Gospel Story Finder

I was reared as a Quaker, in the Society of Friends. Some branches of my family had been in the Society from its very beginnings in the mid-seventeenth century. Some suffered years of imprisonment for their faith. (Incidentally, I had to join the Mormon Church and do genealogy to find that out.)
As a Quaker, my father had a testimony against war, and so during the first world war he became a farmhand and we lived for a while in a little village that felt resentment against us because their men of military age were at the war. The boys used to torment my younger sister and me, and because of this I could not go to the village school—my mother and father taught me at home.
We were taught to be against dancing, the cinema, alcohol, and betting and gambling (including speculating on the stock exchange). As a result I learned that we were not of the world, and that we had enjoyments other than the world’s enjoyments. I interpreted that, as a child might well do, as looking down on people (I must have been a prig).
But Quaker meetings also taught me something of the Holy Spirit. Quakers believe in the inner light, and in my early teens I learned how it felt to be compelled from within to get up and speak, no matter how much one struggled against it.
However, I became dissatisfied with Quakerism. My family was poor, and I felt the condescension of members who were prosperous tradespeople and professionals. There were few working-class members of the Society of Friends. I was especially sensitive because the Society supported my widowed mother. I felt that there were class distinctions among the Friends.
Quakers shared a spirit, but to me it seemed too vague a spirit. It led to humane action, but the action seemed to me not vigorous enough. Their God had no body, parts, and passions. They lacked dogma, something firm I could depend on to help answer my own and others’ questionings. When I went to Cambridge in 1928, I found a generation trying to make the experience of literature and the other arts a substitute for religion. The text was Arnold’s statement that “religion has attached itself to the fact, and now the fact is failing it; but for poetry the idea is everything.” The little book that most characteristically enshrines this view is I. A. Richards’s Science and Poetry. The view was, however, an essentially individualistic one; it lacked the force to make a group cohere. There was a group—around Leavis’s periodical Scrutiny—that had a good deal of influence and effectively enforced the relationship of art and morality; but we were at sea, and though we could learn about winds and tides, there was no anchor aboard, and we had no destination.
At this point, I should like to say a few words about three important writers and their attitudes toward religion: William Butler Yeats, D. H. Lawrence, and T. S. Eliot.
Yeats used myths and images as a box of magical toys, and we cannot take his use seriously. However, he did show us a way of seeing the whole world and the whole of history in terms of images; and though he was not serious about it, we can be for our own serious purposes.
Lawrence had a disturbed life. He was restless because he could never find what he wanted, and he would not face his illness until the last. But he taught something of the sanctity and tenderness of the right relationship between man and woman in marriage, idealized from his own not very satisfactory experience. And he had a profound instinct about the need for a patriarchal community (his own family was very matriarchal) and for the priesthood. There are strong but dark shadowings of this in Aaron’s Rod, Kangaroo, and The Plumed Serpent.
Eliot was a sensitive and truthful seeker. He taught the value of exactitude in religious experience: “The spirit killeth, but the letter giveth life,” meaning that dogma is better than vague, liberal goodwill. And he well understood the step to conversion: “The awful daring of a moment’s surrender … costing not less than everything.” But his Christianity, with its royalism and Anglo-Catholicism, was a kind of seventeenth-century pastiche. His social outlook was limited and led him into snobbery (see Notes Towards a Definition of Culture). And his conversion liberated him in some ways and desiccated him in others.
At one time I investigated the Anglican Church. I attended a village church for some years. While I appreciated the hymns and the ritual, I could not join; there was nothing to join—no community of the church, no true social group, no force. The upper class tended to go to morning service and the lower class to evening service.
Like Eliot, they were pretending in a mock world, with—like him—some seventeenth-century pastiche as well as some Victorian pastiche dear to their own hearts.
After I had left Cambridge, there came to that university, as to others, the wave of Marxist thought characteristic of the thirties. Marxists deny God, but devout Communists—among whom were some of my friends—taught me something of faith: that faith must issue in energy, force, determination, organization. Faith is not content to leave things as they are, but wishes to change them for the better, both inside and outside oneself.
The quality of my friends’ faith may have been very good, but its object was deception. The Stalin trials, the Russo-German Pact of 1939, and the suppression of Hungary in 1956 were fatal blows to faith. Nothing was left but disillusion—or else self-deception—for idealistic Marxists. They found themselves in a wasteland; they knew the kind of bitter disappointment that Wordsworth experienced in the French Revolution. “Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive”; but it was just being alive and young, the excitement of animal spirits, no more. History has only savage answers to those who do not believe it to be a process of incarnation.
In the fifties, I lived for seven years in Islamic countries in Persia and Pakistan. Islam resembles Mormonism and Judaism in legislating for the organization of the whole community. The original social function of polygamy in Islam—that of providing status for spinsters and widows—helps an outsider to understand, sympathize with, and ultimately, as a member, accept the historical and eternal function of polygamy in the Latter-day Saint Church.
But Allah is remote, arbitrary, and all spirit to the Muslims. His ways are not to be understood by man, but are accepted with resignation. That he could have a body is blasphemy. History is not a process of incarnation to the Mohammedan, good historians though some of them once were. And the drive has irretrievably gone out of Islam.
I have had some experience with other religions: Hinduism, with its admirable regard for the family but its vague superstitions and continued social prejudice; and Buddhism, which in its proper form is a matter of intense spiritual discipline, has no place for a personal God, and advocates the absorption of human personality into the infinite, not its intensification through eternity. Each world religion has fatal flaws; each has in it something that points us toward and prepares us for acceptance of our Church.
So I was ready for the truth when, in 1966, my second cousin—now my wife—stopped at my door in the course of a genealogical hunt, introduced herself, and within a day or so had borne her testimony. She and the ever-ready missionaries told me what I was prepared to hear, though I had heard none of it before.
I had my difficulties as I began to relate the gospel to the world around us. But the more I learned of the gospel, the more I realized that it was wholly true, whereas much learned explanation was partial and uncertain. Facts we must accept, and know that our faith is never ultimately incompatible with them; interpretations remain a matter of continued discussion—a good scientist will always agree, too, that science does not promulgate immutable laws, but presents temporary explanations. The immutable laws remain those revealed for governing conduct, not the transient explanations of physical fact.
But all difficulties of this kind are resolved by the determination to enter the Church and accept it as a whole—all of it. It belongs together, and conversion is a matter not of choosing what you like and ignoring the rest, but of wholehearted, whole-minded acceptance.
Once we have been converted and have laid down at Christ’s feet whatever talents and tools we may possess, we find ourselves able to take them up again and use them for the Church in his name and in the light of his countenance.
I know that God lives. I have always known it. But I now know that he has a body, parts, and passions, for we are made in his image, and we may become like him. He lives in and through history. His Son was incarnate man and has now the flesh and bone that we too shall inherit after the resurrection. This is profoundly satisfying dogma.
I know that the Church is true. Its social organization and utter indifference to class distinctions vouch for this at the superficial level. But this organization could not be maintained were it not for the urge behind, the religious drive. I do not believe with Jonathan Swift that religion is just a good means of keeping society in order.
I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. He speaks to me, a stylistician, in his own prose as a transparently sincere and matter-of-fact writer.
I know, therefore, that the Book of Mormon is an inspired translation and that the Doctrine and Covenants is revelation. They are quite different from Joseph Smith’s prose and significantly different from the Bible and from each other. They are unique. They could not have been invented by a man of Joseph Smith’s knowledge and training.
I know that there is a prophet upon the earth today, for there has to be succession and continuity. If Joseph Smith was a true prophet, then he had to be succeeded to maintain the revelation. As our prophet is sustained by our Father, so is he sustained by ourselves. Our Father blesses him, and through him the whole of the Church; and therefore we continue to accept and sustain him.
I believe in the work for the dead. The hearts of the fathers and the children may and must be turned to one another. The family goes back through history. It is not simply our nearest and dearest that are our concern, but our furthest and dearest. We want to learn as much as we can about them. I therefore believe in temple work. And only through regular temple work can a marriage be sanctified and become an eternal partnership on this earth.
I have come from the outside wilderness home. I carry with me throughout the day the sense of prayer. The whole world is sanctified unto the Most High, and “everything that lives is holy.”

