Gospel Story Finder

Not long after I had completed the Book of Mormon for the second time, my husband left our family. The seemingly impossible tasks of my new job became extremely stressful, and my son’s chronic health condition left me feeling like I was drowning.
But then I remembered reading in the Book of Mormon about how Amulon had placed great burdens upon Alma and his people. When the people prayed for help, the Lord told them He was mindful of their situation and would deliver them. Until then, He said, “I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs” (Mosiah 24:14).
I had studied that chapter in Mosiah many times before, and I had taught it many times to others in gospel classes. I believed the truth of those verses. Because I had become familiar with the teachings in the Book of Mormon, I knew that personal truth appears when I liken the scriptures to my personal circumstances.
So I began reading that chapter every day for strength and to remind myself that the Lord cared about me too. I still had to experience trials, but He did lighten my burdens.
Those verses in the Book of Mormon carried me through a time of great personal adversity, providing me with peace and a comforting knowledge that the Lord is mindful of all His children.

Trevor sat down on the couch and put his chin in his hands. His brothers were playing with Grandpa. He wished he could have fun too, but he couldn’t stop worrying about his baptism.
Mom sat down next to him and ruffled his hair. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Don’t you want to play?”
Trevor shook his head, frowning.
Mom looked at him a moment, then put her arm around him. “Are you still afraid to go under the water?”
Trevor nodded.
The thought of being underwater always scared Trevor. When he was three, he had fallen into a swimming pool. He could never forget how scared he had felt as he sank deeper and deeper into the water until someone pulled him out. He had been nervous around water ever since.
“Why isn’t anything working?” Trevor asked. “We prayed, and we even visited the font. Nothing worked!” Springing up from the couch, Trevor ran into his room.
Slamming the bedroom door behind him, Trevor fell onto his bed. Soon he heard a soft knock on the door.
Trevor looked over as Dad sat down beside him. “Mom told me you’re still nervous about getting baptized,” Dad said.
Trevor nodded. “I keep praying, but the scared feeling won’t go away.”
Dad thought a minute. “Sometimes when we pray for something, it doesn’t happen right away. You might feel scared now, but maybe by tomorrow you’ll feel better.”
Trevor shook his head, but then he remembered when he was nervous about starting school last year. Dad had given him a blessing. Maybe a blessing could help him get baptized too. He looked up at Dad. “Do you think you and Grandpa can give me a blessing?”
Dad nodded. “I think that’s a great idea.”
A little while later, Trevor sat down in a chair in the family room. Dad and Grandpa placed their hands on his head. Dad blessed him, saying that if he had faith, Heavenly Father could help him to feel calm and peaceful.
The next day as he sat at his baptism in his white clothes, Trevor still felt nervous. He was glad he had received a blessing, but what if he stayed scared? How would he get baptized?
After hearing a talk about baptism, Dad leaned over. “It’s time to go to the font,” he said. Trevor nodded and followed Dad to the font. Dad went in first.
It was Trevor’s turn. He hesitated, but then he remembered his blessing. “Heavenly Father, please help me to have faith,” he prayed silently to himself.
Slowly, Trevor put one foot in the water. It was nice and warm. Trevor took another step.
With each step, he could feel his worry and fear melting away. Dad took him by the arm and smiled. “Ready?”
Trevor felt calm and peaceful. This was the feeling Heavenly Father had promised to give him. He nodded. “Ready.”
Dad raised his right arm and said the baptismal prayer. As Dad lowered him under the water, Trevor wasn’t afraid. All he could feel was that calm, peaceful feeling growing stronger.
Trevor came out of the water smiling. He knew that his faith had helped him overcome his fear so he could be baptized. He knew Heavenly Father would always help him when he was trying to choose the right.

Monday night in Manila doesn’t seem much different at first glance than any other night. Traffic in the city moves like a million ants all trying to use the same narrow tree branch to crawl in two different directions at once. Except these ants honk.
We were trying to get to the Velascos’ house so I could see a Filipino family home evening in action, but rush hour wasn’t cooperating. Finally our guide announced he was taking a shortcut, and we pulled onto a narrow street packed with people buying and selling items at small roadside stands. The shoppers were enjoying themselves, laughing and calling out to one another. They paid little attention to our compact car inching its way through their open-air shopping center.
When we finally arrived at the Velascos’ at the other end of the market, the contrast was astonishing. As we walked into their home, the hustle and bustle outside seemed to simply fade away.
They hadn’t sat down for a lesson yet, but family night had already started. Six-year-old Stephen sat on Sister Velasco’s lap while she and Brother Velasco chatted with Grandma and Grandpa. Kevin and Kirby, 14, laughed about something 15-year-old Naomi had said. Katrina, 11, was setting out the scriptures and hymnbook.
After we had met everyone, the family sat down together. Grandpa offered an opening prayer. Brother Velasco talked about talents. During the discussion the family switched easily between Tagalog and English whenever one language suited better than the other. Katrina and Naomi took turns reading the parable of the talents from Matthew 25:14–30. Brother Velasco pulled out his guitar and shared one of his talents in song, then passed the guitar to Kirby, who played a song too. Sister Velasco helped Stephen say the closing prayer, and everyone stepped into the kitchen for a special treat, homemade pizza.
While everyone was chewing, I had the chance to ask them their feelings about family home evening.
“What’s your favorite part?” I asked Kirby. Unfortunately, he had just taken a bite. “The refreshments,” he said around the mouthful. Everyone laughed.
“The laughter,” Naomi said as their fit of the giggles passed.
“What has it done for your family?”
“It has helped us bond,” Kevin said. “That’s what happens when you share your thoughts and feelings.”
It was a good answer, but I wanted to make sure he wasn’t saying it just because I was there. “Does it really?” I asked.
They all nodded. “Because of family home evening, we have become closer,” Naomi answered. “We’re more friendly to each other.”
That was obvious. The blessings of family home evening were obvious too. And it was with great reluctance that I said good-bye and stepped back out into the endless rush of a busy world.

