Gospel Story Finder

When my son Michael was six or seven, he did something wrong. He is my only son, and I want him to be better than his dad was. So when he slipped up, I sent him to his room with the instructions, “Don’t you dare come out until I come and get you!”

And then I forgot. Some hours later, as I was watching television, I heard his door open and hesitant footsteps coming down the hall. I slapped my forehead and ran to meet him. There he was with swollen eyes and tears on his cheeks. He looked up at me—not quite sure he should have come out—and said, “Dad, can’t we ever be friends again?” I melted and pulled him to me. He’s my boy, and I love him.

Ronny was not just shy; he was downright backward. As a 17-year-old high school senior, Ronny had never really had a close friend or done anything that included other people. He was famous for his shyness. He never said anything to anybody, not even a teacher. One look at him told you a great deal of the story—inferiority complex. He slumped over as if to hide his face and seemed to be always looking at his feet. He always sat in the back of the class and would never participate. He was such a novelty, it became kind of a school joke.
One thing you could say about him—he came by his complex honestly. His parents were the same way. People right next door went months without even seeing them. Ronny’s father was a night custodian for a small business building. He left for work late at night, worked alone, and came home just as others were getting up. Neighbors used to joke that they never ate because they were afraid to go to the store—afraid someone might talk to them.
It was because of Ronny’s shyness that I was so astonished when he started coming to my Sunday School class. He was a member of the Church. I vaguely remembered when a relative from out of town came to baptize him. Ronny was 14 then, and so shy that a special baptismal service had to be arranged. Just Ronny, his uncle, the bishop, and the missionaries. It must have about killed him being the center of attention.
His attendance in my class was the result of the personal efforts of a classmember, Brandon Craig, who had recently befriended Ronny. Boy, if there had ever been a mismatch, this was it. Brandon was “Mr. Social.” A good head taller than Ronny, he was undisputedly the number one star of our high school athletics program. Brandon was involved in everything and successful at everything. You had to smile whenever you looked at him. He was just a neat kid.
Well, Brandon took to little Ronny like glue. Class was obviously painful for Ronny, but Brandon protected him like the king’s guard. I played a low profile—no questions, just a quick smile and once a pat on the back. Time seemed to be helping, but I often wondered if Brandon and company (the rest of the class certainly played it right) would ever be able to break the ice. That’s why I was so shocked when Brian, the class president, stood before our Sunday School class one Sunday afternoon and boldly announced that Ronny would offer the opening prayer.
There was a moment of hesitation; then Ronny slowly came to his feet. Still looking at his shoes, he walked to the front of the room. He folded his arms (his head was already bowed). The class was frozen solid. I thought to myself, “If he does it, we’ll all be translated.”
Then almost at a whisper I heard, “Our Father in Heaven, thank you for our Sunday School class.” Then silence—long, loud silence! I could feel poor Ronny suffering. Then came a few sniffles and a muffled sob.
“Oh, no,” I thought, “I should be up front where I can help or something.”
I hurt for him; we all did. I opened an eye and looked up to make my way to Ronny. But Brandon beat me to it. With an eye still open I watched six-foot-four Brandon put his arm around his friend, bend down and put his chin on Ronny’s shoulder, then whisper the words of a short, sweet prayer. Ronny struggled for composure, then repeated the prayer.
But when the prayer was over, Ronny kept his head bowed and added: “Thank you for Brandon, amen.” He then turned and looked up at his big buddy and said clear enough for all to hear, “I love you, Brandon.”
Brandon, who still had his arm around him, responded, “I love you too, Ronny. And that was fun.”
And it was, for all of us.

