Gospel Story Finder

It was a dark and stormy night.
Well, okay, maybe it was a sunny afternoon.
Whenever it was, somebody sneaked up outside the window of James B. Young’s dormitory room on the Ricks College campus. They pulled out a roll of masking tape. Then cautiously, they formed letters—backwards—on the window, so that when Jamie opened the curtains in the morning, he would read the words the right way. This was their message:
“We Love U.”
All of which brings us back to the masked message taped on Jamie’s window one dark and stormy night.
“We Love U,” it said.
If James Brigham Young has anything to say about it, that may well become the official nickname for Ricks College.

In a recent gathering of friends who served missions in Scotland in our youth, I heard the following story from one of my former companions, Joseph McConkie. While serving as a chaplain in Viet Nam during that conflict and war, Brother McConkie was responsible for helping meet the spiritual needs of LDS servicemen. He said that at military headquarters, there was an assembly hall where religious services were held. At that time the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was not viewed as a major religious denomination so the time for religious services given them was 4:00 P.M. on Sunday afternoon. One day, following their meetings, a soldier who was responsible for the upkeep of the assembly hall said: "I want to join your Church." Joseph asked: "What has prompted this desire?" The soldier replied: "I watch your people come to Church each week in the late afternoons--and they come happy. When they leave, they are even happier!" No doubt this soldier could see the light of the gospel emanating from the faces of those soldiers who rejoiced every week in the great privilege of worship and fellowship--even in the difficult circumstances in which they found themselves. These soldiers knew their identity and it blessed others.

As I walked down the fairway, thoughts of what had happened earlier in the round began to press in on my mind.
On the seventh hole of the junior golf tournament, my third shot had come to rest in the middle of the narrow fairway. I hit the ball. It sailed onto the green, took two bounces, and fell into the hole. My partner was impressed.
“Great shot. Is that a three?”
“Yes,” I had replied confidently. But I hadn’t really made a three. It had taken me four strokes to get the ball in the hole. But I thought one stroke wasn’t going to mean anything.
By the time I finished, I realized I had played the round of my life.
I headed back toward the clubhouse, adding my partner Joe’s scorecard as I walked.
At the scorer’s table, I handed Joe his scorecard, and he gave me mine. “You’re in first place,” he said.
I looked up at the scoreboard and thought, This score would put me in first place. Looking down at my card, I noticed the “3” I had given myself on the seventh hole was standing out like a neon sign. I could change it to a “4.” But I’m in first place by two strokes. That one stroke won’t make any difference, I thought.
I signed my name at the bottom of the card and handed it to the scorer. I watched with fascination as my name was placed at the top of the list on the giant scoreboard. I made my way to the pop machine. I was actually in first place.
While sipping on my soda, I sauntered over to the base of an elm tree, sat down against it, and began to think about what I had done.
In church, Scouting, and at home, I had been taught to be honest in my dealings with others.
I glanced again at the scoreboard. More scores were being posted. Then I noticed Fred Baker was only one stroke behind me. Now that one stroke I hadn’t counted meant the difference between undisputed first place and a tie.
Everyone cheats, I kept thinking. I remembered when Joe moved his ball to a better position when it came to rest in a bare spot of grass. Besides, no one will ever know what I did, I reasoned.
I again walked slowly to the scorer’s table and past the gigantic first-place trophy. “That sure would look nice in our family’s trophy case,” I mumbled to myself. As I walked past the trophy, I decided what I had to do.
“Can I help you, son?” the scorekeeper asked.
“Sir, I seem to have made a mistake on my scorecard. On the seventh hole, I made a four, not a three.”
“Have you already signed your scorecard?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, knowing I would be disqualified for turning in an incorrect scorecard.
“I’m sorry, son, but you know the rule.”
“I guess I’m disqualified then,” I mumbled. Tears welled in my eyes.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. What’s your name? I’ll need to remove it from the scoreboard.”
“Jae Markham,” I said. I then stood by and watched as my name was scratched from the top spot.
That afternoon I slowly walked to the parking lot with my golf bag over my shoulder. The sun was bright and figures still dotted the course.
I looked back again at the first-place trophy, and somehow it didn’t seem so big anymore.

