Gospel Story Finder

Third, sleep. Even this basic desire can be temporarily overridden by an even more important desire. As a young soldier in the Utah National Guard, I learned an example of this from a combat-seasoned officer.

In the early months of the Korean War, a Richfield Utah National Guard field artillery battery was called into active service. This battery, commanded by Captain Ray Cox, consisted of about 40 Mormon men. After additional training and reinforcement by reservists from elsewhere, they were sent to Korea, where they experienced some of the fiercest combat of that war. In one battle they had to repel a direct assault by hundreds of enemy infantry, the kind of attack that overran and destroyed other field artillery batteries.

What does this have to do with overcoming the desire for sleep? During one critical night, when enemy infantry had poured through the front lines and into the rear areas occupied by the artillery, the captain had the field telephone lines wired into his tent and ordered his numerous perimeter guards to phone him personally each hour on the hour all night long. This kept the guards awake, but it also meant that Captain Cox had scores of interruptions to his sleep. “How could you do that?” I asked him. His answer shows the power of an overriding desire.

“I knew that if we ever got home, I would be meeting the parents of those boys on the streets in our small town, and I didn’t want to face any of them if their son didn’t make it home because of anything I failed to do as his commander.”1

What an example of the power of an overriding desire on priorities and on actions! What a powerful example for all of us who are responsible for the welfare of others—parents, Church leaders, and teachers!

As a conclusion to that illustration, early in the morning following his nearly sleepless night, Captain Cox led his men in a counterattack on the enemy infantry. They took over 800 prisoners and suffered only two wounded. Cox was decorated for bravery, and his battery received a Presidential Unit Citation for its extraordinary heroism. And, like Helaman’s stripling warriors (see Alma 57:25–26), they all made it home.2

“Mormons sometimes discriminate against other Mormons.”
This feeling was expressed in a recent rap between returned Latter-day Saint servicemen and institute students and faculty at Idaho State University. The returned servicemen were invited to talk to student and faculty leaders and tell them how they felt about the institute. The surface niceties were soon forgotten because these men were encouraged to talk frankly about their problems.
The result? A new program of help and encouragement and a resolution on the part of members of the Student Association to go out of their way to make any newcomer to the institute feel welcome.
The servicemen’s comments were accepted at face value by faculty and students alike. President Robert E. Thompson, president of the Idaho State University Stake, summed up the feelings of most when he said, “We have always felt that we were extending the hand of fellowship, that we were welcoming the returned servicemen, but when the truth came out, we found we were falling down. We didn’t realize that they needed something special, something extra. Whether we agree that their assessment of us is correct or not is not important. The important thing is, they feel they need something more and we are not providing it.”
As a result of this session, a special seminar is held regularly at the institute. Some twenty returned servicemen are now attending, and they have been assured that they are loved and wanted. Here they discuss everything from the gospel principles to career advice to how to combat the feeling that girls are afraid of them. During the seminar they are making friends and beginning to feel at home at the institute.
Discovering how any child of God should be treated was one benefit of the returned servicemen’s session and its resulting seminar. People now understand and practice the quintessence of the gospel. Once these wonderful principles were applied, the servicemen’s seminar became a living, breathing part of the Student Association at Idaho State University. At the same time it promises to be a very important missionary tool.

Church history and the experiences of our ancestors illustrate this reality. My great-grandfather Henry Eyring prayed fervently to know what he should do when he heard the restored gospel taught in 1855. The answer came in a dream.
He dreamed that he was seated at a table with Elder Erastus Snow of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and with an elder named William Brown. Elder Snow taught the principles of the gospel for what seemed to be an hour. Then Elder Snow said, “In the name of Jesus Christ I command you to be baptized and this man [Elder Brown] … shall baptize you.”1 My family is grateful that Henry Eyring had the faith and humility to be baptized at 7:30 in the morning in a pool of rainwater in St. Louis, Missouri, USA, by Elder Brown.
The answer to his prayer did not come in an audible voice from the Lord. It came in a vision and dream in the night, as it did with Lehi (see 1 Nephi 8:2).

Brethren and sisters, I know that this welfare program is inspired of God. I have witnessed with my own eyes the ravages of hunger and destitution as, under the direction of the president of the Church, I spent a year in war-torn Europe at the close of World War II, without my family, distributing food, clothing, and bedding to our needy members. I have looked into the sunken eyes of Saints, in almost the last stages of starvation. I have seen faithful mothers carrying their children, three and four years of age, who were unable to walk because of malnutrition. I have seen a hungry woman turn down food for a spool of thread. I have seen grown men weep as they ran their hands through the wheat and beans sent to them from Zion—America.

Thanks be to God for a prophet, for this inspired program, and for Saints who so managed their stewardship that they could provide for their own and still share with others. What a marvelous way to become a savior on Mount Zion!

