Gospel Story Finder

“Can we visit Heavenly Father?” Tara asked Dad as she got ready for bed.
“Probably not for a long time,” Dad answered.
“Last summer we flew on an airplane to visit Grandma Hill. We could fly on an airplane,” Tara said.
“We can’t get there on an airplane,” Dad said.
“At Christmas, we went by train to see Papa and Nana Flowers. Maybe we could go by train,” Tara said hopefully.
“I’m afraid a train can’t take us there, either,” Dad said.
“Sometimes we drive in our car to visit friends,” Tara told father. “Let’s go by car. Or, I know, we can go by boat.” Tara was remembering the boat ride they had taken across the river.
“I’m sorry,” Dad said. “Not even a car or a boat can take us to Heavenly Father.”
Tara felt sad. She wanted to visit Heavenly Father. Daddy pulled her onto his lap and kissed her forehead. “We can’t visit Heavenly Father, but you can talk to Him,” Dad said.
“You mean I can call Him on the telephone or send Him a letter?”
“No, but there’s something else you can do. Think about it.”
As she got ready for bed, Tara wondered how she could talk to Heavenly Father. She still couldn’t figure out what Dad had meant.
When Dad came into her room to listen to her say her prayers, she knelt, then jumped up and hugged Dad. “I know—I can talk to Heavenly Father by saying my prayers!”
“That’s right,” Dad said, hugging her back. “And He will always listen.”

Based on this knowledge of the Lord’s mercy and power, my husband, children, and I chose this family motto: “It will all work out.” Yet how can we say those words to one another when deep troubles come and answers aren’t readily available?

When our delightful, worthy, 21-year-old daughter, Georgia, was hospitalized in critical condition following a bike accident, our family said, “It will all work out.” As I flew immediately from our mission in Brazil to Indianapolis, Indiana, USA, to be with her, I clung to our family motto. However, our lovely daughter passed into the spirit world just hours before my plane landed. With grief and shock running through our family like a current, how could we look at one another and still say, “It will all work out”?

Following Georgia’s mortal death, our feelings were raw, we struggled, and still today we have moments of great sorrow, but we hold to the understanding that no one ever really dies. Despite our anguish when Georgia’s physical body stopped functioning, we had faith that she went right on living as a spirit, and we believe we will live with her eternally if we adhere to our temple covenants. Faith in our Redeemer and His Resurrection, faith in His priesthood power, and faith in eternal sealings let us state our motto with conviction.

During my first Christmas as bishop, a single mother with three small children lived in our ward. This young woman had a strong testimony of the gospel and lived it to the best of her ability. She cleaned homes and did sewing to try to make ends meet, but often she could not.
Single-handedly raising three boys under the age of eight was a real challenge. These active, energetic youngsters always seemed to be in trouble of one sort or another. I remember pulling them from more than one tussle with their classmates.
Several good people helped this struggling family. I’ll never forget the brother who came into my office one Sunday just a couple of weeks before Christmas, asking to speak with me privately. He was concerned about the young mother and her family, and he wanted to do something for them. Would I accept his contribution and use it in the best way I could to help them? As we spoke, I hardly noticed his small son who remained in the office with us.
The man explained that he did not know what the woman and her family needed. He just wanted to help and felt that I would be inspired to know what to do. He then entrusted to me quite a remarkable sum of money—not remarkable in the amount, but remarkable in terms of his modest means, of which I was well aware. I knew that this gift meant a real sacrifice of his own family’s Christmas, at least in the temporal sense. But this wise brother knew where real rewards come from.
Seeing the resolve shining in his eyes, I protested only gently. Then I cleared my tightening throat, thanked him for his unselfish gift, and promised to do my best to make Christmas a little brighter for the young mother and her sons. I also agreed to honor his request for anonymity.
The story might well end here and still be memorable. But the event that has etched this experience in my mind was yet to occur. It wasn’t the way I was able to help the family with the unselfish contribution—although that turned out to be most gratifying—but rather what took place in my office one week following that good brother’s visit.
It was just a few days before Christmas, and I was between tithing-settlement interviews. I heard a soft knock on the office door, and when I opened it, I saw, standing quite alone, the six-year-old boy who had sat quietly in my office while his dad and I had talked the Sunday before.
He asked politely if he could talk to me for just a minute. After we walked into the office—which I presume is always a bit of a frightening experience for youngsters—I invited him to sit down. He fidgeted with something in his pocket and, after some struggle, pulled out three small coins and laid them on my desk. He apologized that the coins were all the money he had, and they were a little old and dirty, since he had had them quite a while. The money, he explained, was for me to use to help his three friends, like his dad was helping their mother. As my heart swelled and my eyes became moist, he added that he felt I would know best how to divide his treasure among his friends.
What lessons culminated in that moment—a father’s unselfish example, the trust of a small boy in his bishop, and the humble, Christlike act of a child without guile. Only a few weeks before I had pulled this boy from a scuffle involving the soon-to-be recipients of his forgiving love and charity.
I hugged him, partly to hide my tears—and mostly to tell him how much I appreciated him and how much I knew his Father in Heaven loved him. I then walked him to the door, shook his hand, and assured him that I would do the best I could to help his friends this Christmas with his generous gift. As I turned to go back into my office, he whispered after me, “And remember, Bishop, don’t ever tell anyone it was me.”
Well, I never have told anyone until now, my young friend. I hope relating our special story in this way is all right so that others might feel a bit of the quiet Christmas spirit of love and charity that we felt that day.

