Gospel Story Finder

As a member of the Church, you can expect that the full-time or the stake missionaries will ask for the opportunity to visit with you in your home. They will help you make a list of people with whom you could share the gospel. They may suggest you think of relatives, neighbors, and acquaintances. They may ask you to set a date by which you will try to have the person or family prepared to be taught, perhaps even ready to invite the missionaries. I’ve had that experience. Because we in our family accepted that invitation from the missionaries, I was blessed to perform the baptism of a widow in her 80s, taught by sister missionaries.

When I placed my hands on her head to confirm her a member of the Church, I felt impressed to say that her choice to be baptized would bless generations of her family, after and before her. She’s dead now, but in a few weeks I will be in the temple with her son as he is sealed to her.

A wise first step is to guide each deacon to a spiritual awareness of the sacredness of his ordained calling. In one ward, this lesson was effectively taught pertaining to the collection of fast offerings.

On fast day, the ward members were visited by deacons and teachers so that each family could make a contribution. The deacons were a bit disgruntled, having to arise earlier than usual to fulfill this assignment.

The inspiration came for the bishopric to take a busload of the deacons and teachers to Welfare Square here in Salt Lake City. Here they saw needy children receiving new shoes and other items of clothing. Here they witnessed empty baskets being filled with groceries. There was no money exchanged. One brief comment was made: “Young men, this is what the money you collect on fast day provides—even food, clothing, and shelter.” The Aaronic Priesthood young men smiled more, stepped higher, and served with a willing mind in the filling of their assignments.

Christamae, my oldest daughter, suffers from muscular dystrophy. And although for several years she was able to get about without a walker or wheelchair, she moved awkwardly and fell easily.
When she was eight years old, she had a part in the children’s sacrament meeting presentation. Christamae loves to get attention, and she was very excited about saying her part. I had helped her with her talk, and I remember feeling very strongly that what she was saying would be profoundly important. She was speaking about what Jesus Christ’s sacrifice meant for her. “Because He loved me so much and was so very brave,” she practiced, “I can be forgiven when I repent. And someday when I am resurrected, I will have a strong, healthy body.”
On the day of the program I watched anxiously as she stood to go to the pulpit, her face wreathed in smiles and her eyes twinkling. Then on her way to the stand, Christamae fell face first to the floor. I knew she would be unable to stand without help, but a loving Primary teacher quickly came to her aid. As she lifted my daughter to her own shoulder and comforted her, I was grateful there were loving arms around Christamae. I nearly went to get her, but the Spirit reminded me of the importance of the message she had to give. I also knew that she would be disappointed in herself if she did not stand and say her part.
As her tear-filled eyes met mine across the chapel, I saw that she was deeply embarrassed but she seemed unhurt. At that moment, in a very small way, I felt I could relate to our Heavenly Father’s suffering while His Son performed His mission of sacrifice. While I choked back my own tears, I mouthed to her to go on and give her talk; everything would be OK.
I could barely believe her courage as she stood at the microphone and delivered her talk in a clear voice. Nearly every eye filled with tears as she spoke of her gratitude to the Savior for the strong body she would someday have. I learned through this experience that some missions cannot be accomplished in healthy bodies. The message she gave that day just wouldn’t have had the same impact if it had been given by someone else.
This lesson was an especially important one for me, since Christamae has a sister with the same condition and I too suffer from a mild form of muscular dystrophy. On that special day Christamae’s courage taught us about the ultimate miracle of Jesus Christ’s Atonement and Resurrection.

