Gospel Story Finder

As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought one day as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily Fullmer lived. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association. Ben and Emily had not been in our sacrament meeting for many years. Ben, a former bishop, would sit constantly in his front room reading and memorizing the New Testament.

I was en route from my uptown sales office to our plant on Industrial Road. For some reason I had driven down First West, a street which I never had traveled before to reach the destination of our plant. Then I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on my way to a meeting. I did not heed the impression at first but drove on for two more blocks; however, when the impression came again, I returned to their home.

It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. I heard the tiny fox terrier dog bark at my approach. Emily welcomed me in. Upon seeing me, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today is my birthday?”

I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”

In the quiet of their living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I really don’t know why I was directed here today, but I was. Our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. As we arose from our knees, I said to Brother Fullmer, “Ben, would you come to priesthood meeting when we meet with all the priesthood and relate to our Aaronic Priesthood boys the story you once told me when I was a boy, how you and a group of boys were en route to the Jordan River to swim one Sunday, but you felt the Spirit direct you to attend Sunday School. And you did. One of the boys who failed to respond to that Spirit drowned that Sunday. Our boys would like to hear your testimony.”

“I’ll do it,” he responded.

I then said to Sister Fullmer, “Emily, I know you have a beautiful voice. My mother has told me so. Our ward conference is a few weeks away, and our choir will sing. Would you join the choir and attend our ward conference and perhaps sing a solo?”

“What will the number be?” she inquired.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’d like you to sing it.”

She sang. He spoke to the Aaronic Priesthood. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day forward. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and souls saved. Ben and Emily Fullmer had come home.

During a special Church conference held on April 6, 1881, branch president Silviano Arteaga, several local leaders, and Apostle Moses Thatcher (1842–1909) climbed the slope of the volcano Mt. Popocatépetl. Elder Thatcher then dedicated the land for the preaching of the gospel.

At the conference President Arteaga prayed, and Elder Thatcher related: “Tears flowed down his wrinkled cheeks, for the deliverance of his race and people. … I never heard any man pray more earnestly, and though praying in a language which I do not comprehend, yet I seemed to understand by the Spirit, all that he was pleading for.”2

I listened recently to a speaker in our ward sacrament meeting. For many years he had served as a bishop and in many other capacities. But he spoke of a wonderful assignment that he and his wife recently had to nurture a new convert who had come into the Church, a young mother with three children. They taught her regularly, once a week. They built her testimony. They taught her the gospel in all its various aspects. They encouraged her with the assignments she had in the ward. They were always there to answer her questions, to enlighten her, to bring understanding of some doctrine that was unclear. They had done this until she and her children had strength to move with security on their own. The young mother and her children have now moved to another area. But this woman, who became the beneficiary of their interest, continues to write to them with expressions of love and appreciation.

