Gospel Story Finder

When I was 15 years old, I realized the significance of a testimony of the Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith, and the Savior and how it affects our choices.

My brother, Joe, was 20 years old. It was during the Korean conflict, and only one young man in each ward could go on a mission. The others had to be available to be drafted into the military. A young man in our ward had gone on a mission early in the year; my brother’s birthday was in September, so he didn’t think he would get the opportunity to serve a mission.

Our stake president called my brother in and told him that one of the wards had not used its allotment and he might be able to go. Missionaries were called at 20 years of age in those days, and my brother had just filled out his application to medical school. He was a good student. My father, who was not active in the Church, had made financial preparations to help him with medical school and was disappointed when he learned of the conversation with the stake president. My father counseled Joe not to go and suggested that he could do more good by going to medical school.

This was a big issue in our family. That night my brother and I talked about the choice. He was five years older, so it was mainly his thinking. As we reasoned it out, we concluded: If Jesus Christ was a great man but not divine, if Joseph Smith was a wonderful teacher but not a prophet, or if the Book of Mormon had wonderful counsel but was not the word of God, then Dad was right—it would be better to go to medical school. But if Jesus Christ is divine, if Joseph Smith is a prophet, and if the Book of Mormon is the word of God, then it would be more important to accept the call and proclaim the gospel.

That night, more than ever before, I wanted to know the answers to these questions. I had always believed in the divinity of Jesus Christ. I believed in Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, but I wanted confirmation from the Lord. That night, as I prayed, the Spirit bore witness to my soul of the Savior and the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. My brother received the same witness and made the choice to serve a mission. Incidentally, when my brother returned from his mission, he went to medical school. When I reached my 20th birthday, my father was happy to see me serve a mission.

A week passed and he had been able to keep his secret. But now he was in the Lutheran church, last on a bench, seated with others his age. His mother and father were also there, sitting on the front row in the middle of the church, a place of honor reserved for parents on confirmation day. At 14, members of the Lutheran Church are considered ready for full membership. On confirmation day they appear before a congregation and answer questions on the Lutheran catechism asked by the pastor.
Christian knew he couldn’t lie about his beliefs; he had to tell the truth.
At last it was his turn. He stood up from the bench and walked toward the pastor. His father was smiling with pride. Christian’s legs felt weak and his mind clouded with confusion. The church was full, and he felt everyone’s eyes upon him.
The pastor’s voice high and loud, echoed in the church.
“Do you believe in God?” it chanted.
“Yes,” Christian’s voice was small. He whispered a prayer.
“Can you describe God?” the voice asked.
There was a vast silence in the great building. Christian felt as if the world were watching and listening. Then, a clearness and strength came from within. His voice was strong and clear.
“God is not a being without body, parts, or passions; and he does not sit on the top of a topless throne. God is a good, kind, Heavenly Father, who hears and answers prayers, and man is made in the image of God.”
For the first time in the service the pastor looked up, his eyes wide and questioning. Christian turned and looked at his father. He saw a face that was stone hard.
The pastor continued the questioning, and Christian answered according to his new beliefs.
The pastor finished the changed catechism questions, looked solemnly at Christian and in a hiss of voice said, “You answer as if you were a Mormon.”
“And if I do, I’m proud of it,” Christian replied.
Christian’s father, Hans Monson stood. He glared angrily at Christian, slammed the tip of his oak cane heavily against the wood floor, turned, and walked from the building, his cane cracking loudly with each step.
That night Christian received the beating from his father that he had expected for days. After that, with the help of his mother, he was able to avoid his father for several days. Then one evening while he was bringing wood into the house and stacking it near the fireplace, his father came into the room.
There was a moment of terrible silence. Hans Monson, a thick-chested man, a woodcutter by trade, suddenly struck at the boy with his cane. Christian avoided most of the blows that followed, but whenever the cane reached him, it caused a painful welt on h is flesh.
Out of breath Hans Monson stopped, his muscles tense and his blonde hair wet with perspiration. Christian, feeling faint, stood. His face was pale.
“Father, I know it’s wrong for me to disobey you. I’m sorry for that, but I m not sorry for what I did. I know it was right, and I’m not afraid to be beaten for the gospel, for truth.”
Breathing heavily Hans grabbed a large piece of wood from the fireplace stack and threw it. He threw wood at Christian until the stack was gone; then he opened the door and told Christian to get out.
“There’s no room here for a Mormon devil,” he shouted as Christian left. The door slammed. That was the last Christian would see of his father.
The night air was biting cold. Christian felt weak, overpowered by pain, confusion, and a terrible sense of loss. He still felt love and respect for his father. He staggered to the barn and fell on a pile of oat straw.
Later in the night Christian felt a soft hand touch his shoulder. His mother sat next to him on the straw.
“Why? Why did you have to do it, Christian?” she asked. Her voice was full of tears.
“I studied it, and I prayed about it. I know it’s true,” he answered, feeling strength in his own words. “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. I cannot deny what I know to be true. It would be like denying Christ, our Savior. I could never do that, no matter how much it hurt.”
In the cold, musty darkness of the barn, they talked until the pearl-gray light of dawn came. Christian felt the warmth of a bond between him and his mother tighten stronger than it had ever been; it grew into something he would remember all of his life, a memory that would warm him and give him strength. In the gray, sullen light he saw a bright tear roll down her face. She held him tight and warm knowing she would never see her son again, at least not in this life.
She stood suddenly and walked into the house. Christian picked up the bundle of food she had brought him and began walking toward the city of Drammen. The elders had told him there were other Mormons there. Light, powder flakes of snow were falling silently on the road.

