Gospel Story Finder

Let me tell you about an experience that I had. When I was in law practice, my law firm had a car leasing program in which each person received a very generous allowance for leasing a car. If you chose not to lease an expensive car, you simply forfeited part of the car allowance. So I went out and leased a beautiful sports car.

The car was the nicest toy I ever owned. It was superbly engineered, and it drove like a dream. When the turbo kicked in, the car would flatten your ears back against the headrest. A voice would tell you when the door was open or the fuel level was low. It would say something like, "Left door is ajar, Excellency." The volume control on the stereo went from 1 to 10, and above 10 it had another setting that said: "Liquify Cerebral Cortex." The night I brought the car home, I sat in it until two a.m., trying out all the buttons and gadgets. My wife Nadine refused to drive the car; it was too ostentatious.

One year later I left law practice and went to law school to teach. I gave up the sports car and bought a 14-year-old sedan. It did not have a turbo-charger; instead, it had a wimpo-charger. There was a picture of my car in the dictionary, next to the definition of "breach of warranty." But I have to give credit where credit is due. My car was voted the car of the year--by the American Association of Tow Truck Drivers.

What surprised me is that I did not miss the sports car at all. Oh sure, the car was fun for a few months. However, after the newness wore off, it was simply transportation. We've all had the experience of wanting a certain material thing. We looked forward to getting it, and it was exciting at first. After a while, however, the thrill wore off, and we began looking forward to acquiring some other material thing, something that was really going to satisfy us. To borrow an image from C.S. Lewis, wealth is like an onion; when you peel off one layer, you simply discover another layer underneath. This process continues until you realize that at the center of the onion there is nothing at all. I learned for myself that wealth does not satisfy; it does not bring joy. Living the gospel brings joy. Feeling the Spirit brings joy. Loving and serving others bring joy.

For five years my family and I had lived in Eagar, Arizona, a town of a couple thousand, and I had attended Round Valley High with 400 other students. My next-door neighbor was Bishop Ashcroft. The stake president lived two blocks over, and most of the people in my neighborhood were members.
The summer before my senior year our family moved to Florida where I attended Meadowland High. Its student-body population was a little more than 3,500. Talk about culture shock. My dad and I drove ten miles just to visit our five home teaching families, and at Meadowland there were only two other Church members besides me: my younger sister, Tracy, and Jeremy James, my chief rival for a spot on the varsity basketball team.
As a junior I had started for Round Valley, but at Meadowland, just trying out was a privilege. Head Coach Pat Angelo held three week’s worth of practices before he made his final cut to the 14-man squad. Those practices were the toughest challenges I had ever faced. Relentless in his demands for perfection, he barked commands and instructions at us in language that scorched my ears. In addition, he held Sunday practices.
“You’re practicing Sunday, David?” my dad had questioned the first time I mentioned Coach Angelo’s practice schedule.
“It’s just until he makes his final cuts,” I explained uneasily. “If I’m going to have a shot at the team, I’ve got to be there, Dad. This isn’t Round Valley. It’s different here. Sunday’s just another day. If I want to play it means I have to be there Sunday. Besides, it’s only three Sundays, and I’ll still be able to make it to all my meetings.”
“Have you told the coach how you feel about practicing on Sunday?”
“Dad,” I moaned. “Coach Angelo doesn’t care about how I feel about Sunday. He’s not interested in a first discussion or reading the Book of Mormon. He wants to win basketball games.”
“David, I’m not asking you to try to convert your coach. But I do think it’s important that you let him know how you feel about certain things. You don’t have to hide your convictions.”
“Dad, I’m not trying to hide anything. I just want to play basketball.”
I couldn’t deny that I felt a tinge of guilt about my decision, but I rationalized that I was only going to do it for three Sundays.
After three weeks, Coach Angelo had narrowed the squad to 16 guys, and I was one of the 16. The last Sunday we were scheduled to have an intra-squad game. I knew the struggle for the last two positions would be between Rodney Tillery, Ramon Guzman, Jeremy James, and me. Of the four, I was the only senior—which was actually a strike against me. Jeremy was a better player, but I figured I had the edge there because Coach Angelo was a bit cool toward him.
Some of the other guys told me that Coach Angelo had thrown a party for the junior varsity team at the end of the season. Jeremy ended up leaving early because he felt uncomfortable with what was going on. The coach had been steamed by the slight and still seemed to harbor a grudge.
At the end of practice the Saturday before our intra-squad game, I dragged into the dressing room after staying in the gym alone working on my game. When I walked by the coach’s office, I heard Coach Angelo talking to someone.
“If you expect to play, James, you’ll be here tomorrow.” There was genuine irritation in Coach Angelo’s voice. “You’ve asked to be excused from the other two Sunday practices. I cut you some slack then, but I’ve been unfair to the other guys making the effort to show up. If you want to play, you better skip Sunday School, or wherever it is you go.”
There was a pause and then Jeremy spoke. “Coach, I’ve always come early and left late. I’ve made up my time when I’ve missed a Sunday practice.” There was another pause. “You know I’ll put in any amount of time you want. But Sundays are, well, different from any other day. It’s the way I believe. I can’t come Sundays.”
“Can’t or won’t? Is it because you’re Mormon and your parents won’t let you?”
Jeremy cleared his throat. “Coach, I’m not throwing blame on my mom or dad or my church. This is my decision. I made it a long time ago, before I knew anything about your Sunday practices.”
There was a long pause before the coach spoke. “David Bluth is Mormon, isn’t he?”
“I think so,” was Jeremy’s delayed response.
“He hasn’t missed practice. He’s going to be here tomorrow.”
I had planned to shower before heading home, but instead I slipped quietly from the dressing room without hearing any more of the conversation.
The following day, Coach Angelo met me at the end of the scrimmage and invited me into his office. “Bluth, I believe in being up-front with guys. I like your style and your drive. You’ve got talent. You could play for most high school teams.” He shook his head. “But we’ve got some great talent this year. If you were a junior, I’d keep you.”
His blunt announcement was a crushing blow. I had convinced myself that I was going to get one of those last spots on the team—especially since Jeremy hadn’t showed up for practice.
“I’m going with Tillery and Guzman,” he said.
“And Jeremy?” I don’t know why I asked. I knew he hadn’t made it. Coach Angelo’s face hardened. “He didn’t even come in today; had other junk more important than playing with the team.” He grabbed a ball and studied it a moment. “You’re Mormon, aren’t you?”
The question caught me off guard. For a second I just sat there without saying anything, and then slowly I nodded and stammered. “Yeah, I’m Mormon.”
He shook his head. “It’s no big deal. A couple of the guys just mentioned it. The thing is, you’re all right, Bluth. You go with the flow. You don’t make waves. I don’t care what you or any other guy believes, but I’m glad you don’t pack your religion around with you all the time.”
Coach Angelo had meant those last words as a compliment, but they left a burning uneasiness in the corner of my conscience. To gain a spot on the team I had been willing to negotiate my principles and beliefs. I had convinced myself that playing for Meadowland was more important than what I believed. The horrible irony was that after compromising my beliefs, I still didn’t make the team.

