Gospel Story Finder

I will never forget the summer and fall of 2009. On June 9 my father died after suffering from dementia for over 10 years. On June 25 our 22-year-old son died unexpectedly, and less than a month later, so did my cousin. On August 13 my 82-year-old mother had open-heart surgery and began a lengthy recovery. On October 18 my 41-year-old brother died. On October 31 my husband had a massive heart attack and flat lined for eight minutes. The firefighters, paramedics, and a priesthood blessing brought him back to us.
People often asked me how we handled all of these events. My consistent answer was that we would turn to the Savior, and He cared for us. He did not leave us alone in our trials. I felt ministered to and carried by the heavens. Truly, He “has borne [my] griefs” (Mosiah 14:4).

I have five older sisters who all got married in their early twenties. Growing up, I expected my life to look just like theirs—but it didn’t. I graduated college with no fiancé or serious relationship prospects, started a career, moved back in with my parents for a while, traveled, bought a house, had amazing roommates, and charted my own course. I never felt at all excluded in my family, but there were times that I felt very single and wanted a husband and children like my sisters had.
And wasn’t that what God wanted for me too?
I wasn’t always lonely, of course. And I certainly knew that God hadn’t abandoned me—I had many amazing blessings in my life. I was able to focus on my spiritual and mental health, I volunteered and met incredible people, and I had the time and energy to serve in unique ways. When I felt discouraged, I kept telling myself that I was learning and growing and that God was aware of me.
Eventually I did get married, and it was absolutely worth the wait. A few days after our wedding, I had this very clear thought: “I am so grateful for the wait. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
I was honestly a bit surprised by this moment of revelation. Wouldn’t I have wanted to meet my husband much sooner? But for me, I was a better person and spouse because of all I had learned and experienced while waiting for this eternal blessing. I would have missed out on so much growth without that time.
Of course, one person’s timing isn’t better or worse than another’s. The timing of marriage is up to you and God, and growth can happen at any stage of life—married or unmarried, with or without children, etc. And I would continue to keep learning and growing; obviously marriage isn’t a final destination in our growth and spiritual development. But for me, there were crucial experiences that would likely not have happened under other circumstances, and I am grateful for how they have shaped who I am.

One bishop shared a similar experience with me. One Sunday, he had had an unusually heavy day of interviews, meetings, and visits. It was near 10:30 P.M. when he had a chance to walk through the chapel past the pulpit. He felt so overwhelmed with the weight of his responsibilities that he dropped to his knees in the dimly lighted chapel and plead with God for strength to carry the load. While praying, a voice came to his mind: “Bishop, you’re so tired! Why don’t you go home and go to bed?” The thought startled him at first, but as he reflected on it, he knew it was as direct an answer to prayer as the ones he received when praying about whom to call to Church positions.

Martin Reynolds, 18, of Sutton Coldfield, has found extra blessings coming from hard work needed for his particular round.

“My mother and I agreed to deliver 2,800 daily papers around our area,” he explains. “These have to be dropped off at 14 pickup points in bundles of 100. We get up at 4.30 A.M. returning home by 6.00 A.M. Not only do I save for my mission and have money for other activities this way, but I also have the chance to talk with my Mum. We get along really well. And it’s been a good time for her to teach me to drive.”

As a single mother working for a law firm in Phoenix, Arizona, USA, Evelyn Jeffries struggled to find the time and the space necessary for home storage. Although she attended activities and meetings about food storage and tried to be obedient to prophetic counsel, like many Church members, she found it difficult to imagine what she could ever do with the hundreds of pounds of wheat she was told she needed to have for her and her daughter.
When a sister in her ward suggested a different approach, Sister Jeffries discovered the key to successful home storage: consistently and gradually increasing her food supply.
Setting aside a particular amount in her budget for home storage, she purchased a few extra items from the grocery store each week. She also purchased one basic food item like grains and beans from the Church home storage center each month.
Many years later, in October 2002, Sister Jeffries was impressed when President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) suggested that Church members adopt a simpler approach to home storage.
“We can begin ever so modestly,” President Hinckley explained. “We can begin with a one week’s food supply and gradually build it to a month, and then to three months.”1
Sister Jeffries notes that “the beauty of this system is its appropriateness for families just starting their storage programs, as well as for those living in small homes and apartments, where space is at a premium. President Hinckley clearly recognized that change and adaptation are needed so that all of us might benefit from the Lord’s inspired program.”

