Gospel Story Finder

This story took place in the USA.
Maddie put her dance shoes into her bag. Dance class had just ended, and it was time for lunch. She met her friend Ashlynn at the door.
“What did you think of that new song?” Maddie asked as they walked to the lunchroom. Their class was going to dance to a new song for their final show of the year, in front of all their families.
“It’s OK, I guess,” Ashlynn said.
“Some of the words seemed kind of weird,” Maddie said. “I don’t like it very much.”
Maddie thought she’d be embarrassed if her parents and little sister watched her dance to music like that.
Ashlynn shrugged. “My brother really likes it. He plays it a lot.”
“Oh.” Maddie looked down.
All day the song played in Maddie’s head. She didn’t like how it made her feel. But Ashlynn didn’t think it was bad. Maybe it was OK.
Maddie remembered a home evening lesson her family had about music. Mom said that good music can help people feel the Holy Ghost. And music with bad words could make it harder for them to feel the Spirit. Maybe the Holy Ghost was telling her the song wasn’t good.
She frowned. The song didn’t have any swear words. Was it still bad?
When Maddie got home, she told Mom about the song.
“Can you look at the words and see what you think?” Maddie asked.
Together they found the words of the song online. Maddie watched Mom’s face as she read.
Mom frowned. “I can understand why you don’t like it,” she said. “It doesn’t have swear words, but I don’t think it’s a good song for fourth-graders to dance to. I’ll ask your dance teacher about it tomorrow.”
The next day, Mom talked to her teacher, Mrs. Slater, at school. Maddie was worried that Mrs. Slater would be upset, but she wasn’t! She said she understood why Mom didn’t like the song. But she said it was too late to change the music.
“Maddie doesn’t have to dance to the song,” Mrs. Slater said. “She can sit out for that dance.”
Sitting out by herself sounded scary. Maddie decided to ask Ashylnn to sit out with her. Ashlynn said yes!
When the day of the dance show came, Maddie met Ashlynn in the hall.
“I’m glad you’re going to sit out with me!” Maddie said with a smile.
But Ashlynn didn’t smile back. “I’m not going to sit out after all,” she said, adjusting her skirt. “I’m going to dance with everyone else.”
Maddie felt sick inside. She didn’t want to sit out alone. But she still didn’t feel good about the song.
Maddie lined up with the others and danced to the first song. Then it was time for the next song.
Her heart pounded. She said a little prayer in her heart. Then she took a deep breath, walked to the side of the stage, and sat down.
Once she was off the stage, Maddie felt much better. She watched her classmates dance. When they were done, she clapped. She felt happy and warm.
Maddie smiled. It was scary to sit out all by herself, but she felt good that she had listened to the Holy Ghost.
Illustration by Susana Gurrea

