Gospel Story Finder

I served the first 11 months of my mission in Utah instead of where I had been assigned. This reassignment came because of the COVID-19 pandemic. I spoke my native language, ate food I was comfortable with, and visited familiar faces and places. It was amazing!
When travel restrictions lifted, I spent the remaining seven months of my mission in the beautiful Dominican Republic (my original assignment). I walked hours along the bright and lively streets, spoke Spanish, ate a ton of plantains and mangos, and taught the gospel of Jesus Christ to some of the most humble, fun, and faithful people I’ve ever met. This was also absolutely amazing!

When he was in the navy during World War II, there were those in the great and spacious building21 who made fun of his principles, but two of his shipmates, Dale Maddox and Don Davidson, took note and did not. They asked, “Sabin, why are you so different from everyone else? You have high morals and don’t drink, smoke, or swear, but you seem calm and happy.”
Their positive impression of my father did not match what they had been taught about the Mormons, and my father was able to teach and baptize both shipmates. Dale’s parents were very upset and warned him that if he joined the Church he would lose his sweetheart, Mary Olive, but she met with the missionaries at his request and was also baptized.
Near the end of the war, President Heber J. Grant called for missionaries, including some married men. In 1946, Dale and his wife, Mary Olive, decided Dale should serve even though they were expecting their first child. They eventually had nine children—three boys and six girls. All nine served missions, followed by Dale and Mary Olive, who served three missions of their own. Dozens of grandchildren have also served. Two of their sons, John and Matthew Maddox, are currently members of the Tabernacle Choir, as is Matthew’s son-in-law Ryan. The Maddox family now numbers 144 and are wonderful examples of being “all in.”
In going through my dad’s papers, we came across a letter from Jennifer Richards, one of the five daughters of the other shipmate, Don Davidson. She wrote: “Your righteousness changed our lives. It is hard to comprehend what our lives would be like without the Church. My dad died loving the gospel and trying to live it to the end.”22
It is hard to measure the impact for good each individual can have by standing up inside. My father and his two shipmates refused to listen to those in the great and spacious building who were pointing the finger of scorn.23 They knew that it is far better to follow the Creator than the crowd.

When I began high school, I participated on my school’s athletic team. Running was my passion—I had been a runner since I was nine years old—and I worked hard at it. I attended training sessions at least three times a week in the evenings. I even had opportunities to represent my city at Costa Rica’s national games.
Often, the practices went until late at night. That made getting up early for seminary, which started at 5:00 a.m., extra challenging, but I continued to make that sacrifice.
Halfway through high school, however, when I was 16 years old, I realized that I wasn’t putting my heart into seminary. I went, but I wasn’t as well rested, prepared, or attentive as I could have been. I also knew that being stretched thin by my very late and very early hours was affecting my physical performance, which wasn’t fair to my team.
Even though I had always thrived on participating in many activities and had been able to juggle church, academics, and sports up to that point, I no longer felt a sense of balance. I began to wonder if I needed to give something up. Running was a wholesome, healthy activity, one I was good at. It was an opportunity for me to use my talents and to establish patterns of discipline. And at my school, being an athlete was prestigious. I had good friends on my team, and if I left it, I’d miss those associations.
On the other hand, I had a goal of graduating from seminary, and I knew if I stayed on the team, I wouldn’t be able to do that.
As I weighed my decision, I thought about what would most benefit all aspects of my life, both during my high school years and for the rest of my life. I thought about my long-term goals. I realized that my attitude about seminary had implications for the rest of my life—for eternity, really. I realized what I needed to do.
At the end of my second year of high school, I told my coach and teammates that I wouldn’t be participating on the team anymore. They were shocked. No one understood why I would give up my passion for running competitively—something I had done for nearly half of my life—“to go to church at 5:00 a.m.” I explained to them that it was my responsibility and my priority and that in choosing these right things, I would be a happier person. Fortunately, even though they didn’t understand my decision, most of my peers respected it.
During the next two years of school, I had more time to read the scriptures and to ponder them. Because I wasn’t so rushed all the time, I found myself receiving inspiration more frequently. Those things gave my life balance, peace, and happiness that I had never experienced before.
At the end of high school, I graduated from seminary. That achievement meant a great deal to me. I gained a love of the scriptures and the stories and lessons they contain, I learned discipline in getting up early, and I was blessed with good friendships strengthened by that early-morning hour we spent together each day. But most important, I learned through seminary about making sure that I always put the Lord first.
That pattern continues to bless my life now as I study at a university. My classes are more difficult than they were in high school. I have more responsibilities at church. But because I established a habit of putting the Lord first, it has been easy to continue to set correct priorities, and I hope I can continue that pattern for the rest of my life.

