Gospel Story Finder

The girls in the Salt Lake East Millcreek Fourth Ward kept track of their acts of charity in a jelly bean jar. Each week the girls put a jelly bean into the jar for each act of service they had been involved in that week. As the jar filled with the sweets, the girls were reminded of the sweetness of service. When the jar was full, the girls selected a special family and presented the jar to them, explaining what the filled jar meant—each jelly bean represented a charitable act.

Every year since he was three years old, Tommy Tipana had gone into the wilderness with his grandfather, Utak, for a short period of time to learn the old ways of his people. Tommy’s father, however, was a modern Eskimo who lived in a sturdy wooden house and had a snowmobile. He did not approve of the old ways, but he allowed Tommy to learn what he could from Utak.
The year Tommy was ten, Grandfather Utak invited him to go on a trip through Anaktuvuk Pass by dogsled. So, early one morning Tommy waved good-bye to his parents, then snuggled down under a bearskin robe on his grandfather’s sled. Utak cracked the long whip that sent the dogs bounding toward the snow-covered tundra, and the journey began.
At the end of the day, Utak and Tommy stopped the dog team and fed them strips of caribou meat. Afterward Utak tapped on the snow with his ayoutak (long stick used for probing), and they listened for a deep, resounding squeak. “A good spot,” Tommy said, pointing.
His grandfather smiled and nodded. “Yes, the snowdrift is firm and deep here, Grandson. It will make a good igloo. You learn well.”
Together they cut out blocks of snow and stacked them. Then they packed the joints and cracks with loose snow, leaving only a small doorway for them to enter. They built a fire, and all was warm and cozy for the night. Next they cut a hole in the ice and fished for arctic charr. As Tommy and Utak ate their meal, Utak smiled in the light of the fire, for he was pleased with his grandson. “It is good that you learn the ways of our people,” Utak said encouragingly. “Soon there will be few who remember, and the new ways are wrong.”
“Father lives the new ways,” Tommy said, bewildered. “How can they be wrong?”
“Your parents go to the store to buy their food and clothes. They have forgotten how to fish and hunt and tan hides and sew. They have no dogsled, but ride on a snowmobile. All that we need is outside our igloo, Tommy, if we know how to use it.”
Utak slept, and Tommy sat curled in his bearskin, watching the fire. Outside, he could hear the whistling snow as it covered everything with a white blanket. He wondered which way was best—the old way or the new way. Tommy liked them both.
Early in the morning, Tommy and Utak ate and dressed quickly, for the fire was low. Tommy coiled thongs of caribou skin around his boots to make them skid proof. Pulling the hood of his fur coat closely around his face, he crawled out into the blazing whiteness of the new day. The dogs, shaking the snow from their coats, barked and strained at their tethers while Tommy threw them strips of frozen whale blubber. When they were through eating, Tommy helped them into their traces and waited for Utak. But Utak did not come out of the igloo.
“Grandfather!” Tommy called, kneeling at the doorway. “The dogs are ready.”
“Tommy, come here,” came his grandfather’s faint answer.
Tommy crawled back into the igloo. His grandfather sat leaning against the wall amid their belongings. His hand was massaging his chest.
“Grandfather,” Tommy whispered, “are you ill?”
Utak motioned for Tommy to come closer. “You must leave me here, Tommy. I am a sick old man, and it is the old way to deal with sickness.”
“I cannot leave you!” Tommy cried. “You are my grandfather.”
“Adjornarmat (that is life),” Grandfather said, shaking his head slowly. “Now do as I say! Leave me here. Take the sled and return to your parents … but do not forget the old ways.”
“I will not leave you, Grandfather,” Tommy replied. “There is much I do not know yet, and you are the only one who can teach me.”
Tommy hurried outside to get a wide strip of baleen (whalebone) from the sled and bring it into the igloo.
“Here, Grandfather, let me help you.”
Tommy helped Utak onto the baleen, then pulled his grandfather to the sled. Slowly Utak climbed onto the sled, and Tommy wrapped him in bearskins. Then Tommy packed their few belongings and turned the dogs toward home. His grandfather slept.
The dogs knew Utak was not driving them, and they growled, refusing to pull. Finally, Tommy lifted the heavy whip and commanded them as his grandfather had done so many times before. The whip cracked sharply in the frozen morning air; the lead dog growled one more time, then began to pull. They had a new master now, but he had learned much from their old master.
Back along the frozen tundra the sled raced, mile after mile, without Grandfather to guide it. Nevertheless, the boy remembered all he had learned and drove the sled in a straight line. Late that night, they arrived home.
The next morning Utak awoke in a hospital bed with white sheets. There were curtains at the windows. A nurse was leaning over him.
“Your grandson saved your life, Mr. Tipana,” she said, smiling. “Would you like to see him?”
Utak nodded, and Tommy walked into the hospital room, followed by his parents. He bent and hugged his grandfather gently. “Thank you, Grandfather,” he whispered.
“You saved my life and yet you thank me?” Utak was puzzled.
“For the old ways,” Tommy said and smiled. “If I had not known them, I would not have been able to bring you to the new ways that have saved your life.”
Tommy’s father frowned. “Utak! You must give up the old ways—the new ways are better and safer.”
Tommy simply smiled to himself as his father and grandfather argued about the old and new ways. He wondered why they did not understand as he did that both ways were good. Tommy knew he would live somewhere between them, for he had learned to love them both.

Anna Sewell died a year after the book’s publication on April 25, 1878, of a painful lung infection. When the horse-drawn hearse arrived at the door, her mother looked down from an upstairs window and saw that the horses had bearing-reins [checkreins]. “Oh, this will never do!” she exclaimed and hurried to order the cruel, restricting reins removed. This loving mother thereby performed one more service for her daughter and for her daughter’s friends, the horses.

For Claudia, serving in the gospel resulted in a subtle swelling of confidence in her heart. “I was baptized when I was eight years old,” Claudia says. “We always attended church. But as I grew older, I saw many bad marriages. I thought about them a lot, and I worried that I could never marry because it wouldn’t be successful. I was afraid to trust my life to someone, that it would be too hard. But when I returned from my mission, I didn’t think the same. Teaching the doctrine changes you.”
Claudia and Marco Villavicencio were friends before her mission. Not long after she returned, they attended the temple together with some friends. Something special occurred. “I felt as if the Lord was answering my prayers, that this was a man I could marry,” Claudia explains. “I have the greatest blessing to have a good husband.”

