Gospel Story Finder

The Smith family needed a home to live in, so Charles began making adobe bricks so that he could build a house. Charles also worked at his trade and was the first watchmaker in Salt Lake City.
Not long after the Smiths were settled in their new home, Charles Edward, who was two years old, fell into a pot of boiling water and was scalded to death. Of the nine children born to Sarah and Charles, only five lived to adulthood.

Subject: Dan
Age: 16 years
Event: Football practice
“Report to my office when you’re dressed,” the coach growled to Dan in the locker room after the practice.
A short time later, Dan sheepishly stood in front of the coach’s desk.
“I’m dropping you from the team,” the coach rasped.
“Why? I take good care of my uniform. I keep all the training rules. Why drop me?”
“Because you can’t play football!” the coach said harshly.

Second, I believe we have not prepared ourselves to be good messengers. The general membership of the Church seems to be in the same position I found myself in as a full-time missionary many years ago. At that time we were given little training to fulfill our responsibilities. As I arrived in the mission field, I was assigned a companion who was also new in the field. He was anxious to be about the work that he had been assigned and called to perform. He encouraged me almost immediately to go door-to-door tracting with him. I will never forget our first door approach. As we started toward the house, I turned to him and asked, “What do I do?” His reply astonished me. He said, “I don’t know. I have never tried this before.” How different is the training of our full-time missionaries we have serving today! We need to be more on a par with them if we are to fulfill our responsibilities as member missionaries.

I was eight years old when my parents divorced. I remember the day my dad moved out. It seemed like everything I knew about life fell to pieces after that. I was confused, lonely, and sad. It felt like a big part of me had been ripped out. While the other members of my family seemed to move past the divorce, I still felt empty inside.
Being so young, I couldn’t understand why my family had to be broken up. I came to believe that I must have been deficient. I figured I wasn’t worthy of an intact family. I thought that if I had had enough faith, God would have put my family back together.
As I got older, the hole inside me became a deep pit of sadness. I tried to fill it with all sorts of things: relationships, school, rebellion, even too much food. None of those things worked. I had read the scripture where the Apostle Paul tells a man who has been healed that “Jesus Christ maketh thee whole” (Acts 9:34). But I doubted that Christ could fill the hole inside me. After all, if I was not worthy enough for Him to fix my family, why should I expect Him to fix the hole in me? I thought those types of miracles were only for happy, faithful people who came from intact families.
Still, I had nowhere left to turn except to Christ. Night after night I knelt in prayer and asked my Heavenly Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, to heal my emptiness.
I cannot point to an exact day when it happened, but little by little Heavenly Father intervened in my life to show me that Christ’s love was healing me. Heavenly Father also let me know He loves me, He knows me, and He wants me to have an eternal family.
I know, unmistakably now, that my Savior was aware of my pain and sadness. He never gave up on me. I can see now that He strengthened me and carried me through those difficult times. Christ is the only one who can heal our pain. It was Christ who healed my heart.

A relative asked Elder Spencer W. Kimball for a blessing to combat a crippling disease. For some time Elder Kimball prepared himself spiritually; then, fasting, he was prompted to bless her to be healed. Some weeks later she returned, angry and complaining that she was “fed up” with waiting for the Lord to give the promised relief.
He responded: “Now I understand why you have not been blessed. You must be patient, do your part, and express gratitude for the smallest improvement noted.”
She repented, followed scrupulously his counsel, and eventually was made well.

“One time my mother told me that I could have a birthday party and invite anyone I wanted. We decided that eight children would be about right. But when I got to school and looked at all the children in my class, I couldn’t decide whom not to invite, so I invited all of them without saying anything to Mother. Instead of eight children at the party, there were forty-four! She just laughed about it and put some cupcakes into the oven. By the time we had played our games, she was able to serve them all something. A lot of mothers would have been upset over the situation, but not mine.

Elder Jacob de Jager, then a member of the Quorum of the Seventy, visited my zone conference while I served in the Chicago, Illinois Mission. He taught us missionaries the importance of being specific in our prayers. He said, as missionaries we needed to change the words we were using in our prayers from asking to 'be led to the honest in heart and those ready for the gospel' to asking Heavenly Father 'to have the pure in heart and those who are elect led to us!' After this lesson on prayer my companion and I began to immediately apply it. As we did those elect were led to us. The experiences we had have stuck with me ever since.

