Gospel Story Finder

I think of my first counselor in the stake presidency, Bob Hales, when I was called to be a stake president seven-and-a-half years ago. We’d only served a year or so together when the winter season came. Bob, husband of President Janette Hales of the Young Women presidency, couldn’t sit for long periods at the desk as we did our work in the church. He blamed his old football knee. As the winter wore on and we all coughed from flu, his cough didn’t get better; then came that inevitable and sad time when he learned he had incurable cancer. He only lived for about three more weeks. Now, to me, he was a person without guile. He was a remarkable, faithful person, and yet his life was taken.

Let me go back to these people of whom I spoke earlier. I saw this trust in the Lord in Bob Hales. He said this to me as I had the privilege to give him a blessing just prior to his passing: “Doug, I am not afraid to die. I’ve put my hand in the hand of the Lord, and I know that he could make me well if he willed it, but it doesn’t matter.” And then, with a courageous sense of humor, even amidst the pain, he said (and he was a physician), “I guess I will not worry so much about my cholesterol level.”

I learned at an early age about service in the Church. One of my memorable Church experiences took place shortly after I graduated from Primary. One day, my parents told me that Brother Jim Barton, the deacons quorum advisor, had called and wanted to meet with me at our home. No one had ever made an appointment with me before, so I was quite excited—and a little nervous.
When Brother Barton arrived at our home, he sat down with my whole family, which included my parents, my younger brother, and me. He talked about the importance of Church callings and explained to my family about my new calling as the president of the deacons quorum. He asked my parents and my brother if they could support me in that calling. They said that they would.
We talked about the importance of service and of Church callings, and the responsibilities I would have as president of my quorum. Brother Barton testified that the Lord had called me, and he outlined the keys that I would hold in this new calling.
His visit took about an hour, and it made a huge impression on me. I was deeply impressed by the importance of Church callings—of any Church calling. I was also impressed that an adult would take the time and make the effort to help someone so young understand. That one experience set the tone for every Church calling that followed. It also set a pattern for me as I have extended Church callings to others. There is no small Church calling, and the Lord needs us to do our part and do it as well as we can, to share the gospel with others, and to help the Church run smoothly.

Receiving the mutual conviction to move forward enabled Brooke and me to fully unite in our decision to adopt. I don’t have time to cover the various twists and turns of the adoption process, but it involved multiple adoption agencies, several countries, frustrating bureaucracy, delayed background checks, and other challenges. Although we certainly didn’t recognize it at the time, with hindsight we realize that some of these obstacles actually played a direct role in leading us to our daughter. In the end, the very obstacles that were seemingly inhibiting our adoption progress were actually helping us find her. We simply had to stay faithful and allow the Lord to direct us.

As we settled on adopting from China through its nontraditional adoption channel, we received access to a website that listed potential adoptees. Each of these files contained basic medical and background information about each child—most of whom had been abandoned at or near birth due to China’s one-child policy and other factors at that time. The files also contained small pictures of each child.

Brooke started going through these files one by one. As you might imagine, this was an interesting process that generated many mixed emotions. But early in the process, Brooke saw this picture, and her mixed emotions were immediately replaced with an immense and intense feeling of connection and love! [A photo of a baby was shown.]

Brooke had received direction through the Holy Ghost that this little girl was the one. She then sent the photo and file to me, and I had a similar experience. We had found our daughter!

How blessed we feel to have been directed and strengthened through the enabling power of our Savior’s Atonement in finding her!

When I was 10 years old, two American missionaries came to my home and taught us the gospel of Jesus Christ. As good Lutherans, we knew God's creations and our dependence on Him. I now realize that what we had seemed like the wintry days of rare sunlight after I heard the glorious account about Joseph Smith and the First Vision. My brother was 12 years old at the time. We concluded that if a young farm boy in America could kneel and ask God, so could we. We knew that we lacked wisdom, especially about the plan of salvation. We missed our father, who had died saving another man's life, and were awestruck by the concept that we could be with him again. The message Elders Call and Hassell shared with us changed our life from good to great and brought an endless summer day into our home.

I read the Book of Mormon and prayed to know if what the missionaries said was true. It was a simple child's prayer, but it felt like someone turned the lights on in my heart. I knew that I had a Heavenly Father, who heard my prayers and loved me.

A different type of reverence encircled us with the challenge to be baptized. The words: "I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life (John 8:12), had a familiar sound.

