Gospel Story Finder

My great-grandfather, Christian Frederick Nelson Twede, was converted to the gospel and was baptized around 1850 by Elder Erastus Snow (1818–88), one of the Twelve Apostles who was serving a mission in Copenhagen, Denmark. Christian had some amazing spiritual experiences that confirmed the truth of the gospel to him. His decision to be baptized came at a high personal cost. His family disowned him, and his fiancée broke off their engagement. Despite these setbacks, he continued to believe in the gospel and emigrated to the United States to join the pioneers on their trek to Utah.

Thanks to modern technology, family members can keep in touch with each other, even across long distances. Cole R., 16, says, “My dad still gives me advice, congratulations, and sometimes a rebuke. When my younger brother and I were advancing in the priesthood, our extended family gathered at our home. My dad was on the computer, watching via video chat. He asked family members to say the prayers. It was a powerful witness that even though we are thousands of miles apart, he is still the patriarch of our home and we are still a family.”

Jesus Christ Is the Healer of the Afflicted

The second experience occurred nearly twenty years ago. My wife, Gwen, and I, along with our daughters, Olivia and Lola, found ourselves in the Rapid City, South Dakota, mission home, celebrating Christmas with all my family. It was a joyous occasion, as we had not been together in quite some time. But Gwen and I were also secretly suffering on the inside. We were nearing the end of our time in graduate school, and we were not sure I was going to successfully complete my degree. We had no serious prospects for the desirable job offers we had expected to receive, and we worried that we had made an error in deciding to pursue such a career path. We were also very concerned with Gwen’s inability to bounce back from the deep emotional struggle she had encountered after giving birth a few months previous. Most distressing to us was the health of our new baby, and we were overcome with anxiety regarding the lack of an accurate diagnosis for our sweet little Lola after countless tests and procedures—tests and procedures that would lead a year later to a diagnosis of a rare chromosomal anomaly.

By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, both Gwen and I were close to falling apart. We had spent sleepless nights caring for our children, and the stress of the trip had taken its toll. We were still smiling on the outside, but we both felt empty on the inside.

Following a longtime family tradition, we began our Christmas Eve with a special dinner, and then we went caroling to the mission home neighbors. Afterward we gathered in the living room to reenact the Nativity and read scriptures. I was seated in a chair, and Gwen was nestled into the adjacent couch. Admittedly my focus had drifted from the family purpose of the evening, and I was somewhat distracted with our plight as we made our way through our traditional stories and scriptural passages.

For the finale, we turned to 3 Nephi 17. To be honest, I had never quite understood why we read this chapter every Christmas Eve. When I was a child, my grandmother, Lola Sedgwick, had insisted that we read it. She never gave a reason for reading it, and I couldn’t figure out why it was so important to her at Christmastime, as it did not seem to have anything to do with Christ’s birth.

However, that evening this scriptural account took on new meaning for me, and it became clear to me that my grandmother Lola had insisted we read it every Christmas Eve so that years later it would serve as a balm to calm my concern for my daughter Lola. As we began to read those scriptural words of Mormon aloud, I could hear my grandmother’s voice in the Savior’s invitation to bring our Lola hither to be healed:

And he said unto them: Behold, my bowels are filled with compassion towards you.
Have ye any that are sick among you? Bring them hither. Have ye any that are lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or that are withered, or that are deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither and I will heal them, for I have compassion upon you; my bowels are filled with mercy. . . .
And it came to pass that when he had thus spoken, all the multitude, with one accord, did go forth with their sick and their afflicted, and their lame, and with their blind, and with their dumb, and with all them that were afflicted in any manner; and he did heal them every one as they were brought forth unto him. [3 Nephi 17:6–7, 9]

Listening to those sacred verses immediately drew me into the embrace of the Savior’s love, and I was promptly overcome with a profound sense that our Heavenly Father was keenly aware of me and my family. Those words, voiced in my mind by my Grandmother Lola, came from the same source that had prompted us to name our daughter Lola after her. As I looked over at Gwen next to me, it was obvious that she had been spiritually touched in the same way. Our trials were not immediately removed. In fact, the nature of those tribulations remained in full. But we were both healed that evening, and we, like the Nephites of old, cried tears of joy (see 3 Nephi 17:10).

The witness that I received that evening came from my grandmother and her heavenly recitation of holy scripture. Similar to those who tarried with the risen Lord on the road to Emmaus without recognizing Him, I did not fully appreciate the presence of the living Christ in that moment until I discussed the experience later with Gwen. But our reaction was not unlike the reactions of those who sat at meat with Christ before He vanished out of their sight, leaving them to say, “Did not our heart burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the scriptures?” (Luke 24:32).

