Gospel Story Finder

These types of conversations are not too unusual for young people in Boston. Rose Marie Knighton, Weston Ward, said her friends at school noticed that she didn’t use bad language. “One of my friends came up to me and said, ‘I’ve never heard you swear.’
“I said, ‘That’s because I don’t.’
“‘You mean you’ve never sworn once in your whole life?’
“‘No.’
“‘Well, swear now.’
“‘No.’
“‘That’s neat.’
“The fact that she reacted like that made me feel pretty good. Not using bad language is hard, especially on the playing field. I play soccer. Sometimes the refs will make a bad call or a player will just make me mad and everyone around me is swearing, and I just have to concentrate on not doing it too.”

You have had such experiences. It may have been when you chose to attend a sacrament meeting. It was for me on a Sabbath when I was very young. In those days we received the sacrament during an evening meeting. The memory of one day more than 65 years ago, when I kept the commandment to gather with my family and with the Saints, still draws me closer to the Savior.
It was dark and cold outside. I remember feeling light and warmth in the chapel that evening with my parents. We partook of the sacrament, administered by Aaronic Priesthood holders, covenanting with our Heavenly Father to always remember His Son and keep His commandments.
At the end of the meeting we sang the hymn “Abide with Me; ’Tis Eventide,” with the words in it “O Savior, stay this night with me.”3
I felt the Savior’s love and closeness that evening. And I felt the comfort of the Holy Ghost.

I’d like to tell you about the time I and other family members crossed that Canadian-U.S. border with our dad and mom on our way back home, knowing for Dad it would be the last time. As we cleared customs, Dad raised up from his sick bed in the back of the car and commented, “This prairie has never looked so beautiful. It’s at it’s very best for my last inspection.”
During our brief stay in our old hometown, we sauntered haltingly down the gravel road past the tall cottonwood trees where the old school had been. Dad took the lead. “It was the old bell,” he said, and we all looked in the same direction, seeing it clearly in our mind’s eye. “The school bell kept us in line. There were two bells,” he went on. “A fifteen-minute bell would ring six times, giving ample warning before the final five-minute bell sounded a simple dingdong—and you’d better be there.” His weakened voice increased in intensity as he added, “It’s important to listen for the bell.”
As we mused together in silence for a time, I pondered the possibility of my own inner bell being silenced, if only for a moment, just a rest break maybe. In years since, rather than wishing to silence the bell within, I feel myself strain a little that I might hear it more clearly.
After our trip to Canada, Dad talked about going home on that final journey and we talked together of the border crossing. His body was less than 100 pounds, and his mortal journey was coming to a close. Dad talked about the sweetness and sacredness of these times and spoke of the nearness of the Lord, the Holy One of Israel, the gatekeeper. Life had presented plenty of struggles, and he had used them to prove himself worthy and to cleanse the soul. And he was ready for the border crossing.
That last day, Dad spoke of Addison, his younger brother who had gone on before him. I wonder if his brother, and maybe his mother and father, were standing at the window an hour before his expected arrival, anxious for his safe return home.
By midafternoon I had decided to sit with Dad. It seemed his eyes were open, yet he wasn’t seeing me. I took his hand in mine, a hand that had spanked me and blessed me and caressed me throughout my life. “Dad,” I whispered. He didn’t respond. “If you know I’m here, please squeeze my hand.” I wasn’t sure if there was a squeeze, but it didn’t seem like it. I bent over and put my cheek to his very bony cheek, with my hand on the other side of his face. I waited just a second, then straightened up. He looked at me just a moment, and in his eyes I saw complete peace. Joy, trust, confidence, and anticipation all mingled together in that look. He was ready for the border crossing and the gatekeeper, the Holy One of Israel. A tear escaped the corner of his eye. I pressed my cheek to his again. There are things we cannot find words or even sounds to express, but in that moment, I had some sense of what that final crossing might be and the ecstasy that we’ll never fully understand in this life.

But there’s something that poisons the kind of relationship I’m looking for. I first became aware of it with a close friend of mine. He and I grew up together from Primary lessons to high school dances and cared about each other deeply. I was excited to see him get ready to serve a mission. Then one day he had a look on his face that made me think he was going to announce he had a terminal illness. He blurted out he would have to delay his mission because of morality problems he’d had that started with pornography. I felt so bad for him. I still cared about him and all the memories I had with him, but the blow was a difficult one for me to handle.
My experience with my friend made me think. Even if I never viewed pornography myself, I realized it could still hurt me if people I loved chose to look at it.

Alyce lives in Launceston, Australia, and has always loved to draw, but it was only in her last two years of high school that she began to take art seriously as a potential career. At the age of 19, she was offered representation with a local gallery, and after eight very successful years of showing her work commercially with them, she decided to step back to complete her bachelor of fine arts at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah.
“Art has always been an important part of my life and it has helped me to better understand important gospel truths and to experience God’s love in ways that I wouldn’t have been able to otherwise.”
“When I create artwork, I always try to do so in a way that not only invites the Spirit into my studio but also into the lives of those who view the finished works.”
Working primarily in pen and acrylic (with the occasional shotgun blast), Alyce’s works are steeped in metaphor, nostalgia and her personal and family history. She uses animal forms to explore and expose the subtle emotions of the human experience.
Her entry, “The Others,” was selected for a merit award. In this work, three breeds of sheep confront the viewer, inviting close and careful study.
“During His mortal and post-mortal ministry, the Saviour often referred to Himself as the Good Shepherd. As the Good Shepherd, He knew each of His sheep intimately and loved them unconditionally . . . He invited all to hear His voice and to come unto Him that He might lead them home safely.”
“Regardless of breed, gender, or pedigree, in the eyes of the Good Shepherd, we as His sheep are all alike and are known, loved, and wanted.”

