Gospel Story Finder

I have been doing some reflection on how I ended up at BYU–Hawaii as a young man in the pre-historic era of 1988. If you had told my younger self that he would leave Tonga for Hawaii, he would not have believed it. Like many of you, I realized early that education was key to a better life. My goal was to do well in school and attend university in New Zealand. When I was in middle school, I attended a devotional where the speaker taught about the power of fasting. I felt inspired to apply this principle in my life even though I did not fully understand it. I committed to fast regularly outside of first Sundays to make my dream of attending a university in New Zealand a reality.

Growing up with little, fasting felt like a big sacrifice, but I kept at it and worked hard in school. I was certain God would answer my prayers. However, after high school, I failed my entrance exams and was rejected by every school I applied to. I was shocked and could not understand why God had not blessed me in the way I wanted after all my efforts and sacrifices.

For two years, I drifted without direction. Then, BYU–Hawaii recruiters visited the hotel I worked at in Tonga. Despite not knowing me or my transcripts, they were inspired to invite me to attend BYU–Hawaii. Being stubborn, I initially refused, but they returned and invited me again, and I am forever grateful they did.

Looking back, I realized these recruiters were God’s response to my prayers. I was so focused on New Zealand that I forgot to focus on what God wanted for me. By bringing me to BYU–Hawaii, God forever altered the trajectory of my life. The blessings that He had in store for me were much greater than the ones I had imagined for myself.

Rajinder sat in Primary with his arms folded. On one side of him was an empty chair. On the other side was a boy who couldn’t sit still. Rajinder felt very much alone.
He couldn’t help noticing how different he looked from the rest of the children. His skin was dark and smooth. Their skins were shades of pink, sometimes tanned or freckled from the sun. His hair was shiny black; theirs, brown or red or yellow. His eyes were large and dark instead of pale-lashed and blue.
Rajinder didn’t know how to go about making friends. Not only had his family just moved to a new country called Canada, they had also joined a new church with a name so long he could hardly pronounce it. And when someone in this new church talked to him, he was too shy to answer. He had finally decided that the best thing to do was sit quietly until it was over and then go home.
At home, Rajinder wouldn’t be lonely anymore because there he had lots of friends. At home, Rajinder had his dragons. He drew them in notebooks, on scraps of paper, and even on old pieces of cloth. He drew red dragons with smoke spiraling from their nostrils. He drew green dragons with flames shooting from their gaping jaws. He drew pink and blue baby dragons and black and purple grandfather dragons, dragons that slept, dragons that flew, and dragons that ate in great greedy gulps. When Rajinder was at home with his dragons, he was never lonely.
Then one Sunday Sister Werth, the Primary president, announced that each class would draw a large scene from the Book of Mormon, and all the pictures would be hung on the walls of the Primary room. The children were excited, and the very next Sunday during Sharing Time, everyone set to work.
For a while Rajinder tried really hard. He drew a Lamanite holding a sword, but the warrior ended up looking like a tall skinny dragon with no wings. Then he tried to draw a group of Nephite children clearing away rocks, but they looked exactly like a cluster of newly-hatched baby dragons popping from their shells. Finally Rajinder gave up and just watched.
Rajinder didn’t notice that Brother Olsen, his Primary teacher, was watching, too, with concern in his eyes. Rajinder couldn’t see Brother Olsen kneeling beside his bed that night, either, asking Heavenly Father to help him find a way to make Rajinder feel welcome. He didn’t see Brother Olsen sitting in his easy chair, reading the Book of Mormon and finally setting it down with a look of relief and excitement.
The next Sunday during Sharing Time, Brother Olsen took his class over to one corner of the room and spoke quietly. After that, Rajinder worked side by side with the rest of his class, his dark head bent over the paper, his eyes glowing with excitement. Standing nearby was Brother Olsen, looking very pleased and blocking the view of every curious child from another class who ventured too near.
Two weeks later, the drawings were all finished and ready to be hung. One by one the classes taped their artistic creations on the Primary room walls. There were drawings of fierce Lamanites, great Nephite kings, and prophets warning the people. There was a picture of Jesus in America, blessing the little children.
Then, at last, it was Rajinder’s turn. He and his classmates carried their picture forward and held it proudly for all to see. The other Primary children oohed and aahed. Sister Werth looked surprised. Rajinder’s class had drawn a beautiful picture of two great armies facing one another, ready for battle. On one side, eager to conquer, were the Lamanites with painted faces. On the other side, holding their flag of freedom, were the Nephites wearing their armor and shields. And here and there, standing alongside every third or fourth soldier, were dragons. There were red dragons with smoke drifting up from their noses, and green dragons with flames spewing into the air. There were big dragons and little dragons, there were angry ones and calm, thoughtful ones. They were the most magnificent dragons Rajinder had ever drawn.
Only one person in the whole Primary was frowning. Jenny jumped up from Sister Pierce’s class and pointed a finger. “You can’t put that picture up!” she exclaimed.
“Why not?” asked Brother Olsen, with a mysterious twinkle in his eye.
“Because the drawings must be from the Book of Mormon,” Jenny answered smugly. “Those are the rules. And there are no dragons in the Book of Mormon.”
Brother Olsen smiled at her. Then he opened his Book of Mormon and read Mosiah 20:11, emphasizing one word: “But they [the Nephites] fought for their lives, and for their wives, and for their children; therefore they exerted themselves and like dragons did they fight.”
Jenny sat down. Rajinder stood holding the picture and smiling the biggest, brightest smile anyone in Primary had ever seen.
Sister Werth hung the picture at the front of the Primary room, and during the weeks that followed, many ward members came to see it. The bishop especially liked the yellow dragon with brown spots that was blowing fire at the Lamanite leader. The ward clerk was partial to the little blue dragon coming from behind a tree. And the Relief Society president asked Rajinder to make her a copy of the big orange dragon wearing a breastplate.
Best of all, from then on, only some of Rajinder’s friends were dragons.