When I was a young man about the age of some of you deacons here, my dad was bishop of the ward in our little farming town of Banida in southeastern Idaho. I remember the first time he brought me with him to Salt Lake City to attend a general priesthood meeting. In those years, Dad always seemed to me to be really old. As I recognize now, he must have been around thirty-eight years of age. I was happy to be with him.

I remember we sat in the balcony there on the north side. Before the meeting started, Dad pointed out which one of the Brethren on the stand was President Heber J. Grant and which were his Counselors. I saw the Twelve Apostles and the other Brethren. And that night, a warm feeling of love and respect for the leaders of the Church came over me and has continued to grow to this day.

That night, I decided I wanted to do everything I could to support my dad as bishop. I didn’t want to do anything that would embarrass or disappoint him. To this day, I am grateful for those feelings that came to me that night.

Perhaps nowhere is that enjoyment of life better exhibited, however, than in the lives of young Latter-day Saints in Nice. The Church is alive and growing in the area, and the young people play a prominent role in sharing the gospel with their friends and neighbors and with each other.
There are two branches in Nice, one in the neighborhood called Cimiez and one at St. Augustin, and several more in towns and cities nearby, including St. Raphael, Grasse, Cannes, and Antibes. When the young Saints gather for a district activity, they invite the adults and children and investigators to join them, and they fill the cultural hall in the modern chapel on Avenue Thérèse to near capacity. Such was the case last summer when the youth of the district met for a two-day conference, including a talent show and skit, a day full of workshops and games, and a visit to castles and the coastline.
Enormous figures of dancers in native costume adorned the back wall of the hall, while other walls boasted hand-drawn port scenes. Green construction paper chains hung overhead, adding to the spirit of merriment. Work on the decorations had taken nearly all of Friday afternoon, and now the show was ready to begin.
A chorus sang hymns. Dancers performed routines from “West Side Story,” a square dance, and a ballet. Comedians told jokes, guitarists strummed folk ballads, and dramatic passages from Victor Hugo’s writing were recited. The highlight of the evening was a comedy skit about a rich, deaf uncle with an immense fortune and a lot of scheming relatives. First class acting brought rich rounds of applause.
The show ended with another hymn from the chorus. Then an eager crowd of young folks swept the chairs back to their appointed places, hooked up the record player, and swirled across the floor in near-perfect ballroom form.
“We heard that elegant dancing is coming back into style in the U.S.,” one brother said. “So we tried it here. We saw the BYU dancers perform once and admired them. Now we dance like this all the time.”
All too soon, however, the dance music faded, the refreshments were gone, and it was time for a good night’s sleep.
The next morning at 10:00, about ten of the Niçois (as the people from Nice are known) gathered at the gare (train station) and headed for the hills. With them were two 16-year-old sisters from Marseilles. First stop, Mont Alban, an ancient chateau fort (fortified castle) overlooking the bay.
Looking out from the summit, Christiane Beltrutti, 18, mentally traced trails between the red tile roofs of buildings, then gazed at sails drifting on the azure bay. The mood of the moment led her to contemplate her love for her home.
“The most important thing we can do is to build up the Church where we live,” she said. “I love this area. I love these people. I want to share the gospel with them; I want to grow strong here and see my children, later on, grow up in the Church, along with many of their friends.
“People come from all over the world to visit Nice. Those of us who live here should really appreciate the beauty, not just of the coastline, but of the inland towns and villages as well. I think most of us do.”
It’s a quick ride from the top of the hill back to the old part of the city. Here tourists crowded the boutiques and souvenir shops, eager to gather memories of their days in the sun. Everyone seemed excited just to be there. “We call it la joie de vivre,” said Michel Demisse. “That means the joy of being alive.”
The young Latter-day Saints did, indeed, seem excited with life, excited to be exploring the city. On foot they wound their way through narrow cobblestone streets, between houses stacked haphazardly one upon another, past women who still carry home laundry in baskets on their heads. In the marketplace, bright red buckets brimmed with olives and clams and cod for sale. Flower shops peeked in colorful profusion from alley corners. Minstrels serenaded restaurant patrons dining on pan bagnat or socca, specialties of the regional cuisine.
Nice is a melting pot community. The Greek-French singer Georges Moustaki defined the area as a meeting place of continents and civilizations. A glance at the young Saints confirmed his analysis. Philippe Benarous is from a Norman family that has Scandinavian and Germanic ancestry. Chantal Daviot, a member of a year and a half, had ancestors who helped settle the French colonies in Africa. Isabelle Perez’s name reflects the Spanish influence in the area, and Christiane’s last name, Beltrutti, shows the Italian flavor of the sunlit coast.
