Gospel Story Finder

When the newly formed Lakeland Florida Stake issued the challenge to hold a Young Women basketball tournament, the Lake Wales Branch rose to the opportunity. But they had a problem. They didn’t have enough active girls in their Young Women program to fill the five positions on the playing floor. And having a couple of substitutes wouldn’t hurt.
The girls and coaches began asking friends and inactive members to join them. The girls were told that if they didn’t have fun, they didn’t have to stay. A team of eight was formed and practices began. Soon the girls learned the meaning of phrases like “set up” and “fast break” and learned to dribble without using both hands.
With determination and hard work, the Lake Wales Branch had a basketball team. At the stake tournament, their skills were challenged. It was the first time they had played together on an indoor court, and they had some trouble getting used to having confining walls.
At the end of the tournament, the Lake Wales team came out on top. They were the first Lakeland Stake champions. The experience of playing together and fellowshipping has made them winners.

I was visiting with a neighbor’s family that had traveled to Salt Lake City for the holidays. I asked how they liked their ward in their distant city, and Hanna said, “Cary likes it, but I don’t. Sister Jack, I’m having a hard time. I’m the only Hispanic in the ward, and they are not friendly to me. They ignore me in the hallways, and sometimes I don’t go at all.”

My heart went out to this usually happy and gregarious woman. I said, “Be patient with them. Maybe you are there to help them learn understanding, and it will take time.”

Sometimes our pattern and response to difficulty is to circumvent the situation rather than to step back and try to learn from it. We become immersed in the circumstances and lose sight of the long-range goal. A better approach is to do what we can, being “steadfast and immovable in keeping the commandments” and carrying in our hearts the assurance that the Lord is with us and that our patience will turn the tide.

Some years ago, I went with a stake president in the southeastern United States to visit several families before a stake conference. As we arrived at one home, a man dressed in shabby clothes walked up to us.
“What do you want?” he shouted. “I don’t want people coming to my house!”
I was concerned when the man’s demeanor became threatening. I wanted to grab the stake president and run back to the car! But the stake president was calm. “We are sorry,” he said. “We thought your bishop had told you we were coming.”
As they spoke, I felt the Spirit so strongly. I gathered my courage, approached the man, and said, “Dear brother, President Thomas S. Monson [he was the prophet at the time] has given me the assignment to come here. We are here to see you. I bring the love of the prophet to you.”
I looked into the man’s eyes and noticed they were tearing up. He began to share his challenges with us. His wife suffered from depression. He had just lost his job. He did not have food to feed his children. The stake president assured the man that the Church would help him and his family. We had a nice visit.
Several weeks later, I asked the stake president for an update. He told me that this brother’s bishop and the ward council were assisting him and that he and his wife, who was not a member of the Church, began meeting with the missionaries.

When my wife and I had been married for about six years, we were living in Makiki and my wife expressed the desire to attend graduate school on the mainland. Just a few months before this, we welcomed our oldest daughter into our family. Having a new child would make graduate school and a move even more challenging. My wife’s parents still lived in Boston, where my wife was born and raised, so we had a built-in support system there. We prayed and fasted about the decision and felt like it was the path that we should take.

A few months later, we sold everything that we had and left the island with only a couple of suitcases full of clothes and baby toys. We arrived in Boston and found a house to rent in an area called Cambridge Port. Our home was located a block from the Charles River, right by the BU bridge. It was a great location. Sister Yamamoto’s school was located right across the bridge. The historic Fenway Ball Park was less than a mile away. Right around the corner was an amazing mom-and-pop Italian pizza joint called “Stephanie's Pizzeria.” I can still remember the amazing smell of fresh calzones and pizza, which permeated the air.

The fall in the Northeast was terrific. We enjoyed apple picking, viewing the fall foliage, going to pumpkin patches, attending Redsox games at Fenway, and spending time with my wife’s family. It was an amazing place until the winter season came. I was cold to my very core for four months straight. We lived in one of those historical Cambridge homes that had big metal radiators used for a heating system. When you turned them on, they would start hissing and clanking and the temperature was very hard to control. The only thing that saved me during those winters was coming back here for a month in January during the winter break.

