Gospel Story Finder

“When he was a boy, Grandpa had a red coaster wagon that his father had a blacksmith make. At first it was short, with room for only three people; but eventually it was extended so that more could ride. The front person steered and the back one used the brake. The riders would start between Ninth and Tenth avenues on “C” Street in Salt Lake and coast all the way down to South Temple Street, then push the wagon back up the hill and go down again.”

Jim came home one Friday night and asked his father if he could borrow the family car to drive some friends to a high school ball game. His father asked him, “Jim, can I trust you with the car?”
“Sure, dad, you know me.”
“Yes,” chided his father, “that’s why I asked. I want it back in one piece, and I don’t want you to hot rod around. If you will give me your word that you will drive carefully, keep within the speed limits, and not leave the gas tank empty when you come back, you may take the car. Do I have your promise, Jim?”
“Yes, dad. Do I have to sign in blood?”
“No,” his father said. “Your word is good enough.”
Taking the keys, Jim left the house, climbed into the car, and drove off to pick up a couple of friends on the way to the game. For the first few blocks he was a model driver, remembering everything he had learned in driver’s education. Shortly after picking up his friends, however, he found himself speeding down the road. One of his friends asked, “How fast will this machine go, anyway?” The other friend responded, “This hunk of junk probably won’t even go over 90.” But it did!
Jim and his friends soon pulled into the neighboring town for the ball game. It was a great game. Jim’s team won. He and his friends were excited as they got into the car to head for home. Driving up to a stoplight, Jim and his friends noticed some girls pulling up alongside them in a brand-new car.
“Ya wanna drag?” said one of Jim’s friends to the girls.
“You bet!” came the reply.
Amidst the roaring of engines and the screeching of tires, two men standing on the street corner waiting for the light to change went unnoticed. They, also, had attended the ball game and were on their way back home when they saw the great drag race.
Later that evening Jim dropped off his friends at their houses and returned the car to the family garage. It was late, but his father was snacking in the kitchen. When Jim came in, his father asked, “Well, Jim, how did you treat the car?”
“Fine, dad,” was the reply.
“Okay. Goodnight, son.”
“Goodnight, dad.”
The following Sunday, however, both the men who had witnessed the drag race the Friday before approached Jim’s father.
“That son of yours is some race driver!” one of them said.
“I’ll say!” exclaimed the other. “He passed me on the freeway, and he must have been going at least 100.”
“You must be mistaken,” retorted Jim’s father. “Jim wouldn’t do that. He gave me his word.”
“I’m sorry,” one of the men replied, “but we both saw Jim hot rodding the car and racing from a stoplight. We were only a few feet away from him.”
That night Jim approached his father and said, “Dad, can I have the keys to the car? I want to go to a fireside.” What do you think Jim’s father said to him on that occasion? What would you have done if you’d been Jim’s father? In this case Jim’s father said, “I’ll take you to the fireside, son, but don’t ever ask me to loan you the keys to the family car again. I can’t trust you.”

