Gospel Story Finder

No one is perfect, but everyone should be striving for perfection. If we should stumble or fall as we travel life’s highway, let us apply the counsel given to us by Cliff Cushman, a member of the 1960 U.S. Olympic team. He won the silver medal in the 400-meter hurdles and was a top candidate for the gold medal in the 1964 Olympics; but in the American trials, he hit and tripped over a hurdle and was eliminated. Messages of sympathy poured in to him, and he replied with an open letter to the youth of his hometown, Grand Forks, North Dakota. He wrote:
“Over 15 years ago, I saw a star—first place in the Olympic Games. I literally started to run after it. In 1960 I came within three yards of grabbing it; this year I stumbled, fell and watched it recede four more years away. …
“In a split second all the many years of training, pain, sweat, blisters and agony of running were simply and irrevocably wiped out.
“But I tried! I would much rather fail knowing I had put forth an honest effort than never to have tried at all. …
“Certainly I was very disappointed in falling flat on my face. However, there is nothing I can do about it now but get up, pick the cinders from my wounds, and take one more step followed by one more and one more, until the steps turn into miles and miles into success.
“I know I may never make it. The odds are against me, but I have something in my favor—desire and faith. … At least I am going to try. How about you? … Unless your reach exceeds your grasp, how can you be sure what you can attain? …
“Let me tell you something about yourselves. … You are spending more money, enjoying more freedom, and driving more cars than ever before, yet many of you are very unhappy. Some of you have never known the satisfaction of doing your best in sports, the joy of excelling in class, the wonderful feeling of completing a job, any job, and looking back on it knowing that you have done your best. …
“I dare you to look up at the stars, not down at the mud, and set your sights on them that, up to now, you thought were unattainable. There is plenty of room at the top, but no room for anyone to sit down.
“Who knows? You may be surprised at what you can achieve with sincere effort. So get up, pick the cinders out of your wounds, and take one more step.
“I dare you!”
The last report I had on Cliff Cushman indicated that he was missing in action in the Vietnam war.

Rayleigh, Essex, England—
I was talking to a new employee working in my office, and I don’t know how we got around to it, but I mentioned I was Mormon. He appeared very interested, because he said he had recently visited another church and had found nothing there, but that he was looking for a church that made sense.
A young adult convention (conference) was coming up on Saturday, so I invited him along to that, and we had some good fun. He met a lot of new friends. I let him introduce himself, and he really participated. The next day, he came to our regular church meetings. It was fast Sunday, and we all came in to testimony meeting together.
Three times during the meeting he got up and walked out into the corridor. I saw him pacing up and down, still listening intently. Then, about ten minutes from the end of the meeting, he got up and bore his testimony! He said the Spirit had borne witness to him and told him the Church is true.
He came up to me after the meeting and asked if I could arrange to have the missionaries teach him. He’s having that done now. I’d only known him for a few days, but I was impressed to see how the Spirit could guide him. Just by fellowshipping him a little, we had helped him find the truth. This experience has taught me that member missionary work is important, even the basic things like just mentioning you’re Mormon.

Now I have a message that I hope to have inspiration to convey to you brethren. And I would like to tell of a little incident that happened to a great member of the Church in Germany, Karl G. Maeser, a great educator, a doctor of education, a man of great dignity and wisdom. It was he who founded Brigham Young University.
Under the direction of President Brigham Young he went to Provo, with the simple instruction that he was to found the university and to teach not even the multiplication tables without the Spirit of God. Beyond that, Brigham Young said, “Good luck and God bless you.” Brother Maeser had been converted here in Europe. This man of great dignity and prestige was a very humble man, and his attitude seems to me to characterize what we should be as holders of the priesthood.
I mention two incidents: On one occasion he was going with a group of young missionaries across the alps. They were crossing a high mountain pass on foot. There were long sticks stuck into the snow of the glacier to mark the path so that travelers could find their way safely across the glacier and down the mountain on the other side.
When they reached the summit, Brother Maeser wanted to teach the young elders a lesson. He stopped at the pinnacle of the mountain and pointed to those sticks that they had followed. And he said, “Brethren, behold the priesthood of God. They are just common old sticks, but it’s the position that counts. Follow them and you will surely be safe. Stray from them and you will surely be lost.” And so it is in the Church. We are called to leadership positions and given the power of the priesthood. And we are just common old sticks, but the position we are given counts. It is separate and apart from us, but while we hold it, we hold it.

