Gospel Story Finder

Shortly after Elder Bednar became the President of BYU-Idaho, we spoke at a multi-stake devotional. At the end of my remarks, I expressed love for the students and naively commented, "I wish I could take each of you home with me and feed you ice cream and cookies." Well, the next Monday evening we heard a knock on our door. To our surprise, on the doorstep stood a group of students with ice cream and cookies in hand ready to take me up on my offer. That very night commenced the tradition of Home Evening with the President and his wife that has continued on this campus for more than 18 years.

I must admit that Home Evening was a "jumping out of the boat" experience for me. I expected we would teach a prepared and scripted lesson, and have complete control over what happened, how it happened, and when it happened. But my husband suggested another idea. He wanted to invite the students to ask questions. When he proposed this concept, I felt uncomfortable, unsure, and started to cry. This was way out of my comfort zone. Fear of failure and lack of faith gripped my heart. Reassuring me, Elder Bednar remarked that I could always decline his invitation to answer. And I did say no, especially at first. I'm grateful for those Home Evenings that caused me to prayerfully reach deep within myself and plead for heavenly help to replace fear with faith. Over time I became less hesitant to answer questions and more reliant on the Lord.

This past May, Elder Bednar and I were invited to participate in a live, worldwide Face to Face activity with the youth of the Church. Tethered together by the spirit of the Lord and technology, young people from all over the world asked us heart-felt questions in real time without us knowing in advance what the questions would be. As I contemplated later about this opportunity, I realized that past Home Evenings with the students at BYU-Idaho had been a preparation for this future event.

John Taylor was in Carthage Jail with the Prophet Joseph and Hyrum Smith when the two brothers were murdered. Unable to ward off the angry mob with a hickory walking stick that belonged to Stephen Markham, he turned and ran to the window. Before he could leap, however, a shot struck him in the thigh. Then another came through the window and would have entered his chest, killing him, but instead was stopped by a silver watch in his vest pocket. Three more bullets struck him, spattering his blood upon the walls and floor. Dr. Willard Richards dragged Elder Taylor into an inner cell and covered him with an old mattress to protect him. Many weeks later when he had recovered, he joined the Saints traveling west.

When we lived in Winnipeg 30 years ago, a local LDS musician, Randy Bachman, had established a huge reputation in the world of rock music. His groups, "The Guess Who" and "Bachman-Turner Overdrive" sold millions of albums and his hit single, "American Woman", too screechy for my personal taste, can still be heard occasionally. Randy stayed active in the church in spite of the conflicting lifestyle usually associated with the music scene. He wasn't bashful about letting people know his beliefs either, and a stream of roadies and fans at various times touched base with the church because of Randy's efforts. When I was branch president of the Winnipeg 1st branch back in the early 70s, at one sacrament meeting, we were just ready to begin when a couple of scruffy-looking fellows with hair down to their waists walked in and sat near the front of the chapel. Internally I must have shook my head and thought "Randy, what are you doing?" But I made sure I met them after the meeting, and made a note of their names "John Moore and Glen Cranwell". To my surprise they continued to attend meetings regularly, and as weeks passed, the hair became a little shorter. We talked and I discovered they were nice fellows. They had been roadies with Randy's group, but were realizing that there really was no future for them there. Imagine my reaction when the missionaries reported baptism dates for the two of them. They had both reached a crossroad in their lives, had made commitments, and were ready to start over. Today John Moore is 1st counselor in the Winnipeg Stake Presidency and last I heard Glen Cranwell was on the high council, both model priesthood holders who had the courage to change their lives and begin again, converted and committed to a higher set of values. This should remind us that we need to be supportive and not judgmental in response to others as they encounter the challenges of starting over.

