The Work of Angels

She was alone, perhaps in the midst of some daily activity—getting water from a well, preparing food for a meal, praying by her bedside. It may have been morning or night, inside or out. But certainly, she was alone. And suddenly she was not alone. There was a light. A voice. A glorious being. A strange salutation: “Hail, thou that art highly favored, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women” (Luke 1:28).

Surprise and wonder must have filled Mary’s mind and heart—and perhaps fear, for who would not have felt fear at this sudden apparition, this brilliantly white person, this unearthly voice. Yet there must have been also an instinctual sense of awe and reverence, a deep, dawning, and indisputable awareness of the holiness of this personage, a growing glimpse in her heart that this man, this presence, carried with him all that is good and godly, gifts and grace from heaven itself.

His name was Gabriel. He was a messenger from God, an angel of light, sent to announce the wondrous news of an infinite and eternal redemption from sin and death. To the virgin before him—perhaps frightened, perhaps humbled, perhaps sensing the holiness of the moment—he declared the startling news that she, Mary, would give birth to a child, but not just a child: “the Son of the Highest,” said Gabriel. “And he shall reign over the house of Jacob forever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end” (Luke 1:32, 33).

In response to this earthshaking revelation, Mary simply asked, “How shall this be?” (Luke 1:34). Gabriel must have rejoiced to find a heart that did not dispute or doubt or debate, but that simply sought clarification. And when the explanation was given, with deep faith, submission, and complete trust in Gabriel’s words, Mary said, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word” (Luke 1:38).

It was a brief interview. An introduction was made, a message delivered, a question asked, an explanation given, and a sublime declaration of ultimate faith expressed. Yet how momentous that conversation was for Mary, for Gabriel, for the entire world.

The story of Christmas is the story of angels. From Gabriel’s messages to Mary and Zacharias to the angelic instruction to Joseph to the declaration to the shepherds to the heavenly choir that filled Bethlehem’s night with praises to God.

But the angelic work began long before Bethlehem, or even Nazareth. It began at least several thousand years earlier when an angel declared the tidings of redemption to Adam, who had only recently been expelled from the garden (see Moses 5:4-9). It continued on through the centuries as angels delivered messages of salvation to prophet after prophet. In one such visit, Gabriel announced the future coming of the Messiah to the Old Testament prophet Daniel (Daniel 9:21-27). In another, an angel awakened the Book of Mormon prophet and king Benjamin and said, “I am come to declare unto you the glad tidings of great joy. . . . For behold, the time cometh, and is not far distant, that with power, the Lord Omnipotent who reigneth, who was, and is from all eternity to all eternity, shall come down from heaven among the children of men, and shall dwell in a tabernacle of clay” (Mosiah 3:3, 5).

Agony in the Garden by Frans Schwartz,
in Sacred Gifts at the BYU Museum of Art.

The angelic ministry continued after the blessed birth as well. It was an angel who warned Joseph to flee with his young family to Egypt and who later called him back. Years later, after Jesus fasted for 40 days and faced temptations delivered personally by the father of lies himself, Matthew records that “angels came and ministered unto him” (Matt 4:11).

Then, in a garden called Gethsemane, the Babe, now grown, fell to the earth in agony and prayer. The Son of God, He who had power over death itself, He who had lived the only pure life in history, felt the crushing burden of sin. “And,” Luke records, “there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him” (Luke 22:43). To the Savior of the World, the angel of Gethsemane brought solace, support, and strength.

Angels do the work of God. As exemplified in the Christmas story, their work is to testify, as did Gabriel. Their work is also to minister, as did the angel in Gethsemane.

To testify and to minister—this is the work of angels. “Have angels ceased to appear unto the children of men? Or has [God] withheld the power of the Holy Ghost from them? Or will he, so long as time shall last, or the earth shall stand, or there shall be one man upon the face thereof to be saved? Behold I say unto you, Nay” (Moro. 7:36–37).

