Gospel Story Finder

The air was bitterly cold at nearly 12,000 feet as the sun sank quickly across the valley behind the mountains, and the first stars appeared. Thousands of other lights twinkled more than 7,000 feet below me as the residents of Utah Valley began dinner in their warm homes.
I was comfortable in my sleeping bag but puzzled. How could I explain the strange urge that had brought me through snow and ice to the top of Mount Timpanogos in late October? The climb had been cold and difficult. Why had I come?
I was in my second year of law school and though I was an experienced hiker, I hadn’t been in the mountains for months. The first snows of autumn blanketed the upper slopes of the mountain range, but I suddenly had the inexplicable desire to spend the night on the summit of Mount Timpanogos.
It seemed a crazy idea, but at noon I threw my camping equipment into my pack and drove up the canyon to where the mountain trail began.
Was I looking for adventure? Did I simply need a change from the routine of law school? I wasn’t sure.
There were only a few hours of daylight left when I began hiking, so I hurried along the trail through scattered trees. Soon I was climbing the steep east side of the mountain.
After I’d traveled a few kilometers, I was shocked to see another climber on the trail ahead of me. When I moved closer, I could see the hiker wasn’t a typical mountaineer. She was a middle-aged woman laboriously plodding her way toward the summit. She carried only a small pack with no night-time survival equipment.
She said she had been on the trail since morning. She proudly told me it was her first hike ever, and she was determined to reach the top.
“Don’t let your perseverance get you in trouble,” I warned her. “You’re probably not going to reach the summit before nightfall. You’d better turn back soon or you’ll have to find your way down in the dark.”
I continued past her up the trail, certain she would turn back in a few minutes. After all, she didn’t even have a sleeping bag. She could freeze to death if she were trapped on the mountain overnight.
I climbed past a lake on the mountain’s eastern shoulder and began to trudge through fresh snow at 10,000 feet. After a harrowing and exhausting traverse along the steep north slope of the peak, I was faced with an even steeper 500-foot ascent over scattered patches of snow and ice. A fall here would have ended in an uncontrolled slide down thousands of meters.
I finally finished my climb on the knife-edged ridge that was the 11,750-foot summit of Mount Timpanogos. The mountain’s sheer western face fell away at my feet, giving me an incredible view of the Utah and Salt Lake valleys.
I unrolled my sleeping bag in the small, roofed shelter that stands at the summit. The stone floor wouldn’t be too comfortable, but at least the shelter’s waist-high metal walls would keep me from rolling off the mountain.
As the sun set, the temperature began to drop rapidly. I spent a few minutes enjoying the view, then retreated to my warm sleeping bag for the night ahead.
As I slept, I heard a voice in my dreams. The voice was crying for help. The cries continued until I suddenly sat upright in my sleeping bag and realized I wasn’t dreaming. The shouts drifted up from far below, but I heard them clearly through the clear night air.
It seemed impossible, but someone—and I knew who—was wandering the icy mountainside in the darkness and cold.
I pulled on my pants and jacket and followed my flickering flashlight in the direction of the cries. I found the middle-aged woman standing in total darkness on the edge of a thousand-foot cliff.
“I got stuck on the mountain when it got dark,” she explained. She tried to appear calm, but the nervous way she spoke told me she was very frightened. “I got lost. I didn’t think it was this far to the top! I lost both my flashlights off a cliff an hour ago.”
She shivered and chattered as we stumbled back up the ridge. Her name was Jane. Her husband would still be waiting for her, she said, in their car at the foot of the trail.
Back at the shelter, I gave her my sleeping bag and told her to stay in it. She resisted at first, but shivering wildly, finally agreed. I put on all my warm clothes, wrapped Jane’s spare sweater around me, and settled in for what I correctly assumed would be one of the longest and coldest nights of my life.
I was far too cold to sleep and Jane was too excited, so we stayed awake and talked. At one point during the night I was reminded of the famed naturalist John Muir, who had once survived a night trapped on an Alaskan glacier by dancing a Scottish jig until morning. I hoped it wouldn’t get so cold that I’d have to do that.
At 4:00 A.M., with the temperature at five degrees Farenheit, we saw the flashlights of a search and rescue team 1,500 feet below us. I signalled with my flashlight, and shouted the news that Jane was okay. “We’ll be down at first light,” I yelled. “Wait for us.”
Sound carried remarkably well in the still, mountain air. Their distant “Okay!” response was easy to hear.
When the first traces of light touched the mountain, we started down the steep, icy slope. Before we reached the rescue party, Jane and I knelt together in the snow to thank our Heavenly Father that tragedy had been averted. Our prayer at 10,000 feet convinced me that the biblical promise was true: Not even a sparrow could fall to the earth without our Father’s notice, much less my new friend.
When we were finally off the mountain, Jane’s husband cried with joy and relief. He had been sure she was dead until he had seen our light early that morning. The search and rescue volunteers were similarly relieved. They said they remove the bodies of less fortunate climbers from the mountain every year.
What was I doing sleeping on top of Mount Timpanogos so late in the season? It seemed obvious to me then, as it still does to me now, that I was led there to make sure Jane got off the summit safely. I had done something right, following that irresistible urge to climb the mountain. Even at ten thousand feet, the Lord does indeed move in mysterious ways.

