Gospel Story Finder

Timmy was so excited! Today was his first day in school. His teacher, Mr. Griffin, showed everyone the classroom and then they went outside. Mr. Griffin told the children that the small playground outside their classroom was just for them. The bigger playground on the other side of the school yard was for the older children.
Mr. Griffin asked Timmy’s class to stay on the small playground. If they didn’t, they might not hear or see Mr. Griffin calling them to return to class. After everyone promised to stay in the small playground, they went to play.
Timmy met lots of children in his class. He played on the slides and swings and then found a ball to play with. He kicked the ball as far as he could. He laughed and chased it. He didn’t notice that each time he kicked the ball, he got closer to the older children’s playground.
After a while, Timmy wanted to ask his new friends to kick the ball with him. But when he looked up, all the children around him were bigger than he was! Timmy looked back and saw that the small playground on the other side of the school yard was empty. His class must have gone back inside already! He ran back as fast as he could.
He went to the door and tried to open it. It was locked. Timmy was scared. He decided to pray. He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and said, “Heavenly Father, I’m scared out here all by myself. Please help me find a way back to my classroom. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
After his prayer, Timmy’s fear was gone. He felt calm. He tried the door again, and the handle turned. The door opened, and there was Mr. Griffin, looking for him.
Timmy was very happy to get back to his classroom. He was even happier to know that Heavenly Father loved him enough to calm his fears and answer his prayer. Timmy knew the peace that filled his heart while he was alone on the playground was Heavenly Father’s love. He said a silent prayer, thanking Heavenly Father for helping him. After that day, Timmy stayed on his playground and remembered to pray when he needed help.

Here is an example. I know of a young man, a refugee here in Utah, who was teased for being different, including sometimes speaking his native language. He was persecuted by a gang of privileged youth until he retaliated in a way that caused him to be jailed for over 70 days while being considered for deportation. I don’t know what provoked this group of youth, many of them Latter-day Saints like you, but I can see the effect of their meanness, a tragic experience and expense to one of the children of God. Small actions of unkindness can have devastating consequences.

I was taking photos during a family vacation when a beautiful melody popped into my mind. I love music and composing, so I quickly hummed the song into my camera to remember and work on it later.
That afternoon, I was looking through the cool photos on my camera. I decided to check how much memory my camera had left. It was 67% full.
I clicked OK, not realizing I had just said OK to reformatting my memory card! In a matter of seconds, all my photos and my recording were erased. I was sad about losing the pictures, but I was especially sad about losing the melody.
I tried telling myself it would be okay, but I was devastated. That night, I prayed that the photos and melody could be retrieved.
After returning from the vacation, I kept tinkering with the camera and most of the pictures finally appeared. I was overjoyed! It felt like a direct answer to my prayers.
However, I was crushed when I couldn’t find the recording of the melody. I kept praying and hoping that the song would come back.
Many weeks later as I was doing chores, a strangely familiar melody came into my head. It was the song! I couldn’t believe it! I quickly recorded it on the piano.
I have no doubt Heavenly Father answered my prayer. It was something so small, but He answered. I know He can bring hope into our lives when all seems lost.
Benjamin G., Utah, USA

The fourteen-month-old son of a doctor became very ill. During the course of his treatment many consultants were brought in, but their contributions resulted only in a symptomatic approach to the disease. The result was that the child’s condition steadily worsened. His temperature was 104 degrees and the family had entirely given up hope for his recovery; his death was expected momentarily. At this point, a number of miraculous things happened. On their own and without a previous appointment, the bishop and his counselors came to visit the family. At the request of the family, they administered to the child. Almost immediately following the blessing, an intern, who was a friend of the family, stepped into the room and said, “Why not give him a transfusion?” The intern was a universal blood donor, and blood was taken from him immediately and given to the child. The child’s temperature dropped from 104 degrees to normal and remained at normal throughout his hospital stay. This is a case where medical aid had essentially failed; and on the basis of what medicine could offer, the child’s life had been despaired. The priesthood came into the picture, and the administration was followed by additional medical steps that previously had not been projected. The child’s life was saved. Today he has matured and has a lovely wife and family.

Sister Jill Berrett, a full-time missionary in the Vancouver mission, tells of an investigator who toured the meetinghouse at the invitation of her 18-year-old friend. “While she was on the tour she became so excited she wanted to take the lessons right away. Her friend gave her a Book of Mormon, and another friend invited her to Young Women camp. She felt so loved and so involved that she began referring to the ward as ‘her ward’ even before she was baptized.”

