Gospel Story Finder

I knew the Prophet. While I was nine, I attended a school kept by a Miss Mitchell in his brother Hyrum’s brick office.
I was passing the Prophet’s house one morning when he called me to him and asked what book I read at school. I replied, “The Book of Mormon.” He seemed pleased. Taking me into the house, he then gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon to use at school. It was a gift I greatly prized.

Muneer was standing in water up to his knees, holding his father’s sailboat steady. It was the last trip of the day, and many people were boarding to go to their homes across the Nile. Muneer knew that many of them wouldn’t pay cash, and he wondered how much Father had taken in today. Probably just enough to buy food for supper tonight, he thought. I can’t possibly ask him for money to buy shoes, even if school is starting in two days. I don’t want to drop out, but I won’t go to school barefoot.
Muneer was lifting the little gangplank when he heard someone shout, “Wait!” A husky boy came sauntering down the riverbank, carrying a loud-playing transistor radio. It was Abdu, the son of the richest man in the village. He pushed his way into the boat and crowded onto the bench next to the prow. An old woman moved and sat on the floor to make room for him. He’s spoiled, thought Muneer resentfully. And he won’t pay either since children ride free.
Father sat in the back, steering with the tiller. Muneer gave the boat a push and jumped onto the prow. He unhooked a pole from the mast and pushed with it, following along close to the shore. With no wind the sail hung limply.
Father asked one of the passengers to steer, then he let himself over the edge and waded ashore. Muneer ducked into a cubbyhole at the back of the boat for a rope. Stepping onto the rail again, he almost knocked Abdu’s radio into the water. The boy turned it off and set it on the edge of the prow. He deserves to lose it, Muneer thought, tying one end of the rope to the mast and tossing the other end ashore. Father put the rope over his shoulder, dug in his toes, and slowly pulled the boat upstream to catch a swifter current.
Muneer took the pole again. Starting at the prow, he dug it into the riverbed and held it firm while he walked along the edge of the boat to the far end. Then he pulled up the pole, ran forward, and repeated the process. Every time he stepped around the radio he felt like kicking it overboard. Abdu had fallen asleep, slumped down like a sack of meal. Why should he have so much? Muneer asked himself. I could easily … He looked at his father plodding ahead, the muscles in his legs knotted. It’s not our fault we’re poor, he mused. And Abdu’s father could buy him another radio.
When Father came back and tossed him the rope, Muneer coiled it, standing with his back to the passengers. Making a quick snatch, he ducked into the cubbyhole with the rope and the radio. He hid the radio under some tackle and was out again in a few seconds to help his father row and to wait for Abdu to discover that his radio was gone.
“My transistor!” Abdu shouted when they landed. “You kicked it off!” he said pointing to Muneer.
Muneer flushed. “I did not, though I had to step around it a hundred times!”
Someone else said, “You were just careless, Abdu.”
Everyone nodded in agreement, and Muneer relaxed. Father said nothing at first but finally he spoke. “I’ll see your father tonight, Abdu.” Then Father headed for the village, and Muneer followed.
Is the radio safe? Muneer wondered. Where can I sell it? Why does Father want to see Abdu’s father?
Mother gave them bread and cheese for supper, but Muneer wasn’t hungry. When Father finished, he got up and said, “Come outside, son.” Muneer followed silently. Father sat on the bench by the door. “I’ll have to pay for the radio,” he said.
“But why, Father?”
“Because we’re honest people,” Father answered, looking at Muneer.
“Abdu’s father can buy him another!” declared Muneer. “How can you pay for it, Father?”
“A little each week.”
“Why, I can’t even get shoes for school!” Muneer exclaimed.
“That is true,” Father answered. “But we’re honest people, Muneer.”
It was quiet for a moment as the boy fought back tears. Finally, and with a shaky voice, Muneer said, “I’ll get the radio.”
Father nodded.
Father carried the radio to Abdu’s house and handed it to his father saying, “The radio was on the boat after all.” No questions were asked.
On the way home, Father said quietly, “Muneer, how would you punish your son if you were in my place?”
“Dropping out of school would hurt most,” Muneer said weakly.
“No, not that. What else?”
“Going to school … barefoot, I guess.”
Father sighed. “That would be fair. After two weeks, we might be able to buy you some sandals.”
I’ll have to go to school barefoot for two weeks, so why do I feel happy? Muneer wondered. He thought about it for a moment. Because I’m barefoot but honest, he decided. Then looking up he said, “Thank you, Father.”

