Gospel Story Finder

As a young boy of five or six years of age, I had a powerful experience with prayer. My grandfather, who was not very old at the time, was very ill—feverish, ashen, and almost unconscious. It was a real crisis for our family. He lay in a bed that had been set up for him in his living room, and many of our family members, as well as our stake patriarch, knelt in a circle around his bedside to pray for him.
Although I was the only one in the room who was not an adult, I was invited to be in that prayer circle. Each member of the circle took a turn saying a prayer out loud. Then I, as the youngest one there, was called upon to pray last. I had participated in family prayer, the blessing on the food, bedtime prayers, and the other prayers that children say, but I had never experienced prayer like this before. People were crying, and everyone was anxious and concerned. It all seemed awfully important and urgent and somewhat frightening.
As a result of these prayers, my grandfather’s health was restored. The patriarch later told me that he felt my grandfather had been healed primarily because of my prayer. I have never forgotten that experience. Because I was so frightened at the responsibility to pray in such a setting, prayer took on a deeper meaning for me.

by Craig Doxey
“No way,” I heard a few of the Venturers murmur as we looked down at the Snake River for the first time. “Look at some of those rapids!”
“Don’t worry,” I assured them, “we won’t be going down this portion of the river. But we will be hitting King Rapid before our river trip is over, and it’s pretty big!”
The Venturers of the Orem 27th Ward, Orem Utah South Stake, had been planning and preparing for this trip since last year. In the back of the Venturing manual there were several pages of instructions detailing how to build a kayak. At a post officers seminar in the fall the presidency had voted to build kayaks during the winter and plan a superactivity around them. Last January when we finally began seriously looking at the idea of building our own kayaks and running a river, we suddenly began to realize the great amount of planning and work that this project would take. After several voting sessions with the Venturer post, post committee, and parents, we decided to give it a try.
We were able to enlist the aid of an explorer adviser who had done this before, and with his instructions and guidance and a kayak mold that we rented, we began purchasing materials. Each boy was asked to earn $50.00 in order to purchase the necessary resin and fiberglass. The post presidency planned several money-making projects, and the boys were able to come up with the rest of the money through cherry picking and yard work.
As each boat was built, our Venturer post learned to work together. At least four or five people are needed for each kayak built. Gradually teamwork skills emerged as the boys began helping each other with their boats. With visions of whitewater and beautiful rivers, they labored through the smell, stickiness, dirtiness, and work of each boat.
As plans for the superactivity began to materialize, we decided to run the Snake River from Jackson Lake Dam to a small resort called Astoria Hot Springs about 70 miles downriver. It was decided in our post meetings that we needed to learn how to read a river and how to paddle. We also needed experience before hitting the “big water” of the Snake. Utah Lake served as our first practice camp, followed by several practice runs and camps down the Provo River. One of the most important skills learned was how to “ferry glide” across a river. This technique is used to move swiftly across a river, even through a rapid, without wasting energy. Our practices required each Venturer to intentionally swamp his boat—many were able to perform this great feat without even trying. I’ll never forget the picture of one of our smallest Venturers towing our 200-pound assistant adviser across the Provo River after the adviser had unintentionally swamped his boat!
We felt well prepared as we began our trip down the Snake River, and each of the skills we had learned and developed were evident as the Venturers ran rapids as tall as they were. “It was worth all that effort,” several of them said as we floated through the beautiful, primitive parts of Teton National Park, camped on the shores of the Snake, and saw elk, beaver, eagles, and other wild animals. Throughout the river trip, and in testimonies given at the testimony meeting the final night on the river, gratefulness was expressed to the Lord for the great experience we had had, for the brotherhood that had developed, and for the beauties of the land that we saw on our trip down the Snake River.

About a month ago Janet and I visited in Santa Monica, California, with one of the most remarkable people we have ever met. Bill Hobson is not a member of the LDS Church but is very impressed by the Church and also by our university. He is in his eighties, and some time ago suffered a stroke that affected his speech so severely that his doctors said he would never be able to speak again. In fact, he can speak, and after visiting with him I think I know why. At one point he told us how highly he thought of our “college.” He then added that he knew there was another word, more correct than college as applied to our school, but the other word was one he could not say.
When Janet responded, “Is the word university?” his entire countenance became radiant.
“Yes, that’s it. I can’t say the word, but that’s it.” Our newly found friend, Bill Hobson, is the perfect example of this first corollary to Janet’s general principle about learning from our mistakes. He is able to communicate so effectively now in spite of his stroke because he has a willingness and desire to do so.

