Gospel Story Finder

When Sasha Strachova was 13 years old, she began to feel a yearning to know God. For months, she prayed, “Heavenly Father, I want to know thee more.”
The Lord answered her prayer. One day, two missionaries were invited to speak to the students in her school class in St. Petersburg, Russia. Something they said caught her by surprise and riveted her attention: “Men are, that they might have joy” (2 Ne. 2:25). What an unusual concept that was! “But I believed it,” says Sasha. “I felt they knew how we could have joy in life.”
Excitedly, she hurried home to share her discovery with her mother. But her mother, recently divorced and feeling burdened with life, dismissed her news and her excitement. Sasha begged for permission to attend Sunday meetings at the branch, even though it was far from where she and her mother lived. “Mama said, ‘Why do you have to travel so far?’ But I said, ‘Mama, I will go to this church.’”
The next Sunday, Sasha traveled alone by bus and subway to reach the branch. “I felt love there,” she says. “I felt life in the people. I was just starting to know about God, and I wanted very much to feel what they were feeling.”
Soon she was asking her mother if the missionaries could come to their apartment. “My mother said, ‘No, we don’t need missionaries.’ But I told her, ‘Mama, I will wash the floor every day. Please let them come.’” After a month of washing floors, Sasha convinced her mother to let the missionaries come. When they arrived, they were surprised to find the apartment crowded with 13-year-olds. Sasha had invited her entire school class! Three months later, she and two of her friends were baptized.
Sasha wanted her mother to enjoy the blessings of the gospel. “I fasted and prayed for her,” she says. “Every night I put notes on her bed. I wrote: ‘My dear mommy, God loves you so much. Please pray to him. He will certainly bless you today.’” Sasha has family home evening with her mother and still hopes she will eventually be baptized.

The other experience that led me to speak of diligence to you tonight was watching a man near the end of his priesthood service in this life. He had been a bishop twice. His first call as a bishop, years before I met him, had been when he was young. Now he was old, released for the second time as a bishop. His increasing physical limitations made any priesthood service very difficult.
Yet he had a plan to act in diligence. He sat every Sunday he could get to church near the row nearest the door where most of the people would enter for the sacrament meeting. He got there early to be sure a seat was vacant. Each person arriving could see his look of love and welcome, just as they did when he sat on the stand as their bishop. His influence warmed and lifted us because we knew something of the price he paid to serve. His task as a bishop was finished; his priesthood service did not end.

By Kyle S., Texas, USA
Photograph © iStock/Thinkstock
My parents and I listened to Elder Bednar in the October 2011 general conference when he said that working on family history would give us protection against the adversary. We started working on our family history then. I keep learning and growing from family history; it’s really fun.
I like finding out about where I’m from and about my ancestors. I learn from their experiences and use them in my life to help me be a better person. It’s amazing to discover who they were, what they did for a living, what life was like, and how hard it was for them.
For example, I enjoyed learning about one of my ancestors who moved with his family from Tennessee to Texas, USA, in the 1870s to be a cattle rancher. He faced many challenges in his life, and from him I learned that life can be hard, so it’s important to stand up for what you believe.
When I have challenges in my life, working on family history makes me feel like my ancestors are always with me and will help me through hard trials, just as Elder Bednar promised us.

Consider the tender account told of little four-year-old Sachi.

Soon after her brother was born, little Sachi began to ask her parents to leave her alone with the new baby. They decided to allow it. Elated, she went into the baby’s room and shut the door, but it opened a crack—enough for her curious parents to peek in and listen. They saw little Sachi walk quietly up to her baby brother, put her face close to his, and say quietly, “Baby, tell me what God feels like. I’m starting to forget.”

Yes, there is a forgetting, but thankfully there is also a remembering crucial to our inner peace and well-being.

