Gospel Story Finder

My testimony on the issue of reaching out beyond the walls of our own church increased 10 years ago when I was the managing director of the welfare program of the Church. At that time, we began seeing television documentaries about the drought conditions in Ethiopia. With sensitivity to the plight of the starving people in Africa and sensitivity to your desires to help, the First Presidency called a special fast in January and again in November of 1985. As a result, many millions of dollars were donated to help alleviate the suffering.
To determine how to spend the funds donated in the first special fast, Elder M. Russell Ballard and I went to Ethiopia to see the situation firsthand. We had some heart-wrenching, soul-stretching, and faith-promoting experiences. Neither of us will be the same again. Some of my most vivid memories are not of the terrible suffering we witnessed, which you saw on your television screens, but of the great outpouring of love and service from nations of the world. We saw doctors and nurses giving humanitarian service in deplorable settings. They were tired, but smiling.
We learned of a Catholic priest who had been laboring in the drought- and war-stricken province of Tigre for 11 years. He saw a need and was trying to help long before the television and news accounts made it fashionable.
We saw an Ethiopian man who was perhaps 80 years old stumble into the feeding station camp with a desperate, beaten look on his face.
He was obviously starving to death. However, on the way to the feeding station, he had passed a deserted village and had heard the cry of a baby. He searched until he found the baby sitting on the ground next to his dead mother. In spite of this man’s emaciated condition, he picked up the baby and carried him in his arms for 25 miles to the feeding station. The man had a look of glassy-eyed bewilderment, but his first words were not “I’m hungry” or “Help me.” They were “What can be done for this baby I found?”
I feel that the members of our church should be doing all we can to alleviate suffering. I am thrilled with the fact that our full-time missionaries now devote several hours of their week to community service. When followed properly, this program does not detract from the primary goal of missionaries, but enhances that goal.
An experience I had in Guatemala observing some welfare missionaries had a great impact on me. When the welfare sisters walked onto the church grounds, the atmosphere became electric. Men, women, and children alike ran to them and embraced them. I was told the sisters had helped them through a recent epidemic. They had helped deliver some babies and were present when some members of the families had died. They had brought food for both the soul and the body.
Knowing that we have been commanded to care for the poor and needy within and without the Church, what priorities should be placed on those two activities?
President Joseph F. Smith taught: “It is the first duty of Latter-day Saints to take care of themselves and of their poor; and then, if we can extend it to others, and as wide and as far as we can extend charity and assistance to others that are not members of the Church, we feel that it is our duty to do it. But first look after the members of our own household” (Gospel Doctrine, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1939, page 308).
I testify to you that in today’s environment there is room for both caring for our own and helping with the problems in the world’s society. Building the kingdom and improving the world are not mutually exclusive. In fact, they are compatible and complementary. When asked which of all the commandments was the greatest, the Lord said: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
“This is the first and great commandment.
“And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matt. 22:37–39).
The greatest commandment, to love God, was not given priority at the expense or exclusion of the second commandment, to love our neighbor. I do not think a sincere love of the Savior is possible without a sincere love of mankind. Neither do I believe it is possible to have sincere love and concern for Church members to the exclusion of the rest of God’s children. Compassion knows no political or religious boundaries. We cannot do everything, but still we must do everything we can.
Something spiritual happens to a person when he reaches out to help someone else. President Spencer W. Kimball put it this way: “As givers gain control of their desires and properly see other needs in light of their own wants, then the powers of the gospel are released in their lives. They learn that by living the great law of consecration they insure not only temporal salvation but also spiritual sanctification” (Ensign, November 1977, page 77).
If individuals completely abdicate to the Church their responsibility of caring for the poor, this beautiful phenomenon does not occur. This is true whether the help is going to members or nonmembers. I say this because there may be a tendency to pay tithing and fast offerings and feel all has been taken care of. The greatest sanctification takes place with person-to-person help. Hence, the greatest compassionate service each of us can give may be in our own neighborhoods and communities. Wherever we live in the world, there is pain and sorrow all around us. We need to take more initiative as individuals in deciding how we can best be of service.
I am so pleased that the projects which went on throughout the world as part of the Relief Society sesquicentennial celebration in 1992 were local service projects. There was some thought given to having wards in more affluent countries reach out across the ocean and help other wards in impoverished nations. Instead, an inspired determination was that projects would be done on a local basis. If projects had been undertaken 5,000 miles away instead of in the sisters’ own backyard, they would have missed seeing firsthand the joy in the face of a lonely old man or woman in a nursing home, or the thanksgiving expressed by a woman met in a crisis center, or the tears of gratitude expressed by the invalid who had her home spring-cleaned for the first time in 10 years.
We don’t do these things for firsthand credit or to have the person’s profuse gratitude, but something very spiritual happens between the giver and receiver of personal service. Both are edified, and a spiritual bonding takes place. A love comes into the heart which is large enough to encompass not only the person served but all of God’s children.
All people need to give. This is true of both affluent Saints and the poorest of the poor. Poverty is a relative term. It means something much different in one country than in another. There is no common solution or program for every situation.
However, principles are universal. We cannot bring everyone to the same economic level. To do so would violate principles and foster dependence rather than independence. People living in each country have the primary responsibility for solving their own problems. They must sacrifice for each other in order that they can experience the sanctification which comes from giving.
During a trip to South America a few years ago, I spoke with a stake president whose stake had experienced over 50 percent unemployment of members during the previous three years. I knew the stake had received less than 200 dollars in assistance from the area office during that period. I asked him how the members had been able to survive without a large infusion of outside help.
His answer was that the families had helped each other—not just father, mother, sons, and daughters, but uncles, aunts, and cousins. When a cousin got a job, the money earned went to benefit everyone. In addition, ward members looked after each other and shared what they had, however meager. With tears in his eyes, he explained how close his stake members were to each other and to the Lord. Their spirituality had increased manyfold.
We could have poured money into this stake from more affluent areas and felt good about it. However, in so doing we would have robbed them of the opportunity to serve each other and to become sanctified in the process. The solutions to poverty are extremely complex, and the balance between too much aid and not enough is very elusive. Our compassion can lead to failure if we give aid without creating independence and self-reliance in the recipient.
On the other hand, there is a state of human misery below which no Latter-day Saint should descend as long as others are living in abundance. Can some of us be content living affluent life-styles while others cannot afford the chlorine to purify their water? I struggle constantly with this balance. I believe I have learned a divine truth, however. I cannot become sanctified without serving others, and I will be held accountable if I rob another of the opportunity to give service.
We cannot, as individuals, be spectators to the pain and suffering around us and sit idly by and expect sanctification to take place in our lives. There is a limit to how much we should rely on institutional welfare. We cannot allow organizational lines to set up a buffer between a person in pain and ourselves, if we are in a position to help.
Without this perspective, there is danger in setting up an organizational structure that does indeed provide more efficiency but which also becomes an organizational wall between ourselves and people in need. At the first sign of someone in need, we may release ourselves from reaching out because, after all, we are not their bishop or even their home teacher or visiting teacher. Often there is a cry for help that has your name preceding it, and you may be the only one who can hear the cry.
I trust we will continue to see humanitarian aid given by the Church as long as it effectively facilitates our individual desires to reach out to the poor and needy. However, the primary responsibility of the commandment to care for the poor is our own individual responsibility. We should give financial contributions when possible, but this alone is not complete. We must also give of ourselves. We can often give of ourselves when a financial contribution is not possible.
In this respect, I am as touched by what the Savior did on his way to deliver the Sermon on the Mount as by what he said in the sermon. On his way, he healed the sick and preached the gospel (see Matt. 4:23–24).
As I speak about “taking care of the poor,” I am referring to the broad array of affliction the people in the world are experiencing in our day. This includes supporting and comforting those suffering in mind, body, and spirit. Money cannot buy the pure love of Christ. It can be obtained only by sacrifice.
I realize that some of you—with the demands of your families, close friends, and Church callings—have little left with which to save the world. Sanctification comes from service rendered to our own families as well as to strangers. It has not been my objective to make you feel guilty, but to teach some principles of caring for the needy. You and only you know your own unique situation and can determine how you can use these principles at your particular age and circumstances.
My promise is that as you review these infinite needs in relation to your finite resources, you will be able to formulate a plan which will give the appropriate balance. I can also promise you that the things the gospel asks of us are not mutually exclusive but are complementary to each other. Speaking for myself and all of the Brethren, I give you our heartfelt love and gratitude for all you are and all you do.

