Gospel Story Finder

Even though I was baptized when I was eight years old, I didn’t always do the right things. When I was a teenager, I started hanging out with a group of guys, and we started getting into things I knew weren’t good.
After my sister got married, she helped me come back to the Church. I learned about the importance of the Word of Wisdom and treating my body well.
But one day, I committed another serious sin. I felt that I couldn’t have the Spirit or the power of the priesthood with me. I felt very worthless and didn’t think I’d be able to complete my responsibilities at church, like blessing and passing the sacrament.
But the gospel taught me that we can always repent. It was hard to go see my bishop and confess my sin. It was hard to know people could see me walk into the bishop’s office. But I wanted the Lord’s peace, and I wanted to repent.
My bishop said a prayer with me and told me that the Lord is always merciful to those who seek to repent and that I’d be able to recover from my mistake. I’ve now started reading the scriptures and praying, and I know it helps me resist temptation.

“Thanks for the ride!” I yelled, waving at the red car as it pulled out of the driveway. I was excited to be hanging out with two new friends, Steve and Mark. It had taken a while to persuade Steve’s older brother to give the three of us a ride to the town’s music store, but we’d had a lot of fun there. We had just come back to Mark’s house.
“Is anyone else as hungry as I am?” I heard Steve ask. I realized then that my stomach was growling. I hadn’t noticed with all the fun I was having.
“Do you guys have any money? Maybe we could get a pizza,” suggested Mark. We went inside and pooled our money on Mark’s kitchen table. We found we had just enough for a small pizza but not enough to have it delivered.
“Hey, Mark, maybe your parents can give us a ride,” Steve said.
“No, they just left to see a movie,” Mark said with a frown.
I tried to make a joke, “Too bad none of us has a driver’s license. Then we could go down and get the pizza ourselves.”
Steve and Mark looked at each other. “I have my learner’s permit,” Mark said slowly. “My parents say I’m a pretty good driver, even though I’m only 15.”
“Didn’t your parents take the car?” Steve asked.
Mark answered, “They took my dad’s car, but they left my mom’s.”
We stood still for a moment, looking at each other. I began to feel nervous.
“Let’s just go outside and sit in the car,” Steve suggested. “We could just see how we feel.”
Mark looked at me. “What do you think, Danny?”
I shrugged. I really didn’t think that we should do it, but I also wanted my new friends to think I was cool.
“Let’s go,” said Mark, and he led the way through his back door and into the garage. Mark climbed into the driver’s seat, and Steve sat in the passenger seat next to him. Hesitantly, I entered the car, sat in the backseat, and shut the door behind me.
It had started out as a joke, but now I felt terrible. I imagined what my parents would think if they knew I was going along with this. What if we got caught? I would feel awful. I knew the Holy Ghost was telling me this was wrong. Then a thought hit me. My friends weren’t bad people. They were probably having the same feelings I was having.
Mark put the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. I couldn’t take it any more. “Guys, we really shouldn’t be doing this,” I said quietly. Mark and Steve both looked back at me. I felt myself blush. They were going to make fun of me. I just knew it.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Steve agreed, nodding. “What would our parents think? What would our teachers quorum leaders think?”
Mark also nodded and took the key out of the ignition. The growl of the engine died, and relief came flooding into me. “Sorry, guys. I’m just hungry,” Mark said. He then looked up and smiled. “Hey, I have a bag of chips and half a loaf of bread. Why don’t we make sandwiches?”
“That sounds great!” I said, grinning.
We climbed out of the car and headed toward the house, laughing and joking again. I knew then that all three of us were glad about the decision we had made.
I don’t know what would have happened if we had taken the car. Maybe we would have been caught, maybe we wouldn’t have. But I know that the choice we made was right.

I have witnessed how my weakness has helped me to be strong in Christ. For example, while serving as a bishop, I had many opportunities to meet with individuals and counsel with them. Time and time again I felt the Spirit fill my heart and mind with what to say. In these moments, if I had been worried about saying things exactly the right way, with preplanned precision, the flow of the Lord’s Spirit would have been stopped. As I relied on the Lord in my weakness, he “loosed my tongue” and “opened my mouth” at the very moments I needed it.9 Fortunately, through the Lord’s tender mercies, He blessed two people in those interviews: the person seeking inspired counsel and me, that my fears would be softened.

