Gospel Story Finder

The winter that year was the coldest it had been in that part of the country for many years. The snow fell and the thermometer dropped lower as the days went on. Soon the ground froze hard, and ice began to form in the river.
I was a missionary in southern France and had come to this area expecting to find warm winters and pleasant summers. My expectations were realistic and were consistent with those of the native residents of the country. Like many of the apartments in that area, ours was built for warm weather. The walls were not insulated, and neither were the water pipes that were attached to the outer walls of the building. It was economical and suited the region.
As the days went on and the weather grew colder, the people grew colder also. Their attitudes became closed and narrow, which made our contacts with them more rare and difficult. We soon found that in the center of the city the water pipes were freezing, leaving people without water. The freeze spread like a plague, and we hoped that it would not reach our part of town. Anxiously we watched and waited, but it wasn’t long until we woke up one morning to a freezing cold apartment and no water. Many of the residents had family or friends in neighboring cities or a well in their backyard. We, of course, had no such resources.
We did the best we could to survive this difficult time by buying the expensive bottled water sold at the stores. We walked the 20-minute walk every morning to the chapel to wash up and cook. As time went on, we felt that we should get a bucket of water in our apartment that we could wash with and use in an emergency. We decided to take some time out of our Preparation Day to find someone who still had running water and would give us a bucketful.
We soon found that the cold attitudes that had met us during our regular tracting were repeated when it came to our earnest pleas for one bucket of water. The people responded to us with a coldness that equaled the bitter wind. The typical response we received was, “If I give you my water, then what will I drink? The more I give away, the less I will have.” It was hard for us not to become discouraged. The time wore on with no success, so we decided we would try one more door and then start back for home.
We approached the door with what energy we could and knocked. It was interesting to compare this day’s work with the work we usually did. The people didn’t understand the significance of what we were trying to say to them. They didn’t really care about what we presented. They just knew that they were busy and didn’t want to be disturbed by two sister missionaries, strangers in a foreign land, wearing long overcoats and black name tags.
A woman opened the door and looked at us with sympathy as we made our approach and explained our problem. Soon the answer came, which sounded at first like all of the rest, “One bucket of water?” And then she added, “One bucket of water—is that all? I will give you two, or three, or ten, or more. Keep coming back, because if I give my water away my pipes will never freeze. When the water is flowing, it doesn’t ice up. In a way, it is almost like in giving I am receiving.”
This one woman, in a country far from our homes, was living the way the Savior taught us when he said, “For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in” (Matt. 25:35).

Illustration by David Habben
I go to a school run by one of the churches in my country. Some time back I was chosen by my classmates to be our class counselor. One day as I was planning what to teach, I came across a Church booklet about the law of chastity. I decided to teach my classmates about chastity and asked the full-time missionaries for booklets, which I gave out during the lesson.
After my lesson, many students wanted to know more about the Church, so I taught them and gave them more Church materials, including the Book of Mormon. I did not know that this was not approved by the head teacher.
One day she called me to her office and asked me which church I went to. When I told her, she asked why I was giving out the Church’s “Bible” to the students. I told her that I gave them only to those who asked for them.
After a long talk about the Church, in which she made it clear that she believed it was not the Church of God, she told me, “I know that you have no parents, but I am very sorry—you will have to leave my school because you will convert many of my good students to that church of yours.” She told me to choose between the Church and my education.
She called an assembly and told the school that I was not allowed in school anymore because I belonged to the Mormon Church and that any other students following me would have to leave.
After the assembly, she asked what I had decided: my church or my education. I felt the Spirit telling me to stand for what I know: that the Lord has restored His true Church. I shared my testimony with her as I was leaving. She told me to return the following week to pick up a letter showing that I no longer went to the school.
When I came the following week, she had changed her mind! She wasn’t making me leave the school anymore. I was very happy, mostly because I had stood for what I knew to be true.
This experience taught me to always stand for what we know to be true. The Lord will always be there for us. If I had denied the Church, the students would have said that what I was teaching them was not true, but now they know that I know the truth.

