Gospel Story Finder

As I left the missionary training center in Provo, Utah, USA, I had a very long flight ahead of me, with three layovers before I would finally arrive in my mission in Recife, Brazil. When I landed in Rio de Janeiro for the last leg of my journey, I missed my flight. It was rebooked, but I was left with a 14-hour wait in a country I had never been in before, and I couldn’t say much in Portuguese.
Hours passed as I sat there feeling lonely, forgotten, and tired from all the flights. As I began to cry, a voice said to me, “Elder, pray!” I prayed for help harder than I ever had before. As I said “Amen,” I heard a man sitting directly behind me speaking English. I turned and tapped his shoulder. The man was a returned missionary from South Africa who was fluent in both English and Portuguese. We got something to eat together, and he helped me communicate with my mission president. He helped strengthen my testimony that God will never forget His children! I felt His love that day, and I can truly testify that He hears our prayers.
Sione T., Oregon, USA

When I was in the seventh grade, in a health class, the teacher read an article. A mother learned that the neighbor children had chicken pox. She faced the probability that her children would have it as well, perhaps one at a time. She determined to get it all over with at once.
So she sent her children to the neighbor’s to play with their children to let them be exposed, and then she would be done with it. Imagine her horror when the doctor finally came and announced that it was not chicken pox the children had; it was smallpox.
The best thing to do then and what we must do now is to avoid places where there is danger of physical or spiritual contagion.

Photographs by Sepi Hawaikirangi
When 118 youth from Auckland, New Zealand, and their leaders planned a four-day temple conference to the Hamilton New Zealand Temple, they had a simple but impressive goal: to perform as many baptisms for the dead as possible during their stay.
They began preparing for the trip many months in advance. As part of the preparation, young men and young women researched names from their family histories that they could bring with them to the temple.
All their preparation paid off in a big way. The youth and their leaders had a spiritual feast from the moment they arrived to when they set their sights back home four days later—not to mention all the blessings that came before and after the event because of their devotion to family history and temple worthiness.
In order to spend as much time at the temple as they could, they wanted to stay near the temple instead of making the two-hour drive each direction every day. So for the whole temple conference, youth and leaders stayed in dorm rooms near the temple.
Being that close to the temple was its own reward for the youth. Nichalahr U., a Laurel from the group, said, “I didn’t want to come home after the temple conference because I got used to waking up to the view of the temple and how peaceful it was to just turn and look at it standing in front of you.”
You can enjoy the blessing of seeing the temple each day by putting a picture of one in your room.
It wasn’t practical to have 62 young men and 56 young women all doing baptisms at once, so they decided instead to go to the temple in shifts. The youth were divided into five groups, and each group attended at least two shifts at the temple during the four days.
That might sound at first like there was a lot of downtime and waiting in between. But nothing could be further from the truth. When they weren’t in a shift doing baptisms, the youth headed into the community to do service projects. Sometimes they walked over a mile (1.61 km) to reach their destinations—at which point they’d begin the service project.
They helped out with cleaning, yard work, and anything else families and organizations needed. One youth group helped replant a marae, an outdoor public meeting place in the New Zealand culture.
The youth were also in charge of cooking their own meals, which led to another goal the youth made for the conference: to learn how to prepare and cook food from 72-hour kits. This, too, required a fair amount of planning. Each young man and young woman had a budget to plan and shop for ingredients.
Although the dorm rooms had large kitchens to use, the youth all whipped up their masterpiece meals on a gas stove outside. Those meals were put to good use too, since the youth needed a lot of energy to keep up with the schedule. The only way they could fit everything in was to wake up at 5:00 a.m. and keep going strong until bedtime.
Of course, this was a four-day youth conference, so there had to be at least a little recreational time! One fun event was a dance. Yet even here the dance became more meaningful than usual as a result of some visitors.
During the week, the youth had an unexpected treat when they met a group of Saints from New Caledonia (a group of islands in the southwest Pacific Ocean that belong to France) who were also visiting the temple. They quickly became friends and had the opportunity to sing hymns and also perform ordinances in the temple in English as well as French.
On the night of the dance, the Saints from New Caledonia came to visit these youth. As soon as they arrived, the youth from New Zealand danced joyfully in a circle around them to welcome them. They hugged each other in friendship formed over a shared love of temple work.
Not surprisingly, the highlight of the conference was the actual time in the temple. Mahonri K., a priest, researched and brought names from his own family to do proxy work for them. “I was excited to help my ancestors who had passed on through the veil by being baptized and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost on their behalf,” he says. “My testimony of baptism has been largely strengthened.”
Throughout the week, the young men and young women felt a strong spiritual connection to the work. Sara M., a Mia Maid, said, “I now have a strong testimony of the gospel and the importance of temple work.”
From the beginning, their goal was to complete as many baptisms as possible to help their ancestors. They succeeded rather spectacularly. The 118 youth performed baptisms and confirmations for 3,542 people, many of whom were their ancestors.
By the time the young men and young women were ready to leave, their testimonies were strengthened and their hearts were filled with gratitude. The youth even invited the sisters who work in the temple laundry to their closing exercises so that the youth could sing a closing song to them in appreciation for their hard work. (Just imagine how much laundry needed to be washed during this temple conference!)
The youth will remember the spiritual experiences they had during this temple conference for the rest of their lives. “The feeling that I received throughout each baptism was pure and innocent,” says Caleb R., a priest. “I could feel the warm embrace of the Savior’s love.”
Throughout the temple conference the youth strengthened their ties with the Savior, with each other, and with their ancestors. After gaining such new enthusiasm for the work, their journey in family history is only getting started.

