Gospel Story Finder

Last year in my kindergarten class, there was a boy named Ben* who liked to push, shove, and call people names. I don’t know why he did the things he did. It was hard for me to like him because of how he treated people, especially my friends and me. He did mean things almost every day.
One day, right before recess, something happened that changed things. Ben was playing with a boy named Andrew,* and they accidentally spilled a bunch of corn kernels and dried beans on the classroom floor. The teacher told them that they needed to pick up every one before they could go to recess.
I felt sorry for them and didn’t want them to miss recess, so I offered to help clean up the mess. Once I started helping, two of my friends came along and helped too. We all worked together and were able to finish in time to go to recess. The next day, I noticed that Ben was nicer to my friends and me. And from then on, he was more of a friend.
I’m glad that I helped Ben. I think I did what Jesus would have wanted me to do. Even though Ben had often been mean to me before, I felt good inside while I was helping him. I know the feeling I had was the Spirit telling me that Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father knew of my love for Them because I was helping someone else.

That trust has blessed my life and the lives of my family. Years ago I heard President Ezra Taft Benson speak in a conference like this. He counseled us to do all we could to get out of debt and stay out. He mentioned mortgages on houses. He said that it might not be possible, but it would be best if we could pay off all our mortgage debt.
I turned to my wife after the meeting and asked, “Do you think there is any way we could do that?” At first we couldn’t. And then by evening I thought of a property we had acquired in another state. For years we had tried to sell it without success.
But because we trusted God and a few words from the midst of His servant’s message, we placed a phone call Monday morning to the man in San Francisco who had our property listed to sell. I had called him a few weeks before, and he had said then, “We haven’t had anyone show interest in your property for years.”
But on the Monday after conference, I heard an answer that to this day strengthens my trust in God and His servants.
The man on the phone said, “I am surprised by your call. A man came in today inquiring whether he could buy your property.” In amazement I asked, “How much did he offer to pay?” It was a few dollars more than the amount of our mortgage.
A person might say that was only a coincidence. But our mortgage was paid off. And our family still listens for any word in a prophet’s message that might be sent to tell what we should do to find the security and peace God wants for us.

I knew a woman whose life paralleled Job’s. Her name was Joan Kinder. She was a deeply religious woman with a quick wit, a bright mind, and an engaging personality. Children and adults loved her, and she loved them. She was one of the most cheerful persons I have known. I had the privilege of teaching her the gospel as a British missionary in the mid-1950s. A decade earlier, at age 20, she had fallen in love and was engaged to be married. It was the mid-1940s, and World War II was still raging in Europe. Her fiancé was drafted into the British army and sent to the front. She became employed in a munitions factory and waited for his return. Near the close of the war the young man’s family received a letter telling of his death.
For a period of time Joan was at a loss. She joined the British equivalent of our Women’s Army Corps and was sent to the Far East. In Hong Kong she met another British soldier. They fell in love and were married. Eventually they returned to England and found a home to rent in her native town. He was posted a few miles away. It was not long before they were blessed with a son.
Two years later the husband was assigned to another post some distance from their home. It was decided that she would wait for him to be established before moving to the new area. A few months went by with him returning each weekend. Each time he would suggest they wait just a little longer before making the move. Then one weekend he failed to return. She visited the base the next week. He told her that an assignment had kept him. She was uneasy, feeling that something was happening to their marriage. Within a few weeks he told her about another woman and that he wanted a divorce. She was devastated. Her son was now three years old and would grow up without a father.
It was during this time that the missionaries knocked on her door. She invited them in, took a Book of Mormon, and promised to read it. Within a few days she completed reading the book. A special spirit accompanied the reading and, while praying about the predicament and challenges that confronted her, a feeling of peace came along with a witness of the sacred nature of the book. The missionaries were surprised upon their return to find a convert. But she insisted on waiting a few months before joining the Church. She felt time was needed to see if her husband would change his mind. More than anything, she hoped to save her family. Time passed, and the divorce became final. She then joined the Church.
From the beginning of her membership, she was a full-tithe payer in spite of the meager income available to support her son and herself. She worked in a small shop where her boy could be with her until he entered school. Then she became a seamstress in a factory with better pay. Her leadership abilities eventually resulted in her becoming part of the management staff. When her son was grown, she emigrated to this country and found employment with the Family History Department of the Church. She was a specialist in reading old English and old German manuscripts.
One day she received a call from the British Embassy in Washington, D.C. They asked for a meeting and sent a representative to see her. She was told in the meeting that her son had been killed while on business in a foreign country. For a period of time there was a sadness in her eyes and a heaviness in her heart. Then the cheerfulness returned. The twinkle in her eyes, her quick wit, and her love for people were irrepressible. My children loved to be in her presence. There was something special about this deeply faithful woman.
Not many years after her son’s death, Joan was crossing a street in Salt Lake City on her way to work. The morning sun had just topped the mountains in the east, and a woman driving east failed to see Joan in the crosswalk. Apparently Joan was not aware of the car coming at her. She may have been thinking about the wonderful blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ that had come into her life. Suddenly there was an impact. The car hit her with tremendous force. Her time in mortality was over. A short time later I received a call from a common friend informing me of the accident and her death. I have thought often about this wonderful, interesting woman. Her life was filled with tragedy. Most of the things she wanted in life never materialized. One did—the greatest one! She found the hope that comes with a testimony of the gospel. In the end, that satisfied her. She knew she would see her son again. Parents and friends were eternal. She found joy in the gospel here and knew that unspeakable joy would be hers on the other side of the veil.

