Gospel Story Finder

Let us not be ashamed of the gospel. I want to say that you never have to apologize in business or in industry for what the standards of the Church are. I know. I have been through it. I spent twenty years in the livestock business, and there were national conventions, business conventions, and local conventions where the first item of business was the cocktail hour, designated on the schedule as the “reception” or the “social hour.” These conventions were held in hotels or public meeting places, and there was a great deal of pressure to participate in the social drinking. But you do not need to participate; and I testify that when you withstand these pressures, people admire you for having the strength to live up to your principles. You know, as I know, that we do not need such stimulants, and you can refuse them as I refused them. And people will tell you as they told me, “I respect you for it, and I wish I could do the same.”

I would like to believe that the elderly woman that helped Opapo and the missionaries was my grandmother, Malia. She is my Dad’s mother. And if it wasn’t her, then it is definitely something my grandmother Malia would do. She was a convert to the church. She too had a dream. In her dream, she saw 2 personages wearing white appearing on her ulu or breadfruit tree in front of her fale or hut. When she awoke in the morning and shared her dream with her family, she noticed that her ulu tree in front of her fale has now bear two types of breadfruits, one ulu maopo and one ulu ma’afala. It was then she knew that the church was true and she was baptized. That ulu tree continued to bare two types of breadfruits and it was a symbol of my grandmother’s testimony to everyone that came to Fitiuta, Manu’a of the truthfulness of the gospel. That story has been told many times and the ulu tree became a landmark where people would go and see and be amazed. It was through this dream that my grandmother found her voice and never stopped singing in bearing testimony about Joseph Smith and the true gospel of Jesus Christ.

Six-year-old Coleman Verburg of Lehi, Utah, and his three-year-old brother, Cooper, are best friends, even though the two had a rocky start. When Coleman was just two years old, he accidentally knocked his newborn brother out of his baby bouncer on Cooper’s second day home from the hospital.
But things have changed a lot since then.
“Coleman is very patient with his brother,” his mom says. “He is a good example because he shares his toys so freely. Cooper loves his big brother. Coleman is his hero.”

I’m grateful for the gift given to me of ears to hear. One of my great-grandfathers, John Bennion, walked or rode his horse from over Jordan to this place to hear his name called out to go on a mission to Dixie. His journal doesn’t say much, except just that the next day he prepared to go, and he went. His assignment was to be a sheepherder. In his journal there is a record of an evening in which he met with Erastus Snow. He said another man was in the room; his name was Henry Eyring. And somewhere in St. George that night was Bishop Miles Romney. They talked about sheep. And you might have thought they were talking about something temporal. But not to those men, because they knew they were God’s sheep, and they knew they were for God’s people. And they knew how to listen, and they knew how to do what they heard.
John Bennion went on another mission to Wales and back again to this valley. Henry Eyring went on to Colonia Juarez, as Miles Romney did. And they left for me a tradition which I deeply appreciate. They were the yeomen of the Church, the soldiers of the Church, and my great-grandfathers. You can’t find in their journals records of the positions they held, just of the instructions they heard, and knew were from God, and followed. I’m grateful to my parents who handed me that heritage undiminished. I’m grateful to my wife, who more than once has heard when I did not and gently said, “Would you pray about it?” If my sons and daughters will listen to her, and hear through her what God has in mind for them, we will pass the heritage on again.

Many of you during your lifetime have had a pet that may have come to a tragic end, with sad moments following. Some years ago while traveling on a family vacation, we acquired a rather unusual pet, which was a small, friendly, not-too-long water snake from the beaches of Puget Sound. My children named him Sneaky, as short for Sneaky Snake.
Early one morning while the family was off walking near the motel, Sneaky somehow got out of his cardboard box. When the room attendant entered to tidy up the room in our absence, Sneaky, seeing the open door, headed for it. She slammed the door shut in absolute terror, and since Sneaky got caught in the door, we might say he came all apart.
It was the end of Sneaky, the beginning of a nervous breakdown for the girl attendant, and a time of weeping and disappointment on the part of our children.
Now there is a lesson here. The attendant had erroneously perceived Sneaky as something less than the friend he was.

