Gospel Story Finder

Fan Hsieh was born 23 August 1922 in Tayeh, China, an isolated farming community. He did not begin formal education until he was ten years old. After four years in a private school, he enrolled in a Catholic school, began to learn about Jesus Christ, and was baptized a Catholic. “I saw the example of many good Catholic missionaries,” he says, “and I thought maybe China needed more of them to teach the people about Jesus Christ. I decided to become a priest.”

Part of the Andean flood lore includes references to the rainbow as the symbol between god and man that there will never again be a universal deluge on the earth. At least two references to this tradition can be found among the Spanish writings. The following from Cabello Balboa, written in 1586, describes the Brothers Ayar as they went forth to found the city of Cuzco.
“They came to a hill that today is called Guanacauria and one day at dawn they saw the bow, or rainbow of the heavens that came to the foot of the same hill, and Mango Capac told the rest that it was a good sign that the world would not be destroyed any more by water, and that they should follow him and climb the hill, and from there they would see the place where they were to settle.”11
A similar version dating from 1572 is found in the work of Molina:
“The brothers Ayar climbed to the summit, and there they saw the rainbow of the heavens, which the natives call Guanacauri, and Manco Capaca said to them, ‘Hold this as a sign, that the world will never be destroyed again by water.’”12

When I eat lunch in the school cafeteria, some kids talk about things that I know I shouldn’t listen to. I ask them to not talk about those things. Sometimes they stop, but sometimes they don’t. If they don’t, I move to another place so I don’t have to hear bad things. A couple of times I’ve had to eat alone.
Sometimes standing up for the right means that you aren’t liked as much, but I think it helps other people to want to choose the right too. It also means that you will attract good friends. I am glad that we have a prophet who asks us to be clean.

Lance and Londa Chase were among the first to warmly welcome us to Laie. Lance touched many lives through his long and distinguished faculty career at BYU-Hawaii and his ministry as bishop of the Laie 2 nd Ward. We all admired his grace, stamina and dignity as he battled cancer for several years. When he went to Utah for a painful bone marrow transplant, the doctors said he needed to recuperate in a secluded place, a controlled environment where he would not have contact with people and potential germs which might attack his weakened immune system. He also needed to continue to visit the clinic almost daily for several months of follow-up treatments. Being far away from his home in Hawaii made this a problem. Then former VP of PCC and former bishop of Laie 2 nd Brian Bolles and his wife Joan, came forward and said, "Please take over our home. We will move in with Joan's parents. Our home is yours for as long as you need it." Convenient for the Bolles? No. Londa Chase told me that the Bolle's home had a very nice cooling system, but that the air conditioning in Joan's mother's home was broken during that hot summer. The treatment lasted from June through October, almost five months. During this time, the family would come by occasionally to pick up clothes or other goods, and the Chases never felt any resentment or negative vibes from the children or the parents. They were always cheerful and supportive and considered it a privilege and blessing to be able to help.

Remember the Samaritan? "What's mine is yours if you need it."

