Gospel Story Finder

My wife and I had been serving as full-time missionaries in the Caribbean Area for a few months and enjoyed the opportunity to labor there. We loved the Latter-day Saints we had met and were lifted by their faith and friendliness. Neither one of us knew Spanish before our assignment and had worked hard to understand and communicate in this new language. Despite these efforts, we continued to struggle to with Spanish.
As I was asking myself why I was assigned to an area where I could not communicate with others, I remembered something about the temple we served at near our home. In this temple there is a small chapel next to the baptismal font and at the front of it are several large glass panes that extend from the floor to the ceiling, allowing people to watch as ordinances are being performed. One day I noticed an imperfection in one of the panes of glass and wondered why this imperfect pane of glass was still there. I could not detect any flaws in the other panes and wondered why this one was allowed to remain.
As I reflected on this, the thought came to my mind that even though it had an imperfection, the pane of glass was still performing the function it was asked to do, allow people to view ordinances. People in the chapel would look past the imperfection and be grateful that the pane of glass was doing what it had been asked to do, even though it was not perfect.
In 1995, President Russell M. Nelson taught us about being perfect. While he confirmed the Lord’s commandment to be perfect 1 , he reminded us that to become perfect as Christ is perfect is not something that will come easily, quickly, or even in this life. He encouraged us to “do the best we can and try to improve each day. When our imperfections appear, we can keep trying to correct them. We can be more forgiving of flaws in ourselves and among those we love.” 2
These thoughts encourage me to keep trying, despite the inability to communicate. Perhaps, like the pane of glass, people that I serve will see past my imperfections and be helped by the service provided.

I guess I knew it would happen sooner or later. You know, have one of those experiences you only hear about in Sunday School or seminary lessons—the “what would you do if …” kind. It happened to me during the summer following my high school graduation.
One evening, two friends and I went to see a movie. It was almost midnight when the movie let out. On the way to the parking lot, one of my friends suggested we head to another theater to watch an X-rated movie scheduled to begin about 30 minutes later. My other friend quickly agreed.
I wasn’t tempted to go; I knew I would not go. But I was not sure how I would get out of going. One excuse after another flashed through my mind. None of them sounded convincing to me, and I was sure they would not convince my friends. I thought about saying I wasn’t feeling well—and at that point, I wasn’t! In the end, I simply said I did not want to go.
My friends tried their best to persuade me. Among other things, they said if they took me all the way home, they would be late to the other movie. Thinking fast, I told them I had a friend who lived just around the corner. I said they could take me there.
“What friend?” they asked.
“Just a guy I know,” I answered.
“Who is he, and what’s his name?”
“His name is Bill.” I was sure my friends were not buying this. I cleared my throat and swallowed hard.
They persisted. “Ah, he won’t be up this late. Just come with us,” they said.
“He’ll be up,” I said, hoping I was right.
My friends finally agreed to drive by Bill’s home, and if the lights were on they would stop and let me out. Otherwise, they were taking me with them.
A few minutes later, we arrived at Bill’s house. What a relief! The lights were on. I got out of the car and went to the door. My friends waited to see if someone would answer. I knocked, and after what seemed like an eternity, Bill opened the door. I quickly explained what was happening and asked if I could call my dad and wait inside for him to pick me up. Bill agreed and practically pulled me into the house as I waved my friends on their way.
While we waited for my dad, Bill told me he had decided to watch television for a few minutes before going to bed. “Otherwise,” he said, “I would have been in bed a long time ago.”
It wasn’t long before my dad came to take me home. As we drove, my dad said if I were ever in trouble like that again, he would drive across the state in the middle of the night to get me out of the situation.
That’s probably a pretty good place to end one of these Sunday School stories. But here’s just one more thing. You see, before that night I had never referred to my friend Bill Cantrell by his first name. I had always called him Bishop Cantrell.

