Gospel Story Finder

My father passed away in an untimely accident when I was a young man. It was a great loss to our family and to others who loved him. He was very devoted to his work as foreman of a large orchard, to Church service, and to his family and mankind. Sometimes it was hard for me to share him with others, and it was difficult to understand the impact of his life on others. At his passing, many in the Church and in the rest of the community graciously expressed their gratitude for his good life of service. But none had greater impact than the humble Hispanic migrant farm worker who knocked on our door. None of the family really knew him. Many of his circumstances, beliefs, and choices in life were very different from ours. However, he forcefully yet humbly expressed that my father had treated him unusually—with dignity, respect, concern, and love. This man talked about how much he had loved my father in return. I only wish this man could know how much this simple expression of appreciation and gratitude has meant and continues to mean to me and my family.

Across the clearing Roxie saw a group of women and girls entering the new big house. She thought of how Brother Garn had teased her the night before. “See, Miss Roxie,” he had said, “I fixed a special hook here by the new fireplace for that fancy ‘gold’ bucket of yours.”

Roxie had smiled, for she didn’t mind being teased about her brass bucket. It was one of the few things that her mother had been able to bring from her home in England when Grandma and Grandpa had settled in Nauvoo.

As Roxie entered the big house and crossed to the doorway of the kitchen beyond, her eye went to her little bucket hanging there on its peg. It does shine like gold, she thought with satisfaction.

Some of the older women were preparing the veal in roasting pans to go into the big rock oven. A couple of others were kneading the dough that had been slowly rising under its clean folded flour sack through the night. Then Roxie noticed Sister Lewis ladling thick cream, from a pan of milk she had set out the night before, into the big wooden churn. Roxie crossed over to her and picked up the butter dasher without waiting to be asked. Churning gave her time to watch all that was being done to prepare for the feast.

The sun had reached the cloth-covered windows on the west, and the savory smells of hot meats and vegetables mingled with those of molasses cakes. At last the settlers gathered around the long tables in their new main room. Gratefully they bowed their heads for the Lord’s blessing. This was their first feast.

Everyone was so busy passing around the big pans of food that no one paid much attention to the dogs’ excited barking outside. Then one of the men near the doorway rose and pushed aside the blanket that served as a door. He caught his breath quickly, and the others crowded around him.

There in the clearing was a band of Navajos, mounted on their long-maned horses. Standing out from the rest of the group was Chief Comazzy on his fine buckskin pony with its silver-trimmed Spanish saddle. Beside him was a young woman.

Roxie’s father was among the first of the men to go out to meet the unexpected guests and lead them to the bowery to rest. The women scurried around inside the house now, worrying whether they had enough food and eating utensils to serve the new arrivals. Sister Hatch found a clean sheet in the big chest and told Roxie and Polly to set the worktable in the adjoining kitchen for the Indians. She helped the girls find and wash more tin plates and cups.

The men led the group of newcomers through the main room into the kitchen, but in the doorway Comazzy stopped. His eyes took in the scene. Then a curious thing happened. Comazzy turned around, jerked his head for the others to follow, and strode out of the room toward his horse.

The settlers were stunned. It was Roxie’s father who first thought to run out and catch hold of their horses’ bridles as they were whirling them around to leave.

Roxie and the others watched the excited gestures. They were able to understand Comazzy’s mixture of Spanish and English. He was insulted that he was to eat in the kitchen where women should eat.

“Comazzy, please believe us!” Roxie’s father said. “We intended no insult by the seating arrangements. Come back. We really are your brothers!” He took out his pocket watch and extended it toward the chief as a peace offering.

Comazzy stared straight ahead like a statue. The other Indians sat as though made of stone.

Suddenly Roxie thought of her treasure and ran to fetch it. She felt a pang in her heart as she lifted the precious little brass bucket down from its peg. But she hurried outside with it and went straight to the chief’s young bride and held it up to her.

A hush fell over the watchers. Then slowly, as if in a spell, the dark-skinned girl stretched out a slender bracelet-spangled arm for the shiny little bucket! At a signal from the chief, one of the braves swung down from his pony, took the offered prize, and fastened it to the young girl’s saddle.

The tension was broken. Now everyone tried to talk at once. Sister Hatch nudged Roxie and motioned her to come back inside. The Indians were once more led to the bowery. The women and girls hurried to rearrange the tables and reheat the food.

Roxie’s father escorted Comazzy back inside and ushered him to the head of the main table. Roxie glanced over to where the Indian ponies were tied under the trees. She could see the golden glint of her little brass bucket tied to the saddle. She wished she could go over and just once more rub a finger along its satiny side.