So did the words of Nephi:And he saith unto the children of men; Follow thou me. Wherefore, my...brethren, can we follow Jesus save we shall be willing to keep the commandments of the Father? And the Father saith: Repent ye, repent, and be baptized in the name of my Beloved Son. And also the voice of the Son came unto me, saying: He that is baptized in my name, to him will the Father give the Holy Ghost, like unto me: wherefore, follow me and do the things ye have seen me do. (2 Nephi 31:10-12)

My mother, brother and I turned our face and feet to the Light of the World, even Jesus Christ, entered into the waters of baptism, made a covenant with Him, and followed the path the Savior marked for all. If you are wandering in darkness or dim light, and if you lack wisdom, no matter what your age is, I invite you to listen to the missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and to read the Book of Mormon. I know that God will answer your sincere prayers and will bring light and joy to your life.

Many blessings flow from willing obedience to the commandments of God. The fourth commandment teaches us to “remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work: But the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work” (Exodus 20:8–10).
To those who remember the Sabbath, the Lord has promised “the fulness of the earth” (D&C 59:16). Many can testify to the literal fulfillment of this promise. In the initial years of the spread of the gospel in eastern Europe, the Saints were counseled to attend to their Church responsibilities and leave their garden plots alone on the Sabbath. This was indeed a great matter of faith! They relied upon the harvest of their small gardens to carry them through the winter. They were accustomed to spending weekends in their gardens, which were often located a long distance from where they lived. Obedience to this commandment brought them blessings. Those who were faithful in keeping the Sabbath day holy had fruit when others around them did not. They had moisture when others received none. Their fruit was protected when that of others was lost. These faithful Saints saw the fulfillment of the Lord’s promise to Malachi: “And I will rebuke the devourer for your sakes, and he shall not destroy the fruits of your ground; neither shall your vine cast her fruit before the time in the field” (Malachi 3:11).

Some time ago in my high priests quorum meeting, the instructor introduced the lesson by asking each of us to respond to who our hero is and why. As each member took his turn responding, the answers were not unexpected. Of course someone named the Savior, the Redeemer of the world. Another spoke of Abraham Lincoln, who freed the slaves, led the United States through a civil war, and eventually unified the country. Others chose the Prophet Joseph Smith and our beloved current prophet, Gordon B. Hinckley. As each named a hero, I silently concurred and acknowledged that all were men worthy of emulating and that I would be a better person if I possessed some of the qualities that made those men great.
I then turned to a brother on my left and said, “My hero is Jim Newton and his wife, Helen.” Shortly after Jim and Helen’s son Zach received his mission call to Peru, he was taken in an automobile accident. When I heard of the accident, I rushed to the hospital, hoping to hear that Zach was alive and would recover. The parents, in a most dignified and peaceful manner, explained that Zach would now be serving his mission on the other side of the veil. As I witnessed the calm resolve of these two strong parents, I realized that through the pain and anguish there was a peace that could come only through a deep and abiding faith in a loving Father and an atoning Savior. My faith was strengthened, and through their inspiration my resolve to follow their example in meeting similar trials and tragedies was reaffirmed.

“He grew up on a farm where one of his main chores was tending the pigs his father raised. He has many ribbons from the state fair that were won by his prize-winning pigs. One time, however, these pigs caused him some embarrassment. While he was at school one day, some of them got out of their pen and his mother was very upset about it. She called the school and had them announce the pigs’ escape over the school’s intercom system. She asked that her son be sent home immediately to find his lost pigs. Needless to say, he wasn’t too happy about everyone in the school hearing about his wayward pigs.”

