Gospel Story Finder

On the second Sunday in July, just three weeks after I had received the Aaronic Priesthood, Trixie and I were rushing to complete my paper route so I could attend priesthood meeting. At a full gallop, she ran into some fencing wire which had been carelessly left on the ground. Her feet tangled, and she fell down with me. Newspapers were scattered all over. Yet Trixie stood by until the milkman found me some time later lying unconscious on the ground. I woke up 18 hours later in a hospital in Evanston, Wyoming, the closest hospital to our home. My leg had been badly broken, which forced me to use a wheelchair and crutches for the next six months. Trixie willingly continued her work during the next months with my younger brother on her back. He and she filled my responsibility to my newspaper customers without a single complaint from either.

Sister Larsen and I were assigned earlier this year to visit two stakes in Europe. The conferences were on successive weekends. Midweek one of our daughters and her husband, who were in Europe on business of their own at that time, arranged their schedules so that they could join us for a day in one of the beautiful cities of Europe. During the course of the day, we visited a lovely shopping center that featured the beautiful porcelain ware for which that city is well known. The work is exquisitely beautiful and very expensive.
As my daughter and I were standing side by side admiring some of the porcelain figurines that were placed on the shelves of this store, and older lady stepped up to our side, apparently attracted by one of the beautiful figurines on a shelf above us. Wanting to inspect it more closely, she reached up and took it in her hands to bring it down closer to her. It slipped from her fingers to the marble floor and broke into many pieces.
The sound of breaking attracted the attention of everyone in the shop. Instinctively, I stepped away. Just as instinctively, my daughter did the opposite thing. She quickly stepped to the side of this elderly lady, put her arm around her, whispered some consoling words in her ear, and then stooped to begin to pick up the pieces of the porcelain object. I felt a little chagrined for myself, but a deep sense of pride and love for my daughter. In my mind and by commitment, I knew what I should have done, but instinctively, I did not. By instinct, she did what the Savior would have done.

I recall an experience from pilot training in World War II. Air cadets were posted to colleges for ground training. We were assigned to Washington State University at Pullman. Eight of us who had never met were assigned to the same room. The first evening we introduced ourselves.
The first to speak was from a wealthy family in the East. He described the private schools he had attended. He said that each summer their family had “gone on the Continent.” I had no way of knowing that meant they had traveled to Europe.
The father of the next had been governor of Ohio and at that time was in the president’s cabinet.
And so it went. I was younger than most, and it was my first time away from home. Each had attended college, I had not. In fact, there was nothing to distinguish me at all.
When finally I got the courage to speak, I said, “I come from a little town in Utah that you have never heard of. I come from a large family, eleven children. My father is a mechanic and runs a little garage.”
I said that my great-grandfather had joined the Church and come west with the pioneers.
To my surprise and relief, I was accepted. My faith and my obscurity were not a penalty.
From then until now I have never felt uncomfortable among people of wealth or achievement, of high station or of low. Nor have I been ashamed of my heritage or of the Church, or felt the need to apologize for any of its doctrines, even those I could not defend to the satisfaction of everyone who might ask.

Case 7. Two missionaries struggled through barbed wire fences, sprinklers, mudholes, and ferocious dogs, but in the end they found a golden family—of members.
After the opening prayer, the projectionist hit the switch, and the evening was awash in cheers, laughter, and even a few friendly groans. Poor Cindy Ella, outcast because of her curly hair, did get to the governor’s ball (thanks to her fairy godperson) and fell in love with the governor’s curly headed son. A new banana eating record was set. The three junk food junkies did lose weight. The missionaries did keep tracting. Fun triumphed again. All seven wards had come up with their own idea of what the silver screen is all about, and all were pretty proud of what they had done.