“No fair!” Rachel yelled. “I don’t want to watch your show!” She grabbed for the remote control.
But her big sister Brianna was faster. She held the remote above her head.
“I just sat through your cartoon,” she said. “Now it’s my turn to watch my show.”
Rachel scowled and jumped off the couch. “You’re being mean!”
“I am not!” Brianna said. “It’s my turn!”
After more arguing, Rachel heard Dad’s footsteps coming down the hall. Uh oh. Dad always had the same solution when it came to fighting over the TV.
“Time to turn it off,” he said. He pushed the power button on the remote. The screen went black.
“But, Dad!” Brianna said. “I didn’t get to watch my favorite show.”
Before Dad could say anything, Rachel heard herself blurting out, “That’s because it’s boring!”
“No, it’s not!” Brianna said.
Rachel put her hands on her hips. Her insides felt hot and bubbly, like a volcano. “It’s the most boring-est show in the universe.” She would rather watch weeds grow than watch Brianna’s show. Her sister liked the weirdest things.
Dad stepped between them. “All right, cool it. Maybe you two need some space from each other.”
Brianna gave Rachel a mean look that made Rachel’s stomach twist. Brianna hadn’t ever looked at her like that before.
“Fine!” Brianna snapped. “I’ll be in my room. Away from her.”
Dad put a hand on Brianna’s shoulder. “You know,” he said, looking at both of them, “I wish you two would be nicer to each other. You could be best friends.”
Brianna stomped to her room, and Rachel heard her slam her bedroom door. The twisty feeling in her stomach got worse.
Rachel went outside to ride her scooter. Maybe it would help her forget the way Brianna had looked at her.
The sky was warm and sunny. But no matter how hard Rachel tried, she couldn’t stop worrying about the argument with Brianna.
Her favorite show really is boring, she thought. It’s boring-er than dirt. But … maybe I should have let her watch it anyway. She kept riding her scooter in circles. Then she noticed someone walk toward her. It was Brianna!
“Hey,” Brianna said. She looked happy.
Rachel stopped her scooter. Why was Brianna smiling? “Um, hi,” she said back.
“So, I thought we could use a sister date,” Brianna said. “My treat. How does the Fun Center sound?”
That was Rachel’s favorite place! “Really?” she answered. “That sounds awesome! Let’s go!”
And it was awesome. The two of them skated around and around the rink. Brianna even brought money for the arcade games. They won tickets and traded them for goofy glasses with fake mustaches.
Rachel giggled while Brianna made funny faces with her mustache. Then she remembered the fight they had earlier.
“I’m sorry I didn’t let you watch your TV show,” Rachel said. “I wasn’t being very nice.”
Brianna put her arm around her. “Neither was I. I’m sorry too. Besides, this is the kind of stuff I’d rather do with you anyway.”
Rachel smiled her biggest smile. “Me too! Because we’re best friends, right?”
Brianna gave her a big-sister hug. “Best friends,” she agreed.

It was a gray, rainy day—very unusual for sunny southern California. My husband and I had just finished a full-to-overflowing endowment session as part of our stake temple day. My husband braved the driving rain to get the car while I waited inside the temple’s door.
As I quietly chatted with a member of my ward, a sister I did not recognize approached us. She was dripping wet, and it appeared she had been crying. She explained that she had inadvertently left her vehicle’s headlights on and was now unable to start the car. She recognized us from the temple session—she was the only patron in that session not from our stake—and wondered if we had battery jumper cables she could borrow.
As we talked she began looking intently at me and finally asked, “Aren’t you Cathy West?” (Names have been changed.)
Surprised, I exclaimed, “That was my maiden name!”
“I’m Diane Cody Hart,” she replied, “Anne Cody’s little sister.”
I embraced Diane and expressed my appreciation for her sister’s friendship and example. When my husband arrived with the car, he reported that we had no jumper cables but insisted that Diane accompany us to a nearby mall to buy a set.
Diane and I waited in the car while my husband went inside to search for jumper cables. I asked Diane about her family, and she replied that they had all attended simultaneous temple sessions that evening—Anne in Chicago, Diane in San Diego, and their parents in Reno—while sacred temple ordinances were performed by proxy for her younger brother, who had died the previous year. Diane had come to the temple alone to participate in the special session while her husband took care of their three children.
I squeezed Diane’s hand and asked how her brother had died. She began to weep and whispered that her brother—to whom she had been very close—had taken his own life. Through her tears Diane related how alone she had felt, even in the crowded endowment session, as she thought of the circumstances of her brother’s death.
I could see the Lord’s hand in bringing the two of us together that evening. To the gentle patter of the rain on the roof of the car, I told her about my sister’s suicide many years earlier and my family’s struggle to understand and cope. I held her hand and expressed my understanding and empathy until my husband arrived a short time later with jumper cables.
We returned to the temple, and my husband started Diane’s car. Before she drove away, Diane and I embraced as the rain fell softly upon us. “I don’t feel alone anymore,” she whispered.
As Diane disappeared into the rain, I marveled at Heavenly Father’s goodness. He had brought me together with one of His daughters who needed comfort I was uniquely prepared to provide. And He had granted me a priceless opportunity to repay in some small way the special service a dear friend had given me 30 years before.

