Gospel Story Finder

Some years ago, a client seeking my professional advice described to me the nature of his business, which involved selling secondhand furniture and household goods with his father. Their stock was acquired by attending auctions and market sales and by clearing unwanted items from homes. They were careful to only buy items they could sell for a profit.
On one occasion, the son had contracted to clear the contents of a home following the death of an elderly occupant. Hanging in one of the rooms was a painting. Pausing to examine it, he considered the possibility that one day he would discover an antique or painting of far greater value than the previous owner had realized. But concluding that this painting was not in that category, he carried it to his vehicle and put it among the other items.
Later, as he and his father were unloading the vehicle, the father picked up the artwork and said, “I wish I knew more about paintings and how to tell if they are valuable.” The son responded that he was sure this one was not valuable. Nevertheless, the father felt it would be worth having the painting checked by a friend of his who managed an art gallery.
Several days later, the father’s friend informed him that the painting probably had a value of at least £12,000 (almost $29,000 U.S. in the early 1970s). Excited by the news, the father and son pick up the painting. This time they carefully wrapped the work of art in a blanket, and the son held it securely in his arms as they returned to the shop. The painting sold at auction for £12,500.
In telling this story, my client concluded by saying, “I can’t imagine why anyone would be prepared to pay so much for such an ordinary painting.”
I have often reflected on the response of the young man. He had no interest in the painting. He judged it to be of little or no value.

Five months ago, my wife, Diane, and I went to Africa with Elder and Sister David A. Bednar. The sixth and last country we visited was Liberia. Liberia is a great country with a noble people and a rich history, but things have not been easy there. Decades of political instability and civil wars have worsened the plague of poverty. On top of that, the dreaded Ebola disease killed nearly 5,000 people there during the latest outbreak. We were the first group of Church leaders from outside the area to visit Monrovia, the capital city, since the World Health Organization declared it safe to do so after the Ebola crisis.

On a very hot and humid Sunday morning, we traveled to a rented meeting facility in the center of the city. Every available chair was set up, totaling 3,500 seats. The final count of attendees was 4,100. Almost all who came had to travel by foot or some form of inconvenient public transportation; it was not easy for the Saints to gather. But they came. Most arrived several hours before the appointed meeting time. As we entered the hall, the spiritual atmosphere was electric! The Saints were prepared to be taught.

When a speaker quoted a scripture, the members would say the verse aloud. It did not matter—short scripture or long; the entire congregation responded in unison. Now, we do not necessarily recommend this, but it was certainly impressive that they could do it. And the choir—they were powerful. With an enthusiastic choir director and a 14-year-old young man at the keyboard, the members sang with vigor and strength.

Then Elder Bednar spoke. This, of course, was the anticipated highlight of the gathering—to hear an Apostle teach and testify. Clearly with spiritual direction, partway through his remarks, Elder Bednar stopped and said, “Do you know ‘How Firm a Foundation’?”

It seemed that 4,100 voices roared in response, “YES!”

He then asked, “Do you know verse 7?”

Again the entire group answered, “YES!”

The arrangement of the mighty hymn “How Firm a Foundation” sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir for the last 10 years has included verse 7, which was not sung much previously. Elder Bednar instructed, “Let’s sing verses 1, 2, 3, and 7.”

Without hesitation, the choir director jumped up and the Aaronic Priesthood–bearing accompanist immediately began to energetically play the introductory chords. With a level of conviction I have never felt before in a congregational hymn, we sang verses 1, 2, and 3. Then the volume and spiritual power was elevated when 4,100 voices sang the seventh verse and declared:
The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose
I will not, I cannot, desert to his foes;
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I’ll never, no never, I’ll never, no never,
I’ll never, no never, no never forsake!10

In one of the most remarkable spiritual events of my life, I was taught a profound lesson that day. We live in a world that can cause us to forget who we really are. The more distractions that surround us, the easier it is to treat casually, then ignore, and then forget our connection with God. The Saints in Liberia have little materially, and yet they seem to have everything spiritually. What we witnessed that day in Monrovia was a group of sons and daughters of God who knew it!