At a hotel restaurant in Quito, Ecuador, Elder Spencer W. Kimball of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was sitting with a group that included four missionaries. After ordering bread and milk, Elder Kimball asked the waiter if he had children. The waiter replied that he had a son. Elder Kimball then said, “Bread and milk will make him healthy, but he will be even healthier if you will feed him the food these young men have to give.” The waiter appeared unsure what to make of this statement. Then Elder Kimball indicated that the young men he referred to were missionaries and that they taught the gospel of Jesus Christ. The waiter said he would be interested in listening to their teaching.20

About 150 years ago, 402 Latter-day Saints left their homeland in Europe to come to America. A Sister Jackson recorded a spiritual experience in her journal. She wrote that one night during the voyage, when the ship was near the shores of Cuba, it was particularly pitch dark and no one could see anything. The captain was afraid that the ship might be wrecked as he knew that land was near. Suddenly, a heavenly light illuminated the surroundings for a few seconds, revealing to the captain that a large rock rose boldly out of the ocean right in front of the ship only a short distance away. The captain quickly turned the ship just in time to avoid hitting the rocks. A terrible disaster was avoided because of the Lord's help. All 402 Latter-day Saints arrived safely in New Orleans.

Elder David Antonio Parada and Elder Sergio Saavedra turn the corner and start up the next street in a busy neighborhood in San Salvador. Children are chasing each other. A dog is barking. Women and girls pass by with loads of food or laundry on their heads. Radios tuned to various stations are blaring from open windows, each playing music with energetic Latin rhythms.
Just as the elders reach the red house, the novios (an engaged couple) arrive from the other direction for their appointment. They invite the missionaries into their house and arrange the chairs into a circle. After prayer, the girl disappears into another room and comes back with the copy of the Book of Mormon.
“Have you been praying?” Elder Parada asks. The girl nods. “Have you been reading the Book of Mormon?” Yes, they read their assignment in 3 Nephi 11 [3 Ne. 11]. “Wonderful! Keep reading and praying about it, and you’ll know by the power of the Holy Ghost that it is true.”
The lesson is on the plan of salvation. Elder Parada takes his ball-point pen apart. “Our bodies are like this pen’s outer shell,” he says, “and our spirit are like this inner part with the ink.” Using this simple visual aid, he explains death and resurrection. When the girl asks a question, Elder Parada answers with verses from his well-marked scriptures.
Then Elder Saavedra takes his turn teaching. Both missionaries seem completely at home here; neither is hampered by language or cultural distractions. The girl’s mother, who has been outside washing clothes, comes in and overhears part of the discussion. A rooster outside starts crowing, and a couple of chickens walk past the open door. A breeze blows lightly through the open window and rustles the curtain that serves as a door into the back room. The discussion proceeds smoothly. As the missionaries prepare to leave, the mother smiles and comes over to shake their hands. She says she might come to church with the novios tomorrow.
Elder Parada and Elder Saavedra say good-bye to the novios and walk back down the street. “It’s beautiful to see that pair of elders working together,” their mission president later comments. Elder Parada comes from an extremely humble background, the son of a field worker; his junior companion, Elder Saavedra, is the son of the Mexican consul to El Salvador. One worked for years in the fields to save money for his mission; the other left cars and stereos behind. Now they’re a team—humble, confident, articulate.
They cross a ravine on a swinging footbridge. Then, turning the corner, they start up the next street in another neighborhood of San Salvador.

“Recently I was able to travel with more than 100 other young men and young women from the Hamburg Germany Stake to the Frankfurt Germany Temple to do baptisms for the dead and to attend a youth conference. The trip, however, didn’t start out exactly as I had thought it would.
“We stayed in a youth hostel in Bad Homburg. The hostel is a really old building with dim rooms and old furniture. Some of the youth in our group, who had expected the comforts of home, were disappointed by their first impressions and wanted to go home.
“Our feelings began to improve, however, as we became involved in the activities and workshops of the conference. Each morning we had a devotional in which many of our personal questions were answered. And one evening we had a fireside with Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Seventy, who is a member of our Area Presidency.
“During the rest of the trip, I didn’t hear anything else about going home. As we became more unified in our purpose, the worldly environment as well as the just-for-fun activities became less and less important. I frequently had the feeling that a lot of us had come on the temple trip actually hungry for spiritual experiences. Many of us had those righteous desires fulfilled by our experiences in the temple. Tears of gratitude were shed, and friendships became stronger. Nowhere on this earth have I felt closer to Heavenly Father than in the baptistry in the temple. How marvelous it will be when I can go to the temple and receive my own endowment and enter the celestial room!
“At youth conference and in the temple, we felt the Spirit of the Holy Ghost. When we returned home, we took many memories with us—not of our less-than-ideal accommodations, but of the Spirit we had felt in our hearts.”—Julia Hardell, Hamburg Germany Stake

