Gospel Story Finder

When 10-year-old John joined the swimming team, he told his coach he could compete in the meets held on Saturday but not those held on Sunday. At the last meet of the season, John’s relay race was scheduled for Sunday. He remembered a family home evening lesson about making decisions in advance so it would be easier to do the right thing when the time came. John said: “I had made the decision not to swim on Sunday before I joined my team. That made it easier for me to tell the coach that I couldn’t swim the relay. I thought the coach would be mad at me. But at the end-of-the-year banquet, … he told the team how proud he was of me for having standards and then sticking to them.”3 John shows he knows by keeping the Sabbath day holy and setting an example of someone who follows the teachings of Jesus. Every time you keep the Sabbath day holy, you show you know.

Second, President Gordon B. Hinckley shared an experience following a Mesa Arizona Temple renovation several decades ago. President Hinckley hosted hundreds of clergy of other religions and offered to answer questions following a tour of the temple.

One Protestant minister noted the absence of the cross throughout the temple and on our buildings elsewhere. He asked, “Why is this when you say you believe in Jesus Christ?” [10]

President Hinckley respectfully responded: “I do not wish to give offense to any of my Christian colleagues who use the cross on the steeples of their cathedrals and at the altars of their chapels, who wear it on their vestments, and imprint it on their books and other literature. But for us, the cross is the symbol of the dying Christ, while our message is a declaration of the Living Christ.”

The minister then asked, “If you do not use the cross, what is the symbol of your religion?”

President Hinckley replied, “The lives of our people must become the most meaningful expression of our faith and, in fact, therefore, the symbol of our worship.” [11]

Josh wiggled his fingers and toes in the warm sand. The salty breeze blew in his face and Josh licked his lips.
“I can taste the ocean!” he announced. He dug his plastic shovel into the sand. “Brooke, will you help me make a sandcastle?” Brooke didn’t look up. She quickly turned the page of her book, eagerly seeking the next words in the story.
Dad pushed the beach umbrella into the sand while Mom spread out their towels. She looked at Brooke and laughed gently. “Brooke, do you want to stop reading and look at the beautiful view? This is a perfect start to our vacation!”
Brooke slowly closed her book. She tried to focus on the bright blue sky and the palm trees waving in the breeze, but in her mind she was still in the dark pine forest with Princess Rosalie and Sir Nathanael. It was her favorite kind of story—knights on majestic horses, a beautiful princess, a priceless treasure guarded by terrible monsters. She tried to picture what the treasure would be: gold coins, sparkling jewelry, riches for the grandest kings and queens.
Brooke gazed at the glittering ocean. It stretched as far as she could see. “There could be buried treasure out there,” she said. “I’ve read about ships that got caught in storms and sank with all their treasure.”
Dad winked at her. “Maybe we’ll find some while we’re here. We can have a treasure hunt.”
“No thanks, Dad,” Brooke said. “I’m going to read some more.” She stretched out on her beach towel and opened her book again. Would Princess Rosalie find the secret door in time? Would Sir Nathanael find a way to defeat the monsters?
A while later, Josh came running up to Brooke carrying his plastic beach pail. “Look! Dad and I found treasure!” He reached into the pail and pulled out a delicate sand dollar. It was followed by a collection of smooth stones and shells.
She picked up a piece of a shell. “This isn’t treasure.”
“Why not?” Josh demanded.
“These are just rocks and shells. They’re not worth anything.”
Dad sat down on the sand. “A treasure doesn’t have to be worth a lot of money, Brooke,” he said. “It isn’t always a pile of gold coins like you’re always reading about.” He grinned and tugged playfully on her hair. “A treasure is something that means a lot to you. It’s something that you want to take care of and remember.” He picked a shiny pink shell out of Josh’s pail and handed it to Brooke. She looked at it doubtfully. “Just think about it,” Dad said.
The next morning Dad said they were going to visit Grandma Connors. As Brooke put her book in her bag Mom touched her shoulder. “You can take your book, but please don’t read it while we’re at Grandma’s.”
Brooke frowned. “But there’s nothing else to do at her house. It’s boring there,” she said. “Besides, I’m getting to the really good part! Sir Nathanael is about to fight the monsters!”
“Grandma Connors is lonely and she misses us a lot,” Mom said. “She’s looking forward to visiting with all of us.” She smiled. Brooke didn’t smile back.
When they pulled up to Grandma Connors’s house, she was waiting for them in her front yard. “Hello, dears!” she called and waved to them. She led them inside, talking and laughing. She cut everyone a piece of cake, and they all went outside to sit on the back porch. Josh sat next to Grandma and she kept patting his hand.
Grandma, Mom, and Dad began talking about uncles and friends and cousins whom Brooke didn’t know. She swung her legs restlessly in her chair. “Will Princess Rosalie find the treasure?” she wondered. Her fingers itched to feel the familiar weight of the book, but she didn’t want to disobey Mom.
Brooke went inside, hoping she could find something to do. She found a bookcase filled with large, brown books. She pulled one out. The cover was plain. There weren’t any pictures of princesses or gold or jewels on it. Brooke half-heartedly opened the cover. Inside she found pages of photographs, some of them faded or turning yellow with age. She studied the faces but didn’t see anyone she knew. But then she saw a little girl with a braid who looked like her. She carried the album to the back porch.
“Well, look what you found,” Grandma said, her eyes twinkling.
Brooke pointed to the picture. “Who’s this, Grandma? She looks like me.”
Grandma smiled. “That’s your mother when she was about your age,” she said. She turned a few pages and pointed to another picture. “That’s your grandfather and me at our first dance together.”
Brooke settled next to Grandma and pointed to a black-and-white photograph. “Who are those kids?” she asked.
“That’s me!” Grandma said. “Me and my brothers, Jacob and Steven. And that was our dog, Smarty.”
“Smarty?” Brooke laughed.
Grandma turned to more pictures and told stories about family members Brooke never knew. But seeing their faces as Grandma spoke helped their stories come alive.
Before Brooke knew it, it was time to leave. “Before you go, I want to show you one more,” Grandma said. She turned to a photograph in the very back of the album. It was black and white, and worn from being handled a lot. A young couple stood together. The woman had long, dark ringlets that rested on a high-collared, lacy white dress. The man wore a suit.
“That’s you and Grandpa when you were married,” Brooke said.
“Yes,” Grandma said. Her voice was softer. “Looking at this picture and seeing his smiling face helps me remember all the wonderful times we had together. I’ve treasured this picture since the day it was taken, and it means so much more to me now that your grandpa is gone.”
Brooke studied the picture for a moment. “When we get home, I’m going to send you a picture of my smiling face so you can be happy,” she said.
Grandma hugged Brooke tightly.
A few weeks later, Dad brought home some pictures they took on their vacation. Mom, Brooke, and Josh crowded around him to see.
“There we are at the beach!” Josh said.
“There’s that beautiful garden I saw,” Mom said.
“There’s me and Grandma!” Brooke said, pointing to the photo of their young and old faces close together.
Dad propped up the picture on the mantle. Then he smiled and winked at Brooke. “Do you think we found a treasure?”
“I just need one more piece of gold,” Brooke said. She ran to her room and quickly returned. Next to the photo she placed a shiny pink shell. “Now our treasure is perfect,” she said.