Subhash and Roselyn Dass and their sons, Amit and Anand, wanted to travel to the temple to be sealed, but they couldn’t seem to save enough money. When Brother Dass was called as a bishop, he felt strongly that he needed to receive the endowment. The family had enough money for one plane ticket to Tonga, so Sister Dass encouraged her husband to go alone. “No,” he said. “We must all go together. The Lord will provide a way.”
The family fasted for the next two Sundays. At the end of the second week, Bishop Dass’ employer offered to lend him the money for all four plane tickets. “Going to the temple was the most beautiful experience we’ve had,” says Bishop Dass. “We know now that if we seek the kingdom of God first, the Lord will do the rest.”

Illustration by Stephen Sitton
Touchdown! The phrase seemed so familiar to me. I would hear it in my thoughts, dreams, and, most important, on the football field. I was what you would call a football fanatic. Nearly every inch of my wall donned a poster of something football-related. If you saw me at the park with my friends, I would be playing football. As I got bigger and stronger, so did my love for the game.
When I entered high school, my football career started to consume me. Mutual? Nah. I was lifting weights with my football buddies. Youth conference? A little bit. But I missed half of what many called a life-changing experience because I was set on training with the team. Family? We lived in the same house, but I felt that my team was my family.
Because of these choices, I started to stray. I would go through the motions to make my mom happy, but when I sat in sacrament meeting taking the holy emblems of our Savior’s atoning sacrifice, my mind just wasn’t in the right place. I had become a glory-obsessed athlete. My dream was to play in the big game under the Friday night lights.
During the summer, we had rigorous workouts—running in the 110-degree heat (43º C), lifting weights for hours, running up and down the bleachers, and overall just exhausting ourselves. Then my back began to hurt. Eventually the pain I brushed aside became something that required medical attention. I took medications, but they didn’t help, so it was suggested that I get an MRI scan. One week later I received a call from my doctor. I was hurt worse than I had thought. It was apparent that my football career was over, and I did nothing but mourn my loss.
I joined the swim team to stay in shape. I was the biggest person out there, at 6?3? (191 cm) and 215 pounds (98 kg). I was also by far the slowest swimmer. It was a humbling experience. While on the team, I had fun and met new people, but I still felt empty. I felt as if there were a part of my heart that would never be filled again. I talked with many people and heard their experiences, but they were all just stories to me. I was lost in the thoughts of my broken heart.
I attended seminary, but I would end up just going and sitting in class, sending text messages to my friends, complaining about everything from not playing football to being hungry. Then one day the seminary teacher told us to take out our hymnbooks for an activity. I flipped through the pages and came across “How Firm a Foundation” (Hymns, no. 85). I read through the fifth verse, which says:
When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply.
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design …
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.
As I read this, I realized that God had allowed these trials to come in order to strengthen me. I went home and prayed and realized that I had been so foolish to forget God and forget how blessed I am, even without football. I had wonderful friends, a wonderful family, and, most important, faith in my Heavenly Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
It took me a long time to realize that with my faith fully set on God, putting Him before everything, I can never lose. After these experiences, I could walk out of sacrament meeting, cleansed through the sacrament and with my sights set on a mission, and look back at the end of my football career and ask myself, “Is this a loss or a win?” Sounds like an eternal victory to me.

Ryan started learning about music when he was two years old. His parents put a set of stereo headphones on him and, instead of pulling them off, he was fascinated. He started piano lessons at seven years old, but like most people, he didn’t like to practice. As he learned to play, he and his mother discovered his talent. “I never did like the endings of pieces of music in books. I would just start making up new endings.” Several years later they discovered that Ryan had perfect pitch. Then he started writing music and performing on a variety of keyboard instruments. He has won numerous awards for his musical talent—composing, performing, and singing. He was voted the most talented student in his ninth-grade class.

After many promptings during his young adult years, Elder Larry S. Kacher began to recognize a greater power guiding him in his life. At age 19, sensitivity to the Spirit led him to the gospel of Jesus Christ—a change that has made all the difference.
After high school he went to Europe to ski, and after more than six months there he felt he needed to return home. Once home, he felt like he needed to go somewhere else but didn’t know where. A childhood friend planned to move to Utah, and Elder Kacher decided to move with him. While in Utah, Elder Kacher enrolled at Brigham Young University, learned about the Church, and was baptized.
“As the missionaries taught us, I felt it was true,” he says. “As I prayed, I felt that the Church was true.”

