from the New Testament.

When I was done a warm feeling came over me and I knew that He was real. That he really did sacrifice Himself on the cross for me. Because He loved me, I was redeemed myself. I was found. When I returned home, I taught about redemption and change to those struggling teenagers at the Wilderness Survival program.
I personally saw many young people begin their own redemption stories.

They all said it. My mom said it. My dad said it. My teachers at church said it. My friends said it. And they said it over and over again. Joseph Smith is a prophet, they said. This Church is true, they said. The only true church on the face of the earth. But I wasn’t so sure that I could say it with my whole heart.
I wanted to know if they were right. I had always been told that if I wanted a testimony I had to pray and ask God for the truth. I prayed, but I felt nothing. As part of my daily prayers, I asked for a confirmation, a sure knowledge and testimony that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God and that the Church was true. I still felt the same. I continued praying daily, asking for a witness of the truth. God chose not to answer my prayers right away. But I continued seeking.
One day I was playing hymns on the piano and singing to myself. I turned to “Joseph Smith’s First Prayer” (Hymns, no. 26). I had sung it many times before. This time, I paid closer attention to the words, and they meant more to me than they ever had. “Oh, how lovely was the morning!” I sang. “Radiant beamed the sun above. Bees were humming, sweet birds singing, Music ringing thru the grove, When within the shady woodland Joseph sought the God of love.”
I imagined in my mind, Joseph Smith walking into a grove of trees on a beautiful spring day. “Humbly kneeling, sweet appealing—’Twas the boy’s first uttered prayer.” I pictured Joseph in my mind, praying to his Father with all his heart.
When I reached the third verse, the words affected me powerfully. “Suddenly a light descended, Brighter far than noon-day sun.” Just as that sudden light, brighter than the sun, enlightened the understanding of the boy Joseph, it enlightened mine. Peace filled me as I continued to sing. “And a shining glorious pillar O’er him fell, around him shone, While appeared two heav’nly beings, God the Father and the Son.”
With joy in my heart I sang, “‘Joseph, this is my Beloved; Hear him!’ Oh, how sweet the word! Joseph’s humble prayer was answered, And he listened to the Lord.”
Joseph’s humble prayer was answered, and so was mine that day. I didn’t have a vision as Joseph did, but I could feel that the Church was true. It was something I had never felt before: a peace, a joy, a surety that Joseph Smith was a prophet and had restored the Church of Jesus Christ. I have felt that peaceful assurance many times since then. I know God lives. He hears and answers our prayers. This is His true Church. And Joseph Smith was a true prophet.

