Gospel Story Finder

NORTHROP: I learned to pray when I was little, but my first testimony of prayer came when I was in middle school. And I was praying about homework and was helped by Heavenly Father to finish my homework in middle school. And the Spirit testified to me that that's what had happened, that Heavenly Father did help me.
WIXOM: Who taught you to pray?
NORTHROP: My parents.
WIXOM: Right. And your experience in church all those years? Your testimony is strong, Rachel, and I appreciate you sharing today. It's a relationship with our Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ.

Study the words of President David O. McKay, who tells of how, in his youth, he knelt and “prayed fervently and sincerely and with as much faith as a young boy could muster” that “God would declare to [him] the truth of his revelation to Joseph Smith.”

President McKay related that when he arose from his knees, he had to admit that “no spiritual manifestation has come to me. If I am true to myself, I must say I am just the same [boy] that I was before I prayed.”

I don’t know how young David felt in his heart at that time, but I’m sure he must have been disappointed—perhaps frustrated that he didn’t receive the spiritual experience that he had hoped for. But that didn’t discourage him from continuing his search for that knowledge.

The answer to his prayers did come, but not until years later, when he was serving as a missionary. Why was the answer to his prayer so long delayed? President McKay believed that this spiritual manifestation “came as a natural sequence to the performance of duty.”

Karina’s smile faded. She began to sweat—and not because it was unusually hot that week. She looked around for help. But in spite of the crowd at the open house, no one seemed to notice her alone with the reporter and all her questions.
Until that moment, 17-year-old Karina had enjoyed volunteering at the Kyiv Ukraine Temple open house. Now, with the newspaper reporter waiting expectantly, her tongue seemed stuck.
Karina was afraid that because of past mistakes she was trying to overcome, God wouldn’t help her.
Karina squared her shoulders and turned back to the reporter. Her smile brightened. Heavenly Father had done so much for her already that she knew He would help her now.
After the reporter finished asking questions, Karina smiled and waved. The reporter smiled back and walked away. Karina couldn’t remember much of what she said, but she would remember for a long time how she felt, knowing Heavenly Father is always within reach of those who choose to follow Him.

A few years ago a beat-up car appeared in our meetinghouse parking lot. It belonged to a single father of four children. He had come to ask for assistance. Our ward found them housing, and the father began bringing his family to church.
Sometimes the children’s clothes were clean and sometimes they were dirty, but their hair was always messy. We never knew how snarled and tangled it would be. Each week the Primary president brought hair detangler and brushes. She and a teacher would work to fix the children’s hair before Primary.
I was a counselor in the Primary presidency, and I admired the ability of these two sisters to embrace these unwashed children. I could not bring myself to touch their hair, and I wondered how these sisters did it. I eased my conscience by telling myself that I could help by watching the rest of the children while these women worked.
The youngest child in this family was three years old. She could not speak intelligibly, but she tried to make loud musical sounds when we sang. This irritated me.
Because three-year-old children have short attention spans, I began putting this little girl on my lap to help her listen. She would smile at me in appreciation, and I began to feel the joy and love that Heavenly Father had for this unwashed child—His child. Eventually, I found myself overlooking the dirt and grabbing a brush to smooth out her tangled locks. I even decided that her attempt to sing was a joyful sound.
A few months later the children’s father got up in testimony meeting and thanked us for helping his children. The next week the family was gone.
I am grateful for the chance I had to serve those children. When they arrived, I felt they were too needy, but I found out that I was the one who needed them to help me change.

Elder Sheldon F. Child, former member of the Second Quorum of the Seventy, shared a personal experience in regards to the impact of his father’s honesty and integrity. Elder Child was raised on a farm, but it did not provide enough income for their family. Consequently, his father obtained outside employment leaving young Sheldon to care for many of the farm chores.

