Gospel Story Finder

At first I thought the bishop was joking. Me, a Relief Society president? I wasn’t married, and I wondered what I could offer the women in my ward. But the bishop smiled kindly and reassured me that Heavenly Father wanted me to serve in this position.
In the week that followed, I was in a daze. Nothing seemed to sink in. But the next Sunday as I heard my name called and watched as members raised their hands to sustain me. I felt the mantle of the calling settle onto my shoulders. From that moment I began the most wonderful spiritual journey of my life.

Thabo and Andronica Lebethoa read the Book of Mormon daily in their family. This has been a blessing in their lives, but they believe special blessings occurred from this daily reading when Thabo was called as mission president of the South Africa Cape Town Mission in late 2016. In a recent missionary couple devotional, President and Sister Lebethoa shared their experiences:
Thabo told of how his family had completed the Book of Mormon in their daily scripture reading in August 2016. The family decided they would start reading one of Thabo’s favorite volumes of scripture, the Doctrine and Covenants. This was soon to change.
During the October 2016 general conference, Thabo and Andronica felt impressed that they needed to read the Book of Mormon again as a family. They immediately started reading it again, but this time, in the early chapters, the journey of Lehi and Nephi’s family stood out. Little did they know in those early readings that they would be able to “liken” these chapters unto their family.
First, in November 2016, Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles interviewed Thabo and Andronica about their worthiness to serve in some unspecified calling. They were told not to worry, that likely nothing would come of the interview. But in December 2016, they had an interview with President Henry B. Eyring of the First Presidency. Thabo was called to serve as a mission president. President Eyring made them feel comfortable, and they left the interview feeling that all was well. They were asked to not tell anyone of the call until mission assignments had been made and the calls were made public.
Once they were able to tell their family of this new call to serve, doubts started arising as family asked questions such as, “What will you do with your house?” “Are you moving your children to another school?” Anxiety hit. But Thabo and Andronica found that their recent reading of the Book of Mormon helped them to be strengthened. They remembered how Lehi was called by an angel to leave his home in Jerusalem and go to another place; that he was told to take his provisions and his family and leave. For their family, it would not be to an unknown place, but they knew they had been called of God as was Lehi, to leave their home, friends, and extended family for three years. Just like Lehi and Sariah, they would take the provisions they were told to carry. They would take their children. They would find schools for them in Cape Town. Just as Nephi told his father, “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 Nephi 3:7). The Lebethoas knew that the Lord had commanded them on a journey to serve in Cape Town and that He would make it possible for them to leave their home, find schools for their children, and do all that would be required of them.
Thabo and Andronica also wanted to help their children understand the implications of this new assignment on their family. In a February 2017 interview, Thabo relates, “As you know in the first chapters of the Book of Mormon, Lehi is instructed to take his family and move into the wilderness and to take nothing save it were the essentials. It is interesting that we were able to use the story of Lehi and his family to help explain to our children what the Lord was going to do here with our family. We were now connecting two families—Lehi’s and ours—together. We helped our children understand that this was becoming real in their lives, ‘Wow, you know that Nephi says we must use the scriptures and liken them to ourselves and so we painted that picture for them.’”
Thabo bore his testimony that daily reading in the Book of Mormon has helped his family in the past and as one of the goals set by the Africa Southeast Area Presidency, “Read the Book of Mormon daily” will help all of us as we “liken the scriptures unto ourselves.”

I was taking photos during a family vacation when a beautiful melody popped into my mind. I love music and composing, so I quickly hummed the song into my camera to remember and work on it later.
That afternoon, I was looking through the cool photos on my camera. I decided to check how much memory my camera had left. It was 67% full.
I clicked OK, not realizing I had just said OK to reformatting my memory card! In a matter of seconds, all my photos and my recording were erased. I was sad about losing the pictures, but I was especially sad about losing the melody.
I tried telling myself it would be okay, but I was devastated. That night, I prayed that the photos and melody could be retrieved.
After returning from the vacation, I kept tinkering with the camera and most of the pictures finally appeared. I was overjoyed! It felt like a direct answer to my prayers.
However, I was crushed when I couldn’t find the recording of the melody. I kept praying and hoping that the song would come back.
Many weeks later as I was doing chores, a strangely familiar melody came into my head. It was the song! I couldn’t believe it! I quickly recorded it on the piano.
I have no doubt Heavenly Father answered my prayer. It was something so small, but He answered. I know He can bring hope into our lives when all seems lost.
Benjamin G., Utah, USA

