Gospel Story Finder

These, of course, are difficult questions to answer. Sometimes a contrast will offer a perspective that cannot otherwise be gained. Stories of the early Church leaders have always been helpful to me as examples of what it means to place the kingdom of God first. These stories really began to live for me when I was a young missionary. In those days missionaries were not blessed with the many teaching aids that we have today. We had the scriptures and a big, black box that contained a record player and a set of records entitled The Fulness of Times. (I always hoped and prayed for a small companion because we would carry this big black box on a broomstick between us. If I was taller, the weight would always shift to my companion!) These records depicted the historical account of the early history of the Church from the First Vision to the Nauvoo period.
There was one episode depicted on the records that would nearly bring tears to my eyes as my companion and I would listen to it over and over again. It was the account of Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball leaving their wives, children, and humble homes to journey to Great Britain in response to their mission calls to that faraway land. Heber C. Kimball records the event in these words:
“‘September 14th, … President Brigham Young left his home at Montrose to start on the mission to England. He was so sick that he was unable to go to the Mississippi, a distance of thirty rods, without assistance. After he had crossed the river he rode behind Israel Barlow on his horse to my house, where he continued sick until the 18th. He left his wife sick with a babe only three weeks old, and all of his other children were sick and unable to wait upon each other. Not one soul of them was able to go to the well for a pail of water, and they were without a second suit to their backs, for the mob in Missouri had taken nearly all he had. On the 17th, Sister Mary Ann Young got a boy to carry her up in his wagon to my house, that she might nurse and comfort Brother Brigham to the hour of starting.
“‘September 18th, Charles Hubbard sent his boy with a wagon and span of horses to my house; our trunks were put into the wagon by some brethren; I went to my bed and shook hands with my wife who was then shaking with a chill, having two children lying sick by her side; I embraced her and my children, and bade them farewell. My only well child was little Heber P., and it was with difficulty he could carry a couple of quarts of water at a time to assist in quenching their thirst.
“‘It was with difficulty we got into the wagon, and started down the hill about ten rods; it appeared to me as though my very inmost parts would melt within me at leaving my family in such a condition, as it were almost in the arms of death. I felt as though I could not endure it. I asked the teamster to stop, and said to Brother Brigham, “This is pretty tough, isn’t it; let’s rise up and give them a cheer.” We arose, and swinging our hats three times over our heads, shouted: “Hurrah, hurrah for Israel.” Vilate, hearing the noise, arose from her bed and came to the door. She had a smile on her face. Vilate and Mary Ann Young cried out to us: “Goodbye, God bless you!” We returned the compliment, and then told the driver to go ahead. After this I felt a spirit of joy and gratitude, having had the satisfaction of seeing my wife standing upon her feet, instead of leaving her in bed, knowing well that I should not see them again for two or three years’” (Orson F. Whitney, Life of Heber C. Kimball, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1967, pp. 265–66).
I have often wondered how these brethren, as valiant as they were, could do what they did. Truly they were willing to make any sacrifice asked of them to build the kingdom of God. They were laying up “treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt” (Matt. 6:20).
There is something else about this story, however, that has always intrigued me. As Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball left on their missions to Great Britain, there appeared to be a lot of support from their brethren to help them on their way. Israel Barlow assisted Brigham Young across the Mississippi River. Later, Charles Hubbard sent his son with a wagon to the Kimball home to assist the two missionaries as they began their long journey.
If we look carefully at this story, we catch a glimpse of the unity that must have existed among the Saints in those early days. As husbands and fathers would leave for missionary service, their departure was made easier because they knew that brothers, sisters, priesthood leaders, and friends would step in to help fill the void created by their absence.
These brethren were able to invest in building the kingdom of God in faraway lands because they knew that others would be investing in building the kingdom at home by helping their loved ones whenever assistance was needed. There was a unique bonding, a special faith in the community of Saints, dedicated to a common goal, a common purpose. If we return to Jacob’s counsel to his people, we see the same message communicated as he instructed them to be familiar with all and to share freely of their substance (see Jacob 2:17).
What this testifies to me is that we can tell whether or not we put the kingdom of God first by looking at how we treat our brothers and sisters in the Church. Is there a special bond uniting us? Is there an absence of envy and backbiting? Do we rejoice in the success of a brother or sister as much as in our own? Do we share our substance so that all may be rich like unto us? Ultimately, are we our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers?
As I travel throughout the Church I marvel at all the positive things that are occurring. Yet I never feel that we, as a people, are living up to our real potential. My sense is that we do not always work together, that we are still too much interested in aspirations for personal honors and success, and show too little interest in the common goal of building the kingdom of God.
When we look at all the Lord asks of us, it can sometimes seem overwhelming. Of course, where much has been given, much is expected. I believe it is helpful when faced with an enormous challenge to view it as a step-by-step process. We begin by taking the first step, then continue by taking one step at a time. I am certain that the Lord is pleased even with our small beginnings, because in His infinite wisdom He knows that small things often become great things.
The first step always involves a deepening of commitment to the Lord and His glorious work. Again, this is a commitment to consider His work first. Our subsequent steps are guided by this initial commitment, but can, of course, take several directions.
We can help by serving our brothers and sisters in the Church. We can go to those who have not yet received the gospel and convert them to its truths. We can go to the temple and perform this great redeeming work for the dead. As we engage in the work of the Lord, He will increase our capacity as we increase our desire. We will pull closer together as a people engaged in a common effort. Through sacrifices we make one for another and for Him, we will realize our potential as His children and prepare the way for His eventual, glorious return.
May each of us accept the challenge to seek the kingdom of God first, before and above all else, and by so doing draw closer together as a people, until we are all of one heart and one mind, I humbly pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“After the talk, our first baptism today will be Alison’s,” the bishop’s counselor announced, smiling at me and my dad.
“Oh, we’d be happy to go last,” Dad joked.
Uncle Calvin gave Dad’s shoulder a friendly punch. “You’ll do great,” he whispered.
Just a few months before, my dad had been ordained an elder in the Melchizedek Priesthood. This would be his first time performing a baptism. I felt proud of him and happy as we sat together in our white clothes.
Soon my dad and I stepped into the baptismal font. He gave me a wink. I held his arm and plugged my nose while he said the short prayer and lowered me into the water. He did a great job! As I stood up, I felt the warm water streaming off my face. The warmth of the Spirit whispered to me that I’d made the right choice.