Car horns blared and taxis and buses jostled for a place in the traffic. As Benjamin Misalucha sat in the marketplace watching the automobiles roll by, he reached for a handkerchief and mopped his brow. He hoped his wife would be done with the shopping soon. The weather was hot and muggy, as it often is in the Philippines, and he was eager to get home and relax with his children.
Then he noticed a sign, high on the side of one of the buildings overlooking the square. “No other success can compensate for failure in the home,” the sign read. He found himself contemplating the message and believing in its truth.
“During those times I was young, about 30, and had four children. We had everything, comparatively speaking, compared to other Filipinos, but I was not satisfied with life. In my heart I knew I was searching for something more,” he said.
He didn’t guess that the quotation from President David O. McKay had been inscribed on the sign by missionaries living in the building, the same kind of Mormon missionaries who had already visited with him for three weeks when he lived in Manila, the capital city. He had also been visited twice by the elders here in Davao, another large city in the south.
A short time later, Benjamin Misalucha was transferred by his pharmaceutical company to Cebu City, an important community on one of the central islands. It was in Cebu that Mr. Misalucha and his family would discover the secret of what had been lacking in their lives.
In a society in which sharing is so accepted, it might seem unusual that someone would stand out as being particularly kind and generous. But such was the case with the local Parent Teacher Association (PTA) president. Right from the start she went out of her way to help the Misaluchas adjust to their new city. Soon Mr. Misalucha was serving on the PTA board. He eventually found out that the PTA president was also the wife of the local Mormon bishop. His curiosity grew and grew.
“One day I saw both of them walking home, and I ran over to catch up with them,” Mr. Misalucha explained. “I told him I wanted to know more about his church. He said he could recommend a couple of nice young men who could teach me about it.”
For the next ten months, the elders became a regular fixture in the Misalucha home. Benjamin Misalucha would entertain them with stories about previous encounters with missionaries, before he fully understood who they were: “They knocked on my door and asked me if I was the head of the house. I was all hot and perspiring from doing some chores, so I told them, ‘No, I’m just the janitor here.’ It’s something I say jokingly to my family all the time, but they believed me!”
Avelina would always provide cold water or juice, cake, or even siopao (doughy, white, steamed Chinese bread stuffed with sausage and eggs). And of course, the children, who numbered five by now, would have fun teasing the missionaries and telling jokes before the serious gospel discussions began.
“I wanted answers from the Bible,” Benjamin said, “because I didn’t believe in the Book of Mormon yet. And they showed me answers in the Bible. I was totally perplexed by how they could always get answers to questions I couldn’t even answer myself.” Slowly, his perplexed state gave way to understanding. The missionaries could find the answers because they knew the truth. He summoned a family council.
“Take this individually into prayer,” he told his wife and children. At the next family council, they all voted in favor of becoming Latter-day Saints. The family was baptized on April 29, 1978, a Saturday.

John usually raced downstairs when Mom called him for family home evening, but tonight he was already sitting on the couch when Mom came in the living room. The smell of Dad’s brownies had teased him in, but that wasn’t the only reason for his smile. Every week at family home evening, Mom read the latest e-mail from John’s brother David, who was serving a mission.
“Did David talk about his wrist this week?” John asked. Last week, David had mentioned that he had been in a bike accident and might have broken his wrist.
“Let’s find out,” Mom said.
“Dear family,” she read. “The doctor says my wrist is definitely broken. The broken bone is pushing other bones in my wrist out of alignment. I will probably need surgery. I am not in pain, and it is not swollen. It just is very broken.”
Mom kept reading. David had written about his companion and the people he had taught, but John’s mind was still on his brother’s wrist.
“Mom? Can I say family prayer tonight?” he asked when Mom finished.
“Sure,” Mom said.
The family knelt for prayer, and John made sure he prayed extra hard for David.
When they had brownies, John felt a little better, but he was still worried about his brother.
During the next week, John spent a lot of time praying for David. The next Sunday at dinner, Mom had an announcement.
“David is going to have surgery this week,” she said. “But the doctors are concerned because this type of injury is difficult to heal. They aren’t sure it will heal properly after the surgery.”
“Will David be able to finish his mission?” John asked.
“I’m not sure,” Dad said.
John stared at his plate. As much as he missed his brother, he didn’t want David to have to come home from his mission.
“Dad and I have an idea,” Mom said. “I know we’ve been praying for David, but we’d like to have a special fast for him.”
“A special fast?” John asked.
“It wouldn’t be on fast Sunday, and we would ask our friends and family to fast and pray that the surgery will go well.”
“We think you’re old enough to fast, so you can fast with us if you’d like,” Dad said.
“I like that idea,” John said.
A month and a half later, after a difficult surgery and several weeks in a cast, David sent an e-mail.
“Dear family, my wrist is an interesting story, especially the reaction from my doctor. He couldn’t find any sign of the fracture! He took lots more X-rays and told me that the bone had completely healed and that he didn’t need to put me back into a cast. My doctor isn’t a member of the Church, but he said my healing was a miracle. It’s incredible how all those prayers really worked.”
John leaned over Mom’s lap to read the e-mail for himself. “The fasting helped cause a miracle, didn’t it?” he asked.
Mom nodded. “The fast and all those prayers.”