“Doctor Evans, we’re ready for you to begin.”
Justin looked down at the man on the operating table. There was a line drawn on the man’s stomach. Justin was wearing a surgical robe and a mask. There were rubber gloves on his hands. Nurses and others in green surgical gowns were all waiting for him to begin the operation.
There was, however, one tiny problem—Justin was 15 years old and didn’t know anything about surgery.
“So what do I do, just cut on the dotted line?” he joked.
Nobody laughed. “Doctor, we need to begin right away,” the woman next to him said.
“Doctor Sanchez is right,” a man said. “We need to begin right away.”
“Let’s see, I guess we need some kind of a knife or something.”
A nurse shoved a scalpel in his hand. Justin looked down at the stomach. He cleared his throat. “Give me a hint here, should I slice this guy deep or shallow?”
“Are you all right?” the woman they called Doctor Sanchez asked.
“Is this guy going to bleed a lot if I cut him open? I really can’t stand the sight of blood.”
“Would you like me to take over?” Doctor Sanchez said.
“Yes, please.”
The woman traded places, took up the scalpel, and cut along the line on the man’s stomach.
“Oh, gross,” Justin said a few minutes later upon seeing for the first time the exposed inside of the man. But after a while he got used to it.
After the operation as he removed the surgical gloves and gowns, Doctor Sanchez came over to him. “You and your practical jokes,” she said. “For a moment there it sounded like you didn’t know anything about what was going on.”
Justin smiled. “Yeah, right.”
A nurse came in the room. “Dr. Evans, your wife called.”
“I have a wife?” he blurted out.
Everyone in the room smiled.
“She left a number for you to call. She said it was important.”
He went to a phone and dialed the number. A woman answered.
“This is Justin.”
“Listen, I need to ask you something. Did you send in the house payment last month?”
“Do we own a house?”
“The bank called to say they haven’t got our payment yet.”
“I know I’m married to you, but could you tell me your name once again. I guess I’ve forgotten it. You know how I am with names.”
“Justin, this is no time for games. The deadline for Howard to enter the race for city commission is Thursday. He needs to know what you did with the petitions you handled for him.
“What color hair do you have? And when did we meet each other?”
There was a long pause, and then she said, “All right, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m 15 years old, and I’m not a doctor, and I’m not married, and I don’t have any idea who you are or who Howard is or what petitions you’re talking about. Basically that’s it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“How will I recognize you?”
“I’ll come to your office.”
“I have an office then, right?” he asked. Saying good-bye, he hung up and walked the halls until he found a door with his name on it. He stepped inside and sat behind the desk and tried to figure out what was going on.
A few minutes later someone knocked on the door. He opened the door and let her in. It was a woman.
“Are you my wife?” he asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“How nice to meet you. What’s your name?”
“Lori.”
“Lori, can you help me? I seem to be having a bad day. I don’t belong here. You know what I think? I think this whole thing is a dream.”
“You mean, here, right now, even me?”
“Yes, that’s what I think.”
“Why don’t you wake up then, if it’s just a dream?”
“I don’t know how to make myself wake up.”
“Pinch yourself.”
He pinched himself. Nothing happened.
“It must not be a dream then,” she said.
“But maybe I only dreamed I pinched myself, and it really is a dream.”
“If it is a dream, it’ll end soon, and you can get on with your life.”
“Maybe so. While you’re here, can I ask a few questions before this ends? On the phone you kept talking about mortgage payments and some kind of a petition for Howard.” He paused. “I guess the main thing I want to know is if being grown up is any fun at all?”
“Most of the time it is. Especially if you prepare for it when you’re young.”
“How do you prepare for it?”
“You make goals of what you want out of life. Then you work to achieve those goals.”
“Sounds boring.”
“Not really. Do you know what you always tell me?”
“To have pizza for supper more often?”
“Yeah, that too, but also you say, ‘If you can dream it, if you can plan it, if you can work hard for it, you can achieve it.’”
He smiled. “I say that? Sounds good.” He looked at her more closely. “Where did we get married?”
“In the temple.”
“That’s good, isn’t it? I’m glad we did.”
“The reason it happened is that when we were both young, even though we didn’t know each other, we both decided to plan for a temple marriage.”
“When you’re 15, like I am now, it’s kind of hard to think about planning for something that’s years away.”
“The tallest buildings have the deepest foundations.”
“Do I say that too sometimes?”
“No, I do,” she said with a smile.
“You’re smart, aren’t you? And attractive.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s been nice to meet you. Thanks for talking to me. Do we have kids?”
“Yes. Two with one on the way.”
“You’re pregnant now? It doesn’t show.”
“It will,” she put her hand on his shoulder. “Do you want me to drive you home?”
“No, I think I’ll just hang around here until I wake up from my dream, and then I’ll be 15 for real, and I’ll go on with my life.”
“Don’t forget to prepare for the future. It’s kind of important to me because I’m in your future. I’ll be doing some preparing too.”
“Should we kiss or something?” he said as she got ready to leave.
And then he woke up.
Doctor Sanchez was standing in the doorway. “Doctor Evans, we’re ready for you to begin the operation now.”
He stood up and looked around his office. “I must have dozed off. I had the strangest dream.”
“You’ve been working very hard lately. Oh, your wife called. She said Howard needs the petitions.”
“I’ll call him after the operation.”
Minutes later he stared down at the exposed stomach of a man on the operating table.
“Let’s see now. I just cut along the dotted line, right?”
Once again, nobody laughed.

This is a good time to tell you the rest of the story about my Economics 110 class. When I returned to school after my mission, which had taught me good study habits, the first class I signed up for was Economics 110 again. This time, I had a different kind of hope. I had hope that I would be more disciplined. I had hope that I could probably do better than a 22% on the first exam just by cracking open the book now and then. I had hope that I could tap into the power of my Savior’s atoning sacrifice to enable me to stretch beyond my own capabilities. That hope motivated me to study hard, and ultimately led to a solid A in the class, giving me hope for the rest of my college career.

