Gospel Story Finder

“Finish your drawings, class. It’s almost time for recess,” Mrs. Johnson said.
The students hurried to finish their pictures, put away the crayons, and put on their coats.
Abbey looked up from her picture as the other children ran off, then she slowly colored a few more details. There was no hurry. Nobody ever wanted to play with her anyway.
Abbey sighed, stood up, and walked to the coat rack to grab her coat. Then she slowly walked out to her favorite tree and sat down. She looked toward the playground, where the other children were laughing and having fun. Being the new girl was hard. She missed Arizona. Before she moved she had lots of friends, and she never had to sit by herself during recess.
Abbey looked down and saw a flash of silver in the grass. It was her CTR ring! She had lost it yesterday during recess. “Well, at least I have my ring back,” she said out loud as she put the ring on her finger.
Abbey noticed a girl walking her way. She had long blonde hair that swayed back and forth with every step. It was Laurel, one of the most popular girls in class. Laurel sat down beside Abbey.
“Hi, Abbey,” Laurel said. “Do you want to play with me?”
Abbey nodded her head eagerly. “Sure. What should we do first?”
“Let’s go swing,” Laurel said.
After having a contest to see who could swing the highest, the girls talked and giggled at the edge of the playground. Abbey felt so happy. She hadn’t felt this good since before she moved.
Abbey noticed Laurel eyeing the nearby gravel path that led away from the school grounds.
“Abbey, my house is only one block from here, and my mom just bought some cookies,” Laurel said. “We could run there, grab some cookies, and be back before recess is over. No one would miss us.”
Abbey was surprised. Everyone knew that leaving the school grounds during school hours was against the rules. “But what about your mom? Won’t she be there?” Abbey asked.
“Nope. She’s at work today,” Laurel said.
Abbey knew that leaving the school grounds was wrong, but Laurel was the first person in her class to pay any attention to her, and she desperately wanted to have her as a friend. If she refused to go, Abbey was afraid Laurel might make fun of her. Then she’d never have any friends.
Abbey looked down at her CTR ring. She remembered her Primary teacher saying that even though it can be hard to choose the right sometimes, Heavenly Father blesses us when we do.
“Sorry, Laurel,” Abbey said. “I can’t go with you. It’s against the rules.” Abbey looked at Laurel expectantly, waiting to see how she would react.
Instead of getting angry, Laurel just shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, well. I thought you’d probably say that,” Laurel said. “Maybe instead I could ask my mom if you could come over tomorrow after school. Then we can still have some of those cookies.”
Abbey grinned. “That sounds great,” she said. “Hey, do you want to go collect some leaves for next week’s art project?”
Laurel nodded, and the two new friends skipped back to the big tree.

In my childhood, my family went through some very troubled times. My parents divorced when I was five. My mother remarried, but divorced again. My three younger siblings and I all lived with our mother in one room in one of the worst parts of Glasgow, Scotland. Home life was quite dark, challenging, and poor.
When I was about 10, I went to a little Christian Sunday School group that met at the end of the street. We sang songs, and a teacher taught us Bible stories. One Sunday, our teacher told us the story of Zacchaeus.
Jesus was passing through the city of Jericho, and there was a great crowd of people surrounding him. A man named Zacchaeus wanted to see Jesus pass by, but Zacchaeus was not very tall. He ran ahead and climbed a tree so he could see Jesus in the midst of the crowd.
Jesus looked up and called him by name: “Zacchaeus, make haste, and come down; for to day I must abide at thy house.”
Zacchaeus was not a popular man. He was a tax collector. Many people, seeing with whom Jesus was going to spend the day, murmured because they didn’t think Zacchaeus was worthy. Yet Jesus chose to spend time with him.
We don’t read much in the scriptures about what happened while Jesus was in Zacchaeus’s home, but we do know what the result was. Zacchaeus repented and became converted. Jesus said that salvation had come to the house of Zacchaeus. (See Luke 19:1–10.)
I wondered, if Jesus knew the name of Zacchaeus, did He know my name? If this thing called salvation could come to the home of Zacchaeus, could it come to my family? If Zacchaeus could be saved, could I? I know now that the Holy Ghost prompted me to think those thoughts.
Within two years, I discovered that the Lord did know my name and that salvation could come to my family. The Lord sent missionaries from His Church to find us. My mother was not very interested in religion, but the missionaries knocked on our door on a very rainy, wet day. They had been out working all day long, and they were soaked to the skin. My mother invited them in to get warm. When I came home from school, the missionaries were sitting by our electric heater, steam rising from their clothes. That began our teaching experience. A few weeks later, we were baptized and confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Being members of the Church has been a great blessing in our lives. We found peace, direction, and hope. I grew up to serve a mission, marry in the temple, and become the father of four children. I became the first person in all the generations of my family to attend university, and I enjoyed a successful career.

A true story from Austria.
Are you excited for school to start?
Yeah, but I’m worried about math. What if I can’t do it?
It’s OK to be scared. School can be hard, but Heavenly Father can help you!
Would you like a priesthood blessing before you start school?
Sure!
Thanks, Dad!
What is five times seven?
Thirty-five.
Hmm …
Got it!
How was school?
Good. I was able to concentrate in math, just like Dad said in my blessing.
Heavenly Father is helping me focus. I can do math!

“Recently I read the true account of a dramatic manifestation concerning these promises. A faithful member of the Church, John A. Larsen, served during World War II in the United States Coast Guard on the ship USS Cambria. During a battle in the Philippines, word came of an approaching squadron of bombers and kamikaze fighter planes. … John and three companions gathered their gear and hurried to the beach, hoping for a lift out to one of the departing ships. Fortunately, a landing craft picked them up and sped toward the last ship leaving the bay. The men on that departing ship … had time only to throw ropes to the four men, that they might hopefully be able to climb to the deck.
“John, with a heavy radio strapped to his back, found himself dangling at the end of a 40-foot (12 m) rope, at the side of a ship headed out to the open sea. He began pulling himself up, hand over hand, knowing that if he lost his grip, he would almost certainly perish. After climbing only a third of the way, he felt his arms burning with pain. He had become so weak that he felt he could no longer hold on.
“With his strength depleted, as he grimly contemplated his fate, John silently cried unto God, telling Him that he had always kept the Word of Wisdom and had lived a clean life—and he now desperately needed the promised blessings.
“John later said that as he finished his prayer, he felt a great surge of strength. He began climbing once again and fairly flew up the rope. When he reached the deck, his breathing was normal and not the least bit labored. The blessings of added health and stamina promised in the Word of Wisdom had been his. He gave thanks to his Heavenly Father then, and throughout the remainder of his life, for the answer to his desperate prayer for help.