In the Crandall family were three redheaded brothers. Matthew and Mark were ten-year-old twins; Luke was eight. The three boys shared everything, including a basement bedroom and the battered blue bicycle with the bright red seat. They often put their three red heads together to make the best and most spectacular plans.
One summer day when the boys had exhausted every idea for adventure, they sat dejectedly in the shade of a maple tree. “If only we each had our own bicycle,” Matthew sighed. “We could explore the whole town.”
“Yeah,” Mark and Luke moaned in unison.
Suddenly Matthew sat up straight. “Listen!” he exclaimed. “There’s our answer!”
Mark cocked an ear. “That’s just Mr. Brown starting his lawn mower.”
Matthew punched the air. “Exactly!”
Mark and Luke exchanged bewildered glances.
“Remember the Petersons’ rummage sale?” Matthew said. “No one bought those two used lawn mowers.”
Mark nodded. “Mr. Peterson said we could have them to make go-carts.”
Matthew continued breathlessly. “Go-carts can wait. We’re going to start our own lawn-mowing service! We’ll earn enough money for three brand-new bikes!”
“Yippee!” Mark yelled.
Luke’s eyes grew as round as baseballs. His very own bike? Just by mowing a few lawns? “When do we start?”
They agreed on a plan: Matthew and Mark would get Mr. Peterson’s mowers humming again. Luke would use Dad’s new mower. Searching through a thick department store catalog, they selected the bicycle of their dreams—the Deluxe Sun Racer for $129.95. Matthew brought out his calculator. With sales tax, each boy would need to mow thirty lawns at five dollars each.
“Thirty lawns? How are we going to find thirty lawns to mow?” Mark asked.
“Tomorrow we’ll go door-to-door,” Matthew explained. He looked at his younger brother, who was nervously biting his lower lip. “Don’t worry, Luke. We’ll all go together. Mom always says that three redheads are better than one!”
Mom was right. People found it hard to refuse the three redheaded brothers with shiny, scrubbed cheeks and sparkling green eyes. By the end of the day, they had appointments for twenty-six lawns. The next day added even more customers, and Matthew announced that the mowing would begin Saturday morning. “Mark, you’re scheduled for five lawns in Jimmy’s neighborhood. I’ll do five in the Petersons’, and, Luke, you’ll do five in our own.”
Luke gulped. Five lawns in one day? Was it possible? “Are you sure we can—?” he began.
“Of course!” Matthew said brightly. “It’ll be easy! Plan on half an hour for each lawn, and we’ll be home in time for lunch!”
Luke still felt doubtful, but when Matthew opened the catalog, now permanently creased at the Deluxe Sun Racer page, his excitement quickly returned.
Saturday morning arrived under a cloudless sky. The first three appointments were for nine o’clock sharp, and the three brothers parted at the corner. “You’ll do great, Luke!” Matthew called over his shoulder. “Just concentrate on that new Deluxe Sun Racer!”
Luke waved and tried to smile. He looked at the list Matthew had given him. “Johnson, Taylor, Parker, Martinez, Hall.” Five lawns. Luke studied Mr. Johnson’s yard. It was nice and square, with one tree in the front yard and one in the back. Easy as pie.
But it was ten fifteen when Luke, red-faced and sweating, finally moved on to the Taylors’.
Dad came by about ten thirty to bring him a snack. “Luke? I thought you’d be at the Parkers’ by now. Are you all right, son?”
Luke nodded and blinked back weary tears. He took a long drink of the ice water Mom had sent, and wiped his face on his sleeve. “Don’t tell Matthew, Dad. I’ll catch up. Look at the Halls’ yard. That one will be a cinch!”
Luke carefully turned the mower around a sprinkler head. Maybe Matthew hadn’t figured on the extra time required for things like sprinklers and flower beds and little toys scattered around that had to be picked up. At this rate, Luke might be finished by dinnertime—or bedtime.
About twelve-thirty, disaster struck. Luke was puffing along the side of the Martinezes’ little red-brick house when something clanged and snapped, and Dad’s mower came to a sickening, grinding halt. “Oh, no!” Luke groaned. It couldn’t be a sprinkler head, and it wasn’t a ball or toy. Making sure the engine was off, he tipped the mower onto its side.
It was horribly terrible. It was terribly horrible. It was worse than anything he could have imagined. There, with a clump of freshly-mown grass clinging to it, was the mower blade, bent and twisted, barely hanging by one crooked bolt to the motor.
The culprit was a gleaming piece of steel the size of a ruler that had lain buried in the blades of grass, waiting to attack Dad’s mower. Luke fell backward on the soft grass and put his arms over his face in horror.
“Luke? What’s wrong?”
It was Mr. Martinez. He looked pale and frightened. Luke stood up. “I’m OK, Mr. Martinez. It’s the mower. I’m afraid it’s wrecked. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to come back another time to finish your lawn.”
Mr. Martinez patted him on the back. “Don’t worry. You were almost finished. I can cut the rest myself.” He tucked a crisp five-dollar bill into Luke’s shirt pocket even though Luke protested. “You earned it, Luke. I’m proud of you.”
Luke shook his head and trudged home. There would never be a Deluxe Sun Racer with his name on it now.
Parking the broken mower behind the garage, he slipped down to his room and curled up on his bed. Why me? he thought.
He wasn’t in hiding very long. “What have you done, Luke?” Matthew yelled bursting into the room. “The best mower we have is now a pile of junk!”
Mark was right behind him. “You only finished four lawns! Now we’ll have to do your last one another day!”
“If there is another day!” Matthew raged. “Mr. Hall said he’d wasted a whole Saturday waiting for some pip-squeak to mow his lawn! You really blew it this time, Luke!”
Luke was sick. He had blown it. That night he had nightmares of metal monsters in a sea of grass. His brothers were flying over him on their slick new bikes as he pushed five, six, seven mowers until—crunch—they all turned into knots of tangled steel.
The next morning, his brothers were still angry. They ignored him as they dressed for church. They ignored him during breakfast. They ignored him when they walked to the meetinghouse.
In class, Luke sat with his eyes on the floor. Sister Harding asked him questions, but he only shrugged in reply. She was talking about Lehi’s travels through the wilderness. She paused a moment, searched Luke’s troubled face, then asked, “Luke, you have older brothers, don’t you?”
Luke’s eyes flashed. “Yes.”
Sister Harding leaned forward. “So did Nephi, Luke. What is it like to be a younger brother?”
Luke looked around at the other kids. “It isn’t always fun. They like to boss me around, and … they get mad if I ruin their plans.”
Sister Harding smiled softly. “You and Nephi are a lot alike, Luke. You see, there were many times when Laman and Lemuel ‘bossed’ Nephi around, especially when there was work to be done. Once, when the family was in the wilderness, it was Nephi’s job to help hunt for food. He had a very fine bow made of steel, but on one of his hunting trips, his bow broke. When his brothers found out, they were very angry at him. Their own bows had lost their spring, and without bows, they were afraid that they would starve. So they were mean to Nephi.”
Luke’s eyes grew wide as he listened to his teacher. Nephi and Laman and Lemuel sounded just like him and his brothers!
Sister Harding went on, “Nephi didn’t yell at his brothers. Instead, he built another bow out of wood and made an arrow out of a straight stick. He also made a slingshot and gathered stones for it.”
Luke listened quietly.
“Nephi asked Lehi where he should go to get food for their family,” Sister Harding continued. “Lehi prayed, and Heavenly Father showed Nephi the place to hunt. When he came back with plenty of meat for everyone, his brothers were sorry that they had been so mean. And Nephi forgave them.”
Luke thought about Nephi and the broken bow all day, especially when Matthew and Mark sneaked off after dinner to make new plans without him. Fine, Luke thought. I have plans of my own to make. And he didn’t forget to say a heartfelt prayer before he climbed into bed that night.
The next morning, he called Uncle Tim, who worked in a salvage yard. He often helped the boys find parts for their old blue bicycle. “Uncle Tim? I need a mower blade.”
Uncle Tim laughed. “One of those old mowers needs a new blade already, huh?”
“No, it’s for Dad’s mower. I sort of … broke it last Saturday.”
“Oh.” Uncle Tim was quiet. Luke could hear him turning the pages of the big notebook where many of the parts in the yard were listed. “It looks like I might be able to find one for you, Luke,” he finally answered. “Come by in about an hour.”
Luke gripped the telephone receiver. “Uncle Tim? How much will it cost? I only have two dollars and thirty cents.”
“Well, I’ll find the best one I can for that price.”
For the next hour, Luke worked on getting the twisted blade off Dad’s mower. It was hard to turn the wrench. The bolt was bent, and he had to pound on it. His arms began to ache, and he felt a blister bubbling on his palm. Still, he couldn’t quit until the blade was off. It finally fell with a clunk to the cement, and Luke sat back, trying to catch his breath.
On his way to the salvage yard, Luke saw his brothers playing kickball with Jimmy in a vacant lot. They didn’t pay any attention to him as he passed by.
Uncle Tim was waiting for him with a blade that looked perfect. “I’ll let you have it for … let’s see—one dollar ought to do it.” He wrapped the mower blade in an old newspaper.
Next, Luke took the twisted bolt to the hardware store. He compared the oily, bent bolt to each bin of shiny, silver ones until he found its exact match. Luke handed over his last dollar for the new bolt and pocketed the change triumphantly. He carried his two packages home like prizes.
All through dinner, Matthew and Mark sulked over their spaghetti while Luke looked impish. “Boys,” Dad announced, “I called the hardware store today. It will cost twenty dollars for the parts to fix the mower. I’ve added five of my co-worker’s names to your mowing list. With two working mowers, you should be able to earn the extra money in a day.”
Matthew and Mark moaned loudly. “It’s too hard! We might as well forget the whole idea!” Matthew said.
“No!” Luke cried. “Dad, I fixed your lawn mower today. Uncle Tim helped me find a good blade in the salvage yard.”
Dad stared at him. So did Matthew and Mark. Mom asked, “Does it work?”
Luke nodded and laughed. “I cut the grass out by the street. It works great!” He looked at his brothers. “I promise I’ll make up the lawn I missed Saturday. From now on, I’ll do my best to keep up with you guys.”
There was silence. Then Matthew looked at Mark and said, “Luke, I’m really sorry we got so mad at you. We know it wasn’t your fault. Mark and I have decided that we’ll only do a few lawns a day. So what if it takes longer to get our new bikes? We’ll still have them in a month or so.”
Mark was nodding. “I’m sorry, too, Luke.”
So, Luke thought as he watched his father check out his work after dinner, this is how Nephi felt when he came back with food.
The good feeling lingered even after the three redhaired Crandall boys had ridden their new bikes around town. When they came back, they perched in the tree in their front yard to make more of the best and most spectacular plans.