One of those more recently called leaders is Bárdur Á. Gunnarsson, current president of the Reykjavík Branch. He, too, first heard of the Church in 1982, but that was a time in his life when his thoughts were far from religion. Even though his lifestyle was not so different from most other young men in his country, he had many obstacles to overcome. “I tried several times to quit smoking and drinking, but I didn’t have the strength to do it,” Bárdur recalls. He had a family, but it was one that began without the blessing of a marriage ceremony. Finally, four years after the elders first knocked on his door, his desire to unite his family and to seek forgiveness led him to be married to Ólöf Bjarnadóttir, the mother of his three daughters. Ólöf was not ready to be baptized at that time, but she did give her consent for him to take their three little girls to church every Sunday. “My patriarchal blessing told me I would go to the temple with my wife and children, and I worked very hard to make this happen,” said Bárdur.

Bárdur’s dream of uniting his family began to come true in 1994 when word was received that the Icelandic temple ceremony was scheduled to be recorded in the Salt Lake Temple. In May of that year, Ólöf accompanied him to Salt Lake City, along with the small group who had been called to make the recording. While there, surrounded by their friends, Bárdur baptized his wife in the baptistry of the Salt Lake Tabernacle. They were sealed in the London Temple one year later.

Since graduation from university my wife and I have lived our entire married life in the mission field. We have traveled the world as part of our business career. In the earlier years of our career, to be a nondrinking businessman was an oddity—and not a well-accepted one either. Yet, with a few exceptions, once people understood our principles and standards and our desire to stay true to them, they respected us for them.

I could recite dozens of examples of my personal experiences on this subject. I hope you will indulge me with just one.

More than a decade ago I was invited to join a small group of chairmen and presidents of companies from around the world to form a council to advise the mayor of a very large city outside the United States. Our charge was to help him achieve world status for his city as a world-class financial center and at the same time upgrade the life and opportunities for its citizens. I was one of three heads of companies from the United States invited to join this new council. At one point I served for two years as chairman of the council.

In the meantime the mayor and I had become good friends. According to custom, the chairman of the council would join the mayor at the beginning of a major annual banquet to offer reciprocal toasts. As I stood to do so with a glass of water in hand, to my surprise the mayor explained to this large gathering that my toast would be with water. And then to my amazement he went on to make some very complimentary remarks about my standards and personal ethics.

Have the courage to be different when it is required of you to be true to the standards of the Church. You will be respected for it. And if occasionally you are not, you need not worry, because that is not the kind of association you will want or need in your future.

During the period 1959 to 1962, I had the privilege to preside over the Canadian Mission, with headquarters in Toronto, Canada. There Sister Monson and I had the wonderful opportunity of working with 450 of the finest young men and young women in all the world. From that particular experience I should like to relate an experience that came to Sister Monson that had far-reaching significance. One Sunday she was the only person in a usually very busy mission home. The telephone rang, and the person who was on the other end of the line spoke with a Dutch accent and asked the question, “Is this the headquarters of the Mormon Church?” Sister Monson assured her that it was as far as Toronto was concerned, and then she said, “May I help you?” The party on the line said: “Yes. We have come from our native Holland, where we’ve had an opportunity to learn something about the Mormons. We’d like to know more.” Sister Monson, being a good missionary, said, “We can help you.” Then the lovely lady who had called said, “We have chicken pox in our home; and if you could wait until the children are better, we’d love to have the missionaries call.” Sister Monson said that she would arrange this, and that terminated the conversation.
Excitedly she told the two missionaries on our staff, “Here is a golden referral,” and the missionaries agreed. Then, as some missionaries do, they procrastinated calling upon the family. Days became weeks, and the weeks became several. Sister Monson would say, “Are you going to call on that Dutch family tonight, elders?” And they would respond, “Well, we’re too busy tonight, but we’re going to get around to it.” After a few more days Sister Monson would say, “What about my Dutch family? Are you going to call on them tonight?” Again the reply, “Well, we’re too busy tonight, but we’re going to work it into our schedule.” Finally Sister Monson said, “If you aren’t able to call on the Dutch family tonight, my husband and I are going to call on the family,” and the elders replied, “Well, we’ll work it into our schedule tonight.”
And thus they called on a lovely family. They taught them the gospel. Each person in the family became a member of the Church. The family was the Jacob de Jager family. Brother de Jager became the president of an elders quorum. His employer, the gigantic Phillips Company, then transferred him to Mexico, where he served the Church with distinction. Later he became the counselor to several mission presidents in Holland; he then became a Regional Representative of the Twelve; he then became a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy, serving as the executive administrator of the work in Southeast Asia.
I ask the question: Was it an important decision that was made on the part of the missionaries to call on the de Jagers? Was it an important decision for Sister Monson to say, “Tonight is the night or else!” Was it an important decision for the de Jagers to telephone mission headquarters in Toronto, Canada, and say, “Could we have the missionaries come to our home?” I bear testimony that these decisions had eternal consequences, not only for the de Jagers, but for many other people as well, for here is a man who can teach the gospel in English, in Dutch, in German, in Spanish, and in Indonesian, and he now is learning to preach the gospel in Chinese. I ask the question, “What will be our faith?”