Before she hurried inside, Roxie paused for a moment. She listened to the joyful cries of the little children playing down the path and to the breeze that was starting to rustle through the leaves by the river. Rays of gold and scarlet were starting to streak across the heavens to the west. Roxie brushed back the tears, took a deep breath of the cooling desert air, and went inside to the feast.

My dear brethren and sisters, since our last general conference, my sweetheart—my beloved wife for 59 years—passed away. While I was at home on a rare Saturday with no assignment, we had worked together. She had washed our clothing. I had helped to carry it, fold it, and put it in place. Then while we were sitting on the sofa, holding hands, enjoying a program on television, my precious Dantzel slipped peacefully into eternity. Her passing came suddenly and unexpectedly. Just four days earlier, our doctor’s report at a routine checkup indicated that her laboratory tests were good. After my efforts to revive her proved fruitless, feelings of shock and sorrow overwhelmed me. My closest friend, angel mother of our 10 children, grandmother of our 56 grandchildren, had been taken from us.
With deep gratitude, I acknowledge the tremendous outpouring of love from dear friends across the world. Countless letters, calls, cards, and other messages have been sent. All tributes expressed loving admiration for her and sympathy for us whom she left behind. Those messages came in such large numbers that we, regretfully, were unable to respond to all of them individually. May I thank each and all for your great kindness toward us. Thank you so very, very much. Your expressions have brought much comfort through this time of heartache for our family. We really love dear Dantzel! We miss her!

For Aaron Curley from Wallsburg, Utah, prayer became a source of comfort and inspiration after he incorporated the prophet’s counsel into his life.

“When President Hinckley gave us the talk for the youth I really did not know for myself that praying has a comforting spirit. I started to think that the only way I would know that prayer works would be by trying it out. Now I know that I have the Spirit with me during my day. On top of that I find that it is easier to resist temptation. For me it has changed my life to the point where I am going on a mission, and before I did not know if I wanted to. By living these simple things I now have a stronger testimony of Christ. I know He lives and will come again.”

I was in Charlotte, North Carolina, attending a zone conference, and Reggie, a young black university student, came to the conference. He had on a new pair of Levi’s that still had the four pieces of thread where the price tag had been. He wasn’t doing very well financially. He had bought them for the zone conference and had on a white shirt and tie that I think the missionaries loaned him. In a discussion he said to me, “I was taught two or three discussions. After the discussions they invited me to church. When I got to church Satan met me outside the door and he said, ‘You can’t go in there. That is a white man’s church.’ Satan tried to play the ‘colors’ game on me.”

That was interesting to me because Reggie said he went inside because he knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet, that the Book of Mormon was true, and that he had found more love and caring than he had known before. He said he felt like a poor beggar who had stumbled upon a field of diamonds and wanted to share with everyone he met.

I live in Chile and have been a member of the Church since I was eight. I have always known that I was in the true Church, and I felt I had a testimony of the Book of Mormon, but it was a borrowed testimony. Although I wanted to, I had never read the Book of Mormon all the way through. I had never read further than 1 Nephi.
On the night of July 4, 2002, my friend and I attended our Book of Mormon institute class. We stayed after class talking until we noticed that it had gotten late. We began walking home around 10:15, and when we got to the place where we were to split up, we stopped and continued to talk.
Two men passed by and asked us what time it was, but we were so involved in our conversation that we barely heard them. Suddenly they came back. One of them threw his arms around me, putting a knife to my neck. Then he let me go and threatened my friend. The other man asked us for money, and when we said we didn’t have any, they were furious. They demanded our jackets and backpacks.
I had wanted this jacket for a long time and had finally been able to buy it a month before. And I loved my backpack, which my older brother had given me. My friend had homework assignments in her backpack that she needed to turn in. I was really scared—almost frozen in place. It was the first time I had ever been robbed.
Without hesitation we gave them our things. But suddenly I said, “Wait! Please let me take out my Book of Mormon! It’s the only thing of value I have.” The thief gave me a strange look and let me take it out. Then they fled.
I hugged the book and didn’t care about anything else. I felt peace because I had rescued this precious book from two criminals.
That night I decided to show greater appreciation for this treasure of mine and for all the sacrifices made by the people who had brought it to light. I started to read it, and I began to feel an indescribable peace and a spectacular joy. All of a sudden it was worth so much more to me. I finished it two months later, and I finally gained a testimony of the book for myself.
I still don’t know where I got the courage to ask for my book back, but I’ll never be sorry that I did. I don’t harbor any ill feelings toward the men because through that experience I gained the testimony I desired.
That testimony helped motivate me to serve a mission. I am now home from serving in Argentina, where I was able to tell people about the Book of Mormon and share with them how marvelous this work truly is.