Another motivation came when the ward sponsored a program called “Something Great in ’78,” and Allan decided to make a stained glass window as his “Something Great” project. (Each ward member was to choose a personal project to be accomplished during the year.) “We had a big dinner and everyone displayed their projects. My window was one of the displays,” he says. Now the window hangs in his room, filtering the sunlight as it enters.

“Andrew, she’s gone,” Emma said.
“Who’s gone?”
“Brittany.”
“Are you sure?” Andrew asked.
“I looked everywhere in the backyard. She’s gone!”
“We’d better tell Mom,” Andrew said, racing Emma to the kitchen door.
“Mom!” they yelled. “The dog’s gone!”
“Oh, no, not again!” Mom said. “We’d better go find her.”
Walking down their country road, Andrew looked. Emma looked.
“Look, Mom, a kitten found us,” Andrew said. “Can we take it home?”
“No, Andrew, we are looking for a dog, not a kitten.”
Next they walked by the lake. Soon two white ducks waddled up behind them.
“Look, Mom, ducks found us,” Emma said. “Can we take them home?”
“Oh, no, Emma. We are looking for a dog, not ducks.”
When they passed Mrs. Eggett’s yard, Emma waved and Andrew called, “Mrs. Eggett, have you seen our dog?”
“No, Andrew, but if you’ll wait a minute I could find you each a cookie,” she answered.
Andrew, Emma, and Mom said thank you. They munched on cinnamon cookies as they kept walking. They looked high and low, over and under, around and behind, but still no Brittany.
“We’re going home,” Mom finally said. “We’re tired and need to rest.”
Andrew was sad. As they walked home, he said, “We found one black kitten, two white ducks, and three cinnamon cookies, but no spotted dog.”
Walking in their front door, Mom suddenly stopped. “Andrew, do you and Emma know what we forgot to do?”
Andrew thought. Emma thought. Finally Andrew said, “We forgot to pray!”
Folding their arms, they bowed their heads and prayed. They asked Heavenly Father to please help them find their lost dog. Then they rested.
After rest time, Andrew and Emma were ready to search again. Just then Dad walked into the house. Emma told him the whole sad story.
Dad listened carefully. Then he said, “I have an idea. Wait here.” He walked back outside. A few minutes later he returned with Brittany!
“Dad, where did you find her?” Andrew asked excitedly.
“She was sleeping behind the neighbor’s house,” Dad said, smiling.
“Next time we need help we’ll pray first,” Andrew said. “It’s better when Heavenly Father helps, too.”

I had gone to a certain house several times and had been rejected and warned not to come back again, but I was prompted to go again and again. And then as I was attempting to walk past that house, I was prompted to go in and try again to make contact. I used the big brass knocker on the English door without any response. I could see a lady in the front room knitting, and I made considerable noise with that knocker. She did not come out, and I went around to the back door. There was no knocker on that door so I used my walking stick, and I knocked with considerable vigor; in fact, it echoed through all the house.

Very soon the lady came out, and her coming out reminded me of my early days on the farm when I teased a sitting hen off the nest. (I see some of you have had farm experience.) You know that a setting hen when she is teased off the nest comes off with her feathers going in the wrong direction, with her beak in perpetual motion, and this woman reminded me of that.

I apologized and said, “I am sorry to have interrupted you and have insisted upon an interview, but, my dear sister, I have come over six thousand miles to bring you a message which the Lord wants you to have. He sent me here to give you that message. I am going back to Canada in a few days, and I must tell you what the Lord wants you to know.”

She said, “You mean the Lord sent a message to me!”

I said, “That is right, he did.”

I told her of the restoration of the gospel, the organization of the Church, and the message of the restoration. She was quite impressed by what I told her. And I said when I left, “I am sorry to have disturbed you, but I could not refuse to carry out the message and the mission that was given to me when I came here. When we meet again, and we will meet again, you are going to say, ‘Thank you for coming to my back door. Thank you for loving me enough to carry the message of the Lord to me. When you left I could hardly contain myself. I was worried, disturbed, and wondered what it was all about. I finally went to the mission home, got some literature, studied, and became a member of the Church with my family.’”

Ten years later I was in England again, this time as a soldier, and at the end of the meeting a lady came up with two grown daughters. She said, “I do thank God and thank you that you came to my door with that message many years ago. I and my daughters joined the Church and we are going to Utah in a short time, and we thank God that you had the courage, the fortitude, and the faith to come to me with that divine message and to leave it with me in the name of the Lord.”Elder Hugh B. BrownOf the Council of the Twelve

