Gospel Story Finder

To be honest about it, the seminary students in the Phoenix Park Ward of the Dublin Ireland Stake were a little worried. More than a little worried. Their stake president and their bishop had approached them about something new. Would they be the first seminary class in all of Ireland to try meeting every day—early every day?
Elaine O’Farrell, 15, put their fears into words. “I thought if we see each other every day, we’ll get on each other’s nerves.” And there was that other obvious worry. Pamela Fagan, 15, said, “No way would they get me out of bed that early.” And Farris Bukhatwa, 17, and Louise Byrne, 17, lived the farthest distance away. It was not going to be easy.
But not everyone was worried about the early-morning class. Jenna Gallagher, 15, was a little bit excited about the idea. Of course, her dad is the stake president. But it went beyond supporting dad. This was going to be her first year of seminary. She said, “I used to hear about early-morning seminary in America. I always dreamed of going to seminary that way. I was really pleased when we were told we were going to do it. I knew if I made a sacrifice, the Lord would bless me.”
Then it happened. Things started to work out. Farris got the car in the mornings and could pick up Louise. Pamela even agreed to getting up extra early to be ready to leave on time with her brother Derek. Elaine changed her mind and said that she liked seeing these people every morning. Jenna was happy just to be in seminary. Brett, 18, and Brandt Crowther, 16, the mission president’s sons, were thrilled to be with other Church members their same ages every day. And best of all, their teacher, Rosemary Richmond, was terrific.

Brigham’s search for a true religion was a long one. He, like Joseph Smith, did not join his parents’ religion. He visited the meetings of different churches and settled on being a moral, hardworking, loving husband and father. It seems clear however that Brigham was not able to be satisfied with merely a moral, hardworking life. He must have yearned for spiritual and emotional fulfillment, and for some response to nagging questions about life’s meaning. Wherever he lived he joined groups of independent seekers of truth, as did many early converts to the restored church. Brigham’s brother, Phineas was the leader of such a group and was given one of the first copies of the Book of Mormon by the Prophet’s brother, Samuel Smith. Because Phineas felt responsible to his little religious society to expose any such things “invented to lead people astray,” he read it carefully. But he could not find the errors he expected, and when he appeared before the group the next sabbath, most likely with Brigham present, he “had not spoken ten minutes in defence of the book when the Spirit of God came upon me in a marvelous manner, and I spoke at great length on the importance of such a work, quoting from the Bible to support my position, and finally closing by telling the people that I believed the book.”

Phineas lent his copy of the Book of Mormon to his father, who thought it “the greatest work he had ever seen,” then to his sister Fanny, who declared it “a revelation.” Fanny passed it on to Brigham Young who was more reserved.

I have come to know that the Lord can, and will, work through us to bring about His purposes and to answer prayers. A young patient I was caring for in a pediatric intensive care unit was critically ill. As his condition deteriorated, it became apparent that he needed to be rushed to surgery. It took a team of doctors, nurses, and respiratory therapists to sustain his life during transport. As we approached the door to leave the ICU, the surgeon asked if this child had been given a priesthood blessing. His parents, who were standing nearby, answered through their tears that they had wanted to, but everyone was in such a hurry, they did not dare ask. The doctor then explained that this was going to be an extremely complicated surgery. He said he needed to have his hands and mind guided to know what needed to be done to save this young life. The child’s father and a respiratory therapist gave a beautiful blessing for strength and healing. This sweet boy survived the complicated surgery and recovered to go home with his parents. Situations like this happen on a regular basis in hospitals around the world. What made this story memorable to me was this surgeon, who requested the priesthood blessing, was not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He was not even a religious man. But his experiences had shown him that an unknown power had influenced him in the care of patients when priesthood blessings had been given. This confirmed to me that the Lord can, and will, work through us to bring about His will.

Scouts in Ogden, Utah, learned about their heritage as well as held a Scout-o-Rama. The event was held in a wooden fort erected for the activity complete with outlook posts, bearded mountain men with muskets, and Indians in teepees. The activities of the day attracted the attention of the community, and Scouts manned over a hundred booths and displays. Included on the schedule were flag ceremonies, old-time fiddlers, square dancers, a pinewood derby, and band concerts.
The old western fort was the idea of Brother Vince Quan, who has a keen interest in the history of his new home town. Brother Quan is originally from California. One of his projects, completed with the help of the Scouts, was the placement of a monument in honor of Peter Skene Ogden, a British explorer, for whom the city was named.
After the activities were completed, the fort was dismantled, yet the old West atmosphere lingered. The Scout event is well on its way to becoming an annual community event.