When Elder Holland was a young dad, he moved across the country with his wife and two children to go to college.
They packed everything in their little car and started driving. After only 34 miles, the car broke down. Elder Holland looked under the car’s hood, but he didn’t know what was wrong. He walked three miles back to the nearest town to get help.
When he got there, a kind man gave him a ride back to his car. They drove Elder Holland’s car very slowly back to a larger city to get it repaired.
The mechanic checked the car for two hours, but he couldn’t find anything wrong. So Elder Holland and his family set off again. At exactly the same spot as last time, the car broke down again!
Elder Holland started the long walk for help again. The same kind man gave him a ride and helped bring the car back to the larger city. Elder Holland felt worried and discouraged.
Thirty years after this happened, Elder Holland drove by the same spot, this time in a car that worked. He remembered how hard that time was for his family. He wished he could tell his younger self, “Don’t give up, boy. Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead—a lot of it—30 years of it now, and still counting. You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.”

If you walked into Stan Chidester’s living room, you would notice that the walls are covered with paintings—impressionistic watercolors, dramatic abstracts, and intricately executed montages. You would probably guess that Stan is a great fan of all this beautiful artwork. But you might not guess that Stan’s brother Brad—the very thin young man in the wheelchair moving about the room—is the artist!
Brad Chidester of Sandy, Utah, has been confined to a wheelchair most of his life with muscular dystrophy. As a child, he was the Utah state muscular dystrophy poster child. His artistic abilities were apparent from an early age. Like many little boys, he loved trucks. He was always doodling, and vehicles with wheels were his favorite subjects.
His love of drawing has given him a chance to cheer others and has helped him gain some interesting friends as well. When Brad was eleven years old, he was watching a car race on television. He was stunned to see a car crash and burn in the pits. One of the men severely injured was Derrick Walker, the manager of a racing team.
“I drew a race car and sent it to him in the hospital as a get-well card. After that, he sent me a thank-you letter. We’ve been friends ever since,” says Brad. That simple correspondence has blossomed into a special relationship. Since then, Walker and Roger Penske, another racing friend, have flown Brad and a guest to major races each year.
When Brad was in high school, one of his art teachers introduced him to watercolors. That turned out to be Brad’s favorite medium. “I loved it and just stayed with it,” said Brad. “Then one of the secretaries bought one of my landscapes. That got me really excited. I saw I could do something that could earn a little money.”
Brad went on to be named Utah’s Sterling Scholar in visual arts (an award for outstanding scholastic achievement in high school). He took some classes in graphic arts at a community college and began to have his work accepted for showing in galleries. Although he is still a struggling artist, the demand for his work is growing.
To keep track of ideas and things that interest him, Brad and his family take a camera wherever they go. He has someone take a picture of whatever catches his artistic eye. He has also expanded his style. For a long time, he drew realistically. Over the years, he has branched out. “I always thought anybody could do abstract art,” says Brad. “When you get into it, you realize how hard it is. Now it’s one of my favorite things to do.”
Brad is cared for and supported by his three older brothers and his father. His mother died a few years ago. Although he appreciates all his family does for him, when asked what one thing he would change about his life, Brad says, “I’d like to be more independent.” In that spirit, Brad is preparing himself to go to the temple.
Although Brad is a talented artist, he suffers his share of rejection. “I’ve had a lot of rejection letters from galleries,” says Brad. “But you can’t let that bother you. You have to keep going.”
Not only does he keep going, he also shares his success with others. Each year he donates paintings to the Muscular Dystrophy Association to be auctioned, with the money used in the fight against muscular dystrophy.
It’s obvious that Brad has discovered the secret to developing one’s God-given talents. He says, “If you’re really into something, pursue it to the fullest extent.” For a young man whose physical limitations would give him plenty of excuses not to try, he has taken his own advice. He is a true artist.
Brad remembers his high school days and the things people did that helped and the things that hurt. His suggestions might be useful the next time you meet someone with a disability.
“Some kids seemed afraid they would hurt my feelings, so they would just avoid me. I liked it when someone tried to get to know me.”
“Some people feel sorry for me and try too hard to be nice. I prefer it when they treat me like a regular person. Don’t be afraid; yet don’t go overboard.”
“It bothers me when kids are asking me questions and their parents shush them. Little kids are great.”
“I like it when people talk with me. That’s the best way to learn how to act around someone with a disability. Ask them.”

