Gospel Story Finder

Several years ago I was riding on a train from Edinburgh, Scotland, to Glasgow with a noted British lawyer. We had engaged him to present our claim of discrimination by the city council of Glasgow. We were seeking a building permit, which had been repeatedly denied by the city council at the instigation of an opposing ministerial group as not needed inasmuch as there was an abundance of vacant or unused church buildings. We had been granted a hearing before the secretary of state for Scotland, a member of the prime minister’s cabinet.
As the early morning train sped toward Glasgow, I asked the distinguished counsel if he had any additional questions about our church. I was concerned about his limited understanding of our expansion, of why we were building modern church buildings and why we had hundreds of missionaries in Great Britain. He assured me that he was quite comfortable in representing us and presenting our case that to him appeared to have merit.
As we discussed other aspects of our growing presence in Great Britain, he said, “I hear, but it couldn’t be true, that you baptize for dead people.”
I said, “Yes, it is true—not only true that we do it today, but the eternal principle of vicarious service of baptism for the dead was taught during our Savior’s earthly ministry.”
I explained that all of God’s worthy children of all ages can become heirs of salvation in His kingdom. I briefly reminded the lawyer of Jesus teaching Nicodemus that “except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.
“Nicodemus [said] unto him, How can a man be born [again] when he is old? can he enter the second time into his mother’s womb, and be born?
“Jesus answered, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God” (John 3:3–5).
I also made reference to the early Apostles’ teachings regarding Christ’s resurrection and the resurrection of all, including Paul’s great statement: “Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at all? why are they then baptized for the dead?” (1 Cor. 15:29).
The engaged lawyer seemed comfortable. He presented our case effectively. We won our building permit. The chapel now stands in Glasgow, Scotland.

On the way to my new job, I started to worry.
What if I’m not good enough? I thought as I rode the bus. What if they think I can’t do a good job?
Then I had a clear feeling: Try your best. Even if it doesn’t go well, there’s somebody who loves you.
I thought about my husband. I knew he would love me even if my job didn’t go well. And then I thought about Jesus Christ. I knew that He would always love me. I could feel it in my heart. I said a simple prayer asking Heavenly Father to help me.
When I got to work, I did my best. When I made a mistake, I just kept trying. I remembered that someone still loved me.

I don’t believe it! I just don’t believe it! A boy actually asked me out, a real, warm-blooded American boy!

It’s almost midnight, but I can’t sleep. I’ve got to record my first date, my first real, honest-to-goodness date. It happened just like it’s supposed to: the phone rang; I answered; a masculine voice said, “Hi, Micah. This is Mark Sorenson. What are you doing tonight?”

At first I thought he was joking and was just going to ask me to lead the singing at youth activity night or something. I stammered, “Whaa … what?”
“What are you doing tonight?” he repeated.
“N-nothing special.”
“Would you like to go to the movies with me? There’s a good one playing down at the mall.”
“I’ll ask,” I said breathlessly, and ran through the house screaming, “Mom, Mom, Mark Sorenson wants to take me out! Can I go?”

Well, I can’t pretend the evening was perfect. Mom gave her permission, but when Dad came home he got mad because she hadn’t consulted him first, and he said I couldn’t go. I burst into tears. He relented, growling, “You just make sure you’re home by ten.” I hugged him ecstatically.
“You’re great, Dad!”

Then I had to find something to wear. I tried on and discarded everything in my closet—they all seemed to be too short. Again I dissolved into tears. Mom patted me on the back, told me to stop acting like an idiot, and did a quick hem job on one of my dresses. Watching her, I suddenly realized what she was doing. She let the hem down, and that means I’ve grown taller! Immediately I felt better.

Mark was a little late, and I got impatient and started to put on my coat. Mom stopped me. “On a date you should always let a boy help you put on your coat. You should never let it appear as if he’s late, even if he is.” She continued to lecture me on the rules of dating etiquette, and by the time I walked out the door with Mark, I felt very knowledgeable.

The movie was good and Mark was fun, but I’m afraid I was a disaster. The way to learn how to behave on a date is not to take a cram course one minute before you leave. I forgot to let Mark hold the car door open for me, and when I opened a can of soda at the theater, it sprayed all over. We both reached for napkins at the same time and bumped heads. During the movie I ate most of the popcorn, breaking my diet and a rule of etiquette at the same time, and when we got home, I was so flustered I forgot to say thank you. I won’t be surprised if he never asks me out again.

