Gospel Story Finder

Zachary was spending his first summer on his grandparents’ farm. Zack loved the farm. He woke up early each morning and jumped happily out of bed. First he helped Grandpa milk the cows. Then he dashed to the kitchen to help Grandma by setting the breakfast table and putting food out for the cats that were stretching lazily outside the back door.
One sunny morning Zack’s grandfather had a surprise for him. “How would you like to go on a hayride today?”
Zack grinned a huge grin. “You mean a ride in a big wagon filled with hay? That would be super!” he exclaimed, jumping up from the breakfast table.
“Whoa there, Zack,” Grandpa chuckled. “How about finishing your breakfast first?”
Zack didn’t know if he could sit still that long, but he sat down to give it a good try.
After breakfast, Zack and his grandfather drove to the Steins’ farm. Mr. Stein was preparing the wagon for the hayride, and Zack saw about eight other kids running in the yard. They all seemed to be as excited as he was. Zack felt shy because he didn’t know any of the other kids. Just then a pudgy boy in a red sweatshirt gave Zack a big smile. That smile helped a lot, and Zack grinned back. He felt much less shy.
“OK, kids,” Mr. Stein said, “who would like to try out my new hay wagon?”
Zack loved the feel and the smell of the sweet hay as he climbed into the wagon. The hay poked softly through his T-shirt and stuck in his hair. Mr. Stein drove the wagon all around the countryside. The bumpy ride put tickles in Zack’s tummy. He felt as if he might grin for the rest of his life!
Then a few of the other kids started to tease the boy in the red sweatshirt, the one who had smiled at Zack and made him feel good. The kids were teasing the boy about being overweight. He pretended not to hear them and bravely kept a smile on his face. But Zack knew that the teasing hurt the boy’s feelings. Zack wished that he could help, but when the boy looked over at him, Zack looked away. He didn’t know how to help.
The day was still sunny, the hay was still sweet, and the wagon was still bumping along, but Zack didn’t feel as happy anymore. When the hayride was over, he hopped quickly down from the wagon and ran over to his grandpa’s truck.
“Are you OK?” Grandpa asked. “I expected you to be full of smiles after the ride.”
Zack told Grandpa about the boy being teased. “Grandpa, I don’t know why I feel so awful. I didn’t tease him. But I feel just as terrible as if I had!”
Grandpa thought for a moment, then hugged him tightly. “Zack, I think you feel bad because someone else had his feelings hurt. I’m proud to have a grandson who can feel compassion for others.”
Zack thought about the way the boy in the red sweatshirt had made him feel more comfortable when he first arrived at the Steins’ farm. Suddenly he knew what he could do to help the boy—and himself—feel happy again! “Do you know who the boy in the red sweatshirt is?”
“Yes, he is Teddy Ames. His dad owns the farm next to ours.”
“Would it be OK if we stopped there on our way home?” Zack asked. “I can’t change what happened today at the hayride, but it might make Teddy feel better to know that he has a new friend right next door.”

I had been a member of the Church for about a year when a missionary challenged me to subscribe to A Liahona (Portuguese). I had never read a magazine like A Liahona in my life. While reading the first issue of my subscription, I received a testimony that the things written in it were true. I was able to see what the gospel of Jesus Christ does in the lives of people. Now as I read the magazine I try to find counsel to apply to my own life.
Jeferson Carlos Nogueira da Silva,Aracati Branch, Mossoró Brazil District

In the Hawaii, Honolulu Mission, a few years ago, I was instructed to travel to Christmas Island, one of the Line Islands belonging to the Republic of Kiribati. I was authorized to form a branch of the Church there if enough priesthood leaders could be found to sustain it. There were faithful priesthood leaders and many faithful and deserving saints who desperately wanted the church to become established on their remote island. When the branch was formed, it was apparent that the saints there were filled with righteous spirit and a determined desire to be faithful and devoted to the gospel. However, most had not had close contact with the organized church for many years and someone with a greater depth of experience was needed to teach, train and prepare them for independent church government. We needed a missionary couple.

We learned that local government regulations would not permit any of the government owned houses to be rented to missionaries. You can imagine the criteria that we advanced to the missionary department for a couple for this assignment:
Need to work with people who speak mostly the Kiribati language.
Need to build your own island house [called a kiakia].
Need to drill your own water well.
Need to dig your own latrine and make an enclosure for it.
Need to make your own portable shower and palm frond enclosure.
Do not plan on electricity, running water, any form of plumbing,
There is no furniture of any kind, but sand, crabs and insects in abundance.
Do not plan to be sick because there are no adequate medical facilities on the island.
Your only form of transport will be bicycles, and bring your own.

