Gospel Story Finder

Attention Scouts! All that time spent in first-aid workshops can really pay off. It has for Rhyan Donahoe of the Tuckahoe Ward, Richmond Virginia Stake. At 15, he’s already been able to save two lives by using the Heimlich maneuver.
Rhyan works at Ginter Hall, a retirement/convalescent center. That’s where he had the opportunity to save two elderly patients’ lives. The nurses there are impressed with Rhyan’s quick-thinking, take-charge attitude. Rhyan says humbly, “I’m glad I was able to help.”

Years later I received a similar call late at night in a hotel in Japan. I was then the new commissioner of education for the Church. I knew that President Gordon B. Hinckley was staying somewhere in that same hotel on his separate assignment to Japan. I answered the ringing phone just after I had lain down on the bed to sleep, exhausted by having done all I thought I had the strength to do.

President Hinckley asked in his pleasant voice, “Why are you sleeping when I am here reading a manuscript that we have been asked to review?” So I got up and went to work, even though I knew that President Hinckley could give a better review of a manuscript than I could possibly do. But somehow he made me feel that he needed my help.

One spring a young, lanky cowboy named Rick Errington came to work for the Kanes. At first he was quiet and took a background role in the events at camp. But Sister Kane sensed something about him that persuaded her to introduce him to the gospel. The twins confess that they are sometimes embarrassed to take the first step in inviting a new cowboy to church. After their mother breaks the ice, they are right behind her working just as hard to get to know him and talk about the gospel.
“I remember the first time Rick came to church,” says Salli. “Here is this new guy, and he’s really young, and Mom invited him to church.”
“We were wondering what he was thinking,” says Syndi. “Then he started coming to church in our trailer. We take a little trailer out to the cowboy camps and hold sacrament meeting in it. It’s really crowded with the seven of our family and two or three cowboys. There is a little bench and one chair and a little cabinet to put the sacrament on.”
Salli interrupts, “And the Spirit is always there. We have one hymnbook and try to keep in tune.”
“The sacrament means the same,” says Syndi, “even though it’s on an old pie plate with different kinds of cups.”
The meeting is a comfortable one for those trying to learn more about the gospel. Scripture study is combined with the talks. No one is afraid to comment or ask questions, even in the middle of a talk.
To get to know Rick a little better, Sister Kane asked him to help her sons with their Cub Scout projects. They had a great time building a scooter from old barn wood and used roller skate wheels.
At camp Rick came to meetings regularly and started giving talks. “At first,” says Rick, “I saw the Kanes as a very special family that loved each other and showed this love to everyone. After a while I learned that it was the gospel that pulled them together like that.”
Rick helped with family home evening and encouraged the other cowboys to participate. “At first, some of the men didn’t want anything to do with it, but then they started to come and liked it. Every family home evening, we were fed just a little more of the gospel.”
The time Rick spent riding the range after cattle became a time for reflection, growth, and prayer. He was profoundly affected by experiences he had while by himself in the sagebrush hills. And at the church meetings, “I heard what I needed to hear,” he says.
After the roundup, Rick attended branch meetings held in the Kane home on their ranch. Soon the missionaries from Elko were making the 60-mile drive to teach him. He was baptized, and his first calling was to be the Sunday School teacher to Salli and Syndi. “He was really good,” says Syndi. “Those lessons were really hard for him at first. He would study and study.”
But Salli and Syndi lost their Sunday School teacher. Syndi explains, “One day after Rick was baptized, Mom told him, ‘You know the next step after being baptized is to get prepared for a mission.’ He had a real desire to go. He saved up his money for a year after being baptized. Now he’s in Oklahoma serving his mission.”

I want to share with you one such experience. As an 11 year old scout, I learned a great lesson from an assistant scout master who took us into the woods to give us a lesson in AX SAFETY. After speaking for a few minutes and giving us a lecture on how to care for an ax and to be careful with it, the Assistant Scout Master said: "I will now teach you how to safely use an ax when chopping down a tree." He identified a young tree to chop down. We gathered around to watch. He showed us how to grip the handle. He took a swing at the tree. The ax glanced off the trunk of the tree and hit him squarely in the knee, splitting his knee wide open.

It was the best lesson on AX SAFETY that a group of 11 year old scouts could have ever received! We all went home that day with a deep understanding of the importance of Ax Safety.