The Prophet Joseph Smith exemplified kindness in his life to everyone, old and young. One child who benefited from the Prophet’s kindness remembered:
“My older brother and I were going to school, near to the building which was known as Joseph’s brick store. It had been raining the previous day, causing the ground to be very muddy, especially along that street. My brother Wallace and I both got [our feet] in the mud, and could not get out, and of course, child-like, we began to cry, for we thought we would have to stay there. But looking up, I beheld the loving friend of children, the Prophet Joseph, coming to us. He soon had us on higher and drier ground. Then he stooped down and cleaned the mud from our little, heavy-laden shoes, took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped our tear-stained faces. He spoke kind and cheering words to us, and sent us on our way to school rejoicing.”

In 1937, President Joseph Fielding Smith was adjusting to life without his beloved wife Ethel, who had recently died. Ethel had asked that Jessie Evans, a single woman with a beautiful singing voice, perform at her funeral. Through that encounter, Jessie Evans and Joseph Fielding Smith became better acquainted and their mutual attraction blossomed into love. She accepted his proposal of marriage shortly after Christmas. In contemplating the gifts he had received the Christmas of 1937, President Smith wrote, “I have received [Jessie] as a Christmas present, for which I am grateful.”6 They were married the following April.

However, collaborating across the organization is not the same thing as giving up programs in which we have invested our expertise and identity. But, here again, I have seen people with great hearts respond beautifully to changes.

For example, a chief source of funding and positions for the new School of Family Life has come from the former department of Clothing and Textiles, which was just formally terminated this year. I can tell you from personal experience with our colleagues in that department that they were, to a person, opposed to the decision we finally made to close the department. They were articulate defenders of the programs they had so lovingly and skillfully developed. However, once the decision was made, they have made great efforts to find new ways to contribute. One faculty member is currently helping the Theatre and Media Arts program, another is in the Chemistry Department, and the rest of the faculty, along with the staff and office support, have gone to the new School of Family Life. This infusion of people and resources into the family work will prove to be invaluable. As I mentioned earlier, the opportunity to align with student, Church, and societal needs brings light and excitement and the opportunity to be a standard to the world. This was not a choice between good work and bad work. This choice, like almost all of our choices, was between two or more good things.

I learned the importance of the whole armor of God in a powerful way in the fall of 2002. The fall of 2002 was a time of stress and anxiety in my life. Some of that stress came from work, and some came from trying to be more diligent and faithful in living the gospel. In 2000 I had been called to be a member of the stake mission presidency. When stake missions were disbanded in early 2002, I joined the high council and was given responsibility for missionary work in the stake. In fact, it was in the process of working with the missionaries and teaching people about the gospel of Jesus Christ that I had realized I needed to deepen my faith, strengthen my testimony, and be much more spiritually in tune. I had been active in the Church all my life, had served a mission, been married in the temple to the love of my life, reared seven wonderful children, had many strengthening experiences in various callings in the Church, had many sweet spiritual experiences, and had felt close to the Lord. But in the months leading up to the fall of 2002 I began to feel that I needed to do more and to do better.

And so I set out to try to live the gospel more fully, to be closer to the Spirit. Partly, this involved eliminating things from my life, what I read, what I watched, that detracted from the Spirit. Partly, it involved concentrating on things in my life, attending the temple, sharing the gospel, that brought me closer to the Lord. By the fall of 2002 I felt I had made progress, but I also began to feel strong opposition. It seemed as if at the very moment when I began to feel the deeper faith and stronger testimony that I sought, I experienced feelings of darkness and doubt.

One night during this period, I awoke from what must have been a nightmare. I felt very anxious, worried, beset with strange thoughts and feelings of dread and darkness. I felt intensely the need for the Lord's help. I rolled out of bed onto my knees and asked Heavenly Father to help me. I prayed for strength, for guidance, for relief. As I got up, a phrase of scripture came into my mind. It was just a fragment, but it was the key I needed. This is the phrase: "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world."

