Gospel Story Finder

Like many of you, I was baptized by water when I was eight years old, over a half a century ago. I remember a lot of the details about my baptism by water, in part because when I arrived at the chapel we discovered that they didn’t have any baptismal pants small enough to fit me. They brought me the same type of baptismal clothing that the two or three other girls were going to wear for their baptism on that day. They told me it was a tunic, but I knew it was a dress. I refused to put it on notwithstanding the efforts of my father and the priesthood leader who was conducting the baptismal service to persuade me otherwise. At some point an older man walked into the changing room, sensed my determination not to be baptized in what I knew was not a tunic, and then left only to return with two things in his hands. In one hand was a picture from the meetinghouse library of John the Baptist baptizing Jesus Christ. In his other hand was a rope. He told me that if I put on what they were calling a tunic, and tied the rope around my waist, I would look like John the Baptist and Jesus Christ in the picture. That made sense to me, so I was baptized in a tunic, not a dress, with a rope tied around my waist. I remember all of that. Here’s the part that troubles me. I don’t remember anything about hands being placed on my head and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost.

As noted, Sister Heistø decided to obtain a theology degree. Her family and friends had told her that if she’d had any intelligence she could have seen through the lies of Mormonism. She felt that by attending a Norwegian Lutheran theological seminary and obtaining a theological degree she could show her intelligence and counter the criticisms by family and friends for joining the LDS Church.

One of her first classes was Philosophy of Religions, taught by Professor Guttorm Fløistad. At the end of the course, Professor Fløistad asked for suggestions on how he might improve the course for future offerings. Sister Heistø raised her hand and suggested he add a section on the philosophy of Mormonism. Professor Fløistad responded that he didn’t know enough about Mormonism. Sister Heistø quickly suggested that she could arrange for a Latter-day Saint scholar from Brigham Young University to come to Norway and give a lecture at Oslo University on Mormonism. Then Professor Fløistad could use the BYU professor’s lecture material for his course. Professor Fløistad was agreeable to her suggestion, although it may have been a polite way to close the discussion. However, Sister Heistø, with her strong determination, followed through and arranged for Professor Truman Madsen from BYU to go to Norway. Professor Madsen gave a superb lecture, and Professor Madsen and Professor Fløistad became close friends.

When I went to Norway as mission president, Sister Heistø approached me about having Professor Fløistad visit BYU and lecture at the Kennedy Center. I made contact with the university for an invitation and made arrangements with a donor to pay for his expenses. It was a marvelous experience that resulted in Professor Fløistad becoming one of the Church’s best public relations friends in Norway.

One interesting side note about Professor Fløistad’s visit that shows Sister Heistø’s fortitude when representing the Lord was the commitment she extracted from Professor Fløistad before coming to BYU. The European area presidency visited Oslo and gave a seminar on member missionary work. At the end of the seminar, Elder Carlos Asay, then the European area president, asked the members to make a commitment to give at least three referrals a month to the full-time missionaries. That gave Sister Heistø an idea.

The next day Sister Heistø telephoned Professor Fløistad and said, “Since we are paying for you to go to Utah to learn about the Mormons, I think we should get something in return.” He responded that her request seemed fair and asked what she had in mind. She then suggested that he invite at least three people a month to learn more about the Mormons. He agreed to the request.

Professor Fløistad had taken a year’s sabbatical from Oslo University to study leadership and management in Norwegian businesses. Arrangements had been made for him to tour Norway giving lectures on his findings. The day he returned from Utah he began a week’s tour in Norway visiting major cities and lecturing to Norway’s leading business executives. At the end of the week, when he returned to Oslo, Professor Fløistad telephoned Sister Heistø to give a report on his visit to Utah and to thank her for arranging the trip.

Professor Fløistad then asked Sister Heistø if she remembered the commitment she had extracted from him. She said yes, and he then asked her what it was. She replied that he was to invite at least three people a month to learn more about the Mormons.

He said, “I’ve done better than that. I gave six lectures this week to business executives, and I have invited each of them to learn about your church.” He then added, “Do you want to know what I said?”

“Of course!” she replied.

He continued, “I told them that I have found the most perfect organization, and it is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He then added, “Even if you are not interested in religion, the next time two Mormon missionaries knock on your door, let them in. There is much you can learn from the Mormons.”

A week later Professor Fløistad telephoned again. He said, “Rigmor, I understand Mormons like reports.” She confirmed that we do, and he said, “I’ve called to give you another report. This week I gave five more lectures, and again I invited my audiences to learn more about the Mormons.”

It didn’t stop there. Professor Fløistad has returned to BYU three times. And now, 10 years later, he tells me that he still gives about 400 lectures a year, and in at least one out of three lectures he talks about what his audience can learn from the Mormons.

I relate two experiences to demonstrate what I mean. A man in one of our organizations was transferred to New York City to direct the work of one of our radio stations. He had never been to New York before, but he located one of our chapels and attended church the first Sunday he was there. He was welcomed into the priesthood quorum as a brother, and his wife and children were similarly welcomed and were soon right at home.
In contrast, at the same time another young man whom he knew was sent by his company to operate another station. Though he was a member of a church with many times the membership of the LDS church, he found it most difficult to feel at home and soon asked for a transfer back to his original station. It might have been his fault, or it might have been the fault of his church. However, in our Church if the individual and the quorum are functioning as they should, all Church members should feel happy, wanted, and accepted wherever they go.

Painting the signs has helped Raegan and Rylyn through challenges. “When Kendall was sick, there were times we didn’t really want to be in the house because it was hard for us to see. So we decided to go and paint, and that lifted the load a lot,” Raegan says.
Kendall eventually passed away at age 16. Raegan says, “It was hard, but we knew that families are forever. We knew that even if we didn’t have much time with her, if we do our part, it’ll help us be closer to being with Kendall and Kallen again.”

During summer vacation, this group participated in a not-so-typical youth conference: five days of hard work. And many of them even knew in advance that it would be hard work, because they had done the same thing last year.

“Sure it’s lots of work,” said 16-year-old Shirley Frazier. “But it’s also lots of fun. We play when we work. It’s not every day you get to work side by side with members of your ward. A bond is established, and I feel closer to the members of my ward and to the Lord.”

How much work can 47 youth do on a ranch in five days? Plenty. For example, they built fences with wooden posts and barbed wire, and they built a small bridge across a creek. They tilled and weeded a garden. They even finished constructing a barn (where they would perform plays and skits). As if that weren’t enough, they also cleaned up an old farmhouse once inhabited by barn swallows and mice, built a retaining wall with rocks they had gathered in a field nearby, and planted flowers.

You’d think that would be enough to tire them out. But there was also time for the fun usually associated with youth conferences. They boated, they fished, they swam. They played baseball in a pasture, organized and participated in a lip-synch contest where they imitated singers from the ’50s to the ’80s, and enjoyed a hayride on a wagon pulled by a team of Clydesdale horses.