In 2019 my husband Doug and I returned home after serving as mission leaders in Arequipa, Peru. Doug’s back had been bothering him the last few months we were there, pain we attributed to long trips in the mission van to be with our missionaries.
So, when we got back to Utah, Doug saw an orthopedist, who ordered physical therapy and then injections. As neither helped him, it was suggested that Doug have surgery. But the surgery didn’t relieve his pain; it got worse. So a second and then a third surgery were performed.
After three surgical tries, various treatments, and nearly four years, Doug was worse and never without pain.
I spent more than a week with Doug in St. Louis, Missouri, where he had a fourth surgery performed by an expert on spinal reconstruction. Doug’s spine now has all the right curves. It’s vertically straight—less than one centimeter to the left. And he has curvature in the lumbar spine so that he can stand up straight. He’s aligned again.
Doug did not get into alignment alone. He needed the help of a surgeon. If Doug had tried to carry this burden on his own, he would have remained misaligned. He couldn’t fix it alone.
The last few years have been a journey for Doug and for me. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, but the experience of watching someone I love battle pain has smoothed down some of my rough edges and improved my still imperfect patience.
More than ever, Doug and I have relied on the Savior’s healing, comfort, and enabling power made possible through His atoning sacrifice. Doug wasn’t immediately provided with physical relief; what we got was a more sustained and deeper relationship with Jesus Christ. His covenantal promises have never felt more significant to us. In a way we hadn’t before, we tested His promise that we could “always have his Spirit to be with [us]” (Doctrine and Covenants 20:77). That promise is real and fulfilled even in the midst of suffering.
The Savior provided us with spiritual and temporal relief, through the Comforter and through the acts of other people. As covenant keepers have aligned themselves with Jesus Christ, they have brought us closer to Him and have been instruments in His hands to help us experience His relief.

About 10 years ago, I was assigned to minister to a man living in our ward by the name of Carl (name has been changed). Carl’s name had been on our ward list for many years, but nobody seemed to know anything about him. I vividly remember the first time I knocked on his front door. Carl answered my knock but was not at all happy to see me. I told him I was a member of his ward and had stopped by to see him. His response was a very stern and angry, “Get out of here!”
I could tell by the way Carl slurred his speech that he had been drinking alcohol. As I departed from his doorstep with my knees somewhat shaking, a thought came to me: “I wonder if Carl was so drunk that he won’t even remember this visit if I knock on his door again next month.” Several weeks later, I did knock on his door and received a similar response, again with the smell of alcohol on his breath. He was not happy to see me and once again shouted at me to leave. Nevertheless, I was determined to befriend him and was committed to trying again.
My third attempt was dramatically different from my first two attempts. When I knocked, Carl quickly answered the door. This time, he had not been drinking. I was prepared for the worst, but before I could say anything, Carl offered me a warm greeting. He invited me to come into his home and have a seat. He was very friendly and so happy to see me.
Our regular visits continued for the next six years until he moved to another state. We had a standing appointment to meet on the first Sunday of each month. He never forgot when I was coming and was always eager to meet with me.
Carl, his wife, and their children had joined the Church about 35 years earlier. He was in his young 30s at the time. After being a member of the Church for only one and a half years, he was called to the stake high council, where he happily served for a couple of years. Carl loved to tell me stories about his life and how grateful he was to have joined the Church. One of his sons had served a mission. Several grandchildren had attended Brigham Young University. Unfortunately, his relationship with his wife soured, and they eventually went their separate ways. Carl was so embarrassed about his marriage that he did not feel worthy to continue attending church. He still maintained contact with the full-time missionaries who taught his family the gospel, but he hadn’t had a visit from another Church member in his home in over 30 years.
The more I got to know Carl, the more I enjoyed getting to know him. He had so many stories about life and the gospel that he wanted to share. He shared his testimony with me time and again. I could tell that Carl had a strong testimony of the restored gospel. He began to regularly invite the full-time missionaries to dinner in his home. In spite of our growing friendship, he was still unwilling to attend church, though he did watch sacrament meeting every Sunday on BYUtv. During our visits, he would relate what he had learned from the broadcast that day.
Carl had a deep respect for his Church leaders. The thought came to me that I should invite our stake president to attend a ministering visit with me so that I could introduce him to Carl. When I told Carl that our stake president would be joining our next visit, he was overjoyed! I will never forget the visit. Carl and our stake president chatted nonstop for 30 minutes. It turns out that our stake president’s mission president was Carl’s first bishop. The ward Carl belonged to when he first joined the Church was the ward that our stake president grew up in. I counted over 20 people who were members of the Church that they both knew, loved, and respected. It was truly a marvelous visit. Prior to our departure, we invited Carl to attend church. Carl accepted our invitation and was beaming from ear to ear when he attended church the following Sunday.
Sadly, Carl moved to another state two weeks later. When I called him at his new home, he told me that the first person he called when he arrived was his new bishop. He requested a home teacher (now ministering brother) and asked if he could feed the missionaries. Carl recently passed away, but I am so grateful that I was able to become his friend. My life is richer and fuller because of him.