Peter Hagen sat at the kitchen table in their small cabin and watched his mother remove four loaves of bread from the oven. Usually the smell of freshly baked bread made him feel happy, but today he was worried.
“Will we have a Christmas this year?” Peter asked his mother.
“Of course we will,” Mother replied. “We’re not in Ohio anymore, but I think our Christmas will be just as good as if we were. You’ll see.”
Already Peter missed the gaily decorated Christmas tree, wrapped presents, delicious cookies, and the friends with whom he’d spent so many happy hours.
It was just ten months ago that ten-year-old Peter, his five-year-old sister, Ruthie, and their parents had journeyed west from Ohio by covered wagon to settle on the plains of the Dakota Territory. Peter couldn’t understand how his father could think that living on a farm in such a lonely area was worth leaving their comfortable home in Ohio.
“How can Christmas be the same?” Peter asked his mother. “There aren’t any stores where we can buy presents, or any friends to enjoy shopping with even if there were stores.”
“Well, Peter, there are many kinds of gifts we can give besides the ones we buy in a store,” answered Mother.
That evening at supper Peter was still worried about celebrating Christmas in their new home. “Dad, will we at least have a Christmas tree this year?” he asked.
“We’ll have a tree,” Father said as he smiled at Peter and Ruthie. “We couldn’t bring our tinsel and glass ornaments with us, so we’ll have to depend on you to make the decorations for our tree.”
“That might be fun,” said Peter. He noticed Ruthie was smiling too.
“I’d like a doll for Christmas,” Ruthie said suddenly. “A big doll with a pretty dress.”
“Maybe, Ruthie,” Mother answered finally. “But don’t count too much on it.”
Oh, I hope she can have a doll, Peter thought. I still wish we were back in our old home where there were stores so we could buy things.
“What would you like for Christmas, Dad?” Peter asked.
Father thought a moment and answered, “I suppose a new saddle for our horse.”
“And what do you want, Mom?” Ruthie asked.
“I would like a piano just like the one we left behind,” Mother replied. “I do miss my music.”
Peter couldn’t help but join in with a wish for himself. “I’d like some ice skates. It’s not easy to skate on the pond in my boots.”
After supper Peter and Ruthie started making Christmas decorations. Mother showed them how to carve stars out of yellow lye soap. They tied bows out of different colored ribbons and cut yarn into short strips.
“The yarn can be our tinsel,” Peter told Ruthie. “I can hardly wait to see our tree!”
The new ornaments were stored on a shelf until Christmas Eve, when it was the family tradition to decorate the Christmas tree.
As Christmas drew near, Ruthie continued to talk about a new doll and Mother hummed some of the songs she used to play on her piano. It made Peter feel sad to think that each one couldn’t have the gift he or she wanted most.
Peter went to his room and pulled out a wooden box from under his bed where he kept his most prized possessions. He opened the box and took out a pocketknife given to him by his best friend back in Ohio, some stones he found in a stream along the way to Dakota, two drawing pencils, a pair of scissors, a spelling award he won last year in the fifth grade, and an old catalog.
As Peter slowly turned the pages of the catalog, he noticed a page full of pictures of saddles. An idea flashed into his mind. They’ll have to use their imaginations, Peter thought, but I can make sure everyone will have a special Christmas present this year!
On Christmas Eve Peter and his father brought in a small evergreen tree and placed it in the center of the kitchen on a wooden stand. Ruthie hung the soap stars and bows on the tree while Peter draped the yarn tinsel over the branches. Then Peter hung some oddly shaped paper ornaments on the tree. One had a dark brown picture on it.
“What have we here?” asked Father as he turned the picture over so he could look at it. “Why, it’s a saddle!” he declared.
“It’s your Christmas saddle, Dad. Now all you need is a paper horse,” Peter said with a big smile.
Peter handed Ruthie a picture he had neatly cut out of the catalog. “Here’s your doll, Ruthie. It’s only a paper picture, but she’ll be part of our wishing game. Maybe next year you’ll have a real doll.”
Ruthie held the picture gently in her hands and said, “She’s pretty. If we put her on top of the tree, she can be our angel.”
Father picked Ruthie up, and she hung the doll on the top of the tree.
Mother could see a picture of a piano dangling near the saddle ornament. “And I have my piano,” she said as she hugged Peter.
“I wanted us to have what we each wanted most for Christmas,” Peter said. He held up a picture of a pair of skates and hung it on the tree. “And here are my ice skates.”
“Well, Peter, I think we’re having a nice Christmas. After all, Christmas is in our hearts, and as long as we’re together, we’ll always have the same good Christmas we used to have back in our old home,” his mother said.
“Next year we’ll probably have some of those gifts sitting under the tree instead of hanging on the tree,” Father laughed, but Peter thought that Father seemed to have a sudden hoarseness when he spoke.
“Are you all ready for popcorn?” Mother asked.
“Popcorn!” cried Peter and Ruthie. That was a real Christmas treat!
Ruthie and Mother seemed happy as they roasted the popcorn. And Father was getting ready to read the story of the first Christmas from the Bible.
Peter smiled and looked around. The tree was gaily decorated, and there were presents—even if they were only paper ones.
It is a nice Christmas, he thought. Suddenly he knew just what his mother meant when she said, “After all, Christmas is in our hearts!”

“One day when I was about nine, Mother and Dad were on their way to a Church meeting and their car was struck by a train at a railroad crossing. Dad was unhurt in the accident, but Mother had one lung punctured and suffered many cuts and broken bones. The Latter-day Saint doctor who attended her shook his head and said, ‘She just can’t survive.’ But a member of our stake presidency gave her a blessing that she would recover. Soon the pain subsided, the lung healed, and the broken bones knitted together perfectly. Mother was born with a slight curvature of the spine, and afterward she good-naturedly teased, ‘If the Lord was going to mend my broken bones, surely He could have straightened my spine too.’

