James E. Faust

April 2006
I hope that you will value the priesthood you hold and always honor your priesthood duties.
I recently read the account of some deacons who got a little careless in their attitude towards passing the sacrament. They began to think of it as a chore, something that no one else wanted to do. They often came in late, and sometimes they didn't dress appropriately. One Sunday their priesthood adviser told them: "You don't have to worry about the sacrament today. It's been taken care of."
They were, of course, surprised to hear this, but as usual, they were late for sacrament meeting. They slipped in casually during the opening hymn and sat in the congregation. That's when they noticed who was sitting on the deacons' bench—their adviser and the high priests of the ward, who included men who had served as bishops and stake president. They were all dressed in dark suits with white shirts and ties. But more than that, their bearing was one of total reverence as they took the sacrament trays from row to row. Something was deeper and more significant about the sacrament that day. Those deacons who had become so perfunctory in their duties learned by example that passing the sacrament was a sacred trust and one of the greatest of honors.1 They began to realize that the priesthood is, as the Apostle Peter called it, "a royal priesthood."

April 2005
An outstanding example of perseverance is Madame Marie Curie, who worked together with her French physicist husband, Pierre Curie, "in an old abandoned leaky shed without funds and without outside encouragement or help, trying to isolate radium from a low-grade uranium ore called pitchblende. And after their 487th experiment had failed, Pierre threw up his hands in despair and said, 'It will never be done. Maybe in a hundred years, but never in my day.' Marie confronted him with a resolute face and said, 'If it takes a hundred years, it will be a pity, but I will not cease to work for it as long as I live.' " 3 She was eventually successful, and cancer patients have benefited greatly from her perseverance.
In 1864, the First Presidency assigned Apostles Ezra T. Benson and Lorenzo Snow, along with Elders Alma Smith and William W. Cluff, on a mission to the Hawaiian Islands. From Honolulu they took passage on a small boat to the little harbor of Lahaina. As they approached the reef, the surf was running high and a heavy swell struck the boat, carrying it about 50 yards and leaving it in a trough between two huge waves. When the second swell struck, the boat capsized into the foaming sea.
The people on the shore manned a lifeboat and picked up three of the brethren, who were swimming near the submerged boat. But there was no sign of Brother Snow. Hawaiians accustomed to the surf swam in every direction to search for him. Eventually one of them felt something in the water, and they pulled Brother Snow to the surface. His body was stiff, and he looked like he was dead as they hauled him into the boat.
Elder Smith and Elder Cluff laid Brother Snow's body across their laps and quietly administered to him, asking the Lord to spare his life that he might return to his family and home. When they reached the shore, they carried Brother Snow to some large empty barrels lying on the beach. Laying him face downwards on one of them, they rolled him back and forth to expel the water he had swallowed.
After the elders worked over him for some time, without any indication of life, the bystanders said that nothing more could be done for him. But the determined elders would not give up. So they prayed again, with the quiet assurance that the Lord would hear and answer their prayers. They were impressed to do something rather unusual for that day and time. One of them placed his mouth over Brother Snow's in an effort to inflate his lungs, alternately blowing in and drawing out air, imitating the natural process of breathing. Taking turns, they persevered until they succeeded in inflating his lungs. A little while later they perceived faint indications of returning life. "A slight wink of the eye, which, until then, had been open and death-like, and a very faint rattle in the throat, were the first symptoms of returning vitality. These grew more and more distinct, until consciousness was fully restored." With their perseverance and the smile of merciful Providence, all four of the Lord's servants survived and were able to complete their missions.
Elder Snow went on to become the President of the Church. While serving in that office, he stabilized the Church's funds by urging the members to pay their tithes and offerings.

October 2004
Through the ages, blessings and promises were given from the fathers to their faithful sons. A modern example of this is taken from the life of Elder John B. Dickson of the Seventy. He recalls:
"When it was time for me to go on a mission, I was very excited to serve the Lord. Just before I was to leave, however, I found out that I had bone cancer. The chance of living long enough to serve a mission wasn't very high. I had faith that the Lord would provide a way if He wanted me to go. My father gave me a blessing in which I was told that I would serve my mission in Mexico , serve in the Church all my life, and have a family. My right arm had to be amputated above the elbow, but my life was spared, and the promises I was given have all been fulfilled.
"Some would think that losing an arm would be a terrible burden, but it has been one of the greatest blessings in my life. I learned that it is very important to have challenges and to face up to them."

Some, because they lack faith or understanding of the eternal plan, become bitter and lose hope. One such was a 19th-century writer who achieved both success and wealth with his dazzling wit and writing style. His wife came from a religious family, and he wanted to have faith in God but wasn't really sure God existed. Then he was hit by a series of crushing blows. In 1893 a national financial crisis left him deeply in debt. His oldest daughter died while he was on a speaking tour. His wife's health failed, and she died in 1904. His youngest daughter died in 1909. His own health declined. His writing, which had formerly been so full of sparkle, now reflected his bitterness. He became progressively depressed, cynical, and disillusioned and remained so until his death in 1910. With all his brilliance, he lacked the inner strength to deal with adversity and simply resigned himself to his misfortunes.
It's not so much what happens to us but how we deal with what happens to us. That reminds me of a passage from Alma . After a long war "many had become hardened," while "many were softened because of their afflictions." The same circumstances produced opposite responses. The writer who lost so much was not able to draw from the well of faith. Each of us needs to have our own storehouse of faith to help us rise above the troubles that are part of this mortal probation.
Thomas Giles, a Welsh convert who joined the Church in 1844, also suffered much in his lifetime. He was a miner, and while he was digging coal in the mine, a large piece of coal hit him on the head and inflicted a wound nine inches long. The doctor who examined him said the injured man would not live longer than 24 hours. But then the elders came and administered to him. He was promised that he would get well, and that "even if he would never see again, he would live to do much good in the Church." Brother Giles did indeed live but was blind the rest of his life. Within a month of his injury "he was out traveling through the country attending to his ecclesiastical duties."
In 1856 Brother Giles and his family immigrated to Utah, but before he left his homeland, the Welsh Saints presented him with a harp, which he learned to play skillfully. At Council Bluffs he joined a handcart company and headed west. "Though blind he pulled a handcart from Council Bluffs to Salt Lake City." While crossing the plains his wife and two children died. "His sorrow was great and his heart almost broken, but his faith did not fail him. In the midst of his grief he said as did one of old, 'The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord.' " When Brother Giles arrived in Salt Lake City, President Brigham Young, who had heard his story, loaned Brother Giles a valuable harp until his own arrived from Wales. Brother Giles "traveled from settlement to settlement in Utah, . . . gladdening the hearts of the people with his sweet music."

April 2004
I learned at a young age that inspiration can come to any of us. When I was in junior high school I was taking a difficult class where most of what was being taught went over my head. One day the teacher asked me a question. I didn't understand the question, let alone the answer. Out of nowhere a response came into my mind, which I repeated to the teacher. It was the right answer, but I knew it had not come from me.
So how can we recognize inspiration when it comes? Enos stated, "While I was thus struggling in the spirit, behold, the voice of the Lord came into my mind."11 The voice of the spirit of revelation is not necessarily audible, but it gives us divine confirmation through our thoughts and feelings. As we are told in the Doctrine and Covenants, "I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost, which shall come upon you and which shall dwell in your heart."12 We must cultivate our sensitivity to that divine voice.
My first radio was a crystal set. It was hard to tune to the frequency of a particular radio station. I had to literally scratch the receiving wire whisker over the top of the rough crystal to find the right pinpoint, a little valley or peak on the crystal where the signal was received. Just a millimeter off on either side of that point and I would lose the signal and get scratchy static. Over time, with patience and perseverance, good eyesight, and a steady hand, I learned to find the signal point on the crystal without too much difficulty.
So it is with inspiration. We must attune ourselves to the inspiration from God and tune out the scratchy static. We have to work at being tuned in.