The street was dark when he rounded the bend, except for the Tobins’ porch light shining yellow across the front lawn. He slowed down, peering carefully, uncertain at first of what he saw.

Sure enough, it was a person sitting on the porch, just like Tessie used to sit. It had to be her. He slowed to a crawl and turned into his driveway. She had only been a silhouette before, but now his headlights caught her and she blinked in surprise.

Tessie! So different, and yet, so much the same. Long brown hair, big eyes, and she was small, so much smaller than he’d pictured the grown-up Tessie to be.

He climbed out slowly, wondering if she was as glad to see him as he was to see her. She was a silhouette again, watching him. He waited under the birch tree.

“Hi.”

Her voice sounded unsteady, and for the first time he thought of how she must feel, seeing her childhood buddy all grown up.

He cleared his throat. “Is that you, Tessie? I hardly recognize you.”

“It’s me, only they call me Tess now.” There was an older tone in her voice now, maybe a touch of rebellion. He stepped closer and could see her more plainly, dressed in jeans and a simple red sweater, looking just like the little girl who’d gone to her first football game with him.

“I kept hearing how grown-up you’d become. I was almost afraid to see you.”

“Well, I am 13.”

“But you’re still Tessie.” He said it forcefully, almost as if his saying so would make it true.

She watched him, her head tilted. “You’ve been on a mission or something, haven’t you? For your church.”

“Yes, in Colombia.”

“Well, I have new friends now.” She looked away.

Could she really be like this, so cold and calculating? Could she have changed so much?

“I was hoping that you’d help me get the car back in shape.”

“It runs fine. You just drove up in it.”

“The clutch doesn’t feel right, and the brakes need adjusting.”

“Go to a mechanic.”

He stared. “This isn’t much of a welcome. I know that I’ve been gone a long time, but I thought that at least you’d be here, excited to see me. I guess I was wrong.”

He turned to go.

“Easy for you to say!”

He stopped.

“Where were you when I needed a friend? You just left, and I had nobody. You said that you’d be back after college, but you never came back, not that summer, not ever, and I had to find new friends.”

She was crying now, her shoulders shaking.

“Every time I get a friend, they always leave. My dad didn’t want me. When I wrote to him and said that I’d run away and live with him if he sent me the plane fare, he never even wrote back. You were a pretty good substitute, but you didn’t really care about me either, because you had college and a mission to think about, much more important than me. Well, I don’t need you either, because I have new friends now, and they’re a lot more fun than you ever were.”

