Gospel Story Finder

“In my family we children had to provide our own money. I believe that the things I’ve learned most indelibly came from the mistakes I made. The first year I thinned sugar beets, I learned a good lesson. When beets have grown an inch or two above the ground, they have to be singled out with a short-handled hoe. Bending over from the waist from early morning to late at night is a very tiring job. That first day, after receiving my instructions, I made up my mind that nobody was going to beat me, so I kept up with everybody. When I finished my first row, I saw the owner of the farm running toward me. When he got down to where I was standing, he told me that my work was absolutely unacceptable. I apologized to the farmer, and then I had to suffer the humiliation of people chuckling while I walked all the way back down to the end of the row to redo it. I learned then that it’s not how fast you can do something but how well you do it that counts. That was one of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned.

I felt the Lord inspire my care decisions with one of my patients, a homeless woman with drug addictions who was working as a prostitute to survive. She had been raped and abused since she was a little child. She had been found on the streets after yet another rape and brought to the emergency room. As someone who had been marginalized for most of her life, she was anxious in the emergency room and distrustful of me and other first responders. She was most distraught about her feet. You see, she had been without shoes for two weeks, and her feet were caked with dirt and grime. I realized that the most important first act for me to do for this patient was to ­lovingly wash and lotion her feet. After this simple act of washing her feet, her countenance changed to trusting me and then receiving care. For many of my patients, I am with them ­during the worst time of their lives. Yet some of my patients have experienced a lifetime of trauma and abuses. In my work, there seems to be a never-ending amount of despair, brutality, and pain.

When Perla gained a witness of the Book of Mormon, she wanted to be baptized. But her parents wouldn’t hear of it. She was twenty-eight years old and didn’t need their permission, but she didn’t want to hurt them. Finally, she crocheted her own baptismal clothes and was baptized.

How to pay tithing was her next dilemma. For years, Perla had taught elementary school. As the only breadwinner in her father’s family, she had always given him her entire paycheck. And now she would not consider withholding either the paycheck or the tithing amount from him. Instead, she started crocheting for people after school, paying her entire earnings from crocheting as tithing on both salaries.

After serving a mission in Manila, Perla returned to teaching and met Luciano de Guzmán, a forty-seven-year-old bachelor who also taught elementary school. He studied the gospel and was baptized. They were married and now have two young daughters, Ruth and Esther.

“ZZZZZ …” Eight-year-old Jason faked a snore, then burst into giggles. Lying in his bed, he pulled the blanket over his eyes and pretended to sleep. Across the dark room, his six-year-old brother snuggled into his pillow, then let out a long, dreamy sigh before he started to laugh as well. “Shh!” Jason whispered, pulling the blanket off his head. “We’re supposed to be sleeping!”
“I’m sleeping. I’m sleeping!” his brother whispered back. Both boys giggled again, then pulled the sheets up under their chins, squeezed their eyes shut, and lay as stiff as possible while they waited.
In the next room, their sister also waited, pretending to sleep. Down the hall, their brother waited, pretending to sleep. Even their mom, they knew, was lying in her dark bedroom, curled up under her covers, pretending to sleep.
A floorboard creaked in the shadowy hallway. Dad was somewhere nearby. Any moment now they would hear the signal. Jason listened intently, hardly breathing as he tried to guess where Dad might be standing at that moment. He was definitely coming closer. Any second now …
“BEEEEEP!” A screech blared throughout the house. Jason dropped to the floor and crawled toward the door on his hands and knees.
“Go, go, go!” his brother yelled, bumping into Jason’s side. “We have to get out!”
“Fire!” Jason shouted, crawling into the hallway. “Everyone out!”
“Everyone out!” Mom called. “Stay low!”
Dad joined them on the floor as they crawled down the hallway, into the kitchen, and out the back door. Once outside, they stood up and ran to the maple tree.
“Are we safe?” Dad asked. “Is everyone here?”
“We all made it,” Mom said, counting heads.
Dad looked at his stopwatch. “That was our best time yet,” he said. “Now everyone back to bed—for real this time.”
The next morning, as the family gathered for breakfast, Jason thought about the fire drill. “I’m glad we have an escape plan,” he said. “I feel safer with a fire alarm in our house.”
“Me too,” Mom agreed. “Having an alarm helps keep us safe—as long as we respond quickly when we hear it go off.”

