Gospel Story Finder

Not too many battles later my squad got the assignment to go out and find the enemy position and their ammunition and supply dump—an assignment that was frequently given to an infantry squadron. We used to rotate this and we took turns. This required an all-night skirmish. We were to go out and spend one complete day and night and come back the next morning. We went out and finally got behind their lines and secured their position and ammunition dump, plotted it on our map, and started back. But our battle line had changed, and the enemy now occupied the area where we had been the day before. They had pushed our forces back a quarter of a mile in a counterattack. So we came around a hill into a valley, thinking it was held by our side, but the enemy now held both hills, and we were in a valley right between them. By the time we discovered it, they had annihilated one or two of our squad, and the rest of us took cover in a deep shell hole right in the center.
It was late afternoon when we found ourselves in this particular position. We knew we had to be out of there by nightfall because they’d just squeeze us out, the fighting being what it was in that sector. So we sat there, 11 of us, plotting what we’d do and how we’d do it. We were still 350 to 400 yards from our lines. In fact, we could even hear our fellows yell when they saw our plight, but it was too late. So we kept calling back over to them that we were going to make a dash for it, but we’d let them know just as soon as we could decide, and as we sat there surveying our situation, we decided that right at dusk we would go as a team, realizing that some wouldn’t make it. But it was the only way to get some of us out of it. There’s a long inventory-taking episode, let me tell you, as you sit there waiting.
We decided that we’d go at 6:15 because it would be just dark enough that we would be less of a target but light enough that we could make our way. We called over to our fellows to give us as much cover as they could with fire power, that the 11 men they would see scampering would be us, and to protect us with all they had. They called back that that’s what they’d do. We stripped our rifles down because we couldn’t take them with us, and got rid of all the heavy weights: there was the ammunition, the pouches, the grenades. We disassembled them as much as we could so that the enemy wouldn’t get any value from them. Then we sat there meditating and talking, and the others asked if I would kneel and lead them in prayer. And then we promised certain things we’d do for each other in terms of family welfare and all the rest if one made it and the other didn’t. I always carried my blessing with me, and I remember looking at it at 6:05, and I opened it up and studied it again, and it said, in essence, “Paul, you will live to see certain things come to pass if you’re willing.” There wasn’t a human way out of the situation we were in. You’d have to have been there to appreciate what I’m trying to tell you.
Well, the zero minute came, and we shook hands, and you never saw 11 men scamper like that before. I wished I’d had the track coach there. I think I set a new world record as I made my way to the American line. Three or four of the others didn’t get above the surface of the ground; they were cut down with machine guns. One of my good friends was almost cut in two with a burst, and as I stopped to try to help, I could see it was hopeless, and so l started on. It had been raining hard, and it was slippery, dirty, muddy, and so cold, and you’d fall as many times as you’d take a step almost, trying to get some traction. I’d move this way and that way, and I could tell I had a sniper with a machine gun right on me because the dirt and the mud behind me would just kick right up, move right around me, and then I’d move this way and then he’d pick me up again and move back. I was going with all I had. By then it was everybody for himself, and as I scampered within 50 yards of our hole, the sniper got a direct beam on me, and the first burst caught me in the right heel. It took my combat boot right off, just made me barefooted that quick without touching me physically, and it spun me around, and I went down on my knee. As I went down another machine gun burst came across my back and ripped the belt and the canteen and the ammunition pouch right off my back without touching me. As I got up to run, another burst hit me right in the back of the helmet, and it hit in the steel part, ricocheted enough to where it came up over my head, and split the helmet in two, but it didn’t touch me. Then I lunged forward again, and another burst caught me in the loose part of the shoulders where I could take off both my shirt sleeves without removing my coat, and then one more lunge and I fell over the line, into the arms of one of the dirtiest sergeants you ever saw. He’d watched the whole encounter, and he said, “Paul, you sure are lucky.” He said, “Follow me,” and I crawled back up, and I was the only one of the 11 who had even made it the first 100 yards.
Lucky? Oh, you call it what you want. I’d had verification after verification. A thousand such incidents happened to me in two years of combat experience. I only relate these things because I feel that young people everywhere, in and out of the Church, need to commence a serious investigation of their own souls and status in this life, because they are at a time when they can prepare.