While we lived in Boston, we attended the Cambridge 1st Ward. The ward was mostly made up of married graduate students and their families attending the various universities in the area. Because the bulk of our ward was students, the Elders Quorum was constantly moving members in and out. One of my home teaching sisters needed to move from one home to another home that was only a couple of blocks away. Three or four of the Elders from our ward and the full-time missionaries showed up to help out.

I arrived at the house and much to my delight, it was a dream move. Sometimes you show up for a move, and the family is busily stuffing things into bags, boxes, trash bags or whatever they can find to transport their belongings. This sister had everything nicely packed, and she even had a moving truck. In less than 20 minutes, everything was completely loaded into the truck. The truck was packed so efficiently that only half of the inside of the truck was filled.

We were ready to get into our cars and drive over to the new house when the sister came out and warned us that parking was very limited around her new home and that it would be a good idea to ride over together. One of the Elders had a great idea or what seemed like a good idea. He proposed that we utilize the empty space in the back of the moving truck by jumping in and riding over to the house together. It was only a short couple of blocks. We all agreed to his proposal without thinking about it and piled into the back of the moving truck.

I was chatting with one of the missionaries when all of a sudden, the inside of the truck started to get dark. I looked toward the opening and the driver was pulling down on the rope connected to the rolling back door. Within seconds, the door was completely closed and the area was completely dark. Suddenly, you could hear a click of metal on the exterior of the door. I'm sure that you have all seen that round metal piece on the back of diesels and moving trucks that when turned locks into place, securing the door and locking the door from the outside. That click meant that we were locked inside.

Up to that point in my life, I had never experienced any kind of claustrophobia or anxieties from being in an enclosed space. While I was a student at BYU in Provo, I even went to a place called the Nutty Putty Caves a few times to explore with friends. The Nutty Putty Caves were located on the west side of Utah Lake. You would drive to this remote spot on dirt roads and then there was literally a hole in the earth that you would go down a network of caves. They had this one section in the Nutty Putty Caves called the birth canal. I am sure you can picture why it might be called the birth canal and I even went through that section and didn’t even think twice about it then.

Back to Boston and the moving truck. I heard that metal piece click and we were locked inside. It was so dark that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. All of a sudden, my chest began to constrict and I couldn’t breathe. My mind started to go crazy. I began searching frantically for a way to get out of the truck. I finally spotted a tiny pinprick of light coming from the bottom corner of the door. I rushed over, knelt down, put my face right by the hole, and tried to suck in air from the hole. It didn’t provide any relief. By this time my lungs were begging for air. I was desperate and my mind and body felt like they were going to explode. I am very lucky that it was pitch black because the people in the truck would have thought that I was literally crazy.

Drenched in sweat, I felt and thought that I was going to die. All of a sudden, one of the guys we were with flipped open his phone. Back in 2008, we had those cool phones that you flip open. The flip phone provided a small glow of light around his face as he looked at the screen. He must have thought that I was crazy when I scooted right next to him and hovered my face over his phone. The light on the phone immediately eased my mind and I could breathe again. My anxieties and panic immediately disappeared. It was amazing that the tiny bit of light would provide such a great relief. We arrived at our destination a couple of minutes later and I was liberated from the moving truck. We quickly moved the items into the house and then I let the guys know that I was going to walk back to my car and didn’t need a ride.

Thinking back to my moving truck experience, I later realized that I had a cell phone in my pocket during the entire experience. I had the tool that would have alleviated any kind of pain and anguish that I experienced. When we are in the midst of a problem or hardship, don’t we sometimes forget about the things that would help us the most? Sometimes we forget or blame God, we forget what the prophet and our church leaders have taught us, we forget the principles and doctrines of the gospel. We stop praying, stop reading our scriptures, and stop attending church. These are the times that we need those things the most. We forget the things that bring light and hope into our lives.

