Gospel Story Finder

Last fall Sister Rasband and I were on our way to Goshen, Utah, for a worldwide Face to Face event being broadcast to over 600,000 people in 16 different languages. The program was to focus on the events of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, with questions submitted by young adults from around the world. Sister Rasband and I had personally reviewed the questions; they gave us the opportunity to testify of Joseph Smith as a prophet of God, the power of revelation in our lives, the ongoing Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and the truths and commandments that we treasure. Many listening today were part of that miraculous event.

Initially the broadcast was to originate in the Sacred Grove in upstate New York, where, as Joseph Smith testified: “I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!” That, brothers and sisters, was a miracle.

The worldwide pandemic forced us to relocate the broadcast to Goshen, Utah, where The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has re-created, for filming, a section of old Jerusalem. Sister Rasband and I were within a few miles of Goshen that Sunday evening when we saw thick smoke coming from the direction of our destination. Wildfires were blazing in the area, and we worried the broadcast might be at risk. Sure enough, at 20 minutes to 6:00, our broadcast time, the power in the entire complex went out. No power! No broadcast. There was one generator that some thought we might be able to power up, but there was no assurance it could sustain the sophisticated equipment at hand.

All of us on the program, including narrators, musicians, and technicians—even 20 young adults from our own extended family—were fully invested in what was to take place. I stepped away from their tears and confusion and pleaded with the Lord for a miracle. “Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “I have rarely asked for a miracle, but I am asking for one now. This meeting must happen for all our young adults around the world. We need the power to go on if it be Thy will.”

Seven minutes after 6:00, as quickly as the power had gone out, it came back on. Everything started working, from the music and microphones to the videos and all the transmission equipment. We were off and running. We had experienced a miracle.

As Sister Rasband and I were in the car returning home later that evening, President and Sister Nelson texted us with this message: “Ron, we want you to know that as soon as we heard the power was out, we prayed for a miracle.”

In latter-day scripture it is written, “For I, the Lord, have put forth my hand to exert the powers of heaven; ye cannot see it now, yet a little while and ye shall see it, and know that I am, and that I will come and reign with my people.”

That is exactly what happened. The Lord had put forth His hand, and the power came on.

Elder Thomas S. Monson
Some years ago, President Lee, directed by inspiration and revelation, called Dewitt J. Paul to serve as patriarch in one of the eastern stakes of the Church. The call humbled beyond words both Brother and Sister Paul. They wondered. They worried. They prayed for assurance and heavenly confirmation. Such did not come suddenly.
The vote of the people demonstrated their supporting approval. Then came the time for ordination. In a basement room situated two floors beneath the meeting hall in which the conference was held, Dewitt Paul nervously sat on a chair and, with a silent prayer in his heart, awaited his ordination. President Harold B. Lee then placed his hands upon the head of the newly called patriarch and began to speak. Peace replaced turmoil. Faith overcame doubt. Seated next to Sister Paul was a lifelong friend to whom Sister Paul had confided her concern. During the pronouncement of the blessing and ordination, she opened her eyes. As she did so she saw a ray of light shining upon President Lee as he placed his hands upon the head of Brother Paul. At the conclusion of the blessing, she hastened to tell Brother Lee of this confirmation of a call. She recounted how she saw the sunshine form the ray of light and how it brought a bright glow to the hands of President Lee. “Indeed, this is to you a confirmation of a sacred call,” said President Lee, “for as you look about this basement room, there is no window through which the sun might beam its rays.” Precious are the hands of a prophet.