Taylor loved Elder Turley and Elder Junker (Yewn-kur), the missionaries assigned to her ward. She especially loved having them over for dinner.
Elder Turley was tall and slender. His head almost touched the ceiling in Taylor’s living room, and he had to duck when he came through the front door. He had a Book of Mormon with colorful sticker pictures in it. He would flip through the pages, telling Taylor the stories that each picture illustrated.
Elder Junker was short and round. He was always laughing, and Taylor loved his accent. He told Taylor stories about his large family back home. He was the oldest of eight children. He had a brother who was her age and a sister who was just a little younger. Taylor was always glad to see his happy face.
One Sunday, Taylor saw Elder Turley and Elder Junker in church as usual, but she could tell that something was not quite right with Elder Junker. His beautiful smile was missing. And even though he turned up the corners of his mouth when he shook her hand and said hello, it was not the same jolly smile that she was used to.
“Mommy, why did Elder Junker look so sad?” Taylor asked after church.
“Well,” Mommy said, “Elder Junker comes from a faraway country called Germany. His entire family is there, and I think he is homesick.”
“What does homesick mean?”
“When you’re homesick, you miss the people and things of your home,” Daddy told her. “In Germany, the people speak differently. They eat different foods too. Even the sounds and smells are different.”
“Couldn’t we do something to help?” Taylor asked.
“Well, I suppose we could ask the elders to dinner,” Mommy said, “but I don’t know if that would help much.”
“Yes it will,” Taylor practically shouted, “if we eat food from Germany!”
Mommy laughed. “Of course—an authentic German dinner. The Guenters are from Germany. Sister Guenter could give me one of her mother’s recipes. What do you think, Daddy?”
“I think it’s a great idea. and I’ll get a German phrase book so we can learn to say something nice in his native language.”
“Hurray!” Taylor cheered, growing more and more excited. “I know exactly what I’ll do too.”
The next day, Taylor and Mommy went to Brother and Sister Guenter’s house. While Mommy explained to Sister Guenter what she wanted and why, Taylor went to the work shed out back to find Brother Guenter.
She watched him for a few moments until he looked up from his workbench.
“Oh, my goodness,” he said, “I wasn’t aware that I had a visitor. Come in, come in.”
“I’ve come to ask a favor.”
Brother Guenter patted the seat next to him. “Sit here,” he said, “and we will discuss it.”
Taylor told Brother Guenter her idea, and he agreed to help her. All that week she went to his house after school and stayed for an hour or so, learning to sing a special song in German.
On the night of the dinner, Taylor’s house was filled with exciting new smells.
When the elders arrived, a strange look came over Elder Junker’s face. He sniffed the air and smiled. “I smell bratwurst! And sauerkraut!”
Daddy bowed. “Wilkommen zu Hause (welcome to our home). Taylor thought an ‘evening in Germany’ might help you feel less homesick.”
“Oh, Taylor,” Elder Junker exclaimed, “how thoughtful of you! I have been feeling homesick lately. Thank you very much.”
“Bitte schön (you’re welcome),” Taylor said, beaming. “Möchten Sie ein Lied zuhören (Would you like to hear a song)?”
“Ja, bitte (Yes, please),” Elder Junker told her.
“Ich bin ein Kind von Gott (I am a child of God),” Taylor sang in a clear voice. She finished without a mistake while Elder Junker wiped happy tears from his eyes.
Later, he told Mother that the bratwurst and sauerkraut tasted just like his mother’s, and he asked Taylor for an encore of “Ich bin ein Kind von Gott.”
When the missionaries left, the jolly smile had returned to Elder Junker’s face.