Forty years ago this month, knowing of my interest in becoming a lawyer, Sister Funk served me with a “Summons to Court” and our courtship began. A few months later, I pleaded guilty to being in love with her and asked if we could be bound together forever. She said yes and my life has been eternally better as a result.

The president of the Church at the time we were married was President Spencer W. Kimball. He taught that we should not postpone marriage or children. We were married one week before I graduated from college and then we faced three years of law school together. A few days after my law school graduation, Sister Funk gave birth to our second child. Those early years were very hard financially, but we are grateful for our six children, their spouses, and now 13 grandchildren with whom we have been blessed.

One day, after my husband, three daughters, and I had moved across the country and away from our large, extended family, we received in the mail a photograph of my husband’s brother. All three girls had known him well, so I was amazed to find that my three-year-old daughter did not recognize him. We had been away for only six months! This incident convinced me that we needed to spend time talking with our children about our family members if we wanted them to grow up feeling that they knew and belonged to an extended family unit. My husband and I decided to use some of our family home evenings to accomplish this goal.
We began with my husband’s grandmother, who was about to celebrate her eighty-first birthday. Following our home evening lesson the week before her birthday, we told the children that someone very special to us was about to have a birthday and that we were going to help her celebrate it. We began by showing several photos of Grandma while helping them remember some of the things they had enjoyed doing with her in the past. Next, my husband related some of his memories of her and of the experiences he had enjoyed as a boy on her farm.
We then got out the colored paper, crayons, and glue, and each girl made a birthday card for her great-grandmother. My husband wrote a letter telling Grandma of his love and appreciation for her. We mailed the greetings the next day.
The girls enjoyed this activity, but more important, they learned more about their great-grandmother. They learned that even though she is far away, she loves us. They learned that it is fun to do something nice for someone else.
We all learned that it is important to set aside time to build family relationships, and long-distance birthday parties have become a tradition in our home.

President Gordon B. Hinckley is often heard to say words to the effect, “Things will work out” and “The Lord controls in the affairs of the Church and in the world.” In 1983 he found himself at the pulpit of the Tabernacle in April general conference, the only member of the First Presidency able to be present. President Spencer W. Kimball and President Marion G. Romney were suffering from incapacitating illnesses. I suppose President Hinckley felt somewhat alone with a weight of responsibility that few can comprehend. He recounted:

Recently while wrestling in my mind with a problem I thought to be of serious consequence I went to my knees in prayer. There came into my mind a feeling of peace and the words of the Lord, “Be still and know that I am God.” I turned to the scripture and read this reassuring statement spoken to the Prophet Joseph Smith 150 years ago: “Let your hearts be comforted concerning Zion; for all flesh is in mine hands; be still and know that I am God” (D&C 101:16).
God is weaving his tapestry according to his own grand design. All flesh is in his hands. It is not our prerogative to counsel him. It is our responsibility and our opportunity to be at peace in our minds and in our hearts, and to know that he is God, that this is his work, and that he will not permit it to fail.

