Gospel Story Finder

A mother overheard her son, four, tell his brother, six, “I don’t believe in Jesus.” The brother responded, “You have really hurt my feelings.” Sensing a need, the mother reinforced the younger boy’s understanding of the Savior. She placed a picture of the Redeemer in his room and continued to teach all of her children more about the Master. Sometime later, the younger son commented, “Mom, you’re my best friend—next to Jesus.”

Perhaps a shared experience will assist in formulating answers to these significant and universally asked questions. When I reflect on the race of life, I remember another race, even from childhood days. When I was about ten, my boyfriends and I would take pocketknives in hand and, from the soft wood of a willow tree, fashion small toy boats. With a triangular-shaped cotton sail in place, each would launch his crude craft in a race down the relatively turbulent waters of the Provo River. We would run along the river’s bank and watch the tiny vessels sometimes bobbing violently in the swift current and at other times sailing serenely as the water deepened.
During such a race, we noted that one boat led all the rest toward the appointed finish line. Suddenly, the current carried it too close to a large whirlpool, and the boat heaved to its side and capsized. Around and around it was carried, unable to make its way back into the main current. At last it came to rest at the end of the pool, amid the flotsam and jetsam that surrounded it, held fast by the fingerlike tentacles of the grasping green moss.
The toy boats of childhood had no keel for stability, no rudder to provide direction, and no source of power. Like the hitchhiker, their destination was “Anywhere,” but inevitably downstream.
We have been provided divine attributes to guide our destiny. We entered mortality not to float with the moving currents of life, but with the power to think, to reason, and to achieve. We left our heavenly home and came to earth in the purity and innocence of childhood.
Our Heavenly Father did not launch us on our eternal journey without providing the means whereby we could receive from Him God-given guidance to ensure our safe return at the end of life’s great race. Yes, I speak of prayer. I speak, too, of the whisperings from that still, small voice within each of us; and I do not overlook the holy scriptures, written by mariners who successfully sailed the seas we too must cross.
Individual effort will be required of us. What can we do to prepare? How can we assure a safe voyage?
First, we must visualize our objective. What is our purpose? The Prophet Joseph Smith counseled: “Happiness is the object and design of our existence; and will be the end thereof, if we pursue the path that leads to it; and this path is virtue, uprightness, faithfulness, holiness, and keeping all the commandments of God” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, pages 255–56). In this one sentence we are provided not only a well-defined goal, but also the way we might achieve it.
Second, we must make continuous effort. Have you noticed that many of the most cherished of God’s dealings with His children have been when they were engaged in a proper activity? The visit of the Master to His disciples on the way to Emmaus, the good Samaritan on the road to Jericho, even Nephi on his return to Jerusalem, and Father Lehi en route to the precious land of promise. Let us not overlook Joseph Smith on the way to Carthage, and Brigham Young on the vast plains to the valley home of the Saints.
Third, we must not detour from our determined course. In our journey we will encounter forks and turnings in the road. There will be the inevitable trials of our faith and the temptations of our times. We simply cannot afford the luxury of a detour, for certain detours lead to destruction and spiritual death. Let us avoid the moral quicksands that threaten on every side, the whirlpools of sin, and the crosscurrents of uninspired philosophies. That clever pied piper called Lucifer still plays his lilting melody and attracts the unsuspecting away from the safety of their chosen pathway, away from the counsel of loving parents, away from the security of God’s teachings. His tune is ever so old, his words ever so sweet. His price is everlasting. He seeks not the refuse of humanity, but the very elect of God. King David listened, then followed, then fell. But then so did Cain in an earlier era, and Judas Iscariot in a later one.
Fourth, to gain the prize, we must be willing to pay the price. The apprentice does not become the master craftsman until he has qualified. The lawyer does not practice until he has passed the bar. The doctor does not attend our needs until internship has been completed.
You are the fellow that has to decide
Whether you’ll do it or toss it aside. …
Whether you’ll seek the goal that’s afar
Or just be contented to stay where you are.
(Edgar A. Guest, “You.”)
Let us remember how Saul the persecutor became Paul the proselyter, how Peter the fisherman became the Apostle of spiritual power.
Our example in the race of life could well be our Elder Brother, even the Lord. As a small boy, He provided a watchword: “Wist ye not that I must be about my Father’s business?” (Luke 2:49). As a grown man, He taught by example, compassion, love, obedience, sacrifice, and devotion. To you and to me His summons is still the same: “Come, follow me.”
One who listened and who followed was Elder Randall Ellsworth. While serving in Guatemala as a missionary, Randall Ellsworth survived a devastating earthquake, which hurled a beam down on his back, paralyzing his legs and severely damaging his kidneys. He was the only American injured in the quake, which claimed the lives of some eighteen thousand persons.
After receiving emergency medical treatment, he was flown to a large hospital near his home in Rockville, Maryland. While Randall was confined there, a television newscaster conducted with him an interview that I witnessed through the miracle of television. The reporter asked, “Can you walk?”
The answer: “Not yet, but I will.”
“Do you think you will be able to complete your mission?”
Came the reply, “Others think not, but I will.”
With microphone in hand, the reporter continued, “I understand you have received a special letter containing a get-well message from none other than the President of the United States.”
“Yes,” replied Randall, “I am very grateful to the President for his thoughtfulness; but I received another letter, not from the president of my country, but from the president of my church—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—President Spencer W. Kimball. This I cherish. With him praying for me, and the prayers of my family, my friends, and my missionary companions, I will return to Guatemala. The Lord wanted me to preach the gospel there for two years, and that’s what I intend to do.”
I turned to my wife and commented, “He surely must not know the extent of his injuries. Our official medical reports would not permit us to expect such a return to Guatemala.”
How grateful am I that the day of faith and the age of miracles are not past history but continue with us even now.
The newspapers and the television cameras turned their attention to more immediate news as the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months. The words of Rudyard Kipling describe Randall Ellsworth’s situation:
The tumult and the shouting dies—
The Captains and the Kings depart—
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
(“Recessional”)
And God did not forget him who possessed a humble and a contrite heart, even Elder Randall Ellsworth. Little by little, the feeling began to return. In his own words, Randall described the recovery: “The thing I did was always to keep busy, always pushing myself. In the hospital I asked to do therapy twice a day instead of just once. I wanted to walk again on my own.” When the Missionary Department evaluated the medical progress Randall Ellsworth had made, word was sent to him that his return to Guatemala was authorized. Said he, “At first I was so happy I didn’t know what to do. Then I went into my bedroom and I started to cry. Then I dropped to my knees and thanked my Heavenly Father.”
Randall Ellsworth walked aboard the plane that carried him back to the mission to which he was called and back to the people whom he loved. Behind he left a trail of skeptics, a host of doubters, but also hundreds amazed at the power of God, the miracle of faith, and the reward of determination. Ahead lay thousands of honest, God-fearing, and earnestly seeking sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father. A modern-day Paul, who had overcome his “thorn in the flesh,” had returned to teach them the truth, to lead them to life eternal. From Elder Ellsworth, they heard God’s word. They learned His truth. They accepted His ordinances.
Like Randall Ellsworth, may we know where we are going, be willing to make the continuous effort required to get there, avoid any detour, and be willing to pay the often very high price of faith and determination to win life’s race.
At the end of our mortal journey, may we be able to echo the words of Paul: “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith” (2 Tim. 4:7). By so doing we shall be given that “crown of righteousness” which perisheth not, and hear the plaudit from our Eternal Judge: “Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord” (Matt. 25:21).
We will then have completed our journey. Not to a nebulous “Anywhere,” but to our heavenly home—even eternal life in the celestial kingdom of God.