Shortly after Joseph F. Smith’s birth, a group of men broke into the Smith home. His mother Mary was ill at the time and his father Hyrum was in jail. Ransacking the house, the men entered the room where the baby slept and, without realizing it, threw sheets and blankets on top of him. They would have been surprised if they had known a baby was hidden by their actions.
Everyone was relieved when the men finally left the home. After a few minutes Mary remembered Joseph, and she and her sister Mercy ran to check on him. When they saw what had happened they were fearful the baby had smothered. Fortunately, their frantic efforts to revive him were successful.

Joseph V.’s great-grandmother has Alzheimer’s disease. That means that she can’t remember things and sometimes doesn’t recognize people. Joseph started keeping a journal about his experiences with his great-grandmother’s illness, and then he wrote a book. Because of his book, My Grandma Has Alzheimer’s Too, Joseph has been in the newspaper, on the radio, and on TV. Now his book is going to be published.
Joseph says, “When the media ask me how my book started, I tell them first I kept a journal for two years then started to write my book. Then they say, ‘How did an 11-year-old boy learn to keep a journal?’ I tell them, ‘My church.’ ”
Joseph is happy that he can bring people’s attention to the disease and to the Church. He also wants to encourage young people to keep records and journals.

I recall an experience I had on one occasion as a young man in the military service. I thought about it a few years ago when we had the repatriation of some of our military men from overseas. I’d been away from home about four years. We were given points. You got a point for every month you’d been overseas, a point for the number of battles you had been in, and so on, and high-point man went back to the States first.
Of course, there were millions of men to be brought back, and shipping was taxed, so there was nothing more important than to look at the bulletin board and see the points come down. At once you were earning more, and someday you got to the point where you knew the next ship in would be the one that would take you home. I saw that on the bulletin board and thanked the Lord that I could go home finally.
It was that day that my commanding officer called me in and told me we were opening a new flight at Osaka and that I was to be the operations officer. Well, I expressed myself to him. I might have been court-martialed for what I said: I think I’ll even admit I used a few scriptural terms out of context. He listened very patiently, and when it was all over with he said, “Well, that’s all right, Packer; you’re still going.” And so it was.
That afternoon, on a C-47, with all my gear and the others who’d been assigned, I sat bitterly grumbling over the fact that it would take months again, that it wouldn’t be just an assignment of a week or two. Then I challenged the Lord, saying, “Why is it?” I had never wanted anything so much as I wanted to be home. I’d prayed for it, I’d tried to earn it, I’d tried to deserve it, I’d tried to behave myself, and then, when it was within my grasp, the very thing I wanted most was denied me.
Somehow, I don’t remember how, I took hold of myself; but looking back now, I can say the Lord was answering my prayers then. There came from that experience, from things that happened in those few months, lessons essential to the preparation for the calling that is now mine. I couldn’t see that far ahead, but by those tests or trials that we receive, ofttimes the Lord will prepare for us what He has in mind.

We went on a boat. A money machine there was stuck. A woman said, “Why did the machine give me one euro (about 88¢) when I was supposed to get 20 marks (about $2.96)?” A man told her to look for the code on the left, but the woman couldn’t find it.
I looked for it and found it. The woman didn’t tell me thank you. I thought, “What a silly woman!” But then I thought about what I was thinking and was sorry. I prayed and said, “Heavenly Father, I am sorry for what I was thinking, so I am apologizing. I am very, very sorry about it.”

It is getting late and Hap Putnam is still on the phone. Well, sort of. Although he dialed the number, the family’s personal computer is doing all the “talking.”

Using a computer program of the Personal Ancestral File (PAF), Hap is transmitting family history data from the family’s personal computer in Salt Lake City across the country to his grandfather’s computer in New Hampshire.

It may sound a little complex, but for Hap, 16, and his brother Frank, 17, family history and computers go hand in hand. PAF is a family history program package for personal computers that is available from the Family History Department of the Church. With the use of a personal computer and PAF, the Putnams are finding family history a little easier.

And so are a lot of other youth. Christy Gray, 14, says she enjoys using PAF because “if you goof, you can redo it” without having to retype or rework a whole pedigree chart or family group sheet.

The PAF system does not do research, but it can organize material and print out pedigree charts, family group sheets, and submission forms for temple ordinances. It’s also able to transmit this information to other computer users of the PAF system.

“A lot of kids think, ‘Oh genealogy, how boring,’” says Christy. “But I don’t think family history is boring. One Saturday I just sat at the computer and did it for hours and hours.”

Computers have always held a fascination for Frank, who learned the PAF system quickly. He’s also an old hand at family history. “My dad is a genealogist and for the last four summers I’ve worked for my grandparents and other people doing family history.”

“It’s interesting,” he says. One year while looking through land records, Frank came across deeds that belonged to George Washington. Another year he found a name his father had searched 15 years for. “I traced that line way back to about 1160,” says Frank.