Two months now. Michele and Shawna were gone, Dad was in Houston on business, Mom was playing golf in Provo—and I sat under the locust taking in the dance of monarch butterflies along the hedge. So peaceful, so quiet, so dull. I amused myself by considering that the Savior was never a “returned missionary.” I had come to distrust the phrase. His mission was a mere three years, and he never went back home with nothing to do. Returning from a mission was a personal loss. You had to go on from there—become a goshawk and keep flapping your wings. I decided to make myself useful by helping Dad. He wanted the locust limbs trimmed away from the chimney before summer school.
On the roof I caught my breath after tossing off limbs. Gracious, I was thin! Wiping my forehead I saw Sister Hunter, two backyards away, bent over a rototiller—just as I had seen her husband do. Oh—it struck me: Brother Hunter had died of a heart attack a few weeks into my mission. How could I—I hated to even think the word—forget? Certainly he still hoed his beets and flooded his yard. Had he and Sister Hunter made it to the temple? Since my little medical problem I saw the temple as the abode of Deity, the place where, whatever the need, one found solace. Mom and Dad had worked with them after Brother Hunter joined the Church. But I hadn’t heard the results. As I grew up Sister Hunter offered me candy and nursed a bruised knee. She used to give me ice cream bars and a hug.
I climbed down from the roof and walked quickly down the block and into the driveway leading to her fence. After catching my breath, I said, “It’s the carburetor.”
“This pesky machine,” she said, “I want to kick it.” She was not old, only about 65, a small woman with hair the color of a fresh Oregon waterfall. She liked to wear a white cardigan sweater in cooler weather. Her eyes were green. She had a small, doll-like mouth that gave an appearance of youth. She loved to make vegetables and flowers grow.
With a screwdriver I adjusted the carburetor. But the short, frayed cord came taut under my jerked pulls. Nothing happened. I checked the oil—nothing wrong. Sister Hunter hovered above me like a mother eagle, watching first here and then there. Finally I got a spark plug out of our own lawn mower and, after more tinkering, the rototiller started. She said, “You’re a wonder. I never could have done that.”
After tilling her garden, which was deftly situated between the bank of grapes and the gray shed in the back, I helped her hand weed the corn against the side fences. I hadn’t had this much fun with dirt since the preparation day in Salem when I helped Brother Goss tie up his tomatoes. After a few mornings weeding by hand, we stood by her prospering garden as water filled the rows. She smiled and said, “Wouldn’t Henry be proud?”
Several “situations”—she refused to call them problems—plagued Sister Hunter. The grimy red pickup gathered heat in the driveway, and the water pump had quit in her washing machine on the back porch. I asked Mike Nelson, a young acquaintance at church, to help me, and within a few days we had installed a new fuel line in her ancient pickup. We road tested it through town with Jack, Sister Hunter’s faded-blond retriever. He wasn’t much help when I stalled at the Suprette Market. All he did was hang his head and loll his tongue. We ended up at the back of the store giving him water out of a discarded paper cup. Back at Sister Hunter’s we guzzled lemonade while taking breaks from her washing machine. I bought some frozen cans of lemonade to replenish her supply—and threw in a small pot roast for good measure. Mike thought I was nuts, but I wanted to do it. I found out she hadn’t had a special Sunday dinner since her husband died. Sure enough, at church she invited us over, and I graciously declined, not wanting to negate my good deeds. But she insisted. The next Sunday we arrived, and I discovered the table set with stunning china and sparkling silverware, a bouquet of peonies, and the steaming roast. Afterward I teased her about such a nice meal. Then we listened to a tape of a general conference talk by Elder James E. Faust on temple work while Mike fell asleep on the couch.
The next Tuesday I cornered Mike in an aisle of Pay Mart with a brilliant idea.
“Clean every one of her windows?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
“Inside and out?”
“Sure. It’s a small house.”
“You’re out of your tree.”
“So?”
So we armed ourselves with squeegees, clean rags, and spray bottles of glass cleaner and assaulted Sister Hunter’s windows, Mike outside, me inside. Her place sparkled, not a book out of place, not a dog hair on the couch, the islands of throw rugs floating on the polished hardwood floors. I spied on a lamp table a photograph of her husband, taken years ago. It stood behind an opened Bible which had on it a red pencil and glasses and which lay on an intricate doily. A hallowed feeling lingered in the house.
Both Mike and I figured our small act of kindness was finished. But one afternoon as I drowsed under the locust and thought about Sister Hunter, a strong feeling came over me that we hadn’t done enough. Her pickup ran, her washing machine purred, her windows shone, and her garden was a showpiece, the cool upturned earth mellowing in the furrows. What more could we do?
By now summer school was heating up, and I was busy as an instructor in the elders quorum. For diversion I hiked a few miles above Strawberry Reservoir, until I was too tired to go on and had to return. In the solemn hours I picked out lonely love songs on my guitar. Then late one evening as Mom and I endured our brewer’s yeast milk shakes I asked her about the Hunters’ temple sealing. Mom shrugged. “I don’t know what happened. Since her husband died she has stayed pretty much to herself.”
That night, in the privacy of my room, I poured out my heart to the Lord for courage to finish our task.
On a Friday after class at the Y, without Mike, who was shopping for a quick-action .22, I found myself enjoying the pungent aroma of cut apples in Sister Hunter’s blue kitchen.
“I appreciate you and Mike so much,” she said over her apples. “I’m an old sourpuss, I know. I’m too set in my ways. Won’t even talk to Bishop Thompson that much, but the home teachers are a blessing. Those young rascals think I can’t do for myself. But I can.” She glanced up at me. “Since Henry passed away, I’ve had to.” She went back to slicing apples, their whiteness glistening under her knife. Then she stopped and looked up at me again. “I never had a more trying time than when I waited for Henry to join the Church. I thought he never would, and I kind of gave up. But through it all I had to stay true—true to what I felt. You know, you’re the first one to take a real interest. And I don’t know how to say thanks.”
Like the goshawk, Sister Hunter had fierce eyes. They were light like a hawk’s, but green. She had learned to take care of herself—to keep her eyes alive by the spirit of life. She had flown into the cold recesses of fear and come back. She had fought harsh winds and long boreal hours of loneliness. The contempt I had read in the goshawk’s eyes, as in Sister Hunter’s, was a disdain for giving up—for anything vulgar or hurtful—a disdain for anything that kept him from flying freely through his northern forests.
I told her thanks were not necessary, and then I said good-bye, without having asked her about going to the temple. In Grants Pass, Oregon, I had strenuously challenged a hardened truck driver to quit smoking and he did, but I had not yet brought up the matter of the temple with Sister Hunter because I hadn’t found the words. We had talked about the temple, and we had listened to the words of an Apostle, but just what I should say had not come to me, short of simply asking, “Why haven’t you gone to the temple?” Tomorrow I would ask her.
On the back porch she stopped me. “You wait here. I want to show you something.”
She came from the house with a flat, white box, tattered and crushed, but still with its lid. She sat down beside me and opened it. She lifted out a lace veil from the box.
“This was my mother’s temple veil.” The veil, pure and white, held a sacred aura.
Sister Hunter’s eyes were intense, sparkling. For some time we sat on the back porch steps. Quietly, still composing herself, she asked, “Would you—and your folks—come with me to the temple some day? If I am worthy? Would you stand in for Henry?”
“Need you ask?” I replied, in hushed voice. “Of course.”
For days I thought about Sister Hunter’s temple veil. I had spent too much time worrying about myself. I too wanted to attend the temple and consecrate my service. The goshawk, Dad said, had to keep flying, and it too, after long hours, must have wondered about going on, wondered how it might finish what it had started. Sister Hunter had somehow shown me the continuity I sought between my mission and my present life—simply by being available to serve.

Another example: In 1830, Frederick G. Williams, a prominent medical doctor, was baptized. He immediately gave of his talents and prosperity to the Church. He became a leader in the Church. He donated property for the Kirtland Temple. In 1837, caught up in difficulties of the times, Frederick G. Williams made serious mistakes. The Lord declared in a revelation that “in consequence of [his] transgressions [his] former standing [in the leadership of the Church had] been taken away from [him].”

The beautiful lesson we learn from Frederick G. Williams is that “whatever his personal weaknesses, he had the strength of character to [renew] his loyalty to the [Lord,] the Prophet and … to the Church, when it would have been so easy to have disintegrated in bitterness.” In the spring of 1840, he presented himself at a general conference, humbly asking forgiveness for his past conduct and expressing his determination to do the will of God in the future. His case was presented by Hyrum Smith, and he was freely forgiven. He died a faithful member of the Church.

