Gospel Story Finder

Several years ago when we were living in California, our two oldest sons, ages 6 and 7, took one of their friends with them to church one Sunday. When we got there, it happened Fast and Testimony day. And so, of course this young friend watched everybody jump up and go to the stand and he soon got the Spirit and we saw him get up and go to the stand.
When his turn came, he stood and said a few things; we forget totally what he said, except when he finished, he had forgotten to listen carefully to learn how to finish his testimony. He paused there for a moment and stood at the pulpit and smiled brightly, our hearts were pounding for this little 7-year-old boy. And finally he put a big grin on his face and he said, "Holy Moses, Amen."
Whenever I get in a situation like this, of any kind, I think of this story because it reflects how I feel about standing here. This really is a "Holy Moses" situation, and I appreciate the chance to stand here.

While President Faust has spent so much of his life serving others in group situations, yet he has also known what it is like to be alone. His loyalty and integrity were operative then, too. Though the only Church member on a transport ship in the South Pacific in World War II (which for 83 long days towed a larger vessel to port), he nevertheless worshipped alone on Sundays. Searching out places where he could sing alone from a pocket-sized hymnal, he would read the scriptures, meditate, and pray in private. Often this meant going up to the front of the ship, where the waves would drown out his singing. Such steady, spiritual discipline reflects, of course, special training by his parents, George A. and Amy Finlinson Faust.

A knowing smile touched his lips. “I bet you’re a Latter-day Saint, aren’t you?” His question sounded like a compliment! “You’re just like Andy Frazier!” He glanced across the parking lot with a far-off look in his eyes. “Andy and I were in the Marines together. The first time I met him was a Sunday morning. We talked and hit it right off. I asked him if he wanted to drive into town and catch a movie. He turned me down. He said that he was headed for church. That’s when I found out that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Mr. Santos turned back to me. “We became good friends. He didn’t drink anything stronger than orange soda. He didn’t cuss. He didn’t smoke.” Mr. Santos smiled at me. “But there were a lot of things he did do. Nobody worked harder than Andy Frazier. And he could shoot!” Mr. Santos wagged his head. “Nobody in the whole battalion could shoot like him. I don’t think there was a better member of the entire Marine Corp. At first some of the guys kidded him about his religion, but he didn’t let it get to him.
“One day we were on parade, marching around the parade field. When we marched, we sang out different cadences. Some of them are pretty funny. Some of them are …” He paused and shook his head. “Well, some of them have some pretty bad words in them. They aren’t the approved cadences, but at times we used them. Well, Andy had complained to the sergeant a number of times, but he just said that Andy needed to toughen up a bit.
“One day we were using a cadence that was downright dirty. Andy broke ranks and headed right to the major, who was off to the side of the field. When I saw him go, I thought, Andy, you’re one dead duck. You’re going to get booted right out of the Marines.”
Mr. Santos smiled at the memory. “He didn’t get thrown out. He saluted the Major and told him that he was a Marine and proud of it but that he had been taught not to use filthy language and didn’t expect to have to use it or listen to it to be a good Marine.” Mr. Santos smiled again. “The major told the sergeant that from then on Andy was to choose the marching cadence. Now that took courage! I’ll never forget Andy Frazier. I think you’re like him.”

When I was 18, I asked my father to help me pay for my mission. At first he said, “No way. It’s too much money.” But a couple of days later, he asked me, “Do you really want to go on a mission?” And I said, “Yes. With all my heart.” My father said he would help me.
I didn’t understand why my father would pay such a great price for me. Then I realized it was because he loved me. It made me think of Jesus Christ’s sacrifice for us. He paid the highest price because He loves us.

The young men working on the nature trail learned important design principles as they tried to clear away some of the undergrowth and trees so a person walking on the trail could see other foliage. At first, when the nature trail crew looked at the solid wall of green before them, they came back to Brother Kamauoha and told him they did not know what to cut and what to leave.
“I told them this was their responsibility and I wasn’t doing their thinking for them. Then I asked them, ‘When you are in your fale (Samoan house) and the paule (woven blinds) are down, what do you do when you want to see out?’ And they said, ‘We move the paule aside so we can see.’ After learning this principle, they cut away some of the trees and undergrowth and created beautiful natural windows where students could come and study the plant life or just walk and think.”

I remember a story recounted during World War II, when a German Latter-day Saint soldier was struck by an American bullet and lay perilously ill. He told his leader, “Please take a white flag and go to the other side and see if there is a Mormon elder who could administer to me.” What a bizarre request in a war of two mortal enemies. But seeing his condition, and anxious to satisfy what appeared to be a last request, the leader took the white flag, went across the enemy line, and asked for a Mormon elder. One was found and he, with the German, crossed the enemy line, laid his hands upon that brother’s head, and commanded in the name of the Lord that he remain alive until help could be had. There is a sense of belonging that is fulfilled by the gospel of Jesus Christ—first to our Father in Heaven; then to our family, which can be an eternal unit; and then to members everywhere upon this earth.

My mother had many feelings of inadequacy as a young girl. She came from a family poorer than those of many of her friends, and she felt her clothing and situation didn’t measure up to that of those around her. Some of these feelings of inadequacy followed her throughout her life, but she moved forward in spite of these feelings. After college she attended a graduate school that specialized in child development and mother education. The philanthropist who endowed the school, Lizzie Merrill Palmer, stated, “I hold profoundly the conviction that the welfare of any community is divinely, and hence inseparably, dependent upon the quality of its motherhood and the spirit and character of its homes.”12

My mother seemed to take this to heart. She taught child development at two universities and then married and spent her life trying to use what she had learned to raise her own children. But reality is much messier than theory, and we gave her a run for her money.

Her life as a mother was challenging, rewarding, and at times discouraging. She wrote:

Every mother needs a hiding place where she can have some peace and solitude. We had a big closet under the stairs [in our home. It was] a wonderful place of peace where no one ever thought to look for me and where I always kept some good reading material.13

My mother also told of a conversation with my sister. She related:

Kathy said to me when she was a little girl, “Do you think we could choose our mothers before we came here?”

