Gospel Story Finder

Some years later I was called to serve in another bishopric. Again this love developed as we had opportunity to meet so often to direct the affairs of the ward. A little over a year later, a change was to be made in our stake presidency. The bishop and I were called in to be interviewed by the General Authority who was making the change. The first question the General Authority asked was, “How do you get along with your bishop? Is he a good leader?” Then I started to express in glowing terms my love and appreciation for this man and all he had done for the ward. Suddenly I realized the purpose of the interview. They could call him into the stake presidency, and we would lose our association. I immediately stopped my compliments on his great service, and after a pause, I said with a little smile on my face, “The only difficulty he has is that when he is under pressure, he goes home and beats his wife.” The General Authority leaned back in his chair and said, “Isn’t that peculiar? He was in here just a minute ago and said you have leadership capabilities but you too have a fault. You like to go out behind the barn on occasion and smoke a cigar.” The strategy failed: I was called into the new stake presidency.

My father, Parley W. Newman, served as a paratrooper in World War II. On more than one occasion, he parachuted behind enemy lines in the South Pacific and was under fire. He lost close friends in combat and was eventually wounded himself.
When I was a child, I suffered from excessive fears over the evils that exist in the world. My good parents made great efforts to help me overcome those fears, but the fears persisted.
One night, my father came into my room and told me of the tremendous fear he had daily experienced during the war—an entirely justifiable fear in the face of real and imminent danger. He told me that throughout his time in the war, he carried with him a verse of scripture printed on a card and received comfort from the promise of that verse. He then handed me a card on which he had printed that same scripture, Joshua 1:9.
I slept that night—and for many nights—with that card under my pillow and carried it with me, as my father had, until I no longer needed the card itself, for the Lord’s promise in that verse was imprinted on my mind and heart. My father’s gift of the Lord’s words was the beginning of my learning to replace fear with faith.
As a young woman I searched the scriptures for similar promises and assurances of the Lord and relied upon them with all my heart. I still do. In time, I arranged some of those scriptural promises into a poetic text that my brother, Mark, has set to music—music intended to convey both the power and peace of these promises.

Many years ago John Burroughs, a naturalist, one summer evening was walking through a crowded park. Above the sounds of city life he heard the song of a bird.
He stopped and listened! Those with him had not heard it. He looked around. No one else had noticed it.
It bothered him that everyone should miss something so beautiful.
He took a coin from his pocket and flipped it into the air. It struck the pavement with a ring, no louder than the song of the bird. Everyone turned; they could hear that!
It is difficult to separate from all the sounds of city traffic the song of a bird. But you can hear it. You can hear it plainly if you train yourself to listen for it.

I played baseball, which I liked very much, and I played every day. Because I was very small, the mitts were too large. At that time in Mexico, we didn’t have small gloves, only big ones, so I used a big one. My middle finger is short now because I broke it many times playing baseball. I would just put a bandage around it and keep playing. My coach said, “When Horacio catches that ball, it never falls. It may be that the ball will take Horacio out, but Horacio never drops the ball.” I played shortstop, catcher, and pitcher. I think that I was a good pitcher, because I had one game with no runs and no hits. I also played American football, but I had problems because I was so thin. I was hit very hard many times.
Even so, I realized then that nothing was impossible to do, if I wanted to do it. I think that I learned that lesson from my mother. She was a very special person. She worked in advertising in Mexico when only a few women worked for companies.
My grandfather was a military general during the Mexican Revolution. He was a very, very hard man, but he loved me. He taught me love for my country and for my flag. Every September we celebrated Mexican Independence Day at my grandparents’ home. We had a big dinner on September 15, then we went to the parade on September 16.
I remember staying at my grandparents’ big house. They ate five meals a day. For desayuno (breakfast), they had only hot chocolate and bread. Lunch—almuerzo—was about eleven o’clock, and it included bread, meat, and beans. Dinner was at two or three o’clock in the afternoon. Merienda, which consisted of hot chocolate and cookies, was served at six o’clock. Cena (supper) was not until eleven at night. Children did not stay up for it.
Children in Mexico were taught to be respectful toward adults. I remember that at a reunion, children could only attend if they were invited. If a child wanted to talk, he had to ask permission.
The Lord preserved me in my years on the earth. When I was two, I had amoebas in my stomach. These microscopic animals in my stomach made holes in my intestines. The doctors said that I didn’t have a chance to live, but I got well and was all right.
Another time, my uncle, who was only three years older than I was, put me in a baby carriage and took me for a walk around the house. In front of the house was a road, and behind the road was an irrigation canal. When he took me across the road, the carriage slid into the canal. It was empty at that time, but my uncle couldn’t get us out. My mother felt concern for me and began to call me. Then she looked for me in the house but couldn’t find me. She felt prompted to look on the road and in the canal. She found us and got us out of the canal just before the water started to come through the canal. Had she not listened to the Spirit, my uncle and I would have drowned.
We must realize that God lives and, as our Father, loves us. He doesn’t want us to suffer any harm. I testify that our Teacher, our Shepherd, is Christ, our best Friend, Who clears up all our doubts. He heals our wounds and turns our pain into sweet experiences.