Actually, nobody signed up for that missionary call. We were feeling the urgent requirements of this newly formed branch and we remembered the extraordinarily faithful and loving saints there who needed gospel training very much. After much prayer from us, we received a phone call from a brother and sister on the mainland. They said they were emotionally prepared for a hardship mission and would agree to serve. They gave up retirement and the leisure time they so richly deserved. They came and established the Church on Christmas Island at great personal sacrifice. The gift of inheritance is theirs.

Doesn’t he realize he’s making us late for an appointment with the best family I’ve ever taught? my mind screamed as I turned my bike around. I was a missionary in the Taiwan Taipei Mission, and my new companion, Elder Loo, was lagging behind as usual.
I found him talking to a woman who was angrily holding a thick stick in one hand and clenching the arm of a small, whimpering boy with the other. I listened as Elder Loo tried to talk her out of beating the boy. She left without the stick.
When we finally arrived at our destination, my companion taught the family about “the first and great commandment,” to love the Lord. “And the second is like unto it,” he read, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matt. 22:38–39).
I flinched. Although I had taught this discussion many times, it was as if I were hearing the scripture for the first time. I would have helped that little boy if we hadn’t been late, I rationalized. But I couldn’t convince myself.
Following a beautiful discussion on sacrifice and service, we made our way to our next appointment. But before we got far, I realized I was again alone. Elder Loo was helping a drunken man who had wrecked his motorcycle.
As we peddled slowly through the crowded market, my companion stopped again. I watched as he knelt by a crying child who appeared to be lost. The child’s eyes were red and puffy, and his face was streaked with tears. We didn’t leave until Elder Loo had assurances from people who said they would locate the boy’s parents.
I followed in silence, my mind racing. Why hadn’t I noticed the crying child? Or the motorcyclist? Why did he see things I missed?
Then it dawned on me. He saw opportunities to serve because he looked for them. He didn’t trail behind because he was just enjoying the scenery; he was looking for people in need.
I wondered what I would see if I really looked.
The next morning I didn’t race ahead of my companion. We rode side by side, looking, listening, and ready to serve.
Since then, whenever I think no one needs my help, I slow down and take another look. It’s amazing what I see.

May I share with you brethren my personal experience as a teachers quorum president? The member of the bishopric who had responsibility for us invited the new presidency and secretary to come to his home for leadership training. He wanted our ideas concerning how we should go about our newly given duties. We obliged—on condition that he would invite his wife, Nettie, to serve us some of the meat pies for which she was famous. This he agreed to do. Brethren, isn’t it remarkable how we men will obligate our wives to do things—often without notice? The resulting meeting was one of the best I have ever attended. We were taught to the level of our understanding and inspired to look after our quorum members.
After a delicious meat pie smothered with gravy, we asked the bishop’s counselor and his wife to join in a game of Monopoly®. I am certain they had other things to do, but they willingly complied with our request.
I don’t remember who won the Monopoly game, but I have never forgotten the lessons learned that night in Church government and in the administration of a priesthood quorum.

I was so excited! I had turned 12 about two weeks ago and had received my first temple recommend on Sunday. My dad was going to take me to the Spokane Washington Temple for the first time as a birthday present.
On the day of our trip, I was ready to go an hour early! I was just so eager to go! We finally got into the car and listened to hymns on the trip there, which really brought in the Spirit that day.
My mom had prepared some family names for me and my dad to take to the temple. While I was entering the font I had expected this huge spiritual experience, but that didn’t happen. What did happen was that I was baptized for one of my deceased relatives, and I felt a still, small voice whisper to me, “You are doing the right thing.”
On the way home I really thought about what had happened at the temple. I realized I didn’t need the huge spiritual experience I had been expecting. I was so glad I had the Holy Ghost with me that day so that I could hear the still, small voice.
I’m so thankful for the temple and all of its blessings! The temple has brought me and my family great blessings, happiness, and experiences with the still, small voice.

