Gospel Story Finder

Our family wasn’t especially gifted in music. Oh, yes, we loved music, but that didn’t mean we could sing. My mom couldn’t carry a tune even if she were singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” I sort of played the piano, but it was hardly good enough to be called music. My dad had had piano lessons when he was a boy, but he never played anymore. At one time my mom played the accordion, but the poor instrument hadn’t been played for so long that its keys stuck. I’d had the usual Suzuki violin series in the third grade but all to no avail.
On family home evening nights we tried to sing something that slightly resembled a hymn while I plunked it out on the piano.
I thought it would be neat if our family could sing for the family presentation on fast Sunday, but we always ended up having the congregation sing a song pertaining to the theme.
I encouraged my family to sing in the car when long trips became boring. We tried, but it seemed like I was the only one who knew the words, and the only songs my little brother knew were “Book of Mormon Stories” and “We Are a Happy Family.”
I longed for a musical family. It seemed to me that families that sang together were so much closer.
My dream started coming true one day when I had an argument with my little brother. I got mad at him and left the room to finish my homework, which included typing practice. But as I began my homework, I started to feel quite bad about our disagreement, so I decided to type my brother a note. It read something like this:
Eric,You are very special to me.
I’m glad you’re my brother.
You have the cutest smile.
I love you,Becky
He was delighted and wrote a note back to me. The next day he wrote one to my mom and dad, and they wrote back to him. A few days later I wrote to Eric again, and my mom and dad wrote to me, and I wrote back to them. Soon it was not unusual to find a note almost every day—a sincere note that made you shiver with the spirit of love. They turned up everywhere. They were found in very unusual places like on your pillow, in the fridge, on your mirror, in your book, or in your lunchbox.
Our family had composed its own music. We had developed a very special harmony that can only abound where love is. I suddenly began to feel no need for a musical family. I came to understand that it isn’t the music that brings families closer, it is the love behind the music. Well, we have both—love and our special music, “love notes.”

I remember feeling uncomfortable as I learned in college about the lives of great artists. It seemed like the truly memorable and remarkable ones had become great artists by neglecting their family and sacrificing their sanity. Great artists painted on Christmas morning while their kids opened presents. One was married six times. Another cut off his ear and sent it to his loved ones. And another even killed someone! I started to wonder if becoming a great artist while also being a great wife and mother (all while keeping my sanity!) was even possible.
My professors taught that if we really wanted to become great, we would have to make sacrifices for it. We would have to work harder than anyone else. We would have to put art first in our lives. My mind would often question, “But if an artist kept the commandments, put first things first, and had the Spirit of the Lord to direct their work, couldn’t they become just as great and possibly even greater?” This question stayed with me throughout my studies.
By the time my husband and I graduated, we had been married for a year. Elder Russell M. Nelson (at the time, he was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles) came to speak at our graduation. A luncheon followed, and only 16 students were invited to attend. Oddly enough, both my husband I were selected to be there. When the discussion was opened for questions and answers. I raised my hand, looked Elder Nelson in the eye, and expressed my concerns about being both an artist and a mother. I had worked so hard to build my talents in school, and I wanted to continue to work hard and improve, but I also knew that motherhood took precedence. Was there a way to do both? Elder Nelson’s eyes sparkled as he replied, “Absolutely!” He encouraged me to improve upon my talents and to pray to Heavenly Father for help in knowing how I could do both and that with Him, I would be able to do things I once thought impossible. I took that advice to heart.
My husband and I now have four kids. We’ve learned the dance and the juggle of parenthood. In the beginning, I began most days at 4:00 a.m. to get some painting in before my kids woke up. I tried to paint six days a week, even if some days only allowed 30 minutes. I started each painting session with prayer, knowing I wasn’t much without the Lord’s help. I prayed not only to be enabled in my art but also to know what was most important that day and committed to putting His purposes first. Progress wasn’t fast, but it was steady.
Fast forward 12 years from my graduation day. I was having a moment of discouragement. Life seemed too full. Motherhood had been more challenging than I had anticipated. I sat at my easel crying, wondering if I would ever really be able to become the great artist I had dreamed of being. I felt impressed to pull my old journal off the shelf, and I turned to my entry on April 30, 2006, the day after my graduation. I had totally forgotten my remarkable experience with President Nelson! Somehow the whirlwind of life had almost eroded it from my memory. There before me were words from the current prophet, “Absolutely!” The tears turned to ones of gratitude as I looked back at all I had been able to accomplish since that time, and I also looked forward with hope.
A few months later, I got a call from one of the Ensign magazine’s designers, asking if they could use one of my paintings on the inside cover of the November 2018 general conference issue. I was floored! Growing up, the first thing I had always done when getting the Church magazines was to peruse them for paintings. Now one of my pieces would be in there! Then, when I was told that they wanted to pair my painting with words from President Nelson, I could see the hand of God encouraging me forward.
I still have a long way to go on my artistic journey, but I’m so thankful for President Nelson’s hope in the Lord and in us. I’m thankful for his optimism and his confidence. I know that as we exercise faith in the Lord we will be able to do great things, even things we once thought impossible. “For with God nothing shall be impossible” (Luke 1:37).

“I used to spend a lot of time with my friends,” says Orlando Irizarry, a cabinetmaker in Cabo Rojo, “but I felt something was missing from my life. I wondered what my wife, Irma, and I could give our three daughters that would be of lasting value. I began to pray about these feelings, and so when the missionaries came to our home, I felt as if I had been waiting for them and their message. Now the gospel brings joy into our lives, and my daughters have that which matters most.”

Somner Price had always known that he wanted to spend his life in a profession where he could help people. He thought about becoming a doctor but wasn’t sure that the years of schooling required were for him. So when Somner, who is now 18, learned that his high school offered the option of taking vocational education courses in nursing at a local applied technology college, he jumped at the chance.

For his entire senior year, Somner spent his mornings in regular classes at his high school and his afternoons at an applied technology college. Some days on the road to becoming a certified nursing assistant (CNA) were more fun than others, and it certainly wasn’t all easy. Somner did his clinical practice work in a nursing home for elderly people. His duties included feeding, bathing, and taking the blood pressure of the patients. And while it was sometimes difficult, he found it very rewarding. “I decided to be a nurse because I wanted to help people,” he says. “And I felt like I was doing that.”