Oh well, at least he did ask me out this once. That’s the important thing. I’m no longer a never-been-dated 16-year-old, a hopeless wallflower, a poor thing. I’m attractive. I’m interesting. I’m normal. I can look at the models in World and say, “I am one of you. I know how it is. I’m your equal.” I even wonder if I’m not a little better than they are. After all, they’re only drawings on shiny pages. With their long legs, big shoes, and small, skinny bodies, they remind me of something—I can’t think what. I’m too tired to think.

My family had a similar experience. My two faithful brothers, wonderful sister, and I were raised by exemplary parents. We were taught the gospel in our home, we successfully made it to adulthood, and all four of us were sealed in the temple to our spouses. However, in 1994 our sister, Susan, became disenchanted with the Church and some of its teachings. She was persuaded by those who mocked and criticized the early leaders of the Church. She allowed her faith in living prophets and apostles to diminish. Over time, her doubts overcame her faith, and she chose to leave the Church. Susan has given me permission to share her story with the hope that it might help others.
My brothers and I and our widowed mother were devastated. We couldn’t imagine what possibly could have led her to abandon her faith. My sister’s choices seemed to be breaking our mother’s heart.
My brothers and I had served as bishops and quorum presidents, and we had experienced the joy of success with ward and quorum members as we left the ninety and nine and went after the one. However, with our sister, our persistent efforts to rescue her and to invite her back only pushed her further and further away.
As we sought heavenly guidance as to how we might properly respond to her, it became evident that we had to follow the example of the father in the parable of the prodigal son. Susan had made her choice, and we had to figuratively let her go—but not without her knowing and feeling our sincere love for her. And so, with renewed love and kindness, we watched and we waited.
My mother never stopped loving and caring for Susan. Every time my mother attended the temple, she placed Susan’s name on the prayer roll and never lost hope. My older brother and his wife, who lived closest to Susan in California, invited her to all family events. They prepared dinner in their home each year on Susan’s birthday. They made sure they were always in touch with her and that she knew of their genuine love for her.
My younger brother and his wife reached out to Susan’s children in Utah and cared for them and loved them. They made sure that her children were always invited to family gatherings, and when it came time for Susan’s granddaughter to be baptized, my brother was there to perform the ordinance. Susan also had loving home teachers and visiting teachers who never gave up.
As our children went on missions and were married, Susan was invited to and attended these family celebrations. We tried diligently to create family events so that Susan and her children could be with us and they would know that we loved them and that they were part of our family. As Susan received an advanced degree at a California university, we were all there to support her at her graduation. Although we could not embrace all of her choices, we could certainly embrace her. We loved, we watched, and we waited.
In 2006, after 12 years had passed since Susan left the Church, our daughter Katy moved with her husband to California so he could attend law school. They were in the same city as Susan. This young couple looked to their aunt Susan for help and support, and they loved her. Susan helped care for our two-year-old granddaughter, Lucy, and Susan found herself helping Lucy with her nightly prayers. Katy called me one day and asked if I thought Susan would ever come back to the Church. I assured her that I felt she would and that we needed to continue to be patient. As another three years passed, with continued love, we watched and we waited.
Six years ago this weekend, my wife, Marcia, and I were sitting on the front row of this Conference Center. I was to be sustained as a new General Authority that day. Marcia, who is always in touch with the Spirit, had written a note to me that read, “I think it is time for Susan to come back.” My daughter Katy suggested that I leave and call Susan to invite her to watch general conference that day.

Prompted by these two great women, I walked to the foyer and called my sister. I got her voice mail and simply invited her to watch that session of general conference. She got the message. To our delight, she felt impressed to watch all the sessions of conference. She heard from prophets and apostles she had loved in earlier years. She found new names she had not heard before, such as President Uchtdorf and Elders Bednar, Cook, Christofferson, and Andersen. During this and other unique heaven-sent experiences, my sister—like the prodigal son—came to herself (see Luke 15:17). The words of prophets and apostles and the love of her family moved her to turn and begin the walk back home. After 15 years our daughter and sister who was lost had been found. The watch and the wait were over.
Susan describes this experience just as Lehi described it in the Book of Mormon. She let go of the iron rod and found herself in a mist of darkness (see 1 Nephi 8:23). She states that she did not know she was lost until her faith was reawakened by the Light of Christ, which brightly magnified the stark contrast between what she was experiencing in the world and what the Lord and her family were offering.
A miracle has occurred over the past six years. Susan has a renewed testimony of the Book of Mormon. She has received her temple recommend. She has served as an ordinance worker in the temple, and she currently teaches the Gospel Doctrine class in her ward. The windows of heaven have opened to her children and her grandchildren, and although there have been difficult consequences, it feels as if she never left.

