Gospel Story Finder

The next day was fast Sunday. Brother Owen was the first one up to bear his testimony. He explained that he had lost his job and his family was struggling to get by. The night before, he was getting his three daughters ready for bed. They were crying because they were hungry and there was no food. His oldest daughter, still in Primary, explained that if they prayed, Heavenly Father would bring them food.
Brother Owen was overcome by the faith of his daughter. With tears in his eyes, he asked his daughter to pray. He explained that she had said a simple prayer, explaining to Heavenly Father that she and her family were hungry. Then she asked Heavenly Father to bring them food. As the prayer ended, the family was surprised by a knock on the door. They opened the door and found not one, but two large geese sitting on the doorstep. They thanked Heavenly Father for such a quick answer to their prayer. Brother Owen testified that God answers prayers and sat down. Rick and I had tears in our eyes.
From then on, every time my brother and I went hunting, we would drop our birds on the doorstep and run to the car. We left pheasants, ducks, quail, doves, and even some fish.
One day, as we were emptying the birds from our vests onto the Owens’ front porch, the door opened. Brother Owen stood in the doorway.
“I thought it was you,” said Brother Owen.
We apologized for leaving the birds there without cleaning them. He assured us that he was happy to clean the birds, and he was thankful for all the food we had left him. He told us how much he appreciated our thoughtfulness.
Initially, my brother and I had been trying to avoid the responsibility of cleaning after a hunt. But our loving Heavenly Father was able to use us to bless the lives of others. Now I look for opportunities to bless the lives of others—not to get out of work, but to be an instrument in God’s hands.

Crawford’s visits to our home became more and more frequent. “I think you’re becoming the big brother he never had,” Sally observed one night. “And maybe a bit of the father he misses.”
“All that he needs now is an older sister, right?” I said.
“Are you getting at something?”
“Now that you mention it, a week from Saturday our ward is sponsoring the stake dance. It’s time Crawford went to one. He’s almost 16, and the social polish will do him good.”
“And?”
“And my guess is that part of the reason he doesn’t go to dances is that he doesn’t know how to dance. Typical male teenager.”
“You want me to teach him how to dance? But his feet are so big! And there’s not much time before the dance. And …”
“And?”
“And when would you like me to start?”
That’s why, two days later, our family room became a dance studio. I was in charge of music, Sally in charge of instruction, and Crawford in charge—well sort of in charge—of his two huge feet.
“I can’t do this!” he lamented.
“Yes you can. Two steps forward, one step back. If you can count, you can dance,” I cheered him on. Sally kept an eye on his feet.
“To the beat, Crawford,” Sally said, looking at me. “You’re doing quite well. You’re already much better than my husband.”
“Two ahead, one back … Two ahead, one back. …” Crawford muttered dutifully. “Are you sure I can do this?”
Two hours later, Crawford had the two-step down cold and a little bit of the swing memorized. Miraculously, Sally’s feet were neither bruised nor broken.
“We’ll be chaperoning at the dance Saturday,” Sally said as he left. “You’re ready, and you’ll have a great time. See you there.”
“I’ll be there,” he pledged.
And so he was.
He walked in the door about 20 minutes late, wearing a new sports coat and slacks. The tape on his glasses was gone. In fact, his glasses were gone.
“Oh Crawford, you look so handsome,” Sally said.
“My mother talked me into spending some of my money on a new coat,” he said. “I objected, but she insisted. And I’ve had contact lenses for a couple of years, but I’ve seldom worn them. Mom says when I take my glasses off I look like my father.”
Music was playing. A spotlight shone on a revolving mirrored ball, flashing patterns of light across the floor. A few dancers were making their way to the center of the cultural hall. Crawford gazed at them.
Sally whispered in my ear. “Look at him. Can you believe it?”
Crawford ambled over to the refreshment table and picked up a cup of punch. He sipped it and chatted with some of the boys from our ward.
“When will he dance?”
“Soon enough. My guess is that he’ll wait for a slow one. You know, two steps forward, one step back.”
Ten minutes passed, then 20, then half an hour. A slow song came on. Crawford put down the cup of punch and walked across the floor. Slowly he moved toward a small group of girls. One had her back to Crawford.
“That’s the one, Sally. He’s going to ask the girl in the blue-and-white dress for a dance.”
“Oh, she’s cute,” Sally whispered. “His very first dance. I’m so excited.”
“Go, Crawford.” I almost wanted to shout it. “Confidence. Remember confidence. Ask her before the song ends. Sally, this is going to work. I know it.”
Wrong.
Crawford, though he could now dance, did not know how to ask a young lady to dance, a key omission from our family-room lesson. He simply reached out one of his huge hands and sort of thumped it on the poor girl’s shoulder.
As she turned around, she must have had visions of meeting King Kong. Crawford sensed something wasn’t going right, promptly froze, and sat there with a silly smile plastered on his face. The girl’s jaw dropped, and she began to back cautiously away. Awkward is too mild of an adjective to describe the situation.
“Oh, Crawford,” Sally moaned.
Finally, he began to show signs of life. Without changing facial expression, he backed up, one foot, then the other. The music stopped. Some of the returning dancers noticed the odd scene and stared at him. As though in a trance, he kept backing, backing away. It was the basketball fiasco all over again.
Crawford backpedaled until he nudged the refreshment table. The punch bowl sat at the far end. Crawford reached back with his hands, and without thinking, hoisted himself onto the table. It was only then that his grin disappeared. Replacing it was a look of sheer horror.
His weight on one end of the table sent the other end shooting upward. The punch bowl came sliding toward him. Too late he realized what was happening. He spun around after the punch bowl had plowed through a tray of cookies and just as it fell off the edge of the table. Instinctively, he grabbed the bowl and saved it from crashing to the floor. But he couldn’t prevent a tidal wave of raspberry punch from sloshing all over his face and his clothes.
Everyone’s gaze was on Crawford, who stood forlornly at the end of the table, holding the almost-empty bowl, dripping sticky red liquid from head to foot.
The music started, a fast number with a strong beat. Flashes of light from the mirror darted around the room, but nobody was dancing. Some of the kids were applauding, some laughing and pointing. Others were trying to help clean up the mess. One of the boys in the teachers quorum ran to get towels. Someone else went looking for a mop, but all he could find was a broom.
About a dozen people or so just stood there, wondering what to do.
Finally, Crawford straightened.
“Are you all right?” someone said. It was the girl in the blue-and-white dress. “Did you still want to dance?”
“I’m okay,” Crawford said. “In fact, I’m more than okay. I’ll just run home and change clothes, then I’ll be right back. Don’t worry. It’s my first dance. I’m supposed to make a big splash.”
Later that evening, Sally pointed to the middle of the dance floor. There was Crawford in his old suit, dancing with the girl in the blue-and-white dress. It was a slow number. I could see him mouthing the words, “two steps forward, one step back,” in perfect rhythm to the music.