Many years ago LaVene Call and her visiting teaching companion visited a less-active sister. They knocked on the door and found a young mother in her bathrobe. She looked ill, but they soon realized her problem was alcohol. The visiting teachers sat and talked with the struggling young mother.

After they left, they said, “She is a child of God. We have a responsibility to help her.” So they visited often. Each time, they could see and feel a change for good. They asked the sister to attend Relief Society. Though reluctant, she eventually attended regularly. After encouragement, she and her husband and daughter attended church. The husband felt the Holy Ghost. He said, “I’m going to do what the bishop suggests.” Now they are active in the Church and have been sealed in the temple.2

One evening following a long day’s work at the hospital, I entered the BYU Salt Lake Center to attend a graduate-level course. On this particular evening I was very tired, and I chose to take the elevator to class rather than carry my very large and heavy backpack of books up the stairs. As I stood waiting for the elevator I commiserated: I was tired, and I wondered if this goal of advanced education was worth it. I knew that it would open new doors in employment but that it would not change my financial income. I thought, “What on earth were you thinking when you returned to school?” As I considered my motives, I glanced to the side and noticed the words “Enter to learn; go forth to serve,” and I knew immediately that my education would help me obtain new light and truth and make available opportunities of faithful service that I had not previously contemplated.

I love the motto of Brigham Young University. It provided guidance as I completed my education, and it continues to guide my service today.

