Gospel Story Finder

Those who have known President Nelson throughout his life all attest to his remarkable personal qualities and tremendous intellect and spirituality. Over 40 years ago, before he became an Apostle, and while actively performing heart surgeries, he literally saved my father’s life (or as President Nelson later told me, “I gave your daddy another 15 years”). The following are several journal entries by my parents from that time in 1975. Although written many years ago, these entries give a very personal glimpse of his spiritual qualities already so apparent:
From my mother’s journal, describing her feelings during this very anxious time: “Over this period as I talked with Doctor Nelson, I gained the impression that he combined everything he did and said with the practical and spiritual intertwined and that he was a most remarkable man and servant of the Lord.” Several days following the surgery, she recorded: “Doctor Nelson is such a wonderful person first and doctor second. He’s so bright, and to me, the gospel shines from his face.”
And from my father’s journal: “I felt complete trust and confidence in Doctor Nelson, knowing that he is a choice servant of the Lord. I knew that whether I lived or died, I was in the hands of the Lord.”

Recently one of our BYU-Hawai'i graduates, Mele Ha'unga Hansen told a wonderful story that illustrates this concept.

When Mele was three years old, her mother and father were students at BYU–Hawai'i, living in married student housing. One day in a pick-up rugby game on the front field, her father, Semisi Ha'unga, was severely injured. Paralyzed and suffering from a broken neck, Semisi languished for several weeks and died, leaving his wife 'Ahoika and four small children. The sadness was almost too much to bear, but 'Ahoika remained faithful and optimistic. Eventually she had to return home to Tonga with her children. She worked for the LDS Church Schools, which paid her a modest salary. A widow and single parent with several children, 'Ahoika eeked out a living. Mele, her youngest daughter gave the following account:

I remember one day in Tonga, Mom called a family council and told us children that we had just enough money from that particular pay check to pay tithing and the monthly bills, but there was no money for food. I remember complaining to Mom: "Why can't we use the tithing money for food. Heavenly Father has plenty of money. Your tithing is so small compared to what he has. Does God want us to starve to pay tithing money He doesn't need?"

But Mom was adamant. "It's His money," she said. "He may not need it but we need to pay it. It is our need, not God's to pay tithing."

Mele spoke of the prayers of her widow mother and the anxiety of the children, when suddenly appeared at their home their father's brother, not a member of the Church. He was laden with foodstuffs from his garden plot, yams, sweet potatoes, green bananas, and a roasted pig. There was corned beef, bread. The sight of all this food made a deep impression, but it was their uncle's story that moved them most. He said, "I was working in my plantation today. At noon I lay down to rest under a tree. I slept and saw your father walking toward me. When I saw him I knew instantly why he had come to me. You were hungry and without food."

Thus the widow's faith was vindicated in front of her children. 'Ahoika, still a widow, represents the millions of devoted Latter-day Saints over the world whose faith and trust in paying their tithing make sacrifice joyful. Her generous, believing nature is part of her cultural as well as her spiritual heritage.

Then, during the nine years that President Ezra Taft Benson presided over the Church—that would be from 1985 to 1994—there was further fulfillment of prophecy. It was in this period that the Iron Curtain came down and the Berlin Wall fell. The Lord unlocked the doors so missionaries could serve in Russia, the Ukraine, Poland, Hungary, and other nations that had been behind the Iron Curtain. The Lord’s servants also opened many nations of Africa, including Zimbabwe, Nigeria, Ghana, Zaire, Liberia, Sierra Leone, Swaziland, and Ivory Coast. Many others have been opened and will be opened to the preaching of the gospel in the future. Conversion miracles have happened in many lands, and I just share with you one example from my own ministry.

During the last week of January 1988, 12 years ago, the First Presidency sent me to Lima, Peru, where we had 11 stakes of the Church. Because of the rapid and healthy growth of the Church in that city, I and the area presidency had the privilege of organizing seven additional stakes in one weekend to make a total of 18 stakes. We held six stake ­conferences, all of which I attended, being shuttled very rapidly from place to place by a native who knew the roads of Lima. I truly saw Joseph Smith’s and Melvin J. Ballard’s prophecies being fulfilled.

Because joining the Church in Spain requires much sacrifice in breaking from established tradition, as it does in some other parts of the world, members in Spain are all the more dedicated. After Manuel and María Trancosco were visited by two missionaries in 1976, Manuel prayed about their message and studied the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price. When a spiritual confirmation came to him while at his job as a mechanic, he ran home to ask the elders to baptize him immediately.

