Gospel Story Finder

I am impressed with the deep humility of President Kimball. Years ago he related an experience that emphasizes that the person in a Church position is not as great as the calling. Elder Spencer W. Kimball gives us this story:
“In a hotel in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania long years ago, I learned an important lesson when the president of the Rotary International said to the district governors in the assembly:
“‘Gentlemen: This has been a great year for you. The people have honored you, praised you, banqueted you, applauded you, and given you lavish gifts. If you ever get the mistaken idea that they were doing this for you personally, just try going back to the clubs next year when the mantle is on other shoulders.’
“This has kept me on my knees in my holy calling. Whenever I have been inclined to think the honors were coming to me as I go about the Church, then I remember that it is not to me, but to the position I hold that honors come. I am but a symbol.” (In Conference Report, Oct. 1958, p. 57.)

Nicole loves Suriname. So when she heard about a national contest to write an essay about her country, it seemed like a good thing to do. The contest rules said to describe what she would do if she were the Minister of Tourism. In her essay she suggested that historical buildings in Suriname should be cleaned up and beautified and that citizens of Suriname should be friendlier to visitors.
Nicole won the contest for her age group and traveled to Puerto Rico to compete with winners from other countries. Nicole really enjoyed her trip to Puerto Rico. “It is a beautiful country,” she says. “The people there are very kind, and I made lots of friends. But after all, home is home.” She was eager to be with her parents and her four older sisters again. And she was anxious to see her pet cat, Rosy!
At night Nicole likes to listen to the chirping crickets and the croaking frogs and the sounds of life in the woods around her house. She also likes to think of the city, with its government buildings and street signs, flower stalls and food markets. She is happy to be where she is. And she is grateful that, by writing down her thoughts, she was able to share her love for her country with people throughout the world.

George Hay was born in Erskine, Scotland, in 1836. His parents, Alexander and Jessie, were the first members to be baptised in Scotland on January 14, 1840. With his parents, he sailed for America from Liverpool, England, in 1841. They landed at New Orleans on October 19, 1841, from where they proceeded to Nauvoo, the Latter-day Saint city in Illinois.
Church records confirm that Alexander Hay was ordained a seventy in 1846, and Alexander and Jessie received their own endowments in the Nauvoo Temple. In September 1848, hearing of opportunities in Texas, and seeking a land free from the antagonism directed at that time to Latter-day Saints, the family started their journey with others to Texas in wagons drawn by mules. A long trip was ahead of them with all sorts of dangers and perils, but fearlessly the little band pursued their journey. George Hay was then a small boy, 12 years of age.
Their destination was Zodiac, a Latter-day Saint settlement on the Pedernales River, which they reached after nearly three months on the road. In company with a large party of Latter-day Saints, they decided to transfer their location to the county of Bandera, reaching there in March 1854. On his arrival in Bandera, George subsequently said, “This was a beautiful country then, a wilderness it is true, but inviting and offering our people wonderful possibilities.”
George Hay was appointed deputy clerk, then county clerk, and then became Judge George Hay of Bandera County, Texas—so a boy from Bishopton, in the Paisley Scotland Stake, became Judge of Bandera County, Texas.
Judge Hay says, “In 1861, when the Civil War came on, … I was commissioned a lieutenant, but being an officer made no difference to me. I went into ranks, stood guard, and performed all the duties of a private.”
He continues, “There are many thrilling incidents connected with the history of this country. Many tragedies have taken place, many hardships were endured by the first settlers, … many of our sons have gone out and won high places in the world, many of our daughters have married and raised manly sons and lovely daughters who are today filling places of usefulness in different parts of the country. I am proud that I can look back upon the sixty-nine years that I have spent here and realise the wonderful changes that have taken place, all for the betterment of mankind and the glory of American manhood and womanhood that brought these things to pass.”
Judge Hay spent his declining years at the old family homestead in Bandera, where for many years he and his good wife kept open house to travellers and entertained many distinguished visitors under their roof.
George Hay died at the age 89 on 6 February 1925 and was buried in Bandera. His wife, Virginia, passed away in Bandera on 6 November 1941 at the age of 97.
This story can be found in the Hondo Anvil Herald newspaper, Texas USA1.