I think of Elder Neal A. Maxwell and some of the challenges he faced during his teenage years. His parents were very poor. It was embarrassing to him that early on they did not have indoor bathroom facilities like so many of his friends. He raised pigs, and that didn’t gain him a lot of popularity at high school either. He suffered from severe acne that challenged his confidence and sense of self-worth. He wondered if he would ever be socially acceptable to others.
He was intensely interested in athletics—particularly basketball—and was good enough to be able to play on the team as a freshman. But in later years, he was cut from the team and the sport he loved. Consequently, as he described it, “I turned to the world of words.” That became an immense blessing for him in his political, university, and educational assignments and to all of us he now serves as one of the Lord’s prophets, seers, and revelators.

For a number of years I represented a retired attorney named Larry Beilenson. He was one of the most brilliant men I had ever met—a Harvard graduate in the true tradition. He also was a man of exacting integrity—a refreshing combination of traits. For years he served as the personal attorney for Ronald Reagan when he was in the entertainment field. Later he served as one of his political advisors.

It was about three days before the end of the year. Mr. Beilenson was negotiating the purchase of a large supply of equipment. It would give him a tax write-off and a good return on his investment, but he needed to conclude the transaction before December 31. The other party called back to say that there was simply not enough time to draft and prepare the necessary documents before year-end. I will never forget the instructions that Mr. Beilenson then gave me: “Tell them that they have my word. It is better than a written contract.” And then he added, almost parenthetically, “If I were bound only to a written contract, I might find a loophole, but there are no loopholes in my word.”

One of the acid tests of our integrity is whether or not we keep the commitments and promises we have made or whether there are loopholes in our word.

