Gospel Story Finder

Sister Joan Spencer, secretary: I think of a well-to-do woman in Arizona. A girl she knew had to spend the money she had saved for a mission to help her seriously ill mother. All her mission money went to pay the hospital bills. This wonderful woman paid for that girl’s mission. Both she and her husband realize that because they have been so blessed, they have an obligation and a great opportunity to share with others.

Nate was walking home from school on Monday. He saw something shiny. It was a yellow truck in a sandbox. Yellow was his favorite color! He put the truck in his pocket.
At home, Nate took out the truck to play. But when he looked at it, he didn’t feel so good.
On Tuesday, Nate passed the sandbox again. This time he saw an orange truck.
This will go great with the yellow truck, Nate thought. He put it in his pocket. But when Nate got home, he felt bad inside.
The same thing happened Wednesday, when Nate took a purple truck.
On Thursday he took a green truck.
Each time he took a truck, Nate felt worse. But he still wanted to collect more.
On Friday, as Nate reached to grab a white truck from the sandbox, he heard a voice above him.
“I see you like trucks.”
Nate jumped back. A woman was smiling at him.
“My son, Cayden, is about your age,” the woman said. “He has been losing a lot of trucks lately. Do you know where they are?”
Nate gulped. He knew he was in trouble. But he also knew that telling the truth was the right thing.
“I have them at my house,” Nate said. “I’ll go get them!”
Nate ran home. He told Mom what had happened. They said a prayer. Nate told Heavenly Father he was sorry. He asked for the bad feelings to go away. Then they took the trucks back to the sandbox.
“Sorry I took your trucks,” Nate said to Cayden.
“Thanks for bringing them back,” Cayden said. “Want to play?”
Nate smiled and nodded. Playing with trucks had never been so fun. And next week, he would make better choices!

Like most boys from Whitney, “T” had outstanding parents. His mother was noted for her sense of humor and sunny disposition. She had a unique gift for teaching a boy without criticizing him. One day on the way home from school, “T” took exception to the way his cousin George was treating Joe, “T’s” younger brother.

“I finally said, ‘If you do that once more, I’ll hit you.’ He went on teasing Joe, and as a result we got into a fight. We had quite a struggle in the dirt as well as on our feet, and I made George’s nose bleed.

“It finally ended, and George went home as we did. When I arrived home Mother noticed the blood on my hands and on my shirt and asked what had happened. Of course, I explained. She didn’t chastize me for defending my younger and smaller brother, but she did say, ‘T,’ I was going to bake some bread, but I’m right out of yeast. I want you to go over to Aunt Lulu’s (George’s mother) and get some.’ I said, ‘Mother, don’t ask me to do that after I’ve had this fight with George.’ She said, ‘That makes no difference. I need the yeast and I want you to go to your Aunt Lulu’s and get the start.’”

In having to go to his aunt’s home and face his cousin George, “T” learned more about settling disputes than a lecture could have taught him.