Since the consolidated meeting schedule has made more Sunday time available, we have devised a family game called “Mormon Bowl.” The goal is to answer as many questions as possible from sacrament meeting talks and songs. Its rules are simple:
1. Each family member writes a question and its answer on a slip of paper.
2. The questions are put into a bowl of your choice. (We used Grandma’s blue willow bowl.)
3. The most reverent family member at church gets to draw and ask the questions. (If you have a very small child, a reading adult helps.)
4. To keep score, one point is awarded for each question answered correctly. In case of duplicate questions, the youngest children get to answer.
It sounds simple; but try to remember what the name of the opening hymn was, or what special person was mentioned in the opening prayer. Perhaps a new officer or teacher was sustained: who was he, and what is his new position? The questions asked can also be doctrinal, based on information given in the sacrament meeting talks.
Within a few weeks after we began playing this game, our family’s reverence at sacrament meeting had improved dramatically. And it didn’t take long for new sensitivities to develop, along with a new kind of listening.
Improved reverence, knowledge, enjoyment, and spirituality have been rewards for our Sunday evenings. Indeed, we look forward each week to our “Mormon Bowl,” enjoying again the spirit of sacrament meeting.

Sister Kearon and I have a particular sensitivity and great compassion for Israel and Elizabeth Barlow. Our first child, a boy named Sean, died during heart surgery when he was just three weeks old. This was an earth-shattering loss for us. At the time, we wondered if we could survive. We buried him in a painfully small grave in England. Fifteen years later, our family was asked to move from our home in the United Kingdom to serve full time in the Church, and we left that little grave behind.
We have the beginning of an understanding of what the Barlows went through. Our baby boy’s grave is very far away, yet like the Barlows, we have abiding faith in the Resurrection of Jesus Christ and the eternal nature of our family through the holy sealing covenant.

Illustration by Allen Garns
One Sunday during sacrament meeting, I sensed something that disturbed me. I did not know what it was, but the feeling would not leave. I looked nervously at the clock and longed for the end of the meeting. This was unusual for me.
After the closing prayer, the feeling was still there. I glanced around the chapel and noticed a man clutching his chest. I went to him, and he asked if I would take him to the train station. I told him I should take him to the emergency room instead. He said he had medication at home that would help him. I told him I would drive him home because taking a train in his condition would be too dangerous.
I helped him into my car and asked again if I should take him to the doctor. He said that was not necessary and that I could just go to his home. I silently prayed, asking my Father in Heaven to help him be all right and to help me drive him home safely! I drove carefully, opened the car windows, and tried to calm him down. After some time, he leaned back in his seat and slowly began to relax.
When we arrived at his home, he invited me in. I was glad because I wanted to make sure he got his medication and that it worked. He took his medication and started to feel better. He said his chest still hurt a bit but that he felt safe at home.
He invited me to stay for dinner, and since that afternoon, we have become good friends. We often go on outings together and help each other. Before this experience, I had many friends who were not a good influence on me. But my friendship with this man has blessed my life.
Sometimes out of a crisis, a great friendship can arise. If I had simply put him on the train, I wonder if he would have made it home. I would never have forgiven myself if something had happened to him. I am grateful to my Father in Heaven that the Holy Spirit led me into this situation and that, in the process, I was able to gain a true and dear friend!