I recently met the president of the Recife Brazil Temple, whose name is Frederick G. Williams. He recounted how his great-great-grandfather’s decision of character had blessed the family and hundreds of his posterity.

For example, Ella was quite shy growing up. She didn’t want her shyness to stop her from having lots of friends and being involved in school and Church activities. Now, at 17, Ella certainly isn’t shy, and she has many friends in many towns. She travels with the track team and is also involved in debate and forensics. She plays the piano, sings, and figures out how to attend just about every activity for youth in her stake, even though the stake center is in Juneau and the stake itself extends from White Horse to Ketchikan, a distance so great that it’s hard for the stake to get together for anything.
How did she cure her shyness? “I watched the good things other girls did, how they acted, and what they talked about,” says Ella. “Then I tried to do the same things.” By trial and error, Ella found her place and a comfortable way to relate to others. She learned how to be a kind and supportive friend. Since she can’t talk to her friends by phone regularly, she has discovered e-mail and uses the computers at the public library to keep in touch. Then, when she does visit their towns for school trips or other reasons, she arranges to go to church or seminary or Mutual with them.

When the city of St. George, Utah, decided to designate historic sites with white picket fences, it called for volunteers from the community to help. The young women from the St. George Third Ward were quick to lend a hand to a young Boy Scout who needed help with his Eagle project by painting fences—and each other!
The project gave the girls a chance to get to know each other while they provided a service to their town.

During World War II, a friend of mine was serving in the South Pacific when his plane was shot down over the ocean. He and the other crew members successfully parachuted from the burning plane, inflated their life rafts, and clung to those rafts for three days.
On the third day they spotted what they knew to be a rescue vessel. It passed them by. The next morning it passed them by again. They began to despair as they realized that this was the last day the rescue vessel would be in the area.
Then the Holy Spirit spoke to my friend: “You have the priesthood. Command the rescuers to pick you up.”
He did as prompted: “In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood, turn about and pick us up.”
Within a few minutes the vessel was beside them, helping them on deck. A faithful and worthy bearer of the priesthood, in his extremity, had exercised that priesthood, blessing his life and the lives of others.

“What can I do for you?” Michele asked. Michele was my ministering sister and one of my best friends. Her question rang in my ear, and I felt bothered that I had again failed to give her a straight answer.

Heartbreaking circumstances had recently troubled my extended family, and I knew I needed help. I did not, however, want to look weak asking for Michele’s help.

Often I would compare myself to others like the Latter-day Saint pioneers who sacrificed everything for their faith or that friend on Facebook who seemed to have it all together. I knew that none of these comparisons were fair. Yet I continued to hold myself in isolation when the comfort of a loving brother or sister in the ward could make all the difference.

For years, I had been putting off well-meaning friends with myriad versions of the phrase “I’m fine.” Ironically, I was frustrated to receive the same answer from those I served. How often had I pridefully turned away people God had sent as an answer to my prayers? My recent circumstances, however, forced me to put down my pride and ask for help.

At first, I didn’t know what to say when I called Michele, but as I poured out my feelings of grief and loss, she cried with me and listened to me. I told her I just wanted someone to give me a snack, wrap me in a blanket, and put me to bed with assurances that everything was going to be OK.

Michele told me she had been praying to know how to comfort me but didn’t know how because I wasn’t talking about my grief. Once I finally opened my heart to her, however, she was able to better understand and know how to help me.

The next day she showed up on my doorstep with a bag of cherries and the warmest, softest blanket I have ever touched. Her ministering companion, Linda, came soon after with a meal for my family and fuzzy socks for me.

Now when grief howls inside me like a storm, I wrap myself in the warmth of Michele and Linda’s love and know I’ll be OK. Their love is a reminder of Christ’s love—something I can call upon anytime I need it (see Romans 8:35, 38–39).

The author lives in Utah, USA.

I would like to tell you about the St. Charles Ward and how they friendshipped and nourished Brother Jim Hueston. Jim belonged to another church, but he found it was hard to obtain transportation to attend meetings. No one picked him up. I had the good fortune to meet Jim. A Book of Mormon was given; a commitment was made to read and pray. Our members provided transportation for Jim to come to the St. Charles Ward. The missionaries taught the discussions, and Jim read and prayed.
At Jim’s baptism, he asked me, his bishop, “What do you want me to do?” I took Jim to my office and talked about the Church, teaching him about the priesthood and what the Lord would have him do as a member of the Church. He received the Aaronic Priesthood and was assigned to serve as a home teacher. The elders quorum president assigned a strong, faithful, diligent home teaching companion. Brother Hueston, as the newest member of the St. Charles Ward, made sure that his home teaching was completed. Not only for that first month but for the past 20 years he has completed his home teaching every month. He has served in many different callings, and serving as a stake missionary was one of his favorites.
Ward members wrapped their arms around Brother Hueston and made sure that he was a fellow citizen “with the saints, and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). Jim learned to drive and bought himself a car so that he could do his home teaching and any other callings he received. We are not sure if we kept him or he kept us “in the right way” (Moro. 6:4). We know that what President Hinckley is asking us to do now was accomplished then with Brother Hueston.
I talked with Brother Hueston this summer. He told me how he and his home teaching companion were helping a less-active member come back into activity. He said, “She is looking forward to taking the temple preparation class and going to the temple.”

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

“Recently, I spoke with a Laurel from the United States. I quote from her email:
“‘This past year some of my friends on Facebook began posting their position on marriage. Many favored same-sex marriage, and several LDS youth indicated they “liked” the postings. I made no comment.
“‘I decided to declare my belief in traditional marriage in a thoughtful way.
“‘With my profile picture, I added the caption “I believe in marriage between a man and a woman.” Almost instantly I started receiving messages. “You are selfish.” “You are judgmental.” One compared me to a slave owner. And I received this post from a great friend who is a strong member of the Church: “You need to catch up with the times. Things are changing and so should you.”
“‘I did not fight back,’ she said, ‘but I did not take my statement down.’
“She concludes: ‘Sometimes, as President Monson said, “You have to stand alone.” Hopefully as youth, we will stand together in being true to God and to the teachings of His living prophets.’”

