Gospel Story Finder

When I was 30, my friend asked me some questions that changed my life. He asked, “If you had all the money in the world, what would you do?” I gave some simple answers, like buy a house, look after my family, be self-reliant, etc.
Then he dug deeper and asked, “What if you had all those things and all the money in the world, then what would you do?” That’s when I realized that regardless of my marital status, I had a lot to give to the world. I thought about the things I could learn and share and the difference and impact I could make.

In the 1980s President Faust worked closely with President Howard W. Hunter (1907–95), then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, then president of Brigham Young University, to turn their vision of BYU’s Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies into reality. President Faust and President Hunter waded through intense negotiations and prolonged opposition in leasing land and overseeing construction of the center.
One eyewitness to the process said, “Elder Faust was truly a man of peace, always looking for ways to calm our often agitated Jewish friends who sought an end to our presence in Jerusalem, or to calm the troubled waters among the Latter-day Saints in Jerusalem who were sometimes offended by the opposition.”

“I remember sometimes staying at Grandmother’s when I was very young,” Sister Smith recalled. “One day she took my brother and me with her when she went to deliver a new baby. When we got to the house, she told us to wait in the car. We stayed in the car a long time, until the children living there invited us to play with them. We got out of the car and all ran around to the back of the house where we saw my grandmother through the sun-dappled window, bathing a brand new little baby. Suddenly she looked up to see a window full of little faces peering in. I remember how she put her head back and laughed! She didn’t get after us for getting out of the car, because I guess she realized that we had become restless waiting for her.”

Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness includes a mortal experience where all of His children will be tested and face trials. Five years ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I have felt and still feel the physical pains from surgeries, radiation treatments, and medication side effects. I have experienced emotional struggles during torturous sleepless nights. Medical statistics indicate I will probably depart mortality earlier than I ever expected, leaving behind, for a season, a family who means everything to me.
Many suffering Saints have shared with me how they felt God’s love during their trials. I vividly recall my own experience at one point in my cancer battle when the doctors had not yet diagnosed the cause of some severe pain. I sat with my wife, intending to offer a routine blessing on our lunch. Instead, all I could do was simply weep, “Heavenly Father, please help me. I am so sick.” For the next 20 to 30 seconds, I was encircled in His love. I was given no reason for my illness, no indication of the ultimate outcome, and no relief from the pain. I just felt of His pure love, and that was and is enough.

They have faced many obstacles as they work to identify ancestors for temple ordinances. There are no written family history records available, so they have had to rely on the memories of their living relatives.
Communicating with those relatives has been difficult: they live hundreds of kilometers away, and few people in the remote villages of their families have mobile phones.
Despite the challenges, the Lord is blessing the Shamola family in their efforts to identify their ancestors.
Recently, Brother Shamola was thrilled to receive additional information about his ancestors from an oral interview that was conducted in his grandmother’s village in Homa Bay, on the western shores of Kenya.
The interview was given by a family member and recorded for future reference. It gave him information about seven generations of his family, and he was able to identify many ancestors of whom he was previously unaware. He has already submitted several of their names to the temple and plans to submit many more in the future.

“When I was older, I had a remarkable spiritual experience. I had taken my family to Burley, Idaho, to see my wife’s family. Coming back, we had a flat tire on a very sharp curve. I stopped the car on the curve because I didn’t want to ruin the tire. As I pulled off the two-lane highway and started to jack the car up, I had the strongest impression to move the car ahead. I ignored the feeling and continued to jack the car up. Luckily the car slipped off the jack. I again had an impression to move the car ahead. I said, ‘OK,’ and I pulled it ahead about twenty yards from where it had been to the straight-away. I had the wheel off and was about ready to put the spare tire on, when I saw two cars speeding west, one car passing the other. Then I saw another car coming from the opposite direction. The three cars passed each other on the curve exactly where our car had been. I don’t know how many of us would have been killed if we had not moved. From then on I’ve tried to follow my impressions the first time—I don’t wait for a second time. When you follow your impressions, you don’t always know what would have happened if you hadn’t done so, but it pays to heed them.”

