Gospel Story Finder

It had been a one-step-forward, two-steps-back day for me. At 6:00 A.M. I tiptoed into my parents’ bedroom. “Psst, Dad, my alarm clock didn’t go off.” It was not until we were halfway to school that I realized my socks were each a different color, and that I had forgotten the homework I had stayed up until midnight to finish. Even though I slipped into the classroom only three minutes late, I was marked tardy by my smiling, but sharp-eyed teacher. You can probably guess that with such a terrific beginning, the rest of the day went downhill fast.
An unbelievable series of setbacks led to the final indignity, which occurred as I was running across the lawn to catch the bus for home. Almost as though there were a plot against me, they turned on the sprinklers.
By the time I staggered off the old yellow school bus, checked the mailbox, and plodded up the driveway, the only thing that kept me on course was the therapeutic thought of an afternoon with no obligations. Not one single thing I had to do. Just my own time—all mine!
As I drooped along nearing the house, I noticed a strange car. Upon shutting the back door and throwing my books toward the kitchen table, I called, “Whose car?”
“It’s mine and Dad’s,” came a six-year-old voice in answer. And who should come shooting around the corner but Aaron, my first-grade, out-of-town cousin. He sprang at me with a flying leap, wrapping himself around my legs in glad greeting.
“Uncle Dick brought Aaron along to help him,” Mom explained. Each time he came on business, Uncle Dick brought a different son, and this was Aaron’s turn. His first time. A big event.
Aaron is a beautiful boy. His blonde hair, blue eyes, and broad smile make me proud. He looked great standing there in little tennis shoes, faded jeans, and a gap-tooth grin that all but shouted, “I know you’re glad I came!” Ordinarily he’d be right. But not today.
So while everyone was caught up in conversation, I took a small year’s supply of cookies and started downstairs. Then I heard it. The big news was that Aaron was to stay with us the whole afternoon. My afternoon! I would be expected to spend my own private, precious time babysitting!
I slammed the bedroom door and turned up the radio extra loud, pretending I didn’t hear Mom’s call. Then I flopped down on the bed to figure out how I could make up a final in Algebra. I would have solved that, and other world problems, too, but the bedroom door was thrown wide. An eager Aaron was suggesting, “Hey, pal, let’s do something.”
“You go right ahead,” I muttered, turning my head away. Aaron pulled on my pant leg. “C’mon, Brad, let’s go for a walk.”
“Oh, joy, a walk!” I thought with a thud. But who could resist that full-face grin? Off went the radio, on went my jacket, away went my afternoon. Aaron grabbed my hand, dragged me up the stairs and out the door.
With explosive excitement Aaron began to show and explain all the mysteries of the world. Holding a dandelion under his pixie chin, he explained, “You know, if you like butter, you’ll get a yellow shadow. Try it, Brad.” And sure enough, I like butter.
Aaron’s next nature lesson concerned a cunningly soft, striped caterpillar discovered by fortunate accident. With profound observation Aaron remarked, “The reason caterpillars have so many legs is cause their moms had lots of legs, too. All babies are like their moms.”
As we built finger bridges for our caterpillar to make its ticklish way, my excitement grew to match Aaron’s. I began to see the world through freshened eyes. I had forgotten how much fun climbing a tree could be, or playing pirates in the leafy branches. The game was barely used before Aaron traded it in on a new entertainment.
“Look at those neat lines, Brad,” Aaron called, as he heaved a fistful of small pebbles into a spring puddle. They made neat ripples, and I watched them ripple and wear out against the shore. I stood wondering how I could have let myself forget all this. How could I have become so grown-up-busy as to forget the black-bordered pastel of butterfly wings, the crisp smell of wild flowers, the snow-nourished spring greenery of my mountains? How could I have passed them by day after day?
I had forgotten how high you can go on Grandma’s swing, or how good the sun feels after months of winter bundling. I had become so mired with mundane problems, I had forgotten to enjoy life. Only 16 years old and already I was so engulfed in monumental anxieties, I had simply forgotten small pleasures.
I picked up a pebble to jar the stillness of the small pool again. Then I noticed that Aaron was kneeling down all curled into a small-boy ball.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m being a rock. Can rocks feel, Brad?”
“Well, you’re a rock. How do you feel?” By now I was chuckling.
“I feel hard. C’mon, Brad. You be a rock, too.”
It seemed like forever that I lay curled up in the sun with a slight breeze creeping beneath my jacket. I loved it. I hadn’t taken the time to get that close to my earth for so long.
Aaron, the rock, was first to break our stony silence. He whispered, “Didn’t God make a beautiful world? And all for us. Boy! He must love us rocks.”
“You bet!” I agreed as I draped Aaron, the all-American twerp, around my neck with a swoop of joyful energy. Life was suddenly fresh, new, beautiful!
I was sorry to see Aaron go that evening. Really. What a world of good he had done his doddering old cousin as we had stretched out together on that moist, grassy hill, with eyes for nothing but the cloudless blue sea above. His chubby hand had reached for mine.
“Hey, Brad, let’s always be pals just like we are now. Pals forever.”
Behind my eyes I felt tears forming, childlike tears of joy. I rolled over to squeeze that miniature boy wonder.
“Yeah, pals,” I pledged. “Pals forever.”

I must tell you that feeling the Spirit and hearing the voice of the Spirit are two separate things. I could feel the Spirit way before I could start to discern from time to time what I was being told. In fact, I was in my early twenties when I had a very serious life decision to make and I had prayed and fasted a number of times and was not getting anywhere and not getting any kind of clear instruction. Finally I called a dear friend of mine and asked if he would consent to give me a Priesthood blessing; he was very generous to do so.

Before the blessing he said, “Well Sheri, you have been praying. What does the Lord tell you?” I said, “I can’t tell! I can’t tell. I can’t tell if I am making stuff up in my head or if I am receiving direction.” He replied, “Well do you know what it feels like to feel the Spirit?” I said, “Yes, I know what the Spirit feels like, but I do not know what it sounds like.” He said, “Well, have you ever asked the Lord to teach you?” I said, “Teach me what?” He said, “Teach you what it sounds like and feels like for you when our Father is trying to communicate with you through the Holy Ghost.” I said, “Well no, I have never asked that.” He replied, “Why don’t you start asking that?” That was more than thirty years ago, and I began that very night to get on my knees and ask the Lord, ask my Father, if He would teach me what it sounds like and what it feels like for me.

