Gospel Story Finder

I can’t remember the exact day I decided to quit BYU. But I do remember definitely deciding to quit. I was in the testing center and had just been handed a departmental test that didn’t resemble in the least the class notes I had spent the previous three days studying. I entered the main room, took my usual seat by the western wall—I call it the wailing wall—and began.
Four hours later I looked down at my half-empty answer sheet and, with a sigh, began randomly filling in the leftover circles.
I then joined the rest of the outpatients in the recovery room, where the computer printout of my mistakes diagnosed my condition as being far from healthy.
Once outside the testing center and in my car, I realized I was not having fun. School and learning were not turning out to be the soul-exhilarating, mind-stimulating, and heart-vibrating experience I was promised in my freshman orientation pamphlets.
“It’s not worth it!” I told my wife that night. “I’m just sick of all of it. I’m quitting.” I thought my wife would be thrilled at the announcement and release me with a vote of thanks. After all, life would be easier for her without having to pay my tuition and books.
Instead, Debi asked, “Did you attend the devotional this week?” I hadn’t because I had spent the time studying for the test I had just bombed. Debi continued, “President Jeffrey Holland gave a whole talk on enduring and not giving up.”
“Great,” I thought. “That’s all I need right now.” But as it turned out, that was all I needed. We got a tape of the talk, and I listened to President Holland’s words:
My concern this morning is that you face some delays and disappointments at this formative time in your life and feel that no one else in the history of mankind has ever had your problems or faced those difficulties. And when some of those challenges come, you will have the temptation common to us all to say, “This task is too hard. The burden is too heavy. The path is too long.” And so you decide to quit, simply to give up. [My how well President Holland understood.] It is simply a truism that nothing very valuable can come without significant sacrifice and effort and patience on our part. … My plea is to stick with it, to persevere, to hang in and hang on, … I am asking you this morning not to give up “for ye are laying the foundation of a great work.” That “great work” is you.
President Holland then went on to tell about how our forefathers persevered, about Brigham Young, who on July 28, 1847, planted his cane in the Salt Lake soil and declared, “Here [we will build] the Temple of our God.” President Holland then told of the 40 years it took to complete that project. I had no idea that the foundation alone took over 9,000 man-days of labor to finish, only to be filled entirely back in when Johnston’s army came. After that threat was over, the Saints had to begin digging all over again.
The task of precisely cutting the granite stones out of the mountain and hauling them one at a time to Salt Lake was so arduous that it took three more years just to finish the first layer of stones around the foundation. When Brigham Young died in 1877, the temple stood only 20 feet high. More work was followed by more government persecution and intervention until finally, on April 6, 1893, the temple of God was complete. It was a grand, awe-inspiring structure. President Holland concluded by saying, “Know ye not that ye are the Temple of God?” (“However Long and Hard the Road,” BYU devotional talk delivered 18 Jan. 1983).
That was the perspective I needed. “Dear President Holland,” I wrote in a thank-you note, “You’ll never know what your talk did for me. Yesterday I felt like my foundation had been filled in and forgotten. Today, I started digging it out again. I will see you at graduation.”

President Hinckley, in a comment a short time ago, talked about the links of his family, his family chain, and hoping that he would be a strong link in that chain and that his link would remain strong. He told the account of attempting to pull the stump of a tree out of the ground on their property and how the chain had broken. He went to the store to try to get another link to fix the chain so they could pull the tree stump out, which they were finally able to do. He said he thought of his own responsibility to his posterity, to remain a strong link in that chain (see “Keep the Chain Unbroken,” Brigham Young Magazine, spring 2000, 6).