I had recently returned home from a full-time mission and was blessed to find a job that would enable me to save money for college tuition. I was eager to be productive so my employer would hire other returned missionaries.
My work was simple: I did whatever odd jobs needed to be done for a construction engineering company. This often meant performing simple laboratory tests. On one particular day, I was scheduled to pick up samples of construction materials from several sites and return them to the lab. I was given an old truck to make my rounds, and off I went.
I arrived at the first site, greeted the foreman, and quickly found the samples of concrete and steel. After placing them in the truck, I reached into my pocket for the truck key. To my alarm, my pocket was empty. I checked the ignition and took a quick look around the truck cab but did not find the key. It occurred to me that I might have dropped it while walking through the construction site. As I retraced my steps, I said a silent prayer, but I still couldn’t find the key.
I then searched the truck more thoroughly, even looking under the floor mats. No key. I bowed my head and sincerely prayed, explaining that I wanted to be productive and not be delayed at the first stop of the day. I began searching again while listening for an answer to my prayer. I felt an impression to look under the truck, so I took a quick, doubting glance at the ground near my feet. I still saw no key, so I decided to make another trip around the construction site.
When I returned to the truck, I was still empty-handed. How could I tell my new employer that I had lost the key and hadn’t been able to complete such an easy task? I quietly said one more prayer, and the impression to look under the truck came again. I gave another quick glance, and when I didn’t see the key, I was about to push the impression away. But then I decided to take a few steps away from the truck and look again.
Suddenly I saw it! It must have fallen when I got out of the truck. It was just far enough under the truck that I hadn’t seen it the first two times I looked. I was ashamed that I hadn’t listened better to the promptings of the Spirit.
That day and many times since, I have reflected on how patiently and lovingly the Spirit works with me. When we sing, “I know my Father lives and loves me too” (“I Know My Father Lives,” Hymns, no. 302), my heart swells. I am amazed that our Father loves us so much that He will answer our simplest prayers.

I love hanging out with friends, but I’ve had to move a lot for my dad’s work. After I left my friends in Oklahoma to go to Texas, I had a tough freshman year and separated myself from everybody. Then I attended seminary. My seminary teachers were like angels from heaven. I opened myself up more, made friends, and went on a temple trip. Seminary was the only place outside of home where I felt like I belonged.
Bailee T., 17, Louisiana, USA

I have told this next story many times, and I want to tell it again tonight. There is a returned missionary who is attending the University of Utah, and he and his companion were called as stake missionaries because he liked his missionary work so much. They were teaching the gospel to a family, and after they’d given the second or third discussion, the father said, “I want nothing more to do with this. It’s a lot of nonsense to say that God the Father and his Son Jesus Christ would appear to a boy. I want no more of it. I don’t want you to come back at all.”

But he had a daughter who was eighteen or nineteen years of age who believed what they were saying, and after a while she asked her father if she could be baptized. He said, “no, not until you’ve reached the age of maturity. If you still feel the same way, that’s your responsibility.”

She was going out with a young man and was telling him about the Church. That’s not what he was taking her out for, and he said, “Listen, I don’t want to hear any more about this Church. We’ve talked about it before, and I don’t want to hear anything more. You may choose tonight between me and the Church.” She shed some tears; she liked this young man and thought a lot of him. After they’d talked it over, she said, “I must choose the Church, because I know it’s true.”

Now, that takes a lot of fortitude, a lot of determination, but she did it. When she went home, she was very upset. Her father noticed she was and wanted to know what was wrong. After some persuasion she told him just exactly what had happened. He said, “If the Church means that much to you, you may be baptized.” A few weeks later she was baptized, and not only her parents were there to see her baptized but also this boy who told her to choose between him and the Church. As a result, sometime later they were all three baptized, and these two young people are married and living happily together. What a sad thing it would have been had she said, “Well, I just must not give up this opportunity to be with you the rest of my life.” They’re happy. She took her stand, and she was blessed accordingly.

The Mike and Shaz Kramer family of Garwood, New Jersey, USA, held a party earlier this year to which several non–Latter-day Saint families were invited. One family arrived early so the husband could ask a question about the Church. A minister friend of his had indicated that Mormons didn’t believe in Jesus Christ. Brother Kramer said, “I simply reached over and picked up the March Ensign, with Christ’s picture on the cover, and asked, ‘Does this look like a church that doesn’t believe in Jesus?’ ” The man took the magazine with him and met with the missionaries later that week to ask more questions.