The last speaker, an elderly gentleman from another stake, was introduced.
“May I share a short Christmas story with you?” he began. “It’s a true one. In fact, it involves someone I know in my ward across town. I am the home teacher of a young family who has suffered much these last few months. The father lost his job, and their baby has been terribly ill. Although the bishop worked with the family and ward members helped, too, it still wasn’t enough. The parents used all their savings just to keep their baby alive. I had gone to their home this past week with baked goods from my wife, hoping to help them through their holidays.
“As I talked with the father, he told me how they had gathered as a family to discuss a problem. It was tithing settlement last Sunday. They had to decide whether to pay tithing or to use their tithing money for groceries. That good father said that he told his children that they must first obey Heavenly Father. They decided to pay their tithing.
“How I worried about them! On Christmas morning, I hurried to their home. I was amazed at what I found! The children were playing with toys, and I could smell food cooking in the kitchen!
“As I entered, the children excitedly told me about their Christmas Eve. Santa had come early; he had left many presents.
“The mother then explained how they had gathered the papers and boxes after opening all their gifts on Christmas Eve. She had thrown most of the papers into the fireplace. As she crawled into bed, she worried about not having enough money to buy groceries. But she fell asleep knowing they had been given enough food for Christmas Day.
“Early the next morning, she noticed a red envelope on the floor.
“With tears in her eyes, she told me that when she opened it, there was money inside—and a note, which read: ‘Merry Christmas! You don’t know us. We don’t know you. We want you to have these gifts so you can celebrate with us the birth of our Savior.’”
The elderly man was so full of emotion that he could hardly finish his talk. “I guess we’ll never know who delivered those gifts on Christmas Eve, but they must be very special people who know what Christmas is all about.”

Far to the south, in Sicily, Rosario Virgillito and his wife-to-be both faced opposition from their families when they joined the Church in 1984. Because a big church wedding is a strong tradition in Sicily, their families were puzzled and hurt that Rosario and his sweetheart wanted to be married instead in something called a temple, in faraway Switzerland. But the couple did what they knew was right. Rosario serves now as elders quorum president in the Catania Branch of the Italy Catania Mission. As a pioneer in his family, he knows his example will be crucial. “I can’t make a mistake, because my family watches me closely.”