Later on in my life, many of my prayers were answered with a yes. One such time was when I received a pocketknife for my Christmas gift. This was a rare and a fine gift for someone in my humble circumstances, and I cherished it with all my heart and took very good care of it. However, in the springtime, a terrible thing happened—I lost my pocketknife! I searched everyplace I could think of but could not find it. The days went by, and each day I continued to search and pray. Some weeks later as I was returning home from school, my brother came running as fast as he could, shouting that he had found my pocketknife. I was overjoyed and so thankful that Heavenly Father had finally answered my prayers.
In this case, my prayers were answered with a yes. Heavenly Father knew that this answer would strengthen my faith. Since that time, I have had many, many prayers answered, but not all have been answered with a yes.

He had met Bathsheba and stayed at her home on an earlier mission in 1837. He was there when she was baptized at age 15, and the 20-year-old “made provisional arrangements … the Almighty preserving us, in three years from that time, we would be married.” At that location he also preached a two-and-a-half-hour sermon just to outlast hecklers. (See “Youngest Modern Apostle,” Church News, 1950–51.)
Three years from that time, the Almighty had indeed preserved them but on opposite sides of the Atlantic. In a letter to a relative, the recently called Apostle wrote: “Tell Sister Bathsheba I have not really forgotten her. … If she is married, wish her much joy for me, and if she is single, wish her much joy with me.”
He returned to the United States in 1841, visited his parents, then went straight to the Bigler home. He and Bathsheba were married 10 days later on July 25.

Michelle sat outside the bishop’s office trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. Would this interview be like a test? What if she got the answers wrong? Could she still get a temple recommend in time for her first trip to do baptisms for the dead?
“Is everything all right, honey?” Mom asked.
Michelle tried to smile. “Yes. I’m just nervous. What if I don’t know all the answers? What if I forget one of the Articles of Faith or something?”
Dad reached over and patted her hand. “It isn’t a quiz, sweetie. Just be yourself and answer honestly. You have nothing to worry about.”
But she did worry! Today was her 12th birthday, and she wanted to do baptisms for the dead the very next day. She’d been planning it for months. She was even going to wait to have her birthday party until her family got home from the temple. If she messed up in the interview and missed doing baptisms, she’d be so disappointed.
She kept running through the Articles of Faith in her mind just in case.
Soon the door opened. The bishop leaned out of his office and smiled. “Hello, Michelle. Come on in!”
Michelle gulped and walked inside his office.
The bishop started by asking Michelle about her birthday plans. That wasn’t so scary to talk about. Then they talked about her Primary class for a little while.
“Are you excited to go into Young Women?” he asked.
“Oh, yes!” Michelle answered. They talked for several minutes about why she was looking forward to becoming a Beehive.
Then the bishop asked Michelle about her testimony and if she kept the commandments. Those questions were easy to answer. She knew the Church was true. She tried to live the gospel. Michelle started feeling less worried.
And then, before she knew it, the interview was over. The bishop filled out the recommend and handed it to Michelle. She blinked at the little paper she held in her hand. She had her very own temple recommend!
The bishop smiled. “Have a happy birthday and a wonderful time at the temple.”
Michelle could hardly wait!
For the rest of the day, Michelle couldn’t think about anything but the temple. All her life she’d been learning about the temple. And tomorrow she was going inside for real.
Finally the big day arrived. Later that night there’d be a party with presents and cake. Grandma and Grandpa would be there too. But none of that was on her mind as she put on her best church clothes. She was going to the temple. Her birthday wish was coming true.
“All ready, Michelle?” Mom asked.
Michelle nodded. Boy, was she ready!
And yet, as soon as Dad pulled the car out of the driveway, Michelle started feeling jittery all over again. Would she be able to stay quiet inside the temple? She knew the temple was a sacred place, and she wanted to be reverent. But sometimes she got so excited about things that she forgot to whisper. Would this be one of those times?
But as soon as they stepped inside the temple, Michelle’s nervousness completely disappeared. She felt more peaceful and calm than she ever had before. She could feel this was a special place. Michelle was inside the temple with Mom and Dad.
This really was the best way to celebrate her birthday.