Sometimes we make poor choices when we yield to peer pressure. Kieth Merrill had such an experience when he was a young man. He and his friends were diving from sheer rock walls at the East Canyon Reservoir, northeast of Salt Lake City. It inevitably turned into a teenage contest when one young man climbed up to the top of the dam and dived 50 feet into the deep water of the reservoir. The rest of the young men all went to the top of the dam and made the same high dive. One boy wasn't satisfied with that, so he said, "All right, I'll do one better!" He climbed 60 feet up the side of the cliff. Not wanting to be outdone, Kieth climbed up beside him. After the other boy had dived into the water and seemed to be all right, Kieth took courage and made his dive. The contest was now down to these two boys. Kieth's friend then climbed up to 70 feet and dived. He came up from the water laughing, rubbing his shoulders and his eyes. He then challenged Kieth, "Well, are you going to do it?"
"Of course, I'm going to do it!" And everybody on the shore said, "Of course, he's going to do it!"
So Kieth swam back to the shore and climbed up the rocks. He knew if he jumped from the same height of 70 feet that his friend would want to go higher, so he scrambled up 80 feet to the very top of the cliff. No one could go any higher than the top. As Kieth looked down, he was terrified to see the water so very far away. He had made a rash decision. It was not what he wanted to do nor what he felt was right. Instead he had based his decision on the prodding and dares of a half dozen young men whose names he cannot now even remember.
He backed up and ran as hard as he could toward the edge. He found the mark he had carefully laid at the edge of the rock and sprang out into space. On the way down he remembered his parents teaching him to be careful when making decisions because a wrong one could kill him. And now he thought, "You have done it, because when you hit the water you'll be going so fast that it might as well be concrete." When he hit the water, it even felt like concrete. How grateful he was when his head finally popped above water.
Why did he jump? What was he trying to prove? The young men who dared him didn't care and probably don't even remember that foolish act. But Kieth realized afterward that he had made what could easily have been a fatal decision. He had yielded to the pressure of friends expecting him to do what he didn't want to do. He knew better. He said: "I was living in the world, and at that moment I was of the world because I was not in control of myself. I was not making decisions about my own life. The world made the decisions for me, . . . and [I] had barely avoided being in the world about six feet deep."
In 1976, Elder Robert C. Oaks, then a colonel in the United States Air Force, was a member of the Incidents at Sea negotiating team. They were guests at a dinner hosted by the Leningrad Naval District. About 50 senior officers of the Soviet Union and the United States were present as the host led the group in toasts before dinner. They stood for the first toast and raised their glasses, most of which were filled with Russian vodka. Brother Oaks had pink lemonade in his glass, which was immediately noticed by the admiral leading the toast. He stopped and demanded that Brother Oaks fill his glass with vodka, stating that he would not proceed until he had done so. Brother Oaks declined, explaining that he was happy with what he had in his glass.
A significant tension began to build, and even his own team members, most of whom were senior to him, were growing uneasy over the impasse. Brother Oaks's Soviet escort hissed in his ear, "Fill your glass with vodka!" Brother Oaks uttered the shortest prayer of his life: "God, help me!"
Within seconds, the Soviet interpreter, an army captain with whom he had previously discussed religion, whispered to the host admiral, "It is because of his religion." The admiral nodded his head, the tension immediately diffused, and the program moved on.
Elder Oaks had decided years before that he would never drink alcohol, and so in the moment of trial he did not have to make this choice again. Elder Oaks was convinced that more harm would have come to him if he had compromised a tenet of his faith than the harm that would have come from drinking the vodka. Incidentally, adhering to his religious principles did not hurt his career. After this incident he went on to become a four-star general.

October 2003
One inactive member was jolted into the realization that she was not converted to the Church when her son went on a mission. Comparing herself to others whose impressive conversion stories she had heard, she asked herself, "Why are these people converted so powerfully, and I, with my pioneer heritage, remain unconverted?" She began to read the Book of Mormon even though she doubted its worth and found it boring. Then a friend challenged her. She said, "You say you believe in prayer. Well, why don't you pray about it?"
This she did, and after she had prayed, she began to read the Book of Mormon again. It was no longer boring. The more she read, the more fascinated she became with it and thought, "Joseph Smith couldn't have written that—these words were from God!" She finished reading it and wondered how God would tell her that it was true. She said: "A power strong, beautiful, and joyful moved completely through my body. . . . I knew that Jesus Christ was resurrected, . . . that Joseph Smith was a prophet who saw God and Jesus Christ. I knew that he miraculously translated ancient records with God's guidance. I knew that Joseph Smith received revelations from God." It changed her life because now she too was a convert!

The heart of an 11-year-old boy was turned to his fathers during a family home evening when the children assembled personal books of remembrance. Young Jeff wanted to accompany his mother to the National Archives. She was afraid he might disturb the other researchers there. But he persisted, and she relented and took him with her. Four hours into their research, he exclaimed, "Mama, I've found Grandpa!" Indeed, he had found his great-great-great-grandfather. However, it doesn't always work that way. In a letter to the Family History Department, someone wrote: "We lost our grandmother. Will you please send us a copy?"

April 2003
An anonymous Church member wrote about the continuous heartache her brother caused her parents. He got involved in drugs. He resisted all efforts at control and discipline. He was deceitful and defiant. Unlike the prodigal, this errant son did not come home of his own accord. Instead he got caught by the police and was forced to face the consequences of his actions. For two years his parents supported Bill's treatment program, which brought about his eventual recovery from drugs. In summary, Bill's sister observed: "I think my parents are extraordinary. They never wavered in their love for Bill, though they disagreed with and even hated what he was doing to himself and to their family life. But they were committed enough to their family to support Bill in any way necessary to get him through the tough times and onto more solid ground. They practiced the deeper, more sensitive, and extensive gospel of Christ by loving one who had gone astray."

As a young man I served a mission to Brazil. It was a marvelous experience. One of the wonders of the world in that great country is Iguacu Falls. In the flood season, the volume of water spilling over the brink is the largest in the world. Every few minutes, millions of gallons of water cascade into the chasm below. One part of the falls, where the deluge is the heaviest, is called the Devil's Throat.
There are some large rocks standing just above, before the water rushes down into Devil's Throat. Years ago, reckless boatmen would take passengers in canoes to stand on those rocks and look down into the Devil's Throat. The water above the falls is usually calm and slow moving, and the atmosphere tranquil. Only the roar of the water below forewarns of the danger lurking just a few feet away. A sudden, unexpected current could take a canoe into the rushing waters, over the cliff, and down into the Devil's Throat. Those foolish enough to leave the canoes to stand on these treacherous wet rocks could so easily lose their footing and be swept away into the swirling currents below.
I recognize that some of you think of yourselves as daredevils, ready to take on almost any challenge. But some of these excursions for excitement will inevitably take you down into the Devil's Throat. The only safe course is to stay well away from the dangers of the Devil's Throat.