In 1846 thousands of saints left their homes and their gardens and their memories in Nauvoo the Beautiful and headed into the mud. It would have been easier to stay behind (and some chose to do just that), but they dreamed of “the place which God for us prepared, /far way, in the West.” It was not any place, but the place, the right place, and this place was prepared for them. It was also far away; this wasn’t going to be easy (but it was going to be worth it). Some murmured. All suffered. Some quit. Some participated in miracles. A few died (“Happy day! All is well”). Eventually, they arrived at the land that God had promised them. Though “hard to you this journey may appear, /Grace shall be as your day.” That last phrase is key: “Grace shall be as your day.” My wife’s and my several greats grandmother, Karen Marie, crossed an ocean (like Nephi), then crossed a desert (like Nephi) and buried four of her children along the way, pulling a handcart to Zion. Her daughter remembered,
I remember my mother was always very sad. Her face was stern and determined. She often explained to us girls that we would soon be safe in the great city of the Rocky Mountains. Little did she or we realize the terrible hardships we would face on that journey. I walked all the way from the Missouri River to the Salt Lake Valley. Nights when we made camp, my feet were often bleeding and sore, but through the kind and loving care of my mother, I was ready to march the next day. Her unfaltering faith, courage, determination and her tremendous capacity for work made possible that long and hazardous journey.
“Grace shall be as your day.” Grace is as dependable as the daily sunrise, even though we sometimes take it for granted. “Our God will never us forsake.” Grace is designed for murmurers and the imperfect, that is, for all of us. “I have graven thee on the palms of my hands.” No wonder “All is well.”

As I was thinking about the mission of BYU and preparing for this opportunity to speak with you today, a wonderful memory came to my mind.
On October 10, 1975, I was twenty-three years old, recently married, and a senior at BYU. That day I attended the weekly devotional and listened to President Spencer W. Kimball deliver his landmark message “The Second Century of Brigham Young University.” Among the Church and university leaders seated on the stand were Neal A. Maxwell, the commissioner of Church Education, Dallin H. Oaks, the president of the university, and Jeffrey R. Holland, the dean of Religious Instruction.
President Kimball’s instruction that day was inspiring, edifying, and prophetic. He reviewed key aspects of the university’s first century of service and described both opportunities and challenges for the university’s second century. Listening to the president and prophet of the Lord’s restored Church that day was a historic event and a most memorable experience for me.
We are approaching the halfway mark of the second century of BYU, and I believe it is an appropriate time to consider where we are and what may be coming next.

I used to attend a school where it was really hard to be a Latter-day Saint. The LDS students were a minority, and there weren’t many who shared similar standards. It seemed especially frustrating for me because my parents divorced during my freshman year.
During that time life was pretty confusing for me. I guess that’s when I really discovered the scriptures. But my family wasn’t supportive of my scripture reading. Even my mother used to tell me it was a waste of time. But through the scriptures I found someone else who dealt with family contention.
Lehi counseled Laman and Lemuel “because of the stiffneckedness of Laman and Lemuel; for behold they did murmur in many things against their father” (1 Ne. 2:11–12).
My family was divided. We fought all the time, my parents couldn’t say anything kind about each other, and they discouraged me from attending church. Our home was full of conflict.
“And it came to pass that Laman was angry with me, and also with my father; and also was Lemuel, for he hearkened unto the words of Laman. Wherefore Laman and Lemuel did speak many hard words unto us, their younger brothers, and they did smite us even with a rod” (1 Ne. 3:28).
I tried to set a good example for my family. I went to church, attended Mutual, and prayed regularly. I even invited my mom to get active in the Church again.
“And now I, Nephi, … spake unto them, saying, … Behold ye are mine elder brethren, and how is it that ye are so hard in your hearts, and so blind in your minds, that ye have need that I, your younger brother, should speak unto you, yea, and set an example for you?
“How is it that ye have not hearkened unto the word of the Lord?” (1 Ne. 7:8–9).
Sometimes, in private, I cried. Sometimes I prayed for them. Always I felt lonely.
“But, behold, Laman and Lemuel would not hearken unto my words; and being grieved because of the hardness of their hearts I cried unto the Lord for them” (1 Ne. 2:18).
When I was sad, I knew that Nephi knew sadness. When I was discouraged, I knew that Nephi knew discouragement. When I was lonely, I knew that Nephi knew loneliness.
No, my story doesn’t have a nice, neat ending. I wish it ended “happily ever after,” but it hasn’t yet. My home is still unhappy. But Heavenly Father has given me the scriptures, and I know that he understands exactly what it is like for me at home. Though the conflict hasn’t stopped, at least I have found comfort and peace and ways to cope.
“I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Ne. 3:7).
Just as Nephi knew that the Lord would help him accomplish anything that was commanded, I too know that Heavenly Father will continue to strengthen and support me from my heavenly home as I struggle to deal with a torn earthly home. The scriptures are my lifeline to that heavenly home.

