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Four Things I've Learned in Nursery and Sunbeams
Summary: In the same crisis involving Ellen's breakdown, the speaker's parents called, and her stepfather immediately offered to drive across the state to help a girl he had never met. He only stood down after being assured Amy was already on the way, and he insisted on updates until Ellen was safe. Later he explained simply that he would want someone to help his own daughter if she were in trouble.
But there's more to this story. Amy wasn't the only angel that day. Again, since this was in the days before cell phones, I was supposed to be the message relay at our apartment. Ellen would call to tell me where she was with the tow truck, and Amy was supposed to call to find out Ellen's location. In the midst of my waiting, my parents called to see how my new apartment was--I had just moved in. I explained what had happened with Ellen's pickup and told them I had to get off the phone. Then my stepdad said something I'll never forget. He said, "Wait, she's in trouble. Where is she? I'll go get her." He was ready to drive across the state, six hours each way, to help a girl he had never even met. He probably would have driven her to Alaska. After I convinced him that Ellen would be okay with Amy's help, he let me hang up the phone, but only after I promised him updates about whether Ellen made it safely to her sister's house in Olympia. Later, I asked my stepdad why he was willing to help my brand new roommate--a girl he'd never met and he stated plainly--"she needed help. I'd want someone to help you."
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👤 Parents
👤 Friends
👤 Young Adults
Charity
Family
Friendship
Kindness
Service
“And They Did Fellowship One with Another”
Summary: In the Illinois Chicago Mission, new missionaries were taken onto the train and encouraged to speak with strangers immediately. One frightened sister missionary struggled to begin a conversation, even while a Christian youth group filled the train car with religious discussion. Just as the group was leaving, one young woman came back to ask for a Book of Mormon, and the missionary joyfully bore testimony and gave her a copy.
Sister Cox and I were blessed to be able to serve the people of the Illinois Chicago Mission. It was a challenging but beautifully enlarging experience for our family. One of the things about which we felt strongly was the importance of quickly introducing new missionaries to the people of the Windy City. When missionaries first arrived, we did not attempt to insulate them from others. We wanted them to immediately meet people who would profit from knowing about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. This is our mission!
As new missionaries arrived at O’Hare Airport, it was our practice to board the “L” train with them for a forty-five-minute ride into the city. Armed with copies of the Book of Mormon and referral cards, our objective was to provide every new missionary a positive experience in sharing the gospel with someone along the way. A few seasoned missionaries accompanied us in order to provide good role models and mentors for the sincere but inexperienced elders and sisters. I loved those days, but I am not sure all of the new missionaries did!
Having been raised by loving mothers and fathers who had taught them to never speak to strangers, it must have seemed odd when we directed the new missionaries to speak with every stranger they could as they rode the train into the city. Many responded and greeted people on the train while others initially found it difficult to communicate with strangers.
I recall one wonderful sister who, upon her arrival, seemed frozen with fear as she contemplated how she might make a positive contact during her first day as a missionary in the field. Unable to muster the significant courage needed to initiate a conversation with others, she observed a group of young people boarding the train. They were touring the city and sharing their Christian beliefs through music. Thanks to the other missionaries, there was ample conversation about our faith on the train car, and the members of the Christian youth group were exposed to the Book of Mormon by enthusiastic elders and sisters. There was so much discussion, in fact, that we actually missed our intended stop, riding the train until we reached the line’s terminus.
As this kind group of Christian youth and their pastor exited the train, the young sister missionary was gathering her things, not yet having had a chance to speak about her faith. One of the female members of the departing Christian youth group lagged behind her peers and quietly returned to the train car to ask the determined but somewhat frustrated sister missionary, “Could I get a copy of that book?” The sister missionary wasted no time in delivering a copy of the Book of Mormon before briefly bearing her humble testimony of its veracity. I don’t think that this sister’s feet touched the ground for hours after her positive interaction with a stranger. Her prayers—and ours—were answered.
As new missionaries arrived at O’Hare Airport, it was our practice to board the “L” train with them for a forty-five-minute ride into the city. Armed with copies of the Book of Mormon and referral cards, our objective was to provide every new missionary a positive experience in sharing the gospel with someone along the way. A few seasoned missionaries accompanied us in order to provide good role models and mentors for the sincere but inexperienced elders and sisters. I loved those days, but I am not sure all of the new missionaries did!
Having been raised by loving mothers and fathers who had taught them to never speak to strangers, it must have seemed odd when we directed the new missionaries to speak with every stranger they could as they rode the train into the city. Many responded and greeted people on the train while others initially found it difficult to communicate with strangers.
I recall one wonderful sister who, upon her arrival, seemed frozen with fear as she contemplated how she might make a positive contact during her first day as a missionary in the field. Unable to muster the significant courage needed to initiate a conversation with others, she observed a group of young people boarding the train. They were touring the city and sharing their Christian beliefs through music. Thanks to the other missionaries, there was ample conversation about our faith on the train car, and the members of the Christian youth group were exposed to the Book of Mormon by enthusiastic elders and sisters. There was so much discussion, in fact, that we actually missed our intended stop, riding the train until we reached the line’s terminus.
As this kind group of Christian youth and their pastor exited the train, the young sister missionary was gathering her things, not yet having had a chance to speak about her faith. One of the female members of the departing Christian youth group lagged behind her peers and quietly returned to the train car to ask the determined but somewhat frustrated sister missionary, “Could I get a copy of that book?” The sister missionary wasted no time in delivering a copy of the Book of Mormon before briefly bearing her humble testimony of its veracity. I don’t think that this sister’s feet touched the ground for hours after her positive interaction with a stranger. Her prayers—and ours—were answered.
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👤 Missionaries
👤 Youth
👤 Other
“Yes, You Are Old Enough, Girls”
Summary: At a late youth testimony meeting, Melany, a newly called class president over 17 girls, felt scared about choosing counselors. She wrote all the names down and, over three days of prayer, felt prompted to cross off names until two remained and then received a strong confirming feeling. The narrator observed two girls who appeared deeply moved, suggesting the Lord had identified them to serve.
And in another area of the Church the youth from several wards were meeting together; the hour was late; many sweet and moving testimonies had been shared that evening when Bishop Rogers signaled to the capable young priest conducting to bring the meeting to a close, even though the bench was still filled with youth eager to bear their testimonies. But having waited this long for courage to stand, and being next in line, Melany could not pass this opportunity to tell “how it works.” She moved quickly to the pulpit.
“You see,” she said, “I was called to be a class president of 17 girls, and the bishop said I was responsible for them. I was scared to death. I didn’t even know for sure where they were. Then he told me to decide on my counselors and reminded me of the need to pray and ask the Lord. I wondered how it worked—how would I know who the Lord wanted.”
At that moment this young class president stopped shifting from one foot to the other, stood erect, leaned forward, and with a tone of conviction through a choked voice, she related her experience.
“I wrote 17 names on a piece of paper. Then I prayed about those names. Each time I would finish my prayer, I felt right about crossing off one or two names from the list. I kept thinking and praying and trying to decide until the third day. With only two names remaining, I had a strong feeling that I knew who Heavenly Father wanted. That’s how it works.”
Seemingly relieved from an urgent need to bear testimony, she continued in an enthusiastic tone: “I love these girls, and we’re going to try to be good examples and reach every girl in our class so we won’t lose a single one.”
From where I sat I could look into the faces of the youth and I, too, could see who the Lord had desired to be counselors to Melany. Two girls sitting together, with smiles of confidence and eyes brimming with tears, convinced me they “won’t lose a single one.”
“You see,” she said, “I was called to be a class president of 17 girls, and the bishop said I was responsible for them. I was scared to death. I didn’t even know for sure where they were. Then he told me to decide on my counselors and reminded me of the need to pray and ask the Lord. I wondered how it worked—how would I know who the Lord wanted.”
At that moment this young class president stopped shifting from one foot to the other, stood erect, leaned forward, and with a tone of conviction through a choked voice, she related her experience.
“I wrote 17 names on a piece of paper. Then I prayed about those names. Each time I would finish my prayer, I felt right about crossing off one or two names from the list. I kept thinking and praying and trying to decide until the third day. With only two names remaining, I had a strong feeling that I knew who Heavenly Father wanted. That’s how it works.”
Seemingly relieved from an urgent need to bear testimony, she continued in an enthusiastic tone: “I love these girls, and we’re going to try to be good examples and reach every girl in our class so we won’t lose a single one.”
From where I sat I could look into the faces of the youth and I, too, could see who the Lord had desired to be counselors to Melany. Two girls sitting together, with smiles of confidence and eyes brimming with tears, convinced me they “won’t lose a single one.”
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👤 Youth
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
Courage
Prayer
Revelation
Stewardship
Testimony
Young Women
“Look unto Me in Every Thought; Doubt Not, Fear Not”
Summary: Elder Bednar first describes his family’s long-standing March Madness tradition and then explains how that enjoyment was interrupted by a public controversy involving Oral Roberts University. After the team’s surprising victories, one USA Today column attacked the school’s religious beliefs, and a second column pushed back against that criticism. He uses the episode to show that religious institutions like BYU will face similar pressures and opposition.
Now, please permit me to be personal as I set the stage for the next point I want to emphasize.
Susan and I are the parents of three sons. As these boys were growing up, they all loved and participated in sports of every kind. And for our family, March Madness and the NCAA basketball tournament every year always was a highlight. We each carefully researched and filled out our brackets. The trash talking started early. And the winner of our annual competition was granted special recognition and privileges for the remainder of the year. We still participate in this fun tradition with our sons, their wives, and all of our nineteen grandchildren.
Over the years, Susan became especially skillful at picking the winners and losers. In a majority-male household, she delighted in and absolutely relished beating the rest of us almost every year. She continues to derive great satisfaction from her victories to this very day!
My customary enjoyment of March Madness this year, however, was interrupted by an episode that is instructive for all of us. The basketball team from Oral Roberts University, a Christian university located in Tulsa, Oklahoma, shocked the sports world by defeating powerhouse teams from the Ohio State University and the University of Florida in the early rounds of the tournament. The ensuing publicity emphasized the Cinderella-like story of the team’s success.
However, on March 23, an opinion column was published in USA Today with the headline “Oral Roberts University Isn’t the Feel Good March Madness Story We Need.” The article concluded as follows:
There is no way to separate their men’s basketball team from the dangers of their religious dogma, no matter how many top seeds they defeat.
