Gospel Story Finder

Logan had turned eight years old last week. Today was a special day—he was going to be baptized. He and his father dressed in white clothes and took their seats near the baptismal font.
Logan’s brother-in-law, Ryan, was asked to give a talk at the baptism. After the opening song and prayer, Ryan read the fourth article of faith: “‘We believe that the first principles and ordinances of the Gospel are: first, Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; second, Repentance; third, Baptism by immersion for the remission of sins; fourth, Laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost.’”
Then Ryan placed a blue paper square on the floor at one side of the room and a white paper square at the other side. “Logan, come stand on this blue square,” he said. “Can you get from the blue square to the white square without stepping on the carpet?”
Logan looked across the room and shook his head. “It’s too far.”
Ryan nodded. “It’s too far for you to get there by yourself. And do you think you can return to Heavenly Father without help?”
Logan shook his head again.
Ryan placed six more squares on the floor, each square a different color. “Heavenly Father has given us steps to bring us back to Him. Do you know what they are?”
Logan thought of the article of faith Ryan had just read. “The first one is faith.” Ryan nodded as Logan stepped onto the red square. “And the second one is repentance.” Logan moved to the yellow square.
Ryan pointed to the green square. “This one represents one of the steps you’re taking today.”
Smiling, Logan stepped onto the green square.
“Baptism,” he said. He was much closer to the white square now, but there were still three more in between.
“The orange square represents receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost,” Ryan said, “another step you’ll take today.”
Logan stepped onto the orange square.
“What do you think the last two squares represent?” Ryan asked.
Logan thought for a moment. The fourth article of faith included only the first four principles and ordinances of the gospel. He had learned in Primary that baptism was the first of many covenants he would make. “Does the next square stand for the temple?” he asked.
“Right!” Ryan beamed. “After your baptism and confirmation, you’ll prepare to receive the priesthood and temple ordinances. What do you think the last square stands for?”
Logan couldn’t remember any more steps. Then it dawned on him—it was the simple truth taught by prophets and scriptures. “Stay righteous,” he said.
“Exactly,” Ryan said. “After making all of these covenants, we must stay faithful.”
Logan sat down and Ryan finished his talk. Then Logan and his father entered the baptismal font. With the authority of the priesthood, Logan’s father baptized him. After they had changed into dry clothes, Logan was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“Remember the Spirit you feel right now,” Ryan said afterward as he hugged Logan. “Try to keep it with you for the rest of your life.”
Logan knew he would never forget this special day—a day he had taken two important steps toward his heavenly home.

Her desire to influence others is one of the reasons Marissa started a glee club at her school. “I had really been longing for years to create a club where people who loved music and loved singing and dancing could get together and put together something really great,” she says.
So she got all the approvals and went through the process of creating the club.
“Now, our glee club has done several performances,” Marissa says. “We love to explore music of all genres. Usually the kids get to select songs and submit them, and the whole club votes on them. We do country, pop, rock, oldies, and mainstream hits. It’s a lot of fun.”

Through my experience in Church service, I have witnessed great miracles and cherished memories that have helped me recognize the Father’s love and guidance. A few years ago, as a young bishop, I remember planning to visit some of my ward members with the stake presidency. On this particular occasion, I had a powerful impression to visit the home of a young man I had not met yet. I had just been called as bishop, and his family had not been previously attending.

When we arrived at the family home, the mother was overjoyed to see us. This was a family of two good parents, two daughters, and a son, who was a future Aaronic Priesthood holder. We introduced ourselves and told her that her son was a member of the quorum I presided over. After that visit, the family began attending church and following the covenant path.

As a family, they made covenants in the temple, the three children served full-time missions, and they continued to strive to live the gospel. I know that Heavenly Father knew them, loved them, and cared enough about them to send inspiration to a young, inexperienced bishop to find them and invite them back to the fold.