The summer before my senior year in high school, I decided to participate in my hometown’s Olympic-length triathlon. I had always been a runner, so the 10 kilometer run portion didn’t worry me too much. And I liked cycling, even though 40 kilometers seemed like a long time to be on a bike. What I was really concerned about was the 1.5-kilometer swim, but as I trained over the summer, I became more confident in all three events.
The night before the race my dad helped me set up my swim-to-bike transition. We made sure everything was placed just right, so I could get to biking as quickly as possible after I got out of the water.
At 7:00 the next morning, I jumped into the cold river to begin the race. In less than 30 minutes I was out of the water and getting ready to begin the bike course.
Thousands of people were competing, and even more people were there to cheer the racers on. I knew my family members and friends were along the course somewhere, but I didn’t know where, and I didn’t think I could pick their voices out of the large cheering crowd surrounding the transition zone. Just as I was about to hop on my bike, a voice cut through the noise.
“Heather, the chain is off your bike. Heather, put your chain back on. The chain is off your bike.”
It was different from all the other voices that were yelling and cheering the triathletes on. That voice stood out to me because I knew and trusted that voice. It was the voice of my high school cross-country coach. I looked down, and sure enough, my chain was off. I quickly put it back on and began riding. A few hours later I had successfully completed my first Olympic-length triathlon.
Had I not heard my coach, I would have figured out pretty quickly that the chain was off my bike. But I probably would have figured it out with my right foot clipped into my pedal pushing down hard to get my momentum going. Without the anticipated resistance from my chain plus my predisposition to being accident prone, I most likely would have fallen over onto the pavement. It wouldn’t be a race-ending or even a serious injury, but I would have had a skinned-up knee and elbow, along with a big hole poked in my confidence. I was grateful for my coach.
That day on the triathlon course, my parents were at the race supporting me, but they couldn’t be everywhere. I needed help from someone else, in this case my coach, who saw what I didn’t notice. The Spirit can be that someone for us wherever and whenever we are worthy and willing to listen. And if we listen and obey, we will successfully “run … the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1).

Ivanna’s family moved when she was 13 to a home near a Latter-day Saint chapel. As she and her mother walked past it, her mother remembered the goodness the Church had brought into her life. She encouraged Ivanna to go to church. “My mother knew that in the Church they would teach me only good things in comparison to the world,” Ivanna says. She began attending church and activities and meeting with the missionaries, and when the missionaries asked her if she would be baptized, she agreed.

A couple of years ago, my dad found out that one of his employees had embezzled a lot of money from him. This man had also been his close friend, and it crushed my dad that his friend would do something so horrible.
When confronted about the situation, my dad’s employee got extremely angry and defensive. My dad didn’t want to go to the authorities because the embezzlement could put the man in prison, so he decided to go through a legal mediator. The employee refused to repay the money he had stolen.
The mediator finally asked my dad, “Why are you doing all this? He’s being difficult and unreceptive. If you just turned in all the evidence to the authorities, it would all be over and done with. Why are you putting yourself through so much hassle for someone who won’t even apologize to you?”
And my dad answered, “Because I don’t want to ruin his life.”
After everything was settled, my dad never complained about it. I complained about it a lot, and I wasn’t even involved directly.

I have a friend named Doug whom I must tell you about. He went through school with an unexciting C+ average, and his current earning power is about in the same class—comfortable but not lavish. He has his share of aches and pains, and life has dealt him a full crop of the tougher problems that seem to accompany just about every family. Yet Doug is a man with a gift that is worth more than money can buy. He is a tremendously happy man, and there is no doubt that his happiness comes primarily from his one polished and perfected talent. Perhaps it might be called a knack rather than a gift or a talent. At any rate, it works.

