Gospel Story Finder

Representing the First Presidency of the Church, Elder W. Don Ladd, Regional Representative of the Twelve, and Brother Thomas E. Daniels, of the Genealogical Department of the Church, made a special presentation to United States President Jimmy Carter in May 1977.
They gave him a two-inch-thick, leather-bound volume of his genealogy. The record reaches back 12 generations into the early 1600s when Thomas Carter, Sr., was born somewhere in England. Thomas traveled to Virginia in 1632, long before there was a President of the United States.
The genealogical information about the President’s ancestors was gathered from census records, wills, land and probate records, birth and death certificates, and other vital statistics. The work was researched in Salt Lake City where the microfilming work done by the Church in the United States and numerous other countries has resulted in a file of vital statistics amounting to the equivalent of more than 4 1/3 million printed volumes of 300 pages each.
Included with the volume given the President was an 18-by-24-inch, framed family tree, with names of Mr. Carter’s family as far back as could be documented and a letter from the First Presidency. The letter read:
“Daniel Webster said, ‘There is a moral and philosophical respect for our ancestors which elevates the character and improves the heart.’ As you know, we as a people feel a deep reverence and gratitude for our ancestors, which in turn gives us a greater sense of responsibility to our posterity.
“In the spirit of respect and friendship, we present you with this documented genealogy of your family. May you feel a warm satisfaction as you study this record of the people who produced a president.”

When I was baptized, I was very excited to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At the same time, I remember being extremely anxious about joining a church where I didn’t know anyone besides the missionaries who had taken their time to teach me about the restored Church and the Book of Mormon. I was living in Austria at the time. I got to know a few members in the Church but at that time I had not really made strong connections with anyone. My first Sunday as a new convert was truly blessed as the young missionary who had convinced to come to church sat by my side translating what was being said as my German was still poor. The sacrament meeting left me with so much peace in my heart as I felt an understanding of the message of the day. I was introduced to Sister Toni who smiled and sat next to me during Sunday School and Relief Society meetings.
After church she invited me to her home for lunch and I met with the rest of her family. This family became my first friends in the church, they always picked me up for church activities. Through them I began to know more and more about the gospel and every Sunday I looked forward to going to church. Other Church members were equally friendly.

I had three friends who hated each other, and they all wanted me to be the only one they were friends with. The situation was really bad until I called all three together at once and said I was tired of being put in the middle of their problems. They all looked at me like I was really crazy. Later, I got down on my knees and prayed to my Heavenly Father. I asked him to help me find a way so that all three of my friends would see what I was going through. My prayer was answered, and the attitude of my friends changed. My family moved, but my friends are finding out that they were never really mad at each other. They are all good friends now.
Just remember one thing, Heavenly Father is only a prayer away, and he will help if we ask with a full heart.
Joanna Mellor, 17South Jordan, Utah

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.

When he recalls the rigorous years he spent at Harvard Business School, Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles says of his graduate program, “I was stretched to my capacity.”
About this time Elder Hales received a call to be elders quorum president. He was concerned about the added pressure such a call would create on his schedule. “It was one of the few times in my life I didn’t say yes on the spot,” he explains. “I went home to my wife and said, ‘I will probably fail in school if I accept this calling.’”
Sister Hales responded, “Bob, I would rather have an active priesthood holder than a man who holds a master’s degree from Harvard.” She then put her arms around him and added, “Together we will do both of them.”
They knelt in prayer and then went to work. The ensuing months were difficult, but they managed to “do both of them.”