Some people say the Laurels in Oregon’s Corvallis Third Ward are green.
But not the inexperienced, unsophisticated type of green. And certainly not the jealous type of green. Not even the type of green you turn when you’re seasick. Green is actually meant as a compliment because, in some circles, to be green means to be environmentally conscious—to be doing your part to look after the earth. The Laurels are so environmentally conscious that they decided to put on special ecological firesides for the entire stake and town.
Nobody can say exactly how or when the Laurels turned “green” and decided to put on the fireside.
After all, they live in a state that is exceptionally ecology conscious. High school students are paid quite well for picking up trash, and it shows. Everywhere you look, you see lots of green and very little garbage. And recycling programs are prevalent in almost every city.
Then again, they might have turned green at school. The Laurels attend very ecology-oriented high schools where students have managed to save about 344 trees and 158,000 gallons of water this past year by voluntarily recycling their paper. The halls are filled with recycling bins for aluminum cans, and on certain days, there are student council members outside to greet you when you drive up to school. If you carpool, you get to park in front. If you drive alone, you have to park in the back. Those student council members are often Laurels Lisa Rampton and Jenni Merten. They say it’s worth sitting out in the constant Oregon drizzle to get people thinking about saving gas.
The Laurels might even have grown green at church. They do belong to a church that esteems this earth as a beautiful gift from Heavenly Father.
It seems the Laurels get a message on ecology almost everywhere they go, and they’re doing their best to pass that green message on. “Ecology is somewhat of a trend,” says Lisa, clad in an “Earth Native” T-shirt. “But I think it’s a good trend. It’s not bad to be a fad follower in this case.”
To make their own contribution via the fireside, the Laurels had to start practicing what they were going to preach. The disposal company in Corvallis picks up sorted garbage and ensures that it will be recycled, so those whose families weren’t already sorting their trash into separate bins for paper, cardboard, plastic, aluminum, tin cans, and glass, began to do so. Was it hard to start going that extra mile?
“At first I didn’t want to take the time to wash a can, then take the label off, then take both ends off and smash it down,” says Sherri Lewis, who just entered the Laurel class when the ecology program was in full swing. “But when you start hearing about how recycling helps the environment, it makes you want to do it.”
“You get used to it,” says Kim Hale, who has three sisters, all involved in recycling. “Besides, we take turns taking the bottles and cans to the recycling center, and whoever takes them gets the money for them. That’s a little added incentive.”
The object was for each Laurel to bring a week’s worth of recyclables to the fireside to use as visual aids. It’s surprising to see how much can be recycled. The front of the multipurpose room of the meetinghouse, where the fireside was held, was brimming. “We used to put two big garbage cans out for the trash man each time he came,” says Jenni. “Now we only use one a week. It feels good to know we’re not putting such a strain on the landfills.”
Each Laurel had her own part in the fireside. Lisa conducted and talked about the spiritual reasons for keeping the world God gave us clean. Jenni spoke about the state of the world as it is today, complete with acid rain, air pollution, and dwindling resources. Then Tami McDaniel talked about what each person could do to help ease the strain on the environment.
Since this was a presentation for the whole family, children were involved too. For example, Kim had her six-year-old sister show some of the fun art projects she’d made from things that would usually be thrown away.
Over in the nursery, the Beehives tended the children who were too young to sit through the fireside. The children colored pictures of the earth and of things they like to do outside. They were given a lesson on the creation and their responsibility to keep things clean.
And what fireside would be complete without refreshments? The Laurels served nutritious food that came in as little packaging as possible. All the dishes involved were washed and reused, and instead of paper, they used cloth napkins.
Was the fireside a success? Judge for yourself. The Laurels were asked to repeat it a number of times, and each presentation had quite a few non-LDS people in attendance. Everyone was impressed.
While no one has statistics on how many stake members are now recycling, the fireside definitely helped the Laurels on the personal level. Tami, for example, had just recently been baptized when her class started the ecology project. Her family had been recycling for quite some time, and Tami was well versed on how to be green, so she felt she had something to contribute from the start.
It’s true that no one knows exactly where all this started, and now, no one knows where it will end. The Laurels feel good, about turning green, however, and hope it’s catching.

Indeed, sometime not long after 9-11, I had a missionary ask me in all honesty and full of faith, “Elder Holland, are these the last days?” I saw the earnestness in his face and some of the fear in his eyes, and I wanted to be reassuring. I thought perhaps an arm around him and some humor could relieve his anxiety a little. Giving him a hug, I said, “Elder, I may not be the brightest person alive, but even I know the name of the Church.” We then talked about being Latter-day Saints. I said, “Yes, Elder, we are in the last days, but there is really nothing new about that. The promised Second Coming of the Savior began with the First Vision of the Prophet Joseph Smith in 1820. So we already have about 184 years of experience seeing the Second Coming and the last days unfold. We can be certain that we are in the last days—years and years of them,” I said, and gave him a friendly shake of the hand and sent him on his way.

He smiled, seemed more reassured to put all this in some context, and went on his way. I assume he has long since finished a successful mission and is now happily at home getting on with his life, perhaps even sitting in this audience somewhere looking for a wife! (He’d better be.)

I hasten to say that I do know what this young man was really asking. What he really meant was, “Will I finish my mission? Is there any point in getting an education? Can I hope for a marriage? Do I have a future? Is there any happiness ahead for me?” And I say to all of you what I said three years ago to him: “Yes, certainly—to all those questions.”

In the fifth grade this past school year, we have had to memorize the names of the fifty states of the United States and each of their capitals. We started after spring break and took tests every week. Each test included ten to fifteen new states, plus all the states we had studied the week before. The tests got longer and longer.
This was very hard for me. I had to study a lot before every test. Even then, I made mistakes. Sometimes I missed so many that I had to retake the test to pass.
One day, another boy in my class was retaking a test at the same time that I was. He finished, and the teacher told him that he could go out to recess. When he put his book in his desk, he saw that I was struggling with one of the capitals. He whispered the answer to me. I quickly wrote it down and handed the test in. My teacher hadn’t seen or heard anything, so she told me I could go out to recess, too.
I thought I would feel good, because I knew I had passed. Instead, I felt horrible. Recess was not fun. All I could think about was what I had done. I tried to think of a way to tell my teacher.
Later that afternoon, I waited until most of my classmates had left the room to go home. I walked up to my teacher’s desk and told her quietly that I had not been honest and would retake the test again the next day. She thanked me for being honest. Telling my teacher the truth was very hard for me, but I felt so much better after I did.
When my mom was tucking me into bed that night, I told her, too. I thought she would be angry, but she was glad that I had had the courage to admit what I had done and had taken steps to correct my behavior. We talked about how the Holy Ghost helps us to know right from wrong and decided that the Holy Ghost had helped me that day.