All seven of us were crammed into our Primary teacher’s old van. The heater was going full blast, but my toes were still cold. I could see wisps of snow in front of the headlights.
“Mrs. Tillman lives right down the road. Maybe we could visit her for a minute before we go milk Betsy,” suggested Sister Allred.
“At six o’clock in the morning?” burst out Tony.
“Mrs. Tillman used to go to work at four in the morning,” replied Sister Allred. “She still likes getting up early. Besides, I want to drop her off some homemade breakfast rolls. And … well … I’d like to give her a Book of Mormon, too, and maybe share my testimony of it with her.”
“A Book of Mormon?” screeched Tony.
“She’s the last person I’d give a Book of Mormon to,” I said.
“She’s the meanest lady in town!” exclaimed Jimmy.
Sister Allred smiled. “Is that so? Well, I’m sure she would love to meet you.”
All five of us boys gave each other worried looks. Even “Sweet” Emily Clawson looked troubled.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Sister Allred. “This time I’ll drop you off to milk Betsy. You’ve milked her enough now that you don’t need my help. Today’s kind of a special day for me, and I really do want to give Mrs. Tillman this Book of Mormon.”
I didn’t have time to wonder why today was Sister Allred’s special day. She’d already come to a stop in front of the Millers’ snowy mailbox. We piled out—all except redheaded Brian. He wanted to meet the meanest lady in town.
Pulling my parka hood closer around my face, I trudged through the snow. In my mind, I pictured Mr. and Mrs. Miller strolling down a warm beach in Hawaii. I was beginning to wish our Primary class had never volunteered to milk their cow while they were on vacation.
Suddenly, an icy hand stole inside my hood and smashed a snowball against my neck.
“How about a snowball fight, Phillip?” Tony proposed mischievously.
“We have to milk Betsy,” I retorted, trying to brush the dripping snow from my neck.
“Aw, it’s too cold for cow milking,” said Tony. “Why don’t you and Emily take care of it.” He grinned at the other boys.
The snowball fight was soon in full swing. Tony and his gang didn’t care where they aimed—or maybe they did. Most of the snowballs sailed at us. When one splattered on Betsy’s nose, she jerked up her head and trotted away.
“That’s not fair,” shouted Emily. “We can fight back, but Betsy can’t.”
I was surprised to hear her talk so sharply. I was even more surprised to see Emily let loose with a snowball that landed smack on Tony’s head.
Tony only laughed.
I grimaced. Tony had calmed down since Sister Allred had become our Primary teacher. But now and then he forgot that he was no longer the terror of the Primary. Today I wanted no part of his pranks. For one thing, I was in a hurry to get Betsy milked. Mom had promised me waffles, bacon, and hot chocolate when I got home.
With all the snowballs flying around us, it was all Emily and I could do to get poor Betsy into the barn. Even then, she kept stamping her feet and eyeing us uneasily.
“You give her some grain,” I told Emily. “I’ll start milking.”
“Don’t you think you’d better let her eat a little and give her time to settle down?” suggested Emily.
“No time today,” I snapped, still thinking about the breakfast my mother had waiting for me, and wishing my feet were not so numb.
I put a bucket under Betsy and pulled up a stool. I purposely “forgot” to wash and dry her udder first. I began to milk, but hardly a trickle fell into the bucket. I sat there for a long time, squeezing and squeezing. There was still only a dribble. Exasperated, I stood up. “Well, you’ve had your chance. If that’s all the milk you’re giving today, I’m done with you.”
Betsy rolled her eyes toward me, but I didn’t pay any attention. Yanking up the bucket, I marched around behind her—smack into Sister Allred! The bucket slipped from my cold fingers, and milk spilled over Sister Allred’s boots.
My Primary teacher looked at the bucket. “Well, it doesn’t look like you had much milk to spill. Are you having problems this morning?”
“Oh,” I answered, “Betsy just didn’t have much milk to give this morning.”
Sister Allred smiled. “Maybe we should give Betsy another chance.” Stroking Betsy gently, she spoke to the cow. “What’s the matter, old girl? Don’t you want to give your milk this morning?”
Soon Sister Allred was sitting beside Betsy. Still talking soothingly, she carefully washed Betsy’s udder in warm water. Milk started streaming thick and warm into the bucket. By then Tony and the other boys had crept in from their snowball fight.
Sister Allred was smiling wistfully when I looked at her again.
“What are you thinking about, Sister Allred?” I asked.
“Oh, I was just thinking about my son, Todd. When we had our farm, he was the best milker of all. I always told him that he’d grow up to be a great missionary.”
“What’s milking got to do with missionary work?” I asked.
“Milking a cow is pretty impossible unless she’s ready to let down her milk. Usually a cow will let down her milk when she’s contented and calm—maybe after a little grain feeding or someone washing her udder or when there’s a little soft music in the barn. Todd was gentle and patient not only with the cows but with everybody. I knew that he would be such a gentle, loving missionary that people would naturally let down their barriers against believing the gospel. Todd was gaining a strong testimony of the gospel too.”
“So where did Todd go on his mission?” I asked.
Sister Allred replied quietly. “One day when Todd was just about your age, he and his dad were delivering a load of cattle to a farmer. On a steep grade, the cattle suddenly shifted to one side, and the truck veered on the icy road and rolled into a ravine. Todd and my husband both died.”
“Oh!” we said together. Then we were silent, listening to the soft sounds of the last of Betsy’s milk filling the bucket.
“When I started teaching you,” Sister Allred continued, “I thought that maybe I’d be helping prepare some missionaries, after all.”
No one said a word until I asked, “Sister Allred, why did you say today was a special day for you?”
She smiled. “Today is Todd’s birthday. He would have been nineteen.”
“So that’s why you wanted to be a good missionary to that mean old lady?” asked Tony.
Brian burst out, “Mrs. Tillman isn’t mean. She sat and talked to us and gave me hot biscuits and honey.”
My stomach growled.
“Best of all,” he added, “she’s going to church with us this Sunday.”
“She is?” we chorused.
Sister Allred chuckled. “I tried to give her the Book of Mormon, but I was too late. She read it a long time ago. She’s thought about going to church but has never wanted to go by herself.”
“So how did she get a Book of Mormon?” I said.
Sister Allred got a strange misty look in her eyes. “All these years, I didn’t know—Todd gave her one when he was only nine years old.”
My breath caught in my throat. I patted Betsy and looked down at her fresh, warm milk brimming in the bucket. I wondered if I could learn to milk as well as Todd. Most of all, I wanted to gain a strong testimony of the Church so that I could be a good missionary too.