The story is told that in ancient Rome a group of women were, with vanity, showing their jewels one to another. Among them was Cornelia, the mother of two boys. One of the women said to her, “And where are your jewels?” to which Cornelia responded, pointing to her sons, “These are my jewels.” Under her tutelage, and walking after the virtues of her life, they grew to become Gaius and Tiberius Gracchus—the Gracchi, as they were called—two of the most persuasive and effective reformers in Roman history. For as long as they are remembered and spoken of, the mother who reared them after the manner of her own life will be remembered and spoken of with praise also.

When I was 13 years old, I thought that I had life all figured out. I thought that I had all the time in the world, and so did everyone else. Then something happened—something that had an eternal impact on my life—and I realized that I had a lot left to learn.
In the spring of my 13th year, my grandpa, my mother’s father, died. He had been very ill for six weeks, but still his death was unexpected and very sad for all of my family.
Because my grandmother had died the previous year, their home was now vacant. All of the activities that had taken place there for the last 25 years were now only fond memories. The house in Salt Lake City stood there with birds on the roof and tall trees hugging almost every corner; within its walls the memories filled each room with an empty silence.
As my mother and her two sisters worked to remove everything from my grandparents’ home in order to sell it, they would come across objects that recalled a certain precious time or event in their lives. Even a small object, such as a vase or a book, could revive a feeling that had faded with time. When an especially meaningful object was found, they would draw lots to see who would get the privilege of keeping it. It was the most fair way of deciding what to do.
Through this process of drawing lots, my mother acquired my grandpa’s old paint can. My grandpa had been a painter for most of his life. He painted cars mainly but would do other things, too. When I was little, I sometimes used to watch him work. I used to watch his skilled hands in awe as he slowly, yet with confidence and pride, painted our car. Grandpa loved his work. He had an attitude of perfection and always did his best. I wondered why he did his job this way, since he received the same payment regardless of how carefully he worked. I later came to realize that an inner pride made him want to do his best. From this attitude and the quality of his work, he earned a reputation as an excellent painter.
At first I couldn’t understand why my mother even wanted the old paint can. It was dusty and bent, with many different colors of paint streaks dripped down its sides. It was puzzling to me why my mother was so happy to have it. Personally, I couldn’t see that it had worth.
After a time, my mother decided to use the paint can to hold the paint brushes she uses for her hobbies. She washed and dried the can with a solemn reverence. My dad carefully straightened a bent part on the can as if to try to bring it back to a former state of perfection. My mother then sprayed the can with clear lacquer.
When she had finished, I couldn’t believe the transformation that had taken place before my eyes. It was no longer an old, dirty paint can, but a powerful remembrance of a life.
Every streak of color represented a day in my grandpa’s life. He had spent hours at work doing a job, and when that job was finished, he went on to the next one, and the next color. The pattern that was left was unique and varied—as was his life.
As the months passed, I thought more and more about my grandpa’s paint can. One day a thought struck me. All of our lives are like his paint can, with each day represented as a streak of paint. Whatever we do, we are exchanging a day of our lives for it. We can choose the “color” our days will be—some days are bright and others dark; some days overshadow others. Some days can even be redone by wiping out a bad “color” through repentance. When our lives are finished, we want to look back at them and be proud of how they turned out, as my grandpa was proud of his work.
Whenever I see my grandpa’s paint can, I always think of his life. I hope that somehow he knows how much he has influenced my life for good. He has inspired me to do my best. He left me a legacy—his example, his love, and his paint can.

