Gospel Story Finder

One summer I decided to read the Bible. I was worried that I would find it boring, but I tried to read it every morning.
For several years, a quote from President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, had hung on the bulletin board over my desk: “Be strong and of good courage. You are truly royal spirit daughters of Almighty God. You are princesses, destined to become queens. Your own wondrous story has already begun” (“Your Happily Ever After,” Ensign, May 2010, 127). I love this quote and have it memorized.
One day I stumbled on the phrase “be strong and of a good courage” in Deuteronomy 31:6! Recognizing it from President Uchtdorf’s quote, I highlighted the verse. I finished Deuteronomy that day and felt satisfied.
The next morning I began reading Joshua. In chapter 1 it says, “Be strong and of a good courage” (Joshua 1:6). I marked this scripture, noting the coincidence in my scripture journal.
A moment later, I found the phrase “be strong and of a good courage” again in verses 9 and 18! To me, the repetition of this phrase was a connection between the Old Testament and today. It must be important if the Lord’s servants are still giving us the same counsel today.
As I continued to read the Old Testament, I found several more verses with that same phrase. These verses are spread out and keep me eager to read my scriptures in the hope that I might find more.
This simple experience helped me to be diligent about my scripture study. It made the Old Testament interesting to me. And it became my personal goal to always “be strong and of good courage.”

Nothing prepared me for the day when my wife of 10 years said she wanted to leave the Church and our marriage. True, each of us had lacked maturity, kindness, forgiveness, and love, but I wanted to keep trying to improve our marriage. She, however, did not.
I felt that I was honoring my covenants, studying the scriptures enthusiastically, and serving dutifully in my ward bishopric. But after my wife left, I became so bewildered, angry, and confused that I would wake up in the middle of the night in agony. Tears flowed, and I would do the only thing I could do—pray for hours.
I felt like the driver of a car who was driving safely but was then suddenly struck by another car careening out of control. Wasn’t my obedience supposed to shield me from calamity?
I wondered if ward members thought I was a fraud. I was a ward leader whose family was contrary to the image of a model family. How could I face ward members when my life felt broken? Because I felt inadequate, I concluded that I should ask to be released from my calling.
“If you struggle with feelings of inadequacy, you shouldn’t,” my bishop said. “We are all human and make mistakes.”
Five difficult years later, I noticed I had changed. I was more loving and forgiving. My soul was calmer. I saw my weaknesses as opportunities to be refined by the Holy Ghost (see Ether 12:27).
In time, I met a wonderful woman with two children from a previous marriage. She became my wife in 2020. I’ve been happy ever since. My nightly tears of anguish now flow as tears of gratitude. The Lord is pouring out so many blessings.

The apocryphal Buddhist story (also attribute, to Plato, Socrates, and de Vinci, among others) of a master and a would-be pupil illustrates the student's role in this process:

A young man of considerable means came to a sage and indicated that he wanted to study under the master and would pay any price for the chance. The sage sent the young man away with the comment, "You are not sincere in your desire." Upset at the reply, the young man returned day after day determined to indicate his eagerness. Rebuffed each time by the sage he finally came one day visibly angry that the master seemed to have such little regard for his request. The master laid down his work and told the young man, "Follow me." He led him down to the ocean and walked with the young man out into the waves. The master then turned to face the young man who eagerly awaited the wisdom the old man would impart. The pupil was instead surprised when the old sage grabbed him by the back of the neck and thrust his head under the water. Unable to breath, and young man flailed wildly until unconsciousness began to close in around him and his only thought was of air. Just then, he was yanked from the water by the old master. Gasping for air, the student pleaded with the sage, "What have I done to deserve this?" The master's reply to the boy rings as true today as it did then: "When you want to learn as badly as you wanted that breath of air, then I can teach you."

