Gospel Story Finder

During my last year of junior high school, it was my privilege to be responsible for taking care of the flag at our school. Each morning just before school began, the bugle sounded and we would raise the flag on the pole out in front of the building. All of the students would then stand at attention in their classrooms and repeat the Pledge of Allegiance to our country.
We really cared for the flag—it meant something special to us! Whenever it rained, we would be excused from class to run out, lower the flag, and carefully put it away until the weather was clear to display it again. Each night before leaving school, the flag would be lowered, gently folded in a triangle with only the white stars on a blue background visible, and put away until the next day.

Elder and Sister Barlow served as mission leaders in Ecuador from 2017 to 2020, including at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. During that time, many missionaries returned home, while other missionaries were reassigned to the Barlows’ mission. Elder and Sister Barlow witnessed the hand of the Lord directing those missionary efforts.

“We put our trust in the Lord,” he recalled. “There were times when we didn’t know what was going to happen the next day. We remained flexible and ready. We were prayerful, and it all worked out.”

This experience reinforced lessons he had been taught earlier that the Lord is in charge and that we can always trust Him.

When one of Brother Kim’s former students confided that she was severely depressed and considering suicide, he told her:
“Dear sister, I know of a gospel—a wonderful gospel—capable of giving you new hope, new life. If you study it and pray to God, I promise you these things: health, happiness, joy and a desire to help others find those things, too.”
She and her daughter were among the first four baptisms in Korea, at Songdo Beach in Pusan on 3 August 1952. The other two new members were Brother Kim’s son Tai Whan and daughter Young Sook.

For a long time after we moved to Salt Lake City, I felt I didn’t fit in. When we lived on the ranch, we would buy jeans that were too long, then roll them up at the bottom. That way we could wear them longer. But in the city, if someone wore his jeans that way, people made fun of him and called him a hick. People wore expensive brand-name clothes. My mother and father didn’t have much money. Father was working two jobs. Although he worked hard, he couldn’t afford to buy me stylish clothes. When I got older, I was able to get my own job and buy my own clothes.
From that experience, I learned that the way one dresses isn’t what really matters. It is important to be well-groomed, of course, but it’s much more important to be a person of character—someone who can be relied upon and who stands up for his or her beliefs, no matter what others are doing.

When I was in second grade, I went to choir on Thursdays at lunchtime with my friends. We sang songs, performed at assemblies, and had lots of fun.
One day we started learning a new song. When I listened to it, I heard Heavenly Father’s name in vain. It made me sad.
After school I told my mom about it. I told her that the song had Heavenly Father’s name in vain. She said I could ask the teachers if I could say something different. I knew that’s what I should do, but I was very nervous.
One Thursday I made up my mind to try. I told my teacher how I felt and how special God’s name was to me. I asked her if I could say something else. The teachers told me that I could say different words instead. I felt much better, and I knew Heavenly Father had helped me.
A few weeks later, my teachers said that the whole choir was going to sing the different words to the song during that part. At the assembly I stood tall as I sang. I was happy that I could help my friends and my choir to not say Heavenly Father’s name in vain.

While preaching the gospel in Ohio, Lorenzo had a dream one night in which he saw an angry mob attacking him in a schoolhouse. He awoke frightened and prayed for the Lord to protect him as he preached the gospel.
Later that same day, two well-dressed men came to Lorenzo and asked him to come to a schoolhouse where a crowd was waiting to hear him preach. Remembering the dream, Lorenzo refused to come. The men tried harder and harder to get him to come, but Lorenzo would not. The men finally left, shouting angry words at him. Lorenzo soon found out that they weren’t really wanting to hear him preach. Instead, they and a group of other men were waiting to attack Lorenzo at the schoolhouse.

A little over a year ago President Clark and I were hoping for a miracle and trying to delay the deterioration of his kidneys by implementing diet and activity restrictions. But we came to understand that was not the Lord's plan. Instead, we felt impressed that we should embrace a transplant. That was the Lord's plan.

We knew there would be pain and suffering involved, not just for President but for our son Andrew who would be the donor. By embracing the whole experience, President could deal with the pain and suffering knowing it would be just for a while and then this wonderful gift would make new life possible for him.

This decision had a tremendous impact on us. It helped us to humble ourselves before the Lord. We felt Him closer to us, and we drew closer to each other. The Lord blessed us and Andrew and his family with positive attitudes and with many, many tender mercies.