I knew the fragment was scripture, but I could not recall its location. Since it was the middle of the night, I decided to go back to sleep. The scripture stayed with me. When I got up in the morning, the phrase was still in my mind. I went to my computer and searched on the phrase, and there it was: Ephesians 6:12. As I read, I realized that this verse was embedded in a longer passage. I had not remembered that the discussion of principalities, powers, and rulers of the darkness of this world came in the context of putting on the whole armor of God. But as I read the whole passage, Ephesians 6:10-17, I knew that this was the answer to my prayers. This was the message the Lord had for me. It told me what was happening to me, and it also told me what I needed to do. As so often happens, the message was not only to comfort, to enlighten and inform, but also to assign and command.

At that moment, I knew that this was the voice of the Lord saying to me: "Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Wherefore take unto you the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness; And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God."

There it is on the youth conference program. On Friday from 9:00–12:00 and again from 1:00–4:00 “Dooleyalawalagus”! What does it mean? No one seems to know, but everyone is looking forward to finding out. And at the same time they’re feeling just a little apprehensive about the whole thing.
For many of the youth in the Bountiful Utah Stone Creek Stake, this is the first youth conference they’ve been to. And although there is a theme, professional-looking programs, and a level of organization that any leader would envy, no one seems to know what’s going on.
Well, maybe not everyone is in the dark. As the crowd prepares to leave for Park City, a resort not far from home where the conference is being held, there are some knowing smiles on a few of the faces.
Leila Whiting, a Mia Maid in the Bountiful 43rd Ward knows, and she’s not telling. “It’s going to be a lot of fun,” she says, but that’s all you’ll get out of her. In conjunction with the stake youth committee and their leaders, she has helped plan a youth conference that carries a mysterious air of secrecy and yet promises to be a great time.
Some of the other youth are still a little wary. Mitch Gwilliam, a teacher in the Bountiful 12th Ward, admits to being a little nervous, and Jeff Lund, president of the teachers quorum in the West Bountiful 8th Ward, says it makes him wonder what’s going to happen to them. But overall, the feeling is one of excitement.
John Shafter, 14, of the Bountiful 12th Ward, stands by his golf clubs and waits to go. “They said we could golf, play tennis or racquetball, and go swimming,” he says, and he’s definitely looking forward to the next three days.
The first day goes as expected. The hills and mountains surrounding Park City crackle with the fiery reds and yellows of fall, and the air is crisp. Some of the youth head for the tennis courts, others prefer the warmth of the indoor pool, and some use the time to laugh and talk with friends. Almost everyone is up late that night.
However, the next morning, early, their rooms are empty. But no one is playing on the tennis courts and no one is splashing in the pool. Instead, the youth are found up on a dark stage in the local theater, heads bent intently over whitewashed sheets of cardboard where the word Dooleyalawalagus is being painted.
Dooleyalawalagus?
The secret is out. Dooleyalawalagus has been revealed, and contrary to what some might think, it is much more than just silly mumbo jumbo.
Dooleyalawalagus is a town. More specifically, it is a town in a play that has been written especially for this youth conference.
Within the course of the afternoon, parts will be assigned, scenery will be painted, dances will be learned, and everyone will take part in rehearsals.
Why all the hurry?
Because the next day the youth will perform the play at the Utah State Training School for mentally handicapped youth and adults. Although it seems impossible to pull everything together so quickly, everyone dives in and preparation is soon underway.
While soon-to-be stars of the stage memorize their lines, paintbrushes and plenty of paint transform plain cardboard into the small community of Dooleyalawalagus. A parking lot outside the theater becomes a dance floor for members of the cast practicing their routines, and the sound and effects crew can be heard enthusiastically going over their lines.
Charice Smith, 15, of the Bountiful 12th Ward, says she’s going to be a dancer in the play. Is Dooleyalawalagus what she expected it to be? “Well, I thought it was going to be dumb when I first heard,” she says, but that was before getting involved. She practices the dance steps with a friend and laughs, “It’s been a lot of fun.”
