Gospel Story Finder

Homes are also private places, so unfortunately, we often let down. In our homes and with our families we sometimes become our worst selves with the people who matter the most in our lives. I distinctly remember one morning when I was 14 years old. Before I left for school, I was cross and unkind with my parents and my brothers. After I left the house, I was polite with the bus driver and friendly to my peers. I felt the discrepancy of my actions, and a huge feeling of remorse came over me. I asked the teacher if I could be excused for a few minutes to call home. I apologized to my mother for my behavior and told her how much I loved and appreciated her and promised to do better at showing it.

But prestige held no particular appeal for Ezra Taft Benson. He always considered his true career to be serving in whatever way the Lord needed him, his highest honor the privilege of bearing the priesthood of God. He always remembered with special fondness an early calling as Scoutmaster in the Whitney Ward, where he led his troop to win a valleywide contest for boys’ choruses. From that early experience as Scoutmaster blossomed his abiding commitment to Scouting. Later he served on the national advisory council and the executive board of Boy Scouts of America, and he received the three highest national awards in Scouting—the Silver Beaver, the Silver Antelope, and the Silver Buffalo—as well as world Scouting’s Bronze Wolf.

Returning to Whitney years after serving as Scoutmaster, he tried to locate all twenty-four of “his” Scouts. He found many serving as ward and stake leaders but could not account for two. In his later travels, he found those boys, neither of whom had married in the temple. He reestablished friendships and subsequently had the privilege of performing temple sealings for them and their families.

Johnny Abbott marched down the sidewalk with his fists clenched and a scowl on his face.
“My goodness, Johnny!” Mr. Pierpoint, the grocer, exclaimed. “What are you so mad about?”
“I’m looking for somebody. I’m looking for that boy who always gets me into trouble,” Johnny replied.
Mr. Pierpoint nodded. “I think I know the one you mean. Isn’t he the boy who made you take an apple from my fruit stand last week?”
“That’s right,” Johnny said. “He got me into trouble at school again today too. I’m looking for him!”
“Well, I hope you find him,” Mr. Pierpoint called as Johnny hurried on.
Johnny was walking so fast that he almost ran right into Mrs. Wiggins as she was coming out of the bakery.
“Slow down, Johnny!” she told him. “Why are you in such a hurry?”
“I’m looking for somebody,” Johnny explained. “I’m looking for that boy who always gets me into trouble.”
Mrs. Wiggins thought for a moment and then she said, “I think I know the boy you’re talking about. Isn’t he the one who made you push over my trash barrel yesterday?”
“I’m afraid so,” Johnny answered. “And it was his fault that I had to stay after school too. I have to keep looking for him. Goodbye, Mrs. Wiggins.”
Susie Whitaker was playing with her dolls when Johnny walked by.
“Hello, Johnny,” she called. “You don’t look very happy today.”
“I’m not,” he told her. “I’m looking for that boy who always gets me into trouble. I’m mad at him!”
“Oh, I know who you mean,” Susie answered. “He’s the boy who made you tease my kitten and pull her tail.”
“That’s the one,” Johnny agreed. “He kept me from playing any games at school today too. I had to sit on the bench. I’m looking for him!”
“Keep looking!” Susie encouraged.
Johnny went faster. He almost tripped over Mr. Ramsey’s garden hose lying across the sidewalk.
“Sorry, Johnny,” Mr. Ramsey said. “Let me get this hose off the sidewalk before someone has an accident. What’s your hurry?”
“I’m looking for somebody. I’m looking for that boy who always gets me into trouble,” Johnny replied.
“Is he the same one who made you tie knots in my hose one day?” Mr. Ramsey asked.
Johnny nodded. “Yes, that’s the one! That’s why I’m looking for him. I’m tired of getting into trouble.”
“I don’t blame you,” Mr. Ramsey said.
Johnny’s mother was ironing when he walked into his house. “Why, Johnny, what’s wrong?” she asked.
“I’ve been looking for somebody and I haven’t found him,” Johnny replied.
“Who is it?” his mother questioned.
“That boy who always gets me into trouble,” Johnny explained.
“Oh, is he the boy who sometimes makes you leave your bed unmade and your clothes lying around your room and all that sort of thing?” Mother inquired.
“Yes,” Johnny answered. “And I’m looking for him.”
“And just what are you going to tell him when you find him?” his mother asked.
“I’m going to look him straight in the eye and tell him I’m tired of getting into trouble!” Johnny replied.
“Do you really want to find that boy?” Mother asked.
“Yes!” Johnny answered. “I really do!”
“Good,” she smiled. “He’s here right now. Come with me and you can talk to him.”
Johnny followed her into the bedroom. “Where is he?” he asked. “I don’t see him.”
“You will,” she promised. “Stand on this chair.”
Johnny climbed up on the chair that his mother had placed in front of her dresser mirror. He found himself face to face with a boy just his size, one with red hair, freckles, blue eyes, a missing tooth, blue pants, and a striped shirt.
It was the very boy he had been looking for!
“Now I’m going back to my ironing,” Mother said. “You may stay here and talk as long as you want.”
And that’s just what Johnny did. He told the boy how tired he was of getting into trouble.
“I don’t like you when you do that!” Johnny exclaimed. “And I’m not going to listen to your ideas anymore!”
Then Johnny jumped down from the chair, and the boy in the mirror suddenly disappeared.

