Gospel Story Finder

President Thomas S. Monson told a story about a man from the east who was traveling by bus to San Francisco. In Salt Lake City a Primary girl got on the bus and sat next to the man. As they started talking, he asked her if she was a Mormon. She answered yes. He asked her what Mormons believe. It was a big question for such a young girl. What would you have said? Imagine the look on the man’s face as she recited and explained the Articles of Faith. He couldn’t believe it!

After she got off the bus, the man thought about her courage and knowledge. As soon as he arrived in San Francisco, he looked in the telephone directory for the Church’s phone number, then called the local mission president and asked questions about the Church. The mission president sent missionaries to see him, and later the man’s entire family was baptized—all because a Primary girl knew and understood the Articles of Faith and had the courage to share them. (See Ensign, April 1994, pages 67–68.)

Every year my family gets lots of peaches from my aunt’s tree. Whenever we get them my mom has all four kids help peel them, cut them in half, and put them into jars. None of us likes to help can the peaches, but we help anyway. We would want to do other things, like go to a friend’s house or watch TV. Last fall when my mom asked me if I would help with the peaches, I decided to help but with a good attitude this time. As we were canning, I noticed that we all were talking and laughing and having a good time. That was the most fun time I had canning peaches, and it took less time than I thought.
Katie W., age 12, Utah

I clenched my fists, bit my lip, and kicked the ball that was rolling toward me. Then I frowned as I watched it soar out of bounds instead of going into the goal.
A girl named Nan had been standing by the fence watching our game. She ran to pick up the ball, tripping in her excitement. Everyone laughed. No one thanked her as she threw the ball back to us.
I felt guilty. I knew Nan wanted to play, but I didn’t want to be the one to invite her.
Nan was quiet, with messy brown hair, thick glasses, and a squeaky voice. She didn’t have one friend in our whole class. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her. I had just never talked to her.
That afternoon our teacher announced that she was going to move our desks around. She would make a new seating chart.
The room buzzed with excitement. My best friend, LeAnna, and I smiled at each other.
Just then Caroline leaned toward me. “I heard Nan tell Mrs. Martin she wants to sit by you. Gross!”
I sat in shock. “Why me?” I wondered. I had never been mean to Nan, but I had never been nice to her either.
“Tell the teacher you don’t want to sit by her,” Caroline whispered. “Otherwise no one will want to sit by you.”
I looked at Nan. Her head was lowered. She must have known what everyone in the room was thinking.
Mrs. Martin called me up to her desk. I knew Nan was a child of God and that Jesus said to love everyone. But if I became friends with Nan, everyone would think I was weird.
“Who do you want to sit by?” Mrs. Martin asked me.
“LeAnna,” I said. That was easy.
Mrs. Martin smiled. “Would you be willing to sit by Nan too?”
I looked down at the floor and whispered, “I’d rather not.”
Mrs. Martin looked surprised. “Are you sure, Angie?”
“Yes,” I muttered.
The next day our desks were rearranged. I sat by LeAnna. Nan was across the room. The two girls sitting by her pushed their desks away from hers so it looked like she was sitting alone. She looked like she was going to cry.
A few weeks later Nan changed schools. A girl in my ward went to that school, and I asked her if she had met a new girl named Nan.
“I think so. What does she look like?” she asked.
“Well, she’s really quiet. Her hair is messy, and she wears thick glasses. No one in my class liked her.”
“Really? It must not be the same girl,” she said. “The new girl I know is really fun. Everyone likes her. She’s a great football player.”
I thought about the day Nan had watched us playing football. She only needed a chance and a friend. And I could have given her both.
That day I made a promise to myself to always be nice to everyone and never let a girl like Nan slip by me without trying to be her friend.

In 1951 and 1952, I attended the Frankfurt branch, which was not as big as the one in Zwickau. The Frankfurt meetinghouse was small, and we had classes in the basement. The missionaries taught us important gospel principles. One missionary, Elder Stringham, impressed me very much with his lessons on the Pearl of Great Price, especially where Moses is being taught that he is a Son of God. Elder Stringham also taught me the scripture that says, “If God be for us, who can be against us?” (Rom. 8:31). This gave me comfort and courage, because at that time, the future looked bleak in Germany. The city of Frankfurt was in ruins with bombed-out buildings. That teaching has stayed with me throughout my life. It taught me that I need to be on the Lord’s side. I cannot afford not to be on the Lord’s side.

