Gospel Story Finder

When I was your age I had an experience that helped me understand the importance of service. Ten years ago the experience was told in the video Special Witnesses of Christ. I want to share it with you again tonight:

There was an experience in my life which has often reminded me of the joy resulting from asking the question “What would the Savior do in this situation?”
I was among the first wave of Marines to go ashore in Japan following the signing of the peace treaty following World War II. As we entered the devastated city of Nagasaki, it was one of the saddest experiences of my life. A large part of the city had been totally destroyed. Some of the dead had not yet been buried. As occupation troops, we set up headquarters and went to work.
The situation was very bleak, and a few of us wanted to give more. We went to our division chaplain and requested permission to help rebuild the Christian churches. Because of government restrictions during the war, these churches had almost ceased to function. Their few buildings were badly damaged. A group of us volunteered to repair and replaster these chapels during our off-duty time so that they would be available for the holding of Christian services again.
We had no command of the language. All we could accomplish was the physical labor of repairing the buildings. We found the ministers who had been unable to serve during the war years and encouraged them to return to their pulpits. We had a tremendous experience with these people as they again experienced the freedom to practice their Christian beliefs.
An event occurred as we were leaving Nagasaki to return home that I will always remember. As we were boarding the train that would take us to our ships to return home, we were teased by a lot of the other Marines. They had their girlfriends with them saying good-bye to them. They laughed at us and indicated that we had missed the fun of being in Japan. We had just wasted our time laboring and plastering walls.
Just as they were at the height of their teasing, up over a little rise near the train station came about 200 of these great Japanese Christians from the churches we had repaired, singing “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” They came down and showered us with gifts. Then they all lined up along the railroad track. And as the train started down the tracks, we reached out and just touched their fingers as we left. We couldn’t speak; our emotions were too strong. But we were grateful that we could help in some small way in reestablishing Christianity in a nation after the war.

President Tanner told a story of a university professor addressing
A group of students who had just closed their college life. . . . At a final dinner before separating to go their various ways, he said, referring to the furnishings and services which graced the banquet table, “Take this tablecloth. It is of most exquisite workmanship. It involved weaving, bleaching, smoothing, designing. It is damask linen. Is there anyone here who knows from personal experience anything about the labor involved? Have any of you ever contributed any labor to the manufacturing of table linen? Let me draw your attention to the samples of pottery here. Surely the men and women who produce such beautiful things are artists. What a joy it must be for a man to hold a thing in his hand—complete—and say, ‘I made it.’ Many forms of labor are involved here, also—digging the clay, carting, fashioning, painting, burning, baking, and finishing.”
He then called attention to the cut glass, the silver, the rugs, the carpet, the curtains and drapery, and the mural decorations. He continued, “Here we are, then, a group of men on whom a university has set its stamp. We produce nothing to eat; we could not even lend a hand in the making of anything we see around us; and truth compels me to venture the suggestion that, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, the chief motive of a college education is to escape actual participation in just such a work as gives, or ought to give, joy to the worker.
“I do not believe that a smattering of languages, of mathematics, and of history is education. I believe the system of cramming these things to pass an examination is pernicious.” Then he said, “Why should men consider it degrading to handle tools and make useful and beautiful things?”
He concluded his remarks to his spellbound audience with these words: “Gentlemen, as one example, I wish it were possible for me to introduce to you a young Galilean carpenter, the master builder—Jesus of Nazareth.”

Trent sat high in the oak tree, dangling one leg over a thick branch. When Jared and Tom called to him from below, he didn’t even hear them. He was daydreaming about a book he had been reading. His Grandma Jessop had given him Pioneer Children for his birthday. After reading the book for a while, he had left it on his bed and climbed the tree to think about the pioneer children and their amazing experiences.
One boy in the book had saved his two little sisters when their house and fields caught fire. Another had found food for his family because his father was away fighting in the war.
The stories told about the many dangers that the pioneer children faced—bears, coyotes, Indians, even starvation. Trent wished that he had lived then. He would have met the challenges! He could outsmart Indians or scare away coyotes. As a Boy Scout he had learned how to make a cave in the snow where he could keep himself and his little brother warm if they got lost, just like a girl had done in one of the stories. He would share a piece of bread with a hungry child, even if it were all he had.
But it would never happen to Trent. His mother could buy him anything he wanted in the supermarket—any type of bread, fresh fruits and vegetables year round, even cookies and candies.
Finally, the voices below broke through Trent’s reverie.
“Trent! What’s the matter with you?” Jared called. “Have you gone deaf or something?”
“No. Why?”
“We’ve been hollering at you to come down,” Tom said.
“What for?”
“Who knows? We’ll just walk around till we find something to do.”
Yeah, I’ll bet, Trent thought. Jared and Tom were his best friends, but lately they were often into some kind of mischief. Trent climbed partway down the tree and then dropped to the ground.
“What were you doing up there, anyway?” Jared asked.
“I was thinking about this book I’ve been reading,” Trent answered. “It’s all about—”
“A book!” Jared sneered. “Don’t you have anything better to do than read books?”
Trent looked searchingly at Jared, trying to see past the dark eyes and freckles that he had come to know so well. Tom, too, was almost as familiar as a brother, although he had moved into the neighborhood only six months ago.
“What’s with you, Jared?” asked Trent. “You used to like to read. You used to like the other things I like too.”
Jared just ignored Trent’s question.
“Hey, look,” Tom said, pointing. “Here comes Reggie. Let’s have some fun with him.”
Trent winced.
Reggie was huffing and puffing up the hill on his bike, sweat beading on his forehead, a paper sack held tightly in one hand. Reggie tried his best, but he just couldn’t do a lot of things very well, and he attended a special class for slow learners.
“Hey, dumbo,” Tom said as Reggie neared them, “dumb kids aren’t allowed on this street. You’ll have to go back around the other way.”
Reggie stopped and straddled his bike. He looked around, confused.
“What’s the matter?” Tom went on, “Don’t you know the way?”
Jared snickered. Reggie was older than they were. He was stronger, too, but he looked afraid.
“What’s in the sack?” Tom asked.
“Candy.”
“Mmm, let’s see,” Jared said, grabbing the sack away from Reggie. “Maybe you have my favorite kind of candy in there.”
Jared dumped out the candy, and he and Tom began dividing it between them.
Reggie blinked a few times, and Trent saw tears in his eyes. “My daddy gave me the money,” Reggie quavered. “I earned it.”
“Ha!” Tom jeered. “What did you have to do to earn it? Tie your own shoes?”
“Button your own shirt?” Jared added.
Trent felt tears starting in his own eyes. He didn’t want to go against his two best friends, but he knew what he had to do. “Stop it!” he shouted.
Tom and Jared looked at him, surprised. Even Reggie looked surprised. Trent grabbed the candy out of his friends’ hands.
“Aw, c’mon,” Tom said. “We’re just having a little fun.”
“Well it’s not much fun for Reggie, is it?” Trent asked as he handed the sack and candy back to Reggie.
“No,” Reggie said, wiping the tears off his cheeks.
“Come on,” Trent said, his hand on Reggie’s shoulder. “I’ll walk with you.”
As they walked, balancing the bike between them, Trent and Reggie talked. They talked about bicycles and allowances, and Reggie told Trent about his new puppy.
When they waved good-bye, Trent felt good about what he’d done. He realized that although he hadn’t faced starvation or bears, as the pioneer children in his book had, by standing in his against his friends to help Reggie, he had acted with courage too. It was just another kind of courage.