After Viacheslav Efimov’s father died from injuries suffered in World War II, his mother worked hard to provide for her son’s physical and spiritual needs, instilling in him a love of God. To lessen his mother’s burdens, Viacheslav began working full time in a Leningrad factory when he was 15. To further his education, he attended evening school. Though busy, Viacheslav made time to pursue his spiritual yearnings.
“I read the journal Science and Religion, in which there were passages from the Bible,” he writes. “I sincerely wanted to acquire a knowledge of God. And there in the journal where they attacked religion, I found out about the Bible’s truth.”
After marrying his wife, Galina, in 1971, Viacheslav avoided discussing his spiritual feelings with his in-laws. He recalls, “No one in my wife’s family ever talked about God.”
When Viacheslav and Galina’s daughter, Tamara, turned five, she and Galina were baptized in the predominant church in Russia. “We began to attend services, … but we always had the feeling that God did not hear us, that we were hardly noticed,” Viacheslav writes. “We would go home disappointed, where we would sit down at the table and drink a glass of vodka and start to feel warmer.”
In the spring of 1990, Tamara met the full-time missionaries at a friend’s house. At first Viacheslav ignored the missionaries, who taught his daughter, “because I wondered what these young men could tell me about God. … But what I heard at the following discussions gave me the opportunity to receive answers to my own questions and, most important, to understand that God loves each of us. We are his children, and he has given us a Savior, his Son, Jesus Christ.
Life soon changed for the Efimovs. “Although we had lived in the same house, we had been involved in our own activities and spent little time together,” Viacheslav writes. “The cares of everyday life drew us apart. Then for the first time in 10 to 12 years we began to spend more time together. We began to read the Bible and the Book of Mormon. For three months we waited for an answer to our prayers and then made our decision to be baptized. On 9 June 1990, we were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as a family.”
The Efimovs began sharing their gospel joy on a full-time basis in July 1995, when Brother Efimov was called as president of the Russia Yekaterinburg Mission.

When I was young, I was overly dependent on my older sister. For example, I was a fussy eater, and when we went to visit our grandparents, I was constantly faced with being offered food I didn’t like. When the plate was passed to me, I would turn to my sister and ask, “Collene, do I like this?”
If it was familiar and she knew that I didn’t like it, she would say, “No, you don’t like that.”
If it was something we hadn’t eaten before, she would say, “Just a minute,” and taste it, and then tell me if I liked it or not. If she said that I didn’t like it, no amount of coaxing could get me to eat it.
Just as I needed to rely on my own taste buds and stop denying myself good food just because my sister told me that I didn’t like it, we must all feast on the fruit of our own testimony and not the testimony of another person. We also need to increase our ability to receive personal revelation.

Many other leaders helped me throughout my life. One of my Primary teachers gave me extra help to finish my requirements to graduate from Primary. She also taught my class the Articles of Faith, and she taught us about the lives of the members of the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Little did my teacher know that one day she would be my mother-in-law—I married her youngest daughter!

When Sister Staheli and I left Utah, en route to the University of Illinois with everything we owned contained in our little car, we were excited about embarking upon a new adventure. We had tried to be diligent in keeping the covenants we had made in the temple as a part of our marriage of about one year.

As we became fully engaged in our new life as a happily married but financially struggling couple, we lost focus on one important—in fact, essential—commandment of the gospel. As we approached the end of the year and tithing settlement, we had not only slipped on paying our tithing but were literally without food money for the last week of the year.

As we sheepishly and humbly approached our branch president at tithing settlement, he taught us an important lesson in financial management. More important, he gave us a phenomenal promise.

He promised that if we would make up the tithing owed to the Lord and then faithfully pay it each month before we addressed our other needs and wants, the Lord would bless us as promised. In fact, he promised us that as future faithful tithe payers we would have an increase in income each year thereafter. That came true—and stayed so, until my call as a Seventy. The Lord truly did open the windows of heaven and pour out blessings to us.

My wife and I had been raised by faithful tithe-paying parents. We had been full-tithe payers throughout our youthful years. Yet this came as a poignant lesson of how becoming casual on important principles can cause one to lose focus on what is really essential to the Lord.

For example, think of the faith of a boy, about eight years of age, who was facing an emergency operation for acute appendicitis. As he lay on the operating table, he looked up at the surgeon and said, “Doctor, before you begin to operate, will you pray for me?”
The surgeon looked at the boy in amazement and said, “Why, I can’t pray for you.”
Then the little fellow said, “If you won’t pray for me, please wait while I pray for myself.” There on the operating table, the boy got on his knees, folded his hands, and began to pray. He said: “Heavenly Father, I am only a little orphan boy. I am awful sick, and these doctors are going to operate. Will you please help them that they will do it right? Heavenly Father, if you will make me well, I will be a good boy. Thank you for making me well.” He then lay on his back, looked up at the tear-filled eyes of the doctors and nurses, and said, “Now I am ready.”2
His physical recovery was complete, and his spiritual power was developing.