A true story from Canada.
Taylor helped Mom carry the supplies for the Primary activity toward the park. The sun was warm on her face, and the grass in the park was green again. It felt so good to be outside!
Spring was one thing that reminded her that Heavenly Father loved her. Taylor liked to look for God’s love in all things—like a blue sky or getting to see her friends at the Primary activity.
Taylor followed Mom to where the other Primary leaders were setting up games for the kids.
Sister Kingsley waved and said, “Jane is coming!”
“That’s great!” Mom said.
“Who’s Jane?” Taylor asked.
“She’s a new girl we invited. We hope you and the other kids can help her feel welcome,” Mom said.
Taylor felt a worried knot in her stomach. Talking to new people was hard for her. She wanted to be kind. But what if the new girl didn’t like her?
Soon, everyone arrived, including a girl Taylor didn’t know.
“Welcome to our Primary activity!” Sister Kingsley said. She put her hand on the new girl’s shoulder. “This is Jane. She’s joining us today. We hope everyone has fun playing together at the park.”
“Can we play grounders?” asked one of the Primary kids.
“Yes, please!” Taylor shouted.
She was so excited! Grounders was her favorite game. Taylor raced with the other kids to the playground. Then Taylor stopped when she saw Jane standing alone.
Heavenly Father had given her this beautiful and special day. She wanted to enjoy it, and she wanted Jane to enjoy it too. Taylor’s insides felt shaky, but she took a deep breath and walked back to Jane.
“Hi. I’m Taylor.”
“Hi.” Jane smiled a little, but she seemed nervous.
“Have you played grounders before?” Taylor asked.
Jane shook her head.
Taylor knew what it was like to be nervous about new things.
“It’s really fun!” Taylor said. “The person who is ‘it’ keeps their eyes closed while they try to tag someone on the playground equipment. Everyone else can run around. But if the person who is ‘it’ yells ‘grounders!’ then whoever’s feet are still on the ground is ‘it.’”
Jane still looked nervous.
“Do you want to stay by me for a little while?” Taylor asked.
Jane smiled. “Yes!”
Taylor and Jane walked to the playground. As they climbed to the top, other kids said hi to Jane. Jane stayed near Taylor at first, but soon the other kids were helping Jane too. For the rest of the Primary activity, Taylor and all the other kids talked to Jane. By the end, Taylor no longer felt nervous, and she was pretty sure Jane didn’t either.
“Does anyone want an ice pop?” Mom said as she opened a cooler.
After all the running and playing, Taylor felt happy to sit with her friends and cool off. When Jane went home, Taylor and the other kids said goodbye to her.
Soon it was just Taylor, her mom, and the other leaders. Taylor picked up ice pop wrappers and put them in a trash bag.
“I’m so proud of you,” Mom said. “You and your friends shared Heavenly Father’s love with Jane today.”
Taylor thought about that. Even though she usually looked for ways Heavenly Father showed His love for her, today was different. Today, she’d been the one showing His love.
How do you feel God’s love? How can you share His love with a friend?
Illustration by Hollie Hibbert

I was 11, shivering in a flurry of pre-dawn snowfall, staring from the edge of the Grand Canyon into the black void below. Behind me, the other Scouts were pulling on their packs and horsing around, ignoring the Scoutmaster who was trying to get everyone organized for the long hike. As the youngest—and smallest—of the group, I was intimidated by the older boys and the task that lay ahead.
“Are you ready?” my dad asked then, coming up behind me and laying a strong hand on my shoulder. My heart pounded in my chest and part of me wanted to say no, but I didn’t want to look weak in front of the other Scouts, so I nodded. A few minutes later, we hefted our packs and started down the winding trail to the river far below.
Slowly, the sun rose into the sky. The snow turned into freezing mist and then into a light rain that formed puddles in the red dirt. At last, it evaporated into a sweltering heat. We shed our jackets, applied sunscreen, and marched on.
The hours ticked by. Sweat dripped down my face, and every inch of my body ached. Blisters began to form on my feet. The pack, towering over my head, grew heavier with every step.
Miles inched past: first one, then two, then three. When we stopped for lunch, we had barely passed the halfway point and my legs were already turning to jelly. I dropped my pack to the ground and gratefully plopped onto a large rock beside the trail to eat my smashed peanut butter sandwich.
Relieved of their load, my muscles shook uncontrollably. I longingly watched a mule train pass on its way to the bottom. What would it be like to ride instead of walk? Much sooner than I would have liked, the Scoutmaster signaled the end of the break. I staggered as I hoisted my pack, but my dad caught me and helped me get it into place.
We started down the trail again and, almost immediately, I started having problems. Instead of resting my sore muscles, the break had tightened them. I almost stumbled with each aching step.
Ten minutes passed. My pack seemed to drag behind me, pulling me down and making it impossible to lift my feet. Still, I forced myself forward. I couldn’t show weakness in front of the other Scouts. I had to keep moving.
But a few minutes later, I could go no farther. My heart beat faster as I gathered my courage to call for a stop. In my mind, I could see the disappointment and frustration of the older boys at having to stop for the baby who shouldn’t have been allowed to come in the first place. Tears welled up, and I choked back a sudden lump in my throat.
That was when my pack lifted and I suddenly felt lighter than air.
My father, who had been following close behind, had seen my distress and, just when I was about to give up, had reached out, grabbed the bottom of my pack, and lifted it with his strong arm. With the load gone, I suddenly felt like I could run down the trail.
We continued like this for several minutes, with me walking ahead and my father following close behind, lifting the pack from my shoulders. When he at last lowered the pack and removed what must have been a very sore arm, I had regained my strength and could continue on.
Over the years, the memory of that hike and what my father had done for me had faded. But as I stared into the valley that last morning before leaving on my mission, it came rushing back.
In that moment, I saw that my father had shown me an incredible example of how the Savior works. He lets us live our lives and make our own decisions. He lets the weight of the world gather on our shoulders as we face choices and circumstances that test our faith and dedication. And then, when we can go no further, He reaches out with His strong arm and lifts our packs so we can continue on.
Staring into the valley now, I no longer feared the long journey ahead or the trials I would face on my mission or at any other time in my life. I knew that the Lord would always be close behind and that, when I had done all I could, He would reach out and lift my pack.

