Gospel Story Finder

That’s because Alex’s father hadn’t been to church for almost a decade. But Alex, who at the time was attending Sunday meetings by himself, never gave up on him—or on the rest of his family.
“I’ve learned for myself how important example can be,” he says.
How does a young man stay active in the Church without support from his family? Mario Sayas, who was serving as bishop when Alex was a young Aaronic Priesthood holder, credits Alex’s testimony and his dedicated Young Men leaders, who took a special interest in him. Alex agrees.
“If I didn’t show up on Sunday, my leaders came looking for me at home,” he says. “Little by little I learned about the gospel until I had a strong testimony. Another reason I kept going to church is that I knew that only through the gospel of Jesus Christ could we be happy forever as a family.”
Achieving that goal meant staying strong even when some of his church friends in Córdoba, Argentina, wavered.
“There’s a lot of temptation to break the Word of Wisdom and the law of chastity,” says Alex, who drew strength from counsel he received from Bishop Sayas. “He said, ‘The only way to qualify for a worthy wife is to be worthy yourself.’ That has helped me a lot.”
Alex’s testimony was strengthened further following a dream he had in which he was called on a full-time mission and given a missionary name tag. “That surprised me, and I realized I needed to serve a mission,” he says. He began preparing but didn’t wait until he was 19 to begin sharing the gospel; he started with his own family. Bishop Sayas says Alex was at the center of ward efforts to help his family return to church.
“Alex always prayed for and encouraged his family,” he says. “And he would always encourage his older brothers to attend church. For a while, they listened and attended with him. The effort to bring his family back took a long time, but it succeeded because of Alex.”

Prophets have charge for the whole earth, not just for members of the Church. I can report from my own experience how personally and devotedly the First Presidency takes that charge. As needs grow, the First Presidency has charged us to increase our humanitarian outreach in a significant way. They are interested in the largest trends and the smallest details.
Recently, we brought to them one of the protective medical gowns that Beehive Clothing sewed for hospitals to use during the pandemic. As a medical doctor, President Russell M. Nelson was highly interested. He didn’t want to just see it. He wanted to try it on—check the cuffs and the length and the way it tied in the back. He told us later, with emotion in his voice, “When you meet with people on your assignments, thank them for their fasting, their offerings, and their ministering in the name of the Lord.”

A little while ago, I was invited to read the Book of Mormon every day. I was asked to begin with prayer and to write down my impressions as I read.

Before this challenge, I did not read the Book of Mormon often, but as I accepted the challenge, I became accustomed to reading every day and starting with prayer. It helped me and gave me strength to stand against temptation. It made me much stronger.

At the beginning it was kind of difficult because I would get distracted or tired. But as time went on, I couldn’t stop reading the Book of Mormon. I felt something inside that told me to keep going, and I could feel my testimony growing. Now I don’t just believe—I know that it’s true.

I’ve learned that it helps me to read the Book of Mormon with a spirit of gratitude for everything. And as I continue reading the Book of Mormon, the Spirit indicates that it’s true.

As I wrote in my journal while reading, I knew what to write because I had started with a prayer and asked Heavenly Father to help me understand through the Spirit what He wanted me to learn. And the Spirit taught me as I studied and wrote.

I am grateful for all I have learned. It is going to help me a lot on my mission. I will be a representative of the Lord, teaching others His doctrine and the teachings that the prophets have given us in the Book of Mormon. It is the key for people to come unto Christ.

After my mission, when I marry in the temple and start a family, it will help me to teach my children about the gospel and be able to say to them that all of this is true. Reading the Book of Mormon each day and writing down what I learn has been a great blessing in my life.

