Gospel Story Finder

“Hooray!” Andrew yelled when he saw the batch of cookie dough that his mother was putting into the refrigerator. “That means tomorrow is ‘Cookie Sunday!’”
“Yes,” replied his mother. “Do you remember what you must do to earn these cookies?”
“I remember. I just need to tell you one thing that I learned in sacrament meeting. That’s easy.”
“You’re right, Andrew. It’s too easy for a big boy like you. This time I want you to tell me three things that you learned.”
“Three!” Andrew took a closer look at the cookie dough. “Is it chocolate chip?”
His mother nodded. “You know, Andrew, listening longer will help you be reverent longer too.”
When the bishop stood up at church after the sacrament had been passed the next day, Andrew forgot to listen. He was busy looking at his favorite book about Jesus. He especially liked the picture of Jesus with the children. He liked to imagine that he was one of those children and that Jesus was smiling at him.
Mother tapped Andrew on the arm as the first speaker stood up. It was Samuel Jenkins, a friend of Andrew’s big brother. Andrew liked Samuel because he sometimes let Andrew play with his basketball. He gave Samuel a big smile, and Samuel smiled back! Then he started his talk. Andrew listened hard. Samuel said that he was saving his money to go on a mission. I’m saving my money, too, Andrew thought. He had a special box that had a place for his tithing, his missionary savings, and his spending money. He was saving his spending money to buy a red toy truck just like the one Toby had. Where is Toby today? he wondered. Andrew saw Toby’s father and baby brother sitting in front of them, but Toby wasn’t there. Toby was his best friend, and he had taught Andrew how to tie his shoes. Andrew was leaning down to see if his shoes needed tying, when his mother tapped him on the back. Oh-oh, thought Andrew, I’m not listening any more.
Andrew looked up just in time to see Samuel sit down and another man take his place. The man’s name was Jethro Williams. He and his family had just moved into the ward. Andrew thought that Brother Williams had kind eyes. Brother Williams was introducing his family, so Andrew turned around to locate them in the congregation. He didn’t see any boys his age in the family, but there was a little girl. Andrew also looked around for Toby, but he didn’t see him. He did see his friend Jacob, though, and gave him a little wave. Andrew felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder, so he quietly turned around and saw Brother Williams opening his scriptures.
One day I’ll have my own scriptures too, Andrew thought. My scriptures will have a black cover like Dad’s, with pages that make a whispering sound when you turn them. He leaned over and saw that a lot of words in Dad’s scriptures had red-pencil lines under them. That meant that the words were extra special.
Brother Williams was reading something about the Lamanites, so Andrew opened his Book of Mormon Storybook and turned to his favorite story about Samuel the Lamanite. He was still busy looking at the pictures when he heard the organ start to play. Is the meeting over already? Andrew wondered. No, it’s just a rest hymn, he decided as the congregation sang “The Spirit of God.” Andrew sang especially loud on the chorus. In Primary the music leader had said that when the children sang the chorus, they sounded like angels.
After the song, Sister Williams stood up. She had a soft voice that reminded Andrew of his Primary teacher. His Primary teacher often said, “Bless your heart.” Andrew listened hard to hear if Sister Williams would say that, too, but she didn’t. Instead, she said another word a lot. She said, “thankful.” Andrew listened, and he counted on his fingers that she said it five times!
She really is thankful, Andrew thought.
Then Sister Williams began to cry a little. Andrew used to feel funny when grown-ups cried in church, but his mother told him that people sometimes cry when they feel very happy inside because of their blessings. Andrew decided to count his own blessings. He thought of his new bicycle that he was learning to ride and of his pet gerbil, Blacky. Then he thought of Amanda, his baby sister, who was asleep on Dad’s lap. Andrew was reaching over to pat Amanda’s curly head when the organ began to play again. The meeting was almost over! This time it was a hymn that Andrew didn’t know, but he helped hold the book for his mother and hummed softly.
After dinner that afternoon, Andrew’s mother got out the bowl of cookie dough. “Well, Andrew,” she said, “tell me what you learned today.”
Andrew thought hard. “Samuel Jenkins talked about saving for his mission. He told me that when he goes on his mission, he’ll give me his basketball! Isn’t that great?”
Mother nodded. “Yes, that’s great. And I’m glad that you were listening when he talked about being a missionary. What else did you learn?”
“I learned that we have a new girl named Sarah Williams in our Primary class. Her father had her stand up in sacrament meeting. In Primary I found out that she likes chocolate chip cookies, just like me!”
Mother smiled. “OK, Andrew. That counts. Shall we take her some cookies to share with her family today?”
“OK, Mom.” Andrew’s eyes lit up. “And could we take some to Toby too? He wasn’t at church today because he’s sick.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Mother. “But first you need to tell me one more thing that you learned today.”
Andrew spoke slowly, “Well, Sister Williams was thankful for five things, and in church I could only think of three things that I was thankful for. But now I’ve thought of two more.”
“What are they?”
“I’m thankful for all my friends and for chocolate chip cookies to share with them!”

