Gospel Story Finder

After I got thinking about it, I realized that I had my own devo date almost 30 years ago while attending BYU. I asked a girl with whom I had been on several dates to go to devotional with me. I don’t remember anything about the date, but I do remember that as we were walking back across campus after devotional, we had an interesting conversation. My daughter also told me that this specific conversation is what is known as a DTR—a “define the relationship” conversation. Now, I didn’t know what a DTR was, and I wasn’t the one to start it. It certainly wasn’t a very long conversation. In fact, it was very one sided. It went something like this: “I wish you wouldn’t hold my hand in public. People might think we’re dating and not ask me out.” I said, “Okay,” and that was that.
Now, I shared this experience with you because I think I was a good example of someone who didn’t understand where he stood in a relationship. The DTR I had was needful for me to have a correct understanding of where I stood with this young woman. It was a little hard on my ego, but it was necessary for me to be able to put the relationship into proper perspective.
Honestly, I think it’s a good thing to have an occasional DTR.

“‘Many churches are ruled by men, at the exclusion of women,’ said Mr. Rubin. ‘Is this the case for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?’
“‘Well,’ said President Nelson, ‘you should talk to a woman about that.’
“President Nelson then turned and looked at Sheri Dew, executive vice president of Deseret Management Corporation, the CEO of Deseret Book Company, and former Relief Society General Presidency member.
“‘Can you help with this answer about the role of women in the Church?’ he asked her. He motioned her into camera range.
“Sister Dew told Mr. Rubin that he would have a hard time finding a church where more women have more authority than in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“‘There are hundreds of thousands of women, right now, who have legitimate leadership opportunities and expectations. As women in the Church we teach and preach, we expound doctrine, we serve missions as full-time proselyting missionaries, and we have leadership responsibilities,’ she said.
“Then she added, ‘I actually feel ennobled by being a Latter-day Saint woman. Every opportunity for growth I have ever had has come because of the Church.’
“President Nelson looked at Mr. Rubin and said, ‘It is better coming from a woman than from me.’
“Mr. Rubin agreed. ‘That is a live testimony,’ he said.
“The message was powerful. When given the chance to talk about women in the Church, our prophet had not spoken about Church doctrine or priesthood authority. He had not spoken of his wife or nine daughters. And he did not draw from one of the many sermons he has delivered about women. Instead, he called on a woman to speak for herself.
“President Nelson’s invitation to Sister Dew seemed like an invitation to me as well. The Church needs my voice as a Latter-day Saint woman. That is what I know now that I didn’t know before the South America ministry tour.
“I will never forget the way President Nelson watched as Sister Dew answered Mr. Rubin’s question. It was a look that reflected gratitude and trust for all Latter-day Saint women.

I remember meeting with a man some time back. Seventeen years before, his wife had a problem. She embraced another man in a moment of weakness, and then this was kept a secret for 17 long years. And this good brother, her husband, who had kept the law, who had never violated the code, all of a sudden found out about this, and it almost totally destroyed him. He came to see me and he asked, “What do you think I should do?”

And I said, “You must forget and forgive. And when I say forget, it must be taken from your mind forever and ever.”

He said, “But I can’t. I can’t get it off my mind, seeing her in someone else’s arms.”

And I said, “Then you remember what it was like in the temple, and you view her in your mind every time kneeling across the altar from you. I am sure she has been punished enough and has suffered enough; she needs no more. She has repented, and you forgive her.”

Well, he took that advice and was kind enough to follow it.

Moses Mahlangu, yet another Elias, was a preacher from Soweto, South Africa. He found a copy of the Book of Mormon, but because the bottom of the title page was torn off, he did not know what church had published it.

As he read the book, he was filled with light and understanding. He said, “I had had desires to find God and to receive revelation, but I was never satisfied until I got the Book of Mormon.” He told his fellow pastors:

We fight every day over what the Bible says about baptism. We fight about the name of the church. The Book of Mormon is very clear on these points. . . . People will have no need to fight if they read both the Bible and the Book of Mormon. [In LeBaron, “All Are Alike,” p. 191]

Fluent in nine languages, Moses taught from the Book of Mormon and gathered many followers before he ever learned the name of the Church and made contact with it. Then, for more than 14 years he waited, preparing himself and others for baptism. During this time he frequently came to the mission office in Johannesburg to obtain copies of the Book of Mormon and other literature, and I was therefore privileged to know him.

Soon after the revelation was announced, I sought out Moses. As we embraced I asked him if he had heard about the revelation. He said, “Yes. Does this mean that I can now be baptized?”