Would you like to hear about a missionary who was prompted to make a wise choice? He was new in the work and was assigned to labor in the city of Oshawa, Ontario, Canada, with a veteran missionary as a companion. They called at the home of a family by the name of Pollard. They knocked, and Mr. Pollard let them in. He invited them to present their material. After he had heard their message, and after he had prayed with them, it seemed as though the spirit of the adversary came over him, and he became angry with the elders and told them to leave and never come back again. As he showed them to the door, he said, “You can’t tell me that you really believe Joseph Smith is a prophet of God, anyway.” The door slammed shut. The two dejected missionaries walked away.

This young missionary turned to his senior companion and said, “We didn’t answer Mr. Pollard’s question.”

The senior companion explained the futility of attempting to return. But the young elder said, “I’m going back. I won’t feel right until I do.”

They returned to Mr. Pollard’s door and knocked on it. He opened the door and said, “I thought I told you fellows to leave.”

The next decision took all the strength of character and all the fortitude that this young man could muster, for his senior companion did not give him much help. I heard Mr. Pollard himself describe the experience. He said, “That missionary looked me in the eye. He hesitated for a moment, and then said, ‘Mr. Pollard, as we left your home, you made a statement that we really didn’t believe Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. Mr. Pollard, I want you to know that I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and that this work is true.’”

After this declaration, the missionaries departed. Mr. Pollard later told me that all the rest of the day and that evening he kept hearing those words echoing through his ears: “I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I know it. I know it. I know it.”

The next morning he telephoned the missionaries and asked them to come back. They returned to his home and taught him the gospel. They taught his wife the gospel. They taught his children the gospel. All became members of the Church. If you could have accompanied me to the district conference I attended a few years back and heard this man stand on his feet and thank his Heavenly Father for the choice that a young missionary made to return and to bear his witness, you, my brothers and sisters, would be forever anxious to “choose the right when a choice is placed before you.”

Kris liked the sport from the start. She won her first tournament at eight and has been playing in singles, doubles, and mixed doubles competition ever since. During the winter months of her Primary years, Kris played at 5:00 A.M. on a makeshift court—a tennis net strung across a BYU basketball practice floor. Getting up early became a habit, and Kris attended early morning seminary in order to schedule her other classes and leave school at noon for more tennis practice.

Having spent the past five summers traveling, she’s gathered recognitions and friends across the nation and finds the social advantages of tennis as appealing as the game’s challenge. Playing in tournaments has also given Kris good opportunities to talk about the gospel. “Most people know something about the Church but are generally reluctant to bring it up. Many know friends and neighbors who are members, often converts. They know that we don’t swear and that we believe in the Word of Wisdom.”

She’s also noticed that people watch more than her game when they find out she’s LDS. “I’ve realized that I’m observed by other tennis players and tournament officials when they find out I’m a member of the Church, and a bad show of temper doesn’t impress new friends. A lot of kids get away from their homes and want to party. Many of them lack direction in their lives and are very unsettled. The gospel gives my life such purpose that I find I’m respected for my beliefs.”

Match victories are as much a ribbon for her parents as for Kris’s exacting backhand. Her mother has been a faithful chaperon, sideline supporter, and confidant; and Kris calls her dad “my sponsor.” Her scrapbook is a two-volume collage of pictures, newspaper clippings, tournament programs, airline tickets, and autographs of tennis stars.

Kris feels working with the BYU women’s team, an opportunity given her by Ann Valentine, BYU women’s coach, has been the greatest boost to her game. Playing on the school’s indoor courts has allowed her to practice year-round, while the school’s televised replay of games has let her see her weaknesses. “People can tell you repeatedly you’re doing something wrong, but there’s a chance you may not grasp the concept. Once you see your mistakes, you can improve. The errors become really obvious on television.”

