Gospel Story Finder

For my sixth birthday, I got some money from my friends and family. I put some of it in my mission-fund bank account, and my mummy gave me some of it to spend. My sister and I went to the toy shop, and she saw a toy that she wanted but did not have any money. So I spent my birthday money and bought the toy for my sister. I love my sister, and I know that Heavenly Father is happy when we sacrifice for one another.

“Me?” I asked, looking at the Young Women president in utter shock.
“Yes,” she said. “You’d only have to play one hymn each week for opening exercises. You can tell us ahead of time which one you choose, and practice during the week. Besides, it’s only for Young Women. You’re all friends anyway.”
“Well, I guess so. But I’m not making any promises,” was my response.
For as long as I could remember, my mother had been teaching me how to play the piano. But I was only to the point where I could study a piece of music one measure at a time and eventually memorize it.
For that first Sunday, I chose a piece in the key of C that looked fairly simple. I began practicing it, and it turned out to be quite a chore. But by the end of the week I had memorized the hymn and felt ready for Sunday. Unfortunately, with 20 girls singing and a director setting the pace, I was lost within the first three measures. I tried with all my might to catch up, but the song dragged on—a capella.
When the song ended, I buried my head into my folded arms through the opening prayer. At its conclusion I took a seat by my best friend who greeted me with a sympathetic pat on the back. I also received an affirmative thumbs up and a smile of encouragement from our Young Women president.
After class, she came over to talk to me. I figured she had realized her mistake and was going to let me sing each week rather than play. “So, what song will it be next week?” she asked. Silent groan.
The next week I spent every free second playing “Come Follow Me.” I was not going to make a fool of myself again. All this practicing did was slowly cause me to dislike the piano and dread the quickly approaching Sunday. However, I managed to master the hymn, and even practiced with my mom leading and my little sister singing. I was prepared.
Sunday came, and by the time we got to the part of the song “… the Savior said,” I was lost. Tears were forming in my eyes. I tried with all my might to blink them away, but couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. I had worked so hard—and for what? More embarrassment.
I finally decided there was only one thing to do. I looked very closely at the final measure through my tears. I wanted to play the last chord of the song, and I carefully placed my shaking fingers on each key while the young women warbled on without me. “With God’s own loved, begotten Son.” I attacked that last chord with all the power I could muster, then confidently bowed my head for the prayer.
Unfortunately, the prayer was delayed until everyone stopped laughing. I can see the humor in it now, but at the time I decided to never touch another piano key for the rest of my life.
Thankfully, I stuck with the weekly chore. As the Sundays went by, playing became easier. I used most of my free time to practice the piano, which helped me learn how to play without having to memorize the piece.
I still play a hymn each week and usually hit a few sour chords. Every day I sit down at the old piano and play all sorts of music. I have gained a talent that I love, but almost missed.
I’m so thankful that after my first catastrophic experience, I was convinced to stick with it and not give up. I think about the friendly smile from my supportive president, and realize my assignment to play each week was a blessing in disguise.

After graduation Michael knew he wanted to prepare for his mission. His birthday was in December, so he decided to stay home from college and work to earn money for his mission. His dad helped Michael get a job with him working with a tugboat company. As the rookie, Michael got all the jobs no one else wanted—cleaning up, painting, picking up supplies.
Two more things Michael learned. Sometimes you have to put up with jobs you don’t like to earn the goal you do want—going on a mission. And as a bonus, Michael learned to take righteous pride in the kind of man his father is. Michael said, “Working around tugboats is a rough environment. There’s a lot of bad language. But Dad’s not different at work than he is at home. He always lives what he believes.”

