Gospel Story Finder

After 21-year-old Joseph received the plates in 1827, it was here—in the frame home and the cooper shop—that he hid the sacred records to protect them until he could translate their inscriptions and publish them as the Book of Mormon.
Joseph moved the wooden box and gold plates from beneath the hearth in the frame home. He hid the plates in the loft of the cooper shop and buried the empty chest under the floorboards. That night a mob tore up the floor and smashed the empty chest but failed to search the loft just above their heads.

A final example of the dedication that acts on the basis of this ethic rather than on the suggestion of a cost-benefit analysis is found in the life of Matthew Cowley. He had been attending the Latter-day Saint University in Salt Lake City, but as he finished his freshman year, he decided he did not want to return to school the next year; he wanted to go on a mission instead. He was only seventeen years old, but he was called and was soon on his way to New Zealand to work with the Maoris.
In his diary Elder Cowley tells how his best companions there were fleas, since they so faithfully stayed close to him. Here is one entry from that diary:
“After Karakia (prayer) was held in the evening, I went to my room, and before going to bed I fortified myself against the fleas. I rubbed flea powder all over my body and put a layer of it in the bed. I trust that will stupefy them. … On arising and looking in the bed [the next morning], I found the carcasses of a multitude of fleas, and it made me feel like Napoleon to be the victor of such a battle.”8
Elder Cowley had to learn the language from scratch, of course, and during the first three months he was without a companion. He went to a grove every morning at six o’clock to study the gospel and the language and to fast and pray. There he would remain for eleven hours each day. Within three months he was able to stand before a group of natives and preach the gospel in their tongue, and, as he says, “There was a burning in my bosom the like of which I have never felt before or since in my life.”

“Are General Authorities human?”
I suppose this is a question that is in many minds and has been from the very beginning. It arises, in the very nature of things, because of the high regard in which we hold the offices that these Brethren are called to fill.
I recall an incident from early Church history, from the days of persecutions and difficulties. Heber C. Kimball, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, found himself in circumstances where he sought hospitality from a member of the Church, a widow woman. She offered him what she had—bread and milk—and provided a room with a bed for him. He went to retire. She thought: “Here’s my opportunity. I would like to find out [and this is, in effect, the same old question: Are General Authorities human?] I would like to find out what an Apostle says when he prays to the Lord.” So after the door was closed, she crept quietly up to it to listen. She heard Brother Kimball sit down on the bed. She heard each of his shoes fall to the floor. She heard him lean back on the bed and then utter these words: “Oh Lord, bless Heber; he is so tired.”
… This is a subject about which people often have incorrect concepts. Many people had this same question in their minds during the time of Joseph Smith. He said: “I was this morning introduced to a man from the east. After hearing my name, he remarked that I was nothing but a man, indicating by this expression, that he had supposed that a person to whom the Lord should see fit to reveal His will, must be something more than a man. He seemed to have forgotten the saying that fell from the lips of St. James, that [Elijah] was a man subject to like passions as we are, yet he had such power with God, that He, in answer to his prayers, shut the heavens that they gave no rain for the space of three years and six months; and again, in answer to his prayer, the heavens gave forth rain, and the earth gave forth fruit [see James 5:17–18]. Indeed, such is the darkness and ignorance of this generation, that they look upon it as incredible that a man should [speak] with his Maker.”