Bishop Richard C. Edgley shared an experience he had as a young boy about the consequences of being reckless and disobedient:
"When I was a young boy, our garage and the neighbor's garage were about five feet apart. The neighbor's garage was very old and dilapidated, and some of the boards were breaking. I, on occasion, would climb onto our garage and jump from one garage to the other and play on top of them. My father had told me, 'Stay off the garages,' but I didn't. One time when I was playing on them, I jumped from our garage and fell through the roof of the neighbor's garage, scraping my back and legs badly. Because I had been disobedient, I foolishly decided not to tell anyone that I had hurt myself. I went in the house and washed the scrapes and scratches as well as I could, but I couldn't reach the ones on my back to put antiseptic on them or even wash them clean. I bore the burden of pain, worry over infection setting in, and guilt for several days while the healing process took place."
As someone once said, "One of the best things in the world to be is a boy; it requires no experience, but needs some practice to be a good one."

October 2002
Many years ago I was in a professional association with two older, more experienced men. We had been friends for many years and found it mutually beneficial to help one another. One day, one associate sought our help on a complex matter. As soon as the issue had been explained, the first thing the other associate said was, "What's in it for me?" When his old friend responded so selfishly, I saw the look of pain and disappointment on the face of the one who had invited our help. The relationship between the two was never quite the same after that. Our self-serving friend did not prosper, as his selfishness soon eclipsed his considerable gifts, talents, and qualitiesDuring my professional career, I helped the heirs of a noble couple settle their estate. The estate was not large, but it was the fruit of many years of hard work and sacrifice. Their children were all decent, God-fearing people who had been taught to live the saving principles of the Savior. But when it came to dividing up the property, a dispute developed about who should get what. Even though there was nothing of great value to fight about, feelings of selfishness and greed caused a rift among some of the family members that never healed and continued into the next generation. How tragic that the legacy offered by these wonderful parents turned out to be so destructive of family unity and love among their children. I learned from this that selfishness and greed bring bitterness and contention; on the other hand sacrifice and giving bring peace and contentment.
Some years ago, Elder ElRay L. Christiansen told about one of his distant Scandinavian relatives who joined the Church. He was quite well-to-do and sold his lands and stock in Denmark to come to Utah with his family. For a while he did well as far as the Church and its activities were concerned, and he prospered financially. However, he became so caught up in his possessions that he forgot about his purpose in coming to America. The bishop visited him and implored him to become active as he used to be. The years passed and some of his brethren visited him and said: "Now, Lars, the Lord was good to you when you were in Denmark. He has been good to you since you have come here. . . . We think now, since you are growing a little older, that it would be well for you to spend some of your time in the interests of the Church. After all, you can't take these things with you when you go."
Jolted by this remark, the man replied, "Vell, den, I vill not go." But he did! And so will all of us!
Some years ago a young "Korean boy took his weekly allowance and bought newspapers with it. Then he and some friends sold these on the streets of Seoul, Korea, to raise money to help a fellow student who did not have sufficient funds to stay in school. This young man also gave part of his lunch to this boy each day so that he would not go hungry. Why did he do these things? Because he had been studying the story of the Good Samaritan and didn't just want to learn about the Good Samaritan but wanted to know what it felt like to be one by doing what a Good Samaritan would do. . . . Only after careful questioning by his father about his activities" did he admit, "But, Dad, every time I help my friend, I feel I'm becoming more like the Good Samaritan. Besides that, I want to help my classmates who aren't as fortunate as I. It's not that big of a thing I am doing. I read about it in my seminary manual and felt it was the thing I ought to do." The boy did not ask, "What's in it for me?" before performing this kindness. In fact, he did it without any thought of recompense or recognition.
On September 11, 2001, the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York City were hit by terrorist-controlled airliners that caused both towers to collapse. Thousands of people were killed. Out of this tragedy have come hundreds of stories of courageous, unselfish acts. One very poignant and heroic account is the Washington Post's story of retired army Colonel Cyril "Rick" Rescorla, who was working as vice president for corporate security of Morgan Stanley Dean Witter.
Rick was a very experienced ex-military combat leader. He was in his office when "the first plane struck the north tower at 8:48 A.M. .
. . He took a call from the 71st floor reporting the fireball in One World Trade Center, and he immediately ordered an evacuation of all 2,700 employees in Building Two," as well as 1,000 more in Building Five.
Using his bullhorn, he moved up the floors, working through a bottleneck on the 44th and going as high as the 72nd, helping to evacuate the people from each floor. One friend who saw Rick reassuring people in the 10th-floor stairwell told him, "Rick, you've got to get out, too."
"As soon as I make sure everyone else is out," he replied.
"He was not rattled at all. He was putting the lives of his colleagues ahead of his own." He called headquarters to say he was going back up to search for stragglers.
His wife had watched the United Airlines jet go through his tower. "After a while, her phone rang. It was Rick.
" 'I don't want you to cry,' he said. 'I have to evacuate my people now.'
"She kept sobbing.
" 'If something happens to me, I want you to know that you made my life.'
"The phone went dead." Rick did not make it out.
"Morgan Stanley lost only six of its 2,700 employees in the south tower on Sept. 11, an isolated miracle amid the carnage. And company officials say Rescorla deserves most of the credit. He drew up the evacuation plan. He hustled his colleagues to safety. And then he apparently went back into the inferno to search for stragglers. He was the last man out of the south tower after the World Trade Center bombing in 1993, and no one seems to doubt that he would've been again last month if the skyscraper hadn't collapsed on him first."
Amid the great evil and carnage of September 11, 2001, Rick was not looking for what might be in it for him; instead he was unselfishly thinking about others and the danger they were in. Rick Rescorla was the "right man in the right place at the right time." Rick, "a 62-year-old mountain of a man cooly [sacrificed] his life for others." As the Savior Himself said, "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."

April 2002
President Charles W. Penrose used to tell the story of an officer on the Titanic who stated that there was no fear of "God, man or devil," because the Titanic was built so solidly that it could readily withstand collision with other ships or contact with any other force, including icebergs.2 The Titanic was in fact three football fields in length, 12 stories high, and built of the finest steel. On that fateful night of April 14, 1912, other ships warned of ice ahead. Yet the Titanic continued to increase her speed, cutting through the cold Atlantic Ocean. By the time the lookouts sighted the iceberg, it was too late. The Titanic could not turn out of its way in time, and the iceberg scraped along the starboard side of the ship, creating a series of punctures. Two hours and 40 minutes later the brand-new Titanic sank to the bottom of the ocean. Over 1,500 people were drowned.
Usually one-eighth of an iceberg is above the waterline. The ice in the cold core is very compact, and keeps seven-eighths of the iceberg under water. As it was when the Titanic encountered the iceberg, so it is with us. We can often only see part of the danger that lies ahead.

Some people think their age and experience make them better able to withstand temptation. This is a falsehood.
I remember hearing President J. Reuben Clark Jr. tell of the time when one of his children was going out on a date. He asked them to come home at a certain hour. "Chafing under that constant, urgent reminder, the [teenager] said, 'Daddy, what is the matter, don't you trust me?'
"His answer must have shocked her as he said, 'No, my [child], I don't trust you. I don't even trust myself.' "

Many years ago two General Authorities called a very young man to be a new stake president. In his response, the new stake president said he would give total devotion to his calling and would not ask any of the members of his stake to be more devoted than he. Then he bore his testimony that he believed the gospel with all his heart and proposed to live it.
Later at lunch one of the General Authorities asked this new stake president whether he knew absolutely that this gospel is true. He answered that he did not. The senior Apostle said to his fellow Apostle, "He knows it just as well as you do. The only thing that he does not know is that he does know it. It will be but a short time until he does know it. . . . You do not need to worry."
A short time later, the new stake president testified that following a spiritual experience, "I shed tears of gratitude to the Lord for the abiding, perfect, and absolute testimony that came into my life of the divinity of this work."