Elder David L. Buckner was born on September 27, 1963, in Ogden, Utah, USA, but “grew up” while he lived for three years in Sacramento, California, USA.
The youngest of Melba and E. LaMar Buckner’s five children, 11-year-old David moved to California with his family when his father was called to preside over the Church’s mission in Sacramento. Away from well-established friends in Utah, he learned how to make new friends and found “300 older brothers and sisters” among the full-time missionaries.
Most important, his testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ took root. “That mission experience changed everything for me,” he said.

Vicky was curious when she arrived at the Rowes’ house on Sunday. First they sang a song. One of the children said a prayer. Then Mr. Rowe prayed and passed bread and water to each person. They said it was called the sacrament. After that their daughter Jessie gave a talk.
“Heavenly Father loves us. He speaks to us through the Holy Ghost,” Jessie said. “Sometimes the Holy Ghost gives us a peaceful feeling. Or sometimes He gives us a thought.”
The next day, Vicky walked to the store to buy bread. On her way home, she was about to pass by some trash cans when a voice in her mind stopped her. Stay away, it said.
Vicky stood still. Suddenly, a car came spinning around the corner. CRASH! It slammed into the garbage cans.
Vicky took a deep breath. She was so glad she listened to the voice!
Later, Vicky told Mrs. Rowe the story. “Was that the Holy Ghost?”
“Sounds like it. Sometimes the Holy Ghost warns us of danger.”
“God protected me,” Vicky said. “I’ll always listen to the Holy Ghost.”

Sharing the gospel on my mission was such a rewarding experience for me that I wanted to continue doing it after I got home to Peru. But I soon realized that I didn’t have the time I needed to reach all the people I wanted to, like I did on my mission.
So I turned to social media.
I created a blog to share my mission experiences, my thoughts from my weekly Come, Follow Me study, and other gospel-related insights with others. And as I shared my blog, I started receiving sweet messages from friends thanking me for sharing. I didn’t expect that! So then I thought: “Why can’t I do more on social media?” And that’s how my path to creating a gospel-sharing platform on Instagram and YouTube began.

Let me use an illustration of how this may work in a personal setting. With permission, I share with you a story from Arlene Sewell told at a devotional in 2023. She shared how she received a job announcement from a friend that knew she would one day love to come back to BYU–Hawaii and serve as their chief information officer. She let the email sit for about a week but began to pray about it. “The more I prayed the more I felt to just apply. So, I did, and to much surprise I got a call that same week asking me how interested I was in moving to Hawaii and in the position. I was then fortunate to get a call to schedule my first interview and then my second interview.” She reasoned that “even if I don’t get the job at least we were able to get a free trip to Hawaii.”

She continued, “Meeting my future team in my interviews felt right. But I was torn with the responsibilities of taking care of my mother, the distance from my children and grandchildren, and missing out on my youngest son’s collegiate football games. On the second day of interviews, I woke up early to go running. I remember sitting in front of the temple and was torn on how this decision would affect my family... As I sat in front of the temple, I thought, ‘Lord if you need me here, please help me to balance my time ... and provide for my [family].’”

Later that month, she received a call and was offered the position to serve as the new CIO. She shared, “With much prayer and thought my husband and I felt that it was the right decision.” I love how Arlene concluded that “It may not have made logical sense, but it made spiritual sense.”

On June 5, 1932, Elder Widtsoe came to Naples to baptize me, but a revolution had started in Sicily, and the police at Palermo refused to let me leave the island. The following year, Elder Widtsoe asked me to translate the Joseph Smith pamphlet into Italian and to have 1,000 copies published. I took my translation to a printer, Joseph Gussio, who took the material to a Catholic bishop. The bishop ordered the printer to destroy the material. I sued the printer, but all I received from the court was an order to him to return the original booklet.

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.