On October 19, 1856, nearly two weeks before the terrible days at Martin’s Cove, the Martin Handcart Company faced the prospect of making their last crossing of the Platte River. Extremely low on food and supplies, they also faced the prospect of crossing the icy river during a fast-approaching storm. Because of the weakness of the teams that pulled wagons accompanying the handcart company, all of the sick who were able to walk were required to enter the icy water. Thomas Durham recorded, “All the sick that could walk at all had to get out of the wagons and walk through the river, some of them falling down in the river several times, not being able to stand up in it being so weak” (Thomas Durham journal, 1854–1871, 15).
While the place of crossing was a known location to ford the river, the freezing water was at least waist deep to most of the 200 to 300 souls who waded and swam the river.
Josiah Rogerson recalled the experience years later by writing, “I rolled up my trousers and waded that cold river, six or eight rods wide, slipping betimes off the smooth stones and boulders into deeper water” (“Strong Men, Brave Women and Sturdy Children Crossed the Wilderness Afoot,” in Salt Lake Tribune, 4 January 1914, n.p.).
Between the last crossing of the Platte River and the arrival of the advance party of rescuers, fifty-six members of the handcart company perished. Many more lost their lives during those horrible days at Martin’s Cove as they waited for the main rescue party.
Because of the horrible suffering experienced by the Willie and Martin handcart companies, a few of the survivors lost their faith and left the Church. But to many who suffered, this experience proved to be the refiner’s fire.
Forty-eight years later, in a Sunday School class in Cedar City, Utah, class members were offering criticism of the Church and its leaders for permitting the handcart companies to cross the plains so poorly equipped and so late in the season. Francis Webster, now an old man, listened as long as he could and then stood and said the following:
I ask you to stop this criticism for you are discussing a matter you know nothing about. . . . Mistake to send the handcart company out so late in the season? Yes. But I was in that company and my wife was in it. . . . We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation. But did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? . . . Every one of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives, for we became acquainted with him in our extremities. . . .
Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No. Neither then nor one moment of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay, and I am thankful that I was privileged to come to Zion in the Martin Handcart Company. [William R. Palmer, “Pioneers of Southern Utah: VI. Francis Webster,” Instructor, May 1944, 217–18; see also David O. McKay, “Pioneer Women,” Relief Society Magazine, January 1948, 8]

My wife, Mamie, has often shown me the example of selfless service. She is an ordinary woman whose abilities to love and to serve others are extraordinary. I really appreciate her swift response when service is needed. I am impressed by her vigor and caring spirit when it comes to rendering service. Recently, she made a nonmember woman feel happy. This woman was afflicted by terminal cancer. My wife’s unannounced visit to this woman, to whom she brought food and a bit of money for medicine, turned her pain into joy. My wife knows that this sick woman probably will not recover, but her act of service has shown the woman that she still matters to someone.

I once saw a news article about some truly amazing children from the Bridgewater, Massachusetts, area. Danny Keefe, age six, suffered a severe brain hemorrhage after birth, and his parents worried that he might have some serious developmental delays. Danny wears a jacket, a tie, and a fedora to school every day and has some speech problems. He is also the official “water coach” for the Peewee Football League Bridgewater Badgers, an older group of fifth-grade boys.

Some of the kids at school started picking on Danny for the way that he spoke and for his choice in outfits. The boys on the football team heard about this and decided to show their support for Danny by starting a Danny Appreciation Day and dressing up just like Danny. The quarter­back of the football team said:

We heard that Danny was getting picked on, so we thought that we would all have a day to dress up like Danny. We thought we would all come to school like Danny and sponsor Danny to show Danny that we love him—that we love him very much.8

In my view, these boys are superheroes—better, in fact, than so many of the superheroes we see in the media. They were able to defend someone who was being hurt without resorting to aggression themselves.

I pulled a book from my shelf the other evening. I read again the life of Mary Fielding Smith, wife of Hyrum Smith, sister-in-law of Joseph Smith, mother and grandmother of two presidents of the Church. A convert to the Church, originally from England and then from Canada, she came to Kirtland in her late 30s. There she met and married Hyrum Smith, who was left with six children after the death of his first wife.

Mary loved him and brought an added dimension into his life. In that process she set a course which brought her happiness only to be followed by immeasurable sorrow, for there was laid upon her a terrifying and fearful responsibility which took her from Nauvoo across Iowa to Winter Quarters and, in 1848, on the long trail that led to the Salt Lake Valley. At the age of 51 she was worn out, weary from the struggle. She passed away September 21, 1852.

Her life is the epitome of the Relief Society woman of those days. In fact, some of her experiences predated the organization of the society in 1842.

Mary’s boy Joseph was born at a time when her husband was snatched away by the mob militia then terrorizing Far West. Hyrum and the Prophet Joseph were taken to Liberty, Missouri, where they were imprisoned. Under the compulsion of Governor Lilburn W. Boggs’s extermination order, she left Missouri with the stepchildren for whom she had taken responsibility, as well as her own son. Her sister Mercy placed Mary, who was seriously ill, on a bed in a wagon box with her infant boy cradled at her side.