Soon after this conference, one Sunday we received a call. A college student had walked into church wanting to learn more about the gospel. As we met with him we discovered he had grown up next door to some members and was impressed with their family. The young man was honest in heart and elect. He, along with several of his family members, soon joined the church.

As time went on, more of God's elect heard the voice of the Savior and came to us. One day, my companion and I received a referral from the Temple Square Visitor Center in Salt Lake City. A man in our area had been to Salt Lake on a business trip, visited Temple Square, and wanted to learn more about the gospel. We met with this referral, and he too soon joined the church. Soon after, my companion was calling to confirm follow-up appointments and dialed the wrong number. The sister who answered was surprised but so thankful we called. She and her husband had been fellowshipping a young couple with two small children while her husband was attending dental school. They were graduating soon and wanted these friends to join the church before they moved. They were ready, just as Elder de Jager said the "elect" would be ready for the gospel.

My father passed away in April 2013. As I prepared to speak at his funeral, I realized how blessed I was to know and love his favorite scriptures. He shared them in family gatherings, and he read them with me when I needed counsel, guidance, or strengthening of my faith. I heard him share them in talks and assignments. I not only knew them, but I can still remember the sound of his voice and the spiritual feelings I had as he shared them. Through sharing scriptures and feelings, my father helped me to establish a firm foundation of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.

For excitement, challenge, and diversion, a friend of mine used to hunt mountain lions in the hilltop areas of southern Utah. Among other things, this sport requires personal patience, endurance, and skill, durable horses, and dependable, well-trained dogs. To be effective in locating, cornering, or “treeing” a mountain lion, dogs must be completely dependable from the moment the hunt starts until the capture is finished.
A few years ago when I was visiting with my friend at his place of business, I noticed he had a beautiful hunting dog tied to the outside of his office building. As came close to the dog, I was impressed with his stature, markings, and color. I commented to the owner, “Isn’t he a beauty? How long have you had him?”
“I’ve raised him from a pup. He’s been trained since he was a few months old to track mountain lions. But now he’s got to go. I’m going to get rid of him. He isn’t worth his keep anymore,” he said with a firm and final conviction.
“Why do you want to sell a dog as alert and strong as this one?” I inquired.
To this query the wise owner, a veteran of many mountain lion hunts, said with emphasis, “You know, when I have spent months and months training a hunting dog for these outings, I expect, and demand, one thing. When we’re tracking lions, we’re tracking lions, and that’s it. My dogs, and I usually take about four of them, know this, and if one lets me down, he’s had it. Last time we were out on a hunt, moving into the mountain areas where the lions hide out, this dog was distracted by a jack rabbit and ran after him for more than half an hour.
“Later on the same day he was gone for about an hour chasing a deer. Both of these incidents were indulged in by this disobedient dog despite many months of tedious training. I therefore resolved that when I returned to the city he was no longer to be a member of the hunting expedition. He isn’t worth his feed. He must be sold.”
As I traveled back to Salt Lake City alone by automobile later that day, my thoughts turned to this experience with a master’s comment and decision about one of his dogs. The dog had lost his usefulness because he had forgotten his training and the purpose of the hunt. He could be distracted, diverted, and led in wrong pursuits.
Similarly in our daily lives we sometimes forget our goals and purposes and let distractions, interferences, and temptations lead us away from the charted courses we have been trained to pursue. It is to be hoped that we will stay close to our Master, heeding His teachings and avoiding situations that tend to lead us away.
Lofty standards of behavior will always be based upon a love for the right and walking in paths of righteousness. Wickedness in any form will never lead to happiness. We must be aware of those who will deceive and have us believe there is no heaven, there is no hell, and that the only road to happiness is marked with compromise, convenience, and momentary pleasures or pursuits. Satan is real, and he is effective. He would throw men down by his cunning. He would have all mankind strangers to God. Let us not be deceived. God lives, and through him and with him we can accomplish all things. We must not permit ourselves to become entangled in the sin of compromising our standards, but rather we must learn to avoid all the ways of Satan. His paths lead to disappointment, frustration, and regret.
We compromise our blessings, we rationalize ourselves out of the sure and eternal ways when we do not ask our God to help us continue in his paths. Often a disciple of God can best be identified by the paths he travels.
“If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed;
“And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” (John 8:31–32.)
The Lord has promised us that he will help us in our pursuit of happiness if we will continue the quest for righteousness and follow his paths. The abundant life will be ours if we walk with his strength. If we will remember and practice the Savior’s teachings every day, Satan can have no power over us. God’s strength makes it possible for us to walk uprightly. Ammon in his comments to his brother Aaron in the 26th chapter of Alma, verse 12 [Alma 26:12], points to paths of life that bring security and insulation from devilish desires.
“Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things; … for which we will praise his name forever.”
Our continuing pursuit of happiness will bring us our Heavenly Father’s strength and protection. In his paths we will find security. My constant prayer is that we will all have the desire in our hearts to earnestly seek the pathways of safety by honestly keeping all of his commandments.
Let us not forget the lessons learned from my friend who taught me well about what is necessary in worthy mountain lion hunting dogs and from a God who knows well his children. Let us not forget our goals and purposes, and let not distraction, interferences, or temptations lead us away from the charted courses we have been trained to pursue.