World population: six billion. Population of Duchesne, Utah: 1,500.
If you looked at a map of the world, you would need a strong magnifying glass to see this tiny mountain town tucked into the southern end of the Uintah Basin. Despite its high-desert beauty, most people just drive through Duchesne on their way to somewhere else.
But this small Utah town is important—so important it could change the world. And if those people driving through stopped for a while and really looked, they would see what’s so special about what they thought was just a dot on their map.
The young men, 16 and older, in the Duchesne Utah Stake have had a tantalizing taste of what it feels like to be a missionary. They held a stake missionary conference, planned by their leaders and two youth cochairs, that attempted to include some aspects of a two-year mission experience into two days. Of course, the young men only got a sampling of what it will really be like to be on a mission, but the experience is one they won’t soon forget.
Nearly 50 would-be missionaries arrived on a Friday afternoon at the Duchesne missionary training center—a.k.a. the Duchesne stake center—in their suits, toting their luggage, with their parents in tow. After a short devotional the young men went through one door into the cultural hall and their parents exited another to head back home (a la MTC fashion).
In the cultural hall, the young men were greeted with dinner, missionary packets, and an assigned companion. Outfitted with name tags that read “Brother_______,” the companionships headed to their first training classes. The classes covered a whole range of topics from learning the first missionary discussion and mission rules, to how to sort laundry and pack a suitcase.
Going to the conference was easier for some than for others. “I thought I had better things to do,” said Jeff Foster of the First ward. But he decided to go anyway. By Saturday afternoon he had changed his tune. “My parents are going to say, ‘I told you so!’” Jeff says. “There are people who don’t want to go on missions because they don’t want to leave their stuff behind—like their jobs and their music or whatever—but it’s worth it!”
“Those are all things you have to give up if you want to go on a mission,” agrees Eric Peatross, who was just called to the England Leeds Mission. Eric has many scholarship offers that won’t wait for him to come back in two years. He’s also leaving behind a job he loves, as well as his band. He says, “It involves a lot of prayer. You really have to know the gospel is true before you can turn all of those things down.” A testimony won’t come all at once, Eric says. His didn’t. He says his testimony, and his determination to go on a mission, came to him bit by bit as he did the things he knew he should be doing to be obedient. In other words, he prepared.
The conference was added preparation for Eric. “These two days have been like spiritual boot camp,” he says.
The levels of preparation at the conference varied from young man to young man. In one class, only one of eight knew how to sort laundry.
Housekeeping details aside, these young men know spiritual preparation is the most important aspect of getting ready for missionary work. Brian Bleazard says, “If I’ve learned anything at this conference it’s that I’m not the greatest teacher. You need the Spirit. It’s the Spirit that teaches.”
“It all comes down to your personal worthiness,” says Eric. Being worthy and obedient means you qualify for the companionship of the Spirit. All the young men were interviewed by their bishops before they went to the conference. The interview gave them a good idea of the things they need to be doing to be worthy to go to the temple and ready to go on a mission.
Their Saturday classes were not only preparing the young men for their missions but also for their teaching appointments later in the day. The companionships were assigned to teach the first discussion to families in their stake, some of which were part-member and less-active families.
“When we went to teach the first discussion I was really nervous, but it was fun,” says Roy Poulsen of the Fourth ward.
Courtney Moon, who was just called to the Mississippi Jackson Mission says, “I’ve always known the gospel is true in my mind, but trying to explain it to someone else really opens your eyes.”
“You’re nervous,” says Cris Hoopes, “but it is a good experience. It’s hard to teach investigators. You have to rely on the Spirit.”
Besides teaching the first discussion, the young men also did what every missionary spends a good deal of time doing: service. They spent all morning landscaping around a chapel, cleaning a section of highway, and beautifying the Duchesne River boardwalk. It was so hot many of the young men were tempted to jump into the river, but a quick check of their missionary handbooks told them swimming was against the rules.
They chose to obey mission rules, just as they are choosing to prepare themselves to go on full-time missions when they turn 19. They are working on their faith and obedience to the gospel. As future missionaries, they know that’s a top priority. Delaney Mecham of the First ward says, “We should all go on missions to bring people to the gospel and to help ourselves. When we’re on our missions our testimonies will grow even more than they have at this conference.”
So what exactly is so important about Duchesne? For one thing, it is the future missionaries preparing to serve the Lord. Their faith and missionary service will change the world one person at a time. And the person each missionary is planning to start with is himself.
“I throw out a challenge to every young man. … Prepare yourself now to be worthy to serve the Lord as a full-time missionary. He has said, ‘If ye are prepared ye shall not fear’ (D&C 38:30). Prepare to consecrate two years of your lives to this sacred service. That will in effect constitute a tithe on the first twenty years of your lives. Think of all that you have that is good—life itself, health, strength, food to eat and clothing to wear, parents, brothers and sisters, and friends. All are gifts from the Lord.
“Of course your time is precious, and you may feel you cannot afford two years. But I promise you that the time you spend in the mission field, if those years are spent in dedicated service, will yield a greater return on investment than any other two years of your lives. …
“And above and beyond all of this will come that sweet peace in your heart that you have served your Lord faithfully and well. …
“And so, my dear young brethren, resolve within your hearts today to include in the program of your lives service in the harvest field of the Lord as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” (Ensign, Nov. 1995, 52).—President Gordon B. Hinckley
“Young men and women who serve missions are never the same. They return home with qualities and strengths that seem to come from no other experience. They know, as they never knew before, that this work is true and that it is the most important work on the face of the earth” (Ensign, Dec. 1986, 4).—President Gordon B. Hinckley

Cody Petterson met Trevor Olvera in the school hallway in sixth grade in Nyssa, Oregon, and after that, they were almost inseparable. Soon Cody’s cousin, Justin Kesler, joined the mix.
The three of them did everything together: sports, bowling, homework. Later on they even worked on Cody’s family’s farm. And since they shared everything, Cody and Justin couldn’t help sharing the gospel with Trevor. Soon Cody and Justin began inviting Trevor to Mutual and stake dances. As Trevor got to know the other youth in Cody and Justin’s ward, it made it easier to invite him to church and seminary and then to hear the missionary lessons.
Trevor said, “Cody and Justin weren’t perfect, but they were trying to be like the Savior. They talked about reading scriptures and saying their prayers, and I wanted to have that as well.”
Though Cody and Justin admitted they had to overcome some fears, mostly they said sharing the gospel was easy. Justin puts it this way: “We were just examples at first. And then we asked him questions about what he believed. He already knew what we believed because we acted on what we believed, so it was easy to talk to him about the Church.”
One night after Mutual, Trevor remembers telling Cody and Justin that he wanted to get baptized. “When I told them that I wanted to be baptized, they were so happy for me. I knew that I had made the right decision.” Even though some others he knew teased him, Cody and Justin were by his side, literally so—at his baptism Cody was in the font, baptizing Trevor, and Justin was on the stand, giving a talk.
Trevor described his own baptism this way: “I was in the font, and I knew that I could have my sins washed away. And to have my best friends with me was beautiful. I knew I was making the right decision, and they had helped me to make it.”
Cody said that it was a powerful experience to use the priesthood to help someone he cared about. He said, “When I pronounced the words ‘Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ,’ I felt the power of God fall upon me. I felt like my heart would burst. I was baptizing my best friend. He was receiving an ordinance of salvation, and I was the Lord’s instrument to carry it out.”