I recently noticed my tendency to use electronics during church and youth activities. It had become a habit. Anytime I saw my phone, I immediately had to grab it and check to see if I had any new notifications or text messages. The solution? Hiding my phone from myself. Whether it was in a bag, under a chair, or even with a friend—if I couldn’t see my phone, I wouldn’t be tempted to use it.
Taryn M., age 15, Florida, USA

Ami lives in Okinawa, Japan. Because of COVID-19, lots of people there had trouble getting food. So Ami’s ward planned a food drive. She really wanted to help!
They all met at the Church building. They were careful as they worked. Ami wore a mask.
Ami put cardboard boxes together. When the boxes were full of food, she closed them so they could be taped shut. Ami kept thinking of how Jesus fed people with loaves and fishes. She was glad to help give food to hungry people like He did.
Ami followed Jesus by helping people who were hungry. Turn the page to read a story about how Jesus helped others.

Photographs by Leslie Nilsson
From a young age, I really looked forward to going to the university. The university would allow me to get a good education and eventually lead me to a stable job that would enable me to raise a family.
But when I reached university age, I was not sure how I could afford to go. The resources available to me were not sufficient. My dad had passed away the previous year, and my sister and I had moved in with my uncle. At that time, our uncle did not have sufficient material resources to help me because he was helping five of his own children at the university.
From a young age, I also desired to serve God in one capacity or another, but I did not know how. Before I joined the Church at age 19, I had no opportunity to do that.
When I joined the Church in 2004, I still wanted to pursue my university education, but I made the decision to serve a mission first. I still did not know how I was going to achieve my dreams and goals of a university education after my mission, but I exercised faith that things would eventually work out for me. I said to myself, “I will trust the Lord. I will serve Him first. Other things will follow later.” So, I went forward in faith and began doing service to help pay for my mission.
Some of my friends told me I was going to waste my time as a missionary. But I had faith that a mission was the right thing to do, that serving the Lord was not a waste of time.
One of the scriptures that inspired me to serve is found in the New Testament: “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33).
I was soon called to the Ghana Cape Coast Mission. My mission provided me with memorable experiences and laid the foundation for future opportunities and responsibilities. After my mission, I was better prepared for my schooling, employment, and various callings in the Church, including as a bishop.
When I came home, some of my cousins had finished their education. My good uncle then had resources available to help me pursue my university education. I did a certified public accounting course and then enrolled in a bachelor’s degree program. Five years after my mission, I graduated in accounting and finance.
Truly, as I have seen in my life after my mission, the Lord has added “all these things” to my family. Before my mission, I was concerned that if I didn’t go to school, if I didn’t get a good education, I would live in poverty. But the Lord has blessed my family beyond measure and enabled us to live a relatively comfortable life.
I have never regretted serving a mission before going to the university. Showing faith to serve a mission was the foundation of many decisions I have made in my life. Serving the Lord helped me build my faith on a sure foundation. That foundation has helped me make right decisions when I have faced tough choices.
For those uneasy about serving a mission, I would give the same advice I received from the scriptures: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness,” and all these things that you think will not come to you will eventually come according to the will of God—even tenfold. That’s my experience.