Chris Yokoyama was 17, and he wanted to be a missionary. Everyone knew it, and if you asked him, he told you so.
Some months earlier, Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles had visited a stake conference in Chris’s hometown, Taber, which lies in the vast farming plains of Alberta, Canada. Elder Nelson had blessed the stake, saying that, with fasting and prayer, the missionary work in the area would flourish. Chris had taken this message to heart, and so had his seminary teacher, Steven Scott.
“After Elder Nelson’s talk, I told my students that the Lord needed us,” says Brother Scott. “Our goal that year was to know the Savior—to understand the Atonement—and to do missionary work. The students invited non-LDS friends to seminary, to lunch, or to dances and activities, and things started to change.”
Chris enthusiastically shared the gospel and invited friends to seminary. He spoke openly of his desire to serve a full-time mission. As he did so, his family noticed a change in him.
“He made up his mind he wanted to serve a mission,” says his father, Rod Yokoyama, “so he wanted to change his life and do all the things a missionary would be doing. It seemed like he was giving us more hugs and telling everyone about the gospel.”
If you ask other teens what they remember about Chris (nicknamed “Beans”), you’ll hear the same things over and over: “He was friends with everyone.” “He was such a great example.” “He loved everyone.”
His 16-year-old sister, Aniko Yokoyama, says, “He cared about me just like a best friend. He showed me how to love everyone. And he included everyone in everything. With everyone he met, he tried to make their day or make them laugh.”
Cody-Lynn Jensen, 17, recalls, “I had English class with him, and when he would show up to class, we’d all be like ‘BEANS!!’ And we’d all gather around him. Everyone sat on the side where Beans was, and there were a couple of rows of empty desks on the other side of the room. He was just that kind of kid.”
Laura Campbell, 16, says, “If I said, ‘Hi, Beans,’ I’d get the best, ‘Hi, Laura!’ with the most enthusiasm. He’d just make your day by saying your name and giving you a smile. Everyone knew how good Beans was.”
“I think he was one of the greatest examples of a Christlike person,” says Reid Walters, 18. “He’d go out of his way completely to help everyone and make everyone happy.”
One Friday night in December 2008, after a Christmas shopping trip with two of his friends, Chris was killed when the car he was riding in slid on some ice and crashed into a truck. News of the accident spread quickly and seemed to affect the whole town. The next day, hundreds of (mostly non-LDS) teens gathered at the stake center, seeking comfort. On Monday those same young people also crowded into the seminary building.
Faced with so many grieving teens, Brother Scott simply told them the truth—that Heavenly Father has a plan, that death is part of that plan, and that Christ’s Atonement makes it possible to return to our Heavenly Father. He taught them that the work of bringing souls to Christ continues even in the spirit world and that perhaps Chris was now doing that work.
Liz Shimbashi, 17, remembers that time well. “Lots of people came to the seminary building after the accident. It was hard at school, but then people would come here, and they realized, ‘Hey, seminary is a good place.’ So we invited them to return, and lots of them did.”
For many of the non-LDS teens, the need to be comforted grew into a desire to know more. And the seminary students, who had already been enthusiastic about sharing the gospel, now did it with a more serious purpose and deeper understanding.
“The biggest reason people came was because they saw how much Beans loved people, and through that they saw his testimony,” recalls Rachel Bennett, 16. “I think they wanted to know what he knew.”
Luke Nelson, 16, says, “Beans’s death made me notice how other people didn’t know what we know and that we’re so comforted because of what we know about the Atonement. I want to share that with everybody so they can be comforted and be peaceful and happy.”
“People wanted to know the answers to questions like ‘Is he going to heaven?’ So they came to seminary to learn just because of his example,” says Megan Fajnor, 17.
Chris’s cousin, Jarred Haynes, 17, who is not LDS, started coming to seminary at that time “because it’s something that he really would have liked me to do. I wanted to learn more about what he believed, and I wanted to do something for him.”
Another non-LDS student who visited the seminary at that time, Shandyn Nakamura, 17, says, “I know Beans wanted us in seminary. He tried so many times to get so many people to come here. He asked me to come. When you come here, you have a whole different feeling. You feel the Spirit, and you feel like you’re in a completely different place. I just feel loved.”
Ashley Meisner, 17, agrees. “I came over because of Beans—at first. I was kind of unsure of where I stood from a religious perspective. So I think I needed to enhance that perspective. Then I came over, and the feeling was amazing. It was so loving. The lessons were just what I needed to hear. It helped me through a lot of things that were hard to get through.”
Having been to other Church activities with her friend Liz Shimbashi, 16-year-old Jessica Stoddart knew the feeling. “It’s a great feeling. I just feel like I know it’s the Holy Ghost.”
Cassie Hull, 18, puts it this way: “I feel the Holy Ghost there. I could tell that’s it, because everywhere else it’s like, sure, you can feel happy, but this is a different happy.”
These and other non-LDS teens who came to seminary experienced long-lasting changes in their lives. Many have continued to attend seminary. Some have even been baptized. “I’m taking the missionary lessons,” says Jarred Haynes. “And if I know that my friends who are members are not praying, I encourage them to pray or to read their scriptures. I guess I’m being a good example to them, even as a nonmember.”
“Since coming to seminary, I don’t get as annoyed or angry as easily anymore,” says Mitchell Geeraert, 15. “I just feel a lot better throughout my days.” And Chelsea Orsten, 15, says, “Seminary’s really made me think of who I want to be and how I want to change. It’s encouraged me and helped me get through a lot of hard things.”
For the seminary students in and around Taber, sharing the gospel is now not only a way to serve Heavenly Father and their fellowmen but also a way to remember and honor their friend Chris. And they believe that in spite of their sadness and grief, Heavenly Father has blessed them in unimaginable ways because of their faith and trust in Him.
“I believe sharing the gospel is why we’re here on this earth,” says Aniko, thinking of her brother. “Chris spent his time well by being an example. Now that he’s gone, we all have to be an example like that. He was an example of Christ. Sharing the gospel is just sharing happiness. If you want your friends to be happy, then you invite them to learn about the gospel.”
Liz Shimbashi agrees. “It’d be amazing to have the love that Beans did and to be that example. That’s how I want to be.”
As she reflects on the events in Taber over the last couple of years, Laura Campbell echoes the thoughts of many others: “Heavenly Father must have had something really important for Chris to do. But at the same time, so many people’s lives have changed because of him.”
Chris Yokoyama was 17, and he wanted to be a missionary. Everybody knew it. And for those who knew him, one thought has brought more comfort and inspiration than perhaps any other: Chris is a missionary.