After a pause at a fountain to eat their sandwiches, the group decided that, despite threatening clouds, it was worth the two-mile hike up hills and stairs to Le Château, site of a castle long-since destroyed. In their decision, they reflected again the philosophy described by Moustaki: “Il y a un bel été qui ne craint pas l’automne en méditerranée.” (There is a beautiful summer that is not afraid of autumn, in the Mediterranean.) Though the rain drizzled down, they knew the sun would eventually break through. They bounded up the steps and paused to catch their breath at the top of the first flight.
Huddled under umbrellas, they again shared their feelings about gospel ideals.
Isabelle, 18, is the only one in the group who was born in the Church. “I like what we are able to learn about ourselves by being active in the gospel,” she said. “It’s important to get together with other members of the Church because in different spiritual, cultural, and recreational activities, we get to appreciate ourselves and our brothers and sisters better. I especially enjoy meetings at which returned missionaries from our hometowns speak because it helps us see that the Church is not small; it’s worldwide and growing. This helps young people to want to go on missions.”
“In fact,” Brigitte Besson added, “one of the problems we face is that we have to change personnel so often—all of our young men keep leaving on missions.”
Jean-Paul Tran, 18, from Grasse, said one of the local goals is to get everyone working together so that soon a stake can be formed in Nice.
“We all have the same ideals, really,” said Chantal. “To progress together, to improve each other by being together, to find increased spirituality.”
The hike continued. The rain lessened, then increased, just as the group passed in front of a waterfall that tumbles from the summit. “Isn’t it nice to be so cool?” someone hollered ahe mist from the falls and flung it in his face.
One more flight of stairs, and the group was on top. Leaning over the railings, they looked at the beach, usually full of sunbathers, now empty and stretching for miles between la Promenade des Anglais (one of Nice’s main streets) and la Baie des Anges (Bay of the Angels).
Several minutes later, after stopping by the beach and listening to roaring waves, the group rejoined the rest of the conference attenders for an afternoon of workshops at the chapel. José Masse, who is studying agriculture, instructed a group of about 35 people on how to plant windowbox gardens.
“The prophet has said to grow gardens,” José said. “So I tried it at home. I know I can raise lettuce and tomatoes.” He continued with a lecture about planting bean seeds properly.
Next it was Brigitte’s turn. She joined with Daniel Jardon to present a workshop on how to lead music and how to follow the person who’s leading. Brigitte relied heavily on her training as a student at the conservatoire, or music school, where she is the first singer. She touched briefly on the topic of how to project the voice, breathing techniques while singing, and the idea that each voice has a distinct sound of its own.
Following the workshops, it was time for some games. First was le beret (drop the hanky). The group sat in a circle on the floor, except for one young man. He walked around the circle on the outside, then dropped a handkerchief behind someone and started running. The object was to circle the ring and take the person’s place before being caught.
The next game, salade, resembled musical chairs. The person called out the name of different types of fruit, then those assigned to that type switched places. One person was always left without a seat and became “it,” yelling out another type of fruit. Occasionally, the person who was it called “salade,” and everyone changed places.
As the afternoon wore on, the group also tried a few rounds of ballon prisonnier (dodge ball), then tire à la corde (tug-o-war) until the rope broke and there was a unanimous declaration that it must be supper time, time for sandwiches once again.
In France, however, it’s hard to tire of sandwiches for two reasons:
For one, there are hundreds of varieties of sandwich toppings, from meats and sausages to carrot salad to Camembert cheese. Peanut butter is rare (and very un-French), but jam, re-christened confiture, is the sweetened essence of fruit fresh from the trees.
For the other, sandwiches are made with bread—not air-whipped, white paste, commercial dough, but hand-fashioned loaves carefully glazed in the neighborhood baker’s wood-fired ovens.
No one complained about eating sandwiches for the second time.
After dinner a new mood prevailed. The young Saints knew there was a serious side to their conference, and the time for it was now. They filed into the Relief Society room where the district president waited with a presentation about living worthily in order to be ready to someday enter the temple.
The conversation covered hair and dress standards, with a special discussion about swimwear; civil disobedience and protest; morality; sustaining of Church leaders; the use of symbols in teaching; and the value of making promises to the Lord. It stressed the importance of making good decisions at good times, building on a foundation of missionary service, and choosing eternal peace rather than momentary pleasure. Questions were sincere, answers based on years of experience. When the discussion stopped, there was a sweet peace in the room, a spirit no one wanted to disturb.
Finally, a young man rose to offer the closing prayer, and then conversations, quiet and reverent, were renewed.