The next year we enrolled in junior high school. But the building could not accommodate all the students, and so our class of the seventh grade was sent back to the Hamilton School. We were insulted. We were furious. We’d spent six unhappy years in that building, and we felt we deserved something better. The boys of the class all met after school. We decided we wouldn’t tolerate this kind of treatment. We’d go on strike.
The next day we did not show up. But we had no place to go. We couldn’t stay home, because our mothers would ask questions. We didn’t think of going downtown to a show. We had no money for that. We didn’t think of going to the park. We were afraid we might be seen by the truant officer. We didn’t think of going out behind the school fence and telling shady stories because we didn’t know any. We’d never heard of such things as drugs or anything of the kind. We just wandered about and wasted the day.
The next morning, the principal, Mr. Stearns, was at the front door of the school to greet us. His demeanor matched his name. He said some pretty straightforward things and then told us that we could not come back to school until we brought a note from our parents. Striking, he said, was not the way to settle a problem. We were expected to be responsible citizens, and if we had a complaint, we could come to the principal’s office and discuss it.
There was only one thing to do, and that was to go home and get the note. I remember walking sheepishly into the house. My mother asked what was wrong. I told her. I said I needed a note. She wrote one. It was very brief. It was the most stinging rebuke she ever gave me. It read as follows:
“Dear Mr. Stearns,
“Please excuse Gordon’s absence yesterday. His action was simply an impulse to follow the crowd.”
She signed it and handed it to me.
I walked back over to school and got there about the same time a few other boys did. We all handed our notes to Mr. Stearns. I do not know whether he read them, but I have never forgotten my mother’s note. Though I had been an active party to the action we had taken, I resolved then and there that I would make my own decisions on the basis of my standards. I would not be pushed in one direction or another by those around me.
That decision has blessed my life many times. It has kept me from doing some things which could at worst have resulted in serious injury and trouble, and at the best would have cost me my self-respect.

