Gospel Story Finder

The last thing I remember before the four-wheeler flipped was being so scared that I couldn’t even scream. I closed my eyes and felt my body being dragged across the ground. When the four-wheeler landed on top of me, it knocked me out. Somehow my friend Kurt, who was also injured, lifted it off me.
When I woke, I tasted blood and dirt in my mouth. I was dizzy and lying on the side of a ditch. At first I didn’t feel any pain, but soon I began to hurt every time I breathed. After Kurt helped me take off my helmet, my left arm, which was bent out of shape, started to hurt too. I had a big lump on my head, and when I looked at my left leg, I saw a huge cut. My leg was bleeding, and it soon swelled to twice its normal size.
Then I got scared—not of dying but of thinking I might never be able to play soccer again.
Both of my parents are from Argentina. Everyone in my family knows soccer. I grew up playing it and watching it, especially with my dad. When Argentina won the World Cup in 2022, it was the best day ever!
Playing soccer has taught me that if I do my best, I can do things I didn’t think I could do. That applies to school too, like with tests. Tests can be tough, but if I study and work hard, I know I’ll do OK.
I’ve also learned that I’m more frustrated if I play badly than if my team loses. Even if we lose, I’m still happy if I played well.
Right after the accident, my sister Nicole showed up with her friend on another four-wheeler, and two boys who saw us crash quickly drove up on their four-wheelers.
“My dad’s a nurse!” one boy said. While he called his dad for help, Nicole and her friend hurried back to our camp to get my dad.
That morning, nurse Mike Staheli had planned to head home from a weekend campout with some friends. But they felt prompted to stay one more day. I’m thankful they did.
While Mike gave me first aid and checked my vital signs, someone called for an ambulance. Mike feared that I had broken my arm and femur, cracked several ribs, and that I was bleeding internally.
Mike said the ambulance from a nearby town would likely arrive first, but my condition was serious enough that I should be airlifted to Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah. A medevac helicopter was also called for.
When my dad and his friend Hector saw me, they knew I needed a priesthood blessing. My dad asked me, “Do you have faith in the power of the priesthood? Do you have faith that the Lord can help you and heal you?”
“I do have faith, Papá,” I told him. But at the same time, I wondered, “What if I don’t have enough faith?”
My dad anointed me, and Hector blessed me. As soon as the blessing began, my breathing slowed, I calmed down, and I felt warmth even though it was cold outside. I knew then that I did have enough faith and that I was going to be fine either way.
When the ambulance arrived, paramedics cut off my favorite soccer shirt and checked my vital signs. They had stabilized. The helicopter arrived a few minutes later.
When the helicopter landed at the hospital, I was rushed inside. Nurses and doctors began examining me and doing lots of tests, including an MRI. My dad and I expected the worst, and so did they.
But they found nothing! No broken bones, no internal bleeding, no sign of concussion. My leg still hurt a lot, though.
“This is a miracle!” a nurse told me. Later, one doctor said, “OK, Alan, looks like you can go home tonight.”
I was like, “Really?”
Because I still had a hard time walking, I stayed in the hospital overnight. I left the next morning with only a brace on my left wrist. A few weeks later, I was training again for soccer.

Sarah was the only Latter-day Saint girl in her high school. Despite her isolation she dated often. If she wanted to go out with a young man, she would respond to his invitation on condition there would be no smoking, drinking, R- or X-rated movies, nor immorality of any kind. She always set the tone for her dates.
One day, as she stood at her locker at her high school, the “big man on campus” approached her. In his superior manner he said, “If you would lower your standards a little I would love to take you out.”
Her response to his arrogant invitation is a powerful affirmation of the sweet purity of our youth. She replied, “If I went out with you I would be lowering my standards.”

