Gospel Story Finder

Connor was hot and thirsty. He had been playing outside all morning, and his mouth was dry as he pulled open the back door. A rush of cool air greeted him, and it felt wonderful. He hurried into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
As he drank his water, he thought about the red toy helicopter he had seen in the store two weeks before. Connor couldn’t wait to finally have enough money to buy it. He had been saving his allowance money and doing extra chores ever since he had seen the helicopter.
He finished his glass of water and went into the living room to ask his mom if she had any more chores she could pay him to do.
“Mom,” he said. “Do you …”
“Shh, Connor. Wait just a minute,” Mom said. “I want to listen to this.”
Connor turned to look at the television.
On the news there were pictures of things that had been wrecked—buildings had fallen down, streets were full of stuff, and there were people who looked like they were hurt. He saw the word earthquake at the bottom of the screen, but it was in a place he’d never heard of.
“There was a terrible earthquake,” Mom explained. “Almost everything was destroyed. They have no electricity and no running water, and a lot of people are hurt and need help.”
Connor had a funny feeling in his chest. He wondered what it would be like to be thirsty and not have any water to drink, or to be hurt and not have someone to help you.
“Mom, can’t anyone help them?” he asked.
“A lot of people want to help, but right now it’s almost impossible for people to get into the country,” she said. “Most of the runways and roads are blocked or destroyed.”
“I wish there was something we could do,” Connor said. He felt sad for the people in the earthquake. Then suddenly he had an idea. “Mom, can we pray for them?” he asked.
His mom smiled. “That’s a great idea,” she said. They turned off the television and knelt on the floor. As Connor said the prayer, the sick feeling he had was replaced with a good, calm feeling.
After they said “Amen,” Connor had another idea. He knew how he could help. He ran into his room and found the jar of money he had been saving to buy the red helicopter. He took it to his mom.
“Mom, is there a way to get this money to the people in the earthquake?” he asked. “Maybe it could help get a real helicopter to bring them food and water and maybe even a doctor.”
Connor’s mom gave him a hug. “That is a very kind and thoughtful thing to do, Connor,” she said. “Let’s take it to the bishop on Sunday. He’ll know what to do with it.”
Connor was glad that even though he lived far away from where the earthquake happened, he could still help in a small way. He knew he wouldn’t be getting the toy helicopter any time soon, but he loved the good feeling he had inside. He was glad he followed the promptings of the Holy Ghost to help someone in need.

Illustration by Allen Garns
I was skeptical when the missionaries taught me about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. My first thought was that Joseph Smith, like many other so-called “prophets,” may have brought a false book into the world seeking to become wealthy, famous, or heroic.
I had no intention of reading the Book of Mormon. But over time the missionaries’ friendship and their enthusiasm for the gospel allowed my curiosity toward their message to grow.
As I read the verses the missionaries gave me in the Book of Mormon, I found Moroni’s invitation to ask God with a sincere heart, real intent, and faith in Christ if the Book of Mormon is true (see Moroni 10:4–5). I thought, “Who, knowing the book was fake, would dare challenge us to ask God with real intent and sincerity if the Book of Mormon is true?”
Then one day the missionaries explained that Joseph Smith and his brother, Hyrum, were martyred for their testimony. Suddenly, a thought came to me that they would never have given up their own lives for something they knew was false. At that moment, a warm feeling, like a burning fire, spread through me. It was a witness of the Holy Spirit confirming to my heart that Joseph Smith was a true prophet. With this witness, I was baptized and confirmed.
I was reminded of this experience 25 years later when I read a talk by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. In his talk, Elder Holland asked if, in the critical moment of their martyrdom, Joseph and Hyrum would continue to blaspheme before God by fixing their lives, their honor, and their eternal salvation on a book they knew was false.
“They would not do that!” Elder Holland said. “They were willing to die rather than deny the divine origin and the eternal truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.”1
Elder Holland’s words made so much sense to me and further strengthened my testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith and the power of the Book of Mormon.
I am grateful for the Prophet Joseph Smith. He brought forth the Book of Mormon and willingly gave his life to be a witness of Jesus Christ. Through the Book of Mormon, I have come to know of God’s existence and of His love for me.

Some years ago I was called, with my wife, Jacqui, to preside over the Washington Spokane Mission. We arrived in the mission field with a mix of fear and excitement at the responsibility of working with so many remarkable young missionaries. They came from many different backgrounds and quickly became like our own sons and daughters.
Although most were doing wonderfully well, a few were struggling with the high expectations of their calling. I remember one missionary telling me, “President, I just don’t like people.” Several told me they lacked the desire to follow the rather strict missionary rules. I worried and wondered what we could do to change the hearts of those few missionaries who had not yet learned the joy of being obedient.
One day while driving through the beautiful rolling wheat fields on the Washington-Idaho border, I was listening to a recording of the New Testament. As I listened to the familiar account of the rich young man coming to the Savior to ask what he might do to have eternal life, I received an unexpected but profound personal revelation that is now a sacred memory.
After hearing Jesus recite the commandments and the young man reply that he had observed all these since his youth, I listened for the Savior’s gentle correction: “One thing thou lackest: … sell whatsoever thou hast, and … come, … follow me.”1 But to my astonishment, I instead heard six words before that part of the verse that I seemed never to have heard or read before. It was as if they had been added to the scriptures. I marveled at the inspired understanding which then unfolded.
What were these six words that had such a profound effect? Listen to see if you can recognize these seemingly ordinary words, not found in the other Gospel accounts but found only in the Gospel of Mark:
“There came one running … and asked him, Good Master, what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?
“And Jesus said unto him, …
“Thou knowest the commandments, Do not commit adultery, Do not kill, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Defraud not, Honour thy father and mother.
“And he answered … , Master, all these have I observed from my youth.
“Then Jesus beholding him loved him, and said unto him, One thing thou lackest: go thy way, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, take up the cross, and follow me.”2
“Then Jesus beholding him loved him.”
As I heard these words, a vivid image filled my mind of our Lord pausing and beholding this young man. Beholding—as in looking deeply and penetratingly into his soul, recognizing his goodness and also his potential, as well as discerning his greatest need.
Then the simple words—Jesus loved him. He felt an overwhelming love and compassion for this good young man, and because of this love and with this love, Jesus asked even more of him. I pictured what it must have felt like for this young man to be enveloped by such love even while being asked to do something so supremely hard as selling all he owned and giving it to the poor.
In that moment, I knew it was not just the hearts of some of our missionaries that needed changing. It was my heart as well. The question no longer was “How does a frustrated mission president get a struggling missionary to behave better?” Instead, the question was “How can I be filled with Christlike love so a missionary can feel the love of God through me and desire to change?” How can I behold him or her in the same way the Lord beheld the rich young man, seeing them for who they really are and who they can become, rather than just for what they are doing or not doing? How can I be more like the Savior?
“Then Jesus beholding him loved him.”
From that time forward, as I sat knee to knee with a young missionary struggling with some aspect of obedience, within my heart I now saw a faithful young man or young woman who had acted on the desire to come on a mission. Then I was able to say with all the feeling like that of a tender parent:3 “Elder or Sister, if I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t care what happens on your mission. But I do love you, and because I love you, I care about who you become. So I invite you to change those things that are hard for you and become who the Lord wants you to be.”
Each time I went to interview missionaries, I first prayed for the gift of charity and that I could see each elder and sister as the Lord sees him or her.
Before zone conferences, as Sister Palmer and I greeted each missionary one by one, I would pause and look deeply into their eyes, beholding them—an interview without words—and then without fail, I was filled with great love for these precious sons and daughters of God.