Many years ago I taught a prep course for English majors thinking about pursuing PhDs. One exceptionally gifted student, smart and diversely talented, completed the class requirements but seemed more interested in pursuing other opportunities. Several years later she contacted me and asked if we could talk. I invited her to my home and learned that she had gotten married, found herself living in places she hadn’t anticipated, and no longer felt as assured about following a lifelong career dream. She had explored other options, and nothing seemed right, so she was revisiting her original decision to not pursue a PhD. We began talking again about some of the items we had discussed in our prep class years before: the parts of a graduate school application, what kind of writing sample to use, what to emphasize in a letter of intent, and so forth. She diligently took a few notes. But I could sense in her feelings of uncertainty and unhappiness. Then the Spirit impressed me with a new thought. I told her not to worry about career tracks for a moment and reflect instead on her spiritual gifts. If she thought about pursuing a life most in keeping with those gifts, what kind of life would that be? The mood in the room instantly changed; she said she hadn’t thought about approaching her future with that question in mind. Later in the week, she sent me a note informing me that she had taken the question to heart, had found new clarity in her thinking, and now discerned a life and career path that seemed well-suited to her. Anxiety had given way to joy.

One morning my wife said to me, “Hans, I dreamed something very strange last night. Two young men told us about a different church, and we joined it. What do you think about that?” she asked hesitantly. We agreed that the dream didn’t seem to have any meaning because we would never want to leave our own church.
The dream had long been forgotten when, nearly a year later, my wife greeted me after work with the news that “two young men were here today to tell me about their church.” I saw a trace of worry in her face. “But we are going to stay with our church,” I responded confidently. “Well,” she said, “they want to come back to talk with you.” I was not happy with the prospect.
A few days later, I opened the door to see two fine-looking young men. They introduced themselves as missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In the conversation that followed, they asked, “Do you believe that the church of Jesus Christ is on the earth today?” My wife and I had already considered this question while studying the Bible. We concluded that if there were a true church, it would have to have all the doctrines Jesus taught. The churches we knew, including our own, were not complete. “If it exists,” I said, “it must have all the things Jesus taught. But it does not exist.”
A few days later, as I was sitting with my wife, she asked, “Hans, can you still remember my dream?”
“What dream?” I wondered.
“The one I had about the two young men who visited us. They told us about their church and we joined it. Remember?”
Memory of the forgotten dream came back. Joyfully we realized that the dream was a revelation of what was to come, and its memory a confirmation of our testimonies. It was a dream that had come true.

He was deeply concerned about the well-being of others and praised the good he saw around him. He trusted others and encouraged them to strive to be disciples of Christ. Addressing a “stir in the Church” involving a young woman who had emigrated from England and was living in the home of Heber and Vilate Kimball, Joseph wrote a letter to Vilate. With grace and understanding, the Prophet encouraged Vilate: “I do not desire that you should turn the young woman out of doors; far be it from me to advise any such course. I think it would be well for her to remain with you … because I think that your advice may be a blessing to her, and your counsel and advice such as will tend to her future welfare and happiness.”8 Joseph trusted Vilate; she had chosen faith and continued in her belief that Joseph Smith was a prophet.9 Joseph’s trust in Vilate paid dividends as Vilate’s influence and counsel helped the young woman weather the storm and commit to her faith.

I have always been fond of a story from the era of the Great Depression. The Mayor of New York City, Fiorella LaGuardia was an unusual leader. New York named an airport after him and perhaps that has something to do with how he cared for his people. While in office he sometimes presided at the Police Court just to keep in touch with what was happening in the streets. One bitter cold day the officers brought in a trembling, ragged man charged with stealing a load of bread. He defended his actions by explaining that his family was starving.

"I've got to punish you," declared LaGuardia. "The law makes no exception." So he fined the man ten dollars. But, as he said that, the Mayor reached into his pocket and brought out a $10 dollar bill which he tossed into his hat. "The fine is paid," he said. "And I'm going to fine everybody in this courtroom fifty cents for living in a town where a man has to steal bread in order to eat. The Bailiff passed the hat and the incredulous man, with a light of heaven in his eye, left the courtroom with forty-seven dollars and fifty cents.

