Gospel Story Finder

I used to think my best friend, Chase, would do anything. When I dared him to jump off the top step of my porch, not only did he do it, but he even took a running start!
When I dared him to ride the upside-down roller coaster, he didn’t just ride it, but he actually sat in the front seat!
And when I told him there was no way he would say hi to Julia—the prettiest girl in the whole school—not only did he say hi, but he sat and talked to her for five minutes!
I thought Chase would do anything. Until today, that is.
Chase comes over to my house almost every day. We live super close to each other. There is only one house in between ours. But Chase doesn’t come over on Sunday or Monday. On Sundays he goes to church. On Mondays he has some kind of a family night. He invited me a couple of times. We ate brownies and played games. It was pretty fun.
Chase usually comes to my house to play after school. It’s nice to have him around because my mom and dad are still at work. Playing with Chase is fun. We love to make up jokes. Chase is friends with everybody. I never hear him talk bad about other people—even if everybody else does.
Today Chase and I played basketball. It was pretty hot, so I asked Chase if he wanted a drink.
“Sure,” Chase said, as he rolled the ball into the grass and ran to my front porch.
We walked inside and went to the kitchen. As I opened the fridge, the rush of the cool air made the hairs on our arms stand on end. When I first peeked into the fridge, I just saw juice and milk. Then, an open can in the corner caught my eye.
My dad had left a can of beer open. He would never know if we took a couple of sips. I pulled the can out.
“Want to try?” I asked.
“What is it?” Chase asked.
“It’s beer,” I said. “My dad drinks it all the time. He won’t know if we just take a sip.”
Chase looked at me. He raised his eyebrow and put his hands on his hips. Then he said something I never thought I’d hear him say.
“No way!” Chase said.
“Did you just say no?” I asked.
“Beer’s not good for you,” he said. “We shouldn’t drink it. It makes you do dumb things.”
“Not if you just take one little sip,” I said. “Watch, I’ll show you.”
I raised the can to my mouth, took a small sip, and smiled. It tasted gross, but I didn’t want to look uncool.
“See? Do I look any dumber to you?” I asked.
“I think I’m going to go home,” Chase said. “Don’t drink any more of that stuff. It’s not a good idea.”
As I watched Chase walk out the door and run down the sidewalk back to his house, I couldn’t help but wonder why he would do almost anything but not take even a small sip of beer.
I took another small sip after Chase left. “Blech! This stuff really is gross,” I thought as I put the can back in the corner of the fridge.
Maybe Chase was on to something after all.

My father was like that. He was a scientist. He lectured to audiences in countries around the world. Once I read a talk he had given to a large scientific convention. In it, he referred to creation and a Creator as he talked about his science. I knew that few, if any, in that audience would have shared his faith. So I said to him with wonder and admiration, “Dad, you bore your testimony.” He looked at me with surprise on his face and said, “Did I?”
He had not even known that he was being brave. He simply said what he knew was true. When he bore testimony, even those who rejected it knew it came not by design but because it was part of him. He was what he was, wherever he was.

Grandmother was visiting us, and we were just ready to go out on a fun family outing when a minor disaster struck—we couldn’t find the keys to the car. Children, parents, and Grandmother searched everywhere, but the keys were not to be found, and we thought in dismay that we would probably have to stay home. Then Grandmother excused herself and went into her bedroom. In just a few minutes one of the children suddenly found the keys just barely hidden under a corner of a rug.
As we drove happily to our outing, someone asked Grandmother, “Why did you go into your bedroom instead of looking for the keys?” Grandmother’s answer was absorbed carefully by five young children: “I knew how disappointed everyone would be if we didn’t go on the outing so I went in and prayed that we could find the keys. I knew we would find them after that.”

When I was growing up, one of my jobs was to burn the trash. I would gather the garbage from the house. I’d put it in a big metal barrel in the backyard. Then I would light a match and drop it in the barrel.
One day it was really windy, and the match just wouldn’t stay lit. I decided to make a torch out of newspaper. I thought that way the flame would last long enough to light the trash on fire. I remembered that it wasn’t smart to play with fire, but I ignored the warning feeling. I rolled up some newspaper into a cone, lit it with a match, and dropped it into the barrel.
Whoosh! The strong wind made the newspaper burst into flames, and the trash quickly caught fire. Big flames blew past my face. Luckily most of my hair was pulled back into a ponytail. But my bangs were singed into crisp little wisps! My eyelashes were gone, and my eyebrows too. It just happened so fast!
That taught me a lesson: if you play with something dangerous, you can get hurt! Our parents and the Holy Ghost warn us to avoid dangerous things like pornography and drugs. If we choose to ignore the warnings, there are harmful consequences.
I’m grateful that my hair grew back over time. That’s like repentance. When we make wrong choices, we can choose to change. We can be forgiven because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. No matter how young or old we are, our Savior is always there to help us. We can feel peace again, just like on the day we were baptized.
Heavenly Father gave us commandments because He loves us. He wants to protect and help us. What wonderful gifts Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ have given us!

