Gospel Story Finder

For some, there will come the temptation to dishonor a personal standard of honesty. In a business law class at the university I attended, I remember that one particular classmate never prepared for the class discussions. I thought to myself, “How is he going to pass the final examination?”

I discovered the answer when he came to the classroom for the final exam on a winter’s day wearing on his bare feet only a pair of sandals. I was surprised and watched him as the class began. All of our books had been placed upon the floor, as per the instruction. He slipped the sandals from his feet; and then, with toes that he had trained and had prepared with glycerin, he skillfully turned the pages of one of the books which he had placed on the floor, thereby viewing the answers to the examination questions.

He received one of the highest grades in that course on business law. But the day of reckoning came. Later, as he prepared to take his comprehensive exam, for the first time the dean of his particular discipline said, “This year I will depart from tradition and will conduct an oral, rather than a written, test.” Our favorite trained-toe expert found that he had his foot in his mouth on that occasion and failed the exam.

Years ago, my wife, Ruth; our daughter, Ashley; and I joined other tourists on a kayaking excursion in the state of Hawaii in the United States. A kayak is a low-to-the-water, canoe-like boat in which the rower sits facing forward and uses a double-bladed paddle to pull front to back on one side and then on the other. The plan was to row to two small islands off the coast of Oahu and back again. I was confident because, as a young man, I had paddled kayaks across mountain lakes. Hubris never bodes well, does it?

Our guide gave us instructions and showed us the ocean kayaks we would use. They differed from the ones I had previously paddled. I was supposed to sit on top of the kayak, instead of down inside it. When I got onto the kayak, my center of gravity was higher than I was accustomed to, and I was less stable in the water.

As we started out, I rowed faster than Ruth and Ashley. After a while, I was far ahead of them. Though proud of my heroic pace, I stopped paddling and waited for them to catch up. A large wave—about 13 centimeters—hit the side of my kayak and flipped me over into the water. By the time I had turned the kayak upright and struggled to get back on top, Ruth and Ashley had passed me by, but I was too winded to resume paddling. Before I could catch my breath, another wave, this one truly enormous—at least 20 centimeters—hit my kayak and flipped me over again. By the time I managed to right the kayak, I was so out of breath I feared I would not be able to climb on top.

Seeing my situation, the guide rowed over and steadied my kayak, making it easier for me to climb on top. When he saw that I was still too breathless to row on my own, he hitched a towrope to my kayak and began paddling, pulling me along with him. Soon I caught my breath and began paddling adequately on my own. He let go of the rope, and I reached the first island without further assistance. Upon arrival, I flopped down on the sand, exhausted.

After the group had rested, the guide quietly said to me, “Mr. Renlund, if you just keep paddling, maintaining your momentum, I think you’re going to be fine.” I followed his advice as we paddled to the second island and then back to our starting point. Twice the guide rowed by and told me I was doing great. Even larger waves hit my kayak from the side, but I was not flipped over.

By consistently paddling the kayak, I maintained momentum and forward progress, mitigating the effect of waves hitting me from the side. The same principle applies in our spiritual lives. We become vulnerable when we slow down and especially when we stop. If we maintain spiritual momentum by continually “rowing” toward the Savior, we are safer and more secure because our eternal life depends on our faith in Him.

Consider how the expedition guide helped me after I flipped over in the kayak. He did not shout from afar an unhelpful question such as, “Mr. Renlund, what are you doing in the water?” He did not paddle up and chide me, saying, “Mr. Renlund, you would not be in this situation if you were more physically fit.” He did not start towing my kayak while I was just trying to get on top of it. And he did not correct me in front of the group. Instead, he gave me the help I needed at the time I needed it. He gave me advice when I was receptive. And he went out of his way to encourage me.

Some years ago, I was working with an elderly couple. He was 80 and she was 79. He came to me with a dilemma. He had limited assets but needed more income to provide for his retirement. He was a pretty sophisticated individual and knew a lot about the bond market, especially the junk bond market. He approached me to look for some junk bonds, and for those of you who are unfamiliar with these types of investments, they can be the most risky way to invest in bonds. Given his age and the potential for loss of his principal, I didn’t feel comfortable recommending these types of investments to him. My education taught me to ask questions, so I gathered as much as I could about his whole financial situation. I asked him more questions about his liabilities, real estate holdings, and other assets he might have. With this information, I knew a lot more about his financial position, and I was armed with the information I needed to find a better solution than the one he was suggesting.