I grew up in the Church. Most of my teachers and leaders were diligent and effective in trying to instill within me a love for the gospel, a knowledge of its principles, and especially, a testimony—what President Joseph Fielding Smith called the “speaking of the Holy Ghost to the soul in a convincing, positive manner” (Answers to Gospel Questions, comp. Joseph Fielding Smith, Jr., 5 vols., Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1979, 3:28). In my teen years I remember several teachers and fireside speakers outlining how a testimony could be obtained. It seemed so easy that I decided to follow it.
As a high school student, I determined that I would act on this advice and try to obtain my own testimony of the gospel. I wanted to know that it was true. So I carefully read the Book of Mormon, underlining as I went. When I finished I felt a great sense of anticipation about Moroni’s promise. I knelt down and prayed, trying to learn for myself whether this book was true or not. Although I prayed off and on for several weeks with what I thought was “real intent” and determination, I failed to recognize an answer. When my friends stood in fast meeting to express their testimonies, my parents were disappointed that I did not. I told them that I was trying, but that a testimony had just not come to me yet. I could not be dishonest. I worried and wondered what I was doing wrong. Perhaps my life was not good enough for the Lord to recognize my question—or maybe there was something wrong with the way I was praying—or perhaps I just didn’t know how to recognize an answer.
The prayer and study went on for two more years, during which I read the Book of Mormon a second time, and then my bishop asked me to go on a mission. On one hand, I was elated, because I had always wanted to serve a mission; but on the other hand, I was very worried, because my testimony had not been granted. How would I convince others if I could not speak with conviction? My brother was going on a mission at the same time, and my parents, who were of very modest means, pledged themselves to our financial support.
When I went for my interview with the stake president, he surprised me by suggesting that I remain at home until my older brother returned—to lessen the financial burden on my parents. Greatly disappointed, I returned home to relay this sad advice to my father, normally a quiet, soft-spoken man. My father was distressed. He expressed strongly held feelings that I should go at the same time as my brother, and that the Lord would help us to meet the financial obligation. He put on his coat and announced that he was going to talk with the stake president. “You are going on a mission—and you are going now!” he said with conviction. Before he left, he wanted us all to kneel in family prayer. My father uttered a simple prayer, expressing thanks for blessings, and asking for help in his talk with the stake president and for help for his sons as they prepared to leave for the mission field.
As I listened with faith to that prayer and tried to look into the future, I was spiritually moved beyond anything I can describe. At that instant, I received a testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. I was overcome with a feeling of happiness and excitement, as if to say that my father would be successful in his own little mission, which he was. But I also knew absolutely that I would be able to go on a mission (as I did to New Zealand) and testify with honesty and certainty to anyone who would listen to me. It was an enormously satisfying experience. My previous anxieties about being a missionary without conviction were gone. The Lord had answered my prayers—although in a way that I had not expected. As for my parents—they successfully supported their two sons as missionaries for two years and prospered financially.

As I learned more about my duties[12] in the church, I was called to serve a mission. At first, I resisted the promptings to serve a mission because I thought I was too inexperienced to serve. One day as I was rationalizing my decision not to serve a mission to a friend of mine, J.C. Jackson, he merely said, "President Kimball has said that every worthy male member of the church should serve a mission." A short time later, I was called to serve in the Peru Lima North mission. When I opened my call, my mother asked me where that was, and I replied that I did not know. She said, "Well, you aren't going because I don't know where it is." So, a friend of mine who was there when I opened the letter found Peru on our globe, and then my Mom said, "Well, you still aren't going because that is too far away." I said, "Mom, this is from President Kimball." She said, "I know. But you still aren't going." At that point I started to wonder about serving a mission because things weren't starting off very well. So, I called my home teacher, Gil Greer. Come to find out, he had served in the exact same mission! I testify that the Lord is involved in the very details of our lives.[13] Brother Greer came over later that evening and reassured my mother that her son would be okay as he served the Lord as a full-time missionary.

Another time, Kim and Christy’s 13-year-old cousin and her parents dropped in unannounced from Los Angeles.

“They invited us out to dinner and we talked about the Church,” Christy said. “Our cousin seemed really interested, and her parents said it was okay for her to listen to the missionaries.”

Kim told about a home evening during which the missionaries taught about Christ, baptism, and temple work. “She was excited about her family being sealed together,” Kim said.

Now the cousin is being baptized. “And she’s working on her parents too,” Christy said.

“It doesn’t just have to be adults who are responsible for getting their families sealed,” Kim said. “Share the gospel with children and teenagers, and their parents may get interested too.”

Each worshipper at the conference could extract their own personally satisfying and needed messages from the talks, but I got mine in three words that took me back to a previous time. A young man whose beginnings in the Church had not been auspicious or helpful and who said he knew nothing about the gospel had been sent to me for help in learning about it. I asked him how he would like to go about learning or where he would like to start. He said that he didn’t know enough to know, so how about starting with the alphabet. I said, “Okay, we’ll start with the A’s.” And in the conference this time, those three A’s that I talked to him about came immediately to the fore: atonement, agency, and accountability.