Some time ago I found a large white envelope in my mailbox. Inside was a story written by a boy I had taught years before when he was in sixth grade. I remembered the student and the assignment his class had worked on for months. I also remembered that he loved to write and would sit and think and think. Sometimes only a word or two found their way to the page. At times he worked during recess, but when the due date arrived, his story still had a chapter to go. I told him just to turn it in as it was, but Jimmy had a different vision and wanted to turn in a finished story. The last day of class he asked if he could finish during the summer break. Again I told him just to turn it in. He pleaded for more time, and finally I sent him on his way with a stack of wrinkled and smudged papers, complimenting him on his determination and assuring him of my confidence in his ability to complete a great story.
I thought about him that summer, but the assignment left my mind until years later when I found his completed project in the mailbox. I was amazed and wondered what made Jimmy finish his story. What kind of vision, determination, and effort had been required in this task? Why do any of us finish a hard task, especially if no one demands its completion?
My husband’s great-grandfather Henry Clegg Jr. was a finisher. He joined the Church with his family when the first LDS missionaries went to Preston, England. Henry had a view of his destination in his mind as he and his wife, Hannah, and their two young boys immigrated to Utah. Henry left his older parents, who were too feeble to make such a long and arduous journey, knowing he would never see them again.
While crossing the plains, Hannah contracted cholera and died. She was laid to rest in an unmarked grave. The company then moved on, and at six in the evening, Henry’s youngest son also died. Henry retraced his steps to Hannah’s grave, placed his young son in his wife’s arms, and reburied the two of them together. Henry then had to return to the wagon train, now five miles away. Suffering from cholera himself, Henry described his condition as being at death’s door while realizing he still had a thousand miles to walk. Amazingly he continued forward, putting one foot in front of the other. He stopped writing in his journal for several weeks after losing his dear Hannah and little son. I was struck with the words he used when he did start writing again: “Still moving.”
When he finally reached the gathering place of the Saints, he began a new family. He kept the faith. He continued his story. Most remarkably, his heartache over the burial of his sweetheart and son gave birth to our family’s legacy of moving forward, of finishing.
I have often wondered as I have heard pioneer stories like the one of Henry Clegg, “Could I ever do that?” Sometimes I fear this question, knowing our pioneer legacy lives on today. I recently visited West Africa and witnessed everyday pioneers walking forward, joining a new church, leaving behind centuries of traditions, even leaving behind family and friends, as did Henry. My admiration and love for them is as great as for my own forebears.
Do the challenges of others appear more difficult than our own? We often look at someone with tremendous responsibilities and think, “I could never do that.” Yet others might look at us and feel exactly the same way. It is not the magnitude of the responsibility but rather how it feels to be the one in the middle of the unfinished task. For a young mother with many children at home, caring for them through the day and then through the night could feel like a thousand miles yet to walk. Giving a lesson in Relief Society to women who are older or younger, more experienced or more educated could feel difficult, especially when the topic is one you are struggling to understand and live yourself. Teaching a class of 10 active six-year-olds can be daunting, especially when your own six-year-old is in the class and you haven’t quite figured out how to teach him one-on-one.
What do we learn from young Jimmy, from early pioneers, and from modern pioneers around the world that will help us in our specific challenges? Jimmy spent years writing on his own for no deadline, Henry Clegg marched on alone and without heart even to write in a journal, and African Saints lived worthy of a temple they could not have imagined would one day rise in their own nation. To keep going, to stay faithful, and to finish had to be its own reward.
Years ago one of our daughters asked me to come outside and play tetherball with her. She told me to sit down and watch as she hit over and over again a ball on a rope that wound itself around a pole. After watching several windings I asked what my part was in the game, and she said, “Oh, Mom, you say, ‘Good job, good job,’ every time the ball goes around the pole.”
“Good job!” helps the journey seem possible. It might sound like a phone call from a mother of one of the six-year-olds in that Primary class, calling to let the teacher know that her son carefully helped his little sister into the car seat without being asked, acknowledging the Primary teacher’s lesson as the impetus for this new behavior. It might look like a husband getting the children off to nursery and Primary as his wife sets up her lesson for Young Women. It might be as simple as a smile, a hug, or a long walk to sort things out with a friend, a husband, or a child.
We each must find and finish our own story, but how much sweeter the telling when encouragement is called out, when arriving at our destination is valued and celebrated, however long ago the journey commenced.
The greatest mentor and advocate we have said: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88). Can any of us afford to leave this piece out of our individual journey?
Henry Clegg was still moving forward to live among the faithful Saints, to take his place, to raise a righteous family, to serve his neighbor. He had that picture in his mind even when his heart was breaking. I heard a Primary child from Ghana answer the question “What does it mean to choose the right every day?” with, “It means to follow the Lord and Savior every day and do your best even when it is hard.” This modern pioneer boy knew President Hinckley’s admonition. He knew about keeping commandments every day. He understood that his own story would unfold simply by putting one foot in front of the other, one day at a time.

