Gospel Story Finder

Some few years ago, before the completion of a temple in South Africa, while attending a district conference in what was then Salisbury, Rhodesia, I met the district president, Reginald J. Nield. He and his wife and lovely daughters met me as I entered the chapel. They explained to me that they had been saving their means and had been preparing for the day when they could journey to the temple of the Lord. But, oh, the temple was so far away.

At the conclusion of the meeting, the four lovely daughters asked me questions about the temple: “What is the temple like? All we have seen is a picture.” “How will we feel when we enter the temple?” “What will we remember most?” For about an hour I had the opportunity to talk to four girls about the house of the Lord. As I departed for the airport, they waved to me, and the youngest girl said, “We’ll see you in the temple!”

One year later I had the opportunity to greet the Nield family in the Salt Lake Temple. In a peaceful sealing room I had the privilege to unite for eternity, as well as for time, Brother and Sister Nield. The doors were then opened, and those beautiful daughters, each of them dressed in spotless white, entered the room. They embraced mother, then father. Tears were in their eyes, and gratitude was in their hearts. We were next to heaven. Well could each one say, “Now we are a family for eternity.”

Speaking many years ago in general conference, I told of a phrase that entered my mind as I wondered if I was prepared to serve a mission. The phrase was “You don’t know everything, but you know enough!”9 A young woman sitting in general conference that day told me that she was praying over a proposal for marriage, wondering how well she knew the young man. When I spoke the words “You don’t know everything, but you know enough,” the Spirit confirmed to her that she did know him well enough. They have been happily married for many years.

I recently observed from a distance a couple who at one time had faith in Christ but then decided to discard their belief. They were successful in the world, and they found pleasure in their intellect and the rejection of their faith.
All seemed well until the husband, still young and energetic, suddenly fell ill and died. Like an eclipse of the sun, they had blocked the light of the Son, and the result was an eclipse of hope. The wife, in her disbelief, now felt disoriented, painfully unprepared, unable to comfort her children. Her intellect had told her that her life was in perfect order until suddenly she could see no tomorrow. Her despair brought darkness and confusion.
Let me contrast her painful despair with another family’s hope in Christ during a heartbreaking time.
Twenty-one years ago the newborn son of my nephew Ben Andersen and his wife, Robbie, was life-flighted from their Idaho farming community to Salt Lake City. I arrived at the hospital, and Ben explained the severe, life-threatening complications with their baby’s heart. We placed our hands on Trey’s tiny head. The Lord blessed him with continued life.
Trey had heart surgery the first week of his life, and more surgeries followed. As the years passed, it became apparent that Trey would need a heart transplant. Although his physical activities were limited, his faith expanded. He wrote, “I have never felt sorry for myself because I have always known the importance of having faith in Jesus Christ and a testimony of the plan of salvation.”
Trey kept on his phone this well-known quote from President Nelson: “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.”
Trey wrote: “I have always looked forward to serving a full-time mission, but … my doctors won’t let me serve a mission until at least a year after my transplant. … I’ve put my faith in Jesus Christ.”
Trey was excited at being accepted into the accounting major at BYU beginning this semester, but even more excited in late July when he received the very anticipated telephone call to come to the hospital for his heart transplant.
“One year,” Trey said, “and I will be on my mission.”
There were great expectations as he entered the operating room. However, during the surgery there were devastating complications, and Trey never regained consciousness.
His mother, Robbie, said: “Friday had been the most heartbreaking day … just trying to wrap our minds around it. … I had stayed up late just trying to process everything. … But Saturday, I woke up with a feeling of absolute joy. It wasn’t just peace; it wasn’t denial. I felt joy for my son, and I felt joy as his mother. … Ben had gotten up a lot earlier than me, and when we finally got a chance to talk, Ben had awakened with the exact same feeling.”
Ben explained: “Clarity came to my soul as God taught me through His Holy Spirit. I awoke at 4:00 a.m. and was filled with indescribable peace and joy. How is this possible? … The passing of Trey is so very painful, and I miss him so much. But the Lord does not leave us comfortless. … I look forward to a joyful reunion.”
Trey had noted in his journal these words from President Nelson’s general conference talk: “It doesn’t seem possible to feel joy when your child suffers with an incurable illness or when you lose your job or when your spouse betrays you. Yet that is precisely the joy the Savior offers. His joy is constant, assuring us that our ‘afflictions shall be but a small moment’ [Doctrine and Covenants 121:7] and be consecrated to our gain.”