There’s a layered feeling in the hills of central Tennessee, the same sort of rich, close-to-the-earth satisfaction that comes from contemplating the unbroken repetition of furrows in a field. The feeling comes from the hills themselves, one rolling into the next, then into another, ridges paralleling ridges until the whole region seems to have been mapped out, tilled, and planted by one master cultivator.
Whoever planted the hills populated them, too, not with people but with animals. Deer still bound through the thickets. Raccoons still wash in the streams. Squirrels hide in the trees, and foxes sneak through the forest, just as they did in the 1800s when trappers marched the length of the trail called the Natchez Trace, trading with Indians and carrying furs to market in the cities.
It is well before 5 A.M. in the Tennessee hills when Tre (call him “Tray”) Pennington, 17, and his grandfather bump along an old dirt road in their pickup. There are no signs to point the way to the Duck River, no landmarks that would stand out to someone new. Mostly there are trees, thick, green, and heavy. It’s only where someone’s cleared out space for a farm or a home that you get any extended view.
Grandpa (call him ’Pa) slows the truck at a clearing and pulls in next to some trees. He doesn’t have to say a word. Tre knows it’s on foot from here. They scramble down a steep bank and pull their boat out of the underbrush, from the same place where they’ve tied it up every day for years. It’s a shallow boat, square on both ends.
They check to make sure there’s gas for the motor; they lift in the paddles and load a few plastic buckets on board. Then, for a few minutes, they wait.
It isn’t that there needs to be more light, although the sun is yet to crest over the hill. It isn’t a question of when the catfish will bite, because the trot lines ’Pa baited with grasshoppers yesterday have been in the water all night long. It isn’t even a question of sneaking a moment of rest before the work begins, because both the young man and his grandfather are eager to be on the river.
It is, quite simply, a moment of reverence, a pause to appreciate nature, to take in the beauty of a morning at its birth.
Finally it is ’Pa who whispers.
“Let’s go,” he says.
Tre responds with a nod. The boat glides into the mild current.
Soon they reach the lines. ’Pa holds the boat steady while Tre lifts each fish, flopping and slimy, out of the water. He brings them in one at a time, almost like taking laundry off a clothesline. Some fish, quite small, are set free. On the big ones, Tre guesses how many pounds.
“This one’ll go for five or six, won’t it Grandaddy?”
“More like four or five,” ’Pa responds.
Ask what kind of fish are in the river, and Grandpa will explain. “Lots of cats,” he says. “Blue. Yeller. Channel. Other fish, too. Perch, Bass, Carp. But you don’t take them often.”
This day when the four lines are cleared, the catch totals fifty catfish and one carp.
Tre does most of what little talking is done. He tells about the time ’Pa got knocked out of the boat by a tree limb and lost his hat. He teases Grandpa about the nickname Grandma gave him.
“She calls him a pelican,” he says, “because he could eat fish three times a day.”
Then there’s silence again, not the awkward silence of people who don’t know what to say, but the silence of men who know each other well.
“I wonder if we’ll see anything today,” Tre finally says as the boat turns for home. Often it’s deer, sometimes a beaver, once in a while a blue heron. Today they see a turtle.
Back home the catfish are cleaned and skinned, dipped in corn meal and fried. “What we don’t eat, we put in the freezer,” Tre explains. “We can trade it for beef.” The carp will be pressure cooked and bottled, then stored on the shelf like salmon. ’Pa can remember times during World War II when canned carp helped keep the family alive.
When breakfast is over, Tre and his brothers and sister are off down the dirt road for about a mile, where the school bus will ferry them on into Columbia for their classes. The bus stops by a little before seven. Then it’s a one-hour ride to the city. There are 300 students in the school, which includes grades from elementary through high school. Two of the teachers and 13 of the students are LDS. “Pretty much everybody in the school is friends,” Tre says.
There must be hundreds of stories to tell about the Penningtons. Their family’s membership in the Church dates back to the Nauvoo days. Tre’s father, Ray Junior, (don’t call him Pa) is, among other things, a stonemason who built his own home. Mom (call her Penny) hails from Los Angeles, California, but loves living in Tennessee. Grandma (call her Ovie May) hated the name Raymond, but she married ’Pa, whose real name is Raymond, anyway. Great-grandma (call her Mamie Bell) at age 85 still makes the finest quilts in the county, maybe the entire state. Rebecca Lynn, 14, is the only sister in the family, but she keeps right up with her four brothers: Tre (an adaptation of the French word for “three,” because his real name is Raymond Lee Pennington III); Joseph Sanford, 14; Ronald William, 11; and Jeffrey Aaron, 9.
So why begin a story about the Penningtons by talking about catfishing? Because it’s so typical. Tre and ’Pa out on the river represent the quiet confidence of a family that lives close to the land and depends on it to teach them and feed them. They also represent the quiet, confident communication, sometimes without words, of a family that depends on each member as another source of strength and love.
The hills and the Penningtons are friends. Any member of the family can show you where to gather hickory nuts, blackberries, ginseng root, or a dozen other delicacies Mother Nature provides. Tre especially knows the routes and the ridges. He can pick out animal trails or guide you to beaver dams.
And the Penningtons are friends with each other. It’s evident just in the way they like being together. Even though ’Pa, Grandma Ovie, and Mamie Bell live in one house and Ray Junior, Penny, and the kids live over the hill in another, they’re practically neighbors. It seems like the children spend equal time in both places.
At school, Tre and Joe are in the same class, because Tre has dyslexia and has had trouble reading. So Joe has become Tre’s unofficial tutor. They often do their homework together.
“Tre has always learned from experience,” Sister Pennington explains. “Joe learns from books. Even though they’re in the same class, they’re not jealous of each other or embarrassed to be seen together. They really help each other.”
“It’s a little strange being a sophomore instead of a senior,” Tre admits. “But it doesn’t matter. The most important thing is to work and to learn.”
“To work and to learn” could be the family motto. The Penningtons have done a lot of both. In summer, when Ray is laying rock, sometimes the rest of the family will go with him on a job. They help him select the right stones, and Tre and Joe help mix the mortar.
“I’ll pack a lunch and bring the other kids along, and it’s almost like we’re going on a picnic,” Sister Pennington says. “We learned a long time ago that work’s not a chore if you make it fun.”
The family also runs a fur business. The shop, “Garden of Eden Furs,” is just outside ’Pa and Ovie May’s place, and during the cold months of winter, there’s a lot of time spent inside.
“It gets so busy during fur season that the adults in the family don’t do much else,” Brother Pennington explains. “Lots of people come buying and selling. We have to grade the furs by quality and size. The unfinished ones have to be scraped, washed, tanned, stretched, and dried.” Except on Sundays, the adults work all day, then go to bed sometime between midnight and 4:00 A.M. They start again at 6:00 A.M. The children help whenever they can, squeezing in their meals, school work, and Church activities too.
Sometimes, when Brother and Sister Pennington have to go on a buying trip, Tre is left in charge of the shop. He has established quite a reputation as a good judge of fur quality, a skill that takes a lot of training. He also knows how to put together a crew.
“He’ll go and get workers, kids from school and grown men, too,” Brother Pennington says. “He’s a good manager of people. He works with them and tells them hunting stories to keep them entertained. We can leave him with a whole big load of fur, and when we get back it’s always done.”