Several years ago I taught a beautiful dance education student named Michelle. Michelle had a difficult home life. Her parents had divorced, her father had not maintained contact, and she and her mother had a tenuous relationship. Sometimes Michelle confided in me, expressing deep yearning to feel her parents’ love. As if these challenges were not enough, Michelle was diagnosed with a relentless form of cancer, and the crucible of illness took command of her body. The cancer treatments robbed Michelle of her beautiful, white-blond hair, and, in spite of aggressive treatments, she grew steadily weaker.

But even as her physical body weakened, a transformation of another kind was taking place: Michelle’s very countenance began to change. Although she had previously been reserved and shy, Michelle began to radiate joy and goodness. It was not uncommon to see her somewhere within the halls of the Richards Building, her shiny bald head tied with a big pink bow and her smile the size of Texas! Rather than succumbing to self-pity and fear, Michelle chose to fill her days with joy and laughter, surrounded by those she loved most.

Not long before her death, she told me that, to her amazement and joy, the circumstances of her illness had initiated a healing process for her fractured family. Michelle had placed her trust in the hands of God and was rewarded with the ability to live out her remaining days with a heightened sense of happiness and love. Though she did not find physical healing, Michelle found the spiritual healing and profound joy that come only through Jesus Christ’s healing Atonement.

One such Ivorian was Phillipe Assard. Phillipe left for Köln, Germany, in 1971 to attend engineering school. While earning his degree, he met Annelies Margitta at a dance in her hometown of Remscheid. Before long, they married, Phillipe found employment, and the couple started a family.
In 1980 two full-time missionaries knocked on their door and presented the message of the Restoration, and the Assards quickly embraced the gospel. They were soon baptized and, in Brother Assard’s words, “overwhelmed with blessings.” Phillipe and Annelies were sealed in the Swiss Temple, and Phillipe found a new job that allowed him to better meet the needs of his growing family, by then consisting of a son, Alexandre Joseph, and a daughter, Dorothée Anne.
Despite the family’s improved economic conditions and increasingly comfortable life in Germany, Brother Assard began to feel drawn to his native Ivory Coast. He realized the development his country needed most would come only through the gospel of Jesus Christ, and he was determined to play a part in introducing the gospel to his country. An application to a company looking for engineers in Ivory Coast was turned down, but in 1984 Brother Assard decided to return to his homeland for a vacation and assess employment opportunities personally. He was disappointed to learn the company he had applied to was having financial problems. No other work opportunities materialized.
“I returned to Köln, but I had total faith in the Lord because I had this dream that the gospel must be established in Ivory Coast,” Brother Assard recalls. “So in 1986 after praying and fasting with my wife, I decided to return to Ivory Coast to give what I had received, to improve the lot of my family and my people.”
Before leaving Germany, the Assards received their patriarchal blessings, returned to the Swiss Temple, and traveled to Frankfurt, where they met with members of the Europe Area Presidency—Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin, now of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and Elder Russell C. Taylor, now an emeritus member of the Seventy. After explaining their desires to go to Ivory Coast, the family “received blessings and encouragement from them,” Brother Assard says, “and Elder Wirthlin gave me a list of all known members in the country, which was only a handful.”
Brother Assard quit his job, and the family sold their house and belongings. On 10 April 1986 the Assards left for Ivory Coast. They moved in with his parents in a small village near Abidjan—the nation’s largest city and its industrial center. Neither Sister Assard nor her children could speak any French. Nevertheless, Alexandre and Dorothée enrolled in school, while Sister Assard learned French from her in-laws and Brother Assard looked for work.
For an entire year Brother Assard fruitlessly sought employment. The strain of providing for his family weighed heavily upon him. He did not, however, let the difficulty of finding a job prevent him from moving the work of the Lord forward. He and Sister Assard sent letters to members on the list they had received in Germany. The Lucien Affoué family of Abidjan was the first to respond. Both families rejoiced to know they were not alone. Other members in Ivory Coast also responded but were too remote to meet with them.
Brother Assard directed the growing branch until Elder Marvin J. Ashton of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and Elder Alexander B. Morrison of the Seventy visited the country in 1987. At that time, United States embassy worker Terry Broadhead was set apart as the first branch president, with Brother Assard as his counselor. When Elder Ashton dedicated the land for the preaching of the gospel in September 1987, the country had 16 Church members.
Brother Assard later became the first native branch president in Ivory Coast. He also served as a district president. Sister Assard has been branch Relief Society and Young Women president and district Relief Society president. Her musical talent has proven invaluable in helping people learn Church hymns.
Temporal blessings soon followed the spiritual blessings. After being unemployed for a year, Brother Assard was hired by a European automobile manufacturer in Abidjan. His knowledge of French and German, along with his engineering degree, made a perfect match. Today he serves as assistant technical director for the company.
The Assards are eternally grateful for their blessings and for the guiding influence that directed them to Ivory Coast. Thanks to that influence, President Assard has seen the fulfillment of his dream that the gospel would be established among his people. Part of the fulfillment came on 17 August 1997 when the Abidjan Ivory Coast Stake was created, with Phillipe Assard as president. Through tears and smiles, Sister Assard says of the creation of this first stake in her adopted country, “We have worked and prayed for this day for 11 years.”
The Church’s first chapel in Ivory Coast was dedicated in April 1997, a decade after the country was dedicated for the preaching of the gospel and shortly before the creation of the country’s first stake. A chapel of their own represents a milestone for Ivorian Latter-day Saints, including the Affoués and the Assards, who have longed for a chapel in their native land since the two families first met under a tree in their home village 11 years ago.