I am a senior in high school, and I am a recovering steady dater.
When I was finally 16, the guy I’d liked for a long time asked me on my first date. I was excited and couldn’t believe he was actually interested in me. One date turned into two, two became three, and before I knew it, we were a couple. I started liking him more and more, and I wanted to spend all my time with him. It started off so magical, almost like a movie—we got along great, understood each other, and never fought. He treated me like a princess.
As we continued to date only each other, my parents became concerned and tried to limit our dating. “But what do they know?” I would think to myself. After all, we had set our own rules and promised not to cross any lines. My parents started wanting to know where I was every second. Eventually I began to lie about who I was with or where I was. “But what is the harm in that?” I would think. “After all, I am being a good influence on my boyfriend; I am encouraging him toward a mission. And I’ve never been happier. If my parents just understood that, then they would allow us to steady date, because we are surely the exception to the rule.”
As we entered the fifth month of our relationship, it seemed like true love. I thought we would continue to date until his mission, and then I would wait for him. It was perfect. However, as we began to talk about our future, our views about his mission didn’t match up, and we decided to take a short break from the relationship.
As word of our “break” spread, news of his problem with the Word of Wisdom reached me. I felt betrayed and was devastated. How could he have been hiding this from me? When I found out the rumors were true, I did the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do: I broke off our relationship permanently.
I am still amazed how hurt and distraught I was over that breakup. I had fallen so hard for my boyfriend that I had actually begun to think I was “in love.” I was hurting inside and tried to find distractions to ease the pain.
One day I was thinking about those five months, and it finally all made sense: “I am not the exception to the rule. No one is the exception to the rule.” Though I had been careful to remain morally clean and had done my best to prepare my boyfriend for a mission, it was still no excuse for my actions. I was still going against what the prophet counsels us to do. No matter how I looked at it from that moment on, I realized I had knowingly gone against the wishes of my parents, teachers, the prophets, and my Heavenly Father. How had I been able to become so distant from my Heavenly Father? How had I allowed myself to tune out the Spirit for so long and become so close to physical temptations?
I began to see every lie that Satan had led me to believe. It terrified me to know that I had let Satan have so much power over me in those five months.
I began to realize other things, including that we are counseled to stay away from steady dating for more than just the purpose of being morally clean. Steady dating brings on emotions, feelings, and pain that our young hearts are not ready to handle. Steady dating can keep us from meeting new people, going on dates with others, and ultimately missing out on bigger opportunities in life. Steady dating can ruin our parents’ trust in us. Steady dating can lead to other sins, such as lying, losing the Holy Ghost, and ultimately jeopardizing our worthiness for a mission and the temple.
I also realized that even if our eternal companion may end up being someone we met in high school, as teens we are not yet emotionally or spiritually prepared for that type of relationship. We are always overestimating our maturity and are in a rush to grow up. But there is really no need to rush when we’re teenagers. We will have all eternity to be with our eternal companion!
I’ve learned that it is dangerous to let yourself believe that you are the exception to any rule. Do not let Satan’s enticing lies talk you out of doing what you know is right.
Do not let yourself be blinded by your feelings. Do not lie to your parents or to yourself about your relationship with another person. Steady dating is simply not worth it.

Sister Yngrid Cepeda, temple and family history consultant for the San Gerónimo Stake shared the following from the stake indexing day: “Today I had a beautiful experience with my dear friend Sister Marte from the Enriquillo Ward. She didn’t know anything about her father’s relatives, and she only had the names of her grandparents. She had not had the work done for her grandfather, and we decided to print the card. As we entered the website, we saw a suggested record that was a death certificate of an aunt about whom I knew nothing. We continued researching and found a baptism certificate for her grandparents, where we found her parents (her great-grandparents). Next, we found five more children of this couple. All of this in less than 20 minutes. Thanks to someone’s indexing these records, Sister Marte has more than eight family name cards including those of her grandfather and of her great-grandparents. The spirit of Elijah manifested itself in such a clear and precise way. Tell me if this is a coincidence or is it the work of the spirit of Elijah that helps the living and the dead to meet again?”

Often, the activation energy needed for blessings requires more than just looking or asking; ongoing, repeated, faith-filled actions are required. In the middle of the 19th century, Brigham Young directed a group of Latter-day Saints to explore and settle Arizona, an arid region in North America. After reaching Arizona, the group ran out of water and feared they would perish. They pled with God for help. Soon rain and snow fell, allowing them to fill their barrels with water and provide for their livestock. Grateful and refreshed, they returned to Salt Lake City rejoicing in the goodness of God. Upon their return, they reported the details of their expedition to Brigham Young and pronounced their conclusion that Arizona was uninhabitable.