In addition to the blessings of serving others, Somner sees very practical benefits to his decision—when he graduated from high school, he left with a diploma and the certificate of a nursing assistant. “I feel like my vocational training has put me a step ahead. Now when I come home from my mission, I’ll be able to start into the next levels of nursing with some experience.”

Somner’s advice for choosing an educational route? “Make it something you know you’ll enjoy and something that fits your personality. I talked to my parents and other people I trusted, and they all had good advice. Just do what you love. Do what you’re good at.”

One day I saw my oldest son, Wilford, preparing a tithing envelope. He was probably around five years old at the time. Wilford didn’t earn any money, so I wondered why he was paying tithing. When I asked him, he told me he was actually paying a fast offering.
Wilford didn’t have much money of his own. But he was still excited to pay a fast offering.
I was impressed by this act of kindness. I asked him why he had decided to do this.
Wilford answered, “I don’t have any needs. But I know others do.” He knew his money would help people. He was very happy about that.
This simple experience taught me a good lesson: children are really in tune with the Spirit and have a natural Christlike love. Wilford had something he didn’t need and knew it would be helpful to other people. He was willing to make the sacrifice.
Saving money is good. But my young son taught me another lesson through his example. By listening to the Spirit, we can bless the lives of others when we share what we have.

When I was elected junior class vice president of Edgemont High School, I wasn’t just surprised, I was in temporary shock. I had entered the race at the last minute for the experience. At least that’s what I had told myself. When I actually won, it seemed impossible, incredible! What seemed even more incredible was that I had apparently won by a landslide. At least that’s what Molly Pratt claimed.
“Boy, Mark, are you ever popular. You got almost every vote. I helped count them.”
I shook my head for the hundredth time. “I just can’t believe it. It’s incredible.”
“Not really,” Molly said smiling.
Although I couldn’t figure out how it had all happened, I did know one thing: I planned to do a good job—a great job. I didn’t want anyone to think he’d made a mistake by voting for Mark Bennion.
Just a few days after I’d talked to Molly, I was standing by my locker cleaning out some of the election handouts when I heard a soft voice behind me. I knew whose voice it was even before I turned around. Although she was in my history class, Rhonda Jackson had never spoken to me before, and I could feel my face getting warm. Up close she was even prettier than at a two-row distance. A sprinkle of small, delicate freckles peppered her nose, and her warm smile made me quiver.
“Oh, hi,” I said, trying to sound casual but sounding more as if I had just swallowed a baseball.
“We’re having a little get-together at my place tomorrow night,” she said. “We’re going to study for the history test. Well, just for a little while. Then we’ll have some fun. You know, talk a little, dance or something.” She touched my arm lightly with her forefinger. “Would you like to join our group?”
“I, uh, I can’t think of any reason why I couldn’t. Yes, sure.” I knew about her little group. Who didn’t? It was the elite group at Edgemont. The thought of being included seemed unreal. Just last week I had thought of myself as a Joe-average with just a few friends, like the guys I palled around with in the neighborhood. Now hundreds of students seemed to know me and find me important. And I had a chance, a real chance, to belong to the most exclusive group at school.
“Oh, by the way,” Rhonda smiled again and looked straight into my eyes. “We’ve got a copy of the test so you won’t need to bring your book. We’re just going to memorize the answers. We’ll probably be able to get copies of some of the other tests coming up, too.”
“Oh?” Her words hit me like a thud. “How did …”
“Don’t ask.” She put her hand over my mouth and giggled softly. “Let’s just say we have connections. See you tomorrow night.”
I watched her walk away. She turned and smiled, fully aware that I was staring after her. Wow, she was beautiful. I sighed. “Too bad.”
The next day I was prepared to tell Rhonda that I couldn’t make it to the get-together. I couldn’t afford to go and then make a fool of myself by being a goody-two-shoes and refusing to participate in the cheating. I wouldn’t say the word cheating or make any accusations. But when I saw her walking toward me with that appealing smile, the brave words began slipping from my mind. I wanted her to like me. Oh, how I wanted Rhonda Jackson to like me.
“You’re coming tonight, I hope,” she said, emphasizing the words “I hope.” There was a nice lilt to her voice.
“Well, I’d really like to, but …
“I’d really be disappointed if you didn’t come. You’ve just got to come. Everybody’s going to be there. Bill Spilker, Audrey Madsen, Nicki Simmons, and Frank, you know, Frank Lake. They’re all going to be there, and you really should get to know all of us better.” The names she had mentioned were familiar to me—familiar to everyone at Edgemont. They were the officers of the school, the “in-group” of in-groups.
“I have a little secret to tell you,” Rhonda began whispering in a confidential manner. “Frank said something about you.”
“What was that?” I asked, impressed that my name had even come up in conversation. Frank was the student-body vice president.
“He thinks if you play your cards right you could be president of the school.”
“Oh, sure.” I felt myself blushing in pleasure.
“You don’t know how popular you are, do you, Mark? You have a lot of power already. A little more, some friends in the right circles, for instance, could put the presidency right in your pocket.”
“You really think so?”
She looked down dramatically, then up into my eyes. “Believe me, I know so. See you tonight about eight or eight-thirty.”
As I watched her walk away I stood grinning. Again I sighed.
Come on, I thought. Me, president of the whole student body? Me, in Rhonda Jackson’s league? This is all too incredible. I shook my head. “Nah,” I said out loud. But then I began wondering. With some friends in the right circles, maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t so farfetched. I had won junior class vice president by a landslide. Maybe further miracles were also possible. I’ve been pretty naive, I thought. There are probably a lot of things going on in this school that I know nothing about. Everyone probably cheats once in a while to keep up the old grade-point average.
In my mind, I went over the people Rhonda had mentioned would be at her house. Slowly it began registering that everyone was matched up—except Rhonda. My face grew warm again. Could it be Rhonda had me in mind for herself? “Impossible!” My stomach did a backflip, and I walked to my locker to get rid of my history book. I wouldn’t need it tonight!
Later in the day, while I was on my way to study class, I passed my last year’s history classroom. Mr. Hancock was just closing the door to his room. As I nodded a hello, he motioned that he wanted to talk to me.
“What can I do for you?” I asked.
“I’m glad you walked by, Mark. An interesting thing happened that I wanted to tell you about. Can you come in for a minute?”
“Sure thing.” As I sat down by his desk, I looked around at the pictures of some of the presidents and other historical figures I could remember learning about in his class. My sophomore year in Mr. Hancock’s class had been quite the year for hero worship.
“I don’t know if this will mean anything to you,” he said. “But I thought you should know.”
“What’s up?” I asked. “What happened?” I was curious now.
“Well, a few days ago I gave a test, and my last question was ‘What great person, living or dead, would you most like to use as an example in your own life?’ I mostly got the kind of answers I was expecting: Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Ben Franklin; but a most peculiar thing happened.”
“Oh?”
“One of the boys put your name.”
“My name?” I was confused. “Why would he do that?”
“I guess he thinks you’re a ‘great man,’” he said, smiling. “Thought you might want to know.”
“That’s incredible,” I said, staring at him.
“Glad it makes a difference to you. You’ve been getting quite a bit of attention lately, and I wasn’t sure you’d care; but, well, I thought I’d tell you.”
I nodded and kept staring. Then I looked around the room and nodded again. There was a knot beginning to form in my stomach. “It makes a difference,” I said. “Thanks, Mr. Hancock.”
“Good to talk to you, Mark, and good luck to you.”
“Thanks again,” I said. I felt two feet taller as I headed toward the door. Without hesitation I turned down the hall in the direction of my locker. I had a history book to retrieve and some hard and fast studying to do. People were counting on me, wanted to be like me. There was no way I was going to let them down!