In October 1879, a group of 237 Latter-day Saints from several small southwestern Utah settlements was called to blaze a new route and colonize what is today known as San Juan County in southeastern Utah. The journey was to have taken six weeks but instead took nearly six months. Their struggles and heroics are well documented, particularly their seemingly impossible task of crossing the Colorado River at a place called Hole-in-the-Rock. Those who have visited this place marvel that wagons and teams could have been lowered through this narrow crack in the red-rock canyon walls to reach the Colorado River far below. Once the Colorado was crossed, however, many other severe tests awaited them on the trail to San Juan County. Tired and worn out, early in April 1880 they faced their final obstacle, Comb Ridge. The Comb is a ridge of solid sandstone forming a steep wall nearly 1,000 feet high.
One hundred and twenty years later, our family climbed Comb Ridge on a bright spring day. The ridge is steep and treacherous. It was difficult to imagine that wagons, teams, men, women, and children could make such an ascent. But beneath our feet were the scars from the wagon wheels, left as evidence of their struggles so long ago. How did they feel after enduring so much? Were they bitter after the many months of toil and privation? Did they criticize their leaders for sending them on such an arduous journey, asking them to give up so much? Our questions were answered as we reached the top of Comb Ridge. There inscribed in the red sandstone so long ago were the words, “We thank Thee, O God.”

President Thomas S. Monson shared this example of President Smith’s love: “On a cold winter morning, the street cleaning crew [in Salt Lake City] was removing large chunks of ice from the street gutters. The regular crew was assisted by temporary laborers who desperately needed the work. One such wore only a lightweight sweater and was suffering from the cold. A slender man with a well-groomed beard stopped by the crew and asked the worker, ‘You need more than that sweater on a morning like this. Where is your coat?’ The man replied that he had no coat to wear. The visitor then removed his own overcoat, handed it to the man and said, ‘This coat is yours. It is heavy wool and will keep you warm. I just work across the street.’ The street was South Temple. The good Samaritan who walked into the Church Administration Building to his daily work and without his coat was President George Albert Smith of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His selfless act of generosity revealed his tender heart. Surely he was his brother’s keeper.”21

Danilo zoomed out of his apartment. His tiya, or aunt, was babysitting him. And they were going to the park!
His little sister, Rosamie, held Tiya’s hand as they walked along. But Danilo didn’t need to hold Tiya’s hand. He knew the way! He ran ahead and circled back, pretending to be flying at the speed of light as he raced around them.
When they got to the park, Danilo knew where he wanted to go to.
“Follow me!” he said as he ran to a place on the trail where trees grew overhead. It looked like a leafy green tunnel.
“Stay where I can see you,” Tiya reminded Danilo.
Pretty soon they came to a spot where a dirt path branched off and headed down to the river. Danilo had never gone that way before.
“I’m going down here,” Danilo called to Tiya as he started sliding downhill.
“You can stay there for a minute, but then come back up,” Tiya called after him. “I’ve tried that path before, and there’s not a good way to walk along the river down there.”
But Danilo was already at the water’s edge. He could see a small strip of dirt running next to the water. That way seemed fine to him. Maybe Tiya just didn’t know what she was talking about. Danilo kept walking along the water. Tiya and Rosamie kept walking along the path above.
Soon Danilo noticed that the hillside was getting steeper. He could still hear and see Tiya and Rosamie, but they were getting farther away. The ground became sticky with thick mud.
“Oomph!” Danilo pulled himself on top of a big rock. When he looked ahead, all he saw was the river. He felt his stomach do a little flip. There wasn’t any more trail. And he wasn’t sure he could climb up the hill by himself. He was stuck!
“Tiya?” he called, looking up. Tiya looked down the hillside and gave him a little smile. He felt his cheeks get hot. “Um … can you help me?”
With a kind look in her eyes, Tiya nodded. She picked up a long stick and held it down to him.
“Grab this,” she said. “I’ll pull, and you can climb back up to us.”
Danilo grabbed the stick and started walking uphill. It was hard! His knee scraped against a rock. His elbow hit a low-hanging tree branch.
Finally he took Tiya’s outstretched hand, and she pulled him back onto the trail. He brushed the dirt off his clothes and shook the leaves from his hair.
“Thanks,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t listen to you.”
Tiya put her arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “I love you, Danilo. I want you to be safe.”
Danilo nodded. With a smile, he pointed forward. “Let’s keep going! On the trail, this time.”

