Gospel Story Finder

Benny’s mind raced back to the day of Charlie Roger’s birthday party when they played Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Benny remembered how he had walked in what seemed to be a straight line toward the donkey, but when he pinned the tail on, it was far to the right. Most of the other boys and girls walked far to the right too.
That night Benny had asked his father, “Why do we turn to the right when we think we’re going straight?”
“When we can’t see,” his father told him, “we move to the right or left because our bodies are not perfectly balanced. Most right-handed people tend to turn to the right because the muscles on that side of their bodies are better developed and slightly heavier.
“When we can see, we compensate for this imbalance without thinking. But in a fog, for instance, people often walk in circles when they think they are going straight.”
What’s true of fog must be true of a snowstorm, thought Benny. I’ll have to concentrate on moving to the left and hope we’ll end up at the cabin.
“Come on,” he said to Gordy. “Let’s go on now.”
Benny started out again, moving slightly to his left. After traveling for a while, he felt a tug on the scarf. He realized that Gordy was signaling for him to stop.
“What’s the matter?” Benny called above the noise of the wind.
“You keep going too far to the left!” Gordy exclaimed. “We should have gone straight. Now we’re lost and we’ll never find the cabin.”
“We’ll find it, Gordy,” Benny promised him. “Just trust me, and we’ll be there soon.”
When they started out again, Benny felt Gordy following reluctantly. The snow continued to swirl around them in thick clouds, and all Benny could see was a heavy mist of white. Even when he turned back to encourage Gordy, he could barely see his friend through the whirling snowflakes.
Before long Benny felt a tug on the scarf and turned to hear Gordy call, “We’re lost. What will we do?”
“No, we’re not lost,” Benny answered. “We’re almost there.”
Benny’s voice was strong against the wind and sounded full of confidence, but inside he was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t made a mistake. Yet he knew they had to keep moving.
Benny quickly moved one snowshoe ahead of the other, giving a little tug on the scarf. Gordy followed silently.
Suddenly Benny stopped. “There’s the cabin!” he shouted. “I see a little light over to the right.”
He felt the tension on the scarf relax as Gordy called, “Oh, Benny, I see it too!”
The boys hurried in the direction of the light, stumbling a little from fatigue and cold.
“We were right on top of it!” Benny said as the boys circled around to the front porch.
Benny could hear his father’s voice calling through the storm.
“We’re here on the porch, Dad!” Benny answered.
Swinging a lantern, Benny’s father came around from the back of the cabin.
“I’m certainly glad to see both of you,” he said, holding up the light to see the boys. “I’ve been calling and calling for you ever since the storm started. I didn’t dare move out of sight of the cabin, for I knew it wouldn’t help if I got lost too.”
“Well, I thought we were lost,” said Gordy, “but Benny knew just where to go.”
“You can tell me all about it when you’ve changed your clothes and had some hot chocolate,” Benny’s father said. “The important thing is that you’re here.”
As the boys hurried into the warm cabin, they looked at each other and smiled. “You’re right, Dad,” Benny said. “The important thing is that we’re here.”

In my professional life, I was an ear, nose, and throat surgeon. On one occasion in Reno, Nevada, USA, I was called on to assist the hospital’s pediatric intensive care team as they treated a fragile baby boy who had been born very early. That little guy overcame some tough challenges in the first few months of life and gained enough strength to go home with his parents and family.
Unfortunately, after being home for two months, he was now back in the hospital with a serious infection in his left lung, and he was not responding well to a high dose of medication.
The intensive care specialists were suspicious that the baby might have breathed something in that became stuck in his lung, but it had not shown up on any X-rays. Due to his worsening state, they recommended that I look into his lungs with him asleep in the operating room.
At the time we did not have the technology to see very far down into the small airways of infants well. As we labored to clear the infection from his left lung, for just a brief moment I saw what he had inhaled—a bright yellow fragment of crayon, wedged beyond the reach of any of the instruments available to retrieve it.
A nurse in the operating suite realized the severity of the situation and mentioned that she had seen a long, slender instrument used in removing kidney stones from tight places. She quickly produced one, a slender spiral flexible wire basket that un-spirals just enough when used properly to retrieve a small stone without damaging the surrounding tissue. But how to get it there?
I asked the anesthesiologist to continue to manage our little patient for a moment while I went to the corner of the operating room. “Heavenly Father, I can’t do this by myself.” The thought came to my mind: “Do your best. Together we can do this.”
I practiced several times opening and closing the wire basket in my hands in different positions. Ever so gently, the slender wire basket was passed through the instrument right up to the crayon. With delicate maneuvering, it was passed beyond, opened, and then slowly allowed to close. The airway was now clear and clean.
With the crayon removed, the child quickly recovered and thrived. He was discharged within the week with a little jar containing a bright yellow souvenir.
I know I received divine help, as real to me as though a providential hand had guided my own.