“You look so ridiculous, Ed. I’m totally serious,” the lovely and talented Maggie, my 10-year-old sister, told me as I was leaving to go to work at Reel Life Video store. I caught a glimpse of myself in the entryway mirror. Unfortunately, she was right.
And you would look ridiculous, too, if you were required by your employer to wear shiny shoes with pointed toes, black tuxedo pants, a red cummerbund, a ruffled shirt, and a snappy red bow tie. It doesn’t help, either, that I have to wear a former employee’s name tag because my manager hasn’t had a new one made up for me yet. So that is why I, Ed McIff, an ordinary, boring teenager with an ordinary, boring life, wear a name tag that says “Sergio” instead of my name.
“See you later, Sergio!” my mom trilled from the kitchen. And then she burst into gales of laughter.
Doesn’t it say somewhere that mothers aren’t supposed to laugh at their children who are required to wear stupid clothes to work? I opened our ordinary, boring front door and let myself out into a boring evening in ordinary, boring Salt Lake City, Utah.
Actually, work was okay. We were pretty busy, which helps the time go by faster. I was surprised when Marv the Manager told me and Wendy, another proud Reel Life Video employee like myself, to go on break.
“Want to get some ice cream next door?” Wendy asked as we walked out the door together.
I gave her a sideways smile. “A triple scoop of burnt almond fudge, chocolate, and vanilla …”
“… in a sugar cone,” she finished my sentence for me and grinned.
“My treat,” I said.
“You always treat, Ed,” she said, giving my arm a friendly slug.
“You’re right, I do.”
Wendy Duncan is possibly the only human being I know who likes ice cream more than I do, which is one of the things that makes it so fun to buy it for her. In fact, we like a lot of the same things—baseball, science fiction novels, old movies, breakfast at George’s Cafe. You get the idea.
After getting our cones, we sat down on the strip of grass in front of Reel Life Video and looked at the evening sky while licking ice cream. The moon was high and bright.
“Sometimes when I really miss my brother,” Wendy said, “I step out onto our front porch and wonder if he’s looking at the moon, too. Thinking about him doing the exact same thing I’m doing makes it feel like he’s not so far away after all.”
Wendy cupped her hands around her mouth. “Alo, irmão Ben,” she called to the moon. “That means, ‘Hello, Brother Ben,’ in case you’re interested.” Wendy’s brother, Ben, is on a mission in Brazil.
“When I was a little boy my mother told me I could make wishes on a star,” I told her. “But I liked the moon better because it was way bigger, so I always made my wishes on the moon.”
“Moonlight, moon bright, the first moon I see tonight,” Wendy laughed. “So what do you wish for on the moon tonight, Ed?”
“Nothing,” I told her. “I happen to know from personal experience that wishing on the moon doesn’t work.”
Actually, this is only partially true. Wishing doesn’t work, it’s true, but I do it anyway. And what I wished for that night as I sat in front of Reel Life Video eating ice cream with Wendy was that my life wouldn’t be so ordinary and boring.
What I wished for was excitement.
Wendy and I were busy shelving videos when someone tapped me lightly on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Do you work here?”
“Yes, I work here,” I answered politely as I tucked Ivanhoe back on the shelf. Then I turned to discover, standing there, the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life.
Okay. Here are some adjectives to help you get the picture. Tall. Brown hair. Tan. Blue-eyed. Smooth-skinned. Gorgeous. You look at her and think she’s so much higher up on the food chain than you are that the two of you don’t even belong to the same species.
For the record, this is the kind of girl who is never interested in guys wearing red cummerbunds.
She flashed me a dazzling smile (her teeth, in case you’re interested, were white and even, not unlike pearls). Then, looking at my name tag, she said, “You’re Sergio. What a cool name!”
My heart began to pound beneath my frilly shirt. Here it was. My big chance to stop being ordinary, to stop being boring.
“Yes, indeed,” I said, barely believing what was coming out of my mouth. “My name is Sergio. Sergio Mendez.”
Wendy looked at me in pure disbelief, then crossed her eyes.
Sergio Mendez? Now where had that come from? Somehow it was a name with a vaguely familiar ring.
“Wow!” the amazingly beautiful girl said, and I could tell she was interested, really interested. In me! “Sergio Mendez. Are you from somewhere else? I mean besides Salt Lake City?”
Wendy was watching me now with a great deal of interest.
“Yes,” I blurted out. This is not technically the truth since I was born in Salt Lake City and have lived in Salt Lake my whole life. It’s just that I would have been from someplace else if I’d had the chance. “I’m from Brazil originally.” I even faked a little bit of an accent when I said this.
Wendy began to choke, and the beautiful girl shot her a look of real concern. “Are you okay?”
Wendy nodded, causing the beautiful girl to smile kindly at her as she spoke. “Isn’t that cool he’s from Brazil, but he speaks English like a native.”
“Like a native,” Wendy agreed. “He probably speaks Brazilian like a native, too.”
Brazilian?
Wendy’s little joke did not register with the beautiful girl who forged ahead. “I’d love to go to Brazil. Wouldn’t you?” she asked Wendy, who nodded truthfully.
The beautiful girl wrapped her beautiful arms around herself and sighed dreamily. “I’ve never been anywhere, really. Just being here in Salt Lake City this summer is such a huge deal for me. And I love it here. Honest! I love the way you can walk outside at night and see lights everywhere. It feels like there are a whole bunch of people all around you doing really interesting things.”
“Where are you from?”
The girl gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Well, I’m for sure not from Brazil. I come from Fountain Green. You’ve probably never even heard of it. It’s a little town way down in Sanpete County. I’m staying here for the summer with my Aunt Mary, who’s a student at the University of Utah. She got me a job waitressing at the same place she works. By the way, my name’s Liesel.”
“And I’m Wendy.”
Liesel grabbed Wendy’s hand and shook it. I could tell that Wendy was surprised. I mean who shakes hands when they’re 16? Surprised or not, however, Wendy was softening.
“Wendy and Sergio,” Liesel gave a happy little laugh. “You’re my new friends in Salt Lake City.”
Marv the Manager, who absolutely cannot stand it when his employees look like they’re having fun, joined us. “Are these two helping you find everything you need?” he asked Liesel.
Liesel linked her arms through mine and Wendy’s. “They were just going to show me where I can find The Sound of Music. My mom named me after one of the characters, you know.” She winked at Marv. He did a little backwards stagger as though he’d just been kissed. It was easy to see that Marv was totally smitten. Just like the rest of us.