A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to witness, as Nephi had, direct and not so direct answers to my own prayers. Back in January of this year, my brother-in-law, who had just turned 50, set the goal for himself to climb to the top of the Grand Teton, a mountain peak just across the Idaho border in Wyoming that stands at 13,775 feet in elevation. Two of my brothers and I had climbed the mountain before and agreed to help him reach his goal. This adventure quickly turned into a family affair and when we left on the trip at the end of August there were 7 of us total--4 brothers, 2 brothers-in-law, and my brother's climbing partner. Our plan had been to hit the trail at about 3 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, summit, and come all the way back down but due to some concerns about the weather on Tuesday, we made a last minute decision to leave Monday night and hike through the night so that we could summit as early as possible before the weather hit. We were not able to move as fast as we had hoped, but the weather held and we were all able to summit late Tuesday morning.

Storm clouds were moving in so we only spent a few minutes on the top of the mountain. Because of our later summit, by the time we started down, we were the only group still on the mountain. As part of our descent, we had two significant rappels that we had to do. A rappel is a way to move down a steep section of rock using a rope that passes through a device that provides friction. We navigated the first rappel without incident, but the second rappel proved to be a different story. This particular rappel consisted of dropping vertically 10 or 15 feet to a ledge and then backing off that ledge and dropping vertically for over 100 feet. We got our ropes set up and then carefully stacked the ropes so that they would unravel properly as we threw them over the edge.

My brother Matt was the first one to rappel down. He went over the edge and disappeared from sight. We waited for him to reach the bottom and for the tension to come off the rope. We kept waiting and waiting. A few minutes passed and we started yelling to Matt to see if he was o.k. The wind was blowing which made it difficult to hear, but finally in a lull in the wind, Matt was able to tell us that there was a knot in the rope. Two knots had actually formed in the rope as it twisted and unraveled when we threw it over. Matt had been able to work the first knot out, but the second knot got into his rappelling device and he was completely stuck on the knot. Matt had been trying everything to get the knot out. He had tied what is called a prussic to the line to try and ascend back up the rope, but had been unsuccessful in doing so. We couldn't see Matt, but we knew he had to be exhausted. At this point we called 911 and were patched through to the ranger station. The ranger told us they could get a helicopter, but with the weather rolling in as it was, we didn't have time for that to happen.

We decided our best bet was to try to pull Matt back up to the ledge so that he could stand and get the knot out of his rappelling device. Through the wind we asked Matt how far he was from the ledge. We thought we heard "six feet." There was only space for 4 of us to grab hold of the rope, but we figured we could pull Matt up six feet. We pulled and pulled and pulled with everything we had and then tied the rope off. We had pulled at least 6 feet but the rope was still taut. We yelled again to Matt to see how close he was to the ledge and this time we clearly heard that he was 60 feet from the ledge. I couldn't believe it. My arms were burning and I remember thinking to myself that there was no way we would be able to pull him up 60 more feet. Just as I had that thought, my brother Kyle said that we needed to say a prayer. We bowed our heads and Kyle prayed that we would have the strength to save our brother and then we started pulling and strength truly came that was not our own. For every foot of progress, we would lose several inches due to the give in the rope and having to reposition our hands, but slowly and surely we were finally able to pull Matt to the ledge where he was able to stand and get the knot out of his rappelling device and then rappel down safely.