I first heard of Jose and Juana Yefi and their seven children from President Julio Otay when, as a regional representative, I visited the Puerto Montt Stake. From his accounts of the Yefis and their experiences in the Church, I decided I wanted to meet them. They are members of the Estacion Ward, but to make the journey to the Yefi home is much more complicated than just walking down the street from the meetinghouse located in Puerto Vardas. It’s a three-part adventure by bus, boat, and horse. President Otay and I decided to make the journey September 17 and 18, during a national holiday in Chile.
When we set out from Puerto Varas, it was a beautiful morning announcing the arrival of spring in that part of the world. For the first part of our journey, we traveled ninety minutes by bus to Petrohue on the shore of Todos los Santos Lake. Our bus wended its way around the southern shore of Llanquihue Lake with the cone of the majestic volcano Mount Osorno as a backdrop. We planned to take the regularly-scheduled boat across Todos los Santos Lake, but we were told it had departed early loaded with tourists. So we rented a private boat—which happened to be owned by Brother Yefi’s cousin—for the three-hour trip. For those three hours we enjoyed the natural beauty around us. The lake, also known as “Emerald Lake” for the color of its waters, sparkled in the sunshine, and to our right rose the magnificent Monte Tronador Mountains. It was a wonderful way to celebrate a national holiday, and I thanked my Heavenly Father for my having been born in such a beautiful country.
When we arrived at the point where we were supposed to meet Brother Yefi, he wasn’t there. We discovered that he had been waiting for us at the other end of the lake at a small dock where the tourist boat pulled in. While he crossed the lake in his boat to meet us, we visited with the Miranda family, who lived close to the lake. Jose Miranda, Brother Yefi’s brother-in-law, and his family are members of the Church as a result of the Yefi family’s missionary work. I’ll tell more about them later.
Brother Yefi finally arrived and upon meeting this man of obvious Lamanite descent, with his sincere smile and shining eyes, I felt a definite kinship.
We set out on the last part of our journey to the Yefi home—two hours by horseback around and through thick forests of coigue, laurel, tepu, and ulmo trees. As we rode, we were serenaded by the sound of the Sin Nombre River hurrying downhill to the lake.
Finally we arrived in the El Callao Valley, where the Yefi family lives in complete seclusion. As we got off our horses, the children excitedly greeted us. At first I assumed that they were thrilled to see visitors. But I soon realized that their excitement was for their father, whom they hugged as if they hadn’t seen him for a long time. Sensing a special bond between father and children, I later learned that Brother Yefi himself had delivered five of his seven children into the world.
Springtime had reached this high mountain valley, with a profusion of yellow flowers outside the Yefi’s wood frame home. Inside, a sign in the dining room proclaimed, “Our Goal is to Build an Eternal Family.” As we visited with the Yefis that evening, I learned about the roots of their faith in the gospel.
Brother Yefi told us how he was introduced to the Church.
“Since I was a child,” he said, “I had suffered from nosebleeds. One time, after I was married, I suffered a nosebleed so severe that I fainted and had hallucinations. When I recovered, I thought I had gone on to the next life. But I was glad to see my wife by my side taking care of me.
“I decided to go to see a doctor in Puerto Varas. While I was at a friend’s house, he told me that two young men lived nearby who ‘cured’ people in the name of the Lord. Since I have always been a faithful man, I went to see them and asked them how much they charged for a blessing. The young men, who stood out because of their white shirts, told me, ‘We don’t charge money to bless one of our brothers. If you have faith that you will be healed with the blessing we give you, it will be the Lord who will really cure you.’
“They then invited me to sit down, but I told them, ‘I don’t feel comfortable when I’m sitting down. I would feel better kneeling.’ The missionaries put their hands on my head and gave me a blessing. The experience was marvelous. I felt warm all over my body, and I had no doubt that it was God’s power curing me. Never again did I have a nosebleed.
“After this experience, I asked the missionaries what I had to do to become a member of their Church. They asked me if I was married. I told them yes, and we made an appointment to meet together with my wife the following Sunday. The missionaries presented the first discussion, and then they asked us to return the next week for the second discussion. But I told them that because of the distance involved, I wanted them to baptize us then. So we received all the discussions and were baptized the same day, 28 September 1979.
“It’s a long distance between our home and the church, but we attended Sunday meetings as often as possible. On one of our visits, I was interviewed by the branch president to be ordained to the Aaronic priesthood.”
President Otay, who was Brother Yefi’s branch president at that time, challenged him to pay tithing and prepare himself to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood. A few months after the interview, on a rainy, wet day, Brother Yefi appeared and asked to speak with the president about paying his first tithing donation. President Otay invited him to come in, but Brother Yefi said that he had his tithing outside—three sacks of potatoes.
Imagine this brother’s faithfulness in keeping the Lord’s commandments! He had transported three sacks of potatoes by horseback, boat, bus, and then wagon to the church.
Listening to Brother Yefi testify of the law of tithing is a special experience. “Before leaving home to bring our tithing to the bishop,” he said, “I pray to Heavenly Father to bless me that I might be honest. I would not like to have the feeling that I have stolen what really belongs to Him.”
Brother Yefi testified that the Lord has greatly blessed his family for obeying the law of tithing. At the time he was baptized, he said, he had only the minimum of necessities to sustain his family—a team of oxen which he used to plow the earth, a horse, and a few goats and sheep. But, he said with great reverence, since learning the gospel and paying his tithing, “We have been greatly blessed. I have horses, goats, sheep, and nine milking cows that give us enough milk to feed our children and to make cheese to sell. And we sow and harvest our own wheat. We are very blessed!”
As a part of the Yefis’ goal of building an eternal family, they have eagerly shared the gospel with their extended family members. Brother Yefi’s father, Prudencio Yefi Calbucan, was the first relative to listen to the gospel message. Next his brother, Segundo Prudencio Yefi Aguilar, his brother’s wife, Maria Isabel de Yefi, and one of their daughters became interested. Then his brother-in-law, Jose Nolberto Miranda Diaz—who we had met at the lakeshore—his wife, Maria Francisca de Miranda, his oldest son Juan Heriberto Miranda Yefi, and two younger daughters wanted to learn more.
Brother Yefi taught them all the missionary discussions. Then they all made the journey to Puerto Varas to be interviewed by the full-time missionaries. After the interviews, Brother Yefi baptized them. He also challenged them to receive the temple endowments which he and Sister Yefi had already done. (The Mirandas’ oldest son was serving in the Chile Vina del Mar Mission at the time of our visit.)
On the second day of our visit, Sunday, President Otay authorized Brother Yefi to conduct regular church services in his home, except when the family journeys to Puerta Varas to pay tithing to the bishop.
We joined the Yefis, with their relatives, in Sunday School and sacrament service—eighteen members altogether.
Brother Yefi taught a lesson from the book of Moroni. As he read from chapters six and seven about baptisms, fellowshipping and preaching by the power of the Holy Ghost, tears rolled down our checks.
When the lesson was finished, we sang a hymn. Even without a piano or a knowledge of music, the Yefi family sang with a spirit that compensated for any wrong notes. Then Brother Yefi asked the visitors to speak.
When it was my turn to speak, I told them, “I realize that you are eager to learn from anything I might say, but I can assure you that from this visit I have learned more from you than what you can learn from me.”
As I told the Yefi family good-by later that day, I thought about the lessons I had learned from them. I learned about being faithful to the Lord in every circumstance. I learned that although a great distance separated the Yefis from the church meetinghouse, there was no distance between them and the Lord. Many of us who have dozens of neighbors around us do not share the gospel, yet the Yefis have taught, fellowshipped, and baptized their nearest neighbors and relatives.
From the Yefis, I learned about making the temple a priority. Many of us who have relatively easy access to a temple make one excuse after another for not attending. The Yefis have already traveled a great distance to Santiago to be sealed in the temple. And whenever they can make the journey to that city, the temple is their first priority.
I left the beautiful El Callao Valley strengthened in my own testimony of the gospel and in my commitment to obey the Lord. The Yefis’ influence for good has reached beyond the isolation of their mountain home.