When faced with difficult adversity and trials many ask, "why me Lord?" I know that I did during one of my trials earlier in my life. I remember crying to the Lord pleading with Him when I faced this trial. This was the first time that I and my family had faced a major financial crisis in my life.

I had a small successful business with ten employees. I was a roofing and waterproofing contractor here in Hawaii. A trade that I had learn from my father since I was ten years old. Every weekend, holiday, and summer in my teenage years I would work for my father’s roofing company. This was a hard profession and I am thankful to my father that he taught me the blessings and the principles of hard work.

By the time my father had planned to retire, his company had grown to be one of the largest roofing companies here in Hawaii at the time. He had always hoped that I would take over the family business. He asked me to leave my small successful business and come over to his company to manage it and become part owner of it. I discussed this move with my wife and we saw this as a wonderful opportunity of growth and to continue his legacy. So I left my small business and took over as general manager of my father’s company. As often happens in the construction industry, his roofing company was strapped financially when I joined them. My father had exhausted his and the company’s resources to borrow money and the company owed a lot taxes.

After discussing the situation with my wife we decided to take out a large mortgage on our home that I had built, and loan the money to my father’s company. We had confidence in my ability to turn things around financially for the company since I would now be the one managing it. Unfortunately, it was a bigger task than we had anticipated. We were forced to shut down the company, in doing so I had lost the money that we had loan to the company, and I knew that it was inevitable that we would lose our home, displacing my young family.

After shedding a lot tears while praying, I remember experiencing a beautiful peaceful feeling that came over me as our Heavenly Father let me know in a very personal way that all would be well, and that this trial was for my growth and development. It was a long and hard trial but I and my family were able to endure it well.

