Gospel Story Finder

As a young man not of our faith, General Thomas L. Kane assisted and defended the Saints as they were required to flee Nauvoo. He was an advocate for the Church for many years.
In 1872, General Kane, his talented wife, Elizabeth Wood Kane, and their two sons traveled from their home in Pennsylvania to Salt Lake City. They accompanied Brigham Young and his associates on a trek south to St. George, Utah. Elizabeth approached her first visit to Utah with reservations about the women. She was surprised by some of the things she learned. For instance, she found that any career by which a woman could earn a living was open to them in Utah. She also found Church members were kind and understanding with respect to Native Americans.
During the trip they stayed in Fillmore at the home of Thomas R. and Matilda Robison King.
Elizabeth wrote that as Matilda was preparing a meal for President Young and his company, five American Indians came into the room. Although uninvited, it was clear they expected to join the company. Sister King spoke to them “in their dialect.” They sat down with their blankets with a pleasant look on their faces. Elizabeth asked one of the King children, “What did your mother say to those men?”
Matilda’s son’s reply was, “She said ‘These strangers came first, and I have only cooked enough for them; but your meal is on the fire cooking now, and I will call you as soon as it is ready.’”
Elizabeth asked, “Will she really do that, or just give them scraps at the kitchen-door?”
Matilda’s son answered, “Mother will serve them just as she does you, and give them a place at her table.”
And so she did, and “they ate with perfect propriety.” Elizabeth explained that this hostess rose 100 percent in her opinion. Unity is enhanced when people are treated with dignity and respect, even though they are different in outward characteristics.

Cerebral palsy has a devastating effect on most of its victims, but not on Steven Roach of Doylestown, Pennsylvania. Thanks to his involvement in martial arts classes, Steven can walk mostly without canes or crutches.
Ward members are now thrilled to see Steven walk unaided back to his seat in the congregation after blessing the sacrament. Steven takes his priesthood seriously. “It’s a very special part of my life,” he says. “I am beginning to understand the priesthood more and more each day as I read my scriptures and study the gospel.”
Steven is also serious about his karate. He’s been able to earn a yellow belt, and is working on his green. Both his sensei (teacher) and his mother have worked hard to help and support him. “I know I may never be able to fly through the air with kicks,” he says. “But I always try to do my best.”

Olga stared at the picture of the temple hanging on her wall. She sighed. If only her family could go to the temple! But there were no temples close by, and it was too hard to leave her country.
Olga had been baptized years earlier. But then the missionaries were forced to leave the country. Members of the Church weren’t allowed to go to church anymore. They couldn’t even talk to others about their faith.
Olga still kept living the gospel. So did her husband, Jirí. They prayed and read the scriptures. They had home evening and taught their children. On Sundays, they had sacrament meeting in their little apartment. They hung up lots of temple pictures.
And when Olga and her family felt lonely, they remembered that there were thousands of Church members around the world.
One day something exciting happened. President Russell M. Nelson, the Sunday School General President, came to their country to visit. Olga smiled as she shook President Nelson’s hand. Then he made her a special promise. “Sister, one day you will come to the temple.”
Olga’s heart felt warm. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Months passed. Then years. Olga looked longingly at the temple pictures hanging on the walls. Going to the temple seemed impossible!
After four years, Olga and Jirí were invited to go to general conference in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA. Olga was worried they wouldn’t be able to go. Things in their country were still difficult. It would take a lot of paperwork to travel. But somehow everything worked out. Olga felt butterflies in her stomach as their plane took off for the United States. It was a miracle!
Olga and Jirí went to conference and listened to the prophet. They got to see Temple Square and go to the visitors’ center. But the best part was going inside the temple!
Dressed in white, Olga felt like she was in heaven as she made special promises with God. She even got to be sealed to Jirí. President Nelson’s promise had come true!
Olga and Jirí returned home. As time passed, things in their country got better. Finally they were able to go to church, and missionaries could teach again.
One day the phone rang. It was President Thomas S. Monson. He called Olga to be matron of the Freiberg Germany Temple. Jirí would be the temple president.
Olga smiled as she stood in her long, white dress inside the Freiberg Temple. The temple had once seemed so far away. But now she could treasure it every day! It was a wonderful dream come true.