I asked, “Moses, would you like to be baptized?”

His eyes welled up with tears as he said softly, “I have waited for 14 years.”

I conducted a baptismal interview that I shall never forget. To every question I received the same answer: “I have been keeping that commandment for 14 years.” I was deeply humbled in the presence of this great pioneer. His son, who as a boy accompanied Moses in his ministry, is now serving as Moses’ bishop in the Soweto Ward, near Johannesburg.

I was about 12 or 13 when our family decided that we wanted to visit some of the Church historical sites in upstate New York. For months we planned and replanned the trip.
As I got off the school bus on the last day of class, there parked in the driveway was the camper, that wonderful vehicle that was going to take us on our trip. My dad owned his own business, so we were fortunate to be able to take extended trips.
We saw Niagara Falls. We attended the Hill Cumorah Pageant and looked at the Joseph Smith farm. After a few rigorous days of touring, we arrived at the place I had dreamed of visiting someday, the Sacred Grove. This was the place where young Joseph Smith had the glorious vision that started the restoration of the gospel.
As we piled out of the camper, we all knew how special this place was. When we walked into the cool shade of those big trees, we were overcome by what had happened here. My dad suggested that we kneel and have a family prayer. We scouted around for a quiet, peaceful place, similar to the one where Joseph Smith might have knelt for an answer to his prayer.
As my father prayed, I felt the Spirit of God stronger than I had ever felt it before. It seemed to grasp my entire body. The feeling had such intensity that I could hardly remember to pick myself up off the ground. It was wonderful. It was at that time that my own testimony began to develop.
I gained my testimony because of a wonderful earthly father who had a strong desire to instill in his children the testimony he had, and because of a kind and loving Heavenly Father who knew that I would need the gospel in my life.

Elder Palmer stepped out of his hotel room and into the dimly lit hallway.
“Out of the way, young man.”
Elder Palmer turned toward the voice. “Pardon me.”
The man barely glanced at him from under the brim of his top hat as he bristled by.
Elder Palmer wanted to say, “I’m a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and I have an important message for you.” But he didn’t. Instead, he shoved his hands in his overcoat pockets and trudged on toward the stairway. That man wouldn’t have believed his words anyway. Why should he? Why would anyone believe a teacher who had never even read the scriptures?
At the top of the stairs, Elder Palmer pulled a small reading primer from one pocket and his Bible from the other. “Just as soon as I learn how to read,” he whispered, “nothing is going to stop me from preaching the gospel.”
“It’s a disgrace for the Mormon Church to send an ignorant man to try to convert the good people of Michigan!”
Elder Palmer froze. He recognized the voice that boomed from the parlor below. It was the preacher he’d visited with last night.
“I know he’s rough-looking,” said a female voice, “but that doesn’t mean he’s ignorant.”
“I’ll prove to you I’m right. When he comes down this morning, I’ll ask him some questions about the Bible.”
Elder Palmer backed away from the stairs. The preacher was right. He was ignorant. Somehow, he had to get away! He raced down the opposite hall, looking for another stairway, but there wasn’t one. He was trapped.
With nowhere else to turn, he rushed back to his room and closed the door. If only he’d been able to go to school when he was a boy! He had spent most of his childhood blind. And even though he had eventually—miraculously—received his sight, he had only received enough to get around, not enough to read. It wasn’t until he was a grown man that he had been blessed with enough sight to read, but by then it was too late to go to school.
“I need help, Heavenly Father,” he whispered.
Suddenly he remembered a cold winter evening not long after he’d received his sight. He and his father had been trapped in a mountain snowstorm. They could not see the road. Their oxen were frightened and did not know the way home.
“Son,” his father had said, “we have done all we can to find our way. Now we must ask the Lord for help.”
They then knelt in the snow and prayed. Afterward, they steered the oxen in the direction they thought was right, and the animals, without hesitation, led them home.
This memory reminded him of the power of prayer. He dropped to his knees. “Heavenly Father, Thou hast called me to do Thy work. I have done all that I can, but I need Thy help.” When he finished, he went directly to the parlor.
The preacher waved to Elder Palmer. “Ah, Mr. Palmer, come in. These people—” the preacher motioned to several men and women—“have been discussing the Bible with me. Would you, as a minister, be so kind as to explain this passage?” He then read from his Bible.
Elder Palmer listened closely to the verses. When he was a boy, his mother had helped him memorize many scriptures, but he didn’t recognize these.
“Well?”
Elder Palmer looked hard at the preacher, and as he did so, the familiar voice of the Holy Ghost filled his mind. “It is interesting that you should ask me this,” he said, “as I have a scripture I would like you to explain to me.”
The preacher laughed. “Go ahead.”
“‘And I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people.’”
“Oh, Mr. Palmer, that is not in our Bible. It must be in your Mormon Bible.”
“You will find it in Revelation 14:6.”
The preacher flipped to the book of Revelation. His face turned bright red. “Well, well. I have never seen that before. I will have to look it up in my Bible commentary.”
“That is the position I am in with your passage. Perhaps when we meet again we can explain to each other.”
The preacher nodded curtly, then turned back to the women who were seated on the circular sofa. One of them stood. “Mr. Palmer?”
“Yes?”
“You seem to have a good understanding of the scriptures. Can you please explain this verse to me?”
“I have a question, too.” It was the man he had bumped into earlier.
Elder Palmer smiled. He still felt a bit nervous, but he now realized that in many ways he was prepared to serve the Lord, and much of that preparation had come when he was a boy.
“I’d be happy to help each of you,” he said, “but I have one request. As you read from your Bible, please read slowly, and I will follow along in mine. That way, the Lord will help us both to understand.”

