Gospel Story Finder

When aged 16, some missionaries came to see us. They came because my younger brother was going to what was then known in the Church as the Mutual Improvement Association. They started teaching us the gospel. Though my parents were traditional Sikhs they gave permission for us to be taught. I will always remember the missionaries asking my brothers and me to pray about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. I remember the warm feeling that I had that it was true. We were baptised in June 1966.

Brother Ayerdis currently serves as bishop of the Brooklyn Second Ward, where meetings are conducted in Spanish. He recalls the day when he took his family to see the judge who would grant them permanent residency in the United States: “Our children sat beside us on the long bench—quiet, like angels.” The judge thought that New York would corrupt the children and said to the family, “What a shame that you had to bring your lovely children here.” Sister Ayerdis responded, “We may have left our furniture, our house, and our clothes behind in our native land, but we did bring our traditions.”

After Sarah had relapsed, we were faced with the challenge of deciding whether or not we should continue on with chemotherapy treatment. As we spoke with the doctors, they urged us to use the treatment because her white blood count had escalated to the point where she could begin bleeding out if we did not. Bleeding out is when the blood vessels begin spontaneously bursting throughout the body, becoming most obvious in the eyes, mouth, and nose. We were told it can be an excruciatingly painful process
When I heard this, my mind again turned to the Savior. He experienced a similar process as He suffered for all the sins that would ever be committed. King Benjamin taught of Jesus Christ’s suffering: “Blood cometh from every pore, so great shall be his anguish for the wickedness and the abominations of his people” (Mosiah 3:7). How excruciating His pain must have been as He bled from every pore.
Christ’s pain was again on my mind as I held my daughter in her final hours. I thought of Christ’s plea: “Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done” (Luke 22:42). But it was not the will of the Father to remove the cup, and Christ accepted this and continued forward with the Atonement. The Father, being merciful, sent an “angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him” (Luke 22:43). In that moment and others, I too was given a strength to endure that was not my own. Our Father in Heaven is merciful. He knows us individually and loves us personally. He sent His Son, even Jesus Christ, to earth to atone for our sins and offer us a spiritual transfusion because He knew it was the only way for us to enter into His presence and live with Him again.
Author’s note: Although Sarah passed away in 2004, we did have about a year and a half following her bone marrow transplant to enjoy her happy and spunky disposition.

It got rave reviews.
The Shropshire England Star called it “jolly,” “most commendable,” and “excellent!” Sound like a smash-hit musical comedy? Well, it was actually a ham soufflé.
But the ham soufflé did have the help of four other courses and the culinary expertise of nine teachers in the Telford England Ward. The quorum had received catering lessons from their adviser and had decided to put their new talents to the test.
They invited 75 member and nonmember guests to their dinner. For two hours everyone feasted on grapefruit, consommé, fresh vegetables, ham soufflé, chicken chausser, and creamed potatoes, with English trifle for dessert.
The group began at 8:00 A.M. to cook and decorate. The women’s editor of the Shropshire Star wrote, “Most cooks would have flaked out. But that’s the sort of spirit you might expect to find among church members who actually helped with the building of their own chapel. And it’s clear that the youngsters are made of the same stern stuff.”
Besides the press, a local candidate for Parliament also attended the dinner. The newspaper noted that the nonmembers saw “with some envy that none of the church members needed alcohol to enjoy themselves.”
Perhaps the old saying will change to read, “The way to a convert’s ear is through his stomach.”

Although it’s been nearly 28 years since I graduated high school, it doesn’t seem that long ago. I was so excited to graduate and go to college at that time. I knew what I wanted to study. For as long as I can remember, I had dreamed of becoming a mechanical/aerospace engineer. I was fascinated with aircraft, energy conversion, and all kinds of mechanical objects. I wanted to learn how to improve the world by creating something new and innovative. I was thrilled to start taking my classes. At this time, I didn’t really think about asking the Lord if this was what He wanted me to do. I’m sure I assumed that because I had been planning this for as long as I could remember, it would be what the Lord wanted for me. As I started my first classes, I found different challenges. First, my calculus class was taught by a graduate student from China whom I could barely understand. Very quickly, I started to fall behind, and after failing my first midterm, I decided I needed to drop the class. As I got into my first general chemistry class, I soon learned that chemistry and I didn’t mix very well. Although I felt I was having a rough start, I absolutely loved my first engineering class. I persevered over the next few semesters, determined to do better, for I felt I was meant to be an engineer.