They were jubilant over their success, but the next morning their cups ran over. President Spencer W. Kimball was attending the fair, and he called a special devotional for their benefit. They gathered in the coliseum as early as their dance-weary bodies allowed them. They sat on the floor, in the bleachers, and anywhere they could find a space, all straining to see the prophet. They listened. He counseled.
“Today make up your minds,” he said. “You don’t wait until next Sunday and say, shall I go to priesthood meeting? You decide today. You don’t wait until you get a call from the Brethren to go on a mission. You start to save money now; you start today. You don’t wait until marriage is facing you, and you have made your proposal and decided the date, to decide where you are going to be married. That is all present in your minds from the time you are little. … Wouldn’t it be a great loss of time if every Sunday you had to say, shall I or shall I not go to sacrament meeting today? Shall we or shall we not have home evening today? What a lot of wasted effort! Settle it once and for all. I am going to go on a mission; I am going to be worthy to go on a mission. I am going to get the degree that I desire. I am going to live the commandments of the Lord and live for the glorious light.”
“I think my greatest thrill in being here,” responded Brenda Barrus of the Coeur D’Alene Idaho Stake, “was being around President Kimball. He portrays the spirit of it all.” And Pat Ream chimed in: “I love him.”

The Dating Dilemma is universal—many young men want to date when they turn 16, but are terrified by the thought of actually asking a girl out. Here’s how one high school student overcame his fears and embarrassments and learned that dating can be fun and free of pressure.
In my high school there was a sort of formal-dance mania that affected the minds of people in the student government, resulting in annoyingly frequent events such as the Halloween Prom, the Christmas Prom, the Welcome Back from Christmas Vacation Prom, the First Day of Trout Season Prom, the Bud Mulby Memorial Prom (Bud Mulby was our janitor who didn’t die, but was fired for taking part in a food fight in the school cafeteria after he was hit in the head with a burrito).
About eight weeks before each prom I would develop what medical experts call “promitis”—a condition that carries symptoms such as loss of appetite, insomnia, acne, hair loss, hyperventilation, halitosis, runny nose, mumbling, temporary insanity, and generally stupid behavior (such as absentmindedly wearing your pants backwards or using your deodorant as a breath spray).
Asking a girl to a prom when you’ve got some of the more severe symptoms of promitis significantly decreases your chances of getting a yes answer. Fortunately, about 98 percent of the guys in my school got promitis, greatly lowering the quality of the competition.
But, as petrified of females as we all were, few forgot the golden rule of preprom etiquette—never look any girl in the eye for fear she might think you want to ask her to the prom. The net result of all of this was a school filled with guys wandering the halls like a bunch of zombies, afraid to look anyone in the eye, wearing their pants backwards, with breath that smelled like Right Guard.
It was not surprising that most of the girls in our school asked their parents if they could move to another state.
But still, a distant voice in the back of my mind said, “Don’t be a loser. Go to the prom. It’ll be fun.” I was caught in the dating dilemma.
So, with only three weeks to go until the Twenty-Ninth Anniversary of the Invention of Clearasil Prom, I began the process of selecting a girl who might possibly agree to go with me. I immediately ruled out the cheerleaders, or any girl who looked like she could be a cheerleader, or looked like she was thinking of becoming a cheerleader, or knew someone who was a cheerleader. The thought of getting up the nerve to ask a cheerleader to the prom caused me to lose control of basic motor skills.
I also ruled out girls who were older than me, girls who were taller than me, girls who were smarter than me, and any girls who were in the cafeteria the day I had the coughing spell and sent raspberry Jello all over Lisa McKeever’s new blouse.
After three days of intensive research and coin tossing I decided that Donna Spirlozzi was the perfect girl for me to ask. I didn’t really know Donna Spirlozzi, but she rode my bus and I had sat across the aisle from her once about two months earlier, creating an important social bond that would greatly help my chances. More important than this, however,was the fact that not only was she absent the day of my coughing spell in the cafeteria, she was also out for a week after that and didn’t read about it in the school newspaper. A definite plus!
But now the real work began. Girls really have no idea what kind of agony guys to through when faced with having to ask one of them out on a date. They seem to think it’s merely a matter of walking up to them and saying something like, “Would you like to go to the prom with me?” Ha! Are they ever wrong. There are many important considerations to be made before taking such a drastic step. Did I slosh on enough quarts of cologne? Am I wearing my pants backwards? Answering one of these questions incorrectly could have ruined my social life for the next 40 or 50 years.
But, the time had come. I had sloshed on enough of my dad’s cologne to give the impression that an Old Spice factory had blown up nearby, my pants were not on backwards, and there was no trace of deodorant on my breath. Spotting Donna Spirlozzi by her locker, I walked up to her and became … a babbling idiot. As near as I can recall I said, “You, you, you wanna prom prom?” Fortunately she thought I was some sort of foreign exchange student. She smiled, I smiled back, and then I escaped quickly down the hall. It became obvious that I could not handle this momentous task face-to-face. I would have to rely on the telephone.
You would think it was simply a matter of looking up the number, dialing it, and asking Donna to the prom. This was not the case. Instead, I would dial two numbers, hang up, and watch TV. Then dial three numbers, hang up, and watch TV. It took me six hours to dial all seven numbers, only to discover that I had dialed the wrong number and had asked a woman named Blanche Lerchfeld to the prom. Blanche thanked me but said she had her bridge club that night. I watched more TV.
When I finally did get a hold of Donna things actually went quite well. She said she’d go to the prom with me, and we had a great time. It would be nice to say that Donna and I eventually got married and lived happily ever after, but that was not to be. But asking her out was a big step on the way to overcoming my fear of girls. In fact we even went to the Elvis Birthday Commemorative Prom when we were seniors. And that time I even had the nerve to ask her in person.