Things had been hard since Joseph’s death. Nauvoo wasn’t allowed to use its police force, so bad men did what they wanted. They burned farms outside town and caused trouble in Nauvoo. Then some of the Latter-day Saint boys formed the “Whittling and Whistling Brigade.” When one of the bad men came to town, the boys followed him everywhere, whistling and whittling pieces of wood with their pocketknives. There were too many boys for the man to fight, and they wouldn’t let him out of their sight long enough for him to do anything bad, so finally he would leave and look for mischief someplace else. Howard and George couldn’t wait to join the brigade, but they were only six and four then, and Mama wouldn’t let them use her knives to learn to whittle. They practiced whistling, however. Finally, though, even the brave boys couldn’t keep the bad men away.
Aurelia squeezed George’s hand and pointed to show him the temple across the river. Even on this cold, gray day, the tall building seemed to shine on the hill. She remembered when its roof had caught fire one day. She lived only a block away and had run with a bucket of water to help fight the fire. It had been put out, and work on the temple had continued. Just two months ago, Mama and Papa had gone to the temple to be sealed together. Mama said that that was the hardest part of leaving Nauvoo—leaving the temple they’d worked so hard to build. It still wasn’t quite finished. “Heaven only knows when we’ll have a temple again,” Mama had said. “We’ve been blessed to have this one.”
Aurelia looked to the left of the temple to see if their house was visible from here. She couldn’t see it. But she did see Mary Ann Stearn’s house. Mary Ann and her cousin Ellen Pratt were Aurelia’s best friends. They had gone to school together and played together. Aurelia stared at Mary Ann’s house, but she knew that Mary Ann wasn’t there. She, too, was going west with her family. Aurelia wondered if they’d meet again on the way to the Rocky Mountains. Oh, she hoped so! It was hard leaving everything and everyone to travel to a strange land. Why shouldn’t the bad men have to leave instead? It wasn’t fair to be forced to leave friends, homes, gardens, orchards, the temple!
Thinking of Mary Ann made Aurelia remember something else. At the last general conference, in October, Mary Ann’s stepfather, Parley P. Pratt had spoken to the Saints. People had crowded into the temple to listen. Elder Pratt spoke about how hard the Saints had worked to build a beautiful city and temple and how hard it was to leave it all behind. But the Lord had other plans for this people, Elder Pratt had said. He explained that a small nursery could produce many thousands of fruit trees, but that as they grew, they must be transplanted. They need room to grow if they are to produce fruit. He promised that the Lord had a place for the Saints to grow, where they wouldn’t be crowded and where they would enjoy liberty and equal rights.
Aurelia knew that it was true. She thought of those tiny twigs of fruit trees she and Ellen and Papa had planted. She had seen them grow and blossom and produce sweet fruit. It was hard to leave Nauvoo, but it was time to be transplanted to a place where she and her family and all the Saints could grow strong and bloom.
Aurelia murmured, “Farewell, Nauvoo,” and turned with George to face the west. It would be a long journey to the Rockies, but she had her family and the true gospel. She was ready.

On a Saturday morning at the Sandy stake center, one of the final rehearsals is taking place. There’s an air of controlled chaos as the orchestra tunes and practices and groups of performers mill around waiting their turns. You see them everywhere in small groups in the halls, the foyers, and corners of the cultural hall: friends, like Justin Dunslow and Thomas Hood. Both are 17 and both are very busy in school, and one of the best things about being in this play together, Justin says, is “it’s brought our friendship closer.”

Obviously, friendships are not the only thing that grows when you answer the casting call. Some of the kids in both Oakley and Sandy are old hands in the theater, with experience in numerous church, school, and community productions. Others are just beginning to discover what they can do. But everyone is discovering new talents and abilities.

Eli Hansen, 15, from Burley, Idaho, was taking an acting class in high school and thought Pirates would be fun. “I learned I have some talents I’ve never used before,” he says. “I didn’t know I could dance or sing. Now they’re getting me into the ward choir.”

Jud Vorwaller, 19, was in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat the summer before. In his senior year he sang in his high school choir. “I didn’t know I could sing,” Jud says. “A friend prompted me to try out. I didn’t want to because I was shy. Last year I had one solo and I was scared to death to do it. Opening night was nerve-racking. This year [when he had a lead role] I wasn’t nervous. I knew I had a lot to do, and if I got nervous, I was really in trouble.”

What has this experience done for Jud? “I’m not nearly as shy as before. I have more confidence in myself.” For someone headed for the mission field, that’s not a bad accomplishment.

Spencer Williams, 17, had a role as a Mormon Battalion member in Promised Valley, a part that required him to sing a solo. “I don’t like it much,” he admitted before the performance. And the thought of singing on the stage at the University of Utah’s Kingsbury Hall was kind of intimidating. But he went through with it. “It was a good experience,” he reported later. “Each night I got a little better.”

To be honest, Spencer didn’t sound like he was anxious to try out for a solo part again. And Thomas Hood, who had acted in his high school’s production of Arsenic and Old Lace, was pretty frank in evaluating his musical talents. “I found out I can’t sing,” he said good-naturedly. But even those who found singing a real stretch enjoyed their overall experience.

Speaking of music, one of the most obvious places to use a musical talent is in the orchestra pit. It’s hard work, say Shane Larsen, 14, and his brother Joseph, 16. When you point out to Shane that nobody really sees the orchestra, he says, “Yes, but they hear us. And if the music isn’t good, the play won’t be any good either.” Joseph admits that when he was on stage in previous productions, he kind of took the orchestra for granted, too. But not any more.

Of course, when it comes to being seen, no one would be seen—or heard—if the stage and sound and light crews were not on the job. Sandy stake’s Thomas Craft, 19, has acted in some productions, but he prefers to work behind the scenes. “Backstage people don’t always get credit, but they are very important for the play to turn out the way it should.”