There was a little surprise waiting for me in the parking lot when I got off work. Liesel and another girl, who was a few years older, were sitting in a truck. Liesel waved and smiled when she saw me, then elbowed the girl next to her. I walked over to say hello. Or make that “alo.”
“This is the boy I was telling you about, Mary,” she said. “Sergio Mendez. Sergio, this is my Aunt Mary, the one I’m living with this summer.”
“Sergio Mendez?” the aunt repeated, looking me up and down. I started to feel nervous. What if she thought I was—you know—a phony?
“It’s very nice to meet you,” I said in my best Eagle Scout voice.
“Pleased to meet you, too, Sergio,” Liesel’s aunt said through the pickup window. She had a little smile on her face. I wasn’t sure it was a friendly smile, to tell you the truth, but then again it was hard to tell in the dark.
“Can you teach me some words, Sergio?” Liesel said. Then she lowered her beautiful voice to a whisper. “By the way, I know you speak Portuguese. Not Brazilian. I went along with Wendy when she said that because I didn’t want her to feel stupid. She’s really sweet, Sergio.”
“Right,” I said. A strange, uncomfortable feeling shot through me. Whatever the feeling was, it didn’t stop me from calling Sweet Wendy the next day. “You have to help me learn some Portuguese quick.”
“You’re crazy, Ed. Oh, excuse me. Senhor Sergio Mendez.” Wendy did a very obnoxious accent. “Talk about lame. My father still has his old Sergio Mendez and Brazil 66 albums from when he was in high school.”
No wonder my new name had sounded familiar to me. I used to be a rock star back in the late ’60s. I prayed that neither Liesel nor her Aunt Mary had recognized the name.
“Didn’t Ben teach you any words besides ‘Alo’?” I pressed on, ignoring Wendy’s wisecracks.
“Well,” Wendy sounded reluctant, “I can say the days of the week.”
“The days of the week are good. I can just stand there and say Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday over and over again in Portuguese, and Liesel won’t know the difference.”
“Ed …” Wendy paused.
“Well?”
“Ed, my first impulse is to hate girls that look like Liesel because—well, because I don’t look like them. But Liesel seems really nice. And innocent. And maybe even a little lonely.” Wendy stopped.
“So what’s your point?” I said, playing really stupid. The feeling from last night returned, although this time I came closer to recognizing it for what it was.
“My point, Ed,” Wendy pressed on, “is that you’re tricking her. She’s going to feel bad if she finds out.”
“Who says she’s going to find out?”
Wendy snorted.
“Please, Wendy,” I pleaded. “This is my chance to—to be somebody different. Somebody who is not ordinary, boring Ed McIff.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized how totally pathetic they were. And also how true.
“Okay, fine,” she snapped. “Sunday is domingo. Monday is segunda-feira. Tuesday is terca-feira …”
You know that feeling I had while talking to Liesel and Mary? Well, I’m pretty sure it was guilt.
Liesel returned the next day, looking as fresh as flowers in the morning. Her Aunt Mary was with her, and so was another guy who looked like he spent his lunch hours in the gym every day.
“Hi, Sergio,” Liesel said with a sunny grin. “I brought you a surprise today. Mary’s friend, Rick!”
Just what I always wanted for a surprise. A guy with big muscles.
“Rick went on his mission to Brazil, and Mary thought it might make you happy to have somebody to talk to in your own language again,” Liesel said, her face alive with kindness and concern.
“Como vai?” Rick smiled and crushed my hand, although in fairness I think he only meant to shake it.
My stomach dropped like a loose elevator. I opened my mouth to answer him. “Domingo, segunda-feira, terca-feira.”
Rick looked at me closely. “Que?”
I repeated myself, “Domingo, segunda-feira.”
Rick didn’t say anything, but I could see from his expression that he realized what was going on. Just my luck.
Liesel giggled, “Hey, what are you guys saying to each other?”
“Not much,” I said truthfully.
“Mary, show Liesel that movie we were looking at the other night and ask her if she wants to check it out,” Rick said. Liesel gave me a smile then hurried down the aisle after her aunt.
“Okay,” Elder Rick whispered to me, his face close to mine. “I’m giving you a choice: either you come clean with her, or I’ll do it for you. Okay, Sergio?”
I swallowed and nodded, fear and shame coursing through my veins like salmon swimming upstream. I looked over at Wendy. Her face was unintelligible.
Mary, Liesel, and Rick returned with an armful of videos which I checked out for them. Liesel was chattering away happily, but I only heard part of what she said because I was so distracted.
“Ah, Liesel,” I said, as they turned to go. “Could I talk to you for a minute? Alone?”
Rick looked over Mary and Liesel’s heads and gave me a little smile that was actually friendly. “We’ll wait for you in the truck, Liesel,” he said, then left with Mary.
Liesel gave me a sidelong glance while smiling and shuffling her feet a little bit. She was acting like a girl who knows you’re going to ask her to dance.
I cleared my throat. “I owe you an apology. I … I lied to you. My name isn’t Sergio. It’s Ed McIff. I’ve never been to Brazil.”
The smile faded slowly from Liesel’s lips as my words sank in.
“The only reason I wear this name tag is because my manager hasn’t made me a new one yet,” I went on.
Liesel looked straight at me for a long time, then said, “You must think I’m pretty stupid, huh?”
“No!” I said. “I don’t think you’re stupid at all!”
“Then why did you lie to me?”
I hadn’t let myself think about how Liesel would feel if she found out I was lying. But now I could see that she was hurt, maybe even a little humiliated, which made me feel like the complete jerk I’d been. “I don’t think you’re stupid at all. I was just trying to impress you. I was trying to be somebody I’m not to get your attention.”
“But how do you know I wouldn’t have liked Ed McIff?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You misjudged me, Ed,” Liesel said softly. “It’s too bad, too. We could have been friends this summer.”
She gave me one last look out of those huge blue eyes, picked up her videos, and walked out of the door. And out of my life.
Wendy let out a low whistle. “Wow.”
Just then, Marv the Manager came scuttling up the aisle like a crab toward me. “I got something for you here.” He dropped a plastic name tag in front of me.
I removed my old name tag and put on the new one.
Wendy looked at it and smiled. “Welcome back, Ed. Somebody from Brazil named Sergio has been inhabiting your body. It’s been kind of spooky.”
In spite of the fact I was feeling like dirt, I had to smile.
“He was pretty cute,” Wendy went on, “but he was such a liar. I like you a lot better.”
“Really?” I said, “Why?”
“Because you buy me ice cream and because you make me laugh,” said Wendy. “Be yourself from now on, Ed. Okay? It’s less confusing that way.” She chucked a video at me. “Now go shelve this.”
I snagged it on the fly. “Yes, ma’am.”
Wendy smiled, and it occurred to me what great eyes she has. I gave the video a little flip, then caught it again.
So that’s it. My story about last summer when I learned to be true by suffering the consequences of playing false. The summer I was Sergio.