Katy, Yolanda, and Marcia sat on the couch, looking through the new Christmas catalog.
“Oh, look at that dollhouse!” Katy exclaimed.
“Wouldn’t it be fun if we could have that for Christmas!” said Yolanda.
“Let’s ask Mom and Dad,” said Marcia, the youngest.
At the supper table that night, Katy mentioned the dollhouse. Dad and Mom looked at each other. “I think things are going to be a bit different this year,” Dad said. We have some extra children on our Christmas list, so we’re going to have fewer things than usual for ourselves.”
“But why?” Marcia objected. “Who are these children, anyway?”
Mom answered with a question: “Have you met the Peterson girls who moved into the Daytons’ house?”
“The Daytons’ house?” Katy exclaimed. “They must really be poor!”
“They are poor, Katy. Our family is going to help them. That’s why there will be fewer presents under our own tree this year.”
There was silence around the table as the three sisters thought this over.
Dad sighed. “I can see that this won’t be easy for you, but we have so much, and your mother and I feel that it’s important to share.”
“You will still get a few things,” Mother said, “but the best gift that we’ll all get is a wonderful feeling.”
Katy was not convinced. “You can’t open a feeling on Christmas morning.”
Dad looked disappointed. “If you each give just one of your toys, that’s all we’ll ask.”
“Except that I could use some help with the Christmas cookies,” Mom added. “We’ll put some in a big basket for them.”
“What about us?” Yolanda whined. “Don’t we get any?”
“I think that’s just about enough,” Dad said sternly. “You’ll meet the Peterson girls tomorrow at church. We know you will be kind to them and help them feel welcome.”
The meal ended in gloom and silence.
The next day the three sisters kept looking around the chapel to see if they could see the Peterson girls. “There! On the third row, next to the door,” whispered Yolanda. Her sister slowly turned around and stared at the two strangers.
“Shhh!” said Mom. “It’s not polite to stare.”
On the way to Primary, Dad introduced the new family. “Girls, this is Sister Peterson and Susan and Beverly.”
“Hi,” everyone mumbled.
“Where are you from?” asked Katy.
“From Grafton,” said Susan.
“That’s a long way from here. Why did you move?”
Before Susan could answer, the Primary president poked her head out the door. “Time to get started, girls.”
At lunch the next Saturday, Marcia asked, “Why did the Petersons move here?”
“Well,” Mom said slowly, “their father died last summer. Sister Peterson was able to get a good job with the telephone company, but she had to move here to work.”
“If she has a good job, why do we have to give up our Christmas for them?” asked Yolanda.
“Because she doesn’t have any money yet,” Mom said. “And you’re not giving up your Christmas—just a few things. Try to remember that these girls have lost their father.”
“I still don’t like it,” said Marcia.
Just then the telephone rang. Dad answered. “Yes,” they heard him say, “I’m sure that they’d like to come.”
“Who was that?” asked Katy.
“It was Sister Peterson inviting you to spend the afternoon with her daughters.”
“No way! They didn’t say three words to us at church. Please, Dad!”
Dad was wearing his stubborn look. “Look, girls, I know this is hard. But sometimes we do things just because they’re right.”
Mom helped them into their coats and sent them out the door. It seemed like too short a walk through the fast-falling snow. A soft knock brought Sister Peterson to the front door. Her daughters stood silently behind her.
“Come in, girls. We’re happy that you could come over.”
Katy, Yolanda, and Marcia entered the living room. There was no furniture, just a big pile of moving boxes against one wall. They followed Susan and Beverly into the big, old-fashioned kitchen and were greeted with the smell of gingerbread. In the middle of the room was a large oak dining table. On it were candies, bowls of frosting, and a sheet of baked gingerbread.
“Bev and Susan thought it would be fun to make gingerbread houses,” said Sister Peterson.
“Wow!” Yolanda exclaimed. “I didn’t think we would—” Katy pinched her before she could say “have any fun.”
“Come on,” said Beverly. “Let’s get started!”
“Yeah,” said Susan. “We do this every year with our friends. We’re glad we have you to share this with.”
The five girls started on the gingerbread houses. Soon they were laughing at each other because of the frosting on their faces.
Later, while they were waiting for more gingerbread to cool, Katy said, “Let’s go play in your bedroom.”
“We can’t,” said Beverly. “It’s too cold in there. We go there only at bedtime.”
“Oh.”
Beverly jumped up. “I know—let’s make paper chains for our windows! Mom, don’t we have colored paper somewhere?”
Soon the girls were absorbed in their project, scattering bright paper scraps like confetti on the floor.
“Let’s make some for your tree, too,” Yolanda said.
Susan and Beverly exchanged glances. Finally Beverly said, “We might not get a tree this year. They’re pretty expensive.”
The three sisters looked at each other. After a while, Katy said, “I’m tired of making chains. Let’s make something else.”
“I know,” Susan said. “Let’s make foil stars and hang them from the light fixtures.” Soon they were scattering silver foil and cardboard among the bright scraps of paper already on the floor.
Before long, the setting sun appeared through the clouds, filling the room with light. Later, just as the clock on the wall chimed five times, a knock sounded at the kitchen door.
“Look, it’s Dad,” Yolanda said. “What does he have?”
“It’s a tree!” cried Beverly as Sister Peterson opened the door.
“A little present from our family to yours,” said Dad with a grin. “Do you have a big bucket or something else we can put this in?”
“Bev, run to the shed and get that old gray bucket. Brother Harris, how can we ever thank you?”
“Well, we all wanted to do something fun.” He winked at his daughters.
Beverly ran into the kitchen, carrying a large gray bucket. The next few minutes were filled with happy, noisy confusion as everyone tried to help Dad put up the tree. Satisfied at last that it was secure and well watered, he stood up, sniffing appreciatively.
“Mmmm, pine trees and gingerbread—it sure smells like Christmas! Bring out the ornaments, and we’ll finish the job.”
“Well, I’m afraid all I have is a string of lights,” Sister Peterson said.
“We have something!” cried the girls. They scampered off and brought back armfuls of paper chains and foil stars.
“Now, that’s the right idea! Sister Peterson, you go get those lights. Girls, get that stuff untangled, and we’ll be ready. Hey, do you have any gingerbread men?”
As everyone got busy, they filled the old kitchen with laughter. Finally they all stepped back to admire their handiwork.
A soft knock sounded at the door. It was Mom carrying a large casserole dish. “A little something for your dinner,” she said. “My, that’s a fine tree! It looks like you girls have had a busy afternoon.” She set the steaming dish on the counter.
There were tears in Sister Peterson’s eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for remembering my family. This is a Christmas we will always remember.”
Katy, Yolanda, and Marcia didn’t know what to say. Mom did. “Thank you for letting us share. You’ve helped us, too.” She gave Sister Peterson a hug. “Come on, girls, let’s go before their dinner gets cold.”
As the Harris family walked home, Yolanda turned and looked at the Peterson kitchen window. The Christmas tree lights blinked brightly. “Mom, what did you mean when you told Sister Peterson that they had helped us?”
Mom took Yolanda’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Do you remember how you felt when you went to the Petersons’ this afternoon?”
“Yeah—pretty awful.”
“Well, how do you feel now?”
“I feel wonderful. Is that what you meant? I understand now—this really is the best gift we could get.”

Some months ago I was given the assignment to interview a young man, 21 years old, to determine if his repentance was sufficient for him to serve a mission. My heart ached as I read of the serious problems and transgressions in his past. I wondered if it would be possible that one with such a background could ever prepare himself to worthily serve a mission. At the appointed time for my interview I saw a handsome young man approaching me. He was immaculately groomed and had a wonderful countenance about him. He looked like a returned missionary, and I wondered who he was. As he approached he extended his hand and, to my surprise, introduced himself as the young man I was to interview.

During the interview I simply asked, “Why am I visiting with you tonight?” Then he laid out the sordid details of his past. After reviewing and confessing again his transgression, he began talking to me about the Atonement and the years of painful repentance that brought him to this very interview. He expressed his love for the Savior and then explained that Christ’s Atonement was sufficient to rescue even a boy like him. At the conclusion of the interview, I placed my hand on his shoulder and said, “When I get back to Church headquarters, my recommendation will be that you be permitted to serve a mission.” And then I said, “I ask only one thing of you—just one. If you are privileged to serve, I want you to be the best missionary in the entire Church. That is all.”