Thomas hoed a stubborn weed out of the corn as the sun beat down on his back. Wiping the sweat from his face, he lifted his eyes longingly to the cool mountains. How he wished he was in the whispery shade of the trees there!
He loved the rustle of the white pines and the cool breezes that created soothing music among their branches. He loved the smell of the fresh wind filtering through the pines. Those ancient trees standing straight and tall seemed to him like soldiers on guard.
How he loved it when it was time to head for the hills! Every fall they took their team up to the mountains to cut firewood. He knew that they needed the wood to keep their family warm, yet every time one of those giant pines fell, he hurt inside. He felt a reverence for them. They had lived so long. They were so tall and straight.
When they brought the wood down to their farm, they sawed and chopped the logs into firewood. Thomas had a natural love for good wood and saved any exceptionally nice pieces. Then, during cold, snowy, winter days, he carefully sawed, carved, and fitted wood pieces together to make fine furniture. He loved the feel of this good wood in his hands.
Thomas remembered Grandfather Heiler. He, too, had a feel for wood. Before he had left Germany, Grandfather was a master cabinetmaker. He had planned to teach Thomas his craft but died in Winter Quarters before he could teach the boy much. Crossing the prairies was not a good place to learn woodworking. Still, it made Thomas feel good to turn this beautiful white pine wood into pieces of furniture that his grateful mother lovingly polished.
Returning to his hoeing, he stopped dreaming of cool pine forests. It wasn’t likely that he’d get up to the mountains for weeks. There was too much to do here. Even craftsmen had to delay their work to grow crops. There were no stores to buy food at in this pioneer land. His family must grow what they ate, and they worked hard to get it.
As he hoed, he spotted a carriage pulling up to their home. He watched as their neighbor, Brother Erickson, got out. Ether, Thomas’s little brother, ran to the fields to fetch his father. What was happening? What would bring a neighbor out during farming season on a Tuesday morning?
Thomas kept one eye on his hoeing and one eye on the house. When his father came in from the field and greeted Brother Erickson, Thomas worked his way closer to hear their conversation.
“The word is out that Brother Brigham [President Brigham Young] is looking for some fine wood to help build an organ for the new tabernacle,” Brother Erickson told Father. “I thought you’d like to know that.”
“Yes,” Father said slowly. “That’s interesting. But what has it to do with me?”
Brother Erickson pointed to their cabin. “Just look at those logs. The finest logs I’ve seen anywhere. They’re long and smooth, and there is not a knothole in the whole of it!”
“That’s true,” Father said. “Those logs made a snug cabin for us. Are you thinking we should let Brother Brigham know about the pine we have around here? It’s over three hundred miles to Salt Lake City! Couldn’t they find some closer?”
“Brother Robert Gardner and his son William have been traveling all over the territory, searching out good wood. Brother Brigham charged them with that responsibility. I don’t think the distance would be a problem if the wood was good.”
Father nodded. “Pine Valley would be proud to help with the furnishing of that great building. Let’s do it! Let’s send a piece of one of our very best logs.”
Over the next weeks, several men from the valley gathered at their cabin to help select and cut just the right wood to send to Salt Lake City.
Thomas wished that he could be the one to take the wood there. He ran his hand over the smooth surface of the pine chest he was making. He knew that when the Gardners saw this wood, they would want it.
“We’ll send it with one of the missionaries heading that way,” Bishop Johansen told the men. “There’s no need for a special trip.”
Hanging his head, Thomas went back to work. He longed to travel to Salt Lake City and see how the work on the organ and the tabernacle was getting along. But he knew that his family still needed every spare moment they had to provide a living for themselves. There just was no time for trips anywhere.
Over the next months, Thomas waited to hear if their beautiful white pine had been chosen for the organ. No word came. Then in the spring, men came with ox teams to haul the superb logs to Salt Lake City.
“Dad,” Thomas exclaimed happily when he saw the teams snaking up the mountain, “they’re going to use our wood!”
His father smiled at him. “It was the best they found in the territory. They’ll use our wood for some of the pipes. The metal pipes are being made back East by the Simmons company. But the largest of the wood pipes are of our wood. And they’re encasing some pipes in pine that comes from a canyon close to Salt Lake City. They’ll paint that wood to look like oak.”
Thomas grinned from ear to ear. “I sure would like to hear that organ when it’s completed.”
His father put his hand on his shoulder. “I think we could manage a trip, even one that far, to attend general conference one of these years.”
It was a promise he kept, but Thomas had to wait two whole years for the organ and the Salt Lake Tabernacle to be ready for a conference. However, in September 1867, after the crops were safely in their bins, Thomas’s family began the slow wagon ride to Salt Lake City. They arrived in plenty of time for the conference on October 6.
That morning, Thomas slid into his seat. He listened in awe to the partially finished organ. He knew that it would take Brother Ridges several more years to finish it, but he loved the sound.
Here in the wilds of Deseret, beautiful music was forming. The organ would someday be world famous. Thomas knew that as it was completed, it would only become better. For now, he was happy just to listen to its beautiful strains.
Later that day, his father introduced him to Joseph Ridges. When he found that Thomas was interested in the instrument, he showed him what they were doing. Then he introduced him to Niels Johnson, Shure Olsen, David Anderson, William Pinney, and John Sandberg, men he had been training to work on the organ, too. They were all there that day to hear its beautiful tones.
The following Wednesday, as his family traveled home, Thomas was still marveling at what he’d seen and heard. Here in the wilds of Deseret, the Lord had helped his servants use what materials they had, and what skill they had, to begin building one of the greatest organs in the world. He had felt the Spirit very strongly as its music flowed through that great building. He thrilled at the messages of the prophets. He loved the music the choir sang, accompanied by the organ. How proud he was that some of the wood inside it came from his valley.