“You’re never going to finish that thing in time,” Mark said to his eleven-year-old sister, Annie, as he passed behind her chair. In his hands he gently held a honey-colored wooden box, smooth and gleaming in the spring sunlight.
Annie stared glumly at the tangled mint-green yarn in her lap. “You got help from Dad with yours,” Annie defended herself. “No one will help me with this hat.”
“That’s because none of us knows how to crochet,” said Bonnie, Annie’s fourteen-year-old sister. “The only one who could help you is Mom.”
Annie jumped up, grabbing the yarn in both hands. “Just you wait,” she hollered back as she raced up the stairs. “Mom’s going to love it!”
But Annie didn’t really believe it. Bonnie’s painting was propped up to dry against a wall in their bedroom. It was a watercolor of the park, all grass and trees and flowers and blue sky. Mother would love it! She would also love the old box that Mark had sanded and refinished. It would be perfect for her scarves. But this hat—if it was a hat—no one, not even Mom, could even pretend to love.
The stitches weren’t really stitches at all, just tight, stubborn knots. Annie had to find a way to fix it. After all, it had been her idea to make gifts to welcome Mom home from the hospital. And now it appeared as if even her ten-year-old brother could do better than she could.
She glanced at the clock and saw that it was already 4:30. Bonnie soon had to leave for ballet class, and Mark was knee-deep in homework. It was up to her to start dinner again if Dad was to have any time at the hospital with Mom. She’d been there for two long weeks! Even the tangle of mistakes in Annie’s hands couldn’t make her feel sad when she remembered that Mom would be home tomorrow.
After the dinner dishes and her own homework were done, Annie got right back to work. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her long brown hair brushing her cheeks, when Dad softly knocked. “How’s it going, Annie?”
“Oh, Dad,” Annie admitted reluctantly, lifting her aching neck, “I just go around and around, and the stitches just get smaller and tighter.”
“How about giving it up for a while, honey,” said Dad gently. “We have a big day tomorrow. You look dead tired.”
“I have to finish it before Mom comes home,” Annie said with determination, “even if it takes all night.”
“Annie, I want you in bed by nine thirty at the latest,” he said firmly. “Mom will understand, I promise.”
The next morning Annie watched from the door as Dad walked Mom up the brick path. She leaned heavily on Dad’s arm, looking thin and white. But she was smiling up at Dad and laughing as she always did.
In an instant Annie was in her mother’s arms.
“Gently now, Annie,” laughed Dad as Annie hugged Mom hard.
“It’s all right, John,” Mom said, holding Annie close.
Soon Mark and Bonnie were there, too, and Mom was hugging them and saying how much she had missed them all.
“We have surprises for you,” Mark told her. “Come and see.”
Dad’s bouquet of pink carnations was next to the two wrapped gifts on the living room table.
“Now, what’s all this?” Mom asked, smiling and settling herself on the sofa.
Mom really liked her presents. Annie felt awful that there was nothing there from her. How could she explain about the hat? She couldn’t. Edging out of the living room, she escaped into the kitchen, where she finished making the tuna salad for lunch, stubbornly blinking back her tears. She couldn’t let Mom see them. That would make things worse.
She was putting a pan of soup on the stove, when she felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder. “Look at this nice lunch you’ve made, Annie,” Mom said quietly.
Annie turned to face her mother, and this time she couldn’t blink away the tears. “But I have no present for you, Mom,” she said. “I wanted it to be so perfect—a lacey crocheted hat to look pretty with your hair—but …”
“Shhh,” whispered Mom, putting her arms around Annie. “Don’t you think Dad’s told me about all that you’ve done here while I was in the hospital? With Bonnie’s ballet recital coming up and Mark so behind in his schoolwork, a lot has been on your shoulders. Dad doesn’t know what he would have done without you.”
“But Mark and Bonnie made such nice things for you, and mine turned out just horrible.”
“Do you want to know what I think? I think that you gave me the most perfect gift you could have given.”
“You do?”
“You gave of yourself for two whole weeks without any thought of a reward, and I bet that after lunch and a nap for me, we can figure out that hat and finish it together in no time.”

