Gospel Story Finder

As missionaries in Ghana, we washed our clothes by hand on preparation day. Elder Moss, my companion who had recently arrived from the United States, had not experienced this way of doing laundry. But being a native of Ghana, I was used to it.
Every Monday Elder Moss set out to scrub his clothes, but about halfway through the job, his hands and knuckles would start bleeding. I would then need to take over his work, in addition to finishing my own.
One Monday when washing time came around, Elder Moss seemed a bit worried. I had injured my hand the previous day, and he knew that I was not going to be able to help him with his laundry. I wouldn’t even be able to do my own. He started his washing, but as usual, he needed help halfway through.
Since I couldn’t help my companion with the actual washing, I encouraged him to endure—to let his hands rest and then keep trying. He stopped for a time and then continued. I told him he could find a way to finish. His hands and knuckles were still sore, but he pushed on. When the washing was completed, he said, “I am proud of myself. Elder Asante, are you proud of me?”
“Yes, of course I am proud of you,” I answered.
As I have thought about this incident, I realized that Heavenly Father knows our potential, but He tests us so we can develop diligence, patience, and faithfulness. He is pleased with us when we make righteous choices and prove that we can bear our afflictions.
When we work hard and endure the trials placed before us, we can say, “Heavenly Father, art Thou proud of me?” I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are pleased when we endure and that They will tell us so one day when They welcome us home.

I had no idea how to find the Church in Thailand once I arrived. The internet was not yet developed, so I couldn’t look up the location of buildings. We arrived at the Bangkok airport on a Saturday afternoon. In the bus, I prayed sincerely, “Heavenly Father, tomorrow is Sunday. Please help me find the Church.”
I finished my prayer and looked outside. To my surprise, I saw a sign for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Thai and in English.
The following morning, I took an auto rickshaw to that building. Afterward, the members there gave me the address of a home closer to my rural work site where branch meetings were held. They also gave me the phone number of the full-time missionaries. The following Sunday, I attended that branch.

The principles of persistence and patience have served me well in my life. After I changed my major to nursing, I first obtained an associate degree and then continued on to complete my bachelor’s degree in my early married life. I had a goal to return to school for a master’s degree. When I had five children I began the nursing administration master’s program at BYU. I took one class a semester. People often would say, “How can you take one class per semester? You may never finish.” Well, I knew that if I continued I would. I was persistent and patient, and after five years I finished the degree. Twenty-five years after beginning my college education at BYU, I again returned to school, this time at the University of Utah to earn a doctorate degree. My plan has been different than that of many others, but with persistence, patience, and faith I have enjoyed the journey—the hard times and especially the easy and rewarding times.

