Gospel Story Finder

About a month later, my crew made another perilous medical evacuation, this time on the side of a 60-degree mountain slope under a double canopy of foliage. This meant that we had to maneuver our helicopter down through the first cover of branches and leaves and over to an opening in the lower canopy of foliage where a hoist could lower a litter for the wounded soldier. Our rotor blades were literally inches from the branches, and the rotor wash of air bouncing off the foliage made hovering critically unstable. Despite these obstacles, the mission was successful, and the crew felt it deserved special recognition. We were once again recommended for the DFC, but again it was lessened to an Air Medal.
I was furious! “Do those people know what it’s like to put your life on the line every day?” I fumed. “They must be crazy to think this kind of flying is part of normal duty!” But in the quietness of my quarters, I remembered the words of my patriarchal blessing, which reminded me that the Holy Ghost would guide me. I thought, “That’s right. The Spirit made this mission and all the other missions, as hazardous as they may have been, possible for me.” And I knew Heavenly Father had protected me. No crew members who had flown with me had ever been harmed. I realized I had a great deal to be thankful for.

On one occasion a girl was trying to decide whether or not to marry a certain young man and was confused because at times she felt doubt and uncertainty and at other times was certain she wanted to marry him. When they were together it seemed right, but when she was alone or away from him, there was much doubt and uncertainty. We talked about many things: the kind of person she wanted to marry, the element of trust in marriage, possible reasons for her doubt, and why at times it seemed all right. Toward the end of the conversation she was asked to consider what she really felt was the right thing to do. After a few moments she said that she had really known all along it wasn’t right but had just put aside those feelings. One must follow the counsel of Mormon and “search diligently in the light of Christ that ye may know good from evil …” He then promised, “… if ye will lay hold upon every good thing, and condemn it not, ye certainly will be a child of Christ.” (Moro. 7:19.)

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted a brother—someone to play with and talk to, someone to share hiding places and cookies with. I can’t count the number of times I asked Heavenly Father if He would please, please send a little brother to our house. So when I found that my mother was going to have a baby, I was overjoyed. I knew it was going to be a brother. I just knew it. And I was right!
Daniel Benjamin was born kicking and screaming on February 14. For a while we called him our special valentine, then just Benny. I got to hold him when he was only three days old, and I was so proud that I nearly popped the buttons right off my shirt! Lots of days, I rocked him in the rocking chair after school. Sometimes I told him about things at school, but most of the time I sang to him. Mom said I was a lot of help, and Dad said I was a great brother.
When the snow melted and the tulips came up, I was allowed to take him outside and push him in his stroller. I was given a new baseball mitt for my birthday, and I let Benny try it on, but he just chewed on it. “When you get big enough, I’m going to teach you to be the best shortstop ever,” I told him. Every day I showed him new things and waited for him to get old enough to play with me. But he never did.
He did get bigger and stronger. He learned to roll over and sit up and finally to walk. But something was wrong. Sometimes he sat on the floor for hours, staring into space and rocking back and forth. I tried to teach him to play with blocks and to roll a ball, but he just pushed the ball away. The blocks he lined up on the windowsill over and over again, always exactly the same way. If I tried to move them, he screamed and kicked. When I talked to him, he looked right through me as if I weren’t there. Mom and Dad tried over and over to get him to say “Mama” or “Daddy”—anything at all—but he just popped his thumb into his mouth and looked away. Once in a while he let Mom or Dad hug him, but whenever I put my arms around him, he pushed me away. That made me feel really sad.
By the time Benny was two years old, Mom and Dad had taken him to nearly every doctor around, but nobody seemed to know what was wrong. Finally they took him to a big hospital far away to see a special kind of doctor. He said that Benny was severely autistic. That meant that he might never be able to talk, or play with me, or be in Cub Scouts, or do any of the things that regular brothers do.
The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. There was a big, empty place somewhere inside me, and an aching that wouldn’t go away. I guess Mom could tell I was hurting, because one day when I was sitting on the couch, she came over and sat beside me. “Want to talk?” she asked quietly.
For a minute I just kept looking out the window; then I swallowed hard and looked up. “Mom, does Heavenly Father really love us?”
“Of course He does,” she answered, putting her arm around me.
“Well, sometimes … sometimes I wonder. Why did Heavenly Father let Benny be autistic? Doesn’t He love Benny?”
“Yes, David,” Mom said, pulling me closer. “Benny is very special to Heavenly Father, just as you are. But I know how sad and confused you must feel, because sometimes I feel that way too. But sad times happen to everyone. They’re part of living. And learning. They can teach us things we never knew before—things about ourselves and about what’s really important in life. Even though they’re painful, these times can help us grow.”
“But Benny’s the only brother I have,” I said, blinking to keep the tears from falling.
“Wait here a minute.” Mom stood up and left the room. When she came back, she had something in her hand. “I want to tell you about another Brother, a Brother who loves you and cares about you and who will help you and be a Friend to you all your life.”
“Another brother?”
She held out a small picture of the Savior. “Our Elder Brother, Jesus Christ, knows how sad we sometimes feel. Sad things happened to Him too. But He has given us a reason to have hope and to live our lives with joy.”
I didn’t see how I could ever feel really happy again, but I kept listening.
“We have a great opportunity to follow the Savior’s example by loving Benny and helping him in a kind and patient way. Sometimes it will be hard, and we’ll get discouraged. But if we keep trying, we’ll grow to love Benny more and more. And we’ll become more like Jesus.”
“I already love Benny a lot,” I told Mom, “so I guess I’m already a little like Jesus.”
Mom nodded and gave me an extra squeeze. Then she told me something I’ll never forget. “Because Jesus loved us so much, He made it possible for us to be resurrected. Do you know what that means?”
“I think I do. It means that when we die, we won’t have our bodies for a while, but then we’ll have them again.”
Mom nodded. “And in the resurrection there will be no crippled bodies or minds. Can you imagine what that means?”
For a long moment I didn’t answer. I was thinking of things I had never imagined before, and a warm feeling was growing inside of me, crowding out the empty, aching place. I looked at Mom. “It means that someday Benny will know me! He’ll talk to me and be my friend and hug me back.”
“Yes,” Mom answered. “And he will love you for all you’ve done for him.”
For a few minutes Mom and I sat there, thinking our own thoughts. Then I went to Benny’s room. He was sitting on the floor in a pool of sunshine, rocking silently back and forth. I knelt beside him, and for a while I just looked at him. His soft hair glistened in the sunlight, but his eyes were empty and far away.
“I love you, Benny,” I said softly. “And Jesus loves you too. We’ll always be your friends, because that’s what brothers are for.” I put my arms around Benny’s shoulders, and for just the smallest moment he stopped rocking and let me hold him.