Since the family’s conversion, Manuel has devoted himself to serving in many different callings, despite a work schedule that starts at six in the morning and ends at ten at night. The family also had enough faith to drive their tiny car to the Swiss Temple, some 1,200 kilometers to the north. Their testimonies were strengthened as they traveled, for each time they stopped to ask directions, they found someone who spoke Spanish. Manuel and María were sealed to their four children and have now added four more to their eternal family.

I was studying speech pathology at Mississippi University for Women five years ago. During the year I had looked for a church I could believe in. I had not found one.
One day some friends and I discussed the destination of the spirit after death. Theories were suggested. I had heard one thing about Mormons: they believed in three heavens, and they all went to one of them. As I laughingly related this knowledge a girl spoke up, “That isn’t exactly true.” Attention was directed to her, and I asked, “How do you know?” (I was surprised someone had spoken with conviction.) She answered, “I’m a Mormon.”
For a month I visited my new friend’s home and listened to the flannelboard discussions. The first vision of the Prophet Joseph was a little difficult to accept; also, I had a question about the day of the Sabbath. But the absolutely logical account of the apostasy and the restoration could not be disputed as far as I was concerned.
Still, I held back until one Sunday night after sacrament meeting when the missionaries suggested I be baptized at 9:00 A.M. the next day! The suggestion was made in front of several members. They were smiling encouragingly and I said, after a moment’s thought, “All right.” (How could I refuse with so many people caring?)
Having made the decision, I informed the Lord that Sunday night of my plans. I asked him to give me some indication that I was making the right move. Nevertheless, I told him if I received nothing, I would still be baptized.
Very quietly, instantly, definitely, two scriptures came to my mind: “Ye shall receive power, after that the Holy Ghost is come upon you” (Acts 1:8), and “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another” (John 13:35). I was satisfied and slept peacefully.
That Monday morning as I was brought from the water, I felt as if I had been on a long, wearisome journey and had at last come home. My own conviction of the authenticity of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has grown since that time. Now I add my testimony to those of faithful Saints throughout the world.

I was born and raised in Korea in a loving family, and I joined the Church while in my teens. I would like to share the experience of my conversion with you.
My classmate and I were working together in the school library just after winter vacation when he asked me if I was interested in going to church with him. I asked him what kind of church he was talking about, and he told me it was near our school. He said it was a lot of fun, and there were many girls. I was 16 at the time, and that description of church appealed to me. I decided to go. I had gone to a Presbyterian church for a couple of years in elementary school, and I had good memories of church.
My friend and I went to a Saturday activity, and everyone came to greet me and welcome me. I was impressed that they would be so kind to welcome a small guy they didn’t know. I went to church the next day, and I was introduced to the missionaries.
The missionaries taught me about basic gospel principles, about Jesus Christ, and about the Restoration of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith. All the lessons I was taught were reasonable and logical, and I was impressed by eternal progress and the plan of salvation. I had often thought about why I was here on earth and what things were waiting for me after death. It was comforting to know that if I would do all I could for myself, the Savior would do the rest.
Two months later I wanted to be baptized and confirmed, but I needed permission from my parents. They were Buddhist, but they trusted me. I decided it would be best to ask my mother first, so I asked the missionaries to come to my home during the day. Before I went to school, I told my mother that she might have some foreigners come to ask her something and that she should just say yes. And then I ran out the door to school. When I returned, my mom said she had two handsome American visitors. She said they spoke wonderful Korean, and she was so impressed that she said yes. So I got permission from my parents to join the Church.

There was a dance that Saturday at the institute. Frank and I stood on the edge of the dance floor watching and waiting before we committed.

When two girls came in, Frank nudged me with his elbow. I’d seen them in church before, but hadn’t said anything to them or even smiled in their direction. They moved to the far edge of the dance floor and talked to each other as lively as two birds. Frank, bold as usual, walked over and I followed.

“What do you think of the dance?” asked Frank when he got to them. He was nodding too much. He wasn’t nervous very often.

They stopped talking and considered.

“We just got here,” one said.

“But it seems okay, I guess,” said the other.

“Good,” said Frank.

One girl reached behind her and began tapping her fingernail rhythmically on the wood molding of the wall.