About a year ago, some friends of our family were hospitalized in very serious condition. Rosana and Angel Blanco Rodrigues and two of their children were in their kitchen when they smelled gas. Brother Rodrigues went to investigate. When he touched a gas hose, a small leak exploded, igniting a fire. Seeing his two small children in danger, Brother Rodrigues used his own body to extinguish the flames. He was the most critically injured of the four.
When Mama told our family about the accident, she told us of the love she and Papa felt for their dear friends. She explained that because we live far away, we could not help Brother and Sister Rodrigues by taking care of their other children, their house, or their business matters. But there was a special way we could help them, she said. We could have a family fast and pray that the Lord would bless the Rodrigues family. All of us, even we younger ones, could participate. Our parents had always fasted on the first Sunday of the month and on other occasions, but we had never fasted as a family before. We decided to try it.
We began Saturday at lunchtime. We all fasted—Papa and Mama; Dougles (13), Francini (11), Debora (7), and me (9). We said a prayer and asked the Lord to bless our friends. Mama put a reminder—“Our First Family Fast”—on the refrigerator, the water faucet, the microwave, and the kitchen wall so that we would remember not to eat or drink anything.
I did not feel thirsty during those hours, even with the intense heat here in Amazonas, Brazil. I didn’t feel hungry, either. I was able to understand a little how Jesus Christ might have felt when He fasted for forty days. I felt how good it is to do something to help others.
On Sunday, Papa gave each of us an envelope for our fast offerings and helped us fill out the form. At church that day, we gave the money to our branch president. We ended our fast at lunchtime.
The Rodrigues family eventually returned home with some injuries. As we and many other friends continued to fast and pray for their recovery, the Lord continued to bless them. After several months of care, they were completely healed and were left almost without scars.
Each month since our first family fast, we have fasted and prayed for a united purpose.
I am grateful to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and to learn about Jesus Christ and how much He did for me. I want to follow His example always.

She seemed to know instinctively that selfishness never led to happiness. I remember one summer being eager to give a birthday present to a young boy whom I babysat regularly. My mother didn’t give me a lecture on resources. Instead, we walked down to Main Street, where she purchased thirty-five cents’ worth of white broadcloth.
I helped tend my little brother as I watched her cut out a shirt with sleeves, interfacings, and a collar. After she carefully sewed the shirt together, she put on buttons from a worn-out shirt and made carefully hand-stitched buttonholes. The process seemed to take forever, but the new shirt was pressed and wrapped in time for the birthday, I remember the wonderful feeling I had as I presented the gift to the young neighbor. My mother’s gift to me was her time and effort and her support of my own desire to give.

Illustrated by Dilleen Marsh
WELCOME! I’m Sister Simon.Hi! I’m Ramón.Hello. I’m Cathlyn.I’m Mei Lin.Hi! I’m David.And I’m Joshua.
Hey, remember us from school? You were doing some pretty good dives today.Thanks.
You’re in luck. I know where my dad keeps his booze, and nobody’s home. Come with us, and let’s see what we’ve been missing.No thanks.
What’s the matter? Mommy and Daddy say no-no?Yes they do. And so does—
So does who? Sounds like a wimp to me.I’ll tell you sometime when you really want to know. For now, I can tell you that He’s certainly no wimp. Let’s just say He’s my best friend.
Why don’t you forget this friend and have some fun?Because I promised that I’d always remember Him, and I hope I always do.
She doesn’t have a clue.
They just don’t understand.

Another commitment to follow the pattern during those college years was to actively be involved in home evening group meetings and activities. I can tell you that habit had a direct positive impact on my life and the lives of my children—literally. It was in my home evening group that I found their dad—my true love. Where would our children be today if I had skipped out on home evening? Because I was following the pattern at that time in my life, I was also prepared to be sealed with him in the House of the Lord.

It started innocently enough. Like most other children, I would sit by the window, look out at the stars, and repeat the chant:
“Star light, star bright
First star I see tonight.
I wish I may, I wish I might
Have the wish I wish tonight.”
Then I would close my eyes and make my wish. I wished for everything my childish mind could dream of: a pony, a puppy, the eradication of spinach, a fairy godmother. I never got my wishes, but that was okay because it was all done in fun.
I grew older and stopped wishing on stars, but, unfortunately, I didn’t stop wishing. Now it took on a definite greenish tint. I wasn’t wishing for a puppy or a pony, but I wished I could be more like Kathy, because all the boys liked her, or I wished I had clothes like Linda’s.
Whenever I saw someone with something I didn’t have, I thought of how much happier I would be with it, so I’d start wishing for it. Almost everyone I met seemed to have something I didn’t have. I began to believe that everyone else had everything, and I had nothing.
Of course I began to feel sorry for myself. I’d whine, “If only things were different.” Or, “It’s just not fair!” Or, “Why me?”
So how did I ever find my way out of this quagmire of envy and self-pity? Believe it or not, I found my answer in the Church hymnbook. One Sunday I was sitting behind a girl who had the most beautiful hair. I was wishing that mine were that long and shiny, when we began singing “Count Your Blessings.”
Now, I had probably sung that song dozens of times, but it never meant anything to me until then. For the first time, I paid attention to the words. Why was I always wishing for things I didn’t have? Why did I feel angry and cheated because life wasn’t treating me fairly? The answer was right there in the hymn. I wasn’t counting my blessings. All I ever thought about were the things I didn’t have, which completely obscured my awareness of all the things I did have.
I went home from church and did exactly what the hymn said to do. I made a list of all my blessings. First came the obvious ones like home and family, and food and clothing. But then I wrote down other things like my personal strengths and assets, the many opportunities and positive experiences I’d had, my understanding of the gospel and the unique perspective that added to my life. When I added them up, I counted more than 100 blessings. Like the hymn says, I really was surprised.
I carried this list for a long time, and whenever I found myself slipping back into my old wishing habit, I would read the list. It always helped me to have a feeling of gratitude rather than one of envy and self-pity.
Finally the day came when I didn’t have to carry the list anymore because I no longer needed to wish for things. I was happy for others and their blessings, because I was more aware of my own blessings. I became so much happier once I finally quit wishing.