In the very instance of need, our prayer was answered as we were given the strength to pull our brother to safety.

by Glenn Latham
This is a true story about a Wonderful Pest.
We have six children, four lovely daughters and two fine sons. All of our children have progressed nicely through the programs of the Church, including the Scouting program for the boys.
Unfortunately, we parents never caught Scouting fever, so neither did the boys. Consequently, our oldest son graduated from the Aaronic Priesthood program having attained the rank of Life Scout, falling several merit badges short of the coveted rank of Eagle (coveted by his parents, that is).
Like older brother, like younger brother, number two son saw Scouting primarily as an avenue for fun, with some resentment reserved for “all the clunky requirements.” And true to form, his parents were only a mild irritant to him to “get with it”; hence, the weeks and months toward the end of eligibility flew past with little hope of an Eagle landing. “After all,” we reasoned, “how influential can we hope to be when, after making several very attractive offers to encourage our son, he replies, somewhat disdainfully, ‘I don’t even want to be an Eagle Scout.’”
Enter our Wonderful Pest.
At the height (or depth) of our son’s lethargy and our resignation, Jeff Sessions, our Wonderful Pest, moved into our ward, the Third Ward, North Logan Utah Stake. He is an unassuming, determined, soft-spoken young fellow, married, the father of four precious children, and a graduate student at Utah State University. His talents were soon recognized, and before long he was called to be the priests quorum adviser—and to him that meant Scouting.
Our Wonderful Pest is one of those goal-oriented, management-by-objective types. For the priests quorum the goal was clear—100 percent Eagle Scouts (much to the dismay and discomfort of the quorum members).
With goal in hand, W. P. wasted no time. The strategy was simple: divide and conquer. None of this “let’s all get an Eagle together” stuff. He went after each boy individually. Then the phone began to ring, every day and twice on Sunday, at least. It went like this:
Ring, ring.
“Allen, it’s for you. It’s Jeff.”
(Mutter, mutter) “That pest. I’ll get it down here. Hi, Jeff. At your place? Now! Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes. (Grumble, grumble) I’m going to Jeff’s. I’ll be back in a while.”
Not infrequently, W. P. was found at our front door following up on an assignment, just checking, or picking up our son to take him to some merit badge activity with, of course, a stop on the way home to get some pizza, doughnuts, a root beer, or whatever. In which event it was “grumble, grumble; munch, munch.” Allen always returned with a smile on his face, and he always returned one step closer to another merit badge. And so it went:
Ring, ring
Knock, knock
Grumble, grumble
Munch, munch
Merit badge, merit badge
Recently through the front door bounded our 17-year-old bundle of young male energy. “Guess what, Dad?” he proudly exclaimed with animated enthusiasm. “You’re looking at an Eagle Scout! And to think that only a few months ago, I didn’t even want to be an Eagle Scout. It’s all because of that pest, Jeff.”
“Yep,” I replied, “our Wonderful Pest.”
This scenario was duplicated in the homes of ten other priests resulting in the accomplishment of Jeff’s goal, all members of the priests quorum receiving the Eagle Award.

I came from, and I come from a home that is not very well to do. I think I’m speaking the truth even on behalf of my wife growing up where she did in very humble normal circumstances there. We didn’t have a lot of money, when we got married, I tell you when we went back to Rick’s College there wasn’t much in our bank account in our wallets. We didn’t have many of those material things in the apartment. And there was even one winter where a member of the bishopric, or was it the bishop, I can’t remember, came by and he saw his breath in our apartment. Wondering if the heater was broken and we said, “Well we just don’t have any money to pay for it.” And the Relief Society came and started bringing us quilts and things to keep us warm. And in our first year at Ricks College, I took my wife, my newlywed wife, out to eat once. And that was to subway sandwiches.
So, why am I telling you all this? I just want to go on record and be a witness today this morning, to all of you, that I don’t care how lacking you think you may feel, how unprepared for the world you may think that you are, as a servant of the lord I will just make you a simple promise, put your heart, your heart, before the Lord and tell him that you from now on will give yourself to him, to the best of your ability, that never means perfectly because while we are in mortality that’s never going to happen. But, go before the father and promise him that you will strive to do your very best, to be on the covenant path, to keep the covenants that you’ve made and to learn more about how to keep them better. And to do so, and then the promise is sure that as long as you are on the covenant path, giving your best effort, nothing will ever go permanently wrong in your life, that’s a promise.

As with the learning that accompanies the acquisition of information, there is great power in the kind of learning that comes from doing. Elder Bruce Hafen illustrated this principle when he shared an experience from his family life at a conference on family law a number of years ago.

"One of our children once was in great difficulty in his fourth-grade class." Elder Hafen related. "If he didn't complete a certain hand-made project by the next day, he would face certain disaster. After dinner, my wife, Marie, told me she had thought of a way to help him. I ushered our other children into another room for other activities, and the handicraft project began in the kitchen. Periodically, I heard outbursts from our fourth-grader, who kept tormenting his mother and insisting he wouldn't do another thing. I was ready to send him to his room and forget it, but my wife calmly proceeded with her plan.