My little brother, Jacob, and I do everything together. We are two years apart but almost the same size. People always ask if we are twins.
One day when we were playing, Jacob cut his finger really bad. We rushed inside to run water on his finger. While Mom checked his finger, I put my arm around him to make him feel better. He was really scared.
Mom decided that Jacob needed to go to the hospital so that they could treat his finger. Our neighbor offered to watch our little sister and asked if I wanted to go with them. I looked at Jacob. He begged me to go with him. Even though I knew it would be a long wait at the hospital, I decided to go with him. He needed me.
On the way to the hospital, Mom had me say a prayer for Jacob. When we arrived, I tried to make sure he was comfortable. We brought a water bottle with us, and I made sure I offered him lots of drinks to take his mind off his finger.
When we finally saw the doctor, I was a little scared. I didn’t know if my brother would need stitches. I knew it might hurt.
While they worked on Jacob’s finger, he screamed and cried. Mom didn’t want me to watch, so I stayed in a corner of the room while she held Jacob’s hand. Seeing him in pain made me cry, too.
Soon Jacob’s finger was bandaged and we were able to go home. Mom told me that I had been “my brother’s keeper.” She said that in a small way, I had felt how Jesus feels about us when we are sad and hurting. I am glad I was able to be there for my brother when he needed me.

Claire and Sandra Hoey of Craigavon are members of the Portadown Ward. They talk about the walls that missionaries helped tumble for their family.
“The missionaries had been coming to our parents for a long time,” Sandra says. “But I never paid any attention. Then one night I was upstairs and I started listening. I got more interested in what they were saying. I decided it was time to see what it was all about.”
The discussions became more and more serious. The parents were baptized. An older brother was baptized. Then Sandra, then Claire.
After the baptisms, a friend “noticed that since I’ve joined the Church I’ve been happier,” Claire says. “She wanted to find out what it was that was making me happy.” Now the friend is taking the discussions in the Hoeys’ home. “I can remember asking the same questions, praying to resolve the same doubts,” Claire says. “It helps when I can tell her I’ve been through the same thing, and gained my own testimony.”

When the Benson Institute begins a project in any country, it looks first at the overall situation, giving special attention to underlying problems. “It isn’t enough to teach people how to feed themselves better if their water supply is contaminated,” observes Ted Fairchild of the BYU Food Science and Nutrition Department who helped develop an evaluation system for the Benson Institute. Using the system, the institute does a thorough evaluation of the current quality of life: What is the general level of health of the people? How many are malnourished? Is the local diet well balanced? Is drinking water clean and plentiful? What are the sanitation problems? Is parasite infestation a problem?
It was this evaluation process that helped reduce infant mortality in Retalhuleu, Guatemala. When nutritionists discovered that open stoves sitting on the ground were not cooking at temperatures high enough to kill bacteria in food, they taught the people to build higher stoves. Within months, infant mortality caused by dysentery had decreased significantly.

The deacons in the Church have a sacred obligation to visit the home of every member to collect fast offerings for the poor. President Thomas S. Monson once related to me how he, as a young bishop, began to sense that the young deacons in his ward were complaining about having to get up so early to collect fast offerings. Instead of calling the young men to task, this wise bishop took them to Welfare Square in Salt Lake City.
There the boys met a disabled woman operating the switchboard. They saw a blind man placing labels on cans, and an elderly brother stocking shelves. As a result of what they saw, President Monson said, a penetrating silence came over the boys as they witnessed the end result of their efforts to collect the sacred funds that aided the needy and provided employment for those who otherwise would be idle.