Desiree carefully glued her picture in the book. Using her best first-grade handwriting, she wrote, “I love you, Teacher. Happy Valentine’s Day. Love, Desiree.” She smiled at how even the letters looked.
“I’ve finished, Mom,” Desiree called. “Do you want to see it?”
Desiree’s mother lifted baby Micah from his high chair and came to the table where Desiree was working.
“How do you like it?” Desiree asked. Her smile showed the gap where her two front teeth would soon grow in.
Mom ran her fingers over the words as she silently read them. She looked at Desiree. “Well, you’ve done a nice job, but …” She looked at the book Desiree had glued her picture in—the Book of Mormon.
Desiree became worried that she might have done something wrong. “Mom, you told me that my teacher isn’t a member of our church. The prophet said we’re supposed to tell people about the Church and give them the Book of Mormon, right?”
Mom sighed. “That’s right.”
“I’ve tried to show her how happy we are,” Desiree continued. “Now I want to give her a Book of Mormon. I love her. I want her to join our church.”
“I guess I’m just afraid that your teacher won’t like it,” Mom said. “I know you love your teacher and I think you’re very brave to do this for her.”
Desiree smiled. “Is it OK, then?”
“Yes. Let’s remember in our prayers to ask the Lord to bless her with a desire to learn more about the gospel,” Mom said.
“She’ll like it,” Desiree assured Mom.
On Valentine’s Day, Desiree took the Book of Mormon to school for her teacher. The teacher got valentine gifts all day long. She got chocolate hearts, flowers, pens, and cards. Desiree began to worry. Maybe she shouldn’t give the Book of Mormon to her teacher. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe her teacher wouldn’t like it.
When the bell rang for the children to get ready to go home, Desiree took the Book of Mormon out of her backpack. She walked to her teacher’s desk and gently placed the book in front of her.
“Here’s my valentine for you,” she said softly.
Her teacher put down her pencil and asked, “Well, what can this be?” She picked up the book and read, “The Book of Mormon.” She looked at Desiree with questioning eyes. “You want to give this to me for a valentine?”
Desiree opened the book to her picture and note.
The teacher read the note and smiled. “Thank you, Desiree. I love you too.”
“What did your teacher say about your valentine?” Mom asked when Desiree came home.
“She said thank you, and she loves me,” Desiree told her. “She wasn’t mad at all.”
Mom nodded. “Well, I guess we’ll know for sure when I go to see her next week.”
“Are you still afraid, Mom?” Desiree asked. “It’s OK.”
Mom smiled. “You have strong faith.”
The next week, Desiree, her mother, and baby Micah went to school for parent-teacher conferences. When they got there, Desiree waited on the playground where her mother could see her, and played with some of the other children. Desiree wondered what her teacher and mother would talk about.
After what seemed like a long time, Mom and baby Micah came outside and Desiree ran to meet them. “What did my teacher tell you about me?” she asked.
“Your teacher sure thinks a lot of you,” Mom said. “She told me your valentine was one of the best she’s ever received.”
“Really?” Desiree beamed. “That’s because I gave it with my heart.”
Mother looked intently at Desiree. “That’s almost exactly what your teacher said.”
Desiree smiled. “Maybe she will read it and want to be baptized.”
“You know, Desiree,” Mom said, “she might not join our church right away. But maybe someday she’ll be ready to turn the pages past your picture and start reading.”
“I hope so,” Desiree said.
“Whatever happens, I know the Lord will bless you for obeying the prophet and sharing the gospel.”
“I’ve already been blessed,” Desiree replied. “I’m not afraid to tell people the Church is true.”
Mom squeezed Desiree’s hand and smiled. “I hope you never will be.”

At this point Martin pleaded with Joseph for permission to take the manuscript to Palmyra to show his wife, Lucy, who quite understandably wanted to see some evidence of what was taking up so much of her husband’s time and treasure. Yet, after inquiring of the Lord, Joseph was told twice not to let Martin take the manuscript.6

Desperate to placate the skepticism and increasingly shrill demands of his wife, Martin badgered Joseph again. In agony, Joseph went to the Lord a third time. In response, the Lord told Joseph that Martin could take the manuscript if he would show it only to five designated people and then promptly return it. Reluctantly, Joseph gave the manuscript to him, but only after Martin signed a written covenant to do as the Lord had instructed.7

This began a cascade of events that would bring Joseph as low as anything that would ever happen to him. Shortly after Martin departed, Emma gave birth to a baby boy. She and Joseph named their first child Alvin, a comforting tribute to Joseph’s dearly departed brother, who had died five years earlier. Tragically, rather than fill a void, young Alvin enlarged it when he passed away the day of his birth, June 15, 1828.

As if that were not enough to bear, between the exhaustion of a long and intense labor and the emotional distress of losing her child, Emma moved perilously close to death herself. For two weeks Joseph worried over Emma, nursing her back to health even as he worked through his own grief over baby Alvin. When Emma finally showed signs of stabilizing health, Joseph’s thoughts turned to Martin and the manuscript.8

Sensing Joseph’s anxiety, Emma encouraged him to return to Palmyra to check on Martin and the manuscript. With a visible gloom, he took a stagecoach north. Unable to eat or sleep on the journey, Joseph made it to his parents’ home—still a good 20-mile (32 km) walk through the dead of night from where the stage let him off—only by the steadying hand of a worried fellow passenger (a “stranger”) who took pity on him. 9

After Joseph arrived and finally took a little nourishment, Martin was summoned. He was to join the Smiths for breakfast but did not show up until noon. Walking slowly, he stopped at the gate to the home, got on the fence, pulled his hat over his eyes, and just sat there.10

Finally, Martin made his way into the home. Without speaking a word, he took up his utensils to eat. But before taking a bite, he cried out, “Oh, I have lost my soul!”11

With this, Joseph jumped up and burst out: “Martin, have you lost that manuscript? [H]ave you broken your oath, and brought down condemnation upon my head, as well as your own?”

Martin somberly replied, “Yes, it is gone, and I know not where.”12 (Martin had shown the manuscript pages to others besides the five, “and by stratagem,” Joseph later recounted, “they were taken from him.”13)

Joseph exploded into a wail, crying out: “All is lost! [A]ll is lost! What shall I do? I have sinned—it is I who tempted the wrath of God.” With this, “sobs and groans, and the most bitter lamentations filled the house,” Joseph showing the greatest distress of them all.14

The translation work ceased for a season, and the plates and interpreters were taken from Joseph until September 22—a poignant reminder of his earlier probational period. He also suffered this stern rebuke from the Lord:

“And behold, how oft you have transgressed the commandments and the laws of God, and have gone on in the persuasions of men.
“For, behold, you should not have feared man more than God. Although men set at naught the counsels of God, and despise his words—
“Yet you should have been faithful; and he would have extended his arm and supported you against all the fiery darts of the adversary; and he would have been with you in every time of trouble” (D&C 3:6–8).

Imagine the difficulty of receiving such a revelation. Joseph had just lost his firstborn son. He had nearly lost his wife. And his decision to give Martin the manuscript was driven by an earnest desire to help a friend who was helping him in a sacred work. Yes, however distraught Joseph was, and however dependent upon Martin Harris he thought he was, he had missed one thing God fully expects of His disciples: always trust in the arm of the Lord and not in the arm of the flesh. To Joseph’s everlasting credit, he learned this lesson in such a deep and profound way that he never made the mistake again and, not long after again receiving the plates and interpreters, he began a pace of religious contribution the likes of which the world had not seen since the personal ministry of Jesus Christ. Starting in the spring of 1829, now with Oliver Cowdery at his side, Joseph translated an astonishing 588 pages of the Book of Mormon in what was, at most, 65 working days.15 This is truly blinding speed when compared with his previous efforts. It is also instructive to note that the translation of the King James Bible took 47 trained scholars, working in languages they already knew, seven years to complete.16