As an eleventh-grader (in a school system that has 12 grades) at Washington-Lee High School in Arlington, Virginia, Karen was very angry to find a derogatory portrayal of the Prophet Joseph and the Church in her history book. It described Joseph Smith as a farmer who moved from place to place digging for buried treasure. She pointed out the inaccuracies to her teacher who responded by asking if she would like to give a class presentation on early Church history. Karen was afraid but accepted. She got out her fifth-grade report. With the addition of the Joseph Smith story and a few other items, it was just the right thing. As it turned out it took the whole class period. The teacher right away asked Karen to repeat the report in his afternoon class. There were dozens of thoughtful questions which led to the missionaries being invited to explain more.

One woman, Kelly, was so touched by the opportunity to buy items for teens and children that she told her member friend, “This idea is so unbelievably awesome! Everyone needs to know about these machines!” Kelly posted about the experience on her Facebook page. She became an incredible advocate for the Giving Machine initiative, prompting five families in her neighborhood to visit a Giving Machine kiosk, as well as family members in three different cities to visit their local Giving Machine kiosks.

A few years ago I had an experience with deceptive appearances where the results could have been tragic. My wife’s cousin and family were visiting us from Utah. It was a calm summer day on the Oregon coast, and we were fishing in the ocean. It was pleasant, and we were having a good time catching salmon, when for some reason I turned around to see a huge eight-foot wave bearing down upon us. I only had time to shout a warning before the wave hit us broadside. Somehow the boat stayed upright, but Gary, our cousin, was thrown overboard. We were all wearing life jackets and with some difficulty maneuvered the boat, half filled with water, to where he was floating and pulled him aboard.
We had been hit by what is called a sneaker wave. It doesn’t happen often, and there is no way to predict an occurrence. Later we found that up and down the Oregon-Washington coast, five people had drowned that day in three separate boating accidents. All were caused by the same sneaker wave, which for no apparent reason had welled up off the ocean surface. At the time we went out over the bar, the ocean was flat and calm and gave no sign of any danger. But the ocean turned out to be very deceptive and not at all what it appeared to be.
I am grateful that we had on our life jackets that summer day on the ocean. I am thankful we were able to avoid the tragedy that came to others from that sneaker wave. It is my prayer that we will continue to wear our life jackets of obedience in order to avoid the tragedy that will surely come if we are deceived and follow the enticings of the adversary.

Well, it was that kind of a relationship that we shared with each other, and about a semester later he came to me and asked, “Could I ask you a favor?”

I said, “Please do.”

He said, “You know, in addition to being a teacher here on the faculty, I am a part-time minister of the First Methodist Church in Glendale, California.” (I grew up in Hollywood, California, and that’s where I was living at the time.) He said, “You know, Paul, in our young married group, of which I am a sponsor, we are studying other religions, and we have never had a Mormon come and talk to our group. Would you come and be a guest speaker?”

Well, I could see a chance to raise my grade, so I said, “Why, I’d be honored to.”