Walking down the steps that led to the basement of our meetinghouse, I caught sight of my mother, hunched over a strange-looking machine, peering at illuminated pages in a darkened room and straining to read old documents. Still a young child, I didn’t understand what my mother did every Tuesday night for two hours in this quiet room. I had been sent to retrieve her from the church’s depths because Mutual had ended and my family wanted to go home.
My mother’s dedication to family history confused me for years. I often heard Church leaders stress the importance of participating in family history, but it seemed like an overwhelming task to me. Besides, it looked so boring.
“What satisfaction could she possibly receive from poring over lists of dead people’s names,” I wondered one afternoon as a teenager after dropping her off at the family history center. I continued in this vein of skepticism until, little by little, I began to wade into the waters of my ancestry.
The first time I felt the appeal of family history occurred during the Christmas break of my freshman year at BYU. One evening, as the rest of the family boisterously played a board game in the living room, I found myself seated at the kitchen table with my mom and older sister. The conversation soon turned to relatives, particularly my mother’s dad and his parents.
My great-grandparents, Orla and Roger, died in their 20s, leaving my grandfather and his brother in the care of Roger’s family. After Orla’s death, her father, Robert, died of appendicitis. A short time later, her mother fell, cracked her skull, and suffered several strokes, becoming bedridden. Orla’s oldest sisters, Thelma and Ena, then carried the full burden of supporting the family—a difficult task for two young, unmarried women in the late 1920s.
It was all so fascinating to learn about people I felt connected to but had never met. I was amazed by the trials my family had faced. Hearing it all made my own problems seem so small in comparison.
Several months later, with my mother’s story crowded into the recesses of my mind by school and work, I received an assignment in one of my classes at Brigham Young University to find 8 to 10 primary documents containing the name of one of my ancestors.
My genealogical training to that point consisted of singing the Primary song “Family History—I Am Doing It,” but grades weren’t negotiable in my mind, so I began at the only place I could think to start—Orla’s family. I looked her up on a pedigree chart and traced her line back until I found her grandfather, Joseph Argyle Jr.
One afternoon, I made the trek across the BYU campus to the library and into the family history library. I explained to a worker who Joseph Argyle was and the little information I knew about him.
For the next two hours, that worker guided me through a treasure hunt, which took us all over the library. We searched records of Mormon passengers on emigrant vessels, discovering that Joseph and his family crossed the Atlantic on a ship. Later that year, he traveled to Salt Lake Valley with the Ellsworth handcart company, which we found in a record book of handcart companies. We looked through the Endowment House records (found where he received his temple ordinances), the Utah death index (he lived to 84), and old Church membership records (there he was).
In an online database of Utah newspaper archives, I found a front-page obituary for my great-great-great grandfather. Published in the Davis County Clipper in February 1927, every sentence contained an interesting fact, such as Joseph’s contribution to the building of the Salt Lake Temple.
“He has the credit of having hauled the largest stone put in that building which weighed 13,000 pounds,” the article read.
I began to get a glimpse of the impact we can have on future generations when I discovered he had 88 descendants at the time of his death, a number which increased exponentially in the past 79 years.
Every time I found another document with my ancestors’ names on it, I felt a little tingle of excitement run through my body. It was like a mystery novel, putting all the pieces together, little by little beginning to understand who this man was. I became so immersed in learning about my ancestor, I didn’t leave until late in the afternoon, almost missing work!
I completed the assignment and received an A, but even more importantly, I created a tangible connection with one of my relatives. Joseph Argyle left his home, sailed across the ocean, traveled to Utah and helped build the temple, all because he believed in the gospel of Jesus Christ, a legacy which I inherited and which gives me the strength to fight my own battles in the 21st century.
I am a link in the chain of Joseph Argyle, and I can pass on his example to strengthen my children and their children. There are others I can help as well. The temple work for the vast majority of my ancestors has yet to be completed, and hundreds, even thousands, of my ancestors are waiting for me to do my part.
For more information on how to get started on your family history, visit your local family history center or go to www.familysearch.org.

As a young man, David O. McKay took a summer job delivering newspapers to a mining town. He made friends with the miners, and they were always glad to see him.
Miner: Here comes David with our newspapers!
David: Good afternoon, gentlemen.
The trip took five hours each way. This gave David plenty of time to read books, memorize quotations, and learn from the scriptures. He loved learning! Sometimes he stopped to pray about gaining a testimony.
David never stopped learning. When he was President of the Church, some of his sermons included quotes he had memorized long before while riding his horse.

After receiving my PhD I had the great blessing of becoming a teacher and witnessing the power of the Holy Ghost in assisting struggling students in their learning. Some months ago I had such an experience here on this campus. My wife, who often tutors international students in English, asked if I might help tutor a Chinese student who was struggling in her science class. As I did so, I discovered that not only was this wonderful Sister having a challenge with the language, but since this was her very first science class, even such basic concepts as atoms, molecules and compounds were totally foreign to her.

One Saturday morning, comprehending and understanding the basic principles was proving especially challenging. After a few minutes, she stopped me and asked, "Do you think we could say a prayer? I need some additional help if I'm going to understand this material." We then took the time to have a prayer and a wonderful Spirit entered the room. And while the topic did not get any easier, it was clear to both of us that her ability to learn the material was expanded and enhanced throughout the remainder of that study session.