When he returned from Vietnam, we were transferred to Kentucky, where we started going to church. My husband, Rich, was the friendly antagonist in class—asking all the questions that many teachers wish would be asked somewhere else, or at least in a different setting. I kept praying that when our next orders came, we would find ourselves in an area surrounded by Latter-day Saints. I wanted so much for Rich to rub shoulders with Mormons. I prayed about it a lot.

Well, when our orders came through, they were for Stillwater, Oklahoma. I cried for three days. I didn’t think there were any Mormons in Oklahoma. But the Lord does things in his own way. In Oklahoma, we again attended the investigator class, and home teachers started coming to visit us.

The real change came one very cold January night in 1970. I decided that 1970 was going to be my year for the Church—no more being a part-Mormon, I wanted to be a total one. So the first Monday night (this was when Relief Society was on Monday), I started out in the bitter cold. Rich said, “Please don’t go.” I said, “I’ve got to. If I don’t now, I never will.”

When I arrived, I felt quite uncomfortable, for I was the only one there. It wasn’t long, however, before three others came—the presidency. Finally, we had a total of seven sisters. They really made me feel welcome. They held a testimony meeting, and everyone except me bore her testimony. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. I couldn’t wait to get home to tell my husband how I felt about the Church.

That experience kept me in Relief Society. I didn’t miss a single meeting for about six months. Finally, after testimonies were shared at the conclusion of one lesson, one sister said, “If you’re having trouble reading the Book of Mormon, start reading Third Nephi.”

I thought. Oh, am I having trouble? I can’t even get started!

That evening, I went home and opened Third Nephi and read the whole book. My husband and I were both students at the time, and after I’d finished reading it, I took it to the other room, where my husband was studying.

I handed the book to him and said, “Read this and tell me if you don’t think it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever read.”

He looked at me as if to say, “You’ve got to be kidding—at this time of night?”

But he read it. Who could not be moved by chapter 11:
“And it came to pass, as they understood they cast their eyes up again towards heaven; and behold, they saw a Man descending out of heaven; and he was clothed in a white robe; and he came down and stood in the midst of them; and the eyes of the whole multitude were turned upon him, and they durst not open their mouths, even one to another, and wist not what it meant, for they thought it was an angel that had appeared unto them.
“And it came to pass that he stretched forth his hand and spake unto the people, saying:
“Behold, I am Jesus Christ, whom the prophets testified shall come into the world.” (3 Ne. 11:8–10.)

This book was the turning point. He went on to complete the Book of Mormon—we both did. We read other Church books, prayed, and started having family home evening. Within six months, he was baptized. A year later, he baptized our son—a dream I once thought was impossible for me. This year (1972), we were sealed as a family in the temple.

I can never fully express how I feel about those scriptures that started us down the road of happiness.

Carol Conroy: “I was just baptized last Saturday. There are still a lot of things that are hard for me to do, hard to live, but there are so many great things in the Church. This weekend has been so far out! I have found a lot of answers to questions. Up until this weekend I really loved the Church and everything, but it was sort of hard for me to accept the Joseph Smith story—how he could have started this religion. Then just this morning I knew it was all true. What would this church be without him? I know he was real, a true prophet. It’s been a great conference!”

With great anticipation, my family waited in line at the Bountiful Utah Temple open house. Our guide explained to us that as we walked through the temple, we would need to wear covers over our shoes. Tens of thousands of people had already visited the temple that day, walking through rain and snow. Shoe covers would help keep the temple clean.
I assumed we would put the covers on our shoes ourselves. But when we reached the door, I saw a group of young men and young women—volunteers from a nearby stake—placing the covers onto people’s shoes. Caught by surprise, I automatically raised one foot, then the other, as a young woman assisted me. I was a little embarrassed, feeling that I could certainly have done it myself. And I doubted that the task was enjoyable, considering the cold weather, the wet and messy shoes, and her uncomfortable kneeling position. As the young woman finished, I offered an inadequate thanks. Even after she had assisted thousands of others, her smile and kind response were sincere and tender.
I felt overwhelmed by her act of service. Then suddenly I was filled with a sweet thought. If the mortal Messiah were here today, wouldn’t he also be serving in a quiet, selfless way—making that which was unclean clean? Deep emotion washed over me, and I felt the Savior’s deep love. Had he not knelt in Gethsemane and died on Golgotha to make the highest, most sacred things possible for us?
A feeling of reverence accompanied me throughout the tour. The temple was beautiful, but what I remember most happened at its doorstep.

