Gospel Story Finder

Years ago when I first received an appointment that resulted in my picture being in the newspapers, one of my high school teachers, evidently quite astonished, was heard to say, “That just proves that you can’t tell by looking at a frog how high he is going to jump!”
The image of that frog, sitting in the mud instead of jumping, illustrates how inadequate I have felt when facing the responsibilities that have come to me.
These feelings fix it so that thereafter one can never feel superior to anyone, not anyone.
For a long time, something else puzzled me. Forty-six years ago I was a 37-year-old seminary supervisor. My Church calling was as an assistant teacher in a class in the Lindon Ward.
To my great surprise, I was called to meet with President David O. McKay. He took both of my hands in his and called me to be one of the General Authorities, an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
A few days later, I came to Salt Lake City to meet with the First Presidency to be set apart as one of the General Authorities of the Church. This was the first time I had met with the First Presidency—President David O. McKay and his counselors, President Hugh B. Brown and President Henry D. Moyle.
President McKay explained that one of the responsibilities of an Assistant to the Twelve was to stand with the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles as a special witness and to bear testimony that Jesus is the Christ. What he said next overwhelmed me: “Before we proceed to set you apart, I ask you to bear your testimony to us. We want to know if you have that witness.”
I did the best I could. I bore my testimony the same as I might have in a fast and testimony meeting in my ward. To my surprise, the Brethren of the Presidency seemed pleased and proceeded to confer the office upon me.
That puzzled me greatly, for I had supposed that someone called to such an office would have an unusual, different, and greatly enlarged testimony and spiritual power.
It puzzled me for a long time until finally I could see that I already had what was required: an abiding testimony in my heart of the Restoration of the fulness of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith, that we have a Heavenly Father, and that Jesus Christ is our Redeemer. I may not have known all about it, but I did have a testimony, and I was willing to learn.
I was perhaps no different from those spoken of in the Book of Mormon: “And whoso cometh unto me with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, him will I baptize with fire and with the Holy Ghost, even as the Lamanites, because of their faith in me at the time of their conversion, were baptized with fire and with the Holy Ghost, and they knew it not” (3 Nephi 9:20; emphasis added).
Over the years, I have come to see how powerfully important that simple testimony is. I have come to understand that our Heavenly Father is the Father of our spirits (see Numbers 16:22; Hebrews 12:9; D&C 93:29). He is a father with all the tender love of a father. Jesus said, “For the Father himself loveth you, because ye have loved me, and have believed that I came out from God” (John 16:27).
Some years ago, I was with President Marion G. Romney, meeting with mission presidents and their wives in Geneva, Switzerland. He told them that 50 years before, as a missionary boy in Australia, late one afternoon he had gone to a library to study. When he walked out, it was night. He looked up into the starry sky, and it happened. The Spirit touched him, and a certain witness was born in his soul.
He told those mission presidents that he did not know any more surely then as a member of the First Presidency that God the Father lives; that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, the Only Begotten of the Father; and that the fulness of the gospel had been restored than he did as a missionary boy 50 years before in Australia. He said that his testimony had changed in that it was much easier to get an answer from the Lord. The Lord’s presence was nearer, and he knew the Lord much better than he had 50 years before.
There is the natural tendency to look at those who are sustained to presiding positions, to consider them to be higher and of more value in the Church or to their families than an ordinary member. Somehow we feel they are worth more to the Lord than are we. It just does not work that way!
It would be very disappointing to my wife and to me if we supposed any one of our children would think that we think we are of more worth to the family or to the Church than they are, or to think that one calling in the Church was esteemed over another or that any calling would be thought to be less important.
Recently, one of our sons was sustained as ward mission leader. His wife told us how thrilled he was with the call. It fits the very heavy demands of his work. He has the missionary spirit and will find good use for his Spanish, which he has kept polished from his missionary days. We also were very, very pleased at his call.
What my son and his wife are doing with their little children transcends anything they could do in the Church or out. No service could be more important to the Lord than the devotion they give to one another and to their little children. And so it is with all our other children. The ultimate end of all activity in the Church centers in the home and the family.
As General Authorities of the Church, we are just the same as you are, and you are just the same as we are. You have the same access to the powers of revelation for your families and for your work and for your callings as we do.
It is also true that there is an order to things in the Church. When you are called to an office, you then receive revelation that belongs to that office that would not be given to others.
No member of the Church is esteemed by the Lord as more or less than any other. It just does not work that way! Remember, He is a father—our Father. The Lord is “no respecter of persons.”
We are not worth more to the onrolling of the Lord’s work than were Brother and Sister Toutai Paletu‘a in Nuku‘alofa, Tonga; or Brother and Sister Carlos Cifuentes in Santiago, Chile; or Brother and Sister Peter Dalebout in the Netherlands; or Brother and Sister Tatsui Sato of Japan; or hundreds of others I have met while traveling about the world. It just does not work that way.
And so the Church moves on. It is carried upon the shoulders of worthy members living ordinary lives among ordinary families, guided by the Holy Ghost and the Light of Christ, which is in them.
I bear witness that the gospel is true and that the worth of souls is great in the sight of God—every soul—and that we are blessed to be members of the Church. I have the witness that would qualify me for the calling I have. I’ve had it since I met the First Presidency those many years ago. I bear it to you in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