Christmas of 1977 was not a happy one for me. No family members were close enough to visit, we had almost no money, and we had no pretty decorations to boost my spirits—only a scraggly little Christmas tree strung with colored paper and popcorn chains. If not for the wide-eyed hope of our small children, I probably wouldn’t even have bothered with the tree.
My husband had to drive our car about 45 minutes to get to work, taking with him our only means of transportation. I was stuck at home all day, every day, miles away from anything and everything. The nearest town was a 20-minute drive over insanely twisting mountain roads. The chapel and most of the members of our tiny branch were nearly an hour away.
We had moved to this isolated Appalachian valley in a spasm of youthful idealism and adventurousness. My husband heard of cheap land in Virginia, and before I could say, “Middle of nowhere,” we had moved there. He built us a little house on the side of a mountain, with water piped in from a nearby spring.
We did have neighbors, though they were few and far between. The closest house was an 1801 log cabin, rented for a short while by a young family from our branch, the Andersons (names have been changed). They were poor like we were. Donald, the dad, was working six and sometimes seven days a week. Donald and Ruth had three small children, as we did, and Ruth was in a constant state of exhaustion.
It was a fairly precarious hike from my house to Ruth’s, over a deeply rutted, muddy road. For either of us—with a baby in our arms and two small children in tow—visits were a bit tricky. On one of our rare visits, however, Ruth mentioned to me that they hadn’t been able to get a Christmas tree. Donald left home before dawn and didn’t get back until late evening. Ruth just wasn’t up to traipsing about the countryside in search of a tree.
One evening just before Christmas I was struck with a sudden, passionate urge to find a Christmas tree for the Andersons. Out of nowhere the idea hit me—I just had to get them a tree. As pathetic as my own tree might be, it brought at least a portion of the Christmas spirit into our home.
I spent the rest of the evening making paper chains, popcorn strings, and, of course, a yellow star with glitter for the treetop. In the morning I hiked out onto the mountainside and searched until I found a small tree. I hacked it down and found an old can to decorate and fill with dirt for a base. The end product was more laughable than beautiful, but it looked cheery enough—if you sort of squinted your eyes.
I called to ask Ruth if I could come down, then bundled up my kids and made the hike down the mountain. I somehow managed to balance the tree and the children without major mishap and arrived safely at the cabin door. When Ruth answered my knock, she took one look at my comical little tree and burst into tears. I entered the house very much afraid that my idea had not been such a good one after all.
When Ruth regained her composure, she explained her tears. It was late the evening before when Donald finally arrived home from work. With nearly empty cupboards, the family had piled into the car for the long ride to the store. After a while three-year-old Michael said, “Daddy, can we say a prayer?”
Donald asked Michael if he would like to say it. Then with the simple faith of a child, Michael asked Heavenly Father to help them get a Christmas tree. After saying, “Amen,” Donald and Ruth looked at each other, knowing they would have to try harder to satisfy the longing of their little boy’s heart. They were not able to come up with a plan that night and went to bed more than a little perplexed.
So it was that when we appeared with the little tree, we were an answer to more than one prayer. As soon as the Anderson children caught a glimpse of us, they squealed with joy and made a place of honor for the funny looking tree. There could never have been a Christmas tree more loved.
The miracle of that Christmas, however, was not just the prayer that bounced from a little boy’s heart to heaven and back again to the heart of someone who could help. It was also the healing power I found in the act of giving.
From the moment the thought of finding a tree for the Andersons struck me, the spirit of Christmas began to fill my own heart. I was grateful that the Lord loved me enough to try to get through to me and teach me. And I was reminded anew that it is in losing ourselves that we find ourselves. As we serve, we find that “He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds” (Ps. 147:3).

Christopher’s heart was heavy as he walked slowly to his family’s car after Primary. Why does everyone but me hear the still, small voice? he wondered.

“How was Primary?” Mom asked as Christopher and his two younger sisters climbed into the car. Jill and Michelle started telling about their lessons and the songs they learned in singing time. Christopher stared sadly at the floor.

“What was your lesson about, Christopher?” Dad asked.

A tear rolled down Christopher’s cheek. “The Holy Ghost,” he replied softly. Sensing that something was wrong, Jill and Michelle quit chattering.

“Maybe we could talk about this a little more when we get in the house,” Mom said as they turned into the driveway.

Later Mom and Dad invited Christopher to come to their room. “Christopher,” Mom said, “can you tell us what’s bothering you?”

Christopher looked down. He didn’t want his parents to know the Holy Ghost didn’t talk to him. They probably heard the still, small voice all the time.

“Listen,” Dad said, putting his arm around Christopher, “we can tell you’re upset, and we’d like to help.”

Christopher felt tears ready to spill from his eyes. “Mom, Dad,” he said in a shaky voice, “why doesn’t the Holy Ghost speak to me? I’ve always tried to do what’s right. I know I make mistakes—like the time I spilled the red punch on the new carpet and said Jill did it so I wouldn’t get in trouble. But I did finally tell the truth. Do you have to be perfect like the bishop or Brother Johnson or Sister Woolett to have the Holy Ghost speak to you?”