“Hey, Coach,” he called as I was working with the senior shot putters and discus throwers. I ignored him.
“Hey, Coach Crowe,” he persisted, “that other coach over there said I should come over here and throw. He said you should watch me.”
I turned around and looked at the kid. His black hair hung unevenly over his forehead, his bony shoulders angled out of his baggy tank top, and his long skinny arms hung low, almost to his knees. When the wind blew, his practice uniform flapped around his bony frame like clothes on a scarecrow. He was obviously a freshman.
In his right hand he held a discus, the black rubber kind we issued to beginning throwers. “You wanna watch me throw?” he asked.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Darwin Hughes.”
“Where’d you get that discus, Hughes? You’re too small to be a weight man.”
“Well, Coach,” he answered, “I like throwing, and I’m pretty good. If you’ll watch me, I’ll …”
“Not now, Hughes. I’m working with the seniors. Tell you what, go over to that discus ring over there,” I pointed to the opposite end of the field, “and you throw. I’ll come down in a little while and see how you’re doing, okay?”
“Sure, Coach.” He turned and loped off to the other end of the practice field.
I went back to work with my seniors. Boy, these freshmen, I thought. Why are they so goofy? That kid has as much chance of becoming a discus thrower as I do of becoming president of the United States.
Practice went pretty much as usual that day, and I was too busy with my seniors to find the time to go watch Hughes. The next two days he hung around the throwing areas, and each time I banished him to the opposite end of the field to throw by himself so he couldn’t bother me as I worked with the upperclassmen.
Finally, on the fourth day, some of the throwers came to see me. “Hey, Coach,” said one, “have you seen that freshman throw yet?”
“You mean that scrawny little kid Hughes? I can’t believe he’s still wasting his time. Look, if you guys want to throw down there, just tell him to go work with the distance runners. He’d have a better chance of making the team with them.”
“But, Coach,” interrupted one of them, “maybe you ought to see him throw. He’s throwing over 130 feet.”
That got my attention; 130 feet would make him the number two thrower on my varsity squad. These guys must be pulling my leg, I thought. But I’d better go down and watch, just to make sure.
By the time I got down there, a little crowd had gathered around the discus ring. In the center stood Hughes, just beginning another throw. He held his arms out, bent his knees, spun twice through the ring, and launched a throw that was easily 130 feet.
After he finished his throw, he looked over at me and grinned sheepishly, as if I had caught him doing something wrong. “Come here, Hughes,” I said. He trotted over. “Where’d you learn to throw like that?”
“I dunno, Coach. I threw a little bit in eighth grade, but mainly I just like to throw.”
“Tell you what, Hughes,” I said as I put my arm around his shoulder, “from now on you can throw down at the other end with the upperclassmen so I can watch you a little more.”
Never let it be said that I didn’t recognize talent when it hit me in the face.
By his sophomore year, Darwin had developed into a fine discus thrower. He won nearly every dual meet and placed in every prestigious invitational meet he attended. At five-foot-nine, 145 pounds, Darwin looked out of place among the Goliaths of the shot put and discus rings, and many times when he first began competing on the varsity, throwers from other schools would laugh at skinny Darwin Hughes. Their laughter, however, changed to amazement as soon as he took his first warm-up throw.
By the end of his sophomore year, no one laughed at him anymore because little Darwin finished third in the state championships by throwing 165 feet, two inches.
In his junior and senior seasons, the littlest weight man was the best thrower in Arizona. Spectators, coaches, and other throwers marveled at how such a small thrower (by his senior year Darwin was five-foot-ten, 165 pounds) could throw a discus more than 185 feet and a 12-pound shot more than 57 feet. And I have to admit, even as his coach, I was often amazed at all Darwin accomplished. I’m convinced that, considering his size, Darwin was the best high school weight man in the United States.
People would often ask me, “How does he do it? What’s Hughes’s secret?” I wish I could have answered that Darwin owed all his success to me, but that wasn’t true. First of all, Darwin had some inherent ability, some natural skill for what he was trying to do. Based on that ability, he then applied some basic principles of success.
Second, he had a desire to excel, to be the best discus thrower he could possibly be. “Coach,” he told me one day at practice, “I don’t know how far I can throw, but I’m going to do everything I can to be one of the best weight men Arizona has ever had.”
At the time he was only a sophomore, and considering his size, I was afraid he was setting his goals too high. “Look, Darwin, you’re doing super right now. You should feel great about what you’ve already accomplished. This is a big man’s sport, so with your size, you can’t expect to get much better.”
“But, Coach, I know I can do better. I just know it.” He was right. The next year, Darwin improved his best throw by 20 feet.
But it wasn’t only his drive to excel that helped Darwin succeed. He also believed in himself. Ignored by his own coach as a freshman, scoffed at by competitors as a sophomore, Darwin remained convinced that he could and would be successful. Near the end of his senior season I asked him why he didn’t give up during those first years. He shrugged and explained, “When no one else believes in you, you’ve got to believe in yourself.”
Confidence alone, however, wasn’t enough to make a mountain of a thrower out of a molehill of a boy. Darwin was a dedicated, hard worker. Every day he’d be out to practice a half hour early, throwing by himself. And on most spring afternoons and evenings, he and I would be the only ones left on the practice field, working on his technique until it was too dark to see anymore. Darwin would even spend hours on Saturdays throwing and throwing and throwing.
I’ve never coached an athlete who worked harder than Darwin, and I’ve never coached an athlete who was as successful as he was either. Someone said once, “If you want to be a superstar, you’ve got to start early and stay late.” That was certainly true for Darwin.
But all his hard work wasn’t without direction. Darwin listened intently to every coaching tip he ever received and worked diligently to turn that advice into improvement. When I asked Darwin to do something differently or advised him to spend more time in the weight room, he’d say, “Okay, Coach,” and he’d do it.
Darwin also studied his event. He poured through every track-and-field textbook in our school’s library and was able to quote extensively from the Track and Field News about recent events and technique development. He read coaching journals, sports pages, and anything else that might have a bit of information he could use to become a better weight man. By the time he graduated, Darwin knew more about his event than I did.
And finally, Darwin followed great examples. As a freshman and sophomore, he would carefully watch and study the throwing methods of the leading weight men in the state. As he increased his knowledge, he began to attend college meets to study the methods of collegiate weight men. He even talked me into ordering films of the world’s greatest discus throwers, and he spent hours watching them.
His talents and his efforts made Darwin Hughes the best weight man ever at our high school and ranked him as the fifth best discus thrower in the history of Arizona. All at five-foot-ten, 165 pounds.