Doug has the knack of absorbing real enjoyment out of the simple and ordinary happenings of each day. I suppose it could be called the knack of enjoyment—and he utilizes it in a fantastic fashion. A normal dinner at night with his wife and kids is a memorable thing for this fellow because he knows how to reap an unusual amount of enjoyment from the carefully set table, the taste of the food, and the conversation of each person, no matter how trivial. It’s as though he had been looking forward to this particular occasion for weeks. A day on the job to Doug seems a challenge, with new decisions and opportunities, while others doing the same thing may feel they’re in a repetitive rut. He can go to church and find a half-dozen worthwhile pearls in a sermon and make plans for adopting them in his own habits, while others sitting in the same service may grumble to themselves about how boring and empty the spoken word has been. When Doug’s golf game is sour, with a score that soars to 105, and his pant cuffs are filled with sand from the traps and prickly weeds from the rough, this guy can actually smile and talk about how great it was out there in the beautiful out-of-doors.

You see, Doug discovered many years ago that most people expected and anticipated a great wad of happiness to come to them when certain events or accomplishments just over the horizon of the future would materialize. Such events could be graduation, or marriage, or the birth of children, or the betterment of a job, or the acquiring of a home or a car. Anyway, Doug has always felt that life is now, and it should be enjoyed now. He taught himself how to enjoy the simple and ordinary things of each day that so often are taken very much for granted.

I once asked Doug to tell me the secret of this unusual gift that he possesses. He told me there were three things that he accentuates every day of his life. First, he tries to slow down in his path through life. He stops to listen to the laughter of children playing in the neighborhood. He takes time to notice flowers, gardens, and homes as he walks along a street. He enjoys each day and wants it to last. Secondly, he reminds himself many times each day that he is going to find happiness on that day! He always seems to be alert in the search. And third, he emphasizes how necessary it is to develop the ability to genuinely appreciate the many things in life for which we should be grateful. Appreciation!

Doug taught me that anybody can acquire his gift if they will strive diligently for it. It doesn’t take great intellectual ability, great physical strength, great heritage, great wealth, or great accomplishment. It’s open to anyone who is looking for a talent. Try it. It works.

Gift on the doorstep. I remember the first Christmas my family had when we moved to Australia. I was only seven or eight years old. When we woke up Christmas morning, we were delighted by the gifts our parents had brought with them to Australia. But we were in for a greater surprise. Outside our house on that Christmas morning was a sack of goodies! To this day we don’t know who brought it, and although I don’t remember every gift in the sack, I will always remember the feelings of peace and happiness that washed over me and my family. The sweet sack of goodies taught me a precious lesson—anonymous service brings joy to our souls.Elder Vasu Nephi Chetty, New York New York South Mission

My good friend introduced me to the Latter-day Saint missionaries. At the time I met them it was hard to understand English, but my friend helped me to understand them and the teachings they brought. When the missionaries invited me to be baptized, I found it hard to leave my old culture and teachings. They shared their testimonies and said I needed to ask the Lord for a testimony, too.
One night I prayed after reading the Book of Mormon, and I received the confirmation by the Spirit that what I had been taught was true. I was baptized in June of 1998. I felt a strong spirit that day.

When Elder Quentin L. Cook was 15 years old, he had a talk with his big brother, Joe. Joe was trying to decide if he should go to medical school instead of going on a mission. They talked long into the night. They talked about the gospel. They talked about testimonies. They talked about serving a mission.

Joe knew that going to medical school and becoming a doctor was a good way to help people. But he also knew that Jesus Christ truly lived, that Joseph Smith was really a prophet, and that the Book of Mormon was really true. So he knew that going on a mission first would be a better choice. Quentin learned that night that his brother Joe had a strong testimony.

5 Facts about Elder Cook
Born on September 8, 1940
The L stands for LaMar
Played basketball, football, and baseball in high school
Served a mission to the British Mission
Became an Apostle in October 2007

Quentin decided that he wanted to have a testimony too. After they finished talking that night, Quentin went to another room to pray. He had always had a testimony of Jesus Christ. And he believed that Joseph Smith was a prophet. He believed the Book of Mormon and the Church were true. But he wanted a spiritual witness from the Holy Ghost. As he prayed, a powerful witness came to him that swept away any doubts he had forever.
Now Elder Cook relies on that strong testimony to help him with every choice he needs to make.

