Gospel Story Finder

The summer was almost over when one Saturday morning Dad said, “I know a fishing hole I think I’ll visit this afternoon. Do you boys have anything special planned for today?”
The boys’ eyes lighted up in happy anticipation, and right after lunch they all started for Willow Creek. When they reached the stream, Dad turned off the main gravel road onto a steep dirt one.
The road was narrow and full of curves but finally widened out along the creek bank. After Dad helped the boys untangle their lines and bait their fishhooks, he went a short distance downstream to find a good fishing hole.
James and Joseph didn’t notice the sun clouded over until a loud clap of thunder startled them. With a sudden wild gust of wind, heavy rain began to fall. They hurried back to the car, wet and frightened.
Dad opened the door, climbed inside, and said cheerfully, “Guess we better be starting for home.”
The downpour of rain had turned the dirt road into a sea of mud. Dad tried to plow through it but the wheels began to spin out of control. Each spin edged the car closer to the embankment.
The anxious moments ticked slowly by while they all thought of their comfortable home. Father suggested that the boys kneel on the seats of the car while they all prayed for help.
The rain continued to splatter the windows of the car until it seemed as if the car were on an isolated island. But soon above the noise of the pelting storm, they heard the roar of a motor and saw a four-wheel-drive jeep come into view.
The jeep pulled up alongside the stalled car, and a man jumped out. It was an answer to prayer when he called, “We knew someone needed help in this storm!”
He fastened a chain to the front of their car, and with the help of the jeep pulled them safely back to the main road.

Going to MIA is no longer an interstate situation for Church members in Aiken, South Carolina.
The 23 youths of the Aiken Branch, Columbia South Carolina Stake, are no longer traveling to Augusta, Georgia, for their weekly Aaronic Priesthood MIA meeting.
To celebrate their new meeting place closer to home, the group held an opening social to initiate their building as classroom, cultural hall, and chapel for all future meetings.
The youth enjoyed games and food, as well as joining in for a dance.

A few years ago, I spoke to a friend who had attended a church meeting earlier that day and enquired how it was. The response was negative; apparently the talks were poor and the meeting not at all edifying. Later that day I spoke to another friend who had attended the same meeting and I made the same enquiry. ‘It was wonderful’ was the response.
I have often pondered about the experience of these two friends. Both attended the same meeting and heard the same talks, yet one had left spiritually hungry, and the other completely nourished. It’s possible that the subject of the talks simply resonated more with my second friend. However, I imagine it was much more than that. My second friend had gone spiritually prepared to listen with an open heart and with a desire to act on that which they heard.
Certainly, those assigned to speak or teach should diligently seek the guidance of the Spirit in relation to the topic, the content, and the presentation of their instruction. My experience though is that those attending have at least equal responsibility to prepare themselves spiritually so that they can be edified and to possess a willingness to act on that which they hear.
When I read the Book of Mormon, I feel the great power of the words of Nephi, of King Benjamin, of Alma, Mosiah and others. At general conference, that same power is present from our prophet, President Russell M. Nelson and the other leaders and general officers of the Church.
Consider just a few instructions from general conference in recent years:
“But, my dear brothers and sisters, so many wonderful things are ahead. In coming days, we will see the greatest manifestations of the Savior’s power that the world has ever seen. Between now and the time He returns ‘with power and great glory,’ He will bestow countless privileges, blessings, and miracles upon the faithful.”2
“I am learning that Heavenly Father is more interested in my growth as a disciple of Jesus Christ than He is with my comfort. I may not always want it to be that way—but it is!
“Living in convenience does not bring power. The power we need to withstand the heat of our day is the Lord’s power, and His power flows through our covenants with Him.”3
“Nothing opens the heavens quite like the combination of increased purity, exact obedience, earnest seeking, daily feasting on the words of Christ in the Book of Mormon, and regular time committed to temple and family history work.”4
“The Savior loves to restore what you cannot restore; He loves to heal wounds you cannot heal; He loves to fix what has been irreparably broken; He compensates for any unfairness inflicted on you; and He loves to permanently mend even shattered hearts.”5
What wonderful instruction, edification, and invitations to act from these and the hundreds of other inspired talks. As we participate in general conference, either in person, through live streams, or reading or watching the talks afterwards, I invite each of us to spiritually prepare to be edified, and to be willing to act on that which we hear. Just as King Benjamin counselled the people of his time, so will the leaders of today guide us through these precarious and tumultuous times, building our faith in Jesus Christ and inviting us to make choices which will keep us safely on the covenant pathway.

