Gospel Story Finder

I share another example of the value of learning the Articles of Faith. Forty-five years ago I worked with a man named Sharman Hummel in the printing business in Salt Lake City. I once gave him a ride home from work and asked him how he came to receive his testimony of the gospel.

He responded, “It’s interesting, Tom, that you asked me that question, for this very week my wife, my children, and I are going to the Manti Temple, there to be sealed for all eternity.”

He continued his account: “We lived in the East. I was journeying by bus to San Francisco to establish myself in a new printing company, and then I was going to send for my wife and children. All the way from New York City to Salt Lake City the bus trip was uneventful. But in Salt Lake City a young girl entered the bus—a Primary girl—who sat next to me. She was going to Reno, Nevada, there to have a visit with her aunt. As we journeyed westward, I noticed a billboard: ‘Visit the Mormon Sunday School this week.’

“I said to the little girl, ‘I guess there are a lot of Mormons in Utah, aren’t there?’

“She replied, ‘Yes, sir.’

“Then I said to her, ‘Are you a Mormon?’

“Again her reply: ‘Yes, sir.’”

Sharman Hummell then asked, “What do Mormons believe?” And that little girl recited the first article of faith; then she talked about it. Continuing, she gave him the second article of faith and talked about it. Then she gave him the third and the fourth and the fifth and the sixth and all of the Articles of Faith and talked about all of them. She knew them consecutively.

Sharman Hummel said, “When we got to Reno, and we let that little girl off into the arms of her aunt, I was profoundly impressed.”

He said, “All the way to San Francisco I thought, ‘What is it that prompts that little girl to know her doctrine so well?’ When I arrived in San Francisco, the very first thing I did,” said Sharman, “was to look through the yellow pages for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I called the mission president, and he sent two missionaries to where I was staying. I became a member of the Church, my wife became a member, all of our children became members, in part because a Primary girl knew her Articles of Faith.”

Just three months ago, the Hummel family came to Salt Lake City for the wedding of their daughter Marianne. They stopped by the office; we had a wonderful visit. All 6 daughters came, along with 4 sons-in-law and 12 grandchildren. The entire family had remained active in the Church. Each of the daughters has been to the temple. Countless are those who have been brought to a knowledge of the gospel by the members of this family—all because a young child had been taught the Articles of Faith and had the ability and the courage to proclaim the truth to one who was seeking the light of the gospel.

I was born in England in 1942 into a loving family of mother, father, and sister. When I was seven, we were blessed with another addition to our family—a baby boy. My mother loved the Savior but was not a member of any particular church. She would attend the nearest church and encourage my sister and me to attend with her. Consequently, I learned a great deal about Jesus Christ and hoped to find a church to strengthen my faith in Him.
One day there came into our house a large picture book called Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Annual. I do not know where it came from. At the time I thought that perhaps one of my friends had brought it over and forgotten to take it home. It had picture stories of Buffalo Bill and Billy the Kid, just the kind of information that was important to a boy who wanted to be a cowboy. It also told the story in pictures of a persecuted people who were expelled from a beautiful city by a lawless mob and forced to trek hundreds of miles and endure endless torment before they established a new home in a western wilderness. Each little picture told a dramatic story of suffering and faith, and the story included a few pictures of a miracle involving crickets eating crops and seagulls eating crickets.
I read the story several times before I realized that the poor, persecuted people were members of a church. Then it slowly dawned on me that this church was the one that I was looking for. I wanted to join that church. Unfortunately, I was presented with a problem. The last picture in the story described Salt Lake City, Utah. From another source I was able to learn that Utah was in the United States of America. Since I had no hope of traveling from England to Utah, I would have to give up my plan of joining the Church. It never occurred to me that the Church might be located anywhere other than the United States.