My father, Ernest Preston, was born at the end of the World War I in 1918. He married my mum in 1943 and thankfully survived World War II. In his own words he “had no interest in religion” until fourteen years later, when two missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on his door in 1957. As a result of this visit ,the lives of his posterity were changed forever. It is impossible to count the number of apples in this seed as the generations continue to grow and multiply.
Ernest said, “When I was 39 years old, one evening I answered the doorbell and was surprised to find two young Americans, who told me that they were from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“I invited them in to give their message. They bore fervent testimony, asked us to pray about it to find out for ourselves whether it was true, and left various tracts and a Book of Mormon for us to read.
“After several such weekly discussions, it occurred to me to wonder whether there was any connection between the Mormons whom I had read about as having several wives, and the name Mormon in the title of the book, which I was now reading. On telling my wife of this, she experienced a feeling of revulsion against having any further meetings with these young men.
“Wondering how I could persuade her, I decided to try vocal prayer, for the first real time, and so I went upstairs and knelt at the end of our bed. Feeling somewhat embarrassed and foolish I commenced, ‘Heavenly Father, I know not whether you exist or whether I am talking to myself, but many people believe in you, and I want to. Will you tell me how to persuade Doreen that if this message we have been listening to is true, then it is important that we hear it out to the end before taking a decision.’ A still small voice within me said, ‘You can find the answer in the scriptures.’ I replied, ‘Is the answer to be found in the Book of Mormon or the Bible?’ The same still small voice said, ‘You will find the answer in the Bible.’ At this stage, still considering I was talking or reasoning with myself, I said, ‘But if you are listening to me, and you are God, you can tell me the chapter and verse in the Bible where I can find the answer to my problem’, and for the last time came the answer, ‘Look at John, chapter 12, verse 7.’ I came downstairs to look in the Bible, and found the scripture, which reads, ‘Then said Jesus, let her alone: against the day of my burying hath she kept this’.
“This was enough of an answer for me. I learned not only the answer to the question which troubled me, but more importantly that God lives, and hears and answers prayers. I went into the room where my wife was, and without telling her of my marvellous experience, I informed her that I would tell the missionaries they were not to call again. This I did that same night, relating to them the experience of that morning; asking them to leave the copy of the Book of Mormon so I could continue to study and pray about it. Every evening, I picked up the Book of Mormon, uttered a silent prayer asking to know if it was true, and commenced reading where I had left off the previous night.
“I became more and more convinced that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the true Church restored to the earth. Elder Warner obtained special permission to come and baptise me on 7 December 1958, at the Northenden Chapel, Manchester.
“Since joining the Church I have served three times on the stake high council, twice as a bishop, and once as a counsellor in the stake presidency.
“My wife is now very active in the Church and has served in many capacities, both at ward and stake levels. We have had tremendous growth, and many, many wonderful experiences whilst serving the Lord. Latter-day Saints are wonderful. The Church is true. I pray that we might endure to the end.”

I am a member of the Church because of a five-year-old member missionary.
When I was young, my mother was searching for a church to answer all her questions. We attended a different church each week, but none of them satisfied Mom. Finally she gave up.
My best friend at the time was Sandy Guthrie. We played together nearly every day. One Saturday evening she asked me if I would like to attend church with her the next day. I asked her which church she belonged to, thinking I had visited them all. She told me it was The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
It was a church I had not attended, and I agreed to go. Unfortunately, when I asked Mom, she said she had other plans that Sunday.
The next week Sandy invited me again, and once again I asked Mom. She had another excuse, and I wasn’t allowed to go.
Being a good missionary, Sandy didn’t give up. She suggested I get up on Sunday morning and get ready by myself before asking my mother if I could go. I thought it was a great idea. If Mom didn’t have to make a special effort to help me get ready, she might be more willing to let me go.
On Sunday morning I put on my best clothes and woke up Mom. This time she flatly refused. She offered no excuse and left no room for bargaining. She simply said no. So I did what most five-year-olds would do. I cried.
I suppose the tears and my desire and determination touched my mother, because she agreed to let me go on the condition that she go with me.
Mom and I attended church with Sandy and her family that morning. Mom felt the Spirit very strongly and knew immediately we had found the true Church. That evening the missionaries taught her the first discussion, and she agreed to be baptized.