I thought Frank would ask one of them to dance then, but he didn’t. Instead he put his hands in his pockets and leaned backward, reflectively, like a professor who thinks he has something really important to say.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve loved music since I was a kid—classical music, that is. And I’ve always wanted to play a concert. And next Saturday night at the auditorium I’m going to do that. And I’d like you both to come and bring any friends you want ’cause it’s free.”

They considered him for a few seconds. One pushed a few wisps of hair out of her face and smiled, nicely.

He repeated the request to about a dozen other people before the night was over.

I worried that week about Frank and the concert. Despite his love of music and his skill at teaching, I knew he wouldn’t lie about his playing. If he said his fingers moved like fish sticks, they probably did. I didn’t want to see Frank, so full of confidence, flattened by failure.

Then all of a sudden it was Saturday night, and Frank was walking out onto the stage. Under the lights and on the stage he didn’t look his typical fearless self. He seemed pale and wispy, like a crumpled tissue in a dark blue suit.

He raised his hands above the keyboard.

“You can do it, Fish Sticks,” I gasped under my breath.

He flipped the hair out of his eyes, mumbled something to the piano, and struck the first chord.

That night I walked with Frank back to the dorm. We were quiet for most of the way, but I knew it couldn’t last. Finally he asked.

“So, how was it?”

“What?” I played dumb, stalling.

“The concert, bozo. My concerto sans orchestra.”

“Oh, it was good,” I said quickly.

He grunted. “I got off tempo a few times,” he said.

“Ahh, no one noticed,” I lied.

“Seriously, I want you to tell me what you thought of it.”

I looked over at him.

“Well, I guess your playing could still use a little work,” I said.

“Yeah, I guess,” he admitted. He stuck his hands in his coat pockets. “It frustrates me sometimes—that I can’t play.”

“No, I didn’t say that.”

“No, I know. I can hear the music in my mind and I know how it’s supposed to come out, but it just doesn’t. Like tonight, Fish Sticks took over. I was halfway through and I wanted to climb up on top of that piano and jump up and down.”

I let out a little laugh and Frank looked over and began laughing too.

We rounded the bend and stopped under a streetlight, looking up at our dorm.

“So why didn’t you?” I asked.

He flipped his hair off his forehead to reveal raised eyebrows. “My students, most of them, were in the audience.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, tonight I shared something personal with them,” he said. “I showed them that Fish Sticks isn’t the greatest pianist in the world. And maybe that means they can mess up sometimes, too. You know, they can make mistakes. It’s okay.”

I waited for more.

“You remember the parable of the talents?” he asked.

I shrugged and nodded my head. “Sure. If you got it, use it—or lose it.”

“That’s the idea,” he said. “The servants who are given more talents use them, but the guy who gets only one talent buries it. And in the end, the Lord takes his talent away.

“Well, most of my students are around eight or nine, and if you ask them they’ll tell you they can play the piano—no problem. I bet if you ask them that same question in a few years—when they get into high school or college—they’ll probably say they can’t play. Most of them will lose their confidence, their belief in their talents.

“But I think the world needs more writers, and singers, and, uh, actors, and pianists. I want these kids to share their gifts with others. And I think they will if they know it’s okay to mess up once in a while on the way. That they don’t have to be the best.”

I smiled and told him, “You know, I was listening to music when I began to realize I really believed in God.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I just realized that it was impossible for music as beautiful as Beethoven wrote to come out of nothing. There had to be something more to the universe. There had to be a God. It was soon after that experience that I started to investigate the Church.”

“And the people who were playing the music you listened to, well, someone had to believe in their talent. Someone had to be there when they played wrong notes to keep them going.”

Frank tilted his head, ready to sweep the hair out of his eyes, but stopped. Instead, he reached up and pulled his hair straight out.

“You know,” he said. “I just might get a haircut on Monday.”

I laughed. “You sure you feel okay?” I asked.

“I feel fine,” he said as he started to run toward the dorm. “Honest,” he called out. “I feel great.”

Frank Calio is a band teacher now. He lives in Idaho. When I called him to let him know I’d written his story he laughed. “Call the story ‘Fish Sticks,’” he said. “The kids at my school call me Old Fish Sticks. Every year I play a little at our school recital. I’m better than I was in college, but I still make mistakes and the kids get a good laugh. But they all know in my class it’s okay to mess up while they’re learning. I just want them to play music and to try hard. That’s all.”