Years ago as a stake presidency, we felt impressed to call a good man as stake clerk. At the time he was temporarily struggling with regular Church attendance. We knew, however, that if he accepted the calling, he would do a marvelous job.

We extended the call, but he replied, “No, I don’t think I can do it.”

Then an impression came. I said, “Well, I guess the Glendale stake won’t have a stake clerk then.”

Shocked, he responded, “What are you talking about? You have to have a stake clerk.”

I replied, “Do you want us now to call someone else to serve as stake clerk when the Lord impressed us to call you?”

“OK,” he said, “I’ll do it.”

And do it he did. There are not only many men but also many boys who will respond to a call when they know the Lord is calling them and that the Lord needs them.

by Kathryn S. Packer
When you see a handicapped person on the street, what do you do?
Do you look away to avoid embarrassing them?
Do you smile and say hello?
These were some of the questions presented to the youth of the Silver Spring Maryland Stake, and a whole youth conference was devoted to answering them.
The theme of the conference was “Reach Out and Help Someone,” and it focused on sensitivity and awareness of others’ needs. It was divided into two parts.
To start things out, the youth organized a party at the stake center for 31 residents of three nearby nursing homes. The youth planned carnival games, displayed and shared their hobbies, put on a talent show, and had a sing-along complete with kazoos. A roving photographer was on hand with an instant camera, providing immediate mementos for the guests.
Next on the youth conference agenda were handicapped awareness workshops. By imagining they had some of the handicaps themselves, the youth found out what it’s like to move around the stake center in a wheelchair, and how difficult it is to count money, pour milk, and eat, without the use of their eyes.
And there were workshops based on working with people who have less obvious handicaps, such as low self-esteem, depression, or suicidal tendencies.
The final awareness activity of the conference was a bit of a shock to most of the youth. As they were seated for a beautiful, all-you-can-eat brunch, blindfolds and ropes were distributed. The teens were divided into partners to help each other: one was blindfolded, the other had his “good” arm tied to his side. They were then invited to go to the buffet and help themselves.
Cary Shelton of the College Park Ward summed up, “This youth conference showed me not only that each of us has handicaps, but that we each have strengths too.”

We are counseled to seek learning and gain education for several purposes, but one of them is to involve ourselves in a love for and a knowledge of great books. And we ought to be born again a great many times as a consequence. You are involved with a large number of great teachers and important philosophies that will also help you to be born again.

One of the most pleasant and productive experiences in my life happened in 1943 as the Japanese war was taking place. I heard Dr. Adam S. Bennion give a lecture on the value of great literature. You can sell the idea of the value of great ideas to anyone. That is, we all believe that we should be acquainted with great human thought. But almost everyone gets away from its benefit by saying that he doesn’t have time to read. To get away from this objection of not having time, Dr. Bennion said, “Suppose that you were going to be a prisoner in a Japanese concentration camp for the next four years and you could take with you the works of any ten authors. Which would you take, and what would you expect to get out of them?” That is, what are the values of great ideas, of great literature? His idea was to take the ten authors you would most like to resemble and then exhaust each one in turn. That is, you would read every thought and consider every idea that a particular author had ever recorded; you would rethink his every idea. The psychologists say that when you run an idea through your brain, it makes a little groove or engram. If you run through your mind the kind of ideas that went through the mind of Shakespeare or Emerson or the apostle Paul or Moses or Jesus of Nazareth, then your brain will tend to respond as their brains did.