A little boy and his father were flying a kite on a windy day. As the kite rose higher, it tugged on the connecting string in the little boy’s hand. The boy thought they should cut the string to let the kite rise higher.
His wise father said no. He said the string is what holds the kite in place. If we lose our hold on the string, the kite will not rise higher. It will be carried about by the winds and crash to the earth.
The string is like the covenants, or promises, that connect us to Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. We honor those covenants by keeping the commandments and following Their plan for us. As we do, Their promised blessings can help us soar to celestial heights.
Covenants tie us to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Read each scripture to learn about a different covenant. Then draw a line from the scripture to the matching picture to make a string for each kite!
Mosiah 18:10
Doctrine and Covenants 20:75–79
Doctrine and Covenants 132:19
Illustrations by Melissa Manwill Kashiwagi

On the first day I entered the mission field in Akron Ohio, the mission president made it clear to my eager new senior companion that he was to get me out tracting, knocking on doors, before the end of the day. I assumed it was because tracting was such a horrible thing, they wanted to get the initial shock over with quickly. In that mission, only half the missionaries that came out were able to baptize even one person during their entire two years of service.

After a long drive to our area, my companion informed me that we had only 20 minutes before our dinner appointment with a member family, so we could only knock on a few doors. I prayed in the car with my companion to be directed to someone who wanted to hear the Gospel. Then we got out and started walking. We walked to the end of the street, passing several houses that just did not seem right to my companion. He said he felt impressed to turn left at the corner. We walked up to the first or second house on the left. It was a weathered, old, turn-of-the-century home. We knocked. No answer. We knocked again and waited. Finally, a tiny lady who looked to be in her 80s slowly opened the door and greeted us through the screen. We told her we represented Jesus Christ, and she readily welcomed us in. We talked for some time. We were late for our dinner appointment, but Winifred Schaefer was baptized about three weeks later.

The first door of the first street on the first day of my mission. Our prayer had been answered. Exactly what I had ordered. And the package came with a message: “I am here. I hear you. I will guide you if you will be led, and it may not be the best way to find people, but it is a way YOU will be directed to people.” And I was, to many people over the next two years.

“Our family home was on the foothill of a solitary, beehive-shaped mountain that was a moving force all of my young life. I could see it from my bedroom window and felt a certain security in its closeness. As our family sat at the kitchen table, we watched winter skiers mark herringbone trails in fresh snow, and after the first thaw we’d note the progress of spring hikers. I had climbed its bald dome with my family, with Church groups, and with a gang of kids (our sack lunches squashed down into the sweaters we wore tied about our waists). Then one day—driven by desire to go to the mount, like Moses, to commune with God, to consider who I was and what I was going to do about it—I set out alone to climb that peak. I was 16, and this day my aloneness on that mountain was exhilarating. It was a most spectacular spring morning at sunrise when I made my way to the top. This was no small hill, so the perspective of my neighborhood below reminded me of the soap model I had carved of Salt Lake City when I was 12.
“With fascination I sat looking down at the houses I knew so well and at their people beginning to stir with the sun. Cars backed out, sprinklers splashed on, the trolley clanged up from town. I watched the achingly familiar scenes as an extension of myself. I followed the paths of my life, from home to a friend’s house, to the church on the corner and the school down the hill, to the neighborhood store, to a teacher who had touched me. Finally, I let myself look upon our own stucco house, the scene of my most tender times, my most important learnings. Almost in panic I realized how small it looked, and with a wrench of my heart I felt childhood slipping from my grasp.
“Everywhere I looked was someone who had touched my life. At 16 I was the sum of them—parents, school chums, storekeeper, Church leader. My heart flooded with a new awareness. Suddenly I realized I had some debts to pay. In 1847 Brigham Young had led a band of pioneers to the top of the mountain and raised an ensign to the Lord, according to the plaque mounted there. Well, I raised my own standard that day. I vowed that I would try to be useful. I knew I needed the help of God, and when I turned to him, my soul filled with an awareness that he lives, that he cares even about a little person sitting on a mountain thinking she can make a difference in the world. When I came down off the mountain the world seemed beautiful, and I was glad to be alive.”