When I was 18, my older brother, John, returned from his mission in England. He was determined to make sure I was also ready to serve. We had adjacent bedrooms, and at night we would sometimes speak to each other after we turned out the lights. One night, John’s voice pierced through the darkness.
“Dave, do you know that Joseph Smith was a prophet?”
“Of course, John,” I replied. John soon went to sleep, but I stayed awake, wondering if I really did know.
A few months later, I visited my sister and her family in Tokyo, Japan. At that time, the Tabernacle Choir was touring Asia. President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, traveled with them.
I was invited to be an usher at several performances. One night I had the opportunity to sit with Elder and Sister Hinckley. Afterward, Elder Hinckley reached out to me.
“Now, young man,” he said, “you’re going to serve a mission, right?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Good,” he replied.
That was it. But this 30-second interview built upon other experiences I was having. I realized that for me to become a missionary, I needed to have a testimony. So, I started studying the Book of Mormon and the life of the Prophet Joseph Smith.
One evening, I finished reading a book about Joseph Smith. I remember lying on the floor in my parents’ living room. I closed the book and had a peaceful feeling. The Spirit witnessed to me that Joseph was a prophet. I then realized that I needed to tell others about it. This solidified for me the decision to serve a mission.
I’m grateful I not only had the Spirit but that I also had the voices of my brother and Elder Hinckley encouraging me to head in the right direction. My life has been blessed because I listened to their voices.

Peter and my other throwers aren’t alone in overestimating their own progress. I’ve had the same problem myself. As a chubby adult, I’ve learned that jogging every morning helps fight middle-age blubber. I jog far enough and long enough to burn at least half as many calories as the previous night’s milk shake.

Unfortunately for me and my blubber, I’m not always consistent with my running. Illness, deadlines, and vacations sometimes postpone my morning runs.

After my last month-long layoff, I started running my old course again. I chugged through the streets around my home, huffed and puffed and sweated, and wound up back in front of my house in what seemed like record time. Gosh, I thought, I must really be in good shape (old people like to believe things like that). It had been a month since I ran last, and I hadn’t lost a step. At least it seemed like I hadn’t lost a step.

The next morning, I ran my course again, this time with my stopwatch—I wanted to see just how fast I really was. I gave it my best effort, finished with a sprint over the last 400 meters, and punched my stopwatch just as I entered my driveway.

My watch read 26:30. I definitely hadn’t lost a step, more like both legs! My time was five and a half minutes over my previous best time. Like Peter, I was unable to accurately judge my own progress (or, in this case, regression), until I used something other than my own judgment to measure my performance.

Regular assessment of your progress helps motivate you to keep working. Peter’s goal to throw the discus 150 feet and my goal to run three miles in 21 minutes were helped with each measurement. When Peter threw 148 feet, he was even more determined to make 150, and when my stopwatch continually reads 21 minutes at the end of my run, I feel good about my efforts.

There will be times, of course, when the tale of the tape (or whatever you’re using to measure your progress) is discouraging. I ran my three-mile course five mornings a week for a year before I saw anything even close to 21 minutes. And Peter didn’t crack 150 feet until the third meet of his senior season.

But even if I had never made my 21-minute goal or Peter had never thrown 150 feet, the important measurements, the truly important measurements, would have shown that we tried. So even if we had failed to make our goals, we would have been better people, moved one line closer to perfection, than if we hadn’t tried at all.

Think, for example, of the thousands of athletes who compete for a single spot on an Olympic team or the thousands of students who vie for a single scholarship. Only a few can win, but those who joined in the competition are strengthened and blessed by their efforts. It’s not always what we achieve through our efforts that matters; it’s what we become from having made the effort. We are blessed, whether we succeed or not, every time we honestly give our best effort in an endeavor. By using the right kind of measuring stick, you’ll know for sure if you’re standing still, going downhill, or moving, line upon line, precept upon precept, towards accomplishing your own worthy goals.

Let me share with you an example of the results of daily determination and performance.
In 1960 the Olympics were held in Melbourne, Australia. There on the winner’s platform in the spotlight one day stood a beautiful, tall, blonde American girl. She was being presented a gold medal, symbolic of first place in worldwide competition. As she stood there, some boys whistled and others were heard to say, “There’s a gal who has everything.”
Tears ran down her cheeks as she accepted the recognition. Many thought she was touched by the victory ceremony. The thing most of the audience did not know was the story of her determination, self-discipline, and daily action. At the age of five she had polio. When the disease left her body, she couldn’t use her arms or legs. Her parents took her daily to a swimming pool where they hoped the water would help hold her arms up as she tried to use them again. When she could lift her arm out of the water with her own power, she cried for joy. Then her goal was to swim the width of the pool, then the length, then several lengths. She kept on trying, swimming, enduring, day after day after day, until she won the gold medal for the butterfly stroke—one of the most difficult of all swimming strokes—in Melbourne, Australia.
What if Shelly Mann had not been encouraged to achieve at age five and to continue and overcome? What a tremendous asset were parents who assisted her in the importance of now and today in preparation for tomorrow.