There is another gift some of us may want to give that takes starting early. I saw it start once as a bishop. A student sat across from me and talked about mistakes he had made. He talked about how much he wanted the children he might have someday to have a dad who could use his priesthood and to whom they were sealed forever. He said he knew that the price and pain of repentance might be great. And then he said what I will not forget: “Bishop, I am coming back. I will do whatever it takes. I am coming back.” He felt sorrow; he had faith in Christ. And still it took months of painful effort.

But somewhere this Christmas there is a family with a dad who holds the priesthood, once that student, and they have eternal hopes and peace on earth. He will probably give his family all sorts of brightly wrapped gifts, but nothing will matter quite so much as the gift he started a long time ago in my office. He felt then the needs of children he had only dreamed of and he gave early and freely. He sacrificed his pride and sloth and numbed feelings. I am sure it doesn’t seem like a sacrifice now.

“Hey, Matt, where’d he come from?” Aldo asked as he jerked his head in the direction of the pale figure leaning against the cultural hall stage.
Unfortunately, the reverberating thud of five basketballs bouncing in the gym had forced Aldo to speak a little louder than usual, and the figure obviously overheard. Without expression, he stared straight at Aldo and Matt, lazily extricated one black-gloved hand from his folded arms, extended two fingers, and flashed a peace sign.
The gesture, the figure, gave them both the creeps. He was about their age, but he was thin and blond, his hair slicked completely back from his face and tied in a small ponytail. He wore little, round dark glasses which he hadn’t taken off when he entered the meetinghouse. He also wore an earring, a large silver dagger dangling from his left earlobe. He had on a long, bulky, army overcoat that covered the remaining threads of torn black jeans, and a dirty T-shirt with the neck and sleeves ripped out. He also wore huge, black, lace-up leather boots. He didn’t look like the type who would enjoy socializing with the kids in the ward.
“That’s Courtney Pennington’s brother, Selwyn,” Matt explained as he dribbled a ball to the opposite side of the court. “You know Courtney. She’s new—blond hair—been coming to the ward for a couple of months.”
Aldo followed Matt. He knew exactly who Courtney was. Her dad was a big movie producer from New York.
“Her mom and dad never come to church,” Matt continued. “Neither does her brother. We would’ve noticed him. He kind of sticks out.”
So did Courtney, Aldo thought as he waited for Matt to take a practice shot. But not because she dressed strangely. “You guys were talking when I came in,” he said. “How do you know him?”
“Oh, Courtney and my sister have been hanging around together lately. Courtney says he needs some fellowshipping and asked if I’d do it,” Matt replied as he arched the ball toward the basket.
“You should have told him to bring shoes he could play in,” said Aldo rebounding Matt’s shot. “I don’t think they’ll let him on the court in Doc Martens. We could use his help, too. The guys from fourth ward are really psyched up for this game.” Aldo shot and missed.
“Don’t count on getting any help from Selwyn,” Matt replied, running to retrieve the ball. “He says he doesn’t ‘do the basketball deed.’”
“Oh yeah? Well, what deeds does he do?” Aldo called after Matt.
“Why don’t you ask him?” Matt said as he put the ball under his arm and started to walk toward Selwyn. “He might be a little weird looking, but he’s not blind. He knows we’re talking about him.”
Aldo caught himself. He usually wasn’t so thoughtless. It was just that this was an important game, and he’d been thinking more about that than anything else. He decided to make it up to Selwyn by being extra friendly.
“Hey—welcome to the ward,” Aldo said as they approached Selwyn. His best, broad smile lit up his dark features.
“Thanks, dudes!” Selwyn said, sounding like he’d just stepped off the set of a bad teen movie. Matt and Aldo were surprised at his friendliness and exchanged a relieved look. “I’m, like, totally sorry I can’t play, but believe me buckaroos, you wouldn’t want me on the court. I’m, like, a real dweeb when it comes to sports, ya know?”
“That’s okay,” Matt assured him. He was surprised to find himself wanting to help Selwyn fit in. “Your sister says you never go anywhere without your video camera. Maybe you could film a game for us sometime?”
“I was going to bring it tonight, but my dad, like, grounded me from it for a few weeks. So for now I guess I’ll just sit over here and chill.”
“Well, make yourself at home, man,” Aldo said. “We’ll go out and get something to eat afterwards, win or lose, so why don’t you come with us? Everybody’s good at eating.”
“For sure,” Selwyn said as Matt and Aldo ran off to finish warming up.
“Seems like an okay guy,” Aldo said to Matt as they began shooting again.
“Yeah—he’s probably pretty cool. But why is he sitting like that?”
Both boys looked over to see Selwyn, perched, with his legs folded in a lotus position, atop a folding chair that he’d turned upside down. It wasn’t your basic spectator stance. It didn’t look very comfortable, either, but Selwyn was smiling—and he flashed the peace sign again.
As soon as the game started, Matt and Aldo didn’t have much time to think about Selwyn. The team from the fourth ward was their biggest rival and they were playing rougher than usual. So rough, in fact, that tempers started to flare and angry words flew.
“What did you say, young man?” shouted an angry ref, two inches from Aldo’s nose.
“Whadaya think I said?” Aldo yelled back, with enough control not to repeat the word he’d used, but without enough control to cool down and apologize.
“I can’t believe a bishop’s son would say something like that—ever,” the ref continued. “So I’ll let it slide. But just watch your mouth, or you’ll be off the court and into your father’s office so fast it’ll make your head spin!”