Elder Child recalls: “I remember on one occasion one of the items on the list was to take a small broken part from our hay rake to the blacksmith shop to have it repaired. I was uncomfortable about going. My father hadn’t left any money, and I wondered what I should do. I put off going as long as I could. When all my other chores were finished, I knew I couldn’t avoid it any longer. Father expected the broken part to be repaired when he came home, and it was my responsibility to see that it was done.

“I can still remember walking the mile or so to the blacksmith shop. I even remember how uncomfortable I was as I watched him weld the part. As he finished, I nervously told him that I had no money, but that my father would pay him later. I’m sure he sensed my anxiety. He patted me on the shoulder and said, “Son, don’t worry, your father’s word is as good as his bond.” I remember running all the way home, relieved that the part had been repaired and grateful that my father was known as a man whose word was as good as his bond.

“As a boy I didn’t fully understand what that meant, but I knew it was good and something to be desired. It was years later that I recognized that a person whose word is as good as his bond is a person of honesty and integrity, a person to be trusted. In today’s world, there are some who think nothing of breaking their word, their promises, their covenants with man and with God. What a blessing it is to deal with those whom we can trust” (“As Good As Our Bond”, The Friend, November 1997).

Eiko sat between her father and mother as the high-speed train whipped them toward her grandparents’ home on the other side of Tokyo, Japan. Her hands were clasped tightly on her lap, and her feet barely touched the floor. She was too nervous to talk as the train rushed them forward.
A year ago, a visit to her grandparents’ apartment was not a big deal, but things were different now. Ever since she and her parents were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints last year, Eiko’s grandfather had refused to speak to her father and mother. The day that Father told him about their baptisms, Grandfather became so angry that he said Father was no longer his son.
Eiko didn’t like to think about that horrible day, but as they sped past bustling train stations and over city streets, she couldn’t stop remembering it. …
Even though it had rained that morning, Eiko had looked forward to a wonderful day with her grandparents! They were coming for dinner, and her parents were going to tell them all about Jesus Christ and about the prophet in America. She was so happy that she hummed “Love One Another” as she put her toys away.
Her parents were also busy tidying up their small apartment, fussing as though the emperor was coming. They both smiled nervously when Eiko said that she had a Book of Mormon to give to her grandparents. Father told her that he needed to speak privately with Grandfather about the Church first. Maybe later she could give him a Book of Mormon. Eiko was puzzled, but she promised to do as she was told. Secretly she wondered if she could keep from bursting out the news the moment her grandparents walked through the door! At her new church, she had met so many wonderful people and learned so many things! She wanted to share every bit of it with her grandparents.
When they arrived, Eiko bounced impatiently as they slipped out of their shoes. Everyone chuckled at her, but her parents’ laughter sounded different—agitated—like the sound the dishwasher made when it was broken.
As Grandfather turned from the door, he gazed into the corner—at an empty, white wall. His smile vanished. “Where’s the kamidana?” (A kamidana, or “god-shelf,” is a small shelf where photographs of family members who have died are kept. Traditional Japanese, like Eiko’s grandfather, honor their ancestors by praying to them in front of the kamidana.)
Father stepped forward, his hands behind his back. “I have removed it,” he said softly.
“Removed it?” Grandfather repeated. “Why?” His words were sharp, like nails, and they pierced Eiko’s heart.
Father nodded to Mother, who hurried Eiko from the room. In the kitchen, she gave her daughter a bag of vegetables. “Slice these for dinner,” she said.
Suddenly Eiko’s stomach hurt. She wasn’t interested in dinner, but she began slicing a carrot. Grandmother came into the kitchen and joined in the work, a stiff smile on her face.
Through the thin walls of their apartment, Eiko listened as Father explained to Grandfather that they had been baptized. Father’s voice was nervous but firm as he said that in this home, only prayers to Heavenly Father would be said, not prayers to their ancestors.
Eiko waited for Grandfather to say something, anything, but everything remained quiet. Very quiet. Mother and Grandmother stopped working. Mother’s face was tense; Grandmother’s eyes were wide with astonishment.
Suddenly Grandfather’s voice boomed out! He accused Father of shaming their ancestors by removing the kamidana. Father’s voice cracked as he apologized for any pain he was causing Grandfather but repeated that in this home, only prayers to Heavenly Father would be offered.