“Is Dad coming home tonight?” Benjamin asked. Dad worked as a sailor off the coast near their home in Denmark.
“No,” Mom said, “he will be home in four days.”
Dad had promised Benjamin that they could play football when he returned. Benjamin missed Dad.
“Before I go to bed tonight, I’ll pray that he will come home safely,” Benjamin thought.
Benjamin’s dad stood on the ship in the freezing rain, hurrying to finish his work before the evening meal. Feeling tired and cold, he thought of his family back at home.
Suddenly, an enormous wave rocked the ship. Supplies clattered to the floor as sailors shouted in confusion. The captain peered out into the darkness and couldn’t see Benjamin’s dad on the deck anymore.
“Man overboard!” he shouted.
Later that evening Benjamin watched Mom pile the dinner dishes in the sink. As she scrubbed she looked out the window into the garden. Trees swayed in the fierce wind. Benjamin saw the worried look on his mother’s face and felt worried, too. Would Dad be all right out in this storm?
Benjamin’s dad could hear the ship’s alarm ringing, but the sound grew quieter as the strong waves pushed him farther away from the ship. Sailors tossed life preservers into the water, hoping to save him, but they could not see him in the stormy darkness.
He tried to stay calm and keep his head above water. He found the flashlight clipped to his life jacket and pointed it toward the ship so the sailors could see where he was—but the light didn’t work.
On board the ship, the captain radioed for help. Soon a helicopter hovered over the ocean, shining a spotlight down onto the huge waves.
“We can’t find him,” the helicopter pilot radioed to the captain. The captain fought back tears, fearing the worst for his friend. “But we’ll try again,” the pilot decided. He was afraid the helicopter would run out of fuel, but he knew he was the lost sailor’s last hope.
Benjamin’s dad was getting colder and colder. His teeth rattled as he clutched the broken flashlight in his numb fingers.
Back home it was Benjamin’s bedtime. Mom listened as, kneeling by his bed, he prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, please protect Dad and bring him home safely to Mom and me.”
Benjamin’s dad saw a helicopter flying low. He tried to wave his arm, but he was so tired and cold he could hardly move it.
Then a voice in his mind said, “Turn on the light.”
“But it doesn’t work,” he thought.
“Turn on the light,” the voice said again.
“Why should I?” he mumbled as his stiff fingers fumbled with the switch. “Either the lightbulb is burned out or the batteries are dead.”
The helicopter came closer and closer. When it was almost directly overhead, Benjamin’s dad pointed the flashlight toward the sky and flipped the switch.
Just then the pilot saw a flicker of light in the water below. “We’ve found him!” he cried into the radio. The sailors aboard the ship cheered. Within minutes Benjamin’s dad was hoisted up into the warmth and safety of the helicopter. Wrapped in a blanket, he listened to the engine vibrate, imagining it singing, “Home to Benjamin, home to Benjamin!”
After the helicopter landed and an ambulance took Benjamin’s dad to the hospital, the helicopter pilot walked back to where Benjamin’s dad had been resting. There on the floor lay the flashlight. Curious, he picked it up and opened it. Two very old, rusty batteries fell out.
“These batteries can’t work,” he thought. “But if I didn’t see this light out on the ocean, what did I see?”
“God must have watched over this sailor,” he said out loud to his copilot, who was standing beside him. They both nodded in silence.
Benjamin’s mom suddenly felt happy. The worried feeling went away.
Opening Benjamin’s door a crack, she peeked into his room and saw that he was sleeping soundly. Benjamin lay dreaming about the football game Dad had promised him. A warm feeling had assured him that Heavenly Father would answer his prayer and that Dad would be home soon.

Recently I was in the temple with others to witness a marriage. In the company was a couple who had been pleading with Heavenly Father to help resolve a particular family problem—in spite of their prayers, the condition was not resolved as they had hoped. I noticed this couple stealing away to a quiet room in the temple, where I sensed they laid their trials again before the Lord. They were not bitter. They only wanted to endure whatever the Lord would have them endure. The Lord himself set the example as we recall the events in Gethsemane that caused him to utter, “Nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt” (Matthew 26:39).

