Gospel Story Finder

President Faust would not tell you this himself. Perhaps I can tell it, and he can take it out on me afterward. He had a mortgage on his home drawing 4 percent interest. Many people would have told him he was foolish to pay off that mortgage when it carried so low a rate of interest. But the first opportunity he had to acquire some means, he and his wife determined they would pay off their mortgage. He has been free of debt since that day. That’s why he wears a smile on his face, and that’s why he whistles while he works.

In the hospital one day I was wheeled out of the operating room by an attendant who stumbled, and there issued from his angry lips vicious cursing with a combination of the names of the Savior. Even half-conscious, I recoiled and implored: “Please! Please! That is my Lord whose names you revile.”
There was a deathly silence; then a subdued voice whispered, “I am sorry.” He had forgotten for the moment that the Lord had forcefully commanded all his people, “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain” (Ex. 20:7).

Some time ago, one of the students on this campus called my home to report what sounded to me like a condition of epidemic proportions. It was just before finals. Shelly, who happens to be my niece, explained that she and her roommates were stressed out and needed a place to escape for the weekend. I, of course, was delighted to provide the place. They said there had hardly been a weekend or even a day when they had not been completely overloaded. “So much to do and so little time” was their comment as they talked of schedules, commitments, expectations, pressures, and even some anxieties about dates, deadlines, decisions, finances, future obligations, and unlimited opportunities.

It took seventeen weeks (at four pages a day), but the young men and young women in the Hermosa Vista Ward, Mesa Arizona Red Mountain Stake, did it. With their leaders, they accepted Moroni’s challenge in Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5], divided into teams of ten, and read the entire Book of Mormon as a group.
Each group of ten was assigned a captain. At first the captains weren’t really sure they wanted the responsibility. Blair Phelps knew ahead of time what they were up against. His sister had been a captain for a similar group the year before, so he knew what was involved. But he agreed to serve anyway, joining seven others as captains of the eight teams.
Each week the captains contacted every team member and added up the points each had earned that week. Points were given for reading each day, for being up to date with the reading assignments, for memorizing certain verses, and for attending the firesides and activities organized to encourage participation. Each person was given a booklet with a reading chart, the schedule of events, the verses to memorize, and the words of Moroni’s promise. The teams did not compete; they reported to their captains mainly to stay focused on their goal.
Michelle Shephard described what happened: “I was pretty excited …” then she paused, “at first.” Enthusiasm was high among the teams for the first couple of weeks. Then school let out for the summer, and the reading started to slip. It seemed like everyone had trouble keeping on schedule.
Eventually, the Beehives took drastic measures to catch up. They had a party at which reading the Book of Mormon was the planned activity. Maria Dastrup said, “It was the strangest party I ever went to. Who would have thought we would have fun just reading the Book of Mormon?”
Nearly everyone found a favorite character or favorite story during their reading. Mike Walker said, “I really admire Nephi. He’s a good role model. When we were reading, I kept wondering about his brothers. How could they have an angel appear to them, and how could they have such wonderful things happen that should build their faith, then turn around and be wicked again? It’s hard to understand.”
Many developed a strong feeling for Moroni. Reading his last words made them both sad and hopeful. “It was sad when Moroni said good-bye,” said Lisa Corrington. “His promise works if you really want to find out if the Book of Mormon is true.”
Michelle also commented on Moroni’s last words. “He gives you a final promise after all his people have died and after all that has happened. He tells us we can still do it—we can still live as Christ taught.”
The young people in Mesa, Arizona, were determined to finish reading the Book of Mormon on schedule. They came up with a list of suggestions that helped them reach their goal:
—Pay attention.
—Pray first; it helps.
—Apply what you read to things going on around you.
—Keep a reading chart.
—Read the chapter headings.
—Read during the day when you’re awake. And try to read at the same time every day.
—Read the Book of Mormon with your friends or family so you can discuss it.
—Read the book of Moroni first; then go back and start at the beginning.