During my sophomore year in high school, I volunteered as part of the technical crew to produce my high school’s annual musical. The experience became one of my favorite memories of the year, because it was fun and I learned so much doing it. I also loved working with the people I met.
But the most important thing I learned was not something I had expected.
In order for the tech crew to communicate quietly with each other, we used radio headsets. We also used them to tell jokes, have conversations, even to sing to each other to entertain ourselves during the long rehearsals.
But the first time we used the headsets wasn’t actually so comfortable for me. At first I was having a blast. Then some people started gossiping about the actors rehearsing onstage. I tried to ignore the snide comments and rude remarks, but as the conversation developed, the gossip grew crueler and more offensive.
I felt sick hearing some of the comments, but I was afraid to stand up against my new friends. I wish I had, because as I tolerated their jokes, I was eventually tempted to laugh and make my own comments. I began to rationalize why it would have been fine. Nobody but the tech crew would have heard me, and I wanted to fit in with the people around me.
As hard as it was, I knew that backbiting about those onstage wasn’t right, and I chose not to gossip.
After the rehearsal we learned that everything we had said over the headsets had been broadcast backstage. All 60 or so of the cast members had heard us talking. Some were angry, upset, or embarrassed. No one was impressed.
Later, while I was talking with one of my friends about what had happened, she said, “Everyone knows you’d never say anything like that.” Her comment shocked me, and I realized the significance of the choice I had made. If I had chosen to join in with the gossip, what would that have said about me? What would that have said about the Church?
I’m grateful for the choice I made in that dark, little theater, even when I thought others wouldn’t know, because it has opened blessings of friendship, peace, and confidence that I would have lost had I chosen to gossip.

Joseph Fielding Smith spent many hours riding his horse, Junie, and he took good care of her. After a ride, he always walked her and brushed her. At night he was careful to lock her in her stall in the barn.
But Junie was a smart horse. After Joseph left the barn at night, she used her nose and teeth to undo the strap that held the door of her stall shut.
Whenever she got out, she never ran away. Instead, she turned on the water tap in the Smith’s yard, then walked through the garden or across the lawn.
4. If Joseph heard the water running in the night, he knew that Junie had unlocked her stall—again. Joseph’s father teased him, saying that maybe the horse was smarter than Joseph.
5. Joseph’s father decided that he would lock Junie in so that she could not get out. He buckled the strap around the post and under a crossbar. “Young lady,” he told the horse, “let’s see you get out now.”
6. As Joseph and his father walked back to the house, they heard Junie walking along behind them. Joseph couldn’t resist asking his father who Junie was smarter than now!
7. Joseph Fielding Smith had a good sense of humor, and he enjoyed life. Many years later, when he became the tenth President of the Church, he encouraged other Church members to enjoy life.

I had a wise bishop who called me in when I was twelve. He said, “LeGrand, we need some organists in our ward. I’d like you to take an organ class at the McCune School of Music. It costs five dollars for ten lessons. The ward will pay half of it, and you pay half.” I’m sure my mother put him up to it and paid the ward’s half.
I took the class and started to play the organ. When I was fourteen, I became the ward organist. In my high school days, I played the piano in a dance orchestra. That was a lot of fun. I loved the rhythm, and I could usually make five or ten dollars a night. When I was in dental school in Kansas City, Missouri, I played the organ at a Presbyterian church. It was a great experience for me. I played a lot of LDS hymns for them. They especially enjoyed “O My Father” and “Come, Come Ye Saints.” After playing at their service, I would get on the bus and go play a pump organ at our service.

The lesson I learned from this experience became even more important many years later when I had five teenage children of my own. Like many families, we occasionally found our family relationships a little strained or uneven. On one such occasion I felt like the key to family harmony was for my children to see things my way and act in ways I thought were right. They were not doing anything bad, I just felt they should change their attitudes to conform more closely to mine. To me, that seemed like the answer, but as I pondered the solution, the Lord spoke to me through my feelings. In my heart and mind came the message, “It is better to be one than to be right.”
I wasn’t quite sure what that meant. But I heard and felt it. After a lot of thought and prayer, I began to understand that it was more important for our family to be one than it was for me to be right. That realization pierced me to the core, and I could see that even if I were right about how things ought to be done, that knowledge alone would not bless my family. I remembered that the Lord had said, “Be one; and if ye are not one ye are not mine” (D&C 38:27). I realized that the only way to gain what we all really wanted was for us to be one and that if I insisted on holding to what I perceived as the moral high ground, we would not likely resolve our differences.
Most importantly, the message implied that I shouldn’t be expecting my children to change: I needed to change. Suddenly I could see that if I would change and do the things that would make us one as a family, everything would work out. The Lord truly helped me, and almost overnight I began to change. I focused on loving my children without conditions, without expecting them to change. I simply wanted to love them—and for them to love me.
That was not a dramatic change, but it was an important change of heart and mind. As my children became aware of the transformation taking place in their father, it was surprising how quickly we became one again. The strains we were experiencing just melted away. Harmony returned. Once again our home became a place of love.
Since those long-ago days my children have all married and now have their own families, and as parents my wife and I take such delight in them. We are all such good friends—best friends. My prayers were answered. Not the prayer to change my children, which is what I prayed for at first, but for the change that came over me as a result of my prayers. The Lord answered my prayers by helping me change.