When a choice plant became root bound and began to deteriorate, a young friend of ours decided to transplant it to a larger container. Carefully he lifted the greenery from its small pot and put it into its larger home, trying to disturb the roots and soil as little as possible. The novice gardener watched and waited. To his dismay, the plant still struggled. Our friend expressed his frustration to an experienced gardener who offered his services. When the plant was placed in the gardener’s hands, he turned the pot upside down, pulled out the plant, shook the soil from the roots, and clipped and pulled all the stragglers from the root system. Replacing the plant into the pot, he vigorously pushed the soil tightly around the plant. Soon the plant took on new life and grew.
How often in life do we set our own roots into the soil of life and become root bound? We may treat ourselves too gently and defy anyone to disturb the soil or trim back our root system. Under these conditions we too must struggle to make progress. Oh, change is hard! Change can be rough.
The Lord does not want His church to become root bound and stagnant. Constant revelation through the prophets is needed for the growth of His kingdom.
There is nothing so unchanging, so inevitable as change itself. The things we see, touch, and feel are always changing. Relationships between friends, husband and wife, father and son, brother and sister are all dynamic, changing relationships. There is a constant that allows us to use change for our own good, and that constant is the revealed eternal truths of our Heavenly Father.
We need not feel that we must forever be what we presently are. There is a tendency to think of change as the enemy. Many of us are suspect of change and will often fight and resist it before we have even discovered what the actual effects will be. When change is thought through carefully, it can produce the most rewarding and profound experiences in life. The changes we make must fit the Lord’s purposes and patterns.
As opportunity for change reaches into our lives, as it always will, we must ask, “Where do I need development? What do I want out of life? Where do I want to go? How can I get there?” Weighing alternatives very carefully is a much needed prerequisite as one plans changes. In God’s plan we are usually free to choose the changes we make in our lives and we are always free to choose how we will respond to the changes that come. We need not surrender our freedoms. But just as a compass is valuable to guide us out of the dense forest, so the gospel points the way as we walk the paths of life.
C. S. Lewis indicated there is often pain in change when he wrote of God’s expectations for His children: “Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on: you knew those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently he starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of—throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace” (C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, New York: MacMillan Co., 1960, p. 160).
Yes, there is pain in change, but there is also great satisfaction in recognizing that progress is being achieved. Life is a series of hills and valleys and often the best growth comes in the valleys. Change is a meaningful part of repentance. Some are unable to repent because they are unwilling to change.
Recently I was participating in a groundbreaking ceremony for a chapel at the Utah State Prison. After the ceremonies, Warden Morris invited Governor Scott Matheson and me to take a tour of the facilities. We had noticed the extra care that had been taken to make the grounds around the maximum-security building pleasing and beautiful. When we asked the warden who had done the work, he indicated that two inmates had been given time outside of their cells to improve the landscape. We asked if we could meet the two men. The warden took us into the maximum facility to see them. As Marvel and Brown shuffled toward us from their restricted confinements on death row, we felt that the look on their faces reflected, “What have we done wrong now?”
“We want to compliment you men on the work you have done on the grounds,” we said. “The flower beds and vegetable gardens look beautiful and well kept. Congratulations on your good work.”
The change that came over their expressions was marvelous. The unexpected words of praise had given them reason for self-esteem. Someone had noticed that their efforts had changed a rocky, weed-filled yard into a beautiful garden. Sadly, they had failed earlier to make productive gardens out of the rocky, weed-covered fields of their own lives. But we hold hope for men like these who could see a need for change in one area and had accomplished such good. Perhaps their part in changing the gardens will lead to improvement in their own lives.
William James once said, “The greatest discovery of my generation is that [we] can change [our] circumstances by changing [our] attitudes of mind” (cited in Vital Quotations, comp. Emerson Roy West, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1968, p. 19). Jesus Christ helped people from all walks of life reach heights they had never dreamed of by teaching them to walk in new, secure paths.
Many begin their lives in such dire and adverse circumstances that change seems impossible. Let me share with you some examples of impossible beginnings.
The first example is a child who had an extremely unhappy home life. His family moved from one state to another until he was eight years of age. He was often beaten by his father who was either too strict or not strict enough, according to his mood at the time. The boy spent many of his early years sleeping in buses, train stations, and cheap hotels. At the age of fourteen he was arrested as a runaway. Both family and friends classified him as untrustworthy, often violent, and a loner.
The second example is a boy who was frail at birth. Throughout his childhood he had a tendency toward infection. His frail body seemed unable to hold his oversized head. His father worried that people considered his son “addled,” and on one occasion he beat the boy publicly. After his mother had lost three previous children, she wrapped herself in black and withdrew.
In the third instance, a young man came from circumstances of near poverty. His family was forced to move more than once because of financial difficulties. He had little, if any, formal schooling. “His mother reported that he was less inclined to read and study than any of the other children” (Francis M. Gibbons, Joseph Smith: Martyr, Prophet of God, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1977, p. 26). Because neighbors considered many of his ways and ideas strange, he was ostracized by his peers. All of his life he was hounded by the law and found himself constantly in difficulty.
Certain steps can help one make constructive, worthwhile changes in life. “When you climb up a ladder, you must begin at the bottom, and ascend step by step, until you arrive at the top; and so it is with the principles of the gospel” (History of the Church, 6:306–7). In order to make significant changes in our lives, we must accept our Father in Heaven and His truths. The prophet Alma in the Book of Mormon said, “Have ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his image in your countenances? Have ye experienced this mighty change in your hearts?” (Alma 5:14).
Let me suggest four important steps in making change a valuable tool in our lives:
First, we must understand the need for change. An unexamined life is not worth living. A new bishop shared with me an experience that frustrated him. He had a young lady in his ward who was not living the way she should. When he counseled her, she would bristle and say that he should be willing to accept her the way she was. She would not accept the fact that “the way she was” was just not good enough for her bishop, for her Heavenly Father, and most important, for herself. Being aware of the fault and the need to change is a most important step. The recognition of the need to change has to be a greater force than the luxury of staying the same.
Second, the facts must be authentic. We need to know how, what, where, and why to change. The gospel of Jesus Christ can help us set short-term, intermediate, and long-term goals by teaching us who we are, where we came from, why we are here, and where we are going. With this knowledge, a person will have greater strength to improve.
Third, a system for change must be established. It was Emerson who said, A man who sits “on the cushion of advantages, goes to sleep. When he is pushed, tormented, defeated, he has been put on his wits, … [learns] moderation and real skill” (“Compensation,” The Complete Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson, New York: Wm. H. Wise & Co., 1929, p. 161).
Our change must be planned and orderly. After our system for change is established, it must be followed through to completion, even though it may disturb our very root system.
Fourth, we must be totally committed to our plan for change. A Chinese proverb says, “Great souls have wills; feeble souls have only wishes.” Unless we have the will to improve, all the other steps to change will be wasted. This last step separates the winners from the losers.
Earlier I mentioned three examples of people living in the most dire circumstances. The first young man’s life was a series of continuing arrests for everything from vagrancy to armed robbery and murder. Never recognizing the need to change, he was one day convicted of murder.