Indio High School’s water polo team was surprising everybody. The Southern California 3-A championship game was half over, and they were thrashing the El Dorado Hawks, 7–3. Indio’s Rajahs were considered a Cinderella club, strong on teamwork but lacking the polish and size necessary to pull off an upset. Yet somehow they were winning the game!
Calvin Lowell, 17, braced himself at the edge of the pool, ready to sprint to the center. (In water polo each quarter begins when the referee tosses the ball to the middle of the water, and players swim toward it in a scramble for possession.) He knew El Dorado would come out fighting.
Cal looked up at his father, Dr. John Lowell, who was standing near one of the diving boards, ready to shout encouragement. It wasn’t just another case of a proud spectator cheering on his boy. Cal’s father is the Indio coach.
The whistle shrieked. Waves foamed and churned. One blazing shot after another skittered into the net, despite flailing arms and lunging defensive maneuvers. Two of Indio’s top players fouled out. The lead narrowed to 8–7. Each team scored again quickly. Then with two minutes and 36 seconds remaining in the fourth quarter, an El Dorado forward slapped the ball from the goalie’s hand and it floated into the net to knot the score at 9–9.
Coach Lowell bowed his head. Ignoring thousands of screaming fans, he said a silent prayer. He knew the Lord couldn’t promise a victory, but he hoped that each player would perform to the best of his ability. A new strategy came into his head, and he called a time out.
He gathered the players around him and counseled them to avoid the congested area just in front of the goals, concentrating on outside shots. Play resumed. The tactic worked perfectly, but the man who wound up free with the ball was the team’s poorest marksman. “Not him,” Coach Lowell wanted to shout. “Anybody but …”
The ball slammed into the goal’s canvas backing. Indio led again, 10–9. The same play worked twice more with other Indio shooters, while the Hawks tallied only one more point. The seconds timer read zero. The championship game was over, and the Rajahs had won, 12–10!
The CIF (California Interscholastic Federation) victory over El Dorado was the culmination of a lot of struggle and practice for the coach and his players. But more than that, it was the realization of a goal shared by a father and a son. Cal Lowell and his father, both active members of the Church, have been working together to build water polo in Indio for a long time.
The Lowell family came to the community under unusual circumstances. Brother Lowell had just finished his doctorate degree at BYU and was searching for a job. “I knew I wanted to coach swimming because Cal was in swimming. He showed talent as a youngster, and all I really wanted to do was help him develop it. I wanted to find a job that would allow me to spend time with my son.”
But after graduation Brother Lowell was 50 and unemployed. He’d been fasting and praying about finding a job and worrying particularly about his older son Ron who was still on a mission. As he sat at the kitchen table reading a swimming magazine, a small classified ad caught Brother Lowell’s attention. It described a coaching position available in a desert town 150 miles southeast of Los Angeles. Every detail seemed to be describing him. “It was like a hand came down on my shoulder, and I had to get up and call the number. I figured that an ad in a national magazine would already be filled, but I knew I had to call just the same. I told the man who answered the phone, ‘You may think I’m crazy, but I think the Lord wants me to come to Indio and coach swimming. I’m a Mormon, and I think that I’m being told that that’s what I should be doing.’ The man said, ‘I don’t think you’re crazy; I’m a Mormon, too!’” Brother Joe Rile, the man Brother Lowell had phoned, was on the board of directors for a private swim club in Indio. Soon the whole Lowell family was relocated.
When they arrived in Indio, there were good facilities, but there was no solid program for water polo. Brother Lowell started talking to community leaders, and Cal and his friends started “recruiting” potential players. The combined community and high school effort they initiated for both swimming and water polo has produced an enviable record.
Four boys formed the nucleus of the original team. (There are seven players per team, counting the goalie.) They played a summer of AAU league water polo in eighth grade before their freshman year in high school. In their first high school season they won athletic letters and started on the varsity polo team. In swimming they won the CIF freshman-sophomore 6-by-50-yard relay (freestyle). Then they captured the national Junior Olympics water polo crown (15 and under) in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and six of the players on that trip, including Cal, were named to the All-America team.
The next year Indio’s high school team won the league water polo championship and made it into the second round CIF playoffs. Then during swimming season they won four out of seven events in the CIF freshman-sophomore relays, setting three records, including one national record that beat the previous time by three seconds. Cal was the anchor (final) swimmer on all the relay squads and qualified for the state championships in all four strokes on varsity time standards as a sophomore.
Brother Lowell also arranged for the team to travel to Australia and to the Church College of New Zealand and to play several exhibition games en route. To help fund that project, the polo players swam 7,000 laps in a hotel pool, with people pledging money for each lap completed. During the tour they stayed part of the time with LDS families and were impressed by their friendly attitude, high standards, and enthusiasm for life. “They made us feel at home,” Guy Baker, one of Cal’s teammates, said. The team gained enough recognition with its 13–1–1 record during the tour to receive tentative invitations to Japan and Cuba next year.
But the team members feel the high school championship over El Dorado in 1977 still tops their list of achievements. No team outside the Los Angeles area had ever won the 3-A water polo title before. (And incidentally, all of the starting Indio players were named to the all-CIF team, and Brother Lowell was named coach of the year.) It’s indicative of the growth water polo has made since the Lowells arrived in Indio. So is the formation of the Indio Aquatics Club, an AAU (Amateur Athletic Union) organization founded by Brother Lowell, which stars the same swimmers in tournaments against amateur teams.
Both Cal and his father are quick to point out, though, that their success hasn’t come without effort. “When we organized our first summer polo program here,” Cal said, “we didn’t even know what the tournaments were. We called up team after team, but they wouldn’t practice with us. Mira Costa (150 miles away) was the only team that would play us, and that was at seven in the morning.” So Sister Lowell and the players got up at 4:00 A.M., drove for three hours, played the game, and drove home. (Brother Lowell had to work at the high school and couldn’t leave.) They lost 14–2. They battled through the rest of that initial AAU season, too. In nine of the eleven final games, they won by only one point. (But then they battled on in championship playoffs to the Junior Olympic title mentioned above.)