My father passed away in April 2013. As I prepared to speak at his funeral, I realized how blessed I was to know and love his favorite scriptures. He shared them in family gatherings, and he read them with me when I needed counsel, guidance, or strengthening of my faith. I heard him share them in talks and assignments. I not only knew them, but I can still remember the sound of his voice and the spiritual feelings I had as he shared them. Through sharing scriptures and feelings, my father helped me to establish a firm foundation of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.
My father particularly loved the account of the Savior’s visit to the people of Nephi. This sacred account is of the resurrected and exalted Lord Jesus Christ. He had drunk of the bitter cup and suffered all things so that we would not suffer if we would repent. He had visited the spirit world and organized the preaching of the gospel there. He had risen from the dead, and He had been with and received commandments from the Father to share scriptures with the Nephites that would bless future generations. He was exalted and had all of His eternal power and capacity. We can learn from every detail of His teachings.
In 3 Nephi 11, we read how the Savior descended out of heaven to teach the Nephites that He was Jesus Christ, whom the prophets testified would come into the world. He declared that He was the Light of the World and that He glorified the Father in taking on the sins of the world. He invited the people to come forth to put their hands into His side and to feel the prints of the nails in His hands and in His feet. He wanted them to know that He was the God of Israel, who was slain for the sins of the world. The people joyfully responded, going forth one by one until they had all seen and felt that it was truly He of whom it was written by the prophets that should come.
Jesus taught the Nephites about the importance of repentance, about becoming as a little child, and about the need to be baptized by one having His authority. He then taught much of the doctrine that we are studying this year in the New Testament.
In 3 Nephi 17, we read that Jesus told the people it was time for Him to go unto the Father and also to show Himself unto the lost tribes of Israel. As He cast His eyes on the multitude, He noticed that they were in tears, looking steadfastly upon Him as if they would ask Him to tarry a little longer.
The Savior’s response to the Nephites was both touching and instructive. He said, “Behold, my bowels are filled with compassion towards you.”
I believe that His compassion was much more than a response to the people’s tears. It seems that He could see them through the eyes of His atoning sacrifice. He saw their every pain, affliction, and temptation. He saw their sicknesses. He saw their infirmities, and He knew from His agonizing suffering in Gethsemane and on Golgotha how to succor them according to their infirmities.
Similarly, when our Savior, Jesus Christ, looks upon us, He sees and understands the pain and burden of our sins. He sees our addictions and challenges. He sees our struggles and afflictions of any kind—and He is filled with compassion toward us.
His gracious invitation to the Nephites followed: “Have ye any that are sick among you? Bring them hither. Have ye any that are lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or that are withered, or that are deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither and I will heal them, for I have compassion upon you; my bowels are filled with mercy.”
And the people came forth “with all them that were afflicted in any manner; and he did heal them every one as they were brought forth unto him.”
In 1990 we were living in the small town of Sale, in Victoria, Australia. We were happily busy with family, Church, and work commitments. On a beautiful summer Saturday just before Christmas, we decided to visit some parks and a favorite beach. After enjoying a wonderful day playing as a family, we packed everyone into the car and headed home. While driving, I momentarily fell asleep and caused a head-on car accident. After some moments of recovery, I looked around the vehicle. My wife, Maxine, had a badly broken leg and was struggling to breathe. She had a broken sternum. Our three daughters were in shock but thankfully appeared to be OK. I had some minor injuries. But our five-month-old son was unresponsive.
Amid the stress and confusion of that accident scene, our eldest daughter, 11-year-old Kate, said with urgency, “Dad, you need to give Jarom a blessing.” After some struggle, my daughters and I managed to get out of the car. Maxine couldn’t be moved. Carefully I picked Jarom up; then, while lying on the ground on my back, I gently placed him on my chest and gave him a priesthood blessing. By the time the ambulance arrived about 40 minutes later, Jarom was conscious.
That night I left three family members in the hospital and took a hushed taxi ride home with two of my daughters. Through the long night, I pled with Heavenly Father that my family and those injured in the other vehicle would recover. Mercifully, my prayers and fervently offered prayers by many others were answered. All were healed over time, a great blessing and tender mercy.
Yet I continued to have deep feelings of guilt and remorse for causing such a terrible accident. I would wake during the night and relive the horrific events. I struggled for years to forgive myself and to find peace. Then, as a priesthood leader, while assisting others to repent and helping them to feel the compassion, mercy, and love of the Savior, I realized that He could heal me.
The Savior’s healing and redeeming power applies to accidental mistakes, poor decisions, challenges, and trials of every kind—as well as to our sins. As I turned to Him, my feelings of guilt and remorse were gradually replaced with peace and rest.
President Russell M. Nelson taught: “When the Savior atoned for all mankind, He opened a way that those who follow Him can have access to His healing, strengthening, and redeeming power. These spiritual privileges are available to all who seek to hear Him and follow Him.”
Brothers and sisters, whether you are carrying the burden of unresolved sin, suffering because of an offense committed against you long ago, or struggling to forgive yourself for an accidental mistake, you have access to the healing and redeeming power of the Savior Jesus Christ.
I testify that He lives. He is our Savior and Redeemer. He loves us. He has compassion for us, He is filled with mercy, and He can heal you. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I was standing in line with my mom to pay for our groceries. The line was crowded, so my mom had to bend over this little boy in front of us to buy our things. The little boy started to kick her. The second time he kicked her, she backed away and said, “Will you please stop kicking?”
The boy’s mom turned around and told my mom it was her fault she got kicked. She said all sorts of insulting things to us. I started to glare at her as she turned back around and was rude to the cashier too! I acted calm, but inside I was angry. It bugged me. I knew that what happened wasn’t my mom’s fault or mine, but I still felt hurt.
When we got home, I went to my room and pulled out my scriptures. After reading for a minute, I felt a need to pray. I hardly felt in the mood, but I knelt down and started to pray. Eventually, I found myself praying for this woman who had treated us so awfully. The calmest feeling I’ve ever felt settled all over me. I couldn’t find room in my heart to be angry at her anymore. I felt love.
Teresa G., Idaho, USA