Illustration by Brad Teare
Isabel set the table with special plates and napkins. The smell of her favorite rolls filled the house. But she didn’t feel hungry. She wished she could skip dinner and play with her two chameleons, Flicker and Blink, instead. Or at least play with Flicker. Blink wouldn’t come out from under the leaves in her cage. She was shy.
Isabel felt shy today too. She’d never met anyone from Russia, and now three people from Russia were coming to dinner! What if she couldn’t understand them? Isabel wished she could hide like Blink.
Isabel’s older sister, Amelia, set out the cups. “Are you excited to meet my friend Natalia?” Amelia asked.
“No,” said Isabel. “How am I going to talk to her?”
Amelia raised her eyebrows. “The same way you talk to me.”
“But Natalia speaks Russian.”
“Natalia speaks our language too,” said Amelia. “So does her dad. Her mom only knows a few words, but she’s learning.”
Isabel decided she would stay away from Natalia’s mom.
The doorbell rang, and Amelia ran to answer it. Isabel could see Natalia and her parents waiting on the porch. Natalia’s dad held a bowl of salad. Her mom had a big, friendly smile.
Isabel spent dinner hunched in her seat so only her head poked over the edge of the table. She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything.
Natalia’s mom didn’t say anything either, but she smiled and nodded. Sometimes Natalia translated for her.
After dinner Isabel slipped away and wandered over to Flicker and Blink’s cage. To her surprise, Natalia and her mom followed. Inside the cage, Blink scuttled under her leaf again.
“Can I see?” said Natalia, pointing to the cage. Isabel nodded. She reached into the cage and Flicker climbed onto her hand. She handed him to Natalia.
Flicker licked Natalia’s hand. Isabel laughed. So did Natalia’s mom.
Isabel reached in the cage again, but Blink wouldn’t come out. “Come on, Blink,” Isabel said. “You’re missing all the fun.”
Natalia’s mom said something to Natalia in Russian.
“She wants to help you get the lizard,” Natalia said to Isabel.
Natalia’s mom placed her hand out flat. It looked like she was asking Isabel to move her hand next to Blink’s hiding spot. Isabel thought about how Blink was missing out by hiding.
I’m not going to be like Blink, Isabel thought. She looked at Natalia’s mom and then held out her hand. Natalia’s mom placed a drop of water and some of Blink’s food on Isabel’s hand.
Blink turned her big eyes toward the food. Her tiny green leg stretched onto Isabel’s open palm. “Good,” said Natalia’s mom. Blink’s tail curled in a loop, and her tiny feet tickled Isabel’s arm.
When it was time for Natalia’s family to go home, Natalia’s mom waved at Isabel and smiled. “Poka,” she said.
“That’s Russian for ‘bye,’” whispered Amelia.
It didn’t matter if Natalia’s family didn’t speak the same language she did. They could still understand each other. And maybe she could learn some Russian for the next time they came to dinner.
Isabel grinned and waved back at Natalia’s mom. “Poka!”

This happened to me when I was serving my mission. For a while, I felt that my prayers were going unnoticed by Him. But with time I searched the scriptures and came across different verses like Doctrine and Covenants 88:63–64:
“Draw near unto me and I will draw near unto you; seek me diligently and ye shall find me; ask, and ye shall receive; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.
“Whatsoever ye ask the Father in my name it shall be given unto you, that is expedient for you.”
I meditated on those words, studied prophetic counsel, and prayed several times a day. As I tried to trust that He could guide me and provide me with answers, I felt my faith in Him growing, and I started noticing more promptings from the Spirit each day.

The final Saturday, having put the bikes on the train the day before, the weary travelers boarded to return home. There was plenty of room to stretch out and relax, and soon they were snoozers, not bikers.
Somehow, though, when the train finally halted in San Jose and they had to remount their cycles for another seven-mile jaunt to the chapel, they seemed almost eager to be riding once again. Soon they would be home recuperating, sharing a slice of their saga with their families.