I was born in Bogotá, Colombia. My parents taught me to believe in God, and for that I am very grateful. But like every human being, I made mistakes, and these mistakes slowly weakened my relationships with my family. Due to tension in my home and with the motivation of seeking a better life, I decided to take a vacation in Fusagasuga, a town close to Bogotá. While I was there, my problems continued.
One day I went out for a walk, wondering if I should seek help. Finally I asked God to help me; I felt that was the right thing to do.
After a few days I met a young woman who told me about the church she was attending. What she said made me curious and hopeful. I asked if I could attend one of her church’s meetings.
On arriving I was welcomed by kind people. They introduced me to the missionaries, who gave me the first discussion and a Book of Mormon.
At the end of my vacation I went back to Bogotá, where I was in an accident and injured my leg. Because I could not walk well, I started to read the book the missionaries had given me. It was then that I found answers to many questions I had about the purpose of life and the correct way to worship God. The teachings of Nephi and Mosiah and others gave me the desire to talk with the missionaries about this Church.
Because of my accident it was difficult to move about, but the desire to learn more was so great I went to Fusagasuga in search of the missionaries. When I found them, they gave me the address of some missionaries close to my home, and I returned.
The day the cast was taken off my leg, even though I still could not walk well, I looked for the nearest Latter-day Saint Church building. I found the missionaries there—as if they were waiting for me. Elders Castro, Mamani, and Duran answered my many questions and invited me to join the kingdom of God.
Every time we talked, I felt that this was the right road and that God had answered my pleas for help. Like many, I sought the truth on my knees; the nicest part of the gospel message was that I could know the truth for myself. Two months later, on 4 June 1994, I was baptized.

