Gospel Story Finder

While this teaching process was occurring, our other friend, Bernard, walked into our lives. Bernard had first found the Church through a local Facebook ad and he accepted our first phone call invitation to attend church that coming Sunday. It was a joyous day when Bernard and Prince were able to meet on the oak benches in our chapel. Even though there is a small age gap, they clicked so well, and the rapidly growing testimony of Prince touched the heart of Bernard. Elder Hutchason and I watched Bernard quickly came to love all the messages and teachings of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
As we taught Bernard each time, we would call him on the phone, and he would answer. Anytime we asked to meet he was so excited he would even close down his shop early to meet us at the chapel to hear another message. Anytime we extended a commitment to read from the scriptures or to pray on his own, he would willingly and faithfully do so. Elder Hutchason and I both knew that we should not procrastinate the day of his baptism.
Even through a very challenging and busy week for everyone, we were still able to have Bernard properly interviewed, baptized, and confirmed in the same week. On that perfect cool Saturday evening of September 18, 2021, I watched as my worthy, spirit-filled companion, Elder Hutchason, guided Bernard into the baptismal font. I cannot express with words how much joy I saw in that man’s smile as Elder Hutchason raised him out of the water. He knew, and so did everyone else in attendance, that his sins had been purified.
By taking this first step, he had become more like our Savior, Jesus Christ, and began a lifelong journey to now go and share his light before mankind that “they may see [his] good works and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16). Bernard was confirmed the following day in sacrament meeting. My favorite part about this is the support of the uplifted right hand from the congregation to support the newest member of their family.

Let me take you back to the year 2015. I was a newly called member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. One of the wonderful responsibilities we carry as Apostles is to assign missionaries to their fields of labor. I had participated as a Seventy in the process, but now as an Apostle, I felt the full weight of the assignment. I began with prayerfully placing a great number of young elders and sisters, one by one, in missions around the world. Then I turned to the senior couples. There were 10 on the list. Not very many. Surprised, I asked my associate from the Missionary Department, “How many do we need this week to fill the requests?”
He responded, “300.”
That sobering moment has stayed with me: 10 couples to fill 300 requests.
President Russell M. Nelson has encouraged couples to “get on their knees and ask Heavenly Father if the time is right for them to serve a mission.” Of all the qualifications, he said, “a desire to serve may be the most important.”
As the scripture says, “If ye have desires to serve God ye are called to the work.” That work is all about the law of the harvest. We read in John, “Both he that soweth and he that reapeth may rejoice together.”
I have seen the law of the harvest fulfilled in my own family.
Some years ago I was visiting family, when the bishop asked me to conclude the sacrament service. As I was coming down from the stand, a woman approached me with her seven children and introduced herself as Sister Rebecca Guzman.
She asked, “Elder Rasband, do you know Rulon and Verda Rasband?”
I beamed and replied, “They are my parents.”
You can see where this is going. With Rebecca’s permission, who is here with family in the Conference Center, I share her family’s story.
My parents, Elder Rulon and Sister Verda Rasband, were serving as a senior couple in the Florida Fort Lauderdale Mission. They were proselyting and by divine guidance knocked on the door of Rebecca’s home. She was just a teenager and loved listening to the music of the Osmonds, in particular our friend Donny—who is here with us today. She had listened to their media interviews and learned they were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She felt there was something different about them, and thinking it might be their religion, Rebecca spent two years researching the Church’s beliefs in the school library. So, when a kindly-looking couple knocked on her family’s door and introduced themselves as Latter-day Saint missionaries, she was taken back.
“My mother told me to get rid of them,” Rebecca later wrote, “but my heart said, ‘No.’ I looked into their faces, and I felt so much warmth and love. The memory still brings tears to my eyes and deep emotion to my heart.”
Rebecca invited them in, and my missionary parents shared a message with her, her two younger sisters, and, despite her objections, her mother.
Rebecca described to me: “Both your parents were wonderful in explaining any questions we had. I can still see their faces as if there was light surrounding them. We always hugged your mother when she left, and she always made a point of helping my mother feel comfortable and respected. Your father always had a sparkle in his eyes as he was teaching us about Jesus Christ. He tried to include my father in discussions and eventually won him over. My father was a chef at a local country club and started cooking dinners for your parents, including making your father’s favorite, key lime pie.”
When Elder and Sister Rasband asked Rebecca and her family to read the Book of Mormon, Rebecca did so in five days. She wanted to be baptized immediately, but the other members of her family were not ready. After four months, Rebecca insisted she be baptized and join the true Church. She recalled, “Every fiber of my soul knew it was true.” On April 5, 1979, missionaries baptized 19-year-old Rebecca, her mother, and two sisters. My father was a witness at the baptism.
When I met Rebecca and her family at church, we took a photograph of her family with me. I took it home to my elderly mother, and she held it close to her heart. Then she said to me, “Ronnie, this is one of the happiest days of my life.”
My mother’s response begs the question for our seniors: “What are you doing at this stage of your life?” There are so many ways senior missionaries can do what no one else can. You are a remarkable force for good, seasoned in the Church, and poised to encourage and rescue God’s children.
Some of you might be thinking: “But what about leaving the grandchildren? We would miss family milestones, birthdays, friends, and even our pets.” If I had asked my mother why she and Dad went on a mission, I know she would have said this: “I have grandchildren. I want them to know that your father and I served in the mission field, we wanted to set an example for our posterity, and we were blessed, so blessed.”
As I have visited missions around the world, I have seen the remarkable service of our legion of senior missionaries. It is clear they are happy doing “the will of the Lord” and being about “the Lord’s business.”
For some, and we hope thousands of you, full-time missionary service in another corner of the world will be just the right place. For others, serving a Church-service mission at home might be preferable. Because of health issues and other circumstances, there are those who are unable to serve. We understand those situations, and it would be my hope you might find ways to support those who are serving. Follow the prophet’s counsel and pray to know what the Lord would have you do.
Mission fields around the world are pleading for your help. President Nelson has said of our senior missionaries, “They are young in spirit, wise, and willing to work.”
Out in the field, you have a smorgasbord of opportunities: you may serve in mission offices or temples, strengthen young missionaries, bolster small branches, work in FamilySearch centers or at historic sites, teach institute, provide humanitarian service, work with young adults, help in employment centers or on Church farms. The particulars of ways to serve, what best suits you, where you are needed, and how you can get ready to go are addressed on the website “Senior Missionary.” You can also talk with your bishop or branch president.
I have called many couples to serve and watched as the Light of Christ has filled their countenances. At their return, they have described growing closer to the Lord and closer to one another, feeling the Spirit of the Lord pour down upon them, and knowing they are making a difference. Who would not want that?
A mission might be the greatest chapter in a couple’s life. A good title might be “My Lord Will Have Need of Me.” You may be on unfamiliar ground; however, the power of the Spirit will make you feel right at home.
My parents and tens of thousands of returned missionary couples have borne testimony of the joy they found in missionary work. The Lord has said in latter-day scripture, “And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!”
Isaiah gave us a poetic description of what it means to serve in the mission “field.” Scripture tells us “the field is the world.” This great ancient prophet wrote, “For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.” The mountains, hills, fields, and trees can be likened to mission presidents, bishops, district leaders, members, and those who seek the truth but “they know not where to find it.” They will testify that the senior missionaries change the very landscape with their testimony of our Savior and Redeemer, Jesus Christ.
As an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ, I ask you to serve as a missionary in the gathering of Israel and perhaps even serve again. We need you—we need you. We are grateful to you seniors for the lives you have led and the examples you have been in your homes, wards, and stakes. I now invite you to take your know-how, coupled with your time-honored testimonies, and go on a mission. I pray that the next time I sit down to assign senior couples, there will be hundreds of you waiting anxiously for your call.
I also promise that as you serve, you will feel the love of the Lord in your life, you will know Him, He will know you, and “how great shall be your joy.” Your dedicated service to Jesus Christ will inspire and bless your family, your grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. “Peace, and love [will] be multiplied” in their lives for years to come. I promise. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