One who received and welcomed the gift of peace was Joseph Millett, an early missionary to the Maritime Provinces of Canada, who learned, while there and in his later experiences in life, of the need to rely on heavenly help. An experience which he recalled in his journal is a beautiful illustration of simple yet profound faith:

“One of my children came in, said that Brother Newton Hall’s folks were out of bread. Had none that day. I put … our flour in [a] sack to send up to Brother Hall’s. Just then Brother Hall came in. Says I, ‘Brother Hall, how are you [fixed] for flour.’ ‘Brother Millett, we have none.’ ‘Well, Brother Hall, there is some in that sack. I have divided [it] and was going to send it to you. Your children told mine that you were out.’ Brother Hall began to cry. Said he had tried others. Could not get any. Went to the cedars and prayed to the Lord and the Lord told him to go to Joseph Millett. ‘Well, Brother Hall, you needn’t bring this back if the Lord sent you for it. You don’t owe me for it.’ You can’t tell how good it made me feel to know that the Lord knew that there was such a person as Joseph Millett.”

Prayer brought the gift of peace to Newton Hall and to Joseph Millett.

It may not look like Joseph Ahuna is getting ready to go on a mission, but that’s exactly what he’s doing. Joseph earns money for his mission fund performing Polynesian and Native American dances for tourists at Waikiki on the Hawaiian island of Oahu, where he and his family live. This 17-year-old has saved nearly half of what he needs to pay for his mission.
But Joseph knows that money is just a small part of being prepared for a mission. “You have to live the standards of the Church,” he says. Joseph keeps a “For the Strength of Youth” card in his wallet to remind him of those standards.

Of course, there were political and social conflicts in the lives of some of our ancestors, but even these become instructional in the ways they dealt with their circumstances. John Davies was a loyalist during the American Revolutionary War. He had been instrumental in the establishment of the Church of England in America, which became known as the First Episcopal Society of Litchfield. These early immigrants had been taught that next to religion, loyalty was the cardinal virtue. They honestly considered that none but the infidel and traitor would venture to speak of revolution from the Mother Land. Some argued that any attempt to independence was rank ingratitude. They considered the king to be the head not only of their state but also of their religion.

John Davies recounts the challenge of building their first church in Litchfield, Connecticut, only to have it seriously damaged by soldiers of the Revolution. His cattle were run off by revolutionists and much of his property severely damaged because of significant persecution of those who had remained loyal to the king. Listen to this about John Davies:
“After the close of the war a man who had taken an active part in driving off a number of cattle from his farm, and had committed other acts of plunder, having become destitute, applied for relief in his extremity to Mr. Davies, who not only pardoned him for the wrongs he had done, but liberally relieved his wants” (in Henry Eugene Davies, Davies Memoirs, 1895, pp. 21–22).