“Tessie, I never knew any of that.” He sat beside her, put his hand on her shoulder. She pulled away and buried her face in her hands.

“Honestly, Tess, I never knew that you were lonely. I wanted to write, but I’m not very good at it. I have your picture, right in the front of my wallet. You’re my best friend. I need you.”

And she needed him. He’d been wrong, thinking that he didn’t have anything to offer a 13-year-old girl. He had a lot to offer, the same thing he’d always had to offer. He’d gone to South America for two years to teach the gospel of Christ, yet he’d neglected to share it with one of the most important people in his life, his next-door neighbor.

“Listen, you cry all you want to, but when you’re done, we’re going to the Ice Cream Hut for hot fudge sundaes.”

“I can’t let anybody see me like this.” She sat straighter, wiping her eyes.

“Then you can stay in the car. Hey, I’ll bet the car would love to have both of us riding around in it again. I suppose it’s been pretty lonely, parked in the driveway all these years.”

“I see it every day on my way to the bus stop.” She looked down, suddenly embarrassed. “Sometimes I talk to it, but not out loud. Sometimes I pretend that you’re home again and we’re working on it, like we used to.”

“But I am home.” He grinned. “And this time I’m not leaving until I give you a special present.”

“Present? What kind of present?”

“It’s another friend, a friend of mine who never leaves, even when everybody else turns away.”

She squinted in the porch light. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ll tell you about it some other time. Right now I need an ice cream sundae covered with hot fudge.”

She giggled, the same old giggle, and they walked toward the car.

Doe Kaku at the time of her conversion to the Church and today with her husband, Anthony.
Thirty years ago in Ghana, a young college student named Doe stepped inside an LDS meetinghouse for the first time. A friend had invited Doe to come with her, and Doe was curious to know what the Church was like.
The people there were so nice and warm that she couldn’t help but wonder, “What kind of church is this?”
Doe felt so impressed that she decided to learn more about the Church and its people, who were filled with so much joy. But as soon as she began doing so, well-meaning family and friends began to oppose her at every turn. They said terrible things about the Church and did all they could to dissuade her.
But Doe had received a testimony.
She had faith, and she loved the gospel, which was filling her life with joy. And so, she entered the waters of baptism.
Afterward, she immersed herself in study and prayer. She fasted and sought the influence of the Holy Ghost in her life. As a result, Doe’s testimony and faith grew stronger and deeper. Eventually she decided to serve a full-time mission for the Lord.
After returning from her mission, she dated and married a returned missionary—the very one who had baptized her years earlier—and they were later sealed in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple.
Many years have passed since Doe Kaku first experienced the joy of the gospel of Jesus Christ. During that time, life has not always been sweet for her. She has endured her share of heartbreak and despair, including the loss of two children—the deep grief of those experiences still weighs heavily upon her heart.
But she and her husband, Anthony, have striven to draw close to each other and to their beloved Heavenly Father, whom they love with all their heart.
Today, 30 years after she entered the waters of baptism, Sister Kaku recently completed another full-time mission—this time together with her husband, who served as a mission president in Nigeria.
Those who know Sister Kaku say there is something special about her. She glows. It’s hard to spend time with her without feeling happier yourself.
Her testimony is certain: “I know that the Savior sees me as His daughter and friend (see Mosiah 5:7; Ether 3:14),” she says. “And I am learning and trying so hard to be His friend too—not only by what I say but also by what I do.”
Sister Kaku’s story is similar to that of many others. She had a desire to know the truth, she paid the price to gain spiritual light, she demonstrated her love for God and her fellowman, and along the way she experienced hardships and sorrow.
But no matter the opposition, no matter the sorrow, she kept moving forward in faith. And just as important, she kept her joy. She found a way not only to endure the hardships of life but also to thrive despite them!
Her story is similar to yours and mine.

During my last sacrament meeting at the MTC, an elder stood who was older than most missionaries. He apologized for his poorly-spoken English, but hoped that he would be understood. His voice was deep and strong. He told of growing up in Cracow, Poland. He felt uncomfortable attending his family’s church and said that he “instinctively” knew some of its practices were not correct. He stopped going to his church and instead began to study the Bible. As he grew he became increasingly unhappy with the government, and at age eighteen he asked for political asylum in Austria. It was granted, and he left his home to start a new life. He spent nine very difficult months in the refugee camp near Vienna before seeking permission to migrate to the United States. Once he arrived he was contacted by missionaries from many churches. “They were nice,” he said, “but I could tell they did not have the answers I was looking for.” One day he saw a television program on the Mormons. He felt good about what he saw, and he decided to learn more of the Church. He met the missionaries, heard and accepted the gospel, and at age twenty-five was serving a mission. “It is a privilege to be here,” he said softly in his deep Polish accent. “I have been looking for a long time.”