Lizzie wiggled and squirmed as she sat watching the deacons pass the sacrament bread. She thought, It’s sure hard to sit still and be reverent while the deacons pass the bread and water. I wonder if all my friends will be in Primary today. I want to tell them about the presents Grandma and Grandpa sent from Portugal. I can’t wait to see them when they come home from their mission!
In a few minutes, a deacon reached their row. When Lizzie took a piece of bread, Mom leaned over and whispered, “This is to help us remember Jesus.”
Lizzie tried to think about all the things that she knew about Jesus. She thought about the story of Jesus visiting the Nephites after he was resurrected. He had blessed each child; then angels had come down from heaven. If only she could have been there!
Then Lizzie remembered a bedtime song Mom sometimes sang to her and her younger brother, Paul:
I think when I read that sweet story of old,
When Jesus was here among men,
How he called little children like lambs to his fold;
I should like to have been with him then.
I wish that his hands had been placed on my head,
That his arms had been thrown around me,
That I might have seen his kind look when he said,
“Let the little ones come unto me.”*
Lizzie smiled quietly to herself and thought, I wish I could have been with Jesus then.
While she bowed her head for the prayer on the water, Lizzie listened carefully to the words. When she heard the priest say, “that they may always have his Spirit to be with them,” she wondered how she could have his Spirit with her.
The deacon passed the water to the family, and again Mom whispered to Lizzie, “This is to help us remember Jesus.”
Lizzie had a new thought. I didn’t live when Jesus was on earth, but he loves me just as much as he loved the children then. The sacrament prayer says that I can have his Spirit with me always if I remember him and am obedient. That’s great!
Lizzie snuggled up against Mom and smiled as the young men finished passing the sacrament. Thinking about Jesus had helped her be reverent during the sacrament, and she had such a good feeling inside that she knew she had done the right thing.

During the Great Depression, the homeless, the downtrodden, the unemployed “rode the rails” that passed not far from our home. On numerous occasions, there would be a soft knock on the back door. When I opened the door, there I would see a man, sometimes two, ill-clothed, ill-fed, ill-schooled. Generally, such a visitor held in his hand the familiar cap. His hair would be tousled, his face unshaven. The question was always the same: “Could you spare some food?” My dear mother invariably responded with a pleasant, “Come in and sit down at the table.” She would then prepare a ham sandwich, cut a piece of cake, and pour a glass of milk. Mother would ask the visitor about his home, his family, his life. She provided hope and words of encouragement. Before leaving, the visitor would pause to express a gracious thank-you. I would note that a smile of content had replaced a look of despair. Eyes that were dull now shone with new purpose. Love, that noblest attribute of the human soul, can work wonders.