It was Saturday morning. To Greg that meant cartoons on TV. He woke up early, even before his father and mother or his older brother Tony were up. Tiptoeing into the living room, he turned the TV on low so he wouldn’t wake anyone. He loved to see the strong, brave heroes fight the monsters who tried to wreck the world.
Tony woke up and asked Greg if he wanted to go outside and play baseball, but Greg said, “No, I want to see the end of this show.” But when that show was finished, an even better one came on the screen.
When his father woke up, he asked Greg if he wanted to help him work on the car, but Greg answered, “Not now. This is my favorite show.”
And after that show, there was one that seemed even better than the first two.
Breakfast over, his mother asked him if he wanted to go shopping with her, but Greg replied, “No, I’d rather stay and see this show.”
“If you don’t watch out,” his mother warned, “you’ll turn into a TV set.”
But Greg didn’t pay much attention to her because he was watching the adventures of Captain Plastic, a hero who could turn himself into any shape he wanted to be.
I wish Dad were Captain Plastic, Greg thought. And I wish Mom were Wonder Woman and could stop bullets with her belt. And I wish life were more like it is on TV. Then he curled up in the large rocking chair …
The next thing Greg knew, his father jumped into the living room wearing a red cape and blue tights with a big letter P on his chest. “Hi there, son!” his father said, hanging from the ceiling like a lamp. In fact, he looked like a lamp.
“Why are you wearing that funny suit and hanging upside down from the ceiling?” Greg asked.
“Because I’m Captain Plastic!” his father said proudly, still looking like a lamp.
“No, you’re not,” Greg laughed. “You’re my dad.”
“Well, to you I’m your dad, but to the world I’m Captain Plastic.” And with that, his father came down from the ceiling and turned into a piano. “I can fly to London and back faster than you can say, ‘Where’d he go?’ But today,” his father said, changing back to Captain Plastic, “I have a cold.”
“You should go to bed and get plenty of rest,” advised Greg, remembering the TV commercials.
“Well, yes, but when Captain Plastic—the world’s strongest man—gets a cold, it’s even more of a problem because when I …”
His father sucked in his breath before letting out a great big sneeze, “Aaaaa-choo!” And his breath blew a hole through one wall of the house.
“You see what I mean?” his father asked. “That’s what happens when Captain Plastic gets a cold. Boy! I’m sorry about the wall. It was one of my favorite walls too. Well, I guess we’ll just have to put a big window there.”
Then his father looked like he was going to sneeze again. “Dad, you’d better go outside.” Greg warned. “If you sneeze one more time, you’ll wreck our whole house.”
“I know, but I hate to go outside and just sit on the porch. Some people make fun of me when I’m wearing my Captain Plastic costume.”
“Then turn yourself into something else,” Greg suggested.
“OK. I’ll turn myself into a big truck.” And with that, his father marched outside, sat down in the driveway, and became a giant truck.
Greg went outside and walked around the truck, admiring its glistening chrome hubcaps and its bright, metallic color.
Dad would love to drive a truck like this, Greg thought. But then he remembered that his dad was the truck.
Greg became confused trying to figure out what was happening. A few minutes later his mother came home from the store. “Whose truck is that in the driveway?” she asked.
“That’s not a truck—that’s Dad,” Greg told her.
“I thought so,” his mother said. “When I walked by, it sneezed.”
“I hope you weren’t hurt,” Greg said.
“Oh, no, but the sneeze broke our elm tree in two. Poor Dad has such a bad cold.”
“What did you get at the store?” Greg asked his mother.
“I thought you’d never ask!” his mother shouted. Suddenly in the house—Greg didn’t know how it happened—there was a banjo player and a drummer and a man with a large TV camera aimed at his mother. And his mother, who usually didn’t even dress up for Halloween, was dressed like a giant potato. “Hey, kids! Be the first in your neighborhood to have your very own potato!”
“A potato?” Greg asked.
“Sure! A potato is so much fun! Look, you can throw a potato just like a ball!” His mother tossed a potato through the hole in the wall. “Do you think that’s all you can do with a potato?” she sang in time with the banjo player. “No, sir! Why, you can boil potatoes and then take them out of the water and step all over them. Do you know what we call that? We call that smashed potatoes!” His mother jumped up and down on a pile of potatoes and the banjo player and drummer did a fast song and the cameraman caught all the action with his camera.
“Are you really my mom?” Greg asked when they stopped.
“Well, to you I’m your mom, but to the world I’m Potato Woman!”
“If you’re not my mom,” Greg said, “you’d better get those smashed potatoes cleaned up, because my mom doesn’t like messes in her house.”
“Do you think that’s all you can do with potatoes?” his mother sang, looking into the TV camera. “No, sir! You can put them in a glass of water for a few days and they’ll grow long roots. Very scary!”
