Gospel Story Finder

As I spread the threadbare but clean tablecloth over our table, I glanced out the window. My husband and I and our two children were living in the small, rural village of Hämeenkyrö, Finland, in the 1960s. I saw my four-year-old daughter, Marika, and three-year-old son, Petri, playing with our dog on our small patch of green grass. My husband was tending to some chores in the garden. I straightened the cloth, and when I looked up again I saw a stranger walking up the path to our front door. She was a gray-haired woman and seemed to limp a bit. She didn’t look poor by any means; she wore a beautiful flower-print dress and a long apron. In her hand was a bulging bag.
My children followed her as she came into our kitchen. “Excuse me for entering your home like this,” she said, “but I had to come.” She hefted her bag onto the table. It was full of food. As the butter, meat, sausage, and freshly baked bread made their way onto the table and then into my children’s hands, tears came to my eyes.
“Can you be our grandmother now?” Marika asked the woman.
“If I may!” our guest answered. “I’d be happy to, and you can call me Aunt Toini.”
In that moment I recalled my prayer to Heavenly Father: “Please send someone to help us!” Aunt Toini was an answer to my prayers, and not only did she bring us food, she also brought lessons of love.
Life was simple in Hämeenkyrö. We had bought a small house by a beautiful forest. I had recently joined the Church, but my husband was not interested in the gospel. We were trying to be self-reliant. We grew potatoes and other vegetables in our garden. I sewed the children’s outfits and patched our clothes. We needed and were thankful for surprise packages of clothing my mother sent from northern Finland.
But as time went on, things got worse. Our family had to strictly ration food. At times my husband and I would eat only potatoes so the children would have a bit more. This is when I started my pleading: “Dear Lord, please send someone to help us!”
I found a job, but it didn’t help enough. There wasn’t much of my salary left after meeting my expenses, including bus fare and the babysitter’s payment.
Though we struggled I always taught my children to be grateful for all we did have. Petri often blessed the food: “Thank You, Heavenly Father, for this porridge, but could You please give us a piece of sausage too, if You have some?”
At those times I pleaded even more, “Please send someone to help!”
As she carried water from the well, I offered a different prayer: “Thank You, Heavenly Father! Blessed be the full bag and 20 marks!”
Every Saturday Aunt Toini came at the same time, with the bag full of food and 20 marks. She never asked how she could help; she just went to work. Occasionally she would stay at our house for a day or two. At those times she would always be the first to get up in the morning to make the porridge. She bought us some new pots and pans when she noticed the need. Sometimes she would wash our laundry by hand.
The weeks went by quickly as we looked forward to Saturdays and Aunt Toini’s visits. I would sometimes tell her about the Church, and many times we prayed together. Marika and Petri were very happy every time she came, and Aunt Toini never forgot to bring some sausage for Petri. It seemed she enjoyed the time with our family, and I thought perhaps we were giving something back to her.
Aunt Toini visited us regularly for three years. Then one Saturday she didn’t come. Nor did she come the following day. Later we learned that Aunt Toini had just left a shop and was heading to our small cottage when she collapsed to the ground, never to recover.
My husband and I and our children attended Aunt Toini’s funeral. We didn’t know anyone when we arrived, and we didn’t know when it would be appropriate for us to lay our flowers on her grave. We decided to be the last to lay down our flowers, to express our gratitude, to say good-bye.
After the funeral a woman approached us and told us she was Aunt Toini’s daughter. “You could have laid your flowers down first. You were so dear to our mother,” she said. “What was the power that changed her? She used to be a stingy and selfish person. But during the last three years she changed into a new person. She was so tender and loving.”
I didn’t know what to say except, “It was love.”
Though it has been more than 40 years since I first met Aunt Toini, I am still learning from the lessons she brought along with her bag of food. She was my teacher. She taught me how to long for forgiveness and how to give service and help. And now I realize that though she came to feed us, she too had been fed.