This brief statement has been with me for many years. When I was 15 years old, I found it in the first issue of the Liahona to ever come into my hands. The name of the article was “Please Bless Kathy” (see Tambuli, September 1990, 44). I still remember that article well because of the role it played in my conversion to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
When I was in high school, three of my friends and I were expelled from school for a week. At that time I had a friend named Isabel, whom I had long considered one of my best friends. But now she had become my worst enemy and the person I held responsible for all the problems Mukuy, Janet, Juana, and I were having. It all started when Isabel spread some rumors behind our backs. She criticized us and made comments about me and my friends.
Because of her betrayal and our response to it, we were always arguing and fighting. The teachers in our school in Lerdo de Tejada, México, had to call us to order repeatedly. Things got so bad we were eventually punished with a five-day expulsion.
During those five days, I couldn’t stop thinking about how Isabel had treated us and how she had brought this upon us. As I thought about how much she had hurt me, I felt great anger and resentment against her.
One afternoon I decided to go to my friend Rosi’s house. Rosi had recently been baptized into a church I knew as the Mormon Church. For some time now, she had been inviting me over to talk about the things she believed in. She had even read to me out of a book she called the Book of Mormon.
This time Rosi invited me to attend church with her, and I felt a genuine interest in learning more. She gave me a copy of the Liahona (Spanish), and I promised her I would take time to read it.
But I didn’t read the magazine until some days later. My mind was too occupied with my resentment toward Isabel. When at last I began, I thumbed through the pages and found an article that caught my attention. The article was about a girl my own age who had gone through something similar to what I was going through with Isabel. She had experienced the same feelings of hatred and bitterness. The only difference between that girl and me was that I was sure I wouldn’t be able to do what she did. I believed I would never be able to stop feeling the way I felt toward Isabel. I believed I would never be able to forgive her. And there was no way I would ever be able to pray for my enemy as the author of that article had.
I kept thinking about the article in the Liahona. Finding a story about something so similar to my own experience seemed strange to me. It never entered my mind to put into practice the idea of praying for my enemy. It might have worked for that girl, but I was sure it wouldn’t work for me. My feelings wouldn’t change.
The next Sunday I went to church with Rosi. I had almost succeeded in not thinking about the article anymore. But as I listened to the sacrament meeting talks, I started to think about it more intensely. For the rest of the day I found it impossible to stop thinking about it. Pray for your enemies, echoed in my mind.
That Sunday night, without even thinking about it, I started to pray. I prayed just as the girl in the article had—just as Jesus taught in the Sermon on the Mount. I prayed for Isabel, and with each word I uttered, I felt my heart beat louder and I couldn’t stop the tears.
When I finished my prayer, I was surprised at what I had done. But I also felt sure that when I saw Isabel the next day, I would still hate her and wouldn’t be able to remember what I had prayed for that night. My feelings wouldn’t have changed.
When I went back to school on Monday, my friends were waiting for me at the front door so we could plan our revenge. We had to do something to hurt Isabel and make her feel as bad as she had made us feel. She had to be taught a lesson.
But when I saw Isabel that morning, I no longer saw an enemy. I no longer saw a person I hated. Instead I saw my old friend. And I saw myself praying the night before. With tears in my eyes I wondered, How can I think about hurting her when last night I was asking God to bless her? And then I realized I was the one who had been taught a lesson. I had learned for myself the wisdom of the counsel to pray for our enemies.
Isabel and I became friends again as we had been before. My Heavenly Father answered my prayer and helped me change the bitterness and hatred in my heart. He helped me transform those feelings into feelings of love.
This experience has always been very special to me; it is the way the gospel of Jesus Christ came into my life.

A few months ago a call came from a sister whose husband had been dead for some years, whose son and his wife had recently been killed in an airplane accident, leaving several small children. Alone, in deep anguish, this sweet woman with many regrets told me that these young victims of the airplane crash had not been married in the temple. They were middle-aged, both coming from good families. They had either ignored it or postponed it. They had lived the majority of their lifetime on the earth and still had not had this ordinance performed. They became single, and their children orphans.

At death our sympathies, of course, are gravely stirred. And oftentimes at funerals speakers, in their kindness, make to the living mourners many promises that could not be substantiated by scripture. I have heard them many times promise that this good man will go direct to eternal life, and yet he has not been married in the temple, and his life didn’t warrant it anyway. He had the gospel; he had the opportunities; he ignored his privileges. He will unfortunately drink the dregs of the bitter cup. And so will you if you fail this important thing.

I remember an article in a local newspaper, telling of a young couple married in Salt Lake by a man who had only civil authority—no power beyond the grave. They had a brilliant wedding breakfast. They got into the car to travel to another city for an evening wedding reception, where hundreds of friends and relatives would come to wish them well. They did not reach their destination. There was no reception. A car accident took their lives. Their mortality was ended. An eternal life had not been provided for. About three hours of marriage, and the end of it came like a flash of lightning. And the sad thing was that their three-hour marriage was performed within a mile of the holy Temple, where a man with the sealing power would gladly have saved them from the bitter cup.

They’re in eternity now. I don’t know what they’re thinking or what they’re doing, but they’re not prepared for eternity. They had grown to twenty years or more of life and they didn’t go to the temple, even though they were members of the Church. They ignored it. They left it. If they ever gave a serious thought, do you suppose they were saying, “Oh, we can have the sealing ordinance performed later”? Do you suppose the bereaved family was thinking, “Well, it’s too bad; but then, we can go to the temple in a year and have the work done for them”?

Yes, the family can go to the temple a year later. Yes, they can do the ordinance work for them. And the records will show it. But the question is, Will the young deceased couple accept the ordinances when they were of such little consequence to them while they lived? And more important than all else, do you think that God is going to be mocked? He is the God of the living, not of the dead. And they were dead, both physically and also, it would seem, spiritually. He has identified this ordinance as one to be done in mortality while you have your body and your spirit together. Perhaps not any scripture emanating from the mouth of God has been so definite and positive and unchangeable as those we are quoting. It has been said that we rise from the grave much as we lie down in it. We change little in our attitudes and moods and desires in that period when our spirit is freed from our body that is in the grave. The process of change in the body does not necessarily change the inner man. If the gospel truths mean little to us as we die, they are not likely to mean very much to us when we rise.