I would like to explain what honoring the priesthood means to me. In this regard, I am like many other young men in the Church who are preparing to one day worthily enter the temple and to serve a mission.
I live in Tucson, Arizona, with my parents, my brother Stephen, my grandfather Juan, and my great-grandmother Maria. As a member of the Sonora Ward in the Tucson Arizona Stake, I have enjoyed many opportunities to magnify my callings in the Aaronic Priesthood. I have helped clean yards of the elderly and others unable to take care of their homes. I have also helped clean the church cemetery and ballpark. But what has helped the most in learning to honor my priesthood was an experience I had in helping my own family.
One summer my aunt and uncle left my four young cousins with my parents. I was asked to baby-sit them much of the time. During those months, I had the interesting experience of learning how to change diapers and fix lunches as well as figure out ways to keep my little cousins from getting into trouble. The first few days were hard on all of us, but by the end of the summer, we were all enjoying ourselves and doing well. I learned to appreciate what parents have to teach their children, and by the end of the summer, I felt a greater love for my cousins than I’d ever felt before.
I learned that one of the most important ways I can honor my priesthood is to obey the Lord’s commandments and to honor my parents. I once heard a speaker say, “If we love, we obey, for the Lord said, ‘If ye love me, keep my commandments’” (John 14:15). When I obey, I know that I am a worthy priesthood holder. The guidance that comes from my Heavenly Father is for my own good. He knows who I am and has a plan for me and for my salvation. I don’t always understand why I have to do certain things, but I know that there are eternal reasons for doing them.
There also have been times when my parents wouldn’t allow me to go places or do things I wanted to do. I have not always been happy about their decisions. But many times I have come to realize that they were right. For example, when I was younger, some of my friends were going to a “teen night” at a nightclub, and my parents wouldn’t let me go. I was upset and felt that my parents didn’t trust me. But after my bad feelings left, we talked about the temptations all around us and how my being at the nightclub would be opening the door to greater temptations. We also talked about my being worthy to pass the sacrament and about honoring my priesthood. I love my Heavenly Father and my parents, and I know that love and obedience go hand in hand.
I have been preparing myself to be worthy of the ordinances of the temple. One of the ways I have been doing this is by keeping myself morally clean. It is a major challenge in these times to be morally clean and respectful of ourselves and others. Some people think that being sexually active outside of marriage is acceptable, but the Lord has taught us that only by maintaining high moral standards will we be able to enjoy all the blessings he wants to give us. Being immoral is totally unacceptable to the Lord and to his church.
The pamphlet For the Strength of Youth gives simple guidelines that help teach us how to be worthy to one day enter the temple. My bishop challenged the youth of our ward to always keep this pamphlet with us. If he asked us to show it to him and we couldn’t, we would owe him a candy bar. I feel the pamphlet has helped us stay on the “strait and narrow path” (2 Ne. 31:18).
I began preparing for full-time missionary service when I was five years old. I remember going to church with my grandparents because my mom was not active and my dad wasn’t a member. One Sunday I came home and told my mom, “Next Sunday you have to go with me to church. My friend Juanito takes his mom and dad, and I don’t, so my friends are going to start thinking I don’t have a mom and dad.”
Well, when Sunday came, I had forgotten about it, and Mom wasn’t about to remind me. When she took me to my grandparents’ so they could take me to church, I reminded her that she said I could take her with me. She made some excuse and said she couldn’t go with me that Sunday—but maybe next Sunday. I know she said that so I wouldn’t bother her, and she probably figured I’d forget about it. But when Saturday came around, I reminded her that she had to go to church with me. I helped her pick out a nice dress to wear and took her to church that Sunday. She’s been going with me ever since.
We’ve come a long way since then. Shortly after my mom’s reactivation, we focused on converting my father. I know that missionaries in the field work in pairs, but in our home we formed a threesome: Mom, my brother Stephen, and myself. Dad didn’t have a chance! We used to talk about the children’s hymn we were going to sing in the car, and we kept reminding each other to bless our food and hold family prayer and set a good example. My dad did join the Church and is very active now. In March 1987, we were sealed as a family in the Arizona Temple in one of the greatest events of our lives. We are working hard on becoming an eternal family.
Besides working with my family, I know that I should keep the Word of Wisdom, because a full-time missionary needs to be physically fit as well as morally clean. I need to study the scriptures and attend seminary because it takes some ability to memorize discussions and scriptures and be prepared to teach the gospel. My parents have also taught me the importance of speaking more than one language because “every man shall hear the fulness of the gospel in his own … language” (D&C 90:11).
I think my greatest asset when I serve a mission will be my ability to make and keep friends. When you befriend someone, it is much easier to teach that person the gospel. I know that I need to prepare myself spiritually and physically by being obedient to my Heavenly Father and my parents so that I can have the Spirit as my constant companion. If we do these things, I know we can overcome the temptations of the world and honor our priesthood, serve missions, and enter the holy temple.

Crystal was in high school and Angel was six years old when their mother could no longer look after them. I offered to take them in. “I promise I will never leave your children,” I said. “I will take good care of them.”
Years later, another young mother asked me to take in her baby, Allison. This mother faced difficult circumstances and knew I could give her baby a good life. I took Allison in.
I try to teach these children the important things in life. I bring them to church and try to help them grow closer to God. I know that when I am nearer to Him, I can do so much more, even the things I think are impossible. Of course, I want that for Crystal, Angel, and Allison.
These children have suffered in life, but I’ve watched the gospel and the Spirit heal their hearts. I’ve watched their perceptions and behaviors slowly change. Together we pray for their birth parents, because no matter what, I want them to respect and love them.
I love Crystal, Angel, and Allison as if they were my own children. Sometimes people ask me if I will regret my decisions. What if Allison’s mother decides to take Allison back? Will I regret loving Allison and becoming attached to her? But why should I regret it? Helping other people is nothing to regret! It’s something to be grateful for.
I am so grateful for Crystal, Angel, and Allison. Thanks to them, I have learned how to be a mother. I learned how to wake up in the middle of the night for diaper changes, how to teach young children to pray, how to love more deeply than I thought possible. That is something I didn’t think I would ever have.
Perhaps my calling in this world is to take care of those that don’t have mothers or are far away from their mothers.