So on the appointed day I drove over to the First Methodist Church in Glendale. And you know how many Protestant churches align themselves on existing corners, often competing at the same hour, and the traffic was horrendous this particular morning, so I made a pass around the building and came by once more trying to find a place to park. There was a gentleman standing just off the curb, and he was waving me down. So I pulled over and he said, “Are you Mr. Dunn?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Dr. Davis described your car. If you’ll get out, this gentleman will park it for you.”

(Now just a little editorial note: Have you ever noticed how many firesides we have invited special speakers where they had to park a long way off? Think of a LeGrand Richards when somebody wasn’t thoughtful enough to be out there. I just testify from my General Authority’s vantage point: It happens, even in the true Church. Spiritual courtesy and consideration are so vital to receiving the Lord’s spirit.)

Well, I was escorted in, and we went down some stairs through a long corridor. And I stopped in my tracks. The refrain from the song “Come, Come, Ye Saints” was being played on an organ. I thought I was having a revelation. I said, “What’s that?”

They said, “We’re trying to set the stage for a Mormon talk.”

I said, “Thank you.” I walked through the door, and seated before me were two hundred young adults—in kind of an oversized Relief Society room, beautiful in appointment, with a large fireplace. On the mantle over the hearth were two large candelabras with many candles casting a soft light on a picture. Do you know what the picture was? The Salt Lake Temple and the Tabernacle, framed. And I said, “Oh, thank you.” There wasn’t a peep in the audience, reverently listening to a strange hymn. I was escorted to the front of the room. I took my place; they had an appropriate devotional. Then Dr. Davis said some very nice things about me, as guest speaker, and turned the time to me. I tried as hard as I could to represent you properly, to teach some Methodists about the difference between Mormons and Protestants, Catholics, and Jews. When I had finished, there were about twenty minutes of inquiry, questions from the group that were thoughtful and courteous. I was then escorted to the back of the room, a benediction was offered, and one by one the couples filed out, saying such things as “Thank you, thank you. We haven’t understood you people. You have helped us today. Thank you, thank you.” Three days later I got one of the nicest notes I have ever received. It’s still in my Book of Remembrance. Every time I hear the word Methodist, I feel warm and good.

A friend told me of an instance when she was inconsolable. She felt such sorrow over a family tragedy that on one day she could not even leave her home. Unannounced, a Relief Society sister came to her door and said, “I had the feeling you needed me.” The sister did not probe or ask for details but rather enfolded my friend in her arms and asked, “Would you like to have a prayer?” After their prayer the sister left. That kind touch and sensitive approach did much to heal my friend’s broken heart.
This loving Relief Society sister not only listened to the Spirit, but she acted upon that prompting. In a real sense, she showed that the virtue found in the doctrines of salvation had touched her so profoundly that she worked daily to be Christlike. Her actions reflected her personal understanding that “charity never faileth.”

Ben Harrott from the Oldham Ward, Ashton Stake, was singled out from more than 4,000 entries to claim the title of RSPCA Young Photographer of the Year in this annual and prestigious competition which has been running for 32 years.
The event was held at the Tower of London, where Ben, along with his father, were invited to receive his award from one of the judges, Chris Packham of television fame.
Ben entered the 16–18 age group, where he won both the runners-up and winner’s certificate for his pictures. His picture of a shy mountain hare was awarded overall winner.
The judges said they chose Ben’s shot because they were impressed by his ability to capture this rare encounter with such a shy animal, as well as the “bravery of the near abstract composition”.
Chris Packham added “Ben Harrott’s stunning picture of a mountain hare really stood out. Ben is a really worthy winner.”
News of his award was printed alongside the winning picture in national and local newspapers, various magazines and was announced on local TV news.

Let me share with you a personal story. My father was in World War II. He was not a member of the Church. Cigarettes were given to soldiers as part of their rations back in those days. As a result he and untold other young men became smokers. Keep in mind that the ills of smoking would not be known by the public for another twenty years. In fact, smoking was promoted as a healthy practice. In short, he did not know better. But here is the key: he smoked, and, as you would expect, natural laws govern smoking. Fortunately, when science determined that smoking was unhealthy, my dad quit. But while he was a smoker, natural laws could not be cheated, and his precious temple was damaged. The Lord blesses those who learn His will and follow His commandments. I testify that He loves us, and we are greatly blessed because we have known for over a century that “tobacco is not for the body.”

Big “wanted” posters were used as invitations for a super evening activity for the Young Women of the Hyrum Utah Stake and their dads. The event, which by request will be an annual event, was set to a western theme with over 350 in attendance.
A dinner of Navajo tacos and all the toppings was served. Then after a short program, the chairs and tables were shoved aside and the dancing began. Everyone had a great time learning to square dance and picking up a little bit of the western swing.
The girls were excited to have their fathers as escorts, and the evening was termed a great success with comments like, “This evening has been fabulous. I’ve never had such a good time.”