What about giving a talk in sacrament meeting or presenting at an academic conference in your area of study? The first time I gave a talk at a major Alzheimer’s disease conference, I was in the first year of graduate school. It was the American Society of Human Genetics meetings, attended by over 10,000 scientists. My talk didn't have that many attendees. But I was terrified. I managed my fear with preparation. I prayed for guidance on how to prepare, and for the ability to do my very best work. I carefully made slides, wrote a word-for-word script for each slide, shared it with my Ph.D. advisor, and made edits. Then, I practiced it over and over. In the mirror. To the people in my research lab. And to Monica. Poor, kind Monica. I vividly remember plugging the computer into the TV in our little apartment in Saint Louis and giving my talk…over and over. Monica must have listen to it at least 10 times, and maybe even 20 times. When the moment to speak came, I was still nervous but not scared. I knew I had prepared and trusted the preparation. It went soooo well!

Students frequently drop by to let me know about their mission calls. I always congratulate them, hug them, and ask to tell me all of the juicy details. At least once a semester, I'll have a student drop by who I didn't realize was planning a mission. When I express surprise, usually the student will laugh and say something like this: "Oh, I wasn't planning to go. One Wednesday, I just prayed and asked the Lord what I should do with my life. The next day, Thursday, I got a letter from a friend on a mission, and he was really pumped up about missionary work. Friday, my Religion class talked about missions. Saturday, my FHE brothers came by to tell us that one of them had received his mission call. Sunday, the Sacrament Meeting talks were both on missionary work, and the Relief Society lesson was on supporting missionaries. Then, after Church, the Bishop called me in and asked if I'd considered a mission. I realized the Lord was sending me a message, so I decided to go."

