Gospel Story Finder

Some time ago I went into a flower shop and started talking to the owner about the plants he was selling, and we exchanged ideas about the different ways of growing them. After that, each time I worked in that area, I would go into this shop and talk to the owner about his work and mine, until little by little I began to talk to him about the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I started by talking about God and sharing what I felt about Him. Diego, the owner of the flower business, told me he didn’t believe in Jesus Christ; he just believed in an entity who had the power to create all things. This surprised me, and I told him I wanted to give him something that was very important to me—the Book of Mormon. I also told him I wanted to introduce him to the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Diego agreed. I set up the appointment, and later the missionaries went to his business. After he had received three discussions, he invited the missionaries to his home.
At this time my work area changed, but one day I happened to run into the missionaries who were teaching Diego. I asked about him and tried to find out what kind of progress he was making. They told me he was going to be baptized, but they didn’t know when. A week later I learned that Diego’s family had been baptized, except for his daughter Carla. I was happy to hear about their decision. My contact had borne fruit.
Two weeks later at a stake meeting, I heard about a convert named Diego Páez who had recently been baptized and who was very enthusiastic about the Church. Later the mission president told me they were going to confirm him on Sunday.
The following Sunday I went to Diego’s ward and saw him sitting with his family on one of the pews. I sat down next to him, and he smiled and said, “Thank you, Daniel.”
When Diego sat in the chair where the elders quorum president would confirm him a member of the Church, I was invited to join the circle. I did so, and when the elders quorum president said the words “Receive the Holy Ghost,” I too could feel the influence of the Spirit. My heart beat hard, and peace completely overwhelmed me.
I had never felt such joy. When Diego stood up, I embraced him. Tears sprang from my eyes. I felt strengthened, as described in Doctrine and Covenants 50:22: “Wherefore, he that preacheth and he that receiveth, understand one another, and both are edified and rejoice together.”
As for Diego’s daughter Carla, she was baptized the following week by her father. The Páez family has continued to progress. Milagros, who was three years old at the time of the baptisms, kneels down and says prayers with her parents, asking Heavenly Father to bless her family. Diego and his wife, Gabriela, work to share the gospel with others.
There must be a lot of Páez families all over the world—just waiting for someone to bring the light of truth to their lives. What a joy it is to share what we feel for the gospel of Jesus Christ and to be able to help others feel the way we do.

I returned from the mission field with many hopes regarding employment. Even though I had worked before, I had no qualifications, so I did what I could to find work, but I was never satisfied and could not see any progress in my future.
I always wanted to study, but I could not pay for schooling, and my family was not in a position to help me.
When the Perpetual Education Fund was started, I saw an opportunity to change my future. I relied upon my Heavenly Father to help me, and thus I chose a course of study with His inspiration.
I chose to study nursing. My schooling required a lot of study and dedication. But I became impassioned with nursing. Three months after graduating, I was able to find employment at one of the best hospitals in Alagoas, Brazil.
I have many plans for the future. I plan to take advanced studies in nursing, and I have started to pay back my loan so others can partake of the opportunity of receiving an education and the blessings that come with it.

I was disappointed not to be able to pick more of the fruit before the season ended, but school was about to begin again and with it, early-morning seminary. On the first morning of seminary, our teacher welcomed us to the class and went through the requirements for completing the course. I listened with enthusiasm. Knowing that we were required to read the Book of Mormon as part of the course, I had read it all during the summer break.
Following the class, I explained to my teacher that I had already fulfilled the requirement to read the Book of Mormon. My teacher insisted that I would need to read it again. But, I thought, “I don’t need to read it again!”
Disappointed, but obedient, I began to read the Book of Mormon a second time. And in reading, I discovered “fruit” I had somehow missed before.
It seemed that the Book of Mormon had more verses since I had last read it, and inspiring new scriptures stood out from the pages. Even characters I did not remember appeared. It was like picking blackberries. Wherever I looked, more fruit seemed to appear.
I realized that if I followed the commandment to “press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ” (2 Ne. 31:20), I would need to read the Book of Mormon over and over throughout my life. But unlike blackberry season, the season for picking this fruit will not come to an end.

