Gospel Story Finder

When I reflect on the race of life, I remember another type of race, even from childhood days. When I was about ten, my boyfriends and I would take pocketknives in hand and, from the soft wood of a willow tree, fashion small toy boats. With a triangular-shaped cotton sail in place, each boy would launch his crude craft in the race down the relatively turbulent waters of the Provo River. We would run along the river’s bank and watch the tiny vessels sometimes bobbing violently in the swift current and at other times sailing serenely as the water deepened.

During one such race we noted that one boat led all the rest toward the appointed finish line. Suddenly the current carried it too close to a large whirlpool, and the boat heaved to its side and capsized. Around and around it was carried, unable to make its way back into the main current. At last it came to an uneasy rest at the end of the pool, amid the flotsam and jetsam that surrounded it.

The toy boats of childhood had no keel for stability, no rudder to provide direction, and no source of power. Inevitably their destination was downstream—the path of least resistance.

As I said before, we just cannot imagine or calculate in any way what a great influence for good we would have in the world if every holder of the priesthood would magnify his calling, and how much happier and more successful each individual would be if he would always choose the right. How sad it is to see one who would rather be popular than do what he knows is right. I have in mind and remember so well a good member of the Church who was elected to the legislature but who wanted to be a good fellow, popular with everyone. He, wanting to be popular, let down his standards and took one drink at a social and then another. It happened again and again. He began drinking with the fellows at lunch and at dinner. And then, unintentionally I am sure, and contrary to his greatest desire, he became an alcoholic and lost the support of his constituency and the respect of his friends and family who loved him and sorrowed for him. He died an early death as an alcoholic. What a sad situation—all because he sought the praise of men more than the praise of God.

“While of these emblems we partake,”1 we began to sing. I wished we were singing a little faster, but I focused on the ordinance.
A calm came over me, settling my soul. The tone and meter of the organ were exactly appropriate to prepare us for the sacrament.
I looked with gratitude at our organist as he reverently swayed with the music. I thought back to our first meeting eight years earlier. Just a few months before we met, wildfires had destroyed Ed Bravenec’s home, along with most of his family’s possessions. As the missionaries and I shared a gospel discussion in his new mobile home, Brother Bravenec told us he played the organ.
“I play to express my testimony and love of God,” he said. Then we talked about whether he might play for our ward should he join the Church.
I looked at the ends of his fingers. A couple of them had been amputated. I was inspired by his faith, but I wondered about his capacity to play.
“I know that the Church would be grateful for you to share your gifts,” I said.
Brother Bravenec was satisfied with my response, and we went on to enjoy a good lesson and the beginning of a firm friendship. He was soon baptized and, as he had desired, became our ward organist.
Over the years since his baptism, I have watched as his health challenges led to the amputation of one of his toes. Not long after that, Sister Bravenec, who returned to Church activity when her husband became a member, was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. Then Brother Bravenec lost another toe.
We missed him for a few weeks as he cared for his wife and struggled through his ordeal. But soon he returned to church, sharing his testimony through the beautiful strains of the organ.
In 2019, Brother Bravenec learned that he would lose one of his legs. I was sad for him, thinking that his years at the organ had come to an end. But a few weeks after the surgery, Brother Bravenec hobbled into church on his new prosthetic leg.
Using canes to keep his balance, he slowly made his way to the organ. There, he sat on the organ bench, removed his prosthetic limb, and began playing the prelude music. A few minutes later, he played the opening hymn. Now it was time for the sacrament.
“In Jesus’ name and for his sake,” we sang—tone and meter perfect.

“I must have missed the bus,” I thought. For 15 minutes, I had been waiting in the icy gutter that was my bus stop, with no bus in sight. The day was unusually cold. Despite my puffy coat, I couldn’t stay warm. I felt hopeless, standing in the dark, in the cold, waiting for a bus that had probably already come and gone.
Finally, I sent a plea heavenward: “Heavenly Father, please just help me get to school.” It was simple but desperate and pleading.
A car on the other side of the road pulled over and turned around. As it neared, I saw the public transportation logo on the car. A woman leaned toward the open window and asked, “Are you waiting for bus 14? I’m pretty sure it already went by. Hop in. I was just patrolling the area because people can freeze on cold mornings like this.”
I thanked her repeatedly.
“Thank you for using public transportation,” she responded.
I sent another thanks heavenward as I warmed my hands.
A lot of the time, our blessings come through other people. No matter how small a blessing is, I know that I still need to thank the Lord. He is mindful of me, so I need to be mindful of Him.