I spoke one day to a friend who escaped from his native land. With the fall of his nation, he was arrested and confined. His wife and children were able to get away, but for three years and more he was a prisoner without means of communication with those he loved. The food was 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.”

Dr. Kenneth MacFarland, a great, nonpartisan, national patriot, gave a speech entitled “Selling America to Americans.” He told about a young soldier who returned from Vietnam. In a very serious talk with his parents, the young soldier asked if they loved America. He asked how they felt about this great and glorious nation. Both mother and father got a little teary-eyed and said that they loved this country dearly, that it was more precious to them than their own life. “Why didn’t you tell me that when I was growing up?” he said. “I never heard you once say that you loved America. You never taught me to love it. I can’t tell you what an ungrateful pup I have been. I had to go to Vietnam to find out what the United States of America is all about. I would gladly lay down my life for it. I would have given anything to know how you felt about it when I was growing up.”

WELCOME!I’m Sister Simon.Hi! I’m Ramón.Hello. I’m Cathlyn.I’m Mei Lin.Hi! I’m David.And I’m Joshua.
What on earth are you doing, Josh?Archaeology.Sure you are.
This is a very promising dig. I’m unearthing evidence of an early twenty-first century civilization.The early twenty-first century is right now.Exactly. From here I’ll work backward. Soon I’ll be in Book of Mormon times.
Right. So what have you discovered?This!
A CTR ring?Don’t you see? This proves that a young man who wanted to choose the right inhabited this dwelling. I bet with a little more digging, I’ll find a baptismal certificate.
Impressive.Brilliant might be a better word.

One mother was puzzled by the unruly behavior of her young son, Nathan. As she struggled to turn his negative talk and actions to positive ones, she watched how other families directed their children. She also confided in a friend who knew how to listen. Her friend asked helpful questions, such as, “When Nathan comes home from school, what do you do?” As the mother described her daily response, she realized she was reinforcing Nathan’s negative behavior and that she needed to change her own attitudes and actions. She tried a different approach, and her son changed, too. Lives were blessed by the careful listening and questioning of a caring friend.