Our family chooses to not watch TV on Sunday to help us keep the Sabbath day holy. One Sunday night, our neighbors told me about a show that I wanted to watch very badly. I asked my mom and dad if I could watch it, but they said no. I felt sad that I couldn’t watch the show. My mom read the Friend with me, and then we played a game together. My brother and sister joined us, and we all played a game together. It was fun! When I went to bed, I realized that I didn’t feel bad anymore for missing the TV show. I felt really good that I had kept the Sabbath day holy.

Youth and leaders witnessed an awesome spectacle in the morning sky of Arizona last February. Two high-powered, nine-foot-tall, fiberglass rockets launched into the sky with spectacular results.
Three months of design and construction culminated in a friendly competition between the young men and young women of the Pleasant Second Ward in Chandler, Arizona. Guided by Mia Maid Mara Egolf and her father—both members of the Arizona High Power Rocketry Association—the youth spent several Saturday mornings learning about rocket construction.
The youth each wrote down goals to help them arise and shine forth in the coming year. The young men put their goals in their red-and-gold “Sons of Helaman” rocket, and the young women put theirs in their purple-and-white “Integrity” rocket. Then both rockets were launched into the heavens.
As for the competition, there is some controversy over which rocket won. In a flight faithful to the name she bears, “Integrity” functioned flawlessly, and according to onboard readings reached an altitude of 11,619 feet before parachuting gracefully back to earth.
There’s a saying in model rocketry, Brother Egolf told the youth, “When things go according to plan, it’s cool. When things go bad, it’s way cool.” “Sons of Helaman” arced at just under 12,000 feet before a malfunction caused the rocket, traveling at nearly the speed of sound, to crash into the desert floor. At the impact crater the young men were able to salvage only two tail fins and a piece of the nosecone.

My husband, Abraham, and myself were born and grew up in a village here in the Northern District of Ghana. We each grew up without strong family ties and Abraham mostly roamed and raised himself in the bush. While on his own, Abraham learned many skills and developed plenty of ways to support himself. He also made many friends who love him and appreciate his kind ways and happy smile. I never had the opportunity of going to school, not even to grade one. When grown up enough, I found myself down in Accra working for a white lady keeping house and cooking; I learned much from her. After a time, I returned to Tamale and that is when I met Abraham. We decided to marry, and we quickly settled down into married life. It was not easy being newly married and living in Tamale, a hard place! After our first year of marriage the Lord blessed us with our first born, our daughter Favor. We felt SOOO favored of the Lord, and so we named her Favor. Three years later, Savior our son, joined the family. Once again, we were very blessed by God and our Savior and so we named our son Savior. We were so thankful to have him after he was delivered cesarean section because of some concern on the part of the doctors. We thank God!
The year 2014 was the year when the missionaries found us and taught us about the Church. We enjoyed learning even though we spoke no English. The Spirit testified to us both that the Church was true!
Our membership in the Church has blessed our lives so much. When we first joined the Church we could not understand, speak, or read English. We would come to church each week and we enjoyed being there, even though we did not understand English. The branch president would invite us into his office after church was over and explain to us the teachings. We were nurtured by the leaders and other Church members.
Soon we were introduced to the Church’s literacy program. The senior missionary couples were our teachers. I especially wanted to learn to read, to write, and to speak English so that I could do God’s work and also teach my family. Through the Gospel Literacy program, we can now understand, speak, read, and write English. I do not know what we would do without the couples who contributed so much to our learning, serving as our teachers, and helping us to develop self-reliance skills. Our couples were Elder and Sister Brinks, Elder and Sister Renfroe, and Elder and Sister Wight. Without these couples we would not have been able to accomplish so much, but with their help and with God’s power, we are better now!
We love serving in our branch where Abraham is the elders quorum president and I am the Relief Society president. I can give lessons now and read from the scriptures.
We love holding family home evenings with our children. We are learning from the Come, Follow Me manual and we also pray together. I read scriptures stories to them from the Book of Mormon and the Bible.
We are so happy that our family is sealed together in the temple. It made my heart happy when I read, on the outside of the temple, those holy words! When I went inside, I thought, “This is a small heaven”. I loved it!
Ministering is a big part of what we do as members. We visit and support our other members. We have many members of our branch now. They are coming!
God has blessed us too much! We are so happy to be members of the Church and as we look back at our lives and how they have changed and been blessed because of our membership in the Church, we are so grateful. Our progress has been small but now we have strong testimonies and we will never leave the Church, not ever! If you ever come to Tamale, we hope that you will visit our branch.