With only three months left on my tour of duty, I was called on another hoist rescue. This time it was in the Ashau Valley. Two casualties had to be moved from a dangerous location in another double canopy area. Once again we hovered between the trees like a sitting duck, protected only by cover shots from our troops but threatened by incoming enemy fire. Things went well until we started to bring the second patient up through the lower canopy.
Rifle fire sprayed around us. The crew chief was going to cut the cable, dropping the wounded man back to the ground and to possible death. “No!” I yelled. “Tell me when he’s clear of the trees.” The crew chief kept the litter bearing the wounded man coming up and yelled, “Clear!” as soon as it got above the trees. I moved the helicopter up, then forward, while the wounded man dangled below, slowly being drawn into the cargo area. Finally the terrified soldier was inside and we were on our way back to the base. What an experience! What excitement!
Back on the ground, the crew hugged each other. We were grateful to acknowledge that we were delivered by the power and mercy of God. We also felt sure we would merit a DFC. The recommendation was written up and submitted with assurance that it would be approved.
The awards ceremony was scheduled for July 8, 1968, two days before my departure from the country. I didn’t have to fly any more combat missions, and I had been informed that the DFC had been approved. I was going home and would be a hero, finally receiving the award I had longed for for so long.
Since many of the officers were receiving decorations, the first sergeant was left in charge of the awards formation. Those of us who were recipients were out in front of the other men. I was second in line, next to the detachment commander, who was also receiving a DFC. This was the moment of glory I had been waiting for since childhood. This was the ceremony of grandeur envisioned in the dreams of my youth.
The commanding general’s helicopter touched down. His aide-de-camp scurried from the craft to talk to the first sergeant, as the first sergeant called us all to attention. The two men exchanged comments, then the sergeant took several steps and stood right in front of me. He saluted.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but your DFC has been downgraded. Take your place as fifth in formation.”
Pow! My dream was shattered. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. I had to bite my lower lip to make sure I was in the real world and not having a bad dream. I was angry and hurt. Was this the type of gratitude bestowed for dedicated service which I considered above and beyond the call of duty? I did an about face, took two steps forward, made a right face, and moved to my new location as fifth in formation.
As the detachment commander had his Distinguished Flying Cross pinned on his pocket, I had to fight back the tears. I was happy for my boss and his deserved recognition, but I was disappointed at my own situation. When the general came to me, I snapped a salute. He returned it and pinned another Air Medal with a “V” for valor onto my shirt, saying, “Captain, this represents a lot of flying. I respect you for your contribution and congratulate you.” My heart was filled with resentment. How could he do this to me? I choked out a half-hearted “Thank you, sir.” We saluted and he moved on.
As I stood there with those mixed up feelings, I asked the Lord why this had happened. Surely there must be a mistake! It wasn’t fair! Then my spirit became calm as the words of my patriarchal blessing came to mind once again, telling me not to let Satan keep me from growth and development, telling me that the Lord would try me to prove my worth. The Spirit spoke to my soul, telling me that God had kept his promise to me—I was returning to my loved ones unharmed, I still had work to do in this life, and God had preserved my life. “Seek not after your own heart,” the Spirit whispered, “for the praise and rewards of men.”

When I was growing up in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I was lonely.
Being one of the only members in my whole high school made me feel cut off from everyone else. Not many people had even heard about the Church before, so I felt like I didn’t have many opportunities to talk about it. Sometimes I didn’t want to because I was afraid of being rejected and feeling even more isolated.
I started feeling resentful toward the gospel when many of my friends seemed like they were so much happier than I was.
They looked like they were having so much fun partying, and I felt left out. I was always saying no to their invites and felt like I was rejecting their friendship and happiness.
So one day I didn’t turn down their invitations.
I hung out with these friends more and more. I felt like I was finally part of a community and eventually stopped going to church.
However, after a while, I felt burned-out and more alone than ever. I could feel myself growing addicted to nicotine and losing control over my life.
I didn’t understand what my problem was. I finally had the friends and connection I had wanted, so why couldn’t I just be happy like they were?
Around this time, one of my friends lost a loved one. When I was talking to them and trying to help, I started blurting out everything I knew about the plan of salvation, explaining that they would be able to see their loved one again one day.
… What?
I couldn’t believe what I was saying! I hadn’t thought about the gospel for years.
But I felt hope as I explained this truth I had learned, and I realized that my faith wasn’t completely gone.
I pondered the pieces of my faith that I still had. I thought about how the Church had always offered me a place of community with like-minded people—all striving to follow Jesus Christ, serve others, and experience the joy and promises of the gospel.
Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has taught, “We … can be prone to look beyond the mark. We need to guard against this tendency lest we miss Jesus Christ in our lives and fail to recognize the many blessings He offers us. We need Him.”
I realized I had been looking for happiness in all the wrong places.
After this experience, I started meeting with the missionaries to help me get to know Jesus Christ again. They helped me become more engaged with the gospel. I started praying more and focusing on rediscovering my divine identity. I even gave up nicotine. I knew God was with me as I was striving to change my life.
Over time, I recognized the connection I had with other disciples of Christ in my ward. I also started talking to my friends about my faith and answering their questions, and that made me happy.
Much of my past loneliness stemmed from my lack of confidence. But as I changed my focus from trying to fit in to being myself—a son of God—and sharing my faith, I found joy and belonging in fully living the gospel.
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles promised:
“God has something more to give. A higher and more profound joy—a joy that transcends anything this world offers. It is a joy that endures heartbreak, penetrates sorrow, and diminishes loneliness.
“Worldly happiness, by contrast, does not last. It cannot. It is the nature of all earthly things to grow old, decay, wear out, or become stale. But godly joy is eternal, because God is eternal.”
I no longer feel isolated as a member of the Church. Focusing on Jesus Christ has removed the weight off my shoulders and allowed me to breathe again! When I am following Him, I realize that I truly am not alone. Because of the blessing of covenants, the gift of the Holy Ghost, and all Christ’s promises, I know He’s with me.
The enduring joy this truth brings into my life is greater than anything fleeting I sought without Him.