In 1832, emerging from the vision on the three degrees of glory (Doctrine and Covenants 76) with his companion in the vision, Sidney Rigdon, the Prophet looked strong, while Sidney was limp and pale. To this the Prophet, with a certain humility as also perhaps with a little condescension, said, “Sidney is not as used to it as I am.”42 But after the First Vision, he was feeble. It was difficult for him to go home. Similarly, in his 1823 encounter with Moroni, the repetitive encounter, he was left weak, and his father sent him home. He couldn’t even climb the fence, though he was usually a strong and vigorous boy. Neibaur reports him saying of his condition immediately following the First Vision, “I . . . felt uncommon feeble.”43

Illustration by Joel Castillo
“Do you believe in God?” one of my new co-workers asked me.
“Yes, why?”
“Because Mr. Lee* doesn’t,” he said. “Whatever you do, don’t get into an argument with him about the existence of God. You’ll lose.”
It was my first day on the job at a drive-in movie theater in Arizona, USA. I’d just graduated from high school and wanted to make some money for my education and my mission, not get in a debate with an atheist boss. I took my co-worker’s advice.
My co-worker and most of the other employees, on the other hand, did believe in God. But that didn’t stop them from swearing, eating food from the snack bar without paying for it, and smoking marijuana after work.
I never joined them in any of those activities, and it didn’t take long before they wanted to know why. I told them I was a Latter-day Saint, I told them about the Word of Wisdom, and I told them I was preparing to serve a mission for my Church. They didn’t make fun of me, but they did start to call me “The Reverend.”
One night when Mr. Lee was off, another employee and I ran the cash register at the snack bar. That night after the snack bar had closed and we’d added up all the money from the register, the assistant manager told us we had $100 more than what the cash register receipts said we should have.
“There’s no record of this $100,” he said. “So it looks like we each make an extra $33 tonight.”
I didn’t feel right accepting the cash, but I put it in my pocket anyway. The longer the money stayed there, the worse I felt. About half an hour later I approached the assistant manager.
“The money may be unaccounted for,” I told him, “but it isn’t mine.” Then I handed it back.
The following week Mr. Lee called me into his office. I was hoping he didn’t want to talk about God, but actually he did. He asked some questions about the Church and my beliefs. After I’d answered, he said something that surprised me.
“You appear to be the only worker at the drive-in I can trust,” he said. “I’d like to ask a favor, and I’d like to give you some extra work.”
He told me that the other employees were, in his words, “stealing me blind.” He asked me to keep setting a good example for them and to encourage them to be honest. Then he gave me some extra after-hour security duties he didn’t trust the other workers to do. Those extra duties meant more money for college and my mission.
I didn’t ask Mr. Lee if the money I’d been given the week before was a test. But obviously, the assistant manager told him what had happened. I was just glad I’d been honest. I was also glad my boss knew that my belief in God and my participation at church had influenced my actions.
Through that experience, I learned for myself that “being honest will enhance your future opportunities and your ability to be guided by the Holy Ghost” (For the Strength of Youth [2011], 19).
I quit the drive-in job at the end of the summer and left for college. When I returned home during Thanksgiving vacation, I went to the drive-in one night to watch a movie and to say hello to my former co-workers. During the movie, one of them announced over the drive-in speakers: “Reverend Morris, please report to the snack bar. Reverend Morris, your congregation would like to see you.”
We had a fun reunion, and I was glad I’d left everyone with a positive impression. I’m especially grateful, though, that my honest behavior had made a believer out of my boss.

Those who serve as stake presidents do not seek the office they hold. All are humbled and some are overwhelmed when they are called. As I called a stake president in Europe who had been a member of the Church only about 10 years, he gasped, “Oh no, no, not me. I cannot do it.” Fortunately, his wonderful wife, who was at his side, put her arms around him and said, “Honey, you can do it. I know you can.” She was right, and he served very well.

Four days after his 16th birthday, Erastus was ordained a priest by his brother William and told to teach and baptize. He linked up with his young relative James Snow, also age 16, for a ten-day preaching mission into the Vermont countryside. Starting on November 22, 1834, they journeyed to Danville, where they “held a meeting with the brethren.” The two priests held two meetings at Sheffield, and then spoke to “a large attentive audience.” At Glover, they visited Albany, Irasburg, Troy, and Jay, “preaching and calling upon people to repent.” At Jay, they met with local Saints on the Sabbath and “administered the Lord’s supper and in the evening we held a public meeting.” The young priests visited Troy, Newport, Salem, Charleston, Newark, Burk, and Sundon.

After the trip, James Snow said, “we did exceedingly rejoice.” He and Erastus “could truly say that the Lord was merciful unto us in very deed in that he did fill our mouths with words that our enemies could neither gainsay nor resist, and prejudice gave way.”