Sabrina watched as Mom walked to the door with their neighbors. “Thank you for this book,” the father said. He was holding a Book of Mormon.
“Mommy, why do you talk about the Church to everyone?” Sabrina asked later while they washed dishes together.
“It’s because my testimony of the Church is like a treasure,” Mom said. “It makes me happy. And I want to share it with others so they can be happy too!”
Sabrina pictured Mom’s shiny necklace in her jewelry box. “What do you mean it’s like a treasure?”
“Well, a testimony is very valuable,” Mom said. “It’s a gift from Heavenly Father that helps us know what’s true.”
“How did you get it?” Sabrina wanted to know.
Mom handed Sabrina a sparkling clean dish to dry. “I got it a little at a time. When I pray or read the scriptures, I feel peaceful and warm inside. It’s like I’m adding to my testimony treasure.”
Sabrina nodded slowly. Could she get a testimony treasure?
On Sunday, Sabrina’s Primary teacher told a story about Jesus Christ. Sabrina listened closely. Sister Lopez said Jesus invited all the little children to come to Him. He blessed and taught them. When Sabrina thought about Jesus, she started to feel warm in her heart.
Sabrina hurried to find Mom after Primary. “Mommy, guess what?” She told Mom about the warm feeling.
“That’s beautiful,” Mom said. “That feeling is when the Holy Ghost touches our hearts and lets us know the gospel is true.”
Sabrina smiled up at Mom. “That’s what happened! It made me happy inside.” The Holy Ghost had been so quiet that Sabrina knew she wouldn’t have noticed Him if she hadn’t been reverent.
Mom hugged her tight. “Now you’re getting your own testimony treasure.” Sabrina hugged Mom back. She wanted to share her treasure with everyone—just like Mom did! But how could she do that?
That night Sabrina found a pass-along card with a picture of Jesus on the front. She tucked it in her backpack.
The next day when it was time for recess, Sabrina remembered the card. She pulled it out and went to find her friend Carla. “Here, Carla, this is for you,” Sabrina said.
Carla held the card close. “Thank you! I love pictures of Jesus.”
Sabrina showed Carla the website on the back. “You can learn more about Jesus’s Church here.”
“What church is that?” Carla asked.
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Sabrina said. “Going to church and learning about Jesus makes me happy.”
Carla put the card in her pocket. “I’m going to show this card to my mom.”
A few weeks later, Carla ran up to Sabrina before class. “I have something to tell you!” she said. She had a big smile on her face.
Sabrina was excited. What could it be? Carla smiled. “My family went to your church! And it was like you said—I felt happy there.”
“I knew you would feel the Holy Ghost!” Sabrina said.
“And I think we’re going to get baptized soon!”
Sabrina jumped up and hugged Carla. Now they could share their testimony treasures together!

John Feinga and David Almodova, neighbors on Iosepa Street, often made a little extra money by taking on carpentry or building projects after their regular jobs. New non-LDS neighbors moved into the house down the street. These were the Clarkes. Bill Clark was a retired military man with his wife Pat and five children, plus his aged parents. As the Feingas go to know them, they found out that Mr. Clarke wanted a patio added to the rear of his home. John contracted with Mr. Clark to do it, working on it evenings and Saturdays, with the occasional help of David Almodova. Mr. Clark senior sat and conversed with them as they worked and they became good friends and learned a lot about the family. Nothing was said between the two workers, but as the completion of the job drew closer, they knew they were not going to charge anything. When it was all done, Mr. Clarke said, "This is beautiful, John. How much?" And John said, "There is no charge. It is our gift to you, our neighbor."

Some time later the bishop called one morning about 5:30 a.m. and told John there was an emergency and he should come to the church. He got there and found that Bill and Pat Clark and their five children were there in white, ready to be baptized. They wanted John to baptize them, and said they had been taking the missionary discussions but really had joined the Church because of John and David. "But we never preached the Gospel to you directly!" said John. "You did it with your generosity and your actions," was the answer. Brother Clark later became John Feinga's executive secretary and counselor when John was bishop. Brother Clark later moved to Utah and became a stake president and patriarch. His aged parents also eventually joined the Church.

Once I heard a forceful appeal by a woman from the Mutual. Perhaps it was the approach she made or perhaps it may have been the mood I was in. She gave a rousing talk on the reading of the scriptures and making them our own; then she stopped her dissertation to ask this mixed congregation, about a thousand of us, “How many of you have read the Bible through?”

I think I was about 14 years old at the time. An accusing guilt complex spread over me. I had read many books by that time, cartoons, and light books, but my accusing heart said to me, “You, Spencer Kimball, you have never read that holy book. Why?” I looked around me at the people in front and on both sides of the hall to see if I was alone in my failure to read the sacred book. Of the thousand people, there were perhaps a half dozen who proudly raised their hands. I slumped down in my seat. I had no thought for the others who had also failed, but only a deep accusing thought for myself. In my slumped posture, I condemned no man, only my little insignificant self. I don’t know what other people were doing and thinking. I heard no more of the sermon. It had accomplished its work. The meeting closed. I sought the large double exit door and rushed to my home only a block east of the chapel, and I was gritting my teeth and saying to myself, “I will. I will. I will.”