From someplace I got the courage to make the start. I guess Shakespeare comes fairly close to the top of most people’s lists of great authors. So I got out Shakespeare’s 37 plays, his sonnets, and his poems and went to work. Reading them was pretty difficult at first. I read very slowly and perhaps not very comprehendingly. Shakespeare wrote a long time ago, and there were many things that I did not understand. I had to reread some things several times, look up their meanings, and ask people about them. But finally the clouds began to part, a little bit of the sunlight began to come through, and I had a tremendous experience with Shakespeare. Shakespeare looked with clearer insight into human life than do most men. He said his purpose in writing was to hold the mirror up to life, to show virtue her own image and scorn her own likeness. He said, “I your looking-glass will be and will modestly discover to yourself qualities which you yourself know not of.” I had a great uplift as I read his speeches and his arguments for success. And as he pictured life in miniature with his great characters acting and reacting upon each other, I was intellectually born again—a great many times. Each time we discover some inspiring thought, we can be changed, and changed for the better.

When Charlotte Baumann stood to bear her testimony at the end of the Frankfurt Germany Stake’s youth conference, she shared an experience that many of the other teens could relate to.
“My biology class was discussing the effects of alcohol on the body,” she said. “I noted that alcohol is poison, nerve poison, and people drink it only because they think it’s fun. The class couldn’t understand that, and then I gave my opinion on it, and that led to the question of why. One boy asked me if my ideas were like the Mormons’, and then I said, ‘Well, I am a Mormon.’ At first he didn’t believe me, and I thought that was pretty funny.”
The questions continued, even into the hallway after class, which is when a thought occurred to Charlotte. “I suddenly remembered that I had the shortened version of For the Strength of Youth, and I passed it around and had people read it. I think some of them did understand me then, and maybe that will have some effect on one or the other of them.”

A few years ago I was writing about the Prophet Joseph Smith. I did not view myself as the obvious choice for that assignment, as servants of the Lord go. My credentials were more being “steadfast and immovable” (Mosiah 5:15) than being an expert on the Joseph Smith story. I had to become an expert—on the job. When you think about it, most of our work for the Lord is like that. He calls us to do things so that we can learn how to do them. I gave days and nights for more than two years to study and write about Joseph Smith. It was consuming. I love him as the prophet of the Restoration. I came to understand his single-minded devotion to the cause of Christ, his willingness to give his life for the work of the Lord. I testify to you that he was and is a prophet of God.

I wanted, more than anything, to get the story of his life right—for him. I wanted to tell of his nobility, goodness, devotion to the Savior. I could almost hear him testifying of the work of the Lord. But here’s the rub. When I finished with my writing and watched it move forward to print and screen, there was an ache in my soul. I felt it wasn’t good enough.

Day after day I walked in the cemetery near my home thinking that all those pioneers buried row upon row could somehow help me. (It was an odd place to search for peace.) I struggled with the thoughts that I had let Joseph Smith down. Worse, I had let the Lord down. Yet I had tried so hard. Perhaps some of you identify. You too may have unresolved issues or efforts in your own life. You’ve done all you can do. Your desires are righteous. You’ve put them before the Lord and hoped for resolution.

And there’s the lesson. We seek resolution, saying, “Fix this, Lord,” instead of seeking peace.

To the beleaguered Saints clutching to life in tents and dugouts along the bank of the Mississippi in 1840, the Prophet Joseph Smith said, “I intend to build a temple as great as Solomon did if the Church will back me up.” And then this personal desire: “If I can behold that temple completed . . . I will say, ‘O Lord it is enough. Let thy servant depart in peace’” (Words of Joseph Smith: The Contemporary Accounts of the Nauvoo Discourses of the Prophet Joseph Smith, comp. and ed. Andrew F. Ehat and Lyndon W. Cook [Provo: Brigham Young University, 1980], 418??). It seems a fair request from a man whose whole life was given to the Restoration, who had faced mobs, been tarred and feathered, experienced repeated financial reverses, had friends turn against him, and been unjustly jailed time and again. Would he live to see the temple completed and the power of the priesthood unite families for the eternities? No.

