Gospel Story Finder

A few weeks after Michelle and John started their mission, a rocket carrying the Mars rover took off. Michelle didn’t get to watch it. She was doing other important things. She shared the gospel and helped the missionaries in their mission. Every day, she wore a black name tag that said “Sister Amos,” with the Savior’s name underneath.
After seven months, the rocket carrying the rover finally reached Mars—more than 100 million miles (160 million km) away. Sister Amos got permission to watch the landing online. She invited their missionaries to watch too.
Sister Amos was nervous. She and many others had worked so hard on this project! Would the rover land safely?
It did! All the missionaries cheered. Then Sister Amos shared her testimony. “Jesus Christ created worlds without end,” she said. “He made the stars, the planets, and the whole universe. He wants us to learn, grow, and use our talents for good.”
She smiled. She was grateful for the ways God led her during her life. And she was grateful to be a missionary—sharing His amazing love.

After holding these home evenings for several months, my wife and I decided to experiment with an unusual activity. One evening we asked our young friends to express the meaning of family home evening in their lives. We provided crayons, paper, scissors, pencils, clay, toys, and other items, and encouraged them to choose whatever media seemed most appropriate. We then turned them loose for approximately forty-five minutes.
What followed was a very enjoyable evening, full of laughter, fond memories, and serious personal reflections. Everyone took a turn reading a poem, showing a picture, describing a drawing, or just talking to a safe audience.
There were two young adults, however, who were very different from the rest. One, a loud, boisterous, rather unpleasant young man whom nobody really liked, wrote a poem, a very sensitive poem, couched in mathematical terminology. Nobody understood it but himself. But we knew that we had provided him with a forum to freely express himself, and we encouraged him to do so. As a result, he felt safe and comfortable. We found out months later that that evening had very possibly been a turning point in preventing his suicide. He had been extremely depressed, and that experience was the first evidence he had found that life was worth living. We learned of those feelings when he called us long-distance from Turkey to say “thank you.” Somehow that made a lot of sacrifice worthwhile.

As a missionary in Chile, I learned that investigators’ conversion is greatly helped by the involvement of ward members. My companions and I found out quickly that ward members were essential in reactivation and in keeping recent converts active.
In one area, we had been working with a family for many months. They had once been very strong in the Church but had fallen away from activity. The family didn’t feel as though the ward members cared whether or not they attended Church or other activities. As missionaries, we struggled to get the members excited about reactivation. They were unwilling to do even simple things like ask the family to sit with them at church, visit them, or invite them to activities.
In another area, however, the ward members seemed as excited about missionary work as the missionaries. The members were so involved and were always willing to help us find and keep investigators. After the members met our investigators, they practically took over. They invited the investigators or less-active members to every activity and offered to pick them up for church. Many times investigators would tell us how welcome they felt and how they didn’t feel like just another number because the members took such a personal interest in them.
I learned how important it is that bonds of fellowship in the gospel be formed between ward members. As missionaries, we come and go. But the association with ward members lasts much longer.

Let me give you some examples from my college years at BYU, which is when I made a commitment to follow this pattern in my life. During my first two years at BYU, I worked for Custodial Services every day from 4 a.m. until 7 a.m. My first class was English at 7 a.m. It seemed logical to schedule my classes early because I would already be on campus. However, as you can guess, it wasn't always worth that convenience. The temptation many days after work was to find an empty recliner or cot in one of the women's restrooms on campus and skip that first class. If I did, and fell asleep, I could easily miss the whole morning of classes. (In those days we didn't have cell phone alarms.) I had to resist that temptation and walk sleepily to class repeating to myself, "Be where you are supposed to be when you are supposed to be there."
Following the pattern was great because it got me to class! But on those days when I had prepared by getting plenty of sleep the night before, I was much happier to leave work and go to class, and my participation in class was much more meaningful!