As the time got closer for me to put my mission papers in, I really started pondering and praying about if a mission was right for me. It seemed like such a sacrifice and I thought putting my education on hold for two years would be so difficult. While seeking an answer, I remembered attending the many mission farewells for my cousins. As I went to their homecomings, I remember being so impressed with the spiritual giants they had become. I decided to move forward in faith that the Lord knew what was best for me and in 1996, I was called to the England London South Mission. I will always be eternally grateful for this decision. Not only through this experience was I able to witness many wonderful miracles while teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ, I was also able to meet and baptize my eternal companion. My wife likes to remind me of what the consequences would have been if I had not chosen to serve.

Toward the end of my mission, I decided that I really wanted to understand the Lord’s will for me. I started to sincerely fast and pray about what the Lord wanted me to do with my life. Very quickly, I received a distinct impression: “Roy, you are not to go into engineering.” This hit me like a ton of bricks. Didn’t the Lord know that this was one of my greatest desires? How was I to move forward without having something that I thought was so key to my identity? But I could not deny the inspiration I had received.

Several months ago, I heard a grandmother recount the heartbreaking experience of her young daughter who suffered the devastating loss of an infant girl just days after her birth. Amid overwhelming grief, her daughter sought comfort in God’s plan and held fast to the hope that one day she would be reunited with her baby girl. In a quiet moment of compassion, a caring doctor offered words of comfort to the grieving mother. With remarkable resolve, the mother replied, “Do not worry about us. We know where she is going, and we will see her again.” [4]
This kind of faith, holding to God’s promises even in life’s most difficult moments, empowers us to overcome every challenge. It also serves as a foundation that leads us to a life full of deep and lasting joy.