Linda Bradshaw, living in the West Midlands, has applied creative fingers to the money problem. She has developed a handmade jewellery business, selling to local tourist attractions.

“We have little spare time for out-of-school jobs, even if they are available,” she says. “Homework is heaped on us at every opportunity. We have to study hard to pass our O and A level exams. Jobs and university places are scarce. We need good results to get anywhere. I’ve learnt to manage my time and can fit in jewellery making early morning or other odd hours.”

Not all of the success of telling their message comes from the performances. For Dave Palfreyman, the group’s emcee and business manager, one of his most memorable experiences with the group happened at a stop at Sutter’s Fort, California.

“We had stopped to eat and stretch our legs. Some of the members went on a tour of the fort. Those of us who had already taken the tour were left with free time.” Dave and four girls decided to visit a hospital that was across the street. They told the head nurse who they were and asked if there was someone who didn’t receive many visitors. The nurse told them about an elderly lady.

“I was a little nervous,” Dave explained. “But I took the initiative to speak. The woman was Mrs. Daugherty, 84, a widow and a grandmother of two, and she was alone in a world of millions of people. As soon as I introduced us, the girls swarmed around the bed. We found a very beautiful woman—a child of God just like us. I became silent and watched my friends put an old German saying into practice: Geben ist selger als nehmen (To give is much more precious than to receive). I was asked to say a prayer. Prayers,” Dave concluded his story, “should come from the heart, and if they do, one knows deep within that our Father and his Son are happy. They were. Mrs. Daugherty knew, we knew, and none of us will forget it.”

When my parents suggested I use the For the Strength of Youth booklet to study for my next oral Spanish exam, I was surprised. It did make sense, especially since the examiner would be asking me about my stances on moral issues, but I didn’t think it would be as helpful as they thought it would be.
My father downloaded a copy of Para la Fortaleza de la Juventud from LDS.org, and for the next few weeks, I cross-referenced my English copy with my Spanish one. I looked up interesting words and useful phrases, and it also helped me get a deeper understanding of the doctrine.
When the morning for the exam came, the language came to me as I needed it, and I was able to talk with confidence about morality, music, abstinence from alcohol, the importance of families, and clean living. I was able to testify of the truthfulness of my beliefs, and I actually enjoyed it.
Studying Para la Fortaleza de la Juventud did help me speak better Spanish, but what I didn’t expect was how close it brought me to the Spirit. As I answered the questions that day, the Spirit brought so much back to my remembrance. I know now that as long as I do what it takes to have the Spirit in my life, I don’t have to be afraid.

Recently I met a young man who was receiving the missionary discussions. He had read the Book of Mormon and felt he had received answers to his prayers. He was now faced with the decision of whether or not to be baptized.

This was a rather remarkable young man. He had experienced some severe tests in his life, and he had demonstrated great courage and resourcefulness. The prospect of becoming a member of the Church, however, gave him a different kind of challenge.

As we talked about this newest and most important decision with which he was faced, he asked, “Why are so many people critical of Mormons?” He then described some of the things he had experienced at the hands of friends, family, and fellow employees for having associated with the missionaries. “I’m not sure I can live with that kind of feeling against me if I join the Church,” he said. “Why can’t I believe what your church teaches, but just go on being a good Christian without becoming a Mormon?”

It isn’t difficult for us to know what the consequences will be for this young man if he chooses not to be baptized because of the fear of incurring ill feelings from family and friends. He is, of course, perfectly free to make this choice, but he is not free to determine the consequences of that decision.

The young man to whom I referred in the beginning of my remarks has a very important decision to make. In the final analysis he cannot hedge on his decision. He must be willing to face the consequences of baptism and membership in the Church if he is ever to enjoy the blessings that Church membership can bring. He must be willing to pay the price. This will require much trust and faith on his part. It is so with each of us whenever we face challenging choices. You young men of the Aaronic Priesthood have a tremendous trust placed in you by the Lord, and he expects you to measure up—to stand up and be counted. All of you came here to be winners. The Lord’s work will prevail, and you will have much to do with the success of his kingdom.

“Hurry!” seven-year-old Ryan called to his friend Ben as they burst through the door of Ryan’s house. He and Ben walked home from school together every day, and Ben stayed at Ryan’s house until his mother got home from work.
“Hi, Mom,” Ryan said, grabbing a slice of banana bread off of the counter.
Ryan’s mother smiled and handed Ben a slice of his own. She gave Ryan a hug as both boys dropped their backpacks and sped into the computer room. The boys were allowed 20 minutes of computer time when they came home from school, and they couldn’t wait to play their favorite game.
“It’s my turn first,” Ryan said. He flopped into the tall red chair and slid “Monster Trucks” into the computer. It was Ryan’s favorite game, and they played it every day.
“Yeeee-ha!” Ben shouted as he watched Ryan’s blue computer truck jump over three cars. Ryan gunned the truck up the side of a tall mountain.
Ben jumped up and down and yelled whenever Ryan’s truck did any death-defying stunt. But as Ben got more excited, he began yelling words that made Ryan frown. Ryan cringed as Ben took the Lord’s name in vain.
The day before, Ryan had spoken to his mother about Ben’s language.
“Ben and his family aren’t members of the Church,” his mother had explained, “so he doesn’t understand that it’s bad to say those words.”
Still, hearing Ben swear took all the fun out of the game. Then Ryan had an idea. What if he taught Ben that it was wrong to take the Lord’s name in vain?
The next time Ben swore, Ryan stopped playing and turned to face his friend. “It’s not nice to say those words,” he said.
Ben looked surprised.
Ryan moved out of the chair so Ben could take a turn on the computer. He said, “It’s called taking the Lord’s name in vain. It’s like insulting Him, and it hurts me to hear you do it.”
Ben shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll stop saying them.” Then he grabbed the computer controls and clicked on his red truck.
Ben used good language for the rest of the afternoon, and Ryan’s smile grew bigger and bigger. He and Ben were best friends, and he was sure that Ben would try hard not to take the Lord’s name in vain again. Now this wouldn’t stand in the way of either their fun or their friendship.