Elder Gibbons is currently President of the Brazil Area. Speaking about that assignment, Elder Gibbons said, “One time I had some important meetings that I needed to attend in Campinas, Brazil. I had a map that showed me where I was to meet the stake president, but I didn’t know that there are two roads that lead into Campinas and that we had taken the wrong one.
“After we had traveled some distance, it was obvious that we had taken the wrong road. My wife and I then drove into the city, hoping to find our hotel. Unable to communicate with anyone, we finally admitted that we were lost.
“I began to pray fervently to Heavenly Father to please help us find our stake president. Soon after I had prayed, I had the impression ‘Stop here and go into that building.’ I stopped and backed up. Sister Gibbons went into the building and found a man who spoke English. He said, ‘I can’t tell you how to get to your hotel, but I’ll lead you there.’ He got into his car and led us six or seven miles through Campinas to the outskirts of the city. The stake president was just pulling into the driveway of our hotel. Because of Heavenly Father’s help, I was able to make my meetings on time.
“I can’t think of any time in my life when I have prayed with fervency and faith that the Lord hasn’t answered that prayer.

Not long ago I received a letter concerning a choice young deacon, Isaac Reiter, and the deacons, teachers, and priests who served, lifted, and blessed his life and their own lives.
Isaac fought cancer from the time he was seven months old until his death at age 13. When he and his family moved to a home near a hospital so that Isaac could receive proper medical attention, the Aaronic Priesthood members in the nearby ward were asked to provide the sacrament to them each Sunday. This weekly ordinance became a favorite of the Aaronic Priesthood holders who participated. Along with their leaders and Isaac’s family, they would gather around Isaac’s hospital bed, sing hymns, and share testimonies. Then the sacrament would be blessed. Isaac always insisted that, as a deacon, he pass the sacrament to his family and to those who had brought it. As he lay in his bed, he gathered the strength to hold a plate of either the blessed bread or water. All present would come to Isaac and partake of the sacrament from the plate. Nurses and other medical staff soon began to participate in the meeting as they realized that Isaac was close to his Heavenly Father and always honored Him. Though weak and in pain, Isaac always held himself with the honor of someone holding a royal priesthood.
Isaac was a great example to the young men in the ward. They saw his desire to fulfill his duties, even on his deathbed, and they realized that those duties were really privileges. They began showing up earlier in order to prepare the sacrament and to be in their seats on time. There was more reverence.
Isaac Reiter became a living sermon concerning honoring the priesthood. At his funeral, it was said that throughout his life he had one foot in heaven. No doubt he continues to magnify his duties and assist in the work beyond the veil.

On 18 September 1989, Marc Modersitzki and Bradley Saunderson entered Lesotho, the first young missionaries assigned to teach the gospel in this small mountainous kingdom. Three member families excitedly awaited their arrival: the Masseys, the Scotts, and the Daffendols. These three families formed a group with Brother Massey as the group leader. All were anxious to begin doing missionary work with the new elders. By the end of the first two weeks, the missionaries had 18 families in their teaching pool.
Elder Saunderson recorded in his journal, “I am impressed with the incredible potential that the area has: its fields are very white.” In the first month of tracting, they were refused only four times.
Sister Scott, the mother of one of the families who met the elders on their arrival, was so excited about the first convert baptism that she wanted it to take place at her home. However, the Scotts did not have a pool, so Brother Scott bought a lattice wall pool. The next problem was that there was no level spot on their property big enough to put the pool. That did not dampen their enthusiasm. With the help of Brother Lawrence Van Tonder, one of the first two to be baptized, they dug up the Scotts’ backyard to accommodate the pool.
Thanks to the many efforts of members and missionaries, there are now more than 1,300 members in Lesotho.

These two beautiful missionaries taught me about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, about The First Vision, and the Book of Mormon. They taught how Joseph Smith, seeking to know what church he should join, read the book of James and prayed to God with faith his prayer would be answered.
The missionaries bore testimony that in answer to his prayer, God the Father and His beloved Son Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith, that he was called to be a prophet, and that the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored through him.
This was all new to me, but they promised that I could know for myself if this did happen. They gave me a Book of Mormon, with an invitation to read, ponder, and apply Moroni’s invitation to ask God if the book is true.
When they returned two days later, I explained that after reading the introduction, the testimony of the witnesses, and the account of Christ visiting the people in 3 Nephi, I pled with God to know if it was true. I felt warmth all over me but didn’t understand what that was. The elders then taught me that the Holy Ghost was bearing witness to my spirit, which brought excitement to my heart. My mother and three younger brothers joined our next lesson, and we all got baptised into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