Usually Jennifer loved library time at school, but today she was confused about something the librarian said. Mrs. Miller said that books like biographies and science books are nonfiction, while adventure stories and fairy tales are fiction. Jennifer had never thought about the difference between fiction and nonfiction.
“But shouldn’t writing something that isn’t true be illegal?” Jennifer’s classmate Adam asked.
Mrs. Miller smiled. “No, Adam. We have lots of books that aren’t true that we all love—like all your favorite novels and storybooks.”
After school, Jennifer was still puzzled. She knew that a lot of the stories and fairy tales she loved were make-believe, but it was still fun to pretend they were real. As Jennifer thought about fiction and nonfiction books, she wondered where the Book of Mormon would be shelved. Was it really true, or was it just a nice story that was fun to believe was true?
Jennifer thought a lot about the Book of Mormon over the next several days. She spent a lot of time reading it too. If people could invent enough stories to fill up the large fiction section of the library, was it also possible that someone could have made up the Book of Mormon? Jennifer wasn’t sure how she ever would know the truth.
When Sunday came, Jennifer was still worried about whether or not the Book of Mormon was a true book. She was worried that she was even asking the question. Everyone else at church seemed to know the Book of Mormon was true. How could they feel so certain when she felt so unsure?
During the sacrament, Jennifer said a silent prayer. It felt good to pray. Jennifer felt warm inside. She felt like Heavenly Father was telling her it was OK that she wanted to know about what was true.
As Jennifer took the sacrament, she started thinking about her baptism. She thought about how happy she had felt. She thought about how taking the sacrament renewed her promise to Heavenly Father to keep His commandments. She thought about how the feelings in her heart let her know that Jesus lives, even though she had never seen Him.
Then Jennifer began thinking about the Prophet Joseph Smith, and she had that same warm, peaceful feeling. It was the same way she felt as she read the Book of Mormon. She knew that Heavenly Father was telling her through the Holy Ghost that the Book of Mormon was true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet.
Sacrament meeting went on as usual that day, but Jennifer felt different. She felt grateful that Heavenly Father was willing to answer her questions, and that she knew for herself that the Book of Mormon was true.

My grandfather loves to tell my brothers and me stories about events in his life. Many of them are funny, others are scary, and I love them all. But the greatest story my grandfather ever told me has affected my testimony and my faith in the Church greatly. I still cry when he tells the story—even when I just think about it.
Before I was born my grandfather was a recent convert to the Church after many years of opposing it. He was a construction worker and would work on many sites, including the construction of large buildings.
Just one week after joining the Church, my grandfather was working on a building while 30 feet up in the sky. He was trying to get to one end of the building to do some work on the roof. In order to get to where he needed to go, my grandfather had to walk on a high beam hanging out over the ground. When my grandfather got about halfway onto the board it snapped, and my grandfather plummeted 30 feet onto the ground.
He was rushed to the emergency room. His neck was broken in three places, a lung was punctured, and a kidney was torn in half. Other parts of his body were ripped and bleeding. The doctors said he wouldn’t survive long enough to see the next day. During the whole ordeal my grandfather was still awake and in excruciating pain. He was sinking closer to death every second. Finally, my grandfather said he needed a blessing from a man with the priesthood.
Fortunately, a man who had helped my grandfather grow stronger in the Church had stayed home from work that day. When he received a call from the hospital stating that he was wanted there, he rushed to the emergency room and asked my grandfather what he needed.
My grandfather said, “I need a blessing.”
The man told him the doctors had said there was nothing more they could do to help my grandfather. But my grandfather shook his head and repeated that he needed a blessing. Finally the man agreed and gave my grandfather a blessing.
After the blessing, my grandfather relaxed. The pain finally having left him, he fell asleep. Several days passed, and my grandfather was released from the hospital.
When he went back for a checkup, his doctor had some surprising news. “You are a walking miracle,” he said. My grandfather had fully recovered from his deadly drop with no negative effects other than a few scars. The blessing from God that one man gave to my grandfather had saved his life and restored him to health.
When I first heard this story, I was too young to understand, but now that I am older, I understand it completely, and it has helped my testimony grow stronger. I know for a fact that through the priesthood, the Lord can heal those who truly ask for it in faith.
I will never forget the story, for I live with the walking miracle—my grandfather.