Nine-year-old Amber Donohue didn’t want to get out of bed. I have four good reasons not to, she reasoned, and only one reason why I should: It’s Sunday and church starts in an hour.
She thought hard about why she shouldn’t: In the first place, I’m too tired. It isn’t fair that bears can sleep all winter but people can sleep only at night. In the second place, it’s too cold to get up. Judging from the way the snow was piled on the limbs of the maple tree outside her bedroom window, Amber was sure that it had snowed all night. In the third place, she thought, if I get up now, I’ll be cross with everybody for having to get up. It wouldn’t be fair to others. And in the fourth place, … Amber couldn’t think of a fourth reason yet, but she was sure that if she stayed in bed long enough, she’d think of something!
Amber knew, though, that her one reason for getting up was more important than all the ones for staying in bed put together. It was Heavenly Father’s day, and she knew that He wanted her to be in Primary. She also knew deep down in her heart that she wanted to be there too. She glumly crawled out from under her covers and sat on the edge of her bed. “What are you staring at?” she snapped at her pet white rat, Cuddles, that sat looking at her from its cage in the corner. “You don’t have to get up!”
Amber’s five-year-old brother, Arnie, knocked, then skipped into her room, his shoes untied.
“What do you want?” she snarled at him.
“I want to get out of here,” Arnie said, deciding not to ask her for a favor, after all. He hurried down the hall back to his own room.
As Amber slowly got her Sunday shoes from her closet, she heard her mother’s voice calling from the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready, everyone. We have to hurry, or we’ll be late for church.” Then she added, “Don’t forget to wear your warmest coats and put on your best singing voices.”
“I’ll wear my warmest coat, that’s for sure,” Amber grumbled, “but nobody can make me sing! I don’t feel like singing any more than I feel like getting out of bed!”
Suddenly Amber heard singing outside her window. It was a bird on the tree limb. Amber stared at it with surprise. “It’s gray and windy and cold out there,” she muttered. “Why is that bird singing such a happy song?”
“Maybe it’s counting its blessings,” came a small voice from behind her. Amber turned and saw Arnie standing a safe distance from her, his shoes still untied. “Mommy says that whenever she’s sad or just wants to feel better, she either counts her blessings or sings a song. Especially about Jesus. Like we do in Primary. And sacrament meeting. She says that she sings when she’s happy too.” Then Arnie added, “Heavenly Father likes singing. A lot. Otherwise why would He put so many birds in the world?” As Arnie turned and started to leave the room, he said, “Maybe you should sing a song, Amber. Maybe you should sing lots of them.”
Alone again in her room, Amber looked at herself in her dresser mirror. The first song that came to her mind was the one about no one liking a frowny face. She looked at the bird in the tree outside her window again. It was still singing. It’s happy, Amber thought. Maybe it’s counting its blessings and praising Heavenly Father too. If birds can sing on gloomy days, she thought as she started toward the kitchen, why can’t I?
Amber was ready for church on time. Well, almost on time. She stopped halfway through brushing her hair just long enough to help Arnie tie his shoelaces. And she sang every Primary song that she could think of all the way to church.

Accepting a rebellious child does not mean that we allow him to use us or to continue in a path that would hurt others. A widowed sister whose teenage son wanted to smoke in her home told him the rule governing their home: “I love you, but in this house gospel standards are upheld.” When her son threatened to leave home, she replied: “You are always welcome here, and you will be loved no matter where you live. But when you are here, the rule of this house remains the same.”