Early in our married life, when Sister Nelson and I lived in Minneapolis, we decided to enjoy a free afternoon with our two-year-old daughter. We went to one of Minnesota’s many beautiful lakes and rented a small boat. After rowing far from shore, we stopped to relax and enjoy the tranquil scene. Suddenly our little toddler lifted one leg out of the boat and started to go overboard, exclaiming, “Time to get out, Daddy!”
Quickly we caught her and explained: “No, dear, it isn’t time to get out; we must stay in the boat until it brings us safely back to land.” We had a hard time convincing her that leaving the boat early would lead to disaster.

“One day I sat guarding our lemonade stand while Marilyn went for more ice chips. The streetcar would be along soon, and we almost always got some customers at this stop if there were ice chips in clean tin cups for the drinks. I passed the time watching the gardener. He looked so hot, even from where I sat, and he moved like he hurt more than usual. Oh, I felt so sorry for him! Then I had a great idea. I’d treat him to some of our lemonade—free. It wasn’t very cold but it was wet, and he’d know somebody cared about him. For safekeeping, I pocketed the pennies we’d taken in. Then I crossed the street with the cup of lemonade.
“‘Well, thank you,’ he said, sipping it carefully. ‘You’ve added just enough sugar.’
“Some people downed their drinks in one gulp, so of course they couldn’t tell if our mix was good or not. The gardener tasted it. He knew. Just as he knew which plants had the softest leaves and that my eyes were brown and not blue. He finished drinking and said that since I had done him such a favor, he was going to do one for me; he was going to show me a kind of miracle. We walked over to the colorful bed of coleus plants, all dark red and green trimmed and velvety. He troweled one up and put it into my hands after interlocking my fingers so the soil wouldn’t spill off the roots. I was to pot it, water it just so, and place it in a sunny window where I could watch ‘the miracle.’
“He took one ruffled leaf gently and, lifting it with his knobby fingers, said, ‘The coleus plant will lean to the light. Turn your plant every two or three days and the leaves will turn right around again and lean to the light. Try it, Elaine. You’ll see the miracle. And maybe it’s something you’d like to do with your life.’
“No wonder we held him and his handiwork in a kind of reverence!”