April 14, 1832, was a snowy day in Mendon, Monroe County, New York. In spite of the cold, thirty-year-old Brigham Young went down into the waters of the river near his home and was baptized by Elder Eleazer Miller. Immediately after, at the river’s edge, he was confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. Brigham Young had given his heart to a great cause, and he never wavered from the promises he made that day.
The story is told that shortly after his baptism, Brigham went to the man for whom he was doing some carpentry work and informed him, “I am not going to work for you any longer, sir; I am going to do something better—preach the everlasting Gospel!”
A few months later Brigham set out on foot with his brother to preach the gospel in Canada. They traveled over 250 miles in snow “a foot and a half deep with a foot of mud under it,” and in two months they converted 45 souls. Whatever the price, Brigham was willing to pay it in order to build up the kingdom of God on the earth. “I was as destitute of language as a man could be … ,” he said, “but I was so gritty that I always tried my best.”
Born in Whittingham, Vermont, on June 1, 1801, Brigham was the ninth child in a family with five sons and six daughters. Although he had only “eleven days schooling,” he was taught to read by his mother. He also learned to “make bread, wash the dishes, milk the cows and make butter.”
When Brigham was fourteen years old, his mother died and he was apprenticed to a neighbor to learn carpentry and painting. At sixteen, he was in business for himself.
Although the Youngs were a Bible-reading family and three of Brigham’s brothers became itinerant preachers for the Methodist Reformed Church, Brigham himself was not really converted to any church until he received a copy of the Book of Mormon from his brother Phinehas and studied it. Even then “I weighed the matter studiously for nearly two years,” he said, “before I made up my mind to receive that Book.”
In the fall of 1831 five elders from an isolated branch of the Church in Pennsylvania came to the neighborhood to preach. Brigham and his friend Heber C. Kimball listened to them and believed what they taught. Within a few months they were both baptized. Father Young, all Brigham’s brothers and sisters, and his ailing wife also became members.
A few days after his wife’s death in September 1832 Brigham left his two little daughters in the care of Vilate Kimball, Heber’s wife, and traveled to Kirtland to meet Joseph Smith. He later wrote, “Here my joy was full at the privilege of shaking the hand of the Prophet of God, and received the sure testimony, by the spirit of prophecy that he was … a true Prophet.”
And Joseph said of Brigham, “The time will come when Brother Brigham Young will preside over this Church.”
That time came all too quickly for Brigham, who developed a deep love for and loyalty to Joseph. Brigham followed the young Prophet unquestioningly through many difficult times, and at the Prophet’s call Brigham left his family again and again to preach the gospel in the eastern United States, in Canada, and in England. He was in Boston on June 27, 1844, the day Joseph and Hyrum were killed in Carthage, Illinois. Though rumors of the brothers’ deaths spread rapidly, it was not until July 16 that Brigham learned for certain of their martyrdom.
As President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, Brigham Young gathered the other members of the quorum who were also preaching throughout the eastern states and returned with them to Nauvoo.
A conference was held in Nauvoo on August 7 and 8, and Brigham addressed the grieving Saints. Benjamin F. Johnson reported that “as soon as [Brigham] spoke I jumped upon my feet, for in every possible degree it was Joseph’s voice, and his person, in look, attitude, dress and appearance … ; and I knew in a moment the spirit and mantle of Joseph was upon him.”
As Brigham took over the leadership of the Saints, he knew they would soon have to leave Nauvoo. They had been driven from their homes before. Brigham himself had organized their move from Missouri to Illinois when Joseph was in Liberty Jail and the persecutions in Missouri were great. Because many of the Saints at that time were poor and ill, Brigham had had everyone sign a covenant stating that none would leave unless all could leave. Those with more would share with those who had less. Brigham made the trip several times to help others.
Now as he faced the task of moving the Saints from Illinois to the Rocky Mountains to once again escape their enemies, he showed this same concern for his people. In the spring of 1846 he left Nauvoo with an advance company. They established several settlements where crops were planted to help those who would follow. At Winter Quarters the Saints settled in to prepare for the trek ahead and to wait for spring. Here Brigham established schools, and within two months 538 log homes and 83 sod homes had been built. “Where the Saints do all they can,” he said, “the Lord will do the rest.”
Early the next spring Brigham Young led 143 men, 3 women, and 2 children across the plains, through the mountains, and finally down into the Great Salt Lake Valley. Almost immediately he began the journey back to Winter Quarters to help others prepare for the journey. On the way he passed companies of Saints led by Daniel Spencer, Parley P. Pratt, John Taylor, and Jedediah M. Grant.
The next spring Brigham Young left Winter Quarters once again for the Salt Lake Valley, this time leading a great company of “397 wagons, 1229 souls, 74 horses, 19 mules, 1275 oxen, 699 cows, 184 cattle, 411 sheep, 141 pigs, 605 chickens, 37 cats, 82 dogs, 3 goats, 10 geese, 2 beehives, 8 doves, and 1 crow.”
The remainder of Brigham’s life was to be spent in the West, where he directed the settlement of many towns and cities. He established schools, was governor of the territory, began work on the Salt Lake Temple, and saw the St. George Temple completed. During his presidency, missionaries were sent throughout the United States and Canada and to many other countries.
Brigham Young led the Church for twenty-nine years until his death on August 29, 1877, never forgetting the promise he had made to build the kingdom of God. “This is the business of the Latter-day Saints,” he once said, “and it is all the business that we have on hand.”
The year before the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, he said of Brigham, “I can fervently say, may the Lord bless his way before him, and bless those that obey his teachings wherever they are with ears to hear and hearts to feel. He is worthy to be received and entertained as a man of God.”

As one example, Sophia remembers a time when she was approaching a jump at high speed. She felt a distinct impression that she needed to get herself into better positioning. “In motocross, we have to be squeezing the bike with our knees. We need to keep the balls of our feet on the pegs and crouch low with our head just above the handlebars.”

Cruising in an upright position, on the other hand, is a recipe for disaster.

After she received the prompting, she didn’t hesitate. She adjusted her body position. Immediately afterward, she had a serious problem with the landing on the jump. It should’ve been a crash for sure. However, because she’d listened to inspiration and improved her positioning, she was able to absorb the shock. “Instead of crashing, I bounced with the bike.”

