Gospel Story Finder

Elder John Taylor was a man who stood up for his beliefs. Many people called him “Defender of the Faith.” One example of his courage happened when he went to Columbus, Ohio, to speak at a Church conference.
Church member 1: Elder Taylor, many people from the town will be there. Many of them wish to tar and feather you tonight.
Church member 2: Our advice is to not go and so avoid this danger altogether.
John: I did not come to Ohio to be scared off. I will go and speak. If you do not want to come with me, I will go alone.
When Elder Taylor arrived, he started by telling the congregation that he was from Canada—a country still ruled by a monarch.
John: Gentlemen, I now stand among men whose fathers fought for and won freedom, the greatest blessing ever given to the human family.
John: I have been informed that you plan to tar and feather me for my religious opinions. Is this what you have inherited from your fathers? If so, you now have a victim!
Elder Taylor then opened his vest.
John: Gentlemen, come on with your tar and feathers. Your victim is ready!
No one moved. No one spoke. No one came forward. After a pause, he spoke for three hours!
After the conference, community leaders came up to speak with him.
Leaders: Mr. Taylor, we apologize for any bad intentions of some of the community members.

My mission president, Kirt M. Olson in the Colombia Bogota Mission, listened to know the heart of his missionaries. He connected us to the ancient Book of Mormon leaders and living prophets of our time. He was friends with President Spencer W. Kimball. Both had a great love for the children of Lehi. These men were shorter than I am physically, but to me, they seemed giants. I was a Welfare Services missionary and trained local leaders. President Olson’s question was always, “Hermana Hannonen, if you were in my shoes, what would you do?” I gave him my recommendations and justifications. What surprised me was that he implemented those recommendations right away. I knew I was valued, my opinions mattered, and my confidence grew. I worked harder and better all the time.

President Olson also encouraged missionaries to find better ways of teaching the gospel to more people. Returning back from a district conference, one elder pointed to lonely huts and yelled from the back of the bus, “Hermana Hannonen, how are you going to take the gospel to those people?” Others laughed! I paused, turned around, and responded, “We are going to teach the gospel on radio.” There was a long silence. I continued, “President Kimball in his dedicatory prayer of Colombia said that the people would hear the gospel preached on their transistor radios… and we are going to do just that.”

Missionary work is not for the faint in heart. The next day, my companion and I went to all the radio stations in the city and asked them to play tapes from Bonneville International, which included music and messages of inspiration. No one accepted our proposal, but the director of the last station looked at me and said, “I want you to make the programs.” In shock, I said, “Si, senor!” and walked out. Neither my Colombian companion nor I had any idea how to do this, but President Olson did: everything had to come from the scriptures and printed LDS Church materials. The first program was on the following Sunday morning. The topic was the appearance of Jesus Christ on the American continent after His resurrection. When these words, “Behold my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, in whom I have glorified my name—hear ye him” (3 Nephi 11:7) were carried over the radio waves to far away huts in that region, we cried because the Spirit changed everything, and we felt it. There became a tangible transformation in missionaries, members, the whole city, and the mission.

In fact, it was twenty years ago this month that I first met my dear sweetheart, Melinda.
I had been home from my mission for about four months, and I was attending my BYU ward for the first time. As the opening hymn began, I looked up at the person leading the music (as I should, right?), and she was the most beautiful young woman I had ever seen. That evening I saw her again at ward prayer, but I was way too scared to go up and introduce myself to her. Fortunately for me, Heavenly Father took care of that little detail by inspiring our bishop to assign us to the same family home evening group. They announced the new groups that very evening. We flirted for a few months before we finally started dating, and we were married the following June.
Since that time, every significant blessing that has come into my life I have shared with my best friend and eternal companion. I love every moment we get to spend together, and there are never enough of those moments!

The boy you are encouraging may seem too timid to be a powerful priesthood servant. Another one of my sons was so shy as a little boy that he wouldn’t walk into a store and talk to a clerk. He was too afraid. I worried as I prayed over his priesthood future. I thought of him in the mission field—that didn’t sound promising. I was led to a scripture in Proverbs: “The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are bold as a lion.”2

I carved “Bold as a Lion” on his board, beneath an image of a large lion’s head roaring. On his mission and in the years that followed, he fulfilled the hope in my carving. My once-shy son preached the gospel with great conviction and faced dangers with bravery. He was magnified in his responsibilities to represent the Lord.