I recently asked a doctor of family medicine how much of his time was devoted purely to correcting physical disorders. He has a large practice, and after thoughtfully considering, he answered, “Not more than 20 percent. The rest of the time I seem to be working on problems that very much affect the physical well-being of my patients but do not originate in the body.
“These physical disorders,” the doctor concluded, “are merely symptoms of some other kind of trouble.”
In recent generations one after another of the major diseases has yielded to control or cure. Some very major ones still remain, but we now seem able to do something about most of them.
There is another part of us, not so tangible, but quite as real as our physical body. This intangible part of us is described as mind, emotion, intellect, temperament, and many other things. Very seldom is it described as spiritual.
But there is a spirit in man; to ignore it is to ignore reality. There are spiritual disorders, too, and spiritual diseases that can cause intense suffering.
The body and the spirit of man are bound together. Often, very often, when there are disorders, it is very difficult to tell which is which.
There are basic rules of physical health that have to do with rest, nourishment, exercise, and with abstaining from those things which damage the body. Those who violate the rules one day pay for their foolishness.
There are also rules of spiritual health, simple rules that cannot be ignored, for if they are we will reap sorrow by and by.
All of us experience some temporary physical sickness. All of us now and again may be spiritually ill as well. Too many of us, however, are chronically spiritually sick.
We don’t need to stay that way. We can learn to avoid spiritual infections and maintain good spiritual health. Even though we have a serious physical ailment, we can be spiritually healthy.
If you suffer from worry, from grief or shame, from jealousy, disappointment, or envy, I have something to tell you.
Somewhere near your home there is a vacant corner lot. Although adjoining yards may be well tended, a vacant corner lot somehow is always full of weeds.
There is a footpath across it, a bicycle trail, and ordinarily it is a collecting place for junk. First someone threw a few lawn clippings there. They would not hurt anything. Someone added a few sticks and limbs from a nearby yard. Then came a few papers and a plastic bag, and finally some tin cans and old bottles were included.
And there it was—a junkyard.
The neighbors did not intend it to be that. But little contributions from here and there made it so.
This corner lot is like, so very much like, the minds of many of us. We leave our minds vacant and empty and open to trespass by anyone. Whatever is dumped there we keep.
We would not consciously permit anyone to dump junk into our minds, not old cans and bottles. But after lawn clippings and papers, the other things just don’t seem all that much worse.
Our minds can become veritable junk heaps with dirty, cast-off ideas that accumulate there little by little.
Years ago I put up some signs in my mind. They are very clearly printed and simply read: “No trespassing.” “No dumping allowed.” On occasions it has been necessary to show them very plainly to others.
I do not want anything coming into my mind that does not have some useful purpose or some value that makes it worth keeping. I have enough trouble keeping the weeds down that sprout there on their own without permitting someone else to clutter my mind with things that do not edify.
I’ve hauled a few of these away in my lifetime. Occasionally I’ve tossed these thoughts back over the fence where they came from, when it could be done in a friendly manner.
I’ve had to evict some thoughts a hundred times before they would stay out. I have never been successful until I have put something edifying in their place.
I do not want my mind to be a dumping place for shabby ideas or thoughts, for disappointments, bitterness, envy, shame, hatred, worry, grief, or jealousy.
If you are fretting over such things, it’s time to clean the yard. Get rid of all that junk! Get rid of it!
Put up a “no trespassing” sign, a “no dumping” sign, and take control of yourself. Don’t keep anything that will not edify you.
The first thing a doctor does with a wound is to clean it out. He gets rid of all foreign matter and drains off infection—however much it hurts.
Once you do that spiritually, you will have a different perspective. You will have much less to worry about. It is easy to get all mixed up about worry.
Somewhere there is a message in the protest of a man who said: “You can’t tell me worry doesn’t help. The things I worry about never happen.”
Many years ago I was taught a lesson by a man I admired very much. He was as saintly a man as I have ever known. He was steady and serene, with a deep spiritual strength that many drew upon.
He knew just how to minister to others who were suffering. On a number of occasions I was present when he gave blessings to those who were sick or otherwise afflicted.
His life had been a life of service, both in the Church and in the community.
He had presided over one of the missions of the Church and looked forward to the annual missionary reunion. When he was older he was not able to drive at night, and I offered to take him to the reunions.
This modest gesture was repaid a thousandfold.
On one occasion when we were alone and the spirit was right, he gave me a lesson for my life from an experience in his. Although I thought I had known him, he told me things I would not have supposed.
He grew up in a little community. Somehow in his youth he had a desire to make something of himself and struggled successfully to get an education.
He married a lovely young woman, and presently everything in his life was just right. He was well employed, with a bright future. They were deeply in love, and she was expecting their first child.
The night the baby was to be born there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside tending to the sick. They were not able to find him. After many hours of labor the condition of the mother-to-be became desperate.
Finally the doctor arrived. He sensed the emergency, acted quickly, and soon had things in order. The baby was born and the crisis, it appeared, was over.
Some days later the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at the other home that night.
My friend’s world was shattered. Everything was not right now; everything was all wrong. He had lost his wife, his sweetheart. He had no way to take care of a tiny baby and at once tend to his work.
As the weeks wore on his grief festered. “That doctor should not be allowed to practice,” he would say. “He brought that infection to my wife; if he had been careful she would be alive today.” He thought of little else, and in his bitterness he became threatening.
Then one night a knock came at his door. A little youngster said, simply, “Daddy wants you to come over. He wants to talk to you.”
“Daddy” was the stake president. A grieving, heartbroken young man went to see his spiritual leader. This spiritual shepherd had been watching his flock and had something to say to him.
The counsel from this wise servant was simply: “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.”
My friend told me then that this had been his trial, his Gethsemane.
How could he leave it alone? Right was right! A terrible wrong had been committed, and somebody must pay for it.
He struggled in agony to get hold of himself. It did not happen at once. Finally he determined that whatever else the issues were, he should be obedient.
Obedience is a powerful spiritual medicine. It comes close to being a cure-all.
He determined to follow the counsel of that wise spiritual leader. He would leave it alone.
Then he told me, “I was an old man before I finally understood. It was not until I was an old man that I could finally see a poor country doctor—over-worked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little proper medicine, no hospital, few instruments. He struggled to save lives, and succeeded for the most part.
“He had come in a moment of crisis when two lives hung in the balance and had acted without delay.
“I was an old man,” he repeated, “before finally I understood. I would have ruined my life,” he said, “and the lives of others.”
Many times he had thanked the Lord on his knees for a wise spiritual leader who counseled simply, “John, leave it alone.”
And that is my counsel to you. If you have festering sores, a grudge, some bitterness, disappointment, or jealousy, get hold of yourself. You may not be able to control things out there with others, but you can control things here, inside of you.
I say, therefore: John, leave it alone. Mary, leave it alone.
You may need a transfusion of spiritual strength to be able to do this. Then just ask for it. We call that prayer. Prayer is powerful, spiritual medicine. The instructions for its use are found in the scriptures.
One of our sacred hymns carries this message:
Ere you left your room this morning,
Did you think to pray? …
When your soul was full of sorrow,
Balm of Gilead did you borrow
At the gates of day?
O how praying rests the weary!
Prayer will change the night to day;
So when life gets dark and dreary,
Don’t forget to pray.
(Hymns, no. 31.)
All of us carry excess baggage around from time to time, but the wisest ones among us don’t carry it for very long. They get rid of it.
Some of it you have to get rid of without really solving the problem. Some things that ought to be put in order are not put in order because you can’t control them.
Often, however, the things we carry are petty, even stupid. If you are still upset after all these years because Aunt Clara didn’t come to your wedding reception, why don’t you grow up? Forget it.
If you brood constantly over some past mistake, settle it—look ahead.
If the bishop didn’t call you right—or release you right—forget it.
If you resent someone for something he has done—or failed to do—forget it.
We call that forgiveness. It is powerful, spiritual medicine. The instructions for its use are found in the scriptures.
I repeat: John, leave it alone. Mary, leave it alone. Purge and cleanse and soothe your soul and your heart and your mind.
It will then be as though a cloudy, dirty film has been erased from the world around you; and though the problem may remain, the sun will come out. The beam will have been lifted from your eyes. There will come a peace that surpasseth understanding.
A great significant message of the gospel of Jesus Christ is exemplified by the title given to Him: the Prince of Peace. If we follow Him, we can have that individually and collectively.
He has said: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” (John 14:27.)
If you, my brother or sister, are troubled, there is at hand, not just in Gilead, a soothing, healing balm.

