Gospel Story Finder

On April 18, 1884, an aging woman with a careworn face stood to speak to Relief Society sisters in Utah. This was Relief Society General President Eliza R. Snow, and a newspaper would report that, although 80 years old, she “spoke with great power and earnestness, and her voice seemed strong and filled the large building.”1
When Eliza was baptized, she promised God that she would “ever praise His name in the congregation of the saints.”2 She stayed true to that promise, giving more than a thousand sermons in her lifetime. Yet those who had the privilege of hearing her might be surprised to learn that public speaking made her very anxious. Even while teaching school in Nauvoo and recording the minutes of the Relief Society meetings there, she hesitated to speak up.
An invitation to face her fears came in 1868, when President Brigham Young asked Eliza to help organize Relief Societies throughout Utah. “I want you to instruct the sisters,” he said. The idea was so frightening that Eliza described her heart skipping a beat.3 But she found the courage to do her best, and over time she learned that accepting challenging callings filled her with strength beyond her own.
To one group, Eliza explained that the President of the Church had called her to go on a mission, and she testified that it is easiest “to do at [once] what is required of us.”4 To another group, Eliza confessed that she didn’t feel competent to speak. “But with your faith and prayers and the spirit of the Lord, I may be able to say something that will comfort and bless you.”5 She learned through experience to seek the Spirit to enable her to speak with power.
Eliza encouraged women to find the courage to stand and share their testimonies: “By speaking your best thoughts they will be increased and strengthened.”6 Not only did she learn to speak with authority herself, but she taught others to face their fears and open their mouths.

Twenty-four years ago this next October, I received a long-distance telephone call at our home in Chicago. The caller in Salt Lake City asked if I planned to attend general conference, which convened the next morning. To this I answered, “No,” whereupon he asked if I could. I responded, “I suppose I can if you want me to.” The caller said, “The President of the Church would like to see you tomorrow morning at 8:00 in his office. Now have a good night’s sleep because it will be your last.” After some twenty-four years, it looks as though I may get that good night’s sleep—perhaps.
These years have been the most challenging and rewarding years of my life. I have had the indescribable blessing of being tutored every week, with few exceptions, by four Presidents of the Church and eight different Counselors in the First Presidency, and of course, for eleven years of that time, by a wonderful Presiding Bishop, John H. Vandenberg. It was a great blessing to serve with Elder Robert L. Simpson as Counselors to Bishop Vandenberg. Words cannot adequately express my love and my appreciation for my own faithful Counselors, Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone, Bishop H. Burke Peterson, and Bishop J. Richard Clarke, for their loyalty to me personally, and for their outstanding contribution to the Church during these thirteen years. We’ve been abundantly blessed by men and women of great faith and commitment—both here at home and from all over the world—who joined with us in response to the assignment from the First Presidency to accomplish the temporal work of the kingdom in these latter days. I express my heartfelt appreciation and gratitude to all, wherever they may be, and thank them for the blessing of being associated with them.

Our experience in Rome actually began back in January when as companions, Elder David A. Bednar and I, with our wives, were assigned to go to Rome for a press conference, media open house, and tours with dignitaries. This is the first day of the press conference. In the yellow chairs are Elder Massimo De Feo, our Italian General Authority; Elder Bednar; and me. Many members of the press came from not only Italy, but throughout Europe and around the world.

One of the reporters asked, “Can you tell us what this temple in Rome means to the members of your Church in Italy?” Elder Bednar and I turned to Elder De Feo, our General Authority from Italy, to answer that question. With tears flowing down his face, Elder De Feo said, “Just 25 years ago my family and I were meeting in a garage, here in Rome, for our Sunday Church meetings. So can you imagine, ladies and gentlemen, brothers and sisters, what it means for us to have this beautiful temple and visitors’ center built here?”

Thankfully, as you all know, temples are built by the faithful tithes of the members of the Church. As you are faithful tithe payers, you contribute to temples, like this one in Rome, being built all over the world.

I had such a test decades ago when one of my medical faculty colleagues chastised me for failing to separate my professional knowledge from my religious convictions. He demanded that I not combine the two. How could I do that? Truth is truth! It is not divisible, and any part of it cannot be set aside.

Whether truth emerges from a scientific laboratory or through revelation, all truth emanates from God. All truth is part of the gospel of Jesus Christ.4 Yet I was being asked to hide my faith. I did not comply with my colleague’s request. I let my faith show!

To frame some key principles, I want to relate a true story I heard a few years ago that still surprises me to this day.
The Cliff Young Story
In 1983 a sixty-one-year-old farmer contacted the organizers of a 544-mile ultramarathon from Sydney to Melbourne, Australia, and asked to be registered for the race.2 Since the other entrants were well-known and proven ultrarunners—with some holding records3 and others bearing sports sponsorships—this farmer’s request was met with skepticism.

“Do you know how long this race is?” the race officials asked. “What makes you think you can complete it?”4

The farmer insisted that he understood how long the race was and that he believed he could finish it because, being from a poor farm family who couldn’t afford horses or four-wheelers, he had often run in his knee-high gumboots to round up nearly 2,000 sheep over a very large area in advance of a storm, sometimes running for three days to round up the entire flock. He figured that if he could run for three days, he could also do it for five or six days and complete the race.