There it was, rising above the desert like a huge mound of bread dough, but instead of being soft, it was solid rock. The Young Women of the Alice Springs Branch in the Australia Adelaide Mission meant to climb to the top of this natural marvel.
The rock, known as Ayers Rock, is located southwest of Alice Springs. It is one of the world’s largest monoliths because it was formed from one huge, unfractured piece of rock. The steep climb, about two kilometers, was not an easy task, but most of the young women and their leaders made it to the top to see the beautiful view.
The three-day trip also included a hike through the Olgas, a cluster of round-topped mountains near Ayers Rock. The group traveled in all-terrain vehicles because of the rough desert country. The highlight was the testimony meeting held at the base of one of the Olgas as the sun went down.
“We had great fun. The view from Ayers Rock was worth the scary climb.” Joanne Thompson, 17
“We had a testimony meeting at sunset at the Olgas which was really special. It makes you appreciate how beautiful God’s creations are.” Rebecca Clement, 16

One day when I was really struggling, I read my patriarchal blessing. As I read it, I realized that I do have a future. God has a plan for me, and He actually loves me. Going to church, taking the sacrament, reading the scriptures, and praying has brought so much light and happiness into my life. I soon realized, “This actually helps me.” That’s when I knew I always wanted the gospel in my life. After everything I’ve been through, I know that the gospel has saved my life, and I’m very happy about that.

It was really late, and my sister was asleep, but I was still up reading. I held my book and flashlight under the covers. If Mom or Dad came to see if I was still awake, I could switch off my flashlight, close my eyes, and they’d never know I wasn’t really asleep.
I just couldn’t put my book down yet. It was full of scary stories, and I had to know what happened next.
Scritch, scritch. I jumped. What was that sound? It was coming from my window. It sounded just like in the story I was reading, where a girl was hiding from a ghost in her house.
I shivered as the sound came again. Scritch, scritch, meow. I slowly let out my breath. It was just our cat scratching the window. Maybe it was time to put the book down and go to sleep.
I stuck my bookmark between the pages and hid the book under my pillow. Then I switched off the flashlight. Now it was totally dark. The bed creaked as I rolled over. What was that shadow in the corner? Had that been there before?
I pulled the covers up over my head and tried to fall asleep. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl in the story. What would I do if a ghost was in my house?!
Ghosts aren’t real, I told myself. It’s just a story. I kept telling myself that, and finally I fell asleep.
The next day was a book sale at school. I’d been saving up my chore money for weeks. When it was my class’s turn, I went straight to the scary stories.
At the bottom of the stack was a book with an old picture of a creepy house. “I bet it’s haunted,” I told my friend Julia. I tucked it under my arm and found two other books to try.
That night I started my new books. I read straight through the first one. You had to read scary stories fast. If you thought about something scary for too long, it just made you more scared.
But the next day, as I started reading the book with the haunted house, I did stop to think. I’d been reading scary stories for days. I’d hardly set the books down. I’d hardly even left my room. And my brain was full of lots of scary things. I thought about ghosts and people getting lost in the woods and monsters that tricked and ate you. All that stuff made me scared—even while sitting in my safe room with the sun shining through the window.
I set my book down and took a deep breath. These books didn’t make me happy. They didn’t make me feel good. I was sad about lots of things, and these books just made me feel worse.
I closed my eyes and leaned against my bed. Dear Heavenly Father, I prayed, I don’t think these scary books are very good for me. Please help me know what to do and to be strong enough to do it.
When I opened my eyes, I looked down at my new books. “I don’t need these,” I said. It was time to find something that made me feel happy, not scared and sad.
Turn to page 20 to find some great books to read!
I picked up the books and pulled the rest of my scary stories off my shelf. It was a lot of books. But I carried them all to our recycling bin. I felt much lighter as I dumped them in.
And when I walked away, I didn’t look back.