Twelve-year-old Simon Stone let more string out so that his kite could climb higher in the sudden rush of wind that lifted it aloft like a winged thing in the copper-colored sky. Simon’s uncle, Elias Thatcher, had helped the youth build the kite a few days earlier in an effort to keep Simon occupied while Elias felled trees.
Lumberjacking was a hazardous business, and the lumbering activity in Hammond County was no exception. Already that season three men had died tragically. A far safer place for a young boy than where they were cutting wood was in the bunkhouse, sweeping floors. But that chore took Simon no more than an hour to complete, and he pined for something else to do besides watching logs pour out of the flume at the sawmill. After all, he had been at the camp at White Pine for nearly a year.
Flying a kite in the woods was hard. Simon’s uncle had said that the trees on the slopes were closer together than hands in prayer and that the wind went into a fit just trying to find a way to go through them. Sometimes Simon found it difficult to believe everything that his joshing uncle told him. But Simon did believe his stories about an unusually large and mean wolverine that everyone called Old Scratch. The wily varmint usually roamed the slopes below Fox Meadow.
Suddenly the sound of a gunshot disrupted the stillness, and Simon’s kite began to tumble toward the earth like a piece of limp cloth. Simon glanced around and spied a youth with a single-shot army carbine emerging from the trees that bordered the small meadow, a dark grin creasing his face. “I guess I haven’t lost my touch,” the youth sneered.
It was Clay McCalister, a son of one of the lumbermen. Big for a thirteen-year-old, he was a short-tempered bully and had often taunted Simon because of his gentle manner and the book of scriptures that he always carried with him.
Simon gazed at his kite lying broken on the ground. “There wasn’t any call for that, Clay,” Simon blurted uneasily.
Clay’s grin widened. “No call for a lot of things, Stone,” he retorted. “But that doesn’t seem to keep them from happening, now does it?” Clay ejected the spent shell from his rifle and slipped another cartridge into the breech.
Simon, deciding that the best place for him to be was anywhere that Clay wasn’t, crossed to where his kite lay, picked it up, and started out of the meadow.
“I’m not through with you yet, Stone!” Clay declared.
Simon froze; then he turned and faced the menacing youth. “You ruined my kite,” Simon said boldly. “What more do you want?”
Clay stepped closer. “You think you’re something special, Mormon? You think that book that you’re always carrying around is going to save you?”
“No,” Simon replied, “but its teachings will, if I live by them.” Clay seemed to be listening, so Simon continued. “There was a prophet by the name of Joseph Smith who said that a man cannot be saved in ignorance—”
“Are you saying that I’m ignorant?” Clay barked.
“No,” Simon returned, “but it never hurt anybody to become a little more learned.”
Clay just stared. No boy had ever spoken to him with such simple boldness. He narrowed his eyes and demanded that Simon hand over the Book of Mormon. “Maybe I can make it even more holy with a bullet from my carbine,” he added with a cold chuckle.
Simon stiffened. “I can’t do that, Clay. It’s a sacred book.”
Clay regarded Simon threateningly. “Mormons aren’t real popular around Hammond County. Your uncle probably told you that already, him being one too.”
“Yes, he did,” Simon replied evenly. “He also told me that it’s important to stand up for what you believe, even when it’s not easy.”
Clay snickered. “Like now, Mormon boy?” Clay started forward. “Are you going to give me that book, or am I going to have to—” Clay’s boot caught under an exposed root, and he fell hard across a stump. It knocked the wind out of him, and his rifle discharged skyward.
“Are you all right, Clay?” Simon asked.
Clay glared at Simon, gasping for air. “I feel a lot better than you’re going to, Mormon!”
Simon sighed and started out of the meadow. Making his way down the slope, he was careful to give a wide berth to Old Scratch’s territory. Simon paused in a small clearing to rest. The brushwood was so dense that he almost missed seeing what appeared to be a burrow above him. He shuddered at the thought that he might one day encounter the beast.
As Simon was about to move on, he heard a crashing in the brush a short way uphill. His blood ran cold as he whirled around and caught a glimpse of Clay McCalister. The youth had regained his wind and was racing down the slope to overtake him.
Simon had no sooner turned to flee, when a scream erupted from the thick undergrowth above him. Again he stopped. Simon couldn’t see Clay, but the boy was still screaming. Simon started back uphill. When he got close enough to see through the foliage, he spied Clay lying on his back, without his gun, pressed against a half-decayed log. The wolverine was growling and slowly closing in on him, provoked by Clay’s intrusion of his privacy. Scratch’s short snout sniffed at the boy’s foot; his sharp teeth were bared.
Simon crept out from behind the trees, removed a hunk of jerky from his pocket, and tossed it a short distance from the wolverine to lure it away from Clay. While the animal’s attention was diverted to this new object, Clay quickly crawled off.
After distancing themselves from Old Scratch, Clay questioned, “Why did you do it, Stone? I mean, I shot up your kite and was going to bust you up good.”
“You needed help,” Simon replied matter-of-factly. He patted the small, worn book that protruded from his pocket and added, “In the Book of Mormon, it tells about a prophet named Enos who prayed for his enemies. If he could do that, the least I could do was try to …” Simon’s speech trailed as he beheld what appeared to be a tear in Clay McCalister’s eye.
Clay quickly wiped it away. “Haven’t you ever had anything in your eye before?” Clay snapped defensively.
Simon smiled understandingly. “Sure, Clay,” he said, “lots of times.”
Clay stared at Simon a long moment, his eyes gradually settling upon the Book of Mormon. “Could I borrow that book of yours for a few days, maybe?” he asked somewhat sheepishly. “I won’t tear it up or anything, honest. I’d just like to read some of it—find out what it’s all about. And what you’re all about.”
Simon nodded and handed Clay the book. “Keep it as long as you like,” he offered.
“Don’t start thinking that I’m going to become a Mormon or anything like that,” Clay asserted.
Simon smiled. Clay’s most likely right, he thought. But Simon had planted a seed, just as someone once had for his father and mother and his Uncle Elias. Those seeds had taken root, and many had been blessed because of it. Maybe, just maybe, Clay would be too.