Layna Cahone ran lightly up the front steps of the house and into the living room. “Dad,” she called, “are you home?”
“In the kitchen.”
She went to the kitchen doorway. Her father stood by the stove, stirring something in a small pan. “I knew that you’d be too busy again to fix supper,” he said, “so I opened a can of soup.”
Layna felt a quick stab of guilt. She had thought having just herself and her father home would be rather enjoyable. Charles was in the service, and Mother had gone to help Anne with her first baby. Layna had promised that she’d see to it that her father had adequate meals and clean clothes, but she realized now that she’d been pretty lax.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get here earlier, Dad,” she told him, “but I was talking to Debbie and forgot the time. You want toast with your soup?”
“Never mind, dear, but it would be nice if you would—”
“Oh, good grief,” she cried, “just look how late it is! I’m supposed to be at a meeting—decorating committee for the dance. May I take the car?”
He inclined his head slightly toward the hook behind the door where the car keys hung. Hurrying out, Layna thought briefly that her father must have had an especially tiring day. The lines around his mouth appeared deeper than usual, and his skin looked gray.
For a moment Layna paused with her hand on the car door. She really should go back and at least fix him dessert; but then, remembering the confusion in the school auditorium—decorations half finished, no decision made on the music—she climbed into the car and drove away.
Darkness had fallen before she reached home again. All the windows were dark. Wondering where her father could have gone, Layna turned on the kitchen lights. His soup, uneaten, was on the kitchen table. A cold chill went through her.
“Dad?” She flipped on a lamp in the living room. Her father lay on the couch. His hands, clenched into fists, were on his chest and his eyes were closed. Layna ran to him and bent down, realizing at once that he was fighting desperately to breathe.
“Oh, Daddy,” she cried, “what is it? What’s the matter?”
His eyes opened. “Heart,” he gasped hoarsely. “Doctor—”
Layna rushed to the phone, grateful that emergency numbers were written down, because her fingers shook so badly she had trouble dialing the doctor’s home number. She breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving when Dr. Shannon, answering, said, “An ambulance will be there in just a few minutes. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
But even though she knew that little more than fifteen minutes had passed before she and her father were speeding toward the hospital, Layna hadn’t known a stretch of time could be so agonizingly long. She looked at her father, lying half conscious on a stretcher, telling herself over and over, “I wouldn’t know what to do if my father died.” What would life be like without the good, quiet man whose gentle strength had supported her every day of her life? She knew that a world without him would be not only empty but frightening.
At the hospital her father was wheeled down a long, busy corridor. After she could no longer see him, Layna stood, not knowing what to do, until a nurse came to ask if she could register for her father at the front desk.
In the office a woman asked, “Does your father carry insurance?” and Layna remembered the card he carried in his wallet.
“I’ll have the orderly get it and bring it to you,” the lady said.
The sight of the wallet, handed to her a few moments later by a young man in a white coat, made Layna intensely aware of the seriousness of her father’s condition. She took the wallet, feeling the soft leather, worn smooth, and after giving the woman the necessary information, she went to call her mother, who assured her that she’d be there by morning. Then she sat in the waiting room, holding the wallet tightly, as though she could gain comfort from something that was his.
Thinking of how many important things the wallet held, Layna remembered a picture that she knew her father had carried for a while—a snapshot of herself and Charles and Anne taken in the mountains one summer. Wondering whether the picture was still there, she opened the wallet. As she did so, a tightly folded piece of paper fell out.
Absently she unfolded it. As she read the brief paragraph, she knew with a stabbing sense of her own failure that a letter she had seen in a newspaper the week before, one that had touched her, had also been seen and saved by her father.
She read the clipping again: “I have lived nearly fifty-five years and have worked hard to care for my family. My children have all they need. Why can’t they see me as a person who loves them and needs their affection? I’d gladly give every cent I have if my son or one of my daughters would only take my hand and say, ‘I love you, Dad.’”
Layna folded the clipping carefully as tears streamed down her cheeks. Oh, Daddy, she thought, don’t die. I want a chance to say what I’ve been too thoughtless to say to you all these years.
Slowly the hours passed. Layna rested, eyes closed, remembering many little things about her father, such as the day when she was in her early years at school and had complained because he absentmindedly took steps that were too long, and then how, smiling, he had shortened his stride to fit hers. She thought about one of her birthdays; he had come home from work looking a little sheepish because the stuffed tiger he’d bought for her was too big to wrap.
She remembered big things, too, like the time she’d had her appendix out and had awakened to see her father sitting beside her bed. She had known immediately that she’d be all right. She thought of the nights when she’d gone on dates and he had told her, “I know we can trust you.”
Just then Dr. Shannon came into the room. Jumping up, Layna ran to him. He put his hand on her arm.
“Everything’s fine, Layna,” he assured her gently. “Your father’s resting.”
After drawing a shaky breath, Layna asked, “Can I see him?”
The doctor nodded. “Yes, but just for a minute.”
Slowly, feeling almost shy, Layna entered the room where her father lay on a high, narrow bed. How strange, she thought, to see him so quiet, this big man who was always busy and interested. His face was white, but the worry lines on his forehead seemed eased, his eyes composed.
Pulling a chair close to the bed, Layna sat down. She looked at her father and smiled, then covered his strong, work-worn hand with hers.
“Daddy,” she said softly, “I love you.”