As a young boy, I learned to love the dramatic changes in the seasons of the year in southwest Montana, where I grew up. My favorite season was fall—the time of the harvest. Our family hoped and prayed that our months of hard work would be rewarded with a bountiful harvest. My parents worried over the weather, the health of animals and crops, and many other things over which they had little control.
As I grew, I became even more aware of the urgency involved. Our livelihood depended upon the harvest. My father taught me about the equipment we used to harvest grain. I watched as he would move the machinery into the field, cut a small swath of grain, and then check behind the combine to make sure that as much grain as possible landed in the holding tank and was not thrown out with the chaff. He repeated this exercise several times, adjusting the machine each time. I ran alongside and pawed through the chaff with him and pretended that I knew what I was doing.
After he was satisfied with the adjustments to the machine, I found some kernels of grain in the chaff on the ground and presented them to him with a critical look. I will not forget what my father said to me: “It is good enough and the best that this machine can do.” Not really satisfied with his explanation, I pondered the imperfections of this harvest.
A short time later, when the weather turned cold in the evenings, I watched thousands of migrating swans, geese, and ducks descend onto the fields to nourish themselves on their long journey south. They ate the leftover grain from our imperfect harvest. God had perfected it. And not a kernel was lost.

Life was not easy growing up in my family. We had financial difficulties along with other challenges of life. I recently asked my mom what blessings came to our family during those hard times because we were trying our best to live the gospel. She said we were blessed with health, and that we had always had a house to live in and food on the table. My siblings and I were regularly able to find jobs like mowing lawns and babysitting for neighbors. As we got older, we worked hard and sought education. We were always close as a family. Keeping our covenants with God brought specific blessings to our family that we still enjoy today.

I know that God’s promises are sure and that when we keep our covenants, He will provide us with help and guidance. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland once noted that it was interesting to him “that covenants are made personally, individually… Those ordinances are performed for individual persons, one by one, no matter how many must ultimately receive them.” [4] Because our covenants are individually made with God, we can have the individual reassurance that God will provide blessings and miracles unique to us and our circumstances, just as He did for my family when I was growing up.

One Sunday a couple of years ago, I came to church pushing an especially sad Caroline, thinking that we might just stay for the sacrament. As I walked the foyer and Caroline remained sad, I began to wonder if we would even make it until the sacrament. All my efforts to comfort her seemed fruitless, and Caroline’s crying was certainly disturbing others.
But then the sacrament hymn began and Caroline calmed briefly when I started to sing. She quickly got fussy again, so I put my face close to hers and I sang to her. She quieted and listened. The sacrament hymn that day was “Reverently and Meekly Now,” which was written in the first-person voice, as if the Savior were singing. Admittedly, I was focused on Caroline and not on the song—until we came to the fourth verse, when I found myself singing these words to my daughter:
I have loved thee as thy friend, With a love that cannot end.18
I looked into Caroline’s big blue eyes and felt deeply the tender, personal truth of those words for my daughter. Jesus Christ, the Redeemer of the world, loves Caroline “with a love that cannot end.” Even there in the foyer, in her less-than-ideal state, Caroline is loved. When she is sad or hurting, when her parents are clueless and incapable of comforting her, there is One who is her Everlasting Friend, who knows how she feels and how to succor her.

At other times, I have felt the promptings of the Spirit to stay my hand from a course of action that was not in the best interest of the university. I was prevented from signing a legal document on one occasion and a letter on another. In each instance we reexamined the proposed action and within a few weeks could see, with the benefit of additional information not available to us earlier, that the restraining hand of the Spirit had saved us from an irreversible error. On another occasion I was prompted to accept a speaking appointment I would normally have declined, and the fulfillment of that assignment turned out to be one of the most significant public acts of my period of service and has led to many other important invitations, publications, and influences. At other times, in connection with my scholarly work on law and legal history, I have been restrained from publishing something that later turned out to be incorrect, and I have been impressed to look in obscure places where I found information vital to guide me to accurate conclusions on matters of moment in my work.

In all of this, I have been blessed beyond my own powers and have received an inkling of what the Lord can do for us if we qualify and reach out for His help in the righteous cause in which we are engaged.