It was near the end of the first semester of my sophomore year in high school when my English teacher announced a new assignment to the class.
“You will each be doing a research paper on a particular person,” he stated. “You may choose your person, but you will need to do some research on them, so they must be real people.”
He passed around the guidelines and told us that we were to give brief preliminary presentations in two days, and then, two weeks later, we were to present our papers in full. We brainstormed different ideas for people to report on, and my list included several great presidents and authors. But when my teacher mentioned that we could also choose “great religious leaders,” I knew that I needed to do my paper on Joseph Smith.
Two days later, I had to get up and tell the whole class who I was reporting on and give a brief outline of who he was. I felt so shaky when I got up to speak, even though I am usually a good public speaker. I was terrified to share my knowledge about Joseph Smith. Was I casting pearls before swine?
When my brief presentation was over, I sat down. And even though everyone applauded, I was disappointed in my inability to speak clearly and proudly about a man I knew was a prophet of God. My throat had been tight the entire time.
It was then that I realized that if I wanted to teach my class the truth about Joseph Smith, I needed to learn more about him for myself and truly come to know who he was.
I began researching the life of Joseph Smith at home, first in Joseph Smith—History, and then in an institute manual called Church History in the Fulness of Times. I found out many things concerning the life, First Vision, and martyrdom of Joseph Smith. After days of study and prayer I began to realize just how great a man Joseph Smith really was, and my testimony of him was greatly strengthened. As I began writing my report, my heart and mind were full of a greater knowledge of Joseph Smith, which gave me courage as I typed out my report. I titled my report “Joseph Smith: Seeker of Truth, Defender of Righteousness.” My heart swells with the power and truth in that title, even to this day.
The night before my project was due, I called the missionaries to ask them if I should tell my class about Joseph Smith’s First Vision and was comforted by their words of encouragement and approval. They even said that they would pray for me in my efforts.
The next day in class, I said many silent prayers—prayers for the Spirit to be there, prayers for me not to be weak in my speech, prayers for me to convey the power of my message through my voice. Finally, my name was called, and I got up to give my presentation.
I gathered my courage and told my classmates all about Joseph Smith’s search for truth and his First Vision. I recounted how the Prophet was persecuted throughout his life and even martyred for his testimony, but how he could not deny what he knew. The Spirit was very strong in the room as I ended by bearing my testimony that if we want to find out the truth of something, all we have to do is ask God with real intent.
When I was done, I sat down and silently thanked my Heavenly Father for the strong presence of the Spirit and for the strength that He put into my words. At the end of class, my teacher asked if there were any students who wanted to leave their reports for his other classes in the coming years, and I decided to leave mine, asking for the Spirit to be with those who would read it.
Now I realize that even if no one in that class joins the Church or changes their opinion about the Prophet Joseph Smith, my testimony was strengthened because I stood “as [a witness] of God at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9).

Michael West of the Magrath Third Ward, Magrath Alberta Canada Stake, has found that giving service has brought joy to one lady’s life.
Michael delivered newspapers to Rose Hudson, a widow in the ward. She appreciated getting to know Michael. When the newspaper placed subscription restrictions on delivery of weekend papers, Sister Hudson was disappointed since she looked forward to Michael’s daily visits. Michael considered the alternatives and put in the extra effort to buy Sister Hudson’s newspaper at the store and deliver it to her personally on weekends, a simple act of service that is greatly appreciated.

In 1998, when I was Young Men president in my ward, I participated in a stake youth camp. As I was resting after a game, I saw a young man I didn’t know. He was sitting alone on a little mound away from the camp. He had an unpleasant expression on his face. I felt I needed to go over and talk to him.
I introduced myself and asked his name. I don’t remember all that we talked about, but I do remember that I shed a few tears. It was a special conversation that lasted until they called us to the next activity. I rarely saw the young man after that and never had another chance to talk to him.
In August 2005 we had a meeting at our stake center. This same young man came up to me and gave me a letter. It read:
I started thinking today about our conversation in San Martin Park in about 1998. Just to remind you, I was sitting by myself and feeling a bit sad. You came up to me and said you felt you needed to talk to me. You said … the time had come to choose—either to stay with the Church and follow Jesus Christ or leave it and not enjoy the blessings that come from activity in the Church. The one thing that really stayed with me was when you said that if I fell, my whole family would fall with me, but if I would keep moving forward, they would come too.
… A great desire arose in me to help them. … So from the day we had that talk, I made the decision to be faithful to the Lord, and even now, after seven years, I am still faithful, and my family is firm in the gospel and faithful to the Lord. … Thank you so much for being so straightforward and truthful with me. You’ll never know how much good it did.
This young man is now a returned missionary who has been married in the temple. I am grateful to the Lord for giving me the opportunity to serve as a leader. I am grateful to come to understand the importance of putting myself in others’ shoes so I can try to understand what they are going through.
Alejandro Humberto Villarreal, Argentina