As I buttoned my coat and tied the cords of my knit cap, I shivered with excitement. The whole Christmas season lay before me, and tonight Dad was taking us out into the middle of it. I hadn’t a clue where, but it didn’t matter. Dad always had a good plan for family night.
“There’s a special event on Temple Square tonight,” Dad told us as we drove downtown. “I had you dress warmly because it’s outdoors.” Becki, my little sister, was bouncing with anticipation as we searched for a parking spot. I couldn’t help bouncing a little, too. We had only recently moved to Salt Lake City, Utah, and the granite-gray walls of the Salt Lake Temple were a source of wonder to me.
When we reached Temple Square, there was quite a crowd gathered in the garden south of the temple. Bleachers and a podium had been set up on a little slope. Dad led us to a spot slightly above and to the side of the bleachers. We stamped our feet to keep warm in the cold night air.
Dad hoisted Becki onto his shoulders. “Look,” he said softly. “There’s President McKay.” I stretched to see, and there he was! President David O. McKay! I could hardly believe it. I could see his wavy white hair and smiling face. The feeling I had was amazing. I felt tingly. I hardly had time to think about it, though, because the program was starting.
The people on the bleachers turned out to be members of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, who sang some Christmas songs. I was hearing the Mormon Tabernacle Choir in person! I kept on tingling, and somehow I knew it wasn’t from the cold. Then, after an introduction, President McKay stood up and reached into a box partly hidden by the podium.
It’s hard to describe the marvelous moment when the prophet flipped the switch. The light! The color! Thousands of tiny lightbulbs sparkled in the trees. The walkways were lined with them, and the bushes, shrubs, and flower beds were suddenly transformed. A huge gasp and a sigh rose into the night as the crowd shared the wonder of the moment. We soon found ourselves moving along the sidewalks and pathways around the Tabernacle, past monuments and fountains. It was glorious! I had to keep reminding myself to breathe.
“Well,” I thought, “this is Christmas!” It seemed absolutely right to me that I should feel the spirit of Christmas so strongly this close to the house of the Lord. After all, we were celebrating the Lord’s birth. Christmas lights ought to shine more brightly here. And it was perfect to have the prophet turn on the lights. He represented Jesus Christ, and Jesus is the Light of the World. It felt like a little bit of heaven.
That was in 1965. Almost every Christmas since then, lights have gleamed on Temple Square. Going to see the lights on Temple Square became a Christmas tradition for our family, as it has been for countless others. It is more than a tradition for me, though. It has become part of my testimony. Several things happened to me as I watched President McKay turn on the lights that December night. I felt the Holy Ghost witness to me that the old gentleman with white hair was a true prophet of God. I also came to know as I had never known before that the temple is God’s holy house. I promised myself that I would feel that joy and wonder again—by being worthy to enter it someday.

Also let us remember that through any illness or difficult challenge, there is still much in life to be hopeful about and grateful for. We are infinitely more than our limitations or our afflictions! Stephanie Clark Nielson and her family have been our friends for more than 30 years. On August 16, 2008, Stephanie and her husband, Christian, were in a plane crash and subsequent fire that scarred her so horrifically that only her painted toenails were recognizable when family members came to indentify the victims. There was almost no chance Stephanie could live. After three months in a sleep-induced coma, she awoke to see herself. With that, the psyche-scarring and horrendous depression came. Having four children under the age of seven, Stephanie did not want them to see her ever again. She felt it would be better not to live. “I thought it would be easier,” Stephanie once told me in my office, “if they just forgot about me and I quietly slipped out of their life.”

But to her eternal credit, and with the prayers of her husband, family, friends, four beautiful children, and a fifth born to the Nielsons just 18 months ago, Stephanie fought her way back from the abyss of self-destruction to be one of the most popular “mommy bloggers” in the nation, openly declaring to the four million who follow her blog that her “divine purpose” in life is to be a mom and to cherish every day she has been given on this beautiful earth.

To illustrate the importance of making good choices in life, I will use a personal experience. When I was a younger man, not much older than you are now, I enjoyed hiking and backpacking into remote areas. I have always found the beauty and grandeur of nature inspiring and renewing. A number of years ago, two of my friends, Larry and Dave, and I decided to hike the Thunder River Trail off the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. This is not an easy hike and it requires very careful planning.

The trail starts at Monument Point, at an elevation of 7200 ft., while the elevation of the Colorado River at its confluence with Thunder River is only 2000 ft. That is a one mile vertical change in elevation over a horizontal distance of only four miles. The hike requires three significant vertical drops, each about 1200 ft., before reaching the Colorado River. Food and water must be carried and cached on the way down, so that you can safely make the hike back out (there is no water above Thunder River).

Our journey began at 4:00 in the morning so that we could reach Monument Point at dawn, just before making the first descent to a flat expanse of slickrock called The Esplanade. My pack was exceedingly heavy with necessary supplies, which made climbing down the steep canyon wall difficult and hazardous. But the panoramic views of the Grand Canyon were spectacular. The next major descent was from the edge of The Esplanade down into Surprise Valley. By the time we had crossed Surprise Valley and were nearing the last major descent, it was late afternoon. It was very hot and there was no shade or breeze to provide relief from the afternoon sun.