Photo illustration by Cody Bell
I entered the Provo Missionary Training Center on July 20. When I said good-bye to my family, I was confident, happy, and so excited to leave! I had heard that some people struggle in the MTC, and I was determined to not be one of those people.
However, only 10 minutes after entering the MTC, a wave of panic hit me. No matter how hard I tried to shake it off, I couldn’t change the way I felt. The reality of being away from family and friends for 18 months struck me. Could I make it that long?
For three weeks I pleaded with the Lord for help, peace, and understanding. I talked to my leaders, received blessings, and tried to have faith and wait patiently for answers. I studied diligently and tried to be obedient. I was determined to stay.
One night at the end of my third week, I was praying—pleading still—for help. The words of Isaiah, which I knew from a song, came into my mind:
“For a small moment have I forsaken thee; but with great mercies will I gather thee.
“In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment; but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, saith the Lord thy Redeemer. …
“For the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed; but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee” (Isaiah 54:7–8, 10).
At that moment, I felt Heavenly Father answer my prayer by lifting this huge burden I had carried for three weeks.
During my last week at the MTC, I was perfectly and completely at peace. I felt gratitude for my Heavenly Father and for the Savior and His Atonement. I was grateful for His love, His tender mercies, and all the faithful people I served with.
The Atonement of Jesus Christ is real and powerful to save. In Preach My Gospel it says, “As your understanding of the Atonement of Jesus Christ grows, your desire to share the gospel will increase” ([2004], 2). Although I still had to face challenges out in the field, I had a witness that the Savior’s Atonement was real and that the Lord was mindful of me. I learned that God will strengthen and guide all those who humble themselves, have faith, and ask for the things they need—even, and especially, His missionaries.

When the Church published a rendering of the temple to be built in Bengaluru, a friend messaged me, pointing out how closely it resembled a picture I had drawn in my missionary journal 20 years ago. I had forgotten all about this drawing, so I immediately looked for the journal and was awestruck to see that my friend was right. To me this was a very personal and special manifestation of God’s love for me. How utterly grateful I am to see this dream come true. My rendering in 1999, depicted my stick-figure future family going to the temple outside our home in India. Although I now live in Melbourne, Australia with my family, I can’t wait for us to one day visit this temple. But for now, I truly rejoice with by brothers and sisters in India and many Saints around the world, as we celebrate a sight that we have so longed to behold.

Elder Yokunido Sato joined the Church six years ago in his hometown of Sapporo, Japan. He was formerly a Buddhist and is the only Latter-day Saint in his family. He says he had “the faith to go on a mission because President Kimball wanted all young men to go on a mission.” Elder Sato had learned a little English in school and then studied English at the Church’s Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. He now teaches the gospel in both English and Japanese.

His companion, Elder David Gathers, from Pine Bluff, North Carolina, did not attend the Missionary Training Center as a foreign-speaking missionary to learn Japanese, but he has learned so well from Elder Sato that he can now teach the discussions in Japanese.

Elders Sato and Gathers were assigned to Salt Lake City’s Temple Square where the Salt Lake Temple, the Tabernacle, the Assembly Hall and two Church visitors’ centers are located. Beautifully landscaped, Temple Square attracts approximately two million tourists each year. One such tourist was twenty-one-year-old Chitomi Tanaka, from Japan, who had come to Utah to visit a friend. After the elders took her on a tour of Temple Square, they asked if she would like to know more about the Church. Chitomi read the Book of Mormon and knew it was true, but she had concerns about joining the Church. The elders challenged her to be baptized and set a date, but as that and later baptismal dates approached, Chitomi decided not to be baptized. Finally, after five months of studying the gospel, she was baptized. She has since returned to Japan, where, Elder Sato reports, she is a faithful member of the Church.

Elder Sato and Elder Gathers have also had the opportunity to teach a Vietnamese lady and her daughter.

Other missionaries in Salt Lake City have similar multi-language experiences. Sister Marie Normand was reared in French-speaking Quebec, Canada. Called to serve in Salt Lake City, she went to the Missionary Training Center to learn English. In the mission, she was assigned as a companion to Sister Janice Rider, also a Canadian, who was working with a number of Cambodian refugees. The French-speaking missionary who learned English is now teaching the gospel in Cambodian.

About 8,000 Southeast Asian refugees live in Utah, with about fifty to one hundred new refugees arriving every month. Donald and Irene Jones, of Mesa, Arizona, are a welfare services missionary couple who labor among the Cambodian refugees. Elder Jones relates that “about thirty percent of the people we help with clothing, furniture, food, and job-training are not members of the Church. Helping people often opens the door to teaching the gospel.”

One such conversion story is that of Sakhan Lay, who was a school teacher in Cambodia. When the government fell, her family was separated and she was sent to a prison camp. Twice she faced a firing squad, but her life was spared. Miraculously she escaped, and was able to locate her children who had fled to Thailand. A Latter-day Saint Cambodian family living in Utah sponsored the Lays so that they could come to Salt Lake City. They have since joined the Church, and Sister Lay is now working as a social worker among her people.

Two Salt Lake North missionaries from Vietnam taught the gospel discussions in English to an investigator who had a Hispanic background. Elder Jeff Reyes, from Los Angeles, California, had been a student football player with the University of Utah before joining a professional team. After a knee injury ended the 122-kilogram man’s football career, he returned to Salt Lake City, although he had very strong feelings against the Church. However, when he met the missionaries, he was receptive to the gospel and was baptized. President Owen recalls that, “Jeff was so excited after his baptism he hugged those little Vietnamese missionaries and literally lifted their feet off the ground. I joked to my wife that I feared for their lives.”