Steve Pokere is famous in New Zealand. A star of the All Blacks, the legendary national rugby team, he won glory for New Zealand all around the world.
Now he plays a more important role. He is the father of Steven (9) and Marilyn (7) as well as their sisters, Emma (13) and Anne-Maree (14). They live in Invercargill, a pleasant coastal city near the bottom of the south island.
Steven and Marilyn each have enough energy to power all of Invercargill, if only they could be hooked up properly. Steven enjoys sports of all kinds, especially rugby, running, and cricket. He has great skill with any ball of any shape and size, and he often practices rugby with his dad. He is learning the fine points of passing and sidestepping from the master. A fierce competitor, Steven plays fair but plays to win, and he plans to be an All Black like his father someday.
Steven has attended several All-Blacks matches with his dad. One of the highlights of his life was going to a match in Dunedin, where he met the whole team and watched a practice. He came away with a treasure trove of autographs and had a nice visit with his favorite player, Geoff Wilson.
Steven also enjoys camping, hunting, and fishing with his dad. He states emphatically that he does not enjoy being the only boy in the family, because he gets picked on by the girls—a charge his sisters deny.
Steven is good with tools and loves to build things. One day his parents came home and found that he had cut the middle limbs out of a beautiful young tree in order to construct a tree house. “When we drove up and saw the branches on the driveway we said, ‘Oh no!’” his dad recalls. “But now we look back and laugh and have joy in seeing what he created. It’s all part of being a family.”
One year when the family had a bountiful garden, Stephen set up a little table on the curb and sold tomatoes and cucumbers. “He earned thirteen dollars and came back in with a worldwide grin,” Brother Pokere says. The young businessman immediately set aside money for his tithing.
Marilyn is an outgoing girl and a champion at making friends. She can name twenty or thirty of them before pausing for breath, and then go on naming. Everyone she meets becomes an instant “old friend.” She doesn’t feel shy about talking to anyone, whether it’s a child or an adult. She is so friendly that the rule against talking to strangers is a hard one for her to remember. She is a caring person who is a good friend to all her friends.
For an independent girl like Marilyn, it’s sometimes hard being the youngest, because she feels ready to do anything anyone else can do. She enjoys swimming, riding her bike, jumping on the trampoline, and cooking, especially potatoes, meat, and cabbage. She likes going to the beach, where she digs holes and makes sand castles. Unfortunately, the water is far too cold for swimming. She is a fast runner and plans to compete in athletics (track and field). She and Steven are both sorry that so many competitions in New Zealand are held on Sunday, because they refuse to compete on the Sabbath.
A good dancer, Marilyn isn’t a bit afraid of performing in front of an audience. Her older sisters are dancers, too, and they make up little dance routines to do with her. Marilyn is an avid reader who prefers books that are funny. Her favorite is Silly Willy. She hopes to be a librarian and live surrounded by books. In the meantime, she studies hard and gets good grades.
Steven doesn’t always study quite so hard. His heart just isn’t in it yet. “He says, ‘I’m going to be an All Black, so what does school matter?’” his mother, Lesley, reports, “but I tell him, ‘you’ll have contracts to read, and if you can’t read them, somebody might cheat you.’” Steven is thinking it over.
Both Steven and Marilyn love climbing trees. Steven climbs up to the very top and swings like a monkey, frightening his parents.
The Pokeres like to go places together. Sometimes they visit beautiful Queen Park in Invercargill, where Steven and Marilyn stress-test every piece of equipment in the large playground. Sometimes the family travels to scenic locations such as Queenstown, Alexandria, or Bluff. Bluff is on the very bottom of New Zealand (except for a few small islands) and has a signpost on a cliff above the sea, pointing different directions to the major cities of the world.
Brother Pokere is the branch president. Although the children think of him as Dad, not as President Pokere, they have learned about service and responsibility by seeing him serve others. Emma and Anne-Maree have taken it upon themselves to serve by befriending the less active teenagers in the branch.
Brother Pokere’s personal experiences are an inspiration to his children. In 1978 he was about to be selected for the All Blacks—his lifetime goal. Instead, he accepted a mission call. Some fans thought he was crazy, but many admired his devotion to his religion. He returned in 1980 and became an All Black in 1981.
He has passed on many of the lessons he learned in rugby to his children. One of these is the importance of preparing themselves to achieve their dreams. “A lot goes into preparation that fans aren’t aware of. You’re out there slogging your heart out in practice. Your lungs are popping while everyone else is inside next to the fire. It’s the price of success. And once you reach the top, it doesn’t give you the right to remain there. It’s a continuous thing that you have to keep working on.”
The family applies these principles in their everyday lives. “We often have family sessions to evaluate where we are and to set goals,” Brother Pokere explains. “For example, we set a goal never to raise our voices in the home, and that includes parents. If we want somebody who’s not nearby, we go and get them—we don’t yell. We’ve really noticed a difference, especially when tempers are starting to rise. If you can maintain that level of reverence in your speech, it makes a huge difference. Of course, it doesn’t take the younger ones long to forget, but they’re trying, and that’s what matters. They’re good children, and they bring us a lot of joy.”
If people were punctuation marks, Steven and Marilyn would be two bold exclamation points!! What a great way to live!

President Thomas S. Monson shared this example of President Smith’s love: “On a cold winter morning, the street cleaning crew [in Salt Lake City] was removing large chunks of ice from the street gutters. The regular crew was assisted by temporary laborers who desperately needed the work. One such wore only a lightweight sweater and was suffering from the cold. A slender man with a well-groomed beard stopped by the crew and asked the worker, ‘You need more than that sweater on a morning like this. Where is your coat?’ The man replied that he had no coat to wear. The visitor then removed his own overcoat, handed it to the man and said, ‘This coat is yours. It is heavy wool and will keep you warm. I just work across the street.’ The street was South Temple. The good Samaritan who walked into the Church Administration Building to his daily work and without his coat was President George Albert Smith of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His selfless act of generosity revealed his tender heart. Surely he was his brother’s keeper.”21

When I was working as a volunteer with the Headstart Program, there was a four-year-old boy who had a hard time adjusting to his new situation—being in a new school with other children, an unfamiliar teacher, and a 17-year-old teacher’s aide. I really didn’t understand what it was like to be without a lot of life’s luxuries. Each day this little boy would come to school crying. He would come and sit on my lap and tell me what was on his mind. He would tell me about his family, things he thought about, what he liked and didn’t like, what he worried about, and just anything he wanted to talk about. This would last for the first 15 minutes, and then he would go and play with the other children and do what the teacher had planned.
One day after one of these sessions, I ran across a quote that seemed to fit this situation: “Understand men and women as they are—not as you are.”
I knew this meant little children as well as adults. People want to be understood regardless of their age. When I read this statement, I wanted to understand this little boy. I just had to understand why he cried. Well, these sessions went on every morning for about three weeks. The more I understood him, the more I loved him. Then one bright Monday morning he smiled at me and said, “Teacher, I am big now!”
He then went and played with the other children. He still knew I was there when he wanted to talk. He knew I understood and would listen, and during the summer we had many experiences together. He knew the teacher, and he loved to learn new things. He knew the other children and knew that they were his friends.
On the last day of school he said to me, “Teacher, you’re my best friend!”
We haven’t seen each other since, but the lessons he taught me that summer won’t be forgotten for many years to come. We were friends because I had taken the time to listen and understand him as he was.

Scott (name has been changed) had every excuse to stop coming to church. His mom never went. When his alcoholic dad wasn’t in prison, he wasn’t around, so he wasn’t going to take Scott to church. His two younger sisters went to Young Women sometimes but weren’t really interested.
The only reason Scott had been going in the first place was because his family was living with his grandma, who would wake him up for priesthood every Sunday. But when he turned 16, Scott’s grandma died, and his family moved away from the only bishop Scott had really connected with.
It would have been easy for him to just not show up anymore.
But Scott didn’t stop going to church.
“I felt good at church,” Scott says. “I felt the Spirit there. I knew that’s where I was supposed to be, so I kept going.”
He didn’t realize it at the time, but when Scott decided to keep going to church, even though it seemed he had every reason not to, he changed my life and affected hundreds of others.
Scott went on a mission, even though there was no way he or his family could pay for it. By then his dad had left the family. But, supported by ward members, Scott served a faithful mission. He taught hundreds and baptized dozens.
After returning home, he married in the temple. He served as elders quorum president, Young Men president, and bishop, blessing the lives of hundreds of ward members and their families.
He and his wife had their own family, where his influence was perhaps more strongly felt. It was there that his four children gained their own testimonies of the gospel. In large part because of his faithfulness, the three oldest have served missions—together having taught more than 1,000 people and baptizing more than 100. Scott’s youngest son is now serving a mission.
Forty years after Scott made the decision to be faithful, people are still being affected by his decision. I know. He’s my dad.
Scott’s decision was like a rock tossed into still water—the ripples continue to move outward through generations, touching not only the lives of those around him but the lives of their children and their children’s children.
Those ripples are now moving into the third generation as I look into the eyes of my two-year-old son, who, because of my temple marriage, can be part of our family forever.
I have wondered what would have happened if my dad had simply chosen not to go to church anymore. Would I have come to know the Savior? Would I have served a mission? Would I have married in the temple? Would my son be facing a future without the blessings of the gospel? Those are questions I’m glad I don’t have to answer.