“And the winner of our school reading contest is Joshua Hawkins!”
Marcus watched his friend Josh high-five his way to the podium. The principal, Mrs. Houston, shook his hand and gave him a certificate. Marcus knew Josh deserved to win. He could read a book in one afternoon that would take Marcus two weeks to finish.
Next, Trina got an award for winning the science fair. Then Mrs. Houston gave out awards for straight As and for the highest scores on the state achievement tests. Marcus kept listening, but Mrs. Houston didn’t call his name.
Marcus hoped the assembly would be over soon. He was tired of sitting, and his hands were getting sore from clapping. Most of all, he was disappointed. He wished he could be the best at something.
Finally, Mrs. Houston adjusted her glasses and smiled. “Our last awards are for perfect attendance,” she said. Marcus slumped in his seat. Last month he had chicken pox, so he wouldn’t be getting an attendance award either.
On the way home, Ari leaned over the bus seat and poked Marcus on the arm. “Hey, Josh got three awards, but Trina only got two,” he said. “How many did you get?”
Marcus’s face felt hot. “None,” he said.
Marcus got off the bus and kicked a rock up the driveway to his house. Mom was in the garden pulling weeds. “How was your day?” she asked.
Marcus frowned. “We had an awards assembly, but I didn’t get any awards,” he said. “I’m not the best at anything.”
Mom put down her weed digger. “Well, maybe it seems that way,” she said. “But who does your teacher ask when she needs someone trustworthy to take a message to the office?”
“Sometimes she asks me,” Marcus admitted.
“And who always reminds us when it’s time for family home evening?”
“I do,” Marcus said.
“Who found a ten-dollar bill at the store and turned it in, even though he was saving money to buy a soccer ball that he really, really wanted?”
“I did,” said Marcus.
Mom ruffled Marcus’s hair a little. “And who can make your little brother laugh when no one else can?”
Marcus couldn’t help smiling when he thought about his brother’s goofy laugh. “Me,” he said.
“Well,” said Mom, “you may not think you’re the best at anything, but you’re doing your best to be the kind of boy Heavenly Father wants you to be. And I wouldn’t be any prouder if you had come home with a whole armful of awards.”
Marcus gave Mom a hug. He noticed how hot and tired she looked. “Do you need some help with the weeding, Mom?”
“Thanks, Marcus. You’re the best.”

