Gospel Story Finder

He’s a rather handsome young man, with blue eyes and a quick smile. Seated at his electronic keyboard Ryan Moody makes a few adjustments, then his fingers easily move into the introduction of a song. The music sounds as good as anything you hear on the radio, but it’s new. He says, “This is a song I wrote.” Then he begins to sing. Just listening, the song takes you out of yourself. The sound is rich and full, but personal as well. After a moment you can’t resist taking a hard look at Ryan. The music introduces another part of Ryan. It seems to free his spirit from the chair his body must stay in. The music reveals something about him that your eye doesn’t always see.
Born with spina bifida, or a hole in his spine, Ryan has spent nearly his entire eighteen years in a wheelchair. At first, doctors feared he might be mentally retarded, but Ryan was a pleasant, lively child who has grown into an intelligent, talented young man, a young man with some special talents for music and for people.
Once when Ryan was giving a talk at an elementary school, one student asked him how it feels to be handicapped. Ryan answered by asking, “Well, how does it feel to be human?” What Ryan couldn’t say in that particular situation was that the Church has really helped him. “I think a lot of disabled people get preoccupied thinking, ‘I can’t do this, and my life is just going to be a waste.’ Isn’t it 1 Samuel 16:7 that says the Lord looks not on the outer appearance, but on the heart? That’s rather important to me.” [1 Sam. 16:7]
Ryan started learning about music when he was two years old. His parents put a set of stereo headphones on him and, instead of pulling them off, he was fascinated. He started piano lessons at seven years old, but like most people, he didn’t like to practice. As he learned to play, he and his mother discovered his talent. “I never did like the endings of pieces of music in books. I would just start making up new endings.” Several years later they discovered that Ryan had perfect pitch. Then he started writing music and performing on a variety of keyboard instruments. He has won numerous awards for his musical talent—composing, performing, and singing. He was voted the most talented student in his ninth-grade class.
Ryan doesn’t regard his wheelchair as a hindrance but as a help. “I get around a lot quicker this way.” He commends his friends for helping him not feel any different. “My friends don’t let me think about it at all. They always forget that I’m in a wheelchair because they’ll go over a grassy area or something that is hard for me to get over, and they’ll say, ‘Come on, Ryan. Oh, we forgot about your wheelchair!’”
Just like most teenage boys, Ryan likes girls. And girls like him. His dad teases him about how much time he spends on the phone talking to young ladies, and his mother says that when he goes to stake dances, he dances every dance. He’s become quite creative at moving his wheelchair in rhythm to the music. “I’m still practicing the slow dances,” he says.
About going out with girls, Ryan says, “Sometimes it’s difficult because girls seem to like me, but dating me is different from what they are used to. They don’t want to keep away from me, but they do because they don’t always know how to behave around someone in a wheelchair. When I do go out with a girl, it’s really great because the girl just helps me get in the van I travel in and off we go.” Ryan has some advice for girls when a boy in a wheelchair asks for a date. “Ask yourself, ‘Is he a nice person?’ and then make your decision based on that. If he is a nice person and you really like him, then just forget about everything else.”
Music has helped Ryan reach out to others and set a good example. He teaches keyboard and composition classes in a special summer school program. One friend was very discouraged and turned to Ryan for advice. He told her to go home and tune the radio to a classical music station instead of the usual hard rock she listened to. “She followed my advice,” Ryan said. “The next day she thanked me and said she didn’t feel one bit discouraged.”
As Ryan was participating in a school quartet, he found that the song selected for the group to sing had lyrics he objected to. Ryan talked to the teacher about changing the words, but the teacher became angry. Ryan was hurt by the teacher’s reaction. After school, the teacher asked to speak to him and apologized for getting upset. “She said that what I had done took courage,” said Ryan. “She said she admired me for standing up for what I believed in and that she was willing to resolve the problem because she really wanted me in the quartet.”
Ryan Moody is a priest in the Tigard Oregon Second Ward. He serves as first assistant in his priests quorum and as a home teacher. He enjoys helping the bishop with the less-active members of the priests quorum and plays the organ for church. The bishop says, “Ryan seems to know how to unite the different groups in our ward.”
Last year, Ryan received his patriarchal blessing, which promised him in part that he would be able to influence the lives of youth wherever they may be and convince them of the blessings the Lord has in store for them and the opportunities that are theirs. Ryan’s greatest wish is to serve a mission, although his physical condition will not allow it. “I can’t believe that others with the opportunity to serve a mission will not go,” said Ryan. “It’s the thing I would like to do more than anything.”

Karoly Takacs, a Hungarian, was recognized as the best pistol shot in the world. More than anything he wanted to win in the Olympics. But one day driving home, Takacs was in a car crash, and doctors had to amputate his right arm—his shooting arm.
Takacs’ recovery was slow. It wasn’t a physical challenge, but an emotional one. He had reached the lowest feeling of despair. People wanted to help but there was little they could do. Takacs began to avoid his friends; even his family didn’t know where he spent his time. But Karoly Takacs was preparing. In solitude he had trained his left arm and his aiming eye, a training that’s far more of an intellectual mastery than most people realize. By the next Olympics, Takacs was ready.
When the pistol event was over, this one-armed Hungarian stood, the cheers rising about him, on the topmost step of the winner’s platform with a gold medal around his neck.
Takacs showed us something more than his ability to shoot. He proved that human beings have a largely untapped recovery capacity. He discovered for himself the exciting fact that experiencing the deepest feeling of despair does not mean defeat, but that it just signals the end of downward movement. As one friend told me, “The bottom can be something to bounce on.”