Like the unique focus of the conference, The Ranch is also unique in its character. The young men and women are quick to point out some reasons why. For example, there is an outdoor eating place known as the “Chuckwagon,” located where cattle used to roam the fields. The building that is now the kitchen was a place of shelter where the cattle sought refuge from the hot, blistering sun, or the hard, cold Idaho winters. Sister Hamnett still laughs as she explains how they had to borrow a tractor and clean two feet of manure off the ground when the transformation from cattle lounge to Chuckwagon began. But the youth don’t mind the Chuckwagon’s past. In fact, as soon as they arrived Monday afternoon, they were scrubbing down tables, and sweeping and mopping the floor in preparation for some “good fixin’s.”

And if you take a walk up the hill above the lake to look at The Ranch, you’ll get a bird’s-eye view of the six sheep wagons. Built by Carlisle himself, they provide cozy sleeping quarters for some of the guests. The six wagons are arranged in a tight circle in a small meadow, as if part of an old western movie set. You’d almost expect a few cowboys in chaps to come walking out of one of them.

And the garden. Well, that’s where an 80-year-old barn stood, until the weight of winter snow on the roof caused the structure to buckle. Youth from the ward helped weed and till the ground where the barn used to be in preparation for planting flowers and vegetables.

“Here, weeding is fun,” said 17-year-old Lisa Patterson. “I think working together seems to make it more fun, especially because we’re giving service.”

Corey Wride, 17, agreed, and added, “I was surprised at how the adults passed responsibilities on to us.” Even with all that good food at the Chuckwagon ready to be eaten by hungry, hardworking teenagers, Corey’s favorite expression seemed to be, “Well, I’m ready to get back to work.”

A second simple example addresses the finished quality of being temperate, which is defined as being self-restrained and using self-control. At the unfinished end of this particular spectrum resides eagerness for attention and recognition, as well as egoism, defined as seeking the welfare of oneself only and talking too much about oneself.

Fifteen years ago, as a young stake president, I was associated with a priesthood leader who was talented and charismatic and could touch many lives. As time passed, however, it became clear that being temperate was not a refined quality within him. He was at the other end of that spectrum and was egoistic, eager for attention and recognition, and too talkative. As his priesthood leader, I tried to help him fit into patterns that would reduce his vulnerability for the associated spiritual illness. I watched him struggle at length, then finally succumb to a spiritual illness, then lose his marriage, family, friends, testimony, and the gospel. Again, I wondered how crucial each of the early, simple but untaken steps were and where he could be now had he understood better his weakness and adjusted his choices to fit into them to reduce his vulnerability.

When I finished high school, I knew I had to wait at least two years before serving a mission. I decided to start my college education, calculating that I could be done with medical school in about six years if I invested myself fully. I planned to serve a full-time mission afterward.
After completing medical school at age 24, I started a clinical apprenticeship, which furthered my career opportunities. During this time a dilemma unfolded: should I really serve a mission, or should I keep working? My parents, my older brother (who had recently returned from his mission), my bishop, and a counselor in the local mission presidency all exhorted me to serve.
I believed they were right, but it was difficult to delay my promising medical career. I prayed and fasted for inspiration. I also consulted my patriarchal blessing, which recommended that I serve a full-time mission and promised blessings as a result.
One day, as I was taking public transport home from my apprenticeship, I ran into the stake patriarch. We got off at the same stop and, curiously, started walking in the same direction. He recognized me as a member of the Church.
As we walked together, he asked me what I was planning to do with my life. I explained that I was a doctor and was troubled about deciding between my career and a mission. He told me in a firm voice to serve the Lord by going on a mission, adding that I would be blessed as a result. To me, his response seemed to come from the Lord.
Immediately the following scripture entered my mind: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you” (3 Nephi 13:33).
I was certain the Lord had answered me. Without further hesitation, I decided to delay my professional career and serve a full-time mission. My fellow doctors thought I would forget medical practices after being away for two years. They harassed me, but I held firm to my decision.
Leaving behind my “Dr.” title, I served two years in the Democratic Republic of Congo Kinshasa Mission.
Five years later, I made a list of the major blessings that followed my service. Foremost, I found a wife—a faithful Church member and my crowning joy. We have two children so far. Our family is sealed for eternity. In the temple we have acted as proxies in performing ordinances for our deceased ancestors. I have secure employment, allowing my family to be self-reliant. These are only a few of the blessings we have received from the Lord.
I know that Heavenly Father never lies and that eventually He fulfills all His promises to us as we put our trust in Him and keep His commandments.

“Sell their good qualities. Your trained approach is not mandatory like honesty is.”
Roy Stanford, Age 24Calgary, Alberta, Canada
“A cosmetics saleswoman recently demonstrated her product in my home. She seemed to know only what she had been ‘fed’ in her training sessions, and she gave what appeared to be a memorized speech. Although her product was a fine one, my mother and I could both see that she did not tell the complete truth. We refused to buy because we prefer to deal with another woman who does not push us into buying her cosmetics by misrepresenting them. It is not good to assume that you can sell your products only by using the deceiving, scientific approach you were taught. It would be better for you to be truthful, to undersell rather than be pushy, and to consider your customers’ needs and apparent financial circumstances.”

John’s shoes needed repairing. He had worn them out running up and down on Steensbakken (Steens Hill), where he lived with his mother, Anna Widtsoe, and his two-year-old brother, Osborne. After the death of their father when Osborne was only two months old, the family had moved from Froya, the outermost island off the coast of Norway, to the mainland. They lived in a small apartment in Trondheim, the town known as the Cathedral City. The two little boys and their mother often looked out over the beautiful old capital city to the harbor and the fjord that zigzagged out toward the ocean.
When John showed Mother how his shoes had worn, she asked a neighbor to recommend someone who could repair them. He knew just the right person, he said, and soon a boy came to their door. He was a shoemaker’s son who picked up and delivered shoes for his father. A few days later the boy brought back John’s shoes neatly mended. A strange little pamphlet was tucked into the toe of each shoe.
John’s father had been a schoolmaster. Before he died he had taught his young son to read, but there were so many unfamiliar words in the pamphlet that the boy could not understand what was written.
The next day his mother wrapped another pair of shoes that needed repairing into a parcel, tucked them under her arm, and set out on the half-hour walk to the shoemaker’s shop. She seemed more quiet than usual when she returned, and during the next few days she was thoughtful and restless.
When the shoemaker’s son delivered the second pair of shoes, new pamphlets were tucked into the toe of each one. John knew that his mother spent many hours carefully studying them. The next Sunday she arranged for someone to be with the boys while she went to a meeting at the shoemaker’s sturdy log house.
It was not until some years later that she told John what the shoemaker had said when she went to his shop that first time to ask him why he had put a pamphlet into each of John’s shoes.
“You may be surprised,” he had answered, “to hear me say that I can give you something of far more value than soles for your child’s shoes.”
The pamphlets were Mormon missionary tracts. Because of them John, his mother, and his brother became members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. None of their relatives or friends approved; all became unfriendly toward Anna and the boys.
Two years later the Widtsoe family left Oslo, Norway, with twenty other Norwegian Saints to begin the long journey to America. Eleven-year-old John kept a diary of their trip over the North Sea, their smoky journey across the midlands of England, their three days of sight-seeing in Liverpool, their voyage over the Atlantic Ocean, and the long railroad ride from New York to Logan, Utah, where they settled. There John found many and varied jobs to help support the family. His mother did dressmaking and any other kind of work she could find to provide for current expenses and to save toward the education of her sons.
John was called to be an apostle in 1921, when he was forty-nine. At that time he was president of the University of Utah and had been president of Utah State University at Logan. He often said that from his earliest youth, education was his objective. John A. Widtsoe will always be remembered as one of the great men of the Church. In one of his books, In a Sunlit Land, he wrote:
“There was a real relish for learning in my soul. … The love of reading has been with me from my boyhood. To leave the routine of the day for a visit with great minds has ever been a delight. … I look with half envy upon the youth to whom the doors of new knowledge are being opened.”
The shoemaker in Trondheim, Norway, who repaired John’s shoes truly did give to John’s mother and her family something of far more value than soles for a worn pair of shoes. He was also instrumental in giving to the Church a great writer, educator, leader, and friend!