But I am reminded of a story told to me by a friend of mine who is an area authority of the Church in the northeast. He reported a conversation with a district judge in New York City who, on being asked why that illustrious, but oft-maligned city was beginning to actually look a little better, responded that it was because they were enforcing the anti-spitting laws. My friend was surprised by the response and asked what that had to do with the general decline in crime and other positive indicators of improvement. The judge replied that they had discovered that if they enforced the little things that were actually enforceable—anti-spitting, anti-jaywalking, and other seemingly rather insignificant ordinances—then general respect for the city and its moral authority seemed to improve. What were a few years ago actual pockets of anarchy in urban life have now become much more orderly—and here is the important point—thus giving city dwellers more freedom (conversation with Elder Robert S. Wood, April 29, 1998).

Finally, success in our life may not be the result of one big choice but a series of small choices that over time lead to rich blessings. May I share one more personal experience that illustrates this principle – that blessings come into ones life through making correct choices and being obedient to the impressions that come.

Some time after our first year of service in the Recife, Brazil Mission, we received an Elder from Rio de Janeiro named Jose Morais. He was a little shy at first but it wasn’t long before he felt part of our mission family, thanks to the great efforts of Sister Gollaher. During an interview one day we were talking informally about himself and his family and he shared with me the following story.

When Elder Morais was 11 years old his mother died. He had 8 or 9 brothers and sisters and the family had been supported principally by his mother who was a seamstress. The father was only at home periodically because of a drinking problem. They were very poor and lived in the “favellas” (slums) above the business district. Upon the death of his mother, it became clear that their father didn’t have the capacity or the interest to maintain the family. Shortly thereafter, his father called the family together and told them that they would have to find other places to live because he couldn’t care for them. At eleven years of age, Jose Morais was put out on the streets of Rio de Janeiro and told to care for himself. For the next year he begged or raided garbage cans for what he ate and slept on the sidewalk or the beach. After a year, one of his sisters invited him to Sao Paulo to live with her and her boyfriend but because of her personal problems this arrangement only lasted for about 6 months and once again he was on the streets, this time in Sao Paulo – a city of 20 million people. He was now almost 13 years old.

Jose found an open piece of ground in one of the slums outside the city and built himself a shelter of cardboard. Over the next few years he worked at odd jobs to support himself but was not able to attend school. Slowly he upgraded his house from cardboard to corrugated metal but it still lacked running water or sewer.

When he was about 17, he purchased a small business consisting of a portable street cart where he could sell hot dogs and drinks to students as they came out of school. It was during this time that a couple of Sister Missionaries walked by and “felt” that they should stop. After exchanging small talk, the missionaries asked him if he would like to learn about the church. At first he resisted, but later agreed. When the missionaries tried to set up an appointment at his home he was so embarrassed that he was about to withdraw his agreement to hear the discussion. This was the first of his many choices related to the gospel. The sisters however “felt” his uneasiness and offered to teach him at a nearby church. After a couple of months he was baptized. At his baptism, the sister whom he first met told him that she would like to invite him to Rio to visit with her family after she completed her mission. He agreed, but as with most convert/ missionary relationships, after the mission he soon lost track of her.

He remained active in the church (another good choice). About a year later, he was invited to go to the temple with the youth of his ward to do baptisms for the dead. While at the temple he ran into this great sister missionary and her family who were visiting from Rio to do temple work. Once again he was invited to visit with their family in Rio. This time arrangements were made for him to come for one week. He asked a friend to watch his business and journeyed by bus to Rio (about 300 miles away). When he arrived, this great family showed him an unconditional love. They opened their home and their hearts to him. One week passed then two, two weeks then three. About this time he was feeling like he should return to Sao Paulo and resume his life but it was so hard. He said he had never felt this type of acceptance and love before in his life. Finally he announced that he was planning to leave.

Unknown to him, the family had held a counsel that evening to decide what they could do for this young man they had grown to love so much. The next day as he was preparing to leave, Elder Morais was approached by the father for a private chat. He told him that the family had been blessed to have had him in their home. He told Elder Morais that they had met as a family the previous evening to talk about him. He told him that the family had grown to love him very much and as a group had decided that they would like to legally adopt him into their family. He said, “Would you like to be a permanent part of our family?”