Eric, another son, describes his father’s example: “He has always gone to the real sources: the words of the prophets and the scriptures. He is bold but he listens. He will ask inspired questions and then listen to your answer, and then he will ask another inspired question. Once he was giving me something similar to a temple recommend interview when I was about 14. He asked me if I sustained President Ezra Taft Benson. I said that I did. And then, after a pause, he asked, ‘What have you read lately of what President Benson has said?’” The lessons from those inspired questions and others like them are still teaching Eric and his brothers.

May 20. Billy asked me if I wanted to go with him on his paper route after school. The other guys wanted me to play ball. So did I, but something inside me said that going with Billy was more important.
We rode our bikes. I helped carry some of the papers in a sack. Afterward, Billy bought me a soda pop. Then we went across the street and lay on the grass in the park. After a while he asked me why I wanted to be his friend, why I liked to do stuff with him. I didn’t know what to say. Finally I told him, “I guess I just like you, that’s all.”
He looked sad. “Is it because you feel sorry for me because I’m … different? Some people make fun of me because I can’t do things like other people. And some are nice because they feel sorry for me.”
I told him that I get mad when other people treat him unkindly and that at first maybe that was why I wanted to be nice. “But after a while, I started liking you because you’re you,” I said. “I like how you sound when you laugh. It makes me feel happy inside. And I like how you treat other living things. Even little things. Like the pollywogs in the creek behind the school last week. You felt bad because the sun was drying up the little ponds of water, so you put the tadpoles in that applesauce jar and moved them farther up the creek where it was deeper. Most people aren’t that kind,” I told him. “You remind me of Jesus.” His eyes got full of tears, and he didn’t say anything. He just tapped me on the arm with his fist and kept looking the other way.
June 7. Billy’s mother called me and asked if I wanted to come over and have dinner with them tonight. Billy was too shy to ask, she said, and wanted her to ask me. (Mom and Dad said it would be fine.) She also said that Billy can’t stop talking about me, that the past few weeks he’s been happier than she can ever remember. “He thinks the world of you,” she said, and she thanked me for being so good to him.
I could tell that she was crying, because her voice started breaking up. I told her that it was easy to like Billy because he was so good. I didn’t tell her, but I had been starting to feel happier inside myself than I had in a long time, and I was already happy. Dad says, “When we open our hearts to others, like Jesus did, we feel a whole different kind of joy.”
June 18. Today Billy and I saved a wild bird. A big kid named Donny, who lives close to Billy’s place, caught it and was going to hurt it. We started yelling at him, and it made him jump and the bird got away. He pushed us down, but we felt so good on the inside that it made what he did to us on the outside kind of not matter.
July 11. Our family got back this morning from a three-day trip to Buck’s Lake. I called Billy to see if we could get together, maybe go to a Saturday matinee or hike in the hills or something. His mother said he could not play … because he’d died two days ago. She began to cry, and Billy’s father got on the phone. He told me that Billy had seen a neighbor’s puppy in the street, and when he ran out to carry it to where it would be safe, he’d been hit by a car. It wasn’t the driver’s fault, Billy’s dad said. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. It just happened. I asked Dad if he could give me a blessing of comfort. I guess I’m having a hard time dealing with it.
July 12. I didn’t go to Billy’s funeral today. I just couldn’t. His parents said that they understood. I know that after we die, we will see our loved ones again, and, I believe, our close friends, too. But right now I miss him so bad! We were like brothers. I guess we are brothers. Spirit brothers. And blood brothers. I know we’re spirit brothers because we are all Heavenly Father’s children. And I know we’re blood brothers because we sat under the old fig tree in the field one day and made a pact.
Maybe we can play together in the next life. There might be creeks with tadpoles, but in heaven I’m sure there will always be enough water. Maybe a fence to sit on. And clouds to watch go by.
I know Billy’s happy where he is because he was always more of heaven than of earth. But right now I miss him so much! I will never forget him. Not ever. My mom says I will always have the memories, and so, in a sense, he will always be with me. Memories are eternal, she says, like our spirits. I guess I will always hear his laughter, then. I like that.
July 14. Billy’s parents came over today. They told me how much they appreciated what I did for him. They said that I had made the last part of his life happy and meaningful. “You were a gift from God to him,” they said. I couldn’t say anything back because it’s hard to cry and talk at the same time.
After a while, I told them that Billy was a gift from God to me. That he taught me by the way he lived the things Jesus teaches us. About loving. And caring. And showing kindness to all living things.
July 25. I checked on the tadpoles in the creek today. That’s what Billy would have done. They are doing fine. And so am I.