Entering the back door of our family home, I went to the kitchen shelf where we kept the coal-oil lamps, selected one that was full of oil with a newly trimmed wick, and climbed the stairs to my attic room. There I opened my Bible and began on Genesis, first chapter, and the first verse, and I sat well into the night with Cain and Abel and Adam and Eve and Enoch and Noah and through the flood even to Abraham.

Learning the things of God must include, of course, the even more difficult part—that of becoming the perfected being. You must not only avoid adultery but also must protect yourselves against every thought or act which could lead to such a terrible sin. You must not only be free from revenge and retaliation but must “turn the other cheek,” “go the second mile,” “give the cloak and coat also.” (See Matt. 5:39–41). You must not only love your friends, but you must even love your enemies and those who do you injustice; you must pray for them and actually love them. (See Matt. 5:43, 44.) This is the way to perfection. You must not only be above burglary or theft but must be honest in thought and deed in all the numerous areas where rationalization permits dishonesty—in making reports seem better than they really are, in cheating on time or money or labor, and every slightly dishonest or questionable practice. You must not only cease from your worship of things of wood and stone and metal, but you must also actively worship in true fashion the living God. This is the straight and narrow way.

Now may I make a recommendation? Develop discipline of self so that, more and more, you do not have to decide and re-decide what you will do when you are confronted with the same temptation time and time again. You only need to decide some things once!

How great a blessing it is to be free of agonizing over and over again regarding a temptation. To do such is time-consuming and very risky.

Likewise, my dear young friends, the positive things you will want to accomplish need only be decided upon once—like going on a mission and living worthily in order to get married in the temple—and then all other decisions related to these goals can easily be made. Otherwise, each consideration is risky, and each equivocation may result in error. There are some things Latter-day Saints do, and other things we just don’t do. The sooner you decide to do what is right, the better it will be for you!

From my infancy I had heard the Word of Wisdom stories about tea and coffee and tobacco, etc. Nearly every Sunday School day and Primary day we sang lustily, I with the other boys:
That the children may live long,
And be beautiful and strong,
Tea and coffee and tobacco they despise,
Drink no liquor, and they eat
But a very little meat;
They are seeking to be great and good and wise.
(Sing With Me B-24 “In Our Lovely Deseret,” 2nd verse.)
We sang it again and again until it became an established part of my vocabulary and my song themes, but more especially my life’s plan. Occasionally some respected speaker said he had never tasted the forbidden things we sang against and then I decided. Never would I use these forbidden things the prophets preached against. That decision was firm and unalterable. I would not and did not deviate.

In 1937 my wife and I were touring in Europe. In France I sat at a banquet table of the Rotary International Convention in a fashionable hotel. The large, spacious banquet room held hundreds of people. The many waiters moved about the tables, and at every place besides plenteous silver utensils, line napkins, and fancy serving dishes were seven wine glasses. No one was watching me. The temptation nudged me: Shall I drink it or at least sip it? No one who cares will know. Here was quite a temptation. Shall I or shall I not?

Then the thought came: But I made a firm resolution when a boy that I would never touch the forbidden things. I had already lived a third of a century firm and resolute. I would not break my record now.

Remember, O youth of a noble birthright, that “wickedness never was happiness.” (Alma 41:10.) The unrighteous may pretend to be happy and may seek to entice others into such a way of life because misery loves company, as you know, but you will never see a happy sinner. Even the discontent of good people is traceable to such shortcomings as they have.

A casual observer may feel that an unrighteous person is successful and has everything he needs, and for a fleeting moment it may even seem so. But gross sin produces a deep emptiness. Thus the wicked seem to do more of the same in order to reassure themselves and to try to fill the void. When you see a life filled with desperation, there is transgression in it. We may pity such people, but it is wrong and naive to envy them!

To know the patriarchs and prophets of the ages past and their faithfulness under stress and temptation and persecution strengthens the resolves of youth. All through the scriptures almost every weakness and every strength of man has been portrayed, and rewards and punishments have been recorded. One would surely be blind who could not learn to live life properly by such reading. The Lord has said, “Search the scriptures, for in them ye think ye have eternal life and they are they which testify of me” (John 5:39).

He is the same Lord and Master in whose life we find every quality of goodness, every quality we should develop in our own lives.

Can you find in all the holy scriptures where the Lord Jesus Christ ever failed his church? Can you find any scripture that says he was untrue to his people, to his neighbors, friends, or associates? Was he faithful? Was he true? Is there anything good and worthy that he did not give? Then that is what we ask—what he asks of a husband, every husband; of a wife, every wife; the girl, every girl; the boy, every boy.

Another word of counsel as you plan the course of your life. To do the special things given to this generation, you will need to guard against selfishness. One of the tendencies most individuals have which simply must be overcome is the tendency to be selfish. All that you can do now while you are young and are more pliant to become less selfish and more selfless will be an important and lasting contribution to the quality of your life in the years, and in the eternity, to come. You will be a much better wife or a much better husband, a better mother or a better father, if you can change the tendency to be selfish. Your children whom you will not know for a few years yet have an interest in your conquest of selfishness.