At this point in our interview, Elder Morais looked at me with tears streaming down his face and dripping off his chin and said, “President Gollaher, you can’t imagine how I felt to have been asked to be part of a family”. This young man’s life has been eternally altered by a family that opened their hearts with love and invited him in. As a result of a decision to choose the good, good had been returned to Elder Morais to the extent that he hardly had room enough to receive it. A year after his legal adoption, he was sealed to this family at that same Sao Paulo temple where they had first met.

Since I could not escape my newfound notoriety, I decided to create opportunities that would add laughter to potentially uncomfortable conversations. I took a chance and dressed up as a nametag-wearing missionary for Halloween (a costume holiday celebrated in October). I knew this was a risky endeavor as I could be completely ridiculed, but I had a feeling that doing so would show that I was sure of my beliefs.

The risk paid off. Walking around campus as a missionary made everyone smile and sparked lively role-playing sessions. I broke some stereotypes and made some new friends.

Last spring we announced our 1971 summer collegiate intern-scholarship competition. Soon the entries began to come in. We carefully read each one and tried to consider the kind of staff member each entrant would make, and then we did considerable interviewing among the finalists.
The three winners—Dale Van Atta, 19, Rochester, New York; Margaret Ellis, 20, Montreal, Quebec; and Anna Stone, 24, Blacksburg, Virginia—have more than fulfilled our expectations. They have brought youthful perspective and vigor. Dale had previously won awards in the United States and England for his editing and writing. Anna had successfully presented her own photography exhibits and had one year’s experience in designing books for Hallmark Cards. Margaret had worked as a secretary on the Montreal Star, for which she occasionally did a guest column.
Now the summer is past, and they’re back in school mastering their trades. But the New Era won’t forget them. Who else but Dale would write a seventeen-page article on Frisbees? Or will any of us ever mispronounce Muntreal again, after having worked alongside Margaret? Then there is the memory of Anna—her round glasses and photographic eyes that have exposed to us forever the fresh beauty in a drop of water or a ray of light.
You will be seeing and reading their work in future issues. We gratefully thank our co-sponsors in the project: the YWMIA and Sigma Gamma Chi and Lambda Delta Sigma, the Church collegiate fraternity and sorority organizations.

“I was only 12 years old when you and your companion taught me the gospel in Taranto, Italy. The year was 1975.” My mind raced as I tried to recall the writer. “You are probably asking yourself if you baptized me. No, you didn’t, because my mother and father refused permission.” The writer went on to explain how painful and embarrassing it was for him and his brother to stop the missionaries on the steps of their apartment building as we were going to ask his parents for permission to baptize him. He recounted how he kept coming to church for a while but eventually stopped because he could not be baptized. “But I kept the teachings in my heart and never betrayed the principles I was taught,” he wrote.
I served in the Italy Rome Mission from 1975 to 1977, and Taranto was my first city. But I could not recall the story that was unfolding in this e-mail. The writer explained that when he was 22 years old he was called into compulsory military service in northern Italy. There he suffered a spiritual crisis that caused him to pray for the first time as an adult. He received an answer to his prayers, and because of this, he sought out the missionaries in that area. He found them at a fast-food restaurant and told them he wanted to be baptized. “Nothing like that ever happened to me on my mission,” I thought. Those elders must have been shocked.
He was baptized and later married in the temple at Friedrichsdorf, Germany. He now had three children, had moved to Canada several years ago, and was an active member of the Church.

Perhaps of all the Prophet’s Christmases, none was more pleasant than his last—December 1843. He recorded:
“This morning, about one o’clock, I was aroused by an English sister, Lettice Rushton, widow of Richard Rushton, Senior, (who, ten years ago, lost her sight) accompanied by three of her sons, with their wives, and her two daughters, with their husbands, and several of her neighbors, singing, ‘Mortals, awake! with angels join,’ which caused a thrill of pleasure to run through my soul. All of my family and boarders [in the house] arose to hear the serenade, and I felt to thank my Heavenly Father for their visit, and blessed them in the name of the Lord” (History of the Church, 6:134).
A large gathering of family and friends dined with the Prophet and spent the evening enjoying good music and dancing “in a most cheerful and friendly manner.” And then an uninvited guest interrupted the party. Joseph described the event:
“During the festivities, a man with his hair long and falling over his shoulders, … came in and acted [in an uncouth manner]. I requested the captain of the police to put him out of doors. A scuffle ensued, and I had an opportunity to look him full in the face, when to my great surprise and joy untold, I discovered it was my long-tried, warm, but cruelly persecuted friend, Orrin Porter Rockwell, just arrived from nearly a year’s imprisonment without conviction, in Missouri” (History of the Church, 6:134–45).