Each time I would visit an older widow whom I had known for many years and whose bishop I had been, my heart grieved at her utter loneliness. A favorite son of hers lived many miles away, and for years he had not visited Mother. Mattie spent long hours in a lonely vigil at her front window. Behind a frayed and frequently opened curtain, the disappointed mother would say to herself, “Dick will come; Dick will come.”

But Dick didn’t come. The years passed by one after another. Then, like a ray of sunshine, Church activity came into the life of Dick. He journeyed to Salt Lake to visit with me. He telephoned upon his arrival and, with excitement, reported the change in his life. He asked if I had time to see him if he were to come directly to my office. My response was one of gladness. However, I said, “Dick, visit your mother first, and then come to see me.” He gladly complied with my request.

Before he could get to my office, there came a phone call from Mattie, his mother. From a joyful heart came words punctuated by tears: “Tom, I knew Dick would come. I told you he would. I saw him through the window.”

Years later at Mattie’s funeral, Dick and I spoke tenderly of that experience. We had witnessed a glimpse of God’s healing power through the window of a mother’s faith in her son.

A short time ago I attended the funeral of a friend’s son. Earlier in the week, the young man was traveling home late at night with friends when the driver of another car fell asleep. The second car crossed the median and smashed head-on into the first. The accident occurred with such swiftness that few, if any, brake marks showed on the highway and both cars were demolished. The accident took three lives, including my friend’s seventeen-year-old son.

Second, death reminds us that there is a spirit in man. As we viewed the remains of our young friend, it was obvious that more than blood had left his body. The light of his spirit no longer animated his facial expression or twinkled in his eyes. He too had given up the ghost, but at a tender, young age.

Another lesson taught by death concerns the importance of eternal families. Just as there are parents to greet a newborn on earth, the scriptures teach that caring family members greet the spirits in paradise and assist them in the adjustments to a new life (see Gen. 25:8; 35:29; 49:33). While I was standing before the casket, the thought came that separation was not only a shock for the parents but also for the young man as he suddenly found himself on the other side of the veil. I suspect that he would like to tell his parents once more how much he loves them. Brothers and sisters, heaven only exists if families are eternal.

Death teaches that we do not experience a fulness of joy in mortality and that everlasting joy can be achieved only with the assistance of the Master (see D&C 93:33–34). Just as the lame man at the pool of Bethesda needed someone stronger than himself to be healed (see John 5:1–9), so we are dependent on the miracles of Christ’s atonement if our souls are to be made whole from grief, sorrow, and sin. If grieving parents and loved ones have faith in the Savior and his plan, death’s sting is softened as Jesus bears the believers’ grief and comforts them through the Holy Spirit. Through Christ, broken hearts are mended and peace replaces anxiety and sorrow. Last week I received a letter from the boy’s parents telling me of the peace they have found through their faith in Christ. They know that they will see their son again and be with him in the eternities. As Isaiah stated concerning the Savior, “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: … And with his stripes we are healed” (Isa. 53:4–5).

Young women in the Mansfield Ward, Arlington Texas Stake, worked countless hours to produce this stained glass nativity scene. After the work was completed, the nativity was displayed in their ward meetinghouse so that the whole ward could enjoy it. Martha Kate Downey, a nonmember in the area, helped the girls produce the beautiful work. In return, they gave her the gift of a Book of Mormon with their testimonies written inside the front cover.

The following personal experience integrates several of the points I have attempted to emphasize today. Every time I contemplate this event, I am moved by how kind the Lord is in answering our pleas for help. It occurred some time ago when I had responsibilities in Mexico and Central America that were far beyond my personal capacity to fulfil. I spent much sincere effort in seeking guidance and understanding from the Lord in study, prayer, fasting, and anxious service. Help came unexpectedly one Sunday as I attended a meeting where a humble, unschooled, Mexican priesthood leader struggled to communicate truths of the gospel identified in his lesson manual. It was obvious they had touched his life profoundly. I felt his intense desire to communicate those principles because they would be of great worth to his brethren. In his manner there was evidence of a pure love of the Savior and love for those he taught.

That love, sincerity, and purity of intent permitted a spirit to envelop the room. I was so touched that in addition to receiving again a witness of the truths he presented, I began to receive some personal impressions as an extension of those principles taught by the humble instructor. These impressions, intended for me personally, were related to my assignments in the area. They came in answer to my prolonged efforts to learn.

