Gospel Story Finder

Again I have to interject a comment about my mother. On one occasion when I was writing the score for Indian, I was back at Richfield and the recording engineer called to see how it was coming. I said, “It’s going great, just fantastic! You’ll love this sequence!” I went on and on, and afterwards my mother said to me, “Merrell, we never brag about ourselves; we never tell how good we are.” I said, “They’re putting out 20 thousand dollars just to record it. They want to know how it’s coming along.” She said, “Just remember that you shouldn’t become too boastful because the Lord won’t bless you.” I try to remember that—the Lord isn’t pleased if we’re too boastful. We should show thankfulness.

I grew up on a farm, and I loved working with cattle and with all our other animals. I always had a favorite dog: first Ranger, then Randy, then Tippy, and a lot of others. There were a number of horses, too, that I rode and came to love while I was growing up. I’d ride backward and standing up as well as the right way, and I’d sometimes slide off the hind end like a slippery slide. Once when I did that, I got kicked in the back of the head and had to be taken to the hospital.

For a good part of my young life, I carried my gym bag in one hand and a cornet case in the other. There was always a conflict between my gym bag and my horn case. My mom kept promoting music, and I kept promoting athletics. Although I wanted to be a great athlete, I had only average abilities, so eventually the cornet prevailed. I studied the cornet for ten years, taking lessons every week. Music has been associated with a lot of my most spiritual moments in life: while singing hymns in the mission field, at family home evenings, and at sacrament meetings, and while attending musicals and concerts.

When I got back from my mission and went to Brigham Young University, my bishop, Reid Bankhead, had a great impact on my life. He taught about Christ and urged us to read the scriptures daily, especially the Book of Mormon. Ezra Taft Benson was one of my heroes even then, long before I knew that he’d be our prophet and make studying the Book of Mormon one of the key elements of his ministry. I doubt that a year has gone by since then in which I haven’t read the Book of Mormon.

My older brother, Gary, is two years my senior and was born mentally retarded. He attended public schools until about fourth grade. Part of my early years were spent defending him from the teasing and taunts of his classmates. I couldn’t understand how anyone could be so unfeeling of his situation. Because of my experiences with my brother, I developed a sensitivity to people who are different in any way. We all need to be like Jesus and reach out to those who are different from us. Thinking about the Savior and making Him a part of our lives helps us develop compassion. Jesus ought to be our best friend. Through prayer and thinking about Jesus, we can develop a greater sensitivity to other people and their needs.

Elizabeth married a Chinese farmer, but he was also lured away by the gold rush and left her to raise their eight children with only her housekeeping and sewing skills. Times were difficult.

Although illiterate, Elizabeth knew the value of education and found creative ways to learn. She was determined to give her children more opportunities to elevate themselves than she had received. For example, she had her young sons read the daily newspaper to her, and they became good readers by the time they started school.

The covenant path led Enoch to accept a call to serve as a missionary in England, and his testimony, as well as his piano playing skills, became tools in the service of the Lord. In addition to teaching the gospel, Enoch frequently found himself being invited to play the piano in church meetings in the various areas where he served. He continued to hone both his musical skills and his knowledge of the gospel while serving.

He was thriving in his service when he received word that his beloved father had passed away. He was heartbroken and struggled with his loss, but now secure in his understanding of, faith in, and trust in God’s plan, he was able to bear his grief and loss. He credits his ability to finish his mission to the strength he developed, and to the relationship he established, with his Savior after struggling with his faith in those earlier years.

When Jessica attended an Especially for Youth program at Ricks College, no one except her close friends knew who her grandfather was. In one class, the teacher asked if any of those attending had met any of the General Authorities or President Hinckley. Jessica did not raise her hand. It wasn’t because she was embarrassed. She just wanted to hear what other people had to say. “I was interested that people loved seeing him at temple dedications or conferences.”

“How lucky I am,” says Ann, “that I know him as a person and a grandfather and as a prophet. What an amazing thing that is.”

One Christmas, my young son needed two dollars to make me a present. On Christmas morning, he was so excited about it that, in spite of the many brightly wrapped packages with his name on them, he insisted I open his present first. It was a pencil holder for my office—made from a jar covered with brightly colored macaroni shells. The two dollars bought pencils and erasers. I was pleased with his innocence and love. He then eagerly turned to his own presents.

