Gospel Story Finder

During this time, I worked closely with President Reid Tateoka of the Japan Sendai Mission. As part of his usual mission routine, President Tateoka planned a meeting for missionary leaders in the southern portion of his mission. A few days prior to the meeting, President Tateoka had an impression, a feeling in his heart, to invite all missionaries of that zone to the leadership meeting, instead of the prescribed small number of elder and sister leaders.
When he announced his intention, he was reminded that this meeting was not designed for all missionaries but only for mission leaders. However, setting convention aside in order to follow the prompting he had received, he invited all missionaries serving in several coastal cities, including the city of Fukushima, to the meeting. On the appointed day, March 11, 2011, the missionaries gathered together for the expanded mission meeting in the inland city of Koriyama.
During this meeting a 9.0-magnitude earthquake and tsunami struck the region of Japan where the Japan Sendai Mission is located. Tragically, many coastal cities—including those from which the missionaries had been gathered—were devastated and suffered great loss of life. And the city of Fukushima suffered a subsequent nuclear event.
Although the meetinghouse where the missionaries were meeting that day was damaged by the earthquake, through following the promptings of the Holy Ghost, President and Sister Tateoka and all missionaries were safely assembled. They were out of harm’s way and miles from the devastation of the tsunami and the nuclear fallout.

I had an interesting experience a few years ago while attending general conference. I went to purchase some merchandise at ZCMI and to cash a check. Being from out of state, I was sent to the cashier. She asked for some identification. I reached into my wallet and took out some credit cards. Inadvertently, my temple recommend came out. The cashier said, “I’ll accept that.” I said, “You’ll accept what?” She said, “Your temple recommend. It’s current, isn’t it?” I said, “Yes, it’s current.” She said, “That will do.”
Well, I pondered that all the way home. I thought, Wouldn’t it be a great idea if we had a Mormon credit card? A card-carrying Mormon could be depended on to keep his word, to be honest with his employers, and to pay his bills as agreed. Then our professionals, tradesmen, and business people would perform without compromising their ethics for profit, each putting his signature on his work with pride; all of us striving for excellence in every way. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be a “peculiar” people known for our honesty and the quality of our services? The Mormon standard of integrity should be the highest standard in all the world, for we are the covenant people of God. The Lord makes no special concessions for culture, race, or nationality; He expects all His Saints to live according to gospel standards.

One day it finally happened. Two young men stood at the front door of our little apartment.
“What is it?” I asked. After taking a quick look at them, I was ready to defend myself. No matter what it was, I wanted them to understand that I did not need anything and that I wanted to be left alone.
Then I took a second look at the two young men in front of me and found reason to question my first judgment. They were dressed with care. They were clean but not shiny or wealthy. Their eyes radiated dignity and peace. Their gestures were humble but not cheap. Their appearance represented politeness and readiness to listen, self-esteem, and willingness to respect my own right of privacy.
“We have an important message for you,” one of them said.
When I have tried to describe the appearance of the first missionaries at my door, I cannot help but say what they didn’t look like. They didn’t look like salesmen. Instead, they radiated something very different, something powerfully strong—the Spirit of the Lord. It became impossible for me to send them away.
Little did I know that from then on my life would never be the same—that I had already set my foot on a path that would eventually lead me toward becoming a member of the Lord’s Church.
I felt power and authority radiating from the missionaries during their visit to our home some thirty years ago. As I watch young members of the Church today, I think we have much reason to rejoice as we see many of them embracing this gift from Heavenly Father and standing firm in these days of challenge. I pray that we may all place our lives on the foundation of Christ through living close to the Spirit and following it always.