Truman studied architectural design and innovations in building. The constant pressure of being the Church’s architect was a strain on his health, so Brigham Young called him to serve a mission in Europe, where he was to not only preach to the people but also visit the great buildings and study the architectural styles there. He had been on his mission for thirteen months when he was called to return to help with the Salt Lake Temple.
Work on the temple did not progress very rapidly at first. There were several delays, such as the time President James Buchanan sent United States troops to Utah with a new governor to replace Brigham Young. The Saints, remembering the mob violence of the East, were not going to allow their new homes and lands to be plundered again. They stripped their homes of valuables and filled them with straw to be set afire if and when the enemy troops came. Even the foundation of the temple was covered with dirt, making it appear to be only a plowed field. Fortunately a peaceful settlement was reached before the troops arrived in Salt Lake.
As the building of the temple progressed, Truman sought the advice and counsel of President Young almost every step of the way. There were many details that had to be taken care of, and the work required Truman’s constant supervision. All his efforts were devoted to serving the Lord, despite constant poor health and personal heartaches.
The architect did not live to see the completion of the beautiful Salt Lake Temple, but the majestic structure will stand for many years to come as a monument to his and other Saints’ dedication in building the Lord’s kingdom here on earth.

Kelly tossed her book bag on the floor. She just had to talk to someone, and that someone had to be Grandma because Mom wasn’t home. “Grandma, Julie was so mean today—I’m never speaking to her again. She told Ryan that I like him.”
Grandma set down the music she was practicing and smiled at her. “I can see that you’re angry.”
“Of course I’m angry,” Kelly fumed. “You would be too.”
Grandma chuckled softly.
Kelly couldn’t believe her ears—her life was ruined and Grandma thought it was funny!
All of a sudden Grandma began to laugh out loud. “Oh, Kelly,” she said finally when her laughter stopped. “You sailed in here just like a soprano I once knew. Everything made her mad, and she flounced theatrically here, there, everywhere, all around the opera house.”
Kelly was mortified. “I don’t flounce, and not everything makes me mad.”
Grandma chuckled some more. “Of course not, I know that. Come on, child, see some humor. If you don’t laugh about your troubles in life, you’ll grow old before your time. Being angry takes energy.”
“I want to be angry,” Kelly mumbled.
“I know,” Grandma nodded wisely. “Anger is such a strong feeling that you think you like it. But actually you don’t feel good inside right now, do you?”
Kelly stubbornly refused to agree with Grandma. She had a right to be angry. Julie had been mean to her, and she hadn’t done anything to Julie—at least not at first. “I feel just fine,” she said grimly.
Grandma chuckled again. “Remember, voices are my business. I can tell by your voice that you’re feeling bad inside. I think I’ll sing you a song. It’s helped me many times when I’ve felt all bad inside.”
Kelly wanted to sigh out loud. Grandma’s opera songs were usually hard to understand, and most of the time they were in another language. She was in no mood for opera.
Grandma began to sing softly:
“‘Help me, dear Father, to freely forgive
“‘All who may seem unkind to me
“‘Help me each day, Father, I pray;
“‘Help me live nearer, nearer to thee.’”*
Kelly looked up in astonishment. The song was simple, it had a sweet melody, and it wasn’t opera. She listened quietly as Grandmother sang it again. She felt her anger melt away. “Where did you learn that? I’ve never heard you sing a churchy kind of song before.”
Grandma smiled. “I never was much of one for church in the past, but since I was here last, I joined one.”
“Which church?” Kelly asked.
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That’s where I learned the song—in Primary.”
“What’s Primary?”
“It’s kind of like Sunday School for children your age. They have classes, Sharing Time, and singing time. I lead the singing in Primary.”
Kelly was astonished. Grandma was one of the country’s best operatic sopranos. She got paid a lot of money to sing in operas, and now she was leading music for little kids! “How much do they pay you?” she blurted out.
A satisfied look came to Grandma’s face. “Not one single penny.”
Grandma teaching music for free? She took a good look at Grandma. Grandma had been happy ever since she’d arrived. She sang and danced; she helped around the house. She got along well with everyone. “You’re truly happy,” Kelly said thoughtfully.
Grandma nodded. “Yes, very happy. Learning about Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the gospel has brought me peace and happiness. I’d like to share it with you, especially—” Grandma winked at her—“the peace part right now.”
“I suppose you think I should forgive Julie,” Kelly said grudgingly. “Like it said in that song.”
Instead of answering, Grandma began to sing again:
“‘Help me, dear Father, to truly repent,
“‘Making things right, and changing my ways.
“‘Help me each day, Father, I pray;
“‘Help me live nearer, nearer to thee.’”
Kelly stared at Grandma, “You don’t think I need to repent, do you? Is that why you sang the rest of the song?”
“Was Julie the only one that did something wrong?”
Kelly had yelled at Julie. But Julie deserved it, Kelly told herself defiantly. Aloud, she answered, “Yes, she was.” She refused to look Grandma in the eye. It was all Julie’s fault. It was!
The rest of the evening the song whirled around in her head. She could hear it when she did her homework. She heard it when she brushed her teeth. She woke up the next morning with it ringing in her ears, so she put on the headphones to her radio to make her brain switch tracks. The new music worked—she walked to school, forgetting the song and all that Grandma had told her.
As she turned the corner, she caught sight of Julie talking to Jamie on the playground. Julie saw Kelly and started to wave, then stopped and turned her back. Why is Julie mad at me? She’s the one in the wrong. Kelly hesitated, remembering the name she’d shouted at her best friend. It wasn’t a nice word. Maybe Grandma was right—maybe she should be sorry. When Jamie ran off to claim her turn at tetherball, leaving Julie alone, Kelly hurried over to her. “Julie, I’m sorry I called you that name.”
“You’re apologizing to me?” She looked embarrassed. “I’m the one who should say she’s sorry.”
Kelly grinned at her. “Yes, you should, too—now Ryan will bug me for the rest of the year.” They both laughed.
Julie smiled again. “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. I was mad because you were playing with Jenny and not me.”
After school, Kelly hurried home. “Grandma,” she called, “guess what.”
Grandma was making cookies.“Julie and you are friends again.”
“How did you know?”
“Well forgiving and being forgiven make people happy. You look happy, and you sound happy.”
“Grandma, do you think Mom would let me go to church with you this Sunday?”
“There’s only one way to find out—we’ll just have to ask her.”
Grandma began to sing a familiar song from an opera. Kelly felt so good that she joined right in.