The second was a description of the early years of Thomas A. Edison. From a beginning that seemed almost too much to overcome, he was able to change and build. Though he was once judged retarded, he proved himself to be one of the greatest inventors of all time. His personal commitment changed the whole world for the better.
The third tells the story of a young man and his early days in the northeastern part of this country. He was born in 1805 during a hard and cold Vermont winter. His name—Joseph Smith. His beginnings were difficult. Life was a series of struggles—not only physically, but also emotionally and spiritually. But here was a young man who recognized the need for improvement through change and submitted to an authority greater than himself. From tremendously difficult beginnings he sought change and ushered in the last dispensation. His faith, prayers, and works brought to the earth the greatest, most profound changes in the latter days.
It has been said by Bruce Barton that, “When we’re through changing, we’re through.” There is no age when we are too old or too young or just too middle-aged to change. Perhaps old age really comes when a person finally gives up the right, challenge, and joy of changing. We should remain teachable. How easy it is to become set. We must be willing to establish goals whether we are sixty, seventy, fifty, or fifteen. Maintain a zest for life. Never should there be a time when we are unwilling to improve ourselves through meaningful change.
For many Church members it is often difficult to accept change in leadership. On ward and stake levels leadership changes are necessary and, often times, too frequent for our convenience and comfort. Some of us are inclined to resent and resist personnel changes. “Why can’t they leave him in?” or “Why do we have to have her?” or “Why do they have to divide our ward?” Our vision may be limited. Seldom are changes made that do not bring needed progress to a person or a situation. How often in retrospect have we thought, “I didn’t understand why that change was made in the program or why that person was given such a calling, but now I can see that it was just what was needed for the time.”
During transitional times—and there are always transitional times in our Church—patience, love, and long-suffering are needed. A permanent part of our philosophy should be, “Never allow yourself to be offended by someone who is learning his job.”
Change in our own church assignments may be even more disturbing. Often when we express a wish to never have that assignment, the bishop or stake president offers us the blessings of that self-same calling. At those times it is good to remember the words of Paul when he, troubled by many ailments, said, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (Philip. 4:13).
As a Church with lay leadership, the blessings of change come often. Very few of us feel adequate to meet those changes with our own talents. How grateful we can be for the strength of Jesus Christ which helps us with the changes brought by new callings and increased responsibilities.
The change from this life to a life with Him who is our Eternal Father is the ultimate goal to which meaningful change can bring us. I pray we will all seek and accept wholesome, orderly changes for the betterment of our personal lives. This I humbly ask in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Benjamin lay back on his bed and put his feet up on the wall. He always did that when he had to think. Today’s problem was the essay Miss Hardgrave had assigned in language arts. He was supposed to write about why his parents had named him Benjamin and share it with the class.
He knew, of course. There was the picture hanging right above his feet: King Benjamin on top of the tower with everyone in tents looking up at him. Benjamin nudged the frame with his toe, and the picture tilted to one side. Usually he liked knowing he was named for a righteous king in the Book of Mormon. But nobody in his school class was going to know who King Benjamin was. Or what the Book of Mormon was, for that matter. One more thing to have to explain.
Lately it seemed like he was always explaining things: why he didn’t play in soccer games on Sunday, why he wouldn’t watch some of the most popular movies, why he hadn’t joined the same Cub Scout den everyone at school belonged to. He kicked the wall, and his door rattled.
Dad opened the door a crack and peeked in. “Aren’t you asleep yet?” he asked.
“Still doing homework.”
Dad came in and sat on the edge of the bed. “Anything I can help you with?”
“What do you know about Benjamin Franklin?”
“Hmm. United States patriot, flew a kite in a thunderstorm, and he was bald.” Dad rubbed his own bald head and smiled. “How’s that? Are you writing a report on him?”
“Well, not exactly,” Benjamin admitted. He looked down and twisted one of the quilt’s yarn ties around his finger. “I have to write about my name.” Benjamin wasn’t looking at Dad, but he felt his steady gaze.
Dad cleared his throat. “I admire Benjamin Franklin, but that’s not who we named you for.” He leaned over and straightened the picture of King Benjamin until the tower was standing straight again. “We named you after King Benjamin because we hoped you’d be like him—bold and fearless and righteous.”
“But, Dad,” Benjamin protested, “I can’t just stand up in front of my class and say I’m named after a Book of Mormon prophet.”
Dad looked surprised. “Why not?”
“This is for school. You’re not supposed to talk about religion in school. It’s illegal.”
Dad smiled. “Maybe it would be illegal for your teacher to preach to you in class, but we’re talking about answering the question she asked. There’s nothing illegal about that.”
“I bet nobody else even goes to church,” Benjamin said.
“You’d be surprised, I think. Besides, remember what King Benjamin said?” Dad pointed to the words printed below the painting. “Mosiah 5:15. ‘Be steadfast and immovable.’ That means you shouldn’t let other people decide who you are. Even at school.”
Dad stood up and kissed Benjamin on the forehead. “You’d better go to sleep soon. It’s late.”
Benjamin went to his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. Above his bed, King Benjamin looked calm and confident. His arm was raised in a grand gesture, and the people were peering out of their tents, all their eyes fastened on him. Benjamin thought about what a hard time his teacher had getting everyone to pay attention sometimes. “I bet even King Benjamin would’ve been nervous in front of my class,” he muttered.
The paper on the desk seemed to stare up at him, still blank. Benjamin could hear his clock ticking. Finally, too tired to think anymore, he started to write. “My name is Benjamin. You’ve all heard of Benjamin Franklin. …” He didn’t have to actually say he was named for Benjamin Franklin. He’d let them draw their own conclusions.
The next morning, Benjamin yawned as he waited with Yusuf and Max for the bell to ring.
“That language arts assignment,” Max complained. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“Why?” Yusuf asked.
“My mom got my name from a TV show!” Max leaned against the wall of the school and groaned. “She thought this character named Maximilian was really handsome. She watched the show every day, and when I was born that was the first name that popped into her head.”
“Are you going to tell everyone your name is from a TV show?” Benjamin asked. Explaining you were named for a TV star would be much harder than explaining you were named for someone in the scriptures.
“No.” Max pulled his essay out of the front pocket of his backpack and smoothed out the wrinkles. “I wrote that my mom had heard the name somewhere and liked it. Where did you guys get your names?”
Benjamin leaned over and fidgeted with the zipper on his backpack. He felt uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell his two best friends that he was named for Benjamin Franklin.
Yusuf said, “My name comes from the Koran.”
“What’s the Koran?” Max wanted to know.
“It’s my book of scripture. Like your Bible. There’s a person named Yusuf in it. My parents were going to name me for my grandfather, but he told them to name me Yusuf instead.”
“You’re lucky,” Max said as the bell rang.
Right after taking roll, Miss Hardgrave called on Patricia to read her essay. Her parents had found her name in a name book and liked it because it meant “noble.” Then Maria said that her name was Spanish for Mary, the mother of Jesus, and that her mother had the same name. Yong’s name meant “courageous,” and Jasmine’s parents had liked the way her name sounded.
Now it was Benjamin’s turn. He carried his essay to the front of the room. He was always nervous when he had to speak in front of the class, but today his hands seemed extra sweaty. He leaned against the chalkboard tray and read the first line of his essay to the class: “My name is Benjamin. You’ve all heard of Benjamin Franklin. …” He looked at the rest of what he had written and then looked up at the class. Max was looking at him. Yusuf smiled and nodded. Benjamin wondered if King Benjamin’s hands had gotten sweaty up there on that tower.
He took a deep breath and folded up his paper. “But I’m not really named for Benjamin Franklin. I’m named for a king in the Book of Mormon, one of my books of scripture.” He imagined his friends peering out of tents at him, and he talked a little louder. “Let me tell you about him.”