Some months ago I was given the assignment to interview a young man, 21 years old, to determine if his repentance was sufficient for him to serve a mission. My heart ached as I read of the serious problems and transgressions in his past. I wondered if it would be possible that one with such a background could ever prepare himself to worthily serve a mission. At the appointed time for my interview I saw a handsome young man approaching me. He was immaculately groomed and had a wonderful countenance about him. He looked like a returned missionary, and I wondered who he was. As he approached he extended his hand and, to my surprise, introduced himself as the young man I was to interview.

During the interview I simply asked, “Why am I visiting with you tonight?” Then he laid out the sordid details of his past. After reviewing and confessing again his transgression, he began talking to me about the Atonement and the years of painful repentance that brought him to this very interview. He expressed his love for the Savior and then explained that Christ’s Atonement was sufficient to rescue even a boy like him. At the conclusion of the interview, I placed my hand on his shoulder and said, “When I get back to Church headquarters, my recommendation will be that you be permitted to serve a mission.” And then I said, “I ask only one thing of you—just one. If you are privileged to serve, I want you to be the best missionary in the entire Church. That is all.”

About four months later I was speaking at a missionary devotional at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. After the devotional I was standing in front of the podium greeting missionaries when I noticed a familiar face approaching me. My first thought was that I was about to be embarrassed because I was supposed to know this young man. I could not remember where I had met him, and I knew the first question that he was going to ask me. Sure enough, he extended his hand and asked, “Do you remember me?” Apologetically and somewhat embarrassingly, I answered, “I am sorry. I know I should know you, but I just do not remember.” He then said: “Well, let me tell you who I am. I am the best missionary in the MTC.” I could not withhold the tear that slowly trickled down my cheek as I thought: “Here is a man. He met his Gethsemane. He paid the painful price of repentance. He has humbled himself and submitted himself to the redemptive power of the Savior. He has met the challenges. He has measured up to true manhood.” And I say, “Behold a man,” a man humble enough to submit himself to the redemptive powers of the Savior.