On April 6, 1830, the day The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was formally organized, at least 30 people were in attendance. One of them was an 11-year-old boy named David Lewis. As the events of that day unfolded, David became convinced of the truthfulness of the gospel.
He approached the Prophet Joseph Smith and asked to be baptized. Joseph was happy for him but felt that it was important for him to get permission from his parents first.
Following the Prophet’s counsel, David went home to discuss his feelings with his parents. They gave him permission, and he was baptized 29 days later, on his 12th birthday.
Soon after his baptism, clouds outside darkened. Thunder and lightning cracked through the sky. Joseph suggested that David might want to stay overnight and wait out the storm. David replied that he had promised his mother that he would return that night. Joseph told David that it was important to keep the promise to his mother and that if he left right away, the Lord would protect him.
David followed the counsel of the Prophet and hurried off into the downpour. He hadn’t gone far before he became confused, and he realized that he was lost. Remembering the Prophet’s words that he would return home in safety, David knelt under a tree and prayed for the promised protection and guidance.
After the prayer, he started on his way again. He saw a faint light through the trees. It looked like a person with a lantern in the distance. Something in his heart told him to follow it.
It led him down a path through the trees.
After he followed the light for some time, it suddenly disappeared. What had happened to it? He looked around and saw that he was now in front of his own house!1

Many of us can relate to feelings of inadequacy, or that we of ourselves do not have a meaningful voice due to the consequences of personal choices that have not been in line with the commandments of the Lord. In my teens and early 20’s I found myself lost, inactive in the church, and putting my attention to things of the world that had little to no redeeming value. When I decided to return to full church activity in my late 20’s, I felt that I had strayed so far and lost so much that my offering did not have anything that could make any positive impact on anyone. I knew the Lord loved me, but I fashioned in my mind a love more of pity for a soul who would always be too broken to be of much value, one that needed to simply remain quiet, listen, and obey. But as Brother Brian Schow reminded us in his devotional address last week: “. . . the Savior has an expectation that we will use the gift of the Holy Ghost to do something.” In that season of change, I knew that I wanted to become a better man, and the Spirit whispered to me that if I were to do so, I would not be able to do so quietly.

Amy bounced up and down in her seat.
“What are you so excited about?” Mom asked, smiling at her from the front of the car.
“It’s England Day!” Amy squealed. Mrs. Harvey’s second-grade class had been learning about countries around the world. Amy had already learned to do the Mexican hat dance and sing a song in Japanese. Today her class was having a special party with lots of English food.
“Your ancestors joined the Church in England,” Mom reminded her. “They were very brave and stood up for what they believed in.”
“Today I’ll pretend to be just like them. It’ll be fun!” Amy said happily.
When she reached her classroom, Amy stared in awe. The school chairs were arranged in a circle around a table filled with warm crumpets, lemon custard, and raspberry jam. There was even a bowl of English toffee! Amy couldn’t wait for the party to start.
But then Amy noticed something. At the back of the table, a small, blue teapot was labeled TEA. Amy felt a knot form in her stomach.
Mrs. Harvey clapped her hands for the children to settle down. “Class, take a seat!” she sang out. “Today we’re having a very special party—a tea party! In England, people drink tea and eat crumpets as a snack. Who can tell me what a crumpet is?”
Amy’s classmates eagerly raised their hands, and one explained that a crumpet is a small cake. But Amy just sat in her seat feeling sick. Tea! She knew that tea and coffee were bad for her body. A commandment in the Word of Wisdom said not to drink them. The knot in her stomach kept growing. If she refused, what would her teacher and classmates think?
Then Amy thought of a better question. What would Jesus think? What would her ancestors think? Amy remembered Mom saying her ancestors were brave people who stood up for what they believed in. They followed Jesus Christ. They had been baptized in England, the same way Amy had been baptized. She still remembered that warm, clean feeling from her baptism, and how she always wanted to choose the right.
Slowly the knot loosened, and she knew what she had to do.
When Mrs. Harvey came to pour her some tea, Amy put her hand over the cup. “No, thank you,” she said. “I don’t drink tea. May I have a glass of water instead?”
“Of course you may,” Mrs. Harvey said, and she continued down the row.
As Amy drank her water and ate a crumpet dripping with jam, she felt warm inside. She had obeyed the Word of Wisdom, and—like her ancestors—she had been brave and stood up for what she believed.