Mother moved into the room, and Grandmother raised a towel to her face to catch her tears. Eiko didn’t know what to do or where to look, so she sliced another carrot and watched her hands work.
Grandfather bellowed for Grandmother, who scurried from the kitchen and past Mother. Eiko’s parents bowed as her grandparents disappeared down the staircase. She hurried to the rain-splattered window and pressed her nose against it. Soon she saw them moving rapidly through the rain.
That was the last time Eiko had seen them.
Father assured her that her grandparents still loved her. He explained that they were terribly offended that the kamidana was gone. Eiko said that she understood, but she didn’t. All she understood was that she missed her grandparents terribly.
She prayed every day that her grandparents would call on the telephone.
But days passed, then weeks, even months, and still no call came. Eiko knew that her parents had tried many times to telephone them, but without success.
Almost every night, Eiko lay awake on her futon (a traditional Japanese bed that is unrolled on the floor at night), hoping and praying that things would change. Then an idea came to her mind. The next afternoon, she said to Mother, “May I call Grandfather?”
Mother hesitated. “Eiko,” she said softly, “Grandfather may not wish to speak with you. He’s very upset that we have become Latter-day Saints.”
Eiko nodded. “But I miss him very much.”
“I miss him too.” Mother gazed into Eiko’s eyes and warned, “You must understand that Grandfather is ashamed of our commitment to the Lord.”
“But I am not ashamed.”
Mother smiled. “You may call. Perhaps he will speak to you.”
There was an awkward silence when Grandfather heard Eiko’s tiny voice on the phone. Then his soothing voice poured into her ear. “Eiko.”
Warmth swept through Eiko, and soon she was chattering about her school friends. Grandfather laughed and asked many questions. Maybe Grandfather still wouldn’t speak with her parents, but he was talking to Eiko!
Although they had many conversations over the next several days, Eiko was afraid to mention her new faith. Then one day Grandfather asked, “Eiko, what do you think of your parents’ new religion?”
Her stomach somersaulted. Although she had imagined what she’d tell Grandfather about the Church, Eiko felt afraid she’d say something wrong. Praying silently, she answered, “It is my religion too. I was baptized because I’ve prayed to Heavenly Father. I know He is real.”
Grandfather grunted. “Your religion is for Americans, not Japanese.”
“Jesus is everyone’s Savior,” Eiko stated bravely. “Americans, Japanese, Chinese, French—everyone!” She swallowed. “Even you.”
Grandfather said Grandmother was calling him so he had to hang up. Eiko didn’t believe him. She ached inside, thinking she had hurt his feelings again.
How surprised she was when Grandfather called her the next day! This time, he asked many questions: Why did she read the Bible? What is the Book of Mormon? What does an answer to prayer feel like? What happens at church?
Eiko answered his questions. She told him about Primary, then about Joseph Smith and the American pioneers. She told him that she and her parents would soon be sealed for eternity in the Tokyo Temple.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that our family, including our ancestors, can live together forever in heaven.” Eiko’s voice stopped. She took a deep breath, then rushed on, “Grandfather, just because we don’t have a kamidana anymore doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten our ancestors. We want to be sealed to them forever. We love all our family very much.”
Grandfather cleared his throat, then was quiet.
In the silence, Eiko worried that she’d said too much. When Grandfather finally spoke, he asked her to put her father on the line.
Eiko’s heart nearly stopped. Had her words gotten them all in terrible trouble again with Grandfather?
When Father hung up, he shook his head, then turned to Eiko. “I don’t know what you said to him, Eiko, but Grandfather has invited us to visit next week!”
As Eiko was remembering that phone call, the train halted. She followed her parents into the maze of city streets. The traffic was loud, but it was not loud enough to drown out her worries.
Those worries were still with Eiko as she climbed the stairs to her grandparents’ apartment. When they reached the door, Eiko’s father took her hand and said, “I’m very grateful for all you have done to make this happen.” Then he pushed the doorbell. Eiko heard feet shuffling behind the door before it opened. Grandfather stood stiffly before them, his chin thrust high as he looked down upon Eiko with his dark eyes. Eiko bowed low before him. She was afraid to rise.
Instead, she peeked up from her bow—and saw her grandfather bending at the waist. He bowed low before her, lower than she had ever seen him bow. As they rose together, she saw that his eyes were damp. He whispered to her, “I am sorry. You have reminded me that there are many ways to honor our family.”
Eiko beamed as she searched Grandfather’s dark eyes. She saw something deep and solid and good, and she knew that no matter what, even if they believed differently, they were a family, first and foremost—a family once again filled with love.