Last March, University of Utah forward Britton Johnsen was making a huge impact in Texas, helping to propel his team on its incredible cruise through the NCAA finals all the way to the championship game in San Antonio. There he played in an arena packed with some 41,000 screaming fans and was watched by a worldwide television audience of several hundred million. Britton’s impressive play under pressure wasn’t surprising considering the titles and descriptions he’d earned: McDonald’s all-American, Utah’s Mr. Basketball, top-20 recruit, “a star in the making,” “breathtakingly talented,” and “able to jump out of a gym.”
This March, Britton continues to make an impact in Texas. Only now he has traded his blazing red jersey for a white shirt and tie, his audiences seldom exceed a handful of people, and his only title is “Elder” as he serves in the Texas Houston Mission.
Shortly after the NCAA finals, Britton announced his decision to serve a mission. The decision came at no small sacrifice. Many people, including Utah head coach Rick Majerus, say Britton has tremendous NBA potential, but leaving the game for two years may jeopardize his pro chances. “Coach was saying everything he could to get me to stay,” recalls Britton. “I’ve been told that if I stay for all four years in a row, I’d definitely go pro.”
Still, when asked how he’d feel if serving a mission meant giving up the NBA or even his college career, Britton quickly replies, “It would be worth it.
“I could join the things-of-the-world team, maybe go to the NBA, make it big, make a lot of money. Or I can play on the things-of-the-Spirit team. Basketball will someday end. But the Spirit is always there—if you do what’s right, it will never leave you.”
Britton is quick to shrug off praise he receives for being willing to give up so much, pointing out that everyone who serves a mission does so at some sacrifice. “Just leaving your mom and dad is sacrifice enough!” He says that for his twin brother, Brandon (serving in the Canada Calgary Mission), going on a mission was every bit as significant and every bit as difficult.
Coming out of high school, Britton was heavily recruited by several top programs. He signed with Utah so he could eventually play with his older brother, Jeff, who had played one year for Utah before leaving for his mission.
Britton began the season with great expectations—sports magazines listed him as a top-20 recruit and compared him to Keith Van Horn, the Utah all-American who had been a number-two NBA draft pick in 1997. But hopes for Britton came crashing down when he sustained a knee injury early on.
“I planned on having a great year, going on a mission, then coming back for three more years,” he says. But as the season progressed, Britton’s injury kept him on the sidelines. “The season was turning into a disaster.”
For the first time in his life, Britton began to question whether he should go on a mission. Majerus told the press that if Britton were to go after being benched all year, “his pro chances are null and void and his chance for a college career is really in peril. He can’t sit three years.”
Dejected and struggling, Britton turned to a man he looks up to more than any other—his father. “He was such a boost. He would just sit me down and help me open my eyes and realize the right thing to do. But there was no pressure. I knew he would have supported me either way.”
Still wanting more than anything a chance to play before the season ended, Britton also turned to his Heavenly Father. “I prayed nonstop that my knee would improve and that I’d have a chance to prove myself.”
In what seemed like a small miracle, just three games before the end of the season Britton began to get playing time. “Coach said I’d been working so hard that whether he won with me or lost with me, he was going to put me in.”
After being benched all season, Britton was out of sync at first. But with each game, his performance improved and his playing time increased. Astonishingly, by the time the NCAA tournament started, he was playing remarkably well. He was a big factor in the underdog Utes’ upset victories over third-ranked North Carolina and defending NCAA champion Arizona.
“This is what I got from the Lord—the chance to prove what I could do,” says Britton. In the end Britton got his dream come true: an opportunity to play—and play well—in the NCAA championship game.
Britton’s older brother Jeff, who continues to serve in the California Fresno mission, helped Britton keep the whole thing in perspective. “Jeff told me that through all this attention Satan would try to get me not to go. But he bore his testimony to me and let me know that a mission is still so much better than playing basketball.”
Another answer to Britton’s prayers also came during the NCAA tournament—surprisingly, from a competitor. Mark Madsen is a Stanford starting forward who led his team to the Final Four last year. He also happens to be a returned missionary.
Like Britton, Mark knew the thrill of playing in a Final Four game, although his team lost. The day after the loss, Mark shared his testimony at a ward in San Antonio. “I heard that Mark bore his testimony, saying that it had been one of the best weeks of his life, but that it still didn’t compare to his feelings of being on a mission,” says Britton. “Hearing this made my decision easier.”
“That was the greatest dream of my life.” When Britton says this, he’s not talking about playing in the biggest game of college basketball. He’s not describing how he felt knowing millions of sports fans were watching him. Rather, he is talking about a brief, unexpected encounter he had with the First Presidency shortly after the finals.
Back in Salt Lake City, Ute players were presenting a signed basketball to the First Presidency when an assistant coach suggested Britton discuss with them his decision to serve a mission. Before Britton knew what was happening, he found himself alone with the First Presidency in President Hinckley’s office.
“I was totally stuttering,” says Britton. “I said, ‘Going on a mission has been a tough decision, and I guess I already know what the right thing to do is, but it would be nice to hear what you’d say.’ Then President Hinckley smiled at me and said, ‘Well, what do you think I’m going to say?’”
“President Monson explained that I had been a highly touted freshman, that I had been pressured to stay, and that some people were saying I could represent the Church in other ways. Then right away President Hinckley stood up, took my hand, looked me in the eye, and said very clearly, ‘You go on a mission and the Lord will bless you.’ It was an awesome feeling.”
Not long after, Britton had a final talk with his father and his coach, then announced his decision to serve. “It just felt right; I just felt good about the decision,” Britton explains.
In the end, Britton’s coach supported his decision. “It is with regret and sadness from a basketball standpoint that Britton departs, but I am pleased because he seems to be so at peace and happy about the decision,” said Majerus. “I’m proud to be a coach of so many young men who felt so good about a religious experience that they would want to sacrifice their basketball.”
This year, Elder Britton Johnsen won’t be participating in March Madness. But he says that’s okay with him. “I get the same goose-bumpy feeling just reading my scriptures as I do playing in front of 40,000 people,” he says. “Besides, the things I’ll gain on my mission and the things other people will hopefully gain because I go will make it all worth it.”

In the final few weeks of 1944 I was bundled up and taken, at about six in the morning as I recall, down to the Big Hand Cafe on the corner of Main Street and Highway 91 in St. George, Utah. That’s where the Greyhound bus stopped in our little town, and that morning my Uncle Herb, all of seventeen years of age, was leaving for San Diego, California—wherever that was. Apparently in 1944 there was a war on somewhere, and he was now deemed old enough to go and do his part. He had joined the United States Navy, and we were there to say goodbye.
Actually, I had a rather formal part in this bus stop program. I had practiced and was now supposed to sing in my four-year-old solo voice a little ditty that celebrated sailors with lyrics beginning “Bell-bottom trousers / Coat of navy blue. / She loves her sailor boy / And he loves her too.” However, as with other assignments later in my life, I panicked in the public eye and went stone silent. I refused to sing a note.
But my silence seemed to work out all right anyway because my mother and my grandmother and my aunts were all crying and nobody cared much whether I sang or not. I asked why they were crying, and they said it was because Uncle Herb was going to war. I asked, “How long will he be gone?”—not knowing then that some of the boys were never coming home. Through her tears my grandmother said, “He will be gone as long as it takes. He will be gone for the duration of the war.”
Well, I had no idea whatsoever of her meaning. “As long as it takes to do what?” for crying out loud—which is exactly what they were doing. And what was “the duration of the war”? I was totally confused and very glad I didn’t sing my song. That would only have added to the confusion, and the Big Hand Cafe never could stand much confusion.
As you might suppose, I have thought a lot more about my grandmother’s words later in my life than I ever thought about them in my youth. Lately they have been on my mind again, and I hope they might have some significance for you this morning.