Some years ago a dear, faithful couple who are friends of mine were blessed with the arrival of a long-yearned-for son, for whom they had been praying for a long time. That home was filled with joy while our friends and their daughter, who was their only other child back then, enjoyed the company of the newly arrived little boy. One day, however, something unexpected happened: the little boy, who was only about three years old, suddenly went into a coma. As soon as I learned of the situation, I called my friend to express our support at that difficult time. But his reply was a lesson to me. He said, “If it is the Father’s will to take him to Him, then it is all right with us.” My friend’s words contained not the slightest degree of complaint, rebelliousness, or discontent. Quite the contrary, all I could feel in his words was gratitude to God for having allowed them to enjoy their little son for that brief time, as well as his total willingness to accept the Father’s will for them. A few days later, that little one was taken to his celestial mansion.

Many years ago, while attending a stake conference, I noticed that a counselor in the stake presidency was blind. He functioned beautifully, performing his duties as though he had sight. It was a stormy night as we met in the stake office situated on the second floor of the building. Suddenly there was a loud clap of thunder. The lights in the building almost immediately went out. Instinctively I reached out for our sightless leader, and I said, “Here, take my arm and I will help you down the stairway.”
I’m certain he must have had a smile on his face as he responded, “No, Brother Monson, give me your arm, that I might help you. You are now in my territory.” The storm abated, the lights returned, but I shall never forget the trek down those stairs, guided by the man who was sightless yet filled with light.

Jeff wanted to be a missionary just like his older brother who was on a mission in Colombia. But how can I be a missionary when I’m afraid to talk to people? Jeff wondered.
Just last week the Primary president asked all the children to be missionaries and bring somebody new to Primary.
“We have a wonderful Primary,” she told the children, “but think how much better it would be if we had more children to share our Primary with.” Then she asked the boys and girls to raise their hands if they thought they could bring a friend the next week. Jeff raised his hand. Now he wondered why he had done it. How was he ever going to get the courage to talk to anyone at school about the Church?
Jeff and Jimmy were the only two LDS boys in the fifth grade. They were also the only Blazer boys in the Primary. They had a good teacher and Jeff knew that one of the reasons why he had raised his hand to be a missionary was to please her. He knew that if other boys came, they would like Sister Fillmore and the good lessons she gave.
Jeff remembered two full-time missionaries in their sacrament meeting one time telling them about the good feeling they had when they shared the gospel with others. Jeff wanted that good feeling too. But how was he ever going to have it when he was so timid?
Jeff walked into the kitchen and slumped down in a chair by the table where his mother was decorating some dish towels with her textile paints. Jeff asked, “Won’t that paint wash out of the cloth, Mom?”
“No, Jeff, the paints are made to stay right in the fabric.”
“Hey, that’s neat. Can you paint anything on the towels you want to?” asked Jeff.
“Sure, son. You sound excited about something,” replied Mother.
Jeff was excited. He had an idea. “Mom, can I paint something on my yellow T-shirt?” he asked.
Mother laughed. “I don’t know what you have in mind, but go ahead.”
Jeff was back in a few minutes, grinning and waving his shirt. He laid it on the table and smoothed out all the wrinkles. Then, with Mother’s black painting pen, he drew on the front of the shirt a great big face with two round eyes and a large smile. Underneath the face he wrote, HAPPINESS IS GOING TO PRIMARY.
When the paint was dry, Jeff turned the shirt over and on the back he printed in large letters, WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT PRIMARY - WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW MORE? He could hardly wait to wear his shirt to school.
The next day when he walked into the coat hall there were several boys there already. As Jeff took off his jacket and hung it on the hook, one of the boys was quick to notice the bright yellow T-shirt with the big face painted on the front and the letters on the back. “What does your shirt say, Jeff? Let me read it.” said Andy.
Jeff stood still, his heart pounding. All of a sudden he thought, What if they make fun of me?
Andy read the words on the shirt out loud. “Primary?” he questioned. “What’s Primary?”
Here was Jeff’s big chance. He prayed inside that he would say the right thing. “Well, in Primary we learn to—” Jeff’s voice tightened up on him and the words got stuck in his mouth.
All of a sudden, Greg, one of the other boys, interrupted. “Hey, Jeff, isn’t Primary where you learn about Scouting and other neat things you were telling me about the other day?”
“Scouting?” questioned Andy. “My dad was an Eagle Scout and he wants me to be one too. Can I go to Primary with you Jeff? Can just anyone go?”
Before Jeff could answer, Greg said, “Me too! I never have anything to do after school. My parents both work and nobody’s ever home.”
Jeff could hardly believe what he was hearing. His voice came back and he felt relaxed and happy. “Sure,” said Jeff, “anybody can come—the more the better. It’s on Tuesday and we learn lots of neat things besides Scouting. You’ll really like our teacher. She’s just great.”
The bell rang and the boys filed into the classroom. Jeff’s seat was by his Primary friend Jimmy. As Jeff sat down, Jimmy looked at Jeff’s shirt and said, “Do you think that’s going to work?”
Jeff’s smile got bigger and bigger as he whispered, “It already has!”
At recess Jeff told Jimmy about Andy and Greg. He could hardly believe what had happened. Jimmy became excited about painting a missionary T-shirt too.
“Wow!” he exclaimed. “If we can get the whole Primary wearing these shirts to school, a lot of kids will soon be interested. Our Primary will grow bigger and bigger.”
Even shy boys can be missionaries. It just takes some doing, Jeff concluded.
Already Jeff was beginning to have that good feeling that the missionaries had talked about. Wouldn’t they be surprised when they heard about the first T-shirt missionary!