“I really appreciate your agreeing to do this,” Jenkins said as he led Kyle down the long hallway of the research and development section of Megatech.
“I couldn’t believe what they told me on the phone,” Kyle said.
“It is a pretty remarkable breakthrough, isn’t it? You know, out of 500 randomly selected calls, we had 86 percent willing to participate in our consumer-testing phase. Eighty-six percent—that’s unbelievable. I don’t mind telling you we’re very excited about the possibilities of VI-CAM.”
“Can you tell me again what VI-CAM stands for?”
“Sure, it took me a week to get it right. It stands for Viewer-Interactive Computer-Activated Movies.”
“How does it work?” Kyle asked.
“It’s really quite simple. Have you ever had the experience of coming out of a movie and liking everything about it except for a few parts.”
“Yeah, that happens a lot.”
“I’m sure you’re aware how much computers have improved over the past few years. We can process information faster and store and recall it much easier. So what we do in VI-CAM is take a character in a movie and more or less reduplicate him or her into computer memory. We do that with each character in the movie. With a few additional computer graphics breakthroughs, the system we’ve developed lets you take those characters and actually program the movie you want to see.”
Jenkins led him into a small room with a large-screen TV. “There are refreshments in the refrigerator. Take all the time you want. I’ll set it up to get you started. First thing we do is have you watch the uncut Hollywood version of the movie and then Lorie, the main character in the movie, will come on screen and ask you how you’d like to edit it. You can see it in as many versions as you want and stay as long as you want. We’re open 24 hours a day. Have fun.” And with that Jenkins left.
Kyle watched the Hollywood version first. It was a PG movie called Party SchoolUSA.
After it was over the actress Lorie Summers came on the screen. “Kyle, you still there?”
Kyle didn’t answer.
She smiled. “Kyle, you awake, or what?”
“Sorry. I guess I’m just not in the practice of talking to a TV.”
“I understand. Well, how did you like the movie?”
“It was okay,” he said politely.
“Just okay?”
“There were some things I didn’t care for.”
“No problem. We can change it anyway you want. Did you keep notes while you watched?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. How about if we go through what you wrote down?”
Kyle glanced at his notes. “All the parents and the teachers in the movie seem so messed up. It’s like you’re trying to say adults are no help at all to teenagers.”
“That’s right, Kyle. Adults are incompetent and stupid.”
“I don’t agree with that. My parents aren’t.”
“Do you agree with everything your parents say?”
“No, but even when we disagree, I respect what they tell me.”
“Why?”
“Because they’ve been through it all once before.”
“Adults don’t know what it’s like now for kids growing up,” she said.
“Oh, maybe not the exact things, but a lot of things are the same.”
“So you want the adults to be more … ?”
“Like real adults.”
She smiled faintly. “Well, you’re shooting down about half the plot, but we can fix it up the way you want. Anything else?”
“I really like you in the movie, Lorie, but I was wondering if you could, you know, not swear so much.”
“That’s the way people talk these days.”
“I know, but it still bothers me.”
“All right. We’ll cut out the swearing. What else?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, there’s that one scene where you don’t have, uh, a lot of clothes on.”
“Yeah, so?”
“I didn’t feel comfortable watching that.”
“Kyle, let me ask you a question. Are you normal?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Just wondering. Don’t you like the way I look?”
“Yes, but …”
“But what?”
“Why have that in the movie? It’s got nothing to do with the plot. It’s just thrown in there for no reason at all.”
“It sells tickets.”
“Maybe so, but why did you agree to be shown that way?”
“I’m not ashamed of my body, Kyle.”
“I’m not ashamed of mine either, but I don’t go around showing it to anyone who has the price of a movie ticket.”
“Kyle, let me tell you something. We’ve run this for 100 people today, and you’re only the fifth one who’s requested us to cut that scene. There’s someone a few booths down from you making similar changes, but yours is definitely a minority viewpoint.”
Kyle paused. “Who’s the other one making those kinds of changes?”
“A girl your age from Idaho. She’s in town for a few days. She’s staying with her aunt.”
“From Idaho, huh?”
“Yeah, she’s in Booth 27.”
“How far is that from here?”
Lorie paused. “Straight down the hall for 10 booths.”
“Do you mind if I go down there, and she and I talk to you from the same booth?”
“How do you know she’ll want to meet you?”
“Just a guess.”
“I don’t understand that at all.”
As Kyle walked down the hallway he glanced into each booth to see what others were watching. For some the changes in the movie had turned it into pornography. For others a simple teenage flick had become a horror movie with axes dripping blood. Kyle focused his attention on those who were watching. One man looked like he’d been there for days. His movie had degenerated to the extreme in degradation and horror.
Kyle reached Booth 27 and knocked. A girl his age opened the door. She looked like an outdoorsy kind of person with long dark brown hair and a nice smile.
“Hi, Kyle,” she said. “Lorie told me you were coming. I’m Susan Blair.”
They both stepped inside.
“Are you LDS?” he asked.
“Yeah, sure am.”
“I thought you might be. I am too.”
They sat down together on the couch in front of the TV console. Lorie came on the screen again. “Well, I see you two have met each other. Susan, I haven’t heard all your suggestions yet, have I?”
“Not yet. One thing is that I’m not happy with the way you portray people. In movies like this you always have the science nerd who can’t do anything right when it comes to talking to girls, the athlete who treats everybody like they were the scum of the earth, and the girl who goes through the movie mostly just smiling and looking dumb but beautiful.”
“So?” Lorie said.
“So some people who like science are fun to be with,” Kyle said.
“Yeah, and some athletes are friendly to everybody,” Susan said.
“And some beautiful girls have terrific minds too.”
“Are you two trying to ruin a perfectly good movie?” Lorie said.
“No, not really.”
“All right,” Lorie said. “I’ll see what we can do. Anything else?”
“I don’t like the way the movie ended,” Susan said.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Well,” Susan said, “for someone who believes in chastity, it’s just not the best ending.”
Lorie was getting red in the face. “They like each other so what they do is okay, all right?”
“It’s not all right unless they’re married,” Kyle said.
“We want it out of the movie,” Susan said.
“You’ve got adults sympathetic to kids, you’ve got a girl who wants to improve her mind, you’ve got everybody fully dressed the entire time, you’ve got athletes who aren’t jerks, and nerds who aren’t nerds, and the two main characters believe in—what did you call it, chastity? What on earth do you call that anyway?”
“We call that life,” Susan said.
The screen went blank.
A minute later the door opened and in walked Lorie Summers.
“She’s not real,” Kyle whispered.
“She looks real,” Susan said.
“I read about it in Omni Magazine. It’s a hologram. It’s done with lasers. Watch my hand. I’ll pass it right through her body.” He moved his hand through the air and touched her on the arm, which was very much real. He gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Susan asked.
“I have no idea how they do that,” he whispered back.
Lorie smiled.
“Are you real?” Kyle asked.
“I’ve been wondering the same thing about you two.
“You are real, aren’t you. You’re a famous movie star,” Kyle said. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been interested in this project since it began. Sometimes I come here just to watch what’s going on. There’s a monitor in the control booth where I can see what everyone is watching. The one difference between this and a regular movie is that with VI-CAM what a person sees is exactly what he or she chooses to see. And so it’s a way to find out what monsters lurk in people’s minds. There’s a man in one of the booths—you may have seen him on your way here—he’s been here ten days. He’s living on whatever he can get from the candy machine. Each time he changes the movie it becomes more and more warped. It’s kind of scary.” She paused. “Which brings me to you two. Why are you so different?”
“Well, it’s kind of a long story,” Kyle said.
“No it isn’t,” Susan interrupted. “I don’t know about the others who objected to the same scenes we did, but the reason we’re different is that we’re Mormons who try to live the way we’ve been taught.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Kyle said.
Lorie sat down. “I’ve got a confession to make. Even though I play a teenager in the movie, I’m actually older than that. I guess I used to believe what I was saying to you through the VI-CAM system. But time has a way of changing things. I’ve been wondering about things for a long time. Now I have a two-year-old daughter and I look at the world through different eyes. Sometimes it really scares me to realize she’s going to grow up in this world. You two seem a little strange to me, but I think you know how to avoid the bad things in the world today. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. How have you managed to escape?”
“Well, that’s kind of hard to explain,” Kyle said.
“Why is it so hard?” Susan said. “I think it’s simple. You escape evil by making good choices.”
A few minutes later the three of them walked down the long corridor together, talking about important things.