After finding names and submitting them for ordinance work, there is often the opportunity to perform vicarious baptisms for the dead. “I got to go to the temple for baptisms, and it felt really great,” says Hap.

Knowing that you can help someone progress eternally is a great blessing. It is the kind of reward many young people are finding through doing their family history. And whether the research involves using a personal computer, working out of the Family History Library, or working at home, the rewards are the same.

Personal Ancestral File (release 2.0) is available in versions for MS-DOS computers, Apple computers, and CP/M computers. Inquiries into system requirements of these and other versions should be addressed to: Ancestral File Operations Unit, Family History Department, 50 East North Temple Street, Salt Lake City, Utah 84150, telephone (801) 531-2584.

Order blanks and a brochure (stock number PBGS1121) can be ordered at no charge from the Ancestral File Operations Unit or from the Church Distribution Center, 1999 W. 1700 South, Salt Lake City, Utah 84104. The PAF package sells for $35.00.

Editor’s note: In August 1987, the name of the Church’s Genealogical Department was changed to the Family History Department, and the name of the Genealogical Library was changed to the Family History Library.

Tyler loved tomatoes. He loved their bright red color and smooth skin. He loved the way their seeds spurted out when he bit into them. He loved to dip tiny tomatoes into salt, and he loved the big ones sliced thin in sandwiches.
“Let’s grow some tomatoes in our yard,” Tyler’s dad suggested one day.
“Could we?” Tyler was surprised. He’d never thought of growing tomatoes at home. He thought it would be wonderful to have his very own supply of tasty tomatoes ready to pick whenever he felt like it.
Tyler and his dad chose a sunny spot to plant the tomatoes. Then they dug and prepared the soil until it was loose and fine. While they were working, Mr. Bradley leaned over the back fence. “Going to have some pretty flowers?” he asked.
“Oh, no, Mr. Bradley. This is for my tomatoes,” Tyler told him.
“Humph!” Mr. Bradley growled, frowning. “I’ve never had any luck growing tomatoes here.”
“Dad says we can,” Tyler answered, and he kept raking the ground to make it smooth.
The next morning Tyler and his dad planted six tiny green tomato plants. Tyler watered them carefully. In just a few days they looked bigger. “See, Mr. Bradley,” Tyler said, pointing proudly to his plants, “they’re growing.”
“Just wait, Tyler, just wait,” Mr. Bradley replied smugly.
In several weeks Tyler’s tomato plants blossomed with dozens of star-shaped yellow flowers. “I’m going to have hundreds of tomatoes,” he predicted.
“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Mr. Bradley told him.
Soon tiny, hard green tomatoes replaced the yellow blossoms. Tyler’s mouth watered as he watched them grow into large tomatoes. Morning and night he checked the plants, hoping to find a ripe tomato. One morning he thought one of the plants seemed smaller. The next day he was sure it had lost some leaves. And the following day it looked scraggly and thin. Tyler noticed some small black droppings under the plant too.
He knelt on the ground and examined all of his plants, leaf by leaf. He studied the shriveled one very carefully. Suddenly he jumped up and hollered, “Wow! Dad, Dad, come quick! There’s a dragon out here.”
A large green worm the size of a thick, round pea pod was greedily munching the leaves of Tyler’s wilted tomato plant. It really did look like a miniature dragon as it inched its fat, segmented body along the stem of the plant, waving the little “horns” on the top of its head from side to side as it moved. It seemed to eat as much as a dragon, too, devouring every leaf in its path.
“How did you ever find it, Tyler?” Dad asked. “That worm is so well camouflaged that it looks just like part of the stem. Only really sharp eyes could have seen it.”
Mr. Bradley leaned over the fence to see what all the excitement was about. “Better spray,” he advised. “The pests get all the prizes, I always say. Give ’em a shot of bug spray—that’s what they deserve.”
“I think we’ll try the old-fashioned method first,” Dad said. He carefully picked the worm off the tomato plant. “Now, Tyler, you check the plants every day, and if you notice any other worms, take them off and kill them. They should be easier to spot now that you know what to look for. Be careful, though—their bite might not be dangerous, but it could sure hurt.”
“Found any more dragons?” Mr. Bradley asked the next time Tyler was out watering.
“Nope,” Tyler answered, “but the tomatoes are finally turning red. Look!” The plants sagged under the weight of the plump tomatoes—some still green, some pale yellow, and some a promising orange.
Finally the day came. “This one is ready, isn’t it, Dad?” Tyler asked as they inspected a big red tomato.
“You bet, and it’s all yours. You grew it, and you get to eat it.”
Tyler gently twisted the tomato from its stem and washed it carefully with water from the hose. Then he sat down on the lawn and took a big bite. Still warm from the sun, the tomato burst in his mouth, spurting juice and seeds down his chin and onto his jeans. Tyler grinned with pleasure.
“Ummm! It’s so good!” he exclaimed, wiping his chin between bites. “Next week, after I eat a few more myself, I’ll pick some for Mr. Bradley. Maybe next year he’ll want to grow tomatoes too.”