Our obedience and our faith in our leaders is put to the test through callings and releases. I recall an occasion when I was tempted to ask for a release from my calling as branch president. On my way to talk to the district president, I stopped at the post office to pick up my mail. Among the mail was the latest issue of the Liahona. As I looked over it, my eyes fell on a short message by President David O. McKay, in which he told how much the first leaders and missionaries of the Church had to suffer for the gospel. His words touched my heart, and I realized the foolishness of my decision. I kept my appointment with the district president, but never mentioned my original reason for coming. Instead, I took the opportunity to ask for additional counsel concerning my calling.
Years later the brother who had been district president asked me, “Brother Davila, what did you really want to talk to me about many years ago when you came to my house in Bogota?” I told him I had come to ask for a release. Then, with love and a smile, he said, “I knew what you were going to tell me. From the time you called me to make an appointment until you arrived at my house, I was praying that something might happen along the way that would change your mind.”
This experience has helped me to testify that our leaders are inspired, and that we should follow them humbly and willingly accept callings and releases that they extend to us.

“Because a temple is sacred, the Lord asks that it be protected from desecration. Anyone may enter who is willing to prepare well for that privilege. The concept of preparation prevails in other fields of endeavor. I remember when I was but a young boy, I told my parents I wanted to attend the university. They said I could, but only if I worked hard in preliminary schooling and met all the requirements for admission to the university. Similarly, we must qualify for admission to the temple. We prepare physically, intellectually, and spiritually.”—Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Prepare for Blessings of the Temple,” Ensign, Mar. 2002, 18–19.