I feel impressed by something that has been said to repeat an experience. There are a number who are listening in tonight, and one particularly who will remember this very vividly—an incident that took place a number of years ago in Japan. I want you to pay particular attention to a part of this, to show how a mistake in your early life can blight the possibilities of your future opportunities for service in the kingdom of God.
It was just after the war; things were tense. We were at one of the upper camps where the planes could take off, and within half an hour they could be over on the Russian side. We were holding a noon meeting with our servicemen. They called on a young man to speak first. He announced his text from the prayer of the Master when he prayed for his disciples: “I pray not that thou shouldest take them [my disciples] out of the world, but that thou shouldest keep them from the evil.” (John 17:15.) Then this lad delivered one of the finest talks on chastity that I have ever heard. He closed by saying, “Rather than lose my virtue, I would die and have my body sent home in a pine box and my dog tags follow after.”
There was a hush over that audience of servicemen, and then he bore his testimony; and as he started to leave the pulpit, he stumbled and fell, draped over the pulpit. We lifted him off the pulpit and worked with him until he was revived, and then took him down in the audience.
As they carried him down, the mission president said to me, “I wonder if he has a bad heart.” And I said, “You know, I have had a feeling that there is something quarreling inside of him against what he has been saying to us.”
When it came my time to speak, I said to him, “Now, my boy, you have made a profound impression upon all of us. You have said you would rather die than lose your virtue. But remember, the devil heard you, as we heard you, and if I don’t miss my guess, he is going to make you prove that you would give your life before you would lose your virtue. You had better be on guard.”
The group leader took me aside when the meeting was over, and he said, “You were hitting close to the mark, because up at the Chitose Airbase there has grown up one of the most filthy, rotten cities filled with prostitutes to try to entrap our men, and we have tried to keep them out of their clutches. But this boy had made a date with one of these hussies, as they called them, patriotic hussies; and we found out before he kept the date and said, ‘Now look, we are not going to let you keep that date. Think of your mother; think of your sweetheart; think of your sisters. Now we will go down with you and help you break that date honorably.’”
This they did, and kept him under their surveillance for two weeks. They assigned him to do ward teaching, or home teaching, as they call it now; that meant, visit all the inactive boys in the camp. And two weeks later they assigned him to talk on the subject of chastity.
So the years passed. We were with President McKay at the dedication of the Los Angeles Temple. Between sessions I walked out to get some fresh air. As I walked up the west side of the building, I saw on the upper elevation a young man who seemed familiar to me, and I got closer to this young man that I had seen in Hokkaido, Japan. As he recognized me, he came running down the steps and threw his arms around my neck, and said, “Guess what! They have called me to be a worker in the Los Angeles Temple.”
There was a lump in my throat because I was there at the crossroads when he almost made a fatal step that probably would have forfeited him the right to be a worker in the Los Angeles Temple.
More years passed, and then I was out at a conference where he lived; and I saw a young couple walking down the aisle, the man holding in his arms a beautiful child, and a beautiful girl holding on to his arm, whom he introduced as his wife. As they uncovered the face of their new baby, I thought there was pride in the face of that young man because he knew as a young father that in the blood of his own child there was clean, pure blood. That is the reward that comes to one who passes the test.

My mission president understood the principle that trials and challenges can be good for us. Shortly after I had been given the responsibility for directing the work of several missionaries, I received a phone call from a district leader reporting that two missionaries in his district had a heated argument that nearly ended in a fight. My companion and I went to the missionaries’ home to try to restore peace and resolve concerns.

We sat down with the two missionaries and started our meeting with a prayer. In the middle of the prayer we were interrupted by the knocking of another missionary living in the same home who reported to us that his companion, fully dressed in his missionary attire, was unresponsive, lying down, and appeared to be in some kind of a coma. After trying for some time to get this missionary to respond by shaking him, yelling, splashing water on him, and so forth, we finally called for an ambulance. EMTs arrived, revived him, and took him to the hospital.

As soon as the ambulance left, the first thing I did was to call my mission president on the phone. I related to him what had occurred with the fighting elders, as well as the elder in the coma. Feeling overwhelmed by these circumstances and in way over my head, I asked him, “President, what should I do?” I’ll never forget his wise response that became one of the greatest lessons of my life. Although funny now, it was a bit of shock to me at the time. “President, what should I do?” His reply, “I don’t know Elder Hoag. What should you do? You’re the senior zone leader – you pray about it, figure it out, and then call me back. That’s why I put you there.”

That's why he put me there.

Although I wanted him to, my mission president didn’t take the trial away from me, knowing that, like muscles, our mental and spiritual capacities grow and are strengthened by challenge.