Mom and Dad looked a little surprised. “Christopher,” Mom said, “the only perfect person to ever live on the earth is Jesus Christ. Everyone makes mistakes. Why don’t you think the Holy Ghost speaks to you?”

“I’ve never heard the still, small voice,” Christopher replied.

“Hearing a voice isn’t the only way the Holy Ghost can communicate with you,” Mom said. “Often it’s what you feel, not what you hear. Don’t you remember the good feeling you had after you prayed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive you for blaming your sister for the carpet stain? That feeling was from the Holy Ghost.”

“It was?”

“Or how about the time we were reading the scriptures,” Dad added, “and you suddenly understood what Jesus Christ was talking about in the parable of the wheat and the tares. That was the Holy Ghost teaching you.”

“I never thought about it that way before!” Christopher was starting to feel a lot better.

“And,” Mom said, “remember when you got lost last summer and you prayed for help? After you prayed, you felt calm and knew you should sit on the nearest bench and let us find you. That calm, reassuring feeling helping you know what to do was the Holy Ghost.”

Christopher smiled. Now he understood. The Holy Ghost had been talking to him—even if he didn’t hear the still, small voice with his ears! Now he said excitedly, “What about last week when I gave my talk in Primary? I’d studied it really hard, but when I got up, I had forgotten it. Then I said a silent prayer, and suddenly I could remember my talk. That was the Holy Ghost, too, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Dad said. “Helping you remember is also a part of the gift of the Holy Ghost.”

“All those times the Holy Ghost really was talking to me!” The warm feeling in Christopher’s heart helped him know it was true.

Some years ago I went for the first time to the Salt Lake City Tabernacle for a general conference of the Church. I was awed by the size of the building, but even more by the inspiring presence of the General Authorities who were gathered there.
During my childhood, many of the Brethren had visited our small branch in Montana. We had no television, nor could we receive conference on the radio. So we looked forward to each General Authority visit as a special blessing. They had, it seemed to me, a power and faith above other men.
Then on that April day many years ago, I discovered one source of a General Authority’s strength.
I was attending conference with the six children of Elder Ezra Taft Benson, one of whom was my college roommate. My interest increased when President David O. McKay announced that the next speaker would be Elder Benson. I watched respectfully as Elder Benson, whom I had not yet met, walked toward the microphone. He was a big man, well over 1.8 meters tall. He was a man internationally known as the United States Secretary of Agriculture and a special witness of the Lord, a man who seemed calm and sure, one who had addressed audiences throughout the world. Suddenly a hand touched my arm. One of Elder Benson’s young daughters leaned toward me and whispered urgently, “Pray for dad.”
Somewhat startled, I thought, “This message is being passed down the row and I am to pass it on. Shall I say, ‘Pray for Elder Benson’? Shall I say, ‘You’re supposed to say a prayer for your father’? Sensing the immediate need to act, I leaned over and whispered simply, “Pray for dad.”
I watched that whisper move along the row to where Sister Benson sat, her head already bowed in prayer.

“Whew!” Jenny fell back onto the chair and looked at the boxes around her. Moving to a new house was a lot of work! But it was kind of exciting too.
She could see her new neighborhood through the window, including a steeple that poked up from above the houses nearby. Jenny’s family didn’t go to church very often, but now there was a church building right down the street.
Maybe now we’ll go to church more, Jenny thought.
When Sunday came around, Jenny and her family went to their new ward for the first time. In Primary, Jenny saw a girl she had met in school that week.
“Hi, Karen,” Jenny said, feeling a little shy.
“Jenny!” said Karen. “I didn’t know you were in my ward.”
“We moved into a house down the street,” Jenny said.
Karen asked Jenny to sit by her. Jenny was glad to have a friend at church.
The next Sunday, Jenny woke up and put on her favorite dress. She combed her hair and ate breakfast as fast as she could. She was excited to go to her new ward again. But then she saw that the rest of her family were still in their pajamas.
“Aren’t we going to church?” she asked Dad.
“No, not today,” Dad said. “We got a bit of a late start. We’ll try to go next week.”
Jenny was used to missing church, but this time felt worse than usual. She wouldn’t get to go to Primary or see Karen.
At school on Monday, Karen and Jenny were talking about their weekends. “I missed you at church yesterday,” Karen said. “Were you sick?”
Jenny’s cheeks turned red. “No,” she said. “I wanted to go, but my family didn’t.”
“Oh. Well, if you ever want to come to church and your family isn’t coming, you can sit by my family.”
Jenny smiled. “Thanks.”
The next Sunday, Jenny’s family went to church. But the Sunday after that they didn’t want to go. Jenny thought about what Karen had said and decided to give it a try.
So after her parents said it was OK, Jenny walked to the chapel. Her heart was beating fast as she looked inside. Then she saw Karen waving to her.
“I’m glad you came!” Karen whispered, scooting over to make room on the bench.
It feels good to be here, Jenny thought.
From then on, Jenny started going to church every week, even when her family didn’t. Pretty soon going to church was the best part of her week!
And Jenny started feeling different during the week too. She felt happier, and she was nicer to her brother and sisters. It was easier to stop watching videos or to change the channel when something bad came on.
One Sunday morning when Jenny came out of her room, the rest of her family were dressed in church clothes.
“We thought we’d come with you today,” Dad said.
Jenny liked being a good example. Her family didn’t go to church every Sunday after that, but they did start going more and more often. And that made church even better.