Roger Locke, a friend of mine, is presently confined in the Utah State Prison. (Incidentally, I have visited with Roger within the past few days and have his and Warden John Turner’s permission to share his name and thoughts.)
Let’s get back to Roger. He said:
“I don’t want to blame anyone back home for my being in prison today, but it is factual that I had no family relationships. I am involved in the family home evening program at the prison. Without the parents who have been assigned to me through this social services program, many times I would have given up. These people love me as if I were their own son. I have never had that, even when I was a small boy. Now, with their help and that of others, I believe I can now make it back a day at a time. I am not proud of being in prison, but I am proud of my recent experiences while being there. We have a tendency to blame others. We don’t want to blame our parents for not loving us, because we know they do, but maybe they didn’t have the guidance and direction in their lives to apply when they were bringing us up.”
Perhaps in the minds of many of us, Roger would be justified in believing he couldn’t make it back. He had detoured too long. But he doesn’t believe that. Instead, he is thanking those who are presently helping him and is sincerely grateful for the direction in which his life is moving today.
The Church attenders in prisons are unfortunately in the minority and are often classified by their associates in uncomplimentary terms, but this fine young man, bless his courage, is not ashamed to be identified at the Utah State Prison as a member of “God’s Squad.” He seems determined to make it back from where he is.

Taylor doesn’t seem to do anything halfway. His rodeo successes earned him a scholarship to one of the top rodeo colleges in the U.S., Southwest Oklahoma State University.

It was in Oklahoma that Taylor’s priorities shifted from rodeo to serving the Lord. At college, Taylor found himself immersed among people with different beliefs. It was quite a change from his hometown of Richfield, Utah, where it seemed everyone around him was a member of the Church. “I got to thinking, ‘There’s got to be something about these different religions and beliefs that these people have that makes them believe it’s true.’ And I thought, ‘I’ve got to find out for myself.’”

Just as Joseph Smith did, Taylor turned to the scriptures and prayer to find the truth. “I really started studying the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon,” Taylor says. “The gospel just made so much sense once I started reading and once I really started focusing and trying to understand what I wanted. It took me going out to Oklahoma and having all those people question my faith. I had to find out for myself.”

So what is it like to ride one of those hulking bulls? “I’m scared every time I get on a bull,” Taylor says. “There’s always that little bit of fear inside of you. But that’s the neat thing—being able to overcome that fear.” And it’s preparation that helps him overcome the fear. Because Taylor has trained since he was only four or five years old, he knows what to do. “Everything happens so fast when you ride,” explains Taylor. “It’s not like when you’re playing football, where you can read what different players are doing and know what to do. I still think when I’m riding, but it’s more of a reaction than it is thinking about what you’re doing.”

Also, there’s never been a time when Taylor has climbed on a bull or a bronco without first saying a prayer. “I put my trust in the Lord,” Taylor says. “Whether it’s at practice or at a rodeo, I’ve always prayed that I’d be safe and that I’d have the Lord’s Spirit with me. God will answer your prayers. He doesn’t guarantee that you’re not going to get hurt, and He doesn’t guarantee that you’re going to ride and win, but He’s always there with you.”

Does Taylor have any fear about going on a mission? “I’m a little nervous,” he says. “I don’t know what it’s going to be like in Cambodia. I don’t know the challenges I’m going to have, but that’s what the Lord has asked me to do. I’ve heard how difficult the language is. And as time draws near, there are a lot of things I think about leaving behind, like rodeo and family. But I know I’m going for the right reason.”

The right reason is the Savior. “Jesus Christ came here and gave His life so we could have eternal life,” Taylor says emphatically. “I could spend every day of my life serving Him, and I still wouldn’t be able to repay Him for all He’s done for me. And all He’s asking is that I live my life right and serve a mission now. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

Taylor hopes the same things that have made him successful in rodeo will help him be a successful missionary: prayer, relying on the Lord, overcoming fears, and not letting anyone discourage him from his goals. He’s already done a lot of things many people have told him he’d never be able to do.

Along with setting goals, it’s important to Taylor to keep his priorities straight. He tells about one of his teachers at school who brought a glass jar to class one day. Taylor explains: “She filled it up with pretty good-sized rocks and held it up and asked, ‘Is this jar full?’ And we all said, ‘Yeah, it’s filled right to the top.’”