For you to feel that urgency, I first share the story of Noelle Pikus-Pace, one of those Latter-day Saint athletes. In Noelle’s event, the skeleton, athletes build momentum as they sprint and then plunge headfirst on a small sled. With their faces inches above the ground, they race down a winding, icy track at speeds that top 90 miles (145 km) an hour.
Remarkably, years of preparation would be considered either a success or a disappointment based on what happened in the space of four intense 60-second runs.
Noelle’s previous 2006 Olympic dreams were dashed when a terrible accident left her with a broken leg. In the 2010 Olympics her dreams fell short again when just over one-tenth of a second kept her from the medal stand.2
Can you imagine the anxiety she felt as she waited to begin her first run in the 2014 Olympics? Years of preparation would culminate in only a sliver of time. Four minutes total. She spent years preparing for those four minutes and would spend a lifetime afterward reflecting on them.
Noelle’s final runs were virtually flawless! We will never forget her leap into the stands to embrace her family after crossing the finish line, exclaiming, “We did it!” Years of preparation had paid off. We saw her Young Women medallion around her neck as the silver medal was placed there beside it.3
It may seem unfair that Noelle’s entire Olympic dreams hinged on what she did during just four brief minutes. But she knew it, and that is why she prepared so diligently. She sensed the magnitude, the urgency of her four minutes, and what they would mean for the rest of her life.

Recently I met an intelligent young man with outstanding parents. There are exceptional material and spiritual resources available to him. He is undecided about a mission. He attends a community college because it is easier than going to a university. In his free time he does only those things that he likes to do. He doesn’t work because he doesn’t need to, and it would take time away from his pleasures. He took seminary classes to pass them, without much thought of how he should personally apply the knowledge gained. Finally I asked:
“Can I speak to you from my heart? I don’t want to offend but rather to point out something. You are making choices today that seem very reasonable to you. They seem to give you what you want: an easy life with abundant enjoyment and not much sacrifice on your part. You can do that for a while, but what you don’t realize is that every decision you make is narrowing your future. You are eliminating possibilities and options. There will come a time, and it won’t be too distant, where you are going to spend the rest of your life doing things you don’t want to do, in places you don’t want to be, because you have not prepared yourself. You are not taking advantage of your opportunities.”
I mentioned how everything I treasure today began to mature in the mission field. Missionary service is not something we do for ourselves. We have our agency. We can choose what we want to do. Yet, for me, the greatest growth and preparation for the future that most youth have today is gained in a mission. There they focus outside of themselves on other people. They draw close to the Lord and really learn His teachings. They find individuals interested in the message but not sure of its worth. They try with every capacity—prayer, fasting, and testifying—to help that person change his life. That’s what a mission does when it is done selflessly, as many can testify. I felt impressed to give this young man a blessing. As he walked out of the room, I prayed earnestly that somehow the Lord would touch him to choose the right priorities. Otherwise his progress will be limited and his happiness short-circuited.