Walls. Fences. Barriers. Unfortunately, many of us seem to build them in one form or another. Afraid of being hurt, we put up iron bars for protection. Afraid of being laughed at, we build a barricade that no one gets inside. Worst of all may be the walls of intolerance, built with bricks of ignorance, cemented with the mortar of fear. Understanding comes only when such walls are torn away. Love and peace come only when, brick by brick, the walls come down.
Latter-day Saint youth in the Belfast Northern Ireland Stake know a lot about walls. In a country torn for centuries by unrest and terrorism, they are in the delicate position of being on neither side of the conflict—both religious and political—between Catholics and Protestants. But they deal with the barriers just the same. Listen to three young women from the Cavehill Ward:
Sharon Goodall tells a common story: “My schoolmates always want to know if I’m Catholic or Protestant. I tell them I’m neither; I’m Mormon. ‘Fine,’ they say. ‘Are you a Catholic Mormon or a Protestant Mormon?’ It almost sounds like a joke, until you have to live it. You try to get along with everybody, but there’s constant pressure to pick a side.”
Debra Boyd explains that a lot of people outside of Northern Ireland have no idea what it’s truly like to live here. “It’s rare that you would see something like a bombing. I’ve lived here all my life, and I haven’t seen any at all. Life goes on pretty much as normal, although you have security checks on public buses, and sometimes there’s a tailback (traffic jam) when there’s an incident. But it’s more of an inconvenience than a threat to your life.”
Along with six other Latter-day Saints, Debra attends the Hazelwood Integrated College in Belfast, a school where the student body is about 50 percent Catholic and 50 percent Protestant. “I’m fairly new at the school, and at the start they would say, ‘Oh, she’s one of them mad Mormons,’ and they would tease me,” Debra says. “But now, they’re asking questions, like why I don’t take tea or coffee. They’re kind of interested in it more.”
Debbie Sloan, who attends the same school, is popular with her classmates. “At an integrated school, the effort is to help us all get along anyway,” she explains. “They know I’m Mormon. My close friends know my dad is a bishop, that we spend lots of time at our church. I just talk about it the way it is, and they accept me for what I am.”
Claire and Sandra Hoey of Craigavon are members of the Portadown Ward. They talk about the walls that missionaries helped tumble for their family.
“The missionaries had been coming to our parents for a long time,” Sandra says. “But I never paid any attention. Then one night I was upstairs and started listening. I got more interested in what they were saying. I decided it was time to see what it was all about.”
The discussions became more and more serious. The parents were baptized. An older brother was baptized. Then Sandra, then Claire.
After the baptisms, a friend “noticed that since I’ve joined the Church I’ve been happier,” Claire says. “She wanted to find out what it was that was making me happy.” Now the friend is taking the discussions in the Hoeys’ home. “I can remember asking the same questions, praying to resolve the same doubts,” Claire says. “It helps when I can tell her I’ve been through the same thing and gained my own testimony.”
At the Lisburn Ward, Rachael Edwards, Karen Edwards, and David Schmidt say being fully involved in seminary helps break barriers, too.
“Before I started seminary and I’d explain to my friends what my religion was, they’d have a lot of questions, and I couldn’t answer them well,” Rachael says. “Now, having taken seminary, I feel more confidence whenever I talk to people about the Church.”
“There are 13 students in our seminary class,” Karen explains. “It’s the largest in Ireland. We have home study; then we meet with our teacher, Sister Susanna Thompson, on Tuesday nights. At school, everyone has what we call R.E. (religious education) classes. The R.E. schoolwork helps me with seminary, and seminary helps us have a different viewpoint, more depth than what we get at school. So they balance each other.”
“There’s a lot of videos and anti-Mormon literature that go around to the other churches,” Karen says. “It’s hard because what they hear has been severely twisted, and they really need to start from the basics.”
“A lot of my friends didn’t think we read the Bible,” Rachael says. “So I was really glad I could show them my seminary scriptures. They think it’s just their churches that have Bible study. They’re surprised to find we Mormons have our own study classes as well.”
“We change people’s views,” David says. “Like our teacher said, ‘So, you’re a Mormon. That means you’re not totally Christian?’ And I said, ‘Well, we are actually.’ We talked about it and got that all cleared up.”
David also tells of inviting friends and family to meetings. “Last year when my family was getting baptized, my mother invited our granny and our aunts all to church, and they came along and said they quite enjoyed it. They thought it interesting that we didn’t have just clergy up there, but had everyday people bearing their testimonies. And my friends enjoy our church.”
Rachael, Karen, and David tell story after story—the teacher who wanted a floor plan of an LDS chapel to compare it with other churches, and the exams where Mormons had to explain that they do get baptized in a font, which for other churches is a tiny basin holding water for sprinkling.
But it’s Karen who sums up the overall experience. “There’s lots of opposition here,” she says. “But if we make them aware of the Church, maybe eventually they’ll understand the Church. And that can only do good.”
Talk to the young Latter-day Saints in Northern Ireland long enough, and you’ll find that the youth are doing what Karen says.
Sara Magee of Portadown will talk about standards: “Most of my friends, if someone offered me a cigarette or a drink, they’d say, ‘Nope, Sara, you’re not allowed.’” Karen Weir of Portadown will tell you how having the London Temple reopened and the Preston Temple under construction has made a lot of people curious about the Church. Simon Noble of the Holywood Road Ward describes a stake play that was a missionary play, too. “It was all about the plan of salvation, and we invited non-LDS friends to come and learn about what we believe,” Simon says.
Debra Boyd, of the Cavehill Ward, will join the conversation again to talk about her bishop, Ronald Sloan, and how he has shown her that a bishop can be a great ally in living a worthy life. And Debra will tell of the joy she felt when her friend Leigh-Ann Kelly (and her family) were baptized. “We were crying our eyes out,” Debra says. “That scripture that talks about bringing one soul into heaven? You know that one? It’s really true” (see D&C 18:15–16).
Through the center of Belfast runs a thick scar, a no-man’s-land as ugly as a war zone. Its red bars, brick, barbed wire, and yellow barricades mark the dividing line between two parts of the city. For many, it is a symbol of a hopeless situation, its barriers a monument of mistrust and misunderstanding.
But young Latter-day Saints don’t dwell on such a reminder of despair. They look to a day when the Savior will come, when every knee will bow and every tongue confess that he is Lord, whose right it is to reign. In that day, if not before, all walls will tumble down. And when they do, they’ll be replaced by hope, love, peace, and understanding.

Several years ago an unusual motion picture swept the theaters in this and in other lands. It was entitled Field of Dreams and was the story of a young man who revered the baseball players of his youth and, from this foundation, carved out a large section from his cornfield and located there a full-blown baseball diamond. People mocked his foolishness and ridiculed his lack of common sense. The film goes on to show the many challenges he faced in completing the project and readying the baseball diamond for view. His was not an easy task. During the period of doubt as to the future success of his dream, he was driven by the reassuring words, “If you build it, [they] will come.” And come they did. Travelers by the thousands visited this unique place, which was filled with baseball’s many memories.

Many years ago my husband became very ill with a rare disease. As the weeks went by and the sicker he became, the more I became convinced that he was dying. I told no one of my fears. We had a large, young family and a loving, eternal marriage, and the thought of losing my husband and raising my children by myself filled me with loneliness, despair, and even anger. I am ashamed to say that I pulled away from my Heavenly Father. For days I quit praying; I quit planning; I cried. I finally came to the realization that I could not do this alone.

