Gospel Story Finder

I sat through the lifeguard training class in despair. Staring out over the pool, I listened as the instructor droned on endlessly, describing one lawsuit after another. “These cases,” she concluded, “have been warning flags for the Red Cross. There is a need to upgrade standards and for guards to meet new criteria in rescue skills. This, of course, includes the timed swimming tests you will all be taking.”
Ugh. I felt my heart sink. Two hundred yards in three and a half minutes—anything but that.
I worked at the pool as a swimming teacher and lifeguard. I’d been hired because I taught well. I’d never competed in high school or even been a fast swimmer, but it hadn’t been a problem, until now.
“Places,” she bellowed, blowing her whistle. We all lined up at the deep end of the pool, ready for a practice 50-yard sprint. The whistle sounded a second time and I dove in, hauling my arms out of the water. I plowed down to the other end of the pool, turned, and surfaced, gagging on what seemed like a gallon of water. I couldn’t breathe, my throat and lungs lost in a fit of self-protective spasms. Choking, I crawled back up the lane and a 60-year-old veteran pulled me in.
“Seventy-five seconds,” announced the instructor loud enough for the entire class to hear, not even a hint of sympathy in her voice.
I drove home in tears. I loved my job. I needed my job. College and a good job weren’t easy to combine. Kneeling by my bed in frustration, I gave way to the anger and tears. “I can’t do this,” I heard myself saying to God over and over again. I don’t know how long this desperate monologue continued, but at some point, into my mind came the words, “With God nothing shall be impossible” (Luke 1:37). It was the scripture my best friend quoted whenever things got tough. She had it plastered all over her bedroom walls.
But I couldn’t accept anything as simple as this. Besides, the scripture had come special delivery to Mary, and Mary didn’t have to swim 200 yards in three and a half minutes. It had nothing to do with me. On I raged, furious, and again the scripture came into my mind. What kind of answer was this?
“No,” I cried, “I can’t do this. Don’t you understand?”
I was tired of humiliation and afraid that no amount of swimming time I put in would help me pass off the tests. But, despite the doubts, the words “With God nothing shall be impossible” returned and sparked a little hope into my heart. I asked Heavenly Father for help in getting my times down enough to make passing a possibility.
Heavenly Father’s help came from the least expected source. At the next class the same seemingly unsympathetic instructor took me aside and told me she wanted to help. “I can take all your times down if you’ll swim with me and follow the workout schedule I give you to the letter.”
Reality dawned. So this was Heavenly Father’s way of helping me pass. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, was the hope that he would just turn me into Janet Evans for a few minutes. I stammered out my thanks and my doubts. “I’m not so sure …” I began.
“It’s not impossible,” she said.
I stared at her in amazement—those very words. “Meet me here at six, starting tonight.”
The next four weeks I forgot about changing places with Janet Evans while I swam, dragged, and pushed my way through the pool. And slowly, every few days, the instructor would scream in genuine delight. “You’ve lost two seconds; you’re cruising. Now, get the lead out! Don’t stop.”
The instructors had postponed the final times test for me as long as they could. The day of judgment arrived, and I sat on the edge of the pool, terrified. A friend who’d passed his tests off a month earlier sat next to me trying to be encouraging. “I’ll follow you,” he said, “and whenever you start to slow down, I’ll tap on your feet.”
“Oh, Randy,” I groaned, “you’re sweet, but tapping isn’t going to do it; you’ll have to push. I’ve worked so hard, but I’m still off on that stupid 200 by three seconds. I just don’t know.”
“You can do it. Come on, she’s ready for you.”
I jumped in the water while the instructor set her stopwatch. Randy did a couple of flip turns and splashed over to my side. “I’m just going along for the ride,” he told her.
“Well, don’t get in the way.” She raised the stopwatch and gave me her ultimatum, “You can and you will do this.” Yeah, I thought, and next week we’re heading for the Olympics. Someone better warn Janet Evans.
I held on to the edge of the gutter, my feet up, ready for the push off. I straightened my goggles, and before I could utter a prayer, the words “With God nothing shall be impossible” found their way into my frenzied heart.
“Ready,” the trainer hollered. “Go!”
Off I went, swimming my heart out, Randy hitting my feet whenever I slowed the pace. The first 50 passed and then the next. The third 50 always hit me hard. With God nothing is impossible, I thought over and over, willing it to be so. I hauled through the last 50 and caught the edge, exhausted.
She screamed, “3:28!” I’d passed.
It’s hard to believe that swimming could become a spiritual experience, but through the power of a simple scripture it did. I found help from Heavenly Father at a time when I really needed it. I felt his love and concern and know that, with him, all things I want to accomplish that are righteous are possible.