I’m grateful that our youth leaders planned a visit to the temple. As we were preparing for this trip to Apia, Samoa, we were happy for this rare opportunity. We joyfully went into the temple to do baptisms for the dead—for those who are in the spirit world waiting for us to find our family history and do work for them.
During baptisms, I saw a young man in our group baptized for Faataga Agavale, my grandfather. I felt tears of joy in my eyes, and I knew his spirit was there. I was very happy we were able to do work for him in the temple.

Mary Lou Beilfuss, a Laurel from the Holladay 17th Ward, Salt Lake Olympus Stake, earned the money for her banner by working at a grocery store. The theme of her banner was eternal life.
“It helped me understand more about the recent death of my father, because I studied more about eternal life. The subject was on my mind a lot, and the banner gave me the opportunity to express it on material.
“My mother and sister helped me make it. We are very close already, but working together helped us share our love. I feel close to them because they’re always willing to help. We also shared tears together because the banner had a very special meaning. It made my sister and I think of our father and my mom of her husband.
“I learned from making this banner that I am a daughter of God and that he is there when I call. It has helped my self-image and helped me grow closer to my Heavenly Father. Also, it comforted me about my father’s death,” said Mary Lou.

I’m having a birthday party next weekend, on the 23rd. We’re going to Funland Park at two o’clock. Can you come?
I’d love to! Let me check with my mom.
Yes! I’m starting to fit in. Allie is really nice. Her party should be fun.
I know it’s on a Sunday, but maybe it would be OK just this once. Besides, I don’t want to hurt Allie’s feelings.
If I ask Mom and Dad, they’ll probably tell me it’s my decision. What should I do?
The next day at school …
I’m sorry I can’t come to your party. I’m glad you invited me, and I hope you have a great birthday. Can we hang out another time?
Can we bake some birthday cookies to take to my friend Allie this weekend?

Then their bishop was inspired with an idea that would help the Tuckers—as well as many others in the Three Forks Ward, Bozeman Montana Stake—achieve the dream of an eternal family. A few years ago Bishop Aaron Baczuk was in a meeting for bishops and new converts in the stake. The Area Seventy who was presiding asked a new member, “Have you been to the temple to perform baptisms for the dead?” He had.
Bishop Baczuk had never considered taking unendowed adults to the temple. The following week he made an appointment with the Billings Montana Temple for adults in his ward to perform baptisms for the dead. The visit to the temple was a success, and in the months that followed, elders and high priests in the ward accompanied more unendowed adults to the temple. “It proved to be a very spiritual experience for them, compounding their desire and commitment to receive their endowments,” says Bishop Baczuk.
To prepare, adult members work with the bishop to become worthy to attend the temple. Then they take the temple-preparation class. Their interest in the class really peaks after they perform baptisms for the dead. They find that talking about the temple in class is one thing, but actually feeling the Lord’s Spirit in the temple is another.
“Having the option to take someone to the temple who may not be prepared for additional covenants but can still have an experience participating in ordinances is huge,” says Bishop Baczuk. “I think it fits with the sentiment the Church is trying to convey in its temple-preparation booklet: ‘Come to the temple!’”1

Meet Kennedy Basatiweln Ntanan, a member of the Accra Ghana Madina Stake, who spoke at a recent relaunch of the Gathering Place. During the event, he shared how attending classes there transformed his professional life. Initially disengaged, he found a renewed purpose when a work opportunity emerged that required a detailed data summary. Thanks to the Microsoft tools he learned at the Gathering Place, he skillfully led his team in creating clear and effective graphs for a client.
This experience impressed his client and bolstered Kennedy’s reputation as a valuable employee. He credits his success to the skills and confidence gained at the Gathering Place, proving that education can unlock new opportunities and enhance careers. Kennedy is now an enthusiastic advocate for attending classes at the Gathering Place.