Something happened to me that I found of great help to me, and it may be of help to you. A memory was replayed in my mind. It was of a hotel ballroom in New Brunswick, New Jersey. We were in the New Jersey District, a single district that covered the whole state.
There was no building, no gym, no stake center, and so we traveled to a hotel ballroom for what must have been a district conference. I was sitting on a folding chair somewhere near the back, next to my mother. I must have been very young because I can remember putting my legs through the back of the chair and sitting aft instead of forward. But then I remember hearing something—a man’s voice from the pulpit. I turned around and looked. I still remember that the speaker was at a rostrum set on wooden risers. There was a tall window behind him. He was the priesthood visitor. I don’t know who he was, but he was tall and bald, and he seemed very old to me.
He must have been talking about the Savior or the Prophet Joseph, or both, because that was all that I remember much of hearing in those days. But as he spoke, I knew that what he said came from God and that it was true, and it burned in my heart. That was before scholars told me how hard it was to know. I just knew of certainty—I knew it was true.
You can have that same confidence, not of yourself, but from God. He lives, and He communicates with His children. This is the Church of Jesus Christ, and He leads it. No assignment in it need ever overwhelm you if you know that and listen for the Master’s voice.
Now I can hear the young deacons saying, “Well, now, that may be fine for you, but surely you don’t think that’s going to help me in my assignment down here in this deacons quorum.” Oh yes, I do. I was a deacons quorum adviser. A boy, the president, presided in the meetings, and I taught the lessons out of the scriptures and out of the manual.
Illustrations by Ben Sowards
I remember one boy in the quorum had to miss a few meetings, and so he sent his brother to the class with a tape recorder. His brother recorded our meeting and took it home. It happened more than once. When the deacon came back, I asked him why. I don’t remember his words, but I remember that it was clear he knew what I knew. God was trying to speak to that deacons quorum. The boy wasn’t anxious to have a tape recording to hear me; he was trying to hear God. He knew where to listen and how to hear.
He’d read the scriptures for us in class, and I knew he knew them and loved them. And so, even when I wasn’t teaching very well, by the power of the Holy Ghost and from knowing the Master’s voice in the scriptures, he could hear what he needed to hear. The memory of that black recorder with its tape turning will always remind me of the scripture which says, “He that hath ears to hear, let him hear” (Matthew 11:15).
I spoke at his funeral just a few years later. He lived about as many years as the Prophet Joseph had lived when he saw God the Father and Jesus Christ in the grove. My deacon hadn’t seen a vision, but he had heard the voice of God through His servants in a deacons quorum. He wanted to hear, he knew how, and he had the faith he could. Like the boy prophet Joseph, he knew the heavens were open.
You and I can take confidence in that assurance. If you and I will study the scriptures and pray and tune our hearts and ears, we will hear the voice of God in the voice of the people that He has sent to teach and guide us and direct us. You and I can take confidence in that assurance for the Church itself. However large the kingdom will grow (and it will fill the earth), you will not ever feel lost or forgotten, and you need never feel overwhelmed. God will call people to care about you and to teach you. And if you will listen and hear the voice of God, the kingdom will roll forth to its appointed place, ready for the coming of the Master.
None of us can see now all the wonders of technology and organization and buildings that God may give us; but you, just you, hearing the voice of God through your teacher and leader, will always be at its heart.
I testify that God loves His children and can tell us what is true. I pray that we all may have ears to hear, that He may guide us.

The hall floor in Wing A of Pinecrest Convalescent Center was so well polished that I could see my nervous, white-clad reflection. I looked professional, but I didn’t feel that way. I had read my instructions twice to make sure I had them firmly fixed in my mind. “Mr. Wingate, Room 1A. Routine: PG.” Translated, that meant personal grooming or, in other words, bath and shave.

“Hello,” I said cheerfully as I opened the door. “Let’s make you look like a real movie star.”

“Listen here, Susie. If you think you’re going to give me a sponge bath, you’ve got another think coming. Let me tell you, I’m sick and tired of the lousy treatment around here. And furthermore …”

I took a deep breath and locked my clammy hands together. I can be brave, I thought. After all, I’m armed with shaving equipment and nail clippers.

“Mr. Wingate,” I said in a voice that seemed squeakier than usual, “I’m a nurse’s aide and I’m here to help you. My name is Krissa.”

Mr. Wingate snorted. “Nurse’s aide, my foot. First aid. That’s what I need. Get me fixed up so I can walk and I’ll think you know something! That would take some doing.” He sighed a heavy sigh and muttered, “They send these young idiots in here; think they know everything.”