Suey watched Deana glide, spin around, and come to a stop at the end of the walk. She’s rolling on magic wheels, Suey thought, trying to imagine having her own magic wheels. She pushed the thought away quickly. Here in America she had so much that it would be ungrateful to want more.
Deana skated back and sprawled beside her friend. “Like them?” she asked.
“Oh, yes! What you call them?”
“Roll-er skates,” Deana said, pronouncing each syllable distinctly. “Roller skates.”
Suey tried to echo the words.
Deana clapped her hands approvingly. “Very good, Suey. You’re getting your r’s much better.”
Suey grinned. “How you get?” she asked.
“For my birthday,” Deana answered. Seeing Suey’s puzzled look, she tried to explain. “In America we get presents on our birthdays.”
Suey shook her head. The words had come too fast for her to understand. She tried another question: “Cost lots of money?”
Deana tried to speak more slowly. “I guess so. My mother told me that if I lose them I’ll be sorry.”
“Is it hard to make skates go?” Suey asked next.
“Just a little, at first,” Deana replied. “Here,” she offered, “try them yourself.”
Suey felt as if she were wobbling like a little baby as she stood up with the skates on. She clung to Deana and managed to not fall down. When she finally tried to move down the walk, her feet wanted to go every which way. Soon, with Deana’s help, she skated teeteringly to the corner, where they both collapsed on the grass with laughter.
“You did OK,” Deana said to her Laotian friend. “If you had your own skates,” she continued, speaking slowly, “you would soon skate like me.”
“No money,” Suey confessed.
Deana got up and brushed herself off. “Maybe you could earn some money. Sometimes I work for the neighbors, and they pay me for it. Maybe you could do that too.”
That night as Suey lay in her bed, she thought about Chu Nam, her brother. He earned money by cutting grass and by washing dishes at a restaurant. She sat up excitedly. She knew how to wash dishes! She could hardly wait until morning.
Suey was eleven, but she was small and looked much younger. She hoped the ladies in the neighborhood would not think she was too small to wash dishes.
She went to see Mrs. Bonn first. Mrs. Bonn had helped to bring Suey’s family to America.
When Mrs. Bonn opened the door, she smiled and said, “Why, hello, Suey. Come in.”
Suey searched her mind for the right words to say. “I come, wash dishes for you,” she managed.
“Suey, how nice of you. But I have a machine that washes my dishes for me. Come into the kitchen, and I’ll show you.”
Suey was bewildered as she went home. Chu Nam washed dishes for a lot of people, yet Mrs. Bonn had a machine to wash just a few dishes! Disappointed, she decided to try to forget about the magic wheels.
At home Ling Kou’s new baby was fussing. Suey picked him up, glad to have something else to think about. She discovered that he was wet, so she diapered him, then rocked him while her sister-in-law cooked.
“You’re a big help to me,” Ling Kou told her.
Suey flushed with pleasure. She loved to take care of the baby. Sometimes she would watch her other niece and nephew, too, while Ling Kou went to the washing place.
Suddenly Suey knew what she could do. She could tend children! Ladies might have machines to wash their dishes, but a machine couldn’t tend a baby. This afternoon she would find a lady who wanted a baby-sitter. Soon she would have her own magic wheels. And she would glide and spin and stop on them just like Deana.

What an uplift President Kimball’s August message on testimony was to me. I have been a member of the Church all my life but never have I enjoyed such an upliftment. I have spent the whole summer in the hospital, so I have not been able to attend my meetings like I always do. The meeting I have missed the most is testimony meeting. This meeting seems to do me the most good. I grow so much from others’ testimonies. However, as I lay in my bed one day, I had a strong urge to bear my testimony. I felt a strong feeling that my Heavenly Father was with me, so I poured out my heart to him. I shared my testimony with my best friend. I lay there and cried because I knew that my testimony had been heard. It needed to be shared, and my Heavenly Father knew it.
I am still in the hospital, but I know God lives and I know that we have living prophets guiding us today. The gospel is so marvelous, and this is a wonderful time to live. I have felt lonely at times in this hospital room, but I have learned many lessons, and the Lord has always been with me.
The power of the priesthood has also been an uplift in my life. My dad and my brother have brought the sacrament to me with my bishop’s approval.
The gospel is marvelous and has been such an inspiration in my life. Thank you, President Kimball, for your most beautiful article. It was one I needed right now in my life.
Jo HendricksApple Valley, California