One last remembered experience had to do with the payment of tithing. At the time, many pioneers paid their tithing in kind, which meant paying tithing in some type of produce. Joseph F. Smith enjoyed telling about the time his mother attempted to pay tithing by giving potatoes. He described himself driving a wagon filled with potatoes to give to the bishop at the tithing barn. The bishop refused to accept the potatoes, claiming that Mary Fielding Smith was forgiven of her indebtedness to the Lord due to her poverty conditions. Although initially, Joseph F. Smith thought this a great decision, his mother did not. In fact, she became upset and insisted on going to see the bishop at the tithing barn. She did pay her tithing on that occasion in potatoes. Joseph F. recalled that the bishop who had refused her tithing left the church. He said that he knew his father and mother were in the Celestial Kingdom.

Elder Camargo, who joined the Church in an unusual way, said that “the missionaries never knocked at my door.” After a short career as an officer in the military service, Elder Camargo decided to become a Protestant minister.

He attended the Methodist seminary for three years. “On one occasion in one of my seminary classes,” he related, “the teacher was discussing the beliefs and doctrines of certain Christian groups. I remember asking him about the Mormons, and he said that he didn’t know if Mormons were even Christians. I said, ‘I think they are, because the name of their church is The Church of Jesus Christ of something,’ but I couldn’t remember the rest of it.

“The teacher said to me, ‘Why don’t you try to find out if there are Mormons in S¶o Paulo so that we could invite one of their ministers to come to us and explain their doctrines.’ So I went to the mission home in Sac Paulo and met the mission president who sent two missionaries to our class to explain the doctrines. This was the beginning. I left the seminary, studied the gospel for about eight months, and then was baptized with my wife and five children. Another child was born soon after we were baptized.”

Charlotte Clark was just six years old when her family left Nauvoo, Illinois, to travel west to the Salt Lake Valley. It was a long, long way to walk. Charlotte walked so much that she wore out her only pair of shoes. Every night when Charlotte knelt to pray, she asked Heavenly Father for a pair of shoes.
One day Charlotte and her sister were picking berries when Charlotte saw a pair of shoes. She and her sister ran back to their mother and father, saying, “Heavenly Father sent me shoes, and they fit perfectly!” Charlotte’s father was concerned that the shoes belonged to someone who had lost them. He told Charlotte that if the shoes belonged to someone in their wagon train, she should return the shoes to their owner. Charlotte’s family showed the shoes to everyone, but no one claimed them. Charlotte’s prayer was answered.

Christ has helped me through many trials in my life, even those times when heaven seemed so far away and I felt I was suffering alone. Ryan and I suffered through several miscarriages and two failed adoptions at the beginning of our marriage. Given what I’d gone through growing up, I protested to Heavenly Father that I deserved an exemption from any more trials. But that isn’t how it works, is it? We grieved and suffered over infertility, and the sadness and agony consumed us for over five long years. Any hope for children of our own seemed impossible during those times, but we lived our lives the best we knew how. And when my faith lacked, I had to rely on church leaders, family, and strong friends during those years. Then, what do you think came next? Surprise! Heavenly Father blessed us with four wonderful children—two sets of twins, back to back!

After all, all things are done in His timeline, not ours. I know sometimes the way forward seems grim when you’re in the thick of it, but if you are out there feeling alone, overwhelmed, or confused, or whatever challenge you are facing, don’t ever give up. Keep doing what you know is right and turn to our Savior for help. I know that the day will finally come when we will look back to find that the hardships we experience today are temporary.