I can honestly say that I’ve never really had a father. Although he is still alive, I have never had the opportunity to get to know him.
My memories of my father are limited to his coming home unexpectedly one night, after we had not seen him for some time, and my mother crying. All I really remember about my father is his absence.
My feelings towards my father gradually turned into complete confusion and dismay when his behavior caused my mother to become so ill that she had to go into a hospital. I was visiting her one day trying to comfort her, and my father came to see me. By that time, he was living with another woman. Somehow I found enough courage to ask him if he would consider coming back to live with his family. He simply laughed nervously and said, “No, it is too late.”
There is a tremendous emotional handicap that comes with the absence of a father. Although my mother constantly showed her love for me, I could not help feeling betrayed.
I could not live with such a feeling forever. The first change occurred when I joined the Church. As a member, I realized I had to find it in my heart to forgive my father. But I still felt confused. I understood that I could forgive him, but what exactly was I supposed to forgive him for? I never hated him or wished him any harm. But I was still angry. I felt sorry for him and upset at the choices he had made. My mother, although not a member of the Church, asked me to include him in my prayers and ask that the Lord might take care of him. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
As I learned more about the gospel, it seemed to make matters worse. When I learned the importance of the priesthood, the blessings that come when it is exercised properly in faith, it made me sad. Why didn’t I have a responsible priesthood holder in my family to go to in times of trouble?
But a chance was already in progress. As a member of the Church I began to see the world and the people in it from a different point of view. I turned aside from bad habits and tried to live the way the Lord wanted me to. I found great comfort in prayer. For I now finally realized I had someone in whom I could confide all my problems, my joys and little triumphs. It was a feeling that completely overwhelmed me, made me feel important. I knew He was listening.
I realized that I did indeed have a Father, that I literally was His son in the spirit. It filled my heart to know that there was someone willing to lend a helping hand to sustain and encourage me. I was given a great gift—the feeling of belonging. I was not alone. I knew the world to be literally filled with my brothers and sisters, all sharing a common Father. Sometimes I would look at people around me and think, I know something wonderful and I long to share it with you. We are related.
What the Lord gave me was strength, peace, and fulfillment. He made me see why a concept like forgiveness is truly all-encompassing and powerful. The Lord forgave me of my sins and transgressions at my baptism. And by sincere repentance I can still be forgiven. It was clear that I did not deserve this privilege if I did not find it in my heart to forgive my father. I learned that in spite of his habits and conduct, I should honor him and try to find a way to help him instead of silently condemning him.
It’s been a long, hard struggle for me, and I cannot say that I still do not long for the physical presence of my earthly father. But I know now that he needs help. And through prayer, work, and example, someday I may be able to help him truly realize that he, too, is a son of God.

We have seen many examples of this promise being fulfilled. Recently a young woman told us that after having researched her grandmother’s name, she had come to the temple to do the work for her. She said that as she was baptized for her, she had the clear impression that her grandmother would greet her in the next life. Experiences such as these strengthen testimonies and instill a desire to participate in further ordinances of the temple.

A few weeks before school started, I was sitting on the porch with my friends Grace and Ron when the discussion turned to how much Grace disliked her father. This wasn’t a new topic for her.
“He always embarrasses me in public just by being there. It is just so annoying when he always …” She went on to talk about her father’s failings and how he wasn’t living up to her expectations.
Ron decided he would take over the conversation by talking about his family and how he didn’t think his mom was home enough and that he didn’t like the way she dressed. He didn’t think he should have a curfew or that his dad should yell so much.
The whole time I just sat on the porch swing waiting for them to ask me what I didn’t like about my family. I couldn’t say I didn’t love my family. Moving five times in my lifetime had given my brother, sister, and me really tight bonds. We depended on each other and stuck up for one another. Our closeness was something my mother was very proud of.
Then Grace said, “What about your family, Scott?”
I didn’t say anything for a minute. I was choosing my words carefully, knowing the things I said would represent what I believe in. When I finally spoke, I felt the Spirit guiding my words. There were no interruptions from either of them as I spoke of how much my family means to me and that I hope to spend eternity with them. I encouraged them to be more patient with their families. I told them to look at the big picture.
I ran inside the house and got my copy of the proclamation on the family by the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. I read to them the seventh paragraph, focusing mostly on what qualities we should base our family relationships on: “Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ. Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities” (Liahona, Oct. 1998, 24).
After reading that, I said, “This is what my family believes. This is what we want to be and are striving for. I know if I can do all that, then I will be able to stand tall on the Judgment Day with my family, knowing we are going to live together forever.”
I didn’t know how well my friends took this information because of a long pause from both of them. We just sat there for a while, pondering what had been said.
Later a thousand thoughts went through my mind. I was proud I was preparing for a mission by sharing the Church’s teachings on families with my friends. But was I doing it appropriately? And what would they think if I tried to explain more about the gospel?
As I was getting ready for bed, I flipped through my scriptures and turned to section 4 of the Doctrine and Covenants. Here we are told if we serve the Lord in missionary service “with all [our] heart, might, mind and strength,” then we “may stand blameless before God at the last day” (D&C 4:2).
Of course, my friends and I still have our disagreements. But I realized no one ever loses a true friend just by talking about religion and beliefs. Although Grace and Ron didn’t join the Church, I have continued my friendship with them. It felt good to explain my beliefs to them. Just because they didn’t immediately change what they believed about families or religion didn’t matter. I know there are hundreds of stories about the value of perseverance in missionary service. Mine may end up one of them.