We continued our march through the forest, day after day getting closer to home. From the mountain path, we could look down and see the American tanks passing by. Just a few days after our first encounter with the Americans, we were making our way along when suddenly I had a funny feeling. I told my friends I had to go down—right down there where the tanks were. “You’re crazy!” they said. “Can’t you see the tanks down there? They’ll cut you right away.” I told them that didn’t matter. I had to go down.
“Heinz, did you pray about that?” Günther asked me.
“Yes,” I said.
“Then I’ll go with you.”
Just like that. He didn’t think twice.

The other three stayed behind. “We’re not going with you because you’re crazy!” they said. “You’ll walk right into their arms.”
We marched down the hill as fast as we could. Günther, who was more than six-feet, five-inches tall and weighed 250 pounds, would put his arm under mine and nearly drag me along. After awhile, the other three came running behind us. They didn’t know why, they said, but they wanted to come with us. We came out of the forest.
Off to the left was a little farmhouse. As we came through the trees, the door of the house opened and a man said, “Come in fast.” We ran inside, and he slammed the door shut. Then he put us in the cow stable because it was forbidden to hide soldiers.

We had hardly crawled under the straw when the Americans came rolling through with tanks and trucks and went up into the mountains. It was the first time they had gone up there. Hours later they came back, their trucks filled with German soldiers who were taken to camps.

Born on May 16, 1952, in Bungoma, Kenya, to Nathan and Lenah Sitati, Elder Sitati was 34 when a business associate invited him, his wife, Gladys Nangoni, and their five children to attend church in his home. The family had become disillusioned with organized religion but felt something special with this small group of Latter-day Saints. So they returned week after week. Six months later, in 1986, the family joined the Church.

I knew I could pray with this kind of specificity because of a lesson I learned when I was a junior in college. I had started planning my summer, and my eyes were set on an internship in the western United States. I wasn’t interested in going home to Indiana that summer, and I worked really hard to ignore the quiet, persistent promptings from the Spirit that spending time at home was what would be best for me. But eventually, I couldn’t shake the feeling.

Still… I was not graceful about embracing this prompting in the beginning.

I remember praying, almost annoyed, saying, “Okay, Heavenly Father. If You really want me to go home, here’s what I’m going to need.” Then I laid it all out, very specifically, but not very tactfully. It’s a good thing He loves me, and you, enough to listen, even when we’re having and expressing growing pains. I prayed, saying:

It felt like an impossible list. But, Heavenly Father took my very specific, somewhat demanding prayer and answered it in the way I had hoped—down to the smallest detail. For me, it was a miracle.

The very next morning, I felt prompted to do something I’d never done before: I looked at the university's career website. Students, don’t wait like I did until your junior year to visit Career Services. Make an appointment with them this week; they will be happy to help you. Thankfully, my scrolling didn’t last long. My heart nearly skipped a beat when I saw a new posting—just three places from the top: marketing and communication, paid, a housing stipend, airfare to and from the internship? And, it was in my hometown—just three miles from my parents’ home. There was no reason for this regional company to advertise on a BYU–Idaho job board.