As each impression came, I wrote it down. I was given precious truths needed for me to be more effective. The specific counsel began with this impression: “Continue to build the Church on the foundation of true principles, but with increased expression of love and appreciation for the great Lamanite people.” There followed matters of great benefit to me.

Next I visited the Sunday School class, where a well-educated individual presented his lesson. That experience was a striking contrast to that of the priesthood meeting. It seemed as though the instructor had purposely chosen obscure references and unusual examples to illustrate the principles in the lesson. I will confess that I had the distinct impression that he was using the teaching opportunity to impress the class with his vast store of knowledge. He did not seem as intent on communicating truth as the humble priesthood leader had been.

This experience also created an environment where strong impressions flowed. I wrote them down. One paragraph began, “Testify to instruct, edify, and lead others to full obedience, not to demonstrate anything of self. All who are puffed up shall be cut off.” Another signaled, “You are nothing in and of yourself, Richard.” That was followed with some specific counsel on how to be a better servant. The impressions became so personal that I felt it inappropriate to record them in the midst of a Sunday School class. I sought a more private location. There I continued to write the feelings that flooded into my mind and heart as accurately and as faithfully as possible. After each powerful impression was recorded, I meditated upon it and pondered the feelings I had received to determine if I had accurately interpreted them. Then I studied their meaning and application in my own personal life.

Subsequently I prayed, expressing to the Lord what I thought I had felt. There came a feeling of peace and serenity when it was confirmed. I asked if there was yet more that I should be given to understand. There came further impressions, and the process was repeated until I received the most precious, specific direction for which I will ever be grateful.

This event embodies several principles I feel are true regarding communication from the Lord to his children here on earth. I believe that we often do not learn the truths the Lord would freely share because we do not in humility earnestly seek light. We also can leave the most precious personal direction of the Spirit unheard because we do not strive to understand, value, use, remember, and expand the first promptings that come to us when we are in need or when impressions come in response to earnest, intense prayer.

Some years ago, as our youngest son, Clark, was approaching his twelfth birthday, he and I were leaving the Church Administration Building when President Harold B. Lee approached and greeted us. I mentioned to President Lee that Clark would soon be twelve, whereupon President Lee turned to him and asked, “What happens to you when you turn twelve?”
Clark, without hesitation, said to President Lee, “I will be ordained a deacon!”
That was the answer President Lee had sought. He then counseled our son, “Remember, it is a great blessing to hold the priesthood.”

“I met a prophet once,” I told my friend. “He was a highly respected businessman, a wonderful husband and father, a devoted citizen. Even though I wa a child when I met him, I knew that he was a true prophet of God.”
The place was Hamburg, Germany—the year, 1937. President Heber J. Grant was touring the European missions. The branch of the Church to which my family belonged met in a rented hall in a soap factory, squeezed into a back alley of a thickly populated industrial district. Here people from all the northern and western districts of Germany had assembled to see and hear the prophet speak.
A gifted poet in our branch had written a long poem for the occasion, and I had been chosen to greet President Grant and recite it. The night before the prophet’s visit, my mother came to my room to say good night. “Tomorrow you will shake hands with a prophet of God,” she said. “What a great privilege that is! I am sure it is because of your faith that you have been asked.”
I was glad it was dark in my room so my mother could not notice my despair. The minute she left my bedside, I prayed, begging my Heavenly Father to forgive my sins and help me be worthy to meet the prophet. My mother spent half the night at the sewing machine, finishing a lovely new dress for me to wear. Normally, this would have excited me tremendously, but not now. I felt that the prophet would be able to see into my heart, and that he would know of my sins and of how vain I was.
The next day in school seemed like a nightmare. Every time I looked at the big clock on the wall, I panicked about how little time I had left to repent of all my misdeeds! I was very withdrawn, and my school friends thought I was ill. I preferred to let them think that way instead of letting them know my secret.
Finally the hour arrived. After President Grant was welcomed, I was to hand him a large bouquet of long-stemmed roses and then recite the poem with the aid of an interpreter.
The floor beneath me shook as I walked toward President Grant. With each breath, I had been praying. Now there was nothing I could do but go ahead.
When President Grant saw me, he rose from his chair. He seemed as tall as a mountain. His friendly eyes looked deeply into mine as he stretched forth his arms and pulled me toward him. My entire body went numb, and the bouquet dropped to the floor. President Grant bent down to retrieve the roses for me. Then he hugged me and stroked my head, waiting patiently until I was ready to begin.
Suddenly all my fear vanished, and I felt an indescribable happiness. I had always pictured my Father in Heaven as loving, kind, and sensitive, and it was natural that his prophet would have all those qualities that were so dear to me. From then on, I knew that I would always be able to recognize a true prophet—by the love and concern he shows for our Heavenly Father’s children.