A llie threw a few pencils in her backpack and zipped it up. She was sliding it off her bed when Mom poked her head through the door.
“Is your backpack ready for school tomorrow?” Mom asked.
“Check,” Allie said.
“Brush your teeth?”
Allie smiled wide. “Check.”
“Say your prayers?”
Allie looked up at the ceiling. “Umm … Not check.”
Mom smiled. “I can pray with you if you want.” She knelt by Allie’s bed. After a moment, Allie knelt down beside her.
“Mom, do I have to pray?” Allie whispered. “I feel so silly. It’s like I’m talking to myself.”
Mom nodded. “I’ve felt that way before too. Whenever I feel like I’m just talking to myself, I imagine Heavenly Father next to me. Then it’s like I’m talking with someone in the same room.”
Allie scrunched her mouth into a frown. Was it really that easy?
“It’s hard that we can’t see Heavenly Father. But I know He’s always listening,” Mom said.
Allie folded her arms and listened to Mom pray. She tried hard to feel that Heavenly Father was next to her. Was He really listening?
On Sunday, Sister Oscar put a big mirror in front of the Primary room. Allie tried to get a better look, but she couldn’t see past a kid making funny faces in the mirror.
Then Sister Oscar stood up. Everyone watched as she pulled a cloth out of a bag.
“We’re going to do an activity today,” she said. “I need everyone to make a line from the mirror to the back of the room.”
All the kids stood up and got in line. Allie stood at the end, and she could see Sister Oscar talking to kids in the front. The line got shorter and shorter until it was finally her turn. Allie stepped up to the mirror.
“What do you see?” Sister Oscar asked.
Allie blinked her eyes. The eyes in the mirror blinked too.
“I see me,” she said.
“That’s right. You see your reflection.”
Then Sister Oscar tied the cloth around Allie’s head like a blindfold. Allie couldn’t see anything.
“Can you see your reflection now?” she asked.
“No,” said Allie.
“Is it still there?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?” asked Sister Oscar.
“Because I’m still in front of the mirror,” Allie said. “I know it’s still there.”
Allie went back to her seat. Sister Oscar stood up at the front of the room.
“Just like your reflection in the mirror, Heavenly Father is with us even when we can’t see Him,” Sister Oscar said. “He is always near us. And the best part is that we can always feel Him close.”
Allie’s arms tingled. Happiness filled her as she realized that what Sister Oscar said was true!
That night Allie was brushing her hair in the bathroom. Mom knocked on the door.
“Are you almost ready for family prayer?” she asked. “It’s your turn to say it.”
Allie looked at herself in the mirror. She imagined Heavenly Father smiling back at her.
“Check!” Allie said.

Church attendance for my folks was very infrequent, but every Sunday Mom prodded me out the door. After she buttoned me into a crisp, ironed, white shirt, she lounged about while my dad watched TV.
That second Sunday of September should have been no different from any other. The first counselor in the bishopric had just finished the announcements as I slipped in the door. I noticed my usual seat on the front row was already occupied, and the only spot left was in the middle of the second row. I tried to wiggle past Tom Bennington’s long legs, but he pinned me against the pew. As I struggled harder to get past, we both giggled quietly. Suddenly a dark hand rested on Tom’s shoulder. That’s when I noticed him, the man sitting in the third row.
He was old, judging by the wrinkles lining his face and the amount of white in his hair. However, his eyes were what froze my levity—a deep blue that bored right into me. A cold chill ran through my body. Tom straightened up as if shocked by electricity. Quickly freeing myself, I sat down.
When the opening song started, I slouched as usual. I hated singing of any kind, but as the congregation sang the first few words the hairs on the back of my neck bristled. From behind, the stranger’s deep, resonant voice intoned the first verse of the song. I was hypnotized by that voice. Many men croaked off key, but he hit every note with a bass clarity that was beautiful. Then, as the second verse began, a rough, sunburned hand reached past my shoulder with a hymnal turned to the proper page. Out of surprise I took the book and mumbled through the song.
“I’d like to take care of one piece of business at this time,” the first counselor announced following the invocation. “Brother Carswell, would you please stand?”
I heard a rustling noise directly behind me and saw those rough hands grip the back of my seat.
“We have extended a call to Brother Merle Carswell to be our Scoutmaster, and he has accepted. All those who can sustain Brother Carswell in this calling signify by the uplifted hand. Any opposed by the same sign. Thank you.”
What? I thought to myself. This man? Our Scoutmaster? Bishop, you’ve got to be kidding! That’s a young man’s job.
Early the following Thursday while shuffling down the sidewalk delivering newspapers, I spotted Brother Carswell walking briskly in my direction.
“Good morning,” he said in a voice that garnered instant attention.
It was disgusting how some people could be so cheerful at 5:30 in the morning.
“You walk like a man heading for the gallows.”
I had been staring at my feet but glanced at him to answer. “Yeah, sort of.”
“Let me guess. It’s the widow lady at the end of the street.”
“How’d you know?” I shot back, startled.
“I heard her scold you yesterday morning.”
“Oh. I’d sure like to know what her problem is. It’s like that every day. I just can’t do anything right.”
So why was I suddenly baring my burdens to a complete stranger? What was it about this man that prodded me to open up? He was old. He was all wrinkled and harsh looking. His eyes pierced through body and soul like Superman’s X-ray vision, yet, there was something, an invisible feeling of … I didn’t know what.
“Let’s walk,” he suggested, turning around. “You know anything about her?”
“No, except she hates kids and can’t seem to get along with grownups either.”
“Husband died about 11 years ago. Hasn’t had much contact with her children. Feels sort of, well, abandoned. Just kind of bitter at the hand dealt her.”
“That’s no reason to take it out on me.”
“Oh, you’re not the only one to catch her wrath, just the handiest this time of day.”
Brother Carswell stopped in front of a house several doors down from Mrs. Webster’s. Pulling out a well-worn pocket knife, he cut off a beautiful rose bud.
“Gee!” I whispered in panic, looking up at the house, fully expecting the owner to come flying out, shotgun in hand. “You’re gonna get us in—”
“Nah. Burt won’t mind. We go way back. Now, take this,” Brother Carswell replied with a chuckle. “Remember, you can drag a mule to water, but just out of orneriness it isn’t going to drink unless you sweeten the pond. Why don’t you slip this in her newspaper?”
Brother Carswell trimmed off the thorns and placed the rose in my hand. Without further comment he strolled away whistling a merry tune. I couldn’t believe it. This man snips off a flower, tells me to give it to one of the crankiest people in town, and walks away—in the opposite direction. The whole idea seemed so stupid that I was about to chuck the flower into the thick bushes surrounding her yard.
“Oh, why not?” I snorted to myself and tucked it carefully under the rubber band as I laid the paper on the brick ledge next to her door, just where she demanded.
That afternoon, as I rode my skateboard down the street, I saw Mrs. Webster standing on the front porch. I could tell she was gunning for me, and there was no way to ignore that screeching voice calling my name.
Everything in my being prompted me to keep going, but I slipped off the board with a stop that flipped it into my hands. Taking a deep breath, I shuffled toward her.
“My, my, you seem quite good at riding that, that thing. What do you call it?”
“A skateboard.”
“Oh, yes, a skateboard. It’s terribly hot today. Would you like some lemonade?”
One minute I hated everything about this house. Now I was sitting in the cool shade of its porch sipping fresh lemonade and munching the best cookies ever. The most puzzling thing was the fact that this grouchy woman and I were amiably talking about nothing really important. But we were talking. Soon I was fixing her stubborn lawnmower.
Brother Carswell was a rarity at 67. His wisdom and the way he taught precepts were remarkable. My first lesson had been to never give up on people just because they were different or seemingly unapproachable. With simple kindness people can open the lines of communication and begin to understand the “hand” others have been dealt.
Mrs. Webster really was a sweet lady. And I didn’t mind putting the paper on the window ledge. Arthritis made it difficult for her to bend over. Maybe that’s why I spent a lot of time weeding her flower garden and mowing the grass. Then it could have been the pay—the best cookies, cakes, and pies ever. And the friendship.