I had always planned to be a missionary, but I’d figured on waiting till I was older so I could get sent to Mexico, Africa, Russia, or some other far-off place. Turning me into a nine-year-old missionary was Sister Munn’s fault. She started talking in Primary opening exercises about the sons of Mosiah, the Apostle Paul, and Heber C. Kimball. Then, after church, we bumped into each other in the hall and she said, “You look like you’re eager to be a missionary, Benjamin. Are you?”
Well, my oldest brother, Matt, was a missionary in Spain, and I planned to be like him, so I grinned and nodded. “I wouldn’t mind going to Spain in about ten years. Matt thinks it’s pretty nice there.”
Sister Munns smiled. “Benjamin,” she said, getting real serious, “you don’t have to wait ten years. You can be a missionary now. You have some new neighbors moving in next door, and I don’t believe they’re members of the Church. Would you be willing to share the gospel with your new neighbors, just as your brother is sharing it in Spain?”
“I’m a little young,” I mumbled. “I don’t know what to say or how to say it.”
“The Lord says we’re a peculiar people,” Sister Munns explained. “That means that we’re different. People want to know why we’re different. Part of being a missionary is telling people why we’re different. Will you do that, Benjamin?”
“Sure,” I said. “I can do that.”
“Who are our new neighbors, and when do they move in?” I asked Mom as I ate Sunday dinner.
“They’re a young couple,” Mom answered. “His name is Conrad, and his wife’s name is Tricia. He just finished law school.”
“I told Sister Munns that I’d be a missionary and share the gospel with them,” I said. My whole family stopped eating. “How can I do it?” I asked.
My big brother James smiled. “Well, if you were like Ammon in the Book of Mormon, you could be their servant.”
“Huh?” I grunted. “Sister Munns didn’t say anything about being a servant. Isn’t that kind of like being a slave?”
Mom laughed. “James means that you can make friends with them by helping them. After they know that you care about them, you’ll be able to share the gospel with them.”
When the moving van showed up, I was a little afraid to make my first move as a missionary, but since I’d promised Sister Munns, I had to try. “Hello,” I said a little shakily, holding out my hand to Tricia, who was trying to decide which box to haul into the house next. “My name is Benjamin Tripp. I live next door.”
Tricia smiled and shook my hand. “Conrad,” she called, “come meet our next-door neighbor, Benjamin Tripp.”
“Well, Benjamin Tripp, it’s great to know you,” Conrad said, shaking my hand. He was a big, tall man with lots of thick brown hair and a huge, friendly smile. I liked him right away.
“Most people just call me Ben,” I mumbled. “I came over to … well, you know, to be your … servant.”
Conrad and Tricia grinned. “That sounds great,” Conrad said. “I could use a good servant right about now. Why don’t you start hauling some of these boxes into the house?”
I grabbed a big box off the lawn and started for the house. The box was heavy, and I couldn’t exactly see where I was going. I was thinking that there were four steps up to the front door, but there were five. I hit that fifth step and fell flat on my face, dropping the box and hearing a crash.
“We won’t worry about a few dishes,” Tricia said, smiling and patting me on the back. “Conrad breaks them all the time.”
“I do?” Conrad asked, giving her a funny look.
I tried to be more careful after that, and I did pretty well until I carried a chair to the dining room. I had to squeeze between stacks of boxes. One of the chair legs bumped a box, and it fell with a thud and a bunch of books fell out of it. I had them all put back by the time Conrad and Tricia came charging into the dining room.
Conrad took a deep breath. “I tell you what, Ben,” he said slowly, putting his hand on my shoulder. “I appreciate your being our servant and all, but maybe you could serve someplace else this afternoon.” He smiled. “Like over at your house.”
I thought a minute and then asked, “Are you hungry? If you’re hungry, I can bake some really good chocolate chip oatmeal cookies.”
“Have you ever made cookies?” Conrad asked suspiciously.
“I don’t have to make them. Mom already made the dough. All I have to do is put the blobs of dough on the pan and bake them.”
“I could use a cookie,” Conrad said. “You will bake them at your house, won’t you?”
It didn’t take me long to plop gobs of dough onto a cookie sheet and put them into the oven. They were supposed to bake twelve minutes, so I went into the family room and played on the computer.
“What’s burning?” I heard Mom exclaim.
I charged into the kitchen. The tops of the cookies were fine. I discovered that if I put the cookies on a plate just right, you hardly noticed that they were black on the bottom.
“Those are fine looking cookies,” Tricia said happily as I handed her the plate.
Conrad grabbed a cookie and bit down on it. Nothing happened. At least nothing happened to the cookie. It might have hurt Conrad’s teeth a little, though. He studied the cookie, turning it over.
“They got a little burnt,” I explained, fidgeting. “But if you just chew the tops off, they’re pretty good. Do you want me to make you a different batch? Mom has dough for sugar cookies.”
Conrad held up the cookie in his hand and pointed to the plate of cookies with the other hand. “No, Ben, I think this will keep us for a while. Thanks for thinking about us, though.”
I was about to leave when I spotted Conrad’s truck all covered with mud. “Your truck’s dirty.”
Conrad nodded, gnawing on the top of a cookie. “I’ll have to spray it off one of these days.”
Right then I got an idea. If I was going to be Conrad’s servant, I’d serve even when he didn’t ask.
Early the next morning I sprayed the mud and dirt off the truck. I was hiding in the bushes when Conrad hurried out the front door, dressed in his suit and carrying a briefcase. He stopped in front of the truck and smiled. “Well, I’ll bet Ben’s been here. It comes in right handy having a servant.”
Conrad opened the truck door, tossed his briefcase inside and sat down. Immediately he let out a yelp and shot out of the truck, banging his head on the door. “The seat’s soaked!”
I caught my breath. The windows had been rolled up last night … ! I hunkered down in the bushes. Tricia came out of the house with a towel and helped dry Conrad off. He was fuming and sputtering, but Tricia calmed him down. “Everything will dry out fine,” she assured him. “Ben was just trying to help.”
“Maybe he shouldn’t try so hard.”
It was late that evening before I dared go over to apologize. “I’m sorry about the truck seat,” I said when Conrad answered the door. “I was sure the windows were all up when I went home last night.”
“They were,” Conrad replied, smiling slightly. “I guess I left mine open after we went out for ice cream. It’s OK—I think everything dried out.”
For a little while I stayed and talked to him and Tricia. I decided to ask my first missionary question. “Do you know what makes me different?” I asked slowly.
Conrad and Tricia looked at each other and smiled. “I have some ideas,” Conrad answered.
“I’m a Latter-day Saint. Some people call us Mormons,” I said excitedly. “And Mormons are different. Do you know any Mormons?”
“I had a friend in college who was a Mormon.”
“Was he like me?”
“He didn’t go around knocking over boxes, burning cookies, and flooding my truck.” Conrad winked at me and grinned. “Maybe he just wasn’t a very good Mormon.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” I said, feeling my cheeks and neck burn with embarrassment. “That’s just me. Mom says I’m growing faster than my brain can operate.” I swallowed. “If you want to know more about Mormons, you just let me know.”
Tricia smiled and took Conrad’s hand. “We’ll do that, Ben.”
The rest of the week I was pretty careful about not being a disaster around Tricia and Conrad. I mainly just talked to them without touching anything. I talked about our family, about Matt serving his mission in Spain, about family home evening and reading the scriptures, and other things.
Saturday afternoon as Conrad was fixing his lawn mower, I asked, “Do you and Tricia go to church much?”
Conrad thought a moment, then shook his head. “I get pretty busy on Sunday.” He grinned. “That’s when the fish bite.”
“I like going to church,” I said. “We sing and tell stories.”
“I’m afraid the singing and storytelling would scare the fish away.” Conrad laughed, slapping me on the back. “Right now I need to get some big fat night crawlers so that I’ll be ready for tomorrow.”
I didn’t want Conrad going fishing on Sunday, but if he needed night crawlers, I knew where to get him some. I went out in our garden and pretty soon I had a dozen of the biggest, fattest worms a guy could find. “Here are your night crawlers,” I said as he put his lawn mower away. “Dad says our night crawlers are the best around.”
He took my tin can filled with dirt and worms. “Well, thanks, Ben. You’re a real pal.” He winked at me. “And you didn’t even burn them.”
I missed having Conrad and Tricia in church Sunday. I thought about him out on the lake, fishing with my worms. We got home from church just as he pulled up in his truck.
“You were right, Ben. Those were great night crawlers. I pulled in half a dozen of the best fish I’ve seen in a long time.”
I kept visiting Conrad and Tricia, but not because I was a missionary—Conrad finally had told me that he didn’t think he’d ever have time for church. I kept visiting them because I was their friend.
I helped them out when I could, and I was getting better about not being a disaster as soon as I walked through their door. I still had a few accidents—like the time I knocked Conrad’s grape juice all over his white shirt. There were good times, though, like when I helped Tricia plant her flowers, and when I helped Conrad dig postholes for a back fence.
The Saturday afternoon before our Primary put on the sacrament meeting presentation, I took Conrad his can of worms. He and Tricia were in the backyard, sipping lemonade. “I guess you’re going fishing tomorrow, aren’t you?” I asked as I set the can down.
Conrad peered into my can. “If you have some of your famous night crawlers, I should come home with a real trophy tomorrow. Do you want to come with me?” He grinned.
“We’re putting on a special presentation tomorrow in sacrament meeting,” I said softly, ducking my head. “I’m going to be Joseph Smith. That’s kind of like the main part. You could give the fish a rest,” I said hopefully. “They’d have a week to grow even bigger.” I looked up at him and then over at Tricia. She was looking at Conrad, too. “Then you could come to church with me.”
Conrad took my can of worms and turned it around in his hand, thinking but not saying anything for a while. “Ben, what difference does it make if I go to church with you?”
I thought about that. “You’re my friend,” I finally said. “I care about you. And going to church is better than going fishing on Sunday.”
“I’m not much of a church man, Ben. I’ve just never done it.”
“But you need it. Lots more than you need those fish. After a while, the fish will be gone. But if you have Jesus and His church, you’ll have them forever.”
“It means a lot to you, doesn’t it, Ben?”
I nodded and looked down at the ground. For a long time we were all really quiet. Then he handed me the can of worms. “Just one Sunday,” he said, trying to sound real stern. “And I’ll go just because you’re going to be Joseph Smith.” He smiled. “Now, if you put those back in your garden, do you think you can find them again for next Sunday?”
I hesitated and looked at Tricia. She winked at me and then said to Conrad, “Maybe after you go to church with Ben tomorrow, you won’t want those worms next Sunday.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” I said with a huge smile. “Who knows, maybe the fish bite even better on Saturday. That way I could go with you.”
Conrad laughed as Tricia reached over and took his hand. “I think everybody needs a servant like our Benjamin Tripp.”

