Gospel Story Finder

Born in January 1951 in Murray, Utah, USA, to Milo Fredrick and Mary Katherine Dyches, he was the second of seven children. When he was a young deacon, his family moved to Elko, Nevada, where he spent time after school working at his father’s pharmacy. As they worked side by side, his father taught him the importance of hard work—something that would serve him well as a young missionary in the Germany South Mission from 1970 to 1972.
“It was a tough mission, but it was a great mission for me,” he said. “I learned the value of hard work and obedience and not giving up.”

I was taught about vertigo when my Air Force instructor took me up in an airplane with the cockpit covered by a canopy so I could not see outside. I would have to rely on the instruments. Unknown to me, he gradually turned the airplane upside down, keeping positive G forces. My ear did not detect the slow rollover. He told me to take control of the airplane. Of course, I did what every other student did. I pulled backwards because I was losing altitude, and, of course, I started a dive toward the earth because I did not know I was upside down.
As I started to regain control of the airplane, I could see the little marks on the landing gear were upside down. My instructor taught me the principle that you can take a human being at a two- or three-degree turn while keeping positive G forces and turn them upside down without their knowing they have left the straight and level flight. The motion is imperceptible.

I had an experience a few years ago that emphasized the importance of this process. A friend came to my office with a problem. He told me that he had studied art in college and then pursued a career in that field, which included a couple of teaching positions. It was while he was the director of an art museum that he finally realized that his profession was not going to provide him with enough money to support his family. He thought he had solved his problem by taking a job in the advertising department of a large company. But two years later the company fell on hard times, and he was laid off. He came to ask for my advice. I suggested a book for him to read. I didn’t see him until three years later when we met at a high school reunion. He thanked me for all my help. When I questioned him, he explained that he had read the book and completed the self-assessment. Based on that information, he decided he would really enjoy working in business, and he took a job selling life insurance. That job gave him a better income, and he thoroughly enjoyed the work. He felt good about the service he was providing. Now I’m not saying that selling insurance is better than being an art director. I’m saying that understanding yourself is important in making career decisions.

Bishop Richard C. Edgley, First Counselor in the Presiding Bishopric, told of an experience where his integrity was similarly tested:
“Some 30 years ago, while working in the corporate world, some business associates and I were passing through O’Hare Airport in Chicago, Illinois. One of these men had just sold his company for tens of millions of dollars—in other words, he was not poor.
“As we were passing a newspaper vending machine, this individual put a quarter into the machine, opened the door to the stack of papers inside the machine, and began dispensing unpaid-for newspapers to each of us. When he handed me a newspaper, I put a quarter in the machine and, trying not to offend but to make a point, jokingly said, ‘Jim, for 25 cents I can maintain my integrity.’ ”1
Bishop Edgley could have easily walked away without paying for that newspaper. After all, 25 cents would have hardly made a difference to the publishers. But he knew it would make a difference to his integrity.

Implication #2: you'll be asked to do hard things, and that is okay.

Each of us has probably heard the sentiment that this world is just so wicked now that for someone to get married and start a family during this time may not be wise. Can't we just wait for the millennium to start so that all the wickedness will be taken away and our children can "grow up without sin unto salvation."[20] Other difficulties in the latter-days can cause us to shrink and wonder if we are equal to the task. Brothers and sisters, it isn't a mistake that you were born when you were. God, who knows all, knows you and the state of the world you are living in. The timing and place of your birth was not a mistake. Those determinations were made by one who "doeth not anything save it be for the benefit of the world; for he loveth the world."[21] You can press forward with faith and courage that He knows that you are equal to the task. He knows you. He knows the children He is going to send to your family. He has measured you and measured them and matched you up perfectly.