The work of angels continues today. Ofttimes, that work continues through us. Wouldn’t you have loved to have been one of the angels in the heavenly host? What a privilege it would have been to stand in Gabriel's place and to make the announcement to Mary. And with what humility and love you would have approached the angelic assignment to minister in Gethsemane. We may not have been those angels, but we can be those angels. We can sing praises that will rise to heaven and join with those of the angelic choir. We can testify of the Savior’s divine birth and holy redemption. We can minister and strengthen and love and comfort. We can do the work of angels.

As was said by Him who is the subject of angelic messages and the source of angelic love, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).

Sunday Afternoon Top 11!

So I narrowed my list for Sunday afternoon to 11 and just couldn't choose one more to cut. So there's a bonus here...

And as an extra bonus, I've included a recent picture of our "stellar spirit"--or one of them, anyway... hard to think of that term not applying to Lizzy as well; she is as stellar as they come.

Elder Quentin L. Cook: Addictions impose on society a burden of such magnitude that it is impossible to quantify.

Elder Quentin L. Cook: How we preserve time for family is one of the most significant issues facing many societies.

Elder Quentin L. Cook: If we allow our culture to reduce the connection from children to mothers and grandmothers, we will come to regret it.

Elder Quentin L. Cook: It will be hard to change society at large, but we should work hard to change the culture immediately around us; our primary efforts should be to protect our own family and the rising generation--the vast majority of whom are not yet in bondage.

Brother David M. McConkie: Teachers, ask yourself: what would the Savior say if He were teaching my class today, and how would He say it?

Elder Terence M. Vinson: God should be the center of our universe, our literal focal point. Is He? Or is He far from the thoughts and intents of our hearts?

Elder Terence M. Vinson: Rather than solve our problems Himself, the Lord wants us to develop the faith that will allow us to rely on Him in resolving our problems; then we can become connected with Him more powerfully.

Elder Russell M. Nelson: Stellar spirits are often housed in imperfect bodies.

Elder Russell M. Nelson: Why the need for self-mastery? God implanted strong appetites in us for nourishment and love. When we master our appetites within the bounds of God's laws, we can enjoy longer life, greater love, and consummate joy.

Elder Russell M. Nelson: Freedom from self-slavery is true liberation.

Elder Russell M. Nelson: God's marriage pattern cannot be disregarded--not if you want true joy.

Sunday Morning's Top 10

My favorites notes and quotes (paraphrased) from the Sunday morning session of October 2013 LDS General Conference.

President Henry B. Eyring: It is only with the companionship of the Holy Ghost that we can hope to be equally yoked in marriage.

President Henry B. Eyring: I gave him to you because I knew you could and would love him.

Elder Dallin H. Oaks: The principle is not whether we have other priorities; the question posed by the second commandment is What is our ultimate priority?

Elder Dallin H. Oaks, quoting President Thomas S. Monson: Let us have the courage to defy the consensus, the courage to stand for principle.

Sister Bonnie L. Oscarson: Conversion comes through living the principles of the gospel and sacrificing for them.

Elder Richard J. Maynes: Dedication, perseverance, self-discipline: the keys to endurance, physically and spiritually.

Elder Richard G. Scott: Repentance is not punishment; it is the hope-filled path to a more glorious future.

Elder Richard G. Scott: As you fill your life with service to Father in Heaven's children, Satan's temptations lose power in your life.

President Thomas S. Monson, quoting "the Poet": "Good timber does not grow with ease; the stronger the wind, the stronger the trees."

President Thomas S. Monson: The gospel of Jesus Christ is the penetrating light that shines through the darkness of our lives.

Priesthood Session Top 10

Here are my 10 favorite paraphrased notes from the priesthood session.

Elder L. Tom Perry: Doctrine is to the Church as a battery is to a cell phone: without it, the Church is useless.

Bishop Gerard Causse: Before you told me your name, I knew what you were called: My brother.

Elder Randy D. Funk: To be a successful missionary, you must be humble, obedient, and in tune with the promptings of the spirit.