Two years later, in May 1842, with the temple not yet above ground and baptisms for the dead being conducted in the cellar font, Joseph Smith knew the Lord was not going to grant him his worthy wish. Without waiting to complete the temple, he invited nine men into his Red Brick store and gave them the endowment. Over the next two years, nearly sixty men and women received their endowments from the Prophet Joseph. Bathsheba Smith, my third great-grandmother, was one of them. She wrote at the time, “[We felt privileged to be] led and taught . . . by the prophet himself who explained and enlarged wonderfully upon every point” (Diary of Bathsheba Wilson Bigler Smith, in author’s possession). The work of the Restoration would roll on without him. Peace is often spoken in these words: “Not my will, but thine, be done” (Luke 22:42).

So there I was, walking in the cemetery, weeping as I talked out loud to the Lord, and knowing it was too late for Him to fix the book or documentary. The men mowing the lawns were looking at me. They thought I was talking to myself. They thought I was crazy. And then in this obscure and unlikely setting, a thought came to me. (Isn’t that the language of the Spirit?) It was this: Joseph Smith wanted more than anything to see the temple completed. He had to give the endowment in the Red Brick Store. It wasn’t the way he wanted it, but it worked. It worked for the Restoration. It worked for Joseph—he did all the Lord asked of him. So had I. “My peace I give unto you” (John 14:27) still sounds in my soul.

Our prophet has asked us to do the very best we can (“Standing Strong and Immovable,” Worldwide Leadership Training Meeting, 10 January 2004 [Salt Lake City: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 2004], 21); and the Lord has urged us to “be still and know that I am God” (D&C 101:16). I knew my offering had worked because I had felt it. Faced with the reality of his shortened tenure, Joseph Smith did the very best he could in the unfolding of the Restoration. And it worked.

Trustworthiness is a desirable trait that can be passed on to succeeding generations by example as well as by precept. Richard P. Lindsay, who now heads the Public Affairs Department of the Church, is one of the most trustworthy men I know. He can be absolutely depended upon to keep a confidence. He relates an incident that taught him a valuable lesson while he was still a young man.
The newly-married Lindsays were about to leave on a trip to California when they heard the announcement that their ward was to be divided for the first time in its seventy-five year history. Brother Lindsay’s deceased father had been the bishop of the ward for many years, and the young husband felt he had a special interest in what was to take place. But the couple would be out of town and would not be able to learn the details for some time.
Brother Lindsay’s father-in-law was serving on the high council at the time, so just before they were due to leave, Brother Lindsay approached the man and asked if he couldn’t just whisper the name of the new bishop to them moments before they left. After all, they wouldn’t be able to tell anyone else.
The high councilor drew his son-in-law aside and asked with a confidential whisper, “Can you keep a secret?”
“Certainly,” the young man assured him.
“Well, so can I.” End of conversation. But not the end of the lesson learned.

Here’s another experience I had as a bishop. One day a couple in the ward – a very sweet couple – came to see me. By the look on their faces I knew something was horribly wrong. I asked how I could help them and they quickly confessed to breaking the law of chastity on multiple occasions. I couldn’t believe it – I was really shocked.
Sometime during the conversation I asked why they had finally decided to come and see me about this. The brother related the following experience: One day he was walking past the temple on his way to campus, when a woman in a wheelchair asked him for a priesthood blessing. He was an elder, so he agreed to do it. He placed his hands on her head, and attempted to bless her, but nothing came out of his mouth – he couldn’t speak. He was unable to use the priesthood to give a blessing. He had no power. Why? Because he was unworthy, and he knew it, and he knew that God knew it.
What are the lessons here? 1) “The rights of the priesthood are inseparably connected with the powers of heaven, and ... the powers of heaven cannot be controlled nor handled only upon the principles of righteousness” (D&C 121:36). 2) Wickedness never was happiness. The only way to have a peace of conscience is to repent.