Many years ago I read a book entitled The Way to the Western Sea, by David S. Lavender. It provides a fascinating account of the epic journey of Meriwether Lewis and William Clark as they led their famed expedition across the North American continent to discover an overland route to the Pacific Ocean.
Their trek was a nightmare of backbreaking toil, deep gorges which had to be crossed, and extensive travel by foot, carrying with them their supply-laden boats to find the next stream on which to make their way.
As I read of their experiences, I frequently mused, “If only there were modern bridges to span the gorges of the raging waters.” There came to my mind thoughts of magnificent bridges of our time which accomplish this task with ease: beautiful Golden Gate Bridge of San Francisco fame; sturdy Sydney, Australia, Harbour Bridge; and others in many lands.
In reality, we are all travelers—even explorers of mortality. We do not have the benefit of previous personal experience. We must pass over steep precipices and turbulent waters in our own journey here on earth.
Perhaps such a somber thought inspired the poet Will Allen Dromgoole’s classic poem entitled “The Bridge Builder.”
An old man, going a lone highway,
Came at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast and deep and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned when safe on the other side
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,
“You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again must pass this way;
You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide—
Why build you the bridge at the eventide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head:
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followeth after me today
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been naught to me
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.”
The message of the poem has prompted my thinking and comforted my soul, for our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, was the supreme architect and builder of bridges for you, for me, for all mankind. He has built the bridges over which we must cross if we are to reach our heavenly home.
The Savior’s mission was foretold. Matthew recorded, “And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus: for he shall save his people from their sins.”
There followed the miracle of His birth and the gathering of the shepherds who came with haste to that stable, to that mother, to that child. Even the Wise Men, journeying from the East, followed that star and bestowed their precious gifts upon the young child.
The scripture records that Jesus “grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with wisdom: and the grace of God was upon him” and that He “went about doing good.”
What personal bridges did He build and cross here in mortality, showing us the way to follow? He knew mortality would be filled with dangers and difficulties. He declared: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
Jesus provided the Bridge of Obedience. He was an unfailing example of personal obedience as He kept the commandments of His Father.
When He was led of the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted of Satan, He was weak from fasting. Satan was at his seductive best in the offerings he proffered. His first was to satisfy the Savior’s physical needs, including His hunger. To this the Savior replied, “It is written, Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.”
Next Satan offered power. Responded the Savior, “It is written again, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.”
Finally the Savior was offered wealth and earthly glory. His response: “Get thee hence, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.”
The Apostle Paul was inspired of the Lord to declare for our time, as well as for his: “There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.”
Lest we equivocate, I mention a comment from ABC Nightline’s Ted Koppel: “What Moses brought down from Mt. Sinai were not the Ten Suggestions [but the Ten] Commandments!”
A bit of subtle humor is found in an account of a conversation between Mark Twain and a friend. Said the wealthy friend to Twain, “Before I die, I mean to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. I will climb to the top of Mount Sinai and read the Ten Commandments aloud.”
Replied Twain, “Why don’t you stay home and keep them!”
The second bridge provided by the Master for us to cross is the Bridge of Service. We look to the Savior as our example of service. Although He came to earth as the Son of God, He humbly served those around Him. He came forth from heaven to live on earth as mortal man and to establish the kingdom of God. His glorious gospel reshaped the thinking of the world. He blessed the sick; He caused the lame to walk, the blind to see, the deaf to hear. He even raised the dead to life.
In the 25th chapter of the book of Matthew, the Savior tells us this concerning the faithful who will be on His right hand at His triumphal return:
“Then shall the King say unto them … , Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
“Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
Elder Richard L. Evans once counseled, “We can’t do everything for everyone everywhere, but we can do something for someone somewhere.”
May I share with you an account of an opportunity of service which came to me unexpectedly and in an unusual manner. I received a telephone call from a granddaughter of an old friend. She asked, “Do you remember Francis Brems, who was your Sunday School teacher?” I told her that I did. She continued, “He is now 105 years of age. He lives in a small care center but meets with the entire family each Sunday, where he delivers a Sunday School lesson. Last Sunday, Grandpa announced to us, ‘My dears, I am going to die this week. Will you please call Tommy Monson and tell him this. He’ll know what to do.’”
I visited Brother Brems the very next evening. I could not speak to him, for he was deaf. I could not write a message for him to read, for he was blind. What was I to do? I was told that his family communicated with him by taking the finger of his right hand and then tracing on the palm of his left hand the name of the person visiting and then any message. I followed the procedure and took his finger and spelled on the palm of his hand T-O-M-M-Y M-O-N-S-O-N. Brother Brems became excited and, taking my hands, placed them on his head. I knew his desire was to receive a priesthood blessing. The driver who had taken me to the care center joined me as we placed our hands on the head of Brother Brems and provided the desired blessing. Afterward, tears streamed from his sightless eyes. He grasped our hands, and we read the movement of his lips. The message: “Thank you so much.”
Within that very week, just as Brother Brems had predicted, he passed away. I received the telephone call and then met with the family as funeral arrangements were made. How thankful I am that a response to render service was not delayed.
The bridge of service invites us to cross over it frequently.
Finally, the Lord provided us the Bridge of Prayer. He directed, “Pray always, and I will pour out my Spirit upon you, and great shall be your blessing.”
I share with you an account described in a mother’s letter to me relating to prayer. She wrote:
“Sometimes I wonder if I make a difference in my children’s lives. Especially as a single mother working two jobs to make ends meet, I sometimes come home to confusion, but I never give up hope.
“My children and I were watching a television broadcast of general conference, and you were speaking about prayer. My son made the statement, ‘Mother, you’ve already taught us that.’ I said, ‘What do you mean?’ And he replied, ‘Well, you’ve taught us to pray and showed us how, but the other night I came to your room to ask something and found you on your knees praying to Heavenly Father. If He’s important to you, He’ll be important to me.’”
The letter concluded, “I guess you never know what kind of influence you’ll be until a child observes you doing yourself what you have tried to teach him to do.”
No relating of a prayer touches me so deeply as the prayer offered by Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. I believe Luke describes it best:
“He … went … to the mount of Olives; and his disciples also followed him.
“And when he was at the place, he said unto them, Pray that ye enter not into temptation.
“And he was withdrawn from them about a stone’s cast, and kneeled down, and prayed,
“Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.
“And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him.
“And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.”
In due time came the trek to the cross. What suffering He endured as He made His burdensome way, carrying His own cross. Heard were the words He uttered upon the cross: “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”
At length Jesus declared, “It is finished: and he bowed his head, and gave up the ghost.”
These events, coupled with His glorious Resurrection, completed the final bridge of our trilogy: The Bridge of Obedience, the Bridge of Service, the Bridge of Prayer.
Jesus, the Bridge Builder, spanned that vast chasm we call death. “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.” He did for us what we could not do for ourselves; hence, mankind can cross the bridges He built—into life eternal.
I close by paraphrasing the poem “The Bridge Builder”:
“You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide—
Why build you the bridge at the eventide?”
“There followeth after me today
A vast throng whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been naught to me
To that great throng may a pitfall be.
They too must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for them.”
That we may have the wisdom and determination to cross the bridges the Savior built for each of us is my sincere prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I had an experience in the mission field that is very memorable to me. A man came to me after Church—he was twice my age, a very unhappy person—and told me that he had committed a grave sin before he joined the Church, that his wife would not forgive him, would not divorce him, and constantly reminded him that he was a worthless person. He said, “I’ve come to think of myself as she thinks I am. How can I be whole again and pure of heart, clean in my thoughts?” I said, “What have you tried to do for this problem?” He said, “I’ve fought it. I’ve fought it.” I told him there must be a better way than to fight sin. We knelt in prayer together, and afterwards I gave him a book to read—As a Man Thinketh in His Heart, So Is He—and then I put my arm around him, gave him a firm handclasp, and told him that he could overcome his problem. And then by inspiration or coincidence I said to him, “How would you like to prepare the Lord’s supper for Sunday School?” (He was a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood.) He said, “Do you think I’m worthy to do this?” I said, “No, I don’t think any of us really are. But I think Jesus would be pleased if you would render him this service.” And so he proceeded to set the Lord’s table each Sunday morning. After about six weeks I met him coming up the aisle before Sunday School. I put out my hand to reassure him. He put his hand behind his back and said nothing. I said, “Have I offended you?” He said, “Oh, no. I’ve just washed my hands with soap and hot water, and I can’t shake hands with you or any man until I’ve set the Lord’s table.” That’s the most beautiful reverence I’ve seen in that simple act of setting the Lord’s table. I was so pleased. In another six weeks he came to me after church again and said, “I’m a new man.”
Then I asked him to give a talk in church on some principle of the gospel of Christ that he really believed in and why. I kept thinking about the Savior. Well, serving the Savior in a simple way and thinking about him during the week, this man became a new creature. It was beautiful. And I realized that I’d never used the Savior in my own life in the same way. I don’t mind telling you that I did after that. I had the wonderful thrill of overcoming what I thought was a weakness in me by thinking of the Savior and making him the center of my prayers and my life.