I remember one time meeting a fine young married man who was not very large in stature. He was a professional jockey who had worked for some Latter-day Saint men who owned a large stable of fine racehorses. They taught him how to be a first-class jockey and chose him to ride a truly great horse that they owned. They also taught Johnny the gospel, and he joined the Church.
A year later, his bishop called him to go on a mission. Johnny said, “I can’t go. I’ve got to ride this special horse in the Kentucky Derby. I’m the only jockey who has ridden him.”
However, after some thought, Johnny went to his bosses and asked for their permission to go on a mission. They told him that they had a huge investment in him and couldn’t spare him to go on a mission because of the Derby and the other big races that were coming up. They were sure their horse would win the triple crown. However, neither of his Latter-day Saint bosses felt very good about their decision, so the next day they told him if he wanted to go on a mission, they wouldn’t stand in his way.
He went on his mission, and on the day of the Kentucky Derby, he went tracting in Canada while the horse he would have ridden won. It went on to win the triple crown. The other jockey earned over $200,000 while this fine young man taught the people of Canada the gospel. To me he is an outstanding hero.

Yellow Leaf was lying on a moss-covered boulder that overhung a deep, clear brook. Dreamily, she watched a huge speckled trout nosing among the pebbles on the bottom of the deep pool. Olive green, with iridescent flecks of color on each side, the trout was so beautiful, Yellow Leaf had no desire to catch it. A pale golden moth fluttered too near the surface. The trout spun upward with incredible speed. “Aiii,” the Indian girl sighed in sorrow as the moth vanished.
A strange squealing sound startled Yellow Leaf and drew her to the top of the hill. Dropping flat, she watched in amazement as a clumsy, bargelike wagon drawn by a pair of oxen pulled to a stop below. The squealing sound she had heard was the iron-bound wheels, badly in need of grease.
Judging from the clouds of dust still hanging in the air, the wagon had come out of the arid, boulder-strewn badlands. The people in the wagon must have traveled all night to have survived; it would have been impossible to travel during the heat of the day.
The wagon had no cover; only charred pieces of canvas clung to the metal hoops across the top of the wagon. There were no water barrels lashed to the sides. Creeping closer, Yellow Leaf saw a telltale arrow piercing the wagon bed.
This family was probably all who had survived from a wagon train. Indian tribes to the east, who were also enemies of her tribe, were on the warpath because of a broken treaty. These Indians must have attacked the wagon train.
Yellow Leaf felt pity for the little family. “They will have little chance of survival here,” she murmured. Yellow Leaf watched the woman, carrying a small baby, herd two other children to the meager shade provided by a large boulder. The man, bent with fatigue, moved about among the rocks, searching.
“Water! They’re dying of thirst!” the girl whispered as she remembered the missing barrels. “If they had horses instead of oxen, the horses would sniff out the water and lead the people to it.”
Yellow Leaf yearned to help, but she didn’t dare. Even if she could speak their language, it wouldn’t help. The man had a gun, and she would almost certainly be shot if she approached. Regretfully she turned to leave.
A feeble wail from the baby stopped her. It sounded like her baby brother. Looking back, she saw that the man was some distance away, still threading his way through the barren rocks. There was water out there, but he wouldn’t know where to find it. He was even going in the wrong direction and would soon drop in his tracks from thirst and weakness.
There was another weak cry from the baby, and Yellow Leaf raced back to the brook. Spilling the lush purple berries from the earthenware pot, she filled it with icy water. Hesitating for only a moment, Yellow Leaf glided silently down the steep slope.
The woman was lying there, curled protectively around her children, her eyes closed, and her lips cracked and swollen. Forgetting all danger, the Indian girl knelt and scooped up water in her hands, letting it splash on the woman’s face. Her skyblue eyes reflected disbelief as they fluttered open and stared into Yellow Leaf’s dark eyes. For a long moment, the girl held her breath, expecting the woman to begin screaming; that would bring the man running with one of the long guns feared by Yellow Leaf’s people.
But the woman’s panic was overcome by concern for her children. Taking a metal cup from the wagon, the mother watched carefully as the older boy and girl drank, making certain they didn’t drink too much. She cared for the baby, and then she wet cloths to cool the heads of the children. Only then did she drink herself.
Preoccupied with watching the children, Yellow Leaf didn’t hear the man approach. She wasn’t aware of the danger until the woman cried out, “No, Frank. No! She brought us water.”
The man seemed dazed as he lowered his rifle. “Water? Where could she find water in this dried-up land? There’s not a sprig of grass anywhere!”
When he too had quenched his thirst, the tall, gaunt man pointed to the clay pot and asked, “Where?” His tired face fell as Yellow Leaf pointed to the bluff.
“We could never get the wagon up there,” he sighed, motioning toward the heavy wagon and the thirsty oxen.
Yellow Leaf understood. Standing up, she walked to the wagon and stood waiting. “She wants us to get in. Maybe she knows a way!” the woman said hopefully.
Walking ahead of the oxen, Yellow Leaf led the way around the barren hills to a gentle slope that led up and then down into a green valley where the brook wound like a silver thread.
“It’s the most beautiful spot I’ve ever seen! It’s exactly the place we’ve dreamed about,” the woman cried in delight.
“Yes. There are trees to build a cabin, and the land wouldn’t take too much clearing. It’s rich ground, too, Sarah. Almost anything should grow here,” the man said softly, his eyes bright with excitement and hope.
Neither noticed when the Indian girl slipped away. Turning for a last glimpse, Yellow Leaf felt tears sting her eyes as she watched the man and woman, hand in hand, lost in their brave dreams for the future. They were the first white people who had ever seen the fertile valley hidden away behind the desolate rocky hills. Would they ever know the anguish Yellow Leaf suffered at giving them her beautiful green land?
A chill swept over Yellow Leaf. Suddenly she felt like the fluttering golden moth.