The angle iron clanged on the farmhouse porch as an old woman rattled a steel bar around the inside of the triangle. “Even Elias should be able to hear that,” she said.
He did. The old man in the timeworn poncho turned away from the chicken coop toward the house. “Too early for supper,” he said, peering through the haze of falling snow. Raising a bushy eyebrow, he absentmindedly picked up his hammer and started across the snow-muddied yard. Fixing the gate would have to wait until he saw what all the clamor was about. “Nothing worse than stopping a job when it’s half done!” he grumbled to a hen that scooted out of his path and under a motorcar.
He stopped at the porch and spoke to his wife. “What’s so important that I have to stop in the middle of my work? And what’s Ethel Kramer doing here?” he asked, gesturing to the Model A parked next to their house.
Grandma planted her hands on her hips. “You’ll have answers to both those questions if you’ll get yourself inside, Elias Palmer Thorton.”
Inside, he gasped at the sight of his granddaughter lying on the sofa, bruised and scraped from head to foot. “What happened to you?”
“Nellie,” she answered with a grunt of pain, turning to see him better as he brushed snowflakes from his often-patched, two-sizes-too-small poncho. “Mrs. Kramer saw me on the road and brought me home.”
Grandpa nodded a thank-you to the stout, red-haired woman. “Much obliged, Ethel.” He pulled up a chair and sat down. “What did this Nellie do to get you so banged up?”
Twelve-year-old Melody’s eyes filled with tears. “I was walking home from school. She ran up behind me and took my umbrella. She said that since she was bigger than I was, she should have it. Then she laughed and pushed me hard. I tripped over something in the weeds and fell down the little hill by Sutter’s Bridge.” Her eyes narrowed with anger. “Ever since I came to live with you and Grandma, Nellie’s been making life hard for me.”
Grandpa nodded. “And what are you planning to do about it?”
“What can I do about it, Grandpa? I’d defend myself, but Nellie’s a lot bigger and meaner than me. She’d bust me up into little pieces if I tried to fight back. I hate her, Grandpa! I wish she’d never been born!”
Grandpa and Grandma exchanged concerned looks. “Hate is an ugly thing, Melody,” Grandpa said. “It can scar and bruise us inside a lot worse than any hurts we receive on the outside. Your grandma can cleanse and bandage those cuts and scrapes, and in a few days you’ll be good as new. But hateful feelings toward others are another thing. If we don’t doctor them, they grow and fester like a sore. And in the end they consume us, along with our chance of ever being truly happy.”
Melody looked confused. And angry. “So I should say, ‘That feels good, Nellie. Do it again!’?”
“Quite the contrary, Pumpkin,” the old man chuckled, patting her hand. “If it happens again, I’ll get on the phone on that wall over there and raise enough dust to plant a field of corn. But I don’t think it needs to happen again. It’s quite possible that Nellie is feeling bad about what she did.”
“Is that why she laughed so hard when I tumbled down the hill? Because she felt bad?”
Grandpa’s eyes bored deep into his granddaughter’s. “Someone who treats others the way Nellie treats you can’t be happy. My guess is that she’s a very unhappy person. And when people hurt inside, they often take it out on others. Maybe Nellie’s striking out blindly at an easy target because her pain is too big to face. And misery loves company, even if the only way to get it is by being unkind.”
“Maybe this, maybe that,” Melody protested. “All I know is that I’m being turned into a human punching bag, and I don’t like it.”
“Nor do I,” Grandpa said. “So I want you to do something about it.”
Melody looked dumbfounded. “I’m doing all I can, Grandpa. I try to stay away from her and not pay any attention to her. In fact, I pretend that she doesn’t even exist. But she keeps showing up to remind me that she’s real—as real as the bad names she calls me, and—”
Grandpa placed a wrinkled finger gently across her lips. “I want to tell you about an experience I had when I was about your age. Then I want you to apply what I learned, and if it doesn’t make a difference, then your grandpa will.”
Melody sighed and nodded slowly.
There was a long silence. Finally Grandpa stood with a grunt. “Well, I’d better get back out there and fix that gate before the hens are everywhere but in the coop.”
A few days later, he was in the barn repairing a plow when he saw Melody crossing the yard with a bigger girl, who seemed shy, even a bit uneasy, although the two were talking and laughing. As they passed the barn, Melody spied him through the partially open doors. She picked up a rabbit, handed it to the girl to pet, and told her that she’d be right back.
“Grandpa!” she said in a low, excited voice as she hurried inside, “that’s Nellie! She walked home from school with me. I’m going to show her the dress Grandma is helping me sew. Can she stay for supper, Grandpa? We can drive her home in the truck, and—”
“That’s the Nellie?” Grandpa interrupted. “What happened?”
“All she had in her lunch yesterday was half a piece of bread and a stick of candy. So I sat by her on the steps and shared my lunch with her. I gave her some of the blackberry strudel Grandma made, half my jar of goat milk, and—”
“She let you sit by her?” Grandpa interrupted again.
“I guess she was so surprised that she didn’t know what to say, so I just did. While we were eating, her voice got all funny, and she looked away. I think she was trying to wipe away a tear. When I asked her if she was all right, she said, ‘Haven’t you ever gotten something in your eye?’ Then today after school she asked if she could walk home with me. And here she is.”
Melody hugged her grandfather so hard that he dropped the wrench he was holding. “Thanks, Grandpa,” she said, pulling away and half hiding her face with a hand.
“What’s the matter, Pumpkin?”
Melody brushed a finger quickly across her cheek. “Haven’t you ever gotten something in your eye, Grandpa?” With that, she turned and hurried back to Nellie.
Grandpa watched the two girls stroll toward the farmhouse. “Well, how about that,” he said, taking out his handkerchief. “I have something in my eye too.”