That summer taught me and reinforced something I’ll never forget: Heavenly Father knows me personally. He listens when I pray. And He is more than willing to grant blessings He’s already prepared for me—if I’ll just ask and be humble enough to act.

I would like to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for a magazine that brought two of the best friends together. Twelve years ago I wrote to Feedback about a certain story in the New Era. Consequently I received a letter from a girl in Salt Lake City, and we have been writing ever since. The best news is that in May of 1992, Lori Wall and I met for the first time. I was a bit anxious about meeting her, but when we met it was as if we had known each other all our lives. We have been through a lot together and have grown spiritually stronger. She has seen me through the birth of my child, and I have seen her through her mission and marriage. Even though we were thousands of miles apart, our love stretched. And I have the New Era to thank for a special friend and an eternal sister.
Petra MillsOrange, New South Wales, Australia

Some years ago, my colleagues and I left Calabar to attend a funeral at a distant local government area. Hours later, in the night, I observed some form of discomfort amongst my colleagues who had the intention to be unfaithful to their wives. I was sitting right on their way, preventing them from achieving their plans in secret. I had positioned myself, unknowingly, at the only entrance to the hotel. After enduring for over four hours with no sign of my leaving the position, one of them walked up to me and asked me to go have some rest in my room. When I replied that I wasn’t feeling asleep and would remain awake for a long period, he sorrowfully walked away through the entrance door only to return in company of strange women. As he walked past me, I felt how his life would have been different if he had the blessings of making and keeping temple covenants. I testify that he would have done things differently to honor his temple covenant. He would have been armed with the power of righteousness. He would have remembered sitting next to his wife in the temple. He would certainly have remembered the promises he made to Eternal Father to strive to keep His covenants and honor his body as the sacred temple of God.

And Luke remembers his car breaking down on the freeway as he was returning to Rexburg from Utah. The car just stopped and wouldn’t start. Other cars didn’t stop or slow down. He didn’t have a cell phone. “My ‘gut’ told me to try the car again, and so I did. It started back up, and I was able to continue driving to the next exit. As I was heading into town, the car died completely next to this nice little home. I walked to the door and found probably the only pastor of another church in the entire city. He invited me in to call a tow truck. It would take an hour for the truck to reach me, so he invited me to stay in and even eat dinner with his family. While [this experience] wasn’t truly a life-threatening situation, all the pieces of the puzzle eventually became manifest and everything worked out fine. So many times in life, when I don’t know how something will work out, the Lord takes care of it, on His timetable.”

I want to share a story with you about a time when I witnessed a similar transformation. This time, however, instead of fence posts it was a child of God. During my time as a head resident on campus, I made acquaintance with a young female student who struggled with shyness and self-confidence. She was extremely shy to the point of always keeping her head down when she walked. If she was on the same sidewalk as you were, she would cross to a different sidewalk, just so she could avoid any interaction. When people said hi to her in passing, she would give a little nod with her head still down and would quickly move out of the way. I tried to help her but to no avail. However, six months after meeting her, I began noticing little changes in her. Instead of nodding and keeping her head down when someone said hi to her, she began to lift her head up and give a quick nod. And, instead of crossing the sidewalk to avoid conversation with those she recognized, she would now stay on the same sidewalk. She then went from keeping her head down and nodding to giving a quick smile when someone would say hi to her. These improvements of confidence continued on for a few more months until finally she no longer lowered her head, stayed on the same sidewalk, would smile and say hi to others, and would even stop to interact with them. Her transformation was quite the sight to behold, and her countenance was filled with joy and the most beautiful smile.

One day as we were conversing with each other, I asked her, “How did this transformation take place?” She responded by saying she had been blessed with good roommates who cared for her, loved her, and never gave up on her. They included her, though it took some time for her to gather the courage to join them. Gradually, she accepted their invitations to participate, whether it was hanging out, having dinner with them, or watching movies with them. She knew that they were genuine in their kindness and love for her which helped her take a leap of faith and act on their invitations.