There have been times when my wife and I have felt like sheepherders corralling our children for prayer or scripture study. But other times we have felt a sweet spirit that comes as we have truly shepherded and cared for our little flock. If we aren’t careful, we can easily miss these shepherding moments.

One such moment came while I was tucking our children into their beds. One of my sons asked, “Dad, what tempts you?”
I was startled by the question.
He then said, “We have been talking about what tempts us, and we wondered what things tempt you.”
I knew this would be a perfect time to teach them, but I was exhausted from a long day of work. I didn’t feel like having a deep conversation with two boys at such a late hour, especially on a school night.
However, into my mind came the story of the Savior at the well. Even after walking 30 miles (48 km) or more, He took time to teach the woman of Samaria (see John 4). I decided that this might be one of those “well” moments, so I sat down and asked them if they thought it was a sin to be tempted. There was a long pause, and then we began to talk and listen to each other. I taught them about the Savior’s encounter with Satan (see Matthew 4) and bore my testimony of the blessings that come from resisting temptation.
It was one of those special moments as a parent. We got to bed a little later than usual, but the joy I experienced was well worth any sacrifice of sleep.

May Li walked home from school with her friend. The Taipei, Taiwan (China), sidewalk was crowded with people. Trucks, cars, and scooters roared past them. May Li was happy when she saw her building. She was tired and hungry. “Good-bye, Ling Ling,” she said. “I have to help my mother prepare dinner and then get my schoolwork done.”
“Ummm …” Ling Ling looked down as she started to speak. “Do you think I could come and help? You know I can chop fast, and I like to help.”
May Li was puzzled. Why did her friend always want to help fix dinner? This was the second time this week that Ling Ling had asked to help. And she had helped at least twice the week before. Each time Ling Ling helped, May Li’s mother invited her to stay for dinner.
May Li ran up the steps to her home, motioning for Ling Ling to follow her. “Come on,” she replied. “We’ll ask my mother if you can stay.”
Ling Ling jumped two steps at a time. She almost beat May Li to the top step. “Hsieh-hsieh (Thank you). I hope your mother says I may stay.”
May Li’s mind was filled with worries as they burst through the doorway to her home. She liked to have Ling Ling stay for dinner, but she worried that her parents might not like having her come so often. Most of all, she worried about Ling Ling. Maybe her friend didn’t get enough to eat at her own home.
“I’m home!” May Li called. “Ling Ling is with me. She wants to help prepare dinner.”
May Li’s mother greeted the girls with a happy smile. “It is nice to have a friend who likes to share your work. And you are welcome to stay for dinner, Ling Ling.”
Ling Ling jumped and clapped her hands. “Hsieh-hsieh! I would love to stay for dinner.”
“You should call your mother,” May Li said, “to make certain it’s all right with her.”
Ling Ling’s happy smile went away. “Yes, I need to call. Last time I stayed here for dinner, Mother was not very happy. She says that I stay too often.”
While Ling Ling went into the next room to call, May Li talked quietly to her mother. “I hope it is all right to bring Ling Ling home for dinner again. She likes to come here so much. I will eat less if we do not have enough.”
“I am not concerned about the food,” Mother said. “We are happy to share what we have. But I am beginning to wonder if Ling Ling is not getting enough food at home.”
“I know. I have wondered that also.”
May Li looked at the delicious vegetables soaking in the sink, and at the fish and pork ready to be fried. “Maybe Ling Ling only gets rice to eat—maybe she doesn’t even get enough rice!”
May Li wondered what to do, but before she could say any more, she heard Ling Ling hang up the telephone. May Li began to chop the vegetables. Chop, chop, chop. Quickly the mushrooms became many small pieces.
“Guess what?” Ling Ling exclaimed. “I can stay! What would you like me to chop?”
May Li and Ling Ling chopped cabbage, green peppers, and green onions. They laughed and giggled as they set rice bowls and kuaidze (chopsticks) on the table.
Dinner was almost ready by the time May Li’s father came home. He greeted everyone when he came in the door. May Li felt better. She knew that father would know what to do if Ling Ling’s family did not have enough food.
When dinner was ready, May Li’s father invited everyone to kneel for the prayer. He knelt beside his chair. “May Li, would you say the family prayer tonight? And be sure to remember all of our friends and their families.”
Of course! That was the answer! May Li knew that Heavenly Father loved Ling Ling’s family as much as He loved hers. She knew that He would answer her prayer and bless them. As she prayed, she thanked Heavenly Father for having Ling Ling in their home, and she asked a special blessing for Ling Ling’s family—that they would always have enough food to eat. When the prayer was over, everyone sat up to the table and started to eat.
“Hsieh-hsieh for that nice prayer,” said Ling Ling, “and for including my family.”
May Li looked at her rice bowl. “You’re welcome,” she said. “I hope your family always has enough food to eat.”
“Oh, we do,” Ling Ling said. “And my mother is a wonderful cook.”
“But, I thought …” May Li had a difficult time coming up with the right words. “I thought you didn’t have enough food to eat and that is why you like to come and eat at my house so often.”
Ling Ling looked down and stirred the rice in her bowl. “No, it isn’t the food at your house,” she said. “It is the prayer. I feel good inside when I kneel with your family to pray. I wish my family did that.” She paused, then added, “My mother said to invite you over to our house for dinner. If you come, I will ask my parents if we can have family prayer because you are there and it is your family tradition. Will you help me say the prayer if my parents agree?”
May Li and her parents looked at each other with surprise. May Li smiled. “I would love to go to your house for dinner,” she said. “I will help you chop vegetables. And I will be happy to help you say the family prayer. Hsieh-hsieh for asking me.”