The race officials reluctantly allowed the farmer to register. On the morning of the race, the other runners showed up with experienced support teams in mobile homes with showers and nice beds for their runners. In contrast, this farmer drove up in a rusty old van, with an inexperienced road crew and one pair of running shoes.5 The starting gun went off, and the runners tore through the streets. Observers noted that this farmer’s stride looked more like a shuffle than a run, his pace being much slower than that of the others.6 The newspapers viewed this farmer who trained in gumboots as a novelty in the race,7 and almost no one took him seriously as a contender.

However, to the shock of the entire nation and the global racing world, this sixty-one-year-old farmer named Cliff Young not only won the ultramarathon but beat the previous record by two days, finishing the 544 miles in five days and fifteen hours.

How did this happen?

Based on my reading of Cliff’s biography and other articles detailing this astonishing result,8 a key reason Cliff Young won was that almost nothing went right for him the first day of the race.

So what went wrong?

First, during the initial hours of the race, due to a poorly marked section of the course, he got lost following another runner who didn’t know the way.9 This experience galvanized Cliff’s resolve not to mimic what other racers were doing, including their pacing and strategy, but rather to run this race by doing what felt right to him.

Second, to make up for getting lost and running slower than his competitors, Cliff ran a couple more hours on the first night than he had originally planned. When he finally finished running around midnight, certain members of his road crew had fallen asleep and didn’t do the one job they had been given: to have a warm dinner ready for him. Though frustrated, Cliff just ate something cold out of a can and then collapsed in exhausted sleep.10

At the time, it was common wisdom among racers that you had to sleep at least six hours a night during these multiday marathons in order to maintain enough energy to make it to the end, so Cliff’s crew chief, Wally, was responsible for waking Cliff up at six in the morning to get an early start.

But the third problem for Cliff and his team occurred when the alarm went off and Wally nodded back to sleep. He then awoke with a start and, without putting on his glasses, ran to the vehicle where Cliff was sleeping and said, “Cliff, get up. I’ve slept in. It’s past six!”

Cliff bolted upright, put on his shoes, and tore down the road, thinking his competitors were already running. But when the sun didn’t come up for what seemed like hours, Cliff finally asked Wally what time it was.

Embarrassed, Wally said it was four in the morning. He had accidently set the alarm for two thirty rather than six. Cliff had barely slept two hours that night.11 But instead of getting upset or calling it quits, he just kept moving forward one step at a time. He found that he could run all day just fine with two to three hours of sleep while eating very simple food out of a can. Doing so helped maximize his running time each day, which drastically changed the outcome of the race. The unanticipated difficulties he experienced during the first part of the race actually worked together for his good. His resilient response to unexpected challenges led to unexpected advantages.

On the fifth and final day of the race, it seemed that the courage and determination of this unlikely hero pulsed through the hearts of millions of Australians with every step Cliff took toward the finish line, uniting the country in a national celebration. That day Cliff became a symbol of Aussie grit and determination.

Another lesson comes from the testimony of Church members who lost loved ones. Sister Mary Alice Wahlstrom and her daughter were on American Flight 11 from Boston to Los Angeles when it was diverted by hijackers and flown into the north tower of the World Trade Center. Almost a year later Margaret Wahlstrom, Sister Wahlstrom’s daughter-in-law, stated the following: “I wish I could give everybody a testimony of the gospel. You’re taught all these things throughout your life, and all of a sudden you have to live them. When something bad happens, you find out how strong your testimony is and if you believe in the Atonement—and you find out that you do.”

This story happened in the USA.
Bradley dumped another cup of sand into his bucket. He was going to need lots!
His school’s science fair was soon. Bradley was making a model that showed how tsunamis worked. He learned that a tsunami is a big wave of water caused by an earthquake in the ocean. He wanted his project to be perfect. Maybe he would win a prize!
When his bucket was full, Bradley gathered some sticks. Then he found a plastic bin and some small toy houses in the basement.
Bradley poured the sand into the bin to make the land. He carefully placed the houses and trees. Next came the exciting part—the water! Once he poured it in, he could push a piece of cardboard through the water to create the wave.
But then he made a big mistake. He poured in too much water! The houses were flooded—and he hadn’t even made the wave yet. The wet sand made a goopy, muddy mess.
Bradley called to his mom in the kitchen. “What should I do now? I put too much water in.”
“That’s OK. You can just start over,” said Mom. “Let’s do it together and measure a little at a time.”
“OK.” Bradley hung his head and went outside to get more sand.
This time they carefully measured the right amount of water and poured it in. Bradley moved the cardboard and watched the waves crash against the sand. It worked!
Next Bradley and Mom worked on his poster. He started writing some fun facts about tsunamis. But the words didn’t fit on the page.
“I don’t want to write it all over again!” Bradley said. His head began to ache.
“We don’t have to rewrite all of it,” said Mom. “We can just reword it so it will fit on the page.”
Bradley groaned. His poster did not look at all like he wanted it to. “I don’t want to do that. It will look bad if the words don’t fit perfectly.”
“Learning can be hard.” Mom gave him a hug. “Sometimes we make mistakes. But the important thing is that we don’t give up. Heavenly Father wants us to keep trying. So let’s take a break and finish in the morning.”
The next morning, they finished his poster. It wasn’t perfect, but Bradley felt a little better about it.
Finally the day of the science fair came. Mom dropped Bradley off at school. “Remember,” she said, “you worked hard on your project and learned a lot. And that’s what matters.”
Bradley carried his project to the big gym. It was full of projects and posters. All the fourth-graders were sitting down and waiting for their turn to show their project.
Soon it was Bradley’s turn. His heart beat fast as he walked to the front. What if everything went wrong?
Bradley pushed the cardboard through the water and showed the judges how the waves crashed against the land.
“What causes those big waves in the ocean?” one of the judges asked.
“The big waves are caused by . . .” Bradley’s mind went blank. “I can’t remember. But I can tell you some fun facts about tsunamis.” He read them the facts on his poster.
After school Bradley climbed into the car with his project.
“How did it go?” Mom asked.
“Not exactly the way I wanted.” Bradley smiled. “But I did my best and kept trying.”