Which brings up some of the things the stage can teach you about life. Kaisa Hansen was in Pirates. Now she’s a student at BYU. As much as anything, performing gave her an appreciation for the work of others. “When you get involved, you see how much people do behind the scenes. I have started realizing how much work people put into things. And when you are involved in something with other people, and you just play a small role, you are part of the glue that holds things together.”

Eli Hansen, 15, of Burley, talks about another lesson learned from the stage: “When you’re not part of the action, don’t upstage the others. Focus attention on them. Stay in character all the time. There’s always somebody watching you. You represent the Church name, your family name, even your employer. You have to be ‘on’ around the clock.”

When you get involved in stake productions or even Church pageants, there are still more lessons learned—things that shape and strengthen your testimony. Many of those who performed in Promised Valley volunteered that the experience had given them a greater appreciation of the pioneers and of their own heritage. As Spencer Williams notes, “To get into character, you have to imagine what it would have been like.” For him, the miracle of the crickets and the seagulls took on much deeper meaning.

Just like the friendships formed, those kinds of experiences can stay with you for years. Amy Hill, 18, of the Taylorsville Utah Central Stake, remembers when she was in her stake’s performance of the Book-of-Mormon-based A Day, a Night, and a Day. Amy was a ninth grader and had only a small nonspeaking part. But she has vivid memories of “acting out the Book of Mormon, thinking, Wow! this is so cool. This is how it would have felt.” Would she do it again? “I’d definitely recommend that kind of experience. I miss it sometimes.”

So what do the critics say? You’ve just heard from the critics who matter most—the people who have done it. So next time you have a chance to get on the stage (or behind the scenes, or in the orchestra pit) don’t start looking for the first stage out of town. If you want to develop friends, talents, and self-confidence, that stake musical or school play or community theater may be just the ticket.

Be a critic. The world judges plays and musicals as good or bad based on how well they are written and performed. Latter-day Saints must be concerned about content. What is the message? Are language and costumes appropriate? If you have to “become your character” in order to act well, what kind of character are you being asked to play? Several of the young people we talked to indicated that they were touched emotionally and spiritually by what they were portraying.

Be aware. There are lots of opportunities to get involved in wholesome theater. Most—but not all—school plays are safe. (Get a look at the script if you are unsure.) Stake and ward productions are a wonderful opportunity for friendships and personal growth. And many communities—especially those with a strong LDS influence—have local theater companies that have high moral standards. Ask around.

Be prepared to commit yourself and work hard. Rehearsals can be boring and tiring. But when everything comes together, the payoff can be terrific.

For Candice, the sheer joy of dancing, moving, stretching, acting, performing, is something that motivates her life. She likes to do things well. “I remember going to a birthday party for one of my friends. They had hula hoops at the party, and the others were really good at it. They could keep the hoop twirling and could do some tricks with it.” Candice tried the hoop and it kept slipping off her hips and clattering around her feet on the ground. Frustrated but determined, she marched home and asked her mother if they could buy a hula hoop. “I was going to learn how to do it. I kept practicing until I was good at it.”

I have a brother who was associated with a large university. He told of a student athlete who was an outstanding hurdler. The young man was blind. Rex asked him, “Don’t you ever fall?” “I have to be exact,” the athlete responded. “I measure each time before I jump. One time I didn’t, and I nearly killed myself.” The young man then spoke of the countless hours his father had devoted over the years teaching, helping, and showing him how to hurdle, until he became one of the best.
How could this young man fail with a team like that—a father and a son.

Freddie worked his way up and down the wall. Mom preceded him, using the brush to do the trim work along the molding and ceiling and in the corners. One especially dark smudge on the wall caught Freddie’s attention. “This is a really bad mark, Mom,” said Freddie. “How did it get on the wall?”
Mom squinted, trying to remember. “I think you made that one. Remember how angry you and Brad got at each other last month?”
“I sure do. I called him a poor sport at the ball game, and he called me a baby. I came home so mad that I wanted to kick him.” Freddie frowned. “I kicked the wall, instead. I knew I shouldn’t have done it, and I felt bad about what I’d done.”
“And as I recall,” Mom added, “Brad came over later, and you two made up.”
“Well, we both said we were sorry. Besides, we couldn’t stay mad forever. That’s why Brad and I are best friends.” With one quick stroke, Freddie’s roller covered the ugly mark with wet paint.

One son bought a small home in a distant state. He showed me bricks on a corner of the foundation that were eroding away. He asked what he should do.
I did not know, but I asked, “Is there an older couple that lives close to you?”
“Yes,” he said, “across the street and down a few houses is a retired couple.”
“Why don’t you ask him to come over and look at that. He knows your climate.”
That was done, and he got the advice of an older man who had seen problems like that and many others. That is what adopted grandpas can do.

“School’s out! School’s out!” the bell in the old brick tower seemed to sing. Its familiar chime wasn’t just announcing the end of an ordinary day—summer had arrived at last and it was time to put away pencils and close schoolbooks.
Gordon waved good-bye to his classmates and friends. For him, the end of school signaled the beginning of a summer spent miles away from the city on the farm where he could run barefoot in cool grass and wiggle his toes in a calm stream.
The family cottage, with its splendid mountain backdrop, was nestled in a stretch of land rolling with fruit trees and gardens. Cows grazed, horses raced, chickens roamed. The air was clean and fresh. The land held plenty of room to explore and plenty of opportunity to grow.
Bedtime was early because the call to chores came early in the morning when the dew still clung to tender grass and leaves. Farm work was hard work and everyone in the family was expected to do his or her part.
Weeding and watering the garden, gathering eggs, picking fruit, and attending to the chickens and horses went by quickly when everyone helped out. Father saved one chore especially for Gordon and his younger brother, Sherm.
The family cows would be the boys’ responsibility alone, and their father taught them how to care for the cows. Learning to tend to Polly and Beth wasn’t easy, but the reward was sweet, warm milk that the brothers enjoyed.
The milking companions were close in age, and even closer at heart. The two were inseparable in the city and nothing changed that on the farm. When they finished their chores, the warm summer days stretched before them, full of adventure. Drenched in summer sunlight, the brothers and best of friends rode in wagons, played on haystacks, and played tag.
Following their afternoons of adventure, when night had draped its darkness over every corner of the farm, the boys climbed into the old wooden wagon. Lying on their backs, they looked into the shimmering heavens.
Gordon and Sherm gazed earnestly at the millions of stars that filled the clear night sky. They pointed out and identified constellations they had read about in the encyclopedia. Then Gordon traced the outline of the Big Dipper, connecting the dots with his finger. And just off the cup he found the object of his search.
“There it is,” he said. Anchored in place, the North Star was always where it was supposed to be. Gordon knew that if a sailor charted his course by it, he could find his way safely home. “I want to be as steady as that star,” he thought.
There were many summer days on the farm and many nights sleeping under a blanket of stars. As Gordon grew older, he never forgot the lesson of the North Star.
Today, so many years after that young boy first gazed upward to find his favorite star, millions of people look to him. And true to the wish of his youth, his life reflects the message of the star that held its place in the heavens. As the prophet of God, President Gordon B. Hinckley can always be found helping to guide others safely home, steadfast and anchored as firmly as the North Star.
“[President Gordon B. Hinckley’s] constancy, service, and faith … are an anchor to us all.”Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “President Gordon B. Hinckley: Stalwart and Brave He Stands,” Ensign, June 1995, 13.