Elizabeth wanted to be the best baby-sitter in the world. She knew how important it was to be reliable and responsible. A file box, just like her big sister’s, helped her keep track of important information. Each family she baby-sat for had a card. There weren’t many cards in the bright blue box yet, but there would be soon.
Early Saturday morning, Elizabeth took out the Burroughs’s card and scanned the information. “Two children—Billy and Kristi. Kristi likes picture books,” she read. Elizabeth remembered the little girl’s favorite book and put it and some other books in her box before leaving her house. She briskly walked the three blocks to the familiar yellow house and rang the doorbell.
“Good morning,” Mrs. Burroughs greeted her. “You’re right on time as usual. Billy’s spending the day at the zoo with John and some of his other friends. He’ll be home by five. You remember John’s mother, don’t you?”
“Sure. She brought Billy home when I baby-sat before.”
“She’s going to drive him home today too. If she invites him to spend the night with John, it’s fine. Just remind Billy to pack his toothbrush.”
“Did you leave me a note about Kristi’s lunch and dinner?” asked Elizabeth.
“It’s on the kitchen table. We should be back by seven if the traffic isn’t too bad. We’ll try to call you this afternoon to be sure everything’s OK.”
Elizabeth knew Mr. and Mrs. Burroughs were fixing up a mountain cabin. The cabin didn’t have a phone, so they usually called from a nearby store to check on things. She wasn’t worried.
After carefully locking the door when Mr. and Mrs. Burroughs left, Elizabeth slid the safety chain into position. She put the file card right by the phone. The card was an easy way to keep track of important details. It had the Burroughs’s address printed on it just in case Elizabeth couldn’t remember it if there was an emergency. Billy and Kristi’s pediatrician’s phone number was there too. Mrs. Burroughs had explained to Elizabeth that the doctor had a special permission form on file in case Billy or Kristi needed treatment and their parents couldn’t be reached.
Police and fire department numbers were printed in red so Elizabeth could find them in a hurry. She’d even made notes about what Mrs. Burroughs liked the children to have for snacks. “NO VISITORS” was printed at the bottom of the card.
There was one other thing Elizabeth wanted to do to prepare for an emergency. She and Kristi played the “creeping, crawling game.” Kristi loved it. She was much too young to realize that this was Elizabeth’s way of making sure she would be able to get the toddler safely out of the house if there was a fire.
“Hungry,” Kristi said later, when Elizabeth finished reading the last page of the picture book.
“How about some banana wheels?”
“Yes! Yes!”
Elizabeth peeled a banana and carefully sliced it into little wheels. Since Kristi liked to do things by herself, Elizabeth reached for a plastic plate. If the toddler dropped it, there wouldn’t be any sharp pieces to worry about.
“Yummy ’nana,” Kristi said.
Suddenly the doorbell rang.
“Who is it?” Elizabeth asked as she looked through the peephole. She didn’t recognize the long-haired man. Something about the bulge in his scruffy jacket made her shiver. Maybe he has a gun! she thought.
“I’m Ted Burroughs.”
Was he really Ted Burroughs? The last name was printed bold and black on the mailbox where anybody could read it. Elizabeth didn’t know if Mr. Burroughs had a relative named Ted.
Kristi was at the stage where any man she saw was “Daddy,” so she wouldn’t be any help. If only Billy were home …
Looking through the peephole again, Elizabeth couldn’t help staring at that bulge.
“Come on, honey. I’m much too tired to play games. Open the door.”
Instead of reaching for the chain, Elizabeth hurried toward the phone. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Those bright red digits on the card made it easy to dial the right numbers quickly.
Elizabeth told the police dispatcher the exact address where she was baby-sitting. “There’s a stranger at the door. I’m not positive, but I think he may have a gun.”
“We’ll send an officer over immediately. Just keep the door locked. Give me the phone number there; I’ll call you right back on a nonemergency line.”
Elizabeth hung up and gathered Kristi in a big bear hug. “Everything’s going to be fine,” she promised.
Grabbing the phone before it rang a second time, Elizabeth felt better just hearing the familiar voice. The police dispatcher sounded so friendly, so calm. There couldn’t be anything to be afraid of—not really. Help was on the way.
The dispatcher kept talking until Elizabeth heard a car stop out front. “I think the officer is here,” Elizabeth told the dispatcher.
“Yes. We’re in radio contact. Just talk to me for a few more minutes until I get a report from the officer on the scene.”
Those few minutes seemed to crawl. Even though Elizabeth knew she was old enough to handle things the right way, she suddenly wished she were Kristi. It would be nice to have somebody hug you and whisper that everything was OK.
“Elizabeth, you can open the door now. Officer Jenkins just reported in.”
“Thanks for talking to me so I didn’t have a chance to get really scared.”
“You’re welcome. That’s part of our job. If you ever have trouble again, be sure to call us.”
Carrying Kristi to the door, Elizabeth slid the chain off the lock and unbolted the door. She couldn’t help shivering when she saw that the stranger was still there. At least there was a police officer right next to him.
“Elizabeth, this is Ted Burroughs. He’s the brother of the man who lives here.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t you dare apologize!” Ted Burroughs interrupted. “You did exactly the right thing. I’m a night watchman. When I got off my shift, I decided to drop by for a visit. I’m sure my brother and sister-in-law will be pleased to know they have such a responsible baby-sitter.”
The stranger didn’t look nearly as scary when he smiled. Kristi smiled right back at him, extended her tiny arms, and yelled, “Daddy!”

When I was five, my mother had a problem with her back and she could not stand up for very long. One afternoon after lunch she and my two-year-old sister, Dafne, fell asleep.
I was playing a video game—my favorite thing to do. When I was playing the best part of the game, I thought about my mom. She always has to keep the house clean. Now her back was hurting her a lot. I thought I should help her and surprise her when she woke up.
I stopped playing my game. I went into the kitchen, stood on a chair, and started to wash the dishes. There were lots of dishes, but I thought Mom could sleep some more if I did this for her.
I was still washing dishes when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Mom, asking what I was doing. I told her I was helping her back get better, and she started to cry. Then she said she was very happy because I wanted to help her. She hugged me and said that Jesus was happy about what I was doing.
I learned in Primary that we should be like Jesus. I never understood very well what I should do to be like Him. But because I helped Mom, I learned that the Holy Ghost helped me get the idea to help my mother when she needed it. The Holy Ghost helped me be like Jesus.