As the first girl to play on a varsity sports squad at Provo High, Kris found the tennis team a fun experience and good practice. But it was often hard on her opponents who were ribbed by friends for competing and losing to a girl. She graduated a semester early so she could devote more time to her game before entering BYU this fall.

For people taking up the sport Kris says, “I would hesitate learning from a book. Private lessons are the best, but make sure the teacher is good. Group lessons can also be a good start, but many don’t teach the basics. Some teach too much at once; others confuse the order of importance.”

Garage-door tennis has its strong and weak points. “It helps concentration, form, and consistency. It can also strengthen your wrist and help you train your eye on the ball, but as a regular practice routine it may get monotonous. After a while you learn to anticipate backboard returns. You also don’t have to run as much and this will slow you down in a real court situation. There’s nothing as good as playing with a tough opponent.”

Almost as important as good instruction in the basics is equipment. Beginners often overlook some essentials, says Kris. Foot blisters and cramped muscles won’t improve your game. Keep the following in mind:

When selecting a new racquet, test your racquet grips. They are generally 4 3/8 or 4 1/2 for women and 4 1/2 or 4 5/8 for men, depending on hand size. Not all 4 1/2 grips have the same feel. There may be some variation in the actual measurement.
Leave your racquet out of a press unless you don’t plan to use it for long periods of time. Use of a press also depends on the area you live in. Humid climates require the use of a press more frequently.
Playing with gut strings is more expensive but gives you a better hold on the ball. If they get wet, however, they are ruined. Nylon is slicker, with less control, but is not affected as much by water.
Squeeze balls to see if they’re dead. The more you are able to squeeze a ball, the less bounce it has. (Dead balls make good service practice balls.)
Wear extra pairs of socks if your feet blister, plus a good shock-absorbing innersole.
In considering the comparative qualities of wood versus metal racquets, personal preference prevails. Kris feels that placing precision shots is easier with wood racquets. Aluminum racquets, because they are more flexible, provide more power and speed.
With beginners there are some common problems. Males often attempt overpowering shots that inevitably end up outside the baseline or in the net. Some girls tend to be slow and indecisive in their footwork. Both men and women will watch the ball attentively until it’s about three feet away and then take their eyes off it. Keeping your eye on the ball at all times will mean more accurate shots.
“Tennis is becoming an increasingly popular game because people are realizing the importance of individual sports. You can play the game for a lifetime, and you don’t need to have a team,” says Kris. “It’s great exercise, both mentally and physically, and a fun way to socialize and meet new people. The clothes are becoming more attractive, especially for women. And it’s no longer strictly associated with country club types—more and more young people are taking up the sport.”

When Kris attended a Pancho Gonzales tennis school and played with the tennis great, he commented, “There’s another woman who’s coming up to beat the men.” But Kris says her real match will be with children. She wants to teach the game to children. Their energy, enthusiasm, and stick-to-itiveness are what tennis takes—and what Kris has had for years.

1. Don’t walk across the back of a court when others are playing. It’s very annoying to them.
2. Don’t applaud the mistakes of others at a tournament. Applaud only fine plays or shots.
3. Take turns bringing the balls so that your partner isn’t the one to always end up with dead balls.
4. If you don’t know whether the ball is in or out when you are receiving, give your opponent the point.
5. Call the shots on your side of the net and let your opponent call the ones on his side.
6. If you disagree with his call, ask for a re-serve.
7. Retrieve balls hit into your court from another. When you hit one into another player’s court, wait for him to return it. If he doesn’t, do not go onto his court to pick it up until a stop in his game.
8. When playing doubles, don’t hog the court; play your side.
9. If a ball comes between doubles players and there is a doubt as to who will hit it, call your shot. It should preferably go to a player’s forehand.
10. Volunteer to play doubles when others are waiting for a court, or cut down your singles playing time.

Elder Hunter related an experience he had during the time he served as president of the Genealogical Society: “I went to see President McKay one day after a computer representative told me that his company had developed a cylinder that would hold a billion bits of information. I was excited! This was a break-through for genealogical record keeping. As I told President McKay about it, I said, ‘Isn’t that marvelous?’ He replied, ‘What’s marvelous about that? You haven’t had use for it before, have you?’ I replied, ‘No, we are just at that point now.’ And he said, ‘Well, that’s the reason the Lord has provided it now.’”

Recently I finished serving as the Mission President in Toronto Canada, I resolved I was going to follow Elder Scott's counsel and write down every impression I felt, however small it may be. Those impressions didn't always come when I was sitting at a table with pen in hand. Sometimes they came at the most inconvenient times. One night, I kept getting out of bed to record impressions that had come. Finally my wife said to me, "Why do you keep popping out of bed?" But I had learned a sad lesson from the past—if I waited until the morning I would usually forget the impression. There is an urgency about recording our impressions while we are still in the spirit.