Being able to fast on the first Sunday of every month was the unspoken “rite of passage” in my family. The children in my home had to somehow convince my parents of their maturity before Mom and Dad would pass on the privilege and honor of partaking of the spiritual feast that fasting provides.
I’d been looking forward to this honor for months. I had finally convinced my parents that I was ready to make that sacrifice along with all the other mature members of my family. I didn’t know that going without food would teach me about the bread and milk of living.
When that long-anticipated fast day came, I watched my younger sisters hawklike while they gobbled up their toast, eggs, and milk. In my sanctimonious sanctuary on the couch, as I watched each one finish her last bite, I began to seriously wonder why I had begged for this privilege. That day, after long hours in church, I kept looking at the clock. Morning grew into afternoon, and I was still holding firm to my commitment. Then I remembered that I had half a roll of Life Savers in my coat pocket. I figured that I could sneak them out and carry them down to the bathroom, close the door, and lock it. If I flushed the toilet while I rattled the paper, nobody would be able to hear me eating the candy.
I grabbed the Life Savers from my coat pocket, hid them in my dress pocket, and walked downstairs to the bathroom. Then I closed the door, flushed the toilet, and ripped open the paper. Sitting down on the heat vent to eat them, I stared at the cherry Life Saver between my thumb and index finger, about three inches from my mouth. Then the guilt hit. I took the candies and flushed them down the toilet, then walked outside the house and waited.
When Mom called from the house, I slid into my place at the table. My mother and father smiled at me and patted me on the arm. I looked at the table, which held a loaf of sliced bread, a gallon pitcher of chilled milk, and slices of cheese stacked on a china plate. Every Sunday night our family had bread and milk for supper. We would take a slice of bread and break it into small pieces in a bowl. Then we would pour milk over the pieces and eat the mixture with a spoon.
As I took my slice of bread and slowly broke it into the bowl, I could feel the smooth, soft texture of the bread center and the hard, shiny, dark-brown crust. I noticed the moisture from the chilled milk running down the glass, and as I poured the milk into the bowl, it made a frothy top.
It was a simple meal, an ordinary meal, a meal that I had had every Sunday night for as long as I could remember. But it tasted different that night. I distinctly remember the yeasty smell of the bread and the way the cool milk felt inside my mouth. I’ve never had a meal quite like it since.
That meal started to teach me about the bread and milk of living. It started to teach me about the richness of ordinary things. I found that really enjoying life could be as simple as being able to savor an ordinary meal.
Now, every time I fast, I think about the true bread of life, and the lesson I learned during my “rite of passage.”