Matt’s about to have surgery on his broken arm. Dad and Brother Johnson gave him a priesthood blessing.
Thanks for coming on such short notice, Tyrell.
I’m glad you asked me.
A few hours later—
Is the surgery over already?
Yes, and the doctor says everything went fine. We’ll be able to take you home today.
At school the next week—
Yeah, I was climbing a tree when a branch snapped! I was lucky something stopped my fall.
What was it?
The ground!
Two weeks later at Thanksgiving dinner, Matt tells what he’s grateful for—
… and that my fall wasn’t worse … and that I learned I can do hard things … and for doctors and nurses, and priesthood blessings … and …
I’m grateful that my eating arm wasn’t injured.

Emma K. came from Midvale, Utah, to interview Sister Cheryl C. Lant, Primary general president. Emma and Sister Lant talked about the purpose of Primary while they toured the Relief Society Building. The Relief Society Building is where the offices of the general presidencies of the Primary, Young Women, and Relief Society are. It has beautiful displays about the purpose and history of these organizations.
Emma: “What good things are the children of the Church doing?”
Sister Lant: “One of the best things they are doing is learning from their scriptures. Every Sunday, we see children bring their scriptures to Primary. They open them, they read them, and they’re learning directly from the words of the Lord about what He wants them to do.”
Emma: “What do you hope they can learn to do more often?”
Sister Lant: “We need to be more kind to our brothers and sisters, to our parents, to our friends, and to everybody around the world.”
Sister Lant had a question for Emma. She showed Emma a painting of Jesus with children. “Can you think why that’s my favorite thing to look at every day when I come into my office?”
Emma: “Maybe because it shows the love Jesus has for children.”
Sister Lant: “That’s right. In Primary, the most important thing that we want to teach the children is that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love them. All the children in this picture come from different places, so they represent all the children around the world. Heavenly Father and Jesus love all of us, no matter where we live. We’re all His children.”