“David! Boyd! Come home! It’s time to eat!”

No response. My wife asked me to help her find them.

“David! Boyd! Answer me! Stop teasing! Where are you?”

The anxiety in our voices grew with each unanswered call. David and Boyd, three and four years old, had been playing in the yard at our home on Sixth Avenue next to the Manister River in Manister, Michigan. They had only been out of my sight ten minutes when they disappeared. We searched for an hour with no success. Then we began to panic. We decided we had better telephone the police.

Within 30 minutes a group of policemen, firemen, Boy Scouts, and friends were searching the area. About 4:00 in the afternoon, an officer reported, “Better call the state police and have them bring Saber, the German shepherd.”

Saber arrived, pulling hard on his leash. He bounded up the stairs to the boys’ bedroom and jumped on their beds. The trainer rubbed Saber’s head and nose with the boys’ clothes.

“Off with the leash!” commanded the dog trainer, and the big dog scrambled headlong down the stairs. “Go find them, Saber!” he called, as the dog bounded out the door.

Saber sniffed the house and yard before running across the street to a small wooded area, then made a sharp turn to the south.

“Oh, no! Not the river!” I cried, as I ran after the barking dog. He didn’t stop until he was right on the riverbank where we both identified four little foot prints walking out about 30 meters onto the ice. The silent evidence was there. A big hole was broken in the ice and cold, black, water swirled below it.

Drowned? Dead? My two little innocent boys? These thoughts filled my mind and stopped my speech. I turned away to avoid the awful scene and I ran right into my brother and father. “Oh, how I hate God!” I cried out as I ran from the horrible scene.

How long I ran I don’t know. I do know that when I finally fell down from exhaustion, I had covered a 20-mile distance and was at the home of an old friend who had been kind to me years ago. But I found no comfort there that day.

The next morning I went back to the river. State police skin divers were doing their sad work. Each minute was more painful than the last, as I watched men in wet suits search the cold dark waters.

After three hours of searching, one finally shouted, “Score one!”

Not a little boy, not a child, but a number. Not my own flesh and blood, soft and warm, with a question on his lips, but a hard, stiff little body was lifted into the waiting boat. A frozen statue, with right hand outstretched and fingers clenched. It was David, and his frozen body told the tragedy. Boyd, the more adventuresome of the two, had gone first and broken through the ice. David had followed and tried to reach out to save him. Both went under, and death was quick in the freezing waters.

A few agonizing minutes later came the second call, “Score two!”

Grief overcame me. The days that followed were like a blur. I moved in and out of reality as funeral arrangements were made. I remember little of what was said during the service, except the minister’s parting words, “This is God’s will. We are not to understand.”

I had to understand! These were no words of comfort. A God who would kill innocent children was no friend of mine now or ever, and I told the minister so.

Ezra Taft Benson was born in Whitney, Idaho, on August 4, 1899. He was the first of 11 children of George T. Benson, Jr. and Sarah Dunkley Benson. The birth was difficult. The doctor said he would try to save the mother, but he held little hope for the baby.
President Benson tells the story, “The faith of my father, the administrations of the priesthood, and the quick action of my two grandmothers, who placed me first in a pan of cold water and then in a pan of warm water alternately, brought forth a husky yell to the joy of all” (Ensign, Oct. 1974, pp. 22–23).

I remember years ago I was visiting a branch of the Church in Savannah, Georgia. I was taken to the Relief Society with my wife for lunch. I said, “My, you have a big Relief Society. How many members do you have in the Savannah Branch?” She said, “Well, about 40 sisters.” I said, “There’s a lot more than 40 here this morning.”

“Yes,” she said, “there are 84 here this morning.”

I checked and found out many were investigators and friends of members, all being “worked” and fellowshipped into the community of the Church. Fellowshipping is particularly effective with many of our part-member families.

The average stake has, say 450 prospective elders. About 60 percent are married to nonmember wives. So that’s about 300 nonmember wives. Now, we also have many member women who have married nonmember husbands—let’s say 150. And so, you have 450 or so part-member families. Add the children and you have another 100. That presents a lot of eligible people to be taught by the full-time and stake missionaries, uniting the families, and helping them get to the temple.

I’m a great believer in the power of teaching in groups. But I would not just toss any of these 450 nonmembers and their partners together without thinking and praying about it and making some divisions, grouping the younger-aged couples together, the middle-aged together, the more elderly together. I would subdivide even further. Just because a person is young or old doesn’t mean he is interested in anyone his age—what about educational and vocational and personal interests? Prayerful grouping and teaching of these families in companionable groups results in marvelous things.