Do you ever wish that you could have a perfect friend? The kind of friend who is always caring, friendly, polite, and understanding? The kind of friend who brings out the best in you? Maybe it’s what you think about most when you feel like you don’t have any friends, much less perfect ones. Dreams of a perfect friend are great if you’re somehow not invited to go to the party that everyone else has been talking about all week, or if you’re sitting home alone while your best friend, your sister, and even your mom and dad are out on dates. With a perfect friend, you’d never be lonely, or bored, or left out.
Youth in Louisville, Kentucky, might feel that way sometimes, but not right now. Right now they’re at youth conference, and, instead of thinking about themselves, they’re thinking about other people. Lots of other people. Children who need their help, their love, and most of all their friendship.
These teens are doing a three-day service project providing most of the volunteer support for the Spina Bifida Association of America’s yearly children’s program being held at a hotel in downtown Louisville. The program is a sort of day camp for children with spina bifida—a birth defect that affects spinal cord development. Their siblings are also invited to attend while their parents attend workshops on spina bifida. Most of the kids have leg braces, crutches, or wheelchairs, so for the Latter-day Saint youth it means three days of hard work, patience, and, hopefully, fun.
Eighteen-year-old Annie Poulsen knows that the art of making new friends requires plenty of supplies—art supplies, that is. Several months before youth conference, Annie began to gather markers, scissors, and glue from local businesses as part of a Laurel project. When the conference began, Annie and all the other volunteers used the supplies she gathered to cut, color, and paste different projects.
“Here in the art room, everybody is sitting down,” says Annie. “We’re all coloring together and having a good time. You don’t even think about the fact that some of us are in wheelchairs.”
In another room, Natalee Norton is up to her elbows in shaving cream. The infants and toddlers she has been assigned to help are too young to do the art projects that Annie helped coordinate, but they’re plenty old enough to enjoy making a mess. After a few minutes of mucking shaving cream around a large table, Natalee and the other kids and volunteers hold up their foam-covered hands, stare for just a moment, and then laugh, some of the kids making faces and holding their hands up like monster claws.
“This is really fun,” says Natalee, as she heads for the sink to rinse off. “I didn’t think it would be this much fun.”
This is John Draper’s last youth conference. In the fall he heads to college at George Washington University. As a youth director for this very busy conference, he’s going out with a bang.
“The main goal of this conference is that the children and their parents will be able to feel the love of the Savior through us,” says John. “It’s a challenge, but I think we can accomplish it.”
And that feeling, that focus of sharing Christlike love, not only to the conference participants, but to each other as well, is evident in every group and at every activity.
“We sometimes give the boys in our ward a hard time,” says Mia Maid Rochelle Neal. “But today I got to see a little different side to them, playing with all the kids and having a great time. They were all really great.”
Austin Latchaw didn’t know much about spina bifida before this conference began. He still probably couldn’t tell you much scientific information about it, but he knows that it has made it difficult for his new friend, eight-year-old Jay, to use his legs.
“Jay has a really good attitude about everything,” says Austin. “He came all the way from Indiana with his family to be here, and he just makes friends with everyone. It’s hard for him to walk, and a lot of these kids have to use wheelchairs, but they are happy anyway—very happy. It makes you feel good just to be around them.”
Michael Draper, a teacher, found a buddy on the basketball court.
“I played a lot of ball with my new friend Chris today,” he says. “At first I think we both felt a little awkward since we didn’t really know each other. But by the end of the day, he was my friend.”
Since the youth of the Louisville stake go to several different schools and live fairly far from one another, youth conference is one of the few times all year that they get to spend a sustained amount of time with each other. Their time together is precious. When their volunteer work is done for the day, they gear up for evening sports, games, or dancing. There’s not a lot of sleeping (they can do that when youth conference ends), but no one seems tired. In fact, after a whole day of pushing wheelchairs, playing children’s games, and standing in the sun, these youth seem energized.
“I wasn’t sure I wanted to come to youth conference,” confides 15-year-old Rebecca Eve. “I thought the days would be long and boring, but now I don’t want it to end. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”
There’s a good feeling at the conference, and it seems to be contagious. Even people assigned to less exciting jobs—like serving as runners for the nurses’ station or guarding a large staircase to ensure that no one goes tumbling down it in a wheelchair—seem to be having fun.
“I thought these kids would need a lot of help,” says Mia Maid Ashley Holmes. “But really, we are just here to talk to them and be their friends. Since we’re actively involved with what’s going on the whole time, it’s a lot of fun, just as much fun as a regular youth conference, if not more.”
Since the SBAA hosts its annual conference in a different city each year, it’s not likely that it will be held in Louisville again for a long time. Chances are, most of these participants and volunteers will never see each other again. With the activities winding down, the youth want to give their new friends one last memorable experience.
On the last day of the conference all the children and their parents gather in the hotel lobby for a special goodbye. The youth have prepared a song called “We Are the Hands of Heaven” to leave a final, spiritual message. The song has been carefully prepared and rehearsed, complete with two flute players and someone “singing” the words in American Sign Language. The piano begins and the voices start out strong. But then someone looks out into the crowd and sees the smiling face of a new friend, looking up intently from where she is seated in her tiny wheelchair. Tears begin to stream down a few cheeks, then a few more, and finally hardly anyone is left with dry eyes. The song, still beautiful, is sung more softly than in rehearsal. No one seems to mind.
When the song ends, one little girl rushes toward two of the volunteers and says, “You made my eyes water!” A little boy moves his crutches as fast as he can to catch up with two priests. “Here’s my address,” he says a little shyly. “Will you write me?”
As the youth leave the hotel for the last time, some smiling, some a little teary, the atmosphere is quiet. There are lots of things to think about.
There’s a dance tonight, a ’50s theme dance which everyone will dress up for. Later, there will be a devotional. Tomorrow morning, a testimony meeting. It’s all pretty much the same as any youth conference, but they feel just a little different. It’s been a unique three days.
And as they are thinking about all the new friends they’ve made and all the old friendships they’ve strengthened, they may briefly think about that perfect friend. The one who always knows just what to say, the one you can always count on.
Perhaps they’ll never find that perfect friend. But after the last three days maybe, just maybe, they’re a little closer to being one.

Many times the things that we think are terribly disconcerting to us and that we don’t really deserve are the things that make us great. I had a cancer on my lip when I was eighteen years old. The doctor said it was caused from continuous exposure to the sun. If I stayed in the sun, he couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t return. I love to farm, but I didn’t like it that much, and so I left the farm. I had to, just as did the Saints who came to the Salt Lake Valley. (President Tanner says the Saints came of their own free will, because they had to.) That’s the reason I left the farm. I left of my own free will because I had to. A short time later I was back in the navy living out in San Diego, California, and along came two young missionaries who knocked on the door. I don’t think they ever would have found me back in Missouri. Not where I was, back there on the farm, anyway. If I hadn’t had that cancer, I probably would not be here today. I’m glad I had it. The quality of refusing to be defeated will make winners of us all.

“Before the concert at the Bolshoi,” said Ann Halversen, “I felt a hand on my arm. ‘Would you tell me more about Mormons?’ said a woman. ‘Do you speak English?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Are you Christian?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Did you know that Christ came to America after he was resurrected?’ I asked. ‘He did!’ she exclaimed, wide-eyed. I then briefly gave an overview of the Book of Mormon. I felt to keep going—to tell her how we obtained the Book of Mormon. When I got to the name of Joseph Smith, the Spirit was so powerful that the instant I said his name I started to cry. The Spirit was so strong that she started to cry, too. ‘What is it that I am feeling?’ she tearfully asked. I then explained about the Holy Ghost. Immediately she reached out and stopped me and said, ‘This is what I have been looking for.’ Before the evening was over, I was able to introduce her to the missionaries.”

I also have a small, thatched-roof cottage in my cart, given to me by a family I baptized on my mission in Ireland and the Isle of Man. It reminds me of a precious miracle that happened after my mission.

From the moment I arrived in Ireland, my desire, hope, and dream was for my father and mother to be able to see the beauties of that country. My parents were not well off financially, and the possibility of them coming to pick me up at the close of my mission was not very great. To my great surprise and joy, my parents saved enough money to come to Ireland and “pick me up.” What a glorious two weeks we had as I took them to see castles and such. But the miracle was not in their coming. It was what happened when they came. My father had suffered from a disease which rendered him legally blind. My mother would often say, “It would be useless for your father to come to Ireland, for he could see little of the beauties you speak of.” But they came, and while they were there, my father’s vision greatly improved. He was able to see and enjoy so much. I rejoiced, for it was my prayer that my parents could see what I had seen. Upon returning home, his vision worsened and returned to how it was before the journey. Every time I see this small cottage, I think upon the miracle in Ireland. I thank God my father could see as I prayed he could. It is a tender mercy I treasure and will take to heaven with me.