Whenever he was in New England, Brigham was anxious to visit and teach his many relatives there. In October, after he had returned to Kirtland, his cousin Willard Richards, who had read the Book of Mormon, visited him:
“I invited him to make his home at my house, which he did, and investigated thoroughly the principles and doctrines set forth by the Prophet and Elders of the Church. Dec. 31st, he requested baptism at my hands, which ordinance I administered to him in the presence of Elder Heber C. Kimball and others, who had spent the afternoon in cutting the ice to prepare for the ceremony.”16

They were the last two on the bus, and with luck there were two seats left. One was by a middle-aged Latin. His suit suggested a businessman. But Elder O’Neal stared at the man’s obvious mismatch of green pants and a blue striped jacket. The other seat, much farther back, was by a teenage girl in her school uniform, a wrinkled, white blouse and a green and red plaid skirt.
“I’ll take that one,” Elder Everritt said, pointing to the seat by the businessman. “You take the other one, elder. And remember, arm’s length.” Elder O’Neal stared at him for a moment and then started down the aisle, wending his way through the obstacle course of sacks, boxes, and chickens.
Kevin sat down beside the girl who watched him until their eyes met. Then blushing, she quickly turned away to stare out the window. The seat in front of them was so close that it didn’t leave room for Kevin’s legs. So he sat with his feet out in the aisle.
“What is your name?” The girl next to him had touched him on the shoulder.
“What?” he asked, not sure if he should look at her.
“What is your name?” she asked again.
She spoke with a strong Spanish accent. He smiled.
“No,” he said in English, “you have to accent the next to last word. Like this. What is your name?”
“A-lane,” she said answering him. He didn’t understand until she wrote Helen with her finger on the back of the seat in front of them. “What is your name?” she asked once again.
“Kevin O’Neal, Elder Kevin O’Neal,” he said correcting himself. “How’d you get an English name like Helen?” he asked her.
She stared back at him with the same look he’d given the man at the bus station. He realized that, like the shoeshine boy, she only knew one phrase in English.
“Speak to the Latins in their own language,” his Missionary Training Center teacher had said. “You can’t imagine how much they love it when a North American takes the time and effort to learn their language.”
“Okay,” Kevin thought. “I’ll try speaking to her in Spanish.” The girl had already turned to look out the window when he tapped on her shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he said in Spanish. “I speak a little bit of Spanish.” The girl turned back to him with a smile. Kevin quickly turned to see if Elder Everritt was watching. But Elder Everritt was busy talking to two women in front of him. One was a middle-aged woman who could be the businessman’s wife. The other was much older, with steel-gray hair and deep wrinkles in her dark brown face. If Elder Everritt was talking to those women, it should be okay to talk to the girl. “How did you get an English name like Helen?” he asked in his best Spanish.
“Oh, my name isn’t Helen,” she said pronouncing Helen wrong again. “It’s Elena. That’s Spanish for Helen, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said. Her Spanish was spoken at a normal rate, which seemed rapid to him, hard to understand.
“What’s your name again?” Elena asked. “I didn’t understand you when you spoke in English.” Seeing his difficulty in understanding, she had slowed down, pronouncing each word more clearly.
“Elder Kevin O’Neal,” he said answering her question.
“Aldare, that’s a funny name.”
“It’s not a name. It’s a …” He couldn’t think of the word so he said, “My name is Kevin, really.”
“Kaybeen. I like your name. Do you like mine?”
He wasn’t sure if he should answer that. “Yes,” he said out of habit.
“What are you doing in my country?”
“I don’t know,” he said, amazed at his inability to say anything intelligent. Elena looked at him puzzled.
“Why don’t you know? I don’t understand.”
“Really, I’m a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he said, repeating the line he’d memorized at the Missionary Training Center. “He is my companion,” he said pointing at Elder Everritt who was busy talking to the businessman again.
“That’s neat,” she said. “What do missionaries do?”
He didn’t know how to answer that.
Seeing that he wasn’t going to answer, she asked, “Do you like my country?”
“No,” he said and was sorry.
“Why not?” Elena asked with a frown.
“It is so … it is very …” How do you say strange in Spanish? he asked himself. “It is very different,” he said at last.
“What’s so different about it?” Elena asked.
Kevin knew he’d never be able to explain that. “I don’t know,” he said staring down the aisle. Elder Everritt turned around and waved. He was mouthing something, but O’Neal didn’t understand. Elder Everritt pointed at the businessman and then at Kevin. Kevin shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t know what Elder Everritt wanted. Elder Everritt gave up and turned back to the businessman.
“I’ll bet your father sent you,” Elena said staring at the businessman. “To get rid of you. All fathers are alike. Mine doesn’t like me.”
“That’s not true,” Kevin said.
“How do you know? You don’t know my father.”
“I know my father.”
“What’s your father like?” Elena asked.
“He saved my life once.”
“How? Did he do a brave thing?”
“Yes,” Kevin said. “He did a brave thing. He told me I couldn’t go to a party.”
Elena was confused. “But that’s mean,” she said. “Tell me how he saved your life.”
“Let me tell you something else first,” Kevin said. “He asked me not to have certain friends, not to say profane words, not to rebel, not to do this or that. Is that like your father?”
“Yes,” Elena said. “He’s very mean to me.”
“He told me not to go to a party with my friends. He said he loved me, but I didn’t believe him. And I hated him.”
“You were right to hate him,” Elena said. “That was very mean.”
“No, I was wrong. Very wrong,” Kevin said strongly. “He really did love me.”
“I don’t understand,” Elena said. “He didn’t let you go to a party. How is that love?”
“At the party somebody put … put something in the drink. What do you call it?”
“¿Alcohol?” she asked.
“No, that was the drink,” he said feeling ashamed.
“¿Veneno?” she asked.
He didn’t understand that word, so he said, “No, it makes you crazy.” Then in English he said, “Drugs.”
“Oh, drogas,” Elena said starting to understand.
“Three of my friends died in a car,” he told her. “If my father had let me go, I would be dead also. Now do you understand how I know he loves me?”
“Yes,” Elena said. “He let you hate him in order to save you.”
“If my father asks me not to do certain things because he loves me, then why do you think your father asks you not to do them?” Kevin was amazed; the words were coming much more easily now. It was as if he were speaking in his own language.
“Maybe because he loves me,” Elena said answering his question. “Are you really sure?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Kevin said. “And at the same time, tell him you love him.”
The bus stopped. It had reached its destination and was backing into its stall. The passengers began to stand up and get off the bus. Elena stood up and slid past him.
“I don’t know if what you say will work,” she said, “but I’ll try it anyway.” She smiled at him. “You know? Now I know what you missionaries are doing in my country.” Then she was gone.
As Elena left, Kevin said to himself, “So do I now. So do I.”