I have mentioned before an experience I had in the military in World War II. I hasten to say I was not a hero. But I did my duty. I endured and survived. I was assigned to a British liberty ship sailing from San Francisco to Suez. I was on that ship for 83 consecutive days except for a brief stop in Auckland, New Zealand. I was the only member of our faith on board. On Sundays I would go alone to the bow of the ship with my little set of servicemen's scriptures and songbook. Amid the howling of the wind, I would read the scriptures, pray, and sing all by myself. I did not try to bargain with the Lord, but I did pray fervently that if I could survive the war and go home to my wife and family, I would earnestly try to remain true to the sacred covenants I had made at baptism, to the oath and covenant of the priesthood, and to my temple vows.
As part of our tour of duty, our little cargo ship was ordered to tow a large, burned-out oil tanker into Auckland, New Zealand. The tanker had no power and was wallowing helplessly in the ocean. Although we never saw them, we knew enemy submarines were lurking near us. While we were pulling that ship, we were caught in a violent storm, which we later learned sank many vessels. Because of the load we were pulling, we did not have enough power to go into the giant waves head on, and our ship was thrown from side to side in the trough of the pounding seas. It would creak and groan and roll from side to side, almost capsizing on every roll. Of course I prayed, as I imagine others did. In time the storm moved away from us. I am grateful for the sustaining influence and comfort my prayers gave me then and since in other times of peril.

I once heard of a Primary teacher who asked a little boy if he said his prayers every night.
"Yes," he replied.
"And do you always say them in the morning, too?" the Primary teacher asked.
"No," the boy replied. "I ain't scared in the daytime."
Fear of the dark should not be our only motivation to pray — morning or night.

Family prayer is a powerful and sustaining influence. During the dark days of World War II, a 500-pound bomb fell outside the little home of Brother Patey, a young father in Liverpool, England, but the bomb did not go off. His wife had died, so he was rearing his five children alone. He gathered them together at this very anxious time for family prayer. They "all prayed . . . earnestly and when they had finished praying, the children said: 'Daddy, we will be all right. We will be all right in our home tonight.'
"And so they went to bed, imagine, with that terrific bomb lying just outside the door half submerged in the ground. If it had gone off it would have destroyed probably forty or fifty houses and killed two or three hundred people. . . .
"The next morning the . . . whole neighborhood was removed for forty-eight hours and the bomb was finally taken away. . . .
"On the way back Brother Patey asked the foreman of the A.R.P. Squad: 'Well, what did you find?'
" 'Mr. Patey, we got at the bomb outside of your door and found it ready to explode at any moment. There was nothing wrong with it. We are puzzled why it did not go off.' "18 Miraculous things happen when families pray together.

October 2001
Some years ago, President Gordon B. Hinckley told "something of a parable" about "a one room school house in the mountains of Virginia where the boys were so rough no teacher had been able to handle them.
"Then one day an inexperienced young teacher applied. He was told that every teacher had received an awful beating, but the teacher accepted the risk. The first day of school the teacher asked the boys to establish their own rules and the penalty for breaking the rules. The class came up with 10 rules, which were written on the blackboard. Then the teacher asked, 'What shall we do with one who breaks the rules?'
"'Beat him across the back ten times without his coat on,' came the response.
"A day or so later, . . . the lunch of a big student, named Tom, was stolen. 'The thief was located—a little hungry fellow, about ten years old.'
"As Little Jim came up to take his licking, he pleaded to keep his coat on. 'Take your coat off,' the teacher said. 'You helped make the rules!'
"The boy took off the coat. He had no shirt and revealed a bony little crippled body. As the teacher hesitated with the rod, Big Tom jumped to his feet and volunteered to take the boy's licking.
"'Very well, there is a certain law that one can become a substitute for another. Are you all agreed?' the teacher asked.
"After five strokes across Tom's back, the rod broke. The class was sobbing. 'Little Jim had reached up and caught Tom with both arms around his neck. "Tom, I'm sorry that I stole your lunch, but I was awful hungry. Tom, I will love you till I die for taking my licking for me! Yes, I will love you forever!'"

A sister who had been through a painful divorce wrote of her experience in drawing from the Atonement. She said: "Our divorce . . . did not release me from the obligation to forgive. I truly wanted to do it, but it was as if I had been commanded to do something of which I was simply incapable." Her bishop gave her some sound advice: "Keep a place in your heart for forgiveness, and when it comes, welcome it in." Many months passed as this struggle to forgive continued. She recalled: "During those long, prayerful moments . . . I tapped into a life-giving source of comfort from my loving Heavenly Father. I sense that he was not standing by glaring at me for not having accomplished forgiveness yet; rather he was sorrowing with me as I wept. . . .
"In the final analysis, what happened in my heart is for me an amazing and miraculous evidence of the Atonement of Christ. I had always viewed the Atonement as a means of making repentance work for the sinner. I had not realized that it also makes it possible for the one sinned against to receive into his or her heart the sweet peace of forgiving."

April 2001
A father should never consciously disappoint his wife or children. In 1989 there was a terrible earthquake in Armenia that killed over 30,000 people in four minutes. A distraught father went in frantic search of his son. He reached his son's school only to find that it had been reduced to a pile of rubble. But he was driven by his promise to his son, "No matter what, I'll always be there for you!" He visualized the corner where his son's classroom would be, rushed there, and started to dig through the debris, brick by brick. Others came on the scene — the fire chief, then the police — warning him of fires and explosions, and urging him to leave the search to the emergency crews. But he tenaciously carried on digging. Night came and went, and then, in the 38th hour of digging, he thought he heard his son's voice. "Armand!" he called out. Then he heard, "Dad!?! It's me, Dad! I told the other kids not to worry. I told 'em that if you were alive, you'd save me and when you saved me, they'd be saved. . . .
"There are 14 of us left out of 33. . . . When the building collapsed, it made a wedge, like a triangle, and it saved us."
"Come on out, boy!"
"No, Dad! Let the other kids out first, 'cause I know you'll get me! No matter what, I know you'll be there for me!"

Those of us who have served missions have seen the miracle in the lives of some we have taught as they have come to realize that they are sons and daughters of God. Many years ago an elder who served a mission in the British Isles said at the end of his labors, "I think my mission has been a failure. I have labored all my days as a missionary here and I have only baptized one dirty little Irish kid. That is all I baptized."
Years later, after his return to his home in Montana, he had a visitor come to his home who asked, "Are you the elder who served a mission in the British Isles in 1873?"
"Yes."
Then the man went on, "And do you remember having said that you thought your mission was a failure because you had only baptized one dirty little Irish kid?"
He said, "Yes."
The visitor put out his hand and said, "I would like to shake hands with you. My name is Charles A. Callis, of the Council of the Twelve of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I am that dirty little Irish kid that you baptized on your mission."
That little Irish boy came to a knowledge of his potential as a son of God. Elder Callis left a lasting legacy for his large family.