My dad and I were taking a walk around the neighborhood when I saw a TV remote control lying on the ground. I picked it up and asked my dad if I could look for the owner. He said yes, so I rang some doorbells. At one house the man said, “It’s not mine.” I rang another doorbell, and the man said, “It’s mine,” so I gave it to him. I left feeling good inside. As I was walking home, the man came up to me and said, “Thanks for being honest.” I said, “Thank you!” and went home. I’m glad I was honest.

I was in New York some time ago. I told the Saints I met with there that the president asked them all to be missionaries. I said, “Now, won’t you all stop and think for a minute of someone you know who isn’t a member of the Church—someone you work with, your neighbor, your friend, or a relative—someone you can bring to a knowledge of the truth? They will love you for it throughout the eternities. It would be worth more to them than if you would give them a million dollars.”
Not long after that I received a letter from a young man in Houston, Texas. He had been in New York attending a convention in his particular field and had attended our meeting. The letter went like this. He said, “Brother Richards, I heard you invite each one of us to be an instrument in the hands of the Lord in bringing someone to the knowledge of the truth. I wrote a letter to my wife and told her that I had a proposition to make to her when I came home.” When he got home he told her what I had said. He said, “There is a young man who works in the office with me. He knows I’m a Mormon, but I have never told him why. I would like to invite him over, with his wife, for supper some night. After supper we will have something to talk about.”
To make this story short, he wrote me a two-page letter telling me the joy he had had in leading this man and his wife into the waters of baptism. I have since met them down in Houston. I believe he is now the stake president of the Sunday School.

Angie didn’t want to go to school. She liked her teacher, Mr. Miles. She liked the third-grade reading, and she sort of liked math. What she didn’t like was lunchtime.
“You’re crazy,” her sixth-grade brother, Mike, said. “Lunch and recess are the best parts of school.”
“Who do you eat with?” Angie asked.
“Joe, Jerry, Bob, or whoever’s around. Then we play football or soccer.” He pushed back his chair, grabbed his football, and started for the door.
“Don’t forget your lunch,” Mother called.
Mike came back, grabbed his lunch sack, and darted out the door.
“Finish your breakfast, Angie. You don’t want to be late,” Mother urged.
Angie poked at her egg. Her stomach knotted, and her throat felt dry. Who will I eat with today? she wondered. Aloud, she said, “I feel sick.”
Her mother felt Angie’s forehead. “You don’t have a temperature. Are you worried about whom you’ll eat lunch with?”
Angie nodded.
“Why don’t you call Mary?”
“I did. She’s playing with Shannon after school, so they’re eating together today.”
“Why can’t you eat with them? Is there some law that says only two people can eat together?” her mother kidded.
“No. But I just can’t.” How could she explain to her mother that all the girls in the third grade ate in pairs. Angie felt funny about asking other girls to eat with her. What if they were going to eat with someone else? Or what if they said no?
Angie sighed. Maybe her mother would let her come home for lunch. Sometimes she did. But before she could ask, her mother handed her a brown paper sack with Angie written in purple crayon across it. “Here’s your lunch, honey. I’m playing tennis today, otherwise I’d let you come home for lunch.” She hugged Angie. “If you’re really upset about eating alone, why don’t you eat with Mike?”
“Are you kidding!” Angie wailed. “He wouldn’t like that and neither would his friends.”
At school Angie tried not to think about lunch. But all the other girls in her class seemed busy doing something with a partner. Mary and Shannon were cleaning the hamster cage together. Judy and Susan sat side by side, whispering. Pat and Ashley were working on a picture for the bulletin board. It wasn’t like last year when all the girls did things together. Angie could feel tears prickling her eyes. Maybe she should go to the office and say that she didn’t feel well. The nurse would call her mother, and Angie could go home. No, Mom has a tennis game, Angie remembered, and won’t be there.
Mr. Miles told the class to close their math books and take a surprise quiz. When they were finished, he had them trade papers and correct them while he read off the answers. Lisa handed back Angie’s paper and gave her a friendly smile. “You didn’t miss any, Angie,” she said.
Angie had corrected Lisa’s paper. Lisa had missed five problems because she’d forgotten to carry the number from the first column to the second.
“Oh, thanks, Angie,” Lisa said gratefully when Angie pointed out what she was doing wrong. But she didn’t invite Angie to eat lunch with her.
When the lunch bell rang, Angie walked slowly to the cupboard and took out her lunch. Everywhere she looked on the playground, girls were eating together in twos. Just the boys were jammed together at the picnic tables. She saw Mike at one table surrounded by boys. He sure is lucky, Angie thought. She walked over to the side of the building and sat down on the cement, feeling very left out and alone. She looked up at the cloudless blue sky. Maybe it would rain a lot this winter. When it rained, everyone ate in the classroom together.
Angie pulled out her tuna sandwich. Inside the sandwich bag was a note:
“Dear Angie,
“Look around the playground until you find a girl eating by herself. Go over and ask if you can eat with her. I dare you!
“Love, Mom”
Angie looked around. She saw a girl sitting over by the maple tree. A girl in a pink sweater sat on a redwood bench. And another girl stood by the library door. They were eating alone, just as she was. She’d been so worried about herself that she hadn’t noticed them.
Angie knew the girl standing by the library slightly, so she picked up her lunch and walked over. “Hi, may I eat with you?”
The girl looked up and gave Angie a shy smile. “Sure, I’d like to eat lunch with some one.”
Angie knew exactly what she meant. “Great!” Angie said with a big smile. “Let’s go see if that girl sitting on the bench wants to eat with us too.”