During this time, Richard became active in the Relief Presbyterian Church. When he was twenty-one, he was ordained an officer in that church. Concerned about the religious instruction of children, Richard organized a Sunday School. However, questions about the Bible and Presbyterian doctrine plagued him. He spent long hours walking, meditating, and praying. The answer to his questions came when two young elders from a newly organized church across the ocean taught him the fulness of the gospel. In December 1842 Richard Ballantyne was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by Elder Henry McCune in the Firth of Forth near Leith.

I was 17 years old and on top of the world. I had a university basketball scholarship, money in the bank from a hard summer’s work, a motorcycle and a pickup truck to drive, and all the aspirations of a typical teenager. Two months later I lay in a hospital bed with my body broken and my dreams shattered.
It was a motorcycle wreck—a head-on collision. No one was at fault. It was a stormy night. The driver of the car never saw my motorcycle coming. For two months I lay in bed. Then for six months I moved about on crutches. Weak and discouraged after months of inactivity and desperately needing money to continue my education, I began searching for summer employment.
I took a job with the railroad. Our crew was to patrol and repair a 15-mile stretch of track in a remote area called Little Warm River. Pine trees covered the mountains. Dozens of small streams meandered through the meadows. Large culverts had been placed under the railroad tracks to allow the streams to run freely, but beaver colonies would dam up each stream at the head of the culvert, creating a large reservoir with enough water pressure to wash out the tracks.
Volunteers were asked to crawl through the culvert and tear away the beaver dam, allowing the water to flow freely again. I always volunteered because no one else would, and, frankly, I rather enjoyed it. It was thrilling as I picked away at the dam, knowing that at any moment the water would break through and sweep me along with it head over heels, finally dumping me unceremoniously into the stream 15 yards away. There were times when I thought I would surely drown as I bumped along, submerged in that mighty flow of water and debris.
The next morning, as we would make our daily inspection, we could see that the beavers had already started to rebuild their dams. Within a short time, they would be totally reconstructed. It didn’t matter how many times we destroyed those dams, the beavers never seemed discouraged but steadily kept at their task. Those animals taught me a great lesson about never being discouraged, especially with things I could not control.
I loved that summer. The work was hard and sometimes I was homesick, but I recovered from the effects of that terrible motorcycle wreck. My body became strong once again. In the evening after work I walked those timbered mountains. I sat near those beaver dams with no other human being within miles to disturb my meditation. I had many solitary moments to think about the importance of being steady and constant.

I was in Richfield and saw a good friend that I had met in San Antonio on my mission. His name is John. His eyesight is failing; he is almost blind. His family needed a car. He had bought an old van for, I believe, $200, and thought he could make it work. It didn’t run. He bought parts—as many as he could afford. About three months later it still wasn’t running. He really needed the money back out of the car, so he let it be known that he was selling it.

One of the good men there went to him and said, “John, I understand you’re selling your car.”

John answered, “Yes, I am.”

The man asked, “How much do you want for it?”

John said, “Well, I’d really like to get what I have into it. I have $200 into it.”

The man said, “Two hundred dollars, huh? Would you take $300 for it?”