“Lighten up, Aldo,” Matt said as they took their positions around the key while a fourth ward player aimed his free shot. “You are supposed to set an example.”
That did it. Aldo hated references to his being the bishop’s son and this was coming from his best friend. The ball bounced off the backboard, and as Aldo lunged for the rebound, he used the most colorful language he knew to verbally demolish everyone around him.
“You’re out! You’re done! You’re through!” the ref shouted, angrily motioning Aldo off the court. “The bishop’s son. The bishop’s son! I can’t believe it.”
Aldo stomped off the court and into the foyer. He flung the glass door open and was about to leave when he heard someone behind him.
“Hey, dude—I thought we were gonna, like, get something to eat after the game,” Selwyn said, loping up to him.
“Yeah, well, I guess I’m not very hungry,” Aldo answered, a little of the fire going out of him. He flopped down on the couch.
“So, like, you’re the bishop’s son,” Selwyn said, taking a seat in the chair next to the couch. “You look it, man, but you sure don’t talk it.”
“Oh yeah? Well you probably aren’t exactly like your dad either,” said Aldo, his temper heating up again. It always did when people told him he didn’t live up to the image of a bishop’s son.
“No lie! My dad hates the stuff I wear,” Selwyn responded, gesturing at his clothes. “Mr. Immaculate Diction hates it when I talk like a skater, too.”
“Right,” Aldo replied, slowly gaining control of his temper. He bent over to unlace his basketball shoes. “You dress and talk like you do just to get on your dad’s nerves?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Selwyn said, dropping the affected accent. “I’ve sort of developed my own style.”
“It’s definitely your own.”
“Yep—nothing like my dad would wear, and that’s just the way I want it. Take my ‘fashion footwear,’” Selwyn said sarcastically, hiking his big, black boot up on the corner of the couch. “I could wear Cole Haan loafers like my father’s, but he’d complain because I didn’t keep them perfectly polished.”
“And I bet if you had short hair, he’d say it wasn’t styled right,” Aldo said, almost beginning to enjoy the conversation. There was something familiar about it.
“You must know my dad.”
“No, but I know exactly what you mean,” Aldo said, nodding his head. He paused for a minute. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a problem with my mouth.”
“No lie!” Selwyn said again, but this time it was more agreeable. It made Aldo feel like talking.
“I kind of do it for the same reasons. I won’t ever be as perfect as everybody says the bishop’s son should be, and nobody even compares me when I swear.
“We’re not so different, then, are we? We both want to have control of ourselves,” Selwyn said.
“Some control,” Aldo responded slowly, taking his right shoe off and touching the beginning of a blister on his foot. “My mouth got me thrown out of the game.”
“Yeah, and my clothes just about get me thrown out of the house,” Selwyn replied thoughtfully, running his hand back over his slick hair and grasping his ponytail for a second.
“And you call that control?” Aldo asked, putting the question to himself as much as to Selwyn. “I mean, I know people think the wrong things about me when I swear …”
“… And you are supposed to be setting an example for ‘wayward’ types like me.”
“I’ve heard that before. But think about it for a second. The way you look might keep people from thinking you’re a copy of your dad. But what kind of an idea does it give people about you? Now that I’m talking to you, I think you’re all right, but at first I thought you were one scary guy.”
“That’s everyone else’s problem, not mine,” Selwyn said. “Church people should know that you judge by what’s on the inside, not by what’s on the outside.”
“Yeah, but some people aren’t ever going to find out what’s on the inside because they’re afraid to talk to a guy with a knife in his ear.”
Selwyn just sat there, touching his earring for several minutes. Aldo was afraid he might have been a little too honest with someone he’d just met.
“Okay, you could be right,” Selwyn conceded slowly. “My looks and your language might not be helping either one of us. But if I change, I worry about turning into a clone of my dad.”
“Actually,” Aldo responded, “I feel better when I do something that makes my dad happy than I feel when I do something that gets me thrown out of a game. One of the greatest feelings I ever have is when my dad smiles because of something I’ve done.”
Selwyn paused for a minute, trying to remember what it was like to have his father smile at him. It had been a long time. “I don’t know if it would make my father smile to know that I’ve come to church tonight,” Selwyn said quietly. “But at least I came. Hey, that’s definitely something different from what he’s doing. Nobody could accuse me of being his clone when I’m here.”
“Wait a minute,” Aldo said. Something was coming to him. “Coming to church on your own is not a bad way to be different from your dad. Who knows? If you set a good enough example, maybe he’ll end up trying to be like you.
“My dad wanting to be like me?” Selwyn asked, brightening. “Wow—what a concept!” He stopped for a second, thinking about the prospects, then went on. “Okay, now here’s one for you. You control your mouth, and maybe you’ll see more of those smiles on your dad’s face. We can even work together. Here. Watch this.”
Selwyn reached up to his earlobe and pulled the dagger off. “I just stuck it on with surgical glue, anyway. I didn’t have the guts to really pierce my ear.”
“Okay,” Aldo said. “Then watch this.” He stood up. “I’m going in there to apologize to my team, to the refs, and even to those guys from the fourth ward.”
“Totally bodacious, dude!” said Selwyn as he followed Aldo into the gym. “I mean—good idea, Aldo. Then can we go get something to eat?”

