Gospel Story Finder

My parents experienced a similar “nevertheless” situation in 1975 when Zion’s Securities, HRI’s predecessor organization, decided to grant long-term leases on property in Laie to senior faculty members to build homes. There were several requirements, one of which was that construction had to begin within the year. My parents had $3,000 in the bank, no credit, no collateral, and no construction experience. Many in the community counseled them not to try to build a home. One seasoned contractor even told my parents that they should give up the lot to someone else who had the money and knowledge to build a home. Faced with valid and daunting reasons why it made no sense to embark on this house building project, they were fortified by a very powerful feeling that building a home would be a great blessing to our family, now and in the future, and not just because of the financial security it would provide.

So despite those valid objections, they shouted “nevertheless” and moved forward. They borrowed enough money from family members to get the walls and roof up and financed the remaining work with a series of home improvement loans. They gratefully accepted the help of over one hundred members of the community who volunteered their time to assist in the construction. Soon, the home was finished, and we celebrated with a large lu‘au.

My mom wrote 100 thank you notes. The April Fool’s Edition of the Ke Alaka‘i jokingly awarded our house the “Carthage Jail Memorial award for the most historically remarkable contribution to community architecture.” After my dad retired from BYU–Hawaii, we purchased the house and now live in the home that faith built. I can testify that our house has been and will continue to be a great blessing to all our family, for within its walls, we found faith, testimony, love, acceptance, and peace.

In 2016, one of our distant relatives invited us to visit The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My husband and son attended church, where the missionaries taught them about the restored gospel. They were baptized, and later my youngest daughter and I also accepted the gospel and were baptized. We moved from our old house into a better home, which was filled with peace and the love of God. In 2019, my husband passed away at the early age of 42. I was heartbroken and felt helpless. I worried about how I would raise our children without him, as he had been the only earning member of our family. I was a homemaker and did not know Hindi (local Language) well enough to communicate confidently, which made the situation even more difficult.
However, I knew that God had not abandoned me. I placed my faith in Him, obeyed His commandments, and faced these challenges without losing hope. I found work in a women’s sewing company, and three years later, I became a union leader, helping and empowering other women. My children completed their education and began living stable, independent lives. Our home became filled with peace and happiness. I truly felt the love of our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I came to understand God’s Plan of Happiness, that families can be reunited after this life and remain together forever. I have faith that I will reunite with my husband again, and I know that Jesus Christ has made this possible.
As I strengthened my relationship with God, I learned that He wants His children to grow and learn through trials. These experiences help strengthen our faith in Jesus Christ as we obey His commandments and live the gospel. As I did so, I felt myself drawing closer to God. Looking back, I see that it was God’s plan to bring me from a small village to this place and into the restored gospel. I am deeply grateful that my son served a mission and returned home honorably, and that my daughter is currently serving a mission.