As in all things, we have the example of the Savior on the cross at Calvary. He did something that he was not forced to do—something which would benefit others with the gift of immortality which Jesus already had. His was the supreme act of selflessness.

You may recall reading in 3 Nephi about the visit of the resurrected Jesus to this continent and how after blessing the children he wept twice and he also said, “And now behold, my joy is full” (3 Ne. 17:20).

True joy can only come from giving ourselves to correct causes such as the building up of the kingdom, causes that are in a sense larger than we are. Pleasure tends to be self-centered. True joy always includes others.

Now is the time to set your life’s goals. Now is the time to set your standards firmly and then hold to them throughout your life.

Ernest Renon gave us this: “Everything favors those who have a special destiny; they become glorious by a sort of invincible impulse and command of fate.” (The Life of Jesus.)

I see in you, my young friends, a generation of Latter-day Saints rising up who will be much more familiar with the scriptures than previous generations of Latter-day Saints were at the same age. You can be lifelong students of the scriptures. I see in you a rising generation of young Latter-day Saints who will be more willing to do missionary work (both before and after your formal full-time missions) than previous generations. Speaking of your generation as a whole, your generation will see, even more clearly than your predecessors, how important it is to take the gospel to your fellowmen.

Your generation will be unashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ and equally unashamed of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I see in you a generation of young Latter-day Saints whose hearts will be turned to your forefathers as has never before happened on such a scale. You will develop a natural interest in research and going to the temple surpassing the interest levels of your parents and grandparents in this regard when they were your age.

I see in you a generation of young Latter-day Saints who will make effective use of your leadership experiences gained in the Church in the Young Men and Young Women programs, in Sunday School, in Relief Society, in Primary, and in the priesthood quorums, who will then be sought after by the thoughtful people of the world who will want young men and women of integrity and competency to serve in various ways. Such young Latter-day Saints will carry their beliefs with them as well as carrying with them their skills, their competency, and their integrity.

I see in you young Latter-day Saints testimonies much more advanced for your age than preceding generations.

And so, beloved youth, remember, when the temporal kingdoms of men topple, the kingdom of God stands firm and unshaken. When the earthly influence of those who are wise concerning the things of this world is silenced by death, the glory and progress of the faithful and valiant who have lived all requirement live on in majesty and power. There is no other way.

In the Republic of Ireland, 18-year-old Andrea Stapleton of Barnhown, Araglen, County Cork, is the only LDS student at a Christian Brothers School. She’s also one of only two girls attending school there.

“It was awful at first,” Andrea recalls. “The boys would fire paper pellets and make fun if I got anything wrong, but things are easier now. There are no girls’ sports taught here and not much opportunity for church discussion. However, I do aim to be a good example of a true Latter-day Saint at all times. My parents and seminary have taught me how to behave.”

I grew up in the city of Minas, Uruguay. When I was six years old, my mother and older sisters were baptized into the Church. My father never joined the Church, but he was always happy that we went to church. He even kept the Word of Wisdom and paid tithing.
Our branch was very small, and we did not have a church building. We met in a rented house. The house had a small swimming pool outside that we used for baptisms.
As my eighth birthday got closer, I was excited about being baptized. But on the day of the baptism, it was raining and very cold. My mom said that maybe I shouldn’t be baptized that day because of the cold weather. But it was my birthday, and I wanted to be baptized on that day.
I remember putting on my white clothes and getting into the pool to be baptized. I knew that the water would be cold, but I did not feel cold. I knew that I was doing the right thing, and I had a warm feeling.
A short time later a chapel was built for our branch. At that time Church members could help build the meetinghouses. My job was to pick up nails and screws that had fallen on the ground so they could be used again. It was a simple job, but it was very important to me. It taught me how to serve, and it helped prepare me for future Church service. Remember that even though you are young, the things you do now matter.

Auditions for the school play are tomorrow! I’m so scared!!! What if I forget my lines? Mom said I could ask Dad for a blessing, and he blessed me to not feel too nervous. I feel a little better now. Dad told me that giving a blessing is an act of service for someone else, just like everything else we do with the priesthood. He said that when he needs a blessing, he asks our home teachers. I’d never thought about it that way.
I’m 12 now! My birthday was pretty crazy because it was also the last performance for the play. I only forgot one line! So today was Sunday, and I had my first meeting as part of the Beehive presidency. We talked about what we can do to help Sara feel comfortable at church. I had no idea. Then I remembered what the bishop said when he set me apart for my new calling. He said that God would help me know the needs of the girls in my class. When I remembered that, I had an idea of an activity that Sara might like.
Sara loved our activity on Wednesday and even came to church today! Travis and Luke are both passing the sacrament now. I think I understand what Dad meant about all of us having different jobs. We use priesthood power in different ways, but we all serve each other.
Hello, old journal! I’m 24 now and—wow—I’ve learned a lot! I understand way more about the priesthood now than I did when I was 12. If you’re looking for answers, don’t stop! Heavenly Father and Jesus love you and want to bless you.