Due in part to the kindness of these roommates, this young woman ended up serving a mission. I bumped into her a year after she got home, and to be honest, I did not recognize her. The transformation that had started here at college had continued while on her mission. She now exhumed confidence and the light in her eyes was so bright. The acts of kindness, love, and inclusiveness shown by these roommates literally changed the direction of her life!

So, what does the story of the old wooden fence posts and this girl have in common? Each had someone who saw the potential that was within them. The fence posts were transformed into a beautiful cedar chest and this girl who lacked confidence was transformed into a vibrant and confident daughter of God with infinite potential.

“Conner, it’s time to get up,” Mom said, gently shaking him.
Conner moved slowly at first. Then he remembered.
“Today’s Sunday!” he shouted as he jumped out of bed. He raced to put on his Sunday clothes and hurried down to breakfast.
What is he doing today that is so special? Mom wondered.
Conner did have something special to do. He had waited all week for Sunday to come.
Last week in his Primary class, Sister Plummer had said, “When I was about 10, I discovered something that helped me be more reverent. If you would like to know my secret, listen for the words always remember in sacrament meeting next week, and then always remember what comes after those words.”
Conner had decided he would listen. He wanted to know Sister Plummer’s secret.
At church, he heard Bishop Sheppard say, “Remember to come to the ward party.” Conner knew that wasn’t Sister Plummer’s “always remember.”
He listened as the congregation began to sing the sacrament hymn. He wondered if Sister Plummer’s special words might be in the hymn. He pointed at each word in the hymnbook and found himself singing along. But he didn’t find the special words.
Conner bowed his head and listened carefully as one of the priests said the sacrament prayer. Toward the end of the prayer, he heard “always remember.” He knew Sister Plummer’s secret! He knew who he was always to remember. But can I “always remember” Jesus? he wondered.
Conner folded his arms and sat reverently. When a deacon stumbled as he passed the sacrament, Conner wanted to poke his little sister and say, “Sara, did you see that?”
But he didn’t because he remembered.
After the sacrament, the first speaker was Sister Swanson. She smiled a lot and was easy to listen to. He had no trouble remembering while she was speaking.
“Good morning, brothers and sisters!” Brother Swanson said. He was a big man with a jolly voice. But the words Brother Swanson spoke were almost as large as he was. Conner didn’t understand everything he said and soon lost interest. His fingers began to fumble around in his pockets. He found a rubber band and started to twist it. Suddenly he remembered. The rubber band went back into his pocket, and he looked up at Brother Swanson and listened for words he knew.
A girl in front of Conner was chewing gum and blew a little bubble. It made a tiny pop. Conner watched as she began blowing another. It grew bigger and bigger and bigger.
Then Conner remembered. When the big bubble popped, he didn’t see the girl’s face covered in pink gum. So he didn’t laugh like some people around him did.
Not long after the bubbles, the Johnsons’ baby rolled under the bench and pulled playfully at Conner’s leg.
Conner wanted to play with her, but he stopped himself just in time. He had remembered.
“Sorry, Conner,” Sister Johnson whispered as she struggled to get the wiggly baby girl back on the bench.
Conner didn’t hear or see them leave the chapel. His big blue eyes were watching Brother Swanson’s eyes fill with tears. His ears were hearing the speaker’s voice soften to a near whisper as he spoke of his love for the Savior. Conner felt warm and tingly inside.
After the meeting, Mom said, “Conner, you were so reverent today. How did you do it?”
Conner smiled. “Every time I thought about something else, I always remembered Someone.”
“Who did you always remember?” Mom asked.
“I always remembered Jesus,” Conner said, “and it felt good!”

One of our colleagues seated here this morning wrote of his first-semester, pre-mission enrollment in my friend C. Wilfred Griggs’s History of Civilization class. But this was going to be civilization seen through a BYU lens. So, as preambles to the course, Wilf had the students read President Spencer W. Kimball’s talk “The Second Century of Brigham Young University”3 and the first chapter of Hugh Nibley’s book Approaching Zion.4

Taken together, our very literate friend said these two readings “forged an indestructible union in my mind and heart between two soaring ideals—that of a consecrated university with that of a holy city. Zion, I came to believe, would be a city with a school [and, I would add, a temple, creating] something of a celestial college town, or perhaps a college kingdom.”