When I became a deacon at the age of 12, I lived in New Jersey, 50 miles (80 km) from New York City. I dreamed of being a great baseball player. My father agreed to take me to see a game played in the old and storied Yankee Stadium, in the Bronx. I can still see the swing of the bat as Joe DiMaggio hit a home run into the center field stands with my father sitting beside me, the only time we ever went to a major league baseball game together.
But another day with my father shaped my life forever. He took me from New Jersey to the home of an ordained patriarch in Salt Lake City. I had never seen the man before. My father left me at the doorstep. The patriarch led me to a chair, placed his hands on my head, and pronounced a blessing as a gift from God that included a declaration of the great desire of my heart.
He said that I was one of those of whom it had been said, “Blessed are the peacemakers.” I was so surprised that a perfect stranger could know my heart that I opened my eyes to see the room where such a miracle was happening. That blessing of my possibilities has shaped my life, my marriage, and my priesthood service.

Uncle Jack had been a policeman most of his life. His job was to help people who needed help. He used his radio to hear about people in trouble, his patrol car to get there in a hurry, and his badge to tell people he was a friend. He also used his fast legs, strong arms, and smart brain to come to the rescue.
Lots of people counted on Uncle Jack.
When Uncle Jack became a grandpa, he decided to put away his radio, his police car, and his badge and do something less dangerous. He didn’t like giving up the trusty aids that had helped him, but he decided that there were other ways to help people. So he began working as a security guard, making sure that the school buses were kept safe at night. He counted each bus as it came home after its long day of carrying children to and from school. Then he parked the buses all together in a huge building. Even though he didn’t need his radio, his fast car, or his badge to keep the buses safe, he did miss his old aids. Now the only aid he really needed was his big flashlight.
Because he cared about the children who would ride the buses the next morning, he walked around the building each night with his bright light, checking every door to make sure that no one could break in and cause problems.
One wintry night after Uncle Jack finished his job and got in his car to drive home, he heard the voice of the Holy Ghost whisper in his mind, “Go back into the building.” Uncle Jack thought, I have a long ride home. I’m hungry and tired, and I’d have to turn off the alarm before I could open the giant door.
He decided to keep driving.
About two blocks farther, the voice came again. This time it wasn’t a whisper. “Go back into the building.” But Uncle Jack just kept on driving.
About three blocks farther, he heard the voice for the third time. This time it was as loud as the crack of a baseball bat hitting a home run! Uncle Jack turned the car around, drove to the giant door, and left his car headlights shining on it. Then he turned off the alarm and began raising the heavy door.
As the door went up, the car lights shone brightly on a small boy standing alone in the darkness of the building. As Uncle Jack walked closer, he could see that the child’s face was streaked with tears.
He was a kindergartner who had fallen asleep in the back of the bus where no one had noticed. “I prayed that someone would help me,” the boy said. “I prayed and prayed.”
“Heavenly Father heard your prayer,” Uncle Jack told him. “I used to get messages over the police radio in my car, but this time Heavenly Father sent me a message through the Holy Ghost.”
Uncle Jack helped the lost boy find his parents, and everyone was safe and warm at home that night.
Even though he no longer had a fast car, a badge, or a radio to receive messages on, Uncle Jack was still in the business of helping people. Messages from the Holy Ghost had become his most important aid.