For the first time in many days, I knelt down and poured out my heart to my Father in Heaven, pleading for forgiveness for turning away from Him, telling Him all of my deepest feelings, and finally crying out that if this was what He really wanted me to do, I would do it. I knew He must have a plan for our lives.

As I continued on my knees to pour out my heart, the sweetest, most peaceful, loving feeling came over me. It was as if a blanket of love was flowing over me. It was as if I could feel Heavenly Father saying, “That was all I needed to know.” I determined never to turn away from Him again. Gradually and amazingly, my husband began to get better until he made a full recovery.

I was raised in the gospel, and in my early years I owed most of my testimony to the example of my parents. For me, the critical point in the choice to believe came the year after I returned to BYU from my mission. I had a wonderful experience as a missionary and had the opportunity to teach the plan of salvation and about the Resurrection. I taught of priesthood power and blessings and did so in sincerity and faith.

However, all of this took on new meaning in the year after I came home, when the person I was closest to in all the world, my father, was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Suddenly the doctrine of the gospel became more than theory, and I had to decide what I really believed. Was there really power in priesthood blessings, even if after receiving one my Dad did not get better? Would I ever really see him again? Do the covenants we make and the blessings we are promised in the temple with regard to eternal families have meaning? I had to make that choice to believe and to go forward in faith.

I testify that my own life has been richly blessed because I chose then to believe and to try to live in accord with that belief and because I have continued to make that choice. “And,” in the simple words of the poet Robert Frost, “that has made all the difference” (“The Road Not Taken” [1916]). Quantum uncertainty may turn out to be as incomplete a view of the universe as the Newtonian determinism that came before it, but it does not matter to me—I have chosen to believe, and that choice has been confirmed by the Spirit many times over. It has made all the difference.

In early Church history, the Prophet Joseph, Emma, and their 11-month-old twins, Joseph and Julia, were in Hiram, Ohio, at the John and Alice Johnson home. Both of the children were suffering from measles. Joseph and his little son were sleeping on a trundle bed near the front door.
During the night a group of men with black-painted faces burst through the door and dragged the Prophet outside, where they beat him and threw tar on him and Sidney Rigdon.
The most tragic part of this mobbing was that little Joseph was exposed to the night air and caught a severe cold when his father was dragged away. As a result, he died a few days later.2
Those who participated in the Martyrdom of the Prophet and his brother Hyrum also painted their faces to hide their true identities.3

After the opening prayer, the projectionist hit the switch, and the evening was awash in cheers, laughter, and even a few friendly groans. Poor Cindy Ella, outcast because of her curly hair, did get to the governor’s ball (thanks to her fairy godperson) and fell in love with the governor’s curly headed son. A new banana eating record was set. The three junk food junkies did lose weight. The missionaries did keep tracting. Fun triumphed again. All seven wards had come up with their own idea of what the silver screen is all about, and all were pretty proud of what they had done.

A few years later, Elder Harbertson played softball for a commercial team. “And when we went into the state tournament and the national tournament,” he recounted, “games were scheduled on Sundays. I went to the manager and said, ‘I’m sorry, but I won’t play on Sunday.’ I thought I would be dismissed from the team, but I was allowed to play in the state tournament. I played every game but the one on Sunday, and we won the state tournament. Then, as we were preparing to go to the nationals, the coach came to me and said, ‘We let you play in the state tournament and miss the game on Sunday, but we can only take twelve players to the nationals, and we have to have you play on Sunday.’ I said, ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t play on Sunday.’ I thought, There goes my dream of playing in the national tournament. But the team had a meeting, and they decided to let me go, and I played every game but the one on Sunday! Heavenly Father always blesses you when you choose to do right!”

Photograph courtesy of Berry and Light Chu
Berry Chu of the Taipei Taiwan Central Stake needed wisdom beyond her understanding after she made an investment that didn’t turn out well, leaving her with a large debt. The situation briefly paralyzed Berry from moving forward. But Berry humbled herself and sought Heavenly Father in prayer. From that prayer, she gained the courage to tell her husband what had happened. With tenderness and humility, Berry’s husband, Light Tsai, reassured her that they would figure it out and overcome the debt. Together, Light and Berry prayed to seek the Lord’s guidance.
Berry and Light felt they could benefit from the Church’s self-reliance course for personal finances. Despite the overwhelming debt, they developed a repayment plan. With help from the course, they learned to “prioritize tithing and … to manage finances in a godly way,” Berry says. “We also learned to budget and prioritize our expenses for necessities only.”
Not only did Berry and Light learn to budget their income responsibly, but their personal finance group also inspired Berry to switch jobs. The transition led to a higher salary, which she could put toward paying off her debt.
Unified in their goal, Berry and Light used all their bonuses, investments, and extra income from their full- and part-time jobs to pay off Berry’s debt. With the Lord’s help, they covered all their expenses and, most importantly, still paid tithing and gave other offerings.