When Darren climbed onto the top bunk, he found a note on his pillow: “CK 24/7.” He slid down and showed it to his older brother, Byron.
“I got the same thing!” Byron said. “What does it mean?” They asked Mom if she knew anything about it.
“Hmm … ,” she said. Then she smiled. Darren knew she was up to something! “I bet you’ll get some answers during family home evening tomorrow.”
On the way home from school the next day, Darren and Byron tried to guess what CK stood for.
Candy Kangaroos? Curious Koalas? Crafty Kings?
Mom just smiled when they asked at dinner. When it was finally time for family night, Darren was ready for some answers.
But first Mom read a story from the Friend about a boy who helped take care of his grandma. The boy didn’t realize it, but by showing Christlike love he was keeping his baptismal covenants.
“We keep our covenants every day when we show love and take care of each other the way Jesus would,” Mom said.
“Hey! Covenants starts with C!” said Darren.
“And keep starts with K. So maybe CK is … Covenant Keepers?” said Byron.
“Yeah, and the 24/7 could mean all day, every day!” Darren shouted. “We cracked the code!”
Mom high-fived Darren and Byron. “Good job, guys! But the lesson’s not over yet. I need to tell you boys that I’ve been spying on you.”
“What do you mean?” Darren asked as he watched Mom pull out a piece of paper. He could see different notes for each day of the week.
“Well, I decided to write down the times I spied you keeping your covenants this week,” Mom said. “And here’s what I saw.”
Monday: Your friend asked if you wanted to watch a violent movie, but you suggested a better movie instead. You were obedient.
Tuesday: Darren’s teacher was grouchy, but you were still kind to her. She was so impressed she called and told me about it. You were forgiving.
Wednesday: Heidi came home from college for a few days. She was sad because one of her classmates died. You two brought her tissues and kept her company. You showed compassion.
Thursday: Byron used a bad word and wished he hadn’t. But you apologized and said you would do better. You repented.
Friday: When your older brothers came to visit and teased you, I saw you guys start to get angry. But then instead of fighting with them, you laughed it off. You showed self-control.
Saturday: When Mr. Gomez offered to pay you for playing with his grandkids, you two said you were happy to help for free. You served.
Sunday: You both sat quietly as you took the sacrament to renew your baptismal covenants. You were reverent, and you remembered how important the sacrament is.
As Mom read the list, Darren felt happy and warm inside. He knew it was the Holy Ghost telling him that those were good choices to make. He wanted to be a covenant keeper by following Jesus 24 hours a day, 7 days a week!

The first day I saw Frances, I knew I’d found the right one. The Lord brought us together later, and I asked her to go out with me. I went to her home to call on her. She introduced me, and her father said, “‘Monson’—that’s a Swedish name, isn’t it?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Good.”

Then he went into another room and brought out a picture of two missionaries with their top hats and their copies of the Book of Mormon.

“Are you related to this Monson,” he said, “Elias Monson?”

I said, “Yes, he’s my grandfather’s brother. He too was a missionary in Sweden.”

Her father wept. He wept easily. He said, “He and his companion were the missionaries who taught the gospel to my mother and my father and all of my brothers and sisters and to me.” He kissed me on the cheek. And then her mother cried, and she kissed me on the other cheek. And then I looked around for Frances. She said, “I’ll go get my coat.”

Recently a dear friend of mine passed away from cancer. He and his family are people of great faith. It was inspiring to see how their faith carried them through this very difficult time. They were filled with an inner peace that sustained and strengthened them. With their permission I would like to read from a family member’s letter written just days before her father passed away:
“The last few days have been especially difficult. … Last night as we gathered at Dad’s bedside, the Spirit of the Lord was palpable and truly acted as a comforter to us. We are at peace. … It has been the hardest thing any of us has ever experienced, but we feel peace in the knowledge that … our Father in Heaven has promised that we will live together as a family again. After the doctor told Dad in the hospital that there was nothing left to be done, he looked at all of us with perfect faith and boldly asked, ‘Does anybody in this room have a problem with the plan of salvation?’ We do not and are grateful for a father and mother who have taught us to have perfect trust in the plan.”

Early in my professional life, Sister Homer and I were asked to accept a change in job assignment. At the time, it seemed to us a huge decision. We studied, we fasted, and we prayed, but an answer was slow to come. Eventually, we made a decision and pressed forward. As we did, we felt settled and soon learned that it was one of the best decisions we had ever made.
As a result, we have learned that answers are sometimes slow to come. This can be because it is not the right time, because an answer is not needed, or because God trusts us to make the decision ourselves. Elder Richard G. Scott once taught that we should be grateful for such times and made this promise: “When you are living worthily and your choice is consistent with the Savior’s teachings and you need to act, proceed with trust. … God will not let you proceed too far without a warning impression if you have made the wrong decision.”

