Gospel Story Finder

In the marvelous experience of Brigham Young in February of 1847, when the Prophet Joseph appeared to him in a dream or vision, Brigham pleaded to be reunited with the Prophet. Brigham Young asked the Prophet if he had a message for the Brethren. The Prophet said:
“Tell the people to be humble and faithful, and be sure to keep the spirit of the Lord and it will lead them right. Be careful and not turn away the small still voice; it will teach you what to do and where to go; it will yield the fruits of the kingdom. Tell the brethren to keep their hearts open to conviction, so that when the Holy Ghost comes to them, their hearts will be ready to receive it.”
The Prophet further directed Brigham Young as follows: “They can tell the Spirit of the Lord from all other spirits; it will whisper peace and joy to their souls; it will take malice, hatred, strife and all evil from their hearts; and their whole desire will be to do good, bring forth righteousness and build up the kingdom of God” (Manuscript History of Brigham Young, 1846–1847, compiled by Elden J. Watson, Salt Lake City, 1971, page 529).

Richard Moore and the other young colonists strained to lift the rough split-pine boards into place so the men could hammer them together for tables and benches. The long tables were for the coming feast. The women and girls had baked and cooked enough food for the whole colony of settlers and the Indians who had been invited.
Richard lived with the Brewster family. They were kind and treated him like one of their own boys, but he missed his mother and father, two sisters, and baby brother who, with many others, had died during their first, long, cold winter in Cape Cod.
It seemed a long time ago that they had come from England to America on the good ship Mayflower. In England, everyone was expected to go to the same church, and Richard’s father didn’t think this was right. It was he who first decided to bring his family to a new land where they could worship as they wished. Other families believed as Richard’s father did, and they all sailed from England together. Richard’s job now was to help carry out the plans of the group for a life of freedom.
The harvest was good after a long winter. And everyone worked hard to gather the food into a storehouse to feed the colony during its second winter at Cape Cod. Successful hunting added wild turkeys, ducks, and deer to the store of food.
Governor Bradford declared a feast day to celebrate the good harvest and invited the Indians who had helped them.
Richard’s heart beat faster when he thought of the Indians. Even though some of them appeared to be friendly, there were stories about how some had physically abused settlers in other colonies and had burned their houses. But Chief Samoset was their friend. And it was Squanto who had shown them how to plant Indian corn and how to catch fish. These two Indians spoke English that they had learned from English fishermen and sea captains who had sailed into that part of America. Squanto had actually lived in London for a time, but returned to America in 1619.
“They have invited Chief Massasoit and some of the other Indians to the feast,” said Mister Brewster at breakfast.
I hope there won’t be any trouble, Mrs. Brewster worried. We’ve had enough already.
The children remained silent, but they looked at each other across the table and hoped that this would be a peaceful celebration. Governor Bradford had told the colonists that to live peaceably in the new land, they must make friends with the Indians who had taught them so much about growing their food.
It was late afternoon now and the aromas of roasting turkey and venison, corn bread, and wild-berry pies filled the air. Richard could hardly wait to eat. Then, suddenly, the Indians came out of the thick forest into the clearing. Their deerskin moccasins made no noise at all.
Richard’s heart was beating so fast he could hardly breathe. For a moment he even forgot about the waiting feast.
Governor Bradford, Captain Standish, Master Winslow, and Mister Brewster went to meet the Indians. Richard saw some boys with the Indian men. The squaws had been left at home with the girls and babies. The governor and Chief Massasoit solemnly shook hands. There was quite a large group of Indians, and Richard hoped there were enough places at the long tables for everyone.
He decided he would do as Governor Bradford had done, and, besides, he had a strong desire to know them better. Walking forward, he held out his hand to a young Indian boy. The boy took it and they shook hands.
Richard smiled and to his surprise the boy smiled back. He wished that the boy could speak English or that he could speak the Indian language.
Richard fingered the knife he kept in his pocket. It had a pearl handle and was one of the few treasures he had brought from England. “Here,” he said on an impulse, handing it to the Indian boy. “I want you to be my friend.”
The Indian boy ran his fingers over it carefully and handed it back. “It’s for you,” said Richard. He pressed the knife to his chest and then held it out again.
This time the boy took it and held it against his own chest.
Richard smiled, hoping the Indian boy would understand his desire to be friends. The boy did understand this time that the knife was his to keep—a gift from the young settler. He smiled widely and his brown fingers tightened around the pearl handle.
It was time to eat and everyone sat down to trenchers heaped high with roast turkey, venison, vegetables, and corn bread. Squanto and Samoset acted as interpreters so their Indian friends would know what was being said.
Governor Bradford bowed his head and in a commanding voice, so everyone could hear, thanked God for the harvest and for their friends.
After they had eaten, the young Indian boy pulled at Richard’s sleeve and motioned for him to follow. He led him to the edge of the forest and stripped a slim branch from a tree. He motioned for Richard to sit on the ground.
Richard wondered what the boy was going to do when he opened the knife and began to whittle on the green shoot—long, clean strokes that removed the bark and exposed the smooth white wood underneath. Richard watched intently as the shoot began to change form. “It’s an arrow!” he exclaimed.
The Indian boy cut slits in the end and slipped turkey feathers into them. And the point was as sharp as a piece of wood could be. Then smiling broadly, the boy pressed the arrow to his heart and handed it to Richard. He said something that Richard didn’t understand, but the meaning was clear.
Richard took the arrow and pressed it to his heart. “Thank you,” he said.
As they walked back to the settlement, Richard put his arm around the boy’s waist and felt the Indian boy’s arm around his own. There was no longer any fear of these people with the copper-colored skin and straight black hair. In the months to come, they would learn to trust and understand one another. When the feast was over, Richard was sure his new friend would return.
It was the beginning of a long friendship between the colonists and Chief Massasoit’s tribe.