At this point in our journey, I noticed that my friend Dave was having problems. A quick evaluation revealed that he was dehydrated and overheated, becoming disoriented and irrational, and in serious trouble. Larry and I knew that we needed to get Dave cooled down and that we needed to do it soon. We knew that we were near the edge of the last steep descent to the Colorado River and that the source of Thunder River was not far away. So, putting Dave between us, Larry and I urged and assisted him along, over the edge of Surprise Valley and down to Thunder River.

The cold water of the river cooled the surrounding air significantly and the trees growing along its banks provided much needed shade. We decided to make our camp here, rather than continuing on to the main campground further down the canyon. We spent most of the next two days near the Thunder River and Dave was able to recuperate before we made the hike back out.

In talking to Dave, I learned that he had gotten into physical trouble because of some choices he had made, both in his preparation and during the hike. The basic problem was two-fold: he wasn't drinking enough fluids and the fluid he was drinking did not contain the necessary salts and electrolytes needed to replace those being lost through perspiration. Although we had all been instructed and warned on this issue ahead of time, he had not followed those instructions, thinking instead that he could get by doing it his own way; a decision that resulted in very serious consequences.

In 1957, Sister Naomi Randall was to make arrangements for a new song to be written for Primary general conference. She called Mildred Pettit, a former Primary General Board member who had written songs and operettas for children, and asked Sister Pettit to help with the music. Sister Randall said she would write the words for the song, then send them to Sister Pettit.
Before retiring that night, Sister Randall prayed for help in finding the right words for the song. Some hours later she awakened, got out of bed, and wrote the words for three verses. Then she thanked Heavenly Father for helping her. Later she mailed the lyrics to Sister Pettit in California.
Sister Pettit also wanted to have the music the way the Lord wanted it. She felt that she knew how the melody was supposed to go, but she worked on the closing phrase over and over and had her children sing it many times until she was finally satisfied that it was right. The two women worked on the chorus together, and within a week the song was completed.
Later Elder Spencer W. Kimball suggested that “Teach me all that I must know” be changed to “I must do.” He explained that “to know isn’t enough. … We have to do something.”

Brother Soliai and his family were the only Latter-day Saints in their little village of Nuuuli on Tutuila. On one occasion, he asked Opapo to come bless his children, his house, his property, and his friends. Present on that occasion was a wealthy nonmember widow, Salataima Puailoa, who was deeply troubled because her husband’s family was taking steps to deprive her of the land she had inherited from him. Impressed by the blessings, she requested one herself; but Opapo was reluctant because she was not a member.
She investigated the Church and was baptized, then came to him again and requested the blessing. In it, Opapo promised that she would receive the land without any hindrance from her husband’s relatives and that she would, if she were faithful, be an instrument in the Lord’s hands to further the work of the Church in American Samoa.
In the early 1950’s, that blessing was fulfilled. The Church purchased some of her property and on it built a high school, faculty housing, a large welfare farm, and a stake center.

A. Background
In regard to our relationship with God, which is the second fundamental principle that we will consider here today, I refer to one false doctrine, the doctrine of predestination, that should be sufficient for our purposes. This doctrine was expanded upon by the fifth-century Christian theologian Augustine of Hippo and has governed mainstream Christianity for many centuries. According to predestination, the destiny of any soul is predetermined by God,before any act, good or evil, has been committed by any man or woman.8

I will only say here that there is a terrible logic to a belief in a God who prejudges us, even when His judgment is always perfect. There is also the depressing arithmetic of a teaching that holds that nothing we do, or ever will do in the future, will influence God’s grace or deflect His justice: we are thereby left with our final fate fixed, because of God’s prejudgment of us. Any thoughtful believer will readily discern the self-defeating potential of this incorrect doctrine of predestination, as well as the hopelessness it could produce in individuals. It is therefore not surprising that much of mankind over the ages have approached God with great fear and trepidation.

In this regard I refer to the well-known example of Martin Luther, the great reformer. When he was a young man, before he had embarked on the ministry as a monk and some years before his work as a reformer, he had two experiences that greatly affected him. The first of these events occurred in 1503, when a dagger pierced his leg, rupturing an artery, which could have caused him an untimely death. The second event occurred two years later, in 1505. He was caught in a heavy thunderstorm that was so violent that he felt sure he was not going to survive. It was this latter event, in fact, which caused Luther to promise that he would become a monk if his life were spared. However, the most telling part in both of these life-threatening events was that Luther, when in fear of his life, did not once call upon the Lord for help. Instead, and from the Latter-day Saint point of view, quite surprisingly, he called upon two venerated saints for help. In the first instance, when his leg was injured, he implored Mary, the mortal mother of the Savior, to help him. In the second event, during the terrifying thunderstorm, he turned his calls for help to Saint Anne, who is believed to have been the mother of this same Mary. In later years Luther regretted his behavior for not calling upon the Lord during these situations.9

One possible reason for a good man like Martin Luther not to have turned to His Heavenly Father is found in what he said at one time: “If I could believe that God was not angry at me, I would stand on my head for joy.”10 We should also remember that Martin Luther was not unique in these views; in fact, they were typical in a society in which man feared God and stood in terror of Christ as our judge.11