I was baptized when I was 10 years old, in the city of Oaxaca, Mexico. I remember that a few months after my baptism, some families in our branch went on a trip to the Mesa Arizona Temple, after having managed to save, at great sacrifice, for their travel expenses.
Upon their return, some young people shared their experiences, and the adults also gave their testimonies of this wonderful experience.
I thought that I would never travel to the temple with my family, first of all, because of the spiritual needs we had, that is, my parents were separated; and also, for our temporal needs. We were a large family and in our economic situation, even with all her efforts, my mother could not satisfy our basic needs.
Five years after I was baptized, while I was studying in the Church’s high school, Benemérito de las Américas, the construction of the first temple in Mexico was announced. At school we were invited to participate in an activity that consisted of making partitions for the temple.
At first, I thought it would just be an opportunity to have fun with my friends. After several hours of hard work and with some blisters on my hand, I realized that although it had not been so much fun, I felt joy in my heart for having done my small part in the construction.
When the temple was ready, I also helped with the setup during some of the dedication sessions. In one of them I had one of the most sacred spiritual experiences of my life.
I was asked to help in one of the corridors of the floor where the celestial room was located and just before the dedication session began, I was asked to occupy the only seat that was available within the room. It is difficult for me to put into words what I felt in that sacred place, I can only say that I wanted to keep that feeling of peace and joy for the rest of my life.
Once the temple was dedicated, my mother received her endowment, and two years later, I, too, was endowed before serving a mission.
In 1995, my wife and I were sealed in the temple. Our three children were born in the covenant. Little by little, I have come to understand more and more clearly the sacred covenants that we make in the temple.
In 1998, during a trip with my family through the state of Utah, in the United States, we visited the Monticello Utah Temple. As we walked around the temple, my wife and I discussed the words we had heard regarding the construction of more temples in Mexico. We thought that if one day a temple was built in Oaxaca, it would be in a long time, and we might not see it.
How wrong we were and how short our vision was. Thus, saith the Lord: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.”1 Two years later, on March 11, 2000, the Oaxaca Mexico Temple was dedicated by President James E. Faust (1920-2007).
In the past, members traveling from Oaxaca to the Mesa Arizona Temple would travel three days one way and three days back. After 1983, to attend the Mexico City Temple, the trip took only eight hours by bus one way and the same time back. What a great change!
However, as of the year 2000, the members of the Church who live in the city of Oaxaca have a beautiful temple just a few minutes from their homes. I think we have a lot to be thankful for, for this great blessing, and the best way to thank Him is to work hard on our family history and attend the temple to do vicarious work for our loved ones on the other side of the veil.
Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “As Church members, we do have a divinely appointed responsibility to seek out our ancestors and compile family histories. This is far more than an encouraged hobby, because the ordinances of salvation are necessary for all of God’s children.”2
Some of my siblings and I are now sealed to our parents. Currently, I have been spending more time in family history work. I have visited more family members who are not members of the Church to learn more about my ancestors so that I can perform temple ordinances for them. I have had a few meetings with my siblings to encourage them to participate in family history as well.
President Russell M. Nelson said: “Our message to the world is simple and sincere: we invite all of God’s children on both sides of the veil to come unto their Savior, receive the blessings of the holy temple, have enduring joy, and qualify for eternal life.”3
I testify that this is the Church of our Savior Jesus Christ and that He leads this great work on both sides of the veil. Temples are the house of the Lord on earth. I testify of the joy that comes when we strive to spend time working on family history and attending the temple. If we keep the covenants that we make in that sacred place, we can live together with our loved ones for all eternity.

2. Isolate the situations that cause you to respond badly. It may be that you can eliminate some of the situations at home that “set you off.” And if you can’t eliminate them, you can at least try to work around them. Kathy usually flew into a rage when she walked through the door from school because her mother started to ask her questions. They were perfectly legitimate, friendly questions, but Kathy resented them and she responded by snapping at her mother. Afterwards she always felt bad.

Kathy and her mother talked about the problem and decided that Kathy needed a “time-out” period as soon as she got home from school. They figured out that Kathy resented her mother’s questions because she had just spent an entire day answering to teachers and friends. What Kathy needed was time to herself. Kathy and her mother decided that Kathy, an accomplished musician, should be free to come home and play the piano for a while before assuming responsibilities at home.

One day my English teacher was telling us how she thought Clinton Central didn’t welcome new students and left others out. A week later I received the October 1987 New Era. As I was glancing through it, the story “Everyone Belongs” caught my eye. While I was reading, all I could think about was how much this school in the story sounded like my own. Since I am a class officer, I felt I could try to do something.
I showed the story to my English teacher, who is also my freshman class adviser. While the class was doing the assigned homework, she read the story. I couldn’t help but notice a tear running down her face. When she had finished reading she said she thought we as a school needed to do something to make everyone feel as if they belonged. She had me take the story to Mrs. Pearson, who is in charge of the student council and to Mr. Thompson, who is in charge of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes at Clinton Central.
I know this article is going to affect many people at my school, and I can already see the efforts being made to include others by those who have read it.

Years ago a friend told this experience. He was 17 years old and with his companion stopped at a cottage in the southern states. It was his first day in the mission field and was his first door. A gray-haired woman stood inside the screen and asked what they wanted. His companion nudged him to proceed. Frightened and somewhat tongue-tied, he finally blurted out, “As man is God once was, and as God is man may become.”
Strangely enough, she was interested and asked where he got that. He answered, “It’s in the Bible.” She left the door for a moment, returned with her Bible. Commenting that she was a minister of a congregation, she handed it to him and said, “Here, show me.”
He took the Bible and nervously thumbed back and forth through it. Finally he handed it back saying, “Here, I can’t find it. I’m not even sure that it’s in there, and even if it is, I couldn’t find it. I’m just a poor farm boy from out in Cache Valley in Utah. I haven’t had much training. But I come from a family where we live the gospel of Jesus Christ. And it’s done so much for our family that I’ve accepted a call to come on a mission for two years, at my own expense, to tell people how I feel about it.”
After half a century, he could not hold back the tears as he told me how she pushed open the door and said, “Come in, my boy. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