In the middle of the night, my husband and I both awoke and felt an evil presence in our home. Just as surely as I had felt the Holy Ghost in the bishop’s office, I now felt the adversary. As I lay in bed, I realized I had made Satan very unhappy by returning to the Church. I prayed with all my heart, and in time I felt the presence go away.
My husband and I didn’t have a chance to talk about the experience until the next evening, when I picked him up in a town about 48 kilometers from our house. During the ride home, he asked, “What happened last night?”
Because my husband believes that when a person sins it is between that person and God and should not be the concern of other people, I had told him the previous night that I was only going to a Church meeting. Now I told him all about what had happened in the bishop’s office, the feelings of love and comfort, and my return to full fellowship. I bore my testimony of the system Heavenly Father has set up to enable his children to repent and get their lives in order. I told him I felt the adversary was very unhappy with my actions, and that is why we had felt his influence during the night. I told him I wished I had the priesthood in my home, but I knew Heavenly Father would watch over our family. As I finished, I felt strongly that I should close in the name of Jesus Christ, so I did.
My husband didn’t say anything until we were pulling into our driveway. Then he said, “I think you’re right.”

Brady insisted, however, that he was going to be baptized. He had been looking forward to it for a long time, even though his disease had caused him to be so weak that much of his life had been spent in hospitals. His father prayed and had a calm feeling that somehow Brady would be able to be baptized without drowning. So when Brady turned eight, Brother Blaser didn’t ask if it could be done, he just gave me the job of figuring out how to do it. Not able to get any information from Church headquarters about anyone with a tracheotomy being baptized, we tried waterproof tape on Brady’s skin, and it seemed to stick even when wet. The baptism was scheduled.
Because my faith was not as strong as Brady’s and his parents’, we took resuscitation equipment to the baptism. After the spiritual talks, everyone waited while we took the plastic tracheotomy tube out of Brady’s throat, leaving a hole which the tightly stretched layers of special tape held together to keep the water out. Brother Blaser carried his son into the baptismal font, where I was waiting dressed in white. A doctor isn’t often needed in the baptismal font, but my job that day was to help Brady keep water out of his nose and mouth and to be there in case something went wrong. Nothing did. The spirit was there as Brady was baptized a member of the Church.
Medically, the baptism was impossible. But it was accomplished because of the faith and determination of Brady Blaser and his parents.

When President Washington arrived at Gilbert’s home studio, the six-foot-two Washington set his face in the stony, lifeless expression typically seen in portraits of that period. Stuart wondered how he could get Washington to appear more natural. The artist usually got his subjects to pose with lively expressions on their faces by talking to them about their interests. Stuart tried to talk to the president about the American Revolution. When Washington didn’t respond, Stuart tried discussing great political figures of ancient Rome. Washington seemed bored, so Stuart had to do his best without the president’s help. The same was true when he painted a second portrait of Washington, this time a full-length picture.

When Washington sat for his third portrait—the last one by Stuart—the artist was still puzzling over how to capture a more lively expression of Washington. Finally Stuart gripped his paintbrush and began to sketch the outline of the president’s head. When Stuart happened to glance up from his canvas, he saw a sudden, bright expression cross Washington’s face. The president had just seen a beautiful horse gallop by the window. Stuart searched his brain for all that he knew about horses and started talking, and Washington’s face soon glowed with interest in their conversation.

From horses, the conversation turned to farming. George Washington had been a planter in Virginia before he became president of the United States. Unfortunately, before the sitting that day was finished, the president’s face had assumed its stiff expression again.

In subsequent sittings, some of Washington’s friends came with him, and their conversation helped keep the president’s face more animated. However, now Stuart wanted Washington’s expression to better show his powerful leadership qualities. By making the president wait when he arrived for the sitting, Stuart irritated Washington just enough so that his face reflected the expression he wore when he was a general commanding his troops.