You know what to expect at girls’ camp—tents, outdoor cooking, dirt.

During a week spent in the high mountains of southern Utah, girls and leaders from the Las Vegas East Stake found something more, something magic. They discovered in each of their fellow campers something special to love.

Mary Beth Long, a first-year camper, came to camp reluctantly, but that soon changed. “Our camp leaders are crazy. You should have seen what they did!” What they did had something to do with a zany sense of humor and red licorice in their ears. Somewhere between flag ceremonies and foil dinners, magic touched Mary Beth’s heart, and she knew her leaders loved her. “I will never be the same person I was before girls’ camp,” she exclaimed.

“Wake up, girls. The neighbor just came with a message that we need to go to the ranch right away.”
Mom’s voice was quiet but filled with urgency. We were in the process of moving to a ranch several miles away, and Dad was living there by himself until we could join him.
“Why do we have to go to the ranch?” I thought. But the reason for going didn’t really matter as I pulled my nine-year-old body into the pickup truck and went back to sleep.
As Mom pulled the truck up to the house I woke up and saw Dad coming out. He went to Mom and in a low voice told her something that made her gasp, then cry. What was it? There was a stillness in the air that seemed to shout at me, a deathly stillness. My heart began to beat a little faster though I couldn’t understand why.
We walked into the house to find Grandpa seated on the couch. Why was he here, and where was Grandma? Suddenly I knew, without being told, why the stillness was so empty and why my grandfather was sitting there without my grandmother. I found myself hoping against hope that I was wrong.
The next few minutes were spent in listening to my father call the mortuary (a foreign word to me) and trying to get rid of the big lump in my throat. I wasn’t going to cry; I was simply scared. Soon Dad took us upstairs to put us to bed. I silently waited for what was coming, still hoping I was wrong.
“Girls, something happened to your grandma today. She was in a car accident, and she was killed. We won’t see her anymore.”
Simple, quiet, direct, and powerful. Oh, how powerful! I started crying but not just for the loss of my grandmother. Something more consuming had entered my mind. The lump returned to my throat and my heart began to beat even faster.
Was she really dead? Of course she was. But was she really? What was death? Could she feel anything now? Could she see me thinking about her? Was she just floating in space? I couldn’t imagine her life just ending and nothing more. Something inside me told me it wasn’t right for death to be so permanent. I imagined myself dying, and panic seized me. It didn’t seem possible that when I died I wouldn’t feel, hear, think, smell, see, or anything. The thought was unbearable to me, and I slammed a door against my fear, locking it away.
Six years later as I lay in bed, my thoughts wandered aimlessly back to that quiet June night. I could almost hear my father’s voice telling us Grandma was dead. Grandma! Like lightning the door of the mind opened, and my fear was released. “No!” I screamed silently, turning over in bed and closing my eyes. Tears welled up in my eyes as I tried to imagine what death was like. There were no pictures to imagine, only darkness and emptiness. And again something inside me told me that darkness wasn’t right.
I arose, went to my window, and gazed into the night, concentrating on the shadowy forms of trees and distant sounds of crickets and cattle. Soon the fear was behind its door again. But for how long?
Summer passed, school started, and before I knew how it happened, my best friend had introduced me to the missionaries, I had no prior religious affiliation, and I was not really aware of who they were, but they were friendly and I couldn’t help but like them.
One day, late in the fall one of the elders approached me. “We have a movie we’d like you and your family to see,” he said. “Could we set up a time when we could come to your home and show it?”
“Well,” I hesitated, “I don’t know if my dad would like that or not.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” continued the missionary. “We’ll only come if he wants us to. We’d like to show it next Monday night if we can.”
“Okay,” I said, inwardly eager for my parents to meet these two young men. I was sure they would like them if they met them. But would they want to meet them? I approached my father cautiously that night, expecting a negative reply to my request, but to my surprise and delight, he consented to have the missionaries come the following Monday evening. The next day I contacted them and told them the good news. I then began to look forward to their visit wondering what kind of movie they were going to show, having no idea of the effect it would have on my life.
Monday evening came, and at the appointed time there was a knock on our door, I let our guests in and introduced them to my parents. The two young men talked easily with them while setting up their equipment. I was disappointed as I watched them prepare a filmstrip projector instead of a movie projector. “This looks like something we’d see in history class,” I thought.
“Where did I come from? Why am I here? Where am I going?” The words rang through my mind. As I watched the movie and my fears were let loose again, there were answers to greet the fears. I imagined death, and this time there were pictures in my mind—pictures of people, waiting together. There was no more darkness, and the something that had been telling me all along that darkness wasn’t right was now telling me that the pictures in my mind were right. I felt a burden lifting.
“What did you think?” asked one of the elders at the conclusion of the filmstrip.
“Very nice,” my parents commented politely. I had no comment. I was still thinking of all I had just heard. I felt a peacefulness I had never felt before, and I wanted to know more.
The missionaries returned to our home with the discussions, and within a few weeks I was baptized. A whole new life began for me. No longer was I living from one day to the next, wondering when my fear of death would overtake me. No more did I feel terror at the thought of death.
Now I knew that end was only another beginning.