Jared is home from college. I asked him how he liked it, and he said, “It’s all right academically, but the social life isn’t too great.”
Mom says Jared’s problem is that he’s always trying to date the movie star type of girl, but he isn’t the movie star type of boy. Maybe that’s my problem too. I want to look like a model, but I’m not really that kind of girl. Not yet, anyway. I bet I could be if I tried. I’m going to begin as soon as Christmas is over.

“Matt, let’s go to the Colorado River,” Dad suggested. I was seven years old, and my family was visiting both sets of grandparents in St. George, Utah. Eager to see the mighty Colorado, I yelled, “Great! Let me get my skipping stones.”
Little did I know that he meant we were going to the Grand Canyon traveling over cow trails. Yes, we would see the Colorado River, but we would be on a cliff about a mile (1.5 km) above it. There would be no skipping of stones.
Grandpa Holland loaned us his truck and gave us a homemade map and a set of directions to help us find our way on a little-used dusty path along the back roads of the Utah-Arizona border. As we turned off the paved road, lumbered through the desert, climbed a set of hills, crossed another desert, went up another set of hills, I wondered how Grandpa or anyone else ever found this place.
We reached the overlook of the Grand Canyon late in the afternoon. After looking at the spectacular view and launching a few stones as far as I could throw, we got back into Grandpa’s old truck and started the trek home.
It was dusk, and we had only gone a bumpy mile or two when we came to a fork in the road. We stopped. Dad was not certain which trail we had come in on. He knew he had to make the right decision. There wasn’t much light left, light he desperately needed to ensure he could make the correct turns the rest of the way home.
Wasting time on a wrong road now meant we would face the difficult task of making our way home in the dark.
As we did whenever we had a family problem or concern, we prayed. After we both said amen, Dad turned and asked me what I thought we should do. I answered and said, “All during the prayer, I just kept feeling, ‘Go to the left.’”
Dad responded, “I had the exact same impression.”
This was my first experience receiving and recognizing revelation.
We started down the dirt road to the left. We had traveled only about 10 minutes when our road came to a sudden dead-end. My father promptly whipped the truck around, roared back to that fork in the path, and started down the road to the right. Fortunately, there was still just enough light to help us navigate the web of dirt roads that would take us home.
We were almost back to St. George, now on roads my father knew well, and the thick darkness of the night was lit by pinholes of thousands of stars.
I was troubled. With my head resting on my dad’s leg and my legs stretched across the seat, I asked, “Dad, why did we both feel like Heavenly Father told us to go down the road to the left when it was the wrong road?”
My dad said, “Matty, I’ve been thinking and silently praying about that same thing all the way home, because I really did feel a very distinct impression to take the road to the left.”
I was relieved that my first experience with revelation had a “second witness.”
He continued, “The Lord has taught us an important lesson today. Because we were prompted to take the road to the left, we quickly discovered which one was the right one. When we turned around and got on the right road, I was able to travel along its many unfamiliar twists and turnoffs perfectly confident I was headed in the right direction.
“If we had started on the right road, we might have driven for 30 minutes or so, become uneasy with the unfamiliar surroundings, and been tempted to turn back. If we had done that, we would have discovered the dead-end so late that it would have been too dark to find our way back in totally unfamiliar territory.”
I understood and have never forgotten the lesson my Heavenly Father and earthly father taught me that afternoon. Sometimes in response to prayers, the Lord may guide us down what seems to be the wrong road—or at least a road we don’t understand—so, in due time, He can get us firmly and without question on the right road. Of course, He would never lead us down a path of sin, but He might lead us down a road of valuable experience. Sometimes in our journey through life we can get from point A to point C only by taking a short side road to point B. We had prayed that we could make it safely home that day, and we did.

