Gospel Story Finder

When I was a boy, at Christmastime my mother put out a picture of the Savior knocking at a door. We weren’t members of the Church yet, and I always asked myself, “Why is Jesus knocking on the door? Who is on the other side?”
A few years later I discovered there was no handle on the outside of the door the Savior was knocking on. The person on the inside needed to open the door. Now I know who is on the other side of the door. We are! The Savior is knocking, and we all have to open the door and invite Him to come into our lives.

I participated in our stake goal to index 50,000 names. At first it was hard. On several occasions the batch I downloaded had difficult handwriting, and sometimes I wanted to return it and download a different one. But then I realized that if everyone thought like that, those batches would be left to the end. I could imagine many lines of people waiting in the spirit world, and I decided to continue trying to read those names and transcribe them without making a mistake.
I learned to have love for those people. I understood that they truly did need help, and we also needed help from them. I came to better understand that Heavenly Father’s perfect plan takes everyone into consideration. When we follow the inspiration and instructions of His chosen leaders, we will witness His mercy and infinite love.
Indexing has been a lovely experience for me. I learned to value and love many things about family history. I also obtained gifts of great value from our Lord by obeying something as simple as participating in indexing.

Ethan sat in sacrament meeting and listened as his best friend, Sam, shared his testimony. He talked about a service project he did. Sam said he had a testimony of service. Ethan’s dad also gave his testimony. He talked about temple work. Everyone who spoke testified that the Church is true. It seemed like everyone except Ethan had a testimony.
What do I have a testimony of? Ethan wondered.
He thought back a few years to when he and his friends were baptized. His Primary teacher, Sister Calder, had given a talk on the Holy Ghost.
“The Holy Ghost can give you a burning feeling in your heart. He can help you know what is true,” she’d said. “And that’s how you get a testimony of what you believe.”
Ethan tried to do what was right so he could feel the Holy Ghost. He read the scriptures and prayed. But he had never had that burning feeling people talked about. Did that mean he didn’t have a testimony?
This question stuck in Ethan’s head all the next day. He was still thinking about it when he and Sam went skateboarding after school. He wondered how he could ask Sam about it.
“Hey, Sam,” Ethan finally asked, “were you scared when you gave your testimony yesterday?”
Sam hopped off his board and walked to the grass. “Not really,” he said, sitting down. “I’ve shared my testimony at family night before.”
Ethan joined him and set his skateboard on his lap. “But how did you know you had a testimony?”
“Well, I prayed and I felt good about it.”
Ethan slowly nodded and spun a wheel with his hand. Somehow he wanted to feel that way too.
That night, when the house was quiet, Ethan knelt by his bed to pray.
“Heavenly Father,” he said, “please help me have a testimony. Help me know that the Church is true. That Joseph Smith was a prophet. And that the Book of Mormon is true.”
In the middle of his prayer, Ethan stopped. He thought for a minute. Then he asked himself, Well, do I know anything yet?
And then he felt a quiet, peaceful feeling. It wasn’t a powerful burning feeling. But Ethan knew it was the Holy Ghost.
A thought came into Ethan’s mind: I know that I know. And as he thought about it, he realized he had felt this peaceful feeling before.
Whenever he read the Book of Mormon, it felt good and right. Now he knew that feeling was the Holy Ghost testifying to him. When he went to church and it felt good and right to be there, that was the Holy Ghost too. He had already been getting a testimony!
He didn’t need to know everything right now. But he did know that the Holy Ghost was real and could help him keep building his testimony.
Ethan began to pray again. But this time it was to say thank you.

At first, I didn’t really understand what my dad was doing those mornings when he prayed for me. But as I got older, I came to sense his love and interest in me and in everything I was doing. It is one of my favorite memories. It wasn’t until years later, after I was married, had children of my own, and would go into their rooms while they were asleep and pray for them, that I understood completely how my father felt about me.

On July 26, 1847, their third day in the valley (the second having been the Sabbath), Brigham Young, with members of the Twelve and some others, climbed a peak about one and a half miles from where I now stand. They thought it a good place to raise an ensign to the nations. Heber C. Kimball wore a yellow bandana. They tied it to Willard Richards’s walking stick and waved it aloft, an ensign to the nations. Brigham Young named it Ensign Peak.
Then they descended to their worn-out wagons, to the few things they had carried 2,000 miles, and to their travel-weary followers. It was not what they possessed that gave them strength but what they knew.
They knew they were Apostles of the Lord Jesus Christ. They knew that the priesthood had been delivered to them by angelic messengers. They knew they had the commandments and the covenants to offer opportunity for the eternal salvation and exaltation for all mankind. They were sure that the inspiration of the Holy Ghost attended them.
They busied themselves plowing up gardens, putting up shelters against the winter soon to come. They prepared for others already on the prairie following them to this new gathering place.
Those Brethren on Ensign Peak knew that they were to live ordinary lives and keep the image of Christ engraven in their countenances (see Alma 5:14).
We are as much a part of this work as were those men who untied that yellow bandana from Willard Richards’s walking stick and descended from Ensign Peak. That bandana, waved aloft, signaled the great gathering which had been prophesied in ancient and modern scriptures.