Two weeks after I got my driver’s license, my parents let me take the car for the whole day. I was ecstatic! I couldn’t wait to go driving around town. That morning in my prayers I had a strong feeling to pray for safety and that the Holy Spirit would guide and direct me. I hopped into the car and headed to town to do some shopping with my sister. I was surprised at how comfortable I felt driving. But I was uneasy. I had a feeling that at sometime during the day some sort of obstacle would be in the road and I would have to stop suddenly. I wondered if I was just nervous because it was my first time driving alone. I decided to drive slower than usual. I drove all day without incident but still had that feeling. When we headed home, it was dark out, and we had a 45-minute drive home in the country. I decided to drive about 5–10 miles under the speed limit. Just as I came around a bend, I saw a deer standing in the middle of the road. I had to quickly slam on my brakes to stop. I stopped a couple of feet in front of the deer, which just walked off, leaving us with our hearts pounding. I couldn’t believe how close it was. I know if I had not been warned by the Holy Ghost and had been going faster, I would have hit that deer. I am so grateful to have the Holy Ghost guiding and protecting me.

Just two weeks into the new school year, my best friend, Scott, and I were driving home discussing our plans for later that evening. As we pulled into the driveway, I saw my dad working on the barbecue. As I stepped out of the car, I told Scott I would be ready for him to pick me up later. My dad, overhearing the conversation, told me that he was having students from his college ward over that evening for a ward social. “I could use your help getting things ready,” he said. I turned to Scott and told him that our plans would have to be postponed.
As Scott left, my dad asked me to take the grill’s propane tank to the store and fill it. After quickly changing my clothes, I loaded the tank into our truck and drove toward the store.
Between my home and the store there is an elementary school. I was well aware of the school as I had gone in that direction many times. But this time I was in a hurry and did not pay attention to the school zone speed limit. I knew school had been out for about an hour, so I ignored it.
After filling the tank, I headed home. As I approached the school, I had the feeling I should slow down. I didn’t heed the prompting and continued on. As I came closer to the school, I saw Bobby Logan,* a young boy from my ward, run onto the road.
He was on his way to the school to play with his sister and some of his friends. As Bobby came to the road, he stopped and looked at me. I started to slow down, again feeling the prompting. As I approached Bobby, he looked directly at me. We had eye contact for a second, and I had the thought that he was going to run in front of me. At that very moment, he did.
I was too close to miss him, and although I hit the brakes, it was too late. Realizing what had just happened, I quickly got out of the truck and ran to Bobby, who was lying on the ground. I ran to his house and told his mother to call an ambulance. Then I went back to Bobby’s side. I offered a silent prayer and pleaded for his life as I knelt beside him.
Bobby’s mother arrived and immediately checked for a pulse. I was crying hysterically and repeatedly said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit him.” Sister Logan looked at me and told me that she forgave me.
The ambulance arrived and took Bobby to the hospital, but he died about 30 minutes later. My bishop came to our home with the tragic news of his death. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I didn’t know what to do or say. I was devastated.
A few days later I saw the Logans. As we visited, Sister Logan told me that the family felt strongly that Bobby was happy. She told me they held no harsh feelings toward me. As I heard these things, I felt the Spirit testifying to me that what she said was true, and their sincerity was very real.
During the next few days I struggled with the realization that I had taken another person’s life. As I battled with my emotions, I withdrew more and more. I didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything.
One day my mom and sister persuaded me to go with them. They were conversing in the front seat of our car, and I was lying on the back seat, pondering the question why and wondering how I could ever move on from that point in my life. Again I offered a silent prayer to Heavenly Father for the strength to overcome this obstacle. In the midst of my crying and praying, I suddenly felt the most overwhelming feeling of joy and peace. It was at that moment that I knew Bobby was fine and that he was happy. I also realized how much love my Heavenly Father has for me. I could truly feel His arms of love and understanding around me.
Since that day I began healing from my emotional pain. It took a long time for me to get to the point where I could accept myself again, but I knew I was on the right track. Because of this experience, I have become even more grateful for the gospel of Jesus Christ. I can’t imagine trying to endure this without the love of my family, the Logans, and countless friends who rallied around me. I saw the gospel in action. I saw my Savior’s healing hands work through those I love. I also know the Spirit is one of the most precious gifts we have.
The Logans are my heroes because they epitomized Jesus Christ from the very beginning of this ordeal. They forgave. For that I am eternally grateful. I know that I will see Bobby again and that hopefully then his family and mine will rest together in the heavens.

For years, I have wanted to create a large poppy display and in November of last year, I voiced this to our Relief Society president, Yvonne Kerr, who expressed a similar desire. Because we were coming to the close of a horrible year of lockdowns, we felt that setting this up as a project for 2021 would be an ideal time to do it as it would give us something to focus on while we were restricted to our homes and by giving us a common purpose, we would not feel so isolated. Little did we know at that point that we were heading into further lockdowns and this project became a lifeline for many women. The culmination of this work was to be a display at the chapel where we would hold a special commemorative meeting, to which we would invite community leaders as well as our members and friends.
Yvonne asked me to pull a small committee together to make this happen and I knew exactly who to ask.
Yvonne Kerr, president of the Relief Society, said: “We really felt that there was a need for people who weren’t able to get together to be able to do something in unity. “It was a good way for the women of the Church to stay in contact with one another and to be able to serve and help other people.” She added: “As COVID started to progress, we really wanted to run with the idea, to be able to acknowledge that there were other people who had sacrificed a lot more than we got to sacrifice. We were very privileged to be able to acknowledge them by creating the poppies.”
Yvonne Kerr told the Advertiser: “It was very well attended. We were surprised by how many people came. It was really wonderful—a lovely event and a great tribute to those who served in our military services and a great way to thank them for what they’ve done for us.”

When my husband’s beloved mother was diagnosed with cancer last year, we had to emulate Martha’s faith. Although we were devastated, I knew where my hope had fallen short during my first experience with cancer, and I knew I needed to take a different approach this time.

Strangely, exercising hope and faith in Christ meant acknowledging the reality that my incredible mother-in-law might pass away. Of course, I yearned and prayed for her healing, but I had hope that Christ could heal her and me, whether she lived or passed on. I hoped that, through the promises of Christ, joy was possible in either outcome.

All the sorrow of considering a future without her was still there while she grew sicker, but I didn’t have the anxiety that had gripped me when my brother was ill. And after a few months, she too passed away.

The unfairness of the situation is sometimes suffocating, the grief too heavy to bear. But somehow, I am clinging to the promises of healing through Jesus Christ, and that gives me just enough courage to continue to the next day.