Picture with me a little six-year-old orphan girl traveling across the plains of America. Her name is Elsie Ann. Her mother died when she was two. Her father remarried, and so for a time she had a stepmother. Then her father died at Winter Quarters when she was five. Her stepmother remarried and moved away, leaving this little orphan behind with Peter and Selina Robison, who were related to her stepmother. Elsie Ann left Winter Quarters with the Robisons in July of 1849 to come west. As she watched Selina care for her 10-month-old baby girl, she no doubt ached for the love of her own mother. Sometimes she would even ask, “Where is my mother?”

My heart goes out to this little girl when I think of her facing her uncertain future with no blood relatives to comfort and help her. Elsie Ann was my great-grandmother, and only recently did we find out who her mother really was. For years we thought Elsie Ann was Jane Robison’s daughter. Careful research discovered her true parentage, and after all these years Elsie Ann now has been sealed to her father, John Akerley, and her mother, Mary Moore.

This has been a most unusual year. For me it began with an assignment from the First Presidency to dedicate a holy temple to the Lord in Durban, South Africa. I will never forget the grandeur of the building. But more than the setting, I will always treasure the dignity of the people who were so well prepared to enter that sacred edifice. They came ready to partake of one of the crowning blessings of the Restoration: the dedication of a house of the Lord. They came with hearts filled with love for Him and His Atonement. They came filled with thanks to our Father in Heaven for providing sacred ordinances that would lead to exaltation. They came worthy.
Temples, no matter where they are, rise above the ways of the world. Every Latter-day Saint temple in the world—all 168 of them—stand as testaments to our faith in eternal life and the joy of spending it with our families and our Heavenly Father. Attending the temple increases our understanding of the Godhead and the everlasting gospel, our commitment to live and teach truth, and our willingness to follow the example of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
On the outside of every temple in the Church are the fitting words “Holiness to the Lord.” The temple is the Lord’s house and a sanctuary from the world. His Spirit envelops those who worship within those sacred walls. He sets the standards by which we enter as His guests.
My father-in-law, Blaine Twitchell, one of the best men I have ever known, taught me a great lesson. Sister Rasband and I went to visit him when he was nearing the end of his mortal journey. As we entered his room, his bishop was just leaving. As we greeted the bishop, I thought, “What a nice bishop. He’s here doing his ministering to a faithful member of his ward.”
I mentioned to Blaine, “Wasn’t that nice of the bishop to come visit.”
Blaine looked at me and responded, “It was far more than that. I asked for the bishop to come because I wanted my temple recommend interview. I want to go recommended to the Lord.” And he did!
That phrase, “recommended to the Lord,” has stayed with me. It has put a whole new perspective on being interviewed regularly by our Church leaders. So important is a temple recommend that in the early Church, until 1891, each temple recommend was endorsed by the President of the Church.
Whether for youth or adults, your temple recommend interview is not about do’s and don’ts. A recommend is not a checklist, a hall pass, or a ticket for special seating. It has a much higher and holier purpose. To qualify for the honor of a temple recommend, you must live in harmony with the teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
In your interview you have the opportunity to search your soul about your personal faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement. You have the blessing to express your testimony of the restored gospel; your willingness to sustain those whom the Lord has called to lead His Church; your faith in the doctrine of the gospel; your fulfillment of family responsibilities; and your qualities of honesty, chastity, fidelity, obedience, and observance of the Word of Wisdom, the law of tithing, and the sanctity of the Sabbath day. Those are bedrock principles of a life devoted to Jesus Christ and His work.
Your temple recommend reflects a deep, spiritual intent that you are striving to live the laws of the Lord and love what He loves: humility, meekness, steadfastness, charity, courage, compassion, forgiveness, and obedience. And you commit yourself to those standards when you sign your name to that sacred document.
Your temple recommend opens the gates of heaven for you and others with rites and ordinances of eternal significance, including baptisms, endowments, marriages, and sealings.
To be “recommended to the Lord” is to be reminded of what is expected of a covenant-keeping Latter-day Saint. My father-in-law, Blaine, saw it as invaluable preparation for the day when he would humbly stand before the Lord.
Consider when Moses climbed Mount Horeb and the Lord Jehovah appeared to him in a burning bush. God told him, “Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground.”
Putting off our shoes at the door of the temple is letting go of worldly desires or pleasures that distract us from spiritual growth, setting aside those things which sidetrack our precious mortality, rising above contentious behavior, and seeking time to be holy.
By divine design, our physical body is a creation of God, a temple for our spirit, and should be treated with reverence. So true are the words of the Primary song: “My body is a temple [that] needs the greatest care.” When the Lord appeared to the Nephites, He commanded, “Be sanctified by the reception of the Holy Ghost, that ye may stand spotless before me.” “What manner of men ought ye to be?” asked the Lord and then answered, “Even as I am.” To be “recommended to the Lord,” we strive to be like Him.
I remember hearing President Howard W. Hunter in his first general conference address as the 14th President of the Church. He said: “It is the deepest desire of my heart to have every member of the Church worthy to enter the temple. It would please the Lord if every adult member would be worthy of?—and carry?—a current temple recommend.” I would add that a limited-use recommend will set a clear path for our precious youth.
President Russell M. Nelson recalled President Hunter’s words: “On that day, June 6, 1994, the temple recommend that we carry became a different object in my wallet. Before that, it was a means to an end. It was the means to allow me to enter a sacred house of the Lord; but after he made that declaration, that became an end in itself. It became my badge of obedience to a prophet of God.”