And it was Lester who taught me the "What-If" Game.
"What if one day yer flying along and ya smell smoke?"
"What if one day yer puddling along up there, minding your own business, and all of a sudden. …"
He had hundreds of what-ifs.
One evening as we were flying back and forth across an Ohio summer sky, polishing up a few maneuvers I’d need for my private pilot’s flight test, Lester suddenly reached up without warning and cut the switch on the plane’s engine. My heart stopped along with the propeller. Then he sat back, pulled his cap down over his eyes, folded his arms, and feigned sleep.
I panicked.
I’d stood on the ground and watched Lester come in dead stick a hundred times. So I knew it could be done. But Lester was good—and he’d been flying for 500 years! I was just a kid!
My neck was starting to unscrew from my shoulders as I swiveled my head trying to pick the best cornfield, wheatfield, hayfield, highway, Lake Erie, any place to land! We’d drilled on this a hundred times! But it was always with the engine idling. This was different. The gentle kick of an idling propeller was gone and the altimeter was unwinding—fast!
I finally spotted a good field and started to align the nose with it. It would be a tricky approach. We’d have to cross some woods and then slip quickly into a field I knew would be much too tight. But if I did it perfectly and then kicked it into a groundloop just as we reached the far side fence …
Lester stirred. "Why don’t ya use Bunch’s strip?" he asked, pointing downward. "You didn’t look right under us. We’re right over top of Bunch Woods’s home strip!"
He was right! Straight below us was about 1,200 feet of beautiful Ohio grass with Bunch Woods’s house and plane sitting smack at the end.
When we stopped rolling after landing, Lester sat up, set his cap back on straight and said, "Mebbe ya better play the What-If Game more often." He turned to look at me and his face was serious. "Because, ya know, it’s not a matter of if you’ll ever have an emergency in flight, it’s a matter of when. And when it happens, you’ll be glad you stretched for excellence instead of just being good."

Just after completing graduate school, I was assigned by my new employer to the Marketing Research Department. There, we were presented with a problem: how to quickly identify a new model of a product that was very similar to the old model. Without the correct classification it was impossible for us to assess the impact of the new model on the marketplace. Our field interviewers were confused even after training. It seemed there was no easy way to get the information we needed.
As a new analyst I was invited to a meeting to discuss possible solutions to this problem, which was costing us tens of thousands of dollars. Many alternative ideas were being proposed. In the middle of the meeting I found myself slipping my wedding ring off my finger and onto the handle of one of the products. I found that the handle of the old standard model would barely fit through the ring but the handle of the new adjustable one would not. From there, it was a simple matter to make cards with various sized holes so the interviewers could easily provide accurate information. Market researchers still refer to this simple solution as the Hales Hole Card.

The Smith family needed a home to live in, so Charles began making adobe bricks so that he could build a house. Charles also worked at his trade and was the first watchmaker in Salt Lake City.
Not long after the Smiths were settled in their new home, Charles Edward, who was two years old, fell into a pot of boiling water and was scalded to death. Of the nine children born to Sarah and Charles, only five lived to adulthood.

Not long ago it was our experience to be in our car on a small road trip into southern Utah. And on that experience, our oldest son Scott, about whom Sister Zwick has shared with you already, accompanied us. As many of you know, Scott cannot read or write. He has a circle of friends, but in his work every day and in his yearning to be with family, he loves to just be captured and have all our attention given to him in an automobile. On this occasion, which was a small road trip, we started and Scott's personality is such that he is always asking a lot of questions. If he were here today, he would ask you individually a lot of questions that mattered to him, and then he would never forget the detail of that. But on this occasion, instead of being very talkative, he became very pensive and quiet. And after we had been in the car for less than an hour, we observed that he was looking out of the window and was very quiet but thinking, and then he said, "Dad, do you know Jesus?" A powerful question, powerful to recognize that part of life's purpose and the fullness of joy that we can experience here in mortality has so much to do with knowing Jesus.

The nurse called to let me know that based on the results of my ultrasound, it was time to meet with the doctor to discuss a hysterectomy. My dream of raising a child of my own in this life was dissipating, and I wasn’t ready.
It seems like in the Church, we often talk about infertility inside of marriage. We talk about couples who are unable to conceive, who struggle to carry a baby to term, or who decide to adopt. But infertility also happens to single members, whose plans for a family can be disrupted before they have even begun.
I found that I didn’t know how to talk about how devastated I was to be facing this reality. I felt very alone.
All I wanted as a little girl was to be a mom. When I received my patriarchal blessing, the only thing I wanted to hear was that I would marry and have children. I waited for it with eager anticipation and listened intently. When the patriarch pronounced the promise, I was relieved and excited!
I graduated from high school and assumed I’d meet my husband when I went to college. And while I met and dated several worthy and kind men, none of them were to be my eternal companion.
My life went on. Over the years, I had several loving bishops who looked beyond my single status and offered me the chance to serve in varied ways in the Church. I developed relationships with many stalwart members who quietly went about serving their fellow Saints. Some of these relationships taught me more about myself, what I wanted to be as a wife, and what I wanted in a husband.
I held on tightly to the promises in my patriarchal blessing of a temple marriage and children born in the covenant and watched for the ways the Lord would fulfill them in my life.
Then my health started to decline. I sought medical help, and it was then that I got the call from the nurse. I found myself at a crossroads: I had to decide whether I would take the doctor’s recommendation and go through with the hysterectomy. The problems in my body were crippling my life in a way I couldn’t ignore. But the surgery would be irreversible. The door to my dream of bearing a child wasn’t just closing—it was closing and locking, never to be opened again in this life.
I suppose adopting a child could have been a future possibility, but because of my circumstances at the time (being unmarried and relying solely on myself financially), adoption didn’t feel like a real or comforting option.
I shed many tears and immediately went to two trusted priesthood holders for a blessing. They gave me a beautiful blessing promising me that my opportunities for a family stretched long into the next life and that those promises were still in place.
I spent hours on my knees, asking my Father in Heaven what to do. But I knew. I knew that medically my current situation could not continue. Even though I was scared, I also knew that I was in my Heavenly Father’s hands and that ultimately I was safe in His care. As it says in Helaman 12:1, I knew “that the Lord in his great infinite goodness doth bless and prosper those who put their trust in him.”
The Sunday before my surgery, my brother gave me a blessing. I was surrounded by my wonderfully supportive family. He opened the blessing with the Lord’s confirmation that I had made the right decision. It was the final witness that I needed to step into an unknown future of His design.
While there are still sometimes tears, I have learned more about what it means to have faith.
Faith for me doesn’t mean that I don’t ache at times for the opportunity to hold my own child in my arms or long for an eternal relationship. Faith for me doesn’t take away the hiccup in my heart when a sister bears her testimony about how Heavenly Father has trusted her with His children.
Faith for me does mean holding on to the promise in Doctrine and Covenants 138:52, that as we continue in righteousness, we will “be partakers of all blessings which were held in reserve for them that love him.” Faith for me does mean striving to be the daughter, sister, aunt, friend, and Church member that my Heavenly Father and Savior need me to be.
My Savior knows the heartache of being alone. He will walk with me until the end. As Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles once said, “Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don’t come until heaven; but for those who embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ, they come.”1
Although this part of my life has not turned out as I had once dreamed, I have never ceased to be in Heavenly Father’s care. I am in His arms.
I trust that the promise in Doctrine and Covenants 98:1–3 is true—not just for me, but for everyone:
“Fear not, let your hearts be comforted; yea, rejoice evermore, and in everything give thanks;
“Waiting patiently on the Lord, for your prayers have entered into the ears of the Lord. …
“… He giveth this promise unto you, … and all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good, and to my name’s glory.”