The ice glowed with a cold bluish hue around the edges of the rink, but in the middle, it was white where the cutting edges of skates had scarred the smooth surface. Huddled to one side of the rink was a group of toddlers, rocking unsteadily on the narrow blades as they clung to their mothers. It was the first time most of them had ever seen a skating rink, and it would be their first experience with ice skating.
One little girl with straight blonde hair was anxious to get started. Her mother helped her onto the ice. She tried a few running steps, but the skates slid out from under her. She went down hard, falling back and hitting her head with a resounding crack on the ice. The cry was one of sincere pain. Holly Cook, the toddler, wanted to end her skating career then and there.
“On my fourth birthday, Mom took me down to the ice rink which had just opened and signed me up for a group lesson. When I hit my head, I didn’t want to go back on the ice after that.”
But she did. Holly’s mother wiped away the tears, comforted her, then helped her again stand on the ice.
As a four-year-old, Holly Cook did try again, and since that time trying again has become a part of her daily life. She has spent hours and hours perfecting the intricate moves that make figure skating look deceptively simple when she’s on the ice. For 11 years she has honed her talent, skill, and grace, until now at age 15 she is one of the best—one of the 10 best women figure skaters in the United States and in the world. Competing in her first senior Nationals, Holly came in tenth. In her first international competition in Yugoslavia, she placed eighth. Just a few months ago in an international skating competition known as the Coupes des Alpes, she took first.
Get out the scrapbooks with the clippings and photographs of Holly’s skating career, and the picture of her after the first competition will tell you all you need to know about why she has been successful. There she is at six-and-a-half, standing in third place holding her little ribbon, with her eyes glued on the trophy in the first-place winner’s hands. The look in her eye is everything. It is a look of pure resolve, a look that says next time the trophy will be hers.
Holly’s mother, Marge, noticed the look also. “That’s when I realized her determination. The girl who placed above her had an axel in her routine. Holly didn’t do that yet. She came home and went right to work learning it. I realized then that she had something special. She would fall and fall but keep on trying.”
Her teacher and coach, Chris Sherard also noticed the determination and talent of young Holly. “She was all business even as a six-year-old. She knew what she was supposed to do. She didn’t agonize over every performance. On the outside, she’s different than on the inside. Outside she’s a nice kid and tries not to hurt feelings. When she skates, her inner self comes out, and she becomes aggressive and strong. She wants to compete. I think the combination is nice.”
Holly is approaching a critical period in her skating. She is entering senior high school and needs to either make a commitment to skating or relax and become involved more in school. “Everybody decides in about ninth grade,” Holly explains, “if they really want to skate or not. You have to decide whether to be involved in all the high school activities or to stick with skating. I’ve been skating well and working hard. Now I want to stick with it.”
It isn’t always easy to stay with a schedule when it includes five or six hours a day on the ice. A typical day goes something like this. Holly wakes up at 4:30 in the morning and gets ready for school. She heads for the skating rink and skates from 5:30 to 7:30. Then it’s off to school by 8:00. She’s in school until 2:00 since she’s allowed to skip her seventh period class. Then it’s back to the rink for more practice from 2:00 until 5:00. At 6:00 it’s dinner and homework, a short time to relax, then to bed.
Holly has learned how to deal with the ups and downs of skating. “There is always a point when you want to just quit. If you stick with it, things turn out for the better. I know when I have really bad days, when I just want to throw in the towel and say bag it, that everybody has bad days. You have to just realize that it happens. I have to think, ‘I’ll stick with it.’”
And Holly has a pretty clear view of how things should be in big competitions. “There are a lot of big heads. I don’t want to get like that. I want to stay laid back and skate for the fun of it. A lot of skaters skate because others want them to, but I just don’t want to do that.” Her parents agree. Holly is the youngest of six children, and they want her to skate as long as it is making her happy.
For Holly, doing well in her skating routines has brought a lot of satisfaction. “At the last Nationals, I had the best long program I have ever, ever skated. When I got off the ice, the crowd was great. I love the crowd. It was fun to hear them clapping for me. I had tears in my eyes. I was happy with myself.”
But not all competitions go smoothly. “There are some competitions where I do well and others when I do bad. Sometimes you just don’t feel like skating. Other times you’re just rarin’ to go. And those competitions are the ones you pull off.”
When asked to analyze her own style of skating, Holly is quick to point out her strengths and weaknesses. “I like powerful skating. I like the fast portions of my routines. I’ve been told I skate like a boy,” Holly says with some chagrin. “My favorite move is a cantilever. It’s fun to do. Girls don’t do that move in their routines. But right now I’m working on my maturity. That’s how I present myself, keeping the body up, standing up straight and working with my arms. Then I’m going to work on the consistency of my jumps.”
As a Mia Maid in the Bountiful Utah 53rd Ward, Holly has had the support of her Young Women leaders and the other young people in the ward. Susan Larson, the Young Women president and formerly Holly’s teacher, says, “Holly is just so genuine and friendly. She’s lots of fun to have around and fits in easily. There is no envy from the young people. They are all just so proud of her. Everyone is excited about her successes. And we’re touched when she bears her testimony about how she prays and feels that the Lord is with her.”
Holly has found that religious faith has given her something to talk about with skaters of other religions. And she finds the opportunity to bear her testimony. “I was talking to a Catholic skater one time when we got onto the subject of religion,” said Holly. “We were just talking and comparing what he thinks is true and what I think is true. It’s good to learn more about other religions and other people.”
Back to the scrapbooks. There’s a picture of Holly during her first time at Nationals. At 14, she was still competing in the junior division. Just like the picture when she was six, she’s standing on the riser in third place. But this time, her eyes are straight ahead. There is no sidelong glance at the first-place trophy. The smile is bright, and the look is still determined. She obviously knows she has done as well as she could and better than nearly everyone expected.
“My biggest goal,” said Holly, “is to skate my best at competitions, to show myself that I can do it. And if I do skate my best, then it will take me somewhere. Everybody wants to go to the Olympics. I don’t want to think about it because it puts too much pressure on people. When I push myself too much, that’s when I don’t do as well.”
One person who would have loved to watch this young woman develop her skill on the ice is Holly’s grandfather. He knew the lure of speed and grace on the slippery surface. He himself was a speed skater, and he taught his little girl, Holly’s mother, to skate. But he did not live to see his granddaughter follow in his blade marks.
Still Holly is influenced by him and the stories of him her mother has told her. “I hope that he has seen me skate. I think of him even though I didn’t know him. I think of how he used to skate, then my mom skated, and now I skate. And I wonder if my children and grandchildren will skate too. Sometimes I skate remembering my grandfather, and that encourages me.”
And the scrapbooks continue to be filled with clippings of triumphs on the ice and photographs of a young girl with a look of assurance that she is pursuing her talents and doing the best she can. But somewhere, lingering around the eyes, is the look that was once on the face of a six-year-old, a look of pure determination.