Before being called as an Area Seventy, I faced one of the most challenging phases of my faith journey. Financial difficulties left us unable to purchase food, prompting the sale of all our possessions. Witnessing my wife part with cherished mementos from her grandmother and mother was particularly poignant. Since our car was out of gas, I was walking through our town in search of a pawnshop.
While walking, I remembered a conversation with a very good friend undergoing his own profound challenges. In my attempt to help, I advised him to cultivate gratitude. His response struck a chord: “In order for me to be grateful, I have to think of someone who is going through worse hardships than I am! It is very hard to find someone like that.”
I resonated deeply with his sentiment, feeling emotionally trapped amid my wife’s suffering and my children’s sadness. Despite having placed my trust in the Savior. He had told me: “Thou art mine”1. He had chosen me with His promises of making me a “special people unto himself”2 and “to make [me] high above all nations which he hath made”3. I had adhered faithfully to practices of tithing, fasting, prayer, and temple worship, the promised windows of heaven4 remained closed, and I felt abandoned.
In moments of heightened affliction, I adopted the practice of posing two fundamental questions to the divine: “O Lord, what is thy wish that I do? What is thy wish that I should learn?” Almost immediately, a thought surfaced: “And it came to pass that he built an altar of stones, and made an offering unto the Lord, and gave thanks unto the Lord our God.”5
This prompted a contemplation of the plight of Lehi, who, through no fault of his own, was compelled to abandon his home, leaving behind his possessions, including “his house, and the land of his inheritance, and his gold, and his silver, and his precious things, and took nothing with him.”6 Having spent his entire life in Jerusalem, leaving behind lifelong dreams and the fruits of his labor, Lehi faced a seemingly insurmountable challenge. Yet, gratitude was the principle by which he lived and sought salvation. “Great and marvelous are thy works, O Lord God Almighty!”7
For Lehi, gratitude was not contingent on circumstances; it was a decision with a specific focus: Jesus Christ. And so, I gratefully discovered, “If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.”8
In the midst of my own trials, I internalized the practice of building altars of gratitude daily through prayer. My aim was to be grateful without comparison, expectation, or dependence on external circumstances—a profound shift in perspective.
At the beginning of each prayer, I intentionally directed my thoughts toward the life and mission of my Savior. The process was transformative. The more earnestly I expressed gratitude, the more the Spirit bore witness to the truths of mercy and grace. Through this practice, I gained a testimony of the “intent of this last sacrifice”9 of my Savior and that his “bowels are filled with compassion towards (us)”10.
He perfectly knew me in His mercy. As my gratitude found expression, my faith deepened, and my soul rejoiced. I came to understand that these daily altars of gratitude were paving the way to the throne of grace.11. We were blessed both materially and spiritually in the days that followed. But, for everything I’ve been through, I wouldn’t want to trade places with any king. My trials led me to draw closer to and to know my Savior Jesus Christ. He lives!

There are many ways bishops and quorum members can help to relieve the suffering and anxiety of the unemployed. Phil’s Auto of Centerville, Utah, is a testament of what priesthood leadership and a quorum can accomplish. Phil was a member of an elders quorum and worked as a mechanic at a local automobile repair shop. Unfortunately, the repair shop where Phil worked experienced economic trouble and had to let Phil go from his job. He was devastated by this turn of events.

On hearing about Phil’s job loss, his bishop, Leon Olson, and his elders quorum presidency prayerfully considered ways they could help Phil get back on his feet. After all, he was a fellow quorum member, a brother, and he needed help. They concluded that Phil had the skills to run his own business. One of the quorum members offered that he had an old barn that perhaps could be used as a repair shop. Other quorum members could help gather needed tools and supplies to equip the new shop. Almost everyone in the quorum could at least help clean the old barn.

They shared their ideas with Phil; then they shared their plan with the members of their quorum. The barn was cleaned and renovated, the tools gathered, and all was put in order. Phil’s Auto was a success and eventually moved to better and more permanent quarters—all because his quorum brothers offered help in a time of crisis. Priesthood quorums can and must make a difference.

I will begin with an image that has haunted me for years. During my time as a graduate student at Columbia University, I served in the presidency of the New York Stake Young Women organization. One summer I was working on girls’ camp. I had a funny little car, bought on a shoestring and dedicated to the Lord’s service—it was called a Gremlin. Most of you are probably too young to even remember that model, but it did have four wheels and was put together with spit and glue. One of my assignments for camp was the apples, lots of apples. I headed out to Hunt’s Point Market, which was quite a distance, to get the apples. Upon arriving, I simply opened the hatchback and said, “Fill ’er up.”

Heading upstate, I had to travel a number of cloverleafs in order to make a switch in direction. On the side of the highway just to the right as I entered the interstate on-ramp, I caught a glimpse of a young woman hitchhiker standing with a sign. The sign said, “Anywhere.” I quickly passed by. While my father was famous for picking up almost any stray and bringing it home, I had never stopped for a hitchhiker before in my life, especially not in New York. At that moment, however, something prompted me to reenter the cloverleaf and come back around. I thought to myself, “If she is still there, I will pick her up.” Being honest, I was hoping that she would be gone, but she wasn’t. So I stopped. She opened the car door and got in. She was unkempt, odoriferous, and very interesting. I was not sure how old she was. She was young, but clearly old beyond her years. Thinking to break the ensuing silence I said, “Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” she responded.