As December 2021 approached, the Relief Society presidency in Peckham Ward, Wandsworth Stake, began to think about the kind of service they could give to their community. It was decided to prepare shoe boxes containing Christmas gifts.
One of the sisters, whose daughter attends a local primary school, spoke with the parent liaison officer to ascertain whether any children there could be supported in this way. It was agreed that the shoe boxes would be given to children who were from less well-off homes, as well as additional shoe boxes that would be given to siblings, even if they did not attend the school.
Within a few weeks, approximately 50 shoe boxes were beautifully wrapped and filled with gifts, including toys, hygiene items, school materials, hats, and gloves.
The element of service involved children painting small wooden-peg dolls, which were included in the shoe boxes.
There was great excitement as the children joyfully received their beautifully wrapped shoe boxes. A note from Beverley Ferguson, the school’s welfare officer, read:
“Thank you so much for the Christian charity gifts during Christmas time. The children and parents of Brunswick Park Primary School who received a gift were very grateful. ... When I asked what they thought of their presents, they said they found them very useful and helpful. Some of the children have been wearing the hats and gloves to school during the cold weather. Once again, I would like to thank you for all your help and the time that you have taken to do this for the children of the school.”

Sophie didn’t feel good as she sat down for breakfast on Sunday morning.
Sophie, I’m sorry. You are too sick to go to church today.
Sophie started to cry.
But I want to go to Primary.
Maybe we can do something special at home.
Sophie was sad. She went to her room and covered her face with her blanket. Then she got an idea.
Maybe we can have pretend Primary at home today.
As Sophie’s brothers got ready for church, Sophie put on her own Sunday clothes. She also dressed her dolls and stuffed animals in pretty dresses so they could come to pretend Primary too.
After the rest of the family left for church, Sophie and Mom made the living room into a pretend Primary room. Sophie taped pictures of Jesus to the wall and got the Children’s Songbook from the bookshelf. She also got out crayons and scriptures.
Sophie sat on the couch with her dolls and stuffed animals. Mom said an opening prayer. Then Sophie and Mom sang “I Am a Child of God” and “I Love to See the Temple.”
Sophie was happy during pretend Primary. Even her dolls and stuffed animals sat still.
After pretend Primary was over, Mom laid Sophie in her bed for a nap.
Thanks for doing a pretend Primary with me. But I can’t wait to go to real Primary next week!

My brothers and sisters, how grateful I am to be here with you in this historic Tabernacle today. Seventy-four years ago, my grandfather Lars Peter Oveson stood at this pulpit and bore his testimony as an invited stake president from Emery County, Utah.
Although he died when I was just a boy, my grandfather has always been one of my heroes. I have studied his journal, which recounts over and over again his willingness to answer the calls that came to him throughout his lifetime. He and his parents converted to the gospel in Denmark, immigrated to this country, and came across the plains to join the Saints in Utah. One of the calls that came to him required leaving his new, young wife for six months to work on the building of the St. George Temple. He left her and their young family again to serve a two-year mission in his native Denmark. Later, the calls of bishop and stake president necessitated their relocating and rebuilding their home and farm on three different occasions. Through all of these upheavals, he remained grateful, cheerful, and faithful to the principles of the gospel, leaving a great legacy of faith to those of us who bear his name.
As my grandfather so eloquently stated 74 years ago: “I rejoice to bear my testimony to the truthfulness of this work of the Lord to the world, for I know it is true; I know it is for the uplift and the advancement of the children of God, and I pray that the Lord will help … us that we may remain faithful and true, that we may be found valiant workers in the cause of righteousness and help to build up his kingdom upon the earth” (Lars Oveson, in Conference Report, Apr. 1925, 127). To these truths I add my own witness in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

On 100-year-old Polk Street, teenagers are more often seen cruising than cleaning, but the youth in the Amarillo Texas Stake changed all that with a special service project.
In conjunction with the city’s “Help Beautify Amarillo” project, the teenagers decided to restore some pride to this historic section of town. They came armed with tools and soap to get rid of graffiti, broken bottles, and other litter. About 50 youth participated in the activity that was planned as part of the Stake Standards Night.
This was such an unusual activity for teenagers in this area that it attracted the attention of the local media and was reported on the front page of the paper. Many community leaders commented on the willingness of the youth to work for their community and expressed gratitude to them.
After the project was finished, they headed for the stake center for dinner and a program on individual self-worth, followed by a dance.