I will never forget the day I decided to go on a mission. My mother and I were the first in our family to join the Church. The missionaries came to our home and taught us many great things that we didn’t know before: about the Lord’s true Church, prophets, the priesthood, and how it was restored again after a great apostasy. Their teachings and invitation to come and see how the Church was organized made us feel the Spirit as we had never felt before. Eventually my mother and I decided to join the Church.
We were so happy, every Sunday attending sacrament meeting and seeing the love the members of the Church showed us. My mom and I waited for my father who was working in Dubai to come and be baptized, and my brother was studying in Vijayawada where there is no Church. Fortunately, a home group was started in Vijayawada and missionaries from Rajahmundry went there and taught him. I baptized him. The day came that my father arrived from his work the missionaries met him, taught him, and invited him to be baptized, but he had an issue with the Word of Wisdom. Finally, he overcame it with the help of the missionaries and he also joined the Church. My brother baptized him. Now all four members in our family have joined the Church and have seen many miracles in our lives.
I was baptized when I was 18 years old and I never thought about serving a mission. Missionaries and members of the Church use to ask me about it whenever we met. I used to say, “I will think about it, let me finish my studies.” I finished my studies. The members continued to ask, “When are you going to serve a mission?” I would answer, “Let me make some money then I will think about it.” Every time, I used to give excuses for not serving a mission.
One day I sat on the rooftop, thinking about what I should do, wondering why God had given me challenges. Just one thought came into my mind: “Go on a mission.” A few days later I watched general conference with lots of questions. The main one was about my mission. I was waiting for the answers, when I heard President Dieter F. Uchtdorf say, “Those who love and serve God and fellowmen and humbly and actively participate in His work will see wondrous things happen in their lives and in the lives of those they love”1. I felt very strongly that it was the perfect answer from Him that I needed. The next moment I spoke to my mom. She did not want me to serve a mission. She had said many times, “I can’t live two years without you.” That day I thought she might say no, but she said, “I am happy to send you on a mission.”
I submitted my papers and waited for my call letter for almost one year. Meanwhile I went on exchanges with missionaries and learned a lot from them. This preparation helped me to gain a strong testimony to never give up on my mission and taught me how important it is to serve the Lord. Eventually the wait was over. The call letter came. When I opened it and saw that I was called to serve in the India New Delhi Mission, I was shocked. I read the letter again and saw at the bottom, “your purpose will be to invite others to come unto Christ.” I felt joy and happiness. I was prepared to leave my home, family, and friends.
There is no other place I would rather be than in the India New Delhi Mission where I have come to know who I am and why God sent me here. Because of Jesus Christ, I have the power to deal with the burdens, obstacles, and temptations. He had delivered me from physical and spiritual danger. The mission field is like a washing machine where we, like a dirty cloth, can be put in it, to be twisted, spun and knocked around and come out brighter, cleaner and better than before.
The Lord demands our whole soul on the sacrificial altar. That is the price we must pay, and when we do, we become instruments in his hands. We are all answerable to Him in this life, and in the next, we will be held accountable when we are called before Him to make our report. When that time comes, I will stand before Him to give an account of my stewardship. I pray that I may be able to do so without embarrassment, apology, or excuse. I am not perfect, I do have my weaknesses, but I can say that I have tried to do what the Lord would have me do as his servant disciple.

Winter was coming, and David Dickson had no idea how to keep his family warm.

David, his wife, and two daughters had just moved to the rural city of Fredonia, Arizona, USA, a high-desert landscape surrounded by majestic red cliffs, sagebrush, and evergreens.

The home the Dicksons had rented relied on a wood-burning stove as its primary heat source. David quickly learned that gathering firewood was a necessary skill because winters in Fredonia are full of snow and ice.

“I didn’t have any firewood or a chainsaw or even the knowledge of how to use one!” David says. “I didn’t know what I was going to do.”

Some ward members asked David if his family had enough wood to get through the winter. “It didn’t take them long to realize that I didn’t,” David says. “The elders quorum soon offered to help me gather wood. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I accepted their offer.”

David soon found out that this wood-gathering trip was typical of many well-planned, well-organized, and well-attended ward activities. One Saturday morning, David, the elders quorum, and other ward members headed into the mountains in a caravan of trucks and trailers.