As I reflected on his situation, the answer came, and I was able to provide the needed extra income for him plus allow him and his wife to take a trip around the world, which is something he had wanted to do but lacked the assets to do. A few years later, his wife died, but I was grateful I could apply this principle I learned while attending the temple.

James carefully straightened his tie as he rode to the stake center. Today was his little sister Angie’s baptism, and he knew he needed to look as nice as he could. He looked over at Angie. She was sitting very quietly, looking out the window. He wondered if she was scared or excited.
James remembered his own baptism day. He had been so excited to finally step into the font. He remembered how warm the water felt, and especially how warm he felt inside. He was happy for Angie.
But he was also a little bit jealous.
Wouldn’t it be nice if people could be baptized more than once? What if he could ask his father to let him put on some white clothes too, go down into the water, and be washed clean?
James thought about the promises he had made when he was baptized. He knew that he hadn’t been as good as he had planned to be. Sometimes he was mean to Angie. He had told a few lies. Last week he even took his friend’s Frisbee without asking and hadn’t returned it yet.
James began to feel sad. If only he could get baptized again so that he could start over! He would do better this time; he knew it.
At the stake center, James sat next to his mother and watched his father help Angie into the water. She looked happy. James remembered that feeling. Maybe if he told his father about the things he had done wrong, he could get baptized again. But he didn’t dare ask.
After Angie’s baptism, the whole family had dinner together. Angie was beaming. Grandma and Grandpa were there too, looking proud of Angie. James thought about how sad they would feel if they knew the things he had done since his own baptism. He didn’t feel very hungry.
“What’s wrong, James?” Dad asked, putting his hand on James’s shoulder. His face was full of love. Would he understand and let James get baptized again? Or would he be disappointed in his son?
James leaned over so no one else could hear him. “Dad, can I get baptized again?”
Dad looked closely at James. “Well, that’s not exactly how things work, James. Is something bothering you?”
“Well, it’s just that sometimes I want a chance to start over again.”
“Ah, I see. Are you remembering your own baptism day?”
“Yes.”
“I understand that. Sometimes I wish I could get baptized again. But you see, James, I don’t have to.”
“Why? Because you haven’t done anything wrong?” James asked.
Dad smiled. “Like you, I wanted to keep all the commandments when I was baptized. But I have done many things wrong since then. Just yesterday I lost my patience when you didn’t do your chores right away, remember?”
“Yes.”
“I really wanted to erase my mistake as if it had never happened.”
“So you wanted to get baptized again?” James asked.
“Well, I did want to be clean again,” Dad said. “But I knew that there was another way to get clean again besides getting baptized. I could repent.”
“Is that all?” James asked. “I mean, is repenting the same as getting baptized again?”
“Yes, but there is another part too. Being baptized when you’re eight is something that you do to show obedience and make a covenant to keep the commandments. After that, when you sin, you need to repent and show you really mean to do better.”
James smiled. “You mean by taking the sacrament?”
Dad nodded. “When you take the sacrament you are showing Jesus that you have repented of the things you did wrong that week. And then, as you eat the bread and drink the water, you become clean, and you are ready to start over.”
James remembered the words of the sacrament prayer. Each week he promised to take Jesus Christ’s name upon him—just like when he was baptized. “So I am clean if I repent and then take the sacrament?” he asked.
“That’s exactly right,” Dad said.
“Wow.” James was quiet for a minute. Tomorrow was Sunday. He could take the sacrament then! But he had some work to do first. He wondered if Mom would let him take the Frisbee over to his friend Mark’s house after they got home.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Son?”
“I’m sorry for not doing my chores yesterday. Will you forgive me?”
Dad smiled and hugged James. “Of course I will.”

I think of some of the people who have had to do with the work in some of the areas where I have had responsibility. One able thinker, and I do not remember whether it was Emerson or Carlyle—I took them both the same semester—said that every great institution is but the lengthened shadow of a great man. I have thought, as I have met some Koreans here, of the status of our work in Korea, where today we have two strong missions and a strong stake of Zion. All of this is the lengthened shadow of Dr. Kim and the two young men who taught him the gospel while he was a student at Cornell University—Oliver Wayman and Don C. Wood. They stirred within their associate student an interest in reading the Book of Mormon. Their interest in him, their activities with him were entirely separate from the reasons for their working on an advanced degree that could have consumed every minute of his waking time, but they took time to teach and to learn; and when the Korean Ph.D. returned to his native land, he took with him his love for the Book of Mormon and for the Church whose services he had attended in Ithaca, New York. American servicemen involved in the Korean War had also shared the gospel with some of their associates. And the presence of Dr. Kim, man of learning and man of responsibility in the nation of Korea, became a catalyst that led to the establishment of the work, including the sending of missionaries from Japan. Dr. Kim is dead, but the work lives on in splendor, touching for eternal good an ever-increasing number of lives in the “Land of the Morning Calm.”