The ways of surviving the hard climate on the rocky island were passed down from generation to generation. “The people here are steeped in tradition,” says Bob Richards, the branch president in Corner Brook. “‘What’s good enough for me father is good enough for me.’ If your family has been Catholic for as far back as anyone can remember, for generations and generations, it’s very hard to break with tradition. When we decided to be baptized we felt strongly it was right, but it was still a hard decision. We knew of others who were disowned by their families and who had lost friends when they joined the Church. As it turned out, it wasn’t that way with us. Our friends, the ones who were really our friends, stayed with us; and our families, although they were upset, got used to the idea after a while. We’ve never regretted what we did. We gained much more than we ever lost.”

Doni hefted the shot easily in one hand and took her position at the end of the school’s playing field. She paused, balanced in her stance, the shot cradled against her neck. She pushed off, and with an explosion of air, released the shot. She watched it hit the turf and groaned in frustration. It wasn’t going anywhere.
It was Doni DeCory’s senior year, her last year of high school track. For two years she had held the South Dakota state championship in shot put. But during this, her senior year, when she was expected to take the title for the third consecutive year, she was falling apart.
“I wasn’t throwing anywhere near what I did in my junior year,” said Doni. “People were saying, ‘Come on, Doni, you’ve got to take the state record again.’ There was so much pressure. I just wanted to quit.”
Doni did quit—for a day. The next day, when she didn’t leave for practice, her mother asked why she wasn’t going. “Mom, it’s over with,” said Doni. “I can’t do anything. I’m not going.”
“Then I asked my mom what she thought about my quitting. She said, ‘It’s up to you. We’re not going to push you to do anything you don’t want to do. But think about it, Doni. Is this really you? Do you really want to quit?’ Then she left the room, and the decision was up to me.”
Doni thought about it, until an idea occurred to her. If she quit now, then she’d always want to quit when things got too hard. Her mother and dad had supported her since grade school in her schoolwork and in her sports. They came, not just to her games and meets, but to all her practices. They had always been there for her. Now when things were going so badly, she knew she could turn to them again for help.
Doni didn’t quit, but her throwing did not improve much. Her parents practiced with her, retrieving the shot over and over. It took time. Her mental composure returned; then her tosses lengthened. She peaked right when she was supposed to, at the state championships when she took the title for the third straight year.
Doni’s story could be like many others where a talented athlete overcomes discouragement and goes on to win. But Doni’s story is a little more complicated than that. No one in her little town of Pine Ridge, South Dakota, even knew how to coach her in shot put. Her mother and the running coach together would try to figure out suggestions for improvement by watching tapes. The odds of her doing well were very much against her. If Doni had said, “I can’t do it,” not too many people would have argued with her.
But Doni wanted to give it a try, and through her efforts and faith, the support of her family and friends, and her natural athletic ability she accomplished great things.
Doni had a reputation for success. She played varsity basketball and volleyball. She ran track. She was a cheerleader. And she was an excellent student and graduated as valedictorian of her high school. She also was the recipient of a national $20,000 scholarship that, combined with her athletic scholarship, will cover most of her college expenses at Brigham Young University.
She was one of 50 students across the nation to receive the top scholarships offered by a big soft drink company. The competition was incredible, with 50,000 students applying for the scholarships. Doni’s chances seemed minuscule.
Again, if Doni herself had said that she didn’t have a chance, many might have agreed with her. After all, Pine Ridge, South Dakota, on the reservation of the Oglala-Sioux, is in one of the poorest counties in the nation. The high school is small and doesn’t offer as sophisticated an education as larger schools. But Doni had already learned some lessons from her sports about accepting a challenge. “Sometimes small towns can’t offer the latest technical background, so the only way you can really improve is to challenge yourself and to challenge your teachers. It can earn you a chance.”
Doni and her dad found out about the scholarship by reading through books that described different scholarships offered each year. Her application was accepted. Then began a grueling series of essays, with half of the applicants eliminated after each round.
Doni got tired of writing essays. Sometimes she felt like she had nothing to say. When that happened, her dad would sit at the kitchen table and talk when it was her turn to do the dishes. He would guide the conversation until Doni was telling him what she thought about the future and about the things she was studying. Then, when the dishes were finished, he would say to her, “Okay, that’s what your next essay is about. Go write down what you just said.”
Doni made it to the last 100 contestants. Then she had to appear in person before a panel of judges who questioned her about her essays. There was no way to prepare. You just had to go in and do your best. She did it and was one of the final 50 to receive the scholarships.
Now Doni’s at college. She’s loving being just a number in a huge crowd. “At home I would be Doni DeCory, the smartest one in the class. But here no one knows who you are. If I get a 100 on a test, it really means something to me. No one else even knows what I get.”
Doni also made a big step during her high school years when she, along with her mother and little brother, joined the Church. Before accepting the challenge to be baptized, Doni attended five different churches to find out where she felt comfortable. “I never felt anything at the other churches,” said Doni, “But when I walked in the door of the Pine Ridge Ward, I felt a funny feeling. I didn’t know what it was, but it gave me the chills. I looked at my mom and she looked at me. She had felt it too. And then everyone was glad to see us. They didn’t know who we were, but there was just that feeling there.”
Being away from home at college was hard at first because her mom and dad weren’t there at practices when things were not going well. And she misses her little brother Senecca, the one she likes to pal around with at home. Last year, when Doni would get discouraged, he would come into her room, give her a hug, and tell her he wanted to be just like her. Now he’s not there to do that.
It’s also tough on Senecca being Doni’s little brother. “In junior high he’s already got pressures,” said Doni. “People say, ‘How come you’re not good at this? Your sister is.’ He has to go through a lot of that. He could resent me, but he is just as encouraging as my parents are. He and I can talk. He’s really smart for a little boy.”
Doni heads for a practice field at BYU, a Division I university. She always wanted to compete at that high level but wondered sometimes about her chances of making it, coming from such a small town in such a remote state. But Doni has learned how to succeed. She has learned to knock and see what kinds of doors will open.
When Doni DeCory says, “I can”—believe her.