“My older brother, Ron, has always been an inspiration to me. I recall one evening when he came home from a Church youth meeting and announced to the family that his teacher had told him that he had to gain his own testimony and receive his own witness and to not rely on that of others. He said—almost prophetically—‘I’m going to gain that personal witness and testimony, no matter how long it takes or what the cost.’
“Ron began reading and studying the scriptures and fasting and praying. One morning a short time later, he was suddenly stricken by a paralysis. He could not move his body and his right side was in terrible pain. He was barely able to whisper to Dad that he wanted a blessing. No sooner had Dad finished blessing his son than Ron was miraculously cured! My brother uncoiled his tense body, straightened up, and was free of pain.
“When he was later examined by a doctor, the diagnosis was that he had had what appeared to be a ruptured appendix but that no trace of damaged tissue was found in his body. Later, my brother told me that during this experience he received his special witness that the Book of Mormon and the gospel were true. He wanted me to know, however, that he had received this knowledge before Dad had blessed him before his healing. He truly had shown faith before the miracle.

I want give an example of the importance of this knowledge in the life of one young man.

I am acquainted with a young man now no longer quite so young who was reared in an LDS home. He understood the doctrine of the Godhead, that the Father and the Son are separate beings and that they have bodies "of flesh and bones, as tangible as man's . . ."[4] However, the philosophies of men were also deeply entrenched in this young man's culture and he and his family were not immune. He listened to traditional teachings of God's power and omniscience influenced by ideas born in the apostate era. He learned that, due to his nature, God was very different from us. In his father's terms, God is as different from us in his intellect as we are different from earthworms. The metaphor of caring for and watching for a colony of earthworms as a model for God's watching over us played itself out vividly in this young boy's mind. He also learned that this very smart and distant God knew all the principles by which everything operated. The young man concluded that such a God was very busy far too busy to have much time, let alone much concern, for any particular earthworm such as he. And yet, he was taught that this same God is mindful of everything, such that even a sparrow cannot fall to the ground without his knowing it.[5] The young man's again concluded that God must have some sort of cosmic mind that can detect disturbances in the force so to speak. But, he didn't feel much better as a disturbance than he did as a earthworm. While this understanding of God made intellectual sense to him, the more he contemplated on these things, the more the young man felt lost in a vast cosmic network of causes and effects, but very far from a great but impersonal God.

It became increasingly difficult for this young man to understand what it meant to love this God, although he tried. He felt an obligation to love God out of respect for his superior nature, but it was a love born of fear and intellect, almost untouched by emotion. It was hard to love an abstraction, even one with a body of flesh and bones. He did know that God loved him, he was told so many times. Perfect beings are required to love everyone. Being an earthworm, he was not sure what it was like for God to love him. More importantly, this young man was quite sure that however much God might love him, God's actions as a perfectly rational being were hopelessly determined by the inalterable network of laws and principles that bound this perfectly rational God to act in particular ways, so that love could never modify the inevitable natural consequences of the young man's acts, or anyone else's for that matter. It was a tough, loving God who presided over such a finely tuned web of unalterable principles. Finally, the young man began to wonder how or why an infinitely intelligent God, bound by abstract laws and principles, would need to really listen to prayers; and besides, God already knew both what the boy needed and whether it would be possible to grant it. Nothing really hung in the balance at prayer time. Prayers were dutifully said, but given his understanding of God, they could not be otherwise than hollow echoing off the ceiling. This young man, I'm happy to report stayed quite faithful, although quite melancholy, into adulthood. He tried very hard to believe what he was taught, but what he did believe brought little comfort. It is with a mixture of sorrow over lost time, and great relief that today, after more than forty years, he can say with genuine conviction and joy, that he loves God, and he knows what he means when he says it.

I have related this true story for two reasons. First, I have wondered how many of you might have thought or felt, at one time or another, anything like this young man thought and felt. Perhaps, choice spirits that you are, you never have, but maybe you know someone who has. I have related the story so that you might be able to help those who struggle to find the God of the restored gospel in the midst of a world where the nature of God is misunderstood, the heavens are created by the intellects of men, and the quality of mercy is strained through a network of abstractions. Second, I wanted to use this true story to introduce the real important subject of this talk, the God of Condescension, because it was in coming to know this God that the young man=s story had a happy ending.

Danny was worried. He was excited about spending the night with his friend Jonathan, but he had a problem. This would be the first time he had stayed overnight with a friend, and even though Jonathan was his best friend, Danny had never mentioned his pillow. Could he take it with him? Danny wasn’t sure. He decided to ask his older sister, Linda.