B.H. Roberts and Elder Neal A. Maxwell have both called Liberty Jail "a prison temple" for the Prophet Joseph Smith. One cannot read section 121 without being moved by the Spirit. What an incredible piece of scripture. The prophet was jailed for five and a half months during one of the coldest winters in remembered history. He was fed poisoned food and rotten meat. He lived in a cellar without toilet, bed or warm clothes. And yet, he was able to receive several revelations because he stayed close to the Spirit. When he was allowed to escape, he rejoiced and made his way to Illinois renewed in Spirit because of his release and for all the Lord had taught him in that prison. He went from that horrible prison to a swamp and built up a town so beautiful it was called Nauvoo. He was purified by that refining experience in jail.
Brigham Young said Joseph progressed more in 38 years because of his trials than he could have in a 1000 years without them.

Three weeks ago I was at a stake conference in the lovely little mountain community of Prescott, Arizona. Following the delightful events of that weekend, a sister silently slipped me a note as she and others came by to shake hands and say good-bye. With some hesitation I share a portion of it with you this morning. Please focus on the doctrine this sister teaches, not the participants in the exchange.
“Dear Elder Holland, thank you for the testimony you bore in this conference of the Savior and His love. Forty-one years ago I prayed earnestly to the Lord and told Him I wished I had lived on earth when the Apostles walked upon it, when there had been a true Church, and when Christ’s voice was still heard. Within a year of that prayer, Heavenly Father sent two LDS missionaries to me, and I found that all those hopes could be realized. Perhaps some hour when you are tired or troubled, this note will help you remember why hearing your voice and shaking your hand is so important to me and to millions just like me. Your sister in love and gratitude, Gloria Clements.”

If you don't mind hearing a personal story, I'd like to share with you my BYU-Idaho experience. I do so not because I think my story is noteworthy but because it might help those of you who are looking at your next 40 years--or even your next semester--with trepidation.
Canada Trip, 1976
The day after I graduated from high school in 1976, I left with a friend for a weeklong road trip from Utah to Canada. We borrowed my grandma's car and packed it with the essentials: two sleeping bags, several cans of fruit cocktail, and a couple dozen frozen burritos.
The trip was great until the last few days, when we ran out of food and most of our money. Then, somewhere near Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, we noticed that we were almost out of gas. We found a gas station, but the price of gas was 20 percent higher than we had paid in a previous town. Thoroughly offended by this literal example of highway robbery, we kept right on driving, thinking to ourselves, "We'll show them who's smart." Well, 15 miles down the road, in the middle of nowhere, we ran out of gas. We hitched a ride back to the town and humbly begged for the use of a gas can. Two hours later we were back on the road, a little humbler, a little poorer, and hopefully a little wiser.
First Semester at Ricks College
I had planned to attend the University of Utah, but in August I had a strong impression that I should go to Ricks--an impression that may have been amplified by the fact that Jane Stringham was also planning to go to Ricks. I called the football coach, and he said he could offer a scholarship. Before I knew it, I was on the football field during the first day of practice. Coach Tiny Grant shook my hand, assigned two players to be my roommates, and told me to get a haircut--my hair did not quite meet the dress and grooming standards. Now, at about 6-foot-5, 300 pounds, Tiny Grant was not so tiny, so I obeyed!
I made the first team as a running back, but soon I faced a dilemma. My sister was getting sealed in the Salt Lake Temple the next weekend, so I asked Coach Grant if I could go home for her wedding. He said it was my choice, but I might not retain my starting spot when I returned. I chose to go. I got tickets for an 8 a.m. flight from Idaho Falls to Salt Lake.
This would be my first time flying alone, but I wasn't worried. I had everything planned out: I woke up that morning at 7, got ready, and made the 30-minute drive to Idaho Falls. I arrived at the airport at 7:55 feeling pretty good--I had a good five minutes to spare! On my way from the parking lot to the terminal, however, I learned that my plane was about to leave. "You'll never make it," the airport personnel told me. In a panic, I ran onto the tarmac--you could do that in a small airport in those days--and waved my hands in front of the plane, yelling, "Don't leave! I need to get on the plane! It's my sister's wedding!" The next thing I remember was two security men hauling me off the tarmac, saying, "You're not getting on that plane!"
Needless to say, I missed my sister's wedding. But I did manage to convince security that I was not a serious threat, and I caught a later flight in time for her reception. When I returned to Rexburg on Monday, I also learned that I had lost my starting spot on the team for the next week's game.
As you can see, I had plenty of growing up to do during my first few months at Ricks College.
Spiritual Milestones
But I don't want you to think that all of my learning experiences were misadventures with planes and automobiles. I also made some wise decisions. For example, it was during my first semester at Ricks that I decided to read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover. Somehow, I had never done that before. I'd read from the Book of Mormon--I had even taught lessons from it. I could tell you why we have the Book of Mormon and why it's important, and I could bear testimony that it is the word of God. But now a full-time mission was approaching, and I sensed that my conviction about the Book of Mormon was more in my head than in my heart. I knew that as a missionary, I needed more than just a working knowledge of the Book of Mormon--I wanted to teach from the heart!
So I set a goal to finish the Book of Mormon before the Thanksgiving break. I read every day after football practice. This was a life-changing experience. For the first time, the stories I had heard in pieces started flowing together. I could almost see Nephi, Alma, and Captain Moroni; visions of their experiences formed in my mind, and I can still see those images to this day. It was my first real experience "feasting upon the word of Christ,"[1] and it was "delicious to me."[2]
On the day before Thanksgiving, I was in Ether, so I stayed up all night and accomplished my goal. When I finished, I prayed, as Moroni suggests, to "ask God ... if these things are not true."[3] Did I receive a dramatic revelation? No. But I did receive a feeling of peace, consistent with the feelings I had while reading the book. I now had the ingredient that was missing, not just in my mission preparation but in my conversion to the Savior.
At the end of the semester came a rapid succession of spiritual milestones--I received the Melchizedek Priesthood, my patriarchal blessing, my endowment in the temple, and a call to serve in the Texas San Antonio Mission. By March 17, 1977, the young man who ran out of gas in the middle of Idaho and ran out onto the tarmac at the Idaho Falls airport was serving the Lord in the mission field.