Having friends with different standards can be hard sometimes. “Denmark is a country where a lot of youth drink alcohol from a young age,” Liam explains. “It can be hard as a teenager to say no to things like that.” But Liam tries to be open about what he believes so others can better understand his choices.

“Sometimes at school when we have classes about Christianity, teachers or friends have asked me about my faith. I’ve tried to explain it as well as I can,” Liam says. “I also invited one of my best friends to my baptism. I gave him and his mom a Book of Mormon and talked with them about some of the things I believe. It’s up to them to decide what they do with it. I felt that I did the right thing to invite others to feel the same joy I do, because who doesn’t want joy?”

Soon after Sabrina and Camila returned to church, they began reaching out themselves. When Ana Carolina Batista, age 14, began investigating the Church with her mother, the twins were there to help. The first time she attended church, Ana Carolina’s anxiety melted when the twins sat by her and showed her how to look up scriptures in the lesson. “This made me feel good, because I didn’t know what to do. I felt relieved to see there were people to help me,” she remembers.
Ana Carolina says the twins’ friendship made her decision to join the Church much easier. Sabrina and Camila were also happy; their little class was growing.

At one time Thomas worked with both President Brigham Young and United States President James Buchanan to clear up a misunderstanding that could have resulted in a war between the Saints and the government. Soldiers had been sent to Utah. With Thomas Kane’s help, however, a solution was found before there was any bloodshed. President Wilford Woodruff later told him: "You were an instrument in the hands of God, and you were inspired by him to turn away … the edge of the sword."

At work on 30 December 1999, I was thinking about the members of the Jardim Paineiras Ward, where I serve as elders quorum president. I wondered how I could help the brethren in my quorum grow in the kingdom of the Lord. Then the idea flowed into my mind to ask the brethren to feed the Lord’s sheep.
On 31 December 1999, I found at my door the January 2000 issue of the Liahona (Portuguese). One of the first talks in this general conference issue was “Feed My Sheep” by Elder Ben B. Banks of the Presidency of the Seventy. I immediately realized how blessed we are to have the Holy Ghost to guide us. I was able to read parts of the talk to the brethren in elders quorum meeting. I asked them to read it carefully at home and to think about this subject. I am very grateful for the blessings I receive when I seek the help of the Lord.
Fernando J. Calderari,Jardim Paineiras Ward, Juiz de Fora Brazil Stake

I met one such young man not long ago while I was attending a stake conference in another country. We were about to conclude a Saturday afternoon meeting with the stake presidency when a knock came at the office door. The president opened it, and I saw a hand give an envelope to him. It had my name on it. The letter inside introduced me to a young man who needed an interview in order to be accepted as a missionary.