The tall yellow weeds in the big field behind Grandpa and Grandma’s place look pretty. When the wind blows they’re like a yellow sea that rolls and whispers. I like to lie in them, especially when it’s windy. Especially with my dad. He said that when the weeds are all rustling, it’s like they’re telling a story. He listened to those stories and passed them on to me. He called them his tall-as-a-yellow-weed tales.
Sometimes we played hide-and-seek in the field. I liked that, too. Dad closed his eyes while I hid. Then he had 10 minutes to find me and tag me. If I won, he took me to the soda fountain in Hadley and bought me a milk shake. I usually won. I think he let me sometimes. He knew how much I like chocolate shakes.
I miss those times. I still like Grandma and Grandpa’s place, but the yellow field isn’t the same. It looks the same, but without Dad, it’s just … different. It’s just a field.
Mom and I live with Grandma and Grandpa now. At least for a while. Until Mom can make enough money at her new job, or until Dad gets better. Dad has a drinking problem. It got pretty bad, and he wouldn’t get help. We prayed and prayed for him, but Mom said Heavenly Father can’t help us if we don’t try to help ourselves. I know she’s right, because once I asked Him to help me on a school test that I hadn’t studied for. I failed it anyway. Mom said that if we do all we can do for ourselves, then ask Heavenly Father for help, He will then assist us.
One day my friend Barry said that if his dad were like mine, he wouldn’t love him anymore. Because if my dad cared about us, he wouldn’t keep drinking.
I couldn’t sleep too well that night. My mom came into my room and asked what was wrong. When I told her, she explained some things that helped me to feel better.
The next day when Barry and I were looking for arrowheads in Baker’s Canyon up behind the yellow field, I told him I still loved my dad. When he asked me why, I said, “Remember when your brother didn’t tie up the chain that was hanging way down from the siren on his bike?”
“Yes,” Barry said, “and I told him it could cause an accident if it got caught in the spokes, but did he listen to me? No!”
Last month Barry borrowed that bike. He was flying down a hill when, sure enough, the chain got caught in the spokes of his front wheel. All of a sudden the bike stopped, but Barry kept going, right over the handlebars. He banged himself up pretty badly. In fact, his arm was still in a cast.
“Do you still love your brother?” I asked.
“Of course I do.”
“Why?”
“Well, because … because he’s my brother. He didn’t want me to get hurt. He was just being careless.”
“I’m sure your brother feels bad about it,” I said. “My dad feels awful, too, after he sobers up.”
Barry and I sat down on a rock to drink from our canteens. Grandma’s cold lemonade tastes so good that it makes getting thirsty fun. Dad always said, “On a hot day your grandma’s lemonade takes all the discomfort out of being alive!” And he was right.
I looked at Barry seriously, trying to get the deep down inside of him to listen. I had written down some of what Mom said the night before so I wouldn’t forget. Now I read it to Barry: “‘God loves all of us, even when He doesn’t love all of our actions. It’s called charity—the pure love of Christ, and we need to try to love like Jesus does.’”
Barry nodded his head and smiled. I could tell that he knew my mom was right. Her words made me feel good inside, too. About my dad. About a lot of things. It was as good a feeling as Grandma’s lemonade going down on a hot summer day.
Mom and I kept praying for Dad. He stopped drinking, and he’s in a special program that’s helping him. He’ll be coming home in a few weeks. He says he wants to play hide-and-seek with me in the tall yellow weeds. And he wants me to win, because he misses those chocolate milk shakes as much as I do!

I learned this formula in my own life. I started working for a big oil company shortly after I was baptized. These truths about work came into my life and led to my progress in the company.
One manager in particular at the company had a lot of power. He requested that each department send two people to help him do an inventory. And he said the only requirement was that the people knew something about accounting.
I had studied at a trade school, and I had a certificate from my accounting classes. My department boss said, “Go tell him that you are going to help with the inventory and that you are an accountant.” He wanted to see the reaction of the other man because I was so young.
When I arrived, the manager asked what I wanted. I answered, “I’m going to help you do the inventory.” I did as I was instructed by my boss and told him I was an accountant. He laughed.
Then he said, “Well, Mr. Accountant, come to my chair. Take this adding machine, and add everything in every column as fast as you can.”
I started with one finger, very slowly. He pushed me out of the chair and said, “You don’t know anything; you are going to be punished. You are going to sit there in a chair in front of me for two weeks, watching how I do the work.”
I moved to another chair. He said, “Watch me.” He started adding so fast, not even looking at his hands. I was amazed. I thought he was joking about having me watch him work for two weeks, but he wasn’t.
That first day I sat there for six or seven hours. That evening I stayed after work and waited for everyone to leave the building. Then I went to his office and changed the roll of paper in the adding machine and started practicing adding the same columns he did. For hours I worked and got faster and faster and faster. When I felt I was doing it as fast or faster than he did, I went to sleep for an hour or two.
The next morning I just washed my face and went out the front doors when they opened early, then walked in again after the manager arrived. I knocked on his door. He said, “OK, you sit there and watch what I’m doing.”
When he started on the adding machine, he seemed slow to me. I had practiced for seven hours straight. I gently pushed him aside and asked him to sit in my chair. I started adding so fast. He was surprised.
He said, “What did you do?” He forced me to tell him. He said, “From now on, because you learned this, you will work with me, and I’m going to teach you everything I know.”
I switched departments. After a few years he resigned, and I was able to take his place because of his recommendation. I used effort and concentration, and I was happy in what I was doing. I was not angry because he punished me at first.

Sometimes the administering elder is inspired to reveal important information. This was so in the case of President George Albert Smith. When he was thirteen years old, he was very ill, and the family felt that if he lived very long at all, he would be a sickly person. At this time a family friend, Zebedee Coltrin, who happened to be a patriarch in another stake, came to visit. He gave a blessing to Brother Smith. This was not a patriarchal blessing, but it was recorded by his mother, and when recently discovered it was turned over to the Church Historian’s Office. Some marvelous statements were made concerning his future.

“… and thou shalt be wrapt in the visions of the heavens, and thou shalt be clothed with salvation as with a garment, for thou are destined to become a mighty man before the Lord, for thou shalt become a mighty apostle in the Church and kingdom of God upon the Earth, for none of thy father’s family shall have more power with God than thou shalt have, for none shall excel thee.”