Masha and her family are a great help to the missionaries. They invite friends to listen to gospel discussions. They invite the missionaries to dinner. And for missionaries needing help with the Russian language, Masha is a friendly tutor.

“She always talks with new missionaries and helps them learn to speak,” says Elder Samuel Drown. “They don’t have to worry about making mistakes around her, because she makes them feel good about themselves.” She teaches them games Russian children use to learn words and numbers. She gave one missionary a kind nickname that included a vowel sound the elder had trouble pronouncing. He appreciated the fun teaching method—and learned to say the sound correctly.

In order to better understand this principle, please consider Aesop’s fable “The Hare and the Tortoise.” After being taunted repeatedly for being slow, the Tortoise challenged the Hare to a race. As the race began, the two started off together. However, the Hare ran rapidly towards the goal and, seeing that he could easily win, lay down and fell asleep a short distance in front of the finish line. The Tortoise maintained a slow but steady and consistent pace toward the finish line. When the Hare awoke from his nap, he started running as fast as he could, only to find that the Tortoise had won the race. The Tortoise is a classic illustration of steadiness and persistence. The Hare, on the other hand, is an example of a “spurter”—one who is given to short bursts of spectacular effort followed by frequent and lengthy periods of rest.

When I was 17, I was preparing to serve a mission, but I had a job requiring me to work some Sundays. One day in sacrament meeting, my branch president spoke on the blessings of keeping the Sabbath day holy.
I prayed to God to ask for His guidance. A week later I decided to leave my job because I wanted to receive Heavenly Father’s blessings. A few days later I was approached about a new job where I could earn twice what I made at my old job. Also I didn’t have to work on Sunday.
It was then that I understood the importance of keeping the Sabbath day holy and that every law has its blessing if we obey it (see D&C 130:21).