After his mission, our faculty friend returned to Provo, where he fell under the soul-expanding spell of John S. Tanner, “the platonic ideal of a BYU professor—superbly qualified in every secular sense, totally committed to the kingdom, and absolutely effervescing with love for the Savior, his students, and his subject. He moved seamlessly from careful teacher analysis to powerful personal testimony. He knew scores of passages from Milton and other poets by heart, [yet] verses of scripture flowed, if anything, even more freely from the abundance of his consecrated heart: I was unfailingly edified by the passion of his teaching and the eloquence of his example.”5

Why would such a one come back to teach at BYU after a truly distinguished postgraduate experience that might well have taken him to virtually any university in America? Because, our colleague said, “in a coming day the citizens of Zion ‘shall come forth with songs of everlasting joy’ [Moses 7:53]. I hope,” he wrote, “to help my students hear that chorus in the distance and to lend their own voices, in time, to its swelling refrain.”6

By November 1941, German forces had penetrated as far as Moscow and Leningrad. That month Alexandria married a Russian soldier who had escaped from captivity. With war at their heels, they fled north to live with Alexandria’s husband’s family. But soon the war reached them, and they and many other families were forced to hide in the nearby forest for four months.
Often Alexandria would not see her husband for days. Along with many other young men, he had joined an underground resistance force that attacked enemy convoys. Alexandria feared for his life but was powerless to do anything about it. Further darkening her condition was the resentment her in-laws felt towards her. Because she was from the Ukraine and spoke a different language, they considered her inferior. “It was all very depressing,” she recalls. “I cried all the time.”
One night Alexandria’s husband came home and gave her the shock of her life: not only did he tell her that he had joined the Nazis, but he also demanded that she leave and never return. Alexandria, frightened by her husband’s threatening, hostile behavior, left. She never saw him again.

Once a well-intentioned teacher set out to teach a class of youth a lesson in charity. After class instruction the class was to go home, secure cans and boxes of food, and bring them to a party. At the party the class would wrap the food, with a prize going to the best and most creative wrapping. The class members ate, drank, talked, and had a good time in general. Once all the food was wrapped, they placed the brightly wrapped packages in boxes and piled into cars to deliver them to a poor family to brighten their Christmas.

The boxes were placed on the porch. The students retired to the background, and the teacher pushed the doorbell. One child came to the door and looked out. When he saw the boxes, he was very excited. He called out, and his mother and the rest of the children came with great expectations—presents, lots of gorgeous presents! One of the children reached out for a package, hurriedly ripped the paper from it before his mother could stop him. It was a can of beans. “Ugh, it’s beans!” he cried. I was in that class. That is what I remember most of the evening: “Ugh, it’s beans!” It rang through my heart and soul. “Ugh, it’s beans!” It registered in my head and stuck there until I had to do something about it.

Where were the fulfillment and joy that charity should bring? I went to the teacher. I was the only one. I asked why I felt so sorrowful when I should feel something else. Finally, whether out of desperation or inspiration, the teacher blurted out: “If you feel that way, why don’t you do something about it?”

I did. I read about the principle of charity. It is the love of Christ. I didn’t do my part of the activity out of love. I gave something that was not mine. I suppose that many of the parents who earned the food which we gave were not even aware that they were being “charitable.” I decided, finally, that I would test the principle of charity.

I thought and prayed about it until I was blessed to understand that some neighbors of mine had a real need. They were old. They could not keep their house clean. It was not messy, but wallpaper needed cleaning, walls and woodwork needed washing, and floors needed real scrubbing and new wax. The man of the family had helped us with some home repairs years before. I do not think he charged all he could have. While old people scared me, I determined that I would approach them. They were skeptical.

I worked; I scrubbed, waxed, and rubbed. I sweated and got stiff and tired. When I was finished, things actually looked better. They were grateful and wanted to pay me for my efforts.

I took my pay in the fresh understanding that acts of love which cost you real effort reap you real rewards! Charity is a true principle. I knew it then. I know it still. I am grateful for the force of “Ugh, it’s beans” in my life. I repented of my shallow experience and sought out a deeper one so that I would know the principle of charity is true and good. Surely the Lord is the best paymaster.