The compact omnibus speedily wound its way up the winding switchbacks of the El Alto road leading out of the main city of La Paz, Bolivia. I sat on the edge of my seat, aware of nothing other than my thoughts. “What will I say? How can he be persuaded to do the right thing?” I asked myself, as the bus bounced around another curve in the worn cobblestone road. I then peered intently through the window at my right toward the mud streets and houses we swiftly passed, as if I could find an answer in the dirty, yet somehow serene surroundings. I had been given an urgent assignment to work that afternoon with one of our native Bolivian missionaries, Elder Sanchez.
Arriving in Elder Sanchez’s area, I stepped off the bus and walked determinedly to the corner apartment of a dirt-colored adobe house. Elder Sanchez stood apprehensively in the doorway of the small apartment to meet me. I sensed a look of concern in his face as I approached and we shook hands.
Elder Sanchez was not just an ordinary Bolivian, though his features were typical—a staunch 5 feet tall, jet-black hair, dark, intense eyes, and a deep brown complexion. His shoulders were broad and muscular from the year he had spent as a construction missionary before his proselyting mission. This missionary was a special Bolivian—a Lamanite called to serve his own people.
Elder Sanchez was the only member of the Church in his family, and they did not fully understand why he had to dedicate himself in such a manner to his religion. He was also somewhat older than the average missionary, and his family felt that he should be completing his education at this important time. These pressures had weighed heavily on Elder Sanchez, and at times he felt the burden was too great. Possibly he would be more of a positive influence were he with his family. These questions had to be dealt with immediately.
Ducking to fit through the small doorway, I followed Elder Sanchez into the dimly lit room—a typical missionary apartment. The furnishings were the standard items: two identical, well-worn beds, which sagged terribly in the middle; three or four new copies of the Libro de Mormón stacked on a small table in the center of the room, and several tracting pamphlets and Church books nearby. We sat on the edge of one of the beds and reviewed the plan for the afternoon’s work. We knelt together on the bare brick floor, and Elder Sanchez offered prayer. Silently I pled in my heart with the Lord: “Please help Elder Sanchez. Help him to realize just what he should do.” He had to stay—he was vital to the program. We paused briefly at the conclusion of the prayer and looked each other in the eye. We shook hands and rose to leave.
We left the apartment and talked about prospective converts and investigators as we walked down the unpaved dirt road toward the proselyting area we would be working in. I could sense that although Elder Sanchez was a little nervous about our visit, he wanted to talk. Trying to concentrate on cheerful and positive events in the mission, I complimented Elder Sanchez and his companion on the work they were doing, for things did appear to be going well for them.
We turned from the road onto a well-worn pathway that twisted its way up a small hillside. At the top we stopped to rest and catch our breath. The sun was bright and warm, yet a gentle breeze made things cool and refreshing. From the crest of the hill we looked down upon the streets and houses of the community below. The adobe structures all were roofed with sheets of rippled tin, which reflected the bright sunlight like giant mirrors. These were familiar sights to me now. I thought about how I had gone through struggles with the language, adjusting to the customs, and learning how to love these people. Elder Sanchez had not had to go through any of these changes. He knew the language, including the Aymara dialect. He knew the customs; he knew humility; he knew the language of the Lamanite heart.
We continued along the path. The top of the hill leveled into a long, narrow plateau. The other side of the plateau dropped vertically at the edge into a deep and wide ravine. At the bottom of the canyon was a small stream, polluted by garbage and other refuse that people had thrown over the side of the gulch. The stench that rose from the pollution made me shudder, and I breathed through the material of my suit sleeve to try to filter the air. This was one of the poorest areas of the city, and it was evident.
Our pathway ran parallel to the ledge of the ravine, and I scanned the scene below as we walked. In the distance was an ancient-looking railroad bridge that crossed the canyon. The path we followed appeared to pass near it.
Elder Sanchez opened up more as we talked about his family and his missionary calling. He was confused about who to listen to and who to rely on for direction. There were so many pressures!
Suddenly my concentration was interrupted as the pathway crossed an old pair of worn railroad tracks. My heart jumped as Elder Sanchez abruptly turned to follow the railroad tracks instead of continuing on the pathway. I stopped. The old railroad bridge was directly in front of us! My heart began pounding as I realized what was happening. I reached for Elder Sanchez’s arm and beckoned him to stop. “Are we going to cross the bridge?” I asked. He shrugged and replied simply, “Yes.”
I paused. “Isn’t there some other route we could take?” I began to perspire as I looked past Elder Sanchez to the canyon and the bridge. Elder Sanchez walked toward the bridge and replied, “This is the shortest way.” Unwilling to confess my fear of heights, I silently tried to muster courage.
I followed my companion to the edge of the canyon and stopped, stretching my neck to look over the edge. The bottom of the gully was several hundred feet below. My confidence evaporated, and my stomach twisted into a tight knot. I swallowed hard as I studied the bridge. Although it was still in use, it was very old and in poor condition. There was nothing above the rails to aid in crossing—no hand or guard rail, no supports, no girders—nothing at all. The iron rails rested on greasy, black, wooden ties, old and worn from use and cracked from the weather. I looked up at Elder Sanchez—he was already halfway across.
A silent prayer rose from my heart as I braced myself and carefully placed my foot exactly in the middle of the first tie. Then ever so slowly, the second, then the third. Slowly, I moved away from the solid ground. Through the gaps between the ties I could see the ground far below. I seemed to lose my equilibrium and my muscles tightened. I tried to relax and concentrate completely on the ties, avoiding as much as possible the view between the spaces. As I developed a rhythm, each step became easier and smoother.
I proceeded slowly and steadily ahead. One by one the ties moved under me, until I had stepped on each one in the bridge. I leaped from the last step onto solid ground, smiling with pride and relief as my fright turned into exuberance. My heart was still pounding as I joined Elder Sanchez, who had been watching and waiting patiently for me on the other side. With pride in my step we continued together.
Elder Sanchez and I spent the rest of the day tracting and visiting families. For a time, we became so involved in the proselyting work that our concern for the original problem was completely forgotten. It was late afternoon and the sun was beginning to set behind the distant Andes mountains as we finally directed our steps back toward the apartment. In near desperation I reviewed all that Elder Sanchez and I had talked about during the day. So far I had only been able to listen to Elder Sanchez’s feelings about his situation. I had not been able to offer any convincing suggestions. There seemed to be no conclusions. I searched for the key. Surely Elder Sanchez had problems that would be resolved with patience and faith. The Lord understood his problems, and he would help. We needed Elder Sanchez; the people needed Elder Sanchez; and the Lord needed Elder Sanchez. He was vital to the program! Surely he would sense he must stay.
Suddenly my concentration was shattered as we rounded a corner, and there in front of us again lay the railroad tracks! Panic-stricken, I searched down the rails, and in the distance it loomed—the bridge. Body and mind reacted instinctively. My knees and legs went weak, and my stomach began to tighten again. My heart began to pound quickly. We continued forward. To maintain composure, I tried to be logical: “I’ve done this once,” I thought. “Why not again?” But fear answered: “It’s impossible!” My chances of being able to cross again were too slim! Yet we approached the bridge, and Elder Sanchez again started out in front of me.
Repeating positive phrases and words of encouragement to myself, I reoffered my silent prayer and started out. Step by step, slowly and surely, I tried to follow the same process as before. Again confidence grew with each step. Again I was on my way.
I was near the halfway point on the bridge, concentrating on steady rhythm, when I heard voices—then footsteps. I cautiously stopped and slowly looked up. I froze. In front of me was the largest Bolivian woman I had ever seen in my time as a missionary. The woman was coming directly toward me, and her steady pace clearly indicated who was to make room for whom. I was stunned. I painstakingly lifted my right foot and placed it on the portion of the tie extending several inches to the outside of one rail. I kept my left foot firmly planted on the inside of the rail for balance. I strained to make enough room for her to pass by. Uncontrollably I glanced down over the edge of the bridge to the bottom of the ravine. The stream of water trickled and wound through the debris far below. I felt myself begin to gently sway. Quickly I looked back to the rails.
The woman approached and moved past me. Her long full skirts brushed me gently, and I leaned as far forward into the bridge as I could. But there was another small figure directly behind the woman I had not noticed before—a slender eight-or nine-year-old girl. She clutched her mother’s full skirts with tightly clenched fists. As they both moved past, tears ran down the little girl’s brown cheeks, and she cried out to the woman, “Mamá, tengo temor! ¿Qué hago?¡Tengo temor!” (“Mother, I’m scared! What do I do? I’m scared!”) The old woman merely kept her steady pace, eyes fixed directly ahead, and replied in her native tongue, “Mírame a mí, hija. No mires hacia abajo, sino mírame a mí.” (“Look at me, dear. Don’t look down, just look at me.”)
I stood motionless and watched mother and daughter continue across the bridge. As if a wave of warm air had blown about me, all fear left and inspiration came. I stood in reverence as I realized the simplicity of the answer to Elder Sanchez’s questions. Just as the wise Indian mother had counseled her daughter, I seemed to hear in my mind, “Keep your eye on the prophet.” “Look to the Brethren.” “Come, follow me.”
I looked across the bridge to the other side where Elder Sanchez stood. The affirmation of the Spirit came to me, and I knew what Elder Sanchez must come to understand. Although he was fearful and uncertain, he had received a call from the Lord through his prophet; there was no question about what he should do. With childlike faith he had to look to Him, not look down—keep his eye on Him, and he too would cross the bridge.