The teacher then filled the jar with smaller pebbles, shook it a bit to let them settle, then poured in more pebbles until they filled the jar. Again she asked the class, “Is the jar full?”

They said yes.

She then poured sand into the jar. Letting the sand sift to the bottom, she finally filled the jar to the top. Now it was full.

Her point was that the large rocks are the important things in life; you must put them in first, or they won’t fit. The smaller rocks and the sand—the less important things—can fit around them.

“To me, those important things in life are my family, the gospel, and my friends,” says Taylor. “The smaller ones are still important, like your schooling, your house. If we put the important things into our life first, and that’s our priority, then everything else will fall into place. If we put the other things in first, we won’t have room for the important things in life. And for me right now, the first one is serving a mission and living worthy to serve.”

Taylor’s priorities include serving a mission and one day being sealed in the temple. “I know helping someone understand and accept the gospel will be more exciting than my best rides,” says Taylor. “Serving a faithful mission is my top priority right now. I want to return to school and ride when I get home, but I know the day will come when I’ll need to give up riding and all the time I spend on rodeos. Having a family is more important.”

What would it be like to climb on a bicycle and pedal through the Cambodian countryside, stopping to tell the people there about Jesus Christ, the plan of salvation, and the Restoration of the gospel? Just ask Taylor White when he gets back home in two years. He’ll probably tell you it was the most rewarding ride of his life.

As Ryan was participating in a school quartet, he found that the song selected for the group to sing had lyrics he objected to. Ryan talked to the teacher about changing the words, but the teacher became angry. Ryan was hurt by the teacher’s reaction. After school, the teacher asked to speak to him and apologized for getting upset. “She said that what I had done took courage,” said Ryan. “She said she admired me for standing up for what I believed in and that she was willing to work with me because she really wanted me in the quartet.”

Every day at recess, Jason sat under a shady tree and read a book. Most of the other kids played soccer. Jason had played with them before, but he didn’t really like it. He wasn’t very good at running fast or kicking the ball. And being around lots of kids running and yelling made him uncomfortable.
But Jason didn’t like feeling lonely and left out. The other kids seemed to have so much fun! He wanted to have fun with friends too.
One day at recess, Jason looked up from his book. He noticed Kira sitting at a picnic table, reading. Then he saw Mark kicking a rock against a wall. Why weren’t they playing soccer like all the others?
The next day, Jason watched again. Kira was reading at the picnic table, just like yesterday. Mark was sitting on the ground. He was twirling some grass. Jason went back to reading. But he kept looking at Kira and Mark. Maybe they liked doing quiet things too.
That afternoon, Jason talked to Mom. “Every day at recess, I read a book,” he said. “But the other kids play soccer.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Mom smiled. “I was the same way when I was your age. Always reading.”
Jason smiled too. He liked it when he and Mom read books together.
“I thought I was the only one who didn’t like soccer,” Jason said. “But there are two other kids who don’t play either.” He told Mom about Kira and Mark.
“Maybe you could be their friend,” Mom said.
Jason nodded. “Maybe. But I don’t know what to do with them.”
“Well, you and Kira both like reading, but that’s something you do by yourself,” Mom said. “What else do you like to do?”
“I like to play checkers,” Jason said. “And there’s a checkerboard at school.”
“Hmm,” Mom said. “What could you do with that checkerboard? Maybe at recess?” She pretended to think about it.
Jason laughed. “I think I have an idea.”
The next day when the bell rang for recess, Jason grabbed the checkers set. He walked over to the picnic table where Kira was reading. When she looked up, he held up the game. “Want to start a tournament?”
“Maybe,” Kira said. “But there are only two of us.”
“Wait a minute,” Jason said. He ran over to Mark, who was sitting in the grass again.
“Hey, Mark,” Jason said. “Want to play checkers? We could start a tournament.”
Mark smiled. “I play checkers with my dad,” he said. “I’m pretty good at it.”
“OK!” Jason smiled back. “Let’s go play.”
This story took place in the USA.