“Why don’t we choose service as our goal?” suggested Kim, her blue eyes sparkling.
“We could do things for older people, little children, our parents, and each other!” added Jeri excitedly.
The rest of the second-year Beehives of the Bountiful 42nd Ward, Bountiful East Stake, chimed in with their ideas and comments about the different kinds of projects we could do. When a talent show was suggested, each of the girls committed herself to performing at least one number. Rehearsals were set for the following week, and the first performance was scheduled for three weeks later at a nursing home for the elderly. When the big night came, the girls were as nervous as if they were performing on Broadway! Their numbers went very well, however, and afterwards they visited with their new friends. The project was truly one of love, and thus it became known as our “Love Program.”
During the coming year we presented the “Love Program” several times—once to a 12-year-old bedridden girl—and in February we had a very special Valentine party for our grandmothers. The girls sent invitations, made special cards, prepared a buffet dinner, decorated the room with streamers and hearts and made candy hearts of dipped chocolate as favors.
Each time the program was given, the girls seemed to enjoy it more. “Before our program, I didn’t know I could write poems,” shared Jeri. “But when I saw others enjoying the poems I had written, it gave me confidence to write more. I even wrote one for my dad.”
“At first I didn’t want to play my guitar,” admitted Marti. “But when everyone else got so excited, I got excited, too. I’m glad I was kind of pushed into doing it.”
Our last performance of the “Love Program” was for the girls’ parents. The Mutual year was ending and we wanted them to know of some of the good accomplished. In addition to this, however, the girls also performed acts of service in other ways throughout the year. At Christmas, our Mutual provided gifts for a family and our class was assigned a two-year-old boy. For several weeks the girls baked cookies, brownies, cakes, and candies to raise money for our “Christmas boy.” When the girls weren’t doing this, they were making surprises for a “secret sister” in our class. What seemed to matter most to them was that they were doing something for someone else.
At the year’s end, Lynnette summed up the feelings of all the girls when she said, “I liked our year of service and I know that I am a better person for helping. I like knowing I can make people a little bit happier.”

Mindy liked to help her mother. After her sisters and brothers left for school, Mindy and Mother made their beds.
First they made Mindy’s bed. They pulled the sheet and blankets back and put the pillow on a chair. Then they billowed the sheet and blankets over the bed.
Mindy patted the places where ripples appeared. And she helped pull the covers tight. She punched and plumped her pillow into a marshmallow shape. Then she plunked it over the folded-down sheet and bedspread.
Quickly Mindy and Mother slid the bedspread over the pillow and ironed any wrinkles flat with their hands.
Then they made Mother and Dad’s bed the way they had made Mindy’s bed. It was so big and bouncy that Mindy wished she could jump on the bed.
One morning just after they had lifted Mindy’s bedcovers into place, Mother hurried into the kitchen to answer the telephone. When she came back, she couldn’t see Mindy. But she did see an enormous mountainy wrinkle in the covers.
“Oh, oh,” said Mother, pretending to be surprised. “I see a great big wrinkle. I’d better smooth it out.” So she patted the wrinkle, and it twitched.
“My, my,” said Mother, “this wrinkle is hard to get out. I’ll have to poke it a little bit.” So she poked the big wrinkle with her finger, and it began to giggle and wriggle.
“Goodness, gracious,” said Mother playfully, “this wrinkle giggles and wriggles. I guess I’ll have to see what’s under the blankets.” So she threw the covers back. There was Mindy, laughing and kicking her legs and flapping her arms in the middle of the bed.
“Oh, Mommy, I fooled you,” laughed Mindy.
“So you were the wrinkle in the blankets!” exclaimed Mother in mock surprise.
“Now, Mommy, I’ll help you make my bed without a single wrinkle,” said Mindy, scrambling out of bed.

Nor is the religious theme of Joseph Smith’s life confined to his own writings; it continues in the writings of those who knew him. Charles Dana wrote that his wife became so ill in Nauvoo that he despaired of her life. In desperation, he “mustered courage to go for Brother Joseph.”
He found the Prophet very busy and concerned over an important document that had been lost. As Joseph left the house with several others to go in search of the missing item, Dana took the opportunity, “as he was passing out of the gate,” to say, “Brother Joseph will you go and administer to my wife?” The hasty answer was, “I cannot!” But, with tears in his eyes, Charles pleaded, “Brother Joseph she is sick nigh unto death; and I do not want to part with her.”
Charles’s description continues:
“He turned his head, saw my face and answered. ‘I will be there presently.’ My heart leaped for joy: I hurried home. … I had not much more than got there before Brother Joseph came. … He asked me. ‘How long has she been so sick?’ He then walked back and forth for some minutes: I began to fear that he considered her past recovery; but he finally went to the fire, warmed his hands, threw his cloak off, went to the bed, laid his hands on her, and while in the midst of his administering to her he seemed to be baffled; the disease, or evil spirit rested upon him; but he overpowered it and pronounced great blessings upon her.29