The heavens brought peace to my mind and comfort to my soul through the angelic ministering of my grandmother. I believed on her words, as described in this scriptural account, and the witness I received is that Jesus Christ is the healer of all those who are afflicted in any manner.

Last summer I visited Elder Orin Voorheis at his parents’ home in Pleasant Grove, Utah. He is a big, handsome, splendid young man who served in the Argentina Buenos Aires South Mission. One night, about 11 months into his mission, some armed robbers accosted Elder Voorheis and his companion. In a senseless act of violence, one of them shot Elder Voorheis in the head. For days he hovered between life and death, unable to speak, hear, move, or even breathe on his own. Through the faith and prayers of a host of people over a long period of time, he eventually was taken off life support and brought back to the United States.

After months of extensive hospitalization and therapy, Elder Voorheis became stronger, but he was still paralyzed and unable to speak. Progress was slow. His parents decided that they should bring their son home and care for him in the loving atmosphere of their own family. However, their modest home lacked the space or equipment to give the needed therapy. Many kind neighbors, friends, and benefactors pitched in to build an addition to the home and provide physical therapy equipment.

Elder Voorheis is still almost completely paralyzed and unable to speak, but he has a wonderful spirit and can respond to questions with hand movements. He still wears his missionary badge. His parents do not ask, “Why did this happen to our noble son, who was serving at the call of the Master?” No one has a certain answer except perhaps in circumstances where higher purposes are served. We must walk in faith. We recall the Savior’s reply to the question, “Who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?” The Savior answered that no one was at fault but that the works of God might be manifest in him. Rather than harbor bitterness, the members of the Voorheis family bow their heads and say to the Lord: “Thy will be done. We have been grateful for him every day of his life, and with the help of others we will willingly bear the burden of caring for him.”

My purpose in visiting Elder Voorheis was to join his father, his bishop, his home teacher, and others in giving him a blessing of hope. Some may ask, “Is there hope for Elder Voorheis in this life?” I believe there is great hope for everyone! Sometimes we ask God for miracles, and they often happen but not always in the manner we expect. The quality of Elder Voorheis’s life is less than desirable, but the influence of his life on others is incalculable and everlasting both here and in Argentina. Indeed, after his accident the Kilómetro 26 Branch, where he served in Argentina, grew rapidly and quickly qualified for the construction of a chapel.

President Charles W. Penrose used to tell the story of an officer on the Titanic who stated that there was no fear of “God, man or devil,” because the Titanic was built so solidly that it could readily withstand collision with other ships or contact with any other force, including icebergs. The Titanic was in fact three football fields in length, 12 stories high, and built of the finest steel. On that fateful night of April 14, 1912, other ships warned of ice ahead. Yet the Titanic continued to increase her speed, cutting through the cold Atlantic Ocean. By the time the lookouts sighted the iceberg, it was too late. The Titanic could not turn out of its way in time, and the iceberg scraped along the starboard side of the ship, creating a series of punctures. Two hours and 40 minutes later the brand-new Titanic sank to the bottom of the ocean. Over 1,500 people were drowned.

When our young daughter was practicing the piano, I suggested she play her piece over five more times to be prepared for her lesson.
She said, “No, Mom. Five is too many.”
I said, “Then you choose how many times you need.”
She said, “No. You choose—but don’t choose five!”
Are we ever like that when the Spirit prompts us what to do and it isn’t easy or comfortable or popular? We say, “Please tell me again. I want to be obedient, but just tell me something a little easier—and more fun.” It can be dangerous trying to please ourselves.

A personal experience illustrates how the Spirit teaches us through our feelings, even those persons who may not be familiar with the process of revelation.

About 11 years ago three elected deputies of the Supreme Soviet visited Salt Lake City. I helped host them on Temple Square. I took them into the North Visitors’ Center to see the paintings and the Christus statue. Then I took them into the Tabernacle, where they heard the Sunday morning Tabernacle Choir broadcast.

Afterward a few of us met with them in a conference room on Temple Square. We told them a little bit about the Church. Then Konstantin Lubenchenko, the senior in the delegation, spoke to us. I made notes of his remarks as they were relayed through an interpreter: "Before I came here I thought the Mormon Church was a very conservative organization of fanatics. But after seeing the beautiful pictures and statue in your visitors’ center and the beautiful setting where the choir sang and hearing the choir and organ, I have a new understanding of your church."