Mr. and Mrs. Eldon lived with their two daughters and son in a small village in South Carolina.
Once prosperous, the family was having a struggle to gain the necessities of life. The father had lost his eyesight in a farm accident, and now the mother and the girls did sewing for some of the wealthier families in the village. Johnny, the son, received a small wage working in a local store.
One Thanksgiving Day, the Eldons were trying to help each other forget the sadness in their lives. Mother had many times looked up from her sewing that morning to mention some blessing they enjoyed. Once she said, “How happy we should be that another year has passed and that we can all be together this day.”
At noon Mother decided they had all worked enough for the day, and it was time to clean the house and then prepare the Thanksgiving dinner. Everyone readily agreed to the plan, and soon the small house had a bright appearance.
Then came the question of dinner. One of the few remaining chickens must be sacrificed. Johnny considered himself the executioner and soon brought in his headless victim.
Meanwhile, Mother mysteriously disappeared, but she soon returned with a surprise in the shape of a large yellow pumpkin, declaring that she knew it would not seem like a Thanksgiving dinner without pumpkin pies.
Even Father began to laugh and enjoy the happy spirit of his family. He went to and fro with Johnny, bringing in wood and helping in other ways. Their father’s happier attitude made everyone feel brighter, for he had taken little interest in anything since he had fully realized that he could not expect to ever see again.
When all was ready for Thanksgiving dinner, the eldest daughter said, “Mother, we really have more than enough to eat. I wish some needy person would come to our door that we might share with him. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“Yes, we have much to be thankful for this day, I’m sure,” answered Mother, and then she added, “Come, Father, your chair is waiting.”
Everything smelled tempting indeed. The chicken had been made into soup, and there was plenty of it. The pies were delicious. The large plain cake was light and wholesome. The rosy apples had been polished until they shone. And the bunch of autumn leaves and red berries in the center of the table helped to make the meal appear even more tempting. Loving hands and thankful hearts had prepared it so that it was really more than a royal feast.
While this festive meal was being prepared, two weary young men were walking toward the village where the Eldons lived. They introduced themselves at each house they came to, and explained, “We are missionaries, traveling without purse or scrip. Can you take us in for the night?”
“What church do you claim to be missionaries for?” they were asked and the answer was given with pride, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“That’s another name for the ‘Mormon’ Church is it not?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can leave, for Mormons aren’t welcome here.”
Having been turned away from several houses with similar replies, one of the missionaries said to his companion, “It seems to me we might as well make up our minds to sleep outside tonight.”
But his companion answered, “We must continue to have faith. Somewhere there are honest hearts awaiting us, and we will be led to them.”
Finally, the young elders came to the Eldons’ door where they paused and overheard the father of the house earnestly thanking God for their food and also asking His blessings on their household. When the simple prayer was ended, the elders knocked lightly, for they felt in their hearts that they had found a place where they could rest.
When Mother answered the door and heard their story, she said, “You must be the ones we were wishing for to help us eat our Thanksgiving dinner. Come right in. They are welcome, are they not, Father?” she asked, turning to her husband.
“Indeed they are,” he answered. “You know the stranger has ever been welcome in our home.”
Places were quickly made at the table, and the missionaries soon felt at ease. They were happy to have found one family who had the true Thanksgiving spirit in their hearts.
Then to the family seated around the cheerful fire on that Thanksgiving night the missionaries told the simple story of the gospel being restored to the earth through Joseph Smith and of God’s great goodness to His children in these latter days.
Each listener within that little house felt that what these young missionaries were saying was true. The father and mother especially rejoiced, for the gospel as Christ taught when He ministered upon the earth was something they had longed for and often spoken of.
It was late when the family thought of retiring. Father asked the elders to pray, which they did in a simple, fervent manner that touched every heart.
It was certainly a Thanksgiving Day never to be forgotten. To the Eldons had come the greatest of all blessings—a new understanding of the gospel of Christ.