On my last attempt in 1981, I was with about twenty people, waiting at the Vung-Tau beach at night for a boat. The security guards saw us and gave chase. Two women and I began to climb a hill fearfully. After about an hour, we came to a small deserted enclosure and remained there until morning.
When the sun rose, we could see we were in a cave that had been converted into a shelter complete with doors that were still in good condition. The floor was concrete, and the cave contained some used cooking utensils and pieces of broken furniture. We felt hungry, so we went out to search for food. To our surprise, we found that we were in a large, deserted orchard with trees filled with mangoes, apples, and other fruits. It was a still, quiet place, with a small pagoda nearby.
In the evening, the two women prepared to leave, but I was so weary from the fears of the past years and so despairing that I didn’t want to move anymore. I chose to stay.
The first night alone, I became afraid of my lonely, deserted situation. I left the cave and knelt down on a rock to pray. Through my tears and my loneliness, I asked Father in Heaven to give me the courage and strength to survive this ordeal. A peace and calm came upon me, and I knew that I could remain there.
This is my testimony of prayer. Whenever I have been upset or have struggled with particular challenges, I have prayed. Heavenly Father always hears and answers my prayers. He always listens to his children.
My life as a hermit began. Shaving my head, I disguised myself as an old, poor Buddhist nun. Occasionally, I went to the market down the hill to exchange ripened fruit for things I needed. I learned that the cave was called the Tiger Den—because a tiger used to live there before the villagers drove it out and made the cave into a shelter.
Each day at sunset, I sat on a rock looking out over the Pacific Ocean. I often imagined that on the other side of the water was our Heavenly Father’s temple, near which many of my brothers and sisters were living in happiness. I couldn’t help but weep, remembering the wonderful times I had had with my fellow Saints in the Saigon chapel.
Four years passed by slowly. I pondered and prayed. I wrote songs, poems, and books and tended a garden. No one knew who I was. Two of my children were still in Viet Nam, and I was able to send them letters. But I could not receive any—I didn’t have an address. Besides, I could not visit or receive visits from anyone because I felt I would bring trouble to them.
One morning, after working very hard in the garden, I felt unusually tired and decided to go to the hospital. In the office, I put my identification card on the desk; it was the only document I had with my real name on it. A woman close by saw it and asked, “Are you Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy?”
I backed away and said, “Why do you ask?” She gestured for me to follow her to where she had her bag. From it she took out a letter, removed one page and allowed me to read this paragraph: “My dear Sister Thuy, you should try to find Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy, who we think is living somewhere near the Vung-Tau seashore. The Church of Jesus Christ at Salt Lake City wants to contact her. Signed Quoc-Phong.”
When I saw the name of the Church, I burst into tears. Through my new-found friend, I was able to contact the remaining members in Saigon. It was 1985, ten years since I had lost contact with the Church.
Christmas that year was a memorable one. I took the bus to Saigon, where the members met together for the first time in ten years in Viet Nam. The meeting was in a park. There were nearly one hundred people there. We had ice cream and cake. Later, at our table, brethren holding the priesthood broke bread and poured water into small glasses for the sacrament. We bowed our heads and prayed silently. Our joy was full.
From that day forth, our small branch awakened as if from a deep sleep. A presiding elder was chosen to lead us. We were able to communicate sometimes with the Church and other members through VASAA (Veterans Assisting Saints Abroad Association). I was finally given permission to leave Viet Nam. VASAA had helped to arrange with the Canadian and Vietnamese governments for my exit visa. My oldest son living in Toronto, Ontario, sponsored me.
Less than a year later, in March and April 1988, I was finally able to visit Salt Lake City for ten days and attend general conference. I met many friends, missionaries, and General Authorities. The first time I saw Temple Square I could not help but weep for my blessings. In the Tiger’s Den, it had been my greatest wish to see the temple. At last, I was able to receive my endowment in the Lord’s House.
Although I am now in the United States, the memory of my experiences in Viet Nam stays with me. I pray that our Lord will bless all my brothers and sisters who remain in Viet Nam. I know by personal experience that nothing can destroy the gospel our Heavenly Father has given us.

Transfusion number five, “Stand up to your difficulties,” comes from our great epic prizefight champion, Jack Dempsey. In Dempsey’s early career he had a fight contract which paid him two dollars for each of the fights he won, nothing for those he lost. Dempsey said that he used to be knocked down many times back in those days and each time he was knocked down he wanted to stay down because he knew that no one would ever try to hit him again until he started to get up. But he had to get up because he was hungry and he needed the two dollars. On one occasion he was knocked down 11 times, and 11 times he got up to win a two-dollar prizefight. Then Dempsey gave his famous formula: Anyone seeking success in athletics or in life must have two qualities. Number one, he must have the ability to give a big punch, and number two, he must have the ability to take a big punch.