Matt scowled into the mirror. The freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks looked bigger than ever. In fact, his whole face seemed to be one big freckle. “Mom,” he asked, “why do I have so many freckles? You and Dad don’t have any.”
“I did when I was your age. So did my father. And his father before him.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve seen pictures of them. Your great-grandfather had so many freckles that people called him ‘Red’ when he was your age. His name was Matthew too.”
“Oh, great,” Matt muttered.
“He was a great man,” Mother chided. “My father used to tell me wonderful stories about him.”
But Matt didn’t want to hear that. He just wanted to get rid of about fifty thousand freckles.
“Your great-great-aunt Emily is coming tomorrow. She could tell you a lot more about him. He was her brother.”
“Can she tell me how to get rid of freckles?”
Mom ruffled his hair. “Your freckles won’t last forever.”
Matt grumbled his way through breakfast. When he learned he’d have to give up ball practice to come home to meet his aunt, he grumbled even louder.
“Your aunt wants to see you,” his mother said in the tone she used when she wasn’t happy with him. “Besides, she has something special for you.”
Matt mumbled an apology and slid from his chair. He wanted to rub lemon juice over his face. He’d read in a magazine that lemon juice faded freckles.
Thirty minutes later, he looked in the mirror in disgust. His freckles were still there. If anything, they were more noticeable than ever.
His mood didn’t improve any when he got to school.
“Hey, Matt, you look like you were swallowed by a freckle,” his friend Josh teased.
“Yeah,” Sam added. “A big freckle!”
“Lay off,” Matt said.
By the time school was over, Matt was tired of being teased. He didn’t really feel like meeting Aunt Emily or anyone else, either. But she was there waiting when he walked into the kitchen.
“You look just like my brother Matthew did when he was eleven,” Aunt Emily said.
In spite of himself, Matt was curious. “I do?”
Aunt Emily’s lined face crinkled into a smile. “He had the same stubborn chin, the same blue eyes, and the same freckles.”
Matt scowled. “Did he hate them too?”
Her smile deepened. “He sure did—at first.”
Intrigued, Matt sat down at the kitchen table. He said “thanks” when his mother placed four peanut butter cookies in front of him, but he was more interested in what Aunt Emily had to say. “He didn’t always hate them?”
She shook her head. “No, he didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because they helped him get the lead in the school play. He tried out for the part of Tom Sawyer and got it because of his freckles.”
“But I don’t want to be Tom Sawyer,” Matt said.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to be a professional ball player or president of a company or something.”
Aunt Emily shoved a package toward him. “Here.”
Eagerly Matt unwrapped the brown paper, then stared in disappointment at an old leather-bound book. “What’s this?”
“It’s your great-grandfather’s journal. He started keeping it when he was just about your age.”
Matt opened it. Pasted inside the front cover was an old-fashioned photograph of a young boy. Even the faded tones of the picture couldn’t hide the freckles scattered across his face. “This is my great-grandfather?” Matt asked.
Aunt Emily nodded. “Does he look familiar?”
Matt didn’t answer. His own face stared back at him.
That evening, he excused himself after dinner and went upstairs to his room. He started flipping through the journal. He stopped at an entry dated June 15, 1911: “Worked in the fields today. It was hot! Earned $1.50.”
Matt kept reading. His eyes drooped, but he couldn’t put the book down.
“Aunt Emily, do you have any more of my great-grandfather’s journals?” he asked the next morning.
“I sure do. I had a feeling that you might be interested in them.” She motioned to him to follow her to the bedroom, where she opened her suitcase. Inside were eight journals—seven brown and one black. She picked up the black one and handed it to Matt. “This one is very special,” she said.
Matt looked inside. The pages were blank. “It’s empty.”
She smiled. “I know. You get to fill them.”
He wanted to look through the other journals right away, but he had to hurry off to school. After gulping his juice, he folded a piece of toast and jammed it into a napkin and ran to catch the bus.
His fifth grade teacher assigned a report due the next day. “Choose someone you admire and tell us about him.”
The other kids started talking about whom they would choose. Josh chose Abraham Lincoln. Sam picked Thomas Edison. Mary chose Babe Didrikson Zaharias. Matt frowned. All the good names seemed to be taken. But by that evening, Matt knew whom he was going to give his report on.
As he stood before the class the following day, he rubbed his wet palms against his jeans and took a deep breath. “My great-grandfather was never president. He never invented anything. He never even finished school. But he was a great man. When he was twelve, his father died. So he dropped out of school to help support his family. He hoed beets for only a dollar-fifty a day. When he was nineteen, he went on a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
By the end of his report, Matt was flushed. “I’m proud that I look like my great-grandfather. I hope I can be the kind of man he was.”
The class applauded.
After school, Matt hurried to spend more time talking with Aunt Emily about his great-grandfather Matthew. He also wanted to write in his own journal about his class report. Before going to bed, he looked in the mirror. His customary scowl had been replaced by a smile as he studied his freckles. He decided he didn’t mind them so much, after all.