President Joseph F. Smith was six years old when his father, Hyrum, was killed in Carthage Jail. Joseph crossed the plains with his widowed mother. At age 15 he was called on a mission to Hawaii. He felt lost and alone and said: "I was very much oppressed. … I was almost naked and entirely friendless, except the friendship of a poor, benighted … people. I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look [anyone] in the face."

While pondering his plight, the young elder had a dream, "a literal thing; … a reality." He dreamed he was on a journey rushing as fast as he possibly could.

He carried a small bundle. Finally he came to a wonderful mansion, his destination. As he approached, he saw a notice, "Bath." He turned aside quickly, went in, and washed himself clean. He opened his little bundle and found clean, white clothing—"a thing," he said, "I had not seen for a long time." He put them on and rushed to the door of the mansion.

"I knocked," he said, "and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said [were]: 'Joseph, you are late.' … I took confidence and said:

"'Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!'" And so it can be with you.

Way back in 1969, I was in South America. I flew from Argentina to Santiago, Chile. The Andes mountains were dry. There was no snow. The grass was burned. Chile was in the midst of a devastating drought.
The people pleaded for help in bringing moisture.
We dedicated two new buildings on that visit. In each of those dedicatory services we pleaded with the Lord for rain upon the land. I have the testimony of many who were in those meetings that the heavens were opened and the rains fell with such abundance that the people asked the Lord to shut them off.

Isabelle squinted up at the deep blue sky. There were no clouds in sight. She licked her dry lips.
Her parents were talking quietly with President Santiago, the stake president. The motor of the boat was so loud that she couldn’t hear them. But she knew what they were talking about. There was no more drinking water.
Isabelle tried to focus on the reason for their journey. They were going to the temple to be sealed as a family! She remembered hearing her parents talk about the beautiful temple in São Paulo ever since she was a little girl. Going there almost seemed like a fairy tale. After all, Isabelle’s family lived in Manaus, deep in the Amazon rainforest, and the temple was more than 2,000 miles (3,219 km) away.
Then President Santiago had planned a six-day trip to get there. More than 100 members had decided to go. “It will be a sacrifice,” Mamãe had told her. “But sacrifice brings blessings.”
At first, the trip was exciting. They slept in hammocks on the deck of the boat, sang hymns, and read scriptures.
But then the drinking water had run out, and the river water was too dirty to drink.
Isabelle felt Mamãe touch her arm. “President Santiago is gathering us all together,” she said. “We’re going to pray for rain.”
Isabelle joined the group, and the prayer began. After the prayer ended, she felt cool air tickle her neck. She raced to the side of the boat and gasped. Gray storm clouds were moving toward them. Soon rain began to pour down! She opened her mouth to catch the raindrops on her tongue.
“Quick!” cried Mamãe. “Grab buckets, pans—anything!”
Isabelle grabbed a pan and held it out. She wanted to catch all the water she could. Everyone worked together, laughing and celebrating. Soon they were having a giant soaking party! The storm lasted for 15 minutes. It was long enough for them to get all the water they needed. It was a miracle.
Soon the boat reached land. But they still had 1,500 miles (2,414 km) to go. Everyone got on a bus for the rest of the trip. For days, the bus jolted over the rough roads. One time it bounced so hard that the windshield broke! Sometimes they rode through hot, crowded cities. But at least the roads there weren’t so bumpy!
Everyone was always grateful when they stopped at a village or town to eat. They ate at chapels or with Church members along the way. The first night, they arrived so late that Isabelle was afraid that no one would be waiting. “Don’t worry,” Mamãe said with a tired smile. “Look!”
The branch president and Church members were lined up across the road. They held a banner that read “Sacrifice brings blessings.” Isabelle smiled. Mamãe was right!
After three bumpy days, they finally reached São Paulo. Isabelle stood on her seat to get a better view as the bus drove around a curve. Suddenly everyone on the bus burst into cheers. “O templo! O templo!” They could see the tall, thin temple spire rising above rows of palm trees.
Everyone was exhausted, but no one wanted to rest. They wanted to be sealed right away. When it was time for her family to be sealed, Isabelle carefully dressed in white. As she walked into the sealing room, she saw her father beaming. Tears of joy streamed down Mamãe’s face. Their journey had been long and even dangerous. “But the sacrifice was worth it,” Isabelle thought. She smiled as she took her place to be sealed to her family forever.