My collection of the Mormonads I got from the different issues of the New Era makes up my bedroom “wallpaper.” I’d also like to thank you for the June 2000 special issue. I was so thrilled when I got it because it was very timely. I was preparing my papers for my mission at that time, and so were a number of my friends in my ward and in the institute. We did our part, working with the missionaries and attending missionary preparation class. But I was lacking a little confidence in filling out the papers. The last missionary in my family was released in 1988 while the last missionary our ward (or branch then) ever sent to the field left in 1994. Nobody close to me had fresh enough knowledge about applying for a mission to help me prepare. That issue not only helped me fill out my application, but the articles were very inspiring. They made me more excited to go. Since not many people here subscribe to the New Era, I was happy to share my copy with my friends who were also preparing to go. Five weeks after I sent in my application, I got my call to serve in the Philippines Ilagan Mission. Thanks a lot!
Sister Maria Corazon PeroyPhilippines Ilagan Mission (via e-mail)

One day I sat with a handsome, young, prospective missionary as he poured out his sad story through sobs of sorrow, anguish, and remorse. I wanted to cry with him. Pressured by his so-called friends, he found himself at a mixed party where liquor was served. Against everything he knew to be right, he succumbed to the taunts and jeers of all those present, became drunk, and before the evening was over, lost his virtue.

Unable to resist the peer pressure he faced, his resolution to stay chaste being dissipated by the circumstances he found himself in, he had seen his lifelong dream of a mission and a temple marriage change to a nightmare—and now he felt ashamed, unclean, unworthy.

“Have I forfeited my opportunity for a mission, for marriage in the temple?” he asked. “How can my Father in Heaven forgive me for what I have done? I wish the earth would open up and swallow me!” My heart ached for him.

Almost overriding my sympathy for him was the anger I felt toward those who had led him down that “primrose path,” seemingly oblivious to the pain they had caused, listening to Satan’s siren song that chastity is outdated.

The full force of his actions was obvious to my tearful friend, who understood, at last, the reality of Alma’s words: “Wickedness never was happiness.” (Alma 41:10.)

It was Sunday, and my family and I were attending the dedication services of a newly remodeled meetinghouse in our area. Just a few minutes before sacrament meeting, the stake president asked me to please drive to our ward building, three kilometers away, to retrieve an item he needed. I had just enough time to get there and back. While completing that simple errand, I had an experience that touched me spiritually—a wonderful reminder of what is important.
With just a few blocks left to go to return to the meeting, I saw ahead of me two bicycles, one large and the other quite a bit smaller, each being ridden very energetically. I recognized the cyclists at once. They were two people I knew well, a good brother from my ward and his young son. They were riding to church—just as they did every Sunday.
As I watched them, there came to my mind an image out of the future, when that boy—and his father too—will remember those bicycle rides. I thought, “What a great example this father is setting and what an eternal influence he is going to have on the precious son God has given him. That boy,” I reflected, “may grow up to cherish that experience, and perhaps he will repeat it when he becomes a father himself.”
As I caught up to them, there sprang to mind an image of my childhood memories of my own father, who used to carry me on the handlebar of his bicycle. The close relationship that develops from these kinds of experiences is a pleasure to have and tender to remember.
When I got to church, I greeted the bicycle riders with a smile and received the same in return as they expressed silent happiness to be attending church. At priesthood meeting that afternoon, I had a chance to express to this brother how impressed I had been with the picture of righteous fatherhood I had seen earlier. His face brightened, and perhaps he was surprised because what I described was such a common occurrence for him.

My great-great-grandfather, Charles Shumway, was a friend of Brigham Young. At Winter Quarters after leaving Nauvoo in the winter of 1846, President Young came to Charles and requested that he be a guide and go ahead of the company. Charles explained to the prophet that his wife had died the night prior and he did not expect his youngest daughter to live through the next day.
President Young responded to Charles, "Have you made temple covenants and been sealed to your family?"
"Yes," came the reply.
"Then what else matters?" asked President Young. "I'll await your answer in the morning."
Charles went, leaving behind his ten your old daughter Mary, with her baby sister dying in her arms.