Kurt lived in Switzerland with his family. He had six big brothers. Hans and Josef were the biggest, and Franz and Peter were next in size. Then came Jon and Fritz. Even Fritz was much bigger than Kurt.
One day the six big brothers were going riding on their six big brown horses.
“I would like to ride a horse,” said Kurt.
All the big brothers looked down at Kurt. “You are much too little, Kurt,” said Hans, and away they galloped.
The next day the six big brothers were going hunting for a big black bear.
“I would like to go hunting,” said Kurt.
All the big brothers looked down at Kurt. “You are too little, Kurt,” said Josef.
“Grow a little more, and then you can help hunt the black bear.”
Another day the six big brothers were going to climb a high mountain covered with snow.
“I would like to climb the mountain,” said Kurt.
All the big brothers looked down at him.
Kurt sighed. “I know, I know. I am much too little.”
“But you will grow,” said Franz kindly. “Then you can join us.”
“It takes so long to grow,” said Kurt, and he sat down to wait for his six big brothers to return.
One day the snow came in big feathery flakes. All the land turned marshmallow white.
“Stay here with Mother, little Kurt,” said Peter. “We are going with Father to get a Christmas tree.”
When they came back, they brought the tree into the house. It stood tall and green and smelled of the woods.
“There, little brother. How do you like our Christmas tree?” asked Jon.
“It’s beautiful!” declared Kurt.
“We will make it even more beautiful,” said Fritz. “See what Hans is bringing from the loft.”
Hans brought down a big box. Kurt went to see what was in it.
“Gold and silver!” he cried. “And red and blue and green! May I put them on the Christmas tree?”
“We’re sorry, Kurt,” said Josef, “but you are too little.”
“Yes, I know,” said Kurt. He sat down to watch his six big brothers put the shiny ornaments on the Christmas tree.
The six big brothers laughed and sang happy songs, but not little Kurt. He just sat and watched.
At last the tree was decorated. They all stepped back to admire it. “No,” said Franz, “it’s not finished yet. It must have one thing more; then it will be truly beautiful.”
“The gold star for the top,” said Peter. “Where is it?”
“It’s not in the box,” declared Jon.
Hans said, “I will go back up to look for it.”
“I see it,” he called down, “but it is back in the corner where I can’t reach it.”
He came down and Fritz went up. “I can’t reach it either,” Fritz said when he came back down.
They all looked at Kurt. “Little Kurt,” Josef said, “would you try to reach the star?”
Kurt ran over to Hans, who boosted him up the ladder. Soon Kurt was backing out of the loft, holding the gold star carefully in his hands. “The star is beautiful,” said Kurt. “Please let me put it on the tree.”
“Oh,” said Franz, “you are much too—”
“I know, I know,” said Kurt. “I’m much too little.” And he turned away from the Christmas tree.
Hans looked after him. “Kurt, you are much too little to reach that high, but let’s see how fast you can grow!” He picked Kurt up and put him on his shoulders.
“Now you are taller than any of us,” said Peter.
Hans held Kurt high—as high as the top of the Christmas tree. Kurt took the beautiful, shiny gold star and put it on the very top of the tree.
“Beautiful! Beautiful!” everyone chorused. “And it’s all because we have a little brother!”
The six big brothers laughed and sang—
“O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
How faithful are thy branches …”
And Kurt sang with them.

I spoke one day to a friend escaped from his native land. With the fall of his nation, he had been arrested and interned. His wife and children had been able to get away, but for three years and more he had been a prisoner without means of communication with those he loved. The food had been wretched, the living conditions oppressive, with no prospects for improvement.
“What sustained you through all those dark days?” I asked.
He responded: “My faith; my faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. I put my burdens on him, and then they seemed so much the lighter.”