Our circumstances improved, and at last we were able to buy a mobile home. And it was our good fortune to move into a mobile home park next door to a Latter-day Saint family. They were very friendly and often urged us to go to church with them. I felt that I needed God for my child, so I was glad they kept asking until we gave in.
It happened that our first meeting was a fast and testimony meeting. I was a little bewildered by this new experience, but not Ben; he was converted on the spot. We received two missionary discussions in the next two weeks. Then on Saturday, 28 February 1970, we had three more discussions and were interviewed and baptized that same night.

Ryan is in second grade. He likes to draw and is taking Tae Kwon Do. He is only one year away from becoming a black belt! Sean and Ryan are good friends, and they like drawing pictures together. Ryan likes school and has many friends. His first year in Rye, he was invited to several birthday parties that were held on Sunday. He told his friends that he could not go to parties on Sunday. He said, “Sunday is our church and family day.” It was disappointing to miss the parties, but the next year, two of his friends held their birthday parties on Saturday just so Ryan could come! Ryan was glad that he had told them why he couldn’t come before and that they respected his religious beliefs.

“We’re glad you could stay with us tonight. This is the coldest night I can remember in Illinois,” Sarah Ann said, taking a seat at the table across from Mr. James. “Our family moved here from New York after Father died. He and Mother left Norway to escape those who wanted to punish them for being Quakers. When they arrived in America, Father worked hard to build a house.”
As Sarah Ann told the story, she could almost smell the fresh-cut maple wood again.
“One day, our home caught fire, and everything was destroyed. When Father returned from work and saw us standing in the street, he asked Mother if we were safe. She answered yes, and Father knelt down right there in the middle of the street and thanked God for protecting us.”
“Your father must have had a lot of faith in God,” Mr. James said.
Sarah Ann nodded, wishing her father were still with them.
Soon their visitor said good night and went to bed. Mother reached for his worn socks, which had been drying by the fire, so she could mend the many holes. This was a scene Sarah Ann had witnessed a hundred times. She kissed Mother on the cheek and went to bed.
When Sarah Ann awoke the next morning, Mr. James was gone. But the house was not quiet. There was a large crowd gathered in the road outside, and Sarah Ann leaned out the window to hear what was happening.
Two men were standing in the middle of the crowd. Sarah Ann recognized them as the Mormon missionaries who had arrived in the village last week. It was obvious that whatever they were talking about was important to them.
One of the men held up a book and said, “We testify that the Book of Mormon is true. We also testify that there is a living prophet once again on the earth.”
Sarah Ann suddenly felt a warm feeling fill her heart. It surprised her. She knew in that moment that what the missionaries were teaching was true.
Sarah Ann rushed to tell Mother about the experience and her desire to be baptized. Some of Mother’s friends were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and even though they were good people, Sarah Ann could tell that Mother didn’t want her to be baptized.
“Sarah Ann, this is a big decision. If you still feel the same way when you are older, then you may be baptized,” Mother said.
Sarah Ann agreed. Over the next three years, she learned all she could about the Church. As she did, her faith in Jesus Christ and His restored gospel grew. No amount of time could take away what Sarah Ann felt about the gospel.
Finally, Sarah Ann was baptized. On her baptism day, Sarah Ann made a promise in her heart that she would always do whatever Heavenly Father asked her to do. She was about to find out what that would be.

But again, can we pray when we hardly have the heart for it? Lorenzo Snow leaves us the glimpse that after he was, as he felt, stillborn into the Church, nothing really significant happened in and after his baptism and confirmation. He kept praying for life, for the witness of the Spirit. It didn’t come. Not feeling as he was wont but that the heavens were as brass over him, he nevertheless went to an accustomed place for prayer. He had no sooner opened his lips than the Spirit descended upon him. He describes it as like the rustling of silken robes. (They did not have the word electricity then.) There descended upon him a Spirit that was more tangible in its effect upon every part of his body than the surroundment by water in baptism. He was filled, praying when he didn’t want to pray (see Eliza R. Snow, Biography and Family Records of Lorenzo Snow, pp. 8–9; Juvenile Instructor 22:22–23).