I had an experience when I was young that left a testimony with me that I had a Heavenly Father who loved me and because he first loved me that I could trust and love him. The story is admittedly childish and personal.
Growing up few things were as important to me as sports. Not that I was ever very good. But I thrived in the competition and companionship they offered. Perhaps in some way they helped ease the pain of growing up without a father as mine was killed in Korea. One day when I was about 10, I prepared for a baseball game. I dressed in my uniform which was washed and ready. I pulled up socks which had been modified to rise high on the leg. I pulled on my hat with brim properly curved. All I needed was my baseball glove. It was a Wilson A2001, a baseball glove design that with some variation is still used in the major leagues today. I could not find the glove. Casual looking turned to intent searching and finally panic and tears. Unable to find my glove and with the time for the game approaching and my mother at work, I had no one to help me but to turn to My Heavenly Father in prayer. I offered that prayer amidst my sobbing. I told the Lord I had looked everywhere. I explained that I needed the baseball glove. I had molded it by dunking it in water with a baseball tied carefully inside. I pleaded that I played better with it. Then, the thought came to me that it was under the bed. Without looking, I explained that I had looked there several times. Again, I was prompted. I looked and to my surprise there in plain sight was the baseball glove. I still had time to make the game. I jumped on my bike and let the wind dry my tears.
As a young boy, I approached my Heavenly Father needing help and comfort. It came then and has since in experiences far more serious and important. But never has it been received any more personally. To me as a young boy this was a confirmation that there was a father in heaven who would help even me. I plead and he answered. I do not remember what happened in the game that afternoon but I have never forgotten the experience of needing help and receiving it through prayer. I am grateful for a Heavenly Father who heard a little boy's prayer and healed his broken heart. Many times since then, I have found comfort in that experience. And with confidence since then, I have often turned to Him for strength and guidance to climb my mountain knowing he is listening and willing to guide me.

When I was serving as a bishop, I worked with brother Utibe Effiong Akpan who left school early without a proper education, qualifications, or marketable skills. He was working in lots of different odd jobs, for long hours and low wages when the missionaries found him and introduced him to the restored gospel. I met with Effiong a few times during missionary discussions; his life was full of challenges, questionable friends, and poor choices.
After several weeks of missionary discussions, Effiong decided to make the necessary changes and become baptized. He quickly learned about the prophet’s counsel to get an education, to gain marketable skills and to become self-reliant. Shortly after joining the Church, he enrolled in one of the self-reliance programs. He later qualified for a PEF loan to learn a trade. Effiong worked at night as a security guard, and by day he studied welding.
Several months later, Effiong graduated as a fully qualified argon welder. However, his journey towards self-reliance was not over and far from easy. He faced many months of challenges as he tried to find work on building sites around the city. Sometimes they didn’t pay him, sometimes it was hard to find good employment and he often had to walk many miles in the hot sun from building site to building site, but Effiong continued, trusting in the Lord and the promises made by living prophets. Finally, his patience, faith and hard work paid off and he was able to secure good welding contracts on building sites.
As Effiong continued to study the words of the prophets and to learn about the plan of salvation, he realized the importance of an eternal family. He found one of our Heavenly Father’s lovely daughters in our ward and together they were sealed in the Aba Nigeria Temple. Effiong continued working for a while in Lagos but life got harder and harder as financial problems hit the city and so he relocated to his home state. He now works in the education department of the local government as an instructor. Today, Effiong and his wife, Praise Chukwewike Effiong, are living happily with their three children and raising them “in the nurture and admonition of the Lord” (see Ephesians 6:4).
When I was their bishop, I witnessed the challenges that they faced in the early days of their marriage, life was not easy. However, they have trusted the Lord through the good and the bad times and are both fully active and serving in their local ward.
When we heed the counsel and apply the teachings of prophets and apostles, our testimony is strengthened, and we are blessed both temporally and spiritually. As Paul taught the Philippian Saints, trusting in the Lord brings “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7). The temporal blessings do not always come immediately, but as Effiong and his wife learned, if we follow the teachings of the Lord’s prophets, even when we do not comprehend, all will come right in the end. Sometimes our journey requires faith, patience, and hope; often we need to repent, change our lives, and become a new and better person through the grace of Jesus Christ. I am grateful to Jesus Christ for His atoning sacrifice and I love Him very much.