In 1982, I was finishing my associate’s degree in topography at a technical school.
At the end of the year, a classmate invited me to have a conversation. I remember that we left the other members of the class and went to an area beside a sports court. When we got there, he spoke to me about his religious convictions, and not only did he show me a book, but he gave me the book. Honestly, I do not remember all the words that he said, but I remember that moment very well and the way I felt when he said, “I want to bear my testimony to you that this book is true and that the gospel of Jesus Christ has been restored.”
After our conversation, I went home, turned a few pages in the book, and placed it on a shelf. Because we were at the end of the year and it was the last year of my topography degree, I did not really pay much attention to the book or to my classmate who had shared it with me. The name of the book you can already guess. Yes, it was the Book of Mormon.
Five months later, the missionaries came into my house; they were leaving just as I was coming home from work. I invited them back in. We sat down in the little patio in front of my house, and they taught me.
In my search for the truth, I asked them which church was true and how I could find it. The missionaries taught me that I could obtain that answer for myself. With great expectation and desire, I accepted their challenge to read several chapters from the Book of Mormon. I prayed with a sincere heart and with real intent (see Moroni 10:4–5). The answer to my question was clear, and several days later—more precisely on May 1, 1983—I was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Today, when I think about the sequence of events that occurred, I see clearly how important the courage of my classmate was when he bore his testimony about the restored truth and presented me with tangible proof of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, even the Book of Mormon. That simple act, but of profound significance to me, created a connection between me and the missionaries when I met them.
The truth had been presented to me, and after my baptism, I became a disciple of Jesus Christ. During the following years, and with the help of very special people such as leaders, teachers, and friends, and also through my own personal study, I learned that when I decided to be a disciple of Jesus Christ, I had accepted the task of not only defending the truth but also proclaiming it.

Years ago, a young girl confessed to my wife and me a very tragic period of her life. I won’t tell you about her life, but it was a tragic life, and I’ve never seen a girl with sadder eyes than this lovely girl of eighteen. And in trying to give her some comfort and hope for the future, I realized that we’re adding to our past; we’re building onto it each day we live. Life is not a rigid, fixed, quantitative kind of thing. It’s a growing, qualitative, whole thing. And the whole is greater than any of its parts, and gives meaning to its parts. My arm by itself hung on the wall is one thing; my arm as a part of my body and servant of my mind is another thing. An event in that girl’s past, or even ten events, were one thing at eighteen when she was in the depths of despair. And then she came into the fold, was baptized into the Church, found some faith in Christ, converted her husband, reared a fine family, and her life has been going like this ever since. This valley of failure in her life is one thing by itself; it’s another thing when it’s one dip in a long beautiful life. This idea makes life dynamic: it’s comforting and exciting to know that you can improve.

I carried my patriarchal blessing with me during service in the Navy in World War II. I had grown up in Taylorsville, Utah, sheltered and shy, the product of a tranquil pioneer community. I now entered a harsher life, where oaths and profanity were common, where some men made bragging about sexual exploits part of their daily ritual. But again, my patriarchal blessing served as a beacon. Its promises gave me hope that I could stay clean, that I could survive the conflict and live to serve in our Heavenly Father’s kingdom.
Throughout my mission in Europe, a phrase in my patriarchal blessing about preaching the gospel in power reminded me I was on the Lord’s errand and therefore I should speak with authority. When I returned home and began searching for a wife, I knew I must find someone who would help me be worthy. After all, my patriarchal blessing made reference to the joys of a righteous posterity. Today, I am thrilled to go to the temple with my six children and their companions, and I do find joy and rejoicing in my posterity.
There is one sentence in my patriarchal blessing that has always intrigued me. It says, “You shall see great progress in the work of the Lord; for Zion shall be the head and not the heel.” This phrase has repeatedly come to my mind in recent times as we all have observed the growth and progress of the Lord’s Church throughout the entire world. I can truly say that my patriarchal blessing, though short, has been a guide to me during my entire life. Your patriarchal blessing can do the same for you, if you read it often and chart your course by it. In these challenging times, when you are faced with temptations and pressures to compromise your beliefs, a patriarchal blessing can be the source of great strength that will instill faith in a loving, personal Heavenly Father.
A patriarchal blessing is not having your fortune told. It is a source of guidance as you grow in maturity and spirituality.
As with all blessings, the fulfillment of your patriarchal blessing depends on worthiness and staying close to the Spirit.
Your blessing is sacred and personal. Don’t read it in Church meetings or public gatherings.
Receive your blessing in an attitude of humility and prayer. You might also choose to fast.
The blessing is given to you, but a few family members may be present.
Read your blessing often. Pray for understanding, and it will help you chart your course through life.
Patriarchal blessings are not just for the future. The experience of receiving one is a blessing itself, an experience of learning first-hand how important and wonderful you are in the Lord’s sight. Just the same, you may have some concerns.
I’m not sure if I’m old enough or ready enough for a patriarchal blessing.
Why not talk it over with your parents or your bishop? Ask them if they think you are old enough and if you’re ready.
Can my parents tell me about their own patriarchal blessings?
If your parents have received their blessings, ask if there are portions they would feel comfortable sharing with you. You will probably find you are one of the blessings they were promised. For example, if they were promised righteous posterity, you are an important link in that chain.
What if my parents aren’t members of the Church or don’t support me in Church activities?
Check with your bishop or patriarch—they may have suggestions about how to appropriately include them.
I don’t feel worthy to receive a patriarchal blessing.
If you feel unworthy, become worthy. Put your life in order. Talk to your parents and to your bishop if necessary. But also remember that we’re all learning and growing. One of the important reasons for obtaining your patriarchal blessing is to receive guidance and strength.
I’m afraid the Lord will reveal what he expects of me, and then I’ll be obligated.
Actually, the Lord has already revealed many things he expects of you: righteousness, obedience, compassion, honesty. You’ve been taught about them all your life. And you’ve already made commitments—at baptism, each time you take the sacrament, when you receive the priesthood. Remember a patriarchal blessing is an expression of the Lord’s love for you personally. More than anything else, it will help you understand through the Spirit your own marvelous potential and some of the great blessings the Lord has in store for you as you keep his commandments.