“This time you’re racing the clock.” The P.E. instructor held up his stopwatch. I lined up with the rest of the class on the university track. I tucked my standard, authorized T-shirt into my standard, authorized gym trunks, attempting to camouflage the spare tire around my waist, that although unauthorized, had become quite standard.
“Ready!” the instructor called.
The semester was just beginning. This was a pretest—11 laps equaling a mile-and-a-half run to assess our present fitness levels.
“Get set!” Again the voice sounded. I leaned forward. When this fitness appraisal is finished, I thought to myself, I just hope I’m still fit enough to stand up.
“Go!” The whistle blew.
Like a herd of animals scared by the sound, our group lurched forward and stampeded down the track. After only one lap the herd sorted itself into two distinct groups: them and me.
After two more laps I was so far behind I appeared to be leading the pack. “Just keep plugging, Brad,” I psyched myself. “Remember tortoise and the hare—tortoise and the hare—tortoise and the hare.”
The group whizzed by me again. I noticed the lead runner. He was good. I admired his form. I studied his stride. I reflected on his reflexes. I wanted to trip him. Runners like Ken Williams make coaches proud and tortoises envious.
I staggered ahead. By lap six, Ken was finished and probably showering. By lap eight the rest of the herd had completed the run and were headed to the watering trough as well. The instructor might have forgotten I was still running except for the sounds of wheezing and gasping he heard as I endured to the end. Oh, the indignity of it all, I thought. I wished I were a tortoise with a shell to hide under.
Lap nine: My rubbery legs were protesting.
Lap ten: My stomach was threatening a revolutionary uprising.
Lap eleven: This class was supposed to be teaching me fitness for life, but right then, death looked like an enticing alternative. I crossed the finish line. My heart sank into my left tennis shoe, partly because of the ordeal, but mostly because of the embarrassing time announced too loudly by the instructor.
“You’ve got a lot of work to do this semester,” the bored teacher proclaimed as he walked away.
He was right. In the 12 weeks that followed I ran almost every day, and the only thing that kept me from being as bored as he, was memorization. It was an idea Dad gave me to keep my mind off my tortured legs and sagging arches. So with each of my daily 11 laps I memorized the corresponding article of faith. (Just don’t ask me to recite numbers 12 and 13. Shortly I moved into the scriptures. You know, “Run and not be weary …”
The semester passed. “We’ll have our final run next Tuesday,” the instructor declared. “Final next Tuesday,” I wrote in my notes. “Wait!” I was horrified. “I’ll be in Nevada next Tuesday!”
After class I tried to explain. “I’m in this play, see … this musical, and we’ll be performing in Las Vegas on Monday night.”
“So?” the instructor intoned. “It doesn’t matter where you are on Monday night as long as you are here on Tuesday morning.” He seemed as mechanical and cold as the stopwatch hanging from his neck. “If you want a grade, you’ll be here.” Discussion ended.
Tuesday morning came. Sure enough, I was there—physically, at least. I left Las Vegas immediately after the curtain call and drove all night long. I arrived in town with only minutes to change into track clothes. My body screamed, “You should be in bed!”
“No,” my mind replied, “You should be in a mental institution for not being in bed.” My spirit was unwilling and my flesh was weak. But there I was.
“We’ll run in two groups,” the instructor shouted.” So everybody gets a partner to count your laps and record your time.” Williams, the name next to Wilcox on the roll, became my partner.
“Great,” I thought sarcastically, “the tortoise and the hare.” Remembering his performance during the pretest months ago, I already knew it would be easy to count Ken’s laps. My partner lined up with the first group.
“Good luck,” I muttered through a near yawn. The whistle blew. Just as the other partners did for their runners, I kept track of Ken’s laps. Just as the other partners did for their runners, I held up a corresponding number of fingers as he passed. Just as the other partners did for their runners, I yelled encouraging words. Then, well ahead of other partners and their runners, I recorded Ken’s amazing time.
Hardly pausing, Ken circled the track for a leisurely cool-down. He breathed heavily. His muscled frame gleamed with sweat.