Certainly no one could write the life story of Jesus of Nazareth or Judas Iscariot without knowing what happened during their last hour. And I would like to tell you about some of the things that one man thought about during his last hour. This is the old legendary story of Faust. Dr. John Faust died in Wittenberg, Germany, in the year 1540. But twenty-four years before his death, he sold his soul to Satan. He said to Satan, “If you will aid me for twenty-four years, punishing my enemies and helping my friends, at the end of that time, I will forever deliver up my soul.”

Now at that time that seemed like a good idea to Faust. Twenty-four years was a long time. Twenty-four years may last forever. And anyway, what difference did it make what happened after twenty-four years? But Satan, with better perspective, said, “I will wait on Faustus while he lives and he shall buy my service with his soul.”

And then the twenty-four years began, and Faust had every experience of good and bad. But almost before he was aware, it was said to Faust as it must be said to everyone of us, “Thine hour is come.” Now this is the first time that he had ever thought about the consequences of what he was doing. Only now did he discover how badly he had cheated himself. Then he wanted to revoke the bargain, but that was impossible. And then he prayed and he said, “Oh God, if thou canst have no mercy on my soul, at least grant some end to my incessant pain. Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years or even an hundred thousand, but at last be saved!”

But he knew that, according to his own bargain, even this could never be. And then during his last hour he sat and watched the clock tick off the seconds and finally, just as the hour struck, the last words of Faust before he died were: “Faustus is gone to hell!”

Now if Faust had lived his last hour first, he never would have permitted himself to come to this unprofitable place. I have a relative who, when she reads a novel, always reads the last chapter first. She wants to know before she begins where she is going to be when she gets through. And that is a pretty good idea for life.

On an afternoon in April 1989, Pablito, one of the many children who live in my apartment complex, came running to me for help. He had been robbed and mistreated by three thirteen-year-old boys, he said, and he wanted me to help him recover his watch and chain that they had taken. When I walked up to the boys, they did not run away as they normally did. I asked them to return Pablito’s watch and chain. They ignored me. I then searched them, but I didn’t find anything. They were upset because I had searched them, and as they left the complex, they insulted and threatened me. But I didn’t take their threats seriously.
Two days later, some friends of mine told me that several young men had been looking for me.
The next Monday, a group of about twenty-five young men came toward me. I could not imagine what was happening until one of them lunged forward and punched me in the nose. I tried to escape, but it was too late. It was impossible to get away from them. At first they hit me all over, but then they started to slash me with broken bottles. Suddenly I felt something cold in my left side. One of them had knifed me close to the ribs.
The attack ended, and the gang ran away as two police cars arrived. A friend helped me up, but because I had lost a great deal of blood, I was very weak and kept losing consciousness. In addition to the knife wound, I had gashes on my head and thigh, and my face was badly bruised and swollen.
I was taken in one of the police cars to a local hospital. Although the doctors there were able to stitch my wounds, they had to send me to a larger hospital for X rays to check for any internal damage.
After examining the X rays, the doctor said I needed emergency surgery so he could properly assess and treat possible damage to my internal organs.
While I was waiting to go into surgery, my father asked for a few minutes with me. The doctor told him to be brief. Then my father and another priesthood holder placed their hands on my head and gave me a blessing.
After I had been in the operating room for a while, the doctor came out and told my father, “The knife wound in your son’s side is very deep, but the blade did not touch any vital organs. I only had to clean out the wound. I don’t know what you did when you placed your hands on his head, but whatever it was, it worked.”
I was in the hospital for four days and then in recovery for three months—delaying my anticipated mission call. I quickly regained the blood I had lost, my wounds healed, and soon I could stand up and walk.
I know it was because of the power of the priesthood and faith in Jesus Christ that I am alive today. I know the Lord wanted me to serve where I am now, in the Venezuela Maracaibo Mission. I am grateful that he spared my life so I can work in his vineyard.