Later in my life, I was preparing to leave college and I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do. I went to a meeting where information was given on several different kinds of work. I got excited about printing and decided that I wanted to be a printer. I made an application and was offered a position with a printing company. I had a vision in my mind of being in charge of a big printing press.
On the first day of work, I was delighted when the supervisor took me to a very large machine that was printing in two colors. I thought he was going to say to me, “This is your machine.” I didn’t realize how much training I would need to perform that responsibility. The supervisor assigned me to work with the man in charge of that machine, which I did for six months. All I did that six months was move the paper to be printed on into the machine.
After that, I was put on another machine, and I worked with somebody else. Then I was assigned to a third machine, which was a handfed machine. That means that I “fed” each sheet of paper into the machine by hand. I could do that because by that time I had learned to handle paper well.
A few weeks later, the supervisor came up to me and said, “We feel that you have come to the point where you can be in charge of this machine.”
I was excited. This machine put glazing on the labels that were used for a very popular product in the United Kingdom.
The supervisor said to me, “Before I leave you in charge, you need to spend a little while longer developing your skill. There are a few more things that you need to know.” He stood by me while I was feeding paper into this machine and said, “There is one special thing you need to know—you need to listen for a particular sound. It’s sort of a clicking sound.”
The noise of the machine running with its gears rolling, along with the noise of twenty-five other machines, made it difficult to distinguish sounds, but I confidently said, “Yes, I hear that.” I thought that I was hearing what he was describing.
He said, “That’s all you need to know. As long as you can recognize that, you’ll be fine.”
He left, and I fed the paper into the machine for forty-five minutes. Suddenly the machine came to a grinding halt, making an incredible noise. All sorts of parts were knocking together. The other workers came running to see what had happened.
My supervisor came back and said, “Did you hear the sound?”
I said, “I thought I did.”
He said, “Let’s clean the machine up.” There was paper on the rollers and the cogs, and it took us about thirty minutes to clean up the machine. When he turned the machine on, he said, “Listen, there’s a sort of clicking sound. That’s the best way I can describe it. Can you hear it?”
I listened and just heard all the same noises that I’d heard before, but I said, “Yes.”
He said, “Fine.”
About thirty minutes later, the same thing happened. The supervisor said to me, “You can clean the machine by yourself this time.”
It took me over an hour to clean the paper off the rollers and out of the cogs and get the machine ready to run.
The supervisor came back and stood beside me and asked again, “Can you hear the clicking sound?”
Suddenly, above all the other sounds, I heard a sound that I hadn’t heard before, and the best way I could describe it was that it was a sort of clicking sound. The supervisor explained to me that the sound was made when the paper separated from the printing plate. The sound was determined by the consistency of the gloss that was glazing the paper.
If that sound changed, it meant that the gloss was getting too thick and too tacky. And when that happened, the paper would jam up in the grippers, causing a big pileup of paper that stopped the machine. Once I discovered that sound, I could fix the consistency of the gloss, and my machine never stopped again unless I myself turned it off.

Then one day in the spring, we found Bimbo stretched out in the backyard as though he were dead. Does he have scarlet fever? I wondered. On the way to see the veterinarian, I remember praying as hard as I could that Bimbo wouldn’t die. The veterinarian told us our dog had been poisoned and would have to stay in the hospital for several days. Later when we took Bimbo home, we gave him love and attention and continued to pray for him. Our prayers were answered and he did recover.