Time allows only one story on forgiveness. My favorite story is found in the sixty first chapter of Alma in the Book of Mormon. Very Briefly: Captain Moroni, with his two valiant officers, Lehi and Teancum found themselves and their army mired down in a war with the Lamanites. Their defeat and ultimate destruction of their nation seemed inevitable unless they received provisions and troop replacements from the Government. The head of the Government was the Chief Judge and Govenor Pahoran. Repeated petitions for men and supplies from Moroni seemed to have been ignored or refused from Paharon in the capitol city of Zarahemla. In frustration and desperation Captain Moroni sent a scathing epistle or letter to Pahoran. His letter was far from kind. It was a scolding, blaming, accusing, and demanding letter. It was even a threatening letter, stating that if he didn’t immediately receive relief, he would bring part of his army back to Zarahemla and take what he needed by force.

Pahoran was totally innocent of the accusations of Moroni, and had been unable to send any form of relief because of a civil takeover of the Government by the wicked conspiring kingmen. Pahoran had been forced to flee to the city of Gideon with a few men loyal to the Government. A few excerpts from his reply to Moroni demonstrate his loving and forgiving heart and exemplify to all of us how we should use the godly attribute of forgiveness in our lives. Paharon wrote to Moroni, very succinctly stating:

“. . . . in your epistle you have censored me, but it mattereth not, I am not angry but rejoceth in the greatness of your heart. . . . My soul standeth fast in that liberty in the which God has made us free. . . . Therefore, my beloved brother, Moroni, let us resist evil. . . . See that ye strengthen Lehi and Teancum in the Lord; tell them to fear not, for God will deliver them, yea, and also all those who stand fast in that liberty wherewith God has made them free. (Alma 61: 9-21)
Captain Moroni did bring part of his army back to Zarahemla. He joined forces with Pahoran, and together they secured the Government. The armies were strengthened, the Laminates were driven from the land, and peace was restored, because Pahoran had a forgiving heart.

BOOM! BOOM!
It was three o’clock in the morning, and the city was being bombed. One minute Grace had been asleep in her bed, and the next, Dad was telling everyone to get under cover. Now Grace was huddled under the kitchen table with her dad, mom, and younger brothers, Heber and Alvin. She could hear the rumble of explosions and glass shattering outside. It was so loud!
“What’s going to happen to us?” Grace asked Dad.
Dad stroked her hair. “I don’t know,” he said. “But let’s say a prayer.”
The Vlam family held each other close.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Dad prayed, “please keep our family safe.”
After a while, the noise quieted down. There were no more explosions. They were safe!
Mom took Grace’s hand and smiled at her. “Remember when we were sealed in the temple?”
Grace nodded. When they had moved from Indonesia to Holland, they were able to stop in Utah and be sealed in the Salt Lake Temple.
“Whatever happens, God will take care of our family,” Mom said.
The next day, Grace heard air-raid sirens when she was outside on the city plaza. She looked up and saw planes above her head, with little black things falling from them. She stood there, staring, her mouth wide open.
A man started shouting at her. “Run! Those are bombs!”
Grace raced home, her heart pounding as she finally made it safely through the front door.
A few days later, the Nazis—who were the government leaders of Germany—officially took over Holland. Sometimes they took people who had been military officers as prisoners. Because Dad had been an officer in the Dutch military, the Nazi officers watched him carefully.
“But that won’t happen to Dad,” Grace thought. “We’re members of the Church, and Dad is a leader in the mission presidency. God will protect him.”
After the bombings, the Vlam family had to leave their city. One day at her new school, Grace heard other students whispering.
“Some people were taken prisoner today!”
“Will they ever come back?”
Grace was scared. Was Dad OK? She ran home as fast she could. As she burst through the door, she saw Mom in the hallway.
“Is it true?” Grace asked. “Is Dad gone?”
Mom didn’t say anything, but Grace knew from Mom’s sad eyes that Dad had been taken away. He was a prisoner of war. Grace leaned against the wall. She was too afraid to even cry.
“What do we do now?” she thought.
At that moment, Grace heard a voice say, “You will see your father again.” The voice was calm and clear. Grace knew it was the voice of the Holy Ghost. It made her feel a little better.
She didn’t know exactly what would happen, but she did know that Heavenly Father would take care of her and her family.
To be continued …