July 1
Dear Sarah,
After Lindsay came home, Mom had to spend a lot of time caring for her, and I helped a lot around the house, I didn’t have much time for the garden. I didn’t go all week, and when I finally got over there on Saturday, Mr. Trujillo was really sad. About half of our tomato plants were gone. Gophers got them. They just burrow underneath and pull the plants down—one day you see them, and the next day you don’t. He said he didn’t know how to get rid of the gophers. He was afraid to put out poison because pets might get into it. And he didn’t want to flush the gophers out and bash them over the head the way some people do. He’s really a nice man.
I told him I’d pray about it, and he kind of smiled and patted my head. On Sunday I fasted and prayed for Lindsay to get all well and for a solution to the gopher problem.
Monday morning I thought of Billy Swenson who lives down by the river. Remember him? He’s the kid who has live traps and catches squirrels and stuff up in the canyon. I went to see him, and we made a deal. He said that he’d come and trap the gophers and turn them loose down by the river if I would give him some tomatoes, three pumpkins, and two watermelons when they’re ready.
Mr. Trujillo was pretty surprised and happy. He looked at me in that puzzled way he does sometimes.
It took Billy four days to get all the gophers, but they’re gone. Yesterday we set out more tomato plants.
Love,Angela the Problem Solver

The future of none of the prophets, however, was signaled more clearly than that of Heber J. Grant. While he was a small boy, he often attended Relief Society with his mother. On one such occasion, after the regular meeting had concluded, Eliza R. Snow, the sister of President Lorenzo Snow, gave blessings to all present by the gift of tongues, with Zina D. Young interpreting. In tongues Sister Snow also prophesied that Heber J. Grant would someday be an apostle of the Lord. On another occasion President Heber C. Kimball, a close friend of President Grant’s father, took the young boy up, sat him on a chair, and talked with him. According to the story later told President Grant by his mother:
“He prophesied in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ that you [Heber] should become an apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ and become a greater man in the Church than your own father; and your father, as you know, became one of the counselors to Brigham Young.”
However, none of these prophecies were quite so impressive to President Grant as the vision that he had shortly after being called to the apostleship in 1883. In this vision he saw his father, Jedediah Grant, the Prophet Joseph Smith, and the Savior, and he also saw the decision made to send the revelation for his call to the Council of the Twelve—this when he was twenty-six years of age.

In early 2022, I was assigned to New Zealand’s Huntly, Waikato area. I’d been out on my mission for about a year by then, and was asked to train my companion, Elder Kafalava, who was brand new to the field.
One day, a recent convert named Brother Tengu wanted to do missionary work with us. I didn’t know much about Brother Tengu then, except that he’d only joined the Church four months earlier and he loved the Book of Mormon. We didn’t have any appointments that day, so we decided to knock on doors.
We found our way to the home of a certain man, a M?ori fella. He opened the door, and I thought he looked a bit — different. But we started talking to him, and at least he was talking to us.
He told us he didn’t believe in God. “I believe in soundwaves and frequencies,” he said and then showed us a range of musical instruments he’d carved and strung together into a necklace of sorts.
After a while I was discouraged, thinking, “Man, this isn’t going anywhere.” But Elder Kafalava continued talking to the man at the door as Brother Tengu stood nearby, holding a copy of the Book of Mormon.
All of a sudden, I received a powerful prompting to perform the haka for this man. “Give him the haka?” I laughed to myself. “There is no way I’m doing that!” But I couldn’t fight the impression, so I asked the man, “Hey. Do you mind if I give you the haka?”
After some hesitation, the man was amused. “Okay then. Go for it, Bro. Sure!”
“Just before I give you this haka,” I said, “let me tell you what it means.” I explained that it is our mission haka, that it reminds us why we preach the gospel. It describes missionaries as warriors of light, protected by the power of God as we share the sacred message of eternal life.
After I recited its English translation, I launched into it, and then there I was, all by myself on that porch—this white guy from Salt Lake City, Utah—fervently grabbing the sky and pulling it down to my chest as I performed our mission haka for a M?ori stranger.
I’m sure the neighbours were wondering what was going on. Elder Kafalava was too new to know this haka, so he provided moral support, but as I continued to pound my thighs and chant, I saw that Brother Tengu was now holding his Book of Mormon out—arm awkwardly extended, straight ahead—towards the man at the door.
I looked at our recent convert, thinking, “What are you doing? You’re ruining my haka.” Then I noticed how mesmerised the man at the door was, not by me, but by the Book of Mormon.
Sure enough, when I finished the haka, the man gestured and said, “So, what’s this book?” Brother Tengu proceeded to bear his powerful testimony. He talked about the oppressive darkness that once enfolded him so fully that he even considered taking his own life. He talked about the pivotal moment when a friend at school asked him if he’d like to meet the missionaries.
Brother Tengu expressed gratitude for those missionaries, but said it was the Book of Mormon—which he was still holding out in front of him—that truly led him to light. He testified that the Book of Mormon answered every one of his questions, that it brought him peace. “It saved my life!” he said.
In awe, the man at the door extended his own arm forward and asked, “Can I touch it?” And then, with his hand on its cover, the man began to pray over the Book of Mormon.
We left that copy with him, and as we drove away, I marvelled at how strange this day had been. If nothing else came of this encounter, it would at least make a great journal entry!
When we visited him again a week later, the man called out to us, “Hey, I got a question for you brothers: How do I get baptised?”
I was in shock. It turns out, the man had read the entire book of Alma, and Alma talked a lot about baptism. And now, “I want to get baptised,” he said, “and I want you to baptise me.”
I think back in amazement at that experience. We were only instruments in God’s hands, following the promptings of the Holy Ghost to go knock on a door, to open our mouths and to give a man the haka.
In turn, he was inspired to read the Book of Mormon and was converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ. The Book of Mormon is the true converter. It is what makes faith.
The man at the door was baptised two months later. He recently received the Aaronic Priesthood. This has been a testimony to me that conversion is a miracle.

