Gospel Story Finder

In a small country town lived a boy named Willard. Willard collected everything imaginable. In fact, his room looked like a junkyard. But Willard knew that one day he would build something truly magnificent with all the junk he’d collected.
Willard started keeping all his junk in his room after his parents told him that he couldn’t leave it scattered throughout the house.
In one corner of his room Willard had an assortment of cardboard boxes. The smaller ones were stuffed inside the bigger ones to save space. Dangling from his doorknob were old shoelaces and pieces of string and yarn. Willard had shoe boxes full of different-size wheels from broken toys. Old wagon wheels were propped against the wall. Piled here and there were old inner tubes, Popsicle sticks, bottle caps, milk cartons, stacks of pictures from magazines, crayons, pencils, and all kinds of tape. And on his dresser he had soda cracker boxes piled to the ceiling.
One evening when Willard’s mother tried to get into his room to say good night, she could barely squeeze through the doorway. “Willard,” she said, “this mess is getting to me.”
When his father pushed into the room, he ordered, “Willard! This stuff has to go. You have until the weekend to get your room cleaned out. That’s it!”
Willard didn’t sleep much that night. He couldn’t possibly throw out all his magnificent junk. He knew that the time had come for him to build something truly magnificent.
It took Willard two days to carry all the junk from his room to the backyard. On the third day he started building. First Willard threaded some heavy wire through an old bicycle inner tube and nailed it to a tree. “A truly magnificent basketball hoop,” he said, pleased with himself.
Then he cut shorter pieces of heavy wire and shaped them into small hoops. “A truly magnificent ringtoss,” he murmured.
Next he built a pushcart, using some discarded wagon wheels. He made a seat for it and oiled the wheels. “Truly magnificent,” he said, beaming.
Willard took the tops and bottoms off all his cardboard boxes. He laid them end to end, forming a maze. He crawled through the boxes and pasted his collection of pictures on the inside walls. A truly magnificent fun house, thought Willard.
Willard stacked some milk cartons on a crate, then called it a day.
On the fourth day Willard still had lots to do. He made airplanes and little houses out of his piles of Popsicle sticks. He made kites out of newspapers and used his yarn collection for tails. Finally he built lots of his favorite toy—cracker-box trucks. He cut down one end of each box a little, folded down the flaps to make the cab, and taped the folds in place. He punched holes in the sides of the box, pushed dowels through for axles, snapped on wheels.
On the fifth day Willard put up a sign in his front yard:
WILLARD’S MAGNIFICENT CARNIVAL
ANY GAME OR RIDE—ONLY 5 PRETTY ROCKS
MAGNIFICENT PRIZES
Curious, all the children in the little town came to his carnival. They played ringtoss and basketball and knocked down milk cartons with balls. There was always a line of kids waiting to ride the pushcart.
One girl came out of the fun house and said, “Willard, this is the best fun house I’ve ever been in—it’s not even scary.” One boy said, “Willard, this is great. I have enough rocks to spend the whole day here.”
Willard gave prizes to the game winners. They could choose an airplane, a house, a kite, or a cracker-box truck. Like Willard, their favorite was the cracker-box trucks. “These are really nifty,” they said. Everyone wanted one, even the girls.
After two days of fun and games, Willard was out of prizes. So he asked for everyone’s attention. “Thank you all for coming to my carnival. You may take home anything that you see here.”
Some children took bottle caps, some took boxes, others took wheels and odds and ends until everything was gone. Soon Willard’s backyard was clean and quiet and back to normal.
All during the carnival, Willard’s parents had looked on in amazement. Now his father said, “I’m really proud of Willard for having this carnival. He got rid of all his junk and provided a great time for all the kids in town.”
“He certainly did!” said his mother.
But when they walked into Willard’s room to tell him how proud they were of him, they were stunned. All over the floor, and in every nook and cranny, were boxes and sacks filled to the top with pretty rocks!

I grew up on a farm in Colonia Dublán, México, and I learned early how to do farm chores. My father had a large family, and we all had certain assignments. One day after I had finished my chores, I went inside. I had little leaves and pieces of straw and hay in the cuffs of my pants, so I decided to clean them out.
I lifted the lid off our wood-burning stove and dumped the hay and straw into the fire. I stirred the coals and watched the straw and hay sparkle and burn on them in the stove. When I put the lid back on the stove, somehow a hot metal poker slipped and hit me in the center of my eye.
To this day, I remember the incredible pain and agony I felt. My mother heard my screams and came running to my aid. She picked me up in her arms and carried me to her bedroom, where she held me most of the night.
I was only about six years old, and I don’t remember a lot of details about that evening. But I do remember her holding me and cuddling me, trying to comfort me in the midst of such terrible pain. My father was out of town, so my mother spent the night with me alone, praying fervently to Heavenly Father for help and healing.
I spent much of the night crying, but at some point I fell asleep. The next morning I awoke. There was no sign of any burns, no mark, no loss of vision. The faith of my mother had healed me.