Some years ago, Brigham Young University honored with a presidential citation Sarah Bagley Shumway, a truly remarkable woman of our time. The citation contained the words: “It is often within our homes and among our own family members that the eternally significant—but usually unheralded—dramas of daily living occur. The people in these plain but important places bring stability to the present and promise to the future. Their lives are filled with struggle and deep feeling as they face circumstances that rarely fit neatly within the formulae of plays, films, and newscasts. But their victories, however slight, strengthen the boundaries through which the history of future generations must pass.”
Sarah married H. Smith Shumway, then her “friend and sweetheart of nine years,” in 1948. The courtship was longer than most because Smith, an infantry officer in World War II, had been blinded and severely wounded by a land-mine explosion in the advance on Paris, France. During his long rehabilitation, Sarah learned Braille so that she could correspond with him in privacy. She couldn’t tolerate the idea of others reading her letters aloud to the man she loved.
Something of the spirit of this young couple comes to us in the simple candor of Smith Shumway’s proposal of marriage. Finally home in Wyoming after the war, he told Sarah, “If you will drive the car and sort the socks and read the mail, I will do the rest.” She accepted the offer.
Years of study led to a successful career, eight accomplished children, a host of grandchildren, and lives of service. Along life’s pathway, the Shumways faced problems of a child with severe deafness, a missionary son developing cancer, and a twin granddaughter injured at birth.
My family and I had the privilege of meeting the entire Shumway clan at a summer vacation camp. Each wore an identifying T-shirt on which was a map depicting the location of each child and family, along with the names of all. Brother Shumway, with justifiable pride, pointed to the location on his shirt of his precious ones and beamed the smile of gladness. Only then did I ponder that he had never seen any of his children or grandchildren. Or had he? While his eyes had never beheld them, in his heart he knew them and he loved them.
At an evening of entertainment, the Shumway family was on the stage. The children were asked, “What was it like growing up in a household with a sightless father?” One daughter smiled and said, “When we were little, occasionally we felt Daddy should not have too much dessert at dinner, so without telling him, we would trade our smaller helping with his larger one. Maybe he knew, but he never complained.”
One child touched our hearts when she recounted, “When I was about five years old, I remember my father holding my hand and walking me around the neighborhood, and I never realized he was blind because he talked about the birds and other things. I always thought he held my hand because he loved me more than other fathers loved their children.”
Though she has passed away now, Sarah and Smith Shumway and their family offer examples of rising above adversity and sorrow, overcoming the tragedy of war-inflicted impairment, and walking bravely the higher roadway of life.

Mr. and Mrs. Eldon lived with their two daughters and son in a small village in South Carolina.
Once prosperous, the family was having a struggle to gain the necessities of life. The father had lost his eyesight in a farm accident, and now the mother and the girls did sewing for some of the wealthier families in the village. Johnny, the son, received a small wage working in a local store.
One Thanksgiving Day, the Eldons were trying to help each other forget the sadness in their lives. Mother had many times looked up from her sewing that morning to mention some blessing they enjoyed. Once she said, “How happy we should be that another year has passed and that we can all be together this day.”
At noon Mother decided they had all worked enough for the day, and it was time to clean the house and then prepare the Thanksgiving dinner. Everyone readily agreed to the plan, and soon the small house had a bright appearance.
Then came the question of dinner. One of the few remaining chickens must be sacrificed. Johnny considered himself the executioner and soon brought in his headless victim.
Meanwhile, Mother mysteriously disappeared, but she soon returned with a surprise in the shape of a large yellow pumpkin, declaring that she knew it would not seem like a Thanksgiving dinner without pumpkin pies.
Even Father began to laugh and enjoy the happy spirit of his family. He went to and fro with Johnny, bringing in wood and helping in other ways. Their father’s happier attitude made everyone feel brighter, for he had taken little interest in anything since he had fully realized that he could not expect to ever see again.
When all was ready for Thanksgiving dinner, the eldest daughter said, “Mother, we really have more than enough to eat. I wish some needy person would come to our door that we might share with him. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“Yes, we have much to be thankful for this day, I’m sure,” answered Mother, and then she added, “Come, Father, your chair is waiting.”
Everything smelled tempting indeed. The chicken had been made into soup, and there was plenty of it. The pies were delicious. The large plain cake was light and wholesome. The rosy apples had been polished until they shone. And the bunch of autumn leaves and red berries in the center of the table helped to make the meal appear even more tempting. Loving hands and thankful hearts had prepared it so that it was really more than a royal feast.
While this festive meal was being prepared, two weary young men were walking toward the village where the Eldons lived. They introduced themselves at each house they came to, and explained, “We are missionaries, traveling without purse or scrip. Can you take us in for the night?”
“What church do you claim to be missionaries for?” they were asked and the answer was given with pride, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“That’s another name for the ‘Mormon’ Church is it not?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can leave, for Mormons aren’t welcome here.”
Having been turned away from several houses with similar replies, one of the missionaries said to his companion, “It seems to me we might as well make up our minds to sleep outside tonight.”
But his companion answered, “We must continue to have faith. Somewhere there are honest hearts awaiting us, and we will be led to them.”
Finally, the young elders came to the Eldons’ door where they paused and overheard the father of the house earnestly thanking God for their food and also asking His blessings on their household. When the simple prayer was ended, the elders knocked lightly, for they felt in their hearts that they had found a place where they could rest.
When Mother answered the door and heard their story, she said, “You must be the ones we were wishing for to help us eat our Thanksgiving dinner. Come right in. They are welcome, are they not, Father?” she asked, turning to her husband.
“Indeed they are,” he answered. “You know the stranger has ever been welcome in our home.”
Places were quickly made at the table, and the missionaries soon felt at ease. They were happy to have found one family who had the true Thanksgiving spirit in their hearts.
Then to the family seated around the cheerful fire on that Thanksgiving night the missionaries told the simple story of the gospel being restored to the earth through Joseph Smith and of God’s great goodness to His children in these latter days.
Each listener within that little house felt that what these young missionaries were saying was true. The father and mother especially rejoiced, for the gospel as Christ taught when He ministered upon the earth was something they had longed for and often spoken of.
It was late when the family thought of retiring. Father asked the elders to pray, which they did in a simple, fervent manner that touched every heart.
It was certainly a Thanksgiving Day never to be forgotten. To the Eldons had come the greatest of all blessings—a new understanding of the gospel of Christ.