Carla and Tim* moved into a new home about two years ago. Since that time their relationships with their neighbors have deepened. They’ve noticed, however, that as they become more familiar with their new friends, they also see more of their friends’ shortcomings. Apparent flaws in everything from the upkeep of their homes to their child-rearing practices seem more glaring all the time. They have begun to dwell on their neighbors’ faults in their conversations, and sometimes as they lie in bed at night they find themselves talking about the little things that bothered them that day.
Elsewhere two families in a small rural ward began feuding years ago. Although the exact circumstances are difficult for anyone to remember, it had something to do with a remark made by one father to another. The original observation was innocent, but it was misunderstood, and within days several variations of the story had spread. Feelings were hurt, sides were taken, and for years bitter feelings have chased the Spirit from them at activities and gatherings. Local leaders have tried to provide counsel and encouragement. Often those actions have been misunderstood as well. Today members of an entire family, including children and grandchildren, refuse to attend church largely because a simple observation blew up into a fire of faultfinding and criticism.
Modern prophets and the scriptures warn us that finding fault and judging others—whether in a single relationship, a tight-knit neighborhood, or a ward setting—can be spiritually hazardous.
Faultfinding distorts our perception in a number of ways. First, we inaccurately see ourselves as superior. When we become preoccupied with the weaknesses of others, our attention is distracted from our own faults. We develop a kind of spiritual farsightedness, focusing our vision on the faults of others, and our spiritual eyes may begin to play tricks on us as we see right through what is much closer—our own faults.
In Matthew 7:3 [Matt. 7:3], the Savior describes this curious condition: “Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?”
Though we may see ourselves as better than those we criticize, in reality they are as precious in the Lord’s sight as we are, as the prophet Jacob makes clear:
“And now, my brethren, I have spoken unto you concerning pride; and those of you which have afflicted your neighbor, and persecuted him because ye were proud in your hearts, of the things which God hath given you, what say ye of it?
“Do ye not suppose that such things are abominable unto him who created all flesh? And the one being is as precious in his sight as the other” (Jacob 2:20–21).
If we find ourselves feeling superior to our neighbor, we likely have forgotten that we also have “sinned, and come short of the glory of God” (Rom. 3:23).
In finding fault with others, we are liable to mistake appearance for substance. Unable to discern the thoughts and intents of our neighbors’ hearts, we base our judgments solely on what we can see or erroneously infer. President Spencer W. Kimball commented that “we often judge wrongfully if we try to fathom the meaning and motives behind [the actions of others] and place on them our own interpretation” (The Miracle of Forgiveness [1969], 268).
We may compare favorably with those who bear obvious signs of sin, because many of our foibles remain private and hidden. This appears to have been the case with the scribes and Pharisees, who wanted to stone the woman who was caught in adultery. But when Jesus said to them, “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her” (John 8:7), the accusers silently left.
While it’s easy to condemn the hypocrisy of the scribes and Pharisees, we may not be all that different today. Consider the growing number of tabloids and television shows that have joined the hunt for the “dirty secrets” of celebrities, politicians, and everyday people. Perhaps the popularity of these magazines and shows comes of our desire to find a shady character against whom we might appear to be glowing saints. Our own imperfections fade from our notice as we watch the sins of others paraded before us. Then, following condemnation of the designated villain, we see no need to work on our own imperfections, which seem to have diminished into insignificance.
If we ridicule others, content in believing that our sins are hidden from them, we become hypocrites like the scribes and Pharisees, whom Jesus likened to “whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness” (Matt. 23:27).
Finally, when we criticize and find fault with others, our perception can be distorted because we often see our own weaknesses in others. The Apostle Paul warned of this tendency: “Thou art inexcusable, O man, whosoever thou art that judgest: for wherein thou judgest another, thou condemnest thyself; for thou that judgest doest the same things” (Rom. 2:1; emphasis added).
If we project our flaws onto others, perhaps our attitude toward them is a barometer of our own imperfect performance. This advice found in the hymnbook is instructive:
Should you feel inclined to censure
Faults you may in others view,
Ask your own heart, ere you venture,
If you have not failings, too.
(Hymns, number 235)
A second hazard of faultfinding is that it stalls our personal and spiritual progress. This earth life is a time for us to prepare ourselves to meet God (see Alma 34:32), and focusing on the faults of others distracts us from that task. The danger in the practice of judging others unrighteously lies not only in what it keeps us from seeing—our own faults—but also in what it keeps us from doing—working to correct those faults.
Perhaps that is why the Lord abhors hypocrisy. Feelings of self-righteousness and complacency are deceptive, for if we are satisfied that our problems aren’t as serious as someone else’s, we tend to forget that how we measure up against other people is not the criterion for gaining eternal life.
The hare in Aesop’s fable provides a classic illustration of such pride and complacency. A hare and a tortoise agree to race. The hare scampers off, leaving the tortoise plodding slowly behind. Eventually the hare becomes tired and, sure of victory, decides to stop and rest. He falls asleep, and the steady tortoise quietly passes by, going on to win the race.
The hare’s problem was not that he lacked the ability to finish the race. Far from it. His problem was that he thought he had the race won. If we, like the foolish hare, think we have it made, there’s no need to keep working.
However, we haven’t crossed the finish line yet. If we stop now and go to sleep, no matter how far along the path of spiritual progress we have come, we’ll stop short of the finish line. As soon as we start focusing on how far behind our spiritual competition is, we divert energy needed to further our own progress and are liable to forget the whole purpose of the race.
The hare’s pride and complacency are like those of the Pharisee who found fault with the publican.
“The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, God, I thank thee, that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this publican.
“I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all that I possess” (Luke 18:11–12).
Without realizing it, the Pharisee had overlooked the beam in his own eye—he had spiritually gone to sleep. In the next verses, we learn that the publican, apparently having recognized and confessed his sins to God, was at that time better off spiritually than the proud Pharisee.
“And the publican, standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me a sinner.
“I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other: for every one that exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted” (Luke 18:13–14).
Like the Pharisee and the hare, when we think we have it made, we emphasize our supposed superiority over others instead of working on overcoming our own weaknesses. If we find ourselves becoming pacified, thinking all is well because we seem better than others, let us remember Nephi’s warning that this is a way Satan “cheateth [our] souls, and leadeth [us] away carefully down to hell” (2 Ne. 28:21).
Finally, when we are harsh in our judgment of others, we are not able to receive compassion and mercy ourselves.
After I had served four months as a full-time missionary, my initial enthusiasm and zeal for the work had waned considerably. I found myself having a hard time understanding and being compassionate with my companion and was discouraged that we weren’t succeeding in the work. I lacked all the confidence I had felt so strongly just a few months earlier.
Alone in an interview with my mission president, I expressed my feelings of inadequacy and discouragement. “How do I develop more confidence in my work as a missionary?” I asked.
His response could not have surprised me more. He didn’t try to boost my confidence by telling me what good work I was doing. He didn’t teach me about the power of positive thinking. Instead he asked me how I felt about other people, especially those with whom I worked.
“I don’t have much patience,” I admitted. “I was so eager when I started my mission, and it’s frustrating when things don’t go as I anticipated.”
Before I left on my mission, I honestly thought I could get along with anyone. However, in the midst of adversity, I found that I was often critical and judgmental of others.
The president then read a familiar scripture:
“Let thy bowels also be full of charity towards all men, and to the household of faith, and let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God. …
“The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion” (D&C 121:45–46).
The relevance of this scripture to my situation was immediately apparent. As a missionary, I had lacked confidence, and this scripture promised enough confidence to wax strong in God’s presence. I lacked self-assurance, and this scripture promised the Comforter as a constant companion.
And the key to that kind of assurance, courage, and confidence? In addition to continually virtuous thoughts, I must have “charity towards all men.”
In my appraisal of others, including my companion, I had been critical and judgmental. By failing to have charity, I had cut off my potential source of confidence. I learned an invaluable lesson that day. I had long known that I hurt others when I criticize and find fault, but for the first time I realized how my judgmental attitude was harming myself as well. Since that discussion, I’ve noticed many times that when I am charitable toward others, I feel more confident and less limited by my own faults. In short, the harder I try to be forgiving, the easier it is to feel forgiven.
The Christlike attributes of charity and compassion simply cannot be selectively applied in our lives, and we cannot expect to feel confident and assured in our self-appraisals when we pick at the slightest defects in those around us.
Perhaps part of the reason we all experience difficulties, weaknesses, and shortcomings in this life is so that we might have an opportunity to be more compassionate with others. What a tragedy if we overlook our common humanness and point an accusing finger instead!