We often hear that love can heal all wounds, but I didn’t know just how true this was until I lived it.
For years, my family struggled to find a place to belong. My two boys were diagnosed with autism and ADHD at a young age, and due to their uncontrollable and often disruptive behavior, many people weren’t understanding of their situation. In my home country of Japan, 98 percent of the population is Japanese. In any area with low diversity, it can be difficult for society to accept those who are even a little bit different.
When my children were young, I tried to enroll them in preschool. I began applying to schools in the area, but with each application, I encountered the same difficult response: as soon as the staff met my sons and found out about their condition, we were informed that the school no longer had any openings. Eventually a facility in a neighboring town welcomed us, but this was only after we were rejected by every preschool in our city.
It was incredibly painful.
Riding public transportation wasn’t much easier. Sometimes, when I would scold the boys for making too much noise on the train, they would act out, causing strangers to tell me that I was being abusive. Other times, I would restrain myself from quieting the boys out of fear of how they might react, only to have other passengers tell me that I was being neglectful.
I even had social workers insist that I place one of my children in a semipermanent facility, with contact only once every two years, because they believed I’d never be able to raise two children with autism and ADHD as a single mother. However, having personally experienced the pains of a difficult childhood—my parents divorced when I was a toddler and for various reasons weren’t able to care for me—I was determined to do my best to give my sons the deep love that every child deserves.
Several years ago, I attended a work seminar, and I noticed that some of the seminar leaders would fold their arms and bow their heads before eating lunch. These people are usually so nice, I thought to myself. Why are they in such a bad mood whenever they sit down to eat?
I quickly learned that they were praying—not sulking—and I couldn’t help but ask more questions about their faith. They were overwhelmingly kind and had such a unique spirit about them, and I yearned to know more. I learned that they were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we quickly accepted their invitation to attend church with them.
Due to his autism, my younger son was afraid of being in large groups and meeting new people, but the ward welcomed us with open arms and did everything they could to accommodate our needs. The members set aside a special room at the back of the chapel just for my son, and they fulfilled our request to avoid making eye contact with him until he felt more at ease. Even when one of my children would disrupt sacrament meeting, we were treated with the utmost respect and kindness.
I saw my sons unfold in the warmth of the ward’s embrace. They quickly made new friends, and my sons even started to attend Primary classes on days that I was unable to attend church.
We were eventually baptized, a memory that still brings tears to my eyes. At the baptismal service, the ward members—understanding my children’s fear of crowds—tiptoed into the back of the room after the boys had been seated to avoid frightening them. Afterward, we were offered a mountain of congratulatory sweets, and the love in the room was so palpable that my sons remarked, “I want to be baptized again!”
I have nothing but gratitude in my heart when I think about the deep love demonstrated by the members in our ward—a love that ultimately allowed us to find the light of the gospel. The ward perfectly encapsulated what it means to have our “hearts knit together in unity and in love one towards another” (Mosiah 18:21). My family was truly blessed by the kindness of these welcoming Latter-day Saints.
It’s now been two years since my sons and I were baptized. Both of my sons have been ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood, and I’ve seen an incredible change in their demeanors.
I’m grateful for the many caring individuals who accepted my family and who helped my sons overcome their fears through the power of love. I’m grateful for the gospel of Jesus Christ, through which even the deepest wounds of prejudice can be healed. And above all, I’m grateful for a loving Heavenly Father, who prepared a way for my family to find peace and belonging, even when I couldn’t see what that path would be.
I’ve learned that as we make room for our differences, we make room for greater love. Each of us is a beloved child of heavenly parents, and as we remember this truth, we can all—no matter where we are or who we are—become one in Christ (see Doctrine and Covenants 38:27).