“What’s up, Coach?” DeLyle said.
“Come in,” Coach Gardener said. “Sit down.”
DeLyle Condie walked into his coach’s office and pulled up a chair. He held his red basketball jersey in his hands. It was almost time for practice.
“I hear you’re going on a mission,” Coach said. “Let me show you something.” He turned on the projector.
DeLyle blinked in surprise. Coach often showed films of other teams playing. But these were pictures of palm trees and beaches.
“This is Hawaii,” Coach said. “The team’s going there next year. You’re going to miss it.”
“I know. But I’ve already decided,” DeLyle said. “A mission is the right thing to do.”
“Suit yourself,” Coach said. “But if you go, I don’t think you’ll ever play basketball again.”
DeLyle looked at his jersey. “I love basketball,” he said, “but some things are more important.”
“Good luck, then.” Coach sighed. “Now get to practice. You’re not a missionary yet!”
A few months later, Elder DeLyle Condie got on a ship in San Francisco, California, USA. It was 1955, and missionaries often traveled by boat back then. Three weeks later the ship arrived in Sydney, Australia. There, Elder Condie took an overnight train to Melbourne. Two elders were waiting for him.
“Wow! You’re a tall one!” Elder Johnson said. “You’d have been a great Mormon Yankee!”
“What’s that?” Elder Condie asked.
“More like what was that,” Elder Johnson said. “Missionary teams used to play in local basketball leagues. It was a way to help people get to know about the Church. One of the teams was called the Yankees. But we don’t do it anymore.”
“That’s OK,” Elder Condie said. “That’s not why I came on a mission.”
“Well, let’s get to the office,” Elder Johnson said. “It’s time to meet President Bingham, our mission president.”
President Bingham assigned Elder Condie to Tasmania, an island near Australia’s southern coast. There weren’t many Latter-day Saints there. In fact, in all of Australia, there were only about 1,200 Church members.
Elder Condie soon met lots of friendly Australians. But most weren’t interested in discussing the gospel. What they did want to talk about was the Olympics.
“Why are so many people interested in the Olympics?” Elder Condie asked.
His companion grinned. “The games are coming to Melbourne next year,” he said. “It’s a chance to put Australia on the map. Besides, lots of people are sports crazy already. I think that’s why the Mormon Yankees were so popular. I wonder if they’ll ever do that again.”
At the same time, 200 miles away in Melbourne, two men were discussing exactly that.
The coach of the Australian Olympic basketball team sat across the desk from President Bingham. “We need your help,” he said. “I know you used to have teams called Mormon Yankees. Some of your missionaries were pretty good. With the Olympics coming, it’s a long shot that Australia will win any games. We need to practice against players with talent and experience. Some friendly practice games will help people know more about your church, and they will help us get ready for the Olympics. Can you put a Mormon Yankees team together one more time?”
After the meeting, President Bingham found one of his assistants. “Bring Elder Condie back to Melbourne,” he said. “Missionaries will still be missionaries. But we’re going to help Australia prepare for the Olympics. And I’ll need Elder Condie to help choose a team.”
To be continued …

Each Dominican youth has a cherished conversion story to tell. “I was invited to a church activity with some friends,” says Pedro Rodriguez, “and was really impressed. I began reading the scriptures on my own, and I knew I wanted to be a missionary and share what those books contained with everyone else. I was baptized soon after that, and I’m waiting my year before I can serve. I never knew I could feel so much.”

At the time, Russia was experiencing political change, and Americans living and working in Moscow began to reach out to their Russian friends and acquaintances. Dohn Thornton met Galina Goncharova in 1989, and religion became a topic of discussion between them. Brother Thornton later recalled, “As I gave [Galina] the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith pamphlet, the most incredible thing happened. It was [as] if all the light in the room at that moment focused on the book. The Spirit came over us and [she] started to cry.”8 Galina told him that she felt the book was from God. She began attending church and was baptized in June 1990, becoming the first convert baptized in Moscow.