I was wearing the embarrassing Santa Claus sweatshirt and jingle bell necklace my mom had picked out. My mother had served as a chair of an organization that provided limited resources to homeless children. This year she talked me into volunteering at the Christmas party.
When we arrived the director of the program led us into the room where several volunteers were already helping children decorate Christmas cookies, make ornaments for a Christmas tree, and paint stars and angels on white T-shirts.
After we had all sung Christmas carols, eaten the cookies, and read the Christmas story from the Bible, it was time to go. As I sadly waved good-bye from the front door, a little boy ran forward.
I handed him the jingle bell necklace. His wide eyes filled with tears and he whispered in awe, “For me? This is the best Christmas ever!” He wrapped his arms around my neck and said, “I love you.”
As he ran off to show his friends his new toy, an overwhelming feeling of the true meaning of Christmas filled my heart with love.
Though the small gift I gave Markus did not cost a lot, his gift of love toward me was priceless. Moroni 7:47 says that “charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever.”
That Christmas, a five-year-old boy allowed me to sample the greatest gift of all.

I was nearing my seventh birthday when we went to Grandma’s house. I ran into the house yelling, “Grandma, we’re here!”
“Aren’t you excited?” she asked. “This is your present.” She was sitting at a table with a nearly finished porcelain doll that she had made to look like me! It had brown hair and blue eyes like me. It was in a white dress. She explained that the white dress was to help me prepare for my baptism in a year. The doll was holding a bouquet of flowers, which she explained were the colors of the Young Women values.
The white dress was for faith, the blue flowers for divine nature, the red flowers for individual worth, the green leaves for knowledge, the orange flowers for choice and accountability, the yellow flowers for good works, and the purple flowers for integrity. She said that she is going to give me a new doll each year representing these value colors to help me prepare for Young Women.
I wore a dress very much like the doll’s to my baptism!Krystel A., age 8, Utah

Brothers and sisters, it all began one beautiful night during April of 1972 when Elders Thomas McIntire and Steve Richards knocked on my door. At that time, I was searching for answers to many questions that confused and troubled my spirit. The principles taught that night contained the answers my wife and I had searched for so anxiously.
Our hearts rejoiced upon hearing the message of the restored gospel. But one special thing deeply affected our souls: the power of the testimonies of two representatives of the Lord. A marvelous feeling that we never before had experienced filled our hearts, certifying the truthfulness of the message. Our first visit to church was an edifying experience because of the Spirit there and the love those people showed us. The spirit of the messages and testimonies was confirmatory evidence that we had found the true church. The support of the missionaries, the successful fellowshipping efforts by the members, and our combined prayers and fasting gradually changed our worldly habits.
With respect and reverence, we attended the meetings and activities, but we postponed baptism because of the fear of negative reactions from our extended families.
The events following showed us our complete lack of wisdom, and of this we repented. The district of Rio de Janeiro met in the Tijuca chapel for its quarterly conference. A strong spirit filled the hall from the first chords of the organ prelude.
The inspired messages from the pulpit prepared our hearts for an unforgettable moment. President George A. Oakes of the Brazil North Mission, who presided at the conference, introduced Brother Val Carter, his mission counselor.
After quoting selected scriptures, President Carter invited the men to stand and sing “I Need Thee Every Hour.” After sharing his testimony of the mission of our Lord, Jesus Christ, President Carter declared his complete dependence on Christ for salvation and exaltation.
That experience deeply touched my heart and all my being. It was not possible to control my emotions. I could not imagine myself in tears, but the tears were indeed real. In that moment, the Holy Ghost reconfirmed the truthfulness of the things we already knew: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the Lord’s kingdom on earth, the road back to the celestial mansion of our Eternal Father.
A miracle occurred in that moment, and our fears about baptism vanished. On July 2, 1972, my wife and I and our eldest son, Marcus, entered the fold through the gates of baptism.
Through our obedience to the laws of the gospel, fasting, and service, our Heavenly Father blessed us with power to overcome fear, challenges, and eventual adversities.
From our extended families, only one of my sisters, Ivette, has accepted the restored gospel and been baptized. Nevertheless, the remainder of the family highly respects the Church. The same miracle happened in our social and professional circles—prejudice and misunderstanding eventually subsided, and some of our best friends have accepted baptism.
To what must we attribute such miracles? To the strength and power of the testimonies of faithful Saints upon which I was temporarily dependent. This influence aroused me intellectually and spiritually, preparing my mind and heart to receive in fulness a personal confirmation of the Holy Ghost.