The Lord is ever aware of our needs and eager to help. One sister relates how she prayed to Heavenly Father and was blessed by the power of the Atonement: “I had no one to turn to, no place to go, except on my knees. I prayed as I had never prayed before. I fasted faithfully, meaningfully, and often. I read and studied the scriptures from cover to cover for the first time in my life. … And he was there. He heard my humble pleadings. He put his arm of love around me. He forgave me of my sins and showed me a better way. I was amazed at the happiness, success, and opportunity that came into my life” (“After Divorce: Clearing the Hurdles,” Ensign, August 1985, 50).

Tom Geffe wasn’t exactly “golden.” He called the missionaries names. He threw the Book of Mormon in the trash. He smoked. He drank. He swore.
All the more reason to love him. That was the attitude of his twin brother, Bill, and the members of the St. Peters Ward. Bill and Tom started the discussions at the same time. Tom dropped out but Bill got baptized.
“Bill would give me books and I wouldn’t read them,” Tom says now. “He would tell me he was learning about the priesthood, and I would think, Yeah, you’re crazy.”
Bill kept at it.
“I’d go to Church activities,” Tom says. “But I’d always be the rebel. I was just in it for the fun.”
Bill invited Tom to youth conference. Tom figured he’d skip the spiritual parts.
“But I ended up at this big testimony meeting. All of these kids were bearing their testimonies. One nonmember girl said she knew the Church was true and she was going to be baptized. Her testimony was so powerful I thought, Wow! I want to be a part of that!”
The change was immediate. Tom quit smoking, quit drinking, quit swearing. He started the discussions again, started reading the Book of Mormon. Tom discovered the gospel was setting him free. “I felt better about myself. I felt free to be the things I really wanted to be.”
The missionaries asked Tom to join the Church. He felt it was right, but wanted to be sure. They all prayed.
“I felt really warm inside, and a big smile came over my face,” Tom explains. “I knew I should be baptized.
“People who knew me before could not believe I was joining the Church,” Tom says. “But it was the best thing I ever did. It sticks with me every day, knowing Heavenly Father loves me.”
The story doesn’t end there. Bill, who was a year ahead in school, is serving in the Texas Houston East Mission. He relies a lot on Tom’s letters of encouragement. “He tells me the same things I used to tell him,” Bill says. “Keep on trying, even when it’s hard. Stay strong.
“I don’t know if I have more I-want-to-go-home days than other missionaries,” Bill says. “But when I have one I’ll reread a letter, or look at Tom’s picture, and think how we’ve been able to help each other. It gives me courage to go on.”
Tom also plans on a mission.

My sisters and I were talking about how well we did feeding our neighbor’s dogs. My mom said she would pay us for doing such a great job. Then my mom reminded us about tithing. I made a big fuss about that. Then my mom said I could either keep all my money or give tithing to the bishop. I knew that paying tithing was the right thing to do. I was happy I made the right choice, and I hope Heavenly Father was too.

Often the Savior will direct others into our lives to help bring us the peace and comfort we need in times of trial. These blessed people feel to us like angels sent from heaven, for surely they are.
My family and I have experienced on several different occasions the feelings of comfort and peace that a modern-day angelic host can bring. I would like to reflect on one of those occasions. In 2003, we moved away from our home country of Brazil to Utah in the United States.
That winter, we had one of the biggest snowstorms Utah had had for several years. We had never seen anything like that in our lives, as we were raised among palm trees and sandy beaches. Our home was located on a corner on a hill that had a very long sidewalk.
When the snow started, my wife courageously started snow blowing the driveway and sidewalks. I was unable to help because I had slipped on ice and broken my wrist a few days before. That accident resulted in a surgery and a large cast on my arm.
As she started snow blowing for the first time in her life, my dear wife had no clue that she had to change the direction of the chute after cleaning one side of the driveway. So, when she went to the other side to clean, that was where the chute directed the snow. Back and forth she went, to no avail. What a mess!
Because of her prolonged exposure to cold, she got a double ear infection and was almost completely deaf for two months. At the same time, my 16-year-old son had injured his back while sledding and needed to stay in bed to heal. So there we were, one bedridden, one deaf, one in a cast, and all freezing.
I’m sure we were quite a sight for our neighbors. On one of those early, frigid mornings at about 5:00 a.m., I woke up to the sound of a snowblower outside my window. I looked outside and saw my neighbor from across the street, Brother Blaine Williams. At nearly 70 years of age, he had left his warm and comfortable home and had quietly come and cleared the snow from our driveway and sidewalk, knowing that we were not able to do it ourselves.
Photograph from Getty Images
On one of those early, frigid mornings at about 5:00 a.m., I woke up to the sound of a snowblower outside my window.
Another friend, Brother Daniel Almeida, showed up at our home to drive me down to Salt Lake City for work, as I could not drive with my very cumbersome cast. They were there for me every morning, demonstrating their love with these simple acts of kindness, until my family healed and we were again able to do things by ourselves.
During that cold winter of 2003, these angelic brothers were sent to us. These two brothers followed our Savior’s example and thought of our needs before they thought of their own.