This is the only known written description of this baptismal site. Between February and May 1840 the first eighty convert baptisms were performed here and it was continuously used up to at least 1847. I knew the burn, but Paisley has grown a great deal over the years and it seemed as if the burn was now underground.
Recently I started a more detailed search for the baptismal site. When researching to identify places I use the resources of the National Library of Scotland. They have a very detailed online collection of maps dating back to the earliest days of Scotland. The older maps can also be overlaid onto the more modern maps. I also used Google Earth and could see that the burn wasn’t underground at all. However, on a particular section no matter where we were standing we didn’t have a direct view of the burn due to tree foliage.
I asked my son, John, to try and get a photograph using a telephoto lens. He did all the legwork as I don’t climb fences anymore. As it turned out, the telescopic lens, though a canny idea, wouldn’t have worked. Mainly because it was behind a garden wall and a good deal lower than ground level, out of sight and too far around the corner. A week later John emailed me this photograph:
There was the “two feet of a waterfall” with “trees all around, a gently rising hill just above”. . . “the place where we immerse in the water. . .only large enough to admit the administrator and the candidate”. Just as Andrew Sprowl had described it.
It turned out to be in the garden of a private residence belonging to a very lovely and accommodating woman by the name of Carol. She was flabbergasted and delighted to hear about the 1840s baptisms, having always wondered about the waterfall’s origins. She told us that the bottom of her large garden, the waterfall part, was gifted to the Royal Burgh of Renfrewshire a long time ago by a previous landowner and as a result, she’s not allowed to alter or landscape in any way.
The waterfall is completely out of sight. It’s probably never been altered, having always been on private land. For members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Carol and her family have been the custodians of this sacred place, hidden and protected from the world.

An old fable, and one of my favorites over the years, tells this story:
A Japanese scholar each evening talked with workmen from a factory. One night he told the men that he would bring them something of beauty on the morrow. One man asked the scholar to bring him a rose, another asked for a branch, and the third requested a lily. The next evening he handed out the rose, the branch, and the lily.
“There is a thorn on my rose,” said the first man. The second complained, “There is a dead leaf on my branch.” “There is a clump of dirt on my lily,” cried the third.
The scholar took all his gifts back and said, “You had a beautiful rose and saw only the thorn; you had a lovely green branch and saw only the dead leaf; and on the glorious lily you saw only the clump of dirt.”