I can’t remember the exact day I crumbled, but I do remember how I felt. I was sitting in seminary. For some reason, I didn’t want to raise my hand to answer a question. Pretty soon, I didn’t feel I knew the answers, whether in seminary, Sunday school, or Young Women meetings. Suddenly, I had no confidence in my knowledge of the gospel.
I still knew the Church was true, but I felt I was doing something wrong. I judged myself harshly and didn’t feel worthy to pray. I started to panic. I felt horrible inside, all the time. It was like I was sick and hadn’t the slightest idea what the cure was, because I didn’t know what was wrong. I hadn’t committed any serious sin or transgression, and my senior year of high school had started off really great. So what in the world was the matter with me?
These feelings continued for a couple of months, and before I knew it, it was time for October 2014 general conference. I was looking forward to my mother’s October conference chili with corn chips, but my mind was all over the place. One of my teachers at church had challenged us to write out questions we were seeking answers for and to then listen for the answers in conference. Ten minutes before the Saturday morning session was to begin, I finally sat down with my computer and started typing up questions I had. I still felt sick and still didn’t know why.
Conference began, and just as I had for the previous few years, I paid attention to the speakers and took notes, but I still didn’t know what I was looking for.
During the hymn halfway through the Saturday afternoon session, Mom got the chili out and Dad and I got up to fill our bowls, pile on the corn chips, and get back to the couch before the song ended. For some reason I was hesitant to get up, but I was hungry. In the kitchen, as I contemplated the right chili-to-corn chip ratio, I felt like I needed to go back. I quickly grabbed a bowl and was about to get a spoon when I felt as though the Holy Ghost jolted me and said, “Sit down on the couch.” I dropped my bowl on the counter and got to the couch in two strides. I pulled my laptop onto my lap just as Elder Klebingat began speaking.
His first sentence: “On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your spiritual confidence before God?”1
My jaw dropped. Elder Klebingat was through the first paragraph of his talk before I actually digested the fact that he was saying exactly what I needed to hear. Stunned, I vigorously began typing notes on my computer. Elder Klebingat had accurately diagnosed me: my spiritual confidence was a -50. Then he proceeded to prescribe a cure for my sickness.
The Lord was the only one who knew what I needed, and He was the only one who knew when Elder Klebingat would be speaking (at the precise moment my corn chips would be calling to me). I am so glad I sat down and listened.
So, now that I was on the road to recovering my spiritual confidence, I had a new question: why had my spiritual confidence crumbled in the first place? I had seen a teaser on a website about how a dark chapter in my nation became a time to reinvent itself. How can a dark time bring about rejuvenation? It seemed a little paradoxical, but it brought to mind a scripture from Ether 12:27: “And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.”
Hmm. “Weak things become strong.” OK, I’m seeing a pattern here.
I hadn’t seen this time of spiritual panic coming. I had been scared and hadn’t known what was going on or how to fix it. But because of Elder Klebingat’s diagnosis and prescribed cure, I now study my scriptures for 30 minutes every day. I am expanding my knowledge of the Savior’s Atonement, and I see trials and challenges in a completely different light. As Elder Klebingat said in his talk:
“When these trials come, the adversary’s minions begin broadcasting that you did something wrong, that this is a punishment, a sign that Heavenly Father does not love you. Ignore that! Instead, try to force a smile, gaze heavenward, and say, ‘I understand, Lord. I know what this is. A time to prove myself, isn’t it?’ Then partner with Him to endure well to the end. Spiritual confidence increases when you accept that often trials and tribulations are allowed to come into [your life] because of what [you] are doing right.”2
Before this experience I felt like I knew the gospel. But now I realize that I understand that this gospel is true because I have tested it. I have trusted it. And by so doing, I opened my heart to Heavenly Father. He has kept His promises: He has “manifest[ed] the truth of it unto [me] by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Moroni 10:4). I know Heavenly Father has a plan for me. I know He has a plan for you. Don’t be afraid to find out what it is.