Because my wife and I knew of no schools in Madrid, Spain, that were run by members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and because we wanted our children to receive a religious education, we registered them in a school sponsored by another religion. Because our children were the only members of our Church attending this school, we hoped they wouldn’t become targets of religious discrimination.
One day in October 1999, our son, age 16 at the time, brought us an invitation from school to attend a lecture and discussion titled “Religious Sects: Mormonism.” The lecture was to be given by a prestigious authority known for having devoted a good part of his life to the study of religions, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in particular.
Fearing that an inaccurate impression of our beliefs might be given, I got in touch with our stake president and informed him of the meeting. He took note of the date and place and asked me to speak with the Church’s Public Affairs Department to see if a representative could attend and answer any questions that might arise.
When the date arrived, my wife, my son, and I went to the school. The hall where the lecture was held seated 500. Once we had taken our seats, our eyes sought any other Church members who might be in the large crowd that was filling the room. Soon we discovered Brother Quirce of Public Affairs. He gave us a friendly wave from the other side of the room.
The meeting started, and the director of instruction introduced the speaker, heaping praise upon him and giving a detailed accounting of the universities where he had obtained his degrees, both academic and ecclesiastical. The speaker began his talk by briefly summarizing the history of Christianity from the time of Jesus Christ and His Apostles until the year 1830, when the world first began to hear of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, organized in America.
The speaker was not too severe in his appraisal of our faith. It was obvious he had read many of our books because he frequently quoted verses from the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants. He also read extensively from the Prophet Joseph Smith’s account of the First Vision. It appeared he intended to lead his listeners to the conclusion that if Mormonism were indeed a sect, as he believed, it was not one of the more dangerous ones.
I took notes of all the things I thought to be in error, such as when he said that Mormons were not Christians and that Joseph Smith had copied the Book of Mormon from an old American novel. The lecture was quite detailed and ended after more than 90 minutes, at which time the hall erupted into resounding applause.
When the applause was over and the discussion began, the first person to get to his feet was Brother Quirce, who introduced himself as a member of the Church. He explained how Joseph Smith had obtained the golden plates and what his contribution had been as the Prophet of the Restoration.
As I listened to Brother Quirce, I suddenly felt the need to get up also and clarify certain concepts so that everyone present might know the truth about our doctrine and our beliefs.
When I told my family I wanted to speak, my son was frightened and said, “No, Dad, please. Don’t say anything, because everybody here knows me, and I could have problems with my teachers.” I thought it cowardly for me to let Brother Quirce be the only one to speak, but I didn’t want my son to have problems, so for the moment I remained silent. As time passed, however, I could feel the increasing insistence of the Spirit.
I again told my family what I was feeling, and my son continued to express his opposition to my getting up. Finally, no longer able to resist the influence of the Spirit, I slowly got up and made my way around the rear of the auditorium to join Brother Quirce. A murmur of surprise arose from the crowd: “It’s another Mormon.”
As Brother Quirce concluded his remarks, I put my hand in my pocket to draw out the notes I had taken, but to my surprise my pockets were empty. I had left the notes at my seat. At just that moment it was my turn to take the floor.
I didn’t know where to begin. Everything I had intended to say disappeared from my mind. I began by saying that I had been a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for 26 years and that I knew it is the only true Church on the earth, that Jesus Christ had restored it through the Prophet Joseph Smith, that Jesus is the Son of God—our Savior and Redeemer.
I don’t remember how long I talked or all the words I said. I just remember that the silence was overwhelming and that I could feel the gaze of 500 pairs of eyes upon me. When I was finished, I thanked those present for giving me an opportunity to express my beliefs and turned and left the hall. I was at peace, but my legs were shaking.
When the meeting was over and I was able to rejoin my family, my son came up to me and said, “Dad, you did the right thing. You bore a beautiful testimony, and you spoke with power and authority. Dad, I’m proud of you!”
My son knew he might have problems at school because of what I had done, but it was more important to him to know his father has a testimony he is willing to stand up for.