About four months later I was speaking at a missionary devotional at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. After the devotional I was standing in front of the podium greeting missionaries when I noticed a familiar face approaching me. My first thought was that I was about to be embarrassed because I was supposed to know this young man. I could not remember where I had met him, and I knew the first question that he was going to ask me. Sure enough, he extended his hand and asked, “Do you remember me?” Apologetically and somewhat embarrassingly, I answered: “I am sorry. I know I should know you, but I just do not remember.” He then said: “Well, let me tell you who I am. I am the best missionary in the MTC.” I could not withhold the tear that slowly trickled down my cheek as I thought: “Here is a man. He met his Gethsemane. He paid the painful price of repentance. He has humbled himself and submitted himself to the redemptive power of the Savior. He has met the challenges. He has measured up to true manhood.” And I say, “Behold a man,” a man humble enough to submit himself to the redemptive powers of the Savior.

I stood one day some years ago with a Japanese businessman in Hiroshima, beside the monument that marks the events of that tragic August 6, 1945, when in a matter of minutes some 85,000 people were killed. He told me that he had been a member of the Japanese Imperial Army, that out of that experience had come a hatred for all Americans.

One day two of our missionaries knocked on his door. He was too intoxicated to talk with them. All purpose had gone from his life, and his only refuge was drink. Not recognizing them for what they were, he invited them back, and there followed some weeks later his baptism.

With his conversion came purpose into his life, the will to forsake old habits, the strength to turn completely around. He spoke of appreciation for the young men who had taught him and the motivation they had cultivated within him.

At the time of our conversation he was serving as a member of the branch presidency and as an active member of an elders quorum. His case, in essence, can be multiplied thousands of times. There is no other power like the reforming power of the gospel of Jesus Christ to give men the desire and the will to change their lives.

When I was young, I was overly dependent on my older sister. For example, I was a fussy eater, and when we went to visit our grandparents, I was constantly faced with being offered food I didn’t like. When the plate was passed to me, I would turn to my sister and ask, “Collene, do I like this?”
If it was familiar and she knew that I didn’t like it, she would say, “No, you don’t like that.”
If it was something we hadn’t eaten before, she would say, “Just a minute,” and taste it, and then tell me if I liked it or not. If she said that I didn’t like it, no amount of coaxing could get me to eat it.
Just as I needed to rely on my own taste buds and stop denying myself good food just because my sister told me that I didn’t like it, we must all feast on the fruit of our own testimony and not the testimony of another person. We also need to increase our ability to receive personal revelation.
We do this when we place our faith in our Lord and Savior, repent of our sins, read and really think about the scriptures, pray, look for ways to help others, and share the gospel with others. During general conferences and at many other times, we will be taught by the Lord’s prophets, seers, and revelators. When we follow the counsel of the Brethren, we prepare ourselves to go to the temple, where we receive more power to overcome the sins of the world and to “stand in holy places” (D&C 45:32).

We sat huddled on the wet lawn in front of the Joseph Smith Monument in Sharon, Vermont, draped in ponchos and plastic garbage bags in a vain attempt to keep dry. We strained to hear the speaker over the sound of the rain, as he explained to us the final activity of the wilderness youth conference we were taking part in.
In a few minutes, we would be sent off to be alone in the woods. We were given a list of things to do, including self-evaluation and scripture reading. The last thing we were to do, however, was what really excited me. Alone in the woods, we were to kneel and pray aloud to our Heavenly Father and ask if the Church was true.
Earlier, the speaker had related to us a story about David O. McKay receiving his patriarchal blessing. President McKay was, at the time, a champion marble player, an activity which, the speaker pointed out, required quite a bit of skill. After the blessing, however, the patriarch told 13-year-old David that he had more important things to do than play marbles. The speaker now gave to us that same wise counsel. “Brothers and sisters,” he pleaded, “please, put away your marbles, and take advantage of this opportunity to find out for yourself if the Church is true.”
It was almost silent as we entered the woods and began to break up into smaller and smaller groups. I think everyone could sense, as I did, the importance of what was about to happen. I pulled my poncho over me and took out the worksheet and program we had been given to write on. To begin my solo experience, I sang all of the songs on the program. After completing the other activities, I came to the prayer.
I was excited to pray, but I was also nervous because I had always thought that I would find out whether or not the Church was true when I was older; I had always put it off. I had felt the Spirit before in fast and testimony meetings and when I received a testimony of the Book of Mormon, but I couldn’t honestly say that I knew the Church was true. What if I prayed and there was just nothing? What if, out here in the woods, kneeling and praying aloud got me nothing but wet?
I decided that I’d never know unless I tried, so I knelt on the soggy leaves and bowed my head in prayer. I spoke in a whisper, fearful that someone might eavesdrop, and I asked very simply to know if I really belonged to God’s true church. I finished my prayer and remained kneeling to await an answer.
At first, I received an impression that I already knew the truth of those things. But I figured that must have been my own thoughts, so I prayed again.
“You already know,” came my answer, along with the warm and calm feeling of the Spirit that enveloped me with peace and joy.
My heart quickened, and I couldn’t hold back the smile that soon covered my face. I realized that through my seminary and personal study, I had built my testimony step by step, precept upon precept, so slowly that I didn’t even realize I had it until I put it to the test.
Now I knew that the Church was true and I could put away, or at least put aside, the less important things in my life and get on with my spiritual growth. I felt so relieved, so content, and so grateful that the Lord had taken the time to let me know personally that the Church was true. Already kneeling, I bowed my head again and gave a prayer of thanks to the Lord for his witness to me that, although I hadn’t recognized it before, I already knew.

The next day was fast Sunday. Brother Owen was the first one up to bear his testimony. He explained that he had lost his job and his family was struggling to get by. The night before, he was getting his three daughters ready for bed. They were crying because they were hungry and there was no food. His oldest daughter, still in Primary, explained that if they prayed, Heavenly Father would bring them food.
Brother Owen was overcome by the faith of his daughter. With tears in his eyes, he asked his daughter to pray. He explained that she had said a simple prayer, explaining to Heavenly Father that she and her family were hungry. Then she asked Heavenly Father to bring them food. As the prayer ended, the family was surprised by a knock on the door. They opened the door and found not one, but two large geese sitting on the doorstep. They thanked Heavenly Father for such a quick answer to their prayer. Brother Owen testified that God answers prayers and sat down. Rick and I had tears in our eyes.
From then on, every time my brother and I went hunting, we would drop our birds on the doorstep and run to the car. We left pheasants, ducks, quail, doves, and even some fish.
One day, as we were emptying the birds from our vests onto the Owens’ front porch, the door opened. Brother Owen stood in the doorway.
“I thought it was you,” said Brother Owen.
We apologized for leaving the birds there without cleaning them. He assured us that he was happy to clean the birds, and he was thankful for all the food we had left him. He told us how much he appreciated our thoughtfulness.
Initially, my brother and I had been trying to avoid the responsibility of cleaning after a hunt. But our loving Heavenly Father was able to use us to bless the lives of others. Now I look for opportunities to bless the lives of others—not to get out of work, but to be an instrument in God’s hands.