Finally, my life as a scientist has deepened my faith in God in many ways. But many do not view faith in God and science as compatible endeavors. Several years ago, I was invited to a conference for promising young scientists in Alzheimer’s disease research. It was a competition and we each submitted our best grant ideas and then we met together to evaluate and rank each other’s proposals. The winner would take home a $50,000 grant to carry out their proposal. The meeting organizers and participants worked together over two days, and we got to know each other really well during the meetings and discussion as we evaluated and critiqued each other’s work. At the closing dinner I was seated with several other participants and one of the senior faculty who was on the board for the conference. After some brief pleasantries, the board member looked at me and said, “Brigham Young University, huh?” (That’s where I was employed as a faculty member at the time.)

“Yes,” I replied.

“So, you believe that stuff?” they said. (Remember this in front of a whole table of people.)

A bit surprised, I said, “Yes, I do.”

They looked me in the eyes, and then said, “But Keoni, you seem so smart. How do you believe that stuff?”

I paused, thought for a moment, and replied, “Yes, thanks. I have had several experiences in my life that make me a person of faith, and specifically a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

The person rolled their eyes and said, “Ugh…like what?”

At that moment, the meeting organizer tapped his glass with his knife and announced that my proposal was ranked number one in the competition. That was the end of our conversation.

There are voices all around us that would make light of believing. They are practiced, polished and persistent. As you face these kinds of challenges in your life, please remember President Nelson’s powerful words, “I promise that you will experience spiritual growth, freedom from fear, and a confidence that you can scarcely imagine now. You will have the strength to have a positive influence far beyond your natural capacity. And I promise that your future will be more exhilarating than anything you can presently believe.” [5]

I know that that promise is real. I have experienced it. Since that day, where I was challenged at that dinner table, I have had a scientific career with success that I can hardly believe: millions of dollars of grants and over a hundred research papers and work from my lab that matters that significantly influenced our knowledge of Alzheimer’s disease. I am even blessed to be part of a team that is developing a promising new drug that humans are taking right now. It’s amazing and I know that it’s because of that promise of the Lord.

In the small room of the Murphys, who immigrated from Ireland, a bright wreath of holly with its shining leaves and red berries makes the walls look cheery. Colleen and her sister, Mary, help set the table, even though they have just finished their dinner. They place a loaf of bread and a pitcher of milk on the clean table, along with a large candle.
The girls’ grandmother smiles at them. “Since you have been blessed with the name Mary, you may light the candle, my dear,” she says. There is a deep hush as Mary solemnly lights the candle.
Colleen, who feels a bit left out for a moment, runs to the door to make sure that it is unlatched. The Christ Child, or any lonely wanderer, might see the Murphys’ lighted candle and know that He/he is welcome in their home for food and friendship.

I was a missionary in Seoul, Korea, and had just been transferred to a new area. The bustling city of millions of people was still overwhelming, and my Korean was far from fluent, but I knew I was where the Lord wanted me to be.
One day my companion and I had the blessing of meeting a member who hadn’t attended church for years. Her father had recently passed away, and she was in great need of spiritual and emotional comfort. We visited her at home, but I was not able to understand much of the conversation.
One night at about 3:00 a.m. our telephone rang. When I answered the phone, I couldn’t understand what the woman was saying at first. She was upset, but I had no idea how to help or what to say.
I began to pray silently. As I prayed I recognized the woman’s voice and realized it was the less-active sister we had recently met. Though I couldn’t completely understand her, I felt she was lonely and needed to know she was loved. But how could I tell her? I couldn’t find the words in English, much less in Korean.
Suddenly I remembered that I had memorized the words to the hymn “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301) in Korean. After the sister stopped speaking, I slowly asked if we could sing the hymn together. She said yes. As we sang I felt a wonderful feeling of peace and comfort. It was as if Heavenly Father were holding both of us, reminding us that He loved us and would always be there when we needed Him.
After we finished singing, the sister told me that she would be all right, and we said good night. I walked back into the bedroom, amazed at the Spirit that still lingered in my heart. I was so grateful to know that when a child of God calls for help on a dark night, Father in Heaven will always be there to answer.
Diantha Smith, Utah, USA

When you seek after the light by surrounding yourself with positive and great individuals, you provide yourself with more opportunities to learn and grow. I have been blessed to work with so many inspiring student athletes. They continue to teach me so much, but one player truly stands out.