In the years we lived as a single-parent family, my mom and we children developed a unique bond. We established a Friday night tradition of watching movies and playing games while “waiting up on Mom” to come home from her dates. We also had memorable family home evenings, singing favorite Primary songs around the piano.
When the announcement came that Mom was getting remarried, we were happy and excited for the change. A light in her eyes radiated hope for the future and relief to bear a lighter load. Our warm excitement, sadly, cooled off as we confronted some of the problems many stepfamilies face.
My personality, in particular, clashed with our new father’s in every way. He communicated differently than I, showed emotions differently, and even joked differently. When we gathered for family night, I could not understand why he didn’t sing with us. My mom explained that he simply did not like singing. It seemed he didn’t like to do anything I liked to do, and I most certainly was not interested in any of his hobbies. These dissimilarities built a wall between us.
As time went on, we tolerated more than loved each other. The tension between us hurt my mother. I stubbornly questioned almost every authoritative decision my stepdad made. On several occasions I vented my feelings to my mom. Each time, she pleaded with me to try to understand my dad and see the best in him. I tried, but it was just too hard.
While I was in high school, the animosity between us grew. I even considered not calling him Dad anymore. After all, I thought, he wasn’t really my father. Should I have been calling him Dad all these years? My negative thoughts escalated until my emotions could be bottled up no longer. One night, I yelled words to my mother that pricked her heart like needles. I stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind me.
Alone in my car, I felt an uncomfortable void of the Holy Ghost. The ugliness of the scene I had caused played over again in my head. In my fury I had suggested that my mom should leave my stepdad. Now, filled with sorrow, I realized that breaking sacred promises she had made with my stepdad, and with God, wouldn’t bring her or us any happiness. Why did I ever say such terrible things? That lonely night I decided to change. Skeptical that a relationship of love could be built after years of struggles, I determined to at least accept my stepdad’s role as my mom’s eternal companion. I did not want to damage their marriage.
Before, in prayer, my pleas were that the Lord would somehow change my stepdad. Now I prayed that the Lord would help me change. I asked for a softer heart. I asked to better understand someone so different from me. Love still did not come immediately. Yet it surprised me how fast the Spirit melted away the thick, icy layers of disrespect and gave me a fresh attitude. I stopped finding fault and started seeing the good.
Later that year, my stake organized an Aaronic Priesthood mission preparation camp. The week was rich in uplifting experiences. We were all soaring on a spiritual high the last night of the camp, when our parents were invited for a final testimony meeting. The spirit throughout the meeting was sweet and encompassing. My turn to stand came. I thanked Heavenly Father for a mom who had worked to keep the light of the gospel in our home. I looked into her eyes to communicate my sincere appreciation.
Just then another set of eyes caught my attention. My stepdad’s eyes looked tired after what must have been a long week. “He sure has come a long way to be here,” I thought. My mind raced through the many other times he had supported me. I thought of the early morning hour he left for work each day and of the many late nights he spent finishing projects from our home computer. I continued with my testimony, thanking God for my dad’s example. His diligence as our provider gave me a model to follow for my own family one day. When I sat back down beside him I realized the Lord had answered my prayer: I really did love this guy sitting next to me.
Our relationship has since blossomed into a friendship built on mutual respect. My stepdad helped pay for my mission. He further contributed by sending frequent letters of love and encouragement. He became one of my best pen pals and, more importantly, one of my best friends. Over time I came to recognize the love my stepdad had always had for me. Today, I feel blessed to call him Dad.