The Old Testament king, Hezekiah, was asked to do something difficult too. The Assyrian army had marched toward Jerusalem, leaving destruction in its wake. None of the cities were able to withstand the siege of the Assyrians, and smoke from their destruction would have been visible from Jerusalem at that time.[22] Hezekiah knew from a prophet, Isaiah, that they would be put under siege and had already had workers tunnel over 1700 feet through stone to bring water within the walls of Jerusalem, but this wasn't enough to deliver the people. In those dire circumstances, Hezekiah received a letter from the Assyrian king that said, "Let not thy God, in whom thou trustest, deceive thee, saying, Jerusalem shall not be given into the hand of the king of Assyria. Behold, thou hast heard what the kings of Assyria have done to all lands by destroying them utterly; and shalt thou be delivered?"[23]

Hezekiah turned to the Lord, took that letter into the temple, and spread it out before the Lord. Please listen to the Holy Ghost as you hear the words of Hezekiah's prayer:

O Lord of hosts, God of Israel, that dwellest between the cherubims, thou are the God even thou alone, of all the kingdoms of the earth: thou hast made heaven and earth. Incline thine ear, O Lord, and hear; open thine eyes, O Lord and see: and hear all the words of Sennacherib, which hath sent to reproach the Living God. Of a truth, Lord, the kings of Assyria have laid waste all the nations, and their countries, And have cast their gods into the fire: for they were no gods, but the work of men's hands, wood and stone: therefore they have destroyed them. Now therefore, O Lord our God, save us from his hand, that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that thou art the Lord even thou only. [24]

The same omniscient God who hears and answers our prayers answered this humble plea. Isaiah prophesied that they wouldn't even shoot an arrow into Jerusalem[25] and indeed, an angel smote the Assyrian army before they could destroy Jerusalem.[26]

Brothers and sisters, not only does God know what situations we will find ourselves in, He can do something about it. Though there will be bumps in the road, you are equal to those bumps and can overcome them, which leads us to our final implication: difficulties will come, but the Savior knows perfectly how to see us through them.

My first Sunday in church was in early 1995. All my life I had spent weekends in stadiums and gymnasiums. I love sports! I was even studying sports. But in January 1995 I came in contact with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The sister missionaries invited me to attend church, and I went.
It was a fast and testimony meeting. I sat on a massive wooden pew, one sister missionary to my right, the other to my left. But I encountered only unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar music, unfamiliar proceedings, and unfamiliar words. I had never partaken of the sacrament before and was preoccupied with finding out the appropriate conduct. I felt very uncomfortable. I said to myself, “It will be over at some point, and then I will get out of here and never come back.” But the meeting concluded with the announcement that all should remain in the chapel for a lesson by the mission president, President Charles W. Dahlquist II, who now serves as Young Men general president. So most people, including the sister missionaries, remained seated, and I could not simply sneak out inconspicuously, as I had planned. Since I did not have the courage to tell the missionaries how awful I was feeling, I decided to endure.
President Dahlquist stood in front. He began by asking what we would do with a good book we had just read. My answer was, “Read it again, recommend it to others, or give it as a gift.”
He spoke about the Book of Mormon, then about a few other subjects. But something peculiar happened. I suddenly knew that everything he said was true. I knew that he knew more things that were true as well. I knew that I wanted to know what he knew. I knew that I wanted to have in my life what he had as an anchor in his life. It is hard to find words to describe this experience. I simply knew that he knew.
I looked around stealthily to see if anybody had noticed anything unusual, for I had the impression that something wonderful had happened.
Because of his lesson I attended church again—and again. My baptism was on March 2, 1996, approximately one year after this experience. Today I have five wonderful children and a wonderful, eternal husband.
I recall often and with gratitude this lesson.
Barbara Hopf, Stade Branch, Hamburg Germany Stake

For decades, persecution of Church members was severe. Many missionaries landed in prison, including Mikael Jonsson, a native Swede. He was arrested in 1852 and was brought in chains 480 miles (770 km) to Malmö, where he was thrown in the castle prison, exhausted from hunger and privation. He was visited by a priest, who found that Elder Jonsson was an intelligent man with some education. The priest declared that he was willing to help him and even promised him further education—on the condition that he join the Lutheran faith and deny “Mormonism.” Elder Jonsson would not deny his faith, so he was deported.4