As a teenage boy, I struggled a lot with my identity. I wondered why I was on this earth and who I was supposed to become. When I was about 13, the principal of my school gave every student a copy of the New Testament with English and Japanese side-by-side. “It isn’t for religious purposes,” he said. “It is a very good translation, so use it to study English.” When I opened it up though, it gave scripture references for when you feel lonely, need answers to your questions, or are struggling. I could relate to all of those situations!
I read about Jesus Christ. “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). “Take up [your] cross, and follow me” (Matthew 16:24). The words resonated with me even though I didn’t fully understand them. I wondered who Jesus Christ is and what it means to have Him as a Savior. I wondered if I was the only one feeling such a connection to what was supposed to be a textbook.
A few years later I met some missionaries for the first time. My parents had warned me about the young Christians who were going around preaching. As I was walking home, a tall American missionary with a kind smile stopped me. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid he would talk about his church. If he had, I might have run the other way! All he asked was how to find the post office. I told him and then walked home.
As I walked away, I felt something. If I see the missionaries again, I thought, I will talk to them.
Not long after that, I ran into a different set of missionaries. I was shocked that God would hear and answer the prayers of a boy like me, until I read about Joseph Smith. I had read in the New Testament to pray always, but God appearing to a man? It felt both radical and right. Rather than run away, I set up an appointment to have them teach me.
A month into meeting with the missionaries, they invited me to be baptized. I didn’t want to turn them down, but I was hesitant to leave the tradition of my parents and everyone around me. There were two paths before me, and I knew there was only one way to know which one to take—I had to pray like Joseph Smith. I asked Heavenly Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, if the things the missionaries had been teaching me were true.
That was my turning point. From then on, I knew for myself that the restored gospel is true. No one could take that knowledge away from me. I knew which path to follow, and nothing could change that.
I had many questions when I was younger. I learned that I am a child of God, He loves me, He has a plan for me, and He wants to answer my prayers. This knowledge changed my entire perspective on life. I learned that who I am and what I do is significant.
Before I learned that I was a child of God, I wanted to blend in with everyone. I was afraid of standing out. But after I learned that I am a child of God, I realized I can stand out; I can be different.
Praying and realizing that I am a son of God gave me the courage to explain my feelings to my parents, but they didn’t quite understand. They thought I was rebellious and too immature to make the decision to be baptized. They were embarrassed that their son was following this strange religion rather than their traditions. I knew who I was and what I wanted, but I also wanted to honor my parents and hoped they would honor my religion.
I explained my situation to the sister missionaries. They had an idea—they could come talk to my parents so that they would feel better about this religion. I told them I was afraid my parents wouldn’t want to talk to them. Then one of the sisters suggested that we fast together.
When I didn’t eat breakfast, my mom was worried. “Why didn’t you eat?” she asked. I explained that I was fasting, and that made her even more concerned.
“First you are going to this no-man’s land of religion, and now you are not eating. I’m worried. I’m shocked! I’m going to call those missionaries.”
She did call the sisters, and somehow they got themselves invited to our house for dinner!
We had a great time. The missionaries taught my parents the hymn “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301), and we sang it together. My father loved that. After dinner with the sisters, neither of my parents was worried about me going to church. And I felt I was able to honor them by living the gospel because it really encompassed everything they had taught me. I thought if I loved them long enough and treated them kind enough, eventually they would understand. It took 35 years after my baptism, but my mother was baptized and went through the temple just a few years ago!
Knowing that I’m a child of God has impacted many of my life decisions. I also know that as we follow the Spirit and do what Heavenly Father asks of us, even when it seems hard, He will bless us. That is always the best choice.

When I was a new Beehive, I enjoyed Young Women, but I was also shy and a little intimidated by the older girls. I had a hard time relating with them since their main interests seemed to center around boys and clothes—or so I thought.
One of the first Mutual activities I attended after turning 12 was held in the backyard of one of our leaders. All the girls were there, including Shannie,* one of the older Beehives. She was well-liked by everyone, and tonight she was dressed in the latest summer fashion, right down to her sparkling white tennis shoes.
When the refreshments were served near the end of the activity, we all took our cookies and purple punch over to the lawn chairs where we could eat and socialize. I sat down next to Shannie, placing my glass of punch on the ground. As the girls began to talk, I shifted my legs. To my horror, my foot knocked over my glass of punch and it spilled all over Shannie’s left foot! I sat paralyzed as the deep purple spread over the once-sparkling-white shoe. I was sure all the young women had seen it happen. I thought I would die of embarrassment!
As I began to choke out a desperate apology, Shannie put her hand out and said in a soft voice, “Hey, it’s OK. Don’t worry about it.” And she meant it. She encouraged the conversation to continue as though nothing had happened. For the rest of the evening she seemed to ignore her soggy, purple shoe.
In that moment, I realized that while Shannie was well-dressed and popular, her biggest priority was to treat others with Christlike kindness. I will forever remember the compassion she showed to me at a time in my life when I needed it most.