When I moved to Utah, I was instantly greeted by Jenny. She welcomed me to the ward and introduced me to others in the room. Jenny radiated love for others.
Each week, she searched for those who were a bit lost at church. They would be quiet, often sitting in the back or in a corner in meetings. She hugged each one and engaged them in conversation. It didn’t matter who they were—no one escaped Jenny’s embrace. She glowed with Christlike love and acceptance.
Elder Patrick Kearon of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles described what can happen when we minister out of love: “We will serve not because our service is being counted and measured but because we love our Father in Heaven and are motivated by a higher and nobler pursuit—helping our friends find and stay on the path home to Him. We are loving and serving our neighbors as Jesus would if He were in our place, truly trying to improve people’s lives and lighten their burdens.”
President Jeffrey R. Holland, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, spoke of the “poor in spirit” who struggle and shared his deep testimony of the power of Christ’s love: “There can and will be plenty of difficulties in life. Nevertheless, the soul that comes unto Christ, who knows His voice and strives to do as He did, finds a strength, as the hymn says, ‘beyond [his] own’ [“Lord, I Would Follow Thee,” Hymns, no. 220]. The Savior reminds us that He has ‘graven [us] upon the palms of [His] hands’ [1 Nephi 21:16]. … When He says to the poor in spirit, ‘Come unto me,’ He means He knows the way out and He knows the way up. … He knows the way because He is the way.”
Each of us can share Christ’s love with those around us who are feeling “poor in spirit.” From testifying to encouraging to simply wrapping our arms around them and saying, “Jesus loves you!,” we can find many ways to share His love with those who desperately need reminding.
Each of us can invite others, say hello to them, pray for them, search for them, and share Christ’s love with those who struggle. This work of ministering can unite us all with bonds of charity as we do Christ’s work among our brothers and sisters.
The author lives in Utah.

What could a 17-year-old priest in Orem, Utah, possibly have in common with Julius Caesar? He isn’t a general leading his legions to conquer the world, nor is he a rich eccentric, strolling in splendor through marble palaces. The tall, dark-haired youth breeds racers (homers)—the elite of the pigeon family.
Possessed with a strong instinct to return home, and with important messages strapped to their feet, the prize pigeons of Rome allowed Caesar to maintain communication with the vassal kingdoms scattered throughout his vast empire. Today, flying in the domain of the majestic Rocky Mountains, a similar flock cuts and threads the patchwork sky of Utah Valley. In aerial acrobatics, the birds slice into breathtaking dives and twist to reverse directions without loss of speed or bearing. They whip into a large circle, beating their wings faster and faster as they soar up the winding staircase of the wind.
Every day the ritual is the same. They are training, building strength and endurance for the day when they will have to fly hundreds of miles across Utah to return to their loft nestled among the cherry and apple orchards that blanket the valley. Sitting in the deep grass near the loft, Harold J. Madsen scrutinizes the flock overhead with the concern of an Olympic coach. A young bird forgets to lift its feet and nose dives onto a roof. “Still a little young,” Harold explains. “The key to training is to get the pigeon to recognize the loft as home, so it will always return. By letting it fly from the loft every day for a few weeks, it becomes oriented and is ready to go greater distances.”
Harold steps into the loft and gently wrestles a proud bluish-gray pigeon into his large hands. By his care and caution, it can quickly be seen that this is one of his prized possessions. The bird squirms with powerful jerks of wing and claw, struggling to be free. Harold gives it a gentle thrust into the air, and with three strokes of its wings, the pigeon glides into perfect rhythm with the circling flock overhead.
The hope and dream of victory in a future race glistens in Harold’s eyes as he nods toward the flock swooping into the sun. “I have 12 birds that I’ve taken 25 miles away, and they’ve returned. We’ll go the same distance a few more times, and then I’ll take them 40 miles and longer.”
This intense training is important because in a race, the pigeon is flying against itself. The birds don’t start from the same spot, since pigeon raisers live in different areas. Each bird begins an equal distance from its loft, and the first bird to return to its loft is the winner. Once the pigeon is through the trapdoor, it is considered “home,” and many races have been lost by birds that sit outside the loft after returning.
Speaking with the happy wink of a coach telling the secrets of his athlete’s success, Harold explains that daily exercise and orientation to the loft are not the only keys to great racers. Proper diet, clean drinking water, adequate ventilation, and sanitary loft conditions are all essential to the strength and endurance of pigeons.
The cost of feeding and taking care of pigeons runs about the same as dogs and other pets. Harold estimates that a 50-pound bag of feed will last 20 pigeons almost two months. Pigeons are especially fond of a combination of grains, including wheat, beans, chick peas, and crushed corn.
Picking up a yellow water bowl covered with gunk and grime, Harold sighs in exasperation. “I have to change the water daily, since they all pile in and mess it up.” Pigeons love bathing, and after a good workout in the sun, they rival any locker room antics as they fight to get in the water. “Sometimes, they jump three on top of each other trying to get in.”
Harold’s normally cheery face suddenly becomes cloudy, and he cautions that pigeons are susceptible to certain diseases and only careful observation will prevent disease from spreading to the entire flock. If a bird seems to be sick, it is best to isolate the bird and then contact a poultry farmer or veterinarian to determine proper treatment.
Pointing to a silverish band on the ankle of his pigeons, Harold gives another word of caution. “Without a band, a bird cannot be entered in a race or fair. It also helps distinguish the birds from wild pigeons, and since good birds sell for over $30, the price of a bird without a band is cut drastically.” (Bands and registration information can be obtained by writing James R. Larimore, P.O. Box 3488, Orange, California 92665.)
Like so many coaches and trainers, Harold’s relationship with his “athletes” goes beyond the grueling training program. A deep bond of love has developed between Harold and his pigeons. Twiddling a blade of grass in his fingers, Harold gives some insight as to why he feels the way he does. “Pigeons all have different personalities. Some are shy; some are bold. You get to know a little about each one.
“It sounds stupid,” he says with a grin while shrugging his shoulders, “but when I was in Egypt for a year with my family, I didn’t miss my friends or anybody else; I just missed my pigeons?”
Watching Harold train and work with his pigeons, it is not hard to see why he feels the way he does. There are no sharp squeaks or loud squawks, only soft cooing, a sincere invitation for friendship. Everywhere there is a feeling of peace and tranquility. No wonder over 4,000 years ago the Egyptian Pharoahs idolized pigeons as “the nestlings of heaven.”