“Second group to your mark!” the instructor shouted. Some of the “jocks” who had already finished running began slipping out. They had just completed the last requirement of the semester and certainly didn’t plan to spend any extra time following up on this “partner” business.
Ken came toward me. I suggested, “Hey, you don’t have to stay. I can count my own laps.”
“It’s okay,” he said.
“Don’t feel obliged,” I tried again. “Some of the others are leaving and the instructor doesn’t care. Just go ahead and shower.”
“No,” Ken flopped on some nearby bleachers, “I’m kind of tired. I’ll just sit here for a minute and count your laps.”
“I’m afraid it’ll take more than a minute,” I warned.
“Second group ready!” the instructor called. “Get set,” the whistle blew.
We charged forward. Now’s your chance to prove you’ve worked hard during the semester, I reminded myself. Now’s the time to make those hours and laps pay off. Come on now. “We believe in God the Eternal Father …” I recited silently as I ran. It helped.
Lap two passed. Lap three passed. Already I was wavering.
You’re pacing yourself too fast, I panicked. But this is the pace I’d kept for weeks.
Lap four: “We believe the first four principles and ordinances of the gospel are … are … are what?” My head started spinning. The long night’s drive was showing up. I was slowing up.
“Adrenaline!” I demanded of my body. “Sorry,” my sleepless self yawned. “You left it in Las Vegas.”
I swayed and tottered like a sleepwalker. I was exhausted.
Lap five: “We believe … we believe …” I can’t do it, I thought. My head throbbed in rhythm with my pounding heart. My strength was gone.
Just as the other partners did for their runners, Ken held up his fifth finger as I passed. Just as the other partners did for their runners, Ken yelled, “You can do it!” or some such nonsense. Then, noticing my distress, Ken Williams did something very unlike all the other partners on the sidelines. Ken started to run and caught up with me. Loping along at my right, he offered the tail of his T-shirt.
“What’re you doing?” I gasped.
Again Ken extended the shirttail. Without further question I reached over into his lane and grabbed it. Then Ken began to run, forcing me to keep up. He was still sweating from his own final test, and now he was exerting himself again.
“By love serve ye one another” (Gal. 5:13). It was one of the scriptures I had memorized while running on that very track.
Lap six: “Come on,” he urged.
Lap seven: “Run, Brad, keep it up.” He wasn’t shouting from the sidelines. He was encouraging me step for step.
Lap eight, nine, and ten: Ken didn’t just pace me for a while. He ran with me to the end. He gave me the shirt off his back and went the extra mile, literally.
My drained body finally drooped across the finish line. I wanted a gold medal. Under the circumstances my time wasn’t that much better than the pretest taken months earlier, but I wanted a gold medal. I wanted it for Ken.
Mosiah 4:15: “Teach them to love one another and to serve one another.” I had memorized that one, too. I memorized it; Ken lived it.
“Thanks,” I coughed, when I finally felt that I could talk at all.
“No problem,” Ken panted.
Still leaning heavily on his shoulder, I clutched my aching side. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” he said.
“Verily I say unto you, insomuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40). I memorized that or I had learned it in Mutual activities when we used to clean widows’ yards and go to the stake welfare farm because our advisers insisted. We quoted it in seminary, also, when we subbed for Santa and donated money to help foreign seminary students because we knew we should.
“Ken,” my chest was heaving. “I’d never have made it without you. Thanks.”
“It’s okay,” he smiled. “I wanted to help.”
No adviser insisted. No seminary teacher told him he should. I wasn’t a welfare assignment. I wasn’t a home teaching obligation. There was no space on the elders quorum roll where Ken could report his extra-mile laps and get the credit he deserved. Ken helped me because he wanted to.
“Want to”—“have to.” On paper the difference between these two phrases is minimal. Each one even has the same number of letters. But on a fieldhouse track, in a ward, neighborhood, school, or elsewhere, the difference between “want to” and “have to” is continents wide.
It was quite a lesson Ken taught me a few semesters back as we ran together on the fieldhouse track. He probably doesn’t remember now. He probably didn’t even realize it then, but the exercise he showed me, this exercise called willing service, has been particularly good for my heart.