In conclusion, I want to relate one recent experience, that could have happened at any of our BYUs, that I had which convinced me that your generation is certainly up to the task of moving the kingdom to much higher ground—that the best is yet to come. This fall, the BYU Honor Code Office invited me to watch a presentation on the Honor Code by some upperclassmen to the freshman in Freshman Orientation. I was quite impressed by the upperclassmen’s skill and humor in setting forth the expectations for the new students with masterful presentations through skits, film, and music. By the end, they seemed to have convinced everyone that not only was living the Honor Code the right thing to do, it was also the fun thing to do. As I looked over this freshman crowd of about 4,000 in the Marriott Center, I realized that while they came from all over the country and even from some foreign countries, they were all bound together, united in a common testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. At the end of the program, this diverse group of freshmen was asked to sing a medley of those great youth anthems—“Army of Helaman” and “As Sisters in Zion.” There was no practice time and no handouts with the words to the hymns. Notwithstanding this, the freshmen gave a seamless and inspiring rendition that was worthy of any choir. As they sang, the spirit impressed upon me that this was indeed a royal and chosen generation, unique and remarkable in all the world, fully capable of accelerating the Lord’s work in these latter days.

Although the Youngs were a Bible-reading family and three of Brigham’s brothers became itinerant preachers for the Methodist Reformed Church, Brigham himself was not really converted to any church until he received a copy of the Book of Mormon from his brother Phinehas and studied it. Even then “I weighed the matter studiously for nearly two years,” he said, “before I made up my mind to receive that Book.”
In the fall of 1831 five elders from an isolated branch of the Church in Pennsylvania came to the neighborhood to preach. Brigham and his friend Heber C. Kimball listened to them and believed what they taught. Within a few months they were both baptized. Father Young, all Brigham’s brothers and sisters, and his ailing wife also became members.