Years ago I was singing Handel’s Messiah with a group of people from different faiths. Even though our beliefs were different, we were all singing about the same Messiah, our own personal Savior. I had sung this oratorio many times, but during one particular practice, the Spirit told me that I was not only singing notes, I was singing my testimony: “Surely, he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows” (Isa. 53:4). I knew with all my soul that He had done that for me. For a moment the 300 other voices became a whisper and I felt like I was all alone with the Lord. I felt His love and reassurance that He had carried the griefs and the sorrows of my teenage heart, and through my obedience, He would continue to walk with me for the rest of my life. To feel that blessing and comfort and complete love from the Lord is worth any price.

George Albert was very ill. The doctor had diagnosed typhoid fever, a terrible disease at that time, and ordered the boy to stay in bed for at least three weeks. His mother was told that George Albert should have only liquids and that she should brew him some coffee.
At this very young age, he demonstrated a great faith in his Heavenly Father and willingness to follow His commandments. George Albert wanted to get well, of course, but he didn’t want to disobey the Word of Wisdom. He asked his mother to bring him water instead of coffee and to send for their home teacher.
Brother Hawks came quickly in answer to Mrs. Smith’s request and gave George Albert a blessing, promising him that he would soon be well. And the very next morning when the boy awakened, the fever was gone and young George felt much better. Some years later in telling a group of children about this experience, he said, “I was grateful to the Lord for my recovery. I am sure that he healed me.”

I was in the East a few weeks ago, and I visited with a businessman, a member of the Church, one of the most inspiring businessmen I have ever met. He told me of an experience he had had some time ago. He was the chief executive officer of a billion-dollar-a-year business. The company manufactured products of various qualities. The first-quality product was in the manufacturer’s name; the second-quality product was in the name of the customer. One of their customers, who did sixty million dollars’ worth of business a year, came to him a while ago and said, “I want a letter from you telling me that the second-grade product is just as good as the first-grade product.”
He replied, “But it isn’t as good.”
The customer said, “But it has the same ingredients.”
“The ingredients aren’t in the same quantity. It is not as good.”
“I want that letter or you’ll lose my business.” A sixty-million-dollar account. And this wonderful man said, “If that is what I have to do to keep your business, I don’t want it.”
Integrity! It exists in the world, my brothers and sisters, but it exists in the hearts and the souls and the minds and the intellects of individuals. It doesn’t exist just in masses of individuals.

Regarding administrations, I have had occasion to administer to my own children under traumatic circumstances. One such experience occurred one night when our oldest son, Darrin, was suffering from a painful earache. He had been screaming because of the intensity of the pain; but soon after I gave him a blessing, he exhibited relief and drifted into sleep, obviously exhausted.

The next morning we took him to the pediatrician, who informed us that Darrin’s eardrum had burst in the night, relieving the pressure of serious infection and allowing him to sleep. We are astonished because we knew exactly when the break would have occurred. Because there was a genuine possibility that his hearing might have been permanently impaired, the doctor advised us to take him to an ear specialist after medication had alleviated the infection.

When we took him to a specialist a few weeks later, we were amazed that the specialist was unable to discern any problem with Darrin’s ear. He pronounced the eardrum in perfect condition, with no sign of a break. It was a powerful, sobering experience which taught us in an especially forceful way the power of the Lord and the efficacy of priesthood blessings.

As a young missionary in Japan, I received a knock on our apartment door just before bedtime. I was surprised to see our mission president standing in the rain at the apartment’s threshold.
He said, “Elder Gilbert, get dressed. We are going to see Elder Matsuo.”
Elder Matsuo’s father was dying of cancer. I immediately assumed what had happened, but as I got into the mission vehicle, President Matsumori turned to me and explained that the missionary’s mother had been killed in an accident.
He then said, “Pray that we will be able to empathize and understand what will comfort this missionary.”
I felt overwhelmed and inadequate. I can still remember the windshield wipers going back and forth as we drove in silence. Suddenly the Spirit brought Alma 7:12 to my heart:
And he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people.
I knew that the Atonement of Jesus Christ allows us to overcome sin. I knew that through Christ we could overcome death. But that night, on the Osaka freeway, I learned that Christ could also comfort us in our struggles—in our ­suffering—when life isn’t fair. I didn’t know what that young missionary was facing, but through the miracle of the Atonement, there was One who did.
For any of you who are struggling with challenges that don’t seem fair, don’t turn to the world for answers. Please turn to the covenants that bind you to Jesus Christ. He can comfort you in a way no one else can.