“FIRE! FIRE!”
This warning cry brought fear to the hearts of all those who heard it in the little community of Farmington, Utah, for the only way they had to fight fires was to form a line and pass buckets of water from the nearby creek to the burning building. As a result, almost any building that caught fire was destroyed, and few of the contents inside were ever saved.
Aurelia Spencer Rogers, who lived in Farmington most of her life, heard the cries of alarm, and ran toward the house from which smoke was billowing up into the hot August air. The home belonged to friends with whom she was staying, after she had rented her own house that summer of 1902 and moved into Salt Lake City, twenty miles to the south. However, she returned often to Farmington to take care of business there and to put up fruit for the winter.
Aurelia joined in the bucket brigade that quickly formed. Characteristically, she thought of the loss her friends would suffer before she thought of her own clothes and personal articles that were inside. Suddenly, she had a sick feeling. Her Primary record books were in an upstairs bedroom where she had been working on them at a table near a window! Silently she prayed that by some miracle they would be saved, but it seemed to her that everything in the building was going up in smoke.
“I mourned exceedingly,” Aurelia said later. “I would not have minded losing my clothes if the records could only have been saved.”
Aurelia helped her friends move into a vacant house to set up housekeeping again. She was heartsick as she returned to Salt Lake, for she thought that nothing in the fire swept home had been saved. Still haunted by the loss of the Primary record books, she returned to Farmington the next week to try to gather what information she could about the organization of the Primary so she could begin to write another history.
News of the miracle for which she had prayed awaited her when she called on her bishop. This is how she described it:
“Bishop Moroni Secrist felt prompted to climb onto the porch (during the fire) and go through the window to my room, thinking he might save some of the property; but when he went inside, the smoke was so dense he was nearly suffocated and had to be helped out by others … As he neared the window, he reached out his hand and felt the cover on the table and drew it toward him, gathering up the corners with the books … and passed them to those on the outside. Thus the records were saved through the providence of God.”
These records told the story of the first Primary ever held and how it came to be. They were used as the basis for Aurelia Spencer Rogers’ Life Sketches that she later wrote for children and dedicated to them with these words:
“Our children are our jewels; we have counted well the cost:
May their angels ever guard them, and not one child be lost.”