“In a single afternoon, thanks to their tools and know-how, ward members provided my family with a woodpile that lasted us the better part of two winters,” David says. “Even more important, I was taught everything I needed to know about gathering wood on my own. By the time I left Fredonia, I knew how to handle a chainsaw, and I helped out on more ward wood-gathering activities than I can count.”

Roger Stanton is enthusiastic about the JustServe programme. What started as a volunteer position in his Sheffield congregation of the Church has turned into a full-time mission.
In January 2020, Roger and his wife, Sue, eagerly accepted the assignment to promote JustServe throughout England. JustServe is a website that links volunteers with needs in the community. The Stantons’ responsibility is to contact national charities, discover their needs for volunteers, and enter information on the JustServe website.
As Roger studied the guidelines from the Church, he noted that full-time volunteers should spend eight to ten hours a week helping in the community. He began to feel that example might be the best way to invite others to serve more. The more charities he added to JustServe, and the more he tried to recruit volunteers, the more he felt he should follow that advice and set a proper example.
Roger signed on to the website and, being a heart-attack survivor, chose to volunteer with the British Heart Foundation. He was contacted by the shop manager and started training the following week.
COVID-19 precautions were in place throughout the store, and Roger was assigned to greet customers as they entered. In his friendly welcome, he encouraged them to follow the safety guidelines. Being a very social person who loves to meet others; he laughs that his assignment was “to chat with people!”
Roger sports a waistcoat of colourful frogs with a matching face mask designed by Sue. “It brings a smile on people’s faces,” he quips. And it brings a smile to his face as he shares thoughts on chatting to wonderful people.
As we emerge from lockdown, Roger looks forward once again to welcoming customers into the shop. He encourages all who wish to serve in the community to, “Download the JustServe app. Select a charity and press the volunteer button. Spend a few hours in a worthwhile cause. It’s where the fun starts.”

I know the blessings I enjoyed on my mission came partly from a defining moment in the MTC. When I first arrived, I was told of the great work other welfare service missionaries were doing around the world. In my heart, I said I would be one of those missionaries they talked about. But the good Spirit of the MTC humbled me as the weeks went by and by the end of my stay, I promised the Lord that I would serve Him in any way, no matter how small, even if it was only to help one person take one step. Wouldn't you say that it is a credit to the Lord's sense of humor that our work in the refugee camp made it into the Church News?
Like Elder Maxwell, I feel I have fulfilled my pledge imperfectly, but I do recognize that every good gift and blessing in my life has come from following the teachings of the Savior.

My father’s grandmother, Bengtha Swenson, left beautiful Sweden disowned and knowing that she may never hear from her father or mother again in this life. Did they quarrel? Did she try to explain about the gospel? After whatever words had been said and she had left for Denmark to work for a year before boarding a ship set for the golden shores of America, did her mother waken in the night to weep for her daughter and for the words that had passed between them? They never had contact again.
The far and the near? Oh that we could draw nearer to heal the rifts we make with those we love!

The day I discovered I could, with my mission president’s permission, extend my mission for a month was one of the most exciting in my life. As a recent convert, I was determined to stay in the mission field and share the gospel with as many people as I could.
As the end of my 24th month drew to a close, I was grateful for the chance to stay a little longer and teach the gospel. On Sunday night, three days before transfers, the phone rang. I was serving as the zone leader in Lubbock, Texas, so I wasn’t surprised to hear my mission president’s voice.
I figured he was going to update me on the upcoming transfers. Instead, he told me that he felt inspired to send me home on time and revoke my extension. The president instructed me to pack my belongings and be on the mission van headed for Fort Worth at 7:00 a.m. the next morning.
As I hung up the phone, I began to cry. I couldn’t believe my mission was about to end. I wanted badly to have an extra month to share the gospel as a full-time servant of the Lord.
The next morning I boarded the van for the 15-hour ride to Fort Worth. By the time I reached my destination I was drained, spiritually and emotionally. I could not understand why I needed to go home now. In my final interview, the mission president assured me that it was the Lord’s will.
After returning home, I reported on my mission to the stake high council. When I left the high council meeting, I was approached by a high councilor, who invited me to accompany him on an upcoming speaking assignment. The topic was on being a modern-day pioneer. I agreed to speak.
During the next few weeks I readjusted to life but still had no answer as to why I had been sent home on time. The day of the speaking assignment arrived, and I prayed that Heavenly Father would help me speak with His Spirit. During my talk, I told of being a pioneer as my family’s only Church member and of the hardships I had faced since my baptism. I also shared the experiences of other converts I had met on my mission and how they overcame their obstacles. I felt that the Spirit was guiding my every word.
After the meeting, a 17-year-old girl approached me. She said she was not a member of the Church but was friends with a young man who was. Her friend and his family had shared the gospel with her. The girl said she had a testimony but was afraid of how her parents would react to her desire for baptism. She thanked me for sharing my experiences and told me she now knew what she needed to do.
Several months later, the high councilor I had spoken with approached me. He mentioned the girl who had talked with me after my pioneer talk and said she had been baptized a few days earlier. He said the girl felt the Spirit so strongly during my talk that she had no doubt that Heavenly Father wanted her to join the Church.
My heart swelled with joy as I realized why I had been denied my mission extension. I was merely an instrument in Heavenly Father’s hands, and He knew where I could serve best—at home.