As a small boy on the farm during the searing heat of the summer, I remember my grandmother Mary Finlinson cooking our delicious meals on a hot wood stove. When the woodbox next to the stove became empty, Grandmother silently picked it up, refilled it from the pile of cedar wood outside, and brought the heavily laden box back into the house. I was so interested in the conversation in the kitchen that I sat there and let my beloved grandmother refill the kitchen woodbox. I feel ashamed of myself and have regretted my omission all my life. I hope someday to ask for her forgiveness.

Levi didn’t have his mind on Primary that Sunday. He was still angry with his older brother, Jason. Jason had just gotten his driver’s license. Last week, he had run over Levi’s bike, even though Levi had carefully parked it at the side of the garage. He had saved his own money to buy the bike. It had taken a long time.
“I’m really sorry. I’ll fix it up just like new,” Jason promised.
Levi looked at the crumpled fender. “It won’t be the same.”
Jason apologized again, but Levi refused to listen. “If you weren’t such a crummy driver, you wouldn’t have wrecked my bike.”
“I told you I’d fix the bike.” Jason didn’t sound so sorry now.
Levi stomped off, locking himself in his room for the rest of the afternoon and coming out only when Mom insisted he join the family for dinner.
That was last Wednesday. Levi had held onto his grudge for four days. It bothered him, being angry at Jason. Still, he didn’t feel like forgiving his brother.
After opening exercises and singing time, Sister McClure, the second counselor in the Primary presidency, presented sharing time to the older children. Starting with Levi’s class, she passed around a small paper cup. “Take one and pass it on,” she said.
Levi reached inside the cup and found it filled with pebbles.
“Put a pebble into your shoe,” she said. “Now try walking in place.”
Levi lifted up his foot and brought it down again. The little stone felt funny against his foot. He tried to move it to a more comfortable spot, but it kept rubbing against his foot.
“Now reverently walk around the room,” Sister McClure instructed.
Some of the children started giggling but stopped when Sister McClure reminded them to be reverent. A couple of the younger children started to limp and bent down to remove their stones.
Levi kept the pebble in his shoe. It began to feel a lot bigger as he walked.
After a few minutes, Sister McClure told the children to take their seats and remove the pebbles from their shoes. Once more, she passed around the paper cup and asked the children to put the pebbles inside.
Then she explained, “Those little pebbles are like the feelings we have when we don’t forgive someone who has offended us. They can start out small but then feel bigger and bigger.”
“What if the person who did something to hurt us isn’t really sorry?” Levi wanted to know.
“Sometimes we need to forgive, even when the other person doesn’t apologize or repent,” Sister McClure responded.
Sister McClure told a story about a time when the Prophet Joseph Smith forgave one of his friends who had betrayed him. Levi felt a lump in his throat as he listened to how the Prophet had forgiven William W. Phelps, even though Brother Phelps had conspired with the mobs who persecuted the Church and its leaders.
Levi thought about Sister McClure’s lesson during the rest of Primary. Following dinner that evening, when his parents asked family members what they had learned in church, Levi told them about the pebbles.
“How did your foot feel by the time you took the pebble out?” his dad asked.
“My foot was a little sore,” Levi admitted. “Sister McClure compared walking around with a pebble in your shoe to carrying a grudge and refusing to forgive someone who offended you.”
“It sounds like one of Mom’s object lessons,” his little sister, Annie, said.
Everyone laughed. The whole family knew that Mom liked to use objects in the lessons she gave for family home evening.
Before he went to bed, Levi knocked on Jason’s door. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk,” he said when Jason opened the door. “I know you didn’t mean to run over my bike.”
“Hey, I’m the one who’s sorry.” Jason pulled Levi into a bear hug and lifted him off the floor. “What do you say we work on the bike together tomorrow after school? I’ll ask Dad if we can use his tools.”
“Great!” Levi said, and as he went to his room, he thought, “I really do feel great!”

Lee went into the army the summer after he graduated. He soon found out what homesickness is all about. He wrote home every day, and Mom cried when she read his letters. She asked him to find out if there was an LDS ward he could attend. We prayed for him and encouraged him to pray too. My grandmother had given Lee a Bible as a graduation present, and for some reason he had packed it when he left. It turned out that religious books were the only reading material allowed on base. When Lee told my mother that, she sent him a copy of the Book of Mormon. Shortly after that, we started getting letters from Lee saying how much he enjoyed the scriptures and that he was reading them aloud to other soldiers. Of course my mother cried some more. Mom asked Lee if he wanted to take the missionary discussions. But Lee wrote and told us he had already asked the bishop to set up the discussions. He was baptized when he came home on leave. Mom cried then too.