A former student shared that upon returning to BYU after serving a mission, he became discouraged with his attempts at dating. He said:
I went on dates. I met a lot of girls. I even had a steady girlfriend for a short period. But I was not happy. In fact, I was overwhelmingly frustrated. I found that I was annoyed with the pretension. The “where are you from” and “what’s your major” conversations [we have all had them] became painful to endure. I went through the motions because that is what I thought I was supposed to do.
After more than a year of floundering . . . , I began to pray in earnest that the Lord would help me find a friend—more specifically, that He would help me find that friend, the one I had so painfully longed for.
One afternoon as I was reading the Doctrine and Covenants, I came across the following verses in section 98:
“Verily I say unto you my friends, fear not, let your hearts be comforted; yea, rejoice evermore, and in everything give thanks;
“Waiting patiently on the Lord, for your prayers have entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth, and are recorded with this seal and testament—the Lord hath sworn and decreed that they shall be granted” (Doctrine and Covenants 98:1–2).
[This young man continued,] I remember so clearly the feeling that I experienced as I read those verses. It was as though God were speaking to me Himself: “Everything is going to be fine. I’ve heard your prayers, and I will answer them.” I don’t recall a time when the scriptures have spoken to me as they did on that day.

“Hey, Mike,” Chris said in a loud whisper. “Good thing Mr. Morton didn’t call on you!”
“Yeah,” another boy said. “Mike would never have known the answer.”
“You’ve got that right,” Chris replied. “The only thing small about Mike is his brain!”
Behind me, Mike tried to laugh. I peeked over my shoulder. His face was bright red. Mr. Morton kept writing on the board as if he hadn’t heard a thing.
This was my first week in seventh grade, and the boys picking on Mike were probably two years older than me. Mike was taller than all of us, and he wouldn’t want my help anyway, I reasoned. But as the teasing continued, I thought I was going to cry.
After school, I kept thinking of all the mean things the boys had said. “If I were Mike, I wouldn’t come to school at all,” I decided. I felt sad for the way he had tried to joke with the bullies, only to have them make fun of whatever he said. “If I were older, I would have known what to say to them,” I thought.
Then I remembered a family home evening about how missionaries depend on the Holy Ghost to help them know how to teach people. Dad said if we read the scriptures and invite the Holy Ghost to help us, we can know what to say and do too—even at school.
The next morning, I read my scriptures and prayed. “Heavenly Father,” I said, “I feel so sad for Mike. Please help me to know how I can help him.”
One of the scriptures I read said that when we help other people, we’re actually helping Jesus Christ (see Mosiah 2:17). “I wouldn’t be too scared to talk to the bullies if they were picking on the Savior,” I thought.
I wrote that scripture on a note card and put it in my notebook. I read it often during the day, but I still didn’t know how I could stop the teasing.
Then one afternoon, as I left math class, my answer came. The Holy Ghost whispered, “Mike needs to know you care about him, and the bullies need to know you don’t like what’s going on.” My hands felt clammy. My legs started to shake. I bit my lip and said a silent prayer.
A minute later in the hall, I heard Chris yell a mean comment to Mike. I took a deep breath. “Hey, Chris,” I said, “If you can’t say something nice, just be quiet.”
Chris gave me a mean look. “Boy, that sounded silly,” I told myself. But the bullies didn’t say anything else to Mike.
The next day, the boys were back to their regular teasing—until another seventh grader interrupted them. “Come on, guys,” David said. And the teasing stopped.
Another day, it was a ninth-grade girl who stopped the bullies. “That’s not nice, Chris,” Rhoda said. Mike gave her a grateful smile.
I’d like to say that was the end of the teasing. It wasn’t. But the bullies seemed to make mean jokes less often. Other students stood up for Mike too. I knew that the Holy Ghost had given me courage to do what I needed to do to help stop the bullies.

Shawn is excited because his relatives are coming for dinner. Mom said that she could make one each of three kinds of pies: pumpkin, banana cream, custard, blueberry, pecan, mincemeat, cherry, chocolate, lemon meringue. The problem is:
—Uncle Bart is allergic to chocolate.
—Dad does not like blueberries.
—Grandpa’s doctor said that custard pie is not good for him.
—Shawn does not like lemon meringue pie.
—Shawn’s cousin, Sally, does not like pumpkin pie.
—Aunt Eugenia says that pecan pie is too fattening.
What three kinds of pies did Mom bake that everyone would eat?
Answers:

Ifoni had a solid testimony reinforced by some rather miraculous events in his childhood. At eight, while he was playing at sword fighting with a very real and very sharp machete, Ifoni’s eye was cut and damaged. The doctor said he would never see with that eye again. His father and his bishop gave him a priesthood blessing, asking, if it was the Lord’s will, that his eye be healed. Three months later, sight returned to his eye, even though the scar remains. He was also nearly electrocuted when electricity was first brought to his family’s village. Again he was given a priesthood blessing, and his life was preserved. Now, as a teen, he has no doubts about the power of the priesthood. “When I received the Aaronic Priesthood,” Ifoni says, “my mother encouraged me to stay faithful to the Lord’s power. It’s so important to stay clean and be worthy of the Aaronic Priesthood.”