A few years ago when I was serving in the Europe Area Presidency, I was assigned to a stake conference in Lisbon, Portugal. As part of the agenda for Saturday morning, I invited the stake president to identify some families that we could visit briefly together. As we drove to one particular home by appointment, the president told me of this wonderful man and his family. The father had served a full-time mission, had married a wonderful woman, and had four precious children. But he had slipped away from activity. He had been distracted.
The president explained how much this man was needed in leadership in the ward. When we arrived for our visit, we found a beautiful family, all dressed in Sunday best on a Saturday morning, waiting for us. We gathered in a circle in their living room. Their oldest son, age 15, was the teachers quorum president in the ward. I turned to him and asked, “What are you planning to do three years from now?” He responded immediately without any hesitation, “I will be serving a mission.” Then I asked the key, inspired question: “Who will help you to prepare?” Without any hesitation, he looked directly at his father, pointed his extended arm and finger right at him and said, “He will.” The Spirit came into that room with such power. The father began to weep and, after a moment’s quiet contemplation, asked me if he could bear his testimony to his children and to his wife. He did so with tears streaming down his cheeks. In that moment, his son had prompted his heart to change. He knew instantly what he needed to do.
As we were closing our visit, which was a mixture of English, Spanish, and Portuguese, I taught the parents through the children three words in English as a reminder of the little things they needed to do as a family each day: “Read, pray, and obey; read, pray, and obey; read, pray, and obey,” we chanted together.
The following morning, the family came to stake conference, sought me out, and wanted a picture of their family with me. Today, the son is on a mission, and the father is a counselor in the bishopric.

My colleague Cole Durham once told me of an important lesson he learned about such things from Lowell Bennion, who at the time was the director of the LDS institute of religion at the University of Utah. When Cole was growing up, his father suffered from multiple sclerosis. Cole’s father was able to provide for his family because he was a lawyer, but there were still some things his physical limitations prevented him from doing. On one occasion, when Brother Bennion saw that the Durham house was in need of a new coat of paint, he offered to perform the task, knowing that Cole’s father was physically unable to do so. After working long hours, Brother Bennion finished the job. As he was cleaning up, Cole’s father asked him, “How much do I owe you, Lowell?”
“You don’t owe me anything,” came the reply.
Cole’s father protested, “But we can afford to pay.”
Brother Bennion kindly responded, “But I couldn’t afford to do it for money.”