What interested me most was his account of what he felt: "Since I have come to the United States, people have asked me what is my strongest impression in the United States. I can tell you now. It is the singing of your choir. I love organ music and choirs and have gone to hear them many times in my country. As the choir sang, I had a very strong feeling. Although I do not speak English, I felt with my heart that they were sincerely expressing my feelings. My relation with God was expressed in earthly feelings through their singing."

This Soviet lawmaker had a feeling and could describe it well enough for me to realize that he had received a witness from the Spirit.

“But they won’t want to go,” Tad insisted.
Brother Feagin thought for a moment and then said, “Do you know how many years Sister Arnold has been a widow?” We shook our heads.
“Thirty-five years. Her husband was killed when she was 42. She had eight kids under 18. She went back to college, got a degree, and then taught for the next 19 years. She didn’t have much time for a social life. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go 35 years without a date? That’s twice as long as you’ve been alive. People never outgrow their need for doing things with other people. Oh, she’s gone to a church dance occasionally, but always with a couple, always feeling like a fifth wheel. Now she has a chance to go out and be the main wheel. Going with someone young enough to be her grandkid won’t be ideal, but it beats staying home for 35 years.”

BUMP! CRASH!
Splitfoot staggered back from the blow. His mother—twelve hundred pounds of angry moose—glared at him. She had just struck him with her broad chest.
Splitfoot, only a year old, waggled his big ears. The blow had not hurt him, but he was puzzled. What’s happening? he wondered. Why is she driving me away?
His mother rejoined her newborn calf a short distance away. The calf, a reddish colored male, had arrived in the world two days before and was still wobbly. He nuzzled his mother’s flanks, wanting to nurse.
It was mid-May, and the north country had lost its winter drabness. The foliage was green, and leaves were budding. Splitfoot nibbled at a tuff of fresh grass, but he wasn’t really hungry. He watched his mother and the calf furtively from a clump of spruce trees.
For a year now, his place had been by her side. She was his protector and his strength, so it was only natural for him to want to remain close to her. He started toward her again, trying not to be obvious. While he grazed, he kept angling closer to his parent. But Splitfoot couldn’t fool his mother. When he was about twenty feet away from her, she charged. This time she really smacked him, knocking him down. Then his mother ran off a little way, her hackles raised. She bawled and growled menacingly.
When Splitfoot arose, she charged him again, leaving him sprawled on the ground. This time he just lay still, rolling his brown eyes. His mother trotted back to her calf, where she stood guard. She was nearsighted, as are all moose, but she could see her unwanted son well enough.
Splitfoot lay quietly for a few minutes more, then he climbed painfully to his feet. The last blows had really jarred him. He moved back to the protective spruce trees and studied his mother. Although his eyesight, too, was less than perfect, his ears and nose were keen. He knew every move his mother and the newborn were making. Splitfoot was learning what all yearling moose must learn: they are not welcome when a new calf is born. His mother might have accepted his company for another year had it not been for the calf. But, by instinct, she was so protective of her helpless new offspring that she distrusted every other creature, even her oldest son.
For the rest of the day, Splitfoot sulked in the trees. Toward evening, he went to a nearby pond for a drink. After ducking his head under the surface for a mouthful of succulent lily roots, he went back to try to find his mother. But she and the calf were gone. He searched for hours but never found them.
Now Splitfoot would be on his own for the rest of his life. It wouldn’t be so bad, however, because he had been prepared by nature for what lay ahead. He had thirty-two good teeth, and he knew what to eat. His mother had long before weaned him. Though only a year old, he was strong. This strength would help him escape enemies he couldn’t fight. Later that summer several wolves chased him. He managed to keep ahead of them until he came to a lake. Though he hadn’t had much practice, he plunged in and swam all the way across to safety. Few animals of the north have more stamina.
Splitfoot learned during the next few years who his enemies were, especially wolves, bears, and men. Deep snow was also an enemy. It was difficult to escape wolf packs while plunging chest deep through snowdrifts. And in wintertime, storms covered willows and cottonwood branches with ice, making it hard for him to eat. The ice cut his gums, turning his mouth bloody and raw. During one long cold spell when everything remained frozen, Splitfoot nearly starved—some moose did.
In the summertime, the mosquitos were a great nuisance. Great swarms of them stung his nose and tender lips. They dove at his eyes and buzzed in his ears until he dashed through the forest crazily to escape them. But in spite of all these hazards, he survived.
In his third year, the young moose grew his first spread of antlers. He also felt that he should take a mate. But older and stronger bulls drove him away from the females.
When he was four, he did manage to mate. But first there was a terrific battle with another male who also wanted the female. They charged each other head on, their antlers cracking like thunder on impact. They shook the ground, and their eyes flashed red with anger. They tore up the ground and snapped young trees like twigs. The battle lasted for an hour, then the rival moose gave up. Splitfoot was victor. It was the first of many such battles he would have.
After he mated, Splitfoot remained with his bride for only a short time. He was not content with only one mate, like the wolf, and in a couple of years would have a large harem.
When Splitfoot was seven years old, he came into his full powers. He weighed eighteen hundred pounds, measured over six feet high at the shoulders, and was nearly nine feet long. His antlers weighed eighty pounds and had a spread of seventy-five inches. He was deep-chested, with muscles that rippled under his dark-colored hide. Splitfoot was a king among his kind.
In December he would shed his antlers. This left him without an important weapon for defense. But that didn’t stop him from fearlessly roaming his fifty-square-mile range.
Splitfoot would live for twenty years, a long time in the wilderness. But to do that, he had to outwit hunters, outrace wolves, and outlast ice storms. He didn’t worry about any of these difficulties, though, but took the days as they came.