"After about three hours, as I was tucking the other children into bed, the little builder and his mother entered the bedroom. Carrying his project as proudly as if it were a birthday cake, he invited his two brothers to come and see it. It was obvious from looking at it that he had made every stitch of it himself. He placed it on a counter and started for his bed. Then he looked back at his mother with a broad, boyish grin. He ran across the room, threw his arms around her waist, and hugged her tightly. As he grinned at her again, the two of them exchanged glances that carried great meaning. He went back to his bed, and we left the room.

"What happened?" I asked Marie. "How did you do it?" She replied that she had simply made up her mind that no matter what he said or did, she wouldn't raise her voice or lose her patience. She had just decided that leaving him was not an alternative, even if the project took all night. Then she made this significant observation: "I didn't know I had it in me."

Those kinds of experiences teach us truths about ourselves that no amount of abstract study will ever reveal. I'm confident that after that night Sister Hafen had a more complete understanding of both her own potential destiny and Heavenly Father's great patience and love for His children. Such experiences—which require that we do something—provide a more complete knowledge of who we really are.

I saw him again—the little freckle-faced, redheaded kid in the wheelchair—holding a baseball. He couldn’t be more than eight years old, and he was maneuvering that old chair around just like a car. Boy, can he drive that thing!
I wondered if they had taken some blood from him too. I didn’t like it very much when they took it from me, but I didn’t let on. After all, I’m twelve, and I don’t want to act like a baby. Anyway, they made me sit in a wheelchair, and they pushed me into elevators and down long hallways to my room. Our wheelchairs passed each other, and the freckle-faced kid said, “Hi! My name’s Kenny. Do you like baseball?”
I mumbled a quick hello in return, ignoring the question about baseball. I didn’t want to tell him that I loved baseball but that I couldn’t run very fast. I wanted to show him my autographed baseball that was signed by three superstars. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Some of the other guys on our baseball team, especially Bill and Kevin, didn’t want me on the team anymore because I couldn’t run the bases. They said it was my fault we’d lost one of the games. So I quit. But I still have the autographed ball, and I still want to be a famous baseball player someday. I’ll show them!
Anyway, I saw the kid in the wheelchair yesterday, sitting in the TV room watching a major league game. He was still holding a baseball. I went in and sat down on the couch in the back of the room. I wanted to watch the game, too, but I didn’t want to answer any of that little kid’s questions! As soon as I sat down, though, he wheeled that monster of a chair over and started in on me.
“Hi!” he said again. “What’s your name?”
“Luke,” I replied quietly, trying to ignore him. He kept staring at me, and I finally said, “You can call me Lucky. That’s my nickname.”
“That’s neat,” Kenny said. A big grin spread across his face, making his freckles seem to pop out. “Are you really a lucky person? I wish my name was Lucky. Why are you in the hospital? You’re not in a wheelchair, and you can walk.”
Boy, could this kid talk! But he was so friendly that I felt I had to answer.
“It’s something to do with my heart,” I told him. “They had to operate about three weeks ago. They left a big scar straight down my chest.”
I turned away from him, and he started to get excited about the home run scored on TV. I thought about waking up after the operation with the tubes stuck in me. They’d put them everywhere, and they hurt. I didn’t want to tell Kenny about it. After all, he was just a kid and wouldn’t understand. The doctors said that my heart was the reason I couldn’t run fast. Only they said everything would be OK now. But I didn’t believe them. I felt even worse than before. When Bill and Kevin came to see me and told me I could be on the team again when I’m stronger, I told them I didn’t want to be on their old baseball team anymore. I didn’t want them to feel sorry for me.
Kenny suddenly turned toward me and asked, “Do you play baseball?”
I tugged at the back of my hair, my eyes looking down. “A little,” I answered, then added, “I want to be a real baseball player someday, like the guys you’re watching on TV.” I don’t know why I said that. It must’ve just slipped out. Kenny’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he pushed his baseball at me.
“Can I have your autograph, please? You’re the only real baseball player I know. Please.”
He seemed almost to plead with me. He thought I was a star. Hesitantly I took his baseball. Kenny grabbed a pen out of his pocket and gave it to me. I looked at the ball, signed it “Lucky Wilson,” and handed it back to him.
“Thanks a lot!” Kenny actually glowed. “Now I have a real autographed baseball!”
I smiled weakly, turned, and walked slowly back to my room. I didn’t want to watch TV anymore. I felt a little mixed-up. In the hall I met the nurse who worked on that floor. “Why is that boy in a wheelchair?” I asked.
“Kenny?” she said. “Oh. His legs are paralyzed. He’s here for more tests and therapy.”
“Will he ever be able to walk?” I asked.
She gave me a long look before she said, “Kenny’s been in that wheelchair for a long time.” Then she added quickly, “He’s a very nice kid, though, don’t you think?”
“He sure is!” I answered and went on to my room.
Today I went back to the TV room. Kenny was there again, sitting all alone. I walked over to him, put my autographed baseball in his lap, and said, “This is for you.” His face sparkled.
“Are you sure you don’t want it?” he asked eagerly.
“I don’t need it,” I answered. “My name’s Lucky, remember?” I don’t think he understood—but I did. I knew someday I would hit a home run. I would hit it for Kenny.