The Church is growing steadily in Central America, despite the effects in some countries of civil unrest, economic difficulties, and natural disasters. For a firsthand report on that growth, the Church magazines talked with Elder Ted E. Brewerton, president of the Central America Area.
Question: How strong is the Church in Central America?
Answer: There are more than a quarter of a million members spread over seven countries—Guatemala, Belize, Honduras, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Panama. We have forty-seven stakes, ten missions, and a temple. On average, we have about two hundred baptisms monthly in each mission.
Q: Does this create a great challenge to local leadership?
A: Yes, it does. But I believe that stake, regional, and mission leadership are in very capable hands. Helping us are ten regional representatives who are natives of our area. Seven of the ten missions have Latin American mission presidents, and the background and knowledge of the other members of the Area Presidency add to our strength. My first counselor, Elder Carlos H. Amado, is Guatemalan, with much leadership experience, and my second counselor, Elder Jay E. Jensen, has spent much time in Latin America. Because of this strength, there is more ecclesiastical leadership training going on than ever before.
Q: It sounds as though people in Central America are receptive to the gospel.
A: In many areas they are. And the hand of the Lord is obviously in the work.
In about March 1991 in La Ceiba, on the north central coast of Honduras, missionaries were teaching a family, but the family lost interest after two lessons. Then in July, two lady missionaries found a record of the family and went back to visit. When they arrived, the mother in the family was weeping, and they asked her what the problem was. She told them about a dream in which she saw her twenty-year-old son, who had heard the first two lessons with the family but had died a month before the sisters’ visit. In the dream, her son had told her, “You and Dad must get baptized so I can get baptized.” And she asked them, “How can a dead person be baptized?” There was joy in that household when the family heard the rest of the missionary lessons. Four of them were baptized in August 1991.
Q: Then the spiritual strength of the Church is keeping pace with the numerical growth?
A: Oh, yes. Knowledge of gospel principles and doctrine is strong even among new members. This is partly because of missionaries and local leaders. We have seen a distinct increase in spirituality. Spiritual strength has grown, too, because of ways members have responded to difficulties or turmoil around them.
Q: Have civil unrest and natural disasters in some Central American locales frustrated the progress of the Church?
A: The fighting in some countries has cause difficulty for the Church. Some members’ homes have been damaged or lost in earthquakes and civil unrest. However, when a volcanic eruption spewed ash over southern Guatemala last year, wind blew it away from the location of our six Church units, and in the most recent earthquake, no homes of Latter-day Saints were lost.
It may seem paradoxical, but unrest in some countries has strengthened Latter-day Saints’ self-reliance. They have had to call more missionaries from among their own countries and have had to should heavy leadership burdens themselves. Two of the ten missions in Central America, for example, have no Anglo-American missionaries; all missionaries serving in these missions are from Latin America. This increased self-reliance has been a blessing to members. Also, upon returning home, these missionaries marry in the temple and are stronger leaders and members.
Q: Recently, Anglo-American missionaries were taken out of Honduras. How is the missionary activity continuing in their absence?
A: Both missions in Honduras continue to operate or function with only Latin American missionaries. In addition, the stakes and wards see the increased need to prepare and call even more of the local young men on missions and be increasingly self-reliant.
Q: Have some members been scarred by the effects of the conflicts in their countries?
A: Yes, some have. We have some missionaries who have carried around very painful pasts related to their war activities. Most of these of whom I speak are converts, and some of them had been involved in fighting. But when they change their lives, they become strong leaders! I think in a sense they become happier than most people can imagine because they realize that repentance is real and that the Atonement is for them, too. They recognize that they can really be forgiven of things they didn’t want to do or had to do in the past.
Q: Is Church growth coming at all levels of society?
A: Yes, but I would say Church membership is growing the most in the middle and lower-middle economic levels. We are, however, baptizing professionals.
The self-reliance I spoke of earlier has developed a great corps of leaders. You would be impressed to see the dozens of very strong, devoted men and women who can do anything in the Church. We have many outstanding women in the Church. In Managua, Nicaragua, for example, my wife and the mission president’s wife met recently with five hundred women. Because of poverty and conditions in that country, these Latter-day Saint women had not met in that kind of group for years. They rejoiced greatly in the spirit they felt together.
Q: Members must be encouraged by their efforts to strengthen the Church.
A: They don’t look at themselves as being successful. They are humble. Their lives seem to revolve around the Church. They don’t want to leave the meetinghouse on Sundays; they just want to be there with their friends.
They have an affinity and a sensitivity to the Spirit that’s remarkable. There is no tine of hesitancy in talking to their friends and neighbors about religion. They talk openly about praying and the effect it has on their lives.
Q: Is the Church generally well accepted in Central America?
A: Yes. Many of the biases about religion that used to exist are gone now. We have done some things to help gain acceptance for the Church. For example, we put flagpoles in our meetinghouses in Guatemala, and on 15 September 1991, which is Independence Day in all of the Central American countries, we held flag-raising ceremonies at 154 of our buildings. During the programs, we offered prayers for peace and for rain in the countries involved. The programs were well attended by civic and military leaders, and very well received by people in general. They helped government leaders and others understand the Church’s commitment to bettering the areas where we have members.
But the members themselves have probably done more to gain acceptance for the Church than anything we could have planned. We have a few Church members who are members of high political circles. Other Church members have held high rank in the military—Colonel Augusto Conde, for example. Because of his integrity, he retired from military service in Guatemala with the finest reputation any man could have; then he served in the Guatemala temple presidency. The secretary to the vice president of El Salvador is the wife of a counselor in a stake presidency. She’s outstanding.
Members like these talk openly of their religion and what it stands for. And people in their countries are taking notice. One of the highest ranking ministers in the government of El Salvador invited Israel Pérez, president of the El Salvador San Salvador West Mission, to his office and personally resolved some problems with visas for missionaries. Then he told President Pérez, “I want you to know that because of what you are doing, our country is better. You are family-focused, you are oriented to upgrading people morally. I welcome you here.”
Q: What else do you think has contributed to the success of the Church in Central America?
A: Two scriptures come to mind. The first is from Helaman: “And thus we see that the Lord began to pour out his Spirit upon the Lamanites, because of their easiness and willingness to believe in his words” (Hel. 6:36).
Before sharing the second scripture, let me paint a picture for you. When I stand at the pulpit and speak, I look into the beautiful faces of faithful Saints. When I go to the temple and we are dressed in white clothing, I see a beautiful people with skin a little darker than mine—and the words of the Savior to the survivors of the destructions in 3 Nephi come into my mind: “And behold, ye are the children of the prophets; and ye are of the house of Israel; and ye are of the covenant” (3 Ne. 20:25). The Shepherd of Israel has not forgotten His sheep.