In 2003, having returned home from my mission, I married my wife, Karen. During the early stages of our marriage, we committed to take every opportunity to serve. We became temple workers and accepted callings that stretched us. Life was overwhelming but it was fulfilling. We were anchored in Jesus Christ, found joy in serving Him, and navigating the ‘droughts’ around us.

Then one night there was an experience where God taught me a powerful lesson about my relationship with Him.

Karen had just experienced a challenging birth and had been unable to walk for a couple of months. I was juggling work, a stretching calling, and university assignments. It was 10 p.m., and I was stressed about an assignment due the next day. Then the phone rang. A sister from the ward was at her breaking point and pleaded for a blessing. I looked at Karen seeking her approval, and she simply looked at me and nodded, as if to say, "Asa, go, please you are needed."

As I hung up, an overwhelming weight came over me. I was exhausted and felt I had nothing. With a gentle nudge, Karen suggested we pray. Lying in bed, unable to walk, she pleaded that I would have the strength to accomplish all that God required of me. I got up, gave her a hug, and went to give the blessing. As I did, I was reminded of the Lord’s promise that 'My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.'[7] I was weak, but I felt His strength that night. After giving the blessing, I returned home, finished my assignment, and God worked the necessary miracles in both our lives.

The last trial that I will share with you, I vividly remember what I and my family had to bear. On March 23, 2011 at 5:30 AM, I and my family awoke to find that our house was fully engulfed in flames. After getting everyone safely out of the house, I remember standing outside with my family as we watched our home with all of our earthly possessions burn to the ground. I was so very thankful that I had beside me what was really important to me; my eternal companion and my family.

Later that morning as we took refuge under our neighbor’s mango tree, we held a family council. My married children had joined us by then, we had family prayer, thanking the Lord for our protection, and then we asked for His Spirit and guidance, and then we discussed what we needed to do. Assignments were made and we began to face our new trial. This time we were more seasoned. This time we did not ask “why me Lord?” We already knew from facing other trials in our lives that the Lord was ready to bless us if we endured this trial well, if we walked by faith in our Lord Jesus Christ.

My stake president, President Shumway and his counselors came by to give me a priesthood blessing of comfort. A blessing that gave to me clarity of what I needed to do to take care of and provide for my family in this time of trial in our lives.

At the time I was serving in the BYU–Hawaii Married Student Stake Presidency. Our neighbors, ward members, friends, and members from the student stakes rushed to our side to assist us. The fire left us with nothing but the clothes on our backs.

One ward member and friends put us into their business rental. It was not easy to find a place that could house the nine members of my family that were displaced by the fire. Another ward member called to get the garment sizes of all of the endowed members of my family, she then went and purchased the temple garments and brought them to us. Another ward member came by and dropped off pillows, sheets and blankets.

That evening as we went to the member’s rental house that had been provided for us, we found that another friend had stocked the refrigerator and freezer with food.

In the days and weeks that followed friends brought many large plastic bags full of clothes in all sizes.

My family and I were overwhelmed by all the love that we had received. We knew that the Lord was blessing us and showing His love. We were being comforted by heavenly angels, as well as many earthly angels. During this long trial we did not ask “Lord why me?”, instead we asked “Lord, what is it that you want us to do?” We also asked “what is the next step in our journey?”, for it was a journey and a trial in and of itself to be able to rebuild our home in the same location where we had lived for the past 40 years. But that is another story for another time and place.

During this trial we learned that all earthly possessions have no eternal purpose. We cannot take them with us when we leave this earthly existence. It was reinforced to us that the only thing that really matters in this mortal life is what we do to qualify as individuals and families to return to the presence of Our Heavenly Father and to live with Him. Everything else that we do is just to help us accomplish these goals.

This trial was not only to make us stronger and refine us, but I know that it was to allow others to gain blessings from the giving of service to my family. I know that we were blessed by their service, but I also know that they were blessed, or will receive blessings in time, because of the service they gave to us.