Linda looked up from the TV set. “You’d better not, Danny. You’ll get teased about wanting to sleep with it.”

“But I always take it when I go to Grandma’s house.”

“Grandma would never tease,” said Linda. “But Jonathan’s big brother might, and then you would be embarrassed.”

“But I don’t think I can sleep without it.”

“Oh, sure you can,” Linda reassured him. “You’ll be so busy talking and laughing that you won’t even think about your pillow.”

Danny wasn’t so sure. It was the only pillow that felt comfortable when he went to sleep. Maybe he’d better ask Mom.

Danny stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Mom cook. That meant that it would soon be time for him to leave, because he was eating dinner with Jonathan. Maybe I should stay home, he thought. Then I won’t have to worry about my pillow.

When his mother saw Danny in the doorway, she grinned and said, “Hi, sport. Are you about ready to go?”

“Mom, do you think I should take my pillow to Jonathan’s house?”

“Do you want to?”

“I think I do, and I think I don’t. I don’t really know.”

“Well,” said Mom, “why don’t you take your pillow with your other things. Maybe they don’t have enough pillows, and they’ll be glad that you brought yours.”

Danny immediately felt better. “You don’t think Jonathan’s big brother will tease me?” he asked.

“No,” said Mother. “You’re going to be sleeping in Jonathan’s room with him. Thomas has his own room. He probably won’t even see your pillow.”

Danny grinned happily. “I’m going to go pack it now. Do I still have to take my toothbrush?”

Mother grinned back. “Yes, you do, young man. You wouldn’t want to sleep on that pillow with bad breath!”

Danny laughed and ran upstairs to get his things. Stacking everything on his pillow, he waited for Mom to take him to Jonathan’s house.

Jonathan was standing by the door when Danny arrived. The two boys ran to Jonathan’s room to unpack Danny’s suitcase and play. He looked at the twin beds. There were pillows on both of them.

“This is where you’ll sleep,” said Jonathan, and he placed the suitcase at the foot of one bed.

Danny held out his pillow. “I brought my own pillow in case you needed an extra.”

“Oh, we have enough, but you can sleep with yours if you want.”

Danny put his pillow on the bed, carefully putting the other one on a chair. Then he and Jonathan sat on the floor to build a block city. They hardly knew how hungry they were, until Jonathan’s mother called them for dinner.

Dinner together was fun, and they had a great time playing board games in the family room until it was time for bed. Danny looked around Jonathan’s bedroom. The block city was still there. His pillow was still there.

When Danny jumped into bed and snuggled under the blanket and felt the familiar pillow beneath his head, he was cozy and comfortable. Smiling, he raised his head to talk to Jonathan. But Jonathan was still walking around the room.

“Are you looking for something?” Danny asked.

“Yes, my brown bear. I always sleep with him.”

Danny sat up straight, a look of surprise on his face. “You always sleep with a brown bear?”

“Yes.” Jonathan lowered his voice. “I even took him with me to a hotel once.”

Danny laughed and held up his pillow. “I’ll tell you a secret, Jonathan. I always sleep with my pillow.”

The boys laughed together, and Danny jumped out of bed. “Come on. I’ll help you look for your bear.”

They found the bear sitting behind a stack of blocks. Jonathan picked it up, holding tightly to the brown body. He whispered to Danny, “You’re my best friend.”

“You’re my best friend too.”

Then Danny went to sleep on his pillow, and Jonathan went to sleep holding his brown bear.

Have you ever had an experience where you wanted to hide your face in shame?
I was six years old. My first day of school had finally arrived. I wore one of the cute school dresses that Mom had made for me, the ones with the plaid skirts. I was excitedly waiting for the school bus to arrive. Being the oldest child in my family, I didn’t have older siblings to tell me how it worked. Dad, Mom, and my younger siblings waited with me as the school bus pulled into our gravel drive. Dad began to film with the big movie camera, the kind that held a spool of film that wound its way onto a second spool. The door to the bus opened. I smiled at the camera and then took that big, first step onto the bus. Just then, I thought I heard one of my parents tell me to turn around again. That made sense to me. I thought, “This is an important day for me. They want another smile from me.” I turned to face my family one more time; but as I did, the bus driver impatiently said, “Come on. Get on the bus.” Immediately my heart dropped. My face burned, and I lowered my head with shame. I was supposed to have done this right, but I had gotten it wrong in front of my family, the bus driver, and all of the students who were already on the bus. That feeling of shame was agonizing. Perhaps it was then that I made up my mind to do whatever it took to avoid ever feeling that way again. Perhaps it was then that I made up my mind to do things perfectly from then on. After all, aren’t we commanded to be perfect?