Tyler loved having visitors. His family had signed up to help feed the missionaries, and tonight they were coming to dinner. Mom had promised that he could sit next to them.
At the table, Tyler felt shy and didn’t know what to say. He wanted to be a missionary someday, so he listened and watched carefully. He wanted to remember how missionaries act. He looked at their shiny shoes, white shirts, and straight ties. Then he noticed something on their shirt pockets. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to Elder Snow’s pocket.
“My name tag,” Elder Snow replied, holding it up a little.
“‘Elder Snow,’” Tyler read. “‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.’ Do all the missionaries have name tags?”
“I think so,” the other missionary, Elder Millburn, replied. “We want everyone to know that we are missionaries for the Church.”
“I always make sure to put my name tag on,” Elder Snow added. “I want everybody to know that I believe in Jesus Christ.”
After the missionaries left, Tyler told Mom, “I’m going to make a name tag. I want to wear one so that people will know that I believe in Jesus Christ.”
Tyler cut a rectangle out of paper and carefully printed his name on it. Below his name, he wrote, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He taped a folded paper to the back of it to insert in his pocket to hold the name tag on. He went to the mirror to see how it looked.
First thing in the morning he thought about his name tag. Hurriedly he got dressed and put it on.
When Mom went grocery shopping, Tyler went too. He walked around, hoping that everyone saw his name tag. While they were going back to the car, it started to rain. He pushed the cart quickly and helped Mom load the car before they both got very wet. “Such a good helper!” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
At home he helped carry in the groceries. When he leaned over, he noticed that his name tag was torn and sagging. And rain had smeared the words. I need a better name tag, he told himself.
That afternoon, he cut a rectangle out of a plastic lid. He wrote his and the Church’s name on it with a marker so that the words wouldn’t wash away. He taped another piece of plastic to the back and stuck it in his pocket. He had a name tag again. Showing it to Dad, he said, “Just like the missionaries, I like to wear my name tag.”
Tyler went to show his big sister. She was studying at her desk and didn’t seem very happy.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, forgetting about the name tag.
“I have too much homework,” she moaned, “and it’s my turn to do the dishes.” She started writing again.
Tyler watched for a minute. “I’ll do the dishes.”
His sister looked surprised.
“My homework is all done,” he said. “I have time to do them.”
She gave him a hug and exclaimed, “You’re a great brother!”
Tyler did the dishes, but his shirt got wet and dirty. Pulling it off, he threw it in the laundry.
Getting dressed the next morning, he remembered his name tag and ran to the laundry room. His mother had already washed the shirt. She was putting it in the dryer. “Wait!” he yelled, pulling the shirt out of the pile. The name tag fell to the floor, twisted and warped. Tyler couldn’t make it lie flat. He threw it away. I’ll have to make something better, he told himself.
In the garage, Tyler searched for a thin wood scrap. Finding one just the right size, he went in the house to paint it. With a pointed brush he printed the letters. He made two holes in the wood with a hammer and nail, and put a piece of twine through them so that he could wear the name tag around his neck. When he took his shirt off, this name tag would stay put and wouldn’t get ruined. Tyler showed it to Mom and Dad. “Clever,” they told him.
Tyler wanted to show it to his best friend, Jason. He went outside and looked to see if Jason was in his yard next door. From the other direction, a boy on a tricycle whizzed by, laughing. His dog ran along beside him, barking in fun. It was little Jimmy from down the block.
Jimmy’s mother ran after him, calling frantically, “Stop! You’ve gone too far!” But Jimmy didn’t hear her, so Tyler raced to catch up with him. Grabbing the tricycle, Tyler gently pulled it to a stop and turned it around. He led Jimmy and his dog back to his mother.
“Thank you for stopping him,” she said. “He might have ridden into the street and been hurt. You’re a good neighbor!”
Tyler waved good-bye and headed back to find Jason. He reached for his name tag and stopped suddenly. It was gone! It must have fallen off while I was running, he realized. Searching, he finally found it, but the twine was broken and the name tag lay in pieces. It had been run over by the tricycle. Tyler walked home and laid the pieces on the table. “Jimmy ran over my name tag,” he told his mother, angrily. Then, with a big sigh, he said, “But I guess he didn’t mean to.”
A few minutes later, Tyler heard his father come home and ran out to tell him about the name tag.
“You know,” his father said, “not all missionaries wear name tags. When I was a missionary, we didn’t have name tags.”
Tyler was surprised. “How did people know you believed in Jesus Christ?”
“We told them,” Dad said. “And we tried to show them by the way we acted.”
That evening Tyler and his parents went to the stake center because one of his friends was getting baptized. During the meeting, a speaker talked about Jesus Christ. “If we try to live as He did,” the man said, “then people will know that we believe in Him.”
Tyler thought about that as they went home. Remembering what Dad had said, too, he suddenly knew what he could do.
“Mom! Dad!” he said excitedly. “There is a name tag I can wear that won’t get ruined or lost—an invisible one! If I try my hardest to live like Jesus Christ did, it’s like telling people I believe in Him. It’s like wearing an invisible name tag!”
Dad smiled. “You’re right, son.”
Mom hugged Tyler. “I’ve already seen your invisible name tag.”
“You have?” Tyler asked, looking down at his shirt.
“Yes, it’s been there,” replied his mother. “Each time you’ve been helpful and kind—like when you washed the dishes for your sister, and when you helped little Jimmy—your name tag was there.”
Tyler looked down again. He didn’t see the invisible name tag, but his mother had seen it. He hoped other people would see it, too, because he wanted everyone to know that he believed in Jesus Christ.