Not long after I had completed the Book of Mormon for the second time, my husband left our family. The seemingly impossible tasks of my new job became extremely stressful, and my son’s chronic health condition left me feeling like I was drowning.
But then I remembered reading in the Book of Mormon about how Amulon had placed great burdens upon Alma and his people. When the people prayed for help, the Lord told them He was mindful of their situation and would deliver them. Until then, He said, “I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs” (Mosiah 24:14).
I had studied that chapter in Mosiah many times before, and I had taught it many times to others in gospel classes. I believed the truth of those verses. Because I had become familiar with the teachings in the Book of Mormon, I knew that personal truth appears when I liken the scriptures to my personal circumstances.
So I began reading that chapter every day for strength and to remind myself that the Lord cared about me too. I still had to experience trials, but He did lighten my burdens.
Those verses in the Book of Mormon carried me through a time of great personal adversity, providing me with peace and a comforting knowledge that the Lord is mindful of all His children.

Let me give you a modern example. When I was in graduate school at Washington State University, at the end of winter semester I had just moved into a new apartment with my previous roommate, Amy. Ellen, our new roommate, was going home for the summer because she had a great internship lined up. Ellen's home was Juneau, Alaska. So just as I was moving in, she was taking off for the summer. Ellen had packed up everything she owned in her little pickup, planning to store her stuff at her sister's house, across the state, 6 hours away, in Olympia, Washington. The next day, she was supposed to catch her flight from Seattle to Juneau so she could start her internship the following day. She was on a tight schedule. Of course, disaster struck. In the middle of nowhere, Ellen's pickup broke down. This is in the 1990s--before everyone had cell phones. Ellen found someone nice who drove her to the closest town and she was at a service station, waiting for the tow-truck driver. In despair, Ellen called us. My roommate Amy answered the phone. The next thing I knew, Amy was grabbing her coat and keys. She was going to get Ellen. Now, I don't remember what Amy had planned for that weekend, but it certainly wasn't a 700-mile 12-hour round trip across Washington State 350 miles there and 350 miles back. I felt ashamed. My first thought hadn't been to go get Ellen. But, I rationalized that Amy and Ellen were practically family. Ellen had been roommates with Amy's two older sisters and had even spent holidays with their family. So then I didn't feel quite so bad.

“This is the greatest!” Shilo exclaimed as she laced up her ice skates. The girls and boys she had invited to her birthday party glided across the ice. The clank of skate blades on the ice could be heard throughout the indoor rink.
“Be careful in there,” her mom said. “Have fun!”
“OK!” Shilo tottered toward the rink to join her friends. “Hey, Kari! Let’s go skate over there.” Shilo pointed to some of their friends, and they skated over to join the group. They all laughed and joked and raced around the rink. They were having a great time!
After a while, Shilo asked Kari, “Have you seen Brian? I haven’t seen him.”
“Me neither.”
“Wait, I see him over there sitting at that table.”
Shilo and Kari left the ice and joined Brian at the table. His brown eyes looked as if he had lost a puppy.
“What’s wrong, Brian?” they asked.
“Oh, nothing. They won’t give me any skates. They ran out of my size. And the guy won’t give me my money back.” He shrugged his shoulders and sighed.
Shilo’s mom overheard. “Come with me, Brian,” she said. “We’ll see if we can do something about that.” She smiled at him, trying to cheer him up.
The two girls went back to the skating rink. Time went by, but Shilo still didn’t see Brian out in the rink. She went back to see what was taking so long. When she got off the ice she saw her mother still talking to the man at the counter. Brian had resumed his position with his head on the table.
“Why aren’t you skating?” Shilo asked.
“They still don’t have my size, I guess.”
“What size do you wear?”
“Six.” Brian didn’t lift his head from the table.
“So do I! How about if you use my skates for a while? I need to rest my ankles. They’re beginning to hurt a little.”
Brian perked up. “Really?”
“Yeah. I can’t wear these things too long because I have weak ankles.” Shilo grinned as his face lit up.
“OK, but if you want them back just come and tell me and we can trade.”
“OK!”
Shilo took off her skates and gave them to Brian. He put them on and was quickly out on the ice. As Shilo watched Brian skate, she felt good inside. She knew she had done the right thing.

I remember a time when I was desperate for guidance on a crucial decision. I had fasted and prayed and been to the temple, but the answer wasn’t clear. In frustration I told a friend that I just couldn’t get an answer. He responded, simply: “Have you asked the Lord to teach you how He communicates with you?” I hadn’t, so I began to pray daily that He would.

Not long thereafter, while reading about Nephi building the ship, I couldn’t help but notice how clearly he understood the Lord’s instructions. With that, I began to hunt for scriptural evidences of direct communication between God and man. At each one I made a little red x in the margin of my scriptures. Now, many years later, my scriptures are littered with little red x’s, each an indication that the Lord does communicate with His people—and often. The scriptures are the handbook for the language of revelation. They are our personal Liahona. If you will regularly immerse yourself in the scriptures, you’ll get clearer, more frequent answers to your prayers.

Every day we make choices. Some aren’t a big deal—what color backpack we carry, for example. Other choices are a big deal—for instance, how we treat other people or whether we obey a commandment. Read the story below and pretend that you are the main character. What choices would you make?
Your mom says that you may invite two friends over after school tomorrow. First you call Julie, who lives a few miles away. She is in your Primary class as well as in your class at school. Her parents say yes! She will walk home with you; her parents will pick her up before supper.
Next you call Tasha, a nonmember who lives just a few houses away. She can come too. Before she hangs up the phone, though, she asks if anyone else is coming. When you tell her that Julie is also coming, Tasha says, “Yuk! Then I don’t want to come, after all.”
If you say, “Julie is my friend too. Why don’t you come and get to know her better?” go to A. If you say, “OK, I’ll tell Julie that something came up with my mom and that I can’t have anybody over,” go to F.
A. Tasha says, “Well, I guess I’ll still come, but don’t expect me to make friends with Julie.” After school, Tasha and Julie walk home with you. When Julie stoops to tie her shoelace, Tasha makes an ugly face at her behind her back.
If you say, “Julie, Tasha’s making faces at you. She didn’t want you to come,” go to J. If you say nothing but give Tasha a look of disappointment, go to E.
E. When you get to your house, punch and cookies are on the table. They turn out to be the favorite treats of both Tasha and Julie. As the afternoon goes on, you see that Tasha is actually being friendly with Julie. Tasha says, “Hey, Julie, I didn’t know you were such fun! You never say anything in school.”
If you suddenly feel jealous and try to discourage their growing friendship, go to B. If you try to help them become better friends, go to I.
I. You suggest that you all play on the tire swing. Tasha has the first turn swinging. As Julie climbs on the tire for her turn, a car full of teenagers zips by. One of them flips a cigarette on the curb. Tasha runs to pick it up. “It’s still lit!” She turns to you and says, “I dare you to try it!”
If you say, “No, I don’t do that kind of stuff, and I hope you don’t either, ‘cause it’s bad for you,” go to D. If you say, “Well, maybe just one puff—but you’d better not tell anyone!” go to H.
H. You put the cigarette to your mouth. You don’t breathe it in deeply, but even so, it tastes yucky. You are still holding it when Tasha’s mom drives by. She stops the car, hollers at Tasha to get in, and says to you, “Don’t expect Tasha to be coming over anymore.”
You feel awful. When your eyes meet Julie’s, you see that she is very disappointed in you. You promise that you’ll never do anything like that again. Julie gives you a weak smile and says, “I believe you, but I don’t think that Tasha’s mom ever will.”
This is your last chance in this story to get on the “right-choice” track. Hurry to D!