For Niilo Kervinen, a 24-year-old young adult from Rovaniemi, Finland, the 10-hour train ride to Helsinki is a small price to pay for the blessing of serving in the temple.
Before the dedication of the Helsinki Finland Temple in October 2006, Niilo and other members of his ward had to travel to the Stockholm Sweden Temple or to the Copenhagen Denmark Temple. “The trips would usually take a week during the summer vacation,” he remembers. Traveling by bus and sleeping in tents on those trips are some of the best memories he has.
Yet having a temple in his native land is a wonderful blessing. “When they announced the Helsinki Temple, I was so happy,” Niilo says. “The dedicatory prayer still resonates in my heart each time I go inside.”
In speaking of conversion, Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has said, “I promise that as we come to a knowledge of the truth and are converted unto the Lord, we will remain firm and steadfast and never fall away.”1 Although traveling to Helsinki requires time and money, Niilo is committed to being a disciple of Christ. And for Niilo, that is no sacrifice at all.

We are indebted to Dr. Homer Ellsworth for sharing with us two contrasting stories about the happiness of mothers. Often, expectant mothers are so set upon having a boy child or a girl child that when a baby comes with a different sex the mother is temporarily disappointed. Generally, this disappointment is forgotten as soon as the mother cuddles her newborn in her arms for the first time. A few new mothers demonstrate their immaturity for a day or two. One, who wanted a boy baby and happened to receive a girl baby, threw tantrums and objects all over her hospital room for a day or two to show her displeasure. One wise old nurse, when feeding time came, took a baby boy born with a harelip from the nursery and quietly slipped him into the disconsolate mother’s arms. The immature mother replied, “This is not my child.”

The wise old nurse said, “Well, it has the right sex. Maybe its mother will be willing to trade babies with you.” There followed no more demonstrations of immaturity.

A university in Arizona recently had what they called a “Religion in Life Week.” I was invited to be a religious representative of our Church along with other representatives of other churches. The second night there I was invited to speak to a sorority-fraternity exchange at the Chi Omega house on the subject of the new morality. I basically gave our Church’s approach to it: that chastity is an eternal law, that the “new morality” is really the old immorality, and so forth. I felt very alone because there seemed to be considerable difference in thinking. Two individuals were very articulate in expressing their opposition to my position. One, sitting in front, said basically, “Well, I don’t know. It seems to me that true, mature love gives more freedom than you’re giving it.”

I tried to reason and indicate what would happen if one were to take poison, even if he were unaware of it, and how also if one violated the law of chastity he would suffer great consequences. He argued against this, indicating that this didn’t give the kind of freedom that a careful, mature, responsible love would give people. I prayed and remembered the scripture in Revelations, “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man will hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him and will sup with him, and he with me” (Revelations 3:20). So I asked them, “Would you listen for just a minute? Inwardly sense what might happen, what the real answer is to this question that we have tonight. I’ll ask a question, and you be still and listen. I’ll promise you, you will sense inwardly—you won’t hear it in your ear—that what I’ve been speaking about is true on this principle of chastity.” They became still. Some of them were looking around to see who was going to take it seriously. And I really pressed the point: “Just listen for one minute.” During that quiet minute I asked the question “Now, is chastity, as I have explained it tonight, a true principle or not?” Then I paused. At the end of a full minute, I turned to the fellow who had been the spokesman in front and I asked him, “My friend, in all honesty, what did you feel? What did you hear?
He said, “What I heard is not what I’ve been saying.”
I asked the other, “What did you hear?”
He said, “I don’t know. I just don’t know any more.” One stood up in the back independently, spontaneously, on his own, and said, “I want to say something to my fraternity brothers that I’ve never said before. I believe in God.” And he sat down. A completely different spirit was present. It softened everybody. They were very interested in the restored gospel and in the Book of Mormon. We invited many to the institute of religion and gave some books out.

I recently heard a missionary in the Ghana Accra Missionary Training Center share a story from his childhood. When he was about nine years old, he and a group of his friends came to the market and saw someone selling groundnuts. He and his friends were hungry. So, they decided to walk, one at a time, by the place where the man was selling groundnuts and take some while he was not looking. The missionary watched his friends, one by one, walk by the groundnuts and put some into their pockets without paying for them. When it was his turn, he heard a voice speak in his mind: “You should not do this. It is wrong.” He looked around and did not see anyone, so he walked over to the mound of groundnuts, only to hear the Spirit again say: “You should not do this. It is wrong.” He decided to not take any groundnuts; instead, he just walked away. When his friends asked him why he did not take any, he repeated what the voice had told him: it was wrong.

By choosing that day to listen to the Holy Ghost and follow the law of the Lord as a boy, he grew closer to God and became a little more like the Lord. In contrast, his friends were diminished by their unrighteous choice and distanced themselves from God. The only way to grow, draw close to God, and increase our capacity is to choose to follow Him and His laws and to repent when we have made a wrong choice.