As I looked over my new visiting teaching assignment, I saw the name of a new member of our ward. I felt apprehensive about calling someone I didn’t know, but my companion and I made an appointment to visit Jane (names have been changed). We arrived on the appointed morning and quickly said a prayer before approaching the door. We found Jane and her three young sons waiting for us.
As we grew closer to Jane through our monthly visits, we also tried to get to know her sons. The two youngest would sit next to my companion and me, and we would read them books and play with them. But four-year-old Alex, the oldest of the three, was not so eager to warm up to his mother’s frequent visitors. He was independent and hesitated to become friends with us.
I had been Jane’s visiting teacher about a year when I received a call that Jane’s house was on fire! My husband and I felt prompted to grab crackers, bottled water, and toy cars and to hurry over to see if we could help. We found Jane standing on the sidewalk across from her smoldering home. Jane’s husband had joined the firefighters to take stock of the damage while Jane comforted their three crying children, who were clinging to her knees.
When we spoke to her, she told us she was eager to join her husband. We took her two youngest children to our car. They were hungry and thirsty, and I was grateful for the inspiration of the Holy Ghost to bring food and water. They were soon content. But Alex, still sobbing, held tightly to his mother. Jane could not take him with her, and she felt torn between going to her husband and comforting her son.
I encouraged her to go and then leaned over and asked Alex if I could hold him while his mom went to find his dad. To my surprise, he agreed. When I scooped Alex into my arms, he rested his head on my shoulder, and I rubbed his back. While Jane went to find her husband, I whispered comforting words into Alex’s ear. I could feel his sobs slow and his breathing relax.
As we stood on the sidewalk, Alex said softly to me, “You’ll take good care of me ’cause you’re my mom’s teacher.”
I quietly shed tears as I realized that Alex knew we were important in his mother’s life. He recognized that he could trust and rely on me to take care of him too ’cause I was his mom’s teacher.

Christopher Vingoe of the Kings Lynn Ward, Norwich England Stake, overcame severe brain injuries in his childhood to achieve six grade A’s at A-level last year. That’s like doing well on the college entrance exams and placement tests in six different subjects. This incredible feat earned Christopher the Queen’s Gold Medal for Academic Achievement.
Queen Elizabeth II presented Christopher with the award. “She was lovely and very easy to chat to,” says Christopher, who is now serving a mission in Leeds, England. He even told her a little about missionary service for the Church.
When he was six, Christopher was hit by a car while crossing the street. He spent five days in a coma and had a blood clot on his brain. His recovery has amazed doctors. When Queen Elizabeth was told about Christopher’s accident and how he has recovered, she joked, “Perhaps it knocked some sense into him.”

I love the story of two young men who had been schooled in a monastery. One morning as they sought adventure, they passed a cathedral. The more righteous of the two remembered that they had not prayed that morning and said, “How can [we] hope for [God’s] blessing upon the day?”