He was a very traditional Navajo, and he taught us many of the Navajo ways. I learned not to be so inquisitive, because this is considered bad form in the Navajo culture. When I stopped asking questions, and when the mood suited him, he would tell us about his life. He took us out to the river and his other favorite places. He showed us foxholes and where the coyotes had been. He taught us to herd sheep. He showed us how he built the tall, black-robed figures that had ended our first visit. They were not designed to terrify sister missionaries but to frighten away coyotes that might harm his flock.
He loved his sheep and would take them miles each day in search of the best grass. He took the lambs inside with him when the nights were cold. He was a very caring man.

Two Temple Square missionaries sat in the well-worn pews of the Salt Lake Tabernacle, staring at a computer screen as I taught them how to upload their video footage to a video-editing program.
Then I had this moment hit me: here we were, using the internet and complex software, sitting inside a building that was built in the 1800s. So many amazing teachings have been shared in this building. Over the past 155 years, its audiences have heard from hundreds of notable speakers at its pulpit, including Brigham Young, 12 different presidents of the United States, Susan B. Anthony, and Helen Keller.
And now, in such a historic building, we were embarking on a new frontier in the Lord’s work, an innovation in missionary work: me, a YouTuber, helping missionaries learn how to create video content for social media.

As it got late, everybody separated except Patrick and me. We left together in a jeepney. Still wondering why Patrick didn’t join in, I thought back to a day four years before, when we were 16. I remembered we were walking in the street near our school when I told him I wanted to be a priest someday.

“In our church you could already be a priest,” Patrick replied. “You just need to be ordained. Then when you turn 19, you can preach the gospel as a missionary.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said, thinking he didn’t know much about the gospel. “How can a 19-year-old preach to people? Priests take a lot of time to study so they can preach.”

Patrick insisted that 19-year-olds in his church could preach. He told me that his church also has another book of scripture, and he gave me a copy. I browsed through it at home, and I felt something mysterious in that book. But I didn’t really care about it; I just stuck it in a box, where it lay for the next four years.

Now, as we rode in the jeepney after the party, I asked Patrick where he was going. “I’m meeting some friends. They’re elders—missionaries.” I remembered having seen them around. I asked Patrick if he would take me to the elders so I could ask them some questions about their church.