Aubrey unzipped her polka-dot backpack and picked up the Book of Mormon that was lying on her bed.
“Are you almost ready?” Mom called.
“Almost!” Aubrey said.
She put the book carefully inside her backpack and knelt down.
“Heavenly Father, please help me find someone to give this to,” she prayed.
Last week the missionaries had given Aubrey’s family the challenge to give someone a Book of Mormon, and Aubrey had felt that she could help. Aubrey finished her prayer and walked into the living room.
“OK, let’s go!” Mom said.
Aubrey jumped into the backseat of the van. She was excited to be going to the temple again with Mom and Dad. She was just old enough to participate in baptisms for the dead, and she loved the peaceful feeling she got inside the temple. This time, though, she was also excited to share the gospel with someone.
But finding someone was harder than Aubrey thought it would be. The drive took three hours, but Dad didn’t stop anywhere except at a gas station, and Aubrey stayed inside the van. At the temple, everyone already knew about the Book of Mormon. Afterward, when Mom and Dad took Aubrey to a restaurant and a bookstore, Aubrey didn’t feel the Spirit telling her to share the Book of Mormon with anyone she saw.
When she got in the van to head home, Aubrey felt a little sad. But she knew that if she kept praying, someday the Lord would help her to be a missionary.
Then suddenly Dad pulled the van over. They were having car trouble.
“We’ll pull into this gas station and see if we can find help,” Dad said.
As he parked, a big white truck with a flat tire pulled up beside them. A woman got out of the truck and looked at her tire. Aubrey saw how sad she looked. The Spirit whispered that this was someone Aubrey could share the gospel with.
Aubrey got out to watch Dad help the woman change her tire. The woman said she had recently gotten divorced. She didn’t know if her children would be able to live with her. Aubrey ran to the van and pulled the Book of Mormon out of her backpack.
“Mom, will you give this to that lady?” Aubrey asked.
Mom smiled. “That’s a good idea, but I think you should give it to her.”
Aubrey felt a little shy. But then she remembered how she felt when she read the Book of Mormon. She wanted the woman to have that good feeling too.
Aubrey walked over to Dad just as the woman was getting back into her truck.
“Wait! I thought you might want to read this. It’s my favorite book, and I know it’s true,” Aubrey said.
The woman looked a little surprised, but she smiled. “Thank you,” she said, and she took the book.
Aubrey went back to the van feeling relieved. She climbed inside and told Mom what happened.
“I’m glad you prayed to be a missionary,” Mom said. “Now let’s pray for help so we can get home safely.”
“Yes,” Aubrey agreed, “because prayer works.”

One experience that proves I am indoctrinated into Scouting happened on August 9, 1976, at 5:00 in the morning. My husband and I were frantically trying to get to the hospital. Our first child was about to be born. Instead of immediately calling the hospital or the doctor, my husband first called my father. You see, dad was packing to leave for a week at Scout camp. We wanted him to know that his first grandchild was on the way.
A few minutes later, dad stopped by in his Scout uniform to wish me luck and tell us to let him know if it was a boy or a girl. Then, as my husband and I walked out to our car, dad walked out to his truck to the waiting Scouts. Seven hours later we had a miniature Scout of our own. We tried to get the news to grandpa. Word was sent with a Scout who joined the others the next day. The message dad received was, “Mr. Hasler, you’re a grandpa, but I can’t remember if it was a girl or a boy.” Three and a half days later, dad finally found out he had a grandson.

Illustration by Brad Teare; The Lord Jesus Christ, by Del Parson © IRI
Emma tightened her grip on her backpack as she walked into her new classroom. It was the first day of school. She had her favorite dress on, and Mom had packed a special treat with lunch—animal crackers.
Today is going to be great, Emma thought to herself. As long as—
Emma stopped and stared across the classroom. There she was. Violet.
Last year Violet had hogged the monkey bars every recess. She had called Emma names. She had even stolen Emma’s best friend!
Violet saw Emma and stuck out her tongue. Emma glared back, gripping her backpack even harder. Violet had been mean all last year, and it seemed this year wouldn’t be any different.
“Welcome to a new year, class!” Miss Caldwell said from the front of the room. “Let’s assign seats.”
The desks were lined up in twos across the classroom. Miss Caldwell ran her finger down the roll, then she pointed at a pair of desks in the back. “Emma. You will sit back there.”
Emma sat down in one of the back desks. She hoped Liselle would sit next to her. Or Jaime. Or—
“Violet.”
Emma’s head jerked up. Did she hear that right?
Yes. Miss Caldwell was still pointing at the desk beside hers. “You will be Emma’s neighbor, Violet,” she said.
Violet trudged toward Emma with a frown. Emma put her head on her desk and stared at the wall. It was going to be a long year.
At math time Miss Caldwell wrote some problems on the board for the class to solve. “You may work alone or with your neighbor,” she said.
Emma quickly hunched over her paper, pretending like she was busy. The problems were pretty easy. She was just trying to avoid Violet. She hadn’t looked at her once all morning.
Something poked her shoulder. It felt like a pencil. Emma ignored it.
Another poke. Violet was poking her! Emma kept working stubbornly.
Violet’s third poke was hard enough to hurt. Emma could feel herself boiling up inside. Was the whole year going to be like this? She thought about raising her hand to tell Miss Caldwell. Or maybe she’d just give Violet another glare.
Then Emma heard a sniffle. Was someone crying? The pencil poked her again. She looked over and saw Violet staring at her. Her pencil was in her hand, and there were tears in her eyes. Her paper was covered in eraser smudges.
Violet twisted the pencil in her hands. “Can you help me?” she asked quietly.
Emma looked at her for a minute, shocked. Violet wanted her to help? After how mean she had always been? Emma turned back to her own paper. Violet could work alone. She didn’t deserve Emma’s help, even if she was her neighbor!
Emma silently faced forward. She could hear Violet crying softly next to her. The scriptures always said to love her neighbor—but Violet was different! Emma was only sitting next to her in class!
Emma went back to her own work. Then she stopped. Maybe Violet wasn’t different. Maybe when the scriptures said to love your neighbor, they meant everyone. Even the mean ones. Even if it was hard.
Emma sighed and slowly put her pencil down. She turned to Violet and tried her best to smile. “Can I help?” she asked.
Violet nodded, wiping her tears away with her hand.
Emma leaned over Violet’s paper and started helping with the first problem. She already had a warm feeling inside her. She wondered if Violet liked animal crackers.