The jaded, blank-faced crowd congesting the Las Vegas strip paid little attention to the boy behind the wheel of the shiny Corvette. “Just another kid out cruising in his father’s car,” thought anyone who happened to glance his way.
But that was all right with 18-year-old Jack Farley, because he didn’t care much for the crowd, either. He had other things on his mind. He’d started working at age 14, and four years later he’d become sort of a bubble gum baron, controlling his own vending business. He’d paid for the Corvette himself and he’d driven it from the California coast to the desert resort town for an exciting weekend.
Yet something was bothering him. Something wasn’t quite right. His mind kept reverting back to what those Mormons were teaching him in the Sunday School class he’d started attending—things like service to others and eternal families. He’d be missing that church Sunday. Or maybe he wouldn’t—what was he doing here anyway? If he turned around now, he could easily make it back by morning.
The decision to drive back to his home in Mission Viejo, California, was one of the most important choices Jack ever made. Although he’d fought and won many battles in his life, the choice to go home for church led to what he considers the ultimate victory of his life so far. “I’m real thankful for the Church,” he says, “real thankful. I can’t even dream of where I’d be without it. Outside the Church, it’s like you fall into a river and it carries you wherever it goes. In the Church, you have control.”
Jack had been battling strong currents in that river for a long time. He began one major battle clear back in the third grade. Although it was obvious that he was a bright child, he couldn’t keep up with the other kids in school. “I was diagnosed as having dyslexia,” Jack explained. “That’s a reading disability where your letters sometimes appear to be jumbled up a bit. Sometimes Ds look like Ps and stuff like that. You can still read; it just takes a bit longer.”
It took Jack a lot longer. He was placed in special classes and got a lot of help from specially trained teachers, but he never quite caught up. “The gap between me and the other kids just kept getting wider and wider,” he said. “At times, when the teacher would call on me to read out loud to a class of about 30 kids, it was embarrassing when I couldn’t even sound out the word the.”
But if Jack had trouble reading, there was one thing he excelled in, and that was work. Hard work. At 14 he got a job in a print shop, sweeping and doing various other cleanup chores. After that, choosing to work diligently became easy.
Work provided the reinforcement Jack wasn’t getting in the classroom. “I was behind all my friends at school, but I was doing really well at work, and I started learning about business,” he said. He decided to try his hand at entrepreneurship. With a little training and a lot of inspiration from a concerned teacher at his high school, Jack started a vending business.
“My main thing is gumball machines,” he explains. “I have about 100 in stores—mom-and-pop type stores, where I had to get permission from the owners to put them in. I also have a few pop machines, but I like gumball machines better. It just comes down to how much time you spend on getting new locations as to how much money you make.”
And Jack did make money. Lots of it. He met his material goals of buying his own sports car and just about anything else he wanted. He joined a special school/work program, where he could incorporate his business with his studies. Before he knew it, he had graduated from high school and was out on his own. “I should be happy now,” he thought. But he wasn’t.
“There had to be more. All I had faith in was money, and that had nothing to do with happiness at all,” he said. That realization started his search for the truth. He thought it might be a good idea to thank Heavenly Father for all the blessings he’d been given, so he went to pray in the only nearby church he knew of—San Juan Capistrano, the famous Catholic Mission, built centuries ago. It seemed logical that the Lord would hear his prayers from such a place.
The Lord did. In response, he sent a messenger to Jack’s door. But it wasn’t the type in a suit, white shirt, and tie. It was Randy Smith, an insulation salesman and a recent convert with a lot of enthusiasm. He started talking to Jack about insulation, and somehow the subject got around to the gospel. It didn’t take Randy long to invite Jack out to the missionary prep class that his brother Tom taught.
“But I didn’t join right off,” Jack said. “I kind of sat back and doubted for a while, but I wish I hadn’t.” His Las Vegas excursion helped him appreciate the truths they were teaching him. “I looked around at the people there and thought ‘Lots of these people have money, but they’re still looking for something to make them happy,’” Jack said. Maybe he really could find what he was looking for in the Church.
He’d previously been attending Sunday School with a lackadaisical attitude, but now he decided to take the gospel seriously and learn some more. He began the missionary lessons and discovered that it would take the gospel to make him happy—happier than banking billions from bubble gum ever could. “Once the missionaries started teaching me, it only took about a month and a half before I was baptized,” he said.
Jack’s choices didn’t end when he joined the Church, though. Other decisions were in store. “I decided to go on a mission right after I decided to get serious about the gospel,” Jack said. “I thought, if it’s true, it’s all true, and of course you want to tell other people about it. It would be wrong not to go.”
But what about his business, and what about his car? “I sold the Corvette,” Jack says, with a surprising lack of remorse. “The insurance was costing me a fortune anyway.” The bubble gum business is still booming, however. His mother will manage it while he’s in the mission field, and the profits will help keep him afloat financially.
Jack feels he is well prepared for the mission field, but when his call came, he was stunned. He will be serving in the Japan Nagoya Mission. He was surprised that with his reading disability, he would be called to learn such a difficult language as Japanese.
“I was confident I would go to an English-speaking mission,” he said. “When I went to take the language aptitude test, I asked the girl who administered it which were the hardest languages, and she said both Chinese and Japanese were challenging. I thought, good—at least I won’t have to worry about them. Then when I got my mission call, I was surprised.”
But Jack doesn’t worry about the battle with the language. “When you’re doing the work of the Lord, he’s going to help you out. When I first got a Book of Mormon, I found it really hard to read, but since I started reading the scriptures, my reading has improved, and it’s the first time I can really see that improvement.”
Jack pulls out the scriptures, and reads, out loud, his favorite: Alma 32:28. It talks about the faith he needs to serve, and the faith the people need to receive his message: “Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.”
As Jack reads that scripture, you notice that he reads clearly and precisely; he doesn’t stumble over a word.
Hey Jack—did you know you just read that scripture perfectly?
“I did? Wow, well thank you. I guess I’m getting a lot of help.”
The same Spirit that helped Jack choose to head home from Las Vegas is still helping him now. And it will continue to help him as he teaches the Japanese.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, Elder Farley has completed training in the MTC. He is now serving in the Japan Nagoya Mission.

I grew up in a dry country. It seemed to me that hardly ever was there enough rain to spread over the crop-growing period to carry us through the season—not enough water to distribute between the many hungry canals and the tens of thousands of thirsty acres, not enough to irrigate all the crops.

We learned to pray for rain—we always prayed for rain.

When I was still very small, I knew that plants could not survive in dry country more than about two or three weeks without water. I knew how to harness up the old mare to a lizard (a forked log on which a barrel was placed) and I drove the animal to the “big ditch,” the Union Canal, which was a block below our home. With a bucket I scooped up water from the small stream or the puddles and filled the barrel, and the horse dragged it back so I could pour bucketsful of precious liquid on the roses, the violets, and other flowers, and the small shrubs and hedges and new trees. Water was like liquid gold, so reservoirs became the warp and woof of the fabric of my life.

Alden Maynes was a copilot on a B-17 bomber. He had completed 25 successful missions over Germany when his luck ran out. The crew had just released six bombs over Berlin when the tail of the airplane was shot away, throwing the plane into a barrel roll. As Brother Maynes tried to make his way to the escape hatch, his parachute caught on something and was pulled open. He attempted to close it without success and was forced to bail anyway. At 27,000 feet without oxygen, he lost consciousness as he fell through the air. When he came to, he was still falling and the war was going on around him. Planes were still dropping bombs and antiaircraft guns were still being fired. Falling toward a mass of fire and destruction, with his parachute trailing unopened above him, he gyrated in 25 foot circles. He tried to draw it down in hopes he could force it open, but the effort proved impossible. At this point, he talked to the God and told him that he had done all that he could do and that it was now in God's hands. Alden Maynes submitted completely trusted in the will of the Lord. Immediately a calm and peaceful feeling settled over him and he knew that whatever happened would be all right.
As he continued to fall, he drifted away from the bombed area. As he fell past a six-story building, his chute caught hold of the roof, holding him briefly and then tore loose. Barely missing the building, his parachute caught again, this time on a street lamp--saving his life, suspending him feet three feet above the sidewalk. Though he was taken prisoner, in his heart knew that God had spared his life. God did more for Alden Maynes than he ever could have done for himself.