We gradually picked up the pace as our bikes passed under the arched gateway which admitted us into the heart of the old city. I was always impressed when I saw the massive city wall that was built over 800 years ago to protect the inhabitants of the beautiful city of Luebeck in Northern Germany.
I didn’t have much time to think about the wall though, because I had my hands full just keeping the bike from bucking me off as we clattered over the narrow cobblestone street. The generator attached to my front wheel whined as I raced my companion to our small second floor apartment on Kleine Burg Strasse.
Elder Peterson usually got home first—not because he was the senior companion, but because he had a new three-speed bicycle, and I had what we called a no-speed bike.
We were both almost flying as we turned the last corner and headed toward our place. Elder Peterson braked hard, jumped off his bike, and was halfway up the steps with a look of satisfaction on his face by the time I had pedaled the final distance.
We parked our bikes inside the front entryway, locked the door, and hurried up the narrow stairs to the place we had both called home for about three months. We didn’t talk much as we whipped off our jackets and ties and headed for the small refrigerator that supplied us with our nightly dose of yogurt, not the yogurt we had disliked in the States, but creamy plain yogurt that we ate with canned strawberries, Haferflocken (oats), and raisins.
After a blessing on the food, we savored our homemade snack and discussed the events of the day.
“I think Frau Malchow is going to make it,” Elder Peterson said between mouthfuls of yogurt.
“Yeah, if her husband would start reading the Book of Mormon like he promised, maybe they’d both get baptized.”
“Tomorrow let’s finish the last two streets in the neighborhood over by Sister Sasse and then start looking for a new area.”
“Sounds good to me. I’m not used to doing five or six hours of tracting a day without being able to get in and teach a single discussion,” I responded after a big yawn and a stretch.
We rinsed out our large cups, changed, and knelt for personal prayer. I made a mental note to review one of the discussions the next morning so when we did get in I would be prepared to tell the fine family (I always had goals to teach families) about the plan of salvation.
We quietly crawled into our beds and were soon asleep. About 11:00 P.M. Elder Peterson was awakened by the phone.
“Elder Klomp, wake up, it’s for you. It’s President Schwendimann.”
I tried to shake the sleep from my head before I took the phone. The mention of the mission president’s name did help to bring me back from the world of dreams.
“Elder Klomp,” the president said, “I don’t know exactly how to say this to you, but today I received a call from your sister and she told me that your father had just passed away. She wants you to call her and your mother at your brother’s home in southern Nevada tomorrow at 1:00 P.M. your time.
“You have our deepest sympathies, and if there is anything Sister Schwendimann and I can do for you, don’t hesitate to contact us.”
I mumbled a reply and hung up the phone. I was dazed. I stumbled over a shoe in the dark as I made my way to the tiny kitchen that was perched in the space where the roof angled down from over my head to the floor. I gazed out the window at the stars shining brightly.
Had I really heard what I thought I just heard? I asked myself. The cold tears streaming down my face led me to believe that I was awake and hadn’t imagined those words about my dad. I hadn’t been dreaming. I never had nightmares like that anymore anyway. But then it must be true!
Not my dad. My dad was always so healthy and strong! He was healthy before that stroke that temporarily paralyzed him. He was healthy the whole time I was growing up, even though he was a lot older than most of my friends’ fathers. Hadn’t he given me a big hug and tried to hold back the tears at the airport when I was getting ready to fly to Germany? Hadn’t he been proud of me, the last of his three sons to serve a mission for our Father in Heaven? Hadn’t he told me stories about his mission and taught me that I should prepare myself to be the best missionary I could possibly be? How could he be gone? Not my dad.
I need you Dad—I’m your little boy—help me know what to do, Dad, I thought to myself as I gazed out that little window at the wonders of the night. Dad, you were the one who first showed me Orion and the Pleiades, remember? Look over there—I’ve spotted the Big Dipper and the North Star too.
Please Heavenly Father, give me some kind of sign so I’ll know that my dad is with you and he’s okay. I love my dad. Please, help me!
While I waited for the outward sign that never came, my mind and heart were full of poignant memories. I remembered how proud Dad and I had both been on the day when we met with our priesthood leaders in the stake president’s office. I remembered the strength I felt in the hands as they joined in a circle around me as my father ordained me an elder after the order of Melchizedek.
“Well, Elder Rick,” they said to me afterward as they enthusiastically shook my hand, “we know that you are going to be a terrific missionary.”
As I shook my father’s hand and looked into his misty eyes, I knew that he was also sure that I would be successful.
That memory faded and was replaced with the “D” discussion I had preprogrammed myself to study. The details of the plan of salvation ran through my mind as the tears slowly dried on my cheeks.
I reviewed the premortal existence and the council of heaven and realized for the first time that my father must have been there. I knew my dad had been born to receive a body, like everybody else, and had obeyed the Lord’s commandments to the best of his ability like we all must. He was always the most selfless man I had ever known, and even though he wasn’t the most verbal individual, we always knew by the things he did that he loved Mom and us more than he could say.
Nobody enjoyed being home with his family more than my dad. About the only thing Dad would let take him away from his family was the gospel he loved so much. Few people had served in as many different capacities in the Church as my dad. I knew that he had successfully honored his first and second estates, and could surely expect a promising future with our Heavenly Father.
I tried to imagine my dad’s reunion with his earthly parents and little sister who had died over 50 years ago. It wasn’t hard to picture Uncle Lew and Uncle Vic also waiting with open arms to welcome Dad to his next field of labor, almost like a transfer in the mission field.
These thoughts brought a smile to my heart as I continued to gaze out that tiny kitchen window. I knew I didn’t have to worry about what was in store for my dad.
What about Mom, though? They had been married nearly 40 years. What would she do without him?
My stomach tightened nervously until I remembered that this was the week of the Klomp family reunion in Panaca, Nevada. All four of my older brothers and sisters and their families would be there with Mom to help her through this difficult time. She would be comforted by her children as she so often had comforted each of us. It seemed terribly fair somehow. I realized also that Mom was not a weak, ignorant, or faithless woman. She had helped me gain a better understanding of and love for the gospel of Jesus Christ and would certainly take strength from that same fountain of truth.
I don’t know how long I stood at that window, but I do remember being stiff as my eyelids began to droop again with fatigue. I stretched, still staring out the window, hoping to see something, anything which would show me that everything was all right. It wasn’t until later that I realized that my “sign” had come in the form of the Spirit speaking peace to my heart, calming my fears, and warming me with the love of a faraway family and a God who was very near.
When I finally pulled myself away from the window, I wondered whether or not I should return home, leaving my mission only half served. I remembered scriptures about putting your hand to the plow and then turning away or loving father and mother more than the Savior. I felt confident that Dad would have wanted me to stay and finish the work I had been given to do, but decided that if Mom needed me, I would go home to help her.
I kept the whole thing pretty much to myself the next day and was determined not to let it affect the work. Actually it still didn’t seem real. It seemed like a hazy dream. But I still made plans to make the phone call to my family.
After a busy morning and a quick lunch, we pedaled to the post office so I could make the call. I waited anxiously in the long-distance line. When my turn finally came, I gave the man behind the desk the right phone number, and he directed me to the appropriate plexiglass phone booth in the center of the building.
“Hello, Nancy, can you hear me?” I said when the connection was made.
“Yes, Rick. I’m so glad you were able to call. We’re all here taking good care of Mama and we want you to know that everything is fine. She wants you to do what you think is right.”
After speaking to Mom and some of the rest of the family and hearing that Dad had seemed really fulfilled and happy to have almost all his family around before he died, I knew that I wasn’t really needed at home. I was needed in Germany to do the work a prophet of God had assigned me to do. The still, small voice comforted me, and I was able to complete the second half of my mission in a way that honored my beliefs, my family, and most of all, my dad. He had endured, faithful to the end, and taught me to do the same. Did he ever quit or give up before he finished an assignment? Not my dad!

I remember a case in my life a few years ago. I was in my office on the second floor. A young man came in. He was bedraggled, he looked pretty bad. His clothes were hanging loose, and I was afraid he was going to jump out my window. He was desperate. He told me he had just lost his wife. She had left him and taken his two sons with her. She did not leave anything to pay the numerous bills that they had. And life looked pretty desperate. He had even gone to drinking a little bit.
I finally said to him, “Well, now, I am going to help you if you would like me to. I will get you a job. It won’t be a very good job. It won’t be maybe the thing you have been used to doing. It won’t bring in the amount of money you have been used to spending, but if you need a job I will get you one and I will help you with the problems that come to you.” I got him a job at the hospital for eighty dollars a month.
“Oh,” he said, “I can’t live on that.”
And I said, “eighty dollars will be better than what you are getting now.” He agreed and finally he went to work. It was temporary, but it took care of the situation.
And I said to him, “Now, why don’t you, Bill, take your car and put it on blocks and walk to work because that will be good for your health as well as you will finally get caught up on your indebtedness. Why don’t you go to the music store and tell them you will pay out the cornet for your boy at two dollars a month and go to this other store and pay this much on your gas, you will pay this much on something else.”
He said, “Oh, they would laugh at me. They wouldn’t take that.”
And I said, “You try them.”
And when he came back after the first week, he said, “Well, they surprised me. Those people said, ‘That’s wonderful, I appreciate what you are paying. We will assist you.’”
And so when he came back the first week, he gave me a list of the things that he had been spending for, and I said, “What is this newspaper here? Costs ten cents a day, doesn’t it? That is seventy cents a week. You pay that on your obligations instead of buying the paper. There are several of them at the hospital. You can read them. And what is this shoe shine every day.”
“Oh,” he said, “I have to have my shoes shined.”
And I said, “Yes, you do, but you can shine your own shoes. Why don’t you use a few cents and get a can of polish and shine your own shoes?”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” he said. “I never have done it. My father didn’t do it.”
But here and there we finally got him to be willing to do this. And it was only a matter of a few months until he had a better job, paying twice as much with prospects of even doubling, and doubling again. And he was getting along fine. He had a little cheap room, he had a little hot plate. He cooked his own egg every morning, and he ate bread and milk at night, and he ate at the hospital at noon for free. And it was amazing how quickly he was out of debt, though it had run into thousands of dollars.