Katya carried a large box as she walked out of her apartment building into the sunshine. It was summer, and for a few months, the weather was warm in her city in Russia. She set the box down on a bench where her friends Dima and Sonya were waiting.
“Here’s everything we need for our play!” Katya said. She opened the box and pulled out a plastic crown and pieces of purple, blue, and red cloth. With some creativity, these would make great costumes.
“What play are we doing?” Dima asked.
Katya smiled. “I think we should do ‘The Frog Princess’!” It was her favorite fairy tale. Katya smiled as she imagined herself playing the beautiful Vasilisa.
Sonya grabbed the blue cloth from the box and draped it around herself. “I want to be Vasilisa!” she said.
“Wait,” said Katya. “It was my idea. That means I get to be Vasilisa.”
“You can be her,” said Sonya, giggling. “When she’s a frog!”
Katya frowned and pulled the blue cloth away from Sonya. “It’s my play!”
Sonya put her hands on her hips. “Nobody wants to play with you if you’re bossy. You’re a better frog than a princess.”
Katya felt tears in her eyes. She grabbed her box and ran inside, all the way up the stairs into her family’s apartment. She slammed the door behind her.
“What’s wrong?” Mama said. Katya burst into tears.
“Sonya is ruining everything!” Katya told Mama the whole story. “She said I was a frog!”
“Oh, Katyusha,” Mama said. Katyusha was Mama’s nickname for Katya. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very nice of her.”
Just then there was a knock at the door. Mama went to answer it, but Katya ran to her room. She heard voices. Then Mama called to her. “Would you like to talk to Sonya? She has something to say to you.”
“No!” Katya yelled.
She could hear voices again, and then she heard the door close.
“I think Sonya is sorry,” Mama said.
“I don’t care,” Katya said. She pushed her face deeper into her pillow.
Mama stood by the door for a minute. “You know, sometimes when I’m really angry, I don’t want to forgive other people. Sometimes I need to ask Heavenly Father to help me want to forgive.”
Katya was too angry to forgive. Sonya had hurt her feelings! But … being angry didn’t feel very good either.
She sighed and knelt by the side of her bed. Katya knew Heavenly Father wanted her to forgive Sonya. It was the right thing to do. But maybe Heavenly Father also wanted her to forgive because it would help her feel better too.
“Heavenly Father, please help me forgive Sonya,” she said. “I really don’t want to, but I also don’t want to stay angry.”
She finished her prayer and took a deep breath. Katya felt her anger start to melt away, just a little. She could do this. She could forgive. She walked to Sonya’s apartment and knocked on the door.
Sonya opened it and started talking right away. “Katya, I’m sorry for what I said.”
“I forgive you,” said Katya. “And I’m sorry I took my costumes back. You would be a good Vasilisa too. We can take turns.”
Sonya smiled. “OK. Can we go play now? I’ll get Dima!”
Katya smiled back. “I’ll get the costumes!”

A few weeks ago, I was visiting with an elder in the mission field. During our interview, I inquired, “Is your father a member of the Church?”
He said, “No.”
“Is your mother a member of the Church?” he was asked.
He responded with a smile, “Just barely.”
I said, “Did your father want you to go on a mission?”
He answered, “No.”
“Did your mother want you to go on a mission?”
“She really didn’t care whether I went or not.”
“Who influenced you most in your decision to go?”
Without hesitation he said, “I did. I’ve always wanted to go, and I knew I could make a success of it.”
I looked into this young man’s eyes and said, “From what I hear and what I feel of your spirit, you will succeed.” He is a determined individual, one who months ago might have said, “My dad doesn’t care. My mother doesn’t care. Why should I care?” This wonderful missionary knows the importance of going forward and has the courage to continue in the paths that lead to happiness. He admitted to me that he once was lost, but now he definitely knows where he is going and how to get there.