Another blessing, the Memphis teens say, is good friends. Jonathan Stambaugh of Collierville High School says, “A couple of years ago I didn’t go to seminary and didn’t really like church. I only hung out with guys on the baseball team, and even though it was fun, it felt empty. Then I started hanging out with Church friends, and things were so much better. My Church friends help strengthen my testimony.”
Jonathan is putting his chances at major league baseball aside for a mission. He says, “I would rather be a good guy than a good baseball player, because, without the gospel, nothing has a point.”

by Anne C. Bradshaw
“It all began with winning every running event I entered in primary sports,” said 15-year-old Gillian Tate of Saltcoats Branch, Paisley Scotland Stake. “Because of that success, my parents decided to start me training with a proper coach. Now I’m really grateful. I hope to run for Scotland in the Olympics one day.”
And that desire may well come true. Gillian recently was awarded the special prize at Birmingham Athletics, during the 150th anniversary, for coming in first or second in so many events.
Gillian is a member of the Scottish Women’s Amateur Athletic Association and trains three times a week. She is the North Ayreshire Schools champion in 400 meters and is a consistent winner in competitions.
However, Gillian feels her speed is a little unfair for any more Church sports and is thinking of withdrawing from future stake and regional races. “I have to slow down to give other girls a chance,” she says.

Christmas of 1977 was not a happy one for me. No family members were close enough to visit, we had almost no money, and we had no pretty decorations to boost my spirits—only a scraggly little Christmas tree strung with colored paper and popcorn chains. If not for the wide-eyed hope of our small children, I probably wouldn’t even have bothered with the tree.
My husband had to drive our car about 45 minutes to get to work, taking with him our only means of transportation. I was stuck at home all day, every day, miles away from anything and everything. The nearest town was a 20-minute drive over insanely twisting mountain roads. The chapel and most of the members of our tiny branch were nearly an hour away.
We had moved to this isolated Appalachian valley in a spasm of youthful idealism and adventurousness. My husband heard of cheap land in Virginia, and before I could say, “Middle of nowhere,” we had moved there. He built us a little house on the side of a mountain, with water piped in from a nearby spring.
We did have neighbors, though they were few and far between. The closest house was an 1801 log cabin, rented for a short while by a young family from our branch, the Andersons (names have been changed). They were poor like we were. Donald, the dad, was working six and sometimes seven days a week. Donald and Ruth had three small children, as we did, and Ruth was in a constant state of exhaustion.
It was a fairly precarious hike from my house to Ruth’s, over a deeply rutted, muddy road. For either of us—with a baby in our arms and two small children in tow—visits were a bit tricky. On one of our rare visits, however, Ruth mentioned to me that they hadn’t been able to get a Christmas tree. Donald left home before dawn and didn’t get back until late evening. Ruth just wasn’t up to traipsing about the countryside in search of a tree.
One evening just before Christmas I was struck with a sudden, passionate urge to find a Christmas tree for the Andersons. Out of nowhere the idea hit me—I just had to get them a tree. As pathetic as my own tree might be, it brought at least a portion of the Christmas spirit into our home.
I spent the rest of the evening making paper chains, popcorn strings, and, of course, a yellow star with glitter for the treetop. In the morning I hiked out onto the mountainside and searched until I found a small tree. I hacked it down and found an old can to decorate and fill with dirt for a base. The end product was more laughable than beautiful, but it looked cheery enough—if you sort of squinted your eyes.
I called to ask Ruth if I could come down, then bundled up my kids and made the hike down the mountain. I somehow managed to balance the tree and the children without major mishap and arrived safely at the cabin door. When Ruth answered my knock, she took one look at my comical little tree and burst into tears. I entered the house very much afraid that my idea had not been such a good one after all.
When Ruth regained her composure, she explained her tears. It was late the evening before when Donald finally arrived home from work. With nearly empty cupboards, the family had piled into the car for the long ride to the store. After a while three-year-old Michael said, “Daddy, can we say a prayer?”
Donald asked Michael if he would like to say it. Then with the simple faith of a child, Michael asked Heavenly Father to help them get a Christmas tree. After saying, “Amen,” Donald and Ruth looked at each other, knowing they would have to try harder to satisfy the longing of their little boy’s heart. They were not able to come up with a plan that night and went to bed more than a little perplexed.
So it was that when we appeared with the little tree, we were an answer to more than one prayer. As soon as the Anderson children caught a glimpse of us, they squealed with joy and made a place of honor for the funny looking tree. There could never have been a Christmas tree more loved.
The miracle of that Christmas, however, was not just the prayer that bounced from a little boy’s heart to heaven and back again to the heart of someone who could help. It was also the healing power I found in the act of giving.
From the moment the thought of finding a tree for the Andersons struck me, the spirit of Christmas began to fill my own heart. I was grateful that the Lord loved me enough to try to get through to me and teach me. And I was reminded anew that it is in losing ourselves that we find ourselves. As we serve, we find that “He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds” (Ps. 147:3).