In 1973, my husband and I sat calmly listening to a Church speaker describe how disfellowshipments and excommunications had increased in recent years within the Church. As I shook my head sadly, feeling secure in my temple marriage, testimony, and Church activity, I hadn’t the least notion at that time of how my future would be devastatingly affected by this process.
My life was drastically altered some seven years later when my husband, an active Melchizedek Priesthood holder, returned missionary, former bishopric member, and father to our six children, was called before a Church court and disfellowshipped.
I felt rejected, betrayed, and frightened that this could happen to me. As I poured out my soul to the Lord, searching for answers, I learned eternal truths that helped me through this heartrending experience. In a way only he could do, the Lord has mercifully stood me back on my feet, both emotionally and spiritually.
I’m convinced my anguish couldn’t have been more intense had I been the one disciplined in court. I had tried long and hard to do all the Lord asked of me. I’d married a wonderful young man who glowed with a testimony of the gospel, and I now felt betrayed. He had changed, and I had no control over the situation. I wept for our young son approaching Aaronic Priesthood age and wondered how we could explain that his father could not confer this precious priesthood on him. Another son would be baptized in a short time. Again we would have to search for an explanation. I was afraid to face family, friends, and ward members. Although I’d done my best to assure myself and my children of happiness, it seemed as though I were living in a nightmare.
Finding a way to deal with grief and disappointment developed into a full-time job. Needing someone to talk to, I turned to the Lord for help and comfort. He became my loving counselor.
Several years earlier, at the death of our infant son, I had blamed myself for the loss. An understanding doctor wisely counseled that this was common, but nonetheless wrong. A grieving person naturally searches for something he might have done to prevent tragedy. “Don’t give in to the temptation to blame yourself,” he advised.
Following the Church court, I found myself falling into this trap again. Gradually I realized I could neither control nor take responsibility for my husband’s actions. I began to concentrate on the things I could control and change in myself.
At the same time I tried to accept not only my situation, but my husband as well. I learned that comparing our spiritual progress to that of other couples was useless. When I read about exemplary fathers and husbands, I still struggled with discouragement. Yet I was able to tell myself, “Their situations are different. The Lord will help me with mine.” As I expressed gratitude for blessings I did have, a loving acceptance grew within me. Along with it, the attitude in our entire family improved. To my amazement, I discovered times when I was happier and more at peace than I’d been in years.
Sometimes I hesitated asking for certain blessings, fearing that my husband’s situation might prevent our receiving them. The Lord quickly dismissed my apprehension, however, and over the years presented us with material and spiritual blessings.
My self-esteem had been shattered by our experience with the disfellowshipment. I was busy many hours each week, serving as president of one of the ward auxiliaries. How could the Lord, or for that matter, the bishop, possibly expect me to continue in this calling? Emotionally and physically, I was drained. But nothing was mentioned concerning my release, and I stayed in that position. I later understood this to be the Lord’s way of demonstrating a need for my abilities. At the same time, our children continued to do well in and out of school. Here the Lord was assuring me that we weren’t failing as parents. These experiences lifted me and convinced me of my worth.
As the weeks, months, and years went by, the pain sometimes grew less and sometimes grew stronger. I got used to most people avoiding the issue in conversation. Few got past the fear of not knowing what to say, and so said nothing. I’ll always appreciate the friend who sincerely asked, “How are things going?” and listened patiently as I told her.
The Lord continued to comfort and teach me. Often I complained about my husband’s unwillingness to change. Without exception, Heavenly Father refused to accept my criticism. Through inspiration he referred me, in a loving way, to scriptures on tolerance. He also reminded me of my special role as a wife. I was convinced that parts of Doctrine and Covenants 25, where the Lord calls Emma Smith to aid and comfort her husband, applied as much to me as to Emma. Over and over I read this section, each time believing more in my husband’s worth.
I prayed regularly for an increase in love toward my husband. The Lord answered in unusual, but practical ways. I sought opportunities to give of myself, knowing those we serve become those we love. I didn’t have to look far, as my husband was hurt in three minor accidents within a year. During his short convalescent periods at home I provided emotional care and concern. I was rewarded many times over with greater love and appreciation for him.
I realized, too, that my service didn’t need to be a huge undertaking. Since my husband was away from home much of the time, I tried to make him the center of my attention when he was at home. Saying something positive or complimentary to him each day grew from a challenge into a habit. I also refrained from criticizing my husband, either to him or anyone else. These small efforts worked wonders. Like a dying plant rediscovering light and nourishment, our love regained vitality.
I drew great comfort and hope from the twenty-seventh chapter of Mosiah. Here an angel appears to Alma the Younger because of the faith and prayers of his father. (See Mosiah 27:8–17.) Through this scripture the Lord assured me that he answers prayers said in behalf of others. I have made it a point to never cease praying for my husband. More difficult, but just as important, is maintaining faith that one day his heart will change.
Charity, I’ve also discovered, is a gift from God. Shortly after the Church court, I was suddenly consumed with a deep affection and acceptance for my husband. I longed to help and support him in every possible way. This sweet sensation stayed long enough for me to realize that I wanted it always. I pray regularly, as Moroni suggested, “with all the energy of heart [to] be filled with this love.” (Moro. 7:48.)
My husband has now been reinstated into the Church. Though many changes for good have come, his gospel commitment and spiritual desire for activity have yet to return. I’ve accepted the fact, however, that only he can control those things. Instead of focusing on our failures, I can now express gratitude for the things we’re doing right. I’ve discovered, to my surprise, that it’s possible to be happy in any situation. I’ve also learned that through the most painful experience of my life has come my greatest growth.
Editor’s note: At the author’s request, her name has been withheld.