Brothers and sisters, several years ago while I was speaking in general conference, the sight in my left eye was suddenly compromised by something called macular degeneration, which subsequently worsened and has left me without useful vision in that eye.
As I have dealt with this challenge, I am ever more thankful for other kinds of vision, including hindsight vision. As I have looked back over my life, I have been able to see certain experiences that made a significant difference. One of those experiences is how my full-time missionary service as a young man in England blessed my life and shaped my spiritual destiny.
I have reflected on how the economic challenges associated with the Great Depression in the 1930s led to an unfortunate turn for my parents and our family. My father became so involved in saving his automobile dealership and supporting a family during this difficult period that for a time my parents did not attend church.
Although we did not attend church services as a family, that did not prevent me from attending occasionally with my friends.
In those days, going on a mission was in the back of my mind, but it wasn’t something I talked about with my parents.
While attending college, several friends and I decided to serve missions. Visiting with my bishop, I filled out my missionary application while my parents were out of town. When my parents returned, I surprised them with the news that I had been called to serve in Great Britain. I am grateful for their enthusiastic support of this decision and for good friends who helped me decide to serve.
My missionary service prepared me to be a better husband and father and to be successful in business. It also prepared me for a lifetime of service to the Lord in His Church.
In the April 1985 general conference, I was assigned to speak in the priesthood session. I directed my remarks to the young men. I spoke about preparing to serve as a missionary. I said, “Of all the training I have received in my Church assignments, none has been more important to me than the training I received as a nineteen-year-old elder serving a full-time mission.”
The Lord knows you. When you are serving your mission, you will have experiences that will help you come to know Him better. You will grow spiritually in serving Him. In His name, you will be sent on errands to serve others. He will give you experiences with promptings from the Holy Ghost. The Lord will authorize you to teach in His name. You can show Him that He can trust you and can rely on you.
Just over five months ago, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland and Elder Quentin L. Cook, who had also served as missionaries in the British Isles, joined me in visiting with members and missionaries in that beautiful land. While there, I reflected on my experiences as a young missionary. I testify that my mission is where I came to know that my Heavenly Father and my Savior, Jesus Christ, know and love me.
I was blessed to have two wonderful mission presidents, Selvoy J. Boyer and Stayner Richards, along with their dedicated companions, Gladys Boyer and Jane Richards. Looking back, I can see even more clearly that they trusted me and loved me. They taught me the gospel. They expected a lot from me. They gave me many challenging assignments and leadership responsibilities to help me to grow and prepare for a life of service.
I have also reflected on being called by President Spencer W. Kimball to preside over the Canada Toronto Mission with my dear wife, Barbara, and our children at our sides. President Kimball called us to serve in April 1974, shortly after he gave his inspired missionary message titled “When the World Will Be Converted.” In that message President Kimball explained his vision for how the gospel would be taken to all the world. He called for many more missionaries from around the world. He reminded us of the Lord’s expectation “that every man should … lift a warning voice unto the inhabitants of the earth.” President Kimball’s teaching about the expectation for young men to serve a mission became a topic of conversation in homes around the world. That expectation has not changed. I am grateful that President Russell M. Nelson also reaffirmed the Lord’s expectation this morning.
It has been almost 10 years since President Thomas S. Monson announced the lowering of the missionary age for young men and young women. In my view, a primary reason for this change was to give more of our youth the life-changing opportunity to serve as a missionary.
As an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ, I now call upon you young men—and those young women who desire to serve a mission—to begin right now to talk with your parents about serving a mission. I also invite you to talk with your friends about serving a mission, and if one of your friends is not sure about serving, encourage them to talk with their bishop.
Commit to yourselves and to your Heavenly Father that you will serve a mission and that from this time forward you will strive to keep your hearts, hands, and minds clean and worthy. I invite you to gain a solid testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.
Fathers and mothers of these wonderful youth, you have a vital role in this preparation process. Begin today to talk with your children about missionary service. We know that the family is the most profound influence in helping our young men and young women prepare.
If you are still in the age range for missionary service but have not served yet due to the pandemic or other reasons, I invite you to serve now. Talk to your bishop, and prepare to serve the Lord.
I encourage you bishops to help all young men and young women who are close to missionary age to prepare to serve, and I also encourage you bishops to identify those who are old enough but who have not yet served. Invite each young man to become a missionary, as well as each young woman who desires to serve.
To the missionaries currently serving, we thank you. Your mission has been during a worldwide pandemic. As a result, your mission experience has been unlike my mission experience or the experiences of any missionaries who served before 2020. I know it has not been easy. But even during these difficult times, the Lord has had a work for you to do, and you have done it wonderfully well. For example, you have used technology in new ways to find those who are ready to learn about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. As you have served diligently and according to your abilities, I know that the Lord is pleased with your effort. I know that your service will bless your life.
When you are released from your mission, remember that you are not released from activity in the Church. Build upon the good habits you learned on your mission, continue to strengthen your testimony, work hard, pray, and be obedient to the Lord. Honor the covenants you have made. Continue to bless and serve others.
I pray that you young men and young women and your parents will see and know how missionary service will forever bless your life. May you know in your minds and feel in your hearts the power of the invitation the Lord gave to the great missionary sons of Mosiah. He said, “Go forth … and establish my word; yet ye shall be patient in long-suffering and afflictions, that ye may show forth good examples … in me, and I will make an instrument of thee in my hands unto the salvation of many souls.”
May God bless the youth of the Church to desire to prepare and serve Him is my humble prayer, which I offer this morning in the sacred name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

Let us not be ashamed of the gospel. I want to say that you never have to apologize in business or in industry for what the standards of the Church are. I know. I have been through it. I spent twenty years in the livestock business, and there were national conventions, business conventions, and local conventions where the first item of business was the cocktail hour, designated on the schedule as the “reception” or the “social hour.” These conventions were held in hotels or public meeting places, and there was a great deal of pressure to participate in the social drinking. But you do not need to participate; and I testify that when you withstand these pressures, people admire you for having the strength to live up to your principles. You know, as I know, that we do not need such stimulants, and you can refuse them as I refused them. And people will tell you as they told me, “I respect you for it, and I wish I could do the same.”

When it seems that events conspire to prevent us from going to the temple, we can remember Jesus Christ’s assurance: “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). As we persevere and attend the temple despite stumbling blocks, we’ll have the Savior’s help to overcome the world in which we live. One time as my husband and I were preparing to leave for the temple, one problem after another cropped up. Finally, as we were nearly out the door, we had a strained “marital moment.” As the two of us walked silently to the car, we could hear our oldest daughter reassure her sister, “Don’t worry; they always come home happy from the temple.” And she was right!