President Gordon B. Hinckley tells of cleaning his house when he was a youth: “Most homes were heated with coal stoves. … As winter came to a close, black soot and grime were everywhere, both inside and outside of the house. There was a ritual through which we passed each year. … It was known as spring cleaning. …

“When all of it was done, and everything was back in place, the result was wonderful. The house was clean, our spirits renewed. The whole world looked better” (“Be Ye Clean,” Ensign, May 1996, 47).

Tracy forgot about the Golden Rule when her sister Tara became sick and missed a few days of school. Tracy was jealous of the extra attention and care Tara received. She reacted by ignoring Tara. Several hours without her favorite friend’s company, however, made Tracy realize she should be giving Tara the most attention. “I finally put myself in Tara’s shoes,” Tracy said. “I would feel terrible if she treated me the way I was treating her.” Tracy played quiet games with Tara and told her of the day’s events at school.

I was interested in a little story that Brother Benson told us the other day. He was back East attending a convention, and he attended a banquet where he sat next to a minister. The minister turned to him and said, “Mr. Benson, I’d like to talk to you after the banquet.” They went to the other end of the banquet hall, and the minister said, “There are two things in your church we would like to copy.”

Brother Benson said, “What are they?”
He said, “The first is your missionary program. You send your missionaries all over the world, they pay their way to their field of labor, they maintain themselves while they’re there, and then, out of the church funds, you pay their fare home if they’ve been good missionaries. Now, we have a missionary fund in our church, and we offer to pay their way to their mission field, maintain them while they’re there and pay their way back, but we can’t get anybody to go.”

Illustration by Bryan Beach
David looked at the rectangular block of wood from every angle, trying to imagine it finished and painted for his very first pinewood derby race.
“Does it matter what shape I make it?” he asked Dad.
“No,” Dad said. “The only limits are your imagination.”
After some careful thought, David drew lines on the wood in the shape of a racecar.
They both put on safety glasses and Dad turned on the saw. David loved the smell of fresh-cut pine as Dad’s saw buzzed through the wood.
“Do you think this design will win?” David asked.
“Well, I don’t really know,” Dad said. “I was never a Cub Scout. But I don’t think winning is what’s most important …”
“I know,” David said. “It’s being a good sport.”
“You got it,” Dad said, patting him on the back. “It’s just for fun.”
David knew being a good sport was important, but deep inside he really wanted the fastest car on the track.
The next day he painted his car bright red and used a special paint marker to draw pinstripes down the sides. He imagined his car zooming down the track, first every time.
“I think it looks great,” Dad said when the car was finished. “Are you excited for tomorrow?”
David nodded. “Oh, yeah! Thanks for your help, Dad.”
“It was fun working on it with you,” Dad said. He grinned. “It’s almost like we’ll be in the driver’s seat together on the race track.”
David laughed as he imagined squeezing into the small car with Dad.
But on the night of the big race, David felt sick when he saw the other cars. Many of them looked like real racecars.
Suddenly his own car seemed a lot less impressive. Did he even stand a chance?
Two boys placed their cars against pegs at the top of the track. David watched excitedly as the Cubmaster pulled a handle and the wooden pegs dropped away so that both cars started at exactly the same time.
The crowd cheered and clapped as the two cars barreled down the track. After the winner was declared, two more cars lined up.
Several races later, it was David’s turn. The sick feeling in his stomach came back. The other boy’s car looked so much faster.
The pegs dropped. Sure enough, the other car zoomed to the finish line while his seemed to crawl down the track.
After 9 out of 15 races, David hadn’t won even once.
He glanced over and noticed a disappointed look on Dad’s face. David had never thought this might be hard for him too. He walked over and squeezed Dad’s hand.
“There are more important things than winning,” David whispered.
“That’s right, David,” Dad said with a sudden smile. Dad squeezed his hand back.
It didn’t bother David anymore when his car didn’t win. He and Dad had had a lot of fun together making his car. That was more important than winning any day.