My dear friend Dr. Gary Weaver was one who helped many people find and keep contact with the iron rod as they moved on the path toward the love of God. When Gary was eighteen, he went on a six-week BYU survival trip that changed his life. It was on that trip that he adopted this motto: “If I help others, the Lord will give me everything I need.” It was this motto that guided his life of service. Over the years, Gary ran more than 160 weeklong survival trips in the Boulder and Escalante areas of southern Utah. Through these trips he helped more than 4,000 people learn about themselves and strengthen their relationships with the Lord. Most of the people Gary took on survival trips were counted as “the least of these”11—people who were metaphorically wounded and lying at the side of the path.
I was privileged to accompany Gary on one of the survival trips with thirty high school students from the Nebo School District. The experience touched me deeply as I watched Gary help the young women and men find healing and found my own healing and a firmer grip on the iron rod. I was part of a group trying to find our way in the desert, through a swamp, and along difficult paths. During all the time we hiked, Gary encouraged us to work together to solve problems, help one another, and move toward our goal. In the evenings, exhausted and tired, we would spend time recounting the day’s experiences and listening while Gary’s ­harmonica playing lulled us to sleep.

I was back in Omaha, Nebraska a few years ago on Church assignment to attend the groundbreaking exercises of the Mormon Memorial Bridge over Winter Quarters. I met a man there who was a district president in the mission area. He had lived in Salt Lake City, Utah for 17 years, and had worked in the Union Pacific Railroad office until it was transferred to Omaha. He did not join the Church in Salt Lake. When he moved to Omaha, he met the missionaries. I asked him, “Why didn’t you join the Church in Salt Lake?” He said, “No one ever invited me to.”

I recently had the opportunity to travel with Elder Donald L. Hallstrom to visit five cities in the great central area of the United States. In each city we visited, we would hold a meeting with the full-time missionaries, followed by a meeting with the stake and ward leaders regarding missionary work. Between each of the two meetings, the stake Relief Society would prepare a light dinner for us to afford us time to meet with the stake presidents. When we reached Milwaukee, Wisconsin, two young families appealed to the Relief Society to let them prepare and serve the dinner. The two husbands manned the kitchen. The two mothers supervised the table arrangements and the serving of the food. Three young children handled the table setting and the serving of the food under the supervision of their mothers. This was an opportunity for the mothers to have a teaching opportunity with their children. It was very special to watch the children respond to every detail as they were taught by their mothers. They carried out their assignments completely and fully.

I remember as a deacon watching the priests as they would officiate at the sacrament table. One priest by the name of Barry had a lovely voice and would read the sacrament prayers with clear diction—as though he were competing in a speech contest. The other members of the ward, particularly the older sisters, would compliment him on his “golden voice.” I think he became a bit proud. Jack, another priest in the ward, was hearing impaired, which caused his speech to be unnatural in its sound. We deacons would twitter at times when Jack would bless the emblems. How we dared to do so is beyond me, for Jack had hands like a bear and could have crushed any one of us.

On one occasion Barry, with the beautiful voice, and Jack, with the awkward delivery, were assigned together at the sacrament table. The hymn was sung; the two priests broke the bread. Barry knelt to pray, and we closed our eyes. But nothing happened. Soon we deacons opened our eyes to see what was causing the delay. I shall ever remember the picture of Barry frantically searching the table for the little white card on which were printed the sacrament prayers. It was nowhere to be found. What to do? Barry’s face turned pink and then crimson as the congregation began to look in his direction.

Then Jack, with that bearlike hand, reached up and gently tugged Barry back onto the bench. He himself then knelt on the little footstool and began to pray: “O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it.” He continued the prayer, and the bread was passed. Jack also blessed the water, and it was passed. What respect we deacons gained that day for Jack, who though handicapped in speech, had memorized the sacred prayers! Barry, too, had a new appreciation for Jack. A lasting bond of friendship had been established.