Suppose you are a good singer who really likes to perform. In addition, you dearly love soccer, and this year your team has a good chance of winning the league championship. The trouble is that you have to choose between them. Would it be a hard decision?
“Yes! It was hard!” declared Burke Simmons (10) and Blake Simmons (8), brothers who gave up playing championship soccer in order to join the world-famous Honolulu Boy Choir. Both were auditioned and interviewed by the choir director, Dr. Roy Hallman, before being offered places in the choir. Blake was enthusiastic about joining the choir, but Burke hesitated. He was not sure that he could make friends in such a large group of boys. But when he learned that there were at least ten other boys in the choir who were Latter-day Saints, he put his fears aside, and both brothers became members. Within two months they were singing solo parts and had learned not to be nervous when in the spotlight.
Right from the first it was hard. They had to practice, practice, practice—after school every Monday and Wednesday and on Saturdays. From the beginning they learned that unexcused absences were not permitted and that tardiness had a high price. If a boy is even one minute late for a performance, he is not allowed to sing in that concert. Now the brothers are in the habit of being on time for everything—church, school, and concerts.
Is all the hard work worth it? “Yes!” Burke and Blake both agree. They think that the best part about being in the choir is taking trips and learning about the culture and customs of other countries, although performing is fun too.
Whether at home or traveling, the Boy Choir members are required to obey strict rules of behavior. This applies especially to performances, where absolutely no fidgeting is permitted. Now sitting still in sacrament meeting is easy for Blake and Burke.
Another Boy Choir rule: no bad words are allowed—ever! Blake and Burke like that rule.

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

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

President Hunter’s nobility of character was never better expressed in the long years when Sister Clare Hunter began to deteriorate. It became necessary for him to lovingly help dress and feed and tend to her every want. This he did over a period of more then ten years, besides carrying on his heavy apostolic load. The strain almost took his life. He suffered a very serious heart attack at which time he was told that he could no longer carry this heavy burden and live. He replied, “I cannot put her away.” Some time later, she became noncognitive and had to be fed artificially. Only then, with great reluctance and heartbreak, did he let her go from his loving care and home. I have never seen a more caring and devoted husband than President Hunter.

When Isabelle was a young girl, her dad worked in the French military. Their family moved around a lot. When she was eight, they moved to the Sahara Desert. There were no other Church members nearby, so they got permission to have the sacrament in their home.
Every Sunday, Isabelle and her family gathered in the living room and sang hymns they had memorized. Her dad blessed the bread and water for the sacrament. Then her parents and siblings took turns giving talks.
This showed Isabelle how important it was to live the gospel. Since they lived far away from other Church members, no one would have known if they stopped having church at home on Sunday. But they chose to do the right thing.
Two years later, they moved back to France, where there were more members of the Church. Isabelle was able to be baptized. Seeing her parents live the gospel in the Sahara Desert helped her testimony begin to grow. It gave her faith in God to do the right thing, even when no one was watching.