A similar experience occurred as I was pursuing my career in business. I was offered an excellent job opportunity, but it would have likely required me to work on Sunday. I had committed not to work on the Sabbath day. Ultimately, I had to turn down the offer. I could not compromise my commitment to keep the Sabbath day holy. As with my college commitment, I was later blessed with many other business opportunities that did not require me to compromise and that allowed me to devote Sundays to the worship of the Lord.

Genealogical research has always been difficult for me because I didn’t have the necessary information about most of my family members. However, that didn’t stop me from getting the booklet “My Family: Stories That Bring Us Together” and writing down my information about my parents and two grandmothers, who are still alive. My grandmothers also helped me gather the necessary information about my two deceased grandfathers and other important names.
I still felt like I didn’t know much about my family and couldn’t find the answers because I didn’t know who to ask without upsetting anyone. In Haitian culture, asking about relatives who have passed away can make people feel suspicious or angry. Often, the closest family members think you’re only asking so you can get something, like an inheritance, from the person who died.
For about four years, I had to make do with only the information I had while constantly thinking about how to find what was missing. Then I received a miracle that changed everything.
On September 12, 2024, I enrolled in a family history institute class, hoping to find answers to some of my genealogical questions. A few weeks later, one of our cousins visited our family. He was a distant cousin on my maternal side, and we only met him a year before, after a family member created a WhatsApp group.
During this brief visit, I talked with him and exchanged a few thoughts about spirituality. That’s when he told me he was a Latter-day Saint and was already familiar with the principles I was teaching him. I was so happy to know that I had a distant family member who had also received the blessings of the gospel. Even though he also told me he had distanced himself from the Church in recent years, I didn’t lose hope that he might one day return.
As we talked, he started telling me stories about family members I had never heard of—stories that gave me exactly the information I needed for my family history research. He also mentioned that someone in the family had written a full document about all the generations in our family. He said it had everything needed to really understand our family’s past and present.
I was both happy and surprised to discover that such a document existed in our family. However, despite my excitement, I was hesitant to ask him for the PDF version of the document, fearing I might be misunderstood. After he left, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I felt the Spirit prompting me to ask my cousin for access to it.
After several minutes of reflection and prayer, I contacted him and asked for the PDF version of the family document he had mentioned during his visit. I reminded him that it would help complete my genealogical research, which we Latter-day Saints hold in such high importance. He replied quickly and enthusiastically, saying he remembered this sacred work and was happy that I was asking for the document. Less than five minutes later, I received it.
I was amazed to find the 259-page document more complete than expected. It had all the information I needed about a key branch of my mother’s family. While reading, I saw a familiar last name: my BYU–Pathway missionary’s name. On a whim, I messaged him to ask if the names were part of his family too. He said yes, and as we talked more, we discovered we were first cousins.
The following week, I shared this with my institute class. I felt deeply grateful—not only for the family names and details but also for reconnecting with a Church member and missionary who had once helped me with school.
This experience strengthened my testimony of the power of family history work, the ongoing gathering of Israel, and the truth that God always prepares a way for those who have faith to accomplish what He commands (see 1 Nephi 3:7). With faith, I also know that God will help me find the missing information on my paternal line so I can continue completing my family tree.