If you will indulge me, I would like to share one lesson learned here that took place entirely by accident. Frankly, I am embarrassed to relate it to you—and wouldn’t—except that the lesson I learned might prove insightful to one or two of you new graduates.

As a friend and I were walking past the Smoot Administration Building on our way toward the Marriott Center for a Tuesday morning devotional, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, then president of the university, hurriedly came out.

No one was within 50 yards of my friend and me—and now President Holland. He merged onto the sidewalk fewer than 10 feet in front of us but began to increase the distance between us. He was clearly more anxious to get to the devotional on time than we were. In my youthful irreverence—and thinking I would be clever—I muttered to my friend, intentionally loud enough for Elder Holland to hear, “You’d think he’d at least slow down to say hello to a couple of his students.” (As you can see, the IQ required to attend BYU was not nearly as high 25 years ago as it is today.)

It was then that this master teacher taught me a lesson I have kept with me my entire life. Without the slightest pause in his step he simply stated, loud enough for me to hear and profound enough for me to learn from and to remember: “I have much to do. But if you will step up with me, we’ll walk together.”

I have thought often of this exchange and from it learned a number of lessons.

The most obvious is discretion. What kind of a goofball says something like this to the president of the university—the man who with a stroke of a pen can revoke scholarships or do any number of other education-ending actions? Additionally I learned that when a leader speaks, even seemingly insignificant exchanges in passing can have a lasting influence. I have spent 25 years considering and learning from this brief exchange. Elder Holland taught me forgiveness. When the natural man might have responded with an equally inconsiderate retort, he chose instead to say something to uplift. He taught me that he was engaged in doing good works when he said, “I have much to do.” He invited me to participate with him. While reaching out to me, he wasn’t distracted from the bigger picture concerning what he was about and what he was called to do. Elder Holland invited me to lengthen my stride and to improve my own actions when he said, “Step up with me.” He didn’t tell me what to do but instead led with example: “Come join me, and we’ll travel together.”

As a young man he was a gardener and worked several years for rich people with big gardens. The last man he worked for had prize grape vines. They had been neglected, had grown wild and ragged, and the grapes were of poor quality. Father was asked by his employer to care for the vines and to restore them so they would bear good fruit again. Being a skilled gardener, he cut off the bad growth down to the thick stems. When the land owner, who knew nothing about the culture of grapes, saw what his gardener had done, he became very angry and Father lost his job.

So Father gave up gardening and moved to the coalfield. There he started to work as a laborer, keeping the railroad tracks in good repair. After a year or so, the company recognized him as an outstanding worker and made him a supervisor.
Father’s garden was the envy of the village. There was never a weed to be seen. His vegetable crops stood in straight rows like little soldiers. He always had Mam [Mother] save the soapy water on laundry days. This he would pour over his growing vegetables. In later years I learned it was the lye in the soap that killed the bugs.
He loved his family, and instead of visiting the bars he would spend the evenings entertaining the family with his accordion and teaching us to sing and dance.
After his conversion to the Church, Sunday morning was always a special occasion. Following Sunday School and while Mam was preparing dinner, he took us children for a walk up into the hills. Here he taught us about nature and history. We would stop by an old stone wall built in the days of the Romans, and he would tell us of the greatness of the Roman Empire. He would help us imagine the gladiators showing their skill in the arena as the crowds cheered. He also explained to us the destruction of this once great nation.
Father would make the study of nature interesting for us. Once he picked a violet from beneath a hedge and called us children to his side. “It’s just a tiny flower,” he said, “but it contains many elements given by God—a lovely perfume and petals softer than the finest velvet—and all of this comes out of the soil of the earth and the rays of the sun.”
There was a time when on one of our walks I found a hedgehog. He was hiding under some bushes and peering out at us with his little beady eyes. I wanted to poke him with a stick but Father stopped me. “Why hurt the little creature? He has trouble enough with dogs and foxes, so let’s not bother him.”
Once he stopped and signaled us to be quiet. Then he pointed to a dark spot up in the sky. “Listen,” he said quietly, “and hear the voice of God.” We stopped and heard the song of a bird as it soared into the sky. I didn’t hear the voice of God, but years later I learned what he meant.
One evening when it was raining, the family sat around the fireside when suddenly a thought came to me. “Father,” I said, a bit boldly for a young boy, “tell us about our grandparents on your side of the family. We have seen our grandparents on Mam’s side but we have not heard anything about our other grandparents.”
Father stared into the fire for a few moments before answering. “Thomas,” he said, “that’s a good question, but I don’t know much about my father. My mother, who died a few years ago, told me that he died just after I was born, and I have never visited his grave. Someday I must do that.” Sometime later Father announced he was taking a day to go visiting out in the country. There was nothing unusual about this as he had relatives who lived in a little cottage in a village a few kilometers away.
When he returned home that night, we could tell by his actions that something was wrong. A few days later, he called the family together and told us what he had learned.
He had visited an old church in a village called Llanviangel and there he had found the record of his father and of his own birth. This was the story that our father told us:
In a little coal mining village up the valley a girl was born to his grandparents. They named her Rhonwen. When she was sixteen years old, she was sent to work as a servant for a rich family. Before a year had passed, she returned home expecting a baby. Her wealthy employer had taken advantage of her innocence. When he found she was pregnant he paid her two months’ salary and sent her home.
Rhonwen married one of the young men of the village before the baby was born. She failed to have him christened or his birth recorded, and he grew up with the name of Rhonwen’s husband who was killed in a coal mine disaster just after the child was born.
The discovery of the circumstances of his birth, which had later been recorded by the minister of the church, changed our father’s life. He lost interest in his garden and in his personal appearance. Instead of being his happy self, he became morose and moody.
Then one day, Mam, who normally was as gentle as an angel, made Father sit down in his favorite chair. Her gentleness was gone and in her eyes there was a bit of fire. “Gwyllam [William],” she said, “you are acting like a fool. Just because a wicked man took advantage of a young girl and a child was born, you are cursing yourself and putting the curse on all your family. It was God that gave you birth and I saw in you a fine man whom I loved dearly and married.”
The fire was still in her eyes as she spoke again. “Now I will not stand by and see you destroy yourself and us.”
She put her arms around his neck and in a voice that was now touched with love she said, “Oh my Gwyllam, we cannot live in the past. We have each other, our children and our love. Someone sinned but it was not you. Besides, we have the gospel and you hold the priesthood of God. Can we ask for more?”
It was then the agony in his heart burst forth and the tears came—tears that washed away the bitterness and cleansed his mind. From that day on he became our beloved father again. We resumed our walks in the hills and he tended his garden and flowers.