“Then there was the time on the bus going to play in a soccer match. (The girls and boys teams ride together.) I was reading the Book of Mormon. I have a big quadruple combination, and it was rather conspicuous. One of the boys who had been living in Utah said he’d never seen a Book of Mormon before and wanted to see it. He started looking through it and asking me questions about it. Before long, the whole back of the bus was involved in a discussion about the Book of Mormon. It was as if a curtain had been drawn between the front of the bus and the back, because up in front they were telling inappropriate jokes.”

Pastel-colored tissue paper cluttered tabletops as young women from a ward in Utah, USA, working with their leaders, cut circle after circle, then threaded the circles together to form flowers, and then attached them to head bands. As they fashioned flower after paper flower, laughter and conversation filled the air—as well as anticipation. The flowers were to be worn at a dinner where, after months of anonymous service, the young women would finally meet their “secret grandmothers.”
From February to September, the young women had worked both alone and in groups—delivering treats, washing windows, plastering paper hearts all over doors—anything they could think of to brighten the day of the senior sisters in their ward.
And now it was finally time for the grandmothers to find out which young women had been serving them.
The evening for the dinner soon arrived. It didn’t take long before young women and “secret grandmothers,” all of them with paper flowers in their hair, were laughing and joking, saying, “So, you’re the one!” and “Thank you so much!”
Once everyone was a little better acquainted, and after sharing a delicious meal, the real fun of the evening began. The “grandmothers” had responded to questionnaires. As their answers were read aloud, the young women had to guess who was being introduced.
Answers revealed information such as favorite childhood activities, best advice received from parents, life-changing moments, family rules and chores when they were teens, favorite foods, embarrassing experiences, awkward dates, nicknames, their mother’s recipes, family heirlooms and traditions, favorite teachers, and much more.
There were some tender moments. One young woman, Charlotte R., 18, who lost her mother when she was eight, found out that two of the senior sisters had been through the same experience.
“That strengthened me a lot,” Charlotte said. “Here are women I admire, who do so much and help so many, and I never knew that they lost their mothers, too.”
Sister Shields, for example, was 16 when her mother died. Charlotte said, “When she said her mother’s faith stayed strong and that she heard her mother’s testimony many times, that really touched me, because that’s how my mother was.”
Sister Shields showed two prized possessions to the young women—a baptismal dress her mother sewed, and a coat her mother made for her just before she passed away.
Serenity M., 15, said that “seeing what Sister Shields’s mother did for her made me think about what my mother has given to me.” It also made her glad that she had made something nice for Sister Shields: “a hot chocolate mug with a smiley face inside, so that when she’s done drinking cocoa she has an extra reason to smile.”
Another young woman, Michaela M., 15, said she had often seen Sister Heyward at church before the months of service began. “I never actually knew her personally,” Michaela said, “but doing service for her made me feel closer to her, even though until tonight she didn’t know who was doing it.”
At the dinner, however, Michaela gained additional perspective. “Tonight, when the ‘grandmothers’ answered questions about growing up, going on dates, what they learned in seminary, and all of that, I thought, those are the same things I’m going through. I got the feeling that we’re all sisters, even though we’re different ages.”
Emma F., 13, agreed. “Sometimes it’s fun to be with people who are a little older because you get to see how much alike we are.”
Emily M., 15, said that an added benefit of the service and the dinner was that it made her feel eager to attend Relief Society. “If they’re all nice like these ladies,” she said, “then I’m excited.”
“It brought us together as sisters in Zion,” said Chloe F., 17. “It wasn’t scary or intimidating to be with these ladies; it was easy and natural because we all had things in common. It strengthened my testimony of how we truly are sisters, and I was impressed with their faith and how it has guided them.” It was, she said, “perfect preparation for when I go into Relief Society this fall.”
And Amanda L., 17, said, “The day after the dinner, Sister Coke left me some flowers and a note that said she was happy to get to know me. I’ve made a friend and it won’t taper off. I’m going to keep visiting her every once in a while to see how she’s doing, to let her know we still care.”
That is, after all, the sort of thing that sisters do.

Bryon Sorenson, now serving in the Oregon Mission, draws on his Playmill experience by asking people if he can come in and play their piano. Once inside, he plays LDS hymns and introduces the Church. Bryon baptized a talented young man named Randy Davenport who acted at the Playmill last summer. “I decided,” Randy says, “that if the Playmill could do for me what it did for Bryon, I wanted some of it.”

But wait, there’s more to the story.
Now let’s say you’re on the Skyline team, the team that always wins. You’re a free safety, and in the final play, you’re the guy who’s supposed to be covering Jake, to keep him from catching the winning pass. For some reason, you slow down, and you don’t cover him as well as you might. You see the ball coming for him. If he catches the pass, his team wins the state championship, and your team loses. If he drops the pass, it doesn’t matter how well you covered him, because your team will have won again.
He drops the pass.
What’s your first reaction? Do you breathe a sigh of relief, jump for joy, shout “Hooray,” and join your teammates in an exuberant dance of triumph, slapping each other on the back and carrying people off the field on your shoulders while singing, “We’re number one”?
Not if you’re Ryan Smith. Ryan had a different reaction. Naturally, he realized his team had just won the state championship. But then, “I turned around and saw him on the ground.”
After Jake dropped the pass, he dropped to the ground, tore off his helmet, and covered his head with his arms and hands to block out the deafening roar coming from the Skyline fans and players. Ryan Smith, whose team had just won, put off celebrating with his teammates for a few seconds. He leaned over Jake, put his hand on his back, and said, “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. You’re the reason your team’s here. You had a great game.”
Would you have done that?
Ryan is from Sandy, Utah, and he says what he did “was just a natural reaction.” He credits his coaches for helping make him that way. “They don’t just teach us how to play the game of football,” he says. “They teach us how to be good men, and how to be good in life.” Then, sounding a lot like Jake in his humility, Ryan adds, “Anybody on our team probably would have done the same thing I did if they had been in the same situation.”
His parents were behind Ryan too. “They said they were more proud of me for what I did than for the state championship.”
In the perfect world, a friendship would have been formed between these two. Unfortunately, they had never met until this picture was taken. For that matter, Jake didn’t even hear what Ryan was saying because of the cheering. “I knew someone was there, but I didn’t see him,” Jake says.
But the angels noticed it, and so did many of the fans, particularly after footage of the game was shown on the local news. Like Jake, Ryan received several letters. One woman told Ryan in her letter that he had been “an inspiration for so many. You were the true hero.”
Ryan, of course, is rather embarrassed by all the attention he got just for doing what came naturally. He says, “It wasn’t until the next few days that I realized it was such a big deal to people.”
Is it important? Yes, because each action defines who we are and the supreme example we choose to follow. Yes, it’s important.
Both players remain humble despite all the attention. Both plan to serve missions. Both have learned that it’s more important to show true character than it is to win.
And you thought football was just a game.

“I adored my parents. They meant the world to me and taught me crucial lessons. I cannot thank them enough for the happy homelife they created for me and my siblings. And yet, even as a boy, I knew I was missing something. One day I jumped on the streetcar and went to a … bookstore to find a book about the Church. I loved learning about the gospel.

“As I came to understand the Word of Wisdom, I wanted my parents to live that law. So, one day when I was very young, I went to our basement and smashed on the concrete floor every bottle of liquor! I expected my father to punish me, but he never said a word.