Years later I received a similar call late at night in a hotel in Japan. I was then the new commissioner of education for the Church. I knew that President Gordon B. Hinckley was staying somewhere in that same hotel on his separate assignment to Japan. I answered the ringing phone just after I had lain down on the bed to sleep, exhausted by having done all I thought I had the strength to do.

President Hinckley asked in his pleasant voice, “Why are you sleeping when I am here reading a manuscript that we have been asked to review?” So I got up and went to work, even though I knew that President Hinckley could give a better review of a manuscript than I could possibly do. But somehow he made me feel that he needed my help.

On Friday morning, Johnny looked happy. He had finally decided on a project. “Let’s go through our toys and clothes. Richard’s family is having a hard time since his dad was hurt. We could give them some of our things.”
“What a great idea, Johnny,” Susan said. “I’ll write a note, and we can sneak up and deliver the things without them seeing us.”
The children were amazed at the many nice things they found that would be just right for someone in Richard’s family. They decided to give puzzles, a teddy bear, a ball, a baseball mitt, books, and some outgrown clothes that were still as good as new.
Mom came by and added two good blankets and some canned food to the pile.
“Wow,” said Johnny. “This looks great!” The children carted their box to Richard’s home. They left it by the front door with a note that said:
To Richard’s family—
Here is a gift to let you know we care.
The Sunshine Club

When my wife and I were married in the Tokyo Japan Temple 10 years ago, we set a goal to attend the temple at least once a month together. But soon after, I was called to serve as a temple worker every Friday by the Tokyo Temple presidency.