“I love the Personal Progress program. I have learned to do things I never knew I could,” says Mindy Sutton of the Twenty Wells Ward. Mindy believed a choir experience would help the youth in her Grantsville Utah Stake feel the Spirit in their lives, and Mindy needed a Laurel project. So she organized and directed a choir for stake Standards Night.
But the task wasn’t easy. Mindy says although she loves music, she has no natural ability. In fact, she was very discouraged after the first practice. “It was so hard to be in front of my peers trying to tell them what to do. But my stake leaders encouraged me to pray for help and promised the Lord would bless me.”
She went home and fasted and prayed. Her prayers were answered when the choir’s outstanding performance two months later not only brought the Spirit into the choir members’ lives but inspired those in attendance.
“I feel a lot closer to my Heavenly Father and know He has helped me so much,” Mindy says.

I was almost 12 years old when the Twin Falls Idaho Temple was dedicated. I was so excited when my older sister asked me for the first time if I wanted to start going to the temple regularly with her and her friend.
I was happy when my younger brother Tanner turned 12 three years later because I could finally invite him to attend the temple with me.
Each morning that we went, we would help each other get up and go, and when we were tired Tanner would make jokes to help us wake up. After going to the temple, we would take some time to talk about how we’d felt in the temple and what we’d thought about.
Going to the temple with Tanner became the spiritual highlight of my week. Through our regular temple visits we became better friends, which strengthened me more than I would have imagined when some trials came my way. Our two older sisters had left for college and our ward had just been split, leaving Tanner and me as some of the only active youth in our ward.
Tanner and I spent hours calling and inviting less-active youth to church and Mutual. It often felt like a hopeless effort because no one ever came no matter how many girls I tried to befriend.
Our parents tried to help. They would bear testimony to us when we were discouraged, and they let us talk out our frustration when we came home upset. But even so, we didn’t suddenly have more friends at church, and wanting to go when I’d be the only young woman there was getting harder and harder. Our temple visits started becoming less frequent because of our busy school schedules.
I spent a lot of time reading my scriptures and pleading with the Lord to help me be strong. I was lonely and tired—tired of being alone, tired of my efforts not making a difference, tired of struggling spiritually and emotionally.
During this time, I worked as a lifeguard at the city pool. I liked being there a lot more than I liked being at church because my co-workers were my friends and were always excited to see me. One day I decided that I wouldn’t go back to Mutual since work was more fun and more helpful for me financially.
I didn’t think it was a big deal until I noticed myself lowering my standards. I didn’t say anything about my friends’ swearing, and one day I was shocked to hear myself accidentally swear when I never had before. I even watched an inappropriate movie one night at a party with my lifeguarding friends. I felt terrible and wondered what I was doing.
Meanwhile my parents had told me how much more lonely Tanner had become since I stopped attending Mutual. Every week he would ask me, “Hey, are you going to come to Mutual tonight?” When he would get home from Mutual, he would go straight to his room and read his scriptures for a long time. He wasn’t talking as much anymore, and when I asked if he was OK, he just said, “No” and walked away.
One night he came home crying because he had felt so alone.
That’s when I decided that I needed to go back. It didn’t matter how hard being alone was for me; Tanner needed me.
Tanner had been taking a family history course at church, and I decided that I wanted to take it with him. We wanted to start going to the temple more regularly again, and now we would be able to find names ourselves.
We enjoyed taking the class together on Sundays. After church, we’d search for names together. The coolest thing about taking our own names to the temple was that we had found them together, and even better, we were able to support each other at church and even enjoy church because we were doing the Lord’s work.
Tanner’s diligence in attending church and Mutual was a powerful example to me. I had a testimony of the gospel, but he helped me gain a testimony of attending church meetings and activities.
Together we were able to comfort one another and use our testimonies of the temple to help each other be strong in the Church. Youth attendance at church and Mutual never really got better, but Tanner and I became stronger and more able to bear our burdens as we helped each other press forward.
I’m so glad that I invited him to come to the temple with me. While I’m sure it helped him, I know it rescued me.