Often, athletic accomplishments and victories on the court make up for moral failings all the time. In this case though, whatever the Oral Roberts men’s basketball team manages to do on the court can’t obscure the dangerous and hateful ideology of its core institution. It’s always nice to root for the underdog, but in this case, there’s very little to actually cheer about.4
Then, on March 25, a second opinion article was published in USA Today with the title “No, Oral Roberts University Basketball Doesn’t Deserve to Be Canceled from NCAA Sweet 16.” The article begins with this statement:
In the age of social media hot takes, apparently, we aren’t allowed to enjoy good things. Even a good sports story has to become a flashpoint in our ongoing cultural battles.5
The conclusion of this episode is still being written. And I believe this story and many others like it inexorably and inevitably will impact Brigham Young University and each of you—in both expected and unexpected ways.
Cancel culture is not new. Lucifer attempted to cancel the Eternal Father’s plan of happiness and the mission of the Redeemer, even the Lord Jesus Christ. The Pharisees and scribes sought to cancel the teachings, influence, and life of the Savior. Critics, apostates, and enemies relentlessly attempted to cancel Joseph Smith. Cancel culture is not new; it always has been and always will be with us until the Savior returns to the earth to rule and reign in righteousness.
But “no unhallowed hand can stop the work from progressing”!
Susan and I are the parents of three sons. As these boys were growing up, they all loved and participated in sports of every kind. And for our family, March Madness and the NCAA basketball tournament every year always was a highlight. We each carefully researched and filled out our brackets. The trash talking started early. And the winner of our annual competition was granted special recognition and privileges for the remainder of the year. We still participate in this fun tradition with our sons, their wives, and all of our nineteen grandchildren.
Over the years, Susan became especially skillful at picking the winners and losers. In a majority-male household, she delighted in and absolutely relished beating the rest of us almost every year. She continues to derive great satisfaction from her victories to this very day!
My customary enjoyment of March Madness this year, however, was interrupted by an episode that is instructive for all of us. The basketball team from Oral Roberts University, a Christian university located in Tulsa, Oklahoma, shocked the sports world by defeating powerhouse teams from the Ohio State University and the University of Florida in the early rounds of the tournament. The ensuing publicity emphasized the Cinderella-like story of the team’s success.
However, on March 23, an opinion column was published in USA Today with the headline “Oral Roberts University Isn’t the Feel Good March Madness Story We Need.” The article concluded as follows:
There is no way to separate their men’s basketball team from the dangers of their religious dogma, no matter how many top seeds they defeat.
Often, athletic accomplishments and victories on the court make up for moral failings all the time. In this case though, whatever the Oral Roberts men’s basketball team manages to do on the court can’t obscure the dangerous and hateful ideology of its core institution. It’s always nice to root for the underdog, but in this case, there’s very little to actually cheer about.4
Then, on March 25, a second opinion article was published in USA Today with the title “No, Oral Roberts University Basketball Doesn’t Deserve to Be Canceled from NCAA Sweet 16.” The article begins with this statement:
In the age of social media hot takes, apparently, we aren’t allowed to enjoy good things. Even a good sports story has to become a flashpoint in our ongoing cultural battles.5
The conclusion of this episode is still being written. And I believe this story and many others like it inexorably and inevitably will impact Brigham Young University and each of you—in both expected and unexpected ways.
Cancel culture is not new. Lucifer attempted to cancel the Eternal Father’s plan of happiness and the mission of the Redeemer, even the Lord Jesus Christ. The Pharisees and scribes sought to cancel the teachings, influence, and life of the Savior. Critics, apostates, and enemies relentlessly attempted to cancel Joseph Smith. Cancel culture is not new; it always has been and always will be with us until the Savior returns to the earth to rule and reign in righteousness.
But “no unhallowed hand can stop the work from progressing”!
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Parents
👤 Young Adults
👤 Other
A Bridge to the Past
Summary: Primary children from the Billerica Ward visited Minute Man National Historic Park for a service activity. After learning about the site's history and being reminded of its role in preparing for the Restoration, they behaved respectfully and cleaned up trash. The children shared thoughts on what respect means and felt good after helping preserve an important place.
Clomp, clomp, clomp! Twenty-one pairs of feet walked across a wooden bridge. Twenty-one Primary children were about to travel back in history to a special place—and leave it better than they found it.
Primary children from the Billerica Ward, Nashua New Hampshire Stake, were having a service activity at the Minute Man National Historic Park in Concord, Massachusetts. The wooden bridge is a replica of the Old North Bridge, where the first battle of the American Revolution took place on April 19, 1775.
The children’s goal was to help clean up the park. Before they got started, a park ranger told them about the park’s history. Then their Primary president, Sister Stephanie Davis, reminded them how the founding of the United States helped prepare the way for the gospel to be restored.
The children knew they were in a place that deserves respect. They had fun without yelling or being rowdy. What does it mean to respect a place? Here’s what the children had to say:
“It means you want to take care of the place so that it’s kept special.” —Abby K., age 8
“It means you leave it looking the same or better than when you got there.” —Dallen H., age 9
“It’s like saying, ‘I appreciate you.’” —Taylor A., age 11
Then they put on rubber gloves and went to work, putting every piece of trash they could find into their garbage bags.
How did the children feel when they were finished? Good, because “this is a place where something really happened,” said Alden D., age 11. All the children agreed that it felt great to show their respect for an important place that’s right in their own backyard.
Primary children from the Billerica Ward, Nashua New Hampshire Stake, were having a service activity at the Minute Man National Historic Park in Concord, Massachusetts. The wooden bridge is a replica of the Old North Bridge, where the first battle of the American Revolution took place on April 19, 1775.
The children’s goal was to help clean up the park. Before they got started, a park ranger told them about the park’s history. Then their Primary president, Sister Stephanie Davis, reminded them how the founding of the United States helped prepare the way for the gospel to be restored.
The children knew they were in a place that deserves respect. They had fun without yelling or being rowdy. What does it mean to respect a place? Here’s what the children had to say:
“It means you want to take care of the place so that it’s kept special.” —Abby K., age 8
“It means you leave it looking the same or better than when you got there.” —Dallen H., age 9
“It’s like saying, ‘I appreciate you.’” —Taylor A., age 11
Then they put on rubber gloves and went to work, putting every piece of trash they could find into their garbage bags.
How did the children feel when they were finished? Good, because “this is a place where something really happened,” said Alden D., age 11. All the children agreed that it felt great to show their respect for an important place that’s right in their own backyard.
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👤 Children
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Other
Children
Reverence
Service
Teaching the Gospel
The Restoration
The Fisherman’s Reward
Summary: A king of Thailand offered a reward for fish during a storm, and a brave fisherman succeeded in bringing some. A palace guard extorted the fisherman for half the reward, so the fisherman cleverly requested fifty lashes as his reward and shared it with the guard. The king punished the guard with twenty-five lashes and offered the fisherman something else, which he humbly declined.
One day when the king of Thailand wanted to have a banquet for all the princes and lords in his kingdom, he ordered the chief cook to prepare his favorite fish dish.
But the chief cook replied, “Your highness, there are no fish. No fishermen have gone to sea for the past three days because the storm has made the sea too rough for fishing.”
“Do you mean to say there are no fish for my banquet?” the king asked angrily.
“Yes, your highness,” answered the cook.
“Very well then,” proclaimed the king, “I’ll give a handsome reward to anyone brave enough to go fishing and bring me fish for my banquet.”
Although the sea was still too stormy for fishing, one brave fisherman ventured out and soon returned with a good supply of fish for the king’s banquet.
When the fisherman tried to deliver the fish to the king, a guard at the palace gate stopped him and said, “I’ll let you in only if you promise to give me half of the reward the king will give you.”
The fisherman thought the guard’s request was most unreasonable. But seeing no other way to get the fish to the king, he agreed, and the gate was opened.
When the king saw the fish, he was most pleased and at once asked the fisherman to name his reward.
“Give me fifty strokes of the whip,” the fisherman asked.
“What?” exclaimed the king. “You want to be whipped fifty times as your reward?”
“Yes, your majesty. Whip me fifty times, and that shall be my reward.”
“Very well,” replied the king in disappointment. “You will be whipped fifty times. Do you wish for anything else besides that?”
“No. I ask for nothing else,” said the fisherman as he was tied to the wall.
One, two, three, four, five … The whip fell painfully on the fisherman’s back.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen … But the fisherman did not make the slightest protest.
Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five. “Stop! Stop!” cried the fisherman.
“Do you wish to change your mind?” the king asked in surprise.
“No, your majesty, but I want to share my reward with the guard at the palace gates.”
“What do you mean?” The king was very puzzled.
The fisherman then explained, “When I was bringing the fish to you, the guard at the palace gate would not let me in unless I promised to give him half of my reward. Since the reward I have asked for is fifty strokes of the whip, and since I have now received half of them, the guard should receive the other twenty-five strokes.”
Immediately the guard was brought before the king. “Is it true that this fisherman promised to give you half of his reward?” questioned the king.
The guard, not knowing what had happened but thinking that he was to be rewarded, replied that it was true.
This made the king very angry. He ordered the guard to be taken away and whipped twenty-five times—his reward as promised by the fisherman.
Then, turning to the fisherman, the king said, “Since you have given half of your reward away, do you wish for something else?”
“No, your majesty,” replied the fisherman. “I ask for nothing more than to serve you as a loyal subject.”
And the brave fisherman left the palace and continued to serve his king.
But the chief cook replied, “Your highness, there are no fish. No fishermen have gone to sea for the past three days because the storm has made the sea too rough for fishing.”
“Do you mean to say there are no fish for my banquet?” the king asked angrily.
“Yes, your highness,” answered the cook.
“Very well then,” proclaimed the king, “I’ll give a handsome reward to anyone brave enough to go fishing and bring me fish for my banquet.”
Although the sea was still too stormy for fishing, one brave fisherman ventured out and soon returned with a good supply of fish for the king’s banquet.
When the fisherman tried to deliver the fish to the king, a guard at the palace gate stopped him and said, “I’ll let you in only if you promise to give me half of the reward the king will give you.”
The fisherman thought the guard’s request was most unreasonable. But seeing no other way to get the fish to the king, he agreed, and the gate was opened.
When the king saw the fish, he was most pleased and at once asked the fisherman to name his reward.
“Give me fifty strokes of the whip,” the fisherman asked.
“What?” exclaimed the king. “You want to be whipped fifty times as your reward?”
“Yes, your majesty. Whip me fifty times, and that shall be my reward.”