A year after I was baptized, I received my mission call and entered the Missionary Training Center in Manila, Philippines. It was there that I made some treasured friends. The first was my companion, Sister Loh, a convert from Singapore. Since I couldn’t speak her language and she didn’t know any Filipino dialects, our only option was to communicate in English.
The 16 days I spent in the MTC were the most spiritual of my life. Although we were far from our families, we still felt loved thanks to a special person—Sister Luda Lee Cottrell, the wife of the MTC president. She was always smiling and happy. She gave us comfort and love and taught me about charity in words and in deed.
On our last night in the MTC, Sister Loh and I wanted to give something to Sister Cottrell as a remembrance and to thank her for all the love she gave us. We didn’t have anything nice to give, so my companion suggested that we sing a song for Sister Cottrell. I immediately agreed. Because we were new in the Church, neither of us was familiar with most of the hymns. We chose to sing “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301).
We found Sister Cottrell in her office. We told her of our simple present, and she gladly and patiently listened to us. While Sister Loh and I were singing, a memorable spiritual experience happened. I realized that we were three people of three different races, cultures, and languages. My companion and I were singing in English so that our beloved Sister Cottrell could understand what we were singing.
At that moment I forgot all our differences. The Spirit was telling me that what we are here doesn’t really matter, because the three of us are literally daughters of Heavenly Father. The Spirit taught me why and what brought the three of us there. It is the gospel of Jesus Christ. It is the gospel that brought Sister Loh and me to the MTC. It is the gospel that made Sister Cottrell such a wonderful, loving person. It is the gospel that gave the three of us the knowledge that we are all children of God.