I thought at first that my wife, Eva, had nudged me. But as I turned over, I could see that she was still asleep. As I sat up, I had the distinct impression that I needed to go to the living room. I slipped out of bed and headed down the hallway. Checking the children as I passed their bedrooms, I could see that they were sleeping soundly.
In the living room, a comforting warmth radiated from our coal-burning stove, which was burning the evening’s load of coal. The damper was set correctly, and the furnace seemed to be working properly. Everything looked normal. Even our dog was sleeping, oblivious to my presence. Outside, I saw only motionless shadows lying across a snow-covered yard.
As I again looked around the room, I was perplexed. The impression I had was real. So why was I standing alone in the living room at 3:00 a.m.? I lingered for a few minutes but finally decided to return to bed.
Just as I started for the bedroom, I heard a metallic swoosh sound behind me. I quickly turned around to see smoke and hot cinders billowing from the back of the stove! A rivet on the stovepipe had suddenly snapped, and a section of the pipe had slid down into another section, leaving a gaping hole in the pipe.
I called to Eva for help. Then I quickly donned a pair of heavy leather gloves that I kept near the stove and squeezed the stovepipe seam back together. After reconnecting the pipe piece, I joined Eva in clearing the smoke from the living room. We then surveyed the damage.
Cinders and soot had burned only a small section of carpet. Had I not been there when the pipe rivet snapped, the whole living room would have been quickly engulfed in flames. The likely destruction of our home and the possible loss of our lives had been averted—thanks to a gentle but indelible impression from the Holy Ghost.
Returning to bed, I was grateful that a loving Heavenly Father, who is over all things, would warn me about a small metal rivet that would fail on that cold winter night.

Years ago, I arrived home from work and was startled to see white paint splattered everywhere—on the ground, the garage door, and our red-brick house. I inspected the scene more closely and discovered the paint was still wet. A trail of paint led toward the backyard, and so I followed it. There, I found my five-year-old son with a paintbrush in his hand, chasing our dog. Our beautiful black Labrador was splattered almost half white!
“What are you doing?” I asked in an animated voice.
My son stopped, looked at me, looked at the dog, looked at the paintbrush dripping with paint, and said, “I just want him to look like the black-spotted dogs in the movie—you know, the one with 101 Dalmatians.”
I loved our dog. I thought he was perfect, but that day my son had a different idea. …
… Our young son had a beautiful dog as a pet; notwithstanding, he grabbed a gallon of paint and, with paintbrush in hand, determined to create his own imagined reality.
… [This is a story] of mistaken identity—presuming the real thing to be something else. In [this] case, the consequences were minor.

When Peggy told me her husband, John, after 31 years of marriage, was going to be baptized, I asked what had changed.
Peggy said, “John and I were studying the New Testament Come, Follow Me, and John asked about Church doctrine.”
Peggy said, “Let’s invite the missionaries.”
John said, “No missionaries—unless my friend can come.” Over 10 years, John’s ministering brother had become his trusted friend. (I thought, What if John’s ministering brother had stopped coming after one, two, or nine years?)
John listened. He read the Book of Mormon with real intent. When the missionaries invited John to be baptized, he said yes. Peggy said, “I fell off my chair and started to cry.”
John said, “I changed as I drew closer to the Lord.” Later, John and Peggy were sealed in the holy temple. Last December, John passed away at age 92. Peggy says, “John was always a good person, but he became different in a beautiful way after he was baptized.”