Let me share with you two contrasting responses: The patient was a 36-year-old woman; I’ll use the name Mary. She announced that she was certain she had cancer. When asked why, she said, “My mother died of cancer, my sister died of cancer, another sister now has cancer, and I have just found this big lump in my abdomen, so I know I have cancer.” I attempted to reassure her, but when we operated on Mary, we found malignancy, not localized, but spread throughout her entire abdominal cavity. When I faced Mary the next morning, she asked soberly, “I have cancer, don’t I?” My reluctant response was, “Yes, you have cancer.” Her next question was, “How long do I have to live?” I explained the impossibility of setting an exact time. She hoped I wouldn’t misunderstand her question. She was not afraid to die, she said, for she had made peace with her Maker.

Her response was similar to the one Thoreau made on his deathbed when asked if he had made peace with his Maker. He replied, “I never knew that we had quarreled.” (August Derleth, Concord Rebel, Chilton Co., 1962, p. 201.)

Mary was at peace with her Father in heaven because she had just completed a special course for senior Aaronic Priesthood bearers. It was called “Project Temple.” She spoke of her husband and her teenage daughter who had not been active in the Church until the three of them had attended the “Project Temple” meetings. At the conclusion of the experience, the bishop had assured them that in six months they could go to the temple if they would do the things they knew they should. Mary’s plea was to stay alive for that six months so she could go to the temple and be sealed to her family. “If I can stay alive that long, then I will die without complaining,” she would tell me. Mary stayed alive for that six months. During her entire stay in the hospital, she was cheerful and seemingly without pain, even though her body was riddled with a disease that ordinarily is extremely painful and requires large amounts of narcotics. Mary needed none, and she literally folded her arms and died—without a complaint.

There is an old fable about a king and a jester. One day the king decided to reward the jester, so he called him in, offered him a beautiful staff, and told him, “You may keep this beautiful staff until you find a bigger fool than you.”
Time passed and one day the king became very seriously ill, called the jester, and told him that he would probably go on a long journey and never return. The jester then asked him, “And have you made any provisions for a journey that lasts forever?”
The king answered, “No.”
The jester then handed the king the staff and told him, “King, if you have made no provisions for a journey that lasts forever, this staff belongs to you. You are a bigger fool than I.”

“Hey, Shelly!” Shelly looked up from tying her running shoes to see Rosa waving from the starting line. “Come on,” Rosa called out. “Today we’re going to beat our best time!”
Shelly grinned. Rosa said that every practice.
Shelly liked two things about her new middle school. The first thing was being on the track team. When she ran, she felt light inside, like she didn’t need to worry about anything.
The second thing she liked was that nobody here knew that her parents had just gotten divorced.
Shelly gave her shoelace one last tug and took off to join the other girls on the relay team. Ouch! She winced as her toes jammed into the end of her running shoes. How was she going to tell Dad she needed new shoes again?
After the race, Shelly, Rosa, Becca, and Tiana were celebrating their new best relay time. “I told you we were going to do it today!” Rosa said.
Shelly laughed. She handed the baton to their track teacher and bent to loosen her laces.
“Good work, girls,” Mrs. Edwards said. “You work really well together. Don’t forget to pay your track fee tomorrow.”
Shelly’s smile faded. She had totally forgotten about that!
On the bus ride home, all Shelly could think about was the shoes and track fee. She didn’t want to give Mom one more thing to worry about. And the last time she had called to ask Dad for extra money, he had sounded annoyed. Lately it seemed like there was no one who could give her the help she needed.
When she got home, Shelly went straight to her room. At dinner her brothers and sisters talked and joked, but she just pushed her food around her plate.
After dinner Mom helped Shelly clear the table. “I’m meeting with Bishop Parker tonight,” Mom said. “Would you like to come and get a priesthood blessing?”
Shelly nodded. She really missed the blessings Dad used to give her when she was worried or sick.
A little later, as Bishop Parker gave her a blessing, Shelly felt something deep inside her relax. “Shelly, your dad isn’t in your home to help you now,” he said in the blessing. “But your Heavenly Father is always there. I bless you that you will be able to talk to Him just as you would to your dad, and Heavenly Father will always help you.”
Shelly felt lighter than she had for a long time. She had a warm feeling inside that told her the bishop’s words were true. Heavenly Father loved her and would listen to her. With His help, maybe she could even have the courage to talk to her parents.
On the way home, she told Mom about the shoes and the track fee. That night she knelt and asked Heavenly Father to help her have the courage to talk to her dad. She prayed about it again on the bus to school the next morning. By the time she got home from school, she felt brave enough to call her dad. This time he didn’t seem impatient or annoyed when she told him what she needed. Her prayers had been answered.
A few weeks later, Shelly laced up her new running shoes and ran to join Rosa and the other girls. It felt good to know she had a great team supporting her. She didn’t need to run her race alone.