Toklat, the grizzly bear cub, stared at the yellow sun until his eyes watered. It was a very hot day. In all of his five months of life on earth, he had never been so warm.
His mother and sister were lying near the creek where his sister had been playing in the water, splashing fans of white spray into the air. It was a game that Toklat liked, too—but not today. His energy was gone. Not the slightest breeze stirred the leaves of the birch and poplar trees in the forest. Not a cloud drifted in the blue sky to keep the sun company. The air around Toklat shimmered with heat waves.
Toklat ambled away from his mother and sister into the forest, looking for—he didn’t know what. Maybe a cooler place in which to lie down. Maybe a new game to divert his attention from the heat.
He moved slowly to the top of a low hill. From there he could see in every direction over the tops of the trees. Everything was motionless and quiet, except for one thing: Not far away a column of black smoke was rising, as straight as a cottonwood tree, several hundred feet into the air. Then it fanned out. The smoke spread across the sky like a cloud, drifting toward Toklat’s hill.
Even as he watched, Toklat’s sensitive nose caught a whiff of the acrid smoke. His eyesight wasn’t good, as is the case with most bears. His nose, however, made up for his poor vision. It told him of dinner, when his mother caught salmon in the creek. It told him that other bears or strange animals were in the area. It warned him of danger, and as Toklat sniffed now, he felt uneasy. Does this smell mean trouble? he wondered.
As Toklat watched the smoke, a breeze began to blow it toward him. And for the first time, the young bear saw fire beneath the smoke. The breeze became a wind, causing great spires of orange flame to leap through the forest, converting trees and brush to charcoal in minutes.
If he had had any experience with fire and smoke, Toklat would have fled right then. He’d have run back to his mother and sister, and they would have headed for the bare, high hills to the south. But Toklat had never seen a forest fire, and though his instincts told him to flee, he didn’t. He stayed where he was, fascinated by the roaring flames. And that fascination almost cost the grizzly bear cub his life.
Leaping toward Toklat, the fire sent advance balls of flame ahead of its main body. They ignited trees over a wide, blazing path. Some of the fireballs were lifted by powerful thermal currents—currents caused by the fire’s great heat—and dropped beyond Toklat, starting new fires between him and his mother.
All at once Toklat was aware that he stood in the middle of a ring of fire that hissed, roared, and lashed about like a monster with a life of its own. He bawled loudly.
As the fire snarled and whipped closer to him, Toklat bawled more frantically. He coughed and darted this way and that, trying to find a way through the fire.
In just moments his mother appeared on the outer edge of the flames. She stood on her hind legs, sniffing the air in search of her son. When she finally located him, she dropped to all fours and bawled for Toklat to come to her. He answered and started toward the sound of her voice. The two cried back and forth until Toklat could finally see his mother.
How reassuring she looked—so big and powerful and safe! Toklat wanted to be with her, but the fire had almost closed its ring. There was only a small place left that he could get through. Toklat knew that he’d have to dash through it, yet he hesitated because the stifling and rambling flames were so fierce! As Toklat cowered in fear, his mother bawled for him again, and the urging in her voice stirred the cub into action. Lowering his head, he ran. Flaming limbs dropped in his path, and Toklat stepped on one. His paw felt as though a hundred porcupine quills had all penetrated at once. He yelped in pain, but he plunged on. He made it through the narrow place even as sparks were singeing his fur.
Without nosing her cub for his hurts, the mother fled, with Toklat and his sister right behind her. They ran through the forest and climbed a high hill to its summit. There were no trees at the top, nothing but shale, so the fire would have nothing to feed on. The bears were safe.
Toklat sat on his rump and licked his sore paw. His mother looked him over, grumped in her chest a few times, then wandered off in search of shade. His sister followed her, but Toklat remained where he was for a while, licking his paw and watching the fire far below. Smoke filled the valley, and the forest had turned black where thousands of trees had burned. Despite the heat of the day and from the fire, as Toklat ran his moist tongue over his burned paw, he shivered. Fire would frighten him for as long as he lived. Never again would he just sit and watch it leap toward him. At the first sign of smoke or fire, he would race for the high hills and safety.

While the boys were hiking, sharpening axes, and canoeing, Tami was learning to talk with her hands.
Tamara Anderson, 16, was spending the summer with her father at Scout camp. The camp had hired an interpreter for the deaf, and while dad was busy making sure the camp ran smoothly, Tami cornered the interpreter and soon had him teaching her to “sign.” “Signing” is the use of hand gestures to communicate with the deaf. Before the summer was over, Tami had the system fairly well mastered.
Returning home to Burley, Idaho, Tami found that a new family with a girl her age had moved in next door. Lee Anne Whitesides was deaf. Tami’s summer experience helped her to communicate with Lee Anne, and the two girls became best friends. Tami says her mother appreciates her friendship with Lee Anne because “we are two of the quietest teenagers she has ever seen.”
With practice Tami’s skill increased. She began interpreting for Lee Anne at sacrament meetings, bishop’s interviews, and other special events. Talking with her hands soon became as fun as talking on the telephone. “One good thing about sign language is you can talk with your mouth full—but the problem is you can’t talk with your hands full,” says Tami.
Tami’s abilities came to the attention of her stake president, and she was called as a regional Sunday School teacher for the deaf. The program for the deaf had just been started, and Tami was called to teach the children’s classes.
Sunday mornings Tami climbs into the family car and drives ten miles, picking up her students to take them to Sunday School. The first week of the program Tami and her students taught a few signs to the members of the ward where the Sunday School is held so they could communicate with the deaf students. During opening exercises Tami sits on the stand and interprets the talks and announcements for her students.
For the class itself, Tami has had to use a lot of ingenuity. Although she uses Church course materials, many of her lessons are her very own because of the mixed ages of her students. “I just use what I have learned about our Heavenly Father.”
It has been challenging to hold the children’s interest in class. Because her students learn by looking, Tami has to have good visual aids. One of Tami’s innovations is her teaching assistant—a Raggedy Andy doll that uses its hands to “talk” to the class. “I work the hands of the doll to make a few simple words and phrases like ‘My Heavenly Father loves me, and he loves you too.’ They really understand what Andy says. I only wish he could say more.”
After Sunday School Tami drives her students back home. “It’s a job to be driving and have the kids signing to me while I’m trying to watch the road.”
During sacrament meetings Tami sits at the back of the chapel with Lee Anne and interprets the meeting for her. Tami’s hands fly deftly, and Lee Anne seldom misses a word of the meeting. Sunday evening Tami starts to work on next week’s Sunday School lesson. In showing her love for the deaf, her actions as well as her hands speak louder than words.