Several years ago a severe storm hit the area in which we were living. It began with a torrential downpour, followed by a devastating easterly wind. When the storm was over, damages were assessed—power lines were down, property had been damaged, and many of the beautiful trees that grew in the area had been uprooted. A few days later I was talking to a friend who had lost several of the trees in his yard. The trees on one side of his home were standing straight and tall. They had weathered the storm well, while the trees that were in what I considered the prime spot on his property had not been able to withstand the heavy winds. He pointed out to me that the trees that survived the storm were planted on firm ground; their roots had to sink deep into the soil to receive nourishment. The trees he had lost were planted near a small stream, where nourishment was readily available. The roots were shallow. They were not anchored deeply enough to protect them from the storm.

I have learned of the love of these Saints for the Lord. I have seen their great desires to attend these conferences. I remember the ten Saints from Tijuana, Mexico, who, after four months of working and saving, finally obtained enough money to purchase their tickets for the 48-hour bus ride to Mexico City. When they were told there were no seats available for the long trip, they replied, “It does not matter. We will be happy to stand in the aisles for a chance to hear the prophet.” As you would expect, in the spirit of the gospel, everyone on the bus rotated seats so that all could sit some of the time.

Teaching English in Wuhan, China, was an amazing experience. I had always wanted to go somewhere and do something service oriented, and this was the perfect opportunity. I was part of a volunteer program organized by a college professor. I found that I loved teaching. Even more, I loved getting to know the students, the Chinese teachers, and the other volunteers. But one thing was tough for me.
We signed contracts as we joined the program stating that we couldn’t say anything about religion. If we did we would be sent home. I spent a lot of time thinking about that. I cared a lot about these people. They were my friends now, and they didn’t have the gospel. But I kept my promise.
When I returned to Brigham Young University, however, I found myself thinking that although I had given service, I still had more I wanted to give. I kept thinking how much I would like to teach people the gospel so they could know what I know. I spent a whole semester thinking about applying to serve a full-time mission. I have always wanted to serve, but I needed to know that’s what the Lord wanted me to do.
I received good advice from my brother and my two brothers-in-law, just by speaking with them about their own mission experiences that were so life-changing. And I talked with my dad, because not only is he my dad, but he’s also my home-ward bishop. No one ever made me feel pressured or pushed. They just encouraged me to listen to the Spirit and do what was right.
I fasted. I prayed. I searched my soul. And I listened to general conference. When I heard Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles give his address, “Now Is the Time to Serve a Mission!” it seemed that the Lord was speaking directly to me through him. (See Ensign, May 2006, 87.)
I made the decision to submit my application. I was excited, but I was also a little scared. I think much of the anxiety came from not knowing where I was going to go. My father called me several times up at school, giving me words of encouragement. I think my experience was bringing back memories of his mission, and he had a lot of neat experiences to share.
Even though I was at school, I asked for my call to be sent to my parents’ home in Tempe, Arizona. When the envelope arrived, my dad set up a conference call, so there was my family in Tempe, Tucson, and Mesa. We all sang the hymn “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go,” and I was definitely wondering where that would be. But as soon as my mom read I was going to Asunción, Paraguay, I felt an overwhelming peace and comfort. I haven’t had a moment’s worry since. I know that’s where the Lord wants me to go, 100 percent. And this time as I go to serve, I don’t have to worry—I can talk about the gospel with everyone I meet.
“With reference to young sister missionaries, there has been some misunderstanding of earlier counsel regarding single sisters serving as missionaries. We need some young women. They perform a remarkable work. They can get in homes where the elders cannot. But it should be kept in mind that young sisters are not under obligation to go on missions. They should not feel that they have a duty comparable to that of young men, but some will wish to go. If so, they should counsel with their bishop as well as their parents.”President Gordon B. Hinckley, “To the Bishops of the Church,” Worldwide Leadership Training Meeting, June 2004, 27.

One woman endured a time of darkness when her eight-year-old son was killed in an accident. “My once-faithful testimony of Jesus Christ and life after death was seriously challenged,” she recalls. “My faith in him seemed shattered. But my doubt was not a rejection of eternal truths, only fear of the unknown. Like the father who beseeched the Savior to heal his child and cried, ‘Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief’ (Mark 9:24), I too cried out in anxious prayers.