When I was a young girl, my family had a huge furnace in the living room, which made heat by burning coal. Every day one of us had the responsibility of going out to the coal shed behind our house and bringing back a bucket of coal. Then the small bits of coal were poured into one end of the furnace. Throughout the day the bits of coal slowly fed the fire.
Our coal shed held about five tons of coal, and, depending on how cold the weather was, we’d use a ton or a ton and a half every month in the winter. Anytime our coal shed became low, we knew that it was time to call the coal man to deliver more.
One year, however, we did not have enough money to pay for coal, so we didn’t order any. The weather had not yet gotten very cold, and we decided that we could keep warm by wearing our coats around the house during the day and by sleeping under a lot of blankets at night. I still remember how odd it seemed to be able to see our breath inside the house as we talked to one another.
Wearing our coats in the house worked well until the weather suddenly turned really cold. One morning, when we were wondering what we should do, we heard a familiar sound. The coal truck was coming down our street. Everyone looked out the window as it pulled into our yard and began filling up our shed with rich, dark coal.
My mother quickly ran outside to explain that she had not ordered any coal and could not afford the fuel that the man was shoveling into our little shed.
The man just smiled and said, “I know,” and continued to fill our shed with five tons of coal—enough to last the rest of the winter. Then he drove away without saying another word.
Fast offerings had paid for the coal that day. Even now, whenever I see a bit of coal, I remember that others had fasted so that we might be warm that winter.

I was in Idaho Falls and was the guest in a home of a typical Church family. There were a dedicated set of parents and many children. The oldest was in military duty in the dreaded South Pacific, and the hearts of the family followed him from place to place. They handed me his latest letter from the war zone. I read this:
“There have been times when we were so scared, we would tremble, but the fear went out of our minds with prayer and the knowledge that we were being guided by the Lord.
“Dad, I love my religion and I am proud that I had someone like you and Mother to teach me to pray. Then I also know that you are praying for me each morning and night. …”
Spirituality is born in the home and is nurtured in the home evenings, in the twice-a-day and oftener daily prayers, in the weekly meetings when the family goes en masse. That spirituality as the foundation of one’s life comes to his rescue when emergency strikes.
Security is not born of inexhaustible wealth but of unquenchable faith. And generally that kind of faith is born and nurtured in the home and in childhood.
Prayer is the passport to spiritual power.

My friends and I started to play video games a little each day. Soon we were playing two hours a day. When we talked to each other during the games, things that normally wouldn’t be said were said. I decided that every time my friends would play video games, I would make better use of my time by doing something else. I soon found that I was a lot happier inside. Video games can be fun, but when they’re filled with vulgar language and violence, Satan can corrupt our minds.

Somehow I had always imagined that the night before my wedding day would be spent sitting out under a star-filled sky with my “intended” sharing a private, quiet, romantic moment. Apple blossoms would be floating in a cool evening breeze, and an orchestra would be playing romantic melodies magically in the distance.
But things just weren’t working out the way I had planned. My “intended” was miles away getting a good night’s sleep before our bright and early 8:00 A.M. wedding in the Salt Lake Temple the next morning.
It was getting pretty late, and I still hadn’t been able to get anything ready. I hadn’t even been able to get into the bathroom yet. The hot water had run out long ago. The hot water always runs out after my sister Linda takes her 45-minute shower.
Mom and dad were on the phone calling all the people we had forgotten to invite to the reception. I couldn’t even get into my bedroom to get packed. One of my married sisters and her husband and children were camping out in my bedroom for the night.
I walked downstairs to try to find someplace where I could be alone. After all, I was getting married in the morning. I had a lot to think about. I walked into the family room, but my sister Joy was still there working on the last of the 14 bridesmaid dresses. I hadn’t asked a lot of friends to be bridesmaids. We just had 14 sisters in our two families.
Suddenly I heard the water from the upstairs bathroom turn off. I dashed up the stairs and down the hall to be sure to get into the bathroom before anybody else. Just as I reached the door, my sister Diane slipped in front of me. She turned and smiled as she closed the bathroom door behind her.
When I turned around to walk back down the hall, Dawnene, another sister, drooped by me dragging her sleeping bag. She was obviously mad.
“Lisa and Lori won’t quit playing around so I can get some sleep,” she pouted. “Mary and Sandy are in my room. So where am I supposed to sleep?”
“Try the backyard,” I answered.
“That’s where Lisa and Lori are,” Dawnene frowned.
“Well, try the front yard,” I said again.
“Grant’s out there!” she answered. “He said if one more person steps on him, they’ll be sorry.”
“What about the kitchen?” I asked.
“Aunt Sara said it’s already too crowded in there!”
“Well, you’ll just have to figure it out for yourself,” I answered as I walked back down the hall stepping on suitcases and bodies.
Finally I walked out onto the balcony. Lisa and Lori were laughing and throwing pillows at each other in the backyard. When they saw me on the balcony, they stopped and ran over to me. “Come sleep with us,” they coaxed.
“I’ve got to get married in the morning, and I have a lot to do to get ready,” I answered.
“Come on!” they continued to coax.
“Well I can’t get into the shower anyway,” I thought as I climbed over the balcony and slid down a pole into the backyard.
Lisa and Lori, the twins, were the youngest in the family.
“We’ve already got you a sleeping bag,” they said.
I crawled into the sleeping bag between them just as Lori threw a pillow into my face. Laughing, I rolled over and tickled them both until we all fell back laughing and exhausted.
I suddenly noticed what a beautiful night it was. The lights from the house slowly went out one by one, and it grew quiet. The warm June evening air and the black sky hanging low with stars seemed to peacefully surround us.
When I looked at Lisa and Lori, they were crying. All of our years together started to flood back into my mind. I remembered how soft and warm their small infant bodies felt as I rocked them to sleep when they were babies. I remembered the night Lori had screamed all night as her leg swelled in her cast. I remembered the day Lisa got the rubber plug stuck in her nose. I remembered our private funeral on the grassy bank by the canal after our cat had died. I remembered it all as I put my arms around them.
There were no apple blossoms or orchestras playing magically in the distance that night. But the sky was filled with stars that illuminated the silhouette of us three huddled together in the cool evening breeze.