Today I would like to address one of the most joyful, glorious, and powerful gospel truths that God has revealed. At the same time, it is ironically one for which we have been criticized. An experience I had some years ago profoundly deepened my appreciation for this gospel truth.
As a representative of the Church, I was once invited to a religious conference where it was announced that from that moment on they would recognize as valid all baptisms performed by almost all other Christian churches, as long as the ordinance was done with water and in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Then it was explained that this policy did not apply to baptisms performed by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
After the conference I was able to delve deeper into the reasons for that exception with the leader in charge of the announcement. We had a wonderful and insightful conversation.
In short, he explained to me that that exception had primarily to do with our particular beliefs about the Godhead, which other Christian denominations often refer to as the Trinity. I expressed my appreciation for him taking the time to explain to me his beliefs and the policy of his church. At the end of our conversation, we hugged and then said goodbye.
As I later contemplated our discussion, what this leader said about Latter-day Saints not understanding what he called the “mystery of the Trinity” stayed in my mind. What was he referring to? Well, it had to do with our understanding of the nature of God. We believe that God the Father “is an exalted man” with a glorified “body of flesh and bones as tangible as man’s; [and] the Son also.” Thus, every time we talk about the nature of God, in some way, somehow, we are also talking about our own nature.
And this is true not only because we all were made “in [His] image, after [His] likeness,” but also because, as the Psalmist recorded, God said, “Ye are gods; and all of you are children of the Most High.” This is for us a precious doctrine now recovered with the advent of the Restoration. In summary, it is nothing more or less than what our missionaries teach as the first lesson, first paragraph, first line: “God is our Heavenly Father, and we are His children.”
Now, you might say, “But many people believe we are children of God.” Yes, that is true, but their understanding may be a little different from the implication of its deeper meaning that we affirm. For Latter-day Saints, this teaching is not metaphorical. Rather, we truly believe that we are all literally the children of God. He is “the Father of [our] spirits,” and because of that, we have the potential to become like Him, which seems to be inconceivable to some.
It has now been over 200 years since the First Vision opened the doors to the Restoration. At the time, young Joseph Smith sought guidance from heaven to know what church to join. Through the revelation he received that day, and in later revelations given to him, the Prophet Joseph obtained knowledge about the nature of God and our relationship to Him as His children.
Because of that, we learn more clearly that our Heavenly Father has taught this precious doctrine from the very beginning. Allow me to cite at least two accounts from the scriptures to illustrate this.
You might remember God’s instructions to Moses as recorded in the Pearl of Great Price.
We read that “God spake unto Moses, saying: Behold, I am the Lord God Almighty, and Endless is my name.” In other words, Moses, I want you to know who I am. Then He added, “And, behold, thou art my son.” Later he said, “And I have a work for thee, Moses, my son; and thou art in the similitude of mine Only Begotten.” And then finally, He ended with, “And now, behold, this one thing I show unto thee, Moses, my son.”
It appears that God was determined to teach Moses at least one lesson: “You are my child,” which He repeated at least three times. He could not even mention the name of Moses without immediately adding that he was His son.
However, after Moses was left alone, he felt weak because he was no longer in the presence of God. That is when Satan came to tempt him. Can you see a pattern here? The first thing he said was, “Moses, son of man, worship me.”
In this context, Satan’s request to worship him may have been only a distraction. A significant temptation for Moses in that moment of weakness was to become confused and believe that he was only a “son of man,” rather than a child of God.
“And it came to pass that Moses looked upon Satan and said: Who art thou? For behold, I am a son of God, in the similitude of his Only Begotten.” Fortunately, Moses was not confused and did not allow himself to become distracted. He had learned the lesson of who he really was.
The next account is found in Matthew 4. Scholars have entitled this “the three temptations of Jesus,” as if the Lord was tempted only three times, which of course is not the case.
Hundreds of gallons of ink have been used to explain the meaning and content of these temptations. As we know, the chapter begins by explaining that Jesus had gone into the desert, “and when he had fasted forty days and forty nights, he was afterward an hungred.”
Satan’s first temptation apparently had only to do with satisfying the Lord’s physical needs. “Command that these stones be made bread,” he challenged the Savior.
A second enticement may have had to do with tempting God: “Cast thyself down: for it is written, He shall give his angels charge concerning thee.”
Finally, Satan’s third temptation referred to the aspirations and glory of the world. After Jesus had been shown “all the kingdoms of the world, … [Satan] saith unto him, All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.”
In truth, Satan’s ultimate temptation may have had less to do with those three specific provocations and more to do with tempting Jesus Christ to question His divine nature. At least twice, the enticement was preceded by the challenging accusation from Satan: “If thou be the Son of God”—if you really believe it, then do this or that.
Please notice what had happened immediately before Jesus went into the desert to fast and pray: we find the account of Christ’s baptism. And when He had come out of the water, there came “a voice from heaven, saying, This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.”
Do we see the connection? Can we recognize a pattern here?
It is no wonder that every time we are taught about our divine nature and destiny, the adversary of all righteousness tempts us to call them into question.
How different our decisions would be if we really knew who we really are.
We live in a challenging world, a world of increasing commotion, where honorable people strive to at least emphasize our human dignity, while we belong to a church and embrace a gospel that lift our vision and invite us into the divine.
Jesus’s commandment to be “perfect, even as [our] Father which is in heaven is perfect” is a clear reflection of His high expectations and our eternal possibilities. Now, none of this will happen overnight. In the words of President Jeffrey R. Holland, it will happen “eventually.” But the promise is that if we “come unto Christ,” we will “be perfected in him.” That requires a lot of work—not just any work, but a divine work. His work!
Now, the good news is that it is precisely our Father in Heaven who has said, “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.”
President Russell M. Nelson’s invitation to “think celestial” implies a wonderful reminder of our divine nature, origin, and potential destination. We can obtain the celestial only through Jesus Christ’s atoning sacrifice.
Perhaps that is why Satan enticed Jesus with the very same temptation from the beginning to the end of His earthly ministry. Matthew recorded that while Jesus hung on the cross, those “that passed by reviled him, … saying, … If thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross.” Glory be to God that He did not hearken but instead provided the way for us to receive all celestial blessings.
Let us always remember, there was a great price paid for our happiness.
I testify as with the Apostle Paul that “the Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are children of God: and if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ; if so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together.” In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Apart from marrying Patricia Terry in 1963 and having their children Matthew, Mary Alice, and David (Duff), I believe his most crucial season was his mission from 1960 to 1963—the years that profoundly shaped the rest of his life.