If we do not quickly repent, one wrong choice usually leads to another, and those who walk that path gradually diminish their desire and capacity to choose the right and distance themselves from God and His power. Happily, the converse is true: one good choice often leads to another, drawing us closer to God and His power. Because the missionary chose as a boy to not take the groundnuts, it led to other good choices. As he made one good choice after another, he continued to grow through the years step by step, here little, there a little, until he was prepared to become a strong missionary.

One thing we always do as a family is go camping. We have camped in Colorado, Arizona, California, and Utah. Of all those states, I liked Colorado best because of Turquoise Lake.
It isn’t easy to squash seven people into a small car and ride for three straight hours. And to be honest, I wasn’t in a good mood anyway. At the time, I didn’t like camping with my family. Maybe I was going through a phase or something, but my idea of a good time was being at home, where I could use the telephone and hang out with my friends.
We all cheered when Dad announced that we had reached the camp. We couldn’t see the lake from where we were, so my brothers and sister and I started running toward it as soon as we could. Unfortunately Dad was too quick, and he called us all back to set up the tents. He explained that it was almost dark, and we needed to get the work done while we still had daylight.
After a night’s sleep, I woke up the next morning to the sound of a bird chirping merrily from the branches of a tree right above my tent. Mom was already awake getting breakfast started.
“Do you need any help?” I asked.
“Not just yet,” she said.
Just then, I heard a frog croak and a splash coming from the direction of the lake.
Mom said, “Why don’t you take a look at the lake? If you hurry, you’ll be able to see the sunrise.”
Flashing her a grateful smile, I ran toward the hill that separated us from the lake. When I reached the top, I stopped for a moment and gasped, partly because I needed air and partly because the view below me was so beautiful.
The water in the lake was a turquoise color, and so clear I could actually see the fish swimming around in it. There were mountain peaks on the other side of the lake with snow still on them.
It was so quiet without my little brothers and sister running around making noise that I sat down on the hillside and enjoyed the scene that surrounded me. The lake was completely calm when I saw a ripple in the water. Then there was another ripple, and then another. The fish were jumping all around searching for their breakfast.
It was like a play had just begun, and the lake was the stage. The curtains had opened, and the actors had started their parts. From one side I saw a deer leading her fawn to the water’s edge. Next I heard the songs of a group of birds, as they chirped while the sun crept higher and higher. I watched as they flew off together, first turning to the right and then flying to the left and out of sight.
As the sun rose from behind the mountain range, I noticed a squirrel had stopped to watch as the colors of red and yellow filled the sky. We watched together while the sunlight raced across the lake before finally overwhelming us with the warm, first light of day.
Suddenly my thoughts of the moment seemed to change. Along with the rays of warmth, I experienced a type of tingling feeling all over my body as a new understanding filled my spirit. I was no longer just watching this morning miracle, but instead I had become part of the scene in the play. I realized the same immortal being who had created all of this beauty had also created me. I was just as much a piece of his artwork as was the lake, the animals, or the sunrise. It wasn’t until that moment on Turquoise Lake that I really understood that I am a daughter of my Heavenly Father.

Samnang Sea from Cambodia went to BYU–Hawaii from 2002-2006 and graduated in Mathematics. He had planned to go to BYU Provo for his master’s degree, but during his last year, he met his wife who then just starting as a freshman. They were married in Hawaii in 2006.

He went on to pursue both a master’s and Ph.D. degree and had a well-paid teaching job in a school which sponsored his work visa and later obtained permanent residency in the United States. Life was very comfortable, but because of the promptings of the Holy Ghost, he returned home in 2013 with his wife and three sons. That’s when he met his in-laws for the first time. He was offered a wonderful teaching position in Siem Reap but declined it as he felt that the Lord had a different direction for him. He is now a Bishop and works for the Church as the Service Center Manager for the Cambodia office. Their sons are now 11, 8 and 6 years old. Their youngest, a girl, now 2 years old, was born in Phnom Penh.

Beginning with the end can also give us valuable perspective in the midst of temptations. When I turned 15 years old, my father taught me to drive a car. He took me to a long, straight, two-lane road on the outskirts of my hometown in Tennessee. He pulled the car over onto the shoulder and let me get in the driver’s seat. He instructed me to look in my mirrors for oncoming cars and then to ease out onto the road. I excitedly followed his coaching and drove with what I thought was great care and caution. That is until he said, “Son, pull the car over. You’re making me nauseous. You are swerving all over the road. What are you looking at?”
With some exasperation, I answered, “I’m looking at the road.”
Then he said, “I’m watching your eyes, and you are looking only at what is right in front of the hood of the car. If you look only at what is directly in front of you, you will never drive straight.” Then he emphasized, “Keep your eyes down the road, on where you want to go. That will help you drive straight.”
As we travel on the road of our lives, one reason we may swerve or veer from the straight and narrow path is that we get too myopic and just look at what is immediately in front of us. We will make better choices if we lift our eyes up regularly to ensure we are headed in the right direction. Satan often tries to distract us from what we want most (think of those eternal blessings) and trade them for things that are enticing and that we feel we must have in any given moment.

“Many years ago, before you were born, Daddy and I bought this house. I was expecting Rachel and became sick not long after we moved in. I had to stay in bed for about a month. One day, not long after I became ill, Sister Chester came over. She cleaned the kitchen; made dinner for your dad and me; and washed, dried, and folded all the dirty clothes. I tried to get her to stop, but she smiled that special smile of hers and said, ‘Just being neighbors, girl. Just being neighbors.’

“She came over almost every day to fix dinner and do chores until after I had Rachel. On days when she couldn’t come, she sent her granddaughter over with dinner.

“Now that she is older and can’t do as many things as she used to, it is my opportunity to help her. Doing things for others helps us to feel useful and good inside. Besides, it is what Father in Heaven wants us to do.”