When I did construction work in Oman from 1979 to 1986, I worked for the ministry of defense. The ministry gave me projects located in the most inaccessible section of the country, and most of the time I was the only supervisor looking after the projects. I was also the only member of the Church working for the ministry.
One day at our company headquarters, I ran into an electrical engineer who, as he had in the past, made negative comments about the Church. I tolerated his comments because I was usually at headquarters for only a short time before I was away on another project.
Later, however, this man was assigned to inspect electrical work at projects being constructed along Oman’s border with Yemen. We were scheduled to spend about an hour together before he flew back to headquarters.
When he arrived, he inspected the work and found everything to his satisfaction. During our time together, I centered our conversation on work and then drove him to the landing strip to see him off.
It was monsoon season, and the landing strip, located on a mountain plateau 6,000 feet (1,830 m) above the Indian Ocean, was covered with clouds. My co-worker’s flight would be delayed.
My heart was pounding as I realized that I would have to wait in the car with this man. After I said a silent prayer, a thought came into my mind to ask the man about his family, especially his wife.
I did so, and the engineer suddenly burst into tears, saying that he had just received word that his wife was seeking a divorce. The word love immediately came into my mind, and for the next two hours we talked about the love we should have for others and the love the Lord Jesus Christ has for all of us. Before I knew it, we had become friends. As we ended our conversation, the clouds cleared and the engineer boarded his flight. Soon I heard that he had resigned his position and returned home.
A few years later while on an outing with Aaronic Priesthood young men in Plymouth, a city on England’s southern coast, I noticed a man making his way toward me. As he approached, he said, “I thought it was you, Neil.”
It was the electrical engineer from Oman. The next words he spoke have remained in my heart: “Thank you for talking to me about love that day on the mountain. You saved my marriage, and I will be forever grateful.”
We shared a few more words, and he left. I haven’t seen him since.
I will always be grateful for the inspiration I received in Oman. It blessed the engineer and gave me strength to maintain my Church beliefs when I was alone and far from home.

Towards the end of 1989, a friend of mine, Gregory Mutete, came home in our then small township of Dangamvura—situated in Mutare, Zimbabwe. He reported to me and Christopher Bangwayo—our other friend—that he had secured employment as a gardener from a missionary couple named Grant and Sharol Wilson. They had offered him a book called the Book of Mormon, but he had refused to take it—wanting first to confer with the two of us. As a group of three tightly knit teenage friends, we all had to agree before deciding to embark on any form of adventure, which we believed this was going to be. Little did we know that this was a beginning of a journey that would try our faith to the limit. We were skeptical about these missionaries—based on the lessons we had received in school—so we were prepared to disprove all theories they were to share with us.
A decision was taken that Gregory should invite the couple to visit us and to answer some of our questions. The following day the couple drove Gregory to my home and also delivered the Book of Mormon, which they introduced to us together with the story of Joseph Smith. All sounded like a fiction story from a movie script. How could a fourteen-year-old boy see God and His Son, Jesus Christ, and literally talk with them? It was preposterous, to say the least. This was my first time exercising my faith and putting to the test the invitation extended to us and find out for myself through prayer as Joseph Smith did.
In my nineteen-year-old mind, I felt that if fourteen-year-old Joseph Smith was able to see God and Jesus Christ, then I—being 19 years old—would also have the same experience, if not better. I retired to a high mountain close to our home, found a quiet place, knelt and delivered my supplication to God. For at least fifteen minutes I was talking to my God. You may have already guessed what happened after that heartfelt prayer. God and Jesus Christ did not appear to me. Instead as I embarked on my journey back home, I had this total feeling of peace and contentment envelop my whole being. At that moment I did not realize what it was until after some time much later when I realized that it was the language of the Holy Ghost confirming to me that what had been taught to me was truth. After that marvelous experience the three of us were baptized. It took us exactly eight days from the day we met the missionary couple to the day we were baptized.