Dawn turned the sky a rosy red above the Idaho mountains as Toby helped Pa load the last of the wheat into the wagon. There was still room for Ma’s crocks of butter and the small basket of eggs packed in straw. Pa shook his head as he limped around the side of the wagon and pulled the canvas tarp down tightly over the load.
“I was counting on our winter wheat to make the mortgage payment,” Pa told Toby. “But since that storm ruined most of the crop, I hope that the cow will bring enough to keep the bank happy.” Pa tied down the tarp and added, “I know that you wanted to come along, Toby, but somebody has to stay home and tend the stock. Maybe your ma can trade her butter and eggs for a few supplies and enough material to make you a new shirt.”
Toby swallowed hard, and vigorously scratched Shep’s ears to hide his disappointment. The dog wagged his tail and followed Toby and Pa as they walked back to the cabin for breakfast.
When the meal was over, Pa led the brindled cow from the barn and tied her to the back of the wagon. Ma stopped and stroked the cow.
“Now that her calf is weaned, I’ve been hoping to sell her milk and butter to the miners.” Ma sighed and climbed aboard the wagon. “Mr. Pauley says that they’ve been asking for fresh milk and eggs and butter.”
“We’ll be home around nightfall,” Pa said to Toby, picking up the reins. “You take good care of things while we’re gone.”
“And see to it that my hens are safe,” Ma cautioned. “We need what few eggs they lay to get us through till the crops are harvested.”
Toby hung his head and dug his toe into the dirt, remembering that the fix they were in with the hens was partly his fault. It was his job each evening to close the little door that the chickens used to go into and out of the coop. But one night last month there had been a terrible thunderstorm, and he’d been too scared to go out and close the door. That night a fox had gotten into the coop and killed half the flock. Worst of all, it had carried off Biddie, Ma’s only setting hen, before Pa could run him off. Now there were only four hens and a rooster left.
“Don’t worry, Ma. I’ll take good care of the chickens,” Toby promised as he waved good-bye to them. Slowly the wagon disappeared around the bend at the edge of the clearing.
Toby went to the barn to feed the calf and pigs; then he fed the chickens. It was past noon before he finished the list of other chores that Ma and Pa had left for him. He made himself a sandwich and sat out on the porch in the sun while he ate. Shep sat down beside him, hoping for a piece of crust.
“We have time to go fishing before evening chores,” Toby told Shep. “We’ll surprise Ma and catch her a nice mess of trout for supper.” He tossed Shep the last bite of his sandwich and got his fishing pole from the barn.
With Shep at his heels, Toby was halfway across the clearing before he remembered the chickens. He stopped and looked back. The hens were pecking contentedly around the barnyard. “I guess no old fox is going to bother them while we’re gone,” he told the dog. Shep wagged his tail and plodded along beside Toby as they went down the path to the fishing hole.
Toby settled himself on the bank of the creek and dropped his line into the water. “I bet we catch a big one,” he said. But Shep just turned and wandered off through the bushes along the creek.
Toby pushed his hat back and leaned back on his elbows to look up at the blue, cloudless sky. He watched a black speck grow bigger and take shape. The bird glided gracefully through the air on motionless wings. An eagle, Toby thought idly. He watched and admired the bird as it made wide, lazy circles overhead. Suddenly Toby sat straight up. “That’s not an eagle,” he said aloud. “That’s a chicken hawk after Ma’s hens!” Toby dropped the fishing pole and took off running. He didn’t even wait to call Shep. He pounded up the path from the creek. The chickens were squawking fearfully by the time he burst into the clearing.
The hawk swooped down, just missing a red hen. Still too far away to scare away the hawk, Toby prayed, “Please, Heavenly Father, help me to get there in time.” Still running, he scooped up a handful of stones. “Get out of here, you old hawk!” he yelled, peppering the air with stones. The hawk gave a startled cry and excitedly flapped its wings. It screamed its anger as it swooped down one last time, then flew away.
By the time Toby reached the barnyard, all the hens had disappeared. Only the bedraggled rooster was hiding in the chicken coop. Toby sat down on the chopping block and held his head in his hands. “Now I’ve lost all the hens. What will we do without eggs?”
Just then a speckled hen stepped cautiously from the bushes. She took several jerky steps, then ran for the chicken coop. Toby rushed to close the little door behind her.
The rest of the hens must be out there, too, he thought. Maybe I can find them all before Ma comes home. He ran to the barn for a burlap sack to drop over the chickens in case they were still too excited to be caught with his hands.
By sundown Toby had found all but the red hen. He circled deeper into the woods, hoping to drive her into the clearing. It had grown almost dark under the trees. If the hen were still there, she would be roosting by now. Toby peered into the lower branches of the trees and under the bushes, watching for her dark shape. He saw nothing at first, then just ahead in a patch of tall grass, he saw several birds.
They must be quail or grouse, Toby thought as he crept closer. If I can catch them for Ma, it will make up a little for losing the hen. Toby took off his hat and sneaked up on the birds. As he slipped his hat over the first bird, he was startled to see that it was a hen with eight half-grown chicks. Slipping the hen from his hat into the burlap sack, he reached for one of her chicks.
It was fully dark when Ma and Pa came home. Toby grabbed his lantern and rushed from the cabin to meet them. “You brought the cow back!” he cried. “I thought that you were going to sell her.”
Ma smiled and climbed down from the wagon before Pa drove the team into the barn. “Pa got a hauling job up at the mine. It’s only two days a week, but it will pay enough to make the mortgage payment. Did you close the chicken coop?”
“Yes, Ma, but you’d better come have a look at the hens.” On the way to the chicken coop he told her about the hawk. Inside he held his lantern high and moved toward the roost.
“My goodness!” Ma cried. “Where did all these chickens come from?”
Toby grinned. “It’s Biddie’s brood, Ma. See—there’s Biddie too. I found them roosting in the woods while I was searching for the red hen. The young ones will soon be laying size, Ma. You can sell eggs to the miners after all. I’m just sorry that I never found the red hen.”
“That’s all right Toby. You did the best that you could, and I’m very proud of you.”
Toby and Ma both turned when they heard scratching noises at the coop door. Toby cautiously opened the door, then stood back as the lost red hen jerk-stepped into the coop.
Ma put her arms around Toby and hugged him tightly. “Heavenly Father certainly has been watching over us this day. With His help we’re going to make it just fine.”