Tina knew how she was supposed to feel at Christmas. After all, she attended her Primary class, and she listened to her teacher. She knew all the right answers: It is better to give than to receive. Love thy neighbor as thyself. Do unto others as … *
It was a tradition in Tina’s family to help a needy family every year, and she and her brother, Mack, and her sister, Juleen, would help decide what gifts to buy for that family’s children. Her whole family always went to deliver the gifts, which usually included a case of oranges, a turkey or ham, and a big box of groceries. Tina liked doing it. Even so, she secretly felt that “the joy of giving” was somewhat overrated. It seemed pretty routine to her, even though she knew she couldn’t admit that to anyone without seeming to be a grouch.
The night after her folks had explained that this year they would be helping a Vietnamese family down the block and that she was to choose gifts for a girl about her own age, Tina knelt down to say her prayers. As she finished with her nightly thank-yous and “please blesses,” she added fervently, “Heavenly Father, please help me to choose something Kia will enjoy. And please, please help me to find the spirit of Christmas so I can know the kind of joy I keep hearing and reading about. I don’t really think I have a hard heart, but it seems to me that people keep making too big a deal about giving to others. Help me to understand.”
At school the next day, Tina took special notice of Kia. Before, she was just the Oriental girl who couldn’t talk very well and who wore dresses that were too long and shoes that looked like boys’ shoes. Tina couldn’t remember whether or not she had ever spoken directly to her. At recess she found Kia leaning against the side of the building, watching the other children build a snow fort. Since she had no gloves and wore only those funny shoes, it was easy to see why she wasn’t participating.
“Hi, Kia. Do you like the snow?”
“I do not like. It is very cold.”
Tina made a mental note that warm boots would make a nice gift. That decision made, she turned to join her frolicking classmates. Something, however, made her pause and turn back to the dark-eyed Kia with another question. “Kia, what would you like for Christmas?”
“Christmas? I do not know about Christmas.”
Tina tried to explain about the birth of Christ and the gifts that were brought by the Wise Men and the traditions of gift-giving and love that have been carried down through the years, but she soon realized that Kia did not understand very much English. She tried to make it simple. “Kia,” she said, “on Christmas we give gifts to people we love. Do you understand gifts?“
Kia nodded. “I understand. My mother make a gift to me. These shoes—see? She buy them at a first-hand clothes shop.”
Tina was about to explain that it was actually a second-hand clothing store, but somehow that did not seem important. “Kia, I want to give you a gift for Christmas. What would you like?”
“A gift because you love me?”
Tina was not sure how to answer. It was obvious that Kia had understood every word of her simple explanation of Christmas gifts. Fortunately the bell rang to signal the end of recess. “We’ll talk after school, Kia. We’d better hurry now.”
As Tina was getting her things from her locker after school, her friend Stacie approached. “Hi, Tina. Natalie and I are going to walk by Ferguson’s Department Store and look at the neat window displays. Want to come?”
“Sure, Stace, just a minute.”
As she turned to join her friend, Tina saw Kia standing expectantly a little way down the hall. She was tempted to pretend that she didn’t see her, but when Kia’s hand lifted hesitantly in a kind of shy greeting, she waved back. “Hey, Stace, I guess I’d better not go with you tonight. I have to … I mean, I sort of made a promise to do something else.”
“OK. I have to hurry—Natalie is waiting. Plan to come with us tomorrow.”
She could have coaxed me a little, Tina thought with a tinge of disappointment as she greeted Kia. “Hi. I see you didn’t forget.”
“No. No. I not forget.”
“Well, now, we were talking about what you would like for a Christmas gift.”
“Yes. Yes. A gift because you love me.”
“Well, ah, yes. I guess so. What one thing would you like most?”
“Ah, I need no thing. My family has some food each day and things to wear from the first-hand shop.”
Tina felt exasperation growing within her. “Well, you must want something.”
Immediately the slender girl stiffened, and Tina regretted her impatience. “Kia,” she said more kindly, “I really do like you, and I would like to know you better. There must be something you want.”
“I want two things. I want very much to have a friend—and I want to be able to speak the English well.”
“I know—let’s walk home together, Kia. My house is near your house. On the way I’ll help you learn more English words.”
As the two girls walked homeward, Tina pointed to objects and spoke their names clearly: Sidewalk. Snow. Lights. Decorations. Christmas tree.
Kia pronounced each word with difficulty; but her laughter bore no trace of an accent. When they reached Tina’s house, Kia said, “Good-bye, Tina. You have made me glad. I really like to talk the English. Will you also yesterday help me?”
Tina laughed. “You mean tomorrow, Kia. Tomorrow is the day after today. And yes, I will help you tomorrow.”
Tina hadn’t forgotten that Stacie and Natalie would again be going to the mall, but she couldn’t ignore the eagerness in Kia’s face. In fact, she suspected that she was learning a little more about the joy of giving. The warm boots would be easy—especially since her dad would be paying for the gift—but the gifts of friendship and time were different. As Kia disappeared into the little house down the street, her words came back to Tina’s mind: “A gift because you love me?”
“Yes,” Tina whispered as she skipped home, a wonderful warmth welling up inside her. “Yes, Kia. A gift because I love you.”