Hilary couldn’t wait. She slid off her bed and landed on Elise’s mattress—hard.
“Get up, Leesie,” she told her little sister, taking an extra bounce. “It’s a special day.”
Elise scrunched her nose, groaned, and rolled over. She didn’t even open her eyes.
Hilary skipped across the room to Baby John’s crib. “Hey, John B., guess what?” She poked her hand through the bars and stroked his little arm. “It’s general conference today.”
John stuck his tongue out and gurgled at her.
He’s too little to listen to conference, Hilary thought. Mom didn’t even buy him a new coloring book.
Hilary could hear the shower going. Probably Daddy. She horse-galloped down the hall and peeked into Mommy and Daddy’s room. Mommy was lying on her side with the covers pulled up to her chin. Hilary tiptoed up to her. “Mommy, it’s conference day,” she whispered into Mommy’s ear.
Mommy opened her eyes and smiled. “You’re right, darling.”
“That means Leesie and I get to use our new coloring books, right?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Mommy yawned.
“And our new markers?”
“Yes, dear.”
“And the new puzzle with the bunny on it?”
“That’s right.” Mommy rolled down the covers and sat up in bed. “Is Baby John awake yet?”
“Yep. But Leesie doesn’t want to get up.”
“Tell her I’m running your bathwater as soon as Daddy’s out of the shower. We need to hurry.”
“I’ll put the candy you got for us in your bag with the markers,” Hilary volunteered. She was planning to be very good during conference so she could get the most candy. I’m being really good so far, she told herself.
The family drove to the meetinghouse for the broadcast because it wasn’t on their local TV channels. Hilary and Elise spread their coloring books and markers on a table at the front of the Relief Society room. Mommy and Daddy liked to watch conference there so that the girls could color quietly and Baby John could sleep on his blanket. Hilary listened to the choir sing as she looked through all the pictures in her new book. She had a lot of coloring to do!
Then a man in a suit and tie appeared on the screen.
“That’s the prophet,” Mommy whispered. “He tells us what Heavenly Father and Jesus want us to do.”
Hilary sighed and flipped through the coloring book one more time. “Leesie, let’s do our puzzle now,” she said.
Elise looked up at her and shook her blond pigtails. “Not yet. We have to listen to the prophet.”
Hilary saw that Elise’s coloring book was closed. She was looking at the television screen and trying to understand what the man with the tie was saying.
Hilary tapped the toes of her shiny church shoes on the carpet and frowned. She wondered why they even got the new puzzle if they weren’t going to use it. Then she remembered the candy in Mommy’s bag. Quickly she folded her arms and stopped tapping her toes. She glanced to see if Mom was watching, then gazed up at the television.
The prophet was saying to be a little more kind to others. Mommy tells us that, too. Hilary also remembered Sister Johnson’s last lesson in Primary: “Jesus said, ‘Love everyone.’”
Hilary looked around at her family. Daddy was bent over his notepad, writing down with a blue pen what the prophet was saying. Elise still hadn’t opened her coloring book. Mom was holding Baby John, patting his back, and watching the screen. Mom caught Hilary’s eye and smiled.
Hilary felt happy and warm. I like listening to the prophet, she decided, looking up at the man with the tie. Her new puzzle and coloring book could wait.

Life is full of mountains to conquer, fears to overcome, service to give and happiness to enjoy.For a day, I stood nervously watching the summit of the Grant Teton as my teenage son climbed under the watchful care of a friend.

The three-some had planned for this excursion for many months. It had started out as a priest quorum activity, but when it came down to the climb, only two boys and their leader were ready for the challenge. Brent called me the night before to explain the procedures they would be using to make the attempt of the summit the next morning. "There are only a couple of places where we will have to repel more than a few hundred feet," he casually mentioned. "One place we will have to repel backwards, but it will be okay," he assured me. At that point I merely said, "Don't tell me anymore. Just assure me that you will bring my son back in the same condition I give him to you in the morning." That was a foolish statement on my part. My son did return, but in many ways he would never be the same, for he had been to the top, he had reached the summit. He had been stretched.

We, too, will never be the same after going through our trials and challenges in this life, and that is the whole purpose. We skin our knees and bloody our hands as we struggle against the sharp rocks. But in the process, we are transformed into stronger, more loving, more compassionate, more sensitive individuals. Trials when viewed from an eternal perspective bring wisdom and gratitude.