Gemma and her friend Harper sat under the tree in front of Gemma’s house. The tree was full of pink blossoms. It was a lovely day.
“Guess what?” Harper said. “My cousin is graduating from elementary school.”
Gemma picked at the grass. She wished she were graduating too.
“That’s cool, I guess,” she said.
“We are going to have a big family party to celebrate,” said Harper. “My cousin gets to go to middle school next year. He is so lucky!”
“My brother already went to middle school,” said Gemma.
“Did you know in middle school you get your own locker?” Harper asked.
“Yes, I know!” Gemma said. “I just told you—my brother already went to middle school.” Why does Harper keep bragging? Gemma thought. She’s not giving me a chance to say anything!
“And gym! They get to go to gym every day,” Harper said. “My cousin said—”
“Harper, I don’t care what your cousin said,” Gemma said. “I already know all about middle school.”
Harper stared down at the blossoms that had fallen from the tree. Gemma’s face felt hot. She didn’t know what to do or say.
At last Gemma stood up. She brushed the dirt off her pants and ran into her house.
Why did she get so mad? Harper didn’t do anything wrong. Gemma sat on the edge of her bed and took a deep breath. She wished she hadn’t said that to Harper. It hadn’t been kind at all.
She looked at her desk and saw a peach-colored binder with shiny hearts. It was the baptism book her mom had made. Inside were pictures from her life and notes from family and friends. She grabbed the binder and flipped through the pages.
She noticed one note. It read, “I want you to know that Heavenly Father is proud of your choice to be baptized. When you make mistakes and repent, He will forgive you. Repentance is a good thing!”
Gemma took a deep breath. The way she treated Harper was not a good choice. But she knew what to do now.
She ran outside and sat down by Harper. Harper looked down.
“I’m sorry for what I said. I shouldn’t have been so rude,” Gemma said.
Harper looked up. “That’s OK. I know you didn’t mean it. Thanks for saying sorry.” She gave Gemma a blossom that had fallen from the tree.
That night, Gemma told Mom what had happened. “Harper forgave me,” Gemma said. “But I still need to repent to Heavenly Father. Will you help me?”
“Of course,” Mom said. She gave Gemma a big hug. “Do you want to pray about it right now?”
Gemma and Mom knelt down.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Gemma prayed, “I’m sorry I was so mean to Harper. I want to repent and do better.”
Gemma felt good inside as she prayed. She was glad she could fix things with Harper. And with Heavenly Father. Repentance was a good thing!
This story took place in the USA.
How do you feel when you repent?

Shortly after this call came to me, I was traveling by plane from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to Salt Lake City. A young businessman stepped to my seat in the plane and introduced himself as a Latter-day Saint. He asked if I was traveling to attend meetings, and I answered, “Yes.”
“Will you see President Benson?”
“I think that is unlikely in view of the nature of the meetings.”
“When you see him, will you tell him that though we have never met, I have a deep love for him?”
He returned to his seat.
It was late in the day; soon the lights were dimmed, giving me ample opportunity to think about that experience.
Brothers and sisters, there is great safety in having a love for the Brethren. As we traveled through the night, I remembered an experience that had come to me in this tabernacle some years ago. It was, I believe, the last time that President Joseph Fielding Smith spoke in a general priesthood meeting. He said:
“Now, brethren, I think there is one thing which we should have exceedingly clear in our minds. Neither the President of the Church, nor the First Presidency, nor the united voice of the First Presidency and the Twelve will ever lead the Saints astray or send forth counsel to the world that is contrary to the mind and will of the Lord” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1972, p. 99; or Ensign, July 1972, p. 88).
When President Smith made that statement, the Spirit bore witness to me that it was true. That same Spirit bears witness anew today.

1838—My brother Don Carlos and my cousin George A. Smith returned (from missions through Kentucky and Tennessee), having traveled 2415 kilometers—1450 kilometers on foot, and the remainder by steamboat and otherwise. They visited several branches. When nearly home they were recognized and pursued by the mob, which compelled them to travel 160 kilometers in two days and night. They had little to eat and narrowly escaped freezing both nights.