And I said, “Do you think we could, Kathy?”

Kathy said, “I don’t think so, or I would have chosen Aunt Leah.”14

My mother was also open about the great blessings that come from being a parent. Think about the constant effort and challenge for mothers and fathers “to rear their children in love and righteousness.”15 Much of this effort is behind the scenes and not glamorous, but it is vital to the Lord’s work. It is one of the unsung heroic tasks of earth life.

In the later years of my parents’ lives, we recorded some of their reflections as they looked back over their lives. Listen to my mother’s thoughts of being raised by parents who were thoroughly converted [an audio clip was played]:

They were truly converted to the gospel, and they were such an inspiration to other people and certainly to me. I just grew up with the idea that the gospel and the Church were the center of your lives. I never remember doubting the truthfulness of the gospel, and I’m sure that’s because of the home I was raised in.

“We are going to Arizona because the prophet called us to go,” Mother explained. “Remember my telling you about when I was your age and my family lived in Nauvoo? After the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, there were contentions with our neighbors. The Brethren told us to leave our homes and move west. There our lives would be spared, and we could worship in peace.
“It was terrible to leave our home, but there was nothing else to do unless we turned away from God, the Brethren, and the Church. We made the long, hard journey to Salt Lake. We sacrificed again when we followed President Young’s direction to leave there and settle here.
“Now we have been asked to go to Arizona. We do not have to go. No one is forcing us. We are not fleeing for our lives. We could find reasons not to go. This time the struggle to obey comes from within.”
Mother hugged me as she continued. “The Lord said that when we receive a commandment ‘whether by [His] own voice or by the voice of [His] servants, it is the same’ (D&C 1:38). Our prophet has spoken to us. I know he speaks for God. Your father and I decided long ago to follow the prophet, no matter what the sacrifice.”
The Spirit warmed me as I listened to Mother’s testimony. I felt strengthened for the uncertainties ahead.
As I climbed into the loaded wagon, I took one last look at our old home, then turned to face the trail to Arizona. I realized that I, too, had a testimony of God’s representative on earth. Like my parents, I decided I would follow the prophet—even to the last frontier.

I was recently told of a woman in Idaho Falls, a widow. Over a period of 15 years she acted as proxy in giving the temple endowment to 20,000 individuals in the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple. She completed her 20,000th endowment on a Friday and returned on Saturday to do five more. She passed away the following week.
Just think of what this one little woman did. She performed these vicarious endowments for as many people as are assembled in this Conference Center this morning. Think of the reception she must have received on the other side.

Just a couple of months ago I too was great to my friends, but when I came home, I would pick fights over the littlest subjects with my parents. I began to be depressed with my actions. I love my parents very much, and I wanted to find a solution to my problem. I found that prayer, scripture reading, attending and really taking Church meetings to heart, and speaking to my parents about my problem soon led me to the path back to being the real daughter of God that I should have been all along. I’m not perfect yet, but then again, neither is any of us. So just keep trying!
Laura Kim Wright, 17Franklin, Indiana