On the large Idaho farm where I grew up in the 1940s, the work horses had been displaced by the tractor, so my father left them to graze, except when we children wanted to ride them. I always chose Banner, despite his thick, aging, work-worn body.
On summer evenings, my father helped me saddle Banner, then sent us off to bring the cows home for milking. The cows pastured in a field fenced on three sides but open on the fourth to the Teton River. Beyond the river’s main channel, a large flood plain was crisscrossed by lesser channels. In springtime, the swollen river formed many islands and swamps crowded with brush.
Occasionally the cows would notice untouched grass across the river and swim across the swift current to eat it. They then wandered into the thick brush and could be hard to find. Father had given me strict orders that if the cows ventured across the river, I was never to go after them but must return home for help.
One Saturday evening in early spring just after my seventh birthday, I was in a great hurry to bring the cows home for milking because my parents had promised that we could go to a movie if we got our chores done in time. I trotted Banner as much as he could endure at his advanced age, but when I arrived at the pasture, I saw that the cows had swum across the river, even though it ran at high flood stage.
I felt great distress. I knew that if I went for help, the movie would probably be half over before we could find the cows, milk them, and get the other chores done. I decided to go after the cows myself, even though I had been warned so many times not to.
I knew that horses could swim well, as I had seen them cross the river before, but Banner hesitated as I urged him down into the cold, swift stream. As he swam with quick, jerking motions, his head barely cleared the water. An adult sitting on him would also have had his head above water, but at my age, the water quickly covered me. I had to grip the saddle horn to keep from washing downstream in the treacherous current. That kept me underwater, though, except when Banner lunged forward several times, bringing my head above water enough to gasp for air.
When Banner finally climbed the other bank, I realized that my life had been in grave danger and that I had done a terrible thing—I had knowingly disobeyed my father. I felt that I could redeem myself only by bringing the cows home safely. Maybe then my father would forgive me.
Banner and I wandered for some time across the flooded plain, crossing swamps and streams and searching in the thick brush for the cows. In the dusk I began to realize that I might not find them at all. Further, I didn’t know for sure where I was, and I began to fear that I couldn’t find my way back.
Finally I heard the mooing of cows in the distance and found them on a small island. We crossed to that island and began rounding up the cattle just as full darkness fell. Normally at milking time, the cows would be eager to return to the barn, but on this night, because of the darkness and the cold water they would have to swim across, they had no desire to leave. I tried every way I knew to get them to move, but just as we approached the water, they always turned and ran back to the center of the small island.
Despair overwhelmed me. I was wet and cold, lost and afraid, and, worst of all, well aware that my disobedience had landed me in this fix.
I began to cry as I climbed down from Banner and fell to the ground by his feet. Between thick sobs, I tried to offer a prayer, simple but deeply sincere, as I repeated over and over to my Father in Heaven, “I’m sorry. Forgive me! I’m sorry. Forgive me!”
I prayed for some time with my head bowed, and when I finally looked up, I saw a figure dressed in white come up out of the river and walk toward me. In the dark, I felt certain it must be an angel sent in answer to my prayers. I did not move as the figure approached, but felt overwhelmed by what I saw. Would the Lord really send an angel to me, who had been so disobedient?
Then a familiar voice said, “I’ve been looking for you, Son.” I recognized my father and ran to his outstretched arms. He held me for several moments until I finally stopped the emotional sobs. He then said gently, “I was worried. I’m glad I found you.”
I tried to tell him how I felt, but only disjointed words—“Thank you … dark … afraid … river … alone”—came out of my trembling lips.
I will never understand how my father coordinated the next few minutes. We both climbed on Banner and started herding the cows. Father gave a piercing whistle, and the cows seemed to line up in single file and march through the numerous channels of the river toward home. I learned later that when my father noticed that I had not returned from the pasture, he drove the pickup truck out to investigate. When he couldn’t find me or the cows, he knew that I had crossed the river and was in danger. Because it was turning dark, he did not take time to go for additional help but removed his clothes down to his long white thermal underwear, tied his shoes around his neck, and swam the treacherous river in search of me.
He was larger than life to me. He had saved me from the most terrible experience of my young life and replaced fear and danger with love and security. I will always remember what it was like to ride on Banner encircled by my father’s warm arms and hearing him say, “Everything is fine now. You are safe.”
I had been disobedient and had learned the fear and regret that came with it. My father had searched for me, his lost son, and brought me safely home. I had never felt greater gratitude and joy.
I feel similar joy and gratitude to my Heavenly Father, recognizing that when I exercise poor judgment and disregard his commandments, he still is willing to rescue me as I repent and turn to him again.

Quite often my mom and I sat up late at night talking about anything and everything. Right before I left for boot camp, we were having one of those late-night talks. We discussed how important it was that I keep my standards high and not give in to some of the temptations I might face. She asked me right then if I would promise her that I would not pick up swearing while at boot camp. I made her that promise, even though I knew it might be hard to keep because of the environment I would be in.
On June 12, I arrived at the San Diego, California, Marine Corps recruit depot. Right from the start, any identity we had was taken away. We all wore the same uniforms, wore the same brown horn-rimmed glasses, and had the same haircut, which was no hair! We were not allowed to refer to ourselves as “I” or “me.” We were to say “this recruit” when speaking about ourselves.
We got about five hours of sleep a night. We were on the go 19 hours a day. Part of the time we were in classes. Other times we were running or learning to march, and the rest of the time we were in the field learning things like martial arts, takedowns, and bayonet training. I had three drill instructors and one senior drill instructor, who was as big as a horse. His neck and biceps were the size of tree trunks.
One day my platoon of 83 recruits was in the field doing a drill. One recruit, who was the “enemy,” tried to take our rifles away. We had to fight to prevent him from getting it. Once we had control of our rifle, we were told to point it at the enemy and yell, “Get down, _____!” calling him a profane name.
As I stood there in line waiting for my turn and watching one recruit after another do the drill, I thought about the promise I had made to my mom. It would be easy to give in just this once and talk like a “real” marine. But I knew it would be wrong. I had made a promise, and now I was being put to the test. It was finally my turn. I fought the enemy, got control of my rifle, pointed it at him, and yelled, “Get down!”
My drill instructors stopped the drill and yelled at me to do it again the right way and say what they told me to say. I did the drill again, pointed the rifle at the other recruit, and yelled, “Get down!” Suddenly I had two drill instructors in my face, yelling and screaming at me. My senior drill instructor came over and stood half an inch from my face and yelled at me to obey the order I was given and do the drill the way I was ordered to do it.
It was now crunch time. Do I give in or stand up for what I know is right and keep the promise? I stood at attention and said, “This recruit does not swear, sir!” Everyone went silent.
There was not a sound as all eyes went back and forth between me and my four drill instructors. I didn’t know what would happen to me next. I wondered if I’d be harassed by all the recruits or commanded to do 5,000 push-ups. Finally my senior drill instructor burst out laughing. Everyone else started laughing as well. The drill instructors began joking with me and coming up with other words that I could say instead. I didn’t get in any trouble for keeping my promise. When it was all over, I felt relieved and thankful that I had done the right thing.