At age 23, I thought I had everything a young man in México City could want. I was independent, had a good job, and was almost finished with my higher education. Life had given me much—parents who taught me good principles, instilling in me the ability to work hard and a desire to improve myself. And now I was dating a pretty young woman. The only real problem I had was a few differences between us on the topic of religion. She was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and I was not.
I had already met the missionaries, who “by coincidence” were often at her house when I went to visit. I listened to the first discussion a few times, but the missionaries could not get me to read or pray. We never got to the second discussion. I knew they wanted me to join the Church, but I wasn’t interested. Although I was impressed with many of the members I had already met, I wasn’t willing to spend Sundays in church. I preferred to play soccer or go to the movies.
One day after a series of arguments, my girlfriend and I stopped seeing each other. I missed her and began to think about her integrity, virtue, and maturity. Her standards were much higher than those of anyone else I knew. So one night I went to see her again. After we talked I realized she had missed me, too. As soon as I realized she really did want to be with me, I asked her to go out with me again.
I was quite surprised to hear a firm no come from her lips. At the same moment, tears began running down her cheeks.
I thought, What would cause her to say no when she wants to say yes? When I recovered from my surprise and asked her why, she said, between sobs, “I want to be married in the temple—I want an eternal family.”
An unfamiliar feeling swept over me, and then I, too, started to cry. For some reason, there began to grow in me a desire to do anything I could to have the same feeling about an eternal family.
I started the missionary discussions again, this time in earnest. Three weeks later I was baptized.
Now I understand what I felt that night. It was the Holy Ghost prompting me. I’m 25 now and serving full time in the México Guadalajara Mission. My girlfriend is serving a full-time mission, too.
I’m very grateful to my Heavenly Father for the powerful change in my heart and for the opportunity to share the fulness of the gospel. I’m also grateful to my friend for her faithfulness. Her desire for an eternal family has caused me to share the message of eternal families with other people—people who are now seeking that blessing for themselves.

Junior was recently baptized. “Father baptized me and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost. I felt fresh and clean.”

Brother Mkhabele was also deeply moved by the event. “It was the most edifying [inspiring] experience of my life. When I confirmed him, the Spirit was so great that I did not lack for words to bless him. I felt that the blessing he received was really inspired. And since then I’ve seen a change in him. He is beginning to concentrate better. He thinks more carefully before doing things. He feels a greater need to help people.”