Dad was very keen on my going to school, and he had told me that I had better not go on a mission. But one night I talked with my friend Harry about missions until 2:00 A.M. He told me, “You have the opportunity to go on a mission now. You might not always have that opportunity.”

I didn’t know if Dad would support me, but I asked my mother to ask him. When I finished my first year of college, I went home. We were doing the dishes one night, when my dad said, “Stephen, if you want to go on a mission, that will be all right.”

I was called to serve my mission in France. After serving twenty-eight months, I got a telegram telling me that my dad had died of a heart attack. I went home to attend the funeral and to help Mom, and Harry’s words came back to me: “You might not always have the opportunity to go on a mission.” If I had put off serving my mission, my widowed mother could not have afforded to send me.

Conscious choice also led Ove and Karen Christensen to their farm on the outskirts of Ribe, twenty miles from Esbjerg, Denmark’s major westbound shipping port.

Since 1984, the Christensens have farmed thirty-three hectares of barley, wheat, peas, and raspberries. They raise pigs and cows for food and horses for fun. In some ways, the Christensens are typical Danes: approximately 70 percent of Danish land is devoted to agriculture, predominantly small farms like theirs. “We wanted farm life for our family,” says Ove. “So much good comes from working the soil and learning the law of the harvest.”

The Christensens’ facial features and fair complexions are distinctly Nordic, as is their warm hospitality. Before them on the table is a polished tray with carefully sliced cakes, rolls, bread, cheeses, and a clear glass pitcher of homemade elderberry juice.

Danes are a convivial people in whom there seems no trace of their fierce Viking ancestors who stormed through northern Europe a thousand years ago. For Danes, having visitors means having a snack, a treat, or even a meal. Missionaries who serve in the Denmark Copenhagen Mission are fond of saying, “Here in Denmark, we have one meal a day, and it lasts from our first visit in the morning until our last visit in the evening.”

Ove has been on the nursing staff at the hospital in Esbjerg for sixteen years, and Karen has been there for six. They work their schedules in complementary shifts in order to be with their four children, ages two to twelve. “He’s great with the kids while I’m working,” says Karen. “Ove is a wonderful father.”

She adds, “People at the hospital who knew Ove before he joined the Church in 1981 credit his tremendous growth to the way he lives now.” Karen had joined the Church in 1978, after living in New York with a cousin for a year. Now, she is in the Esbjerg Ward Primary presidency, and he teaches the Aaronic Priesthood lessons. Twice a year, Karen and Ove journey to the Stockholm Sweden Temple, which requires a lengthy journey by car and ferry.

“My mother and dad were active in the Church, and both were disciplinarians. I didn’t get away with much, and I had to help around the house. Some of my duties were to scrub and wax the kitchen, bathroom, and hall floors and the wooden stairs that went down to the basement. It seemed like I had to do them weekly. I don’t think I was ever able to get them done right the first time. My mother always checked them, and I’d have to do them again. Although it was difficult for me as a child, I’m grateful now that she taught me the value of doing things the best that I could.”