Big teardrops splashed down Bobby’s cheeks as he watched Freddie and Dick lug Freddie’s wading pool over to Dick’s house.
All the way home from school, the three boys had eagerly planned to make a jungle hideout in a pile of dirt behind Dick’s garage. Dick’s father had said they could.
Freddie’s wading pool would be their hidden lake. The green branches Dick’s father had pruned from his shade trees would be the jungle trees. They would use their stuffed toys and odd-shaped rocks and pieces of wood for animals. Bobby knew where there was a crooked stick, streaked brown, that looked like a snake. He planned to put it on one of the trees, pretending it was a huge python.
They were going to wear shorts and go barefoot. They’d creep through their jungle with bows and arrows, looking for wild animals. What fun they were going to have!
Bobby had rushed into his house to get a snack and to put on his cutoffs—and there, on the refrigerator door, was the note: DON’T FORGET, BOBBY! Love, Mom.
He was so disappointed he didn’t even look to see what she had left for a snack. Who’d feel like eating when he had to weed two rows of corn before he could play!
It didn’t help to remember that it was his own fault. He had fooled around all day Saturday while Dad, Mom, Susan, and Peggy did their weeding. Then, when he was about to start, who should come to visit but Aunt Alice, Uncle John, Nick, and Michael.
“We’ll let it go for now. We don’t want to disappoint your cousins. They have come a long way to play with you,” Mom had said, adding firmly, “but you may not play after school Monday until your weeding is done.”
And there was the note to remind him.
Bobby started to cry. He felt awful. He felt even worse when he saw Freddie and Dick go by with the wading pool. They were going to make the jungle without him. And it was his own fault.
Trudging to the garden, he began pulling weeds. He started working fast, hoping to finish in time to play a while before dinnertime. Then he remembered how Dad had told him to be extra careful not to injure the tender shoots of corn. He couldn’t work fast. He had to be careful.
When he looked down at the row of corn, it looked as long as a road that never ends. And he had two of those long rows to weed before he could play! He would never get through in time to play in the jungle with his friends.
Bobby started to cry again, which, of course, only made matters worse—no weeds were pulled while he cried.
He noticed a shadow approaching and looked up. His father was standing behind him.
Usually Bobby was happy when Dad came home. But not today. If Dad was home already, it would soon be dinnertime. That meant no time at all to play.
“My boy seems upset,” Dad said.
Bobby tried to sniff back the tears.
“Those rows must look mighty long to you,” Dad guessed.
“Yes,” Bobby said. His lower lip began to quiver. “And Dick and Freddie are making a jungle—and I don’t get to help.”
“I know a trick,” Dad said.
“What kind of trick?”
“One that makes long rows grow shorter,” Dad answered, his eyes twinkling.
“No trick can do that.”
“Try it and see.” Dad tossed a small stick a little way down the row. “If you don’t look one bit farther than that stick, the row will grow shorter. Go on. Try it.”
Bobby started pulling weeds. In no time he had reached the stick.
“Now throw it a little farther down. But don’t look up,” Dad said.
This time Bobby seemed to reach the stick even faster. Dad tossed the stick again, and Bobby weeded to it. Again. Suddenly Bobby’s head almost touched the fence. He had reached the end of the row! “Wow! The row really did grow shorter!”
“Now do the other row the same way,” Dad suggested.
Bobby tossed the stick, then weeded to it. Again and again he tossed the stick and weeded to it. Then, as if by magic, he was through!
“Now look at the rows,” Dad said.
Bobby was amazed. The two rows weren’t shorter at all. They were as long as the other rows in the garden, just like before.
Then Bobby understood Dad’s “trick”: To make a job go faster, do it a piece at a time and work as hard as you can. He looked up. The sun was still a long way from the mountain. Dad must have come home early. There was still time to play!
“Yippee!” Bobby shouted. He gave Dad a big hug, then got his “snake stick” and rushed to Dick’s yard to help transform a pile of dirt into a dark, mysterious jungle full of fun and adventure.

W hen I was 12 years old, my father was in the bishopric. There were benefits, such as being able to give my tithing to my father, but there were also some unexpected downsides. For example, people expected more of me. And there was another downside that was much more treacherous.
One day, as I sat at the computer, typing up an assignment, my father sat down beside me and started asking about my day. Not seeing a trap, I answered his questions. Then, he asked a question no one had ever asked me before.
“Zachary, will you give a talk next Sunday?”
I felt the color drain from my face. I frantically searched for a reason to not be there, but my father knew that I would be. He rambled something about it being a short talk and that I needn’t worry, but my mind was moving too quickly to actually comprehend what he was saying.
I had stage fright. How could I give a talk? I had never given a public speech outside of the Primary room! Tears welled up as I felt the weight of a seemingly impossible task. My father wrapped his arms around me and told me that if I was too scared, I didn’t have to do it.
However, just then, I began to feel something that I had never felt, or maybe never noticed, before. All of a sudden, I had a small glimpse of myself, slightly older, giving a powerful speech in front of a large crowd. I felt the Spirit whisper that one day, I would have no stage fright and could become a public speaker.
Three years later, I was at my first speech and debate meet. I confidently gave a persuasive and powerful speech convincing people to vote for me.
God knows us. He knows our weaknesses and he knows our strengths. I know that the promise in Ether is true: If we simply believe, and act on that belief, God will turn our weakness into strength (see Ether 12:27).