The Savior counseled that we should pray for those who “despitefully use” us. This principle is often overlooked in our prayers. The Prophet Joseph Smith understood it clearly. His petitions were fervent, his motives pure, and the blessings of heaven regular.
Daniel Tyler, an associate of the Prophet, recalled an important occasion: “At the time William Smith and others rebelled against the Prophet [at Kirtland], … I attended a meeting … where ‘Joseph’ presided. Entering the school-house a little before [the] meeting opened, and gazing upon the man of God, I perceived sadness in his countenance and tears trickling down his cheeks. … A few moments later a hymn was sung and he opened the meeting by prayer. Instead of facing the audience, however, he turned his back and bowed upon his knees, facing the wall. This, I suppose, was done to hide his sorrow and tears.
“I had heard men and women pray—especially the former—from the most ignorant, both as to letters and intellect, to the most learned and eloquent, but never until then had I heard a man address his Maker as though He was present listening as a kind father would listen to the sorrows of a dutiful child. Joseph was at that time unlearned, but that prayer, which was to a considerable extent in behalf of those who accused him of having gone astray and fallen into sin, [was] that the Lord would forgive them and open their eyes that they might see aright—that prayer, I say, to my humble mind, partook of the learning and eloquence of heaven. There was no ostentation, no raising of the voice as by enthusiasm, but a plain conversational tone, as a man would address a present friend. It appeared to me as though, in case the vail were taken away, I could see the Lord standing facing His humblest of all servants I had ever seen. … It was the crowning … of all the prayers I ever heard.”

I wanted to visit Salt Lake City and surprise my good friends Elder Kimball and Brother Lamar Williams. Finally, in the spring of 1969, eight years after my baptism, I visited Salt Lake City and met with Elder Kimball. He was delighted and spent the rest of the day with me.
While in Salt Lake City, I went to a salon for a haircut. I shared my testimony with the barber, who was a convert himself. One gentleman, waiting for his turn, overheard me and told me about his travels to India. He paid for my haircut, invited me to dinner, and drove me to Brigham Young University. I was impressed by the campus. I mentioned that I wanted to continue my studies here but could not afford it. The man offered to pay $1,000 for my tuition. I was surprised and immensely grateful.