“I love the Personal Progress program. I have learned to do things I never knew I could,” says Mindy Sutton of the Twenty Wells Ward. Mindy believed a choir experience would help the youth in her Grantsville Utah Stake feel the Spirit in their lives, and Mindy needed a Laurel project. So she organized and directed a choir for stake Standards Night.
But the task wasn’t easy. Mindy says although she loves music, she has no natural ability. In fact, she was very discouraged after the first practice. “It was so hard to be in front of my peers trying to tell them what to do. But my stake leaders encouraged me to pray for help and promised the Lord would bless me.”
She went home and fasted and prayed. Her prayers were answered when the choir’s outstanding performance two months later not only brought the Spirit into the choir members’ lives but inspired those in attendance.
“I feel a lot closer to my Heavenly Father and know He has helped me so much,” Mindy says.

He was too young to remember when they had crossed the plains in the covered wagon to Utah. Louisa remembered, though.

“Mother and Father packed our clothes, quilts, pots and pans, dishes, food, and everything else they could into the wagon. I put in my doll and helped with some of the smaller things. Father hitched the oxen to the wagon and we started on our long journey. I’d never seen oxen before. They looked like big brown cows to me.”

“What about the sea gulls, Louisa?” Thomas didn’t like to hear about the hard times they had traveling to their new home in the mountains.

“When we first came to Utah, I helped Father and Mother plant the seeds in the ground. It took Father two days to break the hard ground before we could plant the seeds. All day we worked and dropped a seed at a time on the ground.”

“Where was I?” asked Thomas.

“You wouldn’t remember because you were only a baby then and had just learned to walk,” Louisa answered quietly. “Anyway, when the new plants were just coming up, about this high,” Louisa measured with her fingers, “some crickets came and began eating them. More and more crickets came.”

“What are crickets?”

“Thomas, you know what crickets are. They are those shiny black bugs. They scrape their wings together to make a squeaky sound at night,” Louisa answered.

“Oh. Tell me about the sea gulls.”

Louisa began her story again. “Everyone got sticks and shovels and whatever they could find and began beating the crickets. But more crickets came. Finally, the people gave up. They couldn’t kill all the crickets. They were going to eat up all the food we planted.”

“When did the sea gulls come?” Thomas asked.

“Father and Mother and the rest of the people prayed to our Heavenly Father that the crops would be saved from the hungry crickets. And it wasn’t long until we were surprised to hear a noise in the sky. I looked up and saw sea gulls. At first they looked like more crickets. I hadn’t seen any sea gulls here before, although I used to watch them on the ocean before we came west in the wagon.”

“The sea gulls came to the ground and ate up the crickets,” Louisa continued. “No one had really noticed them in the valley before. Some people say they were here all the time. But I think Heavenly Father sent them to us when the people prayed. What do you think, Thomas?”

A Church member in Texas, USA, shared this experience:
“During Relief Society one day, a sister I had never seen in church before shared how she felt like women in Relief Society were hypocritical and exclusive. After the meeting, she left so fast I couldn’t catch her.
“After church, I went to her home. I introduced myself and said I appreciated her comments in Relief Society and wanted to hear more about her concerns. She talked, and I listened. I expressed my love for her and her family and asked if I could visit her again.
“I took the assignment to serve as her visiting teacher. Over time, as I came to understand her concerns better, we began talking about her doctrinal questions. Her children started coming to church. Then she started coming with them. I admire her courage and perseverance. She has become one of my dearest friends.”

But another day with my father shaped my life forever. He took me from New Jersey to the home of an ordained patriarch in Salt Lake City. I had never seen the man before. My father left me at the doorstep. The patriarch led me to a chair, placed his hands on my head, and pronounced a blessing as a gift from God that included a declaration of the great desire of my heart.
He said that I was one of those of whom it had been said, “Blessed are the peacemakers.” [Matthew 5:9.] I was so surprised that a perfect stranger could know my heart that I opened my eyes to see the room where such a miracle was happening. That blessing of my possibilities has shaped my life, my marriage, and my priesthood service.