Just before this meeting started, Brother Stapley, with a twinkle in his eye, asked me to answer for a story he heard I had told to the All-Americans at BYU last night; and in keeping with my inward response to Brother Petersen’s great sermon on honesty today, I must tell the truth.
The story, Brother Stapley, was mythical. It was reportedly the statement of a man who golfed with you and Brother Tanner and who, when he came back, said, “Have you ever played golf and been the only one rained on?” I can testify to you that Brother Stapley gets rained on, and was snowed on two days ago, as I observed. As we went from the place where he had snow deposited on him from a tree limb, just as we came out from a meeting into that beautiful storm, I drove up streets that were littered with limbs of magnificent trees. I was fearful of what I would find when I got home, and my apprehensions were justified. Some of our lovely trees were broken. In our backyard a fence we had built to protect the neighbors while our children grew up was flattened. And I would like to tell you something serious and truthful. I haven’t worried a minute about that. I have been thinking about tonight and what we are here discussing.
We are talking about casualties, some that have happened and some that are happening, and some that we want not to happen in the future. God has from the beginning been very interested in his children, those safely in the fold, some who have strayed, and those not yet in.
We are talking primarily tonight about those who are in, or some who may not quite be in as much as they should be and as we would like them to be. I read again with joy what Alma the prophet wrote about some people who were far from the fold, who had once been in. He took three of the sons of Mosiah, two of his own sons, and two other converts and went to teach the Zoramites, who are described as having fallen into great error, for “they would not observe to keep the commandments of God, and his statutes. … Neither would they observe the performances of the church, to continue in prayer and supplication to God daily, that they might not enter into temptation. Yea, in fine, they did pervert the ways of the Lord in very many instances; therefore, for this cause, Alma and his brethren went into the land to preach the word unto them.” (Alma 31:9–11.)
As that happened, Alma offered to the Lord the kind of prayer that is in our hearts as we listen to these great servants of youth speak tonight. “O Lord, wilt thou grant unto us that we may have success in bringing them again unto thee in Christ. Behold, O Lord, their souls are precious, and many of them are our brethren [I suppose we might parenthetically assume he was thinking that many of them are the wives and children of our brethren now and in the future]; therefore, give unto us, O Lord, power and wisdom that we may bring these, our brethren, again unto thee.” (Alma 31:34–35.)
I recently had called to my attention by Brother Joe Christensen an excerpt from Church history that I would like to share with you in part. In the Documentary History of the Church (vol. 5, pp. 320–21) is “A Short Sketch of the Rise of the ‘Young Gentlemen and Ladies Relief Society’ from the Times and Seasons.” You will observe, as the annotator says, that this has more to do with youth than with the Relief Society, but that was the heading.
“In the latter part of January, 1843, a number of young people assembled at the house of Elder Heber C. Kimball [you realize that the Prophet Joseph Smith is writing this] who warned them against the various temptations to which youth is exposed, and gave an appointment expressly for the young at the house of Elder Billings; and another meeting was held in the ensuing week, at Brother Farr’s school-room, which was filled to overflowing. Elder Kimball delivered addresses, exhorting the young people to study the scriptures, and enable themselves to ‘give a reason for the hope within them,’ and to be ready to go on to the stage of action, when their present instructors and leaders had gone behind the scenes; also to keep good company and to keep pure and unspotted from the world.”
The Prophet then notes that the next meeting was held at his house, and though the weather was inclement, there were many there, to overflowing.
“Elder Kimball,” he writes, “as usual, delivered an address, warning his hearers against giving heed to their youthful passions, and exhorting them to be obedient and to pay strict attention to the advice of their parents. …”
The Prophet then says something that has touched me and I think will touch you who work with youth: “I experienced more embarrassment in standing before them than I should before kings and nobles of the earth; for I knew the crimes of which the latter were guilty, and I knew precisely how to address them; but my young friends were guilty of none of them, and therefore I hardly knew what to say. I advised them to organize themselves into a society for the relief of the poor, and recommended to them a poor lame English brother … who wanted a house built, that he might have a home amongst the Saints; that he had gathered a few materials for the purpose, but was unable to use them, and he has petitioned for aid. I advised them to choose a committee to collect funds for this purpose, and perform this charitable act as soon as the weather permitted. I gave them such advice as I deemed was calculated to guide their conduct through life and prepare them for a glorious eternity.”
You see, our efforts to reach youth today are not original. They are about the same, motivated with about the same sense of their need, and certainly by the same spirit that directed those of old. This statement of the Prophet moved me because I have had that same feeling when I have stood before them. As a teacher for years, I have pondered their future as I taught them, and I have lived long enough to see the fulfillment of my fondest hopes, or the beginning of the fulfillment of them, for many of them, and, I am sorry to say, the realization of some of my apprehensions. They are, in fact, a great and remarkable generation, yet like many of you I am well aware of the major problems confronting all of our young people, and that many of them desperately need help.
It would be an interesting experience for some of you to walk through a few days of our relationships with youth as we visit with them in person, by telephone, in interviews, by mail. It is just a few days ago that I deplaned at a major airport, met some of you leaders there, and a beautiful young college-age lady who was waiting for me. She had left her home against the wishes of her parents and others and had hitchhiked to a rock festival. On her way home from that adventure, hitchhiking now with a male companion, she was picked up by officers of the law, arrested for possession of drugs, tried, and sentenced to five years in prison. Through the intervention of our local brethren, who were reached by a distraught mother through the bishop, she was given parole freedom, but the record has been made and her life is hanging in the balance. She has some decisions to make.
On my desk is a current letter, one of many, from an anguished girl crying for help. Three times the words are repeated, “Please help me.” Within hours there has been a call, another call, from a disturbed young man seeking guidance for his friend who questions a Church position which he feels he cannot accept, which he thinks makes his position in the Church tenuous or untenable.
In my hand I hold a letter received two days ago from a faithful, brokenhearted father whose son, about the same age as the others, took his own life, notwithstanding the efforts of loving parents and a fine, wholesome family. I wish there were time to read a description of how hard these marvelous parents have tried. This is a missionary family, a committed family, a stay-together family; yet this boy, convinced of his own worthlessness, that he was a failure and that the mistakes he had made were disqualifying, took his own life. His father sent a copy of the note he left, and asked me to make such use of his letter and this letter as judgment and my feelings suggested.
What can we do? How can we help this great young generation meet the challenges of their time? I am certain that we must thoughtfully examine not only their needs and their problems, and what we have to give them, but how we undertake to give it, and what we appear to them to be as they observe it. I have been rethinking my own experience and will give you just an example or two quickly. May I do it in the spirit of a statement that to me for a long time has been very choice: “Neither laugh nor weep, nor loathe, but understand.”
What are some of their problems? These basic observations have come from experience with youth and from their own lips and lives. I can sum them up in four or five needs.
First, they need faith. They need to believe. They need to know the doctrines, the commandments, the principles of the gospel. They need to grow in understanding and conviction. They need to worship and to pray, but they live in a time when all of this is so seriously questioned, when doubt is encouraged.
Two, they need to be accepted as they are, and to be included. They need a family, the most important social unit in this world; and even if they have a good family, they need the supportive influence outside their home of others, of neighbors, of friends, of bishops, of brothers, of human beings.
Three, they need to be actively involved, to participate, to give service, to give of themselves.
Four, they have to learn somehow that they are more important than their mistakes; that they are worthwhile, valuable, useful; that they are loved unconditionally.
I knelt with my own family, at the conclusion of a great family home evening, the night before our lovely daughter was to be married in the temple. I think she wouldn’t mind my telling you that after we had laughed and wept and remembered, she was asked to pray. I don’t recall much of her prayer, the tears and the joy and the sweetness, but I remember one thought: she thanked God for the unconditional love she had received. This life doesn’t give one very many chances to feel exultant and a little successful, but I felt wonderful that night, and thank God that she really believes and understands what she said. We cannot, my dear brethren, condition our love by a beard or beads or habits or strange viewpoints. There have to be standards and they must be enforced, but our love must be unconditional.
I read you just a sentence from the letter left by the boy who ended his own life: “I have no hope, only dreams that have died. I was never able to obtain satisfactory interpersonal relationships. I feared the future and a lot of other things. I felt inferior. I have almost no will to achieve, perseverance, or sense of worth, so goodbye. I should have listened to you but I didn’t. I started using acid last summer. It’s purgatory.” What a tragic story!
We need to understand their needs. They need to learn the gospel. They need to be accepted, to be involved, to be loved; and they need, my brethren—my fifth and final point—the example of good men, good parents, good people, who really care.
I went to the funeral of my cousin a few weeks ago, and I pass on to you something that touched me deeply there. Maybe it is the message I can share with those of us who can do something, if we will, for our great young generation. A man who served as his counselor, now himself the bishop, said of my cousin: “Every boy in his lifetime has the right to know a man like Ivan Frame.”
God bless us to love them, to accept them, to give to them what they need in order that they may be what they want to be and give what they want to give, I pray, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