I recently was made aware of a touching example of loving kindness—one that had unforeseen results. The year was 1933, when because of the Great Depression, employment opportunities were scarce. The location was the eastern part of the United States. Arlene Biesecker had just graduated from high school. After a lengthy search for employment, she was finally able to obtain work at a clothing mill as a seamstress. The mill workers were paid only for each of the correctly completed pieces they sewed together daily. The more pieces they produced, the more they were paid.
One day shortly after starting at the mill, Arlene was faced with a procedure that had her confused and frustrated. She sat at her sewing machine trying to unpick her unsuccessful attempt to complete the piece on which she was working. There seemed to be no one to help her, for all of the other seamstresses were hurrying to complete as many pieces as they could. Arlene felt helpless and hopeless. Quietly, she began to cry.
Across from Arlene sat Bernice Rock. She was older and more experienced as a seamstress. Observing Arlene’s distress, Bernice left her own work and went to Arlene’s side, kindly giving her instruction and help. She stayed until Arlene gained confidence and was able to successfully complete the piece. Bernice then went back to her own machine, having missed the opportunity to complete as many pieces as she could have, had she not helped.
With this one act of loving kindness, Bernice and Arlene became lifelong friends. Each eventually married and had children. Sometime in the 1950s, Bernice, who was a member of the Church, gave Arlene and her family a copy of the Book of Mormon. In 1960, Arlene and her husband and children were baptized members of the Church. Later they were sealed in a holy temple of God.
As a result of the compassion shown by Bernice as she went out of her way to help one whom she didn’t know but who was in distress and needed assistance, countless individuals, both living and dead, now enjoy the saving ordinances of the gospel.

I have seen it in my travels across the world. In a city of more than 10 million people, I spoke to the Latter-day Saints gathered by the thousands in conference. It was held in a large sports arena.
Before the meeting began, I noticed a handsome young man sitting on the front row. He was surrounded by others who, like him, were better dressed than most of those around them. I asked the General Authority of the Church near me who the men were. He whispered that it was the mayor of the city and his staff.
As I walked to my car after the meeting, I was surprised to see the mayor waiting to greet me, flanked by his staff. He stepped forward, extended his hand to me, and said, “I thank you for coming to our city and to our country. We are grateful for what you do to build up your people. With such people and such families, we could create the harmony and the prosperity we want for our people.”
I saw in that moment that he was one of the honest in heart placed by God in power among His children. We are a tiny minority among the citizens of that great city and nation. The mayor knew little of our doctrine and few of our people. Yet God had sent him the message that Latter-day Saints, under covenant to trust God and His authorized servants, would become a light to his people.