I once asked a man in a fireside group what he would like to do more than anything else if he could just do whatever he wanted. His face lit up, he sat on the edge of his chair, his hands came to life, and he told me that he’d just love to have a whole room full of power tools and bring all the kids in the neighborhood in to help them build birdhouses, playhouses, chicken coops, or anything in the whole world they wanted to build. He loved kids; he loved tools; he loved building things; his whole face was aglow with it. I asked him what he was studying at school; the light went out, and he told me he was studying to be a civil engineer. Why? Because his father was one, it paid good money, and so on. I knew he had the capability of being a good civil engineer, but I asked him, “Have you ever thought about teaching shop instead and spending all day working with power tools and teaching kids how to build things?” He just about fell off his chair. His mouth hung open. His eyes lit up again. It had simply never occurred to him to take stock of what he really liked to do, of what really mattered to him in choosing a career. He had never stopped to think that his wonderful love for young people might be there for that kind of a purpose. He had decided the biggest part of the rest of his life with his eyes closed.

[Taylor] missed his older brother and sister. They were in [school]. “I wish I could go to [school] too,” he said to [Mom]. “Next year,” [Mom] told him, “when you are five years old, you [can] go to [school]. Until then, you get to [be] my helper.” [Taylor] felt better. He liked helping [Mom]. “What are we going to do?” “We are going to [can] [tomatoes],” she said. “First we have to wash our [hands].” [Taylor] stood on a [stool] and washed his [hands] at the [sink]. “Now we wash the [jars].” After [Mom] washed the [jars], [Taylor] dried them. He carefully placed the clean [jars] on the counter. [Mom] placed a big [pot] of water on the [stove] to boil. [Taylor] helped [Mom] take the stems off the [tomatoes]. Then he sat at the [table] and watched [Mom] put the [tomatoes] in the hot water and then dip them in cold water. After she peeled the [tomatoes], she placed them in the [jars]. “Why do you [can] [tomatoes] each year?” he asked. “To put in our [food] storage,” [Mom] said. “Later on we will be doing [green beans], [peaches], and [pears].” [Taylor] remembered last year when his [dad] had not worked. The family ate [food ]from their storage for three months. [Taylor] really liked the canned [peaches]. “I am glad [Dad] has a job now,” [Taylor] said. “I am too, but we still need to keep adding to our [food] storage. The [prophet] has asked every family to have a year’s supply of [food],” [Mom] said. After watching [Mom] for a while, [Taylor] was sleepy. He brought his [quilt] and [pillow] from his bedroom and lay down on the floor. When he woke up, [Mom] was putting the [jars] of [tomatoes] on a shelf. The [tomatoes] sparkled like red [jewels]. That night in family [home] evening, the family sang, “Follow the [Prophet].”* After they sang the song, [Taylor] smiled and winked at [Mom]. He knew they had followed the [prophet] today.

I am remembering a wonderful latter-day Saint woman who came seeking the Lord's counsel through a priesthood blessing. She explained that she was happily expecting her third or fourth child but had been told by three different doctors that because of unsafe conditions that were developing in her pregnancy, she must abort her baby. She was told that failure to do so right away would most certainly result in the death of her unborn child and most likely would take her life as well. After explaining why she had come, and prior to receiving the priesthood blessing, she made the following statement: "God himself would have to tell me to destroy this baby before I would do it." Several months later, I was seated on the stand in a ward Fast and Testimony meeting. I watched, and wept, as this mother placed her baby in the arms of her priesthood husband, who then gave that precious infant child a name and a father's blessing. Do you suppose she will ever regret having trusted God and followed His foundation-building counsel?

Today it requires great courage to be a loyal Latter-day Saint. For many it is not easy, and it will likely not become easier. The tests of our day are severe. This is particularly so for you young men of the Aaronic Priesthood. Being true to the way of life the Lord has given us does not always make us public heroes. Having the courage of our convictions has its own rewards, however. Armin Suckow, Jr., a thirteen-year-old boy from Germany discovered this. He tells of an interesting experience in a letter he wrote to the New Era magazine. Armin says, “We spoke one Christmastime with one of our school teachers about Jesus. He said that after Jesus died, he had gone from the earth and was now dead. As the teacher spoke, I thought about our church and knew that after three days Jesus was resurrected and was seen by many people. Later, then, he ascended into heaven. I had the feeling that I should tell the teacher and the students that the truth was entirely different from what the teacher had just said. The teacher didn’t want to hear my opinion at all, but in spite of that, I … told them that Jesus was resurrected. It didn’t please the teacher at all that I should correct him, but I continued. Then he said that this was simply a matter of opinion. I answered him that anyone can read of this event in the scriptures and that it is so clearly described there that no one can get a different opinion on the story than the one that I had given. After the class the teacher wanted to know to which church I belonged. I told him that I belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. On that day I had a real good feeling inside of me.” (“The Savior Lives!” New Era, Dec. 1977, p. 18.)

We have to admire Armin’s decision to speak out on what he believed. It was not easy for him, but his action was consistent with what he knew to be right.

When I was 16 years old, I traveled from my home in Idaho to a conference on the East Coast of the United States, attended by young men and young women from all 50 states and nearly 40 nations. Before then, I had rarely been in a situation where my beliefs and convictions set me apart.
One evening in an informal group setting, a discussion arose about some of the beliefs and practices of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. A large group of students suddenly turned their attention to me and started asking questions, some of which were critical of our beliefs.
That caught me off guard. But after I had reflected for a moment, I began sharing some basic gospel principles. I explained that we have a Heavenly Father, that we are His sons and daughters, and that we are on earth to develop faith in Jesus Christ and to prove ourselves by choosing good over evil.
Sharing these principles led me to Joseph Smith’s testimony. The other students had not asked about Joseph Smith, but I found myself going to the origins of why I believed what I believed. As I told of the appearance of the Father and the Son in the Sacred Grove, suddenly everyone fell silent. A piercing feeling of holiness entered the room, and an enormous feeling of spiritual power rested upon me and my words.
Afterward, several students thanked me for my strong convictions. Some even asked for more information about the Church. As I returned to my room that night, I realized that the person this experience had the greatest impact on was me. I had felt for myself the power of bearing testimony of God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the First Vision.
Since that experience more than 50 years ago, I have testified hundreds of times of the Father, the Son, and the Prophet Joseph Smith. In these experiences, I have constantly felt the confirming witness of the Holy Ghost.