“Very well,” replied the king in disappointment. “You will be whipped fifty times. Do you wish for anything else besides that?”
“No. I ask for nothing else,” said the fisherman as he was tied to the wall.
One, two, three, four, five … The whip fell painfully on the fisherman’s back.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen … But the fisherman did not make the slightest protest.
Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five. “Stop! Stop!” cried the fisherman.
“Do you wish to change your mind?” the king asked in surprise.
“No, your majesty, but I want to share my reward with the guard at the palace gates.”
“What do you mean?” The king was very puzzled.
The fisherman then explained, “When I was bringing the fish to you, the guard at the palace gate would not let me in unless I promised to give him half of my reward. Since the reward I have asked for is fifty strokes of the whip, and since I have now received half of them, the guard should receive the other twenty-five strokes.”
Immediately the guard was brought before the king. “Is it true that this fisherman promised to give you half of his reward?” questioned the king.
The guard, not knowing what had happened but thinking that he was to be rewarded, replied that it was true.
This made the king very angry. He ordered the guard to be taken away and whipped twenty-five times—his reward as promised by the fisherman.
Then, turning to the fisherman, the king said, “Since you have given half of your reward away, do you wish for something else?”
“No, your majesty,” replied the fisherman. “I ask for nothing more than to serve you as a loyal subject.”
And the brave fisherman left the palace and continued to serve his king.
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👤 Other
Agency and Accountability
Courage
Sacrifice
Service
Do Your Duty—That Is Best
Summary: While serving as a bishop, the speaker was stopped by a nonmember neighbor who asked for visits for her bedfast husband. He and others visited, blessed the husband, and continued to stop by. The couple met with missionaries; the wife, Angela Anastor, was baptized and later translated a Church pamphlet into Greek, and the bishop conducted the husband’s funeral.
Many years ago when I served as a bishop, I presided over a large ward with over 1,000 members, including 87 widows. On one occasion I was visiting, along with one of my counselors, a widow and her mature handicapped daughter. As we left their apartment, a lady from the apartment across the hall was standing outside her door and stopped us. She spoke with a foreign accent and asked if I were a bishop; I replied that I was. She told me that she noticed I often visited with others. Then she said, “No one visits me or my bedfast husband. Do you have time to come in and visit with us, even though we are not members of your church?”
As we entered her apartment, we noticed that she and her husband were listening to the Tabernacle Choir on the radio. We talked with the couple for a while, then provided a blessing to the husband.
Following that initial visit I stopped by as often as I could. The couple eventually met with the missionaries, and the wife, Angela Anastor, was baptized. Sometime later her husband passed away, and I had the privilege of conducting and speaking at his funeral services. Sister Anastor, with her knowledge of the Greek language, later was to translate the widely used pamphlet Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story into the Greek language.
As we entered her apartment, we noticed that she and her husband were listening to the Tabernacle Choir on the radio. We talked with the couple for a while, then provided a blessing to the husband.
Following that initial visit I stopped by as often as I could. The couple eventually met with the missionaries, and the wife, Angela Anastor, was baptized. Sometime later her husband passed away, and I had the privilege of conducting and speaking at his funeral services. Sister Anastor, with her knowledge of the Greek language, later was to translate the widely used pamphlet Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story into the Greek language.
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👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Missionaries
👤 Church Members (General)
Baptism
Bishop
Conversion
Death
Disabilities
Diversity and Unity in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
Ministering
Missionary Work
Priesthood Blessing
Faith to Go, Faith to Stay
Summary: In 1999, after building a home in Norton, the author and his wife planned to move from Harare. A mission president and a visiting General Authority counseled them to stay, but the author resisted due to costs and plans. After Naume urged him to follow Church leaders’ counsel, they remained in Harare and were richly blessed. He expresses gratitude for her faith to stay.
In 1999, I was serving as the Harare Zimbabwe District president. By that time, I had a good job. Naume and I bought land in Norton, which was about a 40-minute drive from Harare, and we built a nice three-bedroom home on that land. We were excited to begin our new life in Norton. Our plan was to eventually build a bigger home on the property.
When the mission president learned about our plan to move from Harare, he counseled us not to leave. I reasoned that it was too expensive for us to stay in Harare. We continued to pursue our plans to move. A visiting General Authority also counseled us to stay in Harare. He suggested that we rent our house in Norton while continuing to live in Harare. I again said that it was too expensive to live in Harare. If we remained there, we would not be able to build the larger house we had planned.
On the way home from our conversation with the General Authority, Naume asked me why I was being so stubborn. I responded that our leaders did not seem to understand our situation. She said that she would support me only if I was willing to follow our Church leaders’ counsel. We remained in Harare, and we were richly blessed because of that decision.
I’m grateful that Naume had faith to stay.
When the mission president learned about our plan to move from Harare, he counseled us not to leave. I reasoned that it was too expensive for us to stay in Harare. We continued to pursue our plans to move. A visiting General Authority also counseled us to stay in Harare. He suggested that we rent our house in Norton while continuing to live in Harare. I again said that it was too expensive to live in Harare. If we remained there, we would not be able to build the larger house we had planned.
On the way home from our conversation with the General Authority, Naume asked me why I was being so stubborn. I responded that our leaders did not seem to understand our situation. She said that she would support me only if I was willing to follow our Church leaders’ counsel. We remained in Harare, and we were richly blessed because of that decision.
I’m grateful that Naume had faith to stay.
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Church Members (General)
Faith
Family
Gratitude
Marriage
Obedience
Priesthood
Finding My Second Wind
Summary: As a new missionary in Barrhead, Scotland, the narrator was challenged by a Scotsman about how he knew the Book of Mormon was true. Realizing he had not sought a personal witness, he prayed earnestly that night. He received a powerful confirmation from the Holy Ghost and thereafter testified confidently of the Book of Mormon and the restored gospel.
I remember distinctly the time and place I found my spiritual second wind, my more sure witness of the Book of Mormon. I was in Scotland in my first assignment as a missionary in a little town called Barrhead just outside of Glasgow. I had been challenged by a Scotsman asking me how I knew the Book of Mormon was true. It was at that point I realized I had never received a sure witness or even put the book to the test as Moroni challenges us in Moroni 10:3–5. You first have to have a sincere desire to read the Book of Mormon; then you study and ponder the message with real intent and pray in faith, asking the Lord if it is true—something I had not yet done.
It was later one evening as I was kneeling by my bed in humble prayer that I received a feeling so powerful, so sweet, and so warm that it was as if I had just reached the crest of a hill in my spiritual race for truth and understanding. The Holy Ghost bore witness to my soul that the Book of Mormon was true. Like my physical second wind, no one can tell me that I imagined this witness. It was real! I knew it, and no one could take it away from me. From that point on, I had no problem bearing testimony of the Book of Mormon, living prophets, and the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I could never deny it!
It was later one evening as I was kneeling by my bed in humble prayer that I received a feeling so powerful, so sweet, and so warm that it was as if I had just reached the crest of a hill in my spiritual race for truth and understanding. The Holy Ghost bore witness to my soul that the Book of Mormon was true. Like my physical second wind, no one can tell me that I imagined this witness. It was real! I knew it, and no one could take it away from me. From that point on, I had no problem bearing testimony of the Book of Mormon, living prophets, and the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I could never deny it!
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👤 Missionaries
👤 Other
Book of Mormon
Conversion
Faith
Holy Ghost
Missionary Work
Prayer
Revelation
Testimony
The Restoration
How Do You Know It’s True?
Summary: In 1934, President Heber J. Grant gave banker Fred W. Shibley two Church pamphlets to read on a train to New York. After reading, Mr. Shibley concluded Joseph Smith’s story was true based on its detailed, consistent nature, though he said he did not plan to join the Church. The account explains that Shibley did not pray for confirmation because he did not believe in God, highlighting the need for the Holy Ghost to convert. The outcome underscores that reason alone did not lead him to baptism.
While he was President of the Church, Heber J. Grant had a chance to meet many important people in the business world. Mr. Fred W. Shibley, an officer of the Bankers Trust Company of New York, was one of them.
In 1934, President Grant met with Mr. Shibley in Chicago, Illinois, to discuss business. After the meeting, President Grant took the opportunity to be a missionary and gave Mr. Shibley two pamphlets about the Church. One of them was Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story. As both men were to travel on trains to New York City—Mr. Shibley on a fast train and President Grant on a slow one—President Grant asked Mr. Shibley to read the pamphlets while he was on the train. Mr. Shibley promised that he’d take the time to read them.
Later, when he arrived in New York City, President Grant called on Mr. Shibley. He asked him what he thought about the pamphlets, especially Joseph Smith’s story.
Mr. Shibley said:
“‘By every rule of my life to arrive at the truth, I have to acknowledge this story of Joseph Smith as true. … No liar ever did write or could write such a story as the story told by Joseph Smith. … A liar would never think, in describing an angel, to say his feet did not quite touch the floor. It would not enter his head. Nor to say that he had on a loose robe that he could see into his breast. No liar ever deals in details, and this story deals in nothing but details—the hour, the place, the circumstances, the spot, the people—everything. Liars would not dare tell a story like that. They could not do it.’
“He said, ‘Of course, you know it is generally conceded that liars ought to have good memories and they are always deficient in that particular. Liars in business never give you a detailed statement. They just give you a lot of high points. …
“‘This man had the visions he claims to have had. I do not expect to join your Church, but that story, by every rule of my life, is the truth. … I say that no honest man who believes in the Bible can get away from the proofs this man has given, with scriptural references, to sustain your doctrine.’” (Joseph Anderson, Prophets I Have Known, 45–46.)
Mr. Shibley admitted that he did not believe in Jesus Christ or Heavenly Father. He did not pray to know if Joseph Smith was a true prophet. His mind told him that Joseph Smith told the truth, but to be really converted to the truths of the gospel, he needed to ask Heavenly Father.
In 1934, President Grant met with Mr. Shibley in Chicago, Illinois, to discuss business. After the meeting, President Grant took the opportunity to be a missionary and gave Mr. Shibley two pamphlets about the Church. One of them was Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story. As both men were to travel on trains to New York City—Mr. Shibley on a fast train and President Grant on a slow one—President Grant asked Mr. Shibley to read the pamphlets while he was on the train. Mr. Shibley promised that he’d take the time to read them.
Later, when he arrived in New York City, President Grant called on Mr. Shibley. He asked him what he thought about the pamphlets, especially Joseph Smith’s story.