I am confident you have heard this story of President Spencer W. Kimball, but I take the liberty of repeating it. He had undergone surgery in the hospital. A young male nurse had placed him on a gurney and was transporting him. When getting on the elevator, the nurse bumped the gurney and let out an oath using the name of the Lord.

President Kimball, only half conscious, said, “Please, Please! That is my Lord whose name you revile.”

There was a deathly silence; then the young man whispered with a subdued voice, “I am sorry.” (See The Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, ed. Edward L. Kimball [1982], 198.)

But example is often not enough. We also need to guide our children’s use of agency. This must be done gently—with love, not force. Three-year-old Michael was getting ready for bed when he announced to his father, “I don’t want to say my prayers tonight.” His father did not scold or shame him or try to force him to pray. He gently lifted Michael to his lap and said, “Michael, I would like to tell you why I say my prayers.” He then told of the blessings for which he wanted to thank Heavenly Father and of the good feeling he had when he asked our Heavenly Father to watch over him. Soon Michael was naming his own blessings. After a while, he jumped down from his father’s lap saying, “Now I want to say my prayer.”

The father simply and sincerely shared his own feelings about the importance of prayer—it could have been any worthy thing—and the child could sense his father’s love, both for him and for Heavenly Father.

Gavin looked out the window. Big white snowflakes were falling softly to the ground. He grinned as he thought about all the fun he could have skiing and building snowmen. Gavin loved winter in Canada.
“Gavin?” Mom said.
Gavin blinked and turned back to the living room. It was family home evening, and the lesson was on service. But it was hard to pay attention!
Mom smiled. “I know you’re excited about the snow, but what are ways our family could help someone?”
Gavin looked out the window again. Snow was piling up on the driveways on his street. “Hey! What if we shoveled the Ramseys’ driveway?” he asked.
“Yeah!” Gavin’s big brother, Jensen, said. “They’d really like that.”
“That’s a great idea,” Dad said. “The Ramseys are getting older, and shoveling snow is hard for them.”
The next morning, Gavin’s family shoveled the Ramseys’ driveway. Gavin was glad they were doing it together. Even Gavin’s little sisters, Chloé and Kenzie, helped. The path Kenzie shoveled looked like a giant snake had slithered through the snow.
After scraping together the last pile of snow, Gavin gave his brother a high five. “We make a great team!” Jensen said.
“Yeah!” said Gavin. “We’re the Snow-Shovel Squad!”
After the next two snowstorms, the Snow-Shovel Squad happily shoveled both their driveway and the Ramseys’. One time, Mrs. Ramsey tried to pay them, but they politely said no.
“The Snow-Shovel Squad is a not-for-profit team,” Gavin explained.
That made Mrs. Ramsey laugh.
The snow kept coming. Shoveling two driveways got harder and harder. After a while, Mom and Dad had to remind the Snow-Shovel Squad how much they were needed.
One morning Gavin woke up especially excited. They were going skiing today! He looked outside and grinned. The snow looked perfect. He ran to find his skis. Soon everyone was packing the van for their trip.
Just as they buckled their seatbelts, Mom turned to look at them. “What about the Ramseys’ driveway?”
Gavin looked at Jensen. They had forgotten all about it.
“Can we do it later?” Jensen said. “We want to get to the mountain before it gets too busy!”
“OK,” Mom said, and Dad started the van.
But then Gavin glanced out his window. He could see Mr. Ramsey trying to clear his driveway. It looked like he could hardly lift his shovel.
“Wait, Dad,” Gavin said. “Mr. Ramsey needs the Snow-Shovel Squad right away!”
Everyone got out and grabbed their shovels.
“Sorry we’re late!” Gavin called out.
Mr. Ramsey smiled. “Thank you so much,” he said. “It would’ve taken me hours to shovel this driveway alone.” With the help of the Snow-Shovel Squad, the Ramseys’ driveway was snow-free in just a few minutes. After that, nobody had to remind Gavin about the Ramseys’ driveway. If it snowed, the Snow-Shovel Squad was out shoveling, sometimes even before breakfast. Sometimes it snowed so much they had to shovel two times in one day!
As the weeks went by, shoveling the driveways didn’t seem so hard. In fact, Gavin thought that helping the Ramseys was one of the best parts of winter. Then one day, he woke up and saw that the sun was warm and bright. The snow was melting down the driveway. How could he help others now that it was spring?