Holiness to the Lord in everyday life looks like a young returning missionary who learned to let God prevail in his life. Earlier, when asked to bless someone who was very sick, this missionary said, “I have faith; I will bless him to recover. Yet,” the returning missionary says, “I learned in that moment to pray not for what I wanted but for what the Lord knew the person needed. I blessed the brother with peace and comfort. He later passed away peacefully.”

An example of a child listening happened in a fabric store. The store was crowded with shoppers when it became obvious to everyone that a mother was panicked because she had lost her young son. At first, she was calling his name. “Connor,” she would say as she briskly walked around the store. As time passed, her voice got louder and more frantic. Soon the store security officers were notified, and everyone in the store was involved in looking for the child. Several minutes passed with no success of finding him. Connor’s mother, understandably, was becoming more frantic by the minute and was rapidly yelling his name over and over again.
One patron, after saying a silent prayer, had the thought that Connor may be frightened as he listened to his mother scream his name. She mentioned this to another woman involved in the search, and they quickly made a plan. Together they began to walk between the tables of fabric, quietly repeating the words “Connor, if you can hear my voice, say, ‘Here I am.’” As they walked slowly toward the back of the store repeating that phrase, sure enough, they heard a timid, soft voice say, “Here I am.” Connor was hiding between the bolts of fabric under a table. It was a voice of perfect mildness that encouraged Connor to respond.

This last experience testifies of the peace that our Father in Heaven can give to those left behind:
“At the time of my mother’s suicide, she had lost her earthly companion, was in ill health, and did not accept help freely. She had told my aunt that she could cope with the loss of my father or the difficulties she was having with her health, but that she couldn’t handle both. That was two days before she died. I believe she considered suicide very soon after my father was killed in an automobile accident. I was concerned enough to discuss the possibility with her doctor, but no action was taken. The reason for this, I believe, is the lack of understanding we have as a society in dealing with these types of problems.
“I believe the Lord will consider each case separately and judge the circumstances of each individual. I have sincerely sought direction from our Father in Heaven to help me understand the nature of suicide. And I have come to know, as well as anything else that I know from God, that these people have a place in the kingdom of our Father, and it is not one of darkness or despair, but one where they can receive comfort and experience serenity.”