It wasn’t enough for institute students in Manila, Philippines, to just learn the gospel—they wanted to share it. So they put together a musical show, emphasizing the scriptures and education, that was designed to help parents and youth apply gospel principles in their lives.
The students gave up their free time to rehearse and perform. But they said it was worth it to see the audience reaction—some were moved to tears. The group toured Metro Manila and the nearby provinces with their variety show. “All our efforts were rewarded by the wonderful feelings we’ve had,” said one participant.

Lots of young children love to dance. But eight-year-old Sha-Lei Kamauu of Ewa Beach, Hawaii, enjoys it so much that during summer vacation she practices from 4 to 12 hours every day except Sunday.
Of course, if you came from the family that Sha-Lei does, you would probably be a dancer, too. Sha-Lei performs the hula, the traditional dance of Hawaii, just like her mother and grandmother do, and like her great-grandmother, her great-great-grandmother, and her great-great-great-grandmother did. That is six generations of hula dancers. And most of them have been hula teachers, too. What’s more, her father is a descendant of one of the best-known Latter-day Saint hula dancers in Hawaii—Iolani Luahine.
Sha-Lei’s grandparents Howard and Olana Ai are both kuma hula (hula teachers) at their own halau hula (hula school). They are widely known for helping students develop their talents. For example, Grandpa Howard’s boys’ team has won the first-place international hula trophy nine years in a row. Grandma Olana teaches principles along with the dances—principles like beginning practice with prayer, always dressing modestly, and honoring your mother and father. For her and her students, hula is a way to express gratitude for God’s creations and love and appreciation for others.
Sha-Lei and her brother, Chaz, 10, take hula lessons from their grandparents. They also spend a lot of time visiting Grandma and Grandpa at their home. They play with the extended family’s pet, Ginger the dog. They admire the collection of Hawaiian musical instruments, and when Grandpa brings two or three of the instruments down from the shelf, they all perform an impromptu concert. At other times they join their parents and grandparents in singing hymns around the piano. That’s another thing about Sha-Lei’s family—they know a lot about music.
They also know a lot about Hawaii. In addition to teaching voice and ukulele lessons, Sha-Lei and Chaz’s parents teach Hawaiian studies at schools on Hickam Air Force Base. So the children know a lot about the history and culture of the islands where they live. Sha-Lei was recently baptized, and she is pleased to tell people that Liliuokalani, the last queen of Hawaii, was also a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “Baptism is important,” Sha-Lei says. “It means I have promised to always remember Jesus Christ and that I should be a good example of someone who follows His teachings.”
Sha-Lei is also happy to tell people her full name: Sha-Lei Elizabeth Kanaiokanoe Kiowao‘o Nu‘uanu Lindsey Kamauu. One of the reasons her parents gave her the Hawaiian part of her name was to remind her of the place they were living when she was born. It means “the beauty of the misty rains from Nu‘uanu.” Sha-Lei can also tell you that her family has ancestors of 13 different nationalities—Hawaiian, Samoan, Tongan, Native American, Spanish, Scottish, Dutch, Irish, Welsh, Belgian, English, Danish, and Chinese. Doing family history work can be particularly exciting when your last name is Kamauu!
Sha-Lei also likes family home evening. As her mother explains, “We love being together, and we spend so much time together that we don’t just have family home evening, we have family home life!”
“Mom and Dad are always telling us about how they got married in the temple,” Sha-Lei says. “I always think, ‘I want to be married there, too!’” As for Chaz, he says he will go to the temple, too—first to do baptisms for the dead starting at age 12, then as he prepares to serve a mission when he turns 19.
But for now, the family is content to be playing music together; singing at Church meetings; learning about the gospel, the temple, ancestors, history, customs, and worthwhile traditions; and enjoying dancing the hula together—maybe for six generations more.