World population: six billion. Population of Duchesne, Utah: 1,500.
If you looked at a map of the world, you would need a strong magnifying glass to see this tiny mountain town tucked into the southern end of the Uintah Basin. Despite its high-desert beauty, most people just drive through Duchesne on their way to somewhere else.
But this small Utah town is important—so important it could change the world. And if those people driving through stopped for a while and really looked, they would see what’s so special about what they thought was just a dot on their map.
The young men, 16 and older, in the Duchesne Utah Stake have had a tantalizing taste of what it feels like to be a missionary. They held a stake missionary conference, planned by their leaders and two youth cochairs, that attempted to include some aspects of a two-year mission experience into two days. Of course, the young men only got a sampling of what it will really be like to be on a mission, but the experience is one they won’t soon forget.
Nearly 50 would-be missionaries arrived on a Friday afternoon at the Duchesne missionary training center—a.k.a. the Duchesne stake center—in their suits, toting their luggage, with their parents in tow. After a short devotional the young men went through one door into the cultural hall and their parents exited another to head back home (a la MTC fashion).
In the cultural hall, the young men were greeted with dinner, missionary packets, and an assigned companion. Outfitted with name tags that read “Brother_______,” the companionships headed to their first training classes. The classes covered a whole range of topics from learning the first missionary discussion and mission rules, to how to sort laundry and pack a suitcase.
Going to the conference was easier for some than for others. “I thought I had better things to do,” said Jeff Foster of the First ward. But he decided to go anyway. By Saturday afternoon he had changed his tune. “My parents are going to say, ‘I told you so!’” Jeff says. “There are people who don’t want to go on missions because they don’t want to leave their stuff behind—like their jobs and their music or whatever—but it’s worth it!”
“Those are all things you have to give up if you want to go on a mission,” agrees Eric Peatross, who was just called to the England Leeds Mission. Eric has many scholarship offers that won’t wait for him to come back in two years. He’s also leaving behind a job he loves, as well as his band. He says, “It involves a lot of prayer. You really have to know the gospel is true before you can turn all of those things down.” A testimony won’t come all at once, Eric says. His didn’t. He says his testimony, and his determination to go on a mission, came to him bit by bit as he did the things he knew he should be doing to be obedient. In other words, he prepared.
The conference was added preparation for Eric. “These two days have been like spiritual boot camp,” he says.
The levels of preparation at the conference varied from young man to young man. In one class, only one of eight knew how to sort laundry.
Housekeeping details aside, these young men know spiritual preparation is the most important aspect of getting ready for missionary work. Brian Bleazard says, “If I’ve learned anything at this conference it’s that I’m not the greatest teacher. You need the Spirit. It’s the Spirit that teaches.”
“It all comes down to your personal worthiness,” says Eric. Being worthy and obedient means you qualify for the companionship of the Spirit. All the young men were interviewed by their bishops before they went to the conference. The interview gave them a good idea of the things they need to be doing to be worthy to go to the temple and ready to go on a mission.
Their Saturday classes were not only preparing the young men for their missions but also for their teaching appointments later in the day. The companionships were assigned to teach the first discussion to families in their stake, some of which were part-member and less-active families.
“When we went to teach the first discussion I was really nervous, but it was fun,” says Roy Poulsen of the Fourth ward.
Courtney Moon, who was just called to the Mississippi Jackson Mission says, “I’ve always known the gospel is true in my mind, but trying to explain it to someone else really opens your eyes.”
“You’re nervous,” says Cris Hoopes, “but it is a good experience. It’s hard to teach investigators. You have to rely on the Spirit.”
Besides teaching the first discussion, the young men also did what every missionary spends a good deal of time doing: service. They spent all morning landscaping around a chapel, cleaning a section of highway, and beautifying the Duchesne River boardwalk. It was so hot many of the young men were tempted to jump into the river, but a quick check of their missionary handbooks told them swimming was against the rules.
They chose to obey mission rules, just as they are choosing to prepare themselves to go on full-time missions when they turn 19. They are working on their faith and obedience to the gospel. As future missionaries, they know that’s a top priority. Delaney Mecham of the First ward says, “We should all go on missions to bring people to the gospel and to help ourselves. When we’re on our missions our testimonies will grow even more than they have at this conference.”
So what exactly is so important about Duchesne? For one thing, it is the future missionaries preparing to serve the Lord. Their faith and missionary service will change the world one person at a time. And the person each missionary is planning to start with is himself.
“I throw out a challenge to every young man. … Prepare yourself now to be worthy to serve the Lord as a full-time missionary. He has said, ‘If ye are prepared ye shall not fear’ (D&C 38:30). Prepare to consecrate two years of your lives to this sacred service. That will in effect constitute a tithe on the first twenty years of your lives. Think of all that you have that is good—life itself, health, strength, food to eat and clothing to wear, parents, brothers and sisters, and friends. All are gifts from the Lord.
“Of course your time is precious, and you may feel you cannot afford two years. But I promise you that the time you spend in the mission field, if those years are spent in dedicated service, will yield a greater return on investment than any other two years of your lives. …
“And above and beyond all of this will come that sweet peace in your heart that you have served your Lord faithfully and well. …
“And so, my dear young brethren, resolve within your hearts today to include in the program of your lives service in the harvest field of the Lord as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” (Ensign, Nov. 1995, 52).—President Gordon B. Hinckley
“Young men and women who serve missions are never the same. They return home with qualities and strengths that seem to come from no other experience. They know, as they never knew before, that this work is true and that it is the most important work on the face of the earth” (Ensign, Dec. 1986, 4).—President Gordon B. Hinckley

For my first decade or so on the BYU faculty, I had an assignment to teach Book of Mormon classes. Gradually, during that time, the passage in 2 Nephi 32:9 became magnified in my mind and heart:

I say unto you that ye must pray always, and not faint; that ye must not perform any thing unto the Lord save in the first place ye shall pray unto the Father in the name of Christ, that he will consecrate thy performance unto thee, that thy performance may be for the welfare of thy soul.