“That was the beginning of a renewed faith that eventually led to a comforting trust. I was finally able to give my son to God’s care, looking forward with faith in my Savior with my own ‘brightness of hope’ (2 Ne. 31:20).”

The crew often talks to backyard kibitzers as the balloon drifts over, and it’s a rare family that doesn’t invite them to come down and land in their yard then and there. A lady came running around the block one day as the basket touched down. She was shouting and waving her arms and was almost inarticulate with excitement. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!” she finally gasped. “I want you to land in my yard next time.”

May I impose upon you for a moment to express appreciation for something that happened to me some time ago, years ago. I was suffering from an ulcer condition that was becoming worse and worse. We had been touring a mission; my wife, Joan, and I were impressed the next morning that we should get home as quickly as possible, although we had planned to stay for some other meetings.

On the way across the country, we were sitting in the forward section of the airplane. Some of our Church members were in the next section. As we approached a certain point en route, someone laid his hand upon my head. I looked up; I could see no one. That happened again before we arrived home, again with the same experience. Who it was, by what means or what medium, I may never know, except I knew that I was receiving a blessing that I came a few hours later to know I needed most desperately.

As soon as we arrived home, my wife very anxiously called the doctor. It was now about 11 o’clock at night. He called me to come to the telephone, and he asked me how I was; and I said, “Well, I am very tired. I think I will be all right.” But shortly thereafter, there came massive hemorrhages which, had they occurred while we were in flight, I wouldn’t be here today talking about it.

I know that there are powers divine that reach out when all other help is not available. We see that manifest down in the countries we speak of as the underprivileged countries where there is little medical aid and perhaps no hospitals. If you want to hear of great miracles among these humble people with simple faith, you will see it among them when they are left to themselves. Yes, I know that there are such powers.

As a young man having just finished my first year of college and needing to earn money for a desired mission, I spent the summer working at the new Jackson Lake Lodge in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Many college-age youths came to work in that pristine, beautiful area.
One such person was Jill, a young woman from San Francisco, California. Feeling that a young woman from a big city might be a little bit naive about her new environment, I and a few friends felt it our obligation to teach her about the ways of the real West. We decided to take her on a “snipe hunt.” For those of you who may not be familiar with a snipe hunt, it is a practical joke, as there is no such thing as a snipe, at least not in the western United States. The tools necessary for a snipe hunt are a stick and a cloth bag. The “hunter” is told to go through the brush, beating the bushes with a stick while calling the snipe in a high-pitched, ridiculous voice. The nonexistent snipes are thus to be driven into the cloth bag.
We gave Jill her cloth bag and a stick and an area to hunt across the hill. The plan was to return to our starting point in about 15 minutes, at which time we would supposedly count our snipes.
When she did not return at the appointed time, we gloated and took delight in the seriousness with which she took her hunt. After about 30 minutes, we felt it was time to rescue her, explain the joke, have a good laugh, and all go to dinner. However, it became apparent that she had taken her snipe hunt more seriously than we had expected—she was not to be found in her assigned area. After searching rather extensively and still finding no evidence of her, we began moving into the woods, calling for her at the top of our voices, but to no avail.
Hoping she might have gone back to her dormitory, we returned and asked some young women to search for her there, but this also was to no avail. It was now turning dark, and our concern heightened. We enlisted all the young men we could from the boys’ dormitory and with flashlights continued the search deep into the woods. Well into the darkness of night—frightened, concerned, and hoarse from calling—we decided it was now time to report our ridiculous deed to the park rangers. While we were standing in front of the dorms, trying to determine which brave soul would have the privilege of reporting her disappearance, Jill suddenly appeared—not from her dormitory, but rather from that of a friend with whom she had enjoyed dinner (which we incidentally missed) and a comfortable evening with her friends. Her first words to us as she approached said it all: “How do you fellows like hunting snipe hunters?” Well, so much for big city naïveté, and so much for the ways of the real West. The joke was on us, and I have never had a desire for any more snipe hunting.