I thought of this as I sat once with a choice person who had been wronged, and in her anguish and anger had herself subsequently acted in error. Her sins were serious, innocent people had suffered, and the road back was difficult. But that was past. In contrition and humiliation she had followed the course to full forgiveness and had received it. There was a serenity of spirit and a sweet radiation of peace about her that made me think of parables of lost sheep and coin and son, and the language in them concerning the joy and rejoicing in heaven over “one sinner that repenteth.” (Luke 15:7.)
I said, “You really do understand the joy and rejoicing in heaven, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said with a warm smile. Then, not accusing and not condemning, “Brother Hanks, why isn’t there more rejoicing in the ward where I live?”
I have pondered that question in my mind and heart.

Gary and Tommy were building a bridge. It had rained that day, and the rain had made a little brook through Gary’s backyard.

“I’m going to be an engineer when I grow up,” declared Gary. “I’m going to build bridges just like the ones my daddy builds.”

“I’m going to be a truck driver,” announced Tommy. “I’m going to drive a great big trailer truck. I’ll bet my truck will be the biggest in the whole world!”

“It better not be too big,” said Gary, “or it can’t go under or over some bridges.” Then he ran over to the garage to get another board. His family had just moved in, and there were plenty of boards from the empty furniture crates. Gary’s toys hadn’t come yet, so the boys were playing with Tommy’s big blue truck.

“I’m going to load my truck with rocks,” Tommy said, “and drive it over the bridge.”

“The bridge isn’t ready yet,” said Gary. “Wait till I get this board in place.”

But Tommy wouldn’t wait. “Here I come,” he said, and started his truck along the road toward the bridge. It was a muddy road, but Tommy pushed and pushed till he got his truck up onto the narrow bridge. Then one wheel went off the edge, and the whole truck with its load of stones fell into the brook.

“I’ll help you pick them up,” said Gary.

“You leave them alone,” said Tommy. “They’re my rocks. If you’d built your old bridge better, my truck wouldn’t have gone off the edge.”

Tommy started picking his rocks out of the water. When he turned around, Gary was backing the truck down so he could help put the rocks back in. Tommy dropped the rocks and grabbed his truck. “That’s my truck!” Tommy said. And away he ran, leaving Gary all by himself.

Gary looked puzzled, but after a minute he began to work on the bridge again. “It’s going to be a four-lane bridge,” he said to himself, “just like the one Daddy is building.”

Tommy ran into the kitchen as soon as he got home. “Mom,” he called, “Gary pushed my truck into the water.”

“That’s too bad,” Tommy’s mother said. “How did it happen?”

“We were building a bridge, and Gary didn’t make it wide enough, and my truck fell off into the water and got all wet.”

“Oh,” said Tommy’s mother. “I thought you said Gary pushed it.”

Tommy didn’t say anything for a minute. His mother took a pan of cookies out of the oven. Reluctantly Tommy said, “I guess he didn’t really push it. But it’s my truck and Gary didn’t have any right to play with it.”

“Whose bridge were you driving it over?” asked Tommy’s mother.

“Well,” said Tommy finally, “we both started to build it, but I guess the boards were Gary’s.” Then he turned and started to go back outdoors. “I don’t care,” he said. “He can’t have my truck. I’m going to play in my sandbox!” Tommy slammed the door.

Tommy made a road in his sandbox, but when he tried to run his truck on it, the road wasn’t big enough for the truck to turn the corners. He looked for some boards to make a bridge up to the sandbox, but he couldn’t find any. Tommy tried pushing two trucks to make believe he was two truck drivers, but that wasn’t much fun. He sat down on the back steps to think.

At last Tommy got up and went slowly into the kitchen. “Mom,” he asked, “may I go back over to Gary’s yard to play?”

“What would you play with?” asked his mother.

“I’ll take Gary one of my trucks,” said Tommy. “Then we’ll each have one.”

Tommy’s mother smiled. “Would you like to load some cookies onto your trucks? I’ll wrap them in waxed paper for you.”

“Thanks, Mom!” said Tommy.

Two minutes later Tommy was back in Gary’s yard, holding a truck carefully in each hand so as not to spill the cookies. “Gary!” he called. “I brought you a truck.”

“That’s neat,” said Gary. “See, I’ve built the bridge wide enough so that we can both go over it at the same time.”

“That’ll be fun,” said Tommy. “I guess bridge builders and truck drivers have to work together.”