I was thrilled to be able to serve, but life was also a bit busy at the time. I was in my senior year of university, and it was difficult balancing school with my part-time job at a law firm, our monthly temple trips as a couple, and now an extra temple shift every Friday.

In the midst of this extremely hectic period, we prayerfully discussed the matter as husband and wife, and we decided that we would always make the temple a priority in our lives. We knew it would be hard at times, but we wanted to keep our relationship strong and invite blessings and peace into our home.

It was through these sacrifices to serve in the temple that I truly realized how much of a positive difference the temple makes in my life. The temple helps us grow spiritually in unique ways, and the blessings we invite into our homes when we make time to go are unmatched.

In recent years, President Russell M. Nelson has emphasized the importance of the temple in our lives: “The assaults of the adversary are increasing exponentially, in intensity and in variety. Our need to be in the temple on a regular basis has never been greater. I plead with you to take a prayerful look at how you spend your time. Invest time in your future and in that of your family. … I promise you that the Lord will bring the miracles He knows you need as you make sacrifices to serve and worship in His temples.”1

As we have made sacrifices to attend the temple on a regular basis, the Lord has continued to bless my family and me with these miracles.

I’ve come to know that our prophets and apostles emphasize the importance of the temple in our lives because they know of the blessings the Lord offers us when we enter His holy house, blessings we can only receive through the ordinances of the temple. Visiting often—or, if we’re unable to visit, keeping our covenants and striving to stay worthy of a temple recommend2—will help us spiritually thrive and find peace, even when the world is increasingly turbulent.

I am thankful for the covenants I have made and for how the temple helps me feel close to the Lord. And I’m especially grateful for the spiritual strength the temple has brought into my relationship with my family and into our home. As you prioritize the temple in your life and strive to be “recommended to the Lord,”3 you will experience the joy and miracles the prophet has promised to us.

In an interview with the Church magazines, young adults share how going to the temple strengthens their faith and brings joy to their lives.

Michito Matsuoka lives in the Kanto region of Japan, where he works for a law firm. He is a loving husband and the father of six children. He and his family love the temple very much.

In my association with some dear friends, I saw how we can be supported by the Savior’s Atonement through difficult times in our lives as we “hold fast the confidence” in Him. I first met Bishop Mervin and Dorothy Prince of New Harmony, Utah, when I was called as stake president of the Cedar City University 3rd Stake in March of 1999. They were both healthy, energetic members of the Church. Bishop Prince was the bishop of one of the young single adult wards in our stake, and Sister Prince was our stake librarian. I came to know and love them deeply, and I learned some of life’s most important lessons from their example. Their experience gives convincing evidence of how the Savior reaches out to us in our time of trouble. I realize that their story of faith and courage is like many others who have also suffered—some of whom are attending this devotional today. I share the Prince’s story today with their permission.

Being the bishop of a young single adult ward requires a considerable amount of time. In addition to the regular church meetings on Sunday, there are many administrative meetings and activities to attend. But what takes a great deal of time are the hours of interviewing and counseling members. Being a bishop of a young single adult ward is a big job. During many of those hours of service, rarely did I ever see Bishop Prince without Sister Prince. They would drive together from New Harmony to Cedar City, about a 30-minute drive, almost every Sunday. She would serve in the stake library, attend the block of meetings and then wait by her husband’s office door until he was done interviewing so they could go home together. Many times she would do her cross-stitch while she waited and visit with the members. The precious time they spent with those young people was something they both cherished.

Early in the fall of 1999, several weeks had gone by, and I had not seen Sister Prince. So, I asked Bishop Prince one Sunday afternoon where his wife was. He said the reason why I had not seen her was due to a terrible cold, which had turned into pneumonia. Hearing this, I asked if there was anything I could do to help. He said that I should not worry. He reassured me that she was starting to feel a little better. He felt she would be back to her daily routine within the upcoming week. Fortunately, I did see Sister Prince that next Sunday, but I could tell she still wasn’t back to full strength, and I noticed that she had developed a deep cough. In spite of this, she seemed happy and in good spirits. As the weeks went by, I saw less and less of her. In a monthly priesthood interview I had with Bishop Prince, I inquired again about Sister Prince. He said that she still had a bad cough that just would not go away. He said that she had made another appointment to see her doctor.