While I was serving as a missionary in Durango, Mexico, our mission president challenged our mission to try a “week of sacrifice.” He asked us to put forth more effort than usual by working hard and setting specific goals during the week. My companion and I had faith that if we sacrificed this way, the Lord would bless us and we would find many people to teach.
However, during the week of sacrifice, we didn’t have much success. We did not find any families to teach, and we were disappointed.
One morning following that week, my companion and I looked at a map of our area. Our area was very large, but we felt we needed to go to the part that was farthest away.
After we got there, we prayed and asked Heavenly Father which street and which house to go to. When we finished, we turned around to look at all the streets. We saw a railing nearby and peeked over the top. We saw a woman sitting with her eyes closed, with a broom in her hands.
My companion said, “Hello!” and when the woman heard us, she stood up and went on sweeping as if nothing had happened. Then we told her that we were missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ and that we had a message for her. She let us into her home, and we had a very spiritual discussion. We told her about Joseph Smith and how he went into a grove of trees to pray to find the truth, and in answer to his prayer, he was visited by God the Father and Jesus Christ.
She interrupted us and said, “That is true. I know that God answers our prayers. When you spoke to me, I was praying and asking the Lord to send someone who could lead me to His path, and you came immediately.”
We felt the Spirit, and we testified that God had sent us to her and that we too had been praying right then to know which of His children needed our help. Soon Sister Rufina was baptized. In the weeks following, her children, grandchildren, and even some of her neighbors were baptized—a total of 20 converts in that part of our area. The Lord guided us to Sister Rufina, and she was the door to sharing the gospel with her family and neighbors.
I know that Heavenly Father blesses us if we ask Him, but not until after He has tried our faith. I am grateful that my companion and I could be instruments in the Lord’s hands and find people who were ready to listen to the gospel message. I know that God loves us and will guide us if we ask.

Recently, our grandson, Adam, was traveling with Sister Stone and me on a trip to California. About noontime we stopped for lunch. When the waitress brought the bill I didn’t pay very close attention and after she gave me my change, I realized that she had charged me for only two sandwiches instead of three.
I knew that the girl would be short at the end of the day, and there suddenly flashed into my mind the thought of how my father had taught me to be honest. I felt this was a good time to talk to Adam about honesty, and so we sat down and I explained what had happened. I told him we had a problem.
I said we could leave now and keep the extra change and no one would ever know the difference, or we could tell the girl that we still owed her for a sandwich. Our decision wasn’t at all difficult to make when we decided that if we kept money that did not belong to us that we would be breaking the commandment, “Thou shalt not steal.” We agreed that our Heavenly Father would be displeased with us and we would be unhappy too because we would know in our hearts that we had not been honest.
Adam and I approached the girl at the counter, and I explained to her that she had undercharged us and that we owed almost a dollar more. Her face flushed in embarrassment for a moment, and then she thanked us for telling her of the mistake. We continued on our way with a good feeling, and I am sure our Heavenly Father approved of what we had done.

A few weeks later I received my mission call. With excitement I read the words “Brazil Porto Alegre North Mission.” I could hardly wait to be among the Brazilian people, sharing the message of the restored gospel. I shared the news of my call with my extended family, ward members, and friends. I also noticed how many people were just as eager to know when I would go through the temple. Many had words of advice to offer me on how I should prepare myself mentally and spiritually before entering the house of the Lord.
During the next few months I made sure to attend temple preparation classes. I read my scriptures and prayed for a continuing reassurance of my decision to receive my endowment. The Spirit comforted me again and again. I also read the pamphlet Preparing to Enter the Holy Temple, written to assist those preparing to attend the temple for the first time. I was so grateful for the statements about the reverence and peace that prevail in the temple. During this time of preparation I gained a much stronger testimony of the sacred nature of the Lord’s house and the work that is performed inside.
I will always remember the sight of the temple the day I arrived to receive my endowment. I was filled with deep respect and reverence. I was humbled by the thought that I would go inside and make sacred covenants with my Father in Heaven.
I had arrived dressed in my Sunday best, knowing that my outward appearance reflected my inward respect for the house of the Lord.
“Welcome to the temple,” I was greeted as I showed my recommend and walked inside. Everything about the temple was beautiful. It felt like a piece of heaven on earth, and the friendly temple workers seemed like angels.
I remained in awe at the Spirit I felt. While I didn’t immediately understand everything that was taking place, I did realize the importance of the covenants I was making. It was clear to me why my bishop had spoken of the temple the way he had. The endowment I was receiving would extend not only far beyond the two years of my mission but even into the eternities. More meaningful to me than any of the advice I had received from various people was a scripture I had read as part of my preparation, “And that all people who shall enter upon the threshold of the Lord’s house may feel thy power, and feel constrained to acknowledge that thou hast sanctified it, and that it is thy house, a place of thy holiness” (D&C 109:13). I knew that the temple was the Lord’s house, sanctified and holy. I went expecting to feel God’s love, and I did.
Throughout my mission I frequently reflected on my first temple experience. I was also thankful for having attended the temple each week at the MTC. The blessings of the temple fortified me and gave me strength through difficult times. I was filled with the desire to serve and bring others to a knowledge of God’s plan. I wanted everyone I taught to have the same opportunity to make covenants with Heavenly Father and receive a greater understanding of His infinite love.
I am grateful for having realized that the temple will be a part of me forever and not something to simply check off before leaving on my mission. Since returning home from my mission, I have made temple attendance a priority in my life. The temple is a place of clarity and renewal for me. It is a place of holiness where I can feel God’s love for me and for all His children.