Many years ago we recruited a young lady who had a special talent and gift for the game. She was raised a long way from Provo, Utah, and had never really been around many Latter-day Saint players. She was also someone who was so good that she had never really been held accountable to some of our athletic standards, such as fitness tests, work rate, and being on time—or even things such as what to wear to soccer clinics and service projects. She was her own person, had her own ideas, and marched to her own drum—which was fine, but at the same time, it was holding her back from reaching her highest potential.

We did not see eye to eye on many things early on. It actually came to a point at which I had to make the decision to ask her to leave the team. She was good enough to play at other universities, and I told her I would help her find a place. However, I also mentioned that if this was where she really wanted to be and if she was willing to embrace her opportunity here and make some changes, then she would have the opportunity to join us again the following semester. After a short time she told me that she really wanted to come back and learn from all those around her.

It was not an easy journey for her, and there were many times when she knew it would be easier somewhere else. But through the struggles, the fight, the dedication, and the choices, she was able to develop, mature, and grow. She made the decision to stay and surround herself with great friends, teammates, professors, ward members, and the environment at BYU, and it ultimately led to an opportunity to change her life and her future.

One of the most rewarding and proud moments of my coaching career was to give Jenavieve Phillips a big hug on the field after her last game as a Cougar and congratulate her on an amazing journey. During her senior year she helped lead our team to a number fourteen ranking before we were knocked out of the tournament by the University of Portland, the defending national champion at that time.

What a blessing and unbelievable inspiration Jenavieve was to me, my staff, her teammates, and all those who knew her. She went on to graduate from BYU, serve a mission, and bless the lives of all those she came in contact with. She lived her life to the fullest, fulfilled her mission on this earth, and was taken home to her Heavenly Father after a car accident in 2012.

At a young age, Elder L. Whitney Clayton learned to love work and family. Early every Saturday, his father, a physician, would leave to attend to medical duties. Before he left, he would write on a chalkboard a list of all the chores to be done that day. When he returned he would join his sons and work side by side with them. From his father, Elder Clayton learned a work ethic that has blessed his life.

When Elder Widtsoe was released as president of the mission in 1934, I started correspondence with Elder Joseph F. Merrill, who succeeded him. He arranged to send me the Millennial Star, which I received until 1940 when World War II interrupted the subscription.
In January 1937, Elder Richard R. Lyman, successor to President Merrill, wrote that he and Elder Hugh B. Brown would be in Rome on a certain day. I could meet them there and be baptized. However, the letter was delayed because of war conditions, and I did not receive it in time.
From then until 1949, I was cut off from all news of the Church, but I remained a faithful follower and preached the gospel of the dispensation of the fulness of times. I had copies of the standard works, and I translated chapters into Italian and sent them to acquaintances with the greeting, “Good day. The morning breaks—Jehovah speaks!”
On February 13, 1949, I sent a letter to Elder Widtsoe at Church headquarters in Salt Lake City. Elder Widtsoe answered my letter on October 3, 1950, explaining that he had been in Norway. I sent him a long letter in reply in which I asked him to help me to be quickly baptized, because I felt that I had proven myself to be a faithful son and servant of God, observing the laws and commandments of his kingdom. Elder Widtsoe asked President Samuel E. Bringhurst of the Swiss-Austrian Mission to go to Sicily to baptize me.
On January 18, 1951, President Bringhurst arrived on the island and baptized me at Imerese. Apparently, this was the first baptism performed in Sicily. Then, on April 28, 1956, I entered the temple at Bern, Switzerland, and received my endowment. At last, to be in the presence of my Heavenly Father! I felt that God’s promise had been fully fulfilled—the day had come indeed when the source of the book was known to me and I was able to enjoy the effects of my faith.