It seemed an easy-enough project at first, and after mapping out a few ideas, they hurried to find Mr. Baker, who was still watching the Second World War movies. Finally persuading him out into the hall, they asked him for help. "We think it’d be nice if the band gave a Christmas Eve concert for the people stuck here by the storm."
He seemed to be in some sort of a trance. "What was that again?"
"We’d give a concert—just do the pieces we did last night. It’d be a real treat for the kids."
"Are you kidding? Dragging all the instruments and music from the bus? No, absolutely not. Now excuse me, I’ve got to get back."
He staggered back into the room where he entered the battle of Midway.
Their next stop was the sheriff.
"We’d like to organize a little Christmas party for the people stranded here."
The sheriff wiped his brow. "Look, don’t I have enough to worry about without that? How am I going to feed these people? Don’t bother me about Christmas parties. Now why don’t you go watch TV. I’m sure there’s plenty of good specials on."
Back at the vent at the end of the hall, they sat and glumly watched the storm.
"Well, we tried," Steve said.
"That’s all anyone can do."
"Sure."
"Do you want to watch TV now?"
"We didn’t pray about it, Steve."
"It’s too late now; we’ve already bombed out."
"You don’t want to pray about it?"
"No, Cathy, I don’t."
"Why not?"
"Because if we pray about it, and it still doesn’t work out, then it will cause your faith to waver. I never pray about things in front of somebody else unless there’s a pretty good chance for it to happen anyway."
She sat in silence and pouted.
"You can pray about it if you want," he finally suggested.
"I’d feel better with the priesthood saying the prayer."
He sighed, realizing he was going to have to open himself up a little more to her. "Cathy, let me tell you something. The priesthood’s no magic carpet. A lot of things I pray for never work out. Girls always think that guys who honor the priesthood are their tickets to happiness, but we’re stumbling around as much as anybody."
But she wouldn’t let it be. "I think Father in Heaven will honor somebody who holds the priesthood and tries to do the right thing."
They sat for several minutes in silence.
"Okay, I’ll pray with you, but don’t blame me if it doesn’t work out."
It was a simple prayer, offered by Steve. He tried to be as general as possible, not wanting to pin the Lord down to anything specific, but just before closing, she nudged him and whispered, "Ask him about the Christmas party, and the band playing, and the gifts."
And so he did, point blank, with no cop-out clauses that would let them or Father in Heaven off the hook.
A few minutes later they stood at the entrance of the gym and looked at the restless crowd.
"What’ll we do, Steve?" she asked him. He noticed the way she was looking at him. She thinks I know what I’m doing, he thought.
"We’ll just walk around and see if anything happens."
They walked slowly around the gym.
As they approached the trucker’s area, the one who had given Steve a bad time looked up, saw Cathy with him, and made some off-color joke about her.
"Why don’t you be quiet?" Steve snapped.
The guy stood up and started walking toward them. Massive shoulder muscles, a tattoo on both arms. I knew we never should’ve prayed about this, he thought.
Just before the guy was about to punch Steve, a booming voice behind him rang out, "Lay off the kid, Bert, or I’ll get mean!"
Steve looked around to see the biggest man he’d ever seen before in his life standing up. Middle-aged, bald, a little paunchy in the middle, but he must have weighed two hundred fifty pounds, and he spoke with authority.
Bert swore and said he was going to the bar.
The man who helped them said his name was Al and that he had a daughter about Cathy’s age who played in a band in Ohio.
"Al," Cathy said with a big smile, "we’ve got a little problem I think you could help us with."
Steve couldn’t believe the change in the sheriff when Al asked for permission to hold a Christmas party. And Mr. Baker, after he came out of the movie room and looked around to see Al’s figure entirely filling up the doorway, agreed it would be nice to have the band play a concert.
Then Al made a general announcement to everyone in the gym. "I want everybody here to get in the Christmas spirit. There’s no reason for us to sit around feeling sorry for ourselves. We’re going to have a party, and this is what we need. We need gifts for the children, we need some food for a supper, we need Christmas cookies for the children, we need a Santa Claus and somebody to lead us in Christmas carols, and we need enough blankets for everybody. Now get going!"
Within the hour, the preparations were done, including a Christmas tree provided by one over-eager trucker who merely chopped down the tree in front of the school. Some of the truckers went out to their rigs and brought in case lots of canned foods. The salesman from Mity Fine went to his station wagon and brought in his sample assortment of potato chips. Many of the parents went to their cars and brought in Christmas presents originally intended for family and friends at the end of their trip, and they put them under the tree. And the wives went into the school kitchen and began opening cans of ham and vegetables for the meal.
They ate their meal, and then the pep band played. Then Santa Claus arrived, wearing a red jump suit covered with grease from engines and a cotton beard. He passed out the presents from the tree, and they shared the cookies. There was more than enough for everyone.
A traveler who led a Protestant church choir in Abilene, Kansas, then led them in Christmas carols. By that time it was 10:00, and a minister from Polson, Montana, led them in scripture reading and a prayer.
There were blankets left over, even after everyone had taken what they needed.
In the morning they had more ham, and a driver from a bakery provided them with enough bread to make toast. The kids played with their toys, which as the morning passed, gradually self-destructed.
By noon the storm was over and the snow plows had cleared the roads. The truckers were the first to go. The band was delayed because of having to repack all the instruments into the bus.
Steve and Cathy were the last ones to leave.
"It was a miracle, wasn’t it?" she asked.
"Yes, a miracle. For a few hours, we all loved one another."
"Steve, it must be just a small part of the way Jesus feels about all of us all the time."
"How can he do it?"
"I don’t know, but he does."
"Cathy, for a while there, I even liked you."
"Did you?"
"Yes, for a while I did. Could I sit with you on the way back?"
"I’d like that, Steve."
"But look, I’m still going to try and beat you out of first-chair clarinet."
"And I’m still going to show you that I’m twice the musician you are."
"So that hasn’t changed," he said.
"No, I guess not."
They left together, the last ones to leave the now-deserted, paper-strewn gym. The Christmas tree, decorated with Mity Fine aluminum foil, leaned at a precarious angle, and then toppled to the floor with a crash.