Governor Ford wanted Joseph to be tried again at Carthage, Illinois, Joseph felt that if he went there, he would probably be killed, so on June 23, 1844, he rowed across the Mississippi River to avoid arrest. In a letter, Emma pleaded with him to return and surrender. Joseph also learned that some of the Saints were calling him a coward for leaving. “If my life is of no value to my friends,” he said, “it is of none to myself.” He returned to Nauvoo, and on Monday, June 24, he and the others charged in the case went to Carthage to surrender.
When they got to Carthage, they were released on bail until a circuit court judge could hear the case. Joseph and Hyrum went to talk to Governor Ford. While there, they were rearrested on charges of treason.
Joseph and Hyrum were again jailed; John Taylor and Willard Richards went with them.
On June 27, 1844, shortly after 5:00 P.M., a mob rushed up the jail stairs to the room where the prisoners were being held. The culprits tried to break through the door, but were unable to. Shooting through the door, they hit Hyrum, who fell, saying, “I am a dead man.”
Joseph went to the window where he was shot twice from inside the building and twice more from outside. He fell out of the window to the ground and died. John Taylor was shot four times and lay under a bed, severely wounded. Willard Richards was not injured during the shooting.

A true story from Costa Rica.
“Whoa!” Ethan said. “Did you see that one?”
“Yeah, look at its cute little tail!” said Lily.
Boston looked up, but he only saw shadows.
“We’ve already seen three monkeys today!” Ethan said.
But Boston hadn’t seen any! His family was visiting a rainforest to see wild monkeys. But the monkeys were too far away for Boston to see.
Boston was blind. He could only see things very close to him. Usually, he didn’t mind being blind. He could still do lots of cool things. He could read Braille with his fingers and walk with his cane in the dark. And he could find people by listening to their voices.
But sometimes, Boston didn’t like being blind. Like today.
Boston sat on the ground and sighed. It’s not fair! he thought.
A few minutes later he had an idea. Heavenly Father, please help a monkey come close enough for me to see, Boston prayed in his mind.
Boston couldn’t see any monkeys yet. Then he heard a noise from far away.
“Did you hear that?” Boston asked. “I think it was a monkey!”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Ethan said.
“Neither did I,” said Dad. “You have good ears!”
Boston heard a monkey run through the bushes by the trail. He pointed toward the sound. “Over there!”
Then he heard another one, and another. Sometimes his family could see the monkeys once he pointed them out. But none of the monkeys got close enough for him to see.
Soon it was time to go home.
“I’m sorry you didn’t see any monkeys,” Mom said as they walked to the car.
Boston shrugged. “It’s OK. I wanted to see one, but I got to hear lots of them instead.” Then he thought about his prayer. “It kind of reminds me of the Holy Ghost.”
“What do you mean?” Mom asked.
“When I stopped to listen, I realized they were all around me. I could hear them even though I couldn’t see them. It’s just like how I can hear the Holy Ghost when I listen.”
“That’s a great lesson,” Mom said.
Boston heard something in the bushes next to him. Then something ran out onto the trail—right in front of him! It had reddish hair and a long tail. It stopped and looked right at him. Then it ran into the trees again.
A monkey! He got to see one after all!
Boston smiled. Being blind was hard sometimes. But today, it helped him learn about the Holy Ghost. And that was pretty cool.