Christmas has always been a special time for us as a family. Growing up in Brazil, I remember that my family would always get together with our aunts and uncles to exchange presents on Christmas Eve. My siblings and I, as kids, would act out the Nativity, sing some Christmas hymns and then, my father would always share a message about the Savior Jesus Christ.
As we grew older, we kept this tradition. For a long time, my wife and I had our own kids and their cousins acting out the Nativity story.
As I look back, I do not remember the presents I got, but I do remember the sweet spirit of watching the kids acting out and singing Christmas songs together, and either my father or my mother sharing a special message with us. Since my father’s passing, my mother is the one who shares a message with us every Christmas. I look forward to that moment and, even if we cannot be physically present, we connect through technology and enjoy those moments together as a family. I now know that those feelings that I had as a child were the Holy Ghost testifying to me of the divine nature of Jesus Christ. As I ponder about these experiences on Christmas Eve, the scripture that comes to my mind is found in Matthew 6:19–21: “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
“But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:
“For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

“Father, where are you going?” George asked.
“To the court,” he was told.
“May I come too?”
“No,” his father said sternly.
George knew that his father’s word was law. But there were musicians at court, and George longed to hear them play. Father said that music was frivolous, not work for men. George must become a lawyer and forget about music. His father didn’t know that George spent hours practicing in secret on a clavier (a forerunner of the modern piano) in the attic.
But George needed to hear others play, so he decided to go to the court at Weissenfels anyway. It couldn’t be very far from his home in Halle.
He watched as his father climbed into the carriage; then, as the horse pulled it down the street, George ran behind the carriage. By the time they reached the edge of town, George’s breath was coming in great gulps, and the carriage started to pull away. The distance between George and the carriage became greater, no matter how hard he ran.
Suddenly the carriage stopped. The driver climbed down, ran to the boy, picked him up, and carried him to the carriage.
“What are you trying to do?” his father scolded him. “A seven-year-old boy cannot run as far as Weissenfels. I told you that you could not come. Why did you disobey me? You may sit with the driver, but you’ll be punished when we get home.”
When they entered the castle, George heard music. He followed the sounds to a large room where a man was playing the organ. The boy listened happily until the last note died away. “May I play?” he asked.
“Only for a minute.”
George sat on the bench and began to play. He was thrilled at the beautiful tones that filled the room. Not until he had played the last note did the man speak to him. “Who are you?” the man asked.
“George Frideric Handel,” he answered.
“You play well. How old are you, and who is your teacher?”
“I’m seven, but I don’t have a teacher. My father doesn’t want me to be a musician.”
Just then George’s father entered the room. “I’m sorry, Your Grace,” he said, “if my son has disturbed you.”
“You are the boy’s father?” the duke asked. “He tells me that he has no music teacher. Don’t you realize that he is very talented? Get him a music teacher at once, and bring him to play for me again.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” George’s father said meekly.
When they returned home, George was sent to bed in disgrace. But the very next day Father arranged for the organist of the largest church in Halle to teach George, and he was allowed to prepare for a life in music.

“Mom, something happened at school today that’s really bothering me.” Angie dropped her backpack on the floor and flopped down on the couch.
Mom looked up from the book she was reading. “Oh? What happened?”
“Well, there’s a new boy named Musa in my class.”
“That’s great!” Mom said. “Did you talk to him?”
“No, and I don’t want to!” Angie said. “He’s mean.”
“What did he do?”
Angie scowled. “I saw him walking to school with his sister. He made her walk behind him the whole way! Every time she tried to walk next to him, he’d hurry and get in front of her. It made me so mad.”
Mom frowned. “That doesn’t sound very nice. Maybe he could use a friend like you to show him how to treat others with love.”
Just then, Angie’s younger sister, Meghan, rushed in. “Mom, guess what? There’s a new girl in my class! Her name is Dalia Kader. Isn’t that a beautiful name?”
“I think her brother is in my class,” Angie said.
“Really? You’re so lucky.”
Angie frowned. “Lucky? Why?”
“Dalia told me all about him!”
“I bet she did,” Angie muttered.
“She said she had to put some eye drops in this morning, and she was supposed to wear sunglasses to protect her eyes, but she forgot. So when they walked to school, Musa walked in front of her the whole way to shade her from the sun. Wasn’t that so nice?”
Angie blinked in surprised. Had she misjudged Musa?
“He sounds like a very thoughtful brother,” Mom said.
“He is!” Meghan said. “And when they got to school, he walked with her to the office so they could call home. And he stayed with her until her mom brought the sunglasses.”
Wow, Angie thought. I guess I didn’t see what was really happening.
Meghan sat down next to Angie on the couch. “Dalia’s sunglasses are really cool! They’re purple with jewels on them. Mom, can I invite her over this week? We could both wear our sunglasses and play dress-up!”
“Good idea,” Mom said. “Why don’t you invite Musa too? I’d like to meet both of them. What do you think, Angie?”
“I’d like to meet them too.” Angie smiled. “I think Musa would be a great friend.”