Sunday, July 2, 1972, at the close of testimony meeting, he stood with the congregation of his home ward. Tears filled his eyes as he sang, with them “The Star Spangled Banner.”
In the afternoon there was a visit to family members.
And in the evening, as he sat in the home of a beloved daughter, his head bowed quietly forward, and he died.
There was no suffering. “He was here one minute, and gone the next. It was very peaceful,” the family reported.
So ended the mortal life of a prophet of God.
For President Joseph Fielding Smith it was an appropriate last day on earth: joyful worship with his brothers and sisters in the gospel; nourishing and enjoying the family circle; a quiet, happy acceptance of the Lord’s call to further service.
It had been that way all his life.
That quiet end seems, in fact, like a personal benediction, a final earthly blessing from his Maker in appreciation for a life lived, in every respect, as life should be lived.
Joseph Fielding Smith carried an unmatched heritage, and the responsibility that goes with it, when he entered this life on July 19, 1876. He was of the lineage of prophets. His great-great grandfather had the inspiration to record, “It has been borne in upon my soul that one of my descendants will promulgate a work to revolutionize the world of religious faith.” His great-grandfather, Joseph Smith, Sr., was the first to receive, and accept, the Prophet Joseph’s testimony, was one of the eight witnesses to the Book of Mormon, was ordained first patriarch to the Church, died a martyr’s death from exposure in the expulsion from Missouri. Joseph Fielding Smith’s grandfather, Hyrum, stood constantly beside his brother Joseph; was a counselor in the First Presidency; was second patriarch to the Church; and died at Joseph’s side as together they sealed their testimony. His father, son not only of Hyrum but also of one of history’s most remarkable pioneer women, became sixth president of the Church, the first president to be born in the Church and spend his entire life under its influence. For eighteen years as president he led and built and loved the Church and its people.
This kind of blood flowed in the veins of President Joseph Fielding Smith. But others have had noble blood and have failed to honor it. As he so often said, each man must earn his own testimony; each man at the judgment will stand responsible for his own work.
It was Joseph Fielding Smith’s own testimony, his own devotion, that led to his call to the apostleship at age thirty-three and that sustained him through sixty years as an apostle and two and one-half as president and prophet of the Church.
It was his own gentle kindness and human warmth as well as firmness in the gospel that made him so loved in Europe during the first dark days of World War II and later in the Far East, South Pacific, South America, and wherever else he traveled, blessing the Saints, opening missions, and building the Church.
It was his own scholarship and hard work that produced twenty-four books of gospel interpretation and teaching and that brought him recognition as perhaps the leading gospel scholar of this dispensation.
It was his own profound commitment to genealogy and temple work that led, during his long service as president of the Genealogical Society, to the Church’s accumulation of the world’s greatest collection of genealogical records.
And it was his own receptiveness to the inspiration of the spirit that led him, as newly ordained president and prophet, to choose two great men as counselors through whom and with whom he led the Church in its most astonishing period of profound change and growth. Here was a ninety-three-year-old man ordained president of the Church, the oldest man ever so chosen. The outlook was for a short, quiet ministry without innovation or progress. Instead, the Church literally spurted ahead. Eighty-one stakes were organized during the two and one-half years of his ministry—compared to the ninety-eight years it took to organize the first hundred stakes. Even more impressive during those two and one-half years is the long list of far-reaching organizational and program changes that prepare the Church for more rapid growth in the future.
So Joseph Fielding Smith was his own man—and the Lord’s. But what sort of man was he, really?
The president of the United States, Richard Nixon, found his friendship a “profound experience” and called him a “devoted and inspirational leader.” So did countless others. And so he was. But what else was he, away from the pressure of his high office?
He was a man who loved his family with a depth only possible to one who fully understands the eternal nature of family ties. Because he loved them, he taught them, and because they loved him, they responded. All five of his sons served missions for the Church; all eleven of his children married in the temple.
He was a man who found joy in the company of children. On the last day of his life, a mother asked him to touch her infant; she remembers his happy, loving smile as he caressed the child. Last year as he left general conference, a little girl ducked under the ropes and ran to President Smith. He picked her up and held her close. Reproved later by her parents who feared she might have become lost in the crowd, the child replied, “I wasn’t lost; I was in the arms of the Prophet.”
He was a man of quick, gentle humor, much of it directed at himself; he never took himself too seriously. He referred to his typing as the “biblical system—seek and ye shall find.” He described the duets he so often sang with his late wife, the great contralto Jessie Evans Smith, as “do-its; I have to do it whether I want to or not.” His personal secretary and longtime associate, Brother D. Arthur Haycock, recalls how the students at BYU had seemed to enjoy a recent talk and duet so greatly some had tears in their eyes. To this President Smith quickly responded, “I can understand that. My singing is enough to make anybody cry.”
He was a man who respected—and cared for—the physical body as a tabernacle of the spirit. Because of that care, he spent not a single day in the hospital in all his ninety-six years.
He loved athletics, both as participant and spectator. He still played a respectable game of handball in his seventies and credited regular exercise for his excellent health and longevity. One of the warmest, most human memories of him goes back to a Saturday session of general conference when he slipped away during the closing song to watch his son play football at the University of Utah.
With all the tradition and continuity his longevity brought to the presiding councils of the Church, he was a modern man, attuned to the times. His personal zest for living never let him become old-fashioned—unless strict personal morality and steadfast devotion are old-fashioned. His life spanned the period from the ox cart to the jet plane and lunar landings—and, indeed, in his eighties, he took delight in an occasional ride in a National Guard jet fighter.
More than all else, he was a man of God—not only at the pulpit, but in the circle of his family or the privacy of his room. As President Harold B. Lee said of him, “He sought no honors of men. His purpose in life could well be penned in one sentence—his was an ‘eye single to the glory of God in bringing to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.’”
He was his father’s tenth child; a “tithing child.” He gave his life, as all honest tithes are given, joyfully, without reservation, fully, to the Lord.

When I switched to a new school in sixth grade, a girl named Hannah ate lunch with me and introduced me to new friends. But I never realized that, at the same time, I was helping introduce her to principles of the gospel.
One day Hannah and I were at a carnival together. Out of the blue, she told me she wanted to join the Church. To say I was surprised is an understatement. My first thought was, “I’m not sure if she knows how big of a commitment it is.”
I wasn’t sure what to do, but my parents said, “She’s interested in the gospel. You should invite her to ward camp.” I thought it might be overwhelming for Hannah to spend the entire week with us and meet so many new people. But I took their advice and invited her to camp and to youth conference.
During a testimony meeting at youth conference, I felt like Hannah needed to hear my testimony, even though public speaking is one of my biggest fears. Hannah knew I was afraid, and she admired the fact that I was willing to share because I believed in the gospel.
I’m an overthinker, so whenever I considered inviting Hannah to things, I thought, “She’s going to think I’m pressuring her into joining the Church.” But I knew this was an irrational fear. People like to be invited to things. As time went on, I was more comfortable with sharing how I felt. I learned that sharing the gospel is about love.
“Hannah’s journey hasn’t just changed her life; it’s also changed my life and strengthened my testimony.”
There’s so much joy in sharing the things you love and cherish the most. Hannah’s journey hasn’t just changed her life; it’s also changed my life and strengthened my testimony. I saw the difference that the Savior made for Hannah, and it helped me recognize the difference He makes for me.