As a young college student, Giuseppe Pasta found his belief in God constantly challenged by atheistic friends. He began intensive study of the Bible to strengthen his beliefs, and his study did indeed bring Giuseppe closer to God. But it also convinced him that the church of his forefathers was somehow incomplete. In it, he had learned basic moral principles, but he felt there must be more to the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Where was this additional truth?
When his prayers for further enlightenment seemed to go unanswered, he concluded that perhaps he was not righteous enough. He sought to humble himself in service to patients at a charity hospital, where “I found what the pure love of Christ is.”
Then one day he met two Latter-day Saint missionaries “street-boarding” (explaining the gospel with portable displays) outside the hospital. That meeting led, after a long period of study, to his conversion but he did not tell his family at first about his baptism.
When they learned of it, they were devastated. Friends presented him a petition, with hundreds of signatures, begging him to come back to the “true church.” An interview was arranged for him with the cardinal of Turin, in the hope that the cleric could persuade him to change his mind. They became friends. Convinced at length that young Giuseppe was sincere in his beliefs, the cardinal counseled him to be true to them.
Giuseppe Pasta has been a member of the Church for twenty years now, long enough to qualify him as a Latter-day Saint pioneer in Italy. He was an executive with the Fiat corporation for seventeen years before he was hired to open the Church’s first regional office in Italy. As a temple sealer, he has had the privilege of uniting many of his countrymen for eternity in the Swiss Temple. Currently president of the Italy Rome Mission, he directs some 150 young missionaries in bringing gospel truths to other Italians.
Like President Pasta, many Italian Latter-day Saints reordered their lives to join the Church after discovering gospel truths they had not known existed. Like him, many of them are pioneers in their families and in their country.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Do. Not. Cry.
This was the pep talk I recently gave myself the day before my 30th birthday. (It was a melodramatic day, to say the least.) But crying about my birthday is not out of the ordinary for me. I’ve never been a fan of growing up.
(And, in case you’re wondering, my pep talk didn’t work.)
Shocking, really.
I would turn 30, and the world would keep spinning.
So why did I feel like it was about to end?
Well for one, I struggle with anxiety. So there’s that. But I always felt like turning 30 would seal the door to my youth forever. I felt like I hadn’t accomplished enough during my 20s. And after facing challenges during that decade, I was scared of the new responsibilities and trials heading my way (possibly motherhood, a worsening chronic illness, and who knows what else).
As my anxious thoughts spiraled, I said a prayer asking God for comfort, and I started to ponder my past decade of life as a young adult.
What had I accomplished? What had I learned? How had I changed?
And that’s when I focused in on the most important thought that came to mind:
“How did I deepen my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ during this time?”
This changed my perspective.
Being a 20-something-year-old can be a very confusing, heartbreaking, and just plain hard time. Many seem to be thinking the same thing: “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
My early 20s consisted of an ebb and flow of feelings of aimlessness, fear, loneliness, and sometimes even a sense of abandonment from Heavenly Father when my life wasn’t going the way I thought it would.
When I was 24, I felt like I was in the darkest season of my life. But words from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf struck my soul and triggered the start of a deep change in me.
At a worldwide devotional for young adults, he said:
“When I was your age, I had no idea where my life would take me. I definitely didn’t see any dots connecting in front of me.
“But I did trust God. I listened to the advice of loving family and wise friends, and I took small steps of faith, believing that if I did the best I could in the moment, God would take care of the big picture.
“He did. …
“In Proverbs, we find this great promise: ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths’ [Proverbs 3:5–6].
“I don’t believe there is a question mark at the end of that verse. No, I think there should be an exclamation point!”1
After hearing Elder Uchtdorf’s words at 24, I committed to using this time of life to trust in the Lord.
And, six years later, on the day before I turned 30, I was hit with the profound truth that, despite the melodrama (and the actual, difficult drama) this is what young adulthood has been for me:
Sacred.
We can make young adulthood one of the most sacred seasons of our journey in mortality. It’s a time for discovery, deepening faith, true conversion, and realizing our divine identity and potential.
I can see that as I made choices to seek Jesus Christ and to keep choosing faith (especially when it was difficult), this season helped me start to understand what He has done for me—and continues to do for me.
It’s the season where I’ve had to take responsibility for my testimony.
It’s the season where I received my endowment, cherished my temple covenants, and witnessed the power that comes from attending the temple.
It’s been a season of facing questions and wrestling with Heavenly Father to find answers (even if that answer is to trust Him).
It’s a season where I may not have always recognized the Savior and Heavenly Father in my life but later saw that They were always with me.
It’s been a season of learning that the grace of Jesus Christ can always make up for my sins and imperfections as I turn to Him in humility and sincere repentance (see Ether 12:27).
It’s a season of unknowns and learning to “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope” (2 Nephi 31:20).
Yes, young adulthood is filled with hardships. I faced stressful college courses, struggles in my career path, the heart-wrenching pains of dating, family difficulties, and other challenges that could have filled up an “end-of-the-world”–themed bingo card.
But I’ve learned that it was these hard moments that gave me an opportunity to cling to truth, choose faith, and seek the healing and enabling power of Jesus Christ—all things that ultimately made this a beautifully sacred time of life. This season is about allowing Him and Heavenly Father to refine us and help us start building the masterpiece of a life we desire.
That doesn’t sound so bad.
With our focus on Jesus Christ, we can make young adulthood—and every year beyond—a sacred space full of hope, triumph, and true joy.
That is what it’s been for me.

I was also able to enjoy that same Christ-centered culture growing up in a home where my father honored his priesthood and gained the trust of the entire family due to “the integrity of his heart.”7 Let me share with you an experience from my youth that illustrates the lasting positive impact that a father who understands and lives the principle of trust built on integrity can have on his family.

When I was very young, my father founded a company that specialized in factory automation. This business engineered, fabricated, and installed automated production lines worldwide.

When I was in middle school, my father wanted me to learn how to work. He also wanted me to learn the business from the ground up. My first job included maintaining the grounds and painting areas of the facility not visible to the general public.

When I entered high school, I was promoted to work on the factory floor. I started to learn how to read blueprints and run heavy steel fabrication machinery. After high school graduation, I attended university and then entered the mission field. Returning home from my mission, I went straight back to work. I needed to earn money for the next year’s school expenses.

One day soon after my mission, I was working in the factory when my father called me into his office and asked if I would like to go with him on a business trip to Los Angeles. This was the first time my father invited me to accompany him on a business trip. He was actually letting me go out in public to help represent the company.

Before we left on the trip, he prepared me with a few details about this potential new client. First, the client was a multinational corporation. Second, they were upgrading their production lines worldwide with the latest in automation technology. Third, our company had never previously supplied them with engineering services or technology. And finally, their top corporate officer in charge of purchasing had called this meeting to review our bid on a new project. This meeting represented a new and potentially important opportunity for our company.

After arriving in Los Angeles, my father and I went to the executive’s hotel for the meeting. The first order of business was to discuss and analyze the engineering design specifications of the project. The next discussion item concerned operational details, including logistics and delivery dates. The concluding agenda item focused on pricing, terms, and conditions. This is where things got interesting.

This corporate officer explained to us that our price proposal was the lowest of those who had submitted bids on the project. He then, curiously, told us the price of the second-lowest bid. He then asked us if we would be willing to take our proposal back and resubmit it. He stated that our new price should come in just below the next highest bid. He then explained that we would split the newly added dollars 50–50 with him. He rationalized this by saying that everyone would win. Our company would win because we would be making considerably more money than our original bid provided. His company would win because they would still be doing business with the lowest bidder. And, of course, he would win by taking his cut because he put this great deal together.

He then gave us a post office box number where we could send the money he requested. After all of this, he looked at my father and asked, “So, do we have a deal?” Much to my surprise, my father stood up, shook his hand, and told him we would get back to him.

After leaving the meeting, we got into the rental car, and my father turned to me and asked, “Well, what do you think we should do?”

I responded by saying I didn’t think we should accept this offer.

My father then asked, “Don’t you think we have a responsibility to all of our employees to maintain a good backlog of work?”