We met up with the missionaries at a store near their subdivision, and they greeted us by shaking our hands. It was very formal. But after they introduced themselves to me, I realized they seemed like any other guys. They wanted to set up an appointment to answer my questions.

“OK, I’ll just get your number so if I’m available, I will text you,” I replied. I wasn’t really planning to text them.

When I got home, I got the book Patrick had given me four years before—something about it made me curious. The next morning I texted the missionaries to teach me. They started with the Restoration of the gospel. It sounded so different, and I told myself, “Why do people want to restore things when they know that older generations are different than our generation now?”

After two discussions I decided not to pursue them anymore. When asked why, I replied, “I’m just not interested anymore.” One week passed. I sat staring at the Book of Mormon, pondering the message I had been taught. I started to read what the missionaries told me to in 3 Nephi 11. I read that Jesus went to another nation to show that He was the Savior and Messiah. In 3 Nephi 15, I recognized one passage that I had read before in the Bible, in John 10:16. It was something the missionaries hadn’t even taught me yet.

Tears fell down my face, and I found myself weeping in my room. I realized the love Jesus Christ has for us. He loves us so much that He gave His own life to save us from our sins. I didn’t hesitate to pray, asking to know if the Book of Mormon I was holding is true. Praying in my room, all alone, I suddenly felt that somebody was there listening to me.

My heart was softened by the impressions I had received. I stood up and said, “This is the true Church. I know that this is the Church that Jesus Christ restored.”

The day before my baptism, I repeated the process of praying. Again what I had heard and felt sunk into my heart, and I knew the Holy Ghost had revealed the truth to me. I knew the truth that Jesus is the Christ. I felt in my heart and mind that I desired to be baptized, believing that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ I could be cleansed.

Jesus Christ atoned for our sins, and this is the very reason I was converted. I know that He was the only one who has the power and the authority to rebuild His Church in our dispensation. Now as a missionary serving in the Philippines Cagayan de Oro Mission, I am doing the best I can to help people feel the great happiness I have now.

Every year, each member of my family picks another family member’s name out of a hat and secretly gets a gift for that person. We first got the idea from the movie Christmas for a Dollar. We tried it, and now it’s been a tradition for the past couple years.
This past year, I picked my brother’s name. At first, I thought, “Oh, great,” because we had been butting heads. But looking for a gift he would like really humbled me. After Christmas, we were best friends again.
I like our tradition because it changed my perspective on Christmas. I used to always focus on what gifts I’d get and what I wanted, but after we started this tradition, it made me focus more on thinking about my family members and the looks on their faces as they opened their gifts. I put more time and thought into giving gifts. Even before Christmastime, I try to look for things my family members will like and what I could get them.
Makenna B., 16, Oklahoma, USA

I love to go sledding, especially on the hill by our house. One day, Mom asked my sisters and me if we would like to go. Of course I said yes. Just as we were leaving, Braiden, one of my best friends, called to see if I could play. I invited him to go sledding with us. He hurried over to my house, and we took off for the hill.
The hill was just as icy and fast as I had hoped it would be. We were having a lot of fun! Then Braiden said his hands were freezing. He had forgotten to bring his gloves. I felt bad that he had such cold hands. I quickly took off my gloves and gave them to him. We kept sledding for another hour or so. My hands were probably freezing, but I didn’t care because I was happy about giving my gloves to a friend. I know Jesus Christ would do the same for His friend. I want to always try to do what He would do. I had the best day ever on the hill because I felt warm inside.