I motioned, and reaching to the back of the car she grabbed an apple. It’s all I had, a car full of apples. She ate quickly and put the core on the dashboard by wedging it tightly against the windshield. Usually I am pretty good at conversation, but not this time: “Yes,” “No,” or no answer at all.

I finally said, “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere,” she said.

Somewhat stumped, even irritated, I said, “Are you still hungry?”

She reached for another apple until there were five apple cores lined up against my dashboard, pressed against the window.

“Two can play this game,” I thought, so in silence I paid the tolls and we made our way upstate. As I was about to turn off the freeway onto a little road where our camp was located, I said, “I’m about to turn off the main freeway. Would you like to get out?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m going to a camp with some young women, and I’ll just have to drop you off there.”

Looking straight ahead, she responded without feeling, “Fine.”

I turned off, and we traveled on. As my car pulled into camp, those young women surrounded us. They were so happy to see us, and I, needless to say, was happy to see them. As my passenger got out, there were some surprised young women. “Who is she?” “Where did she come from?” “What is she doing here?” Talking for a moment, I suggested that she may want to go out to the mailbox by the road. Perhaps somebody would pick her up there and she could be on her way to anywhere. The day passed. We had lunch and went about all the things you do at girls’ camp. Just before dinner, one of our young women came to me and said, “Sister Mouritsen, what are we going do with . . . with . . . it?”

“What do you mean, it?”

Pointing, she said, “What are we going to do with her?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “What do you think we should do with her?”

“I think we should invite her to dinner.”

Wow, I wish I’d thought of that, but I didn’t. It took a little Mia Maid to do that.

“Let’s go out together,” I said, “and we’ll invite her in.”

Hand in hand, we walked to the mailbox by the roadside. She came in and had dinner with us and stayed the entire week. I must admit that I was somewhat anxious, thinking it was a bit of a risk. I didn’t know who she was or where she’d come from or what she might have. But those young women embraced her in a most marvelous way. I saw her at the waterfront; I saw her in the craft tent; I saw her around the fireside. I watched her all week long. When camp was over, I said to her, “Can I take you some where?”

And she said, “Anywhere.”

“Well, I’m headed back to New York City.”

“I don’t want to go there,” she snapped. “Just let me off on the freeway.”

We got in my car—minus the apples—made our way to the freeway, and I let her off.

This is the image that haunts me. I watched her disappear in my rearview mirror as she stood on the roadside posting her clumsily written sign, “Anywhere.” Over the years, that image has come to mind many, many times.

Returning to my earlier story, one day my secretary rang in and said, “There’s a young woman with a baby here to see you. She said it won’t do any good to give you her name. You won’t know her by name.”

I welcomed her in, and she sat at my table holding a beautiful baby girl.

“Do you recognize me?” she said.

“No, I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

“I have known you were here, but I haven’t quite known what to say. I’m the young woman you picked up on the highway in New York City some years ago. Although angry and hardened, I was touched by what I heard and saw and felt at girls’ camp.”

She continued to explain that it had been a horrible life for her, including a long history of abuse at a very young age. Finally, she thought, “There’s got to be something better than this out there.”

So she ran. As you might expect, a young woman of her age with no resources ended up in desperate places. That is when I found her and she found me on the New York freeway.

“When I left girls’ camp, I stole a dollar. Now I know that all I had to do was ask and you would have given money to me, or anyone would have given it to me. But I stole a dollar. (By this time we were both in tears.) When you drove off and left me on the freeway, I had time to think, as it was several hours before somebody picked me up. I went to the very next city and found a telephone book. I thumbed through the Yellow Pages until I found The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I rang up the number. I wanted to see if what you folks said was really true. A pleasant woman answered the phone, and I asked for the bishop. I’d heard you use that term, bishop, at camp,” she said.

“He isn’t home right now,” was the response, “but I’d be happy to have him call you back.”

“I don’t have a telephone number. I’ll call him back.”

And she did.

What happened next is a true miracle. This good family took in this waif and made her a member of their family. They cared for her and taught her and loved her. Eventually she joined the Church, she met a returned missionary, and they married. He was now a student at BYU. She came that day with baby in hand, a newly adopted baby, to extend an invitation.

“I would like to invite you to the blessing of our baby. Can you come?”

And I said, “Anytime.”

A few years later, I attended college in a small college town in Virginia. In the 1960’s, there were not many LDS members or church meeting houses in the rural part of Virginia. The closest branch to my campus was 60 miles away. Most of you are too young to know what the 60’s was like. As a nineteen-year old, I had plenty of opportunities to become part of the drug, anti -war, anti-establishment and anti-government culture. I was again watched over by a few LDS students who would encourage me and arrange rides for me to attend church on Sundays. Through the kind acts of these young members, I was able to stay on the strait and narrow path in times of great turmoil and trepidation.