When I first met Josh, I fell for him—hard. In addition to his blue eyes and charm, he was different from any boy I had ever known. He was also the first boy to tell me I was funny and beautiful, the first boy to make me feel really important, and the first boy I loved.
Because Josh was not a Latter-day Saint and because we were both so young, my parents worried about us. My father was the bishop at the time, and every nightly conversation I had with him felt like a bishop’s interview. “You’re too young to date someone exclusively!” he would tell me. Josh and I weren’t allowed to see each other much outside of school, so we talked for hours on the phone. I could tell him things I’d never been able to tell anyone, and I shared my testimony with him, hoping he’d feel the Spirit and want to accept the gospel.
Josh had taken some of the missionary discussions before, and we talked about religion often, but I could tell he never really cared. I hoped he would join the Church and marry me. When I was a Beehive I placed my name in the cornerstone of the San Diego California Temple, promising to be sealed there, and I wanted Josh to be the one to help me keep that promise.
The stronger my relationship with Josh grew, the more my relationship with my parents deteriorated. Mom and Dad worried about me falling in love with someone who had closed the door to the Church. “He isn’t any more interested in the Church now than he was three months ago, Katie!” they would argue. I knew they were right, but I loved Josh so much I couldn’t admit it.
The day I received my patriarchal blessing I cried when the patriarch promised me: “Katie, in due time you will have the privilege of going to the house of the Lord, there to kneel at the altar of the holy temple to be sealed to your companion for time and all eternity.” As he revealed to me the joy my husband and I would have serving in the Church together and teaching our children about the Savior—things I wanted more than anything—I realized the man he was describing could not be Josh.
Over the next few days I wrestled with my feelings. I desperately wanted the promises of my patriarchal blessing, but I knew I wasn’t living in a way to receive them. In “due time” everything I ever wanted could be mine. All I had to do was be faithful and keep Heavenly Father’s commandments. It seemed so simple! But I discovered it was not.
Within a few weeks of receiving my blessing, I broke up with Josh. To this day, it is the hardest thing I have ever done. We were together so much that I had distanced myself from most of my friends. As a result, after our breakup I spent many school lunch hours alone and miserable, watching him in the distance and feeling sorry for myself. I didn’t believe I could ever love anyone as much as I loved him.
At night I sobbed to my Heavenly Father, asking Him why I had to endure this. Why couldn’t Josh and I just love each other and be happy? Although my choice hadn’t been easy, I knew it would be worth it.
I began school the next day with a resolve to make new friends. My patriarchal blessing directed me to surround myself with people who held the same standards I did, so I got to know the girls in my ward and stake. Those girls soon became my best friends.
After high school, I attended BYU and made some wonderful LDS friends. Chad was one of them. Chad returned from his mission a few weeks before I met him, and we soon became the best of friends. With him I started talking again, sharing my feelings. But our conversations were different. We could talk about our testimonies and beliefs without having a debate because Chad was a member of the Church with a strong testimony. I felt peace and comfort with Chad.
After a year and a half of friendship we began to date, and we were married two years ago in the San Diego California Temple, fulfilling the Beehive promise I had made so long ago. I cried during our sealing, as I did when I received my patriarchal blessing.
This was the man I could have joy serving in the Church with, the one who would help me teach our children about Jesus Christ. Looking back now, my relationship with Josh seems hollow compared to my relationship with Chad. Love isn’t how it appears in books and in the movies. Real love, the kind that lasts, is much deeper.

A friend of ours in South Africa shared how she came to this realization. When Diane was a new convert, she attended a branch outside of Johannesburg. One Sunday, as she sat in the congregation, the layout of the chapel prevented a deacon from seeing her as he passed the sacrament. Diane was disappointed but said nothing. Another member noted the omission and mentioned it to the branch president after the meeting. As Sunday School began, Diane was invited to an empty classroom.
A priesthood holder came in. He knelt, blessed some bread, and handed her a piece. She ate it. He knelt again, blessed some water, and handed her a small cup. She drank it. Diane had two thoughts in rapid succession: “Oh, he [the priesthood holder] did this just for me,” and then, “Oh, He [the Savior] did this just for me.” Through the sacrament, Diane felt Heavenly Father’s love just for her.
Her realization that the Savior’s sacrifice was just for her helped her feel close to Him and fueled an overwhelming desire to keep that feeling in her heart—not just Sunday but every day. She realized that although she sat in a congregation to partake of the sacrament, the covenants she made anew each Sunday were individually hers. The sacrament helped—and continues to help—Diane feel the power of godly love, recognize the Lord’s hand in her life, and draw closer to the Savior.13