Uncle Chadwick turned from the window and sat down behind his desk. He propped his feet up and looked at us a long moment, his deep-set eyes shining with warm concern and quiet, tender affection. “It’s supposed to be a true story I don’t think you’ve ever heard before. It’s about one of the Prophet Joseph Smith’s sons, Joseph III. It happened in Nauvoo, in the early 1840s before the Prophet’s martyrdom at Carthage Jail in 1844.
“Joseph and some of the Brethren, including John Taylor and other apostles, were having a meeting at the Prophet’s home. A man by the name of Loren Walker—a member of the Church who lodged with the Prophet and his family for a time and who became a close and trusted friend—had on that occasion cleaned Joseph’s firearms and some of his clothes. He put the clothes into the wardrobe but, rather than disturb the Prophet during the meeting, put Joseph’s guns on the bed, thinking that Joseph would put them where they belonged later on.
“Now I want you children to know that the only reason the Prophet Joseph carried a gun was that the persecution he endured was sometimes so intense that he was forced to arm himself for his own safety.
“Anyway,” Uncle Chadwick continued, “the Prophet’s son Joseph went into that room to take a nap. The sound of the voices in the adjoining room kept him awake, and he found himself attracted to the pistols. Seeing that he was unobserved because of the bed’s canopy, young Joseph picked up one of the pistols. Now, he didn’t think for a minute that it was loaded or that he could possibly fire it, but the thought playfully passed through his mind that if it was loaded and he did fire it, he was sure he could hit a certain spot on the canopy.”
Suddenly Uncle Chadwick banged the flat of his hand on his desk, and we all jumped. “BANG! went the pistol,” he yelled.
“Well,” he went on, “the sound of the discharge alarmed the Prophet and the others who were holding council. Thinking the gunshot had come from outside the house and that someone was coming to attack the Prophet, they all dashed outside to look around. When they didn’t see anyone, they were puzzled. Then Brother Walker suddenly remembered where he’d left the pistols. Fearing the worst, they ran back into the house and into the bedroom.”
Uncle Chadwick pulled out a rumpled handkerchief, blew his nose, then stuffed the cloth carefully back into his back pocket. He took off his spectacles and held them up to the light as if to examine an imaginary smudge, all the while listening to the bench creak as we fidgeted. Finally, when he was sure we had fretted long enough about the worst that could have happened to young Joseph, he propped his eyeglasses back on his nose, gave us a sideways look, and continued: “Well, there lay young Joseph, as white as a just-scrubbed sheet. The pistol was at his side, and smoke was filling the canopy. He was unharmed, except that when the pistol had recoiled, it had fallen from his hand and struck him soundly on the head.
“At first there was some thought on the Prophet Joseph’s part to scold both Brother Walker, for having left the weapons there, and his son Joseph, for having played with them. But after the scare was over, there was general laughter—at the boy’s expense. The dust from the canopy, the damaged ceiling plaster that covered young Joseph, and the fast-swelling bump on his head were about all the ‘fun’ he had from the incident. However, it was a good lesson for everyone, and after that, firearms were carefully kept away from children.”

Subject: Dan
Age: 18 years
Event: Discussion with his boss
“Dan, how long have you worked here?” his boss asked one day.
“A year.”
“It’s time we changed you from stocking shelves and taught you how to sell clothes. Come with me.” They walked up on the balcony and looked down at the activities on the first floor. “What do you think we sell here?”
“Men’s clothes,” Dan said.
“Oh no, we sell much more than that. Men come here because they need confidence to help them make a promotion in their company or to ask that special girl to marry them. We have the finest clothes in this city, and some of the most influential men in town shop here because they want the assurance that comes from quality tailoring.”
“I never really thought about that before,” Dan said, suddenly impressed with his boss.

Everyone has to be converted. Everyone at some point in life has to know for themselves that Jesus is the Savior. At youth conference, the testimony was so strong that I began to feel it too. I prayed the night we got home, and the next day at testimony meeting, for the first time since I was a child, I bore my testimony. I felt for myself that Jesus is the Savior.
Rachel Yorke, 16Hayward, California

This glimpse in summary. It was in a school of instruction, the School of Prophets—and prophetesses, too. (For the first thing the Smith brothers thought on a day of a rich spiritual outpouring in that room above the Newel K. Whitney store was, “Where is mother?” And they rode a piece and brought her to participate.) In that setting the Prophet asked that each in turn speak, that, as the revelation says, “not all be spokesmen at once . . . and that every man may have an equal privilege” (D&C 88:122). The subject was faith. Scriptures were quoted. The last man to speak, as it happened, was Brother Kimball who in effect said,

“It’s all been said, but I can say one thing, tell you a story. My daughter, Helen Mar, was standing near the table, and her mother left her saying, ‘Don’t touch those dishes. Don’t break one of those or I will whip you.’ Vilate left, and Helen Mar did what little children often do when they are told not to do it. Not just a dish was broken. The whole table leaf collapsed. All were broken.

“Now she went out, as she had watched her parents do, near a tree. We don’t know what she said, but it would have been simple enough: ‘Bless my mother that she won’t whip me.’