I wanted to save more tadpoles, so Dad and I went to the creek near General Vallejo’s old historic adobe place. There wasn’t much water left in the creek, just puddles with tadpoles in them. When the water dried up, they would die—unless we rescued them. Dad and I caught hundreds of those tadpoles in our jars and took them to the lake. Dad said that God wouldn’t waste time creating anything He didn’t love. The least we could do was respect His creations and help whenever, wherever, and whatever we could—tadpoles included!
One day while we were taking tadpoles out of the creek, Dad looked troubled. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’m worried about Eddie Porter,” Dad replied. Dad was Brother Porter’s home teacher, and he and his companion could never get Brother Porter to let them into his home. “He doesn’t come to church,” Dad said. “He’s getting old, lives alone, and has a lot of problems. He seems depressed most of the time, and I think he believes that God has given up on him.”
Dad scooped out three tadpoles and dumped them into a pail of water. “He never says much when Brother Phillips and I talk to him at the door. Just nods and says he has things to do. But last month when we stopped by, he had moved. Where, I don’t know.” Dad looked up the creek bed as if he hoped he might spot Brother Porter coming out of the heat rising from the rocks like a thin, wavy wall. “I doubt he moved out of town, because he has lived here all his life,” Dad continued. “I’ve got to find him, Matt.”
“Why, Dad?” I was confused. “If Brother Porter wants to be alone, why worry about it?”
“He’s my responsibility, son,” Dad explained. “And I feel that he’s in real need. Brother Phillips is out of town for a couple of months, so I’ll try to find Brother Porter on my own.” Dad smiled at me. “Unless, of course, you’d like to help.”
“But what about these tadpoles, Dad? If we don’t get them moved, they’ll die. They want to be helped. Brother Porter doesn’t.”
“They have enough water to last a few more weeks. But I don’t know if Eddie Porter has the same amount of willpower,” Dad said. “Besides,” he added in a voice that made me look straight at him, “like you and me, Brother Porter is a child of God. The scriptures teach us that the Savior spent His entire life loving, lifting, and healing others. These little critters are important, but what is more important than all these tadpoles?”
“Brother Porter?” I guessed.
For the next two weeks, Dad and I were like detectives. We searched for clues, asked questions, and talked to people. But most of all we prayed that Heavenly Father would lead us to the right house.
Then one evening Dad and I walked up to a little old place, kind of jammed between two warehouses near the canal. Dad knocked on the rusty screen door, and we waited.
We were about to leave when the door opened. The old man standing behind the screen seemed like a ghost—kind of there and not there at the same time. He had whiskers and wore rumpled, worn-out clothes.
“Brother Porter,” Dad said.
The old man’s eyes looked sad and surprised, maybe even angry. “How did you find me?” he asked.
Dad smiled. “It wasn’t easy, Eddie. It’s taken us two weeks.”
Brother Porter looked at me. I guess I was nervous because my voice was shaky. “Hi, Brother Porter.”
Brother Porter looked back up at Dad. “Why?” he said. “Why did you want to find me? I’ve never—”
“Because you’re important, Brother Porter,” I said. “You’re a child of God. He loves you. And so do we. Yep, we do.” I said it again because he looked so surprised. It was quiet for a little bit, so I said, “Dad and I were saving tadpoles from the creek that’s drying up, but Dad wanted to start looking for you instead. You’re more important than all the tadpoles that ever hatched. Mom thinks so, too.” I held out a lunch bag. “She made some cookies for you.”
Brother Porter turned away from us. I thought he was still mad at us for bothering him, but when he turned back, he was crying. He pushed open the door. “Won’t you come in?” Dad didn’t say anything. He was crying, too.
We went inside, and Dad squeezed my hand. Suddenly I knew how important Eddie Porter—and everyone else—was. Jesus wouldn’t have spent His whole life helping others if it weren’t so.
The tadpoles could wait. They would be all right. Dad and I needed to make sure that Brother Porter would be all right first.

I decided it was finally time to read the many talks and scriptures our priesthood quorum leaders had asked us to read before camp. Glancing over all the material without much enthusiasm, I saw an article on repentance.
To a 15-year-old boy, the article was not particularly awe-inspiring. It seemed to simply reinforce what I heard in Sunday School on a regular basis. However, it was while reading the message that I realized I never really prayed with the kind of conviction described in the passage. I got off my bed where I had been reading, closed my door, knelt, and began to pray. I figured that I would lose nothing in the attempt.
Although my prayer began as somewhat of a rehearsed statement, I decided to stay on my knees until I felt like I had poured my heart out to my Heavenly Father. The longer I prayed, the more sincere my outpourings became. And when I was finished, I knew I had a Father who listened and cared, and I knew I had a purpose on this earth. For the first time in my life, I thought I had truly become a convert to the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
When the pressures of life become overwhelming, I think of those few minutes when I felt so connected to my Father in Heaven. I can still feel that same closeness when I devote myself to prayer, go to the temple, and especially when I perform service in His name. I love this gospel of Jesus Christ.