In the same way, if we are wise we will learn from the mistakes of others. The more vivid the mistake, perhaps the more lasting and important the lesson. I have never looked at an ax since that day without having a sense of respect for the ax and an understanding of what can go wrong. I learned the lesson taught by the Assistant Scout Master. I want you to know, I STRONGLY believe in Ax Safety.

Sisterhood was something I would have avoided at times. But there were other times—times like my graduation night—when I realized that being a sister is not so much a formal title as a shared history.
Diane and Mary, my two older sisters, had tried for years to transform me. They were both experts in applying makeup, styling hair, and selecting the latest fashions. I was a constant embarrassment to them because the only thing I really cared about was freedom and comfort. If it didn’t feel good, I avoided it.
Even as a child, I had felt a duty to free paper ladies frozen in a glamorous pose. I regularly cut my paper dolls up to their navel so they could run. I knew beauty came with freedom, not restriction. I believed I had seen beauty, the whole of it, in my backyard. A bird slicing through the evening sky and the wind washing through the trees were my teachers.
These two older sisters had worked on me for 18 years without success. It had been a valiant effort. Then came the early evening before my high school seminary graduation.
I was downstairs in my bedroom looking through the closet for something nice to wear. I was going to be one of the speakers and wanted to look at least presentable. My closet was full of hand-me-downs from Diane and Mary.
It had never bothered me until then. It was the end of the month, and the family paycheck wasn’t able to stretch quite far enough to include a new graduation dress for me.
I understood. Being raised in the middle of nine children teaches one to understand a lot of things, but sometimes it doesn’t take away the wishing. I was wishing I had a new dress to wear.
I selected a nice navy blue dress with a white lace collar and pearl buttons. It had been Mary’s graduation dress two years ago, and it would just have to do.
After I zipped up the dress, I slipped on a pair of dressy black shoes. They were worn down at the heel and fit the foot form of their previous owner, my older sister Diane. They would have to do.
I grabbed my speech and walked upstairs ready to leave. When I got to the head of the stairs, I saw Diane and Mary standing together smiling. Each of them was holding a package wrapped with fancy paper and bows like the expensive department stores used. Most of our family presents were wrapped in paper and bows my mom had saved from previous birthdays and holidays. We were taught to unwrap carefully.
I took the presents from each sister as they put their arms around me and kissed me on both cheeks. The first present was large and rectangular. I opened the gift slowly, being careful not to rip the wrapping paper under the tape. When I lifted the lid and folded back the tissue paper, a bright yellow chiffon dress with lace and pleats on the front yoke shone out with the same warmth as the smiles on my sisters’ faces. The next box held a pair of bright yellow shoes with bows, an exact match.
“Run downstairs and put them on,” Diane said.
“Hurry or you’ll be late,” Mary added.
I ran back downstairs and put on my new outfit. A middle child in a large family never gets a pair of bright yellow shoes. It’s just not practical.
Diane was now a newlywed struggling to pay a huge medical debt after her first baby died of a heart defect. Mary was now a college student working hard to earn her tuition. I knew the money to buy that dress and shoes had not come easily.
When I stood up to give my speech that night, I was clothed in something more than new clothes. It wasn’t so much just the dress as it was a whole shared history before it—the missing combs, midnight talks on the double bed, the letter tucked under my pillow after I lost the election, holding hands when they lowered the tiny casket into the ground at the cemetery, crowded bathrooms and tied-up telephones. I learned that night that a sister was more than I had ever supposed.

I was born in 1944, and I inherited that spirit of patriotism. It shaped the early years of my own life and my generation. More than eighty Catholic chaplains died in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. Five Catholic chaplains, all of them priests, won the Congressional Medal of Honor in those same wars. When I was growing up, the nation’s service academies all had a disproportionate number of Catholic cadets. And even today—after the disaffection of the Catholic Left during Vietnam and the Catholic critics of the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, including at times the Vatican—most American Catholics have a deep habit of loyalty to this country.

And for good reason: at its best, America is an exceptional nation. It is a country built on limited government, the rule of law, and economic opportunity. Personal rights and liberties are still important here. They actually mean something. And our public life, while nonsectarian, is—or at least was—founded and grounded in a broadly biblical morality.

Here is why I mention this. I have a friend of many years—a man committed to his wife and family who is well educated and very Catholic—whose son attended West Point. Over the years he has taken great pride in his son and in the ideals of the military academy. He is still proud of his son, and he still admires the legacy of West Point.