Just 65 miles (105 km) from Topeka, in the Lenexa Kansas Stake, President Bruce F. Priday, stake president, and Sister Carol Deshler, stake public affairs director, are working together to build positive relationships with influential members of their community. They want to help them recognize Latter-day Saints as “good neighbors, a positive influence in the community, and followers of Jesus Christ,” says President Priday.
Sister Deshler, who works with the stake presidency and other members of the stake’s public affairs council, seeks opportunities to partner with other faith-based groups and community organizations to better serve the citizens of their area.
“Nearly all of our successes working with community groups have been a result of one-on-one relationships,” Sister Deshler says. For instance, a member of another church and a member of her stake ate lunch together and discussed ways the two groups could come together to do something positive for the community. The conversation led to six people—three from each church—forming a “Better Together” committee to brainstorm ideas for the partnership.
That partnership led to a benefit concert in 2010 in which choirs from several churches participated. Admission was a bag of groceries, which benefited a local food pantry. Some 700 people from the community attended the event, which was held in the newly completed stake center. A reception was organized so community and religious leaders could mingle prior to the concert.
Following the concert, four additional churches, two members of the city council, and the chief of police asked to be represented on the Better Together committee, which now meets monthly. The concert was repeated again in 2011, that time with another church hosting, a total of seven churches participating, and approximately 1,000 community members attending.
“The feeling of goodwill and unity as followers of Jesus Christ came through in a significant way among the churches,” Sister Deshler says. Those feelings were evident later when President Priday was in an airport more than 1,000 miles (1,600 km) from home. A woman he had never met approached him and said she recognized him from the Better Together benefit concerts, which she had participated in and found remarkable.
She told him, “I have never felt such a feeling of love for others in our community as I have through these events. Thank you for cosponsoring these concerts. I belong to another congregation, but we have the deepest respect and admiration for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“That,” says President Priday, “is what public affairs is all about. As we’ve broadened our circle and expanded our vision, we’ve developed many special friends throughout the community. We have mutual respect for each others’ beliefs and a genuine love for one another.”