Teresa Perez had had the same dream for three nights in a row. In her dream, she saw a small room filled with white clothing hanging from a line.
Could the dream have something to do with the lessons she and her family had been taking from the Mormon missionaries?
Elder Nichols and Elder Benjamin had started teaching her family three weeks ago and challenging them to read the Book of Mormon and to pray.
She and her parents had started reading the Book of Mormon and praying together. Teresa knew that her parents were struggling with the decision to accept the gospel that the American missionaries taught and to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
In their small town outside of Madrid, Spain, nearly everyone belonged to the same church. Some family members and friends had made unkind remarks about the “Mormons” and ridiculed Teresa’s family for even listening to the missionaries.
Teresa didn’t understand everything that the missionaries taught, but she liked the warm feeling she had as she listened to them. They spoke of Jesus Christ and of His love for all children. Teresa liked that. In her old church, she rarely heard about Jesus’ love.
She saw love for the Savior and His gospel in the elders’ eyes. She heard it in their voices when they spoke of Him.
When the missionaries arrived that day, Teresa told them of her dream.
“Can you describe the clothes?” Elder Nichols asked.
“There were lots of white clothes hanging from a line. Pants. Shirts. Dresses. Some were little and some bigger.”
Elder Nichols looked at Teresa’s papa. “Can you meet us at the church tomorrow evening?”
Papa nodded. “We will be there.”
The lesson continued, but Teresa barely heard what the young elders said. Her dream and Elder Nichols’s request filled her mind.
That night, the dream came once more. The beautiful white clothes were so white that they shined.
Teresa and her parents made the hour-long trip by bus to the chapel. Elders Nichols and Benjamin met them at the door and led them down a hallway to a small room.
“Is this what you saw in your dream?” Elder Nichols asked.
Teresa looked at the white clothes of all different sizes hanging from a large rack. There were dresses, pants, shirts, just as in her dream! “Yes. It is just as I saw in my dream.”
“These are baptismal clothes.” Elder Nichols explained, “When a person gets baptized, he or she wears all white. It’s a symbol of purity.”
A frown crossed her papa’s face. “We have been baptized. When we were babies. For Teresa, that was only ten years ago.”
“We understand,” Elder Benjamin said. He pointed to the scriptures he always carried. “We learn from the prophets that those who take upon themselves the name of Christ must be baptized by the proper authority.”
Teresa remembered that from the discussions. “The priesthood.”
Elder Benjamin nodded. Then he bore his testimony. Elder Nichols followed. Tears filled his eyes as he spoke of his love for Jesus Christ and of his gratitude for the priesthood which he held and which included the proper authority to baptize people.
Teresa heard the truth in the testimonies. Even more, she felt it. She turned to her father and mother. “It is good, what we hear. I feel it.” She placed a hand on her heart. “I feel it here.”
Elder Nichols smiled. “The word gospel means the good news.”
Teresa’s papa wiped tears from his eyes. “Good news. You have brought us very good news.”
“Always we search for something,” her mama said. “Now we have found it.”
“When can we be baptized?” Teresa asked.
Elder Nichols’ smile widened. “How does Saturday sound?”