As the Christmas season drew near, Nathan anxiously shared some news with his family at dinner one evening.
“Gard told me today that he has not had a Christmas tree since he was a boy.”
With that announcement, the family soon outlined a plan of action—Gard would have a Christmas tree!
On Saturday, Nathan’s family drove to the nearby forest for their traditional Christmas-tree hunt. In the past their goal had been to search until they found a perfect blue spruce for their home, but this year everyone felt more excitement than ever before at finding the right tree for Gard. A perfect little spruce caught Nathan’s eye, and everyone approved. They took the tree home to prepare for Gard’s Christmas surprise.
On Monday for family home evening, Mom helped Nathan, Angie, and Eric make ornaments out of felt, glitter, ribbon, buttons, and beads. Then they decorated the tree and loaded it into the back of their truck.
Nathan had never felt such excitement as they huddled together around the tree before knocking on Gard’s door. As soon as they heard the click of the latch, everyone started singing, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”
Gard’s eyes lit up with excitement, followed by a few tears of joy as he invited them in. He danced from one foot to the other as he helped Nathan and Dad place the tree in front of his window that faced the street. Gard was so excited about his Christmas tree that he left it standing and decorated until March! Nathan and his family felt a warm peace in their hearts as they observed the soft glow of Gard’s tree lights each evening throughout the winter.

I saw evidence of that in a Church Board of Education meeting. President Spencer W. Kimball by then had given years of service while enduring a series of health challenges only Job would understand. He was chairing the meeting that morning.

Suddenly, he stopped speaking. He slumped in his chair. His eyes closed. His head fell on his chest. I was seated near him. Elder Holland was next to us. The two of us rose to help him. Inexperienced as we were in emergencies, we decided to carry him, still seated in his chair, to his nearby office.

He became our teacher in that moment of his extremity. With one of us lifting each side of his chair, we went out of the meeting room into the hallway of the Church Administration Building. He half opened his eyes, still dazed, and said, “Oh, please be careful. Don’t hurt your backs.” As we got near his office door, he said, “Oh, I feel terrible that I interrupted the meeting.” Minutes after we got him into his office, still not knowing what his problems were, he looked up at us and said, “Don’t you think you ought to go back to the meeting?”

We left and hurried back, knowing that somehow our being there must matter to the Lord. President Kimball had since his childhood pushed himself beyond his limits of endurance to serve and to love the Lord. It was a habit so ingrained that it was there when he needed it. He was prepared. And so he was able to teach and show us how to be prepared to keep the oath and covenant: by steady preparation over the years, through all our strength in what might appear to be little tasks with small consequences.

Shortly after my call to the Presiding Bishopric, I received a letter from one of my uncles. “Dear Glenn,” it said. “I saw you on television last Sunday. Do you realize what an accomplishment it was to get your old sinner of an uncle to watch general conference?”
That summer he and my aunt celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary. After the reception I walked them to their car and said, “If you would like to meet me at the Salt Lake Temple, I would love to perform your sealing.”
A year passed. I arrived home late one night to find a message awaiting me: “Please call your uncle, no matter what time you get home.”
I called, and he said, “Glenn, I’m calling to collect on your golden wedding anniversary offer of a marriage sealing in the Salt Lake Temple.”
I asked, “Are you serious? When?”
He said, “In December. My bishop thinks I can be good enough by then.”
I sealed them to each other and then sealed two of their sons to them. After fifty-one years of marriage, my uncle and aunt received the great blessings of the temple, and the entire family cried.