Let me tell you about this boy again. Now he is married. He has graduated with a degree in engineering, and he has left to go away to a big city. He and his wife were nervous—a new job, a new home, away from the family.
He told me these two experiences. He worked in a large room with a lot of engineers. After he had been there for two months, he was getting things ready so that he could leave his work on time. We had taught him to arrive at work a little early and to stay a little after time, to do a little extra. But this day he wanted to get away right on time. One of the other engineers asked him where he was going.
“What are you in such a hurry for?”
“Well, we are going to a dinner tonight.”
“What kind of a dinner?”
“It’s a quorum dinner. We are taking our wives to a special dinner and social.”
The other engineer shook his head. “I don’t understand you. I’ve been here two years; I don’t know anybody yet. My wife and I are still just by ourselves. You’ve been here for two months. Already you’ve been invited to dinner.”
The next experience. One day one of the engineers asked if my son would help him move. “We found a better apartment. Saturday we are going to move. I need some help. Will you help me?” Our son said, “Yes, I’ll be glad to.” And then his wife made some bread for them and prepared a meal. He helped them move. Then he said this: “Dad, I’ve been thinking about that. He hardly knows me. I hardly knew who he was.” And he said, “If I’m the one who was the closest to him, the one he would dare to ask help him move, he doesn’t have anybody.” And he said, “Look what I have.”
When he and his wife arrived in the new city, they went to Church. He went to his quorum; he belonged the day he walked in. A quorum—to sustain one another, to help one another. A quorum of the priesthood. You boys of the Aaronic Priesthood can begin to prepare now. You’ve trained to help others—to gather the fast offerings; to take care of other assignments, the sacrament, home teaching; to get you trained to help others. Why? You belong to a quorum. A quorum. The word quorum is a marvelous word. In the Church, the worth of quorums has never yet fully been realized.
It is a tremendous honor to belong to a quorum. To be called to preside over a quorum is a distinct responsibility. To be called as the secretary of a quorum, or to teach a quorum, is a tremendous responsibility. Do you know where the word quorum comes from? It isn’t in the Old Testament or the New Testament. It comes from ancient Rome. When they would form a commission of great importance to perform a great work, they would appoint the members of this commission. And they would send them their certificate. And on that certificate the word quorum would appear. It would tell what the commission was going to do, how important it was, that great men were being chosen, and then it would contain these words: Quorum vos unum, meaning, “You are to be united.”
My young brethren, you belong to quorums. What a tremendous opportunity! You can learn to be in charge, to take care of your life and to assist others. I am grateful to have held the Aaronic Priesthood, and to still hold it. I am more grateful that my sons have held it and grateful that you can hold it. God bless you, my boys. May the Spirit of the Lord rest upon you. The gospel is true. The priesthood is a great opportunity. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Why me? Why now? I had just gotten back from competing in a major horse show held in California and was at the height of my hunter-jumper equestrian riding abilities. I was busy with school, piano lessons, and Beehives. I was doing everything I had been taught to do, and I thought that my life was about as perfect as life can ever get. Then it changed.
I was now in a hospital bed, too sick to even open my eyes. I had been diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. My illness came just four years after my mom died from a similar cancer. I was on heavy chemotherapy to get rid of the cancer, and the doctors were saying that I would have to undergo chemotherapy for two and a half years to make sure that all the cancer was gone. I couldn’t understand why me and why now.
I soon learned that being diagnosed with cancer was not the only challenge I would face. One of the drugs used to treat leukemia is a steroid given at extremely high doses. It is very effective at killing the leukemia cells, but there is a small risk that it can result in avascular necrosis (a condition in which bones die near the joints), particularly in teenage girls. My doctors thought that, at 12 years old, I was too young for that to happen. However, within one month of my starting chemotherapy, the steroids ended up destroying most of my major joints and parts of my spine. I was living in constant pain. Four months after I was diagnosed with leukemia, I had my first hip surgery to begin trying to repair the damage done by the steroids and to lessen the pain. The surgery did not go as well as I had hoped, and my orthopedic surgeon told me that I would probably never ride a horse again. All of a sudden, the future I had planned was gone.
I was a good student, and I really enjoyed school. Now I couldn’t go to school or even out in public because the chemotherapy had destroyed my immune system. Instead, I stayed home with my stepmother. At this point I thought things were pretty bad, but they got worse.
Six months after my hip surgery, I had to have another hip surgery because the first one hadn’t worked. I was in a wheelchair because it hurt too much to walk. I was absolutely sure that I wasn’t going to ride horses again, and now I was worried if I would even be able to walk again. Living life sick, in constant pain, and confined to a wheelchair didn’t sound like a lot of fun to me.
I was praying to my Heavenly Father, and I know many other people were praying for me also. Through all of my trials, I prayed that I would be healed, that my joints would recover, and that I wouldn’t have to go through the rest of chemotherapy. I felt that my prayers weren’t being answered because I still had to go to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City every week for more chemotherapy. I still hurt. And I was still stuck in a wheelchair. At one point, I started to think that my parents were crazy for believing in a God who wouldn’t even listen to a poor little sick girl.
Years before, I had gone through a similar trial of my faith when I prayed for my mom to get better. She was on oxygen all the time and was too weak to even walk around the house. I prayed and hoped and prayed some more that she would miraculously be healed. However, she wasn’t. After she died, I learned that we can pray for what we want all that we want to, but we need to pray for the right things—praying that the Lord’s will be done—to have our prayers answered.
Remembering this lesson, I changed my prayers from “Please heal me” to “Heavenly Father, I would really like to be done with these trials, but I will accept Thy will.” As soon as I changed my prayers, I found that I was able to handle the chemotherapy more easily, and I had a better attitude. That was just the beginning of the blessings and the answers to my prayers and questions.
My dad and grandfather gave me many priesthood blessings. Whenever I had to go in for surgery, I would ask for a blessing. The blessings helped me and my family feel calm about the procedure. One time I had a high fever, and we had to go to the hospital. I received a blessing from my dad and a neighbor before we left. By the time we pulled up at the emergency room door, my fever was gone, and I didn’t have to stay the night in the hospital. I know that priesthood power is a gift from a loving Heavenly Father.
One moment that will always stand out in my mind was the day I came home from the hospital after I was diagnosed with leukemia. The young women and Relief Society sisters had moved my stuff from the basement into a room on the main floor so I would be closer to my parents and wouldn’t have to use the stairs. They had cleaned and decorated the room to make a great place for me to live while I was sick. My family was the recipient of many other service projects. In the beginning, it was hard for me to accept service. When people would do service for me, it would make me feel like I couldn’t do anything for myself. However, I soon learned that it was OK to ask for help. When I started feeling better, I began looking for opportunities to serve other people more. Now I try to serve as much as I can. I get a good feeling when I serve other people. I have come to realize that by letting other people serve me, I allow them the same good feelings.
I have learned to think more about the future and my choices because I was so close to death. At school, I heard girls complaining about how they were having a “bad hair day.” As I was sitting there in my hot pink wheelchair with a wig on my head, I would think, “Well at least you have hair!” Girls would also complain about their feet hurting from walking around in high heels. I would think to myself, “At least you can walk.” Now I try to focus more on the big picture instead of the small things I used to worry about.
Over the past few years I have learned many other things through the blessings of having leukemia and the complications from chemotherapy. I have become closer to my Heavenly Father. My testimony has grown. And I have learned what is truly important. I have learned to appreciate all of the small things that people do for me. I am now in remission, in less pain, and gradually getting back some of the use of my joints. As I continue to heal, the blessings and learning experiences keep coming.
So why me? Why now? I don’t ask those questions anymore because I grew spiritually during my trials. I have discovered who I really am because the Lord loved me enough to let me experience adversity and the blessings that can come with it.
Note: Elizabeth is in remission and recently passed her third anniversary of being off chemotherapy. Her joints are healing, and she is no longer in a wheelchair. While there is still a risk for a relapse, Elizabeth doesn’t think about it. Instead, as a freshman in college, she is focused on studying for tests and practicing the oboe and English horn.