Bertha came into my life when I was 13 and just beginning junior high school. How well I remember that first day of school. The building was large and sprawling with endless halls and rows and rows of lockers. It seemed like a huge transit mall compared to the security of grade school. Most of the students had come on school buses from small farms and neighborhoods. This was certainly not a big city group, but we were still anxious to be popular and accepted. There were so many of us that we were going to be using the old grade school across the street for additional classrooms. I alternated between excitement and panic at the thought of finding my way around.
I had worked hard all summer babysitting and getting up at 5:00 A.M. to pick strawberries and cherries so I could earn enough money to buy nice school clothes. But even in all my fine new clothes, I felt awkward and uneasy.
My friends and I huddled together, trying to act nonchalant to hide the fear we felt but didn’t dare admit. We stood in awe as the eighth and ninth graders moved confidently through the halls laughing and teasing each other. It was a relief when the bell finally rang and we all headed to the big gym where it was announced that each seventh grader was to be assigned to an eighth grade “big brother or sister” to show them around. Each seventh grader was called, along with the name of his buddy for the day.
When my name was called along with Bertha Brown, I heard several of my friends gasp. I had no idea who Bertha Brown was, but it was obvious that some of them did. As soon as we were excused to go meet our big sisters, I was surrounded by girls telling me to hide quickly before Bertha could find me. It was clear that to be assigned to Bertha was the worst possible fate. I was so confused. Part of me said not to hide—that would be mean. But another part of me wanted to be popular, and that’s the side that won.
So the game began—the hiding, the giggling, and the running from imagined danger. We managed to escape from Bertha for the moment, but not before I caught a glimpse of her. It was true that she was not pretty. She was even a little scary to look at with her wild, dry hair. Her clothes looked like something a grandmother would wear, and her shoes were brown and ugly.
All day the big story was how poor little Sheron had to hide from Bertha. The one time that I really saw Bertha’s face she looked so sad. How could we be so mean to her? I thought. She hadn’t done anything to deserve it. There we were, a whole group of girls, running away from one lonely person. I knew that what we were doing was wrong. I didn’t want to play that awful game. What I really wanted was to talk to Bertha and tell her I was sorry. I knew that she must be embarrassed. But I wasn’t brave enough, so I let everyone else lead me. But oh, I was miserable!
Later that day I forgot about Bertha when I was called to Mrs. Jensen’s office. She had been my very favorite teacher in grade school, and now she was a counselor at the junior high. I could hardly wait to see her. All the way to her office I imagined all kinds of wonderful things. Maybe she wanted me to be her special assistant. Maybe she had something important that she wanted me to do. I almost ran through the halls in my eagerness to see Mrs. Jensen. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
When I walked into her office, I could see tears in her eyes, and my heart nearly broke when she looked straight at me and said, “Of all the girls coming into seventh grade, I assigned Bertha to you because I thought that you were the one girl who would be kind to her!”
All the misery of the day came crashing down on me, and I sobbed as I realized that Mrs. Jensen did have an important assignment for me and I had failed her. I had failed Bertha. But, most of all, I had betrayed myself. The next day everyone else forgot about the game—and Bertha. I never did. I rarely saw her after that day. When I did catch a glimpse of her all alone, I wanted desperately to tell her how sorry I was. But I was too ashamed and too young in my understanding of compassion to know how much it would mean to her.
I never saw Bertha again after junior high, and yet she has been a very important part of my life. Even today I wish that I had found the courage to be her friend. How do you say you are sorry to someone that you have never spoken to and yet hurt so deeply that more than 30 years later you cannot forget?
I finally came to grips with what I had done to Bertha one Easter when I was studying about the atonement of Christ. How grateful I am to the Saviour for his sacrifice and for the realization that through his wonderful gift I can finally lay that burden down and find peace and forgiveness—not that I will forget, but that I can now use the lesson to improve my life and bless others.
Because of Bertha, I have never again knowingly been unkind to anyone, and I have tried to teach my children the same. I have a special place in my heart for those who don’t seem to fit in, for those who are lonely and forgotten. Because of Bertha it is easier for me to see beyond the surface and understand the heart of those I meet. I have tried to make it up to her by the way I treat others, but I will always wish that I could see her and say, “I’m sorry, Bertha.”

Not long ago, Father Paul Showalter of Nauvoo shared with us an interesting insight on the Prophet Joseph Smith that came from the early Catholic history of that area.
When the Saints began to settle in Nauvoo and surrounding areas, a French Catholic priest by the name of Father John Alleman, who lived in neighboring McDonough County, needed transportation to visit a sick parishioner. Joseph provided him with ferry service to cross the river and a carriage to his destination.
As an expression of respect, Joseph commented, “The priests attend to their people faithfully and mind their own business, whereas others are continually bothering the Latter-day Saints.”