A few years ago as I was leaving Temple Square in Salt Lake City after a general conference session, I encountered a small group of people handing out anti-Mormon pamphlets. The leader of the group styled himself a “missionary to the Mormons.” I was interested to know why he spent his time in this way. Also, his pamphlets intrigued me, for they revealed that this man had very little knowledge of the Latter-day Saints’ true beliefs.
As I talked with him briefly, he pulled from his pocket a list of questions that he frequently asked members of the Church. “Is God a man?” he asked me confidently.
“No,” I replied, “God is not a man. It says so in the Bible.” (See Num. 23:19; 1 Sam. 15:29.)
“You’re the only Mormon who believes that,” he said. “Your church teaches that God is a man.”
“That’s not correct,” I countered. “Let me read to you from the Bible exactly what my church does teach.” I then quoted from Psalms 82:6, which reads: “Ye are gods; and all of you are children of the most High.”
“No,” I said, “God is not a man; man is a god—or, at least, so he may become. This is what Jesus said to the Jews in the tenth chapter of John when he quoted that very Psalm.” (See John 10:34–36.)
As I walked to my car after this unsuccessful encounter (the man soon left me to hand pamphlets to others), I thought of the many ways in which God’s true nature is distorted in the teachings of so many Christian churches. Joseph Smith taught that not only does God have a body, but that he “dwells in everlasting burnings.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1938, p. 361.) (This idea is found in a number of ancient sources as well.) But many—perhaps the majority—of churches teach that it is the devil who has a body (often pictured with horns, tail, and cloven hoof) and dwells in everlasting burnings. How often I have thought that Satan must surely enjoy the visual irony that much of Christianity has reversed his position with that of God! For the truth of the matter is that it is the devil who is but a spirit.

“It was late spring when I received my patriarchal blessing. The season was at its best, and I wanted to be too; so I prepared myself to receive what Heavenly Father would have to say to me personally. There had been some repenting, some fasting and praying, and deep discussions about the meaning of it all with my parents and with a very special boyfriend. I remember well the night before my appointment with Patriarch Jones, up there on Capitol Hill. I felt a strong need to gather myself together with Heavenly Father, and I went outside through the screen door and stood there for a time listening to the years of my childhood sift by on the night song of the crickets. I felt very grown-up that moment. Then suddenly I felt once again the pull of the stars. Kind of self-consciously at first, I stretched down on my back on the prickly grass, as I had done so often as a child. Then once again I took a deep breath and turned my face skyward. I studied the heavens; I found the familiar constellations and got placement with the North Star. And then there came to me the mind-stretching, soul-searching experience of feeling lifted up into the universe—almost into the presence of God, it seemed to me. It set my heart to pounding. I knew my prayers had reached home in heaven. The witness of the Spirit that God lives and was mindful of little me warmed me to tears.”

We turned down a road that led to a group of cottages on the shore of a slow-moving river. It was a clear, warm day in late fall. The leaves on the trees had turned bright yellow and gold colors. It was my first day of door contacting as a missionary.
“Your door,” Elder Higgins said, smiling.
It was a small cottage near the edge of the water. Water sports equipment leaned against the side of the house. I cleared my throat and knocked firmly.
“I’m Elder Roberts and this is Elder Higgins. We have a message about the Savior we’d like to share with you,” I rehearsed.
The inside door opened, and behind the screen door stood a very pretty girl, somewhere between 17 and 20 years old, with blue eyes, long golden hair, wearing a swimsuit. The words, the carefully practiced lines I’d repeated a thousand times on the plane, at the mission home, in our apartment, and on the three-mile walk to this cottage, completely left my mind.
“Awk,” was all that came out when I opened my mouth.
Elder Higgins looked at me grinning and then turned to the girl.
“We’re ministers in the area, and we have a message about Jesus Christ we’d like to share with you and your family.” He gave her a Christ in America pamphlet and made an appointment to meet her family.
Elder Higgins had studied musical theater in college before his mission. My first day in the area had been a preparation day and while we were washing our clothes, Elder Higgins sang popular songs to the ladies in the laundromat. They loved it. He made five appointments while our clothes were drying. He sometimes sang to people at doors. I was just a little more reserved with people—shy and scared describe my feelings more closely.
“I’ll take the next couple of doors,” Elder Higgins said dryly. He made two more appointments and serenaded another woman.
“Want to try again?” he asked as we approached a group of houses next to a church.
I knocked on the door and stood back waiting. A tall man wearing a clerical collar opened the door and smiled at us.
“What can I do for you boys?” he said with a very proper British accent. He obviously knew who we were.
I glanced at the postbox as I swallowed and stepped back. “The Reverend Richard Cutts, Ph. D.,” it said.
What could I say to this man? How could I challenge what he believed? I whispered a quick prayer. I could see Elder Higgins getting ready to jump in.
It’s funny how much can go through your mind in a few seconds. I thought of my first Primary teacher, Oma Santos, telling the story of Moses and the burning bush; my Sunday School teacher, Cloe Davis, explaining the importance of Joseph Smith’s first vision; Velda Dalton teaching about the Sermon on the Mount; and my Uncle Elton talking about the restoration of the priesthood in deacons class. I grew up in a small town in southern Utah. None of my teachers had Ph.D. behind their name. None of them read Greek or Latin as Reverend Cutts most likely did. But it didn’t matter. What they knew was much more important.
“I’m Elder Roberts,” I said feeling, for the first time, the strength and importance of what I’d been taught, what I was here to teach. “This is Elder Higgins, and we’d like to tell you about the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
The expression on Reverend Cutts’s face changed. He looked a little surprised. “Come in,” he said, smiling.