When I graduated in 1970 with a BA in history, I considered many options for a career but decided to pursue a master’s degree in library science, which was then offered here. In 1972 I began working at BYU as the assistant curator of Special Collections. The work was interesting, challenging, and satisfying. But for some reason—I can’t even imagine what it was now—I was restless and wanted to do something different and more challenging.

I told my wife I wanted to go to law school. “Are you sure?” was her reply. “Oh yes, positive. No question about it,” was no doubt my answer—or something like that. So I did everything aspiring law students do: LSAT, countless applications, prayer, fasting, and more prayer. Since my wife is from Vermont, we decided we’d apply to schools in the East. I was admitted to Syracuse University’s School of Law in 1975, so we sold our house, packed up our belongings, and moved our family—two young girls and one more baby on the way—to Syracuse, New York.

Zenos described this process of transplantation: “And behold, saith the Lord of the vineyard, I take away many of these young and tender branches, and I will graft them whithersoever I will.”5 And so we were grafted in, in another part of the kingdom.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I later learned that when young BYU graduates move into communities around the world, local ward and branch leaders have great expectations that they will arrive with strong leadership skills, a solid testimony of the gospel, and the ability to assume with confidence any calling in the Church. A BYU education is outstanding preparation for graduate school and successful careers. It also prepares you for leadership positions in the community and in the Church.

So we were welcomed by Church members in Syracuse with excitement and expectation. We felt the Lord had indeed grafted us into this ward by calling us to Church assignments of service.

But something felt surprisingly uneasy about my experience in law school. After the first year I knew I wouldn’t be comfortable practicing law. When I discussed my uneasiness with my wife, she was less than sympathetic, saying something to this effect: “You’ve moved us halfway across the country; you’re going to finish law school!” She’s a tough lady; but she’s also generally right.

So persevere I did, and, as instructed, I graduated. Somewhere during my last year of law school I got the idea of becoming an FBI agent. I suppose I was intrigued by what I thought would be the excitement of law enforcement and investigative work. The idea never occurred to me that perhaps I wouldn’t be suited for such a profession. My patriarchal blessing contains language indicating that I would succeed at the vocation of my choice. In my own somewhat convoluted reasoning, I presumed that this meant that I only had to choose an honorable profession and success would be assured.

Those of you who have applied for a federal job know that the wheels of our national government can move painfully slow. I went through the psychological screening, personal interviews, foreign language testing, and physical examinations rather quickly. Then I waited . . . and waited . . . and waited for something to happen. Fifteen months after graduation I was finally invited to join a new agents class at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia.

Needless to say, I was excited, nervous, and optimistic about my future. I felt like I stood on the threshold of a promising and successful career. I had talked with many FBI, CIA, and Secret Service agents and believed I truly could excel in law enforcement.

The first few weeks of new agent training went very well. There was classroom instruction in various aspects of case investigations, psychology, and constitutional law, along with challenging physical fitness goals to meet and firearms instruction. About four weeks into training we were introduced to the indoor firing range. As I stood on the firing line, ready to fire at the target some 25 yards away, the overhead lights went out. The only lights on in the range were over the target. I raised my gun and pointed it down range. I couldn’t see the sight on the end of the barrel! I blinked my eyes—no change. There was just a blur where the sight should be. I fired six wildly inaccurate shots at the target. I couldn’t believe what was happening! I had fired effectively on the outdoor range, but my eyes were doing strange things to me in the subdued lighting of the indoor range. My instructors pulled me aside and asked what was happening. I said I didn’t know, but I was encouraged that they were willing to work with me to get through what we all thought would be a simple training problem.