But he would never send another child to a service academy. He simply doesn’t believe that America, as it currently stands, is the same country he once loved. And, in his words, it is not worth risking a son or a daughter to fight for it. The America he sees now—an America of abortion, confused sex, language police, entitlements, consumer and corporate greed, clownish politics, and government bullying of religious groups, like the Little Sisters of the Poor—is different in kind, not merely in degree, from the nation he thought he knew. It is no longer a country he considers his own. And keep in mind that this is a man of the cultural right, in which support for the military has typically been strong.

Now those are harsh feelings. But I do understand them.

I would like to share with you a personal experience that I had while serving as an Area Seventy years ago. When I was called by the Area President, he asked me how my German was. I told him that I could order a schnitzel.

He said that was nice—I would not go hungry—but then invited me to read the Book of Mormon in German. And that is what I did between receiving the call in December and being sustained during the April conference.

Shortly after, I started my service in the Europe Area and received a phone call asking if I would be ready to visit a district conference on short notice. I told our Area President that I could do that. Then he told me that the district was located in the eastern part of Germany where they do not speak any English. He said there will be no one to translate for you. He quickly ended the phone call before I could change my mind.

The worst part was that I needed to call the district president to discuss the conference. Marjan prepared the computer with Google Translate for me, and I knelt down and pleaded with the Lord to help me. Well, we had an hour-long conversation in German, and Marjan and our youngest son, Hyrum, were amazed.

A week later, we traveled to the Erfurt District and held all the meetings in German. On Sunday, my nephew, who was serving a mission there, joined the congregation. He later told me that it went well but that I made one big mistake. I thought I asked the parents to testify to their children, but instead, I asked the parents to make more children. I used Gezeugen instead of bezeugen. As good, faithful Germans, they kept straight faces.

Well, I hope to return there someday; they might have a stake.

On several occasions, I have received a testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. And not only about the cleansing part—but also that we can receive power that enables us to do what we could never imagine doing.
I have felt that power time and time again in my life, and especially when I am out of my comfort zone.

With my baptism, my life changed. I learned that you can’t have one foot in the world and one foot in the gospel. I learned that work is not the most important thing in life. I learned that the Lord and my family come first. Finally, I understood the sadness my mother felt in my absence, and I asked her to forgive me.
I quit traveling the world, got married in the Bern Switzerland Temple, started a family, and took a job cooking at a local hospital, where I used my talents to help sick people recover. Now I am in charge of human resources at the hospital. Working locally gives me time to dedicate to my family and Church callings.

Not many months later, Mom and Dad had some exciting news. Our family was going to be sealed in the temple! My sister Shaelyn and I clapped and jumped up and down, we were so happy.
I soon learned that because I was now eight years old and had been baptized, I would need to have an interview with my bishop before I could go to the temple. I liked Bishop Jex a lot, but I thought that an interview for a temple recommend would be very important, and that made me nervous. What if I answered some of the questions wrong?
Mom came with me to the church for my interview. Bishop Jex shook my hand. “So you want to go to the temple, young lady?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Not many people have the opportunity to be interviewed for a temple recommend so soon after they are baptized,” he told me. Then he took a binder from his desk and flipped it open. Inside, he pointed to a white piece of paper with some lines on it and lots of places to write information.
“This is a limited-use recommend,” he explained. “Your name goes here, and my signature goes here. You’ll give this to the temple workers, and they will know you are worthy to be in the temple.”
Bishop Jex asked me about the things I do to keep the covenants of baptism—going to church, treating my sisters kindly, repenting when I make a mistake. “Keeping our baptism promises is what we do to be worthy to make temple promises,” he said. “It sounds to me like you are working hard to do everything you promised God you would do.” After we talked for a few more minutes, he wrote my name on the paper and handed it to me. I had my temple recommend!
After my interview with Bishop Jex, I met with the stake president because he needed to interview me and sign my recommend too. Then I was ready to go to the temple! On the day of the sealing, we drove to the Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple. My sisters and I were introduced to the temple workers who would take care of us and help us get ready. The workers took us to a room where my baby sister, Breanna, colored pictures and played with blocks, and Shaelyn and I watched a movie about what being sealed would be like. I felt warm and peaceful in the temple.
We changed from our church clothes into white dresses, and then the temple workers took us to the sealing room. When we walked in, there were our grandparents, lots of aunts and uncles, and of course our mom and dad. Everyone who looked at us started to cry—even my big, tough dad.
“You three look just like angels,” Mom said.
“Do you girls know what we’re doing here today?” the temple sealer asked.
“We’re being sealed to our parents,” Shaelyn said.
“And what does that mean?” he asked.
“We can be together as a family forever,” I said.
“Right,” he said. “Together forever, if what?”
“If we keep the commandments,” I said.
“Exactly. You do as you promised at your baptism—to follow Christ. And your parents keep the promises they made today in the temple to follow Christ. You should work hard each day to love and help each other. Someday, you girls will come here again and make the same promises they have made. Heavenly Father promises that when you all return to live with Him, you can be together as a family.”
After the sealer said the words of the ordinance, everyone gave us hugs. “We’re so proud of you,” my grandparents told me. “We love you so much!”
The warmth of the Spirit that I felt when I was baptized whispered to me again. I knew our family had made a good choice. I felt so happy that we could promise to follow Jesus Christ. I know He will help us live so that we can be together for eternity.