A few years ago, Rachel and Melissa were both at home on a Saturday afternoon. The doorbell rang, and Rachel greeted two nicely dressed young men at the door. She thought they were salesmen. Their dad, Gerry, agreed to chat with the young men, who were actually full-time missionaries. Life in the Clancy home changed forever when the girls and their father were baptized.
The Clancy girls soon discovered that living their new religion meant having most of their friendships with people of other faiths, a role that both missionary-minded girls embrace. But where does their strength come from? Some comes from a handful of LDS friends and leaders, but most of what makes these girls strong is what happens within the walls of their home.
This family knows how to work together. Rachel handles laundry, including ironing, while Melissa helps with some of the outside chores, like mowing the lawn. They both look after their younger brother and sister, Matt and Stefany, while their dad is at work or handling Church responsibilities.
The Clancys know how to play, too. In fact, both girls say that most of their best gospel learning experiences come from conversations during fun times with the family jumping on the trampoline, hiking, or swimming.
“This year Dad and Matt and I spent several days hiking at a place called Ayers Rock,” says Rachel. “I like hiking but I’m afraid of heights and this was a really steep hike. We stopped and said a prayer and I felt better. When we got to the top there was a beautiful view. My dad and I talked about how it was a lesson about enduring to the end. It’s my favorite memory from that hiking trip.”

Four years ago, a marvelous young woman who had just graduated with honors from BYU called me, distraught. Through sobs she blurted, "I'm not sure I believe the Church is true anymore, and I'm scared. What if my family isn't going to be together forever?"
I asked, "Do you want a testimony?" "Yes," she said.
"Are you willing to work for it?" Again, "Yes."
And she was. She had a great bishop and an off-the-charts Relief Society president, both of whom worked with her. Friends and family came to her rescue. And she and I began to meet for gospel study sessions. I told her, "Bring your scriptures and every question you have. Questions are good. Let's see what the Lord will teach us."
She took me at my word and brought one thorny question after another. We searched the scriptures and the teachings of prophets for answers. Little by little, she began to realize that just because she had questions didn't mean she didn't have a testimony. The scriptures are filled with accounts of prophets who had questions. And she began to recognize when the Spirit was bearing witness to her-including bearing witness that prophets, seers, and revelators are truly prophets.
Her testimony began to grow, and time passed. Then about a year ago she called again. "I wanted you to be one of the first to know that I am holding in my hand a temple recommend. Will you come when I receive my endowment?" Then she added, "Do you know what you said that helped me the most? You told me that questions are good, and that allowed me to see myself as a seeker rather than a doubter."
I was overjoyed!

“While interviewing for my present position as a senior vice president of a large international company, I told my direct manager of my religious beliefs about drinking. I said that I would not be able to accept the job if abstaining from drinking would be problematic in fulfilling my responsibilities.
“At the time, social drinking was very important in the corporate culture and considered good stress therapy. It was commonly understood that social drinking was a part of a successful career. My manager, though disappointed that I would not be able to join him in many executive social circles, offered me the position, with respect for my beliefs.
“Since I joined the company, the corporate culture has changed so that abstaining from drinking is rarely a problem anymore. My firm testimony is that I will be ahead in my life, including my career, when I follow the values of Jesus Christ.”—Yong-In S. Shin, South Korea

Odds are there were probably a few of you who didn’t smile at all, and it makes me wonder why. Ask yourself, “Am I really a happy person?” If you are not and if it is difficult for you to smile, then analyze yourself. Know there is help available. Some of it can come from recognizing that difficulties are part of life. There are ups and there are downs. That fact reminds me of this little account shared by Elder Marion D. Hanks:
“A father [is] aboard an airplane on a short business trip. He has with him his five-year-old son and is almost wishing his son were not there because it is a very rough trip. There are downdrafts and updrafts and head winds alternating with tailwinds, and some passengers are feeling a bit queasy. Apprehensively, the father glances at his son and finds him grinning from ear to ear. ‘Dad,’ he says, ‘do they do this just to make it fun for the kids?’” (“Changing Channels,” Ensign, November 1990, 38).