Johanan carried his goatskin down to the well. After waiting for his turn, he very carefully filled the skin. Every drop was important in their dry country, especially now that the Roman soldiers blocked the gates of the city. He carried the heavy skin back to his home. As he passed the big olive tree that fed them, he poured a little of the water on the young seedling that was sheltered in its shade. Then he filled a small jug with water and walked to the city wall where his father was standing guard. He was proud that his father was chosen to be one of the watchmen. Johanan climbed the ladder and handed his father the jug.
It was hot on the wall, and Father smiled at him, then drank deeply. “Thank you. I was very thirsty.”
Johanan smiled back. He turned to look out over the wall. Before him camped the mighty armies of the Romans. He gazed with a horrible fascination at the men milling below. They were like ants swarming around the bottom of a gigantic anthill. And Jerusalem was the anthill! “Father,” he whispered, “what is going to happen to us?”
His father put his arm around him and pulled him away from the wall. “We will be fine. We have the Lord’s promise that if we watch and follow His warning, we will be saved.”
“But look, Father,” the boy argued, pointing to the men, “there are thousands of them. They have chariots and battering rams. What can we do?”
“Be prepared,” Father answered. “That’s what the Savior told us to do—be prepared.”
Johanan walked slowly back home. He always felt afraid after looking over the wall. It took all his faith to stop that fear. He stopped at the olive tree and sat beneath its shade. He looked at the seedling and wondered if he would see it bear fruit.
Sounds of shouting reached his ears. He saw a group of boys playing in the street. He longed to join them, but he knew that they didn’t want to play with him. He was a Christian, and they were not. Whenever he came close to where they played, they threw stones at him and taunted, “Where’s your Jesus now? Why doesn’t He save you from the Romans?”
Getting up, Johanan wandered into the house and looked for Grandmother. Her presence always soothed him. He sat beside her and watched her skillful fingers weave goat-hair yarn into cloth.
“Hello, Johanan.” She glanced down at his troubled face. “Did you take water to your father?”
He nodded.
“I see. What is it like to see all of Cestius Gallus’s men?”
“Terrible. Many soldiers are out there.”
“It will be all right,” she soothed. She continued her rhythmic weaving for a few moments, then stopped. “How long has it been since I told you about the time I saw the Savior?”
“Many months.”
“Then listen again.” After a pause, she quietly began her story. “When I was a small child, word reached us that a great man was coming to preach in our city. Soon a crowd of people gathered right below the temple.
“My parents thought that I was too young to be in such crowds, so they left me home with my brother, Jesse.”
Johanan nodded in understanding. His parents left him home with his little sisters on market day.
“Jesse wanted to go,” Grandmother continued, “so he swore me to secrecy and we walked toward the crowds. We wriggled our way through the people until we could see Him. We stood still, just staring at Him.”
“What was He like?” Johanan asked earnestly.
“He was like other men—He had two eyes and one nose—yet He was very different. I knew when I saw Him that He loved me and everyone there. I felt something special, a kind of reverence.”
Johanan sighed, “I wish I could have seen Him.”
Grandmother nodded. “One by one He took the children from the multitude and blessed them. Jesse and I walked forward. Soon His arms were around me, and He talked to me. I don’t remember what He said. I remember that I knew that He was the Savior.”
They sat quietly thinking for several minutes before Grandmother looked down at her weaving and picked up the shuttle again. “Don’t worry, my son. He told us what to do.”
Johanan, too, knew the prophecies. When the signs were right, they would leave their home and flee Jerusalem. He looked at the bags and goatskins stacked in the corner. His family was ready to leave whenever the time came.
That afternoon he was herding the goats into the corral when his father walked swiftly up the path, calling to him. “Come, Johanan! Hurry!”
Johanan ran toward his father.
Father gathered the family together. “It is time. I don’t understand why, but Gallus has removed his men from the walls. If we go quietly, I think that he will let us leave. You all know what to do,” Father said. “Now hurry.”
Johanan ran to all their Christian neighbors to make sure that they knew that it was time to leave.
People laden with bags and baskets began streaming out of their houses.
“Where are you going?” one man called out. “You’re not leaving? You cannot. The soldiers will kill you. It’s safer to stay here behind the walls.”
His father stopped and called to him, “Come with us. It’s the only safe thing to do!”
The neighbor waved his hand in disgust. “You Christians—you’re all crazy!”
“Please come!” Father pleaded again, but the man just turned his back.
Johanan remembered how hard his father had worked the past few months to warn everyone that the time to flee was close at hand. Few had listened to him.
“We can do no more,” Father now said sadly. He gathered the family together and joined the rest of the Saints as they poured out through the gates of the city.
They walked as rapidly as they could. Grandmother was having trouble keeping up, so they slowed their pace. It was growing dark by the time they climbed a small rise above Jerusalem. Stopping to rest, they turned to look at their city one last time. Johanan had thought he’d feel sadness to leave his home. Instead, he felt a great joy because his family was safe and all together.
As they watched, the armies of Gallus closed ranks and Jerusalem was encircled once again.
Silently the family turned and began to walk. Johanan stayed close to his grandmother in case she needed him. His heart felt very full. He felt his testimony of Jesus Christ growing. His family had been saved because they had listened to and believed His message.
Grandmother had seen and touched Him. Johanan knew, without seeing, that Jesus was the Christ. He knew because the Holy Ghost whispered it to him.