To illustrate the joy and process of “becoming,” I would like to share a personal experience. As I share this experience, I invite you to ponder how the Savior’s divine help is strengthening you in your joyful challenge to become.

Years ago, I was invited to participate in a local triathlon. A triathlon consists of three disciplines: swimming, cycling, and running. Having been a runner, and an occasional cyclist, I thought, “why not?” and accepted the invitation.

The race was a few months away, so I organized my schedule to make time for training. Running and cycling came more naturally, but I quickly discovered that I was not a swimmer. While others glided effortlessly through the water, I felt like I was swimming uphill.

Just a few laps in the pool left me feeling exhausted, and the thought of swimming more than half a mile in my first race felt overwhelming, even impossible.

I could almost imagine the headlines: “Man who couldn’t swim drowns in local triathlon—what was he thinking?”

Still, I pressed on. I kept going to the pool. After months of consistent training, my fitness and technique began to improve. When the race day arrived, I felt as ready as I could be.

My first triathlon experience was far from easy, but I completed the race. I wasn’t the fastest, but I learned and found it to be something I enjoyed.

After a few years of competing in shorter races, I set my sights on something far more challenging.

I had watched Ironman races on television and was captivated by stories of ordinary people doing extraordinary things: swimming 2.4 miles, riding 112 miles, and then running a full 26.2-mile marathon, all within a 17-hour time limit.

Each year, Ironman race organizers spotlighted a few athletes who shared inspiring stories of overcoming adversity, injury, illness, and doubt. Their commitment, grit, and determination were incredibly inspiring.

You may have seen videos of exhausted competitors crawling on hands and knees, or rolling across the finish line, with only seconds to spare.

As each participant crosses the finish line, the announcer calls out their name and proclaims, “You are an Ironman!”

Inspired by their stories, I signed up for my first Ironman race in sunny Panama City Beach, Florida. I set goals, created a plan, and committed to a rigorous training program. To prepare, I enrolled in an adult swim class to improve my technique, bought a better bike, and endured mile after training mile. Some days felt great, others were pure misery. But the weeks and months passed by, and before I knew it, I stood at the starting line with 2,600 new friends.

The swim portion of the race was a mass start, meaning everyone enters the water at the same time. Chaos is the only word to describe it, and there is really no way to prepare for it. Gone are the lane lines at the bottom of the pool and the comfort of calm and clear water. For the first 500 meters, athletes swam over my back and kicked from every direction as we all tried to find space.

To add to the challenge, we were met with two-foot ocean swells that pushed against us, all while we tried to stay within the racecourse.

In the midst of it all, I repeated to myself: I can do this. Just keep swimming.

The swim was divided into two laps, 1.2 miles, a short run along the beach, then back into the water for the final 1.2 miles.

My training and swimming lessons had paid off, and despite the unexpected challenges, I gratefully completed the swim. I remained in the race—and I was still alive!

I invite you to ponder with me for a moment: In your joyful challenge to become, do you find yourself swimming in deep water? [6]

How has the Savior helped you to “just keep swimming?”

Next up was the 112-mile bike ride under the warm Florida sun. I felt strong, fueled well, and was right on pace—until my joyful challenge to become happened. Eighteen miles in, I felt my back tire begin to wobble. I knew immediately what that meant: a flat tire.

My bike was equipped with tubular tires—reliable, but unforgiving if something goes wrong. If you can’t get air back into them, your race day is over. Prepared for this possibility, I stopped and reached for my CO? cartridge. As I began to inflate the tire, the adapter broke in my hand, instantly releasing all the air. In that moment, horror filled my soul. I had no way to fix the tire.

Athletes speeding by offered sympathy but couldn’t share their supplies any more than the wise virgins could share the oil in their lamps.

Understanding the reality of my situation, I faced a decision: my day could be over, or I could run with my bike, nearly two miles, to the next aid station, and hope for a miracle. I chose to race on and began running with my bike.

When I reached the aid station, I offered up my thousandth prayer and began pumping air into my tire. Miraculously, the tire pressure held. Relieved and grateful, I was back in the race.

After this unexpected test, I assumed the hardest part of the day was behind me. But my joyful challenge to become was far from over.

Ninety-six miles into the ride, my seat suddenly shifted and broke, angling sharply upwards. I could no longer sit comfortably or ride in an aerodynamic position. I had passed the last aid station and was now riding straight into coastal headwinds.

The race was already hard, but this seemed ridiculously unfair.

Again, I had another decision to make. I had not come this far to only come this far—I would keep pedaling, I would finish. I would ride the next 16 miles uncomfortably.

Take a moment again to ponder with me: In your joyful challenge to become, are you experiencing moments that feel like flat tires, broken seats, or relentless headwinds? In those times, how has the Savior helped you to keep pedaling on?

They say the swim and bike are simply a warm-up for the run.