The parents of many of these youth are not members of the Church, but they have allowed their children to be baptized. Recently, I met with one of the parents. He wanted to know more about the Church his son was attending.
“I’ve seen a lot of change in my son,” he said. “He’s a different person. He’s obedient and nice at home. I want to find out why.”
This father came to church and saw for himself that the Savior’s teachings and restored gospel were what had changed his son’s behavior. “Now I know that where my son goes is a nice place,” he said afterward. “I will allow others to come too.”

I have been a member of the Church since I was eight years old. I believed all of the Church’s teachings, but used to take it for granted and relied on my parents’ testimonies.
When I was 14 years old, I was invited to a stake missionary fireside. I attend all the Church activities I can, so naturally I decided to go to this one. The thing that was mainly on my mind was socializing. However, I soon became engrossed in the meeting. It was a fireside musical and visual presentation called “Greater Than Us All.”
Around the middle of the fireside there was a song called “His Hands,” which describes the life of Christ, his love, his example, how he died, and how we should try to live. The song referred to his hands, and I found myself starting to cry, especially when they sang: “And then they pierced them! They pierced them! He let them because of love”—referring to his gentle hands being nailed on the cross. I felt a really warm burning inside, and I couldn’t stop crying. I felt the Savior’s overwhelming love for me.
I felt like that for the whole meeting. When I walked out, I asked my friends if they felt the same thing. They said no, that it was just a normal fireside. It was a personal witness to me of my own testimony. Now if I start wondering about some things concerning the Church, or have any doubts, I always think about that experience and I am reassured. I now have a very strong testimony of my own and am able to share it with other people. I am grateful for that experience at the fireside.