But even on a winning team, there are lessons to be learned about defeat. Angie Harris, the team center, hyperextended her knee during the second quarter of the first game of the record-breaking season, and was sidelined for the rest of the year. At least two surgeries have been necessary to get her back on her feet, and she’ll probably never play school ball again. Many players might be bitter over this, but not Angie. She reads the scriptures faithfully every day, and from them she’s learned that “the Lord isn’t going to give you challenges that you can’t handle. This injury wasn’t that bad. I played on the state championship team last year. This keeps it from going to my head.”

For a parent-child service project (see guidebook, p. 9), Michael’s family decided to make apple pies that each family member could take to someone. Michael asked if he could take his pie to a family who had been unfriendly. Although his mother was concerned, Michael persisted. Michael’s family delivered the pie. They discovered that the family was having hard times and that the unfriendliness was not directed at them. The two families became great friends because Michael wanted to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Some years ago I met a young man who had been in the armed forces and had flown a plane that completed one of the first bombing trips over Germany. In England after the war was over, he was selected to represent the American soldiers in an introduction to the Queen Mother and her daughters. He was put through a training course on how he should salute them. When he was finally introduced to them, he said, very naturally, “Hello, girls, how are you?” That won them over for him. I heard this same young man speak at a youth fireside. He held up the Book of Mormon and said, “This is what brought me home clean. I read it day after day.” Then he advised the young people to catch the spirit of that book, as it would keep them on the straight and narrow path.