While in Argentina in 1975 at the area conference, President Kimball spoke to a large gathering of youth. Shortly after he began, he set aside his prepared text and shared a personal experience with them. He asked them, “Who gave you your voice?” He then told them about his experience with surgery to save his voice. He explained that the Lord had spared his voice. He said it wasn’t the same voice he had once had. He couldn’t sing as he had previously enjoyed doing but he did have a voice. He said his voice wasn’t a pretty one, but I tell you it was beautiful in what it taught that night. As he spoke the youth responded even before the translator could interpret his words. He told those present, “Serving a mission is like paying tithing; you’re not compelled—you do it because it’s right. We want to go on missions because it’s the Lord’s way. The Savior didn’t say, ‘If it’s convenient, go,’ he said, ‘Go ye into all the world.’” (Mark 16:15.) President Kimball explained that it was the responsibility of young women to help young men remain worthy and to encourage them to go on missions.
As the President concluded his remarks he asked, “Didn’t the Lord give you your voice so you could teach the gospel?” He then testified that he had come to know that his voice and our voices are for the declaring of the gospel of Jesus Christ and for testifying of the truths revealed to the Prophet Joseph Smith. President Kimball teaches us the correct perspective of life.

“And so,” Sister Adams said, “as Jesus tells us in Matthew 7:7 [Matt. 7:7], ‘Ask, and it shall be given you.’ When we ask in faith, and do our part, Heavenly Father will always answer us. He wants us to be happy.”
So, Brandon thought, if Heavenly Father wants me to be happy, then He must want me to get away from what makes me unhappy. Yeah! And what makes me unhappy is Bobby!
Brandon rolled his eyes, remembering Bobby’s “Please, let me come with you, Brandon.” … “I didn’t mean to break it, Brandon.” … “Can I ride your bike?” … “Can I sit by you?”
That night Brandon prayed eagerly, “Heavenly Father, please make Bobby leave me alone. He’s always pestering me and making me really unhappy. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Brandon hopped into bed with a smile on his face.
On Monday, Bobby insisted on walking to school with Brandon. He kept interrupting Brandon and Peter while they were talking about important stuff. He squeezed in beside Brandon at lunch and dripped milk on Brandon’s new pants. After school, he cried so hard that Mom made Brandon take him along to nail down the floor of the tree fort. On the way there, he spilled all the nails.
This isn’t working! Brandon’s thoughts raged. He grabbed Bobby’s hand and stomped back home.
Brandon flopped into bed after a complaining prayer that night. Then he thought, What did Sister Adams say exactly? Oh, yes—we have to do ourpart too. Of course! That’s what’s wrong. I’ve been expecting Heavenly Father to do it all for me.
“Run, Peter,” whispered Brandon the next morning. “Go to school by yourself, Bobby,” he yelled over his shoulder as the two older boys raced away.
At lunchtime, when Bobby approached their table, the two friends locked elbows and spread out their legs. “He’s turning around, Brandon,” Peter said, holding up his hand for a high-five. Brandon looked. All he could see of Bobby was hunched shoulders as he trudged away.
“No, you can’t carry the hammer, and no, you can’t come!” Brandon hissed at Bobby after school. “You’re nothing but a pest, and nobody wants you along anywhere—especially at the tree fort.”
Bobby’s face began to crumple. Brandon grabbed Bobby’s shirt front. “And if you start to bawl, I’ll never let you do anything with me again.”
Tears coursed down Bobby’s cheeks, but he didn’t make a sound.
Brandon marched off, clutching his hammer so tightly that his fingers ached. Nailing down the floorboards was hard work, but it went fast without his brother’s pestering. He stopped only when the sun was almost down.
Walking home, he was glad that he’d finished so much and glad that his prayers were being answered. But when he went inside, there was Bobby, sitting as still as a statue outside Brandon’s room. Brandon scowled and slammed his door shut, all his good feelings vanishing. His mind saw only Bobby’s sad face.
He’s just making it worse and worse, Brandon ranted to himself. He breaks my stuff. He ruins my games. And now he’s ruined my enjoying the tree fort too. Well, he’d better leave me alone—or else!
On Saturday afternoon, he came home from soccer practice to find Bobby wobbling down the street on his new bike. Brandon grabbed the handlebars and yanked the bike around hard. Bobby flew off. The next instant he was screaming. His hands were skinned, and a bump was growing on his forehead.
Brandon pushed his fear away with more anger. “Don’t you ever touch my bike again! Don’t ever touch anything of mine, for as long as you live!”
Brandon felt himself marched into the house. Up the stairs he went and into his room. “Hurting someone else is not the way to take care of disagreements, Brandon,” Dad said. “You know that. You will stay in your room until you can make things right with Bobby.”
Glaring at Dad as he closed the door behind him, Brandon stomped to the window. Mom was helping Bobby into the house and holding a cloth to his forehead.
Brandon refused to come down for dinner. He wasn’t about to “make things right.” It wasn’t fair to be punished when Bobby had taken his bike without permission.
On Sunday, Brandon came out only to go to church. Sister Adams taught the class how to use the Topical Guide in their Bibles to find scriptures to answer their questions and help them learn how to solve problems. She explained that the Holy Ghost could help them know which scriptures to read.
Back home, Brandon ate his meals in his room, still fuming. I’ll never make up with that little pest!
Monday was Bobby’s birthday. After school, Brandon stood at his bedroom window, watching Bobby and his friends yelling and jumping around in the backyard.
“Oh, wow! My favorite!” Bobby yelled as he tore open a package. “A praying mantis transformer robot!”
Brandon clenched his fists. He’d been wanting one of those for months.
“Oh, wow! A dragonfly robot!” Bobby waved a robot in each hand.
Brandon slumped on his bed.
After the guests had gone home, Bobby pounded up the stairs and into Brandon’s room. “Brandon!” He stopped at his brother’s scowl. “I—I just wanted to show you my transformers. …”
“Well, I don’t want to see them. So just get out of here.”
Bobby turned and shut the door softly behind him. Tears squeezed out onto Brandon’s cheeks. Since he’d decided to pray for what he wanted, everything had gone wrong! He didn’t understand it at all.
He must have dropped off to sleep, because it was dark when he woke up, way past dinnertime. His stomach growled as he opened his door to listen. They’re having family home evening without me, he thought. They don’t care about me at all.
Then he saw it—the praying mantis transformer robot. It had been placed on the tray of food by the door.
He sat in his doorway and picked it up. Did Bobby really give this to me? Shame flooded through him. Why would he do that, after how mean I’ve been to him? And what do I do now?
Sister Adams had said to look in the Topical Guide. She’d said that the answers to our problems are all in the scriptures.
He knelt by his bed, wanting help more than he’d ever wanted it before. “Heavenly Father, I feel awful! Please help me to feel the Holy Ghost prompting me, so I can know what scriptures to read that will help me. I really want to understand what to do about Bobby. Everything I’ve done so far has turned out wrong.”
Opening his Bible to the back pages, Brandon searched in the Topical Guide until he found the word Ask. That was what he needed to know: how to ask Heavenly Father for blessings so he could really get them. He began reading the phrases listed there. When he came to “Mosiah … 4:21 whatsoever ye a. [ask] that is right,” he was sure that this was his answer. He almost tore a page in his Book of Mormon in his haste to find the scripture:
And now, if God, who has created you, on whom you are dependent for your lives and for all that ye have and are, doth grant unto you whatsoever ye ask that is right, in faith, believing that ye shall receive, O then, how ye ought to impart of the substance that ye have one to another.
Understanding flooded Brandon. It was right to ask Heavenly Father to help him be happy. What was wrong was trying to have happiness by making Bobby unhappy. Bobby couldn’t just disappear. He was part of Brandon’s family! So what was right was for them to be happy together. And that meant doing what the scripture in Mosiah said: imparting—sharing. Sharing things. Sharing time. Sharing fun.
And Bobby showed me how. Brandon picked up the transformer, which was even more precious now. Then his eyes scanned his room. When they came to his shell collection, he picked it up and went downstairs. “May I talk to Bobby?”
Brandon beckoned Bobby into the kitchen. “I found the transformer, Bobby. Thanks! That’s the best present I ever got.”
Bobby’s grin could have lit a rocket.
“And this is for you,” Brandon told him, handing him the box.
“Your shell collection? But, Brandon, it’s your most special thing!”
“No, it isn’t—my brother is.”
The warm feelings flooding Brandon were unmistakable. This time, he had asked for what was right and had done his part right. He could feel himself receiving happiness through his body. Bobby wasn’t a pest—he was a pretty neat kid. “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” he prayed silently.
With their arms around each other, the brothers trooped into the living room.