Mr. Shibley said:
“‘By every rule of my life to arrive at the truth, I have to acknowledge this story of Joseph Smith as true. … No liar ever did write or could write such a story as the story told by Joseph Smith. … A liar would never think, in describing an angel, to say his feet did not quite touch the floor. It would not enter his head. Nor to say that he had on a loose robe that he could see into his breast. No liar ever deals in details, and this story deals in nothing but details—the hour, the place, the circumstances, the spot, the people—everything. Liars would not dare tell a story like that. They could not do it.’
“He said, ‘Of course, you know it is generally conceded that liars ought to have good memories and they are always deficient in that particular. Liars in business never give you a detailed statement. They just give you a lot of high points. …
“‘This man had the visions he claims to have had. I do not expect to join your Church, but that story, by every rule of my life, is the truth. … I say that no honest man who believes in the Bible can get away from the proofs this man has given, with scriptural references, to sustain your doctrine.’” (Joseph Anderson, Prophets I Have Known, 45–46.)
Mr. Shibley admitted that he did not believe in Jesus Christ or Heavenly Father. He did not pray to know if Joseph Smith was a true prophet. His mind told him that Joseph Smith told the truth, but to be really converted to the truths of the gospel, he needed to ask Heavenly Father.
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Other
Conversion
Joseph Smith
Missionary Work
Prayer
Testimony
Truth
Feed My Sheep
Summary: The speaker tells a parable about a ward picnic interrupted by a ragged, hungry family whose car breaks down nearby. He contrasts selfish ways of handling them with the proper response: invite them to join the feast and help them. He then explains that this represents the Church’s duty to share the gospel with the spiritually hungry, concluding with a personal missionary experience in Japan and a call to “feed my sheep.”
Imagine that our bishop has appointed you and me to plan a picnic for all of the ward members. It is to be the finest social in the history of the ward, and we are to spare no expense.
We reserve a beautiful picnic ground in the country. We are to have it all to ourselves; no outsiders will interfere with us.
The arrangements go very well, and when the day comes, the weather is perfect. All is beautifully ready. The tables are in one long row. We even have tablecloths and china. You have never seen such a feast. The Relief Society and Young Women have outdone themselves. The tables are laden with every kind of delicious food: cantaloupes, watermelon, corn on the cob, fried chicken, hamburgers, cakes, pies—you get the picture?
We are seated, and the bishop calls upon the patriarch to bless the food. Every hungry youngster secretly hopes it will be a short prayer.
Then, just at that moment there is an interruption. A noisy old car jerks into the picnic grounds and sputters to a stop close to us. We are upset. Didn’t they see the “reserved” signs?
A worried-looking man lifts the hood; a spout of steam comes out. One of our brethren, a mechanic, says, “That car isn’t going anywhere until it is fixed.”
Several children spill from the car. They are ragged and dirty and noisy. And then an anxious mother takes a box to that extra table nearby. It is mealtime. Their children are hungry. She puts a few leftovers on the table. Then she nervously moves them about, trying to make it look like a meal for her hungry brood. But there is not enough.
We wait impatiently for them to quiet down so that we can have the blessing and enjoy our feast.
Then one of their little girls spies our table. She pulls her runny-nosed little brother over to us and pushes her head between you and me. We cringe aside, because they are very dirty. Then the little girl says, “Ummm, look at that. Ummm, ummm, I wonder what that tastes like.”
Everyone is waiting. Why did they arrive just at that moment? Such an inconvenient time. Why must we interrupt what we are doing to bother with outsiders? Why couldn’t they have stopped somewhere else? They are not clean! They are not like us. They just don’t fit in.
Since the bishop has put us in charge, he expects us to handle these intruders. What should we do? Of course, this is only a parable. But now for the test. If it really happened, my young friends, what would you do?
I will give you three choices.
First, you could insist the intruders keep their children quiet while we have the blessing. Thereafter we ignore them. After all, we reserved the place.
I doubt that you would do that. Could you choke down a feast before hungry children? Surely we are better than that! That is not the answer.
The next choice. There is that extra table. And we do have too much of some things. We could take a little of this and a little of that and lure the little children back to their own table. Then we could enjoy our feast without interruption. After all, we earned what we have. Did we not “obtain it by [our own] industry,” as the Book of Mormon says? (See Alma 4:6.)
I hope you would not do that. There is a better answer. You already know what it is.
We should go out to them and invite them to come and join us. You could slide that way, and I could slide this way, and the little girl could sit between us. They could all fit in somewhere to share our feast. Afterward, we will fix their car and provide something for their journey.
Could there be more pure enjoyment than seeing how much we could get those hungry children to eat? Could there be more satisfaction than to interrupt our festivities to help our mechanic fix their car?
Is that what you would do? Surely it is what you should do. But forgive me if I have a little doubt; let me explain.
We, as members of the Church, have the fullness of the gospel. Every conceivable manner of spiritual nourishment is ours. Every part of the spiritual menu is included. It provides an unending supply of spiritual strength. Like the widow’s cruse of oil, it is replenished as we use it and shall never fail. (See 1 Kgs. 17:8–16.)
And yet, there are people across the world and about us—our neighbors, our friends, some in our own families—who, spiritually speaking, are undernourished. Some of them are starving to death!
If we keep all this to ourselves, it is not unlike feasting before those who are hungry.
We are to go out to them, and to invite them to join us. We are to be missionaries.
It does not matter if it interrupts your schooling or delays your career or your marriage—or basketball. Unless you have a serious health problem, every Latter-day Saint young man should answer the call to serve a mission.
Even mistakes and transgressions must not stand in the way. You should make yourself worthy to receive a call.
The early Apostles at first did not know that the gospel was for everyone, for the Gentiles. Then Peter had a vision. He saw a vessel full of all kinds of creatures and was commanded to kill and to eat. But he refused, saying they were common and unclean. Then the voice said, “What God hath cleansed, that call not thou common.” (See Acts 10:9–16.) That vision, and the experience they had immediately following, convinced them of their duty; thus began the great missionary work of all Christianity.
Almost any returned missionary will have a question: “If they are starving spiritually, why do they not accept what we have? Why do they slam the door on us and turn us away?”
One of my sons was serving in Australia and was thrown off a porch by a man who rejected his message.
My son is big enough and strong enough that he had to be somewhat agreeable to what was happening or the man never could have done it.
Be patient if some will not eat when first invited. Remember, all who are spiritually hungry will not accept the gospel. Do you remember how reluctant you are to try any new food? Only after your mother urges you will you take a little, tiny portion on the tip of a spoon to taste it to see if you like it first.
Undernourished children must be carefully fed; so it is with the spiritually underfed. Some are so weakened by mischief and sin that to begin with they reject the rich food we offer. They must be fed carefully and gently.
Some are so near spiritual death that they must be spoonfed on the broth of fellowship, or nourished carefully on activities and programs. As the scriptures say, they must have milk before meat. (See 1 Cor. 3:2; D&C 19:22.) But we must take care lest the only nourishment they receive thereafter is that broth.
But feed them we must. We are commanded to preach the gospel to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. That message, my young friends, appears more than eighty times in the scriptures.
I did not serve a regular mission until we were called to preside in New England. When I was of missionary age, when I was your age, young men could not be called to the mission field. It was World War II, and I spent four years in the military. But I did do missionary work; we did share the gospel. It was my privilege to baptize one of the first two Japanese to join the Church after the mission had been closed twenty-two years earlier. Brother Elliot Richards baptized Tatsui Sato. I baptized his wife, Chio. And the work in Japan was reopened. We baptized them in a swimming pool amid the rubble of a university that had been destroyed by bombs.
Shortly thereafter I boarded a train in Osaka for Yokohama and a ship that would take me home. Brother and Sister Sato came to the station to say good-bye. Many tears were shed as we bade one another farewell.
It was a very chilly night. The railroad station, what there was left of it, was very cold. Starving children were sleeping in the corners. That was a common sight in Japan in those days. The fortunate ones had a newspaper or a few old rags to fend off the cold.
On that train, I slept restlessly. The berths were too short anyway. In the bleak, chilly hours of the dawn, the train stopped at a station along the way. I heard a tapping on the window and raised the blind. There on the platform stood a little boy tapping on the window with a tin can. I knew he was an orphan and a beggar; the tin can was the symbol of their suffering. Sometimes they carried a spoon as well, as if to say, “I am hungry; feed me.”
He might have been six or seven years old. His little body was thin with starvation. He had on a thin, ragged shirt-like kimono, nothing else. His head was shingled with scabs. His one jaw was swollen—perhaps from an abscessed tooth. Around his head he had tied a filthy rag with a knot on top of his head—a pathetic gesture of treatment.
When I saw him and he saw that I was awake, he waved his can. He was begging. In pity, I thought, “How can I help him?” Then I remembered. I had money, Japanese money. I quickly groped for my clothing and found some yen notes in my pocket. I tried to open the window. But it was stuck. I slipped on my trousers and hurried to the end of the car. He stood outside expectantly. As I pushed at the resistant door, the train pulled away from the station. Through the dirty windows I could see him, holding that rusty tin can, with the dirty rag around his swollen jaw.
There I stood, an officer from a conquering army, heading home to a family and a future. There I stood, half-dressed, clutching some money which he had seen but which I could not get to him. I wanted to help him, but couldn’t. The only comfort I draw is that I did want to help him.
That was thirty-eight years ago, but I can see him as clearly as if it were yesterday.
Perhaps I was scarred by that experience. If so, it is a battle scar, a worthy one, for which I bear no shame. It reminds me of my duty!
Young brethren, I can hear the voice of the Lord saying to each of us just as He said to Peter, “Feed my lambs. … Feed my sheep. … Feed my sheep.” (See John 21:15–17.)
I have unbounded confidence and faith in you, our young brethren. You are the warriors of the Restoration. And in this spiritual battle, you are to relieve the spiritual hunger and feed the sheep. It is your duty!
We have the fullness of the everlasting gospel. We have the obligation to share it with those who do not have it. God grant that we will honor that commission from the Lord and prepare ourselves and answer the call, I humbly pray, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
We reserve a beautiful picnic ground in the country. We are to have it all to ourselves; no outsiders will interfere with us.
The arrangements go very well, and when the day comes, the weather is perfect. All is beautifully ready. The tables are in one long row. We even have tablecloths and china. You have never seen such a feast. The Relief Society and Young Women have outdone themselves. The tables are laden with every kind of delicious food: cantaloupes, watermelon, corn on the cob, fried chicken, hamburgers, cakes, pies—you get the picture?