Brother Braden’s involvement in important family events isn’t just because he wants to be involved. During the fast and testimony meeting when our oldest daughter, Jane, was to be confirmed, she restlessly searched the congregation for him, not satisfied—even though she was surrounded by her own family—until she saw Brother Braden come in late from another meeting and take the seat nearest to the back door. She knew that he had given up other plans to be with her and that he was glad to do so. When Jane’s name was called, she walked down the aisle to Brother Braden, and the two of them came hand in hand to the circle where she would be confirmed to share one of the most important moments of her life.

The Mysterious Benedict Society*, by Trenton Lee Stewart. Reynie is an orphan with a talent for solving problems. When he discovers an ad in the newspaper for gifted children looking for special opportunities, he goes to apply. After a series of interesting tests, he and three other children begin a dangerous and unusual secret mission to save the world—but they’ll need each other to finish the task.

Just as Joseph loved and was concerned about his faithful parents, his love for his brothers and sisters endured beyond the bounds of death. His respect and concern for Alvin, his oldest brother, is exemplary. Before Alvin died in 1823, he urged Joseph and Hyrum to finish building the house that he had begun for their parents. And then Alvin exhorted Joseph to remain faithful in bringing forth the gospel work. (See History of Joseph Smith by His Mother, pages 86–87.) Joseph was diligent in fulfilling both of Alvin’s requests. In his history, dated 22 August 1842, Joseph expressed his deep love and admiration for Alvin: “I remember well the pangs of sorrow that swelled my youthful bosom and almost burst my tender heart when he died. He was the oldest and noblest of my father’s family. He was one of the noblest of the sons of men” (Ibid., page 333).

Reading about the LDS clown with the Greatest Show on Earth prompted me to write about my experience with a touring show. I am a British Saint of five-years membership. I was working on costumes for an ice show when contacted to join a show called “Disney on Parade” as wardrobe mistress. They were at that time in Milano, Italy. The show was experimental, the first European tour of Disney, and the cast was European. My bishop gave me a list of all the wards and branches of the Church and wished me luck.
Off I went to Italy to the Milano Hilton and eight months of being the only member of the Church in a company of 80. Touring with heavy wardrobe containers, training a local wardrobe staff, not speaking their language, visiting a new country every two weeks, packing and unpacking, and getting into and out of sports stadiums has been quite a challenge. I’ve learned about people from all over the world. In the company we have Dutch, German, Swedish, Australian, Danish, South American, Austrian, North American, French, Swiss, English, and South African cast members and workers. I’ve learned to respect their different ways of life. The backstage crew have pulled my leg about being LDS but respect me enough not to swear near me. I’ve had to approach people carefully about the gospel in order not to appear to be a religious fanatic or seem to be ramming religion down their throats. I’ve used example more than preaching. Theater people can be a wild bunch at parties and on days off, so I’ve had to pick my social ties carefully. Sometimes it is lonely, but I always think of my Lord and am greatly comforted.
I’ve found reading scriptures and studying to be quite difficult because of the pace we live at, but if I haven’t learned much of the scriptures, I’ve seen the Saints building the Church and learned a lot from them. Since I’ve been in South America a friend and I have been able to stay with a member family, and what a choice family they are. Their example helped my friend to accept the gospel. She was baptized two days ago in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
I know that my way of life as a member of the Church is choice, that our teachings are uncomplicated, and that this truly is Christ’s church.
Miss S. J. BenninaLeigh-on-Sea, Essex, England

He learned to work hard and long on his father’s farm, and he was not one to give up easily. When he was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1943, he was shocked, overwhelmed, and humbled. In his first talk as an Apostle at the October 1943 general conference, he testified:
“I remember reading that Jacob wrestled all night, ‘until the breaking of the day,’ for a blessing; and I want to tell you that for eighty-five nights I have gone through that experience, wrestling for a blessing. Eighty-five times, the breaking of the day has found me on my knees praying to the Lord to help me and strengthen me and make me equal to this great responsibility that has come to me.”