7. Strive for Moderation
Part of the spirit of the Word of Wisdom is moderation in all things, except those things specifically forbidden by the Lord. It is well to avoid extremes in dress, hairstyles, makeup, conduct, speech, and music. Extremes may attract the attention of some, but they are more likely to turn off those you really want to impress.
When I was a young man, my friends and I went to an amusement park, where we rode the flying saucer. It was shaped something like an upside-down plate that went round and round. Most of us tried to get to the middle so we wouldn’t be thrown off by the centrifugal force as the saucer picked up speed. Sometimes those on the edge would grab a friend who was closer to the middle, but that would pull them both completely off the saucer. I soon recognized that the centrifugal force was far less powerful in the middle. I was quite safe in the center even though the saucer was still spinning. But it was risky when someone on the fringe latched on to me. I learned that safety comes from staying close to the center.

Shortly after the NCAA finals, Britton announced his decision to serve a mission. The decision came at no small sacrifice. Many people, including Utah head coach Rick Majerus, say Britton has tremendous NBA potential, but leaving the game for two years may jeopardize his pro chances. “Coach was saying everything he could to get me to stay,” recalls Britton. “I’ve been told that if I stay for all four years in a row, I’d definitely go pro.”

For the first time in his life, Britton began to question whether he should go on a mission. Majerus told the press that if Britton were to go after being benched all year, “his pro chances are null and void and his chance for a college career is really in peril. He can’t sit three years.”

In the end, Britton’s coach supported his decision. “It is with regret and sadness from a basketball standpoint that Britton departs, but I am pleased because he seems to be so at peace and happy about the decision,” said Majerus. “I’m proud to be a coach of so many young men who felt so good about a religious experience that they would want to sacrifice their basketball.”

Lea and Mom were almost done shopping. Then Mom stopped to look at some clothes.
“I’ll be just a few minutes,” Mom said.
Lea sighed. When Mom said “a few minutes,” sometimes it meant 20!
Lea found a shelf of toys nearby. She flipped through a coloring book and then tossed a bouncy ball a few times. But that got boring pretty fast.
Then she pulled out something shiny and round. It was a yo-yo! It looked just like the one Oskar had brought to school last week. During recess he had showed everyone his fancy tricks. The tricks had names like “Walk the Dog” and “Around the World.” Lea had asked him if she could try, but Oskar wouldn’t let her.
Lea slipped the loop of the string over her finger. She let the yo-yo drop and then tugged on the string like she had seen Oskar do. The yo-yo hit the floor with a clunk. She tried again. After a few tries, she was able to bring the yo-yo back to her hand! If she could figure that out so quickly, she could probably learn to do all the tricks Oskar had done.
That’s when Lea looked at the price tag. She frowned. She didn’t have nearly that much in her money jar at home!
“I’m almost done, Lea,” Mom called.
Lea sighed. She was about to put the yo-yo back when an idea popped into her head. The yo-yo wasn’t very big. She could slip it into her pocket and keep it! The store owner wasn’t looking. No one would ever know. She could keep it forever and learn to do new tricks. And kids at school would think she was cool.
As Lea looked down at the yo-yo in her hand, she felt prickly and nervous. Her hands felt sweaty. She gripped the yo-yo tighter. What was this bad feeling? She wanted it to go away.
Then she remembered something Dad had told her before she got baptized.
“After you’re baptized, you’ll receive the gift of the Holy Ghost,” Dad had said. “The Holy Ghost helps us make good choices. He speaks to us in a still, small voice.”
“He’ll talk to me?” Lea asked.
“Not exactly,” Dad said. “It may be like a thought coming into your mind. Or a feeling coming into your heart.”
“What kind of feeling?”
“It’s different for each person,” Dad said. “But usually, when you do something good, the Holy Ghost will help you feel calm and peaceful. When there’s something dangerous, He will warn you. And when you want to do something wrong, the Holy Ghost will leave, and you’ll feel confused or unhappy.”
Lea looked down at the yo-yo. She really wanted it. But she knew the Holy Ghost was telling her that stealing was wrong.
Lea put the yo-yo back on the shelf. As soon as she did, she felt peaceful and warm. She walked back to Mom.
“I’m done,” Mom said. “Are you ready to go?”
Lea smiled. “Yes.”
As they left the store, Lea felt as light and happy as sunshine. The yo-yo might have been fun for a while. But following the Holy Ghost was something she wanted to do always.