When I was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes, it was very hard for me. I had to prick my finger every two hours and get a lot of shots from my mom every day. Sometimes it hurt.
Then last year my mom and I decided to start looking for the good side of having diabetes. First, I have made new friends who also have diabetes. They help me a lot. I can help others who have diabetes by babysitting for their families or by talking and listening.
My brothers have also been blessed by learning to have patience and to be loving when I don’t feel well. The school nurse is my friend, and I’ve been blessed with Primary teachers who understand and help me. In our family we hug and support each other more.
The blessings of diabetes are all around me. I am thankful that my parents teach me to seek and find these special blessings. I know my Heavenly Father always blesses me and always will.Heidi Millett, age 8, and her mom, Queen Creek, Arizona

Now the third story, if I might skip another four years. At age sixteen, I began trying to decide what kind of career I would pursue. Two of my friends had fathers who were university professors—one of them, a physicist. I thought maybe I wanted to become a physicist or a research bacteriologist.

I was active in music, but I didn’t want to become a musician because I had noticed that very few musicians made much money. However, after prayerfully investigating a number of professions, I came to a conviction within my heart—a burning within my bosom that—after all, I was to make my contribution to the world as a musician.

When I had made that decision, I told my father and my mother. My father, who was a businessman, had little sympathy for music as a career. But when I told him I wanted to go into music, he said, “All right, son, but don’t be a second-rater.”

Those words have rung in my ears many times since then, and they have encouraged me to try to go one step higher in my creative endeavors.

Several years later, I enrolled at a college near my home that had a good music school, My first year, I entered a music composition contest and won first prize. Part of the award was that my composition would be played by the the Stockton California Symphony Orchestra. Unfortunately, however, my composition was written for a larger orchestra than the Stockton Symphony Orchestra.

I wanted so badly for my composition to be performed that I transferred to a university that had a large symphony orchestra with over 100 pieces. The first day after I had arrived there, I went to the office of the director of the symphony orchestra and asked him if the college symphony orchestra would play my piece. He said, “Leave it here; I’m busy right now, but come back next week.”

When I returned the following week, he said, “Well, it isn’t too bad. We rehearse on Monday nights. Next Monday I will let the orchestra play through it.”

Then he asked me an unexpected question: “Would you like to conduct it?” Now, if he had said, “Can you conduct it?” I would have had to answer differently, but he said, “Would you like to conduct it?” Well, who wouldn’t like to conduct a 100-piece orchestra playing his own piece?

I went home and the whole next week I checked the orchestral parts over to make sure they would really sound right. I had imagined my piece, but I had never heard it played.

All day Monday I fidgeted through my classes. I couldn’t eat my lunch. That night I sat in the front row of the auditorium and waited while the symphony orchestra rehearsed.

Finally the conductor turned around and said, “Do you have your music with you? Well, pass it out.” He introduced me to the orchestra and said, “I’m going to let him conduct.”

I waved the baton very shakily, and the music stumbled along. Players don’t like to play from handwritten music manuscript, and my manuscript was horrible. The orchestra droned and grunted along. It was a frightful experience.

Then something happened. Suddenly everything seemed to work well during the last few minutes of the piece. Instead of saying, or looking like, “How can we bear this?” the orchestra players seemed to be saying, “Not bad! Not bad!”

During the last few moments I felt as if I was raised about a meter or two off the podium—I conducted sort of instinctively, feeling that “This is why I’m alive! This is my contribution to the world!” I felt that “men are that they might have joy” was no longer just a statement in the Book of Mormon (2 Ne. 2:25), but a reality for me at that very moment.

At the end they started to applaud, and the conductor came running down the aisle, saying, “Well, the first part was quite terrible but the last part wasn’t so bad!”

On the way home that night I kept hearing that wonderful big sound of the ending, and I forgot the terror of the first part. I thought, this is how the Lord must have felt when he said that “it was good,” (See Gen. 1:4.) What a remarkable understatement the Lord made about his own work. And one reason God exists is to have joy, and what does he have joy in? In the creative act—in the act of creating a galaxy or in creating a human soul.