We are seated, and the bishop calls upon the patriarch to bless the food. Every hungry youngster secretly hopes it will be a short prayer.
Then, just at that moment there is an interruption. A noisy old car jerks into the picnic grounds and sputters to a stop close to us. We are upset. Didn’t they see the “reserved” signs?
A worried-looking man lifts the hood; a spout of steam comes out. One of our brethren, a mechanic, says, “That car isn’t going anywhere until it is fixed.”
Several children spill from the car. They are ragged and dirty and noisy. And then an anxious mother takes a box to that extra table nearby. It is mealtime. Their children are hungry. She puts a few leftovers on the table. Then she nervously moves them about, trying to make it look like a meal for her hungry brood. But there is not enough.
We wait impatiently for them to quiet down so that we can have the blessing and enjoy our feast.
Then one of their little girls spies our table. She pulls her runny-nosed little brother over to us and pushes her head between you and me. We cringe aside, because they are very dirty. Then the little girl says, “Ummm, look at that. Ummm, ummm, I wonder what that tastes like.”
Everyone is waiting. Why did they arrive just at that moment? Such an inconvenient time. Why must we interrupt what we are doing to bother with outsiders? Why couldn’t they have stopped somewhere else? They are not clean! They are not like us. They just don’t fit in.
Since the bishop has put us in charge, he expects us to handle these intruders. What should we do? Of course, this is only a parable. But now for the test. If it really happened, my young friends, what would you do?
I will give you three choices.
First, you could insist the intruders keep their children quiet while we have the blessing. Thereafter we ignore them. After all, we reserved the place.
I doubt that you would do that. Could you choke down a feast before hungry children? Surely we are better than that! That is not the answer.
The next choice. There is that extra table. And we do have too much of some things. We could take a little of this and a little of that and lure the little children back to their own table. Then we could enjoy our feast without interruption. After all, we earned what we have. Did we not “obtain it by [our own] industry,” as the Book of Mormon says? (See Alma 4:6.)
I hope you would not do that. There is a better answer. You already know what it is.
We should go out to them and invite them to come and join us. You could slide that way, and I could slide this way, and the little girl could sit between us. They could all fit in somewhere to share our feast. Afterward, we will fix their car and provide something for their journey.
Could there be more pure enjoyment than seeing how much we could get those hungry children to eat? Could there be more satisfaction than to interrupt our festivities to help our mechanic fix their car?
Is that what you would do? Surely it is what you should do. But forgive me if I have a little doubt; let me explain.
We, as members of the Church, have the fullness of the gospel. Every conceivable manner of spiritual nourishment is ours. Every part of the spiritual menu is included. It provides an unending supply of spiritual strength. Like the widow’s cruse of oil, it is replenished as we use it and shall never fail. (See 1 Kgs. 17:8–16.)
And yet, there are people across the world and about us—our neighbors, our friends, some in our own families—who, spiritually speaking, are undernourished. Some of them are starving to death!
If we keep all this to ourselves, it is not unlike feasting before those who are hungry.
We are to go out to them, and to invite them to join us. We are to be missionaries.
It does not matter if it interrupts your schooling or delays your career or your marriage—or basketball. Unless you have a serious health problem, every Latter-day Saint young man should answer the call to serve a mission.
Even mistakes and transgressions must not stand in the way. You should make yourself worthy to receive a call.
The early Apostles at first did not know that the gospel was for everyone, for the Gentiles. Then Peter had a vision. He saw a vessel full of all kinds of creatures and was commanded to kill and to eat. But he refused, saying they were common and unclean. Then the voice said, “What God hath cleansed, that call not thou common.” (See Acts 10:9–16.) That vision, and the experience they had immediately following, convinced them of their duty; thus began the great missionary work of all Christianity.
Almost any returned missionary will have a question: “If they are starving spiritually, why do they not accept what we have? Why do they slam the door on us and turn us away?”
One of my sons was serving in Australia and was thrown off a porch by a man who rejected his message.
My son is big enough and strong enough that he had to be somewhat agreeable to what was happening or the man never could have done it.
Be patient if some will not eat when first invited. Remember, all who are spiritually hungry will not accept the gospel. Do you remember how reluctant you are to try any new food? Only after your mother urges you will you take a little, tiny portion on the tip of a spoon to taste it to see if you like it first.
Undernourished children must be carefully fed; so it is with the spiritually underfed. Some are so weakened by mischief and sin that to begin with they reject the rich food we offer. They must be fed carefully and gently.
Some are so near spiritual death that they must be spoonfed on the broth of fellowship, or nourished carefully on activities and programs. As the scriptures say, they must have milk before meat. (See 1 Cor. 3:2; D&C 19:22.) But we must take care lest the only nourishment they receive thereafter is that broth.
But feed them we must. We are commanded to preach the gospel to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. That message, my young friends, appears more than eighty times in the scriptures.
I did not serve a regular mission until we were called to preside in New England. When I was of missionary age, when I was your age, young men could not be called to the mission field. It was World War II, and I spent four years in the military. But I did do missionary work; we did share the gospel. It was my privilege to baptize one of the first two Japanese to join the Church after the mission had been closed twenty-two years earlier. Brother Elliot Richards baptized Tatsui Sato. I baptized his wife, Chio. And the work in Japan was reopened. We baptized them in a swimming pool amid the rubble of a university that had been destroyed by bombs.
Shortly thereafter I boarded a train in Osaka for Yokohama and a ship that would take me home. Brother and Sister Sato came to the station to say good-bye. Many tears were shed as we bade one another farewell.
It was a very chilly night. The railroad station, what there was left of it, was very cold. Starving children were sleeping in the corners. That was a common sight in Japan in those days. The fortunate ones had a newspaper or a few old rags to fend off the cold.
On that train, I slept restlessly. The berths were too short anyway. In the bleak, chilly hours of the dawn, the train stopped at a station along the way. I heard a tapping on the window and raised the blind. There on the platform stood a little boy tapping on the window with a tin can. I knew he was an orphan and a beggar; the tin can was the symbol of their suffering. Sometimes they carried a spoon as well, as if to say, “I am hungry; feed me.”
He might have been six or seven years old. His little body was thin with starvation. He had on a thin, ragged shirt-like kimono, nothing else. His head was shingled with scabs. His one jaw was swollen—perhaps from an abscessed tooth. Around his head he had tied a filthy rag with a knot on top of his head—a pathetic gesture of treatment.
When I saw him and he saw that I was awake, he waved his can. He was begging. In pity, I thought, “How can I help him?” Then I remembered. I had money, Japanese money. I quickly groped for my clothing and found some yen notes in my pocket. I tried to open the window. But it was stuck. I slipped on my trousers and hurried to the end of the car. He stood outside expectantly. As I pushed at the resistant door, the train pulled away from the station. Through the dirty windows I could see him, holding that rusty tin can, with the dirty rag around his swollen jaw.
There I stood, an officer from a conquering army, heading home to a family and a future. There I stood, half-dressed, clutching some money which he had seen but which I could not get to him. I wanted to help him, but couldn’t. The only comfort I draw is that I did want to help him.
That was thirty-eight years ago, but I can see him as clearly as if it were yesterday.
Perhaps I was scarred by that experience. If so, it is a battle scar, a worthy one, for which I bear no shame. It reminds me of my duty!
Young brethren, I can hear the voice of the Lord saying to each of us just as He said to Peter, “Feed my lambs. … Feed my sheep. … Feed my sheep.” (See John 21:15–17.)
I have unbounded confidence and faith in you, our young brethren. You are the warriors of the Restoration. And in this spiritual battle, you are to relieve the spiritual hunger and feed the sheep. It is your duty!
We have the fullness of the everlasting gospel. We have the obligation to share it with those who do not have it. God grant that we will honor that commission from the Lord and prepare ourselves and answer the call, I humbly pray, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
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👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Parents
👤 Children
👤 Other
Bishop
Charity
Children
Judging Others
Kindness
Love
Ministering
Relief Society
Service
Unity
Young Women
The Right Choice
Summary: A child declines attending a friend's Sunday birthday party to keep the Sabbath day holy. The child's mother informs the friend's mother, which leads to conversations about faith and the family's beliefs. Though the friend’s family does not join the Church, they gain respect for the family's values and later schedule the next birthday party on a Saturday.
In our family, we have always been taught to keep the Sabbath day holy. We attend church and try to do other things on Sunday that we think will help us think about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. We write in our journals and read stories from the Friend. Other things, like going to the park or playing sports, we avoid on Sundays.
I was excited to get an invitation to my friend Gordon’s birthday party last year. But when I opened it up, I saw that the party was being held on Sunday. I showed it to my parents but didn’t even ask if I could go. I said, “I can’t go to his party because it’s on Sunday.” I was disappointed to miss it but knew I was making the right choice.
My mom phoned Gordon’s mom to tell her that I couldn’t come. Gordon’s mom apologized for having the party on a Sunday. The very next day she wanted to talk to Mom while they were waiting to pick us up from school. She said they used to go to their church and that she believed in prayer. This led to lots of opportunities to share the gospel with Gordon’s family. They haven’t joined the Church, but they still show some interest in it and understand more about what we believe. My mom said that if I had not made the right choice about keeping the Sabbath day holy, we probably never would have been able to talk to them so much about the gospel. They respect our values, and this year they had Gordon’s birthday party on a Saturday rather than a Sunday.
I was excited to get an invitation to my friend Gordon’s birthday party last year. But when I opened it up, I saw that the party was being held on Sunday. I showed it to my parents but didn’t even ask if I could go. I said, “I can’t go to his party because it’s on Sunday.” I was disappointed to miss it but knew I was making the right choice.
My mom phoned Gordon’s mom to tell her that I couldn’t come. Gordon’s mom apologized for having the party on a Sunday. The very next day she wanted to talk to Mom while they were waiting to pick us up from school. She said they used to go to their church and that she believed in prayer. This led to lots of opportunities to share the gospel with Gordon’s family. They haven’t joined the Church, but they still show some interest in it and understand more about what we believe. My mom said that if I had not made the right choice about keeping the Sabbath day holy, we probably never would have been able to talk to them so much about the gospel. They respect our values, and this year they had Gordon’s birthday party on a Saturday rather than a Sunday.
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👤 Children
👤 Parents
👤 Friends
Family
Missionary Work
Obedience
Parenting
Sabbath Day
Teaching the Gospel
What Brought You to Rexburg?