The Young Women of the mountain Home First Ward, Mountain Home Idaho Stake, made a quilt featuring the Young Women motto in the center. The corner blocks were class symbols, and the remaining blocks represented the Young Women values. Each girl selected a value and then a design to represent that value on her block. The girls embroidered or cross-stitched their designs. They learned to quilt as the blocks were assembled. The finished quilt was presented to the outgoing ward Young Women presidency.

“I give up,” Sandy sighed sadly. “I can’t think of anything. I never can when it’s my week.”
It was Monday afternoon, and Sandy was in charge of the family home evening activity. Justin and Carol had the easy parts—the prayer and the scripture. The cupcakes Mom made for refreshments were already frosted and dotted with red sprinkles.
Just as Sandy started to ask her mom for an idea, Justin ran into the kitchen with his best friend, Stanley, right behind him. Justin bounced his basketball on the kitchen floor with one hand while his other hand reached out for one of the sweet-smelling cupcakes.
“No you don’t,” Mom said quickly. “If you take one and Stanley takes one, and if Carol comes home with her friends, the next thing you know, there’ll be a chain reaction and all the cupcakes will be gone!”
“Aw, Mom.” Justin frowned and bounced his ball back outside.
After he left, Sandy thought about what her mother had said. “What’s a chain reaction?” she asked.
“Well,” Mom replied, “it’s when one thing causes something else to happen, and the second thing causes a third thing to happen, and so on. It’s like a little bit of snow can be the start of a big snowball. You know—one thing leads to another.”
Mom’s explanation started a chain reaction of thoughts in Sandy’s mind, and suddenly she had a wonderful idea. She bounced over to the sink where her mother was peeling potatoes. “Mom, do we have to eat the cupcakes for family home evening?”
“I thought that was your favorite part. What did you want to do with them?”
Sandy grinned. “Can we give them away?” she asked.
“I suppose so. Why?”
“I can’t tell you now,” Sandy said mysteriously. “I have work to do.”
Sandy hurried to her bedroom and took out a pencil and some paper. Slowly and carefully, she made up a poem:
You can play the chain-reaction game;
It isn’t hard to do.
Next family night just hide some treats,
Like these we hid for you.
But when you make a special treat
And take it out to hide it, Don’t forget to run real fast—
And leave this poem beside it!
After Sandy made two copies of the poem, she ran back to the kitchen to wrap up two packages of cupcakes.
That night during family home evening, Sandy explained her chain-reaction game to her family. As soon as it was dark, they quietly hurried down to the Moffitt’s house with one package of cupcakes. They put it on the doorstep, rang the doorbell, and hid behind the bushes. Mrs. Moffitt came out and exclaimed happily when she found the surprise.
Sandy’s family went just as secretively over to the Stavros’s house on the next block and left the other package for them.
A few weeks later, while Sandy was helping Carol set the table for dinner before their family home evening started, the doorbell rang. Mom was stirring spaghetti sauce, so Dad went to answer the door. There on the doorstep was a fancy paper plate heaped with chocolate chip cookies. And taped to the top of the plastic wrap was a copy of Sandy’s poem!
Dad laughed. “Sandy,” he called, “I’ve discovered the best part of your chain-reaction game!”