Not many months later, Mom and Dad had some exciting news. Our family was going to be sealed in the temple! My sister Shaelyn and I clapped and jumped up and down, we were so happy.
I soon learned that because I was now eight years old and had been baptized, I would need to have an interview with my bishop before I could go to the temple. I liked Bishop Jex a lot, but I thought that an interview for a temple recommend would be very important, and that made me nervous. What if I answered some of the questions wrong?
Mom came with me to the church for my interview. Bishop Jex shook my hand. “So you want to go to the temple, young lady?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Not many people have the opportunity to be interviewed for a temple recommend so soon after they are baptized,” he told me. Then he took a binder from his desk and flipped it open. Inside, he pointed to a white piece of paper with some lines on it and lots of places to write information.
“This is a limited-use recommend,” he explained. “Your name goes here, and my signature goes here. You’ll give this to the temple workers, and they will know you are worthy to be in the temple.”
Bishop Jex asked me about the things I do to keep the covenants of baptism—going to church, treating my sisters kindly, repenting when I make a mistake. “Keeping our baptism promises is what we do to be worthy to make temple promises,” he said. “It sounds to me like you are working hard to do everything you promised God you would do.” After we talked for a few more minutes, he wrote my name on the paper and handed it to me. I had my temple recommend!
After my interview with Bishop Jex, I met with the stake president because he needed to interview me and sign my recommend too. Then I was ready to go to the temple! On the day of the sealing, we drove to the Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple. My sisters and I were introduced to the temple workers who would take care of us and help us get ready. The workers took us to a room where my baby sister, Breanna, colored pictures and played with blocks, and Shaelyn and I watched a movie about what being sealed would be like. I felt warm and peaceful in the temple.
We changed from our church clothes into white dresses, and then the temple workers took us to the sealing room. When we walked in, there were our grandparents, lots of aunts and uncles, and of course our mom and dad. Everyone who looked at us started to cry—even my big, tough dad.
“You three look just like angels,” Mom said.
“Do you girls know what we’re doing here today?” the temple sealer asked.
“We’re being sealed to our parents,” Shaelyn said.
“And what does that mean?” he asked.
“We can be together as a family forever,” I said.
“Right,” he said. “Together forever, if what?”
“If we keep the commandments,” I said.
“Exactly. You do as you promised at your baptism—to follow Christ. And your parents keep the promises they made today in the temple to follow Christ. You should work hard each day to love and help each other. Someday, you girls will come here again and make the same promises they have made. Heavenly Father promises that when you all return to live with Him, you can be together as a family.”
After the sealer said the words of the ordinance, everyone gave us hugs. “We’re so proud of you,” my grandparents told me. “We love you so much!”
The warmth of the Spirit that I felt when I was baptized whispered to me again. I knew our family had made a good choice. I felt so happy that we could promise to follow Jesus Christ. I know He will help us live so that we can be together for eternity.