In faraway Bucharest, Romania, Dr. Lynn Oborn, volunteering at an orphanage, was attempting to teach little Raymond, who had never walked, how to use his legs. Raymond had been born with severe clubfeet and was completely blind. Surgery had corrected the clubfeet, but Raymond was still unable to use his legs. Dr. Oborn knew that a child-size walker would enable Raymond to get on his feet, but such a walker was not available anywhere in Romania.
Let us turn now to Provo, Utah. The Richard Headlee family, learning of the suffering and pitiful conditions in Romania, joined with others to assemble a 40? (12.2 m) container filled with 40,000 pounds (19,000 kg) of needed supplies. The deadline arrived, and the container had to be shipped. No one involved with the project knew of the need for a child-size walker. However, at the last possible moment, a family brought forth a walker and placed it in the container.
When the anxiously awaited container arrived at the orphanage in Bucharest, Dr. Oborn said, “Oh, I hope you brought me a child’s walker for Raymond!”
One of the Headlee family members said, “I can vaguely remember a walker, but I don’t know its size.” Another family member crawled among the bales of clothes and boxes of food, searching for the walker. When he found it, he cried out, “It’s a little one!” Cheers erupted—which quickly turned to tears, for they all knew that they had been part of a modern-day miracle.
There may be some who say, “We don’t have miracles today.” But the doctor whose prayers were answered would respond, “Oh, yes we do, and Raymond is walking!” She who was inspired to give the walker would surely agree.
Who was the angel of mercy? Her name is Kristin Bestor. She was born with spina bifida, as was her younger sister, Erika.
Kristin’s father said to me at a celebration one evening, “President Monson, meet Kristin. She is the one who felt impressed to send her walker to Romania, hoping that some child there would be benefitted.”
I spoke to Kristin as she sat in her wheelchair: “Thank you for listening to the Spirit of the Lord.”
Later, as I walked out of that celebration, I looked upward toward the heavens and offered my own thank-you to God for children, for families, for miracles in our time.

It was Dale’s idea, as a Scoutmaster, to purchase boating equipment and float the Middle Fork of the Salmon River.
The troop started river running about the time my three oldest sons were in Scout and Explorer troops in the Boise 15th Ward. I remember well how Dale involved the young troop leaders in planning. Few men know better the meaning of the phrase “preparation precedes power.” We started a year ahead. Every boy who wanted to go had to earn the swimming and lifesaving merit badges and be able to swim two-thirds of a mile.
The biggest challenge they had to meet was the “Duffy Battle.” This was hand-to-hand combat with Dale Duffy in water over their heads. He made it a real challenge to see what kind of substance the boys were made of under pressure. During this battle, I’m sure each boy found just how hard he could fight for his life if he had to.
There were also hours of classroom training prior to the first float trip, followed by the practical application of this training as the boys floated down the Boise River in preparation for the Middle Fork experience. Following are some of the things my boys remember and will never forget from this special training:
• You are never on the river without a life jacket.
• Every boy must have a razor-sharp knife in a scabbard on his hip, for use in case he falls in and gets tangled in the rope.
• When you fall in, you face downstream, your feet in front of you to parry off the rocks that are down river.
• When you fall in, always stay with the boat if possible.
• When you swim to shore, swim to the closest shore, diagonally downstream. This conserves strength, and once you are ashore you can be picked up by another boat.
• If someone in your boat falls in, the closest crewmen should immediately grab him and pull him back into the boat as quickly and with as much strength as possible.
• Never pass the lead boat.
• The rubber raft assigned to bring up the rear never passes other boats.
• Never panic, no matter what the condition. Think back on your training and you will recall a specific teaching point or principle that will pull you through.
• Whenever anyone is floating loose after being capsized, pick him up in your boat immediately.
Of course, this is only a small particle of the training the boys received from Dale Duffy. They listened because they respected him and knew that anything they did not understand might put their lives in jeopardy.
On every trip the boys would go to a point just below Dagger Falls and jump into the cold, chill water and float down about 50 yards. This was to take away the initial shock of falling into the water should they capsize. We assigned a crew to each raft, with one of the boys assigned as crew leader. This boy was given total authority while on the river. Usually we would have about six rafts, with three to five boys and their gear on each raft.
I well remember one trip when Scott, my fourth oldest son, was on the same raft with me and three other fellows. On the first or second day of our trip we capsized (which was very common), and the raft got caught in a backwash and was being pounded by tons of water. I came to the surface and watched for my crew members. I counted them. One boy came up, then another, and then a third—but no Scott. I started to feel real concern when I looked back and forth across the river and couldn’t see him anywhere. Fifteen or 20 seconds is an eternity when you are waiting for your son to come to the surface. It’s the most helpless feeling in the world. Finally I saw Scott come to the surface and heaved a great sigh of relief.
“What took you so long?” I yelled to him.
“My foot got caught in the rope, and I was being pounded around because the boat was caught in the backwash.” Then he said, “But I remembered Duffy’s instruction, reached on my hip, pulled my knife out of the scabbard, cut the rope tangled around my foot, and floated free.” I owe my son’s life to Dale Duffy’s training.
About three weeks after our trip another group of river runners went down. Their boat wrapped around a huge rock. All of the crew except one climbed onto the rock. The other crew member got caught in a 50-foot rope and couldn’t get loose. By the time those on the rock had pulled him upstream against the current and lifted him out of the water, he had drowned. This young man was 21 years old. Scott was 13. The whole difference was in training.