Perhaps a shared experience will assist in formulating answers to these significant and universally asked questions. When I reflect on the race of life, I remember another race, even from childhood days. When I was about ten, my boyfriends and I would take pocketknives in hand and, from the soft wood of a willow tree, fashion small toy boats. With a triangular-shaped cotton sail in place, each would launch his crude craft in a race down the relatively turbulent waters of the Provo River. We would run along the river’s bank and watch the tiny vessels sometimes bobbing violently in the swift current and at other times sailing serenely as the water deepened.
During such a race, we noted that one boat led all the rest toward the appointed finish line. Suddenly, the current carried it too close to a large whirlpool, and the boat heaved to its side and capsized. Around and around it was carried, unable to make its way back into the main current. At last it came to rest at the end of the pool, amid the flotsam and jetsam that surrounded it, held fast by the fingerlike tentacles of the grasping green moss.
The toy boats of childhood had no keel for stability, no rudder to provide direction, and no source of power. Like the hitchhiker, their destination was “Anywhere,” but inevitably downstream.
We have been provided divine attributes to guide our destiny. We entered mortality not to float with the moving currents of life, but with the power to think, to reason, and to achieve. We left our heavenly home and came to earth in the purity and innocence of childhood.
Our Heavenly Father did not launch us on our eternal journey without providing the means whereby we could receive from Him God-given guidance to ensure our safe return at the end of life’s great race. Yes, I speak of prayer. I speak, too, of the whisperings from that still, small voice within each of us; and I do not overlook the holy scriptures, written by mariners who successfully sailed the seas we too must cross.
Individual effort will be required of us. What can we do to prepare? How can we assure a safe voyage?
First, we must visualize our objective. What is our purpose? The Prophet Joseph Smith counseled: “Happiness is the object and design of our existence; and will be the end thereof, if we pursue the path that leads to it; and this path is virtue, uprightness, faithfulness, holiness, and keeping all the commandments of God” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, pages 255–56). In this one sentence we are provided not only a well-defined goal, but also the way we might achieve it.
Second, we must make continuous effort. Have you noticed that many of the most cherished of God’s dealings with His children have been when they were engaged in a proper activity? The visit of the Master to His disciples on the way to Emmaus, the good Samaritan on the road to Jericho, even Nephi on his return to Jerusalem, and Father Lehi en route to the precious land of promise. Let us not overlook Joseph Smith on the way to Carthage, and Brigham Young on the vast plains to the valley home of the Saints.
Third, we must not detour from our determined course. In our journey we will encounter forks and turnings in the road. There will be the inevitable trials of our faith and the temptations of our times. We simply cannot afford the luxury of a detour, for certain detours lead to destruction and spiritual death. Let us avoid the moral quicksands that threaten on every side, the whirlpools of sin, and the crosscurrents of uninspired philosophies. That clever pied piper called Lucifer still plays his lilting melody and attracts the unsuspecting away from the safety of their chosen pathway, away from the counsel of loving parents, away from the security of God’s teachings. His tune is ever so old, his words ever so sweet. His price is everlasting. He seeks not the refuse of humanity, but the very elect of God. King David listened, then followed, then fell. But then so did Cain in an earlier era, and Judas Iscariot in a later one.
Fourth, to gain the prize, we must be willing to pay the price. The apprentice does not become the master craftsman until he has qualified. The lawyer does not practice until he has passed the bar. The doctor does not attend our needs until internship has been completed.
You are the fellow that has to decide
Whether you’ll do it or toss it aside. …
Whether you’ll seek the goal that’s afar
Or just be contented to stay where you are.
(Edgar A. Guest, “You.”)
Let us remember how Saul the persecutor became Paul the proselyter, how Peter the fisherman became the Apostle of spiritual power.