One night when our children were younger, we were having family scripture time. We read about the Savior and talked about how He never made any mistakes.
Later that night my wife tucked our three-year-old daughter, Susie, into bed. Susie looked up at her mother and said, “Mummy, Jesus did make a mistake.”
“What do you mean?” her mother asked.
“He broke something,” Susie said.
Somewhat puzzled, her mother asked, “What did He break?”
“Jesus broke the bands of death,” Susie answered.
My wife realized that she and Susie had sung the Primary song “On a Golden Springtime” many times, and Susie had learned the words “On a golden springtime, Jesus Christ awoke and left the tomb where He had lain; the bands of death He broke.”1 Susie’s mother explained that breaking the bands of death means that Jesus was resurrected so that we can all live again after we die.
That conversation has given my wife and me many opportunities to teach our daughters, Lizzie, Susie, and Emma, about what the Atonement really means for each of us. Susie was right: Jesus did break the bands of death. But it wasn’t a mistake. It was the greatest gift He could give us! (See Doctrine and Covenants 14:7.)

But then a very unusual thing happened. Every time I tried to code the job on my computer, I couldn’t get it right. I tried over and over again, but the computer wouldn’t accept the codes—codes I had used a thousand times before.
I felt I had to pray about this odd experience. After I prayed, I picked up the manuscript and suddenly had the strange sensation that my hands were dirty and greasy. I scrubbed my hands, then went back to work on the manuscript. As soon as I touched it, my hands felt filthy again, although it was printed on clean paper.
By this time 1 was so disturbed that I began to cry. Once more I went to my knees and asked the Lord to help me. When my prayer ended, I stayed on my knees for a little while and felt that I should read the manuscript—not from the beginning, but from the very last page.
In my eagerness to get this job done, I had never thought to read it. I found that it was a proposed student manual for state colleges throughout Denmark.
As I began the book from the back page, I was shocked to find on the second-to-last page the worst blasphemy of Jesus Christ I have ever read. And the author had used verses from the Bible to support his libelous claims. I wept to think that thousands of young students throughout the country I love so much would be exposed to this blasphemy.
Suddenly I froze. One voice within me said, “Don’t typeset this, Mette. You’ll forsake Christ if you do.” Another voice said, “The book will be printed whether you typeset it or not. And you will be able to pay your bills for the next month if you do the work.”
Again I had to pray for strength. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so much as I did in those days. Then I called the book printer and told him I was sorry but I could not do this job for him. He was surprised but admitted he hadn’t had time to read the manuscript himself. I asked if I could read the offensive passage to him. After I did, he asked if I was a religious person. I briefly told him of my background as a member of the Church. He respected that and asked me to return the manuscript so that he could find someone else to typeset it. I thought surely I had lost him as a customer forever.
Once more my mother, daughter, and I fasted and prayed. Four days went by with no orders, no work. During these terrible days, I almost regretted sending the job back. I pleaded with the Lord. I even accused him: “How can you forsake me now? I paid all I owed in tithing, I got an offer to carry me over, but returned it because of my faith in you. Where have I failed? Please help me.” Even my children would ask, “Mom, how can we go to church on Sunday if the Lord refuses to help us?”
Then on the fifth day, when even my steadfast mother had begun to doubt, the doorbell rang. The mailman standing outside said, “I’ve got so much stuff for you it will take me two trips.” He had brought me eight big typesetting orders from different customers all over Denmark, orders that would take me six months if I worked night and day.
Truly, we felt the Lord had opened the windows of heaven for us. Never after that time did I want for work. The book printer I had returned the manuscript to became my greatest customer.

Kim Ho Jik was the first Korean to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He was born April 16, 1905, to Confucian* parents in P’yöngyang Province. As a young boy, he yearned to find the true religion, and he began attending many different church services. He joined the Presbyterian Church in 1925 and was very active, but something still seemed to be missing from his life.