“C’mon, Benjy, cut me a slice,” my little brother, Jake, whispered to me as we hid in the bushes and looked down at Mom’s peach pie.
I looked over at my friend Jared who was kneeling next to Jake. His eyes were locked onto the peach pie. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, took out my pocketknife, and pushed the blade into the flaky crust sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. Slowly I carved a jagged line across the pie.
“You don’t think we’ll get caught, do you?” Jared whispered as I handed him a piece of pie dripping with yellow peach filling.
I shook my head, not a bit sure; but I didn’t want Jared and Jake to know that. “No,” I rasped. “No one will ever know. Mom made five pies that she asked us to deliver. She probably won’t remember that we were supposed to give a pie to Brother Piper.
In no time at all we were licking the last of the stickiness from our fingers.
“I think my stomach’s going to bust,” Jake moaned. “I’ve never eaten so much pie in my life.”
“I wish we hadn’t eaten it so fast,” Jared complained. “It doesn’t taste as good when you have to eat a huge piece of pie in three bites.”
“Yeah,” Jake moaned again, rubbing his stomach. “I feel kind of sick.”
I nodded, feeling sick, too, but it wasn’t just because we had eaten a whole pie. Deep inside I knew that the main reason that I felt sick was that we had eaten a stolen pie. As I looked at the empty pie pan, I wished that we had taken the pie to Brother Piper.
We all stumbled from the bushes and headed for home, with the pie plate hidden under my shirt.
Mom was in the family room when we slipped into the house and tiptoed to the kitchen. We washed the pan and slipped it into the cupboard. Then we dashed for the door.
“Oh, Benjy,” Mom called out just as we reached the front door, “Did you deliver the pies?”
I gulped and caught my breath. “Everybody was happy to get your pies, Mom.”
“And what did Brother Piper say?” she asked excitedly. “It’s his birthday today. I’ve been promising him a peach pie for weeks. He didn’t think I’d remember.”
“You promised Brother Piper a peach pie?” Jake asked.
Mom nodded and smiled. “I’ll have to call him later this afternoon and wish him a happy birthday.”
“I thought you said she’d never know!” Jake accused me as we tromped down the front steps.
“Yeah,” Jared whined, “we’ll be caught for sure. Now what are we going to do?”
“How was I supposed to know it was Brother Piper’s birthday?” I snapped. “Besides, it was your idea too.”
“We have to get another pie,” Jake said.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, “and before Mom calls Brother Piper.”
“I know!” Jared spoke up. “My mom’s at a Primary meeting. Let’s go to my place and make a pie.”
‘We don’t know anything about making pies,” Jake said.
“Well, we’ll have to learn!” I spouted.
“What do we do first?” Jake asked as we crowded around Jared’s kitchen table.
“I’ve watched Mom a few times. All we have to do is make the crust, fill it full of fruit, and throw it in the oven.”
“But how do we make the crust?” Jake asked.
“Get me a bowl and some flour and shortening,” I growled. “Do I have to do everything? We just mix it up, roll it out, and slap it into a pie pan.”
While Jared poured in the flour and Jake scraped in gobs of shortening, I took a wooden spoon and tried to mix the two ingredients together. It was a lot harder than I had thought.
“It doesn’t mix too well, does it?” Jake commented.
“Maybe it needs some water. Pour in some water,” I ordered.
“It looks better than when we started,” Jared said a few minutes later, “but it still doesn’t look much like piecrust.”
“It’s not piecrust,” I snapped. “Not yet. It’s just dough. Maybe if we roll it out, it’ll look better. It’s when Mom rolls hers out that it really looks like a piecrust.”
The dough kept falling apart and lumping into gobs, but we kept at it, pounding it with our fists, poking it with our spoons, and squeezing it with our fingers. When we finally got it into the pie pan, there were still a few bumpy spots, and the edges were kind of ragged.
“Now what do we do for the insides?” Jake asked.
“Do you have some peaches?”
Jared slapped the flour from his hands and looked in the pantry. He came back with a big can of peach halves. “Will these do?” he asked.
I nodded. “They’ll have to do.”
We spooned the peach halves onto the crust, then drank all the juice. We couldn’t make one big piece of dough for the top crust, so we put on a lot of little pieces and pinched them together.