As things will happen, the teacher whose class this was attended the banquet where I was to receive the award. I couldn’t resist telling a story about one of my experiences in her class. She was a very exacting and precise lady who dressed every bit the part of the old schoolmarm. She stood straight as a toothpick, had no shape, wore long, black dresses and a big bob in her hair at the back, and she used to carry a ruler around and was very adept at using it. Quite a motivator.
I was having a problem of being tardy to this class. One morning she kept me after class and said, “Young man, if you’re tardy one more time, I’ll see to it you’re dropped from the varsity ball team.” Now, that was one method to get through to me; so I took a vow with her that I’d be tardy no more, and for many days I did very well. Later one morning when I had only about five days to go until the end of the semester, I was running about two minutes behind. I was pedaling my bike as fast as I could down Hollywood Boulevard. I go on campus, parked and locked it, and ran across the quad and into the liberal arts building where my class was located. Just as I entered the building, the bell started to ring. The tardy bell lasted twelve seconds; that’s the time I had to go the length of the hall. Standing at the end of the hall in the doorway of my room was my teacher. She had her hand on the doorknob, and I knew that the second the bell quit ringing she’d close it. I started to run. The building had highly polished tile floors. I had on a pair of leather shoes, and I wasn’t getting much traction. I could see she was eager to close the door. I ran and finally got some traction. I could sense just before I got to the door that the bell was going to quit, so I drew up on all the prowess I had. I went into a hook slide. I actually slid the last twenty feet, thanks to the highly polished floors. I slid right by her under two desks; and I remember that as I passed her I looked up and hollered, “Safe!”

There had been some minor conflicts with local nonmember youth. A bus was vandalized and a young conference attender was pushed around a bit. What was the reaction of these young Mormons who were learning about service and how to apply gospel teachings in their lives?

“We only have two cheeks to turn,” said one of the youth leaders, “so we’d better solve the problem before it grows.” They discussed it and came to the realization that the troublemakers were probably just feeling left out of all the fun. So an invitation went out, formally and on a one-to-one basis. “Come and join us! There’s enough fun for everyone, and we’d love to have you.”

The missionaries taught us about the Book of Mormon and left a copy for us to read. This was during the summer, and I was on vacation for a couple of months after finishing my first year at the university. So I took the book that afternoon after the discussion and started to read it.
Page after page I read and read and read, and I couldn’t stop. There was this magic that came from the book. I love reading and had read many books, but this was different. I was captured by the book, and after I had read for several hours, my mother said, “Juan, turn off the light! Your brothers want to sleep.” And I said, “Yeah, just a moment, just a moment,” and I continued reading. Even after many hours of reading, I had no hunger, no thirst, and no desire for sleep.
Illustration by Brian Call
Before I finished the book, I knew that something special was in it. I had a testimony because of three things that I experienced as I was reading the book for the first time.
The first thing that happened to me during those hours was a profound feeling of peace that was different from anything I had experienced before. This feeling of peace was with me for several hours.
The second thing I experienced as I was reading was a feeling of joy. It was not the happiness I was used to having when I was with my friends or when I bought something I really liked. It was not a feeling of happiness; it was a feeling of joy. As I was reading, I began to cry and I realized, “Wow, I like this!”
And the third thing that I experienced was enlightenment. When I first started to read, it was difficult to understand because there were words like Nephi and Atonement that were unfamiliar to me. But after a few hours of reading, my mind was opened, and it was like there was light in my mind and I could comprehend more and more as I continued reading the book.
I learned later that those three experiences are some of the ways in which the Spirit manifests to us.