Toby looked down at the ring Jerome had slipped onto his third finger. “It will keep us close while I am on my mission,” Jerome had said, smiling down at his ten-year-old brother.
Toby knew how special this ring was to Jerome. Their great-uncle had made it and given it to him when he was ordained to the priesthood. The band was silver, and Uncle had painstakingly carved “LDS” out of turquoise and soldered it to the band. Toby had never seen the ring off Jerome’s finger. “I won’t take it off my finger until I return it to you in two years,” he had promised the handsome missionary.
“Get up, Wind Wolf,” Grandfather called early the next morning. He used Toby’s Indian name only when he wanted him to hurry. “Today we must plant the corn, and old Grandfather Sun will scorch our backs if we do not begin soon.”
Toby quickly dressed, ate a biscuit, drank a glass of milk, and hurried outside. He loved helping Grandfather plant the corn, and he knew that if he kept busy, he wouldn’t miss Jerome as much.
Grandfather dug holes with the narrow, wooden spade that he had made himself. Toby crawled along the rows, dropping two kernels of corn into each hole from the leather pouch he wore around his neck. The sun caused bright sparkles to dance across the silver band on Jerome’s ring, making Toby squint at times.
When all the corn had been planted, Toby and Grandfather looked around at the large plot, pleased with their work.
Still on his knees, Toby reached up to wipe his forehead. He gasped. “Jerome’s ring! It’s gone!” He jumped up, looking frantically.
Grandfather placed his hand on Toby’s shoulder. “Nothing will be accomplished by acting like a chicken with its head cut off. You walk up and down these rows and look for the ring. I will do the same on the rows over there.”
But they did not find the ring.
“Oh, Grandfather, what can I do? The ring means so much to Jerome.”
“There is One who knows where the ring is,” Grandfather said, kneeling on the ground.
Of course! Heavenly Father knew where the ring was. He would help them find it. Toby knelt beside his wise grandfather.
“Now I am sure that I will find it,” Toby said. He got up and began to slowly walk up and down each row again.
But the ring still couldn’t be found.
“Why doesn’t Heavenly Father show me where the ring is?” Toby asked impatiently. “He knows that Jerome is serving him.”
“We will ask again tonight and look again tomorrow,” Grandfather said.
The next morning Toby was on his hands and knees when the sun cast its first beams across the field. He crawled along each row, looking desperately for the ring. Grandfather found him slumped against the hogan. “Grandfather, I have prayed many times and have gone over every inch of the cornfield. Why doesn’t Heavenly Father show me where it is?”
“Heavenly Father knows where the ring is, Toby. If he wants us to find it, we will—but in his own time.”
“Why wouldn’t he want me to find it right now?”
“Maybe there is something you need to find even more than the ring,” Grandfather answered.
“What would I need to find more than Jerome’s ring?”
“That is something you must find out for yourself.”
Sometimes Grandfather doesn’t make any sense, Toby thought. If my prayer isn’t answered right now, the ring will be lost forever.
But it was not found that day, either.
Each morning Toby got up early and made his way slowly and carefully through the cornfield, hoping to see the turquoise initials popping up through the soil. It did not happen. He was very discouraged, but he continued to ask Heavenly Father to help him find the ring.
“Why don’t you fast about it?” suggested his good friend Vincent.
Toby remembered the lesson his Primary teacher had given on fasting and on how miracles may happen when fasting and prayer are used together. He had thought that that was just for grown-ups. The more he thought about it now, however, the more he liked the idea.
It was hard going to school without breakfast, and even harder when all his friends brought out their lunches, but at the end of the school day, he felt good inside. He did not find the ring as he went through the cornfield that evening, but he did find peace. He felt very close to Heavenly Father.
One early morning a few weeks later, Toby heard his grandfather call, “Wind Wolf, come quickly!”
Toby ran outside wondering what was wrong. “Where are you, Grandfather?”
“Here in the cornfield.”
“What is it? Is something wrong?”
Grandfather pointed at a small, green plant sticking up through the brown soil.
“Jerome’s ring!” Toby fell on his hands and knees to see better. The bright, green cornstalk had grown through the silver band and lifted the ring right out of the ground. “It is as if the cornstalk is handing it to me.” Toby carefully lifted it from the tender seedling.
That evening when Grandfather was hoeing in the cornfield, Toby wanted to be near him. “Grandfather, you are very wise.”
“Many years make much experience; much experience makes much wisdom.” Grandfather smiled at Toby.
“I think I know now what it was that I needed to find more than Jerome’s ring.”
Grandfather sat down and leaned against a fence post. “Tell me,” he said, motioning for Toby to sit beside him.
“Well, if I had found Jerome’s ring right away, I would never have prayed all the times I did. I knew that I really needed Heavenly Father’s help, so I prayed differently than I usually do. I really talked to him. And when I fasted, I felt really good.”
“So what did you find, my grandson?”
“I found Heavenly Father’s love for me, Grandfather.”
Neither Toby nor Grandfather said anything for a time. Then Grandfather said, “Tomorrow you must write to your brother about his first convert.”

One example of this attitude occurred when Elder Lee was a grandfather and a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. His daughter, Helen, had planned to attend a Relief Society meeting and asked her mother to tend her two little boys. Her mother became ill, so Helen decided to stay at home. In mid-morning her father called from his office and said, “Dear, you plan to go to your meeting, and I will come tend the boys.” Helen protested that she couldn’t take him from his important work to tend babies. He replied, “Why, my dear, who is to say which is the most important work of the Lord—to stay at my desk at the Church Office Building, or to tend two choice little grandsons while their mother goes to her Relief Society meeting?” She attended her meeting.

To illustrate this principle, I want to share a series of miracles that happened in one of our campus research labs.