Mom left the decision up to us. How could she! Oh, I knew which choice was right. It’s just that the wrong choice was so appealing. And really, it didn’t seem as bad as all that.
I lay sprawled across my bed with my chin in my hands. I looked at my sister. Yes, she was thinking about it too. She had a peaceful, determined look on her face. Traitor! I knew what she had decided.
Maybe I’d better start at the beginning. My name is Susie, and my sister’s name is Karen. We were born eleven months apart, and we are the best of friends.
Yesterday, Stephanie, one of our non-LDS friends, brought over a birthday invitation. It sounded like so much fun! It was a swimming party and barbecue.
Stephanie’s pool is gorgeous. It’s made of colorful ceramic tiles. And there’s a beautiful waterfall that cascades down a miniature rock mountain into the pool, a diving board, and a spiral slide. Karen and I were really excited about going—until we checked the calendar.
“Oh no!” I groaned. “July 10th is on a Sunday!”
“Mom and Dad are never going to let us go,” Karen said. “We might as well call Stephanie right now.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Maybe if we tell Mom and Dad how much we want to go—and that we won’t be rowdy—they’ll let us go.”
Karen looked doubtful but agreed to wait.
We decided to clean up the house to surprise Mom when she got home from visiting teaching. Karen did the dishes and cleaned the bathroom. I dusted, straightened, and vacuumed. The house looked great!
“Wow! Somebody’s been busy!” Mom exclaimed as she walked in the door. Her eyes twinkled, and she smiled.
“Surprise!” we yelled. “You’ve been working so hard, we thought you could use some extra help today,” I added, winking at Karen.
Mom smiled again and went upstairs, humming to herself. Our idea certainly seemed to be working!
Mom came downstairs a few minutes later. It was her turn to cook dinner. “Well, it looks like we have a choice of spaghetti or french dip sandwiches. What do you think, girls?”
“French dip,” I said.
“Spaghetti,” said Karen.
“Spaghet—” I started to say.
“French—” said Karen at the same time. All three of us laughed.
“Oh—I just realized that I forgot to pick up mix for the dip at the store,” Mom said. “Looks like it’s spaghetti for dinner.”
The kitchen came to life with the clatter of pans and singing. In a few minutes the heavenly aroma of Italian spices and garlic filled the air. The timing seemed perfect.
“Mom, guess what?” I said.
“We got an invitation to Stephanie’s birthday party this weekend,” Karen said, handing Mom the invitation.
“Isn’t that nice! This sounds like fun—swimming and a barbecue and—oh-oh! It’s on Sunday!”
Mom looked sympathetically from my disappointed face to Karen’s. “You girls know what Dad and I have always taught you, and what you’ve learned in Primary. I trust you girls to make this decision. You have been baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. I want you to think seriously about this. When you have made a decision, ask Heavenly Father if the choice is right. If it is, the Holy Ghost will let you know by helping you feel peaceful and good inside. Dad and I will support whatever choice you make.”
Karen and I walked slowly back to the bedroom we shared to think it over.
I flopped down on my bed. I had to admit that Mom was smart. We would make the right choice because we’d feel too guilty if we didn’t.
I decided right then that I was going to outsmart Mom. It was just a little party, after all. It wasn’t so bad, was it? As I tried to convince myself, I began feeling uncomfortable. A small, hard lump formed in my throat. I swallowed it and decided I was going to the party, anyway.
That was when I looked over at Karen. She had just finished praying and was sitting quietly on her bed. She had a sweet, peaceful look on her face. I could tell she would need to be convinced.
My sister and I talked a long time. She was calm and self-assured. I was defiant and stubborn. Karen finally convinced me that we should pray together. As we got up from our prayer, we hugged and smiled at each other, then went to the phone.
After dinner, while Dad was loading the dishwasher and Mom was dipping up pistachio ice cream for dessert, Dad asked, “Have you girls decided what to do?”
“Yes,” Karen and I answered together.
The day of the party was the kind of hot day that made you want to sit in the shade of a huge tree with a tall, cool glass of soda pop. It was the perfect day for a swimming party. Karen and I grabbed suits, towels, and a shimmering pink package and walked excitedly to Stephanie’s house.
We rang the doorbell. There stood Stephanie with a big grin on her face.
“Thanks for changing the party to Saturday!” I said.
“Yeah. It must have been a lot of extra work having to call everyone,” Karen added.
“It wouldn’t have been any fun without my best friends. Besides I think it’s neat that you stand up for what you believe.”
The three of us walked back to the pool, arm in arm. The party was even more fun than I had imagined.

If we are not careful, the worldly rocks of pride and fear can keep us from being delivered. For example, let’s assume that a person is struggling to remove the weighty worldly rock of viewing pornography from their life. After each “viewing session,” feelings of guilt and shame well up, and a commitment to never do it again is made. This person can see how their senses are becoming dull and their mind is being warped by the graphic lies associated with pornography. In spite of the commitment that was made, this person continues to find himself or herself back in that same situation time after time, pledging those same promises to “never do it again” and “I’ll be stronger next time.”
Brothers and sisters, can you see pride in this example? This person is convinced that he or she can overcome their pornography problem without help, even though it’s obvious that help is needed. The heavy rock of pride is holding this person captive at the bottom of those dark, muddy waters. Vision is clouded, and direction is confused. Spiritual progression is impossible in this current condition!
Let’s assume that this individual realizes the need for outside help and considers meeting with their bishop. However, now the worldly rock of fear begins to pull and weigh on this person. Satan plays on that fear by telling them that everyone will be disappointed if this worldly rock comes to light, that the consequences are just too great, and that it will be easier to keep it hidden.
Fortunately, in our example, this individual overcomes the worldly rocks of both pride and fear and makes an appointment with their bishop. Through specific and loving counsel, this person begins to ascend towards the light and to draw closer to the Son.

President Boyd K. Packer has counseled us to have a hymn memorized so that when an inappropriate thought comes into our minds, we can replace it with a hymn. In applying this instruction, a friend of mine explained: “One day I left my office for lunch. After I had walked for about two blocks, I noticed that I had been humming ‘my song’: ‘I Am a Child of God.’ As I chained my thoughts back several hundred yards, I realized that as I had crossed the street from my office, a young woman, inappropriately clothed, had crossed in front of me. Immediately, subconsciously, the words and music of ‘I Am a Child of God’ began to roll through my mind—to displace inappropriate thoughts.” That day my friend learned a great lesson about his ability to control his thoughts.

Although not very active in the Church when I was 14, I was invited to attend seminary. By divine design, the Lord blessed me with a simple but profound answer to a prayer only a couple of days earlier and I was prepared to accept the invitation. That year, we studied the Book of Mormon. Through the support of a loving teacher and my classmates, I accepted the invitation to read the Book of Mormon during the year. More importantly, I accepted the prophet Moroni’s invitation to ask God if the book was true. (See Moroni 10:3–5.)
Shortly after starting seminary, I approached my Father in Heaven again, with a sincere heart and real intent, wanting to know for myself if the Book of Mormon was true, and whether Joseph Smith had translated it by the gift and power of God as he had claimed. That same feeling I’d experienced earlier washed over me. That feeling of pure love burned through me, and I knew—absolutely knew—that the Book of Mormon was the word of God.
Simultaneously, I knew that because the Book of Mormon was true, Jesus Christ was my Saviour, Joseph Smith was His prophet, foreordained to restore the Lord’s true Church on this earth, and that a living prophet on the earth gave counsel and guidance that I needed to follow as I tried to live the commandments and standards of the Church. Those were profound things to know as a 14-year-old boy.
That knowledge changed me. I wanted to be good. I wanted to do the right things, and when I made mistakes, I felt sorry for what I had done, I repented, and relied on the Lord to help me to do better. My faith in Jesus Christ grew daily through my strengthening testimony and understanding of the teachings in the Book of Mormon.