Go ahead. Stand Yanery and Yajaira Ortiz next to each other, and just try to tell them apart. No, really. Try.
All right. Here’s a hint that might help. Yajaira is the older of the identical twins—by 17 minutes.
Any guesses yet? Give up?
Okay, that’s Yajaira wearing the Mickey Mouse shirt. In her bedroom in Garfield, New Jersey, Yajaira has hers decked out in a Mickey Mouse motif. That’s the giveaway. She loves the cartoon mouse. Meanwhile, Yanery’s room is done more in neo-modern teen. Posters, textbooks, makeup. The usual stuff.
Oh, there is one more area where they are identical. They both have the Young Women theme displayed prominently on their walls.
Okay, let’s move to quiz number two. Look at some of Yanery and Yajaira’s friends. There’s Veronica Cruz, Michayne Campbell, Romano Johnson, Desmond Aultmon, and Rafael Geldres.
Take a good look and tell us what they have in common.
Tough, isn’t it?
Okay, here’s the answer. They’re the same too—at least when it comes to what they believe and how they live their lives. Along with the Ortiz sisters, Veronica, Michayne, Romano, Desmond, and Rafael are all members of the Church, members of the Paterson Second Branch of the Caldwell New Jersey Stake.
Paterson, New Jersey, is not a tourist town, despite being only 20 minutes from New York City. Gone are the days when locomotive trains and much of the nation’s silk were manufactured there. Today, crime is rampant, many of the buildings are empty, and the unemployment rate is as high as Manhattan’s skyscrapers.
Still, home is home. And the influence of the Church on the LDS youth offers peace and comfort to them. The fact that Michayne is Black and Yajaira is Hispanic makes no difference. But Yajaira is aware, as Mia Maid class president, what being an example to a younger member like Michayne means. That is important.
“I’m supposed to be an example to everybody. I feel the responsibility because I’m the president, and I want to show people the way to act by the way I act,” Yajaira says.
Eighteen-year-old Rafael has his own take on the Church and its members. He was baptized in 1996. “The good thing about the Church is that everybody’s equal,” says Rafael, who is of Peruvian descent. He has noticed lines drawn among the students of different races who attend John F. Kennedy High School and has been troubled by the violence that seems to follow. “In the Church, no race is better than the next. I’ve noticed this, and it’s incredible.” He wishes his nonmember friends and classmates felt the same way.
Not long ago, in a diner near his home, one of Rafael’s classmates was shot and killed in what police determined was a race-related murder.
And Desmond, who will be 14 in a couple of months, can tell some disconcerting stories too. Last year, he was walking near the corner of 18th and 38th streets. Without warning, two guys jumped out of a car, roughed him up, and left him lying in the street.
“It’s tough living here, but my life has changed a lot since I joined the Church. You just have these happy feelings,” he says.
Desmond’s life did change permanently in March 1996 when he was baptized. And for many youth in the Paterson area, things began changing in 1993, when the missionary work started rolling and the branch grew from seven members to the more than two hundred it counts on its rolls today. Meanwhile, the Young Men and Young Women programs are flourishing, mainly because people like Veronica and Romano were joining the Church, and lifelong members like Yajaira and Yanery were moving in from out of state.
“The Church has taught me a lot,” says 15-year-old Veronica. “Being involved in the Church has taken me away from the activities around the streets and stuff. Without the Church, I probably would have been like most of the teenagers I see around me. I would have followed my friends and everything like that. But in the Church, we are taught to be independent from the crowd. By following the Church’s teachings, I have also had some ground rules and some values set for me.”
When Rafael talks about how his life has been altered, he has the answer. “It’s made me sweat a lot,” he says with a smile while holding a paintbrush. He’s in the middle of a service project inside a YMCA in Passaic, New Jersey, painting the fourth-floor hallways of a building that desperately needs a coat or two. It’s about a million degrees inside, and, yes, everybody is sweating. But everybody’s happy too.
“That’s the way all our activities are,” he adds. “We work hard and have fun. But, seriously, the Church has helped me perceive things in a different way. I think I’ve become smarter. For example, when things happen, they make more sense to me.”
“I know I look at life totally different than maybe other people do,” explains Yanery. “I can fall back on things that other people don’t have. The first step I took was baptism. If we live every day following the teachings of the Church, it can help us out in the long run.”
With paint flecks on her face, Michayne stops her brush strokes for a moment and considers the service project and her Church membership. “I love doing things that are not just for myself but for other people. You come closer to the Lord when you’re doing service,” she says. “I know so much more about God and Jesus Christ. I pray more, and I do the things I’m supposed to do. If I wasn’t a member of the Church, I think things would be different.”
Desmond considers the challenges he faces every day, and he is also grateful for the Church. “So many people will say, ‘Come on, try this. Try this.’ I’m like, ‘I don’t have time for that. Drugs won’t get you anywhere.’”
While Yajaira faces many of the same challenges, she also sees reminders every day that teach her how to live. “My mom really loves the Church, and there is more peace in our home because of it,” she says. “Whenever I go in my house, I always remember something. Scriptures, the Young Women values—those sorts of things. I already have them in my head and know the things they teach are the way I want things to go for me.”
Another day in Paterson is coming to a close. Sunlight is flashing off the Great Falls, a national historic landmark, where water falls almost 80 feet into the Passaic River. It’s easily the most-visited place in the city.
“It’s different from when I used to live in Missouri,” says Yanery, speaking not only about the scenery but the lifestyle as well. “Here, it’s like, ‘Mormon? What’s that?’ People don’t even know what my religion is. But I like it because I stand out and my values stand out. I feel different from everybody else.”
Yanery finishes speaking, and she walks toward her sister. As they stand next to each other, watching the water cascade into the river, you realize Yanery’s right. They do stand out, even if you still can’t tell the two sisters apart.