The less righteous one responded: “My friend, I have prayed so much during the last [few] months . . . that I feel that I have somewhat over-prayed myself.”

“How can a man have too much religion?” asked the first.

It is the one thing that availeth. A man is but a beast as he lives from day to day, eating and drinking, breathing and sleeping. It is only when he raises himself, and concerns himself with the immortal spirit within him, that he becomes in very truth a man. Bethink ye how sad a thing it would be that the blood of the Redeemer should be spilled to no purpose. [A. Conan Doyle, The White Company (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1962), pp. 58–59]

There could have been serious contentions in a community not far from here. But a group of neighbors, in unity, solved a problem before it became serious. A lovely young lady told the following story at a stake conference. She said, “I am a convert from upstate New York. My parents wanted their children to have eternal marriages. There were no Latter-day Saint members to marry in our little branch, so our family moved to Utah.
“Eventually I found myself a husband. He was the president of the local motorcycle club—black leather jackets and motorcycle boots. We rode together—perhaps not what my mother had hoped—but by that time I had wandered from the Church.”
She reported: “We moved into a house. Often our friends would gather there. I’m afraid our neighbors were quite uncomfortable with us. At least one neighbor would take her children into the house when we were roaming about.
“But do you know what our neighbors did? They mowed our lawn and fixed things up because we didn’t have a mower. They would bring flowers when there was illness, and quite often they would bring food to our home. Our little daughter was included in the activities of the other children, including a party on her birthday.”
As she and her husband attempted to thank their neighbors, they replied, “Well, we all like to help each other.” They were made to feel welcome living next to unified and loving neighbors.
She continued, “About ten months later, we traded our black leather jackets and motorcycle boots for the white clothing and slippers of the temple. As we knelt across the altar from each other and looked around that room, there were our neighbors, those who had been mowing our lawn and making things better for us.”
Now they were truly one. She reported to me there is still a wonderful feeling of unity in their neighborhood and ward. It wasn’t temporary.

One of the most important life lessons I have learned is to be steadfast in waiting for the Lord. As the psalmist wrote, "I waited patiently for the Lord; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry" (Psalms 40:1). The summer of my high school graduation I received a very personal witness of Heavenly Father's awareness of and love for each of His children. When I arrived in Provo for my freshman year, I sought out my patriarchal blessing, desirous of better knowing the will of my Father for me, His daughter. I received very specific counsel and direction but was left with lingering questions and uncertainty. Should I change my major? Should I change the course I had prayerfully determined prior to coming to school? Through fasting and prayer the Spirit taught me to be patient, to continue forward, and to know that Heavenly Father was aware of me and my needs.

I finished my degree and graduated as I had originally planned. I was privileged to be a stay-at-home mother of six children. I served faithfully in my Church callings and responsibilities and engaged in voluntary community service. And during this time I waited steadfastly and patiently for further direction from the Lord. And it came. Not in my time, but in His. Opportunities seemed to appear from nowhere. Ways and means were provided for me to pursue my graduate work. Time after time I was in the right place at the right time. I was led and prepared to acquire the knowledge and experience necessary for me to fulfill the Lord's purposes. I have felt the guidance and tender mercies of the Lord throughout my life. It is His hand that led me to where I am today. I testify to you that if we remain steadfast and faithful, trusting in the Lord, He will direct our paths.