My friend Max was baptized when he was eight years old. His father was not a member of any church, and Max could go to church or not go.
As a teenager, after not attending for several months, Max had the feeling that he needed to go back to church and determined one Sunday morning that he would return. But his resolve weakened as he approached the front door of the church; his stomach tightened.
There, standing at the door, was the new bishop. Max didn’t know him, and he felt sure the bishop didn’t know Max. As Max approached, the bishop’s face lit up, and he put his hand out and said, “Max, it’s so good to see you!”
“As he spoke those words,” Max said, “a warm feeling came over me and I knew I had done the right thing.”11

I speak next to those who are trapped in traditions.

When I met John Raass, he was not yet a member of the Church. His wife, Kailani, had catered a dinner for the stake presidency, and we invited them to join us. John appeared weary of entering a spiritual discussion, but I assured him we would become fast friends. You see, John was a former BYU football star, and I grew up cheering for him. We eventually asked John why he had never joined the Church. He cited the need to honor the faith traditions of his now deceased parents. We helped him realize that they now understood the Church and they would honor his decision. John then chose to meet with the missionaries. Two months later he was baptized. And a year later his family was sealed in the temple.

Julia has often served as a liaison between her community and the South African government in safeguarding her neighbors’ rights. Recently, she became concerned about pensioners who failed to receive their pension checks, sometimes for many months. Taking the subject on the air during a radio talk show she was invited to, Julia rallied community support and brought the issue to the attention of the new government.