I am reminded of one sister I knew who had married a prospective elder, and their life rolled along. She became conscious of some of her lady friends whose husbands always went with them to Church affairs, sang in the choir together, went to the temple together, and seemed to be happy and content with life. She began to nag her husband: “Why can’t you treat me like other men treat their wives? Why don’t you become more active in the Church?”

It happened that they lived in an active ward where fellowshiping was almost an obsession, and sure enough, the day came when this inactive man caught the total spirit and received much joy in his family and Church activity. The woman who had been so unhappy before was now unhappy with his new dedication and upbraided him: “Why do you have to give all your time and thought to Church work? Why can’t you be like other men are and treat me to a little fun and pleasure?” Her constant nagging finally wore him down, and he reverted again to the inactive status.

Hang Mormonads in your locker. Ginny Pettyjohn, 16, of the Sugar Hill Georgia Stake, says, “They remind me to always be good; plus they are a good influence on others when they see them.”
Last year Ginny’s locker was next to the locker of a guy known to drink a lot. He also liked to keep up on the latest Mormonads in Ginny’s locker. “One day a Mormonad about keeping the body and soul clean really seemed to intrigue him,” she says. “He kept looking at it but didn’t say anything.” The very next day he told Ginny a couple of his friends had come over the night before and asked him to go out drinking with them. But he thought about the Mormonad and decided not to go.