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

Grandma was also incredibly patient. Many of the General Authorities were her friends and would visit her in our home. I remember when President J. Reuben Clark, Jr., would come to visit her. Because of health problems, he was not able to climb the stairs to visit Grandma, and she couldn’t come down. So she would sit in a chair at the top of the stairs while he sat at the bottom, and they would talk. While they were conversing, Rich and I would climb the stairs and slide down the banister. They never scolded us, and we had a great time.

From Ed Kamauoha and Faleoo Itopi and other leaders like them, the young people of Sauniatu learned that despite being poor and often scorned by other men, they are important to the Lord, and he will help them be “Number 1.” Wherever they have gone as they have left Sauniatu, they have established the reputation of working hard and being the best.
Most of the young men who worked on Sauniatu went on missions. Elder Pouono Lameko is now serving a mission in Western Samoa. He spent three years at Sauniatu. He worked on the farm and the waterfall besides going to school. When he talks about his experiences at Sauniatu, his eyes shine and his face looks happy.
“I expanded at Sauniatu,” he said. “Brother Kamauoha encouraged me in school so that I improved and graduated from high school. He was my teacher—now he is my friend.”

When I was about six, my father bought the only small store in town. He also kept the farm. We were very poor, and Dad worked hard so that he could pay the bills. While Dad worked on the farm, my sister and I worked almost every day in the store. We had two gas pumps out front, and even as a youngster I learned how to pump gas into cars. I also learned how to write up sales. Sometimes I took care of the store all alone, even though I was quite young.
Mother spent most of her time in bed because she was sick, so I learned early to do chores and be responsible. I did the family wash and ironed my own clothes. From her bed, Mother taught me how to make bread, and that became my weekly chore. Of course, few children like to clean their rooms, and I was normal. I could put that off because it was upstairs and Mother didn’t get up there often! But I did all my other jobs as best I could.
Dad was in the bishopric for seventeen years, practically the whole time I was growing up. My sister and I would walk the three-quarters of a mile to church and sit in the congregation and watch Dad up on the stand. Then we’d walk home and tell Mother about what we’d learned. Mother’s health gradually improved, and from the time I finished high school, she lived a normal, active life.
Seeing Dad up on the stand is a fond memory because I knew that Dad was doing what Heavenly Father wanted him to do. As long as he was trying to do what was right and serving Heavenly Father, everything was OK. Nothing was lacking in our lives. I knew that Dad was doing his best. I knew that Heavenly Father was taking care of Mother. And I knew that all I had to do was do my best, and Heavenly Father would help us.
We all must have faith in Jesus Christ. When we have faith in Jesus Christ and hard things happen in our lives, we can be strong. We can know that Heavenly Father loves us, He is aware of us, and He is there for us.

I have read some of the histories of the disaster which we commemorate this day. Of particular note is the account of the near spontaneous collection of flowers throughout Salt Lake City by young and old to be sent to Scofield to somehow alleviate the terrible suffering and grief. I was moved to tears as I read from the account.
“In Salt Lake words cannot describe the scenes that took place. Every one was anxious to do their part, and the school children, … hastened from house to house gathering flowers from all the gardens in the city until almost three carloads were furnished” (History of the Scofield Mine Disaster, 57).
The flowers were placed in the baggage compartment of a special train bound for Scofield. I quote now from the account.
The flowers “were spread out on the seats two and three feet high throughout the rest of the car. …
“Everything seemed to be there that might help to cheer those who have lived out in the hills, far away from the flowers and who are now experiencing the most dreadful calamity that has ever occurred in the western country. …
“The … car, with the lilacs and cut flowers, was switched into a sidetrack near the cemetery early in the morning. The car was next to the roadway over which the long train of wagons passed as they bore the bodies to their last resting place. The doors of the car were thrown open, and as each wagon came by, it halted while Captain Barrett and his aids, … buried the coffins under lilacs and handed each driver a bunch of cut flowers for the widows and children who accompanied the coffins. At the forward end of the car, the boys in charge were almost overwhelmed by requests for flowers. Work as fast as they could, the mournful little groups of women and children, in significant black, were still there awaiting their turn for the blossoms. If the donors of the flowers and the people who helped collect them could have seen the gratitude and appreciation of Scofield they would have been repaid an hundred fold for their work. …
“Just before noon came a plea from the Finns. Their spokesman came aboard the car and said they had sixty-one dead, none of whom had a friend in the country, aside from the people of their nationality. He asked as a favor that flowers be reserved for them until their train came down the canyon. There was an abundance for all, and the man’s face lighted with evident pleasure when he was assured that all the coffins would be decorated and the graves covered with flowers. The distribution alone took nearly all the time from nine o’clock in the morning until the heavy rain late in the afternoon stopped the melancholy procession” (57–61). To these flowers were added additional bouquets from towns along the route of the train.