You must be a man of patience, willing to listen and striving to understand. You are the only one to whom some can turn. You must be there when every other source has failed. Permit me to read you a few lines from a letter sent to a bishop.

“Dear Bishop:
“It has been almost two years since I desperately called you asking for help. At that time I was ready to kill myself. I had no one else to turn to—no money, no job, no friends. My house had been taken, and I had no place to live. The Church was my last hope.
“As you know, I had left the Church at the age of 17 and had broken just about every rule and commandment that there was in my search for happiness and fulfillment. Instead of happiness, my life was filled with misery, anguish, and despair. There was no hope or future for me. I even pleaded with God to let me die, to take me out of my misery. Not even He wanted me. I felt that He had rejected me, too.
“That’s when I turned to you and the Church. …
“You listened with understanding, you counseled, you guided, you helped.
“I began to grow and develop in understanding and knowledge of the gospel. I found that I had to make certain basic changes in my life that were terribly difficult, but that within me I had the worth and strength to do so.
“I learned that as I lived the gospel and repented, I had no more fear. I was filled with an inner peace. The clouds of anguish and despair were gone. Because of the Atonement, my weaknesses and sins were forgiven through Jesus Christ and His love for me.
“He has blessed and strengthened me. He has opened pathways for me, given me direction, and kept me from harm. I have found that as I overcame each obstacle, my business began to grow, enabling my family to benefit and making me feel as though I had accomplished something.
“Bishop, you have given me understanding and support through these past two years. I never would have reached this point if not for your love and patience. Thank you for being what you are as the servant of the Lord to help me, His wandering child.”

A few days before my final year of seminary was about to begin, Brother Fernández, our new teacher, came to my house. He asked my sister and me to join with him and his wife in singing a hymn about the First Vision in sacrament meeting. I had never sung in public before. I had always felt that my voice wasn’t good enough. But I felt I couldn’t refuse, so I agreed to try.
The hymn was unfamiliar to me. A few days before the performance, Brother Fernández loaned us a cassette so my sister and I could learn our parts.
On the Friday before we were to perform, my throat started hurting. I went to bed early that night, but I couldn’t sleep and had a hard time breathing. My body hurt all over.
I got up the next day complaining of the pain, and my mother advised me to see the doctor. The doctor gave me some medication and sent me home to rest.
I spent that day in bed. My family was frightened because my fever wasn’t going down. I prayed a great deal, asking Heavenly Father to help me get better.
When I woke up on Sunday, I felt much better and went to church. After I shared my testimony about how seminary has blessed me, it was time to sing. I didn’t feel well prepared, but I knew that Heavenly Father knew my situation and would help me.
My seminary teacher, his wife, my sister, and I sang about the Prophet Joseph Smith’s vision of God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, and how we are called to serve in Their work. Later the members complimented us, but my greatest satisfaction came from having sung to the Lord with all my strength.
I am so grateful for the gospel, because I know that when I pray, I’m talking to my Father in Heaven. He hears me. He loves me and knows my needs.

Twenty-five years ago I completed my freshman year at BYU. At that time I never dreamed that I would one day address the faculty and student body in a Marriott Center devotional. For one thing, the Marriott Center didn’t even exist! For another, I was a Latter-day Saint convert of less than two years and didn’t feel overly confident in my ability to expound on Church doctrine. But I did feel prompted to embark on a full-time mission. I had baptized my best friend—also a BYU student—earlier in the year, and I was anxious to share the restored gospel with others.

Before I could serve, however, I had to submit to the rite of passage familiar to all who would serve missions. I had to have interviews with my bishop and stake president, fill out several forms, undergo medical and dental examinations, make financial arrangements, and attend to a variety of academic concerns. In preparation for my mission, I read or reread LeGrand Richards’ A Marvelous Work and a Wonder and James E. Talmage’s Jesus the Christ. I also tackled Talmage’s The Articles of Faith. With the zeal of a convert I had previously read Joseph Fielding Smith’s three-volume work Doctrines of Salvation and much of Bruce R. McConkie’s Mormon Doctrine. I had a vivid dream in which I saw myself called to Italy, where centuries before Paul had journeyed to preach to the Romans. When the call came, I was thrilled. The opening sentence of the letter read: “You are hereby called to be a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to labor in the Italy North Mission.” My dream had come true.

Because I came from a non-LDS family, I could not rely on them for financial support. I elected to pay for my mission with funds I had previously set aside for my college education. I looked forward to my mission as one long spiritual feast. Mine was to be the ideal missionary experience. I would love my companions, I would teach the gospel daily by word and deed, and I would baptize regularly.

After I had been in Italy for only four months, I was called as a senior companion to a brand-new elder, a “greenie” whom I’ll call Elder Brown. Proud of the linguistic skills that allowed me to enjoy a senior position after so few months in a foreign land, I looked forward to remaking Elder Brown in my own image—never minding that he was more handsome and more personable than I. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out exactly as I had planned. Elder Brown came from LDS pioneer stock and from a much more well-to-do family. His grandfather invariably included a twenty-dollar bill in his letters; I resented the perks that such extra cash allowed, even though my companion invariably shared his bounty with me.

Elder Brown had belonged to a social fraternity during his freshman year—the type that never would have accepted a nerd such as I—and, unfortunately, his fraternity brothers had exposed him to a number of undesirable things, including risqué magazines.

Then it happened. One afternoon during scripture study time in our apartment I caught him “reading” (if that’s the right word) an unapproved magazine—you know, the kind with a centerfold. It was an Italian edition of Playboy. He had purchased it while on splits with another elder, and I was furious. I felt that Elder Brown had ruined my ideal mission. I seethed in righteous indignation, but, rather than rebuking my companion and then showing forth an increase in love, I chose to become an expert on his every fault, which I cataloged and reviewed with some regularity in my mind. After a few challenging months together, my junior companion was transferred, and it was at that point that I began my revenge in earnest.

I have always been fond of telling stories (in case you haven’t noticed), and I soon captivated not only later missionary companions but entire districts with embroidered tales of my greenie’s sinful ways. Even after I returned from my mission, I continued to recount his problems. The one thing that I couldn’t understand, however, was the report that I had received from more than one source that Elder Brown, in contrast to me, had become one of the top baptizing elders of our mission and had been called to key leadership positions that had mysteriously eluded me.

A few years passed. Then one day Elder Brown appeared on my doorstep. He asked to come in. We spoke alone in my living room for over an hour. I asked what he was doing and learned that he was happily married and an extremely successful businessman and entrepreneur. Because of the way I had stereotyped him, I wondered about his activity in the Church. I was surprised to learn that he was not an elder (as was I) but a high priest and serving on a high council. He then stunned me by relating how his favorite high council talk was to share what he had learned from me while we were mission companions. He loved to tell young people preparing for missions how much better prepared doctrinally I—the convert—had been than he—the lifelong member—and how my example of gospel scholarship had inspired him to overcome his own shortcomings.