Marin Watt was a direct descendant of George D. Watt, the first member of the British Isles to be baptized. He visited from his home in the USA and met the cast member playing his ancestor in the show. He commented, “It truly was an experience of a lifetime for me personally. Having been told of the event of George D. Watt and the race to the River Ribble and his being the first person baptized has always had a special place in my heart. But, now I have been there. I have walked the footsteps of my Great Great Grandfather. I have been at the Temple which is there because of baptisms over 186 years ago involving my ancestors. I heard and witnessed how the people of the British Isles know of that baptism and what it still means to them today. I was able to watch the pageant, in England, of those events surrounding the introduction of The Gospel of Jesus Christ in my ancestral land and so much more.”

Congratulations to the Figueroa sisters of Puerto Rico, 16-year-old identical triplets who were baptized not long ago. The missionaries had visited their home more than seven years ago but hadn’t returned. One day last year, Belen felt inspired to take a different route home from school, where she found other elders. She approached them and asked them to come teach her family.
They did, and soon Awilda, Belen, Cecilia, and Carmen (an older sister) were baptized.
They’re all active in the Trujillo Alto Ward and love seminary and Young Women.

It’s a little different growing up in the Middle East. In Saudi Arabia there’s not a big Young Women program, because the foreign families who make up the branch often send their high-school-age girls off to boarding schools in Europe or the U.S.
But thanks to a special project, the girls will never forget that they are to “stand for truth and righteousness.” Before each girl leaves, she receives a quilt. Each square has been made by one of her classmates and has something to do with the Young Women values. Mothers and daughters worked together for hours to piece and sew the quilts together.
“Our prayers and encouragement have gone off with these quilts and girls,” says Debby Gibson, a YW adviser. They’ve got the girls covered.

When I was a teenager, I set the goal of getting a degree in sports. I prayed a lot, asking the Lord to make it so practices would be on Saturdays. However, my team’s practices were scheduled on Sundays. I had to make a choice: give up on my goal or skip church. Since both were important to me, I compromised. I would go to practices for two Sundays and then go to church on the third Sunday. Unfortunately, this little deviation from my faith led to sin, causing much suffering.
It did not take me long to realize my mistake. I asked to be on a different team. However, it was too late; the wrong had been done. I had half opened the door, and Satan had pushed it wide open. Eventually I gave up competitive sports.
I learned two valuable things. The first is that when we seek to compromise with the Lord, we are in great danger. The second is that I had made the mistake of believing my faith was strong enough that I could do without Sunday meetings. Our spirits need nourishment just as our body does. If we were to eat only one meal and then skip the next two meals, we could not remain in good health.
I love Sundays now. The Lord has blessed me in my studies and my health above measure.

A couple weeks after I started going to seminary, Heather asked me if I was interested in having the missionaries teach me the discussions. What are missionaries, I thought? I imagined two old bald men who carried briefcases everywhere they went and had no personality. But when I met the Elders, I knew I was wrong. They made learning fun. Not only did I grow to love them and the family that invited me into their home every Sunday night, I also grew to love the Lord and his church.

By December 1993, having a joint institute class for young single adults, single adults and married couples was very common in the early days of establishing the Church in Lagos. These classes were hosted by the Ikeja and Oshodi branches in the Lagos District and were held in our rented building.
We were about to close a class one evening when we received information that a visiting sister needed to address the class. The visitor was Patience Ojukwu. She told the class about her poultry farm at Idimu Egbeda and many opportunities for members. She was a recent convert who joined the Church in March 1993 and immediately started assisting the full-time missionaries in our branches and district, some of whom I worked with were Elders Idiong, Akpan, Arungwa, and Ikpegbu Christopher. Brother Cletus Ashidike, who served as the Oshodi branch president, was very supportive to the cause of Zion with his personal resources and time.
We always sought for opportunitis to serve, and I never waited to be commanded. Some of our early converts and those whom I taught as a youth Sunday School teacher are now serving as bishops, stake presidents, and some of those whom we interviewed for such leadership roles are now Area Seventies, mission presidents, or temple ordinance workers. Some missionaries whom we worked with over the years are scattered all over Africa, the Middle East and the Pacific.
Between December 23 and 24 1993, our Oshodi Branch missionaries asked me to go to Sister Patience Ojukwu’s farm to buy old layer chickens for Christmas dinner. When I returned with one, the other companion asked me to get another for them. Arriving at the farm on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Sister Ojukwu informed me that she had lost more than two hundred old layer chicken which had been stolen the previous night. I was only a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, but I was the only priesthood holder on the farm that very day. I asked that we all join hands together and pray to God to reveal to us what action to take. I got the answers immediately and asked Sister Ojukwu to inform the police. When the detectives arrived, the farm security guard was arrested and confessed that the farm supervisor transferred and sold the birds to a small neighboring farmer.
Over 90 percent of the birds were recovered. The activities at the farm that day lasted until nightfall. Sister Ojukwu pleaded that I spend the night with her family. Very early on Christmas morning, I returned to the missionary apartment at Oshodi with crates of eggs as a gift from Sister Ojukwu.
The Ojukwu family was very excited for this huge recovery. They invited me to live with them and to be their farm manager. I accepted this as a volunteer position. This decision was very important to me as I was desirous to refer contacts and visitors to the missionaries to be taught.
Sister Ojukwu served as the Lagos District Relief Society president. While living with them and managing the farm, in 1994 I was ordained to the office of an elder. The farm became a point of contact for missionaries and Church youth community projects, and this led to many baptisms and later the creation of the Egbeda Branch. A major achievement was the baptism of Sister Ojukwu’s husband, Augustine Ojukwu. The Ojukwu family relocated to England and have remained active in the Church. It was a wonderful reunion for me to meet Sister Ojukwu at the Aba Nigeria Temple during its dedication and my sealing in August 2005.
Egbeda Branch has grown into a stake of Zion and is ready for another split as a result of massive growth. One of our early converts in that area, Brother Sunday Adejuwon, later served a full-time mission, was called as bishop, and currently serves as the stake president of the Lagos Nigeria Egbeda Stake. The turning point in my life was when I discovered for myself that heaven is never closed, God hears and answers prayers, directs our footsteps and the building of Zion is our collective responsibility for those who have taken His name upon themselves.
The rapid growth of the Church in Egbeda area was a monumental milestone as it was hitherto an obscure area largely away from the center of strength, it is indeed a mark of one of the miracles of Church growth in Africa and the gathering of Israel becomes a reality when those who are strong take the weak. I envisage a very bright future as many stakes of Zion grow here.
This area of Lagos was and will always be very dear to my heart, for it was here that I laid the foundation of my spiritual growth, of receiving personal revelations, recording in my journal and keeping accurate record of the unfolding history of the church in this part of the Lord’s kingdom.