During a demanding time of my life, I was called to be the Relief Society president in my ward. I felt intimidated and inadequate, but I tried to be optimistic as I began serving.
Not long after I was set apart, despair and dread overtook me. I knew I needed the Savior’s help. I prayed often, asking Heavenly Father for direction.
One day, I was talking to a friend of mine, and when I told her about my calling, she looked thrilled. “That was the best calling I have ever had!” she said. “I learned so much.”
I was so confused by her reaction and wondered why I didn’t feel the same way about my assignment.
I wanted to feel better about the calling and learn to love it, so I prayed to feel “more joy in his service.” I received a prompting to further develop three Christlike attributes.
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith.” The times I struggled most in my calling were always when I doubted God’s power. Over time, I watched Him perform miracles for me and others.
For example, when I got a text from a sister telling me she couldn’t attend an event because of some family issues, I felt prompted to go visit her.
She told me the traumatic, heartbreaking challenges her family was going through. I had no idea what to say—I had never encountered similar issues in my own life. I prayed as we talked, and the Spirit inspired me with comforting words to share with her.
We can accomplish what’s required of us through God’s power. “If thou art sorrowful, call on the Lord thy God with supplication, that your souls may be joyful” (Doctrine and Covenants 136:29). When I gave my trust and faith to God, He returned it with support and joy.
Confidence includes self-assurance and acceptance. “Spiritual confidence increases when you accept that ‘often trials and tribulations are allowed to come into [your life] because of what [you] are doing right,’” Elder Jörg Klebingat of the Seventy taught. God loves me enough to challenge me.
At the beginning of my service, I hesitated to share my ideas in ward council meetings. I felt like I shouldn’t be trusted with stewardship over the Relief Society.
With more time and experience, I learned that I wasn’t just a placeholder in this calling—God called me so I could learn to serve and love my ward members. I possessed unique talents that could benefit others.
As I became more confident in my capacity to receive revelation, I found it easier to help the sisters in my ward. And eventually, I realized that my insights were valuable to ward council meetings. This realization filled my heart with joy and belonging.
God didn’t give me this calling by accident. I needed to learn submission. Elder David P. Homer of the Seventy taught: “The choice to submit our will to God’s is an act of faith that lies at the heart of our discipleship. In making that choice, we discover that our agency is not diminished; rather, it is magnified and rewarded by the presence of the Holy Ghost, who brings purpose, joy, peace, and hope we can find nowhere else.”
When I aligned myself with God, other parts of my life fell into place. I found it easier to recognize the Spirit, make decisions, love my ward, find friends, strengthen my mental wellness, and so much more. Submitting my will also included delegating responsibilities to my counselors and allowing them to support and help me. Through all of this, my devotion to God grew, and my heart softened.
I was not happy when I received the calling, but I found joy in the experience. Once I accepted God’s plan for me, I didn’t feel upset or resentful anymore. Submitting brought me peace.
I am still learning to find joy in my calling. I’ve grown significantly, but I’m not perfect at it.
If you are called to serve in your ward or branch, act on it. “While serving is not always convenient, it is always rewarding.” Magnifying your calling will bring increased joy to your life, no matter what capacity you serve in.

Editor’s note: What started out as a fun activity turned into a small test of faith for some high school friends. Afterward, they shared what they were thinking at the time, and how one small but significant choice helped them all. Here is the same story, told from three points of view.
Sam: I was eager to go to the comedy club. A couple of my friends that I trust had been there previously, and they said it was funny and that all of the jokes were clean. So we were all excited and looking forward to a night of fun.
When the show started, the comedian was funny. He told some good jokes, but after a span of about 15 minutes his humor took a heavy turn downward. His jokes turned dirty. I was feeling super uncomfortable.
Carrie: I had heard of this comedy place and was excited to go. As the show began, it was good, clean comedy. But soon after, the humor grew more crass and inappropriate. I wanted to get up and leave, but I struggled with the decision because I knew my date had spent quite a bit of money on the tickets. I started to feel more and more uneasy.
Jake: When crude humor started to take the main stage at the comedy club, I was uneasy. When the comic started to make sacrilegious comments about the Church, I felt uncomfortable and thought about leaving. But somehow silly ideas crept into my head—I had just spent money to get in, everyone would laugh at us or think we weren’t mature enough to handle the humor, and my date wasn’t LDS. What would she think if I stood up to leave?
All this left me sitting indecisively in my seat. Looking back now, I’m embarrassed that I let a couple of worldly rationalizations get in the way of my spiritual courage. Once the bad jokes started coming, I should have left immediately; it’s as simple as that.
Sam: I turned to Carrie, and asked, “Are you ready to go?” I said it more as a statement than a question. I knew I was with a wonderful girl, and I was pleased when, with a smile on her face, she said, “Yeah, let’s go.”
Carrie: Then, to my rescue, my date Sam turned and whispered, “Are you ready to go?” I was so relieved! It was the answer to my silent prayer! We got up and left the theater.
Sam: I took her to the exit and then went quietly to the seats where my friend Jake was sitting with his date. I leaned down and whispered, “We’ve had enough. We’ll be out in the parking lot.” We waited outside for the show to end.
Jake: This is where the importance of having good friends comes in. As I sat there doing nothing, amidst the jokes, a finger tapped my shoulder. I turned to see my best friend crouched down behind me and pointing to the door. “I can’t handle this guy any longer,” he said, “We’ll be waiting in the parking lot.”
Sam: In the parking lot we started talking a little bit about what had happened, but not 30 seconds had passed when I heard the door open. I looked back to see Jake with his date, and all of my friends with their dates, walking out into the parking lot. Not a whole lot was said about what had happened, but we all knew we had done the right thing.
Carrie: It wasn’t necessary to wait, however, because shortly after we left, the rest of the group filed out of the theater. I had the most incredible feeling in my heart at that moment. I was so grateful for the example my date had set, grateful for his great respect for me. He was a guardian of truth and virtue that night, and that was more important than getting his money’s worth out of an inappropriate show.
I will forever remember and be grateful for that night and the experience I had. Sam is a close friend. He was known throughout the high school student body as being a good guy. He was full of integrity and virtue, so it was no surprise to me that he did what he did that night.
Jake: At that moment my friend became my hero. He left. Then I, along with our other friends, followed. My date knew we had high standards and recognized that we felt uncomfortable with the jokes, so she went along with our decision. I predicted the comedian would make fun of us for leaving, and he did. “But who really cares?” I said to myself as we left the room.
I’m grateful for the example my friend set by leaving that night. He had the courage to act, and I don’t know if I would have done the same thing had he not been there. Once he did the right thing, many others followed. Never underestimate the importance of friendship. Live your life so that you can be a role model to others, as Sam was to me.