Illustrations by David Habben
While serving in the Massachusetts Boston Mission, my companion and I were driving home one day after conducting some baptismal interviews in a town in southern New Hampshire. My companion asked me if we needed anything from the store since we had not been able to go grocery shopping on our normal preparation day. I replied, “Yeah. We need some milk and a few other things to tide us over for a couple of days.” We then went to a local supermarket and bought the items.
By the time we started driving home again, it was getting dark outside. As we came over a small hill, we noticed a car parked on the downhill side with some women standing outside it. The car had its hazard lights on, and from the look on the women’s faces, it was obvious they needed help.
As missionaries we are always looking for opportunities to serve others, so we pulled over and offered our assistance. The woman who owned the vehicle gladly accepted our help. We then noticed there were two small children in the backseat. The car had a flat tire, and although the women had tried many times to wave people down, no one had stopped to help. The area they were stranded in was also a very poor spot for cell phone reception. When they explained their situation, we felt glad we had decided to stop.
As I was changing the tire, one of the children in the backseat was screaming uncontrollably. My companion offered the mother some treats for the child, but she said, “No. She’s picky. She will only drink milk.” My companion replied enthusiastically, “We have milk!” He then got the milk we had just purchased, and the mother filled a cup with it and gave it to the child, who immediately stopped crying. The woman asked, surprised, “Why do you randomly have a gallon of milk in your car?” We briefly explained why.
After working on a couple of over-tightened lug nuts, I finally got the wheel off and replaced it with the spare. We wished the group luck and offered them a pass-along card. The woman who owned the car gladly took the card and said, “Just because of what you two did for us today, I will look into this.” Then we went our separate ways.
I was now filthy from working on the ground and wrestling with the wheel. I turned to my companion and said, “I knew I wore my good suit today for a reason!” I really didn’t mind, though, because the feeling I had was worth way more than any suit.
That night I learned a valuable lesson. I learned that we should always take the opportunity to help people in need and that even if they have never met us before, we just might be the ones they are counting on to give them a hand.

Our own little grandchildren are also learning at this point in their lives to love the scriptures. We are so delighted in their responses. For instance, three-year-old Joshua, who loves heroes in all stories, used to blurt out at the climax of each scripture story: “And then, who saves the day? Jesus saves the day!” Joshua was learning an important lesson: that Jesus really is our Savior. Even His name means “save.” Now in his prayers he prays about the characters that he has met on a daily basis. Once he prayed that Peter would not sink again, and then he prayed that the swine would not drown when they ran into the sea. Another time he prayed that Laman and Lemuel would be nice to Nephi. And we’ve even heard him pray for Jesus’ daddy, who is Heavenly Father. Joshua recently received his own real copy of the Book of Mormon from his nursery leader in Primary. He no longer wants his mommy to read from the Book of Mormon reader. He told her he likes the real words the best.

A Dog Came, Too “Our Dog” traveled across the American continent in 1793 with explorer Alexander Mackenzie. Not a pet, Our Dog retrieved game, guarded the explorers at night, and warned them of bears, wolves, even a two-footed intruder! There wasn’t room for him in the canoes, so he ran along the shore, through forests, and over rocky ground, often miserable from bugs, sore feet, fatigue, and hunger.Ainslie Manson6–10 years

I was with President Kimball when I saw the mantle of presidency fall upon him the day after Christmas 1973. I had taken President Harold B. Lee to the hospital in Salt Lake the afternoon of December 26 because he was tired and the doctor thought he ought to get a rest and have a checkup. His family had gone home for a brief period, and I was alone with him in the room when he began to have difficulties. Within seconds I called a nurse and then a doctor, and immediately the alarm was sounded—“cardiac arrest.”
A team of doctors and nurses with sophisticated equipment began an heroic hour-long struggle in an effort to save his life. As I watched, I became convinced that unless the Lord did indeed work a miracle, President Lee could not live. I at once called President Romney and then reached President Tanner in Phoenix and got in touch with President Lee’s wife and family. Again convinced that unless the Lord took a hand there would be a change in the leadership of the Church, I felt that the next President of the Church should be present.
I immediately went to the phone and called President Kimball, and when he heard my voice, he responded in his usual cheerful manner, “Well, Arthur, how are you tonight?” I said, “Not very well. I am at the hospital with President Lee, and he is very ill. I think you should come at once.” He said, “I’ll be right there,” and I hung up. As I did so, I was conscious of the fact that I had not even told President Kimball which hospital we were at. Nevertheless, he was the first to arrive. Then President Romney came, and then President Lee’s wife and family.
It was on this sad occasion that I learned a great and fundamental lesson in priesthood and Church government. As you know, President Romney was a member of the First Presidency, while President Kimball was the President of the Quorum of the Twelve. As soon as President Romney arrived, President Kimball turned to him and said, “President Romney, what would you like me to do?” At the moment there seemed little that any of us could do, except pray and wait. A short time later, the doctor came and gave us the awful news that President Lee was dead. Quietly, President Romney, knowing that the First Presidency was now dissolved at that precise moment and that the mantle had fallen upon President Kimball, turned to him and said, “President Kimball, what would you like me to do?”
In a recent conference President Kimball said: “We believe that we have in this Church the answers to all questions, for the Lord is the head of the Church, and He has given us the program. Our message is what it has always been, and our hope is that our people will live the commandments of the Lord. They have been revealed in the holy scriptures and by living prophets throughout many years.”
No, President Kimball is not an ordinary man. He is a Prophet of the Lord.