Our very humble home was located about twenty minutes from the temple. Together, my wonderful bride and I decided we would go to the temple at least once a week while we lived near a temple. We had no idea where we would live after law school or whether we would be near a temple. Remember, there were no temples east of the Rocky Mountains in those days. We decided to go on Thursday evenings.

At first, Thursday evenings seemed the most complicated day of the week. Everything would go wrong to keep us from going to the temple. We learned, however, that if we persisted in our determination to go every Thursday, things began to go more smoothly. We both noticed that fact and commented on it. It was apparent the adversary didn't want us to go to the temple and he threw up all kinds of impediments, but if we were diligent in our goal he would eventually give up on us.

Next we learned the same thing I had earlier learned as a returned missionary, the temple is a place of peace. In our determination to be faithful to our goals we would occasionally go to the temple when we neither one felt very much like going. Maybe we had some disagreement or something that had left some tension in the air. That sort of thing probably happens to all young newlyweds trying to blend two lives into one. On those occasions we would drive the twenty minutes to the temple without a word between us. After the temple session, we could neither one remember what the tension was about or even that there had been any tension.

At last Benito reached Oaxaca. It had taken him three days to walk down the mountain from the hut where he had lived with his uncle for the past nine years. Benito was only three years old when both of his parents died, and he could not remember either of them. Nor could he remember having had enough to eat or to wear. Benito spent each day herding his uncle’s sheep near the pool at the bottom of the towering snow-capped peaks while he dreamed of some day going to Oaxaca to find his sister Josefa who lived there. In Oaxaca there might also be hope of good food, decent clothing, and a chance to go to school. There was so much Benito wanted to know!
His bare brown feet were blistered from the three-day journey. His clothes were almost in tatters. Benito carried with him only a gourd from which to drink, and he ate the few berries he picked from the bushes along the way.
When Benito reached the city he found that the people in the market place spoke a language he did not understand and so they could not answer any of his questions. Benito Juarez was a Zapotec Indian, and he had never heard Spanish spoken before he reached Oaxaca, Mexico. For a moment he almost wished he were back with the sheep. But when Benito remembered how often his uncle had beaten him and how he had sent him to find a sheep that had either strayed or been stolen, Benito pushed back his thin shoulders and kept walking and asking questions until he found someone who helped him find his sister.
Nearly thirty years later Benito was elected governor of Oaxaca. In 1861, when he was fifty-five years of age, Benito Juarez was elected president of all Mexico.
The story of the ragged shepherd boy who was always proud of his Indian heritage, who ignored the cruelty of his schoolmates because he was so eager to learn, and who suffered many hardships all through his life is a thrilling one to read. It is well known to children throughout Mexico, and a statue of this great man stands in almost every city and village. Even streets and schools and cities have been named after him.
Benito Juarez lived during a very crucial time. Many historians believe the dream of liberty and education for all that Benito carried with him down the mountain from his uncle’s hut did more to shape the destiny of Mexico than anything else. Benito Juarez is honored as the liberator of his country, and these words he spoke long ago are still found painted on walls throughout Mexico: “For nations, as well as for individuals, respect for the rights of others is peace.”

I learned a lot about my identity as a child of God while I was on my mission. But after I came home, I realized I still had a lot to learn about the importance of remembering that other people are also children of God.
Soon after I returned home, I was thrown into a difficult calling and put in charge of an important event. I was overwhelmed, and I couldn’t get ahold of the people who were supposed to be helping me. I sent an email that was, truthfully, pretty strongly worded.
I was right that the calling was important and that I needed more support, but I quickly realized that maybe this wasn’t the best way to motivate people. I needed humility; I needed to remember that other people probably had their own things they were stressed about.
As Elder Steven E. Snow taught when he was a member of the Seventy, “If we humble ourselves, our prayers are answered; we enjoy peace of mind; we serve more effectively in our callings; and, if we continue to be faithful, we will ultimately return to the presence of our Heavenly Father.”
Truly, I have felt more joy in my calling and in my life as I’ve learned to be more humble.