Now the third story, if I might skip another four years. At age 16 it became necessary for me to make a decision as to what I was going to spend my life doing. I lived within six blocks of Stanford University, and I was influenced by this university. Two of my friends had fathers who taught there. One of them, for instance, was a polio research scientist. He was trying to find, like many others, the way to prevent polio. He didn’t discover it—others did—but he made a contribution. One of the physicists helped direct my thinking. “Do I want to become a physicist? Do I want to become a research bacteriologist? Do I want to become this? Do I want to become that?” This is a common experience to teenagers.
I was active in music but I thought, “I don’t want to become a musician. Who wants to become a musician?” My view of a musician was that he was a drunken dance band bum or else that he was a long-hair who starved in a garret. So I dismissed, for a period, the idea of becoming a professional musician. I determined that very few of them ever made any money. Many of them, I thought, starved half to death, and that aspect didn’t attract me particularly.
During this period in which I investigated a number of other professional areas, and after thought and prayer, I finally came to a decision. I studied it out in my own mind. I finally came to a conviction within my heart—a burning within my bosom—that regardless of my previous views of what a musician was, how much money he would or would not make, or any of these other factors, my conviction was in this direction; this is how I was to make my contribution to the world; this is how I would make my professional life a reality.
That came like many of our decisions come. I studied it out in my mind, trying to perceive what would be the results if I went in any of several different directions, and then I asked the Lord to guide me in receiving a confirmation through his Spirit concerning the correct direction.
When I had made that decision, I told my father and my mother that I had arrived at a decision. They, of course, were cognizant that this churning process was going on. We communicated many times during the process. I still have this little slip of paper in one of my scrapbooks: “Today I know what I want.” My father, who was a businessman, couldn’t carry a tune in the bathtub. He had not much sympathy for music as a career. When I said, “I want to go into music,” he said, “All right, son [these words have come back to me many times], but don’t be a second-rater.”
Now that is a hard challenge. I do not believe that we need necessarily to compete with the great ones of the world. We need to compete with our own best selves. And isn’t that the challenge we all have? Isn’t it hard to be a first-rate John Jones or Mary Smith? It is easy to be a second-rate John Jones or Mary Smith. I find myself qualifying, frequently, for a second-rate Crawford Gates. And I am sorry that I qualify so frequently.
It is hard for us to measure up to our own potential. I find it very difficult to be equal to the Lord’s blessings. Don’t we all have that same problem in our lives—the necessity to creatively measure up to our own potential?
And so those words of my good father have rung in my ears many times since then, and they have spurred me to try to jump one step higher in the creative act of becoming better in any number of different individual achievements.
I went to the College of the Pacific my freshman year. They had a good music school there and it was close by my home. At the beginning of that first year there was a sign out on the bulletin board of the music department, and it said, “Composition Contest,” and I said, “That’s for me!” It had a huge prize for the one who won—twenty-five dollars! That would take you almost through a whole semester of school in those days. But more important than the financial prize was the fact that the winning composition would be played by the Stockton Symphony Orchestra.
So as a young freshman—it was still before my 17th birthday and I looked much younger than that—I started to brag to my colleagues that I was not only going to enter this composition contest, but I was going to win it. I became very unpopular. In fact there was a master’s degree candidate who played cello in the symphony orchestra of the school—he was very old, about 22 or so—who would come by on campus, look at me, pat me on the head, and say, “How is your tune coming, Buster?” He was referring to my masterpiece for symphony orchestra—and he called it a “tune”; that was very insulting to me.
In the course of time the “tune” was finished and submitted to the necessary authorities in the Stockton Symphony Orchestra. The conductor was one of the judges, and soon the word got back that I had won first prize. But there was a note on the front of the score, and the note said, “This composition is written for much too large an orchestra. Please have the student composer reduce it for the size of the Stockton Symphony.” Now that was one detail I had overlooked. I had read in Life magazine that the Boston Symphony had 104 pieces, so I had written for a 104-piece symphony. I didn’t take time to check that the Stockton Symphony Orchestra had only 52 pieces in it. The reduction of a score intended for 104 players down to 52 is a very unpleasant task, so I said, “Well, I hear it in my head this way.” This is the brashness of a freshman mind. I said, “Nuts to the Stockton Symphony Orchestra. I’ll find an orchestra that is big enough to play this tune.”
So I looked around California and found that San Jose State, which was also near my home, had a large symphony orchestra of over 100 pieces in their school, and in my sophomore year I changed from the College of the Pacific to San Jose State on the sole motivation that they had a big enough symphony orchestra to play my piece.
The first day after I had arrived there I went to the office of the director of the symphony orchestra; his name was Adolf Otterstein. I said, “Professor Otterstein, I have a composition I would like to have the college symphony orchestra play.” He took a dim view of a new brash young sophomore, but he was kind and said, “Leave it here; I am busy right now, but come back next week.” So I came back the next week and, sure enough, he had taken a moment or two to glance through it, and he said, “Well, it isn’t too bad.” He asked, “Have you copied the parts?” And I indicated that I had.
When you write a piece for an orchestra, it isn’t like writing a hymn for the hymnbook, where you write the soprano, alto, tenor, and bass so that you can play the result with the right hand and left hand or sing it with a congregation; you have to write the music on a score sheet that may be 18 to 20 inches high and 12 to 15 inches wide, and has many music score lines on it. And you have to write a note or a line for every instrument of the entire orchestra.
Orchestration is, in a sense, the coloring of a musical line, so you have to write that out to complete the reality of the musical thought. Maybe you have three or four or five or six hundred sheets of paper. You can’t gather the orchestra around the package of sheets and expect them to all play or blow at the same time. You obviously have to do something with the score, or someone else has to. If you’re fortunate, you can get someone else to do it or hire someone else to do it; or if you aren’t, you do it yourself.