Along with the blessings, however, I have known some difficult challenges and heartaches. I am grateful for the lessons learned in these adversities. As a young man, I lived through the Great Depression, when banks failed and so many lost their jobs and homes and went hungry. I was fortunate to have a job at a canning factory that paid 25 cents an hour. That may have been all I was worth! But it helped me get my education. I served three long years in the military in World War II. One time when we were in peril of our ship capsizing in a horrendous storm in the Pacific, I put myself in the Lord’s hands and fervently promised Him that if I survived I would try to serve Him all of the days of my life.
At times I have stumbled and been less than I should have been. All of us experience those wrenching, defining, difficult decisions that move us to a higher level of spirituality. They are the Gethsemanes of our lives that bring with them great pain and anguish. Sometimes they are too sacred to be shared publicly. They are the watershed experiences that help purge us of our unrighteous desires for the things of the world. As the scales of worldliness are taken from our eyes, we see more clearly who we are and what our responsibilities are concerning our divine destiny.
I humbly acknowledge that these many experiences have nurtured a sure knowledge that Jesus is our Savior and Redeemer. I have heard His voice and felt His influence and presence. They have been as a warm, spiritual cloak. The wonder of it is that all who conscientiously strive to keep the commandments and sustain their leaders can receive this same knowledge in some measure. The privilege of serving in the cause of the Master can bring great satisfaction and inner peace.
The united testimonies and faith of the early Church members brought them from Palmyra to Kirtland, and from Nauvoo to the Salt Lake Valley. Eventually that faith will establish this work all over the world. That strength of testimony and faith moves the work of God forward in such a marvelous way. The power of the Lord is in this work, as evidenced in the wonderful happenings of our time.
President Gordon B. Hinckley presides over what is possibly the greatest number of faithful people who have ever lived upon the face of the earth. I testify that he is a truly great prophet. He needs faithful followers. The great strength of this Church comes from our collective and individual testimonies, born of our own trials and faithfulness. The faithfulness of the Saints has permitted this great Conference Center to be built and dedicated in the name of the Lord on this historic day. It is unique in all the world. So wondrous and great are the works of the Lord in our time. As a people, we are not as yet what we ought to be—far from it. However, I hope we will strive harder to become a more righteous people, worthy to continue to receive the blessings of heaven.
The acceleration of temple building in our time has been marvelous. Through the prophetic vision of President Hinckley, we now have many temples that dot many lands on the earth. This remarkable achievement has been made possible because of faithful tithe payers. This in turn has caused the Lord to redeem His promise spoken through Malachi: “And prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.” All of these exquisite holy edifices are a testimony of our belief that the Savior broke the bonds of death and opened up the way for us to enter into covenants which will be binding in another world.
Like Alma, I can testify, “All things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator.”
In a revelation to the Prophet Joseph Smith that I know to be true, the Savior testified of Himself in these words:
“I am the true light that lighteth every man that cometh into the world;
“… I am in the Father, and the Father in me, and the Father and I are one.”
The Lord has promised that “every soul who forsaketh his sins and cometh unto me, and calleth on my name, and obeyeth my voice, and keepeth my commandments, shall see my face and know that I am.”
When I was called to the holy apostleship many years ago, my sure witness prompted me to testify on that occasion in these words: “I understand that a chief requirement for the holy apostleship is to be a personal witness of Jesus as the Christ and the Divine Redeemer. Perhaps on that basis alone, I can qualify. This truth has been made known to me by the unspeakable peace and power of the Spirit of God.”
Since accepting that call many years ago, my certain witness has been greatly magnified. This is because of my undeniable testimony that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God.
My greatest desire is to be true and faithful to the end of my days on this earth. That we may all do so, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

A number of years ago I had an assignment to accompany President Spencer W. Kimball to a regional conference. We had many meetings. After the conference a lovely dinner was held in the Prophet's honor. Eighteen stake presidents and their wives, together with a few others were in attendance. We were assembled in a large banquet room with tables covered with white linen arranged in a square. I was seated about as far from the head table as you could get. My seatmate was a long time friend Jerry Cahill who represented the public affairs department of the Church.
The master of ceremonies made a few remarks and turned the time over to the prophet. President Kimball rose to his feet, thanked everyone for their hospitality and then said, " I think I would like to hear from you. Would a representative of each of the couples please stand and tell me a little about yourselves, your families, and your experience in the Church."
As the president was giving these instructions Brother Cahill whispered to me, "This is going to be so great! I was with him in another conference when he did this. I have never been in a more spiritual meeting in my life. After they are through speaking President Kimball will stand again and say, 'Now let me introduce myself to you. My name is Spencer W. Kimball. Some say I am a prophet of God. Let me tell you a few things that have touched my soul today.'"
Just then the master of ceremonies jumped to his feet and took the microphone from the prophet. He was certain he knew what God wanted. He was certain that he knew what would be best for the stake presidents and their wives.
He said, "O we don't want to do that President. We can listen to them any time. We want to hear from you." President Kimball looked at him for a moment and said, "I think I'm feeling a little tired. I believe I would like to go to my room now."
And while that master of ceremonies may have had a testimony of the gospel, he didn't have a testimony of obedience. Like Sidney Rigdon, he didn't know what it meant to sit at the feet of a prophet, and his certainty that he knew what the Prophet wanted, kept him from hearing what the Lord might otherwise have taught him.

But the arctic offers other more satisfying and rewarding experiences, not so full of sadness and uncertainty. Let me relate one. I could not tell what caused the rough-legged hawk, who shares the cliffs with peregrines, to make repeated swoops at the top of the brush-covered bluff above its nest. The nest was only about two feet below the bluff’s brink and contained four large fledglings nearly of age to leave the nest on their maiden flights. It was July 1968 and the stillness of the tundra was only interrupted by mosquitos humming in my ears. Suddenly, the reason for the hawk’s concern became evident as a wolverine emerged from the brush and tried to reach its paw down to one of the young hawks before being struck by the parent bird. It did not succeed, however. From a flashing dive the male parent hit the wolverine squarely in the middle of the back, nearly knocking it over the bluff. The battle was momentarily decided, and the wolverine retreated to search elsewhere for food. Few people see wild wolverines, let alone watch them in such a completely natural act; we were but 100 feet away.