Suppose someone living in Salt Lake City, or Provo, or Phoenix, or Washington, D.C., or Beverly Hills, happened one day to open the Bible and by that mysterious process known only to angels, chanced to read these verses in the Gospel of Luke:
Then saith he also to him that bade him, when thou makest a dinner or a supper, call not thy friends, nor thy brethren, neither thy kinsmen, nor thy rich neighbours; lest they also bid thee again, and a recompense be made thee.
But when thou makest a feast, call the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind:
And thou shalt be blessed; for they cannot recompense thee: for thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just. [Luke 14:12–14]
Suppose that man concluded that these words, probably spoken in Aramaic long ago, were just as applicable in the 1980s. Suppose that person believed that the blessings Jesus mentioned were worth having and decided to claim them. Suppose he had the courage and the love that would be required to take Jesus at His word. What do you think would happen?

One bitterly cold night, when the city was covered with a blanket of snow and ice, a man sat alone in his home. The house was very comfortable; . . . a crackling log fire in the fireplace threw dancing shadows on the paneled walls. The wind outside was moaning softly like someone in pain, and the reading lamp cast a soft warm glow on the book this man was reading.
He was alone, for the children had gone out and his wife had retired early. He read the passage of Luke, and then could read no more. Somehow he could not get away from those simple words. He had read the Bible often, for he was a good man, but never before did the words seem printed in flame.
He closed the Bible, and sat meditating, conscious for the first time in his life of the true challenge of Christ. He felt as though someone were standing behind him; he knew he was no longer alone. What strange fancy was this? Why was it that he kept hearing—in a whisper—the words he had just read?
“I must be sleepy and dreamy,” he thought to himself. “It is time I went to bed.” But it was long before he fell asleep, for still the voice whispered, and still he was conscious of the feeling of a Presence in the room. He could not shake it off. Never before had he been so challenged. He thought of the dinners and parties that they had given in this beautiful home. He thought of those whom he usually invited. Most of them were listed in “Who’s Who”; and there were those whose names were household names in business, finance, clubs, and in government circles. There were men with the power to grant political and social favors. But they were not poor . . . or maimed . . . or lame . . . or blind.
What had put this absurd thought into his head anyhow? He tried to sleep, but somehow he could not close the door of his mind to the procession that shuffled and tapped its way down the corridors of his soul.
There were beggars with trembling lips. There were sightless eyes that stared straight in front and faces blue with cold. There were sticks tapping on the pavement. There were crutches that creaked with the weight of a twisted body.
As he watched them pass, he felt his own heart touched. He whispered a prayer that if the Lord would give him courage, he would take Him at His word and do what He wanted him to do. Only then did he find peace and fall asleep.
When the morning came, his determination gave him new strength and zest for the day. He must begin his preparations and he was impatient to go downtown. His first call was on the engraver, who knew him well. At the counter he drafted the card he wished engraved, chuckling now and then as he wrote, his eyes shining.
The clerk who read the card looked somewhat puzzled but made no comment. The card read:
Jesus of Nazareth Requests the Honor of your presence at a banquet honoring The Sons of Want on Friday evening, in a home in this city Cars will be waiting
Then, printed at the bottom of the invitation:
Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. [Matthew 11:28]
In the engraving room, they did not know what to make of it; but the conclusion they reached was that someone has more money than sense, but that it was none of their business.
A few days later, with the cards of invitation in his hand, he walked downtown and gave them out, and within an hour there were several people wondering what could be the meaning of the card that a kindly, happy, well-dressed man had placed in their hands.
There was the old man seated on a box trying to sell pencils, and another on the corner with a racking cough and a bundle of papers under his arms. There was a blind man saying over and over to himself, “Jesus of Nazareth requests the honor of your presence.” A fellow who was fingering a gun in his pocket and bitterly thinking of suicide wondered whether he should wait until night.
At six o’clock, a strange group of men stood waiting at the appointed corner, talking softly together.
“What is the catch in this, anyhow?” asked one cynical fellow.
“What’s the game?”
“Who’s throwing this feed? Anybody know the bird what gave out the tickets?”
“Well, what difference does it make? I’d stand almost anything for a feed.”
And the blind man, with a little boy at his side, ventured to remark: “Maybe it’s part of the government welfare program.” And the cynic was saying, “Aw, somebody’s kiddin’ us, as if we weren’t wretched enough already.”
Just then someone came over and announced that the cars were there. Without a word, they got in.
Perhaps there was something strange about it all, seeing these men, clutching their thin coats tightly around their thin bodies, huddling together, their faces pinched and wan, blue with cold and unshaven, toes sticking out of shoes—climbing into two shiny limousines. It was touching to see the lame get in, dragging one foot, swinging up with a twitch of pain; and to see the blind man fumbling for the strap. At last they were all inside, and the cars glided off with the strangest and most puzzled load of passengers they had ever carried.
When they dismounted, they stood gazing at the house, its broad steps and lamps, its thick-piled carpets. They entered slowly, trying to take it all in. They were met by the host, a little nervous, but smiling. He was a quiet man, and they liked him—these guests of his whose names he did not know. He did not say much, only, “I am so glad you came.”
By and by, they were seated at the table. They had looked at the tapestries that hung on the walls. They had seen the illuminated pictures in their massive frames, and the huge crystal chandelier, the concert grand piano that stood across the hall, the spotless linen, and the gleaming silver on the table. They were silent now; even the cynic had nothing to say. It seemed as if the banquet would be held in frozen silence.
The host rose in his place, and in a voice that trembled slightly, said: “My friends, let us ask the blessing.” He prayed—