When you watch Brock and Brittney jitterbugging across a gym-sized dance floor, their agility is impressive. Their moves are challenging. And their jumps and lifts are simply amazing. But they didn’t learn how to dance overnight. Years of hard work, separately, and now as partners for the last four years, have prepared them for their many competitions—and to teach others the joy of dancing. They love teaching youth how to dance. That’s why they volunteer to teach dance lessons at Mutual nights near their homes in Utah.
The youth of the Crescent Second Ward, Sandy Utah Crescent Ridge Stake, were thrilled to have Brock and Brittney perform for them and then teach them some simple footwork they could do on their own, like the cha-cha, the swing, and the waltz.
Jessica Wright, 17, enjoyed their instruction and plans on putting it to good use. “Now I can go to dances and do things instead of just standing around.” But, she says, even if you only have the desire to dance, “you can just have fun even if you don’t know how to dance.”
Jason Ockey, 14, already liked to dance, but he learned some new moves from Brock and Brittney. His advice to those who are shy is the same as Jessica’s: “Just have fun.”
The Crescent Second Ward youth really enjoyed learning from Brock and Brittney, even if they didn’t catch on to all the steps. You can learn a few steps too. But you don’t have to be a national dance champion to enjoy dancing. The next time you’re at a dance, gather up some courage, tear yourself away from the safety wall, and just have a good time being with friends.

I held a secret desire through my growing-up years of being a professional baseball player. I practiced thousands of hours and paid the price to become good enough to earn a tryout with the Cincinnati Reds in Pocatello, Idaho. However, it was not until I tried out for the BYU baseball team following four years of military service during the Vietnam War that I was taught baseball in a truly Christlike manner.

One day in pitcher’s fielding practice I scooped up one of the grounders that coaches Glen Tuckett and Vernon Law were rolling out in front of home plate. The drill was one where they would call out, about the time that I fielded the ball, where they wanted the throw made. On this particular occasion, Coach Tuckett hollered, “Third!” I whirled quickly and threw the ball about ten feet over the head of the man covering third base.

Instead of screaming at me or reacting angrily like other coaches had done, Coach Tuckett walked out to me and quietly said, “Throw it to third the same way that you would want him to throw it to you.” I could not believe my ears! Here was a kindly baseball coach teaching me the Golden Rule. I soon discovered that I did not need to be a professional baseball player. My long childhood, adolescent, and young adult ball-playing career came to an abrupt end. But I am still learning to become more like the Savior.

When I was 14 years old, I played on a competitive club volleyball team. On one particular weekend the team traveled to a tournament in Denver, Colorado. This tournament was the first time I had ever gone on a trip without my parents. I was nervous and did not really want to go. My mom suggested that I ask my dad for a father’s blessing the night before I left, and my dad gave me a blessing of peace.
My team drove to Denver on Friday, and then on Saturday morning the tournament began. My team played really well and had a great position going into the championship matches the next day. On Saturday night I reminded my coaches that I did not play volleyball on Sundays. Due to the importance of the Sunday championships, my coaches were not happy being reminded of my decision.
Later that night, my coaches and the director of the club called me to a meeting and said that if I did not play on Sunday, I would be eliminated from the team. The director of the club told me that if I chose not to play volleyball on Sundays, I would never play college volleyball because the college scouts only watched the Sunday championships. I was sad and felt completely alone in my decision. I had been taught all of my life to keep the Sabbath day holy, and living this commandment had always been simple until then. I loved volleyball and had dreams of playing in college. This was a lot for me to handle, but I told them, “No, I will not play.”
After the meeting, I went to my room and cried. I decided that in order to stand strong in my beliefs I needed to understand why keeping the Sabbath day holy was so important. I looked in the Bible Dictionary under “Sabbath” and found my answer. It read, “The Sabbath was a holy day … even from the earliest times. … The Sabbath is an eternal principle” (p. 765). After reading this, I knew I would have the strength not to play on Sunday. The Lord rested on the seventh day, and I would rest as well and worship Him.
Nonetheless, it was a difficult Sunday. My team did not play well, and I was blamed for their poor performance. My teammates and coaches were not friendly; many did not talk to me, and some taunted me. When I arrived home, my parents gave me big hugs and said that they were proud of me. The next week at practice I was asked to leave the team.
Over the next four years, I continued to play volleyball for the same club but never on the competitive traveling team. After I had decided on a college to attend, I received a phone call from the director of the club I had played for. She was the new head volleyball coach for the college I was going to attend. She was calling to ask me to play volleyball for her. This was the same woman who four years earlier had told me that if I did not play volleyball on Sundays, I would never play college volleyball. Now she was giving me that opportunity.
The Lord works in mysterious ways. I know that I was truly blessed by making the decision not to play on Sunday. I also know that the Lord will always bless us for keeping the commandments—maybe not in the ways we think, but we will be blessed.