I once read a book about a pioneer girl who traveled across the plains with a Mormon wagon train. All she could take with her were a few articles of clothing and her special box of small treasures. Her many dolls and toys she had to leave behind. Included in her special box were some material scraps, a packet of precious needles, several buttons, and two spools of thread.
The girl was very brave and very clever. She knew it didn’t matter that she had to leave her dolls behind, because she could always make some new, even better ones, if she had the materials. She and her family finally arrived safely in Utah. When the girl wasn’t helping her mother and father, she started making her own toys in her spare time.

As a stake Primary president, Sabrina Simões Deus Augusto of Curitiba, Brazil, has seen how the personal development aspects of the program bless the children and youth in her stake. But she has also seen many ways to use what she has learned about personal development in her assignment as a ministering sister.

“When I develop a talent,” Sister Augusto says, “I can use that talent to bless someone I minister to.”

Sister Augusto taught one of the sisters to whom she is assigned how to make chocolate truffles. That sister now makes and sells the truffles to help supplement her family’s income. “Months later, I was blessed when another sister taught me how to make honey bread that I could sell,” Sister Augusto said. “Developing and sharing our talents can bless each other’s lives and deepen our relationships as ministering sisters.”

Let me begin by relating an obscure historical event, and then I will draw out some lessons that can be learned from this remote maritime misfortune.
In the early seventeenth century, Sweden was a world power. Sweden’s king, Gustav II Adolf, commissioned a warship that would be christened the Vasa. The ship represented a substantial outlay of resources, particularly the oak from which the vessel would be built. Oak was so valuable that cutting down an oak tree without authorization was a capital offense. Gustav Adolf closely oversaw the construction process, attempting to ensure that the Vasa would fully realize his expectations.
After construction had begun, Gustav Adolf ordered the Vasa to be made longer. Because the width supports had already been built from precious oak, the king directed the builders to increase the ship’s length without increasing its width. Although the shipwrights knew that doing so would compromise the Vasa’s seaworthiness, they were hesitant to tell the king something they knew he did not want to hear. They complied. Gustav Adolf also insisted that this ship have not simply the customary single deck of guns but cannons on three decks, with the heaviest cannons on the upper deck. Again, against their better judgment, the shipwrights complied.
Over the course of several years, shipwrights, carpenters, rope makers, and others worked diligently to build the Vasa. Over one thousand oak trees were used to complete the ship. It had sixty-four cannons and masts taller than 150 feet. To give the ship the opulence befitting a king’s flagship, several hundred gilded and painted sculptures were added.
On August 10, 1628, the Vasa began its maiden voyage. In view of countless spectators, the ship left its mooring directly below the royal castle in Stockholm. After being pulled along by anchors for the first several hundred feet, the Vasa left the shelter of the harbor. A stronger wind entered its sails, and the ship began to tip. The Vasa righted itself slightly, but only temporarily. Before long, as recorded by an observer, “she heeled right over and water gushed in through the gun ports until she slowly went to the bottom under sail, pennants and all.”1 The Vasa’s maiden voyage was about 4,200 feet.
The Vasa rested at the bottom of the Baltic Sea until it was recovered three centuries later in 1961. It was successfully raised from the seabed and towed back to Stockholm. Today the Vasa rests in a temperature- and humidity-controlled museum in Djurgården, an island in central Stockholm. I have a model of the ship in my office at Church headquarters as a reminder of several lessons that underlie its short, tragic history.
Despite the Vasa’s magnificent appearance, the ship was not seaworthy. The alterations in its construction resulted in it not having sufficient lateral stability to enable safe seafaring. Gustav Adolf’s desire for an extravagant status symbol ruined the design of what would have been a magnificent sailing vessel, the mightiest warship of its time. The shipbuilders’ reluctance to speak up—their fear of the king’s displeasure—deprived the king of their knowledge and insight. All involved lost sight of the goals of the enterprise: to protect Sweden and to promote its interests abroad. A ship that attempts to defy the laws of physics is simply a boat that won’t float.