I remember when I was young, I had a stutter and had difficulty reading and writing, but my mother always expressed confidence in my ability to overcome these challenges. Her belief in me led me to enter a speech contest for youth held at church. To my surprise, I came in first place among the boys and second overall out of 14 youth in the contest. To this day, I still remember that speech. I was able to do this because I felt the confidence of my mother and leaders to do what was hard for me. I never would have imagined that I would be where I am today, speaking at conferences or writing articles for Church magazines. Our youth need us to believe in their ability to do difficult things as they turn to God and live in a higher and holier way.

A latter-day example of willful rebellion with a happier ending is the story of William W. Phelps. Phelps joined the Church in 1831 and was appointed Church printer. He edited several early Church publications, wrote numerous hymns, and served as a scribe to Joseph Smith. Unfortunately, he turned against the Church and the Prophet, even to the point of giving false testimony against Joseph Smith in a Missouri court, which contributed to the Prophet’s imprisonment there.

Later, Phelps wrote to Joseph asking for forgiveness. “I know my situation, you know it, and God knows it, and I want to be saved if my friends will help me.”

In his reply the Prophet stated: “It is true that we have suffered much in consequence of your behavior. … However, the cup has been drunk, the will of our Heavenly Father has been done, and we are yet alive. … Come on, dear brother, since the war is past, for friends at first are friends again at last.”