I began to feel pretty rotten about all the stories I had told about him. I prayed that he didn’t know what I had done, but somehow I sensed that he did know. He then acknowledged that at a family reunion one of his cousins, whom I had known in graduate school, had told him how I had recounted in her presence and in vivid detail an episode Elder Brown had long ago repented of. My former companion did not berate me; instead he asked if I could ever forgive him for his youthful mistakes. I knew then that it was I who needed to ask him for forgiveness. In the pride of my heart I had sinned, and I had sinned in multiple ways—in judging unmercifully, in harboring resentment, in planning and executing revenge, and, perhaps most of all, in not allowing the possibility that a brother could change, improve, and repent.

The late Alvin R. Dyer faced something of this challenge when he was a bishop many years ago. He had a member of his ward who said that smoking was the greatest single enjoyment he got out of life. He said, “At night I set my alarm every hour on the hour and wake up to smoke a cigarette. Bishop, I love smoking just too much to give it up.”

A few evenings later the man’s doorbell rang at 10:00 p.m. There on the doorstep was Bishop Dyer.

“Well, Bishop, what on earth are you doing here at this hour? I’m ready to go to bed.”

“I know,” said Bishop Dyer. “I want to see you set that alarm and watch you wake up and smoke.”

“Good heavens, I can’t do that in front of you,” the man said.

“Oh, sure you can. Don’t worry about me. I’ll just sit in the corner somewhere and be very quiet.”

The man invited him in, and they talked about everything Bishop Dyer could conjure up to hold the man’s interest. “I pursued every idea and conversation I could think of to keep him speaking. I thought he was going to throw me out a number of times, but shortly after three o’clock in the morning I said, ‘Well, heavenly days! You’ve missed ?ve alarms already. Please forgive me! I have ruined your evening’s enjoyment. The night is such a disappointment now that you might as well just go to bed and forget the rest of the alarms this once!’”

Then note this language:
At that moment [I] felt [in him] a sense of honor and a dignity. . . . He looked at me with a peculiar smile . . . , and he said, “All right, I will.” [And] he never touched another cigarette [for the rest of his life].

As I described in my childhood experience, the Holy Ghost can help you by warning you in advance of physical and spiritual dangers. I learned again of the important warning role of the Holy Ghost while I served in the Area Presidency in Japan.
During this time, I worked closely with President Reid Tateoka of the Japan Sendai Mission. As part of his usual mission routine, President Tateoka planned a meeting for missionary leaders in the southern portion of his mission. A few days prior to the meeting, President Tateoka had an impression, a feeling in his heart, to invite all missionaries of that zone to the leadership meeting, instead of the prescribed small number of elder and sister leaders.
When he announced his intention, he was reminded that this meeting was not designed for all missionaries but only for mission leaders. However, setting convention aside in order to follow the prompting he had received, he invited all missionaries serving in several coastal cities, including the city of Fukushima, to the meeting. On the appointed day, March 11, 2011, the missionaries gathered together for the expanded mission meeting in the inland city of Koriyama.
During this meeting a 9.0-magnitude earthquake and tsunami struck the region of Japan where the Japan Sendai Mission is located. Tragically, many coastal cities—including those from which the missionaries had been gathered—were devastated and suffered great loss of life. And the city of Fukushima suffered a subsequent nuclear event.
Although the meetinghouse where the missionaries were meeting that day was damaged by the earthquake, through following the promptings of the Holy Ghost, President and Sister Tateoka and all missionaries were safely assembled. They were out of harm’s way and miles from the devastation of the tsunami and the nuclear fallout.

On May 26, 1976, Rodolfo Villalba left Salt Lake City to return home to Bolivia as a full-time missionary for the Church. “My heart is full of beautiful things I want to share with my people,” he said. After his mission he wants to come back to Utah and Brigham Young University; then he will return again to Bolivia to become a productive member of his community.
Rodolfo Murilla also returned to Bolivia at the end of May—there was a rumor that he had someone special waiting for him. The other four, Raul, Luis, Elizabeth, and Lidia, stayed in the U.S. to attend Brigham Young University. They are serious about becoming good representatives of Bolivia. After their education, they all say they want to go back to help their homeland. Lidia wants to study sociology. Luis wants to go into some technical field. Raul feels that it is a great opportunity, “one in a lifetime, to study in another country. And to do it in the Church university is really something!” His father is not a member but wants the best opportunities for his son. Raul is the oldest of the children in his family, and his father wants him to set a good example for his younger brothers and sisters.

When I was a small boy, my brother and I often walked five miles to the ranch where my father worked. In the summer it was hot and dusty. As we trudged along, sweat dripping from our faces, I prayed that around the next bend we would find two horses with saddles and bridles so that we could ride swiftly to the ranch. My prayers were never answered—or so I thought. Now I realize that they were always answered, but the answer was no.

President Hinckley’s propensity for looking at the big picture extends to many arenas. Shortly after he married, he tackled the formidable task of building a small home, designing it to be added upon as the family grew. Son Clark says, “Dad always had a plan for the future. In the house he built, he left areas for doors within walls, under the theory that as he remodeled and expanded, the doors would be needed as part of the plan.” Eldest son Dick adds, “It seems our home was always a year or two behind the family growth, and Mother constantly had to deal with some unfinished aspect of home or yard. When they moved into a condominium years later, Mother said, ‘At last, brick walls that Dad cannot knock out or change!’”