“Don’t forget Bullet’s hot dogs, Mom,” Janey called upstairs as she picked up her books. Bullet sat by the front door, waiting to say good-bye to Janey. She stooped over and gave the dog a big hug. “You do your best today, Bullet. The kids are counting on you.” Her arms just barely reached around the big dog’s bulky frame. He had a fold of loose skin around his neck like a collar. The black-on-tan markings that distinguish a German shepherd were streaked with gray, and his eyes were watery and a little droopy. He was nine years old. While Bullet rested his head on Janey’s shoulder, she gave him another squeeze, then ran out the front door into the May sunshine and down the street to the bus stop.
Dawn Marie, Janey’s best friend, was waiting for her at the corner. Several other kids stood around waiting for the bus.
“Is your mother bringing Bullet over?” Dawn Marie asked.
“Yes, about two o’clock. I hope he does all right. He’s getting so tired.”
“He’ll do fine,” Dawn Marie said encouragingly. “He always does.”
Nearby a big sixth grader named Jeremy laughed. “Don’t tell me that you’re bringing that dumb old dog to school again this year.”
Janey turned away and looked at Dawn Marie, ignoring Jeremy. She heard him say loudly to his friend Cecil, “Can you believe that she’s bringing that dog again? We’ve seen all his dumb tricks a hundred times.”
“He’s so fat that I don’t think he can even roll over this year,” another boy chimed in.
Dawn Marie touched Janey’s arm. “Don’t listen to them,” she said. “Everybody else loves to see Bullet’s tricks.”
Janey felt miserable. Maybe she had brought Bullet to school too many times. Before she even went to school, her big sister, Caroline, had taken him every year.
“The school year wouldn’t seem complete without Bullet,” Dawn Marie said. Janey smiled at her. She was faithful, just like Bullet. They had both played with the dog since they were little girls. They used to put an Indian blanket around him and pretend that he was Chief Sitting Bull. Sometimes they had tied him to their wagon and he pulled them. Not only the school year wouldn’t seem complete without Bullet, life wouldn’t either.
At two o’clock Janey’s mother knocked softly on her classroom door. Mrs. Hadley opened it, and Janey rushed up to take Bullet on his leash, along with the plastic bag full of hot dog chunks.
The old dog waddled obediently along by Janey’s side, undisturbed by the fourth graders’ cheers, and settled down by Janey’s desk.
When their history lesson was finished, Mrs. Hadley asked Janey to come up front with Bullet. Janey put a chunk of hot dog on the floor in front of the big dog. As he lowered his head and sniffed it, she said, “Wait! We have to have the blessing.” Bullet lowered his head even more and waited. After a minute Janey said, “OK, you can eat.” Bullet snatched up the piece of hot dog, chomped twice, and swallowed it. After that he rolled over, sat up and barked, and played dead, with his big old paws up in the air. The children roared their approval. When he had finished his tricks—each time being rewarded with a chunk of hot dog—he went up and down the aisles and solemnly shook hands with each child.
“You and Dawn Marie may take him to the other classrooms,” Mrs. Hadley said.
“Thank you,” Janey said. “I’m not going to take him into sixth grade this year, so we won’t be gone as long.”
Mrs. Hadley raised her eyebrows. “It’s up to you,” she said, “but I think that they’ll be disappointed.”
The kindergartners squealed with delight and clapped after Bullet did each of his tricks. In the resource class, children didn’t just shake hands with Bullet; some hugged him, and others planted kisses on his big old head. One girl didn’t want to let go of him, and the teacher finally had to gently release the girl’s arms from around his neck. Bullet stood patiently, enjoying all the attention.
The first and second graders enjoyed him just about as much, clapping and yelling, “Hurray for Bullet!”
When they were through, Janey and Dawn Marie returned to their classroom. They were finishing up some artwork when Mr. Linstrom, the sixth grade teacher, poked his head into their classroom. He looked around and spotted Janey, with Bullet sleeping by her desk.
“Hey,” he said, “you forgot us. My kids won’t settle down. They’re waiting for Bullet.”
Mrs. Hadley looked at her questioningly.
“All right,” Janey said. “I have some hot dogs left.”
To Janey’s surprise, the sixth graders cheered too. Even Jeremy strained his neck to see Bullet wait for permission to eat his hot dog. Actually he wasn’t very hungry by now, so it wasn’t hard for him to wait. When Janey gave him permission, though, he ate it with gusto.
As Janey left the sixth grade room with Bullet, she heard Jeremy whisper to a classmate, “He won’t last another year,” and a cold fear gripped her heart. Bullet plodded slowly down the hall. It was only when he was performing for the kids that he seemed to be his old self.
That night after dinner Dawn Marie came over, and she and Janey lay out on the front lawn on an old blanket. Bullet came over, crowded himself between the two girls, and soon fell asleep. The late spring day had been warm and summery, but now as the sun sank to the horizon, Bullet’s warmth was pleasant and welcome.
“He sure sleeps a lot these days,” Dawn Marie commented. Janey felt again that tightening feeling of fear.
“Do you think that Bullet will die soon?” Janey asked slowly. It helped a little just to finally say it out loud.
Dawn Marie looked thoughtfully at the old dog. He twitched occasionally in his sleep and made sort of snuffly, growly noises.
“I guess he could, Janey. Not many German shepherds live much longer than he has.”
Janey was glad that her friend was honest and hadn’t said something just to make her feel better. She lay her head on Bullet’s side. He raised his head, then fell back to sleep.
“What will I do if he dies?” she asked.
Dawn Marie thought again. “You could have a funeral. All the kids in town would come. My mother said that that’s about all you can do to comfort yourself when someone dies. I remember that she said that when her older sister died.”
A funeral would be nice, Janey thought. That way everyone could kind of say good-bye.
Janey looked at Dawn Marie. “I’m glad that people live longer,” she said. “I hope that we can be friends our whole lives.”
“So do I. And I think that we will be.”
The girls heard footsteps on the sidewalk and looked up to see Jeremy coming by. Janey sat up, tense, wondering if he would say something mean. Jeremy stopped on the walk. He looked behind him and all around. Then he looked at Bullet.
“He’s not a bad old mutt,” he said. “I’ve always wanted a big dog like that.” He turned quickly and went on walking.
Dawn Marie and Janey looked at each other and smiled.
“Let’s go in and get warm,” Janey said. “Bullet can sleep out here on the blanket.”
When the girls got up, Bullet lifted his head to look at them, then lowered it and slept again. When Janey pulled a corner of the blanket up over his back, he left it there.