“I guess ’most everybody does,” said Gary.

Carlos was too small to walk the dog or mow the lawn. But he was big enough to help.
He could help Dad wash the dishes, and he could help Mom fold clothes.
One day Carlos was helping Grandpa pull weeds when Mrs. Lopez walked past.
“I need to pull my weeds today too,” she said.
Mrs. Lopez looks busy, Carlos thought. When she went inside, he grabbed a big bucket and started pulling weeds in her flowerbed.
Carlos worked until the weeds were all gone. Then he grabbed his bucket and hurried back to his house.
Mom’s probably cooking dinner, Carlos thought. And I’m big enough to help!

At an amusement park, my friend and I went on one ride while my mom and my sister went on another ride. After the ride was over, my friend asked if I wanted to go on the roller coaster. I said no because my mother had said to come right back after the ride. He said he would pay me if I went on the ride with him. I said no. He kept adding more and more money. He even said he would pay me $100. I said no. Later, I told my mom what had happened. She was proud of me for obeying her. I felt good that I followed the commandment to obey my parents.

It wasn’t until 1880 that the first missionaries of the Church entered Finland. At this time Finland was a province of Czarist Russia, and officials soon jailed the elders. However, Anders Johansson, a local fisherman, and his wife and daughter were converted and baptized into the Church. When missionaries returned to Finland after World War II, the grandchildren of Anders Johansson met them, having remained faithful to the gospel.

Five cubs had been born to Red and Vixen only nine days ago. These young ones were still completely helpless, and their eyes were just beginning to open. Two of the cubs were the typical red color of their father; two were more of a cross like Vixen—reddish brown with a smoky stripe down the back and across the shoulders; and one had silver black fur sprinkled with white.
Red was now on his way back to his family, feeling rather smug after stealing some leftover meat that a wolf had cached for a future meal. Hunting was not usually so easy. As a matter of fact, when the snowshoe hare population was low and the marmots and ground squirrels were still in hibernation, death from starvation was a constant threat. As if that problem were not enough, a desperate lynx that depended on the hare for most of its diet might anytime add a red fox to its menu. But in recent years snowshoe hares had been plentiful in the north country, so Red had not noticed any extra attention from his lynx neighbors.
Another resident of the wilderness, however, lurked nearby. The clucking alarm and whirring wings of a willow ptarmigan were warning signals to Red. He stopped abruptly, forepaw in the air. His body was arrow straight, tense, ready to spring into action. Something was edging through the lodgepole pines. Suddenly a giant grizzly bear appeared. Its massive hump-shouldered body weighed almost a thousand pounds. The grizzly was one of the most ferocious of all wild animals.
The bear was headed toward the den of Red and his new family. Red couldn’t tell if the bear were aware of the den. But he knew that if the grizzly were not diverted before he had the scent of the cubs, they would be devoured.
Red was one of the smaller predators of the north country, but his intelligence, speed, and courage made up for his size. In a red blur of motion, the fox dashed out to meet the grizzly. He circled around the bear and then rushed in to nip at his heels. The bear turned and snarled. Red circled again and again, darting in and out as he went, teasing, taunting, challenging. He knew that he must draw the bear away from the den, so each time Red retreated from the savage claws of the grizzly, he backed a little farther away from Vixen and their cubs.
In one unguarded moment before the grizzly had completely turned, Red made a rushing leap and bit the bear on the rump. Snarling with rage, the grizzly lunged toward the little fox. The whole forest shuddered with the sound. But the agile fox dodged the lashing paw just in time, backing away in an effort to draw the grizzly still farther from the den.
By now the bear was breathing in hoarse huffs. He was rapidly losing his appetite for a red fox dinner. What may have once seemed like a good idea had become a painful, frustrating ordeal. With a resigned grunt, the grizzly turned and lumbered off into the pines.