Stephanie Post isn’t about to take any credit. She’s just been a friend. It’s no big thing, she assures. Anybody would do it.
Serena Oddens doesn’t exactly see things the same way. Her thoughts on Stephanie? It is a big thing and, no, not just anybody would do it.
“Stephanie really supported me through some rough times, and she’s been a great example to me,” says Serena.
It’s a Saturday in Den Haag, Netherlands. Youth from stakes in the Netherlands and Belgium have gathered together for a day-long activity, and Stephanie and Serena are happy. Although they’re in the same stake, they don’t get to see each other that often. As they sit on the lawn, the talk turns to the beginning of their friendship a few years earlier.
Serena thinks to when her life wasn’t where she knew it should be. “At my school, nobody was studying, and it seemed everybody was smoking and drinking and using drugs. I didn’t stop going to church, but I was hanging around with the wrong friends and not doing everything I should have been doing,” she says. “I see what’s become of many of my former friends, and I think had I stayed at that school nothing good would have become of me.”
Enter Stephanie. At the same time Serena’s mom asked her to transfer schools and leave her friends, Serena met Stephanie, 18, a member of the Almere Branch in the Den Haag Stake. “Stephie’s really supported me while telling me good stuff about the Church. She taught me things about the gospel that I didn’t even know,” Serena says. “Stephie always bears her testimony and tells me of the things she’s been through. It’s great for me.”
“But it’s not just one way,” Stephanie says of their friendship. “It’s not that I only helped Serena, because she’s helped me too. She’s been a really good friend.”
Stephanie was born in Australia, but when she was 10, her family moved to the Netherlands. “My mom just knew we had to come to Holland for certain reasons and to help build up the Church. My mother is wonderful. She’s a strong member, and she’s a good example for me because she’s always given me a path to follow.”
Now Stephanie is making a path of her own, and Serena has joined her. Right at the time when things seemed to be falling apart for Serena, Stephanie appeared on the scene. Although distance keeps them apart—Almere is a one-hour car ride from Serena’s home in Alkmaar—they remain close. Thank goodness for phones.
“There are no other members of the Church at my school, and I often feel like I am the only one who is doing good and right things,” says 17-year-old Serena. “I sometimes feel like I am standing alone. Stephie was there along with all my friends from church who were supporting me. But the thing about Stephie is that she knows everything about me and I know everything about her.
“When I’m feeling down or upset,” she continues, “it’s like my school friends don’t understand me or what I’m feeling or what I’m going through. When I talk to her about it, we can get things off our chests and she understands.”
Stephanie knows teenagers in Holland aren’t much different from those all over the world. Once they hit their teenage years, they start experimenting and changing. She’s just glad she was there to help Serena.
“I think it’s really sad to see the youth we have hung out with in our stake go fully inactive or have other troubles that take them from the Church,” Stephanie says. “But it’s really nice to hear that someone who has been inactive for a while is active again or going on a mission. That’s what’s been so great about Serena.”
It’s moments like this when Stephanie feels grateful she’s stayed active her whole life. Stephanie remembers turning down classmates’ invitations to parties, or the times they called her a “goody-goody.” But along the way, Stephanie’s testimony has grown.
“I’ve known since I was little that the Church is true. When you know something so strongly I guess you can’t go around it,” Stephanie says. “I’ve had my trials and I’ve had my times when I ask myself what I am doing and why I am still going to church.
“But,” Stephanie continues, “I think Serena and I have come to an age now where we don’t care as much about what people think. We are members of the Church and we are different. Some of my friends call me a goody-goody like it’s a bad thing. Well, I am a goody-goody, and it’s not a bad thing at all.”
Serena agrees. “Stephanie helped me to understand that I don’t need to be ashamed of my standards. When I think back to my inactive stage, it isn’t that I’m jealous of Stephanie because she didn’t go inactive. But if I could turn back the hands of time, I would do things differently.”
As Serena stops talking, Morwenna Kleijweg sits down. Stephanie is finishing a thought. “I think it’s great to be an example to those who maybe aren’t that strong. I’m not sure I always make a difference, but I hope I do.”
“You do,” says Morwenna, a Laurel in the Leiden Ward. She then proceeds to tell how she met Stephanie for the first time at girls’ camp. “When I met Stephie, I was going through a really rough time for myself. She told me things about herself, and I recognized myself in her,” Morwenna says. “When I went home from camp, I realized it was a great experience for me to find someone I could be close to who could be an example.”

When I was about seven years old, my Primary president wanted to help the children be more reverent in our Primary. She made a large bulletin board shaped like a lamb. Whenever a child was reverent, she put a lamb-shaped sticker on the bulletin board next to his or her name. I really wanted one of those lamb stickers.
So one day in Primary, I sat quietly with my arms folded and stared at the Primary president so she would notice me being reverent. A taller boy sat in front of me, so I slid down the bench so she could see me.
Then, as I sat there quietly, the pianist started playing a sweet, quiet Primary song. As I listened, a peaceful feeling came over me, and tears started to come down my cheeks. I didn’t know why I felt so happy and peaceful inside.
After Primary I told my mom about what I had felt, and she told me that it was the Spirit. That day, I learned what the Spirit feels like. Whenever I need to make important decisions and need guidance from the Spirit, I remember how peaceful I felt that day, and I can recognize how the Spirit speaks to me.