Would you permit me to relate just one personal experience. When I was fourteen years old, our troop went to Big Cottonwood Canyon on a Scout outing. After setting up camp, our leader said to me, “Monson, you like to fish. I’m giving you two fishing flies—a black gnat and a white miller. Now you catch enough fish to feed this troop for the next three days, and I’ll pick all of you up on Saturday.” He departed. I never questioned his charge. I knew if I did my part I’d catch the fish and feed the troop. And I did. I was a man before I realized it just isn’t proper for the Scoutmaster to bail out on the boys. But what a learning experience it was for us.

Those who knew my father knew how active he was. Someone once told me that he could do the work of three men. He rarely slowed down. In 1938 he was operating a successful business when he received a call from the President of the Church, Heber J. Grant.
President Grant told him they were reorganizing the Presiding Bishopric that day and wanted my father to serve as counselor to LeGrand Richards. This caught my father by surprise, and he asked if he could pray about it first.
President Grant said, “Brother Wirthlin, there are only 30 minutes before the next session of conference, and I want to have some rest. What do you say?”
Of course my father said yes. He served 23 years, 9 of them as Presiding Bishop of the Church.

After receiving an invitation to “come and see,” I attended The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the first time at the age of 26. I had recently separated from my first husband. I had a three-year-old boy. And I felt powerless with fear. When I entered the building, I was filled with warmth as I perceived the faith and joy of the people surrounding me. It was truly “a refuge from the storm.” Three weeks later, I made the baptismal covenant with Heavenly Father and started my journey as a disciple of Christ, although my life has not been perfect along that journey.