Some time ago I had the difficult responsibility of informing a young missionary that his father had been killed in a tragic accident that morning. He was shocked, his chin quivered, and tears welled up in his eyes. Then I observed some of the miracle that comes from personal testimony and the cultivation of spirituality. He slowly lifted his head and an expression of quiet resolve came over him. He agreed to call his mother, but there was never even a hint that he would leave his mission. He said he knew that he was where his father and his Father in Heaven wanted him to be and he was going to stay. He exhibited an attitude of peace and courage I’ve seldom seen. He is an example of a strong, committed, well-prepared young man that any father would be proud to have as a son.
Fortunately, into his life along the way had come personal revelation that the gospel is true, that Jesus is the Christ, that there literally is a resurrection. All of these truths helped strengthen him in this time of crisis.

Helen gazed through the window as the snow swirled outside, and shivered. “Brrr, Mama, it’s cold!” she said. She thought about Daddy, who was out working at whatever job he could find on this cold, windy day. “I hope Daddy is all right.”
“I’m sure he will be fine,” Mama said. “Come help me finish kneading this bread before your sister wakes from her nap.”
Helen climbed on a chair and watched Mama push, pound, and roll the ball of dough. She looked over at the beans that had been boiling on the stove all morning, and frowned.
Mama saw her frown and said, “Helen, we are lucky Daddy has work so we have food. And I have a secret,” she whispered. Helen moved closer.
“I have raisins, walnuts, and a little honey for our leftover dough. Let’s make cinnamon rolls!”
“A Christmas gift for Daddy!” Helen said, clapping her hands. Together they rolled the dough and spread the honey. Helen carefully placed each raisin and walnut as Mama sprinkled cinnamon.
Then Mama said, “Let’s go to the barn while we’re waiting for the rolls to rise and see if the chickens laid any eggs.”
The wind whistled around them as they ran to the barn. When Mama finished placing the last egg into a basket, Helen counted each one. “Nine eggs, Mama!”
When they got inside, Helen checked the cinnamon rolls. “Look! They’re perfect,” she said as Mama placed them in the oven.
Then they heard a knock at the door.
“Who could that be?” Mama asked.
Helen followed Mama and hid behind her skirt as Mama opened the door. Behind it stood a tired-looking woman holding a couple of red wooden chairs. Helen peeked out from behind Mama.
The woman stepped forward. “I’m selling these little red chairs for one dollar each,” she said.
Helen let go of Mama’s skirt and touched one of the chairs. She thought how she and her sister would love those chairs. Something behind the woman caught Helen’s eye. A daddy and little children were waiting in an old truck.
Mama wiped her hands on her apron and invited the woman inside. “With these hard times, I don’t have any money to give you,” Mama said. “But I will make you a Christmas trade.”
Mama picked up the basket of eggs and added potatoes to it. Then she took out a clean bucket and filled it with the cooked beans. Helen’s heart felt warm as Mama took out a hot loaf of bread and put it in the basket.
“Thank you,” the woman said softly.
Helen smiled at the woman. The woman put down the red chairs as Mama put a finger over her lips, “This is our Christmas secret, Helen.”
Tears rolled down the woman’s face as she walked with Mama to the door and they wished each other “Merry Christmas.”
On Christmas morning Helen and her sister each unwrapped a little red chair. One leg on Helen’s was a little shorter than the other three. “Look, my very own rocking chair!” This had been the very best Christmas.

In December 1996, my wife was close to the end of her pregnancy with our last child. It was a Sunday, and my bride requested that I give her a blessing. She was concerned with the well-being of our unborn child.

For some reason--and, brethren, do not make this mistake--I took her request lightly, thinking that she was just overreacting. She was so close to having the baby that everything was sure to be just fine. I predetermined what "I" was going to say in the blessing, instead of remembering that we need always to seek those warnings, promptings, and revelations that Heavenly Father wants us to pronounce when we have the privilege to exercise His priesthood. We never give a blessing. It comes from Him.

After visiting with family that Sabbath afternoon, we retired to our little apartment in Logan, Utah, and tucked our three children into bed. We then prepared for the blessing. I placed my hands upon her head and closed my eyes, and then the most incredible thing happened. I could not remember what I was doing. I opened my eyes and could see my beautiful bride sitting in the chair with her head bowed, waiting. I remembered that I was giving her a blessing and began once again. I placed my hands on her head and started over, when, to my surprise, the very same thing happened. I went completely blank. I could not remember what I was doing. I then sat down by my bride and said something like "You are right, my dear; something is wrong."