Walking through town one June afternoon on my way to a business meeting, I was prompted to stop and look inside a tavern’s open door. All I could see was a long bar and a row of stools. I turned and left. I had no interest in being in such a place; in fact, I did not want to be in such a place. But as I continued walking up the street, I had the strongest feeling that I should return and investigate further.
Curious, I turned around, walked back to the tavern, and looked through the doorway. “This is rather a foolish thing to do,” I thought, especially when I saw only the bartender behind the bar. So I continued in my walk. But as I waited at the corner for the traffic light to change, I felt an even stronger prompting to go back to the tavern. I went back.
The tavern appeared empty. Even the bartender wasn’t in the room. I walked toward the rear of the room. Then I noticed the figure of a man in the corner, seated on a stool and hunched over the glass in front of him. Something seemed familiar about the ragged, unshaven face.
I moved closer, and the memory of someone from my past came to me. The man was about the right size, small and rather frail. Could it be Deuce? (His real name was Dwayne.) I hadn’t seen Deuce for almost eighteen years. But how could he be in this condition? “Deuce, Deuce is that you?” I asked. The man look around vaguely but didn’t respond. “Deuce, what are you doing here? I can’t believe it’s you!”
But it was him. We had been close friends in our teenage years.
Deuce and his twin brother, Ace, had had a good relationship with their parents but had received little guidance from them. Their father had been a hard-working barber who had cared for his lovable but alcoholic wife.
Deuce had had polio as a child, which left him with a bad limp and impaired use of one arm. A couple of serious accidents as a teenager left him having to use a cane. But these handicaps only seemed to concentrate his ability to paint. He was a talented oil painter and took his work very seriously. His paintings were vivid and life-like; I still remember his painting of a tiger that seemed to leap from the canvas.
I lost contact with Deuce when I went into the navy for several years. I had heard that Ace had also joined the navy and was subsequently reported missing.
“Huh! Who’s that?” Deuce responded sluggishly.
“It’s Richard, your old friend!”
His eyes lit with vague recognition. He looked as if he might cry. He was obviously in bad shape physically, and it appeared that he hadn’t been eating regularly. I finally convinced him that I was real and coaxed him off the bar stool. He could barely walk, even with the walker he now used. I took him to a nearby restaurant, where I got him to eat a little food. As he began to talk more sensibly, I discovered that he had no money and was sharing a room in a cheap hotel.
“Look, Deuce, I’m really late for an important appointment, but I want to spend some time with you,” I said, before taking him to his hotel with instructions to bathe and shave. Later, I picked up a change of clothes for him at a men’s store and returned to help him dress. We drove home, and I introduced him to my wife, Verna.
I related the story of our reunion during dinner, and then told Verna of my earlier friendship and boyhood experiences with Deuce and his family.
By then, he was quite clear in his thinking and was able to tell the harrowing story of how he had been driven to his present condition.
He described the shock of losing his twin brother. Several years later, his mother had died of alcoholism, and then his father had been killed in an automobile accident. Working as a commercial artist, he had tried to forget his problems by drinking. He eventually lost his job and lived on a small disability pension. This downward trend in his life had continued for many years. He had given up all hope and had been in total despair when I found him.
After I took him back to his hotel, Verna and I talked long into the night about his situation and possible solutions. He was obviously incapable of helping himself. “We can’t leave him where he is!” Verna said.
“But what can we do?” I asked.
“If nothing else, we’ll just have to bring him here,” she replied.
The next day at work, I couldn’t get Deuce off of my mind. In the afternoon I went searching for him. He was confused by my invitation, but agreed to come and live with my family. We gathered up his few possessions and went home.
It was a big decision for my family—not because we didn’t have room, but because having a strange man around the house was awkward at first, even if he was harmless. He was, in fact, quite pathetic. He had to use his walker to get around, and because his bedroom was in the basement, getting up and down the stairs several times a day was a tremendous challenge.
My family soon accepted Deuce. Good food, rest, companionship, and love helped him recover. The children loved him because he was so gentle and understanding. But the effects of the years of alcoholism were hard to overcome. His physical impairments and extreme loss of normal movement made recovery difficult and total recovery impossible. For the first month, he was content to just recuperate. At times, he tried to help the children with chores or Verna with household tasks, but he was too shaky and unstable.
Deuce often wanted alcohol, but Verna and I firmly refused him any, and there was no way he could get it himself. Frequently, he would break out in a cold sweat and shake. But with no additional alcohol to reinforce what was already in his system, he eventually gained control of himself.
With his recovery came restlessness, and Deuce decided that he should try to again develop his former talent. I built him a special heavy-duty easel that would not only hold the canvas but also help steady him, since he was still very shaky.
It had been years since he had painted, and he was disappointed and frustrated with his first attempts. But eventually he was able to paint a sea scene for Verna to show his gratitude. Many paintings followed, and I helped him sell a few of them. His former talent, however, never fully returned.
He soon became very much a part of our family. And although he had never been religious, he started coming to church with us. Verna and I had joined the Church after we were married, and Deuce was impressed with the obvious changes he had seen in me. He met with the missionaries and was baptized. The doctrines of the Church excited him, especially the idea of being resurrected to a whole and fit body, and the promise of being with his family again.
Although he found his new faith stimulating and enjoyed his new experiences, he felt concerned about being a burden on our family. He knew, however, that his limited capabilities restricted him from ever being independent again.
About this time, a second miraculous reunion occurred. On one of my monthly business trips to Portland, Oregon, approximately four hundred kilometers from our home in Seattle, Washington, I checked into a hotel I had never used before. To my amazement, the luggage attendant that assisted me with my bags was Deuce’s long-lost twin brother, whom we had believed to be dead.
Ace was overjoyed to see an old friend and to learn the whereabouts of his twin brother. A reunion was quickly arranged, and Ace, divorced and living alone, welcomed the opportunity to provide a home for Deuce.
My family kept close contact with “Uncle Deuce” until his death, prematurely brought on by his frailties and years of drinking. But he had found the gospel and had made many wholesome and eternal friendships.

May I share with you how my earthly father taught me to discover my identity and God’s plan in my life?
One Saturday morning when I was 13 years old, I was mowing the grass as part of my weekly chores. When I finished, I heard the door close at the back of our house and looked to see my father calling me to join him. I walked to the back porch, and he invited me to sit with him on the steps. It was a beautiful morning. I still recall him sitting so close to me that our shoulders were touching. He began by telling me he loved me. He asked me what my goals were in life. I thought, “Well, that’s easy.” I knew two things for sure: I wanted to be taller, and I wanted to go camping more often. I was a simple soul. He smiled, paused for a moment, and said: “Steve, I’d like to share something with you that’s very important to me. I’ve prayed that our Heavenly Father will cause what I say now to be indelibly imprinted in your mind and on your soul so that you’ll never forget.”
My father had my full attention in that moment. He turned and looked at me in the eyes and said, “Son, protect the private times of your life.” There was a long pause as he let the meaning sink deep into my heart.
He then continued, “You know, those times when you’re the only one around and no one else knows what you’re doing? Those times when you think, ‘Whatever I do now doesn’t affect anyone else, only me’?”
Then he said, “More than any other time in your life, what you do during the private times of your life will have the greatest impact on how you confront challenges and heartache you will face; and what you do during the private times of your life will also have a greater impact on how you confront the successes and joy you will experience than any other time in your life.”
My father received the wish of his heart. The sound and cadence of his voice, and the love I felt in his words, were indelibly imprinted in my mind and on my soul that day.
I have learned over the years that the greatest miracle of that day on the steps of my childhood home was that, in the private times of my life, I could go to God in prayer to receive revelation. My father was teaching me how I could learn of God’s foreordained blessings. In those private moments, I learned the Book of Mormon is the word of God. I learned God had foreordained me to serve a mission. I learned that God knows me and hears and answers my prayers. I learned that Jesus is the Christ, our Savior and Redeemer.
Though I have made many mistakes since that memorable day with my father, striving to protect the private times of my life has remained an anchor amid the storms of life and has enabled me to seek safe haven and the healing, strengthening blessings of our Savior’s love and atoning sacrifice.