The screen door slammed shut with a loud bang. Lindy trudged in, pulled a chair from the kitchen table, and plopped down.
“Hi, Punkin,” her mother said as she turned off the water in the sink. She pulled one of Lindy’s blonde pigtails and said, “Why the long face? I thought you couldn’t wait for school to be out. You can’t be tired of vacation already.”
Lindy sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “There’s nothing to do,” she said and sighed again.
Lindy’s mother smiled. “Why don’t you ride your bike? You and Julie always like to race to the end of the street.”
“Julie’s gone to her grandmother’s,” Lindy grumbled. “M-o-o-o-o-m,” she wailed, tugging on her mother’s apron. “What can I dooooo?”
“I know,” her mother said, snapping her fingers. “Why don’t you read the new book I got you yesterday?”
Lindy sat up straight and gave her mother a wide grin. Then she slumped back in her seat. “Aw, Mom, I read that yesterday.” She frowned and thumped the table with her fingers.
“I have just the thing,” Mother said, sitting down at the table with her. “How would you like to play a game—a game that can last all summer!”
Lindy giggled. “Mom, what game can last all summer?”
“I know one,” Mother said, handing Lindy a big red apple. “This one: Do something good for someone each day—something kind.”
Lindy took a big bite out of her apple. She turned questioning blue eyes on her mother. “Mom, are you sure that that will be fun? It doesn’t sound like a game to me.”
“It can be,” said Mother. “The fun part is that you mustn’t let the people know you did the things for them. You can’t let them see you, and you can’t tell them you did it. If you do, it doesn’t count.”
Lindy giggled. “They’ll think elves did it.” She got out of her chair and danced around the room. “I’ll be the secret elf of Goodman,” she said. Then she frowned. “OK, Mom, what can I do?”
Her mother laughed and got up to look out the window. “Well, Mrs. Parker doesn’t get around very well. Maybe you could do something for her.”
“I know! I know!” Lindy exclaimed, jumping up and down. “I can carry her paper from the sidewalk to her porch so it’ll be easier for her to get.”
She dashed to the door.
“Remember—she mustn’t see you,” her mother called after her.
Lindy ran to the big oak tree in the backyard and peered at Mrs. Parker’s house. She saw Mrs. Parker through the kitchen window, washing dishes.
Lindy clapped her hands and darted to the sidewalk in front of the house. She grabbed the folded newspaper and ran and dropped it next to the front door.
She just had time to scurry behind the shrubbery at the side of the house before the front door opened. Lindy bent a branch of the bush just the tiniest bit so that she could see Mrs. Parker.
“These old legs are not what they used to be,” Lindy heard Mrs. Parker mumble. Then Lindy heard a click as Mrs. Parker unlatched the screen.
“My, my! How did you get on the porch?” Mrs. Parker asked, bending to pick up the paper. She looked first up the street, then down the street.
Lindy clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her excited giggles.
“Somebody sure has been kind to me,” Mrs. Parker said, shaking her head. “My poor legs say thank you, whoever you are,” she called out. She shook her head again and went back inside.
Lindy smiled happily as she scampered back over into her yard and sat on her swing. While she swung slowly, she thought about what her next adventure would be. Gazing down the street, she saw papers and cans strewn all over Mr. Johnson’s yard.
“That’s it? She jumped out of the swing, ran to the house, tugged the screen door open, and ran in.
“Mom, I need a garbage bag quick. The dogs have made a mess of Mr. Johnson’s yard. Would you call him on the phone, please, and keep him talking so he won’t see me clean it up?”
Lindy dashed to the door, then stopped and turned to her mother. “And, Mom,” she said with a big grin, “it’s going to be a fun summer!”

During an interfaith event in October, I was asked by Mrs Lynda Ford-Horne, Chair of the Poole and Bournemouth Holocaust Memorial Committee, if I would be willing to accept the invitation to be one of the volunteers to light one of the seven candles for the Holocaust Memorial Service that was being held on Sunday 26th January at The Poole Lighthouse Theatre.
The six candles represent the six million Jews that were murdered during the holocaust, with the seventh candle representing the other million victims from groups that were also murdered.
I am the granddaughter of a Ukrainian Jew and when Lynda asked me, I felt that I was being given this honour to represent my Jewish ancestors and my heart was very full.
On the day of the Memorial Service, tears fell as I stepped forward to light the candle and my heart and soul felt very close to my Jewish family that have passed through the veil. I gave thanks that I was able to do this task in their name.