“Whom are you going to invite to your birthday party tomorrow?” Mom asked as I looked at the purple alligator piñata she was making for me.
Mom always made a piñata for our birthdays. She had made cowboys, horses, elephants, and pirates and stuffed them full of candy and surprises. We would invite our friends over, hang the piñata in our willow tree, and give everyone a chance to break it and grab some of the goodies inside.
“I’m going to invite everybody in the neighborhood.” I grinned as Mom glued big teeth and plastic eyes onto the alligator made of bright, fluffy tissue paper.
“Are you even going to invite Bobby Wilson?” my brother, David, asked.
I frowned and stuffed my fists into my pockets. “I wouldn’t invite Bobby to anything. He’s a jerk.”
“Benjamin!” Mom snapped, turning around and glaring at me. “You know you don’t talk like that about your friends.”
“I wasn’t talking about my friends.” I turned and stomped out of the house. Every time I thought about Bobby, I got mad. He was the worst pest a guy could have. He lived across the street and two houses down in a yellow house that needed painting. The lawn in front was never mowed, and most of the time it had big patches of brown in it because nobody ever watered it.
Nobody liked Bobby. He wore ragged clothes and a too-shiny baseball cap that looked like he’d dragged it from the trash. But the way he looked was only part of it. He was such a big mouth, bragging about all the things he had and all the things he could do.
“Mom’s going to make you invite Bobby to your birthday party,” David teased as he followed me out the front door and onto the lawn under the willow tree.
“I might have to take an invitation to his house,” I said defiantly, “but I’ll hide it in the bushes so he’ll never find it. When he doesn’t show, if Mom asks if I took him an invitation, I can tell her yes.”
We started to giggle, thinking of the good joke I’d play on Bobby.
“Hey, what are you two doing?” a voice called out.
David and I looked up. There stood Bobby, with his stupid baseball cap on his head.
“We’re not doing anything,” I said. “And we don’t plan to,” I added, hoping Bobby wouldn’t decide to stay.
Bobby strolled over and dropped down on the grass beside us. “I sure played a good game of baseball,” he announced smugly. “I hit about ten homers.”
“Ah, come on,” David scoffed. “You never hit a home run in your life.”
“I did so—with the new bat my dad sent me.”
“You don’t have a new bat,” I argued.
Bobby jumped to his feet. “I do too.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Go get your new bat and show it to us, then.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“I figure that that’s what you are.”
I wasn’t expecting what happened next. Bobby grabbed me in a headlock and was punching and scratching and kicking all at the same time. I rolled over and tried to break away from him, but he stayed right with me.
“What are you boys doing?” I heard Mom ask.
I jumped up, glared at Bobby, and ducked my head as I turned toward Mom. “We were just messing around.”
“Well, it didn’t look like either of you was having any fun. If that’s the way you’re going to mess around, then maybe you’d better do it cleaning up the garage. That way you won’t get into trouble.”
The rest of the morning David and I stayed in the garage, cleaning up and grumbling about Bobby.
“I’m never talking to him again,” I told David as I swept the garage floor.
“Don’t let Mom hear you say that, or she’ll really make you invite Bobby to your piñata party.”
“I’ll just skip my birthday this year if I have to invite Bobby. And I’ll give my purple alligator away.”
“Hi, Benjamin. Hi, David,” someone shouted.
We looked up and saw Bobby coming up the driveway on his old, beat-up bike. David and I didn’t say anything. We just kept right on working.
“What’re you guys doing?” Bobby asked, leaning his bike against the side of the house.
“We’d be out playing ball if somebody hadn’t showed up this morning and got all smart,” I muttered.
Bobby didn’t seem to know what I was talking about. He came into the garage and looked around. “You still want to play ball?” he asked.
I didn’t say anything, hoping he’d just go away.
“Guess what tomorrow is?” Bobby asked excitedly.
David and I didn’t ask.
“It’s my birthday! I’ll be nine.”
“Your birthday?” David gasped. “You and Benjamin have the same birthday! His birthday is tomorrow, and he’ll be nine too.”
“Be quiet!” I snapped at David.
“My dad’s going to send me a new bike. A ten-speed.”
“Why don’t you stop all your bragging,” I said. “You aren’t getting anything, and you know it. You don’t even know where your dad is. You’ve probably never even seen your dad, so stop telling us about all the great things he’s going to send you. He hasn’t sent you anything so far. And he never will.”
I figured that Bobby was really going to tear into me then, so I threw my dustpan down and put my arms up defensively. But Bobby didn’t charge at me, swinging. He just stared at me for a minute, all sicklike. Then he swallowed once, ducked his head, and backed out of the garage. When he grabbed his bike and wobbled it down the driveway, he was crying.
I had wanted to hurt Bobby—after all, he was the one who had made Mom put us to work. But as I watched him ride away with his head bowed and his shoulders hunched, I felt sorry for him. It was the first time I’d ever felt sorry for Bobby Wilson.
David was staring at me as if he couldn’t believe that I’d said what I’d said.
“It serves him right,” I defended myself.
David turned away and started straightening some boxes.
I saw Bobby a couple of times that day in his yard, just sitting under an elm tree, staring at the ground. There was a cold, empty place inside me. I wanted to make it go away. I tried to think of lots of different things—fun things, exciting things—but no matter what I thought or did, that cold, empty place just stayed there.
That night, before David and I turned the lights off in our room, I lay on my bed, staring up at my piñata hanging in the corner. But I didn’t see the purple alligator. All I could see was Bobby Wilson.
“Are you boys going to keep the light on all night?” Dad asked, poking his head into our room. “You’d better get some sleep, Benjamin. You have a big day tomorrow.”
“Dad,” I said suddenly, “what makes Bobby Wilson the way he is?”
Dad thought for a moment, then came and sat on the edge of my bed. “Mom said that you had a little trouble with Bobby today,” he mentioned. “What was the problem?”
“Bobby’s the problem,” I muttered. “He’s always acting like a hotshot, bragging about all the things his dad is going to send him and about all the things he can do. Why does he act like that? It makes me want to punch him.”
Dad thought for a long time. “Bobby doesn’t have a lot of nice things. Maybe he’ll never have them. But he wants them, just the same. He’d like a new bike, but the only way he’ll ever have one is to dream about it, to hope that someday his dad, whom he never hears from, will send him the best bike in the world.”
“But he doesn’t even know where his dad is.”
“Have you ever wondered what it would be like if you didn’t have a dad or mom here all the time? Tonight Bobby’s probably climbing into bed by himself. There’s no one to go in and tell him good night and ask him if he’s said his prayers. He wants those things as much as you do. But the only thing he can do is dream about them and maybe talk as if he has them.”
I lay in bed awake long after David had gone to sleep. It didn’t do any good to close my eyes, because I kept tossing and turning and thinking. It wasn’t until I looked over in the corner and saw the dark shape of my purple alligator that I knew what I was going to do the next day. After that, going to sleep was easy.
“Hello, Mrs. Wilson,” I quavered the next day on Bobby’s front steps. Even though it was pretty late in the morning, Bobby’s mom was still in her robe and looked like she’d just got out of bed. “Is Bobby here?”
She stared at me a while and scratched her head. “I think he’s around in the backyard. You can go look. But don’t bang on the door anymore.”
I thanked her and walked around the house. Everything back there was kind of a mess. For a while I didn’t see anyone. Then I spotted Bobby sitting on a crate with his dumb baseball cap on his head and a cracked baseball bat in front of him. I called to him so he wouldn’t think I’d come to spy on him.
Bobby looked up. “What’d you come around back here for?”
I shrugged. “Just stopped by to see how things were going. I thought I’d wish you a happy birthday. It is your birthday, isn’t it?”
“Sure, it’s my birthday. I was going to have a big party.” He stopped and bit his lip. “I still am. But probably later. Mom isn’t feeling too well. And Dad hasn’t sent my ten-speed yet.”
“He will. Sometimes things just get here late.”
“Yeah.”
I hesitated, then blurted out, “Mom made me a piñata for my birthday. We’re going to break it this afternoon and have a big party.”
“I think I’ll ask my mom to make me a piñata, too, when she gets to feeling better.”
“She doesn’t have to do that. Why don’t you just share mine. There’s no sense in both our moms throwing a big party. Shoot, if your mom’s not feeling well, you can just come over to my place and we’ll have our birthdays together. In fact, you can be the very first one to take a crack at my purple alligator.”
“Do you mean it?”
I grinned. “Sure I mean it. I’ve never had a double birthday party before. Come on. We can help Dad hang the piñata in the willow tree.”
Suddenly we were running together. And I noticed that that cold, empty feeling was finally gone.