In February 1839, when winter was still upon the land, they traveled east across the state and then across the Mississippi to Quincy, Illinois, bumping along in a springless wagon where every jolt brought pain.

When her husband and the Prophet escaped from Liberty Jail and came to Quincy, life again improved. The Saints moved to what became Nauvoo and established their beautiful city on the Mississippi. But their peace was short-lived. Her little boy was less than six years old when a knock came at night on his window and a man said, “Sister Smith, your husband has been killed!”

Joseph F. never forgot his mother’s weeping through the night.

Her world was shattered. She was on her own now with a large family to care for. In the summer of 1846, they bade their comfortable home good-bye and rode a flatboat across the Mississippi. Taking matters into her own hands, she was able to trade, borrow, and barter for ox teams and wagons.

While living in Winter Quarters, she and her brother went down the Missouri River to purchase provisions and clothing. They had two wagons, each having two yoke of oxen. Camping for the night, they discovered in the morning that their two best oxen were gone. Young Joseph and his uncle spent the entire morning looking for the lost animals. They found nothing. Disheartened, he returned to tell his mother. Their situation was desperate, terribly so. As he approached, he saw her on her knees praying fervently, speaking with the Lord about their problem. When she arose to her feet, there was a smile on her face. She told her son and her brother to get their breakfast and she would look around. Following a little stream of water, and disregarding the words of a man who was in the area, she went directly along the bank of the river.

Pausing, she called to her son and brother. She pointed to their oxen, which had been tied to a clump of willows growing in the bottom of a deep gulch. The thief, who had tried to misdirect her, lost his prize and they were saved.

Mary’s faith imprinted itself in her son’s boyish heart. He never forgot it. He never doubted her closeness to the Lord.

All of you are familiar with her experience when one of her oxen, exhausted and worn, lay down to die while they were en route to these valleys in the West. In a mixture of utter desperation and simple faith, she secured consecrated oil and asked her brother and an associate to administer to the ox. They did so. It rose to its feet with a renewal of strength and carried them for the remainder of their long journey.

I recall the story of President Kimball's visit to a stake conference. They had taken a break from their long stake presidency meetings with Elder Kimball. One of the members of the stake presidency went into the men's restroom and to his horror, found that someone had pulled all the paper towels out of the dispenser and had then tossed them all over the floor - probably an energetic 4 year old! He immediately started out to find someone to clean up the mess.

As he was leaving the restroom, he passed President Kimball, just coming in to the restroom. Without a word, President Kimball stooped down and began to pick up the papers and place them into the wastebasket. We serve because there is a need, and we serve now.

The sixth month wore on with no baptisms in sight. The tenth of the month passed, and they were without anyone who would be ready.

“Sister Johnson invited us over for dinner tomorrow night,” Elder Anderson announced as they were heading home one evening after a floundering discussion.

“I hope you told her no,” Scott said grimly.

“Why?”

“It’d be a waste of time. A 60-year-old widow isn’t likely to have any referrals.”

“It’d be nice to have a home-cooked meal. Besides she doesn’t have many people visit her.”

“Tell the home teachers. It’s not our concern.”

“What is our concern?” his companion asked with an edge of tension in his voice.

“To find somebody to baptize this month.”

“We’re already leading the mission in consecutive baptisms. What do you want, another record to add to your string?”

“Why shouldn’t we succeed? We can do it if we work.”

“Okay, maybe we can. But there’s one thing that bothers me about you.”

“What’s that?” Scott asked defensively.

“You’re doing all this for your own glory—so you can be zone leader.”

They walked into their apartment and got ready for bed, hardly speaking to each other.

Just before prayers, Scott gave in. “Okay, I was wrong. We’ll have supper with Sister Johnson tomorrow night.”

Much to their surprise, Sister Johnson had an elderly lady with her who wanted to be taught so she could be baptized.

And she was before the end of the month.