It was a dark and stormy night.
Well, okay, maybe it was a sunny afternoon.
Whenever it was, somebody sneaked up outside the window of James B. Young’s dormitory room on the Ricks College campus. They pulled out a roll of masking tape. Then cautiously, they formed letters—backwards—on the window, so that when Jamie opened the curtains in the morning, he would read the words the right way. This was their message:
“We Love U.”
All of which brings us back to the masked message taped on Jamie’s window one dark and stormy night.
“We Love U,” it said.
If James Brigham Young has anything to say about it, that may well become the official nickname for Ricks College.

George was only five years old, but he loved to help his mother. One morning she dressed him in his best velvet suit and asked him to take a message to President Brigham Young.
George was nervous as he walked to the prophet’s office. He was even more nervous as he pushed open the big gate and looked around for the prophet.
A guard stopped him and gruffly asked what he wanted. When George explained, the guard said that the prophet was too busy to see him.
George was frightened. While he was trying to decide what to do, a door opened and President Young walked out.
Laughing, the guard told the prophet that the child wanted to see him. President Young asked little George to come in!
President Young sat down, lifted the boy onto his knee, and visited with him. George was impressed with the respect and love the prophet showed him.
George Albert Smith always tried to treat people as kindly and respectfully as he had been treated by President Young. When he became the eighth President of the Church, he was already well known for his love and charity toward all people.

Catrina hurried home from school. The missionaries were coming today. She had promised her mamá that she would sweep the floor. Mamá was gone working as a housekeeper and would not be home until later that night.
Señor and Señora Klatzpan and their two-year-old son, Helmut, shared the house with Catrina’s family. Sharing houses was common in Colombia where many families could not afford homes of their own.
Señor Klatzpan and his little family had moved to Colombia from Germany a year ago. He spoke Spanish with difficulty. His wife spoke little of the language and communicated mostly with her hands. Helmut was learning Spanish as well as German.
Catrina occasionally tended Helmut. She liked his sweet baby smell.
Catrina’s papá worked long hours as did her mamá. Her abuela (grandma) spent many hours with Catrina and her brother, Ramón, telling them stories of their ancestors and the traditions of their family.
Catrina and her mamá kept the house as clean as possible, but it was difficult with so many people living in the four small rooms.
She remembered the day the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had knocked at their door.
The young men, in their white shirts and ties, spoke of Jesus Christ and the restored gospel. The words sounded strange. Though they spoke fluently, their accent made it difficult for Catrina to understand what they said.
She listened carefully to the Joseph Smith story, not wanting to miss a word. When Elder Todd bore his testimony of Joseph Smith and the living prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, she knew she had heard the truth.
Señor and Señora Klatzpan accepted the gospel and were baptized members of the Church shortly after the elders challenged them to be baptized.
Catrina noticed a change in the Klatzpans. They seemed more content, though they still had little money. When she asked them about it, Señor Klatzpan said that the gospel had changed their lives.
“It brings us much joy,” Señor Klatzpan said. “My Gerta and I have never been happier. When you and your family are baptized, you will know the same blessings.”
Catrina didn’t know if her papá would ever allow their family to be baptized. His parents and their parents before them had belonged to another religion. Tradition was an important part of their family.
Today the elders spoke more about families. When they explained a father’s blessing, Señor Klatzpan leaned forward eagerly. “My Helmut. I want him to have this blessing. Will you do it?”
Elder Todd shook his head. “We could give him a priesthood blessing, but only you can give him a father’s blessing. You have received the Melchizedek Priesthood and have the authority to do so.”
Señor Klatzpan looked helplessly from one elder to the other. “I do not know how to do such a thing.”
“Listen to the Spirit,” Elder Todd said in his quiet way. “It will guide you and your words.”
Señor Klatzpan put his hand on his chest. “Is it that which makes my heart beat so rapidly?”
Elder Stevenson nodded. “The Spirit often touches our hearts in just that way.”
A smile of pure joy spread over Señor Klatzpan’s face. “I am ready.” Solemnly he placed his hands on Helmut’s head. Words poured forth as he blessed his child.
Catrina felt tears prick her eyes. She, too, felt the Spirit.
When the elders left, she turned to her papá. “Papá, I want to be baptized. With you and Mamá and Ramón. I want you to give me a blessing like Señor Klatzpan gave Helmut.”
“We have heard the truth,” he said slowly. “It would be wrong not to be baptized.”
“What about Abuela?” Catrina asked.
“She will understand,” he said. “Tradition is important. But truth is precious.”
Catrina brushed the tears from her eyes and hugged her papá.