No matter what our spiritual condition, time spent alone with our Heavenly Father in prayer and meditation can lead to insight and personal growth. Like looking in a mirror, we may discover things about ourselves that need changing. At other times, we may find that our reflection does indeed mirror the Lord’s image. One sister recently described such a personal experience:

“One evening, during fervent prayer about some serious difficulties in my life, I felt the comforting warmth of Heavenly Father’s love radiating through my body. As I gratefully closed my prayer and arose to dry my tears, I glanced into the mirror. At that moment there was no doubt that the Spirit had, at least briefly, touched and refined my physical features, as well as my heart. Its visible effects faded within seconds, but the feeling of absolute love remained with me for a time. This experience has deepened my desire to be more worthy of the Spirit’s companionship.”

Mary Elizabeth Rollins was also prepared for the truth the Prophet Joseph brought forth. She recalled that when she saw a copy of the Book of Mormon at the home of Isaac Morley, “I felt such a desire to read it, that I could not refrain from asking him to let me take it home and read it, while he attended meeting.” She asked so earnestly that Isaac gave her the book on the condition that she bring it back before breakfast the next morning.
Mary Elizabeth and her aunt and uncle stayed up very late reading the Book of Mormon, and Mary rose at daybreak so she could continue reading. True to her promise, she returned the book before Isaac Morley had had breakfast. When he told her, “I guess you did not read much in it,” she showed him how much she had read, recited the first verse, and outlined the story of Nephi. Surprised, he said, “Child, take this book home and finish it, I can wait.”12 Mary was one of the first to receive the witness of the Spirit promised in Moroni 10:4 [Moro. 10:4]. Joseph had still another fellow witness!

In 1980, the Saints were blessed with the announcement that a temple would be built in Santiago, Chile.
When President Spencer W. Kimball dedicated the temple lot, he was very weak; but his presence there demonstrated his love for the Saints of South America, with whom he had worked since 1959. Sister Adriana Guerra de Sepúlveda, who was interpreting for Sister Kimball at the event, said, “When I saw the prophet, a tiny person with an angelic face, I began to weep and could not find words to speak to him. It was the first time for me to be at the side of a living prophet. Seeing the Lord’s mouthpiece here upon the earth and in my country was something marvelous.”10
The temple was dedicated in 1983, becoming the second in South America and the first in a Spanish-speaking country.

Paul Ewing, 11, ignored his own broken leg to swim to the aid of an unconscious man after a boating accident.
Paul, of Phelan, California, was boating with his father and friend when they collided with another boat. The two men were injured and semiconscious. Even though Paul had a broken leg, he heard calls for help from the other boat. He dove into the water and started to swim to the drowning man.
Paul’s father revived and, seeing his son in the water, thought he was injured and swam to assist his son. Paul pointed out the drowning man to his father before swimming back to his own boat while his father pulled the unconscious man to safety. All four were taken to the hospital.
Paul was awarded the Honor Medal for Lifesaving from the Boy Scouts of America. This honor is considered the highest award given in Scouting.
Paul is a member of the Phelan Ward, Victoria California Stake.