Brothers and sisters, six months ago as we met together in our general conference, my sweet wife, Frances, lay in the hospital, having suffered a devastating fall just a few days earlier. In May, after weeks of valiantly struggling to overcome her injuries, she slipped into eternity. Her loss has been profound. She and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple on October 7, 1948. Tomorrow would have been our 65th wedding anniversary. She was the love of my life, my trusted confidant, and my closest friend. To say that I miss her does not begin to convey the depth of my feelings.

This conference marks 50 years since I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles by President David O. McKay. Through all these years I have felt nothing but the full and complete support of my sweet companion. Countless are the sacrifices she made so that I could fulfill my calling. Never did I hear a word of complaint from her as I was often required to spend days and sometimes weeks away from her and from our children. She was an angel, indeed.

I wish to express my thanks, as well as those of my family, for the tremendous outpouring of love which has come to us since Frances’s passing. Hundreds of cards and letters were sent from around the world expressing admiration for her and condolences to our family. We received dozens of beautiful floral arrangements. We are grateful for the numerous contributions which have been offered in her name to the General Missionary Fund of the Church. On behalf of those of us whom she left behind, I express deep gratitude for your kind and heartfelt expressions.

Of utmost comfort to me during this tender time of parting have been my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the knowledge I have that my dear Frances lives still. I know that our separation is temporary. We were sealed in the house of God by one having authority to bind on earth and in heaven. I know that we will be reunited one day and will never again be separated. This is the knowledge that sustains me.

Recently Sister Gong and I saw covenant belonging at its tender best in a hospital room. A young father desperately needed a kidney transplant. His family had wept, fasted, and prayed for him to receive a kidney. When news came that a life-saving kidney had just become available, his wife quietly said, “I hope the other family is OK.” To belong by covenant is, in the words of the Apostle Paul, “that I may be comforted together with you by the mutual faith both of you and me.”

As the youth of a branch in Samoa planned a combined Aaronic Priesthood/Young Women activity, they decided to make a special effort to invite other youth who were not active in the Church or were not members of the Church to this activity. They would have a brief fun run followed by food and entertainment, and each young man and young woman was encouraged to bring someone with them. They referred to the activity as “saving the one.”
The day of the activity came, and one by one the youth arrived, accompanied by less-active and nonmember friends. Before the opening exercises began, someone looked around and asked, “Where’s Alex?”
Alex and his mother had been baptized some time before, but they both had not attended church in quite a while. But all of the youth remembered him and started asking, “Where’s Alex?” They wondered if anyone knew his address. One of the leaders told them that Alex lived up the hill not far away. Then the young men sprang into action.
Three priests and one of their leaders ran up the hill to get Alex. Minutes later, the rest of the assembled youth could hear sounds of joy and laughter coming down the hill. The priests were returning—with Alex.
As the evening went on, Alex and the others laughed and had fun together, and they also prayed together as things drew to a close. When they parted, they said their good-byes, adding, “Until Sunday.”
When Sunday morning came, Alex was at the leader’s doorstep, ready and excited to go to church. When he arrived at church, he was greeted warmly by everyone, especially his fellow quorum members, who were very happy to see him there. Their seemingly small and simple efforts to “save the one” had had a great effect on Alex, who then attended church and was able to feel the Spirit more strongly.

On September 29, 2015, he received an unexpected call from the Office of the First Presidency. At the Church Administration Building, “I was welcomed warmly by President Thomas S. Monson and his two counselors. After we were seated, President Monson looked at me, and he said, ‘Brother Renlund, we extend to you the call to serve as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.’”
Elder Renlund was stunned. He humbly accepted the calling and recalls, “I think President Monson sensed that my bones had dissolved, and so he looked at me, and he said, ‘God called you; the Lord made it known to me.’”
Elder Renlund returned to his office, closed the door, and fell to his knees in prayer. After collecting himself, he called his wife. “Her reaction was one of astonishment,” he says, “but of absolute commitment to the Lord, His Church, and to me.”

Do you remember starting at some school? Each of us could tell a story. I grew up in Princeton, New Jersey. I can remember how my cousins helped me. When I moved from New Jersey to Salt Lake City to go to public school, my cousins from the West said the kids would stone me with my New Jersey accent. I got rid of it quickly, out of fear. I remember terror as I walked up to the junior high school on the first day.