“For family home evening, we’ll review our computer and game rules,” Dad announced.
“Dad, I already know the rules!” Joseph said. He was 11 and had been using the computer for years now.
“You do a good job following the rules,” Dad said. “But a review is still good.”
Joseph plopped down on the couch. He wished they would talk about something new instead.
Dad held up a poster board and marker. “OK, let’s see what we already know,” Dad said. “Joseph, what rules do you know?”
“Crash and tell,” Joseph said.
“That’s right. If you see something inappropriate on the computer, like swearing or people not wearing clothes, close the screen or turn off the computer. Then tell Mom or me right away.” Dad wrote Crash and tell on the poster.
“What else?” Mom asked.
“Don’t give out your information,” Aaron said. “We just talked about that in school.”
Joseph looked at Mom and Dad. That wasn’t one of their rules! But Dad smiled and nodded.
“Good,” Dad said. “We haven’t talked about that before, but it’s really important. Don’t give your name, your age, where you live, or where you go to school on websites or to people online. Some people use that information to hurt others.” He wrote Don’t give out info on the poster.
“How about keeping the laptop in the living room or kitchen?” Joseph suggested. He was paying attention now. Dad wrote, Computer in family areas only.
“You can’t use the computer without asking,” Elizabeth said.
“Excellent, and you have to take turns,” Mom reminded them. Dad wrote Ask permission and take turns.
“What about games?” Simon asked.
“Thank you, Simon. The rules for the computer are the same for video games and the phone and tablet too,” Dad said. “We need to avoid bad language, violence, disrespect for others, and anything that makes wrong seem right.”
Dad wrote No swearing, violence, or disrespect in games.
The family thought of several more rules and put the poster by the computer. As he went to bed that night, Joseph tried to remember everything Dad had written.
A few days later, Joseph went to his friend Darrin’s house. Darrin brought out his new video game to play. It seemed awesome at first. Then the characters went to battle, and Joseph started to feel uncomfortable. It was pretty violent. He didn’t want to play this game any more.
What if Darrin thinks I’m just a chicken? Joseph wondered. Then he remembered the rules, and it helped him feel brave.
“Hey, Darrin,” he said, “I don’t play violent games.”
Darrin looked surprised and paused the game. “Oh. I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“I just don’t feel good playing it,” Joseph said. “Can we play something else?”
“I guess,” Darrin said.
That wasn’t that bad, Joseph thought as he and Darrin picked out a new game. When they finished that one, they went outside and rode their bikes.
Joseph was smiling when his mom picked him up.
“How was it?” she asked.
“Fun,” Joseph said. “And I kept our family’s rules.”

Jonathan sighed as he moved his food around his plate with his fork.
“Paseme la ensalada, por favor,” his sister Jasmine said. Mom passed the salad to Jasmine across the table.
“Muy bien,” said Mom. “You’re getting pretty good at Spanish.”
“I’m sure trying!” Jasmine said. “I’m glad Jonathan is in class with me. I learn a lot by hearing him speak.”
“Thanks,” Jonathan said.
“What? Don’t you mean gracias?” teased Jasmine.
“Sorry, I guess I’m just not in the mood right now,” Jonathan said.
“Is everything OK?” Dad asked.
Jonathan sighed again. “Well, I like Spanish, and our teacher is really nice. But she uses Heavenly Father’s name to swear a lot.”
“Yeah,” Jasmine said. “I’ve noticed that too.”
“It makes me feel sad,” said Jonathan. “I’ve been thinking about talking to her about it.”
“That’s a great idea,” Dad said. “I know Heavenly Father will help you know what to say.”
Later that night, Jonathan prayed about talking to his teacher. He wanted to talk to her about it, but he felt so nervous! What if she got angry? Jonathan asked Heavenly Father to help him talk to his teacher in a good way.
The next morning, Jonathan and Jasmine hurried off to school. Spanish was the first class of the day and went by quickly. Before Jonathan knew it, it was time to pack up his books. The other students started walking to their next class, but Jonathan hung back. Mrs. Gomez was erasing the board.
“Mrs. Gomez?”
“Oh, Jonathan, I didn’t know you were still here,” Mrs. Gomez said, turning around. “Can I help you with something?”
Jonathan said a silent prayer in his heart. Please help me know what to say.
“I wanted to say thanks for being a great Spanish teacher,” Jonathan said. “Jasmine and I are learning a lot, and we even talk to each other in Spanish at home.”
“I’m so glad to hear that,” Mrs. Gomez said.
“There’s just one thing,” said Jonathan. His stomach did a flip-flop.
Mrs. Gomez smiled kindly. “What is it?”
“Sometimes in class you swear with Heavenly Father’s name, and it makes me feel sad.”
Everything was quiet for a second. When Mrs. Gomez spoke, she didn’t sound angry at all. “I’m so glad you told me. I didn’t even realize I was doing that. I will work on not saying that anymore.”
Jonathan’s nervousness melted away. He gave Mrs. Gomez a big smile. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Gomez smiled back at him. “Thank you for having the courage to come talk to me. It’s not easy to talk to a teacher about something like this. But you did it in such a respectful and mature way. I’m proud of you.”
Jonathan felt happy as he walked out of the classroom. It hadn’t been easy to talk to Mrs. Gomez, but Heavenly Father had answered his prayer. The Holy Ghost had helped him know what to say. And maybe Mrs. Gomez had felt the Holy Ghost touch her heart too.
Gracias, Heavenly Father. Jonathan said another prayer in his heart. Muchas gracias.