With sincere repentance, William Phelps buried his “weapons of rebellion” and was received once more in full fellowship, never again to fall away.

I have a good friend whose car was vandalized just a few days before Christmas. Among other things, the thieves took her attaché, which contained everything from her cell phone and PalmPilot to a personal journal, some other sensitive papers, and her passport. By nearly miraculous circumstances, a few days later her briefcase was recovered. Everything that was valuable by the world’s standards—the money, the credit cards, and anything else that could be hocked—was gone. But to her delight and relief, all of her personal papers and passport had been undisturbed. Though it was inconvenient and costly, she was able to replace everything the thieves took. Ironically, those things that were of greatest value to her—things that money could not buy—were returned.

Can you remember the last time you wore your old snow boots, the ones that are now a size or two too small? How about those cross-trainers you bought and then decided that you really needed running shoes instead?
Youth in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, knew that there were plenty of perfectly good pairs of shoes in the closets of the members in their stake, shoes that were going to waste. So they requested donations from each ward and were overwhelmed when 1,200 pairs of shoes arrived at the stake center. But after the initial shock wore off, the youth got to work cleaning, polishing, and disinfecting the shoes for people who might otherwise go barefoot.
“The most enjoyable thing was to think that we’re sending these shoes to someone who really needs them,” says Paula Williams, a Laurel from the Lakeland First Ward.
The shoes are now being distributed to orphans in Romania and other countries. Shoes and boots were also donated to local charities in the Coeur d’Alene area.

Recently I lost my niece to cervical cancer during the pandemic. We were raised like siblings. She was a critical part of my life. In her last moments of earthly life, I had gone to lay down for a minute after having been up for most of two days with her. The family was gathered at her bedside in the living room, talking and laughing. I set my alarm for 1 hour to get some sleep but not be too far away to check on her. Someone, with words as clear as I am speaking to you now but with no physical body, told me to get up. My alarm still had ten minutes on it. I was so tired. I got up and went into the next room.

I walked out to see my family and friends telling me that it wouldn’t be long as they lovingly looked to her bed. I walked over to her and felt the need to place my hand on her shoulder. In that very moment, as I touched her, she passed. She needed me to come out and be with her body as she left it.

When I joined the Church, I didn’t fully understand the deep significance of the law of tithing. However, I knew and trusted you, Elder Dan Hawkley, and I made a promise to you to pay tithing. I could tell you were anxious that I should keep that promise.
In 1964 there was only one mission in Japan, the Northern Far East Mission. A few months after you taught me, you were transferred to a place far away from my small branch. As you left by express train, these were your parting words: “Dear Brother Hotta, pay your tithing and keep the Sabbath day holy.”
I could not forget the challenge I had been given. However, to be honest, I must admit that I was anxious to buy a beautiful and glittering Japanese Bible like the one you had. I wanted it to help me remember what I had been taught, as well as to remember the elder who had helped to teach me. But it was too expensive for me to buy one.
I reasoned that if I didn’t pay my tithing, I could obtain the Bible. Satan spoke in a whisper: “Buy it. It’s your money. Don’t worry.”
But, dear elder, I couldn’t forget your challenge. I knew it had come through the power of the holy priesthood and the Holy Spirit. I didn’t buy that Bible. I paid my tithing instead. And because I overcame that challenge, I came to really understand the meaning of tithing as a covenant between the Lord and myself.
A few months later, the postman paid us a visit. He left a gift parcel for me. It was the size of a cake box. I opened the package and removed the Japanese Bible, beautiful and glittering, that you had sent me as a wonderful gift. I cried for joy at your deep love. Then I saw your note written on an inside page of the book:
“Dear Brother Hotta, hope you had a Merry Christmas. The work is really going well here in Gunma. Study hard. You can make elder real soon now. Do me a favor and try to make it to the temple in Hawaii. Isn’t the gospel wonderful? Love, Elder Dan Hawkley.”
Ever since that time, I have always paid my tithing. I have also been to the temple with my companion. And part of the reason I have been able to do so is because of the challenges and promises you made to me as a representative of the Lord.