On a Saturday in April, Sam stopped at my house with his old wrestling shoes hanging by their laces around his neck. Dad cranked the Ford, and it fired on the second turn and sputtered to life. We all climbed in for the ride to Sparwood.
“Who you boys wrestling tonight?” asked Dad as we drove by the coke ovens on the way out of town. Cold air was rushing through the floorboards and swimming around my feet.
“Ed said he’s bringing a truckload of kids from the coast,” said Sam, turning sideways in the front passenger seat. I noticed then that he had a pack of cigarettes stuffed in his shirt pocket. Dad noticed too.
“Good,” said Dad half-heartedly. “That’ll be … er, a change.”
We nodded, waiting to see if Dad was going to talk religion. He was.
“Sam,” he said, “were you ever baptized in your church?”
“Don’t know that I ever had a church,” Sam replied. “We went to the United once, when my mom’s family was in town, but …”
Dad interrupted, “I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just our Church believes in baptism, but a lot of religions do it differently. I was just wondering how you were baptized.”
I rolled my eyes. Dad was so obvious.
“I …” Sam didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sure Jed told you all this, but when Mormons are baptized and confirmed they take upon them the name of Jesus Christ. And we believe a person must be completely immersed in water, not just a sprinkling over the head.”
Sam looked back at me. I hadn’t told him anything about baptism. I couldn’t read his face, but I guessed he was wondering where this conversation was going.
“Hmmm, interesting,” was what he picked to say.
We reached the bottom of the border pass, and Dad revved the engine to get the Ford up the facing hill. It was a steep climb, and the old car slowed to a crawl. Dad talked to it all the way up, patting it on the dashboard like a horse, and promising it a sugar cube if it made it up without quitting. We laughed. Dad was usually full of jokes, except when he talked religion.
The mountain pass got steeper just as we reached the snow line. Suddenly, a burst of steam blew from under the hood. The car shook and thumped, and Dad pulled it over to the side only a few hundred yards from the top. He shut it off and pulled the park brake. We all climbed out while Dad found his water jug in the trunk.
“Jed,” Dad said to me as he grabbed a rag and pushed down on the radiator cap, “What does it mean to take upon you the name of Jesus Christ?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Pray. Read the scriptures.” It was the answer we gave in Sunday School every week to every question. It was also the answer I gave Dad every time he asked a religious question in front of Sam.
Sam chuckled.
“Thanks for the effort,” said Dad, and he twisted the cap. We all jumped back to let the steam hiss out of the brass radiator. While we waited for it to cool, Dad asked, “Could you give it a bit more thought?”
I sighed. “It means being good. Doing stuff that you’d do in front of the Savior, if he was here with us.”
“That’s better. It also means we are representatives of the Savior on earth, which is a pretty big responsibility.”
“Why are we talking about this?” I asked, upset that Dad was distracting us from wrestling and fixing the car.
“Because I want to ask Sam something.” He poured water into the radiator slowly and then tossed the water jug back in the trunk. On his way back, he reached into the front seat and pulled a copy of the Book of Mormon from a paper sack.
“You’ve come to church with us a lot, Sam,” said Dad. “And I think it’s time that you found out if what we are doing is true.” He handed the book to Sam.
“This was my first copy,” Dad said. “My dad gave it to me when I was a bit younger than you.”
We all stared at the battered book. I felt an ache of jealousy that Dad was giving my friend something that should have gone to me. I didn’t even have my own copy. I couldn’t help being resentful.
“Would you read it?” asked Dad.
Sam shrugged and stuffed the book into his pocket. Then we stood awkwardly for a few minutes until Dad decided the radiator was cool enough to continue.
“I’m going to try going over alone,” he said. “I’ve seen Sam thrown to the mat enough to know his head is full of rocks. I think the dead weight is slowing us down. I’ll see you at the top.”
He cranked the car, and it fired. He drove back down the hill and up for the far rise. A minute later we turned to see the Ford racing up the hill toward us, revving with an increasingly deafening roar. It passed us but slowly. We ran to catch up and put our shoulders to give a good push.
At the top, Dad stopped the car and let it idle. Then we all stood in front and stared down at the green and white Elk Valley, the far side climbing peak after peak into the golden horizon. Sam and I were anxious to get to the competition, but we stood there with Dad, looking at the view for a minute.
Dad finally broke the silence. “Thanks for the push, rock head,” he said to Sam.
“No problem.”
“Sometimes you need a little help in life.” Dad reached over and patted the book in Sam’s shirt pocket. “There’s help in there. In fact, just about all the answers to life’s questions are in those pages. And I know you’ve got questions.”
Sam nodded but didn’t say anything.
That night Sam won on points over a tough red-haired kid from the coast and then had an easy time pinning a local guy he’d beaten many times. I was almost pinned in my first match by a little kid who was quick as a gunshot. But the second match, I got paired with a Crowsnest kid from our Consolidated High School whom I’d beaten before. He was a good wrestler but had dislocated his shoulder once and couldn’t go left. We were in a clinch late in the second when I shot at his strong leg and was able to lift him off balance and trip him to the mat. His back was exposed, but before I could finish him off, he spun free. Still, the move gave me enough points to win the match.
Dad didn’t say much, but he patted Sam on the shoulder and said something funny as we left the gym.

Years ago when our youngest son, Clark, was attending a religion class at Brigham Young University, the instructor, during a lecture, asked Clark, “What is an example of life with your father that you best remember?”
The instructor later wrote to me and told me of the reply which Clark had given to the class. Said Clark: “When I was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, my dad and I went pheasant hunting near Malad, Idaho. The day was Monday—the last day of the season. We walked through countless fields in search of pheasants but only saw a few, and these we missed. Dad then said to me, ‘Clark, let’s unload our guns, and we’ll place them in this ditch. Then we’ll kneel down to pray.’ I thought Dad would pray for more pheasants, but I was wrong. He explained to me that Elder Richard L. Evans was gravely ill and that at 12 noon on that particular Monday the members of the Quorum of the Twelve—wherever they may be at the time—were to kneel and, in a way, together unite in a fervent prayer of faith for Elder Evans. Removing our caps, we knelt, we prayed.”
I well remember the occasion, but I never dreamed a son was watching, was learning, was building his own testimony.

Some years ago, I was consulted by a woman who desired a divorce from her husband on grounds which, in my opinion, were justified. After the divorce was concluded, I did not see her again for many years. A chance meeting with her on the street was very surprising. The years of loneliness and discouragement were evident in her once beautiful face.
After passing a few pleasantries, she was quick to say that life had not been rich and rewarding for her and that she was tired of facing the struggle alone. Then came a most startling disclosure, which, with her permission, I share. She said, “Bad as it was, if I had to do it over again, knowing what I do now, I would not have sought the divorce. This is worse.”