You get a stack of blank manuscript paper and you label one page “first flute,” and then you copy off every note from the “full score” onto the new blank sheet—every sharp, every accent, every dot. And finally you get through with the whole book for the first flute part and you put it to one side. Then you start again with a new blank set of sheets and do the second flute part, and thereafter you start over again, using the same procedure. Well, by the time you get through a 104-piece orchestra, you wish you were working for a ten-piece combo. It is a very laborious task.
I had spent all summer at a Boy Scout camp as a director. I would tuck my Scouts in every night and then go down to my little tent and light the oil lamp and copy my parts. I had 25 pounds of parts for this piece.
So when Professor Otterstein asked me, “Do you have the parts copied?” I said, “Yes, I do.” He said, “We rehearse on Monday nights in the Morris Dailey Auditorium, and next Monday you come with your parts, and after the intermission we will let the orchestra read through it.”
Then he asked me a strange question. He said, “Would you like to conduct it?”
Now, if he had said, “Can you conduct it?” I would have had to answer differently, but he said, “Would you like to conduct it?” Well, who wouldn’t like to conduct a 100-piece orchestra playing his own piece? The fact that I had only conducted “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam” in my Sunday School class wasn’t much preparation to conduct a 104-piece symphony orchestra. But he phrased the question the way he did and I answered the way I did, “Of course I’d like to conduct.”
I went home and the whole next week I checked my orchestral parts over trying to see if it really would sound right, and I felt squeamish inside because I had imagined this piece but I had never heard it played. I thought that I had checked everything; I felt that it ought to sound all right.
Although it was actually a Monday, and though the previous day had been a fast Sunday, this was a fast Monday to me—I couldn’t eat at all, I was so excited. I wheeled a wheelbarrow full of parts out to the car—I had borrowed my father’s car—and put them in the rumble seat and then drove down to San Jose.
All day long I fidgeted through my classes. I couldn’t eat my lunch. That night I placed the parts in the seats in the front row of the Morris Dailey Auditorium and waited while the symphony orchestra rehearsed the Beethoven Fourth Symphony or some other obscure work.
Finally Otterstein turned around and said, “Where’s Gates?”
There I was, hidden behind this stack of parts, and I said, “Here I am, sir.”
He said, “Do you have your parts with you?” What a ridiculous question! Here they were.
He said, “Well, pass the things out.”
I went up there during the intermission and I passed the cello parts out this way and the violin parts out that way and the heavy artillery out here—the “garbage can” section in the back, with the timpani, bass drum, cymbals, etc. The parts were all passed out when Professor Otterstein came up after the intermission.
I had written my name very big on all the parts—CRAWFORD GATES—and it was terrible. I should never have done it because the players thought, “Well, who is Crawford Gates?” Otterstein apologized vaguely to the players concerning the experience he was about to subject them to, suggesting it would perhaps have some value for them or for me.
Players don’t like to play from handwritten music manuscript, and my manuscript was horrible. Otterstein said, “This is Crawford Gates. He is from the College of the Pacific!” Well, that would be like saying at BYU, “He is from the University of Utah!”
He then said, “I’m going to let Mr. Gates conduct.” He boosted me up on the podium and gave me the baton, and the coward went out of the auditorium into the safety of the darkness—there was no audience; this was a rehearsal.
I held the baton up very shakily. I remember there was a cello player just like the one at the College of the Pacific. He was down to my right and he was older. He had his finger on the string, on the first note of the cello part. As I held my hand up there, shaking like a leaf for this first note, he said something to this effect: “Just drop the baton, Buster, and we’ll play the notes.” So I dropped the baton, and the cellos and basses came out on the pianissimo and it didn’t sound too bad. (Anyone can write that, cellos and basses in unison; that is not very hard.)
I knew that it was 3/4 time, so I conducted 1—2—3, so the music moved along. A few minutes later the French horns came in. I knew that you were supposed to point to them, so I gave a signal to the French horn section, and they came in much like a cow taking its foot out of the mud—it was a terrible sound.
The conductor at the back of the hall called out, “It isn’t that modern, is it, Gates?”
I said, “No, sir, something is wrong.” I was turning red and purple as I went to the back of the horn section, and everyone was fidgeting. I found that I had left all the sharps off the French horn parts, which I corrected in a moment or two, and then I came back. Well, this experience was excruciating. The orchestra droned and grunted along and the players were saying, or looking like, “Oh how can we bear this terrible stuff?” It was a frightful experience.
Well, something happened. I suppose that if it hadn’t happened at the end of that 40- or 45-minute period, whatever it took to grind through the thing, I would have probably decided that my conviction of a few years earlier had been in the wrong direction. I would have gone back into physics or something else. But what happened in the last moment of that piece was the fact that somehow there was a tune. It had been orchestrated to some degree with natural instinct from the orchestra, and it soared up to a climax and relaxed away from it in a pattern that changed the whole spirit of the orchestra. The feeling changed immediately during the last few minutes of the piece. Instead of saying, or looking, “How can we bear this?” I saw their expressions, as though they were saying, “Not bad! Not bad!”
At the end they started to applaud, and the conductor came running down the aisle, saying, “Well, the first part was pretty terrible but the last part wasn’t so bad!”
I recall all the way home that night I could hear that wonderful big sound of the ending and I forgot the terror of the first part. I remembered that for the last few moments I was raised about a foot off the podium—I conducted sort of instinctively, feeling that “This is why I’m alive! This is my contribution to the world!” I felt that “men are that they might have joy” is no longer just a statement in the Book of Mormon (2 Ne. 2:25), but it is a reality for me right here, right now!
I thought, this is how the Lord must have felt when he said that “it was good” (see Gen. 1:4). What a remarkable understatement the Lord made about his own work. And one reason God exists is because he has joy, and what does he have joy in? In the creative act—in the act of creating a galaxy or in creating a human soul.