When I first visited Czechoslovakia, long before the people there had freedom, I was met by Jiri Snederfler and his wife, Olga. I went to their home, which is where the Prague Branch of the Church met. On the walls were picture after picture of the Salt Lake Temple. I said to Sister Snederfler, “Your husband must truly love the temple,” and she said, “I, too; I, too.”
She brought out an album of pictures of the missionaries who were serving there in 1950, when their government made the mission there close. As she held up each photograph, she said, “Wonderful boy, wonderful boy!”
Brother Snederfler has always been willing to stand up for the gospel. When the Church wanted the Czechoslovakian government to again recognize it officially, the Communist leaders told us, “Don’t send an American or any other foreigner. Send a citizen of Czechoslovakia.” That was frightening because to admit then that you were a leader of any church meant that you might be thrown into prison!
Brother Snederfler was the one chosen to go to his government. He later told me that he had asked for the prayers of the branch members. Then he went to Olga and said, “I love you. I don’t know when—or if—I’ll be back. But I love the gospel, and I must follow my Savior.” With that spirit of faith and devotion, he went to his government leaders and told them that he was the leader of the Church there and that he wanted them to again recognize it officially.
Meanwhile, Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles had been working very hard to get the needed approval. It came: “Your church is again recognized in Czechoslovakia.”
Brother Snederfler eagerly went to tell Olga and the other stalwart members of the Church there that once again missionaries could come to their country and that they could again worship Heavenly Father in freedom. It was a happy day.
Jiri and Olga Snederfler are now the president and matron of the Freiberg Germany Temple, where faithful members of the Church in Germany, Czechoslovakia, and nearby countries attend. They are happy to find themselves each day in the Lord’s house, which they so dearly love.

Miles practiced magic tricks at home. He did the toothpaste trick one hundred and twenty times. He did the pigeon trick one hundred and fifty times. And he practiced the newspaper trick two hundred times. He felt he was ready to perform in front of his friends.
Miles took his magic kit to school for the talent show. But when it was time for the show to start Miles was scared. He decided that he didn’t want to do his tricks in front of everyone after all, for Miles was afraid of making a mistake. He pulled his invisible magician’s hat down low over his eyes.
The first performer was a boy who played the piano.
I could never do that, Miles thought. I’d play the notes wrong with everyone watching me.
But what about Miles the Mighty? he wondered. Miles swirled his invisible cape onto his shoulders and pretended, I, Miles the Mighty, will be a piano player. Then Miles’s fingers raced along the pretended piano keys until the whole class danced on the ceiling.
Next came a girl dressed like a roly-poly clown. “HO! HO! HO! HA! HA! HA!” she laughed.
Miles shrank into his seat. I could never do that, he thought. I’d lose my stomach stuffing with everyone watching me.
But what about Miles the Mighty? he thought again. Then he waved his invisible magic wand and pretended, I, Miles the Mighty, will turn into a clown. Miles the clown performed a very funny show. The children rolled with laughter on the floor.
Miles took off his invisible hat and cape and set down his invisible wand. He was so worried that his hands were getting wet. And his feet were getting jumpy.
A boy and girl were on stage now. They did acrobatic stunts. Miles felt his stomach churn. I could never do that, he thought. I’d get all tangled up with everyone watching me.
But what about Miles the Mighty? he asked himself, thinking great magical words of encouragement, I, Miles the Mighty, will be an acrobat. He stretched himself into stupendous shapes.
Just then he heard the teacher say, “It’s your turn, Miles.” She smiled at him.
He got up slowly and picked up his magic kit. His legs were wobbling. On the way to the front of the room he got the creepy-crawly shivers. What if I do something wrong? he worried. What if everyone laughs at me? What if I left my balloon at home or my milk or pigeon or newspaper?
On stage Miles opened his magic kit. Everything was there, even his stuffed pigeon. But his legs were still wobbling.
He took out his magician’s cape and hat. When he put them on, Miles the Mighty, magically tall, looked around the room.
He showed them a toothpaste tube. He blew a whistle and out came the toothpaste all by itself. Everyone clapped.
Next he poured milk into a rolled-up newspaper. He started to spill it on the teacher. But she didn’t get wet because the milk disappeared. Everybody whistled.
For his very best trick Miles blew up a balloon. Then he popped it and there sat a pigeon. Everybody cheered.
Miles the Mighty Magician bowed in thanks to all the boys and girls, who had really enjoyed his magic tricks.

October 9, 1846—Sugar CreekA miracle in camp today. We have been living on parched and boiled corn, and drinking muddy river water. Many are ill and all are hungry, but today, flocks of quail suddenly flew into camp, falling on wagons and tables. My brothers were able to catch many in their hands! We had a feast. God has not forgotten us. Our rescuers taught us a new song written by Brother Clayton. The song reflects well how I feel today: “All is well!”