While I was contemplating his question and before I could answer, he answered his own question. He said, “Listen, Rick, once you take a bribe or compromise your integrity, it is very difficult to ever get it back. Don’t ever do it, not even once.”

The fact that I’m sharing this experience means that I have never forgotten what my father taught me on that first business trip with him. I share this experience to illustrate the lasting influence we have as fathers. You can imagine the trust I had in my father due to the integrity of his heart. He lived these same principles in his private life with my mother, his children, and all with whom he associated.

“I think we ought to kick Robby Burns off the team,” my best friend, Joey, said to me one day after a football game. “He can’t run very fast, and he’s always fumbling the ball.”
“Yeah, and whenever he plays,” I mumbled, “we usually lose.”
“But you’ll hurt his feelings,” said Joey’s younger sister Margie, who had overheard us.
“What does she know about guys playing football,” I grumbled under my breath. “I’ll see how the other guys feel about it,” I said aloud to Joey. “If they agree with us, I’ll talk to Robby after supper.”
“I think you’re both awful,” Margie complained. “Robby can’t help it if he’s not as good as you two are.”
“Margie,” I said, trying to be patient with her, “we’ll still play with him, but not football. He can watch us when we play that.”
I looked up, and Robby was standing right beside me. He had heard what I had said!
“Don’t worry,” he said, smiling. “I don’t mind not playing.”
Something about his smile stuck in my mind. Way down deep I knew that if I’d heard someone say that he didn’t want me on his team, I wouldn’t have smiled. That night after dinner I went for a walk with my dad. “You can understand how we feel, can’t you, Dad?” I asked him as we walked along. “He never helps us win. He’s just not good enough.”
“Yes,” Dad answered, “I do understand how you feel. Even so, it won’t be easy deciding which is more important—winning a game or keeping a friend.”
“But Robby’s still our friend. He told me he doesn’t care if he doesn’t play. I know he understands why we dropped him from the team.”
“I hope you’re right,” Dad said thoughtfully.
The next day in school we had a spelling bee. Robby Burns was one captain, and he picked me to be on his team. “We’ll have a contest each day for four days,” the teacher explained, “and the team that spells the most words correctly will represent our class in a spelling bee against the other third grade class.”
It sure sounded like fun. It was fun, too—except that I found out I wasn’t as good a speller as I thought I was. But Robby was terrific. He never missed a word. The other two on our team didn’t miss many, either. But I sure did.
On the last day we were tied with another team for first place, and there was a special spell-off. I was scared, but Robby encouraged me every time my turn came. It didn’t do much good, though, because the words were just too hard for me, and I missed nearly every one. I felt awful when we lost and the other team was declared the champions. I wouldn’t have blamed Robby for being sore, but he wasn’t.
“I’m sure sorry, Robby,” I apologized. “If it hadn’t been for me, our team would’ve won.”
“That’s OK, Chris,” he answered. “I know you did your best. Besides, it was fun just being on the same team.”
I thought of a few days ago, when I’d said we didn’t want him on our football team.
“Robby’s quite a guy,” I told Dad that night at supper.
“He sounds like a good sport,” Dad answered.
Dad was right. That’s just what Robby was—a good sport. He wanted to win as much as anyone, but he was willing to lose rather than hurt someone else’s feelings.
The next afternoon when the guys got together to play football, I made a little speech. “And from now on,” I said, “anyone who wants to play, can, and no one is going to make fun of someone else. We’re not a professional team where everyone has to be terrific. We’re just a bunch of neighborhood kids who want to have a good time.”
Robby was standing next to me. “Come on, sport,” I said to him, “you’re on my team!”