I must confess that until I had an office on the third floor of the ASB, I thought that Karl G. Maeser was the first academic leader of this institution. While Maeser is rightly credited with being one of its key founders, he was not the first principal of Brigham Young Academy, as many of you know. I learned this early in my tenure as advancement vice president when I walked down the hall and saw pictures of the presidents of BYU ending with President Cecil O. Samuelson but beginning, much to my surprise, not with Karl G. Maeser but with Warren Dusenberry, who was the principal of Brigham Young Academy during what was called its experimental term from January 3, 1876, to April 15 of that year—a period of only four months, not much longer than I have been in office.

Warren Dusenberry was born in 1836 in Pennsylvania.35 When he was five years old, his family moved to an area near Hannibal, Missouri, where, five years later, his mother, Aurilla, joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His father, Mahlon, did not join his wife in that action, and neither did Warren or his brother Wilson. In April 1860, when Warren was twenty-three years old, the Dusenberry family made their way to California. After two years there, Aurilla and Mahlon reached the breaking point over religion, and she left for Utah with Warren, Wilson, and their two sisters.36 Mahlon’s instruction to his son Wilson was to keep himself “free from the curse of Mormonism.”37

Although he was not a member of the Church, Warren’s first job in Provo was as a teacher in the First Ward School, with classes conducted in the basement of the original tabernacle.38 Focusing as he did on the well-being of the students, Warren invested fifty dollars of his own money to buy textbooks for the first school.39

Wilson sometimes substituted for his brother and recorded in his journal some of what he called the “botherations”40 of teaching in a pioneer town. After one particularly trying day, he wrote, “The little brats were determined on having a spree. [I] checked their cheer a little, however.”41

In the fall of 1863 the brothers decided to start their own school, which in later years many viewed as the real predecessor of Brigham Young Academy. The brothers were “the only teachers, administrators, and janitors”42 of the new Dusenberry School. The finances were so tight that they were forced to live at the school, at first sleeping on the floor.43 When after several months they acquired a bed, Wilson recorded his one-word reaction in his journal: “Wonderful!” 44

The financial strain eventually grew too heavy, and the brothers closed the school after two years.45 The school reopened four years later in 1869,46 and shortly thereafter it became the Timpanogos Branch of the University of Deseret, with Warren operating as the principal.47 The school stayed afloat for six years, until financial problems once again caused the school to go under in 1875. It was in April of that year that Wilson wrote a letter to Brigham Young informing him that they could not go on without some additional financial help.48 In response, President Young informed them that he would not sustain their school because he had decided to endow a new institution of learning, and Warren set to work drawing up some plans.49