Recently at work, I was listening to music while typing away at emails. Suddenly, a favorite song of mine came on, and as I listened to the lyrics of the song, it made me think of moments in the past where I had wished I could “fix” and heal loved ones who were hurting. Let me take you back to a few examples:
When my grandma was sick a few years ago, I would stay with her several nights a week. After giving her medicine and tucking her into bed, I would get in my car and drive through a dark canyon to get home. I would play this same song on repeat and cry and cry. I would beg Heavenly Father to give me more patience. To be kinder. To be softer. But most of all, I begged Him to know how I could fix her.
Then, about two years ago, a friend of mine died by suicide. The phone call I received that delivered the news will be etched in my mind for the rest of my life. I beat myself up for months, wondering what more I could have done for this person. How I could have been a better friend. How I could have called more. How I could have invited this person more. I had so many thoughts of regret and self-blame that went on and on.
And finally, I recently hit a point of exhaustion I’d never felt before. My friends, family members, and even coworkers had been opening up to me about their current challenges, and the more they opened up to me, the more I would try to take on what they were struggling with. I was hyperfocused on that idea of “fixing,” and I felt powerless to do so.
So when that song came on at work, tears instantly flooded my eyes as I stopped typing and listened to the music. It was all I could do to mutter a small prayer: “Heavenly Father … I’m exhausted.”
Then God, in His loving grace, answered my prayer by patiently teaching me. These words instantly came to my mind: “You’re exhausted because you’re trying to be the fixer. And that is what I sent my Son to do.”
I felt incredibly humbled in that moment. I’d been trying to do a job that was never mine to do in the first place.
As Sister Reyna I. Aburto, Second Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, taught: “Sometimes, the natural man or woman in us makes us think that we have been called to ‘fix’ other people. We have not been called to be ‘fixers’ of others, and we have not been called to lecture or to scorn. We have been called to inspire, to lift, to invite others, to be fishers of people, fishers of souls so they receive the opportunity to be spiritually healed by Jesus Christ, our Savior and Redeemer.”1
I’ve learned that because of the world we live in, we will constantly be with people, including ourselves, who are imperfect. And living in an imperfect world means that we will all experience challenges in this life, including difficult things that are beyond our control. That’s why God sent Jesus Christ—so He could help us.
Heavenly Father reminded me that day in my office that it wasn’t my job to heal my grandma. I wasn’t to blame for my friend’s death by suicide. And it certainly wasn’t my role to take on all the burdens and weaknesses of those around me.

This last Sunday, we had probably the best first discussion that I’ve ever participated in, taught to one of my wonderful students, a young man from France named Guillaume. On the last day of my class, which is taught to the second year students in our MBA program, I describe for the students how all semester long we’ve been studying about these companies and goals and strategies for achieving these goals, and yet in the way that they invest their money on a day to day and a year to year basis, they tend to invest in things that offer the shortest term payback. That pattern of directing their investment decisions often causes companies that could be very successful in the pursuit of a lofty strategy actually to lead themselves toward failure. And I told my students, “You know, now you are graduating from the Harvard Business School. And a lot of you in your personal lives are going to do the same thing.” I told them that “none of you have a strategy to leave here and go get divorced, and raise children who are alienated from you and become unhappy people, but that is actually the strategy that many of you are going to implement, because as you have opportunities to spend your time and energy, your very likely to spend them in pursuit of career success because it offers them most immediate and tangible evidence of achievement.” And I invite them not to do that, but I tell them, “but in order for you to figure out how you’ve got to spend your time and your energy, you need to figure out what the purpose of your life is.” Then this year I told them about the experience that I had had dedicating an hour everyday when I was a student at Oxford to figuring out what the purpose of my life was. And I invited them to do the same thing.
A couple of days later I got an email from Guillaume, and he said, “Professor Christensen, I’ve been thinking about it and I don’t know what the purpose of my life is. Will you help me? He came in and as we talked he said, “I’m going to spend an hour a day; I just don’t know what to read.” I was able to give him my copy of the Book of Mormon, and invite him to take the missionary discussions. And I was so grateful this Sunday to be able to testify to him that of all the things that I taught him in our class, the things we were teaching him that day were the most important. I was so grateful to be able to tell him that he is a son of God, and that there really is a purpose for him coming here.