Long years ago when I was in the stake presidency in the St. Joseph Stake in Arizona, one Sabbath day I filled an assignment in the Eden Ward. The building was a small one, and most of the people were sitting close to us as we sat on the raised platform about a foot and a half above the floor of the building itself.
As the meeting proceeded, my eye was attracted to seven little boys on the front seat of the chapel. I was delighted with seven little boys in this ward conference. I made a mental note, then shifted my interest to other things. Soon my attention was focused on the seven little boys again.
It seemed strange to me that each of the seven little fellows raised his right leg and put it over the left knee, and then in a moment all would change at the same time and put the left leg over the right knee. I thought it was unusual, but I just ignored it.
In a moment or two, all in unison would brush their hair with their right hands, and then all seven little boys leaned lightly on their wrists and supported their faces by their hands, and then simultaneously they went back to the crossing of their legs again.
It all seemed so strange, and I wondered about it as I was trying to think of what I was going to say in the meeting. And then all at once it came to me like a bolt of lightning. These boys were mimicking me!
That day I learned the lesson of my life—that we who are in positions of authority must be careful indeed, because others watch us and find in us their examples.

The access to God’s covenantal power and His covenantal love is through His Church. The combination of the Savior’s gospel and His Church transforms our lives. It transformed my maternal grandparents. My grandfather Oskar Andersson worked in a shipyard on Högmarsö, an island in the Stockholm archipelago. His wife, Albertina, and their children lived on the Swedish mainland. Once every two weeks, on Saturday, Oskar rowed his boat home for the weekend before returning to Högmarsö on Sunday evening. One day, while on Högmarsö, he heard two American missionaries preach the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Oskar felt that what he heard was pure truth, and he was filled with unspeakable joy.
The next time he returned home, Oskar excitedly told Albertina all about the missionaries. He explained that he believed what they taught. He asked her to read the pamphlets they had given him, and he told her that he didn’t think that any of their future children should be baptized as infants. Albertina was furious and threw the pamphlets on the rubbish heap. Not much was said between them before Oskar returned to work on Sunday evening.
As soon as he was gone, Albertina retrieved those pamphlets. She carefully compared their doctrine with the teachings in her well-worn Bible. She was astonished to feel that what she read was true. The next time Oskar returned home, he received a warm welcome, as did the copy of the Book of Mormon he brought with him. Albertina eagerly read, again comparing the doctrine to that in her Bible. Like Oskar, she recognized pure truth and was filled with unspeakable joy.
Oskar, Albertina, and their children moved to Högmarsö to be close to the few Church members there. A week after Oskar and Albertina were baptized in 1916, Oskar was called to be the group leader on Högmarsö. Like many converts, Oskar and Albertina faced criticism because of their new faith. Local farmers refused to sell them milk, so Oskar rowed across the fjord every day to purchase milk from a more tolerant farmer.
Yet during the ensuing years, Church membership on Högmarsö increased, in part because of Albertina’s powerful testimony and burning missionary zeal. When the group became a branch, Oskar was called as the branch president.
Members of that Högmarsö branch revered that island. This was their Waters of Mormon. This was where they came to a knowledge of their Redeemer.
Over the years, as they kept their baptismal covenant, Oskar and Albertina were transformed by the power of Jesus Christ. They longed to make more covenants and receive their temple blessings. To obtain those blessings, they permanently emigrated from their home in Sweden to Salt Lake City in 1949. Oskar had served as the leader of the members on Högmarsö for 33 years.
The combination of nitroglycerin and kieselguhr made dynamite valuable; the combination of the gospel of Jesus Christ and His Church is beyond price. Oskar and Albertina heard about the restored gospel because a prophet of God had called, assigned, and sent missionaries to Sweden. By divine commission, missionaries taught the doctrine of Christ and by priesthood authority baptized Oskar and Albertina. As members, Oskar and Albertina continued learning, developing, and serving others. They became Latter-day Saints because they kept the covenants they made.