A few months ago while traveling in Vietnam, my wife and I were on a flight that took off in a heavy storm. The turbulence was severe, and dark clouds, heavy rain, and lightning could be seen from our window. After a long and volatile ascent, our airplane finally rose above the storm clouds and emerged to this glorious vista. We were reminded once again of our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and felt Their great love for us.

It was a hot summer day in Japan. I was 10 months into my mission and had finished packing my luggage and getting ready to transfer to another area. Now I was leaving the apartment to catch a train to a new city.
More than anything, I remember the look my companion and I gave each other then. Usually farewells like these are marked by words of thanks and well-wishing. But I remember my companion’s simply glancing down the hall at me with no hint of friendliness. I did the same to him and then walked out the door.
The previous five weeks of my mission had been bitter and contentious. I had been in the city for several months when this companion had arrived. From day one we started fighting. We found we had different attitudes and ideas. When we had disagreements, instead of cooperating, we blamed each other and insisted that the other one change.
Some nights we came home frustrated and barely talked to each other. Most mornings we almost dreaded having to leave the apartment. The work in the area suffered as contention and selfishness drove away the Spirit.
When I transferred, I moved on to new places and experiences, but I often found myself thinking back on the unpleasant memories of those five weeks. As I gained maturity and experience, I felt regret. I began to recognize the good things my companion had done and realized how foolish our arguments had been. Sometimes I would hear other missionaries say complimentary things about him. Deep down, I felt guilty that I had nothing good to say.
Months later, I was reading back through my journal entries from that month. As I thought back on my mistakes and the way I had left, I resolved to do something. I knew I might never see him again, but I followed an impression I had and wrote him a long letter, apologizing and expressing my desire to reconcile.
Three weeks later my zone leader called. I was being transferred to another new city. To my surprise, he told me that I had been assigned to work again with that same missionary.
Having the same companion twice was very rare in my mission, and I knew it wasn’t happening by chance. The day we met again, he thanked me for sending the letter, and we spent a long time that night talking and making amends.
Our second time together was the opposite of the first. This time we put aside our arguments and turned to cooperation and respect. As the days flew by, we became close friends and would come home at night talking and laughing about how the day had gone. We were always eager to go out again the next morning. We had the Spirit with us as we worked and taught, and we had much more success as a result.
After a few weeks my companion was transferred. The day he left, we gave each other a warm embrace. This time, I experienced the bittersweet feeling of saying good-bye to a friend.
A few years have passed, but I still remember the valuable lessons I learned about friendship, forgiveness, and second chances. We don’t always get another chance the way my companion and I did, and I learned that it’s best to make amends before it’s too late.