Mom took Anna shopping for a new dress.
How about this one?
No, thank you.
All right, do you like the yellow one with flowers or the red one with dots?
But you like these colors. What would you like instead?
This looks like the dresses the missionaries wear. I want to look like them.
OK. Let’s see if we can find a dress in your size.
Anna loved the two sister missionaries in her ward. They shook her hand at church, they smiled when she waved at them on the street, and they prayed with her family when they came to dinner.
On Sunday, Anna could hardly wait to show the missionaries her new dress. When she saw them at church, she twirled around for them.
I look just like you now!
You do look just like us.
And you don’t just look like a missionary; you are a missionary!
Your mom told me you’ve been praying for us all week like we asked you to. And look! We brought someone to church today. Your prayers have been helping us.
Thank you, missionary Anna.

When I was younger, I followed bad examples. I was curious to do the things my friends were doing. But I started feeling lost and sad. To make things worse, my family went through a lot of trials. My mom was diagnosed with a serious illness, and my brother tried to take his own life.
With all of this going on, I lost faith. It was hard to go to church because I didn’t feel like I belonged. But after a while, my leaders’ lessons made me realize that I still believed, even though my testimony was weak.
I had to work hard to stop doing and even thinking about things I knew were bad for me. I often prayed for the Lord’s help as I repented. Then one day, I found a photo of when I was a little girl and President Russell M. Nelson visited our ward. He was carrying me. I knew the photo was a reminder that God was looking out for me.
I know Jesus Christ sacrificed Himself for my sins. He can sustain us through hard things and help us find the right path, even if we get lost for a time.
Maria O., Ecuador