Suddenly a giant potato with long arms sticking out of its body and with many eyes was slithering toward him.
“Potato Woman to the rescue!” his mother shouted. She took out a long, thin rope and lassoed the potato monster and flung it outside through the hole in the wall.
Just then Tony came into the room wearing a magician’s costume. “Hey, kids! Tired of the same old boring outdoors? The same old blue sky? And why do the trees always have to be green? It’s so boring. Right?”
“I like blue sky,” Greg said.
“Well, since you don’t want to go outside and play, we are changing things around. Now we bring you the new and improved orange sky!” Suddenly the sky turned a bright orange color. Greg thought it looked awful.
“And since you were so bored with the same green trees and grass,” his brother continued, “we now bring you the super sensation of the year—purple trees and purple grass!”
It looked horrible! Everything was the wrong color. “I think blue is the best color for the sky,” Greg told his brother.
“Well, thanks a lot!” Tony said disgustedly. “We went to plenty of work just to turn the sky orange and the trees purple because you didn’t like the color they were.”
“What makes you think I didn’t like the colors they were?” Greg asked.
“Because you wouldn’t go outside this morning to see them.”
Just then, his father the truck sneezed and knocked over three telephone poles. Greg ran outside to watch them crash to the ground. “Sorry,” the truck said.
“Dad, I don’t want you to be Captain Plastic anymore! You’re wrecking everything!”
“If you think this is bad, wait until I have the hiccups,” the truck said.
“Hey, kids!” his mother sang, now outside with the banjo player and drummer and cameraman. “When you’re hungry, ask your mom for chocolate covered potatoes!”
“I’m hungry now,” Greg wailed, “and I just want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!”
“Oh, that’s so boring!” his mother exclaimed. “Here, try some super soup! It’s so thick that you can eat it like a lollipop. Here, try some!” His mother thrust the lollipop into Greg’s hand. “This will turn you into Plastic Boy, like your father. You’ll be the world’s strongest boy!
“I hope you don’t get a cold,” the blue truck moaned. “If you sneeze in school, you’ll turn your desk into a box of toothpicks.”
“I don’t want to be the world’s strongest boy! I don’t want to be Plastic Boy! I want everything to be the way it was before.”
“At least try it for a minute,” his father enticed. “Just take a lick of this super soup and think about becoming something. I know—think about becoming a TV set!”
Greg was sure he wouldn’t like that. But he took a lick of the soup lollipop and thought about being a nice color TV.
And before long he was a 17-inch color TV!
“A chip off the old block!” his father exclaimed proudly, standing next to his son and turning himself into a 27-inch color TV.
“I told you that if you watched too much TV, you’d turn into one,” his mother reminded Greg.
His father turned himself back into Captain Plastic again, put his arm around Greg, and picked him up in his arms. Of course, Greg was still a TV set. “Oh, look,” his father said, “he has an automatic channel selector.” Then his father looked like he was going to sneeze again …
“Dad, don’t sneeze!” Greg yelled through his TV speaker.
“Aaaaaa …” his father again breathed in sharply, raising his head high into the air.
“Dad, if you’re going to sneeze, at least put me down!”
“Aaaaaa … CHOO!”
When his father sneezed, he threw his arms into the air, tossing Greg high into the sky. Above the house and trees he rose, then above the mountains and even higher until he was above the clouds. A second later he zoomed past a large jet plane and saw the surprised looks of the passengers at seeing a 17-inch color TV set flying past them in the air.
I’d better think about being a plane, reasoned Greg. He knew that before long he would begin falling back toward the ground. And just then he did start back down. Before long he was below the clouds again, and he could see the purple ground coming toward him very fast. So he thought and he thought about being a plane until his feet turned into airplane wheels. I need wings most of all, he decided, now falling down below the mountains. But the wings were the hardest of all to think, and he was still falling … downward …
And then he suddenly woke up! He ran into the kitchen where his mother was making him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and he kissed her. “Mom, I’m glad you aren’t Potato Woman.”
“What did you say?” his mother asked.
Next he ran into the garage where his father was working on the car. “Dad. I’m glad you’re not a truck!”
“What did you say?” his father asked.
Then he ran outside and looked around. The sky was a brilliant blue and the trees were a cool green and Greg rejoiced in their beauty.
That afternoon Greg played baseball with Tony.
“Aren’t you glad the sky is blue?” Greg asked, lying back in the green grass and looking at the beautiful blue sky dotted with lacy clouds.
“I don’t know,” Tony said. “I’ve never thought about it much before. What other color could it be?”
“Orange,” Greg said, remembering his dream, “with ugly purple trees.”
And the next Saturday morning, Greg didn’t watch much TV. He was too busy playing outside!