Let me illustrate. In 1999 a young man named Todd collapsed from a ruptured blood vessel in his brain. Although Todd and his family were members of the Church, their activity had been sporadic, and none had experienced the blessings of the temple. On the last night of Todd’s life, his mother, Betty, sat at his bedside stroking his hand and said, “Todd, if you really do have to go, I promise I’ll see to it that your temple work gets done.” The next morning, Todd was declared brain dead. Surgeons transplanted Todd’s heart into my patient, a remarkable individual named Rod.
A few months after the transplant, Rod learned the identity of his heart donor’s family and began to correspond with them. About two years later, Todd’s mother, Betty, invited Rod to be present when she went to the temple for the first time. Rod and Betty first met in person in the celestial room of the St. George Utah Temple.
Sometime thereafter, Todd’s father—Betty’s husband—died. A couple of years later, Betty invited Rod to vicariously represent her deceased son in receiving his temple ordinances. Rod gratefully did so, and the proxy work culminated in a sealing room in the St. George Utah Temple. Betty was sealed to her deceased husband, kneeling across the altar from her grandson who served as proxy. Then, with tears streaming down her cheeks, she beckoned for Rod to join them at the altar. Rod knelt beside them, acting as proxy for her son, Todd, whose heart was still beating inside Rod’s chest. Rod’s heart donor, Todd, was then sealed to his parents for all eternity. Todd’s mother had kept the promise she made to her dying son years before.
But the story does not end there. Fifteen years after his heart transplant, Rod became engaged to be married and asked me to perform the sealing in the Provo Utah Temple. On the wedding day, I met with Rod and his marvelous bride, Kim, in a room adjacent to the sealing room, where their families and closest friends were waiting. After briefly visiting with Rod and Kim, I asked if they had any questions.
Rod said, “Yes. My donor family is here and would love to meet you.”
I was caught off guard and asked, “You mean they’re here? Right now?”
Rod replied, “Yes.”
I stepped around the corner and called the family out of the sealing room. Betty, her daughter, and her son-in-law joined us. Rod greeted Betty with a hug, thanked her for coming, and then introduced me to her. Rod said, “Betty, this is Elder Renlund. He was the doctor who took care of your son’s heart for so many years.” She crossed the room and embraced me. And for the next several minutes, there were hugs and tears of joy all around.
After we regained our composure, we moved into the sealing room, where Rod and Kim were sealed for time and all eternity. Rod, Kim, Betty, and I can testify that heaven was very close, that there were others with us that day who had previously passed through the veil of mortality.

I have been helping organize programs in Myanmar (also known as Burma) in partnership with a leading Buddhist monk, a Catholic cardinal, and the Myanmar Council of Churches. In August I was at a Buddhist pagoda in Bagan, Myanmar, where there was a large statue of the Buddha. When I was looking up at him from close range, his facial expression was stern; at thirty feet back he had a slight smile; and further back still, from the very back of the large room, he appeared to be smiling broadly.

My Buddhist friend explained, “The rich and powerful would pray in front, and Buddha looks down at them sternly; the shopkeepers and professionals (including the professors, she said pointedly) were in the middle, and Buddha has a slight smile for them; and the poorest farmers and peasants would pray from the back, and Buddha felt closest and most warmly toward them.”

I couldn’t help recalling the scriptural injunction that the first will be last and the last will be first in the kingdom of heaven.

Callings Extended by Inspiration

Another aspect of callings that I would like to discuss is inspiration and revelation. As we serve in church callings, we come to better understand the inspiration and revelation that comes through the Spirit.

Callings are extended by inspiration. The Lord knows what each of us needs to learn. And He inspires church leaders to call us to positions that will help us to develop the attributes we need to ultimately return to Him.

Callings do not come from men; they come from God. This principle is clearly stated in the fifth Article of Faith. It says, “We believe that a man must be called of God, by prophecy, and by the laying on of hands by those who are in authority, to preach the Gospel and administer in the ordinances thereof.” The first part of this article of faith says, “A man must be called of God, by prophecy.” Prophecy means inspiration or revelation, and The Guide to the Scriptures clarifies that prophecy comes “through revelation from the Holy Ghost.” So, we are called through inspiration from the Holy Ghost.