Sharing sorrow is what has strengthened Lee Hing Chung and his wife, Kumviengkumpoonsup. Six years ago, he lost an arm in an industrial accident. Sick and unemployed, he became despondent. Support from his wife, children, and other members pulled him through.
Today hope shines in his eyes as he speaks of the present and the future, including being sealed to his wife and children in the Hong Kong Temple. “Before we joined the Church, I was primarily concerned with making money,” he says. “Now I have different priorities. There are many people out there who have lots of money, but they don’t have love. We have found that.
“Many people at church are the only members in their families,” he continues. “When I attend church on Sunday with my family, I am so grateful that we are together and that we can be together forever.”
As he speaks, he gestures toward a picture of the Hong Kong Temple hanging prominently on a wall. “One day I was reading the scriptures and looked up,” he relates. “The first thing I saw was that picture, and I experienced such a strong, peaceful feeling from the Holy Ghost. We pray every night that we can be together as a family. The presence of the temple reminds me to be good, to be disciplined, to be worthy.”
Although still unemployed, Brother Lee is at peace with his circumstances. “There are challenges in life, certainly,” he acknowledges. “But I have faith in Jesus Christ. We will be all right.”
In addition to preparing for the temple, the Lee family has been busy doing missionary work. One neighbor family has already joined the Church through the family’s missionary efforts, and a second family is investigating. “The parents told us they were impressed with our children and asked why they were different,” Sister Lee explains. “They said the children were respectful, obedient, and cooperative with each other. We told them it was simply the Church.”

To illustrate this I would like to tell you of a struggle one family, who is dear to me, has experienced. This family has chosen to seek the light rather than let the darkness and evil of the world overcome their hearts.

Eric a senior at the local high school loved music. He played the piano, guitar and the cello. His home was often filled with the sound of him playing one of these instruments. He gave of himself to others with kind words and helping hands. He shared the talents and light that he had with everyone. Every day when he came home and before he went to bed, he would tell his mother he loved her. One spring day, Eric and his sister came home from school for lunch and interrupted a burglary in progress. Eric was shot and killed.

When the family was finally able to return to their home after this tragic event, some of the family members were reluctant to use the room where his death had occurred. Eric's mother told the family, "We can either think of this as the spot where Eric was shot, or we can think of this as holy ground, and we are going to think of it as holy ground."

Since that day, the family has remembered the lives Eric saved through his organ donation. They have celebrated Eric's love of music by awarding an annual music scholarship at his former high school. This past month over fifty family members and friends just finished participating in the 19th Annual Victory Over Violence Walk/Run with all proceeds being given to anti-violence programs in the community.

I quote from an address given by Eric's mother in Sacrament meeting on Easter 2013:

"Three years ago I stood at this podium and spoke to the ward. As I was speaking, I remember looking over and seeing my son Eric and his father sitting at the sacrament table. For some reason, that really touched me. In fact, I believe it was the only time they blessed the sacrament together. I remember thinking how lucky I was to be part of such a wonderful family. The following day, my daughter and Eric went home for lunch. Intruders were in our home. Luckily, my daughter escaped, but Eric did not."

This good mother continued by quoting from her favorite hymn, "I Know That My Redeemer Lives."

"'He lives to silence all my fears.'He lives to wipe away my tears.'He lives to calm my troubled heart.'He lives all blessings to impart.'[15]

"In my hour of deepest sorrow, I found peace from the words of the angel that first Easter morning: 'He is not here: for he is risen.'[16] Without this knowledge of the resurrection and without the knowledge that we can be reunited in the next life, I could not have born the loss.

"I know that my Redeemer lives. As President Monson said, 'This is the knowledge that sustains. This is the truth that comforts. This is the assurance that guides those who are bowed down with grief—out of the shadows and into the light.'"[17]

When my dad was young, Grandpa taught his family to memorize songs while they drove on long road trips. Grandpa’s favorite hymn was “I Stand All Amazed.”
That would be the opening hymn the wintry day my family filed into the funeral chapel behind Grandpa’s casket. Unlike my dad’s family, I have a hard time singing. I don’t memorize lyrics easily, and if I can’t read the notes, my weak alto voice struggles to stay on key.
I took my seat behind the podium because I would be giving the eulogy after the hymn and prayer. As the music began, I looked around, dismayed to realize there were no hymnbooks nearby. I wouldn’t be able to sing Grandpa’s favorite song as we honored him. This small setback seemed to add to my loss, and I worried I might get too emotional to speak.
Timidly I sang the first phrase, certain I couldn’t remember the rest: “I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me.” Then the words and notes started flowing into my mind. I sang all three verses without stumbling or going off-key. As the hymn concluded, I felt the Savior’s love—and my Grandpa’s. I delivered Grandpa’s eulogy, calmed by the Spirit and grateful for the gift I’d just been given.
Though I’ve needed a hymnbook to sing “I Stand All Amazed” ever since, I’m always grateful when I can sing it. My grandpa’s favorite hymn reminds me of the love existing for us beyond the veil.