“Wider, please.”
Lane was reluctant to show the tartar on his teeth to the cute, new dental assistant, but he had no choice. She pulled the overhead light closer. He admired her green eyes, all he could see of her face. The rest was hidden behind the surgical mask. He watched her gloved fingers juggle the little dental pick and mirror as she scraped at his teeth.
Lane was relieved to see that Rhonda, the regular assistant who had worked there for years, was not there. She was an older woman who had always been very nice to him, but she had a horrible case of dandruff and he could see the flakes all too clearly whenever she bent her head over his open mouth.
“You must be new,” he managed to say to the assistant. It was obvious, but it was all he could think of to say. “I’ve been coming to Dr. Hodges since I was a little boy, and I’ve never seen you here.”
“Mmmm,” she said, concentrating. “Just moved here. How often do you floss?”
“Uh, well, maybe a few times a month. I kind of forget to do it every day,” he admitted. Now he regretted being so lax with his flossing. He was probably not making a very good impression. He would have to hurry to change that. Once Dr. Hodges injected the anesthetic, his mouth would go numb. It would be impossible to impress her with a lopsided smile and garbled speech. He wondered how he could let her know that he had made the winning basket last year in the high school playoffs without seeming arrogant.
He missed his chance. The assistant squirted his mouth and suctioned the water out, dabbed his face with the paper bib pinned around his neck, then left. He heard his little brother Evan talking to her from the cubicle next to his. Evan would talk her leg off. Dad had predicted that Evan would grow up to be either a police negotiator or an auctioneer.
“Hey, my brother has to get his teeth fixed, and he already had a whole bunch of shots. I don’t think he cried. He’s getting a short haircut, and my mom and dad bought him a bunch of suits and ties.”
“Wow,” was all the assistant said, in a dull-sounding tone. She told Evan, “I’m putting some of this cleaning stuff on your teeth. It’s a little gritty, like sand, but it tastes like cherries. I’ll use this little tool and scrub your teeth with it, okay?”
“Oh, that’s like the cleanser I use on the bathtub on Saturday when I do my Saturday jobs. Except it tastes better.” There was a pause, and then Evan said, “Not that I ever ate cleanser. Yuck!”
It was quiet while the assistant scrubbed his teeth, but as soon as Evan’s mouth was free, Lane could hear him talking again.
Dr. Hodges came in. For a moment, Lane was distracted while the dentist examined his teeth and got ready to give him the anesthetic.
Lane could hear Evan as he continued to talk. “I’m getting baptized next Saturday. I’m eight, so I’m old enough because I mostly know how to tell right from wrong. Baptisms are in a big font like a warm swimming pool. I guess it’s like a bath for my spirit. Hey, you can come if you want. It’s at seven on Saturday night at Westbrook chapel, just a couple blocks from my house.”
Lane was thinking, Come up for air, buddy, even as his eyes squinted in pain as Dr. Hodges nestled the needle into the back of his mouth.
Evan kept talking. “My brother’s going on a mission. It’s for our church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Some people call us Mormons because we have the Book of Mormon. It’s kind of like the Bible, but we read the Bible, too. Anyway, my brother will go to Argentina and baptize people there after he teaches them about the gospel. They put on white clothes and go under the water too. Nobody drowns,” he added.
Then Evan said, “He’ll be gone a long time. Two whole years. And nobody pays him. He usually doesn’t do things for free.” Lane could hear a smile in Evan’s voice when he said, “And I get his room.”
Dr. Hodges chuckled and said, “Your little brother’s quite a talker.” All Lane could say, with his mouth full of anesthetic, was, “Tell me about it.”
In the next cubicle, the assistant said, “Evan, we’re all done. If you want, you can wait for your brother here.”
“Okay,” Evan answered cheerfully. “I brought my Friend with me. Do you get the Friend?” Without waiting for her to answer, he continued, “I don’t think the dentist gets it because I didn’t see it with the magazines in the waiting room.”
Lane didn’t think the assistant understood Evan because she said, “Your friend, huh? What’s his name?”
Evan patiently explained, “No, the Friend isn’t a person; it’s a magazine for kids about my church. There are magazines for big people, too. You can look at mine and see what’s in it. There are stories and games. I was trying to find all the stuff hidden in this picture.”
Lane could hear the assistant putting instruments away and moving around in the cubicle. Lane’s attention quickly became focused on his own mouth as Dr. Hodges carefully drilled out his cavities and applied the fillings.
Evan was still talking. “My brother is going to explain about the Church on his mission to people like you who don’t know about it. You’d really like it. We learn about Jesus and how to be like him. I have my own Book of Mormon, but my grandma will give me a brand-new one with gold on the edges and my name on it when I get baptized. I think the dentist needs one in his waiting room. He can have my old one. I brought it to read the part about Jesus coming to America. My dad marked the place for me.”
Finally, the appointment was over. Lane tried one last time to talk to the assistant. “Sorry about my little brother,” he said, flashing his clean teeth in what he hoped was a brilliant smile, though he could feel only half his mouth curve upward. “He’s really a chatterbox.”
“No problem,” the girl said. “I think he’s cute.”
Lane refrained from asking what she thought of Evan’s older brother, though he was tempted. He hoped she thought he was cute, too.
She said, “Going to Argentina, huh?”
“Yes,” Lane said, quickly adding, “I’ll only be gone for two years. Do you plan to work here for a while?” She smiled and left to clean more teeth.
Evan picked out a toy dinosaur from the dentist’s treasure chest, then told Dr. Hodges, “I’m leaving you this book for your waiting room.” He held out his Book of Mormon to show him. “It doesn’t cost you anything.”
Dr. Hodges looked puzzled but nodded his consent and then went to attend to a patient.
On the way home, Evan suggested they stop at the store for some candy, but Lane said no. “You want to undo all the work we just had done? That’s how you get cavities! You keep it up and the only thing you’ll be able to eat will be soup.”
They rode in silence for a split second. “Is that how you got all your cavities?” Evan asked.
After the baptism, Evan changed into dry clothes and was talking to his grandpa when he looked to the back of the room and started waving furiously. “Hey! You came!”
Lane was startled to see Dr. Hodges standing near the back. Evan called out, “Hey, he’s my dentist!”
The boys and their parents made their way to Dr. Hodges and told him they were glad to see him. Dr. Hodges smiled at Evan and said, “You were right, Evan. You didn’t drown.”
To Evan’s parents, he said, “I hope you don’t mind my coming. My sister has been writing to me about the Book of Mormon, and she has been talking about getting baptized. Evan invited us to come to his baptism when he was at the office last week, and I wanted to see what your church was about. I’ve known your family for years, and I know you’re good people, but I didn’t realize you were Mormon until Evan brought in his Book of Mormon and told us about your church.”
He spoke to Evan again. “I hope you don’t mind that I took your Book of Mormon home with me. I’ve really enjoyed reading it.”
After they got home, Evan came into Lane’s room, where Lane was packing his suitcase. Lane had been quietly getting ready to go to the Missionary Training Center, thinking about Evan’s baptism. He was feeling ashamed. He had had plenty of opportunities to talk about the Church at the dentist’s office and didn’t. He was too busy hanging onto the last shred of his social life before leaving. He had thought it would be hard to be a missionary because he didn’t know what to say to people. But wasn’t missionary work just getting the word out and being happy about having the gospel, like Evan? It was that simple.
“Hey, buddy,” Lane said, hugging his little brother, “you are one terrific missionary. Think you might fit into my suitcase? I could be your junior companion.”