The church handbook also directs that callings are to be extended based on inspiration. Handbook 2 section 19.1.1 states: “A person must be called of God to serve in the Church (see Articles of Faith 1:5). Leaders seek the guidance of the Spirit in determining whom to call.”

I testify that callings in the church are extended through inspiration. I have experienced this inspiration myself and I have seen this inspiration working in church leaders with whom I have served.

One such instance occurred while my family was living in New Zealand. We were living in the Lincoln Ward of the Henderson Stake, which is in west Auckland. A little over a year after we moved into the ward, our bishop extended a call to my wife to be the Young Women’s President. At the time, we were a busy family. I was a full-time graduate student, working a part-time job, and had a busy calling in the ward. My wife was also working part-time. And we had two young children. Young Women’s President carries a lot of responsibility and requires time commitments. When the call came, my wife felt a bit overwhelmed and wondered how she would be able to magnify this calling. Yet, she trusted in the inspiration that the bishop had received and accepted the calling.

Well, there is no way she could have seen at the beginning all of the blessings that resulted from her service. She immediately formed a special bond of love with the young women. She was able to open their hearts and teach them about the gospel. As the young women learned from her, their testimonies grew stronger and deeper. After moving to Hawaii and returning to New Zealand to visit, we have been thrilled to see these young women serving diligently in church callings, going on missions, and furthering their education. That group of young women has become like a lighthouse of faith shining through the darkness. And they hold a special place in my wife’s heart.

And there were other blessings that came from my wife’s service. I’ll just mention one other. Becky and the two sisters whom she called as counselors became great friends. They did not know each other very well before they were called (and I believe that my wife received inspiration to call these two sisters). The three of them bonded and became a strong, unified presidency. And they are still two of the people that my wife looks forward to seeing the most every time we visit New Zealand.

Early in the spring, a few days before Easter, I went out into the desert country of western Utah. I had been there a month earlier and had been amazed at the silence. There was nothing moving, no life, only the gray color of the earth and the sagebrush and a somber winter sky. This time I got there in the night and listened to the coyotes and great horned owls calling until morning.
With first light I climbed to a high peak and watched the sun rise over mountains a hundred miles away. As the sun cleared the mountains, golden light fell on a desert floor covered with red flowers and green grass. Thunderclouds 30 miles away swept across the valley floor. There were mule deer and antelope. A doe and her fawn walked within 20 feet of me. Great flocks of small birds, chickadees, wrens, finches, and juncos flew over. The desert had come to life with the spring.
It’s funny how you can know something and not know it. I thought of another desert and another spring. I thought of Easter and of what it means, of life coming from death, of death coming from life, of resurrection, of living again, and for the first time I began to understand. It was like my friend’s hand pulling me out of the water onto the safety of the ice.
I would like to say everything changed then. It didn’t. Some of the hurt I feel from the way my mother died will always be with me. The morning in the desert was just a beginning, a change in direction. It is a direction I think will take me a lifetime to complete.

There is an oft-told story of three men who applied for the job of driving the coaches for a transportation company. The successful applicant would be driving over high, dangerous and precipitous mountain roads. Asked how well he could drive, the first one replied: “I am a good, experienced driver. I can drive so close to the edge of the precipice that the wide metal tire of the vehicle will skirt the edge and never go off.”

“That is good driving,” said the employer.

The second man boasted, “Oh, I can do better than that. I can drive so accurately that the tire of the vehicle will lap over, half of the tire on the edge of the precipice, and the other half in the air over the edge.”

The employer wondered what the third man could offer, and was surprised and pleased to hear, “Well, sir, I can keep just as far away from the edge as possible.” It is needless to ask which of the men got the job.