Several years ago shortly before my mother died, I was talking to her one day and said surely it makes you feel good to know that all of your children are active in the church and have been to temple. Her response surprised me. She said that she would know how good a job she had done raising us when she saw how our children turned out. It took me a few years to learn that she was talking about the same thing I am talking to you about. She wanted to make sure that in addition to learning what to do we had also learned why it was all important.

For several years, I served as a bishop in my home ward. One day a friend came to me and said, “I feel sorry for you. You have to know all of the bad things people do.” I love my friend, but he couldn’t have gotten it more wrong. As a bishop in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I rejoiced whenever someone wanted to repent and change their life. I never once felt anything but love for them. And I never looked at it as having to know all of the bad things. In reality, Heavenly Father blessed me to see everyone as His child, whom He loves and whom He wants back. I only saw my brothers and sisters who were hurting and who wanted to be clean and worthy again, and I felt Heavenly Father’s love for them, and this became my love for them. I promise you that this is how your bishop sees you. If you’re hurting, go to him.

The mayor of Bastia knew very well that the missionaries standing in front of him were foreigners. Why, he wondered, would young men come from other countries and offer to help his people on the island of Corsica?
After a pause, he accepted their offer and challenged them to show up early the next morning to paint his small hotel.
True to their promise, the young men arrived at 7:00 a.m., eager and ready to refinish the mayor’s hotel on this picturesque island off the coast of France in the Mediterranean Sea.
When the mayor arrived at the hotel later that day to find the missionaries still working in the coastal sun, “he was astonished to see us there,” said Jake Lowry, one of the missionaries serving at the time.
Amazed at their willingness to bend their backs to help people they didn’t know, the mayor softened his resistance and “asked us to sit down and tell him what we needed,” Brother Lowry said.
The missionaries shared the gospel and told how their purpose was to bless the people on the isle of Corsica. They recounted their difficulties in finding an apartment because of residents who were weary of outsiders. A few months earlier, all missionaries had been removed from the island for safety reasons. But these elders had now reopened it for missionary work.
The mayor listened to the elders. “By the next morning,” Brother Lowry said, “he had secured a well-situated apartment for us and written a kind note.”
That evening, after settling into their new accommodations, “two well-dressed representatives from the mayor’s office stopped by to greet us and assure us that we were welcome and safe in the city,” Brother Lowry said.
In short order, the mayor and his wife began attending Sunday meetings with the branch, where they loved singing the hymns. Soon the mayor’s wife was baptized.
From these simple beginnings in the early 1990s, the Church took root on this island renowned as the birthplace of Napoleon Bonaparte. Missionary work soon flourished. After three months, more than 40 people were attending Sunday services in a wonderful meeting place arranged by the mayor.

I remember when I was preparing to be trained as a fighter pilot. We spent a great deal of our preliminary military training in physical exercise. I’m still not exactly sure why endless running was considered such an essential preparatory part of becoming a pilot. Nevertheless, we ran and we ran and we ran some more.
As I was running I began to notice something that, frankly, troubled me. Time and again I was being passed by men who smoked, drank, and did all manner of things that were contrary to the gospel and, in particular, to the Word of Wisdom.
I remember thinking, “Wait a minute! Aren’t I supposed to be able to run and not be weary?” But I was weary, and I was overtaken by people who were definitely not following the Word of Wisdom. I confess, it troubled me at the time. I asked myself, was the promise true or was it not?
The answer didn’t come immediately. But eventually I learned that God’s promises are not always fulfilled as quickly as or in the way we might hope; they come according to His timing and in His ways. Years later I could see clear evidence of the temporal blessings that come to those who obey the Word of Wisdom—in addition to the spiritual blessings that come immediately from obedience to any of God’s laws. Looking back, I know for sure that the promises of the Lord, if perhaps not always swift, are always certain.