The flame in the kerosene oil lamp flickered and Mrs. Sheridan looked anxiously to see if all the oil was gone. She knew that the jug in the cupboard contained only enough kerosene to fill the lamp one more time.
As the flame settled, Mrs. Sheridan continued checking her supplies: the big sugar container was empty, the cornmeal was gone, there was perhaps enough flour in the barrel for one more batch of bread. As Mrs. Sheridan replaced the lid on the flour barrel, she gave a long, deep sigh.
Jed, who had just turned ten years old and who was supposed to be asleep, knew why his mother sighed. Just this afternoon he had brought in the last of the carrots and potatoes from their storage. He watched his mother as she turned the wick of the lamp lower and lower until the light was gone.
Jed waited for mother to get into bed. Instead, by the pale moonlight that shone into the room under the lower edge of the window curtains, he could see mother hunched over the table. He knew she was crying. It was not loud crying, because she wouldn’t want father to know she was crying. She always smiled for father and said funny things to make him laugh and think everything was going all right.
It hurt Jed to see his mother cry, although he knew she had many things to cry about. Father was too ill to get out of bed and needed a doctor, and the winter food supply was gone. Father had told mother not to worry when they had given a large supply of flour, sugar, bacon, and potatoes to a hungry Indian family. He had said he’d hitch up the horses and wagon and take a day or two to go to the store for more supplies. But then father had become ill, and though every day he said that in a day or two he’d be well enough to go for supplies, he seemed to be getting worse.
Carefully, so as not to disturb his two younger brothers, Jed slipped out of bed, crossed the room, and placed a hand gently on his mother’s shoulder. “Don’t cry, mother,” he said encouragingly. “It’ll be all right. We’ll manage somehow.”
“Oh, Jed!” mother whispered. “I didn’t know you were awake. Jed, maybe you and I could drive to the store for supplies. Do you think you could ride Bess at the head of the horse team and guide her across the river while I handle the reins?”
“Sure I could!” Jed replied bravely, though deep inside he was frightened. Even in the summer when the river was not so high—with father riding Bess and mother holding the reins for the team—it was scary. The river was wide and swift, and there were only a few places where it was safe to cross.
“Good,” said mother. “I knew I could depend on you. We must make it there and back in a day. We’ll leave before dawn tomorrow. Come, now, we must get some sleep.”
Mother quietly tucked the covers more snuggly around little Rachel as she slept in her cradle, then slipped into bed.
Just as quietly Jed crossed the room and climbed into bed beside his sleeping brother.
Although Jed knew the day ahead would be a long, tiresome one, he could not sleep. He thought of the river with its splashing, whirling eddies and its swift undercurrents. He remembered how firm father had to be with Bess as he directed her to lead the team to the opposite shore. Jed thought about how cold and icy the water would be as it splashed on his legs.
Then a different thought came into Jed’s mind: Why don’t I ask the Lord to help me? Why don’t I pray and ask for courage so that I won’t be afraid?
Once more Jed slid from the warmth of his bed and knelt on the cold floor to pray. He asked Heavenly Father to bless him that he would not be afraid of the river, that he could manage Bess as father did, that he and mother would have a safe trip to the crossroads and home again, and that father and his little brothers would be taken care of while he and mother were gone. With a feeling of quiet peace, he crawled back into bed and slept.
It was still dark when mother awakened Jed. He dressed quickly in the shivery cold, and he and mother went outside together to hitch the horses. And together, with teeth chattering, they returned to the cabin. Mother kissed father good-bye. Jed gathered up the bearskin robe for their feet, the quilts for their shoulders, and their meager lunch of bread and dried fruit.
It was midmorning when they came to the river crossing. Seeing the river again and listening to its angry rushing and splashing, Jed was afraid all over again.
Mother looked fondly at Jed. She knew the task ahead would be a hard one for him, but she knew of no other way to obtain the supplies. “Think we can get across?” she asked.
“Sure,” replied Jed, jumping from the wagon. “Sure we can.”
But as Jed stood on the sandy riverbank, the river noises suddenly became a mighty roar. His heart began to thud like a pounding hammer, and he had a difficult time climbing onto Bess’s back.
I can’t do it, he thought. I just can’t. But even as his courage seemed to fail, he remembered the sweet, peaceful feeling that had come to him in the night as he had prayed. And so, sitting on Bess at the edge of the river, he prayed again. “Please help me, Heavenly Father, to not be afraid. Please help us to cross the river safely.”
Again the fearful feeling left Jed, and his heart stopped pounding. The river no longer sounded like an angry beast. As the horses stepped into the river, it almost seemed that father was with him—helping him, guiding him, telling him what to say and do. Though at times the water splashed against his feet and legs, Jed did not seem to feel the cold. Sooner than Jed expected, the wagon was being pulled onto the sand of the opposite shore.
“Good boy!” exclaimed mother, as Jed climbed back onto the wagon seat. She tucked the bearskin robe around his feet and wrapped a quilt around him. “You did just as well as father! Just as well!”
In a short time they pulled up in front of the store at the crossroads. Mr. Callihan, the storekeeper, came to the door. “If it isn’t the Sheridans!” he called. “How nice it is to see you. Haven’t seen any of you since last fall. With the river as rough as it is now, I didn’t expect to see any of you until later in the spring. By the way, where is Mr. Sheridan?”
When mother explained, Mr. Callihan promised to let the doctor know about Jed’s father. Then he patted Jed on the back and said, “You’re a fine lad, Jed! I wouldn’t mind having six boys like you.”
“Nor would I,” replied mother with shining eyes. “I don’t know what I would do without him.”
“Come in now,” continued the friendly Mr. Callihan. “Let’s get your supplies. You’ll be wanting to hurry back to that sick husband of yours and the little children.”
When at last the wagon was loaded with flour, sugar, beans, bacon, dried prunes, cornmeal, potatoes, carrots, apples, kerosene, medicine for father, and a sackful of candy, the Sheridans headed for home. As they rode along, they talked about how good it was to have the wagon filled with good food and other necessities. How happy father would be!
Soon mother again stopped the wagon at the river crossing. For a moment she and Jed sat looking across the river, which seemed to be rushing along as though it were a racehorse urged on by an anxious rider.
Before mother could say a word, Jed jumped from the wagon. As he climbed onto Bess, his body trembled and cold chills raced up and down his spine. But his fear lasted only a moment. With the help of Heavenly Father, he and his mother had crossed the river once, and they would do it again. Turning his head, he smiled at his mother. Then shouting “Giddap!” and giving Bess a smart slap, Jed guided the wagon toward the opposite shore.