When I was a child, I liked doing things my dad did. He worked as a doctor. I often went with him to the hospital, where I saw him help patients. Watching my dad made me want to be a doctor too.
One day I was walking into the hospital with my dad. Another doctor walked out. He saw me and asked my dad, “Is this your son?” My dad said yes. The doctor knelt to look at me. He asked, “What will you be when you grow up?”
I said, “I want to be a doctor, like my dad.” Then he replied, “Well, I hope you’re as good a doctor as he is.” But my dad said, “No, I want him to be better than me.”
That helped me realize that my dad really loved me. He wanted the best for me.

Years after Elder Bednar left Arkansas, a man walked into a priesthood interview in a rural stake in Idaho. He was carrying a well-worn set of scriptures. He noticed that the General Authority conducting the interview seemed curious about the scriptures he was holding so carefully. He smiled, held the scriptures up, and said, “When I was young, I was a soldier in the army in Arkansas. I was in President Bednar’s stake. I feel better when I have my scriptures with me.”

In 1997 David A. Bednar was appointed president of Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho. At that time it was the largest private junior college in the United States, with 8,500 students. In his first meeting with the faculty and staff, he said: “I’ve never been a president of a college before. I don’t know how to do this. But I do know some things about teaching, and I hope that foundation will at least provide a beginning.”

He began teaching as he began to lead the college, and he never stopped. He taught a class in religion every term. He and Sister Bednar invited students to come to family home evenings where they were taught from the scriptures and through inspired questions. In the years they were in Rexburg, close to 35,000 students were blessed with such evenings with the Bednars.

In June 2000 President Bednar learned that the decision had been made to transform Ricks College into a four-year institution called Brigham Young University—Idaho. Ricks College officially became BYU–Idaho on August 10, 2001. In less than three years, by the summer of 2004, the university was able to announce that it had received academic accreditation. That significant institutional achievement was accomplished despite the lack of forewarning of the change in the school’s status.

Not only did President Bednar take the lead in making the changes necessary to give four-year baccalaureate degrees, but the college became a university designed to be a unique educational experiment. It is to be a place of innovative education while building at its very heart faith in the gospel of Jesus Christ.

The traditional academic year, in which students enter in the fall and leave in the spring, was replaced. A student would be admitted to start any semester during the year. The idea was to fill the campus to capacity throughout the year. More students could attend. The year-round schedule would make it possible for students to take internships away from campus at times other than the usual summer break.

There would be no academic rank for the faculty. That put the focus on teaching students rather than on traditional faculty status and prestige. There would be no intercollegiate athletics. They would be replaced with an activity program that allowed all the students who wished to participate and compete in social, leadership, artistic, and athletic events.

There had to be a plan created to develop new courses, to hire faculty, and to design and build the space for an expanded school. President Bednar chose to involve as many of the staff and faculty members as he could. They had to participate in making changes that would require great and sometimes difficult adjustments in their own lives.

President Bednar described the experience this way: “I can think of few things that have driven me to my knees more earnestly and frequently than the announcement by President Hinckley that Ricks College would become Brigham Young University—Idaho.

“On the evening before the announcement was to be made, one colleague asked, ‘President, are you scared?’ As best I can recall, I answered: ‘If I thought we had to execute this transition relying exclusively upon our own experience and our own judgment, then I would be terrified. But we will have help from heaven. Because we know who is in charge and that we are not alone, then no, I am not scared.’”

President Bednar went on to say: “I have come to know that President Hinckley’s vision concerning the future of BYU–Idaho is not really about two-year or four-year status. It is not really about academic rank or athletics. And it is not really about a name change. This announcement is about faith—faith in the future. Given all the changes that have taken place at this institution in a relatively short period of time, I testify that miracles have occurred, revelations have been received, and doors have been opened, and we have been greatly blessed as individuals and as an institution. These truly are days never to be forgotten.”

Robert Wilkes, who as student life vice president worked closely with President Bednar and who is now the interim president of BYU–Idaho, describes how President Bednar led the change: “It took courage. He faced very strong opposition from a few, but he changed some hearts and he exercised patience with those who struggled with letting go of the past.

“He instantly set out a vision of transition. He never wavered. The people knew that he was totally loyal to the prophet and to the board of trustees. But they knew he would take issues to the board with energy and commitment when it was appropriate. It was hard for others to stray when he was so clearly in line himself.

“He made it clear that he expected people to welcome change. He built support by teaching that great change comes ‘line upon line, precept upon precept.’ He recognized the power of the students. One part of the vision was that students would be teaching students. He involved the students enough that in many cases they converted faculty and employees to certain elements of the transition to BYU–Idaho.