In the fall of 1875 President Young established Brigham Young Academy, and Warren was appointed as its first principal.50 The appointment was from the outset intended to be temporary, as Warren had over time become involved in other activities.51 As planned, he resigned after the 1876 spring experimental term to make way for Karl G. Maeser.52

Warren and Wilson Dusenberry dedicated eight years of their lives to the education of youth in Provo, sacrificing their means, their time, and their comfort “toward the balanced development of the total person.” As Warren and Wilson focused on the well-being of their students, their attitude toward them changed. Whereas early on Wilson described the students as “botherations” and “brats” whose cheer needed to be checked, he later recorded, “Who can teach school without forming ties of affection? Not I.”53 The Dusenberrys’ capacity to take joy from seeing students grow had increased because of their focus on the well-being of their students.

But their association with the students and others in the community had an even more fundamental impact on them. On July 24, 1864, during their first year of teaching in Provo, Warren told Wilson that he was ready to be baptized, and both of them were—on that very day.54

Among those individuals whose quest for perfection and eternal life were aided by the educational efforts of Warren and Wilson Dusenberry, none was affected more profoundly than the Dusenberrys themselves.

“Hey, Jean,” Mark called from across the school parking lot. “Do you know if you’re going to California yet?”
“Nope,” I said and let out a sigh. “My parents still don’t want me to go.”
“They don’t want you to go?” he repeated, astonished. “But this is the biggest cross-country race of the year for us. Why don’t they want you to go?”
The problem was that my parents have a big reunion every couple years with their cousins. It is one of their favorite things, and they had been planning it for a long time. It happened to be on the same weekend as the race. They wanted me to stay home and babysit my brothers and sisters while they were gone for the weekend. I was stuck.
I brought the subject up again with my mother. “There are millions of people in the world. Why can’t you find somebody else to babysit?”
“Jean, we’ve been through this,” my mom said. “There is nobody I trust as much as you to stay with them. And hiring somebody to stay with the kids is expensive. It just works out so much better to have you here.”
“But you don’t understand,” I protested. “You’re squelching my talents. Besides, our Church leaders always say you’re supposed to develop your talents.”
I let that last comment sink in and started waiting for my victory. Instead of just agreeing with me, she drew a long, deep breath. “Okay, Jean, if you really think it’s that important, I’m going to let you make your own decision. But you have to promise me that you’ll think about it and pray about it for a few days before you decide.”
“I can do that,” I assured her.
“How hard can this decision be?” I thought to myself. “To go to California or not? This really should be a no-brainer.” I knew Heavenly Father wanted me to build my talents, so I just had to wait for the right time to break the news to my parents. I determined that Sunday was going to be decision day.
On Sunday, when I got to Young Women, I was happy to see the word talents written on the board as the subject of the lesson.
“This is it,” I thought. “California, here I come!”
Each time Sister Nelson said we needed to “build up our talents” and “let our light shine,” I packed another item in my mental suitcase. I was just about to say a silent thank-you to Heavenly Father for such a great answer when Sister Nelson stopped talking and got very serious.
“Now it’s very important for you to remember,” she said, her eyes filled with concern, “that you should never seek to build up your talents at the expense of others, especially your family members.”
That wasn’t the answer I was expecting, but it took only a moment before I knew it was the answer I was looking for. Silently, I said a small prayer of gratitude and then quickly unpacked my mental suitcase.