I learned an important lesson about Heavenly Father and prayer when I was nine years old. I loved horses. Sometimes my friends let me ride their horses, and together we’d ride bareback through the orange groves. But I longed for a horse of my own.

That year, a new store opened in a neighboring town. As part of the opening festivities, they had a drawing for a pony. I entered the drawing, and each day I prayed that I would win. Heavenly Father had always answered my prayers, and I was sure that He would answer this one. I made arrangements for the pony to live in a friend’s corral. I even wrote to my grandparents and told them about the pony that would soon be mine.

When the drawing was held and the winner announced, it wasn’t me. I was very disappointed and sad. Lovingly my mother said, “It isn’t that Heavenly Father didn’t hear and answer your prayers, but that He knew what was best for you. Remember, dear, that when you pray, He will answer what is best for you.” Heavenly Father does know what is best for us. He loves each of us, and He hears and answers our prayers.

I learned a lot about my identity as a child of God while I was on my mission. But after I came home, I realized I still had a lot to learn about the importance of remembering that other people are also children of God.
Soon after I returned home, I was thrown into a difficult calling and put in charge of an important event. I was overwhelmed, and I couldn’t get ahold of the people who were supposed to be helping me. I sent an email that was, truthfully, pretty strongly worded.
I was right that the calling was important and that I needed more support, but I quickly realized that maybe this wasn’t the best way to motivate people. I needed humility; I needed to remember that other people probably had their own things they were stressed about.
As Elder Steven E. Snow taught when he was a member of the Seventy, “If we humble ourselves, our prayers are answered; we enjoy peace of mind; we serve more effectively in our callings; and, if we continue to be faithful, we will ultimately return to the presence of our Heavenly Father.”
Truly, I have felt more joy in my calling and in my life as I’ve learned to be more humble.

Augustine Okah of the Asaba Nigeria Stake took the PEF loan to study electrical engineering at Akanu Ibiam Federal Polytechnic Uwana in Afikpo area of southeast Nigeria and obtained a national diploma . He then obtained a higher national diploma from Delta State Polytechnic Ogwashi-Uku through personal funding. He worked and supported his education through his second degree. He was recently hired as a handyman for the Asaba Stake.

All my life I had been taught that the Church was true. When I decided to gain a testimony of my own, I thought I needed to approach things from a different angle than my teachers and friends did. So I asked: What if the gospel is not true? What if my well-meaning friends and parents have been misled? What if the Book of Mormon is a work of fiction? What if there is no living prophet today and families aren’t forever?
As such questions filled my mind, darkness clouded my thoughts. I felt as if doors were closing inside me, and for an entire day I wandered around in a depressed stupor of thought, thinking and acting unkindly toward others.
The next morning I realized I was getting nowhere. Then I remembered a seminary lesson I’d had on prayer. I knew that in Doctrine and Covenants 9:7–9 [D&C 9:7–9] there were some guidelines on getting answers. As I read these verses, I could see that I had asked the wrong questions. When I studied my questions out in my mind and in my heart, I sincerely believed the things I had been taught were true. So I prayed again, this time asking if my beliefs were right: Was I really a child of God? Was there a celestial kingdom? Was the priesthood the power of God?
Light replaced darkness. The Spirit confirmed that my belief was not in vain. I felt as if doors were being flung open, and I could see things more clearly.
I gained a desire to serve and to share my testimony. The Lord had heard and answered my sincere prayer. Now I know for myself that what I had believed all along was really true.

Shortly before my marriage, I was talking to my father-in-law to be. He asked me about how I developed my testimony of the gospel. I related to him the story about the article “Tell Him,” and he said, “Do you know what, James? I think my cousin wrote that article.”
It turns out that his cousin, Ken Barker, was the author. Wow! This is one of the most amazing things that has ever happened in my life. This whole experience has shown me how much Heavenly Father is watching over me and all of his children. I also developed a deeper understanding of what the Lord meant when he said, “And out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:33).