Tears started glistening in John’s eyes, and he said, “That would be wonderful.”

Then the man said, “Well, then how about $400?”

Then the tears came a little faster.

“Okay. This is my final offer. I’ll give you $500 for it.”

God bless those kind of people! I’m so grateful for that kind of faith in the Church.

During 2008, Asenaca Ramasima won what are probably the two most prestigious awards for students at the Fiji LDS Church College. First, she was selected as dux, or top student in the school. That award carries with it a tuition scholarship. But she also received the Lion of the Lord Award, given to an exemplary seminary student. She treasures this second award even more than the first, because it is a reminder of how she has tried to apply faith in her Heavenly Father in her own day-to-day life.
Life has already dealt Asenaca an ample share of hardship, even though she is only 19. And yet she seems to radiate joy—joy in the knowledge that she has an eternal family because they were sealed in the Suva Fiji Temple in 2001 and joy in the knowledge that she is known and loved by her Heavenly Father.
Asenaca is the youngest of five children, after four brothers. When their father died, she recalls, their oldest brother, then serving as a missionary, urged all of them to remember that their father was not lost to them; he would always be close.
Her brothers became breadwinners for the family, while their mother became a spiritual bonding agent to hold them together. The children have benefited as they have followed their parents’ examples.
“My father was an inspiration for me. He always taught us, ‘Work hard, work hard,’” the soft-spoken Asenaca says. Working hard in school has been her way of honoring her father and helping her mother. The scholarship that comes with the dux award is a valuable contribution Asenaca has made toward the costs of her own education.
Parental example also gave her a foundation for her spiritual education. “We were taught every day at home through family scripture reading and teachings from our own parents,” Asenaca says. Her mother, she adds, continues to build on this foundation for her family.
Asenaca’s own regular scripture study helps her maintain and strengthen her faith in Jesus Christ. She makes time for scripture study no matter what her schedule may be.
Faith in Jesus Christ has in turn helped her stay close to her Heavenly Father so she can call on His guidance. “I know He is always there,” she says. “If I do what He wants me to do, He will be there for me, and His Spirit will confirm what is right.”
That guidance is important when some young women her age try to talk her into “having fun” the way they do—drinking, smoking, putting chastity aside. But “those things are against my conscience,” Asenaca says, and because of her faith and the safety she feels in Heavenly Father’s guidance, “I can say no.”
Service in the Church, she says, has helped her build some confidence she would not otherwise have. That will be important when she finishes her schooling at the Church College, because then she hopes to be able to attend Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah, or BYU–Hawaii to study accounting.
Those places are a long way from her family’s home in a rural area on the outskirts of Suva. Would it be a bit scary to go so far from home? Asenaca thinks about this question for a moment, then gives one of her broad smiles. Yes, she answers—but she will do it to meet her goals.
It is easy to believe that Asenaca will do what she says. So far, she has done very well at meeting her goals. And like other faithful members in Fiji, she has found both spiritual growth and temporal progress through exercising faith and keeping the commandments.

One athlete I worked with using this method was a U.S. Olympic mogul skier who, seven months prior to the Vancouver Olympics, was on the C team and was not ranked very high. Her coach approached me and asked me to work with her with the hope that she might be ready to compete at the Sochi Olympics four and a half years down the road. I remember the conversation. The coach wanted to test the effectiveness of mental strength training. He said to me that this particular athlete would do what I asked and that she was my guinea pig.

The athlete worked hard on training her thoughts to be positive and proactive and on using relevant cues to purify her thought patterns. She did everything I asked. On November 19 she called me in tears. She had just made the last discretionary position on the World Cup tour. This was a subjective coaches’ decision to bring someone onto the World Cup team who had minimal professional experience.

As the season progressed through the early winter months, this athlete continued to develop her skills rapidly to the point that, by the time the World Cup at Deer Valley came around at the end of January, she was sitting in tenth place on the tour. She had achieved several fourth-place finishes to get to tenth in the world, but she had never finished on the podium.

One of the tools I like the athletes I work with to have is a power statement. A power statement is a tool to use when doubt comes at critical moments. It floods the mind with positive, strong thoughts and instantly squeezes out any negative thoughts and emotions.

After the prequalifying races, this athlete was in fourth place. She attended to all of the media obligations, family commitments, and so forth and then came over to talk to me. This is the conversation that transpired:
Athlete: “I don’t think today is my day.”
Me: “Really?”
Athlete: “There is a ton of media here and a lot friends and family. I don’t think today is my day.”
Me: “Yeah, you just stink, don’t you!”
Athlete: “What?”
Me: “Well, is that the right mindset?”
Athlete: “Oh, right. I need to remember my power statement.”