The story is called The Dot and the Line: A Romance in Lower Mathematics, by Norton Juster, who is also the author of The Phantom Tollbooth. The book tells of a love triangle between a dot, a line, and a squiggle. Much of the humor and wit of the story is packed in the pictures. So, with the publisher’s permission, I will show the illustrations as I read. So, sit back and enjoy; it’s story time.
The Dot & the Line: A Romance in Lower Mathematics.
Once upon a time there was a sensible straight line who was hopelessly in love with a dot.
“You’re beginning and the end, the hub, the core and the quintessence,” he told her tenderly, but the frivolous dot wasn’t a bit interested, for she only had eyes for a wild and unkempt squiggle who never seemed to have anything on his mind at all.
They were everywhere together, singing and dancing and frolicking and laughing and laughing and [who] knows what else. “He is so gay and free, so uninhibited and full of joy,” she informed the line coolly,
“and you are as stiff as a stick. Dull. Conventional and repressed. Tied and trammeled. Subdued, smothered and stifled. Squashed, squelched and quenched.”
“Come around when you get straightened out, kid,” the squiggle added with a rasping chuckle, as he chased her into the high grass.
“Why take chances,” replied the line without much conviction. “I’m dependable. I know where I’m going. I’ve got dignity!”
But this was small consolation for the miserable line. Each day he grew more and more morose. He stopped eating or sleeping and before long was completely on edge.
His worried friends noticed how terribly thin and drawn he had become and did their best to cheer him up.
“She’s not good enough for you.” “She lacks depth.” “They all look alike anyway. Why don’t you find a nice straight line and settle down?”
But he hardly heard a word they said. Any way he looked at her she was perfect.
He saw things in her that no one else could possibly imagine. “She is more beautiful than any straight line I’ve ever seen,” he sighed wistfully, and they all shook their heads. Even allowing for his feelings they felt this was stretching a point.
And so he spent his time dreaming of the inconstant dot and imagining himself as the forceful figure she was sure to admire.
The line as a celebrated daredevil.The line as a leader in world affairs.The line as a fearless law enforcement agent.The line as a potent force in the world of art.The line as an international sportsman.
But he soon grew tired of self-deception and decided that perhaps the squiggly line might have the answer after all.
“I lack spontaneity. I must learn to let go, to be free, to express the inner passionate me.”
But it just didn’t make any difference, for no matter how often, or how hard he tried, he always ended up the same way.
And yet he continued trying and failing and trying again. Until when he had all but given up, he discovered at last that with great concentration and self-control he was able to change direction and bend wherever he chose. So he did, and made an angle.
And then again and made anotherand then anotherand then anotherand then anotherand then anotherand then another
“Hot stuff,” he shouted, much impressed with his efforts. Then in a wild burst of enthusiasm he sat up for half the night putting on an outrageous display of sides, bends and angles. “Freedom is not a license for chaos,” he observed the next morning. “Ooh, what a head.” There and then he decided not to squander his talents in cheap exhibitionism.
For months, he practiced in secret. Soon he was making squares and triangles, hexagons, parallelograms, rhomboids, polyhedrons, trapezoids, parallelepipeds, decagons, tetragrams and an infinite number of other shapes so complex that he had to letter his sides and angles to keep his place.
Before long he had learned to carefully control ellipses, circles and complex curves and to express himself in any shape he wished–
“You name it, I’ll play it.”
But all his successes meant nothing to him alone and so off he went to seek the dot once again. “He doesn’t stand a chance,” muttered the squiggle in a voice that sounded like bad plumbing. But the line, who was bursting with old love and new confidence, was not to be denied. Throughout the evening he was by turns.
Mysterious.Clever. Dazzling.Profound.Complex. Erudite.Eloquent.Versatile. Enigmatic.Compelling.
The dot was overwhelmed. She giggled like a schoolgirl and didn’t know what to do with her hands. Then she turned slowly to the squiggle, who had suddenly developed a severe cramp.
“Well?” she inquired, trying to give him every chance. The squiggle, taken by surprise did the best he could.
“Is that all?” she demanded.
“I guess so,” replied the miserable squiggle. “That is, I suppose so. What I mean is I never know how it’s going to turn out. Hey, have you heard the one about the two guys who– “
The dot wondered why she had never noticed how hairy and coarse he was, and how untidy and graceless, and how he mispronounced his L’s and picked his ear.
And suddenly she realized that what she had thought was freedom and joy was nothing but anarchy and sloth.
“You are as meaningless as a melon,” she said coldly. “Undisciplined, unkempt and unaccountable, insignificant, indeterminate and inadvertent, out of shape, out of order, out of place and out of luck.”
With that she turned to the line and shyly took his arm. “Do the one with all the funny curves again, honey,” she cooed softly as they strolled away.
And he did. And soon they did, and lived–if not happily ever after, at least reasonably so.
Moral: To the vector belong the spoils.

I want to share my journey back to the gospel of Jesus Christ and then eventually to BYU—not once, but twice—and how the Savior’s love, channeled through divinely directed people, guided me to this sacred place. I grew up in a family without any historical connection to or knowledge of BYU, so BYU had never been in my educational plan.

My parents were amazing people and great examples of unconditional love and service. My dad joined the Church in his 20s. My mom was baptized in her youth through the influence of her grandmother; however, the gospel wasn’t a part of her homelife growing up. As my parents started their family, their knowledge of the gospel was limited. Our family attended church until I was 10, when we moved to an area with very few members and our ward was in another town. Without a close connection to ward members, our family drifted away from Church activity and the gospel.

During my youth, my focus was academics and playing sports. As I headed into my senior year of high school, my dream was to attend a local university and play football. Neither of my parents had attended college, but they were very supportive of my dream. Everything was going according to my plan. I had a very successful football season, was accepted to the local university, and was recruited to play football.

However, the Lord had a different path for me to follow. He had inspired a young bishop, Bishop David Terry, to notice me on his list of inactive young men. I have no doubt the Lord put him in my life at this critical time to help guide me toward the gospel and a new path—a path that would touch my soul and change my life forever.