Ho Jik wanted to learn about many things, so in 1950 he went to Cornell University in New York State to study nutrition. There he met Oliver Wayman, a fellow student and a Church member. Ho Jik was impressed by Brother Wayman’s clean lifestyle—he didn’t smoke, drink, or do other bad things.

When Oliver gave him a copy of The Articles of Faith by James E. Talmage, Ho Jik read it within a week and eagerly asked for more information. Soon he had finished the Book of Mormon, too, and believed it to be the word of God. He started attending Church meetings with Oliver; he also continued to attend Presbyterian services.

On the day Oliver left the university, he stopped his Korean friend in a hallway. “I then bore my testimony of the gospel and told him that it was my opinion that the Lord had moved upon him to come to America … that he might receive the gospel and take it back to his people.” He also told Ho Jik that “if he refused to do the work the Lord had for him to do, another would be raised up in his place.”

Those words had a powerful effect upon Kim Ho Jik. He read the Book of Mormon again, and the Spirit again told him it was true. In July of 1951 he was baptized in the quiet waters of the Susquehanna River, near the place where Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery had been baptized. As he came up out of the water, a voice said to him, “Feed My sheep. Feed My sheep.”

Brother Kim graduated from Cornell a short time later—getting the degree that entitled him to be called doctor—and returned home to South Korea, which was at war. Amid the violence and destruction, he felt the quiet peace of the Holy Ghost as he attended Church services with LDS servicemen from the United States.

Dr. Kim was given many important responsibilities by his country. He was a professor at various universities and president or dean of several colleges, and he later became vice-minister of education and president of the Seoul City Board of Education. He was also a well-known expert on the nutritional content of the soybean. In spite of his many duties, he faithfully obeyed the Lord’s command to feed His sheep.

In 1955, President Joseph Fielding Smith of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, Dr. Kim, and several servicemen traveled to one of the hills that overlooked Seoul, the South Korean capital. There, in a quiet, private place, President Smith dedicated the land for missionary work.

Soon Dr. Kim was president of the Korea District of the Church’s Northern Far East Mission. He helped the Church gain legal recognition in South Korea so that missionaries could serve there, and he even rented a house where they could stay. Members and investigators met there often to discuss the gospel with the elders.

Dr. Kim translated the Articles of Faith, the sacrament prayers, hymns, and other Church materials into Korean. He served as a branch president, and he donated much of his money to the missionary effort and the poor. His example led many to investigate the Church.

Dr. Kim passed away suddenly on August 31, 1959, at the age of 54, just eight years after his baptism. But he had tried hard to feed the Lord’s sheep, preparing the way for tens of thousands of Koreans to become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

When an airline reservation agent asked a member of the Church for an email address, the member answered, “ldschurch.org.”
“What church is that?” the agent asked.
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” the member answered.
“I go to work for days at a time without ever being able to speak about the Lord,” the agent said. “Knowing that I am speaking to another Christian just makes my day.”
The Church member quickly updated his airline profile with the Church’s new email address: ChurchofJesusChrist.org.1

I was having a bad day. I had to go to my baseball game, but my tooth was loose and hurting. I had left part of my baseball uniform at home. And I was tired. I didn’t really want to play baseball that day. But I went to the game anyway because I had to give a hat back to one of my teammates.
I sat on the bleachers instead of joining my team. My coach noticed me sitting sadly on the bench. He encouraged me to come play because the team needed me. He showed me that he cared about me, just like Jesus noticed those who were sad and needed support.
Then, one of my teammates came and stood next to me. He smiled at me and asked me when I had gotten there. He was excited to see me and wanted me to come play. This teammate was also like Jesus because he cared about me. He showed me what a good friend does when someone is having a bad day. I was really glad my coach and teammate took the time to make me feel better, and I ended up playing in the baseball game!
I have a bookmark that says, “One act of kindness won’t change the world, but it may change one person’s world.” My coach and teammate changed my world that Saturday afternoon by choosing to be kind. I know it’s important to be like Jesus and show love and kindness to everyone we meet. Heavenly Father cares about each one of us and loves us. Each of us is important to Him, so He sends kind people to show us His love.