My mind immediately flashed back to our family’s experience 14 years ago. We had 6 children, ages 3 months to 10 years old. It was early August of 2010, and we were moving to Hong Kong. This move required months of planning for our family of eight. We even dressed our family in red shirts so if we lost a child we could point to the others to show people who to look for. Gratefully, we didn’t lose anyone, and our flight arrived in Hong Kong earlier than expected.

Because we were early, we had to wait for our landlord to bring our apartment key. After 28 hours of travel, we were exhausted and sprawled out in the apartment lobby with our 14 pieces of luggage, 10 carry-on bags, 3 strollers, and 6 children. Unfortunately, I was too tired to think of taking a photo, but you can imagine the concerned look on our new neighbors’ faces as they made their way out of the building to work and school that morning!

Despite jet lag, we stayed awake for as long as possible before collapsing early that evening. At 2 a.m. we were awakened by a T-8 level typhoon literally rattling our 16th floor apartment windows so violently that we truly thought they might shatter. When my husband entered the kitchen to get water and flipped on the light switch, cockroaches crawling on cabinets and countertops scattered. He confessed to me weeks later that the only coherent thought he had was, “What have I gotten my family into?!”

Though challenges were expected, there seemed to be a chasm between knowing it would be hard and living the hard. After a few weeks of adjusting to a new school and activities, public transportation with multiple strollers, a few homesick children, frequently translating directions into Cantonese, and even figuring out where to buy diapers, I was exhausted in every conceivable way. I told my husband that I needed to be in the temple. My spirit needed oxygen, and I knew being with the Savior in the temple would strengthen me.

With our three-month-old baby, we headed out for what became an almost two-hour journey to the temple, via taxi, trains, and a bit of walk, on a hot, humid Friday night, in August, in rush-hour traffic, in a city of seven million people.

It was loud and noisy outside, but as soon as we walked through those doors, I wanted to cry. I was home. Even though we were on the other side of the world, we were truly home.

My husband stayed with our baby in the temple foyer while I took the elevator up to participate in initiatory ordinances. Never in my life had I listened so intently to the words of the ordinance and promised blessings. Those words came to life. The Lord truly manifested Himself to me that night in the Hong Kong temple. Similar to what my young sister missionary friend already knows, here is what He taught me: Through my endowment, the Lord had already blessed me with literal power to do everything He needed me to do, and He would be with me on the journey. I felt tangible renewed strength.

Forty-one years ago I climbed into the driver’s seat of an 18-wheel semitruck with my beautiful wife, Jan, and our infant son, Scotty. We were taking a heavy load of construction materials across several states.
In those days there were no seat-belt restrictions or infant car seats. My wife held our precious son in her arms. Her comment “We sure are high off the ground” should have given me a clue about her feelings of apprehension.
As we made our descent over historic Donner Pass, a steep section of highway, the cab of the semi suddenly and unexpectedly filled with thick smoke. It was difficult to see, and we could hardly breathe.
With a heavy rig, brakes alone are not enough to rapidly decrease speed. Using the engine brakes and gearing down, I frantically attempted to stop.
Just as I was pulling to the side of the road, but before we had come to a full stop, my wife opened the door of the cab and jumped out with our baby in her arms. I watched helplessly as they tumbled in the dirt.
As soon as I had the semi stopped, I bolted from the smoking cab. With adrenaline pumping, I ran through the rocks and weeds and held them in my arms. Jan’s forearms and elbows were battered and bleeding, but thankfully she and our son were both breathing. I just held them close as the dust settled there on the side of the highway.
As my heartbeat normalized and I caught my breath, I blurted out, “What in the world were you thinking? Do you know how dangerous that was? You could have been killed!”
She looked back at me, with tears running down her smoke-smudged cheeks, and said something that pierced my heart and still rings in my ears: “I was just trying to save our son.”
I realized in that moment she thought the engine was on fire, fearing the truck would explode and we would die. I, however, knew it was an electrical failure—hazardous but not fatal. I looked at my precious wife, softly rubbing the head of our infant son, and wondered what kind of woman would do something so courageous.
This situation could have been as emotionally hazardous as our literal engine failure. Gratefully, after enduring the silent treatment for a reasonable amount of time, each of us believing the other person was at fault, we finally expressed the emotions that were churning beneath our heated outbursts. Shared feelings of love and fear for the other’s safety kept the hazardous incident from proving fatal to our cherished marriage.
When our truck cab filled with smoke, my wife acted in the bravest manner she could imagine to protect our son. I too acted as a protector when I questioned her choice. Shockingly, it did not matter who was more right. What mattered was listening to each other and understanding the other’s perspective.