Elder Peterson and I took the Star Ferry to Hong Kong Island. From there we boarded a bus that would take us to our area on the back side of the island. Elder Peterson was a new missionary, and I wanted him to see, as soon as possible, how the gospel brings new joy into a person’s life. We chatted for a while; then we each drifted off in thought.
I don’t know what Elder Peterson was thinking about. Maybe the hot, humid August weather. Maybe the strange foods. But I clearly remember my thoughts.
Our pool of investigators was average in size, but we didn’t have anyone who was ready for baptism. As I prayed silently, I had a calm understanding within my heart that the Lord would guide us to people who were prepared for the truth. I hardly expected a miracle, though.
We set out that day tracting through Shek Pai Wan—one of the many government housing complexes that crowd entire families of six or eight people into one-room apartments the size of a small living room. For being in Hong Kong only two days, Elder Peterson did remarkably well speaking Cantonese during his door approaches. But we had little success.
The next few days we worked hard and followed the Spirit. Although we found one or two new investigators, no one seemed to really be catching fire.
Then it happened.
I was looking through the drawers in our bedroom and found an old notebook. I opened it and saw a book of contacts and investigators from years before. The pages were torn and soiled. The writing was faded. But the Spirit whispered that I should read through the scores of names. I sat on my bed and began reading the book. As I slowly skimmed the lists of faceless names, my eyes and fingers stopped at a Mr. Chan.
The notes indicated that he had been taught the first discussion but that he wasn’t interested.
The burning in my heart was distinct and comforting. At once I knew we should visit this man. That afternoon we found the apartment listed in the old notebook. I said a silent prayer as we knocked on the door. The burning of the Spirit deep within us intensified as we waited for Mr. Chan. We waited. No answer. We knocked again. Still no answer.
“I guess no one’s home,” I said to Elder Peterson. “Let’s try later.”
We were a few feet away when the door opened.
“Matyeh a?” The man was asking us what we wanted.
“Hou ma?” We responded with the traditional Chinese “How are you?” greeting.
A minute later, this man was introducing himself as Mr. Chan.
“May we tell you a little about our church?” we asked.
“Please do,” Mr. Chan said.
The Spirit of the Lord was with the three of us as we discussed the Prophet Joseph Smith and the First Vision. We testified of Christ and of His atoning sacrifice. As we testified, the Spirit told us Mr. Chan believed our words.
“How do you feel about what we’ve said?” we asked.
“I know what you tell me is true,” Mr. Chan replied. “Wait here a minute.” He walked to a chair and stood on it while reaching for some books on a shelf. Finally he found the Book of Mormon.
“This is your church, isn’t it?” he asked, handing us the book.
“Yes, it is. Where did you get this?”
“Some missionaries like you came to my home three or four years ago,” he explained. “I bought this book from them, but they never came back.”
Elder Peterson and I looked through the well-worn Book of Mormon.
“Have you read this book?” I asked.
“Yes, many times. It is the word of God. Can you baptize me?”
“Why do you want to be baptized?”
“So I may return to live with God and Jesus Christ,” he said.
The Spirit was strong as we knelt in prayer with Mr. Chan. He had truly been prepared by the hand of God for baptism into His kingdom.
The words of Alma to his son Helaman in Alma 37:9–10 now have more meaning to me: “These records and their words … brought them to the knowledge of the Lord their God, and to rejoice in Jesus Christ their Redeemer. And who knoweth but what they will be the means of bringing many thousands … to the knowledge of their Redeemer?”

She was expecting them because weeks earlier Laurel president Donna Muir had suggested that something should be done for the elderly. The young people of the Culver City and La Cienega wards, who meet together for activity night, agreed, and so they sought and received inspiration. The result was an innovative service project that would allow some of the widows and widowers in the area to give just as much as they received. Small groups of young people would visit selected oldsters and chat with them about their lives. The interviews would be recorded and preserved as a contribution to oral history. They decided that each group would take a small present to those they visited to show their love and appreciation.
And in other houses, other cassettes turned, other pens scratched, and warm, old voices escorted other young people into the heart of other times and other lives. It was a guided tour of history—not embalmed textbook history, but history still alive and breathing. Horizons of time, space, and personality were broadened, and everyone, young and old, knew that they were co-citizens of forever.
Several weeks after the last stop buttons had been pushed and the last goodbyes said, the young people hosted their elderly friends at a dinner where each of them was presented with a typed transcript of what he had said. It had nothing to do with a service project anymore. It was a get-together between friends.