Summary: A Latter-day Saint couple moved to Rexburg and met nonmember neighbors whose first comment suggested the town needed to be 'introduced to Christ.' Choosing to respond with consistent kindness, they built a respectful relationship over eight years through shared activities and open, civil conversations about beliefs. Though the neighbors did not join the Church, mutual respect grew and the relationship became warm and friendly.
After decades of living where members of the Church are a minority, my husband and I moved into a neighborhood in Rexburg, Idaho, USA, that contained only two nonmember families. It was our good fortune to live next to one of them.
The father was mowing his lawn the first time we drove into our driveway. My husband and I crossed our lawn to get acquainted. As I put out my hand, I asked, “So what brought your family to Rexburg?”
He replied, “My job—and we searched specifically for a town that needed to be introduced to Christ.”
I felt as though a bucket of cold water had been thrown in my face, but I smiled. I determined at that moment that no matter what our new neighbor said or did, we would become the best neighbors the family ever had. We would try to respond in every interaction with them in a kind, loving, and reasonable way, as the Savior would.
The following eight years brought many shared activities between our families. The mother was invited to and attended Relief Society activities. She invited me and many of our Latter-day Saint neighbors to a Christian women’s retreat sponsored by her church. My husband and I were invited to their children’s dance and piano recitals. Their family was included in neighborhood cookouts and parties. And we received calls from their older children when they needed rides home from work and couldn’t reach their parents.
The parents worried that their children might begin to like Latter-day Saints too much, so they didn’t let their sons join our ward Scouting program. But our home was considered a safe place, where they let their children play when our grandchildren visited.
Every time our neighbors tried to help us see “the error of our ways,” we reminded them that we had the utmost respect for their beliefs and the way they lived and nurtured their children. We then added that we expected the same respect for our beliefs, which also centered on the Savior’s teachings.
When the mother tried to make our differences into a deep, uncrossable chasm by claiming that Latter-day Saints believed in a “different Jesus,” I reminded her that we both believed He is divine and the beloved Son of God. Eventually she and I enjoyed a warm and friendly relationship.
Their family moved without joining the Church. But if they can say, “We lived among Mormons; they are good and respectful people with sincere hearts,” then I feel we succeeded in being good neighbors and in helping them become more open and fair in their assessment of Latter-day Saints.
The father was mowing his lawn the first time we drove into our driveway. My husband and I crossed our lawn to get acquainted. As I put out my hand, I asked, “So what brought your family to Rexburg?”
He replied, “My job—and we searched specifically for a town that needed to be introduced to Christ.”
I felt as though a bucket of cold water had been thrown in my face, but I smiled. I determined at that moment that no matter what our new neighbor said or did, we would become the best neighbors the family ever had. We would try to respond in every interaction with them in a kind, loving, and reasonable way, as the Savior would.
The following eight years brought many shared activities between our families. The mother was invited to and attended Relief Society activities. She invited me and many of our Latter-day Saint neighbors to a Christian women’s retreat sponsored by her church. My husband and I were invited to their children’s dance and piano recitals. Their family was included in neighborhood cookouts and parties. And we received calls from their older children when they needed rides home from work and couldn’t reach their parents.
The parents worried that their children might begin to like Latter-day Saints too much, so they didn’t let their sons join our ward Scouting program. But our home was considered a safe place, where they let their children play when our grandchildren visited.
Every time our neighbors tried to help us see “the error of our ways,” we reminded them that we had the utmost respect for their beliefs and the way they lived and nurtured their children. We then added that we expected the same respect for our beliefs, which also centered on the Savior’s teachings.
When the mother tried to make our differences into a deep, uncrossable chasm by claiming that Latter-day Saints believed in a “different Jesus,” I reminded her that we both believed He is divine and the beloved Son of God. Eventually she and I enjoyed a warm and friendly relationship.
Their family moved without joining the Church. But if they can say, “We lived among Mormons; they are good and respectful people with sincere hearts,” then I feel we succeeded in being good neighbors and in helping them become more open and fair in their assessment of Latter-day Saints.
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👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Children
👤 Other
Charity
Friendship
Jesus Christ
Judging Others
Kindness
Ministering
Missionary Work
Relief Society
Gifts of Love
Summary: In a religion class, a young woman questioned why she would ever need strong writing skills. A shy older student then described a day in Vietnam when, under sudden enemy attack, he fought his way back to his rifle and later read a letter from his mother promising through spiritual assurance that he would return home if righteous. He told the class that the letter became scripture to him, illustrating the power of carefully prepared words.
You could start back in your room today. Is there an unfinished paper somewhere in the stacks? (I assume there are stacks there; I think I know your room.) Perhaps it is typed and apparently ready to turn in. Why bother more with it? I learned why during a religion class I taught once at Ricks College. I was teaching from section 25 of the Doctrine and Covenants. In that section Emma Smith is told that she should give her time to “writing and to learning much” (verse 8). About three rows back sat a blonde girl whose brow wrinkled as I urged the class to be diligent in developing writing skills. She raised her hand and said, “That doesn’t seem reasonable to me. All I’ll ever write are letters to my children.” That brought laughter all around the class. I felt chagrined to have applied that scripture to her. Just looking at her I could imagine a full quiver of children around her, and I could even see the letters she’d write in purple ink, with handwriting slanting backwards; neat, round loops; and circles for the tops of the i’s. Maybe writing powerfully wouldn’t matter to her.
Then a young man stood up, near the back. He’d said little during the term; I’m not sure he’d ever spoken before. He was older than the other students, and he was shy. He asked if he could speak. He told in a quiet voice of having been a soldier in Vietnam. One day, in what he thought would be a lull, he had left his rifle and walked across his fortified compound to mail call. Just as he got a letter in his hand, he heard a bugle blowing and shouts and mortar and rifle fire coming ahead of the swarming enemy. He fought his way back to his rifle, using his hands as weapons. With the men who survived, he drove the enemy out. The wounded were evacuated. Then he sat down among the living, and some of the dead, and he opened his letter. It was from his mother. She wrote that she’d had a spiritual experience that assured her that he would live to come home if he were righteous. In my class, the boy said quietly, “That letter was scripture to me. I kept it.” And he sat down.
You may have a child someday, perhaps a son. Can you see his face? Can you see him somewhere, sometime, in mortal danger? Can you feel the fear in his heart? Does it touch you? Would you like to give freely? What sacrifice will it take to write the letter your heart will want to send? You won’t do it in the hour before the postman comes. Nor will it be possible in a day or even in a week. It may take years. Start the practice this afternoon. Go back to your room and write and read and rewrite that paper again and again. It won’t seem like sacrifice if you picture that boy, feel his heart, and think of the letters he’ll need someday.
Then a young man stood up, near the back. He’d said little during the term; I’m not sure he’d ever spoken before. He was older than the other students, and he was shy. He asked if he could speak. He told in a quiet voice of having been a soldier in Vietnam. One day, in what he thought would be a lull, he had left his rifle and walked across his fortified compound to mail call. Just as he got a letter in his hand, he heard a bugle blowing and shouts and mortar and rifle fire coming ahead of the swarming enemy. He fought his way back to his rifle, using his hands as weapons. With the men who survived, he drove the enemy out. The wounded were evacuated. Then he sat down among the living, and some of the dead, and he opened his letter. It was from his mother. She wrote that she’d had a spiritual experience that assured her that he would live to come home if he were righteous. In my class, the boy said quietly, “That letter was scripture to me. I kept it.” And he sat down.
You may have a child someday, perhaps a son. Can you see his face? Can you see him somewhere, sometime, in mortal danger? Can you feel the fear in his heart? Does it touch you? Would you like to give freely? What sacrifice will it take to write the letter your heart will want to send? You won’t do it in the hour before the postman comes. Nor will it be possible in a day or even in a week. It may take years. Start the practice this afternoon. Go back to your room and write and read and rewrite that paper again and again. It won’t seem like sacrifice if you picture that boy, feel his heart, and think of the letters he’ll need someday.
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👤 Young Adults
👤 Parents
👤 Other
Keeping Covenants and a Proper Perspective
Summary: A young mother was surprised when her five-year-old daughter asked whom she should marry. After the mother suggested a boy named David, the child asked whether he knew the way to the temple. Years later, David did not choose that path, and the daughter married a man who did, eventually being sealed in the temple.
A friend told of a time when, as a young mother, her five-year-old daughter inquired, "Mom, who shall I marry?"
Although somewhat puzzled by the question coming from such a young child, she thought for a moment and responded, "I believe David is a good boy."
"Mom," questioned the small girl, "Does he know the way to the temple?"
As years passed David did not know the way to the temple and the righteous daughter married a young man who did know the way. She was sealed in the temple, and now continues to keep her precious covenants and eternal perspective.
Although somewhat puzzled by the question coming from such a young child, she thought for a moment and responded, "I believe David is a good boy."
"Mom," questioned the small girl, "Does he know the way to the temple?"
As years passed David did not know the way to the temple and the righteous daughter married a young man who did know the way. She was sealed in the temple, and now continues to keep her precious covenants and eternal perspective.
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👤 Parents
👤 Children
👤 Young Adults
Missionary Focus:The Street Display
Summary: In 1975, the narrator was in Copenhagen settling his late father's business and noticed missionaries setting up a street display amid a bustling, worldly shopping district. Impressed by their conduct, he later followed two missionaries on their preparation day and saw them avoid questionable shops. Back home in Edmonton, he met missionaries, felt the same spiritual impression, and eventually joined the Church, later reflecting on the unseen influence of those missionaries' example.
In the summer of 1975 I was 25, and my father had just passed away. He was a well-to-do businessman in oil and gas in Canada. I had traveled to Denmark to settle his business dealings for my mother, selling his mining company there and a lot of oil and mineral rights he had in Greenland. I wound up being in Copenhagen alone for quite some time.
After spending hours each day in business meetings discussing the arrangements of the deal, my business companions would take me downtown to the Stroet, a famous walking area lined with shops, in the busiest part of Copenhagen.
It was one of the hottest summers on record for northern Europe. The Europeans were traveling more than the Americans. On that street, you could sit in one spot and see some English, Israelis, Arabs, and Scandinavians strolling by, sometimes in native costume or scantily dressed because of the heat. The Stroet is lined with remarkable stores selling furs and expensive things. Some of the seamier side of the city was obvious there as well, with pornographic theaters, adult bookstores, and taverns offering their wares. And I noticed, in the middle of all this, four Mormon missionaries working a street display.