I could see he was running out of wind, so I took the opportunity to say firmly, “Roll over, please, and we’ll start.”

The bath went fairly well. When he was comfortably settled in his fresh sheets, I said, “Okay, Mr. Wingate. Let’s brush your teeth.”

“Teeth!” he shouted. He threw open his mouth, then snapped it shut again like a vicious old turtle. “Did you see any teeth in there?”

“Do you have false teeth?” I asked timidly.

“I said I don’t have any teeth,” he thundered, “and I meant I don’t have any teeth! If I had teeth, I’d tell you all about it.”

His voice was rising to a high shriek. I decided to dispense with the rest of his personal grooming for the day. I headed out the door, gathering my equipment as I went. Just as I was ready to escape into the hallway, he called me back.

“Listen here, Susie. The least you can do is open the window.”

I set down my equipment and opened his window just enough to let in a faint breeze.

“Needn’t be so stingy with the air,” he mumbled, somewhat more mildly. “It’s free, you know.”

I opened the window a bit more. On my way out, I said “You’re welcome,” even though he hadn’t thanked me. In the hall, I leaned against the wall for support. I felt as if I had been standing before a firing squad for 24 hours and somehow survived.

After dinner that night, I tried to explain to Mom.

“Old people are awful,” I said.

“That’s a hasty judgment,” she said defensively.

“Oh, Mom. I don’t mean you. I mean old people.”

She didn’t answer. I wanted to tell her I was scared of Mr. Wingate and that I didn’t know how I would face three more months of work at the rest home. But I decided she wouldn’t understand. Plus I had a lump in my throat anyway.

“Never mind,” I sighed.

Somehow I gradually learned to live with my job. Most of the patients were fairly pleasant, and besides, I got used to Mr. Wingate. Every day he grumbled about his bad treatment. Every day, too, my visit with him ended with a hassle about how far to open the window.

“That Mr. Wingate!” I would say to Keri and Monica, the other nurses’ aides. “If he wasn’t bedridden, I wouldn’t go into his room unarmed.”

Keri usually had a lively tale to tell about Mrs. Frenzel, a funny German lady. And Monica had an 85-year-old Romeo on her beat who called her “Sweetheart.” “Sweetheart” was much nicer than the two names Mr. Wingate had for me: “Susie”—his name for any female—and “That Young Idiot.”

One day as I was trimming Mr. Wingate’s hair (which was nearly gone, but which he insisted must be “decent, not shaggy like these idiotic youngsters”), he started muttering something about his daughter.

“Tell me all about your family,” I said. I thought he would enjoy talking.

Instead, Mr. Wingate sighed and answered, “I have no family. Wife passed away some years ago. She was a good woman, my wife,” he added, mostly to himself. “I see,” I said sympathetically. “No children then?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” he said sharply.

I was combing his scanty hair into place when he asked, “I suppose you wonder about my daughter?”

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

“Her and Joe—that’s her husband—didn’t want to be bothered with an old man. Guess they’ve got lots of money, no time.” He spoke abruptly, but his eyes mirrored sorrow and hurt, not anger.

“Say, I’ve got some time,” I said to change the subject. “How about a game of checkers after I finish my rounds?”

“If you won’t bother me with stupid questions,” he mumbled. He acted put out, but I knew he was pleased.

That was just the beginning of our perpetual checkers tournament. I learned—that is, he informed me—that he was a checkers champ from way back; and he still put up a pretty good fight. But he lost the first few games. I was afraid I would win most of the time and he would be mad. I even considered losing on purpose because he’d get so worked up after losing.

“Look here, Susie,” he would say after each game. “That was nothing but luck!”

Mr. Wingate finally won our fourth game. “I knew the old knack would come back,” he said with a gleam in his eyes. “Just rusty, that’s all.”

We gathered up the pieces. On my way out he called, “Not bad, eh, Kris?”

I was so surprised to be called by my name that I nearly dropped the checkers.

From then on it was a daily battle on the checkerboard. At first I didn’t care much who won, just as long as the game went fast. Later I found myself planning my strategies and even practicing at home with my dad. Still, Mr. Wingate usually won.

One Monday toward the end of the summer, the head nurse told me that Mr. Wingate was feeling pretty low. Oh, no, I thought. I’m in for an earful today. When I went to his room, I was surprised to find him quiet.

“So you’re not feeling too chipper?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. Instead he let out a long, tired sigh. Without having to stop for the usual arguments, tirades, and grumbling, I was finished caring for his needs in no time at all. But somehow I missed all his griping.