I want to share a story with you that you are all pretty much familiar with, but this time I want you to become part of the story, if you don’t mind. Imagine the following:
Imagine that you live at the time of Christ. You work in the city of Jerusalem but live four miles outside the city, and so you have to walk to and from the city every day. You also understand that it is the law that when any citizen of Palestine, which you are, meets a Roman Soldier, and there are plenty of them around, that he can legitimately compel you, the citizen, to carry his belongings for one mile, regardless of where you are or in what direction you may be going. So, here is the scenario that I want you to picture in your mind: Are you ready?
It is Friday afternoon at the end of a long week of work. You are tired and anxious to get home. You decide to stop at the market before you leave the city, to pick up a few food items. You do so and put them in a sack, and fling it over your shoulder. As you go out of the city gate and begin your journey home, you have this feeling come over you—that just because it’s Friday and just because you are tired, and just because you have four miles to walk, it is going to be just your luck to run into a Roman soldier on the way home. Do you ever get those kinds of feelings, that just because of how things have been going on a particular day, something crazy is going to happen? You just know it! Well, that’s the way you are feeling today. You walk a couple of miles. It’s dusty and hot. The bag over your shoulder is kind of heavy, and you can’t wait to get home, get a cold drink, and put your feet up to rest. You keep walking and you begin thinking, “Oh, I’ve come over two miles already! Maybe I’ll be lucky after all. Maybe that was just one of those crazy thoughts I get because I am tired!” Then you see an object off in the distance on the road. You can’t tell exactly what it is, but you keep walking, hoping that it isn’t what you think it is. As it gets closer you can see that it is clearly a Roman soldier, and he’s a big one! You keep walking on the opposite side of the road from him, of course, and look down at the road pretending not to notice him. But, you know that he is looking right at you, and you know exactly what he is going to ask you to do! Finally you can see his feet. You pretend not to see him, then you hear a big voice roar at you, “You—come and carry my stuff!” You have only a half mile to go before you get home, and he is going the other way! He has a huge metal shield and heavy iron sword, plus a large sack on his back, and he throws them down in the dust at your feet! Of course you don’t want to leave your own sack at the side of the road, so you have both his things and your sack to carry! Picture yourself picking up his sword and shield, and his sack, as well as your sack, and trying to get them situated on your shoulders. This isn’t going to be easy. Now, brothers and sisters, would you mind closing your eyes and picturing yourself walking with the soldier while I ask you some questions about how you might be feeling as you make this journey? Would you do that?
You begin walking—just picture it in your mind. Question: Who is in control in this situation? What might be some of your thoughts and feelings toward the soldier as you walk? We all know how anger, frustration and resentment can build up within us at moments like these. Another question: Where would you walk—beside him, in front of him, behind him—and why? Would you be talking with him? Would there be any conversation at all between you? Now, after walking for some time lost in your thoughts and feelings, you notice the mile marker is coming up on your right. There is just a short distance to go to complete your obligation to him, and he cannot force you to go any further! But then you have this crazy thought come into your mind and heart—“I think I’ll go another mile, just to see what happens!” And the more you think about It, the more excited you become. Your heart begins to beat faster within you. You get a big smile on your face. Your step quickens, and you feel new energy flow into you; you can’t wait to step across that line! Now you’ve had these kinds of thoughts and experiences haven’t you—to go an extra mile, to do something good that no one is expecting you to do? It’s so fun! You decide that you won’t say anything; unless he asks, you will just keep going! Joy fills your heart. This is one of the most exciting moments you’ve had recently! At the very moment you step across the line into the second mile, everything changes! He stops in his tracks with a look of unbelief on his face, and yells, “Hey you, what are you doing?” You look back at him, and tell him you just decided to go a little further with him, and turn and keep going. He starts to follow you; he actually hurries to catch up with you and walks beside you. He then stops you—puts his hand on your shoulder and looks you in the eye—he wants to know why you are doing such a crazy thing? Yes—things are very different now in this second mile—you are now in control—and you now have great opportunities and privileges that you didn’t have before during the first mile!
Brothers and Sisters (you can open your eyes now), the moment we step across the line into the second mile in living the gospel of Jesus Christ, everything changes from what it was during the first mile. The biggest change will probably be within us, but it can also have a powerful ripple effect in the lives of those around us. Some of the sweetest, most delicious, and greatest blessings of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ are found only in the second mile, but we have to go the first mile in order to get into the second.

Last year, a group of employees were frustrated with one of their co-workers who was constantly mocking and finding subtle ways to insult another employee just for the fun of it. After weeks of this, one employee was finally brave enough to step up and say “Just stop. Be nice and leave him alone” And she said this with grace. I was told that she handled it without a trace of aggression and without being rude herself. And it worked. Her fellow workers were grateful to her for taking a stand because they admitted they were uncomfortable with the rude behavior of their co-worker but didn’t know how to stop his behavior without being confrontational. Because we can choose to be civilized, we can choose to be civil.”

Ruth’s family is important to her—every member, including her widowed mother-in-law. She recalls many learning experiences at the hands of the elderly Mother Funk, even a lesson in more earnest prayer. Her mother-in-law, who was hard of hearing, would often speak in loud tones, almost as if no one could hear her any better than she could hear them. Ruth would visit her frequently to check on her welfare, for Mother Funk was aging and alone.

“Many were the times,” Ruth remembers, “when I found her on her knees in her bedroom in supplication—rather loud supplication—to the Lord. She never heard me come in, so I would wait patiently and quietly, learning anew how to truly pray. That grand lady would speak to the Lord with such a fervent soul and real intent—it was beautiful.”