As Sister Holland and I recently disembarked at a distant airport, three beautiful young women getting off the same flight hurried up to greet us. They identified themselves as members of the Church, which wasn’t too surprising because those not of our faith usually don’t rush up to us in airports. In a conversation we hadn’t expected, we soon learned through their tears that all three of these women were recently divorced, that in each case their husbands had been unfaithful to them, and in each case the seeds of alienation and transgression had begun with an attraction to pornography.
With that stark introduction to my message today—one it is challenging for me to give—I feel much like Jacob of old, who said, “It grieveth me that I must use so much boldness of speech … before … many … whose feelings are exceedingly tender and chaste and delicate.” But bold we need to be. Perhaps it was the father in me or maybe the grandfather, but the tears in those young women’s eyes brought tears to mine and Sister Holland’s, and the questions they asked left me asking, “Why is there so much moral decay around us, and why are so many individuals and families, including some in the Church, falling victim to it, being tragically scarred by it?”
But, of course, I knew at least part of the answer to my own question. Most days we all find ourselves assaulted by immoral messages of some kind flooding in on us from every angle. The darker sides of the movie, television, and music industry step further and further into offensive language and sexual misconduct. Tragically, the same computer and Internet service that allows me to do my family history and prepare those names for temple work could, without filters and controls, allow my children or grandchildren access to a global cesspool of perceptions that could blast a crater in their brains forever.
Remember that those young wives said their husbands’ infidelity began with an attraction to pornography, but immoral activity is not just a man’s problem, and husbands aren’t the only ones offending. The compromise available at the click of a mouse—including what can happen in a chat room’s virtual encounter—is no respecter of persons, male or female, young or old, married or single. And just to make sure that temptation is ever more accessible, the adversary is busy extending his coverage, as they say in the industry, to cell phones, video games, and MP3 players.
If we stop chopping at the branches of this problem and strike more directly at the root of the tree, not surprisingly we find lust lurking furtively there. Lust is an unsavory word, and it is certainly an unsavory topic for me to address, but there is good reason why in some traditions it is known as the most deadly of the seven deadly sins.
Why is lust such a deadly sin? Well, in addition to the completely Spirit-destroying impact it has upon our souls, I think it is a sin because it defiles the highest and holiest relationship God gives us in mortality—the love that a man and a woman have for each other and the desire that couple has to bring children into a family intended to be forever. Someone said once that true love must include the idea of permanence. True love endures. But lust changes as quickly as it can turn a pornographic page or glance at yet another potential object for gratification walking by, male or female. True love we are absolutely giddy about—as I am about Sister Holland; we shout it from the housetops. But lust is characterized by shame and stealth and is almost pathologically clandestine—the later and darker the hour the better, with a double-bolted door just in case. Love makes us instinctively reach out to God and other people. Lust, on the other hand, is anything but godly and celebrates self-indulgence. Love comes with open hands and open heart; lust comes with only an open appetite.
These are just some of the reasons that prostituting the true meaning of love—either with imagination or another person—is so destructive. It destroys that which is second only to our faith in God—namely, faith in those we love. It shakes the pillars of trust upon which present—or future—love is built, and it takes a long time to rebuild that trust when it is lost. Push that idea far enough—whether it be as personal as a family member or as public as elected officials, business leaders, media stars, and athletic heroes—and soon enough on the building once constructed to house morally responsible societies, we can hang a sign saying, “This property is vacant.”
Whether we be single or married, young or old, let’s talk for a moment about how to guard against temptation in whatever form it may present itself. We may not be able to cure all of society’s ills today, but let’s speak of what some personal actions can be.
Above all, start by separating yourself from people, materials, and circumstances that will harm you. As those battling something like alcoholism know, the pull of proximity can be fatal. So too in moral matters. Like Joseph in the presence of Potiphar’s wife, just run—run as far away as you can get from whatever or whoever it is that beguiles you. And please, when fleeing the scene of temptation, do not leave a forwarding address.
Acknowledge that people bound by the chains of true addictions often need more help than self-help, and that may include you. Seek that help and welcome it. Talk to your bishop. Follow his counsel. Ask for a priesthood blessing. Use the Church’s Family Services offerings or seek other suitable professional help. Pray without ceasing. Ask for angels to help you.