I saw a copy of the Book of Mormon in my niece’s house in Ibadan, Nigeria. Being an avid reader, I was curious to understand why the book says it is “another testament of Jesus Christ,” so I took the book and read it.
The subtitle “another testament of Jesus Christ” opened my mind to the possibility of a universal Savior rather than just the Savior of the Israelites, which at that time was a great concern to me. His visit to the Nephites and the establishment of His laws and ordinances among those people got me wanting to know more about His ministry.
That subtitle led me to learn more about the Church. I started feeling the Spirit as I obeyed the admonitions written in the Book of Mormon, like praying to know the truth for myself (see Moroni 10:4). Now I know that the Savior lives and loves all of us.
Ezekiel Akeh, Idaho, USA

Over the years, John taught a lot of students about Indian flute music. Tilda Suen, from Toadlena, New Mexico, remembers standing in front of a class of about 30 Brigham Young University students. Using simple fingering patterns, she played an original composition for her classmates. Then Brother Rainer led the entire group in a discussion about the melody.
“Trying to compose on the flute is fascinating,” Tilda recalls. “It’s hard to get your own expression and style into your song. But Brother Rainer taught us something that helped. He wanted us to convey strong feelings in our music, things like love, our feelings about the Church, our emotions.” Others also played their compositions for the class, then offered supportive comments.
“We learned about improvisations,” explained Lance Silverhorn of Anadarko, Oklahoma. “We arranged the notes we knew to come up with a song, practicing fingering and basic sounds. Later, we’d work out more complicated melodies on our own.”
For John Rainer, teaching a class was another means of sharing his love for the art of his ancestors—and also a means of preserving a skill that to them was interwoven in the fabric of everyday life.
“Native American flute playing was a dying art 15 years ago,” he said. “But now it’s regaining popularity throughout the country, as native performers like Commanche Doc Tate Nevaquaya of Norman, Oklahoma, record traditional songs and travel the country explaining them.” Brother Rainer invited Doc Tate to BYU several years ago and learned a lot from him about how to make flutes and play them. Through his own study, John also amassed a personal knowledge about the role of the flute in Indian society, a knowledge he continues passing on to others.
“I try to help people understand the function of the flute as it was and as it is today,” he said. It is a story of a rich heritage.
Some songs were most personal and were played only for sacred occasions. Some tribes treated songs as actual property—another person could not perform them without permission, payment, or proof they were given to him as a gift. In the Northern and Southern Plains, songs could be rented or leased.
Although many people think of the voice as the primary means of producing a melody in Indian society, the flute and whistle were also used.
Flutes were used in religious ceremonies, to mark events of importance to the community, as a means of self-expression, as a greeting to strangers, as a war signal, to announce the arrival of VIPs, and often in courting.
“Courting was not as overt as it is in modern society. A young man with feelings for a young lady could have a flute made or purchase a song and play it, hoping the young woman would respond. In some cultures, if she was impressed she would tie a feather in his pony’s tail. But they would not go walking around hand in hand.
“The Apaches had a very strict moral code. For them a melody was a prayer. They believed the flute player, to offer an effective prayer, had to be totally clean.
“The philosophy of the people was that there was life in everything, animate or inanimate. Taking that into consideration, they had respect for all life around them. So when the flute maker went out to select his wood, he did so in a religious context. He would try to understand the area from which his wood would come.
“If you have strong feelings and want to compose a song, it’s almost like putting clothes on a feeling. As Latter-day Saints we can use the flute to convey feelings about our Heavenly Father, our testimony, and our love for the gospel and our fellowman. At first your songs will be rough, but expect that. Practice each day and you will find it becomes part of your means of expression.”
One of the non-Lamanites who studied with Brother Rainer at BYU was Ingrid Jensen of Payson, Utah, who had exposure to European classical music in her home. One day in class she interrupted with a question, wondering how the trill so common in native American music is produced. Brother Rainer, whose favorite European composers include Bach, Berlioz, and Mozart, demonstrated the technique. Then he and Ingrid discussed diatonic scales and compared the baroque period’s augmented fourth interval with styles traditional in Navajo hymns.
Not everyone John talks to about flutes is so musically inclined. “Very few of the students in the flute-making class had any musical training when we started,” explained Katherine Kokenes of Mililani Town, Hawaii. “We came to the class because we wanted to build our own flutes and learn to play them. Once our first flute was made, he taught us simple tunes like ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb,’ and we practiced them over and over until we got used to them.”
Katherine based the exterior decoration for her flute on a Hawaiian motif symbolizing the ocean waves surrounding her island. She rubbed the wood with kukui nut oil.