In the midst of this heavy competition, I should like to audaciously announce that Dick Davis and I are the champions—that is in our field. We are not the fastest, the longest, nor the strongest runners in the land, but I contend we are the most versatile.
Five years ago we looked at our physiques. Dick has the more traditional, chunky-jogger look, while I have what you might call a war refugee’s build. We decided that something—anything—must be done. Since our work in the entertainment business demands much travel, we have had to jog in some unusual places. In an effort to help those who feel they don’t have the time nor the proper place to jog, may we submit a sample of our record.
We have jogged: through the wheat fields of Saskatchewan and the rain forest near Olympia, Washington; over the Snake River in Idaho and along the Skunk River in Iowa; up and down the Capitol Records tower in Hollywood, and up and down the George Washington Monument; above the grape vineyards of Napa Valley, California, and through new snow in Cache Valley, Utah; along the Atlantic at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, along the Pacific at Santa Barbara and Vancouver, B.C.; through the hardwood forests near Nashville and the sagebrush around Las Vegas; along the Los Angeles storm canal system and around the Atlanta Civic Auditorium parking lot; around the high school track at Roseville, California, and down the railroad track near Ritzville, Washington; in Houston when it was 98 degrees, and in Calgary when it was 38 degrees below zero; in, near, around, or through the Montana prairies, the granite boulders near Silver City, New Mexico, the Czechoslovakian Embassy in Washington, the old western movie sets near Prescott, Arizona, and more freeway rest areas and public parks than we want to remember.
From this vast reserve of experience, we would like to offer some pieces of free advice that are worth every penny of it.
Start your jogging program slowly and build up gradually. The first day out, never do as much as you think you would like to. If you are over thirty, check with your doctor first. Come to think of it, if you’re over thirty, what are you reading this for anyway? You should be reading the Ensign.
People sometimes ask us: How do I get started jogging? One good way is to lean forward until you begin to fall on your face. Take a step to correct your balance. Keep leaning for a mile or so. Then either straighten the body and stop, or lean a little more and collapse on the ground, whichever seems appropriate.
The basic jogging form is head up, rib cage lifted, medium arm action, feet pointed forward. Most new joggers prefer rolling from heel to ball of the foot as it is easier on the calf muscle. Jogging should be easy and rhythmical. If you find yourself gasping for breath, clutching at your throat, staggering, turning gray, or inching along on all fours, cut back a little on your jogging program.
The sprint form is head erect, mouth open in large smile, arms agitated, feet barely touching the ground. This is used by new joggers their first morning out for approximately 25 yards.
The shuffle form is a good steady ground gainer used at the end of a five-mile run. It will get you there, but it wears out the toes on your shoes.
The pacer form is a sort of prancing gait, not unlike a show ring pony. Keep your head erect, chin tucked in, chest thrust out, knees pumping high, toes slightly pointed, jaw firmly set, but facial muscles giving the appearance of quiet control. This form is used mostly for passing girls of your own age coming the other direction on bicycles. With practice it can be sustained for bursts of 10 to 15 feet.
1. Pain in the side. Some joggers complain of a pain in the side. This is especially common among joggers who planned to jog past their girl friend’s house, and their mother said they had to take their little brother along. No medical cure known.
2. The blind staggers. This is a dizziness experienced from jumping up off the couch too fast and jogging out the door when your mother says, “Jim, did you cut the lawn yet?” Cure—cut the lawn yet.
3. Proper breathing while jogging. While jogging be sure to alternate breathing in and out, as too much of one or the other will cause discomfort.
4. Charley Horses in your calf muscles. This is mostly a rural ailment and hardly ever experienced any more since most people live in the cities.
5. Jogging in inclement weather. Track coach Stretch Scrimshaw said, “It don’t hurt nothin’ to run in inclement weather, but, however, I wouldn’t run in the rain. It gets your shoes all muddy.”
6. Shin Splints and Chill Blains. These were two of the most famous joggers in American history. They set out to jog from Baja, California, to Miami, Florida. Unfortunately, they forgot to consider the Gulf of Mexico.
7. Dogs. Dogs along your jogging route should not be considered a hindrance. They are an opportunity to develop your speed and endurance. Admittedly, dogs do present certain dangers. Dick is in danger of being bitten. I am in danger of being buried.
8. Jogging attire. This is a good idea, especially if the tire is hanging over your belt.
9. Palpitations of the heart. (See #1, “Jogging past girlfriend’s house.” Also no medical cure known.)
Happy jogging, and as the great baseball pitcher Satchel Page once said, “Don’t look back, something might be gaining on you.”