The three members of The Pretty Ugly Indie Band, brothers Daniel and Joseph Cottam of Doncaster Ward and James Swift of Sheffield 2nd Ward, chose to leave behind their music and a record deal to serve the Lord.
Elder Daniel Cottam, of the Italy Rome Mission, said, “So I’m serving as one of the older missionaries in my group. I’m 22 right now, 20 when I started the mission. That is due to a few reasons. Number one, the band of course; I couldn’t go leaving them alone and miss out on all the fun. Another reason is that I am extremely shy, so a mission for me wasn’t always a guarantee in my mind. I also had very long hair and a beard and didn’t want to give them up; they were very much part of who I was and made me feel different and look cool. But the decision to serve a mission was largely thanks to my family, their wonderful examples and encouragement. Always being in the Church, I suppose I’ve never had a huge conversion experience. All the lessons at Church, things I’d heard from my parents over the years, my own studies and prayers allowed me to really put my trust in the Lord, put the band on hold, have my hair cut and overcome my social awkwardness. A test of faith, but worth it! The mission experience has been amazing! I have learnt and grown so much and come to a true and firm knowledge of the gospel and of my Saviour, so many blessings. If we had stayed as a band putting off the mission, I don’t think the band would have been quite so successful. Now we have met so many people who already love the music we have made and are excited for when we get back, a nice side blessing of building up the fan base all over the world!”
Elder Joseph Cottam, of the Spain Madrid Mission, commented, “I’ve always been fully into music, ever since listening to my iPod Touch and my headphones when I was seven years old. At that age, I started playing the piano a little bit and the guitar, but I started playing the drums when I was 11 years old and that’s when I started rocking. My brother, Dan, and I started to rock the roof off our living room when we started playing the drums and guitar together. We then gathered the band together and played through all our teenage years pretty much every week until we were headlining shows, playing at festivals, winning competitions, and recording music videos. Then the time came when I had to start considering a mission; it was honestly something I had tried to avoid thinking about up to that point. I had a mindset that if we made the band big and rocked the world, we would be the best missionaries in the world. Obviously, God has different ideas to us. After a lot of prayer and thought, I and my brother decided to start with our mission papers. The reason being that I figured out that God knows what is best for us. He has shown us the path to follow, and we just must follow it without trying to compromise or trying to make our own paths. I also had a trust that God would make sure that everything went okay. He knows what means a lot to us in this life and he will cater for our desires if we always put him first. So that’s what I decided to do. Leaving everything behind we worked for was a blow for a while; it was our dream; it was everything we wanted to do but then the quarantine came, and everything stopped. The world was on pause and then I said to myself, “Wow. God does know best; He knew that if we accepted that record deal and continued, we would have been in a massive pickle.” That was the time when I knew for a fact God was guiding us in this.”
Elder James Swift, of England Leeds, Manchester, Scotland/Ireland Service Mission, remarked, “At the time of the first two band members leaving for their missions we had received lots of interest from record labels, managers and agents wanting to get us on their rosters. But the boys knew that it was their time to go and serve, so we turned down all those amazing offers and trusted in the Lord. Leaving my music aspirations behind and leaving university was a difficult decision to make. I won’t lie but I was very reluctant, even frustrated by the fact that this was the time I felt so impressed to go and serve. However, I have been blessed already beyond measure. I’ve been placed in the most perfect mission, with some of the greatest missionaries the Church has to offer. I’m truly grateful for the chance I have had to show my love for the Saviour by making these sacrifices and ultimately devoting myself to His ministry.”

Some years ago I read an article entitled “Bind on Thy Sandals.” It told of a quarterback on the football team of a small, rural high school. This young man managed to make the team, but it was clear that he was not going to be all-state or all-American. In fact, he was the fourth of four quarterbacks.
By the last game of the season, he had never been called into a game, and he had given up all hope of playing. During the final game of the year he decided to relax and enjoy himself, so he pulled off his shoes, wrapped himself in a blanket, and settled down on the bench to watch his buddies play.
Midway through the game he heard the coach shout his name. He was startled and wondered if he had been mistaken. Then the coach called again, “Hey, you! Get in there and move the ball!”
What should he do? He wanted to say, “Wait, coach, while I put on my shoes.” But instead, he made straight for the huddle, his white-stockinged feet conspicuous to the players, the spectators, and the coach.
He was obviously confused as he called his first play, and by the time he took the snap from center, he had forgotten which play he had called. While his teammates moved to the right, he went left, where he was swallowed up in the snarl of onrushing linemen.
He said later, “No one expected me to make a touchdown. Even running the wrong way was understandable. But there was no excuse for a quarterback without shoes.” (See Improvement Era, September 1969, page 44.)