Gustavus Perry was an important member of our family tree. He was baptized in 1832 and became the first of our family to embrace the gospel. The Perry family history records this remarkable event:
On a beautiful farm in the state of New York, Gustavus Adolphus Perry and his good wife, Eunice Wing, with their three sons, Orrin Alonzo, Lorenzo, and Henry Elisha, and their four daughters, Rosalie Alvira, Alvina, Amanda, and Lucy, were living very peacefully and happily. Close to the year of 1830 (we do not know the exact date) one evening after a light snow had fallen, the family was all in for the night. It was dark and the latchstring was drawn in so no one could enter the house. Then suddenly without warning, a stranger walked into the home and greeted them with these words: “God bless you.” He spent the night with them explaining the principles of the gospel and told them of a new book called the Book of Mormon and quoted passages from the same. He then told them on what pages they were to find the quotations and that elders would soon visit them. The messenger disappeared in the morning just as suddenly as he had appeared the night before, leaving no tracks in the freshly fallen snow. They inquired of their neighbors to see if anyone had seen him. They had not, and no trace of him could be found.
This good family was ready for the gospel when it came to them, and they joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1832.
The Perrys were like other families who joined the Church in the early 1800s. They moved from their home in upstate New York to Ohio, then on to the gathering in Missouri. Forced from their Missouri home, they moved to Illinois. Again driven from their home, in the very cold winter of 1846, they made the painful trip across Iowa to settle in the Lake Branch at Winter Quarters. Here Gustavus served as a counselor in the bishopric until they were instructed in 1852 by Brigham Young to close the ward, join a wagon train, and make the long trek across the plains. Upon their arrival in Utah, he moved his family north into Box Elder County and settled at Three Mile Creek. In a few years his son, Orrin Alonzo, became the first bishop, and, as was the custom in those days, the community was named after their first bishop—thus, Perry, Utah, was named.

The first example comes from when I was a young missionary serving in Ha’apai, Tonga. One of the best gifts a missionary can be given is a referral. One Friday we received a referral from a family saying, “If you will be on our island next Wednesday evening, we have a family who would like to listen to you.” We were overjoyed and said we would be there.

The only way we had of getting there was by sailboat. So, early Wednesday morning we started to sail north. It normally took six or seven hours with good wind to get there so we gave ourselves an extra six hours just in case. We had a good morning breeze and by noon we were two-thirds of the way there. Then suddenly the wind just stopped, and we were becalmed. You can imagine my frustration. I will let the following brief clip tell the rest of the story.

The family didn’t join right then but did later. Think of the joy this man who rowed me to shore must have felt from helping not just me, but this family, with all his heart. Tired? Yes! Full of joy and gratitude? Certainly forever!

I can tell you from experience something about how to help if you are the one sent. Shortly after I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve, I got a phone call from President Faust, counselor in the First Presidency. He asked me to come to his office. I went with some concern as to why he would take the time to visit with me.

After some pleasantries, he looked at me and said, “Has it happened yet?” When I looked puzzled, he went on to say, “I’ve been watching you in meetings. It seems to me that you have been feeling that your calling is beyond you and that you are not qualified.”

I said that doubt had come to me, as if I had hit a wall. I expected that he was going to reassure me. I told him that I appreciated his being aware of my doubts and asked for his help. But I was surprised by his kind, firm reply. He said, “Don’t ask me. Go to Him.” Then he pointed up to heaven. Now years later I sit in that same office. When I walk into it I look up and remember him and how he taught me by example how to help those who are feeling overwhelmed in the Lord’s service. Find a way to send them with confidence to Him. If they will follow your counsel, they will gain the strength they need and to spare.

One illustration:
The setting is a rocky valley. The young anthropologist, Loren Eiseley, considers his two duties: one, “to capture the past,” and, two, “to lay hands on the present”—in this case, to trap animals to be sent to zoos. In the dark of the night, previously having discovered the nesting place of some birds in an old abandoned cabin, he quietly and quickly opened the door, shone a spotlight into the dark, and grabbed with his two hands whatever was blinded by his cohort, the light. Two sparrow hawks, a male and a female, were there. What he hadn’t planned on was that the male would protect the female. When the light went on, the male gave a cry and began to peck and claw the young man’s hand. The light was knocked over, and the female regained her sight and flew out through a hole in the roof. But he had the male in his possession. A fine sparrow hawk in the prime of life who had saved his mate by diverting the young “assassin’s” attention. The hawk was placed in a box to await the morning, the trip to civilization, and a cage where he would spend the rest of his life. The next morning the young man brought the box in which the little hawk was imprisoned out onto the grass where he was building a cage. But then he paused; he could see no sign of the female. He opened the box, paused again, and then took the bird in his hands. It lay limp in his grasp, but he could feel the heart pound under the feathers. He then laid the bird on the ground. The hawk looked beyond the man and into the sky. “He lay there a long minute without hope, unmoving ,” his little breast against the grass, his eyes still fixed on the sky above. Then he was gone, soaring into the sky. The young man watched and listened—silence, then a cry ringing from somewhere high overhead. His heart turned over, for it was not the cry of the hawk he had captured but the cry of its mate from where she had been soaring restlessly above for hours. He saw them both whirling together—then, once more, there was another cry of such “unutterable and ecstatic joy” that for the young man it sounded in his heart throughout his years (See Loren Eiseley, “The Bird and the Machine,” The Star Thrower [New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1978], pp. 83–91).