Malcolm Tent was still a young man when he began putting rocks in his pockets. It started one day when his boss, Mr. Gump, got angry at him for something that wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t yell back at his boss, because he might get fired. In fact, there wasn’t anything he could do except be angry inside. “But,” he thought, “I’m not going to forget this. No way.”
On the way home from the bus stop that night, he thought to himself, “I’ve got to remember how angry I am. I don’t want to forget this in the morning.” Suddenly he had an idea. There was a small rock on the sidewalk in front of him. He picked it up and said softly to himself, “I’ll keep this rock in my pocket to remind me of how unfair Mr. Gump was.”
And that’s what he did. That night he put the rock on his dresser with his keys and his comb. The next morning, when he got dressed to go to work, into his pocket went the ugly gray rock.
All that day and the next, the heavy bulge in his pocket reminded him that he should be angry at Mr. Gump. Strangely, Mr. Gump seemed to have forgotten about the whole thing. But not Malcolm Tent. Oh no. In fact, during the next two weeks, Mr. Gump made Malcolm angry several more times, and Malcolm decided he’d better get a rock for each time so he could keep better track of these things.
And so it was that Malcolm Tent’s trousers began to look baggy and strange. But at least he remembered not to forgive Mr. Gump or be friendly or anything like that.
Maybe if Malcolm had only collected rocks when he got angry at old Gump, this thing might have died out and been forgotten. But there was the taxi driver who drove right by and left Malcolm standing in the rain. Into his pocket went a shiny, rain-slick pebble from the gutter. (Of course, Malcolm had no idea of the taxi driver’s name, but it didn’t matter.) Then there was the grocery clerk who short-changed him. And the newspaper delivery boy who threw his paper into the lawn sprinkler. And the neighbor whose dog barked late at night. And … well, Malcolm discovered that there were all kinds of people and things in the world that can bother you.
Speaking of discoveries, Malcolm also discovered that when all of your pockets are full of rocks, a plain old belt won’t hold up your pants. (He discovered that fact while his arms were full of grocery sacks.) So he made himself a sturdy pair of leather suspenders to help hold up his pants.
But soon the time came when he didn’t have enough pockets in his pants, so he had to wear a jacket everywhere he went—the kind of jacket with lots of pockets. And it wasn’t long before the jacket looked as funny as his trousers. And smelled just as dusty. And got even heavier because it had more pockets.
Anyone else might have given up at this point, but not Malcolm. He bought one of those big sturdy briefcases like salesmen use. After all, when you start to look for them, there are all kinds of things in life that can bother you. And when you are always tired from lugging so many rocks around, you get angry even easier.
Years went by, and Malcolm’s collection of reminder rocks spilled out of his pockets and briefcase and all over his house. He had rocks on the kitchen sink, and in his closets, and all over the floors. A few times he even put a rock in his bed so he could remember to be angry during the night. Let’s face it. Malcolm had become a strange, unpleasant man. And most people avoided him when they could, which made him even touchier. Rocks are not very good company. They are hard and dusty, and in the winter they are very cold.
Now, Malcolm might have gone on to become a mean old man completely buried in rocks. But one day he received a phone call from a geology professor at the university. Dr. Igneous had heard of Malcolm’s large rock collection (who hadn’t?), and he wanted to bring his geology class on a field trip to see it.
“Well,” thought Malcolm, “at last here is someone who appreciates my rocks. Wait until they see all of these reminders of how often people have wronged me.” An appointment was made for the next Saturday, and Malcolm spent the next few evenings dusting and arranging.
At last Saturday came, and at two o’clock in the afternoon the doorbell rang. There, on the porch, stood Professor Igneous and seven of his best students, all dressed in their best field-trip outdoor clothing. Several had rock hammers dangling from their belts, and one or two carried cameras. And everyone carried a notebook and pencil. Professor Igneous himself looked rather ordinary. But he had a ready smile. And his face was deeply tanned from spending years out of doors. As a matter of fact, there was something about his eyes, too. They looked deep and dark, but they had a sparkle that said he enjoyed life. And when he looked at you, it was the same look he gave mountains and rock formations—as though he were trying to peer inside. This was a scientist who liked people at least as much as he liked rocks.
As the professor and students stepped into the rock-filled living room, Malcolm expected to hear oohs and aahs. You know, like you hear at a fireworks show. Instead, there was an uncomfortable silence. The group just stood there looking around, nudging a few of the rocks with their toes. Then the students looked at their professor, waiting for him to say something. After all, this was not the collection of beautiful gems and minerals they had expected. These were ordinary hunks of limestone and sandstone and quartzite. Why, there were even chunks of broken asphalt and concrete!