A young man who had been stationed in Leipzig with the military found the outreach center and became a regular at class and activities. The military life was so different from his home life that he longed to be around those with his same ideals. “One particular evening,” says Elder Griffiths, “he arrived just as the activity at the center was breaking up. We asked him why he had bothered to come when it was so late. He replied, ‘I had to come. I needed it.’”

Years later, during the summer of 1968, missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints visited the home of a family member. She declined the elders’ invitation to learn about the Church but sent them to my home.
At our first meeting the missionaries taught me that “a falling away” had occurred from the Church that Jesus Christ had established (see 2 Thessalonians 2:3). What they taught coincided with my personal study, so when they asked if they could visit me again, I agreed.
During their next visit, I had a list of questions. Did Latter-day Saints baptize by immersion? Did they believe in priesthood authority? Did they believe in the healing of the sick? Their answers supported what I had studied in the New Testament. At the end of the visit, they left me with a book they said testified of Jesus Christ.
I set the book on top of the TV and went to bed. But in the middle of the night, I was awakened by a strong feeling I later recognized as the Holy Ghost. I felt prompted to start reading, so I read for an hour and a half before returning to bed. A short time later, I reawakened with the same feeling, so I read some more.
This pattern continued for the next two nights. I loved what I was reading and recognized that the Book of Mormon testified of Jesus Christ.
I decided to ask God for direction. For the first time since I was a little girl, I knelt to pray. I asked Heavenly Father to help me know what to do with the fire I felt inside of me. When I finished my prayer, I felt prompted to revisit the account of the Lamanites’ conversion in 3 Nephi 9. I read that they “were baptized with fire and with the Holy Ghost, and they knew it not” (verse 20).
The phrase “they knew it not” spoke to me. The thought came to me: “The Church of Jesus Christ really is on the earth!” I was eager to talk to the missionaries about what I had read and what I now knew. But when they responded to my questions with an invitation to be baptized, I told them I couldn’t. My husband wouldn’t understand.
As I continued to think about that verse, however, I realized that it contained clear direction for me to offer the sacrifice of “a broken heart and a contrite spirit.” I prayed and asked my Father in Heaven to help me, which He did. After my husband took the missionary discussions, he gave his consent for me to be baptized.
How grateful I am to a loving Heavenly Father for that precious and powerful experience I had as a young mother in reading the Book of Mormon. It led me to the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. As a result, the influence of the Holy Ghost I felt those nights in 1968 is now a constant gift—something that has guided me during my more than 40 years as a member of the Church.

As I grew older, I learned about the blessings of doing things that at the time you don’t realize are important and good for you. When I was very little, I came down with a lung disease, but no one knew it at the time. When I grew older, I joined the air force. The doctors saw spots on my lungs. Because of the hard work of pedaling that heavy load, somehow my body had healed itself. I had built up endurance. I had built up strength. The doctors said that the disease took care of itself and that I passed my physical. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to become a pilot.