If you have yet to receive a recommend or if your recommend has lapsed, line up at the door of the bishop just as the early Saints lined up at the door of the Nauvoo Temple in 1846. My ancestors were among those faithful. They were abandoning their beautiful city and going west, but they knew that there were sacred experiences awaiting them in the temple. Wrote Sarah Rich from the rugged trail in Iowa, “If it had not been for the faith and knowledge that was bestowed upon us in that temple … , our journey would have been like … taking a leap in the dark.” That is what we are missing if we are going through this life alone without the inspiration and peace promised in the temple.
Begin the process now to become “recommended to the Lord” so that His Spirit will be with you in abundance and His standards will bring you “peace of conscience.”
Your youth leaders, elders quorum president, Relief Society president, and ministering brothers and sisters will help you prepare, and your bishop or branch president lovingly will guide you.
We have been experiencing a time when temples have been closed or limited in use. For President Nelson and those of us who serve at his side, the inspired decision to close the temples was “painful” and “wracked with worry.” President Nelson found himself asking, “What would I say to the Prophet Joseph Smith? What would I say to Brigham Young, Wilford Woodruff and the other Presidents, on up to President Thomas S. Monson?”
Now, we gradually and gratefully are reopening temples for sealings and endowments on a limited scale.
Being worthy to attend the temple, however, has not been suspended. Let me emphasize, whether you have access to a temple or not, you need a current temple recommend to stay firmly on the covenant path.
Late last year Sister Rasband and I were on assignment in New Zealand speaking with a large group of young single adults. They had no easy access to a temple; the one in Hamilton was being renovated, and they were still awaiting the groundbreaking for the temple in Auckland. However, I felt prompted to encourage them to renew or receive temple recommends.
Even though they could not present them at the temple, they would be presenting themselves before the Lord pure and prepared to serve Him. Being worthy to hold a current temple recommend is both a protection from the adversary, because you have made a firm commitment to the Lord about your life, and a promise that the Spirit will be with you.
We do temple work when we search for our ancestors and submit their names for ordinances. While our temples have been closed, we have still been able to research our families. With the Spirit of God in our hearts, we are, by proxy, standing in for them to be “recommended to the Lord.”
When I was serving as the Executive Director of the Temple Department, I heard President Gordon B. Hinckley refer to this scripture spoken by the Lord about the Nauvoo Temple: “Let the work of my temple, and all the works which I have appointed unto you, be continued on and not cease; and let your diligence, and your perseverance, and patience, and your works be redoubled, and you shall in nowise lose your reward, saith the Lord of Hosts.”
Our work in the temple is tied to our eternal reward. Recently we have been put to the test. The Lord has called us to work in the temples with “diligence, … perseverance, and patience.” Being “recommended to the Lord” requires those qualities. We must be diligent in living the commandments, persevere in our attention to our temple covenants, and be grateful for what the Lord continues to teach about them and be patient as we wait for temples to reopen in their fulness.
When the Lord calls for us to “redouble” our efforts, He is asking that we increase in righteousness. For example, we may expand our study of the scriptures, our family history research, and our prayers of faith that we may share our love for the Lord’s house with those preparing to receive a temple recommend, our family members in particular.
I promise you as an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ that as you strive to redouble your righteous efforts, you will feel renewed in your devotion to God the Father and Jesus Christ, you will feel an abundance of the Holy Ghost guiding you, you will be grateful for your sacred covenants, and you will feel peace knowing you are “recommended to the Lord.” In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I’d like to see Geri again. I need to apologize.
Geri was one of the LDS students I used to hang around with at lunch time when I was a senior in high school. She and several of her friends would sit on the lawn behind the administration building where my buddies and I would often join them for some friendly banter.
Geri was almost always there, but it was almost as if she weren’t. She was so painfully shy, that even with conversation bouncing all around her, she wouldn’t join in. I never knew why, but Geri lived with her grandmother. There probably wasn’t much money to go around in her home because she didn’t have many clothes. Although what she wore was clean and neat, it was not the style of the day.
My personality was much the opposite of Geri’s. I was the group clown—seeking to milk laughter from every situation while masking my teenage insecurities in humor.
One day I noticed that Geri was wearing a rather heavy dose of perfume.
“Nice perfume, Geri,” I commented.
She smiled, clearly pleased at the compliment.
“Did you bathe in it?” I asked.
The moment those words left my lips, I wanted them back. I wanted that embarrassed, betrayed expression on Geri’s face to disappear. I longed to see the smile again. But the damage caused by that thoughtless comment was not so easily erased.
“Do you think it’s too strong?” she asked.
I mumbled and shrugged.
“Is it too strong?” she pressed.
“A little,” I conceded.
Geri looked away, and the incident was history. But the consequences of that event haunt me still. I was poorer that day because of my actions, and an innocent human being was hurt.
Life, for the most part, is made up of little things. Small acts of kindness or selfishness determine the depth of our commitment to the Savior and the quality of our lives. Some seemingly small acts can cause us considerable regret for a long time.
I have often wished during the years since that incident that I could find Geri and apologize for my thoughtlessness. I hope I would find that the years have been rich and full for her. I hope the light of the gospel has brightened her life and eased her burdens.