Elder Randy D. Funk: Think of the good that comes from broken things: ground is broken to grow wheat, wheat is broken to make bread, bread is broken for the sacrament, of which we partake with broken hearts as we offer our souls to God.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf: We don't become champions without making mistakes. Our destiny is not determined by the number of times we stumble, but by the number of times we rise up.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf: Worldly sorrow leads us to become discouraged and want to give up. Godly sorrow leads to conversion and a change of heart.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf: Rise up. Your destiny is a glorious one.

President Henry B. Eyring: A parable for overloaded priesthood holders: the Good Samaritan--just remember you are the Samaritan, not the priest or the Levite who passed by.

President Henry B. Eyring: Only the Lord can bind up spiritual wounds, but He sends us to rescue His children and bring them to Him.

President Thomas S. Monson: Ours is the great privilege to brighten, to touch, to save those souls entrusted to our care.

Saturday Conference Top 10

I gained so much from the first two sessions of LDS General Conference today. Here are my 10 favorite notes, in chronological order. (Most of these are paraphrased.)

Elder Edward Dube: In the sight of the Lord, it is not so much what we have done that matters, but where we are willing to go.

Elder David A. Bednar: A grateful person is rich in contentment. An ungrateful person is in a poverty of discontent.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf: When the entire truth is made known, things that didn't make sense before will be resolved to our satisfaction.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf: Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith.

Elder D. Todd Christofferson (quoting Elder Neal A. Maxwell): One day what happened in cradles and kitchens may prove to be more influential than what happened in congress.

Elder S. Gifford Nielsen: How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, ... that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth! Exclamation point!

Elder Timothy J. Dyches: Mortality is meant to be difficult. The vicissitudes of life help us fashion an eternal relationship with God and engrave his image in our countenance.

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland: Though we may feel we are like a broken vessel, we should remember that our vessel is in the hands of the Master Potter.

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland: Live by faith, hold fast to hope, and show compassion one of another.

Elder M. Russell Ballard: The command to share the gospel is a directive we cannot escape.

Faith in the Falls

Yosemite Creek's descent is a dramatic one. The upper falls readily command attention from across the valley, while the lower portions demand would-be admirers to exert some effort—and a bit of faith.

A compact, white spray shoots from the top of a 1,400-foot cliff, spreading as it plummets toward the valley floor, casting ever-changing shadows across the rock face and sending clouds of ghostly mist out over the trees below. This is Yosemite Falls, one of the 10 tallest waterfalls in the world. But for a time, I questioned their very existence—at least in part.

Yosemite Falls actually includes three falls: the upper falls, the middle cascades, and the lower falls. The 1,400-foot upper falls command attention from far across Yosemite Valley and claim a prominent place on postcards and T-shirts in the park bookstore. The dominant visibility of the upper falls contrasts sharply with the obscurity of the lower two-thirds, lurking in the trees and on top of the lower cliffs and ledges. And as my family walked toward the lower falls this spring, I joked with Lizzy that I didn't believe they were really there.

The trail to the lower falls weaves through a thick forest of evergreens—a pleasant, gently sloping, paved path, just the kind of trail we like for hiking with Caroline, pushing her along in her giant special-needs stroller. As the trek stretched on, we gained elevation and passed some of the huge boulders that always lie at the base of Yosemite's famous cliffs, but no falls made an appearance. Even the highly visible upper falls had vanished behind trees and mountainous rock.

Our view of the lower falls came only
after a long hike through the trees.

To be sure, we had come across evidence of the falls: The trail intermittently followed a river that, presumably, came from the falls, and the distant sound of rushing, cascading, splashing water grew as we got deeper into the trees. Occasionally, peering through the green ahead, we would catch a passing glimpse of something white high in the rocks, but tree branches quickly closed upon the view as if trying to capture and hold a secret. Signs pointed the way to the falls, and we passed hikers coming the other way, chattering about what they had seen. But a full, clear, unmistakable view of the falls had yet to present itself to our eyes.