As I entered the home for old people, my thoughts were not really on grandma, even though she was dying. I love her, and it made me sad to realize she would soon be leaving, but she had been waiting so long to be with grandpa again that it seemed like her dying would be a blessing, a long-awaited reward for her faithfulness. My own mind longed for such assurance of what the future would hold. I was wrestling with an important decision and was filled with confusion; I found myself pleading with the Lord for peace of mind. That’s why I was so surprised when such a feeling of calmness came over me when I walked into grandma’s room. She was weeping. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and told me softly that as she looked back at her life, she was overcome with the blessings the Lord had given her. Her quiet reflection and gratitude totally removed me from my earthly worries. I hardly realized I was standing there, listening to her in the darkness. She was radiant, thin and dying, but glowing.
Any unappreciative thought I’d ever had about her was erased from my mind, and I was so humbled that I can’t find words to explain it. Why don’t those times stay with us forever? I put my unwrinkled hand over her wrinkled one and held it. I asked her what she was thinking. She said something I’ve often felt but could never quite express. She shook her head and said, “Oh, dear, if you knew all I think about.” Then she told me I looked different. I told her it was because I had no eye makeup on and she probably couldn’t recognize me. But she hadn’t even looked at me. She’d been looking out the window and then she said, “No, you are different than when you came in. You’re seeing your future laid out in front of you, and you wonder what will happen to you.” Tears came to my eyes. She was right. “Don’t be impatient, my dear. The Lord has many good things in store for you, and he loves you very much. But you are impatient like me. You want to tell the Lord when you’re ready and when you’re not.”
The she smiled. “I have been a trial to my Lord all my life because of my impatience, and now I see my life closing, and I realize he still loves me—he loves me.” When she had finished, tears fell down her cheeks. I wasn’t crying outwardly, but when I saw her tears, mine came, too. At that moment we were sharing something together as children of God, not as an old lady and her granddaughter. That is how I will remember Grandma Windsor, and when my time comes to join her, I hope she will be proud of me.
I walked down the steps of the home for old people with one more testimony that there really is one greater than ourselves, and that he loves me far more than I can even imagine. He has blessed me so much! Knowing that, I can’t be anything less than my best. When I fail, I punish myself. He is a God of abounding love, not hate or resentment. I do so many things wrong, and yet he still loves me. Looking at grandma’s face that day, I could see that love. I could see wisdom, humility, and peace—an overwhelming peace. I wish I could have written on stone plates that would last forever the feeling I had then.

Sometime ago I was asked to speak to a young man who was repeatedly breaking a university rule. The rule was set up to ensure the safety and well being of students, but the young man refused to stop violating it. Between the time he was last spoken to by the responsible university department and the time I was asked to speak with him, he had broken that same rule three more times. When I inquired of him why he continued his behavior, he said, "I just wanted to." When we talked about how his behavior could have endangered other students he said, "I didn't think of it like that. I was just having fun." This young man did not see things beyond his own desires.

This attitude is deadly both physically and spiritually because for those who seek to gratify themselves at all costs find the forbidden alluring and fascinating. Many end up trapped in or battling addictions because they have followed their appetites, passions and desires. Like the student who did not see the consequences of his behavior, others too are oblivious to the consequences until it is too late. Unfortunately given the details of this situation, the young man's behavior necessitated that he be asked to step away from the university for a time. This consequence was a detour in his educational plan but I believe the opportunity for him to learn self-mastery will help him best in the long run. Elder Oaks said, "The love of God does not supersede His laws and His commandments, and the effect of God's laws and commandments does not diminish the purpose and effect of His love." This young man is a good person but given the opportunity to monitor and adjust his behavior he fell short of what was expected.

We, of course, all recognize the mandate laid upon the Church by the Lord himself. It is a mandate we cannot dodge and one from which we cannot shrink. That mandate is to teach the gospel to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. This was the final charge given by the Lord following his resurrection and before his ascension. It was repeated with the opening of this dispensation.