Janetta Ann McBride and her family were early members of the Church. They have traveled from England on their way to the Salt Lake Valley. Their journey was delayed in Iowa because their handcarts were not ready. But finally, as part of the Martin Handcart Company, they are on their way across the plains. In Florence, Nebraska, some members think it is too late to continue the journey. However, it is finally decided that they will all continue on to the Salt Lake Valley.
It was the 25th of August, almost the end of summer, when we left Florence, Nebraska, and headed for Salt Lake City. Everything went fine until Mother became really sick. It was hard to see her ill. She had to ride in one of the handcarts, and I took her place pulling. Heber also was pulling a cart.
Traveling by handcart isn’t bad if you have enough food and the weather stays nice. Many Saints traveled that way and found it a healthy and quick way to get to the Salt Lake Valley. On September 7, a group of missionaries returning to Salt Lake passed us. When they saw how late in the season we were traveling and that the weather was unseasonably cold, they said that they would hurry on to Salt Lake and report to Brigham Young that we would be needing help to get to the valley. We later learned that they had arrived in Salt Lake on October 4. The next day, the 5th, Brigham Young called upon the bishops to immediately organize supplies, wagons, and men to go out and help us reach the valley. The first group left Salt Lake City on October 7th. But, of course, we didn’t know that.
When we arrived at Fort Laramie, we were starting to run low on food. Members of the company purchased what additional food they could. Our rations were also cut from 1 pound of flour a day per person to 3/4 pound. Later it was cut to 1/2 pound, and finally to 1/4 pound per person.
On October 17, just before crossing the North Platte River for the last time, we were told to lighten our loads so that we could travel more quickly. Blankets, extra clothing, and utensils were left behind. How I missed the clothing and bedding a few days later!
The North Platte River was freezing cold, deep, and swift. On October 19th, Father helped us across, then helped others. We were all wet and cold and hungry. No sooner were we across, than the first snowstorm hit us. Father worked hard helping set up camp, and he gave away much—too much—of his food to those in greater need. Most of the men worked too hard and ate too little. They couldn’t bear to see the suffering of the women and children.
The night of October 21st was especially bitter cold and stormy. Nobody had enough clothing or blankets to stay warm. Sometime during the night, Father died of exhaustion, starvation, and the cold. Twelve others also died that night. They were all buried in the same grave. The ground was so frozen that digging in it was almost impossible. How hard it was to leave him out there on the frozen prairie. I felt sad and lonely.
Mother was still ill, Father was dead, and I was now in charge of getting our family to Salt Lake. There was no time to sit down and cry or wait for help. None of us had any choice but to keep moving toward Zion and safety. I used our family’s flour to make a kind of biscuit. I kept pieces from my share of the bread in my pockets. When I couldn’t get the boys or Margaret to keep going, I’d offer them a crumb of bread. Even though they were cold and exhausted, they were so hungry that it worked.
At the end of October, Brother Joseph A. Young and Brother Stephen Taylor arrived in our camp from Salt Lake City. They had wagons of food and clothing! We greeted them as angels of mercy. For the first time in many days, there was joy in our camp. They told us more food, clothing, and bedding were waiting for us at Devil’s Gate.
We kept traveling through the snow to Devil’s Gate and ran into the other wagons with provisions for us. How I wished for a pair of shoes, as my feet froze in the icy slush. But even shoes were less important than food. We left Devil’s Gate with a single handcart for our family. Many of the handcarts were left behind. Those that had brought the provisions from Salt Lake City traveled with us.
At the Sweetwater River, I pulled our handcart through the slushy ice water, then went back for my brothers and sister. I carried them across one at a time. The river wasn’t too deep, but it was many yards wide. It was so cold that my skirts froze around my legs. I wondered if I’d ever be warm again.
The snowstorms continued, and it was bitter cold at night. Sometimes we’d wake up in the morning with our hair frozen to the ground. One night, we thought my little brother Peter was dead, because he was frozen to his quilt. But he finally woke up and, after thawing out his hair, continued the journey.
Although we were much better off now, there still wasn’t enough food or clothing to go around. It was still cold, it was still stormy, and I still had no shoes. Our company found a ravine that we later named Martin’s Ravine, and we set up camp there. For three days there was a terrible blizzard. It was so cold! Even after the storm ended, we had to wait several days before we could travel over the fresh snow. Although there were now wagons and horses, I walked every step of the way. Only those who had frozen feet got to ride.
We camped at Fort Bridger for a few days of rest. More help came at that time. We kept right on traveling. We reached Salt Lake City on November 30, 1856, eleven months after we had left our home in England. Of the 576 people who had started with our company, about 150 of them had died and were buried along the trail, including my father.
We found a place to stay in Ogden with a family named Ferrin. Mother got better and cooked for this household of grown men in return for our board and room. I fell in love with one of the Ferrin brothers, Jacob Samuel. We were married in the Endowment House, and we moved to Provo with my brother Heber.
Later my husband and I moved to Arizona, where we were once again pioneers in an unknown territory.
Do I regret any moment of following the call of the prophet? No! Despite all the hard times, we made it to Zion. We had the gospel, and we were with the Saints. Jacob and I were married for eternity. It was what we had left England for, to obtain the blessings of the gospel. No matter what it cost, it was worth it! All my life I bore testimony of my thankfulness that I made that journey, no matter how hard it was.

In the Martin handcart company of 1856, Brother Martin insisted that the people throw away all nonessentials so that they could reach the valley more quickly. Many children had to part with toys that they had brought. One little girl had a small cast-iron toy lion. It, too, was dumped, but she so loved the lion that during the night she went back to where they had left the discarded items, found her pet lion, put it on a string, and wore it underneath her dress all the way to the Salt Lake Valley.