After listening to the report, Brigham Young asked a man in the room what he thought about the expedition and the miracle. That man, Daniel W. Jones, tersely replied, “I would have filled up, went on, and prayed again.” Brother Brigham put his hand on Brother Jones and said, “This is the man that shall take charge of the next trip to Arizona.”17

I grew up in the Methodist Church. Even though my family usually attended church only on Christmas and Easter, I always knew I had a Father in Heaven. My brother and I used to pray with my mom. What my parents taught me as a child prepared me for what I would learn in the future.
In sixth grade I learned that my parents were getting divorced. I was heartbroken and felt very alone. My friend Courtney could relate to me because her parents divorced when she was a little girl. She became my best friend.
Courtney and I were sitting on my bed talking when she first introduced the Church to me. She didn’t go into detail about it. She just asked me if I wanted to attend church with her on Sunday. I started going to church with her every once in a while, and then I went every Sunday. After I turned 12, I even attended Mutual. There was something there. I didn’t know what it was, but I enjoyed it.
In seventh grade Courtney and another good friend, Aubrey, introduced me to the missionaries. I soon learned what the missionaries meant when they talked about feeling the Spirit. I knew the Church was true after the second discussion.
Despite my testimony of the gospel, I was scared to death to ask my parents if I could be baptized. I continued to go to church and have incredible testimony-building experiences, but I put off the “big question” for two years.
In my freshman year of high school, I enrolled in seminary, and by November I knew I had to ask. I talked with my mom. She told me the Church had only made changes in me for the better, and if being baptized was what I really wanted, then I should go ahead and do it. My first thought was, “Why in the world did I wait so long?”
Then I called my dad, but he wasn’t very excited. When I asked him if I could be baptized, he said no. He said he wanted me to attend some other churches first. So I went to some other churches, and I met some amazing people—people who lived very righteous lives. But nothing could change the feeling I felt when I stepped into a Latter-day Saint chapel. In February I called my dad and said, “I’m getting baptized on March 7th. I hope you’ll be there.”
My whole family came, including my dad. To have my family there meant the world to me. It was the most incredible day of my life.

In 1989, Jack Rushton was serving as president of the Irvine California Stake in the United States. During a family vacation on the California coast, Jack was bodysurfing when a wave swept him into a submerged rock, breaking his neck and severely injuring his spinal cord. Jack said later, “The instant I hit, I knew that I was paralyzed.” He could no longer talk or even breathe on his own.

Family, friends, and stake members rallied around Brother Rushton and his wife, Jo Anne, and, among other things, remodeled a section of their home to accommodate Jack’s wheelchair. Jo Anne became Jack’s principal caregiver for the next 23 years. Referring to Book of Mormon accounts of how the Lord visited His people in their afflictions and made their burdens light, Jo Anne said, “I am often amazed at the lightness of heart I feel in caring for my husband.”

An alteration to his respiration system restored Jack’s ability to speak, and within the year, Jack was called as Gospel Doctrine teacher and stake patriarch. When he would give a patriarchal blessing, another priesthood holder placed Brother Rushton’s hand on the head of the person receiving the blessing and supported his hand and arm during the blessing. Jack passed away on Christmas Day 2012, after 22 years of devoted service.

Once in an interview, Jack observed: “Problems will come into all of our lives; it’s part of just being here upon this earth. And some people think that religion or having faith in God will protect you from bad things. I don’t think that’s the point. I think the point is that if our faith is strong, that when bad things happen, which they will, we’ll be able to deal with them. … My faith never wavered, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t have depressions. I think for the first time in my life, I was pushed to the limit, and literally there was nowhere to turn, and so I turned to the Lord, and to this day, I feel a spontaneity of joy.”

In the spring of 1836, Charles Rich was a missionary preaching the restored gospel in southern Ohio. He had to have been disappointed that he arrived in Kirtland, Ohio, on April 12—about two weeks after the dedication of the Kirtland Temple.
He had traveled by steamship along the Ohio River and then walked nearly 100 miles (160 km). He saw the house of Lord on top of a natural rise in the landscape with its blue walls and red roof. But he was late. He had missed the dedication, the solemn assembly, and, he thought, the promised endowment of power from on high.
Although Charles Rich had missed the Kirtland Temple dedication, he learned that he and several other missionaries who had arrived late to Kirtland were going to experience the endowment. After the pattern of the ancient Israelite priests (see Exodus 29; 40), he was washed and anointed. He gathered with the others, fasting, praying, and feasting on the Lord’s Supper.
“We prophesied all night,” Charles wrote. “It was prophesied that salvation was written on every limb and joint” of his body. “I was filled with the spirit of prophecy, and I was endowed with power from on high.”
He spent the rest of his life—47 years—laboring as a disciple of Jesus Christ, building up the kingdom of God.