Grandma came to our house last Friday to make jelly. She gave Mom two big brown paper sacks full of plums. All morning Mom and Grandma filled jars with hot pink stuff that was jelly when it cooled. It is the best-tasting jelly in the whole world! I know because once Grandma gave me some when I was at her house.
Mom and Grandma were so busy that I helped by making my own sandwich for lunch. After all the jars were lined up on the kitchen counter to cool, Grandma went home.
The next day I counted fifteen jars of jelly when I helped Mom put them away. I thought she’d put them in our food storage, but she didn’t.
After lunch Mom asked me to take a jar of the jelly to Mrs. Conner. Mrs. Conner is a grouchy lady who lives next door to us. She always yells at me if I cut through her yard or if she thinks I am making too much noise. But she smiled and thanked me when I gave her the jelly.
Later Sister Moreno came to go visiting teaching with Mom. They took six more jars of plum jelly with them.
Sunday we took another jar of jelly to church for Brother Jones. He’s really nice. One time he came into Primary and showed us some wooden toys he’d made in his basement workshop. I like Brother Jones, and I was glad he got some of the jelly.
We gave a jar to each pair of missionaries too. I hope someone gives me some when I’m a missionary!
Dad took another jar with him on Monday. He gave it to the man he rides to work with. And when Aunt Julie stopped by on her way home from the store, Mom gave her a jar of jelly.
I looked up at the shelf and counted the jars again. It didn’t take very long. There were only three jars left. Mom was giving all the jelly away! I went into the living room where she was reading and asked, “Why are we giving all our jelly away?”
She looked at me for a moment. “That’s why we made it—to give away,” she said. “Grandma and I made it to give to people we love, to let them know that we care about them. I think Grandma may have some more plums, Danny. If she does, would you like to help me make some more jelly?”
“Jelly to keep?” I asked her.
“You bet,” she said. “And maybe there will be enough for you to give to some of your friends too.”
The next morning when I looked at the shelf, there were only two jars of jelly left. The third jar was in front of my plate. Taped to the front of the jar was a note that said: Danny’s jelly to keep (because we love him)

Zoey dashed to the door the moment she heard the bus stop. Flinging the door open, she raced down the driveway.
“Zach! Zach!” she called. “I kept my promise. I didn’t go into your room once after I got home from kindergarten.”
“Good job!” Zach said, patting Zoey on the back.
“Now can I have the piece of gum that you promised me?”
Zach stopped. He stuck his hand into his pocket, but it was empty. “I’m sorry, Zoey. I forgot and traded it to David for a cupcake.”
“Oh.” Zoey turned and walked slowly back up the driveway. She found Mom in the kitchen, getting out flour, sugar, and salt. Zoey’s face brightened. “Is it time to bake the cookies you promised I could help you make after I got my toys picked up?”
“I’m sorry, Zoey. I forgot that I need to bake cinnamon rolls for a meeting at school tonight.”
“Oh.” Zoey trudged into the living room, flopped onto the couch, and thumbed through the Friend magazine that had just arrived. When she saw a picture of Jesus Christ surrounded by little children, she smiled, remembering how much Jesus loves little children.
The phone rang, and she jumped up to answer it. Hearing who it was, she chirped, “Dad, guess what? I told everyone at school today about the bike ride you and Zach and I are going on tonight. What time will you be home?”
Zoey’s shoulders drooped. “But, Dad, you promised we could go if we helped you weed the garden last night.” She listened as Dad explained. “Oh.” Zoey hung up the phone. Tears spilled out onto her cheeks.
“Who was on the phone?” Mom asked as she came into the living room.
“Dad.” Zoey sniffled. “He said you need to get a baby-sitter for tonight. He forgot he has to work late.”
Mom took Zoey’s hand and gently sat her on the couch beside her. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nobody keeps their promises!” Zoey blurted out. “I stayed out of Zach’s room, but he traded the piece of gum he promised me. I cleaned my room, but you baked cinnamon rolls instead of cookies.” Zoey wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “And Zach and I helped weed the garden, but Dad can’t take us on the bike ride, after all. I’m never going to believe anyone’s promises again.”
Mom hugged Zoey a long time. Then she picked up the Friend Zoey had been looking at. “Zoey, there is Someone who never breaks a promise.”
Zoey wiped her eyes. “Who?”
“Jesus.” Mom pointed to the picture of Jesus and the children. “In two years, you’ll turn eight and be baptized. When we’re baptized, Jesus promises us the gift of the Holy Ghost, membership in His church, and forgiveness for our sins. Do you know what we promise Him?”
“To be good?”
“That’s right,” Mom said. “We promise to obey His commandments and to take His name upon us. That means we’ll act like Jesus Christ—like He would want us to act. And we also promise to always remember Him.”
“I know why He asks that,” Zoey said firmly. “You can’t keep promises if you forget what you promised.”
“That’s right. One reason we have the sacrament every week is to help us remember our promises.”
“But how does Jesus remember His promises?”
“Let me read you something very special that Jesus said.” Mom reached for the scriptures on the table, turned to 1 Nephi 21:15–16 [1 Ne. 21:15–16], and read, “Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee, O house of Israel. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands.”
Closing the book, Mom asked, “Do you know what that means, Zoey?”
Zoey closed her eyes and remembered the pictures she’d seen of Jesus on the cross. “Does it mean Jesus remembers because of the scars from the nails in His hands when He was killed?”
Mom nodded. “Jesus never forgets His promises.”
“Wow! That means I can always believe Jesus’ promises. It makes me want to work extra hard to keep my promises to Him.”
Mom gave Zoey another hug. “We all need to work extra hard at keeping our promises, both to Jesus Christ and to each other. Will you give Zach, Daddy, and me another chance to keep ours?”
“OK.” Zoey smiled. Then shaking her finger at Mom, she added, “But don’t forget that with promises, it’s important to remember.”