My baptism into this Church was one of the highlights of my life. I was eight years of age. My parents taught me and my brothers the significance of this great ordinance. My mother told me that after my baptism I would be held accountable for the things I did that were not right. I remember the day of my baptism very vividly. I was baptized in the baptismal font in the Tabernacle on Temple Square. Those who were being baptized put on white coveralls and one by one were gently taken down the steps into the water. One of the children baptized that day was not totally immersed, and so the ordinance was repeated. This was necessary because, as the scriptures indicate, "baptism symbolizes death, burial, and resurrection, and can only be done by immersion."
It also follows the pattern set by the Savior, who was baptized in the river Jordan, where there was much water. As Matthew records, "And Jesus, when he was baptized, went up straightway out of the water."
Even though I was only eight years of age, the words of the baptismal prayer penetrated deeply into my soul. After repeating my name Brother Irvin G. Derrick, who baptized me, said, "Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Some years ago Albert Peters told of the experience he and his companion had of a man being born again. One day they went to the hut of Atiati in the village of Sasina in Samoa. There they found an unshaven, unkempt, misshapen man lying on a bed. He asked them to come in and introduce themselves. He was pleased to know they were missionaries and wanted to hear their message. They presented the first discussion, bore witness to him, and then left. As they walked away, they discussed Atiati's condition; he had had polio 22 years before that had left him without the use of his arms or legs, so how could he ever be baptized, being so completely disabled?
When they visited their new friend the next day, they were unprepared for the change in Atiati. He was bright and clean-shaven; even his bedding had been changed. "Today," he said, "I begin to live again, because yesterday my prayers were answered and you [came] to me. . . . I have waited for more than twenty years for someone to come and tell me that they have the true gospel of Christ."
For several weeks the two missionaries taught this sincere, intelligent man the principles of the gospel, and he received a strong witness of the truth and the need for baptism. He asked them to fast with him so that he would have the strength to go down into the water and be baptized. The nearest baptismal font was eight miles away. So they carried him to their car, drove him to the chapel, and set him on a bench. Their district leader opened the service by bearing a strong testimony about the sacred ordinance of baptism. Then Elder Peters and his companion picked up Atiati and carried him to the font. As they did so, Atiati said, "Please, put me down." They hesitated, and he said again, "Put me down."
As they stood in some confusion, Atiati smiled and exclaimed: "This is the most important event in my life. I know without a doubt in my mind that this is the only way to eternal salvation. I will not be carried to my salvation!" So they lowered Atiati to the ground. After a huge effort, he managed to pull himself up. The man who had lain 20 years without moving was now standing. Slowly, one shaky step at a time, Atiati went down the steps and into the water, where the astonished missionary took him by the hand and baptized him. He then asked to be carried from the font to the chapel, where he was confirmed a member of the Church.
Atiati continued to progress so that he gained the ability to walk only by a cane. He told Elder Peters that he knew that he would be able to walk on the morning of his baptism. He said, "Since faith can move a stubborn mountain, I had no doubt in my mind that it would mend these limbs of mine."9 I believe we can say that Atiati was truly born again!

October 2000
"Whatsoever is good cometh from God, and whatsoever is evil cometh from the devil."
Robert Louis Stevenson captured this constant struggle between good and evil in the classic novel about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The story tells us that in the beginning "Dr. Jekyll is a highly respected London physician, a good and kindly man, who in his youth had showed inclinations toward evil which, however, he succeeded in suppressing. Interested in drugs, the doctor now chances upon one which enables him to change his external form to that of a repulsive dwarf, the very embodiment of evil, whom he calls Mr. Hyde. A similar dose permits him to return to the form and personality of the benevolent doctor. Many times the doctor becomes Mr. Hyde, thereby giving this side of his nature more and more power. Jekyll finds it increasingly difficult to regain his virtuous entity and also finds himself occasionally becoming Hyde without the use of the drug."6 In the character of Mr. Hyde, he commits murder, and when the drug will no longer restore him to the kindly Dr. Jekyll, the truth is discovered and Hyde kills himself. The misuse of drugs destroyed his life. So it can be in real life.

The first cornerstone of my testimony was laid a long time ago. One of my early recollections was having a frightening nightmare as a small child. I still remember it vividly. I must have screamed in fright during the night. My grandmother woke me up. I was crying, and she took me in her arms, hugged me, and comforted me. She got a bowl of some of my favorite rice pudding that was left over from dinner, and I sat on her lap as she spoon-fed me. She told me that we were safe in our house because Jesus was watching over us. I felt it was true then, and I still believe it now. I was comforted in both body and soul and went peacefully back to bed, assured of the divine reality that Jesus does watch over us.

These early seeds of faith sprouted still further when, as a young Aaronic Priesthood boy, I received a firsthand confirmation of the remarkable testimony of the Three Witnesses concerning the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. My stake president was President Henry D. Moyle, and his father was James H. Moyle. In the summertime Brother James H. Moyle would visit his family, and he would worship with us in our little ward in the southeast of the Salt Lake Valley.
One Sunday, Brother James H. Moyle shared with us a singular experience. As a young man he went to the University of Michigan to study law. As he was finishing his studies, his father told him that David Whitmer, one of the witnesses of the Book of Mormon, was still alive. The father suggested to his son that he stop on his way back to Salt Lake City to visit with David Whitmer face-to-face. Brother Moyle's purpose was to ask him about his testimony concerning the golden plates and the Book of Mormon.
During that visit, Brother Moyle said to David Whitmer: "Sir, you are an old man, and I'm a young man. I have been studying about witnesses and testimonies. Please tell me the truth concerning your testimony as one of the witnesses of the Book of Mormon." David Whitmer then told this young man: "Yes, I held the golden plates in my hands, and they were shown to us by an angel. My testimony concerning the Book of Mormon is true." David Whitmer was out of the Church, but he never denied his testimony of the angel's visitation, of handling the golden plates, or of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. Hearing with my own ears this remarkable experience directly from Brother Moyle's lips had a powerful, confirming effect upon my growing testimony. Having heard it, I felt it was binding upon me.

April 2000
The Shield of Faith
Faith intensifies and magnifies our gifts and abilities. There is no greater source of knowledge than the inspiration that comes from the Godhead, who have all understanding and knowledge of that which has been, is now, and will be in the future.
At Haun's Mill, a heroic pioneer woman, Amanda Smith, learned by faith how to do something beyond her abilities and the scientific knowledge of her time. On that terrible day in 1838, as the firing ceased and the mobsters left, she returned to the mill and saw her eldest son, Willard, carrying his seven-year-old brother, Alma. She cried, "Oh! my Alma is dead!" "No, mother," he said, "I think Alma is not dead. But father and brother Sardius are [dead]!" But there was no time for tears now. Alma's entire hip bone was shot away. Amanda later recalled:
"Flesh, hip bone, joint and all had been ploughed out. . . . We laid little Alma on a bed in our tent and I examined the wound. It was a ghastly sight. I knew not what to do. . . . Yet was I there, all that long, dreadful night, with my dead and my wounded, and none but God as our physician and help. 'Oh my Heavenly Father,' I cried, 'what shall I do? Thou seest my poor wounded boy and knowest my inexperience. Oh, Heavenly Father, direct me what to do!' And then I was directed as by a voice speaking to me.
". . . Our fire was still smouldering. . . . I was directed to take . . . ashes and make a lye and put a cloth saturated with it right into the wound. . . . Again and again I saturated the cloth and put it into the hole . . . , and each time mashed flesh and splinters of bone came away with the cloth; and the wound became as white as chicken's flesh. "Having done as directed I again prayed to the Lord and was again instructed as distinctly as though a physician had been standing by speaking to me. Near by was a slippery-elm tree. From this I was told to make a . . . poultice and fill the wound with it. . . . The poultice was made, and the wound, which took fully a quarter of a yard of linen to cover, . . . was properly dressed. . . .
"I removed the wounded boy to a house . . . and dressed his hip; the Lord directing me as before. I was reminded that in my husband's trunk there was a bottle of balsam. This I poured into the wound, greatly soothing Alma's pain.
"'Alma my child,' I said, 'you believe that the Lord made your hip?' "'Yes, mother.'
"'Well, the Lord can make something there in the place of your hip, don't you believe he can, Alma?'
"'Do you think that the Lord can, mother?' inquired the child, in his simplicity.
"'Yes, my son,' I replied, 'he has showed it all to me in a vision.' "Then I laid him comfortably on his face, and said: 'Now you lay like that, and don't move, and the Lord will make you another hip.'
"So Alma laid on his face for five weeks, until he was entirely recovered--a flexible gristle having grown in place of the missing joint and socket, which remains to this day a marvel to physicians. . . .
"It is now nearly forty years ago, but Alma has never been the least crippled during his life, and he has traveled quite a long period of the time as a missionary of the gospel and [is] a living miracle of the power of God."
The treatment was unusual for that day and time, and unheard of now, but when we reach an extremity, like Sister Smith, we have to exercise our simple faith and listen to the Spirit as she did. Exercising our faith will make it stronger.