Late one night in 1960, he and I sat and talked candidly in a car parked in a gentle St. George rainstorm near his home. The raindrops running down the car windows mirrored the tears that occasionally blinked down his cheeks as he thought out loud about his dilemma. He was in love with Pat—the only girl he had ever dated seriously. Pat was modest and bright, naturally beautiful, and a young woman of unusually deep faith.

When he was running for Dixie College student body president a few months earlier, Jeff had believed that if he won the election, he would need to be at Dixie the next year—so he would stay and marry Pat, rather than serving a mission now; and they could serve together later. But he had barely lost the election, perhaps because I was his campaign manager, just as he’d managed my campaign when I lost the year before. But now his bishop wanted to submit his mission papers. He had a testimony, but he was afraid Pat would marry someone else during his mission, and he couldn’t abide the thought of losing her.

Should he go now, or should he stay? Given the powerful impact his mission would have on his entire future, this was a far more crucial moment than either of them could have imagined. But perhaps Pat sensed something. He said she wanted what was “best for them,” not just “best for him.” Her further advice was something like, “Jeff, just go. The Lord will take care of us. You’ll grow and be better off. And the chances are pretty good that I’ll still be here.” She didn’t offer, and he didn’t ask, for a firmer commitment. But, finally overcoming his fearful anguish, he decided to go. It was an act of wrenching, but trusting, sacrifice to the Lord.

He was called to the London Mission just when the brethren were feeling strongly that it was time for missionary work in Europe to take a major step forward. But some careless proselyting in England had made President David O. McKay feel the need to send Elder Marion D. Hanks, a gifted young General Authority, as the new London mission president.

I asked Jeff about Elder Hanks in one of my letters from my own mission in Germany. I still remember his answer: “It’s great to feel like I’m finally on a mission and not just in on a big business deal.” He said Elder Hanks called time-out on everything else the missionaries had been doing, and he immersed them deeply—permanently—in the Book of Mormon.

Elder Hanks was a bright and perceptive teacher with a gentle sense of humor. His candor and his deep love for the Book of Mormon opened their eyes and hearts. He first assigned them to read the entire Book, marking all references to Christ. Then he had them read it again, marking all the doctrinal passages. Then he taught them Christ’s doctrine with “the soul of a poet-philosopher.” [2] He became Jeffrey Holland’s personal mentor and role model—and that gradually but deeply changed Jeff’s life.

After our missions, I was startled, even moved, to see how much he had matured, and how his own gifts of personality and insight had so rapidly developed. And now, inspired by his new mentor, he wanted to teach Institute—which had never crossed his mind before.

After teaching Institute for several years, Jeff wrote of his gratitude to Elder Hanks for introducing him “to the profundity of the Book of Mormon and the majesty of Christ that lay hidden there.” [3] He said no one loved the Book of Mormon more than Elder Hanks, nor “taught it with more power and conviction.” [4] And to the 2023 Seminar for New Mission Leaders, he said that “no young man was more affected by a mission than I was. My whole life was reshaped, and refined.”

Knowing how very hard it was for Jeff to dig deep enough to find the faith, the courage, and especially the sacrifice to go on that mission makes me feel absolute admiration for him. At his youthful age of 19, I believe he wanted Pat more than he wanted that mission—because he deeply feared losing her. He had no idea how the mission would profoundly change his whole life—and hers. But in pure trust, he finally bowed before the Lord and said, “Yes, I’ll go.”

“I’ve always loved theater, and I think Shakespeare teaches universal truths,” says Chelsea, who started the neighborhood children’s theater at the request of a 10-year-old boy in her ward. “Being in these plays increases the children’s confidence and has broken down a lot of social barriers in our neighborhood.”
Getting the theater off the ground was both frightening and rewarding for Chelsea. “It was scary to do because I’m not much older than a lot of these children, and I was afraid they wouldn’t listen to me or that they would quit, so it took a lot of prayer for me to put that first production together, and it strengthened my faith to have those prayers answered.”