I’m serving as a missionary, and I love teaching people about Jesus Christ and helping them learn how to follow Him more closely. But sometimes it’s the teacher who learns the most.
One evening, while at a member’s home for dinner, I was asked to pray. As I was doing so, I realized it was starting to sound a lot like the last prayer I’d said at a member’s home. A thought came into my mind, “Whom are you praying to? Them or God?” It shocked me enough that I paused for a moment. I realized that I was praying “to be heard of men” (Alma 38:13) and not out of a sincere desire to communicate with my Father in Heaven. I was doing it out of duty instead of out of love for God.
As I finished my prayer, I silently thanked God for revealing my faults to me. I promised Him that I would pray to be heard of Him and not just to say nice words. As I’ve since kept that promise, I’ve drawn so much closer to Him and have been better able to recognize His loving hand in my life.

I can honestly say that I’ve never really had a father. Although he is still alive, I have never had the opportunity to get to know him.
My memories of my father are restricted to his coming home unexpectedly one night, after we had not seen him for some time, and my mother crying. All I really remember about my father is his absence.
My feelings towards my father gradually turned into utter confusion and dismay when his behavior caused my mother a near breakdown. I was in the hospital one day trying to comfort her, and my father came to see me. By that time, he was living with another woman. Somehow I found enough courage to ask him if he would consider coming back to live with his family. He simply laughed nervously and said, “No, it is too late.”
There is a tremendous emotional handicap that comes with the absence of a father. Although my mother showered all her love on me, I could not help feeling betrayed.
I could not live with such a feeling forever. The first change occurred when I joined the Church. As a member, I realized I had to find it in my heart to forgive my father. But my sentiments were still shrouded in ambivalence. Forgive him of what specifically? I never hated him or wished him ill. But I was still angry. I felt sorry for him and distressed at the choices he had made. My mother, although not a member of the Church, asked me to include him in my prayers and ask that the Lord might take care of him. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
As I learned more about the gospel, it seemed to make matters worse. When I learned the importance of the priesthood, the blessings that come when it is exercised properly in faith, it made me sad. Why didn’t I have a responsible priesthood holder in my family to go to in times of trouble?
But a change was already in progress. I began to see the world and the people in it in a completely different light. I shunned bad habits and tried to live the way the Lord wanted me to. I found great comfort in prayer. For I now finally realized I had someone in whom I could confide all my problems, my joys and little triumphs. It was a feeling that completely overwhelmed me, made me feel important. I knew He was listening.
I realized that I did indeed have a Father, that I literally was His son in the spirit. It filled my heart to know that there was someone willing to lend a helping hand to sustain and encourage me. I was given a great gift—the feeling of belonging. I was not alone. I knew the world to be literally filled with my brothers and sisters, all sharing a common Father. Sometimes I would sit in a bus or a tram, look at the people in front of me, and think, I know something wonderful and long to share it with you. We are related.
What the Lord gave me was strength, peace, and fulfillment. He made me see why a concept like forgiveness is truly all-encompassing and powerful. To think that the Lord had forgiven me of my sins and transgressions at my baptism. And by sincere repentance I can still be forgiven. It was clear that I did not deserve this privilege if I did not find it in my heart to forgive my father. I learned that in spite of his habits and conduct, I should honor him and try to find a way to help him instead of silently condemning him.
It’s been a long, hard climb, and I cannot say that I still do not long for the physical presence of my earthly father. But I know now that he needs help. And through prayer, work, and example, someday I may be able to help him truly realize that he, too, is a son of God.