President Hinckley’s words inspired one teen to stop using illegal drugs.
“Not too long ago I was deeply entrenched in the underground rave scene. With my involvement in this not-so-wholesome activity came abuse of a drug known as ecstasy. My life got to the point where I was rolling every weekend and spending all my money on illegal drugs. It wasn’t until the prophet spoke out against illicit drug use to the youth of the Church that I realized I was in big trouble. Listening to his counsel to be clean, however, helped motivate me and give me courage to stop using drugs.”

Many years ago I taught a prep course for English majors thinking about pursuing PhDs. One exceptionally gifted student, smart and diversely talented, completed the class requirements but seemed more interested in pursuing other opportunities. Several years later she contacted me and asked if we could talk. I invited her to my home and learned that she had gotten married, found herself living in places she hadn’t anticipated, and no longer felt as assured about following a lifelong career dream. She had explored other options, and nothing seemed right, so she was revisiting her original decision to not pursue a PhD. We began talking again about some of the items we had discussed in our prep class years before: the parts of a graduate school application, what kind of writing sample to use, what to emphasize in a letter of intent, and so forth. She diligently took a few notes. But I could sense in her feelings of uncertainty and unhappiness. Then the Spirit impressed me with a new thought. I told her not to worry about career tracks for a moment and reflect instead on her spiritual gifts. If she thought about pursuing a life most in keeping with those gifts, what kind of life would that be? The mood in the room instantly changed; she said she hadn’t thought about approaching her future with that question in mind. Later in the week, she sent me a note informing me that she had taken the question to heart, had found new clarity in her thinking, and now discerned a life and career path that seemed well-suited to her. Anxiety had given way to joy.

When my oldest daughter Debanie was in fourth grade, she had a big field trip scheduled for her Idaho History studies. She invited me to go with her. She was excited for me to ride the bus with her for the hour-long ride to Massacre Rocks. When we boarded, we walked to the middle of the bus and sat down. I noticed a young man in the seat in front of us. He was by himself and even asked a few passing students if they wanted to sit with him. No one was mean, but they all politely declined and found other seats. It was like a sad scene from a movie--the lonely boy that no one would sit by. I could tell that he was sad and felt a little awkward all alone. I said to Debanie, "Hey would it be ok if I sat with Brian for a bit of the trip?" Her answer surprised me. She didn't say yes, she said, "I will sit with him." She moved up a seat and sat with Brian. What I saw was amazing. Not only did she sit with him, but she started to visit with him, they started giggling and laughing and having fun. I saw this lonely, sad boy change. His eyes shined, he had a smile on his face. I was taught by my ten year old daughter. She, just like the Savior, loved someone in need. She did not hesitate or make excuses of why she couldn't. She just automatically did the right thing and was truly an example of our faith.