Many years ago, I went on assignment to Brazil. As part of the trip, I was to travel by car from São Paulo to a conference in a city about two hours distant. A member of the Quorum of the Twelve was going to preside at that conference. I hoped to ride in the car with him so that I might learn. But he suggested that I make the trip in another car with missionaries. He said, “Teach them while you travel.” So, when I climbed into the front seat of the car, I learned that two young lady missionaries, companions, were going to that city for a transfer. After we had become acquainted, I leaned back over the seat and asked, “What would you like to know about?” Both of them, eagerly and almost in chorus, said, “Tell us how we can become more humble.”
You might have struggled with that as I did. I only remember the green hills of Brazil going by as I tried—and the feeling at the end that I failed. If only I could have that chance again on this beautiful day. I have learned some things about their question since President Hinckley invited me to meet with him yesterday afternoon and issued the call to this sacred office. I think I could help them a little more now.
First, I would have realized that they already had the first lesson in their hearts. The fact that they even asked meant that they had gone beyond being overwhelmed by their doubts about themselves to hope that if they would just submit, if they could just learn what to do, they could be better. If I had the chance again, I would have told them that. And then I would have given them just this one bit of counsel—counsel about what to do. I would have said just this: “Always remember him” (Moro. 4:3; 5:2; D&C 20:77, 79).
I would have tried to help them do that by taking them in their minds to a garden where they would hear the Savior of the world’s words: “Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done” (Luke 22:42).
And then I would have taken them forward in time to that glorious day reported in the Book of Mormon when the resurrected Lord appeared to the people in the Americas and said, “And behold, I am the light and the life of the world; and I have drunk out of that bitter cup which the Father hath given me, and have glorified the Father in taking upon me the sins of the world, in the which I have suffered the will of the Father in all things from the beginning” (3 Ne. 11:11).
I know from the softness I heard in their voices and saw in their eyes that those missionaries would have then, and perhaps always, remembered him. And from his perfect example they would have felt their hearts breaking and received the answer to their pleading, “Tell us how we can become more humble.”
When we drove away from them in the city of our destination, they were standing waiting for a bus. I looked back. There they stood alone. I wish I had known what I learned last night so that I could have read to them while they were in the car these words from the first section of the Doctrine and Covenants, the twenty-third verse: “That the fulness of my gospel might be proclaimed by the weak and the simple unto the ends of the world, and before kings and rulers.” And then starting at the twenty-sixth verse:
“And inasmuch as they sought wisdom they might be instructed;
“And inasmuch as they sinned they might be chastened, that they might repent;
“And inasmuch as they were humble they might be made strong, and blessed from on high, and receive knowledge from time to time” (D&C 1:26–28).
They would have known the Savior spoke of them. And then in their humility they would have found that they were given power to proclaim his name.

My name is Matilda, and I am from Chile. Ever since moving to another country, other kids have made me notice that I am different from them. They have laughed at my curly hair, the color of my eyes, my eyebrows, and even the color of my skin. They have called me ugly and weird and even told me that I am poor because I look different than everyone else.
My mom has taught me to respond to bullying with a smile. She says many times that people who bully are sad or are living with something that hurts them. She has also taught me that it’s not my fault, and being different is something good and wonderful. God created different kinds of things in the world like different plants, places, and people. It doesn’t matter how we look as long as we have a good heart.
Since my mom taught me that, every time I get bullied, I think about it and talk to the person who is saying bad things. I try to stop the situation. Once I told a classmate that saying bad things about others can hurt a lot. I said that he doesn’t know what happens to others in their hearts when they hear bad things about themselves for being different. Since that day, that classmate hasn’t made fun of me anymore, and now we are friends.
I think the way my mom taught me to fight bullying is the best way. She taught me to fight bullying with love, as God would do it. I try to always ask myself, “What would Jesus Christ do in this situation?” This has helped me come closer to our Heavenly Father.