Four days later, Brigham Young met one last time with the apostles in the Nauvoo temple.24 Though the temple as a whole remained undedicated, they had already dedicated its attic and administered the endowment there to more than five thousand eager Saints. They had also sealed approximately thirteen hundred couples for time and eternity.25 Some of these sealings were plural marriages, which a few faithful Saints had begun practicing privately in Nauvoo following a principle the Lord had revealed to Joseph Smith in the early 1830s.26
Brigham had planned to stop administering ordinances on February 3, the day before the first wagons left the city, but Saints had thronged the temple all day, anxious to receive the ordinances before their departure. At first, Brigham had dismissed them. “We shall build more temples and have further opportunities to receive the blessings of the Lord,” he had insisted. “In this temple we have been abundantly rewarded, if we receive no more.”
Expecting the crowd to disperse, Brigham had started to walk home. But he had not gone far before he returned and found the temple overflowing with people hungering and thirsting for the word of the Lord. That day, 295 more Saints had received their temple blessings.27
Now, with the ordinance work of the temple completed, the apostles knelt around the altar of the temple and prayed for a safe journey west. No one could tell what trials they might face in the weeks and months to come. Guidebooks and maps described unmarked trails for much of the way to the mountains. Rivers and streams were abundant along the way, and plenty of buffalo and game animals roamed the plains. But the terrain was still unlike anything the Saints had ever traveled before.28
Unwilling to leave anyone in danger, the Saints had covenanted together to help anyone who wanted to go west—especially the poor, sick, or widowed. “If you will be faithful to your covenant,” Brigham had promised the Saints in the temple at the October conference, “the great God will shower down means upon this people to accomplish it to the very letter.”29
On February 15, the burden of this covenant weighed heavily on Brigham as he crossed the Mississippi. That afternoon, he pushed and pulled wagons up a snowy, muddy hill four miles west of the river. When only a few hours of daylight remained before evening would darken the way ahead, Brigham remained determined not to rest until every Latter-day Saint wagon west of the river arrived safely at Sugar Creek.30
By now, the plan to send a small advance company ahead to the mountains that year was already delayed. Brigham and other Church leaders had left the city later than planned, and some Saints—ignoring counsel to stay in Nauvoo—had crossed the river and camped with the advance company at Sugar Creek. After fleeing the city so quickly, many families on the trail were disorganized, ill-equipped, and underprepared.
Brigham did not yet know what to do. These Saints would surely slow the others down. But he would not send these Saints back to the city now that they had already left. In his mind, Nauvoo had become a prison, no place for the people of God. The road west was freedom.
He and the Twelve would simply have to press forward, trusting that the Lord would help them find a solution.31