If this is pleasing to Thee, O Lord, bless us as we sit around this table, and bless the food that we are about to receive.
Bless these men. You know who they are, and what they need.
And help us to do what you want us to do. Accept our thanks, in Jesus’ name. Amen.
The blind man was smiling now. He turned to the man seated next to him and asked him about the host. “What does he look like?” And so the ice was broken; conversation began to stir around the table, and soon the first course was laid. “My friends, I hope you will enjoy the dinner. I would suggest that we waste no time, for I have no doubt that you are hungry. Go right ahead.”
It was a strange party, rather fantastic in a way, thought the host, as he surveyed his guests. There they were—men who otherwise might be still loitering on the back streets of the city, crouched in doorways or huddled over some watchman’s fire. What an amazing thing—he didn’t know the name of a single man! His guests had no credentials, no social recommendations, no particular graces—so far as he could see. But, my, they were hungry!
As he sat there talking, the stories in the Gospels kept coming back to him, and he could almost imagine that the house was one in Jerusalem. It seemed to him that these men would be the very ones that Jesus would have gathered around Him—the legion of the world’s wounded, a group of friendless pieces of broken human earthenware.
He remembered what his family had said, how they had insisted on demanding, “Why? Why are you doing such a thing?” Well, why was it, anyway? Wasn’t it plain? His reason was the same glorious reason that Jesus had for every miracle, for every gesture of love, for every touch of healing. It was simply because he was sorry for these people, and because he wanted to do this one thing on an impulse of love. Yet there was not a trace of condescension in his attitude. He was treating them as brothers, talking to them as though they had a right to be sitting where they were. It was a grand feeling. Never before in his life had he felt this way. These men could not pay him back! What had they to give him?
He watched each plate and directed the servant with a nod or a glance. He encouraged them to eat; he laughed at their thinly disguised reluctance, until they laughed too. As he sat there, it suddenly occurred to him how different was the conversation! There were no off-color stories, no whisperings of scandal, no one saying, “Well, I have it on good authority.” They were talking about their friends in misfortune, wishing they were here too . . . wondering whether Charlie had managed to get a bed in the charity ward, whether Dick had stuck it out when he wanted to end it all, whether the little woman with the baby had gotten a job.
Wasn’t the steak delicious! And they marveled that they still remembered how different foods tasted. They wondered, most of them, who this man was, and why he had invited them all here.
When the meal was over, there was music. Someone came in and sat down at the piano. He began to play softly, familiar melodies, old songs; and then in a soft but understanding voice, he began to sing. They listened to “Love’s Old Sweet Song,” “Silver Threads Among the Gold,” and then a march by Sousa, and then “Traumerei,” and then “The Sidewalks of New York.”
Someone else joined in—a cracked, wheezing voice, but it started the others. Men who had not sung for years, men who had no reason to sing—there they were, joining in. Now some old favorites: “A Bicycle Built for Two,” “Suwannee River.” Soon they began to request this and that, and before they knew it, they were singing hymns: “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.”
The pianist stopped, and the guests grouped themselves in soft, comfortable chairs around the log fire. The host moved among them, smiling, his eyes shining. Then when he had settled himself again, and his guests were comfortable, he said: “I know you men are wondering what all this means. I can tell you very simply. But, first, let me read you something.”
He read from the Gospels stories of One who moved among the sick, the outcasts, the despised, and the friendless; how He healed this one, cured that one, spoke kindly words of infinite meaning to another, how He visited the ostracized and what He promised to all who believed in Him.
“Now I haven’t done much tonight for you,” the host said, “but it has made me very happy to have you here in my home. I hope you have enjoyed it half as much as I have. If I have given you one evening of happiness, I shall be forever glad to remember it, and you are under no obligation to me. This is not my party. It is His! I have merely lent Him this house. He was your Host. He is your Friend. And He has given me the honor of speaking for Him.
“He wants you all to have a good time. He is sad when you are. He hurts when you do. He weeps when you weep. He wants to help you, if you will let Him.
“I’m going to give each of you a Bible, His book of instructions. I have marked certain passages in it that you will find helpful when you are sick and in pain, when you are lonely and discouraged, when you are blue and bitter and hopeless, and when you lose a loved one. He will speak a message of hope and courage and faith.
“Then I shall see each one of you tomorrow where I saw you today, and we’ll have a talk together to see just how I can help you most. I have made arrangements for each one of you to get back to your homes, and those who have nowhere to go I invite to spend the night here.”
They shuffled out into the night, a different group from what they had been. There was a new light in their eyes—a smile where there had not been even interest before. The blind man was smiling still, and as he stood on the doorstep, waiting, he turned to where his host stood. “God bless you, my friend, whoever you are.” A little wizened fellow who had not spoken all night paused to say, “I’m going to try again, mister; there’s somethin’ worth livin’ for.” The cynic turned back and said, “Mister, you’re the first man who ever gave me anything. And you’ve given me hope.”
“That is because I was doing it for Him,” said the host, and he stood and waved good night as the cars moved off into the darkness.
When they had gone, he sat again by the fire and looked at the dying embers, until the feeling became overwhelming again that there was someone in the room. He could never tell anyone how he knew this, but he knew that He was smiling and that He approved. And that night, this good man smiled in his sleep. And One who stood in the shadows smiled too, because some of the “least of these” had been treated like brothers for His sake. (Adaptations from a story by Peter Marshall.)

Of course, that never happened. It is only a piece of imagination. But why shouldn’t it happen? in Salt Lake City? in Washington, D.C.? on Park Avenue in New York City? at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah?