“Ashley, would you please read Helaman 5:6–7?” [Hel. 5:6–7] Sister Robins asked. Ashley quickly opened her Book of Mormon, found the passage, and read: “‘Behold, my sons, … I have given unto you the names of our first parents who came out of the land of Jerusalem; and this I have done that when you remember your names ye may remember them; and when ye remember them ye may remember their works; and when ye remember their works ye may know how that it is said, and also written, that they were good.
“‘Therefore, my sons, I would that ye should do that which is good, that it may be said of you, and also written, even as it has been said and written of them.’”
“Thank you, Ashley,” Sister Robins said. “In this scripture, this prophet Nephi—he lived just a few years before Christ was born—is telling his sons, Nephi and Lehi, why he gave them their names. Can anyone tell me why?”
“Because Nephi wanted his children to remember what good things the first Nephi and Lehi had done,” Emily answered.
Ashley thought about the things she had read in 1 Nephi: Lehi listened to the Lord and left Jerusalem. Nephi obeyed his father and returned for the brass plates, and he built a ship, and preached to his brothers, and—
“And then they would do good things, too, and be righteous, too,” Samuel’s comment broke into her thoughts.
“That’s right,” Sister Robins said. “Names can sometimes help us choose the right. My first name is Camilla. My parents named me after the wife of one of our prophets, President Spencer W. Kimball. She was a wonderful woman who spent her entire life serving other people and building up the kingdom of God. I always remember her because of my name. It makes me want to obey the Lord and serve other people as she did. Are any of you named for a special person?”
“I was named for Daniel in the lions’ den,” Danny said.
“I was named for my great-great-grandmother who crossed the plains,” said Emily.
Ashley shut her Book of Mormon and sat back in her chair. What about my name? Where does it come from? It isn’t in the Bible or the Book of Mormon. She couldn’t think of anyone in her family with her name.
She asked about it on the way home from church. “Mom, why did you and Dad name me Ashley?”
“We just thought it was a beautiful name, and you were such a beautiful baby girl that the name fit.”
“My name’s not in the scriptures, is it?”
“No, it isn’t, dear.”
“Is there anyone in our family, like a great-great-grandmother, whose name was Ashley?”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s just a pretty name,” Mom answered.
Dad asked, “Don’t you like your name, honey?”
Ashley mumbled an “Oh, yes. It is pretty.” But she thought, Pretty is not enough—there’s nothing special about it to remind me to be good. She thought about her sister’s and brother’s names. Rachel’s name is in the Bible. And Brian’s named after Dad. Her eyes filled with tears. Why was I left out?
That night as she was lying in bed, Ashley thought about it again. It isn’t fair! I want a name that means something special. I know—I’ll change my name! She grabbed her writing tablet and a pencil. She said them aloud as she listed possibilities: “Elizabeth, Mary, Rebecca, Sarah. And Grandma’s name is Emma Jane.”
A knock came at the open door, and Mom asked to come in. She glanced at the tablet in her daughter’s lap. “What’s this, Ashley? Are you really upset about your name? Why, honey?”
“In Primary, we read about the Nephi and Lehi who were named after the first Nephi and Lehi, who were great prophets. Danny was named for a famous prophet too. Emily was named for her great-great-grandmother, who was a pioneer. Rachel was named for the woman Jacob worked seven years to get to marry. And Brian was named after Dad. Why didn’t I get a good name?”
Mom reached over and smoothed Ashley’s ruffled bangs. “You did get a good name. Don’t you know that?” She paused and looked at Ashley’s list. “Were you thinking of changing your name to one of these?”
“Yes. They were all great women.”
“Well, what do you think made them great?” Ashley thought for a minute.
“They were great because they were righteous people and served others.”
“Do you think their names made them great—or did they make their names great? Look at King Noah in the Book of Mormon. Although he had the same name as one of the greatest Old Testament prophets, he was a very wicked man. The people we admire made their names great by the kind of people they were.”
Mom pointed at the list. “These names were all probably held by other people before the ones who made them notable. And in Helaman, after Nephi told his sons that he gave them their names so that they would remember the first Lehi and Nephi and the good that they did, what did he say next?”
“He said that he wanted his sons to do good, too, so that when other people talked about them, it would be about the good they—his sons—did.”
Mom smiled. “Well, what do you want people to think when they hear your name?”
“I want them to think that I’m a nice person and that I try to do what’s right.”
“I want them to think that too. It’s nice sometimes when we are named for great people, but it’s more important that we make the name we have great. Just think—you have a brand new name to make great!”
“And maybe when people hear my name, they’ll remember that I’m a good person.”
“One more thing, Ashley. All of us who have been baptized have a special name. We say that we take this name upon us, which means that we choose to be named after and try to be like this person. Do you know what name I’m talking about?”
“Yes—it’s Jesus Christ.”
“So, if you want a name that will remind you to be good, just remember his name. Will that help?”
“Yes—I feel much better. Thanks, Mom.”
As her mom leaned over to turn off the lamp, Ashley crumpled the list of names and dropped it into the wastebasket.