When I was a deacon like many of you young men, my father and I hiked to a mountain stream to fish for trout. As my dad attached the bait to the hook on the end of my fishing line, he told me that I would need to set the hook in the fish’s mouth when it tried to take the bait, or it would get away. I did not understand what it meant to set the hook, so he explained to me that the hook needed to be embedded in the fish’s mouth when it struck at the bait so it could not shake the hook loose and that the hook would be set if I quickly pulled back on the pole when the fish tried to take the bait. Now, I really wanted to catch a fish, so I stood on the bank of that mountain stream like a coiled spring, every muscle taut, waiting for the telltale movement at the end of my pole which would signal that the fish was trying to take the bait. After a few minutes I noticed movement at the end of my pole, and in that instant I jerked back on the pole with all of my strength, expecting a big fight with the fish. To my surprise, I watched as that poor trout—with the hook now set very firmly in his mouth—was launched from the water into the air over my head and landed on the ground flopping behind me.
I have two observations from that experience: First, a fish out of water is miserable. Although its gills, fins, and tail work very well in water, they are all but useless on land. Second, the unfortunate fish I caught that day perished because it was deceived into treating something very dangerous—even fatal—as worthwhile or at least as sufficiently intriguing to warrant a closer look and perhaps a nibble.

One young woman wrote and shared an experience about a very special boyfriend. She told of his desire to persuade her to participate in improper conduct. She said: “I would tell him that I wanted him to be worthy to go on a mission. Every now and then, when it felt right, I’d say little things about standards or following the wrong path. A few weeks ago, I called him up, and I bore my testimony to him and told him why I say no. It was so hard. I hung up and just bawled. The next day I got a note from him, and in it he told me that I was one of the most respected young women he knew. I am so happy that I have the standards of this gospel and that I could pray to my Heavenly Father for the strength to handle these trials.” And then she closed with this strong commitment: “I’ve made up my mind. I will keep plowing right through all the trials that Satan puts in my way.”

Second story: In 2006, tensions between India and Pakistan made global headlines. The two countries, both with nuclear arsenals, appeared to be at the brink of war. During the height of this escalating conflict, BYU-Hawaii students from India and Pakistan created a library display that highlighted their shared cultural heritage. Photographs, beautiful clothing, and other items laid side by side bore testimony that the commitment of these students and their advisors to the gospel of Jesus Christ could overcome the political differences that divided their homelands. Here at BYU-Hawaii, these students decided to do something to communicate their commitment to peace. They too had become a city on a hill. These are just two examples of the kinds of actions referred to in Mosiah 15:14-16 "And these are they who have published peace, who have brought good tidings of good, who have published salvation; and said unto Zion: Thy God reigneth! And O how beautiful upon the mountains were their feet...how beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of those that are still publishing peace!"

The selection of a site for the New Zealand Temple illustrates this point. President Wendell B. Mendenhall of the San Joaquin Stake was assigned by President David O. McKay to investigate possible temple sites in the lands of the South Seas. He investigated potential locations in Auckland, New Zealand, where the mission headquarters are located but felt no satisfaction.
“Then one day I felt I should go to Hamilton to visit the college. While in the car on the way, the whole thing came to me in an instant: The temple should be there by the college. The Church facilities for construction were already there, and that was the center of the population of the mission. Then, in my mind, I could see the area even before I arrived, and I could envision the hill where the temple should stand. As soon as I arrived at the college and drove over the top of the hill, my vision was confirmed. In my heart I felt that the Lord had especially made this hill for his temple, everything about it was so majestic and beautiful.” (Allie Howe, “A Temple in the South Pacific,” Improvement Era, Nov. 1955, p. 811.)

In 1952 Ben Lewis, BYU administrative vice president, was intent on establishing a food services program on campus. The postwar boom had dramatically increased the size of the university community, and the need was great. To help find a manager of dining services, Brother Lewis decided to personally visit the restaurants in town to determine which had the best food.

In the end he concluded that the best food was in a restaurant belonging to Wells and Myrle Cloward. It was located inside the Regal Lanes Bowling Alley, where FatCats now stands. Brother Lewis approached the Clowards about coming to work for BYU, but they turned the offer down. It had taken years of hard work to build up their business, and it was starting to pay off.

Again Brother Lewis unsuccessfully approached the Clowards. Then late one evening a fire broke out in the bowling alley. By the time anyone could respond, the building was destroyed. When Brother Lewis heard the news, he exclaimed: “My prayers have been answered!” In later life Brother Lewis noted that he hadn’t prayed specifically for a fire, nor set the one that consumed the bowling alley, but he knew he needed help in getting the Clowards to come to BYU. Soon thereafter Wells and Myrle Cloward accepted Ben Lewis’ offer and came to work for BYU.