During an interfaith event in October, I was asked by Mrs Lynda Ford-Horne, Chair of the Poole and Bournemouth Holocaust Memorial Committee, if I would be willing to accept the invitation to be one of the volunteers to light one of the seven candles for the Holocaust Memorial Service that was being held on Sunday 26th January at The Poole Lighthouse Theatre.
The six candles represent the six million Jews that were murdered during the holocaust, with the seventh candle representing the other million victims from groups that were also murdered.
I am the granddaughter of a Ukrainian Jew and when Lynda asked me, I felt that I was being given this honour to represent my Jewish ancestors and my heart was very full.
On the day of the Memorial Service, tears fell as I stepped forward to light the candle and my heart and soul felt very close to my Jewish family that have passed through the veil. I gave thanks that I was able to do this task in their name.

I would guess that some of you could be feeling overwhelmed with your circumstances, the academic demands of college life, the reality of having to work, and the social ups and downs you are all experiencing. I remember well my first few weeks of living away from home and at college. They were hard. I struggled a bit, and I guess I was naïve, too.

I had come from a small town that didn’t even have one stoplight. Fortunately I didn’t have a car, so I didn’t have to worry about stoplights. At least that’s one worry I didn’t have! My mother had created a wonderful home, where accomplishment was a way of life. She inspired me. My father provided spiritual and financial security and wise counsel.

Suddenly I was on my own. There were decisions to make, papers to write, exams to take, classes to prepare for, laundry to do, meals to fix, Church assignments, and an expanding social life. There were new roommates. It was difficult—some days nothing went well. After one such day I remember calling my mother and saying, “This is just too hard! If you think college is so great, why don’t you come and take my place? I bet I could get my old job back at the Dairy Queen on Main Street.”

She listened quietly. Mother was very wise but not very sympathetic. She simply said, “Well, dear, you’d better learn to handle it, because it gets harder!”

She was so right. Gradually I did learn to organize myself, and I learned a lot of other things, too. I changed my mind about wanting to give up college and go back to where everything was familiar and easy. I’m so thankful I stayed and did something that was hard for me. From those demanding experiences I began to mature.

Young Women in the Warner Robins First Ward, Macon Georgia Stake, had their last standards night at the beach. Well, okay, not exactly—but they did come with their beach towels and sunscreen, ready to learn and have a great time. The “beach” was actually a room at the meetinghouse where talks about how to stay in spiritually “safe water” were given by “lifeguards” who were actually their parents and leaders.
The standards night was based on an article in the October 1994 issue called “Swim between the Flags.” Each leader-lifeguard had a flag that represented a standard; principles like honesty, modesty, and chastity were discussed.
“It was a very positive night, and I received answers to some questions that I had,” says Mia Maid Sarah Harden.
Beehive Stefanie Papenfuss agrees, “The leaders talked about some things that I had never thought about, like making the right kinds of friends to help you keep your standards strong. The whole night was a lot of fun, and I learned a lot.”