Even though it happened 31 years ago, I vividly recall a time on my mission when I was an insensitive, ungrateful clod. I was nursing a bad cold, and my companion and I stayed in for a couple of days while I tried to get better. The sister missionaries were the only other members in our little town in France. They were also feeling sick, but they were worried about me, and brought me some soup one cold, rainy, evening. Instead of showing thanks, I scolded them for being out in the bad weather. The poor sisters were shocked by my attitude. One of them finally said, with much exasperation, “Elder Schlag, we were trying to do something nice for you. What is your problem?” Even now, I can feel the shame I suddenly felt as I realized how rudely I was treating them, while they were just trying to render service.
I have since tried to always look out for kindness sent my way. With heavenly help, I’m developing a sensitivity to service, and an appreciation for even little gifts of graciousness.

Tim leaned on the dented fender of his old Honda and scowled at his barren surroundings.
Lanely, the sign had said. What a dump, he thought.
Another hot wind carried a dust cloud across the road. The town’s only gas station sat a hundred yards off the interstate. During the tourist season, you could sit outside the garage and watch car after car fly by on the freeway, but hardly any of them stopped in Lanely.
Tim had stopped there but not to take pictures or admire the three-block skyline. Behind him, the station’s owner, a man old enough to be Tim’s grandfather, examined the engine in the hot shade of the hood.
Tim’s tan face looked angry and exhausted. Red, matted hair, drenched in sweat, added to his tired appearance. He scowled at his watch. Great, he thought, I’ll be late for the game. He had never missed a football game. Now here he was, stuck in some dump, for no good reason. Why did Mom make him go to his uncle’s funeral anyway? It wasn’t like he’d seen him in the last 10 years. And he had wasted his morning with a bunch of other people he hadn’t seen in 10 years. He didn’t want to do that again.
“Well,” said the owner, emerging from under the hood, “it looks like you might be here for a while. Your water pump’s bad. That’s why your engine keeps overheating.”
Tim rolled his eyes and threw up his hands at the news. He fumed for a moment then kicked the car’s front tire angrily.
“Great,” he grunted. “How long is that going to take?”
“Oh, a couple hours, I reckon.” The owner wiped his greasy hands on a rag that looked even greasier. “I think I have the part here. But my other mechanic is home sick today. If you want to lend me a hand, it would move things along a little.”
He pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. The boy’s face was very familiar; the strong nose and the firm, square jaw awakened a shadow in Jack’s memory. “Where are you headed, anyway?”
Tim let a second drift by before answering. “Over to the coast. A town called Cranston.”
Jack hadn’t thought about Cranston for a long time. It reminded him of …
He took a closer look at the young man. A surprising resemblance, he told himself. Maybe it was just his imagination. “C’mon,” he said, gesturing toward the car. “Let’s get this thing in the garage.”
Tim stood still for a second, then moved to help push the car. The sooner it was fixed, the sooner he could get out of here.
Jack was under the hood again. Tim leaned on the fender and peered down at the engine, but it was just one greasy, tangled mass to his eyes, and he slipped into daydreaming. He had lost track of time, but it seemed like they’d been in there a while. Occasionally Jack would ask for a certain tool, and Tim found most of those indistinguishable too.
Inside the garage, they were out of the sun, but the heat still bore down on Tim, squeezing more sweat from his body. Soiled auto manuals filled a rickety bookcase on one wall. The odors of gasoline, motor oil, and something mildewy blended to give him a headache. It was the silence that Jack found intolerable. He wiped his shiny forehead with his sleeve.
“So you’re from Cranston,” he said, not looking up from the engine. “Does the name Nate Vaughan mean anything to you?”
Tim answered without moving. “He was my grandad. Never met him. I think he died when my mom was really young. How did you know him?”
“Why, he used to live here in town,” Jack said. He glanced at Tim. “There’s a strong family resemblance, I might add.”
Tim let out a flat grunt. “I think I remember my mom saying something about that once, but she hardly talks about him.” He went back to staring at the engine.
Jack resumed working but tried to continue the conversation. “Yup, he and I were friends for years before your mother was born. We worked as ranch hands together, and he was best man at my wedding.”
Tim glanced at his watch. He didn’t care for reminiscing, but he was going to be here for a while. When the old man paused, Tim said, “I heard he went crazy.”
To Tim’s surprise, Jack didn’t even look up but kept loosening a certain nut. For a moment Tim thought he hadn’t been heard, but then Jack replied calmly, “Did your mother tell you that?”
Tim thought he felt tension hovering in the air. “Yeah, a long time ago. She said that’s why my grandma left him and moved to Cranston.”
The owner handed Tim his wrench. “Give me that one second from the end,” he said, wiping his forehead on his sleeve again. He didn’t speak again until he had resumed work on the engine. “Well, son, you’re not getting the whole story there. I knew your grandma, and she was a fine woman. I knew your mother, too, when she was really young. Your Grandpa Nate loved them both very much; he was a wonderful husband and father.”
“Then why did he leave them?”
“Now, see, that’s what I want to set straight.” He extracted himself from the engine and leaned against a nearby workbench, wiping his hands on a rag. “You see, all three of them used to live here in town. One day your grandpa met two traveling preachers, and they showed him this.”
He stepped over to the bookcase and pulled a volume off the shelf with a worn hand. He handed it to Tim, who examined the book briefly. It was old but not dusty, bound in worn, brown leather. The yellowed title page read, “The Book of Mormon.” The name sounded familiar. Tim shrugged his shoulders. “Okay. So what? People don’t up and leave their families over a book.”
Jack slowly turned the wrench over his hands. His eyes stared off into space. “The first time Nate met the missionaries and saw the Book of Mormon, he knew it was true. He asked the missionaries to baptize him that same week. I still remember how excited he was when he first told me about it.” He gripped the wrench firmly in his hands and looked thoughtfully at Tim. “Your grandma, on the other hand, didn’t like the whole deal at all. Among other things, she said she didn’t believe someone should change religions. Nate was sad that it upset her, but he couldn’t just stop believing what he believed to be true. Eventually your grandmother took your mother and moved in with relatives in Cranston. I don’t think Nate saw them much after that, and I didn’t either. Nate passed away not long after.”
Tim shrugged again. “I don’t get it. What made him do that?”
The owner tilted his head a little to the left and pondered for a moment. Then he drew in a deep breath and said, “Tim, it’s not easy to explain in a few words, and I don’t know exactly how Nate felt or what he experienced. I’m not him.”
They were quiet for a moment. Tim wanted to say something, but waited. Jack continued.
“That was a very busy time for both of us, but I remember how one day we were out fishing not far from here. I knew that Nate and his wife were having some troubles then, though I didn’t understand all the circumstances and everything. Eventually we started talking about it. I told him that I thought he was risking a lot for this religion, with his marriage and all. He nodded, said he knew that. So then I asked him straight out why he was doing it. He was really quiet for a minute, and then he said, ‘Jack, do you remember those nights out on the trail when we slept under the stars?’
“We used to stay awake for hours talking about God and life and what we were supposed to be doing with our time. We put a lot of thought into it, but never got very far. Anyway, Nate told me, ‘I finally found answers for those questions we always wondered about.’ Sometimes Nate had told me that he was afraid of being alone. He was afraid that one day his friends and family would all be gone, and he’d be alone. But now he said that he knew that God knew and loved him. He said that God would help him in his hard times, that he was helping him right then.
“I remember being amazed at the excitement and passion he spoke with. He was a changed man, and there was something in his voice that gave me hope.”
Jack paused. A placid thoughtfulness had settled over his face. “Now, I didn’t understand everything he told me right then, and it was actually a long time before I did, but by the time he finished speaking I had this beautiful, peaceful feeling that made me want to believe everything he’d said. I never doubted Nate after that.” Jack looked at the engine, then handed Tim the wrench. “I think we’re done.”
Tim took the wrench and stepped back from the car. He stood silently, staring at the tool. Alone. Or not? The idea hadn’t occurred to Tim before, but now it made him think. Jack’s words carried a power. They stirred up questions too. Did his grandad have any more relatives here? Where was he from? How did he meet grandmom?
Tim’s trance was snapped by the slamming of the hood of his car. “You’re ready to go,” the old man told Tim. “That’ll get you to Cranston, no problem. Just a little late.”
Late. The game. Tim had forgotten it. “Ummm, great. Sounds good,” he finally mumbled.
Tim wrote a check while Jack cleaned up. Neither said much until Tim was about to climb into his car. He offered the owner his hand and thanked him.
The owner shook his hand and nodded. Then he handed him a scrap of paper with a number scrawled on it. “My pleasure. Listen, I’ve got a lot of pictures and stuff from when I used to work with your grandpa. Why don’t you come back up and take a look at them sometime? Or you’re always welcome just to come and talk.”
Tim nodded and got into his car. As he started the engine, he leaned out the window and said, “Thanks. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