“As I matured and began to understand the magnificence of Heavenly Father’s plan, I often said to myself, ‘I don’t want one more Christmas present! I just want to be sealed to my parents.’ That longed-for event did not happen until my parents were past 80, and then it did happen. I cannot fully express the joy that I felt that day (see Alma 26:16), and each day I feel that joy of their sealing and my being sealed to them.”1

Bobby boosted Priscilla up onto the rock, then scrambled up himself.
“Thanks,” said Priscilla, handing his fishing pole to him. It was the first time she had fished with her brother since they’d moved.
White, billowy clouds drifted across the turquoise sky, and the sun shone down warmly. The children’s blonde hair waved like golden wheat in the afternoon breeze. In the distance they heard the sound of a small engine approaching.
“Here comes the speeder!” exclaimed Bobby. “The passenger train won’t be far behind it.”
“What’s the speeder?” Priscilla asked.
“It’s a small self-propelled car that checks the track to make sure there aren’t any big rocks on it.”
“Do you mean that rocks sometimes slide down from those high mountains?” Priscilla asked, pointing to the cliffs towering behind them.
Bobby nodded. “Dad told me that a long time ago a huge rock slid onto the track, and the passenger train came barreling around the curve and smashed into it! Some of the crew and passengers on the train were killed, so ever since then the speeder checks the track before the passenger train comes through.”
“Well, how does the speeder tell the train that it’s safe to come through the canyon?”
“The man on the speeder contacts a dispatcher on his portable radio,” Bobby explained, “and the dispatcher gives the engineer a green signal along the track.”
“Oh,” Priscilla said, just as the motorized car came speeding around the bend about twenty-five yards from them. The children waved at the driver. He waved back and quickly sped out of view around the next turn.
Soon Bobby and Priscilla heard the train whistle, long and shrill, but still quite far away in the mountains. While they waited for the train to come by, they watched a tiny hummingbird. It flew over to the railroad track and then flew back near the children, hovering above them like a little helicopter. Then it nosedived toward the ground. At the last possible moment it pulled up and veered sharply left. Then it swooped straight up into the sky again.
Bobby laughed. “I think it was showing off for us, Priscilla.”
“Wasn’t it cute!” Priscilla squinted into the sun, trying to see where the tiny bird had flown.
The piercing blast of a train’s whistle filled the air, and the children could feel the ground beneath them tremble as the powerful diesel engine came into sight, pulling stainless steel passenger coaches that shone like silver in the sun.
Bobby spotted the engineer high in the engine’s cab, waving his gray cap at them.
Priscilla and Bobby waved at him, too, and at the passengers inside the coaches as the train thundered by.
The observation car with its high glass windows was the last to roll out of sight.
Priscilla smiled at her brother. “That was fun.”
Bobby smiled back. “Uh-huh. Are you ready to head home for supper?”
“Yes. I’m starved!”
As the days passed and spring turned into summer and summer into fall, the children went fishing at the lake beside the railroad track almost every afternoon. And each time the passenger train rushed by, they waved at the engineer. Sometimes they had a fish to hold up proudly.
One Wednesday afternoon in late October Bobby and Priscilla sat atop the rock, talking and fishing and waiting for the train to roar past. The rattling little speeder had just passed, and Bobby was telling Priscilla about his science experiment at school, when they heard cracking and grating noises behind them. They looked up to see a jumble of rocks sliding and crashing down the sheer cliffs.
Bobby grabbed Priscilla, and they crouched behind the rock and watched gigantic boulders thunder down the mountain, not fifty yards away. Except for the clouds of dust above the fallen rocks, it was all over in a minute or two.
Bobby waited till he was certain the slide was really over, then helped his sister up from behind the rock. Together they edged forward for a closer look.
After picking their way only a few feet, Bobby stopped and pointed. “Priscilla! The rocks are right on top of the tracks!” Bobby’s voice was high and scared. “The man on the speeder has already checked the track! He’ll have told the dispatcher that it’s safe for the train to come ahead. If that passenger train comes around the curve as fast as it usually does, it’ll derail! The crew and passengers could be killed! We have to warn the train to stop.”
Priscilla had already taken off. “Come on!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Run!”
“It’ll take a good half mile for the train to stop at that speed,” Bobby panted, catching up to her, “so we have to run as far as we can and then try to flag down the engineer with our arms!”
The children hurried on, careful not to trip over the ends of the railroad ties. As they rounded a curve in the track, they heard a long, faraway blast of the train’s whistle and ran a little faster.
Priscilla pressed her hand against her side. Soon she gasped, “Bobby, I can’t run anymore. My side hurts too much.”
Bobby helped her up the hill a few feet, safely away from the track. His own breath was coming in great gulps. “I’ll have to leave you here. Now, don’t go near the tracks, no matter what!”
Priscilla nodded, panting and clutching her side. “But what if the train doesn’t stop? What if the engineer thinks that you’re only fooling around?”
“I’m hoping that he’ll trust me because he’s seen us here every day.” Taking another big breath, Bobby scrambled back downhill to the track and pushed on, stride after stride, trying to ignore the pain in his legs and the cramp starting in his own side.
The train whistled, shrill and loud. It was getting closer.
Bobby tried to run harder, but his legs burned and he felt dizzy. He had never run so hard or so far in his life. He struggled to concentrate on every step he took beside the railroad track. He knew that if he tripped and rolled down the grassy slope, the train would go speeding by without anyone to warn it of the danger ahead.
He had barely rounded a curve when he felt the ground rumble beneath his feet. The big diesel engine thundered toward him, its headlight shining into Bobby’s face.
Moving just far enough to the side of the track to avoid getting hit, Bobby jumped up and down, waving his arms back and forth furiously, and screamed, “Stop! Stop!”
In the split second when the engine roared by, Bobby saw both the engineer and the fireman high in the engine’s cab. They had looked him straight in the eye, but had they understood? Would they stop the train in time?
As the coaches rushed by, Bobby fell to the ground, exhausted. But when he heard the hissing of air brakes and the grinding of wheels, he picked himself up off the ground and cheered and whooped. The engineer had trusted him! The train was stopping!
As fast as he could, Bobby limped back along the track. The cramp in his side was almost unbearable, but as he hobbled around the last bend, there was his little sister running toward him.
Bobby and Priscilla helped each other down the track until they could see the observation car and passenger coaches. People were jumping off the steps and running to the front of the train to find out what was wrong.
Farther up, around a bend, the children could see the big engine only feet from the rockslide. People were shouting back and forth above the roar of the engines.
Bobby and Priscilla stopped to rest by the first passenger coach they came to. A man with a kind, wrinkly face rushed over to them. They knew by the flat-crowned hat he wore that he was the conductor.
He shook their hands vigorously, hugged them, and told them that everything was all right.
Later, when Bobby and Priscilla were telling their dad what had happened, Bobby said, “And the conductor said that we were heroes, Dad.”
“Not only that,” Priscilla chimed in, “but he said that heroes can have free train rides whenever they want!”

Glen (not his real name) had led a life marked by chaos and conflict. As a teen he had become involved in gangs, crime, and violence. When he met the missionaries, he felt that the things they believed were too good to be true. But in time he came to know that they were indeed true and that they were of greater worth than anything else he had ever known.
After putting his life in order, and with sincere repentance and gospel living, Glen entered the waters of baptism. He had found a new life filled with light and peace and joy. He was clean before the Lord.

On another occasion, while pitching a game at Pioneer Park, I was absolutely stunned to see that the other team had placed a one-armed batter at the plate. Now how does a pitcher deliver the pitch to such an opponent? I tossed a gentle lob over the plate. To my amazement, the batter knocked a single, right over the second baseman’s head. My temper flared. The next batter was a returned missionary from Mexico, Homer Proctor, six foot two and about 210 pounds. I pitched him fast, high, and inside. On the first pitch, he lifted the ball right out of the park for a home run. I shall ever remember the smile of that one-armed runner, Bernell Hales, as he passed second and third and gleefully streaked for home. I felt like crying, but I broke out laughing, as did each player on both sides. We had a wonderful time.