Eight-year-old Sarawuth Buttho’s eyes lit up as he looked into the package of clothes. He turned and darted up the stairs into the living area of his “home on stilts” in the Ubon Branch in Thailand. After a few minutes, he called to his father, “Dad, I’ve never seen clothes like this. Come and show me how to put them on.”
Sarawuth’s sister, Oranut, and her friend, Chanchira Thondee, clasped their bags of treasure and ran next door to Chanchira’s house, where they tried on their new clothing. Seeing Oranut’s smile, watching Chanchira whirl in her ruffled lavender dress, or catching a glimpse of Sarawuth in his first-ever white shirt and tie would have been more than enough to thank the children in Bangkok for their wonderful gift.
The Primary children in the English-speaking branch in Bangkok, Thailand, had heard about their brothers and sisters in the Issan region of Thailand. They knew that they were very poor and that they had very few clothes to wear. In fact, they learned that the only change of clothing these children had was their school uniform, which they wore to school every day. They did not have any special clothes for Sunday.
Encouraged to begin to serve their fellowman in any way they could, the Primary children in Bangkok began a project to share what clothing they could spare with the children in the Issan region. They brought the clothing they wanted to donate to Primary, where the leaders made sure everything was clean, pressed, and mended. Clothing for about twenty children was then placed in plastic bags and tagged to show the size and age of the boy or girl who would receive it.
After missionaries serving in the region distributed the parcels of love, they reported some wonderful stories of gratitude:
Uthaiwan Arkomkong, age three, lives with her father and mother in a small room at the side of an equipment yard where her father works as a mechanic. Normally very shy, little Uthaiwan laughed and danced around the room when she put on the yellow ruffled dress that was in her package.
In the Srisaket Branch, two eight-year-old girls received dresses on the very day they were to be interviewed for baptism. They were happy to have their pictures taken in their new dresses on this special day.
When a pair of shoes was put aside by a teenager because they “squeezed her toes,” they were taken to Sister Pongsuwan, mother of three young daughters. “Do you want to be Cinderella?” asked Brother Dang as he knelt before her and slipped the shoes on her tiny feet. The shoes fit perfectly. Sister Pongsuwan danced and twirled with happiness, telling everyone that she had never had a pair of shoes before!
The love of the Primary children in Bangkok for their young brothers and sisters in the Issan region was returned many times with bright smiles and warm “thank yous” as gifts of the heart were exchanged—children to children.

One woman felt she had little or no light in her life. Her husband spent three days of each week traveling out of town because of his work. This left her home alone to manage their house and two small children. She was just nineteen when they were married. She had almost no experience in caring for young children, and certainly felt no confidence in handling her own. She often found their demands and the pressing household duties overwhelming. In her frustration, she grew increasingly harsh with them until her abusive behavior became frightening, even to herself. Feeling alone, ashamed, and inadequate, she was often in the depths of despair. What light did the gospel offer to her?
She and her husband considered themselves good members of the Church. But what difference did that make when the children were crying, the laundry piled higher and higher, the letter from her mother remained unanswered, and the dress she was to make this week for her husband’s company party lay unfinished on the sewing machine? All these frustrations spoke so loudly the discouragement of the present. They made the blessings of the gospel seem very far away.
Fortunately, there were those who helped her learn to apply the principles of the gospel in solving many of her problems. Her visiting teachers, responding to her anxiety over her children, brought a special toy for each child. They had carefully selected playthings that an adult could use with a child in a delightful but problem-solving way. They took time to show the mother how to relate to her children through activity. She was surprised to find how happy and responsive the children were. They began to look forward to a playtime association with their mother. She realized that she was providing for their needs through play, and that they were becoming more relaxed with her.
Because of the relationship they were establishing through their activities together, the children were more willing to do as their mother asked—to pick up their clothes, put their toys away, and take their naps. This, in turn, helped her have more time to organize her other responsibilities. She learned to be considerate of her children and sensitive to their concerns. She has continued giving the children this special attention each day. Love in this home is now more than a concept; it is the way they respond to each other’s needs.

When our children were young, we lived in the country of Kazakhstan. There were no missionaries there at that time. When friends or neighbors wanted to hear about the gospel, we got to be the missionaries!

Our daughter Marné shared the gospel with her friend Alyona. Alyona decided to be baptized with permission from her mother, who was later baptized with Alyona’s younger sister. Recently Alyona married a righteous young man in the Manhattan New York Temple, and Marné got to be there! She was so happy that she had helped her friend learn about Jesus Christ.

Later, when through the missionary effort I joined the Church, I gained as a new member that peaceful feeling of being safely placed in the environment of true gospel living and that Babylon had floated away from me. As it was expressed by an early European balloonist: “I felt as though I had left behind me, all the cares and passions that molest mankind.”
I testify—as one who twenty-three years ago was baptized into the kingdom of God in Toronto, Canada—that my flight since my baptism has been a magnificent one, with breathtaking scenes and spiritual panoramas and with the never-failing knowledge that my day-to-day flight plan is made available to me by an understanding, loving, forgiving Heavenly Father.