How might we do this? May we suggest one way? Three thousand miles from this pulpit lives a family who will again do a very special thing following this conference. When the Ensign arrives with the conference addresses at their home, the family will immediately read the messages, with the older children reporting on selected addresses.

But they will do more than read. In family home evenings they will select family and personal goals based upon the conference messages. Their goals are practical: “Remember grandmother in our daily prayers, memorize a Church hymn, review our family preparedness, do the Lord’s thing in his way—not ours, bring a nonmember to church.” They will discuss their goals, pray about them, and review them frequently. Is there any wonder why the father says: “Our family regards general conference as the Lord’s list of things we should be concentrating on. It has meant more to us and our children than words can say.”

“Let’s go to a movie!”
“No, let’s go to the park.”
Four-year-old Noah was sitting on the floor pretending that his two cars were talking to each other when Mom peeked into his bedroom. “Noah, when Dad gets home, he and I are going to the temple.”
Noah smiled up at her. “OK. Maybe my cars will go to the temple too.”
“Good idea!” Mom said. “If you need anything while we’re gone, ask one of your big brothers. OK?”
“All right, Mom.” Mom smiled and left. Noah sat thinking for a moment. He knew that Mom and Dad had been married in the temple so their family could be together forever. But there was something he didn’t understand.
He got up and went to find Mom. He found her lying on her bed, reading a book. “Mom, you and Dad already got married in the temple. So why do you keep going back?”
Mom patted the bed, and Noah climbed up beside her. “In the temple we make special promises to Heavenly Father,” Mom said. “He promises us wonderful blessings He can only give us in the temple. But a lot of people lived and died without a chance to go to the temple. Some of them never even knew about Jesus Christ. We go to the temple to do temple work for those people so they can have the same blessings our family has.”
“You mean so they can be a family forever too?”
“Right,” Mom said.
Noah yawned. “You look tired, Noah. Do you want to rest here for a while?” Mom asked. Noah snuggled close to her and closed his eyes. He thought of a beautiful temple and imagined himself as a grown-up going inside.
When Noah woke up, Mom was gone. He stretched and smiled. “Mom and Dad must have already gone to the temple,” he thought. He slid off the bed and ran to find his brothers.
They were in the living room watching a movie. “Hi, guys!” Noah called, running in to join them.
While Mom and Dad were gone, Noah had a safe, warm feeling inside. His brothers were even extra nice to him.
When Dad and Mom walked in the front door, Noah ran to meet them. Mom picked him up and hugged him. Dad put his big arms around both of them and gave them a giant squeeze.
Mom smiled at Noah. “Remember how Dad and I got married in the temple, Noah? Well, tonight we got married for some people who couldn’t get married in the temple when they were alive. Now those moms and dads can be with their families forever if they choose the right. While I was at the temple, I felt very happy that if I do what Heavenly Father and Jesus ask me to, I can be your mom forever!”
Noah smiled. Going to the temple didn’t just help people who were dead. It made his own family happy too!

As my baptism day approached, my mom and I talked about inviting a friend of mine to the service. We had been friends since preschool, but recently she had moved about 45 miles (72 km) away. I knew she didn’t go to our church, so I was nervous to ask her to come, thinking she might not want to. Finally I decided to invite her, so my mom called her mom. My friend and her mom were excited to come! My baptism day was stormy and rainy, so we thought they might not make it. They showed up right on time! They seemed to really enjoy the baptism, and asked a lot of questions. I felt good that they came and shared this special day. It was an easy and fun way to share the gospel.

Besides bringing their family closer together, going to the temple has also given the Baums opportunities to do missionary work. Their grandfather, James Larkin, is a guide on Temple Square, so about a week before they went to the temple, the Baums invited all their aunts, uncles, and cousins who were not members of the Church to a special family home evening tour of Temple Square. Their relatives were able to learn more about the Church and to feel that they were a part of the Baums’ special occasion. Four of the families bought family home evening manuals that night.
Brandon, Amanda, and Laura Lee try to be good examples for their relatives; they are aware that they are being watched now to see if they are doing the things that the Church teaches. They are hopeful that someday their relatives, too, will join the Church.