Understanding the centrality of agency can change the way you view almost every experience you have, even your experience as students at BYU Idaho. Let me give one example. As you may have noticed, the tuition you - and students at all BYU campuses and LDS Business College - pay is considerably lower than that charged by almost any other private university. You may also be aware that your tuition does not come close to paying the cost of your education and that your education - like that of all students at all BYU campuses - is heavily subsidized by the tithe payers of the Church. With this fact in mind, when I became the dean of the law school at BYU, I suggested to the University Administration that it might be proper to increase the law school's tuition. I questioned the fairness of using what in some cases is the widow's mite to finance the education of lawyers, many of whom will have generous incomes over their careers. (I should also acknowledge that I thought the law school's revenues might be helped by such an increase - so my motives weren't entirely pure). In any event, my suggestion that tuition be increased was not accepted.

That caused me to wonder why the Board of Trustees, which includes the members of the First Presidency, three members of the Quorum of the Twelve, and other people who know well the many good uses to which tithing funds could be put - would choose to so heavily subsidize the education of lawyers - and that of all other BYU students. As I pondered that question, the thought came powerfully to my mind that one possible reason has to do with the concept of agency. Using tithing to subsidize BYU students' education allows those students to graduate with much less debt than they might otherwise have - in many cases with no debt at all. By contrast, the average law student at many top private law schools graduates with a law school-incurred debt of more than $100,000. With such debt hanging over their heads, the choice of what those students can do following graduation is severely limited. They have little choice but to work for the highest paying firm they can find, because, as I told prospective law students, they will have a mortgage payment, they just won't have a house to go with it. As many of our leaders have reminded us, "debt can be enslaving." It can limit our agency dramatically. Some law students might decide that they could be of most use as a solo practitioner in Driggs, Idaho or Panguitch, Utah, but if they have to pay off a large educational debt with what they earn, that avenue may not be open to them. Other law students may decide that rather than practice law, they will stay home with young children. However, if they are tens of thousands of dollars in debt, such a choice may be impracticable. Thus, the sacrifice of millions of tithe payers who subsidize your education leaves you free to choose to do what you - and the Lord - want you to do.

With that freedom, as with all freedom, comes accountability. In the case of BYU students, whether they be in Provo, Laie, or Rexburg there are at least two important parts of that accountability. First, it is incumbent on you - whose career and life options are being expanded as a result of the sacrifice of others - to maximize the educational opportunity that is afforded to you. It is your responsibility to learn all you can, so that you are best positioned to do what you - and the Lord - want you to do. Contrary to what Satan may whisper in your ear when the alarm goes off early in the morning to rouse you to go to class or finish a paper, there is more riding on the decision you make at that point than your own g.p.a. or individual success. Those who could benefit from your enhanced education - whether they be your future children, your future clients, or the communities or nations in which you will live - all will be benefitted by your choosing to use your time here as wisely as possible.

Second, because the subsidy allows you to be relatively free from debt and therefore free to do what the Lord wants you to do, it is your responsibility to live your life in a way that makes you worthy to receive the inspiration that will guide you in making that decision. Inspiration about what you should do with your life after you leave here will not come to your bishop, or to President Clark, or to President Monson. It will come to you. But, it will come only if you are worthy. That is one way in which adherence to the honor code can enhance your agency. As you adhere to gospel standards, your capacity to understand - and therefore your freedome to follow - the Lord's plan for you will increase.

In the lead up to the October 2020 half-term holidays, the UK government decided they would not extend free school meals over the holidays.
With that in mind, two Lancashire businesspeople joined forces to form a voluntary group called Holiday Hunger East Lancashire.
They said, “We recognise that many people are going through really challenging times at the moment, and so we, as a community, have come together to provide lunches for East Lancashire children next week.”
Within 24 hours they were up and running and had raised thousands of pounds to cover their costs.
A friend of mine, Nicola Holding, a photographer local to Colne, Lancashire, began participating in Holiday Hunger East Lancashire, and was hosting the Colne Hub for distributing the meals.
When she told me that they needed volunteers, I knew I could help by using social media to get the message out to as many Church members as fast as possible.
I contacted some of the bishops and Relief Society presidents of the Chorley England Stake and by Monday morning they were headed to various designated distribution hubs for the Holiday Hunger East Lancashire initiative.
These wonderful friends and members of the Church showed up on multiple occasions, willing to serve with no questions asked, to collect bags full of meals that had been prepared by established local food businesses.
It was inspiring to see willing volunteers, from the Church and community, queuing out of the doors. Some would pick up the lunches, go to more than ten addresses, and then come back asking if they could do more.
Some volunteers even helped in the kitchen preparing those meals. As the professionals worked tirelessly cooking endless amounts of pasta, sausages, sauces, vegetables and so much more, the volunteers got it all packed in individual takeaway tubs; one meal for each child for each day of the half-term week.
Carol Brelsford said, “I really enjoyed being part of the team. I was grateful to be asked to help.”
Two faithful sisters of the Burnley Ward, Debbie Patton and Andrea Pickles, were heroes in the kitchen. They walked in bright and early on Monday morning to serve. I knew they had no idea what they’d signed up for, but they were there and ready to serve alongside me and my husband, Jordan.
Debbie said, “I felt great to be at least doing something in the middle of a global pandemic.”
Andrea added, “When I was asked to help in this venture, I was grateful for an opportunity to serve these kiddies. I was amazed and touched by the kindness of all the volunteers of all age groups, who cheerfully set about making and packing the meals. They worked for long hours, over several days. Other volunteers delivered the food to the families. I came home tired but very happy to have been able to help to a small degree. It made me realise we have wonderful people in our community, and when we all pull together, we can achieve amazing things.”
On more than one occasion, I was able to help with giving drop-off location details to the deliverers, and sometimes deliver lunches myself.
The stories we heard of grateful mothers, fathers, and children kept us all motivated when things got hectic, when we became weary with the load, and felt we couldn’t get the food out on time.
Jenny Forward of the Blackburn Ward in the Chorley Stake said, “Bishop [and I] felt the joy in every ‘thank you’ from one of the recipients, knowing they really needed and appreciated the meals. It warmed our hearts.”
Jenna Beverley of the Chorley Ward said: “I knew that so many families would be without [food] over the holidays, so when I heard Holiday Hunger East Lancashire needed help, I knew we could use our car and time for good. It was great to see people come together, with what they had, to make this happen at such short notice. What I thought would be a one-hour service project turned into a six-hour quest to provide some relief to as many families as we could, but it was incredible to see the community come together for so many who requested help.”
Jenna’s son Isaac, aged 12, described the experience, “It was kinda stressful to deliver so many meals to people’s houses, especially when it was bad rain and then the phone battery died, so we didn’t know where we were going … but we did it!”
Jonathan and Rebecca Abery of the Rossendale Valley Ward in Chorley Stake shared their thoughts: “[We] felt it an honour to be involved with so many other people from the community. It was humbling seeing the genuine gratitude and relief in the eyes of some of the recipients. It reminded me of the importance of working together to meet the needs of our fellow brothers and sisters and showed me that service brings its reward.”
Janet Leeds of the Burnley Ward, Chorley Stake said, “The project came together so quickly there was no time to think about whether to get involved or not or wonder if it was possible; everyone just pulled together and got on with it! So much love was shared, and hard work done, by so many volunteers that went into the project. It felt so important to make sure each child received their lunch packs every day—so much so that I went back to one house three times on the first day and finally pushed it through the cat flap so that they wouldn’t miss it! So proud of everyone who made it all possible.”
Rachel Pattenden said, “It was heart-warming, humbling and rewarding to be a part of this project. I know it was meant to bless others, but it also truly blessed my children and me. They felt good inside and want to help again in the future.”
What brought us all together was an unfortunate turn of events, but it united us in our determination to feed the 3,000 signed-up children who would otherwise have gone hungry that week. I’ve never been a part of an event on such a large scale. It was overwhelming at times. Some days I would be up and out the door by 7:30 am and not return until 8 pm. As a stay-at-home mum, it was quite a change of pace! But I know that the Lord required my help for that one week. He guided me to bump into the friend that got me involved. By no means can I take any of the credit, but I know that I was a tool in the Lord’s hands. It was my purpose to help gather those volunteers so that essential work could get done—to feed His children.