Embedded within this narrative is Loren Eiseley’s response to his responsibility, his relationship to the others of God’s creations, and the agency that would direct his response. And what of our response? How will we relate to them?

Study the words of President David O. McKay, who tells of how, in his youth, he knelt and “prayed fervently and sincerely and with as much faith as a young boy could muster” that “God would declare to [him] the truth of his revelation to Joseph Smith.”
President McKay related that when he arose from his knees, he had to admit that “no spiritual manifestation has come to me. If I am true to myself, I must say that I am just the same [boy] that I was before I prayed.”
I don’t know how young David felt in his heart at that time, but I’m sure he must have been disappointed—perhaps frustrated that he didn’t receive the spiritual experience that he had hoped for. But that didn’t discourage him from continuing his search for that knowledge.
The answer to his prayers did come, but not until years later, when he was serving as a missionary. Why was the answer to his prayer so long delayed? President McKay believed that this spiritual manifestation “came as a natural sequence to the performance of duty.”

I Love the Advice given to Andrew Jackson by his Mother
In 1781 Andrew Jackson, then 14 years of age, enlisted in the American army, was captured and thrown into prison where he had smallpox. His mother Elizabeth Hutchinson Jackson, through exchange arranged for his release and nursed him back to health. Responding to an urgent appeal, she left him to go to Charleston to nurse some sick neighbors who were confined there on a British hospital ship. This errand of mercy cost her life. She caught yellow fever and died.
Almost her last words to her young son were:
"Andrew, if I should not see you again, I wish you to remember and treasure up some things I have already said to you; in this world you will have to make your own way. To do that you must have friends. You can make friends by being honest and you can keep them by being steadfast. You must keep in mind that friends worth having will in the long run expect as much from you as they give to you. To forget an obligation or to be ungrateful for a kindness is a base crime - not merely a fault or a sin but an actual crime. Men guilty of it sooner or later must suffer the penalty... None will respect you more than you respect yourself... Never wound the feelings of others. Never brook wanton outrage upon your own feelings." (By Unknown)

During the planning and preparation for the Mexico, Central and South America area conferences in February 1977, we were scheduled to hold meetings in La Paz, Bolivia, which is twelve thousand feet above sea level. Dr. Ernest L. Wilkinson and Dr. Russell M. Nelson advised us that President Kimball should have four to six hours’ rest to acclimate his heart and blood pressure to the high altitude. President Kimball is very tightly scheduled during area conferences, and this allows little time for rest. (In reality, the doctors accompanied the General Authorities so that we could keep up with President Kimball.)

I talked with President Tanner and President Romney to seek their assistance in getting President Kimball to rest in La Paz before the start of the area conference. They only smiled and said, “You can try.”

Detailed plans were presented to the First Presidency for area conferences in Mexico, Central and South America. I saw President Kimball make two small red check marks next to La Paz, Bolivia, where there were two meetings that he was not scheduled to attend. “What are these meetings? Why am I not attending?” he asked. There was a pause; then I replied, “That’s a rest period, President Kimball.” And he remarked, “Are you tired, Elder Hales?”

We arrived in La Paz, and the first meeting was a cultural event. He would not rest. My head ached; it felt as though it would explode in adjusting to the altitude, and we breathed oxygen to attempt to speed up our being acclimated to the twelve-thousand-foot altitude; but President Kimball took no oxygen. He greeted, embraced, and shook hands with two thousand Saints.

After the last meeting, he invited one thousand more of his beloved Lamanites, who had come down from the Altiplano, to come shake his hand. They came and embraced him and shook his hand vigorously. He wanted to show his love for the Lamanites.

Dr. Wilkinson was concerned with the President’s vigorous activity at twelve thousand feet and approached him. He asked President Kimball if it would be possible for him to stop soon. President Kimball said, “If you knew what I knew, you wouldn’t ask me that question.” President Kimball is driven by the knowledge that we are preparing for the second coming of Jesus Christ. He knows that it is his responsibility, along with those who are chosen to work with him, to take the message to all nations in their own tongue and language.