“Get up, Kevin.”
I looked over to the other side of the room at my brother’s bed. He lay asleep, curled up tightly in the blankets against the early dawn cold. This morning ritual had begun a year before, when Dad traded half the rabbits, complete with cages, for a milk goat. Each morning it was my job to milk her while Kevin fed her and cleaned out her pen.
“What time is it?” Kevin asked as he got up and dressed, noticing the light filtering into the room.
“It’s 6:30.” I was fully clothed and standing by my dresser, putting on my coat and knit cap. The coat smelled of alfalfa hay and dried milk.
“Hi, Mom,” we said in unison as we walked downstairs. I opened the back door, grabbing the clean steel milking pail on our way out. As we walked toward the barn, we noticed that water from the lake had vaporized into a thin fog that drifted across the nearby horse pastures. The ground, just beginning to thaw, felt like thick peanut butter on our boots.
“Kevin, what do you want for your birthday?” I asked. For the past two days I had been trying to think of what to get my almost seven-year-old brother. I didn’t have any money to buy a present, and there was no snow to shovel to earn a few dollars.
“I don’t know,” Kevin said as he scooped up some alfalfa pellets and poured them into a container by the milking stand. “Why don’t you do my chores for me tomorrow morning?” He was referring to a tradition in our family—on your birthday, other members of the family did your chores for you.
“OK.” But I wanted to get him something else, something more than what we always did.
“Tim and Kevin,” Dad called, “it’s time for breakfast.”
After leading the goat back to her pen, we carried the milk into the house, placed it on the counter, and sat down to eat. The steaming hot cereal, cooled by yesterday’s milk, tasted sweet because of the honey and raisins Mom had added to it.
“Time for school,” Mom said when we had finished eating. After grabbing our schoolbooks, we returned to the living room for family prayer; then we left for school.
Kevin’s elementary school was just under three kilometers away, while I had to walk only one kilometer to the middle school. Each day Kevin silently wished we lived half a kilometer to the south, making him eligible to ride the school bus that picked up many of his classmates. On most mornings, we saw them entering the bus at the beginning of its route. Kevin would stop, watch for a moment, then continue walking, most of the time arriving at his school long after the bus had dropped off its passengers. It was a cruel part of his day, especially on snowy or really cold winter mornings.
“See you later,” I said, watching him walk away when we reached my school.
All day I thought more about his birthday. I remembered last summer when he had weeded all of the neighbor’s vegetable garden to earn money to buy me a present. It was a small, single-bladed pocketknife he had bought secondhand at a thrift store. He had removed the rust with steel wool, then shined the blade and the handle with silver polish.
That night when I said my prayers, I asked Heavenly Father to help me find Kevin a gift.
After a fitful sleep, I awoke before the morning light entered our bedroom. I dressed quietly in the darkness and glanced over to see Kevin wrapped in his blankets. I tiptoed downstairs and outside.
The landscape had changed from the morning before. A snowstorm had arrived, and the snow blew around me. A little blew into the house before I could close the door. I hurried to the barn, wanting to complete the morning chores quickly.
Just as I finished, I noticed something tucked into a corner of the barn. I hadn’t seen it since summer, and it gave me an idea for Kevin’s birthday.
I quickly ran back to the house to drop off the milk; then I grabbed a bucket of warm, soapy water and some old rags and carried them out to the barn. The dust of winter and the rust from the dampness made cleaning difficult, but I kept working. Finally the call for breakfast came.
The smell of bacon and pancakes, food reserved for Sundays and other special days, met me at the door. We sat and ate, Kevin happy because of his seventh birthday. I was nervous, hoping he would like my present for him.
“Time for school,” Mom said as Kevin finished the last pancake. After family prayer, we went out into the gray snowstorm.
“Kevin, I have a present for you. It’s in the barn.” He followed me around the house and into the barn.
There stood our old red wagon, washed clean and polished with wax. A small wool blanket covered the bottom, and on the side of the wagon I had carefully painted “School Bus” with some old house paint.
“Get in, Kevin. You don’t have to walk to school today. This is your bus.”
His face lit up, and he scrambled in. I put another blanket around him so he would stay warm.
I pulled the wagon out of the barn, past the house, and onto the snow-packed road. Mom and Dad stood on the porch, watching the delight on Kevin’s face.
“Everyone off!” I yelled as we pulled onto the sidewalk in front of the entrance to Kevin’s school. I tried to sound like a bus driver, and he laughed with me at my attempt. I hurried back down the road with the wagon, and once I arrived at my own school, I hid it in some bushes.
When the final bell rang, I ran outside, rescued the wagon from the bushes, and hurried back to the elementary school.
I arrived just after the school’s bell rang. Kevin quickly came out with two excited friends. “Tim, can they come with us?”
“Sure,” I said. “Everybody ’booooard,” I yelled. Kevin climbed in first; the other two squeezed in behind him.
By the time I pulled the wagon to the second boy’s home, I was really tired.
“Tim, I’ll pull you the rest of the way home,” Kevin offered.
“No, it’s your birthday. I want to do this.” That night as I got into bed, I felt too tired to pray. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been more tired. My legs and back ached, and my hands were sore and blistered from gripping the wagon handle. I lay in the darkness, thinking about the presents Kevin had received from Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, and me. Just before I drifted off to sleep, I heard, “Tim?”
“Yeah.”
“Out of all the presents I got today, yours was the best.”
“Thanks,” I said. Then I remembered my prayer from the night before. I crawled out of bed, knelt on the cold wood floor, and thanked Heavenly Father for helping me find my brother a birthday gift.