Greg hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. We all hushed up as if we were waiting for an important news bulletin. “We’re going down the block to do some painting.”
“Huh?” I stared at him. “You mean work?”
“Mark, don’t be so dumb.” He held up a can of black spray paint. “I ‘found’ it in the hardware store.”
We laughed. That meant that Greg had stolen the paint. I felt kind of funny in the stomach. I really didn’t like the idea. But I was new in the neighborhood. If I said anything, the other guys wouldn’t be my friends.
Greg led us to a house with a wooden fence around the backyard. He handed the paint to Sam.
“Wait a minute,” I blurted out.
Greg cuffed me on the side of the head. “Are you chicken?”
I snorted. “Me? Of course not.”
When Greg wasn’t looking, I rubbed my head where he had hit me. It hurt. He’s a year older than I am, and a lot bigger.
After Sam finished painting words on the fence, Greg and a couple of other kids took their turns. Then someone handed the can to me. I took a deep breath and pushed the button on the can. Black paint sprayed out.
“Hey!” The shout came from an unseen person.
We took off running. Then I tripped. I jumped up, but someone grabbed my arm. My heart rate speeded up so much that I thought I would either faint or get sick all over my new sneakers.
I peeked up at a gray-haired man wearing glasses. “What were you doing?” he asked, not loosening his grip any.
“I don’t know,” I said, though it sounded silly.
“Who gave you the right to vandalize my property?”
“Uh, I’m sorry. Are you going to call the police?” I asked. My voice shook like I was going to cry.
“I believe I’d rather keep this between me and your parents.”
I took a shaky breath, then told him my name and phone number. But I would rather have gone to jail than have my parents know what I had done.
Dad came over right away. He looked as though he couldn’t decide whether he was more hurt or more angry at what I had done. I kind of shrunk down inside my shirt.
“Mark will pay for all damages, Mr. Parker,” Dad said.
I gulped hard. My allowance doesn’t cover half the stuff I want to buy. I figured that it would take a big part of my childhood years to pay for repainting that fence.
“I believe I have a better idea,” Mr. Parker said. “I had planned to repaint it, anyway. How about if I buy the paint and Mark does the painting?”
I sagged with relief. I wasn’t looking forward to the work, but painting the fence was a lot better than paying for damages.
I wouldn’t have been so happy if I’d known what else was in store for me at home—Mom and Dad said I couldn’t go anywhere with my friends for six weeks!
“Hurting others is against the word of God,” Mr. Parker said when I went over to his place. He handed me a brush.
I shrugged. “I know.”
“You sure didn’t act like it when you worked my fence over.”
I turned away and carefully drew the brush out of the paint can. I took my time making my first brush stroke nice and neat. I figured that if Mr. Parker saw that I could do a good job all by myself, he would leave me alone.
Mr. Parker didn’t take the hint. In fact, he got a brush of his own and started painting too.
My hand shook. I dribbled paint onto my pants leg.
“Careful,” Mr. Parker said.
“I can’t help it—you make me nervous!” I blurted. I dug the toe of my sneaker into the ground.
“I do? Now, why is that?”
“You keep watching me as if I’m bad or something.”
“Is that so? Well, I know you’re not bad, or you wouldn’t be here now.”
“I never did anything like that before. But Greg said …” I stopped and looked away quickly. I hadn’t meant to mention anyone else.
Mr. Parker chuckled softly. “Greg must be one of the other young fellows I saw running away that day.”
“You saw them?”
“I sure did.”
“You didn’t even ask me to tell you who they were.”
“I was a boy once myself.” Mr. Parker winked at me.
I felt a knot ease out of my shoulders. Mr. Parker was turning out to be a lot nicer than I’d figured.
We started painting again. After a while he said, “Do you ever go to church?”
“We used to.”
“I’m going to ask your folks to come with me on Sunday.”
“They’re pretty busy.”
“We’ll let them decide. I think your parents will welcome the chance for you to meet the right kind of friends.”
My face turned warm. I leaned over and concentrated on my painting. “I have friends,” I mumbled.
“Sure you do, son.”
Mr. Parker didn’t say anything else. I expected him to start preaching and tell me how bad my friends were—how they were not only a bad influence, but how they ran off and left me. I was all set to get mad and tell him my friends were great.
But all he did was start whistling. I recognized the tune—it was a hymn.
My parents were eager to take Mr. Parker up on his church offer. I told myself that it didn’t matter—at least I had somewhere else to go for the next six weeks. I couldn’t wait until my grounding was over and I could see Greg and the other boys again.
The only thing was, I got busy with the kids from Primary. By the time the six weeks were up, I was involved in a ward project to get books for a shelter for the homeless. After that, we Blazers all got parts in a play that we were going to put on at the care center.
The next time I saw Greg, he was leading his gang past the park. He stopped suddenly, and everyone piled into the back of him. They reminded me of robots playing follow the leader.
“Mark, I haven’t seen you around.”
“I … uh … I’ve been busy.” I felt a familiar shrinking in my stomach. Funny, I’d never realized it before, but I always felt that way around Greg.
“Yeah, I heard you were busy painting old man Parker’s fence.”
Greg and the robots cracked up. I clenched my fists.
“Come on—we’re doing something fun.” Greg held up a cloth sack.
I knew that they planned to steal oranges from Mr. McKellar’s grove. Six weeks ago I would have stumbled over my own feet rushing to join them. Now all I felt was sorry for them.
“No, thanks.” I turned and walked away. I had new friends now. My kind of friends. The shrinking in my stomach disappeared. It didn’t come back.