The Power of Self-Mastery
Self-mastery . . . is the ultimate test of our character.
A local newspaper recently reported on a phenomenon accompanying the increased traffic on our roads: "It is the normal scenario of rush-hour traffic: honking, tailgating, obscene gestures. Even outright violence is on the increase in our driving." Sometimes tempers get out of control, and we call it "road rage." I have often wondered why some men's personalities change when they get behind the steering wheel of their car, secured by glass and metal. In some way this seems to excuse their rude behavior. Road rage is not caused by traffic congestion but by attitude. As some drivers become impatient and overaggressive, they may lose control and cause serious injury, even death, to others on the highway.
Self-mastery is a challenge for every individual.
Heber J. Grant was the first President of the Church I had the privilege of meeting. He was truly a great man. We admired him because part of his strength was his great determination for self-mastery. His father died when he was only a year old, and his widowed mother struggled to raise him. He was conscientious in helping her and trying to take care of her. "When he was older and wanted to join a baseball team, . . . the other [boys laughed] at him, . . . calling him a 'sissy' because he could not throw the ball between the bases. His teammates teased him so much that . . . he . . . made up his mind that he was going to play with the nine who would win the championship of the Territory of Utah. He purchased a baseball and practiced hour after hour, throwing at a neighbor's old barn. Often his arm would ache so much he could hardly . . . sleep at night. He kept on practicing and . . . improving and advancing from one team to another until he finally [succeeded] in playing [on] the team that won the territorial championship!"
Another example of his self-mastery was his determination to become a good penman. His penmanship was so bad that when two of his friends looked at it, one said, "That writing looks like hen tracks." "No," said the other, "it looks as if lightning has struck an ink bottle." This, of course, touched young Heber Grant's pride. While he was still in his teens as a policy clerk in the office of H. R. Mann and Co., "he was offered three times his salary to go to San Francisco as a penman. He later became a teacher of penmanship and bookkeeping at the University of [Utah]. In fact, with a specimen he had written before he turned seventeen, he took first prize in a territorial fair against four professional penmen."8 Singing was another challenge for President Grant. As a small child, he could not carry a tune. When he was 10, a music instructor tried to teach him the simplest song and finally gave up in despair. At age 26, when he became an Apostle, he asked Professor Sims if he could teach him how to sing. After listening to him, Professor Sims replied, "Yes, you can learn to sing, but I would like to be forty miles away while you are doing it." This only challenged him to try harder.
President Grant one time said, "I have practiced on the 'Doxology' between three and four hundred times, and there are only four lines, and I cannot sing it yet."11 It is reported that on a trip to Arizona with Elder Rudger Clawson and Elder J. Golden Kimball, President Grant "asked them if he could sing one hundred songs on the way. They thought he was joking and said, 'Fine, go right ahead.' After the first forty, they assured him if he sang the other sixty they would both have a nervous breakdown. He sang the other sixty."
By practicing all of his life he made some improvement in singing but perhaps not as much as in baseball and penmanship, which he mastered.

October 1999
I am grateful that I was taught as a child how to plant seeds. Through the miracle of life, we planted the seeds and produced delicious fresh peas, corn, carrots, turnips, onions, and potatoes from our own garden. I clearly remember a most meaningful experience when my grandfather showed us how to sow alfalfa seeds by hand. He had plowed and harrowed the ground to prepare the seedbed. Then he took a handful of seeds, and with a wide swing of his arm he artfully scattered them as he paced across the field in geometric patterns. Although birds ate some of the alfalfa seed, the crop grew, and the stand was rich and plentiful for many years.
This experience helped me later, as a missionary, to understand the Savior's parable of the sower, which is actually a parable about different kinds of soil. . For years William R. Wagstaff, who served in the North Central States Mission from 1928 to 1930, felt disappointed he had not baptized more people. In the summer of 1929 he and his companion visited a farm family about 180 miles west of Winnipeg.
"Brother Wagstaff remembered giving a copy of the Book of Mormon to the mother and discussing the gospel with her during numerous visits through that and the following summer.
"He recalled that during each visit 'she'd take off her apron and we'd sit down and discuss the gospel. She'd read and have lots of questions.'
"But at the close of his mission, she still had not been baptized, and he lost touch with her."
Brother Wagstaff went home, married, and raised a family. Then in October 1969 he and his wife attended his missionary reunion. "A lady approached him and asked, 'Aren't you Elder Wagstaff?'
". . . She introduced herself as the woman he had taught on the farm outside Winnipeg. In her hand was a worn copy of the Book of Mormon - the one he had given her 40 years earlier.
"'She showed me the book,' he related. 'I turned over the front and there was my name and address.'
"She then told Brother Wagstaff about 60 members of her family were members of the Church, including a branch president."
Elder Wagstaff planted the seed during his mission but went home while it was still in the ground. Forty years later he learned of the rich harvest that eventually had come to pass and that "whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."

I believe that many bright and special and valiant spirits have been saved for this challenging time. I'm thinking about one bright little boy called Timmy. Timmy had only two pennies in his pocket when he approached the farmer and pointed to a tomato hanging lusciously from a vine.
"Give you two cents for it," the boy offered.
"That kind brings a nickel," the farmer told him.
"This one?" Timmy asked, pointing to a smaller, greener, and less tempting specimen. The farmer nodded agreement. "OK," said Timmy, and sealed the deal by placing his two pennies in the farmer's hand. "I'll pick it up in about a week."
You young men could learn from Timmy, who invested two cents in a tomato that would be worth five cents in the future. If you are willing to invest now, you young men will have opportunities to accomplish as much as any generation that has ever lived.