Now this was a remarkable promise, and a daring thing for a man to say to young George—unless he were speaking under inspiration. You see, the father of this sickly child was John Henry Smith, second counselor to President Joseph F. Smith. George’s grandfather was George A. Smith who had been first counselor in the first presidency to Brigham Young. So if this blessing were to be fulfilled, George Albert Smith would have to become president of the Church someday long after that blessing was given. And we all know that the day came when indeed he was sustained as president and prophet of the Church.

I never appreciated the strength of my sons more than last year, when my husband was dying. All three of us sustained each other and consulted with each other, but I saw Ken take the lead in working with the doctors and the hospital. Then when Ed died, Bob took the lead in making funeral arrangements and dealing with the legal procedures that had to be followed. In planning the funeral service, I took the lead. As each of us passed through different stages in our shock and grief, we had the others for support. When one of us needed to rise to an occasion, we could. When we needed to withdraw with our sorrow, we could because one of the others could step forward and be the leader.

I have used the example of my own family, because I have seen for myself that it is to our families that we first turn in such crises. But whatever your family circumstances, I believe the strength we need can always be there because it comes from the Savior and his love. Sometimes our own faith enables us to draw on that love. Sometimes it is the faith and love of others that strengthen us.

The Lord often used parables relating to the land in teaching accountability and stewardship. When I was a small boy, I would visit my grandparents at their ranch during the summer. There was no electrical power, running water, or indoor plumbing. There was, however, a spring of water next to their small ranch house. The spring created a little pond of clear, pure water, where several times a day I would help my grandmother carry water to the house for drinking, cooking, bathing, and washing clothes. My grandparents loved this life-giving spring and took special precautions to protect it.
Many years later my grandfather was in his early 90s and did not live on the property; he was unable to maintain or oversee it. I drove him to see the ranch which he loved. His high expectations at seeing the ranch turned to disappointment when he realized the fences that protected the spring had fallen into disrepair and cows had damaged the spring and the precious, pure springwater had been significantly polluted. He was upset with the damage and the pollution. To him, it was a violation of a trust he had observed all his working life. He felt somehow he had not protected that life-sustaining spring which had meant so much to him.
Because of my grandfather’s reaction to the polluted spring, improvements and protections were undertaken which returned the spring to its original beauty and purity.

As a part of the Yefis’ goal of building an eternal family, they have eagerly shared the gospel with their extended family members. Brother Yefi’s father, Prudencio Yefi Calbucan, was the first relative to listen to the gospel message. Next his brother, Segundo Prudencio Yefi Aguilar, his brother’s wife, Maria Isabel de Yefi, and one of their daughters became interested. Then his brother-in-law, Jose Nolberto Miranda Diaz—who we had met at the lakeshore—his wife, Maria Francisca de Miranda, his oldest son Juan Heriberto Miranda Yefi, and two younger daughters wanted to learn more.
Brother Yefi taught them all the missionary discussions. Then they all made the journey to Puerto Varas to be interviewed by the full-time missionaries. After the interviews, Brother Yefi baptized them. He also challenged them to receive the temple endowments which he and Sister Yefi had already done. (The Mirandas’ oldest son was serving in the Chile Vina del Mar Mission at the time of our visit.)