When I was a mission president, one of my responsibilities was to interview elders and sisters who had completed their missions and were returning home. I always asked what they were taking home as a result of their mission. I didn’t want to know what was inside their suitcases; I wanted to know what was inside of them.
One elder said, “I am going home liking myself.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
He said, “All my life I have wanted to be someone else. I was envious of the guy at high school who was popular with the girls. I wanted to be him. I was jealous of the guy who owned the red sports car. I wanted to be him. I wanted to be the quarterback of the football team.
“And when I arrived in the mission field, I had the same problem. I wanted to be the assistant to the president or the elder who could always quote the right scripture at the right time. I was always wishing I could be somebody else.”
“However, as I have served these two years, I have realized who I really am. I am a son of God. I have a good relationship with my Savior and my fellowmen. I have a greater love for my parents and my family. And I realize that I have talents I can develop and share and that others have their talents. I’m grateful for what I’ve been given. I’m no longer envious of what others have that I may not have. I’m going home feeling good about myself.”
I too had a good feeling about this elder and what was inside of him. How happy I was that he had come to appreciate himself and make that appreciation part of his life’s philosophy. Over the years, it has been a joy to see how this young man has developed and matured by sharing himself and his talents with others.

William Warner Major was a miniaturist, an artist who painted photograph-sized portraits. He and his siblings met the missionaries in London. All were baptised within a week of each other. Thus started a journey from London to Nauvoo, then on to Winter Quarters in Nebraska, then the Great Salt Lake Valley, and back to London, where Major died serving his third mission.
After his death, William’s missionary companions, William Henry Kimball and James Marsden, wrote a history of their friend. Recent research has uncovered a three-page journal and five letters written by William. Furthermore, since William sketched portraits of numerous pioneers, his endeavours were noted in their personal journals. From these sources emerge the story of a devoted leader and his faithful wife, Sarah Coles Major.
William and Sarah were baptised on 10 April 1842.
After the Marylebone Branch in London was created on 27 July 1842 by Elder Snow, the first meeting of the branch was held in William and Sarah’s apartment. After less than four months of membership, William was called to preside as branch president.
The Kimball and Marsden History recorded that, “Elder Major was ... ordained an elder, and sent on a mission to preach the gospel in Reading, Berkshire [...].”
On 11 February 1844 William, Sarah and son, William Jr., set sail on the Swanton. They had lost two children, Henry and Fanny, before this time. After they arrived in Nauvoo, William functioned as an official artist for the Church. He was commissioned to paint portraits of Church leaders to be hung in the Nauvoo Temple.
On Friday, 8 April 1853 general conference took place. President Heber C. Kimball stood at the pulpit and announced, “We have a number of elders who are chosen to go on missions.” He read the list of names, which included William Major, called to go to England.
On arriving in London, William settled in an apartment with other missionaries. In October 1854, William H. Kimball wrote his father, President Heber C. Kimball:
“On the 2nd inst., I went to see W. W. Major who has been ill for seven weeks, and at 7 o’clock last evening he departed this life, notwithstanding great faith and exertion on his part, as well as by many others. His last words to me were that he was not discouraged and wished me to administer to him. To the last his faith was good, and he desired to return to the Valley.”
So many of the Saints were buried at sea, or left in shallow graves crossing the plains, but William’s body was transported across the ocean, up the Mississippi River, stored for six months, then placed on the boat called Alma on the Missouri River and sent to Mormon Grove, Kansas. Such was the great love and respect the pioneers had for their leader and friend, William Warner Major.
More information on the life of W. W. Major can be found online at: sites.google.com/site/jkmajor/home.

One Sunday, while serving in the Fifth Quorum of the Seventy, I was invited with my quorum to meet with Elder Richard G. Scott for training. It was a powerful experience, as he indicated that his purpose in bringing us together was to bear his witness of the Savior. He taught us to respect inspiration. Inspiration is always grounded in truth. My notes from his remarks closely paralleled what he said in general conference at about this same time. In conference, he spoke of how to study scriptures:

When I am faced with a very difficult matter, this is how I try to understand what to do. I fast. I pray to find and understand scriptures that will be helpful. That process is cyclical. I start reading a passage of scripture; I ponder what the verse means and pray for inspiration. I then ponder and pray to know if I have captured all the Lord wants me to do. Often more impressions come with increased understanding of doctrine. I have found that pattern to be a good way to learn from the scriptures. [3]

On that Sunday, he taught us that this same protocol is also fruitful whenever we feel the Spirit or have an impression that has come under the influence of the Holy Ghost. He urged us to write such impressions down, then to pray about whether we had captured them correctly. Make corrections. And when it is right, we should ask if there is more. He said that in his experience, “Often, there is.” And if so, write it down, repeating the process until you have it right, and then ask what else you might learn.

My testimony to you, independent of Elder Scott’s, is that in this way, treasures of truth can come to us that we may never access without displaying this level of diligence and respect for the impressions we receive. It goes without saying, that to gain this benefit to our studies, we must live faithfully, repenting, and keeping the Spirit close.

As Elder Scott concluded, he said he wanted to share aspects of his testimony that he had learned through this process. He wanted to be helpful to us in our ministries, called as we were as members of the Seventy to stand as especial witnesses. He spoke in slow, deliberate phrases, his eyes often focused on some middle distance. It seemed to me that he was imploring the Spirit for permissions to say more than words might say, negotiating with the Spirit, wanting to share everything that he knew and had experienced as a special witness, but without offending the Spirit by crossing into understandings too sacred for expression. It was a time I think, worlds without end, that I will not forget.