Now, having greeted all of you, I want to confess to all of you. I stand before you a repentant and shamed man. I do faithfully testify that one’s transgressions will be found out and that “the rebellious shall be pierced with much sorrow; for their iniquities shall be spoken upon the housetops, and their secret acts shall be revealed.”1
I, who have systematically carved out a reputation for corpulence and the sedentary life; I, who like Abe Lemons of the University of Texas resisted jogging because, said he, “When I die, I want to be sick”;2 I, who have done more to set back physical fitness than anyone in recent BYU memory—it is I whose name and photo were splashed across newspaper headlines and electronic media as one grabbed by the Divine Hand of Retribution while playing a little early-morning racquetball.
Pain, anguish, hospital, surgery, cast, crutches, cowboy boots, and humiliation. Tell me now, how does one live this down? I thought I had been discreet. A little perspiration here. A little competition there. Squeezing by over these years with just as much as I thought I could stand and as little as I thought heaven would tolerate. And then, crash! One day I have simply gone too far. And a lifetime’s reputation is shattered.
Couldn’t this have been a somewhat more private rebuke? Couldn’t this have been handled on a low-key basis? Oh no. “There is nothing which is secret save it shall be revealed; there is no work of darkness save it shall be made manifest in the light.”3
Was it such a terrible offense? I’m still limping. Will I ever walk again? In return for a healed Achilles tendon, would it be enough to promise I would never again physically exert so long as the sun shines and the rivers run to the sea?
And as if that weren’t enough, we had a plane wreck, still on the ground, while we were seated in the first-class section. Now, can there be a more embarrassing combination than that? Contrary to the rumors being spread by my colleague Art Bassett, the first-class upgrade was a freebie, a courtesy, an unexpected gift from the airline company. Not one dollar of tithing appropriation was used, not a cent of university money expended. There we were, eagerly looking around back there in steerage, where all BYU personnel are to travel, when we were for this trip unexpectedly invited up to the head of the table. We thought, “This is it. The books shall be opened. The last shall be first class” and all that.
Then the Hand of Retribution once more. We were blissfully enjoying our unaccustomed spaciousness when a nearby Boeing 747 was dispatched to ram us. I don’t mean just ram the airplane we were in—I mean ram us. It was as if some great air controller in the sky said, “They are seated in first class. Get it? First class! If we work it just right, we can knock them silly without touching one other passenger on the plane—and the plane doesn’t even need to leave the ground! It will take skillful navigation to hit their seat and their seat only, but we believe it can be done. Good luck. This tape will self-destruct in five seconds.”
Anonymity? A private reconciliation of one’s sins? Oh no. It’s from “the housetops” again.
Well, believe you me, I’m no slow learner. I can get the picture. Upgrades or no upgrades, it’s back into steerage for me, and I’m just grateful that such strict BYU budgeting policies would be confirmed right at the top, so to speak.

Although I wanted the humor to begin our conference this morning, I found it difficult to joke about our recent experience coming back from the Middle East. I might well have been stepping down this morning—which thing I hope to do someday in any case—but which I surely would have had to do now if my dearest friend and closest advisor, the patient and attentive guardian of my soul, and the mother of my children had been taken from me. A few inches of wing tip in almost any direction—a great, blunt knife slicing through the fuselage of a plane like a butcher knife attacks beef—and her life would have been taken, and surely my life would have been over even if I had lived. And even when the tearing of metal stopped that day in Vienna, I was not unmindful that the greatest air disaster in recorded history was from the aftermath of fire when two 747s had collided on the ground in much the same way we had been involved in those identical planes. Six hundred people had burned to death that day in Tenerife. At least 158 didn’t survive last week’s tragedy in Detroit, where just this morning it is reported that the child is asking for her father.
I do not know the answer to such things—why they happen or why some are taken and some are not. But I do know that God loves us all and that surely we will all go sometime. I was touched by Elder Dean L. Larsen’s devotional address for Education Week in which he acknowledged such “intimations” of mortality and wondered whether for him there was time enough left to set right what needed to be set right and to do what conscience knew needed to be done.42 These recent events affecting so many on our campus have sobered and saddened me, and they have given me some of the same thoughts.
I said that I do not know the answer to many of these things, nor why they come in just the way they do. But I do know where ultimate peace and safety lie, regardless of when death stops to call for me.43 I believe in repentance and ordinances and covenants and redemption. I believe in the gifts of God. I believe in the power of the Comforter, and I believe in Christ, who gave us everything. He is the Shepherd of our souls, the eternal Prince of Peace.

Contrast this woman with the Latter-day Saint girl who climbed the heights of self-control as she forgave the man who disfigured her lovely face. Let the United Press newsman, Neal Corbett, tell the story as it appeared in the pages of the San Francisco newspapers.

“‘I would think he must be suffering, anybody who’s like that, we ought to feel sorry for him,’ said April Aaron of the man who had sent her to a hospital for three weeks, following a brutal … knife attack. April Aaron is a devout Mormon, 22 years of age. … She is a secretary who is as pretty as her name, but her face has just one blemish—the right eye is missing … April lost it to the ‘wildly slashing knife of a purse snatcher,’ near San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park while en route to an MIA dance. … She also suffered deep slashes on her left arm and right leg during a struggle with her assailant, after she tripped and fell in her efforts to elude him just one block from the Mormon chapel. …

“‘I ran for a block and a half before he caught me. You can’t run very fast on high heels,’ April said with a smile. Slashes on her leg were so severe [that] doctors feared for a time it would need amputation. The sharp edge of the weapon could damage neither April’s vivaciousness, nor her compassion. ‘… I wish that somebody could do something for him, to help him. He should have some treatment. Who knows what leads a person to do a thing like this? If they don’t find him, he’s likely to do it again.’

“… April Aaron has won the hearts of the people in the San Francisco Bay area with her courage and good spirit in face of tragedy. Her room at St. Francis hospital was banked with flowers throughout her stay and attendants said they couldn’t recall when anyone received more cards and expressions of good wishes.” (Cited in The Miracle of Forgiveness, p. 294.)