May I share with you tonight, brethren, a letter which I received some time ago, written by a husband who strayed far from the priesthood path of service and duty. It typifies the plea of too many of our brethren. He wrote:
“Dear President Monson:
“I had so much and now have so little. I am unhappy and feel as though I am failing in everything. The gospel has never left my heart, even though it has left my life. I ask for your prayers.
“Please don’t forget those of us who are out here—the lost Latter-day Saints. I know where the Church is, but sometimes I think I need someone else to show me the way, encourage me, take away my fear, and bear testimony to me.”
While reading this letter, I returned in my thoughts to a visit to one of the great art galleries of the world—even the famed Victoria and Albert Museum in London, England. There, exquisitely framed, was a masterpiece painted in 1831 by Joseph Mallord William Turner. The painting features heavy-laden black clouds and the fury of a turbulent sea portending danger and death. A light from a stranded vessel gleams far off. In the foreground, tossed high by incoming waves of foaming water, is a large lifeboat. The men pull mightily on the oars as the lifeboat plunges into the tempest. On the shore there stand a wife and two children, wet with rain and whipped by wind. They gaze anxiously seaward. In my mind I abbreviated the name of the painting. To me, it became To the Rescue.
Amidst the storms of life, danger lurks; and men, like boats, find themselves stranded and facing destruction. Who will man the lifeboats, leaving behind the comforts of home and family, and go to the rescue?
President John Taylor cautioned us, “If you do not magnify your callings, God will hold you responsible for those whom you might have saved had you done your duty.”
Brethren, our task is not insurmountable. We are on the Lord’s errand, and therefore we are entitled to the Lord’s help. But we must try. From the stage play Shenandoah comes the spoken line which inspires: “If we don’t try, then we don’t do; and if we don’t do, then why are we here?”
When the Master ministered among men, He called fishermen at Galilee to leave their nets and follow Him, declaring, “I will make you fishers of men.” And so He did. Tonight He issues a call to each of us to “come join the ranks.” He provides our battle plan with His admonition, “Wherefore, now let every man learn his duty, and to act in the office in which he is appointed, in all diligence.”
I love and cherish the noble word duty. Let us hearken to the stirring reminder found in the epistle of James: “Be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves.”
There is an old song of my vintage. It’s entitled “Wishing Will Make It So.” It’s not true. Wishing will not make it so. The Lord expects our thinking. He expects our action. He expects our labors. He expects our testimonies. He expects our devotion. Unfortunately, there are those who have departed from the track of priesthood activity. Let us help them back to that path that leads to life eternal. Let us build that strong Melchizedek Priesthood base which will be the foundation of Church activity and growth. It will be the underpinning to strengthen every family, every home, every quorum in every land.
Brethren, we can reach out to those for whom we are responsible and bring them to the table of the Lord, there to feast on His word and to enjoy the companionship of His Spirit and be “no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.”
The passage of time has not altered the capacity of the Redeemer to change men’s lives—our lives and the lives of those with whom we labor. As He said to the dead Lazarus, so He says today: “Come forth.” Come forth from the despair of doubt. Come forth from the sorrow of sin. Come forth from the death of disbelief. Come forth to a newness of life. Come forth.
We will discover that those whom we serve, who have felt through our labors the touch of the Master’s hand, somehow cannot explain the change which comes into their lives. There is a desire to serve faithfully, to walk humbly, and to live more like the Savior. Having received their spiritual eyesight and glimpsed the promises of eternity, they echo the words of the blind man to whom Jesus restored sight, who said, “One thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see.”
How can we account for these miracles? Why the upsurge of activity in men long dormant? The poet, speaking of death, wrote, “God … touched him, and he slept.” I say, speaking of this new birth, “God touched them, and they awakened.”
Two fundamental reasons largely account for these changes of attitudes, of habits, of actions. First, men have been shown their eternal possibilities and have made the decision to achieve them. Men cannot really long rest content with mediocrity once they see excellence is within their reach.
Second, other men have followed the admonition of the Savior and have loved their neighbors as themselves and helped to bring their neighbors’ dreams to fulfillment and their ambitions to realization.
The catalyst in this process has been—and will continue to be—the principle of love.
Another principle of truth which will guide us in our determination is that boys and men can change. I’m reminded of the words of a prison warden who taught this fact. A critic who knew of Warden Duffy’s efforts to rehabilitate men said, “Don’t you know that leopards can’t change their spots?”
Warden Duffy responded, “You should know I don’t work with leopards. I work with men, and men change every day.”
Many years ago, before leaving to become president of the Canadian Mission, headquartered in Toronto, Ontario, I had developed a friendship with a man by the name of Shelley, who lived in my ward but did not embrace the gospel, irrespective of the fact that his wife and children had done so. Shelley had been known as the toughest man in town when he was young. He was quite a pugilist. His fights were rarely in the ring but rather elsewhere. Try as I might, I could not bring about a change in Shelley’s attitude. The task appeared hopeless. In time, Shelley and his family moved from our ward.
After I had returned from Canada and was called to the Twelve, I received a telephone call from Shelley. He said, “Will you seal my wife and me and our family in the Salt Lake Temple?”
I answered hesitatingly, “Shelley, you first must be a baptized member of the Church.”
He laughed and responded, “Oh, I took care of that while you were in Canada. My home teacher was a school crossing guard, and every weekday as he and I would visit at the crossing, we would discuss the gospel.”
The sealings were performed; a family was united; joy followed.
Abraham Lincoln offered this wise counsel, which surely applies to home teachers: “If you would win a man to your cause, first convince him that you are his sincere friend.”
A friend makes more than a dutiful visit each month. A friend is more concerned about helping people than getting credit. A friend cares. A friend loves. A friend listens. And a friend reaches out.
There are brethren in every ward who seem to have a special skill and aptitude to penetrate the outer shell and reach the heart. Such was Raymond L. Egan, who served as my counselor in the bishopric. He loved to befriend and activate in the Church the father of a family and thereby bring into the fold a dear wife and precious children as well. This wonderful phenomenon occurred many times right up until Brother Egan departed mortality.
There are other ways as well by which one might lift and serve. On one occasion, I was speaking with a retired executive I had known for a long time. I asked him, “Ed, what are you doing in the Church?” He replied, “I have the best assignment in the ward. My responsibility is to help men who are unemployed find permanent employment. This year I have helped 12 of my brethren who were out of work to obtain good jobs. I have never been happier in my entire life.” Short in stature, “Little Ed,” as we affectionately called him, stood tall that evening as his eyes glistened and his voice quavered. He showed his love by helping those in need. He restored human dignity. He opened doors for those who knew not how to do so themselves.
I truly believe that those who have the ability to reach out and to lift up have found the formula descriptive of Brother Walter Stover—a man who spent his entire life in service to others. At Brother Stover’s funeral, his son-in-law paid tribute to him in these words: “Walter Stover had the ability to see Christ in every face he encountered, and he treated each person accordingly.” Legendary are his acts of compassionate help and his talent to lift heavenward every person whom he met. His guiding light was the Master’s voice speaking, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … , ye have done it unto me.”
Brethren, acquire the language of the Spirit. It is not learned from textbooks written by men of letters, nor is it acquired through reading and memorization. The language of the Spirit comes to him who seeks with all his heart to know God and keep His divine commandments. Proficiency in this “language” permits one to breach barriers, overcome obstacles, and touch the human heart.
In a day of danger or a time of trial, such knowledge, such hope, such understanding bring comfort to a troubled soul and a grieving heart. Shadows of despair are dispelled by rays of hope; sorrow yields to joy; and the feeling of being lost in the crowd of life vanishes with the certain knowledge that our Heavenly Father is mindful of each of us.
In closing, I return to the painting by Turner. In a very real sense, those persons stranded on the vessel which had run aground in the storm-tossed sea are like many young men—and older men as well—who await rescue by those of us who have the priesthood responsibility to man the lifeboats. Their hearts yearn for help. Mothers and fathers pray for their sons. Wives and children plead to heaven that Daddy and others may be reached.
Tonight I pray that all of us who hold the priesthood may sense our responsibilities and, as one, follow our Leader—even the Lord Jesus Christ, and His prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley—to the rescue.
In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Robin Maxwell has lived within the boundaries of the Atascadero Ward of the San Luis Obispo California Stake all her life, but not until she traveled to France with two LDS classmates did she learn about the Church.
Robin toured France in the summer of 1972 with a group from her high school. One Sunday she accepted the invitation of two LDS students to attend worship services with them. Even though the three could not locate a chapel, she was intrigued by her classmates’ discussion of gospel principles. Upon her return to Atascadero, Robin began the missionary discussions. A few months later she was baptized.
A girl of many accomplishments, Robin was a speaker at both her high school and seminary graduations and is currently studying elementary education at BYU.