When I was an undergraduate student at BYU, I had a number of great opportunities to choose from. All were excellent, worthy options, but I felt a lot of pressure to make the “right” choice. I worried that if I didn’t choose correctly, I would “mess up” God’s plan for me. After weeks of feeling unsettled and confused, I devoted a Sunday to fasting and prayer. Still unsure, I called my brother that night and asked him to give me a priesthood blessing. In that blessing, I was given very specific instructions as to what the Lord wanted me to do. This clarity brought me great relief, and I happily trusted and obeyed.

About a year and a half later, I had just graduated with my bachelor’s degree and was beginning a graduate program in dance. During the first few days of the semester, I suddenly got cold feet. I was worried that what I was doing was self-indulgent and impractical. I already had one degree that didn’t have immediate job prospects, and now I was going for another! I visited an advisement office and learned that I could enroll in a postgraduate course of study to get licensure to teach English in secondary education in just one year. This sounded like a more practical choice because it was shorter and had more obvious job prospects.

Once again, I sought a priesthood blessing to help me decide what to do. I was confident that Heavenly Father would once again instruct me on which choice He wanted me to make. However, this blessing went very differently than the previous one. This time I was not told what He wanted me to do. Rather, I was advised that I should choose the one that I felt would make me happiest. This answer came as a big surprise to me, and I actually wasn’t too excited with the counsel because it put the responsibility of choosing back on me. In my disappointment, I also interpreted it to mean that my schooling and future employment didn’t matter to the Lord.

In the years that have passed, I have realized how wrong my reaction was. I was actually given a gift of love and trust that day by a loving parent who wanted me to grow. First, I was given permission to choose what I thought would make me happy without any financial strings attached. Deep down I knew what I wanted to do, but I hesitated to give myself permission to follow my heart. I now see that my Heavenly Father knew me well enough to know what I would choose and that that choice would lead me to this wonderful career. But He wanted me to learn to trust myself and to take ownership of this big decision. It was as if He was saying, “I know what you want, and it’s a good thing. I trust you. Now trust yourself.”