There was no mystery surrounding Dooleyalawalagus for Doug Leavitt, a priest in the Bountiful Fifth Ward. Doug is one of the youth assigned to direct the play, and he’s been in on the planning stages of the conference. “I think it’s a really good idea,” he says. “I’ve been to the Utah State Training School a couple of times and it’s definitely something to remember. The kids there are great.”
And even though his cast and crew are short on practice time, Doug is confident that everything will work if everyone “just thinks and remembers their parts.”
Just as scheduled in the program, Dooleyalawalagus takes up two blocks of time during the day. Not much, when you consider that the play will be performed the next day. “I’m excited about it,” says Michael Fernelius, a teacher in the West Bountiful Seventh Ward, “but I didn’t think we could do it that fast.”
As the day of the performance arrives, the youth pile into cars to head for the training school. They leave behind the beauty of Park City and opportunities for more golf, tennis and swimming, yet they are looking forward to doing the play.
Once at the school, the scenery is quickly arranged on stage, costumes are donned, and the sound and special effects crew takes its place. The remaining youth line themselves against the walls of the auditorium to welcome the residents from the school. As the residents arrive, they are greeted with smiles and given special badges to wear. The auditorium fills slowly, the lights dim, and it’s time for the show to go on.
As the sound and effects crew imitate the sound of a train, part of the cast arrive on stage aboard the imaginary locomotive. Their destination? Dooleyalawalagus, of course. Upon arrival the travelers are shocked to find that Dooleyalawalagus is not the same as it was when they left several years earlier.
The plot thickens and the characters learn that Vernon Vile has taken over their once clean, happy hometown and turned it into a dirty, unproductive place. However, with the help of Vernon’s kind sister and a little ingenuity, these characters are able to restore happiness to Dooleyalawalagus and the townspeople. And in the process Vernon Vile, himself, is transformed.
The final performance may not be a polished Broadway production, but it is very effective and carries a small piece of everyone who has worked on it out to an audience that sincerely appreciates and needs this kind of love.
And although what they’re doing could be termed a service project, Kevin Jensen, a priest in the Bountiful 12th Ward, says it really doesn’t feel like one. “It’s been great,” he says. “We’re getting a lot more out of it than out of other service projects we’ve done.”
Heidi Judd, a secretary in her Mia Maid class in the West Bountiful Eighth Ward agrees. “At first it’s a little scary to come here,” she says. “But when you talk with the residents and help them, you see that they’re people too, and they’re so excited to have visitors.”
After the performance the residents shake hands with members of the play’s cast and crew and begin returning to their rooms. One young resident smiles broadly as he leaves the auditorium wearing, not one but two badges on his jacket. He will remember this visit.
The cardboard backdrops that represent Dooleyalawalagus are quickly taken down and loaded onto a truck as everyone prepares to go home.
Many of the youth conference programs have been thrown away or lost by now, but it doesn’t really matter. The questioning looks and curious faces caused by seeing the word Dooleyalawalagus a few days ago are gone. Instead of just a few knowing smiles in the crowd, there are many now.
Everyone that worked with Dooleyalawalagus knows that it is more than just a small town built of props and whitewashed cardboard, and much more than a silly name or a quickly prepared play.
Dooleyalawalagus is the sum of a lot of things. It is working hard and working together; it is a little bit of worry and a lot of fun; it is giving without expecting anything in return, and learning that service has its own kind of reward.
The excitement and air of mystery that once surrounded Dooleyalawalagus may be gone, but no one seems to mind. The real fun, they will tell you, has been discovering what such a word is all about.

Elder Edward Dube was introduced to the gospel in 1981 by an employer in whose home he worked. The man gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon. He did not read it until 1983 but then was so impressed with Joseph Smith’s testimony of the visitation of Moroni that he responded to an invitation to attend a fast and testimony meeting at the meetinghouse in Kwekwe, Zimbabwe.
He felt uncomfortable at first, feeling that he was in a servant relationship to most of those in attendance.
“But as they bore their testimonies about the Book of Mormon, I felt some connection with these people,” he recalled, “and I was able to share my feelings about the Book of Mormon.”
He would later receive missionary lessons, be baptized, and eventually serve in the Zimbabwe Harare Mission.