“Do you see how they fly, Stephen?” Dad thrusts his arm upward, pointing a finger to the V shape rippling through the sky high overhead. The chill October wind whips at my face as I try to understand the excitement in his voice. It’s late afternoon. We are standing alongside our minivan. We’ve pulled off the side of the road somewhere between St. George and Cedar City, Utah, on our way to the Missionary Training Center in Provo. My call has come and I’m going to Baltimore, Maryland.
“Watch,” he says. “You’ll see it in a moment. It happens quickly. It’s a wonder.”
I resist the urge to look at him. He’s the real wonder here. His enthusiasm makes you think he’s the one leaving on a mission.
“Now!” Dad’s voice shouts above the wind. The lead goose slips out of formation and slides to the back of one leg of the V. The flock speeds on toward its destination. Shortly the geese are black specks in the sky, arrowing into the dusk.
“Did you see what they did?” he asks, as we climb back into the van. We buckle our seat belts and he continues: “They work together. Singly they would perish on the long flight, but they take turns leading the way. One leads for a while, slashing the air for the others. Then he quietly moves to the back and another takes over.” We pull out onto the road.
“How do they know what to do?” I ask.
“They’ve learned to trust the order God put in things.”
He’s trying to tell me something. This is his way. As Provo gets closer with each passing mile post, though, my thoughts fly to my mission, to my future.
“What you say is true. This will change your life forever,” I tell Brother and Sister Frost in response to her statement. And it will. I’ve been teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ as a missionary for nearly two years now. Soon I’ll be going home. I’ve learned that whenever people accept the gospel, it changes their lives. Of course there are those who, after searching a lifetime, find in the gospel nothing but great relief from life’s most difficult questions. Usually though, it’s the other way, the refiner’s fire, a test and building of faith. But always, always, the gospel brings change.
Elder Jepson and I have been teaching the Frosts for three weeks now. With their permission, we started calling them Brother and Sister. He’s an accountant, and she worked as a legal secretary before their children were born. I’m not sure where we are with them. We’ll need to move forward carefully with our teaching.
I wait for one of them to speak. It’s an important moment. I hope Elder Jepson recognizes it and doesn’t suddenly lose his shyness. The Frosts are a handsome couple, she blond and he dark. Not Hollywood-like at all, but vibrant, a handsomeness born of hope for their lives. I like them both.
Sister Frost speaks, “I think it also means leaving our family, our friends.”
“You might bring some of them with you. Lead the way,” I say. I wait again for someone to fill the silence. They have told me several times how their families feel about Mormons. “We personally have nothing against you Mormons,” they said to us the evening we first knocked on their door. It was to convince themselves of their open-mindedness, I suspect, that they invited us in. In three weeks now we have become close friends.
Sister Frost glances at her husband, but he continues to stare into the carpet. He seems to be deep in thought. She’s not saying what she wants to do. She just keeps pointing out the practical problems—the difficulties of the choice. I think she’s waiting for him to do something, but I’m not sure.
Two days ago, we asked them to be baptized. He is treating us with the distance that we felt the first visit. I recognize the signs. He is on the edge. We must wait now, no matter how loud the silence screams at us to fill it. I want to step in. I want to persuade. I’ve learned though that seconds on a clock wing their way with their own voice.
I look over at Elder Jepson. Two months in the mission field, six feet tall, two-hundred pounds. He has a lot to learn. Elder Jepson is shy, and it may be weeks before he can give the lessons. I know this family is important to him, though. It will really hurt him if they veer away from the Church.
Elder Jepson looks like he’s studying the carpet, too. His coarse red hair dangles from the top of his forehead.
Brother Frost clears his throat.
“Your church asks a great deal—too much I’m afraid. My wife and I have talked a lot. We’re impressed—truly impressed—with your church programs. But all of our friends, all of our family, they believe differently. We’d have to offend them by not drinking with them. We’d have to go to church every Sunday. We’d be … like you say, changing everything.” He talks again about the many fine programs in the Church. But in the end, using accountant’s language, he says, “The ledger page doesn’t balance.”
It’s clear he’s slipped off the edge now. It’s 8:40 P.M. and I’ve been up since 5:30 this morning. I’m tired and I want to go home. I know we’re not supposed to weary in well-doing, but I think we have done all the good we can. I can’t expect Elder Jepson to help here. I must try to hold on to everyone’s dignity. It’s up to me to exit us gracefully and hope the Spirit will work on them after we have gone.
Brother Frost thanks us and wishes us well, but thinks we should look for others who might be more willing followers.
I feel the emptiness I’ve felt a hundred times before. I feel alone. Awkward. We’ve given so much time and effort these last three weeks. I look over at Elder Jepson to see if he’s ready to go. He is staring at Sister Frost and she at him. A tear moves from Elder Jepson’s left eye, down his freckly face. This surprises me. I look at Brother Frost. He’s looking at me and doesn’t notice. I look at Sister Frost. Her eyes brim with tears.
“May I speak?” Elder Jepson’s voice, husky now, breaks the uneasiness. He brushes the tear away, then turns slowly to face Brother Frost. His large farm-toughened hands grab at his knees. He slides forward on the couch, locks his eyes onto Brother Frost’s, and begins.
“I came 2,500 miles to find you. I feel we were guided to you.” Elder Jepson looks down like he’s trying to find what to say next.
“I love your wife, Brother Frost. I love her because she sees. She has told you all of the problems; she has given you all of the pictures a man could want so he could understand and solve them, and you’re running from them. Why?”
I’m stunned. I look at Brother Frost. The room, sedate only a moment before, is intense now. Brother Frost, I think, is puzzled, trying to figure out what Elder Jepson is doing. I want to interrupt, but something says to move aside—for the moment.
Before anyone else speaks, Elder Jepson continues. “And I love you, Brother Frost. I know about your job and your accounting degree. About your dreams, your courtship and marriage, and your three children. I know about your child that died two years ago. I know about your despair. And I know that you’re all wrong about what it means to be a member of the Church.”
Brother Frost rises on his seat. I squeeze the scriptures I have in my hand. Brother Frost has let us know he believes he and his family are good. He has told us how the family goes to a church from time to time, how he is honest, how he has always read a little from the Bible and how, when he was 12, he made up his mind he would never use certain words, and he never has. I’m afraid that Elder Jepson has offended him. I better salvage what I can, quickly. I start to say something. Brother Frost raises his hand—a sign for me to be quiet—and continues staring at Elder Jepson. Then he says, “We’re not perfect, Elder Jepson, but we are decent people. I believe I know all that I need to know about your church and your God. We could easily join you, but we don’t want to.” Brother Frost speaks kindly but firmly. The discussion is over.
But Elder Jepson softly begins again: “You say that, but you never talk about the Savior. Oh, you can talk about God but you have never understood. You tell us you like the Primary because it teaches children to speak in public at an early age and sing in a group. You think sacrament meeting is good because you feel fellowship there. You think the Book of Mormon has some interesting stories in it. You think we’re introducing you to a club. You take out your accounting pads and start adding and subtracting. When you total the benefits of the club against the costs, the club comes up short.”
Elder Jepson has kept his voice even and soft. Brother Frost keeps the emotion out of his face, except for a hint of a smile. Sister Frost looks at her husband now, worried. I decide to stay on the wing of this, for a moment longer, not sure why.
Calmly, Brother Frost says, “You have a lot to learn, Elder Jepson. Life always involves totaling columns of benefits and burdens. But you’re right. Your club, if you will, doesn’t do as much for us as our present club. I’m sorry. That’s how we see it. I’m glad your church works for you. But the programs, as nice as they are, don’t offset the difficulties joining your church would bring us.”
Brother Frost is being gracious. I’ll talk to Elder Jepson later about leaving people with a positive feeling, even if they don’t join. At least some of his shyness is leaving. There’s hope.
Elder Jepson leans forward again. “Brother Frost, you’ve misunderstood. Those programs—Primary, Sunday School, youth activities—those aren’t what this church is about. And it’s not about not smoking or not drinking or paying tithing and fast offerings either. It’s not even about friendship and fellowship. Not only have you added the wrong columns, you’re in the wrong ledger.” I remember now that Elder Jepson took an accounting class the semester before he came on his mission.
Brother Frost responds, “Then why do you try to convince people that your church is so wonderful because of those things?”
“I didn’t come here to tell you you need those things. I came to invite you to know the Savior. If Elder Simpson and I leave tonight, and we leave you believing that you can put this church on a ledger sheet, then we have failed.
“Brother Frost, this is the Savior’s church. Next week the programs might change or disappear, but the Savior won’t. He’s waiting for us to ask for help in our lives. We didn’t come to change your life; we came to teach you that your life will change from the choices you make and that you can choose with heavenly guidance. We came to tell you that Heavenly Father listens to every cry for help from a sincere heart. This church is about Him and His love for you and for me. This church is where the fullness of His gospel and its saving ordinances are found. The rules we live by and the programs are only helps so we may return to Him. We didn’t come here to ask you to join us; we came to ask you to join Him.”
I am moved. I am amazed. I’m not prepared for this from my shy, red-haired companion. I didn’t dream he had that in him. I feel a burning within me. I sense a fire in the room and imagine the hint of a distant melody. Elder Jepson’s speech is eloquent, powerful. I should have been the one to do this. I am the senior companion. I have the experience. I am the leader here. I see the Frosts are touched and I want to be the one that has done it.
I hear the voice in my mind say “I” again, with pity and selfishness in its tone. This time, with effort, I stop it with a memory of a chill wind, wild geese, and my father pointing skyward at dusk.
The Frosts look at one another. Brother Frost says, “Dear, what do you think?”
Eloquently, she tells us all what she sees. She speaks about a new feeling, new courage, a desire to move forward. Brother Frost keeps nodding his head, smiling, agreeing. The music hints around us, again.
I know I will soon move beyond the feeling and the sounds of tonight, but not the memory of it. It will sustain me. I will beat against many head winds as I journey back to my Maker, but I will not fly without the music of this night playing somewhere in my heart. I understand it is time for me to move over, and I make room for Elder Jepson.

I was attending a religious conference with my sister when she asked me to climb a tree and get a bunch of coconuts for the conference. As I was collecting the coconuts at the top of the tree, I suddenly blacked out and fell. I landed hard on my back and could no longer feel my legs.
I was taken to the hospital, where the doctors stabilized the bones in my back. For three months, I lay on my back in the hospital, unable to even sit up. It was an emotional and depressing time. I would just lie there and wonder what was going to happen to me and what I was going to do next.
After the three months, I was told to go to New Zealand for an operation for my back. The operation made it so that I could sit instead of only lie down. While in the hospital in New Zealand, I met a girl who was working there. She asked me, “Do I know you? You look familiar.”
We started chatting. She shared the gospel of Jesus Christ and gave me a Book of Mormon. At first, I didn’t read it. I left it untouched beside my bed. One day, however, I was alone and there was nothing interesting to watch on television. Then I saw the Book of Mormon on my table. I opened it and began to read and read.
As I read, I had the feeling that there was something different about the Book of Mormon and that it must contain the true gospel of Jesus Christ. The girl in the hospital had marked several verses, one of which was Alma 37:37: “Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good.”
Those words jumped out at me and made me think. To know if The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the true Church, I knew I needed to counsel with the Lord. I also wanted to go see this church for myself.
When I got home from New Zealand, I invited the missionaries to teach me. As I learned, I gained a testimony that this is Christ’s Church. I am grateful to the missionaries who taught me. At my baptism, they had the strength to carry me into the water—one holding me in his arms while the other performed my baptism.
With my baptism, all the feelings of depression and hopelessness I had endured were washed away. I knew I had a purpose in life and that God loved me.