When I was a student at BYU, I was required to spend two weeks observing a seventh-grade class at a local junior high. There was one young man in the class who was the embodiment of a teacher’s nightmare. He swore, he cut class, he smoked at lunch, he refused to work, and he was unruly. In short, his reputation as the school troublemaker was well deserved.
During my two-week tour of duty he turned in only one assignment, a short essay titled, “What I Want to Be in Ten Years.” When I picked up the wrinkled, stained, illegible paper, I expected ro read about his dream of leading a motorcycle gang or becoming a gangster. Instead he planned, as far as I could decipher, to be an orthopedic surgeon. How ironic, I thought, that a kid who’s rejected everything needed to meet his goal, would dream of becoming a surgeon. His ignorance prevented him from seeing that he was already choosing a path that would lead to a life very different from that of an orthopedic surgeon.
Successful people are knowledgeable, and although schooling doesn’t equal knowledge, it can be a useful prerequisite. Knowledge can be gained through schooling, experience, study, or a combination of all three. Some people ignore that and fall short of their goals because they are unwilling to learn how to be successful. Ignorance breeds failure.
Another stumbling block to success is lack of discipline. As a coach and as an athlete I’ve watched many young men who were blessed with superior talent fail to become great because they were undisciplined.
A BYU teammate of mine was a running back with tremendous ability. When we were freshmen he was moved up to the varsity team for several games. As a sophomore he became a starter and was named national back of the week for an outstanding performance in an early season game. Unfortunately, as the season continued, he started to get into trouble because he could not follow the team’s training rules.
Eventually he withdrew from the university and, as far as I know, never played another down of football. It was a tragic waste of talent, but undisciplined talent is largely useless.
More subtle than lack of discipline is lack of courage—not courage to face danger but courage to meet challenges. Great people became that way because they accepted challenges and worked to overcome them.
Many students fail to excel because they deprive themselves of academic challenges by enrolling in easy classes. I’m ashamed to admit that for two years I fell into that trap. During my freshman and sophomore years at BYU I was more concerned with finding easy classes than with learning anything. Prior to registration each semester I checked out my prospective professors with the “academic grapevine” to find out who was the easiest. I cheated myself out of many worthwhile experiences by dodging academic challenges.
Don’t you be lulled into the same trap. When everyone else is seeking the easy path, be brave enough to take on the challenging one. You’ll be glad you did.
Once you’ve overcome the blocks to success, you’re ready to develop a systematic approach for success.
First, decide what you want to do, to be, or to have. Examine your goal and make sure it is a realistic and practical one for you. Write it down and remember it.
Next, rank your goal with your priorities. Nothing will be accomplished if it’s not important to you. One reason I’m not an Olympic veteran today is that shot-putting never ranked high enough on my list of priorities. Other things—family, church, career—superseded my Olympic hopes. Before you start your road to success, decide how important the destination is.
Third, consider what the trade-offs are. Tradeoffs are things that must be given up in order to have something else. The adage, “You can’t have your cake and eat it too,” is an application of a trade-off. My Olympic goal wasn’t reached because I wasn’t willing to make the sacrifices required to become a world-class shot-putter. Likewise, if you decide to become a concert pianist, you should realize that you will exchange thousands of leisure hours for hours of practice at the keyboard. Is it worth it?
The fourth step is to plan your progress. Ask yourself, “What will it take to accomplish my goal?” If you want to become an orthopedic surgeon, you must plan now to do what’s necessary to accomplish your ambition. “Fail to plan,” the saying warns, “and plan to fail.”
Finally, when you’ve prepared yourself in every way, you must work, work, and work some more. Success does not generally come as a gift or a blessing; it’s a direct result of preparation and intense, continuous, patient work. There is no way around it.
You were born to succeed. When you do all you can do, the Lord will help you realize your righteous ambitions. Who knows, maybe someday you’ll be a concert pianist, an orthopedic surgeon, or even an Olympic shot-putter.

Throughout his journey, Elder Walker has witnessed many faith-building experiences that have deepened his testimony of the gospel. One such experience with a humble family in Tonga profoundly strengthened his faith in the power of sacrifice and obedience to the promptings of the Holy Spirit.
Elder Walker was on assignment in Tonga when he met a couple whose lives exemplified faith and devotion. This couple was known for their unwavering obedience to the Lord, consistently prioritizing His work, even at the expense of their own health and personal needs.
As he got to know them, Elder Walker learned that the husband suffered from a heart condition that required surgery, an operation that would cost $24,000 and needed to be performed in Australia. The couple could not afford the procedure or the travel expenses, but thankfully, a family member in Australia offered financial help.
Soon after arriving in Australia for the surgery, however, the man felt a strong prompting to return home, even before the operation. Trusting this spiritual impression, he returned to Tonga, where he was soon called as the stake president. His sense of duty replaced any consideration for his own wellbeing, and he postponed addressing his health concerns to focus on serving the members of his stake.
Elder Walker counselled with the couple, urging them to prioritize the husband’s health so that the Lord could continue to bless him and use him to care for his family and his stake. Shortly after, the man was able to receive financial assistance and returned to Australia for health tests and medical advice.
Following some of these tests, Elder Walker received an intriguing message from a family member in Australia. The family member reported that during one scan, the technician noticed something unusual—something resembling a metal stent appeared exactly where the pain originated. When asked if the husband had undergone any surgery before, the family member assured the technician that he had not.
This unexpected finding was a sign of divine intervention, a miracle that allowed the husband to continue his service without needing the costly operation.
This experience left a lasting impression on Elder Walker, strengthening his testimony of the miracles that occur when we exercise faith and obey the promptings of the Holy Ghost. The humble couple’s willingness to sacrifice and trust in the Lord exemplifies the truth in 2 Nephi 27:23: “For behold, I am God; and I am a God of miracles; and I will show unto the world that I am the same yesterday, today, and forever; and I work not among the children of men save it be according to their faith.”