I was surprised one day when Bishop Terry called and asked if I would accept a calling to be one of his assistants in the priests quorum. I didn’t know what he was talking about, but before I knew it, I had accepted the assignment. My parents had always taught me that if you are asked to do something good, you say yes. I was ordained a priest, and each Sunday I would drive to the next town for church to assist the bishop with the quorum activities and to bless the sacrament. I didn’t know any of the other youth in the ward. They all attended a different high school.

The bishop then received another piece of inspiration and challenged me to get my patriarchal blessing. Again, I didn’t fully understand the purpose of receiving a patriarchal blessing, but I agreed to do it. At that time I had no idea how a few words spoken by that patriarch would impact my life.

A few Sundays later I drove to the patriarch’s home. I had never met Brother Horch and was still wondering about the importance of receiving the blessing. As I sat there with his hands on my head, I listened intently to his words. I heard him say, “You will have the opportunity to spend two years serving your Heavenly Father as a missionary, and you will feel the blessings of the Lord poured out on you and those who are near and dear to you.”

I thought, “I don’t even know that much about the Church. How could I ever be a missionary?” I kept saying to myself, “A mission is not in my plans, regardless of what my blessing says.”

I was not happy with this new revelation regarding my future. I desperately wanted to forget the whole thing and move on with my life, but for some reason I couldn’t get it out of my mind.

Six months passed. I had been attending church, but I had not yet accepted the invitation to serve a mission. I had so many reasons why it didn’t make sense for me. With only a couple of weeks before the start of fall football practice, I had an unusual experience at work as I was reading the Book of Mormon one morning before the workday began. I was approached by an older coworker who asked what I was doing. I told him I was reading the scriptures. When he realized it was not the Bible but the Book of Mormon, he quickly informed me that the book was not from God and that I should not be reading it.

I was surprised by his harsh reaction, but in that moment I received a strong impression that I needed to change my plan and that I must go on a mission and follow the Lord’s plan for me. The thought overwhelmed me to the point that when I arrived home from work that day, I told my parents I had to go on a mission and that attending the local university would not help prepare me. My coworker didn’t realize it, but he was the critical piece in pushing me one step closer to the Lord and a mission.

The next question was which college I should attend while preparing for a mission. I didn’t know much about nor had I applied to BYU, so that wasn’t an option at that time. However, I had heard about Ricks College, so the following weekend my supportive and loving parents and I drove from western Washington to Rexburg, Idaho, to register me for fall classes. Just a few weeks later I began classes, marking the start of my journey in the Church Educational System. The year flew by, and I had the opportunity to meet incredible faculty and students who helped me grow my testimony of the gospel. I was able to associate with other young people who were also preparing to serve missions, and by the end of the school year I had submitted my mission papers and received my call.

The Lord was with me and my family every step of the way. While I was at Ricks College, the promises in my patriarchal blessing regarding my family, “those near and dear to me,” started to unfold. The stake established a new branch in the town where my family lived, and my dad was called into the branch presidency. When I arrived home from college, I had the privilege of being the first missionary to serve from this newly formed branch.

My mission to Southern California was a very meaningful experience, helping me grow my understanding of the gospel of Jesus Christ and experience the blessing of serving others. It deepened my faith and prepared me for the next stage of my spiritual and educational development. Additionally, while I was serving, my brother-in-law joined the Church, and he and my sister were sealed in the temple. After I completed my mission, our family had the opportunity to be sealed as an eternal family. I returned to Ricks College, walked onto the football team, and resumed my schooling. Each day it was a blessing to be around faculty and fellow students who loved the Lord.

Upon receiving my associate’s degree, I was inspired to transfer to BYU to further my spiritual and educational development. Even though I knew it was a special place, I didn’t realize just how special it was. Similar to my experience at Ricks College, at BYU I was introduced to amazing and loving people who continued to shape me and my testimony, preparing me for my future journey in life. During my senior year I was blessed to meet my wife, Dana, in our ward at the Riviera, and we were married a few weeks after graduation before moving to St. Louis for my first job. Upon leaving BYU, I felt well prepared spiritually, intellectually, and professionally. I appreciated my experience at BYU but never thought I would return.