Years ago when my second daughter, Nelah, was in kindergarten, she was given a stencil to work with at school. She used this stencil to make me a sign. She brought the sign home and proudly presented it to me. The sign says, "Kynda is lfbut."
I was initially confused. Was she trying to say that I had a fluffy bum? While I was racking my brain trying to figure out what Nelah could mean by this, she said, with a huge smile on her face, "See, Mom. It says 'Kynda is beautiful.'" Aaah, yes, I see it now. "Beautiful" is a difficult word to spell. My five-year-old Nelah had sounded it out and spelled the word phonetically for me. When she ran out of room at the end of the line, she finished the word in the empty space at the beginning of the line, hence "lfbut." During this interaction with Nelah, there was no part of me that was worried for Nelah's spelling ability. I wasn't thinking, "Oh no! Nelah spelled 'beautiful' wrong! Now she's not going to graduate from high school or go to college!" No! Although she did not spell "beautiful" correctly, she was completely developmentally appropriate for her age. She was exactly where she was supposed to be at that time! I knew that eventually Nelah would learn how to spell "beautiful" correctly--and she has. Heavenly Father feels the same way about us! When we make mistakes, I don't think he is saying, "Well, Kynda has really messed up now. I don't think she is going to be able to endure to the end and return back to me." No! I bet He is thinking that you and I are exactly where we need to be at this point in our development: we are learning, and we are on the path to perfection. True heroes take baby steps.

Brothers and sisters, when we met in general conference six months ago, none of us anticipated the coming changes that would tug at the heartstrings of the entire Church. Elder L. Tom Perry delivered a powerful message about the irreplaceable role that marriage and family occupy in the Lord’s plan. We were stunned when just a few days later, we learned of the cancer that would soon take him from us.

Though President Boyd K. Packer’s health had been declining, he continued to “soldier on” in the work of the Lord. He was frail last April, yet he was determined to declare his witness as long as he had breath. Then, just 34 days after Elder Perry’s passing, President Packer also stepped across the veil.

We missed Elder Richard G. Scott at our last general conference, but we’ve reflected upon the powerful witness of the Savior he had borne in many previous conferences. And just 12 days ago, Elder Scott was called home and reunited with his beloved Jeanene.

I had the privilege of being with all of these Brethren during their final days, including joining members of President Packer’s and Elder Scott’s immediate families just before their passing. It has been difficult for me to believe that these three treasured friends, these magnificent servants of the Lord, are gone. I miss them more than I can say.

As I’ve reflected on this unexpected turn of events, one of the impressions that has lingered with me is that which I observed in these surviving wives. Etched in my mind are the serene images of Sister Donna Smith Packer and Sister Barbara Dayton Perry at their husbands’ bedsides, both women filled with love, truth, and pure faith.

As Sister Packer sat next to her husband in his final hours, she radiated that peace that passes all understanding. Though she realized that her beloved companion of almost 70 years would soon depart, she showed the tranquility of a faith-filled woman. She seemed angelic, just as she was in this photo of them at the dedication of the Brigham City Utah Temple.

I saw that same kind of love and faith emanating from Sister Perry. Her devotion to both her husband and the Lord was obvious, and it moved me deeply.

Through their husbands’ final hours and continuing to the present day, these stalwart women have shown the strength and courage that covenant-keeping women always demonstrate. It would be impossible to measure the influence that such women have, not only on families but also on the Lord’s Church, as wives, mothers, and grandmothers; as sisters and aunts; as teachers and leaders; and especially as exemplars and devout defenders of the faith.

This has been true in every gospel dispensation since the days of Adam and Eve. Yet the women of this dispensation are distinct from the women of any other because this dispensation is distinct from any other. This distinction brings both privileges and responsibilities.

Thirty-six years ago, in 1979, President Spencer W. Kimball made a profound prophecy about the impact that covenant-keeping women would have on the future of the Lord’s Church. He prophesied: “Much of the major growth that is coming to the Church in the last days will come because many of the good women of the world … will be drawn to the Church in large numbers. This will happen to the degree that the women of the Church reflect righteousness and articulateness in their lives and to the degree that the women of the Church are seen as distinct and different—in happy ways—from the women of the world.”