—Abe was born in St. Louis, Missouri. His parents joined the Church when he was eight. “When I was 15, my dad got transferred to Massachusetts. I went from a seminary class of 18 and a lot of Mormons in my high school to a town where the only Mormons in our high school were me and my brother. In seminary there were only four people.”
Abe came to BYU as a walk-on football player, then went on a mission to Houston, Texas. He returned to play defensive back for a couple more years, but eventually gave it up to pursue an acting career.
—Ivey was born in Nashville, Tennessee. Her family moved back to Salt Lake City, Utah, when she was eight, to be near her grandparents. A student at East High School, she is the youngest of six children.
“My main talents are actually dance and violin,” Ivey explains. “Those are the things I’ve studied all my life.” But through hours and hours of lessons and rehearsing, Ivey has learned to sing and act.
All that variety comes into play each week as the four hosts present different segments of the show.
“We ad-lib (speak without a script) a lot, and we have to draw from our own experiences. That’s why it helps to have different viewpoints,” Tracey says. “We introduce a certain story or come back after we have watched it and talk about it. We just did a piece on a girl moving from Utah to South Carolina and the struggles that leaving a comfortable home and family can cause. We talked about, ‘Have you ever moved?’ and we shared experiences. It would be really fake if we didn’t share how we feel.”
“Just one experience can be enough for an idea to come to life. But when you have three other people who all have different experiences, it’s a lot easier to look at things in new ways,” Mike explains.
“You just know when something kind of clicks,” Tracey says. “You know when there is inspiration, when you have been blessed with more gifts and power than you would usually have on your own.”
The Center Street hosts offer these tips about finding your talents:
“My parents gave me this attitude to try everything,” Abe explains. “I tried out for basketball and didn’t make it. So I said, okay, I’ll wrestle. It was an attitude; if you can’t do this, go for this. There’s something you’re good at; you just have to find it.”
“A lot of times you don’t want to try something because you’re not very good,” Tracey says. “I was the last person picked on my eighth grade basketball team. But eventually I got the ‘most improved’ award. I learned that the most important competition is with yourself.”
One of the things Center Street does well is to show young people improving themselves and the world by doing good things.
“When you see somebody that’s 15 or 16 who is just like you, and they’re helping people in a community center, you see that you can do that too,” Abe says.
“We have a responsibility to share the gospel that Jesus Christ taught to the world,” Tracey explains. “One way we can do that is by allowing individuals to let their light shine. There are incredible people in the Church and in the world who are great examples of living what the Savior taught. We want people to have inspiring examples to lift their spirits.”
“God gave us all talents,” Mike says. “On Center Street, we show people that they can do good things with their talents instead of wasting them. We can help them make a choice for good, because they’ve seen other people who are doing good.”
“The first time we were in a shoot,” Abe says, “it was like, ‘You guys ready to start? Okay, let’s pray. All the cameramen, the sound guys, us, the directors, and the producers all came in and we prayed. We know what we’re there for, and we ask the Lord to help us.”
Ivey tells about going to St. George, Utah, and Valley of Fire, Nevada, to film on location. “We shot real film rather than video, so we could get the beautiful scenery. But real film is more expensive. The cameramen bought special equipment so they could film in the sun. There was a huge storm. But it had to be sunny. That day was the last time we could film.
“We prayed and the weather cleared up in time for us to do our shots. We finished our last take and then the clouds came in and it was totally cloudy and snowing. Our director said to remember to thank Heavenly Father for the break in the weather, because it had cleared just long enough for us to do what we had to do.”
In searching for talents and developing creativity, the Center Street hosts come back over and over again, just as Ivey has in her life, to the idea of work, work, and work.
“Persistence is the key,” Abe says. “Look at Nephi in the Book of Mormon. So many times he would try something and then go back and try again. Obtaining the brass plates. Solving the problem of his broken bow. That’s what everybody should do—‘I didn’t do well this time because I was so nervous, so I’ll go and do it again and see what happens next time.’”
“When you’re praying, you have to have faith that Heavenly Father will bless you,” Mike says.
“And give the Lord credit,” Tracey adds. “The scripture about letting your light shine (Matt. 5:16) ends with, ‘that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.’ It doesn’t say, ‘Do your good works so others will think you are really cool.’”
Of course, the greatest creative challenge for the hosts of Center Street is how to include gospel principles in everything they broadcast. They show people living Christlike lives. They listen to suggestions from viewers, and they listen to each other. They use slogans, like “Remember, when you’re faced with choices, choose the right.” They make Mormonad posters available to non-Church members. They teach the gospel through the examples of service they present. And they remember that the Lord Jesus Christ should be at the center of everything they do. It’s a combination of talent and creativity that keeps them—and can keep anyone—right on center.
Another part of creativity is recognizing what abilities you truly do have. Not all talents involve being able to perform in front of others. For example, remember how Ivey talked about having a tough time fitting in at a new school?
“There was a girl in one of my classes that I didn’t know at all,” Ivey explains. “One day she said hi to me. I found out her name. We would see each other in the halls. She would ask me how I was doing or help me understand my homework. She was really nice and genuinely interested. She tried to learn a little about me. She invited me to a basketball game. I started going with her friends and integrated into that group. Because of what she did for me, I developed confidence. She had a talent for reaching out.”
You can also be creative in assessing your own abilities. “Everybody has talents,” Ivey says. “You may not think they are there, but you can find them. It may be you have the skill of being able to get along with people or to serve people. I know some people who work well with children. They have patience, love, and the desire to help. That is such a talent!”
And there are more talents, many more. Why not take a minute to make a list of abilities that may be hidden within you? Then go to work. Bring them out and use them to bless other people. (See Matt. 25:14–30.)

Robert Blatchford, in his book God and My Neighbor, attacked with vigor accepted Christian beliefs, such as God, Christ, prayer, and immortality. He boldly asserted, “I claim to have proved everything I set out to prove so fully and decisively that no Christian, however great or able he may be, can answer my arguments or shake my case.” He surrounded himself with a wall of skepticism. Then a surprising thing happened. His wall suddenly crumbled to dust. He was left exposed and undefended. Slowly he began to feel his way back to the faith he had scorned and ridiculed. What had caused this profound change in his outlook? His wife died. With a broken heart, he went into the room where lay all that was mortal of her. He looked again at the face he loved so well. Coming out, he said to a friend: “It is she, and yet it is not she. Everything is changed. Something that was there before is taken away. She is not the same. What can be gone if it be not the soul?”