I practice baseball almost every day. I’m getting a lot better. Dad practiced with me twice, but most of the time I practice with Sam.
I have a big problem, Reed. Coach said that we’ll have final tryouts for positions on Sunday. I want to be catcher. Sam wants to be catcher too. We’re both good catchers. I think that I could beat him, but I can’t because I don’t play baseball on Sunday. Did you ever play it on Sunday?
I’ve never played baseball on Sunday, and I’m proud of your decision to keep the Sabbath Day holy. But since you don’t play on Sunday, you’ll have to work harder to show the coach how important baseball really is to you. I know that you’ll be blessed for doing what you know is right.
I’m sad about me too. I won’t be the Indian catcher this year because I didn’t go to the final tryouts on Sunday. Sam will be the catcher, and I’ll just play in the outfield. I don’t want to be an outfielder. I want to be a catcher like you. Maybe we only get blessings some of the time when we do what’s right.
I’m proud of you for doing what you know is right and for working hard on your goals. You be the best outfielder that you can be, and you’ll enjoy it. You have many years ahead of you, and you can try again for catcher another time.
Guess what! Coach says that I can be backup catcher! Sam is happy to be the regular catcher, but he told me a secret. He said that I’m a better catcher than he is! He knows how much I love baseball, and he asked me why Primary is better than baseball. I told him to come with me and find out, and he said OK!
Mom says that I’m being a missionary by example. Am I, Reed? You were right about getting blessings when we do what’s right.
I know that I just wrote to you yesterday, but two exciting things happened at church today. One was that Sam went to Primary with me! He liked it. Sister Johnson taught a good lesson about how we got the Book of Mormon, but he liked Sharing Time best because we played chalkboard baseball. We got hits when we correctly answered questions about the prophets. We could help Sam because he was a visitor, and he got a grand-slam home run. He never did that in real baseball. He wants to come again.