It was the morning of January 6, 1896. Ten-year-old Emma Jean was awakened from a deep sleep by ringing bells and cries of joy and exultation. She peeped out from under her warm blanket. It was still the winter she had said goodnight to just last evening. But a new deep snow had covered the yard and bent the tree limbs until some of them almost touched the ground.
Emma Jean rubbed her eyes, wondering about the jubilant sounds outside. She finally threw back the covers and moved softly toward the window just to see. As the little girl reached the window, she could hear even more clearly the joyous sounds that had wakened her. What can they mean? she thought.
Emma Jean put on her blue flannel robe, tiptoed to the door of her room, and opened it noiselessly. She did not want to awaken her parents if they were still asleep. But they were not asleep. They were in the hall, laughing and hugging each other.
“So you’re awake, too, darling!” her father greeted her. “I knew you couldn’t sleep through all that cheering.”
“But what is it all for, Papa?” Emma Jean asked.
Papa picked her up and whirled her around. “We’re a state at last!” he announced, beaming. “Just think, Emma Jean! We have always felt that we were part of the country. Now we really are!”
Then Emma Jean’s mother added, “Darling, our home has always been in the United States—but in a territory. Day before yesterday, President Cleveland declared we could be a state—like Idaho and Colorado.”
Emma Jean nodded. When her cousin, Lottie, had visited last fall, she had boasted that she lived in a state and that Idaho had a special flag, not just the Stars and Stripes, but an official Idaho flag. Lottie had also bragged, “Our teacher says we can have a state bird and flower too.”
Emma Jean loved Utah. She could not bear that only her cousin’s state had such special distinctions. She remembered the stories about the pioneers. “We have pioneers!” she defended.
“Oh, so do we!” Lottie had replied haughtily.
“We have a special bird, too, the seagull. It helped save the pioneers their first year in the valley. And we have a special flower—the sego lily. Do you know about them?”
“Of course I do!” Lottie replied. “But still, Utah isn’t a state.”
Emma Jean did not like to argue with her cousin, so she did not pursue the subject. She had meant to ask her parents why Idaho was a state and Utah wasn’t, but somehow she had never gotten around to it.
Her father’s voice brought her back to the present. As if he knew her thoughts, he said, “We have always known that someday we would become a state, Emma Jean, but the requirements for each territory are different. Listen to those bells! After we get dressed, we’ll go to the Tabernacle, where there is to be a special birthday program. I heard that Professor Evan Stephens has composed a song especially for the occasion. Its title is ‘Utah, We Love Thee,’ and a children’s chorus has been trained to sing it today.”
“Oh!” Emma Jean cried, her eyes shining, “I wish I had known about the new song! I don’t think Idaho has a special song like that.”
“Don’t waste time feeling superior to our neighbor state,” Emma Jean’s father admonished. “Just hurry and get dressed. It’s already past eight and a parade begins at nine o’clock.”
“A parade! Oh, I’ll be ready!” Emma Jean cried as she ran to her room and began to scramble into her long black stockings. She decided to wear her new Christmas shoes with the gold stars embroidered on the cloth uppers. And around her long brown braids she fastened red, white, and blue ribbons.
The family could still hear the bells ringing all through their hasty breakfast. Afterward they wrapped themselves in warm coats, scarves, and caps. Gaily they started uptown with the neighbors who were hurrying along. As Emma Jean skipped down the snowy sidewalk, she was glad that she had put bright ribbons in her hair. Many of her friends also wore patriotic colored ribbons.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of marching music. The parade had started. Emma Jean and her parents rushed with the other onlookers to the curb. In the distance they could see the procession moving toward them. As the marchers neared, she saw General Robert T. Burton, the parade marshal, in his blue cavalry uniform astride his horse. He was followed by the troops and band from Fort Douglas. The stirring music added to the excitement of the occasion. She was sure the new governor, Heber Wells, waved to her as he passed in his open horse-drawn carriage. Eagerly she watched the passing floats that represented the various trades and industries of the new state.
After the parade the family continued its walk to the Tabernacle. Emma Jean was certain that nothing could surpass the spectacle of marching men and bands that she had just seen. Not even ZCMI with red, white, and blue bunting fanned across the storefront and the large five-pointed star with the number “45” atop the building could erase the image of the parade from her mind. But when they entered the Tabernacle she gasped in wonderment. Stretched across the ceiling was the largest American flag she had ever seen. In the field of forty-four stars a forty-fifth one had been cut out to represent the new state. Through this hole gleamed a bright light from ingeniously arranged electric bulbs.
Her father lifted Emma Jean up so that she could see better. “That’s the largest flag in the United States,” he said. “Each one of the stripes is six feet wide. Workers at the ZCMI overall factory made it and it required eight strong men to carry it over here.”
Emma Jean’s mother said, “Look at all the beautiful red, white, and blue streamers running from the flag to the gallery.”
Emma Jean nodded. Then she saw the huge eagle on the top of the organ pipes and the electrically lit “Utah” sign just below the national emblem.
She listened quietly to the governor and other important speakers, but what she liked best was the children’s chorus.
Later Emma Jean’s father turned to her mother. “Are you worn out, Louise?” he asked. “Or do you want to go to the grand inaugural ball? I think it will be worth seeing.”
“Oh, I would love to go!” Emma Jean’s mother answered with spirit. “How about you, Emma Jean?”
“Oh yes, please, Mama!” Emma Jean cried enthusiastically. Then she added hopefully, “I’m not at all tired.”
Her mother smiled knowingly. “We’ll see …” She turned to her husband. “Why don’t you go down to the City and County Building to hear the legislature while Emma Jean and I go home. She can take a nap. Then when you come home, we can go to the ball.”
That evening, as Emma Jean and her parents walked back uptown, Father told them about the legislature. A proclamation by Governor Wells was read by James T. Hammond, the new secretary of state. Then Governor Wells read his inaugural address, in which he singled out the women of the state for compliments.
At last they reached the Salt Lake Theatre where the grand ball was to be held. Emma Jean grew excited when she heard the strains of music coming from the building. She was happy to see her father purchase three seventy-five-cent tickets for the loges because they would be able to see better than from the gallery.
All the seats on the first floor had been covered over with smooth flooring right up to the stage so there was lots of room for dancing. Emma Jean saw flags draped everywhere and the large electric one over the archway of the stage. She watched Governor Wells escort his mother to the gubernatorial box and then, with his wife on his arm, lead the grand march.
“Oh, Mama, look at all the elegant dresses the beautiful women are wearing. Where did they all come from?”
Her mother smiled, “I suppose most of the ladies had a feeling statehood was not far away. Many of their husbands are politicians, and they knew statehood would soon be granted. I think they were prepared. Just seeing such lovely things is a treat, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Father agreed, “we can enjoy beautiful things without owning them. Isn’t that so, Emma Jean?”
Emma Jean agreed. “And just think what I can tell Lottie.”
“But no state flag,” her father teased.
Emma Jean shook her head, “There will be someday. But today I am seeing our state born!”
As the family made its way home, the moonlight sparkled on the glistening snow. Emma Jean was grateful that she had been old enough to see the flags and lights and beautiful gowns and to hear the bells and cheers and the special music that welcomed the newborn state. This was something she could tell her children and grandchildren!