I grew up in a very loving family, and my whole life was centered around the gospel of Jesus Christ. I was first assistant in the priests quorum, and I served a mission. Shortly after returning home from my mission, I was arrested for a very serious crime. I was sentenced to 15 years in prison and excommunicated from the Church. As I sit here thinking of the many mistakes I made in life, I am now getting my life back together. Each month I receive the New Era, and I learn from each article I read. I use them in my daily walk in life, and they help me and lift me in times of despair.
Name Withheld

Enduring Trials
“When [Kate] was 14, … one day her [seminary] teacher started to talk about trials and guaranteed that we all would face them. She said to herself, ‘I don’t want trials; I don’t want to hear this.’
“It was just a few weeks later that her father woke up … extremely ill. Kate said: ‘… Within 36 hours he had a massive stroke that shut down most of his body. … I remember seeing him and thinking, “Oh no, it’s happening. … I am having a trial.”’ Within a few days Kate’s father passed away.
“… Kate said: ‘It was so hard. … I knew I could make it a springboard for growth or allow it to be a roadblock. I didn’t want to let it ruin my life. … I tried to be as close to the Lord as possible. I read my scriptures a lot. … I prayed a lot. I wrote in my journal. … I kept my testimony vibrant by writing it down. I went to church and to Young Women every week. I surrounded myself with good friends. I kept close to caring relatives and especially to my mom. … I sought out priesthood blessings. …’
“These consistent choices, like those of the wise virgin, added oil to Kate’s lamp. … She wanted an eternal relationship with [her father], and she understood that staying on her covenant path would keep her life woven tightly with his. …
“Kate had this kind of faith because she understood the plan of salvation. She knew we lived before, that earth is a time of testing, and that we will live again.”
Mary N. Cook, former first counselor in the Young Women general presidency

Jeffrey opened one eye first, then the other. He looked at his new clock and pushed off the bedcovers. He sat on the edge of his bed, squinting at the clock’s two hands. One pointed up. One pointed down. He didn’t know what they said.
Jeffrey let his head hang upside down over the side of the bed. He made his fingers into tubes like binoculars. The clock hands still looked the same. One up. One down. He pulled the pillow over his eyes and sighed. He thought about his grandmother.
“Here’s a new clock for your birthday,” Grandmother had said. “You’ll be going to school soon, and you’ll need to know how to tell time.”
Jeffrey sighed again. The clock was a problem. He went into the kitchen to find his mother.
“I’ll fix you a nice breakfast,” his mother said. “Are you excited about tomorrow?”
“I’m not going to school tomorrow,” said Jeffrey. “I can’t read clocks, and I won’t know when to come home!”
“The teacher and I will help you at first,” said Mother. “And you’ll soon be able to tell the time by yourself.”
After breakfast Jeffrey went back to his room and made his bed. He smoothed the plaid bedspread carefully and tucked in the corners. He combed his hair, put on his shoes, and tied the laces. He stared at the clock. The hands were different now, but he still didn’t know what they said.
Then Jeffrey had an idea. “I know! Maybe Timothy can read a clock. I’ll ask him!”
Just then Timothy knocked at the back door. Jeffrey ran to open it. Timothy had a paper bag in his arms. “Hi, Jeffrey!” said his friend. “Dad took me shopping last night!”
“Oh!” said Jeffrey. “What’s in the paper bag?”
“New tennis shoes,” said Timothy, “for school tomorrow.”
“Could I see them?” asked Jeffrey.
“Sure,” said Timothy. “But I’m not going to school tomorrow.”
“You aren’t?” said Jeffrey.
“No,” said Timothy. “I can’t tie my shoes. The other children will laugh at me because I don’t know how the laces go!”
“I’m not going to school tomorrow either.”
“You aren’t?” replied Timothy, surprised.
“No,” said Jeffrey. “My grandmother gave me a clock for my birthday, but I can’t read the hands. The other children will laugh at me because I can’t tell time.”
“I have an idea!” Timothy exclaimed. “I can read clocks but I can’t tie shoes. I’ll show you how to read the hands on your new clock—”
“And I’ll teach you how to tie the laces on your new shoes! Let’s go to my room right now,” said Jeffrey. “We’ll teach each other.”
At noon Mother knocked on Jeffrey’s door. “It’s lunchtime, boys,” she said, “and I have a sandwich and some juice for each of you.”
“Thank you,” said Jeffrey. “I know it’s lunchtime. I can read my clock’s hands! They say it’s twelve o’clock!”
“Thanks. I’m real hungry,” said Timothy. “I’ve been practicing hard tying my shoelaces. And now I can do it!”
“It sounds as though you two are ready for the first day of school,” Mother said with a big smile.
“Yeah. I’ll meet Tim out in front of his house at eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” said Jeffrey.
“And I’ll be wearing my new shoes!” said Timothy.