Take eight lively people, mix them in a small van for 40 hours, adding mechanical failure, rain, car sickness—even seasickness, and what do you get? “Heaven,” according to the Marrero family.
“It was the most spiritual experience of my life,” said Raquel, 14, of her family’s trip to the temple, to be sealed together for all time and eternity.
For many people, a temple trip isn’t quite the sacrifice that it was for the Marreros. They live on the island of Tenerife, which is one of Spain’s Canary Islands, located about 50 miles off the coast of Morocco. When they were finally prepared to go to the temple, the nearest one open was in Germany, so that’s where they headed, crossing the ocean and passing through three countries to get there.
The cost of plane fare would have been outrageous for the family that consists of Luci, 6; Fabio, 8; Oliver, 10; Raquel, 14; Desiree, 16; Oscar, 18; and Miguel and Angela, the mother and father. They worked for two years as it was, the father doing carpentry, and the rest of the family taking on odd jobs at home, like assembling game pieces and cards for a toy factory, to earn the money to travel the way they did.
The way they traveled was in a van, or furgón, as they call it, that Miguel had used his carpentry skills to convert into a camper with two beds. They loaded it onto a ferry and traveled by water the 500 miles to Spain.
“We all got seasick,” said Raquel. “We were glad to see dry land again.”
But that was only the beginning of the journey. Ahead there were hours and hours of driving through Spain, France, and Germany, and sleeping under the stars at night. “To pass the time we’d honk and wave at others with Spanish license plates,” said Desiree. “And we sang every hymn and typical Spanish song we knew—many times over.”
“Dad drove and fixed the car,” added Raquel. They had electrical problems, among other things, which made it difficult to drive at night without stopping every few minutes to fix the headlights. Finally, when they made it to Frankfurt, they pulled over and waited for dawn, so they could drive undistracted to the temple in the light.
Well, almost undistracted. It seems the temple is located in Friedrichsdorf, outside of Frankfurt, and with their limited German, the Marreros couldn’t find it. They finally hired a Spanish-speaking cab driver to show them the way.
“When at last we saw the Angel Moroni on top, it was such a joy,” said Raquel. “It was beautiful—even more beautiful because we’d suffered so much to get there.”
Oh, and the things they found inside! “It was so wonderful when we were sealed—everyone in white, even the little ones, looking so beautiful,” said Desiree. “Now we know that we can be together forever with the ones we love.”
The Marreros spent about four days at the temple, the parents doing sealings, the children who were old enough doing baptisms for the dead. They were reluctant to leave, when the time came, especially since they knew all about the tedious road trip that lay ahead.
But their lives had changed in those four days. “We didn’t quarrel as much,” Raquel noted. “We knew we were an eternal family.”
“The trip was a lot like life, really,” observed Desiree. “You go through some tough times, and you work really hard, but it is worth it when you make it to the celestial kingdom. We made a lot of sacrifices so that everyone could arrive together.”

Videos showing community or family projects can often demonstrate the blessings of the gospel in our lives. For example, when we lived in Houston, Texas, a member of our ward posted a short video about volunteering at the Church’s peanut butter canning project. He commented that one day each month all of the Church-produced peanut butter was donated to the Houston Food Bank.
One of his colleagues from work was looking for ways to volunteer. He saw the online video and realized he knew the ward member. So, he called him and asked if they could go together the next time there was an opportunity to volunteer. They volunteered together several times over the ensuing years, and each time they talked about Church programs and beliefs as they worked side by side.
During casual conversations, share how the gospel helps you.