I was so astonished. Here on this one street, the whole world seemed represented. The degradations of humanity beside rampant materialism and in the midst of all this, an island of spirituality.
I was with my business companions still discussing the deal we were working on, so I was not able to go talk with the missionaries, but I watched them. I noticed that none of the young men followed the young ladies down the street with their eyes no matter how scantily dressed the girls were. I was quite impressed with that. I resolved that I would go back and meet them in the evening when I was free, but every time I went to find them, their display was folded up and put away. I could never seem to catch up with them.
I left Copenhagen on a business trip and returned a few days later. On this trip I had only a light overnight bag, so instead of taking a taxi, I started walking to my hotel. As I was walking down the Stroet, lo and behold, there were two missionaries on what I later learned would have been their preparation day.
Since the pair was not working by the street display, I set out to follow them. As they walked down the street, they would look in the shop windows. I would follow and look in the windows that they looked into to see what they were looking at. They would look at shoes or coats, and when they did look into a bookstore, it was a store that sold Danish history books. They did not stare into the wine shops or other shops that offered questionable literature or art.
I resolved to meet the missionaries at their street display, but suddenly the business deal was completed, and I was on my way back to Canada.
When I got home to Edmonton, I forgot some of the feelings I had experienced watching the missionaries in Copenhagen. However, through the referral of an acquaintance, some missionaries made an appointment with me.
I let the two missionaries into my apartment. I looked into the face of one of the elders, and it seemed as though I had known him all my life. I had immediately the feelings I had felt on the Stroet in Copenhagen. I sat down and listened to the first discussion. I looked into the eyes of the elders and saw the sincerity of the testimony they bore. After several weeks of being taught by the missionaries, I joined the Church.
I have often thought about those missionaries that I watched during those afternoons in Copenhagen. If the two missionaries I followed had stopped in front of a pub and had been laughing and joking about beer, or if they had gone into some of the stores that you might expect young people to be curious about, the impact of their example on me would have disappeared. If they were anything but what they were, representing precisely what they did, the testimony expressed by their actions would have been lost.
The world walked by those missionaries that summer on the Stroet in Denmark. They never knew I was watching and that their presence bore testimony to me. They never knew that their example was what touched me and made me receptive to the gospel message. Although they never spoke to many of the people on that street, I wonder how many others were influenced as I was just by their example.
After spending hours each day in business meetings discussing the arrangements of the deal, my business companions would take me downtown to the Stroet, a famous walking area lined with shops, in the busiest part of Copenhagen.
It was one of the hottest summers on record for northern Europe. The Europeans were traveling more than the Americans. On that street, you could sit in one spot and see some English, Israelis, Arabs, and Scandinavians strolling by, sometimes in native costume or scantily dressed because of the heat. The Stroet is lined with remarkable stores selling furs and expensive things. Some of the seamier side of the city was obvious there as well, with pornographic theaters, adult bookstores, and taverns offering their wares. And I noticed, in the middle of all this, four Mormon missionaries working a street display.
I was so astonished. Here on this one street, the whole world seemed represented. The degradations of humanity beside rampant materialism and in the midst of all this, an island of spirituality.
I was with my business companions still discussing the deal we were working on, so I was not able to go talk with the missionaries, but I watched them. I noticed that none of the young men followed the young ladies down the street with their eyes no matter how scantily dressed the girls were. I was quite impressed with that. I resolved that I would go back and meet them in the evening when I was free, but every time I went to find them, their display was folded up and put away. I could never seem to catch up with them.
I left Copenhagen on a business trip and returned a few days later. On this trip I had only a light overnight bag, so instead of taking a taxi, I started walking to my hotel. As I was walking down the Stroet, lo and behold, there were two missionaries on what I later learned would have been their preparation day.
Since the pair was not working by the street display, I set out to follow them. As they walked down the street, they would look in the shop windows. I would follow and look in the windows that they looked into to see what they were looking at. They would look at shoes or coats, and when they did look into a bookstore, it was a store that sold Danish history books. They did not stare into the wine shops or other shops that offered questionable literature or art.
I resolved to meet the missionaries at their street display, but suddenly the business deal was completed, and I was on my way back to Canada.
When I got home to Edmonton, I forgot some of the feelings I had experienced watching the missionaries in Copenhagen. However, through the referral of an acquaintance, some missionaries made an appointment with me.
I let the two missionaries into my apartment. I looked into the face of one of the elders, and it seemed as though I had known him all my life. I had immediately the feelings I had felt on the Stroet in Copenhagen. I sat down and listened to the first discussion. I looked into the eyes of the elders and saw the sincerity of the testimony they bore. After several weeks of being taught by the missionaries, I joined the Church.
I have often thought about those missionaries that I watched during those afternoons in Copenhagen. If the two missionaries I followed had stopped in front of a pub and had been laughing and joking about beer, or if they had gone into some of the stores that you might expect young people to be curious about, the impact of their example on me would have disappeared. If they were anything but what they were, representing precisely what they did, the testimony expressed by their actions would have been lost.
The world walked by those missionaries that summer on the Stroet in Denmark. They never knew I was watching and that their presence bore testimony to me. They never knew that their example was what touched me and made me receptive to the gospel message. Although they never spoke to many of the people on that street, I wonder how many others were influenced as I was just by their example.
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👤 Missionaries
👤 Other
Chastity
Conversion
Faith
Missionary Work
Testimony
Learning to Have No Fear
Summary: A new missionary in Tahiti felt inadequate and struggled with impatience toward companions who didn’t want to work. As a new senior companion, he felt alone and like a failure when his companion played games instead of teaching during a visit in Fare, Huahine. In that moment, he felt a powerful outpouring of the Spirit assuring him he was loved and not alone, which changed his mission outlook and reliance on the Spirit.
When I was called to Tahiti on my mission, I remember thinking, “What am I going to do there?”
I was a new member of the Church. I didn’t know a lot about the gospel. I hadn’t read the Book of Mormon cover to cover, though I knew it was true. And I would have to learn two languages: Tahitian and French.
I felt inadequate.
Thankfully, I had two things going for me: I knew how to work, and I knew how to obey. Knowing how to work came from my father; knowing how to obey came from the gospel.
So when I got to my mission, I worked hard and I obeyed. As a result, the Lord blessed me with some wonderful experiences, and He taught me to rely on the Spirit. In the process, He also taught me patience, because I was not the most patient missionary. If I had a senior companion who didn’t want to work hard, even though I was the junior companion, I would say, ‘C’mon, let’s go! We’ve got to work!’”
When I became a senior companion, I thought, “Finally, I’ve arrived. I can control the work now.”
But my mission president assigned me a companion who didn’t want to work. By that point in my mission, thankfully, I had learned enough that I knew I had to love my companion, be kind to him, and be patient with him. I knew I couldn’t push him.
One night in the little village of Fare on the island of Huahine, we were at an investigator’s home. Instead of teaching, my companion was playing a board game with a family member and I was sitting there alone, feeling that nobody wanted to listen to me. It was my first assignment as a senior companion, and I felt that I was failing.
As I was having these thoughts and feelings, an outpouring of the Spirit came into my heart. I knew I was not alone. That stayed with me the whole night—not just for a moment. When I awoke the next morning, the feeling was still with me. I knew Heavenly Father loved me. I knew He cared about me. I knew He was with me. Knowing that gave me the strength I needed.
That was a key experience for me. My mission president knew that I needed to have experiences that would humble me and help me recognize my dependence on the Spirit. From that point on I had an incredible mission.
I was a new member of the Church. I didn’t know a lot about the gospel. I hadn’t read the Book of Mormon cover to cover, though I knew it was true. And I would have to learn two languages: Tahitian and French.
I felt inadequate.
Thankfully, I had two things going for me: I knew how to work, and I knew how to obey. Knowing how to work came from my father; knowing how to obey came from the gospel.
So when I got to my mission, I worked hard and I obeyed. As a result, the Lord blessed me with some wonderful experiences, and He taught me to rely on the Spirit. In the process, He also taught me patience, because I was not the most patient missionary. If I had a senior companion who didn’t want to work hard, even though I was the junior companion, I would say, ‘C’mon, let’s go! We’ve got to work!’”
When I became a senior companion, I thought, “Finally, I’ve arrived. I can control the work now.”
But my mission president assigned me a companion who didn’t want to work. By that point in my mission, thankfully, I had learned enough that I knew I had to love my companion, be kind to him, and be patient with him. I knew I couldn’t push him.
One night in the little village of Fare on the island of Huahine, we were at an investigator’s home. Instead of teaching, my companion was playing a board game with a family member and I was sitting there alone, feeling that nobody wanted to listen to me. It was my first assignment as a senior companion, and I felt that I was failing.
As I was having these thoughts and feelings, an outpouring of the Spirit came into my heart. I knew I was not alone. That stayed with me the whole night—not just for a moment. When I awoke the next morning, the feeling was still with me. I knew Heavenly Father loved me. I knew He cared about me. I knew He was with me. Knowing that gave me the strength I needed.
That was a key experience for me. My mission president knew that I needed to have experiences that would humble me and help me recognize my dependence on the Spirit. From that point on I had an incredible mission.
Read more →
👤 Missionaries
👤 Other
Adversity
Faith
Holy Ghost
Humility
Kindness
Love
Missionary Work
Obedience
Patience
Revelation
Testimony
Traveling with a Missionary Prophet
Summary: After 14 intensive days, on a bus from Bern to Zurich, President Kimball chose not to rest and instead taught the bus driver despite language barriers. At the airport he introduced the driver to the mission president, secured a commitment for gospel discussions, and the experience inspired the author to prioritize missionary work.
After the Dortmund conference, while most of the group returned to the United States, President Kimball, President Tanner, and their wives, and a few others traveled to Bern, Switzerland. Here the two members of the First Presidency were busy for an additional day and a half in the Swiss Temple. They had been traveling now for 14 days while participating in the five area conferences. They had been going unceasingly when we boarded a bus at Bern to go to Zurich where we were to catch our flight to New York and then on to Salt Lake. I saw President Kimball’s exceptional enthusiasm in action again.
There had been 14 days of going, going, going, and in the 30 hours ahead, there would be no opportunity for the prophet to go to bed or really relax. On the bus, most of us leaned back in our seats and began to nap. I was seated behind President Kimball and expected that he would use the next hour for some well-deserved rest. We had not quite reached the autobahn when President Kimball stood up and made his way up the aisle to a jump seat next to the bus driver. As I sat in my seat feeling almost exhausted, our prophet, who had reason to be more tired than anyone else, couldn’t rest because there was a person on that bus who hadn’t been taught the gospel of Jesus Christ.