When I was a little boy, one of the favorite games played in our neighborhood was “Kick the Can.” Usually it was played at dusk with all of the children in the neighborhood gathered in one of the yards or orchards where there were many hiding places. The game began with the one who was “it” standing over the tin can with his eyes tightly closed, counting, while all the other youngsters fled to hiding places. He concluded his counting, “ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred! “And then he would shout in a loud voice, “Here I come. Ready or not, you will be caught.” And so the game began.
I have thought when observing a teacher struggling with a disinterested class, or watching a parent trying to give an untimely lesson to a youngster, that teaching is something of a game in which we announce through our actions, “Here I come. Ready or not, you will be taught.”
If teaching is to be effective, it must capitalize on the readiness of the students to learn. A number of years ago when I was teaching seminary, a student was killed in an automobile accident on the way to school. There was a pall of gloom and shock over the whole school that day. The students came to class more serious and ready to learn than I had ever seen them before. I was teaching Church history, and we were bringing the pioneers West. But that was not the time for a lesson on pioneering. That day they were ready for a lesson on the atonement of Christ, the resurrection, life after death.
A good teacher will be alert and will seize upon the opportunity to teach when the youngster is ready. Many lessons that we have been anxious to teach our own children have had to wait until they were ready.
One of the major difficulties, and one of the monumental dangers, of sex education courses in public schools is that they disregard this significant principle of teaching. They tell all before the youngster is ready, and in so doing, they often wreak havoc with the spiritual, emotional, and moral stability of the students. They open them to great jeopardy. Things should be done in the season thereof, and there is a time for all things. A wise teacher and a wise parent will be alert to that fact.
Likewise, in programming Church activities we should use great wisdom in considering the maturity and readiness of our members to be taught the basic principles of morality. If we teach the basic principles too soon, they may be meaningless to the youngsters. The matter of teaching morality may be necessary, but the framework in which it is set should recognize the degree of maturity and readiness.
For instance, when the youngster is too young to have been subjected to the urging of physical desires, he must be taught about the subject in an entirely different way than will be appropriate when he is older. There will come a time for some more mature discussion later, but this must always be with reverence.
Information presented to a student must be palatable to him and of such a nature that his learning constitution can digest it. Unfortunately, there is no series of charts or graphs or measures or tests available that will enable the parent or the teacher to gain an accurate profile of maturation of each student and thereby tailor his teachings accordingly. This means that we must be careful and must be quiet observers of each youngster in order to be able to understand when he is ready. This is true of many subjects.
The principle of readiness is important when teaching our own children. Parents are with their children almost constantly and can observe when they are ready to be instructed. From questions or behavior or because of experiences in their own lives, they can sense that it is time to teach. Parents must know when the time for the lesson is now, right now, for their children are ready for it.
My wife and I have made it a practice as parents never to put off a question from one of our youngsters. Regardless of how unimportant the question seems or how busily we are involved, we have always been willing to interrupt anything to respond to the question of a youngster. That is because the question is an indication that he is ready; he wants to know—now.
We have learned something about feeding that intangible, invisible appetite within by comparing it with physical hunger. While our children have been growing up we have made it a practice to feed them when they are hungry. Now that may seem like a very strange and reckless thing to do, but it has been very successful.
Soon after our children come home from school, a hot dinner is waiting for them. About four-thirty or five o’clock they eat. They have been in school all day; their blood sugar is low; they are restless and tired; and when they come home they are hungry.
There are two courses that could be followed. Their mother could serve them cookies and milk or bread and jam in order to tide them over until dinner time, in which case their appetite is usually dulled and they don’t eat as well as they should at dinner. The other course is to feed them the dinner when they are most hungry. They eat heartily, and then the snack comes a little before bedtime.
It is interesting to see them, after they have had a good meal, go about their chores or settle into studying or peacefully play or take care of any other activities.
The question is immediately raised: Well, doesn’t father eat with the children, then? Father has his dinner when he comes home. Often the children sit around and visit. And with a snack served later, it is like family home evening virtually every night.
This has contributed much to the peace and tranquillity of our home because the children are fed when they are ready.
There is, of course, a comparison to teaching in this. Sometimes we give students little off-hand answers, little tidbits that really spoil their appetite for learning, and they come away without being given the nourishment spiritually and intellectually that they need.
The cry from the childhood game, “Ready or not, you will be taught,” is poor advice for any teacher or parent.