“Who wants to pick the song for family night?” Dad said.
“I do!” Colby said. “Let’s sing ‘I’m Trying to Be Like Jesus’!”
Colby sang loudly: “I’m trying to be like Jesus. I’m following in His ways. I’m trying to love as He did, in all that I do and say.”
Mom began the lesson. “How can we be like Jesus?”
“We can be nice,” Colby said.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Jesus was nice. What else did Jesus do that we can do?”
“He comforted sad people,” Dad said. “He helped them feel better.”
“How can we do that?” Mom said.
Colby thought. Comfort seemed like a grown-up word. Could he really comfort someone who was sad?
The next Sunday, Colby sat next to Katy in Primary.
“My mom is sick,” Katy said. “She had to stay home.”
Colby remembered how sad his mom was when she was sick.
When Colby got home, he found some paper and a pen.
“I’m making a card,” he said. Colby drew lots of smiling faces. Dad helped him write, “Get Well.” Colby put the card in an envelope.
“Can we take this to Katy’s mom?” Colby asked. “I want to comfort her.”
Colby and Dad went to Katy’s house. Katy came to the door.
“This is for your mom,” Colby said.
A few days later, Colby heard a knock at the door. He ran to the front room. His mom was talking to Katy’s mom.
“Thank you for the card, Colby,” Katy’s mom said. “It made me feel happy.”
Colby smiled. He didn’t have to be a grown-up to do what Jesus would do. He could comfort people now!

I knew the Joseph Smith story was true the first time I heard it. I was 15 then and living with my aunt’s family in Montélimar, France. Three of the children in the family were already members of the Church. The youngest daughter, my cousin, was not.
She and I went to the closest branch at Valence. There the missionaries told us the story of the young latter-day prophet, and it touched me profoundly. I had heard my cousin’s family discuss the restoration of the gospel at home before, but as I heard it in detail for the first time from these young men, it reached my soul.
They told me of the promise in Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5] in the Book of Mormon and said that I could know the truthfulness of what was written there if I would ask God sincerely. They also said I could know if their message was true. That same evening, brimming over with a desire to know, I knelt and prayed. I was elated by the warm and wonderful feeling that flooded my soul. I knew this was a response from the Lord and that the gospel had indeed been restored by Jesus Christ, as the missionaries said.
My cousins had shown me a good example of love and concern for each other. I hadn’t been much interested in their church’s doctrine, but I had admired their ideals for family life. Now, however, I wanted to know more about the Church. I went with my cousins to a youth conference in Vaumarcus, Switzerland, and made many LDS friends there. During the testimony meeting, I stood and told them about my experience when I had prayed about Moroni’s promise.
My understanding grew rapidly, but soon my father intervened. He didn’t like the idea of me investigating a “new” church. My parents were separated, and no one knew where my mother was, but I felt obligated to honor my father’s wishes, at least until I was no longer a minor. My contact with the Saints as a group dropped off somewhat, but I knew in my heart that someday I would be baptized.
My oldest cousin went into the army, and then he left on a mission. During the two years he was gone, I kept thinking about the feelings I had felt. I always had a testimony of Joseph Smith, right from the start. His story seemed so logical, and the confirmation of the Spirit came so quickly that I couldn’t ignore it. When my cousin returned from his mission, I met him in Montélimar, and we rode together back to Antibes (near Nice), which is my hometown. All the way there we talked about the Church, and I accepted many new ideas.
The Lord also had something else in mind to help me. I was in agricultural school in Lyons at the time, and when I returned to my studies, I arranged to do some field study for three months in Aix-en-Provence. There, with my cousin, I heard all of the missionary discussions thoroughly, and the small testimony inside me became a big one. I was baptized on July 26, 1975, and I still feel as strongly today as I did then that Joseph Smith was and is a prophet of God.
I am thankful that I was able to see the gospel in action in my aunt’s home. Their example combined with the witness of the Spirit to let me know that the Lord has built a program for families that I want to follow.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, José has served honorably in the France Paris Mission.