Most young people wonder what it would be like to actually sit at the controls of a rocket hurtling toward outer space. At the National Aeronautics and Space Administration’s Space and Rocket Center in Huntsville, Alabama, some young folks actually get to have an experience very close to that.
Justin Rich, 14, of the Layton 34th Ward, Layton Utah North Stake, and Joana Canals, 14, of the Hunter 5th Ward, Salt Lake Hunter East Stake, had that opportunity when they were accepted to the 1986 Space Camp, a five-day course that simulates the training received by astronauts. While in Huntsville, they learned about computers, gravity chambers, working with mechanical arms, and, under simulated conditions, about how to float and walk in space.
After three days of preparation and training, Justin and Joana donned space suits and participated in two simulated launchings and flights of the Spacelab module.
“I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut,” said Justin, who operated a robotic arm and conducted experiments similar to those performed by astronauts and scientists in space.
Joana, in one of her assignments as weather and tracking specialist for the ground control team, monitored weather conditions and kept track of the orbiter’s position during one of its flights.
Not only did Justin and Joana gain new insights and knowledge during their stay at Space Camp, they found themselves with many new friends. “Knowing other people had the same interests and making lots of new friends” was one of the best parts of camp, said Joana.

As young missionaries in England, my companion and I taught a man who had experienced terrible, life-threatening events during World War II. He had been engaged in armed conflict on land and then survived a devastating attack to the ship he was on before returning home to England. When he finally arrived in England, he was so overcome with emotion and gratitude for having returned home safely that he knelt, kissed the soil, and offered thanks.
When we taught him the Restoration and described Joseph Smith’s First Vision, he wept. With tears in his eyes, he described the overwhelming witness he had received. He explained that the Restoration message gave him feelings similar to what he had felt when he returned safely to English soil. He felt that he had an eternal destiny.

I was in the ninth grade. I had friends, and I was on the yearbook staff. Things were going my way. Everything except gym class. My problem wasn’t exactly the class—it was the teacher. She was new, just graduated from college. She was strict and never smiled. It wasn’t that I didn’t try during class; it was just that my athletic ability wasn’t the greatest.
I remember the day we practiced basketball layups. The gym teacher taught us how to place our feet and shoot the ball. I tried to follow her directions, but my ball just wouldn’t go into the basket. She growled at me.
Another day we played dodgeball. When the ball hit me squarely in the shin, she yelled at me. I felt humiliated and upset. I started to dread gym class because I was afraid I would be yelled at in front of everyone. I wanted to place the blame on her. But one day I had a realization that changed everything.
I was sitting in line waiting for roll call. I watched my teacher moving up and down the line, marking her clipboard as she checked our gym uniforms. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me: “She’s your sister!”
“My sister?” I thought. How could that be? I wouldn’t claim her for all the world. But the thought came again: “She’s your sister.” And then it occurred to me. She is my sister. We are spirit sisters. We have the same Heavenly Father. We both chose to follow the Savior in the premortal world. We are both here on earth to gain a body and learn and grow. This realization was startling. It was as if someone had slipped a pair of spiritual glasses over my eyes. I began to see my gym teacher with a whole new perspective. She is a child of God.
I started to smile at the thought. What if we had actually been friends in the premortal existence? What if she had tried to teach me basketball there and we had laughed together?
I watched her make her way down the line. Soon she was in front of me, marking her chart. I couldn’t help but smile at her in a genuine, friendly way. She seemed a little shocked at my new friendliness.
The rest of the class period I thought about what I had discovered. If she really were my sister, I would want her to be successful as a teacher. Maybe there were some things I could do to make her day go better. To begin with, I could change my attitude.
The next day as I entered the gymnasium and looked at my teacher, the old distasteful feeling started to come back. “Wait,” I thought. “That’s your sister over there. Love her.”
I confidently went and sat in line. Throughout the class I tried to listen respectfully and show real interest in what she was saying. No matter what my teacher did or said to me, I appreciated her. Soon I felt genuine friendship toward her.
She must have sensed my change of attitude because she actually smiled at me a few times. I knew she could tell that I was sincere in my efforts. The rest of the semester went smoothly, and by the end of the year I had even earned an A. But the miracle of the class was not my grade; it was my change of heart.
Now sometimes when I find myself feeling dislike toward someone, I stop and mentally slip on my spiritual glasses. I try to remember that we are all brothers and sisters. My corrected vision makes all the difference. I can reach out in love to people I would otherwise turn away from. After all, that’s what we are here to learn—how to love one another. And that’s much more important than an A in gym class.