“Vilate returned. She saw the situation. She flared. She led the little girl by the hand into the bedroom. She assumed the angle. And then she couldn’t go through with it. And the arms of Helen Mar came around her neck, and she said, ‘Oh, mother, I prayed that you wouldn’t. I’m sorry, sorry.’”

When Brother Heber finished, every man in the room, including Joseph, was in tears. And Joseph said, “Brethren [these are grown-up, strong, independent, willful, intelligent men], that is the kind of faith we need, the faith of a little child going in humility to its Parent” (Whitney, Kimball, pp. 69–79). That sums it up.

Soon after my eighteenth birthday I was invited by my bishop (who happened to be my father) to work on the ward welfare farm. The assignment was to thin beets in the company of other priesthood holders. I was a master of this slavelike labor; I have a lame back to prove it. I could do an acre in one day if I started before sunup and ended long after sundown (providing I cared little about standing erect for several days).

I worked diligently up one row and down another, hoping to finish the task early. One of the older workers was my stake president, a banker by profession. It pleased me to see him digging in the soil and sweating under the hot sun. It was the first time I had seen this very proper and fastidious priesthood leader dressed in anything other than a dark suit, white shirt, and tie. I must admit that I enjoyed watching him get dirt on his hands. In fact, I was so carried away by this pleasure (heaven forgive me!) that I sped up the soiling by deliberately kicking up clouds of dust in his direction as I moved by.

On one move past President Roland Tietjen, he called my name and invited me to engage in conversation. I stopped, laid down my hoe, and sat on the soft ground. He asked, “Carlos, how old are you?”

I replied, “Eighteen.”

“Do you know how old I am?” he continued.

“Oh, about seventy” was my quick and foolish answer. (I missed the mark by many years!) Laughing without, and I suppose crying within, he said, “My time on earth is running out—yours is just beginning. Carlos, would you sell to me the next ten years of your life?” I thought to myself, what’s wrong with this money changer? Can’t he forget money and buying and selling for just one morning?

He was able to discern my thoughts and to note my discomfort. He quickly added, “I know that it is impossible for you to transfer to me part of your life. However, if it were possible, would you sell?”

With little hesitation I blurted out, “No, I would not.”

“Suppose I offered you $100,000 for those years,” he pressed. Again, I declined his offer, saying that I had things to do in the years ahead.

During the next ten years, my visits with President Tietjen were few and scattered. On each occasion he would refer back to the question asked in the beet field. He would say, “Will you take $90,000 for the remaining nine years? Eighty thousand for the next eight?” And on it went until ten years were gone.

It didn’t take me the full decade to appreciate the profound lesson which my wonderful Church leader was trying to teach. He caused me to treasure those formative and crucial years between eighteen and twenty-eight. He also motivated me to make plans and to initiate actions that would enable me to claim the most of my opportunities.

In 1895 my great-grandfather, Abinadi Olsen, was called on a mission to the Samoan Islands. Obedient to the call of the prophet, he left his wife and four small children, including my maternal grandmother, Chasty Magdalene, in the town of Castle Dale, Utah. He traveled by train and ship to the mission headquarters in Apia, a journey of 26 days. His first assignment was to labor on the island of Tutuila.

After many weeks of living in what he called a grass hut, eating strange food, suffering severe illnesses, and struggling to learn the Samoan language, he seemed to be making no progress in his missionary work. Homesick and discouraged, he seriously considered boarding a boat back to Apia and telling the mission president he didn’t want to waste any more time in Samoa. The obstacles to the accomplishment of his mission seemed insurmountable, and he wished to return to his wife and children, who were struggling to support him in the mission field.