Ever since I was young, I knew I wanted to serve a mission. And when I opened my mission call, I felt the Spirit stronger than I ever had before.
During the time I was preparing to receive my mission call, I had the opportunity to attend a devotional where Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles spoke to a group of youth and young single adults. I had no idea that he’d be coming, and when I saw him, I couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say. He said he wanted to have a question-and-answer session. And when he asked for questions, I jumped at the opportunity.
“What is the most important thing I can do to prepare to be an effective missionary?” I asked.
He looked right at me and said, “Get over yourself.” At first I was taken aback. I had to think twice to make sure I hadn’t said something wrong, thinking maybe I was being scolded a little.
But then he explained that serving a mission is not about me; instead, it’s about serving the Lord and completely losing myself in that service. This advice completely changed my missionary preparation and my outlook on missionary service.
For future missionaries, including me, it can be easy to become prideful and say, “I can’t wait to baptize lots of people.” But this isn’t a good mind-set to have. Instead, it would be better to say, “I can’t wait to serve the Lord. I will do what He wants me to do because I’m serving Him and He is giving me a chance to participate in His work.” It’s all about getting over yourself and serving others.
Since Elder Bednar gave me that advice, I’ve thought about it every day. If I’m ever tempted to not read my scriptures because I’m too tired, I imagine Elder Bednar saying, “Get over yourself.” While it would be nice to get some extra sleep, studying the scriptures is something that Heavenly Father wants me to do every day. Besides, it’s not about me; it’s about serving Him.
I’ve also started putting more effort into my scripture study since I received this advice. My goal is to not just read them, but also to understand them so I’ll be more prepared for my mission. Now when I read my scriptures, I take out my journal and write down a question. As I read, I look for answers to that question and write those answers down. One time I wrote down the question, “What are the traits of an effective missionary?” As I studied the scriptures, I learned about traits I can develop as I prepare for my mission.
I can’t wait to serve a mission. I’m excited to lose myself in missionary service as an instrument in God’s hands. It’s a chance to just focus on the Lord and His people. It’s not about me. It’s about doing all of the small and simple things the Lord wants me to do.

“After traveling along several hundred kilometers the monotony was broken by our cattle stampeding. It seemed the longer we went and the harder the cattle worked, the easier they got frightened. The one that terrified me the most was at night. We had had one or two stampedes before so the cattle were prepared for one at any moment. I think it was because of the Indians, or it might have been the large herds of buffalo that we saw daily, that our company was counseled to corral their animals every night. At night the cattle were turned out to feed, they were watched and herded, then brought into the corral. It was made with wagons formed in a large circle with the wheels touching each other with one opening to drive them in, then logs were put across the opening, so they were perfectly secure.
“We were in buffalo country. We had heard what a terrible thing their stampedes were, and that not long before a large herd had started on their mad run and that when those in front came to a high bluff of the Platte River, they dashed in and made a bridge for the last ones who trampled to death and drowned their companions.
“One night about two o’clock the whole camp was peacefully sleeping when all at once there came an awful sound of tramping and bellowing, the ground shook, our wagon trembled and rocked. It flashed through my mind in a moment that a herd of buffalo was stampeding and that we would all be trampled to death. So I covered my head and prepared to die. Mother soon called out to Phebe and myself since there was no sound from our little bedroom (the front end of the wagon). I gave a smothered answer from under the bed clothes that I was alive.
“All at once there was a change. It was our own cattle that had broken out of the corral. Something had frightened them and then they started on their wild, mad run. They had run around and around inside and then broken through the logs blocking the opening. Nothing could hold them back. They scattered over the country for many kilometers. It took our men days and days to gather them back again, and they looked terrible, those that were left, for some died from exhaustion and others were killed. One pair of the captain’s cows ran up a very steep hill, fell backwards and broke their necks—one pair less to pull his wagon and one pair less to milk (oh the delicious milk—what a luxury on the plains).
“In that stampede there were two or three men hurt, one quite badly. He was a gold digger going to California who had overtaken us and was traveling with our company a while. The California emigrants traveled much faster than the Mormon emigrants. In trying to stop the cattle he was knocked down and trampled on. His groans were hideous. I did not see him again until one day the next winter, when he visited us. During all the time he was there he was down on his knees. He could stand up but could not sit down. I never heard from him again after he left for the gold mines. Old cattlemen say that tame, domestic horned cattle are the most crazy and wildest of all animals in a stampede. It is remarkable, but they seem to start all at once, just as if lightning had struck every one at the same instant.”