Some folks just enjoy being together. They’d rather be with each other than with anybody else. They have things in common. They know when to listen and when to talk. They laugh and joke. Sometimes they’re silly. They also understand when there’s a need to be silent. In short, they respect, admire, and accommodate each other.
Now, imagine that same kind of relationship existing, not just between people, but between two wards. That’s the way you’d feel if you lived in Lawrenceburg or Columbia, two towns in Tennessee.
Go on a hayride in Columbia, and a lot of the teenagers from Lawrenceburg will be there, too. When there’s a picnic at the Davy Crockett State Park, just outside Lawrenceburg, you can be sure some kids from Columbia will be there, carrying a watermelon or two to make sure there are enough refreshments.
“We’re real close,” explained Misti McDow, 13, of the Lawrenceburg Ward. “Maybe it’s because we’re nearly all kin of some sort, and the ones that aren’t seem to get adopted in. We share our feelings; we talk about nearly everything. We’re just good friends.”
“Lawrenceburg and Columbia are so close together,” said Paul McDow, 16, also from Lawrenceburg. “When one ward has an activity, it seems natural to invite the other one. That way about 40 people come. We’ve had roller skating parties, firesides, and dances together. The kids from Columbia are a lot of fun.”
Paul is the youth council chairman of the Franklin Tennessee Stake, as well as an active participant in Future Farmers of America and 4-H, where his success in raising livestock has won him quite a few awards. He also serves as studentbody president of his high school. “School activities keep me busy, and it seems like there’s always plenty of work to do. But besides my family, the Church comes first. And I’m so close to people in the Church that they seem like family.”
Jason Sawyer, 14, of the Columbia Ward, agreed. “Most of my friends are sons of somebody in the ward. My dad’s the bishop, and I spend a lot of time with his counselor’s sons.”
“I spend a lot of time with my cousins, Tre, Joe, and Becky Pennington,” said Brian Greene, 15, the teachers quorum president of the Columbia Ward. “They live nearby and we do everything together—swimming, fishing, basketball, baseball. I’m running up and down the road to their house a lot. And we always go to church meetings together.”
The Greene’s home is a stone block building that for many years served as a meetinghouse for the Saints living in the hills around Columbia. “Now it’s our house,” Brian’s brother Jason, the 13-year-old deacons quorum president, explained. “But we still have ward activities here sometimes.”
It’s a peaceful location, shaded by trees, just on the flat where Catheys Creek bends. “Sometimes if there’s a lot of rain we have to sandbag,” Jason said. “But it’s still nice.”
It was especially nice the night Columbia Ward hosted a hayride there. The creek chilled the watermelons just right. Big fires scorched the hot dogs, but ketchup and mustard made the charcoal flavor blend in perfectly. In the fading light, some of the young men threw a basketball through a hoop.
“It’s neat when the whole ward comes to your own backyard,” Jason said. “I like them to come here. I have lots to show them. And you don’t worry about being late for a meeting in your own yard.”
After the hot dog roast, when the fire had burned down, Brother Collin McKennon spoke briefly about effective use of time.
“It’s a precious commodity,” he said. “But all hours are not alike in value. How valuable your time is depends in part on what you decide to do with it.”
Brother McKennon, the activities committee chairman, is the kind of guy who can put an arm on your shoulder, maybe tease you a little, and let you know the world’s okay. The teenagers like him, and they listen when he talks.
Just the same, there was a lot of background noise. But it wasn’t kids whispering to each other. It was frogs. Hundreds of them. Croaking, chirping almost. A thousand rusty springs in a chorus of constant squeaking. Perhaps they were warning each other about the catch-and-release frog hunt later that night.
Out on the dirt road, Brian and Jason’s father, Dale Greene, fired up the tractor he’d borrowed from a neighbor. Everyone jumped on the two trailers behind it, and it roared on up Love Branch Road. The night was clear. Stars were bright as they are only when you’re way outside, away from haze and street lamps.
The tractor noise nearly drowned out conversation, but everybody sang songs and told stories anyway. And threw hay. The youth from the Columbia Ward talked about their plans to get up the next morning at 3:00 A.M. to work in the bishops’ regional storehouse and cannery in Nashville.
“The work area is steamy, and you get wet, and you’re sleepy ’cause you get up so early,” said Melissa McKennon, 14, the Mia Maid president. “We work a long, long time. But we enjoy working together, kids with other kids, adults with the kids. It’s good to see everybody working together on something.”
“It makes me feel good to know I’m helping people less fortunate than I am,” said Stephanie Rawlins, 14.
“We usually aren’t doing anything early Saturday morning anyway,” said Deron Sawyer, 18. “Why waste a day when you can be helping somebody instead?”
“I figure every can you put in there feeds somebody. And who knows? Someday it could be you or me,” Brian Greene said.
Like several other Scouts in the area, Brian is doing an Eagle Scout service project at the cannery. Scouts have built concrete ramps, painted yellow lines, and helped organize schedules for canning and warehouse cleaning.
The tractor pulled into the woods, the engine still whining. The road became a snake, winding corner after corner through the dense woods. Every once in a while, at a clearing or up on a hillside, house lights would appear and all the youth would shout hello. Folks on the porch would wave and shout their greetings in return. In the hills, everybody knows everybody.
Another stretch of dirt road took the hayriders beneath an overpass, along a stretch of the Natchez Trace (an early trade route of trappers and Indians), then back to Catheys Creek and the Greene’s house.
Some attempt was made to stage the frog hunt. A few of the hardier souls, armed with flashlights and gunnysacks, did roll up their pant legs and wander in the shallow stream, but mostly the frogs got away.
“We don’t go frog hunting very often,” Melissa explained. “We just wanted to show you what they look like.”
The next morning, the Columbia Ward did go on the welfare assignment and spent the whole morning canning green beans. “We had done 1,050 cans when I lost count,” said Tre Pennington.
It was a lot of work. It left you feeling like you never wanted to see anything green again. But it did give everyone a chance to work together. And while they worked, they answered questions about life as a Latter-day Saint, about life in the Church.
“When the missionaries were teaching me, I knew right away that it was true. I didn’t have any doubt. My dad got baptized; then I got baptized the next Saturday,” said Stephanie Rawlins. “I enjoy being in the church I know is true. Friends I have who aren’t members can’t talk the same way. They don’t understand. With my friends in the Church I can open up; I can talk about things that are really important.”
“I’ve thought many times about what it means to have the priesthood,” said David Dawson, 16. “It means I’m more than just somebody on the street. I know where I can be in the eternities. Holding the priesthood is like being with God every day. It’s a great feeling if you live right.”
“Most of my nonmember friends go to their own churches,” Jason Sawyer said. “If you talk about religion to them, they look at you funny. But when I tell them our religion says we have the right to hold an office in the priesthood, they think that’s quite an honor.”
Jason also talked a little bit about what it’s like to be the stepson of a bishop who makes doughnuts for a living. “He gets up early to start baking, then sleeps in the middle of the day. A lot of times he’s gone doing church work. But he loves us, and he tries to be there when we need him. Besides, we always have plenty of refreshments!”
“That does it!” Melissa said, setting the last can of beans in a cardboard box. “I’m tired, but I’m not so tired that I couldn’t eat breakfast. Where’s a McDonald’s?”
By noon, the Columbia Ward was headed back from Nashville. But instead of going straight home, they took a detour to Lawrenceburg. The youth there wanted to return the favor of being invited to the hayride, so they had invited Columbia to a late afternoon picnic. While everyone was gathering at the chapel, the Lawrenceburg youth shared some of their thoughts about being a Latter-day Saint in Tennessee.
Paula McGuire, 15, talked about the closeness she feels in her ward and between the two wards.
“I love to be with the youth of the Church,” she said. “Other kids at school see us and think we’re strange to be so close. But in the Church you do seem closer. We really are like brothers and sisters.”
Regina Luker, 16, the Laurel president, told about her efforts to tell an atheist friend about the gospel. “It’s hard to get her to believe in the Lord,” she said. “But I obey the commandments, and I try to be a good example. We need to show we can be trusted.”
And Paul McDow spoke again, this time about teaching a lesson about the Church in his history class at school, about reading the scriptures, about saving money for a mission, and about living in the hills of Tennessee.
“I love it,” he said. “I couldn’t live anywhere else. The only thing that would make it better would be if there were more Church members.”
The youth from Lawrenceburg took the youth from Columbia on a quick tour of their town, then over to Davy Crockett State Park, where they ate fruit, sandwiches, and cookies. There was a short program, featuring Paul dressed up like a frog, “Davy Croak-it”; and by the time the sun set, the two groups went their separate ways, promising to get together again soon.
If you’re ever in middle Tennessee, stop in Columbia. You can go in to Park’s Feed Store, on the main square. Ask the men shucking lima beans to describe their home town. They’ll tell you “it’s the mule capital of the world.” There’s even a Mule Days celebration once a year. The men will tell you that U.S. president James K. Polk was born here. They’ll tell you about the big Civil War battle fought near Columbia in “18 and 65,” how you can still find sabers and shells out in the hills.
Then go to Lawrenceburg and ask the people there about their city. They’ll tell you that Davy Crockett lived here while he was a Congressman, after his explorations and before he died at the Alamo. They’ll show you his statue in the town square. They’ll even walk down the street with you to the plaque that marks the spot where his house once stood.
But ask Latter-day Saint youth in either city what it’s like to live in Tennessee, and you’re likely to hear a description, not only of the town their ward’s in, but of their neighboring ward as well. Of the people, the service, and the fun. Of the joy and the spiritual growth that can come through the influence of good friends and fellow Saints.
Because when you live in either ward down here, you live in both.