Several years ago, while I was serving as president of the Fiji Suva Mission, some missionaries had an experience which reinforced in them the converting power of the Book of Mormon. On a hot and humid day, two elders arrived at a home in a small settlement in Labasa.
The knock on the door was answered by a weathered man who listened as the missionaries testified of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. They gave him a copy and invited him to read and to pray to know, like them, that it is the word of God. His reply was brief: “Tomorrow I return to fishing. I will read it while at sea, and when I return, you may visit me again.”
While he was away, transfers were made, and a few weeks later, a new companionship of elders returned to visit the fisherman. By this time he had read the entire Book of Mormon, had received confirmation of its truthfulness, and was eager to learn more.
This man had been converted by the Holy Ghost, who witnessed of the truth of the precious words on every page of events and doctrine taught long ago and preserved for our day in the Book of Mormon. That same blessing is available to each of us.

It isn’t always easy to reach a Book of Mormon reading goal, so the young women of the Hemet Third Ward, Hemet California Stake, set up a study buddy program where each person drew the name of partner to help encourage each other to read their two pages a day.
At the end of the nine-month program, more than half of the girls and leaders finished the entire book, and it was time for a celebration. They held a “Book of Mormon Fest,” with games like “Get the Gadiantons,” where the girls threw darts at balloons labeled with the names of Book of Mormon bad guys, and “The Mock Walk,” where the girls had to walk a beam representing the straight and narrow path while being mocked with laughter.

One hot summer day our family decided that the best way to enjoy the afternoon would be to go to the mountains. For a long time our list of things to do together had included a trip to a nearby cave. After we had gotten our hiking gear together, we packed a lunch.
We set out on our journey with anticipation and soon found ourselves in the refreshing coolness of the mountains. At the cave we were greeted by a park ranger, who became our guide. He told us that originally there were three caves, discovered separately, but that now the caves were joined together by man-made passageways. We noticed that there were many levels of interesting rock formations, some of which remained unexplored. Pointing to a slight opening at the side of the trail, the ranger commented that there were two unpenetrated caverns below the path on which we stood. He said, “We hope to explore both of these some day, but as yet we haven’t found a satisfactory way to get in and out of those lower caves.”
Ducking our heads to avoid contact with sharp-edged roks, we walked along a narrow, slippery path with the unknown leading off in every direction. In order to keep our balance, it was often necessary for us to grip an iron pipe attached to the cave wall alongside the trail.
I had stayed behind the group to take some pictures with my camera, when suddenly the electric lights in the cave went out. Whether this was part of a demonstration to a group ahead of us or an unexpected power failure, I don’t know. Far ahead of me our guide raised his voice and it echoed back along the narrow passage. “Be calm, everyone; I’m sure the lights will come on momentarily. Everybody please stay on the trail and hold onto the railing.” His flashlight made only a tiny spark of yellow in the distance.
I had a strong mental image of the many jagged holes and side passages breaking off and down from the place where we stood. A person could get lost in one of these and never be seen again, I worried. To relax, I leaned against the slanted wall of rock. Feeling along the wall with my fingers, I found the iron railing. With the park ranger ahead and by holding onto the railing, we should be able to get out of here, I decided even if the power isn’t restored.
An excited murmur of voices rose from the group ahead of me, but it soon subsided. We all seemed to sense that as long as we stayed on the trail and followed the advice of the guide, who had been over the path before, there would be no danger. There was no fear because we could hear his voice and feel the railing firmly fixed to the rocky wall of the cave.
After a few minutes the lights came on and we were able to continue our tour and view the wondrous beauty of the cave. But what would have happened if someone had abandoned the trail or let go of the railing? What if anyone had tried to get out by himself by feeling his way along the cave floor in the dark? What chance would any of us have had of getting out without the railing or without the ranger?
There have been many other exciting and memorable family outings, and each one has taught lessons of love, understanding, and cooperation. But on that long-ago day when I held tightly to a damp iron railing in a dark cave, I learned a lesson in faith that I have never forgotten.