“One of the spiritual experiences that I remember best from my youth happened when I was about five years old. My next older brother, Jay, had just been baptized. He was walking down a road between Provo and Orem. A man who had been drinking came swerving down the road in his car, and the door handle of the car caught my brother at the back of his neck. Jay had a serious fracture and concussion. We all prayed that he would get better, but after twenty long days in the hospital, he died. I vividly remember my mother and father sitting with us and saying, ‘Jay has gone back home to the God who gave us all life. The Lord could have saved him, but for some reason He didn’t. There will be a work for Jay to do where he is now, and we should not question the Lord. We should not have any bitterness or lasting sorrow.’ We all resolved that we were going to trust the Lord, and we all knew that someday we would again be with Jay.

“Look at those clouds,” Mom said as she looked out the car window. “I hope that it doesn’t rain.”
“Look at those hills,” Dad said cheerfully. “They mean we are almost to the Missouri River.”
I sighed. We had been riding in the car for over two hours on our way to Omaha, Nebraska, from our home in the center of Iowa. My brother and I were crowded between packs of clothing and the food we were taking for our two-day stay. We were going to the cornerstone-laying and dedication of the Winter Quarters Temple. I could hardly wait to get my first glimpse of our new temple and to see our prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley.
I thought about my ancestor, Sarah Anne Nixon, who was just about my age when she crossed Iowa on her way to Winter Quarters 155 years ago. What was it like for her?
September 23, 1846—on the western bank of the Mississippi RiverTremendous thundershower today. The rain came down in torrents, drenching everything. We have only a tent to shelter us. We left Nauvoo in haste a few days ago. Our carefully packed belongings were scattered by the mobs looking for firearms. We have little left. It was not hard to leave the deserted city, but it breaks my heart to see our beloved temple just across the river—so near, yet unreachable. Papa is still grieving. As Brother Joseph’s bodyguard, he feels he should have somehow prevented the martyrdom. If he would just make music again on his fife, I am sure my heart would not be so heavy.
“May I eat some of the crackers and cheese?” my brother asked. “I’m starving.”
“We’re almost there,” Dad assured him. “We’ll have a big lunch soon.”
We had been in the Chicago Illinois Temple district, and it took all day to drive there. I am glad we don’t have as far to go now. We had been praying for a new temple closer to us, and the Lord heard our prayers.
October 9, 1846—Sugar CreekA miracle in camp today. We have been living on parched and boiled corn, and drinking muddy river water. Many are ill and all are hungry, but today, flocks of quail suddenly flew into camp, falling on wagons and tables. My brothers were able to catch many in their hands! We had a feast. God has not forgotten us. Our rescuers taught us a new song written by Brother Clayton. The song reflects well how I feel today: “All is well!”
Mom started humming a hymn in the front seat of the car. I recognized the tune. It was “Now Let Us Rejoice.”
“Is that one of the hymns you memorized?” I asked her. She was singing in the choir at the cornerstone-laying ceremony. I knew she had to rely on her memory because the choir would not be using books.
“Yes. Memorizing the hymns wasn’t easy, but it has become a real blessing to me. It made me think more about the meaning of the words. I realized that these songs are about the promises given in the temple. So I am singing about my fondest hopes and dreams.”
I could see tears in the corner of her eye, and I felt my own heart grow warm. When I turned to look out the window, I saw a sign that said “Mormon Bridge.” We were nearly there.
November 15, 1846—Mama died todayWe buried her beside the trail on the plains of Iowa. We were unable to stop in Mt. Pisgah because they had no room, so our rescue company pressed on toward Winter Quarters. Now I must be mother to Thomas, Harriet, Margaret, and baby Rose. My oldest brother, John, says that we must not lose faith. Papa and Mama were sealed together in the Nauvoo Temple. This thought alone seems to comfort Papa. It comforts me as well.
While waiting for the ceremony, we visited the pioneer cemetery on the temple grounds. We read the names of hundreds of people who died here so long ago. But it is not really a sad place—it is a reverent place, like inside a church. We spoke softly about these pioneers and about what they endured for their beliefs. Because of them, we, their descendants, are now able to build temples and worship God freely. I am grateful.
December 1846—Winter QuartersWe have settled as best we can into a log hut. It is a rude dwelling, but we are better off than most. This is not our final home, but for now we are grateful for time to gather again as Saints. I wish Mama was here, but I feel she is watching over us. When the spring comes, I will finish the journey that my mother began, for her dream has now become my own.
The rain stopped while the choir sang, and we were able to put down our umbrellas. During the ceremony, I looked up at the windows in the temple. In the stained glass are pictures of rivers, trees, pioneers, and Native Americans. Looking at these windows is almost like looking at a beautiful vision of the past.
I saw the prophet today. He cried when he talked about the pioneers and the sacrifices they made in Nauvoo, in Iowa, and here in Winter Quarters. He said that he felt that they were here in spirit, watching us this day. Then he invited all the children to come up and put some cement onto the cornerstone after he was done. But I was content to watch. My heart was full.
I am glad I was here today. I feel happy inside. I believe that whatever happens to me in my life, I can be strong and faithful like the pioneers, just as long as I remember this place and this day.
“In a message about the pioneers who crossed the plains over a century ago, President J. Reuben Clark spoke words that apply to pioneers in every age. …
“‘They were pioneers in word and thought and act and faith. … God keep their memories ever fresh among us … to help us meet our duties even as they met theirs.’”Elder Dallin H. OaksOf the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles(Ensign, November 1989, page 64.)