Beginning with a small cafeteria in the basement of the original Joseph Smith Building, the Cloward family worked together serving students. With humble beginnings and continual progress, they established what would become one of the largest and most successful university food service programs in the nation.

We also spoke of Hector C. Haight, another ancestor, called from his home in Farmington, Utah, to preside over the Scandinavian Mission in 1856 with little or no ability to speak Danish, Swedish, or Norwegian. But trusting in the Lord and with the assistance of the Scandinavian Saints, he accomplished his assignment. He reported in 1858 that “2,610 souls had been baptized … and [that] 990 members had emigrated to Zion” (Andrew Jenson, History of the Scandinavian Mission [Salt Lake City: Deseret News Press, 1927], p. 128).

I moved away from home and went to college when I was 18 years old. I was not raised in the church. I felt like a stranger in the world. I felt the world was cruel and growing evermore increasingly wicked. I became anti-social and felt I could not trust anyone. I felt alone. I began to study4 at the university. It was there that I began to search5 diligently6 for answers about life: Where did we come from? Where are we going? Why are we here? I took classes in psychology, philosophy, science, and religion, looking for answers. I asked everyone I knew to explain the meaning of life. Some people would entertain my questions while others thought that I was strange for wanting to know, saying, "You think too much!"7

I was not satisfied with the answers I encountered among the philosophies of men.8 I wanted to know the truth9, and I began to look inside10 myself to find the answers. I began to trust the whisperings of my own conscience11even though it contradicted what the world12 had taught me. My father had taught me to trust my intuition and to listen inside13, that it would always guide me to truth. My father told me, as good fathers do, that I was unusual14, and that I was gifted15. My father told me that many people do not seek to know16 the meaning or the mysteries of life.

But, I also quickly became tempted by the adversary hearing him say things like "Surely there is no God17; that doesn't make any sense18; those are the things of a child19. You are not a child; you are a man20; men prosper by their own strength21, and when they die that is the end thereof22." And being deceived23, I decided not to believe in God24. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life25began to seduce me; and I was ignorant in unbelief26. Wherefore men are free to choose liberty and eternal life, or to choose captivity and death, according to the power and captivity of the devil27.

And I chose sin. And the wages of sin is death28. The great dark abyss29 of the adversary had blinded my mind30.

Thus we see how subtly31 and carefully32 the devil does lead away the hearts of the children of men. For behold, he shall rage in the hearts of the children of men, and stir them up to anger against that which is good. And others will he pacify, and lull them away into carnal security—and thus he cheats their souls, and leads them away carefully down to hell. And behold, others he flatters away, and tells them there is no hell; and he says unto them: I am no devil, for there is none—and thus he whispers in their ears, until he grasps them with his awful chains, from whence there is no deliverance.33

During that depressing period of my life I truly mourned34. My sorrow had made me meek35, humble, and teachable. As a result, I diligently hungered and thirsted after righteousness36. If I had never suffered, I would never have had the desire to find a better way. My trials prepared me to look for God. So, as it happened one day, as on many other occasions, I lay flat on my back and stared at the ceiling while considering my miserable state37. For so long, I had been buried under the oppressive weight of a guilty conscience. With no one to turn to, I poured out my whole soul to God38. I wept, and being in an agony, I prayed more earnestly. I begged God for forgiveness and pleaded with him over and over again to save my soul from hell40, saying, “God, save me¬—please God, save me.”

For a man sometimes, if he is compelled to be humble, seeks repentance. And whosoever repents shall find mercy; and he that finds mercy and endures to the end the same shall be saved.41

I was proselyted by many faiths. I briefly attended a number of different churches. I remember the pastor in a certain church was friendly and gave me a Bible. He outlined the passages of scripture that I should read to begin to establish a relationship with the Lord. The pastor invited me to read and pray on my own, privately, to know whether or not the things of the gospel were true42. The pastor explained the function of the Holy Spirit43, that it is a witness for the truth. He explained, "The Holy Spirit is like a light44 that is born at the very center of your heart45 ." I began to feel the burning sensations in my heart46 when we would discuss the gospel of Jesus Christ. I felt overwhelmed and inspired by the Holy Spirit47 as I read the scriptures. I prayed sincerely48 to ask God about Jesus Christ49. Is Jesus Christ the Savior of the world? “Never man spake like this man.”50 As I humbled myself to pray, I felt like a little child51 who was asking his father about the world for the first time. To whom shall we go?52 And Father in Heaven53 revealed54 the truth to me55. “Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leads unto life, and few there be that find it.”56