Merrell: Yes, and there’s kind of a funny story involved in one case. Betsy and I were driving back from dinner one evening trying to decide whether I should do Three Warriors. We were on the freeway, and I started hearing music I thought would be perfect for the theme song. The next morning I got up and wrote it down, and Kieth came over and I played it for him. Halfway through he got up to leave, and I said, “Kieth, where are you going?” He said, “The music is fine. I trust you.” We recorded it, and after a screening with the distributors, the producer told me he loved the music. Kieth came over to me then and said, “You know, when you played the theme song for me that day and were telling me what the French horns would sound like, and the strings, and everything else, all I could hear was your terrible voice and your out-of-tune piano. I was really worried, but I’ll never doubt your judgment again!”

When I was a young man I lived in a small community close to the mountains. I was a lifeguard and did lots of swimming. We used to go tubing down rivers and all those crazy things that advisers worry about but guys get excited about. We went swimming at a place called East Canyon, a beautiful man-made reservoir. The dam is in a narrow neck of the canyon between sheer rock walls.

None of us had boats, so we couldn’t water ski, but we would do what we called cliff diving. We’d climb up those rocks and dive into the reservoir. We’d always wear tennis shoes because the rocks were so sharp. We used to have a wonderful time. I guess I didn’t realize how really dangerous it was.

After we’d been there several times and pretty well knew the rocks, cliffs, and the water depth, two or three of us hard-core East Canyon divers got into the inevitable teenage contest of raw courage. One guy climbed up to where we always dove from and yelled down, “Hey! I’ll bet I dare dive higher than anybody here!”

“Ah, go on!”

So he climbed up to the top of the dam. The dam was about 50 feet off the water. Diving into the air he arched into the water, and like a bunch of sheep we crawled up the rocks, out onto the dam, and all of us dove off. I don’t know if you’ve ever jumped 50 feet—it’s a long way. I could only think that, after all, the water was 70 feet deep and couldn’t hurt all that much.

Well, that didn’t satisfy my friend, and so he said, “All right, I’ll do one better!” He climbed 60 feet up the side of the cliff. And not wanting to be outdone, I climbed up by him. After all, everyone was looking at me. I had a great suntan, and I was sure everyone expected me to do what he was doing. He swallowed hard, buried his fear, and from trembling knees arched his back, and floating through 60 feet of air into the water.

I was grateful nobody was watching me as I prepared for my dive. When he’d cleared and seemed to be all right, I took courage, and I made my dive. By now the other members of our diving contest had backed down, figuring it was a little high. But not my friend. He climbed on up to about 70 feet and once more prepared to dive. From below I could barely see him. Seventy feet is a very long way up on the rocks. I said to myself, “I hope he doesn’t do it because if he does it, then obviously I’ve got to do it, and I really don’t want to.” About then I saw a pink body float through the air and splash into the water not far from me. He came up laughing, rubbing his shoulders and his eyes, and said, “Well, Merrill, are you going to do it?”

“Of course, I’m going to do it!” Everybody on the shore said, “Yeah, of course he’s going to do it!”

And so I swam back to the shore and climbed up the rocks. I knew I only had the courage for one more jump. I knew if I jumped at 70 feet, he was going to go higher, so I thought, “Well, I might as well go up to the very top where there is no way he can go higher.”

I scrambled up 80 feet to the very top of the cliff. As I turned around and looked down, I saw that the cliffs were back away from the water at that height. I had two challenges: to fall 80 feet and to get enough clearance to avoid hitting the rocks at the bottom. Everybody was egging me on in a negative way. “You’re chicken, you’re chicken!”

I stood there all alone, everybody waiting down below. The water was so far away it looked like crinkled tinfoil in the sun. I was just terrified. I was committed, but I had not even based my decision on what I wanted to do or what I felt was right. I had based it on about a half dozen guys whose names I don’t even remember who were yelling, “Hey, chicken, are you going to do it?”

I realized that in order to make the jump I would have to run a distance to get enough momentum to carry me over the rocks below. So I backed up and ran as hard as I could toward the edge. I found the mark I had carefully laid at the edge of the rock and sprang out into space. I don’t know how long it takes to fall 80 feet, but for me it took about a week. On the way down I remembered distinctly how my parents and teachers had taught me to be careful when making decisions because I could kill myself with a wrong one. I said to myself, “You have done it; you have killed yourself, because when you hit the water you’ll be going so fast that it might as well be concrete.” And when I hit the water, I was sure it was concrete. I don’t know how far down you go when you jump from 80 feet, but I’ll tell you, I was a grateful lad when my head finally popped above water. I took a quick inventory to make sure that the throbbing pain in my right thigh didn’t designate the loss of anything important.