One actress even believes that the benefits of participating in the project extend to fulfilling a part of her patriarchal blessing. Linda Anderson, who plays Bev Parker, the mother of some of the more wayward characters, was camera shy and reluctant to accept the roll the directors offered her after spying her in sacrament meeting one day.

“My patriarchal blessing promised that I would touch the lives of thousands of youth, but I always wondered how I would do that. I live in such a small town, and I’ve never been called to a position in the Church where I’ve worked with youth. I’ve been a teacher of little tiny kids, but most of the time I’ve been in the library, a secretary, and now I’m a counselor in the Relief Society. But when they called me and asked me to do this, a little flash went off in my mind that said, ‘Maybe this is what my blessing is referring to,’ and I thought maybe I should take the part.”

Sister Anderson learned some invaluable lessons while working on the film. “You know,” she says, “kids aren’t the only ones who pay the consequences for their actions. Their parents pay too.” Sister Anderson’s real children, and there are seven of them, ages 4–18, don’t cause nearly as much trouble as do two of her film children, Carl and Karen.

Sister Anderson says the film taught her some lessons for her own family too. “I’m not a very patient mother,” she’ll tell you. “But in the film, I was always very calm and contained. I wasn’t allowed to scream and holler at my kids when they came home late, the way I would at home. When I started to play a woman who always had her act together, I started to pull my act together a little bit more with my children.”

Following the recommendation of the Council of the Twelve to feature cultural programs in conjunction with June regional meetings, the Payson (Utah) Region youth got together last summer for a lively, creative dance festival on a local high school football field.
“The Colorful World of Dance” was a treat not only for the audience but for the 360 participants from Payson Utah, Payson Utah East, and Santaquin Utah stakes who kicked up their heels in such numbers as “Devil’s Dream,” “Muskrat Love,” and “Spinning Wheel.” Swedish, Norwegian, and Hungarian folk dances were also featured, and a Lamanite sister rendered “The Lord’s Prayer” in Indian sign language.
Many hours were spent sewing colorful costumes and practicing under the leadership of 16 stake dance directors and two ballroom dancers from BYU. As the group concluded by gathering to sing “I Am a Child of God” with the audience, it was generally agreed that it had all been worth the effort.

Finally, the ongoing Relief Society learning opportunities will be effective in the lives of sisters to the degree that learning and teaching are by the Spirit. Let me tell you of a sister who helped me appreciate teaching by the Spirit.
She was an older woman, one of many immigrants who had been able to come only as far as New York City on the way to Zion. She had not had great opportunity for learning and was having difficulty adjusting to a new culture. We were the only two in our department at stake leadership meeting one night.
The board member asked us each to describe how we prepared our lessons. I had been trained as a teacher and could say some things about lesson plans and objectives; but this lovely sister, haltingly, in a language newly learned, spoke of how she studied the material and then got on her knees and asked the Lord what in that lesson she should stress for the sisters of her ward, and she said, “He always directs me.” As I heard her speak and experienced the sweetness of her spirit, I felt sure that he did, because she taught me what I needed to hear. Though it has been many years since that night in Manhattan, I have never forgotten her nor her message.

I once sat across the desk from a beautiful young lady whose story I do not wish to repeat here in any detail. I will simply say that her life had been very seriously damaged by sin and sorrow of a major kind. She had given up, surrendered, cut herself off from her future, and thought there was nothing at all left for her here or hereafter; and yet, she was living. Again, the details of the story would enhance the impression of her despair, but I will give you only the end. We had talked for a long time. I had tried the best I could by referring to the Bible, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Book of Mormon to teach her the principle of repentance and to talk of God’s love for her. I had read the verse I have just read to you and knew that I was not reaching her, that the interview was about over, and that she would pass on to the same terror and tragedy she then had in her heart. She had no hope, no future, no real belief that God would ever have anything more to do with her. Then I read some words from 2 Nephi, chapter 10, to which I invite your prayerful attention:
Seeing that our merciful God has given us so great knowledge concerning these things, let us remember him, and lay aside our sins, and not hang down our heads, for we are not cast off. [2 Nephi 10:20]
We read another line from this marvelous book, which we are learning over the years to begin to appreciate. This excerpt from the last communication between a great father and a choice son expresses the father’s deepest, sweetest, and warmest convictions about Christ:
My son, be faithful in Christ; and may not the things which I have written grieve thee, to weigh thee down unto death; but may Christ lift thee up, and may his sufferings and death, and the showing his body unto our fathers, and his mercy and long-suffering, and the hope of his glory and of eternal life, rest in your mind forever. [Moroni 9:25]
Let not the things, the message, the mission, the gift of Christ weigh you down and grieve you, but may He lift you up and make you aware of all the warm, wonderful blessings available to you. Let them rest in your mind.
After reading this scripture to the young woman, I saw curtains part that had been closed tight. Tears came to her eyes, her heart opened, conviction entered, and repentance poured out as she began to understand the power of forgiveness. I wish every person in the world could have heard her words, because at some point everyone needs to hear them. She said, “I know I will still be lonely sometimes, but I will never feel alone again.” Sure, you’ll be lonely too sometimes, but you need never feel alone. God does love His children.