I would add “and for the building up of Thy kingdom, the blessing of my students, and in some small way for the blessing of Thy children in other parts of the world.”

At some point I adopted this plea into my morning prayers; from then on, a fundamental transformation began to occur in my work as a BYU faculty member. For one thing, I started becoming more aware of ways I could share my testimony with students in my classes and lab. I also saw doors for international research collaborations begin to open and had a flood of ideas about how I could direct my research in ways that would have more impact. As I stepped through those doors, I was led to some amazing like-minded people, while others started seeking me out. I would like to elaborate a little on how this process unfolded.

Not long ago Sister Dunn and I attended a stake conference in Marilia, Brazil. Marilia is a beautiful city of 100,000 in the southeast interior of the country. The Sunday session had just concluded. The theme was the atonement of Christ and how he is the Savior of the whole world.

Some had traveled by bus for more than three hours to be at this meeting. As we were shaking hands, a young lady came up. She first stopped in front of the mission president and asked how to say “I love you” in English. She then stood in front of Sister Dunn and me and with a broad smile and great sincerity said “I love you.” It seemed a little thing, but it touched our hearts. It was the effort of a humble follower of Christ to express herself. The message could have been said in any language and been understood.

The spirit of love reaches across language barriers. There is a purity about it that lifts the soul and causes us all to realize that we are the children of the same God.