I’ve had a profound hearing loss most of my life and can only understand about 20 percent of what is said at the pulpit during most Church meetings. Occasionally, my deafness makes me feel alone and separate, such as when the congregation laughs at a speaker’s humorous remark but I don’t because I didn’t hear it. And I was not the only one. Older ward members confided to me they also had difficulty hearing.
Sometimes, after struggling to understand a soft-spoken speaker in sacrament meeting or when a Sunday School teacher declares there’s no need to use the microphone because everyone can hear, I wonder why I even go to church when I can hear so little. Wouldn’t my time be better spent at home reading the Come, Follow Me lessons or studying the scriptures?
Still, I wanted to be obedient and continued to attend with my family to renew my baptismal covenants and remember the Savior by partaking of the sacrament. It was always a blessing to feel the Spirit, and I always felt edified by those things I could hear.
One Sunday the high councilor who spoke in sacrament meeting had one of those clear, projecting voices that made it easier to hear. He discussed the New Testament story about the woman who suffered from an issue of blood for 12 years and had faith that she could be healed if she could but reach out and touch Jesus’s robe as He walked by (see Luke 8:43–48).
The speaker then offered a poignant insight that struck me deeply, explaining that because of her condition, this woman would have been considered unclean and most likely would not have been allowed to attend church. For 12 years!
The ramifications of this took my breath away. Although sick, this woman was probably not so unwell that she couldn’t attend church, at least occasionally. But because of the social mores of the times, she was not allowed to attend. What a dreadful trial for a person of faith!
As I pondered the heartache she must have felt at being prohibited from worshipping God with fellow believers because of her physical condition—something over which she had no control—the Spirit opened my eyes to how her situation compared with my own. I was given to understand that although I could not be a full participant, at least I had the privilege of attending church and hearing what I could. This woman had no such choice. I felt ashamed for the times I had briefly considered staying home.
Instantly, God spoke to my heart, letting me know that He didn’t want me to feel guilty. He wanted me to feel grateful—grateful for the privilege of attending church and being strengthened by associating with faithful disciples of Christ. Although I couldn’t hear everything, I could understand some things—and each one blessed my life. There were also special moments when the Spirit helped me understand those things I could not hear.
I felt grateful for the freedom to worship God and enjoy the blessings of going to His house. The Spirit testified to me that it was far, far better for me to be at Church meetings, partake of the sacrament, and learn what I could than not to attend at all.
That day my attitude changed. Instead of feeling downcast at my limitations, peace filled my heart, and I resolved to focus on the blessings of church attendance. I resolved to make a sincere effort to be thankful for what I could hear instead of being discouraged over what I couldn’t.

Today, special circumstances allow me to introduce you to a wonderful woman, who, like all of us, has been blessed with gifts and talents from the Lord. She has not had the privilege of attending BYU, but she personifies what we are about. She has spent a lifetime “anxiously engaged” in good causes and has brought forth “much righteousness.” In addition to being an exemplary member missionary in Norway, her initiatives led to the establishment of the Norwegian and Danish lecture series here in our David M. Kennedy Center. She joined the Church in 1964 when my father was mission president in Norway. She is seated in the audience today. [May I ask Sister Rigmor Heistø to please stand. Thank you.]

Sister Heistø is 78 years old, and she came from Norway two weeks ago to hear Norwegian Supreme Court Justice Georg Fr. Rieber-Mohn give a lecture in the Kennedy Center. She is the person who made the original contact with Justice Rieber-Mohn and put me in touch with him.

Two years ago Sister Heistø read a newspaper article in which Justice Rieber-Mohn, then attorney general for Norway, lamented about the disintegrating family and cultural values in Norway. In the newspaper interview he warned that the continued pursuit of materialism could destroy the country, and he called for a greater emphasis on teaching values.

Sister Heistø thought the attorney general should know that a church was already doing the very things he advocated. So she wrote to him, told him about our church, and sent him some brochures. A week later the attorney general telephoned, thanked Sister Heistø for writing to him, and invited her to meet with him. As a result, she had a two-hour meeting with the attorney general in which she explained the Church’s teachings and programs.

At the conclusion of their visit, Sister Heistø suggested that the attorney general visit Utah to learn more about the Mormons personally. She then said she had a friend at BYU who would be happy to invite him to visit Utah and give a lecture at BYU. I was contacted, I extended the invitation, and we had the privilege of hosting Justice Rieber-Mohn and his son just two weeks ago.

It was a wonderful visit, and Justice Rieber-Mohn gave an excellent lecture in the David M. Kennedy Center. He discussed his observations overseeing criminal prosecution in Norway for the past 11 years and placed the primary blame for increased crime on the breaking down of the family and the pursuit of materialism. In a radio interview in Salt Lake City discussing his observations, the interviewer asked if Justice Rieber-Mohn had gained any insight during his visit to Utah that he might take back to Norway to help resolve the problems he had identified. His response was, “Well, I should take the whole Mormon Church with me and the family life you have, and we would see a rapid decline in all the negative signs developing of which I have spoken” (transcription of radio interview provided by Dave Porter, LDS Public Affairs, 5 March 1998). Here is a man who prior to meeting Sister Heistø admitted that the only thing he knew about Mormons was what he learned in high school regarding polygamy—and now he is a good friend to the Church and BYU.

My mother loved general conference. She always tuned in the radio and TV and turned the volume loud enough that it was difficult to find a place in the house where conference couldn’t be heard. She wanted her children to listen to the talks and would ask us from time to time what we remembered. Once in a while I went outside with one of my brothers to play ball during a Saturday conference session. We would take a radio with us because we knew our mother might quiz us later. We would play ball and occasionally take a break to listen carefully so we could report to Mom. I doubt my mother was fooled when we both happened to remember the same thing from an entire session.