My own “opal” moment came as I sat in a stark 3x4 cubicle just before Thanksgiving break during my second PhD year. Everyone else had left the building and I worked alone, gathering data from a little investigation of how attentional focus affected my violin students’ bow habits. While they had played a musical scale, I observed what happened when students’ attention was directed away from or toward each of two bow technique skills: (1) using a full bow stroke, and (2) using precise bow contact point on the string (i.e. playing in the best-sounding “sweet spot”).
What you see on the screen is a timeline of one student’s scales during the first of several sessions. The bottom row shows which skill I had directed them to attend to. The top two rows show codes indicating what happened to their bow length or their contact point during each bow stroke, while their attention was directed toward and away from each skill. Red is bad. Green is good.
The data solidified in colors of red, yellow, and green codes along timelines. Usually, this is an exciting moment—my favorite of any study—when all the tedious hours of data-gathering coalesce into a result. This time, however, I experienced something different than excitement. I was stunned. Upon seeing the results, I was simultaneously confronted with the possible implications of what emerged on my screen. I heard myself gasping the words, “We don’t stand a chance.”
Notice how well the violinist did on bow length when they were thinking about bow length. Notice how little green there is when they were not thinking about bow length, or how many more red ticks there are on the middle line when they were not thinking about contact point.
I was stunned.
What stunned me weren’t the ramifications for skill learning on a musical instrument, though that was a thing, too. My mind was caught up in farther-reaching implications. My violin students had been doing a fairly simple (so I thought) activity, within the context of a fairly controlled lesson environment, as designed by a pretty great teacher (so I supposed). This wasn’t even close to the most challenging stuff my students played on their instruments, and yet they struggled to maintain fundamental skills. What then of the possibility of having some chance at being a decent person, a “perfect” person, or even just getting better, in the messy mortal day-to-day existence we pass through, among a constant bombardment of uncontrollable factors?
What if I told you that this is not coming from Matthew, nor 3 Nephi? I am quoting from Luke. In Luke, Christ does not say, “Be perfect as your Father is perfect,” nor “complete” either. Luke relates Jesus’ words as, “Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful.” [2]
Luke’s account uses the same phraseology as Matthew, but instead of “perfect,” or even “complete,” inserts the word “merciful,” sometimes translated as “compassionate” or “kind.”
When I had my “opal” moment, in my semi-conscious mind, life’s purpose was to always do right, always be good, never offend. I had been spending time with some who were especially scrupulous, in a way that inhibited them and me from extending self-compassion, or made it difficult to start in on tasks because so much weight was riding on doing them right. Sound familiar to some of you? In our minds, the purpose of existence was to be as close to perfect as possible in every moment and mentally flog ourselves when we were not—even though I was aware of President Russell M. Nelson’s enlightening address, “Perfection Pending,” in which he explains, “In Matt. 5:48, the term perfect was translated from the Greek teleios, which means ‘complete.’” [3] Not “without error.” Unhealthy perfectionism had nevertheless perseverated within myself and those around me.
That “opal” moment evening, my assumptions experienced an unexpected assault, so as to incite the wonderfully uncomfortable cognitive dissonance that is learning. “Maybe,” I said to myself, “this mortal existence isn’t about living a perfect, unblemished life. Maybe it’s at least in part about becoming perfectly merciful—to learn to extend one another grace.” After all, that’s what Jesus extends to each of us.

Shortly after President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, was called as a General Authority, he went to Elder Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) for counsel. President Packer recalled:
“He listened very carefully to my problem and suggested that I see President David O. McKay [1873–1970]. President McKay counseled me as to the direction I should go. I was very willing to be obedient but saw no way possible for me to do as he counseled me to do.
“I returned to Elder Lee and told him that I saw no way to move in the direction I was counseled to go. He said, ‘The trouble with you is you want to see the end from the beginning.’ I replied that I would like to see at least a step or two ahead. Then came the lesson of a lifetime: ‘You must learn to walk to the edge of the light, and then a few steps into the darkness; then the light will appear and show the way before you.’”2