The week of my BYU graduation I signed a contract to play football for the Philadelphia Eagles. I wanted to head to the East Coast and let my light shine, make the team, and score a bunch of touchdowns. My emotions swirled together in a mix of total excitement and nervousness.

I arrived at the Eagles facility and was the first player in the tight-end meeting room waiting for my coach to arrive. A tall man walked by the doorway and saw me out of the corner of his eye. After passing a few steps, he popped back and stood in the doorway, looking at me with a big grin on his face. He had a wad of chewing tobacco in his lower lip. With a twinkle in his eye he said, “Hey, Utah!”

“Yeah?” I responded.

“Are you a Mormon?”

“Yeah, I’m a Mormon.”

“Are you a good Mormon?”

“I don’t know; I try to be.”

“Do you drink?”

“No.”

“Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Yeah, you’re a good Mormon!”

After that he walked off down the hall. I had no idea who he was then, but I later learned that he was Emmitt Thomas, the Eagles’ defensive coordinator and legendary defensive back for the Kansas City Chiefs. He knew other Mormons, and he knew the difference between someone who was committed and someone who wasn’t. He was loved by every player he ever coached, and I enjoyed his friendly banter. As you can probably imagine, the locker rooms and the atmosphere of the NFL are not quite like that of a missionary zone conference. And yet in that environment Emmitt Thomas was influenced by some great Latter-day Saints—like Ty Detmer, who was an Eagles quarterback.

There were times that year when negative statements were made about the Church and times when Emmitt thought I might be the target of ridicule for that reason. During my rookie season, whenever Emmitt saw some of that, he would say something like, “Leave him alone. He’s a good guy.” I loved him for that.

The ups and downs of my career sent me to the St. Louis Rams and then back to the Eagles a few years later, when Andy Reid was made the head coach. Emmitt also changed jobs and went to the Minnesota Vikings.

After my fourth season I was selected to play in the Pro Bowl, the NFL all-star game played each year in Hawaii. Emmitt Thomas was on the coaching staff for my team. The first thing I did when I got to the practice field was visit with him personally. I put my hand on his shoulder and told him how much I loved him. He smiled and humorously said, “I love you too, Chad.”

I asked him if he knew what I was talking about, and with that same twinkle in his eye he said, “Yeah, I know what you’re talking about.” His impact on me left a lasting impression.

In 2008 Emmitt was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. I cried when I heard his acceptance speech because it brought back a flood of memories of how he let his light shine on me. These are the final lines of his speech:

As I go to my seat I’d like to leave you with these final thoughts. Our talent is God’s gift to us. How we use that talent is our gift to him. My sincere hope and prayer is that God finds my gift back to him a worthy one. May God bless you, keep you and continue the good fight of faith. [Emmitt Thomas’ enshrinement speech, Pro Football Hall of Fame Field at Fawcett Stadium, 2 August 2008, profootballhof.com/hof/member.aspx?PlayerId=270&tab=Speech]

President Monson has counseled us to go to the rescue of those in need. He said:

Amidst the storms of life, danger lurks; and men, like boats, find themselves stranded and facing destruction. Who will man the lifeboats, leaving behind the comforts of home and family, and go to the rescue? [“To the Rescue,” Ensign, May 2001, 48]

Surely we try our best to do that as missionaries and in our service one to another. When I was on the practice field I was grateful that Emmitt Thomas spoke up on my behalf and, in his own way, shared his gift and came to my rescue. He could have easily remained silent. I will always love him for that act of Christian kindness.