I have related before my experience with a friend who took me to his ranch. He unlocked the door of a large new automobile, slid behind the wheel, and said proudly, “How do you like my new car?” We rode in luxurious comfort to a beautiful new landscaped home, and he said with no little pride, “This is my home.”

He drove to a grassy knoll. The sun was setting behind the distant hills. Pointing to the north, he asked, “Do you see that clump of trees yonder?”

With a wide sweeping gesture, he boasted, “From the clump of trees to the lake, to the bluff, and to the ranch buildings and all between—all this is mine. And the dark specks in the meadow—those cattle are also mine.”

And then I asked from whom he obtained it. The chain of title of his abstract went back to land grants from governments. His attorney had assured him he had an unencumbered title.

“From whom did the government get it?” I asked. “What was paid for it?” There came into my mind the declaration of the Psalmist, boldly restated by Paul: “The earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof” (1 Cor. 10:26).

And then I asked, “Did title come from God, Creator of the earth and the owner thereof? Did He get paid? Was it sold or leased or given to you? If a gift, from whom? If a sale, with what exchange or currency? If a lease, do you make proper accounting?”

And then I asked, “What was the price? With what treasures did you buy this farm?”

“Money!”

“Where did you get the money?”

“From my toil, my sweat, my labor, and my strength.”

And then I asked, “Where did you get your strength to toil, your power to labor, your glands to sweat?”

He spoke of food.

“Where did the food originate?”

“From sun and atmosphere and soil and water.”

“And who brought those elements here?”

I quoted the Psalmist: “Thou, O God, didst send a plentiful rain, whereby thou didst confirm thine inheritance, when it was weary” (Ps. 68:9).

“If the land is not yours, then what accounting do you make to your landlord for his bounties? The scripture says: ‘Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s’ (Matt. 22:21). What percentage of your increase do you pay Caesar? And what percent to God?”

I said again: “I seem to find no place in holy writ where God has said, ‘I give you title to this land unconditionally.’

“I cannot find such scripture, but I do find this from Psalms: ‘Those that wait upon the Lord, … shall inherit the earth’ (Ps. 37:9).

“It seems more of a lease on which a rental is exacted than of a simple title. This does not seem to convey the earth but only the use and contents which are given to men on condition that they live all of the commandments of God.”

But my friend continued to mumble, “Mine—mine,” as if to convince himself against the surer knowledge that he was at best a recreant renter.

That was long years ago. I later saw him lying in his death among luxurious furnishings in a palatial home. And I folded his arms upon his breast, and drew down the little curtains over his eyes. I spoke at his funeral, and I followed the cortege from the good piece of earth he had claimed to be his grave.

Later I saw that same estate, yellow in grain, green in lucerne, white in cotton, seemingly unmindful of him who had claimed it.