By the end of two years, with the help of the Lord and good companions, we had 24 converts. I will share briefly concerning one special convert. We taught a young mother whose family had been wiped out by the atomic bomb. Fifteen years earlier her baby had died instantly and her two-year-old died 33 days later from terrible burns. Her husband died the previous October from the bomb’s lasting effects. However, she welcomed us into her humble home. She was ready to hear the Gospel. Sister Nakamura was baptized April 16, 1961, in a nearby mountain stream. The following day I was transferred to serve in the Tokyo area. I heard she became a beloved Relief Society president in the Hiroshima Branch. Many years have passed since I left Japan, but my love has only increased for those special Saints of God!

Grant’s musical talent started to show when he was only five years old. Because his four older siblings would play the piano and sing all the time, he decided that he wanted to join in the fun. Although Grant was only in kindergarten and could not yet read music, he says, “I started playing the piano by ear and would pick out melodies on the piano.”
Michael, his brother, adds, “One thing Grant is good at is that he can listen to a difficult piece of music and be able to pick out all the parts on the piano.”
Not only does Grant play the piano, but he also plays the trumpet and the flügelhorn, and, of course, he sings. Such a wide variety of talent was great to have when Grant, Guy, and Michael started to record their first CD. The three brothers had dreamed of making a CD but waited until Michael returned from his mission in Geneva, Switzerland, to start.
Michael says that before he served a mission there was never a temptation to stay home and record music. “I received assurance through prayer that my mission call was going to be right for me,” Michael says. “When I got my call, I knew it was what the Lord wanted for me.”
When he got home two years later, the three boys worked together, using their vocal and instrumental talents to produce a CD. Their goal in releasing it, Michael says, was to give youth and young adults “safe, appropriate, and upbeat music to listen to.” But the brothers will have to put future goals of making another CD on hold for a couple of years because Guy Richey, who goes by both his first and middle names, recently left to serve a full-time mission in Toulouse, France. In this family of musicians, serving the Lord is more important than music.
“Even if we had a top record in America right now, we would still go and serve the Lord. We know that serving is the most important thing,” Michael says.
Making the mission a priority is an example to Grant, who says that his brothers and dad have paved the way for him. Grant wants to serve a mission, too. “Michael’s decision process to go on a mission started with our father, who went on a mission. We look up to our father so much. He’s such a great example to us that we have all felt that going on missions was the right thing to do,” Grant says.
Michael gives Grant his best advice for serving a mission: “Go out with a smile every day and talk to as many people as you can. Be selfless and bring joy into other peoples’ lives. If you’re concerned about other peoples’ needs, the stresses and sacrifices of serving a mission will not be a big deal.”
In three years, when it comes time to serve a mission, Grant will have no doubt that giving up his musical career for two years to serve the Lord is the right thing to do. He is already preparing for that by following the Holy Ghost and building his testimony.
Although Grant can play by ear a song he hears on the radio, he’s also working on training something else—his spiritual ear. “When I feel spiritual promptings, I follow them,” Grant says. “Because I follow them, I’m able to recognize those promptings easier. I try to be better at listening to the Spirit.”
And why does he want to follow the Spirit? Because Grant has a testimony of the gospel. “Ever since I was little, my parents have taught us about the gospel,” he says. “The more I learn about it, the more I know it’s true. My testimony is always strengthened when I’m trying to live more like Christ.”
One way that Grant is able to live the gospel is by listening to good, wholesome music. When asked what advice he would give to teens who struggle with inappropriate music, he answers, “Just know that inappropriate music is what Satan wants you to listen to, and it doesn’t please Heavenly Father when we don’t listen to uplifting things. We don’t always have to listen to Church music, but it has to bring a good spirit.”
Michael agrees. “Music is so spiritual, and it’s so connected to our soul that when we listen to music that is destructive, uses bad language, or even has a feeling that is inappropriate, we know that it’s the wrong music to listen to,” he says. “Finding music that makes your soul and spirit feel good is very important.”
Grant’s mom, Lucie, says that good music is always playing in their home, and that creates a loving atmosphere. “It’s never quiet in our home; somebody is always singing or playing the piano,” she says. As if on cue, the family sings “Love at Home” (Hymns, no. 294) in perfect harmony. No, it is never quiet in the Gibbons’ home, but a spirit of love resides there. Music is a big deal to Grant and his family, but serving the Lord always comes first.