I was recently told of a woman in Idaho Falls, a widow. Over a period of 15 years she acted as proxy in giving the temple endowment to 20,000 individuals in the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple. She completed her 20,000th endowment on a Friday and returned on Saturday to do five more. She passed away the following week.

Just think of what this one little woman did. She performed these vicarious endowments for as many people as are assembled in this Conference Center this morning. Think of the reception she must have received on the other side.

July 14. Billy’s parents came over today. They told me how much they appreciated what I did for him. They said that I had made the last part of his life happy and meaningful. “You were a gift from God to him,” they said. I couldn’t say anything back because it’s hard to cry and talk at the same time.
After a while, I told them that Billy was a gift from God to me. That he taught me by the way he lived the things Jesus teaches us. About loving. And caring. And showing kindness to all living things.

In fleeing with Joseph from a mob, a young man reported, “sickness and fright had robbed me of my strength. Joseph had to decide whether to leave me to be captured by the mob, or endanger himself by rendering aid. Choosing the latter course, he lifted me upon his broad shoulders and bore me with occasional rest through the swamp and darkness. Several hours later we emerged upon the only road and soon reached safety. Joseph’s herculean strength permitted him to [save] my life.” (New Era, Dec. 1973, p. 19.)

The fulfillment of the Prophet’s statement came some months later when Dan Jones was called to go to Wales. His wife, Jane, accompanied him. They traveled with Wilford Woodruff and others to the British Isles. Elder Jones was assigned to labor in northern Wales. Though he had the great asset of speaking both Welsh and English, he accomplished relatively little in touching the hearts of the people of that area. On the other hand, William Henshaw, who did not speak the Welsh language, enjoyed considerable success in the south.

When Brother Henshaw was released a year later, Elder Jones was called to preside over all the work in Wales. He made his headquarters in Merthyr Tydfil in southeastern Wales. Working with a handful of missionaries, he witnessed a remarkable harvest. From 1845 to 1848, approximately 3,600 were baptized. It is estimated that in terms of population, one out of every 278 people in Wales at that time was baptized into the LDS Church.

Opponents of the Church had access to newspapers and other publications to attack the Mormon missionaries. But the press would not open its columns to Elder Jones. He therefore determined that he would answer with publications of his own. He enlisted the help of his brother, John Jones, a Protestant minister who owned a printing press. It is said that John printed Dan’s literature during the week and denounced him from the pulpit on Sunday.

Dan Jones’s publication was the first Mormon periodical published in a language other than English.2 Issued in 1846, it carried the title Prophwyd y Jubili (“Prophet of the Jubilee”).

We catch the spirit of his sometimes feisty manner in his opening article:
“Dear Reader,—Behold the beginning of a new era in our age, yea, the most remarkable which has ever been, the most wondrous in its preparations, the most goodly in its deeds, and the most glorious in its effects of every previous age. Once more the golden keys of heaven have been entrusted to men for them to open all treasures, to unlock all mysteries and for the clarification of all errors in the midst of mankind. Already the doors of eternity can be seen opening on their rusty hinges, its hidden pearls and the treasures old and new are once again starting to shine before the eyes of men as in the days of God! Let the inhabitants of the earth rejoice, and let every Welshman give a hearkening ear to the good news of great joy which is sounded through this last trumpet.”3