While Papa was getting his land ready, I was preparing a little plot close to the house to plant the seeds I had brought. I was digging with the spade one day when he came in from the field for dinner. “What are you making, Dora?” he asked.
“My garden,” I said.
“What are you going to plant?”
“Beans and watermelon. I brought the seeds from Utah in my box.”
“What a good thing to bring! That makes them very special seeds. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to them if they came clear from Salt Lake. I’ll help you build a fence around your garden to keep out the cows and chickens.”
After I had finished my garden, Ed and I decided to fix one for our Indian grandma. We kept it watered and weeded, and she enjoyed coming outside to watch it grow, as well as for the tasty addition of fresh vegetables to her diet.

On occasion, mission leaders can postpone serving due to business or family concerns. When Heidi and I were being considered as mission leaders, we had previously discussed that if we were given that option, we would delay going for one year because this change could be a significant struggle for our daughter who was going to be a senior in high school. We weren’t even sure that this daughter would go with us on the mission.

With that as background, we met with President Oaks. As we walked into his office, he said, “I’ve been studying about you and asking the Lord two questions: First, does He want you to serve? And second, if He does, when would He want you to serve?”

President Oaks continued: “I have felt impressions about those two questions, but before I share my feelings, I would like to know yours.”

Now I have felt pressure before in my life, but this was low-key next-level!

I was grateful that President Oaks turned to Heidi first.

“I don’t know the answer to the first question,” she said, “but about the timing of when we should go, I think we should go now.”

My jaw hit the floor. I turned to Heidi and whispered, “What did you say? I thought we talked about this.”

She whispered back, “I know. I’m sorry!”

To which I replied, “Well, that’s just not gonna cut it!”

President Oaks began to be amused at this. He chuckled and finally said, “Well, my feelings align with Sister Shumway’s.”

Now I felt about two inches tall. But I found the courage to express our concern for our daughter.

President Oaks tenderly replied: “I understand. I’d like to visit with her.”

We were stunned. With President Oaks’s busy schedule, how would he ever manage this?

Still, we set up this meeting with two of our daughters. In the meeting, President Oaks again asked us to share our feelings. Heidi and I went first, followed by our younger daughter Sophie.

Then President Oaks turned to Callie, and she began to cry. It was difficult for her to say anything.