When I joined the Church, I attended a small branch in the Philippines where the members were very close and worked in unity.
Gradually, the branch grew and prospered. New chairs came, then a new sacrament table. Then we moved to a spacious apartment and even had a new organ. Three years later, some land was purchased for our future meetinghouse.
During this period of growth, the unity of our branch was occasionally tested. After some particularly hurtful gossip reached me, I decided to leave the Church. For the next six Sundays I did not attend any meetings, although I wished I were there. I especially wanted to partake of the sacrament and renew my covenants.
One day I knelt in prayer and asked for strength, courage, and enlightenment. Still on my knees, I caught sight of a book on the floor. I picked up a dusty and neglected volume of scripture and began paging through it, hoping to find some lines that would ease my pain. I stopped at D&C 136:29–30: “If thou art sorrowful, call on the Lord thy God with supplication, that your souls may be joyful. Fear not thine enemies.”
After reading the verses, I felt lighter in spirit, and my courage returned. I would go back to church.
But the next Sunday, as I neared the meetinghouse, I felt apprehensive. Would they welcome me again? Would I hear whispering behind my back? Or would they ignore me altogether? My feet dragged the closer I got to the door.
Then I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder, and before I could turn around, an arm encircled me in a tender embrace. Then another hand reached out to clasp mine. Other friends burst from the door with warm smiles, each one expressing joy for my return.
As we sang the opening hymn, “Though Deepening Trials” (Hymns, number 122), a feeling of peace filled me, and the feelings of hurt and resentment melted away. Warm tears blurred my vision, and I could no longer see the words in the hymnbook. I closed my eyes tightly and gratefully whispered, “Father, thanks for leading me back to the fold.”