I had an experience as a high counselor where I was asked to help set apart new leaders in a high priest group. It was one of those moments where it was too late to consult a book for the proper words and process. I had been present at many setting aparts but had never done it myself. I was nervous as I listened carefully to the stake president set apart the group leader. Now it was my turn to set apart one of the counselors. Very nervous, with halting and a few stumbles, I made it through the blessing.

What I didn't expect to discover was a lesson in priesthood leadership, but I did. I learned it through the actions of the good stake president. Throughout the blessing, the stake president stood next to me as I did my best. I was worried that the stake president would be unhappy with my current skill level. However, he remained calm, didn't jump in and correct, and didn't seem nervous. He didn't expect me to be perfect. His calmness and action let me know that my best was good enough.

His inferred confidence provided an opportunity to grow.

You may remember the delightful children’s story A Birthday for Frances (Russell Hoban [New York: Harper and Row, 1976]) and how Frances struggled to give her little sister Gloria a chocolate “Chompo Bar,” which she squeezed lovingly and longingly all the way home from the store. We’ve all been there with Frances. I was taught the lesson Frances had to learn by my life in a large family. In my family you had only a one-in-15 chance that the birthday was going to be yours. So we learned to take pleasure in the birthdays and good things that happened to our siblings. We developed a tradition of “oohing and aahing” and cheering for the one opening presents on birthdays or Christmas. My dad drummed into us this saying: “Learn to rejoice in the successes of others!”

Similarly Paul taught that we should “rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep” (Romans 12:15). Most of us are better at the latter than the former—better at sympathizing for misfortune than celebrating good fortune.

That fall, in 1833, Brigham and Brother Kimball sold their properties, and moved to Kirtland to be with the Prophet. When they arrived in Kirtland, they found that many of the men were going to Cleveland, Ohio, for the winter to earn money in the city. Brigham said, “I’m not going. I came to be with the Prophet and I intend to stay.” Even though there weren’t many job opportunities in Kirtland, he did some carpentry work now and then.
But whatever he was doing, Brigham would lay down his tools to listen whenever the Prophet addressed a group or led a discussion. He never missed an opportunity to hear the Prophet speak.

My piano teacher is not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but she knows that some of our members are called to play the organ. One time she encouraged me to audition for a scholarship to learn the organ. I decided to audition so that I could learn to play the organ in order to serve in church.
The morning of the audition, I woke up extremely sick. My mom said our family would be praying for me. When we got to the audition, my dad told the judges I wasn’t feeling very well. Before I began playing, I said a little prayer in my heart. I asked Heavenly Father for His help, especially if He wanted me to play the organ at church. As I began to play I felt as if someone else was playing. I didn’t feel sick but instead was just amazed to watch my fingers move. Before I knew it, I’d finished all my songs, and I don’t remember making any mistakes.
As soon as I got off the bench, the sickness returned and my dad took me home to rest. I slept all day until my mom woke me up that evening to tell me I’d won the scholarship. I know Heavenly Father wanted me to learn to play the organ and listened to my prayer. I’ve truly felt the Lord’s hand in my life. I’m so grateful for the talents He has blessed me with, because as I share them and use them to serve, He strengthens and blesses me.

One of the talks that has had an everlasting impression on me is one given in a Saturday evening session of a stake conference years ago. The talk was given by a young mother. Here’s what she said: “I have been doing the genealogy of my great-grandfather. He and his large family of sons and daughters were members of the Church.
“My great-grandfather,” she said, “left church one Sunday with his family, and they never returned—no indication why.”
She then said, “In my research, I have found that my great-grandfather has over 1,000 descendants.”
And then she said, and this is the part I have not been able to forget, “Of those 1,000 descendants, I am the only one active in the Church today.”
As she said these words, I found myself thinking, “Is it only 1,000, or could it be more?”
The answer is apparent. The spiritual influence that family might have had on their neighbors and friends did not happen. None of his sons nor any of his daughters served as missionaries, and those they would have touched with their testimonies were not baptized, and those who were not baptized did not go on missions. Yes, there are probably many thousands who are not in the Church today, and not in this very meeting, because of that great-grandfather’s decision.
As I heard her talk I found myself thinking, “What a tragedy! Perhaps if I had been there at that time, I could have said something to the father, to the family, to the priesthood leaders that might have helped to prevent such a calamity to their family and to so many in the future generations that would follow.”