In 1950 the call of duty came to me as a bishop. The responsibilities were many and varied. The Doctrine and Covenants provided a sure guide. The words of the Apostle Paul to Timothy pertaining to the office of a bishop were sobering. The General Handbook was helpful. The principal areas of administration were spelled out by leaders, both stake and general: The bishop (1) is the father of the ward; (2) is the president of the Aaronic Priesthood; (3) provides for the poor, the needy; (4) is responsible for keeping proper records; and (5) is the common judge in Israel.

Then came an unusual assignment from Church headquarters. Bishops were to provide each serviceman a subscription to the Church News and the Improvement Era and were to write a personal letter to every serviceman each month. The Korean War was raging. Our ward had twenty-three members in uniform. The priesthood quorums, with effort, supplied the funds for the subscriptions to the publications. Since I had served in the Navy in World War II, I knew the importance of a letter from home. I began the task, even the duty, to write twenty-three personal letters each month. After all these years, I still have copies of many of my letters and the responses received. Tears come easily when these letters are reread. It is a joy to learn again of a soldier’s pledge to live the gospel, a sailor’s decision to keep faith with his family.

One evening I handed to a lady in the ward the stack of twenty-three letters for the current month. Her assignment was to handle the mailing and to maintain the constantly changing address file. She glanced at one envelope and, with a smile, asked, “Bishop, don’t you ever get discouraged? Here is another letter to Brother Bryson. This is the seventeenth letter you have sent to him without a reply.”

I responded, “Well, maybe this will be the month.” And it was. His reply is a keepsake, a literal treasure. It was postmarked “APO San Francisco.” He was serving far away on a distant shore, isolated, homesick, alone. He wrote: “Dear Bishop, I ain’t much at writin’ letters. [I could have told him that seventeen months earlier.] Thank you for the Church News and magazines, but most of all thank you for the personal letters. I have turned over a new leaf. I have been ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. My heart is full. I am a happy man.”

My brethren, Brother Bryson was no happier than was his bishop. I had learned the practical application of the adage, “Do your duty; that is best. Leave unto the Lord the rest.”

Years later, while attending the Salt Lake Cottonwood Stake when Elder James E. Faust served as president, I related that account in an effort to encourage attention to our servicemen. After the meeting, a fine-looking young man came forward. He took my hand in his and asked, “Bishop Monson, do you remember me?”

I replied, “Brother Bryson! How are you? What are you doing in the Church?”

With warmth and obvious pride, he responded, “I’m fine. I serve in the presidency of my elders quorum. Thank you again for your concern for me and the personal letters which you sent and which I treasure.”

I received my patriarchal blessing as a young woman and was counseled to prepare myself with a good education and to learn early in life those virtues that go into homemaking and rearing a family. I so wanted the blessing of a family; however, that blessing wasn’t fulfilled until I was 37, when I eventually married. My husband had been widowed, so the day we were sealed in the temple, I was suddenly blessed with not only a husband but a family of four children.

Long before that, there were many days when I felt like I was skiing in flat light, asking the question, “What does the future hold for me?” I tried to follow the admonitions in my patriarchal blessing. I studied diligently to become a schoolteacher and continued my education to become an elementary school principal. I prayed to my Heavenly Father and sought the guidance of the Holy Ghost. I held fervently to the promise of prophets who assured me that if I “remain true and faithful, keep [my] covenants, serve God, and love [my] Father in Heaven and the Lord Jesus Christ, [I] will not be denied any of the eternal blessings our Heavenly Father has for His faithful children.”

I know that my education prepared me for a life that has been nothing like I had envisioned as a young woman. I thought I was studying education to teach school and my future children, but I did not know the Lord was also preparing me to teach English in Mongolia on a mission with my husband and to teach the young women of the Church throughout the world and to teach my grandchildren the value of knowledge—all wonderful blessings I could never have imagined.