Our example in the race of life could well be our Elder Brother, even the Lord. As a small boy, He provided a watchword: “Wist ye not that I must be about my Father’s business?” (Luke 2:49). As a grown man, He taught by example, compassion, love, obedience, sacrifice, and devotion. To you and to me His summons is still the same: “Come, follow me.”
One who listened and who followed was Elder Randall Ellsworth. While serving in Guatemala as a missionary, Randall Ellsworth survived a devastating earthquake, which hurled a beam down on his back, paralyzing his legs and severely damaging his kidneys. He was the only American injured in the quake, which claimed the lives of some eighteen thousand persons.
After receiving emergency medical treatment, he was flown to a large hospital near his home in Rockville, Maryland. While Randall was confined there, a television newscaster conducted with him an interview that I witnessed through the miracle of television. The reporter asked, “Can you walk?”
The answer: “Not yet, but I will.”
“Do you think you will be able to complete your mission?”
Came the reply, “Others think not, but I will.”
With microphone in hand, the reporter continued, “I understand you have received a special letter containing a get-well message from none other than the President of the United States.”
“Yes,” replied Randall, “I am very grateful to the President for his thoughtfulness; but I received another letter, not from the president of my country, but from the president of my church—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—President Spencer W. Kimball. This I cherish. With him praying for me, and the prayers of my family, my friends, and my missionary companions, I will return to Guatemala. The Lord wanted me to preach the gospel there for two years, and that’s what I intend to do.”
I turned to my wife and commented, “He surely must not know the extent of his injuries. Our official medical reports would not permit us to expect such a return to Guatemala.”
How grateful am I that the day of faith and the age of miracles are not past history but continue with us even now.
The newspapers and the television cameras turned their attention to more immediate news as the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months. The words of Rudyard Kipling describe Randall Ellsworth’s situation:
The tumult and the shouting dies—
The Captains and the Kings depart—
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
(“Recessional”)
And God did not forget him who possessed a humble and a contrite heart, even Elder Randall Ellsworth. Little by little, the feeling began to return. In his own words, Randall described the recovery: “The thing I did was always to keep busy, always pushing myself. In the hospital I asked to do therapy twice a day instead of just once. I wanted to walk again on my own.” When the Missionary Department evaluated the medical progress Randall Ellsworth had made, word was sent to him that his return to Guatemala was authorized. Said he, “At first I was so happy I didn’t know what to do. Then I went into my bedroom and I started to cry. Then I dropped to my knees and thanked my Heavenly Father.”
Randall Ellsworth walked aboard the plane that carried him back to the mission to which he was called and back to the people whom he loved. Behind he left a trail of skeptics, a host of doubters, but also hundreds amazed at the power of God, the miracle of faith, and the reward of determination. Ahead lay thousands of honest, God-fearing, and earnestly seeking sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father. A modern-day Paul, who had overcome his “thorn in the flesh,” had returned to teach them the truth, to lead them to life eternal. From Elder Ellsworth, they heard God’s word. They learned His truth. They accepted His ordinances.
Like Randall Ellsworth, may we know where we are going, be willing to make the continuous effort required to get there, avoid any detour, and be willing to pay the often very high price of faith and determination to win life’s race.
At the end of our mortal journey, may we be able to echo the words of Paul: “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith” (2 Tim. 4:7). By so doing we shall be given that “crown of righteousness” which perisheth not, and hear the plaudit from our Eternal Judge: “Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord” (Matt. 25:21).
We will then have completed our journey. Not to a nebulous “Anywhere,” but to our heavenly home—even eternal life in the celestial kingdom of God.