Another example is a family in the mission over which I presided, a family by the name of Agnew. They were difficult people to convert. William Agnew, particularly, would not listen to the missionaries, but finally he consented to attend our Sunday School with his wife, three children, and the two missionaries. However, when the missionaries came on Sunday morning to escort the family to the chapel, there had been a little disagreement in the Agnews’ home. Brother Agnew had insisted, “I will not go to the Mormon Sunday School.”
His wife replied, “But you promised, Bill. You promised these young men that you would go.”
“I’m not going, and that’s that!” he said. He became rather angry, but somewhat reluctantly he permitted his wife and children to go to Sunday School.
He later told me of the events of that morning. He said: “When my wife and children shut the door and left me alone in the living room, I had nothing good to say about the Mormon faith. I was about as angry a man as one could imagine. I picked up the morning newspaper to see if I could read about the problems of the world and get my mind off religion, but it was to no avail. I kept thinking, My wife and my children have gone to meet with the Mormons.
“I then went into my daughter Isabel’s bedroom. I thought that perhaps I could turn on the news and hear something different. As I turned on the little radio on her nightstand, what do you think I heard? The Mormon Tabernacle Choir! What message do you think I heard? Richard L. Evans spoke on the subject ‘Let Not the Sun Go Down on Thy Wrath.’5 I felt as though the Lord were talking to me personally. I got down upon my knees and promised my Heavenly Father that I would no longer rail against Him—that I would do what these young missionaries had taught me to do.”
When his wife and children returned from Sunday School, they found a new husband and a new father. They couldn’t understand why he was in such a pleasant mood. Finally they asked him what had happened to change his attitude.
He said: “I’ll tell you. I was so upset when you left that I read the paper in an attempt to get my mind off all of you. No success. Then I went to Isabel’s bedroom and turned on the radio to hear the news, and of all things, I heard the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. This man, Richard L. Evans, spoke to me and said, ‘Don’t let the sun go down on thy wrath.’ I felt closer to God at that moment than I have ever felt in my life. I am ready to go with you to the meetings. I am ready to pursue a diligent study with the missionaries.”
Isabel said, “Dad, that’s a wonderful story—if only it were true.”
Her father said, “Isabel, it’s true.”
She said, “No, Dad. Did you say that you turned on the radio on my nightstand?”
He replied, “That’s the one—the little white one.”
“Dad,” she said, “that radio hasn’t worked for several weeks. I think the tubes are burned out.”
“Isabel,” he said, “that radio works. Come with me.” He led his family into Isabel’s bedroom, walked over to the nightstand next to her bed, and turned on the radio as he had done just one hour earlier, but no sound came forth. That radio did not work! But when our Heavenly Father needed to communicate a message to an honest seeker after truth, that radio not only worked, but it tuned him into the very program and to the very message he needed to bring him to a recognition of the truth. Little wonder that he later became the bishop of that ward. Little wonder that all three of his children are active in the Church and continue to fill positions of responsibility.

Michelle and I have been best friends since last December, when she moved here. Her family went to a different church until our ward members asked them to come to our church the next Sunday. Michelle really liked Primary. Her sisters, Rachael and Molly, went to Young Women, and they loved it.
The following Sunday, only Rachael and Molly came. On Monday, I asked Michelle why she had not come. She told me that she hadn’t had time to get ready. I told her that she could be late if she needed to be, as long as she came.
I invited her to Achievement Day that week. She asked what that was. I told her that there were different groups, depending on age. She said that she was ten, so I told her that she would be in my group. She was excited and asked her parents if she could come. They said yes. She didn’t know anybody there. I introduced her to everybody. Now we are all very good friends. The next week, missionaries started to teach her family, and they are now baptized!

Brother John William Orth, 78, shines the light of the gospel despite his struggles with Parkinson’s disease. John has been a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints all his life, serving in various callings, including as a bishop. Almost five years ago, after a long struggle with the illness, it became necessary for John to take up residence at Lutheran Homes in Glynde, South Australia, an aged care facility run by the Lutheran church.
Despite his health issues, John remains positive and is actively involved in his Lutheran Homes community, which provides church services and classes overseen by a full-time pastor. Soon after moving into the facility, John learned that the pastor would be away for a while and suggested that in his absence, the classes could be led by other residents — John was happy to lead one himself, if needed. The pastor took him up on his offer and John has since taught dozens of classes, which include a weekly broadcast (as his health permits) over an internal TV channel aired to hundreds of residents in the facility and its surrounding village.
Even as he grapples with physical limitations, John spends numerous hours a week preparing his lessons, sensitively referencing videos and other learning material from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Initially, the pastor reviewed each lesson before it was presented, but he now has no concerns about John’s teachings. In fact, John’s messages have seen several copies of the Book of Mormon placed with residents, many of whom have asked him to cover specific topics. He speaks fondly of one such request, which resulted in a 5-week course of instruction on grace.