When I was growing up, one of my jobs was to burn the trash. I would gather the garbage from the house. I’d put it in a big metal barrel in the backyard. Then I would light a match and drop it in the barrel.
One day it was really windy, and the match just wouldn’t stay lit. I decided to make a torch out of newspaper. I thought that way the flame would last long enough to light the trash on fire. I remembered that it wasn’t smart to play with fire, but I ignored the warning feeling. I rolled up some newspaper into a cone, lit it with a match, and dropped it into the barrel.
Whoosh! The strong wind made the newspaper burst into flames, and the trash quickly caught fire. Big flames blew past my face. Luckily most of my hair was pulled back into a ponytail. But my bangs were singed into crisp little wisps! My eyelashes were gone, and my eyebrows too. It just happened so fast!
That taught me a lesson: if you play with something dangerous, you can get hurt! Our parents and the Holy Ghost warn us to avoid dangerous things like pornography and drugs. If we choose to ignore the warnings, there are harmful consequences.
I’m grateful that my hair grew back over time. That’s like repentance. When we make wrong choices, we can choose to change. We can be forgiven because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. No matter how young or old we are, our Savior is always there to help us. We can feel peace again, just like on the day we were baptized.
Heavenly Father gave us commandments because He loves us. He wants to protect and help us. What wonderful gifts Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ have given us!

One Christmas, our 13-year-old granddaughter, Allie, received a special gift from one of her friends. It was a temple recommend cover. Allie was thrilled. She had just had her interview with her bishop for her temple recommend to do baptisms for the dead. She discovered how preparing for the temple and attending regularly can positively and spiritually change your life.
At the beginning of the summer, Allie and a close friend decided to visit each of the temples in and around Salt Lake City, Utah, to participate in baptisms and confirmations for the dead. This experience has increased their faith and brought them joy and spiritual enrichment.
Allie told me that the feeling in the temple is totally different from the feeling in her junior high school. She said, “It’s a feeling that you want with you always. It feels peaceful and happy. There is no pressure. I feel the Spirit trying to teach me there, and it makes me want to be better. I love being able to serve others. When I go home, I feel even greater love for my brothers and sisters and for my mom and dad.”

There is a story about a little girl whose father worked digging wells. Every day the little girl took a sack lunch to her father. Looking down into the dark hole, she couldn’t see her father working at the bottom, but he could see her standing in the light. Every day, she called out to her father. He told her to drop the sack down to him, and he would catch it. One day, her father said, “Why don’t you come down and join me for lunch today? If you’ll just jump into the hole, I’ll catch you.”

“But, Daddy, I can’t see you.”

“I can see you, and I will catch you.”

Trusting, the little girl jumped. Her father caught her, and they enjoyed their lunch together.

When my mission ended, all those experiences helped me stay hopeful in the chaotic and superficial world back home. I returned home at a very difficult time for my family and my country. There were many political and economic problems, and many families were emigrating to other countries because of the lack of employment and education opportunities. I couldn’t believe that things had changed so much in such a short time, even within my own family. Some of my loved ones and friends had also passed away. I felt so overwhelmed with all the difficulties surrounding me.
One day, feeling discouraged, I took out my study notebook and began to write about the feelings in my heart. I thought of the many experiences I had had while serving others on my mission. Recalling those special experiences was exactly what I needed to lose myself even more in His work, to serve and continue to develop the gifts that He has blessed me with. That day a very special phrase that my mission president’s wife always repeated to us stood out to me: “You can do hard things.” I have tried to remember that continuously, including while learning to use a prosthetic hand and trying to live a normal life.

A story from the life of my great grandfather’s history inspires me and motivates me. See what elements of consecration you can find in this account.

Heinrich Friedrich Christian Pieper (that’s Pieper, if you don’t speak German), Chris as he was known, was one of the first three people baptized in Cologne, Germany, in this dispensation. This picture was taken the day of his baptism, August 4, 1895. Great-grandpa Chris is standing on the far right.

Chris met my great grandmother, Emma Frieda Alber, in the small branch in Frankfurt, and they were married in 1897. In 1900, Chris and Emma immigrated to Salt Lake City with my one-year-old grandfather and shortly thereafter moved to Rexburg, Idaho, where there was a significant group of German immigrants. Chris worked as a stonecutter and helped with the construction of the original Spori Building. He later served for 27 years as caretaker of the Rexburg Tabernacle, where President Eyring was baptized.