Home, family, and personal enrichment meeting is a wonderful place to socialize and establish the sisterhood necessary to create a sense of belonging among members of Relief Society and visitors. This is exemplified in an enrichment meeting held in Benidorm, Spain—a resort town where travelers are constantly coming and going. One evening sisters from Ecuador, Peru, Colombia, Norway, Sweden, Switzerland, England, Scotland, and Spain meet together for an enrichment meeting. On this particular night the sisters from Switzerland teach the others how to make greeting cards that can be used for various occasions. It is a simple design, easily mastered while the sisters visit and strengthen friendships.
As the sisters work together, their friendliness and sincerity soon overcome language barriers. The sister missionaries have brought some investigators who are chatting happily with the others. When these investigators visit the little branch again on Sunday, they already feel they belong to the group.
It is a simple activity, but this enrichment meeting accomplishes the goals of learning, serving, and socializing. Some of the sisters might have thought, “I don’t need to go. I have plenty of greeting cards.” But the greeting cards are only a small part of the benefit of attending enrichment meeting this night. Sometimes we attend to get something out of it. Other times we’re there to give to others, if only a listening ear, a word of encouragement, or a welcoming hand of friendship.

As a teenager, I lived with my family on a hill in Namur, Belgium. We often noticed missionaries pushing their bicycles slowly uphill or riding swiftly back down. One day they came to our house. Knowing they were Americans, we were curious and invited them in. It was 1951, and I was about 16 years old.
When the missionaries started talking about religion, we four children were not too interested, but my mother listened and kept inviting them back. As they taught her, she gained a testimony of the Church. Then came the question of baptism. My mother’s parents didn’t want her to be baptized, and my father was in Germany in the army. He came back only once a month for a two- or three-day visit. My mother got his permission, however, and was baptized. But he insisted that we children wait and make our own decisions when we were older.
In the meantime, we attended church with our mother. I went mostly because I wanted to perfect my English. I participated in the youth activities. It was a very good experience because I learned how to sing, dance, and act in the theater. I became acquainted not only with the Church but with the missionaries. I was getting closer to them in age, and we became good friends. They were in our home at least two or three times a week.
When I turned 21, I attended college in Liège, a city about 65 kilometers from home. The missionaries challenged me to be baptized, and I had to make a choice. It was a matter of testimony. I had questions about the Book of Mormon. I was 95 percent converted, but I needed a spiritual confirmation. The missionaries helped me find it by teaching me to pray, praying with me, and helping me recognize the answers I received. I was soon baptized. Since that time in that small branch, I have continued to grow in the gospel.
My faith helped me when I experienced peer pressure. I was the only member of the Church in college and later in Belgium’s air force. To resist temptations, I had to turn somewhere. I could not just turn to a magazine or a book. I had to have the internal strength that comes from a testimony of Jesus Christ. Once you have faith and rely on it, you will be strengthened even more. Faith becomes your determining factor in making decisions and moving forward.
My father never did join the Church, but he was a fervent supporter of it because he could see its blessings in the lives of his wife and four children. (My sister and two brothers were also baptized.) Prior to his death, he asked me to give him a priesthood blessing, and I did. We had a very special conversation, and he confided in me for the first time that he had faith. Coming from him, this was a major step.
With age, physical challenges are starting. At the end of last year I suddenly had a serious back problem. I was unable to move or to function normally. Through a priesthood blessing and my faith in the Lord, my back got better.
I think faith is our “homework” as Latter-day Saints. When you go to school, you have a textbook, but unless you do the homework each night, you don’t progress. The scriptures are our gospel “textbook,” but we have to do our homework. Our faith needs to be practiced. Faith without works is dead (see James 2:17).
My message to you children is to listen to your parents and follow their teachings. I had a foundation in my life from the teachings of my mother and my father, who were great examples. They were not perfect and your parents may not be perfect either. But if you can separate their problems from the true principles they teach and follow by faith, you will be blessed for it. If you will turn to your parents and to the Lord, it will make a big difference.

I was excited when my eldest daughter said she also wanted to serve a mission. Every week in the mission field, she sent me stories of her work. Her testimony inspired me and filled me with the missionary spirit. I prayed for missionary opportunities every day.
One day, I was inspired to ask a friend through a private message on social media if she would be interested in meeting with the missionaries. She said, “Yes!” I filled out an online referral form on LDS.org, and soon the missionaries began to teach her. In three months she joined the Church. Her children followed a few months later. As the Spirit directed me, I invited other friends to listen to the missionaries. When my daughter came home, I too felt that I had completed 18 months of missionary service.