Twenty-four years ago this next October, I received a long-distance telephone call at our home in Chicago. The caller in Salt Lake City asked if I planned to attend general conference, which convened the next morning. To this I answered, “No,” whereupon he asked if I could. I responded, “I suppose I can if you want me to.” The caller said, “The President of the Church would like to see you tomorrow morning at 8:00 in his office. Now have a good night’s sleep because it will be your last.” After some twenty-four years, it looks as though I may get that good night’s sleep—perhaps.
These years have been the most challenging and rewarding years of my life. I have had the indescribable blessing of being tutored every week, with few exceptions, by four Presidents of the Church and eight different Counselors in the First Presidency, and of course, for eleven years of that time, by a wonderful Presiding Bishop, John H. Vandenberg. It was a great blessing to serve with Elder Robert L. Simpson as Counselors to Bishop Vandenberg. Words cannot adequately express my love and my appreciation for my own faithful Counselors, Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone, Bishop H. Burke Peterson, and Bishop J. Richard Clarke, for their loyalty to me personally, and for their outstanding contribution to the Church during these thirteen years. We’ve been abundantly blessed by men and women of great faith and commitment—both here at home and from all over the world—who joined with us in response to the assignment from the First Presidency to accomplish the temporal work of the kingdom in these latter days. I express my heartfelt appreciation and gratitude to all, wherever they may be, and thank them for the blessing of being associated with them.

As a high school teacher, I’ve seen students completely change themselves in hopes of winning friends.
Lora, a sophomore, was new in my school, and she had everything going for her. She was pretty, smart, athletic, and personable. Unfortunately, it was her first experience in a new school, and she had difficulty adjusting. She had never known what it was like to be new, to be a stranger, to be without friends.
In her desperation to make friends, Lora latched onto the first kids who showed an interest in her. Those kids were, in my estimation, less than desirable. They lived for the weekends when they could “party hardy.”
They welcomed Lora with open arms, and so she was sharing the shallow existence of those whose only happiness is found in alcohol, drugs, or immorality. Lora continued to be pleasant and active in my class, but she had changed. Her sparkling countenance was gone, and her academic motivation was fading.
It’s important to have friends, but friends and popularity aren’t worth self-destruction. One Church leader said it well when he advised youth to, “Seek not to be well known; seek, instead, to be worth knowing.”
It’s not difficult to get to know people if you involve yourself in school activities, talk to people, and act friendly. But sometimes the hard part comes in making real friends out of people you get to know. If, however, you’re “worth knowing,” you’ll have little trouble turning acquaintances into friends.
So then, how can you be worth knowing?
First, be interested in others. Martin H. Durrant, my former bishop and stake president, lifts my spirit every time I meet him. He always asks me about myself, my family, my job, or my hobby. His questions are sincere, and I know, without a doubt, that he’s genuinely interested.
But it’s not always easy to talk about other people’s interests. For example, a friend and I were finishing graduate school at about the same time. Every time we met he’d tell me in great detail about his research project and how it was going. In all the time we were working together, he never once asked me about my work and study. He didn’t seem like a real friend because he didn’t seem interested in what I was doing.
Once you learn to talk to others about their interests, practice being cheerful. Having a smile on your face forces you to be in a good mood. No one enjoys being around a grump or someone who looks like they’re carrying the world’s problems on their shoulders.
In addition to being cheerful, it’s also important to be a good listener. Sometimes when my wife has a problem or is struggling with a decision, she’ll talk to me about it. My first impulse is to stop listening, tell her what I would do, and advise her to do likewise.
It took me a while to learn that she didn’t want my advice; she wanted my willing ear. The next time a friend tells you about a problem, bite your tongue the minute you’re tempted to dispense advice. Let them say all they have to say; then give advice only if they ask for it.
And, finally, be a good influence on others. When I was a sophomore in high school, some of my friends started drinking and smoking. They knew I didn’t drink or smoke, but they began to pressure me to join their parties anyway. The more they pressured me, the more uncomfortable I felt, until finally I stopped hanging around them. I figured that if they were really my friends, they wouldn’t push me to do things I didn’t want to do. Real friends would never ask you to do something you shouldn’t.
Really, this friendly advice is basically what you’d do if you followed the Savior’s advice to “love one another.” If you really work at loving those around you, and show that love, you’ll be the kind of friend everybody wants.
It’s never easy being the new kid on the block, and making friends and breaking into social groups can be tough. Here are a few ideas you might want to consider.
Give yourself some time. If you’ve just moved to a new town, or changed to a new school, it will take a while to establish friendships. Don’t worry if you have to spend some time alone for the first few months. Take advantage of this time by participating in family activities, developing your talents, and learning about your new surroundings.
Don’t be afraid to make the first move. You can’t always wait for people to introduce themselves to you. Remember, they might be as apprehensive approaching the “new” person as you are talking to them.
Stay away from people who drag you down. If your friends force you to choose between them and doing what you know is right, it’s time to look for new friends. Pray for guidance when you are making new friends, and make a commitment to yourself to maintain your integrity.
Get involved. In addition to getting to know the kids in your ward or branch through Mutual activities, try joining a club at school, going out for a sports team, volunteering to decorate for a dance, or trying out for a play. These types of activities often involve teamwork, so it’s a good way to really get to know people who share your interests.
Be worth knowing. Think about the kind of person you would like to be friends with. Write down some of the qualities that person would have, and then work to cultivate those traits in yourself.