How can we develop a good attitude of cooperation? One wise stake president counseled priesthood and Relief Society leaders to determine their actions by asking, “What would the Savior do?” rather than “What has been done before?” With this idea in mind, ward leaders examined their “policies” in working together. Several ward “traditions” came under examination—the first, when the ward budget was presented for approval to the men in priesthood meeting, but not to the women in Relief Society.
“Would the Savior do that?” priesthood leaders wondered. They decided that he wouldn’t, and then they consulted the General Handbook of Instructions, which indicates that proposed budgets should be discussed with all ward members in a special meeting. That tradition was changed, and the sisters in the ward are much more supportive of ward activities now that they are included in the planning.

My senior year of high school began with the tardy bell ringing, echoing through the empty hallway. Agghh! Late for the first day! I slammed my locker door shut and ran down the hall to my first class. Why did school have to start today? I had slept in this morning and missed the bus. Mom had already left to take my little sister to preschool, so I hopped on my mountain bike and covered the two miles to school in record time.
School should start next week! Why couldn’t today just be a repeat of yesterday?
“Hey, Andrew, Mr. Lazy Bones, wake up! It’s gonna get hot soon and we gotta do Pet Piranha before the sun hits it!”
My best friend Josh made a habit of charging into my room like that. I shouldn’t have been the least bit surprised this morning. With school starting tomorrow, this would be our last chance to go rock climbing with no schedules or homework to worry about.
“Dude, get up!” Josh hopped onto my bed and started jumping until I could no longer ignore him.
“Okay, okay, I’m up already!” I whined in my best morning voice. “Where’s my stuff?”
“I thought I told you to lay it all out last night, since I knew you’d sleep in again.” Josh tried to sound impatient, but I could hear the excitement in his voice.
I got dressed. As I picked up my harness, climbing shoes, and chalk bag, my Book of Mormon fell to the floor. I had set it on top of my gear yesterday afternoon to remind myself to read before going to bed, but the time had grown late and I was sleepy. What did it matter if I missed reading the scriptures for one more day?
Reading the scriptures every day was a goal I had agreed to in seminary before school let out for the summer. Our teacher had said something about how reading the scriptures would protect us. It had motivated me enough to make the goal, but I had long since forgotten why it seemed so important.
As I picked up the book, I also thought about my goal to say my prayers every morning and night, but that could wait too. After all, I could pray anytime. I tossed the book on my unmade bed and headed out the door with Josh.
Mr. Fenton had just started class as I walked through the door to algebra III. I avoided his gaze as I made my way to the back of the class.
Uh, oh. Amy sat there in the back, smiling at me and clearing her notebook off a desk next to her. Amy was all right as a person, but the way she looked at me sometimes made me feel uncomfortable. The brownies she sometimes cooked for me tasted great, but that didn’t mean I wanted her to give them to me.
After Mr. F. had begun again, Amy looked over and smiled. “You missed the bus,” she whispered, as if I didn’t already know. I nodded my head and looked back up to find Mr. Fenton staring straight at me.
“Do you think you two could get reacquainted after class, Andrew?”
I thought of defending myself, of telling him that I hadn’t said anything. “Yeah, sorry,” was all I said. I didn’t look at Amy again, even though I sensed her trying to get my attention. I tried to pay attention for a while as Mr. Fenton droned on about our first assignment but soon found my thoughts drifting back to yesterday’s adventure.
Outside my house, I set my gear in the back of Josh’s truck. We backed out of the driveway and drove up the canyon to our destination. The guidebook told us that Pet Piranha was rated 5.11a***, right at the edge of my climbing comfort zone. The three stars next to the rating, however, promised good holds and a fun, doable climb.
We pulled off the highway at the bridge and began the steep hike to the cliffs. Once there, we studied the drawing in the guidebook, looking for Pet Piranha while walking along the cliff base.
“This must be it,” said Josh. “See, this looks like the tower to the left, and there’s Chips Ahoy that joins it halfway up.” He dropped the guidebook and walked over to touch the cliff. I pulled the tarp and rope from his pack and looked up to find Josh already four feet off the ground. He pulled himself close to the rock and swung his right hand high above his head to the next hold.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Aren’t ya gonna wait for the rope?”
“Yeah, sure,” he answered. He lowered himself a bit and jumped to the ground. “But someday, I’m gonna free solo this route.”
Josh stared up the route as he spoke. He wasn’t afraid of anything, and I didn’t doubt that he meant it. But free solo? That meant no rope, no protection at all, nothing to keep him from falling all the way to the deck if he slipped even once. And it happened to the best of them. We had read magazine articles about guys who free soloed and talked about how great it was, but now at least two of them were dead.
“Don’t be crazy, Josh. What if you die? Who would I climb with then?”
“But think of the rush!”
“Listen, if you slipped from even halfway up this route, you’d deck so hard you’d crush at least three dozen bones and blow your chance to ever climb again. How would you like to spend the rest of your life as a paraplegic?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Anyway, I don’t think I’d really have done it.” He turned away from the cliff and smiled cheerfully. I finished doing up my harness and waited for him to tie in.
My next class was seminary, or released time, as they called it officially. I had signed up with Josh, and we were both in Brother Stowers’s class. I stopped by my locker, then headed outside toward the seminary building. The touch of the morning breeze against my face reminded me of yesterday’s breeze in the canyon.
“You gonna go first?” Josh asked, smiling.
“I thought you were going first,” I answered.
“Of course you did. I always go first. That’s why you should go first today. This is the last day of summer. Ya gotta do something memorable!”
The thought of leading this climb frightened me a little, but why not? If I couldn’t finish, Josh could always come up and do it.
“All right, I will then.” I pulled on my tight climbing shoes and tied myself in with a figure-eight knot. As each second passed, the knot of fear inside my stomach cinched tighter.
“Climbing,” I said, trying to sound as casual as Josh always did.
“Climb on,” he answered in a sing-song voice.
I chalked my hands and stepped up to the cliff. The first holds weren’t too bad. They were small and a bit polished, but I moved up to the first bolt eight feet off the ground and clipped in. I breathed more easily once I had the rope clipped through the quickdraw. Now there was something to catch me if I fell.
I can do this! I moved up toward the second bolt. The moves became technical and balancy. My feet were placed uncomfortably off to one side as I tried to lay back on vertical handholds. I made it to the next bolt, but the thought of letting go with either hand to clip frightened me.
“I don’t know if I can clip this!” I yelled down to Josh.
“So skip it,” he yelled back. “You can clip the next one.”
Yeah, right! Falling without protection nearby would result in a long fall, and my chances of getting hurt would increase dramatically. My stomach tightened again and adrenaline seeped quietly into my veins. I knew I couldn’t hang on forever. I slowly let go with one hand and reached down to the gear loops on my harness, unclipped a quickdraw, and clipped into the bolt. I reached down for the rope and clipped it into the draw. A cool wave of relief swept over me as the gate snapped shut around the rope.