Where I have found this most successful, it was because a member of the stake presidency or a high councilor called and said something like, “John, I know you’re not active in the Church, but I’m just calling a group of men and their wives like you to come over and see me individually. I’d just like to talk to you. Would you mind coming over at such and such a time?” Many come and relatively few are bitter—they’re just spiritually dead, as far as outward signs indicate. I’ve heard that many of them respond and say, “This is the first time in 10 years anyone really asked me to come and talk to them.”

Following the visit, the man and his wife may be invited to associate with one of the groups. And just as in the case of a nonmember family, this is exactly where the great help of the members is needed—in the social transition, in the friendshipping. While the discussions are being given, the following activities have shown themselves to be very effective: (a) do something for the investigating family or part-member family daily; (b) take them to Church meetings and socials now—this week!; (c) for nonmember families, coordinate through the missionaries the visits of the auxiliaries during the first weeks; and for part-member families, coordinate through the home teachers the same visits by auxiliary officers and teachers; (d) arrange appropriate activities with ward members; (e) take the family to a baptismal service; (f) arrange a family home evening—even with the part-member family if it would be appreciated; (g) leave a schedule of Church meetings and tracts—but not all of them at once; (h) help with substitutes for Word of Wisdom problems; (i) fast and pray with them; and (j) for part-member families, arrange visits with the bishops—bishops have converting power.

Elder Richards: My advice to such persons is to show their husbands or wives by the way they live the wonderful influence of the gospel in their lives. They should be better parents and more thoughtful, considerate, and happy companions.

As much as possible, they should practice the teachings of the gospel in their homes and bring its influence into the lives of their children.

Whenever possible, their friends should be from among those who will have a good influence, who will build up respect and admiration for the Church and its teachings through their association.

Without pushing, opportunities should be made for the husband or wife to be taught the gospel. Often, this is most effective when the couple can be part of a group that is being taught. If there are others in the group who are in the same circumstances, this often helps.

Never let the husband or wife feel that he or she is an outsider. The member spouse and the family should help the nonmember to feel that family unity, “oneness,” is important, and hold tight to the belief that the family should be “one” in every way.

Above all, and after all else you can do, remember that the greatest help will come from your Heavenly Father. Pray always and be patient.

But your spouse needs help. Fellowshipping plays a vital part here. It concerns me that some of our stake and ward leaders have not fully understood how important fellowshipping is. I tell you this is an area where every member can make a real contribution.

But you just can’t sit around waiting for someone to come up and ask you to fellowship them. Life is not like that. You’ve got to get involved wherever you can, volunteer to help, and just be alert. That’s one of the reasons the Lord gave us the Holy Ghost—to keep us alert to our opportunities for blessing others, as well as ourselves.

I was in Vernal, Utah, near the Colorado border, and met a sister who had just helped a family of five join the Church. She said she was down at the grocery store and saw this woman having trouble finding groceries. “Can I help?” she asked. After helping her, she asked if the woman was just traveling through. The woman said she and her husband were traveling to Colorado to find work, and our sister said, “Well, why don’t you look around here?”

“Oh we wouldn’t know where to look,” said the woman.

“Well,” our good sister said, “let me help you out. Let’s get your groceries and come on over to our home and maybe I can help your husband meet some people who can help him get a job.”

The sister got on the phone and within an hour or two, the man was on the way out to interview for some jobs. He accepted one of them, working and helping to manage a ranch.

Well, do you think this good Samaritan sister stopped there? I should say not. The family of five had nowhere to stay, and so they were invited to stay at her home that night, where they saw happy family life, blessing of the food, family prayers, night and morning, and all the rest. The man and his wife and three children were most appreciative and were interested in this sister and her family. She said that after they got settled, she’d like to let them know why they were the way they were. A week later, she took the missionaries out to this man and his wife—and the family was baptized and eagerly entered the Church. And through it all, our good sister and others provided a transition into the community.

One of the most difficult aspects of conversion is the investigator’s feeling that he is alone and that he is leaving his old friends and way of life for something new. All members can be actively involved—and need to go out of their way to get involved—in helping others find the Church, find new friends, take persons who are investigating the gospel to socials, meetings, athletic events—everything good and wholesome. Otherwise, the investigators generally fear the awkward sensation of being obvious newcomers and strangers. This is another reason why I like grouping part-member families in compatible groups. By teaching several together, we make it possible for new friendships to develop. Many choice things have happened when a group of sincere part-member families get together to learn about their spouse’s religion—and as they talk and learn and share feelings and as the member spouse bears appropriate testimony, even about his or her life, the Spirit moves across their hearts and wonderful truths are discovered. It works! I see and hear about it all the time.

Since that time, I have found that my testimony of the gospel has grown at the same rate as my conviction about the truth of the Book of Mormon. But the growth of my testimony has not come without its struggles.
When I told my family about my decision to be baptized, my father turned away in disgust. I was devastated! The man whom I loved and respected more than anyone else in the world was violently opposed to my decision about the most important matter of my life!
Later, a few months after I was baptized, I had my first encounter with anti-Mormon material. My parents had been given some tape recordings made by an individual known for his criticism of the Church, and they were really worried about what I had gotten myself into. When I listened to the tapes, I too was concerned.
Even though some of this negative information seemed plausible, my deep reaction was that it couldn’t be right. I had felt the Spirit too many times in studying the Church to deny its truthfulness, so I decided to investigate the anti-Mormon claims. I turned to the scriptures in prayerful study—especially the Book of Mormon. Knowledgeable Church members helped answer my questions. Afterward, I was more convinced than ever that I had made the right decision by joining the Church.
As a result, I made my own tape recording, personalizing it for my parents, and answered the major charges in the anti-Mormon material. I played the tape for my parents, and afterward my dad looked at me through his tears and said, “That was quite a sermon, son!” Then we hugged each other. This experience became the start of a new relationship between us.