Nearly 30 years ago I desired to attend a general conference of the Church and drove 14 hours to be in Salt Lake City for the conference. I entered Temple Square at 8:00 A.M., where the line outside door number 10 was all the way across Temple Square and halfway down the south side of the Assembly Hall. I was nearly 300 feet from my goal. The usher called out that the Tabernacle was full. People dropped out of line, and I inched forward.
At five minutes before 10:00 I was the only person standing in front of my chosen door. The door opened, and the usher said, “Are you still here?” He closed the door, and my heart sank. As the choir began to sing the opening hymn at 10:00 sharp, the door opened one more time, and the usher beckoned me inside. He placed me on half a seat and behind a post, but a welcome seat it was! I was able to sustain the Lord’s chosen leaders and hear their counsel that special day.

On Church assignment in Hawaii, Sister Wirthlin and I visited the island of Molokai. As we walked back to our car after laboring up a trail in the mountains, we came upon a young man headed toward the overlook. I offered a polite greeting. From his answer, I could tell he was from Germany.
His countenance bespoke a sincere heart and an approachable personality. I spoke his language and understood his culture, having served a German-speaking mission. The Spirit prompted me to introduce the gospel to him. However, due to other people around us, our brief encounter was interrupted without my having said a word about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I failed to be the missionary that every member of the Savior’s Church ought to be.
As we drove away, I had the disturbing feeling that I had failed in my duty to proclaim the gospel. I was troubled while we drove around the island to see Molokai’s beautiful waterfalls. As we got out of our car, another car drove up and stopped. The young man we had seen earlier stepped out, smiled, and gave me a warm handshake. As I grasped his outstretched hand, I thought to myself, This time I will do my duty.
We introduced ourselves and I learned he was a university student in a small city south of Dusseldorf, Germany. We spoke of my fond memories of Germany, and of my admiration for the German people. Speaking of my work in Europe gave me an ideal opportunity to explain some of the basics of the gospel. As we parted, I asked for his address and telephone number, which he gladly shared. I felt he was truly a newfound friend.
Upon my return to Salt Lake City, I wrote to the Germany-Dusseldorf Mission and asked President John F. Charles to send missionaries to continue the gospel discussion. I don’t believe my wife and I met this young man twice by coincidence.
But the Lord doesn’t always give us a second chance to share the gospel. I failed to follow the Spirit the first time the still, small voice unmistakably spoke to my heart and mind.
We must act when the Spirit speaks. When I did, the young man responded positively to my message. It wasn’t really my message. It was God’s, brought to my mind by the Spirit of the Lord. I was but an instrument in the Lord’s hands.

A few years ago, a returned missionary who served in one of the Mexican missions shared with me a classic experience that illustrates the “diligence” principle in the acquisition of faith and sacred knowledge. I had conducted the stake president’s interview before his mission and sent his papers to Church headquarters. I remember that interview with him. He was 6 foot 5 inches tall and 255 pounds. He was one of the first two young men recruited from my children’s high school to play football at Brigham Young University. He was a fine young man, clean-cut and worthy in every way. I remember being impressed with his potential. I could tell from the answers he gave to the questions I asked that he was honest, but there was one crack in his armor. I knew that his testimony was based on the faith of others rather than on his own witness. However, he related the following story to me during his release interview at the end of his mission.

As his mission began, Elder Stone worked energetically with his companion. Frequently he was called upon to give the first lesson. In the lesson it was necessary for him to tell the investigators about the appearance of the Father and the Son to the boy Joseph in the Sacred Grove and then bear witness of its truthfulness. After bearing testimony a number of times, his conscience began to bother him. Although he believed the story, he did not know that it actually happened. He had not been there, nor had he received his own witness. How could he tell others that the First Vision really happened? As doubts began to multiply and replace his belief and as the pains of conscience increased, he told his companion that he could no longer be a missionary. He was going home. He could not serve as a witness to something he did not know. His companion responded, “Elder Stone, why don’t you follow the counsel given the investigators? You need to study and pray more diligently. Put Moroni’s promise to the test. Exercise your faith, and you will receive an answer. Stay with me for a few more weeks.”

Elder Stone agreed to stay and put Moroni’s promise to the test. A few weeks passed, the missionary worked harder, prayed more often, was more attentive in his reading, but no witness came. Finally, during an interview with the mission president, Elder Stone expressed his frustrations and indicated his desire to return home. He could not continue. A wise mission president counseled, “Elder, do not give up! You have a desire to believe. If you continue faithful in your calling for a few more weeks, the Lord will answer your prayers. I promise you!”

Elder Stone agreed to return to his proselyting area for a few more weeks. Again, days and then weeks passed with no change in his feelings. It was difficult. One morning as they were knocking on doors, a woman answered and invited them to return when her husband and children would be home. As they left the small house, Elder Stone said to his companion, “I’m not giving the lesson!”

His companion responded, “Elder, I’ll give the first portion of the discussion, but I want you to tell the Joseph Smith story.”

Finally Elder Stone agreed, even though that was the part that bothered him. From the time they left the woman’s house until they returned a day or two later, the missionary used every spare minute to read and pray. He wanted a witness before entering the home. But when the appointed hour came, he still had not received a witness. He had read diligently, he had prayed almost continuously, but there were no special feelings. How could he bear witness when he did not know?