After a meeting with a group of students recently one young man waited to ask a question. “Elder Hanks,” he said, “what are your goals? What do you want to accomplish?” I observed his seriousness of purpose and answered in the same spirit that my strongest desire is to qualify to be a friend of Christ.
I had not responded to such a question just that way before, but the answer did put into words the deep yearnings of my heart.
In ancient times Abraham was called the “friend of God.” Jesus, shortly before his crucifixion, said to his disciples, “Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you. Henceforth I call you not servants … but I have called you friends. …” (John 15:14–15.)
In 1832, to a group of elders returning from missionary service, he repeated the message: “… from henceforth I shall call you friends. …” (D&C 84:77.)
Today I would like to speak of one lesson among many that he taught us and that you and I must learn if we are to merit his friendship.
Christ’s love was so pure that he gave his life for us: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13.) But there was another gift he bestowed while he was on the cross, a gift that further measured the magnitude of his great love: he forgave, and asked his Father to forgive, those who persecuted and crucified him.
Was this act of forgiveness less difficult than sacrificing his mortal life? Was it less a test of his love? I do not know the answer. But I have felt that the ultimate form of love for God and men is forgiveness.
He met the test. What of us? Perhaps we shall not be called upon to give our lives for our friends or our faith (though perhaps some shall), but it is certain that every one of us has and will have occasion to confront the other challenge. What will we do with it? What are we doing with it?
Someone has written: “… the withholding of love is the negation of the spirit of Christ, the proof that we never knew him, that for us he lived in vain. It means that he suggested nothing in all our thoughts, that he inspired nothing in all our lives, that we were not once near enough to him to be seized with the spell of his compassion for the world.”
Christ’s example and instructions to his friends are clear. He forgave, and he said: “… Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” (Matt. 5:44.)
What is our response when we are offended, misunderstood, unfairly or unkindly treated, or sinned against, made an offender for a word, falsely accused, passed over, hurt by those we love, our offerings rejected? Do we resent, become bitter, hold a grudge? Or do we resolve the problem if we can, forgive, and rid ourselves of the burden?
The nature of our response to such situations may well determine the nature and quality of our lives, here and eternally. A courageous friend, her faith refined by many afflictions, said to me only hours ago, “Humiliation must come before exaltation.”
It is required of us to forgive. Our salvation depends upon it. In a revelation given in 1831 the Lord said:
“My disciples, in days of old, sought occasion against one another and forgave not one another in their hearts; and for this evil they were afflicted and sorely chastened.
“Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.
“I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.” (D&C 64:8–10.)
Therefore, Jesus taught us to pray, “And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” (See Matt. 6:14–15.)
Does it not seem a supreme impudence to ask and expect God to forgive when we do not forgive?—openly? and “in our hearts”?
The Lord affirms in the Book of Mormon that we bring ourselves under condemnation if we do not forgive. (See Mosiah 26:30–31.)
But not only our eternal salvation depends upon our willingness and capacity to forgive wrongs committed against us. Our joy and satisfaction in this life, and our true freedom, depend upon our doing so. When Christ bade us turn the other cheek, walk the second mile, give our cloak to him who takes our coat, was it to be chiefly out of consideration for the bully, the brute, the thief? Or was it to relieve the one aggrieved of the destructive burden that resentment and anger lay upon us?
Paul wrote to the Romans that nothing “shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Rom. 8:39.)
I am sure this is true. I bear testimony that this is true. But it is also true that we can separate ourselves from his spirit. In Isaiah it is written: “… your iniquities have separated between you and your God. …” (Isa. 59:2.) Again, “… they have rewarded evil unto themselves.” (Isa. 3:9.)
Through Helaman we learn that “whosoever doeth iniquity, doeth it unto himself …” (Hel. 14:30); and from Benjamin, “… ye do withdraw yourselves from the Spirit of the Lord. …” (Mosiah 2:36.)
In every case of sin this is true. Envy, arrogance, unrighteous dominion—these canker the soul of one who is guilty of them. It is true also if we fail to forgive. Even if it appears that another may be deserving of our resentment or hatred, none of us can afford to pay the price of resenting or hating, because of what it does to us. If we have felt the gnawing, mordant inroads of these emotions, we know the harm we suffer.
So Paul taught the Corinthians that they must “see that none render evil for evil unto any man. …” (1 Thes. 5:15.)
It is reported that President Brigham Young once said that he who takes offense when no offense was intended is a fool, and he who takes offense when offense was intended is usually a fool. It was then explained that there are two courses of action to follow when one is bitten by a rattlesnake. One may, in anger, fear, or vengefulness, pursue the creature and kill it. Or he may make full haste to get the venom out of his system. If we pursue the latter course we will likely survive, but if we attempt to follow the former, we may not be around long enough to finish it.
Years ago on Temple Square I heard a boy pour out the anguish of his troubled heart and make a commitment to God. He had been living in a spirit of hatred toward a man who had criminally taken the life of his father. Nearly bereft of his senses with grief, he had been overcome with bitterness.
On that Sabbath morning when others and I heard him, he had been touched by the Spirit of the Lord, and in that hour through the pouring in of that spirit had flooded out the hostility that had filled his heart. He tearfully declared his determined intent to leave vengeance to the Lord and justice to the law. He would no longer hate the one who had caused the grievous loss. He would forgive and would not for another hour permit the corrosive spirit of vengefulness to fill his heart.
Sometime later, touched with the remembrance of that moving Sabbath morning, I told the story to a group of people in another city. Before I left that small community the next day I had a visit from a man who had heard the message and understood it. Later a letter came from him. He had gone home that night and prayed and prepared himself and had then made a visit to the place of a man in his community who had years before imposed upon the sanctity of his home. There had been animosity and revenge in his heart and threats made. That evening when it was made known that he was at the door, his frightened neighbor appeared with a weapon in his hand. The man quickly explained the reasons for his visit, that he had come to say that he was sorry, that he did not want hatred to continue to consume his life. He offered forgiveness and sought forgiveness and went his way in tears, a free man for the first time in years. He left a former adversary also in tears, shaken and repentant.
The next day the same man went to the home of a relative in the town. He said, “I came to ask your forgiveness. I don’t even remember why we have been so long angry, but I have come to tell you that I am sorry and to beg your pardon and to say that I have learned how foolish I have been.” He was invited in to join the family at their table, and was reunited with his kin.
When I heard his story I knew again the importance of qualifying ourselves for the forgiveness of Christ by forgiving.
Robert Louis Stevenson wrote: “The truth of Christ’s teaching seems to be this: In our own person and fortune, we should be ready to accept and pardon all; it is our cheek we are to turn and our coat we are to give to the man who has taken our cloak. But when another’s face is buffeted, perhaps a little of the lion will become us best. That we are to suffer others to be injured and stand by, is not conceivable and surely not desirable.”
So there are times when, in defense of others and principle, we must act. But of ourselves, if we suffer injury or unkindness, we must pray for the strength to forbear.
Christ gave his life on a cross; and on that cross he fully, freely forgave. It is a worthy goal to seek to qualify for the friendship of such a one.
More than 250 years ago Joseph Addison printed in The Spectator a paragraph of sobering thoughtfulness:
“When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tombs of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow; when I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great Day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together.”
God help us to rid ourselves of resentment and pettiness and foolish pride; to love, and to forgive, in order that we may be friends with ourselves, with others, and with the Lord.
“… even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye.” (Col. 3:13.)
In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Let me tell you of an experience I had when I was a little boy in the first or second grade. I came home from school one day, threw my books on the table, and took the name of the Lord in vain in expressing my relief that school was out for the day.