Several weeks after that interview, I received a telephone call one evening at home. It was Bishop Prince. He said, “I’m calling to tell you that Dorothy visited the doctor to see if he could help her with the cough she had. He ordered an x-ray of her lungs. When he examined the x-ray, he noticed some spots there and referred her to another doctor. More tests were done. She was then referred to a cancer specialist and he has discovered that Dorothy is full of cancer. She has been told that she only has four to six months to live. She is wondering if you would give her a blessing.”

The blessing was given but with no promise of healing. Then came the brutal treatments of chemotherapy with one gloomy prognosis after another and little help to stop the spread of the cancer or the pain. Through it all, I witnessed from them complete submission to the Lord without complaint or blame. In every conversation I had with them during this difficult time they lovingly expressed their deep gratitude and faith in Heavenly Father and for the atonement of Jesus Christ. They “held fast to the confidence and rejoiced in the hope” of the power of the Atonement “firm unto the end.” They did not let go of the Lord, and He did not let go of them. The Lord had promised them that “even to your old age I am he; and even to [gray] hairs will I carry you: I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and I will deliver you.”[18] He supported them and filled them with hope, lightened their load, and calmed their troubled hearts. With that support, on a beautiful spring day surrounded by her loved ones, Sister Dorothy Prince quietly and peacefully was delivered from her pain and suffering and passed from mortality to the world of spirits. Bishop Prince confidently and patiently now waits for the day when they will be united together again forever.

One student said to me, “All my mature life I’ve had trouble with bad thoughts—even during my mission. Whenever I was asked the question ’Are you morally clean?’ I answered yes because I was considering my practices. But I always had some plaguing feelings about my thoughts.” We were walking into a final examination one day when he said, “Brother Covey, I can look you in the eye today and say, ’I am morally clean, right to my core.’” What did he do? For a period of several months he feasted on the words of Christ, asked the Lord for a heightened awareness of temptation, turned immediately at the very first onset of that temptation and did worthy things, went back to his divine purposes and his work. Elder Packer said, “Hum a hymn. Memorize a scripture.” And this young man did it. The Holy Ghost. I believe, purged much of that other disposition right out of his nature.

Over the years I have had problems that I have not been able to overcome by myself. Once when I had such a problem, I remembered President Benson’s challenge to read the Book of Mormon. I took the book from the shelf and began to read. I was surprised! The answers to my problems were there in the scriptures.
From that time on, the scriptures have become very special to me, and I have learned to consult the scriptures whenever I have a problem. The Lord gave us the scriptures for our instruction and to comfort us when we are feeling low. They guide us along the right path.
Gilbert F. Ceniza, 19Tetuan Ward, Zamboanga StakePhilippines