As late as last Wednesday night, I was rehearsing for a ward play. (By the way, Sister Lalli, wherever you are, I’m sorry I wasn’t to play practice yesterday morning.) I was released from the bishopric in January after serving for four years. How I loved that calling, and the brethren with whom I served—Bishop Lee J. Lalli, and his able and dedicated first counselor, D. Ray Alexander—Lee J. and Ray, as I affectionately called them.
Since my release I’ve been traveling extensively, and therefore have been without a calling for two months. At that play practice Wednesday, I sent a signal to the new bishop, Russ Herscher, that I was ready to reenter the “job market.” I hope you won’t feel that I’m an aspiring person, but I told the Primary president, Susan Mabey, I wanted to teach Primary—ideally my seven-year-old daughter’s class. I know sanctification comes not with any particular calling, but with genuine acts of service, often for which there is no specific calling.
Now, despite the humility with which I approach this call, I have full confidence in my ability to perform. This, however, is not self-confidence, but confidence in the fact that the Lord makes every man and woman equal to the assignment that he or she is given. Therefore, I state clearly but humbly, “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.” (1 Ne. 3:7.)
Brothers and sisters, I have never been a bishop. Since Friday afternoon I have felt puzzled, almost bewildered and overwhelmed, at how a man could be called to be a member of the Presiding Bishopric without having had the experience of being a bishop. I agonized for twenty-four hours until yesterday afternoon, when President Hinckley laid his hands upon my head and ordained me a bishop. I heard the voice of the Lord say in my heart, “No, Glenn, you have never been a bishop, but now you are a bishop, and always will be.”
Several years ago, I made a covenant with the Lord. I promised to give him anything he should require of me, and prayed this gesture might warrant forgiveness of my transgressions. Yesterday I gave the only thing I had left. It was something I cherished. I held on to it until the very last moment. I never thought of it as a selfish possession. That of which I speak flew out the window of my home when I turned on the television to watch the news and saw my picture on the television screen. I speak of my prized remaining possession—anonymity.
How I love not to be noticed! I don’t want to sit with the General Authorities in the “fishbowl” at the BYU football games in my dark blue suit! I want to sit in the stands with my father, wearing an obnoxious T-shirt which reads: “BYU #1. Enough said!” I have license and credentials to be obnoxious! I was born and raised in Provo, Utah. I attended school at Provo High School. I received my bachelor’s and master’s degrees from BYU. I’m a member of the Church, and I even work for the Church. My credentials are impeccable. I want to go berserk in the upper tier of the San Diego Stadium as I have the last four years at the Holiday Bowl—with the exception of Ohio State [which soundly beat BYU’s team in the bowl game], when I went into deep depression. I still have one faint hope—perhaps the Brethren will let me sit with Elder Perry at the ball games. Nevertheless, I give up my prized anonymity, just as I will give up my life if it is required of me.
I love the Lord Jesus Christ. I love the transformation his atonement has wrought in me. Earlier speakers have spoken of him with such eloquence. How I wish I had command of the language which would enable me to express my feelings on this Easter afternoon. May I add my simple testimony to those who have spoken articulately. I once was in darkness, and now see light. I once lost all of my confidence, and now know all things are possible in the Lord. I once felt shame and now am “filled with his love, even unto the consuming of my flesh.” (2 Ne. 4:21.) “I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love.” (2 Ne. 1:15.)
I express my deepest loyalty to Bishop Hales and his First Counselor, Bishop Eyring. I will not betray their trust. I express my love and loyalty to the First Presidency, the Council of the Twelve Apostles, the First Quorum of the Seventy, and those I love most—the rank-and-file members of the Church. I express my love to my wife; without her love and understanding, I literally would not be standing at this pulpit today. I love my children, who must also give up their anonymity, as well as some time with their father. How I wish I could embrace my oldest son, who is serving a mission in the Cook Islands!
I thank God I was born of goodly parents. I begged my mother not to stand and take my picture as I came to the stand for the first time yesterday morning! But what would I have done if, during my formative years, she had not demonstrated that same pride and enthusiasm for everything I accomplished, however small. My father, Bishop Kenneth L. Pace, was the bishop of the Bonneville Ward in the East Provo Stake during my teens. He remains uppermost in my mind as exemplifying the pure love of Christ throughout his life.
Finally, I share the prayer of my heart with you at this time. May I display in my service the courage of my convictions in a manner like unto that displayed by Bishop Victor L. Brown. May I acquire the inspired, objective judgment of Bishop H. Burke Peterson. And may I acquire the open, warm, Christlike personality of Bishop J. Richard Clarke. May I exhibit the love and loyalty to Bishop Hales taught to us so beautifully by Joseph’s beloved brother, Hyrum. And lastly, may we as a Bishopric acquire the same love, respect, and unity I felt in the bishopric of the Bountiful Thirteenth Ward with Bishop Lee J. Lalli and D. Ray Alexander, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

by J. I. H. Porras
Service and love cannot be separated when you talk about the young women of the Badalona Ward in Badalona, Spain, a suburb of Barcelona. These young women serve one another, their families and friends, and people they don’t know with equal enthusiasm.
The Young Women take it upon themselves to see that each girl is contacted about every activity, a difficult challenge since most do not have telephones and live more than 30 miles from the chapel. When someone is absent, the others make sure that nothing is wrong.
Laura Ferreras, 17, learned of this love when she came to church one Sunday with her recently baptized mother. “The things that impressed me most were the love and caring among the members,” Laura said, “especially with the girls my age. I felt great joy in finding a place so full of unselfish love.” Laura was baptized a short time later.