“How can it be six o’clock?” I thought my head had just hit the pillow, but my alarm clock was already screaming at me to get out of bed. The darkness and cold air made it even harder to peel back the blankets. After a few more seconds of enduring the screeching of my alarm clock, I finally got up.
My goal was to wake up at six a.m. and read my scriptures before I started a busy day. I flipped on my lamp and opened my scriptures.
After a good half hour of scripture study and a prayer, I showered and dressed for my eight o’clock class. I couldn’t be late. My first big humanities paper was due at eight. One second late and the paper wouldn’t be accepted. A zero on this assignment would ruin any chance of earning an A in the class. I had put a lot of effort into writing this paper, and I finished a couple of days before it was due. I left myself plenty of time to walk to campus to turn in my polished paper.
As I walked down the dorm hall stairwell, I heard a voice say, “Check to make sure you have your paper.” Surprised, I immediately opened my backpack and discovered that I had grabbed the wrong folder. I didn’t have my paper with me!
As I rushed back to my room, I knew it had been the influence of the Spirit that told me I didn’t have my paper. A sense of relief washed over me when I put the paper in my backpack and started off to class again.
On my walk to campus I reflected on what had happened. The impression I had received was intense. I did not doubt the voice, and I immediately acted upon the prompting. As a result I was blessed with the chance to fix the situation quickly.
This experience left me asking some questions. Why was the feeling so intense? Why did I not doubt it? Why was I given the opportunity to go back and get my paper? Why did I have the prompting at all? In the great scheme of things, did it really matter if I got an A in this class?
When I stepped into the classroom, the answer became clear. Yes, it mattered; it mattered to me. As I put my paper on the teacher’s desk, I realized Heavenly Father knew the desires of my heart. Through my early-morning scripture study and prayer, I had invited the Spirit to be with me. Even though my situation wasn’t a matter of life or death, I was receptive to the influence of the Spirit and was given the desire of my heart.

A true story from the Philippines.
Lhensay bounced in her seat next to her mom as their jeepney drove through town. Sunday was Lhensay’s favorite day of the week! She loved going to Primary and learning about Jesus Christ.
The jeepney pulled up to their stop. Mom held Lhensay’s hand as they walked to the church.
After sacrament meeting, Lhensay walked to Primary with her friend Maria. On the board there was a picture of a young man praying in the woods.
“Good morning!” Their teacher, Sister Cruz, pointed to the picture. “Does anyone know who this is?”
“That’s Joseph Smith!” Lhensay said.
Sister Cruz smiled. “Yes, that’s right. And what did Joseph Smith do?”
Lhensay looked back at the picture. She knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet, but she didn’t know much else.
“He was the first prophet of our church,” Maria said.
“Right again!” said Sister Cruz. “When Joseph was young, he didn’t know which church to join. He went into the woods and prayed to God to find out which one was true. He also asked for forgiveness of his sins. As he prayed, a very bright light appeared. Do you know who was in that light?”
Lhensay and the rest of her class waited.
Sister Cruz put another picture on the board. This one showed two men standing above Joseph Smith in the air. They wore white robes and shone brightly.
“Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ showed themselves to Joseph,” Sister Cruz said. “They told him that he would restore Jesus’s Church. We call it the First Vision.”
Lhensay raised her hand, eyes wide. “Was it for real?” she asked.
Sister Cruz nodded. “Yes, it was!”
Lhensay’s heart felt warm. She knew that what Sister Cruz had said was true.
That night, Lhensay kept thinking about Joseph Smith. “Mom, how can I see Heavenly Father and Jesus, like Joseph Smith did?” she asked.
Mom gave Lhensay a hug. “Most of us won’t see Heavenly Father and Jesus like Joseph Smith did. But They can still speak to us through thoughts and feelings from the Holy Ghost. Then you can know They are always with you.”
Lhensay thought about the way her heart felt warm when Sister Cruz told them about the First Vision. That was the Holy Ghost, sending her a message from Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ! She smiled and hugged Mom back. They had spoken to her, just like they had to Joseph Smith!