Molly could never wait for something to happen. She did all she could to make something happen quickly.
Most of the time Molly’s impatience did not get her into serious trouble. She was just in the habit of hurrying with everything she did.
One day Molly’s teacher, Miss Raymond, said, “Class, your project this month concerns a member of this classroom. How many of you have noticed that Naryana isn’t at school today?”
Ten sixth-grade hands waved above Molly’s head. Molly hadn’t noticed, but, then, she hadn’t paid any special attention to Naryana.
“Naryana Ranjappa is Indian,” Miss Raymond said as she pulled down their geography map. “But she is not an American Indian. She is from India.” Molly watched Miss Raymond place her long pointer on a country across the Arabian Sea and to the east of Africa. “Naryana was born in India and for a short time lived in England. From there she moved to our city here in the United States.”
“Wow!” Howard Higgins said. “She’s come a long way!”
“And she is not happy here,” Miss Raymond continued. “You must have noticed how sad she is. That is a problem we might be able to help her solve. What can we do to make her smile and be happy?”
“Miss Raymond?” Molly wiggled at her desk until her teacher called on her.
“Yes, Molly?”
“Miss Raymond, I have an idea to make Naryana feel more at home. Why couldn’t we have an Indian festival with something about the customs of her country?”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Molly,” their teacher answered, and all the students agreed.
Looking at her class, Miss Raymond said thoughtfully, “If you like the festival idea, you’ll have to find out about Indian customs without telling Naryana. Perhaps if we surprise her it will bring a smile to her face.”
All the children liked the idea and began working right away. The different ways of this country on the other side of the world made them want to learn more and more about it.
Janice checked out from the library a large picture book about India with photographs of people and animals wandering through narrow, crowded streets. Howard brought a calendar picture of an Indian girl who had a red mark on her forehead. She was wearing a beautiful yellow silk dress called a sari. The whole class learned about India in small groups, at recess, or after school without Naryana discovering their surprise.
Naryana was tiny for her age when compared to her classmates. Most of the time she sat quietly staring down at her desk.
The night before the festival many of the children stayed after school and helped decorate the room. They swirled and curled brightly colored designs with poster paint. They hoped that the decorated elephant, the model of the Taj Mahal, and the traditional welcome of fresh fruit and flowers would all help to bring a smile to Naryana’s face. The children felt the excitement grow as the room took on a festive look.
The next morning everyone came to school early. The boys and girls stood silently around the room waiting for Naryana to come to class.
Within a few minutes Naryana walked into the room. Her eyes widened with surprise. She looked at the decorations and at the boys and girls and they looked at her. Would she smile? they wondered.
Molly carefully led Naryana to the center of the room. As she looked around at the colorful decorations from her native land, Naryana smiled. But Molly noticed that it was a sad kind of a smile. It pushed at her cheeks, but it did not change her face as they had hoped it would. The festival began as fruits, nuts, and flowers appeared as if by magic. One of the girls played “Song of India” on the piano and Miss Raymond read Kipling’s poem “Rikki Tikki Tavi” to them. They ate, sang, and laughed while sitting on the floor in traditional Indian fashion.