Two ministers of one of the largest and most powerful Protestant denominations came to a Latter-day Saint conference to hear me preach.
After the meeting I had a private conversation with them, in which I said they could each gain a testimony that Joseph Smith was the prophet through whom the Lord had restored the fulness of the gospel for our day and for our time.
I told them they should read the Book of Mormon, ponder its great and eternal truths, and pray to the Father in the name of Christ, in faith, and he would reveal the truth of the book to them by the power of the Holy Ghost.
All of this I explained to my two Protestant friends. One of them, a congenial and decent sort of fellow, said somewhat casually that he would read the Book of Mormon. The other minister, manifesting a bitter spirit, said: “I won’t read it. We have experts who have read the Book of Mormon, and I have read what our experts have to say about it.”
This account dramatizes one of our problems in presenting the message of the Book of Mormon to the world. There are sincere and devout people everywhere who have heard what other people say about this volume of holy writ, and so they do not read it themselves.

A long time ago there lived a handsome king in a gorgeous hilltop palace in a beautiful green land. This king had many servants and costly clothes and delicious food to eat. His crown was covered with rare jewels that shone and twinkled as he turned his head from side to side when he rode in parades.
The king was a good man and a kind man, but because he had never been poor, he didn’t understand the problems that poor people have. He had never had to work hard in the fields or take care of sick children, so he didn’t know what it was like to be weary or very worried.
One day as the king was riding through the countryside in his carriage, a carriage wheel began to wobble. A poor laborer who was working nearby saw the carriage stop. He hurried over, bowed to the king, and offered his services. Pleased that the laborer helped so efficiently and willingly, the king removed his cloak and gave it to him. Now, the laborer needed food for his family, not a cloak that he would never wear, but he humbly bowed and thanked the king.
Another day, when some enemies from afar invaded the king’s land, he sent his ablest soldiers to fight them. His soldiers fought for three days and drove the enemy away. The king was so happy about it that upon the soldiers’ return, he had his entertainers put on a show for them. Now, what the soldiers really wanted was to go home and go to bed because they were exhausted. However, they didn’t wish to give offense, so they humbly bowed before the king and smiled as they watched the show.
One spring a sickness spread throughout the land, and many children became very ill. Mothers and fathers stayed up night after night, caring for their sick children and praying that they would get well.
During this troublous time the king, who had no children, decided to have a beautiful ball and to invite the whole kingdom. He had heard that many families had sick children, but he thought that a ball would cheer them up. The parents cried when they received their invitations because they knew that they must attend. They grieved at leaving their sick children, but the king had such a wonderful time at the ball that he didn’t notice that no one else did.
That night, after the king went to bed, a servant put a container of fireplace embers and ashes just outside the palace door. He had been too eager to get home to his children to dispose of the contents properly. Later, another servant was carrying paper decorations from the palace. He saw the container by the door and, not realizing that it contained smoldering coals, piled the decorations on top of the ashes.
Early the next morning a mother trying to comfort her sick child happened to look out the window and see the whole side of the palace on fire. She sounded the alarm immediately, and the king and the palace workers escaped with their lives. But except for the night clothes that they were wearing, they lost all their possessions. The palace and everything in it were destroyed!
The king stood a safe distance from his once-beautiful palace and watched it burn. His face was covered with soot, and he shivered in the crisp night air. One by one his servants slipped away to return to their families in the countryside. They were afraid to ask him to go home with them, because they knew that he was used to the finest of everything.
So the king crept closer to the charcoaled remains of his palace and sat there all night.
The next day his subjects wanted to take something to the king to let him know that they were sorry for his loss. They knew that whatever they took would have to be something splendid, something fit for a king.
The tinsmith and his wife decided to take a beautiful silver tray and pitcher. When they delivered it to the king, he thanked them kindly. But after they left, he wished that they had brought him some water and a loaf of bread instead, for he was hungry.
The tailor and his wife, forgetting that the king no longer had a bed, took him a pair of satin sheets trimmed with gold thread. The king quietly thanked them, but after they left, he thought that some warm clothes would have been more useful, for he was cold.
When a farmer came with a fine horse as his gift, the king was a little more pleased. At least now he could ride to the river and wash. The king humbly thanked the farmer, but still he wished again that the gift had been some food.
The king could have commanded the people to bring him whatever he wanted, but somehow, without a palace, fine clothes, his beautiful crown, and many servants, he didn’t feel much like a king anymore. He didn’t feel like giving commands.
He rode to the river, washed his face and hands, and drank his fill. Then, as he sat there and wondered and worried about what to do, the poor laborer who had repaired his carriage wheel approached him. The laborer bowed as he held out the cloak the king had given him. “This has never been worn by anyone, Your Majesty, since you gave it to me. I have no use for it.” The laborer was immediately embarrassed by his own words, for he thought that he sounded a bit ungrateful. But the king smiled at the laborer and took the cloak and wrapped it about himself. This man would have been more grateful for food, the king thought, just as I would be now.
The laborer had barely left when a group of musicians and dancers came by. There on the banks of the river they put on a show for the king. The king wanted to cry out, “Don’t bring me music and dance; bring me food and a warm place to stay.” Then he thought of his valiant soldiers, tired and dirty, who had had to sit through a palace show when what they had needed was food and rest.
And he thought of the tired and weary parents who had had to leave their sick children in order to attend his ball. What an inconsiderate and foolish ruler I have been, he thought. If only I could have back my palace, I would be truly kind and help my people according to their real needs.
A long time after the musicians and dancers had left, a shepherd boy approached from the hills. He saw a man, tired and with tears in his eyes, sitting by the river. Not knowing that the man was his king, the shepherd boy sat down beside him and shared his bread and cheese with him.
When the boy returned to his flock, the king mounted his horse and rode back toward the remains of his palace. He was astounded to see loyal subjects from throughout his kingdom hewing logs and shaping stones to rebuild his palace.
The king was grateful for the chance that they were giving him. And he vowed that he would be a much better, kinder ruler.
And he was.