In 1993, I began five years in the Nigerian Army, where I served as a peacekeeper in Liberia and Sierra Leone. I had enlisted after finishing school at age 16. I had many experiences at such a young age, but one I will always remember—it serves as a defining incident in my life—happened while I was in Liberia.
My commanding officer, a captain, learned I was a Mormon. He asked me, “Trooper Arungwa, are you a Mormon?”
“Yes, sir,” was my reply. “I am a Mormon.”
My punishment was to run five times around the camp, which was a total of about 25 kilometers. As I finished on that hot, tropical day and reported to him, he told me in stern language that I had received the punishment because I was a Mormon.
He explained his understanding that members of the Church worshiped Mormon as their God. I replied just as sternly, “No, sir!”
“Good night, trooper,” he barked back at me. “I will see you tomorrow.”
This conversation was very upsetting to me because I did not know what tomorrow would bring.
Eventually I was invited to his home and had the privilege of discussing the Church and my testimony. We discussed Adam’s transgression, the Apostasy, and the need for a restoration. At this young age, I discussed with him the coming of the Savior. I was thrilled as we talked about who Mormon was—an abridger, a prophet, and one of the writers of an ancient record.
I presented the commander a copy of the Book of Mormon. He was amazed that I was not afraid to share these things with him. He said I was the only one in the Nigerian Army he had seen preaching of Jesus Christ. He asked me if it was because I was a Mormon. I answered yes.
A year later this same commander, then a major, was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I experienced the deep joy of helping someone gain a testimony. I felt the happiness of bringing “save it be one soul” (D&C 18:15) into the fold.
This event was a great inspiration to me, and after my military service was complete, I obeyed the call of our prophet to serve a full-time mission. I answered that call in April 1998 and served with much enthusiasm in the Nigeria Enugu Mission.

The greatest immediate need, especially for the elderly, was for help in getting their homes back in order. For 79-year-old Veda Cooper, who was crippled from a bone disease, the experience was traumatic, and the love and service offered by ward and stake members were badly needed.
“I was standing in the kitchen doorway when everything started falling down,” she explained. “I couldn’t get backward and I couldn’t get forward. It felt like the house was going to come tumbling down. But I couldn’t get out and run. I’m crippled. Everything that could fall fell. Jams and jellies, pickles, clothes, suitcases, goblets and glasses, a whole set of china for 12—everything was all mixed together. Water was squirting all over the bathroom.
“Later when I thought about all the mess I started feeling sorry for myself. I thought, now look, I’m not afraid to work. And it’s all right for the Lord to take my husband, and it’s all right to have my three sons so far away. But I felt like it was just adding insult to injury to be crippled and alone and then to have a mess like this. The tears were running down, and I thought, I’ll be all summer getting this mess picked up.
“Then here came somebody knocking on the door, somebody from Hanford to help me clean up, and I didn’t feel sorry anymore. But for a little while I thought this is too much—just too much—until help came. Then in no time they had the water turned off, and the plumbing fixed, and the mess cleaned up, and I was just doing fine.”

Years ago in the early spring, my wife and I had occasion to drive through beautiful Star Valley, Wyoming, USA. It was a wonderful spring morning, and the landscapes and scenery were inspiring.
As Jackie and I drove into Star Valley, we enjoyed seeing an occasional flock of sheep sprinkled with dozens of baby lambs. Few things are more endearing than a baby lamb. As we drove down the busy road, we saw a small lamb outside the fence near the roadside. It was frantically running back and forth against the fence, trying to get back to the flock. I surmised that this little lamb was small enough to have pressed through an opening in the fence but was now unable to return.
I was confident that if we didn’t stop to rescue the lamb, it would eventually wander into the nearby road and be injured or killed. I stopped the car and said to Jackie and our traveling companions in the backseat, “Wait here; this will take just a moment.”
I naturally assumed with my total lack of lamb-herding experience that the frightened lamb would be glad to see me; after all, I had the best of intentions. I was there to save its life!
But to my disappointment, the lamb was afraid and totally unappreciative of my efforts to save it. As I approached it, the little soul ran away from me as fast as it could along the fence. Seeing my plight, Jackie got out of the car to help. But even together we could not outmaneuver the quick little lamb.
At this point the couple in the backseat, who had been thoroughly enjoying the rodeo, piled out of the car and joined in the rescue attempt. With all of our efforts we finally corralled the frightened little lamb against the fence. As I reached down to pick him up in my clean traveling clothes, I quickly noticed that he had the distinct aroma of the barnyard. It was then that I began to wonder, is this effort really worth it?
As we picked up the lamb and lifted him over the fence to safety, he fought and kicked with all his might. But within moments he had found his mother and was pressed tightly and safely against her side. With our clothing a little disheveled but with great satisfaction and peace that we had made the right choice, we went on our way.