As soon as our meeting with the stake presidency was concluded, I excused them and invited the young man in. His initial appearance shocked me. I couldn’t believe he was being recommended to go out and serve as a missionary. His clothes were somewhat wrinkled; he needed a shave; he reeked with tobacco smoke; he even had some sort of paperback book rolled up in his hands. What could he offer in the service of the Master, I thought.

And then it happened—he walked over and shook hands with me. As I looked into his eyes, I was electrified. He was different. He was special, in spite of his outward appearance. As we sat down he told me his story. He first excused himself for appearing to be untidy and in a hurry. He said he had just gotten off the bus after a 13-hour ride from his home and, if I didn’t mind, he hoped he would be able to be back on the bus in another hour for another 13-hour ride to his home.

I then began to put two and two together. I knew now why his clothes were wrinkled and why he needed a shave. I knew the tobacco smoke was not of his choosing, but from the close confinement in the bus. I made another observation. That paperback book in his hand was the Book of Mormon—well read, well used, a priceless possession. He went on to say that three years ago he had joined the Church because of his association with our young people. He said they were different. His parents had given him permission if he wanted to, but warned that if he did, he would no longer have a bed in their home. He could no longer live with them as their son.

When he was baptized, his father kept his word and opened the back door, telling him never to return. The young man didn’t. He moved in with friends. He told me that for the past three years he had been working and going to school. He said he had saved over $2,000 to keep himself on a mission. Please, could he go, he said; he wanted to more than anything in the world. The impression of the Spirit said yes, and he’s now part of the army of 18,000 stalwarts who are out covering the earth as servants of the Master.

When Juan Hernández of Salt Lake City, Utah, looks back on his first visit to church, one word sums up his attitude: apprehension.
“My mom was the first to be baptized in the family. At the time, I didn’t know why. One day she asked me if I wanted to go to church with her to see what it was like. I decided to go with her just so she wouldn’t feel bad.” But thanks to the ward’s Aaronic Priesthood, Juan learned that there was something special about the Church.
One of the young men invited Juan to come to a Scout activity flying planes. Though he had no interest in attending religious meetings, flying planes with the Scouts sounded like too much fun to resist. On the day of the activity, Juan was surprised by how friendly and enthusiastic the young men were. “When we went up in the planes, I forgot that I barely knew these young men. Somehow I knew that they would be good friends to me,” Juan says.
Though Juan didn’t expect to be invited again, the young men surprised him by immediately treating him as a member of their troop. And the more he participated, the more he noticed how happy members of the Church were. Over time, he realized that it wasn’t Scouting that made them so happy—it was the gospel. Juan knew he wanted to be happy like they were, too.
Soon Juan, his father, and his sister took the missionary discussions and decided to be baptized. “All of the Aaronic Priesthood kids were there when my family and I were confirmed. Then my dad and I were ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood,” Juan says. “And when I passed the sacrament for the first time, they were all excited for us.” Because members of the Aaronic Priesthood saw an opportunity to reach out to Juan during his first visit to Church, they were able to better introduce Juan to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Scouting provided the activity that helped Juan to feel comfortable around members of the Church.
“I can see all that the Aaronic Priesthood has done for me,” Juan says. “It has helped me to love God and see the love He has for each one of us. I have learned to listen to the Holy Ghost. And I have learned about one of the biggest blessings of all—that if we live worthily we can be with our families for all eternity.
“Thanks to the leaders, my mom, and the Scouts, I could open the door to our Heavenly Father. That’s how my family and I found that piece that was missing in our life.”