They’ll tell you about the many years when the Saints met in a dilapidated old building high on a hillside. It was held to the mountain by a metal cable running right through the chapel. The members called it their iron rod. Once the roof caved in during Mutual, narrowly missing several people. Snakes sometimes found their way into one of the classrooms, and were gently carried out, giving rise to neighborhood rumors about strange LDS forms of worship. In the wintertime the members sat huddled in blankets listening to blanket-wrapped speakers and teachers. Each gospel truth came out in a puff of white mist. When it came time to move to a nicer building, the youth of the ward did their part with several fund-raising hot dog sales.

The desire to help another, the quest for the lost sheep, may not always yield success at once. On occasion, progress is slow—even indiscernible. Such was the experience of my longtime friend Gill Warner. He was a newly called bishop when Douglas, a member of his ward serving in the mission field, transgressed and was deprived of his Church membership. Father was saddened; Mother was totally devastated. Douglas soon thereafter moved from the state. The years hurried by, but Bishop Warner, now a member of a high council, never ceased to wonder what had become of Douglas.
In 1975 I attended the stake conference of Brother Warner’s stake and held a priesthood leadership meeting early on Sunday morning. I spoke of the Church discipline system and the need to labor earnestly and lovingly to rescue any who had strayed. Gill Warner raised his hand and outlined the story of Douglas. He concluded by posing a question to me: “Do I have any responsibility to work with Douglas to help bring him back to Church membership?”
Gill reminded me later that my response to his question was direct and given without hesitation. I said, “As his former bishop and one who knew and loved him, I would think you would wish to do all you could to bring him back.”
Unbeknownst to Gill Warner, Douglas’s mother had, the previous week, fasted and prayed that a man would be raised up to help save her son. Gill discovered this when, following the meeting, he felt prompted to call her to report his determination to be of help.
Gill began his odyssey of redemption. Douglas was contacted by him. Old times, happy times, were remembered. Testimony was expressed, love was conveyed, and confidence instilled. The pace was excruciatingly slow. Discouragement frequently entered the scene; but step-by-step Douglas made headway. At long last prayers were answered, efforts rewarded, and victory attained. Douglas was approved for baptism.
The baptismal date was set, family members gathered, and former bishop Gill Warner flew to the city where Douglas lived and performed the ordinance.
Bishop Warner, through the love of his heart and with a sense of responsibility to a former priest in the Aaronic Priesthood—even the quorum over which he presided—went to the rescue, that not one would be lost.

My grandparents used to take me to church while my parents stayed home, but that started to change the day the missionaries came to our house to visit my family. They taught my mom about the Church. When I turned eight, Mom and I got baptized on the same day. That was really neat. My whole family started going to church together. We started praying, paying tithing, having faith in Jesus Christ, repenting, and studying the scriptures.
My parents saw how the Spirit touched our lives. Mom and Dad had the desire to be sealed in the temple. They couldn’t wait for me and my brothers to be sealed to them. They went to the bishop to ask how they could do this. They worked hard to prepare for the temple.
We picked a day to be sealed in the temple. We invited Grandma and Grandpa and friends too. Grandma was so excited she cried. She told us that it is important to be reverent in the temple. She also told us we would all be dressed in white.
When we got to the temple, my three brothers and I went into a room where we sang songs and played quietly while we waited for Mom and Dad. I felt the Spirit there.
Then my brothers and I got dressed in white clothes and went to see Mom and Dad in the sealing room. They were dressed in white too. They looked so happy when they saw us. We all knelt together and put our hands on Mom’s and Dad’s hands. My baby brother, Caden, put his hand on the very top and smiled at us all. We were so happy at that moment. I could really feel the Spirit.
Mom said it was the most special day. It was my favorite day too because I knew we can be together forever. That made me feel happy.