Many of us are descendants of hardy pioneers, and we feel grateful and inspired by their faith-promoting examples of sacrifice. My great-grandmother Margaret McNeil Ballard recorded in her journal a pioneer experience of sacrifice that occurred when she was between nine and eleven years of age. She wrote:
“After landing we planned to go west to Utah with the Martin and Willey handcart companies; but Elder Franklin D. Richards counseled my father not to go with them. Afterwards, we were very thankful because of the great suffering, privation and cold weather to which these people were subjected. There were many of the company who were frozen that year on their journey. …
“The company we were assigned to had gone on ahead and as my mother was anxious for me to go with them she strapped my little brother James on my back with a shawl. He was only four years old and … quite sick with the measles; but I took him since my mother had all she could do to care for the other children. I hurried and caught up with the company, traveling with them all day. That night a kind lady helped me take my brother off my back. I sat up and held him on my lap with the shawl wrapped around him, alone, all night. He was a little better in the morning. The people in the camp were very good to us and gave us a little fried bacon and some bread for breakfast.
“We traveled this way for about a week, before my brother and I were united with our family again.”

Leslie Williams, Jr. of Tallahassee, Florida, received the Disabled Citizens’ Community Service Award and was honored at their annual banquet.
In completing his Eagle project, Leslie surveyed Tallahassee restaurants to determine how accessible they were to wheelchair patrons and nonsighted or partially sighted customers. Leslie wrote letters and sent questionnaires to the restaurant managers and organized teams to visit restaurants. The completed report of his survey is on file with several government agencies and has been printed and distributed in chart form to the city’s handicapped citizens.
As a result of his efforts, the local food editor now reports on restaurant accessibility in the newspaper’s weekly restaurant review.
Leslie is a member of the Tallahassee Second Ward.

In the fall of 1978, Jeff, as we’ll call him, was very discouraged with life. He was born in the Church but had been mostly inactive. He had married a member but after a few years became disenchanted, and because of marital difficulties they had separated. In addition to that challenge, Jeff was suffering from severe health problems. He had diabetes, which caused partial blindness.
He worked as a night watchman in a chemical plant. His work associates were not members of the Church. Over the months they chided him saying, “Come on, Jeff, let’s go have a beer,” “One cigarette won’t hurt,” or “I’ve got some pretty friends we could have some fun with tonight.” Opportunities to break the commandments were presented, but he did not partake of any of those things.
On a Friday evening, discouraged and lonely, Jeff was invited to meet a friend in Las Vegas to have a wild time. With a feeling of desperation he decided that he would go. He thought to himself, “What does it matter? No one cares about me anymore. I’m miserable. I’ll go.” Thus, he boarded a bus to Las Vegas. Sitting on the bus he conjured up evil thoughts of the things that he would do. He would show his ex-wife, the Church, and everybody else. As this evil spirit about him persisted, he became more and more determined what his course of action would be.
Then a United States serviceman boarded the bus and walked down the aisle. He could have selected any number of seats, but he sat down by Jeff. The serviceman was a very cheerful young man, and as he talked to Jeff he let slip words like “family unit” and “the Church.” Jeff began to be suspicious, wondering if this young man might be a member of the Church. The serviceman then asked, “What would you think if I told you I didn’t smoke or drink coffee or alcohol either? And if I told you that at 26 years of age I’m morally clean?” Jeff pretended to be shocked and said, “Is that right?” The serviceman asked, “Do you think there is something wrong with that?” Jeff said, “No, every man has the right to choose what he wants to do.” Then the young man began to bear his testimony about the truthfulness of the gospel and in the process told him that he had had the privilege of baptizing 15 people in the last six years. As the bus pulled into the station where he was to get off, the serviceman again bore his testimony, got off the bus, and disappeared into the crowd.
Jeff was struck with amazement. He thought to himself, “Here I am wallowing in self-pity and this young man with as many problems as I have is out facing the world positively. Here I sit criticizing myself and everything around me.” Right then Jeff knew what he must do in Las Vegas. He kept saying over and over to himself, “I’ve got to take hold of myself. I must get out of this hole and off of the defensive. He arrived in Las Vegas and did meet his friend, but this time Jeff was in charge. He returned home with his faith strengthened and thankful that the Lord had provided a “man of the hour.”
Will that young serviceman ever know that he was talking to another member of the Church? Will he ever know that he was in tune with the Lord and, as an instrument in His hands, saved Jeff from most undesirable consequences?