Subject: Lisa
Age: 17 years
Event: Discussion with Kara in art class
“The face you’re painting is so beautiful,” Lisa said, admiring Kara’s oil portrait.
“Thanks.”
“But she looks a little lonely to me,” Lisa remarked.
“Oh no, she’s not lonely at all. With her looks, she’s always got boys around her.”
“I suppose so,” Lisa replied. “Still, there’s something sad about her.”
“No, she’s happy, just like me.”
“Well, you certainly have boys around you; that’s for sure.”
“You could, too,” Kara suggested.
“How?”
“Just be a little more like other girls. Being a genius in mathematics doesn’t help your chances.”
“I’m no genius. I just like it.”
“Sometimes it’s smart to play dumb around boys,” Kara advised.
“Somewhere there’s a boy who won’t be put down just because I have goals to improve.”
“Where is he?” Kara asked.
“I don’t know,” Lisa said glumly.
“He isn’t here in this school. Boys are afraid of you here.”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“Face it, he doesn’t exist. Boys have to be superior. That’s how I get along so well with Larry, our football hero. He needs me to feed his ego.”
“It isn’t honest to pretend that you’re not smart.”
“Maybe not, but it gets dates. There are plenty of girls who’d love to go out with the great Larry Hill. But he’s all mine.”
The class bell rang, and they put away their paintings.
“Kara, maybe you’re seeing too much of Larry.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Once I heard him talking about you with some other boys in the hall.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got things under control. Say, let me ask Larry to get one of his friends to ask you out. There’s a party Friday night.”
Lisa thought for a moment and then said, “You know I’m a Mormon. Do you really think I’d fit in at one of your parties?”
“Do you always have to be so strict? Can’t you ever have any fun?”
“We have fun, Kara. It’s just a different kind of fun. Thanks for thinking of me, but I’d better not.”__________

My first brush with the priesthood was when I was baptized. I was baptized in an irrigation canal in the little town of Oakley, Idaho. I was with my friends on the bank of that irrigation canal. We had on our bib swimming suits, which consisted of bib overalls with the legs cut out so you wouldn’t sink and holes cut in the pockets. We had never seen a swimming suit made out of knit or of other fabric. My father came out from the First Ward meetinghouse with his counselors. He was carrying a chair, and he put the chair on the side of the irrigation ditch. My father said, “David, come on over here; we’re going to baptize you.”

I dove in the canal and swam over to the other side, shivering. It was in September and a little cold, and young boys get the shivers, you know, when you have only bib overalls on. My father got down into the canal. As I remember, he didn’t take his shoes off or change anything but was just in his regular clothes. He showed me how to hold my hands, and then he baptized me. After I came up out of the water, we both crawled up on the bank of the canal. I sat in the chair, and they put their hands on my head and confirmed me a member of the Church. After that I dove in the canal and went over on the other side and joined my friends.

This was my first experience, really, with the priesthood.

Audrey felt wiggly. It seemed to her that sacrament meeting would never end. She twisted and knelt backwards on the bench. Mom made her turn around. She slid to the floor and sat under the bench. Dad picked her up and set her back in her seat. She made a face at Rebekah, her older sister. Rebekah put a finger to her lips and whispered, “Shh!”
Audrey frowned. She leaned forward and looked down the long row. Except for Audrey’s family, the only person on the bench was an old man. A cane rested against his leg. Audrey looked at the old man’s cane. It was smooth and shiny. She looked at his hands, resting quietly in his lap. Then she looked at his face. He seemed to be listening to the speaker, but when the other people laughed, his mouth did not even smile. Audrey thought his eyes looked sad.
She wanted to help. Slowly and quietly, Audrey slid off the bench. Softly and reverently, she tiptoed over to the old man. Mom and Dad watched her go. She put her finger to her lips and smiled at them. Then she climbed onto the bench next to the old man.
He looked down. Audrey scooted closer to him and patted his wrinkled fingers. He opened his fingers and wrapped her little hand in his. Audrey leaned her head on the old man’s arm and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Be happy,” she wanted to tell him. She tipped her head to look up at his face. The old man smiled down at her and winked.
During the closing hymn, Audrey heard him singing. His voice was low and scratchy, but Audrey thought he didn’t sound sad. After the meeting, Audrey’s mom and dad came to shake hands with him.
“We’re Brother and Sister Noe,” Dad said, “and this is our daughter Audrey.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I am Brother Campbell,” he said.
After that Sunday, Audrey’s parents invited Brother Campbell to sit with their family during sacrament meeting every week. Audrey always felt less wiggly sitting next to Brother Campbell. And even better, Brother Campbell always smiled.