Scarlet M., age 16, Cautín Province, Chile
When I joined the Church, I felt alone, though some of the youth made efforts to interact with me. I went to Mutual activities and got more involved in their conversations. I listened to them and gave my contribution. I smiled at them and showed genuine interest in them. My advice is to help your friend open up. Help her participate in any Church activity, and she will begin to enjoy the company of many friends.

As Ryan was participating in a school quartet, he found that the song selected for the group to sing had lyrics he objected to. Ryan talked to the teacher about changing the words, but the teacher became angry. Ryan was hurt by the teacher’s reaction. After school, the teacher asked to speak to him and apologized for getting upset. “She said that what I had done took courage,” said Ryan. “She said she admired me for standing up for what I believed in and that she was willing to resolve the problem because she really wanted me in the quartet.”

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

Sometimes young women have special challenges when the family isn’t complete. Last summer in Alaska, I met a Young Women president whose mother had died when she was three. She had been raised by her father, joining the Church at age 14. I asked her how she had learned to do all the feminine things, like fixing her hair and setting a pretty table. She said: “I watched my Young Women leaders! When I saw one of them who knew how to cook, I thought, I want to be just like her. Now, every time I clean my house, I think of my Laurel adviser.” So even if your own families are less than perfect, you can think about and plan for your own future family.

Once there was an old, wise, and prudent king who had three sons. As the king grew older, he decided it was time to confer his kingdom upon one of them. So he called his sons to him and said, “Soon I will go the way of all the earth. Before I die, I will crown one of you the next king. I know that all of you are good men, so I am going to give you a test: Here are three small coins for each of you to take to the marketplace and buy something that is useful and that will fill my whole house.” Then he told them to come back the next day with what they had bought.
The three sons left their father’s house and went to the marketplace, which was very big. It was full of all kinds of things that were interesting and beautiful, simple and useful. Wonderful smells were floating in the air. Here you could find anything you needed or wanted.
The oldest son scurried around the marketplace, wondering what he could buy with his three small coins. Although he was a very busy husband and father, and had a business to take care of, he would honor his father’s unusual request. If only he could find something quickly!
Glancing at the rugs, he thought they were very beautiful. The rugs were useful, too, and could fill his father’s house—but they were far too expensive. Then he saw something else that was quite useful, and he could buy enough of it to fill his father’s house. He made his purchase and hurried home with it, thinking, That was easy!
The second son slowly wandered in and out of the stalls and shops. He was becoming very discouraged because he simply could not see a thing that he could buy with only three small coins. He thought that his father’s request was really impossible to fulfill. He was hungry and ready to go home, when something caught his attention. The son bought several with his coins and went home. At least he wouldn’t go back to his father empty-handed.
The youngest son was also very puzzled over his father’s strange test. He walked around the marketplace all day, looking and looking. Once he stopped to help a lost little girl find her mother. Another time he helped an old woman load her donkey with bundles of firewood. He talked with the men and laughed with the children playing games. But his search for something useful that could fill his father’s house seemed in vain. He had just about given up finding anything, because it was getting dark and the market was closing.
I’ll try once more, he decided. And as he passed a small shop for the last time, he saw exactly what he needed! “Why didn’t I think of it before?” he said out loud. He spent his three small coins and carried his treasure home.
The next day, the three brothers again found themselves before their father, the king. Each was ready to show what he had bought with his coins.
The oldest son carried in a large, bulky bundle of straw. He scattered the straw across the floors in all the rooms of the king’s house. It smelled sweet and made a crunchy, swishy sound as all in the household went about their chores. But soon the children were playing in it, and it stuck to their hair and got in their clothes. Then the chickens came into the house to scratch in the straw and to make their nests. And the women in the king’s house complained that they could not keep the house clean and that they couldn’t find small things that were dropped.
The king frowned. He decided that the straw was too troublesome to really be useful.
The second son filled small bowls with burning sticks of incense. Carefully, he placed a bowl of the incense in various places in the house. Its sweet smell started drifting through the rooms, and the people stopped their work, trying to catch a whiff of it. But the delicate scent was soon gone with the gentle breeze that came through the open windows.
The king shook his head and decided that the incense did not fill his whole house long enough and that when they smelled it, people didn’t seem to want to do their work.
Finally the youngest son came in. In each room of the house he set out a candle and lit it. A soft, warm glow filled the corners and hallways. Everyone began chatting amiably as they busied themselves around the house, for the light had chased away the shadows. The children giggled and played, or practiced their lessons. Women sang while they did their housework and took care of the babies. And the men were able to do their work faster, and more safely too.
The old king sighed a happy sigh, and smiled with contentment. The new king would be his youngest son, who filled the castle with light and helped his people enjoy their labors.