I will never forget the interview I had with my bishop as I was preparing for my mission. The bishop happened to be my father. We were together a great deal of the time. He could have interviewed me in our home, in the barn, in the field, or in our car, or any other place where we spent time together. Dad wanted to make this a special occasion, one that would be remembered.
One day I received a telephone call from him. He wanted to set up an appointment with me for an interview. I thought that strange because he had never called me before to set up an appointment for anything. We arranged the time to meet in the bishop’s office. When the appointed time arrived, I found his office clean and orderly without papers on the desk, which was strange because in normal circumstances it would be covered with papers. But this time, all that was on the desk were the scriptures. The interview resulted in a little scripture study between myself and my father.
As near as I can remember, the procedure was as follows: He pushed the scriptures over to my side of the desk and asked me to turn to Doctrine and Covenants 59:6 and read: “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. Thou shalt not steal; neither commit adultery, … nor do anything like unto it.”
We then discussed what it meant to be morally clean. The discussion centered on cleanliness of thought. If our thoughts remain clean and pure, we would never commit acts that would prevent us from serving in the mission field. All too common among young men today is the idea that they can sin a little, live it up with the boys, and then settle down for a short season before they are ready to be called so they can qualify themselves for missionary service. What fallacy there is in that philosophy!
The discipline contained in daily obedience and clean living and wholesome lives builds an armor around you of protection and safety from the temptations that beset you as you proceed through mortality. You can leave home with a clear conscience. Now, there may be some of you who have already given in to the ways of the world. The only way to regain your self-respect is the process called repentance. Always remember that with the help of your bishop there is a way back. Do not hesitate to use it!
Next we turned and read from the Doctrine and Covenants, section 89, verses 18 through 21:
“And all saints who remember to keep and do these sayings, walking in obedience to the commandments, shall receive health in their navel and marrow to their bones;
“And shall find wisdom and great treasures of knowledge, even hidden treasures;
“And shall run and not be weary, and shall walk and not faint.
“And I, the Lord, give unto them a promise, that the destroying angel shall pass by them, as the children of Israel, and not slay them. Amen.”
The discussion which followed centered around the importance of keeping our physical bodies healthy, wholesome homes for our eternal spirits. Harmful drugs and drinks destroy both the mind and the body and make us unfit for the guidance of the Spirit of the Lord.
We read other scriptures concerning sustaining the prophets and obedience to living the laws of the Lord. After each discussion, I was required to respond as to whether my life was in harmony with this principle.
Then finally we turned and read together Doctrine and Covenants 110, verses 1 through 4:
“The veil was taken from our minds, and the eyes of our understanding were opened.
“We saw the Lord standing upon the breastwork of the pulpit, before us; and under his feet was a paved work of pure gold, in color like amber.
“His eyes were as a flame of fire; the hair of his head was white like the pure snow; his countenance shone above the brightness of the sun; and his voice was as the sound of the rushing of great waters, even the voice of Jehovah, saying:
“I am the first and the last; I am he who liveth, I am He who was slain; I am your advocate with the Father.”
We then talked about the eternal hope that we have in the atonement of our Lord and Savior, and the necessity of partaking of sacred ordinances required for all of our Father in Heaven’s children before we can receive the greatest gift he has given to us, the gift of life eternal.
Dad then filled out my missionary recommendation form and had me sign it. Standing, he gave me a warm handshake and a sincere congratulations for being worthy to serve a full-time mission. I left his office with a feeling of exhilaration. I had passed one of the most important tests of my life. I had been deemed worthy to be a full-time missionary, which signified the approval of my father, my bishop, and my Lord and Savior. As I left the office, in my mind I made a commitment to myself that I would always live worthy to pass an interview held with one of my priesthood leaders.
The interview I had with my bishop prepared me for three basic ingredients I needed to serve a mission:
First, I needed gospel knowledge as contained in the scriptures and a testimony as to their truthfulness. Daily prayer and study were essential for my preparation to serve.
Second, personal righteousness is a fundamental requirement.
Third, my bishop’s interview created in me even a greater desire to be a full-time missionary.

Bronwyn Kerns of the Winchester Ward, Winchester Virginia Stake found an unusual way to incorporate the Young Women values into her daily life—she spent more than 200 hours making them into a quilt! Different squares of the quilt highlight different aspects of the values, and the center square contains the Young Women theme.

Bronwyn credits her mother for helping her with the project, which is now used as a decoration in Bronwyn’s home and as a special display at Young Women functions.

Shirley Mwelase of South Africa exemplifies these principles as well. She used a PEF loan to finish a computer programming course and, after getting a job at an insurance company, quickly paid off the remainder of her loan, helping her feel “reliable and trustworthy.”
Shirley explains, “A better-paying job meant a better quality of life. It meant I could help out my parents and family, and the skills and refinement I have since acquired from working have helped me greatly to be of better service in all my Church callings.”
Working as a programmer, she has accomplished much. She says, “I feel that if it were not for my studies and my constant participation at church, I would not have had a job, nor would I have been able to achieve any of these good things.”

When approaching one Christmas season, my wife and I were asked by our Bishop to do 12 temple endowment sessions each before the end of the year. We lived about 60 miles from the temple, which was usually about an hour and a half away from our home. We normally went once each month. This request from the Bishop was going to stretch us a lot.

To fulfill this assignment, we decided that we would have to devote one entire day to temple attendance. I took a day off from work and Sherri and I went through eight endowment sessions in that single day. What an incredible blessing that experience was in our lives. As we remained in the temple, contemplating the meaning of these sacred ordinances, and as we pondered upon and prayed for understanding, we gained more insights, and more understanding about our Heavenly Father's will and purposes than we had through all the years of attending one session each month.

How grateful we are for what that assignment and that experience taught us about a higher standard of temple worship.