President Benson has always loved temples and temple work. When he felt better, each Friday he and Sister Benson would enter the temple to participate in a session. We knew our First Presidency meeting that morning must accommodate this commitment. One morning I commented that I had to get busy and do some of my own family names that were prepared. With a smile and a twinkle in his eye, the President said, “Brother Monson, if you’re too busy, why not let Sister Benson and me do your names for you.” Needless to say, we found time to do the work ourselves.

An example of that happy, optimistic spirit is a 13-year-old girl I know named Elsa, whose family is moving to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, 1,800 miles (2,900 km) away from her friends. It’s not very easy when you are 13 to move to a new place. Elsa was understandably unsure about the move, so her dad gave her a blessing. At the very moment of the blessing, her mom’s phone chimed with a text. The young women who live in Louisiana had sent this picture with the caption “Please move into our ward!”
These young women were optimistic they would like Elsa without even meeting her. Their enthusiasm created optimism in Elsa about the upcoming move and answered her prayer about whether everything would be all right.

For me as a young teenager, school was about putting on an act. You know, the way the bad guy in the movies delivers the smooth, clever lines and comes off super cool in the process? I yearned to be able to do that. I tried to rule the screen just like the best of the bad guys. I pretended my morals were low because I wanted to impress my friends at school. I loved the sound of laughter when I used inappropriate language or joked about people.
I wanted to be the one audiences rooted for. So I figured out how to be a people pleaser. I became a regular comedy act in my biology class, managed to convince my volleyball team I was a party animal, and demolished my reputation as an innocent, naive young woman. I thought, “I don’t want my friends to think I’m a goody-goody!”
Since I wasn’t actually committing the serious sins people thought I was, I desperately tried to convince myself that it was OK to have a rough attitude. I was so wrong! My real-life movie-screen hit reached the point that I couldn’t stand to watch it myself. The more popular I became, the less I liked the character I played.
One day, two of my friends were talking about a sweet, friendly athlete named Jennifer who wasn’t embarrassed to stand up for her beliefs. One of my friends, the most gorgeous, popular, and smartest girl in the seventh grade said, “Jennifer is so different. I wish I were brave enough to believe in my church like she does. She’s the only person I know who lives her life like that.” I was stunned.
“How could she say something like that without even mentioning me?” I wondered. “After all, my church has high standards!” I was furious that she hadn’t even considered me a good example. Then, suddenly, I felt like I was sitting on the front row of a movie theater showing my life as the main feature.
I reflected on the poor example I had been to my friends. What kind of kid was going to watch me and think, “I wish I were brave and unique like her”? I really disliked who I had become.
Changing my character and reputation was a long process, and I’m still trying to keep my mouth shut instead of blurting out crowd-pleasing insults. But I realized I could make my friends laugh without hurting someone else’s feelings, and I could leave the room during a crude joke without being ridiculed. No one has to be a “bad guy” to have lots of friends. I changed my attitudes and behaviors because being at peace with what I believe is so much cooler than trying to hide who I am.

After my senior season with the Cougars, I knew I was going to be drafted by an NFL team, and it turned out to be the Cincinnati Bengals. By the end of my second season I was starting in the Super Bowl. In my third year with the Bengals, I led the team in sacks. Everything seemed great. But for some reason, at the beginning of my fourth year, I was sitting on the bench.
It seemed the coaches wanted bigger guys playing the defensive line positions, leaving me to stand on the sidelines. I knew I wasn’t in Cincinnati’s long-range plans, and sure enough I was cut toward the end of fall camp. The 1991 season was about ready to begin and I was out of football. All the other NFL teams had their rosters finalized, so I had to wait and hope a team would pick me up.
This was another terrible period in my life. I knew I was still good enough to play, yet I wasn’t being given the chance. A few weeks into the season the Seattle Seahawks seemed interested in signing me to a contract. Instead, they took another guy, which was one of the hardest blows of my career.
I came back to my home in Utah not knowing what to do or what was going to happen. I wasn’t giving up, but I was really down. To take my mind off my situation, I went to play golf by myself. It was fall, in the middle of the week, and nobody was there playing. I was out on the back nine all by myself crying and thinking about what I was going to do. I stopped my cart and had a word of prayer.
When I finished, I went from tears and this distraught feeling to the most wonderful, calm feeling that told me everything was going to be okay. That Sunday, I got a phone call from the Washington Redskins. They told me they had some injured players and needed a replacement.
It was amazing. One day I was crying, and the next thing I knew I was playing for one of the best organizations in the NFL. I left behind the Cincinnati Bengals, who finished 3–13 in 1991, and went to the Redskins, who went on to win the Super Bowl. I finished my first Redskin season with 12 tackles, three quarterback hurries, and one and a half quarterback sacks. Plus I earned a Super Bowl ring. Things couldn’t have turned out better.