My dear sisters, you who are our vital associates during this winding-up scene, the day that President Kimball foresaw is today. You are the women he foresaw! Your virtue, light, love, knowledge, courage, character, faith, and righteous lives will draw good women of the world, along with their families, to the Church in unprecedented numbers!

We, your brethren, need your strength, your conversion, your conviction, your ability to lead, your wisdom, and your voices. The kingdom of God is not and cannot be complete without women who make sacred covenants and then keep them, women who can speak with the power and authority of God!

President Packer declared:
“We need women who are organized and women who can organize. We need women with executive ability who can plan and direct and administer; women who can teach, women who can speak out. …

“We need women with the gift of discernment who can view the trends in the world and detect those that, however popular, are shallow or dangerous.”

Today, let me add that we need women who know how to make important things happen by their faith and who are courageous defenders of morality and families in a sin-sick world. We need women who are devoted to shepherding God’s children along the covenant path toward exaltation; women who know how to receive personal revelation, who understand the power and peace of the temple endowment; women who know how to call upon the powers of heaven to protect and strengthen children and families; women who teach fearlessly.

Throughout my life, I have been blessed by such women. My departed wife, Dantzel, was such a woman. I will always be grateful for the life-changing influence she had on me in all aspects of my life, including my pioneering efforts in open-heart surgery.

Fifty-eight years ago I was asked to operate upon a little girl, gravely ill from congenital heart disease. Her older brother had previously died of a similar condition. Her parents pleaded for help. I was not optimistic about the outcome but vowed to do all in my power to save her life. Despite my best efforts, the child died. Later, the same parents brought another daughter to me, then just 16 months old, also born with a malformed heart. Again, at their request, I performed an operation. This child also died. This third heartbreaking loss in one family literally undid me.

I went home grief stricken. I threw myself upon our living room floor and cried all night long. Dantzel stayed by my side, listening as I repeatedly declared that I would never perform another heart operation. Then, around 5:00 in the morning, Dantzel looked at me and lovingly asked, “Are you finished crying? Then get dressed. Go back to the lab. Go to work! You need to learn more. If you quit now, others will have to painfully learn what you already know.”

Oh, how I needed my wife’s vision, grit, and love! I went back to work and learned more. If it weren’t for Dantzel’s inspired prodding, I would not have pursued open-heart surgery and would not have been prepared to do the operation in 1972 that saved the life of President Spencer W. Kimball.

Sisters, do you realize the breadth and scope of your influence when you speak those things that come to your heart and mind as directed by the Spirit? A superb stake president told me of a stake council meeting in which they were wrestling with a difficult challenge. At one point, he realized that the stake Primary president had not spoken, so he asked if she had any impressions. “Well, actually I have,” she said and then proceeded to share a thought that changed the entire direction of the meeting. The stake president continued, “As she spoke, the Spirit testified to me that she had given voice to the revelation we had been seeking as a council.”

My dear sisters, whatever your calling, whatever your circumstances, we need your impressions, your insights, and your inspiration. We need you to speak up and speak out in ward and stake councils. We need each married sister to speak as “a contributing and full partner” as you unite with your husband in governing your family. Married or single, you sisters possess distinctive capabilities and special intuition you have received as gifts from God. We brethren cannot duplicate your unique influence.

We know that the culminating act of all creation was the creation of woman! We need your strength!

Attacks against the Church, its doctrine, and our way of life are going to increase. Because of this, we need women who have a bedrock understanding of the doctrine of Christ and who will use that understanding to teach and help raise a sin-resistant generation. We need women who can detect deception in all of its forms. We need women who know how to access the power that God makes available to covenant keepers and who express their beliefs with confidence and charity. We need women who have the courage and vision of our Mother Eve.

My dear sisters, nothing is more crucial to your eternal life than your own conversion. It is converted, covenant-keeping women—women like my dear wife Wendy—whose righteous lives will increasingly stand out in a deteriorating world and who will thus be seen as different and distinct in the happiest of ways.

So today I plead with my sisters of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to step forward! Take your rightful and needful place in your home, in your community, and in the kingdom of God—more than you ever have before. I plead with you to fulfill President Kimball’s prophecy. And I promise you in the name of Jesus Christ that as you do so, the Holy Ghost will magnify your influence in an unprecedented way!

I bear witness of the reality of the Lord Jesus Christ and of His redeeming, atoning, and sanctifying power. And as one of His Apostles, I thank you, my dear sisters, and bless you to rise to your full stature, to fulfill the measure of your creation, as we walk arm in arm in this sacred work. Together we will help prepare the world for the Second Coming of the Lord. Of this I testify, as your brother, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I gained my own testimony when I was about 12 or 13. I knew I needed to find out for myself if the Church was true. I started thinking about how Joseph Smith had been close to my age when he prayed in the grove. I had just been reading in the Book of Mormon where Moroni tells us to pray to receive a witness of the truth (see Moro. 10:3–5), so I did. I really prayed. And I felt the witness that Moroni promises each of us. From then on I knew I had my own testimony.