Kai Fitzhugh’s motivation comes from his family. He says that having a brother with special needs has motivated him to want to serve others with disabilities. The night of the prom was no exception. Like most high school dances, there’s a photographer who takes photos of couples in front of a pretty backdrop. Prom night at special-needs Mutual was no different. Kai was more than happy to stand in line with a girl who had a disability and have his picture taken with her. “It’s hard to explain,” he says, “but whenever I’m here serving, I just feel good inside.”

My father taught me respect for the priesthood. While serving in the Aaronic Priesthood, we passed the sacrament using stainless steel sacrament trays which, as a result of spilled water, were often dulled with hard water spots. As a holder of the Aaronic Priesthood, I was responsible for helping to prepare the sacrament. Father asked me to bring home the trays, and together we cleaned them with steel wool until every tray sparkled. When I passed the sacrament, I knew we had participated in making the sacrament ordinance a little more sacred.

In his Lectures on Faith, the Prophet Joseph Smith declared, “An actual knowledge to any person, that the course of life which he pursues is according to the will of God, is essentially necessary to enable him to have that confidence in God without which no person can obtain eternal life,” (Lecture Sixth:2, italics added.)

That word confidence has helped me to better understand what faith is. It reminds me of those powerful verses in the 121st section of the Doctrine and Covenants. There the Lord enumerates some important principles upon which the priesthood must operate—long-suffering, gentleness, meekness, unfeigned love, kindness, charity, purity of thought, etc.—and promises “then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God.” (See D&C 121:41–45; italics added.)

I have found this to be true. Our ability to exercise faith seems to depend in great measure on our confidence in our own righteousness. I don’t think that we are expected to live a perfect life before we can have any faith, but certainly we must be constantly working toward perfection. Our keeping of the commandments and our participation in the Church should be more than just routine and perfunctory. There needs to be an earnest desire, a hungering and thirsting after righteousness. We need to be “anxiously engaged in a good cause.” (D&C 58:27; italics added.) We need to have communion with our Father in heaven, rather than just say prayers.

In conjunction with worthiness, as it relates to faith, Joseph Smith made particular mention of the principle of sacrifice. He said that the degree of faith necessary to “lay hold on eternal life” requires the sacrifice of all earthly things, not even withholding one’s life. “It is through the medium of the sacrifice of all earthly things that men do actually know that they are doing the things that are well pleasing in the sight of God.” (Lecture Sixth:7.)

Now, the mention of sacrificing all earthly things and of laying down one’s life may conjure up images of giving all of our possessions to the Church or of suffering martyrdom for the sake of the truth. This may or may not be required of us at some time … although I believe the willingness must certainly be there. Yet we can sacrifice all earthly things by concentrating on laying up treasures in heaven. And we can give our lives by devoting them to service in the kingdom.

I think we learn to sacrifice in the same way that we gain mastery over other gospel principles—step by step. When we make sacrifices, even though they seem small when compared to the sacrifice of one’s life, the result is an increase in confidence before the Lord.

For example, payment of tithing helps us increase our faith. When we pay a full tithing and are generous in our fast offerings and financial commitments to the Church, doesn’t it help us to be confident when we go to the Lord for help with problems, financial and otherwise? I find that it does.

And when we sacrifice other things in order to obtain our year’s supply of food, as the prophets have counseled us to do, don’t we have less anxiety about the future? Don’t we feel that we will be able to call on the Lord to aid in ways beyond our abilities?

If one has a calling in the Church and he sacrifices his personal time to fulfill that calling, doesn’t he feel more confident in going to the Lord for help in meeting other obligations?

As we grow in righteousness and as we learn to sacrifice, our faith grows stronger. Elder Bruce R. McConkie states: “Faith is a gift of God bestowed as a reward for personal righteousness. It is always given when righteousness is present, and the greater the measure of obedience to God’s laws, the greater will be the endowment of faith.” (Mormon Doctrine, 2nd ed., p. 264.)

Now, as we 90strive to live righteously and to develop greater faith, I think it is important to remember that there is one who does not want us to have faith. Satan often reminds us of our numerous small failings and weaknesses in order to discourage us and lessen our effectiveness. I remember once how, after a calling in the Church had come to me, I went through a terrible agony of doubt about my worthiness. Then, when I was set apart I received an assurance from the one giving the blessing that I was considered worthy. I had not expressed those doubts to anyone, so the assurance had come as a revelation, and I was comforted and encouraged. My confidence was restored.