I’m sure that Mother’s spiritual strengths came from her love of the temple. She and Father were set apart as ordinance workers in the London Temple in 1972. Mother would share with me her spiritual experiences in the temple — how on one occasion, for example, a female spirit, eager for ordinances to be completed, started pulling at Mother’s clothing. There was a voice, too, saying, “Don’t forget me!” For Mother the spirit world was a reality. From her journal, I learned not only about the vital role the temple plays in our latter-day lives, but also in the lives of our departed loved ones, who are real people with real emotions. These are sacred memories that Mother clearly wanted us, her children, to know about, memories that now resound louder, given President Nelson’s encouragement for members to gather Israel on both sides of the veil. Mother’s experiences help me understand that many of our departed loved ones really want to be gathered. What greater blessings of a mother’s journal could there be?

Prophets have charge for the whole earth, not just for members of the Church. I can report from my own experience how personally and devotedly the First Presidency takes that charge. As needs grow, the First Presidency has charged us to increase our humanitarian outreach in a significant way. They are interested in the largest trends and the smallest details.

Recently, we brought to them one of the protective medical gowns that Beehive Clothing sewed for hospitals to use during the pandemic. As a medical doctor, President Russell M. Nelson was highly interested. He didn’t want to just see it. He wanted to try it on—check the cuffs and the length and the way it tied in the back. He told us later, with emotion in his voice, “When you meet with people on your assignments, thank them for their fasting, their offerings, and their ministering in the name of the Lord.”

I hated being the new kid in school, yet there I was, new for the third time in less than a year.
I dreaded going to my seventh-grade class that first day. Who would talk to me? Would I be able to find my locker, and if I could, would I remember the combination? Would the other kids in P.E. make fun of my skinny white legs? What subjects were they studying? Who would I eat lunch with? Who would I walk home with?
I was scared to death.
That morning, I invented all kinds of excuses to get Mom to let me stay home from school for one more day.
“C’mon, Mom, I don’t even know where the school is. What if I get lost on the way and you never see me again?”
That didn’t faze her.
“Besides, I think I might have the flu. You don’t want to embarrass me by making me go to school sick, do you? I’ll probably throw up right in the middle of English class, and for the rest of my life, all the kids at school will remember me as the kid who threw up in Miss Van Horn’s class.”
That got a smile out of her, but she still didn’t give in. She handed me my lunch, wished me a good day, and pushed me out the door.
The first day wasn’t so bad. I found the school, I didn’t throw up, and my teachers didn’t ask me any questions I couldn’t answer. And I even made a friend. At least, I thought I had.
Craig, a popular kid in my homeroom, befriended me. He helped me find my classes, ate lunch with me, introduced me to some of his friends, and even asked me to stick around after school to shoot some baskets.
I figured Craig and I were going to be great friends, so I hung around him all the time. But one day in the second week at my new school, some of his friends pulled me aside at lunch and said, “Hey, why do you keep hanging around Craig?”
“Cause we’re friends,” I answered.
They laughed. “Friends?” smirked one. “He hates you hanging around him all the time at school. Why don’t you just leave him alone?”
Their words stunned me, and I struggled to keep a smile on my face as they walked away laughing. I decided, then and there, I’d stay away from Craig. If he wanted to be my friend, I’d welcome him, but I wasn’t going to be pushy.
Everyone wants to be liked and to have friends, but some people are so desperate to make friends that they’ll do almost anything. My shadowing Craig, for example, was out of character for me, but at the time I really needed a friend and I didn’t have the confidence that I would make friends by being my normal self.
As a high school teacher, I’ve seen students completely change themselves in hopes of winning friends.
Lora, a sophomore, was new in my school, and she had everything going for her. She was pretty, smart, athletic, and personable. Unfortunately, it was her first experience in a new school, and she had difficulty adjusting. She had never known what it was like to be new, to be a stranger, to be without friends.
In her desperation to make friends, Lora latched onto the first kids who showed an interest in her. Those kids were, in my estimation, less than desirable. They lived for the weekends when they could “party hardy.”
They welcomed Lora with open arms, and so she was sharing the shallow existence of those whose only happiness is found in alcohol, drugs, or immorality. Lora continued to be pleasant and active in my class, but she had changed. Her sparkling countenance was gone, and her academic motivation was fading.
It’s important to have friends, but friends and popularity aren’t worth self-destruction. One Church leader said it well when he advised youth to, “Seek not to be well known; seek, instead, to be worth knowing.”
It’s not difficult to get to know people if you involve yourself in school activities, talk to people, and act friendly. But sometimes the hard part comes in making real friends out of people you get to know. If, however, you’re “worth knowing,” you’ll have little trouble turning acquaintances into friends.
So then, how can you be worth knowing?
First, be interested in others. Martin H. Durrant, my former bishop and stake president, lifts my spirit every time I meet him. He always asks me about myself, my family, my job, or my hobby. His questions are sincere, and I know, without a doubt, that he’s genuinely interested.
But it’s not always easy to talk about other people’s interests. For example, a friend and I were finishing graduate school at about the same time. Every time we met he’d tell me in great detail about his research project and how it was going. In all the time we were working together, he never once asked me about my work and study. He didn’t seem like a real friend because he didn’t seem interested in what I was doing.
Once you learn to talk to others about their interests, practice being cheerful. Having a smile on your face forces you to be in a good mood. No one enjoys being around a grump or someone who looks like they’re carrying the world’s problems on their shoulders.
In addition to being cheerful, it’s also important to be a good listener. Sometimes when my wife has a problem or is struggling with a decision, she’ll talk to me about it. My first impulse is to stop listening, tell her what I would do, and advise her to do likewise.
It took me a while to learn that she didn’t want my advice; she wanted my willing ear. The next time a friend tells you about a problem, bite your tongue the minute you’re tempted to dispense advice. Let them say all they have to say; then give advice only if they ask for it.
And, finally, be a good influence on others. When I was a sophomore in high school, some of my friends started drinking and smoking. They knew I didn’t drink or smoke, but they began to pressure me to join their parties anyway. The more they pressured me, the more uncomfortable I felt, until finally I stopped hanging around them. I figured that if they were really my friends, they wouldn’t push me to do things I didn’t want to do. Real friends would never ask you to do something you shouldn’t.
Really, this friendly advice is basically what you’d do if you followed the Savior’s advice to “love one another.” If you really work at loving those around you, and show that love, you’ll be the kind of friend everybody wants.
It’s never easy being the new kid on the block, and making friends and breaking into social groups can be tough. Here are a few ideas you might want to consider.
Give yourself some time. If you’ve just moved to a new town, or changed to a new school, it will take a while to establish friendships. Don’t worry if you have to spend some time alone for the first few months. Take advantage of this time by participating in family activities, developing your talents, and learning about your new surroundings.
Don’t be afraid to make the first move. You can’t always wait for people to introduce themselves to you. Remember, they might be as apprehensive approaching the “new” person as you are talking to them.
Stay away from people who drag you down. If your friends force you to choose between them and doing what you know is right, it’s time to look for new friends. Pray for guidance when you are making new friends, and make a commitment to yourself to maintain your integrity.
Get involved. In addition to getting to know the kids in your ward or branch through Mutual activities, try joining a club at school, going out for a sports team, volunteering to decorate for a dance, or trying out for a play. These types of activities often involve teamwork, so it’s a good way to really get to know people who share your interests.
Be worth knowing. Think about the kind of person you would like to be friends with. Write down some of the qualities that person would have, and then work to cultivate those traits in yourself.