One day in 2023, Uyanga Altansukh was at work in the northern Mongolian city of Darkhan when the Mongolian mission president entered her workplace. In her words:
““I saw him and thought he had this bright light in his countenance. He was very kind and fun to those around him, and I felt warmth. Before he left, I asked him some questions. A few days later, he came into my work again and asked if I could attend his church. I thought it might be helpful. I was worried for my children’s future, as society seemed to be full of stress and darkness. I wanted my children to be like this man with a light in their countenance, spreading joy to others around them.
“One day the missionaries taught us the law of tithing. My children said with excitement, ‘We must pay our tithing, Mom.’ I could see my children’s faith at that moment. Before I joined the Church, I watched general conference and listened to President Russell M. Nelson speak. He announced new temples all over the world and said that a new temple would be built in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. I rejoiced and shed tears, even though I did not understand why. With this joy, I could tell that my faith and testimony were growing.”
Uyanga, like millions of others, is part of the great gathering of Israel in preparation for the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. She has begun her journey along the covenant path and has become a disciple of Christ. What does it mean to be a disciple of Christ? I appreciate the Japanese word for disciple—deshi—de meaning younger brother, and shi meaning child.
Jesus Christ declared, “I was in the beginning with the Father, and am the Firstborn.” Because of who He is and what He has done, we worship Him, we revere Him, we give glory to Him, and we follow Him. Christ has redeemed us, and we are forever grateful for His infinite and atoning sacrifice.
We have a Heavenly Father, who loves us as His children. His love for us is perfect. Jesus Christ and His mission illustrate God’s love for us. As John wrote, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”
In our quest to understand what we do not know, we might sometimes rely on our familiar mortal experiences, or things we do know. For example, we can learn somewhat of God the Father through our own parenthood and mortal family relationships. However, we should be careful in applying these comparisons too far in our attempt to understand our Heavenly Father. The attributes of God the Father transcend any less-than-perfect attributes of a fallen man. God the Father is the perfect Father. He is perfectly loving, kind, patient, and understanding and is perfectly glorious. We can trust Him perfectly. The love of Christ reflects the love of God the Father and is a representation of that love.
Jesus Christ is both the example and the means. In Christ, we can understand better the perfect attributes of the Father and His plan. Through Christ, we are given the enabling power to overcome the tendencies of natural men and women so that we might become more like the Father.
Just like our Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ is perfectly merciful and just. These divine attributes of justice and mercy are not in opposition. They are complementary. Both justice and mercy illustrate God’s perfect love for His children. We can trust God the Father and Jesus Christ because They are just and fair with all of us.
God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, are perfectly aligned in purpose and love. Because God and Jesus Christ love us, we are given the opportunity and privilege as true disciples to make covenants with Them. By our doing so, our relationship with Christ is expanded: “And now, because of the covenant which ye have made ye shall be called the children of Christ, his sons, and his daughters; for behold, this day he hath spiritually begotten you; for ye say that your hearts are changed through faith on his name; therefore, ye are born of him and have become his sons and his daughters.”
As disciples, when we make and keep sacred covenants, we are blessed with spiritual power. We are connected to Christ and God the Father in a special relationship and can experience Their love and joy in a measure reserved for those who have made and kept covenants. Our ability to sense a full measure of God’s love, or to continue in His love, is contingent upon our righteous desires and actions.
In John chapter 15, verse 9, we read, “As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you.” And then we are given an invitation: “Continue ye in my love.”
In the next verse, we are given the way to continue in His love: “If ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love; even as I have kept my Father’s commandments, and abide in his love.”
We then see the purpose of keeping the commandments in verse 11: “These things have I spoken unto you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full.”
Through true covenant discipleship, we can begin to understand better the nature of God and the joy that He wants all of His children to experience. We can also begin to understand some principles that at first might seem confusing. For example, how can God have a fulness of joy when some of His children are suffering so much? The answer lies in God’s perfect perspective and in His perfect plan. He sees us from the beginning to our glorious potential future. He has provided a way, through His Son, Jesus Christ, for all of us, His children, to overcome the pains, suffering, sins, guilt, and loneliness of our mortality. God has provided for us the way and the choice.
Examples of those who have experienced joy through discipleship might help us to better understand this concept. Perhaps you have heard the phrase that we are only as happy as our most unhappy child. I have seen that this does not need to be the case. My 94-year-old mother has over 200 living descendants. At any given point, at least one of the 200 is going to be unhappy. If this statement were true, my mother would be in a perpetual state of unhappiness, which she isn’t. Those who know her know how joyful she is.
I now would like to share another experience. In January of 2019, my wife, Debbie, and I were invited into the office of President Nelson. He had positioned a chair close to us, and we sat almost knee to knee. After extending to us our current calling, President Nelson turned to Debbie and focused on her. He was kind, loving, gentle, and full of joy, like the perfect father or grandfather. He held Debbie’s hand and patted it, reassuring her that it would be OK and that our family would be blessed. It seemed to us at that moment that we were the most important people to him and that he had all the time in the world for us. We left his office that Friday afternoon feeling reassured, loved, and joyful.
On Monday we saw the news. During that same day that President Nelson had spent with us, one of his daughters had passed away from cancer. We were stunned. Our hearts were full as we mourned for him and his family. Our hearts were also full of gratitude for his Christlike attention to us while mourning for his daughter who was suffering.
As we pondered this experience, we asked ourselves, “How could he be so kind, loving, and even joyful at such a difficult time?” The answer is because he knows. He knows that Christ has been victorious. He knows he will be with his daughter again and will spend an eternity with her. Joy and eternal perspective come through being bound to the Savior by making and keeping covenants and through Christlike discipleship.
President Nelson has taught: “Just as the Savior offers peace that ‘passeth all understanding’ [Philippians 4:7], He also offers an intensity, depth, and breadth of joy that defy human logic or mortal comprehension. For example, it doesn’t seem possible to feel joy when your child suffers with an incurable illness or when you lose your job or when your spouse betrays you. Yet that is precisely the joy the Savior offers.”
As we make and keep covenants, we will naturally turn outward and have a desire to help others feel the measure of joy and love we feel in our covenantal relationships. We can be part of the greatest cause on the earth today—the gathering of Israel. We can help to bring God’s children to Christ. As the prophet Jacob taught, “And blessed art thou; for because ye have been diligent in laboring with me in my vineyard, and have kept my commandments, and have brought unto me again the natural fruit, … ye shall have joy with me because of the fruit of my vineyard.”
As we bind ourselves to act as covenant disciples, in whatever our level of capacity, our relationship with the Father and the Son is enriched, our joy enhanced, and our eternal perspective expanded. We then are endowed with power and can feel joy in a measure reserved for God’s true covenant disciples. In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“It looks like Sarah will need to have an MRI of her back,” said Dr. Frank. He smiled at Sarah. “I’m going to schedule one for tomorrow. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Sarah’s back had been hurting for a while. When she woke up that morning, it hurt so much that it was hard for her to stand up straight, and she could barely walk. Sarah and her mom had come to see Dr. Frank to find out what was wrong.
“Another MRI?” asked Sarah, looking up at Mom. She’d had an MRI once before. She remembered how scared she had felt in the big tube that took pictures of the inside of her body.
“I’m sorry, Sarah,” said Mom. “But the pictures will help Dr. Frank learn what’s wrong with your back. I know you can do it. And I’ll be right there with you.” Mom squeezed Sarah’s hand.
“But you can’t come inside with me,” said Sarah. Her head dropped, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Mom could be with her in the room, but once Sarah went into the machine’s tunnel, she would be alone.
Mom put her arm around Sarah. “That’s true, but do you know who can be there to comfort you?”
Sarah remembered a name she had heard for the Holy Ghost: the Comforter. Maybe the Holy Ghost could help her not feel so afraid.
“The Holy Ghost?” Sarah asked.
Mom nodded. “That’s right. You can pray for the Holy Ghost to help you. Dad and I will pray for you too.”
That gave Sarah a great idea. “Can I ask Dad for a blessing?”
Mom smiled. “Of course. I know he’d love to do that.”
That night Dad placed his hands on Sarah’s head and gave her a priesthood blessing. When he blessed Sarah that she would be comforted by the Holy Ghost, a soft warmth filled her body. The feeling stayed with her all night.
The next day Sarah lay on the bench that would slide into the big tube in the MRI machine. She repeated in her head the words Dad had used during her blessing: The Holy Ghost will be there to comfort you. Sarah squeezed Mom’s hand tight. Then the nurse slid her into the tube.
The MRI machine made funny noises while it took pictures of her back. Sarah had to lie very still so the pictures wouldn’t be blurry. She panicked for a minute, but then she felt that warm feeling again. It felt like one of Mom’s hugs. Or a snuggly blanket. She knew that everything would be OK. Before she knew it, the MRI was over!
In Dr. Frank’s office, he showed Sarah and Mom the pictures of Sarah’s back. “You did a great job lying still,” Dr. Frank told Sarah as he knelt down beside her. “These pictures of your back show that you will need surgery to help you walk better.”
Sarah gulped.
“We’d like to do the surgery soon,” Dr. Frank said, looking up at Sarah’s mom. Then he turned back to Sarah. “It might take a few weeks afterward for you to feel like your old self again, but after seeing you today, I know you’ll do great.”
Sarah tried to think about all the things she’d do after Dr. Frank fixed her back. I’ll be able to run and swim and jump in a big pile of leaves. She missed doing all those things. But surgery was even scarier than an MRI! Then Sarah remembered her prayers and her special blessing. Heavenly Father had sent her the Comforter. He would help her again.
She looked at Dr. Frank. “Then can I jump in a big pile of leaves?” she asked.
He grinned. “Then you can jump in a big pile of leaves.”