In England, when John Taylor was seventeen, he was appointed to be a preacher in his church. He was given assignments to preach in areas outside the city.
John: The Lord has commanded us to pray always in His name.
After John arrived in Canada, he continued to go to church and study the Bible. He and his wife, Leonora, joined with some of their friends to study the Bible.
John: We need to pray that God will send His servant to give us the truth!
Leonora: Yes, and to pray that we will know it when we hear it!
In Kirtland, Ohio, Elder Heber C. Kimball called Elder Parley P. Pratt to serve a mission to Toronto, Canada.
Elder Kimball: Elder Pratt, you will find a people prepared for the gospel, and they shall receive thee.
Elder Pratt: If a servant of the Lord extends such a promise, I will go to Canada.
When Elder Pratt first visited with the Taylor family, John Taylor began to study what Elder Pratt preached.
John: If I find your religion true, I shall accept it, no matter what the consequences may be; and if false, then I shall expose it.
For three weeks, John Taylor followed Elder Pratt wherever he preached. He studied and prayed about what Elder Pratt taught.
Elder Pratt: Joseph Smith translated this book, the Book of Mormon.
On May 9, 1836, John and Leonora Taylor were baptized.
Elder Pratt ordained John Taylor as an elder, and they worked together to spread the gospel. Their first baptisms were President Taylor’s parents, Agnes and James Taylor.
John Taylor remained loyal to the truth of the gospel.

Music and singing have always been very important to my family. While I was growing up, my sister would play the piano while my five other siblings and I gathered around and sang our favorite Church songs. These times are among my fondest memories.
After graduating from high school, I lived near my family until I married a wonderful man who was stationed in our town with the U.S. Air Force. A year and a half later, my husband and I, along with our two-month-old daughter, were transferred to a base across the country. We had another child, and with all the expenses that come with two babies, we had not been able to return to visit our families. With six children still at home, my parents couldn’t afford to visit us either. Living so far away from my family and missing my husband due to his frequent military assignments, I was often subject to feelings of loneliness. Holidays were especially difficult.
On Christmas Eve in 1996, while my husband and I were taking part in our traditional Christmas Eve activities with our two young children, my thoughts kept turning to my parents and siblings. I gazed at the clock and knew they would all be sitting down on a blanket laid carefully out on the floor and eating a “Christmas feast picnic” of fruit, little sausages, cheese, and crackers while my father read the account of Christ’s birth from the scriptures. In my mind I pictured their faces. Mine would be the only one missing.
As I pondered, I prayed for a way to feel more connected with the rest of my family. Suddenly, the phone rang, and I found myself speaking to my mother. She told me she had something for us to hear. I turned on the speaker phone, and we listened as my three younger sisters gathered around the family piano and sang the most beautiful version of “Do You Hear What I Hear?” Tears filled our eyes as my husband and I listened to the three-part harmony coming from our phone. We could almost feel my family in the room with us.
Their simple song brought into our home that Christmas Eve a sweet spirit I will always treasure. Of all the gifts we received that Christmas, many purchased from stores and carefully wrapped and labeled, it was that sweet song that was most precious to us.

Another week we had a rough time at church; the children were more restless than they should have been, especially during the sacrament. The next night we talked about the sacrament in family home evening. We discussed its purpose and how we should behave as the sacrament is being passed. I asked the children what they thought about during the sacrament. Our 10-year-old, Sharanne, commented that she thought about the life of Jesus Christ and the words from “The Living Christ.” Nothing more needed to be said.