Ernie is Molly’s closest friend (besides her parents; grandmother; and older sisters, Gerri, Linda, and Sherry, who are grown up and married and living in other towns). Molly named Ernie even before he chose her. Yes, he chose her. He was one of a litter of puppies born to her grandma’s neighbor’s dog. When the puppies were old enough to leave their mother, Molly called, “Here, Ernie,” and he was the one that came! He’s a friendly dog and loves and protects her.

Many years ago, I observed a heartbreak—which became a tragedy. A young couple was nearing the delivery of their first child. Their lives were filled with the anticipation and excitement of this monumental experience. During the delivery, complications arose and the baby died. Heartbreak turned to grief, grief turned to anger, anger turned to blame, and blame turned to revenge toward the doctor, whom they held fully responsible. Parents and other family members became heavily involved, together seeking to ruin the reputation and the career of the physician. As weeks and then months of acrimony consumed the family, their bitterness was extended to the Lord. “How could He allow this horrible thing to occur?” They rejected the repeated efforts of Church leaders and members to spiritually and emotionally comfort them and, in time, disassociated themselves from the Church. Four generations of the family have now been affected. Where once there were faith and devotion to the Lord and His Church, there has been no spiritual activity by any family member for decades.

Returning to where we began, please remember that as Latter-day Saints you are gifted. Picture this familiar fast Sunday scene, recently described to me. A young child, standing on a stool, was barely visible over the pulpit. Her father stood next to her, offering encouragement and assisting with soft whispers to her ear as she proudly shared, “I am a child of God.”

The next testimony that followed came from a young adult who began with a nervous quip: “I wish I had someone whispering in my ear like that.” Then she had a flash of inspiration and testified, “I do have someone whispering in my ear like that—the Holy Ghost!”