“The princess is here!” cried the innkeeper. “We’ll soon be rich!”
“The princess is here!” cried the innkeeper’s wife. “We’ll soon be famous!”
And at that instant, into the inn walked the princess followed by four of her servants.
Days before, it had been announced that the princess, who was traveling between her castles, would be stopping at this particular inn for her noonday meal.
So now, as the wife scuttled to the kitchen, the innkeeper stepped briskly toward the door.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing deeply, “what an honor this is to have you stop at our humble inn. Please follow me. Your meal is ready.”
With practiced charm, the innkeeper seated the princess. He scowled, however, when her four servants sat down at the same table.
The innkeeper’s wife whisked into the room, carrying a bowl of steaming stew.
“A rich, thick, savory stew, Your Highness,” she announced, setting the bowl before the princess, “prepared especially for you.”
The princess nodded graciously, picking up her spoon.
The innkeeper and his wife watched anxiously. Everyone knows what delicate and refined tastebuds a real princess has. One kind word from her about their stew, and people would come from far and wide to taste their famous fare.
But the princess paused before even tasting it. “And what about my servants?” she asked. “What are they to eat?”
“What’s this? The servants?” muttered the innkeeper to his wife as they exchanged angry glances. They hardly wanted to serve mere servants.
“Please understand, Your Highness,” replied the innkeeper in sugary tones. “We are poor. It would be a great hardship on us to feed everyone here.”
The princess made no reply. Instead, she raised her spoon and took a taste of the stew. The innkeeper and his wife leaned forward to catch any complimentary word that she might utter.
Slowly the princess licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. “This stew,” she said, at length, “needs salt.”
Salt? “We’ll add salt at once, Your Highness,” said the innkeeper, clicking his heels together. Retrieving the bowl, he and his wife rushed to the kitchen.
A moment later they returned with the salted stew.
“Oh, dear. Oh, my,” the princess said, puckering her lips. “I’m afraid that it’s too salty now.”
Too salty? Adding salt was easy. But removing salt was impossible. The innkeeper and his wife could do only one thing. Taking the stew back into the kitchen, they poured it into a large pot. Quickly they added carrots, onions, potatoes, and broth.
“That will dilute the saltiness,” said the innkeeper. “Yes, the stew will be perfect,” said his wife, tasting it. Both of them smiled at the thought of the fame that the stew would bring them.
When the stew was set once more before the princess, she took another taste. “It’s better, much better now. But,” she added, “a tad more salt would make it perfect!”
The innkeeper and his wife were delighted. Surely they were close now! In the kitchen they added the smallest dash of salt to the stew.
But, alas, when the princess tasted it this time, she wrinkled her nose. “Oh, my!” she said, reaching for a water goblet. “What have you done! This stew is far too salty.”
Back into the kitchen rushed the innkeeper and his wife. They poured the stew into an even larger pot and added more carrots, onions, potatoes, and broth.
“Oh, how famous and rich we’ll soon be!” the wife and the innkeeper whispered happily to each other.
Soon the princess was tasting the stew again. “Almost,” she said, taking her fifth delicate taste. “It needs more salt, however. Just a touch perhaps.”
Ten grains of salt were all the innkeeper and his wife added to the stew this time. But as before, the princess took one tiny taste and said, “Too salty. Much, much too salty.”
“This princess and her fickle taste buds are going to drive me crazy!” cried the exasperated innkeeper as he added more carrots and potatoes to the pot.
“But once we get the combination right,” replied his wife, “we’ll be rich and famous. We’ll call it ‘Princess Stew,’ and everyone will come to our inn to eat it!”
Once more the princess tried the stew, … took a second taste, … then another! The innkeeper and his wife were overjoyed. Breathlessly they waited for her to speak.
“Innkeeper,” the princess said, after another spoonful, “I believe that by now there should be enough stew in your pot to feed my servants.”
The innkeeper and his wife exchanged glances. These were not the words that they had expected to hear! But after all the vegetables that they had added to the stew to dilute its saltiness, they couldn’t claim that there wasn’t enough to serve the servants, after all.
As everyone ate, the innkeeper and his wife waited and waited for a good word from the princess. But the princess finished her bowl of stew without saying another word!

Jensen: In Laramie, Wyoming, I was only there for four weeks, but we helped a man. He was a chain smoker. He was opposed to the Church. His wife was a member but hadn’t attended meetings in years.
But they had a young boy who was active in Scouts, and the other boys in the troop kept asking him why he’d never been baptized. He told his mom, “I want to be baptized.” It was the first time the father and mother were able to seriously discuss religion. He didn’t like the hypocrisy he’d seen. He said, “If a church believes in the two great commandments, to love the Lord and your neighbor, if they believe that and live it, then that’s the church I want to be part of.”
So they went to their boy’s baptism a week later, and as they walked in, written on the chalkboard was the scripture, “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
“This is the first and great commandment.
“And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matt. 22:37–39).
He said, “I can’t believe this. Somebody’s trying to tell me something.” The speaker spoke on the same subject. The congregation sang a hymn on the same subject. Needless to say, he went home feeling good.
He started reading the Book of Mormon, and apparently he had a spiritual experience. He says one night he fell asleep one man, and woke up another. He hasn’t smoked since. Tears would stream down his face as we taught him. In one month he was baptized. Two months later he was made Sunday School president. Then he was made an elder, then called into the elders quorum presidency. Now the whole family has been sealed in the temple. The gospel changed his whole life.