Nick and Jake love their family home evenings, spent with their brother and sisters, Matt (17), Becky (12), and Annie (2). They take their turns preparing lessons and organizing activities. One special evening was spent up in the mountains on the edge of the city. After a lesson by Dad, they all went for a hike and came upon some fresh bear tracks! Maybe the West isn’t so tame now, after all! Nicholas and Jacob enjoy being a part of it and love being members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

The bond of trust that grew between my father and me was so strong that when my father asked me what I would think if he remarried, I was able to answer truthfully, “Do what you think is right.” Some of my older brothers and sisters didn’t agree with me, but I trusted him to do the right thing.
As the time grew closer, I grew excited to meet the woman my father loved and wanted to marry. But as I walked into the room, I saw a tall, slim, dark-haired woman who wasn’t my mother kissing my father. For a split second a door within me burst open, spilling all the hurt, jealousy, and anger that I felt for this woman. Then just as quickly, it closed without ever changing the smile on my face. That door was destroyed then, never to be opened again.
Many of our relatives and friends loved my mother and wouldn’t accept anyone else. They kept telling my father that he was wrong and was making a big mistake. But he wouldn’t listen, and neither would I. All I knew was that I had to trust my father. When I saw my two youngest sisters cuddled up to this woman while she sang them little songs she made up, I knew it was right. She was to be our new mother, and we all needed her, especially those two. As we grew to know her, we all eventually grew to love her.
My new mother left behind a big, beautiful house when she packed up her four children and moved into our little green house, a home in which she knew she wasn’t totally accepted. I admired how strong she was to be able to make a move like that, but I knew Heavenly Father, and maybe even my mother, helped her.
From then on it was more a matter of time. Slowly, with all of us pulling, we became closer, a family again. Together my father and new mother brought two more spirits into the world and into our family, making a grand total of 12 children. If nothing else made us a family, it was those two little spirits. Their presence created an unbreakable bond between two families that needed each other.
We were a family by our own special definition.

One day Julia met two young men. Julia was surprised because White people rarely came to her neighborhood. They said they were missionaries. She invited them to share a message in her home.
When Julia’s son heard they were coming, he was shocked. “Why did you invite them?” he said. “They are White. It’s not safe.”
But Julia trusted the missionaries. “These men are different,” Julia said. “They are preaching peace.”
When the missionaries came, Julia welcomed them in. One of them noticed a photo on the mantle. It was from Julia’s wedding.
“Who is that?” the missionary asked, pointing to the photo.
“My husband, John.” Julia looked down. “He died in a car crash.”
The missionary nodded. “We believe families can be together forever, even after they die.”
A feeling of peace washed over Julia. She felt happy to learn about God’s plan and kept meeting with the missionaries. Love for the gospel grew in Julia’s heart, just like the plants in her garden. Soon she decided to be baptized.
At church, Julia met lots of new people. Some were Black. Some were White. But they all served and learned together.
Julia showed the children at church how to help in her garden. “We must be soft in our hearts, like this soil,” she said. “We must make a place for the gospel within us. We must make a place for love.”

Janet Egbo of Big Qua Town Ward, Calabar Nigeria Stake
I am a teacher by profession, I reside and work in Calabar. I have always wanted additional income because what I earned was not sufficient to support my family. I was part of the self-reliance group in my stake and I joined the Starting and Growing My Business group.
I learned a lot of principles throughout the Starting and Growing My Business group meetings, which motivated me to start a business of my own. I never knew that I could start small and grow big.
The principles I learned that gave me the guide I needed to succeed were: payment of tithing, praying, savings, budgeting, and record keeping. I was able to start with two bags of flour and a bag of sugar. Today I have rented a shop for the business.
I have a variety of commodities on my shelves, and my shop is a mini supermarket because I have most of the items that households may need.
I am indeed grateful that I heeded the call to join a self-reliance group. I now have the additional income I needed.
I am now growing my business. I keep record of my sales, use a budget, and I can save money.
I now pay my tithing and fast offering, take care of my basic needs, and that of my family members.

I’ll never forget one high school football game against a rival school. I played the wingback position, and my assignment was to either block the linebacker or try to get open so the quarterback could throw me the ball. The reason I remember this particular game so well is because the fellow on the other side of the line—the man I was supposed to block—was a giant.

I wasn’t exactly the tallest athlete in the world. But I think this other guy may have been. I remember looking up at him, thinking he probably weighed as much as two of me. Keep in mind, when I played we didn’t have the protective gear that players have today. My helmet was made of leather, and it didn’t have a face guard.

The more I thought about it, the more I came to a sobering realization: if I ever let him catch me, I could be cheering for my team the rest of the season from a hospital bed.

Lucky for me, I was fast. And for the better part of the first half, I managed to avoid him.

Except for one play.

Our quarterback dropped back to pass. I was open. He threw the ball, and it sailed toward me.

The only problem was that I could hear a lumbering gallop behind me. In a moment of clarity, I thought that if I caught the ball there was a distinct possibility I could be eating my meals through a tube. But the ball was heading for me, and my team was depending on me. So I reached out, and—at the last instant—I looked up.

And there he was.

I remember the ball hitting my hands. I remember struggling to hang on to it. I remember the sound of the ball falling to the turf. After that, I’m not exactly sure what happened, because the giant hit me so hard I wasn’t sure what planet I was on. One thing I did remember was a deep voice coming from behind a dark haze: “Serves you right for being on the wrong team.”

William McKinley Oswald was my high school football coach. He was a great coach and had a profound influence on my life. But I think he could have learned his method of motivating players from an army drill sergeant.

That day, during his halftime speech, Coach Oswald reminded the whole team about the pass I had dropped. Then he pointed right at me and said, “How could you do that?”

He wasn’t speaking with his inside voice.

“I want to know what made you drop that pass.”

I stammered for a moment and then finally decided to tell the truth. “I took my eye off the ball,” I said.

The coach looked at me and said, “That’s right; you took your eye off the ball. Don’t ever do that again. That kind of mistake loses ball games.”

I respected Coach Oswald, and in spite of how terrible I felt, I made up my mind to do what Coach said. I vowed to never take my eye off the ball again, even if it meant getting pounded to Mongolia by the giant on the other side of the line.

We headed back onto the field and started the second half. It was a close game, and even though my team had played well, we were behind by four points late in the fourth quarter.

The quarterback called my number on the next play. I went out again, and again I was open. The ball headed toward me. But this time, the giant was in front of me and in perfect position to intercept the pass.

He reached up, but the ball sailed through his hands. I jumped high, never taking my eye off the ball, stabbed at it, and pulled it down for the game-winning touchdown.

I don’t remember much about the celebration after, but I do remember the look on Coach Oswald’s face.

“Way to keep your eye on the ball,” he said.

I think I smiled for a week.

“Shortly after we were married, we began looking for a church. We had promised each other we would have a Christian home. Our neighbors had a daughter who had just joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She asked us if we’d like to talk to the missionaries. As soon as they walked onto our porch, we knew these men were different. There was a spirit about them.”
Another homecoming, this one leading to serious study, fasting, prayer, and finally the realization that Heavenly Father was welcoming them into the only true church.
“All the pieces fit. Everything was right. And since then our love for God has grown, our faith has grown, and we’ve seen the truth in action in the lives of Latter-day Saints everywhere we’ve lived.”