I would like to thank you for your articles “Gold Mine” and “Stephen” in the May New Era. Never before have I been so touched by a magazine. I live in the same ward in which Stephen Farrance lived. A few years ago Steve showed me the story “Gold Mine.” It was his intention at that time to have it published in the New Era. After his death I intended to get the story and send it to you. You can imagine my delight when I discovered it in the May issue. It brought tears to my eyes as I read it again.
Stephen was a fighter. Never did I see him give up on anything that he started. He was a fierce competitor and always put up a strong battle at the scripture chases. Stephen loved life and got the most from it. In the last weeks of his life, he was serving others, directing and producing our roadshow. The week before the performance, we practiced every morning at 5:30 A.M. For Steve this meant getting up at 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning to be at the church on time. He was always there.
The roadshow took place on Friday and Saturday nights. On Friday night Steve was cheering us on. That evening he went to the hospital, and the next morning he passed away. That night we were all surprised to see his family at the church giving us encouragement. We gave it our best, and for some reason I could remember my lines, which I had forgotten the night before. I could hear Steve telling me the words. It’s something I shall never forget. Steve was a wonderful person, with as much drive and enthusiasm as anyone I have known. I feel privileged to have known him. He was a good friend and a fine example of a true Latter-day Saint. I hope to meet Steve again. He touched the hearts of all who met him.
Brian BurgessBurnaby, British Columbia, Canada

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.

I had just graduated from high school and went to work as a disc jockey at a radio station. As I was making money and gaining valuable experience in broadcasting, the thought of serving a mission was pushed further and further from my mind. After much deliberation I accepted a mission call. I had a great mission and grew to know that some things in life are not as important as we sometimes feel. When I got home, the radio station that I had worked for before my mission called me and asked if I would like to return. I did and had a great opportunity to do sportscasting, my ultimate goal.
I shake when I think of the time that I considered not going on a mission in order to pursue my own goals. I know the Lord will bless you in your life pursuits when you decide to put his work first.
Scott C. Miller, 23Bountiful, Utah

Illustration by Steven Keele
I was traveling from Mexico to Montana, USA, and had a layover in Denver, Colorado. I walked around the airport, looking through huge windows at planes landing and taking off. I was nervous because I had never flown before. The airport seemed really big.
I looked at my ticket and realized I had two hours before my flight would depart. I decided to find a place to sit down and read until I boarded the plane. I felt scared as I looked for a place to sit. Almost every seat was taken. I decided to sit next to an older lady who seemed to be alone. She was the only one who didn’t seem scary to me.
An hour or so passed before I decided to talk to her. I introduced myself; she seemed really nice and eager to talk to me about her grandchild’s accomplishments. She asked me a little bit about myself, and I told her all about my life in Mexico. Then I had a sudden urge to share the gospel with her. She asked me about my religion, and I told her that I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
She said she had never heard of it.
I smiled and said, “We are also known as Mormons.”
She immediately changed her attitude. Her facial expressions and the way she talked to me changed. She didn’t seem to know what to say. I had a feeling that our conversation had come to an end, but I tried to keep talking to her. I asked her about her religion. She said without hesitation, “I am Catholic.”
She then said, “I don’t understand. You are such a nice girl. You seem decent. Why, then, would you want to be a Mormon?”
I was shocked by this comment, and I didn’t know how to respond. I offered a silent prayer, asking Heavenly Father to help me explain what being a Latter-day Saint meant to me. I told her that I loved being a member of the Church, and because of the teachings of the gospel, I was able to be a better person and see things with perspective.
She looked surprised and said, “Mormons don’t believe in God.”
I tried not to laugh at this comment; instead I smiled and realized that this was my chance to share the truth with her. I explained some of our basic beliefs. I taught her about the plan of salvation and the importance of families. She still didn’t seem convinced, so I decided to bear my testimony to her. There in a huge airport, I was blessed with the courage to share my testimony about Joseph Smith, about the living prophet and apostles, and about the love I feel toward the gospel and the Book of Mormon.
I looked at the clock. It was time for me to catch my plane.
That afternoon strengthened my testimony in a way that I had never experienced before. I was happy that I shared my testimony with her and grateful that I was able to help change her mind about members of our Church. I can now be more confident when someone asks me about the Church.