Let me tell you of one last example of another young man. We’ll also call him Raymond. I think the family of this young man exemplifies the love, confidence, and trust that must exist in family relationships.

Raymond found himself quite ill as he was serving his mission in a distant land. He had many digestive problems and the mission president was considering sending him home due to his poor health. To compound his problems, one day, while out walking, he found himself with a severe pain in his left foot. He couldn’t even walk to the discussion he and his companion had planned. They went to the doctor who said, “It’s just arthritis caused by the damp weather. If you’ll stay off your foot for two or three days the pain will pass.”

The young man did so. He also had a priesthood blessing, but nothing happened. He was a district leader at the time, and his district had just begun to baptize in a city where there had not been baptisms for some time. He could not understand how the Lord could allow him to remain down for those days when his district was just beginning to have success.

A week went by, two weeks, three weeks, a month in bed. He was still incapacitated with no change in the pain in his foot. Finally, he was taken to the mission home in the capital city where more suitable medical facilities were found.

An X-ray was taken. One of the bones in his foot had been fractured or broken and had then grown back together incorrectly. The doctors talked of either breaking the bone again or giving him some special electrical treatments that were supposed to fuse the bone correctly, but it would take another month. He was down again, going for treatments twice a day. The treatments didn’t make any difference. This problem, on top of his other medical problems, had him somewhat discouraged, and again the consideration came to send him home.

One morning, after nearly three months, he stepped out of bed to find absolutely no pain in his foot. He stepped on the foot gently, then stamped on it, then ran with his companion for a mile that morning, totally healed. With great joy he returned immediately to the field to work.

Two more weeks went by. A letter arrived from home that said, “Dear son,” and then followed a paragraph or two of chastisement for not having told his family about his ailments in the mission field. They indicated that they had learned of his problems from another missionary, a friend of his, who had written home. In great love they wrote, “We have begun a fast and constant prayer for you as a family. We also have placed your name on the temple prayer list and hope that it might be of help to you.”

As he tearfully read the letter and examined his journal, he found that the day that he had risen from his bed healed was the very day the letter had been written, the very day his family began praying and exercising faith for their distant son.

How could that be, across 7,000 miles? I suppose no man knows, but the reality of the power of faith cannot be denied.

A young woman named Brooke writes: “This past summer I had the opportunity of attending a leadership conference. It only took a couple of hours to find out that the LDS kids were in the minority there. I ended up [rooming] with two girls who were very nice but definitely didn’t have the same standards. At night when I read my scriptures they stared at me like I was some kind of weirdo. While they were talking about their drinking parties, I was talking about [parties] with punch and cookies. They laughed but were always curious.
“Although I was scared sometimes, I never failed to stand up for what I believe in. At the end of the conference, one of my roommates [said], ‘I guess Mormons can be cool,’ and that she would think about our religion and maybe even learn about it. I [learned] that I could make a difference by simply standing up for what I believe.”