My father isn’t active in the Church, and that is the cause of conflict in my home. I work really hard to set a good example for him, and I know he can see the difference in my life.

But sometimes I have felt like there was someone trying to undo all the good things I did at home. It was really discouraging. One Sunday after church, I talked to my sister about it and we agreed to start doing secret acts of service in our home. Each week we chose someone in our family and tried to spend time with that person. We left notes of encouragement and did little things like making sure a sister’s dress was pressed for church or a brother’s soccer uniform was washed.

It didn’t take long for our family to realize who was providing the service, but now everyone joins in and does something. We can see the love in our home now—it is in everything we do.

Cyrena felt that there was a larger purpose in her joining the Church and moving to Zion. Yet moving to Missouri meant leaving her family. She would not see most of her family again, but she trusted that the restored gospel would offer salvation and eternal connections. She wrote in her autobiography, “I was strongly impressed that my going was not only for my own salvation, but for that of the family also.” It was not until years later in Nauvoo when she learned about baptisms for the dead and the ability to do proxy work for her family. She recalled, “It was a source of great satisfaction to me to know that I stood in a position to do a work for them which would give them the privilege of accepting in the spirit world the gospel, which was neglected in this.”6

7. Two relevant memories for young fathers. When I was such, I had just received a phone call telling me of a friend’s death in an accident. I was sitting in the living room with tears streaking down my cheeks. Our young son, Cory, saw the tears as he passed in the hallway. I learned that he had anxiously assumed the tears were because he had disappointed me in some way. He didn’t know about the phone call. Brethren, we underestimate how genuinely and frequently our children want to please us.

Kathleen H. Hughes, first counselor in the Relief Society general presidency: “A woman I know was struggling with anger toward someone who had hurt her and her family. Though she told her children not to become embittered and resentful, she fought those feelings herself. After weeks of entreating her Father in Heaven, she finally felt a change. She related: ‘One day, in the midst of my nearly constant prayers, the healing came. I felt a physical sensation spread through my body. After, I felt a sense of security and peace. I knew that regardless of what happened, my family and I would be all right. The anger left me and so did my desire for retaliation’” (“Blessed by Living Water,” Liahona and Ensign, May 2003, 13).

Orla Rode Nielsen, baptized in 1956, served as branch president twice in Århus before that unit became a ward. Kirsten Bokhonko, another longtime member, says that Brother Nielsen and his wife, Esther (now deceased), are the kind of people who made it a habit to do good for others quietly, in the background. When the Nielsens discovered a love of family history, they devoted much of their own free time to helping more than 30 other members compile their family history. Brother Nielsen still goes to the city archives almost every day to gather information. “I love it. When you get started, you can’t stop.” From the time he joined the Church, he has felt that way about the gospel. On the day he was baptized, he sang all the way home for happiness. “Since my baptism I have never doubted.”