Thank you, President Tanner.
President Kimball, Brethren of the General Authorities who are here with us, thank you for this privilege and for your presence. And to you sisters across the waves of sound, our greetings and our love. To all of you radiant mothers and daughters gathered here in the Tabernacle (including my own daughters and my mother who have come from their scattered homes to be in the presence of the prophet on this historic occasion), you are a wonderful delight to look upon.
I join with you all in the joy of being a woman and in the privilege of being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the fulness of times. For those of you who haven’t joined the Church yet, we welcome you when it’s right for you to come. Some of us have just come from a very special reception the Young Women hosted in our building across the way. We honored lovely Sister Camilla Kimball and Sister Tanner and other wives of the General Authorities and their daughters. We paid particular tribute to Sister Funk and her counselors who have just been released as the general presidency of the Young Women. We deeply respect and affectionately appreciate all of these sisters. We commend them to you as models for your own lives. They live close to the Lord. They follow the Prophet implicitly. They contribute to society meaningfully, and in turn they have endured difficult circumstances, which bring beauty into life. We include other women seated here before you—Sister Louise Lake, Sister Belle Spafford—among this distinguished group of women whom we all would do well to emulate.
Now tonight, clear across the world for the first time, the Church women over 12 are meeting. We are tied together by technology but sense each other’s spirit through that tender influence of the Lord Jesus Christ. We mark this moment as the beginning—at last—of a unique unification of all the Sisters of the Church, and we are focusing on proper priorities instead of personal preferences or even programs. We see it as a significant developing of all of us under the mantle of the mouthpiece of the Lord, President Spencer W. Kimball. Now, as he speaks to us tonight, it is as if the Lord Jesus Christ himself were addressing us sisters. Christ made this very clear when he said to others of his children a time ago, “Blessed are ye if ye shall give heed unto the words of these … whom I have chosen from among you to minister unto you” (3 Ne. 12:1).
“And whatsoever they shall speak … shall be the word of the Lord, shall be the voice of the Lord, and the power of God unto salvation.
“Behold, this is the promise of the Lord.” (D&C 68:4–5.)
So, President Kimball, with all of our hearts we sisters of the Church sustain you, and we shall try to heed your words.
I’m going to share an experience I had with President Kimball to help you understand what a choice human being he is, besides a powerful prophet, and perhaps base the rest of my remarks on this incident. I stood alone in the basement of the Church Office Building about two years ago, waiting for an elevator. It was very early on a Monday morning, well before the influx of office workers. As the elevator lowered into place, suddenly two Church security officers appeared from out of somewhere and held back the opening doors. Now, nobody does that for me, so I looked around just in time to see President Kimball and his personal secretary, Brother Haycock, entering the area. They moved quickly into the secured area, and I quickly moved out of the way. Well, as President Kimball turned and faced the front of the elevator, he saw me standing out there waiting for the next one. And he said to me very graciously, “Good morning.” And I said, “Good morning, President Kimball.” And he said, “Aren’t you going to get on?” And I said, “Well,” and hesitated for a few moments, “I didn’t think I was supposed to under the circumstances.” And then he said, “Aren’t you going up?” And I said, “Yes.” And he said, “Well, tell me, how do you intend to get there?” And then he said, “Come along.” So I got on! At the prophet’s invitation I was happy to ride up with him.
Tonight President Kimball extends an invitation to all of us, with some specifics, I am sure, for us as women to follow him as he follows the Savior. If we want to “go up,” we must “get on.” It is that simple. He is our leader; in all the world of would-be leaders, who can guide us back to the presence of God.
Sisters, this church is the saving remnant of the world. And what is our part as women in all of this? This girl is the future mother of the man. The woman is companion to the priesthood. She is the molder of the next generation. As women ours is the gift to love, to influence for good, to marry, and to mother—but according to the timetable of the Lord for us. (So hang in there, sisters. If it hasn’t happened yet, it may a little later than sooner. And when the time comes, if you have lived for it, have no regrets that you prayed so fervently for a good man who now is always off to a meeting or filling some celestial assignment, depending upon the timing.) You see, the details of your life and the timing really aren’t all that important. They just point up differences to us—married or single, living alone, barren or bulging with blessings. These are just details. What does matter is our personal relationship with the Lord and our own unshakable testimony that he cares enough about each one of us to be there when we really need him.
Though we are women with different cultural backgrounds clear across the span of my voice, some with differences in personal situations (we may even clash at times on opinions regarding temporal trends or how to bake a loaf of bread properly), my firm feeling is that we must pursue a course of a covenant people. We must secure those traditions which are sacred to good people everywhere. In each country as you hear this program by direct line, your course should become clear, your priorities ought to be known to you as a daughter of God. Personal opinions may vary. Eternal principles never do. When the Prophet speaks, sisters, the debate is over. So I urge us all to provide powerful unity as women for those things we can agree upon—family, chastity, accountability to the Lord, responsibility in the community, sharing the gospel.
To help us, it seems there are at least two critical areas to concentrate on—for all of us of all ages, whether we are whole or lame, at peace or troubled, privileged or seemingly deprived. The first is to strengthen self. The second is to serve the Lord by serving others. This is the way it works: We gain a personal testimony. We share it with others. We learn the principles of the gospel. We apply them as we associate with others. We keep a personal record, and we do our genealogy. And, sisters, we emphatically and happily declare, “I will be obedient! I will help strengthen others that they may be so too!”
In Christ’s day on one occasion, people were pressing heavily about him. A woman in trouble reached out to touch him in faith. His disciples scoffed that Christ should question who had touched him when so many were crowding about, and yet, he knew her touch was different. She had connected. He responded by healing her.
Sisters, our touch must be different. Rather than merely moving about Christ, wanly waiting for his blessings, we must reach out and connect—in faith. The prophet is here today to show us how. As he quietly taught me that early morning, if we want to go up, we have to get on.
If by any chance there are doubts in any hearts within the sound of my voice, or if your own testimony is at all shaky at the moment, hang on to ours while yours grows. I know that God lives, and I know that Jesus is the Christ and a necessary Redeemer, that he loves us and that his principles suffice. On this very special occasion of my maiden voyage, as it were, I am thankful to be able to personally testify that as President Kimball placed his hands upon my head with the other Brethren, President Tanner and President Romney, to set me apart as the general president of the Young Women of the Church,
I felt, through the power of the Holy Ghost, that sweet and undeniable witness of the validity of his calling as prophet. This church is true, sisters. The system—priesthood, womanhood—is a blessing to us.
As each challenge comes to us in life, and as our timetable varies a little from what we thought it was going to be, may we be wise enough to find ourselves on the Lord’s side, getting on and going up with the prophet, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