Later he wrote: “Death is not what some people imagine. It is only like going into another room. In that other room we shall find … the dear women and men and the sweet children we have loved and lost.”

My grandparents used to take me to church while my parents stayed home, but that started to change the day the missionaries came to our house to visit my family. They taught my mom about the Church. When I turned eight, Mom and I got baptized on the same day. That was really neat. My whole family started going to church together. We started praying, paying tithing, having faith in Jesus Christ, repenting, and studying the scriptures.
My parents saw how the Spirit touched our lives. Mom and Dad had the desire to be sealed in the temple. They couldn’t wait for me and my brothers to be sealed to them. They went to the bishop to ask how they could do this. They worked hard to prepare for the temple.
We picked a day to be sealed in the temple. We invited Grandma and Grandpa and friends too. Grandma was so excited she cried. She told us that it is important to be reverent in the temple. She also told us we would all be dressed in white.
When we got to the temple, my three brothers and I went into a room where we sang songs and played quietly while we waited for Mom and Dad. I felt the Spirit there.
Then my brothers and I got dressed in white clothes and went to see Mom and Dad in the sealing room. They were dressed in white too. They looked so happy when they saw us. We all knelt together and put our hands on Mom’s and Dad’s hands. My baby brother, Caden, put his hand on the very top and smiled at us all. We were so happy at that moment. I could really feel the Spirit.
Mom said it was the most special day. It was my favorite day too because I knew we can be together forever. That made me feel happy.

Another example: In a ward in Salt Lake City, where we live, a few years ago a bishop made a resolute, absolute commitment to himself that he was going to try to have every young person in his ward go on a mission, and so he began the painstaking effort that that would take. Two years of contact and interviews and special experiences, of believing they could be touched by the Lord, found over thirty missionaries serving from that ward at the same time. Many had been reactivated from total inactivity and had repented and put their lives in order. Among them was a couple that had been excommunicated a couple of years earlier. They repented, changed their lives, and went on a mission—along with a formerly inactive son.

Four years after I joined the Church I learned from relatives in Chile that my earthly father had died. The separation from my father’s memory became even more definitive. The need to know him and to be closer to him did not subside, however. As soon as I could, I took his name to the temple and did vicarious work for him, which allowed me to feel closer to him. But I still knew little about him and wanted to know more.

Two years after my father’s death, I left Uruguay on a mission to Peru. Upon my return, life blessed me with a family of my own, university degrees, and a career in business. I became an international executive, which made it necessary for us to move from country to country—Peru, Argentina, Venezuela, and the United States. My home base was then in the United States, and I eventually became a citizen.
Then life took a sudden turn. I became a diplomat for the United States government, first in Mexico, then in Chile. I sought the assignment to Chile because I desired to get to know the country where I had been born and perhaps find more about my father.
A few months after my arrival in Chile, I had the opportunity to make an official visit to Antofagasta, the city of my birth. I knew that my father, a British subject from whom I had inherited my name, had worked at the Chile-Bolivia Railroad as his own father once had. Therefore, I asked my secretary to make an appointment with the president of the Chile-Bolivia Railroad to see what I could learn about my father. As the main diplomat on commercial business, this meeting with the railroad was eminently qualified for my assignment as well.
Because the company’s president was traveling, my secretary set up an appointment with another executive by the name of Jorge Lyon on a Saturday morning. Saturday came. I put on my best suit and headed for the offices of the railroad. Mr. Lyon soon arrived, and I introduced myself as John Harris, head of commerce for the United States in Chile. He was a stately man in his sixties, who had sacrificed part of his day off to see a visitor from Chile’s main trading partner.
I started the conversation with the usual questions about goods transported, tonnage routes, and expansion plans. After a few minutes, Mr. Lyon interrupted me and said, “It is quite a coincidence, but I used to work at the railroad for a man with your same name.”
I remained silent for a moment. John Harris is not a common name in South America, much less in a railroad company in the midst of the Atacama Desert. I knew I had found someone who had known my father personally.
“How was he?” I managed to ask. But inside I was asking questions similar to those of Joseph of Egypt: Did he love me? Did he care about me?
Mr. Lyon answered. “He was a good man. He hired me and trained me. He was a patient and good teacher. He knew the railroad business better than anyone else in the company.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “He was my father,” I said, barely containing a tear.
Mr. Lyon then showed me what my father did and where he worked. I did not find out about his feelings toward me; for that I will have to wait a few years. But in my search I have been able to define my feelings toward him.
That day in the city of my birth, I learned something about my two fathers. I learned about the life of my earthly father, but more importantly, I learned that my Heavenly Father cared enough for me that 33 years after my father’s death he had helped me find the only man alive in Chile who had known my father. If the president of the railroad had been able to receive me, I would have missed the opportunity to meet Jorge Lyon and thus learn about my own father.
I have learned that life on this earth is nothing but a search for a Father: Doth my Father yet live? How is He? Does He love me? I have experienced that as we grow older, in our service as missionaries, teachers, and most important of all, as mothers and fathers in our own families, our yearning to get to know Him gets only stronger. Our prayers become more fervent and sincere.
The most wonderful experience is that eventually, as we face life’s challenges, our hearts learn to listen to His voice. We start to recognize the whispers of His Spirit. All of us who serve Him diligently in various capacities—as worthy fathers and mothers, as bishops, as members of the Seventy, as Apostles, and as prophets, have heard this wonderful voice cutting through, soothing at times, when we feel like strangers and must rise from the depth of our extremities. It is at that time that we learn the answer to Joseph’s question, “Doth my father yet live?”
I have learned that our Father in Heaven lives, that He loves us, that He indeed cares for us and is always close to us. I know I was guided by the Lord to meet Jorge Lyon in order to satisfy my thirst to know my earthly father. How grateful I am for the plan of salvation and eternal life and for the opportunity to reunite with loved ones in the next life.