It was a wonderful festival, but Molly was not satisfied. She had hoped for a wide, happy smile from Naryana, but only a shy, little smile had lighted the face of the girl from India.
Later at home, Molly decided that the fruit and colorful designs at school had meant little to Naryana. She wanted to make her happy but would have to do it in another way. Molly tried to think of something really special that she could do for Naryana. She looked around her bedroom, wondering if she might give her a gift. Molly saw her brush and comb set, her stuffed giraffe, and her dolls, but nothing seemed to be suitable.
Molly finally decided to go over to Naryana’s house. Maybe I can cheer her up, she thought. As she ran up the walk Molly suddenly stopped. Naryana was sitting alone on her front steps with her eyes searching the ground.
“Hello, Naryana,” Molly said with a cheery voice.
Startled, Naryana looked up but she didn’t smile. “You’re Molly aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yes,” Molly answered, surprised that Naryana knew her name. Naryana invited Molly into her house. The rich-looking brass ornaments and brightly woven fabrics decorating the walls were beautiful. As the girls went back to Naryana’s bedroom, Molly caught the pleasant smell of spices and perfume that filled the hall.
Naryana had twin beds in her room and Molly immediately noticed two photographs hanging on the wall between them. They were pictures that looked like Naryana but not the girl Molly knew. Each of these pictures showed a face that was bright-eyed and happy.
“I’m the one on the right,” Naryana explained, “and the other one is Shani, my sister. We are identical twins.”
“But where is she?” Molly asked.
“In Devonshire, England. We left her there with relatives, because she was too ill to come here with us.”
Molly watched Naryana’s eyes fill with tears and her chin begin to quiver as she talked.
“Shani had a bad accident and can not be moved until she is better.”
“Naryana, we didn’t know you had a twin sister in England. Miss Raymond didn’t tell us.” Suddenly, Molly knew how she could make Naryana happy. It might take weeks, but it would be worth every bit of time and trouble.
It was hard for Molly to keep a secret, but she didn’t tell anybody about her plan for over a month. When she was sure she couldn’t keep the surprise any longer, a package arrived from her brother.
After lunch that day, Molly came flying breathlessly into the classroom, carrying a package and her family’s tape recorder. She went straight up to Miss Raymond’s desk and whispered something to her.
“Oh, Molly! Yes, of course,” she said. “Let’s play it right now.”
Miss Raymond called the class to order. They all felt the excitement of something about to happen.
“Molly has a wonderful surprise for us.” Miss Raymond announced.
Everyone sat quietly when Molly stood up proudly and said, “You may know that my brother is on a mission in southern England. Well, I wrote to him several weeks ago and asked him to do me a favor.”
Molly glanced back at Naryana and saw her raise her head and watch attentively as Molly continued, “He sent me this tape and I want to play it for you now.”
She turned on the recorder and a sweet voice began speaking, “Dear Naryana and Miss Raymond’s sixth-grade class: It is raining here in Devon, and the flowers and bushes outside my bedroom window seem to grow with each raindrop even though we are well into fall. I want to tell you that Doctor Hardwell says I am slowly getting better …”
From then on the tape from Shani was a treat for everyone. On previous occasions, Naryana’s rare smiles never quite filled her face, but now she was beaming when she heard her sister’s words filled with hope.
For Naryana and for them all this voice was a miraculous bridge over time and two continents.
For Molly, it was a lesson in friendship and patience. Sometimes, Molly decided, best things do come from waiting.