Finally, Professor Igneous spoke: “Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “Perhaps you would be so good as to explain your collection to us, Mr. Tent. I can honestly say we’ve never seen another collection quite like it.” In the background, his students nodded in agreement.
“Well,” Malcolm began nervously, “I, uh, well … that is …” It had been a long time since he had said much of anything to anyone.
Professor Igneous could see how nervous Malcolm was. The poor man kept swallowing so hard his Adam’s apple was bobbing up and down. (Some of the students thought he was trying to swallow one of his rocks.)
Trying to help, the professor said, “Why not begin by telling us why you chose these rocks.” He picked up an ordinary gray rock that looked like most of the others. “Why did you choose this particular piece of limestone for your collection?”
“Oh, is that what it is?” Well, I think that’s the one I picked up when the laundry didn’t have my shirts ready on time. Wait! No, I think that’s for the time my favorite TV show got canceled. Or was it the time I ran inside to answer the phone, and the caller had the wrong number? Or …” Here he paused to search his memory. There were so many rocks! And they were so much alike—gray, hard, cold, dusty. Suddenly, Malcolm realized that that was all Professor Igneous and his students could see. To everyone else these were just plain old everyday rocks. Malcolm had to explain, to make them see.
“There’s more to these rocks than you might think. Every one of these rocks represents a time somebody made me mad or hurt my feelings. I picked up these rocks as reminders.”
Now the professor and his students were really amazed. They all began to speak at once: “I never heard of such a thing.” “How long have you been doing this?” “Can I take a picture of you with your rocks?” “Some field trip!”
Professor Igneous spoke again, and everyone became quiet. “Well, Mr. Tent,” he began slowly, “I must admit you’re the first person I ever met who collected rocks for that reason.” He paused and looked around. “You’ve been very kind to invite us into your home. And we don’t want to take up too much of your time. But do you suppose that while we are here we might see your other collection?”
A blank look came over Malcolm’s face. “I don’t have any other collection.”
“Oh, I see. I just thought you might have collected something to remind you of the nice things people have done and said. But, well, never mind. Perhaps we ought to be going now. Thank you so much for allowing us to come into your home. I think my students have learned something important.”
He gathered his students around him, and they moved toward the door. Then, turning to Malcolm once more the professor said, “We still have some time left this afternoon. Could you perhaps direct us to some of the other people with similar collections?”
Once more Malcolm was caught off balance. “I don’t know of any other collections like mine.”
“Oh. I just thought that perhaps some of the people you know would have collected something when you … I mean … if you ever … uh … annoyed them.” Then, quickly, he added, “Yes, well, good-bye, and thanks again.”
Without waiting, the professor and his students turned and marched off down the sidewalk.
Long after they were gone, Malcolm stood there, looking just like one of his rocks—cold and gray and very still. Within him, the professor’s words echoed. Around him, the house was silent. Too silent. He suddenly realized how pleasant the students’ friendly chatter had been. How long since he had had a friendly talk with anyone? Come to think of it, did he even have any friends anymore?
Then, before he could stop it, the thought came into his mind: “I’m becoming just like my rocks.” As Malcolm sat alone in the dark, he finally realized what unpleasant companions rocks are. And how unpleasant he … Well, some thoughts are hard enough to think without actually saying them.
For several days, for hours at a time, Malcolm sat still as a rock, thinking rock-hard thoughts. You might have thought he had finally become petrified. But deep inside him, something was waking up and beginning to grow, like a seed in the spring soil.
If you think it’s hard to find a home for kittens or gerbils or such, you should try finding someone who wants a bunch of very ordinary, dusty, gray rocks. In fact, just try gathering them up when they are scattered all over. Malcolm tried to hire cleaning ladies. They all told him the same thing: “I don’t do windows, and I don’t pick up rocks!” A “Free Rocks” sign in his window brought no results. Finally he realized that this was something he would have to do himself.
The neighbors still talk about the time Malcolm backed a rented trailer up to his front porch, and about the tremendous cloud of dust that rose as the rocks flew out into the trailer. They also talk about how much better Malcolm looks, how his clothes fit so much better (has he lost weight?), and how he actually smiles now.
Malcolm’s neighbors also point with pride to his attractive yard, with trees and flowers and bushes planted everywhere. They don’t have any explanation for his sudden interest in gardening. But one neighbor, Mrs. Kratz, did notice that after she had taken a piece of cake to him, Malcolm went out to the flower bed and planted a single seed.