I remember a woman who constantly nagged her husband (an inactive elder) about not paying his tithing, saying again and again, “When you don’t pay your tithing, you deny me and the children the blessings that are associated with this commandment. … I want those blessings, even if you don’t.” She became so irate and her marriage became so disturbed over this issue that she went to the bishop trying to get his aid in forcing her husband to pay tithing. The bishop’s response was, “Overall your husband is basically a good and righteous man. If you sustain him in righteousness, even in his judgment not to pay tithing at this time, the Lord will sustain you, and you will be obeying God’s commandments and will not miss out on any of the blessings.” When the husband later learned of this bishop’s counsel, he was so moved and impressed that his Church activity increased and the marital relationship was much improved.

“Mormons aren’t Christians.”
The statement from one of my high school classmates caught me off guard.
“Of course we are,” I said.
“Then why do you read the Book of Mormon?” he said as he walked away, leaving me no chance to reply.
I thought about his question a lot. The answer is, of course, that Mormons are Christians and the Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ. We read it along with the Bible to learn even more about the Savior.
I had read the Book of Mormon before. I knew it was true. But because of my classmate’s question, I felt prompted to study it in a new way, keeping track of how often it mentions Jesus Christ. As I did, I was amazed.
I had hardly opened the book when I read on the title page that the Book of Mormon is written to convince readers “that Jesus is the Christ, the Eternal God, manifesting himself unto all nations.”
In the introduction to the Book of Mormon, I read, “The crowning event recorded in the Book of Mormon is the personal ministry of the Lord Jesus Christ among the Nephites soon after His resurrection.” It said that those who gain a witness from the Holy Ghost that the record is true “will also come to know by the same power that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world.”
I turned to “he Testimony of Three Witnesses,” who said that an angel showed them the plates from which the Book of Mormon was translated, and that “we know that it is by the grace of God the Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ, that we beheld and bear record that these things are true.”
Next, “The Testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith” told of the visit of angel Moroni, who said the Book of Mormon contains the fulness of the everlasting gospel “as delivered by the Savior to the ancient inhabitants” of America.
The Converting Power of the Book of Mormon, by Ben Sowards
I hadn’t even made it to 1 Nephi, and already I had found a lot!
My search continued. In 1 Nephi, I found that Lehi knew about the coming of the Messiah (see 1 Nephi 1:19). I read his prophecies about the Redeemer, “who should take away the sins of the world” (1 Nephi 10:10; see verses 4–10). I read Nephi’s description of the birth of Jesus Christ, His ministry, death, Resurrection, and future visit to ancient America (see 1 Nephi 10–12).
I read prophesies that the Book of Mormon would affirm Bible truths that “the Lamb of God is the Son of the Eternal Father, and the Savior of the world; and that all men must come unto him” (1 Nephi 13:40). And I read Nephi’s testimony that “all nations, kindreds, tongues, and people shall dwell safely in the Holy One of Israel if it so be that they will repent” (1 Nephi 22:28).
After one day, I was on page 53. I had finished just one of the books in the Book of Mormon, but what powerful witnesses I had already received!
In the weeks that followed, I found page after page of testimonies of Jesus Christ, visions in which He appeared to prophets, and the detailed description of His ministry among the ancient Americans. I concluded my reading with Moroni’s powerful testimony of Jesus Christ (see Moroni 9); his challenge to, “ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if [the Book of Mormon is] true” (Moroni 10:4; emphasis added); and, on the last page, his tender and compelling invitation to “come unto Christ” (Moroni 10:30, 32).
I found that the Book of Mormon refuted my classmate’s statement completely. If a Christian is someone who believes in Jesus Christ, then page after page in the Book of Mormon says, “We believe!”
Eventually, I saw my friend again. I told him about my experience and invited him to read the Book of Mormon. He politely declined but said he was happy that I accept Jesus Christ as my Savior. And after our discussion, I think he understood better what I mean when I say, “Of course we are Christians.”