The longer I stared at the phone, the more nervous I became. I kept going over and over in my mind what I would say. Then I worried that the girl I wanted to call might say no. Finally, I managed to punch in the phone number, hoping no one would answer. They didn’t. What a relief—except I had to start the whole process over again later!
On my second attempt, her mother answered and agreed to get her daughter. Now the sweat was really starting to build. I thought about hanging up, but then I was greeted by a friendly hello. I managed to stumble my way through asking her out. Instead of giving an immediate answer, she said she needed to check with her mom. To me that was code for, “Let me talk to my mom to see if she can help me get out of this one.” Instead she returned to the phone with a cheerful, “That would be great.” I tried not to act too surprised and ended the call. I sat in my chair emotionally drained yet feeling great. I did it; my first date was on its way!

If you don't mind hearing a personal story, I'd like to share with you my BYU-Idaho experience. I do so not because I think my story is noteworthy but because it might help those of you who are looking at your next 40 years--or even your next semester--with trepidation.
Canada Trip, 1976
The day after I graduated from high school in 1976, I left with a friend for a weeklong road trip from Utah to Canada. We borrowed my grandma's car and packed it with the essentials: two sleeping bags, several cans of fruit cocktail, and a couple dozen frozen burritos.
The trip was great until the last few days, when we ran out of food and most of our money. Then, somewhere near Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, we noticed that we were almost out of gas. We found a gas station, but the price of gas was 20 percent higher than we had paid in a previous town. Thoroughly offended by this literal example of highway robbery, we kept right on driving, thinking to ourselves, "We'll show them who's smart." Well, 15 miles down the road, in the middle of nowhere, we ran out of gas. We hitched a ride back to the town and humbly begged for the use of a gas can. Two hours later we were back on the road, a little humbler, a little poorer, and hopefully a little wiser.
First Semester at Ricks College
I had planned to attend the University of Utah, but in August I had a strong impression that I should go to Ricks--an impression that may have been amplified by the fact that Jane Stringham was also planning to go to Ricks. I called the football coach, and he said he could offer a scholarship. Before I knew it, I was on the football field during the first day of practice. Coach Tiny Grant shook my hand, assigned two players to be my roommates, and told me to get a haircut--my hair did not quite meet the dress and grooming standards. Now, at about 6-foot-5, 300 pounds, Tiny Grant was not so tiny, so I obeyed!
I made the first team as a running back, but soon I faced a dilemma. My sister was getting sealed in the Salt Lake Temple the next weekend, so I asked Coach Grant if I could go home for her wedding. He said it was my choice, but I might not retain my starting spot when I returned. I chose to go. I got tickets for an 8 a.m. flight from Idaho Falls to Salt Lake.
This would be my first time flying alone, but I wasn't worried. I had everything planned out: I woke up that morning at 7, got ready, and made the 30-minute drive to Idaho Falls. I arrived at the airport at 7:55 feeling pretty good--I had a good five minutes to spare! On my way from the parking lot to the terminal, however, I learned that my plane was about to leave. "You'll never make it," the airport personnel told me. In a panic, I ran onto the tarmac--you could do that in a small airport in those days--and waved my hands in front of the plane, yelling, "Don't leave! I need to get on the plane! It's my sister's wedding!" The next thing I remember was two security men hauling me off the tarmac, saying, "You're not getting on that plane!"
Needless to say, I missed my sister's wedding. But I did manage to convince security that I was not a serious threat, and I caught a later flight in time for her reception. When I returned to Rexburg on Monday, I also learned that I had lost my starting spot on the team for the next week's game.
As you can see, I had plenty of growing up to do during my first few months at Ricks College.
Spiritual Milestones
But I don't want you to think that all of my learning experiences were misadventures with planes and automobiles. I also made some wise decisions. For example, it was during my first semester at Ricks that I decided to read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover. Somehow, I had never done that before. I'd read from the Book of Mormon--I had even taught lessons from it. I could tell you why we have the Book of Mormon and why it's important, and I could bear testimony that it is the word of God. But now a full-time mission was approaching, and I sensed that my conviction about the Book of Mormon was more in my head than in my heart. I knew that as a missionary, I needed more than just a working knowledge of the Book of Mormon--I wanted to teach from the heart!
So I set a goal to finish the Book of Mormon before the Thanksgiving break. I read every day after football practice. This was a life-changing experience. For the first time, the stories I had heard in pieces started flowing together. I could almost see Nephi, Alma, and Captain Moroni; visions of their experiences formed in my mind, and I can still see those images to this day. It was my first real experience "feasting upon the word of Christ,"[1] and it was "delicious to me."[2]
On the day before Thanksgiving, I was in Ether, so I stayed up all night and accomplished my goal. When I finished, I prayed, as Moroni suggests, to "ask God ... if these things are not true."[3] Did I receive a dramatic revelation? No. But I did receive a feeling of peace, consistent with the feelings I had while reading the book. I now had the ingredient that was missing, not just in my mission preparation but in my conversion to the Savior.
At the end of the semester came a rapid succession of spiritual milestones--I received the Melchizedek Priesthood, my patriarchal blessing, my endowment in the temple, and a call to serve in the Texas San Antonio Mission. By March 17, 1977, the young man who ran out of gas in the middle of Idaho and ran out onto the tarmac at the Idaho Falls airport was serving the Lord in the mission field.