He had an interesting missionary technique. It was essentially one of controversy, a technique not fit for our time but used well by him then. He feared no one. He moved with great boldness. Of his method it has been written: “He would often advertise in a town for several weeks that he was coming to ‘convert’ the whole town. He would inform the mayor, the city council, the ministers, and the police force of his intentions. He would have the local members of the church distribute thousands of tracts to all the city. When he arrived at the railroad station he was often met by all of the officials of the city and many excited citizens.”4

Ministers of other churches lashed out against him. They used their pulpits and the public press. Of their antagonism, Dan Jones wrote, “Most of the stories that were told on poor Brother Joseph in America, are here fathered on Captain Jones, and I often hear those who don’t know that little man [himself], unhesitatingly denounce him as ‘a curse upon this nation.’”5

Public opinions raged this way and that. But instead of shrinking, Dan Jones capitalized on controversies. He drew such public attention that people had to decide whether the gospel of the Mormons was true or false. An increasing number of converts came into the Church while a veritable storm arose against the Mormons in general and Elder Jones in particular. He was vilified in the press. He was shouted at in the streets. His life was threatened.

In those circumstances he wrote, “I delight in the trophies of war. I came here to fight for the spiritual freedom of my brethren, and I thank heaven … that He is knocking off their shackles by hundreds! Who that has tasted of the sweets of liberty would say, ‘hold!’”6

In 1816 the French physician René Laënnec was convinced that if he could listen carefully to the sounds made by his patients’ lungs and hearts, he would hear many clues to their conditions. But he found it difficult to isolate the swish of the lungs or the lub-dub of the beating heart. Many of his patients were so fat that the sounds coming from their chests were lost.
One day Dr. Laënnec was watching children play on a pile of timber. He saw one boy put his ear to the end of a long beam while another tapped on the opposite end. The sound traveled along the wood. At once Laënnec saw the answer to his problem. He hurried back to his hospital, took a paper-covered book, and rolled it tightly into a tube. To everyone’s astonishment, he then put one end of the tube to a patient’s chest and applied his ear to the other. As he expected, he heard the heart sounds clearly. Then he made little wooden “listening trumpets” on a lathe, and the stethoscope was invented.

In 1920, Brother Marion G. Romney attended a Fremont Stake conference in the Rexburg Tabernacle. My grandfather, Elder Melvin J. Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, was the presiding authority. Because Brother Romney was 23 years of age and the financial circumstances of his family were very difficult, he had not contemplated serving a full-time mission.
Years later, on 15 October 1963, Elder Romney, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, explained his experience: “At the time I graduated, I planned to go in the fall to the University of Idaho. It was my intention to play basketball and football and prepare to be a coach. In late August, I attended a stake conference [and] sat on the front row at the east end of the choir seats directly north of the pulpit. As I listened intently with my eyes fixed on [Elder Ballard’s] profile, there came to me by the power of the Spirit an irresistible urgency to go on a mission. There and then I abandoned my plans for a coaching career. In November I left for a mission to Australia” (address given at a Ricks College devotional, 15 October 1963).
Elder Romney, en route to Australia, came to Salt Lake City, where my grandfather set him apart as a missionary. Grandfather gave Elder Romney counsel and said, among other things, “One never gives a crust to the Lord without receiving a loaf in return” (quoted in F. Burton Howard, Marion G. Romney: His Life and Faith [1988], 66). Marion G. Romney never forgot that phrase.

Auckland, New Zealand, seminary students decided to develop their “talents” and lend a helping hand to others at the same time.

Following the principle in the parable of the talents (Matt. 25:14–30), each student was given $1 and one month in which to invest in any undertaking.

One motivation factor was a previous “Project Concern” activity that involved youths in picking tomatoes and netted a profit of $186. This money was sent to the Philippines to purchase library books for Church students.

After discussing suitable investments for their “talents,” students were each given $1 to invest. A special newsletter was also sent out informing others about “Project Talents.” The students voted that all money earned should be sent to the Church to be used in Mexico or South America.

What can one person do with $1 and one month?

One student bought wool and knitted a poncho. This was sold and the money used to purchase enough wool for two more ponchos that were also sold. The net profit was $8.

Another bought several flashlights from a teacher who works as a sales representative and sold them to ward members at a profit since the country was going through a power shortage and power cuts were threatening. Candles were also sold, and, together with the flashlights, resulted in a $15 profit.

Cakes were sold, babysitting services established, car washes organized, lawn mowing operations set up, and a mini-restaurant made its debut. All proved successful. All together the students made a 137 percent profit from the $165 investment. One interesting factor was that the few losses that occurred were the result of cooperative efforts rather than individuals’ projects.