As I watched what happened, I had a feeling of guilt—I had been content to sit back and relax, but the prophet, realizing the transcending importance of missionary work, didn’t let weariness dampen his burning desire to share the gospel with others.
I wondered how he was going to talk with the bus driver who seemed to speak little English. President Kimball doesn’t speak German. Initially, there was some difficulty as they tried to speak to one another. After only a few minutes, however, the two of them were obviously quite able to understand each other. Now my worry was transferred from how they would communicate with each other to whether the bus driver, while glancing frequently at President Kimball, would be able to keep the bus on the road. It was clear that he understood and was interested in President Kimball’s sincere message. Their conversation continued until we reached the outskirts of Zurich when President Kimball returned to his seat.
When the bus pulled up at the Zurich airport, President Gary E. O’Brian, president of the Zurich Switzerland Mission, was waiting on the curb. President Kimball went to the door of the bus as it opened. He asked President O’Brian to step on the bus, and while shaking hands with him, said, “President O’Brian, this is Mr. _____. Will you promise me you will teach him the gospel?” President O’Brian said, “Yes, President.” And then President Kimball said, “Mr. _____, this is one of our mission presidents. Will you let him teach you the gospel of Jesus Christ?” The bus driver nodded his head and said he would.
This experience really taught me the importance of sharing the gospel. Our prophet is in close communication with our Heavenly Father and sees beyond the veil much more clearly than I do. He puts this degree of urgency on missionary work. Even when he has every reason to be tired, when sitting back and resting would seem to be a valid excuse for passing up a missionary opportunity, President Kimball continues to be a vigorous missionary. How can you or I do less than share the gospel with our families, our neighbors, our friends, and everyone else we meet?
There had been 14 days of going, going, going, and in the 30 hours ahead, there would be no opportunity for the prophet to go to bed or really relax. On the bus, most of us leaned back in our seats and began to nap. I was seated behind President Kimball and expected that he would use the next hour for some well-deserved rest. We had not quite reached the autobahn when President Kimball stood up and made his way up the aisle to a jump seat next to the bus driver. As I sat in my seat feeling almost exhausted, our prophet, who had reason to be more tired than anyone else, couldn’t rest because there was a person on that bus who hadn’t been taught the gospel of Jesus Christ.
As I watched what happened, I had a feeling of guilt—I had been content to sit back and relax, but the prophet, realizing the transcending importance of missionary work, didn’t let weariness dampen his burning desire to share the gospel with others.
I wondered how he was going to talk with the bus driver who seemed to speak little English. President Kimball doesn’t speak German. Initially, there was some difficulty as they tried to speak to one another. After only a few minutes, however, the two of them were obviously quite able to understand each other. Now my worry was transferred from how they would communicate with each other to whether the bus driver, while glancing frequently at President Kimball, would be able to keep the bus on the road. It was clear that he understood and was interested in President Kimball’s sincere message. Their conversation continued until we reached the outskirts of Zurich when President Kimball returned to his seat.
When the bus pulled up at the Zurich airport, President Gary E. O’Brian, president of the Zurich Switzerland Mission, was waiting on the curb. President Kimball went to the door of the bus as it opened. He asked President O’Brian to step on the bus, and while shaking hands with him, said, “President O’Brian, this is Mr. _____. Will you promise me you will teach him the gospel?” President O’Brian said, “Yes, President.” And then President Kimball said, “Mr. _____, this is one of our mission presidents. Will you let him teach you the gospel of Jesus Christ?” The bus driver nodded his head and said he would.
This experience really taught me the importance of sharing the gospel. Our prophet is in close communication with our Heavenly Father and sees beyond the veil much more clearly than I do. He puts this degree of urgency on missionary work. Even when he has every reason to be tired, when sitting back and resting would seem to be a valid excuse for passing up a missionary opportunity, President Kimball continues to be a vigorous missionary. How can you or I do less than share the gospel with our families, our neighbors, our friends, and everyone else we meet?
Read more →
👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Other
Apostle
Conversion
Missionary Work
Revelation
Sacrifice
Temples
The Power of Music
Summary: The speaker reflects on how music shaped her testimony from childhood Primary hymns to adult sacred music. She describes how hymns bring comfort, help her feel Heavenly Father’s presence, and deepen her understanding of the Savior’s suffering. The story concludes by affirming that music is a blessing that can help us draw closer to God and feel His presence in daily life.
Much of my early testimony was formed through music. I adored bouncing up in “Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam”. I popped along to “Popcorn Popping”. I could perform “Book of Mormon Stories” in my sleep. But it wasn’t just fun. I distinctly remember learning “Love Is Spoken Here”, and becoming emotional as we sang it in Primary. Music hadn’t affected me like that before—I didn’t understand how I could be crying whilst being happy. It wasn’t just the lyrics—the melody itself, the voices of all my friends—it shocked me.
I realised that these songs had power. As I’ve gotten older, I still often turn to these songs when I’m in need. The second verse of “How Firm A Foundation” has been my companion through any scary experience, even if it was just venturing downstairs in the middle of the night for a glass of water.
“Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed, / For I am thy God and will still give thee aid.”1
Singing these lines has always brought me comfort. I truly feel Heavenly Father’s presence in those moments. The effect wouldn’t be the same if I just spoke the words—the act of singing aloud, a musical prayer, brings me the most comfort.
As an adult, music still plays a part in my testimony. I was lucky enough to see a concert of Rob Gardner’s Lamb of God a few years ago, as my sister Lauren was part of the choir. Individual performers, a choir, and an orchestra come together to recount the Saviour’s last days on earth. In the song “Gethsemane”, a narrator tells of the Saviour entering the garden of Gethsemane. The choir sings in Aramaic as the music swells. Of course, the effect of this cannot be accurately portrayed in writing—it is absolutely beautiful and brought me to tears. Now, when I think of Him, suffering so much in that garden, I hear that music. He suffered for us, out of the purest love. It is beautiful and mournful, awe inspiring and heartbreaking. “Gethsemane” helped me tap into those emotions at a slightly deeper level, as I tried to empathise with what our dear Saviour went through.
Music is another tool we can use to help strengthen our faith. It helps us to understand things in a different way, and sometimes in a deeper way. I feel spiritually enriched when I am able to listen to such music—for a brief moment, I am able to truly cast other things aside and just reflect on the gospel. It’s a blessing that I often forget I can use.
In October 1936, President J. Reuben Clark stated “We get nearer to the Lord through music than perhaps through any other thing except prayer.”2
As I teach my daughter those same Primary hymns I enjoyed years ago, I am happy to know that they can be a guide and a comfort to her. They certainly have for me. I am truly grateful for all the ways Heavenly Father has provided to bring us closer to Him, and to feel His presence in our daily lives.
I realised that these songs had power. As I’ve gotten older, I still often turn to these songs when I’m in need. The second verse of “How Firm A Foundation” has been my companion through any scary experience, even if it was just venturing downstairs in the middle of the night for a glass of water.
“Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed, / For I am thy God and will still give thee aid.”1
Singing these lines has always brought me comfort. I truly feel Heavenly Father’s presence in those moments. The effect wouldn’t be the same if I just spoke the words—the act of singing aloud, a musical prayer, brings me the most comfort.
As an adult, music still plays a part in my testimony. I was lucky enough to see a concert of Rob Gardner’s Lamb of God a few years ago, as my sister Lauren was part of the choir. Individual performers, a choir, and an orchestra come together to recount the Saviour’s last days on earth. In the song “Gethsemane”, a narrator tells of the Saviour entering the garden of Gethsemane. The choir sings in Aramaic as the music swells. Of course, the effect of this cannot be accurately portrayed in writing—it is absolutely beautiful and brought me to tears. Now, when I think of Him, suffering so much in that garden, I hear that music. He suffered for us, out of the purest love. It is beautiful and mournful, awe inspiring and heartbreaking. “Gethsemane” helped me tap into those emotions at a slightly deeper level, as I tried to empathise with what our dear Saviour went through.
Music is another tool we can use to help strengthen our faith. It helps us to understand things in a different way, and sometimes in a deeper way. I feel spiritually enriched when I am able to listen to such music—for a brief moment, I am able to truly cast other things aside and just reflect on the gospel. It’s a blessing that I often forget I can use.
In October 1936, President J. Reuben Clark stated “We get nearer to the Lord through music than perhaps through any other thing except prayer.”2
As I teach my daughter those same Primary hymns I enjoyed years ago, I am happy to know that they can be a guide and a comfort to her. They certainly have for me. I am truly grateful for all the ways Heavenly Father has provided to bring us closer to Him, and to feel His presence in our daily lives.
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👤 Children
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Children
Music
Testimony
For My Yoke Is Easy, and My Burden Is Light
Summary: The speaker describes his childhood after his parents divorced, when he often came home alone and anxiously waited for his mother to return from work. He feared she would die and leave him without parents, but those fears never came true. He reflects that his mother is still alive and well, showing that many fears need not control our lives.
I was born in Philadelphia and lived in that general area until my middle school years. My parents divorced when I was very young and my father wasn’t able to come to visit very much. As I grew up, I became a latch key kid who would get home many hours before my mother arrived from her work as a secretary in downtown Philadelphia. I remember when it would get close to the time for her to arrive, I would stare out the window of our second-story apartment, hoping to get a glimpse of her walking home from the bus stop. You see, I was sure that something was going to happen to my mother and that I would be left with no parents at all. My fears that my mother would die were probably brought on by the culture I lived in and by what I would see on T.V. and in the movies. There are probably many children today who have similar fears and you can’t blame them.
My unreasonable fears never materialized. My wonderful mother is still very much alive. She is still very much my mother. She still gives me advice on how to properly dress. She doesn’t really like the music I listen to. She doesn’t approve of the way I part my hair. She says that a professor shouldn’t part his hair down the middle. And I tell her that many of the professors part their hair down the middle. Their parts are usually quite wide, but they still part their hair down the middle.
My unreasonable fears never materialized. My wonderful mother is still very much alive. She is still very much my mother. She still gives me advice on how to properly dress. She doesn’t really like the music I listen to. She doesn’t approve of the way I part my hair. She says that a professor shouldn’t part his hair down the middle. And I tell her that many of the professors part their hair down the middle. Their parts are usually quite wide, but they still part their hair down the middle.
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👤 Parents
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