For many years I had a problem with a certain word—no. I couldn’t say it. Whenever anybody needed me for something—anything—I was there. And although I enjoy helping others, I’ve occasionally missed out on what seemed to be significant opportunities for my personal growth because I simply couldn’t say that one word. But one summer, what seemed to be one of my biggest mental impairments turned out to be the greatest blessing of my life.
I had recently graduated from high school and planned to attend college away from home the coming fall. It would be my first time living away from family, and I was excited for the new experience. I had a well-paying job at a local grocery store, a brand new car, and I was saving a lot of money. My life was in order.
One afternoon I approached my supervisor to tell her that I needed to transfer to a store closer to where I’d be attending college. But before I could get the words out she was telling me about a position opening the following week that she wanted me to fill.
It would have been easy for me to say no. I was starting college in a month, and there were several other capable people who could do the job. But I didn’t; I couldn’t.
I felt frustrated. Like most teenagers, all I wanted was to move away and enjoy college life. But suddenly I found myself staying home and postponing college—because I couldn’t say no to a supervisor.
I began my new duties, and, after a short time, settled into the new routine. As part of my responsibilities, I supervised a small group of people, including two high school students, Chris and Randa. After working with them for a while, I decided I liked Randa and asked her on a date. One of my co-workers found out about it and said, “You know she’s Mormon, right?”
Yes, I knew she was Mormon, but that meant little to me. At the time I was slightly misguided, thinking Mormons didn’t use electricity and drove horse-drawn buggies.
As for myself, I had no religion. My parents grew up in different faiths, but neither practiced into adulthood. I was raised in a loving home, but spirituality was not part of my upbringing. However, I had always been interested in religion. In high school I had friends whom I would often ask about God, Jesus Christ, and religious principles and values. A faith-filled life was something I had always wanted, but something seemed to hold me back.
Randa and her family regularly asked me to listen to missionary lessons, but I kept putting it off. It seemed too mysterious.
Randa eventually moved out of state to attend college, and we continued our relationship long-distance. One day she called and said, “I was just talking to my mom, and she said she wants you to listen to the missionaries.” This I knew, of course. But this time it was different.
Randa’s parents hadn’t wanted us to date because I wasn’t a Church member, but Randa’s mother said if I would take time to learn about the Church they’d accept our relationship. So I agreed.
The first few discussions were useless for me because I was simply going through the motions to get on the parents’ good side. I didn’t read the Book of Mormon or pray and was somewhat antagonistic toward the elders.
But the third discussion brought a change. I decided to read from the Book of Mormon, not so much for myself, but because I didn’t want to disappoint the missionaries again. Something surprising happened—I liked it.
In the next lesson I learned about the plan of salvation, the Word of Wisdom, the law of chastity, and how families can be forever. The principles being taught were ones I had always believed. Some religions teach that we shouldn’t drink alcohol or have sexual relations before marriage, but they do nothing to back it up. Some religions teach that when we die we will be angels in heaven and servants to God but have no recollection of our experiences and associations on earth. I couldn’t accept that. But here was a church that backed up what it taught. Here was a church teaching the same core values and beliefs I had always held.
Our next meeting was the clincher. Rather than teach a lesson, the missionaries showed On the Way Home, a film relating a story of a family who had a daughter die in an accident and later found peace through the knowledge that their family could be together forever through the gospel of Jesus Christ.
As I watched the movie I felt as if my entire body were being filled with some unknown power—some sort of light, peace, and bliss—and I started to cry. I thought, “This is a Church movie; what are you doing?” It was then I knew what I needed to do.
I was baptized August 20, 1998. I met with the missionaries because I wanted to please my girlfriend’s mother. I was baptized because I wanted to please my Heavenly Father and my Savior.
I have come to learn that the Lord knows us much better than we know ourselves. Throughout my younger years the Lord blessed me with desires for righteousness, though I wasn’t born a believer. Instilled within every human soul is the Light of Christ, “which lighteth every man that cometh into the world” (John 1:9).
If we listen to the quiet voice inside that prompts us along the road of righteousness, we will be led to a life of happiness now and throughout eternity. We won’t always know why we are making certain choices, and that’s OK. We just need to obey.
I once had an idiosyncrasy that constrained me from saying no to people who needed me. It was annoying. Though I wanted to attend college (and eventually did), what if I had said no to my supervisor the day she asked me to fill a new position at work?
Sometimes what we see as our greatest impairments may actually be our greatest blessings. It was for me.