Mateo was playing the best soccer of his life. In the preseason, he’d scored five times. His passes were crisp, his defense superb. He was popular with fans, teammates, and coaches.
“So why not relax a little before the season opener?” he thought. The next week he took it easy. He arrived at practice just as it was starting and played with less than his best effort. “It’s OK,” he thought. “In the game, I’ll turn it up a notch.”
But the night before the match, friends came by. He stayed up late, then slept in, and barely arrived as the game was starting. When the coach asked what was wrong, he brushed it off. He couldn’t remember the game plan, but it was too late to go over it again. “I’ll just have to rely on what I did last week,” he said.
The game did not go well. Mateo tried to blame teammates, coaches, and officials. But he knew in his heart that it was his fault. If you’re into sports, you know why: if you want to play well, you prepare all week long. Then when the real game comes you’re ready to take the field.
By the way, after one bad week, Mateo returned to proper preparation and strengthened his season. Each week he focused on the basics and got ready all week long. From then on, he came to games ready to take the field.

Ho Yung was baptized in Lake Michigan. Some of the promises she made to Heavenly Father at that time were that she would try to be like the Savior and be kind and loving to other people, that she would attend her Church meetings, that she would obey the commandments, that she would have faith in Jesus Christ, and that she would take His name upon her. She knows that He helped people who were sick or injured, and she tries to be like Him by helping her sister, who is disabled. Ho Yung helps her eat, gets things for her, helps her get dressed, plays with her, and does whatever else she can for her. She says she feels good when she helps her sister—and everyone.

Melissa gave the opening prayer at family home evening. After she said amen, Daddy thanked her and said, “We each agreed to bring a reminder of something we want to thank Heavenly Father for. Melissa, would you like to go first?”
She shook her head firmly, swinging her hair back and forth. “Not this time, Daddy. I have the most thankful thank-you of all, and I want to save it till last.”
Daddy nodded. “Very well then, since baby Billy is too young to take part, I guess it’s Mommy’s turn.”
Mommy lifted a picture that had been facedown on her lap. “Who can tell me what this is?”
Melissa raised her hand. “It looks like a big blue-and-white marble.”
“It does,” Mommy agreed. “But it’s really a picture of the earth that was taken from space. All the trees and flowers and other beautiful things we see around us are part of the earth, and I feel very grateful for such a wonderful place to live.”
“Thank you,” Daddy said. “So do I.” He picked up a chalkboard. A frowny face was drawn on it. “Even though I love Heavenly Father, I still make mistakes, and that makes me sad.” With an eraser Daddy wiped away the frowny face and drew a smiley face. “I’m grateful for repentance because it lets me change my actions and be happy again.”
Mommy reached over and squeezed his hand. “So am I.” She turned to Melissa. “And now let’s hear your thank-you. I’m sure it is a good one!”
With a huge smile, Melissa picked up a copy of the Liahona and slowly opened it to reveal a picture. “I’m thankful for Jesus,” she said.
Mommy hugged Melissa. “Jesus Christ helped create our beautiful world, and his Atonement makes repentance possible.”
“You were right,” Daddy said. “You do have the most thankful thank-you of all.”

In addition to Diahann, Brother Cox has introduced the Church to several other young people. “I thought Brother Cox was crazy,” Theresa Matthis said. “He invited me to church. Finally I agreed to come. I always came home happy, but I didn’t let Brother Cox know.”
Theresa’s sister Nicole began attending church with her, and both were baptized. Theresa looks a little differently at the problem of keeping friends after making such a life-changing decision as baptism. She said, “I didn’t lose friends; I gained friends.” Then looking at the group gathered together in a circle, she said, “I gained all of you.”

There may be a time when a person would have doubts concerning the ability or qualification of someone being called to a position in the Church. One brother in my acquaintance once learned a great lesson in this regard. Years ago, as a ward teacher supervisor, he had a problem motivating a particular ward teacher to perform his duties. The supervisor found it necessary to do this man’s ward teaching for six consecutive months. One night in a sacrament meeting, my friend was called upon to sustain this man to be a member of the bishopric. He struggled within himself to know whether he should sustain a man who had not performed his duties as a ward teacher and whom he felt did not have the qualities necessary to be a good member of the bishopric. Reluctantly, he finally voted in the affirmative. In the ensuing months the slothful ward teacher took hold of his position in the bishopric and moved the work of the Lord forward. He served successfully as a member of the bishopric and later as a bishop, a high councilor, and eventually as a counselor in a stake presidency.

“Can we talk?” Jonas asked Mom. He sat down on the grass next to where she was weeding the flower bed.
“Sure. What’s going on?” Mom asked. She took off her dirty garden gloves.
“Today at school some kids were saying a word I didn’t know. They laughed when they said it,” Jonas said. “I think it was a bad word.”
“How did you feel when you heard the word?” asked Mom.
“It didn’t make me feel good.”
Jonas whispered the word to Mom. She told him what it meant. Jonas was right. It wasn’t a nice word.
“But why is it bad?” he asked.
“It’s bad because it’s unkind and not respectful. When we use words like that, it makes it hard for the Holy Ghost to be with us. The Holy Ghost was telling you it was bad. That’s why you didn’t feel good inside.”
Jonas frowned. “But the other kids seemed to be having fun. Why was I the only one who felt uncomfortable?”
“How do you know the other kids didn’t feel the same way?” Mom asked.
“Because they all laughed and smiled when someone said the word.” Jonas felt confused.
“Sometimes people laugh or smile when they feel uncomfortable,” Mom said. “And sometimes when they hear or say bad words a lot, it doesn’t bother them anymore. But it’s still not right to say those words. It’s kind of like these weeds. I’m pulling them out to keep the garden clean and to let good plants grow.”
“I’m glad I didn’t say the word,” said Jonas.
“Me too,” said Mom. “I’m proud of you. And I have an idea. Why don’t we make a family promise?”
“What kind?” Jonas asked.
“Let’s promise to use good words and not bad words. It can be a family pact.”
Jonas liked that idea. He and Mom shook hands. Jonas felt good about the promise he made with Mom.
“Now, how about you promise to help me finish weeding?” Mom asked. “Then I’ll promise to take you to the park.”
Jonas grinned and picked up a spade. “It’s a deal.”
As he helped Mom, Jonas felt much better. He knew promising not to use bad words was a good choice for their family.
This story took place in the USA.