It was the last week of high school. Among the seniors there was a feeling of celebration and yet also sadness, because what they’d shared was coming to an end.
Dark-eyed, raven-haired Whitney Brown, the only member of the Church in her Minnesota high school class of 547, would be going to Ricks College in the fall. She played first chair French horn in the high school band.
Next to her in the French horn section was Steve Dunn, also a senior, a boy she’d known since first grade.
The last week of school the seniors were excused from rehearsals while the rest of the band practiced the songs they would play for baccalaureate and commencement. Mr. Richards, the band director, asked the seniors to help sort and file music. And so each day, Steve and Whitney would meet during band period and sort through music in a practice room. By Tuesday the other seniors had vanished, having better things to do than that.
While Steve and Whitney worked they talked. They’d been talking to each other once a day during band for the past six years, going clear back to seventh grade band.
Steve was a little on the shy side. Band had been his only activity in school. His father had an auto body shop, and Steve worked there after school and on Saturdays.
Through the years Steve had listened to Whitney’s chronicle of life, hectic but always interesting. She had always talked to him openly about the guys she was interested in because he was her friend and seemed interested in her and never talked to anyone else about what she said.
Steve’s plan after high school was to study auto body work at a regional vocational training center and then come back and work for his father. Fixing dented cars was what he loved to do.
Whitney thought that someday she might like to be a high school drama teacher. She’d been in nearly every play in school. Steve had come to see her perform in most of them.
On Friday they had nearly finished sorting and filing the sheet music. “I guess this is the last time we’ll be together,” Steve said.
“Oh, not really. We’ll see each other at commencement.”
“Sure, but you have your friends.” He paused. “And I have mine. Besides I bet it’ll be really crowded. I just wanted to say I’ve really enjoyed knowing you,” he said, his gaze fixed on the music he was working on, not daring to look at her directly.
“I’ve enjoyed you too, Steve. You’re really a nice guy. If I ever bang up my car, you’re the first person I’ll think of.”
“I can hardly wait.”
They both smiled. They had a comfortable kind of humor between them.
“I’ve kind of been watching you through the years,” he said.
She laughed. “You poor guy.”
“No, it’s been great. I always looked forward to band each day because I knew I’d see you.” He stopped suddenly. “I’m sorry for spouting off. I’m not all that important to you, right?”
“You are, Steve. You’re one of my friends from high school I’ll always remember.”
“I was always hoping you’d open up more to me.”
“Steve, I’ve told you practically everything that ever happened to me. I told you about the time I was waiting for my date for prom and I was so hungry I took a bite of my brother’s hot dog and spilled mustard on my prom dress just before my date came and had to pin the corsage over the stain. I told you about sneaking into school and turning around all the desks in Mrs. Halvorson’s class. I’ve told you a lot of things.”
He looked at her like he’d been betrayed. “Do you care what happens to me?”
“Of course I do.”
“What’s the most important thing in the world to you?” he asked.
She didn’t say anything.
“Whitney?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Just tell me what it is you value above anything else in the world?”
She paused and then said, “My family I guess.”
“What else is important to you?”
“I’m glad I get to go to college in the fall.”
“Is going to college the most important thing in your life?”
“No.”
“Then what is?”
She paused. “I’m glad I’ve learned to set and achieve goals.”
“Is that the most important thing in your life?” he asked.
“No.”
“Nobody in school really knows you very well, do they?”
She turned away from his stare.
“I’ve always been fascinated by you,” he said. “You had fun but you had a way of avoiding things that weren’t good for you. I could never figure out how you could be so smart. It was like you had some hidden compass that helped you make decisions. And then someone told me you were a Mormon.”
“You didn’t know that?”
“No, not really. Maybe you mentioned it in passing once. I can’t remember. You never said much about it. Is being a Mormon important to you?”
“Yes it is.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me then? We were friends, but you never once talked about what you believe. Why not? Are you ashamed of your beliefs?”
“I didn’t want to offend you.”
“Why would I be offended if you told me something that was important to you?”
“I didn’t think you’d be interested.”
“Maybe I wasn’t at first, but I’ve spent all this time with you. I know we’ll probably never see each other after we graduate. I’m really going to miss that.” He sighed. “I guess what I’m trying to say is I want to have friends like you all my life.”
“Can I tell you now about what I believe?” she asked.
“I’d like that.”
And so as the band rehearsed the commencement processional music that would lead the 547 seniors out of high school into adult life, with the French horn section noticeably lacking its two best players, Whitney started in.
She talked about her beliefs in Jesus Christ, in the Book of Mormon, and in the plan of salvation. She told him what it meant to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Steve listened, and when she finished, he said he had never heard anything like that before. He told her that he wanted to know more and asked if she would give him a Book of Mormon.
She did. In the weeks that followed, he read it. He asked questions. Whitney answered as best she could, and she also introduced him to the missionaries.
Before long Steve decided he wanted to be baptized. Whitney was there when he was baptized, and later, when he was confirmed a member of the Church, she was there too.
The friendship that had grown through years of band practice continued, but now it had a new dimension. Steve said he was grateful that Whitney had been willing to share what mattered most to her, because it had changed his life.

I had similar feelings when I was a student here some time ago. As a convert, I didn’t grow up in the church and never had too many members around me in Taiwan. When I got accepted to BYU-Hawai?i, I was very excited about the prospect of living in Zion with my fellow Latter-day Saints. I imagined an almost living happily-ever-after scenario, in which everyone would be perfect, angel-like, doing what we are all supposed to do. But upon seeing some of my fellow students’ behaviors, I started having doubts. “What’s going on? Didn’t these people grow up in Mormon families? How could they? This is not what I was expecting.”

One specific example I still clearly recall from my student days here was with home teachers. Many of them showed up only once at the beginning of the semester and then totally disappeared afterward. My unit-mates later found out that it was because we were not pretty enough to be home taught. What happened was that home teachers would come to check out the new girls. If they were pretty, the home teachers would visit them faithfully to advance potential romantic relationships. If not, there would be no point for them to waste their time and energy. I hope the same situation does not occur now.