My dear brothers and sisters, my dear friends: During my professional life as an airline pilot, I sometimes had passengers visit the cockpit of my Boeing 747. They asked about the many switches, instruments, systems, and procedures and how all this technical equipment would help such a huge and beautiful airplane fly.
As with all pilots, I enjoyed the fact that they were impressed by the apparent complexity of this plane and that they wondered what kind of magnificent and brilliant person it takes to operate it! At this point of my story, my wife and children would kindly interrupt and say with a twinkling in their eyes, “Pilots are born with a great measure of natural humility!”
To the visitors in my cockpit, I would explain that it takes a great aerodynamic design, many auxiliary systems and programs, and powerful engines to make this flying machine equal to the task of bringing comfort and safety to those joining the flight.
To simplify my explanation by focusing on the basics, I would add that all you really need is a strong forward thrust, a powerful upward lift, and the right aircraft attitude, and the laws of nature will carry the 747 and its passengers safely across continents and oceans, over high mountains and dangerous thunderstorms to its destination.
In recent years I have often contemplated that being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints invites us to ask similar questions. What are the basics, the fundamental principles of our membership in the kingdom of God on earth? After all is said and done, what will really carry us at times of greatest need to our desired eternal destination?
The Church, with all its organizational structure and programs, offers many important activities for its members aimed at helping families and individuals to serve God and each other. Sometimes, however, it can appear that these programs and activities are closer to the center of our heart and soul than the core doctrines and principles of the gospel. Procedures, programs, policies, and patterns of organization are helpful for our spiritual progress here on earth, but let’s not forget that they are subject to change.
In contrast, the core of the gospel—the doctrine and the principles—will never change. Living according to the basic gospel principles will bring power, strength, and spiritual self-reliance into the lives of all Latter-day Saints.
Faith is such a principle of power. We need this source of power in our lives. God works by power, but this power is usually exercised in response to our faith. “Faith without works is dead” (James 2:20). God works according to the faith of His children.
The Prophet Joseph Smith explained, “I teach them correct principles, and they govern themselves” (quoted by John Taylor, in “The Organization of the Church,” Millennial Star, Nov. 15, 1851, 339). To me, this teaching is beautifully straightforward. As we strive to understand, internalize, and live correct gospel principles, we will become more spiritually self-reliant. The principle of spiritual self-reliance grows out of a fundamental doctrine of the Church that God has granted us—agency. I believe that moral agency is one of the greatest gifts of God unto His children, next to life itself.
When I study and ponder moral agency and its eternal consequences, I realize that we are truly spirit children of God and therefore should act accordingly. This understanding also reminds me that as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we are part of a great worldwide family of Saints.
The organizational structure of the Church allows great flexibility according to the size, growth pattern, and needs of our congregations. There is the basic unit program with a very simple organizational structure and fewer meetings. We also have large wards with great organizational resources to serve one another. All are established within the inspired programs of the Church to help members “come unto Christ, and be perfected in him” (Moroni 10:32).
All these varied options are equal in divine value because the doctrine of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ is the same in each unit. I testify as an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ that He lives, that the gospel is true, and that it offers the answers to all personal and collective challenges the children of God have on this earth today.
This summer my wife and I visited with members of the Church in many countries throughout Europe. In some parts of Europe the Church has been present for many years, even since 1837. There is a great heritage of faithful members in Europe. Currently we have more than 400,000 members in Europe. As we look at all the generations who have emigrated from Europe to America during the 19th and 20th centuries, that total number could easily be multiplied a few times.
Why did so many faithful members leave their home countries in those early days of the Church? Many reasons can be named: to escape persecution, to help build the Church in America, to improve their economic circumstances, the desire to be close to a temple, and many more.
Europe still feels the consequence of this exodus. But the strength that comes from several faithful generations of Church members is now becoming more apparent. We see more young men and women and more senior couples serve missions for the Lord; we see more temple marriages; we see more confidence and courage by the members to share the restored gospel. Among the peoples of Europe and many other parts of the world, there is a spiritual vacuum of Christ’s true teachings. This vacuum must, can, and will be filled with the message of the restored gospel as our wonderful members live and proclaim this gospel with greater courage and faith.
With the expansion of the Church in Europe, there are now countries where the Church has been for less than 15 years. I spoke with a mission president serving in his homeland of Russia who has been a member for only seven years. He told me, “The same month I was baptized I was called as a branch president.” Did he feel overwhelmed at times? Absolutely! Did he try to implement the full range of Church programs? Fortunately not! How did he grow so strong in such a small congregation in such a short time? He explained, “I knew with all my soul the Church was true. The doctrine of the gospel filled my mind and my heart. As we joined the Church, we felt part of a family. We felt warmth, trust, and love. We were only few, but we all tried to follow the Savior.”
They supported each other, they did the best they could, and they knew the Church was true. It was not the organization that had attracted him, but the light of the gospel, and this light strengthened those good members.
In many countries the Church is still in its beginnings, and the organizational circumstances are sometimes far from perfect. However, the members may have a perfect testimony of the truth in their hearts. As the members will stay in their countries and build the Church, despite economic challenges and hardships, future generations will be grateful to those courageous modern-day pioneers. They abide by the loving invitation of the First Presidency given in 1999:
“In our day, the Lord has seen fit to provide the blessings of the gospel, including an increased number of temples, in many parts of the world. Therefore, we wish to reiterate the long-standing counsel to members of the Church to remain in their homelands rather than immigrate to the United States. …
“As members throughout the world remain in their homelands, working to build the Church in their native countries, great blessings will come to them personally and to the Church collectively” (First Presidency letter, Dec. 1, 1999).
May I add a word of caution to those of us who live in large wards and stakes. We have to be careful that the center of our testimony is not located in the social dimension of the Church community or the wonderful activities, programs, and organizations of our wards and stakes. All of these things are important and valuable to have, but they are not enough. Even friendship is not enough.
We recognize that we are living in a time of turmoil, disaster, and war. We and many others feel strongly the great need for a “defense, and for a refuge from the storm, and from wrath when it shall be poured out without mixture upon the whole earth” (D&C 115:6). How do we find such a place of safety? The prophet of God, even President Hinckley, has taught: “Our safety lies in the virtue of our lives. Our strength lies in our righteousness” (in Conference Report, Oct. 2001, 112; or Ensign, Nov. 2001, 90).
Recall with me how Jesus Christ instructed His Apostles, clearly and directly, at the beginning of His mortal ministry, “[Come,] follow me, and I will make you fishers of men” (Matthew 4:19). This was also the beginning of the ministry of the Twelve Apostles, and I suspect that they had a feeling of inadequacy, as I deeply have, being one who has also been called to this sacred work. May I suggest that the Savior Himself teaches us here a lesson about core doctrine and priorities in life. Individually, we need to first “follow Him,” and as we do this, the Savior will bless us beyond our own capacity to become what He wants us to be.
To follow Christ is to become more like Him. It is to learn from His character. As spirit children of our Heavenly Father, we do have the potential to incorporate Christlike attributes into our life and character. The Savior invites us to learn His gospel by living His teachings. To follow Him is to apply correct principles and then witness for ourselves the blessings that follow. This process is very complex and very simple at the same time. Ancient and modern prophets described it with three words: “Keep the commandments”—nothing more, nothing less.
Developing Christlike attributes in our lives is not an easy task, especially when we move away from generalities and abstractions and begin to deal with real life. The test comes in practicing what we proclaim. The reality check comes when Christlike attributes need to become visible in our lives—as husband or wife, as father or mother, as son or daughter, in our friendships, in our employment, in our business, and in our recreation. We can recognize our growth, as can those around us, as we gradually increase our capacity to “act in all holiness before [Him]” (D&C 43:9).
The scriptures describe a number of Christlike attributes we need to develop during the course of our lives. They include knowledge and humility, charity and love, obedience and diligence, faith and hope. These personal character qualities stand independent of the organizational status of our Church unit, our economic circumstances, our family situation, culture, race, or language. Christlike attributes are gifts from God. They cannot be developed without His help. The one help we all need is given to us freely through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Having faith in Jesus Christ and in His Atonement means relying completely on Him—trusting in His infinite power, intelligence, and love. Christlike attributes come into our lives as we exercise our agency righteously. Faith in Jesus Christ leads to action. When we have faith in Christ, we trust the Lord enough to follow His commandments—even when we do not completely understand the reasons for them. In seeking to become more like the Savior, we need to reevaluate our lives regularly and rely, through the path of true repentance, upon the merits of Jesus Christ and the blessings of His Atonement.
Developing Christlike attributes can be a painful process. We need to be ready to accept direction and correction from the Lord and His servants. This worldwide conference with its music and spoken word offers spiritual power, direction, and blessings “from on high” (D&C 43:16). It is a time when the voice of personal inspiration and revelation will bring peace to our souls and will teach us how to become more Christlike. This voice will be as sweet as the voice of a dear friend, and it will fill our souls when our hearts are sufficiently contrite.
By becoming more like the Savior, we will grow in our ability to “abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost” (Romans 15:13). We will “lay aside the things of this world, and seek for the things of a better” (D&C 25:10).
This leads me back to my aerodynamic analogy from the beginning. I spoke of focusing on the basics. Christlike attributes are the basics. They are the fundamental principles that will create “the wind beneath our wings.” As we develop Christlike attributes in our own lives, step-by-step, they will “bear [us] up as on eagles’ wings” (D&C 124:18). Our faith in Jesus Christ will provide power and a strong forward thrust; our unwavering and active hope will provide a powerful upward lift. Both faith and hope will carry us across oceans of temptations, over mountains of afflictions, and bring us safely back to our eternal home and destination.
Of this I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“Two sandwiches? I want three! Gimme three!”
“Man, I can really use this. Thanks.”
“Hey sweetie! You’re kinda cute.”
“Can I take one home to my kid? We haven’t eaten in a while.”
“Peanut butter? I can’t eat this stuff. Ain’tcha got no cheese?”
Mark looked around in the tray for something that he thought was a cheese sandwich and handed it to the hungry man standing at the open side door of the big white van. Mark and three other priests from the Arlington Ward, McLean Stake, were distributing food as fast as they could to the needy and homeless of Washington, D.C. This was a service project a little out of the ordinary for the priests, one they wouldn’t soon forget.
The plan had sounded simple enough. They’d go to a charity kitchen called “Martha’s Table,” where food had been donated and prepared. They’d load a van, which was driven by another volunteer, then head out to give away the food at three prearranged locations.
Mark Wolthuis, 16, was to hand out sandwiches, fruit, and pastries. Taylor Holsinger, 16, would do the same thing. Gonzalo Vargas, 17, would be at the back of the truck, wearing yellow rubber gloves and ladling up hot vegetable soup. And Keith Haraguchi, 16, would pour drinks from big plastic coolers he’d set up outside the van.
A line about 50 people strong had already formed by the time the van pulled up to the first stop, a busy downtown street corner bordering a small square. The young men were surprised to see a business suit or two and several bicycle couriers in line. They were also surprised the first time they saw what they later understood to be standard operating procedure: People would stand in line, get their food, then go straight to the end of the line. By the time they got to the front of the line again, they had finished their first helpings and were ready for seconds.
The second stop was Lafayette Park, right across the street from the White House. There were even more eaters there, their numbers swollen by those who had run over from the last stop. While some tenderly fed their last sandwich crumbs to the pigeons, others were trying to cut in the line, and a fight erupted. The boys just kept on dispensing food.
The last stop was in a more residential neighborhood. Old brick apartment buildings surrounded a small park where the food was handed out. There some of the people stopped to chat, explaining that with rent and food costs so high, they couldn’t afford both. “Prices here are some of the highest in the country,” agreed Taylor.
Gonzalo turned the big soup kettle on its side, trying to ladle out the last drops of broth, and Keith poured his last drink. They loaded their equipment back in the truck for the final time and pulled away from the curb. One or two lone, shabby figures remained to pick through the discarded wrappers, hoping to find a crumb or two worth eating. On the way back to Arlington, after the van had been returned and the empty trays, pots, and coolers unloaded, the boys talked about what they’d learned from the experience. They had done their part to help the needy, but the needy had also helped them.
Taylor said it made him realize how important it is to work hard in school and to take advantage of the educational opportunities he has right now to prepare for future employment. “I don’t ever want to end up in the streets,” he said.
Keith learned about gratitude. Although the food they gave out was simple, he noted that many people were grateful for any little thing they could get. “A lot of people said thank you, and really meant it,” he said.
Some questions were raised in the boys’ minds, too. “Could this whole thing be kind of futile?” Taylor asked. “I mean, we feed them for not working. Why work when you can survive on handouts? Do you think, by giving them food, we’re making them lazy?”
“But what about the old people, and the ones who are sick?” asked Gonzalo. “There are some guys who really can’t take care of themselves.”
“Those are the ones we need to have shelters for, I guess,” said Taylor.
“It would be best to help some of the others find good jobs,” offered Mark.
The boys realized that they were dealing firsthand with a social situation that has no easy answers. They’d never know what the people they’d been helping had been through. All they could see was that there seemed to be an awful lot of people in need.”
“There was no way you could judge them, and no reason to,” said Gonzalo. “You just gave something to everybody.”
What Gonzalo said brought to mind the great speech King Benjamin gave in the Book of Mormon about helping the needy. He said: “Ye yourselves will succor those that stand in need of your succor; ye will administer of your substance unto him that standeth in need; and ye will not suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to you in vain, and turn him out to perish.
“Perhaps thou shalt say: The man has brought upon himself his misery; therefore I will stay my hand, and will not give unto him of my food, nor impart unto him of my substance that he may not suffer, for his punishments are just—
“But I say unto you, O man, whosoever doeth this the same hath great cause to repent. …
“For behold, are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have … ?
“And now, if God, who has created you, on whom you are dependent for your lives and for all that ye have and are, doth grant unto you whatsoever ye ask that is right, … O then, how ye ought to impart of the substance that ye have one to another” (Mosiah 4:16–19, 21).
Somehow, the strange things the priests had seen didn’t matter as much as the good things they’d done. They’d been able to ease some of the pain, if only temporarily, for some people who were suffering. They knew they’d be back to do it again, and they knew they couldn’t judge the people they were helping.
Because, deep down inside, the seed of understanding had been planted that would teach them what was really meant when King Benjamin asked, “Are we not all beggars?”