During that period while I was struggling to find my way in life, my father told me that the way he overcame his difficult times was through practicing the teachings of certain self-help books. My father had given me many of the same books to read in an attempt to help and inspire me. Out of all the books that my father had given me to read regarding self-help and success, one stood out above the rest: you guessed it,
"The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People." I read the book several times and also listened to it on tape and compact disc. The first time I read the book and finished it, something touched my heart.57 I knew it was true. There was something different about the book. It gave me hope that there were upright and honest people in the world who wanted good for others and lived by principles. I wanted to know more about Stephen Covey, who he was and where he got his information for his book. I would go to the Franklin Covey store to buy new books. While there, I inquired of the employees and manager about who Stephen Covey was, where he was from, and what he was like. I wanted to find the source58 of the information.

I discovered that Stephen Covey was from Utah and that he was an active member of the Mormon Church. I knew nothing about the Mormons. I had heard the word Mormon59 but didn't know what it meant. I figured that Stephen Covey must have gathered a lot of the information from his religion to write the book, even though the author makes no direct reference to the Church. Consequently, I thought that if Stephen Covey was any good representation of who a Mormon is, then I wanted to know more about the Mormon religion, deducing that it must teach similar values. Wherefore, by their fruits ye shall know them.60 All of the employees that worked in the Franklin Covey store were members of the Church, and I became friends with them. One day during a religious discussion in the Franklin Covey store, my new friends invited me to attend church. I said that I would consider it. After an hour of contemplation, I returned to accept the invitation to attend the Mormon church for the first time the coming Sunday. “Thus we see that by small and simple means great things are brought to pass.”61

On March 7, 1999, I attended the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the first time. One month later on April 4, I was baptized. I received the gift of the Holy Ghost and was confirmed a member of the Church. On May 8, 1999, I was ordained to the office of priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. On March 5, 2000, I was ordained to the office of elder in the Melchizedek Priesthood. One month later, I received my patriarchal blessing. I completed the yearlong membership requirement and submitted my mission papers. Three weeks later, I received my own temple endowments. And a week after that, I received my mission call to serve in the Panama City, Panama – Spanish-speaking Mission. On July 5, 2000, after one year and three months of membership in the church, I entered the MTC in Provo. In 2002, I returned home honorably from my mission. In 2005, I was sealed to my wife for time and all eternity in the San Diego Temple. On September 2, 2009, I became a father to my son Wyatt. On August 28, 2011, my wife gave birth to our daughter Saatchi, and we are expecting our third child in January. There is no greater joy in life than having your own children.

If Heavenly Father through his infinite mercy was willing to make something out of my life, he will certainly make something out of you. You are so much further ahead than I was at your age. “It’s never too late to be what you might have been.”

“In the Celestial Room, I felt an assurance that I will be healed,” Domingo Servito who faced a fatal health condition testified.
He miraculously survived an eight-hour, high-risk major operation after the Open House, and a few weeks later he was able to attend the Dedication, and celebrated his 68th birthday the day after the Dedication. He bears witness that, “when you feel the assurance of the Spirit, it will truly happen.”

I would now like to share with you a remarkable account shared by my friend, Lee, that touched my heart deeply and reminded me that the best work we can do on our own pales in comparison, even as a social worker, to what we can do when strengthened by the Lord.

My friend shared in his own words:
Lee’s Story
I was born into and raised in an unloving and abusive home. My earliest memories, at the age of two, are of terror. I lived in fear every day of my life, until I moved away at the age of 17.

When I was about 16, I fell into a dark hole. My life consisted of waking up, going to school, coming home from school and going to my room, eating dinner, returning to my room, and staring at the ceiling. At school, the only time people would talk to me was if they needed an answer to a math problem. I was in a tremendous amount of emotional pain and was convinced that I was ugly, lazy, stupid, and unlovable. Satan was working hard to “sift [me] as wheat.”[6]

Thankfully, I knew that even if nobody else loved me, Jesus did. I had felt His love and guiding hand even before I was six years old. I distinctly remember many times feeling his presence.

Going to church on Sundays was a haven for me. I could feel my Savior’s deep love for me. My family lived on a farm, so I couldn’t really visit neighbors, but wandering the fields, I could find a degree of peace, feel Christ’s love for me, and see the beauty of the earth.

One day, as 16-year-old me was in my room trying to find a way out of my situation—I cried out in my heart to Jesus, “Lord! I’m stuck and can’t get out!”