“Lookin’ good, Andrew!” Josh yelled from below.
My arms were getting tired, and I couldn’t see my next move. “I don’t think this thing is only an .11a!” I shouted down. Maybe it got easier higher up, but the fear was already making me use up my strength much faster than I needed to.
“I’m getting awfully pumped! I’m not sure I can finish this!” It was times like this that I began to wonder why I climb in the first place. “Hold me for a minute while I rest then.”
“Gotcha. Go whenever you’re ready.”
Josh took up the slack in the rope, and I sat in my harness and let the rope hold me up. I was glad for the bolt right there, something that would hold me up, keep me from falling, and let me rest. The bolts also marked the route, telling me where I could expect to find holds that would take me to the top.
I shook out my tired forearms and looked down to where the highway and river twisted along the canyon floor. A few swallows floated gracefully on the updrafts. For a moment, I forgot my fear of the climb. Then I looked back at the gray and black limestone in front of me. I touched the narrow edges and ran my fingers along thin cracks and seams. It was beautiful, and I remembered why I came here—the thrill of the climb, the beauty of the natural world, the sense of accomplishment after a challenging ascent, and just spending time with my best friend.
I walked into seminary and found my name on a desk at the back. I sat down as Brother Stowers walked into the room. He told us a little about himself and asked each of us to give a short introduction as well.
Next to me on the back row sat a girl I had never seen before. She must have been new in town, and I wouldn’t mind being one of the first to get to know her. The new girl said her name was Amber, and she had just moved here from Wyoming. Josh noticed my interest and bobbed his eyebrows at me. I gave him a “Give me a break!” look, even though it was futile to deny that I was interested.
Having learned Amber’s name and given my own short introduction, I was free to let my mind wander again.
I took a deep breath and called, “Climbing.”
Josh answered with a cheery “Climb on,” and I went back to work.
I had scouted out a few potential moves and tried them out. They worked all right, but they were small and I had to move quickly to avoid burning out again and coming off the wall. I climbed to the third bolt and clipped again. Only three more bolts to the top. By now I was more than 30 feet above the deck. “I sure wish these bolts were closer together.”
With my middle finger in a shallow pocket and my index finger stacked on top of it, I smeared my feet on a bulge and looked up for the next handhold. “Ya know, this doesn’t feel anything like an .11a,” I shouted down. “Seems more like an .11d!”
I reached up and pinched a tiny crystal, then shifted a foot to an eighth-of-an-inch-wide ledge. It had a sharp edge and felt secure, and I breathed a little easier as I shifted most of my weight back to my feet. “I bet the guidebook got it wrong,” I yelled while moving my right hand to a large rock flake above my head. “I bet it was a typo and this is really a .12a or maybe …”
As I pulled down against the flake, it broke loose and sent me hurtling backward into empty space. “Falling!” I shouted instinctively.
Just for an instant, the wind whistled past my ears; then the slack ran out and the rope caught me with a gentle jerk on my harness. I held my feet out in front of me, and they landed softly against the cliff, almost 15 feet below where I had fallen.
“Yahoo!” Josh shouted. “What a screamer! You got some serious air on that one. You okay?”
“Yeah,” I answered as I watched the loose rock tumble down the mountainside below. That would explain the wrong rating. The route has probably changed as other holds have broken off. That would make it a completely different climb than it used to be. The shock of the fall quickly turned to excitement and elation with the adrenaline still pumping hot through my veins and brain.
“You owe me your life!” Josh said in his most dramatic tone of voice. It was his standard line every time he caught a fall. I laughed and he asked, “Wanna try again?”
“Nah, I’m gonna let you finish. I’ve had enough for one day.”
After I lowered down, Josh tied in and climbed quickly up to where I had fallen. I noticed him carefully testing each hold before trusting it with his entire weight. He agreed that the route was more difficult than an .11a, but he enjoyed it just the same. We spent the rest of the afternoon eating granola bars and drinking apple juice in the shade, then wading through the river and finally swimming once a water fight had broken out between us.
My thoughts returned to class when Amber started reading a scripture.
“… with a promise immutable and unchangeable, that inasmuch as those whom I commanded were faithful they should be blessed with a multiplicity of blessings.”
Boy, wouldn’t it be nice if we could count on everything being that dependable. Like climbing routes and guidebooks. Like life even. I thought of raising my hand to share the analogy, but I hadn’t been listening and wasn’t sure if it would fit into the discussion.
“That’s one reason why we call Christ ‘the Rock’,” Brother Stowers said. “Because he never changes, we can trust him to bless us when we keep his commandments just as he promised people in the early church and throughout history.”
Now I was intrigued. The Rock, huh? This analogy is getting better. Only the true Rock can be depended on like that. Everything else in this world can eventually break off, and that could put a person in a great deal of danger or pain if he had trusted it too much. I looked at Josh and he smiled. He must have thought the same thing. Suddenly I found my hand raised above my head.
“Yes, Andrew?” Brother Stowers called on me after consulting his seating chart.
“So we should clip into the rock frequently, I guess,” I blurted out.
“Clip?” Brother Stowers asked, a bit confused.
I should have backed up and explained things a little. Now no one would know what I was talking about. I was remembering the cliff breaking apart yesterday. I was thinking about how each clip on yesterday’s climb gave me a great sense of security and how I wished they were closer together. I was thinking about my broken resolves to read the scriptures and pray every day and how foolish it seemed to put them off now that I could see it all in perspective.
Then Josh jumped into the discussion. “Yeah,” he said, “attach ourselves, anchor ourselves to Him.”
“Ah, yes,” Brother Stowers said. “That’s a good point. And how can we do that.”
“Pray,” one student volunteered, “every morning and night.”
“And study the scriptures often,” added Amber.
“Yes,” agreed Brother Stowers, “and if we anchor ourselves that way to the Rock, then … Well, I think Paul said it best in his letter to the Romans. Andrew, would you please read the last two verses of chapter eight?”
“Sure,” I answered. I flipped open my New Testament and began reading, “For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
I suddenly felt the strength of the Spirit in the room that everyone else had probably felt throughout the entire lesson. It burned inside me, confirming to me that the words I had read were true, that Heavenly Father and Christ love us more powerfully than we can know, and that they are always there for our security and well-being in this unpredictable world. It made me feel strong and confident.
I thought again of my broken resolutions. This time I’ll really do it. No more procrastination.
“Nothing can separate us from Him,” I added thoughtfully, “except for ourselves.”
The class was silent as everyone pondered my last comment. Brother Stowers nodded his head. His mouth began to form another word, but it never came out. Instead, the bell rang marking the end of the hour, and everyone scrambled to pile up their books and make their way out the door. Brother Stowers smiled and walked to the door. He shook our hands as we left class and told us he would see us tomorrow. I, for one, could hardly wait.