Kim and Neil Davis were getting nervous.
You see, they come from a very goal-oriented family with six children, and they always help each other accomplish the things they set out to do. When they set a goal as a family, there’s almost no stopping them.
That’s why they were getting anxious now. Time was growing short. They’d set a goal to introduce a new family to the gospel every six months, and here it was, the last week of that time period, and not one interested family had materialized.
They’d fulfilled this goal many times in the past. When the Davises had lived in Boston and Washington, D.C., they could introduce lots of families to the gospel. “Not only would we have them over for the missionary discussions,” says Kim, 16, the oldest daughter, “but we’d invite them to family home evenings, pumpkin carvings, have Easter egg coloring parties, and special Christmas programs.”
But now the family was back in Utah, and it wasn’t as easy finding non-LDS families to share the gospel with. The end of their six-month time frame was looming near, and they hadn’t found anyone. The Davises knew theirs was a righteous desire, so they had family prayers and fasted. The six children each asked for help in their individual prayers.
And then, on the last day of the sixth month, their prayers were answered.
“My dad is used to receiving foreign mail from doctors asking for copies of articles,” explains Kim. Her father, Dr. Kim Davis, has done research and been published in a number of medical journals. “So when he picked up the letter from Hungary, he didn’t think much of it, until he opened it and read what was inside.”
“We were so excited!” says Neil, age 13. The letter was from a family in Hungary. They had seen a television documentary about Utah on Hungarian national television, and it had mentioned the Mormons and some of their beliefs. What had impressed this family most was the idea that families could be together forever. They wanted to know more about a church which taught that, so the father, being a doctor, and the son, being a medical resident, pored over back medical journals until they found an address in Utah. It happened to be Dr. Davis’s. The Hungarian family asked if their letter could be forwarded to some information center.
There was no need for that. The Davises went immediately down to the distribution center and collected all the Church information they could find in Hungarian. They put it in a box, and shipped it to their newfound investigator family.
Then they went home and wrote their testimonies of the gospel. They put those in an envelope, along with pictures of their family, and sent them to the Keresztis as well.
The Keresztis were amazed when they received a big box so soon from the United States and eagerly began reading the material. They were even more amazed when they received the letter and found that such a large family could be so close and have such strong testimonies of the gospel. Though the Keresztis had only one child, which is quite common in Hungary, they felt just as strong about family unity and were ecstatic to find something to help them.
Soon the Davises and the Keresztis were exchanging letters and pictures frequently. “We grew very close,” says Kim. “When we got a letter from them, our whole family would pass it around, and we’d read it at family home evening. We were so excited to see how they were accepting the gospel in Hungary, and we couldn’t believe it was happening to us.”
In the meantime, the Davises contacted the mission president in Vienna, Austria. Through him, the Keresztis were able to have missionary discussions about once a month.
“When we got the letter saying they were going to be baptized in Vienna, Austria, it was really neat,” says Neil. “And when we got pictures taken after their baptism, that was great!”

One of the “new” families in the branch is José Felipe Hernández Jorge and his wife, Magnolia. Baptized in Mérida, Mexico, eight years ago, they moved their family to Palenque two years ago and quietly fell into inactivity. “Six or seven months ago, Elder and Sister de la Cruz found us and we became friends,” says Brother Hernández. “We’ve been attending ever since!” After only a few months, he succeeded Elder de la Cruz as branch president.