Along with filters on computers and a lock on affections, remember that the only real control in life is self-control. Exercise more control over even the marginal moments that confront you. If a TV show is indecent, turn it off. If a movie is crude, walk out. If an improper relationship is developing, sever it. Many of these influences, at least initially, may not technically be evil, but they can blunt our judgment, dull our spirituality, and lead to something that could be evil. An old proverb says that a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, so watch your step.
Like thieves in the night, unwelcome thoughts can and do seek entrance to our minds. But we don’t have to throw open the door, serve them tea and crumpets, and then tell them where the silverware is kept! (You shouldn’t be serving tea anyway.) Throw the rascals out! Replace lewd thoughts with hopeful images and joyful memories; picture the faces of those who love you and would be shattered if you let them down. More than one man has been saved from sin or stupidity by remembering the face of his mother, his wife, or his child waiting somewhere for him at home. Whatever thoughts you have, make sure they are welcome in your heart by invitation only. As an ancient poet once said, let will be your reason.
Cultivate and be where the Spirit of the Lord is. Make sure that includes your own home or apartment, dictating the kind of art, music, and literature you keep there. If you are endowed, go to the temple as often as your circumstances allow. Remember that the temple arms you “with [God’s] power, … [puts His] glory … round about [you], and [gives His] angels … charge over [you].” And when you leave the temple, remember the symbols you take with you, never to be set aside or forgotten.
Most people in trouble end up crying, “What was I thinking?” Well, whatever they were thinking, they weren’t thinking of Christ. Yet, as members of His Church, we pledge every Sunday of our lives to take upon ourselves His name and promise to “always remember him.” So let us work a little harder at remembering Him—especially that He has “borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows … , [that] he was bruised for our iniquities … ; and with his stripes we are healed.” Surely it would guide our actions in a dramatic way if we remembered that every time we transgress, we hurt not only those we love, but we also hurt Him, who so dearly loves us. But if we do sin, however serious that sin may be, we can be rescued by that same majestic figure, He who bears the only name given under heaven whereby any man or woman can be saved. When confronting our transgressions and our souls are harrowed up with true pain, may we all echo the repentant Alma and utter his life-changing cry: “O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me.”
Brothers and sisters, I love you. President Thomas S. Monson and the Brethren love you. Far more importantly, your Father in Heaven loves you. I have tried to speak today of love—real love, true love, respect for it, the proper portrayal of it in the wholesome societies mankind has known, the sanctity of it between a married man and woman, and the families that love ultimately creates. I’ve tried to speak of the redeeming manifestation of love, charity personified, which comes to us through the grace of Christ Himself. I have of necessity also spoken of el diablo, the diabolical one, the father of lies and lust, who will do anything he can to counterfeit true love, to profane and desecrate true love wherever and whenever he encounters it. And I have spoken of his desire to destroy us if he can.
When we face such temptations in our time, we must declare, as young Nephi did in his, “[I will] give place no more for the enemy of my soul.” We can reject the evil one. If we want it dearly and deeply enough, that enemy can and will be rebuked by the redeeming power of the Lord Jesus Christ. Furthermore, I promise you that the light of His everlasting gospel can and will again shine brightly where you feared life had gone hopelessly, helplessly dark. May the joy of our fidelity to the highest and best within us be ours as we keep our love and our marriages, our society and our souls, as pure as they were meant to be, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I could always tell when it was going to happen. Before the leaves began to turn beautiful autumn colors of red and yellow, even before I had to wear a jacket to go out and play at night after school, I somehow just knew when Dad was going to say it.
“Autumn’s here,” Dad would announce on a cool September night as we all sat around the dinner table. “Soon it’ll be too cold for gardening, riding bicycles, and swimming.” Then he’d look at me, sitting right next to him because I was the oldest. “Danny, soon I’ll be cleaning out the shed,” he’d say, like it was a brand-new idea, even though we had done that every year for as long as I could remember. “Are you going to help me again this year?”
“Sure, Dad. You know I will,” I’d burst out excitedly, and the whole family—Mom, Dad, and my three sisters, Randi, Sherry, and Cathy—would laugh. Sometimes it seemed to me that Randi, who was a year younger than I and always trying to act like the oldest, was laughing extra loudly at me.