As I have pondered how we might best provide such examples, I have thought of an experience I had some years ago while attending a stake conference. During the general session, I observed a young boy sitting with his family on the front row of the stake center. I was seated on the stand. As the meeting progressed, I began to notice that if I crossed one leg over the other, the young boy would do the same thing. If I reversed the motion and crossed the other leg, he would follow suit. I would put my hands in my lap, and he would do the same. I rested my chin in my hand, and he also did so. Whatever I did, he would imitate my actions. This continued until the time approached for me to address the congregation. I decided to put him to the test. I looked squarely at him, certain I had his attention, and then I wiggled my ears. He made a vain attempt to do the same, but I had him! He just couldn’t quite get his ears to wiggle. He turned to his father, who was sitting next to him, and whispered something to him. He pointed to his ears and then to me. As his father looked in my direction, obviously to see my ears wiggle, I sat solemnly with my arms folded, not moving a muscle. The father glanced back skeptically at his son, who looked slightly defeated. He finally gave me a sheepish grin and shrugged his shoulders.
I have thought about that experience over the years as I’ve contemplated how, particularly when we’re young, we tend to imitate the example of our parents, our leaders, our peers. The prophet Brigham Young said: “We should never permit ourselves to do anything that we are not willing to see our children do. We should set them an example that we wish them to imitate.”
To you who are fathers of boys or who are leaders of boys, I say, strive to be the kind of example the boys need. The father, of course, should be the prime example, and the boy who is blessed with a worthy father is fortunate indeed. Even an exemplary family, however, with diligent and faithful father and mother, can use all the supportive help they can get from good men who genuinely care. There is also the boy who has no father or whose father is not currently providing the type of example needed. For that boy, the Lord has provided a network of helpers within the Church—bishops, advisers, teachers, Scoutmasters, home teachers. When the Lord’s program is in effect and properly working, no young man in the Church should be without the influence of good men in his life.
The effectiveness of an inspired bishop, adviser, or teacher has very little to do with the outward trappings of power or an abundance of this world’s goods. The leaders who have the most influence are usually those who set hearts afire with devotion to the truth, who make obedience to duty seem the essence of manhood, who transform some ordinary routine occurrence so that it becomes a vista where we see the person we aspire to be.
Not to be overlooked—and in fact our primary example—is our Savior, Jesus Christ. His birth was foretold by prophets; angels heralded the announcement of His earthly ministry. He “grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with wisdom: and the grace of God was upon him.”
Baptized of John in the river known as Jordan, He commenced His official ministry to men. To the sophistry of Satan, Jesus turned His back. To the duty designated by His Father, He turned His face, pledged His heart, and gave His life. And what a sinless, selfless, noble, and divine life it was. Jesus labored. Jesus loved. Jesus served. Jesus testified. What finer example could we strive to emulate? Let us begin now, this very night, to do so. Cast off forever will be the old self and with it defeat, despair, doubt, and disbelief. To a newness of life we come—a life of faith, hope, courage, and joy. No task looms too large; no responsibility weighs too heavily; no duty is a burden. All things become possible.