Walt was the new kid at school that year. He wasn’t in any of my classes; I met him out at our first freshman football practice. He seemed like a decent enough guy—a little on the quiet side, though.
I was the exact opposite—in the worst way. I talked long and loud with generous helpings of cussing. But, despite our differences, I put up with Walt because he was such a good football player. When it came to playing football, Walt was definitely all action and no talk.
I guess Walt had only two problems fitting in with the rest of us: he was the only Mormon on the team, and he was also the only kid who never, ever swore.
By the end of our freshman year, though, most everybody was used to Walt and his quiet, cussless ways. Even though he looked like us and hung around with us, when he opened his mouth—or didn’t open his mouth—he was completely different from us.
Walt’s “sissy” vocabulary didn’t bother me much the first couple of years I knew him. We became pretty good buddies and spent lots of time together talking about football, girls, school, and religion—Walt was always talking about his church. Anyway, in all our times together, I never heard Walt swear—even when he had every reason to.
At the beginning of our junior year, I decided it was my “duty” to reform Walt by “improving” his vocabulary. It was our first year on the varsity—he was a defensive back, I was an offensive lineman—and I figured if he didn’t learn to cuss, he’d never fit in with the rest of the varsity squad.
“Look, Wally,” I told him one night after twice-a-days practice, “I’m gonna make you swear—just once—if it’s the last thing I do this year.”
“Well,” he grinned, “I guess that’ll be the last thing you’ll do, because I don’t swear.”
I had my work cut out for me. I mean, here was a guy who said, “excuse me” every time he burped—even in the locker room. It was hard to believe that Walt didn’t swear; he surely had plenty of cussing examples around him. The air in the locker room and football field was always filled with vivid streaks of blue language. I knew that Walt had heard everything there was to hear, but he still never used anything stronger than, “Gee whiz, darn, or doggone it.”
So, I had to start at the beginning. One afternoon before practice, I handed Walt a vocabulary list. “Here, Walt. This is a list of words I want you to use today at practice. If you use them often enough, you’ll finally get the hang of it, and before you know it, you’ll be cussing like an old pro.”
He looked over my list for a minute but didn’t say a word.
I pointed to the first word. “This one—this is a great one. Use it when you drop a pass or miss a tackle. You’ll really feel much better if you do. And the next few are good when somebody takes a cheap shot at you. Use the last two anytime the ref makes a bad call.”
Walt wadded up my list and tossed it in his locker. “Aw, c’mon, Wally,” I pleaded. “Give it a chance. You’ve got to release all those pent-up emotions. The way you’re going, you’ll have ulcers before you’re 18.”
Out at practice that afternoon, Walt dropped a pass, missed three tackles during a scrimmage, and was the victim of one of my “friendly” cheap shots. I hit him right in the back, and when I helped him up, waiting to hear him cut loose with one of his new words, all he muttered was a feisty “Darn!” That was it.
I realized that I needed more help, so I recruited a few other guys to work on Walt. We tried everything: booby trapped his locker, pinched him in pile-ups, snapped him with towels, but we were lucky to even get a “doggone it” out of him. As a matter of fact, the harder we tried, the worse Walt got. It finally got so bad that Walt even quit using “darn” and just responded with “ouch” to all our persecutions.
“Okay, Walt,” I said to him one afternoon as we sat lacing up our cleats before practice, “I guess you win. No swearing, right? But what about dirty jokes? You know any?”
“Oh, you bet I do,” he answered. “I’ll tell you one today after practice.”
After wind sprints that evening, before he even got off the field, I gathered our buddies around and announced, “Hey, you guys, listen to this. Walt’s got a dirty joke to tell us.”
“Yeah, right,” said one player. “Walt? A dirty joke? You gotta be kidding.”
“Walt wouldn’t know a dirty joke if he heard one,” said another. “This I gotta hear.”
We huddled around Walt, anxious to see the effects of our “reform” efforts. “Gosh, you guys,” he exclaimed, “give me some room, okay?” We all moved back. “Okay,” he said, blushing slightly, “this is it. A white horse fell in a mud puddle.”
“Oh, no, …” we moaned. “You call that a dirty joke?”
“Well, what’d you guys expect?” laughed Walt. “That’s a Mormon dirty joke,” he said, and trotted off to the showers.
The football season progressed, and so did Walt. He terrorized our opponents as much as he mystified us, so we dubbed him “The Stormin’ Mormon.” It was a well-deserved nickname.
It became a team obsession to try to pollute Walt. We weren’t vicious about it; we were just good-naturedly hoping to save Walt from going off the deep end of goody-goodness. We owed it to him. Unfortunately for us, he was just as good-natured and just as determined to remain in the deep end of goodness.
We weren’t making any progress with Walt’s vocabulary, so some guys began telling (that is, trying to tell) dirty jokes to Walt. As soon as they’d begin a story, he’d cover up his ears. If they increased their volume, Walt would sing out loud; the louder the story, the louder Walt sang.
It got to be pretty comical. Two guys would dance around Walt trying to tell him a dirty joke while he sat peacefully in front of his locker with both hands clapped flat over his ears, singing at the top of his voice.
By the end of our season, we’d all but given up on Walt. He was a lost cause as far as swearing went. There was simply no reforming him.
It was even worse our senior year. The younger players looked up to Walt because he was one of the top players on the team, and the rest of us knew there was no changing him, so we all just accepted him for what he was and left it at that. Of course, we didn’t leave him completely alone. There were still a few booby-trapped lockers and assorted pranks. We gave Walt every opportunity, but he never swore. I guess that deep inside, we all knew he wouldn’t swear, and we would have been disappointed if he had.
Things finally got so bad that even I started to give up cussing, especially when I was around Walt. I knew he didn’t like hearing profanity all the time, so I toned down my vocabulary.
After all we’d been through (and Walt had been through a lot more than I had), we were really good friends. We talked often about lots of things, and he continued to plug the Church every chance he got.
It’s kind of funny, but for four years, I was really trying, trying hard, to reform Walt—to help him “see the light” of using a man’s vocabulary. But my bad example, and his good one, eventually backfired on me.
A month after we graduated, Walt was there to witness my baptism. “Gee whiz,” he said after the ceremony, “I didn’t think you’d ever change.”
“Doggone it, Walt,” I replied, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Bacalar is a small, ancient town in the state of Quintana Roo, Mexico. It has about seven thousand inhabitants, and you can walk from one end of town to the other in only forty-five minutes.
Most of the homes are wooden huts with palm-tree leaves or aluminum sheets for a roof. The town sits on the edge of a beautiful lagoon that flows into a bay on the Caribbean near the bordering country of Belize, Central America.
In October 1982, the Bacalar Branch was organized, with just four members—my father, my mother, my sister, and me. I was sixteen years old at the time. A week later in family home evening, my father asked us a question: “What can we do so our branch will grow?”
For a while, we were all silent, thinking of an answer. Then my mother enthusiastically said, “Christmas is near. Why don’t we have a party for all the children in town? Many of them have never been to a party, and it would be a good experience for all of them. Surely many hearts will open to receive the gospel.”
We all thought this was an excellent idea, and my father began making assignments. Mother would make rag dolls for the girls; my sister would make piñatas and fill them with candy; my father would invite the state’s symphonic band to play Christmas carols during the party; and I would make airplanes out of vines for all the boys. We decided we would need 150 dolls and 150 airplanes. Joyfully we accepted our responsibilities, not realizing what sacrifices we would have to make in order for our party to become a reality. We realized this little by little.
In a later home evening, my father told our family that we wouldn’t be able to have Christmas gifts or a special Christmas dinner, as we usually did. I didn’t like that idea very much.
Then one afternoon when I returned home from school, I noticed that a bedsheet and some curtains were missing. A few days later, I couldn’t find some of my clothes. The same things were happening to my sister. When we investigated, we discovered that our mother was making rag dolls from the missing sheets, curtains, and clothing. I didn’t like that, and I almost argued with my mother about it.
As Christmas grew near, I had to sacrifice more and more of my time, money, and efforts in order to make the airplanes. My mother’s back started to hurt because she was spending so much time sewing the dolls by hand, and I finally had to sew on the dolls’ button eyes. I didn’t like that, either.
At last it was the day before the party. My father told me to put on a white shirt and tie so we could go to all the homes to invite the children.
On the day of the party, the children began arriving early—some came with their parents, and others came alone. In the afternoon, many more children arrived. The state’s symphonic band came and played Christmas hymns. I told Christmas stories. Next the children broke the piñatas, and each received some candy. Finally, two big lines formed—one for girls and one for boys—and my sister and I gave away the toys we had made.
I can’t describe the happy faces of those little children. But just one of those happy faces would have made all of our sacrifices worth it. Anger and envy disappeared from my heart and were transformed into tears of gratitude and joy. As each child took his gift, I received one of the most precious gifts of my life—the joy of serving others.
After our party, the missionaries arrived in Bacalar. Within two months, our branch had grown from four members to twenty-five. Six months later, there were forty-five members. Today, eleven years later, the Bacalar Branch is a ward with a beautiful meetinghouse.
Mother had been right. Because of the spirit of that first Christmas, many hearts—including our own—did open to receive the blessings of the gospel.