Always dealing honorably with others is part of loving mercy. Consider a conversation I overheard decades ago in the emergency department of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland, in the United States. A patient, Mr. Jackson, was a courteous, pleasant man who was well known to the hospital staff. He had previously been hospitalized multiple times for the treatment of alcohol-related diseases. On this occasion, Mr. Jackson returned to the hospital for symptoms that would be diagnosed as inflammation of the pancreas caused by alcohol consumption.

Toward the end of his shift, Dr. Cohen, a hardworking and admired physician, evaluated Mr. Jackson and determined that hospitalization was warranted. Dr. Cohen assigned Dr. Jones, the physician next up in rotation, to admit Mr. Jackson and oversee his treatment.

Dr. Jones had attended a prestigious medical school and was just beginning her postgraduate studies. This grueling training was often associated with sleep deprivation, which likely contributed to Dr. Jones’s negative response. Confronted with her fifth admission of the night, she complained loudly to Dr. Cohen. She felt it was unfair that she would have to spend many hours caring for Mr. Jackson, because his predicament was, after all, self-inflicted.

Dr. Cohen’s emphatic response was spoken in almost a whisper. He said, “Dr. Jones, you became a physician to care for people and work to heal them. You didn’t become a physician to judge them. If you don’t understand the difference, you have no right to train at this institution.” Following this correction, Dr. Jones diligently cared for Mr. Jackson during the hospitalization.

Mr. Jackson has since died. Both Dr. Jones and Dr. Cohen have had stellar careers. But at a critical moment in her training, Dr. Jones needed to be reminded to do justly, to love mercy, and to care for Mr. Jackson without being judgmental.

Over the years, I have benefited from that reminder. Loving mercy means that we do not just love the mercy God extends to us; we delight that God extends the same mercy to others. And we follow His example. “All are alike unto God,” and we all need spiritual treatment to be helped and healed. The Lord has said, “Ye shall not esteem one flesh above another, or one man shall not think himself above another.”

When I was president of the Southern States Mission, we converted a lovely schoolteacher down in Florida. And at the close of one of our conferences she came up to me and said, “President Richards, I’m going to get married. What do you think of that?”
“Oh,” I said, “I think it’s wonderful. Do I know him?”
“No.”
I said, “Is he a member of the Church?”
“No.” I didn’t dare tell her that she couldn’t marry out of the Church down there, because I didn’t know where she could find a man in the Church except our Mormon elders, and we had hands-off signs hanging all over them.
I said, “You’re a beautiful, sweet, clean Mormon girl, and you could never be happy with an unclean man. In your association with him you’ll know whether he’s clean or not and whether he’d take advantage of you if you’d permit him. He must be a prayerful man because, as wicked as the world is today, I wouldn’t trust any man to be true to his wife and children if he doesn’t believe that there is a God and that someday he will have to answer to him for his life here upon the earth. Your young man must be willing to let you raise your children in the Church because, knowing as you do that the God of heaven has restored his truth to the earth, you would be a very unhappy woman if you had children and couldn’t teach them the gospel. If he measures up, let me know when he joins the Church.” I didn’t see her for about four months, when we had another conference. Her train was late, and after the meeting she came along the aisle. I could see she was headed for me, so I went down and said, “Name, please?”
“Oh, I’m still Miss So-and-so.”
I said, “What became of the marriage?”
“He didn’t come up to your specifications.” Well, that’s the way you should judge, before you get married, that you’re laying the right kind of foundation.

But even though Janick is often a whirlpool of activity, there are times when he quietly thinks about the gospel. One day his father was giving Natalie a father’s blessing because she had a difficult test coming up at school. Janick also asked for a blessing. He was very serious about it. In the blessing he was told that he should always remember to pray. And he does. “We should pray because it is a commandment. We should ask for Heavenly Father’s protection and thank Him,” Janick explained.

From my personal chronology of courage, let me share with you an example from military service.