Well, why did I jump? Did I prove myself to the guys? You think they cared? You think they’re sitting at home tonight saying, “Remember old Merrill, brave old Merrill, jumping off the. …” They don’t even remember! They don’t care! But for me that moment was as important as my life. I made what could have easily been a fatal decision. Through the grace of a very patient Heavenly Father I wasn’t killed. I didn’t land on the rocks; I missed by only a few feet. I didn’t drown, and I didn’t have a concussion or a number of other things that could easily have happened because of such a stupid decision.

I was subjected to pressure that was hard to withstand, the pressure of friends expecting things of me that I didn’t want to do because I knew better. But I yielded to the pressure. I was living in the world, and at that moment I was of the world because I was not in control of myself. I was not making decisions about my own life. The world made the decisions for me. I was of the world, and had barely avoided being in the world about six feet deep.

Members in Falls Church, Virginia, USA, felt the joy of serving together at two homeless shelters. Scrubbing a wall, Adeana Alvarez told a fellow ward member, “I’ve had a frustrating week, and it feels good to just take out the frustration on this wall! We all need service at some time in our lives, and it’s good to do it for other people.”
Another ward member, Anne Sorensen, remarked, “It’s a great way to be connected with your community. I now feel more invested in what is going on with that organization. Every time I drive by here, I’ll think about the people who attend classes here and hope that the work we did gives them a tangible way to feel like they aren’t alone in what they are doing to improve their lives.”

George T. Johannesen, Sr., of the Kalamazoo Ward, Lansing Michigan Stake, tells a story of his college classmate, Pete Cavallo, who wanted nothing more than to earn his letter, even though he was barely five feet tall and weighed scarcely more than a hundred pounds. Cavallo (the name means “horse”) decided to try cross-country running.
The first year, Pete finished the race, but only long after the stadium was empty. The next year he did a little better, and by the third year he had improved enough to finish while spectators were still left in the stands. By the fourth year, people were saying, “Sure do wish those little Cavallo legs could make it this year!” But nobody thought they would.
Still, there was an aura of expectancy. All eyes were on the hill leading to the stadium, hoping to see Pete Cavallo at the front of the pack of runners as they made the final dash to the stadium. Then one of those big, long-legged runners charged into view, and a sigh of disappointment went up. Fans started leaving.
But suddenly there was little Pete driving over the hill. The stadium became pandemonium, everyone shouting, “Come on Pete! Come on, Little Horse!” The winner was forgotten as if Pete had come in first. And perhaps in a way he did, because people still remember today his example of working to do the best he could.

On a clear winter day I was driving with a friend along the freeway which connects downtown Manhattan, New York, with suburban Westchester. He pointed out to me several of the historic sights which abound in this area where man has indiscriminately constructed his ribbon of highway through the pathway of history.

Suddenly, like an old friend, there came into view Yankee Stadium. Here it was—the stadium of champions, the home of my boyhood heroes. Indeed, what boy has not idolized those who, before cheering thousands, played superbly well the game of baseball.

Being winter, the parking lot surrounding the stadium was deserted. Gone were the crowds, the peanut vendors, the ticket clerks. Still present were the memories of Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, and Joe DiMaggio. The record of their prowess and skill is forever safe—they have been elected to the prestigious Baseball Hall of Fame.

As with baseball, so with life. In the interior of our consciousness, each of us has a private hall of fame reserved exclusively for the real leaders who have influenced the direction of our lives. Relatively few of the many men who exercise authority over us from childhood through adult life meet our test for entry to this roll of honor. That test has very little to do with the outward trappings of power or an abundance of this world’s goods. The leaders whom we admit into this private sanctuary of our reflective meditation are usually those who set our hearts afire with devotion to the truth, who make obedience to duty seem the essence of manhood, who transform some ordinary routine occurrence so that it becomes a vista whence we see the person we aspire to be.

For a moment, perhaps each of us could be the qualifying judge through whom each hall of fame entry must pass. Whom would you nominate for prominent position? Whom would I? Candidates are many—competition severe.