From her seat on the front row, Cora* watched as her friend Beth took Elder Miller’s hand. He helped her slowly down the few steps into the warm water of the baptismal font.
Beth’s blond hair was carefully woven into a long braid down her back. She was not wearing her hearing aids. Cora was not wearing hers, either. She didn’t like the way they buzzed and vibrated in her ears, sometimes letting out a loud screech that made her jump.
Now Beth was standing in the font. She looked at Cora and held up her hand, her pointer finger, little finger and thumb extended. It means “I love you” in sign language. Then Elder Miller placed Beth’s left hand on his arm and grasped her right wrist in his hand. He smiled at her, nodding. It was just like when they had practiced. Beth smiled back. Then she turned and smiled brightly at Cora. Cora returned a nervous smile.
Beth’s mom was kneeling in front of the font. Elder Miller bowed his head and closed his eyes, but Beth and Cora kept their eyes open. The only way they could “hear” the prayer was to watch as someone signed the words to them. Beth’s mom signed for her, and Elder Smith, Elder Miller’s companion, signed for Cora.
Cora could hardly keep her eyes on Elder Smith. She knew what he was saying—she had learned the prayer when they had practiced. It had been fun practicing on dry land. But now Cora studied the water doubtfully. It looked cold and deep.
Was Beth really going to do it? Was she really going under the water? Cora shivered. She could feel a nervous fluttering in her stomach.
She looked at the others in the room. Most of them had their eyes closed. Some watched Elder Smith. Suddenly the prayer ended, and people opened their eyes. Cora quickly turned her attention to the font. She watched Elder Miller put his right hand behind Beth’s back. Beth held her nose. Then he began to lower her into the water. It swirled around and enveloped her. He quickly pulled her back up. Beth’s eyes were closed, and she was still holding her nose.
On her feet again, she pushed her hair back with both hands and wiped the water from her eyes. Blinking, she looked up at Cora, beaming with joy. Elder Miller escorted her to the steps, where her mom was now waiting to wrap a towel around her.
Beth was baptized! As Cora watched her friend’s beaming face, tears came to her eyes. She, too, wanted to be baptized. She looked down at the white jumpsuit the missionaries had loaned her. She and Beth had dressed together, jumping up and down with excitement.
Elder Smith touched Cora’s shoulder to get her attention. “Your turn,” he signed. Cora looked again at the water, and a hard knot replaced the butterflies in her stomach. She shook her head. Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
She couldn’t do it! She had always been afraid of the water. Once, as a little girl, she had fallen headfirst into a shallow pool. The water had seemed determined to swallow her up. It seemed like forever before someone had pulled her out. She had coughed and spit up water, and her throat had burned. She hadn’t been in standing water since.
Elder Smith waved his hand to try to get her attention again, but she jumped to her feet and ran out of the room. She ran down the hall and into the bathroom, where she sat on the cold floor and sobbed.
A hand touched her head, and she looked up. Beth was standing there in her baptismal jumpsuit, still dripping wet. Beth slid down the wall and sat beside Cora. She put her arm around her friend’s shoulder.
In a moment Cora stopped crying. Beth moved around so that she was facing Cora and began to sign. “You’re afraid of the water, aren’t you?”
Cora nodded with her hand. That means “yes” in sign language.
“I was afraid, too, a little bit. But it was wonderful! Elder Miller didn’t let go of me, and it happened fast. You can do it! Elder Smith will not let go of you.”
“I’m too afraid,” Cora signed back.
“Do you want to be baptized? Do you want to follow Jesus?”
Again Cora’s hand nodded.
“Jesus will not let go of you. He knows you’re afraid. He wants you to follow Him. He will not let go of you.”
Cora looked at her friend. She did want to follow Jesus. Would He help her? She knew the answer. Of course He would!
“OK.” Cora wiped her eyes and stood up.
They saw Beth’s mother standing by the door. Her eyes shone with tears. She took both girls back to the door that led to the baptismal font. Elder Smith came through another door and stood across the font from them. He looked at Cora and signed, “Are you ready?”
She nodded nervously and watched Elder Smith enter the water and walk slowly toward her. He held out his hand. She took it and stepped down into the font. The water was warm and gentle as it swirled with her steps. They stopped in the middle of the font, and Elder Smith positioned her hands on his arm. He nodded encouragingly to her and then bowed his head and raised his right arm. Beth’s mom knelt at the font again and signed to Cora the words of the prayer.
When Cora saw the word, “amen,” a picture on the wall in the back of the room caught her eye. It was the picture of Jesus being baptized by John the Baptist. She felt a warm feeling inside. He would not let go of her.
Elder Smith opened his eyes and smiled at her. He lifted her arm, and she held her nose firmly, closing her eyes. She held her breath just as they had practiced. She felt the water surround her as Elder Smith lowered her below the surface. In the next instant, she felt herself lifted, and the water released her. She blinked her eyes and gasped. She was baptized! She wiped the water from her face and pushed back her hair.
Opening her eyes, she saw smiles on the faces of her ward family. She turned back to the steps and saw Beth’s mother holding a towel for her. Beth was standing next to her mother, eager for Cora to join them. When Cora reached the top of the steps, she threw her arms around her friend, rejoicing that she had followed the example of the Savior and knowing that He was pleased with them both.