The Church magazine arrived that week, and I found several articles that focused on the Sabbath. I read it from cover to cover to see what the Church leaders had said on the subject. I made an elaborate list of “don’ts” for the Sabbath and resolved I was going to keep the Sabbath holy, even if it killed me.
The next Sunday I found myself wondering what to do. I was following the letter of the law but not the spirit of the Sabbath, and something was definitely missing. The hockey episode took place near Christmas, and January had its share of Sundays, but no Sabbaths.
Then in February a new convert named Keith moved into our small branch. He had been a member for five months and had the enthusiasm of four new missionaries in one. When the college we attended announced a foster grandparent program involving a local rest home, Keith suggested that we, the only LDS students on campus, should join and be good examples. We talked about visiting two branch members who lived in the rest home, but we took no action.
Then one Sunday President Harrison gave a talk on faith. He said faith was putting your words and beliefs in action. That afternoon Keith and I decided to visit the sisters in the rest home.
Our first visit was a disaster. We visited each sister alone, and we didn’t really get beyond “How are you?” “Fine.” As we left we knew to things: first, they needed us; second, we could do better. And even though we spent much of the next Sunday afternoon driving the 150 miles home from district conference, Keith and I convinced Les Harrison, his sister LeAnn, and Portia (a nursing student) to visit the women with us.
We wheeled both sisters into a quiet corner. Keith read an article from a Church magazine, Les read a scripture, and Portia offered a beautiful prayer. We felt good about the experience, and the next Sunday we came with seven Young Adults and youth. With President Harrison’s permission, Les and Keith blessed the sacrament and passed it to the sisters. We then wheeled them into a small chapel in the rest home and sang a hymn. We took turns reading an article from the Church magazines, then a poem and a scripture. We had a closing hymn and prayer.
It was three o’clock before we left, and since we were all hungry, Les invited us to his house for soup and crackers. So that Sunday afternoon I was again in the branch president’s home—but this time it was very different from the Sunday I went there looking for someone to play ice hockey. During the week the seven of us were scattered about the town, and many of us were without families in the Church. But for two hours that Sunday afternoon, we sat around the table and talked with each other and Les’s parents, sharing jokes, stories, and the problems of being lone Latter-day Saints out in the mission field. It was truly an inspiring experience.
When I finally returned home at ten o’clock after several other meetings, I had no time left to work on my genealogy or write a letter to a missionary as I had planned. As I knelt for prayer that night, I realized there were more “dos” for the Sabbath than I could ever fit into one short day. I thanked my Heavenly Father for the special day he had set apart to bless us.

Sister Craig described what happened when she asked herself the following questions:
“What am I doing that I should stop doing?” and “What am I not doing that I should start doing?”
Months ago, during the sacrament, I asked myself these questions and was surprised by the impression that came. “Stop looking at your phone when you are waiting in lines.” Looking at my phone in lines had become almost automatic; I found it a good time to multitask, catch up on email, look at headlines, or scroll through a social media feed.
The next morning, I found myself waiting in a long line at the store. I pulled out my phone and then remembered the impression I had received. I put my phone away and looked around. I saw an elderly gentleman in line ahead of me. His cart was empty except for a few cans of cat food. I felt a little awkward but said something really clever like, “I can see you have a cat.” He said that a storm was coming, and he did not want to be caught without cat food. We visited briefly, and then he turned to me and said, “You know, I haven’t told anyone this, but today is my birthday.” My heart melted. I wished him a happy birthday and offered a silent prayer of thanks that I had not been on my phone and missed an opportunity to truly see and connect with another person who needed it.
With all of my heart I do not want to be like the priest or the Levite on the road to Jericho—one who looks and passes by. But too often I think I am.

In late 1987, after a bloodless military coup, the new Fijian government declared it illegal for public transport to operate on Sunday. This posed little problem for people who belong to the country’s dominant Christian religion—there is a church in every village. But many Latter-day Saints live far from their branch or ward headquarters.
Vilisi and Fai Ucunibaravi and their six children decided that they would walk the twelve kilometers from their home to the Nausori chapel each Sunday. “Some people would laugh at us, and they wouldn’t stop to give us rides,” says Sister Ucunibaravi. “But that was all right. Our hearts were there before we left home.”

The tenacity and determination that took Bernard Lefrandt through jungles and enemy territory now found a purpose in the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Bert and Nora became faithful servants and pioneers not only in the Netherlands, but in New Guinea, where Bert was later transferred by the Dutch government from 1954 to 1956. There the Lefrandts held Sunday School and sacrament meeting in their home for their family and the two other members stationed in New Guinea. Bert introduced the gospel to other naval officers and held monthly meetings with local priests and church ministers to teach them about the Restoration and the Book of Mormon.
Always mindful of God’s goodness to their family, Bert and Nora exemplified His love and generosity, earning a reputation of fairness, generosity, and open-mindedness wherever they went. Bert spoke enthusiastically about the gospel whenever the opportunity arose, and he left New Guinea having given away a large supply of Church books and pamphlets in an effort to build the kingdom.