One summer when I was 16, I remember sitting down and writing in my journal all the qualities I wanted in a future husband—testimony, good looks, sense of humor, money, education. I thought these were all good qualities. But when my oldest daughter, Becky, was 16, she came to me and asked, “What is the most important quality to look for in a husband?” By then I had been married for many years. I knew the answer to that question. I believe the most important quality we can possess is integrity. How I love the value of integrity!

I knew we are all supposed to share the gospel, but I had never had any success. Then, during a Spanish course I was taking, I met a young man named Tiago. We became friends and often walked home from school together. One day we passed an LDS chapel that had recently been built.
“I have been a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for several years,” I said. I shared with him some of the things that we believe, and I told him how much my family and I have been blessed because of the gospel. I invited him to attend meetings that coming Sunday at 9:00 a.m.
Sunday arrived and I anxiously waited, but he did not come. During the week, I invited him again. This continued every week for two or three months. He always gave me a reason why he hadn’t shown up: “I slept late,” “I was tired,” “There were problems.” But I kept asking him anyway, and he didn’t seem to mind.
One Sunday morning I sat down on one of the benches toward the back of the chapel. There were still a few minutes to go before the meeting began when someone quietly called my name. I looked toward the door, and there was Tiago!
“Didn’t I promise you I would come one day?” he said. He attended sacrament meeting and, to my surprise, stayed for the rest of the meetings and seemed pleased when I introduced him to the missionaries. He began meeting with them regularly. Tiago and I continued to talk as we walked home from school, but our conversations were about the truths he was learning. I was able to answer questions and bear my testimony. Finally, he gained a testimony of his own and joined the Church.
Today I am a full-time missionary in the Brazil Santa Maria Mission. Before I left for the mission field, Tiago also submitted his application to be a full-time missionary, and he is now serving in the Brazil Manaus Mission.
I recently received a letter from him. “Thank you for inviting me again and again to come to church,” he wrote. “I will be eternally grateful.” I am happy not only to share the gospel each day but also to know that Tiago is doing the same.

I guess everybody at some time longs to feel important and to do something that will be remembered by the people of the world—something that will change the course of history and become legendary because of its momentous impact on society. At least that’s the way I felt when I was a teenager.
Of course, I could dream of being rich and famous, or of making a major scientific discovery, or of being the first woman on the moon, or of being president of the United States. But somehow I knew those things were not within the realm of probability—at least not for me.
I was not exactly what you might call an outstanding person. I was a great follower, but never a leader. I knew I’d never be class valedictorian or win any contests or talent shows, and I was too uncoordinated in sports to excel. It’s not that I didn’t try or didn’t care. I was just shy and lacked self-confidence. So how could a person like me possibly make a difference?
I asked my mother what she thought I could do to make a difference in the world. She said getting through the school year without getting any low grades on my report card would certainly make a difference when it came time for me to go to college. I knew she was right, but that wasn’t the kind of thing I had in mind.
When I finally started to run out of ideas and hope, I turned to the Lord. I asked him to help me find something that wouldn’t take any special talents or qualifications, but would help me feel I was making a worthwhile contribution. Nothing earth-shattering—just something suited to my capabilities.
It wasn’t long afterwards that I got this genius idea. It was so right for me that I knew it had to be inspired—I never would have thought of it myself. The idea was that I should get to know the names of all the people that I came in contact with regularly—and greet them by name whenever I saw them.
I started with my own neighborhood and learned the names of everyone—even the children and pets. Then I went on to memorize the names of all my ward members. When I had successfully completed that, I started on my high school.
It was a big school in a large city, and it took me quite a while, but I did it. I didn’t pay any attention to racial or social boundaries. At first I felt a little strange saying hello and calling people by name who I didn’t even know, and I embarrassed myself quite a few times by accidentally calling people by the wrong name. But I got better at it as time went on.
It became a game to see how many new names I could learn in a day. Once in a while, I got some puzzled looks and some questions like, “Are you trying to win an election or something?” But for the most part, everyone acted like they really appreciated it.
Did it make a difference? I think so. Once Brother Barton, the oldest man in the ward, said to me, “Young lady, I think you are the only young person in this ward who knows my name. It sure is nice when you speak to me and remember who I am.”
Then one day at school I found an anonymous note stuck into my locker that said, “Thanks for saying hi to me today. I’m new at school, and I didn’t think anyone even knew my name. Thanks for making me feel welcome.”
I even got to like some of the people I’d previously thought were unfriendly or snobbish. When I started being nice to them and calling them by name, they were usually very nice in return.
The greatest difference it made, though, was in me. My whole attitude changed. I didn’t feel average or ordinary anymore. I felt that I was a special person who was doing something worthwhile because I was helping others. I could see them light up inside whenever I said their name and greeted them with a smile. It may have made only a small difference to them, but with the Lord’s help, it made a big difference to me.