One summer our young family traveled 2,000 miles (3,200 km) across the country for my husband’s new job. We were excited for our new adventure, but we felt very far from our home, our families, and everything else we knew. We pulled up to our new home during a downpour, and in an attempt to protect our home’s newly laid carpet, we unloaded the truck with umbrellas overhead and sheets underfoot. We knew that heavy rains had been causing basements to flood, and we nervously kept an eye on ours after everything was unloaded.
All seemed well that night, and with our three young children finally asleep, Greg and I hurriedly made our bed. We were both exhausted, and falling into bed sounded so good. For some reason, though, Greg felt that he should unpack another box.
“Please,” I said, “let’s just go to sleep. We can unpack in the morning.”
He shook his head and headed to the basement. After a few moments, I heard him scream. Panicked, I ran to the basement only to be met by a miniature flash flood. We stood there shoulder to shoulder as cold rainwater began pooling around our ankles. Instantly we snapped into action and began dragging box after box up the steep staircase. I felt completely and hopelessly lost, my tears mixing with the floodwater on the floor.
I called the only member of the Church we knew in our new ward, Brother Lindsay Sewell, to ask for instructions on running our sump pump to drain the water. Brother Sewell gave some quick advice, and then I went back to work trying to save our belongings. At midnight, the doorbell rang. Pulling the door open, I was met by Brother Sewell, his arms laden with a fan, a wet vacuum, and a plate of chocolate-chip cookies.
“Sounds like you guys could use some help,” he said with a bright smile. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so far from home.
All through the night, Brother Sewell stayed with us, trying to conquer the flood. When the water level in the basement rose to more than a foot (30 cm) deep, he suggested that we call the fire department; they brought large pumps that eventually solved the problem.
The next morning Sister Sewell and other members of our new ward arrived with food, extension cords, and more vacuums. We were overwhelmed by their goodness. In the end we saved all of our belongings.
I am so grateful to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. No matter where I go, I have brothers and sisters waiting with open arms to welcome my family and to help in times of need.

I grew up in the city of Minas, Uruguay. When I was six years old, my mother and older sisters were baptized into the Church. My father never joined the Church, but he was always happy that we went to church. He even kept the Word of Wisdom and paid tithing.
Our branch was very small, and we did not have a church building. We met in a rented house. The house had a small swimming pool outside that we used for baptisms.
As my eighth birthday got closer, I was excited about being baptized. But on the day of the baptism, it was raining and very cold. My mom said that maybe I shouldn’t be baptized that day because of the cold weather. But it was my birthday, and I wanted to be baptized on that day.
I remember putting on my white clothes and getting into the pool to be baptized. I knew that the water would be cold, but I did not feel cold. I knew that I was doing the right thing, and I had a warm feeling.
A short time later a chapel was built for our branch. At that time Church members could help build the meetinghouses. My job was to pick up nails and screws that had fallen on the ground so they could be used again. It was a simple job, but it was very important to me. It taught me how to serve, and it helped prepare me for future Church service. Remember that even though you are young, the things you do now matter.

May I close by bearing you my personal testimony regarding home teaching. I can remember, as if it were yesterday, growing up as a young boy in Whitney, Idaho. We were a farm family, and when we boys were out working in the field, I remember Father calling to us in a shrill voice from the barnyard: “Tie up your teams, boys, and come on in. The ward teachers are here.” Regardless of what we were doing, that was the signal to assemble in the sitting room to hear the ward teachers.
These two faithful priesthood bearers would come each month either by foot or by horseback. We always knew they would come. I can’t remember one miss. And we would have a great visit. They would stand behind a chair and talk to the family. They would go around the circle and ask each child how he or she was doing and if we were doing our duty. Sometimes Mother and Father would prime us before the ward teachers came so we would have the right answers. But it was an important time for us as a family. They always had a message, and it was always a good one.
We have refined home teaching a lot since those early days in Whitney. But it is still basically the same. The same principles are involved: caring, reaching out, teaching by the Spirit, leaving an important message each month, and having a concern and love for each member of the family.