When I was 16 years old, I was a printing apprentice. A fellow apprentice was totally engrossed in motorcycles. In those days, we rode British motorcycles, and he had an AJS-350.
One sunny summer’s day, he said to me, “Would you like to come for a ride on my motorcycle?” That seemed to be a good idea. In those days we didn’t wear any protective clothing, and thus very lightly clad, I became the passenger on his motorcycle. He weaved through the streets of Norwich and then came to a long, straight road. He leaned back and said to me, “Have you ever traveled at 100 miles an hour?”
I said, “No.”
He said, “Well, you’re going to.”
I said, “We don’t have to.”
He began to rev the motorcycle, and the motorcycle roared forward. The skin on my face pulled tight, and the clothing blew as we went past 98 to 100 miles an hour. I had accepted an invitation that put someone else in control of my safety. In fact, it put me in a dangerous situation. I determined that day that never again would I let somebody else control my life.

Please listen as I tell a story about a young woman who decided to act to create the life she wanted.
A few years ago, my wife made friends with a woman who had finished her bachelor’s degree and had not gone on any dates in college. Before college, she was passed over each time there was a school dance or other social event. During college, she did well in her studies but, based on her previous experiences, decided to not put much effort into her social life. In fact, during the summers she would find a job in a remote location so she wouldn’t have to worry about the social events she was missing.
After graduating college, she decided to make a change. She had a home and started inviting people over from her young single adult ward for various activities. After one activity that she felt hadn’t gone very well, she confided in my wife about her lack of prospects for marriage.
She confided that she didn’t feel confident about her appearance and was concerned she would never get married.
Christine told her that she was familiar with those feelings, but she tried to be a fun person and made sure to be at activities with other young adults.
Her friend took this pep talk to heart and started to do things differently. She started to find ways to be in more social gatherings. While this was a little outside her comfort zone, her hope was that it would lead to much more happiness.
Eventually, she met a young man who was interested in her. They’re married now and living a very fulfilling life together.
While I cannot promise you the exact results my wife’s friend achieved through her choices, I can tell you the likelihood of getting those results will increase greatly when you choose to act and work to create the life you desire.

I am sure that the skills and discipline and soul-power that result from overcoming the challenge of material shortages open the door for extraordinary blessings. I offer one small personal example. As poor graduate students in Chicago, my wife and I did not have the resources to telephone home, except for very short calls on special holidays. We had to keep in touch by long, weekly letters, which each of us typed to both sets of parents each week. The composition of those letters developed writing skills that have blessed each of our lives for the ensuing forty-some years. We would have been deprived of a blessing of significant growth if we could have simply picked up the telephone and communicated in the almost effortless and sometimes almost thoughtless way that would have been available if we had had more money. I am an advocate of letters among loved ones, and my preference has been reinforced as I have written family histories and rejoiced in the details of loved one’s lives that have been preserved in writing rather than lost on some electronic highway.

When the young women of the Rose Park Second Ward in Salt Lake City, Utah, got tired of putting up with a skimpy selection of formal dresses, they took matters—and the dresses—into their own hands. Spending an evening at a local dress shop owned by Beehive Elise Carnahan’s grandmother, the young women drew the line for modesty by trying on a new line of formal dresses.
Amid the bustle of fittings and alterations, the young women learned some practical ways to make dresses modest.
“I had a cute black dress, and we added a bolero jacket that covered my back and shoulders,” said Laurel Leslie Abalos. “The jacket made the dress a beautiful, modest option. We didn’t even have to alter the gown.”
For Elise, the alterations were a little more extensive, but the result was just as rewarding. With the help and expertise of her grandmother, Elise constructed sleeves for her dress. “When you’re modest,” she said, “you can focus on what matters: how you act. I want to enter the temple one day, so I need to prepare now for that day. One of the ways I do that is by dressing modestly.”
Eager to share their new modest formals and show others how easy it is to be modest, the young women’s next step was to put on a fashion show. After a flurry of distributing flyers, making announcements, decorating, and preparing refreshments, the young women were ready to share the confidence and joy they found in being modest.
Yanyn Flores, a Mia Maid with Down syndrome, spoke through her actions at the fashion show. Her participation showed everyone how modesty is important to her.
Alyssa Reed, a Laurel, also told why participating in the show and modeling modesty was important. “Modesty shows respect for your body as a temple. You also respect the people around you, the gifts you are given, and Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.”
Mia Maid Kiko Makaya adds, “I want to set a good example to those around me by dressing modestly.”
And for Beehive Jonni Klus, modesty is a way of staying true to herself. “Modesty shows that you are happy with just being you.”
The fashion show was a packed event and a great success. Many more young women mentioned how dressing modestly helps them to be confident and focus on who they are rather than what they wear. Young Women leader Desirae Carnhahan was happy to see how the fashion show blessed their lives. “Our girls now know that modest additions are worth the extra effort,” she said.