Years ago I taught a seminary class filled with some of the best and most successful students in the school. And because of who they were, they had a great influence in the lives of others. They were looked up to and admired by the other students. Sometimes, even without knowing it, they could create a social pressure among the other students in the school. The effect of this peer pressure—this attitude of one’s age group—was demonstrated to us one day in class. We all learned a sorry lesson that almost any of us can bend to peer pressure. Here’s how it happened.
I had read a magazine article on negative peer pressure. The article described an experiment I was tempted to try on my class of students. The experiment was designed to show, in a very convincing way, how powerful peer pressure can be. It didn’t really occur to me that the experiment might have some negative consequences.
In class the next morning I did as instructed in the experiment. On the chalkboard I drew a star, a circle, an oval, and a square. I told my class that for the class period, the objects on the board were to be identified as a star, a circle, an oval, and a triangle, even though the square was obviously a square. It was now to be called a triangle and nothing else! In a moment they would have an opportunity to convince an unsuspecting visitor that the square was actually a triangle.
Five of my most influential students were invited to sit on chairs at the front of the class. We had a football player, a young lady very involved in various school activities, the school student president, a top scholar, and a young man successful in everything he attempted. A sixth chair was left vacant for our visitor, a freshman, a student in his first year, who immediately recognized that he was among the “best” of the high school. My class students made him welcome, and he began to relax and enjoy himself in their company.
I invited him to take the vacant seat in front of the class. I explained that when it came his turn, he was to simply identify the objects drawn on the board. He agreed. The others smiled. The lesson began.
“Mr. Footballer, will you identify the objects on the board?” I asked.
In a deep, manly voice he said, “Star, circle, oval,” and then, coming to the square, he confidently said, “Triangle.”
Our visitor, forgetting himself, let out a laugh, but the rest of the people in the room were absolutely silent. He quickly searched the faces of those present for acknowledgement of Mr. Footballer’s obvious mental fumble, but my students were playing their parts. To them that square was nothing more than a triangle. Mr. Freshman had a bewildered expression.
I then turned to the young lady.
“Would you please identify the objects on the board?”
She enthusiastically replied, “Star, circle, oval, triangle.”
The freshman fidgeted in his seat.
The class remained silent. Twice more the question was asked. The student president and the successful young man answered as we had planned.
By now our visitor looked slightly ill and had that “may-I-please-be-dismissed” expression on his face.
The scholar responded to my question, “Star, circle, oval, triangle.”
Now it was the freshman’s turn. With each object his voice grew weaker, shakier, and less confident.
“Star … circle … oval …” Then silence.
We looked at him. He looked at us.
“What’s the last object?” I asked.
Silence.
“Come on, what is it?”
Then finally, quietly he spoke.
“Triangle.”
I thought we’d all break the tenseness of the moment with a good laugh. The experiment had worked. But instead there was silence.
I searched the students’ faces. They were all deep in thought. Some heads were bowed.
Then I realized something. Each one in the class knew how the embarrassed freshman felt. Each in a foolish moment, wanting so badly to be accepted or to be part of a group, had in his own way called a square a triangle, had committed a wrong when there should only have been a right. Even I could add my name to the list. And we all realized, especially me, that we had been unkind to put the freshman in such an awkward situation.
We spent the remainder of our class time sharing feelings and regrets, but more importantly sharing desires, hopes, and longings to be more courageous. Mr. Footballer put his arm around the freshman, and we all reassured him that we’d made the mistake of giving in to pressure before, too. By the end of the class he was accepted by his peers—not because he’d given in, but because we’d all come to see the importance of never surrendering, of calling a square a square despite the consequences.
When the bell rang, we left as a group, wiser, more hopeful, and with a greater resolve to stand for that which is right even though we were subject to the pressures of the world.