A group of BYU physics students had the opportunity to run an acoustical experiment during the launch of NASA’s Artemis I, which is the biggest rocket ever sent into orbit. The process involved setting up microphones, computers, and other equipment in fourteen sites spanning one hundred square miles surrounding the launch site in order to measure the sounds coming from the rocket. This was an amazing opportunity, and the students would only have one chance to collect this groundbreaking data. After all, you can’t undo a rocket launch.

Because of the high importance and security of this launch, the students had to set up all their equipment twenty-four hours before liftoff. However, the instruments’ batteries only lasted twelve hours, meaning the students needed a different way to power their equipment. They felt confident because they had added solar panels to the setup for previous experiments, and everything seemed to work great. This solution was considered the ideal choice for Florida, “the sunshine state.” As the team prepared for the big launch, they decided to test the full setup one more time here on campus.

They set up all the equipment on the Eyring Science Center roof and left it to collect data, fully expecting everything to work. The way the solar panels were engineered, they were powerful enough that they should have easily kept the batteries fully charged. Instead, the students returned the next day and found that the machines were completely dead. Something was seriously wrong. After some frantic troubleshooting over the next couple of days, the team discovered the system would break down and the components would stop working together if clouds covered the sun, even for a moment.

With limited funding and only four weeks until the launch, they had to quickly find a solution. The team of faculty and students immediately got to work. They tried everything, but where a miracle was needed, all they seemed to find were more unanswered questions.

It was an unusually overcast July for Provo, Utah, and all along the team wondered if the small glitch really mattered. After all, Florida’s weather was typically sunny and bright. But as they tested options, they began to gain key insights about what would be needed in the final solution. While each failure was disappointing, little nuggets of truth came along the way. In the students’ struggles there came growth, learning, and insight.

After weeks of testing everything they could, the team finally found the miracle they had been looking for, but it would require an immense amount of work. They would have to rebuild the equipment’s power systems from the ground up. Working through the night, the students finished the alterations just hours before the instruments had to be sent to the launch site.

On the day of the launch, the team set up their equipment and hoped that all their hard work would pay off. As NASA began final preparations to send the rocket to space, clouds blanketed the sky, only occasionally letting the sun’s rays through. If the students had not put in the work, none of their equipment would have functioned. The unusual string of cloudy days and weeks in Provo had, in fact, been a miracle, alerting the team to the hidden weakness. As Professor Kent L. Gee later remarked about the experience:

The Lord didn’t make it easy, but He certainly made it possible. I don’t know that the Lord cares about rockets, but He cares about the BYU students and who they are becoming. This experience convinced me of that.

When the students were able to pick up their equipment after the launch, they discovered that they had 100 percent perfect data collection at all fourteen sites. Because of the solution they had built, the team secured the most important acoustical data ever collected from a rocket. This has created many additional collaboration opportunities for current and future BYU students across the university.

Heber J. Grant’s wife Lucy was sick for nearly three years. He knew that she was dying, so he gathered their children into the room.
Heber: The Lord is calling your mother home to be with Him.
Daughter: I don’t want Mama to die! She has felt better lots of times after a priesthood blessing. Can’t you heal her?
Heber: If I tried, I feel it would be against God’s will.
Heber sent his children out of the room and prayed.
Heber: Heavenly Father, I won’t complain that my wife is dying, but I can’t bear to see the faith of my children shaken. If it is Thy will for Lucy to die, please give my daughter peace.
Within a few hours, Lucy passed away. When Heber told his children, his little son started crying. But Heber knew that his prayer had been answered.
Daughter: Don’t cry! I prayed, and the Holy Ghost told me that it is God’s will for our mama to die. Everything will be all right.

On other pages of that same journal are many entries describing our meetings with Karl Lederhilger, the leader at that time of the Seventh-Day Adventist congregations in upper Austria. On our first meeting, after an hour of futile scripture-bashing about the Sabbath, that good man stopped midsentence and said, “We’re getting nowhere with this discussion; do you have anything you want to tell us?” Filled with the Spirit, I ventured to teach him the plan of salvation, a discussion usually reserved until much later. I watched how the Holy Spirit began visibly to micromanage this gentle, kind, and knowledgeable man. At each point I would ask him to supply scriptures in support of the principle, and he enthusiastically repeated, from memory, a host of scriptures in support of Mormon claims. The Spirit of God filled the room. And when I broached the question as to how those who have died can receive the vital saving ordinances, I was startled when Karl suddenly rose to his feet, tears springing to his eyes, and recited 1 Corinthians 15:29: “Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead. . . .”
” I have studied for years,” he cried to us, his wife, his children, the ceiling, “to learn the meaning of this scripture; and now these two young men have made it all crystal clear.”
” This message is from God, Mutti,” he said to his wife from the depths of his soul. “These young men have brought us the truth.” The chill up the spine, the cold sweat on the forehead, the trembling in the soul—only shared this time by everyone in the room. The family was baptized a few weeks later. I didn’t hear it, but I’m sure the Heavenly Tabernacle Choir was sounding majestic hosannas through the whole event. My journal certainly was.