A few years later—I don’t know how it happened—but after basketball season I left high school and went without my high school classmates to the University of Utah. I can remember those first days—the Physics Department and the Mathematics Department didn’t seem very friendly to me. I remember my fear.

I went from there to the United States Air Force and somehow decided that physics would not be my life’s work. I thought I needed something else for education so I tried a place I had heard of called the Harvard Graduate School of Business. I was so naïve I didn’t know it might be hard to be admitted. I know now that it was a miracle that I was accepted.

I can remember parting from my father on a street corner in New York City. For some reason he was there for scientific meetings. I was on my way to the Harvard Business School in my Ivy League suit, or so I thought. That suit was later borrowed by my roommate, who had been a Harvard undergraduate. He wore it to a costume party as a gangster suit, which offended me some. He wore a black shirt and a white tie with it.

When I parted from dad in my new suit, it was one of those great moments in life when I was going off to school. I looked back at him. Later he said to me that I looked forlorn, but I remember feeling sorry for him. To him I was a frightened student. I didn’t know what a balance sheet was. I didn’t know what a pro-forma cash flow looked like. I was a physics student about to be lost in the Harvard Business School.

From there I went to Stanford University. Kathy was nice enough to marry me. Her first adventures in cooking for us were to find some morning menu that I could keep down on my nervous stomach as I went off to meet those apparently confident Stanford students. I wondered how I could teach them, until I found out that they were scared, too.

When he returned from Asia, he moved to southern California, where he began working and attending college. At a Church dance, he met Clara (Claire) May Jeffs. After dating for three years, they were married in the Salt Lake Temple on June 10, 1931. Howard decided to give up his band, for he felt that working as a professional musician would interfere with what was more important—his family and the Church.

I was born in Salt Lake City but raised in Whittier, California, a suburb about 30 miles east of Los Angeles. I was raised in a home where, during my early years, we were less active. When I turned 11, we moved to a new home and began to attend church more frequently. We were sealed in the temple when I was 13. Now my brothers and I are all active members of the Church. We have all served missions. My brothers and I were married in the temple, but these are not things you would have predicted based on our early years.

Illustration by Dilleen Marsh
I’d always been somewhat confused about prayer, especially growing up with parents of separate religions. With such confusion, I didn’t have a testimony and I didn’t feel like I could trust what I heard about prayer, because everyone seemed to believe something different.
I especially struggled with this when I started at a new school with no friends and no stable family or belief system to keep me rooted. I floundered for a long time and, with uncertainty and confusion, became really depressed. As it worsened, I felt so lost and far from my Heavenly Father. With everything going on within my family, it was easy to feel unworthy of love or compassion.
I’d prayed before that things would get better in my family, but they didn’t seem to. I thought that if Heavenly Father really answered prayers for other people, then I must not be worthy of having my prayers answered, because nothing changed in my family. In fact, things got worse.
I thought that maybe I didn’t deserve answered prayers since I was so confused about what to believe. How could I expect Heavenly Father to answer me when I didn’t feel like I knew Him very well? In my eyes, I deserved to drift because it seemed I couldn’t figure out what the right thing was. I thought I’d stumbled too many times and that—for that reason—I wouldn’t be given answers.
So I stopped praying, partly out of anger and partly because I didn’t feel worthy to. I slipped further into despair until I no longer had a desire to keep going. I really felt like I didn’t matter. I was at the end of my rope, feeling utterly worthless, when I finally turned to Heavenly Father.
“What’s the point?” I asked. “Why should I go on?”
Suddenly I felt something I’d never felt before. Despite the hurtful things I’d believed about myself, I knew that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love me. They always had, and nothing I’d done had driven them away. I knew that Christ is my Savior, something I’d had a hard time believing before. I remember hearing the words “You are loved.” I’d never before felt like I could say that I knew anything with certainty. At least not until then. I knew that I was loved and valued and that I had eternal worth. I know that Jesus Christ and His Atonement are real and that He truly is my Savior. I’m grateful that even when I had turned my back on Them, He and our Heavenly Father were still there to lift me up once I was ready to reach for Them.