On a quiet morning last week I left my office in Sao Paulo, Brazil, and walked over to the Sao Paulo Temple site. There was a soft morning mist beginning to clear away. As I walked up the gentle rise in the street onto the site, I noted with great interest and pleasure brush being cleared away and the new pegs recently driven into the ground. These pegs in the ground mark the dimensions of a new temple soon to be erected for the glory of God and the endless blessing of his children in South America. This temple will be different from any other building now standing in South America.
As I stood where the entrance of the temple will be, I recalled how thirty-six years ago my companions and I landed by ship in Santos after twenty-one days at sea and went by train to Sao Paulo. There were other missionaries on the same vessel going to Argentina and Uruguay, which were the two other relatively new missions on the continent.
In all of South America there was but a mere handful of members of the Church, mostly emigrants from Europe, many of whom were converted in Europe. As I stood last week on this site where this new, special, multimillion-dollar building will stand, I recalled how difficult and unpromising the future of the Church appeared in South America thirty-six years ago. In all of our mission we had only three baptisms in one year, despite the conscientious labors of over seventy missionaries. We did not have the Doctrine and Covenants, the Pearl of Great Price, or the Book of Mormon translated into Portuguese. We held our meetings in rooms that were small and unfit for the lofty message we were trying to teach. We often had to sweep out these rooms before meeting to remove the empty bottles and trash from the revelry of the night before. It was always difficult and often discouraging.
In comparison, last year in South America there were over 8,000 convert baptisms. There are now twenty-two stakes and seventeen missions of the Church with over 152,000 members on that vast continent; and the work has only begun. Our great first generation of South American Regional Representatives and stake and mission presidents are men of affairs, including bankers, businessmen, factory owners, and professional men. They are men of great ability and faith.
I marveled at how through the Spirit of God this has all come about. Surely it is a fulfillment of what Jesus said to his early apostles: “And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt. 16:19.) Having seen it all from close range, I cannot doubt that this is the work of God.
Last week at the temple site, after much brooding and pondering, I stepped farther back to where the inner rooms of the temple will be. The morning mist had now cleared so that in the distance I could see part of the great city of Sao Paulo. I recalled how as a young missionary I presided over the work in that city, with thirteen missionaries and about 300 members. There are now four stakes of the Church and about 100 missionaries laboring in that city. There are also neighboring stakes in Campinas and Santos.
This great progress in South America has come about largely through the sacrifice and dedication of hundreds of missionaries and their families, as well as dedicated mission presidents from the United States and Canada. This is changing. In the Brazil Porto Alegre Mission there are now 136 missionaries of which fifty-eight, or 43 percent, are native-born Brazilians. All of the four mission presidents in Argentina are native South Americans. How can anyone who has seen what I have deny that this is the work of God.

Two students of this University came to see me awhile ago. Six months earlier they had been married. They had declared their love one for another. They had pledged their loyalty one to another for time and eternity. Now, the young man came first. He was disillusioned. He was bitter. He was heartbroken. His wife, he said, did this and did that—simple little things of small consequence, such as leaving the dishes undone when she left for school in the morning. And then came his wife, a beautiful girl of great talent. She spoke of her husband’s faults. He was stingy. He did not pick up his clothes. He was careless. Each had his or her faults. Every one of those faults was easily correctable. The problem lay in the fact that there was a stronger inclination to emphasize the faults than there was to talk of the virtues. With a little discipline, each could have changed. With a little desire, each could have spoken with a different tone. But neither was willing. They had permitted a negative attitude to destroy the sweetest, richest association of life. They had thrown away with careless and sour words the hopes and dreams of eternity. With criticism and shouting, they had violated the sacred promises that might have taken them on to exaltation.

My older brother, Jason, was injured in a diving accident in 1986 at the age of fifteen. He became a quadriplegic. He had some movement in his arms but could not move his hands or his body from the chest down. After several months in the hospital, Jason was ready to go home. In preparation for that transition, one of the therapists talked to Jason about what he should expect in the months and years ahead. She was well-intentioned but laid out a very bleak picture for Jason’s future. She told him, among other things, that his high school graduation would likely be delayed, he probably wouldn’t be able to go away to college, he would have few job prospects—if any—and he would likely live with our parents for the rest of his life.

I am sure the therapist thought managing Jason’s expectations would help him avoid disappointment in his life. He certainly was facing an uphill battle. Little did the therapist know that ten years after his first accident, Jason would again be seriously injured in a car accident that would result in a thirteen-month hospital stay and a seven-year recovery process. Undoubtedly with that knowledge the therapist would have given him far less hope for the future.

But even with these times of significant difficulty in his life, Jason accomplished things that were nothing short of miraculous, and they far exceeded the expectations the therapist had for him when he left the hospital. Jason found his strength in the Lord and chose to submit cheerfully and with patience to the Lord’s will. Through his faith in Jesus Christ, Jason experienced the enabling power of the Atonement, which allowed him to do more than he ever could have done on his own.11

Here are just a few examples:
When Jason was first injured, we prayed for healing. As a family we exercised our faith and pleaded with the Lord to make his body whole. Jason’s body was never fully healed, but there were still miracles, and Jason was strengthened by the Lord in countless ways. He was the recipient of the Lord’s tender mercies, which are what Elder Bednar described as “the very personal and individualized blessings, strength, protection, assurances, guidance, loving-kindnesses, consolation, support, and spiritual gifts which we receive from and because of and through the Lord Jesus Christ.”12 These tender mercies or blessings are the ways that the Savior eases our burdens and helps us cope with our challenges. Through the Lord’s tender mercies, we are strengthened and can prosper even in times of difficulty.

We all have burdens to carry in our lives, and those burdens look different for everyone. My brother Jason endured many physical challenges throughout his life—none of which he likely would have chosen. He could have easily focused on his challenges. He wasn’t perfect, but each day he chose to have faith. He chose to respond with patience and trust in the Lord. He found his strength in Jesus Christ.

As his sister, I think the thing that impacted my life the most was Jason’s cheerfulness amid so many significant challenges. His positive attitude was founded in hope. Hope in his Savior Jesus Christ. Hope that because of Christ’s atoning sacrifice and Resurrection he would one day be able to lay down his broken body and be raised unto life eternal. Jason passed away unexpectedly in May 2019. His life is a powerful illustration of how the Lord will strengthen us in our challenges as we cheerfully and patiently submit to His will.