Few activities are safer than serving a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Missionaries are literally in the hands of the Lord. We wish that all of them could be kept totally out of harm's way all of the time, but that is not realistic. Missionaries, their families, and leaders trust fully in the Lord's watch care, and when a rare tragedy strikes, they are sustained by the Spirit of Him whom they serve.
Last summer I visited Elder Orin Voorheis at his parents' home in Pleasant Grove, Utah. He is a big, handsome, splendid young man who served in the Argentina Buenos Aires South Mission. One night, about 11 months into his mission, some armed robbers accosted Elder Voorheis and his companion. In a senseless act of violence, one of them shot Elder Voorheis in the head. For days he hovered between life and death, unable to speak, hear, move, or even breathe on his own. Through the faith and prayers of a host of people over a long period of time, he eventually was taken off life support and brought back to the United States.
After months of extensive hospitalization and therapy, Elder Voorheis became stronger, but he was still paralyzed and unable to speak. Progress was slow. His parents decided that they should bring their son home and care for him in the loving atmosphere of their own family. However, their modest home lacked the space or equipment to give the needed therapy. Many kind neighbors, friends, and benefactors pitched in to build an addition to the home and provide physical therapy equipment.
Elder Voorheis is still almost completely paralyzed and unable to speak, but he has a wonderful spirit and can respond to questions with hand movements. He still wears his missionary badge. His parents do not ask, "Why did this happen to our noble son, who was serving at the call of the Master?" No one has a certain answer except perhaps in circumstances where higher purposes are served. We must walk in faith.

Priesthood, April 1999
The more we obey revealed truth, the more we become liberated. President David O. McKay spoke about his horse Dandy, who wanted complete freedom and no restraints. President McKay said:
"Under the saddle he was as willing, responsive, and cooperative as a horse could be. . . .
"But Dandy resented restraint. He was ill-contented when tied and would nibble at the tie-rope until he was free. He would not run away, he just wanted to be free. Thinking other horses felt the same, he would proceed to untie their ropes. . . .
". . . His curiosity and desire to explore the neighborhood led him and me into trouble. Once on the highway he was hit by an automobile. . . .
"Recovering from that, and still impelled with a feeling of wanderlust, he inspected the fence throughout the entire boundary. He even found the gates wired. . . .
"One day, however, somebody left the gate unwired. Detecting this, Dandy unlatched it and took another horse . . . with him, and together they . . . went to an old house used for storage. Dandy's curiosity prompted him to push open the door. . . . There was a sack of grain. What a find! Yes, and what a tragedy. The grain was bait for rodents! In a few minutes Dandy and the other horse were in spasmodic pain, and shortly afterwards both were dead."
President McKay continued: "How like Dandy are many of our youth!
. . . They are impulsive, full of life, full of curiosity. . . . They, too, are restive under restraint, but if they are kept busy, guided carefully and rightly, they prove to be responsive and capable; but if left to wander unguided, they all too frequently violate principles of right which often lead to snares of evil, disaster, and even death.

Saturday, April 1999
My message today is about preparing ourselves for the future. This is our time, and it involves more than just looking at the clock. Some of us are watching our clocks quite anxiously as they tick their way inexorably into the next century. Our awareness of time affects how we think and act. This is illustrated by the story about the clock in a restaurant window. It "had stopped a few minutes past noon. One day a friend asked the owner if he knew the clock was not running. 'Yes,' replied the restaurant man, 'but you would be surprised to know how many people look at that clock, think they are hungry, and come in to get something to eat.'"

Pioneers of the Future: Be Not Afraid, Only Believe
Saturday, October 4, 1997

Recently I heard of a good man who, after being married in the temple and having four children, fell away from the Church. His physical appearance became shabby and his demeanor sad as he became a drug addict, an alcoholic, and then a chain-smoker. He continued in this destructive lifestyle for many years. However, in time, with the help of a good wife, home teachers, a caring bishop, and our loving Heavenly Father, he eventually started on the long road back. One of the proudest days in his life came when he once again qualified for a temple recommend. Looking back on those bad years, he later admitted, "All I ever wanted was to belong." Seeking acceptance from the wrong source brought untold misery and pain.

We can overcome all of our fears, not all at once, but one at a time. As we do so we will grow in confidence. The following is the story of a young man who encountered a fear that each one of us has faced or will face at some time in our lives.
It was a hot July afternoon, and the chapel was filled for stake priesthood meeting. There was a young priest sitting on the stand in "contained nervousness," and after the hymn the stake president announced him as the next speaker.
He spread out his notes, and as he did so his quivering hands betrayed his fear. He began to speak, but soon his speech quickened to a gabble, his words wild and repetitive. Worse followed as he began to stammer and then stopped speaking altogether.
A heavy silence settled on the room. Who has not felt the terror of standing before an awesome audience? Everyone thought he would sit down, but no, he stayed on his feet, his head down. A few ominous seconds ticked by, and then he squared his shoulders and blurted out: "Brethren, I ask for an interest in your faith and prayers, that I might have sureness of speech."
Then he went back to where he had left off, speaking quietly but clearly. Soon his voice rose to its natural resonance, and he delivered his message to its full conclusion. It was not so much his message that thrilled those who were there. It was the image of that young man, unflinching even though he felt himself teetering on a precipice of fear, taking up the banner of courage and rallying himself for the cause of truth.

Many years ago when I was a bishop, a conscientious father came to me for counsel. He felt that the many and frequent activities of the Church made it difficult to have as much family togetherness as he and his wife deemed necessary. The children had the idea that they were not loyal to the Church if they did not participate fully in every recreational activity. I told this caring father that Church activities were to help him and his wife rear their children. They as parents had not only the right but the duty to determine the extent of their family's involvement in social activities. Family unity, solidarity, and harmony should be preserved. After all, a family is the basic, permanent unit of the Church.

There must be listening ears and obedience to the living prophet of the Church. President Marion G. Romney stated it well:
"It is an easy thing to believe in the dead prophets, but it is a greater thing to believe in the living prophets. I will give you an illustration.
"One day when President Grant was living, I sat in my office across the street following a general conference. A man came over to see me, an elderly man. He was very upset about what had been said in this conference by some of the Brethren, including myself. I could tell from his speech that he came from a foreign land. After I had quieted him enough so he would listen, I said, 'Why did you come to America?'
"'I came here because a prophet of God told me to come.'
"'Who was the prophet?' I continued.
"'Wilford Woodruff.'
"'Do you believe Wilford Woodruff was a prophet of God?'
"'Yes,' said he.
"'Do you believe that his successor, President Lorenzo Snow, was a prophet of God?'
"'Yes, I do.'
"'Do you believe that President Joseph F. Smith was a prophet of God?'
"'Yes, sir.'
"Then came the 'sixty-four dollar question.' 'Do you believe that Heber J. Grant is a prophet of God?'
"His answer: 'I think he ought to keep his mouth shut about old age assistance.'"

The childlike faith of a follower of the divine Christ is a choice spiritual gift. It can be enjoyed by young and old. In the early days of the Church, a young boy by the name of Will Cluff, 10 years of age, living in Nauvoo, had a remarkable, pure faith. He had an experience to which many of us can relate.
His family was poor and had only one cow which they depended on for food. In the spring of 1842 the cow strayed off. One evening in August his father came home very weary and discouraged. He and Will's brothers had spent much of the summer looking for the cow. Will said, "Father, if you will let me take Charley (an old horse) I will go and find the cow." His father reluctantly said he could.
Early next morning Will rode to the Big Mound, three miles east and in the prairie country. Here he had often herded cows with other boys from Nauvoo. He got off the horse and, holding it by the bridle, knelt down and fervently prayed the Lord to direct him which way to go to find the cow. He climbed back on the horse and rode south, a course he was impressed to take even though there were numerous bunches of cattle in every direction.
After traveling a few miles in the open prairie and passing hundreds of cattle, Will came to a fence. He dismounted and let down the stake, led his horse in, put up the fence, then rode three miles across the field. He again found himself in the open prairie with numerous bunches of stock in every direction. When he had gone about a quarter of a mile from the field, he rode right on to the cow, feeding alone some distance from any other animals.
Will started to drive the cow in the direction of the city. He arrived late in the evening full of joy and thankful to his Father in Heaven.