As I teased Lizzy about my faltering faith in the falls, I recognized a metaphor in our experience: Although we are often presented with abundant evidence of God's existence and love, without a direct, clear, unobstructed view, we sometimes begin to doubt. All around us in life—as on the trail—we confront witnesses of God's influence: The perfect, intricate beauty of the natural world; the wonder of life; feelings of hope, faith, and love; scriptures; the testimony of prophets and others who have had personal experience.

Yet even with all these witnesses, we begin to question. We have walked a long way on this trail of life, and we still haven't had a clear view of God. We've been working hard, and the way is getting more difficult. Is all this effort worth it? Is this trail really leading us to God? What if all this so-called evidence has another explanation? Are we wasting our time and energy?

It is tempting, at times, to give up, turn around, and walk away. In the face of ever-deeper doubt and an ever-steeper trail, we are "prone to wander," to leave the path and head off into the trees. But leaving the trail only takes us further from God and from the evidence of his existence. The sound of the water becomes harder to hear, we lose the river off in the trees somewhere, we distance ourselves from people who have seen the falls, we no longer see the trail signs. With diminished witnesses, we feel justified in our decision to leave the path. "See?" we tell ourselves and others. "All those things we once saw and heard that made us believe in the falls must have been imagined or misinterpreted. They were delusions and illusions."

At the end of our hike, we  enjoyed a clear
view of Upper and Lower Yosemite Falls.

But if we persist on the trail, despite doubt, debate, and the difficulty of the way, the evidence grows. We get closer and closer to God and see and feel more and more of his love, until eventually we bask in full view of his glory. As Moroni says, "Ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith" (Ether 12:6). This concept, of course, should not surprise us; it is a cardinal principle of life. We must hike the mountain to enjoy the vista, we must study the textbook to gain the knowledge, we must practice the skill to develop the talent. Should not the greatest knowledge also demand faith and work?

On the trail to Lower Yosemite Falls, we finally rounded a bend and could see, between the thick brown tree trunks ahead, crowds of people, standing and looking off to our right at something hidden by the trees. Great clouds of mist floated from the right, out over the people, and on into the valley. We still could not see the falls, but the sound was now a great thundering roar that filled the forest, and we could sense the joy and the wonder of the people being showered by the mist. Filled with renewed hope and faith, with a clear view of the smiling faces of others who stood in the mist, receiving the glory of the falls, we hurried on to join them.

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Are Mormons Christian?

The life of a Christian should speak for itself—it should reflect a sincere, devoted effort to follow the teachings and example of Jesus Christ. We advocate Christian living in our church, and all principles of our faith radiate from His doctrine.

About Short Answers: I am seeking to provide clear, brief responses (one or two sentences, max) to questions about the teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The answers represent my best understanding of the doctrine. For more information about these and other teachings, see the FAQ page on Mormon.org.

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What Is the Role of Jesus Christ?

Jesus Christ's mercy and grace, through his atoning sacrifice, make everything good and joyous possible—in this life and the next.

About Short Answers: I am seeking to provide clear, brief responses (one or two sentences, max) to questions about the teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The answers represent my best understanding of the doctrine. For more information about these and other teachings, see the FAQ page on Mormon.org.

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Where Do We Go After Death?

After we die, we go to a waiting room, of sorts, where those who followed God preach the gospel to those who didn't, who then have a chance to choose God and repent or to remain as they are.

About Short Answers: I am seeking to provide clear, brief responses (one or two sentences, max) to questions about the teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The answers represent my best understanding of the doctrine. For more information about these and other teachings, see the FAQ page on Mormon.org.

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Why Are We Here on Earth?

Earth is boot camp for Godhood; we are here to learn to be like God.

About Short Answers: I am seeking to provide clear, brief responses (one or two sentences, max) to questions about the teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The answers represent my best understanding of the doctrine. For more information about these and other teachings, see the FAQ page on Mormon.org.

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Where Did We Come From?

Before we were born on earth, we lived in a heavenly family with God as our Father and each other as brothers and sisters.

About Short Answers: I am seeking to provide clear, brief responses (one or two sentences, max) to questions about the teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The answers represent my best understanding of the doctrine. For more information about these and other teachings, see the FAQ page on Mormon.org.