A family had been taking pictures on a lookout point of the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. They heard screams and ran to find that a two-year-old girl had fallen through a railing to a ledge about 35 feet (11 m) below. The little one tried to climb back up, but her movements caused her to slip even farther until she was 5 feet (1.5 m) from a dangerous 200-foot (61-m) drop.
A 19-year-old young man named Ian saw where she was and, using his emergency-response training, knew how to handle the situation. These are his words: “‘Immediately, it all came at me, and I just knew what I had to do. I set down my camera and went up the trail a little ways where it wasn’t as steep, climbed over the rail, scrambled down a bunch of rocks and through brush, and found her.’ Holding her in his arms for an hour, Ian waited until emergency teams could drop down with ropes [to rescue them]” (in Patricia Auxier, “Save Her!” New Era, Sept. 2007, 6). The phrase “holding her in his arms” caught my attention because the scriptures talk about arms—arms of love, arms of mercy, and arms of safety (see 2 Nephi 1:15; Mosiah 16:12; Alma 5:33; D&C 6:20; 29:1).

Late one evening when my own father was very ill, I knelt at my bedside and prayed with all the energy of my heart and soul for the Lord to help me know what I could do to help my dad. I prayed with complete faith and trust in my Heavenly Father. I would pray and then pause, and pray, then pause again, really trying to focus my mind. I really tried to pay attention to the Holy Spirit.

And then an impression came to me, and I said to myself, “You keep asking the Lord to give you what you want. What about what He wants?”

The next words from my mouth were, “Heavenly Father, I really want my dad to live. I really want him to stay here with us. But if this is not thy plan for him, then I am willing to let him go. I am willing to accept thy will.”

The Lord spoke to my heart and told me, “My faithful daughter, because you are willing to accept My will and not your own, you will be comforted and blessed with peace.”

The next morning, my sweet dad returned home to our Heavenly Father . . . and I felt a beautiful calm and peaceful tenderness in my heart. I felt God’s pure love for me.

Although I was sad, the Lord softened the blow and somehow made the pain easier for me to bear. I continued to feel His comfort in many different ways, and through many friends and family members. I felt so blessed, just as God promised I would be.

I said another prayer to thank Him, and to express how much I love Him.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge once heard a farmer renowned for his productive acres, his sculptured gardens, and his bright children say that he hoped his children would grow up to be God-fearing, prayerful, religious people, but that he would never prejudice them in favor of religion by imposing religious principles on them or taking them to church. They would, he said, grow up and decide for themselves.

Coleridge answered the man, “Bravo! This is a very progressive idea. Why do you not apply it also to your fields and orchards and gardens in the future? Do not prejudice the soil to seed or weeding or cultivation, the trees to pruning or thinning, the gardens to bulbs or planting. Why not see if they will grow up and just decide to be what you hope they will become?”

By following her parents’ counsel, Makena, who is the oldest in the family, is also setting an example for her younger sister and brothers to follow. For instance, she has taken to heart what she has learned about personal prayer.