One of the most vital qualities of the principle of repentance is forgiveness. Unless each of us can learn to forgive others for real or imagined trespasses against us, we cannot properly repent. Lillian Watson has recorded an interesting episode from the ministry of Phillips Brooks, a great American clergyman, as he addressed his affluent, well-dressed congregation on a Sunday morning in Boston over 100 years ago:
"He looked into the faces of men and women he long had known, men and women who had come to him with their problems, who had asked for his help and guidance. How well he knew what seethed behind the pleasant, smiling mask of their Sunday-best respectability! How well he knew the petty spites that embittered their hearts, the animosities that set neighbor against neighbor, the silly quarrels that were kept alive, the jealousies and misunderstandings, the stubborn pride!
"Today his message was for those bitter, unbending ones who refused to forgive and forget. He must make them realize that life is too short to nurse grievances, to harbor grudges and resentments. He would plead for tolerance and understanding, for sympathy and kindness. He would plead for brotherly love.
"'Oh, my dear friends!' he said . . . and it was as though he spoke to each separately and alone: 'You who are letting miserable misunderstandings run on from year to year, meaning to clear them up some day; You who are keeping wretched quarrels alive because you cannot quite make up your mind that now is the day to sacrifice your pride; You who are passing men sullenly upon the street, not speaking to them out of some silly spite, and yet knowing that it would fill you with shame and remorse if you heard that one of those men were dead tomorrow morning;
"'You who are letting your friends heart ache for a word of appreciation or sympathy, which you mean to give him someday;
"'If you only could know and see and feel, all of a sudden, that the time is short, how it would break the spell! How you would go instantly and do the thing which you might never have another chance to do.'
"As the congregation poured out of church that Sunday morning, people who hadn't spoken in years suddenly smiled and greeted each other . . . and discovered it was what they had been wanting to do all along. Neighbors who had disliked and avoided each other walked home together . . . and were astonished to find how very much they enjoyed doing it. Many who had been grudging and unkind firmly resolved to be more generous in the future, more considerate of others . . . and all at once felt happier and more content, felt at peace with themselves and the world.
"'Forgive,' Phillips Brooks urged his congregation. 'Forget. Bear with the faults of others as you would have them bear with yours. Be patient and understanding. Life is too short to be vengeful or malicious. Life is too short to be petty or unkind.'"