Among the many phonograph records we have at our home, none is as much enjoyed by our grandchildren as a record given to me in Korea that features singing by a chorus of little Korean orphan girls. The music is beautiful!
Soldiers serving in Korea often have spare time. Many of them waste this time, but a young man from Blanding, Utah, named Stan Bronson was not one of them. He decided instead to do some good with his extra hours, so he visited an orphanage where little orphan girls lived. Stan played his guitar and sang to them, and they were delighted with his music. Since the Koreans have beautiful voices, these girls soon joined Stan in singing. In no time he was the leader of a wonderful chorus of children.
These little girls sang to us at a Sunday meeting held in the chapel of the army base on the outskirts of Seoul, Korea. As they sang, I could scarcely hold back the tears. I watched Stan lead these beautiful girls, and I thought of Jesus’ statement, “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God” (Mark 10:14).
Among the songs they sang, I enjoyed most a song I learned as a little boy in Primary, “Give, Said the Little Stream.” They sang the first verse in English, the second verse in Korean, and then the third verse again in English. I would like to give you the words of that third verse:
Give, then for Jesus give;
Give, oh! give, give, oh! give.
Give, then for Jesus give;
There is something all can give.
Do as the streams and blossoms do,
For God and others live.
I have often thought of these words and of this young soldier who gave to help others and of the marvelous way in which the lives of these little children were brightened by his talent. Under his leadership, the girls gave of their talents to brighten the lives of others.
Truly, as the song says, “There is something all can give. Do as the streams and blossoms do, For God and others live.”

In a BYU devotional from October 16, 2018, Elder Gerrit W. Gong, of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, shared a story about an experience where the things he learned in his college years were important many years later.
He said:
“Daily I am grateful for things I learned and experienced at BYU—sometimes years ago. I could not have imagined then, until I have needed them now, how valuable and significant formative BYU lessons and experiences can be.
Here is an example. On a recent flight from Salt Lake City to New York City, my seat assignment was changed at the last moment—in this case, perhaps not without purpose.
I asked my new seat companion if she was traveling to New York or Milan, the plane’s final destination. The question opened a conversation. After explaining she had spent her life as a bilingual, bicultural Italian-English translator, she began quizzing me about Italian art and culture.
As she queried me about Michelangelo, I remembered a BYU humanities class with Professor Todd A. Britsch. I was able to say that in Michelangelo’s statue Pietà, the same piece of Carrara marble feels alive and lifeless at the same time. Mary is alive with compassion while the body of her son, our Savior, hangs lifeless.
My airplane companion nodded approvingly. We then talked about the Sistine Chapel, where God’s vibrant hand touches Adam’s limp hand, and about Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece The Last Supper in Milan.
Then we talked about Dante. After studying Shakespeare for five years in London, she thought Shakespeare might approximate Dante’s genius and accomplishment. What did I think?
I remembered BYU classes on Shakespeare with Professor Arthur Henry King and others, but I diplomatically suggested both Shakespeare and Dante were great literary figures.
Then something unexpected happened. Seemingly out of the blue, this good woman quietly asked, “You want to know how my son died, don’t you?”
We had been discussing Italian art and ­literature—her language of love. I am an amateur in that language, but perhaps because I was willing to try to listen with my heart, she felt she could say, “My son committed suicide. I am going to Italy to make arrangements.” She then added, “I feel you are a man of God. God put you here today because I have no one I can talk to about these things.”
For the rest of the flight we spoke tenderly about God’s plan of happiness, the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, and how families can be together forever. I testified of ordinances and covenants found in the holy house of the Lord and invited her to visit the Manhattan New York Temple or, someday, the Rome Italy Temple [iii] .”