In 1989, our family of seven was returning from a ward outing. It was late. Lynette was expecting our sixth child. She felt a strong prompting to fasten her seat belt, which she had forgotten to do. Shortly thereafter we came around a bend in the road; a car crossed the line into our lane. Going about 70 miles (112 km) an hour, I swerved to avoid hitting the oncoming car. Our van rolled, skidded down the highway, and slid off the road, finally coming to a stop, landing with the passenger side in the dirt.
The next thing I remember hearing was Lynette’s voice: “Shayne, we need to get out through your door.” I was hanging in the air by my seat belt. It took a few seconds to get oriented. We started lifting each of the children out of the van through my window, which was now the ceiling of the van. They were crying, wondering what had happened.
We soon realized that our 10-year-old daughter, Emily, was missing. We yelled her name, but there was no response. Ward members, who were also traveling home, were at the scene frantically looking for her. It was so dark. I looked in the van again with a flashlight and, to my horror, saw Emily’s tiny body trapped under the van. I called out desperately, “We have to lift the van off of Emily.” I grabbed the roof and pulled back. There were only a few others lifting, but the van miraculously flipped onto its wheels, exposing Emily’s lifeless body.
Emily was not breathing. Her face was the color of a purple plum. I said, “We need to give her a blessing.” A dear friend and ward member knelt with me, and by the authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood, in the name of Jesus Christ, we commanded her to live. In that moment, Emily took a long raspy breath.
After what seemed like hours, the ambulance finally arrived. Emily was rushed to the hospital. She had a collapsed lung and a severed tendon in her knee. Brain damage was a concern because of the time she was without oxygen. Emily was in a coma for a day and a half. We continued to pray and fast for her. She was blessed with a full recovery. Today, Emily and her husband, Kevin, are the parents of six daughters.
Miraculously, everyone else was able to walk away. The baby Lynette was carrying was Tyson. He too was spared any harm and was born the next February. Eight months later, after receiving his earthly body, Tyson returned home to Heavenly Father. He is our guardian angel son. We feel his influence in our family and look forward to being with him again.
Those who lifted the van off of Emily observed that the van seemed to weigh nothing. I knew that heavenly angels had joined with earthly angels to lift the vehicle off of Emily’s body. I also know that Emily was brought back to life by the power of the holy priesthood.

A humorous experience from when our family was younger taught me this lesson. I say humorous—it is now, but it wasn’t then. When my oldest daughter, Ashlyn, was almost ten years old, we were camping at Palisade State Park in the mountains above Manti, Utah. With my kids so young, they weren’t a whole lot of help setting up our massive tent with those flexible, fiberglass poles that you have to push through the sleeves in the tent and then try to lift all at once to get the tent to rise. While my wife was unloading our vehicle and setting up the rest of camp, I was struggling to get the tent off the ground on my own. Then, suddenly, with one of my pushes on the poles to get the tent to rise, I snapped the pole. I am ashamed to admit that at that moment I let slip from my mouth a colorful word that I dare not repeat here. Oh, it wasn’t a horrible word, but my daughter clearly recognized it to be a swear word. I continued on in my battle to set up the tent and eventually succeeded with the help of some duct tape and other makeshift efforts to get the tent up.
Unbeknownst to me at the time was the conversation that followed between my daughter and my wife. Melinda later told me that my daughter approached her with a troubled look on her face and said, “Mommy, I thought Daddy was perfect.”
My immediate reaction was to feel horribly ashamed for having crushed my daughter’s perception of me. My second reaction was to think, “Wow, I managed to get my daughter all the way to ten years old convinced that I was perfect!”
But all humor aside, I felt pretty bad for what I had done. And then came the teaching moment. My dear wife said simply to my daughter, “Daddy is not perfect, but he is righteous.” It was one of those moments when I was profoundly reminded that I had married an angel, for who else could have come up with such a simple teaching in that moment?

I was also informed concerning the aboriginal inhabitants of this country and shown who they were, and from whence they came; a brief sketch of their origin, progress, civilization, laws, governments, of their righteousness and iniquity, and the blessings of God being finally withdrawn from them as a people, was made known unto me; I was also told where were deposited some plates on which were engraven an abridgment of the records of the ancient Prophets that had existed on this continent. The angel appeared to me three times the same night and unfolded the same things. After having received many visits from the angels of God unfolding the majesty and glory of the events that should transpire in the last days, on the morning of the 22nd of September, A.D. 1827, the angel of the Lord delivered the records into my hands.