You will be proud of me because I am going to memorize all the Articles of Faith before you come home. Mom is helping me. I already know the first two. I told Mom that I want to do the hardest one next, so we picked number thirteen. Every day she tells me part of it, and I repeat it until I have it memorized.
But maybe you can tell me something, Reed. Why do we believe in being chased by an elephant? Last night when Ben, Natalie’s date, came to get her for a movie, I told him that we believe in being chased by an elephant. Natalie told me not to be silly. But I was serious.
I think that I’ve figured out the mystery of being “chased by an elephant.” Sometimes things sound different from what they really are. What sounded to you like “chased by an elephant” is really “chaste, benevolent.” Those are big words, and they’re not easy to understand. Chaste means to be pure and clean in the things that we think and do. Benevolent means to be kind and loving in everything that we think and in our treatment of people and all other living things. Keep up the good work in your memorizing. I’m proud of you.

We all make mistakes. Big ones, small ones. Sometimes mistakes can grab us tighter than superglue grabs the wrong place on a model plane, and then we’re stuck.
That’s what happened to me when I was ten.
It all started during a friend’s birthday party. It was evening, and we were in her family’s boat, which was parked in the driveway. We started telling scary stories—the kind that give you the shivers and make you wish that you were at home with your stuffed animals.
Many times my parents had told me not to do such things. They had taught me that Satan was real and powerful in ways that I could not understand. It was a lesson I was sorry to learn for myself. How I wished that I’d been obedient.
It was even fun at first as we laughed the chills away. But soon things changed. The stories got scarier, and a dark, cold feeling came over us and we stopped laughing. We started singing hymns and Primary songs, hoping that we would soon feel better. We even said a prayer.
Over the next couple of days, I couldn’t shake the bad feeling surrounding me. For the first time, I realized just how powerful Satan can be and the consequences that can come from disobedience. I wasn’t just spooked. I wasn’t just scared. I knew with a certainty that a darkness was following me, a darkness that chilled my heart and made my soul quake with fear.
What could I do?
On Wednesday, after school, I walked to the chapel for Primary, which was held during the week in those days. I hoped that I could talk to my Primary teacher and that she would be able to help me find an answer to my problem.
Once I got there, I sat on the curb by the door and waited. And waited. Sitting there with that big building behind me, the wide-open parking lot surrounding me, and the empty field across the street, I felt very alone. I was terrified. I kept sitting there, wondering where everyone was. Why hadn’t anyone come? I went to a different school than the other children in my ward, and I usually didn’t see them walking to Primary. But I knew that someone should have been there—one of the leaders, a teacher, someone starting to set up. But no one came.
I finally realized that I had forgotten that Primary had been canceled. No one was coming.
The awful, lonely feeling grew stronger. It made me feel like I was drowning. I closed my eyes and prayed again for help.
Shortly after I opened my eyes, I heard a car coming around from the other side of the building. I looked up to see a familiar face through the open car window.
President Harold B. Lee, a member of my ward and someone who had been friendly to me, smiled. “Is everything all right?” he asked.
I stood up from the curb and nodded.
“I was on my way home,” he said, “when I was impressed that I should come by the chapel and make sure that everything was all right.”
I looked into the prophet’s face, and suddenly a great warmth filled me from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head. The darkness was gone.
I can’t actually remember if I said anything to him. It isn’t important. What is important is that I knew that not only did Heavenly Father love me but that He had listened to and answered my prayer.
And what an answer! It isn’t often that the prophet and President of the Church is sent to answer a single child’s prayer, but I’m grateful that he was sent. And when I make mistakes, big or small, and I feel them squeezing in around me and I know once more how strong Satan’s power can be, I can hear the prophet’s gentle voice asking, “Is everything all right?” And I know once again that everything can be.

A friend of mine once told me that after she had served a dinner featuring vegetables, a young guest said, “I thought I didn’t like spinach, but that creamed spinach was delicious!” Like many of us, my friend took seriously President Kimball’s counsel to garden. Now she grows her own vegetables. She prepares and serves them with great culinary skill. Guests leave her table with increased appreciation for good, healthful foods.