Others John has taught have also found ways to personalize their instruments. Freida Maize from Shiprock, New Mexico, carved an “S” on her flute to stand for her home town. Ray Delgarito of Crown Point, New Mexico, fashioned part of his in the shape of a quail. And Jackie Smith of Dustin, Oklahoma, carved a thunderbird and other tribal symbols of the Creeks and Seminoles on her flute.
“The thunderbird symbolizes power, and to me music is a powerful way to influence people. In my tribe and every tribe it plays a vital part because it is involved in everything—religion, everyday singing, powwows, war dances. Everything is tied in with some form of music or other.”
She explained that her mother, who is not a member of the Church, heard her playing the LDS hymn “I Need Thee Every Hour” on the flute and asked her about its meaning. “I was able to show her that she can kneel before God and meet him any time, every hour.”
John Rainer knows that the wood on a flute can be left natural, rubbed down with a piece of cedar to smooth the surface, or the wood can be finished with linseed oil, stain, or shellac. Designs can be painted on the surface. Each flute, like each song, should represent the person who made it.
“It’s more worthwhile than just making something,” Tilda said. “Something simple becomes something beautiful when you use it to play a song.” John agrees. “It’s an extremely satisfying experience to take wood, carve it out, and then make music from your own creation. And each flute has a timbre all its own—no two instruments, just like no two songs, are alike.”
A flute is made from two halves joined together. This allows the center to be rounded, hollowed, and sanded. When the halves are joined, the instrument must then be tuned. The process requires consideration of many variables: size of holes, their distance from each other and from other parts of the flute, the diameter of the center bore, and the distance from a sharp wooden edge inside the flute that produces the vibrations. Most tuning is accomplished by increasing or decreasing the size of holes.
John explains that his ancestors made their flutes by burning holes with wooden rods, or by hollowing out cane which, when hot, is almost like plastic. In some regions pine, cedar, and redwood were used.
Early flutes were simple, straight tubes. With time, the two-piece construction was perfected, using resin rather than epoxy or glue to join the wood together. Interior carving leaves a thin strip of wood designed as a resonator. A wooden block is usually cemented above the resonator to help redirect air toward the finger holes.
It’s easy to see that a person who wants to make a flute needs to learn something about woodworking as well. A novice learns quickly. Tilda had nearly completed her first flute when it cracked; she completed her second in four days working three hours a day.
“I worked on my flute outdoors,” said Eric Hatch, a Navajo from Fruitland, New Mexico. “It helped me get a feeling for the olden days. The old ways are not so dead after all. My grandparents would be surprised, but they would be proud to see I want to learn and understand things that were important to them. Brother Rainer’s gone back to a lot of things I never knew, things I used to ignore. But now I listen and it seems very real.”
“I learned not only how to make flutes, but I learned a lot about the flute makers’ way of thinking,” Lance said. “It’s quite invigorating culturally to think of them and then build a flute and play a song the same way they would have.”
“I didn’t even know Navajos used flutes,” Ray said. “I think flutes sound neat. When you’re alone, play your flute and it’s like someone else is there. At first I thought I’d learn and then quit. But I think I’ll keep making them. People keep asking me to play songs for them.”
Nelson Atine of Salt Lake City, Utah, said playing the flute helped him think of the future, “what I’ll do with my heritage and my family and my children.”
John has taught many people to share the song of the flute. Some have played Church hymns in meetings. Others have shared their talent with relatives. John often plays a beautiful song he composed for his wife. He smiles proudly when his son David plays his flute.
John’s expertise has opened new opportunities for him. He has moved to San Carlos, Arizona, back to the reservation so that he can spend more time carving ebony and ironwood into flutes. People come from all over the world to hear him play. He travels to universities to give lectures. His music is being recorded and distributed throughout the country.
John will explain that every Indian tribe used the flute in some way. He’ll talk about geographical distribution, varieties of flutes, and compositional techniques. He reminds you that in some native American societies, the flute was so revered that the instrument and the honor of being the flute player was handed down from one generation to the next.
In his own quiet way, that seems to be exactly what John Rainer is doing for the coming generation—he is passing on to them the tradition of the song of the flute.

Some years ago while I was serving as a mission president, my wife, Evelia, witnessed a touching scene of happiness when she saw a faithful family enter the chapel. This mother and her two small children had walked from their humble home under oppressive heat to church that day. They never imagined they would find Elder Cruz, the dedicated missionary who, the year before, had shared the message of the restored gospel with them. This wonderful surprise was key in their recognizing the great happiness the gospel had brought into their lives. The children ran to embrace him, and while tears of joy ran down the cheeks of Elder Cruz, the mother clasped his hands in hers and profoundly thanked him for all he had done to bless their family. Surely they found that happiness which is prepared and reserved for the Saints.