She told me after the event that when she had gotten on the chairlift to go up for her finals run, the doubt had gotten in again. She began telling herself, “It’s okay. No one expected me to do this well. My family will still love me.”

She then caught herself and said, “No! Today is my day! I am making it happen today!”

She told me she was feeling good mentally while being processed for her run. And then, while standing in line only two athletes away from her turn, the doubt came in again: “It is okay. No one expects me to—”

This time she was mad. She got out of her skis, walked out of the starter’s box, and yelled up into the mountain, “Today is my day! I am making it happen today!”

I could see her determination as she came back into the starter’s gate. She put on her skis and grabbed her poles with purpose.

This athlete ended up skiing faster than she had ever skied before. She was farther on the front of her boots, she got bigger air, and she finished tied for first place. Two days later she backed up her performance with a second-place win.

This athlete, who only six months earlier was called a guinea pig, went to the Vancouver Olympics as the number-two mogul skier in the world and as our top U.S. mogul skier. All of this happened because she applied the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Thomas W. Sederberg, an emeritus faculty member in computer science, is a friend and an exceptional example of a scholar who understands gospel methodology. Before I share a story about his experience using gospel methodology, I want to share some of what I know about Tom Sederberg’s scholarship. Tom was given a lifetime achievement award from the computer graphics organization SIGGRAPH in 2006. In 2013, Tom received the Pierre Bézier Award for his contributions to solid modeling. He is one of the most highly cited researchers in his field of computer graphics and in 2014 was designated as one of the 108 most highly cited computer scientists in the world. To put it simply, Tom is a brilliant scientist. In his BYU forum “Computer Graphics and Mentoring,” Tom described how he arrived at a major advance in computer graphics called the T-spline. His story is a perfect illustration of today’s topic. [A video was shown of the telling of this story.]

One evening in the fall of 2003, I drove to campus for a research meeting with a graduate student from Kyrgyzstan named Almaz and a visiting professor from China whose American name is Jimmy. We had been working for several years on a vexing research problem, and I despaired of grappling with the problem yet again because all our past efforts had failed. I was mentally exhausted, and further work on the problem seemed futile. The thought struck me, “Have ye inquired of the Lord?”

When I got to my office, I asked Jimmy and Almaz if they would mind if I began our research meeting with a prayer. They agreed, and I asked Heavenly Father to grant us a clear understanding. We went to work for several hours and found some fresh ideas. When we concluded, I felt exuberant and remarked that we had made noticeable progress.

Almaz immediately reminded me, “Of course, Tom, it was because of the prayer.”

We thus agreed to begin each subsequent research meeting with prayer. Almaz and Jimmy even took turns, even though prayer was not part of their backgrounds. We continued work for several more weeks, and although we felt encouraged, we also felt like the solution was still very far away. A major breakthrough was needed.

Then one day in early December, Jimmy and I were again wrestling with the problem when suddenly the complete solution seemed to flash into my mind. I exclaimed in astonishment, “Jimmy, could it be that the answer is far more simple and elegant than we ever dreamed possible?”

I explained the new idea to Jimmy, and he got excited also. But when we analyzed it, we found a flaw. The mathematics didn’t quite work. I was confused and crestfallen, and we abandoned the idea.

A month later I heard a talk by Elder Neal A. Maxwell in which he spoke about personal revelation. He quoted Joseph Smith’s statement “A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation; for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas.”

As soon as I heard that familiar quote, I thought of the experience I had had with Jimmy a month earlier. The phrase “pure intelligence flowing into you” seemed to exactly describe what I had felt.

On Monday morning I went directly to Jimmy’s office. I told him about Elder Maxwell’s talk and suggested that we revisit the idea. Within minutes we saw that with a very minor adjustment the solution did indeed work. It was breathtakingly beautiful to us and a huge boost to our research. The light-handed nature of the help we received is evident in the fact that we spent the next seven years trying to understand the ramifications of that minor adjustment and are only now succeeding.