As a skinny 12-year-old, I watched through a chain-link fence as my two older brothers earned all-state baseball honors.
Life was exciting because they were my brothers. The guy wearing number eight and striking out three batters in a row, and the player hitting home runs over the centerfielder’s head were the same guys I shared a basement bedroom with. They were the ones who first taught me about putting gel in my hair and how to start a campfire. We were good friends.
The feelings of inadequacy kicked in because as a five-foot-three, 98-pound weakling, I could not understand how I would ever be able to fire an 80-mile-per-hour fastball or hit towering home runs.
On one hot summer afternoon, my oldest brother could see something was bothering me. After he encouraged me to tell him what was on my mind, I said in muffled tones, “How will I ever become a great baseball player like you?”
“Matt,” he said in his usual cheerful voice, “you’ve just got to do the things that great baseball players do.” After thinking about this, I came to realize that great baseball players aren’t only naturally talented, but they make themselves skilled through hours of practice. I committed myself to do all I could.
Three broken noses and six years later, I was a starter on the varsity baseball team and had just signed a national letter of intent to play college baseball.
I started my freshman year at college, and everything was going great. Great, that is, until an all-too-familiar feeling of my personal shortcomings began to settle in my stomach. My second-oldest brother, who was not only co-captain of my college team but also my roommate, had just come home from the mission field. He told extraordinary stories about living in England and preaching the gospel.
I read letters from the mission presidents of both of my older brothers describing what a good missionary “Elder Bennett” was and how blessed they would be because of their obedience and faith. Again, I began feeling inadequate. How could I ever measure up to their high level of missionary success? Although my body had grown several inches taller and my muscles had doubled in size, my testimony had not grown proportionately.
I confided in my brother and roommate, “What can I do to prepare to be a great missionary like you were? How can I change people’s lives like you did?” Again I received simple counsel. “Do the things that great missionaries do. Be nice to people, read your scriptures, and pray daily.”
I took the advice to heart and could feel my spiritual growth begin to catch up with my physical body.
Finally the day came for me to serve my mission, and being a missionary wasn’t nearly as glamorous as I had imagined from my brother’s stories. I quickly realized I was a small seedling among tall oaks of spirituality. I turned to my mission president for advice. “To strengthen your testimony and the testimonies of those around you, follow the example of our Savior. Do the things that he did. Jesus Christ’s life is an example for us in every way,” he told me as we were driving together one afternoon.
The greatest things I’ve learned in life have come from following my older brothers and doing the things they have done. My ultimate goal is to follow Jesus Christ. I know the way to fulfill that goal is to do the things that He who is greatest of all has done.