There is yet another trial which, when endured well, can bring blessings in this life and blessings forever. Age and illness can test the best of us. My friend served as our bishop when my daughters were still at home. They speak of what they felt when he bore his simple testimony around campfires in the mountains. He loved them, and they knew it. He was released as our bishop. He had served as a bishop before in another state. Those I have met who were from his earlier ward remember him as my daughters do.

I visited him in his home from time to time to thank him and to give him priesthood blessings. His health began a slow decline. I can’t remember all the ailments he suffered. He needed surgery. He was in constant pain. Yet every time I visited him to give him comfort, he turned the tables; I always was the one comforted. His back and legs forced him to use a cane to walk. Yet there he was in church, always sitting near the door, where he could greet those arriving early, with a smile.

I will never forget the feeling of wonder and admiration which came over me when I opened the back door at home and saw him coming up our driveway. It was the day we put out our garbage cans to be picked up by city workers. I had put the can out in the morning. But there he was dragging my garbage can up the hill with one hand while he balanced himself with a cane in his other hand. He was giving me the help he thought I needed when he needed it far more than I did. And he was helping with a smile and without being asked.

I visited him when he finally had to be cared for by nurses and doctors. He was lying in a hospital bed, still in pain and still smiling. His wife had called me to say that he was getting weaker. My son and I gave him a priesthood blessing as he lay in the bed with tubes and bottles connected to him. I sealed the blessing with a promise that he would have time and the strength to do all that God had for him to do in this life, to pass every test. He stretched out his hand to grasp mine as I stepped away from his bed to leave. I was surprised at the strength of his grip and the firmness in his voice when he said, “I’m going to make it.”

I left thinking that I would see him again soon. But the phone call came within a day. He was gone to the glorious place where he will see the Savior, who is his perfect judge and will be ours. As I spoke at his funeral, I thought of the words of Paul when he knew that he would go to that place where my neighbor and friend has gone:
“But watch thou in all things, endure afflictions, do the work of an evangelist, make full proof of thy ministry.
“For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand.
“I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith:
“Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing.”
I have confidence that my neighbor made it through his trial and will face his judge with a joyous smile.

A relative asked Elder Spencer W. Kimball for a blessing to combat a crippling disease. For some time Elder Kimball prepared himself spiritually; then, fasting, he was prompted to bless her to be healed. Some weeks later she returned, angry and complaining that she was “fed up” with waiting for the Lord to give the promised relief.
He responded: “Now I understand why you have not been blessed. You must be patient, do your part, and express gratitude for the smallest improvement noted.”
She repented, followed scrupulously his counsel, and eventually was made well.

The other day I sat beside a friend who had lost his beloved companion. He wept in loneliness, now bereft of an association of more than half a century which had been the very bulwark of his life. But shining through his tears and towering above his doubts was the certain conviction that the marriage performed many, many years ago had been joined by an authority whose power reached beyond the veil of death and which would be as efficacious there as it had been here.