Over 50 years ago, I had the privilege to serve as the president of Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho. On the morning of June 5, 1976, my wife, Kathy, and I drove from Rexburg to the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple to attend the sealing of a close friend. Of course, with four young boys in our home at the time, our temple trip could be only accomplished with the help of a courageous babysitter! We left our precious children in her care and made the short, 30-minute drive.
Our experience in the temple that day was wonderful, as it always was. However, after the conclusion of the temple sealing—and as we were preparing to return home—we noticed many temple workers and patrons nervously conversing in the lobby of the temple. Within moments, one of the temple workers told us that the newly constructed Teton Dam in eastern Idaho had collapsed! More than 80 billion gallons (300 million cubic meters) of water were flowing through the dam and into the 300 square miles (775 square km) of neighboring valleys. Much of the city of Rexburg was underwater, with homes and vehicles carried away by floodwaters. Two-thirds of the 9,000 residents were suddenly homeless.
As you might imagine, our thoughts and concerns turned to the safety of our dear children, hundreds of college students and faculty, and a community we loved. We were less than 30 miles (50 km) from home, and yet on this day, long before cell phones and text messaging, we had no way of communicating immediately with our children, nor could we make the drive from Idaho Falls to Rexburg, as all the roads had been closed.
Our only option was to stay the night in a local motel in Idaho Falls. Kathy and I knelt together in our motel room and humbly pleaded with Heavenly Father for the safety of our dear children and the thousands of others affected by the tragic event. I recall Kathy pacing the floors into the early hours of the morning with worry about her children. Despite my own concerns, I was able to put my mind at ease and fall asleep.
It wasn’t long thereafter that my sweet eternal companion woke me and said, “Hal, how can you sleep at a time like this?”
These words then came clearly to my heart and mind. I said to my wife: “Kathy, whatever the outcome, all will be well because of the temple. We have made covenants with God and have been sealed as an eternal family.”
At that moment, it was as if the Spirit of the Lord confirmed in our hearts and minds what we both already knew to be true: the sealing ordinances, found only in the house of the Lord and administered by proper priesthood authority, had bound us together as husband and wife, and our children had been sealed to us. There truly was no need to fear, and we were grateful later to learn that our boys were safe.

It has taken me eight years to get around to writing and telling you how much I appreciate your fantastic magazine, but I’m finally repenting of my procrastination. I come from Perth, Western Australia, and eight years ago my family came to the New Zealand Temple. Just before we left home I grabbed several New Eras because I thought it would be good to have something a bit spiritual to read while we were traveling to the temple. Before that time I had rarely bothered to read much more than the Mormonisms. (I still love those!)
In the week and a half it took me to drive to Sydney before flying to New Zealand, I read each of those magazines from cover to cover. Many articles I read two or three times. By the time we got back home again I was totally hooked, and I have been ever since. Mom often used to complain that she’d never see the New Era, because as soon as it arrived it would disappear to my room to be read in the next day or two and then be added to a pile under my bed to be reviewed whenever I had spare time. Now I am back in New Zealand serving in the New Zealand Auckland Mission. In the years I was preparing for my mission, and also during my past 19 months in the mission field, the New Era has always been a great source of strength, encouragement, and inspiration to me.
There’s one thing I’d like to ask, though. Could you publish a book of favorite poems, stories, articles, and music from the New Era so that those who have missed out or lost earlier copies of the New Era don’t have to miss out on the great things they contained? Keep up the great work. You’ve got a bonger (Aussie for great) magazine.
Elder Grant O’NeilNew Zealand Auckland Mission

It’s important to be thoughtful of your friends’ frames of reference, too. Remember that LDS culture, beliefs, and even language can be very foreign to people who are not familiar with it. A little Muslim girl, for example, was invited to go to Primary with her friends. When she got home, she quickly announced to her mother that she was never going back to the Mormon church. “Why not?” inquired her mother. “Because it’s haunted,” the girl replied.

“What do you mean it’s haunted?” her mother asked. “What makes you think that?”

“They told me so,” she said. “They said there was a Holy Ghost there, and that you could feel the spirit all around.”

Her friends didn’t drop her just because she was scared, though. They continued extending invitations to her, and, most important of all, they continued being her friend. When she was 19, she decided to embrace the gospel and was baptized.