“There was a guy in my quorum who would only come to activities that were more sports-based. Usually when we focused on Scouts or spiritual things, he wouldn’t come. But I just focused on being his friend and we became best friends. Now every Wednesday it doesn’t matter what we’re going to do. My friend is always asking me if I’m going to go, and as long as I’m going, he’s going to be there.” —Chase W., Georgia, USA

Shane (name has been changed) knows what it’s like to be a slave to drugs. He was experiencing major amounts of stress and depression in his life and wanted relief. He smoked his first marijuana joint when he was 16, only a week after he took his first drink of alcohol with some friends on New Year’s Eve.

“We thought it would be fun. And we wanted to be cool with each other and feel important and stuff,” he says. “I really didn’t know what I wanted. I should have stuck to my standards.”

His first experience with marijuana led him to other drugs like prescription pain killers and cocaine. In less than a year, Shane went from being an active Church member and a good student and worker to being a heroin addict, alienated from the Church and failing in school and at work. “In the end I was doing heroin seven or eight times a day. It went pretty fast.”

“I had a job, but I was stealing money, robbing houses, trying to rip off kids. I started selling drugs to make more money.” His health started to go downhill, too. “I got skinny, and I just really didn’t care about myself. I damaged my heart and lungs and other organs.”

His life was falling apart physically and spiritually. His family was suffering as well. “Watching Shane suffer emotionally, physically, and spiritually was very painful,” says his mother. “When one person struggles, the entire family is affected. It can also have devastating repercussions, even outside the immediate family. It was a very sad thing for all who knew Shane to experience.”

He was caught abusing prescription drugs and attended a treatment program. “I came back, and I got right back into it,” he says. He was suspended from school for a year and court-ordered to another treatment program. For Shane, getting caught and forced into treatment saved him.

His family stood with him through the treatment program, and they continue to support him as he struggles to get his life back. As they do this, they rely on the gospel and on the Savior’s Atonement.

“Without our Savior and His Atoning sacrifice, what hope would there be for somebody like Shane who has completely stripped themselves of all the survival keys the gospel gives?” Shane’s mother says.

“It’s hard to repent,” says Shane. “You go through a lot.”

Confessing to his priesthood leaders and others he had wronged was difficult. But Shane learned a new level of honesty as he worked through the process that will serve as a foundation for recovery throughout his life. He feels good about where he is now and is hopeful about the future.

For others, Shane has a warning: “Those kids that try to get you into drugs don’t really care about you. They just care about the drugs. You have to realize where drugs are going to lead you. Just never get yourself in that situation.”

“It definitely has changed my life,” Shane says. “I will always struggle with it.” But he is quick to point out that recovery and healing is possible for anybody caught up in drugs and that it’s never too late to stop.

Shane and his mother say they feel that not many people understood what their family went through. Many people ignored them and only a few talked directly about their struggles. Shane’s mother says, “The most wonderful thing anyone can do is to be open and honest. Ask how they are doing. Honest concern will help.”

Kiva: A Pueblo Indian ceremonial structure that is usually round and partly underground.
“When is your uncle Tanolo going to take you into the kiva?” Little Brown Bear asked. “I am four moons younger than you, yet I was taken into our kiva this day.”
Acuma pulled his rabbit robe closer around his shoulders and sat huddled by the fire, watching the smoke curl upward to add more blackness to the sooty ceiling of the big cave.
“I don’t know,” he said sadly. “I have done everything I am supposed to do.”
“A boy must prove he is now a man before he can enter a kiva,” Little Brown Bear continued. “Have you gone on a hunt?”
“Oh, yes. We stalked the deer through snow and drove him to the edge of our flat mountain. It was my arrow that brought meat to our fire.”
Little Brown Bear shook his head. “I cannot understand. Surely Tanolo is not so cruel that he would tease you.”
Acuma shrugged but did not answer. He had done everything that was required. He knew the legends, his arrow points were well made, he could make fiber from the yucca plant and weave it into heavy sandals, and he could shoot a straight arrow. All these things his cousin from the big cave village had done too, and this day he had been taken into the kiva.
This was an honor for which every Indian boy lived. Yet Acuma could not go. His father said he was well prepared, but Tanolo would not take him. An Indian boy could not be taken to the kiva by his father. At birth an uncle is chosen to be his teacher, and it is this uncle who must take him to the kiva, where he will go through the rituals to become a man.
Acuma glanced at his cousin, wishing Little Brown Bear could tell him what had happened down in the kiva in his own village. But, of course, it was a secret.
When Little Brown Bear left for his own cave village, Acuma jumped up and called his brown dog. He threw off the rabbit blanket. He would be running and his body would warm on this winter day.
“I will not shed tears like that foolish Popeta,” he exclaimed, and he dashed off to chase rabbits. Maybe he would kill one with his throwing stick and show his uncle how skilled he was. Acuma’s dog romped along beside him as they scrambled down the side of the canyon to the creek below.
Then he stopped in surprise. Popeta was filling a water jug to carry back up the steep canyon wall to the cave. She seemed small although she was his own age. Her father could not till his cornfield properly because of a lame leg, so the family did not have enough to eat. And because the father could not run fast, he could not kill enough rabbits to make new blankets. The one over Popeta’s shivering shoulders was badly worn.
“You wear no blanket,” Popeta said in surprise, her teeth chattering. “It is cold.”
Acuma squared his brown shoulders. “I am a man, and I do not feel the cold,” he boasted. “I shall run and catch a rabbit for our dinner.” He started off.
Popeta lifted the heavy water jug. As she did so, the blanket fell from her shoulders. Immediately the brown dog grabbed it in his teeth and raced off, dragging it through the thorny bushes.
“Come back, come back!” Popeta cried out. “It is my only blanket.” She spun angrily on Acuma. “Your horrible dog has stolen my blanket. Go get it.”
Then her shivering grew worse and she began to cry as she climbed the canyon wall with the water jug on her head.
Acuma tried to find the dog, but it had raced down the canyon, dragging the blanket. He could see torn scraps hanging on bushes.
“It is no good now anyhow,” he said as he raced along, feeling warm. Soon he threw his curved stick at a rabbit and proudly carried the dead animal home.
“We already have meat for stew, my son,” his mother said while she stirred something in a clay pot over the fire. “You are a great hunter, and my heart is proud. But why not give it to one who has none?”
Acuma strolled over to Popeta’s fire. “Here, you will have meat.”
She thanked him, then asked, “Did you find my blanket? Without it I will have nothing to warm me tonight.”
Acuma shrugged. “No, I could not find it.”
He forgot about Popeta as he ate his hearty stew that night and sat huddled by the fire, his own warm blanket over his shoulders.
During the night he awoke feeling cold and pulled the rabbit fur blanket up closer. Somewhere he could hear crying.
It is probably that foolish Popeta, he thought. She always cries.
The next day he could not see her by her fire. “She is not well,” his mother said. “She needs food and warm blankets. But I have none to spare.”
Too bad, Acuma thought carelessly and ran off. But every now and then he remembered her crying.
“It is the fault of my dog,” he grumbled to himself. And the more he thought about it, the less he enjoyed the games he played with his friends.
That night he could not sleep. Finally he got up and went to the small dark room behind the cave where Popeta slept.
“Here is my blanket,” he said. “Use it.”
“But it is not yours to give,” she said in surprise.
“I will lend it,” Acuma said, and he hurried back to his room. He was shivering. How cold it was! He found an old feather blanket that was so worn it could not cover him well. But if he curled up in a tight ball in the very corner of his room, the blanket kept out a little of the cold. Popeta had been right—he could not give away his blanket, since all things in the family belonged to the mother. Though he used it, the blanket was his mother’s property.
Then I must make Popeta one, he decided.
For many days his friends called him to play games, but he could not because he was hunting rabbits. He had no idea it took so many to make a blanket. He gave the meat either to his mother or to Popeta, and he sat late into the night cleaning and tanning the skins. He sighed wearily. There was so much work and no fun. At times he was tempted to quit, but remembering Popeta’s tears during that cold night kept him going.
And the few hours he slept, he was always cold. He longed for his own rabbit fur blanket again.
After he had collected enough skins, he had to make many, many arrow points—the very best he could. Then he hurried to his cousin’s village, to the Blanket Maker.
“I will give you these fine arrow points if you will make me a blanket,” he said. “But I must have it quickly. The nights get colder and snow is now on the ground.”
Soon the blanket was finished and Acuma took it to Popeta. “This is yours. It should keep you warm.”
Popeta handed him back his own. “You are kind and it is a beautiful blanket. You have brought us so much meat that I am well. My mother and father do not feel hunger either.”
“I shall see that you have meat in your pot,” Acuma said in embarrassment, then hurried to his own campfire.
That night his uncle came to him.
“When the morning sun rises, you will come with me. It is time for you to enter the kiva to learn the things that will make you a man.”
Acuma’s heart leaped With joy. “I am pleased, my uncle. But tell me, why have you chosen the time as now? For these many moons I have been ready—knowing the making of arrow points, yucca fiber, and the hunt.”
“But the one thing you did not know, my son, you have learned,” Tanolo replied. “A boy plays and gives no thought to others. A man gives up his playing when there is work to be done. Because your dog caused misery to another, you did what was your duty to do, and you did it without complaint. I have watched you and my heart is proud. You shall be known as Acuma, the one who has the heart of a man, though his body is still that of a boy.”