To be fair, I was probably too naïve in thinking every Latter-day Saint would be of good character and always follow gospel principles. Although most of us are trying our best to live our lives, a few examples of bad behavior can become others’ stumbling blocks.

A few years ago, one of my relatives compiled a beautiful history about my father’s ancestors, and I learned for the first time about my great-great-grandfather Robert Shipley. He was illiterate, illegitimate, and raised in a British workhouse. He was put in the workhouse with his younger brother, who later died because the conditions were so terrible. Their story reminds me of a Charles Dickens novel.

Fortunately, Robert survived. When he was older, he happened to learn about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. After he was baptized, he regularly attended church and eventually met a young woman there. Her name was Harriet, and she was educated and very cultured. I don’t know what she saw in Robert, but they got married right before they boarded a ship to sail to America to join the Saints.

While they were aboard the ship, Harriet taught Robert to read and write, using the Book of Mormon and the Bible. I take great delight in thinking about Harriet—who was thirteen years younger—teaching Robert to recognize the letters, sounds, and words of the gospel. I know that his progress would have been slow and incremental and that it would have taken a long time to see improvements. But with persistence and patience, we know “that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6). This is the doctrine of incremental growth. Just as with the Saints in Africa who are learning to read and write, my ancestor Robert was already proficient in the most important language—the language of the Spirit.

One day while serving in the Texas Fort Worth Mission, my companion and I finished visiting some investigators and then realized we didn’t have a dinner appointment. We decided to stop at one of the many nearby fast-food restaurants.
When I stepped to the cash register, an employee took my order and asked me my name so she could call me over the loudspeaker when my meal was ready. “Elder García,” I replied.
The woman did not seem to understand my English. Again she asked me my name. To avoid any further misunderstanding, I pointed to my name tag, which bore my name and the name of the Church in Spanish.
As I turned to sit with my companion and wait for my order, I happened to notice the name she had written. Instead of writing my name, she had written, “Jesucristo.” Maybe she made the mistake because the Savior’s name stands out on the Church’s logo. Or maybe she just wasn’t paying attention.
Each time I remember this simple experience, I feel a firm desire to have people think of Jesus Christ when they see me—not because of a name tag but because I am bearing His name by doing the things He taught us to do.