In the weeks leading up to my marriage and temple sealing, I started getting a little nervous about all the things I needed to do before I started my new family. Despite all the joy of that moment, I felt stressed about organizing our new routine, getting our finances in order, finding storage for our belongings, and all my new responsibilities as a wife. I wanted to make sure we started off our marriage the right way by making room in our activities for important things like keeping the commandments and spending time together as husband and wife in spite of our busy lives.
As the wedding day came closer, I was surprised by a series of nightmares involving all sorts of troubles that could affect a family. Because I come from a loving but afflicted family, threatened by constant and intense arguments and broken hearts, the bad dreams affected me more than they should have. So one night, after several others like it, I woke up sweating and decided to follow the advice that Sister Neill F. Marriott, Second Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, gave in her talk “Yielding Our Hearts to God” (Liahona, Nov. 2015, 30–32). I closed my eyes and prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, what can I do to keep these bad things away from my family?”
The answer hit me as fast and as strongly as if someone had opened a door into my head and put the thought there. The still, small voice prompted me, “Just do what you are supposed to do. Be faithful in each step.” The Spirit whispered some specific counsel, and I felt that if I did those things, everything would be fine.
I smiled and felt my chest filled with warmth. All the worries were suddenly forgotten, because I knew it was true. I had felt the Holy Ghost before, but never as strong as I did that night. I felt the love of our Heavenly Father and our Savior surround me, and I knew that the comfort and salvation of my family was as important for Them as it was for me.
As an added assurance, a story from the scriptures came to my memory—the moment that the Lord ordered Nephi to build a ship: “And it came to pass that the Lord spake unto me, saying: Thou shalt construct a ship, after the manner which I shall show thee, that I may carry thy people across these waters” (1 Nephi 17: 8; emphasis added).
Nephi and his family had been in the wilderness for years, enduring all sorts of tribulations. He could have felt afraid of starting a journey across the sea and let his fears become stronger than his faith. But he didn’t. He accepted and obeyed the instructions of God. He had faith that His promises would be fulfilled. The Lord never told Nephi that storms wouldn’t occur or that waves wouldn’t hit the ship. But He told Nephi that if he followed His directions, he would be able to guide his family safely across the ocean to the promised land.
I realized that I had also traveled through a wilderness for many years, but now I was in front of the sea, preparing for a new journey: marriage. I have been called—and I think that is the case for all Latter-day Saint families—to build a ship following God’s instructions.
Once my husband and I got married, troubles did come. I got sick, and we struggled to keep our financial affairs balanced and to put into practice all the good habits we had decided to follow.
But the counsel I had received that night remained in my heart. We tried daily to learn and treasure the word of God in our hearts, to follow the good examples of our dear leaders—including Christ—and to improve our own behavior. I gained a stronger testimony of prayer and truly tasted the Father’s love for us. I started to trust more and fear less. We realized that the difficulties we faced had become steps to improvement. Today our home seems like a little piece of heaven.
We are still in the beginning of our journey, but getting married and starting a family was the best choice I have ever made. My heart is full of joy when I think about the temple ordinance we received and know that it was sealed by God’s authority. The more I understand about the importance of the family in Heavenly Father’s plan and the sacredness of the covenant we made, the more I want to help other families receive the same ordinance.
I learned that we don’t need to worry about what is going to happen, because “God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7). We simply need to be obedient, follow the instructions given through the scriptures and the words of modern-day prophets, and ask in prayer for more personal instructions. If we do these things, we can cross the ocean of these last days confident that no matter what kind of trouble hits us, our loved ones will be safe.

During the 2016 Christmas season, Africa Southeast Area leaders encouraged members and friends of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to participate in the “Light the World in 25 Ways in 25 Days” initiative. We had decided to follow the program in our family. We prayerfully strove to adapt the ideas of the proposed activities to our situation and environment.
During the same period, many in Kinshasa began to feel pessimistic and fearful because the impending December 19th election deadline was expected to be violent. In contrast to the alarm felt in the neighborhood, we remained positive and confident in our Heavenly Father. A few days before that fateful date, my 6-year-old son Ryan and his nanny escaped an attempted abduction during their return from school while I was testifying about peace to my neighbors. The week before, my husband gave a talk in church about the Savior calming the storm (see Mark 4:36–41).
We knew that this “Light the World” theme for December 19th—“Jesus calmed the storm, you can do the same”—was not a mere coincidence. The Lord had offered to calm the political storm in Kinshasa, and He had done so.
Each year, we are invited to “Light the World.” If we follow the suggested calendar of scriptures with prayer, our light will shine and miracles will continue to take place (see 3 Nephi 18:15).

Eta’s mom owns a dessert bakery on their island. Eta and her older sister, Talai, love to share with their teachers and leaders and with people who might be having a hard time. Sometimes they go for a drive with their mom and give cookies and other treats to people they see on the street. It makes people so happy, and it makes Eta and Talai happy to share. They get more joy from sharing food from the bakery than from eating it themselves! They are both learning to bake as one of their Children and Youth goals this year, so they always have treats to share.
Eta says, “I love sharing with others because it makes them glad, and it makes me glad. I know that’s what Heavenly Father wants us to do.“
Eta followed Jesus by sharing with others. Turn the page to read a story about how Jesus helped others.