One Sunday I was at church. My mum told me that it was fast and testimony meeting. I felt something inside me pushing me to tell my testimony. I was really nervous, but I went up anyway and talked about how excited I am to be baptized soon. After I talked, I felt good inside. A few minutes later, I felt my tooth wobble. I thought it was going to come out, so I told my mum and went to the bathroom. When we came back, my tooth was out. I told everyone it was my “testimony tooth”! Now when I look at the space where my tooth was, it reminds me of my testimony.
Annabelle R., age 7, Scotland

“Andrew! The bus is here!” Nana called.
Andrew raced out the door. He waved goodbye to Nana, Papa, and his little sister, Amy. Amy was too little to go to school, so she stayed home with Nana and Papa.
Andrew liked school. He liked playing with his friends at recess. He liked his teacher, Ms. Kimball.
After morning recess, Ms. Kimball said, “Next week we are going to have Bring-a-Parent-to-School Day. When your parent comes, make sure they bring something from their job to show us. We’re excited to hear from them!”
Andrew’s face got hot. He didn’t have anything to say about his parents. He didn’t remember a lot about his mom. She left when he was little. And Andrew didn’t even know his dad.
Andrew listened as other kids talked about their moms and dads. Tony’s mom was a firefighter, and Jessica’s dad worked at the zoo. Everyone hoped her dad would bring a monkey or sloth to class!
“What about your parents?” Tony asked Andrew.
Andrew looked at his feet. He shrugged. “I live with my grandparents.”
Andrew loved Nana and Papa, but they didn’t have cool jobs. Nana sold blankets and baby clothes. Papa drove a food truck. Andrew wasn’t so sure about Bring-a-Parent-to-School Day.
That night Andrew read the first chapter of the Book of Mormon: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents …” (1 Nephi 1:1).
I don’t live with my parents, Andrew thought. I just live with Nana and Papa.
Just then, Amy walked into Andrew’s room, hugging a fuzzy blanket. She held it up for Andrew to see. “Nana made!”
“Yeah, Nana made that blanket for you.” Andrew smiled a little.
He thought about all the nice things Nana did for him—making breakfast before school, helping with homework, playing games with him and Amy. Nana was a lot like a mom.
Then Andrew thought about Papa. Papa read stories to Andrew every night. He helped with homework too. He also taught Andrew how to ride a bike. Papa was a lot like a dad.
Andrew’s smile got bigger. He was really grateful for Nana and Papa. He still felt nervous about bringing a grandparent to school. But it was going to be OK. I may not have goodly parents, he thought, but I have goodly grandparents, and that’s something special.
On Bring-a-Parent-to-School Day, Andrew sat with Papa in the back of the class and listened to the other kids’ parents. Tony’s mom brought her firefighter uniform. She let everyone try on her helmet. Jessica’s dad brought a turtle from the zoo.
“Your turn, Andrew,” Ms. Kimball said.
Andrew walked to the front of the class with Papa. He took a deep breath and said, “My Papa drives a food truck. He meets lots of people, and he works really hard.”
Andrew looked up and saw Papa smiling. Then Papa talked about driving his truck. He also gave everyone a treat from his work! The kids in Andrew’s class asked Papa lots of questions about his job.
Andrew was happy to have Papa with him. He and Papa and Nana and Amy were a family—and they were a goodly one.

Today, I’d like to introduce you to someone who calls me “Grandpa.” His name is Rockwell Devin Bennett. [SLIDE 4] There he is! With that middle name and cute face, you can imagine why he might be extra special to me. His siblings and parents call him “Rockwell,” but I like to call him “Rock Devin. ”Teacher and Learner When Rock Devin was six years old, he took me aside to talk. He was my teacher, and I was his learner. He proceeded to teach me a valuable lesson. I share his lesson with each of you today. It focuses on another word pair—fixed and growth. The lesson he taught me came from his schoolteacher, Miss Bothaina, and Rock Devin was passing it along to me. Miss Bothaina had likely read the book Mindset by Dr. Carol Dweck[JG1] .Rock Devin began his teaching by asking me a question: “Grandpa, do you know the difference between a fixed mindset and a growth mindset? ”I told him I did not know the difference. I then invited him to share with me the answer. He did so in a clear and fun way.

THE LEGO MISTAKE Let me share one last quick story about young Rock Devin. After Rock had taught me so well about growth and fixed, he gave me an example of how he applied his teachings in his own life. He brought over a yellow Lego car to show me. He is holding that model car in the photo. He told me how he had made a mistake while building this car. When he got to the end of the project, he realized he misplaced a piece during the construction. He thought, “I can’t go back now and fix it.” He knew it would take time and effort and a rereading of the instructions. But, with a sparkle in his eye, he told me he shifted his thinking to a growth mindset. He took the car apart to access the mistake he had made, made the correction, and rebuilt the car. In the end, it was as if he had not made a mistake in the first place. And you can see the beautiful end product in the photo. Will you think about the experience I just shared with you when you have some quiet time? It sounds to me a bit like the repentance process.