Sixty-four years ago this September, I returned home from my mission in England. Three days after returning, I attended a Hello Day dance at the University of Utah with a friend of mine. He told me about a beautiful sophomore named Barbara Bowen, whom he thought I ought to meet. He brought her over and introduced us, and we started to dance.
Unfortunately, this was what we used to call a “tag dance,” which meant that you got to dance with the girl only until somebody else tagged you out. Barbara was vivacious and popular, so I got to dance with her for less than a minute before another young man tagged me out.
That was just not acceptable to me. Having learned the importance of follow-up on my mission, I got her telephone number and called her the very next day to ask her out, but she was busy with school and social commitments. Thankfully, my mission taught me to be persistent even in the face of discouragement, and I was eventually able to make a date. And that date led to others. Somehow during those dates I was able to convince her that I was the only true and living returned missionary—at least as far as she should be concerned. Now, 64 years later, there are seven children and many grandchildren and great-grandchildren who stand as evidence of the significant truth that no matter how good your message is, you may not get a chance to deliver it without consistent, persistent follow-up.

Aaron burst through the front door after school and ran straight upstairs to his bedroom. He began searching for something while his little brother Jared curiously watched.
“Where are you? Where are you?” Aaron mumbled to himself.
“What are you looking for?” Jared asked.
“I’m looking for …” Then Aaron spied the very thing he needed up on the corner shelf in his closet, next to his scriptures. “Here it is!” Aaron exclaimed as he reached up and plucked his journal from its hiding place.
Aaron’s mind was buzzing with thoughts from his day. He wanted to begin writing as soon as possible so he wouldn’t forget about all the things he had heard and seen. He sat at the desk and carefully opened his journal to a blank page. He began to write.
Jared watched his big brother, wondering why he was so determined to write in that book. “What are you doing?” he asked. Aaron continued to concentrate on his journal. He wrote down the date, time, where he was, and how he was feeling. Jared became impatient and asked again, “What are you writing in that book?”
Aaron stopped writing and turned to Jared. “I’m almost finished,” he said. “Then I promise I’ll tell you what I’m doing, OK?” Jared nodded and sat patiently on his bed.
After writing some more, Aaron finally closed the book. Then he grabbed his scriptures and carried them with his journal to where Jared was sitting.
Aaron held up the Book of Mormon. “This book is kind of like a journal,” Aaron explained to his little brother. “It’s written by prophets and tells what they did and taught.”
Aaron told Jared about some of the stories he remembered reading and learning about in Primary: the Lord teaching Nephi to build a ship, the brave Lamanite Samuel standing on the wall to preach, Jesus Christ coming to the Americas and teaching the little children.
“Mormon and his son Moroni finally finished writing their people’s history on gold plates. Then Moroni hid the plates as God had commanded,” Aaron said. “The Book of Mormon was left for us to read today. Someday, someone in our family will read my journal too.” He smiled. “My journal is not scripture, but it will tell about all the important things that happened in my life and about the people I love, like you, Jared. It will be my testimony of the love Heavenly Father has for me.”
Jared thought about what Aaron had told him, then sprang off the bed and ran out of the room. He soon returned with a piece of paper and some crayons. He began coloring. Now Aaron was curious. “What are you doing?”
“I’m almost done,” Jared said. This time Aaron waited patiently. Jared put down his crayons and lifted up the paper for Aaron to see. He had drawn a picture of himself and his big brother. And he had drawn a journal and a Book of Mormon in Aaron’s hands. “I’m writing my journal now!” Jared said. “This is where I put down the time, the date, and where I was.” Then Jared pointed to the cartoonlike picture he had drawn of his big brother. “And this is where I put the person I love.”
At that moment Jared remembered he had forgotten something. He reached for a bright yellow crayon and drew a big smiley face on the top of his paper. “And this is how I am feeling inside!”

When Jason woke up on Saturday morning, he jumped out of bed, looked out his window, saw the sun shining, and heard birds singing. He smiled his biggest smile. “What a happy day!” Jason said as he got dressed.
He began to clean his bedroom. He was expecting company, and he wanted his bedroom to look just right. He put all his cars and trucks and other toys in the toy box. He put all his books on their shelves. He put his dirty clothes in a basket.
Finally Jason looked around and smiled. “My bedroom looks good,” he said. “Now I am ready for my company.” He jumped back into bed, pulled his blankets up around his chin, and waited.
Pretty soon he heard a noise in the hall. He shut his eyes and tried to act like he was asleep. Squeak, squeak went the door to his bedroom as it slowly opened. Dad, Mom, and Jason’s two sisters tip-toed to his bed and began to sing. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. …”
Jason opened his eyes and smiled his biggest smile. “Thank you,” he said. “I knew you would come for my birthday!”

Now may I speak from my heart of what an honorable full-time mission has meant to me personally. I grew up in a home with very good parents, but my father was not a member and my mother was less active. After my mission, that changed. They became strong members and served devotedly in the temple—he a sealer, she an ordinance worker. But as a young man, like many of you today, I had no way to judge personally the importance of a mission. I fell in love with an exceptional young woman. At a critical point in our courtship, she made it very clear that she would only be married in the temple to a returned missionary. Duly motivated, I served a mission in Uruguay.

It was not easy. The Lord gave me many challenges that became stepping-stones to personal growth. There I gained my testimony that God the Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, did in fact visit Joseph Smith to begin a restoration of truth, priesthood authority, and the true Church on earth. I gained a witness that Joseph Smith is a singular prophet. I learned essential doctrines. I discovered what it meant to be led by the Spirit. Many a night I got up as my companion slept to pour my heart out to the Lord for guidance and direction. I pled for the ability to express effectively in Spanish my testimony and the truth I was learning to a people I had come to love. Those prayers were abundantly answered. At the same time, my future eternal companion, Jeanene, was being molded to become an exceptional wife and mother by her own mission.

Most important, all that I now hold dear in life began to mature in the mission field. Had I not been encouraged to be a missionary, I would not have the eternal companion or precious family I dearly love. I am confident that I would not have had the exceptional professional opportunities that stretched my every capacity. I am certain that I would not have received the sacred callings with opportunities to serve for which I will be eternally grateful. My life has been richly blessed beyond measure because I served a mission.