One day I watched an interview with Brother Tad R. Callister, who was then the Sunday School General President. As I took notes, I had an impression on how to heal my relationship with my son, John. I was impressed that we should read the entire Book of Mormon together prior to his baptism six months later.
This impression was so clear that I even knew which room we should read in and at what time we should read. I also felt a distinct impression that we should finish our reading on the grounds of the Meridian Idaho Temple.
As we took time to read one-on-one each night, our relationship sweetened. We had more patience for each other, we better understood each other’s perspectives, and we regularly felt the presence of the Holy Ghost.
The night before we finished the book, we read Moroni’s promise that if we ask God with a sincere heart, with real intent and faith in Christ, if the Book of Mormon is true, we will know the truth of it by the power of the Holy Ghost (see Moroni 10:4–5). We felt the confirmation that the Book of Mormon is true, that Joseph Smith was a prophet, and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the kingdom of God upon the earth.
The next day we sat on a bench on the temple grounds. We looked up at the statue of angel Moroni and read again his final testimony. Since that day, John has mentioned on multiple occasions the time we read the Book of Mormon together at the temple. Now every time I attend the temple, I see the bench and reflect on the special moment John and I had when we completed our inspired goal.

To get to a remote branch in Saetsiwi on Tanna Island, Elders Nalin and Toa drove to and then hiked up a mountain for three hours, eating nothing but the coconuts they found along the way. But when they arrived at Saetsiwi, they couldn’t find the branch president. And then the rainstorm started.
Rain filled the rivers, which Elder Nalin knew would soon be impassable and dangerous. The elders got back to their truck as quickly as possible, knowing that they had to get off the mountain. The two missionaries crossed the first river safely, but at the second river, the truck got stuck. They pushed and even got others to help push, but the truck didn’t move.
Elder Nalin noticed another river flowing into theirs and just how much bigger it was. He later said, “Our river was still small, like it was waiting for us to get out.” But that wouldn’t last forever.
Both elders grew up in Vanuatu, where vehicles are usually rare and extremely expensive. So, for them, abandoning the truck didn’t seem like an option. But the water level was up to the door handles.
They called President Messick and asked what they should do.
President Messick replied, “Thank you for giving me a call. It’s OK! Leave the truck where it is and find a safe place now!”
Elder Toa and Elder Nalin faced challenges as they tried to reach the people on the island of Tanna who wanted to be baptized—including a sudden rainstorm that flooded the rivers they were crossing.
Elder Toa, the last one out of the truck, later said, “I looked in the back seat for my scriptures and the baptismal forms, and there was nothing. And I thought maybe Elder Nalin already took them.” If the forms were lost, the missionaries would have to go back to Éfaté to get new ones.
Then one of the people who had come to help started shouting. Elder Toa did not understand what he was saying. But Elder Nalin did since it was his native language. He yelled to his companion, “Get out of the truck, something is coming!”
Elder Toa climbed out the back door because the water had already reached the window in the front. The moment he got out, the river swept the truck downstream. As they watched the truck flow downhill, they could see the scriptures and baptismal forms in the back seat.
Elder Toa later said, “While we were still in the river, we called on the power of God to protect our scriptures and baptismal forms. We had faith that He could save them according to His will.”
“After our prayer, we knew everything was going to be fine,” Elder Toa later said.
The district president called and told Elders Toa and Nalin that the Saetsiwi branch president, the same man they couldn’t find earlier, had found their truck. The river had pushed it 820 feet (250 meters) from the main road, but while the engine was wet and the truck had to be towed for other repairs, the outside of the truck wasn’t dented or scratched. However, their lesson books, notebooks, and pamphlets were drenched and destroyed. “You could not read some of the words,” Elder Toa said.
But sitting on top of everything else, their scriptures and the interview forms were somehow dry and undamaged.
Though Elder Toa and Elder Nalin had abandoned the truck in the flooded river, it was later found. Though the engine needed repairs, the truck wasn’t dented or scratched. But most miraculous of all, the most important things they carried inside were undamaged.

In contrast to the Thongchalerms’ large home is the simple wooden dwelling of Boonthom and Suwan Pamangkata and their six-year-old daughter, Suchitra.
Brother Pamangkata ekes out a living operating a pedicab, a passenger-carrying tricycle. He works about ten hours a day and would like to work more, but he has poor nighttime vision because of cataracts developing in both eyes. He used to have a pair of glasses to help him see better, but someone stole them. He can’t afford another pair.
Sister Pamangkata supplements the family income by cooking and cleaning for other people and by selling beautifully made crocheted items.
Brother Pamangkata studied Christianity in his youth, but there was no church available for him to join. As a married man, he met the LDS missionaries, who rekindled his interest in the Savior. Sister Pamangkata was impressed with the gospel message, but she was reluctant to be baptized. “But then, before my husband was baptized, he started living the Word of Wisdom. It helped him overcome the smoking and drinking that wasted a lot of our income. Seeing what the gospel did in his life helped my testimony develop, and I was baptized. Now, every day, I find strength in gospel principles.”