“It doesn’t look much like one of Mom’s pies,” Jake mumbled.
Jared nodded. “It needs something.”
“Cinnamon and sugar!” I proclaimed, grinning. “Mom always puts cinnamon and sugar on top.”
Jake grabbed the sugar, and Jared grabbed the cinnamon, and they both began to sprinkle.
“Is that enough?” Jared asked.
I shook my head. “This pie needs lots of cinnamon and sugar to cover up the bad places.”
It was late in the afternoon when we finally pulled the pie from the oven.
“It doesn’t look exactly like the one Mom made,” Jake said.
“It doesn’t look like anything anyone would want to eat, either,” Jared said.
“Maybe Brother Piper doesn’t know a good pie from a bad one,” Jake said.
“He probably doesn’t,” I commented hopefully. “He likes brussels sprouts. Anybody that can eat brussels sprouts can eat this pie.”
“Maybe we’d better cover it with a napkin,” Jared said. “We can hand it to him and leave before he sees it. He’ll just think that your mom had a bad day. Anybody can make a lousy pie once in a while.”
The pie was still warm when we dragged our feet up Brother Piper’s walk. I swallowed hard as I rang the bell. Jared and Jake crowded behind me.
“Well, hello, boys.”
“We brought you a pie,” I burst out, pushing the pie into his hands. “Mom wanted us to bring you a pie.”
“Well, how nice of her, Benjy. She said that she was going to make me one, but I thought that she’d forget. You don’t know how much I love your mom’s pies.”
We started to go.
“Don’t leave, boys. Come in and have a piece of pie with me.”
“Well, we really”—I was getting a sickening twitch in my stomach—“We … uh … don’t want to eat your pie.”
“Oh, of course you do. Everybody wants some of your mom’s pie.”
Before we knew it, we were sitting at Brother Piper’s table. After he pulled the napkin off the pie, he just stared at it. Then he looked at us and back at the pie.
“Everybody has a bad day,” Jake said. “You can’t make a perfect pie every time. Not even Mom.”
Brother Piper shrugged and took a knife to the pie. The whole top of it crumbled into a hundred pieces as soon as the knife touched it. Brother Piper glanced over at us, but we didn’t look up. We kept staring at the pie. The peaches were all shriveled and brown, and the crust was too doughy in some places and too floury in others.
We all tried to eat some of it, but it was no use. Looking at it was bad enough—eating it was impossible. Even Brother Piper put down his fork and took a big drink of water. “Did your mother really make this pie?” he finally asked, poking at the stuff on his plate.
I knew that I couldn’t lie about it. I didn’t even want to. “Mom made you one, but we ate it. When we found out afterward that it was your birthday and that Mom was going to call you, we made you this one. Are you going to tell her?”
Brother Piper laughed. “You did bring me a pie. Was the first pie pretty good?”
We nodded glumly as I added, “But it was no fun eating a stolen pie. It just made us sick.”
“Well, I’ll just tell your mom that she made a great pie. After all, she did, didn’t she?”
I nodded and looked down. “We’re sorry, Brother Piper. It won’t happen again, honest.” Jared and Jake nodded their heads in agreement.
A few minutes later we shuffled into my kitchen. Mom smiled when we walked in. “I saved you something,” she announced. “You know how you’ve always wanted your very own pie?”
We nodded.
She walked over to the counter and picked up a big, beautiful peach pie. “I made this one just for you,” she said.
I could feel my stomach do flip-flops. The last thing that I wanted was another piece of pie. I looked at Jared and Jake, and they looked back at me. Their faces seemed a little green.
“Mom,” I said, holding my stomach, “I don’t think we’ll eat it, if it’s all right with you. But,” I added quickly, “Brother Piper would love one of your pies.”
“But he’s already had one of my pies. I thought that you liked my pies,” she said, looking a little hurt.
“We do like your pies, Mom. In fact, we ate Brother Piper’s pie.”
“But it didn’t taste very good,” Jake chimed in. “It wasn’t your fault,” he added quickly. “It’s just that stolen pies don’t taste very good.”
“Yeah,” I said, “so we’d better take this one to Brother Piper. The one we made for him was awful.”
“You made Brother Piper a pie?”
Jared shook his head. “I’m not sure you’d call it a pie. It looked more like a bad disease.”
“But we learned a lot,” I spoke up. “From now on, when you ask us to take a pie to someone, you can be sure we’ll do it. And that’s a promise.”