These records were engraven on plates which had the appearance of gold, each plate was six inches wide and eight inches long, and not quite so thick as common tin. They were filled with engravings, in Egyptian characters, and bound together in a volume as the leaves of a book, with three rings running through the whole. The volume was something near 15 cm. in thickness, a part of which was sealed. The characters on the unsealed part were small, and beautifully engraved. The whole book exhibited many marks of antiquity in its construction, and much skill in the art of engraving. With the records was found a curious instrument, which the ancients called “Urim and Thummim,” which consisted of two transparent stones set in the rim of a bow fastened to a breast plate. Through the medium of the Urim and Thummim, I translated the record by the gift and power of God.

In this important and interesting book, the history of ancient America is unfolded, from its first settlement by a colony that came from the Tower of Babel, at the confusion of languages to the beginning of the fifth century of the Christian Era. We are informed by these records that America in ancient times, has been inhabited by two distinct races of people. The first were called Jaredites, and came directly from the Tower of Babel. The second race came directly from the city of Jerusalem, about six hundred years before Christ. They were principally Israelites, of the descendants of Joseph. The Jaredites were destroyed about the time that the Israelites came from Jerusalem, who succeeded them in the inheritance of the country. The principal nation of the second race fell in battle towards the close of the fourth century. The remnant are the Indians that now inhabit this country. This book also tells us that our Savior made His appearance upon this continent after His resurrection; that He planted the Gospel here in all its fulness, and richness, and power, and blessing; that they had Apostles, Prophets, Pastors, Teachers, and Evangelists; the same order, the same priesthood, the same ordinances, gifts, powers, and blessings, as were enjoyed on the eastern continent, that the people were cut off in consequence of their transgressions, that the last of their prophets who existed among them was commanded to write an abridgment of their prophecies, history, etc., and to hide it up in the earth, and that it should come forth and be united with the Bible for the accomplishment of the purposes of God in the last days. For a more particular account, I would refer to the Book of Mormon, which can be purchased at Nauvoo, or from any of our Traveling Elders.

As soon as the news of this discovery was made known, false reports, misrepresentation and slander flew, as on the wings of the wind, in every direction; the house was frequently beset by mobs and evil designing persons. Several times, I was shot at, and very narrowly escaped, and every device was made use of to get the plates away from me; but the power and blessing of God attended me, and several began to believe my testimony.

Many people have been able to change their drug habits. A mother of three, Susan used drugs only on the weekends in an effort to hide her problem from her children. But the children found out anyway and begged her to stop. After three years, with some special help and the support of her children, particularly her seven-year-old son, she did stop. Looking back she recognized that Heavenly Father had pulled her through this and had prepared her for hearing the gospel. She said:
“The gospel changed my heart, my appearance, my attitude, and my feelings. And I learned to pray. Whenever I have a problem, I go to Heavenly Father and say, ‘Help me.’ And he sees me through it. … Now when I walk, I walk with my head high because I know Heavenly Father’s beside me every step of the way. …
“Oh, it’s a new day. I lost a lot of things by wanting to be in this drug world—I lost my apartment, my son almost died in a fire, I lost my marriage, I lost happiness completely. But I got it back. Heavenly Father gave me another chance to start again. I’m new now—brand new all inside and out.”

During this past summer, over 200,000 of our young people all over the world grew in faith at one of the hundreds of weeklong sessions of For the Strength of Youth, or FSY, conferences. Coming out of pandemic isolation, for many it was an act of faith in the Lord to even attend. Many of the young participants seem to follow a similar upward arc toward deeper conversion. At the end of their week, I liked to ask them, “So, how’s it been?”
They sometimes said something like this: “Well, on Monday I was so annoyed with my mother because she made me come and do this. And I didn’t know anybody. And I didn’t think it was for me. And I wouldn’t have any friends. … But now it’s Friday, and I just want to stay here. I just want to feel the Spirit in my life. I want to live like this.”

I plead that we will not procrastinate and that we will heed our Lord’s commandment to live the law of the tithe. I know of two missionaries who visited a very poor family. The family’s home was made of pressboard and sticks, with a dirt floor and no electricity or beds. Each evening the father, a farm laborer, spent his entire day’s wages on groceries for dinner. Departing from the family’s humble home, the senior companion thought to himself, “The law of tithing will surely be a stumbling block to this family. Perhaps we shouldn’t bring it up for a while.” A few moments later, the junior companion, who had grown up in similar circumstances in his own country, voiced his own thoughts aloud: “I know the principle of tithing isn’t taught for four more discussions, but can we please teach it the next time we visit? They need to know about tithing now because they need the help and the blessing of the Lord so much.” This missionary understood that “there is a law, irrevocably decreed in heaven before the foundations of this world, upon which all blessings are predicated—And when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated.” The Lord wants to bless this family and anxiously awaits their obedience so He can.