Many years ago during the summer of 1930, when I was 13 years of age, I was with a group of Boy Scouts hiking from Camp Logan to Camp Kiesel on the South Fork of the Ogden River. We had hiked over the Randolph Divide and made our camp at the base of Monte Cristo, where the chief Scout executive of the Ogden Council, S. Dilworth Young, joined us. He was a strong, vigorous man and stood tall and straight. I was soon to learn that he stood tall in many ways and that he exemplified the Scout Oath and the Scout Law.
It was on the afternoon of a beautiful summer day in August, and we had arrived at Monte Cristo a little early. We were busy at our camps making our fires and getting ready for the evening meal. S. Dilworth Young visited each group of boys at their campfires. When he came to our group, he asked us various questions to see how we were faring. One of his questions was most pointed and direct. He asked, “Did you put your fire out at your last campsite?” He then proceeded to tell us how that fire should have been put out. He directed his question to each of the boys in our patrol.
Most of the boys had apparently followed the directions for putting out their fires pretty well, but in my heart I knew that I had not put out my fire as he had specified. I was hoping that he would skip me in the questioning process, but he didn’t. He asked me the question, and I responded, “No sir, I did not put out the fire the way you described.” He then said, “Get your things packed. You and I are going back. We are going to put out that fire.” I said, “Well, it won’t be burning. It was almost out when we left.” He responded, “Well, we are going to make sure, anyway. As Boy Scouts, we are trusted not only to take care of our personal lives, but also to take care of our responsibilities to this beautiful earth and the land in which we live.”
I have never forgotten those words. Right then and there, I knew that S. Dilworth Young was a leader of boys and men. I also knew that he loved nature and that his highest goal in life was to be trusted.
He put on his pack and helped me with mine, and then we both took off back down the trail to our last campsite, which we had left early that morning. We arrived there late at night. He seemed to know right where it was. We came to the place where all of us had camped, and there were various campfire spots with logs that were still smoldering. He had a small bucket that he had brought with him. We found the stream nearby and carried water to the smoldering logs. Then, after each spark had been put out, we covered the logs and the campfire sites with damp earth.
By that time, it was too late to go back to Monte Cristo, so we slept in our sleeping bags there that night, and then we ate breakfast and proceeded back to Monte Cristo the next morning. About halfway back, I was so tired and my muscles ached so badly that it seemed I could go no farther. He took my pack, put it on his back with his own, and helped me the rest of the way into camp. Sometimes I was on his back also as we crossed a rough part of the terrain, or a stream, or some deep brush.
That day I really learned the beauty and the value of the Scout Oath and the Scout Law. Here was a leader who stood tall in my youthful eyes and taught me by example how I should be. He indeed taught me that a leader cannot delegate the power of example.
He also taught me how to trust. A little later in this trip as we approached Camp Kiesel, we came to a fork in the rivers. As I recall, one of the forks was called Bear Wallow Canyon and the other fork was called Wheatgrass. We rested there for a short period. Then S. Dilworth Young announced that there would be a contest to see which pair of Scouts would be the first to arrive at Camp Kiesel. He knew that it would be quite safe. The Scouts would just need to follow the canyons down and they would come into the South Fork of the Ogden River where Camp Kiesel lay.
The boys all chose partners, and I happened to be the only boy left who didn’t have a partner. None of the boys wanted to go with me, it seemed, because they thought that I would hold them back. S. Dilworth Young, seeing me standing there alone, called me over and asked why I didn’t have a partner. I said, “Well, none of the boys wanted me, but I will go alone, and I will beat all of them anyway.” His eyes twinkled, and he whispered some instructions in my ear. He said, “You stay right on top of this ridge, and you follow it all of the way down, never going down into the canyon, and you will get there way ahead of the other boys. The other boys will all head for the canyon and for the stream, and it winds around and around. By staying on the ridge, you will be going the shortest route, and you will get there an hour before any of the boys.”
I looked at him, and I knew that I could trust him. I knew that I wouldn’t get lost if I did what he told me to do. So I stayed on that ridge. Some places it was quite steep, but it was safe. Several hours later, from the last promontory, I could see the roofs of the cabins, the mess hall, and the American flag waving in the trees of Camp Kiesel. I was the first Scout to arrive. I had put my trust in that wonderful leader, and I had arrived safely. Later that night at the campfire, I was given a special award for being honest and for being the first boy to arrive in camp.
I was to come in contact with this great man at other times in my life. On every occasion he inspired me to be trustworthy and honest. I have found that two of the greatest things we can do are, first, to be trusted, and second, to trust.
The Scout Oath stands in my mind as one of the great oaths and covenants that we can make:
“On my honor I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country, to obey the Scout Law, to help other people at all times, to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.”