The father answered the door and ushered the missionaries inside. There on a dirt floor sat nine children, and the father and mother took their places behind them. Elder Stone reported that the size of the home was not much larger than his bedroom in Utah. The humble circumstances only added to his discomfort. The senior companion began the lesson, telling the family that there is a God, that we are his children, and that he loves us. He then explained the mission of the Savior, how God sent his Son to earth to atone for our sins and to make possible our return to our heavenly home. He explained the role of prophets and bore witness that God works through prophets today. He then turned the lesson over to Elder Stone.

My missionary friend began the story of the 14-year-old Joseph. He told the family about the religious confusion that existed in Palmyra in the 1820s, how Joseph listened to the various ministers proclaiming different versions of Christianity. He told them about Joseph’s experience in reading James 1:5, where James states unequivocally: “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.”

The missionary related the impact that the passage had on Joseph—that it struck him with more power than had any other scripture, and that this caused him to reflect on it again and again. Finally, Joseph decided to put James to the test. He selected a grove of trees near his father’s farm and went there on a beautiful spring day to pray. Being alone, he knelt down and offered up the feelings of his heart. The elder told the family how a dark power came over Joseph, almost choking the life out of the young boy. Exerting all of his powers, Joseph continued to pray, and then, suddenly, a pillar of light descended out of the heavens directly above him. The darkness was dispelled, and in the midst of the light were two personages. One called Joseph by name and, pointing to the other, said: “This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!” (See JS—H 1:1–17.)

At this point in the story, Elder Stone said that a warm feeling began to stir his soul—one he had never felt before. The warmth was deep inside and soon enveloped him. Tears welled up in his eyes. His throat became full, and he could hardly speak. He was embarrassed and ducked his head until he could regain his composure. When he looked up, he noticed tears in the eyes of the parents and the children. They were experiencing the same feelings and warmth of Spirit that he was feeling. He finished the lesson with a conviction born of a spiritual witness that Joseph Smith saw the Father and the Son. Elder Stone’s testimony had shifted from one of belief to a knowledge of the First Vision. As Elder Stone finished sharing his experience with me, he said: “President, I know that Joseph saw the Father and the Son. I did not have a problem in the mission field after that experience. I have my own witness.”

As I listened to the story’s conclusion, I thought how efficient God is: he got 12 birds with one Stone! The parents, the nine children, and a missionary were all touched by the Holy Ghost, and a desire to believe was transformed into knowledge. More than that, God is efficient in another way. If a person has a witness of the Father and Son’s visit to young Joseph, he or she has a foundation for believing and accepting other gospel principles. The Word of Wisdom, tithing, the law of chastity, and all other principles revealed through the Prophet Joseph Smith are true. Once one feels the good seed growing and swelling inside, one has a small amount of knowledge that forms the basis for further growth.

Whenever I think of the temple and personal worthiness, I reflect upon an experience a few years ago, when my wife and I attended an afternoon session in the Salt Lake Temple. The company was small, consisting of no more than a dozen men and a dozen women. I scanned the group, casually noting that all were strangers to me except my wife. We were instructed in the first room and then moved to the next. As we took our seats in the second room, there was a slight commotion. I looked about to see what was wrong. In doing so, I saw a woman leave the room. All of us assumed that she was ill or had perhaps forgotten a piece of clothing. The interruption was brief and the instruction resumed. It was a refreshing temple experience for us, and we returned home rejoicing.
The next day I received a very unusual telephone call. My secretary came to my office door and said, “A woman wants to speak with you, but she won’t give me her name.”
I picked up the phone and announced myself. The caller promptly asked, “Elder Asay, what do you know about me?”
“How can I answer your question,” I responded, “when you haven’t even given me your name?”
She continued, “You were in the three o’clock temple session yesterday, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” I answered, “I was there.”
She said, “Do you remember someone walking out of the second room?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“I am the one who walked out of the temple yesterday. Elder Asay, what do you know about me?”
At this point the conversation was becoming a bit tedious, and I said, “Please don’t play games with me. Unless you tell me who you are, how can I respond to your query?”
Almost totally ignoring what I said, the woman confessed: “I left the temple room yesterday before the instruction began. I did so because you looked at me with a searching look, and you made me feel as though I was unworthy to be there.” Once again, she asked, “What do you know about me?”
I said: “Well, if you attended the temple worthily yesterday, I apologize for how I may have looked at you and for how I may have made you feel. However, if you were there unworthily, I make no apology.”
There was a long silence and then soft sobbing over the telephone. Finally, the woman confessed: “I have committed a serious sin, and I attended the temple yesterday under false pretenses. However,” she added, “I visited my bishop last night, and I will follow his counsel and advice.”
It is most significant that the woman judged herself through my eyes in the house of the Lord. She verified in part the truth that “no unclean thing can dwell with God” or abide his holy presence (1 Ne. 10:21), for “the piercing eye of the Almighty God: sees all” (Jacob 2:10).