Sela Feinga, who now works at the Polynesian Cultural Center in Laie, Hawaii, remembers when she and her husband, Ha’unga, accepted a mission call in 1965 to build churches on Tonga’s various islands. Along with their five-month-old daughter, who was suffering from a high fever, the Feingas journeyed to the remote island of Fotuha‘a, an island of rocky cliffs surrounded by rough ocean.
Voyagers destined for Fotuha‘a transferred from the motor launch to an outrigger canoe and then swam to a rocky ledge jutting out into deep water. Those unable to swim had to jump toward the outstretched hands of islanders who stood to catch goods heaved from the canoe. Such landings were treacherous indeed, since their execution required perfect timing with the waves that rose to the level of the rock landing and then fell fifteen to twenty feet below it. Sister Feinga found that such a journey required a very literal leap of faith:
On the morning of our departure, the baby’s fever was still high. Little pustules began to appear all over her body from head to toe. She had measles. No amount of pleading, however, would change my husband’s mind. I wrapped our little one in a blanket and boarded the small open boat that would take us to Fotuha‘a.
As we approached the island from a distance, formidable cliffs and rocky coasts loomed in front of us. The waves around us were huge. A few of the island citizens had already begun to congregate on the rocky ledge, waiting to receive us and our goods.
The canoe came out to get us, a small outrigger paddled by a young school teacher on the island. When we got close to the rock, he said, “We will count the waves, and when one big enough comes in to lift us up even with the ledge, you must jump onto the rock or throw your goods to the people standing there.”
I was almost numb with fear as the rain fell and we drew closer to the treacherous landing. Then the teacher cried to my husband, “Prepare the baby! They will give orders for her first!”
The order came to my husband almost instantly from the man on the ledge: “Hey, you sir, holding the baby! Take off the blanket and remove all the baby’s clothes.”
“How can that be?” I cried. “The baby is sick with measles. We should not remove all her clothes.”
Our paddler spoke sternly to Ha‘unga, “You must take off everything, because you are going to have to throw the baby ashore. You can’t risk the man dropping her on the rocks or in the ocean because of the blanket or any loose covering.”
The command came from the ledge again: “Hurry up, remove the baby’s clothes.” But my poor husband simply could not do it. Perhaps by now he was as terrified as I.
The young school teacher wrenched the baby from Ha‘unga’s arms and, in a second, removed every speck of her clothing except her little diaper. In rushed a wave and lifted the canoe up, but not quite high enough. Down we went as the ocean retreated. Up again we came on the back of another wave. Not high enough still.
As we rose on the next wave, I heard the command, “Throw the baby!” I screamed and held my stomach. I couldn’t bear to see it. The next words were my husband’s: “Worry no more. The baby is safe.”
But Sister Feinga had little time to be grateful, for her turn to jump came next. Hysterical with fear, she missed the “right” wave four times before the man on the ledge shouted, “Woman, do you want to see your baby again or not?” With a prayer on her lips—“O Lord, please show thy love and help me now for my poor baby’s sake”—she jumped to safety.