And one of those special Saturdays was a stake sports day. The youth of the London England Hyde Park Stake were meeting for stake competition in five-sided football and volleyball. Five-sided football is a fast-paced indoor version of soccer with goals marked on the walls on either end of the cultural hall. Before the action got started, the referee went over the rules with the ward teams. When he got to the rule about no physical contact between players, everyone just laughed. Spectators were out of the way up on the stage, and it was soon evident that that was the only safe place to be since the side walls took the brunt of flying footballs and bodies.
With feet flying, sometimes hitting the ball or the opposing team’s shins, lots of coaching from the sidelines, cheering at every good move by both defensive and offensive players, and a few dives against the walls to gain possession of the ball, one ward team emerged battered and bruised but victorious. So much for “no physical contact.” The stake championship team would go on to play in regionals. After the good-humored intensity of competition, the young men were willing to talk about the Church.

I think often of another boy. We met him at a seminary graduation in a remote city in Argentina. He was well clothed and well nourished.

The students came down the aisle up to the stand. There were three rather high steps. He could not make the first step because his legs were too short. He was a dwarf.

It was then we noticed marching behind him two stalwart young men who stepped forward, one on either side, and lifted him gracefully to the podium. When the service was over, they lifted him down again and then marched out with him. They were his friends and watched over him. This boy could not reach the first step without being lifted up by his friends.

At a recent extended family home evening, our grandchildren were having a wonderful time. A six-year-old grandson became very upset when his father said it was time to go home. So what did this dear boy do? He came to me and said, “Grandfather, may I have your permission to disobey my father?”
I said, “No, sweetheart. One of life’s great lessons is to learn that happiness comes through obedience. Go home with your family, and you will be happy.” Though disappointed, he dutifully obeyed.

As a young boy, not quite 13 years of age, in September 1939, it was natural to have some momentary fear when I heard that war had been declared. Some of the children even speculated about the end of the world coming in those dark days that followed when the invasion of England seemed imminent and bombs were falling all around. We were not really afraid, however, for we had faith in God. We prayed and worked for deliverance, and miraculously it came.

Their marriage was hopeless, they told me. And now they were in the final stages of preparing for divorce.
They had received marriage counseling elsewhere. But it was of a purely secular nature, and their relationship was getting worse, not better. Instead of humbling themselves and changing their behavior, they had been focusing on trivial techniques—such as liking themselves better and becoming more self-assertive—which only further justified them in their destructive behavior.
These were good people. But they had become caught up in the behavior and attitudes of a competitive world—where forcing, criticizing, controlling, and commanding are often promoted as the way to gain influence. They were blaming one another for their problems and were trying to punish and intimidate each other into changing.
I was frank with them. I tried to help them see how self-righteous they were being and how accusing their hearts were. I explained that our problems as individuals and as couples are primarily spiritual—and that these problems begin when we fail to apply gospel principles. And I told them that since we have no direct control over the behavior of our partners, we need to focus on our own hearts.
After our first visit, this couple went to the temple together. In the celestial room, each quietly prayed that our Father in Heaven would reveal to them individually what they, themselves—not their partner—had been doing wrong. In his mercy, God opened the floodgates and gave them their answers. The revelation they received humbled them and softened their hearts. Since they hadn’t attended the temple for some time, even though they lived close by, they were amazed at how freely and clearly the answers came to them and how merciful our Heavenly Father really is.
Now they could start making progress. They began to shift their focus away from blaming each other and toward their own need for repentance. They began to see that striking back at each other is the world’s way—not the Lord’s. They recognized they had not read their scriptures or genuinely prayed on a regular basis—and now they could see that these were manifestations of pride.
Their hearts were broken over the fact that they were both so self-preoccupied and self-serving and that their conflicting self-interests were destroying any possibility for oneness. And they realized that their examples were adversely affecting their children.
It was thrilling to watch this couple humble themselves and find again the love they thought they had lost.