Aren’t we all a little bit like this? After a recent medical procedure, my very capable doctors explained what I needed to do to heal properly. But first I had to relearn something about myself I should have known for a long time: as a patient, I’m not very patient.

Consequently I decided to expedite the healing process by undertaking my own Internet search. I suppose I expected to discover truth of which my doctors were unaware or had tried to keep from me.

It took me a little while before I realized the irony of what I was doing. Of course, researching things for ourselves is not a bad idea. But I was disregarding truth I could rely on and instead found myself being drawn to the often outlandish claims of Internet lore.

Sometimes the truth may just seem too straightforward, too plain, and too simple for us to fully appreciate its great value. So we set aside what we have experienced and know to be true in pursuit of more mysterious or complicated information. Hopefully we will learn that when we chase after shadows, we are pursuing matters that have little substance and value.

When it comes to spiritual truth, how can we know that we are on the right path?

One way is by asking the right questions—the kind that help us ponder our progress and evaluate how things are working for us. Questions like:

“Does my life have meaning?”
“Do I believe in God?”
“Do I believe that God knows and loves me?”
“Do I believe that God hears and answers my prayers?”
“Am I truly happy?”
“Are my efforts leading me to the highest spiritual goals and values in life?”

Profound questions regarding the purpose of life have led many individuals and families throughout the world to search for truth. Often that search has led them to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and to the restored gospel.

I wonder if we as Church members might also benefit from asking ourselves from time to time: “Is my experience in the Church working for me? Is it bringing me closer to Christ? Is it blessing me and my family with peace and joy as promised in the gospel?”

Alma posed similar questions to Church members in Zarahemla when he asked: “Have ye experienced this mighty change in your hearts? … [And] can [you] feel [it] now?” Such contemplation may help us to refocus or realign our daily efforts with the divine plan of salvation.

Many members will answer with great warmth that their experience as a member of the Church is working exceptionally well for them. They will testify that whether during times of poverty or prosperity, whether things are pleasant or painful, they find great meaning, peace, and joy because of their commitment to the Lord and their dedicated service in the Church. Every day I meet Church members who are filled with a radiant joy and who demonstrate in word and deed that their lives are immeasurably enriched by the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

But I also recognize that there are some who have a less-than-fulfilling experience—who feel that their membership in the Church sometimes isn’t quite what they had hoped for.

This saddens me because I know firsthand how the gospel can invigorate and renew one’s spirit—how it can fill our hearts with hope and our minds with light. I know for myself how the fruits of the gospel of Jesus Christ can transform lives from the ordinary and dreary to the extraordinary and sublime.

But why does it seem to work better for some than for others? What is the difference between those whose experience in the Church fills their souls with songs of redeeming love and those who feel that something is lacking?

As I have pondered these questions, a flood of thoughts came to mind. Today I’d like to share two.

First: are we making our discipleship too complicated?

This beautiful gospel is so simple a child can grasp it, yet so profound and complex that it will take a lifetime—even an eternity—of study and discovery to fully understand it.

But sometimes we take the beautiful lily of God’s truth and gild it with layer upon layer of man-made good ideas, programs, and expectations. Each one, by itself, might be helpful and appropriate for a certain time and circumstance, but when they are laid on top of each other, they can create a mountain of sediment that becomes so thick and heavy that we risk losing sight of that precious flower we once loved so dearly.

Therefore, as leaders we must strictly protect the Church and the gospel in its purity and plainness and avoid putting unnecessary burdens on our members.

And all of us, as members of the Church, we need to make a conscientious effort to devote our energy and time to the things that truly matter, while uplifting our fellowmen and building the kingdom of God.

One sister, a Relief Society instructor, was known for preparing flawless lessons. One time she decided to create a beautiful quilt that would serve as the perfect backdrop to the theme of her lesson. But life intervened—there were children to pick up from school, a neighbor who needed help moving, a husband who had a fever, and a friend who felt lonely. The day of the lesson approached, and the quilt was not completed. Finally, the night before her lesson, she did not sleep much as she worked all night on the quilt.

The next day she was exhausted and barely able to organize her thoughts, but she bravely stood and delivered her lesson.

And the quilt was stunning—the stitches were perfect, the colors vibrant, and the design intricate. And at the center of it all was a single word that triumphantly echoed the theme of her lesson: “Simplify.”

Brothers and sisters, living the gospel doesn’t need to be complicated.

It is really straightforward. It could be described like this:

Hearing the word of God with earnest intent leads us to believe in God and to trust His promises.
The more we trust God, the more our hearts are filled with love for Him and for each other.
Because of our love for God, we desire to follow Him and bring our actions in alignment with His word.
Because we love God, we want to serve Him; we want to bless the lives of others and help the poor and the needy.
The more we walk in this path of discipleship, the more we desire to learn the word of God.
And so it goes, each step leading to the next and filling us with ever-increasing faith, hope, and charity.