Rebecca Johnson, blonde and 17, checked off a long list. Everything was nearly ready for the seminary pageant in Cardston, Alberta, Canada: the sets, the props, the music, the costumes, the actors—well, almost all of the actors. Rebecca winced when she looked down at the cast list. Tracy Watson, who played the lead female role of Lucy Mack Smith, was sick. The pageant was scheduled to open the following night, and there wasn’t time for a replacement to learn Tracy’s part.
“When I walked in that night,” Tracy later explained, “Brother Wilcox took one look at me and asked what was wrong.
“I was really sick. I told him I felt weak, that I was drained. He asked if I was going to make it through the pageant. I just didn’t know.
“‘You might just have to find a new Lucy Mack,’ I said.”
Tracy paused in telling the story, her eyes moist.
“Then Brother Wilcox and another Melchizedek Priesthood holder gave me a blessing.
“During the blessing I had a good feeling come over me. It’s hard to explain. I didn’t feel weak anymore. I felt strong.”
The following night the pageant opened its first performance that year in the Cardston Second and Third wards’ cultural hall. After months of work, preparation, and study, the cast and crew of over 100 seminary students were ready, including Tracy.
An opening prayer was said. The house lights dimmed. From high up on scaffolds light crews flooded a corner of the hall with bright spots. A piano started playing softly in the background. Two narrators, playing checkers, introduced the audience to the story.
“Why that’s an old revival song! Those camp meetings, remember those days?”
“Yes, that’s how it was when the Church got started, wasn’t it?”
One of the narrators rose, picked up a coat and an old Bible, moved toward a camp scene on the stage, and sat in the congregation.
“As I recall,” the narrator said, “it was in about 1820 in upper New York State when it all began.”
The preacher in front of the congregation came suddenly to life, bringing his fist down hard on the pulpit, and began to preach a fiery sermon. The Smith family was in the congregation.
It was the prelude to Joseph Smith’s first vision and the beginning of the Restoration. The pageant dramatized early Church history, moving from the First Vision, to the publishing of the Book of Mormon, to the Kirtland period, and finally to Carthage Jail, and was centered around the life of Joseph Smith.
Don Schiedler, who played the role of Brigham Young, later explained the purpose of the pageant and its dramatization of Church history. “We take what we learn in seminary and put it into action in the pageant,” he said. “When you put history or the scriptures into a play, it brings it to life. Portraying just a small part of what Brigham Young did is something I’ll remember all of my life.”
Besides studying the historical background for the pageant in seminary classes, the members of the cast were asked to do outside research on the characters they played. This extra involvement in the characterization of great men in Church history had a strong effect on several of the students.
After a performance Marlin Hogg talked of his role as Hyrum Smith. “It’s a good feeling,” he said, “to put yourself in the place of such a great man.”
Marlin stopped and loosened his tie that had been styled after one popular during the 1800s.
“I never realized until the pageant that the things Hyrum and Joseph endured together were incredible. While playing Hyrum’s part I tried to feel some of the courage and faith he had to have to endure the jails and persecution—what he must have gone through. I had to build myself up to reach his stature, even just a part of it. You can’t try to feel what he felt and be what he was and not be changed by it.”
Jack Stone, who was in charge of the first seminary pageant several years ago in Cardston, told of another student who had been changed by the annual event.
“One student,” Brother Stone said, “who had become inactive and dropped out of seminary, asked to be in the pageant at the last minute. We had a few extra costumes and there were several crowd scenes, so we put him in those. That year the pageant was on the Book of Mormon. As we sang the finale, the entire cast came down on the stage. It was the part in the Book of Mormon where Christ visits the people in America after his resurrection. We sang ‘I Know That My Redeemer Lives.’ It was a touching scene. I remember looking over at the boy and seeing tears stream down his cheeks. He’d been changed because of his involvement.”
Members of the cast and crew are not the only ones affected by the pageant. The students involved this year created enough interest in Church history for a special adult class to be held in the seminary, and the pageant played to a full house at all three of its performances.
Rod Brandham, Porter Rockwell in the pageant, told of this year’s pageant’s effect on him and on the audiences it played to.
“The pageant is centered around the Prophet Joseph Smith and the sacrifices he made for the gospel. When you’re on the stage during the scenes where he is persecuted and jailed, and especially after his death at Carthage, you can hear some of the audience crying and it almost makes you cry. You have to fight hard to hold it inside until the performance is over, until the final song.”
Rod hesitated, clearing his throat.
“I love that man for what he did.”
At the end of every performance, the entire cast came on stage and sang “Praise to the Man” as a tribute to the man whose greatness and courage some of the students had discovered or rediscovered in the pageant. After the second verse, the audience joined in the singing, and there were few dry eyes.

One such experience occurred during the open house of the renovated Idaho Falls Temple. One evening, I had volunteered to clean the temple following a day of temple tours. Before starting the cleaning shift, the volunteers met in the downstairs chapel for a devotional. The lead custodian who gave the message read from King Benjamin's address, "When you are in the service of your fellow beings, you are only in the service of your God."[16] She offered that in most of our service to God, there is always a middleman. She added, "Tonight there is no middleman; tonight you have the privilege of serving the Lord personally by cleaning His house." This thought really hit me! As I vacuumed the temple that night, I felt it such a privilege to be in His house vacuuming His floors. Here He was, the Savior of all mankind, the one perfect being to walk the earth, the Creator of the heavens and the earth and all things therein. And here I was, a very imperfect being, privileged to be in His house cleaning His floors. Certainly, the Lord has even greater things in store for us if we will keep our covenants and live up to our privileges.

My father clearly taught me the importance of soul-stretching service—of living a sermon. I grew up in Perry, Utah. The stake in which I grew up had a dairy farm and fruit orchards that provided regular opportunities for service. On one occasion it was time to harvest the hay, and our ward was assigned a particular day to work. My dad was always one of the first to volunteer for these priesthood assignments. I recall him reminding me one evening that the next day was our assignment and that we needed to be at the Church farm at 5 p.m. We arrived a few minutes before five. Additional brethren and young men arrived, and we worked together to bring in the hay.