Let me start with when I was a small boy.

Once upon a time, this group of boys was out playing baseball. We were having a great time playing baseball. I was about ten-years-old, and our parents had left us there. I was there with my older brother, and we got tired of playing baseball after awhile. There was a dry riverbed in front of the baseball diamond, and across the river bed there was a cliff. My friends and I decided we wanted to go across that river bed and climb that cliff. It seemed like the right thing to do for a bunch of ten-year-olds. Maybe it wasn't all that smart to do.

We went across the riverbed, started climbing up the cliff, and it was difficult, so we went over to the edge of the cliff, where there was a hillside. One by one, we filed up this hill, but the boys ahead of me I thought were going too slow, so I thought, "Well, I need to get ahead of these boys, so I can lead the way and show them how to climb up this hill a little faster." So I got off of the trail and climbed over through some bushes, and pretty soon I found a place where I could climb up more rapidly. But the soil was very soft there, and I found myself slipping, slipping, and slipping! Pretty soon, I looked behind me, and I was just a few feet from this cliff. I had climbed up over the top of the cliff and I was about to fall down it. A little boy, I started grabbing plants. I grabbed this one little plant, which held me for a while, but it came off, and I slipped down closer to the edge of the cliff. I grabbed another little plant, and I remember grabbing that plant and kneeling on that hillside. I prayed with everything that a ten-year-old boy could pray with. I asked my Father to help me. I remember that time; an image came into my mind. The impression was to put my left foot back as far as I could. So I stuck my left foot out and felt it go over the cliff. Then the feeling was, "Keep going," so I did. I put my foot down over that cliff and my toes went into a crack in the cliff. I was then on solid ground. I put my other foot down, and sure enough, I found the same crack. Plant by plant, step by step, I worked my way over to safety.

Two things happened to me that day, maybe three. One, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that God knew me, and that He loved me. He would answer my prayers. More than that, at that moment, I knew that He wanted me alive for some reason. I didn't know what it was I still am not sure that I know what it is but He wanted me alive. He wanted me to do something.

My opinion of myself as a teacher was also somewhat deflated by my youngest son. In the course of trying to teach a four- or five-year-old the principle of tithing, I described how as a young boy on the farm I had gathered every tenth egg to pay in tithing and how I had once driven the horses and a load of hay to the bishop’s storehouse. After I finished with such illustrations, drawing liberally on my farm experience since I thought this would be most interesting and vivid to a little boy, I sought to test the effectiveness of my teachings by asking him a question. “If you were a farmer and had a harvest of crops and some livestock, what would you give to the bishop?” The little fellow thought carefully for a moment and then said: “I would give him a very old horse.” I have thought of that childish reply many times as I have observed how supposedly mature individuals handle themselves in relation to the principle of tithing. Fortunately, I have had some additional years to work with my son on the subject.