When Heber J. Grant was 10 years old, he took a singing class.
Teacher: You can’t carry a tune, Heber. You’ll never learn how to sing.
Years later Heber heard Horace S. Ensign sing.
Heber: I would give you three months of my spare time if I could learn to sing one or two hymns!
Horace: Anyone can learn to sing. Are you willing to practice?
After two weeks, Heber had learned to sing “O My Father.” Two months later he could sing four other hymns.

Just as in graphic design, sometimes in life a visual, tangible pattern replaces a mental one. We often learn from the service of others. I still remember the first time as ward executive secretary that I couldn’t completely fill the bishop’s interview schedule. The bishop, however, reminded me that the Lord was in charge and He knew who needed to see the bishop that day—even if we didn’t. And sure enough, every time we had this “problem,” the phone would ring or someone would stop in to ask if the bishop had any time. And because of his inspired leadership, he did have time.

Sunny is an exchange student from Korea. She is living in a strange new land with a new language and a new family. School was hard and she had no friends to eat with or talk with or go to school activities with. She said: “I felt so miserable. Then I started thinking about praying. I had not thought about praying for help to Heavenly Father and for comfort and faith in myself. Then I began to read the Book of Mormon every morning and pray before I went to school. School began to be much easier. I was so surprised that I could understand better! I felt like someone was helping me while I was studying” (letter in possession of Young Women office).

Later, while at Santa Maria University in Valparaiso, Jorge met Carmen Gloria Valenzuela. “When I saw her for the first time, I knew I was going to marry her,” he recalls. “It was very strange, because I already had my mission call, and she was not a member.” Within a few weeks she was taking the missionary discussions, and he baptized her before leaving to serve in the Chile Concepción Mission.
Jorge and Carmen corresponded during his mission, began a courtship afterward, and were married on June 26, 1982, in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. They are the parents of five children.