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10 Ways to Do the Dunes

Saturday was a beautiful day for an adventure in Utah--warm weather, blue skies, a hint of spring in the air. So after lunch Lizzy and I headed out for the sand dunes, with a couple of cousins in tow. Within a few hours of the Wasatch Front is Little Sahara, a range of wind-swept sandy hills rising and falling like ocean waves, from small 10-20-foot swells to the aptly named Sand Mountain, rising 700 feet above the surrounding landscape. This area is heaven for motor-sports enthusiasts and their ATVs, motorcycles, and dune buggies.

We have none of those machines, but we had a great time at the dunes nonetheless. As I reflected on the trip later, I thought I would share a few tips for getting the most out of a trip to Little Sahara, without the machines...

We had a beautiful day in the dunes, almost alone in the sand.

1. Saturday Is a Special Day: My previous outings to the sand dunes have always been camping trips with Scouts, meaning we arrive Friday evening and leave Saturday by about noon. Friday evenings are crazy at Little Sahara: a long line of cars stacks up by the entry gate, and camp sites fill quickly. Saturday afternoon, however, was a different story. By 2:30 p.m., when we arrived, most of the Friday night/Saturday morning crowd had cleared out. We saw one Scout troop packing up as we applied our sunscreen, but we had no waiting at the entry gate, available picnic sites abounded, and for most of our visit, we were the sole occupants of the large fenced-off play area in the dunes (one of two such areas designed to protect people who dig in the sand from people who drive—loud and fast—over the sand). We spent three hours in the sand and had a blast; any less time and we might have felt cheated, but had we stayed much longer, we might have become bored. [Bonus tip: Avoid Little Sahara on the Saturday before Easter or other holiday weekends; we learned that lesson on a pre-Easter Friday/Saturday Scout campout a few years ago... insane crowds.]

2. Light Up the Night: If you do stay overnight, bring glow sticks for a game of capture the flag. The sand dunes in the dark are other-worldly, with pockets of shadows for hiding in and an uneven landscape that makes running tricky and falling fun. Glow-stick capture the flag is always the highlight of our Scout trips to the dunes.

Kennecott was our model.

3. Deep and Wide: The sand dunes beg for digging, so bring a shovel. Or two. (My back wishes we brought two.) And then have at it. Dig to China, if you must, but be careful that if you go deep, you must also go wide and you should slope up gradually out of the hole. Too many sad accidents have resulted from steep, unstable sand walls caving in on someone at the bottom of a deep hole. For our hole, we chose to make a mini open-pit mine, with a few tiers that could double as chairs or steps or driving ramps (if we had brought little trucks, which we didn't). With Scouts we have sometimes dug a hot tub—a hole with a bench all the way around—and then the boys sit in the tub and we fill it with sand up to their chests.

4. Make Your Own Shade: In midday, not much casts a shadow in Little Sahara. Trees are as comfortable here as dunes in pine-covered alpine valleys. So bring a hat, sunscreen, and sunglasses. The sun beats down relentlessly, and the reflective glare of the light-colored sand augments the effect.

In 2008 I dug a "hot tub" in the sand with some Scouts.

5. Embrace the Sand: Don't fret about sand in your ears or mouth or hair or nose. Or even down your pants. Cuz guess what: it will get there anyway. The sand is everywhere. It is inescapable. Resistance is futile. And, hey, the sand is why you came. So go ahead and wallow in it. Dump it on your head. Bury yourself up to your neck. Take a bath in the sand. By the time you leave, you will be covered with sand anyway, so you might as well enjoy it.

6. Go Fly a Kite: Dunes, of course, are made by wind, and there is plenty of it at Little Sahara, continually sculpting and changing the dunes. Harness all that wind energy with a kite and add a splash of color to the landscape. We didn't bring a kite, but we saw people who did, and we were envious. The wind also means, of course, that your stuff may blow away if you aren't careful. We lost a Trader Joe's bag--along with the badminton birdie that was in it--when a strong wind came up. No telling where that bag is now. Probably Colorado. The wind also often brings a chill, so be prepared with sweatshirts and windbreakers, despite all the sun.