I remember that we had been working for an hour or so when some of the brethren began to leave. Some who had arrived after we had were already leaving. I looked at my dad and suggested that we could go as well. He smiled and said it didn’t matter what the others were doing. We had agreed to serve for the entire time of the assignment, and there was still work to be done. The response was kind and clear; I had better stop watching others and stay focused on my opportunity to serve as I had agreed to do. That example of soul-stretching service has helped me so many times in my life.

God uses another form of chastening or correction to guide us to a future we do not or cannot now envision but which He knows is the better way for us. President Hugh B. Brown, formerly a member of the Twelve and a counselor in the First Presidency, provided a personal experience. He told of purchasing a rundown farm in Canada many years ago. As he went about cleaning up and repairing his property, he came across a currant bush that had grown over six feet (1.8 m) high and was yielding no berries, so he pruned it back drastically, leaving only small stumps. Then he saw a drop like a tear on the top of each of these little stumps, as if the currant bush were crying, and thought he heard it say:
“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. … And now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me. … How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.”
President Brown replied, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and someday, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down.’”
Years later, President Brown was a field officer in the Canadian Army serving in England. When a superior officer became a battle casualty, President Brown was in line to be promoted to general, and he was summoned to London. But even though he was fully qualified for the promotion, it was denied him because he was a Mormon. The commanding general said in essence, “You deserve the appointment, but I cannot give it to you.” What President Brown had spent 10 years hoping, praying, and preparing for slipped through his fingers in that moment because of blatant discrimination. Continuing his story, President Brown remembered:
“I got on the train and started back … with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. … When I got to my tent, … I threw my cap on the cot. I clenched my fists, and I shook them at heaven. I said, ‘How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?’ I was as bitter as gall.
“And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, ‘I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.’ The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness. …
“… And now, almost 50 years later, I look up to [God] and say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.’”5
God knew what Hugh B. Brown was to become and what was needed for that to happen, and He redirected his course to prepare him for the holy apostleship.

Let me tell you about this old wallet that was returned to me by a BYU student after nine years.

As a student at BYU years ago, I had used the telephone in the Joseph Smith Building and had carelessly left my wallet in the booth. After returning to the lost and found department regularly for several days, I finally gave up my desperate hope of ever getting my wallet and the much needed money back. Nine years later, on a snowy afternoon, the mailman delivered a letter. It began, “To Whom It May Concern.” The letter stated that I was involved in some unfinished business at BYU. I wondered what unfinished business I needed to set in order. I found the name of the person who had signed the letter in the Salt Lake telephone directory. I dialed the number. I identified myself. The author of the letter began unfolding her story. As the words spilled out, I learned that this young woman was now a wife and mother, but earlier she had been in nurse’s training at BYU. She had worked and put herself through school, but she needed an additional ten dollars for tuition, so she had turned to her boyfriend for help. She had promised to return the loan by the following Friday. When Friday arrived, in spite of her earnest prayers, she was still short ten dollars.

Seemingly without reason she had walked into the telephone booth and found an old worn wallet. She held her breath as she opened it to find a single ten dollar bill. Then the question: Was this indeed an answer to her prayer? She had learned that Satan knows when we are being tested and when we might weaken under pressure. She told of paying her boyfriend, whom she later married, graduating in nursing, and now raising a beautiful family.

She then poured out her heart as she told of her suffering for what she acknowledged as sin—sin because she had known better. For nine years, through many moves, the old burden had lain deeply tucked away in her top dresser drawer. It seemed impossible for her to throw away the wallet, though she considered it many times. There is no way you can throw away a wrong, and yet, there was no way, as far as she knew, to return the wallet—there was no identification.

One day while she was straightening the drawer, the old wallet surfaced again. This time she felt she must get rid of it, but only the right way. She thoughtfully opened the old wallet once again, and while examining it this time her fingers uncovered a small orange card tucked away in a tiny compartment not previously noticed. The card gave the address of the Calgary Clinic in Alberta, Canada, where the medical exam for the student’s visa had been given. With a prayer in her heart she took a chance and sent the letter “to whom it may concern” to the Calgary Clinic to be forwarded if possible. Contact had been made, but the wallet was yet to be returned. During the telephone conversation she indicated the wallet would be mailed that very day. I asked her if she would consider delivering the wallet in person. She seemed a little embarrassed at the thought until I assured her it would be an honor and a privilege to meet a person possessing such honesty of character. She agreed that she would deliver it. At the appointed hour we met in my office. As I approached, she smiled nervously and then stood up. As though she had rehearsed this experience in her mind a hundred times, she reached out her steady hand, looked me squarely in the eye, and handed me the wallet as she whispered, “Will you please forgive me? I want to be honest.” Words could not come. I could only reach for her hand and nod affirmatively.

I am sure that family prayer motivated a letter written some years ago by a young Latter-day Saint girl attending a Colorado high school. The students had been asked to prepare a letter to be written to a great man of their choice. Many addressed their letters to well-known athletes, to a noted astronaut, to the president of the United States, and to other celebrities. This young lady, however, addressed her letter to her father, and in the letter she stated: “I have decided to write this letter to you, Dad, because you are the greatest man that I have ever known. The overwhelming desire of my heart is that I might so live that I might have the privilege of being beside you and Mother and other members of the family in the celestial kingdom.” That father never received a more cherished letter.