When I had just turned deacon age, my family moved from our home in Wyoming to a new home in Great Falls, Montana. My father, older brother, and younger sister climbed into our pickup truck and led the way. They were towing a large red trailer we had borrowed for the move. The rest of the family, with Mom at the wheel, climbed into the family van.
We had crossed the state line into Montana when the driver of a car in front of the truck suddenly stepped on his brakes. My father braked to avoid hitting the car and the trailer jackknifed. The weight of the trailer then caused the pickup truck to whip back and forth across the road. The force of the motion caused everything to shift, and the trailer’s back doors flew off. The trailer’s contents then spilled out onto the highway.
Luckily my father was able to bring the pickup under control without further incident. A crowd of at least 20 people, including my family, climbed out of their cars to help clear our things off the highway.
Suddenly, in the middle of the mess and confusion, I heard my father shout. A large truck was going too fast to stop. There was no room for him to go around and no time to slam on the brakes. The truck barreled through the debris and into the small crowd of people. Nearly everyone moved when they heard my dad’s cry, but seven-year-old Charlie hadn’t heard. Steven, who was about to turn ten, had started to move out of the way. But when he saw Charlie in the truck’s path, he turned back to save his brother’s life.
Charlie was killed instantly. Steven was hit by the truck and thrown to the side of the road. He died two hours later in a Billings, Montana, hospital. Steven literally gave his own life trying to save his brother’s. His example made me think how lucky I was to have a brother who loved others so much that he was willing to give his life to save them.

Now, I get pretty tender on this point. I served as a lonely soldier in a great conflict some years ago. I just think somehow you and I and your children have got to get the lump back in the throat when we see the flag, when we hear our national anthem, when we read about our history and review the great contributions of this country and its preparation by the Lord himself. I mentioned this briefly in my conference talk last week. The situation is still very forcefully upon my mind. I recall helping to shoot a lock off a concentration camp on an island in the Pacific. Because we are in devotional and have ladies present I won’t attempt to describe the filth and the misery, the pain and the muck I saw there. Three thousand people had been incarcerated for over three years. Over thirty babies had been born that year alone—all with terrible malnutrition and disease. As I was helping to evacuate these natives back to a safe part of the beach where medical aid and comfort could be given, I was interrupted by a thump on my boot. I looked down, and wallowing in the mud was a human being. I later learned he was a sixty-seven-year-old Protestant minister who had been trapped on the island during the invasion. He was 6?1? and weighed 85 pounds. We got him on a stretcher and cleaned the mud off his face, and I asked what I could do to help. As we were preparing for evacuation (I’ll never forget this lesson in American history), he said, “Soldier, do you have a flag?”

I said, “I don’t have one on me, but I can secure one.” We secured one from a local jeep, I handed it to him, and he held it on his bosom and welled up with tears. He said to me (I was nineteen years old at the time), “Thank God you came.” I have often thought, as I looked through my daughter’s history book, “Where is that kind of feeling—that ‘Thank God you came’?” I saw one battle in which I took part described in a U.S. history book for eleventh grade, and it gave us two lines. That kind of hurts my feelings—not because I was so important out there, but I saw the price that some of my buddies paid for those two lines in your history book. I hope you have the sense to instill in your youth, your children, the desire for patriotism in defense of this country and love of God with it, because it’s important. I think your precept here will be important, and how you do it and the way you do it will make the difference in the outcome of this great nation of ours.

My wife likes to tell the story of a friend of hers who, when she was a little girl, was left an orphan. She scarcely knew her mother. As she grew, she wondered about her mother. What kind of a girl, what kind of a woman was she?

One day she came across her mother’s old report card. The teacher had noted on that card, “This student is excellent in every way.”

When she read that, her entire life changed. She recognized that her mother was a woman of excellence. Her whole attitude changed. She took on the patina of excellence herself and became a remarkable woman in her own right. She married a man who is recognized in all of these communities, and their children have distinguished themselves for their excellence.