As I drove home from that meeting down the I-15 corridor, fairly aglow with the spirit of what I had just heard and felt and experienced, my eyes fell upon a scene of singular drama. To the east, nestled in the cut of a mountain, was the Draper Utah Temple, glowing incandescently in an almost supernal way, lit as it was by a shaft of sunlight bursting from the west between jostling cumulous summer clouds that were shadowing the rest of the mountain side. Towering above the temple, the divided sunlight reflected off of an enormous summer thunder head pulsating 5 miles and more up into the air and, at its base, sending shoots of misty strands of fog down the canyons and escarpments of the mountain range below. Brilliant white at the top, it was nearly black with moisture at its powerful base, flashing lightning and rumbling thunder as it dwarfed and closed in on the luminous temple on the hill. I thought absently, “Look out, little temple. You are in for a pounding.” I don’t often talk to temples, and when I do, they never talk back—until then, when I heard a response deep inside of my soul. The temple didn’t talk to me. But I seemed to see its vertical walls round slightly as it leaned it’s shoulders toward the roiling menace in its approach. And I thought I heard it say, “Bring it. Bring your winds and your rain, your violence and your tumult, your confusion, your chaos. Gape open the very jaws of hell. I will not be moved. This is what I was built for. I am consecrated to this very purpose, to stand as a sanctuary from this and every storm. Holiness to the Lord. The House of the Lord.”

The temple has been for me that place of shelter from the storm. Each temple is, in its way, the very axis mundi, the center of the world, the centering of things. Connect the dots that comprise your connection to the purposes of life. Draw a line through every commandment, every calling, and every ordinance, every act of service, every work of salvation and exaltation of the gospel, and you will form a line that runs directly through the altars of the temple.

Several years ago, as my parents were getting older and slowing down considerably, I invited them to come and visit us in Utah. Mother’s health wasn’t that great, and she responded, “I don’t know if we can come next week because I don’t know what next week will bring. We are just ­living day by day.”
I thought a great deal about that phrase: “We are just living day by day.” Each of us—whether we are nine or ninety—is, in reality, living day by day. I may have plans and goals for weeks and months and years to come, but, nonetheless, my life is in the Lord’s hands. For me, the phrase “living day by day” doesn’t mean that I don’t have a long-range view. In fact, it is just the opposite. Living day by day means doing everything each day with an eternal perspective—­recognizing that today might be the day when I am called home.

A young adult woman had a gift for writing and some personal experience with depression. When her teenage sister was dealing with a difficult situation at school, she was able to recognize that her sister was slipping into despondency. Heeding the Spirit’s promptings, she wrote her sister a series of beautiful notes, expressing her love and confidence, one for each day of an especially trying two-week period. In that small choice to meet her sister’s need, this young woman was living her mission.

The oldest of Chris and Emma’s eight children was my grandfather, Friedrich Wilhelm Pieper, or Bill. Bill was married in August of 1917 and then lost his wife in April of 1918 to the Spanish Flu that swept the world that year. He remarried, this time to my grandmother, Bertha Clara Meyers (show photo of couple).

They had two children and were expecting a third when Bishop Henry Flamm called my grandfather Bill on a mission to Germany. Think about making that sacrifice!

Bill’s father Chris wrote in his life history:
My great-grandfather Chris Continues:
Brothers and sisters, the consecration of my great grandfather, Chris, and my grandfather, Bill, and their good wives and families brought a power into their lives that can come in no other way. Their blessings and the blessings enjoyed by their posterity are the beautiful fruits of consecration.

Recently, I was privileged, along with a group of Primary children, to meet with President Russell M. Nelson in the replica of the Smith family home in Palmyra, New York. Listen as our beloved prophet teaches the children what they can do to step forward.
Sister Jones: “I’m curious to know if you might have a question that you would like to ask President Nelson. You’re sitting here with the prophet. Is there anything that you’ve always wanted to ask a prophet? Yes, Pearl.”
Pearl: “Is it hard to be a prophet? Are you, like, really busy?”
President Nelson: “Of course it’s hard. Everything to do with becoming more like the Savior is difficult. For example, when God wanted to give the Ten Commandments to Moses, where did He tell Moses to go? Up on top of a mountain, on the top of Mount Sinai. So Moses had to walk all the way up to the top of that mountain to get the Ten Commandments. Now, Heavenly Father could have said, ‘Moses, you start there, and I’ll start here, and I’ll meet you halfway.’ No, the Lord loves effort, because effort brings rewards that can’t come without it. For example, did you ever take piano lessons?”
Children: “Yes.”
Pearl: “I take violin.”
President Nelson: “And do you practice?”
Children: “Yes.”
President Nelson: “What happens if you don’t practice?”
Pearl: “You forget.”
President Nelson: “Yes, you don’t progress, do you? So the answer is yes, Pearl. It takes effort, a lot of hard work, a lot of study, and there’s never an end. That’s good! That’s good, because we’re always progressing. Even in the next life we’re making progress.”

Last year a dear family friend passed away. Lucile was 89 years old and had been a widow for more than 20 years. She was not a rich woman, she was not famous, and most of the world knew nothing of her passing. But her family knew. Her neighbors knew. The members of her ward knew. For all who had experienced her love, her death had left the world a diminished place. During her years as a widow, Lucile had endured difficult challenges, including the death of a beloved grandson and infirmities brought on by age. But Lucile continued to nourish everyone she knew with her spirit, with her baked goods, with her quilts and afghans, with her humor and goodwill. And she loved to work in the temple. One spring day in 1981, she wrote in her journal: “This morning at 3:30 a.m., as I was walking up the path to the temple, I watched the flag gently blowing in the breeze and looked at the beautiful sky and thought how happy I was to be there. I felt sad for all the people who [were] sleeping and missing the awakening of a beautiful day.”