READER 2: One 18-year-old boy stood on the deck of a troop ship out in the Pacific.
READER 1: He didn’t really want to be there.
READER 2: He really wanted to be on a baseball diamond. For almost all of his 18 years, he had wanted to be on a baseball diamond, and five major league scouts were considering him.
READER 1: Then Uncle Sam called. Suddenly he didn’t have a bat in his hand.
READER 4: He had a rifle, and he was on a troop ship.
READER 2: The water was almost like glass. The ship lay there still and calm.
READER 4: Three thousand men were crowded onto the bow of the ship singing “Abide with Me.”
READER 2: Then the chaplain started speaking:
READER 3: Now, men, I’m not going to kid you tonight. You’ve been training for what you’re going to do for the last year, and you know full well what’s before you. All our statistics tell us that a lot of you aren’t going to make it. About half of you will lay your lives down in this attack. What I’m saying, men, is that half of you will be standing before your Maker tomorrow morning before 8 o’clock. Are you ready?
READER 1: And the boy Paul, who wanted most of all to be a big league baseball star, suddenly wanted very much to know the answers to certain questions: Does God really live? Why am I out here? Does he care about me?
READER 2: The whistle went off at 5 o’clock in the morning, and he was assigned to the seventh wave.
READER 4: The first six waves didn’t even get ashore. They were completely blown out of the water.
READER 5: By then the tide was in, and I had to wade ashore in water clear up to my chest. I had to push through the dead bodies of my friends. I was asking a lot of questions. Why’s that wonderful 19-year-old kid lying face down in the water there? Why? Finally I was pulled ashore and I got about 10 feet on the beach where I dug a small—a mighty small—hole. There I took off my helmet and started to ask the Lord why? “Why, Lord? Why should I be out here? Do you live? Are you real? Is Jesus Christ really a Savior? Is Joseph Smith a prophet?” And then it came, that sweet, inner commitment and verification. It was Spirit touching spirit, saying in a solid voice: “It is so.” A testimony was born because I asked with real intent to know. I really wanted to know. “Are you there, Lord? Will you tell me?” And he did.
(Music: 20 second organ interlude “Abide with Me”)

At the beginning of each year, my family sets goals that we try to complete throughout the year. One of the goals I set was to read the scriptures every other night. I wasn’t doing very well for the first few months of the year. Usually when I get home from church I put my scriptures in the stairway. One day my mom said, “How can you complete your goal of reading the scriptures when they are sitting in the stairway?” So that night I read my scriptures. I have been reading them almost every night since then. They are a blessing, and I’m thankful for them. They give me the power to feel the Spirit and be happy.
Mathieu Q., age 8, Wisconsin

“Come on, Meagan, just try it on. You might change your mind,” Sarah said, shoving the dress into my arms.
Hesitantly, I took the dress back to my changing room. It was a beautiful, black satin gown, studded with sequins. I studied it as it hung on the hook in the dressing room. Sarah was right; trying it on wouldn’t hurt. Trying it on didn’t mean I wanted to buy it; it just meant I wanted to see what it looked like on me.
“Well?” Sarah asked impatiently.
“I like it. It’s really nice,” I forced myself to say, as I saw myself in the mirror.
My mom would hate it! The spaghetti straps would never pass my father’s approval, and the low cut back was definitely not modest.
“So what’s the problem?” Sarah could tell by the tone in my voice that I was not crazy about it.
I tried to think of a million excuses that I could tell Sarah to let her know how important modesty was to me, without sounding too stuffy.
“Well, it’s … just not me.”
“You’re afraid your parents wouldn’t approve,” Sarah quickly responded.
It wasn’t just that my parents would not approve; it was more that I didn’t feel right wearing it.
“Listen, Meagan,” Sarah said. “Prom is only once a year. God won’t care if you look fashionable just this once.”
Straightening the slinky gown, I looked down and saw my CTR ring. Choose the right, I reminded myself, and let the consequences follow. I had to tell Sarah the truth. It wasn’t just what other people thought of me; it was what I thought of myself. Even though Sarah wasn’t a member of the Church, I knew if I was honest with her and explained why modesty was important to me, she would understand. Prom was a big deal, but it was not worth sacrificing my integrity.
I looked at my CTR ring again and replied, “You’re right, Sarah.” Changing back into my clothes, I continued, “I should do what makes me happy.” Sarah smiled since she assumed I meant to buy the dress. “And that is why I can’t buy it. It wouldn’t make me happy.”
I ended up wearing a maroon dress with a modest neckline and cap sleeves that my mom and Sister Wright sewed on for me. More important than what I wore on the outside was how I felt on the inside. I knew I had made the right decision by dressing modestly. What we wear to dances may not seem like a big deal, but the little decisions we make now are what help us choose the right when we are presented with big choices later.