Shelly loved to skip. She skipped to the park. She skipped to school and home from school. She skipped next door to visit Sister Jones. She skipped so much that her friends and family called her “Skipper.”
One day, though, Shelly walked home from school very slowly. She didn’t feel like skipping. Her legs felt heavy as she climbed the porch steps and opened the front door. She found Mother sitting at the kitchen table, writing letters.
“Hi, Shelly! How was school today?” Mother asked, pausing to lick an envelope.
Shelly didn’t say anything. She felt tears pressing her eyes. Oh, no, she thought, I’m going to cry again.
Mother licked some stamps and pressed them onto the envelopes. Then she turned to Shelly. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
As Mother hugged her, Shelly felt tears roll down her cheeks. “Oh, Mom! Some of the kids at school say I’m stupid! Am I?”
Mother hugged her tighter. “No, Shelly! You’re not stupid.”
Shelly leaned back and looked at Mother. Mother had a way of looking into Shelly’s eyes that made her feel understood. She knew that Mother loved her. “Then why is everything so hard for me? I’m always the last one finished with math or spelling, and I still get more wrong than everybody else.” Mother handed her a tissue. Shelly sniffed. “I really try, Mom! I really try! And you help me study every night. So why is it so hard for me?”
Mother pulled Shelly close again and answered her with a question. “Shelly, what is the greatest talent anyone can have?”
Shelly thought. She remembered how well her teenage brothers played their violins. They played with the high school orchestra. “Is it to play the violin?” she asked.
“No,” said Mother. “Playing the violin is not the greatest talent. Think again.”
Shelly thought about how well Dad did woodworking. Shelly liked to watch him as he built beautiful furniture. “Is it to build things?” she asked.
Mother shook her head. “No, woodworking is not the greatest talent. Think again.”
Then Shelly remembered how she loved to have Mother sing Primary songs to her at bedtime. Sometimes, if Shelly wasn’t too tired after studying, they sang together. Mother led the singing in Primary. Shelly liked learning the new songs with her mother. “Is singing the greatest talent anyone can have?” Shelly asked.
“No, Shelly, Talent in music is a wonderful talent, but it isn’t the greatest talent.”
Shelly thought about her friend Aubree. Aubree usually finished her math and spelling before anyone else in the class. Aubree didn’t have to study after school, so she took dancing lessons several afternoons a week. She could do ballet and tap dance. On Saturdays, Shelly liked to visit Aubree. Aubree would let Shelly wear one of her beautiful costumes and would teach her some dancing steps.
“Is the greatest talent dancing?” Shelly asked.
“No, Shelly, it isn’t dancing. Think very hard.”
Shelly thought. Then she remembered how hard it was for her to read. Sometimes the letters seemed to flip over or even disappear. “Oh, Mom, it isn’t reading, is it?”
Mother gave her a squeeze. “No, it isn’t reading. Dancing, singing, reading, woodworking, and playing instruments are all great talents, but they aren’t anything compared to the best talent. And, Shelly, you have the best talent.”
Shelly was surprised. “No, Mom. I don’t do anything really well.”
“Oh, yes, you do. You try to make people happy. You stop to visit Sister Jones on your way home from school. She’s lonely living alone, and you cheer her up. She has often told me how much she looks forward to your visits.”
Shelly smiled. She liked Sister Jones. Sometimes she played her harp for Shelly. Sister Jones even said that she’d teach Shelly to play one when Shelly’s arms grew a little longer.
Mother gave Shelly another squeeze. “And when our doorbell rings, you’re the first one there. You greet everyone with a smile. Even when my friends come, you want them to have a cookie, and you always tell them to come again. That makes them very happy.”
Mother is right, Shelly thought. I do like to make people happy.
“Shelly,” Mother said, “your talent is the best talent of all. Can you guess what it is now?”
Shelly still shook her head.
“Shelly, your talent is love. You know how to love others, and that is the best talent. That’s what Jesus taught. All those other talents—singing, dancing, woodworking, playing instruments, even reading—don’t mean very much if you don’t know how to love.”
Shelly thought some more and nodded her head. She gave her mother a kiss and a big hug. Then she skipped down the hallway to change into her play clothes.
The next day just before the bell rang at the end of school, a boy in Shelly’s class started teasing her again. But Shelly only smiled at him. I might not be as smart as you, she thought, but I can love you anyway; and Jesus said that loving is the best thing of all.
Then she put her math and spelling books in her book bag and skipped all the way home.

The singular beauty of that first morning was followed by a week of busy filming. By Thursday renewed bad weather set in—more clouds and more rain. By the end of the day there was still one important scene that needed to be put on film—and that scene had to be filmed in bright sunlight. It was the scene where Joseph runs toward his home on a bright sunny day. So Friday morning they set up an 18-foot scaffold for their cameras in the center of the field that lay between the grove and Joseph’s home. They offered another special prayer and waited. After what seemed like hours the clouds parted. The cameras rolled. Just before the scene ended, the clouds closed in again, and darkness prevailed. “That’s all we got,” said David Jacobs, producer-director, “but that was all we needed—it’s the scene that opens the film.”