When Eli Herring was little, he would sometimes try to be sneaky and watch Sunday professional football on television. He didn’t know much about the game, but he knew he liked it. He liked it so much that each week when his class at school would go to the library, he would check out books about football players. He knew they were big and strong, he knew he wanted to be one, and he knew that they played most of their games on Sunday. And he wanted to watch some football.
One Sunday when he had the television on, he suddenly noticed his father looming in the doorway. Eli promptly forgot about the game. His father wasn’t angry, but he sure looked disappointed. Brother Herring simply said, “Turn it off,” and Eli did. He never watched football on Sunday again.
It didn’t take Eli and his brothers and sisters long to find out how their parents felt about the gospel. The family often gathered and read their scriptures and talked about the things of the Lord. Like many Latter-day Saints, the Herrings taught their children about eternal life and eternal families. They taught their children how to fast and pray and how to seek guidance from the Lord.
Other than watching games on Sunday, Eli found no conflict between football and the gospel. He played little league with his friends, and he often thought about playing college and professional football. He was always big for his age, and his father was a big man, so he assumed he would be able to play if he wanted to.
Then one Sunday when he was 16, he and his family were talking about football. Springville (Utah) High School had just won the state championship, and between his sophomore and junior years Eli had really begun to grow, gaining 80 pounds. Playing in college—and maybe after—was beginning to look like a real possibility.
As the family was talking about this exciting possibility, his mother commented, “You know, Eli, if you play professional football, you will have to play on the Sabbath.” Suddenly Eli knew that one day he might have to decide between keeping the Sabbath as his father had taught him and playing football.
Several universities recruited him to play for them when he finished his senior season. At this point, playing football first began to clash with doing what he knew he should. When he told recruiters he intended to go on a mission, two of the schools, Washington and Stanford, lost interest. But that didn’t deter him. More than once as he was growing up, his father had taken out his mission slides, and the family had watched as he told about his mission. Eli had always known that he, too, wanted to go on a mission, and he never questioned that decision.
Eli finally chose to attend BYU, and he played there his freshman year before leaving on a mission to Argentina. He came back two years later, stronger, faster, more coordinated, and even more ready to play football. He played his sophomore and junior seasons. He got married and took classes at the university. But always at the back of his mind, he knew that someday he might have to choose between playing football and keeping the Sabbath day holy.
Then, the summer before his senior season, the time suddenly came for Eli to make a decision. That summer USA Today published an article that ranked the top professional prospects among college football players. To his surprise, Eli found his name on the list. It dawned on him how much money he could be making playing football the next year, and he knew he had to make a decision.
It was not an easy one. Eli knew that something he had often dreamed of since elementary school was within reach. He considered all the things that he could do with the money he would make as a professional football player: he could put his children through school and pay for their missions; he could have a retirement fund; he could go on as many missions with his wife as he wanted; he could teach and coach and not have any financial worries. He would be set.
On the other hand, experiences he had had in his life told him things weren’t that simple. When he had arrived on his mission, one U.S. dollar was worth 15 Argentine australs. By the time he left, a dollar was worth about 10,000 australs. In less than two years, people who had been rich in Argentina were not rich anymore. From this Eli knew that he could not trust in money nor make his decision based solely on that.
On one hand there were good people who were active in the Church and who did a lot of good for the Church who played professional sports on Sunday. On the other hand, Eli had seen some very powerful examples of people who had refused to break the Sabbath.
One was Erroll Bennett, one of the top soccer players in Tahiti, whom Eli read about one day on his mission. When Brother Bennett joined the Church, he decided to withdraw from his team because he chose not to play on the Sabbath. When Eli read the story and saw how dedicated Brother Bennett was to the gospel, he was impressed. He says, “I knew I wanted to be a man like that, with that kind of commitment and dedication to what I knew was right.”
Eli discussed his choices with the people most important to him. His mother always reminded him of the commandment to keep the Sabbath day holy. His father, who had worked hard trying to support his family, told him to consider the decision carefully, reminding Eli how the money would help him support his wife and children. His wife, Jennifer, had received a paper in school full of quotations from leaders of the Church about the Sabbath day. Together they studied those and talked about the decision, but Jennifer and Eli’s parents all said that the decision was his and they would support him however he decided.
Eli talked to many other people. Some told him to play; some said maybe he shouldn’t. But Eli knew that talking to others wouldn’t make the decision for him. “When you’re considering giving up hundreds of thousands or millions of dollars,” he says, “it’s probably not something you’re going to do just because you’ve talked to someone.”
He knew that he would have to make the decision himself after praying to his Heavenly Father. Eli recalls: “It occurred to me to pray and fast about it because of what my parents taught me. … During the rest of the summer and through the next football season, all my scripture study and all my prayers and everything were focused on what the best decision would be. This lasted about six months. I didn’t make the final decision until the season was over at the end of December.”
That was an intense six months. Eli says: “I don’t think in my life other than sometimes on my mission I ever had the scriptures come to life for me as they did during that period of time. … I saw things I had never seen or understood before.”
One day, for example, he was reading in the Book of Mormon about Alma counseling his son Helaman. Alma urges his son: “O remember, remember, my son Helaman, how strict are the commandments of God. And he said: If ye will keep my commandments ye shall prosper in the land—but if ye keep not his commandments ye shall be cut off from his presence. … Therefore I command you, my son Helaman, that ye be diligent … in keeping the commandments of God as they are written” (Alma 37:13, 20).
The phrase “as they are written” particularly struck Eli. He knew the key to being in the Lord’s presence and to prospering was to keep the commandments “as they are written”—with exactness. Eli understood that to have financial security and other blessings for his family, “it was a more sure thing to keep the commandments and trust in the Lord than to have a million dollars.”
As the months progressed toward the end of the season, Eli became more sure of what he had to do. “I read my scriptures, and time after time I would see more and more and more reasons that I felt in my heart that I needed to observe the Sabbath more than I needed to play football,” Eli says.
When he finally made the decision, it was easy. He laughs now about all the attention he received: “I had been on the offensive line my whole career, and it’s not like a lineman gets a lot of recognition. I got so much more recognition for making that decision than I ever got for playing football. People wrote me, telling me what they thought about the decision I had made, good or bad. I never got so much mail in my life.”
Some people asked whether he had considered all the factors, and some asked if he had thought of all the money he could make. Eli laughs, “One of the most interesting things to me was that people would say, Haven’t you thought of this and this, when I had been thinking about it for ten years and had considered those things maybe a million and a half times.” The letters were entertaining, but they didn’t change his mind or cause him to reconsider. He had been very careful in making his decision, and once he made it he was firm.
Now Eli is doing what he has wanted to do for a long time—he is teaching and coaching in a local high school. Teachers aren’t famous for their high salaries, and sometimes the money is a little short. But Eli smiles about it: “The paychecks now, in spite of being low, are more than we were making when we were students. We’re happy to have more than we had before. Occasionally I think we could have a brand-new car or a nice house, but I have never had any serious doubts about the decision.”
He gathers his family around the room as he talks about the decision that has made such a difference in their lives. His daughter Hannah plays on the floor while his wife, Jennifer, holds the baby, Sarah. They don’t have the new house, car, and retirement fund, but they’re happy. Eli has come a long way from the boy who sometimes sneaked in to watch football on Sundays. Now he is a father who, like his own father and like Alma long ago, is determined to teach his children the commandments “as they are written” and to help them be covenant people of the Lord.