During my senior year of high school, I prayed for the Spirit to lead me to someone ready to hear the gospel. I had a friend in mind as I prayed. This friend of mine, Ashley (name has been changed), had expressed some interest in my religion, and she already held herself to the same standards as Latter-day Saint youth. I was convinced this was the time she needed to hear the gospel.
I was serving in my Laurel class presidency at the time, and during a bishopric youth committee meeting, I received a strong impression to suggest to the bishop that we have a missionary activity in Mutual. I felt impressed that the youth of our ward should invite nonmember friends to this activity for a question-and-answer session with the missionaries serving in our ward. My bishop enthusiastically set up the activity with the elders, and I was sure that this was the answer I had been praying for. Now Ashley could come and learn more about the gospel in an environment where she would not feel any pressure. I was confident that after Ashley came to the question-and-answer activity, she would be touched by the Spirit, ask to receive the missionary lessons, and in about a month would be baptized and confirmed a member of the Church.
Now my prayers turned to how to ask Ashley to the activity. I prayed to serve as an instrument in the Lord’s hands to introduce His plan and gospel to someone prepared to receive it. At school I invited Ashley to the activity, and she said she would ask her parents if it was all right with them.
Later that afternoon, I received a call from Ashley. She told me her parents were definitely OK with it. In fact, she explained that before her parents married, her father had lived with two LDS roommates and was very impressed with how they lived. I was overjoyed because the only obstacle I had envisioned was whether or not Ashley’s parents would be OK with her pursuing another religion.
As I continued to pray about the upcoming missionary activity, I felt a calm reassurance that I was indeed an instrument in the hands of the Lord and that He was pleased I had acted on the prompting at the bishopric youth committee meeting. I looked forward to the activity with great anticipation. Ashley and I had been friends for many years, and I was excited to play a part in her introduction to the gospel and, of course, her resulting conversion.
On the morning of the activity, I received a phone call from Ashley. She had changed her mind and was no longer planning to come to the activity. I was devastated and confused. I had been praying for Ashley, I was sure she was ready, and she was the whole reason I had thrown myself into missionary mode. I also felt embarrassed. During the activity planning process, I had made it very clear to everyone that my friend Ashley was ready to learn and accept the gospel.
As I cried with frustration in my room, I began to be filled with self-doubt. If I had been wrong about Ashley, then maybe I had been wrong in believing that the missionary question-and-answer activity was actually a spiritual prompting. Engulfed in a teenage sense of uncertainty, anger, self-pity, and disappointment, I decided to skip the activity myself.
A few weeks later, as I was walking through the school library, my friend Brian asked me if I wanted to come to his baptism. Brian and I didn’t have any classes together that year, so it had been quite a while since I had seen or spoken with him. The previous year we had sat next to each other in a history class and had partnered up for a class project. Our project topic, randomly assigned by our teacher, was “Joseph Smith and the Mormons.” I remembered Brian had been quite interested in the topic as we did our research. However, he also liked to joke around, saying things like, “Remind me which wife number your mom is” and “There is going to be this fun party this weekend, but oh, wait—you’re Mormon, so you would be no fun to go with.” Thus, I initially dismissed his baptism invitation as another joke at the expense of my religion. He did not seem like the type ready to join a church with such “restrictive standards.”
But the next words out of his mouth stunned me as he described the whirlwind of the past few weeks of his life. He explained overhearing a fellow classmate and member of my ward invite someone to a question-and-answer activity at the Mormon church. When the person receiving the invitation declined, Brian asked our classmate if he could come along instead. Following the activity, he immediately began taking the missionary lessons. He read the Book of Mormon. He prayed about it. He knew it was true. He really was getting baptized, and if I wanted to, I was welcome to come. After all, he said, I was the one who introduced him to Joseph Smith and the Mormons.
In quiet amazement I realized that the Lord had heard my prayers. He was using me as an instrument in His hands to find someone He had prepared to hear and accept the gospel. It had never occurred to me to invite Brian to meet the missionaries because he did not seem, in my opinion, ready. Not like Ashley.
At that humbling moment I realized how vital it is that I act on all promptings I receive by the Spirit. Although I continue to pray that Ashley will be ready for the gospel, I learned a significant lesson from the unexpected outcome of my attempt at sharing the gospel with her. The Lord always has a purpose for the promptings He gives us, and I do not need to know or guess what it is. Instead, it is my responsibility to carry out the prompting confidently and resolutely. As I pray for missionary opportunities, act on promptings, and accept the Lord’s will, rather than trying to impose my own, I can more fully serve as an instrument in the hands of God and help build His kingdom.

Let me illustrate with a personal example shared by Elder Oaks in his book Life’s Lessons Learned.

Elder Oaks’s father died when Elder Oaks was young, leaving his mother as a young widow with three small children. Elder Oaks described the situation this way:

[When I was seven years old my] family was happily [living] in Twin Falls, Idaho, where my father’s medical practice . . . was thriving. . . . After years of sacrifice . . . , my mother could at last contemplate a life of security as the wife of a prosperous physician. . . .