Relaxed in their shirtsleeves on a warm spring day in 1897, the McKay brothers, David O. and Thomas E., sat at a table in their rented cottage, reading their mail.
For David O., this was a time of triumphant climax in his college career and of great expectations for a new world to conquer. His hopes and spirits were high.
After three years in the university’s normal school, he felt ready to resume his chosen career as a teacher, a career he had interrupted to complete his own schooling. Before coming to the university, he had graduated from the Weber Stake Academy in Ogden, Utah, and had returned to his beloved Huntsville, as principal and teacher in the town’s little school.
A year of teaching whetted his appetite for more training, and he again became a student, enrolling at the university. In those three years of college, he displayed qualities that would help carry him to the pinnacle of leadership in the Church.
He was elected president of his class and played on the university’s football team.
A highly prized employment opportunity had been offered him in Salt Lake County, through the recommendation of the university’s teacher training director.
Most important of all, he had found the most wonderful girl in the world, Emma Ray Riggs, and she was willing to become Mrs. McKay. The future, indeed, seemed full of promise for David O. McKay.
Then he read the letter. In a moment, all his hopes seemed dashed. He was called to serve for two years in the British Mission. Swallowing disappointment, he accepted the call. It proved to be a marvelous time of spiritual growth.
He never regretted his decision. Teaching opportunities and Emma Ray awaited him on his return.

For some, there will come the temptation to dishonor a personal standard of honesty. In a business law class at the university I attended, I remember that one particular classmate never prepared for the class discussions. I thought to myself, “How is he going to pass the final examination?”

I discovered the answer when he came to the classroom for the final exam on a winter’s day wearing on his bare feet only a pair of sandals. I was surprised and watched him as the class began. All of our books had been placed upon the floor, as per the instruction. He slipped the sandals from his feet; and then, with toes that he had trained and had prepared with glycerin, he skillfully turned the pages of one of the books which he had placed on the floor, thereby viewing the answers to the examination questions.

He received one of the highest grades in that course on business law. But the day of reckoning came. Later, as he prepared to take his comprehensive exam, for the first time the dean of his particular discipline said, “This year I will depart from tradition and will conduct an oral, rather than a written, test.” Our favorite trained-toe expert found that he had his foot in his mouth on that occasion and failed the exam.

The sacrament is an ordinance that helps us stay on the path, and worthily partaking is evidence that we are keeping the covenants associated with all the other ordinances. A few years ago, while my wife, Anita, and I were serving in the Arkansas Little Rock Mission, I went out to teach with two young missionaries. During the lesson, the good brother we were teaching said, “I have been to your church; why do you have to eat bread and drink water every Sunday? In our church, we do it twice a year, on Easter and Christmas, and that is very meaningful.”

We shared with him that we are commanded to “meet together oft to partake of bread and wine” (Moroni 6:6; see also D&C 20:75). We read out loud Matthew 26 and 3 Nephi 18. He responded that he still did not see the necessity.

We then shared the following comparison: “Imagine you are involved in a very serious car accident. You have been injured and are unconscious. Someone runs by, seeing that you are unconscious, and dials the emergency number, 911. You are attended to and regain consciousness.”

We asked this brother, “When you are able to recognize your surroundings, what questions will you have?”

He said, “I will want to know how I got there and who found me. I will want to thank him every day because he saved my life.”

We shared with this good brother how the Savior saved our lives and how we need to thank Him every day, every day, every day!

We then asked, “Knowing that He gave His life for you and us, how often do you want to eat the bread and drink the water as emblems of His body and blood?”

He said, “I get it, I get it. But one more thing. Your church is not lively like ours.”

To that we responded, “What would you do if the Savior Jesus Christ walked through your door?”

He said, “Immediately, I would go down to my knees.”

We asked, “Isn’t that what you feel when you walk into Latter-day Saint chapels—reverence for the Savior?”

He said, “I get it, I get it, I get it!”

He showed up at church that Easter Sunday and kept returning.

Thank you for the interesting articles about decorating your room without spending a lot of money. I have found the ideas very helpful—especially in fixing up a shabby wooden desk and bookcase. My sister and I got a pale color to match the walls and painted both pieces; then we got a darker color and put on the edges of the shelves and around the edge of the top of the desk. It looks great.
Kathy OkerlundOrem, Utah