Lest we feel these experiences are for another time or for another people, in closing, I would like to share a recent personal experience that illustrates the principles shared today. It occurred just a few months ago while I was on a stake conference assignment in Spokane, Washington. Prior to our Saturday afternoon meetings, the stake president and I made a ministering visit to the Pulver family. The Pulvers were identified from a long list of names submitted by the bishops and high councilors. The stake president did not know them well but felt a strong spiritual impression that we should visit.

We arrived at the home and sat down with Brother Pulver, who considered himself less active and had not been to the temple since his mission nineteen years earlier. Sister Pulver was working, and he was tending the children. Brother Pulver was gracious but wondered why we had decided to call on his family. As we started to visit, I asked where they had grown up. Brother Pulver indicated that his wife was from the small town of Ferron, Utah. I responded that I had been in Ferron just ten months earlier on assignment, and I started to recount a sacred experience I had had with a faithful sister during a home visit.

Brother Pulver blurted out, “You were the one.”

It turned out that the faithful sister I visited in Ferron was Sister Pulver’s mother—Brother Pulver’s mother-in-law. Brother Pulver gave me permission to share excerpts from his journal, in which he recorded the details of our visit that day:
After I mentioned Ferron, Elder Gerard lit up, saying that he had been to Ferron. It was at that moment everything connected for me, and I knew why he was at my home. When Genevieve [Sister Pulver’s mother] was hours from passing away, Elder Gerard visited her. . . . As he explained his story, the Holy Spirit entered my home to a degree I have never encountered before. The feeling was nearly palpable, and it testified of the Lord’s hand in our meeting.

It turns out that I was one of the last to visit with Sister Pulver’s mother, Genevieve, before her passing. When we had arrived at her home in Ferron, she was lying on the sofa in a semiconscious state. Sister Pulver’s father, a very faithful man, indicated that she had very little time to live. We sat at the small kitchen table and quietly visited, as we could hear her strained breathing in the adjoining room. As we prepared to leave, Sister Pulver’s father asked if we would give his wife a blessing. As we placed hands on her head, the Spirit of the Lord filled the room. It was a very sacred moment for us, as the veil of eternity was parted for a brief moment. She passed a few hours later.

As I shared the details of the final hours of his mother-in-law’s life, it became clear there was more to the story. Let me again read from Brother Pulver’s journal:
About a year earlier, Genevieve [Sister Pulver’s mother] was spending the holidays with us. She came into my bedroom and had a conversation with only me at that time. She asked my opinion on what to do with the continuation of her cancer treatment. I asked her what she wanted to do, and she told me she wanted to be done. She asked me then to take care of her daughter and grandkids. Then she did not ask, she told me, “You take this family to the temple.”

As we concluded the visit to their home, the Pulvers agreed to attend the Saturday evening session of stake conference for the first time in many years. Furthermore, they committed to fulfill the request of Sister Pulver’s mother to take the family to the temple. I am pleased to report that when I visited with the Pulvers just last week—when they authorized me to share parts of the journal—they indicated that Brother Pulver had recently attended the temple and that Sister Pulver is finishing the temple preparation lessons to receive her own endowment in the next few weeks.

Let me quote once again from Brother Pulver’s journal:
The Lord had the foresight to first assign Elder Gerard to the stake conference in the Ferron area. Then he was sent to the Spokane Valley East Stake just a little over a year after I had had a conversation with Genevieve. I have no doubt Genevieve had influence in this event. I do not believe this was a chance coincidence. This would not have happened if the Lord had not intervened. The Lord’s faithful disciples followed His promptings exactly as He wanted. It wasn’t just the events of this meeting that make it miraculous. The feeling of extreme power and extreme peace is what made this encounter life changing and something I will never forget. The gospel of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true, it’s real, and it is wonderful.

My dear brothers and sisters, I would have never supposed that my time with Grandma Genevieve just prior to her passing was in preparation to meet her daughter and family a few months later in fulfillment of her final request to make sure they received the blessings of the temple. I knew not what the Lord had planned, but as I exercised faith, put my trust in the Lord, and heeded His counsel—even when I could not suppose—I became once again a witness to the great blessings He grants to His children.

One day when Tommy was about eight years old, he and his grandfather were sitting on the front-porch swing. An elderly man from England lived on the same street. His name was Robert Dicks, but most of the neighbors just called him “Old Bob.” He was widowed and poor.