Strong evidence for the existence of the devil is often given by individuals who know they have come in contact with him. Beth, a young California housewife, has been involved in astrology and fortune-telling since high school. She had attended many séances (meetings in which spirits are invited to come to a group to possess the body of an individual and to speak through that person). At one séance, after she dared to invite the spirits to take control of her body and as she felt them actually doing so, she panicked and changed her mind, fighting them off.

Following this close call, there were aftereffects. “I felt like I was in a pit,” she says, “and all these spirits were standing over me. I heard them laughing at me and saying, ‘We’ve got you now.’” Also, Beth found herself developing a split personality.
Both psychiatry and psychology recognize the crippling effects of spiritistic activity upon the mind. In his book, The Haunting of Bishop Pike, Merrill Unger states, “Sustained practice of occultism produces symptoms of split personalities. Psychiatry characterizes the resulting disorder as ‘mediumistic psychosis.’”

In Answers to Gospel Questions, President Joseph Fielding Smith gave some very sound advice concerning the problem of receiving guidance from mediums, magicians, or astrologers. He said:
“The Lord has pointed out very clearly the course that we should take in obtaining inspiration for our guidance. When a person is baptized and receives the Holy Ghost, he is promised that he will receive the necessary guidance for his spiritual and temporal good, provided he is true to his covenants. The Lord will not dwell in unclean tabernacles. Therefore, in order that we may keep ourselves in harmony with the Spirit of the Lord, we must be mentally, spiritually, and bodily clean from every contaminating influence.”
Remember, nothing Satan does is good, although he does a lot of things that look good.
Coming back to Isaiah’s reaction to the astrologers and soothsayers, we see a genuine prophet about his Father’s business. His answer, unsophisticated and deceptively simple, is nevertheless an illuminating ray of spiritual insight for today.
He merely asked: “Will it save you?”

Two weeks ago at the Annual University Conference I shared a story with the faculty and staff concerning the mission of BYU. Since the students were not there, let me repeat it for their benefit. The incident took place in 1885, 10 years after the founding of Brigham Young Academy. In those days the school was funded by local donations with little support from Church headquarters, and the college had fallen on hard times. There was not enough money to pay teachers or provide supplies. The situation was desperate, and it appeared that the academy’s doors would close. Zina Young Williams, dean of women and a daughter of Brigham Young, initiated a meeting with President John Taylor in the hope of obtaining Church help. The story unfolds as follows:
After listening to Sister Williams’s plea for help, President Taylor took her hand “in a fatherly way” and said:

’My dear child, I have something of importance to tell you that I know will make you happy. I have been visited by your father. He came to me in the silence of the night clothed in brightness and with a face beaming with love and confidence told me things of great importance and among others that the school being taught by Brother [Karl G.] Maeser was accepted in the heavens and was a part of the great plan of life and salvation; . . . and there was a bright future in store for . . . preparing . . . the children of the covenant for future usefulness in the Kingdom of God, and that Christ himself was directing, and had a care over this school.” [Leonard J. Arrington, ed., The Presidents of the Church (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1986), pp. 108–9]

In spite of the dark hour overshadowing the academy in 1885, one can say with hindsight that it had a “bright future.”