I stood in the warm font, my white dress billowing around me. I was excited to be baptized, to be clean! Elder Daniels put me under the water, and I came up soaking and smiling. When I opened my eyes, I felt so good. I never wanted to do anything wrong again. My parents smiled at me.
“You did great,” my mom said after I was confirmed. She had even written me a poem for my baptism day. My dad was not a member of the Church, but I knew he felt OK about my choice since he let me take the missionary discussions.
Two of my best friends from the fifth grade came to see my baptism, and my parents took us all out for yummy ice cream afterward. My favorite food!
My friends and I took our cones and explored the gardens near the ice cream shop. The creamy ice cream on my cone looked so good. But on my first lick, the whole scoop fell off the cone and onto the grass!
Without thinking, I said a word my mom had asked me not to say. I slapped my hand over my mouth, realizing what I’d said. I was so sad. I didn’t know what to do. My parents thought I was just sad about my ice cream. They offered to buy me another, but I didn’t feel like eating anymore. Who cared about ice cream? I’d just made a terrible mistake and ruined my perfect day. I wasn’t clean anymore!
The rest of the day I felt awful about what I had said. And I didn’t want to tell my mom because she might get mad at me for saying a bad word. I was embarrassed that I had spoiled my new clean record so soon after being baptized.
That night I prayed for forgiveness. “Heavenly Father, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to say that word. It just came out. I don’t want to say it again.”
I went to bed unhappy, and on Sunday morning I still wasn’t feeling very good. When we got to church, I waved hello to Elder Daniels with the same crummy feeling in my stomach.
I felt even worse when my mom said, “I’m so glad you decided to be baptized.”
During sacrament meeting a familiar tune made me look up. It was the sacrament hymn. The words were about Jesus. As I started to sing, I concentrated on the words. They spoke about Jesus’s amazing Atonement and how wonderful it was. Then I remembered something the missionaries taught me. They said that every time I sincerely repented and took the sacrament, it would be just like I was baptized all over again! I could repent. Instantly my heart felt lighter, and I realized that everything would be OK.
I was so relieved and so grateful for the sacrament that day. I took the bread and water and promised Heavenly Father I would do my best the next week to keep all His commandments. I was so happy. I knew that I was clean again.

It was Thursday, and like hundreds of others in the Church, Jim and Alex anxiously waited for the mail to arrive. Their missionary recommendation papers had been turned in several weeks before, and today might be the day their calls would arrive.
Jim was working at the local supermarket, and Alex was working for a home builder. Both had made their mothers promise that if a large white envelope from Church headquarters arrived, they would not open it. Both had trouble concentrating on their work that day. Jim nearly bagged bath soap with the fresh vegetables, and Alex cut a couple of boards too short.
The large white envelopes did arrive. And both young men rushed home from work at the end of the day. With their families around them, they opened the long-awaited calls to serve. The anticipation was replaced by joy and tears of gratitude. Both young men felt the Lord had spoken, and they were ready to respond to His call.
As the initial excitement died down, the next phase of preparation began. Both families made detailed checklists: scheduling the last day of work, buying clothes and luggage, preparing for sacrament meeting, holding a family get-together, and—oh yes—going to the temple. Sadly, however, only one of the families revered the temple experience as the main event in the life of their son, giving it the emphasis it deserves.

More than a year after Nancy and I were baptized, she began dating a young man named Luke. He had a bubbly personality and seemed to radiate love and excitement. At the time Nancy met him, he was looking for direction in his life and was eager to take the missionary discussions when Nancy told him about the gospel. His sister, Leonarda, also was interested in being taught.

Although Luke and Leonarda agreed with most of what was presented, they had trouble accepting that Joseph Smith was a prophet. Once they gained a testimony of Joseph Smith then everything else (the Book of Mormon, the restoration of the gospel, and the gospel principles taught by the prophets) would fall into place.

They came to our home to be taught by the elders. Once again the discussion centered on Joseph Smith. One of the elders suggested that we should each take a turn asking Heavenly Father if Joseph Smith was a prophet and then listen silently for a minute for the answer.

I won’t forget the feeling of peace that came into that room and touched each of our hearts as the Spirit bore witness to each of us that Joseph Smith was a prophet of the Lord. For some of us a testimony was gained that night; for others the truth was reaffirmed. Luke accepted baptism and Leonarda was baptized a few years later with her parents’ approval.

Since that night the Spirit has borne witness to me many times of the truthfulness of other gospel principles. But this experience stands out in my mind because it was one of my first experiences with personal revelation from a Heavenly Father who loves me. I learned that night the truth of the counsel found in Matthew 7:7, “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” [Matt. 7:7]

Quorum members still talk about the time they touched down in a remote pasture to change crew members and found themselves right next to two campers who were slumbering peacefully in sleeping bags. The crew quietly made the transfer and, without a word, were off again. Awakened finally by the roar of the burners as the balloon lifted, the sleepers rolled over in time to see a huge balloon hanging in the sky above them. They may still be talking about the fantastic “dream” they both had.

Some years ago in our ward fast and testimony meeting a young father proudly gave a name and a blessing to his first child. Afterwards the father stood to bear his testimony. He expressed thanks for this, his first son. He then said in a rather perplexed way that since the little fellow didn’t seem to understand anything they said, he wished he knew just how to communicate with him. “All we can do,” said he, “is hold him, cuddle him, gently squeeze him, kiss him, and whisper thoughts of love in his ear.”
After the meeting I went up to the new father and said that in his testimony he had given us a success pattern for raising healthy children. I hoped he would never forget it; even as his children grew to maturity I hoped he would continue the practice.