I saw how this happened recently in a most unexpected place. You see, my wife and I were pulling into Portland, Oregon, anticipating a big BYU basketball game. Late at night, after a long flight and a long day here on campus, I was struggling while checking into our hotel well past midnight when someone said, “I want to introduce you to this family. They’ve come here to watch the basketball game.”

As this family walked up, I noticed that it was a mom with a whole bunch of children of varying ages in tow. As we started visiting with this mother, I soon found out that her husband—and the father of their children—had passed away only a couple of days earlier. This family was there at the basketball game to honor their father, who had wanted more than anything else to watch BYU play during March Madness.

I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why this heartbroken wife and mother, with all of her children in tow, would show up at this basketball game. She was there with a missionary who had come home early so he could be at his father’s funeral, with a newly born grandchild, and with a thirteen-year-old son who was clearly heartbroken at the loss of his dad.

But then I heard the answer in something she said. “I know,” she said, “that he’s going to ask us if we made his wish come true when we see him again.”

As I got to my room, still thinking about this family, it struck me more fully that this wife and mother had a perfect knowledge that she was in fact going to see her husband again. She knew that she was eternally tied to that relationship—to her relationship with her husband and to her relationship with the Savior Jesus Christ—forever. She knew that the sting of death was truly overcome. She knew that the victory of the grave was completely obliterated because of Christ’s miraculous and infinite Resurrection. And she knew that her covenants would lift her, along with her loved ones, heavenward.

For example, on one occasion he was traveling back from a convention. In his company was the daughter of President Heber J. Grant. She tells of his looking across the aisle and seeing a young mother and her children, surrounded by luggage. He felt a need to talk with her and to inquire after her welfare.
“In a few minutes President Smith was over talking to the young mother. He came back to our seat and said, ‘Yes it is just as I thought. The little mother is going on a long journey; I have looked at her ticket. I can’t understand why the man who sold it to her didn’t know a better route for her to travel. As it is she will have a long wait in Ogden and again in Chicago. I have her ticket and am going to get off in Ogden and see if I can’t get it changed so she can make other connections and not have the long wait in Ogden and Chicago.’”
President Smith was off the train the moment it stopped and set the affairs of the young mother in order, having her ticket changed to afford her greater convenience. Such was the sensitivity for others of this man.

Prayer has been and is the ever-present anchor for strength and a source of direction in our family activities. I remember kneeling at the bedside of our young children, helping them with prayers in their younger years, and later seeing the older brothers and sisters helping the younger ones. We had family prayer night and morning, with children given the opportunity to lead, and had special prayers to meet particular problems. Mention was made in family prayer, for instance, of children with assignments such as a 2 1/2-minute talk in Sunday School or a new teaching assignment in the MIA. We asked for help when one of the children faced a difficult examination in high school. Special mention was made of members of the family away at girls’ camp, Scout camp, school, or working. This special mention of particular concerns in our family prayers gave confidence, assurance, and strength to members of the family facing difficult problems and assignments.