Since his daughter had recently attended a lecture by a member of a team that tried to conquer Mt. Everest, the father could not resist another comparison. “If that’s the direction you want to go, let’s take some lessons from those expert mountain climbers you met. What do you remember most about their experiences?”
“Oh, I learned a lot, but the most important thing I remember is their advance planning. They anticipated everything that could possibly happen and were prepared with decisions made well in advance in response to whatever they might encounter.
“Their teamwork was really impressive to me too. As they had tremendous hardships to overcome and heights to climb, they linked themselves together with ropes. The ropes were attached to something solid above as they pulled themselves up. Occasionally even the other people to whom they were linked became their anchors. We saw photographs showing one person dangling in midair while being tethered to people he trusted both above and below. Yet he didn’t fall because of his ties to other people!
“They also maintained excellent communications. Even though they might have been temporarily separated, they were always in good communication. It seemed that the closer they were to potential danger, the more they leaned toward the center.”
After hearing his daughter’s report, the father responded, “Did anyone ever ask the question ‘How close to the edge can I come?’”
“No! Quite the contrary. Their emphasis always seemed to be ‘How close to the center can I stay!’” Then, with a look of enlightenment, she replied, “Dad, now I am beginning to understand.”

“Do you have a rope?” the man in the boat called out. The man’s family had been fishing when their boat motor stopped. They had no way of getting to shore. Weldon’s dad steered his boat closer. Weldon’s brothers got a long rope and threw one end to the man. When the rope was securely tied to both boats, Weldon’s dad slowly towed the man’s family and their boat to shore.
Looking at the rope, Weldon asked his mom, “Is our rope strong enough to pull the boat?”
“Look closely at the rope,” Mom replied. Weldon could see the rope was made of lots of individual strands twisted together. “When all the strands work together, the rope is strong—just like our family,” Mom said.
Weldon asked, “What do we do to make our family strong?” Mom said he was strengthening their family each time he answered, “I will,” and happily did his assigned jobs or was kind to his brothers and sister.

One reader, who asked not to be named, wrote that there were few LDS youth in her hometown to develop friendships with. Her friends at school were making choices she wasn’t comfortable with, so she drifted apart from them, too. After a long bout of depression, she decided that the best solution to her problem of being friendless was to work on her spiritual strength.

“As I got closer to the Savior,” she wrote, “I learned that I was the one who needed to change. I needed to be kind and outgoing. I now feel that I have a lot of friends who love and respect me.”