I heard President Spencer W. Kimball, in a session of conference, ask that God would give him mountains to climb. He said: “There are great challenges ahead of us, giant opportunities to be met. I welcome that exciting prospect and feel to say to the Lord, humbly, ‘Give me this mountain,’ give me these challenges.”
My heart was stirred, knowing, as I did, some of the challenges and adversity he had already faced. I felt a desire to be more like him, a valiant servant of God. So one night I prayed for a test to prove my courage. I can remember it vividly. In the evening I knelt in my bedroom with a faith that seemed almost to fill my heart to bursting.
Within a day or two my prayer was answered. The hardest trial of my life surprised and humbled me. It provided me a twofold lesson. First, I had clear proof that God heard and answered my prayer of faith. But second, I began a tutorial that still goes on to learn about why I felt with such confidence that night that a great blessing could come from adversity to more than compensate for any cost.
The adversity that hit me in that faraway day now seems tiny compared to what has come since—to me and to those I love. Many of you are now passing through physical, mental, and emotional trials that could cause you to cry out as did one great and faithful servant of God I knew well. His nurse heard him exclaim from his bed of pain, “When I have tried all my life to be good, why has this happened to me?”
You know how the Lord answered that question for the Prophet Joseph Smith in his prison cell:
“And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.
“The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?
“Therefore, hold on thy way, and the priesthood shall remain with thee; for their bounds are set, they cannot pass. Thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever.”
There seems to me no better answer to the question of why trials come and what we are to do than the words of the Lord Himself, who passed through trials for us more terrible than we can imagine.
You remember His words when He counseled that we should, out of faith in Him, repent:
“Therefore I command you to repent—repent, lest I smite you by the rod of my mouth, and by my wrath, and by my anger, and your sufferings be sore—how sore you know not, how exquisite you know not, yea, how hard to bear you know not.
“For behold, I, God, have suffered these things for all, that they might not suffer if they would repent;
“But if they would not repent they must suffer even as I;
“Which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit—and would that I might not drink the bitter cup, and shrink—
“Nevertheless, glory be to the Father, and I partook and finished my preparations unto the children of men.”
You and I have faith that the way to rise through and above trials is to believe that there is a “balm in Gilead” and that the Lord has promised, “I will not … forsake thee.” That is what President Thomas S. Monson has taught us to help us and those we serve in what seem lonely and overwhelming trials.
But President Monson has also wisely taught that a foundation of faith in the reality of those promises takes time to build. You may have seen the need for that foundation, as I have, at the bedside of someone ready to give up the fight to endure to the end. If the foundation of faith is not embedded in our hearts, the power to endure will crumble.
My purpose today is to describe what I know of how we can lay that unshakable foundation. I do it with great humility for two reasons. First, what I say could discourage some who are struggling in the midst of great adversity and feel their foundation of faith is crumbling. And second, I know that ever-greater tests lie before me before the end of life. Therefore, the prescription I offer you has yet to be proven in my own life through enduring to the end.
As a young man I worked with a contractor building footings and foundations for new houses. In the summer heat it was hard work to prepare the ground for the form into which we poured the cement for the footing. There were no machines. We used a pick and a shovel. Building lasting foundations for buildings was hard work in those days.
It also required patience. After we poured the footing, we waited for it to cure. Much as we wanted to keep the jobs moving, we also waited after the pour of the foundation before we took away the forms.
And even more impressive to a novice builder was what seemed to be a tedious and time-consuming process to put metal bars carefully inside the forms to give the finished foundation strength.
In a similar way, the ground must be carefully prepared for our foundation of faith to withstand the storms that will come into every life. That solid basis for a foundation of faith is personal integrity.
Our choosing the right consistently whenever the choice is placed before us creates the solid ground under our faith. It can begin in childhood, since every soul is born with the free gift of the Spirit of Christ. With that Spirit we can know when we have done what is right before God and when we have done wrong in His sight.
Those choices, hundreds in most days, prepare the solid ground on which our edifice of faith is built. The metal framework around which the substance of our faith is poured is the gospel of Jesus Christ, with all its covenants, ordinances, and principles.
One of the keys to an enduring faith is to judge correctly the curing time required. That is why I was unwise to pray so soon in my life for higher mountains to climb and greater tests.
That curing does not come automatically through the passage of time, but it does take time. Getting older does not do it alone. It is serving God and others persistently with full heart and soul that turns testimony of truth into unbreakable spiritual strength.
Now, I wish to encourage those who are in the midst of hard trials, who feel their faith may be fading under the onslaught of troubles. Trouble itself can be your way to strengthen and finally gain unshakable faith. Moroni, the son of Mormon in the Book of Mormon, told us how that blessing could come to pass. He teaches the simple and sweet truth that acting on even a twig of faith allows God to grow it:
“And now, I, Moroni, would speak somewhat concerning these things; I would show unto the world that faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.
“For it was by faith that Christ showed himself unto our fathers, after he had risen from the dead; and he showed not himself unto them until after they had faith in him; wherefore, it must needs be that some had faith in him, for he showed himself not unto the world.
“But because of the faith of men he has shown himself unto the world, and glorified the name of the Father, and prepared a way that thereby others might be partakers of the heavenly gift, that they might hope for those things which they have not seen.
“Wherefore, ye may also have hope, and be partakers of the gift, if ye will but have faith.”
That particle of faith most precious and which you should protect and use to whatever extent you can is faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Moroni taught the power of that faith this way: “And neither at any time hath any wrought miracles until after their faith; wherefore they first believed in the Son of God.”
I have visited with a woman who received the miracle of sufficient strength to endure unimaginable losses with just the simple capacity to repeat endlessly the words “I know that my Redeemer lives.” That faith and those words of testimony were still there in the mist that obscured but did not erase memories of her childhood.
I was stunned to learn that another woman had forgiven a person who had wronged her for years. I was surprised and asked her why she had chosen to forgive and forget so many years of spiteful abuse.
She said quietly, “It was the hardest thing I have ever done, but I just knew I had to do it. So I did.” Her faith that the Savior would forgive her if she forgave others prepared her with a feeling of peace and hope as she faced death just months after she had forgiven her unrepentant adversary.
She asked me, “When I get there, how will it be in heaven?”
And I said, “I know just from what I have seen of your capacity to exercise faith and to forgive that it will be a wonderful homecoming for you.”
I have another encouragement to those who now wonder if their faith in Jesus Christ will be sufficient for them to endure well to the end. I was blessed to have known others of you who are listening now when you were younger, vibrant, gifted beyond most of those around you, yet you chose to do what the Savior would have done. Out of your abundance you found ways to help and care for those you might have ignored or looked down upon from your place in life.
When hard trials come, the faith to endure them well will be there, built as you may now notice but may have not at the time that you acted on the pure love of Christ, serving and forgiving others as the Savior would have done. You built a foundation of faith from loving as the Savior loved and serving for Him. Your faith in Him led to acts of charity that will bring you hope.
It is never too late to strengthen the foundation of faith. There is always time. With faith in the Savior, you can repent and plead for forgiveness. There is someone you can forgive. There is someone you can thank. There is someone you can serve and lift. You can do it wherever you are and however alone and deserted you may feel.
I cannot promise an end to your adversity in this life. I cannot assure you that your trials will seem to you to be only for a moment. One of the characteristics of trials in life is that they seem to make clocks slow down and then appear almost to stop.
There are reasons for that. Knowing those reasons may not give much comfort, but it can give you a feeling of patience. Those reasons come from this one fact: in Their perfect love for you, Heavenly Father and the Savior want you fitted to be with Them to live in families forever. Only those washed perfectly clean through the Atonement of Jesus Christ can be there.
My mother fought cancer for nearly 10 years. Treatments and surgeries and finally confinement to her bed were some of her trials.
I remember my father saying as he watched her take her last breath, “A little girl has gone home to rest.”
One of the speakers at her funeral was President Spencer W. Kimball. Among the tributes he paid, I remember one that went something like this: “Some of you may have thought that Mildred suffered so long and so much because of something she had done wrong that required the trials.” He then said, “No, it was that God just wanted her to be polished a little more.” I remember at the time thinking, “If a woman that good needed that much polishing, what is ahead for me?”
If we have faith in Jesus Christ, the hardest as well as the easiest times in life can be a blessing. In all conditions, we can choose the right with the guidance of the Spirit. We have the gospel of Jesus Christ to shape and guide our lives if we choose it. And with prophets revealing to us our place in the plan of salvation, we can live with perfect hope and a feeling of peace. We never need to feel that we are alone or unloved in the Lord’s service because we never are. We can feel the love of God. The Savior has promised angels on our left and our right to bear us up. And He always keeps His word.
I testify that God the Father lives and that His Beloved Son is our Redeemer. The Holy Ghost has confirmed truth in this conference and will again as you seek it, as you listen, and as you later study the messages of the Lord’s authorized servants, who are here. President Thomas S. Monson is the Lord’s prophet to the entire world. The Lord watches over you. God the Father lives. His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, is our Redeemer. His love is unfailing. I so testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Jana B. from Baden-Württemberg, Germany, also loves to spread Christmas joy through simple acts of service.
“At first, we’d give our neighbors handmade gifts like soap, candles, or cookies,” Jana says. “Then, little by little, the neighbors started giving out Christmas gifts too. Now it’s a tradition. This year we baked the cookies for our neighbors with the missionaries and talked to our neighbors to bring them peace and joy. We don’t always do things with our neighbors and sometimes forget that they’re always there for us. When we give them Christmas gifts, it’s like a thank-you for helping us all year.”