But I didn’t care, because Dad knew how much I enjoyed helping him clean out the shed for winter. It was a big old wooden shed that Dad had built a long time ago, with windows on two sides and in the door. It was white, with lots of rusty nailheads showing through the chipped paint. We used the shed to store everything from shovels and rakes to bicycles and barbecues. During the spring, summer, and fall, we were probably in the shed as much as we were anyplace else. But by the time winter came, Dad would have the whole shed cleaned and organized and ready for the next spring.
The reason that I liked cleaning the shed so much was that Dad and I would talk. He was so interesting that it wasn’t like a job at all. He’d tell me about the cold, bitter winters he remembered as a boy in Indiana and about how much sweeter the spring always seemed after a harsh winter. “But no matter how bad the winter is, Danny,” he’d say, “whether it’s here in New Jersey or back in Indiana, remember that winter is just God’s way of putting the world to sleep for a short time. And then, in the spring, God wakes the world up with beautiful flowers, green grass, warm sunshine, and the singing of birds. The beauty of spring is one of the miracles of life.”
And before I knew it, the shed was clean, everything inside was reorganized neatly, and a big sheet of plastic was fastened over the roof so that snow wouldn’t get inside. The day would be almost gone, and Dad would slap me on the back. Then we’d gather up the whole family and go down to Mr. Watson’s for ice cream.
Then one day last year, just after I had turned eleven, I came home from school and found Mom upstairs in her and Dad’s bedroom, sitting in a rocking chair with an open photo album in her lap. When she saw me, she started to cry.
“Danny, your father’s in the hospital,” she said through her tears. “He became ill at work. … I don’t know when he’ll be able to come home.”
During the next few weeks, as we visited Dad in the hospital, I knew that he wouldn’t be home soon. The doctor told us that he was getting better, but that it was a slow process and that it was best not to rush things. It made my heart ache to see him lying there, looking so tired.
On my way to see him one Friday after school, I noticed that Mrs. Simmons’s big old oak tree was ablaze with autumn colors. So I knew that it was time to clean out the shed. I also knew that Dad would not be there to do it and that it was up to me. I couldn’t let him down.
I was up early the next morning, and I ate breakfast so fast that the food barely touched my mouth on its way to my stomach. Once outside, I looked up at the sky; it was a gray day with a chilly breeze and thick dark clouds. The weather report was for rain later in the day, possibly changing to snow at night.
When I pulled open the shed door, a leaf rake came tumbling out and nearly hit me in the face; we hadn’t been too careful about how we had put things back lately. Suddenly I felt sad and lonely because Dad wasn’t there with me, so I said a prayer that Dad would get well soon and be back with us. While I was at it, I asked Heavenly Father for help to do the job. Afterward I didn’t feel quite so lonely.
I had never realized what a big job cleaning out the shed was. Dad’s stories had always made the time fly, and it had never even seemed like work. This time it was only me, with nobody to talk to, or ask questions of, or share a laugh.
It seemed like there had never been as much stuff inside the shed as there was this year. To make matters worse, the clouds were getting thicker and darker and the chilly breeze had turned into a cold wind. I knew that rain was on the way, and soon. I didn’t even have everything taken out of the shed, and I still had to clean it, reorganize everything back inside, and stretch the plastic over the roof. I’m never going to make it, I thought.
I tried to hurry, and that was a big mistake. In my haste to move everything outside, I dropped a shovel on my bicycle, scratching the fender that I had tried so hard to keep looking like new.
I felt tears rush into my eyes. “I’m never going to get this done,” I said aloud, past the lump in my throat. “Oh, Dad, I’m sorry that I let you down.”
Just then a voice called: “Can I help, Danny?”
It was Randi! My first reaction was to say no to her offer. I felt that it was my job because of a special bond between Dad and me and that by letting Randi help, I would somehow be breaking that bond. But I quickly realized that my real responsibility was to Dad and the rest of the family. “Sure, Randi,” I said. “I could use some help.”
Randi smiled a big smile and got right to work.
I learned a lot about my sister that day. She worked as hard and as fast as I did, and she listened to my instructions about where to put everything just as I had always listened to Dad’s. We worked most of the day, and, just as we hammered the last nail into place to secure the plastic to the roof, the rain began. We both ran to the house, feeling happy and satisfied.
Mom met us at the door with some exciting news. “Danny, Randi,” she said, laughing and crying at the same time, “Daddy’s coming home next week! Isn’t that wonderful?”
That night we had the happiest dinner that we’d had in a long time, and we went to Mr. Watson’s for ice cream! I couldn’t stop thinking about how helpful Randi had been, and how it had really been fun talking with her as we worked. I decided that I wanted to do something to show her my thanks. “Randi,” I asked, “has Dad ever told you about how cold the winters were in Indiana when he was a boy?”
“No,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “but I’d love to hear about it.”