I remember when one of our daughters went on a blind date. She was all dressed up and waiting for her date to arrive when the doorbell rang. In walked a man who seemed a little old, but she tried to be polite. She introduced him to me and my wife and the other children; then she put on her coat and went out the door. We watched as she got into the car, but the car didn’t move. Eventually our daughter got out of the car and, red faced, ran back into the house. The man that she thought was her blind date had actually come to pick up another of our daughters who had agreed to be a babysitter for him and his wife.
We all had a good laugh over that. In fact, we couldn’t stop laughing. Later, when our daughter’s real blind date showed up, I couldn’t come out to meet him because I was still in the kitchen laughing. Now, I realize that our daughter could have felt humiliated and embarrassed. But she laughed with us, and as a result, we still laugh about it today.

In December of 1989, the beautiful and long-awaited Las Vegas temple was dedicated in inspiring sessions, which continued for three days. The messages and music in the dedicatory sessions lifted each heart heavenward and prompted the listener to keep the commandments of God and to emulate the example of righteous living taught by Jesus of Nazareth. Thoughts of self yielded to consideration for others. One sermon stressed the injunction of the Lord as recorded in Matthew:
“Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
“But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:
“For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (Matt. 6:19–21).
After the session during which this passage of scripture had been presented, a handwritten letter, carefully tucked away in a sealed envelope, was handed to me by an usher. May I share with you the contents of this touching letter:
“Dear President Monson:
“My husband and I feel the completion and dedication of this beautiful Las Vegas Nevada Temple is the finest gift we could receive during this sacred season. Temples are such a sweet gift to all the world; and as you spoke of righteous Saints who are worthy to obtain the blessings of the Lord’s house but lack the financial means to attend a temple, our hearts were so touched.
“President Monson, there must be a family somewhere who needs to attend the temple, because as my dear companion and I spoke of our great joy during this special Christmas season, we both commented as to how any store-bought gift would pale in comparison to what we have received in these dedicatory services. Instead of spending our budgeted Christmas funds for some gift from a local store, we would like to give you this $500 to help some family waiting to be endowed and sealed for all eternity. We appreciate your assisting us in our gifts to each other this year.”
The letter was unsigned. The givers remain anonymous. Perhaps today this brother may be viewing this session of general conference. If so, he may be pleased to learn that this gift has made it possible for a worthy family from the Villa Real District of the Portugal Porto Mission to journey to the temple and receive their precious temple blessings. To the unknown givers of this priceless gift I extend my thanks for being your brother’s keeper. I have the inner feeling that your Christmas season was marked by joy and filled with peace.

In the Hawaii, Honolulu Mission, a few years ago, I was instructed to travel to Christmas Island, one of the Line Islands belonging to the Republic of Kiribati. I was authorized to form a branch of the Church there if enough priesthood leaders could be found to sustain it. There were faithful priesthood leaders and many faithful and deserving saints who desperately wanted the church to become established on their remote island. When the branch was formed, it was apparent that the saints there were filled with righteous spirit and a determined desire to be faithful and devoted to the gospel. However, most had not had close contact with the organized church for many years and someone with a greater depth of experience was needed to teach, train and prepare them for independent church government. We needed a missionary couple.

We learned that local government regulations would not permit any of the government owned houses to be rented to missionaries. You can imagine the criteria that we advanced to the missionary department for a couple for this assignment:
Need to work with people who speak mostly the Kiribati language.
Need to build your own island house [called a kiakia].
Need to drill your own water well.
Need to dig your own latrine and make an enclosure for it.
Need to make your own portable shower and palm frond enclosure.
Do not plan on electricity, running water, any form of plumbing,
There is no furniture of any kind, but sand, crabs and insects in abundance.
Do not plan to be sick because there are no adequate medical facilities on the island.
Your only form of transport will be bicycles, and bring your own.

Actually, nobody signed up for that missionary call. We were feeling the urgent requirements of this newly formed branch and we remembered the extraordinarily faithful and loving saints there who needed gospel training very much. After much prayer from us, we received a phone call from a brother and sister on the mainland. They said they were emotionally prepared for a hardship mission and would agree to serve. They gave up retirement and the leisure time they so richly deserved. They came and established the Church on Christmas Island at great personal sacrifice. The gift of inheritance is theirs.