A friend who heard Abinadi Olsen describe the experience some years after his return, quoted him as follows:
“Then one night, as I lay on my mat on the floor of my hut, a strange man entered, and in my own language told me to get up and follow him. His manner was such that I had to obey. He led me through the village and directly against the face of a perpendicular solid-rock cliff. That’s strange, thought I. I’ve never seen that here before, and just then the stranger said, ‘I want you to climb that cliff.’
“I took another look and then in bewilderment said, ‘I can’t. It’s impossible!’
“‘How do you know you can’t? You haven’t tried,’ said my guide.
“‘But anyone can see’—I started to say in objection. But he cut in with, ‘Begin climbing. Reach up with your hand—now with your foot.’
“As I reached, under orders that I dared not disobey, a niche seemed to open in the solid-rock cliff and I caught hold. Then with my one foot I caught a toehold.
“‘Now go ahead,’ he ordered. ‘Reach with your other hand,’ and as I did so another place opened up, and to my surprise the cliff began to recede; climbing became easier, and I continued the ascent without difficulty until, suddenly, I found myself lying on my pallet back in my hut. The stranger was gone!
“Why has this experience come to me? I asked myself. The answer came quickly. I had been up against an imaginary cliff for those three months. I had not reached out my hand to begin the climb. I hadn’t really made the effort I should have made to learn the language and surmount my other problems” (Improvement Era, Aug. 1957, 554).

It is hardly necessary to add that Abinadi Olsen did not leave the mission. He labored for three and a half years, until released by appropriate authority. He was an exceptionally effective missionary, and he was a faithful member of the Church for the rest of his life.

Let me conclude with a little parable. Have you ever heard the parable of the eagle? It’s a classic. It seems a certain man went through the forest seeking any bird of interest he might find. He caught a young eagle, brought it home and put it among his fowls and ducks and turkeys and gave it chicken’s food to eat even though it was an eagle, the king of the birds.

Five years later a naturalist came to see him and after passing through his garden said, “That bird is an eagle, not a chicken.”

“Yes,” said the owner, “But I have trained it to be a chicken. It is no longer an eagle. It is a chicken, even though it measures fifteen feet from tip to tip of its wings.”

“No,” said the naturalist. “It is an eagle still; it has the heart of an eagle and I will make it soar high up to the heavens.”

“No,” said the owner, “it is a chicken, and it will never fly.”

They agreed to test it. The naturalist picked up the eagle. “Thou dost belong to the sky and not to this earth; stretch forth thy wings and fly.” The eagle turned this way and that and, then, looking down, saw the chickens eating their food and down he jumped.

The owner said, “I told you it was a chicken.”

“No,” said the naturalist, “it is an eagle. Give it another chance tomorrow.”

So the next day he took it to the top of the house and said, “Eagle, thou art an eagle; stretch forth thy wings and fly.” But again the eagle, seeing the chickens feeding, jumped down and fed with them.

Then the owner said, “I told you it was a chicken.”

“No,” asserted the naturalist, “it is an eagle and it still has the heart of an eagle. Only give it one more chance, and I will make it fly tomorrow.”

The next morning he rose early and took the eagle outside the city, away from the houses, to the foot of a high mountain. The sun was just rising, gilding the top of the mountain with gold, and every crag was glistening in the joy of that beautiful morning.

He picked up the eagle and said to it, “Eagle, thou art an eagle. Thou dost belong to the sky and not to this earth. Stretch forth thy wings and fly.” The eagle looked around and trembled as if new life were coming to it. But it did not fly. The naturalist then made it look straight at the sun. Suddenly it stretched out its wings and, with the screech of an eagle, it flew.

I breathed hard as my math teacher talked about our upcoming activity.
“I know most of you young people listen to rap,” he said. “It’s not very good music, and it’s often hard to leave it alone.”
He wanted to show us how bad it was by having the class count the seconds to the first swear word of each song. He explained that after we collected the data we were going to put it into graphs.
“Now, I expect you all to be mature about this,” he lectured. “But if anyone’s uncomfortable or you know your parents wouldn’t approve, you can take your book and go into the hall.”
I gripped my chair. I knew I couldn’t stay here—but I was afraid to move. No one else seemed to be thinking the same thing I was. “I’ll be the only one if I leave,” I told myself.
I rationalized that maybe it would be okay if my teacher stopped the song after the first swear word. I was so petrified to stand up that I lost my chance to leave. The first song came on, and I felt my heart sink as the Spirit disappeared from the room.
The song ended, and its data was written on the board. Before I could think, another song blared curse words through the speakers. I couldn’t take it anymore. I knew that this kind of music drove away the Spirit, and that Heavenly Father didn’t want me listening to it. I picked up my book and asked the teacher if I could leave. As I walked out of the room, the Spirit returned, and I knew I had done the right thing.