A day or two later, a boy a year older than me knocked on the door of our house. He met my parents there and said, “There is something wrong with Lee.” My parents’ response was, “We know, but we don’t know what to do.” I had grown up with this young man. I’d had sleepovers at his place, and he and his brother had been to sleepovers at mine. We had gone to Primary together and had served in Aaronic Priesthood quorums together.

He finished talking to my parents and came up to my room to talk to me. I didn’t believe he cared. I mean, who could? So, I ignored him. He would talk to me, and I didn’t look at him or respond. He said, “That’s OK. I can do the talking” and he talked to me for about an hour. At the end of that time, he said, “I have to go home and do my chores. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

The next day, he showed up again. I treated him the same way again. He came the third day in a row. Now I figured he did actually care so I started to talk with him. Jesus Christ sent him to rescue me. To help me. To show me that there were others who did care about me. He was the angel Christ sent.

I am so grateful to my Savior, Jesus Christ, for sending that young man. I am so grateful that someone only 17 years old would be listening to and acting on the words of the Spirit. The Lord and this young man got me out of the pit. It took many years, but, beginning with those visits, they rescued me from Satan and his chains of hell.

I now have had a great life. I have a wonderful wife of 40 years. I have 5 amazing children and 13 incredible grandchildren. The Lord has supported me and my family all these years, and I know that He will continue to do so throughout the years to come.

Jesus Christ lives! He rescued me! He wants to rescue you too. Please let Him. Cry out to him. Expect angels to come. They will come.

Theresa also has had a special experience. Soon after she was baptized, Theresa began preparing to go to the Tokyo Temple to perform vicarious baptisms for her deceased ancestors, who did not have the opportunity to receive the fulness of Christ’s gospel in this life. Through the efforts of those around the world doing indexing of public records, and with help from ward members and the missionaries, Theresa was able to find long lost information about her father, who died when she was young. This was such a blessing, as many family records were destroyed by bombings during wars in Sierra Leone. The database was updated just before her baptism. She was then able to prepare his name, her grandmother’s, and others to receive baptism and other temple ordinances.

Some years ago, President Thomas S. Monson came to a regional conference in Hamburg, Germany, and it was my honor to accompany him.
President Monson asked about Brother Michael Panitsch, a former stake president who had been one of the stalwart pioneers of the Church in Germany. I told him that Brother Panitsch was seriously ill, that he was bedridden and unable to attend our meetings.
President Monson asked if we could pay him a visit.
I knew that shortly before his trip to Hamburg, President Monson had undergone foot surgery and that he could not walk without pain. I explained that Brother Panitsch lived on the fifth floor of a building with no elevators. We would have to climb the stairs to see him.
But President Monson insisted. And so we went.
I remember how difficult it was for President Monson to climb those stairs. He could take only a few at a time before needing to stop and rest. He never uttered a word of complaint, and he would not turn back. Because the building had high ceilings, the stairs seemed to go on forever, but President Monson cheerfully persevered until we arrived at the apartment of Brother Panitsch on the fifth floor.
Once there, we had a wonderful visit. President Monson thanked him for his life of dedicated service and cheered him with a smile. Before we left, he gave him a wonderful priesthood blessing.
President Monson could have chosen to rest between our long meetings. He could have asked to see some of the beautiful sights of Hamburg. I have often thought of how remarkable it was that of all the sights in that city, the one he wanted to see more than any other was a feeble and ailing member of the Church.
President Monson came to Hamburg to teach and bless the people of a country. But at the same time, he focused on the one.