Janet and Pete had grown up next door to each other, had been great friends, and had eventually begun dating. Now that Pete had been back from his mission for several months, we were expecting to see an engagement ring soon. When I heard they had split up, I was shocked. They had a great deal in common and had always seemed so happy around one another. They had been so sure.
“We had an argument,” Jan explained, “and he won’t apologize. We haven’t spoken for weeks.” Then she added, “I’m certainly not going to apologize. It’s not my fault. He’s the one who said some mean things.”
“Had you ever argued before?” I asked.
“No, never. That’s just the problem. I have no idea how to handle this. Guess it’s over.” When I asked her what they had argued about, she couldn’t remember, but she could remember clearly the harsh words that had been exchanged. In fact, she had memorized them. Anger had made each of them stubborn, and Pete and Jan were both certain each was the injured party and the victim of injustice.
I remembered hearing once about the “temporary apology,” and I suggested it to her.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Even if you don’t think you’re the one at fault …”
“I know I’m not!”
“Even if you know you’re not at fault, apologize for what you are sorry about. You could tell Pete you’re sorry you haven’t been on good terms. Then at least the ice will be broken.”
“He’s the one who should do that,” she said. But I could tell she was thinking about it.
When I talked to Janet again, she said she had tried the “temporary apology” and that she and Pete had started speaking again. “In fact, Pete told me he was really sorry and had been wanting to apologize for quite a while but just didn’t know how. He said he was glad I had had the courage. Thanks for the tip on the ‘temporary apology,’” Janet said. “It did take some pride-swallowing, but it was worth it. I can’t believe we almost broke up over such a stupid word exchange.”

Have you ever felt like you failed at something even though you had hoped with all your heart you would succeed? That’s how I felt as I came home from my mission. Two years in France, and what good had I done? Sure, I had made friends, learned a language, and grown to love faithful Saints who strive to live the gospel.
But I hadn’t baptized anyone.
Then I remembered advice my mission president gave me during my final interview: “If you can honestly say that the Lord is pleased with the effort you have made, if you can honestly say that you did the best you could for Him, then that is the measure of your success. Nothing else matters.”
As I thought about that, I felt compelled to pray. Slowly, peace came to my heart. The Spirit whispered, “The Lord knows you did the best you could. Your sacrifice is acceptable.” It was time to get on with the next steps of my life.
Fast-forward many years. I was writing a letter to my daughter, who was serving a mission in Canada, when I heard a ping on my phone. Someone had sent me a photo of the inside front cover of a copy of the Book of Mormon with a testimony written in French—in my own handwriting! I had given the book to a sister who had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints while I was a missionary (though I hadn’t baptized her), but she had fallen away a couple of years later. Why would someone be sending me a photo of the testimony I had written so many years before?
The picture came with a message: “I thought you would be interested in seeing your testimony again. My aunt was so excited when I joined the Church that she gave me the Book of Mormon you once gave to her. I thought you would appreciate knowing what a treasure it is to me.
“My aunt didn’t remain active in the Church, but she always spoke highly of it, so much so that her younger sister (my mother) asked the missionaries to teach her. My mother joined the Church. She was married in the temple. She and my father raised four children as members of the Church. My three siblings and I have all served missions and been married in the temple. We are all active and faithful.”
Emotion overwhelmed me. All those years ago, I thought I had failed. But now I could see how the Lord had accomplished His work, in His way, over time.
If you had asked me at the end of my mission, I would have said I was a failure. But as I thought about the testimony I had written in that Book of Mormon all those years ago, I realized that you haven’t failed as long as you do your best for the Lord. “Maybe the only thing I failed at was being a failure,” I thought.
“I realized that you haven’t failed as long as you do your best for the Lord.”