Entering the United States Navy in the closing months of World War II was a challenging experience for me. I learned of brave deeds, acts of valor, and examples of courage. One best remembered was the quiet courage of an 18-year-old seaman—not of our faith—who was not too proud to pray. Of 250 men in the company, he was the only one who each night knelt down by the side of his bunk, at times amidst the jeers of the curious, the jests of unbelievers, and, with bowed head, prayed to God. He never wavered. He never faltered. He had courage.

Annette usually goes to Great Oaks during study period—between 6:30 and 7:30 P.M. She helps the girls with their homework or reading. Sometimes they play games or put puzzles together. She remembers one evening the dorm was in the middle of several crises.
Apparently, some of the girls had tried to run away. Another one was crying uncontrollably after a day in court. Two sisters, Denise and Linda, had just found out that their grandmother had died. “I took them outside,” says Annette, “and we just walked together. The girls were quietly crying. Soon, they started talking about how much they missed their grandma and especially how long it had been since they had seen their mother. They both felt better after our walk.”

All eight of my great-grandparents joined the Church in Europe. They were very faithful in the Church. After that, some of my ancestors didn’t keep living the gospel. Because of this, my parents didn’t go to church very much when I was a child.
I loved my parents. They taught me very important lessons. I can’t thank them enough for our happy home. But even as a boy, I knew I was missing something because our family didn’t go to church very much. One day I rode a streetcar to a bookstore to find a book about the Church. I loved learning about the gospel.
When I learned about the Word of Wisdom, I realized my parents weren’t living the way it teaches us to live. But I wanted them to! So one day, I broke every bottle of alcohol in my home on the concrete floor! I thought my father would punish me, but he never said anything to me about it.
As I got older, I kept learning about the gospel. I began to understand Heavenly Father’s beautiful plan. I got baptized when I was 16 years old. At Christmastime, I often said to myself, “I don’t want one more Christmas present! I just want to be sealed to my parents in the temple.” I waited many years for that dream to come true. When my parents were over 80 years old, we were finally sealed as a family! I felt great joy that day. Each day, I still feel so happy that they were sealed together and that I was sealed to them.
“Pour out your heart to your Heavenly Father. Turn to Him for answers and for comfort.” —President Russell M. Nelson
See Primary manual, page 91.

First, I’d like you to start thinking of a time you felt your Heavenly Father’s guidance and love in your life. I’ll have you write your thoughts in just a minute. As you reflect on this, I would like to share an experience that happened to me many years ago as a teenager.

Our young men’s group had planned an outing to go to a ranch and ride horses on a day trail ride. I was excited to go and fortunate my father was able to accompany me on my adventure with our ward. As they saddled up the horses and gave me mine, I wasn’t as thrilled as I noticed my horse was extremely spirited and stubborn. We went on a ride for several hours, where I constantly had to work to keep the horse with the group. We took a break and then started down the trail again.

Not too long after, a nearby horse, that wasn’t part of the ride and was feeding in the pasture, took off in a gallop and ran in front of my horse. Immediately, my horse bolted and ran after that horse. With my limited experience and everyone behind me yelling commands, I tried pulling several times on the reigns to stop the horse, but to no avail. We were headed for thick brush I probably wouldn’t clear.

At that time, I did what most people recommend you don’t: I closed my eyes. But then I proceeded to pray, saying, “Heavenly Father, help me.” I kept my eyes closed and felt the impression to put my hands together as if I was going to dive into a swimming pool. Later, I would learn from my dad that this helped me do a rolling summersault off the horse.

A few seconds later, I was laying on the ground face down. As I got up, I noticed several rocks and a tree trunk near me. Miraculously, I had only a few small scrapes on my face, a small bruise under my chin, and my glasses had been thrown quite a distance.

They then brought my horse back, which I wasn’t too excited to get back on but had to so we could get back to the ranch. I was still surprised by what had happened as someone handed me my glasses. I put them on and couldn’t see very well out of one eye. I kept asking the riders near me if my eye was okay and they said it was. Finally, I reached up to move my glasses and poked myself in the eye. To my relief, I realized the rim had had broken and the lens had fallen out. My eye was completely fine.

That day, I could have easily had my feet stuck in the stirrups, or any number of other outcomes, but I came to a profound knowledge that my Heavenly Father heard and answered my prayer and He loved me.