When I returned as a student, I also returned to work at the Polynesian Cultural Center. Since our chapels have cultural centers, it is perhaps not surprising that we have a Polynesian Cultural Center, yet the PCC is unique in all the Church and a special place – a miracle in many ways.

It was the right place at the right time for me. My first job at PCC was in the brass band, and I worked there before and after my mission and was able to reunite with many friends and play with the brass band last month as part of the 50th anniversary. I also worked briefly in the Marquesas Village, but PCC is especially significant to me because I met my wife on the road to the back stage area of the Night Show. I like to think that we actually first met in the back stage area of our lives, the pre-existence, but in this life, I first met my wife on the road to the theater.

I like to tell my students this story; it is very symbolic of our courtship. I remember the first time I saw her. She was new at the Night Show and in the Hawaii, Maori, and Tahitian sections. I had come back to the show but had moved to the other sections: Tonga, Fiji, and Samoa. So the first time I saw her, we were both new and back stage in front of the mirrors, doing the fittings for our new costumes. She was looking pretty in her Hawaiian outfit, and I thought I was looking pretty good in the Tongan outfit. She never noticed me, but I noticed her. I actually had the kailao (carved and painted club) and was practicing one of the moves – spinning the kailao and running in a circle. There’s some symbolism there –I was running in circles, and she never seemed to notice me.

For my last few nights at the Night Show, somehow they allowed me to do the fire walk. This of course is where the dancers walk through the fire boards, play with the fire, and eventually put the fire out with the ti leaf skirts. This is also symbolic – after running in circles and not being noticed, when my wife finally did notice me, it was like walking through fire to get through to her.

I suppose it is true that nothing that is worthwhile is easy, but she could have made things a little easier. In the end, she did come around.

When we worked at PCC, we never actually danced together with each other. So full circle, for the 50th anniversary, we were able to learn the couples hula and actually dance with each other. We were able to perform for our family and children. When you think about it, that is what the dance of life is about: choreographing our lives to the music of the gospel and celebrating together across generations.

I’ve been on both sides of the fence. I can remember a time when I believed but did not know for myself. I’m a five-generation Latter-day Saint. Most of our people have been in the Church since the days of Joseph Smith. Every one of my ancestors and Sister Reeve’s ancestors crossed the plains as pioneers. The Lord has blessed us abundantly, and I’ve been aware that I have had many blessings—that I’m riding on a ticket that someone else paid for. It has kept me mighty humble.

This force that can cut us off can also keep us from knowing. Because I was raised in a Latter-day Saint home, we prayed; Dad and Mother prayed. Dad was in the bishopric all the years I can remember as a child. I can remember going away to school. I grew up in Millard County. We lived there during the Depression, and it was hard. I determined that I did not want to be there anymore. You’d work all year. You’d get up at 5:00 in the morning and work until 9:00 at night, and, when the season was over, you owed more than you did when you began in the spring. I had worked all summer. I had been paid a dollar a day. I had saved every cent I had earned. That is different from what we do today. I hadn’t spent one cent. I wanted to go to school. I had $96.35.

Before I went away, I came to the bishop. I said, “Bishop, tomorrow I’m going away to school. I’ve worked all summer. I’ve saved all that I’ve earned. I have $96.35. Do you think that the Lord expects me to pay tithing on that when I need so much more to go to school and there’s no other place to get any?”

This great bishop, and I’ll be grateful to him forever, looked me right in the eye and said, “If you pay your tithing, you’ll have what you need when you need it.”

I went home and got the money, those nine dollars. I carried them down, and they got bigger as I got closer to his office, until when I got to the desk they were almost as big as wheels. The greatest trial I had had up to that point was to put them on his desk. I still have the receipt in my safety deposit box.

I went away to school. I rode in the back of a grain truck to get there. One of the first things that happened to me was that I sat in a class where a learned man said, “God is dead.” I was shaken up. I was depending on Him. The bishop said He was going to help me. This learned man said that thinking people, anyone with intellect, would know that God is dead. We didn’t have a telephone at home. I couldn’t call Dad and Mother to be reassured. I hadn’t met the new bishop yet. The pillars that held my house up had fallen down, and I needed to know. I can still remember that night when there was no place to go but to my knees. There alone in that little one-room apartment, I kneeled down. I prayed—no fancy words—something like this, “Father in Heaven, Dad and Mom have been praying to you all these years. This learned man says you’re dead. I need to know. Are you there?” When I went back to that man’s class, I knew something he didn’t know. I knew there was a God, and He wasn’t dead. I knew that He could hear, and I knew that He could answer. From that hour until now, that assurance has been like an anchor to my soul.