As a little girl, I would tag along with my father on our little farm, beg to work with him, and try to help him with his many projects. I loved riding in his truck and helping him shift the gears. I remember him reading stories to us children and taking us on sleigh rides, fishing trips, and camping adventures. Riding horses with Dad, especially in the mountains, will always be a special memory.
After I started high school, I began to wonder about things I had been taught about the gospel. Things some of my friends said created questions and doubts in my mind.
One night I stood in our living room looking out of our big window at the stars. It was late, and I thought everyone had gone to bed. But Dad came up beside me, and we started to talk.
I told him of my questions and concerns. In response, my father testified that he knew the gospel was true. We talked about getting hung up on “the mysteries” and how foolish that can be. Dad said I had to come to my own conclusions and that it might take me some time. Then he told me something I have never forgotten. He said that when I had questions or concerns, I could lean on his faith and testimony.
I loved my dad and knew he would never intentionally lead me astray or tell me something that was not true. If he felt sure about what he believed, I knew I could trust him.
So, lean I did.
During my working years, when I was exposed to many ideas, theories, lifestyles, and beliefs that challenged me, I looked to my dad and leaned. During my years as a wife and mother, as experiences have tested my faith, I have looked to my dad and leaned. Even now, as I think about current circumstances in the world, I look to my dad and lean.
I often think about that night long ago and my conversation with Dad. I wonder how different my life would have been without his calm assurance and steady example.
As a child, I never wanted for the necessities of life. My goodly parents took care of me. But of all the things my parents gave me, I am most grateful for the values they taught me, the firm foundation in the gospel they gave me, and the simple, exemplary life they led.
I am also grateful Dad was there for me to lean on—not once but always. He was and is a great example of the things that matter most. My dad is my hero.

My friend Donna grew up desiring to marry and raise a large family. But that blessing never came. Instead she spent her adult years serving the people in her ward with unmeasured compassion and counseling disturbed children in a large school district. She had crippling arthritis and many long, blue days. Yet she always lifted and was always lifted by her friends and family. Once when teaching about Lehi’s dream, she said with gentle humor, “I’d put myself in that picture on the strait and narrow path, still holding to the iron rod but collapsed from fatigue right on the path.” In an inspired blessing given just before her death, Donna’s home teacher said the Lord “accepted” her. Donna cried. She had never felt her single life was acceptable. But the Lord said those who “observe their covenants by sacrifice … are accepted of me.” I can envision Him walking the path from the tree of life to lift Donna up with gladness and carry her home.

While living in Salt Lake City, on assignment from the Church, Kay and Terence M. Vinson (now an emeritus General Authority Seventy) learned to play pickleball with neighbors and friends. They enjoyed the fellowship with others and the neighborliness that pickleball offered. So when their assignment ended and Elder Vinson was released, they took their interest, pickleball paddles, and wiffle balls back home to Australia.
“It’s such a healthy and engaging social and physical activity,” Sister Vinson says. “But we don’t have many pickleball courts in Sydney, so we’ve adapted the rules and equipment to fit what’s available.”

I highlight repentance because we are not perfect. While growing up, my mom always made sure my hair was neatly cut and combed. I didn’t think much about it because she would always just let me know when it was time for her to cut my hair. At the beginning of my senior year of high school my mom cut my hair to look nice for senior pictures. After senior pictures, I decided to let my hair kind of grow out a little. I know it’s a little hard to imagine, but it was awesome. I didn’t realize how curly my hair was because I had always kept it nicely trimmed. Throughout the course of my senior year, I started loving letting it grow out. I had a lot of comments about it looking so good. When I applied to college and agreed to obey the honor code, my hair wasn’t too long yet and I got my endorsement.

During my freshman year, I just kind of kept letting it grow. I thought it was probably getting close to being out of standards, but I was waiting for someone to tell me I needed it cut and my mom wasn’t there to tell me. There were also a couple of other guys who had long hair and I was kind of justifying my hair length because of theirs. It had been well over a year since I had a haircut. Although my hair was long, it was also curly, so unless it was hanging down wet, you may not have noticed its true length. To try and keep the standards, I had my roommate buzz some of my hair in the back to keep it off my collar. It didn’t really work. I pretended that it did though. I thought no one would notice and that I could big brain the dress and grooming standards.

A couple of more months passed…then one day I was in the temple, doing proxy baptisms in behalf of those who have passed away. After one particular baptism, I remember coming up out of the water. My hair was wet and laid straight, revealing its true length, as I came up. I distinctly remember hearing and feeling the spirit speak to me. He said, “Joel, it’s time to shape up. You can do better.” That was it. Someone finally told me…I wish someone else would have told me first though.

I actually knew that I had been flirting with being out of standards. Now I knew that God knew that I was out of standards. He actually always knew, but I was ignoring Him. Finally, He spoke quite directly to me and I knew that I needed to change immediately. The next day I found a ride home so my mom could give me a haircut. I got my hair back in standards and focused on preparing more diligently for a mission.

I had to be chastened by the Lord to shape up and get a haircut. Maybe that’s why it never grew back.

Why did God chasten me about my hair? Was it really that big of a deal? I don’t know, but I had made a commitment with Him and He didn’t want me on the edge of the Honor Code with any of my behaviors. I think my willingness to comply with the dress and grooming standards in the Honor Code was an outward expression of my inner commitment to follow Him and His Son. I made a choice that did not match my inner commitment of my love for the Savior. I hadn’t lost my commitment to follow the Savior. My testimony wasn’t wavering. Remember, I had a temple recommend and was even attending the temple. But I was still chastened by the Lord. Why? Because he loved me and knew I could be a better disciple of Him. I also loved Him and wanted to demonstrate my willingness to do His will.