When I was nine, I moved away and no longer got to spend time in the garage with Grandpa. A few years later the distance multiplied when my grandparents were called to serve a mission in Hawaii. However, it was truly a blessing. My grandpa finally got the chance to serve the Lord as a missionary. Growing up in such a large family meant that money was limited, and a full-time mission wasn’t possible for him when he was young. While my grandpa had the desire to serve, a full-time mission involved a great deal of sacrifice. I had always wanted to serve a mission, and seeing my grandparents serve and the blessings that came from their service bolstered my desire. When my grandpa came back, the garage was waiting for him. The sounds of power tools and metal once again reverberated through the walls.

When I was 12 years old, I had an excellent Young Women leader named Sister Smith. She noticed that my friends and I loved to talk about all the popular music groups. We all declared that one boy band was definitely the most awesome music group since our favorite girl band had broken up. When the boy band came along, they stole all our hearts, and they became all we could talk about.
Sister Smith became concerned about us and our obvious obsession with these popular bands and their music. One Sunday, she expressed her concern. I remember speaking for my friends and myself when I said, “There’s nothing wrong with pop music, even if some of the words aren’t very good. It doesn’t really affect us.”
Giving me a skeptical look, Sister Smith said, “If you’re so sure music doesn’t affect you, let’s try an experiment.” She gave us all two crossword puzzles. Then she told us to do the first puzzle while listening to classical music. For the second puzzle, we were told to listen to our favorite pop music while completing it. We all wondered what she was getting at, but we agreed to do what she said.
The next Sunday, Sister Smith began by giving us the hints from the first crossword puzzle and asking us to give her the answers. We all remembered every answer. However, when she gave us the hints from the crossword puzzle we had completed while listening to pop music, we couldn’t remember many of the answers. That day I learned that good music could help inspire me to remember things, while music with words and fast beats distracted me and got stuck in my head, causing me to forget the things I had learned.
I learned that the music I listen to really does affect me.

Lawrence Bodily, a friend, age 79
“When I was just six or seven, I saw Ezra T. and Serge Ballif, both about 14 or 15, get into a water fight with Henry Mockli, a neighbor who was in his 30s. They just about drowned him. They were working out in a field, and they started water fighting out of the ditch. I’ll never forget that. When he’d chase one, the other would get a bucketful of water and go after him. It was good, clean fun. Ezra T. never did anything that I know of, nor any of the other boys either, that wasn’t good, clean fun. A better town never existed than this little town of Whitney when we were kids.”

Two experiences illustrate the importance of caution in judging. A Relief Society worker visiting a sister in her ward asked whether the woman’s married children ever visited her. Because of a short-term memory loss, this elderly sister innocently answered no. So informed, her visitor and others spoke criticisms of her children for neglecting their mother. In fact, one of her children visited her at least daily, and all of them helped her in many ways. They were innocent of neglect and should not have been judged on the basis of an inadequate knowledge of the facts.

When I was five years old, my father and his brother were killed in a tragic plane crash in Alberta, Canada, leaving my mother to raise nine children on her own. I remember being told at the time that God had called my dad on a mission to the spirit world and that’s why his plane crashed. God caused my Dad’s plane to crash? While I’m sure the intent behind saying something like that was good, it made no sense to me, and I have learned for myself that this is not true. God’s foreknowledge of things is not the same as His causing all things to happen. We don’t need to attribute cause to ascribe meaning. Did God cause it? No. But was He keenly aware of my family’s circumstance? Yes. Was there great meaning in the trial of our lives? Yes.
I testify, like Lehi, that “all things have been done in the wisdom of him who knoweth all things,” which is not the same as causeth all things. Somehow the Lord helped turn the tragedy of my father’s death into a blessing for my family. I grew up knowing absolutely that my family was covered by the power of the priesthood and temple covenants. It felt like a current blessing, not a future one, to me. I learned many more lessons because I grew up an orphan—all of which I count as great blessings in retrospect.

I was deeply touched when Brother Brian K. Ashton shared with me that he and his father read every page of the Book of Mormon together during his senior year of high school. Brother Ashton loves the scriptures. They are written in his mind and on his heart. His father planted that seed when Brother Ashton was a teenager, and that seed17 has grown into a deep-rooted tree of truth. Brother Ashton has done the same with his older children.18 His eight-year-old son recently asked him, “Dad, when do I get to read the Book of Mormon with you?”