When Panda Greene tried out for the girls’ one-mile run, she didn’t think she had a chance. She’d been running all her life, but never in formal competition. It had always been just for fun. The students and teachers at Andrews School had been buzzing about the race ever since she enrolled there in the sixth grade three months ago, and she knew that the very best runners would be competing. She could hardly believe it when she finished well ahead of her classmates. And when everyone at school suddenly knew who she was, and even the teachers stopped to chat with her in the halls, she couldn’t help but be pleased.
“Go, Panda! Go! Go!” the students cheered as she crossed the finish line ahead of the other runners during practices.
Andrews School’s biggest rival was Washington School. Every year for the past five years the winner of their track meet had finally been determined by the winner of the two-mile race, and each time, Washington had walked away with the trophy. But enthusiasm was running high at Andrews this year. And their hopes were set on Panda. Winning had never seemed important to Panda before, but now she wanted very much to win—not for herself, but for her classmates, for her teachers, for Andrews School!
When Panda’s parents heard about the track meet, they were just as excited as she was.
“We’ll be sure to be there,” her mother said, giving her a big hug. “We’re so proud of you!”
“When Grandpa Greene hears about it,” her father added, “I’ll expect he’ll make a special visit just to see you run.”
Billy, Panda’s eight-year-old brother, looked at her through squinted eyes. “Well, I hope you win, but I saw Washington’s team last Saturday. Their runner looks tough, and she runs like a cougar.”
Billy’s warning only increased Panda’s determination to win. Every afternoon, right after school, she hurried to the track at the neighboring high school and practiced running until her brown hair was damp with perspiration and the muscles of her legs cried out for rest.
Panda felt good the morning of the race. She stood at the top of the grandstand in the warm sun and looked down at the track. “You’d better go sit with Mom and Dad and Grandpa, now,” she said to Billy, who had been following after her all morning. “I have to go to the girls’ locker room and get ready for the race.”
As she spoke, Marianne Harper, her rival from Washington School, came over to her. Billy was right. Marianne looked strong and fast. She also looked unfriendly.
“I just wanted a closer look at you,” she said to Panda. “Everyone’s been telling me that you’re quite a runner. But you don’t looked like much to me.”
Billy scrambled up on to a seat until he was at face level with Marianne. He stuck out his chin and glared at her. “Well, that’s OK, because you’re going to see nothing but her dust once the race starts!”
Marianne merely looked past Billy at Panda. “You don’t stand a chance of winning,” she said coolly as she walked away. “You don’t need to win the race bad enough.”
Billy turned to Panda. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t have time to figure it out now,” she said as she headed down toward the track. Turning to wave to Billy, Panda caught the toe of her running shoe on an uneven step and pitched forward. She quickly regained her balance, but she felt a sharp pain in her right ankle. After gently testing it, she decided there wasn’t anything seriously wrong with her ankle and she hurried off to the locker room.
The race was eight laps around the school’s quarter-mile track. Six girls, each one from a local elementary school, were lined up across the track in starting position. Panda was in the inside lane, Marianne Harper in the lane next to her. The starting pistol was fired, and Marianne instantly led the group.
Panda paced herself, concentrating on her breathing. Relax, she told herself. Take deep, even breaths.
At the end of the second lap, two girls were ahead of her: Marianne Harper, and Sue Winton from Longfellow School. Panda continued her steady pace. The whole school was counting on her, and she wasn’t planning to let them down. By the third lap, only Marianne stood between Panda and victory. But her near fall in the grandstand had been more damaging than Panda had suspected, and the pounding of her feet against the hard surface of the track was taking its toll on her ankle. Each step filled her leg with fiery pain. Got to win! she thought. Forget the pain. Run! Run! Run!
Panda saw her chance for victory midway in the last lap. Marianne was showing signs of fatigue. Panda increased her speed, closing the gap until the two girls were running side by side. Marianne glanced at Panda, her eyes hard and cold. It was clear that she would not take losing lightly.
There were only fifty yards to go when seating pain ripped through Panda’s leg; she felt her ankle twist beneath her body as she plunged toward the ground. Her hands plowed up the track, scraping them raw. Blood trickled from her knees, and the gritty sand filled her mouth as she saw Marianne sprint across the finish line.
A party had been planned at the high school auditorium for all the contestants, winners and losers alike, immediately following the meet. Panda really wanted to attend it, so despite her injuries, her parents drove her there directly from the doctor’s office and helped her into a chair. She was immediately surrounded by concerned friends, determined to console her and cheer her up. Billy stood at her side, while her parents and grandfather talked with several other parents and some teachers.
“Does your leg hurt a lot?” Billy asked when her classmates temporarily drifted away.
“No, not too much,” Panda said. “The doctor says it’ll be fine in a week or so. I just have to let it rest.”
Billy was the first to see Marianne Harper heading their way. “Oh, oh. Here comes trouble!” he whispered.
Panda expected a sneer from Marianne, but her face was serious. “I’m sorry about your leg,” she said. “I wanted to win awfully bad, but not this way.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Panda said. “You beat me fair and square. You’re the winner.”
“Am I? Look around.” Marianne motioned to the many parents, teachers, and students in the room. “Your whole family’s here … and so many friends! They don’t care that you lost. They’re still cheering for you.” She shook her head sadly. “I thought it might be different if I won, but it isn’t. My classmates only came because we’re getting the trophy, and my parents didn’t show up at all.”
Marianne turned to walk away, and Panda reached out and grasped her arm. “Wait,” she said. “You’ll be going to Jefferson Junior High School next year, won’t you?”
Marianne nodded.
“I will, too,” Panda said. “Maybe we can be on a relay team together. We’d make great partners.”
“You mean that?”
“Of course,” Panda said.
“Then you have yourself a partner!” Marianne smiled a half-smile as she left, but her eyes were wet with tears.
“I don’t get it,” Billy said. “She’s the winner. Winners don’t cry.”
“Sometimes they do, Billy,” Panda said thoughtfully. “I guess there are lots of things more important than winning.”
“Yes,” Billy said. “Like having a brother.”
Panda put her arm around Billy’s shoulder. “Yes,” she agreed with a broad smile. “Like having a brother.”

When I was a deacon, the ominous signs of the Great Depression began to appear. Tens of thousands lost their jobs. Money was scarce. Families had to do without. Some young people did not ask their mothers, “What’s for dinner?” because they knew all too well that their cupboards held very little.
My parents were hardworking. They made every penny stretch as far as possible. That was probably the major reason everything they gave me was always two or three sizes too large.
I was 12 years old when I received my first pair of ice skates, so large that I had to stuff a third of the toe space with cotton.
When I took them out of the box, I looked up and said, “Mother, I can’t skate with these.”
“Be grateful for what you have, Joseph,” she’d say. And then, the phrase I had become so accustomed to hearing, “Don’t worry; you’ll grow into them.”
A year later, what I wanted more than anything else was football shoulder pads and a helmet. On Christmas morning, I opened my packages and there they were, shoulder pads and a helmet, except they were sized to fit Goliath—who, by the way, was six cubits or about nine feet tall.
“Mother, they’re too big,” I said.
“Be grateful for what you have, Joseph,” she said again. “Don’t worry; you’ll grow into them.”
Prior to high school I played a lot of neighborhood football. When I put on the new equipment, the shoulder pads hung so far over my shoulders that about the only things they protected were my elbows.
Even though I stuffed cotton and newspaper in the helmet, it jostled every time I took a step. When I ran, it would turn and turn until the only way I could see where I was going would be to look out through the ear hole.
One time I rambled for a long gain at full speed right into a tree. Each time I was tackled, the helmet would spin 180 degrees and I’d get up looking like my head had spun with it. Then I would have to repack the cotton and newspaper as best I could, put it back on, and head back to the huddle.
My father was truly a great man. I remember one day putting my feet in my father’s shoes. I was amazed at the size. Would I ever be big enough to fill his shoes? Could I ever grow into the man my father was? I wondered.
I think back on those days with some tenderness. Curiously enough, I also look back with tenderness to my dear mother’s encouraging words, “Don’t worry, Joseph; you’ll grow into them.”
In a similar way, we all need to learn how to “grow into” our responsibilities as priesthood bearers.