When we were last here, we were days from leaving for an undetermined length of time in Africa. The effects of change were about to descend upon us. In March of 2007, President Monson called us into his office with the intent, we assumed, to tell us where our next assignment would be. After visiting with us for nearly an hour he stood, telling us how much he had enjoyed our visit and signaling that the visit was about to conclude. As we walked towards the door he said, "Did I mention where you are going?" We answered no; we didn't think so. "Oh, you are going to Africa." With those six words, he changed our lives forever.
Just to give you an idea of how big a geographic change this was to us, Sister Koelliker had never in her entire life lived outside her zip code. Now at age sixty-five, we found ourselves in Johannesburg South Africa. There isn't a zip code that is further from Salt Lake City than Southeast Africa.
Prior to Africa, we had lived in a world of temples for ten years, having worked with President Hinckley to build seventy-two new temples, for a total of 124 operating temples under the direction of the Temple Department. Our every waking hour seemed to be about temples. Now we were going to a land where there was just one temple. This was for us a total change.

In 1959 he left the University of Utah and went into private practice. There he was, thirty-five years old and with a family of six children, in training all those years after medical school, going deeper and deeper into debt in order to properly prepare himself for his chosen profession.
Nevertheless, he was called to the demanding work of a stake president. Prior to his setting apart, Brother Nelson had mentioned that one of the serious challenges facing him as a surgeon was the difficulty of aortic valve replacement. In the blessing, Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then of the Quorum of the Twelve, promised him that the quality of his work as a surgeon would increase so that he would have the time to serve as stake president without jeopardizing his patients. Elder Kimball himself was to benefit later from this blessing, for in 1972 the open-heart operation that Dr. Nelson performed on Spencer W. Kimball included aortic valve replacement.
The operation was performed on President Kimball the following year on April 12. It was flawless—thousands of intricate manipulations performed without error, according to a blessing he had received under the hands of President Harold B. Lee and President N. Eldon Tanner. Even more special to Dr. Nelson was an overpowering feeling that came upon him at the conclusion of the operation: “The Spirit told me that I had just operated on a man who would become president of the Church,” he said.

Sister Ivy Morris, Corporal Morris’ wife, submitted a series of her husband’s letters to The Millennial Star for publication. He relates how happy the Norwegians are “to be free from Nazi control. Branch President Strang has told me of the imprisonments, ’grilling’ and punishments that he and his sons have had to endure and I know that the others have also had to suffer much. Yet all seemed to want to say: God had cared for us here in Norway.”
The Church members did not wallow in their recent sorrows. In fact, Alex Morris declares, “I have just had one of the outstanding experiences of my army career here in Oslo, Norway … To just sit in an LDS meeting and not understand a word of what is being spoken and yet be thrilled by the power of the spirit in the building.” He speaks highly of the members in the Oslo Branch who treated him well and who wanted to hear all about the British Mission. He asks his wife if she could send him something that he could give to the children of the kind members who gave him respite in their home. He suggests, “Do you think you could send a little cake or something, soap would be very useful, in fact any small thing like that, a tin of Ovaltine or anything for a treat for them. You should have seen their eyes when they tasted chocolate for the first time. My it’s good to meet so many Saints, they are just the same, stand around the aisle talking before and after the meeting shaking hands all round.”