. . . In the fall of 1939 my father was diagnosed with tuberculosis and hospitalized at a TB sanatorium in Denver, Colorado. . . . He died there . . . , leaving my mother struggling with a question that has troubled many faithful Latter-day Saints. [Why was he not healed?] During the six months of his hospitalization, my father had received many priesthood blessings containing promises of recovery. . . .

Again and again prominent priesthood leaders . . . went to my father’s bedside and gave priesthood blessings that contained promises of healing. Each of these leaders rebuked the disease and commanded that my father be made whole. [But he still died.]16

Imagine how difficult that must have been for Elder Oaks’s mother. But the story continues. Elder Oaks indicated that six months after his father’s death, his mother,

anxious to qualify herself to earn a living for her three children, . . . left [the children] in Utah with her parents and traveled to New York City to pursue a master’s degree at Columbia University. This proved to be too soon. The loneliness resulting from this separation from her family so soon after the loss of her husband, combined with the rigors of graduate study, strained her beyond the breaking point. . . . She suffered what was then called a nervous breakdown.17

If anyone had cause to murmur and complain about life’s unfairness, it was Sister Oaks. But she understood God’s plan and chose to view events in her life through the lens of that plan. Elder Oaks reported that “with faith and priesthood blessings . . . , [his mother soon] was able to resume her [employment] and unassisted parenting.”18 And her ability to maintain an eternal perspective through all this experience made a deep impression on her young son.

As Elder Oaks put it:

My faithful widowed mother had no confusion about the eternal nature of the family relationship. She always honored the position of our faithful deceased father. She made him a presence in our home. She spoke of the eternal duration of their temple marriage and of our destiny to be together as a family in the next life. She often reminded us of what our father would like us to do so we could qualify for the Savior’s promise that we could be a family forever.19

One Sunday evening after a fireside, my four-year-old son’s Primary teacher came to me and asked, “Did I tell you what Brandon did a few Sundays ago?” Almost apologetically, I responded that I hoped he had not caused a problem. Sister Brown smiled, then described the experience to me.
A lovely little girl in Brandon’s class did not have complete hair growth on her head due to a serious burn she had received as a baby. Through the years, because of her disfigurement, this little girl had suffered considerable thoughtlessness and cruelty from other children. Consequently, she was bashful and had a difficult time attending her Primary class alone. But this particular Sunday she had finally mustered enough courage to come. She sat next to Brandon.
As she sat down, Brandon reached over and gently placed his hand on Carmen’s face. He held her cheek for a moment, exchanging an understanding smile with her. Sister Brown related that it was one of the most touching moments she had ever experienced—that one child could be so sympathetic to another’s need to be loved and accepted.
When I returned home that evening, I gathered my son in my arms. “Sister Brown told me about the time you were so kind to Carmen and put your hand on her cheek to help her feel better,” I said. Brandon smiled shyly. “Oh, I remember that time,” he said quietly.
“It makes me especially proud of you when you are kind to others. Carmen is a pretty girl, and very special to our Heavenly Father.”
“I know. But why don’t the other kids think that?” His look told me that he really did not understand.
“They don’t think that because her head looks different.”
Brandon turned to me and said, “But mom, I didn’t see her head.”
The very essence of the gospel is contained in his statement. How great are the lessons little ones teach!

When a fire last year burned a housing complex, leaving 20 families homeless, LDS Charities stepped in to help. The families found homes to stay in temporarily in the community and at a chapel. And the Church donated canned and fresh food, stoves, lanterns, sheets, pillows, and mattresses. These supplies were dropped off at the Mini-Okoro chapel, where they were given to the families by full-time missionaries Elders Obadan and Abu and local Church leaders (below).

The parents of one family with 11 children shed tears of gratitude when they received their supplies. Another family said the whole community celebrated with them when the family returned with their supplies.

I am convinced that families, even young children, can learn to love the scriptures. A few years ago when I was in Colorado Springs for a conference, I called on Mark McConkie, son of Elder and Sister Bruce R. McConkie, to address the question: “How did you develop a love for the scriptures?”

As I recall, he said: “I first developed a love for the scriptures from my mother. I remember she would teach me while she did her ironing. I felt how she loved the scriptures by the way she would speak about the prophets. How much she loved them! As I grew older, I would listen to the recordings of the scriptures. I wanted to know the scriptures like my father. Sometimes he would enter the room while I was listening and it would take him just a moment to identify the exact scripture I was listening to. I wanted to be able to do that.”

For example, students from Copper Hills High School, a school located in a Salt Lake suburb, organized a Christmas talent show for South Valley Care Center. After performing, they decorated the care center for the elderly with handmade ornaments and handed out candy canes. Tiffany Tolbert helped coordinate Copper Hills High School’s SOS projects. She says SOS has helped her make new friends and learn to lead. Most of all, it has given her a chance to help people. “I really enjoy doing service because I want to make a difference,” she says.