Running is my strength, or at least it was for the first few miles. Soon, cramping, exhaustion, and heat took their toll. The race is meant to be hard, but this was a new level of suffering for me.

But in my suffering, there was help: aid stations, fellow athletes, spectators, and family who became the wind in my sails.

My sweetheart, Kim, knows that there is one simple thing that helps me reset during a race: brushing my teeth. It sounds strange, but washing away the taste of gels and sports drinks gives me a fresh start and a new beginning. Halfway through the run, there she was, toothbrush in hand. That clean, minty feeling renewed me.

To quiet my mind and keep going, I ran with other athletes, I walked through aid stations, hugged spectators willing to hug me back, and kept putting one foot in front of the other. I knew that if I focused on others, I would forget about myself and keep going.

Again, I invite us to ponder this question: In your joyful challenge to become, how has the Savior, and others, cheered you on, lifted you, comforted you, and helped you keep running?

As I approached the finish line and heard the cheers of the crowd, Alma’s words took on new meaning: “And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!” [7]

The pain was real, but the joy of finishing the race completely swallowed it up.

As I crossed the finish line, the announcer shouted, “Aaron Hall, you are an Ironman.” It was an emotional, unforgettable, and joyful moment. Every hour of training, every setback, every ounce of pain had been worth it. I had become an Ironman.

I have since gone on to do many more races—all with their unique challenges, but no less gratifying.

Through these racing experiences, I have learned that there is joy in training, joy in the unknown, joy in stopping at aid stations, joy in being lifted, joy in lifting others, and joy in the entire journey of becoming. The finish line brings joy, but the process of transformation is where real joy is found.

Consider some of the choices of my great-great-great-grandfather Henry John Platt. Born in England in 1828, he was orphaned in his infancy and was placed in the care of Richard and Mary Speed. The Speeds heard the restored gospel and were baptized in 1841, when Henry was thirteen. But in Henry’s words, his guardian judged that he “was not sedate and good enough to be a member in the church.”39 He nonetheless emigrated with the Speeds at age sixteen. However, before reaching St. Louis, Richard drowned in the Mississippi River. The rest of the family scattered, but Henry sought out the Saints in St. Louis and was baptized at age twenty.
Henry spent the rest of his life serving in the kingdom—in St. Louis and later in Salt Lake City, St. George, Utah, and my hometown of St. Johns, Arizona. Through all the challenges of emigrating, settling in the desert, losing three children in the same year, and more, he nonetheless reported that he was “up to date endeavoring to do right (and) honor my calling.”40 It was not an easy path, but he chose this! He trusted the Savior and sought the joy that only He could give. He knew it was right.
I see similar faith demonstrated in my parents’ conversions. My grandfather fell inactive in his youth, which meant that my father, Mitch Platt, was not raised in the faith despite living among many members. Upon arriving at the University of Arizona, his assigned roommate was Kenny Evans, a somewhat recent convert to the restored Church. Kenny’s example and testimony opened my father’s heart, and near the end of his freshman year, my father was baptized. My father tells me that he didn’t have a deep understanding of scripture then, but he saw the fruits of the gospel and wanted them for himself and for his future family.
My father then transferred to finish his degree at Michigan State and almost immediately met my mother, Mary Johnson. With the same enthusiasm of his freshman roommate, my dad proceeded to introduce her to the restored gospel. She took her time—three years—to carefully consider this new church. During their senior year, her close friend was also meeting with the missionaries. After a university course that they shared, the two would meet at the student union to discuss over coffee what they were learning in the Book of Mormon. Sometime during that year they shifted to hot chocolate.
My mother’s father, Arnold Johnson, was a lay minister in the Lutheran Church. He was not thrilled with my mom’s potential conversion, but he did offer her important advice, saying, “If you do choose to join that church, don’t you ever change your mind. You should be sure.”
Eventually she was sure, choosing to be baptized shortly before graduating. My parents married civilly two months later and were sealed for eternity a year after her baptism.
My parent’s baptismal and temple covenants with the Savior have guided their lives through challenges and through joys and have influenced all their posterity. By late fall this year, five of their grandchildren will be called or serving full-time missions simultaneously, one of whom is my oldest son, Garrett. My parents chose this! They loved the Savior and sought His joy for their family. They knew it was right.

A friend
This represents to two things for me. First, to be a friend. Leaving family and friends behind to come here left me excited but anxious and uneasy a familiar feeling. Day one was chaos learning where to go, whom to see, where to live... a fellow student, first a stranger to me went beyond the smile and hello and gave me her time. She included me in her circle of friends and she soon became as King Solomon said "...a friend that sticketh closer than a brother..." Joseph smith said. "A man filled with the love of God, is not content with blessing his family alone, but ranges through the whole world, anxious to bless the whole human race" I was a product of that kind of love. I have prayed to remember that experience so that I could always be a friend like that.

As a young father I learned the demanding role of motherhood. I served as a counselor and then as bishop for a period of 10 years. During that time we were blessed with six of our seven children. Barbara was often worn out by the time I got home Sunday evening. She tried to explain what it was like to sit on the back row in sacrament meeting with our young family. Then the day came that I was released. After sitting on the stand for 10 years, I was now sitting with my family on the back row.
The ward’s singing mothers’ chorus was providing the music, and I found myself sitting alone with our six children. I have never been so busy in my whole life. I had the hand puppets going on both hands, and that wasn’t working too well. The Cheerios got away from me, and that was embarrassing. The coloring books didn’t seem to entertain as well as they should.
As I struggled with the children through the meeting, I looked up at Barbara, and she was watching me and smiling. I learned for myself to more fully appreciate what all of you dear mothers do so well and so faithfully!