Elder Hugh B. Brown shared a story that illustrates that God knows best:
I was living up in Canada. I had purchased a farm. It was run-down. I went out one morning and saw a currant bush. It had grown up over six feet high. It was going all to wood. There were no blossoms and no currants. I was raised on a fruit farm in Salt Lake before we went to Canada, and I knew what ought to happen to that currant bush. So I got some pruning shears and went after it, and I cut it down, and pruned it, and clipped it back until there was nothing left but a little clump of stumps. It was just coming daylight, and I thought I saw on top of each of these little stumps what appeared to be a tear, and I thought the currant bush was crying. . . . I looked at it, and smiled, and said, “What are you crying about?” You know, I thought I heard that currant bush talk. And I thought I heard it say this: “How could you do this to me? . . . I thought you were the gardener here.” . . . I said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. . . . And some day, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down, for caring enough about me to hurt me. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.” [Hugh B. Brown, “The Currant Bush,” New Era,January 1973, pp. 14–15; emphasis in original]

A few years ago in Italy, LDS missionaries were harassed by some Italian youths. Among the group on two occasions was a young man named Felice Lotito. He was challenged by a bold elder to come to the local LDS branch so that he could judge for himself. It was a dare which Felice accepted. He came. He heard. He studied. He believed. He was baptized. Later he was sent on a mission to England where he increased his faith and his facility with English. He served honorably, came home, married a lovely Italian girl in the Bern Switzerland Temple, and became one of the directors of the seminary and institute program in Italy.
In July of 1980, Felice Lotito left at age 32 to be the mission president in the Italy Padova Mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints! God saw in Felice possibilities that Felice did not see in himself. When the gospel was presented to him, Felice had the integrity of heart and intellect to believe it, even though he had been hassling the missionaries just days before.

On one occasion, Karl G. Maeser was leading a party of young missionaries across the Alps. As they reached the summit, he looked back and saw a row of sticks thrust into the snow to mark the one safe path across the otherwise treacherous glacier.
Halting the company of missionaries, he gestured toward the sticks and said, “Brethren, there stands the priesthood [of God]. They are just common sticks like the rest of us, … but the position they hold makes them what they are to us. If we step aside from the path they mark, we are lost.” (In Alma P. Burton, Karl G. Maeser, Mormon Educator, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1953, p. 22.)

Let me conclude by telling you that at eighty years of age my father had to have his leg amputated, and because of that operation the last year of his life was particularly difficult. At his funeral Elder Thomas S. Monson spoke. He said:

I suppose his greatest battle has occurred in the last few months, but he rose to the occasion, and he demonstrated to each one of us that he is the man that we knew him to be. I’ve seen courage many times—in the navy, in life. I’ve read about courage. But I don’t know when I’ve seen courage to excel that of my friend as he overcame the handicap of his lost limb and, to the amazement of the doctors, at his age developed the ability to use his artificial limb in such a way that he could be proud of his accomplishment and could do many things that other people felt he never again would do.

These words and my father’s example have been a rich legacy of continuing strength for me and for my family, far more important than the earthly treasures of wealth or position he probably would like to have left us, but didn’t.

Richard M. Romney, Utah, USA
When those planning our ward Christmas social asked me to visit a certain less-active member and invite him to participate in the program, I have to admit I was nervous. I had met Darren only once before, when he had participated in an earlier ward activity. He had worn a motorcycle headband across his forehead. His long white hair was tied in a ponytail, he had a full white beard, and his arms were covered with tattoos.
Now, accompanied by a committee member, I was standing on Darren’s doorstep, wondering what he might say. He asked us to step inside, and we told him why we were there. He said, “Oh, I’d love to do that!”
He did an amazing job, helping to make the activity meaningful for so many. A short time later, my ministering companion and I were asked to visit Darren regularly. He always seems glad to see us, and we’ve had some delightful conversations. I’m grateful the inspiration to invite him to participate in the program of a ward activity led to a cherished relationship.

Here is one representative example. Soon after joining a school back East, I attended a research seminar where a faculty member from another university had come to present his research to our faculty. In the course of this presentation, I noticed a problem in his approach and statistical methods, and I shared these thoughts with the presenter during the seminar. It proved to be a problematic error for the visiting faculty member’s research, and by the end of the seminar, everyone knew the research conclusions of the scholar could not be made given that error.

Later that day, my colleagues congratulated me for “killing the paper”—their words, not mine. They shared with me running tallies of how many research papers they each had shot down in the public setting of a seminar. It felt wrong to me. Over time, I came to see that their group behavior or methodology seemed to be driven by a “king of the mountain” mentality, that if they were to be on top, they had to take others down. I found this culture to be quite common among my colleagues, and some argued that this was a superior methodology to get to the best research. From some perspectives, I could see their point. I have seen similar cultures or methodologies in business and other professional settings. Those interactions were not to edify, and unless those groups become willing to fundamentally change how they interact, they will never qualify to receive group revelation.