Jimmy stared out the icy window, trying to see through the dim evening light. “Please let someone come soon,” he whispered.
“Your sister’s shivering, Jimmy.” Mama’s voice sounded weaker than before. “Will you help her?”
He loosened the blanket from his bare feet. “Here. You can use mine for a while,” he said, tucking it around his sister’s shoulders. He returned to the window and again pressed his face against the glass. Suddenly, he saw a tall man standing at the end of the alley.
“Jimmy! Wait! Where are you going?” Mama called.
Her only answer was the door closing behind him.
Elder Palmer shoved his hand in his overcoat pocket. One silver dollar. That was all he had, but just touching it gave him hope that he would soon find a warm room for the night.
“Please, mister.”
Elder Palmer turned to see a small boy hopping from one foot to the other, trying to keep his bare feet out of the snow.
“Could you give me ten cents to buy some bread for my sick mother and my little sister?”
“Yes! Of course, dear boy,” he said, handing him his silver dollar.
“Oh, thank you, sir. I’ll bring you back your change.”
“No, you keep it. You need it more than I do. What is your name? Where do you live?”
“Jimmy Rose, and I live there.” He pointed to a door a short distance down the alley, then darted toward it.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Dr. Gray whirled around. He hadn’t heard the man enter his office. “Yes?”
“I saw your fire through the window. May I warm myself for a few minutes?”
“By all means. Come in.”
The man put down his traveling bag and sat next to the fire.
“Have you just arrived in town?” Dr. Gray asked.
“Yes. I’m from Utah. I’m a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“You are a Mormon?” the doctor asked. “Where are you staying? I’d like to talk to you about your religion.”
“I’m traveling as Christ’s Apostles did, without purse or scrip, having faith that the Lord will provide.”
Dr. Gray studied his guest. “If you have that much faith in the Lord,” he said, “then I will be His helper tonight. Please come to my home and have supper with my wife and me.
The next morning someone knocked on Jimmy’s front door. He opened it.
“Hello, young man.”
Jimmy grabbed Elder Palmer’s arm. “Mama,” he said, dragging him to her bedside, “this is the good man who gave me the dollar.”
Mrs. Rose carefully lifted her head. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what we would have done without you. My husband died some time back, and I’ve been too sick to work. Our food and coal ran out yesterday.”
“But we have more now,” Jimmy said, pointing to a bucket of coal. “I bought it last night.”
“It looks like you’ve done a fine job of taking care of your family,” Elder Palmer said.
Jimmy stood a little taller. “I’m trying to, sir.”
Elder Palmer turned back to Jimmy’s mother. “There is something more I can do for you. I am an elder in the true Church of Jesus Christ. That means that I have the authority to act in God’s name and give you a blessing of health, if you desire it and have the faith to be healed.”
Mrs. Rose thought for a long moment. Finally, she said, “Yes, I’d like a blessing.”
A while later there was another knock on the door. The new visitor held up his medical bag and said, “Elder Palmer told me about your mother, and I’ve come to help.”
“I am already well, doctor,” Mrs. Rose said.
Jimmy started to close the door, but the doctor stopped him. “My wife ordered groceries and coal for your family, and they have just arrived. Will you help the deliveryman, Jimmy?”
“Yes, sir!” Jimmy ran outside. When he returned, the doctor was putting away his stethoscope.
“You have been quite sick,” he said to Mrs. Rose, “but you now seem all right. If you’re careful, you should be able to do your usual work.”
“It’s time for me to continue with mine too,” Elder Palmer said.
“I’d like to hear more about your church,” Mrs. Rose said. “Will you please come back and visit us?”
Jimmy grabbed his hand. “Yes, will you?”
“My wife asked that you return to our home too,” Dr. Gray added.
Elder Palmer smiled, “I’d be honored.”
Jimmy led the missionary to the door, but as he put his hand on the latch, he paused. How could he thank this man who had brought so much goodness to his family?
“What is it, Jimmy?” Elder Palmer asked.
Jimmy swallowed hard. “I—I’m glad I saw you through the window!” he said.

“The gospel is a special gift,” Brother Hart told Addie’s Primary class. “One way we can share it is by giving a Book of Mormon to a friend.”
Addie squirmed in her seat. She didn’t know if she could be brave enough to give someone a Book of Mormon. Then she thought of Lane. If it’s just like giving a gift, she thought, then maybe I could give one to Lane.
Lane had moved to Addie’s fourth-grade class halfway through the year. She was quiet just like Addie was. And when Mrs. Naga gave Lane the desk next to Addie, they had both smiled shyly at each other. Soon they were laughing and talking and playing together at recess.
Lane loved books, and Addie decided that, just maybe, she would love the Book of Mormon too.
When Addie got home from church, she asked Mom for a copy of the Book of Mormon. Mom gave her one with a soft cover and beautiful paintings of scripture stories inside. Addie hoped Lane would like it.
Addie carefully wrote her testimony on the first blank page. “Dear Lane, I hope you like this book. It is one of my favorite books. It has lots of good stories, and I know it’s true. Thanks for being my friend.”
She signed her name and carefully slipped the book into her backpack. Her stomach felt all fluttery inside. Would Lane be happy to get it?
At school the next day, Addie could hardly sit still. She was so nervous. What would she say? What would Lane say?
Finally it was recess. Addie stopped Lane before they walked out to the playground.
“I have something for you,” Addie said. She reached into her bag and pulled out the Book of Mormon. “I hope you like it.”
Lane smoothed her fingers over the shiny gold letters on the cover. She smiled. “Thank you.” She put it in her backpack, and then she and Addie ran outside.
Addie could hardly stop smiling. She’d done it! She’d shared the gospel, just like a missionary.
But the next day, it was Lane who stopped Addie before they went out to recess. She quietly pulled out the Book of Mormon from her backpack and handed it to Addie.
“My mom doesn’t want me to read it,” she said. She stared down at the floor. “I’m sorry.”
Addie felt her cheeks heat up. “Oh,” was all she could say as she slipped the book back in her own bag. They went out to play hopscotch, but Addie didn’t feel much like hopping. Maybe tomorrow would be better.
When school was over, Addie waved goodbye to Lane. Then she ran home and hurried to her room. The door shut behind her with a dull thud. Addie pulled the book out of her backpack. She’d been so brave, and it hadn’t worked out!
She wiped away tears as she opened up the Book of Mormon to her testimony. She had been so excited when she’d written it. She still knew what she’d written was true, but now she felt sad instead of excited. Lane was one of her best friends. Was there any other way she could share the gift of the gospel with her?
Addie turned around as the door opened.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” __________________ asked.
Write your name in the blank and pretend you’re Addie’s big brother or sister who just walked in. What would you say to her when she told you what happened? How could you help Addie feel better? What other ways could she still share the gospel? Write and tell us!
There are lots of ways to share the gift of the gospel! Like being kind or being a good example.