I was 60 years old, my pockets were empty, and my life was a disgrace. I believed that life was for my own enjoyment. I was lost, my eyes were closed, and then Jesus Christ opened them.
My baptism, confirmation, and the covenants I made with Jesus Christ are the miracle that changed my whole life. I realized what I could gain and what is important to me. Now I am a happy person because I know Jesus Christ.
I would never have thought that a worldly man such as I was would one day become a Church member, a priesthood holder, and a branch president. It is a great gift for me to serve Jesus Christ, our Savior.

Back again to the years in Brazil. Our elders in one city found that a Protestant minister had begun publishing and distributing derogatory pamphlets against the Church. It was information that would not have been accepted in the United States, because generally we have been too well known for people to believe those ridiculous stories. But the people in Brazil who read that began to get an adverse opinion about the Church, and the elders wanted to go out and do something about it.

I suggested they take a copy of the pamphlet with them and go call on the minister if they could find him. They did find him, and they said to him, after some preparation, “Are you responsible for the publication of this material?” He responded rather evasively and embarrassed. They said, “We would just like you to know that we are the representatives of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that this material is not true. This is not what we believe. We thought we should tell you that we don’t appreciate having this kind of falsehood distributed about us, but we also wish to tell you that when we find people who have read it, it is easy for us to tell them the true state of affairs, and then, of course, they get an adverse opinion about you. If you feel, therefore, that you must publish this sort of thing, go right ahead; it really doesn’t hurt us that much. In many ways it helps us. But we, of course, would prefer that you don’t do it.” That would usually stop the process.

I had the privilege of filling a couple of missions in Holland, which is where the Pilgrims went when they left England, seeking a place where they could worship God according to the dictates of their own conscience. I preached in the little city of Leiden where they had lived. And I’ve been in the little church at Delft’s Hoven outside of Rotterdam where the Pilgrims held their last meeting before setting sail for America. We met there with nearly a hundred missionaries when President Grant was president of the European mission, and he sang “The Flag Without a Stain.” I will never forget that. It was wonderful to be in that place from which the Pilgrims left in the Speedwell. When they went to England they transferred onto the Mayflower and sailed across the Atlantic and landed on Plymouth Rock, which is another place I’ve been. And that country around Plymouth Rock is so stony I wonder how they could ever eke out an existence. I remember seeing a rock in front of one home that was so large it filled the whole front lot. But there were 122 of them who endured the first winter; 51 died; and 4 families were wiped out entirely.

You remember the little story about Miles Standish who sent John Alden to Priscilla Mullins to propose marriage for him; and Priscilla listened to John Alden and said, “John, why don’t you speak for yourself?” Now I am proud to tell you that on my mother’s side I’m a descendant of John Alden and Priscilla who landed with the Mayflower on Plymouth Rock. I’ve a little grandson sitting down there who is a descendant too. (He doesn’t know it, but now I’ve told him.)

Now, did they have the spirit of thanksgiving when they found themselves here in this land where they could start all over again? Let me just read you a few words: “They had landed at last on a frozen shore, bleak and dread. But they were so glad that as they knelt in prayer the very stones seemed warm and the snowflakes on their cheeks melted into tears of gratitude.” Did they not have the spirit of thanksgiving when they landed here in America? The account then says, “Oh call it holy ground, the soil where first they stood. They have left unstained what there they found, freedom to worship God.” That is what they have bequeathed to us, and I think Thanksgiving is a good time to recall what they did to open the way for this great nation to come forth.

One brave little girl showed me how powerful one person who takes the lead in including others can be. It was her second week of third grade at a new school, and she saw another girl about her age crying during recess. This girl was going to be repeating a grade, and her last year’s classmates were now her tormentors.
Immediately, my little friend walked over to the girl who had been teased. But even though she had no friends herself, she did not walk into that cruel circle empty-handed. From deep within her own kind heart, she had comfort to offer the crying girl. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve missed a whole year of school, so my parents are holding me back too.” Needless to say, those two will be friends forever.