Later in the same year we were married, we jointly decided I should enlist in the Navy, and off I went to San Diego for basic training, the indoctrination phase. Boot camp was a rude awakening, and I was convinced I had made the worst decision of my life. That first night as they played Taps on the loudspeakers across the base to signify “Lights out,” it felt like I was at a funeral, my funeral because I felt nigh unto death! I missed my wife terribly, and I silently wept in my rack as I heard others sobbing around me in the open bay barracks where we slept. What have I done? Taps still bring tears to my eyes when I hear them.

Reveille in the morning came early and loudly as metal trash cans were thrown down the passageway followed by angry yelling to get up and get moving, in very colorful language. Our leaders were working quickly to break us down and weed out the weak. In a few days, the haircuts that left us with less hair than we were born with and dungaree uniforms fresh out of a World War II poster began to transform the look and behavior of this ragtag group of civilians into the beginnings of a military unit. We commissioned Recruit Company 263, and I was the guidon bearer assigned to carry the company flag whenever we were in formation.

This is when I began to appreciate Heavenly Father’s tender mercies. As the guidon bearer, I needed to be the first man out in the morning for the company to fall in behind, so my rack was in the best location in the barracks; first one in the door, bottom bunk. Then, the company commander, a Chief Petty Officer, took me aside to tell me that he was a member of the Church and if I ever needed a blessing, he was there for me. Of all the company assignments or company commanders I could have ended up with, Heavenly Father made sure I knew that He knew who and where I was, and He was watching over me.

Sunday came, and I made my way to church. A missionary couple conducted the meeting, and you could not find a humbler group of sailors pleading for grace and mercy than that small bunch of Latter-day Saint recruits. The opening hymn was #250, We Are All Enlisted. The irony of the statement was too thick to ignore, but before we began singing, the sister missionary was kind enough to make important corrections to the words of the hymn.

“We are all enlisted till the conflict is o’er; Happy are we! Happy are we! (we weren’t that happy)
Sailors in the Navy, there’s a bright crown in store; We shall win and wear it by and by.
Haste to the battle, quick to the sea; Truth is our helmet, buckler, and shield.
Stand by our colors; proudly they wave! We’re joyfully, joyfully sailing to our home.”

Hymn #250, Text: Anon., The New Golden Chain, New York, 1866
Music: William B. Bradbury, 1816–1868

We sang with great enthusiasm, having the false doctrine of the Army erased from our hymnbook! I still sing hymn #250 this way today.

The sacrament hymn was #98, I Need Thee Every Hour. Truer words were never spoken or sung. Oh, how we needed the Savior every hour, every minute of every hour. That church meeting was a tender mercy, and it saved me. I knew that day that God knew what I needed and that I was going to be okay, and so was my wife back home. Boot camp got a whole lot easier after that first sacrament meeting. Enduring the indoctrination into the service and the separation from my wife, who was expecting our first child, was still hard, but not as hard as it could have been.

We had the blessing of having children. A daughter, the first child, continues to be an enormous blessing in our lives. A couple of years later a son we named Richard was born. A few years later a daughter was born. She died after living only a few minutes.
Our son, Richard, was born with a heart defect. We were told that unless that could be cured, there was little probability that he would live more than two or three years. This was so long ago that techniques now used to repair such defects were unknown. We had the blessing of having a place where doctors agreed to attempt to perform the needed surgery. The surgery had to be done while his little heart was beating.
The surgery was performed just six weeks after the birth and death of our baby daughter. When the operation finished, the principal surgeon came in and said it was a success. And we thought, “How wonderful! Our son will have a strong body, be able to run and walk and grow!” We expressed deep gratitude to the Lord. Then about 10 minutes later, the same doctor came in with an ashen face and told us, “Your son has died.” Apparently the shock of the operation was more than his little body could endure.
Later, during the night, I embraced my wife and said to her, “We do not need to worry, because our children were born in the covenant. We have the assurance that we will have them with us in the future. Now we have a reason to live extremely well. We have a son and a daughter who have qualified to go to the celestial kingdom because they died before the age of eight.” That knowledge has given us great comfort. We rejoice in the knowledge that all seven of our children are sealed to us for time and all eternity.