Rachel put her key in the lock. Coming home to an empty apartment was the worst part of every day. It wasn’t really empty, but for the three long hours until Mom arrived home from work, it felt that way.
The first time she’d come home to the Mom-less apartment, Rachel had thrown herself on her bed and cried herself to sleep. But now, seven months later, instead of crying each day, she planned something to keep her busy until Mom came home. This helped a little, but down deep she was still afraid to be in the apartment alone.
Today Rachel had a video Mom had borrowed from the Richardsons, a family who lived downstairs. She took the tape out of the box, which was labeled “From Grandma, with love.” She loaded the tape into the VCR on her way to the small kitchen. She could see the TV while she fixed herself a snack.
The video began in the middle of the tape. A man was talking. How boring, Rachel thought. I wonder if there’s anything else on the tape.
She opened a jar of peaches and dished some into a plastic bowl. When she picked up the jar to put it back into the refrigerator, her elbow bumped the bowl of peaches, splattering peach halves all across the floor. The bowl landed upside down in its own puddle of peach juice.
“What a mess!” She glanced over at the TV. The man was still talking: “… young girls, learn from your mothers the important homemaking skills you will use in your own home.”*
Yeah, skills like how not to make a mess when you’re getting a snack, Rachel thought. As she worked, she began to scold herself again. Then the man’s words caught her attention once more: “Now I want to talk to you children who do not feel safe and who are frightened. … Sometimes you may feel all alone. You need to know that even when it seems that no one else cares, your Heavenly Father does, He will always love you. He wants you to be protected and safe.”
Who was this man? His kind eyes and smile sympathized with her and her loneliness. He told a story about Jesus blessing children while angels came down and fire surrounded them. The man continued: “I promise you, dear children, that angels will minister unto you also. You may not see them, but they will be there to help you, and you will feel of their presence.”
The words filled her heart with calm. Maybe it was true. Maybe angels were there to help her. Maybe the calm she felt right now was their presence.
Well, whatever this feeling is, I hope it won’t go away. It’s very nice, Rachel thought as she wiped up the floor.
By the time she finished cleaning up the peaches, she wasn’t hungry anymore, so she returned to the living room.
The man’s talk was over, and a very old man was on—he looked like a great-grandpa. Surrounded by children, he was singing a song Rachel had never heard. He kept repeating the words “Mormon Boy.” Afterward he said to the children, “I love you, and you, and all of you.” Rachel pretended he said it to her too.
Who were those men? Why did they make her feel so good? Were there really angels? What was a “Mormon boy”? Was it a nationality, like being a French boy? Maybe Mom could answer some of her questions.
But Mom was so tired after work that she only wanted to get supper over with and go to bed. Rachel didn’t want to bother her with questions.
After Mom went to bed, Rachel decided to watch the video again. Maybe that same good feeling would return.
Rewinding the tape to the very first, she lined up several dolls on the couch, and flopped down among them.
The man with the kind eyes spoke. “We shall now be pleased to listen to the closing remarks of President Ezra Taft Benson, our beloved prophet, which he has asked me to read. Following the presentation of his message, we shall see a delightful television clip of President Benson singing to the youth, whom he loves.”
Rachel told her dolls, “The grandpa who sings is a prophet!”
“… And as you listen, I pray that you will know that this is a personal message just for you.”
“He’s talking right to us,” Rachel told her companions.
“How I love you! How our Heavenly Father loves you!” were the prophet’s words.
The warmth of the message wrapped around Rachel. And for a moment, she was calm and happy again. From the bedroom, Mom’s voice interrupted. “Rachel! Turn off the TV and go to bed!”
Rachel sighed. To her dolls she said, “Come on, we’ll watch more tomorrow.”
The next morning Rachel tried to talk to her mom about the videotape. “Mom, are there really angels?”
“I’ve never seen any.” Mom still seemed tired.
“Are there prophets?”
“Oh, maybe there were back in Bible days. There aren’t any now.”
“Oh.” She decided to say no more about the video for a while.
That day after school, and the next several days as well, Rachel dreaded coming home from school until she remembered the talk. Sometimes she kept the talk on in the background as she did her chores or her homework. Other times she arranged her dolls on the couch and sat with them, listening.
Rachel was happy when she listened to the talk, although there was a lot she didn’t understand. What were Latter-day Saints? What was a Book of Mormon? The prophet wanted them to read it. What about Primary? Sacrament meeting? He wanted her to attend, but she didn’t know what they were. He also said to pray, something Rachel and her Mom hadn’t done in years, although they used to back when Daddy was still alive.
Rachel began praying each night, which made it easier to keep hold of the special feeling the talk gave her.
Mom noticed a difference in Rachel. “Something good must be happening at school. You’re a lot happier lately.”
Before bedtime on Friday, Mom had news that abruptly ended Rachel’s happiness: The Richardsons were being transferred.
“Would you return their video in the morning?” Mom asked. “They’re leaving tomorrow.”
“But that’s so soon!” Rachel exclaimed. “I wasn’t exactly done with it.”
“Well, honey, it’s just a video. I’ll get another one after work tomorrow.”
“But I want this tape.”
“What’s on it?” asked Mom.
“I don’t know what it’s called. Their grandma copied it for them off the TV.”
“If you find out what it is, maybe we can copy it from the TV ourselves sometime,” Mom suggested.
What a simple solution! “That’s a great idea, Mom,” Rachel said. “Thanks! Good night.”
The next morning Rachel woke up extra early so that she could watch the video before returning it. She closed her eyes tight, trying hard to memorize all her favorite parts. She fast-forwarded the tape to President Benson’s singing and his words, “I love all of you.” She whispered, “I love you, too,” rewound the tape, and ran downstairs to the Richardsons’.
Their door was wide open. Two men were carrying a sofa from the nearly empty apartment. Rachel followed them out to a truck parked at the curb. “Where are the Richardsons?”
“They’ve gone ahead in their car,” one of the men answered. “Didn’t you get to say good-bye to them?”
Rachel shook her head. Holding up the video, she added, “I was supposed to give them this. It belongs to them.” She hesitated. “And I wanted to ask them the name of the program on it so that I could tape it off the TV sometime.”
“Well, I’ll see them in just a few hours. I’ll give it to them and ask them to write and tell you the name of it.”
“Thank you very much.”
A week passed. Each afternoon before climbing the stairs to her apartment, Rachel checked the mailbox for the Richardsons’ letter. Every day it grew harder to recall her favorite parts of the talk. Every night she prayed that the Richardsons’ reply would come.
When Rachel woke up Saturday morning, she said to her dolls, “I just know the letter will come today!”
As she and her mom spent the morning doing housework, Rachel kept peeking out the window. “I’m waiting for the mail,” she explained. “The Richardsons are going to send me a letter that tells the name of their video so we can tape it off the TV.”
“They may not have had time to write yet, what with moving and unpacking and all,” Mom said gently.
Rachel’s heart sank. She let the curtain fall back into place and began folding clothes. Mom was probably right; the Richardsons would be too busy to write.
In spite of this, Rachel checked out the window once more. “The mail truck’s pulling away!” She ran out the door and down the steps to the cluster of mailboxes. Unlocking theirs, she reached inside for the mail.
“A bill, an advertisement, another bill—that’s all! That can’t be all!”
“Is something wrong?” said a voice behind her.
“Can we help you?” another voice joined in.
“Oh, I was hoping for something to come in the mail today, but it didn’t, after all.” Rachel turned around to face two strangers. Schoolteachers? She thought. Why are they wearing name tags?
“Do you live here?” one of the ladies asked.
Rachel nodded.
“Do you know the Richardsons?”
Again Rachel nodded.
“We stopped by to visit with them, but apparently they’re gone.”
“They moved last week,” Rachel said.
“Where did they go?”
“I don’t know, but my mom might be able to find out. You can come ask her.”
While talking to the ladies, Rachel had glimpsed “Latter-day Saints” on the little name tags! “Do you know a really old man, a prophet, named Ezra Taft Benson? I heard a talk by him, but someone else read it for him, and I wonder …”
The ladies smiled at her, then at each other as they followed Rachel up the stairs to her apartment.