I was one of three young LDS girls who traveled with a touring party of seventy in October of 1972. We went to New York, California, and Utah. We visited many, many lovely people. Temple Square is so beautiful, even better than on postcards. Other members of the group were envious of us because we knew so much about the salvation of man and never worried at depressing moments. A few of them were good listeners and even abstained from their unclean habits. We earned their respect, and I know that these people will never forget the experiences we had in Utah. I felt so proud to be a Latter-day Saint and still do.

Now that I am home, I find that my testimony has been strengthened. It was a good experience being in the Promised Land, knowing that there are people on the other side who live the way I do. I only hope that I will be able to return one day.
Pauline RuruHawkes Bay, New Zealand

Hooray! Your brother is turning (number) next week! And, being the kind sibling you are, you’ve decided to make him an extra (adjective) birthday present. First, grab some (plural noun) and maybe a few (plural noun) as well. It’s true that (adjective ) (plural noun) are also his favorite, but your sister is giving him those already. Next, (verb) over to your favorite (noun) store to buy (plural noun). You’ll need some (plural noun) to make everything stick together, of course, so be sure to find at least (number). It’s building time! Grab a (noun), gather your supplies, then head to (location) and (verb) for (length of time) to finish the craft. Wrap your brother’s present with a (color) (noun), top it with a bow, and give it to him. He’ll be sure to say (silly phrase) over and over again!

I had just turned eight, and it was getting close to my baptism date. I asked my mom if I could invite my second-grade teacher to my baptism. My mom said, “Of course.” I wrote my teacher an invitation and gave it to her. She said she would love to come but had a family commitment on the same day. Even though she wasn’t there for my baptism, I felt happy that I had invited her. Maybe it would make her curious about my beliefs.
Paige G., age 9, Texas, USA

More than 50 years ago during World War II, I had an experience. Our bomber crew had been trained at Langley Field, Virginia, to use the latest invention—radar. We were ordered to the West Coast and then on to the Pacific.

We were transported on a freight train with boxcars fitted with narrow bedsprings that could be pulled down from the wall at night. There were no dining cars. Instead, camp kitchens were set up in boxcars with dirt floors.

We were dressed in light-colored summer uniforms. The baggage car got sidetracked, so we had no change of clothing during the six-day trip. It was very hot crossing Texas and Arizona. Smoke and cinders from the engine made it very uncomfortable. There was no way to bathe or wash our uniforms. We rolled into Los Angeles one morning—a grubby-looking outfit—and were told to return to the train that evening.

We thought first of food. The 10 of us in our crew pooled our money and headed for the best restaurant we could find.

It was crowded, and so we joined a long line waiting to be seated. I was first, just behind some well-dressed women. Even without turning around, the stately woman in front of me soon became aware that we were there.

She turned and looked at us. Then she turned and looked me over from head to toe. There I stood in that sweaty, dirty, sooty, wrinkled uniform. She said in a tone of disgust, “My, what untidy men!” All eyes turned to us.

No doubt she wished we were not there; I shared her wish. I felt as dirty as I was, uncomfortable, and ashamed.

Later, when I began a serious study of the scriptures, I noticed references to being spiritually clean. One verse says, “Ye would be more miserable to dwell with a holy and just God, under a consciousness of your filthiness before him, than ye would to dwell with the damned souls in hell.”