In 1955, after my freshman year of college, I spent the summer working at the newly opened Jackson Lake Lodge, located in Moran, Wyoming. My mode of transportation was a 14-year-old 1941 Hudson automobile that should have received its burial 10 years earlier. Among the car’s other identifying traits, the floorboards had rusted so badly that, if not for a piece of plywood, I could have literally dragged my feet on the highway. The positive is that unlike most 14-year-old cars in this time period, it used no oil—lots of water in the radiator, but no oil. I could never figure out where the water went and why the oil continually got thinner and thinner and clearer and clearer.
In preparation for the 185-mile (298-km) drive home at the end of the summer, I took the car to the only mechanic in Moran. After a quick analysis, the mechanic explained that the engine block was cracked and was leaking water into the oil. That explained the water and oil mystery. I wondered if I could get the water to leak into the gas tank; I would get better gasoline mileage.
Now the confession: after the miracle of arriving home, my father came out and happily greeted me. After a hug and a few pleasantries, he looked into the backseat of the car and saw three Jackson Lake Lodge towels—the kind you cannot buy. With a disappointed look, he merely said, “I expected more of you.” I hadn’t thought that what I had done was all that wrong. To me these towels were but a symbol of a full summer’s work at a luxury hotel, a rite of passage. Nevertheless, by taking them I felt I had lost the trust and confidence of my father, and I was devastated.
The following weekend I adjusted the plywood floorboard in my car, filled the radiator with water, and began the 370-mile (595-km) round trip back to Jackson Lake Lodge to return three towels. My father never asked why I was returning to the lodge, and I never explained. It just didn’t need to be said. This was an expensive and painful lesson on honesty that has stayed with me throughout my life.

We live in a world that teaches the opposite of this, which is to serve self and ask openly, What’s in it for me? I am inspired by those who choose to reject the world’s message and choose to serve the Lord and others. One such example is Gino Bartali, an Italian two-time Tour De France winner and World War II survivor. Even though he did not have any knowledge of our faith or the Lord’s covenants, he felt motivated by his conscience to serve God’s children during World War II. He knew God, he was an extremely religious man, and he held fast to his beliefs. When many of his friends and neighbors were being sent to concentration camps, he could have idly stood by and not concerned himself. He and his family were safe. However, when a priest approached him about helping those that were being impacted, he accepted knowing full well he and his family could be killed if he was discovered. He used his fame and notoriety to slip past guard posts as he rode thousands of miles on his bike to deliver fake ID’s which were hidden in the seat tube of his bicycle frame. It is estimated that he saved close to 800 people through his actions. He never spoke of this to anyone, including his family. Late in life when his son asked him why he never spoke of this he simply said, “If you’re good at a sport, they attach the medals to your shirts and then they shine in some museum. That which is earned by doing good deeds is attached to the soul and shines elsewhere.” [4]

Many years ago, my friend and her husband were doing leadership training in rural Ghana, and a woman came up to her afterward and said very emotionally, “This is a woman’s church.” My friend asked the woman what she meant. She said, in essence, “We have the glorious Relief Society, which teaches us about spiritual things and everyday things that bless our families and us. And at the same time your husband is in the next room teaching our husbands that they must treat their wives and children with kindness and gentleness. We have the temple, so my children who are dead will be mine forever. Everything I want I find in this church. This is a woman’s church.”

It has touched for good the lives of millions who have prayerfully read it and pondered its language. May I tell you of one such I recently met in Europe.
He was a businessman, successful in his undertakings. In the course of his travels he met two of our missionaries. They tried to set up an appointment to teach him. He put them off but finally agreed to listen. He somewhat perfunctorily accepted what they had to say. He became convinced in his mind that they spoke the truth, but he was not moved in his heart.
He decided that he would read the Book of Mormon. He said that he had been a man of the world, never given to crying. But as he read the book, tears coursed his cheeks. It did something to him. He read it again and felt the same emotions. What had been conversion of the mind became conversion of the heart.
His way of life was altered, his perspective changed. He threw himself into the work of the Lord. Today he fills a high and holy calling in the cause he has come to love.