As a small boy on the farm during the searing heat of the summer, I remember my grandmother Mary Finlinson cooking our delicious meals on a hot woodstove. When the wood box next to the stove became empty, Grandmother would silently pick up the box, go out to refill it from the pile of cedar wood outside, and bring the heavily laden box back into the house. I was so insensitive and interested in the conversation in the kitchen, I sat there and let my beloved grandmother refill the kitchen wood box. I feel ashamed of myself and have regretted my omission for all of my life. I hope someday to ask for her forgiveness.

When I was a very small boy, my father found a lamb all alone out in the desert. The herd of sheep to which its mother belonged had moved on, and somehow the lamb got separated from its mother, and the shepherd must not have known that it was lost. Because it could not have survived alone in the desert, my father picked it up and brought it home. To have left the lamb there would have meant certain death, either by falling prey to the coyotes or by starvation because it was so young that it still needed milk. Some sheepmen call these lambs "bummers." My father gave the lamb to me and I became its shepherd.
For several weeks I warmed cow's milk in a babys bottle and fed the lamb. We became fast friends. I called him Nigh - why I don't remember. It began to grow. My lamb and I would play on the lawn. Sometimes we would lie together on the grass and I would lay my head on its soft, wolly side and look up at the blue sky and the white billowing clouds. I did not lock my lamb up during the day. It would not run away. It soon learned to eat grass. I could call my lamb from anywhere in the yard by just imitating as best I could the bleating sound of a sheep: Baa. Baa.
One night there came a terrible storm. Iforgot to put my lamb in the barn that night as I should have done. Iwent to bed. My little friend was frightened in the stormand I could hear it bleating. I knew that I should help my pet, but I wanted to stay saf, warm, and dry in my bed. I didn't get up as I should have done. The next morning I went out to find my lamb dead. A dog had also heard its bleating cry and killed it. My heart was broken. I had not been a good shepherd or steward of that which my father had entrusted me. My father said, "Son, couldn't I trust you to take care of just one lamb?" My father's remark hurt me more than losing my wooly friend. I resolved that day, as a little boy, that I would try never again to neglect my stewardship as a shepherd if I were ever placed in that position again
Not too many years thereafter I was called as a junior companion to a home teacher. There were times when it was cold or stormy and I wanted to stay home and be confortable, but in my mind's ear I could hear my little lamb bleating, and I knew I needed to be a good shepherd and go with my senior companion.

Acting for Ourselves and Not Being Acted Upon
October 1995

Some years ago Elder Marion D. Hanks told about a group of Boy Scouts who went cave exploring. The narrow trail was marked with white stones and lighted in sections as they went. After about an hour they came to a huge, high dome. Below it lay an area called the Bottomless Pit, so called because the floor of the cave had collapsed into a deep, gaping hole. It was hard not to jostle each other on that narrow path. Pretty soon, one of the bigger boys accidentally pushed a smaller boy into a muddy area away from the light. Terrified as he lost his footing, he screamed in the darkness. The ranger heard his cry of terror and came quickly. The boy let out another cry as the beam of the ranger's light showed that he was right on the very edge of the pit.
In this story, the boy was rescued. But this does not always happen. So many times young people are enticed to go to the very edge or even beyond it. With only a precarious toehold, it is easy to be seriously injured or even die. Life is too precious to throw away in the name of excitement, or, as Jacob said in the Book of Mormon, "looking beyond the mark."
You young people may think that you are indestructible and that you are going to live forever. In a few years you will learn that this is not so. Living on the edge can also mean being perilously close to the Bottomless Pit.

Patriarchal blessings come from God Priesthood Blessings
October 1995

The patriarch has no blessing of his own to give. We heard Elder LeGrand Richards tell of a patriarch who once said to a woman, "I have a wonderful blessing for you." But when the patriarch laid his hands on the head of the recipient, his mind went completely blank. He apologized. "I was mistaken. I do not have a blessing for you. It is the Lord who has the blessing for you." The woman came back the next day, and after the patriarch had prayerfully importuned the Lord, a blessing came that mentioned many concerns known only to this good sister. All blessings come from God.

Joseph F. Smith stands firm; Acting for Ourselves and Not Being Acted Upon
October 1995

Each of us must at times courageously and firmly stand up for what we are and what we believe. When President Joseph F. Smith was a young man, he was faced with this predicament:
"One morning when he and several other missionaries were returning to Salt Lake City, a group of rough Mormon-haters rode up on horses, firing their guns and cursing.
"The leader jumped off his horse and shouted, 'We will kill anyone who is a Mormon!' The other missionaries had fled into the woods, but Joseph F. bravely stood his ground. The man shoved a gun in Joseph F.'s face and asked, 'Are you a Mormon?'
"Joseph F. stood tall and said, 'Yes siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through!'
"The man was surprised at his reply. He put the gun away, shook Joseph's hand, and said, 'Well, you are the pleasantest man I ever met! I'm glad to see a fellow stand up for his convictions.' He jumped back on his horse and rode off with his companions."
Unlike Joseph F. Smith, the danger you young men face is not so much physical; but rather it is the danger of being personally deceived and misled. This danger is, in some ways, more subtle and difficult and requires more strength and courage than facing physical danger.

Five Loaves And Two Fishes
April 1994

In the listening audience today are Jeff and Joyce Underwood of Pocatello, Idaho. They are parents of Jeralee and their other five children. Jeff works on a building maintenance team that cares for some of our chapels in Pocatello, Idaho. Joyce is a mother and homemaker. One day last July, their daughter Jeralee, age eleven, was going door to door collecting money for her newspaper route. Jeralee never returned home--not that day, nor the next day, nor the next, nor ever.
Two thousand people from the area had gone out day after day to search for her. Other churches sent support and food for the searchers. It was learned that Jeralee had been abducted and brutally murdered by an evil man. When her body was found, the whole city was horrified and shocked. All segments of the community reached out to Joyce and Jeff in love and sympathy. Some became angry and wanted to take vengeance. After Jeralee's body was found, Jeff and Joyce appeared with great composure before the television cameras and other media to publicly express their profound thanks to all who had helped in the search and who had extended sympathy and love. Joyce said, "I know our Heavenly Father has heard and answered our prayers, and he has brought our daughter back to us." Jeff said, "We no longer have doubt about where she is." Joyce continued, "I have learned a lot about love this week, and I also know there is a lot of hate. I have looked at the love and want to feel that love, and not the hate. We can forgive." Elder Joe J. Christensen and I, representing the General Authorities, were among the thousands privileged to attend Jeralee's funeral service. The Holy Spirit blessed that gathering in a remarkable way and spoke peace to the souls of all who attended. Later, President Kerr W. Howard, Jeralee's stake president, wrote, "The Underwoods have received letters from people both in and out of the Church stating that they prayed for Jeralee, and they hadn't prayed in years, and because of this, they had a renewed desire to return to the Church." President Howard continued, "We will never know the extent of activation and rededication this single event has caused. Who knows the far-reaching effects Jeralee's life will have for generations untold." Many have come into the Church because they wanted to know what kind of a religion could give the Underwoods their spiritual strength.
I mention the good coming from this tragic event with Jeralee's parents' full approval and encouragement. Their sweet daughter was like the lad who had only five barley loaves and two small fishes to give to the cause of the Savior, but by the power of God, countless thousands have been spiritually fed.