As I surveyed the elderly people assembled for the nursing home sacrament meeting, I was worried. Several patients appeared to be asleep. One woman cried over and over, “I want to go home.” Most of those who were awake stared vaguely through clouded eyes. I wondered why the young men and young women of our ward had come to present this sacrament meeting. Other than giving these elderly Church members the opportunity to partake of the sacrament, why did we bother?
One of the young men conducted the service. It would be like any other sacrament meeting, with an opening hymn, an opening prayer, a sacrament hymn, the passing of the sacrament, speakers, and a closing hymn.
As we sang “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” I noticed one frail sister who, until this moment, had remained perfectly still, staring off into space. Now she sang every word from memory. When the sacrament was passed, almost every patient partook. I began to realize that the patients knew what was going on.
Following the sacrament, Shawna, the Laurel president, spoke on enduring to the end. I wondered how her words would affect people who had endured more than we could possibly imagine.
I was distracted from my thoughts by a very real presence in the room. I felt the Spirit as strongly as I’ve ever felt it before. Then I noticed that nearly all of the elderly brothers and sisters had their eyes focused on Shawna. The Spirit had linked us together as brothers and sisters, children of our Heavenly Father.
A scripture came to my mind: “And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity” (1 Cor. 13:13).
There may have been many reasons for that sacrament meeting, but the greatest of them was charity, the pure love of Christ.

Most of those who work in the storehouse are recipients of commodities. There are a minimum number of full-time staff members. One example of what happens when the spirit of this program permeates the activity is that of a thirty-two-year-old man who came to the storehouse. He was unable to read or write or even to speak. He was deeply disturbed. He was accepted by the other workers with love and understanding and was trained to accomplish a simple task. He learned to become a stock boy, stocking the shelves with commodities. Because he could not read, the staff placed pictures on the boxes so that he could match pictures and properly stack the cartons on the shelves. Through their patience and love, this young man has gained the ability to keep the shelves properly stocked with the proper commodities. Part of his compensation is provided in food which he takes to his parents and other members of his family to help provide for their needs. The happiness and fulfillment shown by this handicapped person as he receives the food to take home is truly an inspiration to all others.

A few years ago, I applied for a job at a local zoo, thinking it would be a great adventure. I got the job and decided to take it even though it meant I would have to work every Sunday. Because of that decision, it had been several months since I had attended church or had any contact with ward members. I hadn’t completely gone off the path of righteousness; I wasn’t drinking or playing with drugs like some of my friends at work, and my morals were okay. Still, deep down, I wasn’t really happy and I didn’t feel close to Heavenly Father.
Sometimes after work, I did kneel down to pray, but my prayers seemed hollow and far from the things in my heart. In addition, my grades were slipping, and I was difficult to get along with. My friends at the zoo seemed to like me, but they wanted me to participate with them in things I knew were wrong.
In the midst of my problems my mother told me one Sunday afternoon that my old choir teacher had been sustained as the Young Women president. As a shy young child I had been scared of her loud booming voice and outspoken ways.
The next week, the phone calls began. The new Young Women president was like a recruiter for the army. She called me for every activity my class was having and for every service project they did. After several weeks of excuses, I finally agreed to go out to dinner with my class. As we drove to the restaurant, the girls in my class talked about boys and the coming school year. Our leader often joined in their conversation. I rode along with them in silence.
As I watched their happy faces I felt a pain, the kind of pain you feel when you are missing out on something really great. By the time the activity was over and we were back at my house, I was close to tears. Those girls had something in their lives that I wanted. They knew who they were and where they were going. They were close to Heavenly Father. I knew he heard their prayers. My leader seemed to know what I was feeling and reminded me I was always welcome back at church and she would always be there for me.
That night I knelt by my bed and poured out my soul to my Father in Heaven—something I hadn’t done in a long time. I realized how much I had missed him and how, little by little, the distance between us had grown because of the choices I had made. More than anything I wanted another chance. I wanted to fill the emptiness within my soul. I wanted to find the kind of friends who lasted forever. I wanted to come back to church.
After that one Young Women activity, I realized that there were people who cared about me; I saw the way to come back. It wasn’t easy, but the gospel has enriched my life and given me hope beyond all things. The best thing I ever did was to come back to the Church.