Many years ago I was introduced to an idea which at first seemed only an exercise in imagination, or perhaps a peg on which to hang a story. But I have thought of it occasionally since as I have traveled the earth, often separated from family and other loved ones.

Suppose that everyone in the world received simultaneously the word that the inconceivable was about to occur: civilization as we know it was about to end.

What would happen?

Well, for one thing, the streets would be a maelstrom of frantic people trying to get to a telephone to talk with someone. Every line would be jammed and every telephone booth besieged by people trying to reach someone to say “I love you.” There would be other messages also. “I’m so sorry,” would be one of them, or “How foolish I have been.”

The condition of the world about us assures us that the unthinkable could happen; but it is not of such a cataclysm that I am thinking, but of our daily walk and our everyday relationships. They who love should manifest their love while there is a chance to do so. If we are waiting for some later time, some period when all imperfections are corrected and when all frustrations pass away, we are not wise. Resentment or pride or selfishness or impatience can lead us to miss what life is meant to be, and can be, and is for those who love and serve. To postpone loving and giving until some time of perfect freedom from distress or discomfort is a great mistake; it will not happen. It is not for this world.

But we should be earnestly seeking and striving to correct and improve our own attitude and our own behavior. God has so ordained it. He loves us and believes in us and has done and will do anything he can to help us, but he will not impose on our free agency. “We love him,” says the scripture, “because he first loved us.” (1 Jn. 4:19.) He does not love us because we love him; he loves us unconditionally. But his love does not take the course of negating or smothering our privilege to choose, or our responsibility to account for what we choose and to experience the consequences. Indeed, it is written that he weeps for the bad judgment of some of his willful and disobedient children:
“Behold these thy brethren … are the workmanship of mine own hands, and I gave unto them their knowledge, in the day I created them; and in the Garden of Eden, gave I unto man his agency.” (Moses 7:32.)
“And … the God of heaven looked upon the residue of the people, and he wept.” (Moses 7:28.)
We had that agency with God before this world was. In the heavenly council of which the scriptures teach, there was another plan than God’s presented: Lucifer was permitted to offer his program. It is vital for us in our leadership and our relationships to remember that God so loved that he would not shield us from the perils of freedom, from the right and responsibility to choose. So deep is his love and so precious that principle that he, who was conscious of the consequences, required that we choose. Lucifer had no love in his heart, no real concept of freedom or respect for it. He had no confidence in the principle or in us. He argued for forced salvation, for imposed survival, for an agencyless round trip to the earth and back again. None would be lost, he insisted. But he seemed not to understand that none would be any wiser, either, or any stronger or more compassionate or humble or grateful or more creative, under his plan.
We understood before we left that premortal state that freedom is precarious, difficult. We knew that to love would make us vulnerable to heartbreak and pain and disappointment. But we had learned that the alternatives to love and freedom of choice cannot provide the climate for growth and creative capacity that can eventually lead us to a stewardship like our Father’s. The unselfish love of our Father’s Firstborn in the spirit helped us understand when he, knowing the personal cost ahead for him but also the eternal significance for all of us, volunteered for his role of redemption.
We chose then, and we are, in consequence, on this earth still choosing.
Recently I listened to a lovely young lady just leaving her teens as she spoke in a stake conference, her first address ever. She had never known a true family of her own. She had experienced many temporary homes, made many mistakes, had much heartache and hopelessness. Then an older Church couple found her, and loved her, and taught her. Her prepared talk was witty and interesting, but when she laid it down and bore witness through tears, it became magic:
“No one ever helped me to understand that I was worth anything,” she said, “that I was special in any way. And then the missionaries taught me about Jesus Christ and his love and the God who sent him. They taught me that Jesus died for me—for me. I am valuable! I am valuable! He died for me.”
The lesson of God’s great love and wisdom seems lost on many who are on this earth because of their choice but we do not understand. Our responsibility is to help them. But we must ourselves pray and strive earnestly that we do not obscure its meaning. If we do not really love and really believe in free agency, we may be inclined to impose our will on others for what we think is their best good. If we love enough, we will not do that, even at the risk of failure. Instruction and rules and training and discipline are essential, of course. From our Father’s example of godly love and patience, we should be motivated to stretch to any lengths to teach, to persuade, to encourage, to help.