When you meet Chris Jones, the first thing you’ll notice is how quick he is to smile.
And the second thing—which follows almost immediately—is how quickly he begins to treat you like a good friend.
As Chris’s new friend, you’ll be talking football—because Chris has been a football player since the age of seven—but you can’t help noticing that his conversation is full of references to the gospel. It soon becomes clear that he loves the Lord and the Church with all his heart.
Even though Chris has been home from serving in the Oregon Portland Mission for a couple of years, he still has the sure handshake of a missionary. A mission is something he had been planning for his whole life. And his missionary spirit certainly did not get left in the mission field when he returned.
Chris is from St. Mary’s, Georgia. His parents, Artie and Carolyn Jones, met the missionaries in 1978, when Chris was only two. Chris said, “The first time my dad went to church, he saw a lot of people that he recognized in the community that respected him. That was one thing he really noticed.”
The Jones family was baptized and, as Chris has been told, they received a lot of ridicule for joining the Church. When Chris looks back, he is so appreciative of the fact that his parents were able to raise him and his two brothers and one sister in a way consistent with the principles of the gospel. And Chris grew up knowing that someday he would serve a mission. “If it is part of the Church and the Church is true, then I’ll do it.”
In fact, Chris says his mother helped him keep that in mind. “My mom was the one that pulled us out of bed at 5:15 in the morning to go to seminary for four years. It was a struggle. I hated getting up at 5:15. But it was through a combination of my mother and going to seminary that I gained a testimony of the gospel. Up until then, I always knew the gospel was right. I just didn’t know why it was right.”
As Chris gained a testimony, he found that living the gospel principles helped him learn about prayer. “I can’t recall a prayer that I’ve never received an answer to. Receiving an answer is a matter of allowing the Lord to answer you and give you His answer. A lot of times if you pray with your own answer in mind, you look for that answer. If another answer comes, then you’re not ready to receive it.”
Chris loved playing football in grade school and junior high. He started at linebacker all during high school. And, as Chris points out, football in Georgia is serious business. His high school would have 10,000 fans attend its Friday night games. During his junior year, he began getting attention from college scouts. It was exciting, but his mom would remind him not to get too interested because he was going on a mission.
When the scouts showed up, that was the time Chris had to face the possibilities of playing football at the college level. His high school coach told the scouts that he was a hard-working player and was an honor student. Finally concrete offers started to come—full-ride scholarships through four years of college, worth thousands of dollars.
“I asked,” said Chris, “if they would hold a scholarship for two years. One coach was shocked. I told him I was going to go on a mission for my church. He just stared at me and said, ‘You’re going to give up 80 thousand dollars to serve a mission for two years?’ He got mad at me. But I didn’t get offended.” After that, his coach started turning away college recruiters interested in Chris.
Eventually, State University of West Georgia called. The school offered him a scholarship. It turned out that Chris would be able to play a year and a quarter, essentially two seasons, before turning 19 and receiving a mission call. “I knew that all things were possible with the Lord. There were people saying that I couldn’t serve a mission and play ball, yet the Lord provided a way to do both.”
Chris struggled at West Georgia, not on the field where he started as a true freshman but in the permissive atmosphere in the dorms. He didn’t like what was going on around him. He was more determined than ever to go on a mission. And it was on his mission that Chris put football behind him completely. He told his coaches that if they needed to talk to him, to go through his parents. He didn’t keep up on what the team was doing. He says that the only way to serve on a mission is completely and with total focus.
At the conclusion of his mission, Chris decided that he could not return to the atmosphere at his former college. He thought that was also a decision to give up football, and he was willing to do it.
Just as Chris was completing his mission, his mission president contacted BYU about Chris. At first, becoming a BYU football team member didn’t seem like a possibility, but he was invited to try out. He received a full-ride scholarship but was redshirted a year. Once Chris thought sitting out a year would be horrible, but now it was a blessing. He was able to concentrate on his major, a difficult one, in manufacturing engineering and technology. He feels that the Lord has guided his life because at BYU he has had the opportunity to continue missionary work as a ward mission leader. Football will fall by the wayside. That’s fine with Chris. It no longer has his heart.
There is, however, one thing Chris has always wanted—a championship ring. He just missed taking state in high school. And his college team won the conference the year he left on his mission. Knowing this, some friends on his mission got together and bought Chris a ring—a CTR ring that he wears continually. It’s become his championship ring.
Whenever Chris looks at it he is reminded of what he believes deep inside. “Right makes you happy. If you do what is right, everything will fall into place.”

I also have some great memories of taking care of the family cow with my dad. We cleaned the barn, fed the cow, and got her into her stall. Then I held her tail while Dad milked. There is great discipline in having a cow. It has to be milked every morning and every night. It has to be milked in the summer, winter, spring, and fall. I didn’t particularly like the cow sometimes, especially when caring for it interfered with something I really wanted to do. But I developed a love for work and had some great conversations with Dad about baptism, priesthood ordinations, friends, and other important subjects while we were doing chores. I loved spending that time with my father. He is one of the men I most admire and respect.