My best friend Brad and I sat in his front yard, lost in conversation. He had just found out that his parents were getting a divorce, and we had spent the last several hours talking about the problems he was facing.
Then I looked down at my watch. It was past 1:00 A.M. “Oh no,” I said as I jumped to my feet, “I was supposed to be home by midnight. My dad’s gonna kill me.” I wished Brad luck in the coming days, said good-bye, and jogged the five blocks to my house.
The front porch light was still on—a bad sign. It meant Dad was waiting up for me.
I opened the front door cautiously and stepped inside. “Do you know what time it is?” boomed his voice from the living room.
“Dad, I’m really sorry. See, Brad just found out …”
“It’s after 1:00. Didn’t I tell you to be home by midnight?”
“Yeah, but …”
“There are no ‘buts’ about it. You’re more than an hour late.” He was shaking with anger. “You won’t be going out for a while, young man.”
I didn’t like being convicted without a trial. “That’s not fair. At least give me a chance to explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” he snapped. “You’re late. That’s all there is to it. Now get to bed.”
“C’mon,” I argued, “it’s not fair.”
Our conversation deteriorated from there as Dad and I traded accusations. He never listened, I said. I had no respect, he said. And so it went.
By the time I finally did go to bed, I was too upset to sleep. I was worried about Brad, and I was frustrated that I couldn’t talk to my dad about it. I wished things were different, that I could have come home and told him about Brad’s parents. But instead of talking, we only argued about my curfew for the hundredth time.
I really wanted to be able to communicate with my dad, and sometimes I sensed that he felt the same way, but for some reason, we were never able to connect.
I wish now that I had handled that incident with my dad regarding my curfew a little differently. He was so angry at the time that it was fruitless for me to argue with him that night. But I could have approached him later, when we were both feeling less emotional, and tried to explain my feelings to him.

While serving as a mission president in France, I would travel with Sister Andersen once a month to the airport to pick up the arriving missionaries. On one occasion as we stood waiting outside of the baggage claim area, we met a very interesting Frenchman who was also waiting. The difference was that while we were waiting for missionaries, he was waiting for his dog.
He spoke fondly of his large, black Labrador retriever, with great affection and respect, almost as we would speak of one of our children. I could sense that he treated the animal with love and kindness. The man had been transferred to the city of Bordeaux and until he could get settled in the right apartment he had left his dog in a kennel in his previous city. Now things had been properly arranged, and the dog was arriving on the same plane as our missionaries.
In my imagination I thought of what had transpired—from the point of view of the dog. I imagined that he had been treated like a king in his master’s home. He may have been allowed to jump on the sofas and sleep on the foot of his master’s bed. Maybe he even had his own shelf in the refrigerator, stocked with his own special food.
Then one day, without any explanation, he was suddenly behind bars, in a kennel with a cement floor and steel bars, his food pushed underneath the door to his pen. If a dog could connect the events together, this dog would have wondered: “What happened? Why am I here? What did I do?” He did not realize that his master had a plan for him, that they would soon be reunited, and that in the meantime, his master was paying for his kennel and his food, ensuring that he would be kept in a warm place out of the cold. All that time his master was preparing a place for him at an even finer house in Bordeaux.
Suddenly, looking through the glass into the baggage area, we could see workers rolling out a large crate. We could hear the barking of the dog inside. I could tell he was frightened and anxious. Again, in my mind I could imagine two men arriving at the kennel one day, taking the dog, and putting him in the crate. Soon the Labrador found himself in the belly of an airplane. Again he must have wondered what was happening. I could imagine his fear.
Now, at last, the crate was in front of us. Workers opened the door, and out came the beautiful Labrador. First he was nervous. His head was up, he was alert, and he was ready to defend himself.
Then suddenly the eyes of the black Labrador met the eyes of his master. Immediately, the dog’s behavior changed. His barking stopped and his tail started wagging. He jumped into the arms of his master and they embraced, a Frenchman and his dog reunited.

Along with six other Mormons, Debra attends the Hazelwood Integrated College in Belfast, a school where the student body is about 50 percent Catholic and 50 percent Protestant. “I’m fairly new at the school, and at the start they’re all, ‘Oh, she’s one of them mad Mormons,’ and they tease you about being a moron, because it sounds the same,” Debra says. “But now, they’re asking questions, like why I don’t take tea or coffee. They’re kind of interested in it more.”