More than 230 youth from the Roswell Georgia Stake took part in a youth conference over the course of four days. The goals for the conference were to help the young men and women of the stake build integrity, improve face-to-face communication, and do good works within the community.
Many of the youth said their favorite part of the conference was the service day, where they had a chance to care for abandoned babies and do landscaping at an infant shelter, along with hammering, painting, and landscaping at local schools. “Each place looked so much better when we were done,” says Mitch Mills, of the Alpharetta Ward. “It made me happy inside that the kids would have a better place to go to school.”

“Am I too little to have a testimony?” Jamie asked her mother.
“Why do you think you are too little?”
“Because today in Primary Sister Johnson told us to tell our testimonies to someone who will write them down for us. We’re going to put all our testimonies into a Book of Mormon and send it to a missionary. Then the missionary can give it to someone. I’ve tried and tried, but I can’t think of what to say. Maybe I’m just not big enough to have a testimony yet.”
“Five years old is big enough for a testimony to start growing inside you,” said Mother. “You just haven’t found the way to tell it yet. Think of what you know about the Church and how you feel about it. Try to say what your heart tells you is true,” she said, giving Jamie a little hug. “Let’s ask Dad to talk about testimonies in family home evening tomorrow night.”
Jamie though about what she could say for the rest of the day. She was supposed to have her testimony ready to give to Sister Johnson the next Sunday. But how can I have it ready if I don’t know what to say? she wondered.
It was Jamie and her sister Susan’s turn to fix the treats for family home evening, so on Monday afternoon they made cupcakes with chocolate frosting and shredded coconut. That evening Father did give a lesson about testimonies. “A testimony is kind of like the bright, sparkling light that shines through our crystal chandelier,” he said, pointing to the ceiling fixture above them. “It shines and sparkles inside of you. To have a testimony, each of us needs to do certain things. We need to pray to Heavenly Father, and we need to study the scriptures. Obeying Heavenly Father’s commandments, attending our meetings, and partaking of the sacrament will also help our testimonies to grow. It’s important to share our testimony with others too.”
After her father shared his testimony with the family, Jamie knew that what her father had said was true. And she knew that she had been doing the right things to gain a testimony.
I want to share my testimony, Jamie thought, but how can I find the words? That night when she said her prayers, she asked, “Heavenly Father, please help me find the right words to say for my testimony.”
The rest of the week, while Jamie was busy playing and helping Mother, she kept thinking about her testimony. But when Sunday morning came, she still didn’t have anything ready to be written down. She gave a big sigh as she got ready for church. “What will I tell Sister Johnson?” she asked Mother.
“Maybe you’ll have to tell her that you’re still trying,” answered Mother. Then she asked, “Would you like to use the testimony that your sister wrote in her Book of Mormon?”
“No,” replied Jamie. “I want it to be my very own.”
Since she was the first one ready for church, Jamie decided to listen to her tape of Primary songs while she waited for the rest of the family. Jamie loved to sing along with the tape. The first song started, and she joined in: “I am a child of God, And he has sent me here …” It was her favorite song, and as she sang it, her heart told her that the words were true. Suddenly she jumped up. “Mother, Mother,” she called, grabbing some paper and a pen and running to the family room. “I know what to say now! Will you write it for me?”
“Of course,” said Mother.
Jamie spoke very clearly. “I am a child of God. So are you. He will help you know what’s true.” She was quiet for a minute, then she said, “Does that sound like a testimony?”
Mother put her arms around Jamie and held her close. “That is a very beautiful testimony,” she told her. “There are many people in this world who don’t know that they are children of God. They need someone like you to tell them and to help them find the truth.”
At church Jamie hurried to her Primary classroom and was the first one to hand her testimony to Sister Johnson. “Thank you very much,” Sister Johnson said. Then she added, “You look so pretty and full of sunshine today!”
“It’s because of my testimony,” Jamie said excitedly, “shining like a bright crystal!”