In the early years of our marriage, my wife and I traveled as often as possible from our small northern Arizona community to the temple in Mesa. These temple trips always uplifted us spiritually and provided a needed diversion—an opportunity to forget about the difficulties of living on my meager income in our tiny, cramped home with three children.
Occasionally after attending temple sessions, we entertained ourselves by going on what we jokingly called “coveting expeditions,” driving around in wealthy neighborhoods, fascinated by the large, beautiful homes. We imagined what it would be like to live in that kind of luxury, knowing we would never be able to afford such extravagance.
Although they began as enjoyable fantasies, these trips sometimes left us with a vague feeling of frustration and restlessness. At the time, we didn’t think we were coveting, since we were not so consumed with desire for one of these homes that we would steal or commit a major sin to get it. Yet we discovered that we were vulnerable to the spirit of covetousness. Although what we were doing was really quite harmless, what we were feeling was rather uncomfortable. The words of the Lord from Mount Sinai came to mind: “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbour’s” (Ex. 20:17; emphasis added).
Obviously, covetousness can be more than looking greedily upon the material possessions of others and desiring to have them for ourselves. It also may be an excessive desire for things that will satisfy our egos: physical attractiveness, power and influence, even the reputation for wisdom and goodness. It may also be too firm an attachment to things that are already ours. The Lord commanded Martin Harris, “Thou shalt not covet thine own property.” Instead, he was to “impart it freely” to further the work of the Lord, who had blessed him with it (D&C 19:26).
It may be that this commandment has even greater relevance in today’s materialistic world than it did in Moses’ day or even in the early years of the Restoration. In our modern society, which urges people to satisfy their every desire, obedience to the 10th commandment affords us spiritual and temporal protection from the effects of a host of other evils. For example, when we faithfully abstain from covetousness, we will not fall into the traps of adultery or theft, for we will be free of the unrighteous desires that precede those sins. Thus, the commandment “Thou shalt not covet” is intrinsically related to many other commandments.
The Lord’s condemnation of covetousness is perhaps most closely related to the commandment “Thou shalt have no other gods before me” (Ex. 20:3). In coveting, we are judging something to be more important and dear to us than God or obedience to his counsel. In this sense, covetousness is a form of idolatry (see Col. 3:5). It may not involve pagan worship or graven images in the religious sense, but it certainly includes having our “hearts … set so much upon the things of this world” and “the honors of men” (D&C 121:35) that we are in danger of forgetting about eternal, celestial objectives. Unrighteous covetousness creates divided loyalties that prevent complete consecration and total devotion to God and his kingdom.
With his eternal perspective, the Savior taught:
“Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
“But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven” (Matt. 6:19–20).
He added, “No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other” (Matt. 6:24). When we wish to be among the Savior’s own, yet cling covetously to the things of the world, we let those worldly things become our masters and we soon become blinded to their impact on our lives.
As with all of God’s commandments, “Thou shalt not covet” is evidence of the Lord’s love and mercy and his desire to protect us from the painful consequences of sin. Even though it may seem comparatively innocent at first and free from the obvious dangers associated with other types of wickedness, coveting can become a monumental problem. President Ezra Taft Benson said materialism—one version of covetousness—is “one of the real plagues of our generation” (“To the Single Adult Brethren of the Church,” Ensign, May 1988, 53).
This plague distracts us from that which alone brings fulfillment and peace—obtaining and keeping in our lives the influence of the Holy Ghost. “Obsession with riches … cankers and destroys,” President Gordon B. Hinckley declared (“Thou Shalt Not Covet,” Tambuli, February 1991, 6). Often the cankering of the soul and the destruction of our spiritual powers that stem from materialism, greed, jealousy, and envy are so slow that we may not even recognize them in ourselves until other, more serious problems appear.
Furthermore, obtaining whatever worldly thing we covet never brings an end to our desires. The spirit of coveting always drives us to want more. Covetousness, envy, jealousy, and greed always escalate into a vicious spiral, as we seek greater and greater gratification but find less and less contentment.
My wife and I learned a valuable lesson about this several years ago when we had the opportunity to build a new home. During the months of planning and building, an interesting phenomenon occurred. Even though we were blessed to have a nicer home with more comforts than we had ever had before, rather than being content, we began looking for ways to acquire more. We had to have new furniture for the room in which we entertained guests so we could put the old furniture in a room they would not visit as often. But our old TV didn’t go well with the new furniture, so we had to have a new TV. Our “needs” began to escalate.
We finally came to our senses and realized we had succumbed to temptations we had thought would never afflict us. First, we allowed Satan to help us rationalize our desire for worldly gain so that it appeared justifiable, even noble; and second, we sacrificed our happiness and peace of mind in an attempt to acquire the things of the world. We found that when “all we’ve ever wanted” is fundamentally the temporal trappings of this world, we always want more than we have.
Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin cautioned:
“Satan knows our weaknesses. He puts attractive snares on our paths at just those moments when we are most vulnerable. … Sin may result from activities that begin innocently or that are perfectly legitimate in moderation, but in excess, they can cause us to veer from the straight and narrow path to our destruction. …
“[One] temptation [that may] detour us is placing improper emphasis on the obtaining of material possessions. For example, we may build a beautiful, spacious home that is far larger than we need. We may spend far too much to decorate, furnish, and landscape it. And even if we are blessed enough to afford such luxury, we may be misdirecting resources that could be better used to build the kingdom of God or to feed and clothe our needy brothers and sisters” (“The Straight and Narrow Way,” Ensign, November 1990, 65; emphasis added).
In addition to protecting us from sin, obedience to the 10th commandment can offer us blessings that come from increasing our charity, making our service more productive, and developing greater compassion. These traits—all opposites of covetousness—can blossom in our lives when we do as the Lord has commanded in this dispensation: “See that ye love one another; cease to be covetous; learn to impart one to another as the gospel requires” (D&C 88:123; emphasis added).
This command to lay aside our covetous desires for worldly things directs us onto the path of true discipleship. A heart filled with covetousness has no room for the all-consuming love of God required for exaltation.
An episode in the life of the Master demonstrates this principle. When a young man asked the Savior what he might do to inherit eternal life, Jesus responded by briefly reviewing all the commandments. The young man replied that he had kept those from his youth.
“Then Jesus beholding him loved him, and said unto him, One thing thou lackest: go thy way, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, take up the cross, and follow me.
“And he was sad at that saying, and went away grieved: for he had great possessions” (Mark 10:21–22).
This rich young man, despite his obedience to the other commandments, was so attached to his temporal assets that they blocked his path to discipleship. It was not his riches that precluded him from the blessings and rewards of following the Savior but the honor and stature with which he regarded the things of the world. Jesus commented to his disciples, “How hard is it for them that trust in riches to enter into the kingdom of God!” (Mark 10:24). His disciples asked, “Who then can be saved?” (Mark 10:26). Jesus then declared that for people who trust in riches, salvation is impossible, but it is not impossible for those who trust in God and leave all for his sake; for such people, all things are possible (see Joseph Smith Translation, Mark 10:26).
The scriptures speak of a righteous striving that can be as intense as any unrighteous desire to obtain the things we covet. This righteous effort occurs when we in wisdom and balance diligently seek that which leads to eternal life. “Do not spend money for that which is of no worth, nor your labor for that which cannot satisfy,” the Book of Mormon prophet Jacob admonished. “Come unto the Holy One of Israel, and feast upon that which perisheth not, neither can be corrupted, and let your soul delight in fatness” (2 Ne. 9:51; see also Isa. 55:1–3).
After covetousness is rooted out of our lives, we can replace the old longings for earthly goods and passions with dedicated strivings for the treasures of heaven. Jacob characterized this as seeking first the kingdom of God. He also taught the best use of the worldly riches so many people seek:
“Think of your brethren like unto yourselves, and be familiar with all and free with your substance, that they may be rich like unto you.
“But before ye seek for riches, seek ye for the kingdom of God.
“And after ye have obtained a hope in Christ ye shall obtain riches, if ye seek them; and ye will seek them for the intent to do good—to clothe the naked, and to feed the hungry, and to liberate the captive, and administer relief to the sick and the afflicted” (Jacob 2:17–19).
There is a great need today to supplement God’s ancient command from Sinai—“Thou shalt not covet”—with the commandment given to Latter-day Saints: “Keep my commandments, and seek to bring forth and establish the cause of Zion;
“Seek not for riches but for wisdom, and behold, the mysteries of God shall be unfolded unto you, and then shall ye be made rich. Behold, he that hath eternal life is rich” (D&C 6:6–7).
Purging from our hearts the covetousness of the world and replacing worldly desires with a strong, fully motivating love of God (see Deut. 6:5) can prepare us to receive the blessings promised by the Lord when he gave the Ten Commandments to Moses:
“Now therefore, if ye will obey my voice indeed, and keep my covenant, then ye shall be a peculiar treasure unto me above all people: for all the earth is mine:
“And ye shall be unto me a kingdom of priests, and an holy nation” (Ex. 19:5–6).

Sometimes it’s difficult to find the time to talk. If that’s the case, try some creative approaches. One young missionary told me, “I always wanted to talk to my mom. Oh, we talked about lots of things but never about anything serious or personal. We had a good relationship—we got along well—but we never really talked.
“There was so much that I wanted to tell her, so many questions I wanted to ask her before I went on my mission, but I just couldn’t do it.
“So I wrote her a letter, a long letter, and left it on her dresser. That really opened things up for us, and we had a couple of great talks before I left.”