Most of us don’t think the world is “awakening” at 3:30 in the morning, and we’re perfectly happy to roll over in bed about then and allow Lucile to feel sorry for us. But what an attitude! Only a flow of goodness from within could explain it. Did she possess this purity of spirit at 15, at 25, or even 55? I don’t know. In most cases, it probably takes a lifetime of listening to the Holy Ghost before we know God’s voice so well and before we trust in the living waters enough to taste them throughout the entire day—especially a day that begins at 3:30 a.m. But I believe the living waters sustained Lucile during those long years when she might have given way to self-pity, and her life, her spirit, became nourishment to everyone she knew.

When Cathy Gurley was young, she had a dream. More than anything else, she wanted to be Miss Rosewood, queen of her school. Her goal was to be someone that the other students at the school would look to as an example. So she practiced dancing and singing, talents she thought would help her win the contest.
When she was a senior in high school, Cathy was voted Miss Rosewood in the town of Goldsboro, North Carolina. Then she started winning other contests, like the district FHA Sweetheart, and queen of the Wayne County Fireman’s Pageant, and eventually Miss North Carolina Teen Hemisphere.
But on her way to those recognitions, Cathy became a real winner when she developed another talent. It wouldn’t help her win a contest, but it helped her win friends and lift the spirits of people who needed help. Cathy learned how to care about other people.
“I really enjoy helping people,” said Cathy. “When I smile, I like to see them smile back. And so many people need someone to help them.”
Cathy has been helping people—the elderly, the retarded, the handicapped. She’s spent hundreds of hours visiting her friends at rest homes, singing at dances for retarded people, visiting at a center for severely retarded people, adopting a grandparent, helping her mother teach a Sunday School class for the retarded, and being a friend to people who are too often friendless. Cathy’s mom gave her encouragement along the way and helped organize many of the parties where Cathy performed.
“My older brother Bobby is retarded, so it’s natural that I’d associate with other retarded children,” said Cathy. “I couldn’t ask for a better brother. He’s seven years older than I am, and I was born on his birthday. He’s always said that I was his birthday present. We’ve been very close.”
Cathy would go to parties for her brother Bobby and his friends and sing for them. “I’ve always wanted to be an entertainer, so it was fun for me. They don’t care how bad you sing. They appreciate even small things. The rest of us need to be more like they are.”
Cathy’s mother worked in rest homes when Cathy was little and sometimes had to work on holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas. “I wanted her to understand why I couldn’t be at home, so I’d bring her to the rest homes with me on those holidays,” said Sister Gurley.
“She’d leave me and go talk to the people. Cathy has never been afraid of a retarded or elderly or handicapped person, maybe because she was brought up around them.”
Growing up with her brother also helped Cathy develop sensitivity to others. Her mother said, “I’d come home from work tired, and Bobby would say he wanted to go meet his friends. I’d tell him I was just too tired and couldn’t get him dressed. Then Cathy would say, ‘If I dress him and get him ready to go, would you take him?’
“Christ told us we need to become like little children. So many of these people have that sweetness like little children. They never hold a grudge or lash out at people,” added Sister Gurley.
Cathy has also spent many hours helping at rest homes. “I guess because I was so close to my grandparents and my mother is a nurse, it was easy for me to volunteer my time,” said Cathy. “My Aunt Mamie worked as a recreation specialist at a rest home when I was 11, so she’d ask me and my cousin to go over there and help. We’d spend the whole day. We’d play bingo with the people. I’d help roll them in their wheelchairs out into the middle of the halls for supper, deliver the mail, read to them if they needed it, and just talk.”
Eventually, Cathy “adopted” a grandfather, a friend of her grandmother.
“My grandfather died when I was very young, so my grandmother started dating Waldo,” said Cathy. “They’d come out to my house to visit, and I enjoyed his friendship. When my grandmother died, he sort of got out of circulation and didn’t have any companionship. My grandmother had more or less taken care of him and fixed him supper each day. So Waldo and I kept in touch, and I decided to adopt him. I’d call and see how he was doing, stop by to see him, visit him on holidays, and take him treats. Now he’s in a rest home, and we keep in close touch.”
Cathy has helped with a Sunday School class for the handicapped, too, held in her home after regular church meetings. The first hour of the class the students learn about the scriptures, and the second hour they do crafts. Cathy often makes cookies or cupcakes for them. She also found time to organize a drill team for grade school girls.
Cathy has always found time to accomplish her goals. She has helped with political campaigns and even served as a page in her state legislature. She attended seminary for four years. (“It really helped me gain a testimony,” said Cathy.) She took modeling classes for several years, and her teacher encouraged her to enter the Miss Teen North Carolina Hemisphere competition.
“I won the state competition, so I competed in the nationals, which were held in Philadelphia and included the western hemisphere—Guam, Canada, the U.S., and the Bahamas,” Cathy said.
“I learned that it wasn’t that important to be beautiful. I just wanted to put on my jeans and be myself, but for 24 hours a day I was there fixing my hair and putting on lipstick, and I’m just not used to doing that much. You couldn’t go out of your door unless you were all dressed up, and that’s just not for me.
“I really enjoyed entertaining others for the competition, though, and it helped me develop a talent I didn’t think I had. I’d always taken ballet, but I realized I needed another talent to win the state competition. I told my mom, ‘I’ve got to sing!’ She smiled and said, ‘You can’t sing.’ And I said, ‘Well, I’m just going to have to learn.’ So I took lessons and practiced, and I won the contest. I realize now that I can sing and not be embarrassed. I met some nice people in the pageant, too.”
She also realized that she was an example to a lot of her friends. “Lots of times at high school I wouldn’t go to parties because I knew there would be drinking. Everybody would go, and I would sit home. It wasn’t always easy, but it was the right thing.
“Then some of my friends would tell me things like ‘I really don’t enjoy drinking, and I don’t know why I do. I wish I had the courage to say no.’ They’d see me and realize that they didn’t have to drink. It’s important to do what you know is right.”
In the Gurley’s front room, Cathy’s trophies are displayed. She’s won awards for most valuable cheerleader, most valuable model at her modeling school, FHA Sweetheart, and first-place in beauty, talent, modeling, and most photogenic for North Carolina Teen Hemisphere.
But she doesn’t need a trophy for the things that are most important to her. She carries those qualities around with her every day.
The Savior said, “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another” (John 13:34).
That’s another goal that Cathy’s working toward.