“Somebody in the back of the room said, ‘Why don’t we just stay home?’ First there was a long silence and then we started to think. There just isn’t a more important place than right here where we are. This is the place that is ours—our home, our Zion, our place in the gospel.”
So the youth and leaders of the Norfolk Virginia Stake just stayed at home and had one of the best youth conferences they have ever had. The theme of the conference was “How To” and developed into their title “The How-to Jamboree.”
Under the direction of the stake president, Walter H. Hick, and with the help of Brother James Cole of the high council, Mark Welton and Becky Wertman began planning a one-day, stay-at-home youth conference.
They began by outlining a program. Seminars with qualified leaders would be held, and each Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women group would follow its own particular schedule through the seminars that would benefit them most. The seminars were divided into several areas: homemaking, leadership, sports, dance instruction, calendars and agendas, spirituality, and a special area for the adult leaders. In addition to these seminars, there was a visit from astronaut Don Lind, who spoke and gave some special spiritual insight into the life of an astronaut and how important the gospel can be to a man who faces the special challenges that he faces.
The Norfolk Virginia Stake youth leaders also invited Faye W. Buckley, a well-known local celebrity, to organize and conduct a special choir in just one day. It was a great success and a learning experience for music people in the stake, as well as a good chance for the youth to get together, cooperate, and produce some music in a very short time.
The day began early with registration at 7:15 A.M. There were a few wrinkled faces and shuffling steps in the beginning, but by 8:00 in the general assembly and welcome session, all were wide awake and ready to begin. Each Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women group was given a schedule to follow, and the great one-day-youth-conference-at-home experiment was about to begin.
The spirituality seminar emphasized the fact that as members of the Church we have a responsibility to be spiritual and to impart this feeling of spirituality to others. Creating or the “how to” of spirituality was the emphasis. Guidelines for spirituality were set and included things like knowing what the qualities of a spiritual person are and the importance of the physical atmosphere—or just being sure that you are in good places. The importance of modest and tasteful dress was discussed in relation to spirituality, along with care in the use of good language. Prayer was discussed as being most important to the spiritual well-being of each of us.
In the seminar for sports, even the girls were invited to participate. Jim Eakins, a member of the Church who played basketball for BYU and then professionally with the Virginia Squires before being traded to the Utah Stars, led this popular seminar. Jim talked about the over-all structure of the athletic program of the Church and emphasized the importance of good health both physically and spiritually. Jim narrowed the subject down to sports on the ward level and, as one young lady was heard to say, “made the rules so easy to understand that anybody could play.” The emphasis again was “how to” build a good ward sports program.
In the leadership seminar the principles of presidency were stressed. Leaders of quorums were challenged to teach correct principles to their quorums through having faith in their program, preparing to meet the challenge, presenting their ideas through proper and creative communication, and by realizing that good leadership is a lot of hard work. Helps were given in organizing and setting goals and priorities, and the seminar instructor said that giving excuses will not get the job done. The instructor also emphasized the point that a good leader gives credit and praise where it is deserved. If a job is praiseworthy, tell the person responsible that you appreciate his good work.
The dancing seminar and the seminar on homemaking were most popular with the ladies, but some of the males managed to get included in both. The men were persuaded to join in the dancing and really enjoyed themselves more than they wanted to admit. In the homemaking seminar the leaders arranged to have a five-foot-ten-inch “baby boy” on hand to practice their child care skills on. The baby had a giant pacifier, a doll, a giant diaper, a mustache, cried very little, and cooperated with the leaders in demonstrating several correct principles of child care.
The baby was later seen eating fried chicken and drinking root beer at the conference luncheon, and no one burped him.
At 5:00 P.M. the final seminar was finished, and it was time to dress for dinner and the activities that would follow. These included one-act plays presented by the Hampton Ward and the Williamsburg Branch. Then the choir that had been practicing in groups all day long finally got together for the big number. It was great! After the program a formal dance provided a fitting end to a unique one-day experience.
It turned out that staying at home for a youth conference was more fun than anyone had thought it would be. And just about everyone learned more, did more, and felt more than he ever had before at previous youth conferences. “The young people did the planning, they did the work, and they had a great experience with their conference,” said Brother Cole. “A youth conference at home can be great; give it a try.”
How did they have a great time at their one-day youth conference? Their first “how to” rule was—stay home!

Dave reached the boat and squatted in the dirt beside it. I wonder who put the boat back, he thought. I wonder how they found him and how they knew where to put the boat. He thought of how that had been his idea, to build the boat, and how he had shown Rod how to do it. Now that was something Rod wasn’t good at—he had wasted a lot of good lumber trying to build his share of the boat. Dave remembered what Rod had said when Dave had mentioned it once: “I’m not too good at this, and I need to learn. What if you die or something? There wouldn’t be anyone here to show me how to build things. I need to learn.” And then he had laughed and shoved Dave, and they had started wrestling. That was another thing Rod was good at. Dave could beat him almost all the time when it came to pure grapple; but if beat meant pin, Dave was the sure loser.