When I was 16 years old, my oldest brother, Ivan, who was 22 at that time, came home one day and shared some news with the family. He had decided to get baptized in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Our parents looked at him somewhat skeptically, and I remember not completely understanding what was going on. A year or so later, he gave us more surprising news: he had decided to serve as a missionary of the Church, which meant that we were not going to see him for two years. My parents were not thrilled with this news; however, I saw in him a clear determination that increased my admiration for him and the decision he had made.
Months later, while Ivan was serving his mission, I had the opportunity to plan a vacation with some schoolmates. We wanted to celebrate the end of our high school years and spend a few days at the beach.
I wrote a letter to my missionary brother, mentioning my summer vacation plans. He wrote back that the town he was serving in was on the way to my destination. I decided it would be a good idea to stop by and visit him. It was not until later that I learned that missionaries are not supposed to be visited by family.
I made all the arrangements. I remember sitting on the bus thinking of all the fun Ivan and I would have together on this beautiful sunny day. We would have breakfast, chat, play in the sand, sunbathe—what a great time we were going to have!
As the bus arrived at the terminal, I saw Ivan standing next to another young man, both in white shirts and ties. I got off the bus, we hugged each other, and he introduced his companion. Without wasting another minute, I told my brother my plans for the day, but little did I know what Ivan had scheduled. He looked at me, smiled, and said, “Sure! However, we need to do some errands first. Would you come with us?” I agreed, thinking that we would have enough time to enjoy the beach afterward.
That day, for more than 10 hours, I walked through the streets of that town with my brother and his companion. I smiled at people all day. I greeted people I had never seen in my life. We talked to everyone, knocked on the doors of strangers, and visited people my brother and his companion were teaching.
During one such visit, my brother and his companion were teaching about Jesus Christ and the plan of salvation. Suddenly, Ivan paused and looked at me. To my surprise, he politely asked me to share my opinion about what was being taught. The room fell silent, and all eyes were on me. With some difficulty, I finally found the words and shared my feelings about the Savior. I did not know if what I shared was right or wrong. My brother never corrected me; to the contrary, he thanked me for sharing my thoughts and feelings.
During those hours together, my brother and his companion did not spend a single minute teaching a lesson exclusively to me, yet I gained more knowledge than in all my previous conversations with him. I witnessed how countenances were changed as people received spiritual light in their lives. I saw how some of them found hope in the messages, and I learned how to serve others and forget about myself and my own desires. I was doing what the Savior taught: “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself.”3
Looking back, I realize that my faith grew that day because my brother gave me the opportunity to put it in action. I exercised it as we read from the scriptures, looked for people to teach, bore testimony, served others, and so on. We never got around to sunbathing that day, but my heart was bathed in light from heaven. I did not see even one small grain of sand at the beach, but I felt my faith grow like a small grain of mustard seed.4 I did not spend the sunny day as a tourist, but I gained wonderful experiences, and without realizing it, I was a missionary—without even being a member of the Church!
I am grateful for my brother Ivan, who not only shared the gospel with me but also indirectly invited me to live it and recognize my weaknesses. He helped me to accept the invitation of the Master: “Come, follow me”6—to walk as the Savior walked, seek as the Savior sought, and love as the Savior loves us. Months later, after my missionary experience, I decided to get baptized and to serve my own mission.

Thump! went the backpack on the living room end table. “Put your bag in your room, Petey!” Mother said as she rounded the corner, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Her smile faded as she noticed Peter’s somber face. “Are you OK?”
“I guess so.” Peter shrugged as he hung his coat on a hook by the door.
“Then why the glum face? Did you have a fight with Justin?”
“Well, no … It’s just that whenever I ask him to come to Primary with me, he says he’s too busy or has stuff to do or something. Why can’t I make him come? Primary is so cool!”
“Let’s sit down a minute,” Mother said, heading for the couch. She tossed the towel onto the end table next to Peter’s backpack. “Do you remember the eleventh article of faith?” she asked when they were seated. “I think that’s one you’ve already learned.”
“Hmmm, let me think.”
“‘We claim the privilege …’” she started him off.
“Oh, yeah! I remember now. That’s the one that says ‘how, where, or what they may.’”
“That’s right! It says, ‘We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship …’”
“‘how, where, or what they may!’” Peter finished proudly.
“That’s very good, Petey. But do you know what it means?”
Peter began to fidget on the couch.
Mother smiled thoughtfully. “Let me see if I can help. Remember last week, when Dad was out of town and we had that snowstorm?”
“Do I ever! We had to shovel the walks and driveway before school. It was a lot of work. And then the neighbor kids wanted to walk through the snow, so they tromped across our lawn, instead! What a waste of time!” Peter shook his head, remembering the footprints across the front lawn.
“Well, no it wasn’t,” Mother corrected gently. “Because our walks were clear, it was easy to get the car out to take you to school.”
“OK, OK.” Peter’s nose wrinkled slightly. “I still don’t get what that has to do with the eleventh article of faith—or Justin.”
“Well, we worked hard to clear a path in the snow—that’s what we wanted to do. It was important to us. But the neighborhood children chose to walk in the snow, instead—because that’s what was important to them. Right?”
“Right,” Peter said. “So what?”
“Well, you want Justin to go to Primary on Sunday because it’s important to you, right?”
“Oh. I think I get it,” Peter said slowly. “Even though I choose to go to Primary, that doesn’t mean that Justin has to, right?”
Mother smiled. “That’s right. Heavenly Father has given us a very precious gift called agency. It is the right to choose and act for ourselves. We can’t force someone to follow the same path we choose to follow. However, while you need to let Justin have his agency, it’s also very good for you to love him and be his friend. You can keep showing Justin the ‘clear path’ that’s important to you. And maybe—just maybe—he’ll want to follow it one day.”
As Peter grabbed his backpack and headed up the stairs, he turned and smiled. “I’m glad I have my agency so I can choose to go to Primary.”