Mary arrived in New York, and the immigrants continued West onto Council Bluffs, where they were outfitted with handcarts. Mary had only meager means, and handcarts were the best option for her. She and her friends were assigned to the Israel Evans Handcart Company.
Mary was a very small person. Pushing handcarts was very physical work. There were straps attached to the handcarts that made it possible to “put your back into it,” as you might say.
For Mary and her dear friends, the journey was a series of miracles. While pulling and pushing the handcart, Mary would become so exhausted and disheartened that when the camp would stop at noon and again at night she would fall to the ground in a weakened condition, and her companion Ann James would pray over her, asking God to give the frail little body the physical power and courage to reach Zion. These prayers were answered, for each time Mary was rejuvenated, and miraculous strength was added so that she could continue to another stopping place. It was actually as great a miracle in the eyes of these three struggling women as the daily supplying of manna to the children of Israel. They each bore testimony of these events for the rest of their lives. They arrived on September 12, 1857, weary, ragged, hungry, and footsore—but so grateful to have finally made it.
This experience of my great-great-grandmother was just the opposite of what Alma warned against. Ann James, who prayed over my ancestor, was like the angel that Elder Carlos A. Godoy talked about in this past general conference. Ann saw someone in great need who had no one to help her. Ann James very easily could have thought to herself, “I am also tired and alone—who is going to help me?” But instead, during the time she could have been taking rest that she needed, she tended to someone else in dire need.
When Mary died, as they were preparing her body for burial, they noticed she had deep scars on her shoulders from the straps that she used to push and pull her handcart.

In 1988, Gerard was called to preside over a new mission in the Mascarene Islands, with headquarters on Reunion. When he and Annie and four of their seven children arrived, they found home and office to be a missionary apartment with only an old typewriter and little else. They moved temporarily into the apartment and went to work.
Annie quickly accepted her own role as a missionary. “One day,” says Gerard, “she saw a lady in the supermarket whom she had met at a parents’ meeting. The lady had been impressed by Annie, but had never dared ask about her name tag. At the store, the woman took the opportunity to ask. She was baptized one month later, and the following year she received her temple endowment.”