When l was a youngster, my parents moved our family into a tough city-edge neighborhood. It was during the dark days of World War II, and with little housing available, we took what we could get near my father’s defense effort job. We had lived in the country among friendly folks, and now among strangers, I didn’t know what to expect on my first day at school.
My worst fears were realized. Many of the students and teachers were strangers in the transient conditions of the war. Not only did disagreement abound, but physical fighting broke out among my 12-year-old peers. There seemed to be no particular issues involved, just an effort by everyone to determine who was the “toughest.”
Later that year, in an effort to curb this unwanted practice in which so many young people were getting hurt, several faculty members managed to gain some control over it by putting boxing gloves on the combatants. Tournaments were held during lunch hour, and the nice thing was that a person could choose to compete or watch, as he preferred. I wanted no particular part in it. I already felt sufficiently challenged physically by the time school began just in walking three miles one way to class. Much energy was spent in work at home and getting up early to run through orchards and leap canals just to reach school.
However, there were obviously many students with pent-up energies who participated in these noon-hour boxing matches. Besides, I was content to believe that some of these kids who claimed to be “fourth toughest” or “second toughest,” or whatever, really were what they bragged to be. I was also a little dismayed, however, that they put so much ego—at times a little oppressive and unbearable for the others—into being physically tough. And if no one challenged them, under the arrangement, they could continue to claim whatever title they wished without even tying on the boxing gloves.
I was therefore somewhat pleased, but mostly aghast one day when a newfound friend of mine, a slightly built young man by the name of Terrance, told me he was going to challenge Phillip. Phillip had declared himself “Number Four.”
“Don’t do it!” I tried to persuade him. “Phillip will kill you!”
“We’ll see about that,” Terrance answered gamely. “How do we know unless I meet him in the ring?” Then, quietly, Terrance continued: “I think Phillip is talking too much about it. Frankly, I think he’s bluffing.”
I watched the first round with my hands over my eyes. But the round was no sooner over than Phillip stated he did not want to continue. That made Terrance Number Four. Suddenly, it was like in the cowboy movies. When they saw how easily he had wrested the title from Phillip, everyone wanted to challenge Terrance. And if Terrance didn’t want to “lose face” he had to participate.
As we were walking the three miles up the long a hill toward our homes in the government housings project, past monotonous rows of look-alike houses, Terrance confided something to me. “I know that fighting doesn’t really resolve anything. And personally, I never did like to fight. Where did it get either Phillip or me? I just wanted to humble him, but now I wonder if he’s better off than me. I don’t know. Maybe I can defeat Number One, but I know that wouldn’t prove anything, would it? I just wish there were some way out of this.”
Yet, Terrance acknowledged that he probably had already gone too far and there was no way out, except to finish what he had started. He trudged into his house, recognizable by the number over the door, and parted with: “Well, no use beating around the bush. Tomorrow, I’ll skip Number Two and Three and go right to Tracy, Number One.”
The next day word got around quickly that freckle-faced little Terrance was going to do battle with the much larger and stone-faced Tracy. Everyone ate lunch quickly and settled down to watch the proceedings. The boxing ring was in the basement of the school next to the boiler room. It was fine for a few dozen spectators, but on that particular day hundreds of kids packed into the concrete window abutments and stood on chairs to peer over heating pipes. I got there early and had a pretty good seat next to the custodian’s closet.
The two sparred for several rounds without either gaining much advantage. In the fifth round, several of the crowd said they thought that it should be over fairly soon, that Tracy was “just beginning to warm up.” However, as I looked at both of their faces, they appeared equally tired. When the round was over, Tracy walked over to Terrance. I could barely hear what Tracy was saying: “Why don’t we just declare it a truce and call ourselves co-champions? I’m not sure going on any further would prove either one of us better than the other.”
Terrance agreed. They put their arms around each other and the crowd cheered both as winners.
That by no means ended the daily boxing tournaments. But somehow, they were never the same after that. Deciding who was toughest just didn’t matter as much anymore. The two toughest kids in school had decided it wasn’t important.