It is beautifully simple, and it works beautifully.

Brothers and sisters, if you ever think that the gospel isn’t working so well for you, I invite you to step back, look at your life from a higher plane, and simplify your approach to discipleship. Focus on the basic doctrines, principles, and applications of the gospel. I promise that God will guide and bless you on your path to a fulfilling life, and the gospel will definitely work better for you.

My second suggestion is: start where you are.

Sometimes we feel discouraged because we are not “more” of something—more spiritual, respected, intelligent, healthy, rich, friendly, or capable. Naturally, there is nothing wrong with wanting to improve. God created us to grow and progress. But remember, our weaknesses can help us to be humble and turn us to Christ, who will “make weak things become strong.” Satan, on the other hand, uses our weaknesses to the point that we are discouraged from even trying.

I learned in my life that we don’t need to be “more” of anything to start to become the person God intended us to become.

God will take you as you are at this very moment and begin to work with you. All you need is a willing heart, a desire to believe, and trust in the Lord.

Gideon saw himself as a poor farmer, the least of his father’s house. But God saw him as a mighty man of valor.

When Samuel chose Saul to be king, Saul tried to talk him out of it. Saul was from one of the smallest tribes of the house of Israel. How could he be king? But God saw him as “a choice young man.”

Even the great prophet Moses felt so overwhelmed and discouraged at one point that he wanted to give up and die. But God did not give up on Moses.

My dear brothers and sisters, if we look at ourselves only through our mortal eyes, we may not see ourselves as good enough. But our Heavenly Father sees us as who we truly are and who we can become. He sees us as His sons and daughters, as beings of eternal light with everlasting potential and with a divine destiny.

The Savior’s sacrifice opened the door of salvation for all to return to God. His “grace is sufficient for all [who] humble themselves before [God].” His grace is the enabling power that allows access into God’s kingdoms of salvation. Because of His grace, we will all be resurrected and saved in a kingdom of glory.

Even the lowest kingdom of glory, the telestial kingdom, “surpasses all understanding,” and numberless people will inherit this salvation.

But the Savior’s grace can do much more for us. As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we aspire to something unimaginably greater. It is exaltation in the celestial kingdom. It is life eternal in the presence of our Father in Heaven. It is the greatest gift of God. In the celestial kingdom, we receive “of his fulness, and of his glory.” Indeed, all that the Father hath shall be given unto us.

Exaltation is our goal; discipleship is our journey.

As you exercise a little faith and begin your walk as a peaceable follower of our Lord Jesus Christ, your heart will change. Your whole being will be filled with light.

God will help you become something greater than you ever thought possible. And you will discover that the gospel of Jesus Christ is indeed working in your life. It works.

Brothers and sisters, dear friends, I pray that we will focus on “the simplicity that is in Christ” and allow His grace to lift and carry us during our journey from where we are now to our glorious destiny in our Father’s presence.

As we do so and someone asks us, “How is being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints working for you?” we will be able to say with pride, in all humility, and with great joy, “It works wonderfully! Thank you for asking! Would you like to know more?”

This is my hope, my prayer, my testimony, and my blessing in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Then, in words of soberness, he told me this story. When he was quite a young man, the Prince of Wales Colliery was the pride of the valley. Almost every family in the village had someone who worked there. But one spring day an explosion occurred deep underground, and a fire broke out in the passages where the coal was mined. Rescue teams tried to reach the trapped men, but each time the fire drove them back. So, in a desperate attempt to save the mine, the owners ordered the canal that ran close-by to be turned into the mine.

One hundred and eighty-four men and boys were trapped in the bowels of the earth. Those who were not burned by the explosion were drowned by the water that came pouring in. Hundreds of the villagers gathered around the mine, waiting to see if any were rescued. But as the hours passed, hope turned to despair. The rescue team that went down returned with saddened faces.

“No one,” they said, “could possibly have lived through those awful conditions.”

Still the villagers waited, for down below in the earth were their loved ones, and they did not wish to return home without them.

It was when the sun had touched the hilltop and the first shadows had settled on the village that it happened. Someone cried out, and a pair of hands could be seen climbing the cables that raised and lowered the cage. Eager hands assisted the man from those awful cables. The flesh was hanging in shreds from his hands, his clothing almost burned from his body. Tenderly they laid him down, and the doctor ministered to him as best he could. The man was near to death, but the courage that caused him to climb from the darkness of the mine to the day above would help him to live again. The man was Jimmy Drew.

The question on everyone’s lips was, “How could a man live through explosion, fire, and water and then climb those hundreds of feet on a steel cable and still live?”

That question was never answered, for God in his mercy had closed the mind of Jimmy Drew so that he would never tell of his terrible ordeal. I remember still how my father put his arm around me and pulled me close to him and together we shed tears.

At the Face to Face event for single adults in June 2021, Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles counseled single adults: “We have to find other people of faith. … In this world that we live [in], we [have] … to have other people of faith who we can connect with at the very deep level of our faith and talk openly about how our prayers are answered [and] how we feel the Holy Ghost. … You might get that from … your family, but … you [have] … to go out and find them!”1
As one of the participants in that event, I was placed in a group with six amazing disciples of Christ who have become some of my closest friends. Although our backgrounds, cultures, and personal situations are very different, we were united in our testimonies of Heavenly Father, the Savior, and the gospel. After the event concluded, we have continued to stay close friends. Our love for each other and our faith in Heavenly Father and the Savior help us continue to support each other through life’s ups and downs.

Imagine a young man who is home alone and is getting hungry (it’s far-fetched, yes, but just try to imagine it). Now imagine that this young man decides to try to make a grilled cheese sandwich on his own for the first time.1 Imagine that this young man’s parents had never taught him how to make grilled cheese and that he had never observed them very closely when they made it.
Let’s say, though, that this young man gets all of the ingredients just right: bread, cheese, a little butter on the outside of the bread (and a little mayonnaise inside because he’s brilliant). Next, he gets out the pan and puts it on the stove. (We’re also imagining he doesn’t have a special griddle or other appliance for making this treat.)
Now imagine that a certain thought takes hold of his mind—a thought that so many people have been ignorant enough (or temporarily insane enough) to think: “If I turn the heat up high, it’ll be done faster.”
Imagine what happens next. (Or perhaps you don’t have to imagine.)
He’s going to get either perfectly crispy, golden-brown bread or perfectly gooey, melted cheese—but not both. Most likely, he’ll have bread that looks and feels (and probably tastes) like lava rock and half-melted cheese, which is about as appealing as half-told tales.
His problem, as you can see, was a combination of ignorance (which is excusable) and impatience (which, though understandable, is less excusable). If he were to repeat this mistake the next time, it would be even less excusable, since it couldn’t be blamed on ignorance but would result almost entirely from impatience.
To get it right, he would have to discover the miracle of medium heat.
The medium setting on a stove is perfect for grilled cheese and many other dishes because it allows food to be cooked through without being overdone on the outside. The only downside is that it requires more time and attention, which require patience.
It’s not just sticking the grilled cheese sandwich on the pan and forgetting it; it’s watching and flipping it at the right time.