My mother heard me. She was shocked. She took me by the hand and led me to the bathroom. There she got a clean washcloth and a clean bar of soap. She told me to open my mouth, then proceeded to wash my mouth out with that terrible soap. I blubbered and protested. She stayed at it for what seemed a long time, and then said, “Don’t let me ever hear such words from your lips again.”

The taste was terrible. The reprimand was worse. I have never forgotten it, and I hope that I have never used the Lord’s name in vain since that time.

Let me illustrate this with a story from the Church News:
“A group of religion instructors [were] taking a summer course on the life of the Savior and focusing particularly on the parables.
“When the final exam time came, … the students arrived at the classroom to find a note that the exam would be given in another building across campus. Moreover, the note said, it must be finished within the two-hour time period that was starting almost at that moment.
“The students hurried across campus. On the way they passed a little girl crying over a flat tire on her new bike. An old man hobbled painfully toward the library with a cane in one hand, spilling books from a stack he was trying to manage with the other. On a bench by the union building sat a shabbily dressed, bearded man [in obvious distress].
“Rushing into the other classroom, the students were met by the professor, who announced they had all flunked the final exam.
“The only true test of whether they understood the Savior’s life and teaching, he said, was how they treated people in need.
“Their weeks of study at the feet of a capable professor had taught them a great deal of what Christ had said and done.” They learned the letter but not the spirit. Their neglect of the little girl and the two men showed that the message of the course had not entered into their inward parts.

For McKinzie Mower, going to the temple helped her testimony develop at a time when it could have easily wavered. She remembers attending church and praying regularly, but “I was just going through the motions.”
“Then one day, Brother Hatch told me they were going to the temple and said I would be welcome if I could come,” she continues. “I didn’t really want to do it, but then I thought about it and decided to go. After that first time, I just started going as often as I could, and as I did, spiritual things became more important in my life.”
McKinzie says the best part of going to the temple is the good feelings she gets from serving others. “I love doing something for people that they can’t do for themselves,” she explains. “Temple work is the ultimate example of that.”