The sand benders of Little Sahara.

7. Jump, Slide, and Roll: Go crazy and play in the sand. Have jumping contests off the dunes. Bring a sled to enjoy a thrill ride down the steeper hills (and to transport your gear around). Make trails down the dunes and race balls down the trails. Throw the sand in the air and take pictures. On Saturday the girls (who are all big fans of the cartoon Avatar: The Last Air Bender) decided they were sand benders and wanted me to take pictures...

8. Be a spectator: Several miles into Little Sahara stands a Sand Mountain, which is almost always buzzing with 4-wheelers and dune buggies, some of them very tricked out. This may be a guy thing, but Scouts have often enjoyed hearing the roar of the engines and watching the sand vehicles zipping up and down the steep sand slope.

This weird bug was first labeled "freaky" and then "cute."

9. Follow bugs: If you watch the sand, you will often notice curious tracks. I first thought they were lizard tracks until I witnessed the maker of the tracks doing his thing: a little black beetle was crawling up the sand, determinedly going somewhere, though I'm sure he didn't know where. These little creatures make amazing journeys across the dunes and I wonder how they survive and where they think they are going.

10. Hit Reed's on the Way Home: As you wrap up your perfect day at the dunes, head east to the small town of Nephi, 45 minutes away. There you'll find an assortment of fast food and other restaurants, and on Main Street you can make a stop at Reed's, a typical small-town burger joint with juicy burgers, big servings of tater tots, and yummy, fresh shakes. As with other such places, it tempers the "fast" in fast food (a trot, not a gallop), but I thought the wait was worth it.

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Lackeous Foodiferous

Suddenly everything was dark. It was as if I was fainting—only I didn't faint. The colors drained out of the scene and I felt unsure of my balance. I stopped moving to let it pass, but it did not pass.

I stumbled up to my Scoutmaster. "I feel dizzy," I mumbled.

It was the morning of my first Klondike Derby: February 1983. I had joined in the laborious construction of a snow cave the previous night—piling up snow, packing it down, hollowing out the cave one small shovelful at a time—but I wouldn't sleep in it because I felt claustrophobic in the little hole. Instead, I crawled into a tent, but I left my boots out in the snow and the rain. Now it was morning, and I was miserable. Cold. Wet. Wearing borrowed shoes. Standing by the fire.

My Scoutmaster—Ole Smith, a kind, funny man with mustache that always suggested he was up to mischief—offered me a sweet roll, but I munched on a piece of bacon instead.

My vision is what I remember most clearly now, 30 years later. The scene in front of my eyes took on the style of an Andy Warhol print—the colors exaggerated and blown out and posterized. A lot of bright yellow and white. I felt terrible. I was sure I had hypothermia. Later, others told me I had become as pale as the snow.

"I feel like I'm going to die," I moaned to Scoutmaster Smith. "Could you take me home?"

My Scoutmaster led me down the trail to the camp medic's lodge at the bottom of the hill. There, in the warm interior, they laid me on a cot and gave me hot chocolate and food. I slowly started to feel better, and soon the medic very solemnly gave his scientific diagnosis: I had Lackeous Foodiferous.

I think of that experience often during the bitter cold of winter, especially when camping with Scouts. In the dark, long, oh-so-cold evening of a winter camp, our instinct is to retreat into our coats and huddle up by the fire. We go into survival mode and avoid doing anything we don't deem absolutely necessary. We just want to outlast the cold, gloomy night, and we stare into the flames, longing for the rising sun and its promise of warmth. We don't want to move, we don't want to take off our gloves to open a granola bar wrapper, we don't want to eat.

The best way to stay warm is to generate your own heat.

This instinct to hunker down against the cold can be counter-productive. As I learned in that medic's lodge three decades ago, the most important source of heat on a winter camp is neither a fire nor a coat. It is our own metabolism. We speak of a nice warm coat, but the coat itself is not warm, of course; the coat is merely helping to retain the heat our body is producing. But to produce heat, our bodies need fuel.