May I share a personal experience with you?
At a previous institution where I was employed, I had been given the responsibility to meet with a group who was preparing to sue the institution and felt very strongly about what had been done and how it had impacted them. I admit that in the first meeting I handled it very poorly. The tone became accusatory, personal, and quite ugly. I found myself reacting to their anger and frustration in a very inappropriate way. The meeting did not go well, and it would be necessary to meet again.
As I prepared myself for the next meeting, I found myself preparing for war. I thought of everything that might be thrown at me, and I was preparing myself with all the things I could say or do to show them that they were wrong and the institution I worked for was right.
As I was shaving and looking in the mirror that morning and thinking of all that I could do to show them, it came to me, "Charles, choose to pre-forgive. Choose to not be offended." That is what I did. The meeting started out as the first had. I waited patiently until they were done. They had been mean, personal, and offensive. I chose to not be offended, and I listened. It was very hard. When they were done, I simply asked how we could get to a solution to their concerns and frustrations. Once they realized that I was serious about wanting to work with them and come to a resolution, the tone of the meeting changed, apologies were given, and a solution was found that resolved the dispute between the institution and this group at much less cost than going through a lawsuit. The group's leader and I became friends, and I was able to call upon him for future help at the institution. It was a great learning experience for me.

Jared’s thumbs flew over his video-game controller. This was it! He was finally going to beat his big brother!
Trees and rocks flew past on the TV screen as Jared’s car zoomed into the last stretch of the final lap.
BAM! Travis’s car came out of nowhere, pushing Jared’s car off the racetrack. A second later, Travis flew across the finish line.
“Yes!” Travis said. “Still the champ!”
“That wasn’t fair!” Jared said. “I want a rematch.”
“That was a rematch,” Travis answered with a laugh. “Face it, little bro. I’m a blast from the past made of nothin’ but fast!”
Usually Jared liked joking around with Travis when they played video games. But this time he didn’t feel like laughing. “Let’s race again,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Travis asked. “You seem kind of mad.”
“I’m not mad!” Jared said loudly. “Come on. One more race.”
Travis shrugged. “OK. But last one.”
By the end of the second lap, Jared’s car was in third place. His heart started thumping harder. Then halfway through the final lap, he finally caught up with Travis’s car. It was now or never! Jared’s thumbs flew as he did his best passing move.
BAM! At the last second, Travis crashed into Jared’s car, sending it off the track—again!
“Aaaugh! Not again!” Jared felt anger filling up inside him like a water balloon ready to pop. He threw the controller down and jumped off the couch. Then he ran and kicked the wall next to the TV.
CRUNCH!
Jared stared down in disbelief. He pulled his foot slowly out of the hole in the wall he’d just made with his foot.
“Whoa,” Travis said. “That’s not good.”
Suddenly Jared’s anger vanished. Now he was just plain scared. Not only about what Mom and Dad were going to say but because he’d never felt that mad before. And all over a dumb video game!
“Hey, bro. I’m sorry,” Travis said. “I wasn’t trying to be mean.”
“It’s not your fault,” Jared said. “I can’t believe I just did that.”
Jared spent the rest of the afternoon dreading the time when Mom and Dad would get home from their date. What would he tell them? He couldn’t even explain it to himself. He went to his bedroom to pray. He asked for forgiveness and for help in knowing how to talk to Mom and Dad.
As soon as he heard their voices, Jared ran out to meet them. “Mom! Dad! I’m so sorry!”
Dad stopped laughing. “Sorry for what?”
Jared showed them the wall and explained what had happened.
“We’re glad you told us the truth,” Mom said. They all agreed that Jared would do extra chores to help pay for fixing the wall. That was only fair.
Dad’s face softened. “The wall isn’t what has me worried. Can you help me understand how you got so angry?”
Jared tried to put into words how he’d felt when he kept losing over and over.
“It sounds like you started feeling really frustrated,” Dad said. “Do you think it might be a good idea to cut back on video games for a few weeks?”
Jared nodded. That made sense. Maybe he and Travis could go on more bike rides.
“We love you,” Dad said, pulling Jared into a hug. “If you have any more problems like this, we can figure it out together.”
Jared said a quick prayer after Mom and Dad left the room. “Thank Thee for helping me talk to Mom and Dad.”
He felt a warmth spread in his heart. This is the best feeling I’ve had all day, he thought. Things are going to be OK.