What I was experiencing can be described only with the Lord's words:

"But, behold, I say unto you, that you must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right. But if it be not right you shall have no such feelings, but you shall have a stupor of thought that shall cause you to forget the thing which is wrong."[11]

I have never experienced a stupor of thought even remotely as strong since that cold day in December 1996. Heavenly Father taught me in such a powerful way and prevented me from making a mistake from which I might not have been able to recover. After that experience, I have become much more sensitive to "if it be not right you shall have no such feelings."

The remaining portion of the story is sacred and does not apply to this subject today. Let me just conclude the story by saying that we immediately called my wife's doctor, who is a wonderful priesthood man. When we told him what had happened, he explained that he had felt anxious the last time she was in the office, but with no evidence as to why. Now he felt that we should leave immediately for the hospital, and he would be there to start labor as soon as we arrived. About 48 hours later, and after several very crucial moments, our beautiful youngest daughter was born.

My young friends, Heavenly Father is here to keep us from making very costly mistakes if we are seeking His warnings, promptings, and revelations from all available sources--and if we heed and act upon them. We have the right to have the Holy Ghost always be with us, especially in crucial moments of life.

When I was called to serve a mission back before the dawn of time, there was no equalization of missionary costs. Each had to bear the full expense of the mission to which he or she was sent. Some missions were very expensive, and as it turned out, mine was one of those.
As we encourage missionaries to do, I had saved money and sold personal belongings to pay my own way as best I could. I thought I had enough money, but I wasn’t sure how it would be in the final months of my mission. With that question on my mind, I nevertheless blissfully left my family for the greatest experience anyone could hope to have. I loved my mission as I am sure no young man has ever loved one before or since.
Then I returned home just as my parents were called to serve a mission of their own. What would I do now? How in the world could I pay for a college education? How could I possibly pay for board and room? And how could I realize the great dream of my heart, to marry the breathtakingly perfect Patricia Terry? I don’t mind admitting that I was discouraged and frightened.
Hesitantly I went to the local bank and asked the manager, a family friend, how much was in my account. He looked surprised and said, “Why, Jeff, it’s all in your account. Didn’t they tell you? Your parents wanted to do what little they could to help you get started when you got home. They didn’t withdraw a cent during your mission. I supposed that you knew.”
Well, I didn’t know. What I do know is that my dad, a self-educated accountant, a “bookkeeper” as they were called in our little town, with very few clients, probably never wore a new suit or a new shirt or a new pair of shoes for two years so his son could have all of those for his mission. Furthermore, what I did not know but then came to know was that my mother, who had never worked out of the home in her married life, took a job at a local department store so that my mission expenses could be met. And not one word of that was ever conveyed to me on my mission. Not a single word was said regarding any of it. How many fathers in this Church have done exactly what my father did? And how many mothers, in these difficult economic times, are still doing what my mother did?
My father has been gone for 34 years, so like President Faust, I will have to wait to fully thank him on the other side. But my sweet mother, who turns 95 next week, is happily watching this broadcast today at her home in St. George, so it’s not too late to thank her. To you, Mom and Dad, and to all the moms and dads and families and faithful people everywhere, I thank you for sacrificing for your children (and for other people’s children!), for wanting so much to give them advantages you never had, for wanting so much to give them the happiest life you could provide.

A story shared by our beloved associate Elder Henry B. Eyring illustrates this principle of commitment still further. This story is about his father, the great scientist Henry Eyring, who served on the Bonneville Stake high council. He was responsible for the welfare farm, which included a field of onions that needed to be weeded. At that time, he was nearly 80 and suffering from painful bone cancer. He assigned himself to do weeding even though the pain was so great that he pulled himself along on his stomach with his elbows. The pain was too great for him to kneel. Yet he smiled, laughed, and talked happily with the others who were there that day weeding that field of onions. I now quote what Elder Eyring said of this incident:
“After all the work was finished and the onions were all weeded, someone [said to] him, ‘Henry, good heavens! You didn’t pull those weeds, did you? Those weeds were sprayed two days ago, and they were going to die anyway.’
“Dad just roared. He thought that was the funniest thing. He thought it was a great joke on himself. He had worked through the day in the wrong weeds. They had been sprayed and would have died anyway.
“… I [asked] him, ‘Dad, how could you make a joke out of that?’ …
“He said something to me that I will never forget. … He said, ‘Hal, I wasn’t there for the weeds.’”