I was baptized in September 2001 at age 70. Seven years before, my left leg and arm became paralyzed. While I was ill, the missionaries came to my house. These young men found me confined to bed, and they gave me priesthood blessings—as well as teaching me the gospel of Jesus Christ. I had lost the desire and the will to read until they shared a pamphlet about Joseph Smith. I asked for whatever reading material they could provide me. My wife was soon baptized. It took me longer, but I am grateful now to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Agim Shehu,Tirana Fourth Branch, Tirana Albania District

“Margaret and Neil, take this wheat to the gristmill on City Creek, please,” Mother said.
Neil smiled happily. He was only four years old, but he liked to help Mother as much as he could. He proudly took the small bag of wheat kernels in his arms.
“I’ll carry it,” Margaret announced, snatching the bag from Neil’s arms. “You’re too little. You might drop it, and you know we can’t afford to lose any of it!”
That was certainly true! When the Gardner family had arrived in the Salt Lake Valley on October 3, 1847, they had rejoiced that they had reached this sanctuary for the Saints. But that didn’t mean that everything was perfect. Now it was winter, and Neil was often hungry. Each family received a little wheat given out by weight. They ate sego and thistle roots. Once in a while hunters brought meat to the settlers.
When they got to the gristmill, Neil watched carefully as the wheat was ground. When a handful of kernels spilled on the floor while it was being ground, he and Margaret sprang to gather it up. Margaret wrapped it in her handkerchief. That evening they would parch it on the top of the stove at home. No food could be wasted.
After that cold, hungry winter, spring finally came, and Neil’s family moved to Mill Creek, a few miles from Salt Lake City. They planted a small crop of wheat. When the grain came up, it looked so strong and good. How wonderful it would be to have plenty of flour next winter! But then the crickets came.
Crickets were everywhere. There seemed to be no end to them. They were big and black and ate everything in their paths. Everyone worked in the fields, trying to kill the insects. But it seemed useless. There were just so many crickets.
Finally a day of fasting and prayer was planned. Father and the other men went to Salt Lake to pray for help from Heavenly Father.
While Father was gone, Neil, Mother, and Margaret went into the fields again to fight the crickets. Neil was tired, and the thought of another hungry winter made him want to cry. As they worked, it suddenly became darker. Neil looked up and saw thousands of gulls in the sky. Mother threw up her hands in despair. “What the crickets won’t take, those birds will!” she exclaimed.
Mother sat down and cried. Neil cried too. He didn’t know what would become of his family.
Too tired to fight the bird invaders, Neil and his mother and sister watched the seagulls.
“Mother, look!” Neil shouted. “The gulls aren’t eating our wheat. They are eating the crickets!”
“I believe you are right!” Mother said.
Mother, Margaret, and Neil held hands and danced in a circle. They hugged and laughed. The gulls were saving their wheat!
Suddenly, Mother stopped dancing and dropped to her knees. “Come, children,” she said. “These gulls were sent by Heavenly Father to save His children. Let us give thanks to Him.”
The three of them prayed right there in the wheat field. Neil never forgot the miracle of the gulls.

During a summer visit to my boyhood home in southern Alberta, one of the old-timers who was teaching a Sunday School class related an incident that occurred in nearby Waterton National Park in 1922. It was a happening with which most of us were familiar.
A young man who held the office of teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood was employed during the summer by the park administration. One August morning he was given the responsibility of packing fingerling trout to the Belly River Lakes for the purpose of stocking those waters with fish. It would require a day-long hike along a poorly defined mountain trail. His pack consisted of several gallons of water, into which hundreds of fingerlings were placed.
It was a beautiful day for a hike, and the young man was excited to begin the journey. He followed the course of the river, and as he rounded one bend and approached a wild berry patch he found a large grizzly feasting upon the ripe berries. The bear stretched on its hind legs to its full eight feet and roared disapproval at the sudden intrusion.
The young man was unarmed. The terrain and heavy growth of the mountainside was such that he could not make his way around the grizzly. He knew that it would be foolish to challenge the bear directly. At this point the young teacher could have cast the fingerlings into the bushes and beat a fast retreat to camp, and he probably would not have been criticized for his conduct. But this thought did not seriously enter his mind.
Almost without thinking he dropped to his knees on the mountain trail, in full view of this giant bear, and offered a simple prayer to his Heavenly Father. He explained in simple, but urgent, words that he had been given an assignment to deliver fingerlings to the lakes. There was no other possible trail for him, and in order to continue his mission, it was necessary that the Lord intervene to remove the bear.
When he finished the prayer he rose slowly and looked squarely into the eyes of this huge creature. The grizzly swung his head from side to side a time or two, then dropped to all fours and lumbered off through the berry patch, leaving the trail free for the young teacher.
This young man undoubtedly felt fear, but displayed rare courage. He had lived his life in such a way that at the very moment he needed help, he knew that he could be in immediate touch with Heavenly Father. His safety did not depend upon a high powered rifle, but on unwavering faith that he could count on the Lord for protection.