In 1903, George Albert’s life and that of his family was to undergo a major change. At the age of thirty-three, he was ordained an Apostle, serving as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve with his father.
Elder George Albert Smith was surprised by his new calling, although, he remembered, “My patriarchal blessing given under the hands of Zebedee Coltrin when I was twelve years of age, indicated that I would some day become an Apostle.”
As an Apostle, he formulated a list of goals that reflected his life as it had been and the creed by which he would live as a servant of the Lord. His “creed of life” as he called it, included his determination to “be a friend to the friendless and find joy in ministering to the needs of the poor.”
His creed also included the thought: “Knowing that the Redeemer of mankind has offered to the world the only plan that will fully develop us and make us really happy here and hereafter, I feel it not only a duty but also a blessed privilege to disseminate this truth.”
And spread the truth he did as he fulfilled his apostolic assignments, including serving as European Mission president from 1919 to 1921. He continued to serve on the YMMIA general board through the mission years, and on his return from Europe he became YMMIA general president.
As an Apostle, Elder Smith traveled widely, visiting many countries in Europe and the South Pacific. Everywhere he went, he cultivated good will for the Church. In a general conference address in October 1921, he said, “I love my brothers and sisters, and I have affection for my Father’s children who are not members of this Church, and inasmuch as he will give me physical strength and mental power, I desire to so order my life that I may be an uplift to all those with whom I come in contact.”
As a new Apostle, Elder Smith saw a war-torn Europe. As president of the Quorum of the Twelve, he was to see Europe again engaged in war, a war that came to an end six days before the death of President Heber J. Grant. Elder Smith was sustained President of the Church 21 May 1945.
Shortly after assuming the mantle of the prophet, President Smith sent Elder Ezra Taft Benson to Europe to oversee a massive relief effort provided by the Church.
In the October 1947 general conference, President Smith recalled going to Washington, D.C., to meet with U.S. President Harry S. Truman.
“When I called on him, he received me very graciously … and I said: ‘I have just come to ascertain from you, Mr. President, what your attitude will be if the Latter-day Saints are prepared to ship food, clothing, and bedding to Europe.’
“He smiled and looked at me, and said: ‘Well, what do you want to ship it over there for? Their money isn’t any good.’
“I said: ‘We don’t want their money.’
“He looked at me and asked: ‘You don’t mean you are going to give it to them?’
“I said: ‘Of course, we would give it to them. They are our brothers and sisters and are in distress. God has blessed us with a surplus, and we will be glad to send it if we can have the co-operation of the government.’”
That cooperation was quickly forthcoming in the form of railroad cars and shipping space. When the Church membership had received aid, President Smith directed tons of wheat be sent to nonmembers in Greece who were suffering from starvation. He had known poverty in his own youth and did all in his power to help those suffering from its effects. He could not rest while he knew of suffering; he could never be the victim of apathy.
He put into effect his creed to “find joy in ministering to the needs of the poor.”
It was also part of his creed to “visit the sick and afflicted and inspire in them a desire for faith to be healed.” It was a common sight in the hospitals of Salt Lake City and elsewhere to see President Smith visiting the patients. He too had known suffering. For a number of years during his early apostolic ministry, he had suffered from illness to the point that he was unable to serve actively in his calling. Ten years later, he remarked in general conference:
“I have been in the valley of the shadow of death in recent years, so near the other side that I am sure that for the special blessing of our Heavenly Father I could not have remained here. … The nearer I went to the other side, the greater was my assurance that the gospel is true.”
He never forgot the lessons of that illness, and those lessons undoubtedly added to the depth of his compassion so that he, like the Master, might know “according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities” (Alma 7:12).
Despite his illness, which was finally diagnosed as lupus erythematosus, a disease effecting chronic physical weakness, President Smith lived to see the world again engaged in political tensions as East opposed the West, and the war in Korea broke out. “The world,” he warned in the October 1949 general conference, “is sick.”
In the same conference, he said, “We can legislate until doomsday but that will not make men righteous. It will be necessary for people who are in the dark to repent of their sins, correct their lives, and live in such a righteous way that they can enjoy the spirit of our Heavenly Father.”
But even in a world of turmoil, President Smith optimistically and prophetically saw the great missionary work that was to come. In the October 1945 general conference he said:
“We must preach the gospel to the South American countries which we have scarcely touched. We must preach the gospel to every African section that we haven’t been in yet. We must preach the gospel to Asia. And I might go on and say in all parts of the world where we have not yet been permitted to go. I look upon Russia as one of the most fruitful fields for the teaching of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
In conference a year later he said,
“Short-wave radio broadcasting will continue to improve, and it will not be long, from this pulpit and other places that will be provided, the servants of the Lord will be able to deliver messages to isolated groups who are so far away they cannot be reached. In that way and other ways, the gospel of Jesus Christ our Lord, the only power of God unto salvation in preparation for the celestial kingdom, will be heard in all parts of the world, and many of you who are here will live to see that day.”
The man who said, “I would not seek to force people to live up to my ideals but rather love them into doing the thing that is right,” died in April 1951. He was eighty-two years old. Under his stewardship, the Church’s building program expanded to accommodate the growing Church membership, which passed the one million mark; the missionary force grew to more than three thousand; and the Idaho Falls Temple was dedicated.
At President George Albert Smith’s funeral, his former counselor, President J. Reuben Clark, said, “It has been properly suggested that his real name was Love.”