After retirement my wife and I were living a comfortable life. We enjoyed working in the temple, fulfilling ward and stake assignments, and visiting our children, grandchildren, and widowed mothers. It seemed that things couldn’t have been better.
But something began stirring within us. The time had come to seriously consider serving a mission, and we knew it. We soon decided to serve but felt we should make a list of things that needed doing before we turned in our missionary application forms. We dutifully made the list and began whittling it down.
Two months passed, and we discovered our to-do list had only become longer. “No problem,” we thought. “We’ll just put more effort into making it shrink.” But it didn’t. We came to realize that although the stirrings to serve a mission were still in us, our fear of the unknown was causing us to add to our list faster than we could complete the tasks on it.
One morning shortly after our most recent review of our to-do list, I was studying Jesus the Christ by Elder James E. Talmage (1862–1933). One passage touched me profoundly: “Excuses are easy to find; they spring up as readily and plentifully as weeds by the wayside. When the Samaritan came along and saw the wretched state of the wounded man, he had no excuse for he wanted none” (3rd ed. [1916], 431–32).
With considerable emotion I hurried into the kitchen and shared these words with my wife. They had a significant impact on her as well. There was no question about our next move.
We immediately shredded our to-do list, or what we now laughingly call our excuse list, and initiated the process necessary to be called as missionaries.
Once we did this, things fell together quickly for us, and soon we found ourselves enjoying our lives even more as we served in the Singapore Mission. Our assignment was to train new leaders in Church branches, first in Sri Lanka and then in Malaysia. We discovered that our family back home could get along just fine without us, and we soon realized how badly we were needed as senior missionaries.
Two nights before we returned from our mission, the members of the two branches we had been working with in Malaysia invited us to what turned out to be a surprise farewell party. We will never forget stepping outside the Church meetinghouse to be encircled by the local members, each holding a homemade Chinese lantern as they sang to us in Chinese “God Be with You Till We Meet Again” (Hymns, no. 152). To this day I cannot share that experience without crying. How grateful we are that we didn’t let our excuse list—our fears—keep us from a priceless experience.

Early one morning while visiting Quito, Ecuador, tour guide and naturalist André Degel was taking a Sunday walk by a Latter-day Saint meetinghouse. The year was 1997, and though he was a member of the Church, he had been less active for years after moving to the Galápagos Islands. André remembered the comforting feelings of being in church and would often intentionally walk by a meetinghouse when he was in Ecuador. He didn’t usually go inside. He just wanted to be near the building. “It made me feel better,” he says, “like I was home.”
On this day sacrament meeting was just beginning. After a moment’s hesitation, André decided to enter. It was a decision that ultimately would alter the destiny of hundreds of lives.
After the meeting the missionaries and members greeted André. He remembers the conversation fondly, especially about how surprised—and excited—they were to discover he was from the Galápagos.
At the time, there was no formal Church organization on the islands. In fact, priesthood leaders in Ecuador weren’t even aware members lived there.
The missionaries didn’t waste any time. They introduced André to the Quito Ecuador Mission president and made sure they had André’s contact information.
Shortly thereafter André returned home to Puerto Ayora, the largest town in the Galápagos, on the island of Santa Cruz. Soon the mission sent him two boxes of Church materials, including manuals for study. But perhaps most important, the mission president had acquired a list of members living on the islands, which André could use to help gather the Saints. A quick review of the list surprised André.
“There were people on the list I knew, but I didn’t know they were members of the Church,” he explains.
Once André had gathered a core group, they began meeting together regularly. At first, there were only four families and friends.
“We would meet often, sometimes daily, mostly at my house,” André says. “We studied the books the mission had sent us and the Bible and the Book of Mormon.”
“It was a beautiful time,” says Araceli Duran. “We were very united. We would gather each week to study.”
“It is something that I will never forget,” says Jeanneth, “because there was such a sense of unity, such a feeling that our Heavenly Father loved us and knew that it was now that we needed to get together.”
They depended on each other, taught each other, and built their faith together. Soon their efforts were recognized, and an official branch was organized in early 1998.

Back in the year 2000, Christina Jenkins’s family had a grand idea for family scripture study: why not read the whole Book of Mormon in a month?! The family, from Yorktown, Virginia, started the month before the school year started, and her dad calculated they would need to read at least 17 pages a day to meet their goal. To help them feel the true spirit of the Book of Mormon, the Jenkins family also decided not to watch television for that month.