By the time I turned 12, I was a 5-foot 10-inch social disaster. Towering over my friends was the bane of my adolescence. I didn’t want to stand out—at least not that way—so I compensated by slouching. As a result, Mother was constantly urging me to “stand up straight.” Well, I didn’t want to stand up straight then, but I do now. For we have all been admonished to “stand up” (2 Ne. 8:17) and to stand as a witness (see Mosiah 18:9) so that we may “stand blameless before God at the last day” (D&C 4:2). I can find absolutely no scriptural injunction to slouch in Zion. Instead, we are repeatedly told to get on our feet, to “arise and stand up” (3 Ne. 20:2).
As a teenager I did not realize that blending in with the crowd would never be my lot. Nor is it yours. For as women of God we must stand tall so that we will stand out from the rest of the world. Only in doing so may we hope to find joy. For finding joy and standing tall, not in feet or inches but as ambassadors for the Lord, are directly connected.
My family has been reminded of this recently in a very poignant way. I have 17 nieces and nephews, who are a pure delight. We have hiked and biked and fasted and prayed together. And recently we have cried together. A few weeks ago we suffered a crushing loss when an accident took the lives of two of my sister’s children—Amanda, who was 11, and Tanner, who was 15. Because we have lived together in love, we have truly wept for the loss of them that died (see D&C 42:45).
Our friends in our hometown wept with us, most of them nonmembers, and we knew their hearts might never be more open to truth than on the day two caskets rested in our little Kansas chapel. So we dedicated the funeral entirely to testifying of Christ and the restored gospel. Afterwards many told us how moved they were by what they heard and by what they felt. Some have even asked to learn more. Now, we don’t know if anyone affected by our children’s deaths will join the Church. But this we do know—that standing up for what we believe and teaching the gospel to friends who had never before been willing to listen helped soothe our pain and bring us joy as a family.
In this world, the only true joy comes from the gospel—the joy that radiates from the Atonement and from ordinances that transcend the veil, and from the Comforter that salves our souls. Recently my 11-year-old niece Aubrey, whose father died five years ago, was asked by a nonmember friend why she wasn’t sad about the deaths of her father and, recently, her cousins. Aubrey’s reply was classic: “Not sad? Trust me, we are sad, but we know that we will be together again, so we don’t worry as much.” As a family we’ve no doubt cried as much, but we don’t worry as we would if we hadn’t felt the transcendent reach and healing power of Jesus Christ. The gospel is “beauty for ashes” (Isa. 61:3); it is “the oil of gladness” (Heb. 1:9); it is such good news!
Though our children are gone for now, we have the glorious reassurance that we haven’t lost them. But what about our Father’s children, our brothers and sisters, who are lost and who face not only physical but spiritual death? The gospel of Jesus Christ is all about people. It’s about leaving the ninety and nine and going into the wilderness after those who are lost. It’s about bearing one another’s burdens, with the ultimate burden anyone can bear being walking through this life without light. Hence the Lord’s latter-day plea:
“The field is white already to harvest; and it is the eleventh hour, and the last time that I shall call laborers into my vineyard. …
“… Wherefore, thrust in your sickles, and reap with all your might” (D&C 33:3, 7).
Ancient prophets foresaw a day “when the knowledge of a Savior [would] spread throughout every nation, kindred, tongue, and people” (Mosiah 3:20). That day has come. And it is our turn to thrust in our sickles and help with the harvest. That we are here now is no accident. For aeons of time our Father watched us and knew He could trust us when so much would be at stake. We have been held in reserve for this very hour. We need to understand not just who we are but who we have always been. For we are women of God, and the work of women of God has always been to help build the kingdom of God.
When in premortality we accepted our Father’s plan, said Elder John A. Widtsoe, “we agreed, right then and there, to be … saviors for the whole human family. … The working out of the plan became … not merely the Father’s work, and the Savior’s work, but also our work” (Utah Genealogical and Historical Magazine, Oct. 1934, 189). Then, when we were baptized here, we renewed our commitment to—and our covenant with—the Lord. No wonder President Gordon B. Hinckley has declared that “if the world is going to be saved, we have to do it. … No other people in the history of the world have … received a … more compelling mandate than we [have] … , and we’d better be getting at it” (“‘Church Is Really Doing Well,’” Church News, 3 July 1999, 3).
Sisters, we have work to do. The Prophet Joseph charged the Relief Society with the work of saving souls (see History of the Church, 5:25), for it is our very nature to nurture and to search after those who are lost. And yet, President Spencer W. Kimball lamented that there was a power in Relief Society that had not “yet been fully exercised to … build the Kingdom of God” (“Relief Society—Its Promise and Potential,” Ensign, Mar. 1976, 4). For all the good it has done in the past, Relief Society has yet to help move this latter-day work forward as it must. Sisters, the time has come to unleash the power of righteous happiness that exists among women of God. The time has come for us to be anxiously engaged in the work of saving souls. The time has come for the sisters of Relief Society to stand with and for the prophet in helping build the kingdom. The time has come for us each to stand tall and to stand together.
Standing tall begins with our own conversion, for when we taste the gospel’s “exceeding joy” (Alma 36:24) we want to share it. The casseroles and quilts we have made to relieve suffering are splendid acts of kindness, but no service—I repeat, no service—compares with that of leading someone to Christ. Do you want to be happy? I mean really happy? Then nurture someone along the path that leads to the temple and to Christ.