“I want a cookie,” Emily said as Mom took cookies from the oven.
“Wait until they cool,” said Mom.
But Emily didn’t wait. She ate a hot cookie and burned her tongue.
“I want to play with it now,” she said while Dad glued a wheel back on her toy truck.
“Wait until the glue dries,” Dad said.
But Emily didn’t wait. She raced the truck across the rug, and the wheel came off again.
“I want to open my presents,” she said as Mom put bows on brightly wrapped boxes.
“Wait until your birthday tomorrow,” Mom said.
But Emily didn’t wait. As soon as Mom left the room, she opened her presents. Then she had no boxes to open on her birthday.
“Why didn’t you wait?” Dad asked.
“I hate to wait,” Emily said. “But now I wish I had.”
The next day, Dad took her to a garden shop. He picked out onion sets and seeds for peas and beans. “You may choose some seeds, too,” he told Emily.
“I love carrots,” she said, so Dad got a package of carrot seeds.
Emily helped Dad plant the onions, peas, and beans in the garden. Then she planted a row of carrots by herself. “We can have my carrots for dinner tomorrow,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Dad said, “But you will have to wait a long time for your seeds to grow into carrots.”
Emily didn’t wait. Every day, she dug up a few seeds to see If they had grown into carrots. “My seeds aren’t growing,” she told Dad.
“How do you know?” asked Dad.
“I looked at them,” said Emily.
“If you dig up your seeds, they won’t ever grow. You’ll have to learn to wait.”
“I hate to wait,” Emily said. “But I love carrots, so I’ll try.”
Emily tried hard all summer. She didn’t dig up any more carrot seeds, even when the green tops popped up along the row. But she did weed the garden while she waited. And she swam and ran and played. She even learned to wait for other things—for ice cubes to freeze in the freezer, for her turn to ride on the back of a camel at the zoo, and for lots of other things. She even learned to wait to talk to Mom or Dad when they were busy.
While Emily waited, the plants grew in the garden. When it was time, she helped to pick pea pods and yellow beans, and tall green onions. At last it was time for the carrots.
Dad showed her how to loosen the dirt around the carrots and then how to hold the green tops and pull out the carrots one by one. Emily filled her basket with long, fat carrots. Then she ran to the house to show Mom. “Look how big they grew!”
“Yes, they did,” Mom said, “and so did you!”
“Did I get taller?” Emily asked.
“You grew taller and wiser.”
“Wiser?” Emily asked.
“Waiting made you wiser.”
“Waiting made me want to eat carrots,” Emily said, “so I’m going to eat one right now!”
“Wait until I wash one,” Mom said.
But Emily didn’t wait. She took a big carrot and washed it herself. “Now I will eat the best carrot I have ever eaten,” she said. And she did.