“He was quick to give credit to others in public and private ways. He always tied the transition to the larger good of the Church by showing how BYU–Idaho would be a tool for service in the kingdom. He understood and taught that the changes would allow students to come to the school who could have never had the chance. He seemed to view every experience as an opportunity for spiritual insight.”

Elder Bednar is remarkable for his willingness to include everyone and to trust that everyone will have valuable insights. One who saw that firsthand was Betty Oldham, his secretary. She says of President Bednar: “He is never afraid to let others take charge. While he clearly provides oversight and focus, he lets those with direct responsibility shine.

“He sees the whole picture, but he doesn’t try to micromanage. He has taught us that we should act as agents rather than be acted upon. And he has provided opportunities for us to exercise that agency. With him, everyone has a voice and is free to express ideas and opinions, even if those opinions are 180 degrees opposite to where everyone else is headed. No one is ever made to feel uncomfortable about what he or she has said. The concept of counseling in councils has taken on a new dimension for the whole campus. He has always made me feel that my opinion is valued.”

By such leadership, a family has been united and the Church established more firmly in Arkansas. A college has become a great university, and the people who study and serve there have been raised to new heights.

Elder Bednar’s great capacity to lift others and his courage to do whatever the Lord asks of him come from his witness of Jesus Christ. He has paid the price of prayer, scripture study, and personal testing to qualify as a special witness of the Savior. He will not need to change habits or patterns as he answers the call to the apostleship. His life gives evidence that what he said at the end of his first general conference address will be true: “I will go where the Lord and the leaders of His Church want me to go, I will do what they want me to do, I will teach what they want me to teach, and I will strive to become what I should and must become. In the strength of the Lord and through His grace, I know that you and I can be blessed to accomplish all things.”

Speaking of schools, I have just come from Southern California, where I’ve had one of the most glorious spiritual experiences of my life. President Oaks mentioned that I did some undergraduate work a few years ago at Chapman College. During my stay there, I came under the influence of a great teacher. Thank God for great teachers—some who don’t even belong to the Church, but particularly for those who do, who have an abiding faith and testimony.
Dr. Guy M. Davis, a recognized authority of the New Testament at Chapman and throughout the western United States, was my teacher. This was twenty-three years ago. We used to have a little fun in his class. He would kid with us. I’d challenge him.
I said on one occasion in private, “I believe that whether you’re aware of it or not, you’re a Mormon. You act and think like one. The day will come when you and I will testify to these truths, and I’ll have the opportunity of witnessing your baptism.” I have corresponded, visited, and worked with this man now twenty-three years; and we baptized him last Friday night. I haven’t words or the ability to express my affection for this man or the great thrill that came on the occasion of his baptism.

It was a gray, rainy day—very unusual for sunny southern California. My husband and I had just finished a full-to-overflowing endowment session as part of our stake temple day. My husband braved the driving rain to get the car while I waited inside the temple’s door.
As I quietly chatted with a member of my ward, a sister I did not recognize approached us. She was dripping wet, and it appeared she had been crying. She explained that she had inadvertently left her vehicle’s headlights on and was now unable to start the car. She recognized us from the temple session—she was the only patron in that session not from our stake—and wondered if we had battery jumper cables she could borrow.
As we talked she began looking intently at me and finally asked, “Aren’t you Cathy West?” (Names have been changed.)
Surprised, I exclaimed, “That was my maiden name!”
“I’m Diane Cody Hart,” she replied, “Anne Cody’s little sister.”
I embraced Diane and expressed my appreciation for her sister’s friendship and example. When my husband arrived with the car, he reported that we had no jumper cables but insisted that Diane accompany us to a nearby mall to buy a set.
Diane and I waited in the car while my husband went inside to search for jumper cables. I asked Diane about her family, and she replied that they had all attended simultaneous temple sessions that evening—Anne in Chicago, Diane in San Diego, and their parents in Reno—while sacred temple ordinances were performed by proxy for her younger brother, who had died the previous year. Diane had come to the temple alone to participate in the special session while her husband took care of their three children.
I squeezed Diane’s hand and asked how her brother had died. She began to weep and whispered that her brother—to whom she had been very close—had taken his own life. Through her tears Diane related how alone she had felt, even in the crowded endowment session, as she thought of the circumstances of her brother’s death.
I could see the Lord’s hand in bringing the two of us together that evening. To the gentle patter of the rain on the roof of the car, I told her about my sister’s suicide many years earlier and my family’s struggle to understand and cope. I held her hand and expressed my understanding and empathy until my husband arrived a short time later with jumper cables.
We returned to the temple, and my husband started Diane’s car. Before she drove away, Diane and I embraced as the rain fell softly upon us. “I don’t feel alone anymore,” she whispered.
As Diane disappeared into the rain, I marveled at Heavenly Father’s goodness. He had brought me together with one of His daughters who needed comfort I was uniquely prepared to provide. And He had granted me a priceless opportunity to repay in some small way the special service a dear friend had given me 30 years before.