I remember a few years ago going on a business trip to eastern Canada in company with a broad range of business and community leaders. After the business of the day, we had dinner together; and during the course of the evening, as everyone began to relax and get better acquainted, one of those present, for no apparent reason, began to tell about his son, a boy whom obviously he loved very much. Yet there was conflict and even some alienation and he wasn’t quite sure what to do, if indeed he should do anything.
That comment prompted a similar response from the others seated around the table. You could tell it was something they were not used to talking about, but each was personally concerned about some aspect of his family life, and this was primarily associated with his children.
Although we live in an era of transition and change, I believe parents are as anxious and concerned about their children as they have ever been. If the family, then, is the foundation unit in society, perhaps there is need to reaffirm some basic principles.
First is that parents recognize they have the right to structure the attitudes and conduct of their children—not only the right but the responsibility.
Second, that the principle of work, the work ethic if you please, be taught by the parents in the family setting. Where else is the dignity of work to be taught if not in the home?
And, third, parents have a right to establish the moral and spiritual tone in the family to help family members to realize the importance of living divine principles as a means of accomplishment and of peace of mind.
First, then, the right of parents to structure the attitudes and conduct of their children. Fundamentally this is divine right. God says of Abraham that he “shall surely become a great and mighty nation, … for I know him, that he will command his children and his household after him, and they shall keep the way of the Lord, to do justice and judgment.” (Gen. 18:18–19.) God could make Abraham head of a numerous posterity because of his faithfulness in teaching his children.
There are some in the world who might say that such parental influence is repressive and robs the child of its freedom, but quite the opposite is true. A group of young girls was overheard talking about the parents of one of their friends. Showing maturity beyond her years, one of the girls said, “Her parents don’t love her; they let her do anything she wants.” The others agreed.
In a New York Times Magazine article, later condensed in Reader’s Digest, William V. Shannon makes the following points: “American children … are suffering from widespread parent failure. By their words and actions [he says] many fathers and mothers make it clear that they are almost paralyzed by uncertainty. … Many parents are in conflict as to what their own values are. Others think they know, but lack the confidence to impose discipline in behalf of their values. …”
What is lacking, he says, is not more information on child development, but conviction. Although heredity plays some role in the development of a child, the greater influence “depends on whether parents care enough about their children to assert and defend the necessary values.” The author also says that both mother and father need to put family and home responsibilities first. “Rearing our children is by far the most important task that most of us will ever undertake.”
He also states that “parents who do not persevere in rearing their children according to their own convictions are not leaving them ‘free’ to develop on their own. Instead, they are letting other children and the media, principally television and the movies, do the job.” (William V. Shannon, “What Code of Values Can We Teach Our Children?” Reader’s Digest, May 1972, pp. 187–88.)
The greatest principle to be learned in the family setting is love. If parents will influence and direct and persevere with love, then members of the family will also make that principle a part of all they do. The principle of love can overcome many parental mistakes in the raising of their children. But love should not be confused with lack of conviction.
Secondly, that the principle of work be taught in the family and home setting. There is evidence to support that at least in the United States the problems of stress and tension might be linked to a gradually decreasing average number of hours worked by the labor force. The suggestion is that free time, not work, might be a major cause of stress and tension in individuals.
While we were growing up in a small community, my father saw the need for my brother and me to learn the principle of work. As a result, he put us to work on a small farm on the edge of town where he had been raised. He ran the local newspaper, so he could not spend much time with us except early in the morning and in the evening. That was quite a responsibility for two young teenagers, and sometimes we made mistakes.
Our small farm was surrounded by other farms, and one of the farmers went in to see my father one day to tell him the things he thought we were doing wrong. My father listened to him carefully and then said, “Jim, you don’t understand. You see, I’m raising boys and not cows.” After my father’s death, Jim told us his story. How grateful I was for a father who decided to raise boys, and not cows. In spite of the mistakes, we learned how to work on that little farm, and I guess, although they didn’t say it in so many words, we always knew we were more important to Mother and Father than the cows or, for that matter, anything else.
Certainly in every home all family members can be given responsibilities that will fall within their ability to accomplish and, at the same time, teach them the satisfaction and dignity of work.
The third point is that parents have the right to teach moral and spiritual principles to their children. In that regard let me quote the following from modern scripture:
“And again, inasmuch as parents have children in Zion, or in any of her stakes which are organized, that teach them not to understand the doctrine of repentance, faith in Christ the Son of the living God, and of baptism and the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of the hands, when eight years old, the sin be upon the heads of the parents.” (D&C 68:25.)
In his first address to the United States Congress, President Gerald Ford stated this universal truth: “If we can make effective … use of the moral and ethical wisdom of the centuries in today’s complex society, we will prevent more crime and corruption than all the policemen and prosecutors … can ever deter.” And he added: “This is a job that must begin at home, not in Washington.” (Christian Science Monitor, 28 Aug. 1974.)
In the article previously mentioned, Mr. Shannon says, “Nothing has invalidated the hard-earned moral wisdom that mankind has accumulated since Biblical times. To kill, to steal, to lie, or to covet another person’s possessions still leads to varying degrees of misery for the victim and the perpetrator. … ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery’ may sound old-fashioned, but restated in contemporary terms—‘Do not smash up another person’s family life’—still carries a worthwhile message.”
He also points out the virtues of self-denial and anticipation. As older teenagers learn the facts about sex, it would do no harm, he says, to use self-control.
“A certain amount of frustration and tension can be endured—and with good effect. Only modern Americans,” he says, “regard frustration as ranking higher than cholera in the scale of human afflictions.” (Reader’s Digest, May 1972, pp. 189–90.)
These are but three of many principles that should be emphasized in the setting of family and home.
The next question is, How do parents get this accomplished? For members of the Church, the point at which training and communication begin in the family is family home evening. Monday night is set aside for the family and nothing interferes. The father takes the lead but also has other members of the family make preparation and participate. What is said and done depends on the needs of that particular family. The Church publishes some guidelines to help parents teach moral and religious principles to the family and to make them apply in everyday life.
To the nonmember parent who is interested in establishing some kind of similar activity the Church also offers some special help. Living near you are both full-time and part-time missionaries who have been trained in how to hold a family home evening. They will be happy to demonstrate this program in your home at no obligation. This is a service of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints which it is prepared to offer families everywhere. The only thing we ask is that the whole family is present, especially the father or head of the home, since he is the key to the program.
Of course, these young missionaries are also prepared to teach your family the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ in subsequent visits. But if you do not want to continue, that will be your decision. At least you will be left with a program that many outside this Church have already adopted as being beneficial for the family and the home.
Some business leaders have also looked at the family home evening program and recommended it to their employees. Employees do better work when things are going well at home.
May the Lord bless us as parents to realize our right to help formulate the lives of our children, to teach the dignity of work, and to establish moral and religious principles in our homes, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.