I nominate to the Hall of Fame the name of Adam, the first man to live upon the earth. His citation is from Moses: “And Adam was obedient unto the commandments of the Lord.” (Moses 5:5.) Adam qualifies.

For patient endurance there must be nominated a perfect and upright man whose name was Job. Though afflicted as no other, he declared: “My witness is in heaven, and my record is on high.
“My friends scorn me: but mine eye poureth out tears unto God.” (Job 16:19–20.) “I know that my redeemer liveth.” (Job 19:25.) Job qualifies.

Every Christian would nominate the man Saul, better known as Paul the apostle. His sermons are as manna to the spirit, his life of service an example to all. This fearless missionary declared to the world: “For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation.” (Rom. 1:16.) Paul qualifies.

Then there is the man called Simon Peter. His testimony of the Christ stirs the heart:
“When Jesus came into the coasts of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, saying, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?
“And they said, Some say that thou art John the Baptist; some, Elias; and others, Jeremias, or one of the prophets.
“He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am?
“And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.” (Matt. 16:13–16.) Peter qualifies.

Of another time and place we recall the testimony of Nephi:
“I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.” (1 Ne. 3:7.) Surely Nephi is worthy of a place in the Hall of Fame.

There is yet another I choose to nominate—even the Prophet Joseph Smith. His faith, his trust, his testimony are reflected by his own words, spoken as he went to Carthage Jail and martyrdom: “I am going like a lamb to the slaughter; but I am calm as a summer’s morning; I have a conscience void of offense towards God, and towards all men.” (D&C 135:4.) He sealed his testimony with his blood. Joseph Smith qualifies.

In our selection of heroes, let us nominate also heroines. First, that noble example of fidelity—even Ruth. Sensing the grief-stricken heart of her mother-in-law, who suffered the loss of each of her two fine sons, and feeling perhaps the pangs of despair and loneliness which plagued the very soul of Naomi, Ruth uttered what has become that classic statement of loyalty: “Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.” (Ruth 1:16.) Ruth’s actions demonstrated the sincerity of her words. There is place for her name in the Hall of Fame.

Shall we not name yet another, a descendant of honored Ruth? I speak of Mary of Nazareth, espoused to Joseph, destined to become the mother of the only sinless man to walk the earth. Her acceptance of this sacred and historic role is a hallmark of humility. “And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word.” (Luke 1:38.) Surely Mary qualifies.

Could we ask the question, “What makes of these men heroes and these women heroines?” I answer, unwavering trust in an all-wise Heavenly Father and an abiding testimony concerning the mission of a divine Savior. This knowledge is like a golden thread woven through the tapestry of their lives.

Who is that King of Glory, even the Redeemer, for whom such heroes and heroines faithfully served and valiantly died? He is Jesus Christ, the Son of God, even our Savior.

His birth was foretold by prophets; angels heralded the announcement of his earthly ministry. To shepherds abiding in their fields came the glorious proclamation:
“Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.” (Luke 2:10–11.)

This same Jesus “grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with wisdom: and the grace of God was upon him.” (Luke 2:40.) Baptized of John in the river known as Jordan, he commenced his official ministry to men. To the sophistry of Satan, Jesus turned his back. To the duty designated by his Father, he turned his face, pledged his heart, and gave his life. And what a sinless, selfless, noble, and divine life it was. Jesus labored. Jesus loved. Jesus served. Jesus wept. Jesus healed. Jesus taught. Jesus testified. On a cruel cross, Jesus died. From a borrowed sepulchre, Jesus came forth to eternal life.

The name—Jesus of Nazareth—the only name under heaven given among men whereby we must be saved, has singular place and honored distinction in our Hall of Fame.

Some may question: “But what is the value of such an illustrious list of heroes, even a private Hall of Fame?” I answer. When we obey, as did Adam, endure as did Job, teach as did Paul, testify as did Peter, serve as did Nephi, give ourselves as did the prophet Joseph, respond as did Ruth, honor as did Mary, and live as did Christ, we are born anew. All power becomes ours. Cast off forever is the old self and with it defeat, despair, doubt, and disbelief. To a newness of life we come—a life of faith, hope, courage, and joy. No task looms too large. No responsibility weighs too heavily. No duty is a burden. All things become possible.