I was preparing to serve a mission while many things were shut down due to COVID-19. I needed to travel to the capital city of Uganda—Kampala—to get my passport but couldn’t take a taxi because of the pandemic. I knew I needed my passport to go on my mission, so I decided to walk four hours into the city.
When I finally got my passport, I was exhausted and my feet were swollen, but I knew it would be worth it.
And I was right!
The Lord promises that when we bring others to Him, we will experience joy (see Doctrine and Covenants 18:15).
As I shared the joyful message of the gospel of Jesus Christ while on my mission, I became more like the Savior and felt God’s love more deeply.
Now that I’m home, I can continue feeling that love and joy by sharing the gospel with friends and family.

Before a big game one night, our BYU basketball team was invited to meet President Ezra Taft Benson, the Lord’s prophet. The memory of this experience remains crystal clear in my mind even today. After the thrill of shaking the prophet’s hand, we heard President Benson share a sixty-second lesson. This became a lesson of a lifetime for me.

He said, “Your basketball team has the Spirit. And the Spirit will be your greatest asset on the court. It will do more for you than all your talents combined.”

President Benson then told us, “The Spirit will be your greatest asset in life, and if you have it, you will accomplish your righteous goals.”

Then, with love, he added this warning: “And if you don’t, you won’t.”

He then urged, “You can fool a lot of people—your parents and your professors—but you cannot fool yourselves. You know if you have the Spirit or not.”

So let’s keep repenting along the way, brothers and sisters. I have never forgotten this special moment with the prophet. And we did win that game!

Amanda hurried toward Rebekah’s house, watching her feet carefully and making some steps short and some long. She almost hit her friend head-on as she neared the gate of one of their neighbors, because Rebekah was walking along and looking down too. They saw each other’s shoes and stopped just in time.
“Why don’t you look where you’re going?” Rebekah teased.
“I’m missing the cracks,” Amanda replied, adding with a grin, “What’s your excuse?”
“I’m looking for textures. Want to help me win the prize?”
“What prize?”
“The box of crayons the teacher promised for the one who finds the most textures.”
“Sure, I’ll help. What are textures?”
“Oh, you know, how something feels when you rub your hand over it. Or how it looks like it would feel. A carpet is fuzzy or loopy or shaggy or carved looking. Tiles can be shiny or rough or patterned. And most glass is clear and smooth, but some bathroom glass is cloudy and bumpy so people can’t see through it.”
Amanda looked down again. “Like the sidewalk is different from the grass?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How about the bark on that tree over there?”
“That’s a good example!” Rebekah exclaimed. “It’ll make a good rubbing.”
“Rubbing?” questioned Amanda.
“Lots of textures make nice designs on paper. I’ll show you.”
Rebekah took some crayons out of her pocket.
“Looks like your little brother has been playing with these,” Amanda said. “They’re all broken, and the paper’s peeled off.”
“Oh, I did that.”
“What for?”
“So I can use the sides,” Rebekah explained, “like this.” She put a sheet of paper against the tree and rubbed the long side of the crayon over it.
The design of the bark showed on the paper.
“Hey, that looks like fun!” Amanda said. “Let me do one. How about a tire?”
“Sure,” Rebekah answered. “Which one do you want, Mom’s or Mrs. Rakich’s?”
“I was looking at the one on your bike.”
“Why don’t we do all three?”
“OK. You could probably win the prize just with tire treads from the cars parked on this street. They all look different.”
“So do the tree trunks!” Rebekah added excitedly. “Wow! I’m sure we’re going to find the most!”
All afternoon Amanda and Rebekah discovered different textures: bricks and boards, walks and walls, fancy fences, shingles, corn shucks, stones, gravel, grass, and grease. They made rubbings of some and lists of others.
Then Rebekah took a magnifying glass out of her pocket, and the two friends looked at skin and fingernails, leaves and flower parts, insects and feathers.
When the sun went down, they went into Rebekah’s house. In her mother’s scrap bag they found slippery satin, rough and tweedy wool, ribbed corduroy, smooth velvet, lace, linen, and polyester knits in many patterns. With Mother’s help they cut samples and made a booklet of the different fabrics.
Mother showed them wallpaper, sandpaper, paper towels, and napkins. They found textures on baskets, towels, dishes, and furniture. By the end of the day, they had found 211 different textures.
“Do you think that’s enough to win?” Amanda asked.
“I don’t know if it is or not,” Rebekah answered, “but if anyone else found more textures than we did, he deserves the prize.”
“No matter who wins,” Amanda said, “no one could have had any more fun than we did!”
“That’s true—but I sure need those crayons. Mine are all used up!”