Marie Purcell, of the Massey Park Ward in the Auckland New Zealand Papatoetoe Stake, experienced the joy of this work when she and her parents sealed her beloved grandfather, Afele Schwenke, to his family—a blessing he did not receive in his lifetime despite his faithfulness and service to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Years later, while reviewing family history records, Marie and her parents discovered that her mother’s sealing to her parents had not been recorded. Marie immediately felt a strong spiritual prompting—not only did her mother’s sealing need to be done, but also her grandfather Afele’s. His face came to her mind, and she knew that temple work needed to be completed.

Trusting this prompting, the family scheduled a sealing appointment. However, when they arrived at the temple, Marie realized they were not fully prepared with the required documents. They proceeded with other ordinances, but in the sealing room, both Marie and her mother felt a distinct sadness at leaving the ordinance undone.

Determined to finish the work, Marie and her parents scheduled another appointment. On April 6, 2024, they returned to the temple, fully prepared. Marie and her father would stand as proxies for her grandparents.

When the sealer called her mother’s name, a deep feeling of peace washed over them. Marie remembers tears flowing as they completed the ordinance.

Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the sacred work of the temple, Afele Schwenke and his wife, Soala, received the blessings of eternity.

As saviours on Mount Zion, we can offer our ancestors the same gift of exaltation Christ offers to us. Reflecting on the experience of sealing her grandparents, Marie shared, “I testify that the joy that comes from participating through family history brings eternal happiness.”

“I have felt those on the other side of the veil through this great and marvelous work. And I know that they embrace with excitement receiving these sacred ordinances, as I embrace with joy on this side of the veil uniting my eternal family.”

The sealing power reminded her that the blessings of the Atonement extend beyond the veil. As Doctrine and Covenants 128:22 invites, “Shall we not go on in so great a cause?”

Frost was still in the air the morning the young men and women went door-to-door in their ward areas reminding people to donate items in good or reparable condition. Couches, lamps, dolls, toasters, an adding machine, desks, chairs, and other household wares soon bulged the sides of two large trucks, with more contributions still coming. One neighborhood florist donated a whole van full of Christmas decorations. One young man, enthused by the spirit of giving, pedaled up on his used bicycle and donated it to the drive. Half a dozen truckloads of usable items were amassed during the day.

Pornography also inflicts mortal wounds on our most precious personal relationships. In his talk to men of the priesthood last October, President Hinckley quoted the letter of a woman who asked him to warn Church members that pornography “has the effect of damaging hearts and souls to their very depths, strangling the life out of relationships” (Liahona and Ensign, Nov. 2004, 60).

At a recent stake conference a woman handed me a similar letter. Her husband had also served in important Church callings for many years while addicted to pornography. She told of great difficulty in getting priesthood leaders to take this problem of pornography seriously: “I got all kinds of responses—like I was overreacting or it was my fault. The bishop we have now has been great. And now after 15 years my husband is trying to deal with his addiction, but now it is 15 years harder to quit for him and the loss has been incalculable.”

It was not much longer in my own life, having seen the burden that my father carried so joyfully, until I too found the thrill and joy of gospel service. In fact, when I returned to the States after completing my assignment in Japan with the occupation troops after World War II, I discovered that one month before I was due to return my name had been presented in stake conference and I had been called to be a counselor in the stake MIA. This was a great blessing to me, for in this position, as I presided at one of the stake meetings one night, I saw a beautiful lady in the congregation who later became my wife.

A few years ago a woman in my ward shared the following in sacrament meeting, and I share it with her permission. She said:

One of the most pervasive things I remember from living with my father is his sternness and his temper. I never felt completely safe with him. I loved my dad and I knew he loved me, yet I experienced fear when he was around. For many years I saw Heavenly Father the same way I saw my own father—as someone who, for the most part, kept his distance and was easily disappointed and frustrated at my weakness.

This sister then described what she did to help make this heavy burden light:

I have asked God many times to show me who He really is and to help me shed all my misconceptions and false beliefs so I can experience the real Him. He has responded with patience and love beyond my expectations. He has taken me by the hand, and I am slowly learning to trust that He is not distant but right here next to me. He is slowly walking me out of fearing Him and into the saving power of His love.