Fifty-one years ago I heard William J. Critchlow Jr., then president of the South Ogden Stake who would later become an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, speak to the brethren of the general priesthood session of conference and retell a story concerning trust, honor, and duty. May I share the story with you. Its simple lesson applies to us today, as it did then.
“[Young] Rupert stood by the side of the road watching an unusual number of people hurry past. At length he recognized a friend. ‘Where are all of you going in such a hurry?’ he asked.
“The friend paused. ‘Haven’t you heard?’ he said.
“‘I’ve heard nothing,’ Rupert answered.
“‘Well,’ continued [the] friend, ‘the King has lost his royal emerald! Yesterday he attended a wedding of the nobility and wore the emerald on the slender golden chain around his neck. In some way the emerald became loosened from the chain. Everyone is searching, for the King has offered a reward … to the one who finds it. Come, we must hurry.’
“‘But I cannot go without asking Grandmother,’ faltered Rupert.
“‘Then I cannot wait. I want to find the emerald,’ replied his friend.
“Rupert hurried back to the cabin at the edge of the woods to seek his grandmother’s permission. ‘If I could find it we could leave this hut with its dampness and buy a piece of land up on the hillside,’ he pleaded with Grandmother.
“But his grandmother shook her head. ‘What would the sheep do?’ she asked. ‘Already they are restless in the pen, waiting to be taken to the pasture, and please do not forget to take them to water when the sun shines high in the heavens.’
“Sorrowfully, Rupert took the sheep to the pasture, and at noon he led them to the brook in the woods. There he sat on a large stone by the stream. ‘If I could only have had a chance to look for the King’s emerald!’ he thought. Turning his head to gaze down at the sandy bottom of the brook, suddenly he stared into the water. What was it? It could not be! He leaped into the water, and his gripping fingers held something that was green with a slender bit of gold chain [that had been broken]. ‘The King’s emerald!’ he shouted. ‘It must have been flung from the chain when the King [astride his horse galloped across the bridge spanning the stream, and the current carried] it here.’
“With shining eyes Rupert ran to his grandmother’s hut to tell her of his great find. ‘Bless you, my boy,’ she said, ‘but you never would have found it if you had not been doing your duty, herding the sheep.’ And Rupert knew that this was the truth” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1955, 86; paragraphing, capitalization, and punctuation altered).

My fears about commitment took another bad turn when my dad got divorced a second time.
I was heartbroken by the news. I had suppressed my feelings about my parents’ divorce for most of my life out of love for my dad, but this news made all my anger, sadness, resentment, abandonment, and pain come out.
As I prepared to leave on my mission soon after, I counseled with Heavenly Father to help me let go of the hurt and have hope for a future marriage. I learned that healing takes time and continually seeking the Savior.

Some weeks ago I was called out of a Thursday evening meeting at the Missionary Training Center, where I serve as a branch president, by an elder with a toothache that hurt so bad that he was crying in pain and with a jaw so swollen that he had not been able to eat all day. Unable to get into a dentist until the next day, he asked if I would bless the pain away. “Do you think it can be done?” I asked, trying to put down my own inner Schweinhund that sees toothache as abscesses in need of repair and wondering how I could arrange to get him some painkiller pills at that time of night. Then I heard him say, his voice charged with faith, “I know the Lord can do it, and I don’t see any useful lesson to be gained by this pain when I can’t concentrate on Japanese or anything but this pain; and I see a whole lot to be gained if the Lord will simply stop the pain.” We talked until I felt the Spirit whisper, “Now,” and flood my mind with what I should say. Then I laid on hands and blessed the young man. On feeling those impulses that I know as the promptings of the Spirit, I clambered out on a swaying branch I had trodden before and promised him that he would be healed at once. I concluded the blessing, spoke a few words of instruction about how to pray after a blessing, and we returned to the branch meeting. Otherwise engaged with missionaries, I did not see him again that evening, but I prayed hard on Friday and Saturday that the Lord would have already granted the young man the blessing he sought—and more. On Sunday morning he was at my office door, bright-eyed and radiant, to tell me that a miracle had indeed occurred. Before he had taken his seat in the meeting to which we returned on Thursday, the pain had stopped; by the end of the meeting the throbbing was gone; by the time he was back in his room the swelling had left and he was able to eat. He did not keep his appointment with the dentist the next afternoon—he said he couldn’t afford the time away from Japanese. He bore testimony to me that his joy in the reality of the Holy Spirit in his life exceeded the relief he experienced with the cessation of pain. This testimony had come to a spiritually insecure young man who needed at that time, in that place, and in that way, some unambiguous support from his wise Heavenly Father. As the door closed behind him, I said aloud, “Thanks, Lord,” and experienced that familiar flood of warmth and comfort—something akin, I suppose, to being perched in the hollow of his hand.