One school year I began to feel weighed down from the stress of life. During one of these stressful days, I prayed and read the Book of Mormon for 10 minutes. As I read, I felt an incredible warmth fill my heart. I felt loved, uplifted, and happy despite my trials. I felt an incredible peace I had never felt before. From this experience I finally understood what the Savior meant when He said, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you” (John 14:27). The next few weeks, I had this experience multiple times, and it propelled me to move forward through my struggles.
Chloe K., age 18, Wisconsin, USA

A stake president in Logan, Utah, kept a guest book, and after he passed away that book was given to his son. When the son thumbed through the pages, he was impressed with the signatures that were there. Most of the General Authorities had signed the book. One entry he saw was:
Name: Elder Spencer W. Kimball
Date: 1954
Position or title: Apostle
Hobby: “I love people.”
He thumbed through many more pages, and then he saw an almost identical entry ten years later:
Name: Elder Spencer W. Kimball
Date: 1964
Position or title: Apostle
Hobby: “I love people.”
We all knew President Spencer W. Kimball as a man of love. He thought of love as a way to overcome even unknown offenses. Such an incident occurred with one of his neighbors. This neighbor would go out and talk to President Kimball whenever he saw him in the yard, until one day the neighbor’s wife said, “You mustn’t do that. The only time President Kimball is alone is when he is in the yard, and then you go over and impose yourself upon him.” After that, the neighbor stayed in and just watched President Kimball through the window.
A few weeks passed before President Kimball rang the neighbor’s doorbell and handed him a casserole. “What’s this for?” the neighbor asked. “I don’t know,” replied President Kimball. “I’ve come to make amends for whatever I’ve done to offend you. You never come and talk to me anymore, so I decided I must have done something wrong.”
It was President Kimball who has so lovingly explained to us that the Lord whispers to our hearts to go and do and in this way he answers the fervent prayers of others. President Kimball said the Lord has chosen this method of answering prayers because he knows it is the way we will learn most effectively to give love.

“When I was ten years old, before I joined the Church, I had leukemia,” Bryce says matter-of-factly. “In April 1995 the leukemia came back.”
Now it was Bryce’s turn to be the example. Even though he knew all too well what the relapse would mean—chemotherapy, radiation, fatigue, pain, nausea—Bryce decided he was going to do as much “normal” stuff as he could. So, even though he was still feeling sick from one of his first treatments, Bryce made it to the stake center to be part of his branch’s road show. Now he goes to as many firesides and activities as he can. And he goes to school as much as he can.
“I still don’t like school,” he says with a grin, “but you sure do miss it when you’re gone. You miss seeing other people.”
And that’s where Bryce’s branch comes in, helping Bryce to pass the long hours in the hospital.
“The branch has really taken care of me,” says Bryce. “The Primary sent me cards, the youth sent me cards and came to visit, the Relief Society fed my family when my mom and I had to go to Calgary for special treatments. They made delicious meals with dessert and everything. They had a fast for me, and nothing went wrong.”
Bryce has a lot to teach others about positive attitude and courage. And since Bryce is the only member of the Church in his family, he (with lots of help from members of the branch) has also had the important task of teaching his family about prayer, faith, and LDS beliefs about life after death.
“Bryce has done so well,” says his mom. “I know that a combination of good things has happened to Bryce. It isn’t just the wonders of science, by no means. I just know that Bryce is being looked after.”
Bryce couldn’t agree more. And he knows that the blessings he’s received during his illness can be attributed to the greatest example of all, Jesus Christ.
“I’m not afraid of what might happen,” he says. “Now that I have the gospel and I know about the Atonement and how things work, I’ve learned to look for the good. I have a lot to be thankful for.”
Courage, gratitude, and faith—Bryce lives these principles every day. And who knows? Maybe he’s just the example someone else is looking for.

Elder Delbert L. Stapley, who served for many years as a General Authority, once told about an incident that occurred when he arrived in the Southern States Mission. Charles A. Callis was the mission president. Shortly after Elder Stapley arrived in Atlanta, President Callis told him that they were catching a train together that would take the young elder to his field of labor.
The train stopped in a very small community and the bags were unloaded. They were transferred to a buggy. There was only room for two riders, the driver and one passenger. President Callis climbed up on the seat beside the driver and asked Elder Stapley to follow on foot.
The horse and buggy kicked up the dust as Elder Stapley walked along behind. He said he began to resent his new mission president. The farther he walked and the more the dust was raised, the more he came to dislike his mission president. He felt he was losing respect for this leader.
After he had walked a mile, however, the president had the driver stop. Then President Callis traded places with Elder Stapley and he walked for two miles.
“I grew to love him more with every step,” Elder Stapley recalled. “I thought he was about the greatest man who had lived.”

I returned home early from the Philippines Cebu East Mission. The “what ifs” and not fitting the “returned-missionary mold” made adjusting hard. Since I served in my home country, I struggled with thinking that I had let my branch down and knowing that I did not meet their expectations. Comparing myself to “legit” returned missionaries made me see myself as less worthy or as an outcast.
Eventually, the Lord taught me that a mission is just one of the many ways to serve Him. It is not where or how long but how you serve that counts. He taught me to be humble and to stay on the gospel path even if things get rough and do not go my way.
Jasper Gapuz, Philippines