“I believe my first experience in having the courage of my convictions took place when I served in the United States Navy near the end of World War II.
“Navy boot camp was not an easy experience for me, nor for anyone who endured it. For the first three weeks I was convinced my life was in jeopardy. The navy wasn’t trying to train me; it was trying to kill me.
“I shall ever remember when Sunday rolled around after the first week. We received welcome news from the chief petty officer. Standing at attention on the drill ground in a brisk California breeze, we heard his command: ‘Today everybody goes to church—everybody, that is, except for me. I am going to relax!’ Then he shouted, ‘All of you Catholics, you meet in Camp Decatur—and don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!’ A rather sizeable contingent moved out. Then he barked out his next command, ‘Those of you who are Jewish, you meet in Camp Henry—and don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!’ A somewhat smaller contingent marched out. Then he said, ‘The rest of you Protestants, you meet in the theaters at Camp Farragut—and don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!’
“Instantly there flashed through my mind the thought, ‘Monson, you are not a Catholic; you are not a Jew; you are not a Protestant. You are a Mormon, so you just stand here!’ I can assure you that I felt completely alone. Courageous and determined, yes—but alone.
“And then I heard the sweetest words I ever heard that chief petty officer utter. He looked in my direction and asked, ‘And just what do you guys call yourselves?’ Until that very moment I had not realized that anyone was standing beside me or behind me on the drill ground. Almost in unison, each of us replied, ‘Mormons!’ It is difficult to describe the joy that filled my heart as I turned around and saw a handful of other sailors.
“The chief petty officer scratched his head in an expression of puzzlement but finally said, ‘Well, go find somewhere to meet. And don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!’
“As we marched away, I thought of the words of a rhyme I had learned in Primary years before:
Dare to be a Mormon;
Dare to stand alone.
Dare to have a purpose firm;
Dare to make it known.
“Since that day there have been times when there was no one standing behind me and so I did stand alone. How grateful I am that I made the decision long ago to remain strong and true, always prepared and ready to defend my religion, should the need arise.”

Caregiving has been one of the most difficult experiences we have ever had, but also one of the most rewarding. We have seen so many miracles. There were moments when the right resources and people seemed to come out of nowhere exactly when we needed them. Moments when certain medications suddenly became available. Moments when, after an unbearable day, unexpected peace would wash over us. And one of the most beautiful miracles I (Stephen) experienced was watching tender tears fall down Kay’s cheeks as she departed from this world, finally at peace, and seemingly recalling things she hadn’t remembered in years.

Such acts of strength and courage are often overlooked in part because they can be misunderstood as acts of weakness when judged by the world’s standards. I learned this in a powerful way while serving as a young missionary in the Mexican town of Ciudad Acuña, which is located just across the border from Del Rio, Texas. At the time, we did not have a chapel in Acuña. So we were given permission to cross the border into Del Rio—where there was a chapel with a baptismal font—to perform our baptisms. As near as I could tell, there was no formal arrangement for such border crossings. The U.S. missionaries had visas that permitted us to cross back and forth, but those who were to be baptized often did not. In what was clearly a different immigration era than we have now, we simply vouched for those individuals, and the border officials took note to make sure the same people returned after the baptisms were performed.