I could understand that. I remembered how I felt that day in Los Angeles. I reasoned that to be spiritually unclean would bring shame and humiliation immeasurably more intense than I felt then. I found references—there are at least eight of them—which say that no unclean thing can enter the presence of God. While I realized those references had little to do with dirty clothes or soiled hands, I decided I wanted to stay spiritually clean.

Incidentally, that day we went canoeing in Griffith Park. We were horsing around and, of course, tipped over. We got to shore all right, and in due time the sun dried us out. By the time we returned to the train, we were really quite presentable.

I learned that when I didn’t live as I ought to, getting myself spiritually clean was not as easy as taking a shower or putting on clean clothing or falling out of a canoe.

I learned about the great plan of happiness, that we are on earth to be tested. We will all make mistakes. The Apostle John taught, “If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.” Fortunately he added, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” I paid particular attention to that word cleanse.

I thought that repentance, like soap, should be used frequently. I found that when I apologized for mistakes, things were better. But for serious mistakes, an apology was not enough—sometimes not even possible. While these mistakes were, for the most part, not major ones, the spiritual pain called guilt invariably set in. Sooner or later they must be resolved, but I didn’t know what to do. That happens when you break something that you alone can’t fix.

Among you young people are those who are “vexed,” as Peter said, “with the filthy conversation of the wicked.” Some of you joke about standards and see no need to change behavior. You tell yourselves it doesn’t matter because “everybody’s doing it.”

But that doesn’t work because you, by nature, are good. How many times have you heard someone say, after doing some generous or heroic deed or simply helping others, how good it made them feel? Like any natural feeling or emotion, that reaction is inborn in you. Surely you have experienced that yourself! Happiness is inseparably connected with decent, clean behavior.

The prophet Alma bluntly told his wayward son that because he transgressed he was “in a state contrary to the nature of happiness” and that “wickedness never was happiness.” Those who don’t know how to erase mistakes often feel cornered and rebellious and lose themselves in unworthy living. If you travel with transgressors, you will suffer much more than I did in that restaurant.

Most mistakes you can repair yourself, alone, through prayerful repentance. The more serious ones require help. Without help, you are like one who can’t or doesn’t wash or bathe or put on clean clothes. The path you need to follow is in the scriptures. Read them and your faith in Christ will grow. Listen to those who know the gospel.

You will learn about the Fall of man, about the purpose of life, about good and evil, about temptations and repentance, about how the Spirit works. Read what Alma said of his repentance: “I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more.”

Hear the Lord say, “Behold, he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more.” Doctrine can change behavior quicker than talking about behavior will.

It was through reading the scriptures, and listening, that I could understand, at least in part, the power of the Atonement. Can you imagine how I felt when finally I could see that if I followed whatever conditions the Redeemer had set, I need never endure the agony of being spiritually unclean? Imagine the consoling, liberating, exalting feeling that will come to you when you see the reality of the Atonement and the practical everyday value of it to you individually.

You need not know everything before the power of the Atonement will work for you. Have faith in Christ; it begins to work the day you ask! The scripture speaks of “obedience to the laws and ordinances of the Gospel.” We all pretty well know what it means to obey laws. But how are we to obey ordinances?

Generally we understand that, conditioned upon repentance, the ordinance of baptism washes our sins away. Some wonder if they were baptized too soon. If only they could be baptized now and have a clean start. But that is not necessary! Through the ordinance of the sacrament, you renew the covenants made at baptism. When you meet all of the conditions of repentance, however difficult, you may be forgiven and your transgressions will trouble your mind no more.

President Joseph F. Smith was six years old when his father, Hyrum, was killed in Carthage Jail. Joseph crossed the plains with his widowed mother. At age 15 he was called on a mission to Hawaii. He felt lost and alone and said: “I was very much oppressed. … I was almost naked and entirely friendless, except the friendship of a poor, benighted … people. I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look [anyone] in the face.”

While pondering his plight, the young elder had a dream, “a literal thing; … a reality.” He dreamed he was on a journey rushing as fast as he possibly could.

He carried a small bundle. Finally he came to a wonderful mansion, his destination. As he approached, he saw a notice, “Bath.” He turned aside quickly, went in, and washed himself clean. He opened his little bundle and found clean, white clothing—“a thing,” he said, “I had not seen for a long time.” He put them on and rushed to the door of the mansion.

“I knocked,” he said, “and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said [were]: ‘Joseph, you are late.’ … I took confidence and said:

“‘Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!’” And so it can be with you.