Our daughter, Rachel, had an interesting experience with this type of revelation when she was the LDSSA president at Harvard four years ago. She was invited to represent the LDS faith on a panel of students to be interviewed by a famous journalist, Sally Quinn, regarding their religious beliefs. Quinn questioned Rachel for twenty minutes in an interview that went viral on the Internet.

In high school, Rachel often stayed after school to ask questions of seminary teachers so she would better understand gospel principles. In college, she learned all she could in her Institute classes and personal studies about the gospel and other world religions. In a sense she had always prepared herself for this type of opportunity to share the gospel. But when Sally Quinn started with questions about women's role in the Church, Joseph Smith, and the LDS faith being a cult, I wondered how Rachel would respond.

Despite the fact that, as one online commenter wrote, Quinn's tone was at times "somewhat mocking and derisive," the Spirit was able to guide Rachel in her responses. For example, at one point, Quinn asked Rachel to explain LDS garments, whether or not she was wearing them, and how they related to secret temple ordinances.

In reply, Rachel referred to something she had read the night before in Genesis when God was making a covenant with Abraham. She said that LDS garments were also a token of sacred covenants we make with God. She explained they are white underwear that comes to the top of the knee and past the edge of the shoulder that provide protection if worn worthily. She also divulged that she did not yet wear garments, because she had not yet been through the temple.

Rachel told me later that she felt the Spirit helping her to answer these questions openly, while still respecting the sacred nature of the subject. The Spirit brought things to her remembrance during the interview that she had learned previously. This is an example of how ongoing promptings can prepare us for and guide us during an event or conversation.

Eventually, I made my way back to BYU–Hawaii after serving a 19 month mission in L.A., a 14 month district mission in Guam, and a semester at BYU Provo. Like most return missionaries, you get thrown back into college life. I remember taking a religion class where there were more than 50 of us in a room. Mid-terms came and so, like you, we too had to take mid-term exams. Not too far into the exam, I noticed the teacher nodding his head, he then proceeded to pull people out from class. I wondered what was going on. We later learned from our teacher that the students were cheating on the mid-term. I thought to myself, “Are you serious?” Of all the classes to cheat in, it had to be this religion class. My teacher was so disappointed; you could tell in his facial expression. It was one of the saddest days in my college life. Here I thought, this is no ordinary school. This is the Lord’s University and people cheat! I thought to myself, they should be like my friend Leila. Leila was not your typical college student. She was from Tahiti and retired from working with CES. One day, she told me that she walked into her religion class; sat down to take the exam and after having read through it she realized that she did not know how to answer the questions on the exam. She wrote, “I don’t know how to answer these questions, but I live it.” She turned in her exam to the teacher and walked out of the class. She got an A for the exam.

We also had family traditions. The experiences gained from these family traditions taught us basic principles. One fun tradition we practiced in our family had a lasting impression on us. When the children in the family reached the age of one, they were placed at one end of a room and the family at the other end. Where the family was gathered, four objects were placed on the floor: a baby’s milk bottle, a toy, a small savings bank, and the scriptures. The child was then encouraged to crawl to the objects and select one of them.

I selected the bank and turned out to be a financial executive. My brother Ted selected the scriptures, was a great lover of books all his life, and became a lawyer. My brother Bob was the well-rounded member of the family. He crawled up and sat on the scriptures, picked up the bank and placed it right at his feet, and put the bottle in his mouth with one hand and held the toy in the other hand. He became an accountant. He lived a well-balanced life.