When I was growing up in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I was lonely.
Being one of the only members in my whole high school made me feel cut off from everyone else. Not many people had even heard about the Church before, so I felt like I didn’t have many opportunities to talk about it. Sometimes I didn’t want to because I was afraid of being rejected and feeling even more isolated.
I started feeling resentful toward the gospel when many of my friends seemed like they were so much happier than I was.
They looked like they were having so much fun partying, and I felt left out. I was always saying no to their invites and felt like I was rejecting their friendship and happiness.
So one day I didn’t turn down their invitations.
I hung out with these friends more and more. I felt like I was finally part of a community and eventually stopped going to church.
However, after a while, I felt burned-out and more alone than ever. I could feel myself growing addicted to nicotine and losing control over my life.
I didn’t understand what my problem was. I finally had the friends and connection I had wanted, so why couldn’t I just be happy like they were?
Around this time, one of my friends lost a loved one. When I was talking to them and trying to help, I started blurting out everything I knew about the plan of salvation, explaining that they would be able to see their loved one again one day.
… What?
I couldn’t believe what I was saying! I hadn’t thought about the gospel for years.
But I felt hope as I explained this truth I had learned, and I realized that my faith wasn’t completely gone.
I pondered the pieces of my faith that I still had. I thought about how the Church had always offered me a place of community with like-minded people—all striving to follow Jesus Christ, serve others, and experience the joy and promises of the gospel.
Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has taught, “We … can be prone to look beyond the mark. We need to guard against this tendency lest we miss Jesus Christ in our lives and fail to recognize the many blessings He offers us. We need Him.”
I realized I had been looking for happiness in all the wrong places.
After this experience, I started meeting with the missionaries to help me get to know Jesus Christ again. They helped me become more engaged with the gospel. I started praying more and focusing on rediscovering my divine identity. I even gave up nicotine. I knew God was with me as I was striving to change my life.
Over time, I recognized the connection I had with other disciples of Christ in my ward. I also started talking to my friends about my faith and answering their questions, and that made me happy.
Much of my past loneliness stemmed from my lack of confidence. But as I changed my focus from trying to fit in to being myself—a son of God—and sharing my faith, I found joy and belonging in fully living the gospel.
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles promised:
“God has something more to give. A higher and more profound joy—a joy that transcends anything this world offers. It is a joy that endures heartbreak, penetrates sorrow, and diminishes loneliness.
“Worldly happiness, by contrast, does not last. It cannot. It is the nature of all earthly things to grow old, decay, wear out, or become stale. But godly joy is eternal, because God is eternal.”
I no longer feel isolated as a member of the Church. Focusing on Jesus Christ has removed the weight off my shoulders and allowed me to breathe again! When I am following Him, I realize that I truly am not alone. Because of the blessing of covenants, the gift of the Holy Ghost, and all Christ’s promises, I know He’s with me.
The enduring joy this truth brings into my life is greater than anything fleeting I sought without Him.