I remember one time when I was in the Marine Corps, stationed at Camp Pendleton in California. I left a decision to chance and almost found myself in a most unpleasant situation.
My buddies had been after me each weekend to go with them into the dance hall in Los Angeles to have a good time. Each weekend I was encouraged to go. After several weeks of turning them down, thinking that that was no place for me, I decided just once to leave it to chance and see how it would turn out.
I started with them towards this big dance hall in Los Angeles. We were riding the streetcar, and as it progressed from stop to stop, it was filling up with many young ladies. They were not the type I had ever been around before. They were extremely forward. I felt very uncomfortable around them. As they approached me, I adopted a tactic completely unknown to a marine. I retreated.
On the back row of the streetcar I found four young ladies whose appearance was entirely different. I asked them if they were going to the dance, and their reply was, “Yes, but not to the same one you are.” Then they said, “We are going to the Adams Ward to a Mormon dance. What do you know about the Mormon Church?” I was surprised, relieved, and willingly got off the streetcar with them, and had a most delightful evening at the Adams Ward. Have more confidence in yourself than allowing your decisions to happen just by chance.

Into this branch, just a few years later, came a young widow with her two daughters. The missionaries had found this beautiful family, which included my future wife, Harriet.
When I saw Harriet for the first time, with her dark brown eyes, I thought, “These missionaries are really doing a great job!” Even as a teenager I liked Harriet quite a lot. My bold advances, however, showed only marginal success. I tried, for instance, to influence the seating at the sacrament table so I could pass the sacrament to her. This did not impress her very much. On my way to Church activities during the week, I usually rode my nice bicycle and often stopped at their home to ask if Harriet would want to have a ride to church on my bicycle. Harriet always declined. Sometimes, however, her mother was there and would say, “Harriet will walk, but I will gladly ride with you on your bike to church.” This wasn’t really what I was hoping for at the time, but I later realized it is an advantage to be on good terms with the mother of the girl of your dreams!
My mother and my mother-in-law both had the same strong faith that blessed them with the gifts of the Spirit. And they blessed not only my life, but the lives of generations to come.

Can you remember a moment when someone gave you a gift that changed your life? This October marks 40 years since I received one of the greatest gifts in my life. While I was in high school, I noticed that one of our classmates had a light that was different from most of the other young people. I enjoyed being around him. One day he told me he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then he offered me a gift: a copy of the Book of Mormon. He invited me to read a few pages and meet with two friends who could answer my questions. Those friends were the missionaries.
When I met with the missionaries, they taught me the doctrine of Christ and invited me to follow the prophet Moroni’s invitation: “When ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Moroni 10:4).
I read several pages of the Book of Mormon and prayed. Although I did not yet have a deep understanding of all the things that the missionaries were teaching me, I felt in my heart that what I was reading was good and came from God. I received the confirmation of Moroni’s promise: “And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things” (Moroni 10:5).
After I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, some friends tried to convince me that I had made the wrong decision. But each time I faced such doubts or opposition, I received renewed confirmation through studying the scriptures and praying to stay true to the covenants I had entered into with God. Since then, the Book of Mormon has been my companion and has become an immeasurable treasure in my mortal journey.

Are there any toads where you live? We have lots of them around our house. My dad works at a laboratory where they try to learn how to help farmers grow food better. Sometimes he takes my brothers and me on Saturday mornings out to see the fields he studies. There are long ditches that bring water to irrigate the crops, and sometimes they are full of tadpoles. We usually catch a few of them and bring them home with us. The first time we did this, we put them in an aquarium in our family room. They really liked it there—except for one thing. Our fighting fish bit off their tails and then ate them up!