“I like to pray,” she says. “That’s a good thing. I like to be able to pray wherever I am, in any situation.” Prayer even works in school, she says. Once she was intimidated by a history teacher who would ask questions and assign homework if you gave the wrong answer. “I prayed she wouldn’t call on me or that I would know the answer,” says Makena. She wasn’t called on, but more importantly, she says, “I felt peace.”

Recently, I read about Erik Weihenmayer, a 33-year-old man who dreamed of climbing Mount Everest, a feat that defies many of the world’s most expert climbers. In fact, nearly 90 percent of those who attempt the climb never reach the summit. Temperatures sink lower than 30 degrees below zero. Besides extreme cold, 100-mile-per-hour winds, deadly crevasses, and avalanches, the climber must overcome the challenges of high altitude, lack of oxygen, and perhaps unsanitary food and water. Since 1953, at least 165 climbers have died in the attempt to scale the 29,000-foot-high summit.
In spite of the risks, hundreds line up each year to make the ascent, Erik among them. But there is an important difference between Erik and every other climber who had attempted to ascend before: Erik is totally blind.
When Erik was 13 years of age, he lost his sight as a result of a hereditary disease of the retina. Although he could no longer do many of the things he wanted to, he was determined not to waste his life feeling depressed and useless. He then began to stretch his limits.
At age 16 he discovered rock climbing. By feeling the face of the rock, he found handholds and footholds that allowed him to climb. Sixteen years later, he began his ascent up Mount Everest. The story of his climb, as you might imagine, was filled with many harrowing and life-threatening challenges. But Erik eventually scaled the south summit and took his place with those who had gone before him, one of the few to stand on top of the highest mountain on the face of the earth.
When asked how he did it, Erik said, “I just kept thinking … keep your mind focused. Don’t let all that doubt and fear and frustration sort of get in the way.” Then, most importantly, he said, “Just take each day step by step.”
Yes, Erik conquered Everest by simply putting one foot in front of the other. And he continued to do this until he reached the top.
Like Erik, we may have obstacles that would hold us back. We may even make excuses why we can’t do what we want to do. Perhaps when we are tempted to justify our own lack of achievement, we can remember Erik, who, in spite of having lost his sight, accomplished what many thought was impossible simply by continuing to put one foot in front of the other.

At school, we were studying different religions. The teacher assigned me and my friend Andressa, who is also a member of the Church, to talk about Jesus Christ.
When we began our presentation, many of our fellow students laughed at us, but we did not weaken. We talked about His life—from His birth to His Resurrection. When we finished, many laughed and said annoying things. I became very sad. I thought about missionaries who have doors slammed in their faces, and I realized I was having a similar experience. I bore my testimony about Jesus Christ, that He gave His life and suffered for our sins.
At the end, many of the teachers, including our own, thanked us for having taught them some things they did not know.Cléa de Souza Lira, age 14,Potengi Ward, Natal Brazil Potengi Stake

In conclusion, I want to relate one recent experience, that could have happened at any of our BYUs, that I had which convinced me that your generation is certainly up to the task of moving the kingdom to much higher ground—that the best is yet to come. This fall, the BYU Honor Code Office invited me to watch a presentation on the Honor Code by some upperclassmen to the freshman in Freshman Orientation. I was quite impressed by the upperclassmen’s skill and humor in setting forth the expectations for the new students with masterful presentations through skits, film, and music. By the end, they seemed to have convinced everyone that not only was living the Honor Code the right thing to do, it was also the fun thing to do. As I looked over this freshman crowd of about 4,000 in the Marriott Center, I realized that while they came from all over the country and even from some foreign countries, they were all bound together, united in a common testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. At the end of the program, this diverse group of freshmen was asked to sing a medley of those great youth anthems—“Army of Helaman” and “As Sisters in Zion.” There was no practice time and no handouts with the words to the hymns. Notwithstanding this, the freshmen gave a seamless and inspiring rendition that was worthy of any choir. As they sang, the spirit impressed upon me that this was indeed a royal and chosen generation, unique and remarkable in all the world, fully capable of accelerating the Lord’s work in these latter days.