President Oaks lovingly said: “Oh, sweet Callie, I have all the time in the world for you. When you are ready, we can chat.”

Then he patiently waited and kindly listened to Callie.

Did President Oaks have all the time in the world? No! And yet he took time to love and minister to the one.

He blessed me. He blessed my daughters. He blessed our family. And now, as God’s living prophet, he blesses the entire world!

Yes, President Oaks is the Lord’s voice “unto the ends of the earth.”5 To accomplish the mighty work of dispelling darkness that I spoke of earlier, you will need to know this truth deeply for yourself. But I also hope you know that President Oaks is a loving and compassionate disciple of Jesus Christ who is personally interested in helping each one of us return to live with God.

I saw this truth with our Callie—who did decide to join us in the mission field and had a life-changing experience.

Over forty-five years ago, when Dallin H. Oaks was a law professor at the University of Chicago, he had a harrowing encounter that almost ended in bloody tragedy. One evening, after a late church meeting, Elder Oaks and his wife, June, drove another sister to her apartment building. Returning to the car after walking this sister to her door, he was accosted by a young man brandishing a gun. The agitated juvenile jabbed his barrel into Elder Oaks' belly, demanding all his money. When he discovered Elder Oaks didn't have any cash, he demanded access to the car where June was inside watching this terrifying drama through the window. Think for a second, how would you have responded to that threat? Elder Oaks chose to not give in to his demands. A stand-off ensued, and the young man threatened to kill him if he didn't comply. But Elder Oaks stood firm.
At one point during this tense stalemate, the young man became distracted by a bus approaching behind him, out of his view, and he let his gun drift a bit to one side. Elder Oaks saw an opportunity, fully confident he could disarm the young man if he acted quickly to seize the weapon. Now what would you have done? Would you have made a grab for the gun? Elder Oaks almost did. But then something happened. "I did not see anything or hear anything, Elder Oaks said, "but I knew something. I knew what would happen if I grabbed that gun. We would struggle, and I would turn the gun into that young man's chest. It would fire, and he would die. I also understood that I must not have the blood of that young man on my conscience for the rest of my life."[1] It was a surprising thought for Elder Oaks; his life and the life of this stranger, this young man who wanted to harm him, were intertwined. Either they both made it out alive or both of them would be damaged. And that simple thought, that connection, completely changed the situation. "I relaxed," Elder Oaks said, "and as the bus pulled away I followed an impulse to put my right hand on his shoulder and give him a lecture. June and I had some teenage children at that time, and giving lectures came naturally. 'Look here,' I said. 'This isn't right. What you're doing just isn't right. The next car might be a policeman, and you could get killed or sent to jail for this.'"[2] Now it was the young man's turn to be surprised. The man he'd threatened to kill wasn't scared or angry, but was acting like a loving father, placing a warm hand on his shoulder and expressing genuine concern for his safety. This totally threw him off. "With the gun back in my stomach," Elder Oaks noted, "the young robber replied to my lecture by going through his demands for the third time. But this time his voice was subdued. When he offered the final threat to kill me, he didn't sound persuasive. When I refused again, he hesitated for a moment and then stuck the gun in his pocket and ran away."[3]

In 1998 I spent some time in the town in Northern Ireland doing research and conflict resolution for a United Nations group called INCORE.
During that time I spent most of my Sundays in Catholic and Protestant churches studying how the use of sermons promoted either peace or conflict. One Sunday, weary of all the research and looking for something more familiar, I walked across town to the LDS Chapel.
The building was large and beautiful, but inside, only a small handful of Saints filled the pews. Knowing that the church rarely builds big buildings until they have enough Saints to fill it, I enquired to one of the members.
He said something to that I had never considered before. The conflict between Protestants and Catholics there had torn apart the LDS Church as well. Old hatreds resurfaced and many good members left the church angry and bitter at each other.
The missionaries there reported similar stories in proselytizing. With people carrying war in their hearts, they had little time or use for a message from the Prince of Peace.
One member said to me, "Our hearts are so hard we no longer will let the Spirit in. We can't hear the Spirit. Our fighting is drowning Him out."