When a choice plant became root bound and began to deteriorate, a young friend of ours decided to transplant it to a larger container. Carefully he lifted the greenery from its small pot and put it into its larger home, trying to disturb the roots and soil as little as possible. The novice gardener watched and waited. To his dismay, the plant still struggled. Our friend expressed his frustration to an experienced gardener who offered his services. When the plant was placed in the gardener’s hands, he turned the pot upside down, pulled out the plant, shook the soil from the roots, and clipped and pulled all the stragglers from the root system. Replacing the plant into the pot, he vigorously pushed the soil tightly around the plant. Soon the plant took on new life and grew.
How often in life do we set our own roots into the soil of life and become root bound? We may treat ourselves too gently and defy anyone to disturb the soil or trim back our root system. Under these conditions we too must struggle to make progress. Oh, change is hard! Change can be rough.
The Lord does not want His church to become root bound and stagnant. Constant revelation through the prophets is needed for the growth of His kingdom.
There is nothing so unchanging, so inevitable as change itself. The things we see, touch, and feel are always changing. Relationships between friends, husband and wife, father and son, brother and sister are all dynamic, changing relationships. There is a constant that allows us to use change for our own good, and that constant is the revealed eternal truths of our Heavenly Father.
We need not feel that we must forever be what we presently are. There is a tendency to think of change as the enemy. Many of us are suspect of change and will often fight and resist it before we have even discovered what the actual effects will be. When change is thought through carefully, it can produce the most rewarding and profound experiences in life. The changes we make must fit the Lord’s purposes and patterns.
As opportunity for change reaches into our lives, as it always will, we must ask, “Where do I need development? What do I want out of life? Where do I want to go? How can I get there?” Weighing alternatives very carefully is a much needed prerequisite as one plans changes. In God’s plan we are usually free to choose the changes we make in our lives and we are always free to choose how we will respond to the changes that come. We need not surrender our freedoms. But just as a compass is valuable to guide us out of the dense forest, so the gospel points the way as we walk the paths of life.
C. S. Lewis indicated there is often pain in change when he wrote of God’s expectations for His children: “Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on: you knew those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently he starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of—throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace” (C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, New York: MacMillan Co., 1960, p. 160).
Yes, there is pain in change, but there is also great satisfaction in recognizing that progress is being achieved. Life is a series of hills and valleys and often the best growth comes in the valleys. Change is a meaningful part of repentance. Some are unable to repent because they are unwilling to change.
Recently I was participating in a groundbreaking ceremony for a chapel at the Utah State Prison. After the ceremonies, Warden Morris invited Governor Scott Matheson and me to take a tour of the facilities. We had noticed the extra care that had been taken to make the grounds around the maximum-security building pleasing and beautiful. When we asked the warden who had done the work, he indicated that two inmates had been given time outside of their cells to improve the landscape. We asked if we could meet the two men. The warden took us into the maximum facility to see them. As Marvel and Brown shuffled toward us from their restricted confinements on death row, we felt that the look on their faces reflected, “What have we done wrong now?”
“We want to compliment you men on the work you have done on the grounds,” we said. “The flower beds and vegetable gardens look beautiful and well kept. Congratulations on your good work.”
The change that came over their expressions was marvelous. The unexpected words of praise had given them reason for self-esteem. Someone had noticed that their efforts had changed a rocky, weed-filled yard into a beautiful garden. Sadly, they had failed earlier to make productive gardens out of the rocky, weed-covered fields of their own lives. But we hold hope for men like these who could see a need for change in one area and had accomplished such good. Perhaps their part in changing the gardens will lead to improvement in their own lives.
William James once said, “The greatest discovery of my generation is that [we] can change [our] circumstances by changing [our] attitudes of mind” (cited in Vital Quotations, comp. Emerson Roy West, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1968, p. 19). Jesus Christ helped people from all walks of life reach heights they had never dreamed of by teaching them to walk in new, secure paths.
Many begin their lives in such dire and adverse circumstances that change seems impossible. Let me share with you some examples of impossible beginnings.
The first example is a child who had an extremely unhappy home life. His family moved from one state to another until he was eight years of age. He was often beaten by his father who was either too strict or not strict enough, according to his mood at the time. The boy spent many of his early years sleeping in buses, train stations, and cheap hotels. At the age of fourteen he was arrested as a runaway. Both family and friends classified him as untrustworthy, often violent, and a loner.
The second example is a boy who was frail at birth. Throughout his childhood he had a tendency toward infection. His frail body seemed unable to hold his oversized head. His father worried that people considered his son “addled,” and on one occasion he beat the boy publicly. After his mother had lost three previous children, she wrapped herself in black and withdrew.
In the third instance, a young man came from circumstances of near poverty. His family was forced to move more than once because of financial difficulties. He had little, if any, formal schooling. “His mother reported that he was less inclined to read and study than any of the other children” (Francis M. Gibbons, Joseph Smith: Martyr, Prophet of God, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1977, p. 26). Because neighbors considered many of his ways and ideas strange, he was ostracized by his peers. All of his life he was hounded by the law and found himself constantly in difficulty.
Certain steps can help one make constructive, worthwhile changes in life. “When you climb up a ladder, you must begin at the bottom, and ascend step by step, until you arrive at the top; and so it is with the principles of the gospel” (History of the Church, 6:306–7). In order to make significant changes in our lives, we must accept our Father in Heaven and His truths. The prophet Alma in the Book of Mormon said, “Have ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his image in your countenances? Have ye experienced this mighty change in your hearts?” (Alma 5:14).
Let me suggest four important steps in making change a valuable tool in our lives:
First, we must understand the need for change. An unexamined life is not worth living. A new bishop shared with me an experience that frustrated him. He had a young lady in his ward who was not living the way she should. When he counseled her, she would bristle and say that he should be willing to accept her the way she was. She would not accept the fact that “the way she was” was just not good enough for her bishop, for her Heavenly Father, and most important, for herself. Being aware of the fault and the need to change is a most important step. The recognition of the need to change has to be a greater force than the luxury of staying the same.
Second, the facts must be authentic. We need to know how, what, where, and why to change. The gospel of Jesus Christ can help us set short-term, intermediate, and long-term goals by teaching us who we are, where we came from, why we are here, and where we are going. With this knowledge, a person will have greater strength to improve.
Third, a system for change must be established. It was Emerson who said, A man who sits “on the cushion of advantages, goes to sleep. When he is pushed, tormented, defeated, he has been put on his wits, … [learns] moderation and real skill” (“Compensation,” The Complete Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson, New York: Wm. H. Wise & Co., 1929, p. 161).
Our change must be planned and orderly. After our system for change is established, it must be followed through to completion, even though it may disturb our very root system.
Fourth, we must be totally committed to our plan for change. A Chinese proverb says, “Great souls have wills; feeble souls have only wishes.” Unless we have the will to improve, all the other steps to change will be wasted. This last step separates the winners from the losers.
Earlier I mentioned three examples of people living in the most dire circumstances. The first young man’s life was a series of continuing arrests for everything from vagrancy to armed robbery and murder. Never recognizing the need to change, he was one day convicted of murder.
The second was a description of the early years of Thomas A. Edison. From a beginning that seemed almost too much to overcome, he was able to change and build. Though he was once judged retarded, he proved himself to be one of the greatest inventors of all time. His personal commitment changed the whole world for the better.
The third tells the story of a young man and his early days in the northeastern part of this country. He was born in 1805 during a hard and cold Vermont winter. His name—Joseph Smith. His beginnings were difficult. Life was a series of struggles—not only physically, but also emotionally and spiritually. But here was a young man who recognized the need for improvement through change and submitted to an authority greater than himself. From tremendously difficult beginnings he sought change and ushered in the last dispensation. His faith, prayers, and works brought to the earth the greatest, most profound changes in the latter days.
It has been said by Bruce Barton that, “When we’re through changing, we’re through.” There is no age when we are too old or too young or just too middle-aged to change. Perhaps old age really comes when a person finally gives up the right, challenge, and joy of changing. We should remain teachable. How easy it is to become set. We must be willing to establish goals whether we are sixty, seventy, fifty, or fifteen. Maintain a zest for life. Never should there be a time when we are unwilling to improve ourselves through meaningful change.
For many Church members it is often difficult to accept change in leadership. On ward and stake levels leadership changes are necessary and, often times, too frequent for our convenience and comfort. Some of us are inclined to resent and resist personnel changes. “Why can’t they leave him in?” or “Why do we have to have her?” or “Why do they have to divide our ward?” Our vision may be limited. Seldom are changes made that do not bring needed progress to a person or a situation. How often in retrospect have we thought, “I didn’t understand why that change was made in the program or why that person was given such a calling, but now I can see that it was just what was needed for the time.”
During transitional times—and there are always transitional times in our Church—patience, love, and long-suffering are needed. A permanent part of our philosophy should be, “Never allow yourself to be offended by someone who is learning his job.”
Change in our own church assignments may be even more disturbing. Often when we express a wish to never have that assignment, the bishop or stake president offers us the blessings of that self-same calling. At those times it is good to remember the words of Paul when he, troubled by many ailments, said, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (Philip. 4:13).
As a Church with lay leadership, the blessings of change come often. Very few of us feel adequate to meet those changes with our own talents. How grateful we can be for the strength of Jesus Christ which helps us with the changes brought by new callings and increased responsibilities.
The change from this life to a life with Him who is our Eternal Father is the ultimate goal to which meaningful change can bring us. I pray we will all seek and accept wholesome, orderly changes for the betterment of our personal lives. This I humbly ask in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Karl ran down the boat dock, excited to see his dad. Karl’s father was a fisherman, and Karl often ran out to the boat to meet him at the end of the day.
“Hurry, Papa!” Karl called. “I want to show you a picture I drew for you today!”
“Great!” Papa said. “But I need to tie up the boat first.”
Karl watched Papa carefully tie the boat to the dock with a thick rope. “Why do you have to tie it so tight?” Karl asked as Papa pulled on a large knot.
Papa pointed to a boat on the shore that had a large hole in the bottom. “That boat wasn’t tied up well. In the last storm, it got loose and crashed onto some rocks.”
Karl’s eyes widened.
“Can you think of how Heavenly Father helps us stay tied to Him so we can be safe?” Papa asked.
“The scriptures?” Karl guessed.
“That’s right,” Papa said. “He also gives us priesthood ordinances like baptism and the sacrament. Mama and I got married in the temple so our family could be tied together forever.”
Karl grabbed the rope and helped Papa give it a final tug. “We make the tightest knot of all!”