I say to you again that a knowledge of the principles and doctrines of the gospel will affect your behavior more than talking about behavior.

I have used the Atonement as one of many examples. In the gospel of Jesus Christ are values on which to build a happy life.

I give you my testimony that our Father in Heaven lives. The Atonement of Christ can bless your life. If only I could tell you what the Atonement means to me. I once tried to express it in writing and close with these lines:

In ancient times the cry “Unclean!”
Would warn of lepers near.
“Unclean! Unclean!” the words rang out;
Then all drew back in fear,
Lest by the touch of lepers’ hands
They, too, would lepers be.
There was no cure in ancient times,
Just hopeless agony.
No soap, no balm, no medicine
Could stay disease or pain.
There was no salve, no cleansing bath,
To make them well again.
But there was One, the record shows,
Whose touch could make them pure;
Could ease their awful suffering,
Their rotting flesh restore.
His coming long had been foretold.
Signs would precede His birth.
A Son of God to woman born,
With power to cleanse the earth.
The day He made ten lepers whole,
The day He made them clean,
Well symbolized His ministry
And what His life would mean.
However great that miracle,
This was not why He came.
He came to rescue every soul
From death, from sin, from shame.
For greater miracles, He said,
His servants yet would do,
To rescue every living soul,
Not just heal up the few.
Though we’re redeemed from mortal death,
We still can’t enter in
Unless we’re clean, cleansed every whit,
From every mortal sin.
What must be done to make us clean
We cannot do alone.
The law, to be a law, requires
A pure one must atone.
He taught that justice will be stayed
Till mercy’s claim be heard
If we repent and are baptized
And live by every word. …
If we could only understand
All we have heard and seen,
We’d know there is no greater gift
Than those two words—“Washed clean!”
In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

One time Bessie got tangled up in some barbwire and had deep, bleeding cuts on both hind legs when we found her.
Papa came out of the house with a curved needle and some black silk thread.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“To sew her up—like you do a tear in your dress,” he explained and showed me how to take a stitch, tie a knot, cut the thread, and take another stitch.
Quickly the wound was pulled together and Papa washed off the blood.
“It’ll soon be good as new,” he assured us.
After that, whenever an animal had a bad cut, I ran to get the curved needle and thread for Papa and watched while he sewed it up.

It was the end of the assembly on Joseph Smith at our seminary, and our teachers had left the last 15 minutes for testimonies. I knew I had felt something during the program, and I realized I had to go up and bear my testimony even though I wasn’t sure if I had one.
I had recently turned 15, and I was questioning everything. I had prayed and read my scriptures, but the answer hadn’t yet come. I began to think Heavenly Father had abandoned me. I didn’t know if it was right to bear a testimony I wasn’t sure I had.
But as soon as I got up there, peace came over me, and I realized that I did know. I knew Christ was my Savior, I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet, and I knew Heavenly Father was there, listening. I began crying for joy. Heavenly Father hadn’t abandoned me, and He had answered my prayer through my own testimony.
I know that if I live the gospel and do my best, then I will never lose that glorious feeling of knowing what I’m doing is right.

I relate a couple of examples of those who have caught this fever and have enjoyed its wonderful symptoms:
In Sao Paulo, Brazil, the temple president noticed a sister of very modest means who was in the temple almost daily. He asked the sister how she could afford to come to the temple so often. She replied that she had her little pension and if she were very careful she could pay for the three bus rides it took for her to travel from her home to the temple and then back. Then she brightened up and said, “But if someone gives me a ride to the temple and back, I can even afford bread to go with my beans.”

Mom had had a really busy day, and lots of things had gone wrong for her. We were eating supper when the phone rang. Some neighbors were coming over, and my toys were all over the family room. One of the neighbors used a walker, so she might have tripped on a toy. I hurried and cleaned up really fast so that when they came in, it was looking nice. I felt happy that I had helped, and I help my mom more now.