The tardy bell rang just as I ran through the front door of the seminary building. Quickly, I slid into my seat, the third desk back on the first row, expecting another ordinary day in fifth period and not the memorable experience I was about to have.
“I’d like to welcome you all here today,” our teacher began. He said that every day, but we all knew he meant what he said. He was affectionately known as Brother C., and it was his genuine concern for each of his students that made this class of impatient ninth graders put aside their important conversations and daydreams to listen to him.
“Today we’re going to do something a little different,” he said. “I’ve prepared a special lesson centered around a concept President Kimball taught, and it starts with a very important question.
This should be a good change, I thought. I wonder what this important question is.
“Okay. Here is the question. What is the most important word?”
I sat up with a start. I knew someone was going to say boys, girls or something else ninth graders think about. I heard Brother C. call on someone.
“Kathy, what do you think is the most important word?” he asked.
“Um … um … boys!” she said, as the entire class became swallowed in laughter. Someone had to say that.
“All right, quiet down,” Brother C. said. “Let’s be serious.” Slowly, Tony raised his hand and said he thought families was an important word.
“That’s a good answer. Any other ideas?” questioned Brother C., as he sat down on the corner of his desk. “Let’s hear some response.”
David said, “I think love is the most important word because if we all love each other, then we’re happy.”
I liked his answer, and I was fascinated by the question. The class hour sped by as people were called on to tell what they thought the most important word was. Each time an answer was given, Brother C.’s kind voice said, “That’s a good answer, but it’s not the word I’m looking for.”
We went through what seemed like a thousand words: love, family, scriptures, prayer, faith, Christ, priesthood, prophet, resurrection, temple, and eternity. I began to wonder if there was really an answer. Finally, Brother C. looked at the clock.
“You’ve all given wonderful answers,” he said. “But the word I was looking for encompasses all of the beautiful words you’ve mentioned. The most important word is remember.”
“If you remember,” he said, “you won’t forget to pray. You won’t forget to serve or love. You will remember to read the scriptures. You will not forget your family and friends. You will remember to obey the prophet. You’ll keep in your heart the knowledge that Jesus Christ sacrificed his life for us, and you will love him as he loves you. You will remember why you came to this earth. And you will remember you are sons and daughters of God. You can return home to him if you remember to keep his commandments and live your lives the way he has asked.”
Then he bore his testimony and told us how much he loved us. We knew he did. I felt his love for me when I saw the twinkling smile in his eyes as he came over and shook my hand. I knew he loved me when he asked, “Will you remember?”
I almost told him yes, but just then the bell rang—but I remembered.
Most of the things I learned in seminary haven’t remained as vivid in my mind and heart as that lesson. But that lesson, and that day, I did not forget.
When temptations came, I remembered to get on my knees and pray. When I was discouraged and felt alone, I remembered that families can be forever. And no matter what crisis came, I remembered. I knew my Father in Heaven was near, and I knew he loved me.
But more important than anything else, I remembered who I was and why I was on earth. It kept me trying when I wanted to give up, and it helped me remember things like giving, learning, scriptures, and love.
Now, when I think of those important gospel truths which have become so precious to me, I also remember that day I ran in late to seminary. I am grateful for a caring, loving seminary teacher, and in my mind I see the twinkling smile in his eye as he shakes my hand. I hear him ask me if I remember, and I do. Will you?

I recall a President of the Church, now deceased, who visited his daughter in the hospital following a miscarriage.

She was the mother of eight children and was in her early forties. She asked, “Father, may I stop having children now?” His response was, “Don’t ask me. That decision is between you, your husband, and your Father in Heaven. If you two can face him with a good conscience and can say you have done the best you could, that you have really tried, then you may stop. But, that is between you and Him. I have enough problems of my own to talk over with Him when we meet!” So it is clear to me that the decisions regarding our children, when to have them, their number, and all related matters and questions can only be made after real discussion between the marriage partners and after prayer.

At the birth of each of my children, during those precious, solemn moments when I held them for the first time, I felt the whisperings of the Spirit teaching me of their unique qualities. When these impressions first came, I doubted. But as my children grew, the truths suggested at their births were verified. I feel wonder for a God who would thus offer counsel to me as he, our Heavenly Father, transferred his precious children to a new father’s earthly care.

I am the youngest in a family of four boys, and about twenty-two years ago I was encouraged to apply for a faculty opening here at BYU in the Department of Mathematics. At the time, I was a faculty member at Oregon State University, and my three older brothers lived in Iowa, Washington, and California, while my parents lived in Logan, Utah. In addition to this being a great opportunity for me to come to BYU, it allowed me to be a little closer to my parents, because their health was failing.

My father did not want my decision to move to Utah to be based in any way on helping him and my mother. He was very proud of the fact that his sons were contributing to the kingdom outside of Utah. My wife, Shauna, and I felt that the move to BYU was the right decision, and we arrived here in August 1996.

Six months after our arrival in Provo, my father had surgery in Salt Lake City to repair a heart valve. Ten years earlier his original valve had been replaced with a pig valve, at which time he contracted hepatitis C. Because this pig valve was now failing, the doctors decided to replace it with a mechanical valve. During the surgery the doctors realized that the hepatitis C had wreaked havoc on my father’s liver, which made the heart surgery very traumatic on his body. This was the beginning of a seventeen-day roller coaster ride.