There’s not much sadness in her voice. No trace of anger. All the upheaval took place when Vani Tanumi had just learned to walk and talk, so she doesn’t remember any of it.
Her story about her parents is more matter-of-fact than anything. Her mom died before Vani turned two, and her dad left the family. Vani, age 19, has no recollection of her mom or dad. Fortunately, she was reared by Grandma and Grandpa, her mom’s parents. It’s the only life Vani has ever known, and so she smiles. She smiles because she is happy. Truly.
Despite the chaos in her life, Vani’s grandparents were able to give her the one thing she needed most: stability. And with that came one other thing she learned she couldn’t do without: the gospel. “The Church has been a great help to me,” she says.

The first story was about the power of the Spirit in the individual mind and heart of the student. The second story took place many years later. It is about learning and teaching in the classroom. By the time of this story I had joined the faculty at the business school at Harvard and was teaching a class on managing technology and operations. One day we taught a case on Honda. The CEO of Honda, a man named Kawamoto, sat in on my class. The case that day dealt with a very narrow, technical issue about the design of the engine for a new Honda car. The issue was: should we choose an existing design with a small bore and a long stroke, or should we go with a new design with a wider bore and a shorter stroke. There were a lot of data on the costs involved and a lot of background on the internal debates and positions. It was a hotly debated issue in the company.

Let me set the stage for you. There were 90 students in the classroom. I called on a woman named Kim Coupanas to start the class. She was fabulous. She laid out the issues, made a decision, and backed it up—all in about five minutes. I asked her a couple of follow-up questions and then turned to the class for their reactions. There must have been 30 hands in the air. In that moment, something truly remarkable happened. Over the next 75 minutes, the students in that class tore that case apart. They went deeper and deeper into the implications of the choice. My role was like that of an orchestra conductor. I called on students, asked an occasional question, summarized, and managed some transitions. But the students carried the whole class. They made comments, challenged each other, debated each other, taught each other, clarified, added to, and kept taking us deeper. It became clearer and clearer that what appeared to be a technical choice, with financial implications, was in fact a deeply strategic, fundamental choice for Honda. This was a choice about the company’s character, about the integrity of its promises and what it stood for. The stakes were high, and the students were really engaged. Remember this was a business class about engine design. But I felt a good spirit in that room, and it was an exhilarating 80 minutes. At the end of the class, Kawamoto-san was stunned. He told me that he was absolutely amazed that those students could get that deep with that much power. It was an extraordinary learning experience.

What happened in that class was, I believe, a gift. It came in part through the Light of Christ that is given to everyone. And it came in part because we were dealing with a true principle, i.e., “. . . out of small things proceedeth that which is great.”[3] But I have come to understand that it came in part as a gift to me, to teach me important principles that the Lord wanted me to know. That experience reinforced for me in a very powerful way the fact that we teach and learn on multiple levels. I can see at least three. At Level 1 we teach and learn facts, techniques, theories, and concepts. At Level 2 we learn and teach how to solve problems, how to make decisions, how to create new meaning and understanding by applying what we learn at Level 1. But Level 3 is deeper. At Level 3 we teach and learn about ourselves, about our strengths and weaknesses, about who we are, what we believe, what we stand for. We learn about character, and values, and what matters most. In that class, we got way beyond Level 1, deep into Level 2, and we began to address Level 3. Each student who walked out of that class learned that principle—and one other: they learned that there is no limit to what we can accomplish if we work together. The very smartest student in that class walked into that class with, at most, one-quarter of what the class as a whole produced. And the teacher learned too. I taught the case I had prepared. But what we experienced went far beyond what I had prepared. I learned that day that the classroom can be a place where “my grace shall attend you” as the Savior promised.

Pocahontas, the beautiful Indian princess, was excited as she waited for her carriage. She and her husband, John Rolfe, were in England. It was Christmas, and they were going to a Christmas party at Windsor Castle. Pocahontas wondered if the lords and ladies would like her.
She was dressed in a red silk dress covered with a velvet cape. The freshwater pearls that her father had given her when she was married in Virginia circled her neck. “Do I look all right?” she asked her husband.
“You are the most beautiful princess in the world!” he told her. His smile was tender.
“But will the lords and ladies like me?” she asked.
“Don’t forget,” he reminded her, “that you, too, are a lady, now that His Majesty has given you the title Lady Rebecca. You, too, are of the court, and they will respect you for that. And they will like you because you are a dear person.”
The carriage stopped, and the gates of Windsor Castle were flung open. The carriage went on a short distance, then rocked to another stop. The footman opened the carriage door and held out his hand to assist Lady Rebecca.
Inside the castle the rooms glowed with thousands of candle flames in crystal chandeliers. Everyone was dressed in silks and laces.
As Pocahontas stood in the entryway with John, she heard two ladies whispering behind their fans. Perhaps they do not realize that their voices carry in this great hall as voices sometimes carry in my beloved forest in Virginia, thought Pocahontas. She heard the lady in lavender ask, “Who is she?”
“She’s an Indian princess from Virginia,” answered the lady in blue, “and her father is Powhatan, chief of the confederation of Algonquin tribes.”
“She is beautiful! So delicately formed!” remarked the first lady.
“She saved Captain John Smith’s life when he was founding the Jamestown colony back in 1607,” continued the lady in blue.
“Oh, she’s the Indian maiden who brought food to the starving settlers,” said the lady in lavender, nodding her head. “We’ve heard all about that and are thankful to her.”
“She learned to read and write English and was converted to Christianity,” added the lady in blue.
“Yes, indeed!” said the lady in lavender. “I’ve heard that she has a fine mind. Why she can even read complicated maps!”
At that moment John Rolfe nodded to Pocahontas that they were about to enter the throne room to bow to and greet the royal couple.
As Pocahontas took her husband’s arm, she said in a low-pitched voice, “I am happy tonight, John. People say kind things of me.”
John Rolfe smiled back at the beautiful Indian princess at his side as they walked together toward the throne of King James and Queen Anne of England.