One day after having a good time cracking jokes at the expense of one of my closest friends, I began to feel guilty. It had seemed so harmless at the time. I tried to fight off my guilty feelings by telling myself, It was just a joke. She needs to lighten up. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that was all it ever was with me—a joke.
I couldn’t help but think back to how I had been acting. It had taken me a while to notice, even though others had told me, “You used to be so nice to everyone.” A few had even said, “I remember when you used to never say anything rude about anyone.” At the time I hadn’t thought much of what they were telling me. I just thought it was their problem if they didn’t like it.
But I really had changed, and it all began with a few harmless jokes. I had always loved to make people laugh, so when people began to tell me how funny I was or ask me how I could come up with such funny things, I naturally loved it. I figured if they liked how funny I was then, they would love it when I really started cracking jokes.
For a while I was right. But soon I was going overboard and taking two of my best friends with me. People began to feel insecure when they were around me. They were always very uncomfortable. I was even told by a boy who had been one of my good friends the year before that it seemed like I was thriving on making people mad. I don’t see how people like my close friends could have stuck by me. I guess I was just one lucky girl.
I decided that maybe I should kneel down and pray about what I was doing. I now had a habit that seemed impossible to break. I prayed wholeheartedly, but when an answer didn’t come immediately I began to doubt the Lord would help me. I remembered that sometimes it just takes patience, so I decided to continue praying until I received an answer.
After a week of prayer both morning and night, I was nearly ready to give up. One day after I finished praying, I propped my head up against the headboard and reached for my scriptures. I closed my eyes for a moment. I was feeling miserable, and I couldn’t help thinking about the story in the scriptures that taught if you wasted your talents you would lose them (see Matt. 25:15–30).
All of a sudden an answer came to me. If I could get in the habit of doing bad deeds, I could definitely work on doing good deeds until soon I wouldn’t have to think about doing good. It would just come naturally. I knew it wouldn’t be easy at first, but it was definitely a skill I needed.
I prayed for Heavenly Father to be with me. I began to plan service projects, volunteer for charities, and do many other positive things. It’s been a year since I started. I’m not yet to the point where I would like to be, and it’s not always easy for me to control what I say. But I’m getting there.
Old habits do die hard. But now I’m working to develop a new, better habit that I hope will be around for a long time.

Because World War II was just over, I was very happy. We had recently married and our first-born child had arrived. I love my husband very much and felt myself growing in the warmth of his love for me. Then, in the fall of 1946, a drastic change occurred. My husband came home, beaming, and told me that he had found a treasure more precious than all others—the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I was miserable. I would not listen to his explanations. When he was baptized on 7 January 1947, I felt that an impassable gulf had opened between us. The next nine months were almost unendurable.
Then, one morning, I woke up particularly unhappy. Somehow I knew that I had been wrong, that my husband had been telling me the truth, and that I must join his church. Despite my confusion, I knew I must be baptized, and on 8 November 1947, my husband brought me into a new life. It was the happiest day of my life, filled with a joy I cannot describe.

One summer when I was a teenager, I became very discouraged. It seemed that all my friends were taller and better at sports than I. I thought that growing taller would solve my problems, naively thinking being bigger would somehow make me better at whatever I wanted to do.
Worried about my lack of height, I went to my tallest brother and asked him what I could do to grow taller. I figured he would know the answer to my question. What he said surprised me: “Obey your mother. Whatever she asks you to do, do it without waiting.”
My confidence in my brother was so strong that I went to a storage room, stood against the wall, and made a pencil mark to record my height.
For the remainder of the summer days, my mother’s wish or slightest hint was my command. Almost immediately the feelings of growth began to fill me with satisfaction. I wondered why I hadn’t thought of this before. My mother may have spent the summer in shock, but it didn’t matter. I was growing. Anticipation of the results that awaited me at the conclusion of my vacation brought me happiness all summer long.
When fall came I returned to my measuring spot near the storage room. Quickly I located the mark on the wall. Standing next to it, pencil in hand, I made a second mark, turned and looked to see how much I had grown. You can imagine my disappointment when only one slightly darker mark could be found.
I went to my brother to get an explanation about what had happened. After hearing my concern, he asked me an important question: “How do you feel inside?” My inward feelings of growth were undeniable. This I explained to him. He then reminded me that Heavenly Father looks on the heart, not the outward appearance (see 1 Sam. 16:7).
It was really true; I had grown. The willing and obedient service rendered had increased my ability to understand that the true measure of our success or growth becomes apparent to us when we do our best to willingly serve others.