“Want the window open?” I asked when I finished. Surely that would spark him to some comment.

“No,” he sighed.

“Want to play checkers later on?”

He looked at me but didn’t say anything. For one fleeting moment he wasn’t a grumpy old man. He was a friend telling me thank you, not in words but in just as real a way. Then he shook his head as if to indicate, “Away with such nonsense.”

I smiled even though I was kind of choked up inside. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll even beat you this time.”

I didn’t stop in after my rounds. In fact, I never saw Mr. Wingate again. He died quietly while I was bathing another patient. There were lots of medical personnel gathered around his door, so I didn’t go in. I was afraid I would cry in front of everybody.

That night at the dinner table, Dad and the boys were having a big discussion about grouse hunting. I wasn’t interested. I excused myself and left the table. Pretty soon, Mom was knocking on my bedroom door.

“Anything troubling you, dear?” she asked in that certainly-not-meaning-to-pry tone of voice.

“No, not particularly,” I mumbled, and then like a tidal wave the whole story of the day rushed out. When I was finished, I sobbed, “Mom, can you like someone you don’t like?”

Mom just smiled. I guess she could see I had learned a few things.

My summer job ended a few weeks later. As usual, the excitement of new clothes, new classes, and cheering for the football team occupied most of my time. But sometimes while walking home through crunchy brown leaves I thought of the rest home and Mr. Wingate. I could imagine just how he looked and how he talked.

“Nurse’s aide, my foot! What I need is first aid!” The memories made me smile.

I still played checkers. My dad more or less shared my enthusiasm for checkers, and we began conducting our own tournaments.

One night as we wound up our sixth game, Dad asked, “What are you trying to do, enter the Olympics?”

“Nope, I just like checkers,” I said. And besides, I thought, someday I just might meet another Mr. Wingate.

He can even call me Susie if he wants to.

I had planned to attend the University of Utah, but in August I had a strong impression that I should go to Ricks--an impression that may have been amplified by the fact that Jane Stringham was also planning to go to Ricks. I called the football coach, and he said he could offer a scholarship. Before I knew it, I was on the football field during the first day of practice. Coach Tiny Grant shook my hand, assigned two players to be my roommates, and told me to get a haircut--my hair did not quite meet the dress and grooming standards. Now, at about 6-foot-5, 300 pounds, Tiny Grant was not so tiny, so I obeyed!
I made the first team as a running back, but soon I faced a dilemma. My sister was getting sealed in the Salt Lake Temple the next weekend, so I asked Coach Grant if I could go home for her wedding. He said it was my choice, but I might not retain my starting spot when I returned. I chose to go. I got tickets for an 8 a.m. flight from Idaho Falls to Salt Lake.
This would be my first time flying alone, but I wasn't worried. I had everything planned out: I woke up that morning at 7, got ready, and made the 30-minute drive to Idaho Falls. I arrived at the airport at 7:55 feeling pretty good--I had a good five minutes to spare! On my way from the parking lot to the terminal, however, I learned that my plane was about to leave. "You'll never make it," the airport personnel told me. In a panic, I ran onto the tarmac--you could do that in a small airport in those days--and waved my hands in front of the plane, yelling, "Don't leave! I need to get on the plane! It's my sister's wedding!" The next thing I remember was two security men hauling me off the tarmac, saying, "You're not getting on that plane!"
Needless to say, I missed my sister's wedding. But I did manage to convince security that I was not a serious threat, and I caught a later flight in time for her reception. When I returned to Rexburg on Monday, I also learned that I had lost my starting spot on the team for the next week's game.
As you can see, I had plenty of growing up to do during my first few months at Ricks College.

Andy Mair has heard many of the stories about sacrifices made in building the first Nauvoo Temple. He knows about the men and boys who cut stone by hand, hauled heavy loads with just horses and mules, went without good food and clothing, and spent every minute they could building a beautiful House of the Lord.
Andy has plenty to eat and wear and because he’s only 14 he’s not really allowed to work on the temple site. But Andy has made sacrifices. He willingly left his friends and home to come with his family to Nauvoo where his father would oversee the reconstruction of the Nauvoo Temple. “I am not sorry that I came,” says Andy. “I have been able to learn a lot more about the history of the Church and Joseph Smith. I can say that I have walked and lived where the Prophet Joseph and the early leaders of the Church did. As I see the temple workers, I notice that they all have shoes and shirts. They also have modern equipment like cranes, lifts, cement trucks, dump trucks, tractors, and power tools. I try to imagine how people in the 1840s built such a huge building without these things.”
Also, during the construction of the temple, Andy has seen what kind of man his dad is. “It means a lot to me to have my dad be able to oversee the construction of this temple, because I know I am one of a few young men who is able to participate so closely in such an historic event. My dad is a great example to me of hard work and dedication.”