Even as I lay on my bed staring at the cobweb on the ceiling (my cobweb, because it was my turn to dust), I could think of two reasons why I should be happy. First, it was my birthday. At our house a birthday means a special dinner. The birthday celebrity picks the menu and sits at the head of the table. Dessert is a big homemade cake. Second, in just two and a half hours, my neighbor and good friend Scott would pick me up for the dance. It was my first date with him. For that matter, it was my first date with anybody. So why wasn’t I excited? So why wasn’t I jubilant? The reason was not a good one.
I turned my head and looked at the pictures on my wall. I call it my wall because my two sisters and I have shared the rest of the room in the attic for as long as I can remember. My bed is adjacent to the wall where the ceiling doesn’t slope. There, framed in velvet, are the pictures I have had copied of many of my relatives for generations back. I looked at my favorite, the picture of my grandmother Agatha Robertson, which was larger than the rest. I always like to look at Grandmother Agatha. She’s wearing a lace dress and her hair is piled high. Her eyes seem to be dark brown like mine, and although she isn’t smiling in the picture, I’m sure smiling is something she often did.
I had read her journal many times. Agatha Robertson, my mother’s great-great-grandmother, had been an only child and had been given beautiful things by her wealthy parents. Yet, she had grown lovely and serene and had done many benevolent acts in her lifetime, therefore disproving the theory that all only children of wealthy parents grow up to be selfish and spoiled. Later in life Agatha had married Captain Conrad Robertson, who adored her and brought her gifts from faraway lands. Unlike my pioneer grandmothers, unlike my grandmothers from Scotland and Holland, Agatha had lived a life of luxury. “I get to be Grandma Agatha!” I had often shouted when my sisters and I played dress-ups. Even then her picture had fascinated me.
Now, as I looked at her again, I envied the life she had led—so different from mine. I had to struggle just to buy the fabric to make a dress for myself. It was either sew or wear hand-me-downs, and I wasn’t much of a seamstress yet.
“Oh, Grandmother Agatha,” I said aloud, “you wouldn’t understand this because you always had the best before it wasn’t the best anymore. But, if I have to wear a hand-me-down to the dance tonight, I just won’t go. I won’t! It’s awful to be third girl!” Agatha Robertson’s expression didn’t change. But then, I hadn’t expected it to.
“Honestly, Janet, I wish you’d quit talking to your pictures.” The inside of me jumped. I hadn’t heard Joani climb the stairs, but there she was, standing in the doorway studying herself in the blue dress she was making. She turned sideways, then completely around, always keeping her eyes on the mirror.
“Well, it isn’t as bad as talking to yourself,” I said defending myself, “and I’ve heard you do that before. It’s pretty,” I added in a mumble, looking at her dress. It was beautiful. Joani was an expert. Maybe that was my trouble. I always tried to sew quickly and energetically like she did. Joani took some pins out of her mouth and smiled at me.
“Thanks,” she said, “I’m almost finished. You can have the machine back in just a few minutes.” She began hemming the sleeves with the pins. “Are you about finished with yours?”
“Uh-huh.” I didn’t tell her about the yellow dress because I knew what she would say. She would lecture me on beginning at the beginning and picking easier patterns. I was finished with the dress all right. It wasn’t a lie. It was hanging in my closet with at least four more hours of work to do on it. It didn’t fit right at all. The bodice was all wrong, and the sleeves were crooked. Now there wasn’t time to fix it, not with dinner and everything. That meant that tonight of all nights I’d have to wear a hand-me-down. And there was Joani—quick, clever little Joani—admiring herself in a beautiful creation she’d designed herself. I didn’t want to look at her, so I turned my head. Why should she care? She had her dress. Why should she care that I’d have to wear one of the ancient dresses in the basement? Why should anyone care? Erma, my oldest sister, obviously didn’t. She had taken all her bridesmaid dresses to college with her.
Joani headed back downstairs to the sewing room, a few pins still in her mouth, and I looked at Grandmother Agatha and sighed. Then I pulled myself off my bed and shuffled downstairs as if I were carrying a 300-pound pack on my back. Mother was bustling busily in the kitchen, preparing my birthday dinner. She smiled at me with an “Aren’t you elated it’s your birthday?” look on her face. “Your special dinner will be ready in about five minutes,” she said excitedly. “Go tell everyone.”