In San Antonio, Texas, I met a man who had married a faithful Latter-day Saint girl. He was not a member of the Church, and they made an agreement that they would not discuss or argue about religion. His wife was true to her commitment, but shortly after they were married the missionaries came calling. He remained true to his commitment and didn’t argue or complain, and the missionaries just kept coming. He went through so many sets of missionaries he lost count. Three years went by, but he still remained indifferent to the gospel. He was a good man; he was just not willing to expend the faith necessary to believe.

One evening he came home from work, and his wife said, “The missionaries are coming tonight.”
He thought to himself, “Oh, no. Not again! Haven’t I been through this enough already?”
But that night was different. An older stake missionary was with the elders, and as they began the lesson, he said to this man, “It’s time you joined the Church. You need to make the decision now!”
And he heard himself saying, “I know. You’re right. It is time.”
As he said those words, he felt a powerful confirmation of the Spirit and knew it was true.
He later said to me, “I really didn’t know until that moment, but then I knew with a confirmation that I could not deny.” His one step of faith into darkness opened the door to the confirming Spirit.

Some years ago, when Howard S. McDonald was inaugurated as president of Brigham Young University, in the inaugural address entitled “The Glory of God Is Intelligence,” Dr. Edwin A. Lee said:
While I was an undergraduate at Columbia University, there was a man in attendance already known as the perennial student. He had been left a modest but adequate bequest with the stipulation that it should continue as long as he was engaged in collegiate study: thereafter, the income was to be given to charity. When I returned for graduate work twelve years later, he was still there and he remained a student until he died just a few years ago. It was said that he had been granted every degree offered by Columbia and had taken practically every course. He was a man who was the epitome of erudition. No field of knowledge was foreign to him. He was probably more widely-read than the best of his professors. He was a cultured gentleman. But, he was not a truly intelligent man. Certainly such intelligence as he possessed was not that which is the Glory of God. Inherently he was selfish. He never married. He was without ambition or influence. He was a joke to the students and a freak to the faculty. He knew a prodigious lot, but his real index of intelligence was low, no matter what his I.Q. [Inauguration Services of Howard S. McDonald, 14 November 1945, in BYU Archives, p. 34]
And so knowledge of facts alone can be of little value.

Until then, though, we must be steadfast and immovable. I saw that in a wise owl this past summer. On June 21 of 2018, I made this journal entry:

My office day began with a weekly one-on-one with [Academic Vice President] Kelly Burgener. He consented to join me in the Ricks Gardens, where we had a table to ourselves in a stone alcove, enjoying the shade of a giant cottonwood tree.

Unfortunately, we didn’t have the tree to ourselves, as a large crow had chosen a branch directly above us as his perch. The crow’s presence would have gone unnoticed had it not been for his constant, ear-splitting cawing.

I looked up several times, in annoyance, before noticing the crow’s reason for making such a ruckus. No more than a foot from the crow sat a motionless owl, whose mottled plumage matched the hue and texture of the cottonwood’s bark. The crow was clearly engaged in a turf war with the owl. But the owl seemed unconcerned, even oblivious.

For much of my hour with President Burgener, I wished that the owl would fly off or perhaps give the crow a piece of its mind, even brandish a talon. But I finally recognized the obvious moral of this story. The owl must have known that its far greater strength, as well as its sharper talons and beak, made the crow’s bluster irrelevant. There was no need to waste any energy or plumage on the mocking crow.

That is a marvelous metaphor for any work we do in the Lord’s service. Because of the importance of the work, noisy crows will inevitably gather and threaten. But they pose no real threat. They can impede our progress only if we make the mistake of engaging them or merely becoming distracted from our destination. The proverbial dogs may bark, but the Lord’s caravan moves on.

Christopher smiled. Now he understood. The Holy Ghost had been talking to him, even if he didn’t hear the still, small voice with his ears! Now he said excitedly, “What about last week when I gave my talk in Primary? I’d studied it really hard, but when I got up, I couldn’t remember it. Then I said a quick, little prayer, and suddenly my talk came back to me. That was the Holy Ghost, too, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “Helping you remember things is also a part of the gift of the Holy Ghost.”