Missionary Efforts Early in This Dispensation

Following the organization of the first Council of the Twelve in this dispensation, Oliver Cowdery, then a counselor in the First Presidency, delivered a charge to those men who had been selected for this sacred office. I should like to give you some of the words he spoke on that occasion:
You are called to preach the gospel of the Son of God to the nations of the earth. It is the will of your Heavenly Father that you proclaim his gospel to the ends of the earth and the islands of the sea.
Be zealous to save souls. The soul of one man is as precious as the soul of another. You are to bear this message to those who consider themselves wise, and such may persecute you. They may seek your life. The adversary has always sought the life of the servants of God; you are, therefore, to be prepared at all times to make a sacrifice of your lives, should God require them in the advancement and building up of his cause. . . .
The time is near when you will be in the midst of congregations who will gnash their teeth upon you. The gospel must roll forth, and it will until it fills the whole earth. . . .
You have a work to do that no other men can do. You must proclaim the gospel in its simplicity and purity; and we commend you to God and the word of his grace. [Documentary History of the Church, 2:196–98]
Subsequent to that charge, the Lord delivered the revelation known as section 112 of the Doctrine and Covenants, which was a revelation to the first Council of the Twelve. In it are found these words:
Contend thou, therefore, morning by morning; and day after day let thy warning voice go forth; and when the night cometh let not the inhabitants of the earth slumber, because of thy speech. . . .
Wherefore, whithersoever they shall send you, go ye, and I will be with you; and in whatsoever place ye shall proclaim my name an effectual door shall be opened unto you, that they may receive my word. [D&C 112:5, 19]
In accordance with that charge, missionaries were sent into the surrounding areas, into Canada, and in 1837 across the sea to England.
It was in the Kirtland Temple during troubled days for the Church that the Prophet Joseph Smith approached Heber C. Kimball and said, “Brother Heber, the Spirit of the Lord has whispered to me, ‘Let my servant Heber go to England and proclaim my Gospel, and open the door of salvation to that nation.’”
I am not surprised that some sense of fear came over him. He said to himself, “O, Lord, I am a man of stammering tongue and altogether unfit for such a work. How can I go to preach in that land which is so famed throughout Christendom of learning, knowledge, and piety, the nursery of religion, and to a people whose intelligence is proverbial?” (Life of Heber C. Kimball, p. 104).
But he and his associates went. While the language was essentially the same as their own, many of the customs they met were different. They paid little attention to these. Their message was the gospel of salvation, and they spoke of little else. History bears remarkable testimony to the success of their labors.

I am indebted to Elder Dallin Oaks for an account, a modern-day parable which I refer to as the parable of the bushy-tailed squirrel, the tree, and the dog, which illustrates my concern:
As two men walked across an eastern university campus, they were attracted by a crowd of people surrounding a large maple tree. As they approached, they noticed that the crowd was being amused by the antics of a fox-tailed squirrel circling the tree, climbing it, and running back down again. A red Irish setter dog crouched nearby, intently watching the squirrel. Each time the squirrel ran up the tree out of sight, the dog would slowly creep towards the tree. The squirrel paid little attention as the dog crept closer and closer, patiently biding its time. People watching this entertaining drama unfold knew what could happen, but they did nothing until in a flash the dog—catching the squirrel unaware—had it in the grip of his sharp teeth.
The people then rushed forward in horror, forcing the dog’s mouth open to rescue the squirrel. It was too late. The squirrel was dead. Anyone could have warned the squirrel or held back the dog. But they had been momentarily amused and had watched silently while evil slowly crept up on good. When they rushed to the defense, it was too late.

A few years ago, Amy and I were in Hong Kong on assignment from the university and attended a session at the Hong Kong Temple. After the session we received a briefing from the Asia Area Presidency on the state of the Church in Asia. In the course of the briefing, Elder Kent D. Watson showed a picture of an elderly Mongolian woman standing in front of her yurt, the traditional Mongolian tent. He went on to explain that this sister, a recent convert to the Church, had, over the course of many months, saved her money so that she could pay for the four-day train ride from Mongolia to Hong Kong to attend the temple for the first time. She did all this at her own expense without any monetary support from the Church. As I looked at the picture of this dedicated sister and thought of her four-day train ride, my own commitment to the temple seemed rather pale in comparison.

“As a young girl in Switzerland, she was afflicted with an incurable illness. As she lay ill, she read pamphlets about the priesthood and about men who could heal the sick as Jesus had done.”

After joining the Church, her great-grandmother prayed with faith to be healed. Following one of many priesthood blessings, she recorded: “I want to tell … all my grandchildren … that there are not words in any language to describe the feeling that came over me when I was healed. I really could feel it from the top of my head to my feet, and from that time on I was healed.”