One Saturday shortly after that, I checked out from the armory a “red handle,” a weapon that had its firing pin removed, and went into the woods to practice dry firing at targets. It was a cloudy day, and I had the same experience as on the indoor range. The sight on the end of the barrel disappeared in a blur. “This can’t be happening,” I thought. “Maybe I should pray about this,” I reasoned. Enos, the Book of Mormon prophet, had a “wrestle before God” that resulted in the remission of his sins.6 But it wasn’t sin I was trying to free myself of—it was a physical condition that seriously hampered my ability to fire my weapon accurately. So for hours I wandered the woods, alternately firing and praying. Things, however, didn’t get better.

As luck would have it, my wife had our fourth child just a few days later, and I was given permission to fly back for the weekend to Connecticut, where she was staying with her parents. While in Hartford I was able to visit my eye doctor about my problem on the firing range. He told me that because of the severe astigmatism that I have in each eye, I couldn’t hope for any vision improvement. My wife and I discussed our options, which were basically to try to stick with it and hope I could qualify on the firing range or to resign from the Bureau. On the flight back to Washington, D.C., I thought about my situation and remembered Elder Brown and his story of the gardener and the currant bush. Why was God doing this to me? Hadn’t I been promised that I would succeed in the vocation of my choosing? Why was I being subjected to this painful pruning?

The next day I met with the special agent who was our class counselor and told him of my situation. I explained how uncomfortable I felt carrying a gun that I knew I would not be able to fire accurately in certain lighting conditions. I would not only be a danger to criminals, I’d be a hazard to my fellow agents! This burden was too much for me. I decided that I would resign my position as a special agent. I wrote out a statement to this effect and handed it to him. He said he would pass it on to the FBI Academy director. I went back to my room and began to pack my bags.

As I sat alone in my room, I felt at peace in my heart, knowing I had done the right thing. I realized that the promise I had been given in my patriarchal blessing would be honored if I carefully and prayerfully chose a profession that the Lord wanted me to pursue—not one that I selected merely because it was glamorous or exciting.

As I pondered the future, my counselor returned and asked me if I would consider a non-agent position in the Bureau. There were several openings at the academy I might be qualified for, he explained. Since I didn’t have anything else lined up, I told him I would consider it. I called Cindy and asked her what she thought about a position at the Bureau. Since she was eager to be together again as a family, she told me I should accept a position if I was offered one.

I spoke with several agents who had openings in their departments—or “units,” as the Bureau calls them—and was offered a position in the Office of Institutional Research and Development. It turned out to be a valuable opportunity to meet important people in the Bureau and to learn new skills.

One of the people I eventually met was the chief of the director’s speechwriting unit at FBI headquarters in Washington. A year or so later, when he had an opening in his unit for a speechwriter, he asked me to apply. I did and was offered the job.

It was the beginning of a new career for me. When people find out that for 15 years I was a speechwriter—not just for the FBI but later for the American Medical Association in Chicago, for Merck (a pharmaceutical company in New Jersey), and for Medtronic (a medical device company in Minneapolis)—they comment that this must have been interesting work. It was. But the most interesting parts of all of our experiences in these places were the wonderful people we met, both members of the Church and nonmembers. We enjoyed many choice opportunities to serve in the kingdom and to associate with some of God’s noble and great ones. My wife and I have felt as though the Lord has cultivated us, just as the lord of the vineyard in Zenos’ allegory had cultivated his precious olive trees. I hope that the fruit we have borne—and continue to bear—is sweet and satisfying to Him and to those we serve.

Old Mom had one superior: Fred, the superintendent of the herd. Only he could punish her offenses.
One day a drifter wandered into the circus lot. For days he teased Old Mom. Bellowing with rage and thrashing her trunk, she tried to warn him. But he wouldn’t quit. One day his abuse was too much. Old Mom snatched him in her trunk and threw him against a wall. Then she seized a nearby bull hook (commonly used to punish disobedient elephants), handed it to Fred, and began to “talk” into his ear, pleading like a naughty child. She wrapped her trunk softly around his body, and Fred slowly dropped the bull hook. Perhaps Old Mom believed that she had talked him out of a spanking, but the truth was that Fred had seen the bully teasing his elephant all week. He ordered the man from the circus grounds and warned him to never return. Fred was Old Mom’s protector as well as her punisher.