As I knelt by my bed to say my nightly prayers, I felt like my heart would burst—not with joy, but with loneliness and anger. This wasn’t what I had expected at all!
It was my second night at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, and I was feeling miserable. I didn’t like my companion, I didn’t like Spanish, and I didn’t like myself much for being such a baby.
I started my prayer, but then realized that I didn’t have anything to say. Although I desperately needed someone to talk to, it just didn’t seem right to express my empty, lonely, and bitter feelings to Heavenly Father. I finally said a standard, “thank you for my health and the chance to be here,” sort of prayer and crawled into bed.
Why doesn’t Heavenly Father help me? If he really knows how I feel before I ask, what is he waiting for? I thought angrily.
Then I remembered the book of Enos, which I had read that afternoon. I pictured Enos kneeling in the forest, pleading for the Lord to forgive and help him. His words echoed in my mind: “I did pour out my whole soul unto God” (Enos 1:9).
Had I done the same? Had I really humbly asked for Heavenly Father’s help? I knew I hadn’t.
I knelt again. This time I had plenty to say. I told my Father how frustrated I felt, how I couldn’t learn the language, how I needed to love my companion, and how I wanted to do a good job. I cried as I explained that I felt abandoned, and I needed his help.
“And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart” (Jer. 29:13).
This time I didn’t say a prayer—I prayed. Again, I felt that my heart would burst, but this time with hope, peace, and love. As I climbed into bed, I still didn’t know how things would work out, but I knew they would.