In early 1965, I was assigned to attend stake conferences and to hold other meetings throughout the South Pacific area. This was my first visit to that part of the world, and it was a time never to be forgotten. Much that was spiritual in nature occurred during this assignment as I met with leaders, members, and missionaries.
On the weekend of Saturday and Sunday, February 20 and 21, we were in Brisbane, Australia, to hold regular conference sessions of the Brisbane Stake. During meetings on Saturday, I was introduced to the district president from an adjoining area. As I shook his hand, I had a strong impression that I needed to speak with him and to provide counsel, and so I asked him if he would accompany me to the Sunday morning session the following day so that this could be accomplished.
Following the Sunday session, we had an opportunity to visit together. We talked of his many responsibilities as district president. As we did so, I felt impressed to offer him specific suggestions concerning missionary work and how he and his members could help the full-time missionaries in their labors in his area. I later learned that this man had been praying for guidance in this regard. To him our visit was a special witness that his prayers were heard and answered. This was a seemingly unremarkable meeting but one which I am convinced was guided by the Spirit and which made a difference in that district president’s life and administration, in the lives of his members, and in the success of the missionaries there.

When Alice’s mother and sisters decided to become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Alice was only six and too young to be baptized with the rest of her family in Bahnhofstr, Germany. Because they often talked of the wonderful experience of baptism and the joy their membership in the Church had brought them, Alice could hardly wait to be eight so she could be baptized too.
Alice planned and dreamed how she would be baptized on her birthday. “Not sometime after,” she insisted, “but on that very day.”
However, three days before Alice turned eight, she awoke with a severe headache, and the next day she was too ill to go to school.
The doctor who was called said she would have to stay home and in bed for at least a week. Alice’s big eyes filled with tears of disappointment.
The next day Alice was even more miserable, and her temperature was higher despite the medicine the doctor had prescribed. Mother was puzzled and concerned, but Alice felt worse about not being baptized on the very day of her birthday than she did about all her aches and pains and fever.
The afternoon before Alice’s birthday, her mother started into the sickroom. But she stopped at the door when she saw Alice kneeling in fervent prayer on her bed. This little girl was pleading with Heavenly Father for fulfillment of her great desire to become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
On the morning of her birthday, Alice got up, dressed, and prepared for baptism. Her fever was gone and she felt well and happy. Some hours later her mother checked Alice’s temperature again and it still registered normal.
God had answered Alice’s sincere prayer. That evening she was baptized!

A few months ago, my beloved Ruth, Elder Holland and his sweet Patty, and I accompanied a group into the fascinating old city of Jerusalem to look for the door with the name of Hyde carved on it. The enchanting smells of the open containers of spices and the sounds of men selling their wares were exhilarating. As we entered St. Saviour’s Monastery, looking for the door, we entered into old passageways surrounded by stone walls. We were told that some parts of the walls went back to the time of the Crusaders. On one wall hung an assortment of ancient rusted keys. Some of these keys were huge. All were larger than the keys we use today. Many of them were very ornate. Many of the doors the keys were made to open no longer exist, or if they do, the keys and the locks would be too rusty to open them.

Throughout my teenage years, I prepared for my mission. When a loving priests quorum adviser, David Poulsen, offered to teach any of the priests the missionary discussions, a few of us took him up on his offer. We faithfully attended 7:00 A.M. classes each Sunday.
We studied the missionary discussions, and I had most of them memorized before I ever entered the mission home. We even went out a few times and taught ward members who pretended to be investigators. Most of them were a lot tougher than any real investigators with whom I worked! In 1971 I was thrilled to accept a call to serve in the Argentina North Mission.
A mission brands the gospel on your heart. I like the way President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) described a mission as the “university of the Lord,” as an opportunity to serve others and to learn many valuable principles the Lord wants His disciples to learn. These are principles that will help us in everything we do from then on, whether in building His kingdom or in improving our personal lives.
After I returned from Argentina, missionary service remained very important to me. As I earned both a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree, I looked for chances to share the gospel. I married Jan Nielson, and we have taught our seven children the importance of missionary work.
My whole family had an opportunity to put those teachings into practice in 1994, when my wife and I received a call to preside over the Uruguay Montevideo Mission. During that time, our son Jason served in the Portland Oregon Mission and our son Andy in the Brazil Recife Mission. The rest of the family enjoyed our missionary work in Uruguay.
We are definitely a missionary family. We have learned that there is no greater work, no greater joy, than sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ.
One of my favorite things to do even now as a member of the Seventy is meet with missionaries and experience the joy that comes from serving the Lord and working with others who are also serving Him.
This interest in missionary work, this commitment to share the gospel, began when I was Primary age. That’s the age at which all boys should decide to serve a mission. That most important decision will then be a guiding influence on all that they do throughout their growing-up years.