“Okay.” I began passing the word around. First, I called out back where Jack and Alex were playing. Then I called into the family-sewing room to Dad and Joani. In ten minutes we were all seated around the dining room table. Dad gave the prayer, and then Jack, Alex, and Joani each passed me a little gift. Alex gave me another bottle of “Forever Yours” cologne. He gave me that every year. Jack had made me a pencil holder out of a cutoff milk carton. Joani gave me a jeweled comb and brush set. I oohed and aahed and tried to act excited as I opened each of the gifts. Then Mom passed me the gift from her and Dad. Maybe I had hoped somewhere in the back of my mind that it would be a dress, a yellow dress, because I felt a tinge of disappointment when the package they sent me was too small. Besides, it rattled.
“Careful,” Mom said.
“Yes, careful,” Joani said. She was smiling widely.
“I wonder what this could be?”
“You might say it’s a hand-me-down from all of us.” Mom laughed.
“Oh?” I took off the yellow ribbon and opened the package carefully. Inside the box was … no, it couldn’t be … “Is this? It is! It’s Grandmother Agatha’s locket! But, Mom, you inherited this from Aunt Louise. She gave it to you!”
“Oh, I never wear falderal like lockets, and—”
“But, Erma’s the oldest. She should have it. Or Joani. I’m only third.” Joani smiled again.
“I asked them if it was all right and they insisted you have it,” Mother answered patiently. “Both said you knew Grandmother Robertson the best and deserved it.”
“But, I …”
The phone rang and Alex jumped up. “I’ll get it! I hate mushy stuff like this.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you so much! I can’t wait to show Scott.” I laid the locket carefully by my plate on the tablecloth where I could look at it more closely. It was gold, with tiny roses, and inside, I knew, was the only picture we had of Captain Robertson. It was too small and faded to have it copied. On the back of the locket were the initials A.R.W.L. I guessed they stood for “Agatha Robertson, with love.”
Everyone had begun eating chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, and rolls, but I wasn’t hungry. I was too happy.
“It’s Erma,” Alex announced. “From Provo. She called to wish you a happy birthday.”
“Erma!” I jumped up and ran to the phone. “Erma, thanks. Thanks for the locket. I’m so excited! But, it should rightfully belong to you. You’re the oldest.”
“It’s yours,” Erma said. “You’re the one who deserves it. We all wanted you to have it. Besides, you can wear it tonight with your new yellow dress. How did it turn out?”
“I won’t be wearing the yellow dress. I didn’t get it finished, but I don’t mind. I’ll wear something from the basement. Anything will look beautiful with this locket.”
Erma was silent for a moment. “Oh, but it’s your first date. You just can’t. Why was I so stupid to take all my bridesmaid dresses with me? I just want to kick myself. If there was only time to drive home I would, I … hey! Wait! I did leave home my velvet skirt. Wear that. It’s in the sewing room and just needs the seam fixed. You’ll probably have to lengthen it, but it shouldn’t take you long. Find a pretty blouse, and you’ll look fantastic.”
“Hooray!” I said. “Thanks, Sis, thanks!”
After chocolate cake with lemon frosting and strawberry sherbet (all my favorites), I hurried to the sewing room and found the skirt in the closet. Joani followed me.
“What are you doing?”
“Erma said I could wear her skirt because I didn’t finish my yellow dress.”
Joani looked confused, then hurt. “You should have told me. Why didn’t you? I would have helped you finish it. We have to stick together, don’t we? It really upsets me you didn’t tell me.” Then she had an idea because her eyes grew wide and her lips parted into a smile. “Then the least you can do is wear my satin and lace blouse.”
I was stunned. “You’re kidding!” I knew the satin and lace blouse was her favorite, her best. She kept it in a special part of her drawer instead of the closet, wrapped in tissue paper. She only wore it on the most special occasions. “I couldn’t.”
“Please.”
“Joani, Joani, you don’t mean it, do you? Your satin and lace blouse? Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Upstairs, Joani unwrapped her blouse with only the slightest hesitation and handed it to me. Then she went back downstairs.
I put the blouse on and stepped into the skirt even though I hadn’t fixed the seam yet. I wanted to get the effect first.
Even before I put the locket on, I knew the blouse was perfect to set it off. And it was. I looked up to see Grandmother Agatha looking at me with an earnest expression on her face. “Who would have guessed I’d be getting a hand-me-down from you for my birthday,” I said with a laugh. I think Agatha Robertson would have smiled in real life. Her eyes would have sparkled. But the picture’s expression didn’t change. Of course, I hadn’t expected it to.
I looked back at myself in Joani’s blouse and Erma’s skirt and the locket I had inherited because of their generosity and unselfishness, and yes, their love for me. I gulped.
I looked again at my perfectly groomed, elegant, great-great-grandmother who had had beautiful things, the finest clothes and jewels, but who had been an only child.
“Grandmother Agatha, you missed out. You really missed out. You just don’t know how wonderful … oh, you wouldn’t know what I mean.” But, even as I said the words, I guessed she knew what I was trying to say. With one last smile, I hurried downstairs. I had a lot to do before the dance.