While the number of Korean converts was gradually increasing, Brother Kim also found success in his secular pursuits. He was appointed president of the National Fisheries College at Pusan, which had become inoperative because of the war. Within a few months, he had it fully functional, an accomplishment that amazed many observers. During a celebration in his honor, Brother Kim told assembled parents and teachers, “I cannot accept any of the credit. I asked of God, and he is the one who accomplished the unbelievable.”

Third, watching what you think. When inappropriate thoughts do enter the scene, quickly change the channel to something wholesome. I recall a few years ago working on a project for the US Olympic Committee, when I received an apparent email from one of our group working on the project. When I opened the attachment, I found myself face-to-face with pornography. I was all alone in my office. No mortal being would know of what I did next. I could either indulge it and open the other accompanying attachments and whisper to myself that, 'it won't hurt to just look for a few minutes,' or do the right thing. I immediately shut off the computer and felt shaken. I fled the temptation as did Joseph. After deleting the email, I notified the sender, and it turned out that someone had hijacked his email box. We can seemingly face temptation at almost any time.
Such a 'Moment of Truth' would lead to one of two potential paths. One was that of driving the Spirit from my life and potentially beginning a life of an imprisoning addition, or living true to who I am. The right path was chosen due to a preparation of daily commitment to gospel and doing the right thing at any time in any place.

I recently went with priesthood leaders to visit the homes of four women in Honduras. These sisters and their families were in need of priesthood keys and authority, priesthood ordinances and covenants, and priesthood power and blessings.
Our next visit was at the home of two single sisters, women of great faith. One sister has a son preparing for a mission. The other sister is receiving treatment for cancer. In times of discouragement and despair, they remember the Savior’s Atonement and are filled with faith and hope. They both need the additional blessings and power available through temple ordinances. We encouraged them to join the future missionary in their home in preparing to receive those ordinances.
In each of the three homes we visited, a wise priesthood leader asked each sister if she had received a priesthood blessing. Each time the answer was no. Each sister asked for and received a priesthood blessing that day. Each wept as she expressed gratitude for the comfort, direction, encouragement, and inspiration that came from her Heavenly Father through a worthy priesthood holder.
These sisters inspired me. They showed reverence for God and His power and authority. I was also grateful for the priesthood leaders who visited these homes with me. When we left each home, we counseled together about how to help these families receive the ordinances they needed to progress on the covenant path and strengthen their homes.

Another example of such dedication in marriage comes from a woman I know who was an English major at BYU. She met her sweetheart in Provo and corresponded with him throughout his mission to Germany and then throughout her own mission, also to Germany—three and a half years of writing letters! They were sealed in the Provo Temple a few months before their graduation from BYU. Even though they would be attending graduate school, they desired to have children immediately, but they were unable to do so. The wife later lamented, “My poor husband! For six years he thought marriage meant hearing me cry every night!”

Eventually they were able to adopt a baby boy. Two years later they adopted a baby girl, then another boy, and later another girl. After so many years of heartache, they were constantly caring for children, but that was not the end. After undergoing additional treatments, they learned they were going to have triplets! Months of bed rest to prevent premature delivery were followed by months of constant devotion to the needs of the tiny infants. The couple then had seven children eight years old and younger! Through years of heartache, this sister had actively sought the love of the Lord. Eventually she was healed, and she dedicated her life to serving her family. That dedication did not begin when she first held a child in her arms. It began when, as BYU students, she and her future husband determined their life’s priorities and then went forward, no matter the cost.

After my baptism I helped clean the chapel and the grounds every Saturday. Nobody asked me to. I did it because I felt it was a great honor. When I was ordained a deacon, I learned that one of my responsibilities was to clean the meetinghouse. I kept doing so, and it was still a pleasure. But in some sense it had been more rewarding when it wasn’t expected of me.
So, children, always do your duty. But don’t hesitate to do more than you are asked to do. You will find great joy in that kind of service.

Let me begin with a simple story of a pioneer girl named Agnes Caldwell. Agnes told of her experience in the Willie Handcart Company in 1856. At the time, she was only nine years of age. She related:

Although only tender years of age, I can yet close my eyes and see everything in panoramic precision before me—the ceaseless walking, walking, ever to remain in my memory. Many times I would become so tired and, childlike, would hang on the cart, only to be gently pushed away. Then I would throw myself by the side of the road and cry. Then realizing they were all passing me by, I would jump to my feet and make an extra run to catch up.

She goes on to share:

Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons reached us, and it certainly was a relief. The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to walk. When the wagons started out, a number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons, in hopes of being asked to ride. At least that is what my great hope was. One by one they all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I that I should get a ride. After what seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver . . . called to me, “Say, sissy, would you like a ride?” I answered in my very best manner, “Yes sir.” At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived. . . . Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon.3

Agnes Caldwell and her family arrived safely in the Great Salt Lake Valley November 9, 1856. They settled in Brigham City, Utah, where Agnes met and married Chester Southworth. They became the parents of thirteen children [and] helped settle an LDS colony in Cardston, Alberta, Canada.4

Had the driver of that wagon taken Agnes into the wagon without making her run, she would have surely succumbed to the bitter cold. And had Agnes chosen to give up and fall behind, her story may have ended much differently. However, for Agnes this became her defining moment, and though the decision to run did not make perfect sense at the time, she ran anyway.