“But, Shawn, I don’t think Tyrell will let me play,” my friend Richie protested as I grabbed the basketball from the box in the garage and started for the door. “He hasn’t ever had much to do with me.”
“He didn’t have much use for me a few weeks ago,” I replied, “until he found out that I’m a pretty good basketball player. I ran into him down at the park, and we started shooting a few baskets. Since then he’s invited me to play with him and some of his friends. We get along just fine.”
“But I’m not one of his friends.”
“But you’re my friend. Frankie isn’t going to be there this afternoon, so we’ll be short a guy. We need six players to have a good game. You’ll be the sixth man.”
Tyrell was the most popular guy in sixth grade. He wore the nicest clothes and hung around the other popular kids like Nick, Frankie, Logan, and Blake.
I had never tried to be Tyrell’s friend, not because I didn’t like him, but because I didn’t think I’d stand a chance. That’s the reason that I felt pretty special now that I was playing ball with him. I’d even gone to his house a couple of times.
When Richie and I reached the park, we strolled over to the basketball court where Tyrell, Nick, Logan, and Blake were talking. “Let’s use Shawn’s ball,” Logan called out when he saw me. “He has the newest one.”
I tossed Tyrell my ball. “I brought Richie along,” I explained, “because I knew Frankie wasn’t going to be here. This way we can have three to a team.”
Tyrell looked Richie up and down, and I heard Nick mutter, “I don’t think he even knows how to play ball.”
I swallowed and spoke up. “He plays all right. He can be on my team.”
Everybody was quiet because Tyrell was still thinking. I knew that whatever he decided was the last word. After a pause, he tossed the ball at Richie. The ball came hard and fast, but Richie caught it. “All right,” he finally said slowly, still eyeing Richie, “I’ll play with Shawn and this new kid.”
Richie was nervous, but I knew that if the others just gave him a chance, he’d show them that he could play. He missed a few baskets and threw the ball away a couple of times. Then he settled down and played really well.
We had a tough time keeping up with Blake, Nick, and Logan, but we didn’t ever fall behind more than six points. Then, right at the end, we finally pulled away from them when Richie hit a long shot and followed it up a few seconds later with a quick layup. We ended up beating them by two baskets.
“I guess old Richie here can play ball,” Tyrell panted as we all walked off the court and lay on the grass under a big pine tree. “He can be on my team next time, too.”
We all horsed around at the park for a while longer. While we were goofing around under a big sycamore tree, where a group of people had been picnicking earlier, Richie stopped dead in his tracks, bent over, and picked up a small red and orange package.
“What’d you find?” Tyrell asked, walking over to him.
“It’s a pack of cigarettes,” Richie rasped, “and it’s almost full.”
All of us crowded around to get a closer look. “We’d better crush them up and throw them away,” Richie suggested.
“Hold on,” Tyrell called out, taking the package. “We don’t have to do anything right this second. Let’s see what we have here.”
For a minute we all studied the cigarettes. Tyrell and his buddies joked about them and pulled one out and tried it between their fingers. Richie nervously held one when Nick demanded that he take it. “It won’t hurt you to touch it,” he growled. “What are you, some kind of baby?”
“Why don’t we just chuck them,” I said, trying to smile. I held up my basketball. “Let’s play another quick game.”
“I have a lighter,” Blake suddenly volunteered, digging in his pants pocket and pulling out a small yellow disposable lighter. “It was on my brother’s dresser,” he explained, smiling. “I just picked it up this morning.”
Tyrell looked around the park. “Hey,” he suggested, “let’s go over behind the baseball bleachers and light one.”
“Light one of the cigarettes?” Richie questioned, his voice shaking a little.
“We’re not going to inhale,” Tyrell laughed, shaking his head and giving Richie a shove. “We’re just going to light it and see what it’s like. Come on.” He started moving away. Richie, Nick, Blake, and Logan followed.
Something in my head kept telling me to return to the basketball court and start shooting baskets or to take my ball and go home, but I didn’t. I told myself that I was just going to watch.
My stomach was twisting and turning, though, as I walked around the bleachers with the others. Tyrell took the cigarette and handed the pack to Blake. “Take one,” he ordered, “and pass them to Nick.” He looked around at all of us. “We can each try one. It’s no big deal.”
“I’ve never smoked before,” Richie rasped when Logan held the pack of cigarettes out in front of him.
“One cigarette isn’t going to kill you,” Tyrell said with a grin. “After all, they’re yours. You found them.”
I could see the battle inside Richie. He knew he wasn’t supposed to smoke. He’d been taught that all his life, just as I had. But this afternoon he had a chance to be part of Tyrell’s popular group. Not only that, but Tyrell and his buddies had treated him all right. He had been one of them. Just like I had. Now we realized that to still be one of them might mean smoking a cigarette. I knew that Richie was trying to decide whether it was all worth it.
“Go ahead and take one,” Tyrell growled. “Don’t be such a baby. The rest of us are going to—even your buddy Shawn,” he added without looking at me.
Richie stared down at the pack of cigarettes. Even before he did it, I knew he was going to look at me. And he did. His eyes were scared, but more than that, they were asking me what to do.
I just stared back at him, worried about what I was going to do. Ashamed, I looked away without saying anything.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Richie slowly reach out and take one of the cigarettes. “Will one cigarette be that bad, Shawn?” he asked me.
I looked up. More than anything, I wished that I had gone home right after our basketball game. I wished that I had walked away as soon as Tyrell took the cigarettes from Richie and started playing with them. I wished a lot of things.
I was the only one without a cigarette. Logan was holding the pack out to me. I had been excited and happy to be Tyrell’s friend. It had been nice to feel popular. I could still be popular—if I took that cigarette.
“My mom and dad don’t want me smoking,” I stammered, trying to smile while I said it.
“Your mom and dad aren’t here,” Tyrell came back. “They’ll never know. Do you think we’re going to tell them? This is our secret.”
“Should we do it, just this once?” I heard Richie ask me.
I looked at him. He wouldn’t be here right now if I hadn’t invited him. And then I made another frightening discovery. I realized that whatever I told Tyrell, I was making the same decision for Richie. I knew that Richie would do whatever I decided to do.
“Come on, Shawn, take one,” Tyrell ordered. “We’re waiting.”
I felt a sick, ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach. I started to speak, but the words didn’t come. I stopped, swallowed hard, then announced strongly, “I’m not going to smoke, Tyrell.”
“Are you afraid that somebody’s going to rat on you?”
I shook my head. “No. I just don’t want to do it. It’s something I decided a long time ago.” I thought of the promise I’d made when I was baptized to always keep myself clean. “If I smoked and didn’t get caught, that wouldn’t matter, because I’d always know. I’d always know that I’d broken promises I had made. I’m not going to do it, Tyrell. Not today, not ever.”
I started to push past him. He reached out and grabbed my arm. “Friends hang together, Shawn. I thought you were one of our friends.”
I coughed nervously. “I thought I was, too. Is this what I have to do to be your friend?”
“We’re a team. We do things together.”
“Then I guess I won’t be part of your team.” I pulled my arm free and started walking.
“Wait up, Shawn,” Richie called, dropping his cigarette on the ground and crushing it under his heel. “I’m going with you.”
Richie and I walked from behind the bleachers and started across the park. The sick, ugly feeling I had felt just seconds before was gone. It was as though a hard, heavy rock had been lifted off my shoulders.
“I was waiting for you to tell them no,” Richie whispered beside me. “I was praying you would. I just knew you would, Shawn. You had to, for both of us.”
“Run off like a couple of babies,” Tyrell taunted. “We’ll find somebody else to play ball with us. And if you’re not part of our team, don’t figure on being our friends. You sorry guys probably don’t even have any friends.”
I smiled over at Richie. He was still my friend. I thought of Jesus and the promises I had made to Him. He was still my friend. I knew then that I didn’t have to worry about being popular. I could choose the right and still have the very best kind of friends.