This missionary ticks all the usual boxes—he wears a white shirt and tie, has his scriptures at the ready, and possesses a natural faith in God. But something else makes Elder Gavin Chambers stand out from the crowd.
Chambers is a 206 centimetre (6-foot 9-inch) all-American volleyball player! From Corona, California, he’s traded in his volleyball togs for the threads of a full time missionary.
Elder Chambers has been serving in the Papatoetoe area of the New Zealand Auckland Mission, where he recently began training a junior missionary companion, Elder Bryce Jacobson “I really look up to Elder Chambers,” says Elder Jacobson, clearly referring to him as a senior companion. But at his height, being looked up to is something Chambers is used to.
He was always tall. “By the time I was 13, I was already 182 cm (six feet). But my real growth spurt didn’t begin until my sophomore year in high school.” He reached his full height by his senior year, and, as with most tall kids, it was assumed he would play basketball. That was not to be.
“I never really liked basketball,” he noted. “The other kids and the coaches always kind of made fun of me, telling me I couldn’t jump.”
His mother urged him, instead, to try a local recreation league volleyball team. “I had never had so much fun in any sport before,” Chambers says. “I was hooked! Even though I wasn’t very good, I went home and told Mom that volleyball was the sport for me!”
Great club coaching helped him find his footing in the game, and because of his prodigious height, they made him a middle blocker. Finally, the burden of being tall began to pay-off. After a season of club volleyball, he was anxious to join his high school team and test his new skills. But disaster struck in his very first scrimmage.
“I jumped and extended myself to try and block a ball, and when I came down, I landed on the foot of the guy on the other side of the net and broke my ankle,” Chambers recounted. “I had to wear a boot everywhere after that and I didn’t get to play at all my freshman season.”
“It was frustrating to have made progress in this new sport I really liked, then lose that whole season.”
But from the ashes of that setback rose the phoenix of an all-star career. Over the next three years, Chambers became a feared opponent on the court, drawing the attention of college volleyball teams throughout the US. He turned down scholarships offered by top schools—Stanford and UCLA among them—in favour of what he truly wanted: to play for the nationally-ranked Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah (USA).
Chambers’ youth career culminated in the summer of 2022, with the victory of his Orange Coast Volleyball Club at the under-18 national club volleyball championship. Chambers was named first-team all-American by the American Volleyball Coaches Association. The kid who couldn’t jump had proven all of those early naysayers wrong.
“After that tournament . . . I took a couple of weeks and kind of basked in the excitement of it all—I wore my gold medal . . . and enjoyed the recognition,” Chambers says. “But then I knew it was time to move on with my life.”
That meant accepting his call to serve as a missionary for the Church. With his newly found fame, one might think it was difficult to walk away from volleyball, but Chambers had already made that decision as a 12-year-old. He wanted to serve the Lord by inviting others to come unto Christ. Going on a mission was the right thing to do.
“Sure, it was hard to stop playing volleyball . . . but I had prayed about this decision, and I felt confident that the plan Heavenly Father had for me was to serve a mission right after high school.”
He says deciding early in his life made it much easier to manage all of the other things that could have acted as roadblocks to missionary service. “You want to make sure that you pray about that decision, too, because you may have ideas about what you want to do with your life, but your plan and the one Heavenly Father has for you may be different.”
Because of a visa issue for New Zealand, Chambers began his missionary service in the West Virginia Charleston Mission. There, he saw people in severe economic distress, but Chambers found them to be humble, just searching for spiritual guidance in their lives.
The gospel of Jesus Christ is the answer.
The situation in New Zealand is a lot different, but people here are also searching for answers to life’s questions. “We’re making friends everywhere we go, talking to people and sharing God’s plan of happiness with them,” he continues. “The work is hard, and we get rejected . . . , but we have tremendous faith that we’ll find people who are looking for a spiritual change in their lives,” he said. “When they’re ready to listen we’re going to be there, to answer their questions and help them learn what to do.”
“As I look back now, I can see how the Lord answered my prayers, and helped me find that perfect time to serve,” Elder Chambers says. “By doing things the Lord’s way, I was able to receive an offer to play at a college that would allow me to serve a mission and live my volleyball dream afterwards.”

In Mbuji-Mayi, Democratic Republic of the Congo, initially some were critical of the Church, not understanding our beliefs or knowing our members.
Some time ago, Kathy and I attended a very special Church service in Mbuji-Mayi. The children were dressed immaculately, with bright eyes and big smiles. I had hoped to speak to them about their education but learned that many were not attending school. Our leaders, with very nominal humanitarian funds, found a way to help. Now, more than 400 students—girls and boys, members as well as those not of our faith—are welcomed and taught by 16 teachers who are members of the Church of Jesus Christ.
Fourteen-year-old Kalanga Muya said, “[Having little money,] I spent four years without attending school. … I am so grateful for what the Church has done. … I can now read, write, and speak French.” Speaking of this initiative, the mayor of Mbuji-Mayi said, “I am inspired by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints because while [other] churches are being divided each one in his corner … [you are working] with [others] to help the community in need.”

While serving as a mission president I would often have a new missionary approach me and ask the question, “How do I regain the spiritual intensity I enjoyed at the MTC?” Further discussion would reveal he was having a hard time adjusting to the rigors of the work and the daily adversity and rejection he faced. To help him through this period of his mission I came up with an analogy.
Every spring at our home in Bountiful, Utah, we plant flowers. We go down to our local garden center and painstakingly pick out the cartons containing the healthiest flowers we can find including many already blooming. We come home and carefully plant them in the soil, fertilize them, water them, and sit back to watch them grow. Much to our dismay, after a few days they start to wilt.
Why does this happen? These plants had lived their whole life in a greenhouse where conditions were ideal, and suddenly they faced the real-world shock of our flower garden. We may get a late snowstorm or a heavy rain; dogs run through the flower beds; grandchildren kick their soccer ball into them or pull the whole flower up and proudly present it as a gift to my wife; deer come often to dine on the tender shoots and nip off the buds or pull the whole flower up and spit out the roots. Last year I trapped and transplanted nine squirrels that delighted in feasting on every new blossom our petunias produced. Our plants had left the greenhouse where all of the elements were ideal and entered the real world.
However, the miraculous thing is that after a few weeks the plants sank their roots deeper and you would see new and stronger growth emanating from within the plant that could withstand the storms of the real world.
The MTC is a wonderful greenhouse, but the time comes when missionaries must leave and be subjected to the adversities as well as the joys of the real mission field. It is a delight to watch them grow.