May I share with you tonight, brethren, a letter which I received some time ago, written by a husband who strayed far from the priesthood path of service and duty. It typifies the plea of too many of our brethren. He wrote:
“Dear President Monson:
“I had so much and now have so little. I am unhappy and feel as though I am failing in everything. The gospel has never left my heart, even though it has left my life. I ask for your prayers.
“Please don’t forget those of us who are out here—the lost Latter-day Saints. I know where the Church is, but sometimes I think I need someone else to show me the way, encourage me, take away my fear, and bear testimony to me.”
While reading this letter, I returned in my thoughts to a visit to one of the great art galleries of the world—even the famed Victoria and Albert Museum in London, England. There, exquisitely framed, was a masterpiece painted in 1831 by Joseph Mallord William Turner. The painting features heavy-laden black clouds and the fury of a turbulent sea portending danger and death. A light from a stranded vessel gleams far off. In the foreground, tossed high by incoming waves of foaming water, is a large lifeboat. The men pull mightily on the oars as the lifeboat plunges into the tempest. On the shore there stand a wife and two children, wet with rain and whipped by wind. They gaze anxiously seaward. In my mind I abbreviated the name of the painting. To me, it became To the Rescue.
Amidst the storms of life, danger lurks; and men, like boats, find themselves stranded and facing destruction. Who will man the lifeboats, leaving behind the comforts of home and family, and go to the rescue?
President John Taylor cautioned us, “If you do not magnify your callings, God will hold you responsible for those whom you might have saved had you done your duty.”
Brethren, our task is not insurmountable. We are on the Lord’s errand, and therefore we are entitled to the Lord’s help. But we must try. From the stage play Shenandoah comes the spoken line which inspires: “If we don’t try, then we don’t do; and if we don’t do, then why are we here?”
When the Master ministered among men, He called fishermen at Galilee to leave their nets and follow Him, declaring, “I will make you fishers of men.” And so He did. Tonight He issues a call to each of us to “come join the ranks.” He provides our battle plan with His admonition, “Wherefore, now let every man learn his duty, and to act in the office in which he is appointed, in all diligence.”
I love and cherish the noble word duty. Let us hearken to the stirring reminder found in the epistle of James: “Be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves.”
There is an old song of my vintage. It’s entitled “Wishing Will Make It So.” It’s not true. Wishing will not make it so. The Lord expects our thinking. He expects our action. He expects our labors. He expects our testimonies. He expects our devotion. Unfortunately, there are those who have departed from the track of priesthood activity. Let us help them back to that path that leads to life eternal. Let us build that strong Melchizedek Priesthood base which will be the foundation of Church activity and growth. It will be the underpinning to strengthen every family, every home, every quorum in every land.
Brethren, we can reach out to those for whom we are responsible and bring them to the table of the Lord, there to feast on His word and to enjoy the companionship of His Spirit and be “no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.”
The passage of time has not altered the capacity of the Redeemer to change men’s lives—our lives and the lives of those with whom we labor. As He said to the dead Lazarus, so He says today: “Come forth.” Come forth from the despair of doubt. Come forth from the sorrow of sin. Come forth from the death of disbelief. Come forth to a newness of life. Come forth.
We will discover that those whom we serve, who have felt through our labors the touch of the Master’s hand, somehow cannot explain the change which comes into their lives. There is a desire to serve faithfully, to walk humbly, and to live more like the Savior. Having received their spiritual eyesight and glimpsed the promises of eternity, they echo the words of the blind man to whom Jesus restored sight, who said, “One thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see.”
How can we account for these miracles? Why the upsurge of activity in men long dormant? The poet, speaking of death, wrote, “God … touched him, and he slept.” I say, speaking of this new birth, “God touched them, and they awakened.”
Two fundamental reasons largely account for these changes of attitudes, of habits, of actions. First, men have been shown their eternal possibilities and have made the decision to achieve them. Men cannot really long rest content with mediocrity once they see excellence is within their reach.
Second, other men have followed the admonition of the Savior and have loved their neighbors as themselves and helped to bring their neighbors’ dreams to fulfillment and their ambitions to realization.
The catalyst in this process has been—and will continue to be—the principle of love.
Another principle of truth which will guide us in our determination is that boys and men can change. I’m reminded of the words of a prison warden who taught this fact. A critic who knew of Warden Duffy’s efforts to rehabilitate men said, “Don’t you know that leopards can’t change their spots?”
Warden Duffy responded, “You should know I don’t work with leopards. I work with men, and men change every day.”
Many years ago, before leaving to become president of the Canadian Mission, headquartered in Toronto, Ontario, I had developed a friendship with a man by the name of Shelley, who lived in my ward but did not embrace the gospel, irrespective of the fact that his wife and children had done so. Shelley had been known as the toughest man in town when he was young. He was quite a pugilist. His fights were rarely in the ring but rather elsewhere. Try as I might, I could not bring about a change in Shelley’s attitude. The task appeared hopeless. In time, Shelley and his family moved from our ward.
After I had returned from Canada and was called to the Twelve, I received a telephone call from Shelley. He said, “Will you seal my wife and me and our family in the Salt Lake Temple?”
I answered hesitatingly, “Shelley, you first must be a baptized member of the Church.”
He laughed and responded, “Oh, I took care of that while you were in Canada. My home teacher was a school crossing guard, and every weekday as he and I would visit at the crossing, we would discuss the gospel.”
The sealings were performed; a family was united; joy followed.
Abraham Lincoln offered this wise counsel, which surely applies to home teachers: “If you would win a man to your cause, first convince him that you are his sincere friend.”
A friend makes more than a dutiful visit each month. A friend is more concerned about helping people than getting credit. A friend cares. A friend loves. A friend listens. And a friend reaches out.
There are brethren in every ward who seem to have a special skill and aptitude to penetrate the outer shell and reach the heart. Such was Raymond L. Egan, who served as my counselor in the bishopric. He loved to befriend and activate in the Church the father of a family and thereby bring into the fold a dear wife and precious children as well. This wonderful phenomenon occurred many times right up until Brother Egan departed mortality.
There are other ways, as well, by which one might lift and serve. On one occasion, I was speaking with a retired executive I had known for a long time. I asked him, “Ed, what are you doing in the Church?” He replied, “I have the best assignment in the ward. My responsibility is to help men who are unemployed find permanent employment. This year I have helped 12 of my brethren who were out of work to obtain good jobs. I have never been happier in my entire life.” Short in stature, “Little Ed,” as we affectionately called him, stood tall that evening as his eyes glistened and his voice quavered. He showed his love by helping those in need. He restored human dignity. He opened doors for those who knew not how to do so themselves.
I truly believe that those who have the ability to reach out and to lift up have found the formula descriptive of Brother Walter Stover—a man who spent his entire life in service to others. At Brother Stover’s funeral, his son-in-law paid tribute to him in these words: “Walter Stover had the ability to see Christ in every face he encountered, and he treated each person accordingly.” Legendary are his acts of compassionate help and his talent to lift heavenward every person whom he met. His guiding light was the Master’s voice speaking, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … , ye have done it unto me.”
Brethren, acquire the language of the Spirit. It is not learned from textbooks written by men of letters, nor is it acquired through reading and memorization. The language of the Spirit comes to him who seeks with all his heart to know God and keep His divine commandments. Proficiency in this “language” permits one to breach barriers, overcome obstacles, and touch the human heart.
In a day of danger or a time of trial, such knowledge, such hope, such understanding bring comfort to a troubled soul and a grieving heart. Shadows of despair are dispelled by rays of hope; sorrow yields to joy; and the feeling of being lost in the crowd of life vanishes with the certain knowledge that our Heavenly Father is mindful of each of us.
In closing, I return to the painting by Turner. In a very real sense, those persons stranded on the vessel which had run aground in the storm-tossed sea are like many young men—and older men as well—who await rescue by those of us who have the priesthood responsibility to man the lifeboats. Their hearts yearn for help. Mothers and fathers pray for their sons. Wives and children plead to heaven that Daddy and others may be reached.
Tonight I pray that all of us who hold the priesthood may sense our responsibilities and, as one, follow our Leader—even the Lord Jesus Christ, and His prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley—to the rescue.
In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

One evening last summer the 64 members of the “Sounds of Friendship” performing group from the LDS Institute of Religion at Utah State University were worrying if they could keep the interest of 2,000 young people who didn’t speak English. The “Sounds” were to perform the next evening for youth groups from such countries as East Germany, Poland, Russia, and Bulgaria at the Youth Pop-folk Celebration at Primorsko, Bulgaria, a resort on the Black Sea. The Utahns hoped to make a lasting impression but were worried about the language differences and the cold, windy amphitheater where they would be performing. The next night, however, the weather suddenly turned warm and the “Sounds” presented their full concert to the entire audience. In fact, one group of listeners kept their bus waiting because they didn’t want to leave the performance! The language barrier had been broken.
The concert in Primorsko was part of a three-week tour of Rumania and Bulgaria for the “Sounds,” officially known as the “Sounds of Zion” in the United States. “While on tour we had to change our name, since we were not allowed to perform as a religious group,” explained member Alex Baugh. “So we centered our program on themes of happiness, joy, and the home and family. Yet at every concert we were able to sing ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic,’ and ‘God Be with You.’ In this way we let them know how much our country and our Heavenly Father mean to us.”
In addition, the group was allowed to hand out picture postcards of Utah, the temples, and other Church buildings; Articles of Faith cards; buttons with their pictures on them; and Frisbees carrying the message “‘The Sounds of Friendship’ (The Mormons), Logan, Utah, USA.” The “Sounds” concluded their tour by taping a full-length show for Rumanian television, the first American group to do so. Director of the group, James Bradley, organized the “Sounds of Zion” 22 years ago with the purpose of forming an organization that could radiate the gospel in song and dance. He summed up the most recent trip by saying, “To me, it is almost a miracle to overcome so many difficulties and still be so effective. When the gospel doors are opened into Rumania and Bulgaria, I feel there will be many people who will welcome the missionaries with open arms.”