The last former swimmer that I wish to highlight is Richard Barnes. Richard is an attorney in Salt Lake City. In 1996 he swam on our Western Athletic Conference championship team, where he was an All-Conference performer. He served in the Micronesia-Guam Mission. Some of you may have followed his story on the local news this summer. He and his brother David, an emergency room physician, were attempting to become the first-ever swimmers from the state of Utah to swim the English Channel.

Since their swims, Richard and David have been in demand for youth firesides. One of the things that Richard is quick to point out is that the Channel swim didn’t start at Shakespeare Beach. In reality it started many years before in developing the work ethic and dealing with the demands of being a competitive distance swimmer. While here at BYU, Richard daily swam the equivalent of a marathon. That means four hours a day with heart rates in excess of 150 beats per minute. Later, as he and his brother prepared for the “Mount Everest” of swims, it meant putting their bodies into Jordanelle or Deer Creek Reservoir in the month of May when the water was 55 degrees and swimming for six hours. That would be enough to put most of us off. This was done in addition to their regular training so that they could prepare for the 60-degree temperatures they would face in the waters off England.

In fact, the Channel Swimming Association will not allow swimmers to attempt the crossing unless they have proven the ability to withstand at least six hours of swimming in such frigid water. They are allowed to wear a Speedo and a pair of goggles and to use some “Channel grease,” a mixture of petroleum jelly and lanolin that aids in reducing the kind of chafe that rubs you raw around your neck and armpits. By the time they had pushed off the shore at Shakespeare Beach at 3:30 a.m., they had prepared as though their lives literally depended upon it. The sacrifices of time and training had been made, airline tickets had been purchased, the boats and support teams were standing by, prayers were offered, and, I submit, their confidence waxed strong in the face of the task before them because they had paid the price.

Richard and David are swimmers. They have grown up as swimmers, and it is woven into the fabric of their lives—much like the gospel of Jesus Christ is part and parcel of who we are. Can you imagine them heading out to sea with no training and no preparation? Can you imagine Richard swimming for 16 hours and 45 minutes—fighting currents, tides, hypothermia, and discouragement; his swim covering 36 miles of wind-tossed sea; his rest only to take nourishment while treading water—without any kind of preparation?

In becoming the first person in the state of Utah to successfully swim the English Channel, Richard could not do it alone. His wife, Darcy, afforded him time away from his family to train and was willing to commit family resources because she believed in her husband. She was onboard in every sense of the word. She was there along with his brother John offering encouragement and reassurance. Richard’s brother Dave, who also dreamed of swimming the Channel, trained by his side month after month. Although he finally succumbed to hypothermia and had to abandon the attempt, it must be noted that Richard’s victory over the Channel would not have happened if it had not been for his brother Dave. This is always the case. We can always accomplish much more together than we can alone. Let us look for ways to strengthen our brothers and sisters, and we will all rejoice together as the Barnes family has.

I have been asked by many if I was surprised that Richard was able to conquer the English Channel. My answer is no. Richard Barnes knows how to set a goal and keep his eye on it. I have watched him work toward goals for many years and know of his willingness to put in the work and not become discouraged when at first he doesn’t succeed.

There were occasions during the swim when Richard would swim for hours without progressing toward the opposite shore. This can often be the case in life. Richard shared with me that at the three-hour mark he was quite discouraged from “breathing diesel fumes and being tossed about by the waves.” His stomach finally gave out, and he threw up violently. He thought for a second that this was surely the end. His brother John calmly looked at him and said, “Take your time.” His calmness reassured Richard. A minute or so later Richard began swimming anew, and thus began the best portion of his entire swim. A well-placed word of encouragement can make all the difference.