When I was nine, I really liked and respected my coach, Coach Hashem. However, I wanted to play on the same team as a school friend, so I tried out for a different team. This team was really competitive, and I knew that if I made it, I would be expected to be very dedicated and play hard. A lot of boys wanted to be on this team, but I was fortunate to make it through several cuts.
The day of the final tryouts came. I played my hardest, and I felt good about it. Afterward, the coach approached my mom and me and said that he would really like me on the team. I was excited. But then he asked, “Can you play on Sundays? I have to be able to field a team for tournaments, and that means that sometimes there will be Sunday play.”
My mom let me reply to the question.
“No, sir, I don’t play on Sundays.” I knew that was the right answer, but it probably meant I wouldn’t get to be on this team.
That night, the call telling me that I was chosen for the team never came. I was very disappointed.
Instead, I joined a neighborhood team with lots of friends. We had a great time the first year and were successful, but the second year the team struggled and sometimes lost focus on the game. I became frustrated. I put my best effort into every game, but we almost always lost.
After one very bad game, Coach Hashem, whose team was doing well, approached me on the football field. He asked me how things were going. I said, “Not so good.” I told him I missed my old teammates. Hashem coached with a great deal of skill and always seemed to get the most from his players.
“How would you like to be a guest player for our team when we go to the next tournament?” Hashem asked.
“I would really like that!” I responded excitedly.
“Great!” Hashem said, smiling. “I need to ask you one question though. Can you play on Sundays?” My stomach muscles tightened. I suddenly felt sick. I remembered what had happened that last time this question had been asked.
I looked at my mom. I looked at my dad. They too waited for my answer. I looked at Hashem.
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t play on Sundays,” I said. “Will that make a difference?”
Hashem stood there for a moment. He had seen the expression of hope on my face fade quickly as I had answered his question.
“No, that’s OK,” Hashem responded. “We probably won’t get to the Sunday finals. We’d love to have you play with us.”
Soon I started practicing with Hashem’s team. The team played with a great deal of intensity, and they welcomed me back. I loved playing with them.
We didn’t win all of our games at the tournament, but we all tried our hardest, and we had a good time. Soon I became a permanent member of Hashem’s team. Though they knew I didn’t play on Sundays, they still appreciated me for what I added to the team on the other game days.
I am now a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood. I still play competition football and still choose not to play on Sunday. It has not been a problem for me or for the teams I have played on. I believe in honoring the Sabbath day and keeping it holy. For me this means not playing sports on Sunday.

Several years ago one of my sons signed up for the most difficult and advanced BYU math class his prerequisites would allow.

I asked him, “Is that class required for your degree?”

“No.”

“Won’t taking it hurt your GPA?”

“Probably.”

“Well, then, why are you taking it?”

He replied, “Because it interests me and I will never have this opportunity again.”

When I saw his textbook, filled with the longest equations I had ever seen, I thought, “He’s doomed.” The class was graded on a straight curve, and, not unexpectedly, his grade was among those in the lower half of the class.

Months later, when I asked him about his experience, he said, “It was gnarly. But I’m glad I took that class because I understand things I never did before.”

Now I have to add in here that we recently talked to that son—he is a graduate student on the East Coast—and he mentioned that he had just set the curve on his graduate mathematics test. I couldn’t help but think back to his BYU experience. “Weren’t you wise to take that class that was beyond your capacity?” I asked.