Some years ago I was invited to speak to a group of faculty and students at Harvard University. I, of course, hoped that the gospel message would be accepted and that our meeting would end in a harmony of views. As I prayed that this might result, there came to me a strong impression that this petition would not be granted.

I determined that, however preposterous the talk about angels and golden plates and restoration might be to my audience, I would teach the truth with quiet confidence, for I have a testimony of the truth. If some must come from the meeting unsettled and disturbed, it would not be me. Let them be disturbed, if they would.

It was as the Spirit foretold. Some in the group shook their heads in amazement that anyone could believe such things. But I was at peace. I had taught the truth, and they could accept it or reject it as they pleased.

Recently a young man was called to his Nineveh. The president of the Salt Lake mission home, President Rawson, told Sister Maxwell and me that not too long ago a young man came in on a Saturday to the Salt Lake mission home and said, “President, may I see you?”

The president said, “Surely, son, come into my office.”

He came in and said, “I need a blessing.”

“Why do you need a blessing?”

“I need a blessing because I am the only member of my family who is a member of the Church. Yesterday, when I went to leave home, one parent told me never to come back again, the other wouldn’t speak to me, and the only person who said goodbye was my little brother, who came to the front gate to say goodbye to me. I’m on my way overseas and I need a blessing.”

Now, brothers and sisters, that is the kind of devotion we must have in preparation for the Ninevehs of life to which we are called. However rigorous the circumstances are, we must, as this young man did, be willing to go, to trust and to surrender ourselves to our Father in heaven, who knows why in his divine plans it must be so.

Elder Newcome was a little bit nervous when he entered the office for his personal interview. Earlier, when all of us met together, I had noticed that he had trouble reading the scriptures.
“I’m a new convert. I’ve only been a member of the Church for a little over a year.”
“And you feel like you’ll never catch up with the others?”
“I’ve always had a hard time learning. I don’t know a lot about the details of the Church.”
“How do you feel about the Book of Mormon and the gospel?”
“The Spirit has born witness to me. I know they’re true.”
When I heard that, I knew he’d do well.
Elder Newcome was assigned to an area where a counselor in the stake presidency lived. That counselor came to me as the mission president and said, “I have a very well educated 29-year-old friend who has had a lot of problems in his life. He’s finally searching for some answers, and he’s anxious to be taught the gospel. Do you have some good elders who can teach him?”
At first I thought about sending my assistants. But the Spirit whispered to me that this was the assigned area for Elder Newcome and his companion, and this was a job for them.
Two weeks later, I had the opportunity of meeting with this member of the stake presidency and the investigator as well. They were both very complimentary of the missionaries and their ability to teach. A short time later, the investigator was baptized, and I spoke with him and the counselor again.
“Did you know that Elder Newcome cannot read?” the counselor asked me.
“Yes, I know,” I said with emotion. “But he knows our Father in Heaven and his Son.”
“And he teaches with the Spirit,” said our newly baptized friend.

Brother Smith gives his wife and children credit for his baptism. “I would work or sleep in on Sundays, but they would get up and go to church every week.” Brother Smith watched his family faithfully attend church for 10 years. During that time the children continually involved him in their Church and Scouting activities. He finally began going to church with them.

“There’s no way to be involved in the Church and not feel the Spirit,” says Brother Smith. “The ward members made me feel so welcome and accepted. It was an easy decision to be baptized.”

The Prophet’s ability to sacrifice for others marked his character from his youth. His father gave him his patriarchal blessing in 1834 and looked back to Joseph’s early years before 14: “Thou hast been an obedient son. The commands of thy father and the reproofs of thy mother, thou hast respected and obeyed.” Joseph the man was rarely irritated but regularly shared his bed and board with the stranger and put the comfort of the Latter-day Saints above his own. We see him in the first summer in Nauvoo, when Joseph and family left their home for a tent in the yard and gave their space and time to those overcome with malaria in the new Mississippi environment. Joseph’s generosity was genuine and points to his deepest nature.

Carlos Aguero, of Mendoza, Argentina, was called to go to Paris, France, for his mission. He had seldom been out of his own city. He knew no French. But he, like Nephi, did not murmur and he went. When he arrived in France, he found that his mission president did not speak Spanish. In fact, none of the other missionaries spoke Spanish; they only spoke English and French. Elder Aguero could not speak English. All the zone conferences and instructions were given in English. All other speaking was in French. Carlos studied, he prayed, he cried, he pleaded with the Lord and asked for help from his mission president and his companions. It took months, but he learned French and English. He served an honorable mission. Now living in Mendoza, Argentina, he often uses his English in Church service and in his profession. In April 1986 he translated for President Hinckley at a six-stake regional conference in Buenos Aires, Argentina.