In April of 1847, Brigham Young led the first company of pioneers out of Winter Quarters. At that same time, 1,600 miles to the west the survivors of the Donner Party straggled down the slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains into the Sacramento Valley.
They had spent the ferocious winter trapped in the snowdrifts below the summit. That any survived the days and weeks and months of starvation and indescribable suffering is almost beyond belief.
Among them was 15-year-old John Breen. On the night of April 24 he walked into Johnson’s Ranch. Years later John wrote:
“It was long after dark when we got to Johnson’s Ranch, so the first time I saw it was early in the morning. The weather was fine, the ground was covered with green grass, the birds were singing from the tops of the trees, and the journey was over. I could scarcely believe that I was alive.
“The scene that I saw that morning seems to be photographed on my mind. Most of the incidents are gone from memory, but I can always see the camp near Johnson’s Ranch.”1
John Breen did not come to that morning at Johnson’s Ranch simply by desiring it. He wallowed and clawed his way up over the pass, suffering every step of the way. But once he knew he would survive and the suffering would end, surely he did not complain at the ordeal. And he had help all the way down. He was with rescuers.

Twelve-year-old Caternia sat on the floor of the small, cluttered attic, rummaging through the old chest. The big, tattered coffer and its treasured contents had belonged to her great-great-uncle, Ephram Gage. The sweet, musty smell that floated out of the wooden box only added to the wonder and mystery of its contents. As soft, filtered light seeped through a small attic window, it washed across each object she touched.
Next week was Caternia’s turn to give the lesson in family home evening, and she wanted to do something different about families. “Maybe there’s something in Great-Great-Uncle Gage’s old wooden chest that might be of some help,” her father had suggested. The idea intrigued Caternia, so she’d climbed the steep stairway to the attic.
This wasn’t the first time she’d been there. In fact, it had become her secret place, where she could pray and think and read in private. Her parents had said that everyone should have such a place where they could go to pray and think things out.
Caternia shared a bedroom with her little sister, Ebony. It seemed like every time she tried to be alone, Ebony’s pet hamster, Bartholomew, would get loose, and Ebony always recruited two or three friends to assist in the hunt. By the time Bartholomew was back in his cage, the room was in total chaos—rummaged drawers, scattered school papers, and beds that looked more turbulent than her father’s just-plowed field!
After every successful capture, a victory party was held—in Caternia and Ebony’s bedroom, of course. The festivities were loud enough to out-noise, Caternia was sure, all the other sounds made since Adam, stacked together. Caternia had learned to seek refuge in the small, quiet attic.
The problem that had been most recently weighing on her mind was the big test coming up in her math class. In order to remain on the dance team at school, she had to maintain a grade of C or better. That wasn’t difficult in her other subjects, but math was especially hard for her. Her parents had helped her all they could, and so had her instructor at school, but she just wasn’t able to grasp it. If she scored well on this test, however, she would get a C for the term and be able to continue on the dance team. If she failed …
Two days earlier, one of her friends had found the test with the answers in their teacher’s desk drawer during recess and had copied it. She offered to give it to Caternia. Caternia knew that cheating was wrong, but she stood to lose her place on the team if she didn’t do well on the test.
As she sat now in the attic, mulling over what she should do, she withdrew an old World War I boot from the trunk. She pushed a fingernail into a crack and scraped out a trace of dirt, which floated like dust through the gilded light. “Dirt,” she uttered out loud. “Maybe it’s from the trenches where so many died.”
But not Uncle Gage. Somehow he had survived the bullets and the barbed wire and the gas. He had made the right moves. Dropped to the ground at the right time. “And prayed constantly,” she remembered her father having once told her, “that God would be mindful of him in his darkest hour. That he might be worthy of a loving Father’s saving grace in his time of greatest need.”
Replacing the shoe, she picked up a compass. It was old, like everything else in the chest, and scratched. But it still worked. It probably had helped Uncle Gage find his way when the smoke and fear of war clouded his judgment. Just like the gospel of Jesus Christ helps me find the way, she thought.
Her eyes faltered as guilt crept across her heart, stealing away her peace like clouds hiding the sun from the land. “But I just have to pass that test,” she protested out loud. “I just have to! I just …”
Her voice trailed suddenly as she pulled out a large tintype of a great castle. The photograph was faded and yellowed, but the castle’s walls were strong and appeared impenetrable. Like the gospel, she deduced, that fortifies one against any assault by the adversary if we keep the commandments.
“But I always do,” she defended herself aloud. “Well, almost always. Surely one wrong isn’t going to outweigh all the right I’ve done. Besides, everybody makes mistakes. I’ll repent after the test. Heavenly Father will understand.” But how much harder would her repentance be, she speculated, when she knew beforehand that what she was going to do was wrong?
As she started to replace the tintype in the chest, her eyes fell upon a hole in the bottom of one of the castle’s great walls. It was a small hole, but it went clear through the wall, and it was big enough for an enemy to slip through and do his dark work.
Caternia sat back against a large vertical timber and gazed at the picture. That’s all that the adversary needs to penetrate our spiritual walls, she reflected. Just one small hole. Just one small sin.
Her eyes lifted to the haze of light that seeped through the little window. Tears oozed down her cheeks. “Forgive me, Heavenly Father,” her lips trembled. “Please forgive me.” Her gaze returned to the old tintype. She stared at it for some time, then closed her eyes in prayer.
An hour later, she descended from the attic. She held the tintype close to her.
“Did you find something you can use in next week’s family home evening?” her mother asked.
Caternia nodded, wiping residual tears from her cheek. “Yes, I did,” she got out. “This old picture. I found it in Uncle Gage’s—”
“Is everything all right, honey?” her mother interrupted when she saw her daughter’s tear-red eyes.
“Yes, Mama. And I’m going to make sure it stays that way, no matter what!”
The following day at school, she told the girl who had offered to share the test questions with her that she had chosen not to cheat. Caternia explained why and encouraged her friend to do the same.
For the next few days, she studied diligently. It wasn’t easy, but she had committed to do all she could do, then ask Father in Heaven for His help. The day after the test, one of her friends saw her crying by her locker.
“Did you fail the math test?”
“No.” Caternia smiled. “I got a B-.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because I’m so happy!”
Following family home evening the next Monday, Caternia went to the attic to return the tintype to Uncle Gage’s chest. As she placed it atop the other contents, she gazed one last time at it in the amber glow of an old lamp. She again promised herself and Heavenly Father that she would work each day to keep her spiritual walls strong. She gently ran a finger across the castle’s walls and remembered with warmth the special feeling that had filled her halfway through the test—a feeling that told her in a quiet, whispered way that Someone was with her. She closed the lid of the trunk, leaned back against the timber, and expressed her gratitude to a loving Heavenly Father for helping her in her hour of need.