The young people of a certain ward had worked to earn the large sum of money needed to go on an adventure trip. I had had some acquaintance with their bishop. He called and asked if I would help him get some news publicity so that these young people would be recognized for the fine things they were doing.
I said that I would not help him. He was surprised and asked why. I answered that although it was commendable that the young people had worked hard to earn this money, some things are interesting while other things are important, and that there might be a higher purpose for the funds they had obtained.
I explained that my ministry takes me into countries where the people are less privileged than where he lives. I explained that the amount of money these fine young people had earned would keep several missionaries from these areas in the field for their entire missions.
He said, “Are you asking me to have these young people donate their funds to the general missionary fund of the Church?”
I said, “No, I have not asked you to do that. I have just said that there are finer things to do.” I explained that I was not against the kind of project they were planning but that there must be a balance, and, by comparison, some things are interesting while other things are important.
Later the bishop said that he had talked to the young people and that they wanted to sacrifice their adventure trip and donate all the money to the general missionary fund. He asked if they could bring the check and have their picture taken with me as they made the donation and if they could have the picture and an article put into the news.
I said no. Then I said, “You might consider helping your young people learn a higher law of recognition. Let them feel the joy and gain the treasure in their heart and soul that come from silent, selfless service.”

As my 12th birthday approached, I attended a Priesthood Preview for the boys in the ward preparing to receive the Aaronic Priesthood. The only things I remember about the experience are getting a brand new white shirt and a talk about hands, given by my dad. He spoke of the importance of the priesthood holder’s hands and how you must keep your hands clean and use them appropriately to be worthy to use the priesthood of God.
That talk left an impression on me. I don’t think I realized this until some years later, but from that point on, I was very aware of my dad’s hands.
My dad’s hands always seemed to be involved in doing much good.
I noticed his hands as we did different landscaping projects, built a shed, helped move furniture, and did other projects together. His hands were tough farmer hands. Bulky, calloused, worn from farm days of his youth and years of service and work, his hands were well used and yet able to endure any labor they were called to perform.
For my own hands, this was not the case. I viewed the strength and toughness of his hands with awe and thought: “Wow. I wish I had hands like those.” I hoped that one day, maybe, I would.
When I was about to receive my mission call, I had an experience with my dad that really impressed upon my heart and mind the importance of worthy hands.
I had the opportunity to accompany my dad to the house of a man we home-taught. This good brother had asked for a blessing. I was not yet a Melchizedek Priesthood holder, so I watched and listened as my dad placed his hands upon the brother’s head and spoke the words that the Spirit put into his mouth. I felt the Spirit strongly during the blessing.
Afterwards my thoughts lingered on my dad’s hands. Those rough, tough farmer hands had been kept clean by their owner. Because of that, they were able to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands to bestow the blessings and power of heaven upon one of many whom my dad cared for. I viewed the sacred power of those hands with awe and thought: “Wow. I want to have hands like those.” I knew that soon I could, but I would need to keep them clean throughout my life to do any good.
My dad has always used his hands for good. He has kept them ever worthy to hold the priesthood of God.
We need to consider how we are using our hands. Are we keeping them clean? Are we remaining worthy of the blessings that come from honoring the holy priesthood?
If we strive to have a pure heart and clean hands, we will have great joy in life through the priesthood, and we will be ready and happy at the judgment bar of Christ (see Alma 5:19; D&C 88:86).
I’m grateful for my dad for setting an example and showing me the right way.

I was eighteen—and enrolled in a Book of Mormon class at Brigham Young University—when I realized I did not know whether the gospel was true. The realization itself was shock, since I had collected an array of hundred-percent awards, been extremely active in every kind of church activity, and always assumed that the Church was true. But assumption is not knowledge.
So, obedient and believing, I applied the instructions in Alma 32 and Moroni 10:4–5, and I received from God the verification I sought.