I thought back to last year at Thanksgiving time. My whole family was at Grandfather’s, and after the meal, we children played behind the house.
During an exciting game of hide-and-seek, some of us had gone into Mr. Jenkins’s yard to hide. His house looked empty and lonesome, and we were sure that nobody was home. But he came out, waving his cane in the air and shouting for us to leave! He even called me a scalawag!
“Grandfather,” I asked now, “why are we in this yard?”
“Why, this is where we will build our bridge!” When I looked at him with questioning eyes, he said, “Do you trust me, Grandson?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“And if I ask you to do something, will you do it?”
“I will, Grandfather.”
“Good!” He handed me a pair of gloves and asked me to go down to Mr. Jenkins’s big garden. “Do you see those pumpkins?”
Of course I saw them! There were lots of bright orange pumpkins scattered all over the ground, surrounded by their withered vines from the last frost.
“I would like you to pick them and put them in a pile over by the house. Be very careful, and don’t carry them by the stems!”
“OK, Grandfather.” I went to the task. I had never seen so many pumpkins! Some of them were skinny and tall. Others were round and fat. They were all heavy! I worked very hard for a long time. After I got that done, Grandfather asked me to rake the fallen leaves in the yard.
I told him I would, but when I looked around, I was stunned! There must have been thousands of leaves surrounding me! The huge cottonwood trees in the backyard had certainly had a lot of leaves that year! It took me two hours to rake them. All the while, I kept thinking, Maybe when I’m done with this, we will build a bridge.
Grandfather was busy too. He had brought a shovel, and he dug up all the potatoes in the garden, put them into the buckets, and carried them to the porch. When he noticed that one of the stairs leading to the porch was sagging, he set to fixing it. Then he helped me bag the leaves.
Well, when we were finished with Mr. Jenkins’s yard and garden, it looked great! It felt nice to look at it and see what a good job we had done. I knew Mr. Jenkins saw what a good job we had done, too, because once I saw him peeking through a window—and he wasn’t scowling!
By this time, I felt hungry. I was glad when Grandfather said, “How would you like it if we went home now and made some of my famous potato soup?”
“Hurrah! I love your potato soup!”
We went into the house and made a great big batch of it. And as we were cooking it, I thought that maybe after lunch we would start building that bridge.
The soup was delicious, and we had a fun time eating and talking. Grandfather told me interesting stories that made me laugh. When we were all done, there was a lot of soup left. Grandfather put it in a big bowl and said, “Now, Grandson, I want you to take this over to Mr. Jenkins.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “I can’t do that! He’s mean, and he doesn’t like me.”
Grandfather just looked me in the eyes and said, “Please.”
So I got all my courage together and walked over to Mr. Jenkins’s front door with a bowl of warm soup in my hands. I rang the doorbell and waited a long time. Finally he came to the door. He had a broken leg and was on crutches!
“Hello, young man,” he said. He didn’t look mean at all—in fact, he even smiled at me!
“My grandfather asked me to bring this over to you.”
“I thank you for it. Tell me, could you carry it just a wee bit farther and put it on my table?”
“Sure.” As I walked through the house, I noticed that it was very messy. I suspected that he couldn’t get around well enough to take care of it. I put the soup on the table and told him I had to go. As I was leaving, I thought I saw tears in his eyes.
“Young man, you don’t know what you and your grandfather did today means to me! Thank you, from the bottom of a cranky old man’s heart!”
I smiled big and said, “You’re welcome!” Then I went back to Grandfather’s house. When I told him what had happened, he seemed very pleased. Then I asked him if we could build our bridge.
“Why, Grandson, we have already built it!”
“We have? Really?”
“Yes indeed! We built a very wonderful bridge today: the bridge of friendship, my boy. Mr. Jenkins may be a cranky old fellow sometimes, but as you could see, he needed some help. And he was glad to get it. All it took to warm his old heart was just being a good neighbor and friend. Our helping him showed him that we were his friends. Building bridges between people and making friends is one of the strongest bridges we could ever build!”
Well, it took me a minute to understand what Grandfather had said. But once I realized that we actually had built a bridge, I couldn’t help but smile. Then I remembered how Mr. Jenkins’s house was so messy, and it gave me a great idea. “Grandfather? Do you think we could add a little bit to that bridge today?”
Grandfather smiled, winked at me, and said, “Yes, Grandson, I believe we could!”