When my wife and I visited Salt Lake City recently, we needed to find an ATM on the street. While we were looking around, we heard a voice from a parked car behind us say, “Are you looking for something? Can I help you?” The man, who introduced himself as Mike, added with a smile that it feels probably weird for a stranger to yell at us from a car, but in Utah we might not be surprised by that. He asked where we are from and when he learned that we are from Prague, his eyes lit up. He had recently spoken to a friend of his who was having trouble getting information about her ancestors from the Czech Republic, so he immediately wondered if there was anything we could do to help. We replied that we would be happy to send him contacts of brothers and sisters who were doing genealogy in our country. He thanked us, we said goodbye and he got into his car. As we were leaving, we noticed that Mike had gotten out of the car again and was coming back to us. This time, however, the happy smile was replaced by emotion.
With tears in his eyes, he told us how grateful he was for our brief encounter and that he felt urged to get out of the car. He had been trying unsuccessfully to help his friend with genealogy in Bohemia for a long time, and because of her advanced age, she was losing hope of finding her ancestors in Bohemia. Mike too was about to give up, but the previous day when he visited the temple he felt that the solution would come - and it came through us. And so he wanted to share with us the joy and gratitude he felt at another testimony of how wonderfully God‘s guidance works in our lives.
Our encounter with Mike is an example of how the Spirit works. Mike made an effort to listen to the promptings of the Holy Spirit and through his willingness to help complete strangers, he subsequently received not only help for his friend, but we all received another testimony of how God, through the Spirit, gives us answers and brings solutions. Yes, it was a small thing, but it is from such small and tiny things that the great mosaic of spiritual knowledge in our lives is made.

Riley and Ted were not only frightened when they heard voices and saw the light from flashlights darting about at the Indian digging grounds, they were angry too.
Grandfather had never plowed nor planted the south slope because he had discovered that the area was the site of an ancient Indian village. For many years he had tried to preserve the land even though he was poorer because of the loss of crops he might have raised there.
As a boy Grandfather had found a number of arrowheads and pieces of flint-edged tools on the slope. When he was older he had written many letters trying to interest scientists into exploring the area. Finally, a university archaeology team became interested in excavating the slope.
After a preliminary investigation, they had sent several crews of students to work under the direction of two experienced archaeologists. As various layers of earth were carefully stripped away, the teams became excited when they discovered that more than one ancient civilization had occupied the slope at different times.
Every arrowhead and fragment of bone or clay pot had to be tagged as they were removed so that the separate cultures could be studied. And now, looters were endangering the project!
The students and professors went home on weekends and Grandpa had gone to town to deliver a load of grain. He had not yet returned and Riley and Ted were the only ones left to protect the ancient site. They wondered how they could possibly stop the looters.
“If only we had a telephone, we could call the police,” Ted suggested as he watched the looters’ light.
“But we don’t have one, so there’s no use iffing,” Riley said. “Maybe I could slip through the trees and try to see who the thieves are while you run over to Mr. Howard’s and have him call the sheriff.”
“Okay, Riley,” Ted murmured uneasily, “but be careful. They might be armed.”
“I’ll be careful,” Riley assured him and then continued, “Lots of people have come to watch the digging, but I’ve noticed it’s Jim White and his friends who keep asking Professor Jackson how much money a war club or spearhead is worth. Maybe they’re the looters. They wouldn’t care about reconstructing history. They’d only want to find a two-dollar arrowhead or a bone knife they could sell. Wouldn’t it be great if some Indian ghosts showed up to haunt them? I’ll bet we’d see some hard-running thieves take off then!”
“Yes,” Ted said quietly as an idea began to form in his mind. That would beat running all the way to the Howard’s, he thought. But he didn’t mention it to his older brother who had already disappeared into the trees.
Grandfather had left a wide wooded area between the excavation site and his cultivated land that provided cover for Riley as he climbed the slope. Three-fourths of the way up the hill he stopped. The flashlights had converged on the canvas-covered area where boxes of tagged artifacts were stored before being taken to the university. It was Jim White and his friends all right. One of the lights passed over Jim’s face as he used a rock to hammer at the lock on a toolbox.
“Take the shovels and dig like crazy all along the trenches where those students work with tiny brushes and metal picks,” Jim ordered. “Don’t bother with junk like fragments. We just want stuff we can sell. We’ll show Professor Jackson how to grub out Indian relics!”
Riley felt sick as he thought of the slow, painstaking work of the students. They knelt in cramped positions for hours, hardly noticing the hot sun as they brushed soil away from a potsherd. And he was helpless to prevent the destruction of months of hard work!
Not only was he outnumbered, but the looters were much bigger than Riley. When the sheriff arrested them he could identify all the looters, but that wouldn’t restore the relics Grandpa had protected for so many years.
Suddenly Riley’s breath caught in his throat and he felt the hair stir on the back of his neck as an eerie moan sounded in the darkness. A voice rose and fell in angry waves but Riley couldn’t distinguish any words. In a few seconds he realized it was drifting down from the summit of the hill and not from the young men who had frozen in a huddle around the battered toolbox.
Riley shuddered and his heart began to thud like a tom-tom when Jim’s flashlight picked out a figure coming down the slope. It was an Indian dressed in a loin cloth and an elaborate war bonnet, astride a brown horse! His bronze skin glistened in the dim ray of light.
“A ghost! He’s gotta be a ghost!” someone shouted. No one took time to argue about it. The terrified group broke up and ran off in all directions, leaving behind any thoughts of looting.
Riley ran too, going as fast as he dared down the steep slope. He had never believed in spooks, but he was convinced he had just seen his first! And his last, too, he hoped.
“Wait a minute!” Riley gasped, tripping over a log and rolling against a tree. “That horse looked exactly like Grandpa’s Benjo! And the war bonnet is the one I wore in the Thanksgiving Day play at school!
“It worked, Riley! It worked! They thought I was a real Indian ghost!” Ted cried, as he caught up with Riley. “You said you wished a ghost would scare them away, so I rubbed brown shoe polish all over myself and got your old school costume out of the trunk. Did you see the way they took off? I guess those guys were really scared.”
“Yes, they were,” Riley agreed. Then with a sheepish grin he added, “And you had me fooled for a minute too.”