The most effective way to share the gospel is to live it. When we live like disciples of Christ should live, when we aren’t just good but happy to be good, others will be drawn to us because we are “distinct and different—in happy ways,” as President Kimball prophesied (“The Role of Righteous Women,” Ensign, Nov. 1979, 104). Happy about the way we’ve chosen to live, happy because we’re not constantly reshaping ourselves in the world’s image, happy because we have “the gift and the power of the Holy Ghost” (1 Ne. 13:37), happy to stand tall so that we will stand out.
Every time we strengthen our own testimony or help someone else strengthen theirs, we build the kingdom of God. Every time we mentor a newly baptized sister or befriend a wandering soul without judging her or invite a nonmember family to home evening or give a Book of Mormon to a colleague or lead a family to the temple or stand up for modesty and motherhood or invite the missionaries into our homes or help someone discover the power of the word, we build the kingdom of God. Imagine how it lifted my sister’s spirits when she read this journal entry Tanner had made just before he died: “Thanks, Mom and Dad, for teaching me about Christ.” What builds the kingdom more than raising up a child to the Lord?
With the exception of those serving full-time missions, we needn’t don name badges or knock on doors to help build the kingdom. For though some would portray us as dowdy and dominated rather than the dynamic, radiant women we are, no woman is more persuasive, no woman has greater influence for good, no woman is a more vibrant instrument in the hands of the Lord than a woman of God who is thrilled to be who she is. I like to think of us as the Lord’s secret weapon. If we did have name tags, I would want mine to read: “Sheri Dew, Woman of God, Busy Building the Kingdom of God.”
Imagine what would happen in this Church if every morning 4.5 million of us got on our knees and asked our Father who He needed us to reach out to that day. And then imagine if we did it! Imagine if we consecrated our energy and our focus en masse to the greatest service of all, that of leading our sisters and brothers to Christ. Imagine what will happen when we mobilize the sisters of Relief Society to stand together to help build the kingdom. We will see the awakening and arising of a sleeping, slouching giant.
Tonight I invite you to stand tall, to thrust in your sickle and join in this work with vigor. I invite you to rededicate your life to building the kingdom. To reach out to someone who has wandered. To take a new member under your wing. To consider serving a mission with your husband. To look and pray for missionary moments. To make a difference in someone’s life spiritually, especially the members of your own family. None of us have to reach everyone. But what if we all reached someone? And then someone else? And so on. President Hinckley has asked us to “become a vast army with enthusiasm for this work” (“Find the Lambs, Feed the Sheep,” Ensign, May 1999, 110). As we do so, we will become one of the mightiest forces for good this world has ever seen. For we, the sisters of Relief Society, are women of God. And the work of women of God and the work of the Relief Society has always been to help build the kingdom of God. I believe that we can do more to help our priesthood leaders than we have ever done before.
In my nephew’s priesthood quorum, just a few hours before he died, Tanner said this: “You know, if I were to die soon, I would want my funeral to be a missionary farewell.” My prayer tonight is that we can be equally clear about our mission as women of God. This isn’t just a really nice church that teaches really nice ideas so that we can live really nice lives. This is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, endowed with His power and charged with carrying His truth to the ends of the earth. I love our Father. And I love His Son. And I have come to know for myself that this is Their work and Their glory and that we are the most blessed of all women to have such a vital part in it. May we lift our “voices as with the sound of a trump” (D&C 42:6). May we find joy as we stand tall and stand together. And may we “cheerfully do all things that lie in our power” (D&C 123:17), and then stand still to see the arm of God revealed as His work goes forward boldly and nobly until “it has … swept every country, and sounded in every ear, till the purposes of God shall be accomplished, and the Great Jehovah shall say the work is done” (History of the Church, 4:540). In the sacred and holy name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I learned about the power and blessings of the priesthood at an unfortunate time. A few years ago, when my little brother was 14, he wrecked on his motorcycle and snapped his leg in half. My dad called and told me they were taking him to the hospital. I had a sick feeling in my stomach as I rushed to the hospital. When I got there, I saw one of my uncles. He told me how bad the accident was.
Fearing what I would see, I opened the door where my brother was and stepped into the room. I took one step, closed my eyes, and was instantly at peace. Just as I will never forget the sick feeling I had, I will never forget the feeling of peace and comfort that came over me. I recognized the feeling—it was the Spirit.
I then heard my father speaking. He and my uncle were giving my brother a priesthood blessing. He humbly blessed his son in the name of Jesus Christ to be OK, to heal, to have his leg work properly again.
After the blessing, everyone was quiet for a while. I knew at that moment that I had to live worthy to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood and be able to perform blessings for my future children.
When we gathered in the hall outside my brother’s room, my parents started to discuss what they should do. They debated whether to leave Mexico to take him to a doctor in the United States or to have the surgery performed here. Whatever option they felt was best for my brother, I knew he had already received the best attention he could receive. He had received a blessing by two men holding the priesthood, so no matter what my parents decided, my brother was going to be fine.
They decided to stay in Mexico for the operation. Doctors put a plate and 10 screws into my brother’s leg. It healed well, and a few months later he joined a football team. The blessing was fulfilled just as my dad had said.
I know the priesthood is the power and authority of God given to men. What a great gift He has given us.