I thought about the early members of the Church who sacrificed so much to do what the Lord asked them to do. Joseph Beecroft was among a group of 700 Saints who traveled by train from Boston to Iowa City. They began the
journey in cattle cars, using their luggage for seats.
.
.
. Joseph Beecroft reflected on how the gospel bonded people from different economic classes. For part of the way he rode next to a wealthy convert named Thomas Tennant. Joseph wrote about him with admiration and awe:

“We had among others Squire Tennant for a carriage passenger. . . . He had his wife, her mother, and his child. What has Mormonism done? Such a spectacle was scarcely ever witnessed as to see one who has been so rich [and] so high in life come [to] be huddled together with the poorest of the poor. [To] see how patiently he endures all things is truly wonderful.”

Before leaving England, Thomas Tennant paid $25,000 to buy a home that Brigham Young offered for sale to help replenish the Perpetual Emigration Fund. This purchase provided the greatest single contribution to financing the 1856 emigration. Thomas Tennant would never see the home, however, as he would die in October near Scotts Bluff, Nebraska.

I had a fun experience not so long ago with our youngest daughter. We were picking up leaves in our backyard and I noticed she was only using one hand to do so. Needless to say, I was picking up most of the leaves. Upon closer inspection, I could see her phone was clasped tightly in her hand. I suggested the job would go far more quickly if she put away her phone and picked the leaves up with both hands. But even more quickly, she explained that that wasn’t possible because she was in the middle of a text conversation with her friend.

With my patience now a tad thinner, I responded her friend could wait a few minutes and to put the phone away. She refused. Our conversation then went something like this “Phoebe, put the phone away.” “No Dad.” “Phoebe, put the phone away, right now.” “Aww Dad.” “Phoebe, I am going to count to three, if you don’t put the phone away by the time I’m done, you are going to lose it for the next month.” She barely put it away in time.

This experience reminds me of movies when the police officer tells the bad guy to “put the gun down” or “move away from the gun.” Needless to say, with my daughter using both hands and her full attention, the job was soon finished and there was still time to text her friend.

I’m not a very good gardener (my husband, Ed, was the one who enjoyed that part of our home), and I recently noticed that a carelessly placed brick had squashed a pansy flat. But part of the pansy was still peeking out from under the edge of the brick; and over the next few weeks, that pansy put its energies into creeping sideways around the edge of the brick, pushing its short shoots into the air and sunlight, and blossoming in its friendly purple and gold. When I moved the brick, the pansy’s stem was crooked; but, oh, its flower was as glorious as those next to it.
This pansy chose life. It experienced adversity, but it chose life. It experienced crippling, but it chose life. It could not have been blamed or faulted for giving up under the brick, but it chose life.

Wilnick Louis says witnessing his older brother Milsont’s baptism made a difference for him. The baptism was held on Sunday after regular meetings, so Wilnick decided to come to church first. “I’d been to activities, but that was the first time I’d come to church on Sunday,” he says. “During the meetings, and then at the baptism, I felt something good. When the missionaries asked me if I’d come again, I said, ‘Yeah, I’ll keep coming.’”

When President Hinckley was two years old, he became severely ill with whooping cough. The doctor told his mother that he needed good clean air to breathe. His parents bought a farm outside of Salt Lake City, and the family moved there during summer months. While there, young Gordon learned to work hard pruning trees, weeding gardens, and caring for animals. He learned that you could only harvest food after you had planted and cared for it. He learned that Heavenly Father blesses us, but He expects us to do the work first.

I know that the gospel is real and that prayers are answered. I graduated from high school and enlisted in the navy in the middle of World War II. I was on board a ship that was part of a large group of ships. Kamikaze pilots were trying to destroy my ship and others by crashing their airplanes into the ships. My grandson Adam once asked me what I did at such times of extreme danger. There was no place to run or hide. “All I could do was pray,” I told him. “That was a good thing to do,” he answered.

Wyoming can be a cold and snowy place in the wintertime. That’s why one troop decided to make snowshoes. During the fall they were looking ahead to the Klondike derby coming up in January. They wanted an activity that could prepare them for winter camping.
Under the direction of their Scoutmaster and deacons quorum adviser, the young men went online to find a pattern and instructions for making snowshoes out of rawhide and wood. “We realized this project was going to take a long time,” says Sam F., deacons quorum president, “but we were all excited, and we had a plan.”
By January, the snowshoes were finished and each young man had a pair to use during the Klondike derby. Aiden H. said what they all felt about making snowshoes: “It was fun because we got to use them!”
“We learned a lot about enduring to the end on a project and about strengthening our quorum through Scouting,” Sam says. “My snowshoes will last a long time, and whenever I see them I’ll remember this experience, as well as the great friends we made in our troop and quorum.”