I hadn’t prayed for years, but I finally had to go to my knees. I was afraid to, because I knew my guilt. That first time, honestly wanting to change and repent, was the biggest turning point in my life.
I tried to pray, but I couldn’t. I started to cry, the first time in years, and I felt like I was being torn apart inside. I fell over, still in a kneeling position, and my body went into convulsions. I kept praying in my mind, “Please help me!”
I almost fell unconscious. Then the physical pain passed, and I just lay there crying. I had a long way to go to clean up my life, but I knew that the first step was the hardest. I didn’t understand the Atonement, but the feeling of peace and comfort that engulfed me left no doubt that it was real.

Teach them to love others by serving others. That brings the Spirit. The Prophet Joseph taught that, and he lived it. Of the many examples recorded of his loving nature, the one which most touches me occurred in Carthage Jail the night before his death. One of the men who went there with him was Dan Jones. The Prophet sensed the danger from the mob. He had reason to turn inward, to think of himself and his own peril. Instead his heart turned outward to comfort someone else.

“When all were apparently fast asleep, Joseph whispered to Dan Jones, ‘are you afraid to die?’ Dan [answered], ‘Has that time come, think you? Engaged in such a cause I do not think that death would have many terrors.’ Joseph replied, ‘You will yet see Wales, and fulfill the mission appointed you before you die.’”

Dan Jones survived to serve missions in Wales. Thousands of Welsh converts came to Zion. Some were gifted singers. They were among the first members of what became the Tabernacle Choir. When we hear the choir sing, I hope we remember Dan Jones, the faithful friend of the Prophet Joseph. Teach those you love to remember Joseph’s comfort, given when he needed comfort. When we comfort others, out of our faith in the Lord, He sends the Comforter to us. And the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, gave Joseph the power to give prophetic and loving encouragement.

Sister Moulder went to a training center in New York State for more than three weeks. She and Buddy learned there how to get along together. On their first Sunday together in our ward, Sister Moulder taught us how to help Buddy adjust to his new home and friends. Did you know that it helps Buddy if we do not look in his eyes, pat his head, or rub his ears? When he wears his working harness, he must not be distracted. If we invite him to play, we will be undoing the good training he has been given. We help him best by ignoring him. We must never call him by name or offer him food. He should take commands and food only from Sister Moulder. She takes good care of Buddy, and she trains him to behave nicely around people. He takes good care of her, showing her the way through the chapel door, down the hall, and into the Relief Society room.

This story took place in the USA.
The bell rang just as Mr. Nickels wrote their weekly math homework on the board. There were so many problems to solve! This would take forever.
“Turn in your homework on Friday,” Mr. Nickels said. “No excuses.”
Everyone groaned. Derek shoved his math book into his already-full backpack.
Derek’s new school was so different from his old one. Now that he was in sixth grade, he went to a school that was much bigger, with lots more students. The classes were harder, and he had more homework too.
But what worried Derek most of all was the other kids. Some of them seemed so mean! He didn’t want anyone to get mad at him.
Derek slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked into the hall. Kids were everywhere. He kept his eyes down and tried to weave between them without bumping into anyone. Sometimes it seemed like just looking at someone might make them mad.
“How was school today?” Dad asked that night. “Any better?”
“Not really,” Derek said.
Dad set down his book. “You know how you told me that sometimes you worry that someone at school might get mad at you for no reason?”
Derek nodded as he stared at his homework.
“Well, I have an idea,” Dad said. “Try smiling at them.”
What? That wasn’t what Derek expected. “I don’t know,” he said. “That sounds kind of weird.”
“Nothing too weird about smiling,” said Mom.
Dad nodded. “It wouldn’t hurt to try. Keep your head up and try smiling at whoever you see. It’s pretty hard to get mad about a smile.”
Derek thought about Dad’s idea. He prayed about it before bed, and he felt peaceful. OK. He’d try it out.
The next morning, Derek hopped off the bus. A crowd of kids squeezed through the front doors of the school. Derek walked inside with his head down, like normal.
But then Derek remembered Dad’s idea. Just smile, he thought.
With a deep breath, Derek raised his head. An older boy was walking toward him. He was at least one grade above Derek. Maybe two. He wore a sports jersey and walked with big, fast steps.
Derek almost looked away. This was exactly the kind of kid he thought might push him out of the way without warning. But he had promised to try.
So he smiled.
The other boy’s face brightened a little bit. After he passed, Derek stopped walking for a moment. He didn’t feel so nervous now!
Derek smiled at more people on his way to class. Almost all of them smiled back! Dad was right. No one got angry from a smile.
As he walked into the classroom, Derek thought that middle school might not be so scary after all. There was still lots to learn, and he still had some worries. But smiling helped. Maybe his smile could help someone else feel better too.