The Holy Ghost will also help you to do what is right, even when that seems very difficult. I hope you children will never be afraid to stand up for what is right. I still remember an experience I had in primary school. Our primary school included first through seventh grades. When I was about 12 and in my final year of primary school, the head boy, who was supposed to be the school leader, was actually the school’s biggest bully. He and three or four of his pals would go around teasing other kids.
I was new at the school, so one day he tried to intimidate me. When he discovered I would not respond to his intimidation, he gave up and bullied other kids, especially the weaker ones. One day when I saw this happening, I walked over and told him to stop. I said that if he did not stop I would defend the smaller boy. There stood the bully with his three or four friends, surrounding this small, timid boy and myself. It was very scary. I thought they were going to beat me up. To my surprise, the bully withered under my words. He and his friends made some smart remarks and left.
Throughout the rest of the year I continued to defend other boys from these bullies. Others started to do so, too, until the bullies gradually lost all their power and influence. Children, the lesson I learned from this experience is that when we do things for the right reason, even when it is very difficult, the Lord will bless us and help us. He needs courageous people to stand up and defend what is right and reduce the influence of evil. You are never too young to begin doing so. When you stand for what is right, you will discover that good triumphs.

Te Awhina’s childhood was rough. She was raised by her grandmother until she was eight, and then she moved from home to home, where drugs and violence were easier to find than food or faith. “There was no talk of a God,” she says, “No talk of finding healing and forgiveness, I grew up with a poison of hatred and bitterness because I was not taught any better.”
As a teen, she was lost. “I had no guidance, no safety, and no role model. I was confused and had nowhere to find peace,” she remembers. She only knew one kind of life back then, and eventually, it led her to a rehabilitation facility for her own alcohol addiction.
Not long after she was released, she met missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She had seen them around, so they were familiar to her, but for some reason on this day, Te Awhina felt compelled to call them over.
“I had a question,” she recalls. “You might think this is a silly question, but when you grow up with no concept of God . . . I just didn’t know.” She said to the missionaries, “If you can answer me one question, I’ll listen to [your message].”
Then she asked: “Is God a man or a woman?”
One of the missionaries replied, “God is our loving Heavenly Father.”
This answer brought an unexpected sense of clarity and peace to Te Awhina. She wanted to learn more. “Okay,” she said to the missionaries. “I’ll listen to you.”
It has now been 10 years since Te Awhina was baptised a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She became a missionary herself, very soon after her baptism, when she served in the Australia Brisbane Mission. Then, in 2020, she married Josh, “the man of my dreams.” The couple looks forward to being sealed to each other—for time and all eternity—as soon as the New Zealand Hamilton Temple is reopened.
Reflecting on how her incredible journey began with a simple question, Te Awhina notes that the Prophet Joseph Smith also received his greatest revelation because he had the courage to ask of God, and like Joseph Smith, Te Awhina learned that sometimes the answer does not come easily.
When the missionaries first explained the Word of Wisdom to her, Te Awhina’s first reaction was, “No thanks.” But even as she struggled with the idea of giving up harmful substances, she surprised herself by how quickly she obeyed. Basically, “By end of that [missionary] lesson, I had given up coffee,” she laughs.
Not everything fell into place as effortlessly, but Te Awhina persevered and has been rewarded with healing and forgiveness through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Over the years, it has brought her strength and hope to know that young Joseph Smith also wrestled with a terrible darkness, just before he experienced the miraculous First Vision, which would usher in a new dispensation of the gospel on earth.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland’s words have helped Te Awhina understand this pattern:
“It is the plain and very sobering truth that before great moments, certainly before great spiritual moments, there can come adversity, opposition, and darkness. Life has some of those moments for us, and occasionally they come just as we are approaching an important decision or a significant step in our lives.”1
“As I celebrate my 10-year anniversary of coming into the fold, I have found healing that can only come as we look to Christ and repent,” Te Awhina says. “I am grateful for the missionaries, for the truths that they taught me—and for what the gospel has done in my life.”

Change your attitude. By looking at a problem in a different way, it may be possible to reduce discouragement. I have been impressed with the pioneer story told about Zina Young. After experiencing the death of parents, crop failure, and sickness, she was encouraged with a spiritual experience that changed her attitude. While attempting to seek divine help, she heard her mother’s voice: “Zina, any sailor can steer on a smooth sea, when rocks appear, sail around them.” A prayer came quickly: “O Father in heaven, help me to be a good sailor, that my heart shall not break on the rocks of grief” (“Mother,” The Young Woman’s Journal, Jan. 1911, 45). It is often difficult to change circumstances, but a positive attitude can help lift discouragement.

I listened recently to a speaker in our ward sacrament meeting. For many years he had served as a bishop and in many other capacities. But he spoke of a wonderful assignment that he and his wife recently had to nurture a new convert who had come into the Church, a young mother with three children. They taught her regularly, once a week. They built her testimony. They taught her the gospel in all its various aspects. They encouraged her with the assignments she had in the ward. They were always there to answer her questions, to enlighten her, to bring understanding of some doctrine that was unclear. They had done this until she and her children had strength to move with security on their own. The young mother and her children have now moved to another area. But this woman, who became the beneficiary of their interest, continues to write to them with expressions of love and appreciation.