“Mom!” The high-pitched wail made me wince.
What now? I wondered. The children had gone to bed, and I was going about my evening activities. My husband was at a late meeting.
I went upstairs, bracing myself for what I thought was another argument between siblings, and found my youngest child, Michaella, with red-rimmed eyes. “My ear hurts, Mom.”
Oh, no, I thought. Why does this always happen at night? I couldn’t justify the expense of an emergency-room visit for an ear infection, so I used all the home remedies I knew and tucked her in. “Try to sleep now,” I said. “I’ll call the doctor as soon as her office opens in the morning.”
Downstairs again, I felt anxious and could not concentrate. I went to the kitchen and halfheartedly began to wipe the counters. Then with a sudden motion I threw down the cloth. I headed back upstairs to check on Michaella, moving softly in case she was asleep. I stopped halfway up. Through the open door at the top of the stairs, I could hear sobs.
I could not take it. I couldn’t just stand by, helpless, while my child suffered. I sank down on the stairs, tears running down my face. I prayed. I pleaded. I trembled as I told the Lord I would do everything I could to help my daughter and then I would leave the rest up to Him. After taking a few deep breaths, I climbed the rest of the stairs, sat on my daughter’s bed, and smoothed her damp hair.
“It hurts bad, Mom.” The usual dimple in her cheek wasn’t there. Her face was pale. Fatigue and pain had made dark smudges under her eyes.
I decided I would not wait until my husband returned; I would risk looking like an overanxious, overprotective, and overreacting mother. “I’m going to call our home teacher, OK?”
Michaella nodded.
I made the call, feeling somewhat awkward. When I asked our home teacher if he would give Michaella a blessing, his answer was, “Of course.” A short while later he arrived, smiling, as if driving out late at night was his favorite thing to do.
While he performed the blessing I felt hope lighten my heavy heart. I thanked him as he left, then put Michaella to bed again. She was asleep within minutes.
The next morning she seemed so much better, I was tempted to skip calling the pediatrician. But I had promised the Lord I would do everything I could.
Later that morning, I watched the doctor closely. She peered through her scope into Michaella’s ear and said, “You didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?” It wasn’t really a question; it was a statement.
“She slept straight through the night,” I said.
I took a mental photograph of the doctor’s astonished face.
I knew then that we had had our own little miracle. No seas were parted, no lepers cleansed, no dead raised. It had simply been a night of peace, without pain, for a little girl.
For me, it was enough.

Once Robert Norton got on a bike, he was a whole new person.
“Robert would go outside at eight in the morning and ride his bike in our driveway until ten at night. He got so good at it that he was the fastest Special Olympics cyclist in Connecticut,” says his younger brother Lee. “Before he got involved in Special Olympics, Robert was a loner. But when he came to Special Olympics, it was like he opened up. He made friends, and kids at school started talking to him where they hadn’t before.”
Robert, who was mentally disabled, died in 1992 of complications from a disease known as Marfan’s syndrome that attacked his heart. “I miss my brother, and I never put him out of my mind,” explains Lee. “The Special Olympics really fulfilled Robert’s life and were a great thing for him.”
But Robert’s memory lived on when the Special Olympics became a great thing for a group of LDS teenagers on the East Coast—Lee included.
Last summer, leaders of the New Haven and Hartford Stakes in Connecticut, and the Providence Rhode Island Stake, were planning to combine three youth conferences into one.
“The stakes were up for youth conference ideas, and they asked kids what they felt like doing,” recalls Lee, 15, a teacher in the New Haven Stake’s Newtown Ward. “We talked about doing community service; you know, gardening and stuff like that. But none of the ideas were even close to this.”
“This” was the more than 400 Latter-day Saint youth from the three stakes volunteering their services—ranging from cheerleading to working in concession stands—to the 7,000-plus athletes who gathered from 136 countries for the Special Olympics World Games held in and around New Haven. The youth conference theme was “Ye Are the Light of the World.” And they were.
“We really felt that we are like a candle and we can pass that light on to each other through caring and service to these athletes. You really can do that by just being a great example,” says Lee, who couldn’t have asked for a better scenario. The Special Olympics World Games were in his home state, and if there’s one thing Lee knows, it’s the Special Olympics.
Counting all the time he spent with Robert when his brother was competing, and then in 1994 when Lee was a Special Olympics volunteer for Connecticut’s state games, he understood what volunteering at the World Games involved. And he was able to watch other youth his age learn how much fun they could have through helping and serving the special-needs athletes during the three-day youth conference.
“I’m just really happy to see that all the kids here are really into this. They went up to the athletes and gave them hugs, gave them a high-five or whatever they needed,” says Lee.
Ben Johansen, a priest in the Trumbull (Connecticut) First Ward, agrees. “We had a lot of fun. We wanted to be here serving, and everything has been totally focused on serving. These athletes do the best with the abilities they’ve been given. I’ve learned that the winners in this life are the ones who do the most with what they have, not who crosses the finish line first.”
At the track-and-field venue during the week-long competition, the LDS youth gathered near where the athletes entered the track, and took time to shake hands, give pats on the back, and offer general encouragement. The athletes’ smiles got even bigger when they were asked for their autographs.
“They’re just so happy when you smile or say congratulations to them. As soon as you start talking to them, they’re just so cheerful and talkative,” says Stephanie Perry.
That attitude rubbed off on the LDS youth too.
“At other youth conferences I’ve been to, we do service and then one of our leaders gets a letter of thanks and half the people who worked on the project don’t even realize what we did was appreciated. It’s so much better being interactive,” says Merilee Hales, who moved to Florida a couple of weeks after the Olympics ended. “You could see the excitement these kids had when we would shake their hands and give high-fives.”
Says Ben Stratford of the Trumbull First Ward, “The best thing about it was the time we spent with the Special Olympians and the example they provided for me.”
On a brutally hot day in New Haven, many of the youth gathered in the Yale Bowl, Yale University’s football stadium, with brooms in hand. Their job was to sweep up debris in preparation for the Games’ closing ceremonies. While he swept piles of garbage into bags, Lee stopped to consider what they had been doing during their three days of service.
“Sweeping is just manual work. After you’re done sweeping, the Yale Bowl is not going to remember you sweeping it,” he says. “But these athletes will remember you. They’ll remember us. That’s what really means a lot to me. And I will remember them.”
It wasn’t that Lee was ungrateful having to spend part of his youth conference cleaning up after others. It was just that he enjoyed interacting with the athletes more. When Lee was with the Special Olympians he saw real joy and happiness, especially when the athletes would smile at him.
And as Lee smiled back, he couldn’t help but think of Robert.
Julius Blackwelder, teachers quorum adviser in the Trumbull (Connecticut) First Ward, explained his plan to the quorum members in 1991. He wanted to form a sailing group that wouldn’t just be for the young men’s enjoyment. His vision was to have the youth gather each Friday during the summer at Jennings Beach on the Atlantic Ocean in nearby Fairfield for a day of catamaran sailing. And he wanted it to be a fellowshipping tool—a way to attract the less-active in the ward and the boys’ nonmember friends.
Everybody liked the idea, and the plan, along with the boats, was launched. They called themselves the Sea Rats.
“We start right at the beginning of June. Once school is over we start sailing,” says 17-year-old Aaron Blackwelder, Brother Blackwelder’s son. “We start at ten in the morning, set up the boats, and just go out and sail. We felt we had to be friends with the less-active members first, and this is a way to bring nonmember friends out and make friendships with less-active members.”
In the group’s five-year existence, the Sea Rats now count 50 kids from the New Haven Connecticut Stake who spend the day on the group’s four catamarans. The Sea Rats have a routine that rarely changes—unless a worldwide event rolls into town.
Last July, organizers of the Special Olympics World Games approached the Sea Rats and asked if they would donate the use of their boats for the Games’ sailing events being held at nearby Savin Rock.
“We said, ‘Sure, no problem. We’ll donate the boats,’” says Drew Brown, 17, “but we also told them we wanted to donate our services and work as safety officers for the Olympians.”
As safety officers, the Sea Rats served as dead weight—or ballast—on the boats they loaned. “We made sure [the Olympians] were safe, that they didn’t get dehydrated,” says Drew. “We got to help them out and make sure they didn’t get tangled in the line. Things like that.”
Adds Ryan Brown, Drew’s younger brother, “It was fun getting to know these athletes. They’re a little slower in doing things, but they’re a lot more trusting.”
That’s something Aaron understands. His older sister Liz has both physical and mental handicaps. “I’ve always grown up with a sister with some disabilities, and that’s normal for me. It’s helped me to have patience and to deal with people better,” he says.
After only a few hours at the beach with the Special Olympians, Victor Solis, a member of the Trumbull Spanish Branch, understood why the Sea Rats gave up, not only their boats, but their time for this one week.
“These athletes have a few setbacks, but they’re choice spirits and they’re special. They just can’t get everything to work like we can. Because you have been given much, like the hymn says, you, too, must give. We’re just giving back a little bit more because of all we have.”