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Matt, I’ve asked you a thousand times to not play with my tools.
I didn’t Daddy.
My hammer’s gone and you’ve taken it before.
Not this time. I promise!
I’m sorry that you’ve chosen to lie to me, Matt. You’d better go to your room until you’re ready to tell the truth.
But, Daddy!
No “but, Daddies.” Go to your room!
Here’s your hammer back, dear. I just needed to hang a picture.
I’m sorry, Matt. I shouldn’t have accused you unless I was sure. Will you forgive me?
Sure. Can I play now?
I wish I were that good at forgiving.

A few years ago, our second son was accepted into Pharmacy school pending completion of a couple of classes that he was taking on line. Pharmacy school is a competitive doctorate program and he was concerned about being accepted from the beginning. He was incredibly relieved and delighted to get in. He worked to complete his online classes but it was summer and the teachers were often on vacation and slow to correct and return his homework. To be proactive, he talked to the admissions department at the Pharmacy school to let them know that he was cutting it close on the deadline to finish the classes. He was told that as long as the classes were completed before school started he would be fine. You can appreciate how discouraged he was when a different person contacted him later and told him he had been given the wrong information. If he couldn’t submit his grades the next day he would miss the deadline, would not be admitted for that year and would have to reapply to the program again. Getting the grades submitted in twenty-four hours was impossible. There was nothing he could do to make it happen. He was devastated. His first impulse was to give up completely. Playing video games in our basement for the rest of his life may have been his fall back plan. He was terribly discouraged, it took some time to bounce back, but he didn’t quit. He finished his classes, reapplied to school and was accepted for the following year. He graduated last June and is working as a pharmacist in a Utah hospital.

I was sixteen when my father invited me and my younger brother to work with him on his farm. For us, the main purpose was to save enough money to go study in a distant city. My brother and I knew nothing about farm work and had to learn everything. In the beginning, it was difficult and demanding for young people like us who had never carried out such manual work. Step by step, our father taught us how to do it.
Here is one of the many lessons he taught us: “Only work makes someone independent and ennobles them. When someone is self-sufficient, they have self-esteem, they are respected, and they can accomplish many things for themselves and others.”
With the means that we acquired, my brother and I were able to buy food, school supplies and clothes, and to focus on our studies without too much worry. Being independent, we started to grow.

When I first arrived in Brazil as a missionary, I immediately loved the beautiful, green country and the open, loving, humble people.
The work was often difficult. Representatives of another church would tell the youth to throw rocks at us. We were put in jail. It was hard for people to join the Church, because their neighbors would ostracize them. That was in the late 1950s when the Church didn’t have even one stake in Brazil.
Now there are almost 200 stakes. It has been a spiritual blessing to see the miraculous growth of the Church in Brazil as I’ve returned with my family as a mission president and member of an Area Presidency.

When I was about 14 years old, my brother, some friends, and I went to a nearby pond to go row boating.
One of my friends challenged me to race her to the shore. I really didn’t know how to swim well, but it wasn’t very far, so I said yes, but what I didn’t realize was that my jeans would take on water and get really heavy. I got into the water, and my jeans immediately began pulling me down. I thought for sure I was going to die. My brother and another friend came in and pulled me to shore, but what surprised me was that in my panic I tried fighting them off because I thought they were trying to drown me.
This experience reminded me of how easy it is to make bad choices and how we sometimes pull away from those who are trying to help us. Like my brother and our friend, the Savior is always there to try and help us, even when we initially resist. I couldn’t save myself from drowning, but my brother and friend could. Through the Atonement, our Savior can help each of us to return to His presence if we just let Him. Satan gives us many temptations that are hard to resist, but if we stay close to the Lord, He will help us overcome them.

Sister Whang’s work in the camps led her to change her career from nursing to teaching. But after six years, in November 1958, she decided that if she wanted to fulfill her goal to help the poor, she needed more education. Her minister encouraged her to apply for an exchange program at the University of California at Berkeley. She was accepted. Taking the money she had saved from teaching and the promise of a paid sabbatical from her school, she enrolled.
Soon after she arrived in the U.S., Whang Keun-Ok met two Korean students from Brigham Young University who were working at Berkeley for the summer. They encouraged her to go to Provo, Utah. When she visited the BYU campus in the fall of 1959, she fell in love with the mountains and was impressed by the Latter-day Saints’ faith. She spent the next three years there, studying social work. Shortly after she returned to Korea in June 1962, she located the missionaries and was baptized.