May I share with you tonight, brethren, a letter which I received some time ago, written by a husband who strayed far from the priesthood path of service and duty. It typifies the plea of too many of our brethren. He wrote:

“Dear President Monson:

“I had so much and now have so little. I am unhappy and feel as though I am failing in everything. The gospel has never left my heart, even though it has left my life. I ask for your prayers.

“Please don’t forget those of us who are out here—the lost Latter-day Saints. I know where the Church is, but sometimes I think I need someone else to show me the way, encourage me, take away my fear, and bear testimony to me.”

While reading this letter, I returned in my thoughts to a visit to one of the great art galleries of the world—even the famed Victoria and Albert Museum in London, England. There, exquisitely framed, was a masterpiece painted in 1831 by Joseph Mallord William Turner. The painting features heavy-laden black clouds and the fury of a turbulent sea portending danger and death. A light from a stranded vessel gleams far off. In the foreground, tossed high by incoming waves of foaming water, is a large lifeboat. The men pull mightily on the oars as the lifeboat plunges into the tempest. On the shore there stand a wife and two children, wet with rain and whipped by wind. They gaze anxiously seaward. In my mind I abbreviated the name of the painting. To me, it became To the Rescue.
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?
President John Taylor cautioned us, “If you do not magnify your callings, God will hold you responsible for those whom you might have saved had you done your duty.”
Brethren, our task is not insurmountable. We are on the Lord’s errand, and therefore we are entitled to the Lord’s help. But we must try. From the stage play Shenandoah comes the spoken line which inspires: “If we don’t try, then we don’t do; and if we don’t do, then why are we here?”
When the Master ministered among men, He called fishermen at Galilee to leave their nets and follow Him, declaring, “I will make you fishers of men.” And so He did. Tonight He issues a call to each of us to “come join the ranks.” He provides our battle plan with His admonition, “Wherefore, now let every man learn his duty, and to act in the office in which he is appointed, in all diligence.”
I love and cherish the noble word duty. Let us hearken to the stirring reminder found in the epistle of James: “Be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves.”
There is an old song of my vintage. It’s entitled “Wishing Will Make It So.” It’s not true. Wishing will not make it so. The Lord expects our thinking. He expects our action. He expects our labors. He expects our testimonies. He expects our devotion. Unfortunately, there are those who have departed from the track of priesthood activity. Let us help them back to that path that leads to life eternal. Let us build that strong Melchizedek Priesthood base which will be the foundation of Church activity and growth. It will be the underpinning to strengthen every family, every home, every quorum in every land.
Brethren, we can reach out to those for whom we are responsible and bring them to the table of the Lord, there to feast on His word and to enjoy the companionship of His Spirit and be “no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.”
The passage of time has not altered the capacity of the Redeemer to change men’s lives—our lives and the lives of those with whom we labor. As He said to the dead Lazarus, so He says today: “Come forth.” Come forth from the despair of doubt. Come forth from the sorrow of sin. Come forth from the death of disbelief. Come forth to a newness of life. Come forth.
We will discover that those whom we serve, who have felt through our labors the touch of the Master’s hand, somehow cannot explain the change which comes into their lives. There is a desire to serve faithfully, to walk humbly, and to live more like the Savior. Having received their spiritual eyesight and glimpsed the promises of eternity, they echo the words of the blind man to whom Jesus restored sight, who said, “One thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see.”
How can we account for these miracles? Why the upsurge of activity in men long dormant? The poet, speaking of death, wrote, “God … touched him, and he slept.” I say, speaking of this new birth, “God touched them, and they awakened.”
Two fundamental reasons largely account for these changes of attitudes, of habits, of actions. First, men have been shown their eternal possibilities and have made the decision to achieve them. Men cannot really long rest content with mediocrity once they see excellence is within their reach.
Second, other men have followed the admonition of the Savior and have loved their neighbors as themselves and helped to bring their neighbors’ dreams to fulfillment and their ambitions to realization.
The catalyst in this process has been—and will continue to be—the principle of love.
Another principle of truth which will guide us in our determination is that boys and men can change. I’m reminded of the words of a prison warden who taught this fact. A critic who knew of Warden Duffy’s efforts to rehabilitate men said, “Don’t you know that leopards can’t change their spots?”
Warden Duffy responded, “You should know I don’t work with leopards. I work with men, and men change every day.”
Many years ago, before leaving to become president of the Canadian Mission, headquartered in Toronto, Ontario, I had developed a friendship with a man by the name of Shelley, who lived in my ward but did not embrace the gospel, irrespective of the fact that his wife and children had done so. Shelley had been known as the toughest man in town when he was young. He was quite a pugilist. His fights were rarely in the ring but rather elsewhere. Try as I might, I could not bring about a change in Shelley’s attitude. The task appeared hopeless. In time, Shelley and his family moved from our ward.