I spoke at a devotional a couple of years ago at Ricks College, and a girl came up afterwards and said, “Brother Covey, what is the difference between a heartburn and a burning in the heart?” She was really asking, “How do I really know how God answers prayers? How do I know it’s not just me projecting my own wish and want onto God, feeling good about it, and calling it his answer?” That’s what she was asking, and I believe many of us have asked that question of ourselves.

I said to her, “When we had this little listening exercise, sister, did you feel or sense anything?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, “I know so many things I need to do to be a better person.”
“Then, sister, I suggest that you forget that question. Just do those things. If you do, you’ll become acquainted with the voice, and that will be the answer to your question. You didn’t like that answer, did you, sister?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She said, “I have no excuse anymore.”

A year later I spoke at another Ricks devotional on another subject. She came up afterwards and said, “Brother Covey, do you remember me?”
“I can’t quite place you.”
“I was the one that asked you about the heartburn.”
“Oh yes, whatever happened to you?”
She said, “I did those things. I took it seriously. I know very clearly the difference now between the true voice and the many other voices within and without.”

I said, “For instance, what did you do?”
“I really began to study the scriptures in a serious way. My prayers were most earnest and sincere and deep. I made reconciliation with certain individuals who I had thought I could just forget because I didn’t like them. I was more cooperative at home, more helpful. I stopped procrastinating as a student, practicing self-management by crisis. I used to put off studying all the time, but I became more conscientious. I realized this was a stewardship. I started doing genealogy work. I was more pleasant with my brothers and sisters. I didn’t speak back to my parents. I just became a less defensive person.”

On a Know-Your-Religion circuit in California this last year, this same girl came up to me and said, “Would you be interested in the third installment?”
I said, “I would.”
“I can’t believe the difference in my life once I started to realize that the Holy Ghost is my own guide if I will listen to him. I can receive personal guidance and revelation, and as long as I am true to it all things will work together for my good.” She bore her testimony. There was no confusion in her mind anymore.

On one occasion, a missionary in the final week of his mission reminded me that I had given him clearance two years previously to serve a mission. The clearance had been extended with some reservations on my part because he had indulged in a number of transgressions before his mission. He said: “Elder Asay, you allowed me to go into the field after due repentance and after I promised that I would be strictly obedient and would work diligently. I can assure you that I have worked hard and have obeyed every rule.” Then he said something very significant. “I feel that my sins have been forgiven. I feel perfectly clean.” He had been cleansed through selfless service and by developing a close association with the Holy Spirit. He had been through the refiner’s fire, and impurities had been burned away.

Last year, I had the opportunity to participate in the reorganization of three single adult stakes. During the weekend of each Stake Conference, we spent Saturday morning visiting five apartments in each of those stakes. Not one apartment had a picture of Christ in their living room. Not one was having apartment prayer or scripture study, or family home evening. We taught them the importance of being Christ-centered in every facet of their lives-especially in their apartments.

One of the apartments we visited included one new convert, two returned missionaries, and one student who had been less-active. The new convert saw me in the Sunday session of stake conference and said, "I have never felt closer to my roommates than when we read the Book of Mormon and prayed together last night. The Spirit was in our apartment." Do you want the Spirit to reside in your home or apartment? Do you hold apartment or family prayer? Do you read the scriptures together? This is the perfect time to begin these practices that you will apply in your family and home.

Let me give you two examples of a fulfillment of this promise. One day while serving as the Executive Director of the Missionary Department, I received a phone call pertaining to a man who had received a call to serve as a mission president accompanied, of course, by his wife. His business partners, who could not understand the willingness of this man and his wife to leave their business, offered the church $100,000 if the call would be rescinded. I knew, of course, the answer but took it, nevertheless, to the member of the Quorum of the Twelve who was serving as the Chairman of the Missionary Executive Committee. His response was predictable. “Tell them we need the brother, his wife, and would appreciate the $100,000 as well.”

How much pressure do you think his partners applied on him before the money was offered to the Church? What risk was he taking after investing so much of his life in the business world? How difficult might it be when they returned to the business after their mission? Would there be anything there? I have watched that couple carefully since that day and can testify to you that the impact of their devotion and sacrifice has righteously influenced a multitude of people. Their sacrifices during and after that mission have “yielded much precious fruit.”

Shortly after Joseph F. Smith’s birth, a company of men broke into the Smith home. His mother Mary was ill at the time and his father Hyrum was in jail. Ransacking the house, the men entered the room where the baby slept and, without realizing it, threw bedding on top of him. They would have been surprised if they had known a baby was hidden by their actions.
Everyone was relieved when the men finally left the home. After a few minutes Mary remembered Joseph, and she and her sister Mercy ran to check on him. When they saw what had happened they were fearful the baby had smothered. Fortunately, their frantic efforts to revive him were successful.

Sergio’s school friends often ask him about his religion because they know his standards are different from theirs. “I answer their questions and tell them about the beliefs I have,” said Sergio with a steady voice reflective of his firm testimony. “I invite them to Church on Sundays and to the activities. Some come and others don’t,” he said shrugging his shoulders. Since his baptism two and a half years ago, Sergio has helped the missionaries teach and baptize three of his friends.