“I want a Saturday chore,” Johnny said to his mother. “You and Daddy have chores, and Sarah and Joe have chores. I want one too.”
Mother smiled. “Why don’t you watch what everybody does this Saturday. Maybe that will help you think of something that you can do.”
On Saturday morning Johnny watched Joe carry large piles of dirty clothes to the washing machine. Joe left a trial of socks and shirts behind him and had to go back and pick them up.
Then Johnny went outside, where Daddy was mowing the grass. Every once in a while Daddy stopped to carry the grass clippings to the vegetable garden.
Next Johnny went to the garden. Sarah was pulling out the weeds. She walked back and forth, carrying the weeds to the compost heap.
When Mother returned from the grocery store, Johnny watched her carry grocery bags from the car into the house.
At lunchtime Mother asked Johnny, “Did you think of a Saturday chore?”
“You’ll see next Saturday,” Johnny told her with a happy smile.
The next week Johnny got his red wagon and pulled it behind Joe, picking up the socks and shirts that were dropped.
“Thanks, Johnny,” said Joe.
Johnny took his wagon outside. When Daddy’s lawn mower bag was full, Johnny piled the sweet-smelling clippings into his wagon and pulled them to the garden.
“Thanks, Johnny,” said Daddy.
Then Johnny’s wagon rattled back and forth, carrying Sarah’s wilting weeds to the compost heap.
“Thanks, Johnny,” said Sarah.
When Mother came home, Johnny used his wagon to carry the bags of groceries to the house.
“Thanks, Johnny,” said Mother.
Johnny and his wagon were busy hauling things all morning. At lunchtime, Mother smiled at Johnny and said, “You found a good Saturday chore.”
“Yes,” he said proudly, “Johnny’s Delivery Service. It’s a ‘Saturday Special’!”

Members of the Palo Alto First Ward, Menlo Park California Stake, watched in anticipation as a three-bedroom, two-bath, fully-carpeted home on Eighth Avenue was built last summer. Complete with a sun deck protected by overhanging oak boughs, the house is like many others in the region except for one thing—it was built, and then sold, by the priests quorum in the Palo Alto First Ward.
The project was undertaken with a fourfold goal in mind: (1) to strengthen quorum brotherhood, (2) to put the principle of work into action, (3) to raise money for a special summer activity, and (4) to prepare for missionary service. A year’s worth of work went into the planning, construction, and selling of “the House.” After paying off the loan and other expenses incurred in the project, the quorum made a profit of $10,000. Eighty percent of this went into a missionary trust fund for quorum members, ten percent was divided among the members, and ten percent went into a fund to finance quorum activities.
Each member of the quorum had specific tasks for which he was responsible. Some of these included lot acquisition, demolition, carpenter foreman, payroll and accounting, shingling, electrical work, heating, sheet metal work, plumbing, and interior design and color coordination. The quorum was assisted by members of the teachers quorum and four nonmembers who are now actively participating in and/or investigating the Church and its programs. Adviser for the entire project was Young Men president and priests quorum adviser Dick Jacobsen.

In June 1971, Dr. Nelson received a phone call from President N. Eldon Tanner asking if he could come to his office. He went at once and found that President Harold B. Lee was also there. (President Joseph Fielding Smith was not well that day.) President Lee and President Tanner indicated that they would like him to serve as head of the Sunday School organization of the Church, if it wouldn’t take him away from his work as a surgeon.
When he had recovered from the shock, Dr. Nelson responded by saying that he would accept any call from the Lord even if he had to leave his medical practice. But they insisted that they wanted him to accept the calling only if he could continue his work as a surgeon as well. Thus he entered upon more than eight years of service as general president of the Sunday School.

Tommy Ayres moved with his family to Arizona, hoping the climate would benefit his father’s health. Tommy was ten years old at the time. The family attended an Evangelical Church; and at one gathering, President L. Harold Wright of Maricopa Stake was invited to explain the beliefs of the Mormon Church. Tommy was interested but did nothing about it until his father’s ill health kept them from driving the several miles to church. Tommy started attending Scout meetings at the nearby Latter-day Saint Church. Then he was on his way. He and his mother were taught by the missionaries and were baptized. His father, in a nursing home, was later baptized by Tommy. Two elders helped Tommy with the baptism by wheeling his father to the edge of the font and gently lifting him into the water. One month later his father died. His temple work was done two years later from sheets carefully prepared by Tommy.

Tommy’s interest in genealogy began soon after his conversion. He has spent hours researching family records for his own direct lines. It was a sweet moment for him when his parents were sealed (someone standing proxy for his dead father), and a brother who had lived for only two days and Tommy were sealed to their parents. Tommy left shortly afterward for his mission. He is serving in the Montana-Wyoming Mission under President Wright, the man from whom he first heard about the gospel.