I spent most of my twenties measuring progress in a very specific way. I had certain milestones and life events planned out that I was relying on to show me I was accomplishing everything I wanted to in life.
Well, I just turned 30 this year, and a lot of those milestones haven’t happened yet, especially with my career. And because of that, I struggle with feeling like I’m falling behind—behind my peers, behind where everyone expected me to be, and most painfully, behind where I expected myself to be.
I’ve known I wanted to be a doctor since I was a teenager, and it’s something I’ve been working toward for years. If I went back and told my teenage self how far behind my plan I am, he would probably be horrified.
But here’s the good news: My 30-year-old self has a far better perspective on life.
When I was 18, things were going great. I moved to a different country to start university and was successfully navigating life in a new place, I started the major that the other premedical students around me were doing, and I kept my grades up.
Things continued to go well as I paused my studies to serve a mission, came home, and got married a few years later.
But this was the point when things started to get a little more complicated.
First, I took a gap year because my wife was a few years younger than me and needed to finish her education. The next year, I applied and was accepted to a school in my home country—but turned down the offer because of COVID-19 border closures and my wife’s unexpected career opportunity. The next year I applied again, this time in the country I was currently living in, but had little success because I wasn’t a permanent resident in that country.
By the time I hit my 27th birthday, I was completely discouraged. I was supposed to be halfway through medical school by now! The friends I had gone to school and graduated with were moving on with their lives, while I was stuck in what felt like a never-ending cycle of applications and rejections.
From my point of view, I was stuck and not making any progress. The lack of hitting the milestones I’d outlined as a teenager made me feel pretty despondent and disappointed in myself.
But here’s the thing—there are so many different ways to make and measure progress. And in hindsight, I’ve realized I was growing and learning all along.
That first gap year? That was a chance for me to show my wife that her education was important to me and to keep gaining experience that would help me be a better doctor.
That second year, when I turned down an offer? That was an opportunity for us to pray and counsel together about how to balance competing priorities and build the life we wanted.
And that final year, when I felt helpless about things that were out of my control? That let me seek personal revelation and receive the confirmation I needed from Heavenly Father that I was on the right path, even when I was discouraged and couldn’t see what the future held.
I don’t want to pretend like those years of waiting were easy. While I was living them, I often felt frustrated, stagnant, and discouraged. But guess what? The future ended up being better than I could have imagined. I’m in my second year of medical school, while my wife works her dream job and can support us financially. After the years of prioritizing her work and education, she’s ready to support me in mine, and we have the kind of relationship that can stay strong through the grueling days of medical training.
I still look forward to the day when I can call myself a doctor. But as President Russell M. Nelson, a doctor himself, once taught, there are identities that are more important than that one.
And remembering my identities as a child of God, a child of the covenant, and a disciple of Christ helps me in times when I want to label myself as “falling behind,” which is something I think many of us are inclined to do during young adulthood.
Maybe you’re like me and have labeled yourself a failure because of career detours. Or maybe your career is going fine but you deal with the label of “single,” “struggling with a mental illness,” or something else entirely.
Whatever your situation, know that there are so many ways to grow and learn and progress. Don’t measure yourself by someone else’s life or expectations—or even your past self’s expectations.
Instead, remember what matters most: “Our relationships with Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son, our families, and our neighbors, and allowing the Spirit of the Lord to guide us in those relationships.”
I may not be a doctor yet, but I am a son of God. I’m a covenant keeper. I’m someone who tries hard to be a good husband.
And that’s always mattered more than arbitrary timelines.

My father’s employment with the Army, Air Force Exchange Service to the military, took our family from Guam to the Philippines. It was there that I put that first lesson to the test. I was five years old, when we attended the Clark Air Force Base Branch on their spring excursion to Baguio City. It is a lush tropical pine forest high in the mountainous terrain of the island of Luzon. Having been left behind at the cabin one night, I was relieved to be reunited with my mother at the Branch’s opening social.