Across from me sits a young woman with a soft, slightly husky voice that could be the envy of any movie star. She is tan, blonde, very tall.
“Any problem being 5 foot, 14 inches, and female?” I ask.
Her eyes crinkle with quiet mischief. “Oh not at all,” she deadpans. “You just get used to sewing ruffles—a lot of ruffles—on your pant hems.”
Meet Dylann Duncan, just another LDS girl from Salt Lake City who likes romantic comedies and long talks with good friends. Who craves hamburgers and roasted marshmallows. Who hates jogging. Who could watch replays of Mary Lou Retton’s perfect vault a million times. Dylann Duncan, just another LDS girl, who also happens to be one of the most honored high school basketball players in the state of Utah.
Quite honestly, Dylann’s sports dossier reads like a page out of a Guinness Book of World Records. Examples? While attending Skyline High School, Dylann was—
Named to the 4A All-State Basketball team.
Selected MVP for her region.
Recognized as the first female to earn a career 1000 points at Skyline.
Made a member of the Utah all-state academic team.
Voted prep of the week by the Deseret News.
Chosen as a member of the prestigious Carnation and Converse All-American teams.
She also managed to letter in three sports (track, softball, and volleyball) besides basketball. By the time Dylann graduated last spring she had received over 55 letters from colleges and universities (including Stanford) expressing an interest in her. And that’s just for starters.
With stats like that, Dylann could create resentment. After all, who honestly likes someone with talent and brains and looks? Yet people like Dylann. In fact, they like her a lot—maybe because she’s always more impressed with others than she is with herself. Dylann’s mom, DeEtte, says that her daughter is baffled by the attention she has received—she doesn’t think she’s all that special. Mrs. Duncan notes that “Dylann has an uncanny ability to put people at ease and to show her love for them.”
What’s the secret to this very nice person’s tremendous success on court?
Let’s face it—being born with natural athletic ability helps. The person who trips over his own shoelaces even when he isn’t wearing any probably won’t accomplish what Dylann has, no matter how willing he is to sacrifice his body for his sport. And, as coach Joan Burdett of Skyline High School notes, Dylann has plenty of athletic ability. She comes by it naturally: Dylann’s siblings—Doak, Dixon, Deon, and Dana—are a lively, fit bunch, and dad Douglas played varsity basketball in college. It was he who helped Dylann learn some of her own inside moves under the basketball standard in front of their house.
Still, designer genes aren’t enough. Any coach can tell you that plenty of naturally gifted athletes warm the bench while others take their place. The successful athlete has something extra.
Like enthusiasm for one thing. Douglas Duncan talks about his daughter’s general “zest for life” and, as everyone who watches her play knows, Dylann crackles with excitement. Her enthusiasm, however, is not restricted to the formal boundaries of a high school basketball game: Dylann shows the same kind of enthusiasm, the same kind of intensity, at a practice. Coach Burdett says that Dylann is “willing to work and work and work at something until she gets it. I don’t think she would accept anything less of herself. She wouldn’t accept anything less than excellence.” This enthusiasm for excellence, coupled with Dylann’s ability to listen to instruction, are two big reasons for her success. Burdett, in fact, calls Dylann “coachable”—probably the highest compliment a coach can pay an athlete.
Talent, enthusiasm, coachability—all these things go a long way toward the creation of a successful young athlete. Still, these things might not have mattered had Dylann not had one more important quality.
Take just a moment now and think about the choices below:
You really want to take some art and graphics classes, but you wonder if you have the time to take them and play basketball and do well in your core classes, too. What do you do?
A friend you haven’t seen for a while wants you to go to a new movie you’re dying to see. You haven’t put your day’s mileage in yet (remember, you ought to jog but you tend to put it off), and you know you’ll never do it if you go with your friend. What do you tell her?
You would love to have one best goofing-around friend—the kind of friend you tell everything, call anytime. To develop that type of relationship, however, you’ll have to slack off on some of your responsibilities at school.
Easy choices to make? They weren’t always easy for Dylann. “It’s a real effort to not be distracted, to stay motivated,” she notes. Of her senior year she says, “I found myself without one really close friend.” And although Dylann is an exceptional student (she has been honored nearly as much for her academic achievements as for her athletic ability), she admits that her “grades did suffer a little bit. I could have had A’s in things I got B’s in.” All this led Dylann to write about certain regrets in her Sterling Scholar Portfolio last spring: “Sometimes, although I’ve tried to fill my life with exciting and interesting activities, I feel a touch of regret that I haven’t had enough time to pursue everything that I would like to experience. I have not had time to study as much as I would like nor have I practiced the guitar and the piano to my satisfaction.”
To get some things, you often have to give up other things. Many of us have a hard time accepting this truism emotionally: we want it all and refuse to choose what matters most. Thus our energy and talents dissipate into a thin cloud of indecision. Not so for Dylann. She knows how to choose, and she isn’t afraid to do it.
This is not to suggest that Dylann doesn’t have a lot of fun on her way to being the best. Although she couldn’t do everything she wanted to in high school, she still made time to take advanced placement classes, to sing, to participate in student government, to order out at a local drive-in.
At present, Dylann is a freshman at Brigham Young University on a full-ride scholarship, majoring in electrical engineering. She is also a member of the Y’s top-ranked women’s volleyball team.
Volleyball? I do a quick double take. Now why would a high school basketball superstar like Dylann Duncan decide to switch sports?
“My height isn’t outstanding for basketball anymore,” she points out, smiling. Besides, she was ready for a new challenge and Dylann liked Coach Elaine Michaelis and her program. “Anyway,” Dylann laughs, “volleyball is a lot more fun.” Typical Dylann.
In her Sterling Scholar Portfolio Dylann spoke of regrets. But she also spoke optimistically of the future: “In the vast life ahead of me,” she said, “I will change my regrets to actions.” It seems that Dylann is well on her way to doing just that.