About a month ago I was sent by the First Presidency to hold a series of Church conferences in South America. Frankly, I didn’t know quite what to expect of that land. I had thought of South America as a rather primitive jungle area. I expected the people to be a little backward, perhaps in need of education and training in the ways of modern civilization. When I saw those countries and their people, I couldn’t have been more astonished.
I saw great cities there with ultra-modern, high-rise buildings and modern conveniences on every side. Traffic was as heavy as in our great cities in North America. They were building apartment houses, offices, subways, roads, and factories with feverish haste to try to meet the needs of an expanding economy.
Frankly, I fell in love with the people of South America. When I first went there I knew no one, but I was received with such warmth and hospitality that when I left a few weeks later I found myself with many new and choice friends, giving them a brotherly abrazo or hug of affection as we parted.

On another occasion we were returning from area conferences in Europe, and we had a rather extended layover in New York City. Although tired and weary from his rigorous schedule, President Kimball eagerly visited with six missionaries who were en route to the Germany Munich Mission. He inquired about their families, their personal feelings about serving on missions, and then he charged them to be the best missionaries in their mission. He encouraged them to be diligent and faithful and promised that success would accompany such efforts. The missionaries left feeling uplifted in spirit and determined to serve valiantly. President Kimball edifies and inspires others.

A human drama illustrating the bond between the teacher and the young women in her class has been an inspiration to me, as I know it will be to you. It is the account of a first-year Beehive in Young Women. I share it with you, using her own words:
“One day, a few months before my 12th birthday, I noticed a note card on the dresser of the room I shared with my older sister. It read, ‘I’m happy to be your teacher and hope that we have a great year in Mutual.’ It was signed ‘Baur Dee.’
“I soon learned that all of the girls loved Baur Dee. They visited her at home, wanted to sit with her in church, and stayed after Mutual each Wednesday to talk with her.
“Looking back so many years, I am amazed that I still have such a vivid memory of my earliest real meeting with Baur Dee. That first night, as I walked in the front door of our ward building to attend Mutual, she stood waiting to greet me. I noticed for the first time the smile which always transformed her appearance from average to beautiful. ‘Welcome,’ she said to me. ‘I’m so glad you’re in my class. We’re going to have a great time!’ There was no adjustment period for me from Primary to Mutual. I felt right at home from that moment.
“Over the next few weeks, I joined the other girls as one of Baur Dee’s fans. At the time, I didn’t try to figure out her popularity. So many years later, though, I believe I understand. She really, truly cared about each one of us, and we knew it.
“Baur Dee suffered from a disease called nephritis—a disease which not too many years later would be treated with dialysis and often cured with a kidney transplant. But for Baur Dee there was no cure, no miracle. She passed away peacefully. She was 27 years old.
“After the funeral services, as we girls stood somberly around the open grave at the cemetery, we made a vow that we would visit Baur Dee’s final resting place together every Memorial Day throughout our lives and that we would never, ever allow her memory to die.”
Forty years have gone by since Baur Dee, this teacher of girls, passed away—yet the pledge lives on. One of her girls has said: “Wherever I go, whatever I do, something of Baur Dee goes with me and with each of her ‘girls.’ She lives on in us and in those with whom we have shared her lessons.” As Henry Brooks Adams observed, “A teacher affects eternity; [she] can never tell where [her] influence stops.”

A mother overheard her son, four, tell his brother, six, “I don’t believe in Jesus.” The brother responded, “You have really hurt my feelings.” Sensing a need, the mother reinforced the younger boy’s understanding of the Savior. She placed a picture of the Redeemer in his room and continued to teach all of her children more about the Master. Sometime later, the younger son commented, “Mom, you’re my best friend—next to Jesus.”