The minute Robert woke up he knew the weather was still stormy. He was glad. Maybe I can stay home from school today, he thought.
Ever since he and his parents had moved to Pinehills in late summer, Robert had been unhappy. Each school morning when he awoke he felt a nagging dread in his stomach.
Robert dressed and went into the kitchen where his mother and father stood in the doorway, looking out at the dark day. He was still clinging to the hope that his mother would let him stay home, but all she said was, “Be sure and wear your warm shirt, Robert.” There was not a word about staying home.
A horse’s hooves sounded outside. A man called, “Ready, Mr. Shaft?”
Robert’s father answered, “Be right with you,” as he put on his yellow slicker and hat.
“Are you going to help build up the dam on Indian River?” Robert asked his father.
“Yes. Every man in town is needed there, Robert. After a week of rain Pinehills’ reservoir is in danger of spilling over.”
Robert’s mother looked worried. “Indian River runs right beside the schoolhouse,” she said. “What if the dam should break?”
Robert’s father tried to ease her concern. “Don’t worry, Mother,” he said. “We’ll be there to watch it all day.”
After his father had gone Robert sat down at the table. He wasn’t hungry and he wanted to say, “I don’t feel well, Mother,” or, “Maybe I should stay home to be with you,” but she would know he was only making excuses.
“Eat your breakfast or you’ll be late for school,” Mother insisted, so Robert choked down a few mouthfuls and then, with dragging footsteps, he set out under gray clouds that sagged nearly to the tops of the trees. Down the hill he trudged, his feet swishing through the wet leaves. He sniffed the brown smell of mud. I wish I could walk to some faraway, enchanted place and never have to go to school again, he thought.
But Robert soon reached the clearing where the one-room schoolhouse stood.
Two girls immediately ran up to meet him. Freckled Rebecca skipped on one side of Robert, and Patricia walked on the other side of him. Together they chanted, “Bobby Shafto’s gone to sea, Silver buckles on his knee. He’ll come back and marry me. Pretty Bobby Shafto.”
Then both girls giggled and Robert continued on to school, feeling miserable and lonely. He couldn’t remember who first used the nursery rhyme to tease him, but soon every child in school began chanting, “Pretty Bobby Shafto!” whenever they saw him. Robert felt he didn’t have a single friend.
When he reached the schoolhouse, Robert slumped in his seat in the back row where he was the only sixth-grader. He watched the teacher write words on the chalkboard. Robert thought Miss Parker was the one pleasant thing about school.
Turning around she asked, “Has the rain started again, Robert?”
“No, Ma’am, but the clouds are full,” he answered.
“Oh, dear,” Miss Parker said, looking worriedly out the window. “Maybe I should send the children home. Indian River runs so near the school.”
“My father said every man in town is watching the dam,” Robert told her.
“Well, then I’ll begin school,” she said. “Will you please ring the bell for me?”
Students hurried past Robert as he stood beside the door clanging the brass bell. No one spoke to him except to whisper, “Pretty Bobby Shafto!” or tease, “Where’s the silver buckles for your knee?”
Slumped in his seat, Robert watched Miss Parker as she listened to the first-graders read. He couldn’t help smiling when Amy Andrews read aloud. She looked too tiny to be in school.
A rumble of thunder and a crackle of lightning made Robert and the other children jump. Just as Miss Parker said, “Don’t be frightened!” another rumbling noise shook the schoolhouse. It was the loudest sound Robert had ever heard, a heavy shuddering rumble very different from thunder.
Everyone in the room except Robert sat so still they appeared frozen. He rushed to the door and shouted, “The dam broke! Here comes the water!”
The boys and girls began to cry as Miss Parker ran to the door and stood beside Robert. They looked out at the water swirling and roaring only a few feet away from where they stood. No longer held by the dam, the water leaped from the riverbed, rushing toward the schoolhouse. Water was coming inside the schoolroom now and Robert’s feet were wet.
“Robert, help me push my desk under the attic trapdoor,” Miss Parker directed. “Then lift the children up to me if you can.”
Robert and the teacher shoved the desk beneath the little opening in the ceiling. He put a chair on the table, then climbed up to push the door aside and helped her into the attic.
“Get in line by grades,” she called down. “Youngest first. Robert will lift you up to me.”
One by one, as the water rose higher in the room, the children climbed onto the desk. Straining, Robert lifted each child high enough for Miss Parker to grab his wrists and pull him into the dim, dry attic.
When the last child in line was safely inside Robert started to climb up himself. “Amy? Where’s Amy Andrews?” Miss Parker called.
The other children cried, “She isn’t here! Where’s Amy?”
Robert jumped off the desk into the still-rising water and began to search the schoolroom. He finally found Amy clinging to a chair that had floated into a corner.
“Put your arms around my neck, Amy,” Robert told her. “Hold tight so I can lift you into the attic.”
But Robert’s legs weren’t strong enough to carry both of them through the swirling water. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t reach the desk.
Up in the attic the children kept calling, “Come on, Robert!” He saw Miss Parker’s anxious expression just as the rushing water swept him off his feet and through the open door.
Robert never knew exactly what happened next. He only remembered swimming as hard as he could with Amy’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Then they were on a log that swept them swiftly downstream.
Robert couldn’t tell where they were. Sometimes it seemed he and Amy stayed in one place while trees and houses rushed by. Other times he looked down at the racing water and grew so dizzy he was afraid he would fall off the log. Then he’d shut his eyes and tell Amy softly, “Don’t let go!”
At a place where the river curved, the log slammed into a high bank and stuck there, but Robert knew he couldn’t climb the steep, muddy bank. His legs felt like soaked wood and it was almost more than he could do to hang onto the log with his weary arms. Amy was crying and Robert held her close as he prayed, “Heavenly Father, please send someone to find us.”
The long hours seemed to creep slowly by. At last the most welcome sound Robert had ever heard came from the bank above them. It was his father’s voice. “Here they are!” he shouted. “I’ve found Robert and Amy and they’re alive!”
It was two weeks before the flood damage was cleaned up and the school could reopen. And as Robert set out through the early morning sunshine he wondered how it would seem to be back in the schoolroom again. He was glad he had been able to help Miss Parker but he dreaded the teasing of the children as much as ever.
Walking slowly, Robert was nearly to the schoolhouse when he heard someone shout, “Here he comes!” Then someone else called, “It’s our Bobby Shaft who went to sea!”
Suddenly Robert was surrounded by all the boys and girls in the little school. Everyone was happy to see him. And even the old nursery rhyme sounded good when Amy Andrews ran up, slipped her small hand inside of Robert’s big one and said, “My pretty Bobby Shafto!”