Throughout my life I have had ample need for pruning. For example, a few years ago I expected to receive a company promotion. I felt I had the experience, skills, and longevity required, and I hoped the choice was obvious.

At that time there was a new top manager in our company who had different priorities and goals than I did. Among other things, he expected all senior managers to work weekends in addition to weekdays. I was a stake president then and knew that to best serve the members of my stake, I needed to spend a certain amount of time fulfilling my Church responsibilities.

When the hoped-for promotion never occurred, I had to struggle to keep myself from feeling bitter. What a disappointment! I determined just to keep going, to try to do things as well as I could, and to maintain a positive demeanor. Yet my sense of self-worth had been challenged. My abilities had been called into question. Other Church leaders I knew seemed to capably manage both demanding Church callings and time-consuming employment.

In a weak moment, I even wondered whether I had made the right choice to devote so much time to the Church. Then I decided I needed to focus on what was truly important. I began to look not only at my capabilities but also at my limitations. I could see that the time I was spending in Church service was necessary and that I probably wouldn’t have been able to manage both the employment position I had sought and my Church calling.

I think the Lord was telling me I had to choose and would have to keep choosing. To have chosen to devote extra time to my employment so I could get the promotion would have disengaged me from the Lord’s work. As I look back, I can see what a blessing it was for me to devote so much of my time to the Church. The ensuing years were some of the most rewarding of my life. I felt closer to the Lord. My testimony was strengthened. My relationship with fellow Saints in the area was a great blessing, and I am sure I became more fruitful than I would have been otherwise.

“One time my friends were going somewhere to smoke,” says Norelia, “and I said, ‘Remember what my religion is? I don’t do those things.’ Some of them have come to understand that smoking is a dirty habit and have tried to stop. They call me ‘the perfect one’ and always ask me for advice. I tell them I’m not perfect but I try to live the standards of my church. They respect my beliefs, and I think I have sown a few seeds that may be a source of strength to them someday.”