A member of our bishopric knew that my nine-year-old daughter kept an aquarium and one day asked if she might want some more fish. His family was going on vacation and needed to empty their aquarium. The offer was immediately accepted, and to my daughter’s delight, a pregnant female guppy was among the group.
Upon coming home from church one afternoon, my daughter did her routine check on the aquarium to see if each fish was happy and healthy. To her surprise, she saw four tiny, newborn fish. The mother guppy had begun to deliver. Acting quickly, she moved the babies to the safety box that would protect them from the bigger and more aggressive fish. In all of the excitement, however, one baby guppy was lost. Crying with disappointment, my daughter located it lying among the tiny rocks on the bottom of the aquarium. She tried to scoop it into her net to be placed in the safety box, but she couldn’t move the tiny guppy without injuring it.
All the other tiny guppies were caught, and although the safety box teemed with dozens of new babies, my daughter’s attention was still intently focused on the one fallen among the stones. She sat ready to help it into the box as soon as it could move. She even refused dinner as she sat attentively by her aquarium for about four hours.
Watching her struck some familiar and tender chords. I thought of the Good Shepherd, who leaves His ninety and nine to look for the one who is lost (see Luke 15:3–8; John 10:11–14). All of us know how it feels to be lost or afflicted or spiritually sick. Yet our Savior never gives up on us. He is always there with outstretched arms, ready and willing to rescue us, strengthen us, and bless us.
Later that day my daughter’s concern for that guppy paid off. After her long, tedious hours of waiting and hoping, the tiny fish finally wiggled and then slowly swam out of the rocks. Carefully she placed it in the comfort and security of the safety box. That was witness enough for me of the sustaining power of love.

Late last winter I was feeling pretty blue about something or other that didn’t seem quite right at the university and found myself wondering if all the effort was really worth it. As is so often the case with such monumental matters, I don’t even remember now what it was—but whatever it was, it made those winter days a bit darker than usual.
That led to a question I found myself asking late one night in the darkened study of the President’s Home: “Should the Church even have a university at all?” Did it justify the effort, the expense, the toil, the tithing—and was it worth the pain? After all, the Church had disengaged from a number of operations, which included not only hospitals and hotels but, of far more interest to us, schools. Should the Church, I wondered, continue to fund BYU if resources are limited, if an increasing number of students cannot attend, and if individuals at the university—or in any way the university collectively—could not measure up to the expectations that so many generations have had for us?
Those are very dark thoughts—but then I’ve learned that most thoughts at 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning are pretty dark. (Thank heavens for sleep. Surely the Lord knew what He was doing when He put a night between two days. But back to the study in the President’s Home.)
Thanks to my wife, I long ago established the habit of reading at least some scripture every night before retiring, however late it might be. So after such dark thoughts, I turned a lamp back on and reached for my scriptures. For whatever reason I decided not to pursue the sequential reading that I do most nights. I simply felt inspired to open the scriptures at random and find something fresh and unfamiliar. Now I don’t believe every time anybody opens a scripture it is necessarily an inspired act. Sometimes it is, but I am equally confident that sometimes it isn’t. Certainly those evenings when the book has fallen open to the book of Numbers or the Bible Dictionary I have felt less inspired than others. But this night I opened the book without prejudice and with, I think, a special measure of hope in my heart. Literally and truly the first words on which my eyes fell were these in section 97 of the Doctrine and Covenants: “Behold, I say unto you, concerning the school in Zion, I, the Lord, am well pleased that there should be a school in Zion” (Doctrine and Covenants 97:3; emphasis added).
Those words hit me like a jackhammer. I chilled and blushed and chilled again. I stood up and walked around the room. I’m not embarrassed to tell you I was emotional—you know me well enough to have assumed that; I blubber if the sun comes up. And there across the street just a few yards from our home I thought I saw the statue of Karl G. Maeser smile. (Karl actually wears a pretty stern look all day there atop his pedestal, so perhaps he smiles every morning at about 1:30 just to relax, but I hadn’t seen him do it before!)
So I took something of a lightning strike that night, and I almost felt required to apologize: “Lord, I really don’t harbor doubts about why we have BYU, even on the bad days. Think of it as a joke, a kind of bad joke, I was playing on my neighbor over there, President Maeser. Please don’t garnish my wages or my salvation. And please don’t send me with President Cluff to search on horseback for Zarahemla.” I even considered singing the school song. “There has to be ‘a school in Zion,’ you idiot, because there can be no Zion without it!” By this time I suspected that the Brigham Young statue was smiling too.
Now I know the school referred to in section 97 is technically not BYU. But BYU is, nevertheless, a legitimate academic descendant of the School of the Prophets, and I got a pat on the backside that night that suggested I stop whining and go to work; there was an inheritance to be claimed.
So today I stand before you a repentant man and now presume to answer in some detail my own dark and fleeting question. I would like to suggest why I think the Lord is well pleased that there be “a school in Zion” and why His servants have kept a Brigham Young University when almost all other Church academies are gone, why I think we need it yet, and why I am committed more than ever to its rightful destiny, a university worthy to place before the all-searching eye of God.