We walked in the moonlight back to our cabin when I confided to my mother, that I had left the cabin lights on and the front door open – BUT I quickly added that I said a prayer in my heart as I ran out of the cabin down the steps, up the hill, and across the field. I asked Heavenly Father to “please, turn off the light and shut the door.” Well, as we got to the top of the hill and looked down to our cabin, I could not believe it. The lights were off and the front door was closed. He had answered my prayer just as my mother had promised if I would trust and believe.

Imagine a few moments later after we had entered the cabin, one of the members from our Branch who was staying in the adjacent cabin, came and told my mother, that she had come back early and noticed that our lights were on, front door open, my Dad’s camera in plain view and no one there. So she went ahead and closed things up. My heart sank and I began to doubt my faith as I overhead that sister. After that lady left, I told my Mother, “I guess Heavenly Father didn’t answer my prayer after all.” My mother knelt with me and taught me a lesson that night. In all tenderness and sincerity she said as she held me close, “Heavenly Father hears all our prayers and at times use other people to answer our prayers. He sent that sister to answer your prayer tonight.”

One Saturday my family went to a store. We noticed a man there who looked familiar. It was President Thomas S. Monson. When he saw us, he shook my hand and asked me how old I was. When I told him I was eight years old, he asked me if I had been baptized yet. I was so happy that I had made the decision to be baptized and could tell him, “Yes, I have.” He told me to make sure I planned for a mission later. I am thankful I got to shake President Monson’s hand and talk to him. I am thankful that I got baptized. I am planning to go on a mission when I am 19.Kyle M., age 8, Utah

I had the opportunity to go on a mission to the Fiji Suva Mission at the age of 24 after receiving my Master's Degree. I thought for a long time I was too old to serve a mission but while pursuing a Master's Degree at the University of Arkansas, I had the opportunity to receive my patriarchal blessing which specifically addressed my serving a mission for the Lord. When I received my mission call, I had no idea where the Cook Islands were located, where I was specifically assigned to serve, or the Fiji Islands. I got out the National Geographic Magazines (This was way before Google Search) and excitedly found their locations and read as much as I could about the islands. As my mission came to a conclusion, the Church Educational System man in Fiji approached me about the possibility of coming back to Fiji and teaching in our Church High School that was yet to be built there. I put in my application at his urging and did not think much more about it until approached by CES some three years later having in the meantime been sealed to Sister Bauer in the Oakland California Temple and our having a fifteen month old daughter. We were blessed to go back to Fiji and teach in our Church High School there, The Fiji LDS Technical College; then, some years later, serve as the headmaster of our Church School in Kiribati, Moroni Community School (Now Moroni High School), live in Guam and coordinate seminaries and institutes of religion in Micronesia, live here in Kailua for four years teaching at the Honolulu HI Institute and coordinating seminaries here, and then go over to Hilo and be there for the past 21 and a half years as the Hilo HI Institute Director and coordinating seminaries and institutes of religion for the neighbor islands in the State of Hawaii. During this time we had two of our five children born in Fiji, one while we were in Kiribati, and one in Guam. We have been truly blessed as a family to live in the Pacific Islands among the great people of the islands.