Fern attended high school in a small town. She was one of those nice but unnoticed girls who don’t become much but a face on a yearbook page and a name on the rolls. Her family was poor, and they lived out of town. She was not part of the “in crowd,” and the only time her name came up in a conversation of other students was in that mocking, sarcastic way that seems funny when you are young, insecure, and need to ridicule someone else to take the pressure off yourself. Her name became synonymous with anything dumb or out of style. If a thing was unacceptable or ridiculous, the students called it “Ferny.”
Young people can be so cruel.
It was an annual tradition in the school to recognize the student who showed the most school spirit and support for the athletic teams. When the assembly came to honor that student, as expected, they called out the name of one of the more popular girls in the school. She bounced up the aisle smiling and waving to all her friends. But then a miracle happened. As she took the stage, she said, “I can’t accept this award. Yes, I have loved the teams and cheered for them at every game. But Fern has come to every game, too. I came in a nice, warm car surrounded by my happy friends. She came alone and walked all the way—two and a half miles—sometimes in the rain or snow. She had to sit by herself, but I don’t know anyone who cheered with as much spirit as Fern. I would like to nominate her for the most enthusiastic student in the school.”
Fern was escorted to the stage to a spontaneous standing ovation from her fellow students.
Youth can be so kind.
Fern is a mature woman today, her hair streaked with gray. Many things have happened to shape her life, but nothing more important than that outburst of acceptance and appreciation from her peers on that memorable day.
And there are mature men and women today who can’t remember how many games their teams won or lost that year, but who have never forgotten the warm feeling they had when they stood up and cheered for Fern and welcomed her into their friendship and society.
Attending a stake conference in the Lancaster California Stake, I heard Marianne Mortensen, a lovely Laurel, tell this story as she developed the theme of showing charity toward our peers.