The moment I decided to be a teacher is very clear in my mind. During World War II, I was in my early 20s and a pilot in the Air Force. I was stationed on the little island of Ie Shima. This island, a small, lonely one about as big as a postage stamp, is just off the northern tip of Okinawa.
One lonely summer evening, I sat on a cliff to watch the sun go down. I was pondering what I would do with my life after the war, if I was fortunate enough to survive. What did I want to be? It was on that night that I decided I wanted to be a teacher. I reasoned that teachers are always learning. Learning is a basic purpose of life.
I first taught seminary in 1949 in Brigham City. I had been a student in that seminary in my high school days.
There were three courses originally taught in seminary: Old Testament, New Testament, and Church History. It was my privilege to add an early-morning class on the Book of Mormon. I had returned from the war with a testimony of the Book of Mormon and an understanding of how the gift of the Holy Ghost operates.
You have been taught all of your lives about the gift of the Holy Ghost, but teaching can only go so far. You can and, in fact, you must go the rest of the way alone to discover within yourself how the Holy Ghost can be a guiding and protective influence.
For young men and young women, the process is the same. Discovering how the Holy Ghost operates in your life is the quest of a lifetime. Once you have made that discovery for yourself, you can live in enemy territory and will not be deceived or destroyed. No member of this Church—and that means each of you—will ever make a serious mistake without first being warned by the promptings of the Holy Ghost.
Sometimes when you have made a mistake, you may have said afterward, “I knew I should not have done that. It did not feel right,” or perhaps, “I knew I should have done that. I just did not have the courage to act!” Those impressions are the Holy Ghost attempting to direct you toward good or warning you away from harm.
There are certain things that you must not do if the lines of communication are to remain open. You cannot lie or cheat or steal or act immorally and have those channels remain free from disruption. Do not go where the environment resists spiritual communication.
You must learn to seek the power and direction that is available to you, and then follow that course no matter what.
First on your “to do” list, put the word prayer. Most of the time, your prayers will be silent. You can think a prayer.
You can always have a direct line of communication with your Father in Heaven. Do not allow the adversary to convince you that no one is listening on the other end. Your prayers are always heard. You are never alone!
Take care of your body. Be clean. “Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?” (1 Corinthians 3:16).
Read carefully the promises found in section 89 of the Doctrine and Covenants. The Word of Wisdom does not promise perfect health but that the spiritual receptors within you might be strengthened.
Stay away from tattoos and similar things which deface your body. Your body was created in God’s image.
I want to speak now in the pattern of straight talk about another matter.
We know that gender was set in the premortal world.1 “The spirit and the body are the soul of man” (D&C 88:15). This matter of gender is of great concern to the Brethren, as are all matters of morality.
A few of you may have felt or been told that you were born with troubling feelings and that you are not guilty if you act on those temptations. Doctrinally we know that if that were true, your agency would have been erased, and that cannot happen. You always have a choice to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost and live a morally pure and chaste life, one filled with virtue.
President Gordon B. Hinckley announced the following in general conference: “People inquire about our position on those who consider themselves … gays and lesbians. My response is that we love them as sons and daughters of God. They may have certain inclinations which are powerful and which may be difficult to control. Most people have [temptations] of one kind or another at various times. If they do not act upon these inclinations, then they can go forward as do all other members of the Church. If they violate the law of chastity and the moral standards of the Church, then they are subject to the discipline of the Church, just as others are.
“We want to help … strengthen them, to assist them with their problems and to help them with their difficulties. But we cannot stand idle if they indulge in immoral activity, if they try to uphold and defend and live in a so-called same-sex marriage situation. To permit such would be to make light of the very serious and sacred foundation of God-sanctioned marriage and its very purpose, the rearing of families.”2
President Hinckley was speaking for the Church.
The first gift that Adam and Eve received was agency: “Thou mayest choose for thyself, for it is given unto thee” (Moses 3:17).
You have that same agency. Use it wisely to deny acting on any impure impulse or unholy temptation that may come into your mind. Just do not go there, and if you are already there, come back out of it. “Deny yourselves of all ungodliness” (Moroni 10:32).
Do not tamper with the life-giving powers in your body alone or with members of either gender. That is the standard of the Church, and it will not change. As you mature, there is a temptation to experiment or explore immoral activities. Do not do that!
The key word is discipline—self-discipline. The word discipline comes from the word disciple or follower. Be a disciple-follower of the Savior, and you will be safe.
One or two of you may be thinking, “I am already guilty of this or that serious mistake. It is too late for me.” It is never too late.
You have been taught at home and in seminary about the Atonement of Jesus Christ. The Atonement is like an eraser. It can wipe away guilt and the effect of whatever it is that is causing you to feel guilty.
Guilt is spiritual pain. Do not suffer from chronic pain. Get rid of it. Be done with it. Repent and, if necessary, repent again and again and again and again until you—not the enemy—are in charge of you.
Life turns out to be a succession of trials and errors. Add “repent often” to your list of things to do. This will bring you lasting peace that cannot be purchased at any earthly price. Understanding the Atonement may be the one most important truth that you can learn in your youth.
If you are associating with others who drag you down instead of building you up, stop and change company. You may be alone and lonely at times. The important question may be asked then, “When you are alone, are you in good company?”
Unwinding a habit that you have allowed to entangle you can be difficult. But the power is in you. Do not despair. The Prophet Joseph Smith taught that “all beings who have bodies have power over those who have not.”3 You can resist temptation!
It is not likely that you will ever have a personal encounter with the adversary; he does not show himself that way. But even if he came personally to you to test and tempt you, you have an advantage. You can assert your agency, and he will have to leave you alone.
You are not ordinary. You are very special. You are exceptional. How do I know that? I know that because you were born at a time and in a place where the gospel of Jesus Christ can come into your life through the teachings and activities of your home and of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is, as the Lord Himself has said, “the only true and living church upon the face of the whole earth” (D&C 1:30).
There are other things we could add to the list, but you know what you should and should not be doing in your life. You know right and wrong and do not need to be commanded in all things.
Do not squander these years of seminary instruction. Take advantage of the great blessing you have to learn the doctrines of the Church and the teachings of the prophets. Learn that which is of most worth. It will bless you and your posterity for many generations to come.
Not many years will pass until you are married and have children, a marriage that should be sealed in the temple. Our prayer is that you will find yourself, in due time, safely settled in a family ward or branch.
Do not fear the future. Go forward with hope and faith. Remember that supernal gift of the Holy Ghost. Learn to be taught by it. Learn to seek it. Learn to live by it. Learn to pray always in the name of Jesus Christ (see 3 Nephi 18:19–20). The Spirit of the Lord will attend you, and you will be blessed.
We have deep and profound faith in you.
I bear my testimony to you—a witness that came to me in my youth. And you are no different from anyone else than I am. You have as much right to that testimony and witness as anyone. It will come to you if you earn it. I invoke the blessings of the Lord upon you—the blessings of that witness to be in your life, to guide you as you make a happy future.