Knowing that hope enriches our lives, what must we do to keep it burning brightly? Many, especially you students, are likely blazing with hope. If so, cherish and nurture it. And don’t be greedy. Share your hope and be a beacon of hope for others, like my old friends and new heroes, Kerry and Marianne Hopkin. A few years ago, while serving in the stake presidency of the Boston, Massachusetts stake, Kerry worked with the Haitian Branch. He took special interest in teenage brothers, Carlens and Hantzly Murat, whose school in Haiti had been destroyed by an earthquake. They were sent to live with relatives in Boston, but were basically left to fend for themselves, knowing very little English. Kerry and Marianne decided to take them in and become their surrogate parents. The Hopkins enrolled them in an excellent school, tutored them in school work and the English language, taught them life skills and the gospel, and kept them enrolled in seminary and church activities. Kerry got up every morning and drove them 10 miles from Needham to Boston so they could attend 6 a.m. seminary. Carlens is now serving in the Florida Tampa Mission and Hantzly in the Florida Ft. Lauderdale Mission. Since then, the Hopkins have taken in other Haitian children, giving them hope they probably never dreamed of.

A story by Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf illustrates how both the giver and receiver are blessed with light:
A man . . . lived in Africa. Because of a disability, this man had never been able to walk. He was forced to spend most of his time in his parents’ home. He could not work; he could not go out with his friends; he could not do even the simple things we take so much for granted.
Then he heard something remarkable! The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was bringing wheelchairs to an event not far from his home!
He asked a friend to take him to the event, and there he watched as dozens of disabled men, women, and children were lifted into new, gleaming wheelchairs. . . .
He waited in line until finally, it was his turn.
Two men lifted him into a chair and for the first time in his life, he was able to move freely!
At first he moved about hesitantly. But as he got the feel of the wheelchair, he moved more courageously.
He turned, twisted, and sprinted. He waved enthusiastically with both hands as he raced past his friend. . . .
The look on his face was one of joy.
After a time, however, he slowly wheeled the chair back to the others and with an expression of calm resignation he prepared to be helped out.
“What are you doing?” his friend asked.
The man smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “It is someone else’s turn now,” he said.
The Church humanitarian missionary knelt beside him and said, “This wheelchair is yours.”
The man couldn’t believe it. He had assumed this event was only to demonstrate what it was like to ride in a wheelchair.
“Is it truly mine?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“But I have no money.”
“It is yours. It is a gift from people who love you.”
When the reality of what was happening finally sunk in, this humble man looked at his friend.
He looked at the missionary.
He tried to hold back the tears, but it was in vain. And as he wept, he laughed at the sheer joy of what he felt.
His friend and the missionary wept with him.29

A good friend and colleague John Ivers shared a story that helps us understand others, as we understand ourselves and our potential.

Max Coleman was a below average student. Grades ranged in the low D’s for most subjects but in the high C’s in his automotive class. Which he spent much of his time in, and had the only running vehicle of his group of friends. One of Max’s friends decided he wanted to take the SAT exam so he could get into college. He was an athlete, and couldn’t apply to school unless he took the exam. Since the place to take the test was 30 miles away. His friend convinced Max to not only drive him, but to take the test. Max was free that Saturday morning so he was decided to go. After the test his friend treated him to lunch, and asked how he did. "On everything I didn’t know, I just guessed." And that was that.

Let's leave Max, and talk about how the SAT is graded. The Educational Testing Center is in Princeton New Jersey. Now the weather in New Jersey is also interesting. When it rains it pours accompanied with thunder and lightning. There are many power outages, so most places are equipped with generators. (As was the Educational Testing Center) Now it just so happened that the night that Max Coleman’s test was being graded that there was such a storm. Max’s test was under the lights to be graded, when the power went out. A second later, the generator started, and Max’s test came out showing no misses or a perfect score on the test.

Now back to Max’s home town. The SAT scores were given to the counselor and when he read that a student got a perfect score, he ran to the principal. He called down Max from his class, and the local newspaper and television studio were contacted.

An interesting thing happened to Max’s grades that next semester. He received all A’s and one B with his senior year yielding straight A’s. And just as he was getting ready to graduate, a PhD candidate decided to do some graduate work on people who get perfect scores on the SAT exam. To find out this information she went to the Educational Testing Center in Princeton, and to their Micro Fiche copies of every test. There she found out the secret of Max Coleman’s test. Found out about the weather, power outage, and the true score of his test which was far below average. But even with this knowledge it didn't seem to hinder Max's understanding of what he knew he could do.