When asked about the reasons for his gauged ears and pierced tongue, one young man says, “I was just curious. Now, it’s my play toy,” referring to his habit of clicking the barbell through his tongue against his teeth. His tongue piercing, however, has also affected his speech.
When pressed a little more, he admits his piercings convey an inaccurate image of what he is really like. “My teachers confronted me and said I was quite a surprise. They said I wasn’t anything like the way I look. They had been expecting the worst. Some people assumed I didn’t want to graduate.”
His body piercings have affected his relationship with some friends and their parents as well as his ability to get jobs. “My friend’s dad asked me, ‘Why the change of heart?’ He won’t let me hang around with his son, my friend, as much. We were supposed to room together at college, but his dad won’t let him.”
This young man has also been turned down for jobs he has applied for, and he knows that there are certain places of business that won’t even accept his application.
Why make things more difficult for himself? This young man just shrugs off the idea that his choice has affected his life, although he does not have a difficult time listing the areas in which his choice has actually made things harder.

Suddenly there’s a dozen LDS girls she hardly knows at her bedroom door, and they’re giving her plates of cookies and smiling big, toothy grins.
“Why don’t you come to our church Sunday?” someone asks and they all nod and smile some more.
She grins back and wonders when they’ll leave.
But they don’t. They talk and laugh and eventually she realizes they’re not so obnoxious. She starts to catch their enthusiasm. And she begins to wonder if this is what it’s like to be LDS? Is it always fun? Her father was LDS once. She’d heard things about the Church, but …
DarLynn Hawkins, 14, is sitting on the couch between Amy Van Camp and Erica Egli, both 14. This is Amy’s house, north of Chicago, in a town called Gurnee. And as the girls explain, Gurnee is a quiet place, famous for only two things—its immense factory outlet stores, and its spectacular junior high school band (which, as a matter of fact, the girls all play in).
DarLynn’s a Church member now. And that all began one evening about a year and a half ago when Amy and Erica convinced their Beehive class to crowd into DarLynn’s room. It started then; it just didn’t start perfectly.
“It was really weird,” says DarLynn. “We’d just moved here and I didn’t really know anyone, and all of a sudden here were all these girls asking me to come to church. I mean I knew Amy and Erica from school band …”
“But we didn’t like each other,” Erica adds. They all laugh.
“No, we weren’t best friends or anything,” says DarLynn. “I thought they were snobs.” They laugh again. “Just kidding, but I did think I was being rushed at first.”
Amy admits that maybe they were pushy. But, as she points out, there are no instructions to follow when you want to talk to a friend about the Church, and every now and then you make a mistake. “We’d heard her father was a member once. Erica and I just got the feeling she might need the Church in her life. The standards of the Church are so high that it helps you through the tough times.”
When Erica and Amy sensed DarLynn was uneasy, they slowed things down. They became closer friends with her during a school band trip, gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon (she read parts during the summer), and invited her to Church activities (which made her more comfortable with the other members). Eventually, Amy and Erica gained the courage to ask DarLynn if she’d like to have missionaries visit her home.
Erica says it wasn’t that easy getting up the nerve to ask DarLynn such an important question. “You have to conquer the fear. We were afraid that if she didn’t accept it, it would hurt us because it means so much to us. I was afraid she would laugh at the lessons or think they were soooo boring.”
But DarLynn said yes. “And everything the missionaries said was so interesting. They really got through to me and made it fun. There was a time in every discussion where I’d almost cry. Then during one discussion the missionaries asked me to read, ponder, and pray. I did that night, and the Spirit was there. It was so cool. I started to cry, and I just knew the Church was true.”
DarLynn’s parents had watched her careful study of Church teachings, and when she asked for their permission to be baptized they were happy to give it.
While there are no rules to follow when talking to a friend about the Church, there is one common mistake many make—going to places or doing things you know are wrong with the idea you will have your friend come to a Church activity next time.
Not too bright, says DarLynn. “When I was in the sixth grade, I wanted to try everything—smoking, drinking, everything. Then I got to know Amy and Erica, and they were strong in the Church and I thought that was really cool. It made me want what they had. We wouldn’t be as close now if they had followed me and had done the things I wanted to do back then.”
And if Erica and Amy had not been examples to DarLynn, they would have missed a great ending. Erica says, “I’ll never forget …” and Amy joins in, “DarLynn’s baptism!”
“It was the best feeling as we watched DarLynn being baptized because we helped her find the truth,” Erica continues. “You could see how happy she was. After she had changed clothes, she came out and said, ‘I’m perfect, and you’re not!’”
“I was kidding,” says DarLynn.
They all laugh again—a trio in perfect harmony.

When I drove home that night, I asked myself, “What kind of father will Pablo be?” And the answer was crystal clear: he’ll be just like his dad. Jesus said, “The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do.” This is the pattern of how Heavenly Father blesses His children from generation to generation.

As I continued to think about my experience with Pablo, I felt sad because my four daughters were grown and the nine grandchildren I had at the time didn’t live nearby. I then thought, “How could I ever help them the way Pablo’s father helped him? Had too much time gone by?” As I offered a prayer in my heart, the Spirit whispered this profound truth: “It’s never too early and it’s never too late to begin this important process.” I knew immediately what that meant. I could hardly wait to get home. I asked my wife, Sharol, to call all of our children and tell them that we needed to visit with them; I had something really important to tell them. My urgency startled them a little.

We began with our oldest daughter and her husband. I said: “Your mother and I want you to know that we were your age once. We were 31, with a small family. We have an idea of what you might encounter. It might be a financial or health challenge. It may be a crisis of faith. You may just get overwhelmed with life. When these things happen, we want you to come and talk to us. We’ll help you get through them. Now, we don’t want to be in your business all the time, but we want you to know that we are always in your corner. And while we’re together, I want to tell you about an interview I just had with a young man named Pablo.”

After the story, I said, “We don’t want you to miss helping your children and our grandchildren understand these important truths.”