Included in this program of self-discipline is a weekly half hour of torture. I walk into my piano teacher’s home. The piano teacher motions me to the piano, and I begin playing. In the middle of a stirring rendition of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” I suddenly stop, staring wildly at the black-and-white page before me. Where is the next note? Where? Where? Vaguely, through the haze of pressure, I hear a faraway voice: “You are on the wrong note. Name the notes.”
“Oh … I don’t know … A, B, C, D, E, F, G.”
“That’s right. Which one is this note?”
Suddenly self-discipline emerges.
“A!” I cry.
The sun breaks; the piano teacher smiles; and I realize that with the discipline gained through piano lessons, I can now do anything. Well … almost.

Gratefully, I recently had the chance to teach my fearful daughter that we can repent and move on in our lives rather than let our past scar and cripple us. As my father and I finished work on a playhouse for my kids this past fall, I came across the name of my daughter’s friend scribbled on the side of the door. Though my nervous daughter wasn’t the one who had ­written it, her anxiety kicked into high gear.

“Don’t tell Grandpa,” was her first plea, ­followed shortly thereafter by the question “Was that before or after I was baptized?” Her logical child’s thought was, “Am I accountable for my friend’s graffiti on the playhouse?” Her follow-up question to me was, “Can I be forgiven?” A past mistake—in this case not even one of her own doing—threatened to cloud her happiness in both the present and the future.

We then discussed her fears from being sent to the principal’s office in first grade and how it was still affecting her life. We talked about the importance of repentance and how once we have repented, we need to believe in the power of the Atonement in our lives. Standing on the porch of that playhouse, I pulled up the following words on my phone from the final general conference address of President Boyd K. Packer:

Nowhere is the generosity and mercy of God more manifest than in repentance.
Our physical bodies, when harmed, are able to repair themselves, sometimes with the help of a physician. If the damage is extensive, however, often a scar will remain as a reminder of the injury.
With our spiritual bodies it is another matter. Our spirits are damaged when we make mistakes and commit sins. But unlike the case of our mortal bodies, when the repentance process is complete, no scars remain because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
President Packer then added his testimony:

The Atonement, which can reclaim each one of us, bears no scars. That means that no matter what we have done or where we have been or how something happened, if we truly repent, He has promised that He would atone. And when He atoned, that settled that. There are so many of us who are thrashing around, as it were, with feelings of guilt, not knowing quite how to escape. You escape by accepting the Atonement of Christ, and all that was heartache can turn to beauty and love and eternity. . . .
. . . If you have something that is bothering you—sometimes so long ago you can hardly remember it—put the Atonement to work. It will clean it up, and you, as does He, will remember your sins no more.26

Handing her my paintbrush, we repeated the words “no scars” as she painted over her friend’s name.

A certain man, desiring to enjoy the beauties of nature, went for a woodland stroll by the side of a clear, flowing river. Deep in thought about the magnificence of God’s handiwork, he didn’t see the tree roots jutting out near the water’s edge. He stumbled and fell headlong into the river. The water was deep, and the man couldn’t swim! He cried out. But who will hear me? he wondered as the water engulfed him in darkness. He surfaced and shouted again, but his hopes dimmed as he sank for the second time. His call was much weaker as he rose one more time, and he thought, No one can hear me now!
But someone did hear his cries, dived into the water, and brought him safely to the bank.
When the drowning man recovered, he looked up into the face of his rescuer and said, “Oh, thank you! Thank you for saving me. What can I do to show my love and appreciation?”
His rescuer smiled and said: “There are some things that you can do for me,” and he taught him lovingly and carefully.
Then a sad thing happened. Although the man who had been saved lived, his rescuer died as a result of his exertion during the rescue. Despite his sorrow, the survivor had a contented feeling, for he knew what to do to show his love and gratitude for his savior.
So it is with us. Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, died that we might live. We know what we should do, for He has told us: “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15).
There is nothing more precious to me than my testimony of Jesus Christ. I have a witness that He is my Savior and Redeemer, the Only Begotten Son of the Eternal Father. I know that Heavenly Father so loved us, “so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16).