After I had returned from Canada and was called to the Twelve, I received a telephone call from Shelley. He said, “Will you seal my wife and me and our family in the Salt Lake Temple?”
I answered hesitatingly, “Shelley, you first must be a baptized member of the Church.”
He laughed and responded, “Oh, I took care of that while you were in Canada. My home teacher was a school crossing guard, and every weekday as he and I would visit at the crossing, we would discuss the gospel.”
The sealings were performed; a family was united; joy followed.
Abraham Lincoln offered this wise counsel, which surely applies to home teachers: “If you would win a man to your cause, first convince him that you are his sincere friend.”
A friend makes more than a dutiful visit each month. A friend is more concerned about helping people than getting credit. A friend cares. A friend loves. A friend listens. And a friend reaches out.
There are brethren in every ward who seem to have a special skill and aptitude to penetrate the outer shell and reach the heart. Such was Raymond L. Egan, who served as my counselor in the bishopric. He loved to befriend and activate in the Church the father of a family and thereby bring into the fold a dear wife and precious children as well. This wonderful phenomenon occurred many times right up until Brother Egan departed mortality.
There are other ways as well by which one might lift and serve. On one occasion, I was speaking with a retired executive I had known for a long time. I asked him, “Ed, what are you doing in the Church?” He replied, “I have the best assignment in the ward. My responsibility is to help men who are unemployed find permanent employment. This year I have helped 12 of my brethren who were out of work to obtain good jobs. I have never been happier in my entire life.” Short in stature, “Little Ed,” as we affectionately called him, stood tall that evening as his eyes glistened and his voice quavered. He showed his love by helping those in need. He restored human dignity. He opened doors for those who knew not how to do so themselves.
I truly believe that those who have the ability to reach out and to lift up have found the formula descriptive of Brother Walter Stover—a man who spent his entire life in service to others. At Brother Stover’s funeral, his son-in-law paid tribute to him in these words: “Walter Stover had the ability to see Christ in every face he encountered, and he treated each person accordingly.” Legendary are his acts of compassionate help and his talent to lift heavenward every person whom he met. His guiding light was the Master’s voice speaking, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … , ye have done it unto me.”
Brethren, acquire the language of the Spirit. It is not learned from textbooks written by men of letters, nor is it acquired through reading and memorization. The language of the Spirit comes to him who seeks with all his heart to know God and keep His divine commandments. Proficiency in this “language” permits one to breach barriers, overcome obstacles, and touch the human heart.
In a day of danger or a time of trial, such knowledge, such hope, such understanding bring comfort to a troubled soul and a grieving heart. Shadows of despair are dispelled by rays of hope; sorrow yields to joy; and the feeling of being lost in the crowd of life vanishes with the certain knowledge that our Heavenly Father is mindful of each of us.
In closing, I return to the painting by Turner. In a very real sense, those persons stranded on the vessel which had run aground in the storm-tossed sea are like many young men—and older men as well—who await rescue by those of us who have the priesthood responsibility to man the lifeboats. Their hearts yearn for help. Mothers and fathers pray for their sons. Wives and children plead to heaven that Daddy and others may be reached.
Tonight I pray that all of us who hold the priesthood may sense our responsibilities and, as one, follow our Leader—even the Lord Jesus Christ, and His prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley—to the rescue.
In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“Congratulations, Marcus,” Mom said as we walked to the car. “You sure played a great game!”
“When you played your first game, did you think you’d be your team’s starting pitcher in the regional finals?” Dad asked as we started home.
“I guess I dreamed about it some,” I answered honestly, “but I didn’t really think it’d happen. I thought the Pirates would end up going again.”
Dad, Mom, and I relived the game, especially the ending with the Pirates close behind and their star player, Gary, up to bat. Everybody on his team was counting on Gary to win the game and send them to the regional finals. But Gary swung and missed each of my three best pitches, and we won the game.
“Oh, before I forget, Marcus,” Mom told me, “Sister Anderson wants you to give a talk in Primary a week from Sunday.”
Usually talking in Primary wasn’t my favorite thing to do, but this time I knew immediately what I was going to talk about. “I think I’ll talk about baseball,” I said.
“This is Primary, you know,” Mom pointed out, “not another baseball game.”
I grinned. “I know, Mom. I’m not going to talk about the game of baseball.” I explained, “I’m going to talk about how Heavenly Father has helped me this season. It hasn’t been easy to be the only member of the Church on the team. But I’ve tried really hard to do what’s right, and He’s helped me.” I paused. “I could feel Him helping me this afternoon. I wasn’t nervous, even when it was Gary’s turn to bat. I just said a little prayer, asking Him to help me do my best, and I knew everything was going to be all right. That’s what I want to talk about—how the Lord can bless us when we work hard and choose the right.”