Angela Vildor, a Laurel, moved to the Bahamas from Haiti a few years ago with her family. With the move came many changes, including learning English—a real challenge since she had spent her entire life speaking Haitian Creole. One afternoon a friend of hers invited her to a free English class sponsored by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Angela readily accepted the invitation.
“I met the missionaries in English class,” she says. “They gave me a Book of Mormon and later they talked to me about it. I told them that when I read the Book of Mormon, I felt very strong; it was a very different feeling. They explained that what I was feeling was the Spirit.”
Soon after Angela told the missionaries about her feelings, she was taught the missionary discussions and was baptized. A few weeks later, Angela’s younger sister, Annette, was also baptized. Together, the two of them help each other learn more about the gospel and share it with the rest of their family and their friends.

When we served in Texas, we knew two missionaries that lived in the same circumstances … but had different attitudes. They were assigned to the same place, one right after the other. The first Elder was particularly unhappy. My wife called to check on him and asked how he was doing in his area. “Oh, Sister Lyons, it’s difficult up here. My apartment is awful, my companion is difficult and the members aren’t helpful at all.” Soon after, this Elder was transferred to another area in the mission. Concerned about the general conditions in the apartment and area, Sister Lyons called the missionary that replaced him to see how he was getting along. “Sister Lyons, I love this area. My apartment is super, my companion is great and the members are so anxious to help. Things couldn’t be better.”
What changed? Which of these missionaries are we more like? Do we see the sun coming up? Today? Tomorrow? Or are we waiting for someone else to show us the sunrise?

With permission from our son Matthew, let me reconstruct a conversation we had when he was 16 years old. One evening, while driving in the car together, I asked what he was learning in seminary. “Oh, you know,” he said in his teenage way, “the gospel.” “What about the gospel?” I asked.“You know, Dad, the Restoration and all that.” “I see. Which part?”He paused for a moment, as if weighing whether to share something that really mattered to him. “OK,” he said, “the part about Joseph Smith giving Oliver Cowdery the 126 pages from the Book of Mormon.”For a moment, I wondered what kind of seminary class he was in. Then I tried to gently explain, “Well, you know son, the Prophet Joseph Smith gave those pages to Martin Harris, not Oliver Cowdery.”“Sure, whatever,” Matthew said.“And,” I continued, “I believe it was 116 pages, not 126.”“Yeah, yeah, Dad, I know. But the point is, I made the link.”“The link?” I asked.
Then Matthew helped me understand. “Do you remember the summer when I earned $100 mowing lawns, and I wanted to buy that electric scooter? You said you didn’t think it was a good idea. But I really wanted that scooter. So I prayed about it, and I had the feeling I should listen to you. But I didn’t like that answer, so I prayed about it again—a couple of times. And I kept getting the feeling I should forget the scooter. But I really wanted it, so I just bought it anyway. And the second day I rode it, it broke. It was too expensive to fix, and we ended up throwing it away. And I lost everything I’d saved! Dad,” he said, “ that’s what happened to Joseph Smith. He knew in his heart that he shouldn’t loan out those pages. But he kept asking the Lord, and finally Joseph loaned them anyway. And they were lost. He was totally sad and couldn’t sleep or eat or anything. And he decided he was never going to disobey again. That’s the link, Dad. That’s the link I made to myself.”We sat in silence for a moment while I was making a link of my own: Learning the gospel is about more than hearing and repeating facts and concepts. Was it Oliver Cowdery or Martin Harris? It’s important to know, but not essential to salvation. The number of pages lost? That’s not a saving doctrine either. Suddenly I was thinking about good people I know who master many details of gospel doctrine and Church history, but do not make the link to what it means for them. Linking gospel truth to ourselves is another way of talking about truly understanding the gospel.
Matthew’s new understanding was very simple: “Heavenly Father wants to help me. He won’t impose His will or insist that I obey. He will speak to me by the still, small voice of the Holy Ghost. And if I willingly listen and respond, I will be blessed and happy.” In time, Matthew did learn the correct names and number of pages. And thanks to a fine seminary teacher, he identified much rich doctrine embedded in early Church History. But let’s remember, none of that would have meant much to 16-year-old Matthew until he made the link and came to an understanding for himself. That’s when he changed. And that confirms the powerful principle taught by President Boyd K. Packer: “True doctrine, understood, changes attitudes and behavior.”8 That’s what happened to Matthew.