This principle is illustrated by a story told by Elder Merrill C. Oaks.

Some years ago while I was serving as a bishop of a Brigham Young University ward, a young woman came to me for counsel concerning a marriage proposal. She really liked the young man but was strongly committed to not taking a step as important as marriage without receiving inspiration that it was right. She had been praying about whether to marry him and had received no answer. I assured her that the Lord would surely answer her prayers and that she should keep on praying.

The following Sunday she asked to see me again. She felt she was receiving no answer. I interviewed her and established that she was worthy. I again assured her that the Lord does hear and answer prayers and that she should continue praying.

The young man was really pressing her to make a decision. He loved her but felt she was stalling because she probably did not love him. He was approaching the time he might terminate the relationship. She was very concerned but felt she could not marry him without an answer from the Lord. I was very troubled by this. I knew the Lord answered prayers. I knew this young woman was worthy to receive answers to her prayers. Why was she not receiving an answer?

The key came to me in a moment of clear enlightenment. I told her she was expecting the Lord to completely make the decision for her, but He would not do that. Even a decision as important as marriage requires us to exercise our own agency. . . .

Like Oliver Cowdery, she had taken no thought except to keep asking the Lord. I told her she must exercise her own agency by studying it out in her mind, making a tentative decision, and then asking the Lord for a confirmation of her decision. . . .

[The young lady in this story eventually] received her answer. She explained, . . . “I just began to feel [more and more positive and] good about getting married, and I knew that my prayers were being answered.

If you have a smartphone, tablet, or laptop with you, please google something; look up “John F. Kennedy Honolulu 1963." Hopefully within seconds you will see images of our 35 th president when he visited the island of Oahu to address the Conference of Mayors. He was there to urge the mayors to help pass legislation that would guarantee black Americans equal rights.
On June 8 th of that year, his plane touched down a little after 9 p.m. local time. President Kennedy spoke to the crowd assembled on the tarmac and commended the people of Hawaii for being a great example of how persons of differing races, cultures, and religions could live together so peacefully and prosperously.
After finishing his brief remarks at the podium, he moved forward to the people behind the restraining fence. He started shaking hands with anyone he could reach over the fence. I maneuvered my body forward into tight spaces between people, jumping up and down several times to see how close he was getting to where I was positioned in the crowd. Suddenly, the man behind me grabbed me and hoisted me high over his head onto his shoulders. Instantly I was shaking hands with the president of the United States. I was shocked, excited, surprised, elated, and terrified.
Five minutes later, President Kennedy drove off in the same 1961 Lincoln convertible that carried him to his death in Dallas five months later. I must admit to you that being asked to share a devotional address has brought some of those exact same emotions to me: shock, excitement, surprise, happiness, and terror. I welcome them all.