Everyone knows that computers are useful tools. You can play games, send E-mail to friends, even type up term papers for your European history class. But Laurels in the Aliso Creek Ward, Santa Margarita California Stake, know an even better way to use a computer.
“I looked up my parents in the Ancestral File™ [at her local family history center] on the computer and found the names of thousands of my ancestors. It was really neat!” says 18-year-old Rebecca Hope.
Liz Chocco, another Laurel, prepared the names of two deceased family members and was then baptized for them in the San Diego Temple.
“The Spirit was so strong,” says Liz. “I felt that these two relatives were actually there. I felt an eternal bond with them. The phrase ‘families are forever’ became real to me in the temple.”

Brooke P. of California, USA, could feel her resolve wavering—it would be so much easier to blend in with her teammates. The other girls were pressuring her to dress like them for practices and games.
Brooke had already decided that she wanted to be modest, but she didn’t know what that meant for playing her sport. Would it be OK to dress like her teammates just during sporting events?
“I decided to do some research,” Brooke says. “I looked through For the Strength of Youth, the scriptures, Church talks—everything I could get my hands on. Nothing seemed to describe my exact situation and give me specific enough advice. But I knew that Heavenly Father knew me and that He knew what would be modest.”
So Brooke took action again. “I decided to get down on my knees and pray,” she says. As she prayed, she expressed her desire to obey the commandments and then asked whether it would be OK for her to dress like her teammates for their practices and games.
After her prayer, Brooke felt impressed that she should not alter her clothing choices to satisfy her peers. Although her decision was unpopular, Brooke found confidence and peace knowing that her choice was pleasing to Heavenly Father.

Many years later, in pursuit of my business career, I was invited by a client to provide insurance coverage for a new venture he was launching. When I arrived at the location, I learned that it was to be a nightclub.
As we passed through reception, entering the main area, I was impressed by the decor. The furnishings and fittings, curtains and carpeting were well coordinated, providing a most pleasing setting. This was not what I had expected to find after having been told the purpose for which the venue was to be used. As I sat with the proprietor, noting the necessary information, an employee approached and asked if he could test the systems.
My client gave his approval. Suddenly the serene setting was transformed as the room lighting faded to be replaced by flashing lights of multiple colors and excessively loud music. The scene of tranquility was immediately shattered.
It was impossible to communicate under such circumstances, so we walked back to the reception area. Following further discussion and because of what I had experienced, I did not feel comfortable to proceed, so I referred my client to a specialist in this field of insurance. To this day I vividly recall the dramatic transformation that occurred with shafts of light and the pulsating beat of loud music penetrating the darkened room.
I learned a lasting lesson from these experiences. Our surroundings can have a significant impact on how we feel and the way we behave.

Johanna was only eight when war came to her village in Holland and everything changed. When Johanna was ten, conditions were so bad that her only chance for life was to escape with an older sister and hide in a farmhouse many miles away from their home.
The two girls live with the Oosterveld family, who keep them hidden in an upstairs room—hidden from prying neighbors and from German soldiers who set up an office in the room just below them. Johanna and Sini spend days quietly in bed, bored and lonely and longing for exercise and fresh air. They spend years hidden away from the world.
This unforgettable book touches the heart and holds the reader breathless with excitement, wondering what will happen next. It was named a Newbery honor book for 1973.

I know another good man who was reared in a family without the blessings of the gospel. Through a series of unfortunate events in his early youth, he was introduced to homosexuality, and gradually he became a prisoner of this addictive behavior.
One day two young missionaries knocked on his door and asked if he would be interested in learning of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. In his heart of hearts he wanted to be freed from his prison of uncleanness, but feeling unable to change the direction his life had taken, he terminated the missionary discussions. Before leaving his apartment, the two elders left a copy of the Book of Mormon with him, and testified of its truthfulness.
My friend placed the book on his bookshelf and forgot about it for several years. He continued acting out his homosexual tendencies, assuming that such relationships would bring him happiness. But alas, with each passing year, his misery increased.
One day in the depths of despair, he scanned his bookshelf for something to read which might edify and uplift him and restore his self-worth. His eye caught hold of the book with a dark blue cover, which the missionaries had given him several years before. He began to read. On the second page of this book, he read of Father Lehi’s vision in which he was given a book to read, and “as he read, he was filled with the Spirit of the Lord” (1 Ne. 1:12). And as my good friend continued reading, he too was filled with the Spirit of the Lord.
He read King Benjamin’s benedictory challenge to undergo a mighty change of heart—not a little change, but a mighty change. He was given hope by the comforting conversion stories of Enos, Alma, Ammon, and Aaron. He was also inspired by the account of the Savior’s visit to the ancient Nephites. By the time he reached the final page of the Book of Mormon, he was prepared to accept Moroni’s loving invitation to “come unto Christ, and be perfected in him, and deny yourselves of all ungodliness” (Moro. 10:32).
My friend contacted the Church and was taught the gospel and was baptized. Within a relatively short time, he married a lovely young woman, and they are the parents of several beautiful children. He and his wife are very dynamic and committed servants of the Lord, influencing many others for good.