President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, once attended an ox pulling contest, where he drew out an analogy. He said of the experience: “A wooden sledge was weighted with cement blocks: ten thousand pounds [4,535 kg]—five tons. … The object was for the oxen to move the sledge three feet [91 cm]. … I noticed a well-matched pair of very large, brindled, blue-gray animals … [the] big blue oxen of seasons past.”
In speaking about the result of the contest, he said: “Teams were eliminated one by one. … The big blue oxen didn’t even place! A small, nondescript pair of animals, not very well matched for size, moved the sledge all three times.”
He was then given an explanation to the surprising outcome: “The big blues were larger and stronger and better matched for size than the other team. But the little oxen had better teamwork and coordination. They hit the yoke together. Both animals jerked forward at exactly the same time and the force moved the load” (“Equally Yoked Together,” address delivered at regional representatives’ seminar, Apr. 3, 1975; in Teaching Seminary: Preservice Readings [2004], 30).

I’ll never forget one high school football game against a rival school. I played the wingback position, and my assignment was to either block the linebacker or try to get open so the quarterback could throw me the ball. The reason I remember this particular game so well is because the fellow on the other side of the line—the man I was supposed to block—was a giant.

I wasn’t exactly the tallest athlete in the world. But I think this other guy may have been. I remember looking up at him, thinking he probably weighed as much as two of me. Keep in mind, when I played we didn’t have the protective gear that players have today. My helmet was made of leather, and it didn’t have a face guard.

The more I thought about it, the more I came to a sobering realization: if I ever let him catch me, I could be cheering for my team the rest of the season from a hospital bed.

Lucky for me, I was fast. And for the better part of the first half, I managed to avoid him.

Except for one play.

Our quarterback dropped back to pass. I was open. He threw the ball, and it sailed toward me.

The only problem was that I could hear a lumbering gallop behind me. In a moment of clarity, I thought that if I caught the ball there was a distinct possibility I could be eating my meals through a tube. But the ball was heading for me, and my team was depending on me. So I reached out, and—at the last instant—I looked up.

And there he was.

I remember the ball hitting my hands. I remember struggling to hang on to it. I remember the sound of the ball falling to the turf. After that, I’m not exactly sure what happened, because the giant hit me so hard I wasn’t sure what planet I was on. One thing I did remember was a deep voice coming from behind a dark haze: “Serves you right for being on the wrong team.”

William McKinley Oswald was my high school football coach. He was a great coach and had a profound influence on my life. But I think he could have learned his method of motivating players from an army drill sergeant.

That day, during his halftime speech, Coach Oswald reminded the whole team about the pass I had dropped. Then he pointed right at me and said, “How could you do that?”

He wasn’t speaking with his inside voice.

“I want to know what made you drop that pass.”

I stammered for a moment and then finally decided to tell the truth. “I took my eye off the ball,” I said.

The coach looked at me and said, “That’s right; you took your eye off the ball. Don’t ever do that again. That kind of mistake loses ball games.”

I respected Coach Oswald, and in spite of how terrible I felt, I made up my mind to do what Coach said. I vowed to never take my eye off the ball again, even if it meant getting pounded to Mongolia by the giant on the other side of the line.

We headed back onto the field and started the second half. It was a close game, and even though my team had played well, we were behind by four points late in the fourth quarter.

The quarterback called my number on the next play. I went out again, and again I was open. The ball headed toward me. But this time, the giant was in front of me and in perfect position to intercept the pass.

He reached up, but the ball sailed through his hands. I jumped high, never taking my eye off the ball, stabbed at it, and pulled it down for the game-winning touchdown.

I don’t remember much about the celebration after, but I do remember the look on Coach Oswald’s face.

“Way to keep your eye on the ball,” he said.

I think I smiled for a week.

Sister Bonnie L. Oscarson’s great-grandmother was named Isabelle. When Isabelle was 12 years old, she was hired as a servant by a rich family. Not only did she get paid for her work, she also received dance lessons, beautiful clothing, and trips to the theater with the family.
When the family decided to move away four years later, they asked if they could adopt Isabelle. This would mean Isabelle could have nicer things and her family would have more money. However, it would also mean that Isabelle would not be raised in the Church. Isabelle’s mother decided that Isabelle should stay with her family, even though they were poor, so that she could be raised in the Church.
Sister Oscarson said she was grateful for this decision because now Isabelle’s descendants are members of the Church. (See “Be Ye Converted” from the Sunday morning session.)