Now, I wish to move to a different matter. I spoke of this same thing many years ago. I repeat it because those who heard it then have long since forgotten, and those who did not hear it need to hear it. It concerns President Joseph F. Smith, who served as President of the Church from 1901 to 1918, altogether 17 years.
Joseph F. Smith was the son of Hyrum Smith, who was the brother of the Prophet Joseph and was martyred with him in Carthage. Joseph F. was born at Far West, Missouri, on November 13, 1838. He came out of Missouri as an infant. As a lad not yet six years of age, he heard a knock on the window of his mother’s home in Nauvoo. It was a man who had hurriedly ridden from Carthage and who told Sister Smith that her husband had been killed that afternoon.
When he was nine, he drove an ox team with his mother across the plains to this valley. At the age of 15 he was called on a mission to Hawaii. He made his way to San Francisco and there worked in a shingle mill to earn enough money to buy passage to the islands.
Hawaii was not a tourist center then. It was populated by the native Hawaiians, who were, for the most part, poor but generous with what they had. He learned to speak their language and to love them. While serving there he experienced a remarkable dream. I quote from his narrative concerning this. Said he:
“I was very much oppressed [when I was] on a mission. I was almost naked and entirely friendless, except [for] the friendship of a poor, benighted … people. I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look a … man in the face.
“While in that condition I dreamed [one night] that I was on a journey, and I was impressed that I ought to hurry—hurry with all my might, for fear I might be too late. I rushed on my way as fast as I possibly could, and I was only conscious of having just a little bundle, a handkerchief with a small bundle wrapped in it. I did not realize … what it was, when I was hurrying as fast as I could; but finally I came to a wonderful mansion. … I thought I knew that was my destination. As I passed towards it, as fast as I could, I saw a notice [which read B-A-T-H], ‘Bath.’ I turned aside quickly and went into the bath and washed myself clean. I opened up this little bundle that I had, and there was [some] white, clean [clothing], a thing I had not seen for a long time, because the people I was with did not think very much of making things exceedingly clean. But my [clothing was] clean, and I put [it] on. Then I rushed to what appeared to be a great opening, or door. I knocked and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said: ‘Joseph, you are late.’ Yet I took confidence and [replied]:
“‘Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!’
“He clasped my hand and drew me in, then closed the great door. I felt his hand just as tangible as I ever felt the hand of man. I knew him, and when I entered I saw my father, and Brigham [Young] and Heber [C. Kimball], and Willard [Richards], and other good men that I had known, standing in a row. I looked as if it were across this valley, and it seemed to be filled with a vast multitude of people, but on the stage were all the people that I had known. My mother was there, and she sat with a child in her lap; and I could name over as many as I remember of their names, who sat there, who seemed to be among the chosen, among the exalted. …
“[When I had this dream,] I was alone on a mat, away up in the mountains of Hawaii—no one was with me. But in this vision I pressed my hand up against the Prophet, and I saw a smile cross his countenance. …
“When I awoke that morning I was a man, although only [still] a boy. There was not anything in the world that I feared [after that]. I could meet any man or woman or child and look them in the face, feeling in my soul that I was a man every whit. That vision, that manifestation and witness that I enjoyed at that time has made me what I am, if I am anything that is good, or clean, or upright before the Lord, if there is anything good in me. That has helped me out in every trial and through every difficulty” (Gospel Doctrine, 5th ed. [1939], 542–43).
The core of that meaningful dream is found in the reproof given by Joseph Smith to young Joseph F. Said the Prophet, “Joseph, you are late.”
Replied Joseph F., “Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!”
The result of that dream was that a boy was changed into a man. His declaration “I am clean” gave him self-assurance and courage in facing anyone or any situation. He received the strength that comes from a clear conscience fortified by the approbation of the Prophet Joseph.