* * *
It was three weeks after my parents had come. We were in a small park in town where there was a set of swings and some old distinguished-looking trees. We were sitting on the swings enjoying the early evening solitude. I was playing my guitar and singing.
“You know a lot of songs, Greg.”
“I learned most of them when we used to stage sit-ins. When you’re sitting around some administrator’s hallway, it’s nice to have something to do. Did I ever tell you that I went to Chicago?”
“How did you like it?” she asked eagerly.
“Like what?”
“Chicago, silly.”
“I wasn’t on a Boy Scout tour,” I snapped. I couldn’t believe that she didn’t know what we had done at Chicago. “Don’t you associate anything with Chicago?”
She wrinkled her nose, a sign I had learned to recognize as indicating deep concentration. “Carl Sandburg.”
That broke me up.
She climbed to the top of the slide, cleared her throat, and began reciting “Hog Butcher for the World.” After four lines she paused, wrinkled her nose, and confessed, “I forgot the rest.” For her finale she slid down the slide, and then turned to me and took a bow. “Ta da!” she sang.
I put my guitar down and motioned to the stairs. “After you,” I said. We both climbed the stairs. We sat up at the top of the slide. I put my arms around her and we went down the slide together, “making a train” as I had called it when I was four or five years old. We landed in a pile at the bottom of the slide. After we got untangled, I helped her up and we sat down on the merry-go-round.
“Debbie, we are crazy. You know that, don’t you?”
“Why?”
“You’re Miss Goody-two-shoes, and I’m your friendly neighborhood hippie.”
“You’re not, Greg. You’re just playing a part. The hair, the beard—it’s a costume. Underneath waiting to get out is a man like your father who will be an effective leader in the Church.”
“It’s not true. Somehow for me the Church never took.”
She took my guitar, retuned it, and began singing in clear tones, “Give Said the Little Stream.” When she got to the part, “There is something all can give,” she looked up and smiled at me. She pointed her finger at me and said, “The Church wants to join you.”
“Debbie, what are we going to do? We’ve fallen in love, but there’s no way we can both be happy. You told the Sunday School class that you weren’t going to settle for anything less than a temple marriage.”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
She thought a while before answering.
“Love was meant to last forever. But in this life, death robs us. First we see our parents sliding year by year. Lines of worry grow into deep ravines. They begin walking with a cane. Their fingers become gnarled by arthritis. Then someday they leave us. In a few years the same thing happens to us.”
The stillness of the night was occasionally disturbed by the sounds of the crowd at the high school game a few blocks away.
She continued. “But death is not the end. In the resurrection those broken bodies will become perfect. No more canes, no more arthritis. A man and a woman who have honored the promises made in the temple will experience the joys of marriage again. This time forever.” She touched my hand lightly. “I want that for my marriage.”
“But I won’t ever be able to go to the temple. Never.”
“I’ll get someone else then,” she whispered. It was as if the words had fought a long battle in order to escape from her lips.
“I thought you loved me,” I said.
“It’s more than that. I’m in love with you. There’s a difference.”
“And you’d toss everything we’ve got going for us into the air because of the Church?”
“Greg, I know Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. What else can I do?”
“Maybe you believe it sincerely, but you can’t know it.”
“Why not?”
“C’mon Debbie! This is the twentieth century. You can’t know anything is true. You’re in college. How can you swallow that now?”
She stood up. “And how can you sit through a fast and testimony meeting and not be moved. Why can’t you feel the influence of the Holy Ghost?”
We were standing up facing each other.
“I feel what can be recorded—sound, light, heat, taste, touch. That’s what we’ve got in this world.”
“No it isn’t. I know beyond any doubt that Joseph Smith was a prophet.”
“You can’t say that.”
“I am saying it, Greg.”
“That’s the same jazz I get from my parents every time I go home. I don’t want it from you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s tearing us apart. I love you, Debbie. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. Except for your belief in the Church.”
“The things you respect in me are things that have come from my membership in the Church. Why are you fighting so hard?”
“Why? Welcome to the world! We’ve got problems to be solved. Our generation are the ones who have got to get it together before it’s too late. The Church may be all right, but it’s just not relevant in our day.”
“What problems?”
“Injustice, hate, pollution, poverty, wars! How does the Church propose to solve these problems?”
“If people would live the gospel of Jesus Christ, these problems would be solved.”
“Do you mean that the only thing you can suggest is for the whole world to join the Church? These are problems that won’t be solved by simple homespun ideas from Utah!”
“There’s a prophet of God in Utah. That’s worth more to me than some panel of experts predicting what the future will bring, or telling us that Christian ideals are old-fashioned, or that chastity is emotionally unhealthy. I’ve seen the gospel change the lives of people for the better. They pay their tithing and they get out of poverty. They have family home evenings and their love for each other increases. They live the Word of Wisdom and they are healthier. What program have you ever advocated that would touch people like that?”
It was the same argument we’d gone through before. “We’re not getting anywhere with this,” I said. “Let’s walk back to the car.”
I guess we both knew as we walked slowly to the car that we were breaking up. If we had loved each other less, maybe we could have gone on. But our love was too deep. Each disagreement brought pain. And if we married with our differences, we would live the same argument day after day.
Have I told you that when she laughed it was like the song of glass bells that ring with a gentle wind? And that she beat me at Ping-Pong eight consecutive games? And that she taught a Primary class for which she practiced the lessons on me? (“Greg, sit down and pretend you’re a four-year-old. Boys and girls, I’m going to tell you a story. What do you think about that?”) And that on one Saturday morning we got in my car and rode across the country roads, singing together? And that she talked me into taking her to the river to show her how to catch a fish with a spinner? (“Why would a fish want to eat a crummy piece of tin?”) And that her hair was like a halo around her face?
It was over.
On the way back to the dorm she tried again. “Greg, have you ever read the Book of Mormon?”
“I’ve read parts of it.”
“What parts?”
“The first few pages, until they start quoting Isaiah.”
“That’s all?”
“It’s a very confusing book.”
She gently rebuked me. “But aren’t you the college intellectual? The seeker of truth? And you’ve never read that little book?”
I pulled up to the dorm. “Not completely through, no.”
“Greg, I want you to read it this week.”
“It’s no good, Debbie. It won’t make any difference.”
“Greg, I want you to get a testimony so you can take me to the temple.”
“It won’t work. I’m not going to fake a belief even for that. Regardless of what I’m not, I am honest.”
“I know you won’t fake it, Greg.”
“Then why do you think it will make any difference?”
“There’s a promise with the book. You do your part and the Lord will do his. Greg, please read it and pray about it.”
I was worried about her. “Debbie, I don’t want to hurt you. If you believe in this, that’s great. But I don’t want to destroy your faith. If I read that book and nothing happens …”
“I know you, Greg. And, at least a little, I know my Father in heaven. It won’t fail. I know it.”
“For such a little girl you sure know a lot.”
“Will you read it?”
“Okay, I’ll read it.”
“And will you pray about it?”
“Debbie, I’m not even sure there’s a God.”
“There is. Ask him.”
“Okay, I’ll pray.”
“What will you pray for?”
“To know the right way, I guess.”
“No,” she said.
“No? What then?”
“Ask if the Book of Mormon is true.”
* * *
What can I say? If you’ve already got a testimony, you know what happened. And if you don’t, you’ll say I copped out because of her. At least that’s what my friends said when I told them about the Book of Mormon. If I could only make them see. But I can’t.
You know, it’s funny how a guy can grow up in the Church and escape a testimony of its truthfulness. I guess everyone must find out for himself the way Moroni said, by the power of the Holy Ghost.
Two weeks after it happened I walked into the foyer of the ward chapel. It was early Sunday morning before priesthood meeting. Brother Johnson was just walking out of the bishop’s office. When he saw me, he walked over and shook my hand.
“Hi there. I’m Brother Johnson. I don’t believe I’ve met you.”
“I’m Greg Jeffreys. I met you at the student open house. You walked up to me and said the same thing then.” I smiled and shook his hand.
“I did?”
“Yes, you did. But I had a beard and longer hair then.”
“Oh sure. You and Debbie have been going together.”
“Right. I need to talk to the bishop, Brother Johnson. I hope I can be advanced to an elder soon. I’ve got a date with Debbie at the temple.”

While a stake president is normally found among the current leadership of the stake, there are exceptions. On one occasion we interviewed brethren into the late evening, unable to feel the confirming Spirit among the outstanding men we were meeting. Finally, after exhausting the prepared list of those to interview, we turned to respected men not currently serving in leadership positions. As we met with a Gospel Doctrine teacher at 10:00 p.m., the Lord powerfully confirmed this was His selection. Only after extending the call did we learn that he had been at his home, awaiting our phone call. Several months earlier, before any announcement of a change in the stake presidency, he and his wife were awakened in the night knowing that the calling would come to him.