I sat, legs crossed, in my dorm room. My roommate’s bed was empty because she had gone away for the weekend, so I started to fold my clean clothes on it. I glanced up at our big wall clock. Finally it was a quarter to three. I picked up my keys and headed to the campus mail boxes. When I got back to my room, I sank to the floor, let a pile of mail fall to my side, and ripped open a far more important letter.
Keller had written me back, finally. Before when I had written to him, he made it a point to answer quickly. The news in this last letter must have really shocked him. I could understand that. It had taken me almost two weeks to get my thoughts together and finally write the letter. I had written him almost two months ago about our father’s health problems. Neither of us had been particularly close to Dad, but when I found out he had cancer, I knew Keller would want to know immediately. This letter also provided me an opportunity to ask a question that I had needed an answer to for a long time.
Ever since Keller and I were little we knew only two things about Dad, that he loved Mom and that he loved our house. He loved Mom because of her patience, her wisdom, her strength, and her beauty—both inside and out. He loved our house because he had grown up there; his father had died there. Keller and I sometimes wondered if Dad loved us or the house more. We knew he loved Mom the most, but his love for the house was always a mystery.
Our family had lived in that house since I was a baby. It was an old house and had lots of problems. The basement flooded when we had heavy rains, and the well dried up at least once every summer. The house was out in the middle of nowhere, so in the winter our road didn’t even get plowed. Dad bought a tractor and every morning, before he went to work, he plowed out our whole road, from one end to the other.
Keller and I didn’t mind being out in the middle of nowhere though. We used that as an excuse to go wherever we wanted and do whatever we wanted. We built dams in the creek, forts in the woods, and clay slides in the front yard. The house was perfect for two adventurous children like us, and it was perfect for Dad too. Only Mom seemed to be bothered by the frequent problems, but she never complained. She kept herself almost too busy, planting and maintaining our gardens, pruning our apple trees, and raising two fearless explorers. She handled it all so well that no one even realized that she was sick. She kept it from everyone until she was too bad off to continue hiding it. She still wanted to do her jobs, and finally Dad had to take off work just to keep her in bed.
Every day Dad would go into her room and find out what she wanted him to do that day. He even let her tell him how to do the jobs. He knew perfectly well how to weed a garden, but he let her tell him how to do it anyway. The last instructions that she gave him were to help me with my bath and to make Keller take his. She died when Keller was seven and I was five.
Dad lost his job when he asked for the rest of the summer off to take care of us. They said he had already taken too much time. Dad spent close to five months hunting for a new job. He wanted one close enough to our house so that we wouldn’t have to move. He got a position at an architectural firm 71 miles away. He spent more time there than at home.
As we grew up, living in the country lost its appeal. All the problems with the house were a lot worse when there was no one around to fix them. When Dad came home each night, he would fix dinner, take a shower, and then go straight to bed. It seemed that almost overnight a once huge house grew too small, and Keller and I no longer wanted to explore. Neither of us had bothered to replant the gardens once we were old enough to do the work, and Mom’s apple trees had gone years without pruning. All the magic and life that Mom had brought to the house had died with her. Since Dad worked in the city it just made sense that we should live closer to it. If we moved we could get a newer house and not have to worry about the problems. He continued to commute, however, no matter how much we argued in favor of moving.
As we got older, we saw less and less of Dad. We had our own lives, and he was becoming a smaller part of them. Keller, in Dad’s absence, started investigating a church that Mom had been interested in during college. Soon he began to take his investigation more seriously and started having two missionaries over all the time. They were nice and funny, and I felt comfortable around them. They always made me feel welcome, and sometimes I sat with them and listened as Keller answered questions, read scriptures, and prayed. On occasion, they invited me to participate, and I never hesitated to do what they asked.
One day the missionaries asked Keller a question that he couldn’t answer right away. They told him to pray about it. They came back the next week and Keller’s answer was yes. He became a Mormon. Shortly after that, he baptized me. That was the weekend before I started college, and 13 months before Keller got his mission call to Brazil. Since then, for almost three years, we had only communicated by mail.
I held Keller’s letter with trembling hands. Over the years I had asked myself over and over again why Dad had chosen to drive 71 miles one way to work instead of spending time with us. Why had he held on to a stupid house while letting go of his kids? I had asked myself, and now had asked the only other person who might possibly know. I unfolded the letter and read:
“Dear Jane,
“You can’t imagine how sad I was to hear about Dad’s health. Come to think of it, you probably can. I’m glad that it’s almost your summer break though; then you can join him at home. I have only four more months, and I hope that Dad will hang on until then. The thought of having to leave a second before my time is up makes me shudder. There is so much left to do.
“That reminds me of your question, which I didn’t think was as strange as you thought I would. I even think I have an answer for you that might actually make sense. Part of it I learned here on my mission.
“I realized long ago that Dad doesn’t firmly believe in God because no one has ever reached him with the message; neither you nor I could do it. I think his house is the only place on earth that he feels connected to his father. After Mom died, I think he felt the same thing there with her. He doesn’t know about the afterlife, or doesn’t believe in it, so earthly connections are very important to him.
“I know that this might be hard for you to understand, so I’ll give you a second example from my mission. I’ve noticed that the work here goes extremely well. The people seem anxious to be baptized. The members who are able make a yearly visit to the temple, which is a six-day walk one way. You see, for them, the temple is one place on earth that they feel connected to Heavenly Father. Each family that makes the journey sacrifices a whole month’s income. From my experiences here, and everywhere else too I guess, I’ve noticed that people will travel far and sacrifice much if the destination is a place they value getting to. I hope that this has helped to answer your question.
“I love you and miss you very much. I hope that your transfer to BYU went okay and that you’re fitting in, which I’m sure you are. Stay with Dad, Jane, and tell him we love him. He did the best with us that he knew how.
“See you soon. Keller”
At that moment I understood just how much our house meant to Dad. It meant as much to him as the Church meant to Keller and me. It’s the same for anyone who has ever valued anything. From the moment I joined the Church I began a journey toward eternity. Before I reach my destination, I’ll travel through life and have great trials and sacrifices. But when I arrive home to be with my Heavenly Father, the value of being there will be a thousand times greater than the value of all I might ever have possibly had to give up.