As a missionary in Chile, I learned that investigators’ conversion is greatly helped by the involvement of ward members. My companions and I found out quickly that ward members were essential in reactivation and in keeping recent converts active.
In one area, we had been working with a family for many months. They had once been very strong in the Church but had fallen away from activity. The family didn’t feel as though the ward members cared whether or not they attended Church or other activities. As missionaries, we struggled to get the members excited about reactivation. They were unwilling to do even simple things like ask the family to sit with them at church, visit them, or invite them to activities.
In another area, however, the ward members seemed as excited about missionary work as the missionaries. The members were so involved and were always willing to help us find and keep investigators. After the members met our investigators, they practically took over. They invited the investigators or less-active members to every activity and offered to pick them up for church. Many times investigators would tell us how welcome they felt and how they didn’t feel like just another number because the members took such a personal interest in them.
I learned how important it is that bonds of fellowship in the gospel be formed between ward members. As missionaries, we come and go. But the association with ward members lasts much longer.

It was the day of my first race and I had come early to register and stretch out. I planned to run the 5K alone because I wasn’t very fast.
Then I saw the first counselor in the bishopric of my college ward, an experienced runner, among the gathering crowd. Just as he recognized me, the officials called all runners to the starting line. He asked if I was running with anyone. I said I wasn’t and admitted that, although I had been training for two months, all I hoped for was to finish the race. He offered to run with me and I accepted. I was delighted to have some company.
The gun sounded and we started off slowly. He was by my side the entire time. We talked about future races, the upcoming term in school, and his past races. He told me how he had used the “Boy Scout pace” to finish his first few races. He would run 50 steps, then walk 25 steps, until he could run the entire distance. It sounded strange to me, but since he was a much more experienced runner, I agreed as I got tired to finish the race this way.
As we rounded the final corner it was obvious that we were the last two runners. I sprinted to the finish line. But my running companion must have sensed my fear of being the last runner because he stayed behind. When we met after the race, he smiled and congratulated me on a good run.
I was touched that he was willing to take last place, so I wouldn’t have to. My ward leader taught me a lot about humility, service, and the pure love of Christ during that short race. Moroni’s words now have greater meaning for me when I read, “And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own. … Wherefore … if ye have not charity, ye are nothing, for charity never faileth” (Moro. 7:45–46).

I have always believed in the power of prayer. When my family first moved to a new city, I had to wait to start school for two months until a new semester began. Although I enjoyed spending time with my family, I wanted a good friend with the same beliefs I have. I eventually met all of my neighbors, and although some were the same age, they didn’t have the same standards. When I was able to go to school, I met a lot of kids my age and made some friends.
One time I went out for dinner with friends. After dinner some of them left, but the rest still wanted to do something and decided they wanted to go drink. They invited me, but I told them no. I felt even more lonesome. I went home that night and prayed to find a good friend.
A few weeks later I went out to dinner with friends again and made it clear that I wouldn’t drink with them. After dinner all but one other person left to go drinking. We started to talk and found that we had the same standards—standards we kept by personal choice. I know that Heavenly Father always answers prayers.

Most of our family’s struggles were because of my father. He was angry and bitter, and our world at home was a dark place. I was very scared of him. Everything was uncertain and unpredictable when my father was around. I could feel darkness surrounding me, even at a young age. I felt so afraid and alone. It was hard to be home. I wanted a father who loved me, who took care of me and protected me. But I felt none of those things from my earthly father.
I sought refuge by going to church whenever he would let me. I loved to be in the chapel because it seemed like such a safe place. I was nervous, hesitant, and unsure about being close to my Heavenly Father because I wasn’t sure what He was really like. I learned in church that I had another heavenly friend who loved me. So I focused on Jesus Christ and His love for me. I loved Him because my Young Women leaders loved Him. I saw how happy they were when they talked about Him. I tried hard to keep the commandments and do all that He wanted me to do.
When our youth group was planning to do baptisms for the dead, I wondered what it would be like in my Heavenly Father’s house. With great anticipation, I stepped inside the Los Angeles California Temple. I was overwhelmed at the feeling of peace there. Nothing could have been more opposite from my earthly home. I almost didn’t dare breathe for fear the feeling would go away. But it was constant and calm.
I loved being in the temple. In His house, I did not need to be afraid. It was safe, calm, peaceful, and comforting. I wanted to live there. Heavenly Father’s house was full of love. I was so happy. I wanted to hold on to that feeling and promised myself that I would be worthy to come back to His house again.
Through my Church and temple experiences, I learned that Heavenly Father is a loving father. He cares about me and is aware of my needs—both physical and spiritual.