Lastly, our most impactful parental teaching is our example. We are counseled to be “an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity.”19
During a recent trip, Julie and I attended church and saw this verse in action. A young man, soon to leave for his mission, spoke in sacrament meeting.
He said, “You all think my dad is such a good man at church, but …” He paused, and I anxiously wondered what he might say next. He continued and said, “He’s a better man at home.”
I thanked this young man afterward for the inspiring tribute he had paid his father. I then found out that his father was the bishop of the ward. Even though this bishop was serving his ward faithfully, his son felt that his best work was done at home.20
Elder D. Todd Christofferson counsels: “We have many avenues for teaching the … rising generation, and we should devote our best thinking and effort to taking full advantage of them. Above all, we must continue to encourage and help parents be better and more consistent teachers … especially by example.”21
That’s how the Savior teaches.22
Last year, while on vacation with our two youngest children, Julie suggested we do proxy baptisms in both the St. George and San Diego Temples. I murmured—to myself—thinking, “We attend the temple at home, and now we’re on vacation. Why not do something more vacation-like?” After the baptisms, Julie wanted to take pictures outside the temple. I silently murmured—again. You can guess what happened next: we took pictures.
Julie wants our children to have memories of how we helped our ancestors, and so do I. We didn’t need a formal lesson on the importance of temples. We were living it—thanks to a mother who loves the temple and wants her children to share that love.
As parents cherish each other and offer righteous examples, children are eternally blessed.
For all of you who are striving to do your best to teach in your homes, may you find peace and joy in your efforts. And if you feel you have room for improvement or need greater preparation, please humbly respond as the Spirit prompts you and bind yourself to act.23
Elder L. Tom Perry said, “The health of any society, the happiness of its people, their prosperity, and their peace all find common roots in the teaching of children in the home.”24
Yes, my home nest is now empty, but I’m still on call, ready and eager to find additional precious opportunities to teach my grown children, their children, and someday, I hope, their children.
I plead for heaven’s help as we strive to be Christlike teachers in our homes. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Elder Bednar highlights both “learning by experience” and “learning by faith”. We all know what it means to learn by experience. I’m sure we’ve each had situations where what we learned by experience was both surprising and impactful. For me, learning to swim was just such an experience. When I was approaching my twelfth birthday, my mom decided that I needed to learn to swim, since my dad was the Scoutmaster and I would obviously need that skill to become an Eagle Scout. She enrolled me in a swimming class in the community.

I still remember my nervousness when she dropped me off for my first class. The teacher, a rather gruff track coach, lined us all up at the deep end of the pool and then walked along behind us, pushing us in one by one. I thought I was going to drown that night. I was angry and frustrated but also frightened, and intent on quitting the class. But my mother didn’t believe in quitting, and so I returned. Eventually, I became good enough to make the high school swim team and then, through continued experience, practice and learning, I made the University swim team. Later on, I became a swimming instructor at a Scout Camp and taught each of my five children how to swim. Even now, what I learned by experience about swimming allows me to enjoy exercising several mornings a week in our campus pool.

Another opportunity to learn by experience did not turn out quite as well. From about age ten until about age twelve, my mother had me enrolled in weekly piano lessons. Like many kids that age, I would much rather have been out playing instead of practicing the piano each day. As a result, I tended to complain often about how much I wasn’t cut out for the piano. Finally, one day in exasperation, my mother said that if I would take piano until my 12th birthday, it could then be my decision as to whether I continued or not. Because I’d spent so much time complaining, I did quit piano when I turned twelve. I still recall feeling bad about that decision because I was starting to enjoy the piano. But I felt like I’d already set the course to leave piano and didn’t have the courage to reverse my decision. That was the end of my piano learning.