Emily Partridge, daughter of the first bishop of the Church in this dispensation, remembered leaving their comfortable home in Painesville, Ohio, to move to Jackson County, Missouri, in 1831 when she was just seven years old.3 Not long after, her family was driven from their home by the mob and had to relocate in Clay County. She described how they eventually found an “old log cabin that had been used for a stable. … There was one large room, and a leanto, but that was not of much use, as the floor was nearly all torn up, and the rats and rattlesnakes were too thick for comfort. There was a large fireplace in the one habitable room, and blankets were hung up a few feet back from the fire and the two families, fifteen or sixteen in number, were gathered inside of those blankets to keep from freezing for the weather was extremely cold, so cold that the ink would freeze in the pen as father sat writing close to the fire.”4

The family later moved to Illinois. Emily summarized their experience: “Times were hard and we were very destitute, having been robbed and driven from our homes and possessions so many times, and having had much sickness.”5

A few years ago I attended a summer swim camp at Brigham Young University in Provo. Growing up in Tennessee, I didn’t have many LDS friends. I was so excited to fly west to meet other kids who shared my faith and passion for swimming. Little did I know that my decision to go to this camp would change my life.
Everyone attending the camp was given a dorm room and a roommate. My roommate, Sam, was on the water polo and swim teams at his high school in Southern California. He also just happened to be one of the coolest guys I’ve ever met. Within five minutes of talking, I felt like we were best friends.
Sam talked to everyone. He radiated confidence and people were drawn to him. He made more friends in a few hours than I had made in my entire life!
That night, Sam and I were in our dorm room getting ready for bed. I was about to turn the lights off when Sam quietly knelt down beside his bed and offered a silent prayer. I was blown away! How could someone so popular and so good at sports be humble enough to get on his knees and pray at night? I turned the lights off and lay in bed thinking about what I had just witnessed.
The next day, I saw my friend in a whole new light. I wondered why he continued to kneel and pray at night when his parents weren’t there to make him. I started to have my own personal prayers. At first, I just prayed while lying in bed. Then I built up the courage to pray kneeling. I would turn the lights off, kneel, pray, and jump into bed in one fluid motion.
As I started to gain confidence in myself, my prayers grew longer and more sincere. My spiritual strength increased with every prayer. I realized what Sam had was spiritual strength. He radiated that strength with love toward other people.
By his example, Sam inspired me to pursue water polo, and I later had the wonderful opportunity to play for the University of Tennessee. But more importantly, through his simple example of praying each night, he inspired me to continually strengthen myself spiritually through prayer. (See Alma 37:6–7.)
Serving as a missionary in the Idaho Pocatello Mission, I pray more than ever before. Every time I kneel in prayer I remember my friend Sam, who taught me by example to “set my face unto the Lord God, to seek by prayer” His strength and comfort (Daniel 9:3). This is one way that I can achieve the divine potential that God sees in me.

After college, I taught at Brigham Young University for a few years. Then I started my own business. In my business, it was important for me to know what was going on in the world, so I got in the habit of reading several newspapers. And I always started my day by reading them. Of course, I read my scriptures during the day too.
Recently, however, I began to read the scriptures before I read anything else. What joy and satisfaction has come from reading the scriptures first! It not only begins the day right, but throughout the day I’ll find myself using a scripture or scripture story I read that morning, especially as I talk about the gospel.