Around the turn of the twentieth century two missionaries were laboring in the mountain region of the southern part of the United States. One day as they were walking along a ridge in the hill country, they saw people gathering in a clearing near a cabin some distance down the hillside.
They discovered that there was to be a funeral. A little boy had drowned. His parents had sent for the minister to “say words” at the burial of the little fellow. The elders stayed in the background to watch the proceedings. The little fellow was to be buried in the grave already opened near the cabin. The minister stood before the grieving father and mother and the others gathered and began his funeral sermon. If the parents expected to receive consolation from this man of the cloth, they would be disappointed.
He scolded them severely for not having had the little boy baptized. They had put it off because of one thing or another, and now it was too late. He told them very bluntly that their little boy had gone to hell. He told them that it was their fault, that they were to blame—they had caused their son endless torment.
After the sermon was over and the grave was covered, the friends, neighbors, and relatives left the scene. The elders approached the grieving parents. “We are servants of the Lord,” they told the sobbing mother, “and we have come with a message for you.”
As the grief-stricken parents listened, the two young elders unfolded to their view something of a vision of the eternities. They read from the revelations, and they bore to these humble, grief-stricken parents their testimony of the restoration of the keys for the redemption of both the living and the dead.
I do not berate the itinerant preacher. Indeed, I have some sympathy for him, for he was doing the best he knew how to do with such light and knowledge as he had received. But there is more than he had to give. There is the fulness of the gospel.
The path the missionaries pointed out to those humble folk was more than conversion and repentance and baptism; for, to those who will follow, in due time that path leads to the sacred rooms of the holy temple. There members of the Church who make themselves eligible can participate in the most exalted and sacred of the redeeming ordinances that have been revealed to mankind. There we may be washed and anointed and instructed and endowed and sealed. And when we have received these blessings for ourselves, we may officiate for those who have died without having had the same opportunity.

In tournament golf competition, there is a rule that a contestant must be disqualified if he signs an incorrect scorecard or turns his card in without signing it. A famous golfer named Gary Player did that once and was eliminated from a prestigious tournament. He was asked if someone in the scoring tent couldn’t have reminded him to sign his name on the score card.
“My friend,” Player replied, “there are responsibilities in life. You cannot shove your responsibilities onto the shoulders of someone else. This was my responsibility. I failed to do it, so I must suffer the consequences.”

I also had to make decisions about music beyond what I had in my own collection. One day when I was in school, a classmate started playing a bad song. I didn’t feel good about the song, so I asked him to change it, which he did. I know that each of us can have the same courage in those situations. And at times when people may not change the music for us, we still have another option: we can go somewhere else.

Brother Yáñez says he now has a strong testimony of the Word of Wisdom and the law of tithing. When the missionaries were teaching him, he was keeping his business open seven days a week to pay for Paola’s U.S. $1,000-per-month treatment. The law of tithing “was very hard for me to accept,” he says, but he decided to keep the Sabbath day holy and test the promise in Malachi 3:10 by paying tithing. When he closed his store on Sundays, he says, “those who used to buy on Sunday bought on Saturday—and they bought more.” Today he is much better off financially than he was when he operated his business seven days a week.