I would like to focus on the first trait that describes them: “valiant for courage.” To me, this describes the conviction of these young men to courageously do what is right, or as Alma describes, “to stand as witnesses of God at all times … and in all places.”2 The 2,000 stripling soldiers had countless moments to demonstrate their courage. Each of you will also have defining moments in your life requiring courage. A friend of mine, John, shared with me one of those moments in his life.
Some years ago, John was accepted at a prestigious Japanese university. He would be part of the international student program with many other top students from around the world. Some enrolled with a hope to deepen their understanding of the culture and language, others viewed it as a stepping-stone to an eventual profession and employment in Japan, but all had left home to study in a foreign country.
Soon after John’s arrival, word of a party to be held on the rooftop of a private residence spread among the foreign student population. That evening, John and two friends made their way to the advertised address.
Following an elevator ride to the top floor of the building, John and his friends navigated the single narrow stairway leading to the rooftop and began mingling with the others. As the night wore on, the atmosphere changed. The noise, music volume, and alcohol amplified, as did John’s uneasiness. Then suddenly someone began organizing the students into a large circle with the intent of sharing marijuana cigarettes. John grimaced and quickly informed his two friends that it was time to leave. Almost in ridicule, one of them replied, “John, this is easy—we’ll just stand in the circle, and when it is our turn, we’ll just pass it along rather than smoke it. That way we won’t have to embarrass ourselves in front of everyone by leaving.” This sounded easy to John, but it did not sound right. He knew he had to announce his intention and act. In a moment he mustered his courage and told them that they could do as they wished, but he was leaving. One friend decided to stay and joined the circle; the other reluctantly followed John down the stairs to board the elevator. Much to their surprise, when the elevator doors opened, Japanese police officers poured out and hurried to ascend the stairs to the rooftop. John and his friend boarded the elevator and departed.
When the police appeared at the top of the stairs, the students quickly threw the illegal drugs off the roof so they wouldn’t be caught. After securing the stairway, however, the officers lined up everyone on the roof and asked each student to extend both hands. The officers then walked down the line, carefully smelling each student’s thumbs and index fingers. All who had held the marijuana, whether they had smoked it or not, were presumed guilty, and there were huge consequences. Almost without exception, the students who had remained on the rooftop were expelled from their respective universities, and those convicted of a crime were likely deported from Japan. Dreams of an education, years of preparation, and the possibility of future employment in Japan were dashed in a moment.
Now let me tell you what happened to these three friends. The friend who stayed on the roof was expelled from the university in Japan to which he had worked so hard to be accepted and was required to return home. The friend who left the party that night with John finished school in Japan and went on to earn degrees from two top-tier universities in the United States. His career took him back to Asia, where he has enjoyed immense professional success. He remains grateful to this day for John’s courageous example. As for John, the consequences in his life have been immeasurable. His time in Japan that year led him to a happy marriage and the subsequent birth of two sons. He has been a very successful businessman and recently became a professor at a Japanese university. Imagine how different his life would have been had he not had the courage to leave the party on that important evening in Japan.3

Winston Churchill spoke of the sharp agate points upon which the ponderous balance of destiny turns. Every one of us has in our own lives those sharp agate points upon which the ponderous balance of our destinies turn. Thirteen years ago, my stake president, John K. Edmunds, called me to meet him for lunch in a downtown Chicago restaurant. (We were both practicing law in that city at the time.) I was then a counselor in the Sunday School superintendency of one of the wards in his stake. He called me to a stake mission and to serve as a counselor in the stake mission presidency. At that time, I was working all day and every evening of the week and all day Saturday—excluding Sunday, as has always been my practice. I was working morning, noon, and night six days a week on some very taxing assignments for the law firm that employed me. He called me on a stake mission and told me—as was his wont, perfectly unyielding, without any compromise—that I would be expected to give forty hours of proselyting time per month in addition to attending meetings, bringing investigators to church, and doing the gospel study I would need to qualify myself as a stake missionary. I said to myself at that time that this was a turning point in my life; this was a test of my faith. Would I have the faith necessary to accept that position in view of the requirements of my employment? Even at that time, but more surely as I have looked back on it, I could recognize this as one of those sharp agate points that Churchill identified. Fortunately for me I mustered the faith, accepted the call, and said to my president, “If the Lord wants me to serve in that position—and I do honor the calling as coming from the Lord through his servant—he will make it possible for me to do it. When do you want me to start?”

He said, “I have an appointment I’d like you to keep tonight.”

I got my affairs in order and began that evening. Effective with that calling to a stake mission, I rarely ever worked after five o’clock again in the remaining course of my law practice, and still I realized greater success than I had ever realized by any measure that a young man could choose for success in his chosen profession. The Lord made it up to me in countless ways that I have no time and indeed no ability to particularize for you, but I can simply tell you that my faith was rewarded in every possible way.

More important to me, as I look back, is the certainty with which I can see that this calling to a stake mission changed the direction of my life and set me on a course that brought me here in measurable, deliberate, and direct steps to stand before you today. As I began to do the work of that missionary calling, I began to reevaluate the course on which I had set myself professionally, and I began to think about whether I wanted to spend the rest of my life in that particular law practice. Six months later, when I received a renewed offer of a position in law teaching, I accepted it. I would never have accepted that position if it had not been for my calling to a stake mission. That calling also offered me an opportunity to grow in faith and devotion and loyalty to the leadership of the Church. In every way I can measure it was a turning point in my life.

Mitch Davis: It is so good to be here with my lovely bride, who I also met and courted on this hallowed campus.

Several years ago I had a very dramatic experience regarding trusting the Lord. I was backpacking with my 10-year-old son, two of his friends, and our faithful dog, Pluto, when we were hit by lightning.