In May of 2020 after Keoni and I were asked to come to BYU–Hawaii, I was assigned to give my first devotional talk. At first, I was okay. But, as I started preparing my talk, fear of inadequacy overcame me. I didn't know how to move forward. I was scared that I wasn't going to be as good as the people who came before me and that I couldn’t be what everyone needed me to be. During this time of being fearful, a friend and mentor of mine sent me a message. In the message, they reminded me that the Lord has asked me to do this. Their simple encouragement gave me the confidence I needed. It reminded me that the Lord asked me to fulfill this role. It helped remind me that the Lord knows me, and He will help me. It is so very important in life to be surrounded by others who also want to stay on the covenant path so that we can help each other through hard times. What a difference good friendships and positive relationships have made in my efforts to live the gospel and to overcome my personal fears and challenges. Choose friends that can do that for you!

I am one of those converts. I was converted at 17, when I was a high school student. The missionary who performed my baptism was an Elder Rupp from Idaho. He was recently released as a stake president in Idaho. I have not seen him since I was newly baptized, but I have exchanged e-mails with him and talked to him by telephone. I have never forgotten him. His kind, smiling face is etched into my memory. He was so happy when he learned that I was doing well.
When I was 17, I didn’t really have a good understanding of the messages that the missionaries had been teaching me. However, I had a special feeling about the missionaries, and I wanted to become like them. And I felt their deep and abiding love.
Let me tell you about the day I was baptized. It was July 15, and it was a very hot day. A woman was also baptized that day. The baptismal font had been handmade by the missionaries, and it wasn’t much to look at.
We were confirmed right after we were baptized. First, the sister was confirmed by Elder Lloyd. I sat down with the other members, closed my eyes, and quietly listened. Elder Lloyd confirmed her and then began to pronounce a blessing on her. However, Elder Lloyd stopped talking, so I opened my eyes and looked at him with an intent gaze.
Even today I can clearly remember that scene. Elder Lloyd’s eyes were overflowing with tears. And for the first time in my life, I experienced being enveloped in the Holy Spirit. And through the Holy Spirit I gained a sure knowledge that Elder Lloyd loved us and that God loved us.
Then it was my turn to be confirmed. Again it was Elder Lloyd. He placed his hands on top of my head and confirmed me a member of the Church, bestowed the gift of the Holy Ghost, and then began pronouncing a blessing. And again he stopped talking. However, I now understood what was happening. I truly knew through the Holy Ghost that the missionaries loved me and that God loved me.

I would like to tell you about a group of loud young men who came into my life when I was a young bishop in Seoul, Korea, many years ago. These were boys who lived in the neighborhood. Only one or two of them were members of the Church at the time. The boys who were members were the only members in their family. They were all friends, and they came to the church to play and to be together. They liked to play Ping-Pong during the weekdays, and they liked to have fun activities on Saturdays. Most of them were not good students in school and were considered by many to be troublemakers.
I was a young father of two sons, who were seven and nine years old at the time. I did not know what I could do for these young men. They were so rowdy that once my wife, Bon-Kyoung, asked me if we could move to another ward so that our sons could see good examples from other young men. I pondered and prayed to Heavenly Father to help me to find the way to help these young men. Finally I made the decision to try and teach them how they could change their lives.
A vision came upon my mind very clearly. I felt that if they were to become missionaries, their lives would be changed. From that moment on, I became very excited, and I tried to spend as much time as possible with them, teaching them the importance of missionary service and how to prepare for a mission.
At that time, Elder Seo, a full-time missionary, was transferred to our ward. He was one who had grown up in the Church and as an Aaronic Priesthood youth had participated in a young men’s singing group with his friends. He met those boisterous boys in our ward. Elder Seo taught those who were not members the missionary discussions, and he also taught them the songs he used to sing. He made a triple quartet with those loud boys and named them the Hanaro Quartet, which means “be as one.” They were happy to sing together, but we all needed “big” patience when we listened to their singing.
Our home was open to the members anytime they wanted to visit. The boys visited our home almost every weekend and even on some weekdays. We fed them and taught them. We taught them the principles of the gospel as well as the application of the gospel in their lives. We tried to give them a vision of their future life.
They sang together every time they came to our home. Their loud sound hurt our ears. But we always praised them because listening to them sing was far more enjoyable than seeing them get into trouble.
Through the years these activities continued. Most of these young men matured in the gospel, and a miracle happened. Over time, nine of the boys who were not members were baptized. They changed from loud, rowdy boys into valiant stripling warriors.1
They served missions, met beautiful young sisters in the Church, and married in the temple. Of course, there were different challenges for each of them as they served missions, attended school, and got married, but they all stayed faithful because they wanted to obey their leaders and please the Lord. Now they have happy families with children born in the covenant.
Nine loud boys have become 45 active members in the Lord’s kingdom, including their wives and children. They are now leaders in their wards and stakes. One is a bishop, two serve in bishoprics, one is serving on the high council, and two are Young Men presidents. There is a ward mission leader, an executive secretary, and a seminary teacher. As a group, they still sing together, and the other miracle—they actually sound good!
Now, we have three of our own sons, including our youngest, who was born during the time I served as bishop. As our sons grew, those nine boys became the leaders of the ward and the stake, and they became the teachers and leaders of our sons. They taught our boys and other boys in the same way I taught them when they were troublemakers. They loved our young boys in the same way I loved them. These loud, rowdy boys of the past became our children’s heroes. Our sons liked to follow their great examples of becoming wonderful missionaries and getting married to righteous companions in the temple.