When our son was 11 years old, I was serving in a bishopric. There was an annual hike taking place with many of the Scouting age Young Men and some Young Women in this area called the 50/20 that was established, I think, to help with some of the Scouting program’s hiking requirements. It was held in the fall, and the idea was that you would hike 50 miles in under 20 hours. It started at the This Is the Place Monument on the east side of Salt Lake City and traveled south to Provo, finishing at a park on Fifth West and Center Street.

Many of the Young Men in our ward had participated the year before and were going to do it again. I asked my son if he would like to try it, even though I thought that at 11 years old, he might not be ready. He said he wanted to go. I talked with others who had done it and was told that it was critical to bring fluids and nourishment and to take care of your feet with adequate padding, changes of socks, and good shoes. The hike started at six in the evening and went throughout the night so that there was less traffic on the roads.

The first half of the hike went pretty well, except for the fact that I couldn’t get him to drink and eat enough. Several hours after midnight we reached the top of the Point of the Mountain, approximately halfway. He was pretty tired and worn out. There are many that only make it halfway, so I told him we could make that the end of our hike and just go home. As he watched some of the older boys arrive after us and could see that they were every bit as tired as he was, he realized that they were not quitting. So after some hot chocolate and nourishment, I asked him what he wanted to do. He said, “Let’s keep going.” I asked him if he was sure, knowing that he had never even stayed up all night, let alone hiked that far. He said, “Yes.”

We made it down the south side of the point of the mountain, and it was obvious he was tiring very quickly. As we walked the old highway through Lehi in the darkest part of the night, I looked down and saw that tears were running down his cheeks and that he was just barely moving his feet. I asked him if he wanted to quit and go home. He wouldn’t answer. Knowing he’s as stubborn as his father, I just put my arm around his shoulders and walked in silence for a while.

Then I said, “Jason, I can make you a promise. This is the hardest part of the hike. It’s the darkest part of the night, and your body knows you should be in bed. But here’s what I’ve learned after working some graveyard shifts. If you want to keep going, there’s a fast-food place down the road. We will stop there and have a hot breakfast. About that time the sun should be coming up. There’s something about the sun coming up after being up all night that gives us new life. I promise you that the hot breakfast and the sun coming up will give you new energy to finish the hike if you want to.”

No answer. He just kept shuffling along. When we got to the drive-in, we ordered breakfast. After we ate and noticed the sun coming up, I said, “How do you feel?”

He said, “Let’s go, Dad.” We took off, and I could hardly keep up with him. We finished in just under 18 hours. The next year, when the opportunity came again, he signed up, knowing he could do it. It was every bit as hard, but he knew what to expect.

I’ve thought back on our experience many times since. My hope at the time was that he would also look back on that when things got tough, particularly on his mission or at other times, and know that the sun will eventually come up, new life will be given, and you’ll get where you need to go if you’ll keep going.

Many years ago, when I was on my mission, my companion and I had resolved to talk to everyone about the gospel. To open our mouths as the scriptures command. [20] One day, on the outskirts of the small Japanese town of Komatsu, we rode past a man on his bicycle. Although we had said we would talk to everyone, I had not thought to ride parallel to this man and yell out to him in Japanese, “Hello, we are missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” We passed by him without speaking to him. After completing a follow-up visit with a friend of the Church we continued down the same road to visit a member family that lived some distance away. We again passed by the same man on the bicycle without speaking to him. We were someway further down the road, and now in the middle of nowhere, with rice paddy fields everywhere when my companion, who was also my trainer, suddenly came to a complete stop. He said to me, did you see that man back there? I queried who he meant. By now we were so far ahead of the cyclist we could not even see him. He said we passed that man on the bicycle twice and I have felt that we need to speak to him. The Lord wants us to speak to him. I was nervous as we waited on the side of the road for this man, who had come into view on the long stretch of road, to approach us. But as he approached us, he had a smile on his face. We introduced ourselves as missionaries for the Church. He said, "Oh, I know who you are." He told us that many years earlier he had been taught as a young man and had wanted to join the Church but had lived with his parents who had not wanted him to do so. He wanted to be taught again. Only a short while later, he was baptised a member of the Church.

I learnt a great lesson that day from my missionary companion. He knew how to speak the language of the Spirit. He knew how to hear the voice of the Lord and be an instrument in the hands of God. When we learn how to speak the language of the Spirit, our lives are blessed, and God enables us to be instruments in His hands in blessing the lives of others.