Old Bob came over and sat down on the porch swing with Tommy and his grandfather. He said that the small adobe house where he lived was going to be torn down. He had no family, no money, and nowhere to go.

Tommy wondered how his grandfather would respond to the sad story. His grandfather reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather change purse. He took out a key and put it in Old Bob’s hand. “Mr. Dicks,” he said tenderly, “you can move your things into that empty house of mine next door. It won’t cost you a cent, and you can stay there as long as you like. And remember, nobody is ever going to put you out again.” Tears filled Old Bob’s eyes.

“Clinicians, academicians, and politicians are often put to a test of faith. In pursuit of their goals, will their religion show or will it be hidden? Are they tied back to God or to man?
“I had such a test decades ago when one of my medical faculty colleagues chastised me for failing to separate my professional knowledge from my religious convictions. He demanded that I not combine the two. How could I do that? Truth is truth! It is not divisible, and any part of it cannot be set aside.
“Whether truth emerges from a scientific laboratory or through revelation, all truth emanates from God. All truth is part of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Yet I was being asked to hide my faith. I did not comply with my colleague’s request. I let my faith show!
“In all professional endeavors, rigorous standards of accuracy are required. Scholars cherish their freedom of expression. But full freedom cannot be experienced if part of one’s knowledge is ruled ‘out-of-bounds’ by edicts of men.”

“Although I am far past the age of youth, the situation here so touched my heart that I felt duty-bound to reply. Fifteen years ago, when I was 18, I joined the Church. I was at that time and still am the only member of my immediate family who has ever joined.

“Through the years there have been many situations where the easy thing to do would have been to ‘honor my parents’ and do what they said, but I always felt I honored my parents more by strictly adhering to the gospel teachings.

“When I was 21, my husband-to-be, knowing of my family situation, asked where I wanted to be married. I replied that we had been taught to marry in the temple, and although it caused hard feelings at the time, we did just that. My family got over it, and now, 13 years later, when we are trying to teach our children correct principles, we tell them that we were married in the temple and that they should be married there also.

“Over the years we have insisted on being allowed to attend our Church meetings, to pay our tithes and offerings, to fast, and not to party on Sunday, and all of it has had a real effect. Not long ago my mother said to my husband, ‘I think that joining the Church was the best thing Diane ever did.’”

My most recent Wake-Up Call came in 2004 when I had, what I thought was a strained muscle near my clavicle. After I went through the various tests and felt good about everything, the doctor entered the room. He was very direct. His exact words were: "The results are positive; you have multiple myeloma; there is no cure, and you're going to die in 3-5 years." I was speechless and didn't dare look at my wife. I thought to myself: "That's not your call." However, after going through radiation, chemotherapy, and finally a complete stem cell transplant at the Huntsman Cancer Center my eyes have again been opened and I realize how short mortality is, how fragile it is, and how easy it is to forget who is in charge. There is a "time appointed for us" in mortality. We can't afford to waste time. We must strive to understand the Atonement and live worthy so that Our Savior can say: "Father, "spare these my brethren that believe on my name, that they may come unto me and have everlasting life."[23]

I felt that I had an understanding of the Atonement after serving as a missionary and a mission president, and after memorizing several scriptures about the Atonement. However, as I went through those harsh days during the stem cell transplant procedure with my temperature approaching 104, and the mucous lining of my mouth, throat, stomach, and intestine being destroyed from the chemo injections, I gained a deeper appreciation and understanding of the spiritual, physical, and emotional sides of the Atonement. The pain was unbearable. I pleaded with the Lord during those long painful days and I received, what I believe, is extended time. How long is that time? It really doesn't matter!

He was among the first of the occupation troops to enter Japan after the explosion of the atomic bomb.
Although schooled as a tough Marine, his heart went out to the Japanese people when he witnessed the devastation of their country. And he decided to do what he could to help. In their spare time, he and some of his fellow Marines built a small chapel on the island of Saipan. Later in Nagasaki, he again rounded up a group of servicemen to help rebuild a Protestant chapel. When his unit was later transferred, nearly two hundred members of the congregation, along with their minister, lined the railroad tracks to touch hands with them as the train went by—a memorable expression of mutual love and appreciation.