As my wife mentioned in our introduction, after we were married, we moved to Provo to prepare for school and the football season. I enrolled in the 'Living Prophets' course. We committed to follow President Ezra Taft Benson’s counsel for mothers, like Julie, to stay home and nurture and raise our soon to be born 1st child, Mapuana. As I was on a football scholarship, I couldn’t work while in school.
Julia was offered a teaching position that was to pay more money than we’d ever had (mind you, Julie only made $9,000 the previous year as she was a full-time student) so anything more than that was a lot of money, to us. We did not accept the offer and trusted in the Lord so Julie could stay home with our Mapuana.
After making that decision, my dear maternal grandparents, Joseph Keaunui and Henrietta Bee Ah Quin of Hauula Hawaii...who we thought would never leave this rock or Hawaii, and who were not active members of the church, decided out-of-the-blue to sell their beautiful farm in Hauula to move to Utah. We were blessed to live with them and ohana until I graduated and returned home to Laie, therefore meeting our needs and desire for Julie to stay home with Mapuana.

Many years ago an elder who served a mission in the British Isles said at the end of his labors, “I think my mission has been a failure. I have labored all my days as a missionary here and I have only baptized one dirty little Irish kid. That is all I baptized.”

Years later, after his return to his home in Montana, he had a visitor come to his home who asked, “Are you the elder who served a mission in the British Isles in 1873?”

“Yes.”

Then the man went on, “And do you remember having said that you thought your mission was a failure because you had only baptized one dirty little Irish kid?”

He said, “Yes.”

The visitor put out his hand and said, “I would like to shake hands with you. My name is Charles A. Callis, of the Council of the Twelve of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I am that dirty little Irish kid that you baptized on your mission.”

That little Irish boy came to a knowledge of his potential as a son of God. Elder Callis left a lasting legacy for his large family. Serving as a mission president for 25 years and in his apostolic ministry for 13 years, he blessed the lives of literally thousands. I feel privileged to have known this great Apostle of the Lord when I was a young man.