As I opened my mission call, I tried to contain my excitement.
“You are assigned to labor in the—” I gasped and exclaimed, “Dad, Chile!” as if he were the only person in the room. His eyes immediately filled with tears.
I knew I would go wherever the Lord sent me, but I’d never thought I would return to the land where my father had served more than 40 years before.
From the moment I received the call, my heart was full of love for a people I’d never met. My father shared his missionary journal with me, and I read page after page about the faithful people he’d met. I wondered where they were now, but I decided it was unlikely I would meet any of them because my mission didn’t include any of the areas where my father had served.
I loved my mission. The months passed like days. I met incredible people, and I filled my journal with faith-promoting conversion stories and my ever-growing testimony. I wondered if someday my children would read these pages as they prepared for their missions.
Then, while serving in Belloto, I met Brother Zanartu. I mentioned to him that my father had also served in Chile. A week later, he found me at church and said, “Sister, I have a surprise for you.” He introduced me to his mother. With tears in her eyes, she told me that my father was the missionary who had baptized her many years ago.
“I never forgot my missionary,” she said. “I have longed to tell him how he changed our lives. My husband and I raised our family in the gospel. Our sons served missions, and now our grandchildren are serving missions. All of this because of the seed your father planted.” We hugged and cried.
It is every missionary’s prayer that the seeds they sow will bring forth fruit (see Matthew 13:3–8). I was blessed to learn how my father’s mission not only changed his life and the lives of his children but also the lives of many people in Chile. I pray that my mission will do the same.

At this point Martin pleaded with Joseph for permission to take the manuscript to Palmyra to show his wife, Lucy, who quite understandably wanted to see some evidence of what was taking up so much of her husband’s time and treasure. Yet, after inquiring of the Lord, Joseph was told twice not to let Martin take the manuscript.6

Desperate to placate the skepticism and increasingly shrill demands of his wife, Martin badgered Joseph again. In agony, Joseph went to the Lord a third time. In response, the Lord told Joseph that Martin could take the manuscript if he would show it only to five designated people and then promptly return it. Reluctantly, Joseph gave the manuscript to him, but only after Martin signed a written covenant to do as the Lord had instructed.7

This began a cascade of events that would bring Joseph as low as anything that would ever happen to him. Shortly after Martin departed, Emma gave birth to a baby boy. She and Joseph named their first child Alvin, a comforting tribute to Joseph’s dearly departed brother, who had died five years earlier. Tragically, rather than fill a void, young Alvin enlarged it when he passed away the day of his birth, June 15, 1828.

As if that were not enough to bear, between the exhaustion of a long and intense labor and the emotional distress of losing her child, Emma moved perilously close to death herself. For two weeks Joseph worried over Emma, nursing her back to health even as he worked through his own grief over baby Alvin. When Emma finally showed signs of stabilizing health, Joseph’s thoughts turned to Martin and the manuscript.8

Sensing Joseph’s anxiety, Emma encouraged him to return to Palmyra to check on Martin and the manuscript. With a visible gloom, he took a stagecoach north. Unable to eat or sleep on the journey, Joseph made it to his parents’ home—still a good 20-mile (32 km) walk through the dead of night from where the stage let him off—only by the steadying hand of a worried fellow passenger (a “stranger”) who took pity on him. 9

After Joseph arrived and finally took a little nourishment, Martin was summoned. He was to join the Smiths for breakfast but did not show up until noon. Walking slowly, he stopped at the gate to the home, got on the fence, pulled his hat over his eyes, and just sat there.10

Finally, Martin made his way into the home. Without speaking a word, he took up his utensils to eat. But before taking a bite, he cried out, “Oh, I have lost my soul!”11

With this, Joseph jumped up and burst out: “Martin, have you lost that manuscript? [H]ave you broken your oath, and brought down condemnation upon my head, as well as your own?”

Martin somberly replied, “Yes, it is gone, and I know not where.”12 (Martin had shown the manuscript pages to others besides the five, “and by stratagem,” Joseph later recounted, “they were taken from him.”13)

Joseph exploded into a wail, crying out: “All is lost! [A]ll is lost! What shall I do? I have sinned—it is I who tempted the wrath of God.” With this, “sobs and groans, and the most bitter lamentations filled the house,” Joseph showing the greatest distress of them all.14

The translation work ceased for a season, and the plates and interpreters were taken from Joseph until September 22—a poignant reminder of his earlier probational period. He also suffered this stern rebuke from the Lord:

“And behold, how oft you have transgressed the commandments and the laws of God, and have gone on in the persuasions of men.
“For, behold, you should not have feared man more than God. Although men set at naught the counsels of God, and despise his words—
“Yet you should have been faithful; and he would have extended his arm and supported you against all the fiery darts of the adversary; and he would have been with you in every time of trouble” (D&C 3:6–8).

Imagine the difficulty of receiving such a revelation. Joseph had just lost his firstborn son. He had nearly lost his wife. And his decision to give Martin the manuscript was driven by an earnest desire to help a friend who was helping him in a sacred work. Yes, however distraught Joseph was, and however dependent upon Martin Harris he thought he was, he had missed one thing God fully expects of His disciples: always trust in the arm of the Lord and not in the arm of the flesh. To Joseph’s everlasting credit, he learned this lesson in such a deep and profound way that he never made the mistake again and, not long after again receiving the plates and interpreters, he began a pace of religious contribution the likes of which the world had not seen since the personal ministry of Jesus Christ. Starting in the spring of 1829, now with Oliver Cowdery at his side, Joseph translated an astonishing 588 pages of the Book of Mormon in what was, at most, 65 working days.15 This is truly blinding speed when compared with his previous efforts. It is also instructive to note that the translation of the King James Bible took 47 trained scholars, working in languages they already knew, seven years to complete.16