I’ve been feeling so depressed lately I can’t stand myself. I feel sloppy and grubby and not fit to be seen. For example, this evening was Mom’s Primary preparation meeting, and they had refreshments. Naturally I went upstairs to see if I could snitch some. Well, up in the kitchen there were punch and cake and Shane Dean and Mindy Lawrence, dressed in their good clothes with their great figures, talking about their fabulous summer of water skiing and dates. I felt like a big fat frump. They said “hi” and made a few comments of general interest, but they were off on something I wasn’t involved in, so I guzzled my punch and gobbled my cake, and as soon as they left I shambled downstairs again, feeling terrible. I’m not jealous of them or anything—I know how to dress to flatter my figure and I can sew better than either of them. It’s their positions in the world I envy.

One day I experienced that great joy while casually sitting by a friend who had recently been called as mission president, and I thought, “What could I share with him that would help at this important time in his life?” I endeavored to see in this friend what I thought the Lord might see in him. I desired to say what would be of importance to him at this time. I had a wonderful feeling of love for my longtime friend come into my heart, and I was prompted to share with him the thoughts that had come into my mind.

“I guess at a time like this,” I said, “one feels an increased urgency to have a pure vessel through which the Spirit can work unrestrained. Yet, isn’t it a marvelous thing to know that you will have access to that great power, that inspiration, and even revelation every day while yet you and your missionaries are striving for perfection?”

Almost immediately his eyes were moist. His chin began to quiver, and he said, “You must have known I needed to hear that.”

Elder Michael Hayes of the Walsall Ward spends time serving with the Walsall Society for the Blind and the Billion Graves Project. In sharing his thoughts about the blessing of service, Elder Hayes said, “Unfortunately, due to health challenges, I couldn’t serve a teaching mission. I remember sitting at home upset that I wouldn’t be able to serve the Lord. Then one day, the bishop spoke with me about a new mission opportunity. I will never forget the feeling I had when he told me that I could serve for two years as a service missionary. I didn’t know what a service mission was until he spoke about it, but what I did know is that I felt the Spirit so strongly, without hesitation I said, ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ I knew this is what I had to do. I am nervous, but I know that with the help of my Heavenly Father, I can do anything.”

One day at recess, my friend Brooklyn and I saw a younger girl from another grade sitting next to the wall, crying.
“What’s wrong?” Brooklyn asked.
“I don’t have any friends to play with,” the girl sniffed.
She told us her friends had moved away. Now she didn’t know anyone in her grade to play with. I felt bad for her. I knew how it felt to lose a friend.
“We know how you feel,” Brooklyn told the girl.
“Maybe after school you could talk to your mom,” I said.
The girl nodded.
“Do you have a journal or diary to write in? It helps,” I said.
We spent the rest of recess talking and giving her tips on how to make new friends.
The bell rang, and we had to leave to go back to class. I felt the Spirit helping her, and I knew I did what Jesus wanted me to do.

One day, a lady came to our class at school to teach about Colonial times. She said that the water they had to drink then wasn’t very healthy, so instead they drank tea. The whole class pitched in to make tea and cakes. When the time came to eat, she noticed that I ate my cake but did not drink the tea.
She asked me, “Aren’t you going to drink your tea?”
“No, thank you.”
“Everyone must drink the tea!” she said.
“I’m not allowed to drink tea,” I responded.
“Well,” she said, “tell your parents that you’re a big girl now and then drink the tea.”
My teacher overheard our conversation. She knows that I am LDS, so she came over and said, “She doesn’t have to drink the tea.”
I’m glad I stood up for what I know is right, and I know that my Heavenly Father is too.
Aubrey Potter, age 11Darien, Connecticut