Before February 1997, our family could have been compared to a deep river: on the surface the river appeared calm, but the undercurrents were continually raging.
When any problem arose, I tended to blame my wife. I believed she was the cause of our problems, so I rationalized doing anything I wanted, including looking for a new partner. I didn’t feel my wife had the right to complain about my behavior because I provided for the financial needs of our family.
One day in February, there was a knock on our door in Tacloban, Leyte, Philippines. When I looked out the window I saw two strangers—young women wearing name tags. I recognized them as Latter-day Saint missionaries. Looking for an opportunity to debate, I had them enter. When I asked them to sit down, I was ready for battle. I was determined they would leave disappointed, so I presented a false front. I pretended to be attentive so I would be prepared to deliver my arguments most effectively. But when it was my turn to speak, I found there was nothing to argue about. I could only agree with what the sisters had said.
The sisters wanted to set up another meeting, and I agreed. When they left, the peace I had enjoyed disappeared, and soon my negative feelings started to return. I dreaded the prospect of meeting with the missionaries. But I kept the appointment, and, with each succeeding visit, I rediscovered values and truths I had discarded in my vain pursuit of success. Each time they left our home, the peace I felt would last longer, and soon I found myself looking forward to their visits.
The missionaries’ teachings, the scriptures, and the reading material they left behind were microscopes with which I began to examine the minute details of my life. I found that I had been scrutinizing only half of my marriage—my wife’s half—and I had chosen to see only the bad in it. With the new opportunity to view my life in the light of Jesus Christ’s teachings, I began to see more clearly the other half of my marriage—my half—and found it in even worse condition.
The proclamation on the family states, “Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ” (Liahona, October 1998, 24). I rejoice and thank the Lord for giving me the chance to repent. I also thank Him for these sisters who willingly became His instruments so that through our accepting the gospel and living its teachings my family might become like a lake—calm and peaceful throughout, not just on the surface.

Delwin Pond (center) introduced Michael Anthoney to the Church in 1981.

Michael Anthoney, a pioneer member in Bangalore (now Bengaluru), miraculously connected with a Church member in 1970. When Delwin Pond, a bishop in Utah, went to a chiropractor because of back pain, he saw a magazine article at the chiropractor’s office for a nonprofit organization that sponsored students in India. He felt a strong prompting to support one of these students. This led to a 10-year anonymous correspondence that culminated in the Ponds making contact with Michael and sharing the gospel with him. Michael was baptized in 1981 and served a mission in Salt Lake City in 1982. He returned to India early because his mother was critically ill, so he served the final three months of his mission in Bangalore, where he taught several of his friends and others who became members of the first branch there.5 Now plans are underway to build a temple in Bengaluru.

President Hinckley himself is not intimidated by a difficult task. As newlyweds, the Hinckleys moved into the Hinckley farmhouse—a summer home with no furnace. Kathy says, “Dad approached this problem the way we would see him solve many others—head-on. He ordered a furnace and began reading the installation instructions. The furnace worked perfectly. He’s wanted us to take on challenges using the same approach—decide on what you want, follow the instructions carefully, and work at it.”