I would, however, like to tell you the best inspiration story I know, which is a football story about a young man playing fullback for the University of Oklahoma. The University of Oklahoma had gone ten years without losing a conference football game, had gone forty-seven straight games without losing to anyone; Army, Navy, Notre Dame, Texas, Alabama—you name the team, they played them and beat them. But on this particular day, while playing the University of Nebraska at Norman, Oklahoma, it looked as if they were going to be beaten. It was late in the game, they had the ball deep in their own territory, and they were behind. The winning streak was going to go down the drain, but in a second down and long-yardage situation the ball was handed off to the tailback, a young man named Billy Vessels, who ran sixty-seven yards for a touchdown that snatched victory from defeat. His run prolonged that great winning streak. All of the news media said, “That touchdown run was, without a doubt, the best run in the history of Oklahoma football and maybe in the history of football per se.”

On Monday, when the coaches looked at the film, they found that something strange had happened on this particular play. Billy Vessels did make a great run, but the play went differently than they had thought. The quarterback, Claude Arnold, took the snap from center and handed off to Vessels, the tailback, who was going to run around the right end. The fullback was a boy named Leon Heath; he wore number 40 on his jersey. His job on this play was to hook the end, to block him in, so Vessels could run around him. As the ball was snapped, the end came across too far. The average player would have thought, “Get back over there. The coach said you’d be right there. Get over there.” Players move around from time to time, and they are not always located where we coaches draw them on the board. Instead of trying to hook the end, Heath just drove him out of the play, and Vessels cut inside, got around the corner, and eventually was confronted by the cornerback. Vessels made a quick left, cut behind the line of scrimmage, and ran into the offside linebacker. What a hit! Two great athletes going full speed. Vessels was struggling to stay on his feet and eventually to break the tackle. Just when it looked as if he were going down, into the film came number 40, the man who had just blocked the end. Heath got a shoulder pad into the linebacker and knocked him off the tackle. Vessels spun free, balanced on his hand, hit for the sidelines and then headed for the tall grass of the end zone, which was about sixty yards away. Billy Vessels—six foot two, 210 pounds of Heisman-trophy-winning, All-American tailback—could run like the wind. As he was on his way to the end zone, here came the weakside safety, the man that plays on the weak side of the formation. You could just see that he was going to get Vessels on about the fifteen-yard line. When Vessels got to the twenty-five, he had to make up his mind what he was going to do—run over him, stop, call time, say, “King’s x,” or something else. Just as he had to make up his mind, into the film came number 40, Leon Heath, moving like a freight train. He hit that safety, put him about eight rows up in the grandstand, and Vessels walked into the end zone for the greatest run in the history of Oklahoma football.

That’s inspiration. That’s an inspiring kind of a performance. If you and I are going to get where we would like to get eventually, we had better not only complete that first assignment but also go get a linebacker. And if we really want an exalted hereafter, we had better hitch up our belts and go get the safety.

“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment” (D&C 121:7).
This verse also helped me make a difficult decision. My friend and I had been inseparable for five years. We played sports together, went on trips together, and hung out every weekend. But she began hanging out with an older group of friends who I didn’t want to be around. In the end she made me choose between having her as a friend or sticking to my beliefs regarding the Word of Wisdom and the law of chastity. I was devastated. I never knew that standing up for what I believed could be so hard. But I chose to make new friends, always keeping in mind Heavenly Father’s promise to Joseph Smith that everything would work out all right.