I wonder what Rod’s doing right now, Dave thought, and then he began to whistle softly to himself. He was a little afraid. The quiet night, black and starless, the black and quiet lake where his best friend had drowned the night before, the thoughts of spirits and ghosts—he began to whistle the tune to “Magdalena Katalena” very softly to himself. But as he did, he thought to himself, I’ll bet Rod wasn’t afraid last night. And then he thought, as he shoved the boat out into the lake and jumped in after it, wetting only one leg and that only to the ankle, that it all wasn’t fair; it just wasn’t fair.
He turned his back to the front of the boat and began to row in deep and heavy strokes. It isn’t fair, he thought to the rhythm of his work, that Rod should have to die when he was so capable and so happy and so spiritual—how could a guy like that drown anyway?
He rowed on out to the spot where he heard that Rod had drowned and sat back in the boat and looked up into the sky. It was as black as the water beneath him, but the water scared him. If it could get Rod, he thought, what would it do to me? And he saw in his mind Rod’s face, white in wet blackness, a pale oval beneath the boat, clawing up to air but never finding it. Dave tried to shut the vision from his mind. He thought of the roadshow earlier that year, in the spring, when Rod had played the turnip and Dave had been the dwarf. Rod had been in Dave’s garden, a turnip almost as large as the gardener. They had laid him on Dave’s kitchen table up there on the stage, and Dave had brought out a knife to cut through his red and whiteness.
No, Dave thought to himself and sat up in the boat. You’re really morbid, aren’t you, Peters? So he tried to see Rod somewhere else, and where he saw him was at a special stake meeting as one of the youth speakers. “I’ve been assigned to speak on why I’m going on a mission,” he had begun, and Dave had groaned. What an awful way to start a talk, he had thought. But he did have to admit one thing: even if Rod wasn’t the best speaker in the world, when he spoke people listened because they knew he meant every word of what he said.
Dave gripped one oar by its end and squeezed it hard. What happened here last night? he thought. How could you let yourself drown? It’s unfair! And then Dave finally leaned over the edge to look into the clear black water. He thought of the legends that always circulated around the town in the summer that the lake was bottomless—and that giant prehistoric fish had been seen by skin divers again that spring.
The lake had been where Dave and Rod spent their free time. That blackness was a deep blue during daylight hours, the kind of blueness whose color by itself invited one to enter. Dave could see Rod, standing on the bow of the boat, clad in cut-off jeans and no shirt, saying, “See ya later, pilgrim!” and then jumping in. He could stay underwater longer than anyone else Dave knew.
He dipped his hand into the water. It was terribly cold, the kind of cold, he thought, that could cramp a person’s muscles in a moment. Why had Rod jumped in? Dave wondered. He knew better. He should have been more careful. They had lots of plans together—plans that would make him be careful. Like Ricks College next fall, where they would room together in the dorms; like the missions they had planned. Rod would be glad to see him make it. Dave remembered the long talks they had had about missions and girls and the gospel and their parents. They had shared fears and doubts. But later Rod became set and firm, his doubts gone. He knew where he was going. And he always knew the right things to say to help Dave make up his mind to do what he knew he should do—even though it sometimes took a lot of discussing before those right things came out.
Dave looked back up at the sky—there were stars out now; the clouds had parted some—and he felt the lump growing in his throat again, and thought, Don’t be stupid. Crying won’t bring him back. And he thought, I’ll bet Rod wouldn’t cry over you. He’d just smile and touch your hand at the funeral and whisper, “Take care, buddy. See ya before too long.”
But those thoughts didn’t help, and Dave’s throat swelled until he felt he couldn’t really breathe, and the white puffs that had been coming from his mouth and nostrils nearly stopped for a moment. And then the hurt pushed itself up and out his eyes so they glistened in the darkness and his breath caught, then rushed out, then caught again, and his eyes glistened.
And he lay back in his rowboat and sobbed in the dark over the lake.
“Why did it have to be you, Rod?” he said out loud. “You were the good one, the strong one. I won’t do much good here. But you were good; you could even milk with gloves on—” and then he smiled through his tears and laughed a little even while he was crying.
“Rod would think you’re a pretty dumb guy,” he said to himself. Then he whispered. “We were pretty good friends, weren’t we, Rod?”
He leaned over the edge of the boat. The white puffs of air floated over the water. They were coming more freely now. Heavenly Father, he said in his mind, Rod was a pretty good guy, and I’m sure you were proud of him. You know we were close friends—best friends—and I’m really missing him. I think we did everything together. I’m feeling kind of alone.
Then he closed his eyes tight, and felt the cold tears on his cheeks, and thought. All I ask of thee is to help me become the kind of person Rod was. I want to see him again.
Dave sat up straight on the boat’s crossbar. He and Rod had had a boat race once. A neighbor had loaned them his boat. They were going to go two out of three, but they didn’t need to. Dave won the first two races. They had laughed and teased each other, and then Rod had jumped out of his boat and swam in four or five quick strokes over to Dave’s boat and started rocking it till he had swamped it.
We haven’t had a good tussle like that for a long time, Dave thought.
And then he said, half aloud, “Beat you to shore, Rod.” He started rowing as hard as he could, puffing out the white air until his lungs felt raw. Getting a little out of shape, aren’t you, Peters, he thought to himself. Maybe you ought to go out for basketball this winter.
The boat hit the bank and he clambered out, getting both feet wet and not caring. He pulled the boat up completely onto the bank and left it there without looking back. His house was over a mile from the bank, and his folks might be getting worried, he thought. He took off in an easy run, singing under his breath, “Her lips stuck out like two big weiners; she used them round the house like vacuum cleaners. Oh, Magdalena Katalena Hoopensteiner—” his white breath clearing the way through the black night before him.

Many years ago my father built a small cabin on part of the ranch property where he had been raised. The vistas across the meadows were exceptional. When the walls were framed in for the cabin, I made a visit. I was surprised that the window with the view focused directly on a power pole that was a short distance from the house. To me, it was a huge distraction from the magnificent view.
I said, “Dad, why did you let them put the power pole directly in front of your view from the window?”
My father, an exceptionally practical and calm man, exclaimed with some emotion, “Quentin, that power pole is the most beautiful thing to me on the entire ranch!” He then made his case: “When I look at that pole, I realize that, unlike when I grew up here, I will not have to carry water in containers from the spring up to the house to cook, wash my hands, or bathe. I will not have to light candles or oil lamps at night to read. I want to see that power pole right in the middle of the view window.”
My father had a different perspective on the power pole than I did. To him that pole represented an improved life, but to me it was a stumbling block to a magnificent vista. My dad valued power, light, and cleanliness above an aesthetic view. I immediately realized that while the pole was a stumbling block for me, it had great practical, symbolic meaning to my father.
My father saw the pole as a means of providing power, light, and abundant water for cooking and cleansing. It was a stepping-stone to improving his life.