The old station wagon bumped and squeaked as Leonard and his mother crossed the cattle guard and started up the dirt road to the pasture. Outside the car, snow swirled wildly about, blurring the bleak white landscape and obscuring the road. Leonard’s mother leaned forward, peering intently into the storm. “If we lose this cow, Leonard, we’re giving up and going back to the city,” Mother stated. She turned the big car off the road, bumped through the field, and came to a stop.
Leonard’s stomach muscles tightened with anxiety. Mother had expressed the same feeling last spring when three newborn calves died one after another, and again last summer when Jiggs, their young white bull, dropped dead in the field. But she might mean it this time. He knew that mother really loved Lucy, a bony Holstein whose hooves had frozen as a calf; afterward she could only limp slowly to her feed and water. Last spring Lucy had given birth to a beautiful, healthy calf. Then a few days ago Uncle Jim had found Lucy floundering in an icy ditch and had pulled her out onto the bank, where she had lain ever since.
Leonard savored the warmth of the car for a moment, then pushed the heavy door open against the wind, which struck his face like a blow. He pulled his stocking cap down over his ears and pushed against the wind to the back of the station wagon. His mother released the latch, and Leonard pulled out an old wooden sleigh. He and his mother lifted a milk can full of water and a covered bucket of grain onto it.
“I’ll take some grain to the calves in the west field and come back for you,” Mother shouted as she turned back to the car.
Leonard nodded, picked up the rope tied to the sleigh, and started across the field. He kept his head down, following the trail to the gate. When he reached it, he could see Lucy’s black spots against the snow. Bales of hay formed a windbreak at her head. Lucy lay motionless, and Leonard wondered if she were dead already. A lump like a jammed-up sob arose in his throat. If only his dad were here, he would figure out some way to get her on her feet. The snow and cold had come too early. It was only November, and they weren’t ready. Since his dad’s death the year before, his mother had tried hard to run their little farm with only Leonard’s and his two sisters’ help.
As Leonard swung the gate open, Lucy slowly raised her head, and Leonard felt a warming relief. He hurriedly dragged the milk can from the sleigh, removed the cap, and poured some water into the pan near her head. The water was still slightly warm, and steam rose into the air. He poured the grain into another pan and hunched down beside Lucy. He brushed the snow from her back and stroked her furry flank. She looked at him with her gentle, unquestioning brown eyes and lowered her mouth to the water and drank. She moved her head toward the grain and snorted, sending a small dusty cloud into the air.
Leonard remembered how beautiful she had been as a calf, how starkly white and black against the green of the pasture behind the house. He remembered the pain in her eyes the morning her first calf was born and how the wobbly little creature had followed her and nuzzled her side for milk. That calf was big now and grazed with the other cows, and Leonard knew that Lucy was due to have another one in the spring. Her munching and swallowing now was a warm and homey sound against the wind that whined around them.
Feeling a peculiar kind of happiness in being near the cow, in hearing her eat, in knowing that she was still alive, Leonard didn’t think that he could stand living in the city. He remembered the long days spent at his grandmother’s house when he just sat on the front lawn and watched the traffic. He knew that kids did things in the city, but to him there seemed to be nothing fun to do. He didn’t want to leave the cows and the chickens and Ralph and George, the two huge labradors, or the wide fields and open sky, the pond, and his tree hut. There had to be a way to help Lucy somehow! After standing up and putting the can and bucket back on the sleigh, the worried boy patted Lucy’s head as she licked up the grain with her long pinkish tongue. Then he started back across the snow to meet his mother.
Later, back at the house, Leonard and his five-year-old sister, Susan, each carried a load of firewood into the house and dumped it behind the black stove. Jenny, his ten-year-old sister, and his mother were setting dinner on the table.
After the family had seated themselves at the table and the blessing on the food had been said, Susan asked, “How’s Lucy?”
“She’s still eating well,” Leonard said. “But if she doesn’t get up in another day or two, I don’t think she ever will.” He turned to his mother. “There just has to be some way we can get her on her feet! How about using the winch on the tractor?”
His mother sighed. “The tractor broke down before we finished the fall plowing. I really don’t know what we’d use. Maybe things are getting too hard for us to handle.”
“I love Lucy,” Susan said. “I’m going to pray for her. She’ll get up.”
Leonard smiled at his little sister, then at his mother. When she returned a faint smile, he felt a flicker of hope. “What about Uncle Jim’s tractor?” he asked.
“Maybe. But he’ll be out of town all week. By the time he gets back, it will probably be too late.”
Leonard ate in silence, still thinking about Lucy. Finally he said, “Why don’t we go down in the morning and try again to get her up? Maybe if we all encourage her, she’ll make the effort.”
The next morning Leonard and his two sisters climbed into the station wagon with their mother and drove down to the field. The gusting wind blew swirls of white snow off the fields here and there as they all helped to feed Lucy. The girls petted her thick winter coat and stroked her nose. After Lucy had eaten, more hay was spread around the cow to help her get her footing on the hard ground. Then everyone encouraged her to get up.
When plain coaxing didn’t work, Leonard found a smooth fence pole and wedged it under the cow’s side. Then he and Jenny found a rock to use as a fulcrum, and they began pushing down on the fence-pole lever while his mother pushed Lucy’s neck. Susan encouraged the cow by talking to her and wiggling her tail. The cow strained to raise her bulk. She kicked, but her legs only scraped against the ground beneath her. Lucy made a last struggle to rise, then flopped her head back down and refused to try again.
Leonard and Jenny lowered the pole. Susan let go of Lucy’s tail and sat down and laid her head on the cow as tears ran down her cheeks. Leonard’s mother sat on the grain bucket and put her chin in her hands.
Heartsick, Leonard looked off across the fields at the Uintah Mountains, their jagged peaks white against the blue sky. In the other direction the fields stretched far to the cedars and sagebrush beyond. He loved the expanse; it seemed to belong to him. He looked at his mother, sitting so forlornly on the bucket, and at his two sisters, gently stroking the animal’s side. “Maybe Susan had the solution,” he said softly.
His mother looked up at him, her eyes puzzled at first, then warm and comprehending. They all knelt on the spread hay, the wind gusting around them, and Mother spoke the words, explaining their need for the cow and how much they loved her. When Mother had finished, they all knelt silently a few moments longer.
“Let’s let her rest a few more minutes and try again,” Leonard said. “Then how about using two poles, one under her shoulders and one under her hips?” He looked at the cow again. “Her legs are more under her than they were when we started.”
He found another pole and a second rock. He and Jenny manned one pole, Mother and Susan the other.
“When I say ‘go,’” he directed, “start pushing, and shout to encourage her.”
“It would help if we had more people,” Jenny said.
“It would,” said Leonard, “but remember how Nephi had extra strength when he was holding onto Zoram. With the Lord’s help, we can do it.” He hesitated a moment, then shouted, “Go!”
The startled cow began to struggle. Mother and the three children pushed, wedging their poles a little farther under Lucy as she struggled. “Up, girl! Up!” they shouted, pushing and straining. The cow snorted and threw back her head and tried to dig her hooves into the ground. With a great heave the animal brought her legs under her, her back end and then her front end rising until she was standing. She swayed, and four pairs of hands steadied her. Lucy took a faltering step on her weakened legs, then another. Then she began to nibble the straw from one of the bales!
Leonard smiled across the cow’s back at his mother. She returned his smile, and he knew that she wouldn’t give up on the farm—not yet anyway. As the family knelt on the hay again in the thin winter sunlight, Lucy’s shuffling and munching provided a pleasant background to their prayer of gratitude.