The air was charged with excitement as the families with their wagons, oxen, sheep, and other livestock gathered at the Missouri River to start the long trek westward early in the spring of 1852.
As twelve-year-old Albert Dickson wandered among the wagons, he saw many children. He even discovered several boys his own age. It was good to know that he would have friends on the long trip ahead.
Albert was just one of thousands of children pioneers who crossed the continent in the migration to the western states in the late 1840s and early 1850s. There were four other children in the Dickson family at that time, including his fourteen-year-old sister, Samantha; his nine-year-old brother, Judson; Alvina, who was six; and two-year-old William.
In Albert’s journal he wrote, “We crossed the Missouri on a large flatboat. Two wagons went on each trip, with three men to the oar and one at the rear to steer. They would land down the river about one mile from the starting point, then pull the boat back with oxen.” Like any twelve year old, he found adventure in each new phase of the trip.
When the entire party had gathered on the other side of the river, there were sixty wagons, which were divided into groups of ten, and each group had a captain. At least half the company were children. The older ones usually walked beside the wagons; some herded the sheep. Even the small children walked part of the day but were allowed to ride as they tired.
Usually from ten to fifteen miles were covered each day while crossing the prairies, and about half as many when the Rocky Mountains were reached. A lot depended on the weather and the terrain being traveled.
The group followed the Mormon Trail, which had been cleared in 1847 as a route for the migration of Church members to the Salt Lake Valley. It followed the north side of the Platte River to the fork of the North Platte and South Platte, then ran along the North Platte to Fort Laramie, where the pioneers crossed the river and followed the Oregon Trail to Fort Bridger. From there they traveled down Weber Canyon and Emigration Canyon into the Salt Lake Valley. The entire trip was about 1100 miles.
Disease was one of the first challenges faced by both children and adults. Albert wrote: “At the first camp on the Platte River, cholera broke out and two of our number succumbed to the dread disease, which did not leave our company until we reached Loup Fork.” By then ten more had died.
As the company moved forward a few miles each day, the monotony was broken by unusual events. The first herds of buffalo (bison) seen, for instance, created considerable interest. Some men in the company wounded one, and the Dickson family dog took up the chase. As a result of the chase, the old dog died, leaving a family of children to mourn his loss.
A couple of days later, the first buffalo was killed and the fresh meat was distributed among the people. After that, there were thousands of the animals; the travelers would stop the wagon train and watch the vast herds pass.
Then, of course, there were lots of buffalo bones, and the travelers began to learn about the advance companies from messages written on buffalo skulls and left by the trail. Albert’s company would sometimes leave their own messages on buffalo skulls for those yet to come.
The trail was well marked and well traveled. Albert’s company was the fourteenth to leave for the west that spring.
Contrary to many stories, Indians did not present much of a problem on the journey. They often visited the camps and were generally given gifts such as beads and fishhooks. Because of the friendly attitude of the Mormon pioneers toward them, the Indians did not attack the wagon trains.
Each day started early. At five in the morning the camp was awakened. Families held morning prayer, cooked breakfast, fed and harnessed the horses and oxen, and were ready to move by seven o’clock. At night, the wagons were drawn into a circle and the horses and cattle were tethered inside it. After supper, evening prayers were held in each wagon at eight thirty; everyone was expected to be in bed by nine o’clock. The children didn’t need much coaxing—everyone was tired from the long day and ready for a good night’s rest.
The pioneers usually traveled six days but always camped and observed the Sabbath. It was a welcome treat for everyone, but especially for the children. There was time to attend Sunday School with their friends, sing, listen to stories, visit with the other children, and explore the nearby countryside.
Sometimes the wagon train camped for a day or two to rest the animals, repair wagons, and do laundry.
Billa Dickson, Albert’s father, was a blacksmith, and his services were often needed to repair wagon wheels and axles. Albert worked with his father, learning the trade. They also hunted together to help secure fresh meat for the company. All the older boys were expected to work with the men and to help do the camp chores.
By midsummer the company had reached the halfway point, Fort Laramie. They wouldn’t reach the Salt Lake Valley until the first of October.
Pioneers are generally thought of as adults, but the majority of the western pioneers were actually children like young Albert Dickson, who trekked the westward trails and settled in the valleys of the mountain west. As they grew older, they became the leaders of many thriving communities that were literally carved out of a barren and hostile land.
Albert Dickson eventually moved to Morgan county and became the first bishop of the Richville Ward. He served in that position for thirty-seven years. His strength and leadership qualities, along with those of other early Church leaders, were undoubtedly developed by his experiences on the journey west.

In Primary we learned about giving “warm fuzzies.” We were given three fuzzy balls to cheer up someone who was sick or sad. The next Sunday I was sitting in my grandma’s sacrament meeting, and the man next to me was crying. I gave him a warm fuzzy. It made me feel good inside. A few weeks later, we went to my grandma’s ward New Year’s celebration. The man’s wife told my mom that I had made him feel good when I gave him the warm fuzzy. He thanked me for brightening his day.