Elder Quentin L. Cook in a 2011 April conference address retold the following story:
When I was recently assigned to a conference in the Mission Viejo California Stake, I was touched by an account of their four-stake New Year's Eve youth dance. Following the dance, a purse was found with no outside identification. I share with you part of what Sister Monica Sedgwick, the Young Women president in the Laguna Niguel stake, recorded: "We didn't want to pry; this was someone's personal stuff! So we gingerly opened it and grabbed the first thing that was on top--hopefully, it would identify her. It did, but in another way--it was a For the Strength of Youth pamphlet. Wow! This told us something about her. Then we reached in for the next item, a little notebook. Surely this would give us answers, but not the kind we were expecting. The first page was a list of favorite scriptures. There were five more pages of carefully written scriptures and personal notes."
The sisters immediately wanted to meet this stalwart young woman. They returned to that purse to identify its owner. They pulled out some breath mints, soap, lotion, and a brush. I loved their comments: "Oh, good things come out of her mouth; she has clean and soft hands; and she takes care of herself."
They eagerly awaited the next treasure. Out came a clever little homemade coin purse made from a cardboard juice carton, and there was some money in a zippered pocket. They exclaimed, "Ahh, she's creative and prepared!" They felt like little children on Christmas morning. What they pulled out next surprised them even more: a recipe for Black Forest chocolate cake and a note to make the cake for a friend's birthday. They almost screamed, "She's a HOMEMAKER! Thoughtful and service minded." Then, yes, finally some identification. The youth leaders said they felt greatly blessed "to observe the quiet example of a young lady living the gospel."

In 1832, emerging from the vision on the three degrees of glory (Doctrine and Covenants 76) with his companion in the vision, Sidney Rigdon, the Prophet looked strong, while Sidney was limp and pale. To this the Prophet, with a certain humility as also perhaps with a little condescension, said, “Sidney is not as used to it as I am.”42 But after the First Vision, he was feeble. It was difficult for him to go home. Similarly, in his 1823 encounter with Moroni, the repetitive encounter, he was left weak, and his father sent him home. He couldn’t even climb the fence, though he was usually a strong and vigorous boy. Neibaur reports him saying of his condition immediately following the First Vision, “I . . . felt uncommon feeble.”43

We recently received a letter from an incarcerated person named Shawn, who had just received a requested Book of Mormon and Come, Follow Me manual. “I don’t know if I can possibly express to you my gratitude for sending it to me,” he wrote. “When I got the Book of Mormon, it was like a part of me was restored.” Shawn said that these materials changed, and even saved, his life. “The Spirit stirs my heart again. Heavenly Father hears my prayers. My faith has been strengthened beyond measure. I have a hope of life eternal. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Matthew was going through a hard time when the family started reading every morning. He says, “I wasn’t doing well in school. I struggled with my personal scripture study and my relationship with Heavenly Father, and I kept it all to myself. I didn’t talk about it with my parents.”
However, as Matthew spent more time reading the Book of Mormon, the gospel began to take first priority in his life. He also put more effort into school. He worked hard and got his grades up.
“I also realized how much Heavenly Father and my parents love me and how much they help me. And I have a greater testimony of Jesus Christ. He has helped me overcome bad habits and helped me get my life headed in the right direction. I’m so glad we took President Nelson’s challenge as a family. It changed my life.”

But piano wasn’t Sheena’s only interest. She developed a love for sports, particularly basketball. Just before ninth-grade tryouts, however, Sheena experienced what she would term the greatest challenge of her life so far. She developed immune thrombocytopenic purpura, or ITP, a blood disorder which causes bleeding under the skin. Her disease prevented her from playing basketball since even an accidental bump on her head could cause a major brain hemorrhage.
After a year of transfusions, cortisone, and other medications, Sheena faced the decision of whether or not to have her spleen removed. As she had done since she was a small girl, Sheena turned to the Lord in prayer for a confirmation of her decision. After her surgery, she continued to worry. What if the ITP returned and kept her from her normal activities?
“I kept asking Heavenly Father if I was done with it,” she says, “but I never felt like I was getting an answer. Then my friend Liesel Bennion and I went to EFY [Especially for Youth] at BYU—Idaho. I had a wonderful counselor there who gave a devotional about the woman who had suffered with an issue of blood for 12 years and touched the hem of the Savior’s garment. When she read the words, ‘Daughter, be of good comfort: thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace’ (Luke 8:48) and sang a song called ‘Close Enough to Touch,’ my heart started pounding and tears sprang to my eyes. I knew at that moment I was done with the ITP. In a way I felt I also had touched the Savior’s hem by exercising faith in having the surgery.”