About 10 years ago, I was assigned to minister to a man living in our ward by the name of Carl (name has been changed). Carl’s name had been on our ward list for many years, but nobody seemed to know anything about him. I vividly remember the first time I knocked on his front door. Carl answered my knock but was not at all happy to see me. I told him I was a member of his ward and had stopped by to see him. His response was a very stern and angry, “Get out of here!”
I could tell by the way Carl slurred his speech that he had been drinking alcohol. As I departed from his doorstep with my knees somewhat shaking, a thought came to me: “I wonder if Carl was so drunk that he won’t even remember this visit if I knock on his door again next month.” Several weeks later, I did knock on his door and received a similar response, again with the smell of alcohol on his breath. He was not happy to see me and once again shouted at me to leave. Nevertheless, I was determined to befriend him and was committed to trying again.
My third attempt was dramatically different from my first two attempts. When I knocked, Carl quickly answered the door. This time, he had not been drinking. I was prepared for the worst, but before I could say anything, Carl offered me a warm greeting. He invited me to come into his home and have a seat. He was very friendly and so happy to see me.
Our regular visits continued for the next six years until he moved to another state. We had a standing appointment to meet on the first Sunday of each month. He never forgot when I was coming and was always eager to meet with me.
Carl, his wife, and their children had joined the Church about 35 years earlier. He was in his young 30s at the time. After being a member of the Church for only one and a half years, he was called to the stake high council, where he happily served for a couple of years. Carl loved to tell me stories about his life and how grateful he was to have joined the Church. One of his sons had served a mission. Several grandchildren had attended Brigham Young University. Unfortunately, his relationship with his wife soured, and they eventually went their separate ways. Carl was so embarrassed about his marriage that he did not feel worthy to continue attending church. He still maintained contact with the full-time missionaries who taught his family the gospel, but he hadn’t had a visit from another Church member in his home in over 30 years.
The more I got to know Carl, the more I enjoyed getting to know him. He had so many stories about life and the gospel that he wanted to share. He shared his testimony with me time and again. I could tell that Carl had a strong testimony of the restored gospel. He began to regularly invite the full-time missionaries to dinner in his home. In spite of our growing friendship, he was still unwilling to attend church, though he did watch sacrament meeting every Sunday on BYUtv. During our visits, he would relate what he had learned from the broadcast that day.
Carl had a deep respect for his Church leaders. The thought came to me that I should invite our stake president to attend a ministering visit with me so that I could introduce him to Carl. When I told Carl that our stake president would be joining our next visit, he was overjoyed! I will never forget the visit. Carl and our stake president chatted nonstop for 30 minutes. It turns out that our stake president’s mission president was Carl’s first bishop. The ward Carl belonged to when he first joined the Church was the ward that our stake president grew up in. I counted over 20 people who were members of the Church that they both knew, loved, and respected. It was truly a marvelous visit. Prior to our departure, we invited Carl to attend church. Carl accepted our invitation and was beaming from ear to ear when he attended church the following Sunday.
Sadly, Carl moved to another state two weeks later. When I called him at his new home, he told me that the first person he called when he arrived was his new bishop. He requested a home teacher (now ministering brother) and asked if he could feed the missionaries. Carl recently passed away, but I am so grateful that I was able to become his friend. My life is richer and fuller because of him.

John Newton was six years old when his mother passed away. She had raised him a believer, teaching and reading scripture with him. At age 11, his father, a sailor, took him to sea. Surrounded by profanity, blasphemy, and promiscuity, it did not take John long to drift from his faith. He would say, “I sinned with a high hand and made it my study to tempt and seduce others on every occasion.”
On one trip a storm suddenly came upon them. His crew began calling out to God to save them. At first, he mocked and scolded them, but when it became clear that their fate was inevitable, John cried out to the God his mother had taught him about.
He prayed something like, “God, if You are there, please save us. And if You do, I will dedicate the rest of my life to serving You.” The storm ceased, the waves calmed, and their lives were saved. True to his word, John dedicated the rest of his life to serving the Lord. He became a preacher, and as part of his ministry, he wrote poems. Many of these poems would be turned into hymns, such as his most famous one:
Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound!)
That sav’d a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
This hymn is John Newton’s story, but it is also our story, and it is likely your story. Each of us, in our own way and in our own moments of struggle, is seen by an omniscient Lord who, at just the right time, intervenes. He chastens us. He rescues us. He transforms us. And He creates in us an insatiable desire to live what Nephi once called “that life which is in Christ” (2 Nephi 25:27).

Kim Cloward, too, has a special family story. Her great-great-grandmother was a seamstress to the Queen of England, and she married one of the king’s horsemen. After joining the Church, the couple immigrated to America. Her abilities with a needle were well known in northern Utah where she tailored men’s suits and made moccasins and gloves. She taught her daughter to sew. The daughter, in turn, taught her daughter. “And now,” Kim commented, “my mother has taught me to sew, and I’ll sew for my family and ‘sew’ on and ‘sew’ on.” Her eyes twinkled as she waited for her seminary friends to catch the pun. Kim has won several national sewing contests and now better understands where her abilities and pride in tailoring come from.

The initial rejections I received in my courtship with Christiane made me a little discouraged. I had just about decided to begin a fruitful career as a young single adult in the Church, but one day I had a special spiritual impression. I was participating in an ordinance in the Swiss Temple when I heard a voice in my heart saying something to this effect: “Erich, if you do not seriously strive to marry and enter into the new and everlasting covenant, all these teachings and promised blessings really make no difference for you.” It was a wake-up call that I received at the young age of 21, and from that moment I tried even harder to be worthy of that blessing.

In December 1967, Brother Ed Ka-mauoha was appointed to be the new headmaster at Sauniatu. For years, Sauniatu had been functioning as a school, but when he arrived, the future of Sauniatu was once again in question.
“There were real administrative questions about the efficiency and quality of the school,” he explained. Everyone in Samoa is required to take a standard government education test when they leave high school, and the Sauniatu scores were an average five points below the scores of students from the other Church schools in Samoa. In addition to the low test scores, it was costly to operate the remote school. Many of the students were from very poor families and could not afford to pay more tuition. Enthusiasm among students and teachers was low.
“I felt bad about the school,” he said. “As an administrator, I understood the problems, but I also understood what the tradition of Sauniatu means to the Saints in Samoa. I knew the place was not what it could be because it was not living up to President McKay’s 1921 blessing.”
Ed Kamauoha believed Sauniatu had a prophetic future yet to be fulfilled if each person living there cared. His mind remained restless and his wirey Polynesian body became charged with nervous energy as he began planning to meet the many requirements needed to make the students of Sauniatu self-sufficient and proud and to help the community of Sauniatu reap the promised blessings.
The projects he outlined for the betterment of Sauniatu were big projects. In many people’s minds, they were too big for a handful of teachers and a few dozen school children to handle. Yet Brother Kamauoha felt they could do it.
“Getting everyone to work on big projects is like starting a large machine. You just can’t let it idle; you have to really rev it up and keep it going,” said Brother Kamauoha.
He also felt that the students’ performance in school would improve and the morale among the teachers would also improve if they knew they had some control over their own future. “We had been waiting for others to help us at Sauniatu,” explained Brother Kamauoha. “I tried to teach the people that they had depended too much on outside help and assistance from others. I told them the Lord gives us brains and a pair of hands but they won’t help us unless we use them. And so we started building roads, and we did it by hand.”