Albert Frehner and Matilda Reber were married on April 20, 1888, in the St. George Temple. Albert and Matilda then established their humble home in Littlefield, Arizona. To provide for his family, Brother Frehner hauled freight between El Dorado Canyon and Bonelli's Ferry. Sister Frehner nurtured their growing family and took care of the household chores which included cleaning, making soap, canning and drying vegetables and fruit, and knitting socks, sweaters, and sewing all other needed clothing. For these stalwart Saints it was a hard and happy life together in an arid and desolate place. Albert and Matilda had been married for ten years when Brother Frehner was called in 1898 by President Lorenzo Snow to serve as a missionary in Switzerland, his native land. At the time Albert received the call to serve, Matilda was expecting their fifth child. However, it never entered their hearts or minds to refuse the call. Both gladly accepted the challenge. Matilda assumed the total responsibility for the care of her young family, for their cotton farm, for running the post office out of a small room in her home. She also boarded the "school teacher." Five months after Albert left on his mission, Matilda gave birth to twin girls, Edith and Ethel.

I have provided this background information about Matilda and her circumstances as a context for the following incident. One day Sister Frehner was attending to her duties in the post office. A man, as he was ready to depart after completing his postal business, gave Matilda 25 cents to send to Albert in the mission field. Now I know 25 cents does not sound like much to you and to me today, but to Matilda it meant a great deal! Sister Frehner thanked the good brother, and then asked him if she could use 2 cents of the money to buy a stamp. Matilda explained that she had written a letter to Albert a week or two earlier but did not have the 2 cents to purchase the necessary postage. The man readily agreed to her proposal, the stamp was procured, and the letter was mailed. Brothers and sisters, please consider that Matilda was the manager of the post office. She easily could have borrowed and used a stamp--fully intending to repay the 2 cents when she was in a position to do so. And no one would have known. In her dire financial situation, it certainly would have seemed reasonable to go ahead and mail her letter at the time she wrote it. But Matilda would have known. And Sister Frehner was a woman of integrity and honesty. She simply refused to use, in any way, something for which she could not pay. She also was careful to seek the man's permission to use a portion of the money for a purpose other than that which he had intended.

During the second discussion, the missionaries challenged my mother and me to be baptized. Our reactions were very different. After reading a good portion of the Book of Mormon, I had fasted and prayed and received a confirmation of the truth of what the missionaries were teaching. My mother, however, did not have the slightest intention of being baptized.
When the missionaries left, my mother presented me with a difficult choice. If I chose to be baptized, I would have to live somewhere else. For me there was no question. I knew what was right; I left my mother’s home that night.
The following day the missionaries, the branch president, and I went to my mother’s home to try to resolve the problem. During the discussion that followed, I accepted my mother’s request to wait a month before being baptized—but I did so only out of respect for her and to prove to her that my desires were sincere.
During that month the missionaries continued teaching us. Nothing changed for my mother, and it became clear that she wanted me to again delay my baptism. But I could not wait, and on 15 February 1985—the best day of my life until then—I was baptized.
My mother was angry at my decision, and I didn’t know what I was going to do. I met with my branch president, and as we prayed together, I felt inspired to ask my father’s brother to let me live with his family.
My uncle agreed but on the condition that I return to the university. Soon, however, our relationship deteriorated because he did not want me to go to church or to help the missionaries. Finally, he prohibited me from leaving the house for the district conference where I was to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood.
Once more I had to choose between a tranquil life and the gospel. For me there was no question. That Saturday I arose early, packed my clothes, and left.
It was not easy being a member of the Church, but the Lord blessed me as I made my own way without the support of my family. One of my greatest blessings came when I went to visit the home of a newly baptized couple on an assignment from the elders quorum. There I met their daughter Giovanna.
After a time Giovanna was also baptized, and we planned to be married. But on the day of our wedding a legal notice arrived stating that the marriage could not take place. My mother had found a way to prevent it. After several difficult months we resolved the matter and were married. We now have four beautiful children.
As a family we have had difficult experiences, but these experiences have strengthened our testimonies. The Lord has blessed us greatly, and He has used our trials and difficulties to guide and bless our lives. Of this there is no question.