Two weeks ago I shared an experience with the freshmen that captures the theme of my remarks for today. The incident concerns a young woman who desired to attend BYU from the time she was very young but believed she would never have the opportunity because of difficult financial circumstances. Consequently she did not apply last spring during her senior year in high school even though her grades were excellent and she was worthy.

As is customary, university advisement personnel hold meetings for newly selected freshmen each spring. On the day this meeting was held in her hometown, the young woman received in the mail a notice that she was a National Merit finalist. This meant her tuition would be paid by a national scholarship. Still, she did not have the financial means to cover the additional costs associated with moving from home and living in another state and city. However, the confluence of the notice and the meeting for new BYU freshmen rekindled a spark of hope, and she decided to attend even though she was not on the invitation list.

I happened to be in the city that day on other business and was invited by our advisement people to speak to the new freshmen at the evening gathering. Following the main session, the freshmen were divided into small discussion groups and sent to other parts of the building. As I left the chapel, I stopped momentarily to visit with waiting parents. While conversing, I suddenly felt the presence of someone behind me. The feeling was followed by an impression that my help was needed. I turned, and there stood two women a few feet distant quietly conversing. They noticed my movement and looked up. I could tell they were waiting to see me. As I approached them, the mother introduced herself and indicated that her daughter would like to ask some questions. The young woman told me of her lifelong dream to attend Brigham Young University and how because of financial circumstances she had not applied. She then proceeded to tell me of the letter that had arrived that day notifying her of the National Merit Scholarship. She further stated that even though her tuition could be paid, her circumstances were such that it still appeared impossible to attend. She then asked if I knew of any way a door might be opened. As I listened, the thought came that her hope had been rekindled by the Holy Spirit and that I had been made aware of her presence by the same source. Additional thoughts came regarding university resources, including student jobs that are available. With the help of BYU admissions personnel, a way was found for the young woman to attend. I suspect she is in the audience today, as she was two weeks ago.

In the intervening two weeks, I received a short note from her. It has prompted me to speak on the subject I have chosen. The note read as follows:

Dear President Bateman,
I would like to thank you for sharing my story last night. I came here feeling lost and lonely and a little bit without purpose. I cannot tell you how I felt when I realized you were talking about me. I know God wants me here and I know I am here to serve him. Thank you!

The note is then signed by the young woman.

My first experience with BYUH wasn't typical to what one might think. When I was 16 years old I was invited by my older sister to come to paradise and babysit her toddler during my six week school holiday. When the idea of going to Hawaii was proposed to me by my parents my teenage imagination began to conjure up images of long leisurely days at the beach, mild tropical evenings, and the chance of meeting "those good looking Hawaiian boys." My brother in-law was a student and my sister worked part time at the PCC business office to put him through school. When her supervisor gave her the opportunity to increase her hours for a limited time she jumped at the chance, facilitating a need for a babysitter.

The reality of my situation quickly set in upon my arrival at their cramped one bedroom, non air conditioned TVA apartment. Soon after, I had my first encounter with a cockroach-- one I will never forget. I jumped so high I lost my balance tripped, with my arms flailing about, I fell backwards landing next to my little niece who had been playing quietly nearby. Upon seeing this she threw back her head and burst out laughing.

My holiday consisted of cleaning the apartment and watching a very curious and active toddler—quite an eye opener for a young girl, far from home, who wasn't used to the isolation, heat and humidity. The only social life I had was to have lunch with my sister. My niece and I followed a daily routine which consisted of making our way past the beautiful entrance of the school, through the Aloha center which was always bustling with students and to enter the PCC through the back gate. (They let anyone in back then). Following lunch we would make our trek back to TVA until it was time to meet my sister after work. My dream of relaxing days at the beach seemed far away. For most 16 year olds, friends and a social life are very important and so by the end of my tenure as nanny, I yearned for home-- my friends, family and a familiar climate.

When my vacation was up, I had no intention of ever returning to Hawaii. I'd had enough! However, an interesting thing happened to me on my trip home. After fastening my seatbelt and waiting for take off, I was looking out of the airplane window at the lights of Honolulu, when I had a strong impression that grew until it permeated every part of my body and mind. The impression was that I was to return to BYU Hawaii and that this campus would play a pivotal role in my life. I didn't understand it, yet I couldn't I deny it. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer asking the Lord to guide and assist me. In the few months that followed I graduated from high school, applied to BYUH and was admitted as a full time student all the time feeling determined and settled about my decision.