Glancing back over his shoulder across two hundred yards of dry powdery snow, Brian could hardly believe he had lengthened the distance between himself and the nearest challenger.
Tom Stacy was trying hard to repeat his last two wins in the annual cross-country ski race. But Brian was trying just as hard to capture the championship that had eluded him twice before. Realizing there was less than a mile to go, Brian was confident that Tom had little chance of catching up.
Listening to the soft shush, shush of his skis, Brian watched the clouds boiling over the hills and across the valley. The sky seemed to be getting darker and heavier by the minute.
It could be a whopper, he thought. But it’s probably a couple of hours away. Then his thinking drifted to Tom and how disappointed he would be at his failure to make three wins in a row. This was the last year Tom and Brian would be eligible for this particular race. After the ski season they would both be past the age limit. It was Brian’s last and only hope for a win which, he remembered bitterly, he might have had last year except for a stupid mistake.
Coming in ahead of Tom would be final proof of his skill. They were both good skiers. But then, Tom was good at everything he tried—swimming, running, jumping, and all kinds of team sports. Brian, though not inept, had never been outstanding in any of those things. But when he started skiing he discovered he had an unusual talent for it.
Casting another look backwards, he saw the space between himself and Tom hadn’t changed. As he rounded the brow of a hill, Brian noticed a small dark object in the snow ahead but he paid little attention. He kept his even, steady stride, not easing up or increasing his lead. Though it seemed unlikely, with a superhuman burst of speed Tom could overtake him.
Brian couldn’t help watching the dark object in the snow ahead. Then he saw it move and his curiosity was heightened. When he came closer, he found that a dog was struggling to get through the snow, but it was making little headway through the powdery drifts.
Brian tried to offer some encouragement to the dog as he passed by. “Come on, boy. You can make it,” he coaxed.
Hearing Brian’s voice, the animal looked up with a beaten, hopeless expression. The dog whined, a pathetic, pleading sound as forlorn as its expression.
Glancing from the stricken animal to the finish line ahead, Brian convinced himself the dog likely belonged to one of the nearby farms and, in spite of its painfully slow progress, should be able to get home.
He went on a few feet and the dog whined again. When he turned around, Brian was met with an expression even more pathetic than before. “You little mutt,” he said dismally. “Why do you have to keep looking at me that way?”
Sidestepping back, he made a quick decision and weighed his chances of carrying the dog to the finish line before Tom caught up. It might be a tip-to-tip race after all, but Brian still felt capable of winning.
It wasn’t until he knelt down that he discovered the dog was favoring one foot, trying to struggle through the snow on three legs. As Brian took the leg to examine it, the dog yelped with pain.
“Oh, oh, fella,” he said. “You’re in trouble.”
Tom had already cut the distance between them in half. The storm, too, was getting closer and uglier and might easily turn into a blizzard.
Brian picked the dog up in his arms. “Come on,” he said hoarsely. “We’ll win this race together.”
After another two or three hundred yards, however, it was plain they wouldn’t be able to do it. The dog was too heavy. It had already slowed Brian so much he could hear Tom’s skis behind him, sliding over the snow. At this rate he might not even come in second because the next racer wasn’t too far behind Tom.
No more than a minute later, Tom’s skis were even with Brian’s.
“What are you trying to do,” Tom asked, when he saw Brian carrying the dog, “give me a handicap?”
There was no taunt in the way he said it and Brian knew it was an offhand, spur-of-the-moment remark. Then Tom slowed and asked seriously, “What’s the matter with the dog?”
“It’s hurt, Tom,” Brian said. “I’ll bet its leg’s broken.”
Tom came to a complete stop and asked with sincere interest, “Are you sure?”
“I don’t know. He can’t move it at all, and the little fella yelps whenever I touch it.”
Tom shot a look backward at their nearest pursuer, who was gaining rapidly.
“Take off your coat, Brian.”
“What for?”
“Just take if off,” Tom repeated, at the same time unsnapping his own parka. He laid it out on the snow and asked Brian to do the same, then he lapped them across one another. As Brian settled the dog gently on the makeshift sling, Tom carefully wrapped the trembling body. Then he worked the coats around until the snapped sides were underneath, providing a snug, hammocklike cradle.
“Grab the sleeves on your side, Brian.”
Brian picked up two sleeves and Tom held the sleeves on the opposite side. By the time they started again, their closest competitor was a scant hundred yards away.
Matching strides, the boys kept together as they approached the group of people waiting at the finish line, their pursuer still too far behind to catch up with them.
“If you cross that line one inch ahead of me,” Tom teased as they neared the end of the race, “I’ll wring your neck.”
“I won’t,” promised Brian, smiling.
The tips of their skis crossed the finish line so close together that the judges had no choice but to call the race a dead heat.
“I wouldn’t have believed it could happen,” the official said, but the expression on his face showed that he was glad about the way the race turned out. “I guess the only thing we can do,” he added, “is to let you share the trophy. I suggest we flip a coin to see who gets it first.”
“That’s all right with me,” Tom said.
“Okay with me too,” Brian agreed, grinning broadly.
It wasn’t exactly the kind of win either of them would have preferred, but Brian couldn’t help feeling a warm satisfaction as he and Tom watched one of the cars drive away to take the dog to a veterinarian.