It was one of the first warm days of early spring. The windows of our church were open for the first time that year, and bright, warm sunlight spilled in long rays into the chapel. A small, spring wind came through the windows carrying the fragrances of unseen blossoms. My grandparents and several aunts and uncles were sitting proudly with my parents. I was sitting on the front row of the chapel with the deacons. It was my first time passing the sacrament.
The sacrament hymn ended.
The bishop nodded to us, and in a single motion we stood and walked to the table. The white cloth was removed and carefully folded, and then the prayer was spoken. I felt the importance of the words and the ordinance as I never had before. With my relatives and what seemed like the entire congregation watching me, I tried to move with as much reverence and dignity as I could. I felt a strong feeling of pride to be able to pass the sacrament. It was a great honor. When the meeting was over, nearly everyone in my ward congratulated me.
Several months passed, and in that time, along with the other members of my quorum, I began to forget, a little, the honor of holding the priesthood and of passing the sacrament. We began not to remember what the ordinance stood for. It became a chore. Something we had to do. A job we were given because no one else wanted to do it.
This attitude began to affect the way we performed the ordinance. They were small differences. We were sometimes late for sacrament meeting. Occasionally we didn’t dress as appropriately as we should have. And we talked during the meeting, not loudly and not during the sacrament service, but enough that it was noticed. They were small things, but they took away from the sacredness of the ordinance we were charged with.
The bishop asked our adviser to talk to us about it. Every Sunday morning for weeks he tried to explain to us the importance of what we were doing, of the priesthood of God, and of the ordinance of the sacrament. He told us of the sons of Aaron, of Gethsemane, and Calvary. He was an older man, and we could tell he felt strongly about the things he was telling us. We would straighten up a little. Then a few Sundays would pass, and we would slip back again.
One Sunday after our priesthood class had ended, our adviser stopped us.
“You don’t have to worry about the sacrament today,” he said. “It’s been taken care of.”
We were surprised and curious, but we were also glad to get out of the job, even if it was just for one day. We came into the meeting late as usual, during the hymn, and sat on a middle row. Sitting on the deacons bench with our adviser were the high priests of our ward. They were the oldest and most respected men in our ward. Two of them had been bishops, one a stake president. All held or had held positions of honor and leadership. The hymn ended. They rose, and the prayer was said.
By their bearing and by their reverence it was easy to see they felt great respect and honor for what they were doing. It was no menial task for them. They were all dressed in dark suits, white shirts, and ties. But it was more than the way they were dressed or even the way they carried themselves in performing the ordinance. The congregation was silent. The sacrament became something deeply felt and sacred. There was something deeper, something much more significant. There was a spirit to it. A feeling deeper than words.
The windows in the chapel were open that Sunday. It was late fall, and the fragrance of fall came in through the windows. I could see patches of a blue sky. Leaves were falling from the trees. I was humbled. Passing the sacrament wasn’t a job no one else wanted. It was a job I had been given as a sacred trust. It was the greatest of honors.

I’ve always asked a lot of myself, especially in high school. And I often fell short because I tried to accomplish so many things at once to prove that I was good enough. One year I decided to learn ballroom dancing, take music lessons, and join an ensemble. I thought I needed to do as much as I could to develop and perfect my talents. But at a certain point, I had to give everything up because it was all just too much for me to handle. I was so hard on myself. I felt like a failure, and failing was one of my biggest fears.

I know I’m not the only person who struggles with perfectionism. So many of us are trying our best every day and feeling discouraged when we don’t accomplish everything perfectly. But despite our efforts, none of us will ever be completely perfect here on the earth. So how can we strive for perfection when all efforts seem so futile? Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shares an answer: “Be ye therefore perfect—eventually.”1

Striving for perfection is a good thing, but it can become negative if we let it overwhelm us. With everything this life asks of us physically, mentally, emotionally, and even spiritually, it’s important that we don’t burn ourselves out by settling for nothing less than perfection. And it’s even more important to think about what Heavenly Father asks of us. He doesn’t want us to be burnt out from trying to do too much.

The Lord taught in Doctrine and Covenants 10:4, “Do not run faster or labor more than you have strength and means provided to enable you to translate; but be diligent unto the end.” We can apply that to our lives. Heavenly Father wants us to be happy, and we will be if we do what He tells us to do in the best way we can. Even if our efforts are not quite perfect yet.

The word perfect originally comes from the Latin word perficere, which breaks down into per- (“completely”) and facere (“do”). So perfection actually means “complete.” And we cannot be complete without Jesus Christ (see Moroni 10:30). I think many of us often think we aren’t good enough. And, well, we aren’t! That is, without Christ we aren’t. As Ammon said: “I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things” (Alma 26:12).

With Jesus Christ, we can always strive to become better, even so much that we will become perfect and complete one day because He will make up for our imperfections. “Yea, come unto Christ, and be perfected in him, and deny yourselves of all ungodliness; and if ye shall deny yourselves of all ungodliness, and love God with all your might, mind and strength, then is his grace sufficient for you, that by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ” (Moroni 10:32).

Over the years I’ve realized I didn’t fully understand and comprehend what the Savior’s Atonement means for and to me. I thought I needed to have a flawless performance here on earth and that I was left alone to figure out how to fulfill this task. But now I know that we are never alone. If we strive to focus on Jesus Christ and keep Him in our hearts and in our minds, our weaknesses will change into strengths—just like how my struggle with perfectionism is changing. I know I’m not perfect. But Christ can help us overcome any weaknesses, sins, challenges, or fears. He understands us and knows how to succor us. I hope we may all enjoy His infinite love. And realize that although we aren’t perfect now, if we strive to follow Him, we will be one day.