As a former bishop and as a coach, I counsel ward members and my swimmers to make their plans and dreams big enough to include the Lord. Richard Barnes has done just that. I would relate to you many of the insights that Richard has shared with me about gospel principles that took on new meaning during this life-altering swim, but I will leave that to him. I think he has earned the right to share what he has learned through his labors. I mentioned that this swim was the Mount Everest of swims. Mount Everest has been conquered by approximately 1,500 climbers and is the pinnacle of mountaineering. The English Channel has recorded only 680 swimmers accomplishing its crossing since the first successful attempt in the 1880s. It gives me great satisfaction to know that the first person from Utah to have his name recorded among the great long-distance swimmers is a former Cougar swimmer and BYU graduate. Richard Barnes is here with us today. Richard, would you please stand so that our students and faculty can recognize you?

One of those Scouts, Sid Payne, found something fascinating before he even got here. He and his cousin were in the car on the way here when Sid’s dad, Ed, handed the boys several sheets of paper and said, “Read this.”
What they read was so interesting that when they reached the campsite, they stayed in the car to finish the last two pages instead of jumping out of the car and into the fun. They had discovered a little-known group of real western heroes.
At first, Sid didn’t want to read that journal account on the way here. “I thought it was going to be some long, boring thing. But after a few pages, I liked it a lot.” What Sid learned from his reading was that his great-great-great grandfather, Abraham Hunsaker, had marched through this same wild desert nearly 150 years ago. “I never knew he was in the Mormon Battalion. I was really impressed with what he did.”

One such came to mind last January when I attended a prayer breakfast at the White House, in Washington, D.C., hosted by President Bill Clinton. During an informal reception that preceded the breakfast, I was chatting with a distinguished and scholarly Jewish rabbi from New York. Our conversation was interrupted by another rabbi, who asked his colleague from New York if he could recall the scriptural reference to the stick of Judah and the stick of Joseph that would come together one day. My friend paused for a moment, stroked his chin pensively, and then replied, “I think you will find that in the book of Ezekiel.”

With that, I could not restrain myself. “You might look in chapter 37 of Ezekiel,” I interjected. “There you will find the scriptures that you seek.”

My rabbi friend expressed surprise: “How did you know that?”

“This doctrine,” I concluded, “is very important in our theology.”

Indeed it is. You know it, and I know it. I would like to read it:

Moreover, thou son of man, take thee one stick, and write upon it, For Judah, and for the children of Israel his companions: then take another stick, and write upon it, For Joseph, the stick of Ephraim, and for all the house of Israel his companions:
And join them one to another into one stick; and they shall become one in thine hand. [Ezekiel 37:16–17]

In more mature reflection on that event, I realize that this letter was largely the result of a faithful, conscientious ward bishopric whose second counselor, assigned to the deacons quorum, frequently sat in council with us in our weekly quorum presidency planning meeting. He was always present for at least a portion of our weekly quorum meeting. Our quorum adviser was the kind of humble leader I envision the Savior trying to help Peter become as He admonished the soon-to-be prophet-leader of the Church, “Peter, when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren” (see Luke 22:32).
As we sat each Sunday morning in the dimly lit basement room of a nineteenth-century-built chapel, this great deacons quorum adviser poured out his heart to his young flock of eager youth. With pure love and plain words he told us of the folly of using harmful substances revealed by the Lord in the Word of Wisdom. He emphasized the need for us to be clean in body and mind in our personal lives and to be worthy to serve the Lord in the mission field. I remember that at appropriate times, with tears in his eyes, he would bear his humble testimony to the members of the deacons quorum of the divinity of the Savior and the prophetic mission of Joseph Smith.
He taught us faithfully that we were our brothers’ keepers and that the purpose of the quorum was to bless each member’s life. He emphasized that when we passed the sacrament or collected fast offerings or cut wood for widows living in the ward, we were doing just what the Lord would have us do. When one member of our quorum from a less-active family suffered a prolonged illness and could not attend priesthood meetings, we would go to his home, and he would there receive the weekly priesthood lesson and the fellowship of quorum members. When another less-active member, whose single parent was not a member of the Church, failed to attend, priesthood sessions were held in his home as well. Both of these young men in more recent years have blessed countless Church members as they have been called to positions of major responsibility.