“The events that occurred and the lessons we learned became so much clearer,” Christina says. “Reading the Book of Mormon personally and with my family each year has strengthened my testimony of the Book of Mormon and of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”

Christina’s family enjoyed their month-long reading of the Book of Mormon so much they have done it every year since.

Prayer was a very important part of my life. As a child, I was taught to pray. I remember one time when I was riding out to the ranch with my father. As he drove, he started humming or singing, “‘Ere you left your room this morning, Did you think to pray?’”* Then he glanced at me and asked, “Son, did you pray this morning?”
“No.”
“Don’t you pray in the mornings?”
“I pray at night,” I replied.
At that moment, he took the time to explain to me the importance of praying in the morning and at night. From that time on, it became part of my life to pray both morning and night. In 2 Nephi 26:15 [2 Ne. 26:15], we are told that “the prayers of the faithful shall be heard.” We often experienced that scripture. I learned in my youth that as we were faithful and did our part, the Lord blessed us.

“Roberto,” Mamá called. “Time for dinner!”
Roberto forgot all about the cars he was playing with and ran to the table. Papá and Carlos were already sitting in their places. Roberto could smell his favorite food, a steaming bowl of fideos. He climbed into his seat and reached for the slippery noodles.
“Roberto, did you forget something?” Papá asked.
Roberto slid down and raced to the bathroom. He washed his hands and dried them quickly. Mamá was just sitting down at the table when Roberto got back. He climbed up on the chair beside her and reached for the noodles again.
This time Mamá stopped him. “Roberto, have you forgotten something?” Roberto looked around. Everyone’s arms were folded, and Carlos was bowing his head. Roberto folded his arms and bowed his head too. Papá asked Carlos to pray.
Roberto heard Carlos thank Heavenly Father for the food, but then Roberto began to think about Mamá’s yummy fideos and he didn’t listen to the rest of the prayer. As soon as Carlos said “Amen,” Roberto grabbed the serving spoon. He piled the noodles on his plate until Mamá took the spoon away.
“Eat that much,” she said. “Then if you’re still hungry, you can have more.”
When he finished all the noodles on his plate, Roberto wasn’t hungry at all. He couldn’t eat one more bite, not even when Mamá brought out the flan she had made for dessert. He watched Carlos smile as he spooned the custard into his bowl. Roberto wished everyone would hurry and finish so that he could go back to his cars.
At last Papá leaned back and smiled at Mamá. “That was wonderful,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you, Mamá,” said Carlos.
“May I be excused?” Roberto asked.
Roberto played until bedtime. Carlos helped him make buildings and houses out of blocks. They made tunnels to drive their cars under. They were almost done making a city when Mamá announced, “Bedtime.”
After their prayers, Papá told Roberto and Carlos a story. It was a story from the Bible about when Jesus Christ helped ten men who were lepers. “Do you know what a leper is, Roberto?” Papá asked.
“A big cat!”
Papá laughed. “No, that’s a leopard. Lepers are people who are very sick—so sick that sometimes they have to go away and live by themselves. The Savior made the lepers well again so they could go home and live with their families. But only one of the men remembered to say thank you.”
“Oh,” Roberto said. “Why?”
“I don’t know why they didn’t thank Jesus. What do you think, Carlos?”
Carlos thought for a moment. “I think they were so happy to go home that they forgot all about it.”
Papá nodded. “And what do you think, Roberto?”
Roberto suddenly jumped out of his bed. “Just a minute,” he said. “I remembered something.” He ran downstairs.
Mamá was putting away the dinner dishes. She was surprised to see Roberto. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”
“I have to tell you something first. You made my favorite food for me, but I forgot to say gracias (thank you).”
Mamá smiled. “You’re welcome. I like to do things for you, especially when you remember to say thank you.”
Roberto ran back upstairs to his bedroom. Carlos was listening to Papá finish the story. “Thank you for playing with me today,” Roberto told Carlos. “And thank you, Papá, for telling me stories about Jesus.”
“You’re welcome,” Papá said and turned off the light. “Good night, Roberto. Good night, Carlos.”
But Roberto didn’t go right to sleep. He lay still and thought of the many things he was thankful for. He felt happy, and he wished he could give Heavenly Father a hug. At last he slipped out of bed and said another prayer. This time he really meant it when he thanked Heavenly Father for fideos, and for Mamá, Papá, and Carlos. “And gracias,” he added, “for helping me remember to say gracias.”