“Shucks, Wendy! I’m not doing anything to your silly flower. I’m just talking to it.”
“Well stop it, Peter!” Wendy warned.
Peter liked to talk to Wendy’s flower. One day Mother told him that flowers were happiest when people talked to them. So whenever Wendy was at school Peter talked and sang to the flower on her dresser.
Wendy’s teacher had given everyone in her class a little package of seeds and a jar of dirt. Wendy planted the seeds and after a long time, green shoots pushed up through the dirt and grew and grew until the leaves of a tiny plant popped open. Now there was also a little yellow flower on the end of the longest stem. Wendy was happy about her flower and protected it fiercely from anyone who came near.
“There’s no need to scold, Wendy,” Mother said. “You know that Peter won’t hurt your flower. Flowers grow better when they receive attention. Look how much it has grown already! Soon you’ll have to move the flower outside so it can have more room for its roots to spread out.”
The next morning Peter went back to Wendy’s room. He walked over to Wendy’s dresser and spoke softly, “Hello, Flower. Are you really too big for your jar? Do you want to move outside?” The flower didn’t answer, so Peter pretended that he was the flower answering: “Yes, Peter, I do need some more room so my roots can stretch out.”
Peter carefully picked up the jar. He carried it in both hands through the house and out into the backyard.
Then he sat down on the step to think. Wendy will be happy when she sees that I moved her flower, Peter thought. But where will I put it?
He looked for a place all over the yard—by the fence, by the swings, by the picnic table, even by the garbage cans. Then in the corner of the yard he spied a small pile of sand where he played with his bulldozer and dump trucks.
“There’s just the right place for you, Flower!” he said happily, as he headed for the sandpile.
While Peter was scooping out a hole in the sand, he found a little green car that had been lost. “There you are,” he said to his toy. “I guess I buried you and then I forgot to dig you up again.”
When Peter thought the hole was deep enough, he sat down beside the jar and tried to pull the flower out. But the roots were tangled up in the dirt, so Peter had to pry them out with his fingers. Some of the root hairs broke off. He put the flower in the hole and filled in sand around it.
Just as he went to fill the jar with water for the flower, it started to rain. With all this rain, I guess the flower doesn’t need any more water, Peter thought, and he went back into the house to wait for Wendy.
Wendy always watered her flower as soon as she came home from school. That was one job her mother never had to remind her to do. But when Wendy walked into her room after school that day, the flower was gone!
“MOTHER! My flower is gone!” Wendy cried as she ran into the kitchen.
“Now, Wendy, where would your flower go? Nobody has been here all day except Peter and me,” Mother said.
Just then Wendy turned around and saw Peter holding the empty jar in his hand. “Where is my flower? I told you not to touch it!” she declared angrily.
“Come and see,” he said excitedly. Mother and Wendy followed Peter outside.
He led them to the sandpile and proudly pointed to the little hump of sand where he had planted the flower. “See, Wendy, I moved your flower out here so it could have more room,” he said.
They all stood there, looking at it, but something was wrong. All the leaves were folded together and the head of the flower was drooping down to the ground.
Suddenly Peter was worried. He knelt down on the sand and tried to fix the flower so it would stand up straight. But it just kept flopping over again. His big eyes were filled with tears as he looked helplessly at Wendy and Mother. Then Wendy began to realize how much the flower really meant to her little brother. He feels even worse than I do, she decided and went over and knelt down beside him.
“Peter,” she comforted, “I know you didn’t mean to hurt the flower. You were only trying to help. Tomorrow we can get some more seeds and plant some flowers that we can take care of together.”

5. Family councils. As you would expect to hear from me, one of the best tools we have as parents is the family council. I cannot emphasize enough its importance in helping to understand and address challenges in the family. When members of one family began to feel unusual contention invading their home, they called a family council to discuss the situation. The father and then the mother explained to their children what they had observed and asked how each felt about it. The mother and father learned that since their two oldest children had left home, one to be married and one to go to college, an unfair burden of responsibility had been unwittingly shifted to the two oldest children remaining at home, and they were becoming resentful. By counseling together and listening to what their children were feeling, the family made a more equitable distribution of responsibility among the children, resolving much of the frustration and tension in the home.

I first came here when I was eleven years old when my father accepted an assignment from President Howard W. Hunter to be a founding member of the Board of Directors for the Polynesian Cultural Center. This was an assignment that would last for thirty-five years and one that brought me to this campus many, many times in my life. When I was fourteen, I experienced one of the most critical and important teaching moments of my life- right here at this campus.
At the start of the summer of my fourteenth year I had just finished my middle school. I had done extremely well in my schoolwork. My father asked me what I would like for my graduation. I boldly asked him if he would let me go and spend my summer vacation in Hawaii. He agreed to do so on the condition that I would agree to earn my Eagle Scout award. My father loved scouting and was involved in its service for over 50 years of his life. He was their national treasurer and received their highest honor, the Silver Buffalo award.
I readily accepted his condition and made a commitment to him that if he would let me spend a summer in Hawaii, I would earn my Eagle Scout award. My father arranged for me to stay at this campus in the university dorms and also arranged for me to work as a grounds keeper to help pay for my living expenses. It was an idyllic summer, one that I fondly remember to this date. I made little progress that summer on my Eagle Scout but returned home to Los Angeles very tan and with much improved surfing skills.
Over the next few years my father gently reminded me of our agreement. I initially worked hard at getting most of my required merit badges. But then as I got more involved in High School and its activities, I grew less and less interested in scouting. I decided I really did not like my scoutmaster and that I had better things to do on scout nights. Now in scouting you have until your 18th birthday to complete your work for the Eagle Scout. By the time I was seventeen I had all but a couple of the necessary 21 merit badges. I kept telling my Dad not to worry, that I would honor our deal.
To this day I can't fully explain what occurred. I completed and earned all the necessary merit badges the summer before my 18th birthday, but became too busy or involved in other things. All I had to do was go and get a couple of final signatures and have the final required interview, but I never did it. That was the only time in my life that I remember that I ever broke my word to my father. But it was more than my word, I broke his heart also. And I let myself down. It took years for my father to ever really forgive me for this breach of trust. As I look back on that time I find it hard to understand why I ever let my character be compromised by such avoidable indifference. And how I let things like sports, girlfriends, and social activities take priority over honor and commitment.