Peter had always heard in Primary and read in the scriptures that prophets feel a great love for Heavenly Father’s children. One hot summer day, he discovered for himself that it was true.
Peter and his family, who lived in Iowa, were spending the summer of 1999 in Salt Lake City, Utah, at the condominium of their grandparents, who were away serving a mission. On the afternoon of August 11, Peter and his sister, Robbin, stood on the balcony, looking across at the Church Office Building and the valley beyond.
As they watched, a huge windstorm engulfed the Delta Center (a downtown sports arena) in a towering gray-black cloud. They could hear angry pops as power transformers exploded and hail rattled down. Electrical wires snapped, sparking and wriggling like brilliant glowing snakes.
“Mom!” Peter called. “Come quickly! The Delta Center is coming apart!”
His mother appeared at the window, and they all watched as giant pieces of the Delta Center roof spiraled into the air. The day had turned nearly as dark as night as the swirling storm sucked up dirt and debris, growing ever larger. Something felt familiar about the spinning, funnel-shaped cloud that came churning straight toward them.
“That’s a tornado!” Peter’s mother exclaimed. “Quick, come inside away from those windows!”
Peter grabbed his sister’s hand, and they rushed inside. The condominium was on the corner of the building’s top floor, and the room where they stood had two walls of glass. Peter knew from tornado drills at school that flying glass could be deadly. They had to get out of there, but where could they go?
A deep rumbling shook the building, growing louder every second. The wind howled. Dirt, rocks, bits of cement and wood, and who-knew-what-else pelted the windows like fierce rain.
Could they make it to the hallway? What if the glass shattered first? “The bathroom!” Mother and Peter shouted at the same moment.
Grabbing each other’s hands, the three rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door. They clung together near the bathtub, waiting and listening. The wind’s shrieking grew so loud that it hurt their ears. There was a loud bang, and the electricity went out. The walls and floors trembled. It sounded as if a jet plane was trying to land on their heads. Peter wondered if the roof might be sucked off. He closed his eyes and prayed silently. In the darkness, noise filled the room, their ears, and their minds.
Suddenly it was gone. The winds died. The banging stopped. Peter breathed a huge sigh of relief and tried to stop trembling. They were safe.
Together they walked back out onto the balcony. Miraculously, none of their windows were broken. But across the street, huge trees lay on the ground as if toppled by a massive hand. Cars had been smashed. A gigantic yellow crane had fallen against the unfinished Conference Center. Some windows of the Church Office Building had been broken.
Robbin glanced at a nearby apartment building. “Look! Look!” she cried, pointing. “There’s President Hinckley!”
Peter turned and looked. There stood President Hinckley on his own balcony, gazing out over the damage. Peter forgot the chaos below and stood watching the prophet for a long moment. At last, rather slowly, President Hinckley turned away and went back inside.
Peter smiled and leaned against his mother. “Wow,” he said softly.
Mother nodded. “That was some storm. I mean, how often does Salt Lake City have a tornado?”
“No.” Peter quickly shook his head. “Not that. I mean President Hinckley. He came to see what had happened. And you know what?”
“What?”
“I could feel his love and concern from here.”
Mother slipped her arm around his shoulder. “Makes you feel good, doesn’t it?”
Peter gave her a quick hug. “I think he loves us just as much as we love him.”
Mother smiled. “I’m sure he does.”
Fire engines, police sirens, and helicopters drew Peter’s attention back to the destruction. But he felt only peace. He would never forget the day he saw a prophet watching over his flock.

I was afraid a lot.
I was afraid my dad would kill himself while driving drunk. I was afraid he’d kill someone else when he was driving drunk.
Late at night I would lie in my bed with all the lights out. I would wait and wait to hear his car pull in. I’d pray over and over, “Please help him get home safely. Please don’t let him hit anyone.”
In the morning I’d look at how the car was parked in the driveway. Sometimes it would be barely an inch from the house. Sometimes it would be over into the neighbor’s flowers.
I was afraid he’d embarrass me. He did. He’d wake up from sleeping off a drunk and not really be sober. He’d stumble out of the bedroom. He’d stink of beer. He’d say dumb things. I hated it.
My real friends still liked me. Still, it was embarrassing.
I was afraid my parents would get a divorce. Many times they would have fights when my dad drank. He had a black leather suitcase in his closet. He’d get it out and start packing his clothes. If it were daytime I’d run out of the house. One day I took my dad’s white pocketknife with me. I wanted to have something of his if he left.
Sometimes I was afraid my parents would not get a divorce. I was afraid they would keep living together and I would never have a home that was nice. I thought my mother and I could go live with my grandparents. It sounded so safe.
Fear
Your friend may worry that her dad will get into an accident while driving drunk.
She may be afraid her parents will divorce. Or she may be equally afraid this painful way of living will go on forever.
She fears that her dad may embarrass her with inappropriate behavior.
She’s afraid no one will like her because of her father’s actions.
Of these fears only the last one is within your control. Make very sure your friend knows that you love and respect her. Your friendship can help reduce the corrosive effects of all the other fears.
Fear
Your life is full of fears—fear of a drunken accident, fear of divorce, fear of humiliation—the list seems endless.
I wish I could give you an easy formula for banishing fear, but I can’t. For one thing, many of your fears are well grounded.
I can only give you two bits of advice. First, when you are afraid, pray. Our Father in Heaven knows your fears and can help you master them.
Second, let some trusted adult counselor help you distinguish between real dangers and imaginary ones. With so many real things to fear, there is no room for phantoms.