I remember working with one young woman who was offended. She could not understand why she was receiving inappropriate, aggressive e-mails and telephone calls from male friends. She questioned why they would think she appreciated receiving these less-than-polite e-mails and calls. When I visited with the young men, they said they were just joking. Because of the way she had behaved earlier, they thought she would enjoy receiving these edgy messages—messages that sounded like they came from bad TV shows or B movies. Both sides realized that in their behavior toward one another they had crossed over the line of appropriateness and had not followed the counsel of latter-day prophets and the Savior regarding the treatment of others.

One bright, warm Saturday morning, gangs of teenagers invaded the little town of Guadalupe, Arizona. They were all dressed alike. They were spraying paint, breaking up concrete, hanging out at the park, and having a loud, noisy time.
Of course, they were also laying sod, repairing mailboxes, cleaning up empty lots, building handicapped ramps, landscaping homes, restoring the median in the middle of the main road, interviewing residents for town and family histories, furnishing some temporary homes, and, in general, doing good wherever they went.
Persuading more than a thousand teens to donate their muscles and their time on a Saturday was due to the efforts of the East Valley Youth Service Committee, an organization combining youth in Gilbert, Arizona, from St. Anne’s Catholic Church with the youth from five Gilbert LDS stakes.
The whole idea of interfaith service projects got started when Father Doug Lorig of St. Anne’s Catholic Church wrote a letter to Salt Lake City asking how the youth in Gilbert of both the Catholic and LDS faiths could become united. The answer came through President John Lewis of the Gilbert Arizona Stake. The youth could become united as they served together.
But where? Who needed lots and lots and lots of helping hands?
The town of Guadalupe was the answer.
Guadalupe is the name of a major road that runs through the towns of Tempe and Gilbert, Arizona. Everyone knows Guadalupe Road. It’s a major thoroughfare lined with fast-food restaurants, gas stations, churches, and neighborhoods. But most teens didn’t know what is at the end of Guadalupe Road, right where the street ends. At that spot, just a little over a mile square, is the tiny town of Guadalupe.
Several members of the East Valley Youth Service Committee were assigned to do some calling. Their quest, to find some places that needed service. One young woman contacted Mary E. Hoy, the assistant town manager of Guadalupe. “She called and said, ‘We’d like to do a project in your town. What would you like us to do?’” said Mary. “I had a couple of pages of things that needed to be done because we have so much need here.”
To Mary’s great surprise, instead of picking one or two items off her list, the report came back that the committee had anticipated being able to do almost everything on her list. “The town has been very excited,” reports Mary. “They love the idea of these teens coming to help.” With nearly 1,500 teens and their adult leaders attending, the town’s population doubled for that one day.
Mary’s list included turning a flood retention basin into a park, painting a mural on a noise wall, replacing or repairing all mailboxes, building ramps for houses of handicapped residents, hauling rubbish from the lots of elderly residents, painting homes and repairing roofs, interviewing families for the town’s historical record, beautifying the town’s center street median, and collecting furniture for and landscaping around emergency housing.
The first meeting was at a public auditorium, when the whole idea of working together in service, in addition to gathering support and donations from the community, was presented to anyone interested. Chad Heywood, 16, of the Freestone Park Ward in the Gilbert stake, said, “I’ve had a lot of kids come up to me and ask how they can get involved in it. It’s a fun thing to do now.”
Jennifer Barger, the adult volunteer supervisor from St. Anne’s Catholic Church, said, “I think the more they got involved, the more eager they were to participate. It’s a growing thing, with each other and with the town. It’s been quite a neat experience.”
As the planning for the project progressed, the teens involved started to discover a change in their attitudes. Aubree Wright, 17, of the Gilbert Ninth Ward, Gilbert Val Vista Stake, said, “The first couple of meetings, I was not feeling like I wanted to go. The more I went, it just became such a neat thing. I was looking forward to it. I’ve seen it in other kids too. You can tell that it’s starting to touch them.”
You might not think that getting together on one Saturday and hauling sod or painting a house would do all that much for world peace. But each action, each person doing one good thing, can begin to change the world. Standing shoulder to shoulder with shovels and rakes in hand with God’s children of other beliefs and cultures can make a difference. Melissa Geiger, 19, of St. Anne’s Catholic Church, was asked to be a youth representative on the planning committee. She said, “It sounds like an enormous task, making peace in the world. We can start small and meet on a common ground of service. That was our basis.”
Whether it’s spending four hours at a cannery, packing boxes at a food bank, or getting your hands blistered while raking gravel, service improves most those who give it.
The youth of Gilbert, both Catholic and LDS, now know each other a little better. And with each opportunity to serve, they will learn a little more what it means to live a Christlike life.