Recently I was in a department store trying on shoes. Four young men were looking at what they labeled missionary shoes. It was evident at least two of the young men had received mission calls and were there to find shoes suitable for missionary service. I was surprised by a barrage of crude terms with a few profanities which seemed to routinely roll off their tongues. When they noticed there was someone else nearby, I heard one say, “Hey, guys, we better clean up our language,” as he motioned with his head in my direction.

President Hinckley has said: “Conversation is the substance of friendly social activity. It can be happy. It can be light. It can be earnest. It can be funny. But it must not be salty, or uncouth, or foul if one is in sincerity a believer in Christ” (Teachings of Gordon B. Hinckley [1997], 494). Profanity and priesthood are not compatible. Neither is profanity compatible with missionary service. Profane and crude terms, if part of our conversation, need to be eliminated from our vocabularies. Conversation is one of the windows to our souls.

The second example occurred more recently, in the United States.
I was in a hurry to make a close plane connection in a large city, so I was somewhat concerned at the large number of people and their slow movement down the crowded hall. I moved in and out as best I could without jostling others.
I noticed a fairly concentrated group up ahead. There seemed to be some reason for the slowdown since I could see open spaces farther ahead. As I came to the slowed group I could see a young lady slowly making her way forward with braces and canes. She was terribly crippled but doing the best she could. Most people, as they saw the situation, slowed down and patiently let her go at her own speed.
Just ahead of me, two big, strong, brown-skinned young men had just had their rapid pace slowed and could see the reason why. One turned to the other and in his native tongue said, “Ta’ahine faikehe eni ‘Oku totonu ke puna ia ki tu’a ka ta o!” which roughly interpreted is: “What a crazy girl. She ought to be thrown out so we could move!”
I knew of no Tongans living in this area of the United States. Hawaii, California, and Utah, yes, but here? Since I had served a mission in Tonga, I quickly replied to the two young men, “Oua na’a mo lau’i ae ta’ahine oku si’i heke, he taha, ko hono fo’ui,” which is more or less: “You shouldn’t speak bad about the poor girl. After all, it’s not her fault.”
They whirled around to see who on earth spoke to them. They had a combination of embarrassment and disbelief on their faces. All they saw was a typical American man in a business suit, carrying a briefcase, and scolding them with his eyes.
They just sort of disappeared down the next opening with mutterings of disbelief and dismay, “How did he know? Who was that? We better watch what we say, etc.”
I have often thought that the statistical chances of those circumstances occurring as they did—with the relatively small number of Tongans in the United States, the even smaller number in that large city, and the even smaller number of white people who could speak Tongan—were so small as to be almost nonexistent.

A few years ago I was at beautiful Jackson Lake in the Grand Teton National Park of Wyoming. Not far from the shore of that exquisite body of deep blue water at the foot of the Teton peaks, I bumped unexpectedly into a very close friend from my hometown. He was sitting in the shade of some tall pine trees, painting a scene of the beautiful Teton Mountains. I had known him intimately for many years but had no idea that he knew the first thing about a brush and landscape.

“For heaven’s sake, Jack, what are you doing up here in the mountains with a paint brush in your hand? How long have you been doing this?” I asked.

“I’ve been puttering around for just a few months, and it’s the most fun I’ve ever had. I’m almost done with this one. What do you think of it?” He showed me his painting. I was absolutely amazed that he could paint.

“But how did you learn to do this? A guy can’t just pick up a brush and start painting.”