Sister Rhonda Patten Grow experienced the gift of tongues in a way familiar to many missionaries. When her husband was called from the United States to be a mission president in Uruguay, she was afraid she couldn’t learn to speak Spanish. But gradually, with the help of members, she finally learned to bear her testimony in Spanish. She was amazed, however, at how much more she could say when under the influence of the Spirit. “In fact, the Spirit helped me so much when I spoke in meetings that the members usually assumed my Spanish was much better than it actually was.”
At one meeting, Sister Grow noticed a young woman signing for a sister who was deaf. When Sister Grow stood to speak, “it seemed as if the Spirit gave me utterance beyond my own abilities. I was filled with feelings of love for the people, and I especially noticed the smiling face of the young deaf woman looking up at me.”
Sister Grow learned later that when she began to speak, the deaf woman communicated that she no longer needed signing interpretation. She could understand Sister Grow’s message without it.

The moment I decided to be a teacher is very clear in my mind. During World War II, I was in my early 20s and a pilot in the Air Force. I was stationed on the little island of Ie Shima. This island, a small, lonely one about as big as a postage stamp, is just off the northern tip of Okinawa.

One lonely summer evening, I sat on a cliff to watch the sun go down. I was pondering what I would do with my life after the war, if I was fortunate enough to survive. What did I want to be? It was on that night that I decided I wanted to be a teacher. I reasoned that teachers are always learning. Learning is a basic purpose of life.

I first taught seminary in 1949 in Brigham City. I had been a student in that seminary in my high school days.

There were three courses originally taught in seminary: Old Testament, New Testament, and Church History. It was my privilege to add an early-morning class on the Book of Mormon. I had returned from the war with a testimony of the Book of Mormon and an understanding of how the gift of the Holy Ghost operates.

You have been taught all of your lives about the gift of the Holy Ghost, but teaching can only go so far. You can and, in fact, you must go the rest of the way alone to discover within yourself how the Holy Ghost can be a guiding and protective influence.

For young men and young women, the process is the same. Discovering how the Holy Ghost operates in your life is the quest of a lifetime. Once you have made that discovery for yourself, you can live in enemy territory and will not be deceived or destroyed. No member of this Church—and that means each of you—will ever make a serious mistake without first being warned by the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

Sometimes when you have made a mistake, you may have said afterward, “I knew I should not have done that. It did not feel right,” or perhaps, “I knew I should have done that. I just did not have the courage to act!” Those impressions are the Holy Ghost attempting to direct you toward good or warning you away from harm.

There are certain things that you must not do if the lines of communication are to remain open. You cannot lie or cheat or steal or act immorally and have those channels remain free from disruption. Do not go where the environment resists spiritual communication.

You must learn to seek the power and direction that is available to you, and then follow that course no matter what.

First on your “to do” list, put the word prayer. Most of the time, your prayers will be silent. You can think a prayer.

You can always have a direct line of communication with your Father in Heaven. Do not allow the adversary to convince you that no one is listening on the other end. Your prayers are always heard. You are never alone!

Take care of your body. Be clean. “Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?”2

Read carefully the promises found in section 89 of the Doctrine and Covenants. The Word of Wisdom does not promise perfect health but that the spiritual receptors within you might be strengthened.

Stay away from tattoos and similar things which deface your body. Your body was created in God’s image.

I want to speak now in the pattern of straight talk about another matter.

We know that gender was set in the premortal world.3 “The spirit and the body are the soul of man.”4 This matter of gender is of great concern to the Brethren, as are all matters of morality.

A few of you may have felt or been told that you were born with troubling feelings and that you are not guilty if you act on those temptations. Doctrinally we know that if that were true, your agency would have been erased, and that cannot happen. You always have a choice to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost and live a morally pure and chaste life, one filled with virtue.