But in matters of conscience and faith, if we truly love we will never seek to impose our will and deprive others of their agency. That is, after all, Satan’s way. He is still permitted in this world to pursue his own rebellious approach. Since his encounter with earth’s first family, he has waged war unceasingly upon God’s children.
A scene to give us pause is portrayed in the Book of Moses:
“Satan … had a great chain in his hand, and it veiled the whole face of the earth with darkness; and he looked up and laughed, and his angels rejoiced.”
But it is written also:
“And … angels descend[ed] out of heaven, bearing testimony of the Father and Son; and the Holy Ghost fell on many.” (Moses 7:26–27.)
The contest for the souls of men continues. We go on choosing.
The loving Father who at such great cost has preserved our agency in and out of this world has made every effort to help us use it well, but he has made it plain where the responsibility now lies:
“I have set before thee this day life and good, and death and evil;
“In that I command thee this day to love the Lord thy God, to walk in his ways, and to keep his commandments and his statutes and his judgments, that thou mayest live and multiply. …
“I call heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live.” (Deut. 30:15–16, 19.)
It is written that “God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16.) That holy Son died for us and gave us the wonderful example of his life, and nothing in that life touches my heart with greater impact than the manner in which he chose to live among us:
“Forasmuch,” it is written, “as the children [that is, we] are partakers of flesh and blood, he also himself likewise took part of the same. …
“For verily he took not on him the nature of angels; but … took on him the seed of Abraham.
“Wherefore in all things it behoved him to be made like unto his brethren, that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest in things pertaining to God, to make reconciliation for the sins of the people.
“For in that he himself hath suffered being tempted, he is able to succour them that are tempted.” (Heb. 2:14, 16–18.)
Through that love it now is that “we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.” (Heb. 4:15.)
He has the feeling of our infirmities; he understands our temptations. He came not as an angel but in flesh and blood that he might be a merciful and faithful advocate for us with the Father.
Would we improve our individual performance in relationship with others if we truly had the “feeling of their infirmities” and truly sought to be a faithful and merciful high priest, or Relief Society teacher, or friend, or wife, or husband?
The intensity and integrity of God’s love and Christ’s love are beyond our comprehension, but we are here to learn, and we must try.
Only Christ was sinless in this world, and this is why repentance must always company with faith as first principles. God’s plan and Christ’s sacred gift prepared the way for us to improve, to grow, to change, to learn wisdom and mercy and forgiveness. Out of the wise use of our free agency proceeds every other wholesome quality and every blessing.
It is my deep conviction that any act or program or rule planned or performed without love at its heart, love as the spirit of it, or which curtails the agency of our Heavenly Father’s children, is not worthy of God’s kingdom or of his leaders or people.
Repeatedly He has protected our eternal agency, thus helping us to qualify through opposition and in the face of alternatives for the sweet blessing of eternal creative service. But we must choose—and be held accountable.
All of this came together for me in a very personal way a year or so ago in Manila in the Philippines when a telephone call from my wife reached me in the middle of the night in a hotel room telling me that our only son had suffered a severe accident that threatened his mobility and perhaps his life. He was being flown home to be operated on.
About the time of his anticipated arrival home, I telephoned. There was a brief delay, then the sound of my wife’s voice, quiet and subdued. “Your four sons-in-law are standing around your son administering to him,” she said. “Paul has anointed him, and John is about to give him a blessing. He was worried because you’re not here. This will be the first administration he’s had from anyone but his father—but he’s comforted now.” I joined them in that prayer of blessing on my knees in a lonely hotel room half a world away, a room suddenly made sweet and warm.
Whether or not that day ever occurs in our lifetime when the telephone lines may be especially busy, we should be thinking of the love we have and should express, and manifest it for those nearest us and for those round about, and for all others, and for our holy Savior and his father.
Well may we sing, “I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me.” In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.