We were hiking above timberline when a sudden storm blew in. We pitched our tent, and I put the boys inside their sleeping bags to keep them warm. I started fixing dinner on our little camp stove. Then, suddenly, I was gone.

Although I have no recollection of the lightning hitting me, the boys tell me that it blasted through our tent’s roof and hit me square in the chest and that I flew backward and landed on the floor unconscious with my eyes open but rolled back into my head.

The bulk of the strike passed through my chest and into the dog sitting behind me, killing him. The rest of the lightning curled down my right arm and struck the boy seated next to me, then danced wickedly about the tent, burning holes in sleeping bags and striking the two other boys.

But I knew nothing about this. In my mind, at least, I ceased to exist.

After some time I became aware of myself again. I began to be able to hear, although I could not see or move any part of my body. As if from a great distance I could hear the three boys screaming. I heard my son cry out, “Dad, please don’t die!” One of the boys leaned over and gave me a single puff of artificial respiration. The other promised God he would never do another bad thing in his entire life if Brother Davis would just wake up.

But I couldn’t wake up. I could only lie there, helpless, wondering what in the world had happened to me.

Then I became aware of something else—a dark presence I can only describe as impending death. I felt myself starting to leave mortality and realized my only hope was divine intervention. I fought with every fiber of my being to call on Heavenly Father.

Then a most interesting thing happened. Before I could call on Father, He called on me. Through the unmistakably clear voice of the Spirit, He encouraged me with these simple words: “You served a valiant mission. Ask in confidence.”

Heavenly Father knew I needed extra faith at that moment. He knew I had faith in Him but lacked faith in myself as a worthy recipient of the miracle I so desperately needed. So he sent me that encouraging message: “You served a valiant mission. Ask in confidence.”

I exerted every ounce of faith I had in a fervent, frenzied prayer. Heavenly Father responded by immediately freeing me from death’s grip. I regained consciousness and the strength, several hours later, to hike off the mountain with my boy, his friends, and the body of our dog.

I do not tell you this story for the sake of mere drama, nor to boast about my personal missionary prowess. I assure you I was no more valiant than most missionaries. I tell you this story because of the significance of the Lord’s choice of words to me: When my life literally hung in the balance, all that mattered were my two years of obscure service in the villages of Argentina.

How grateful I was I had decided to go on a mission and that I had worked hard once I got there! I remembered the words of my great BYU stake president, Robert K. Thomas: “If you’re almost worthy, almost willing to make the sacrifice, you’ll almost get the blessing.” I wondered what the Lord would have said to me on that mountain had I almost decided to serve a mission.

A year ago last winter, a modern jetliner faltered after takeoff and plunged into the icy Potomac River. Acts of bravery and feats of heroism were in evidence that day, the most dramatic of which was one witnessed by the pilot of a rescue helicopter. The rescue rope was lowered to a struggling survivor. Rather than grasping the lifeline to safety, the man tied the line to another, who was then lifted to safety. The rope was lowered again, and yet another was saved. Five were rescued from the icy waters. Among them was not found the anonymous hero. Unknown by name, “he left the vivid air signed with his honor.” (Stephen Spender, “I think continually of those—” in Masterpieces of Religious Verse, ed. James Dalton Morrison, New York: Harper and Brothers Publishers, p. 291.)

When President Thomas S. Monson asked those new members of the Seventy and the Young Women general presidency to come up and take their places on the stand, I remembered vividly April 1970, when I was called to be an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve—which was a surprise to me. I’d only known about it for just a few hours. As I was invited to sit in one of the red chairs in the old Tabernacle, the choir started to sing “O Divine Redeemer.” As I listened to that pleading song with that wonderful melody, I silently asked the Savior to accept me as I am and remember not my failures, my shortcomings, and my sins (see Psalm 25:7). What a wonderful day that was! That flashed through my mind as President Monson made that invitation today.

As a college student, Daeyoon returned home to Chinhae for a visit and met a former high school friend who used to ridicule him for not drinking. “Do you still go to church now that you are a university student?” the friend asked.
“Yes,” Daeyoon replied. “I intend to do so all my life.”
“I just can’t understand it,” the friend exclaimed. “How can you have fun when you are bound by so many restrictions? I could never live like that. I want to be free!”
At home, Brother Kim pondered the fact that as soon as they had met, his friend had asked him something about the Church. When they met for lunch the next day, Daeyoon said, “I don’t want to push you in any way, but I think you might find it fun to meet with the missionaries from my church. It will be a new experience for you.”
To Daeyoon’s delight, his schoolmate replied, “Why not? I’ve got nothing better to do right now.” So he began receiving the missionary lessons. His life-style changed with each lesson. He stopped smoking and drinking, he prayed with real intent, and he avidly read the Book of Mormon. By the fourth discussion, he was so excited that he invited his sister to join in the discussions. Before long, he, his three sisters, and his father were baptized. A year later, this schoolmate was serving in the Korea Taejon Mission, where he became an assistant to the mission president—all before Brother Kim had received his own mission call.
During this same time period, Daeyoon was also instrumental in the conversion of seven of his college friends.