President Gordon B. Hinckley announced the following in general conference: “People inquire about our position on those who consider themselves … gays and lesbians. My response is that we love them as sons and daughters of God. They may have certain inclinations which are powerful and which may be difficult to control. Most people have [temptations] of one kind or another at various times. If they do not act upon these inclinations, then they can go forward as do all other members of the Church. If they violate the law of chastity and the moral standards of the Church, then they are subject to the discipline of the Church, just as others are.

“We want to help … strengthen them, to assist them with their problems and to help them with their difficulties. But we cannot stand idle if they indulge in immoral activity, if they try to uphold and defend and live in a so-called same-sex marriage situation. To permit such would be to make light of the very serious and sacred foundation of God-sanctioned marriage and its very purpose, the rearing of families.”5

President Hinckley was speaking for the Church.

The first gift that Adam and Eve received was agency: “Thou mayest choose for thyself, for it is given unto thee.”6

You have that same agency. Use it wisely to deny acting on any impure impulse or unholy temptation that may come into your mind. Just do not go there, and if you are already there, come back out of it. “Deny yourselves of all ungodliness.”7

Do not tamper with the life-giving powers in your body alone or with members of either gender. That is the standard of the Church, and it will not change. As you mature, there is a temptation to experiment or explore immoral activities. Do not do that!

The key word is discipline—self-discipline. The word discipline comes from the word disciple or follower. Be a disciple/follower of the Savior, and you will be safe.

One or two of you may be thinking, “I am already guilty of this or that serious mistake. It is too late for me.” It is never too late.

You have been taught at home and in seminary about the Atonement of Jesus Christ. The Atonement is like an eraser. It can wipe away guilt and the effect of whatever it is that is causing you to feel guilty.

Guilt is spiritual pain. Do not suffer from chronic pain. Get rid of it. Be done with it. Repent, and, if necessary, repent again and again and again and again until you—not the enemy—are in charge of you.

Life turns out to be a succession of trials and errors. Add “repent often” to your list of things to do. This will bring you lasting peace that cannot be purchased at any earthly price. Understanding the Atonement may be the one most important truth that you can learn in your youth.

If you are associating with others who drag you down instead of building you up, stop and change company. You may be alone and lonely at times. The important question may be asked then, “When you are alone, are you in good company?”

Unwinding a habit that you have allowed to entangle you can be difficult. But the power is in you. Do not despair. The Prophet Joseph Smith taught that “all beings who have bodies have power over those who have not.”8 You can resist temptation!

It is not likely that you will ever have a personal encounter with the adversary; he does not show himself that way. But even if he came personally to you to test and tempt you, you have an advantage. You can assert your agency, and he will have to leave you alone.

You are not ordinary. You are very special. You are exceptional. How do I know that? I know that because you were born at a time and in a place where the gospel of Jesus Christ can come into your life through the teachings and activities of your home and of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is, as the Lord Himself has said, “the only true and living church upon the face of the whole earth.”9

There are other things we could add to the list, but you know what you should and should not be doing in your life. You know right and wrong and do not need to be commanded in all things.

Do not squander these years of seminary instruction. Take advantage of the great blessing you have to learn the doctrines of the Church and the teachings of the prophets. Learn that which is of most worth. It will bless you and your posterity for many generations to come.

Not many years will pass until you are married and have children, a marriage that should be sealed in the temple. Our prayer is that you will find yourself, in due time, safely settled in a family ward or branch.

Do not fear the future. Go forward with hope and faith. Remember that supernal gift of the Holy Ghost. Learn to be taught by it. Learn to seek it. Learn to live by it. Learn to pray always in the name of Jesus Christ.10 The Spirit of the Lord will attend you, and you will be blessed.

We have deep and profound faith in you.

I bear my testimony to you—a witness that came to me in my youth. And you are no different from anyone else than I am. You have as much right to that testimony and witness as anyone. It will come to you if you earn it. I invoke the blessings of the Lord upon you—the blessings of that witness to be in your life, to guide you as you make a happy future.

A young woman named Thricia felt feelings of guilt, shame, and unworthiness after doing something wrong. She began to listen to Church music, watch Church videos, and study gospel talks more intently, but the feelings didn’t go away. Eventually she decided to talk to her branch president. As she met with him, she felt the love of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ for her. Now she feels grateful that through the Savior’s Atonement, she can be forgiven of her sins and receive help to rise above her weaknesses. “What I hold on to right now is that He is always with me in this journey,” she says.