At this time my mother’s health was not good, so she was only able to visit my dad about every two to three days. Thus the responsibility of visiting my father and communicating with the doctors fell to my wife and me. One or the other of us would travel from Mapleton, about ten miles south of Provo, to the hospital in Salt Lake City every day. Many times my wife would visit in the afternoon, and I would spend the evening at the hospital, or vice versa. This was particularly challenging because we had four children ranging in age from three to nine.

I referred to this time as a roller coaster ride because on one day a particular doctor would be pessimistic and on the next day another doctor would be optimistic about the eventual outcome. These varied opinions and outlooks greatly affected my emotions as I went to visit my father.

I remember driving up State Street toward the hospital in Salt Lake City and feeling the dread of what I might hear from the doctors on that day and wondering to myself, “Am I afraid of my dad dying?” I also thought to myself, “I have a testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ and of His Resurrection. Am I afraid of death? Do I really believe I will see my father again?”

It is this question of “Do we really believe?” that will be the focus of my comments today. As I pose this question, I do not do so to introduce doubt, because when I was going through these trials associated with my father’s time in the hospital, I never really doubted my testimony. Instead I wondered why I was feeling this wide swing of emotions when I knew I did have a testimony that the Atonement of Jesus Christ would allow me to see my father again.

Moroni 7:41 says:

And what is it that ye shall hope for? Behold I say unto you that ye shall have hope through the atonement of Christ and the power of his resurrection, to be raised unto life eternal, and this because of your faith in him according to the promise.

I believed this scripture, but this was the first time I had had to directly apply it in my life. We don’t truly gain a testimony of many principles of the gospel until we exercise faith and apply those principles in our lives. I already had a testimony of the blessings of paying tithing, a testimony that Joseph Smith saw God and Jesus Christ, and a testimony of God’s presence in the temple because I had had many opportunities to test these principles and had had confirming experiences about them. Facing the death of my father, however, was my first opportunity to test my faith and understanding of the Resurrection.

As I faced this trial, I recalled something that my father had told me many times growing up: “Hold fast to the things you know are true, and the answers to the rest will come to you in time.”

When I was on this trying journey of driving to the hospital each day and was facing the fact that my father might not recover, I held fast to the testimony I did have of various gospel principles, and I knew that someday I would better understand the Resurrection. One thing that I have since come to realize is that the main contributing factor to the swing in my emotions at this time was the fear of the temporary loss of association with my father.

One of the main things we enjoy about our families is spending time with them. My father never missed attending a game in which I participated as a young man. Whether it was church basketball or high school football or basketball, he never missed a game. We also attended many Utah State University basketball games together and even had a chance to attend a Jazz basketball game in the month before his surgery. I believe that one cause of my fears as I drove to the hospital was not a doubt of my testimony but the sadness I would feel in not being able to spend time with him.

After seventeen days in the hospital, my father passed away, and I was forced to consider the question “Do I really believe in the Resurrection and Atonement?”

I conclude where I started by sharing an experience that happened to me several weeks after my father passed away. Sitting in an elders quorum class, I was asked to read Doctrine and Covenants 138:28–30, which states:

And I wondered at the words of Peter—wherein he said that the Son of God preached unto the spirits in prison, who sometime were disobedient, when once the long-suffering of God waited in the days of Noah—and how it was possible for him to preach to those spirits and perform the necessary labor among them in so short a time.
And as I wondered, my eyes were opened, and my understanding quickened, and I perceived that the Lord went not in person among the wicked and the disobedient who had rejected the truth, to teach them;
But behold, from among the righteous, he organized his forces and appointed messengers, clothed with power and authority, and commissioned them to go forth and carry the light of the gospel to them that were in darkness, even to all the spirits of men; and thus was the gospel preached to the dead.

As I read these verses in that elders quorum lesson, the Spirit powerfully testified to me that my father was one of those missionaries sharing the gospel in the spirit world. Do I really believe in the Resurrection and that I will see my father again? Yes. I followed my father’s counsel and held on to what I believed, and the answer did come.

But as I thought about how much God had helped me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wanted to do more to share His gospel with others. I considered serving a mission—but what if I lost everything I had worked so hard to build?
One Sunday, I prayed and fasted about serving a mission. God had helped me know which path to take in my life before, and I trusted He could help me again.
I attended church with my cousin in a ward far away from where I lived. I was surprised to see a sister missionary there who I had befriended a year before. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence that I had run into her while I was fasting.
After church, I shared with her my fears about losing all the things that were going well in my life. My friend said, “I was in a similar situation before my mission. Everything felt too perfect to leave. But I knew the Lord wanted me to serve.”
After our conversation, the impression to serve grew stronger. I felt that Heavenly Father was helping me know once again which path to take—I just needed to act and trust Him. So, the next day, I started to work on my mission application.