Softball season was approaching, and we had just enough girls in our ward for a team. Our coach, Sister Bowman, was a busy mother who had been asked to make an unlikely group of girls into a team. Sister Bowman turned out to be the best coach I ever had.
At the first practice, Sister Bowman went over the rules of the game. Then she laid out the “new rules.” She said, “This year we will not only be scored for our runs; we will also be scored for our sportsmanship. I want you to do your best. But win or lose, I want you to have the highest sportsmanship score possible at every game.”
Sister Bowman’s rules went something like this:
Before each game, greet the opposing team and wish them luck.
If a girl on your team makes an error, encourage her. Do not criticize.
If a member of your team or the opposing team falls down, help her up and make sure she’s all right.
Do not say unkind things to any member of your team or the opposing team.
Each girl who shows up for the game will have an opportunity to play, regardless of her ability.
Win or lose, enthusiastically cheer the opposing team and shake each competitor’s hand.
Sister Bowman regularly emphasized these rules.
The first game went well. Though we weren’t the best players in the world, we discovered that encouraging each other boosted the confidence and abilities of the entire team. When we won that first game, we found it was easy to cheer the opposing team. After all, it’s easy to be a good sport when you win.
Our real test came the first time we lost. One of the girls cried because she felt responsible for our loss. We gathered around her and assured her it was all right. We were surprisingly enthusiastic as we cheered the winning team and shook their hands. Even though we lost, we realized we’d had fun. Most importantly, our sportsmanship score was high.
As the season progressed, our focus shifted. We liked winning, but we became as interested in our sportsmanship scores as we were in the game scores. What started as a list of rules was becoming second nature to us.
At the end of the season when the stake leaders reviewed our record—games won as well as sportsmanship scores—we were the stake champions. We would be representing our stake at the regional playoffs.
When the big day arrived, we were ready to play our best. The team we were playing was undefeated, and when we went over to wish them luck, they didn’t seem as friendly as the other teams we had played. As the game progressed we began to realize that these girls were not playing by our rules. It seemed to us that they intended to win at any cost. They laughed at us. They ran into us and knocked us down every chance they got. If one of the girls on their team made an error, they yelled at her and called her names. Even their coach was yelling at them.
In the dugout Sister Bowman continued to encourage us, and we hung in there. Near the end of the game, and only one point behind, we were up to bat. With runners on, we had a hit. One of our teammates came around third base and headed for home plate. In an attempt to keep us from scoring, the catcher stood across home plate. But her efforts didn’t prevent our runner from crossing home plate safe. The score was tied.
Our team was excited, but then we noticed that our teammate was still at home plate. She didn’t get up. She just sat there crying and holding her ankle, which had been cut by the catcher’s cleat. The girls on the other team were too busy yelling at each other to apologize or help her up.
As our injured friend sat on the bench, we scored another run and to everyone’s astonishment, including our own, won the game.
We gathered on the grass for the awards ceremony. First we received our medals for winning the playoffs, then waited for the next award. We were excited. The sportsmanship medal, the award we had worked so hard for all season, was within our grasp!
But we sat in shock as the sportsmanship medal was awarded to the other team. Our faces fell. Our hearts sank. How could this be? We felt we had earned that medal! Had the region leaders felt they could not send the other team home empty-handed? This turned out to be the greatest test of what we had practiced all season. Could we show true sportsmanship by graciously accepting this decision, despite our disappointment? It was difficult, to say the least.
Afterward, Sister Bowman took us out for pizza to celebrate our “victory.” Any casual observer would never have guessed that we had just won the region softball championship.
I still have that medal. I keep it in a box with other treasured keepsakes. It reminds me of what we won. More important, it reminds me of what we deserved to win and of the lessons Sister Bowman taught me that summer. She taught me how to compete and still have fun. She taught me that everyone has value. She taught me that winning is not, and should never be, the most important thing. I suppose she taught me the true meaning of the saying “It’s not whether you win or lose; it’s how you play the game.” That philosophy, I have found, applies in life as well as in softball.