At a hotel restaurant in Quito, Ecuador, Elder Spencer W. Kimball of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was sitting with a group that included four missionaries. After ordering bread and milk, Elder Kimball asked the waiter if he had children. The waiter replied that he had a son. Elder Kimball then said, “Bread and milk will make him healthy, but he will be even healthier if you will feed him the food these young men have to give.” The waiter appeared unsure what to make of this statement. Then Elder Kimball indicated that the young men he referred to were missionaries and that they taught the gospel of Jesus Christ. The waiter said he would be interested in listening to their teaching.20

Thanks to Scout training and quick thinking, a tragedy was averted in Charlotte, North Carolina. Todd Smith of the Charlotte Second Ward saved the life of a five-year-old after the youngster was hit by a car.
The child was riding a tricycle when a slow-moving car hit him and knocked him unconscious. Todd saw the accident and after telling his mother to call for help, he ran to the little boy. Todd found that the child’s tongue was blocking his throat. Todd cleared the child’s air passage and helped stop the bleeding from a head wound. Todd also prevented anyone from moving the child until the rescue squad arrived, in case there were any back or neck injuries.
Todd received a Medal of Merit and was honored for his quick action.

Consider the power to love. I remember a mother I met once as I made a professional house call. This woman was confined in an iron lung. The ravages of polio had effectively destroyed all the breathing muscles so that her life was completely dependent upon this large metal tank and the electrical motor that powered its noisy bellows.
While there, I watched her three children as they related to their mother. The oldest interrupted our work to ask permission to go to a friend’s house for an hour. Later the second child asked her mother for help with arithmetic. Finally the youngest child, so small that she couldn’t see her mother’s face directly, looked up at her image in a mirror that had been placed over the mother’s head and asked, “Mommy, may I have a cookie?” I’ve never forgotten that lesson on the power of love. This woman, virtually disabled and certainly incapable of any degree of physical enforcement of parental authority, sweetly influenced that home solely with the power to love!

The Prophet’s ability to sacrifice for others marked his character from his youth. His father gave him his patriarchal blessing in 1834 and looked back to Joseph’s early years before 14: “Thou hast been an obedient son. The commands of thy father and the reproofs of thy mother, thou hast respected and obeyed.” Joseph the man was rarely irritated but regularly shared his bed and board with the stranger and put the comfort of the Latter-day Saints above his own. We see him in the first summer in Nauvoo, when Joseph and family left their home for a tent in the yard and gave their space and time to those overcome with malaria in the new Mississippi environment. Joseph’s generosity was genuine and points to his deepest nature.