A related principle is that movement—using energy from all that food you ate—generates heat. Sitting still by the fire means your muscles aren't producing heat and your heart isn't pumping warm blood quickly to your extremities. And when it is cold enough, the warmth from the fire simply cannot compensate for the lack of warmth inside your fingers or feet.

As an adult leader on winter camps with Scouts, I have often thought my most important job is being a cheerleader. I am the pep squad, the conditioning coach, the energizer. I try to get the boys eating, to get them moving. Get away from the fire, do jumping jacks, run around, play a game, drink water, eat food. It may not sound pleasant when you are miserable and cold and huddled by the fire, but it's the surest and quickest way to get warm.

The principle carries over into matters of faith as well. The most potent spiritual fire comes from within. In our figurative winters—during challenges and hard times—it is tempting to retreat from faith-building activity or religious effort. We want to hunker down and stop moving and stop eating and wait for everything to get better. But doing so only makes us get colder.

We can survive—we can thrive—in difficult times. But we must continue to feed our souls with prayer and the word of God. We must keep moving, keep active in our religious endeavors, including service to others. Doing so will feed our fire of faith and fan the flames ever larger, keeping us warm and helping us emerge stronger from the dark, cold night of adversity.

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And Be Ye Thankful

A couple of decades ago, I sat one evening in a large assembly hall listening to a speaker I found somewhat annoying. He was the second or third speaker of the night, and the next speaker on the agenda was the headliner of the event. The previous speakers had been brief, engaging, and inspiring; more than 20 years later I still remember one of those speakers and what he said. But this speaker, coming just before the last one, was droning on and on and on about a subject that didn't really fit the theme of the evening and that I found less than exciting. "Doesn't he know we aren't here to hear him?" I thought. "Doesn't he know we don't care about this topic?"

I squirmed in my hard chair, looked frequently at the clock, and tried to endure the talk that got longer and longer. Feeling increasingly irritated, I looked at the stand and saw the man who would be the main speaker of the evening—the man whose time was being used up by this other speaker. As it turns out, that man was Thomas S. Monson, now the president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I looked at President Monson, smiling and sitting calmly behind the speaker who was continuing his unwelcome diatribe, and I wondered, "How does someone like President Monson—a spiritual leader who needs to exemplify Christian living—listen to a talk like this—so obviously off target and so obviously too long—and retain a charitable attitude? How does he not get irritated and frustrated?" And, perhaps more important, I wondered, How can I learn to be more patient and Christlike in similar situations?

President Thomas S. Monson [PHOTO BY BRIAN TIBBETS]

A few minutes later, and much to my relief, the speaker finally concluded and President Monson rose to give his long-awaited address. As if in answer to my unspoken question, he began his remarks by expressing the deep gratitude he had felt for the previous speaker as he listened to his speech.

I remember sitting there in that vast room and feeling somewhat stunned. First, while I had been building up a year's supply of impatience and complaint and criticism for the previous speaker, President Monson had been reflecting, with gratitude, on the speaker's strengths and contributions; my irritation had made me blind to the good in this speaker. And second, I had thought a question and almost immediately got an answer. The answer, of course, was this: If you are tempted to impatience or irritation or annoyance with an individual, think instead of the gratitude you feel for the person and his or her qualities.

Recently I decided to focus on developing greater patience, and I selected a passage of scripture about patience to memorize as part of my effort. The scripture, found in Paul's letter to the Colossians, presents the need for forbearance and forgiveness and charity and urges us to "let the peace of God rule in [our] hearts"—great advice for one striving to be patient. Then the passage concludes with three words that I don't often think of as being associated with patience: "Be ye thankful" (Col. 3:15).

Maybe Paul didn't intend to link gratitude and patience. But maybe he did. Perhaps Paul knew what President Monson knew and what I should know but so often forget: Gratitude trumps impatience. As the perfect antidote for negativity, gratitude can turn irritation, criticism, anger, resentment, and frustration into forgiveness, patience, meekness, and love.

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