When I was 17 years old, one of my good friends asked me to go on a group date with him. We went to the park with a couple of our friends and played volleyball, ate treats, and talked around the fire to finish off the night. We had a lot of fun, and I was happy that I could spend that time getting to know my date. Just as we were getting ready to leave, a group of boys who were about our same age approached us. Almost instantly, I felt uneasy. Those boys were acting so strangely; they talked too loudly, and their eyes were red and glazed over.
One of them lifted something to his mouth, blew out a lot of smoke, and said, “Looks like you guys are having a party. Mind if we join?”
My date politely responded, “We’re actually just about to leave. We were just cleaning up.”
One of the boys then said, “But we’d love to join you! Besides, the party just started! Do you guys want to share a smoke?”
It was then that I realized that they weren’t smoking just regular cigarettes, and I completely froze. I realized why the Spirit had warned me so quickly. I didn’t want to be rude, but I also knew I didn’t want anything to do with whatever they had to offer. I was so relieved that I was with my friend—a worthy priesthood holder—who shared my standards and could sense how uncomfortable I was.
Without hesitating, my date said, “No, thanks. We’re not into that kind of stuff. Have a good night!” And we left the park.
As he drove me home, I felt the Spirit’s peace come back. I told him how grateful I was that he shared my standards and that he had been there to help me out of that difficult situation. The For the Strength of Youth pamphlet counsels us to “date only those who have high moral standards and in whose company you can maintain your standards. Remember that a young man and a young woman on a date are responsible to protect each other’s honor and virtue” ([2011], 4). Though his actions were simple, my date helped me to maintain my standards.
I’ve learned that if I choose to be around and date people who share my standards, I will be blessed with the Spirit and the decision to keep the commandments and maintain my standards will be easier.

Education is helping Christina Augerea from Hula, Papua New Guinea, accomplish her goals. Ever since she was little, she has had a love of reading and the goal of attending university. Her love of reading is what led her to the Church.