President Henry B. Eyring has been an advocate for this kind of record keeping. Many of you will remember this talk.

When our children were very small, I started to write down a few things about what happened every day. Let me tell you how that got started.

I came home late from a Church assignment. It was after dark. My father-in-law, who lived near us, surprised me as I walked toward the front door of my house. He was carrying a load of pipes over his shoulder, walking very fast and dressed in his work clothes. I knew that he had been building a system to pump water from a stream below us up to our property.

He smiled, spoke softly, and then rushed past me into the darkness to go on with his work. I took a few steps toward the house, thinking of what he was doing for us, and just as I got to the door, I heard in my mind--not in my own voice--these words: "I'm not giving you these experiences for yourself. Write them down."

I went inside. I didn't go to bed. Although I was tired, I took out some paper and began to write. And as I did, I understood the message I had heard in my mind. I was supposed to record for my children to read, someday in the future, how I had seen the hand of God blessing our family.

Grandpa didn't have to do what he was doing for us. He could have had someone else do it or not have done it at all. But he was serving us, his family, in the way covenant disciples of Jesus Christ always do. I knew that was true. And so I wrote it down, so that my children could have the memory someday when they would need it.

I wrote down a few lines every day for years. I never missed a day no matter how tired I was or how early I would have to start the next day. Before I would write, I would ponder this question: "Have I seen the hand of God reaching out to touch us or our children or our family today?" As I kept at it, something began to happen. As I would cast my mind over the day, I would see evidence of what God had done for one of us that I had not recognized in the busy moments of the day. As that happened, and it happened often, I realized that trying to remember had allowed God to show me what He had done.

More than gratitude began to grow in my heart. Testimony grew. I became ever more certain that our Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. I felt more gratitude for the softening and refining that come because of the Atonement of the Savior Jesus Christ. And I grew more confident that the Holy Ghost can bring all things to our remembrance--even things we did not notice or pay attention to when they happened.[10]

Elder Aaron T. Hall remembers when he and his wife, Kimberly, were set apart as mission leaders over the Texas Houston South Mission. They told Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles that their feelings ranged from overwhelmed to excited. Elder Bednar expressed the need to be grateful.
“What he taught us that day has never left my thoughts relating to any calling we receive, which is, ‘We are just simply grateful,’” he said. “You wonder how in the world the Lord would have ever chosen you, but we witness that He does. And because we are willing and available, He will make us capable.”

While serving as a young missionary in England, President M. Russell Ballard had an experience that changed his life forever.
“I remember walking down the side of the River Trent in Nottingham, England. …
“As I was walking along that river, … I said a prayer in my heart. I desired to feel some guidance from the Lord. I pled that He would be pleased with what I was trying to do. I asked, ‘Am I doing what you want?’”1
“An overwhelming feeling of peace and understanding came over me. It was at that precise moment in time that I came to know that Jesus Christ knew me, [and] that He loved me, … I didn’t see any visions and I didn’t hear any voices, but I could not have known of Christ’s reality and divinity any more intensely had He stood before me and called out my name.
“My life has been shaped by that experience. From that day to the present, every significant decision I have made has been influenced by my knowledge of the Savior.”2