I recently heard a wonderful story about a little girl named Sarah, whose mother had the opportunity to help another woman in her ward named Brenda, who had multiple sclerosis. Sarah loved to go with her mother to help Brenda. She would put lotion on Brenda’s hands and massage her fingers and arms because she was often in pain. Sarah then learned to gently stretch Brenda’s arms over her head to exercise her muscles. Sarah brushed Brenda’s hair and visited with her while her mother took care of her other needs. Sarah learned the importance and joy of serving another person and came to understand that even a child can make a big difference in someone’s life.

Eighteen-year-old Liane Pearce and Tony Morgan, 21, a recently returned missionary, have joined the brigade of traffic wardens, or “yellow peril” (referring to the stripes on their uniforms) as they are more commonly called, assigned to traffic control on London’s busy streets.
It’s hard work—long hours trudging the streets in all kinds of weather—and they are the targets for abuse, both verbal and physical, from angry motorists. But they both say they love their unusual job.
Because they are the only members of the Church in their brigade, they have plenty of opportunities for missionary work. As far as rough language of fellow workers is concerned, Liane says, “Tony and I turn a deaf ear. People know we are members of the Church and, strangely enough, seem to be respectful to us.
“People imagine all we do is hand out parking tickets,” she continues, “but that’s only a small part of it. We consider we are doing a public service by directing the traffic, keeping the roads clear for other motorists, and working school crossing patrols.”

Being prayerful for me means not only praying morning and night, but also keeping a prayer in my heart throughout the day. Although I have not been perfect in doing so, I have been pretty consistent. With a prayer in my heart my day runs smoother and I am more receptive to the whisperings of the Spirit. Often in my prayers I ask the Lord to help me find those who are in need of comfort or who need a friend.
One day I was driving home from school and passed a boy who was walking home. The sun was out but there was snow on the ground. I had an impression to turn around and give the boy a ride home. Immediately I turned around and picked him up. He had on wet jeans and a T-shirt because someone had pushed him in the snow. He was grateful when I picked him up. He talked about how he had a hard time making friends and how some kids had played a little game that ended with him being thrown in the snow. I was grateful the Lord heard my prayers and allowed me to help that wonderful boy.
Barbara Moore, 17Littleton, Colorado

I had been a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints only a short while, and I was very happy. I arose early every Sunday to attend church with my young daughter, and I knew I was being well fed spiritually. Then one Sunday I had a disturbing experience.
It was ward conference, and when our stake president spoke, his words were very special to me. Then he said, “Brothers and sisters, I would like you to raise your right hand to show that you sustain President Gordon B. Hinckley as our prophet and President of the Church.” All 50 or so members of my ward raised their hands—except me. The stake president then asked that we sustain the other General Authorities. Once again I did not raise my hand. Finally he asked us to sustain our local leaders. “Now I can raise my hand,” I thought. “I know these leaders, so I can sustain them.”
No one asked me why I had not raised my hand to sustain the prophet and the General Authorities—probably because they knew I was a new member of the Church. But the experience continued to disturb me. “How can I sustain President Hinckley when I do not know him?” I wondered. “And how can I possibly know him when I live in Brazil and he lives in the United States? To sustain him, I need to know him and see him face to face.”
Then the Spirit began to speak to me: “You never saw Jesus Christ face to face, but you sustain Him.”
“Yes, but I know Him through the scriptures, which testify of Him.”
“You can also know the prophet, even without seeing him face to face.”
“How?”
“By reading and pondering his words. Pray for guidance from Heavenly Father, and He will help you to understand how to sustain the prophet.”
And that is what I did. During the following days I read several of President Hinckley’s talks. I watched him and listened to him speak on videos, observing every detail I could about him and his teachings. And I prayed for understanding.
Then one day as I was reading an article in the Liahona, President Hinckley’s words penetrated my soul deeply: “It is never too late to learn. I believe this with all my heart” (“A Conversation with Single Adults,” Liahona, Nov. 1997, 22; Ensign, Mar. 1997, 62). I also believed with all my heart and felt that it was not too late for me to learn.
For a long time I looked at the picture of the prophet printed beside his article. Suddenly I felt as though I were right in front of him. I looked at his eyes—eyes that seemed to speak of eternity. I looked at his face—which radiated peace. I had studied his teachings and felt the Spirit testify of them. For the first time I knew that I knew President Hinckley and that I could trust him and sustain him.
Profound well-being enveloped me, and I felt a desire to raise my right hand, not only in front of the members of my ward, but in front of the entire world. Through the witness of the Spirit, I could declare with complete conviction, “I too sustain the prophet.”