Throughout my life, I have been blessed by such women. My departed wife, Dantzel, was such a woman. I will always be grateful for the life-changing influence she had on me in all aspects of my life, including my pioneering efforts in open-heart surgery.

Fifty-eight years ago I was asked to operate upon a little girl, gravely ill from congenital heart disease. Her older brother had previously died of a similar condition. Her parents pleaded for help. I was not optimistic about the outcome but vowed to do all in my power to save her life. Despite my best efforts, the child died. Later, the same parents brought another daughter to me, then just 16 months old, also born with a malformed heart. Again, at their request, I performed an operation. This child also died. This third heartbreaking loss in one family literally undid me.

I went home grief stricken. I threw myself upon our living room floor and cried all night long. Dantzel stayed by my side, listening as I repeatedly declared that I would never perform another heart operation. Then, around 5:00 in the morning, Dantzel looked at me and lovingly asked, “Are you finished crying? Then get dressed. Go back to the lab. Go to work! You need to learn more. If you quit now, others will have to painfully learn what you already know.”

Oh, how I needed my wife’s vision, grit, and love! I went back to work and learned more. If it weren’t for Dantzel’s inspired prodding, I would not have pursued open-heart surgery and would not have been prepared to do the operation in 1972 that saved the life of President Spencer W. Kimball.9

Work on the temple did not progress very rapidly at first. There were several delays, such as the time United States President James Buchanan sent federal troops to Utah with a new governor to replace Brigham Young. The Saints, remembering the mob violence of the East, were not going to allow their new homes and lands to be plundered again. They stripped their homes of valuables and filled them with straw to be set afire if and when hostile troops came. Even the foundation of the temple was covered with dirt, making it appear to be only a plowed field. Fortunately, a peaceful settlement was reached before the troops arrived in Salt Lake.

I once visited a family in Chile. Their father had died in an accident a month before I came. One of the children was a boy named Benjamin. He was 10 years old.
Before his dad’s accident, Benjamin gave a family home evening lesson. It was about the stripling warriors from the Book of Mormon (see Alma 53:16–22; 56:42–57). He talked about how brave they were and how they trusted God.
When Benjamin’s mom heard about the accident, she thought of Benjamin’s lesson. She told her family, “We need to be brave like the stripling warriors. We have another battle to fight.”
It was hard for Benjamin’s family. It felt like their lives were turned upside down. They had to move to another house to live with their grandma. And they really missed their dad. But they knew they would be together with him again someday. They decided to be a stripling warrior family. Benjamin told us, “I’m being brave.”
I walked into their house wanting to comfort them. But I was the one who left feeling blessed. Benjamin and his family are fighting this battle so bravely. Their faith is inspiring to me.

I need to conclude in deference to your classes by sharing a couple of things that have happened recently. Last Friday night a dear, longtime friend toppled over at a dinner we were attending. He was unconscious and dying—it was obvious. There were some physicians in the group, one of whom reached him immediately and quickly did what had to be done to save him from choking to death on regurgitation.

Before the 911 folks arrived with their professional skills, our friend was regaining consciousness. His first words were to ask for a blessing, and some there who loved him and were qualified knelt around and petitioned the Lord to bless him.

This sobering incident seemed to me a choice example of the blending of spiritual and temporal help in reaching to supply the needs of those in trouble. It seemed also a clear example of diversity among us in responding to our observation of a need and in our helpfulness in quickly moving to offer assistance. Many present were capable of offering the help urgently needed, but many stood or sat in apparent shock or indecisiveness while a handful moved into action. A life was saved that it seemed certain would be lost.

Two years ago, my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. We were very close. When I was young, she would tell me, “You’ll always be with me, and I know you’ll take care of me.”
Because I had returned home, I was there when she needed me, spending time with her every day during her final months. She didn’t join the Church before her death, but she loved the Liahona magazine, the Book of Mormon, and general conference. “I believe it all,” she said.
Later, I was blessed to be in the Cochabamba Bolivia Temple with my parents when my grandmother was sealed to her husband, who had died young. She never remarried. I felt that they were there in the temple with us, happy and together again. To see my parents in the sealing room standing as proxy for them was a beautiful sight.

To illustrate this point, let me briefly tell you about four missionaries that served in the Taiwan Taichung mission. Brother and Sister Zheng and their family of six children live in Taidong on the east coast of Taiwan. When Sister Hoer and I first arrived in Taiwan, one of the older sons, Elder Zheng Shan, was serving in the mission. We remember Elder Zheng Shan very well because once when he stood to bear his testimony in the mission home, suddenly the entire house moved. The walls shook and lights swayed back on forth. We were amazed at the power of his testimony, until we realized we were in an earthquake (one of many that we experienced in Taiwan).

Elder Zheng's sister, Zheng Mi had just started her mission - and she could shake the walls with her vibrant spirit- even when there was no earthquake! Elder Zheng Xuan was the third member of the family to serve in our mission while we were there. Imagine our joy when we learned that Zheng Jing, the youngest sister in the family had been called to the Taiwan Taichung mission. I am not sure if I have ever heard of four children from the same family all serving in the same mission under the same mission president!

Sister Zheng Jing was scheduled to begin her mission in January of last year, however, before she could start, she was discovered to have brain cancer. I thought for sure that she would not be able to serve her mission, but she called me and said, "President, please don't cancel my call -- I will be ready soon."

For five months, Sister Zheng struggled through three complicated and difficult operations, then unexpectedly, she called one day and said she had obtained a doctor' signature to serve her mission. When we welcomed Sister Zheng into the mission, she had no hair. She removed her bandana and proudly showed us her bald head, crisscrossed with stitches. She explained that the sunken appearance of her head was because a piece of her skull had been removed to allow easy access for surgeries and was now being kept in a refrigerator so it could be re-inserted later.

We also learned that she was still on chemotherapy! Once a month, she must travel to the capital city of Taipei and obtain her chemotherapy drugs. I asked the parents if they would like me to make an exception to the rule about missionaries seeing their parents, so they could help their daughter each month at the hospital. "Oh no," they said, "now that she is on her mission, we are putting in our application to serve a couple mission so we won't be there anyway." Sister Zheng is a great example of "youbanfa." Even with brain cancer, Sister Zheng was determined to serve her mission, no matter what the obstacles. She knew if she did all she could do, the Lord would do the rest. Sister Zheng and her family had faith - and they exercised faith by action.