“Hey, coach,” called Peter, one of the senior track team members at the high school where I coached, “this is going to be a great year. It’s only the first practice, and I’m already throwing farther than I did last year.”
“Really?” I asked. I had heard that before. As a matter of fact, I heard it every year during the first week of track practice. Early in every season, all my shot-putters and discus throwers, even the veterans who should have known better, thought they were throwing farther than they really were.
“Let me watch you take a throw, Pete,” I said as I walked over to the discus ring. Peter picked up his discus, cradled it in his right hand, and stepped into the ring to make his throw. He extended his arms, crouched low in the ring, spun twice, and launched a smooth throw that landed far out in the throwing area.
“See, coach? I told you I was throwing great. How far do you think it is? 160? 170?”
I picked up the steel measuring tape and handed him the end. “Go mark your throw. I’ll tell you how far it went.”
Peter grabbed the tape’s end and loped off into the field. The tape reeled out past 100, 110, 120, 125, 130 …
I pulled the tape tight and read it: 134 feet 6 inches. Not a bad throw for early in the practice season, but not a particularly good throw either. Peter would be disappointed.
“Hey, coach, how far is it? It’s gotta be at least 160.”
“You’d better come here and see for yourself, Pete.”
Peter ran back to where I sat holding the measuring tape. He looked down at the tape. He looked again.
“That can’t be right. One thirty-four? But I threw farther than that when I was a sophomore. It looks a lot farther than 134. Are you sure the tape’s right?”
“It’s right, Pete. And you’re right, too. It does look like a long throw, but that’s why we have measuring tapes, to tell us exactly how you’re throwing.”
“Yeah,” said Peter, “and I’m not throwing so hot.”
“It’ll come,” I said. “The season’s just begun. You keep practicing, and I’ll keep measuring your throws. The tape will tell us both how much you’re improving.”
Peter and my other throwers aren’t alone in overestimating their own progress. I’ve had the same problem myself. As a chubby adult, I’ve learned that jogging every morning helps fight middle-age blubber. I jog far enough and long enough to burn at least half as many calories as the previous night’s milk shake.
Unfortunately for me and my blubber, I’m not always consistent with my running. Illness, deadlines, and vacations sometimes postpone my morning runs.
After my last month-long layoff, I started running my old course again. I chugged through the streets around my home, huffed and puffed and sweated, and wound up back in front of my house in what seemed like record time. Gosh, I thought, I must really be in good shape (old people like to believe things like that). It had been a month since I ran last, and I hadn’t lost a step. At least it seemed like I hadn’t lost a step.
The next morning, I ran my course again, this time with my stopwatch—I wanted to see just how fast I really was. I gave it my best effort, finished with a sprint over the last 400 meters, and punched my stopwatch just as I entered my driveway.
My watch read 26:30. I definitely hadn’t lost a step, more like both legs! My time was five and a half minutes over my previous best time. Like Peter, I was unable to accurately judge my own progress (or, in this case, regression), until I used something other than my own judgment to measure my performance.
So, you’re asking yourself, what’s this got to do with me? I don’t throw or run.
Well, whether or not you’re a thrower or a runner, you’ve still received the challenge of becoming like the Savior. That’s a greater task than running or throwing any day, and it takes much more determination.
One key to becoming Christlike is remembering that you can’t do it all at once. It comes little by little, line upon line, precept upon precept. In this life, the important thing is to be working toward perfection.
That’s where measuring sticks come in. Sometimes, because progress is a line-upon-line slow process, it may seem like you’re making no progress at all, that you’re no closer to achieving your goal than you were when you began. Of course, some things simply aren’t measurable. But many of your efforts are, so it’s possible to evaluate your progress to see if you’re improving.
Regular assessment of your progress helps motivate you to keep working. Peter’s goal to throw the discus 150 feet and my goal to run three miles in 21 minutes were helped with each measurement. When Peter threw 148 feet, he was even more determined to make 150, and when my stopwatch continually reads 21 minutes at the end of my run, I feel good about my efforts.
If, for example, you want to read the Book of Mormon every day, you can track your progress by writing the number of pages you read on a calendar or plan book. Seeing the daily progress you make will help you continue working on your reading. Likewise, writing your goals in your journal and reviewing them from time to time will help you see how you’re doing on them. Later you can add journal entries for new goals. That way, you can see your progress, and though it may take you several months or more to accomplish some goals, your measuring stick will show you that you are making progress.
Measuring sticks are as varied as the things they measure. Interviews with members of your bishopric, Young Men or Young Women leaders, and parents can help you judge how well you’re doing in your personal progress. Other measuring devices include report cards, bathroom scales, stopwatches, calendars, charts, scriptures, prayers, and anything else that helps you judge your growth in a given area.
One warning about choosing measuring sticks—make sure that you’re measuring yourself against gospel and Church standards. A gospel perspective will help you realize that you’re better off and happier being a Latter-day Saint trying to live the commandments and achieve worthy goals than being a beauty queen, a famous athlete, or a wealthy businessman without the gospel. They may be successful by the world’s standards, but if they choose to ignore the teachings of the gospel, they’re only laying up treasures “where moth and rust doth corrupt” (Matt. 6:19).
There will be times, of course, when the tale of the tape (or whatever you’re using to measure your progress) is discouraging. I ran my three-mile course five mornings a week for a year before I saw anything even close to 21 minutes. And Peter didn’t crack 150 feet until the third meet of his senior season.
But even if I had never made my 21-minute goal or Peter had never thrown 150 feet, the important measurements, the truly important measurements, would have shown that we tried. So even if we had failed to make our goals, we would have been better people, moved one line closer to perfection, than if we hadn’t tried at all.
Think, for example, of the thousands of athletes who compete for a single spot on an Olympic team or the thousands of students who vie for a single scholarship. Only a few can win, but those who joined in the competition are strengthened and blessed by their efforts. It’s not always what we achieve through our efforts that matters; it’s what we become from having made the effort. We are blessed, whether we succeed or not, every time we honestly give our best effort in an endeavor. By using the right kind of measuring stick, you’ll know for sure if you’re standing still, going downhill, or moving, line upon line, precept upon precept, towards accomplishing your own worthy goals.