On one such occasion, after ­enthusiastically accepting our invitation to be baptized, the Hernandez family—a young husband and wife—accompanied us to the border crossing. The officials took down their names, and we proceeded to the chapel. All was going well until we opened the door to the closet where the baptismal clothing was stored. There were a fair number of choices for men’s clothing, but Brother Hernandez was a large man. After several attempts to put on the largest pants that were there, it became clear that there was nothing even close to a fit among the choices. I began to panic a bit. The border guards had let the Hernandez family cross without papers so they could be ­baptized, but they were very unlikely to accept that justification more than once. I didn’t know what to do.

Suddenly Brother Hernandez pointed to the closet containing the women’s baptismal clothing and asked, “What about that?”

He was pointing to a large, white baptismal gown on the bottom shelf of the women’s section. Not knowing what else to do, I said, “Let’s try it.”

He and I then retired to the dressing room, where I put on my baptismal clothes. I couldn’t restrain myself from watching out of the corner of my eye to see how things were going with Brother Hernandez. He was struggling mightily to get into the dress, wiggling first this way and then that while tugging on the dress to pull it down.

At that point, I thought to myself, “Brother Hernandez, if you only knew how silly you looked, you would be embarrassed, and you would probably just call off the baptism.”

Immediately a clear voice that was not my own came into my mind. It said: “He knows exactly how silly he looks, and he does not care. He knows God wants him to be baptized, and he is determined to do that no matter how silly he looks to others. You should be embarrassed that you don’t recognize what true courage looks like.”

I have read of dramatic demonstrations of courage, such as Parley P. Pratt’s account of the Prophet Joseph Smith rebuking the guards in the Richmond jail,44 but none has had more of an impression on me than the courage and strength of a humble disciple of Christ that I witnessed that night. Brother Hernandez chose to humble ­himself—to let God prevail—and he was determined to do what God wanted, no matter what the cost. He demonstrated a backbone of humility that continues to inspire me today, forty years later.

About half-way through the Book of Mormon, it became obvious that we need to “quicken our pace and lengthen our stride” if the children were to have the Book of Mormon read before they left home for college, marriage, or missions. We had long since progressed to reading both columns on a page. Now we started reading two pages a night. By October 1986 we set a goal. We would have the book finished by Christmas!
It was a special night when we read the last page. We planned it so that Jill, who was five, could read the last verse. We didn’t say much, but the prayer that night was one of special thanks for our eight-year journey through the Book of Mormon.
We thought of having a celebration, but in the end we realized that this was only the end of the Book of Mormon part of our effort; it was not the end of our daily scripture reading. So we celebrated by going to the store for ice cream. Our real reward was the quiet satisfaction we each felt. We had read the Book of Mormon, and we had done it together.

In July of 1976, runner Garry Bjorklund was determined to qualify for the U.S. Olympic team’s 10,000-meter race which would be run at the Montreal Olympics. Halfway through the grinding qualifying race, however, he lost his left shoe. What would you and I do if that were our experience? I suppose he could have given up and stopped. He could have blamed his bad luck and lost the opportunity of participating in the greatest race of his life, but this champion athlete did not do that. He ran on without his shoe. He knew that he would have to run faster than he had ever run in his life. He knew that his competitors now had an advantage that they did not have at the beginning of the race. Over that cinder track he ran, with one shoe on and one shoe off, finishing third and qualifying for the opportunity to participate in the race for the gold medal. His own running time was the best he had ever recorded. He put forth the effort necessary to achieve his goal.

When I started preschool I cried because I missed my mommy and daddy and my little brother, Ashton. When my mommy picked me up for lunch, she saw that I had been crying. She told me it was OK to feel sad and that when I felt alone or sad I could pray to Heavenly Father. The next day we said a prayer in the car before I went in. That helped me feel better. But right before lunch I really missed my family and started crying again. I remembered what Mommy had told me and said a prayer in my head. I felt better and stopped crying. I know that Heavenly Father is always with me and that I am never alone.Katlyn Marie E., age 4, California