Can I give you one other piece of advice? Be willing to laugh at yourself. When Elder Matthew Cowley (1897–1953) was first called into the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, President J. Reuben Clark (1871–1961) invited him into his office and counseled with him about his new assignment. President Clark was one of the great leaders and thinkers of the Church. He left a post as the United States ambassador to México to accept a position in the First Presidency of the Church. He was a man long accustomed to bearing the weight of heavy responsibility.
As the meeting between Elder Cowley and President Clark drew to a close, President Clark said, “Now, my boy, kid [President Clark called all the members of the Quorum of the Twelve ‘kid’]—Now, kid, don’t forget rule six.” Elder Cowley asked, “What’s rule six?” President Clark said, “Don’t take yourself too darn seriously.” Elder Cowley asked, “What are the other five?” President Clark said, “There aren’t any” (Matthew Cowley Speaks [1954], 132–33).

A man in Ecuador met some missionaries on the street near his home and invited them in. They left tracts, pamphlets, and a copy of the Book of Mormon. He read them and liked them and later said of the missionaries:
“I liked their teachings. They taught me things my own church had never taught. I realized I had to live the commandments they told me about. The Word of Wisdom has given me a new life. I know it is of the Lord not to use tobacco, tea, coffee, or liquor. When the elders were teaching me, I knew I had to live it if I were to have a good life. The elders told me to pray about it; then they had to teach me how to pray.”

In Finland a woman, lost and lonely following the death of her husband, was found by missionaries who answered some of her questions. She said:
“I was amazed at their answers. They talked about a reunion with my husband. We had had a wonderful marriage, and I just couldn’t think that it would end just like that. My minister had given me no answers, but those young missionaries told me a beautiful concept of eternal life. I listened in tears and wanted to hear more.”
She studied and read the Book of Mormon, received a testimony, and was baptized.
A convert in England tells his story. Bitter over the death of an infant who had died without baptism and was therefore denied burial in the church cemetery, he was ready for the missionaries his wife had invited to his home. His first question was about the Church’s teaching on infant baptism.
The elders cited a passage from the Book of Mormon which teaches that infants are incapable of sin and that they have no need of baptism because they are saved.
Then he made this comment: “It was the kind of doctrine Christ would teach. I simply couldn’t see how a loving God could feel any other way about children. Then the elders gave me a lesson in obtaining a witness to gain a testimony. I put it to the test, prayed, and received a witness. I felt the burning in my bosom just as the scriptures described. I knew it was true.”
He made this further comment: “One of the most joyous principles to me is celestial marriage. I feel that if people could understand this and really love their husband or wife, they would join the Church on this alone. It’s a wonderful principle.”
Finally, I will deal briefly with the conversion of a Protestant minister, who after much tribulation and persecution by ministers and friends when he decided to convert, gave the following testimony:
“I have written this in order to show that as in the Bible, when a man finds a ‘pearl of great price,’ he will sell all that he has if necessary in order to obtain it [see Matt. 13:46]. I have found that peace and truth within the Mormon church for which I had been seeking for over twelve years.
“I have not quite completed my first reading of the Book of Mormon, but already the riches of its truths as set down by the Prophet Joseph Smith have become a vital part of our family’s spiritual life. No man could have written this book except through the power of God. We accept the test of hatred through which we have passed as God’s test of our sincerity in our seeking.
“My prayer is that others will not continue to willfully blind their eyes, refusing even to read the Book of Mormon in order to learn. No man can read this book and not have his life changed. I have not overnight become an expert on the Mormon faith, but I am an eager student and am not afraid to learn what the Holy Spirit would teach through those to whom He has given the authority.
“My personal tragedy as a Protestant minister was that I wasted a good deal of valuable time trying to keep going an organization and institution which no longer, with any stretch of imagination, can be shown to be doing Christ’s work.”
May I invite you all to study the scriptures, wherein are found the words of eternal life and the way to exaltation.
Jesus said, “This is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39).
This is so important, that he gave his life for us that we may be resurrected, and he gave us the plan of life and salvation by which this may be accomplished. Read the Bible and the Book of Mormon, which testify of the things which I have told you this day.
If you are searching for happiness in this life and eternal life with God the Father and his Son Jesus Christ hereafter, then I would exhort all of you to find the way, the truth, and the life, which is in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

As I sat at home trying to calm my anxiety over what was going on in the world, I opened my journal randomly and landed on the following: “There are so many fears that come with getting up each day in this world, but with faith in the teachings of the gospel, we can put one foot in front of the other. … Faith always defeats fear.”
I knew that I had just received powerful personal revelation and that Heavenly Father gave it to me through my own journal entries from several years before. I was blessed with a moment of peace and the knowledge that Heavenly Father was with me back then, and He’s right here with me now.
Danette Gray, Utah, USA