As the flight attendants began their usual safety instructions, I checked to make sure my son, Max, was secured in his infant carrier in the seat next to me on the airplane.
I reflected on the day Max was born a few months prior. When I held him for the first time in the hospital, I was determined to do everything in my power to keep him safe, teach him how to find happiness, and provide everything he would need to successfully navigate this life.
I’m sure most fathers experience these feelings. Mine were particularly poignant as I looked into his eyes and remembered the struggle of infertility that preceded his birth, with the physical, emotional, and spiritual toll that it took on me and my wife.
The flight attendants had just explained the way to use the overhead oxygen masks during an emergency, and when one of them reached our row, she had a look of absolute seriousness. She pointed right at me. “If the masks come down, you put yours on first before helping him,” she said, pointing at Max. For some reason, the emphasis with which she said the word first struck me like lightning.
Looking out the airplane window, I imagined the scene—oxygen masks deploying, doubting that I would feel comfortable wasting any time to help Max. Then the thought came to me of the words Jesus Christ spoke to Peter, whose only desire in that moment was to serve and protect the Savior: “When thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren” (Luke 22:32).
And it hit me: the best way I can help Max is to first help myself. I realized that if I needed to secure my own oxygen mask, it would only take a few seconds, but then I could fully and properly help Max. I thought for the remainder of the flight about the small and simple things—much more eternally important than oxygen masks—that I can do first that would put me in the best position to then help Max, to first become converted and to then strengthen others.

After graduating from high school towards the end of World War II, Neal joined the army. He had a life-changing experience while in a fierce battle on Okinawa, Japan. During a battle, Neal’s mortar position was under fire. Three shells in a row had exploded, each closer to his foxhole than the previous one. He realized the enemy had determined his position. The next shell would land on top of him. He prayed “one of those selfish, honest prayers,”3 asking for protection from the next bomb. In his pocket he carried a copy of his patriarchal blessing that said his life would not be shortened and that he would not be deprived of fulfilling every assignment that was given to him in the premortal existence.

The shelling stopped. He later wrote: “I am sure the Lord answered my prayers. … The following night they began to pour shells in, but almost all of them were duds—either the ammunition had gotten wet or they were not exploding in the very thick, oozing mud. … I felt preserved, and unworthily so, but have tried to be somewhat faithful to that promise that was given at the time.”4

Third is an Attitude of Courage. I have seen courage in the military. I have witnessed courage in the classrooms of learning and the factories of industry.
Never have I observed its beauty more radiant than reflected from the service of a missionary. Often I am called upon to interview missionary candidates who have physical impairments. In considering the recommendation of one such candidate, the bishop of the ward had written:
“Brother (blank) is badly scarred due to an automobile accident. However, if courage will help, he’ll lead the lot.”
I made an appointment to visit with the lad. My initial reaction upon meeting him was one of overwhelming compassion.
“Son,” I explained, “if you were in the mission field, there would be those who would reject your message and you might feel that they were rejecting you. That would be unbearable.”
“Brother Monson,” he replied, “I have become used to that problem. It doesn’t bother me anymore. I so much want to serve the Lord and to preach the gospel. Please let me be called.”
The courage of his spirit bore witness to me of his faith. He received a call.
After two years of outstanding missionary activity, his president wrote, upon the occasion of his honorable release:
“The bearer of this letter has served in this mission for two years. He has been one of the finest missionaries in our mission over the whole time that he has been here. He has been effective as a leader, as a proselyting missionary, as the liaison between the mission office and the several stakes in which he has served, and in all respects his performance has been without flaw.
“He has handled his personal problem, his severe scarring, in a way that has discouraged or affronted no one. It has been on a basis that ‘this is my problem; don’t worry about it.’
“We love him dearly. We are grateful for his service; and if you have any more just like him, send them along.”

When asked which merit badges had given them the most trouble, both Chad and Craig said that beekeeping was the greatest challenge. It wasn’t so much doing the work as it was finding someone who was qualified to teach them and pass them on the badge requirements. After some searching and one unsuccessful attempt to get together with a beekeeper, they finally found a man who was teaching a class in beekeeping at Weber State College, and they were able to complete the merit badge requirements with his help. By the way, Chad and Craig are still beekeepers.

Daniel Harbuck and Miguel Peña, both 18, interviewed Ferron Forsgren. They were impressed that he could once type 100 words a minute, wore racing goggles when he drove his first car, and had some good advice about impressing young women. Brother Forsgren also told them how he gained his testimony of the Church and how he has been active all his life. They found out that Brother Forsgren still plays tennis at the age of 87. Daniel says, “That’s the kind of guy I want to be when I’m older.”