“I guess my boy is the one who started me,” he said. “He took an art class in high school and went crazy over it. He showed me a few of the fundamentals. It’s much easier than you would think. And it’s fun!”

Whenever my car is sputtering and needs the careful diagnosis of a good mechanic, I take it to a particular friend of mine. This fellow’s brothers all prepared for life by studying law, medicine, or engineering. But my friend just seemed to love to tinker with cars. He has his own automotive repair shop (rather small), and it is a joy to take a car to him for repairs. He is the picture of contentment because he is doing what he really enjoys doing. He bubbles with enthusiasm as he repairs an ailing part. He perpetually flashes a warm and genuine smile, and it is a complete joy to see how much he enjoys mending an automotive ailment. He’s a very good mechanic, and each time I visit him I get the strong impression that he is much happier in life than his brothers who are in supposedly more lofty professions.

Another friend of mine is a prominent corporation lawyer. For years he’s had trouble sleeping at night. An ardent fisherman, he decided one restless night that he would try making the flies that fishermen use. The next day he bought some inexpensive equipment. He went completely overboard on flytying. He enjoyed it even more than fishing. In the space of a few years he must have tied half a million of those things, and he was proud of every single one of them. He became an expert.

A few summers ago our family visited Catalina Island just off the coast near Los Angeles. While there we visited the excellent aviary, which has the most interesting collection of birds I have ever seen. But even though the birds were fascinating, the most important part of the visit for me was the acquaintance I made with a man whom I shall never forget. He told me something that still lingers vividly in my memory, even though this must have been ten years ago.

He worked at the aviary. I first noticed him as he was feeding the birds in the cages. He seemed to know each bird individually, calling them by name and chatting with them as though they were children gathered around him. It was easily apparent that he loved every bird in the place, and the birds seemed to feel the same way about him. After he had finished his feeding chores, I felt compelled to talk to him for a moment.

“It was interesting to watch you feed the birds,” I said. “It’s easy to see that you enjoy your work here.”

“Yes sir, I enjoy it here more than I can tell you. In fact, I can’t think of a single person I would trade places with—none of the movie stars, none of the bankers or lawyers, none of the merchants, none of the presidents, premiers, or kings. I like it right here, and I like what I’m doing.” We chatted a few minutes longer. Then he said, “You know, mister, there is one important thing I’ve discovered in life—at least as far as I personally am concerned. It’s this: If you like what you do, and if you’re doing something that is really worthwhile, and if you do the best job you can do, then, brother, you’ve got it made!”

I have a friend who makes a living selling women’s shoes. But this fellow is much more than a shoe salesman. You should see his garden. What a gift! His yard is the envy of everyone within miles of his place. Talk about a green thumb! His petunias and marigolds and other plants just seem to realize that they are destined to be the best in the land, and I don’t think a clump of crab grass would dare invade his yard. But the nicest thing about this is to see the complete enjoyment he gets out of his great talent of gardening.

I have a friend named Doug whom I must tell you about. He went through school with an unexciting C+ average, and his current earning power is about in the same class—comfortable but not lavish. He has his share of aches and pains, and life has dealt him a full crop of the tougher problems that seem to accompany just about every family. Yet Doug is a man with a gift that is worth more than money can buy. He is a tremendously happy man, and there is no doubt that his happiness comes primarily from his one polished and perfected talent. Perhaps it might be called a knack rather than a gift or a talent. At any rate, it works.

Doug has the knack of absorbing real enjoyment out of the simple and ordinary happenings of each day. I suppose it could be called the knack of enjoyment—and he utilizes it in a fantastic fashion. A normal dinner at night with his wife and kids is a memorable thing for this fellow because he knows how to reap an unusual amount of enjoyment from the carefully set table, the taste of the food, and the conversation of each person, no matter how trivial. It’s as though he had been looking forward to this particular occasion for weeks. A day on the job to Doug seems a challenge, with new decisions and opportunities, while others doing the same thing may feel they’re in a repetitive rut. He can go to church and find a half-dozen worthwhile pearls in a sermon and make plans for adopting them in his own habits, while others sitting in the same service may grumble to themselves about how boring and empty the spoken word has been. When Doug’s golf game is sour, with a score that soars to 105, and his pant cuffs are filled with sand from the traps and prickly weeds from the rough, this guy can actually smile and talk about how great it was out there in the beautiful out-of-doors.

You see, Doug discovered many years ago that most people expected and anticipated a great wad of happiness to come to them when certain events or accomplishments just over the horizon of the future would materialize. Such events could be graduation, or marriage, or the birth of children, or the betterment of a job, or the acquiring of a home or a car. Anyway, Doug has always felt that life is now, and it should be enjoyed now. He taught himself how to enjoy the simple and ordinary things of each day that so often are taken very much for granted.