“When I was in fifth grade, we didn’t have books at my school,” she says. “My teacher was a Church member. She didn’t have other books, so she gave us the Book of Mormon.”
Years later, Christina served a mission in the Philippines and then started attending Brigham Young University–Hawaii, where she is working toward law school with a double major in political science and business administration and a minor in Mandarin.
Christina’s story came full circle after the COVID-19 pandemic forced her to return home. One day while visiting her village, she learned that the library at her primary school was infested with termites. With the help of local organizations and the Church, Christina oversaw the construction of a new library, with systems in place that will keep it running for many years.
As happy as she is that she was able to help her community, Christina explains that it took a lot of faith and work to get where she is now. “I know how it feels when you don’t have anything but you want to study,” she says. And through all her experiences, she has learned a lot about the value and purpose of education.
Our Church leaders often teach that it’s important to seek whatever education we can. “The Lord and His Church have always encouraged education to increase our ability to serve Him and our Heavenly Father’s children,” taught President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency.2
But, as Christina shares, education is more than just sitting in a classroom. “One of my professors told us that learning is not just about getting grades, a certificate, or eventually a job. It’s about understanding concepts.” And in order for education to really make a difference in your life, what you learn has to become a part of you. “You have to love learning,” Christina adds.
There are many ways we can become educated. “We don’t just learn in school,” Christina says. “We also learn in the Church. We learn at home. We can learn everywhere.” As we take advantage of opportunities to expand our knowledge, we become more educated, and the process of learning becomes more central to our lives.
Christina testifies that knowledge is key to helping each of us “prepare to meet God” (Alma 34:32). “We can grow and reach our potential by learning,” Christina says. As we humbly seek knowledge, we become more like our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and prepare to live with Them again.
By unlocking our personal potential, education also increases our ability to serve others. President Russell M. Nelson said, “Education is the difference between wishing you could help other people and being able to.”3
This is one of the biggest blessings that Christina has seen from education. “Education gives me the confidence to know that I can teach skills to others,” she says. “Even teaching in the Church is a lot of responsibility. So having confidence to be able to teach the young women or youth is amazing.”
Gaining an education takes persistence and strength—but it’s possible. At first, Christina didn’t know how she would accomplish her goals. “I didn’t know where I would get the money,” she says. But Christina found that when you trust in God and seek His help, He will help you accomplish what He needs you to do.
“With all my dreams and plans, two things that I always asked Heavenly Father for was to teach me what I could do and how I could do it. And He never left me. He knew that there was something better for me, and He guided me. I knew all those times that Heavenly Father was with me and that He still is.”
And as we seek Heavenly Father’s help, He will bless us with opportunities to gain more education and knowledge.
Christina knows that gaining an education is worth the effort. “I would tell people who think that they can’t do it to remember the huge potential God has given us. We can unlock that potential by believing that He has given it to us.”

For sixteen years we reared our children in Minnesota where it can get extremely cold in the winter. Kristin, one of our five daughters, played on the high school volleyball team. She also had a boyfriend. One Friday night in the dead of winter she had a volleyball practice followed by a date at her friend’s house. She drove our little Ford Escort to the practice and then to his home. It had been unusually warm for Minnesota that day and the snow had melted some. Consequently, she wore only a sweat suit over her uniform for warmth.

Early in the evening I became agitated about Kristin. I repeatedly asked Sister Cottle about her. Finally we went to bed. We said our normal prayer and asked that Kristin be protected to return home safely. We climbed into bed but I could not go to sleep-- which was very unusual for me. I was agitated about Kristin. I forced myself to remain in bed with reassuring thoughts that Kristin was totally trustworthy and never out late.

Eventually, I became so agitated that I could no longer lie there. I got up. I called her friend’s home. His mother answered—I had obviously awakened her. She informed me that Kristin had left their home over an hour earlier. Now I became frightened. It was only a ten or fifteen minute drive from their house to ours. I felt a strong urging to go search for her.

It had turned bitterly cold that night. Ice, from the melting snow earlier in the day, had built up on the country roads where we lived. I prayed that I would be able to find her. Lynne remained at home to answer the phone in the event that Kristin would call. (We did not own a cell phone yet.)

I took Jenny, Kristin’s younger sister, with me. She was having a sleep-over, or I should say, a stay-awake-over, with a girl friend from the ward.

We had to decide which way Kristin would drive home because there were multiple routes from which to choose. It was not the one-road-Kamehameha-Highway situation. We quickly chose a route and drove carefully along. It was very dark and everything was covered with snow and ice. After many minutes, we passed a house, the only house on that stretch of road. It had a car parked backwards in front of it. As we passed the house Jenny shouted, “There’s the Escort.” I stopped immediately and backed up—there was absolutely no traffic on that road at that time of night. It occurred to me later that no one else would have found Kristin that night and she would have frozen to death by morning.

We couldn’t see any damage to the car at first glance which only made my anxiety increase wondering what had happened to Kristin. Upon closer examination we discovered that the back of the car was caved in by the power pole against which it was resting—but no Kristin.

We tried the door. Surprisingly, it opened. Kristin was unconscious in the driver’s seat but she was practically lying down because the back of the car seat had broken in the impact with the pole. I spoke to Kristin and she tried to respond but had great difficulty in doing so. She was only wearing a sweatshirt for warmth so I removed my big winter coat and put it over her and Jenny did the same. I then climbed carefully into the car, to let my body give warmth to Kristin fearing she might be freezing to death. I tenderly whispered encouraging words of love and a blessing in her ear, careful not to touch her.

Her friend and his mother came by. They had a cell phone. His mother dialed 911 for help and then called Lynne who also came in just a few minutes. Soon the paramedics arrived. They carefully removed Kristin from the car on a stiff board stretcher, put her in the ambulance and drove her to the hospital. Only then did I realize how cold it was. I was seriously shivering without a coat. I looked worriedly for Jenny who was also without a coat. Fortunately she was smart enough to get into my car whose engine was still running and the heater nice and warm.

Kristin had suffered a brain concussion; however, because of the answered prayers in her behalf and our being guided to find her, she did not freeze to death that night, and today she is happily married with four daughters of her own. We had, indeed, been instructed by the spirit.