Last year, I had two amazing friends, James and Bartholomew.1 When I met a few of their friends, I started hanging out with them every day, and Bartholomew added me to a group chat they were all part of.
At first it was great! I could talk to my newfound friends all the time. But over time, my mum began to notice changes in my personality and emotions. I would be on my phone until late, I procrastinated doing my homework, and I stopped studying my scriptures and praying because I was preoccupied with texting. My friends and I would argue a lot too, so I was also upset a lot. I spoke to my mum, and she told me what she had been noticing and that I needed to spend less time with those friends. I began to spend less time texting them and got back on top of all my schoolwork and gospel study.
Now going into my next school year, I am still friends with James and Bartholomew and a few of our other friends. But I am much happier now, and I spend less time on my phone. I know that making the right friends is very important, as it says in For the Strength of Youth: “Everyone needs good and true friends. They will be a great strength and blessing to you” ([2011], 16). The next time a situation like this comes up, I’m going to be careful. I don’t ever again want to feel the way I did then.
Joshua C., United Kingdom

Tiger Brown was the meanest man I’d ever met. During the first summer after my mission I worked a highway construction job. Tiger was the foreman. He was about 60, short and stocky, with a bulldog neck and face. His eyes were small and angry, like a bear’s eyes.
My job was to follow a machine that laid down asphalt mix and to make sure the surface was clean and level. Large rocks would make their way through the machine, ending up buried in the asphalt. I would have to pick them out with a shovel and fill in the hole with hot mix from the front of the machine. Then I’d rake it smooth so it matched the rest of the road surface. We were laying a new surface on a highway in the west desert of Utah that summer. In the middle of the day the temperatures would be a hundred plus in the shade, and with the steaming hot asphalt it was nearly unbearable. The machine would often drop several big rocks at once, and I’d have to run just to keep up.
About four times a day Tiger would come by.
"Hey!" he’d growl at me above the roar of the machine. He would walk up to me with quick steps, his head down, pawing the air with his arms moving like an attacking grizzly. He always wore the same clothes—a ragged blue denim jacket, old khaki pants, a worn-out flannel shirt, and a dirty baseball hat. If you didn’t know him and saw him in downtown Salt Lake, you’d probably feel sorry for him and offer him a dollar. On the job no one ever made that mistake or even had to ask how he got his nickname.
"That’s not the way you do it," he would mumble, grabbing the shovel out of my hand. For ten minutes he would do my work. He would attack it with a vengeance terrifying to watch. No matter how far behind I was he would catch up to the machine in a quarter of the time it would have taken me. There was nothing I could do then but stand, humiliated, watching until finally he’d hand the shovel back to me.
"I should have hired your grandma," he’d snarl, and then after a disgusted glance he would stalk off.
He watched his crew like a red-tailed hawk watches a covey of mountain quail. If there was ever any indication of something out of order, the work moving just a little slow, or if the new road surface wasn’t perfectly level, or if the asphalt mix wasn’t just right, he would swoop down with that eagle nose and those fierce eyes, yelling, "Hey!"
I’m ashamed to admit it now, but I had bad feelings for the man, feelings that almost bordered on hate. I felt that way until about the second month of work.
We’d finished a stretch of road and were getting the equipment ready to move to a new location. The place looked like an ant bed that had been kicked. The work was moving fast, and the crew was on the run getting their equipment onto the back of trucks and large trailers. Tiger came suddenly into the middle of this scene waving his arms and yelling.
"Hey! Hey!"
He stopped all the work and grabbed the driver of a large crane by the arm and directed him toward the hot mix machine. The hot mix machine was a 50-foot long cylinder used to mix gravel and hot tar. When the crane reached the hot mix machine Tiger had the operator lower a hook that hung by cable from the crane’s arm. With the entire crew watching and wondering if he’d finally slipped his gears, Tiger put his foot in the hook and jerked his thumb upward. He rose up to about 40 feet, level with the top of the hot mix machine.
After reaching the cylinder, he carefully bent down and picked up a small bird’s nest full of bald-headed baby birds. The proud and very worried parents, two kingbirds, were hovering over the nest. Tiger jerked his thumb downward. When he reached the ground, he walked over to a small cottonwood tree and gently placed the nest in its branches. He had several of us put barricades around the tree.
"Hey! Hey!" he yelled when he turned around. "Get back at it. You think this is a spectator sport? I should have hired your grandmothers."
Tiger still barely nodded when I said good morning to him, and he yelled at me and took my shovel when my work wasn’t up to his standards; but after the incident with the birds I saw him in a different way.
We broke the Utah record a few weeks later for the amount of asphalt laid in a day. The inspectors said it was as smooth and as good a surface as they’d ever seen. Whenever I drive over that highway I feel a sense of pride. Tiger believed in giving a good value of work for his dollar and he expected the same from his crew. I started looking past his faults to the good in the man. By the end of the summer I not only learned to respect Tiger, but I also learned to like him.
Since then I’ve found there are many people like Tiger, and I’ve had to look past their faults to see the good. Some have become very good and valued friends.