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

By the time I turned 12, I was a 5-foot 10-inch social disaster. Towering over my friends was the bane of my adolescence. I didn’t want to stand out—at least not that way—so I compensated by slouching. As a result, Mother was constantly urging me to “stand up straight.” Well, I didn’t want to stand up straight then, but I do now. For we have all been admonished to “stand up” (2 Ne. 8:17) and to stand as a witness (see Mosiah 18:9) so that we may “stand blameless before God at the last day” (D&C 4:2). I can find absolutely no scriptural injunction to slouch in Zion. Instead, we are repeatedly told to get on our feet, to “arise and stand up” (3 Ne. 20:2).
As a teenager I did not realize that blending in with the crowd would never be my lot. Nor is it yours. For as women of God we must stand tall so that we will stand out from the rest of the world. Only in doing so may we hope to find joy. For finding joy and standing tall, not in feet or inches but as ambassadors for the Lord, are directly connected.
My family has been reminded of this recently in a very poignant way. I have 17 nieces and nephews, who are a pure delight. We have hiked and biked and fasted and prayed together. And recently we have cried together. A few weeks ago we suffered a crushing loss when an accident took the lives of two of my sister’s children—Amanda, who was 11, and Tanner, who was 15. Because we have lived together in love, we have truly wept for the loss of them that died (see D&C 42:45).
Our friends in our hometown wept with us, most of them nonmembers, and we knew their hearts might never be more open to truth than on the day two caskets rested in our little Kansas chapel. So we dedicated the funeral entirely to testifying of Christ and the restored gospel. Afterwards many told us how moved they were by what they heard and by what they felt. Some have even asked to learn more. Now, we don’t know if anyone affected by our children’s deaths will join the Church. But this we do know—that standing up for what we believe and teaching the gospel to friends who had never before been willing to listen helped soothe our pain and bring us joy as a family.
In this world, the only true joy comes from the gospel—the joy that radiates from the Atonement and from ordinances that transcend the veil, and from the Comforter that salves our souls. Recently my 11-year-old niece Aubrey, whose father died five years ago, was asked by a nonmember friend why she wasn’t sad about the deaths of her father and, recently, her cousins. Aubrey’s reply was classic: “Not sad? Trust me, we are sad, but we know that we will be together again, so we don’t worry as much.” As a family we’ve no doubt cried as much, but we don’t worry as we would if we hadn’t felt the transcendent reach and healing power of Jesus Christ. The gospel is “beauty for ashes” (Isa. 61:3); it is “the oil of gladness” (Heb. 1:9); it is such good news!
Though our children are gone for now, we have the glorious reassurance that we haven’t lost them. But what about our Father’s children, our brothers and sisters, who are lost and who face not only physical but spiritual death? The gospel of Jesus Christ is all about people. It’s about leaving the ninety and nine and going into the wilderness after those who are lost. It’s about bearing one another’s burdens, with the ultimate burden anyone can bear being walking through this life without light. Hence the Lord’s latter-day plea:
“The field is white already to harvest; and it is the eleventh hour, and the last time that I shall call laborers into my vineyard. …
“… Wherefore, thrust in your sickles, and reap with all your might” (D&C 33:3, 7).
Ancient prophets foresaw a day “when the knowledge of a Savior [would] spread throughout every nation, kindred, tongue, and people” (Mosiah 3:20). That day has come. And it is our turn to thrust in our sickles and help with the harvest. That we are here now is no accident. For aeons of time our Father watched us and knew He could trust us when so much would be at stake. We have been held in reserve for this very hour. We need to understand not just who we are but who we have always been. For we are women of God, and the work of women of God has always been to help build the kingdom of God.
When in premortality we accepted our Father’s plan, said Elder John A. Widtsoe, “we agreed, right then and there, to be … saviors for the whole human family. … The working out of the plan became … not merely the Father’s work, and the Savior’s work, but also our work” (Utah Genealogical and Historical Magazine, Oct. 1934, 189). Then, when we were baptized here, we renewed our commitment to—and our covenant with—the Lord. No wonder President Gordon B. Hinckley has declared that “if the world is going to be saved, we have to do it. … No other people in the history of the world have … received a … more compelling mandate than we [have] … , and we’d better be getting at it” (“‘Church Is Really Doing Well,’” Church News, 3 July 1999, 3).
Sisters, we have work to do. The Prophet Joseph charged the Relief Society with the work of saving souls (see History of the Church, 5:25), for it is our very nature to nurture and to search after those who are lost. And yet, President Spencer W. Kimball lamented that there was a power in Relief Society that had not “yet been fully exercised to … build the Kingdom of God” (“Relief Society—Its Promise and Potential,” Ensign, Mar. 1976, 4). For all the good it has done in the past, Relief Society has yet to help move this latter-day work forward as it must. Sisters, the time has come to unleash the power of righteous happiness that exists among women of God. The time has come for us to be anxiously engaged in the work of saving souls. The time has come for the sisters of Relief Society to stand with and for the prophet in helping build the kingdom. The time has come for us each to stand tall and to stand together.
Standing tall begins with our own conversion, for when we taste the gospel’s “exceeding joy” (Alma 36:24) we want to share it. The casseroles and quilts we have made to relieve suffering are splendid acts of kindness, but no service—I repeat, no service—compares with that of leading someone to Christ. Do you want to be happy? I mean really happy? Then nurture someone along the path that leads to the temple and to Christ.
The most effective way to share the gospel is to live it. When we live like disciples of Christ should live, when we aren’t just good but happy to be good, others will be drawn to us because we are “distinct and different—in happy ways,” as President Kimball prophesied (“The Role of Righteous Women,” Ensign, Nov. 1979, 104). Happy about the way we’ve chosen to live, happy because we’re not constantly reshaping ourselves in the world’s image, happy because we have “the gift and the power of the Holy Ghost” (1 Ne. 13:37), happy to stand tall so that we will stand out.
Every time we strengthen our own testimony or help someone else strengthen theirs, we build the kingdom of God. Every time we mentor a newly baptized sister or befriend a wandering soul without judging her or invite a nonmember family to home evening or give a Book of Mormon to a colleague or lead a family to the temple or stand up for modesty and motherhood or invite the missionaries into our homes or help someone discover the power of the word, we build the kingdom of God. Imagine how it lifted my sister’s spirits when she read this journal entry Tanner had made just before he died: “Thanks, Mom and Dad, for teaching me about Christ.” What builds the kingdom more than raising up a child to the Lord?
With the exception of those serving full-time missions, we needn’t don name badges or knock on doors to help build the kingdom. For though some would portray us as dowdy and dominated rather than the dynamic, radiant women we are, no woman is more persuasive, no woman has greater influence for good, no woman is a more vibrant instrument in the hands of the Lord than a woman of God who is thrilled to be who she is. I like to think of us as the Lord’s secret weapon. If we did have name tags, I would want mine to read: “Sheri Dew, Woman of God, Busy Building the Kingdom of God.”
Imagine what would happen in this Church if every morning 4.5 million of us got on our knees and asked our Father who He needed us to reach out to that day. And then imagine if we did it! Imagine if we consecrated our energy and our focus en masse to the greatest service of all, that of leading our sisters and brothers to Christ. Imagine what will happen when we mobilize the sisters of Relief Society to stand together to help build the kingdom. We will see the awakening and arising of a sleeping, slouching giant.
Tonight I invite you to stand tall, to thrust in your sickle and join in this work with vigor. I invite you to rededicate your life to building the kingdom. To reach out to someone who has wandered. To take a new member under your wing. To consider serving a mission with your husband. To look and pray for missionary moments. To make a difference in someone’s life spiritually, especially the members of your own family. None of us have to reach everyone. But what if we all reached someone? And then someone else? And so on. President Hinckley has asked us to “become a vast army with enthusiasm for this work” (“Find the Lambs, Feed the Sheep,” Ensign, May 1999, 110). As we do so, we will become one of the mightiest forces for good this world has ever seen. For we, the sisters of Relief Society, are women of God. And the work of women of God and the work of the Relief Society has always been to help build the kingdom of God. I believe that we can do more to help our priesthood leaders than we have ever done before.
In my nephew’s priesthood quorum, just a few hours before he died, Tanner said this: “You know, if I were to die soon, I would want my funeral to be a missionary farewell.” My prayer tonight is that we can be equally clear about our mission as women of God. This isn’t just a really nice church that teaches really nice ideas so that we can live really nice lives. This is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, endowed with His power and charged with carrying His truth to the ends of the earth. I love our Father. And I love His Son. And I have come to know for myself that this is Their work and Their glory and that we are the most blessed of all women to have such a vital part in it. May we lift our “voices as with the sound of a trump” (D&C 42:6). May we find joy as we stand tall and stand together. And may we “cheerfully do all things that lie in our power” (D&C 123:17), and then stand still to see the arm of God revealed as His work goes forward boldly and nobly until “it has … swept every country, and sounded in every ear, till the purposes of God shall be accomplished, and the Great Jehovah shall say the work is done” (History of the Church, 4:540). In the sacred and holy name of Jesus Christ, amen.