May I share a personal example that, although it’s not nearly as dramatic as Nephi’s experience, has given me satisfaction that maybe once I had the courage to follow the whisperings of the Spirit.
About ten years ago I was serving as a stake president. During one of my visits to a sacrament meeting, a young priest struggled with reading the sacrament prayer for the bread. After four unsuccessful attempts, he asked one of the other priests to say the sacrament prayer. As the deacons passed the bread to the congregation, I glanced at this young priest who sat embarrassed with his head down. Since we had just moved into the stake a year before, I did not know him or his family.
In an instant, two thoughts came into my mind. This young man must not have negative thoughts or experiences related to the sacrament. Second, he should say the blessing on the water. I turned to the bishop at my side and asked him to invite the young priest to say the sacrament prayer for the water. The bishop looked at me surprised and asked, “Are you sure?” I nodded my head, yes.
The bishop leaned forward and caught the attention of one of the other priests. He nudged this young priest, who looked at the bishop. The bishop clearly whispered, “Say the prayer on the water.” I glanced at the young priest out of the corner of my eye. This young priest had the same look of surprise that the bishop did just a moment before, but the young priest’s face also had a look of terror.
Then the reality of what I had initiated began to sink in. What if the young priest were not able to say the blessing on the water successfully? At what point do we have him stop trying? Was I right to put this young man in a position of further embarrassing himself?
I knew that the impressions that I had felt were from the Holy Ghost, but questions such as these continued through my mind. So I began to pray. I suspect that I was not the only one on the stand who was praying while the bread was being passed.
The deacons returned with the bread trays. The priests reverently placed the bread trays on the sacrament table. The cloth was lifted to cover the bread trays and uncover the water trays. Then this young priest knelt down to pray. I listened to each word as it came clearly from his mouth. I would not have been paying more attention if I were giving the prayer myself. As he finished the blessing on the water and pronounced the final word “amen,” the congregation seemed to give their approving “amen” with more clarity and conviction than normal. This congregation, filled with experienced Church leaders and loving families, had recognized the situation and were grateful for this young man’s success.
In the next two years, I had the opportunity to interview this young man to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood, prepare his papers for full-time missionary service, interview him to enter the House of the Lord, and set him apart to serve in the North Carolina Charlotte Mission. With each opportunity of meeting with him, I asked the young man if he remembered the experience at the sacrament table. He always answered, “Oh, yes.” And it was always with a smile and a look of gratitude for priesthood leaders who had confidence in him to perform the sacred ordinance of the sacrament.
My reflection on this and similar experiences reminds me that when I allow doubts about following the Spirit to enter my mind, it’s because I fear man more than God. In other words, I’m more concerned about the outward consequences of embarrassment or ridicule from another person than to follow the sacred impressions from our Heavenly Father.

The ‘Iosepa
One day Uncle Bill Wallace, the first director of the Hawaiian Studies program, came to me and asked if I can build a Hawaiian wa’a kaulua for the Hawaiian studies program. “Yes, I’d loved to do it. When?” I said. Of course it is koa wood that Hawaiians use to make their canoes. I looked into it and Bill also looked into it to try to find the wood, but we couldn’t find someone who could supply a big enough log for a 50 foot double hull canoe. Well, I left for Tonga to build a Tongan, traditional, 100-foot, double hull, sailing canoe which took me a year and a half to complete. When I completed that project, while still in Tonga, Bill called and asked if I could order the same wood that I used in the Tongan canoe, which came from Fiji. I did and came home in December 2000 and the logs arrived in Laie in March 2001. We started on the Iosepa in March and completed it in August of the same year. It took us only six months to complete the project. We invited the community to come out and help and the Hawaiian Studies students came out to help also. People from Laie, and from throughout the island, showed up every day to help out in the work. That is how we got the ‘Iosepa done so soon. David Eskaran and I needed that help and we got it thanks to the spirit of the ‘Iosepa that was there. It was the help and spirit of the community that made it possible to finish the canoe in that short period of time.
One evening after the ‘Iosepa was completed, I was there by myself. I stepped away from the canoe and took a good look at it and said, “Wow! What a beautiful boat!” And a feeling came over me and I thanked Heavenly Father for helping us to build such a beautiful canoe. For making it possible to accomplish such a great feat.