Anna stood on her right foot, then on her left, then on her toes. “Hold still, Anna! I can’t possibly comb your hair with you dancing all around the room!” scolded Mother. Anna tried very hard to stand still, but her thoughts were not still. She was excited and a little bit frightened too.
This was Anna’s first day at a new school. Will the children like me? she wondered. Will I like them? What will my teacher be like?
Mother finally put the comb down and said, “Good-bye, dear. I hope you’ll enjoy your new school.”
Anna kissed her mother and skipped down the street, watching for other children on their way to school.
“Hi!” shouted Bobby as he came up behind her. Anna didn’t have time to answer as he zoomed past her and around the corner, pretending he was a rocket. She saw three girls come out of a house and walk toward school, but they were too far ahead for her to catch up with them. She walked to school alone.
The closer she came to the school, the slower she walked. Finally, she came to the school steps. “One, two, three, four, five,” she counted as she walked up the steps and into the building.
Anna stayed close to the wall as she listened to the children laughing in the hall. The principal had said to report to Miss Hanson in room five. Anna thought, Five, five, glad to be alive. But her legs trembled as she went into the room.
Miss Hanson greeted Anna with a pleasant smile. “Hello, dear, you must be our new student.”
Anna nodded as she looked around the room.
“I’m Miss Hanson, Anna. Why don’t you sit in that empty desk by the window?”
Just as the timid girl sat down the bell rang. Children spilled into the room like marbles rolling from a bag.
The school work was easy, for the lessons were much like those at Anna’s other school. But when Miss Hanson said, “Today we are going to be seeds,” Anna blinked her eyes in surprise. Had she heard correctly?
Miss Hanson led the children to the multi-purpose room. Anna didn’t know how to be a seed. I’m just a girl, she thought. The other children giggled and whispered in anticipation. They were happy to be playing this game. They knew how to be seeds. Miss Hanson talked about being a seed in the ground and about growing into a plant. Anna watched the children wiggle and stretch. She knew they were not seeds and she couldn’t pretend to be one. She was a girl!
When Miss Hanson excused the children that day she smiled at Anna and said, “Your work is fine, dear. I hope you’ll like it here. See you tomorrow.”
Anna did like school. She made new friends. She liked to read and she was learning her multiplication tables. But Anna simply couldn’t make believe like the other children did.
Another day when Miss Hanson said, “We can be butterflies,” Anna was the only child who did not smile. When Linda passed a scarf to each child, Anna could only watch with big eyes as the children rushed about the room waving their scarves. How can they believe they are butterflies? she wondered.
Miss Hanson encouraged Anna. “Come with me. Just flap your scarf and fly.”
Anna took a few steps, but it was no good. She was not a butterfly. She was just a girl holding a scarf. Miss Hanson put her arm around Anna’s shoulder and said, “Maybe next time, dear. Don’t feel sad that you can’t pretend to be a butterfly yet.”
Anna thought a lot about what Miss Hanson said. She thought about it at school, and she thought about it at home.
The next afternoon Miss Hanson said, “I think it’s time we do some artwork. Let’s draw flowers.”
As Susan passed out large sheets of paper, Anna sat with her elbow on the desk, chin in hand.
Flowers, fooey! thought Anna. What fun are red tulips with three tips? But when she looked around the room, she could not believe her eyes. Phil’s paper was covered with many green blossoms. Karen drew a large daisy with at least a hundred petals. Bobby’s paper was the most peculiar of all. His pink and gray flowers looked like spiders or something that would grow on Mars. How can they think up such unusual flowers? Anna wondered.
Then she smiled and put down the red crayon and picked up a blue one. “Why not?” she whispered and began drawing. She drew tall flowers and short flowers, fat flowers and thin flowers. She used every crayon in her box. It was fun. It was exciting! Anna was happy. Miss Hanson had a wide smile when she put Anna’s picture on the bulletin board.
A few days later Miss Hanson said, “This afternoon let’s all be birds.”
Anna was ready. She chose a bright orange scarf with green trim. At first she walked slowly and flapped the scarf. Then she began to feel light and graceful. She flapped her arms. She danced. She became an orange bird soaring in the sky. Anna learned to fly!
That afternoon when she returned from school, her mother asked, “What did you do today?”
Anna answered, “I was a bird!” Then she took a bite of a juicy apple and ran outside to play.