When I was little, my hyperactive, daydreaming tendencies were written off as childhood quirks. But these struggles persisted into my teens. In Young Women, other girls shared moving experiences and spiritual growth. I struggled to remember to read my scriptures and pray. Others bore moving testimonies, while sharing mine felt like I was reciting a script.
Shortly after starting college, I was diagnosed with attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). Suddenly a lot of struggles in my life—being constantly disorganized, distracted, and forgetful—made sense. I began treatment, found organizational strategies to help with school, and slowly learned to be more patient with myself.
Despite improvements in other areas of my life, my church experiences didn’t change. I was trying my best, but meetings remained overwhelming. Church should be something I looked forward to, but it wasn’t.
Something needed to change, but I didn’t know where to start.

In some parts of the world, Latter-day Saints are few and far between. Thomas Eberhardt is one of only seven Latter-day Saints living in Muehlheim, Germany, a town of 3,000 people. Because the majority of Thomas’s friends aren’t LDS, and because beer is such a common drink in Germany, he’s had many opportunities to say no.
“In Germany, they drink beer everywhere for every occasion. As soon as you enter someone’s house, they pour you a glass of beer.
“First, I thank them for offering. Then I tell them I’d rather not drink beer and explain why. I’ll ask them if they’ve ever heard of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They’ll answer no, so I explain a little about the Church and the Word of Wisdom. My friends then respect my beliefs, but I have to always be positive, not offensive.
“Soon after I was baptized,” says Thomas, “I was drafted into the German army. In Germany, all 19-year-old men must serve at least 15 months in the army. We soldiers lived in large communities, and I could not avoid being in situations that conflicted with the teachings and commandments I had recently gained a testimony of.
“It wasn’t long before I was offered cigarettes. I always tried to be polite, thank them for their offer, and then tell them I did not smoke. My fellow soldiers accepted it with no problem.
“However, I was invited to a friend’s birthday party, and at the party I was offered beer. I thanked them for their offer and told them I didn’t drink. My fellow soldiers got more pushy as the party went on. I finally could find no other way than to explain to them why I didn’t drink.
“I stood up and said to them all, ‘Thank you very much for your wonderful invitation to be here at this birthday party. Now I want to tell you all that I cannot drink beer or alcohol, and I want to tell you why. As you have probably heard, I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The Lord has commanded us not to drink alcohol, and that is the reason why I don’t drink.’
“After that, I had no more problems with being offered beer.”

I remember a story recounted during World War II, when a German Latter-day Saint soldier was struck by an American bullet and lay perilously ill. He told his leader, “Please take a white flag and go to the other side and see if there is a Mormon elder who could administer to me.” What a bizarre request in a war of two mortal enemies. But seeing his condition, and anxious to satisfy what appeared to be a last request, the leader took the white flag, went across the enemy line, and asked for a Mormon elder. One was found and he, with the German, crossed the enemy line, laid his hands upon that brother’s head, and commanded in the name of the Lord that he remain alive until help could be had. There is a sense of belonging that is fulfilled by the gospel of Jesus Christ—first to our Father in Heaven; then to our family, which can be an eternal unit; and then to members everywhere upon this earth.

One group of friends found an unusual way to reach out to each other. They came from different family situations and backgrounds, but they all cared about each other and wanted to strengthen their friendship.
One of their friends was having a particularly hard time at home. She told them she sometimes wished she could disappear but kept her feelings hidden behind a smile because she was worried that others would judge her.
Her friends wanted her to know that she was safe with them and that the world was a better place because she was in it. So they came up with a plan: they would wear safety pins. Each of them wore a safety pin on their clothes each day to remind her, and each other, that they were committed to creating a safe, secure, trustworthy friendship—and that they wanted each other to stick around.
Years later, this young woman still remembers her safety-pin friends and is grateful for the security she felt knowing that they cared about her.