Ethan sat in sacrament meeting and listened as his best friend, Sam, shared his testimony. He talked about a service project he did. Sam said he had a testimony of service. Ethan’s dad also gave his testimony. He talked about temple work. Everyone who spoke testified that the Church is true. It seemed like everyone except Ethan had a testimony.
What do I have a testimony of? Ethan wondered.
He thought back a few years to when he and his friends were baptized. His Primary teacher, Sister Calder, had given a talk on the Holy Ghost.
“The Holy Ghost can give you a burning feeling in your heart. He can help you know what is true,” she’d said. “And that’s how you get a testimony of what you believe.”
Ethan tried to do what was right so he could feel the Holy Ghost. He read the scriptures and prayed. But he had never had that burning feeling people talked about. Did that mean he didn’t have a testimony?
This question stuck in Ethan’s head all the next day. He was still thinking about it when he and Sam went skateboarding after school. He wondered how he could ask Sam about it.
“Hey, Sam,” Ethan finally asked, “were you scared when you gave your testimony yesterday?”
Sam hopped off his board and walked to the grass. “Not really,” he said, sitting down. “I’ve shared my testimony at family night before.”
Ethan joined him and set his skateboard on his lap. “But how did you know you had a testimony?”
“Well, I prayed and I felt good about it.”
Ethan slowly nodded and spun a wheel with his hand. Somehow he wanted to feel that way too.
That night, when the house was quiet, Ethan knelt by his bed to pray.
“Heavenly Father,” he said, “please help me have a testimony. Help me know that the Church is true. That Joseph Smith was a prophet. And that the Book of Mormon is true.”
In the middle of his prayer, Ethan stopped. He thought for a minute. Then he asked himself, Well, do I know anything yet?
And then he felt a quiet, peaceful feeling. It wasn’t a powerful burning feeling. But Ethan knew it was the Holy Ghost.
A thought came into Ethan’s mind: I know that I know. And as he thought about it, he realized he had felt this peaceful feeling before.
Whenever he read the Book of Mormon, it felt good and right. Now he knew that feeling was the Holy Ghost testifying to him. When he went to church and it felt good and right to be there, that was the Holy Ghost too. He had already been getting a testimony!
He didn’t need to know everything right now. But he did know that the Holy Ghost was real and could help him keep building his testimony.
Ethan began to pray again. But this time it was to say thank you.

Recently, I was blessed to enjoy private time with my mother, who is housebound and now speaks little. Our extended family members, many who visit often, are deeply grateful for nurses who lovingly attend her. I was surprised by Mother’s focus. She reached for my hand and grasped it with astounding power. That reminded me of the lifetime of tennis she played. She also riveted her gaze on me, as though I were a ball to be struck—powerfully, with precision.

I found myself singing Primary songs to Mother. The one that came to mind was “Jesus Once Was a Little Child.” You may remember the first verse:

Jesus once was a little child,
A little child like me;
And he was pure and meek and mild,
As a little child should be.

Mother’s intensity seemed even greater as I sang the chorus of this song, which was written more than a hundred years ago, plenty of time for her to sing it as a Primary child:

So, little children,
Let’s you and I
Try to be like him,
Try, try, try.

Finishing the Course
In this life, we are learning to try and ultimately fly, spiritually. That means experiencing ups and downs. With Heaven’s guidance and our best efforts, we can stay ahead of the spiritual “power curve,” rising above obstacles on the ground and sudden downdrafts. The key is to remember that that stormy spiritual weather is built into our mortal experience for our own good.

Flying sometimes means falling below our preferred altitude and trajectory. When that happens, we need to lower the nose of our spiritual airplane and add power, rather than pulling back and risking a stall. I’m convinced that Mother is doing that, staying airborne notwithstanding tremendous physiological drag and spiritual turbulence. It’s clear that she is being kept aloft by the Savior’s hands, having done all she could do.

As you approach old age, you will face new challenges to self-mastery. Symptoms of the deteriorating body can be painful, even disabling. Deep aches of sadness are caused by the departing of loved ones. For some, these deepening trials come early in life. But when yours are thrust upon you, remember a concept expressed by my father some time after my mother had passed away. Your grandparents had been married for sixty-four years. When someone asked how he was doing, my father simply stated, “I’m lonely, but I’m not lonesome.” Do you know what he meant? Though he was now without his sweetheart, he was so busy assisting family and friends, he had replaced sorrow with service and had displaced self-pity with selfless love. He had found joy in following the timeless example of the Master.

Last year the missionaries knocked on their door and were invited to come inside. After the missionaries taught the family, Mother decided that she wanted to join the Church, and knew that it would help her teach the gospel to her family. Father decided that he needed to obey the Word of Wisdom so that he could be baptized too. Both parents were baptized on July 10, 1991. About a week later, Loli was baptized by her father. The Primary children sang at her baptism. A few weeks after that, Pili decided that she was ready to be baptized too. She knew that it was important for her family to become an eternal family. When Pili was confirmed, she could feel the Holy Spirit in her heart.