When I arrived in Natchez to accept a job with the U.S. National Park Service, I entertained doubts and fears. I had left all that was comfortable and familiar to me in Utah, and as I took up residence in this new and seemingly foreign city, I felt lost and alone.
On my first day of training, the supervising ranger began by taking me through the park’s Civil War-era mansion and demonstrating the type of guided tour I would soon be expected to conduct. By the time we had finished exploring the first floor, I was already having a hard time remembering all of the details. From the French rococo revival furniture to the English porcelain china, the ornate home embodied Southern prosperity—and thoroughly overwhelmed me. Realizing that we had yet to see the second level of the home, I was overcome with a feeling of frustration and a longing for home.
As we climbed the grand staircase, an oil painting of a townscape caught my attention. I had never seen it before, yet there was something familiar about it. My eyes were drawn to the depiction of a large building atop the town’s bluff, and I recognized the sweeping curve that the river made around the city. Could it really be what I thought it was?
I asked if the painting was a depiction of Nauvoo. My supervisor, startled by my question, replied that indeed it was. I soon learned that the painting had been purchased by one of the home’s later owners because presumably it had been painted during the mid-19th century and the river scene coincided nicely with the Natchez landscape.
The Saints who passed through Natchez amid persecution must have felt a great sense of relief and gratitude when they finally arrived at Nauvoo. Similarly, I felt comforted when I saw the painting of Nauvoo in the mansion in Natchez. Seeing the painting helped me know that Heavenly Father was aware of my situation and would bless me with the strength to overcome my homesickness, fear, and doubts. I knew that the painting of Nauvoo was a tender mercy of the Lord.

When children have been prepared and feel loved, they sometimes respond the way our five year-old grandson did to his mom when the two of them sat up to the bar eating breakfast together. He looked up at his mom and said: "I get distracted from eating when I sit by you Mommy, because I love you so much!'
The way we show we love them is to hug them and tell them. It's by making our homes a happy, safe, secure, fun, and welcoming place to be. It's done when we teach by our example how we talk about others, how we respond in a crisis, how we handle difficulty; by how we dress, speak, and conduct our lives. Love is shown by establishing consistency and constancy in the life of our children.[12]

I spoke recently to a young father who has lost his job in the recent economic crisis. He knows that hundreds of thousands of people with exactly his skills are looking desperately for work to feed their families. His quiet confidence led me to ask him what he had done to become so confident that he would find a way to support his family. He said he had examined his life to be sure that he had done all he could to be worthy of the Lord’s help. It was clear that his need and his faith in Jesus Christ were leading him to be obedient to God’s commandments when it is hard to do. He said that he saw that opportunity as he and his wife were reading in Alma where the Lord had prepared a people to find the gospel through adversity.
You remember the moment when Alma turned to the man who led the people in distress. The man told him that they had been persecuted and rejected for their poverty. And the record goes:
“And now when Alma heard this, he turned him about, his face immediately towards him, and he beheld with great joy; for he beheld that their afflictions had truly humbled them, and that they were in a preparation to hear the word.
“Therefore he did say no more to the other multitude; but he stretched forth his hand, and cried unto those whom he beheld, who were truly penitent, and said unto them:
“I behold that ye are lowly in heart; and if so, blessed are ye.”4
The scripture goes on to praise those of us who prepared for adversity in the more prosperous times. Many of you had the faith to try to qualify for the help you now need, before the crisis came.
Alma continued, “Yea, he that truly humbleth himself, and repenteth of his sins, and endureth to the end, the same shall be blessed—yea, much more blessed than they who are compelled to be humble because of their exceeding poverty.”5
That young man with whom I spoke recently was one who had done more than put away food and a little savings for the misfortune which living prophets had warned would come. He had begun to prepare his heart to be worthy of the Lord’s help which he knew he would in the near future need. When I asked his wife on the day he lost his job if she was worried, she said with cheerfulness in her voice, “No, we’ve just come from the bishop’s office. We are full-tithe payers.” Now, it is still too early to tell, but I felt assured as they seemed to be assured: “Things will work out.” Tragedy did not erode their faith; it tested it and strengthened it. And the feeling of peace the Lord has promised has already been delivered in the midst of the storm. Other miracles are sure to follow.