I experienced this when I received my missionary calling. At the time, I was studying on a scholarship and working part-time at the university. When I informed the director that I would be leaving, she surprised me by telling me she had just submitted a request to hire me full-time. If I left, I would lose both the scholarship and the job, and there was no guarantee I would be able to get them back.
It was emotionally hard. That opportunity meant stability for me and my family. But I had already decided to serve the Lord. I did it out of love and faith. And during the mission, as I came to know Him more deeply, I knew I had made the right choice.
When I returned, without expecting it, I got my scholarship and job back. A year later, I was hired full-time. The Lord gave everything back to me—and even more.

And so, as resurrection and death and life are important to achieving perfection, so also is birth. And with the thought, my mind comes back again to Bethlehem, the Bethlehem of today. My wife and our group move about with the surging crowds, we are jostled and pushed. We are nearly drowned in the ocean of innumerable bodies and faces. It is hard to concentrate upon the sacred reason for our coming. There is little on the hill which can stir our reverence or satisfy our longing to be alone with our thoughts.
We have our taxi take us to the hill overlooking the shepherds’ field. Below us in the little valley is the field of Boaz and Ruth. Before us is the undulating area where shepherds once watched their sheep. On the brow of the hill is a cave opening out over the little valley. There, tradition says, the shepherds slept and watched on that eventful night. An open cave could protect them from the night’s coolness, yet still they could watch their flocks. There, gazing into the valley, the only place near Bethlehem where we could find privacy, we stood in the dark, looking out into the starry sky as did the shepherds.
Did not the angels sing that night? We, too, seemed to hear faint music, not loud, but in symphonic harmony it deeply penetrated our hearts. We seemed to hear singing in unison, the unforgettable melody, the cry of the ages: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men” (Luke 2:14).
As the strains of the heavenly words merged with our hearts, we four sang. After singing “Far, far away on Judea’s plains, shepherds of old hear the joyous strains,” (Hymns No. 33) we stood close together in the starlighted night with our wraps pulled tightly about us—physically close, mentally close, spiritually close, emotionally close; and we communed. No lights but the twinkling lanterns in the heavens, no sound but the whispering of our subdued voices. Our Father seemed to be very near. His Son seemed close. We prayed. More in unison than a single voice, our four hearts poured out love and gratitude that rose to mingle with the prayers of all mankind that night.
We prayed our gratitude. We prayed our love. Like the raising of the flood gate releasing the long confined pent up waters behind a dam, voices almost inaudible, mellowed with reverence, softened by the intangible forces of the heavenly world, we sincerely gave a prayer of thanksgiving: grateful, Father, that we know so positively that thou dost live; that we know the babe born here was in reality thy Son; grateful that thy Church program is real, workable and exalting. We told him we knew him, we loved him, we would follow him. We repledged to his cause our lives, our all.

One of the most beautiful and tender accounts of brotherly love, concern, and devotion took place in Carthage Jail on the afternoon of the martyrdom. “The afternoon was sultry and hot. The four brethren [Joseph and Hyrum Smith, John Taylor, and Willard Richards] sat listlessly about the room with their coats off; and the windows of the prison were open to receive such air as might be stirring. Late in the afternoon Mr. Stigall, the jailor, came in and suggested that [in view of threats made by the radical and bloodthirsty mob] they would be safer in the cells. Joseph told him that they would go in after supper. Turning to Elder Richards the Prophet said: ‘If we go into the cell will you go with us?’”

Elder Richards answered, “Brother Joseph, you did not ask me to cross the river with you [referring to the time when they crossed the Mississippi, en route for the Rocky Mountains]—you did not ask me to come to Carthage—you did not ask me to come to jail with you—and do you think I would forsake you now? But I will tell you what I will do; if you are condemned to be hung for ‘treason,’ I will be hung in your stead, and you shall go free.”

With considerable emotion and feeling Joseph replied, “But you cannot,” to which Brother Richards firmly replied, “I will.” (B. H. Roberts, A Comprehensive History of the Church, vol. 2, p. 283.)

Of course, Shawn’s living style and his quiet manners have made the occasional boisterous tough guy misjudge him. One bronc rider just couldn’t get used to a polite, soda-pop-drinking cowboy who went to church, shaved every day, and wore clean clothes. He insisted on calling Shawn feminine names. When asked politely, he wouldn’t apologize and insisted on settling the matter in an old-fashioned western fist fight. They stepped out behind the chutes and Shawn beat him soundly, gaining the cowboy’s respect and his friendship in the process. Later, when the cowboy learned that Shawn also happened to hold a Montana State Golden Gloves boxing championship and was a Montana Athlete of the Year, he felt better about his defeat.