A number of years ago, I was assigned as the first home teacher to a man who had the missionary discussions in our home. He was in his mid-thirties, had lived a life almost devoid of the spirit. He had been through many trials. His wife had left him. He was a heavy drinker and big into drugs. He had no purpose, no meaning, no direction in his life. He had contemplated suicide. He had been recently in a serious accident that had almost killed him. He had been driving under the influence of alcohol and a number of different drugs. One Sunday, after being released from the hospital, and as a last effort to save himself, he walked into one of our chapels. He did so because he had reflected upon the warm feeling he had when he met and lived with a Mormon family for a short time as a teenager. He recalled that there was a special feeling, a special spirit in their home, and he wondered if they had what he needed in his own life.

In my first home teaching visit with him, he asked me if we could meet more often than once a month. He said he wanted to learn and knew he needed to learn so much more and he didn't want to waste any time. I responded, "Sure, how often would you like to meet?" He said that if it wasn't too much to ask, he wanted us to get together once a week to study the gospel together. I gulped a little bit, but agreed to his request. We put together a schedule of topics, committed to prepare for each successive meeting by studying the scriptures and the words of the prophets on that particular topic.

Our second meeting lasted for nearly three hours. He had a hunger that would not quit. He wanted not only to understand the principles of the gospel, but he wanted to know how to apply them in his life the very next day. He would always ask how he could apply each gospel principle in a variety of situations. He worked in a tough neighborhood and owned a business where his employees and customers would regularly try to "rip him off." He wanted to know how to develop and share the pure love of Christ, how to be patient, understanding, and forgiving in a place and with people who lived very differently, and whose values were almost the opposite of what the gospel teaches.

Every single week, for one solid year, we met and studied the gospel this way. This wonderful man, who had a passion for the gospel and for learning to live as his Heavenly Father and Savior would want him to live, pushed me to be what a home teacher really should be. He taught me what it means to be a valiant home teacher. It was so much more than I had ever done, so much more than I had ever really imagined. What a grand blessing he has been in my life and how he helped me to raise my own standards.

The rest of his life was devoted to his new family and the gospel of Jesus Christ, which had rescued him. He gladly gave away his former life as he began to "see" more clearly.

This insight was shared by President Harold B. Lee, "The greatest responsibility that a member of Christ's church has ever had is to become truly converted --- and it is just as important to stay converted...One is converted when he sees with his eyes what he ought to see; when he hears with his ears what he ought to hear; and when he understands with his heart what he ought to understand---then he is converted" (When Your Heart Tells You Things Your Mind Does Not Know, p. 3)

And Elder Neal A. Maxwell shared, "Another measure (of our conversion) is the degree to which we are giving "away all (our) sins" in order to know God better (Alma 22:18). All real disciples believe in and apply the Atonement regularly in their lives, shedding sins and shortcomings along the way ." ( Moving in His Majesty & Power , p. 49)

By these standards, my friend, Cameron Davis, was truly converted and passed from this life into the next as a true disciple of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

The missionary began: “As I boarded the plane for my mission to Argentina, I was filled with deep sadness. The fact that I would not see my family for two years overwhelmed me, and I began to sob. I cried out in my thoughts, Heavenly Father, are You there? Am I doing the right thing? I feel so alone. Suddenly, comfort, peace, and love filled my soul. I knew all would be well. I knew that God knew me and that what I was doing was right. I knew He would not leave me alone. The Spirit bore witness to my soul of these truths. I will never be the same again.”

Preeti Khadgi says that she has become more kindhearted and she enjoys talking to people more since she became a member of the Church. Preeti is one of the few whose entire family joined the Church, starting with her father, who was the first Nepali to be baptized in Nepal and is now the branch president.
Before joining the Church, Preeti’s mother had a dream in which she found a way “to make all of her children good children.” The Khadgis feel the Church is fulfilling that dream. Preeti’s brother, Pratik, is now serving in the India Bangalore Mission.