For gymnast Kim McCauley, a 14-year-old from the Rockwall Ward, “someday” began when she was a toddler. She was walking at six months, running at eight months, and by the time she hit three, her parents decided they’d better find a way to channel her energy, or they’d be exhausted in the chase. They enrolled her in gymnastics classes, and today, she not only is a top competitor on her high school team, but she also uses her talent in her spare time to teach gymnastics classes for small children.

Imagine waking up to the smell of smoke, the sound of screams and gunshots, the sights of looting and beating. Imagine racially inspired violence so dangerous that schools close and curfews are imposed for days.
This tragic scenario might seem like something you’d see in a movie—the kind your parents and leaders would probably recommend you avoid—but during late April and early May this year LDS youth in the Los Angeles area actually lived it. They saw the rioting. They knew people who looted. They watched familiar buildings burn to the ground.
Yet even while the ashes were still smoldering, the Young Women of the Los Angeles area were busy putting the finishing touches on a long-planned multistake conference that would unite nearly 500 LDS young women of various ethnic backgrounds and affirm that the gospel offers peace to everyone.
The six-hour conference featured an address from Young Women General President Janette Hales. Her message focused on how the fundamentals of personal religious behavior, things like reading the scriptures, praying, and keeping the commandments, can get you through life’s trials and keep you close to Heavenly Father, no matter what is going on in the world around you.
The conference also included 15 workshops covering subjects like dating, preparing for a mission, self-defense, sign language, and baby-sitting. It was just what the doctor ordered for the girls after the tragedy of the weeks before. But the memories for some of the young women were still vivid.
“We went to the store before they burned it to get some food,” said Virginia Smith of the Inglewood Stake. “It was crowded. All of a sudden people were screaming and running to the back. Someone said there were people there with guns. So my mom said to get on the floor, ’cuz if they shoot, they’re not going to shoot down there. Then someone said they went out. The next chance we got, we headed for the door, got in our car, and left.”
Lisa Fu, of the Santa Monica Stake, was also affected. “I could see the looting in the morning when I went out. I have some friends who actually did it—just for their own benefit—because everyone else was doing it. We said to those kids who were taking groceries, ‘You just stole! Don’t you know what you did?’ And they said, ‘Yes, but we don’t know if there’s going to be a store tomorrow to buy food, so we have to get what we can now.’
“And sometimes I’d get really scared to walk by certain people because of the Korean incident. (A 15-year-old black girl was shot in a dispute with a Korean store owner.) Because they don’t know if I’m Japanese or Korean or what.”

I have another story that is not unlike that one. A man had moved from Ohio to Brigham City and was working for Morton Thiokol, the company that manufactures so much of what goes into space. He had dated several young women and had noticed a beautiful young lady working there. He asked her for a date and she consented. They went out, and he began to do things that she did not want to do. There was a tussle, but she succeeded and arrived home almost as safe as she had left.

The following Monday the man was telling of the conquest he had attempted but failed and was making fun of her. A fine young man stood nearby, a returned missionary—he hadn’t been home long. After the people had dispersed, he walked over and asked for the name of that young woman. He was told and they dated for about three months before I had the privilege of performing their marriage in the Salt Lake Temple. They had decided what they wanted, and their righteous actions were rewarded.

Now, while some of these decisions loom large, others may seem microscopic; yet what happens is exciting. Elder Thomas S. Monson reported an experience he had at a stake conference with a projectionist, a man with the surname of Hales. He was showing a movie that was the featured part of a training meeting when suddenly film started spewing everywhere. Elder Monson stood up and asked what was wrong. The young man said, “Elder Monson, I did something really stupid.” He didn’t blame the machine. He didn’t blame the projectionist who had shown the film on an earlier occasion. He didn’t blame the film itself. He blamed himself, and Elder Monson reported how he appreciated that type of courage. That young man was not in a blaming posture. He had decided to take responsibility. Just a little teeny experience, but it affected the thinking of an apostle.