When I was nine months old, my parents—a young couple, with three children and pregnant with another—were caught in a magnitude-7.5 earthquake in Argentina. As our house began to fall down, my father and mother grabbed us and ran. After checking to see that we were OK, they looked around at the devastation. My father quickly assessed the damages and losses, and realized that we would have no clean water from the public network. There wasn’t even enough water to wash off the dust from the crumbling houses!
When the shock wore off, my father grabbed his bicycle and went to check on his mother, who lived a few blocks away. When he arrived at his mother’s destroyed house, he walked around back where she was sitting with only a few scratches.
My grandmother asked my father to save some things from the debris, and while he was doing so, he found two demijohns (glass containers in which 5 to 15 gallons [20 to 60 L] of wine were sold) filled with fresh drinking water. They were undamaged.
A few months before the earthquake, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) had instructed the Saints throughout the world to store food and water. My grandmother, a recent convert, had listened. From those two demijohns, we were able to supply our family’s needs for a couple of days until emergency assistance arrived.
This example of my grandmother’s obedience was a testimony to my father, who later converted to the gospel. Our family has since been sealed in the temple. I am so grateful for my grandmother’s faith and obedience to the call to be prepared.

Katie raised her hand. She had a very good question. Feeling OK to stray from the flow of the lesson, the teacher directed the class to a scripture that would help with an answer. Another hand rose with another question. Again, we turned the pages of the Book of Mormon for help with the answer. After the third time in this process, Katie raised her hand again. Almost before the teacher could call on her, she blurted out, “How do you know your scriptures so well? How can you find all that?”
The teacher thought for a moment. He said he was nothing special. He didn’t have a photographic memory, or even a very good one. And then he answered with another scripture: “By small and simple means are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6). The teacher testified that he read his scriptures often. He read them daily. And years of daily scripture study add up.

During construction of the Rio de Janeiro Brazil Temple, I walked by it nearly every day. I would tell my friends, “One day, I’m going to get married in this building.”
“Man, you say the same thing every day!” they said.
I said it every day because I knew that the temple was getting closer to being completed, and I wanted to remind myself to keep doing the right things so that our family could be sealed together. This is the desire of my heart.

Brothers and sisters, if the Prophet Joseph Smith were to appear to you in a dream, and you could ask him one question, what would you ask? And if he found it important enough to come from the spiritual realms to deliver you a message, what do you think it would be?

Well, President Brigham Young had just such an experience in February of 1847. In a dream, the Prophet Joseph appeared to President Young. Brigham spoke of his sorrow that he had lost the companionship the two of them had once shared and expressed a desire to come with him. Joseph said that he must wait a while. Then Brigham asked the Prophet if he had a message for them, "and the Prophet stepped toward him, looking [at him] very earnestly, and said:
Tell the brethren to be humble and faithful and be sure to keep the Spirit of the Lord, that it will lead them aright. Be careful and not turn away the still, small voice; it will teach them what to do and where to go; it will yield the fruits of the kingdom. Tell the brethren to keep their hearts open to conviction, so that when the Holy Ghost comes to them, their hearts will be ready to receive it.[1]
That was the message—the important thing the Prophet Joseph had come to say. Why would he return in this way to re-emphasize this point? The brethren had been taught the principle before, and they should have known what they should do without being prompted. Nevertheless, it was important enough to be taught again in this dramatic way. And, if so, it is doubly important for us to emphasize it here today.

To illustrate what I’m trying to tell you, I had a letter from one of the faculty members down here, and he told me this story. He had had a young man in his class who wasn’t a member of the Church, and this young man didn’t want to have to study religion. The professor spoke with him and handed him a copy of the missionary book that I wrote called A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. He said, “If you’ll read that and give me a book report on it, I’ll excuse you from any other study.” The professor sent me the letter that this boy had written when he was about halfway through the book. The final result was that he joined the Church, and I had the privilege of performing the marriage ceremony for him and one of our Mormon girls in the Salt Lake Temple.

Many years ago two colleagues of mine—a nurse and her doctor husband—asked me why I lived the way I did. I answered, “Because I know the Book of Mormon is true.” I let them borrow my copy of the book, inviting them to read it. A week later they returned my book with a polite “thanks a lot.”

I responded, “What do you mean, thanks a lot? That’s a totally inappropriate response for one who has read this book. You didn’t read it, did you! Please take it back and read it; then I would like my book back.”

Admitting that they had only turned its pages, they accepted my invitation. When they returned, they said tearfully, “We have read the Book of Mormon. We know it is true! We want to know more.” They learned more, and it was my privilege to baptize both of them.

After graduation David couldn’t wait to turn 19 and send in his mission papers. His doctor attached a note verifying he was totally independent.
But it was not to be. Instead of a calling, David’s letter informed him he could not serve a full-time proselyting mission.
“When I heard this, I was crushed,” remembers David. “I had worked so hard, and it seemed it was all taken away from me in just a matter of seconds.” Even though David had given it his best, he felt strongly he must continue to pursue a mission. An interview was arranged with Elder David B. Haight of the Quorum of the Twelve, who lovingly assured David there was a mission for him.
One week later he was called to serve a welfare mission at the Deseret Industries (D.I.) in St. George. Nothing had prepared him for such a call. “To tell the truth, I was disappointed.” But he kept hearing these words to the song, “I will go, I will do,” run through his head and knew the Lord wanted him there.
“I look back now and think how foolish I was. I had no clue what a blessing this mission would be,” David says.