In our quest for an example, we need not necessarily look to years gone by or to lives lived long ago. Let me illustrate. Today Craig Sudbury presides over a ward here in Salt Lake City, but let me turn back the clock just a few years to the day he and his mother came to my office prior to Craig’s departure for the Australia Melbourne Mission. Fred, Craig’s father, was noticeably absent. Twenty-five years earlier, Craig’s mother had married Fred, who did not share her love for the Church and indeed did not belong to the Church.

Craig confided to me his deep and abiding love for his parents. He shared his innermost hope that somehow, in some way, his father would be touched by the Spirit and open his heart to the gospel of Jesus Christ. He pleaded earnestly with me for a suggestion. I prayed for inspiration concerning how such a desire might be rewarded. Such inspiration came, and I said to Craig, “Serve the Lord with all your heart. Be obedient to your sacred calling. Each week write a letter to your parents and, on occasion, write to Dad personally and let him know that you love him, and tell him why you’re grateful to be his son.”

He thanked me and, with his mother, departed the office. I was not to see Craig’s mother for some 18 months. She came to the office and, in sentences punctuated by tears, said to me, “It has been almost two years since Craig departed for his mission. His faithful service has qualified him for positions of responsibility in the mission field, and he has never failed in writing a letter to us each week. Recently my husband Fred stood for the first time in a testimony meeting and said, ‘All of you know that I am not a member of the Church, but something has happened to me since Craig left for his mission. His letters have touched my soul. May I share one with you?
“‘Dear Dad, Today we taught a choice family about the plan of salvation and the blessings of exaltation in the celestial kingdom. I thought of our family. More than anything in the world, I want to be with you and with Mother in that kingdom. For me it just wouldn’t be a celestial kingdom if you were not there. I’m grateful to be your son, Dad, and want you to know that I love you. Your missionary son, Craig.’
“Fred then announced, ‘My wife doesn’t know what I plan to say. I love her and I love our son, Craig. After 26 years of marriage I have made my decision to become a member of the Church, for I know the gospel message is the word of God. I suppose I have known this truth for a long time, but my son’s mission has moved me to action. I have made arrangements for my wife and me to meet Craig when he completes his mission. I will be his final baptism as a full-time missionary of the Lord.’”

A young missionary with unwavering faith had participated with God in a modern-day miracle. His challenge to communicate with one whom he loved had been made more difficult by the barrier of the thousands of miles which lay between him and his father. But the spirit of love spanned the vast expanse of the blue Pacific, and heart spoke to heart in divine dialogue.

No hero stood so tall as did Craig, when in far-off Australia he stood with his father in water waist deep and, raising his right arm to the square, repeated those sacred words: “Fred Sudbury, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”

The prayer of a mother, the faith of a father, the service of a son brought forth the miracle of God. Mother, father, son—each qualifies in a Hall of Fame.

May they and each of us so live as to merit the heavenly pronouncement:
“I, the Lord, am merciful and gracious unto those who fear me, and delight to honor those who serve me in righteousness and in truth unto the end.
“Great shall be their reward and eternal shall be their glory.” (D&C 76:5–6.)

Our place in an everlasting and eternal Hall of Fame will thereby be assured. This is my earnest plea as I leave with you my witness that Jesus of Nazareth is our Savior and Redeemer, even our Advocate with the Father. In the name of Jesus Christ, the Lord. Amen.

When I was 17 I was the ward organist, and many times I would take my date to the church so that I could practice the organ, and she would sit and listen. This may well have been because I didn’t have any money, much more than because of her deep love for music, but we started a relationship in doing that and we found that we both liked music. I played the hymns and they brought a lovely spirit to our times together in a chapel as hymns were played with intermittent talk, perhaps followed by a five-cent ice cream cone when I took her home. Now, any one of you reading this might think these were strange kinds of dates, but the important thing in any generation is to find uplifting things you can enjoy together and do them! There’s nothing more boring—and potentially dangerous—than a date that starts out, “Well, what do you want to do?” Be creative, be enthusiastic, and prepare by thinking about the kinds of things that will help you get to know each other better. Decide well in advance where you are going, what you will do, and what time you will be home.