I once asked Doug to tell me the secret of this unusual gift that he possesses. He told me there were three things that he accentuates every day of his life. First, he tries to slow down in his path through life. He stops to listen to the laughter of children playing in the neighborhood. He takes time to notice flowers, gardens, and homes as he walks along a street. He enjoys each day and wants it to last. Secondly, he reminds himself many times each day that he is going to find happiness on that day! He always seems to be alert in the search. And third, he emphasizes how necessary it is to develop the ability to genuinely appreciate the many things in life for which we should be grateful. Appreciation!

Doug taught me that anybody can acquire his gift if they will strive diligently for it. It doesn’t take great intellectual ability, great physical strength, great heritage, great wealth, or great accomplishment. It’s open to anyone who is looking for a talent. Try it. It works.

Where Evan lives, because the youth in the Church are spread far and wide, they do a lot of virtual meetings. For one thing, they meet in seminary online.
“Weekly seminary is so good,” Evan says. “Not only do we get to learn about Christ and the gospel while we’re doing seminary, but afterwards the teacher leaves the Zoom call open for us.”
In that open call, they get to hang out, joke, play games, and just be friends with others who share their same values. For Evan, some of his closest friendships have formed through these Church contacts.
One of those connections is his good friend Rob. “We find loads of things funny that are similar,” Evan says. “Rob will find something funny on social media that he knows I’ll like, and he’ll send it to me. Then we’ll text back and forth a bit. A few hours later, I’ll find something funny and send it to him.”
Pretty normal stuff, right? But these small interactions are a big help throughout the week. “It’s good because we can share each other’s laughs, but there doesn’t have to be any swearing or anything else involved.” They can also text each other anytime they just need a little extra strength in the gospel.

So when the Columbia Maryland Stake ad hoc youth committee got together to plan a service project, as the stake Young Men president I was pleased when they decided to try to place the New Era with every young person in the stake.
We organized a pledge drive to solicit contributions of $2.00, $4.00, and $8.00 (an annual subscription is $8.00), making sure to explain what the funds would be used for. Then we contacted ward magazine representatives and used information from the Church Magazines heads of households list to target prospective subscribers.
Based on that information, we allocated a quota of pledges to each ward or branch, based on population. The largest ward was asked to raise enough to pay for 25 subscriptions; the smallest branch was asked to raise enough to pay for three.
There wasn’t a lot of hoopla, although we announced our activity and asked stake members for their support. We coordinated with bishops and branch presidents to make sure we wouldn’t ruffle anyone’s feathers. The bishops also helped us determine which families would have the greatest need for the magazines.
We were able to provide 67 households with subscriptions to the New Era, and we feel this has done a lot to benefit the youth in our stake.

“If there is anything that qualifies me for this calling it is the testimony that I gained at age 18 while I prepared for a mission,” says Elder James Joseph Hamula. “I had a most remarkable experience where I received a strong witness of the divinity of the Lord and of His Church.”
Born on November 20, 1957, in Long Beach, California, USA, to Joseph and Joyce Hamula, Elder Hamula remembers reading the account of the First Vision. He read of how the young Joseph Smith wanted to know what was right, and felt that he too needed to go to the Lord in prayer. “So I knelt at my bedside and earnestly prayed to the heavens. And in response I got an answer that was as clear and as unmistakable as anything that I’ve experienced in life. I got up off my knees knowing that the Church was true.”
Elder Hamula has also served as a bishop, stake president, and Area Seventy. “All my experiences in the Church have been refinements of that singular experience as a young man of 18 preparing for my mission,” he says. “That was the foundation of it all.”

I love this gospel and I love street art, so I decided to combine the two. I packed my scriptures, a sketchbook, charcoal pencils, permanent markers, and cans of spray paint in my backpack. My companions laughed and asked, “What are you doing with spray paint?” I explained, “I may not speak the language yet, but I can show others my testimony.”
For the remainder of my mission, I used street art—on paper, not on buildings—and the Spirit to teach others about Christ. And as crazy as it sounds, it worked. Many people didn’t want to hear my message, so I sketched it. Doors and eyes opened when I told them that I did graffiti. They didn’t believe me. They timed me for three minutes, and I sketched the word faith while teaching them about it. Among them were many who felt judged and unloved. I could testify that with faith in Christ we can feel of His love and forgiveness, and He can help us change for the better. He did for me.

Several months ago, after boarding an airplane scheduled to fly to Phoenix, Arizona, the passengers found themselves retained on the ground because of foggy weather. While we were waiting, the door of the airplane opened several times and others joined us, even though it was half an hour or more after the plane should have departed.
A young teenager took the vacant seat beside me. After a short time, he looked toward me and said, “Hey, mister, are you a Mormon?”
I said “Yes” and inquired why he asked.
He reported, “I joined the Church several months ago, but I don’t know whether I believe it anymore.”
We talked about the gospel. I bore my testimony. We discussed many things relating to the Church and to life. Meanwhile, the plane had left Salt Lake and was winging its way south.
This fine young man who wanted to have his testimony reaffirmed and strengthened was willing to do something about it. Cody and I are pen pals now. When I think of him, I recall a wonderful young man, searching for truth, needing a little reassurance, and seeking it on his own. He took responsibility.