On his return, Enoch taught at the Accra Missionary Training Centre for a couple of years as he contemplated his future. He had loved accounting in high school and had studied it with the intent of entering that profession. But about three years after his mission, he completed a data analytics certificate program from Coursera, offered by Google. That experience allowed him to see the critical role data plays in today’s economy in anticipating and solving problems. That vision motivated him to begin thinking of attending university to pursue a degree in data science. He applied for and got the sponsorship necessary to pursue a university education. Unfortunately, the global COVID-19 pandemic interrupted his plans, and he lost his sponsorship. Again, he endured his disappointment by casting his burdens upon the Lord.
Without the ability to continue his education at that time, Enoch pursued other interests. From the time he had mastered the piano, he had wanted to teach it, so he began doing so. In addition, he resumed his service to the Lord by working for FamilySearch out of the offices of the Africa West Area in Accra, Ghana. While working there, he met a senior sister missionary who was teaching a ukulele class. He had become acquainted and enamoured with the ukulele on his mission where his general love of music had drawn him towards it, so he joined with the class. Through his association with members of the class, they became aware of his desire to continue his education, so they helped him find new sponsors for attending university. Again, his love of music and his service to, and trust in, the Lord had brought him to the next step in his personal progress. With his sponsorship now secure, Enoch applied to, and was accepted at, BYU-Idaho where he is now studying data science.
Enoch reflects on his personal journey of perseverance and growth, and he gratefully acknowledges the value of that difficult period of his life when he struggled with questions that challenged his faith. Just as his ability to play his musical instruments came through perseverance, hard work, and struggles, learning here a little and there a little, so did his testimony grow line upon line, precept on precept. It was by persevering through his struggles that he discovered the joy of a personal relationship with his Saviour, and it is that relationship that has helped Enoch get to where he is today.

Now I have to tell you a little about Josh so you get a feel for his personality. He is our oldest son, and his temperament is fairly easy-going. He is somewhat introverted. He doesn't like a lot of fuss or attention, and he's pretty independent. Unlike some of our other children, he didn't require much discipline growing up.

I remember when he was around age three, that I could go play basketball and I could sit him on the stage at the church house with some treats, and he could sit there eating his snacks quietly for more than an hour as he watched me play. (That's pretty remarkable). That's just Josh. None of our other children could have done that, but he was blessed with a calm demeanor. His temperament would assist him in enduring the great trials that were ahead for him.

When my son was five years old he sort of trotted into the room one day and very casually said, "Dad, can you see out of this eye the same way you see out of the other eye?" Somewhat concerned, we had him cover his eye and did a little test on his sight. It was apparent that he could not see the same out of both eyes. So, we thought he might need glasses, and took him to an ophthalmologist that same week. As the doctor shined a light in Josh's eye, to examine the optic nerve, I will never forget the look of alarm on the doctor's face. He wouldn't tell us what was wrong, but he immediately scheduled us for an appointment at Primary Children's Hospital in Salt Lake City. (Not a good sign, right?).

Shortly thereafter Josh was diagnosed as having a large tumor directly behind his eyes, that was pressing on his optic nerve, and damaging his vision in one eye. Surgery was scheduled immediately. I'll always remember him being wheeled into the surgery room in a little car, with an angel nurse by his side. To us it was like our lamb was going to the slaughter. And, if you saw him afterward, you would think that he had gone to the slaughter.

Normally they would go through the nasal cavity to access this type of tumor, but because of his age, they had to cut an incision from ear to ear, and go in through his skull. In this picture you can see Josh shortly after he came out of surgery. We prayed hard, and hoped for the best. Within a day after surgery his eyes were completely swollen shut and everything was dark. He was all alone that first night after surgery, as we were not allowed in the room.

That was painfully difficult for all of us. While the surgery was successful in removing the tumor, in the process they destroyed his pituitary gland--the body's master gland. Josh would need to have all his hormones synthetically replaced for the rest of his life.

He received many blessings during this time, and afterward, including blessings that discussed his healing. That healing did not come in the form we expected. We, of course, wanted him to be healed to the extent that he would not be dependent on any more medicine. But instead, the blessing was that he responded miraculously well to all of the medicines he was required to take. It was also a miracle that all of his hormones could be synthetically replaced. 30 years earlier that would not have been possible.

Years passed. By the time he was in high school he was 6' 3" tall. We had one doctor tell us he had never seen someone as tall as Josh, who was entirely dependent on growth hormone from such a young age. We were grateful for that blessing. Josh learned to endure the health challenges that were an everyday part of his life, and our family gradually learned to adjust to his medical routines.