After years of inactivity, my father abruptly announced one day that we were going back to church. This met with some protest from me. Throughout my childhood I knew only vaguely of the Mormon Church. Basically I knew that there were rules against everything I was currently doing. I viewed the religion as a fanatical organization that demanded self-denial, something that my friends and I didn’t understand and wholly condemned. Besides, what would my friends say if they found out?
Finally my father and I agreed that I would just try going to church for a while and then if I decided against going any more he wouldn’t force me. Sunday came. I sat through sacrament meeting and Sunday School as if I were deaf. Then came Young Women. I sat in the corner of the classroom, arms folded, eyes glaring. (Later I found out that I had actually scared my adviser as much as I had hoped I would.) With that Sunday over I declared I would never go again! In order to avoid going the following Sundays, I claimed I had all kinds of illnesses, from a cold to tonsillitis.
Although I would have denied it at the time, I felt something that first Sunday we went back to church. I felt something from the adviser who really seemed to care about this strange new girl in her class. I felt something, too, from a Latter-day Saint schoolmate who took an interest in my spiritual well-being. From then on, every time I did anything wrong she would remind me that some obscure God was watching my every move. Somehow she convinced me to keep going to church.
Then I met our bishop, a large rancher who seemed too gentle for his intimidating stature. In my first interview with him he asked me to pray. I refused. I knew how to pray, but I couldn’t because I believed God wouldn’t listen to a sinner. The bishop seemed to understand, although I didn’t see how he could because I was sure he had never sinned in his life. But he didn’t condemn me. He seemed to consider me of equal value to all the “saints” in our ward. Feeling so accepted, I continued to attend.
The next couple of months were filled with something I had never felt before. I came to realize that it was the Spirit of the Lord trying to tell me that everything I was hearing and feeling was true. I don’t think I had a testimony at that time. I only knew that I loved my schoolmate and her funny ideas. I loved my Young Women adviser because she loved me. I loved my bishop because he didn’t condemn me. I loved the feeling I had when I was with these people, and I wanted to have that feeling always in my life.

Q. So the gospel helps you with your composing?
A. Musicians don’t just write notes; we write feelings. And there aren’t any deeper or more spiritual feelings than what is inspired by the gospel. Since I joined the Church after my senior year in high school, everything has become more meaningful to me.
Plus the gospel gives me balance in my life. As important as music is, it’s not the most important thing. Once upon a time, the glitz and glamour of the business got to me, and I started worshipping the wrong things. I began to be depressed all the time and didn’t do a good job in my music. But I went through a reawakening and was able to put things back into perspective.
Q. What caused your reawakening?
A. A number of things, but part of it was my family. I have two daughters, and both were born with spina bifida, which basically means they’re paralyzed from the knees down. When Kristin was born nine years ago, she helped me realize some very important things. She was happy. I became aware that although she’d probably never perform great physical feats, she had everything she needed to be happy in this life and to return to our Heavenly Father. So I asked myself, “What are you doing, Brother Bestor? Why are you going for the fame and fortune of the world? You don’t need all that.”

Let me introduce you to two of your fellow students Kathy and Daniela from El Salvador. Kathy was among the first 20 students from her country to enroll in BYU-Pathway Worldwide, while Daniela’s mother inspired her to enroll. "Thanks to BYU-Pathway," Daniela said, "my English improved, I was given a leadership role, and my pay doubled." Both earned BYU-Idaho degrees and traveled here for graduation.
Elder Deiter F. Uchtdorf has said, “For members of the Church, education is not merely a good idea—it’s a commandment.” [1]
Kathy and Daniela are powerful examples of this truth. They show us that pursuing an education isn’t just a personal goal—it’s a spiritual act. Let’s talk about why that matters.