I had just started college when I decided to learn to snowboard. There wasn’t snow on the ground yet, and I had no idea how I would learn, but I had recently acquired the gear and had the desire. What I didn’t realize then was how learning to snowboard would become an important metaphor for later lessons.
When my friends found out about my recently acquired equipment, they promised to help me learn how to ride my board. We began planning a boarding trip as soon as the local resort opened. I was already envisioning the speed with which I would race down the slopes and the heights I would reach from launching off the jumps.
Finally, the slopes opened, and we loaded up our gear in the back of my Jeep and drove along the slushy roads to the resort. When we arrived, I was immediately impressed by how large everything was. Looking at a map of the runs and being aware of my lack of experience, I determined to learn quickly.
My friends didn’t want me to learn on the “bunny hill”—the green run. They reasoned that there wasn’t enough of a slope to get any speed, and without speed I wouldn’t learn to board. I went along with their plan and rode the ski lift to a blue run. I listened to the advice of my two buddies and then started down the hill, squatting in a tuck to get more speed.
Speed was one thing I understood. It was simple to go fast down that slope. Unfortunately that was all I could do. I soon caught an edge and face-planted in the snow. There was at least a foot of fresh snow everywhere on the hill, so there wasn’t much of a consequence to crashing. That was how I spent the day: racing down the hill as fast as I could go, trying to achieve that flying feeling I had imagined, crashing because I didn’t know how to stop, and then jumping back up and starting again. Pretty soon my friends left me and went to tackle the advanced runs—the black diamonds. I had more fun than I expected that day. I didn’t mind eating snow frequently if it meant I could zip down the mountain full-tilt.
The next week my family took a weeklong vacation at a different resort with very different snow conditions. The area hadn’t received fresh snow in a week, and the entire mountain was covered in a thick layer of icy man-made snow. There were even areas where the snow was so compacted it would have been possible to glide across on skates.
I continued my method of boarding, but it didn’t take long before an ice patch surprised me, causing me to lose control of the board and to land so hard on my tailbone that I couldn’t walk normally for two weeks. I limped and slid my way down the hill and went to our room. I thought I would be stuck inside for the rest of the vacation, lying on my side because it hurt too much to sit.
Eventually my stubborn nature got the better of me, and I went back out to the hill before it grew dark—this time with a different attitude. I rode up to the top, slid partway down the hill, knelt down, and watched every boarder who passed by, analyzing their every move and technique. The pointers my friends had originally given me became clear as I watched other boarders implement them. When I felt like I understood a particular technique, I would try it out myself, taking particular care not to crash. I spent hours watching and practicing. It was very slow work, and I definitely didn’t have the feeling of flying, but I followed this pattern that entire week.
After that week I had learned the necessary skills to ride a snowboard effectively. My friends couldn’t believe the difference when I rode with them again.
It has been several years since that first season. Now I am a very competent snowboarder. I traverse double black diamonds without batting an eye, hit jumps, and zoom down the mountain at incredible speeds, and I finally feel like I can fly. All of this is because I learned to use restraint and realized the need to learn from those who had come before me.
Sometimes in life it seems easier to do things on our own, heedless of the consequences. That doesn’t mean that the consequences don’t exist or that they won’t catch up to us. If we exercise restraint and take the time to learn from those with more experience in life, like our parents and Church leaders, then we can eventually be ready to venture out on our own and take on life’s challenges. We can learn to fly.

When I was a child, from 1976 to 1980, I was very struck by the advertisements presented on television in Puerto Rico for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. No one in my house was a member of the Church. I noticed that all the announcements were positive and always highlighted the importance of family. I really liked the ads because in each of them there was a message for me and my family.
It wasn’t until about 25 years later that a friend invited my wife and me to visit his church. My friend was an exemplary person, and I gave him my word that I would attend. When I got there, I read a sign at the entrance that read, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” I immediately told my wife, “This is the Church of positive messages and family.” We asked ourselves, what awaits us inside the Church? Heavenly Father had a plan for us. Everything was cordial and we were treated as if we were part of the Church family. The missionaries taught us, we had a confirmation that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true Church in the world, and we were baptized.

One young woman wrote about the lessons she has learned in her struggle to recover from an automobile accident in which she received severe head injuries.
“I didn’t know how strong I was until the spring of 1996. The incidents of one afternoon completely changed my expectations of how my education would proceed. One minute I was on a path to my future, much like every other high school student. The next minute life was no longer ordinary for me. I was on my way to strengthening myself in ways I would never have guessed. … I was on a road to relearning instead of learning. … I relearned how to eat; swallowing the food in my mouth was a hard task that I had to relearn. I went from the bed to a wheelchair to standing and walking in over a five-month period. … I have learned many great truths from my diverse trials this past year. Prayers are really answered. Fasting is a power in my family. Love has kept me alive. … I have learned what I can tolerate. … Throughout all of this I have learned that I am a lot stronger than I thought. I have learned that if you need help, it is OK to ask for it; we all have our limits, strengths, and weaknesses. … All knowledge … is ‘spendable currency’ for me. Like a baby bird broken from its shell, I am learning to fly again” (letter from Elizabeth Merkley).