As a skinny 12-year-old, I watched through a chain-link fence as my two older brothers earned all-state baseball honors.
Life was exciting because they were my brothers. The guy wearing number eight and striking out three batters in a row, and the player hitting home runs over the centerfielder’s head were the same guys I shared a basement bedroom with. They were the ones who first taught me about putting gel in my hair and how to start a campfire. We were good friends.
The feelings of inadequacy kicked in because as a five-foot-three, 98-pound weakling, I could not understand how I would ever be able to fire an 80-mile-per-hour fastball or hit towering home runs.
On one hot summer afternoon, my oldest brother could see something was bothering me. After he encouraged me to tell him what was on my mind, I said in muffled tones, “How will I ever become a great baseball player like you?”
“Matt,” he said in his usual cheerful voice, “you’ve just got to do the things that great baseball players do.” After thinking about this, I came to realize that great baseball players aren’t only naturally talented, but they make themselves skilled through hours of practice. I committed myself to do all I could.
Three broken noses and six years later, I was a starter on the varsity baseball team and had just signed a national letter of intent to play college baseball.
I started my freshman year at college, and everything was going great. Great, that is, until an all-too-familiar feeling of my personal shortcomings began to settle in my stomach. My second-oldest brother, who was not only co-captain of my college team but also my roommate, had just come home from the mission field. He told extraordinary stories about living in England and preaching the gospel.
I read letters from the mission presidents of both of my older brothers describing what a good missionary “Elder Bennett” was and how blessed they would be because of their obedience and faith. Again, I began feeling inadequate. How could I ever measure up to their high level of missionary success? Although my body had grown several inches taller and my muscles had doubled in size, my testimony had not grown proportionately.
I confided in my brother and roommate, “What can I do to prepare to be a great missionary like you were? How can I change people’s lives like you did?” Again I received simple counsel. “Do the things that great missionaries do. Be nice to people, read your scriptures, and pray daily.”
I took the advice to heart and could feel my spiritual growth begin to catch up with my physical body.
Finally the day came for me to serve my mission, and being a missionary wasn’t nearly as glamorous as I had imagined from my brother’s stories. I quickly realized I was a small seedling among tall oaks of spirituality. I turned to my mission president for advice. “To strengthen your testimony and the testimonies of those around you, follow the example of our Savior. Do the things that he did. Jesus Christ’s life is an example for us in every way,” he told me as we were driving together one afternoon.
The greatest things I’ve learned in life have come from following my older brothers and doing the things they have done. My ultimate goal is to follow Jesus Christ. I know the way to fulfill that goal is to do the things that He who is greatest of all has done.

I roped one of my older brothers into going with me so I wouldn’t have to sit alone. I don’t remember the meeting at all. I just remember thinking, “Everybody must be looking at me and saying, ‘Look, Gretchen is at church. I wonder why.’ ” I was so uncomfortable by the end of the meeting that I planned a quick escape as soon as the closing prayer ended.
That’s when something happened that changed my life forever. Four girls I remembered from Primary ran up and surrounded me. They were so happy to see me at church, and I felt their sincerity. They asked if I would come back later that night to a youth fireside. I agreed and then left for home.
I talked my brother into going with me again. At the fireside, a man stood to speak and said he felt impressed not to give his prepared talk but to share his testimony and then let us do the same. All of a sudden, my whole being felt on fire. I don’t know how long it took me to get up, but I stood and bore my testimony that now I knew why I had been feeling unhappy and lost. It was the gospel that was missing in my life. I knew I needed to make some changes.
Now, almost 30 years later, I am still grateful to those young women who didn’t let me escape the chapel that day. I later met and married a returned missionary in the Idaho Falls Temple. We have four children, three of whom have married in the temple. Our oldest son served a mission, and our last is now planning to go on his. I have served in the Young Women program of the Church. Each time I teach a lesson on service, I share my life-changing experience in hopes that the same will be done for others as was done for me.
I believe my simple prayer was answered on that mountaintop. Heavenly Father does hear and answer our prayers. And my prayer was answered because four girls chose the right. They put their arms around a lost soul and invited her back. There are Gretchens out there who need to be brought back. You never know whose life can and will be changed forever if you will just reach out and be a loving, caring friend.

Then, approximately two years later, on June 23, 1844, Joseph Smith turned himself in to the militia under the control and promised protection of Governor Ford. Joseph’s statement to his friends was: “If my life is of no value to my friends it is of none to myself” (HC 6:549). As he rode out of Nauvoo, the Prophet added, “I am going like a lamb to the slaughter” (D&C 135:4).

Here is Joseph’s last letter to Emma, started one day before his Martyrdom and dated June 27, 1844:
Dear Emma:
I am very much resigned to my lot, knowing I am justified and have done the best that could be done. Give my love to the children and all my friends, Mr. Brower, and all who inquire after me. And as for treason, I know that I have not committed any, and they cannot prove one appearance of anything of the kind. So you need not have any fears that any harm can happen to us on that score. May God bless you all, amen. [Personal Writings, 611; text modernized]