Elder Melvin J. Ballard recounted a manifestation in this regard where he was embraced by the Savior and felt his love grow:

He put His arms around me and kissed me, as He took me into His bosom, and He blessed me until my whole being was thrilled . . . with deep joy swelling through my whole being, I felt that I was in heaven indeed. The feeling that came to my heart then was: Oh if I could live worthy . . . so that in the end when I have finished I could go into His presence and receive the feeling that I then had in His presence, I would give everything that I am and ever hope to be.[41]

As a young man growing up in South Africa, I was blessed with a beautiful vegetable garden. It brought forth plentifully. Among the wonders of the garden were three lovely eggplants. Each was over three feet tall and produced large purple fruit of the highest quality.
One warm summer day I entered the garden to examine the plants and tend to the garden. Imagine my surprise as I approached the formidable eggplants to discover that one was missing! Upon closer examination I found only a short stem; the rest of the plant, leaves and all, was no-where to be seen. By and by I located the culprit: a six-inch armored caterpillar sporting bright yellow spots on each of its green segments. In a few short days it had consumed the entire plant. On that day my reaction was, “What a nasty, destructive caterpillar!” However, since then my understanding of science and the Creation has grown. I now understand that this was a necessary part of the caterpillar’s life cycle so that it could reach its full potential.
This concept of a metamorphosis interested me as a young boy: the possibility that a creature could change its appearance and abilities by obtaining nourishment and spending some time in a cocoon. The large caterpillar that ate my eggplant would become a beautiful butterfly. Instead of its slow crawling, it would soon fly. Instead of burdening my garden, it would soon contribute to the garden’s beauty and fruitfulness as it visited each flower in search of nectar, thus aiding pollination.

John Powell shares this touching experience:
It was the day my father died. . . . In the small hospital room, I was supporting him in my arms, when . . . my father slumped back, and I lowered his head gently onto the pillow. I . . . told my mother . . . :
“It’s all over, Mom. Dad is dead.”
She startled me. I will never know why these were her first words to me after his death. My mother said: “Oh, he was so proud of you. He loved you so much.”
Somehow I knew . . . that these words were saying something very important to me. They were like a sudden shaft of light, like a startling thought I had never before absorbed. Yet there was a definite edge of pain, as though I were going to know my father better in death than I had ever known him in life.
Later, while a doctor was verifying death, I was leaning against the wall in the far corner of the room, crying softly. A nurse came over to me and put a comforting arm around me. I couldn’t talk through my tears. I wanted to tell her: “I’m not crying because my father is dead. I’m crying because my father never told me that he loved me. Of course, I was expected to know these things. I was expected to know the great part I played in his life and the great part I occupied in his heart, but he never told me.” Never once a thank-you.

It worried me when I noticed that my good friend was not coming to church anymore. Her close friend, I found, had recently passed away, and she was beginning to doubt. One day I invited her to a party with some girls from church. I made it a goal to bring up the Church once. After the others left, we talked about various Church topics that I would have never thought to talk to her about. I learned that by doing my part, the Lord will take care of the rest. All we need to do is open our mouths (see D&C 28:16).
Rebecca T., 16, Washington

One day at school, my friends were making fun of a girl. I was trying to be nice to her because she had it kind of rough, and lots of kids were mean to her. When the bell rang at the end of the day, my friends said, “Hey, let’s get her coat before she gets it and throw it in the boys’ bathroom.”
I knew that this would not be nice and that it would make the girl feel very bad. I thought about what Jesus would want me to do, and I told them that it would not be a nice thing to do. They did it anyway, and it made me feel very bad.
The girl was really sad and asked them to get it back. They just laughed and ran off.
I told the girl that I was sorry they were so mean to her and that she was my friend. I got her coat for her. I’m glad I stuck up for her. I know that I did what Jesus would want me to do, and I am very glad.